#cracked jokes about them getting divorced

[rosemariiaa]

𝙃𝘼𝙇𝙁𝙒𝘼𝙔 𝙎𝙏𝙍𝘼𝙉𝙂𝙀𝙍𝙎

00 𝙋𝙧𝙤𝙡𝙤𝙜𝙪𝙚, 𝙏𝙝𝙚 𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙚𝙧 𝙨𝙞𝙙𝙚.

“I’m afraid to see what’s in my head , So I lock it up in my heart”

rosie’s note: long awaited pazzi series.. let’s hope I can be consistent with these chapters and not forget about after a few weeks.happy ready lovelies ⋆·˚ ༘ *

warnings: none!

`✦ˑ ִֶ 𓂃⊹

I’ve never been great with people. Sure, I can hold a conversation, crack a joke, make some friends. But there’s always this weird distance—like I’m just performing, pretending to be someone I’m not. The truth is, I’m not as confident as people think I am. I hate being vulnerable. But she made it easier.

I still remember the first time she reached out to me. Her message popped up on my computer late one night, while I was scrolling through my Blogspot—my little corner of the internet where I could just… breathe. No one knew who I was on there. Just a girl venting about life, school, basketball, and the tangled mess that was my head.

She said she’d been reading my posts for a while and liked them. She said she didn’t have anyone else to talk to, and honestly, I didn’t either. So we started messaging. At first, it was just random stuff—homework, teachers, the usual teenage nonsense.

But soon enough, she started opening up more. Things I never expected to hear. About her family. Her stepdad. The kids at school who made her feel invisible. She told me how her mom remarried, and how everything felt off after that. I didn’t know why she was sharing all this with me, someone she’d never met, someone who was practically a stranger. But there was something about it. Something that made it feel right.

We got into the deeper stuff too—the insecurities, the self-doubt, the anger at things we couldn’t control. And yeah, I shared my own stuff too. It wasn’t the same, but it was close enough. My parents getting divorced. Moving from place to place. The pressure to be perfect all the time. I guess it’s easier when you don’t have to show your face. She wasn’t some random person to me anymore. She was… real.

She called me “her safe space.” And for some reason, I was okay with that. I think I needed her as much as she needed me, even if I couldn’t admit it back then. It was like she understood me in a way no one else did.

But the thing is, I never told her who I really was. She didn’t need to know I was Paige Bueckers, the basketball player everyone at school thought they knew. She didn’t need know I was just a girl trying to figure out where I fit in all of this.

It was just us. She and I. We could be ourselves without pretending. And that felt… like a goddamn relief.

But that was the thing—she was just an anonymous name on a screen. I didn’t know who she was either. Not really. I only knew what she shared, what she let me see.

Then came that night. The night I saw her name pop up in the chat, just like always. But this time, it wasn’t just her usual message. It was a question. “What if we could meet? Like, in real life?” Oh.

I froze. And my stomach did this weird flip.

I didn’t know how to answer. I didn’t even know if I wanted to. What if she was someone I knew? What if she was someone I was supposed to hate? What if… it was her?

————

tag list ˏˋ°•*⁀➷

@thaatdigitaldiary @patscorner @sierrale8ne @ohbueckers @juspeaks @mrsarnold @d3arapril @authentic-girl03 @absolutelydreadful

[alchemylive]

feeling fun kinda goofy kinda manic!!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

How’d they react to you calling them bro or dude whilst in a pre-established relationship…(platonic/romantic)

Dick: he’s insulted.

Gutted.

He will try to give you the silent treatment for such a shameful thing but ultimately fails as he ends up being the one pawing at you for attention.

‘Do you still like me? Or did you just run out of cute nicknames to call me?’ He’d say one night as your both cuddling in bed together. ‘If it’s the later then I can help you find something, just please spare me and don’t call me dude or bro anymore.’

He’d rather you call him Richard-wait, no he hates that even more because to him you’re not meant to use his fully name, only cutesy nicknames that’d make a grown man sick to his stomach. Nothing else would suffice other than Dickie bird, handsome, babe, hunk, honeybun or anything that wasn’t his name.

He’s go mad or would act delusional and say that everything was fine when everyone could tell that it wasn’t. People who know him have personally came to you and begged you to stop calling him dude/bro because he kept talking their ears off about how his beloved partner is torturing him, which ends up torturing them even more upon hearing about his relationship issues.

