#because you’ll never get that feeling in real life

[orimuraa]

• My lips don’t lie - 西村 力 ↳ ┊: lips - ive

꒰ 𝔖𝘺𝘯𝘰𝘱𝘴𝘪𝘴 ꒱┆starting your new job wasn’t easy whatsoever, however, there was one person who made it so much worse…or better? ⨾

۶ৎ choreographer!ni-ki x fem makeup artist!reader┆fluff, angst, crack┆slight age gap? (2 years), enemies to lovers, ni-ki tries to be nonchalant about his feelings┆teasing, petnames, reader has a panic attack, kissing, crying┆wc 2.4k

⤷ 𝐲𝐞𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: thank you to the anon who requested! i hope it’s okay >//<

꒰ঌ ℬℴℴ����𝓈𝒽ℯ𝓁𝒻 ໒꒱

you got insanely lucky for your first real job. you had secured a spot on the styling team of a k-pop group at the age of 18. it paid pretty good and it wasn’t something you would ever get bored of.

traveling the world, doing makeup and hair, it was all you could ever ask for.

the only bad thing about this job was a singular co-worker. nishimura riki.

he was a dancer from japan and he had been hired a couple years before you to be the choreographer for the group.

for some reason, this man could not stand you. you had no idea what you did to deserve his snarly remarks or his relentless teasing, but it happened. maybe it was because you were new and an easy target for picking on. or maybe it was because he was just a jerk.

“i don’t know what i did,” you whine to your fellow makeup artist, jiyeon. you had come to befriend all of the makeup artist team and you had all gotten very close, many if them treating you like their baby.

“it’s so weird! he was never like this with anyone else?” jiyeon ponders, scrunching her eyebrows.

you continued cleaning your makeup brushes while just thinking to yourself, letting the conversation of your co-workers blend into the background.

“hey! you’re gonna ruin those brushes, aren’t you?” him. his obnoxiously deep voice that never failed to send shivers down your spine.

turning around, you’re met with a 6 foot giant, smirking down at you as he tell you how to do your job. ridiculous!

“no, i’m not,” you bite back, losing your patience with him. you let out a sigh, setting down the brushes and trying to control yourself.

“woahh, chill, i’m just trynna help,” he laughs, putting his hands up in surrender. to be quite honest, ni-ki had no idea why he treated you like this either.

the first day you walked in, clad in your little white dress over your patched jeans, your hair styled too perfectly, and a smile too pretty adorning your lips. he didn’t like the way it made his heart race. he didn’t like the way it made him smile.

so, for some reason, he resulted in pushing you out, not letting you get too close. he was scared of letting his guard down around people. he was scared because of the past.

even still, every time he steps a little too close to you, his breath will hitch slightly and his heart starts to beat a little too fast.

your eyes said it all. you were pissed and you were not putting up with his behavior right now.

“ni-ki, i am trying to do my job and it’d be very nice for you to just leave me alone right now,” you grit through your teeth.

“alright alright, i’m leaving princess,” he chuckles lowly.

“don’t call me that!” you snarl, your patience hanging on for dear life. but ni-ki just smirks once again before leaving the room.

“oh my gosh he totally likes you,” yusu, another co-worker, gasps.

“yusu!!! don’t encourage it! besides, he literally hates my guts! i haven’t done anything wrong to him and he treats me like this!” you whine, pouting at the pink haired girl.

she just laughs and pats your head, saying: “you’ll be fine!! he’ll most likely come around eventually!”

you roll your eyes at that. like that would ever happen.

~~

a big comeback was coming up for the group, meaning that lots of preparations needed to be made.

unfortunately, you didn’t expect this much stress as it was a full album instead of a mini album—which was what you were used to.

“y/n ssi! i’m going to put you in charge of all the eye makeup for filming today, okay? i want them to look similar and you’re the best at it!” the director smiles, making you feel both proud and anxious.

not even seconds later, another directer ran up to you: “oh! y/n ssi! can you please do the hair styles for the members? i know you’re pretty good at that and i think this concept is your strong suit,” she asked, rushing away before you could even agree.

great. now you had eye makeup and hairstyles for all the members. totally manageable.

there was quite a bit of chaos in the prep room. the members were quietly chatting with each other, some filming some behind the scenes, some practicing the dance, and some locking in to get ready for filming.

you kinda lost track of what was going on as you started to feel your head spin a bit, losing a bit of your balance.

“oh- y/n? are you alright? do you need to sit down?” one of the members asked you, concern written all over his face. these boys were always so sweet and they always cared for their staff, making you appreciate them even more.

but right now, it was hard to even focus as there was a searing pain that hit your head. suddenly, the room started to feel a bit too crowded, spots appearing in your vision and your breathing becoming a bit too labored.

“sit her down!”

“no! get her out! she needs air!”

there was a bunch of shouting around you and you weren’t sure who was talking anymore. that was until a voice caught your attention.

“y/n? hey? you here? look at me, yeah?” his voice. the deep concern his voice echoed as he tried to speak as softly as possible to you.

you looked at the boy, eyes staring straight into his. since when were nishimura riki’s eyes so pretty? and since when did he have that mole under his eye?

“hey! there you are, let’s get you outside okay?” he smiles softly. he laces his hands with yours and gently pulls you up, securing you as you stumbled a bit.

you didn’t notice the way the members were smiling at you, glad that their choreographer knew how to take care of you.

once you made it outside, you took a deep breath before collapsing into ni-ki’s embrace.

“thank you,” you mumble softly, enjoying his comfort. you never thought he would be this kind to you, and it kinda caught you off guard. but you had desperately needed a hug and he was inviting you to take it.

“it’s the least i could do,” he replies, his voice calming your nerves. he gave you a couple minuted of silence to collect yourself, assuming you probably had a panic attack.

“stress?” was all he asked, his eyes still staring at the cars passing by. you look at him, tilting you head slightly.

“yeah i guess so…just…overwhelming. i guess i’m not used to it just yet,” you try to laugh it off.

“hey? it’s okay to be overwhelmed, okay? this job is stressful and you’re handling it amazingly. you got this,” he reassured, looking you in the eye.

you were a but stunned by his words as this was the first time he had ever been so nice to you.

“thanks ni-ki…that meant a lot,” you smile back, letting out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“anytime,” he replies, standing up and signaling to go back inside. “i’ll let them know you can’t do it all without some help. you shouldn’t be doing all this as the newest addition to the team.”

and maybe it made your heart flutter. and maybe it made you hate nishimura riki a little less.

~~

that’s what was so weird. he wasn’t mean anymore, he was nice. you didn’t even think that was in his vocabulary for goodness sake’s! he started bringing you coffee the next morning, knowing you were up at an ungodly hour just to start preparing the boys for mv shooting.

he stopped bugging you about not doing your job correctly and started admiring the way you worked instead. you weren’t sure if you liked it, or it freaked you out because maybe ni-ki was replaced by an alien.

“how come you’ve been so nice lately? i didn’t know you had it in you,” you laugh, nudging ni-ki’s shoulder one break.

“yah! i can be nice! i just…needed to warm up i guess,” he muttered, rubbing the bag of his neck and looking away so you didn’t see the blush that coated his cheeks.

“uh huh…sureee,” you snort, taking a bite of your lunch. “whatever, i like you better like this.”

“you..you like me?” ni-ki coughed, his eyebrows furrowed.

“y-yeah! you actually seem to be a pretty decent co-worker,” you cover up, not sure if you were ready to confess your full feelings.

you weren’t sure why that made your heart sink and ni-ki didn’t either.

“right. co-workers,” he nodded, though his tone didn’t match his eyes. you both sat there in an awkward silence before ni-ki cleared his throat, excusing himself and saying he had to run over the choreo with some of the members again.

you were so lost in thought, you didn’t hear yusu walk in and sit herself down next to you.

“soo…are you falling?” she asks, her tone skeptical.

“i don’t even know,” you sigh. “i think i like him but do you think he likes me?” you pout, everything feeling so complicated.

“ynnie, he’s so in love with you. he always has these little heart eyes when you walk in and he’s so sweet to you now! i think he’s just unsure about how to handle his feelings. he had a nasty breakup a couple years back and it was awful..his choreo was sloppy and he was horrible at teaching at that time. it was bad…” yusu recalls, touching a finger to her chin as she thought.

“well that just means he’s not ready, right?” you sigh for the millionth time.

“no! what it means is that you make him feel different and he’s scared that he’s gonna get broken again and doesn’t know how to approach his feelings!” yusu exclaims, not enjoying your obliviousness.

oh.

“so what am i supposed to do??” you whine, ready to go dig a hole and cry in it.

“you slowly get him to trust you—which i think he already does. but he needs to open up and let you in,” she smiles, packing up her stuff for the day.

so now you had to gain ni-ki’s trust. got it..

~~

things were bad..you were struggling with your bills and you were on the verge of losing it. not to mention, ni-ki had been super cold to you these past few days, making things even more unpleasant.

he would ignore you in the hallways and barely look at you when you were in the same room.

he was back to his teasing—except this time it came in forms of harsh criticism.

“y/n can you work faster? the boys need to be on stage in 5!” he scoffed, venom laced in his voice. you had no idea what you had done to make him cold again but you hated it.

maybe he found out that you liked him and now he hates you for it? or maybe he realized you’re just really unpleasant to be around and now hates you.

one day, you were at music bank super early to get the boys ready for their comeback special. your taxes were filing in and it was hard to keep track of it all. your mom had needed a bunch of money to stay in her assisted living care and it was really eating at your salary.

and today was the icing on the cake.

“y/n! they need the makeup done in 3! jesus, what are you even doing?!” he snapped, making many of the staff and members uncomfortable, including you.

you felt everything crash down and all of your problems come flooding out. tears pricked at your eyes but you wouldn’t cry. not in front of him.

“excuse me,” you managed to squeak out before running out of the room.

you found an empty green room and quickly shuffled into it. you sat on the couch, head in your hands and tears rolling down your nose, cheeks, and chin.

everything was going wrong and the world hated you. at some point, your muffled cries made their ways out of your hand and soon echoed in the room.

a shuffle at the door made you whip up to see who was there, instinctively wiping your eyes to attempt the tears to stop.

there, stood ni-ki in the door frame, a different look adorning his face. something mixed either concern and regret.

“what do you want?” you sniffle, wiping your nose.

ni-ki locks eyes with you before letting out a sigh and walking over to the sofa you were on.

“i’m sorry…i don’t know why i’ve been so cruel to you these past few days..i think i got scared because i felt something a little too real and i got scared..i didn’t want it to end up like last time,” he said, looking you straight in the eye. “i guess i thought that if i pushed you out, the feelings would stop.”

“ni-ki…i want you to know that i still like you even after all this..i would wait as ling as it takes for you to recover just so i could be with you. that past week made me realize that i really like you and you make me happy—like, really happy,” you mumble the last part, your cheeks flushing red.

“i had a horrible breakup a couple years ago and i guess it just made me scared to feel things..i just didn’t want to be hurt anymore,” ni-ki says. “but i want to try with you. i feel like i can be myself around you and i would do anything to make up for my awful behavior.”

suddenly, the room felt like it was just you two in the space and nothing else. ni-ki’s hand found your waist while the other one cupped your cheek gently.

“can i kiss you?” he whispered. you nod and that’s all he needs to lean in.

his lips fit perfectly against yours and it feels like the final piece of a puzzle.

the kiss is soft yet passionate, tender with his apology.

when you pull away, his eyes are twinkling and you suddenly feel the butterflies again. you lean your forehead against his and stay like that for a bit.

“let me be yours,” ni-ki says against your lips, his own brushing against yours as he spoke.

“i’d like that. very much so,” you giggle, closing the gap with another kiss.

yeah, maybe it was a cliché office enemies to lovers, but it gave you a happy ending, making it all okay.

˗ˏˋ ꒰ ✉︎ ꒱ ˎˊ˗ 𝐉𝐢𝐣𝐢’𝐬 𝐓𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭: @vmpivory, @yuvany, @seozii, @pinknjm, @greentulip, @jomisu, @nxzz-skz, @ancnymcnzjy, @hyukabean, @annybah, @ijustwannareadstuff20, @chaeneu, @17ericas, @firstclassjaylee, @riribelle, @right-person-wrong-time, @cheruphic, @woniefication, @melodiessvy, @soona-huh, @kiwicup, @yuuuraaa

[sramoonlight]

Love of my life

What if Jason left something to be remember?

Content you’ll see here: weird timeline, separate stories from the comics, female!reader, mentions of death, mentions of pregnancy

English it’s not my first language so pelase be patient

It all started as childhood sweethearts, you were the daughter of a Bruce’s friend, one who always stayed at the manor and he was just his adoptive kid who would come out of his bedroom to play with the new girl

Until it started being a real friendship, Jason begged Bruce to be on your same school and when you were in the same class he was finally able to be with you all the time

By the end of middle school, you were already a thing, an innocent relation that moved to be something else

Jason loved you, he did since he saw you for the first time and all always will

You were the first person who knew his identity as Robin, you loved him, he could be him.

Everyone knew about your relation, there wasn’t a point of hiding it when Jason would carry your backpack and lead you to your next class and back in the Wayne manor you would always come home with him

Bruce liked that idea, a reason for Jason to be good and behave and for you father? He would accept it only because it would unify their companies.

It was a thing you loved, until it was over

When Jason died, all your life stopped like some kind of movie

You didn’t go out of bed, you didn’t eat, just drowning in your own tears like it could bring him back

It hurts you, every damn time

But you had to get up, you had to when suddenly your body started to feel nauseous, when your body ached for food more than anything and when you were throwing up nothing but your own saliva

You realized.

You always thought about having a life with Jason, probably once he retires from being Robin, the life you dreamed was one where you would adopt kids from the crime alley, live in a house on the woods and grow old

So, when you looked at the mirror admiring how your belly started to grow, life on it

You knew it, there was something Jason left for you to remember

It was an accident, you didn’t plan on getting a teen pregnancy but you can’t look mad about it, even you father found it amazing

The best came when you had to tell Bruce, his eyes red from crying shined the second you told him the news

If a man can cry when they don’t have any more tears left, that’s Bruce, because he felt into his knees hugging your abdomen like your life depended on it.

The next months you stayed in the Wayne manor, Bruce told you father since Jason can’t take responsibility he can and that means you’ll stay there until the pregnancy is over

He didn’t mind, because his company started growing since Wayne industries started working with them, a win-win.

Until the pregnancy was over, a kid with your eyes but with Jason’s face

Everyone loved him, your little child came to make everyone’s life shine bright like Jason sent him to make their pain go away, it didn’t, but they had to be strong for the little kid.

When the kid turned five you decided to leave Gotham, you love your city but Gotham isn’t a place for a kid to live, not when your family became wealthy enough to have bodyguards every place they went to

Five years after Jason’s death, you left everything behind

Jason hides small places because they remind him of the coffin he woke up in, he doesn’t like dirt on his nails because it reminds him the way he had to crawl outside of the hole he was trapped in.

There’s a lot of things he started to hate when he came back to life, he won’t tell he hates his family because that’s a lie, even if he fights Bruce he loves him

And a thing he loves, the girl that left town after his death like Gotham didn’t matter if he wasn’t on it, he never blame her for it, it’s Gotham after all

It’s too dangerous for a woman like her to live, he is almost happy to know she’s not here anymore, a small part of him cries at the thought but that’s the best.