Dick would even consult Hayley on what he did wrong, only for Hayley to look at him with those big, big eyes of hers. This was not her level of expertise unfortunately. (Head empty, no thoughts. She can’t do her abc’s guys it’s a real tragedy.)

Jason: ‘I just had my tongue down your throat just now and you had to go and ruin the mood by calling me bro. What the fuck.’ - Jason at some point.

It’s a whole mood killer for him to be honest.

He’s calling you things like chipmunk or sweetheart but here you were calling him dude and bro. He knows for a fact that he’s well and truly out of the friend zone because the shit you’ve done together isn’t platonic in any sort of way.

Thinks Roy had set you up to call him dude or bro behind his back. (He hasn’t)

Jason is petty and will get his own back by referring you as ‘just a really good friend’, ‘buddy o’ mine’ or even worse than both of those; ‘chum.’ 💀

When you go low, Jason was more then willing to go to the depths of fucking hell to the point it had become a game to see who’d call out just how stupid this all was, and at the both of you for ever thinking that this was an excellent idea in the first place.

You’ll probs get punished…I’m just going to leave it there and let your minds guess what that ‘punishment’ was exactly.

Damian:

As much as Damian hates it when you call him Dami, he hates it when you call him dude or bro even more, if that’s even possible.

Damian hates it when you call him dude or bro. He’s not your dude or bro, he’s your partner and he expects no less then darling, my heart or my beloved.

So you calling him dude or bro is more than enough reason for him to give you the silent treatment.

‘Until you learn that I am your partner, I won’t want to be anywhere near you if you’re going to keep calling me your bro or dude. It is a disservice to who I actually am to you.’ He says with a huff and beckons Titus to follow, only for the Great Dane to be left confused as to why his human parents were at a disagreement over something silly.

Also Titus, Ace, Jerry, Alfred the cat, Goliath and BatCow are children of divorce because I said so.

So it’s bests that you apologise while you still can because Damian can hold a grudge unlike any other. Even if you didn’t, you’d still crack first before Damian and quickly put an end to calling him dude/bro.

He just thinks being called a dude/bro when in a pre-established relationship is an insult.

He can take a joke but not when it’s aimed at his relationship. He’s well and truly devoted to his relationship -if we’re to completely ignore the whole being Robin thing- that it might as well be an insult towards him too at this point.

[pepperyduck]

you walk around the corner to see gojo’s girlfriend sitting on top of his desk and him talking to her sitting on his chair between her legs. so much for surprising him with your early coming home from your work trip. even tho he’s your husband you don’t dare take a step further keeping your shock to a silent gasp, worried you’ll get caught. your marriage had been arranged, and even though you loved him and he was a good caring husband, he was never in love with you. while you figured this was happening it still hurt seeing him so happy and full of life when he’s engaging in just simple conversation with her.

almost immediately after he notices you avoiding him and keeping to yourself even more than normal. when he brings it up, you tell him you know about his girlfriend after having listen to them talking for a long time before they started to “make out.” while Gojo isn’t mean or smug about it, he doesn’t deny it leaving you an absolute emotional wreck.

hi honey! thank u for this request, u get me so well :'). i hope i delivered what u were looking for! much love hun!

word count: 1.9k

warnings: hurt/no comfort, angst, cheating, mentions of divorce, manipulation if u look hard enough, a couple mentions of sex but no active descriptions. (18+ mdni!)

notes: so i haven't written about gojo yet but i absolutely love this man. let me know what u think! also i did not proofread this, very sorry, i wrote half of it on my lunch break @ work.

you can find part two here

masterlist

“satoruuu!” you chirp your husband’s name as you enter the home, the ending syllables of his name echoing throughout the massive entryway, and you’re met with silence. you drop your bags in front of the door, you can’t help but be enthusiastic about seeing your husband – you’ve been on that stupid business trip that took way too long, and you feel lucky you were able to come back home a few days earlier.