That leads us here

— I heard (Reader) is coming back for the fifteen year anniversary celebration — Tim said, his fingers typing on the keyboard without looking up

Dick hummed, Jason was looking at Tim like he just said a big slur

— it’s been fifteen years already? Damn I’m old — He chuckled, Jason looked even more confused

Ah, right, your father’s company has a deal with Wayne’s

You coming back was a thing he would appreciate in silence, the opportunity to see you from the shadows and worship like some kind of goddess

His family looked like they didn’t care, Jason had to suppress his need to ask where you are staying just to see how you’ve been

You sure are a beautiful woman now, even if your young features aren’t there anymore you are going to be the gorgeous woman he will ever see

He left the room, he couldn’t hear the conversation between Damian and the rest of them

— When are we telling him? — the youngest questioned, his eyebrow raising as he looked for an answer

— Tell him what? — Dick tried to play it off

— That he was a son —

Immediately everyone got silent, Damian never had the chance to meet the little boy and that makes them all wonder how does he know

Probably a question they’ll never get an answer for.

— You know what B said, let them have their life without the Gotham shit —

A response Damian didn’t like, he hates when someone hides information from him and he certainly hides when he has something to do with that information, it isn’t a surprise he doesn’t like something like that for his league of assassins’ brother

He gets it the first years he came back, when the Lazarus pit’s madness was enough to make him forget who his loved ones were he wouldn’t complain about leaving such a big stimulation aside but now? He needs to know.

It was slow the way he enters the room, his hands behind his back as he sees Jason fixing something on the Batmobile, no one asked him to do it but he feels the right to do it.

Jason, a person who was always on guard heard his footsteps even if they were the most silent they could be

— Sorry little demon, I can’t train with you right now — He mumbled, his hands moving to take out a tire

Damian hummed making sure Jason knew he heard him, and his plan began

— I have information for you — Jason looked at him, just a simple glance noticing the way his eyes shined

A juicy one, god how he knows how to read that little demon, he’s still not sure if he wants to know

Maybe it’s just gossip, maybe something his siblings did and no one told him, but he sees it, how he can guess it’ll be a fight and he’s not on the mood for that

— I’ll pass —

— You’ll find this.. familiar — damn kid, he knows how to make him crave for information

He turned, his arms crossing against his chest as he looked at the young bat, he’s listening

— You have a child — he lets out a big snort, his cheeks turning red by the heat of the moment

He knows Damian says weird stuff all the time, and this is the worst he ever said

— I’m sorry kid, but I’ve only fucked with your mom and a girl who isn’t here — he turned to keep minding his business, Damian grumbled making Jason smile

He can guess how Damian is so mad for having the information wrong, that little demon doesn’t like when someone scams him, he would like to see-

— Does the name Jackson change your mind? — Jason world suddenly stopped

— Seriously Jay? — a girl laugh made his body feel in heaven, he was actually, only for his brain to know it because that sweet girl was on his arms.

— What? Jackson is a good name for a boy — He chuckled, his world getting better in every chuckle

— Im pretty sure Jackson is a last name — she looked like the way Jason talked about it was a dumb joke

— I like it, so, sorry our future kid will be named Jackson — he received a small slap on his

He doesn’t know why a memory that used to make him so happy now makes his heart ache, he can’t deny it, the only person who knew about his idea of naming a kid that way and the only person he slept with (even if he tells Damian otherwise) is that woman who makes his heart beat

— You should ask father about it — and that little demon left, his hands on his back like he didn’t just say a big thing.

Jason world was spinning, like everything just changed

He had a son? He can’t blame (Reader) for not telling him, she doesn’t even know he’s alive but Bruce? He knows, he can’t be working with her father and not know.

He looked at the batcomputer, no one was there to know he is doing something

And he found himself sitting down on the chair, he found himself typing her name

(Reader) Williams, daughter of Matthew Williams and mother of Jackson Peter Todd-Williams, her pregnancy was a scandal on the media and he can guess how hard it was for her

And she gave him his last name, his kid had his last name but he feels bad for not reading (Reader) Todd.

He can imagine it, a small kid with his eyes and her gorgeous face

Wait a second, how old is his kid?

Even if he tried, there is no pictures of him, like a sacred symbol he won’t be able to see if it isn’t with his own eyes, he gets it, the kid doesn’t have a media persona so he can grow without worrying about it

He sighed, there is no info of him.

— Jackson… — He mumbled reading the first article about her and his kid

Fifteen years ago.. fifteen years ago?!

His world started spinning again, does that mean he is a teenager? How long has he been away? He’s thirty, of course he didn’t plan to see a small kid but a teen?

He lost his first everything! He can feel himself groaning at the thought.

— Are you.. coming back to Gotham this weekend? — His finger caress the photo of his ex girlfriend

An old photo from her young ages, she’s already thirty like him but he can’t but feel enamored from his girl

— Love, don’t worry, I’ll take care of you and our beautiful child —

His heart aches, no, he yearns to see the love of his life again and even if he planned to be out of her life for her own safety

He can’t help how his body wants her back, the love of his life who didn’t changed even if he died

His one and only, the mother of his child

He can’t wait anymore.

[blasphemyandbackshots]

Wait! That one anon got MILF lover Shig and Dabi in my head now! 😳

I had to. I’m sorry, but I had to 😔

Dabi ;;

Dabi isn’t just into MILFs. He craves them. There’s something about a woman who’s lived a little. A woman who knows exactly what she wants, who doesn’t giggle and blush when he looks her up and down like he’s going to eat her alive. No, she meets his stare and raises an eyebrow like, you think you can handle this, kid?

And that makes him go feral, crazy and everything in between.

He likes her older. Likes her ripe. He wants her with hips that could cradle his waist. He wants soft thighs that wrap around his ribs, a body that remembers pleasure. Stretch marks? Scars? Maybe a kid? Dabi’s jaw just clicks into place, turned on by every reminder that she’s a real woman.

“You got any idea what that does to me, sweetheart? Watchin’ you walk around all put-together and fuckin’ lethal? While I know exactly how you sound when I’ve got three fingers in you?”

He loves corrupting that poise. Fucking her against her kitchen counter while dinner’s half-cooked. Fisting her hair after PTA meetings. Cumming in her and then smirking when she says she has errands to run.

“You’re so good at pretending you’ve got your life together. Lucky for you, I love wrecking shit.”

He doesn’t want to raise hell with a girl who’s figuring herself out. He wants a woman who already has a fire burning inside her. He just wants to fuck it higher.

Shigaraki ;;

Shigaraki has mommy issues and it shows. But we’re not talking wholesome healing. We’re talking dark, twisted, primal obsession with mature women who look at him like he’s something dangerous but irresistible. He’s a fucking pervert for it.

He wants her older, commanding, powerful. He wants someone who has lived, who might even pity him a little until she realizes he’s unhinged and hungry for her.

He fantasizes about women who’ve already had a life. Maybe she’s got a kid. Maybe she’s been married. He doesn’t give a fuck. She could be ten years older and still out of his league, and that turns him on more.

“You think I care how old you are? You think I don’t get off on it? Fuck, I like knowing how many men failed before me. You’ll never want anyone else after I’m done with you.”

He’s obsessed with how experienced she is. With how she teaches him how to touch her until he snaps and flips the script, because the moment she moans for him like no one else ever made her feel that way? He’s addicted.

He’ll get on his knees for her and lick her thighs like a man starved. Then fuck her until she’s shaking and whisper, “Not so in control now, are you, Mommy?”

Shigaraki’s into the contradiction of it all. Power and surrender. Age and obsession. Her perfectly ordered world being ruined by a man who wants her so badly he’d burn it all down just to have her again.

[sohnric]

DO I WANNA KNOW? - LEE JUYEON.

pairing: lee juyeon x fem! reader

genre: erasmus student! lee juyeon. situationship au. angst? fluff? very bittersweet ngl. inner monologue heavy!

wc: 2k

warnings: mention of alcohol consumption

listen to: do I wanna know? - hozier cover / n e m u s i m e s a b a t - porsche boy, mess / don't smile - sabrina carpenter / casual - doja cat

a/n: I'm not saying this is the exact story of my nov-feb situationship, but I'm also begging ya'll to treat this little thing very very gently (iykwim :,,). ALSO this is completely unrelated to my prev erasmus student juyeon fic, I just accidentally manifested one into my life. thank u as always to my best friend @csenke for beta reading and also for the 4 months of listening to me cry about a mid ass man.

in this moment, there's nothing else, just you two and an empty promise.

Outside, it’s cold autumn. Leaves are brown, it gets dark after 4 in the afternoon and the wind is stingy and angry with the essence only the late November days can bring. Sky breaks out with quiet rain, droplets of cold water kissing not only the lamppost-illuminated pavement, but also the crown of your head and the tips of your fingertips. You shudder with the chilly kiss of the air when you step outside of the bar, despite the alcohol levels rising in your bloodstream and fall tightly into step with the couple in front of you.

Juyeon takes your side. He stops you in your tracks on the way back to your dormitory, taking the hood of your jacket and pulling it over your damp hair. You let him, completely forgetting about the umbrella you snuck into your purse before you left. You let the boy pull you closer and take your bag off you– since it’s constantly falling off your shoulder and you make notice of it with an annoyed huff– before he decides to carry it for you and takes ahold of your hand, sneaking your intertwined fingers into his pocket. 

The night is a little blurry from then onwards. The conversations you have with him on the way back are hushed, quiet. You never thought you’d end up by the side of a calm, reserved presence– since you were an introvert yourself, believing you needed someone to bring you out of your comfort zone, someone to make you open up and enjoy life without unnecessary boundaries– but you don’t mind it. Still, you’re a listener. He doesn’t ask much. You think it’s not that he isn’t interested. You believe he just simply doesn’t know what to say.

Somewhere along the way, you reflect on the evening. On the amount of alcohol in your system and on the girl you just met a few hours before, introduced to you by Juyeon’s roommate. The whole meeting felt a bit like a double date, and even though you’d hate to think of it as one– since your relationship with Juyeon is far too casual, unlabeled and unspecific for any of your meetings to be called that name– there’s buzzing in your stomach, a flood of happy gold smearing on your insides when you realize how easy, simple and sweet the whole evening played out. 

It felt a bit too real. A bit too intimate. Normal. 

You know that thinking of it as such was a deep mistake, but it was one you didn’t know how to stop yourself from making.

And maybe it was okay to indulge in the feelings and thoughts– although slightly delusional, which you admit to even in your drunken state, just for the weeks he’s here. You tell yourself it’s fine, because he is leaving in just about 2 months, and after that, you’ll never see him again. 

You’ll never discuss your feelings with him in your second language under the intimacy of his dark dorm room ever again. You’ll never smoke together on the balcony, kissing in the moonlight, warming each other up by the closeness of each other. You’ll never share a drink, hold him close, let him touch you where no one has before. You’ll never hear his favorite playlist and listen to him talk about the culture back home, or encourage him when he’s stressed about exams ever again. 

You have limited time together. Somehow, you think it’s both a blessing and a curse. 

After a remark that makes him giggle– to which your heart jumps, still unknowing of your feelings for him– he sighs, his voice taking a whole another tint.

“Let’s make a promise that if neither of us have someone by the time we’re 30, we’ll get married,” he speaks, making your heart drop to your stomach.

The feeling his words encourage are indescribable. It’s like getting thrown off a 10-story building. It’s like when you’re bad at swimming and getting thrown into a pool of cold water, getting too tired in the middle of the lap and thinking you’re drowning before you realize you’re tall enough to reach the bottom. It’s like wishing on a falling star, not really knowing if you believe the silly superstition. It’s like the moment after waking up from a very good dream– when you realize none of it was real, but still, it leaves a fuzzy, warm aftertaste in you for the next few minutes before you forget what the dream was even about.

You don’t know how to name it. Not just yet.

“And you say you have no feelings for me,” you chuckle, teasing the man.

“I never said I didn’t,” he hums, almost making you stop in your tracks. Your heart jumps in your ribcage, a foreign, dangerous taste of adrenaline making itself present in your body.

“So you’re saying you do?”

The male sighs. “I mean…”

It’s what he always does. He throws you a bait, and then catches you on it like you’re some sort of a clueless goldfish. You blame your inexperience with romance for the lack of critical thinking– or at least now you do. He never really tells you how he really feels, what he really thinks. You always have to drag it out of him, beg him on your knees to tell you what goes on in his brain.

“You mean what?” you drag, impatiently.

“I mean, I knew I was going to meet someone while I’m here, but after the first time we hung out… I knew that it was going to end up this way,” he says, all ominous.

You hum. 

“And I think you felt the same way,” he adds.

You hum again– pretending you understand. Believing you do. Because what else could his words mean? What else– if not feelings, real feelings, deeper than whatever you two put on in front of his friends and acquaintances? Hell, you know you care for him deeper than you let on. You didn’t think you realized before, but the disgusting romantic liquid pumping in your veins right now only approves of the suspicion. 

You fell for Lee Juyeon. 

Somewhere between the drunken nights full of laughter, Netflix shows long forgotten in the background as his lips explore you and his arms hold you tight, you fell for a man you hardly even know.

You fell for a man you met at a bad, boring Halloween party and cringed over his texts when he followed you on Instagram the morning after. You fell for the man that shared cigarettes with you, obnoxiously sang along to the songs on the radio, told you constantly how good you smelled and how much he loved your body (making you both confident, but also more insecure to be loved in any way beyond your curves and crevices as time moved forward). You fell for the man that made you play videogames with him and let you rant about your dad. You fell for the man that complimented your brain whenever he heard about your studies. For the man that joked around with his friends. For the man that sent you Instagram reels in the dead of the night, the man whose terrible sleeping schedule you learnt by memory the same way you could make the journey to his dormitory, up the elevator and straight into his bedsheets with your eyes closed. 

But most importantly, you fell for the man that is here for one semester only– a man you’ll one day walk to his flight back home.

Still, you giggle as you two reach the gate of your dorm, waiting for the other couple to catch up to you as they laugh at each other’s jokes somewhere in the distance. 

“Your 30 or my 30? Because that’s a big difference, y’know,” you tease him, never letting the 4 years laying in between you two die. 

He shakes his head, laughing. “You choose,” he mumbles before he leans in and captures your lips in a tender kiss.

In this moment, there’s nothing else in this world, just you two. You two and the empty promise, the rain buzzing around you, the taste of nicotine and redbull on his lips. Just his hands on your waist, your soaring heart and the weight of your curfew (that’s in 5 minutes) breathing down your neck.

There’s no flight back home in February. There’s no silence on his end of the line during most of the day, no 24-hour wait for a reply to your messages. There’s no teasing looks from his dormmates whenever you walk with him to the communal kitchen, making you wonder just how much your name is thrown around the building. There’s no empty feeling in your stomach every time you take the train home– both from being away from the town that connects you two, and also from the lack of knowledge when you’ll see him again, because Juyeon was never the one to set exact times in stone. He never took the effort to plan your dates or let you know in advance. Meeting him was always rushed, last-minute and begged out from you. 

There’s no trip with him in January, because it hasn’t happened yet. There’s no sinking feeling in your stomach as you lay awake next to him in one bed in the dead of the night, listening to his snores, wondering what you’ve done wrong and why you’re not enough for him. There’s no sentences uttered out from his lips you overthink and replay in your brain over and over again, wondering what they meant– like that time he got asked if you were his girlfriend, and he had it in him to reply “Kinda”. There’s no polaroids you keep on your wall until March when you decide it’s time to move on. There’s no talk on the balcony that you’ll always miss– because it had the best view of the town you grew to feel at home in– the talk where you confronted him with what he said tonight, asking him if he really had feelings for you and wondering what he truly meant if they weren’t love. There’s no belief that a body to hold is all you’ll ever be to someone, tainted with the sweet words he said to keep you at his reach. There’s no crying during Christmas break because you think he grew tired of you, because he started to put in less and less effort, because you suddenly started to see the relationship for what it was and not for what you wanted it to be. There’s no text on New Years, because it never happened, and also no text on your birthday, because he never cared enough to remember the date.

There’s no broken promises to keep in touch after he lands back home. You don’t know that he’ll change his number without you knowing yet, you’re not aware that all the memories you had with him meant more to you than to him– just a distraction, an experience abroad he took them for. And you know it’s not his fault– because he never lied to you, never really did anything to betray your trust– you just let yourself fall for the one person you shouldn’t have, for the one person you never should’ve gotten caught up with in the first place.

There’s no tears and broken hearts and memorabilia in your dorm room made of all the things he left you because they didn’t fit into his suitcase. There’s no feeling of him getting everything he wanted and leaving you here stuck on him. There’s no message from his roommate telling you he wasn’t good enough for you after they left. 

In this moment, there’s just you two and this moment. The realization. The sudden knowledge that this is it, this is how falling in love feels like.

For now, you don’t think you want to know if the feeling flows both ways. 

Maybe it would be for the better if you never even found out in the first place.

[5oclocksomwhere]

Only When it Burns -Rafe Cameron

You weren’t supposed to kiss him the first time.

It happened on a dare. On the back of a dock, drunk on tequila and moonlight, your lips pressed to Rafe Cameron’s like you were trying to silence every warning in your head. And he kissed you back like someone who had waited his whole life for the excuse.

It was supposed to be a mistake.

It became a secret.

Now it’s the only thing you think about.

Tonight, he pretends you don’t exist.

You’re across the fire pit from him, hair curled from the salt air, laughter tucked behind the red Solo cup in your hand. A Pogue boy — you think his name is Leo — sits too close. Flirts too hard.

You try to ignore the way Rafe’s gaze burns through you.

“You gonna dance?” Leo asks, tugging at your hand as someone’s speaker bumps into an old summer anthem.

You laugh, soft and unsure. “Maybe later.”

Across the fire, Rafe takes a drag from something and exhales like it means nothing. Like you mean nothing. But you know the truth.

You know how his hands shake when they’re tangled in your shirt at midnight. You know the sound he makes when your teeth scrape his jaw. You know how he calls you sweetheart like it’s a promise and a curse.

Leo touches your knee. That’s all it takes.

Suddenly, Rafe is on his feet.

“Problem?” he asks, voice deceptively calm.

Leo blinks. “What?”

“You’re in my seat.”

You’re not sure what hits faster — the tension or JJ, who clocks what’s about to happen before Leo even stands up.

“Rafe, walk away,” JJ warns, standing too. His hand’s already hovering near the gun under his jacket.

But Rafe isn’t looking at him. He’s looking at you.

“Let’s go,” he says, low and direct.

Your breath stumbles.

“Don’t,” you whisper. “Not like this.”

Leo snorts. “She’s not yours, man.”

That’s when it happens.

The fight breaks out like summer lightning — fast and hot and chaotic. JJ shoves Rafe. Leo swings. A body hits the bonfire ring and someone screams. It doesn’t matter how it started. You know how it’ll end.

You grab Rafe’s arm and run.

You don’t speak until you’re in the woods, far from the fire, breathless and furious.

“What the hell was that?” you demand, shoving his chest.

He catches your wrists. Holds you still. His eyes are wild.

“You let him touch you.”

“You were ignoring me!”

“You know why.”

You rip free. “Do I?”

He swallows. “Because I can’t be the guy who takes you home.”

“I never asked you to.”

“No. But you keep coming back.”

You want to deny it. But the truth is louder.

You do keep coming back.

Because every time he looks at you like this — like he wants to set the world on fire just to feel something real — you forget every reason you’re not supposed to want him.

You reach for his shirt, fisting it tight.

“You don’t get to touch me and then pretend I’m nothing.”

His mouth is on yours before you finish the sentence.

You crash into him like waves against rock, frantic and raw. His hands are at your waist, lifting you, pinning you to the tree behind. You kiss like you’re both drowning, like maybe this is the only way to breathe.

It’s not gentle. It’s not soft.

But it’s honest.

“I hate that I can’t stay away from you,” he says against your throat.

“You don’t,” you whisper.

“No,” he agrees. “I don’t.”

You press your forehead to his. Try to slow your heart.

“What is this?” you ask quietly.

His hands still.

“It’s real,” he says, finally. “That’s all I know.”

And somehow, that’s enough.

Later, you’ll walk home alone.

You’ll pretend nothing happened.

You’ll lie to everyone who asks.

But you’ll know the truth.

And so will he.

Because whatever this is — it doesn’t end tonight.

Not even close.

THE END.

[bubblyi3]

Between Us, Before Us Part 6 | KTH

"you deserve someone who is all in, not someone who is just trying to fix what they broke."

pairing: taehung x female reader

genre: slice of life, angst, fluff

word count: 6.5k

content warning: angst, mild smut, mild language, trauma, cheating themes, unplanned pregnancy, heartbreak, toxic relationship, time jump here and there (rough lol)

summary: between the past and future lies the aching space of now. with taehyung, you've journeyed through love, heartbreak, and growth. once strangers, then lovers, now something more complicated, your connection is shaped by time, mistakes, and second chances. this is the story of who you were when you first fell for him, who you became through the pain, and who you might still become if you dare to hope again. in the space between healing and longing, one thing remains: him.

author's note: ‼️ thank you so much to everyone whose been reading this series and sharing your thoughts. especially saying she shouldn’t stay just because he’s the father or he doesn’t deserve her. i hear you and i agree in many ways 🫶🏼

with that being said. i will never romanticize staying in an emotionally harmful relationship. especially not for the sake of a child. that mindset can be damaging. in real life, choosing yourself and protecting your peace (and your child’s) matters more than holding onto something that hurts you. but i also want to be honest with you.

this story isn’t about the ideal love. it’s about the messy, and complicated kind. when someone is your first love, your comfort, and your history.

so walking away isn’t always black and white. there’s trauma bonding, hope and fear which is all tangled up. and that’s what i’m trying to explore. not a perfect love story… but a real one.

i have already written out how the series will go and how it ends. all I can say is that things don’t stay the same. there is growth. there is healing. there is clarity, even if it takes time to get there 🦋🫧🌈❤️‍🩹🌱

© disclaimer: please do not copy, translate or reproduce any part of this work without my permission. thank you!

*fiction rooted in real emotions and experiences.

PART 1 || PART 2 || PART 3 || PART 4 || PART 5

“Talk to me.” Jisoo said. Her presence was warm but it was also oddly distant. She sipped her coffee quietly before glancing at him again.

Taehyung stared ahead, his fingers curling around the cup like it was the only thing grounding him. He hated how conflicted he felt. Hated how his mind kept cycling between the truth of what he had done and the guilt that weighed him down.

“I fucked up, Jisoo.” He said. The words feeling too heavy to leave his mouth.

“I fucked up so bad, and I can’t— I can’t fix it.”

Jisoo’s gaze softened, and for a second, she said nothing. Just letting the air settle around them.

“Taehyung, no one’s asking you to fix it all at once. But you’re not alone in this. You never have been. You’ve got me. I’m here.” She finally said.

The words should have been comforting, but they only made the pit in his stomach deeper. He hated how easy it was for her to say those things.

How easily she slid into a role that made him feel both loved and trapped all at once.

“You’re really acting like there’s no way out of this. Like everything is falling apart just because of a stupid mistake.”

He looked up at her.

“I don’t think this is just a mistake. It’s bigger than that. It’s about Y/N and the baby.”

Jisoo’s gaze flicked briefly to the side, then back to him.

“You know, you’re making this harder than it has to be.” Jisoo said. Her voice low but sharp.

He blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

Jisoo leaned back slightly, crossing her arms over her chest. “You’ve been so focused on what you’re going to lose. But have you really thought about what you’ll gain?” She raised an eyebrow, her tone carrying an edge of impatience.

“You have a choice here, Taehyung. You don’t have to play the ‘good guy’ just to make her feel better. You’re not responsible for all her decisions.”

His stomach twisted, guilt gnawing at him again. He had thought, that maybe he could step up, be there for you and the baby.

“I don’t know what to do anymore." He admitted. His voice barely above a whisper.

“She’s everything to me. But I can’t handle this… I don’t know how to make this right.”

Jisoo leaned back a little, her eyes scanning his face. Her expression is now replaced with something sharper. Something that seemed to carry the weight of years of knowing him.

“You’re not some innocent bystander in this, Taehyung. You’ve made decisions, too. And now you’re acting like you’re some victim.”

The words hit him harder than he expected, and for a moment, he found himself swallowing down the guilt that rose to his throat. She was right. He had chosen to lie to you, to run from it, to hide behind what seemed easiest.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to be a father, Jisoo. I’m not ready for the life that would come with it.” He said. His voice cracking under the weight of the confession.

Jisoo’s eyes softened again, but her jaw was tight. Like she was struggling to keep her own emotions in check.

“I get it.” She said, voice quieter now.

“You’re scared. You’re scared of the future, of what this will mean for you, for your life. But running away from it? That’s not the answer.”

Taehyung stayed silent for a long while, the weight of her words settling on him like a stone in his chest. He was scared. But was he also just selfish? Was that the truth?

Before he could respond, Jisoo stood up abruptly. The silence stretched between them like a taut rope.

Jisoo turned around, her eyes locked on his, her voice now quiet but firm.

“I know you’re struggling with what’s next. But you need to decide, Taehyung. You need to decide if you’re ready to face this, to face her or if you’re going to keep running. Because I’m not going to keep watching you hide from the consequences of your actions.”

Taehyung’s stomach twisted, and he felt that familiar ache creep up his throat again. What had he done? What had he allowed himself to become?

“I don’t know if I can do this." He whispered again. More to himself than to her.

Jisoo didn’t say anything more. She just shook her head slightly, her shoulders slumping in resignation.

“I guess you’ll have to figure that out.”

With that, she walked away, leaving him alone again with his thoughts, as heavy as ever. The echo of her words lingered in the air. Pulling at the strings of guilt and regret.

Two Weeks Later: (Taehyung’s POV)

The buzz of university chatter echoed faintly through the lecture hall, but Taehyung barely noticed it. He sat on the edge of the seat, staring blankly at the notes in front of him. His fingers twitched restlessly in his lap.

He had already tried calling you again and again, but all he got was the cold, impersonal beep of a blocked number.

You had every right. He knew that.

You’ve been through so much, and I’m the reason for it, he thought bitterly. He had messed everything up, yet again.

Still, the ache in his chest wouldn’t ease. He had to talk to you. Even if it was just once. Even if it meant hearing you tell him you never wanted to speak to him again.

“Hey." He turned to the classmate beside him. Someone he’d only spoken to a few times.

“Sorry, could I… borrow your phone? Just for a sec. I need to make a quick call. It’s important.”

The girl hesitated for a second, glancing at him curiously. Maybe she sensed the desperation behind his eyes, or maybe she was just being polite, but she handed the phone over silently.

His heart thudded as he typed your number from memory.

It rang.

For the first time in days, it actually rang.

He stood up and walked briskly out into the hallway, gripping the borrowed phone like it was a lifeline. His breath was shaky as he waited.

Then, you answered.

“Hello?”

The sound of your voice knocked the air from his lungs. You didn’t recognise the number. Of course you didn’t.

“It’s me." He said quietly.

There was silence on the other end. He could almost picture the way your expression shifted, confusion melting into disbelief.

“Taehyung?”

Hearing his name in your voice again. It shattered him. You sounded cautious. Fragile. Like the memory of him still lingered somewhere painful.

“Listen, I—” His voice cracked. He swallowed, trying to get the words out, but they caught in his throat.

“I know I shouldn’t be calling you, not like this. But… I didn’t know what else to do.”

It was silent on the other end. He could only hear your faint breathing and the soft rustling in the background.

“I’ve been thinking a lot. About everything. About us. And I think you deserve to know that I am sorry for the way I’ve treated you. For everything.” He paused, willing himself to keep going, to keep saying what he had rehearsed in his mind. Hoping you don't hang up on him.

“I—I didn’t mean to hurt you. I never wanted to make things harder, but I’ve been so lost in my head that I couldn’t even see how much I was failing you.”

He swallowed hard.

“I’ll be here for you. I’ll be here through the pregnancy. I want to be there, Y/N. I can’t... I can’t walk away completely from you and the baby. But once the baby is born, I... I think it’s best if we go our separate ways.”

The words hung in the air between them, like a silence too heavy to break.

You didn’t speak for a long time, and Taehyung’s heart pounded louder in his chest with each passing second.

"I’ve been talking to the boys… even my dad." Taehyung continued. His voice trembling now.

“And they... they told me I needed to take responsibility. They said I couldn’t just walk away from this. But it’s not just about what’s best for you or the baby. It’s what’s best for me too, Y/N."

He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth, but they were out, and he couldn't take them back.

"I’m sorry. I don’t know if I’m the right person to be here for you long-term. I never wanted things to turn out like this, but I don’t think I can... I’m not ready for the rest of it.”

There was a pause before you spoke, your voice distant, almost flat.

“So, that’s it?”

His heart cracked. “No... I mean, I’ll be there, I’ll help you, but—" He couldn’t find the words. He had no excuse.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say to that, Taehyung,." You said softly.

“You want to be there for me, but only when it’s convenient for you. The second the baby is here, you’re gone.”

He felt the sting of your words. His heart sank even further. This was his choice. This was his doing.

“I don’t want to hurt you, I really don’t,” he murmured, running a hand through his hair, his mind still clouded by the weight of everything. "But I think I’ve made it clear that this—us—it isn’t what I thought it was going to be. I’m sorry, Y/N. I’m just not ready for forever.”

“I know." You replied quietly. “I think I’ve known for a while now.”

There was another pause, but this time, the silence felt more final.

“Okay." You said, your voice almost a whisper. “I guess I'll see you soon then."

His stomach twisted painfully. “I’ll be there. I won’t abandon you, I promise.”

He could already feel the distance between you growing, even though you were still a part of his life. But the further away you got from him, the closer Jisoo seemed to be. And somehow, despite the guilt eating him alive, it didn’t stop him from feeling the pull.

“I’ll be there.” He repeated. Almost to reassure himself.

“Take care of yourself, Y/N.”

You didn’t reply immediately, but when you did, your words were quieter, distant.

“You too, Taehyung.”

The call ended with a click, leaving him in silence, unable to shake the feeling that everything had already slipped too far out of reach.

He stood there, feeling trapped by his own choices, by the weight of responsibility and regret. The phone in his hand felt heavier than he ever imagined it could. He closed his eyes, trying to block out the truth he knew deep down.

Your POV:

You wanted to believe him. You really did. Because believing meant hope. And hope was the only thing keeping the fear from swallowing you whole.

So, he went with you to your doctor’s appointments. He asked questions. Held your hand as the nurse explained trimester milestones. He stared at the ultrasound like he’d never seen anything more delicate. You even caught a smile. One that looked real. One that made something in your chest loosen.