a boisterous laugh comes from upstairs in the empty house, signaling your husband is somewhere around your office – maybe he’s on the phone with a friend and didn’t hear you from all the way downstairs. you smile to yourself and run up the stairs, staying quiet as possible so you can surprise satoru – tiptoeing closer and closer, you see your office door wide open. when you peek around the doorframe into the room, you see your husband, dressed in one of those expensive shirts you bought for your last anniversary –

and there’s a girl, a girl you’ve never seen, perched atop your desk, smiling widely and proud from a joke she cracked to make satoru laugh so loudly.

you draw your head back quickly, praying neither one of them saw you, because you had no idea how to approach the situation at hand. that girl was more than a friend, for sure, with the way satoru was feeling up and down her thighs from sitting in between them. for a second, you feel as if your whole marriage was a lie. 5 years, down the drain, and how many of those years were spent with other women, too?

satoru gojo was the son to your parent’s closest counterparts – you grew up around him, not too close, but enough to know enough about one another by the time you became adults. after college, neither one of you held a long-term partner, so your parents and his decided to arrange a marriage for the both of you. you willingly accepted – satoru was a sweet, caring boy for the most part – yet unbeknownst to you, a cheater who never really had any intentions of staying loyal to his wife. in his mind, the marriage was nothing more than a benefit for the both of you; he agreed to get his parents off his back and live a comfortable life because of the successful jobs you both obtained. you were content taking the man’s last name, having gradually fallen in love with him over time, even planning to have kids with him one day.

all your future dreams and past feelings come to a halt when you see the man with another woman.

you creep back down the stairs, quietly so no one catches on, and you grab your bags and leave again. you don’t go too far at all; you stay down the street in your car so you can see whenever your husband leaves. once he’s on his way to go drop his mistress off, you scurry back to the house and take all your things inside. satoru returns hours later, well past after dark, greeted with you in the kitchen finishing up dinner.

“oh- honey,” satoru perks up upon walking through the door, “i didn’t think you’d be back so early.” he walks up and wraps his arms around your waist from behind, giving you a tight squeeze and kissing your neck. your first instinct is to relax into his touch, as you had always done for years before, but the hurt inside of you causes you to stiffen up at the hug.

“hi, satoru,” you faintly reply, eyes diverting from everything else to the saucepan simmering in front of you on the stove. satoru always had a knack to be able to tell when something was off with you, even from the smallest bit of action. this was no different.

satoru unravels his arms from around you and leans onto the counter adjacent to the stove, giving you a quick peck on the cheek. “everything okay, sweetie?” the pet name he most commonly used made your stomach hurt and your chest tighten.

“mmhm,” you bluff, “just a rough trip, i’m really exhausted,” you tell him, gaining a bit of strength to look him in the eyes with a tired expression and a weak smile.

“aww, you should’ve told me, honey. i would’ve got us something while i was out,” satoru says, his sickeningly sweet voice causing a bout of anger inside you.

“i was going to surprise you, but you weren’t here when i got home,” you lie to him, gazing back down to the saucepan and turning the eye off, “where were you so late?” you ask, although you already knew the answer. the question was just a meaningless test.

“ah, i was out with kento. he wanted to treat me to drinks since he got a new promotion,” satoru lies right back, but you see right through it.

“really? good for him,” you compliment his friend, able to work yourself up a little more to keep a straight face in front of your husband.

satoru couldn’t tell yet, but your heart cracked each time you looked at him. you wanted to slap the man to the ground and interrogate him as to why he’s sleeping around – but you only had evidence you saw with your own eyes. you figured he would most likely try to flip things around if you accused him of cheating and pin the blame on actions of your own that didn’t exist.

so, you make the noble decision to keep quiet about your knowledge for now.

days pass, the scene of your husband and the other woman slowly ate away at you, it chipped at the loving wife persona you displayed for satoru, more and more with each hour that came and went. your husband’s usual upbeat personality remained the same, and you tried your hardest to match it, continuing to kiss and be intimate with the man as much as he wanted.

but as time grew, your feelings slowly started to show. you couldn’t help it – who could help it? – being cheated on tears away someone’s entire confidence and demeanor. for years, satoru had feigned innocence and loyalty, he was a perfect husband to you, but maybe he was too perfect for someone like you.

he was his family’s most prized heir, and you were just some girl that got lucky enough to marry him, by some chance of fate. you hated the fact that you realized all you were to him was some … possession, someone there for convenience and convenience alone.