That night, the two of you lay in your bed. Your room dark, quiet except for the distant hum of traffic outside and the rhythmic ticking of your wall clock. His hand rested lightly over your growing bump. You’d changed. So had he. Or maybe you wanted to believe he had.

“I’ve been thinking about baby names.” Taehyung whispered.

You smiled faintly, turning to look at him.

“Yeah? Let me guess. Something poetic and dramatic.”

He laughed softly. “You know me too well.”

There was a stillness in the moment, one you hadn’t felt in a long time. He wasn’t looking at his phone. He wasn’t halfway out the door. He was here. Present.

For once, his eyes didn’t look like they were hiding a thousand things. They just looked at you.

Because right now and right here. He was everything you’d been needing.

It felt warm, safe and real.

Too good to be true.

But for just one night, you let yourself have it.

You buried every fear, every doubt, and rested your head on his chest, listening to the steady thump of his heart. The moment was fragile, but you didn’t care.

You just wanted it to last a little longer.

The soft light of the TV flickered across the room, casting a quiet glow on your skin. Taehyung sat beside you, his hands warm and gentle on your belly. A silent promise, a tether between you both.

You leaned into the moment, trying to savor it, because you knew it wouldn’t last. Once the baby was here, he said, things would change. He’d pull away. You weren’t blind to that.

Then his phone buzzed on the coffee table.

You didn’t want to look, but you did. The screen lit up with a name you dreaded: Jisoo.

A stab cut through your chest that felt harp and sudden. You tried to push it down, to tell yourself it didn’t matter, that Taehyung was here for you now, and that’s what counted.

But hearing her name, even just on a screen, made your throat tighten.

Taehyung’s fingers tightened on your belly as he stared at the phone, his face darkening.

The buzzing didn’t stop.

Then it rang.

He hesitated, like he was caught between two impossible choices. His thumb hovered over the screen before he finally swiped to answer.

“Jisoo?” His voice was low and wary.

You held your breath as the slurred voice spilled through the speaker, sounding desperate and needy.

The room felt smaller, suffocating. You watched his expression change. Warmth turning to frustration, and guilt tangled with something harder to read.

Then, without a word to you, he stood abruptly. His hands left your belly, and with them, the fragile comfort you’d been clinging to.

“Taehyung, wait—”

He cut you off, voice tight, tense.

“I have to go.”

You grabbed his arm, but he slipped free, already reaching for his jacket.

Your heart twisted painfully. You knew this was coming. You knew this was the pattern. He was only here for you while you were pregnant. When the baby arrived, he said, he’d step back.

And just like that, he was gone. The silence he left behind was louder than any words.

You sat frozen, the movie playing forgotten on the screen, the cold space where his hands had been a cruel reminder of everything you feared to lose.

You should hate him. You really should. How could he let her pull him away like this, when you’re the one carrying his child?

But the truth twists inside you. A part of you still clings to the fact that he’s here now, even if it’s temporary. That he’s not walking away completely.

It hurts, hearing her name. Every time it does, a little piece of your hope crumbles. And still, when his hands were on your belly, so warm and sure, it reminded you why you stayed. Why you hoped.

But hope feels like a fragile thing. Like glass, ready to shatter the moment he walks out that door.

Taehyung’s POV:

The cold night air hit him as he walked fast. His heart pounding not just from the run to Jisoo’s place, but from everything tangled in his chest.

He stopped in front of her door, fists clenched at his sides. Without thinking, he banged hard, the sharp sound echoing down the empty hallway.

The door creaked open, and there she was. Stumbling slightly, her eyes glassy and the scent of alcohol heavy in the air.

“Taehyung.” She slurred, a crooked smile forming.

“You came.”

His jaw tightened. Seeing her like this, drunk and vulnerable. Somehow it still pulls at something inside of him, and it made everything worse.

“What do you want?” He said, voice rough.

She swayed, leaning slightly against the doorframe, eyes searching his.

“I just... I needed you.” She whispered.

He ran a hand through his hair, the weight of the night settling on his shoulders.

“I’m here for her now.” He said quietly, but even as he spoke, the guilt gnawed at him. Because here he was, standing outside Jisoo’s door, when he should be with you.

Taehyung stood frozen just inside the doorway, the worn floorboards creaking beneath his feet. Jisoo leaned against the kitchen counter, her eyes glassy and red-rimmed, the faint scent of alcohol trailing from her.

“I don’t know what happened to us.” She said softly, voice cracking.

“You’re not the Taehyung I knew… not my best friend anymore.” She blinked away tears, swaying slightly.

He swallowed hard, feeling the weight of her sadness pressing down on him like a stone.

“We used to be... everything.” She murmured, taking a slow and unsteady step toward him.

“But now it’s like you don’t even see me.”

Taehyung’s heart twisted. He wanted to tell her things had changed because of you, because he was trying to do the right thing but the words stuck in his throat.

Jisoo reached into the cabinet and pulled out a bottle of soju, her hands trembling just a little. She poured two glasses, the amber liquid catching the light.

“Come on, just one drink.” She said, forcing a sad smile.

“For old times’ sake. For us.”

Taehyung shook his head.

She stepped closer, almost pleading now, eyes searching his face. “Please. I’m drunk and lonely and I miss us. Don’t leave me like this.”

The room felt smaller, the air thick with unspoken things. Her hand brushed his arm, hesitant but desperate.

“Just one.” She whispered.

His defenses faltered. The glass was in his hand before he knew it, the cold burn sliding down his throat.

Jisoo’s smile flickered, fragile but victorious. “See? Not so hard.”

The night stretched on, laughter, silence mixing, and boundaries dissolving.

And then, in a moment heavy with regret, he made the mistake again. But the truth was clear, the real betrayal wasn’t tonight. It had happened long before.

Your POV:

The next morning, Taehyung came back to you, his presence tentative but steady. The usual weight between you both was heavier.

You caught the tiredness in his eyes, the shadows he couldn’t quite hide.

You wanted to ask. About last night. About Jisoo. But you didn’t. Instead, you reached out quietly and said, “Let’s go baby shopping.”

He blinked, surprised for a moment, then nodded slowly. The invitation was simple but everything you both needed.

The baby stores were bright and overwhelming, filled with tiny clothes folded neatly on shelves, soft blankets that seemed impossibly delicate, and rows of cribs that looked too big for the small life you were waiting to meet.

You moved slowly, fingers brushing fabrics and plastic handles, imagining how these things might feel in your hands when the time came.

Taehyung was quiet beside you, but you noticed how his gaze softened whenever he saw something he thought you might like. A stroller with sleek wheels, a plush mobile that played lullabies.

He picked up a small blanket and ran his fingers over it, then glanced at you with a tentative smile.

“You’d like this, right?”

You nodded, returning his smile with one of your own, quiet but warm.

Despite the peacefulness, there was a silent tension you both carried. The memory of last night hovering like a shadow neither dared to mention.

You could see it in Taehyung’s hesitations, the way his hands sometimes clenched just a little too tight, or how his eyes darted away when your gaze lingered.

But you stayed silent.

You knew sometimes love meant holding space for someone’s pain, even when it hurts you.

And so you didn’t ask about Jisoo, or last night, or what was left unsaid between you.

Instead, you let the moments fill the space. With shared laughter over how tiny the baby shoes were, quiet conversations about hopes for the future, and the soft comfort of his hand occasionally brushing yours.

Later, as you sat on a bench outside the store, Taehyung’s voice broke the silence.

“I’m sorry.” He said quietly, looking anywhere but at you.

“For everything.”

You didn’t push him for details. You reached for his hand, squeezing it gently.

“Thank you for being here with me, Tae.” You said.

A Few Month Later:

Time moved differently when everything felt uncertain. Weeks blurred into each other like brushstrokes on a half-finished painting.

You and Taehyung… weren’t exactly together. But you weren’t apart, either.

Somewhere in the messy in-between, you found yourselves falling into a routine again. He’d come over to your parents every now and then. And you did the same, going back and forth between the apartment you used to share with him and campus.

You didn’t tell your parents about the fights, about how many times you told him to leave and how many times you let him back in. You couldn’t. Not when they’d made their opinions clear, not when they had started trusting him again, believing in him again.

You didn’t want to ruin that illusion.

Taehyung's POV:

It started with a dream.

Taehyung had woken in the middle of the night, breath shallow, heart pounding. In the dream, there was a baby. Small, bundled in soft white fabric, eyes shaped like yours.

He was holding it, arms stiff at first, unsure but then the baby blinked slowly up at him, and the world tilted into something quieter. Something warmer.

He didn’t remember much else. Just that feeling. Like something had clicked into place inside him, whether he wanted it to or not.

It was a strange time to be feeling things so deeply. You were both at the edge of something. Final weeks of university, capstones submitted, exams looming, futures whispering just beyond the deadline calendars.

The countdown to graduation felt like the countdown to another kind of ending. One neither of you had prepared for.

And on top of it all, there was the baby.

His baby.

The days after the dream, Taehyung found himself pausing more often than usual. He lingered longer in stores when he passed tiny onesies hanging from display racks. He noticed fathers more. How they hoisted their kids on their shoulders, the way their faces softened with a laugh, the tired joy behind their eyes.

He hadn’t meant to come.

Not really.

He told himself he was just going for a drive. No destination, no plan. Just the hum of the engine and the weight of the day pressing down on his chest.

But it was your 22nd birthday.

He didn’t talk to the boys about it. Didn’t respond to Jisoo’s messages either, even when she hinted at "talking things out again." He just… didn’t want to go there.

Because today wasn’t about that.

It was about you.

He planned it quietly. No grand gestures. Just something small and something you. A dinner reservation at that tucked-away restaurant you both had stumbled into once when it started raining and you ducked inside laughing, hair clinging to your cheeks, hands still warm from holding his.

He remembered how your eyes lit up at the string lights. How you ordered something simple and made it sound like the best thing in the world when you moaned dramatically after the first bite. He remembered the way your leg had brushed against his under the table, like a spark without warning.

He clutched the small box tighter in his hand as he stood outside your house.

Wrapped in brown paper, tied with a frayed ribbon. Inside was a silver necklace. A tiny crescent moon charm. He remembered you telling him you have always wanted one, during one of your late-night conversations when you still trusted him with pieces of yourself.

He almost left. Almost turned around before you could see him.

But his feet didn’t move.

His hand did and he knocked.

For a moment, there was only the sound of his heartbeat. It felt heavy and unsure.

Then the door opened.

And there you were.

Soft light spilled from behind you, catching in the strands of your hair. Slightly tousled, like you’d been resting or just letting the day pass gently by.

You looked cozy, wrapped in an oversized sweater that hung over your frame, but not quite enough to hide the curve of your belly.

For a moment, he forgot the speech he’d rehearsed a hundred times in his head. Forgot the way his fingers had trembled while wrapping the gift. Forgot even why he almost didn’t come.

Because all he could see was you. Standing there in the doorway, surprised, radiant, and so achingly familiar. And that soft, sacred curve between you now. Proof of something he still didn’t fully know how to hold.

You blinked at him, confused and surprised.

“Taehyung?”

His name on your lips hit him harder than he thought it would.

“Happy birthday.” He said, lifting the small box with a sheepish look.

You stared at it, then at him, hesitating. But eventually, you stepped aside.

“You remembered.” You said softly once he was inside.

“How could I not?” He replied truthfully.

You gave a small, almost-shy smile. The kind he hadn’t seen in a long time. The kind that made his chest ache.

Then he gently cleared his throat.

“I… I actually made a reservation." He said, rubbing the back of his neck.

“It’s nothing fancy, just… that little place on Pyeonghwa Street. The one with the candles in the window.”

Your eyes widened a little. You knew exactly which one he meant. The memory of that night flickered between you like the soft glow of those same candles.

“I figured maybe… if you’re up for it. He added, voice careful, “you could get dressed and we could go. Just for a little while.”

You glanced down instinctively at your belly, your hand resting there protectively.

“Are you sure?”

Taehyung stepped a little closer, eyes steady on yours. “Yeah. I just wanted to do something nice for you.”

For a heartbeat, you said nothing and then you nodded. The corner of your mouth lifting.

“Okay." You said softly.

“Give me ten minutes.”

As you turned to head toward your room, he finally let out the breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding.

And for the first time in a long while, hope didn’t feel like a foolish thing to carry.

Your POV:

The dinner went by quiet and comfortably. He asked about your cravings. He listened intensively when you told him about the latest scan that he missed out due to his assignment. Taehyung reached for the ultrasound photo tucked into your phone case, without thinking, fingers brushing against yours.

“She’s growing." You whispered.

“She?” He blinked.

You nodded, smiling faintly. “The doctor said she’s a girl.”

Taehyung stared at the little grayscale swirl of a future he wasn’t sure he deserved, heart unexpectedly full. He tried to imagine her. Tried to picture a laugh like yours, a tiny hand gripping his thumb.

And for a moment he wanted it all.

But then reality hit.

He’d made his choice. He’d already drawn that line with you. The one where he would stay through the pregnancy and vanish after. He couldn’t go back now. He wasn’t ready for that life. He told himself that over and over like a prayer.

He walked beside you in comfortable silence. The quiet hum of the night wrapping around you both. When you reached the steps leading up to your front door, he paused, waiting as you fumbled with your keys.

His hand brushed lightly against yours. A simple gesture that made your breath catch. Once the door swung open, you stepped inside, and turned back to him without thinking.

You hugged him without expecting anything in return. And he held you tighter than he meant to.

Pulling back, you caught a shy smile playing at the corners of his lips.

“I’m glad you liked the necklace." He said softly.

You glanced down at the delicate crescent moon resting against your collarbone. A quiet, tender symbol of everything left unsaid.

“I do." You whispered, your fingers lightly curling around the chain.

For a moment, the world seemed to pause. Two heartbeats echoed in the stillness. When you closed the door behind you, Taehyung lingered for a while on the steps. The soft glow of the porch light casting long shadows. The cool night air wrapped around him, but it couldn’t soothe the warmth that had settled deep in his chest.

He shoved his hands deep into his pockets and walked away, heart heavy and jaw clenched.

He had made his decision.

But why did it feel so wrong?

Months passed like days. The calendar seemed to shrink the closer you got to your due date, and with each passing moment. Your belly grew heavier, a constant reminder of the life that was soon to enter the world.

Taehyung had been more attentive, more present, than you had ever thought possible. His hands always seemed to find their way to your back, offering a massage after long days.

He’d bring you dinner, sometimes it was his favorite takeout. Sometimes it was something homemade with a little too much garlic but the effort was there.

Amid all this, he had finally crossed a major milestone. Graduating with his Bachelor of Arts and Music conjoint degree. You remembered how proud he’d been walking across the stage, the months of late nights and hard work culminating in that single triumphant moment.

He also told you things were off to a good start. His new teammates, including Jungkook and the other interns, respected his talent and work ethic. Taehyung threw himself into the projects with a quiet focus, eager to prove himself. You noticed the light in his eyes whenever he spoke about the studio, the music, the possibilities ahead. A genuine happiness that brought you a quiet sense of relief.

You watched him grow into a version of himself you could almost see a future with. He wasn't the same seventeen year old boy you first met, but a young man of twenty-three, shaped by experience and quiet determination.

Despite the unease that occasionally stirred in your chest. When the thought of him slipping away again crossed your mind. He reassured you every chance he got. He would never go back to that place, to where things were rocky and uncertain. He had learned from those mistakes, from everything that had happened.