“what’s got you down in the dumps, hmm?” satoru teases as he pokes at your shoulder. you’re laid with your back facing him, trying to fall asleep after a long, emotionally painful night of sex.

you don’t reply at first, you just roll over a little more so he can’t see your sad face, curling into yourself at his touch. there was never going to be a perfect time for you to confront the man. but all the painful feelings you’d been holding on to for weeks at this point get the best of you, and a tear makes its way out of your eye and onto the silk sheets below.

“satoru,” you peep, barely audible as you continue to face away from your husband.

“hmm, honey?” he hums, so effortlessly faking a kind tone.

“who’s that girl?” you question, “i saw her here when i came home.”

“oh,” satoru replies, and you can feel his weight shift next to you so he’s laying on his back.

silence falls over the room, you wait on a reply that satoru refuses to give you for multiple minutes. he lays there, contemplating a lie, or whether or not he should come clean.

it’s not like you’d leave him, anyway.

“i’ve been dating her for a few months now,” satoru tells you, his voice no longer sweet or caring, just plainly spitting out the words you didn’t want to hear from him, ever. the tone in his voice upsets you even greater, he doesn’t even try to deny it, which causes an even greater pain to expand inside of you.

satoru’s new indifference to your feelings hurts a lot more than you’d ever imagined. you tried to psych yourself up, telling yourself that it was okay, you’d be happy if he just lied to you about the whole situation and you’d never bring it up again. his honesty is excruciating, it causes your heart to finally shatter into a million pieces when he confesses everything so guilt-free.

“why…?” you whimper, still unable to gain any of the forged confidence you had for weeks before to look him in the eyes again. you couldn’t stand to look at those beautiful blue eyes you’d fallen so deeply in love with over time, because you knew all they’d do is glare back at you unimpressed.

“well,” satoru starts, “what did you expect? this whole marriage was a fluke, anyway,” he mutters, still too honest for you to be able to feel any comfort in his words.

satoru doesn’t care, though, he never really cared, it’s all so agonizingly obvious to you now.

what did you expect?

you knew what you expected from this marriage, you treated satoru with the utmost care, even if it was a situation you were both forced into. you expected him to stay true to his vows, to be there in all the rough patches, and he was, only until it comes to your attention he wasn’t.

the sweet, considerate, thoughtful husband you once knew disappeared in the matter of a few minutes. all that remained of him now was a hard shell of what he was.

you decide to not reply to satoru anymore, to save yourself from anymore heartbreak – as if you had any left for him to smash into a billion pieces. the only actions you take are to curl up into an even smaller ball and allow the flood gates to open – you begin to coat the soft sheets in your salty tears. satoru only groans at your crying, like it was such a burden he broke your heart, as if he’s not the one to blame for everything going downhill.

the bed sinks in as satoru stands up, sighing. his footsteps shuffle behind you, you hear his keys jingle and his shoes scuff against the floor as he puts them on. you see him walk over to your dresser – the one he made for you with a huge mirror years ago – and check his reflection to fix his hair. soon after, he walks over to you and plants a meaningless kiss to your temple.

“i’m going to go see my girlfriend now,” the utterance of the word “girlfriend” makes you squeeze your eyes shut, “if you want a divorce, let me know so i can get a lawyer.”

satoru walks away and grabs his coat on the dresser, giving himself another good look in the mirror before walking over to the bedroom door.

“bye, honey.”

he leaves behind a broken wife, who’s too beautiful inside and out for her own good. he knows you won’t really leave him; the suggestion of a divorce was to only get a reaction out of you, he was bored the instant you had no rebuttal.

you only continue to cry into the night, falling asleep alone, the only thing to accompany you is the fact your marriage was a lie. satoru will come back, but things will never be the same.

[angellesword]

Love Is Not Black and White, It's Purple (Like Your Eyes) | JJK (oneshot)

Summary: You and Jungkook are not soulmates. The fact that you have been married for ten years but still see in black and white proves that.

It is never an issue for you two until…

"Jungkook, my eyes… they're purple."

Jungkook's heart stops.

You can see colors now. It only means one thing:

You have met your real soulmate, and it's not Jungkook.