And maybe you wanted to believe him. Maybe you wanted to trust him.

Since Taehyung had finished uni and slowly, the boys were inviting him out more often. You’d watch him get ready. His hair carefully styled, outfit chosen with a little extra thought, as he prepared to step back into the world he’d been away from.

He went out more frequently than before, but you never stopped him. You reminded yourself you weren’t the kind to hold someone back. He had his own life now, separate from you, even if your worlds still intertwined.

“I’ll be back by midnight." He’d say, flashing that familiar, reassuring smile. The one that made it easier to believe he meant it.

Most nights, he did come back on time. Sometimes with a little extra energy, laughter still lingering in his voice. And every time, he made sure to check on you first. Softly asking if you needed anything before collapsing beside you on the couch.

There was a quiet comfort in those moments. Even with the distance that sometimes crept between you when he was out with the boys, Taehyung was still here. Present when it mattered most.

You could see the weight of the upcoming changes in his eyes too. The excitement, the uncertainty, the responsibility that was settling in alongside the music and the late nights.

And through it all, you felt a strange kind of peace. Because despite everything, he was still by your side.

It was one of those evenings when you decided to visit Taehyung’s studio for the first time. Eight months pregnant, carrying the weight of the life growing inside you. You’d packed a bag with his favorite food, and a little extra for Jungkook and the other interns who stayed late working alongside him. You weren’t sure how he’d react, the thought of showing up unannounced made your heart flutter.

The soft glow from the studio windows spilled onto the quiet street as you approached, your steps slower but steady. Inside, music hummed low, and faint voices buzzed with creativity.

When Taehyung looked up and saw you standing there, a careful smile spread across his face, mixed with surprise and relief.

“You’re here.” He said quietly, his eyes flicking down to your rounded belly for a moment before meeting yours again.

You smiled, placing the bag carefully on the cluttered table, aware of your shifting weight. “Thought you and the guys might want some dinner. Figured you’d be too busy to take a break.”

His gaze softened. “You didn’t have to come all this way.”

“I wanted to.” Your voice was steady, but the ache of tiredness tugged at your limbs. Still, being here felt right.

Taehyung gestured toward the others. Jungkook and a couple of interns looked up, faces lighting at the unexpected surprise.

“Come sit." He said gently, stepping closer to help steady you when you shifted. The small contact sent a warmth through you.

You eased onto the worn couch, the familiar weight of your belly a constant reminder of the life soon to arrive. Watching him move between the soundboard and unpacking the food, you felt the distance between you shrink.

Between bites and music, you caught the spark in Taehyung’s eyes—the passion for his work with Jungkook and the team. Despite the long hours and late nights, he seemed grounded, more present than ever.

Later, as the studio grew quiet and the others left, Taehyung approached you with a tenderness that made your chest ache.

“I didn’t expect this. You coming here, bringing all this… it means a lot,” he said, his voice low but steady.

You reached out, your hand resting lightly on his. “It's okay... I wanted to."

He looked down at your hand, then up to your face, eyes shining.

For a moment, the room held its breath. Past mistakes and uncertain futures hanging quietly between you, but softened by the promise of what could still be.

You knew you couldn’t stay forever. The night was growing late, and the walk home, while short, felt important. You didn’t want to leave just yet. Not without him.

“I’ll wait for you to finish up.” You said softly.

“We can walk home together.”

He hesitated, then nodded, relief flickering in his eyes. He worked a little slower, taking his time, the music now background noise to the quiet understanding between you.

Taehyung's POV:

Taehyung slipped your hands into the pockets of his jacket as you walked side by side through the cold night. He could feel your fingers trembling slightly, and it made his chest tighten. Wanting to protect you from more than just the chill. Every careful step you took, weighed down by the life growing inside you, made him ache with a mix of love and guilt.

You didn’t say much on the way home. But the silence wasn’t empty. It was thick with everything unspoken. And he kept walking, trying not to look at you too long, because every time he did, it reminded him of how much he still loved you.

How he never stopped.

You reached the apartment, and he moved ahead slightly to open the door, holding it for you. You nodded in thanks but didn’t speak, stepping inside slowly. He watched your hand resting instinctively on your belly. You looked tired. Worn down in that quiet, enduring way that made him admire you even more. Still standing and still moving forward.

He hesitated just a second, his hand brushing the edge of the doorway, before he turned to go. He was about to say goodnight. The same as he always did. Same distance. Same routine. He was trying to respect your space, to not confuse things more than he already had.

But just as he took a step back, he felt your hand.

You grabbed his arm.

It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t planned. Your fingers curled softly around the sleeve of his hoodie, right where his heart was beating too fast beneath it. He froze.

And when he turned, your eyes met his, and for the first time in a long time, you let him see it all.

The fear.

The hope.

The part of you that still wanted to believe in him.

“I don’t… I don’t want to be alone tonight.” You whispered, your voice barely there.

Taehyung swallowed hard, throat tightening as he tried to breathe through the rush of emotion hitting him.

“You deserve someone who chooses you fully.” He said, his voice low, hoarse. “Not someone who’s just trying to make up for everything he messed up.”

You blinked, but didn’t look away.

“I’ve already made too many mistakes.” Taehyung said. To him, it sounded like he just confessed.

“I’m the one who made the mistakes. You’ve been the one surviving them.” He continued.

You blinked, but your hand didn’t let go. It stayed there, gripping the sleeve of his hoodie like it was the only steady thing in your world right now.

“I never wanted perfect." You whispered.

“I just wanted honest. Effort. Respect. I wanted to feel like I wasn’t second.”

And those words. Those honest, raw, and shaking words hit him harder than any fight ever had.

“I know." He said.

“I was selfish. I told myself I’d change, but I never made it last long enough to mean anything.”

You looked at him for a long moment. Then stepped in. Closer. Close enough that your chest almost brushed his. Your belly, full with the baby, pressed lightly against him. And he didn’t move. He couldn’t. His breath caught as you looked up at him.

“I don’t know what this means." You said, voice trembling. “But I don’t want to keep pretending like I don’t still feel something.”

His chest clenched.

Neither of you moved for a while. Just there, stuck in a moment where maybe not all was lost.

And for the first time, Taehyung let himself believe that even after everything he broke, you were still willing to try.

And what he left unsaid and couldn’t admit, was that getting involved with Jisoo had been his biggest mistake.

The boys didn’t know.

You didn’t know.

Only he and the guilt did, and even now, saying all the right things. A part of him felt like he didn’t deserve to stay. Like being a good father meant stepping away before he made things worse.

But you?

You stood there, quietly trying not to break.

Because no matter how practical his words were… they still hurt.

[tinybeesblog]

I dreamt I was held in the hand of a giant. I couldn’t see their face or many features, but I could tell they were watching me and I could tell I was loved.

[oncamelliastreet]

it’s so concerning how obsessed people online are with celebrities relationships. the same people who say “they don’t know you and wouldn’t want you” when you stick up for a celebrity who’s done nothing wrong proceeds to drag a man they DONT know and will NEVER know based on RUMORS like we’re in HIGH SCHOOL and proceed to drag his looks like that is ever a good place to go.

[redheadbigshoes]

I will never understand people who have a choice (so they have chances, options, and it’s safe) to be in a real life relationship choosing an online relationship (with very few chances to meet irl) over a real life one 😬

[freakalot]

gojo hates condoms ☆

not even in an ‘i can’t feel a thing’ frat-fuck way either. he just wants to be close to you. he’s touch starved as it is and being inside of you is quite literally the closet he can be to you. why would he want a barrier between his achy length and your silken walls?

he hates condoms. hates them like they’re pointing south on his moral compass. hates them like they hurt to use—which they do, in a way—the mental anguish feels real to him, at least. he picks up a fuss in the grocery store when you pull a pack of ribbed condoms from the shelf to try because why would you seek pleasure from artificial ridges when the protruding veins of his cock would feel just as good if not dressed in a condom?

sometimes he eats you out for twice as long as usual to get you really fucked out and dumb. he’ll make you cum hard and fast and so much that your mind is a mess in the hopes that you’ll forget all about your safety precautions and let him feel you from the inside out. but you always catch on. with a tsk and a finger pointed to the draw where he keeps the horrid things out of sight.

so when you let him fuck you raw for the first time, gojo is reeling. it’s on the condition that he promises to pull out, and promise he does—with a pinky finger hooked around yours and his lips to his thumb—he promises to pull out.

he decides on missionary, because as much as he loves the hundred different positions he knows how to wrangle you into, he wants to connect with you. to make love, not fuck.

and even your wetness against his tip is enough to jolt his stomach downwards. collecting your glossing over his angry head as he rubs himself up and down your folds—he would cum just like this if he wasn’t so stuck on feeling all of you. you’re warm and wet and tight as he pushes against your entrance and oh god he’s going to cum already.

“oh,” he stills, eyes deadset on yours as he slides into you. his tip is rubbing against that spot that makes your back arch upwards and it takes everything in you not to laugh at the distraught look on his face as he says “i have to pull out.”

“you’re joking, right?”

“i really wish i was baby,” he looks pained. he’s never felt something so heavenly and ungodly at the same time. he wants to do bad things, to fuck you into the mattress and breed you full of himself until you’re too weak to care about the aftermath of such recklessness. “i can’t pull out.”

“what?” you laugh, his balls tighten at the sound.

“if i move—” satoru has never looked so serious, “—i will cum. this was a bad idea. why would you let me do this?”

“you’re the one always—”

“actually don’t argue with me, you know what it does to me.” he squeezes his eyes shut and focuses on anything other then the way you feel around him. he does math in his head, thinks about the people he’s killed, how much he loves you… how pretty you look right now… growing old with you.

“i swear you’re getting harder inside of—”

“imsorryiloveyoubutpleasebequietorelseyouaregoingtogetpregnant.”

it takes him a minute of mental gymnastics to feel confident enough to start slowly sliding out of you, but all hope dies when the heel of your foot presses against his ass and with a smile made of sin you pull him deeper inside of you.

he opens his mouth to protest, to tell you he is not joking and all that comes out is a beautiful strangled moan that makes you tighten around him. for a man who claims to be the strongest he is rather weak-willed when it comes to your pussy. he needs to cum so hard that it hurts, but a fear of maybe ruining your life and relationship digs his teeth into his bottom lip.

“don’t do this to me,” he whines.

but you’re smiling. you’re so tight and wet and beautiful and everything he’s ever dreamt of having and holding and you’re smiling. “satoru,” you say, and he’s weak. “cum inside.”

anything for you. it’s gorgeous: the way he lets loose, falling forward to press all his weight into you as he groans and his balls release in hot spurts that you can feel painting your insides white. it’s the connection, the intimacy, the tears that prick at his eyes.

and he doesn’t pull out. no, he presses his hips forward to fuck his cum as deep into you as he possibly can and he vows to throw out every condom in the goddamn house.

god he hates condoms.

part 2

[enrapture]

In life I’ve always been considered misunderstood, no matter my good intentions no matter my genuine feelings, my flaws, my mistakes, etc… I’m always picked apart by people thinking they know me when they don’t. And I know not everyone will like you and that’s fine it’s life it is what it is but you’d think people would want to get their facts straight before just running their mouth. But all in all, at the end of the day it shows their character just as much as it shows my own.

[k-hotchoisan]

backseat serenade

<mingi x fem!reader>

Getting stuck in the backseat of your friend’s car after a night out with your drunk friends wasn’t how you thought of ending the night, especially not on Mingi’s lap.

Genre/warnings: smut, pwp, forced proximity, technically exhibitionism but not because no one ends up noticing, fingering, light choking and wrist pining, riding, cream pies, orgasms, something is going on in the backseat…, furcoat mingi

word count: 3.3K (what the fucK)

a/n: y'all be eating fucking good fr. Also shout out to my loml @bro-atz for helping out with the plot a little <3 shout out to mingi brain rot!

taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie  @pre1ttyies @hwallazia @songmingisthighs @yeosangiess  @woojirang @mylovelymito @softwsan @yourlocaljonghoe @itza-meee @jeon-ify @itza-meee @miss-fallon @hwallazia @bunnyluvr25 @eggyboy5 @hourswithoutyou @iwishiwasthemoontonight @yunhogrippers @watermelon2319 @vampiregirl215 @kibs-and-bits @s-h-y-a @liyahbug05-blog @luvt0kki @httpseungmxn  @voicesinmyhead-rc @woojirang @wlv-asteria @jjoongstar @comicnerd557 or @kpopwrites @vic0921

networks: @atzhouse @cultofdionysusnet @cromernet

“Who else is here?” You ask. 

She shrugs. “My boyfriend and a couple of his friends. You know them.” Well, you’ve definitely met a couple of your friend’s boyfriend’s friends before. Your eyes scan the crowd and sure enough, you spot familiar faces. 

And then your eyes rest on a particular male—his hair dyed platinum and slicked back, already drawing attention because of his height alongside his fur coat that hung over his shoulders. You never thought someone could pull off a fur coat that well actually. A pair of glasses sits on his nose bridge, which seems to somehow accentuate how sharp his eyes are. He’s been on your radar since he appeared on a mutual friend’s Instagram. 

“He’s pretty cute isn’t he?”, your friend’s date pushes, lightly bumping his arm against yours. 

You cast him a glance. “Just surprised that there are people who still wear fur coats in this economy.”

“That’s-“

“Song Mingi”, you reply, not taking notice of your friend’s boyfriend’s surprised expression. 

“You know him?”

“Came across him”, you reply a little too quickly. You sure as hell were not about to spill the truth. 

He definitely looks and is intimidating for sure, especially when he opens his mouth to speak, his voice so low that it tickles your ears. You could hear him talk forever, you think. You could imagine how he moans in your ears.

You blink. The fuck?

And so, for the past hour or so, you’ve been stealing glances at the blond male, but unfortunately, there was only so much staring could do, and it was not helping you get the male’s attention. Sure, the both of you actually followed each other (you were surprised when he followed you back), and the way he liked your stories sometimes made your stomach grow butterflies, but you never actually interacted with him in real life. 

It wasn’t until the party was slowing down, when you came back from being distracted by another friend, was when you realise Mingi was gone. A ping of disappointment fills you up, but it’s not as horrendous as the feeling of regret—for not just going up to talk to him. You wonder when you’ll see him again.

You decide to find your friend and call it a night.

“Do you wanna hitch a ride with us?”, your friend asks, uselessly trying to balance herself, her partner holding onto her waist. 

“The driver didn’t drink, I promise”, your friend’s partner assures. 

You open the car door and your eyes widen when you spot Mingi. 

You whip your head to your friend to ask her sincewhen Mingi came with the friend group but you realise you wouldn’t be getting any concrete answers from a tipsy person. 

You glance back at the male donned in the maroon fur coat, who seems rather surprised when he sees that you were the one who opened the car door. 

But Mingi’s expression remains indifferent—god knows what he’s thinking about but you swore you saw a tint of something in his eyes when your friends told you to just sit on his lap because “the car had no space”. 

“Hi, y/n”, Mingi’s deep voice calling your name is kept in a bottle and stored at the back of your head. 

“Hey Mingi”, you greet back, cautiously approaching him. 

“Are you okay with this?” You ask, testing the waters by putting your weight on his left thigh. 

“It’s fine. I’m just worried that it’s gonna be uncomfortable for you since it’s gonna take a while to reach your place right?”

Right. You nod in defeat. 