Genre & Content Warning: soulmate au, housemate au, mention of murder, past child abuse, domestic violence, fluff, crack treated seriously, attempt at humor, marriage au, established relationship, kissing, blind!jimin, fashion designer!taehyung, alcohol, cursing, HAPPY ENDING. (tags are just for formalities, but tbh this fic isn't heavy at all)

Pairing: Detective!Jungkook x Fashion Designer! Female Reader

Word Count: 7.5k

****

Out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it would still not be as effective as listening to you talk.

"Jungkook, my eyes...they're purple."

Really. You don't need a plastic bag, a rope, or a pillow to suffocate Jungkook. With your harsh words, Jungkook could feel the air leaving his lungs.

He can't breathe. The terrible realization asphyxiates him: you--his best friend--his wife, can now see colors. For a moment, Jungkook doesn't know what to make out of the fact that he's now alone in this monochromatic world—a place where people see in black and white until they look into their soulmates' eyes.

Jungkook has looked and drowned in your calamitous eyes before, but he never saw hues.

"Jungkook...?" 

Distantly, Jungkook hears you utter his name, but all he can grasp is you will abandon him. Jungkook is rarely wrong. He's a detective, after all. One word, and he can deduce the situation, making this whole ordeal more painful.

"That's..." Jungkook intends to hide his hurt, but he feels his voice getting choked up. He has no choice but to pause.

However, you are thrilled to hear what he has to say, so Jungkook forces himself to continue.

"...great. You, that's great. So great!" Perhaps repeating the same words can convince him that his statement is true. It's not. Jungkook's heart breaks when you beam at him.

Calm down. Jungkook tells himself. But he can't. Everything hurts. His heart, his soul, his words.

"So, tell me. Where's the divorce paper? Should I sign now?" Jungkook's words hurt like a knife. They cut your heart into pieces. 

"What the fuck are you talking about." Your face falls. "Shitty Jungkook, are you kidding me right now!? I'm not leaving you for someone I just met!"

Now, something about your reaction takes Jungkook's breath away. Maybe it's the anger that quickly turns into panic as you take in Jungkook's words. Or perhaps it's the apparent trembling of your lips as you desperately speak of your promise of forever. Either way, your fear-inducing expression somehow reassures Jungkook.

You and him are not over. Not yet, at least. 

"I'm just kidding~." Jungkook chuckles and clicks his tongue, "Of course, you're not leaving me. I'm the only one who can tolerate you, ya know?"

The joke doesn't lighten your expression at all.

"Jungkook, I'm not leaving you," you repeat. The assurance is softer this time, and despite the lack of color in your eyes, the detective can see determination in them.

Jungkook puffs out air. His heart aching a little less.

"I know, darling." Jungkook stops his jokes. He engulfs you in a warm embrace. "I'm sorry."

"Don't say that ever again." You wrap your arms around Jungkook's waist. "You're my best friend. I love you, alright?"

****

10 Years Ago; 2013

Unlike others, your relationship with Jungkook is reversed.

"Let's get married."

"The fuck?" You choke on your water the second Jungkook opens his mouth. "Are you high again, bastard!?"

You punch Jungkook mildly. The latter moves away, exaggeratedly cradling his jaw. "Ow! Why are you always so violent? Can't you hear me out first? I'm being serious here!"

"Serious?" You laugh incredulously. "You just asked me to get married!"

"Exactly!" Jungkook ignores the painful thug in his heart. "It's for our benefit. Didn't you say you want to live in PM Village?"

Apartments in PM Village are too damn expensive. You and Jungkook recently finished college; your individual income is not enough to cover the monthly amortization of a house, but it's different if your incomes are combined.

"You're crazy. We can't marry because of a fucking house, Jungkook!" You are still not convinced.

"Why not?" But Jungkook intends to change your mind. "We're both single, and divorce won't be difficult in the future. We can just tell the court we've found our real soulmates. Besides,"

The newbie detective drags his words, knowing that he'll be able to convince you in the end, anyway. "You're gonna be rich soon. You don't have any living family members anymore. Do you really wanna give away all your money to the government when you die?"

"Why? Is giving my money to you any better!?"

"I can at least maintain your wine cellar," Jungkook shrugs. "And just think about the tax benefits! Don’t you hate Hoseok-hyung for siphoning your money?”

You open your mouth to speak, but damn. Jungkook’s last statement has convinced you already. Nose flaring, you say, "Fine!"