Your body jolts slightly when you feel Mingi’s touch burn against your skin—especially your thighs. 

His friend on the passenger seat has the aux cord and he’s picked out a song to blast in the speakers. You feel goosebumps bloom across the nape of your neck when Mingi’s voice hits your ear from behind. 

“Sorry, you might need to move in a little more, Princess. We have three more squeezing with us at the back.”

You blink, processing the information before internally thanking the universe that the car is dark so the red flushing against your cheeks gets hidden. 

Soon you find yourself fully on Mingi’s lap, and although you try not to lean too much against him, you realise the position feels awkward, and when Mingi personally shifts you with his hands instead, you decide to stay put. 

The energy in the car is high, even after all that partying, which you easily deduce to be due to the alcohol. Unfortunately, you couldn’t be singing along at the top of your lungs, not when you’re subconsciously aware that Mingi is just behind you. 

Sitting on someone’s lap was definitely not as comfortable as sitting on a car seat, and that was a given, so you find yourself shifting constantly, not realising Mingi closing his fists every time your ass shifts against him, particularly his crotch. 

Suddenly you feel the weight below you shift. Mingi’s arm wraps around your waist, his weight pressing against you. You stay put the moment you feel his lips barely inches away from the shell of your ear. 

“I strongly suggest you try to stay still, y/n, or it’ll become a problem for the both of us.” 

You turn your head slightly, barely enough to capture him within your peripherals. At first, you wonder if you’re starting to annoy him, but when you feel his hands slide down to your thighs and something hard pressing against your ass, you get your answer. 

And you wonder how far you should take this. 

Your face is heating up, at the idea you’re just sitting on Mingi’s thick erection, separated by the fabric of his pants and the ridiculously thin fabric of your body con dress. You wonder about his size, which only gets more vivid since you’re literally sitting right on his fucking cock—how thick he would be, how much he would stretch you open, and it’s making you slowly drench your panties. 

The more his erection is blatantly pressing against you, the more you can’t help but fidget on his lap. You’re wondering why Mingi hasn’t said anything, you wonder if he even felt it at all. The moment that thought forms in your brain, you pick out what sounded like low groans from behind you. Then you feel Mingi’s fingers press against your bare thighs, just this fucking close to lifting your dress. 

Mingi shifts against you, his hard cock now even more prominent against your ass—directly below your pussy if it wasn’t for the fact that there were layers of annoying fabric keeping them apart. 

His deep voice is like a melody in your ear,  “I’m closing an eye if you’re just doing this on accident, but there’s only so much more grinding I can take princess.”

You glance over to the company seated just right beside you—they are still singing their hearts out thanks to the self-assigned DJ of the car. The music was still blasting, and you realise you and Mingi are slowly forming another world—one growing of hot and heavy air. 

You’re trying to weigh your options and risks, but the constant friction of Mingi’s cock just poking you through his pants mixed with the light buzz from the alcohol earlier is keeping you less than logical. 

You lean back, the back of your head resting on his shoulder, feeling the thick coat tickle your cheeks, taking in the scent of his cologne that you swear only he could pull off, the boldness rushing into your veins like adrenaline.

“And if I said it wasn’t an accident?”

You don’t know what he might do next, but it’s making your legs tremble by the second. Your clit is fucking throbbing from the sheer anticipation. 

Mingi’s eyes dart to glance at you while his head remains positioned straight, before he presses himself onto you with a smirk against your ears, “Right. Glad we cleared that up, princess.” 

His hands press on the sides of your throat, two fingers tipping your jaw to turn your head to face him as he clashes his lips against yours, and you’re ready for him to just take whatever the fuck you have left. You’re doing your best to muffle your moans through the kisses, but as every second passes, you’re ready to give into it—mostly scream his fucking name into the night at this point. 

Your eyes are so glazed out, your pussy throbbing and drenched, your mind so sexually frustrated the more Mingi keeps you waiting. Mingi’s fingers trail along your bare thighs, his legs forcing yours to stay open, easily letting the gather of your dress push upwards, while his fingers push your panties to the side. You hear him mutter fuck when your wet cunt drenches his fingers. He barely drags his fingers over your clit, yet you already feel like you’re about to burst. 

“Are you gonna be a good girl and stay quiet for me?” Mingi asks, sinking his gaze into yours. You swallow hard and nod, so fucking entranced by his sharp eyes behind the glasses, and alongside the fact that his fingers are rubbing circles on your clit. 

“Fuck me. You’re so fucking wet for me”, he hisses, eating up your moans as he fits his thick fingers into your pussy, filling you up instantly. Oh god. You feel your mind completely blank out at the sensation of Song Mingi stretching you out. 

You swear that the wet sounds of Mingi’s fingers fucking your sopping cunt were louder than the music, but for some reason, and thank fuck, no one else seemed to notice. Yet. 

His other hand clasps over your mouth as he watches your eyes roll back, your desperate and satisfied moans muffled every time his thumb presses against your clit while his fingers fill you up again and again. 

You shouldn’t have agreed to stay quiet. 

Mingi’s legs are strong as fuck because his knees keep your legs from snapping shut as you let the feeling build in your stomach. Your hips are involuntarily bucking against his fingers, craving for him to fuck his fingers deeper. Shit. You can’t seem to get enough. He releases his hand off your mouth for a while, letting it wander to your tits, rolling your nipples over your dress with his fingers, listening to you pant and whimper.  

“Can’t wait to fuck your tight cunt once we get off”, he mutters into your ear, increasing his pressure on your clit. 

“Please… fuck! Mingi…” you trail, not even sure what you’re begging for at this point. But the knot tightens hard and taut. You’re about to snap anytime soon. 

“Cum on my fingers for me, y/n. Show me how your cunt is gonna feel like when my cock is gonna stuff you full.”

His hand goes back to clamping over your mouth to muffle your cries while your orgasm rips through your body. Your eyes roll back, and your back arched against his abdomen, the pleasure spreading through every nerve while he’s still fucking you with his fingers, enjoying the way you’re completely undone because of him. Your cunt can’t seem to stop spasming and it’s only from his fucking fingers. 

But it slowly wears off, and he releases his hand from your mouth, letting you catch your breath. 

His fingers slowly leave your spent and creamy cunt, and for a split second, you’re almost disappointed. You turn your head, watching Mingi slide his stained fingers past his lips, licking them clean, and his eyes locked onto you. 

“You taste so fucking good, Princess”, he whispers, before his hands are on your throat again, pulling you in for a wet kiss, and you taste yourself on his tongue, your face heating up at his words once more. 

The split second you pull away from him is when the music stops, and you hear your name being called.

“Y/n!”

Your eyes widen, and Mingi lowers his knees, letting you quickly shut your legs, letting his arm rest close to your legs, blocked by his fur coat. Thank fuck you’re in the dark. 

“This is your stop right?” Your friend asks before she turns on the interior car lights. You glance at the apartment building and sure enough, it is your apartment building. 

“Right”, you manage to answer with a forced smile. 

And as you are about to leave the car, Mingi suddenly announces, “I’ll send her up. Don’t wait for me.” He takes off his fur coat, draping it over your shoulders, quickly turning away as he pushes the car door open, ignoring the suggestive looks his group of friends were giving him before curtly saying his goodbyes and shutting the car door. 

Mingi is pretty much gentle with you as the both of you head up to your apartment, asking if you’re feeling cold, even though he’s only in a black tank top. You can’t help but gawk at how he looks even under shitty elevator lights—still so fucking hot. His fingers haven’t let go of yours yet since the both of you left the car, and he sure isn’t letting you go when the both of you reach to the door of your apartment. 

You feel so ridiculous in this oversized fur coat, but the fact that Mingi’s smell is just all over it makes you turn a blind eye to it. 

You unlock the door, pushing it open, the post nut clarity hitting, but the realisation of Mingi in a private space with you sending you mind into the gutter. 

And suddenly you feel your cunt throb again. Fuckin hell. 

“Cute place you have there”, he comments, slipping his shoes off. 

“I try to make the most out of it”, you return, taking off the fur coat, handing it back to him. 

Mingi pauses, staying near the door.

“I got no clue why I left the car like that, y/n. If you want me to leave, I can just call a cab and-“ 

His mouth runs, watching the way you’re walking towards him, and his lips snap shut when you pull him in for an open mouth kiss, his thoughts completely disappearing like they never existed. 

“Finish what you started, Minki”, you whisper when you pull away. 

For once, you like the way red looks on his pretty face, the red that disappears when he catches on, eye fucking you while thinking how fucking hot you look under normal apartment lights than the dim lights. 

His hands cup the back of your neck before his fingers are on your scalp, tugging your hair to face him, letting his lips collide with yours. You taste him so much more intensely now, and fuck does he taste like heaven. 

You feel his hands leave your head, going for your wrists instead, and he backs you up against the wall, deciding to pin your fucking wrists against the wall while stealing all of the oxygen you have left in between pants. 

His fingers trail down so lightly across your skin, you feel like you’re about to combust. 

“Is the couch fine for you?” He asks. You nod, just internally begging him to do anything to you. 

His hands slip down to your thighs, carrying you up in his arms, kissing and sucking against the skin of your neck while he navigates through your apartment. When he does find the couch (rather quickly), he lets you fall onto it, watching the way your dress rides up higher to your hips, your soaked panties coming into view, and his cock growing hard once more. 

“You know, you’re honestly killing me with that dress”, Mingi comments, his fingers tugging off your drenched panties, almost salivating over your glistening cunt. “Had to hold back from just pulling you out and fucking you.”

Oh, fucking gods. 

“That’s why we’re here now, aren’t we?” You tease, watching his satisfied grin grow bigger. 

You can’t wait for him to fuck your brains out. 

Mingi squats, letting his face press against your bare cunt, giving licks up, his tongue pressing against your clit while holding your legs apart. He thinks your whimpers and begs are like a fucking symphony—and he could listen to them over and over again while he breaks you, over and over again. 

It doesn’t last long, unfortunately, because he feels like he’s about to burst the longer he waits, his cock bulging against the fabric of his pants. 

So Mingi unbuckles his pants, pushing them down along with his underwear, his thick and long cock springs from his apparel, wet and decorated in thick precum. He gives himself quick strokes, amused by the way your face is turning a soft shade of pink. 

His thick fingers once again hold your wrists above you, lining his cock up to your pretty hole and pushing himself in, his girth taking up all space instantly. You see stars splatter beneath your eyelids as his cock stretches you out—thick and heavy. 

“Fuck. Song Mingi-“ you cry out, struggling against his grasp. 

“So fuckin tight, princess. Fuck, you feel so fucking good”, he sighs, letting himself bottom out in you, relishing in the way your face completely contorts into pleasure when he’s fully seated in you. 

And when he starts fucking you, your eyes roll back—the feeling of his cock pumping in and out of you switching off most of your senses. 

You sense his arms pining your wrists are growing tired, so you do your best to tap his arm, and Mingi lets go, watching you slide his wrist down to your throat. 

You sure know how to push his buttons. 

He applies pressure and it hits all the perfect spots. A choked moan escapes you while he fucks you dumb. 

“I’d love to choke you more, princess, but I really need you to ride me right now”, Mingi whispers, his fingers leaving your throat, and he pulls his cock out. 

You climb onto his lap, lining his cock before you push yourself down, his fullness knocking the wind out of you once more. 

“Are you gonna take all of my cum like a good girl?” He hums, wiping away the tears from your eyes. You nod weakly, biting your lip. 

“That’s my good girl”, he compliments, and it makes your heart fucking soar. Mingi bounces you on his cock, groaning at the way you’re squeezing around him. “Fuck, squeeze me just like that. God, your pussy feels so fucking amazing, princess.”

“Mingi, I’m so close. Oh fuck I’m gonna-“

Mingi only holds your thighs down, watching you shake, feeling your cunt just clenching down and flutter on his cock, cream seeping down his shaft, and he groans in your ear, keeping himself deep in your pussy, his thick cum flooding into your tight cunt, listening to you curse while he forces you to ride out your high. 

“So fucking good. Mingi…” you mutter through tears and hiccup, letting Mingi kiss your tears before he slowly pulls his wet cock out of you, satisfied at the way his cum slowly trickles out of you while you catch your breath. 

Mingi waits for your mind to slowly clear, and you climb off him, but your fingers stay interlocked with his. 

“We can wash up and order food if you want”, you say, trying to avoid the fact that you’re still flushing slightly considering Song Mingi made a wreck out of you. 

But he pulls you along with him. 

“An invitation to shower together? I’ll gladly fuckin take it, princess.”

[justatypicalwizard]

Bakugo who eats you out because he lost a bet, smut

It all started with a bet. It was this specific chaotic type of bet that you throw over your shoulder when agitated. The one that comes pistoling out of your lips as soon as it comes to your mind, or even earlier, a fog of war limits your common sense.

This was often the case with Katsuki Bakugo who was world widely known as the most annoying person on earth.

Okay, maybe he stood on this podium only in your world (others deemed Denki as the most insufferable) but it was enough to fire the never ending quarrels.

The two of you were similar in many senses, none of which would ever admit. Despite you being way less aggressive, you had your ways of getting under other peoples’ skin when displeased. You had this fighting spirit and competitive nature that could tune well with Katsuki’s. Unfortunately it most often sang off-key.

It was hard to tell what he thought about you. On one hand you’d say he definitely disliked you, to some point maybe? If he did dislike you he wouldn’t keep you around the small circle of his friends. Katsuki proved that he could push away anyone he wished to, no matter the circumstances. That’s what happened with Deku.

So Katsuki Bakugo disliked the fact that he liked you. Or he liked to dislike you. Either way you fought, ebbed and always surged back. Oh, and bets?

I bet you won’t even make it halfway before the time is up. He throws when he passes you down the hallway, spotting you bending your back over a book, minutes before the exam.

I bet your lovely friend will come looking for you soon. You snicker leaving him in the kitchen of the house party you’re both at. He’s currently hiding from a bimbo who really tries to ask him out and doesn’t take no for an answer.

I bet your mum dropped you when you were little.

I bet Miruko will kick your ass over this.

I bet they’ll send this essay back. It’s shit.

I bet it’ll die in this sunlight.

“Huh.” He knit his brows together, throwing you a nasty look. “Old hag didn’t say anything. It looks like it needs light.”

You were currently in his dorm room, analysing a small plant his mother left him. It was tiny, in a small ceramic pot, with three juicy green leaves poking out of the fresh soil.

“Well, I bet it’ll die if you put it in this sun.” You threw, shrugging your shoulders.

“Okay. If I win you’ll shut the fuck up for a single day around me. No words, not even a squeak.”

With the eye of your imagination you could see Katsuki pestering you for a whole day while you’d be unable to fire back. Yet, you had nothing to worry about. The little dude on the windowsill will bear three of four days before wittering. It’s the type that needs more shade.

“Fine. And if I win you can eat my ass.”

He chuckled, throwing a not happening over his shoulder before ushering you to work you both had to do.

A week later you were back in his room. It was a pleasant place to work in - clean, quiet, and always stocked with tea and coffee. Unlike you, Katsuki had the luxury of a single room which always soured your mood when he rubbed it in your face.

You were resting in his desk chair, legs crossed and organising a bunch of sources you were about to use later in your dissertation. It was the least pleasant part of writing essays. Finding academic sources in the library or browsing for them on the internet was not half bad. One could get in the swing of it after some time. And it made you feel like a real student all book heavy bags in a spacious bibliotheca.