It's like music to Jungkook's ears. "I need your full confirmation."

Jungkook really wants you to say it. You fold your arms across your chest, "Fine, Bastard! I agree with your absurd proposition. Let's get fucking married."

At the age of twenty-two, you and Jungkook tied the knot. Ten years later, most of Jungkook's predictions have come true: you two have settled in PM Village—a warm home with a wine cellar awaits you after a tiring day. You have also become so rich that you often have issues with Jung Hoseok, your country's tax agency commissioner. Thank fuck there are good lawyers out there to clear your tax cases. 

You clearly have everything life can offer. If you want, you can divorce Jungkook now, but ten years later, you are still very much committed to your best friend.

*****

Present; 2023

You insist on telling Jungkook who your soulmate is. Admittedly, you can tell that Jungkook finds the whole storytelling unnecessary. You are married, but it's not as if you two are in love with each other or something. Nope. Jungkook only sees you as an annoying woman with whom he cohabitates.

"So, has Technology asked you on a date yet?" Jungkook asks without looking at you. He's busy filing his nails, acting as if shaping his nails into perfect ovals is more important than conversing with you.

"First of all, his name is Taehyung. Not Technology, you asshole. And no, he hasn't asked me out." You exhale. "I mean, not yet. It's not a big deal, honestly. We just met yesterday." 

Translation: give my soulmate some time.

"Right." Jungkook mocks and yawns, finally glancing at you. "You know, if I meet my soulmate, I’ll immediately ask them out. I can’t waste time.”

"Oh, shut up." You roll your eyes. "We both know you just can't wait to sleep with them."

"He-He. You caught me~." Jungkook half-smiles before returning to the previous topic very smoothly, "So you're saying that if Techno—Taehyung asks you on a date, you'll say yes?"

"Will you mind if I do?" You sound nervous.

The sole purpose of this conversation is for you to test the waters with Jungkook. You both went on dates in the past after ensuring that the other was comfortable with the set-up. You are married, after all. It won't bode well with the both of you if cheating rumors erupt, especially in your respective workplaces.

Admittedly, it has been long since you two last went on dates. You were both busy with your jobs. Besides, isn't it exhausting getting to know strangers? Jungkook doesn't want to waste his breath on nosy people asking why he chose to be a detective, and you would rather ditch your date than deal with them bargaining for discounts once they find out you’re a prominent fashion designer.

Going out with strangers has become a nightmare instead of a fun way to meet your real soulmate. Because of this, you and Jungkook decided to just take each other out whenever you wanted. It's not exactly a romantic date. Sure, there's darling as a pet name, kisses under the moonlight, and wrestling who'll pay. But that's about it. You don't dare to do more.

Your partnership is of greater importance than sex and in-the-moment confessions. You don't want to regret it comes morning.

"Why would I mind?" Jungkook finally answers, feigning happiness. "I'll personally thank your soulmate for taking you out, honestly. I'm tired of you forcing me to take you out on dates. It's about time I meet new people, too."

"Right." You swallow your disappointment and the faint ache in your chest. "Who wants to go out with a shitty bastard like you, anyway? Go meet others! It's not like I care!"

Another fake smile blooms on Jungkook's face.

"Whatever you say."

*****

Kim Taehyung is the name of your soulmate, and the man Jungwon has been investigating for the past three days.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, here's all the information I can find about Kim Taehyung." Jungwon stifles a yawn as he approaches his mentor's table. He almost winces upon seeing Jungkook's monitor.

The older detective has many tabs on his computer, all related to Kim Taehyung.

"You're still investigating him?" Jungwon can't mask his surprise. "Jungkook sunbaenim, just what did Kim Taehyung do!?"

"He's a thief, Jungwon-ah." Jungkook accepts the files from his mentee without sparing him a glance

Jungwon dramatically gasps, his sleepiness fading away because of the scandalous information.

"Really? What did he steal?"

"A precious little thing." Jungkook is viewing Kim Taehyung's baby photos. No one knows how he found them. "Look, he's not that cute, right?"

Jungwon doesn't answer, lost in thought. What could Kim Taehyung have stolen? His Jungkook sunbaenim said a precious little thing. Could it be a diamond ring? Or...

"Tanzanite?" Jungwon shrieks. "Did he steal tanzanite, Jungkook sunbaenim!?"