Organising them later though? A pain in the ass.

“-by the way.” You caught only the ending of his sentence.

“Huh?” Turning around you spotten Katsuki looking at something in the far end of his room.

There was a closet there, one that didn’t quite reach the ceiling but was massive in shape. Atop of it sat the little dude in his sweet ceramic pot. Unfortunately all that was left of his three juicy leaves was one stem fighting for its life.

You clapped your hands in satisfaction, cracking a victorious laugh.

“Told you.” Fake wiping a tear from your cheek, you turned back to the desk and searched for the box you were about to tick off the long list. “Give it some more water and time. It will be fine.”

“So.” You felt him standing behind you. His shadow disrupted your writing.

“So?” Once again you turned around in his chair, cocking your brow in question.

“You won.” He crossed his arms, tapping his foot on the soft carpet in irritation.

You nodded your head with a grin but still ruffled. “Yes, and?”

“And you told me I can eat your ass.”

“Oh yeah, stuff your stupid mouth full.” You laughed but he yanked you by the arm, standing you up.

He dropped to his knees, pushing your bottom into the rim of his desk. With a shit eating grin he slipped his fingers into the sides of your trousers, grazing the bare skin of your hips underneath them.

“What the fuck dude?” You cursed, grabbing his forehead like the one of a misbehaved dog, trying to pacify him.

“Tell me to stop and I will.” The grin never left his face as he waited for your words, digging his nails into your skin.

It would be a lie to say that you never ever thought of him that way. Of course he was pretty, with his naturally fair hair that gave him a punk kind of look. With his body carved out like a marble statue. With a grin that made people both want to slap him and fawn over him.

Yes, it did cross your mind that he would be a pleasant view in the bed. Who with a sound mind wouldn’t think of that. Maybe people who weren’t attracted to-

No, it was a normal thought to have, one that may occur when you’re alone under the shower or in bed. You just often appreciate the beauty of your friends. Mina’s also cute and Kirishima is bulked as hell. It was a rational train of thoughts.

So why wasn’t your rational mind telling your hand to push him away just now? Why were you looking at his face, so close to your clothed cunt and feeling excitement bubble in your veins.

Tell me to stop and I will.

And you never did. So he pushed you to sit on the desk, pulling both your trousers and pants down at the same time. You kicked the air a few times to get rid of them but they hung from one of your ankles. It didn’t matter because his face was at its place. God bless you showered before coming here because you could have second thoughts otherwise.

“Okay, whatever the fuck you want, psycho.” You breathed as he lapped at your clit, still looking up at you.

His fingers creeped towards the inner side of your tight and you slapped him over the head.

“Uh, uh. I told you you could eat me out, not finger me. Yesterday you didn’t seem like the one to take shortcuts.” You spat, drinking up his frustration and slight… shame? Like a kid who did something wrong and got caught red handed.

“Fine.” He muttered pushing his tongue inside you. “It won’t take long anyway.” The grin was back on his face.

It indeed didn’t take long as soon, your legs were shutting tightly around his face. You weren’t even looking down anymore, the sight was a turn on but you were already overdriven. Your competitive nature was in a bliss and your head played fucking Katsuki Bakugo, on his fucking knees, between my fucking legs over and over like a broken record. You didn’t want to spoil your fun by thinking he may be having a  merrier time than you.

Not now, not when you’re so close and his palms are grabbing your tights, fingers digging into your muscles so much it would hurt if not the tension. Edging your release, you grabbed his hair in a tight fist pushing him in more, crossing your legs like it would take an “open, sesame!” to undo them.

At last, with a final short breath you came chuckling and moaning. A Katsuki may have slipped past your lips but only once.

He tore your legs open, panting like he just finished a marathon. Looking down you covered your lips to hide the laugh. His face was wet, smeared all over with what was a mixture of you both. His cheeks were heavy with blood, an intense red cutting out on his pale face. Classically, his brows were knit together.

“Did you have to make such a mess?” The blonde stood up and went to his bathroom. You caught a glimpse of the bulge in his pants.

The sound of the faucet reached your ears.

“I’m not gonna say sorry. You asked for it.” And you were pretty good at it. No. Such praise would kill your ego.

The water stopped running and you heard him stomp back. You pulled your trousers on quickly, suddenly feeling awfully naked. What would happen now? Your casual friend just ate your pussy like it was his last meal before a death sentence, and you were supposed to go back to organising the sources.

You felt a hard push to the back of your head.

“Stop thinking about it and get back out.”

Eh?!

Time went on quickly and in a weird manner. A huge something was in the air but you couldn’t find a way to bring the topic up. Why did you eat my pussy out of the blue? Was it really just about the bet? Were you feeling horny and I just so happened to be there? Are we fwb now? Do you like me?

Scratch the last one. The man gave you a headache ever since his own head left your tights. Also, he was nowhere to be found. Katsuki didn’t respond to texts, he was absent from the gym during his usual hours, and his dorm room was closed. You couldn’t just go to Kirishima and say: hey, I’m trying to figure out why Katsuki gave me head, wanna help?

The moment you run into his fleeting ass, you're gonna squeeze out the answer.

An opportunity came soon when you spotted him sneaking into the laundry room. It was a cramped space with washing machines and dryers. Fortunately, you had little thieves around dorms so people usually left their washing while it was in progress. There was a big chance you’d be alone.

Running to the door you yanked them open and rushed inside. Indeed, it was only him crouched to the lowest washing machine, putting mostly black clothes inside.

“You’re here for round two?” He smirked and you gasped.

It took you by surprise, you expected yelling or awkwardness. Nevermind. You shook off your initial stumble.

“Can you explain what the fuck do you mean by all this?” You gestured in the air as if all this was a laundry basket and an empty bottle of washing liquid scattered on the floor.

Katsuki hummed, shrugging his shoulders. He dropped the halfway loaded laundry on the floor and crawled closer to you, gripping your hips in a familiar manner. This time, you were wearing a skirt. Your back hit the door.

“Tell me to stop and I’ll stop.” It fell from his lips as if he was asking whether you want vanilla or chocolate ice-cream.

Your mind ran in circles like a hamster in its ball. Start a fuss and possibly fight with Katsuki or let him do his thing and cum? Uhh.

He took your panties off completely, throwing them into his washing machine but left your skirt. Halfway in, when your chest was heaving and hips pushed further and further away from the door you heard a sound on the other side.

The doorknob shook and there was a mumble on the outside. You dug your feet into the ground and Katsuki put one of his hands to shut it closed. Yet, he didn’t stop what he was doing. Both of your palms also pushed into the thin wood making you unable to quiet the panting and loud gulps. You bit your lip and it would break if something wasn’t stuffed inside your mouth.

Taking a sharp breath through your nose, you smelled him. He stuffed your mouth with one of the shirts from his laundry. You threw him a dirty look from above to which he only smirked, going back down.

“It’s locked.” The muffled voice on the other side said.

“Maybe maintenance.” A different one answered.

When they were gone, you could finally cum, biting hard into Katsuki’s shirt. You steadied yourself on a drier afterwards while he wiped his mouth with a spare T-shirt before throwing all the leftover laundry inside the washing machine and starting it.

“My pants.” You breathed out, you were still coming back to earth.

“Ops.” He threw and with a single long stride, escaped the murder scene.

Your walk of shame in the short skirt, without panties on was long.

The third time you could talk to him happened only a day later.

You were studying with Kirishima, or more like tutoring him for free, in the library. Kirishima also had a single room in the dorms but his was far more trashy and you didn’t crave to spend time in that man cave. Instead you booked a private study room. It had a small round table, a few chairs and switches to plug in electric devices.

Halfway through your study Kirishima stated he needed to go to the bathroom. You nodded and the man left. Only after a minute did you hear the door open once more.

“A line in the mens’? Unbelievable.” You chuckled but upon looking up, you were met with a nasty grin.

“Kirishima told me you guys were studying.” He cornered you. “You know the deal.”

Katsuki slipped behind your chair as you whipped your head around to stop him. He placed both of his hands on your shoulders, surprisingly gentle.

“Just tell me to stop.”

Oh fuck you you pretty bastard. Is what you thought.

“Oh fuck you.” Is what you said and you wanted to add something but he pushed your upper half into the table simultaneously yanking the chair from under your butt.

It took a lick for your knees to get kinda soft and your morale to stumble between being a decent person or getting this unbelievably lucky chance for a third time.

“Can we at least do it after I finish with Kiri? I can come to your room as quickly as I am able to.” You whispered.

“Or you can call the dumbass and buy me a few minutes.” Katsuki muttered between your folds.

You cursed under your breath and grabbed your phone. Pick up, pick up, pick up, goddamn. Kirishima could be back any second. Although nothing terrible would happen if he came in on you, it would be embarrassing like hell. Finally, you heard his voice on the other side of the line.

“I’m just coming back, literally wait a second-”

“No!” You shouted into the device. “I mean.”

Katsuki seemed to slow down between your tights. Good, the bastard is not stupid and he cut you some slack this time.

“I’m sorry but I just really need a coffee, I thought you’d still be somewhere around the entrance.” You pieced together a makeshift excuse.

“I can go back. ‘Ts the least I can do for your help.” Kirishima laughed so genuinely it made you feel slightly bad for playing him like this.

“Yeah, uh, it really is boring like hell.” You laughed. The whole phone call made you unable to focus on Katsuki who was behind you and you really wanted to go back to minding him. “If I can be honest it would be lovely if you could bring me coffee from that cafe down and opposite of the library. You know which. I slept really bad and need their double espresso.” Kiri, please just say yes!

“Of course, anything for you.”

That sweetheart. Kirishima was really the perfect man, contrary to Katsuki who just now, at the very end of your call, decided to be an absolute asshole.

You felt two of his fingers push past your entrance and force your walls open. A breath got caught in your throat.

“Okay thanks, bye!” You smashed the end call button. “What the fuck are you do-”

But he was turning you around, lapping his tongue over your clit, moving his fingers in and out of your cunt all of which with closed eyes and a blissful look on his face. You gave in, because it felt so good.

After a while you finished all over his face, for the third time this week.

“I told you not to finger me.” You complained, dressing yourself in fear of Kirishima being too neat in his mission to get you coffee.

“I know and I didn’t like it. So I had to distract you.” He smirked, resting his hip on the table.

At that moment, Kirishima came inside with two paper cups, steam escaping the small opening in the lids.

“Oh, hi dude! I didn’t think you’d come here. I’d buy you coffee too.” Kirishima chirped.

“Forget about it, I was supposed to do something anyway. Just came in to say hi.” The blonde flicked his hand in the air. “Oh, and if you want-” He turned to you. “You can come to my room later and finish what we were talking about.” With that he slipped past the door leaving you with a grimace and Kirishima with a dumbfounded expression.

“What were you guys talking about?” The redhead asked.

“Nothing important, just about transplanting a small plant his mum gave him. I’ll help him later, he has already managed to nearly kill it.”

[ruloaapaul]

“YOU’RE NOT STUCK — YOU’RE JUST A LAZY PROCRASTINATING BITCH.” 🐆🥂🩶

so you wanna enter the void, manifest your dream life, get rich, be hot, and have people obsessing over you, BUT YOU CAN’T EVEN GET YOUR LAZY ASS TO DO THE WORK? be fucking for real. you’re out here acting like you have a real problem when, in reality, you’re just avoiding shit like a weak little dumbass.

ive noticed a pattern—y’all aren’t actually “struggling” with the void or manifestation. you’re struggling with your own laziness, your own excuses, and your own weak-ass discipline. and honey, if you don’t fix that, you’re gonna stay exactly where you are: broke, lost, and watching others live the life YOU could’ve had.

“WHY YOU PROCRASTINATE (and how to fix your dumbass behavior.)” 🪩

you keep telling yourself, “oh, I’ll do it tomorrow” or “i just need to be in the right mindset” BITCH, TOMORROW IS A LIE. you will NEVER feel “ready.” the motivation you’re waiting for? It doesn’t fucking exist. action comes BEFORE motivation. you don’t feel motivated THEN do the work. you do the work, THEN the motivation comes. you either force yourself to start, or you stay stuck like a dumbass.

** FIX IT: use the 3-second rule. the second you think about doing something, count down from 3…2…1… and just start.

“YOURE ADDICTED TO AVOIDANCE — BECAUSE YOURE WEAK AS FUCK.”

you “just can’t bring yourself” to do it? so what, bitch? do it anyway. your problem isn’t a lack of ability. it’s a lack of discipline. youre more comfortable avoiding things than actually fixing your life. WEAK BEHAVIOR. you’d rather scroll for hours and waste time than take 10 minutes to get your shit together. PATHETIC. you think avoiding the work makes life easier? NO, BITCH. IT MAKES IT HARDER. Now you’re stuck, overwhelmed, and hating yourself.

** FIX IT: use the 10-minute trick. tell yourself, “i’ll just do this for 10 minutes.” 10 minutes is nothing. but once you start? you’ll keep going.

“YOURE MAKING SHIT SEEM HARDER THAN IT REALLY IS.”

you “don’t know where to start”? oh, it “feels overwhelming”? BITCH, YOU’RE LYING TO YOURSELF. you’re making it seem like a big, scary process so you can justify not doing it. the void? lay down and shut up. THAT’S IT. manifestation? assume it’s done. move on.

** FIX IT: break shit down into small steps. instead of saying “i need to manifest the perfect life,” say, “i need to affirm for 5 minutes.”

“YOURE LETTING YOUR FEELINGS CONTROL YOU LIKE A WEAK BITCH.”

“but i don’t feel like it…” BITCH, NOBODY CARES. if you only do shit when you “feel like it,” congrats, you’re gonna stay a failure forever. successful people don’t wait to feel inspired. they get up and fucking do it ANYWAY. if you let your emotions control you, you are a SLAVE to your own weakness.

** FIX IT: when your brain says “i don’t feel like it”, respond with “i don’t give a fuck” and DO IT ANYWAY.

[luna-azzurra]

Ways I Write a Woman...

➤ Who’s Tired of Being Talked Over

You ever watch someone hold in a scream behind their teeth? That’s her, constantly.

✧ She starts choosing her words like landmines. Each one is sharp, controlled, and timed like a threat. She’s learned that being polite won’t get her listened to, but sounding like you might flip a table will. ✧ She’s mastered the art of the silence that feels loud. Doesn’t fill awkward gaps. Just lets the discomfort sit in the air like smoke. ✧ She explains things with forced calm, the kind that sounds like a teacher asking a second-grade class why the hamster is missing. ✧  She notices interruptions like bruises. She doesn’t react to them anymore, not out loud. But you can bet she counts them. ✧ She repeats herself less. Not because they understood her the first time. Because they never listened anyway. ✧ She’s learned how to weaponize eye contact. Not in a sexy way. In a “I will set this boardroom on fire with my mind” way. ✧ Her voice only shakes when she’s deciding if it’s worth the explosion.

➤ Who’s Been Called ‘Too Much’ Her Whole Life

She isn’t too much. She’s just tired of shrinking for people who were never going to make room anyway.