"Huh?" Jungkook turns to his mentee with a furrowed brow. He suddenly remembers what he said to Jungwon, and being a good actor whose words consist of 10% truth and 90% lies, Jungkook can save himself by saying, "Yeah. He stole tanzanite —authorities said it was very expensive. Come, Jungwon-ah. Let's catch this thief."

****

You aren't lying when you say you won't divorce Jungkook because you 'met' your soulmate. No, your partnership is beyond colors. However, it also doesn't mean you’ll relinquish your connection with your soulmate.

The deal is this: You and Jungkook will stay together until you know your soulmates better. After that, you two can decide what to do next. In short, a simple meeting doesn't guarantee you would want to spend your entire life with your soulmates. You both have heard many stories before that not even real soulmates find romantic love with each other—some remain platonic soulmates, while others go as far as killing each other.

You and Taehyung's case seems to fall to the normal expectation of society: meet as strangers, get to know each other until you become friends, then fall in love and get married.

Unlike Jungkook pulling you in a reverse direction, Taehyung intends to drive you on the right path.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, aren't we breaking the protocol?" Jungwon covers his face with a newspaper, whispering softly in case the suspect hears him. They are currently inside a small coffee shop near Aurora Fashion Lane. Based on Jungwon's investigation, Kim Taehyung works as a designer for the company in the same building as this coffee shop. In fact, Taehyung is slowly becoming a regular customer here.

"Shouldn't we call for backup?" 

Jungkook ignores the younger detective. He squints his eyes hard, focusing on the table near the counter. Jungwon discreetly looks in the direction Jungkook has his eyes on. A woman with a similar haircut as yours is sitting there.

"Jungkook sunbaenim, isn't that your wife—"

"Ssshh, Jungwon-ah. Shut up for a moment. I can't hear them." Jungkook regrets not choosing a table near you and your date. Damn it. You probably won't realize he's here—not when your attention is focused on stupid Technology!

"Stay here. I'll be back." The older detective stands up abruptly. Right. If he pretends to look at the menu before ordering something, he can hear whatever you and Taehyung are talking about:

"Exactly. They should've added another layer of lace. It pairs well with jacquard." Jungkook hears you say.

What the heck are they talking about? The detective muses.

"Ah, unfortunately, the customer hates laces. Apparently, her father made her wear laces that itch." Taehyung responds.

"Poor Elise. I understand why she prefers satin dresses."

Are they talking about work? Jungkook thinks to himself again. He only snaps back to reality when the cashier smiles, asking if he's ready to order.

Jungkook orders drinks for him and Jungwon before moving closer to the soulmates' table. You and Taehyung have stopped talking, though. Confused, Jungkook tilts his head to check what's happening, but someone seizes his wrist.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Jungkook hears a classic greeting, yet he still freezes. Only one person gets angry seeing him.

"Oh, hi, you~. I didn't see you there." The detective beams while prying his hand away from your iron-like grip. "What a coincidence!"

"Coincidence, my ass!" You grit your teeth, "Tell me the truth. Why are you here?"

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, thinking of a way to translate, 'You were smiling through your phone yesterday while texting your stupid soulmate. I didn't want to invade your privacy, so I hacked his messages instead,' into something that won't ignite your anger.

In the end, Jungkook manages to simply say, "Why? Can't a detective have his coffee?"

"Jungkook." you utter sternly, "This coffee shop is an hour and a half from your workplace. You also don't drink coffee."

As if on cue, the barista says Jungkook's drinks are ready. The detective picks up his drink and sips it. "What was that? I can't hear you over my delicious caramel macchiato with whipped cream and seven pumps of caramel sauce, topped with small marshmallows, chocolate chips, and sprinkles!"

"For fuck's sake!" You let out a torrent of abuse, your face morphing into disgust. Seeing color intensifies your emotions. The colorful toppings in Jungkook's drink make you want to vomit. "Get your ass out of here, you tasteless bastard!"

Jungkook doesn't budge. He shoots you an innocent look, "Why are you shooing me away? Am I disturbing you and your date? Where is he, by the way?"

Taehyung went to the comfort room, but this was not the point. You hiss, "I'm not on a date. Taehyung and I are discussing work over coffee. How the heck did you even know we're here?"