✧ She says the thing you’re not supposed to say. Then stares at you to see what you’ll do with it. ✧ She’s loud with her laugh, loud with her grief, loud with her love, because if she’s going to be punished for being “extra,” she might as well be honest about it. ✧ She over-explains. Over-apologizes. Then catches herself and stops halfway through the sentence. ✧  She tries to “tone it down” and ends up sounding like a censored version of herself, bland, miserable, unfinished. ✧ She edits her texts four times, deletes the paragraph, sends “haha ok :)” instead. ✧ She keeps her hands busy because otherwise they’d be doing something reckless. ✧  She overcompensates with sarcasm and then goes home and wonders if everyone hates her. ✧  She’s loved fiercely. Regretted it more fiercely. ✧  She walks into a room like she owns it, and then spends the entire time wondering if she should have stayed home.

➤ Who Wants to Be Soft but Doesn’t Feel Safe

She's gentle, but that gentleness lives under twenty layers of armor. And most people never even get past the first. ✧  She’s careful with her compliments, she knows how people weaponize kindness. ✧  She keeps her vulnerability behind locked doors and guards them with jokes, sarcasm, and “I’m just tired.” ✧ She’ll comfort others like she was born to do it, but flinch if someone offers her the same. ✧ She avoids mirrors on bad days. Eye contact on good ones. ✧ She cries where no one can see. Car bathrooms. Locked bedrooms. Grocery store parking lots at night. ✧ She doesn’t ask for help. Not because she doesn’t need it, but because the last time she did, it came with a price. ✧ She’s soft with animals, with children, with strangers, but not herself. Never herself. ✧ She daydreams about being taken care of, then immediately gets mad at herself for wanting something so “weak.” ✧ She wants love, but she’s terrified of being known. Because if someone really saw her? What if they didn’t stay?

And if you’re sitting there reading all of that thinking, “God, I don’t even know how to write women like this…” Please know: you’re not alone. Like, really not alone.

Writing female characters in a way that feels true, nuanced, and unapologetically real isn’t just about avoiding clichés. It’s about unlearning everything you were taught about what women are “supposed” to be on the page. It’s about getting underneath the polish. Past the performative strength. Past the “she’s not like other girls” and the “strong but broken” tropes. Past the idea that softness is weakness and rage is unlikable.

So many people struggle with this, not because they don’t care, but because no one ever really taught them how to see women as people first.

A lot of us grew up reading female characters written through a lens that flattened us. Made us background noise, love interests, plot devices, or emotionally bulletproof when we weren’t emotionally unstable. It’s no wonder we’re all trying to figure out how to do better now. I write a Book about How to Write Women that feel Alive... For you.

In the chapters ahead, we’re going to unravel that mess, together (Promise). We’ll talk about...

❥ Tropes — the ones worth reclaiming, and the ones you can toss into the fire. ❥ The psychology of a woman — how conditioning, survival, identity, and inner conflict shape her from the inside out. ❥ Female vs. male conflict — not in a “boys suck” way, but in a “our emotional battlegrounds are different and that matters” way. ❥ Expectations — society’s, her own, and how characters shrink or shatter under them. ❥ Emotions as strength — especially the ones she was taught to hide: fear, grief, longing, joy, rage. ❥ Female anger — what happens when she finally stops holding it in. ❥ Archetypes — and how to subvert them without erasing the truths they come from. ❥ Female friendships — no more cardboard “bestie” side characters. ❥ Romantic relationships — what it means when she’s finally seen. Chosen. Or rejected. ❥Mothers, daughters, and sisters — because female relationships deserve more than being backstory. ❥ Dialogue — how she speaks when she’s safe vs. when she’s scared. ❥ Inner conflict and development — her arc isn’t about fixing her. It’s about letting her evolve. ❥ Writing exercises — to help you get past the noise and write from a place that feels real. ❥ A full checklist for writing female OCs — layered, powerful, contradictory, alive.

This isn’t a rulebook. It’s a guide. A toolbox. A comfort blanket. A callout. A reminder that writing women doesn’t have to feel impossible, you just have to be willing to look a little deeper.

So if you’ve ever felt stuck writing a female character… If you’ve defaulted to tropes because you didn’t know how else to make her “interesting”… If you’ve erased her emotions to make her “strong”… Or if you’ve stared at the page wondering why she still doesn’t feel real...This book is for you.

And I promise, by the time you reach the last chapter? You’ll not only know how to write her. You’ll understand her. And maybe even see a little of yourself in the process.

Love u All!!🖤

[scorpiossslut]

OFF-LIMITS. -Rafe Cameron.

Pairing: best friend!rafe x fem!reader

summary: rafe has always been your sweet, loving best friend. until he showed you he’s way more than that.

author’s note: had a cute idea for a fic. hope you’ll enjoy. as always, this is filthy. -xoxo, cherry💋

warnings: possessive!rafe, borderline crazy, obsessive!rafe, mentions of violence, rafe being a perv in secret, mentions of JJ Maybank flirting with reader, choking, face slapping, rough, unprotected p!v, loss of virginity, praising, degradation, breeding kink (baby trapping)

Being Rafe's precious best friend meant that you were always going to get spoiled. Many women wished for the things he was constantly offering you; his undivided attention, his affection, random, huge amounts of money sent to your bank account everytime you'd tell him you had a bad day, or if you wanted to get your nails done, or go shopping, sometimes insisting he'd come along, protection, maybe a little too much of it at times, everything you could ever want.

You were the most important thing in his life, since he never really had much of a relationship with his family, all of them treating him like he was a disease, something to be avoided at all costs, only bringing pain and suffering to those around him, like they'd often tell him. But you never saw him that way, and you hated his family for pushing him away and hurting his feelings like that. You were always there for him, his biggest supporter, the only one who could calm him down when he'd come knocking on your window late at night after having a fight with his father, the one taking care of him and putting a smile on his face. And he loved you for that.

But being Rafe's precious best friend also meant that you were off-limits to everyone else. You knew he had a tendency of being rather... intense, when it comes to you. Shit, everyone knew it, too, always choosing to stay at an arm's length from you in fear of what Rafe might think. Ever since you two were kids, he was always protective of you, and he absolutely hated the idea of sharing you.

As you got older though, it got worse. You couldn't even talk to a boy without him pulling you away immediately, and if you did, he'd always make sure to claim you in some way, wrapping his strong hands around you, or placing his big hand on your ass "innocently", always throwing daggers with his eyes and making sure that whatever asshole was trying to talk to you could see that you were unavailable. That he wasn't playing about you. His pretty princess. He didn't like it when you'd hang out with Topper and Kelce either, but since they were his friends, and they definitely knew not to fuck with him, he let it slide. But only because most of the time, he was with you, never leaving your side and silently taking notes of every time one of them would get a bit too close or be too kind to you for his liking.

You never had a problem with it. Rafe always knew best. That's what he'd always tell you, and you never had a reason not to believe him. He always took care of you. Many people talked and raised eyebrows constantly around you, not believing even for a second that you two were just best friends. There was no way that was all.

To you, it was just white noise. You were so used to Rafe and his behaviour that you didn't bat an eye ever at the closeness between you. He was just Rafey, your beloved best friend.

But little did you know the lengths that he'd go through to make sure you stayed by his side. That you'd remain his. His little bunny, oblivious to the real reason he's always asking to see your phone, hiding his true intentions with the excuse of just “checking for something", or "playing music" or wanting to "take photos" of you, when the real reason was that he was going borderline crazy just thinking about you secretly talking to boys on there.

Oblivious to the real reason his knuckles were violently bruised once in a while, promising you that it was nothing, when in reality, he almost killed a few boys for talking about you or looking at you in a filthy way, or trying to spark a conversation with you.

Clueless about the way he was always watching you, even when you thought he wasn't around. Following you in secrecy, almost everytime you'd leave the house, just to make sure that you were safe and you weren't planning on seeing someone else behind his back.

Completely unaware of the way he'd steal a pair of your panties once a month, sometimes washed, but most of the time used, snatched right out of your laundry basket, just to fulfill his sick, filthy fantasies in the privacy of his room at night, when no one would be awake to hear his moans and your name slipping from his lips as he fisted his impossibly hard cock so fast that he was seeing stars.

He thought it was cute. How you never suspected anything, how blindly you trusted him. And he was fine with you not knowing just how obsessed he was, for a while.

However, his patience was starting to fade. With every pearly smile, every innocent look you threw his way, those short skirts and sundresses you liked to wear that he swore you were wearing on purpose, just to make him go mad. Everytime you'd sit on his lap, or press your cute little ass against him when you'd dance at a party.

Everything was slowly but surely driving him insane, and it was only a matter of time until he was going to finally take what he wanted, what was rightfully his, and only his.

In his mind, the moment you'd find out about his true feelings towards you was going to be romantic, he'd make sure to be careful not to scare you off, he'd make you realize just how much you need him and how much he loved you.

So why did you just have to ruin that, by letting a damn pogue, JJ Maybank of all people, flirt with you? He thought he was going to lose his mind when he'd caught you two on the beach, talking without a care in the world, that stupid pogue scanning your body shamelessly and complimenting your little outfit that was supposed to be for his eyes only. He thought he was smart and fearless, trying to get into your pants like that.

He thought.

Oh, how he hated that you had to make it hard for him and yourself by doing that. He had trusted you, showed you his love, his devotion, for so many years, and there you were, pushing him to do something so reckless that might make you hate him.

But no... he wouldn't have that. He was going to make sure you never looked at another man again, that he would be the only one for you.

Forever.

"My dumb little princess, always so fucking oblivious." He grunted, pounding into your little pussy violently while he gripped your cheeks painfully, making your juicy lips pout. "You don't know what you did to me back there, baby. You're lucky that little shit is still alive after what he tried to pull."

His tone was soft, almost mocking, but you were having trouble processing his words, too messy and too cock drunk to hear anything as you took what he gave you helplessly, your abused cunt swallowing him greedily with each thrust of his hips.

"I told you not to run off by yourself, didn't I? Told you you should only stick by my side. You. Only. Stay. With. Me." He barked, empathizing his words with harsh thrusts, knocking the air out of your lungs and having your back arch off the bed.

"M' sorry, Rafey! I... I didn't mean to, I promise!" You cried out, digging your manicured fingers into his shoulders as you used them for support.

He just chuckled, the sound dark and lacking any amusement. You didn't mean to. Of course you didn't.

"Yeah? Then what the fuck were you smiling at Maybank for, huh?! Letting him look at you, talk to you, when you know that shit pisses me off? You tryna be a whore or something?!" He snapped, grabbing onto the back of your thighs and folding them to your chest, the new angle allowing his cock to stretch you even more and hit your cervix deliciously.

Your eyes rolled to the back of your head and your lips parted with a loud, pornographic moan.

This wasn't the Rafe you were used to. Your soft, caring, loving best friend, and even if you knew of his outbursts, his undeniable issues, he always made sure to keep that side of him away from you, only treating you like a delicate flower, worshiping you with all his heart. Now, he was a completely different person, and maybe you should've hated him for taking everything from you like that, your sweet, precious virginity, but to your surprise, you loved it. And the way your pussy was fluttering around him uncontrollably was a clear sign of that.

"Well shit, would you look at that." Rafe smirked, leaning closer and folding your legs further, the pain adding to the pleasure you were starting to feel at the pits of your stomach. He wrapped his fingers around your slim throat, applying pressure to the sides of your neck and humming in satisfaction at the way your teary eyes widened in shock. "My pretty princess likes being called a whore, huh?"

"R-Rafe! Please, please!" You begged, but you didn't know what for.

"You were just begging for some cock, weren't you? This slutty hole needed a good pounding that bad. What a shame, baby..." He tsked, shaking his head and leaning to peck your trembling lips briefly, before switching up and slapping your cheek, the sharp sound echoing in the room along with the filthy sounds of your skin slapping and your wet pussy squelching around him.

"My dick is the only one this cunt will ever see, understood?!"

You let out a short scream and clenched around him viciously, his words making your head spin.

You were sure you were scratching his back to the point it was almost bleeding, but you couldn't help it, feeling like you were going to pass out with his hand coming back to squeeze your throat and with the way his pace picked up, the bed creaking underneath you like it was going to break with the force of his thrusts.

"Yes! Yes, Rafey!" You managed to say between moans and pathetic whimpers, reaching out and grasping his wrist, your small fingers wrapping around it.

You looked so beautiful to him right now. Unreal. With tears rolling down your soft cheeks, those pretty doe eyes looking up at him submissively, not hiding the way your pupils were blown in pure lust, only for him. Red, swollen lips from his kisses, your carefully applied makeup that was now ruined on your face, an obsessive amount of marks that were going to become flashy bruises, all over your neck and your chest, a clear reminder for you and everyone else that he owned you. The sweet sounds coming from your lips were like music to his ears, the countless nights where he'd imagine how you'd sound like, how you'd feel wrapped around his cock now useless, because nothing could compare to the real thing.

"Sweet angel taking cock so well. 'S like you were made for me, baby... Don't you think so? Look at how greedy this pussy is. Taking me like a pro." He praised, pulling back a little and tilting his head to the side and watching the way he slipped and pushed into you so easily, your slick covering his entire length, a hint of pink around his base, the evidence of your innocence being ripped away from you, now belonging to him.

Letting go of your neck, you finally gasped for air, blinking stupidly at him with your long lashes. But then, he suddenly reached out and grasped your hair, fisting it and yanking your head forward with force, having you watch the way he was stretching you repeatedly.

"Look how good you're taking me. This is all mine. Mine. No one will ever get to see you like this, baby... Gonna make sure of it. You'll never think about another boy ever again. You belong to me, you always have." His lips stretched into a smirk, the look in his eyes possessed as he watched you squirm and whimper, almost unable to keep your eyes open with the tears blocking your sight.

"Say it. Say this pussy belongs to me. You belong to me." He growled, his once blue eyes that were now dark and possessed burning a hole through you, his fingers gripping your hair tighter and pushing your head back. His body pressed against yours as his other hand sneaked its way to your pussy, his thumb pressing against your puffy, sensitive clit and rubbing it back and forth rapidly.

Your thighs were shaking around his waist, and your small body was trashing underneath him as you whined and locked eyes with his.

"It's yours, Rafey! Pussy's yours. I'm yours!"

"Fucking right. You'll never get away from me, even if you tried. I own you. You're never leaving me." He spat, the possessive words only making you squeeze his cock tighter.

It was supposed to be a threat maybe, but in your fucked up state, it was the hottest thing.

You wouldn't be able to live without Rafe anyway, you were so dependent on him, on his attention, his love, that the thought of ever being without him felt wrong.

Then, a sudden thought came to him. How could he make sure that you were never going to escape him? That you were only going to need him, for the rest of your life, just like he needed you. Maybe he could knock you up. Surely you'll never be able to run away if he got you big and swollen with his baby. You'll be his forever. God, only the thought made his body shiver. You'd look even more beautiful this way. Glowing, all because of him. Carrying his heir in that pretty belly of yours. Giving him a family to take care of.

An animalistic growl escaped from deep inside him, and his hips snapped frantically against yours with a newfound purpose now as he smashed his lips with yours, swallowing your whimpers. The kiss was filled with possessiveness as he tried to claim you in every way possible, his tongue slipping into your mouth and tasting you greedily while you tried to keep up with him, every once in a while clashing your teeth together as he rocked your fragile body into the mattress. When he pulled back, a string of your shared saliva connected your lips, and he grinned at you, but in a way that had the hairs on your body stand up.

"Think I know what to do with you, princess. Think I'm gonna get you all knocked up. Yeah. You'd look so pretty like that, you'll be so full of me you won't even be able to walk. And everyone will know, baby... Everyone will know who did that to you. That you're carrying my baby inside of you. Rafe Cameron's baby. My heir."