Another question Jungkook doesn't have a ready answer. Fortunately for him, Taehyung is back. Your furious expression melts at once. Your fake personality makes Jungkook gag.

"Hey, should we head back?" Taehyung's voice is deep. This is the first thing Jungkook notices.

"Yeah, let's go." You smile at your soulmate.

Another thing Jungkook notices is how handsy Taehyung is. He touches the small of your back, leading you to the exit. Jungkook's expression darkens, and Jungwon, watching the whole exchange like a hawk, suddenly decides to act.

"Stop, you thief! Leave my mentor's wife alone!" Jungwon has the handcuffs ready. He's rushing in Taehyung's direction. Jungkook's eyes widen, only relying on his fast reflexes to stop his mentee.

He trips Jungwon, causing the younger detective to fall to the ground.

"Jungkook, you bastard--!!"

All hell breaks loose after that scream coming out of you.

****

'Disaster' is the only word to describe Jungkook's attempt to stalk his wife. He didn't plan for things to escalate to the level where he had to trip Jungwon to stop him from arresting an innocent citizen like Taehyung. You got so mad that the older detective had to apologize, making an excuse that they were detectives on a mission gone wrong. Jungkook remembers smiling apologetically at Taehyung, telling him to cut Jungwon some slack because he is a newbie detective.

You knew everything leaving Jungkook's mouth was bullshit, yet you played along with Jungkook's excuse. You clearly don’t want the issue to escalate further. Thankfully, Taehyung is an understanding man, telling Jungwon to be careful next time. You aren't as forgiving as your soulmate, though. You called Jungkook over the phone, yelling you'd kill him if he went home tonight.

Jungkook has no choice but to seek shelter at Namjoon’s house.

"Let me guess," Namjoon sighs upon seeing Jungkook at his doorstep. "You've angered your wife again, didn't you?"

"Namjoon-hyung! That's a mean guess. Can't I visit my friend?"

Namjoon remains expressionless. "You only go here whenever you and your wife fight. Your wife will think I betrayed her if I let you in."

Jungkook hmphed. "My wife already has beef with your soulmate and, by extension, with you too. So just let me in, will you?"

Namjoon releases a breath when Jungkook pushes the door open and rushes in. He is right, anyway. You have beef with his soulmate. Namjoon always receives texts from you complaining about Hoseok and how ruthless he is as a government employee.

"Would you like something to drink—" Namjoon cuts himself off upon seeing Jungkook helping himself with a bottle of soju.

The detective takes large gulps. He finishes half of the bottle in less than two minutes. Jungkook hiccups and clumsily wipes his mouth, "My wife found her soulmate. She can see colors now."

Namjoon stops in his tracks.

Jungkook laughs, mocking himself. "His eyes are purple, hyung."

"Jungkook..." Namjoon sounds apologetic.

"What's with your expression?" Jungkook’s lips twist. "You look sorry. Don't be. I'm—"

Happy for her? Jungkook shakes his head. It seems like that's not the case. Namjoon thinks so, too. He sits in front of the detective.

"You're what, Jungkook-ah?" The older man opens a beer bottle for himself, "What do you feel for your wife? What does she make you feel?"

Silence creeps into the room.

Jungkook's shoulders drop. Memories from the past play in his head as he closes his eyes.

Twenty-one years ago, 2002:

11-year-old Jungkook is freezing cold.

He is out in the snow, trying to take a sneak peek at children his age playing on the school grounds. Unlike him, the students are covered with expensive coats, mittens, and a hat. Jungkook's mother is a janitress at a private elementary school in Busan. Sadly, she can't afford to send her son to this school, so Jungkook can only watch the other kids in envy.

The children here have winter camps and activities to support their growth. Today, Jungkook watches as the students make mittens. Some children give the handmade gloves to their family, friends, or teachers.

Only one girl saves her mittens for a lone stranger.

"Here," Jungkook is taken aback when a girl his age suddenly approaches him. She’s shorter than Jungkook, but her determined eyes make people think she has much to offer. 

"I said here!" Jungkook remains unmoving, so the girl pushes the mittens to his chest. "I can't see it yet, but my mum said the gloves are gray like my eyes! I made them myself."

The little girl looks proud; a huge grin is on her lips.

Jungkook blinks dumbly at her, "Why...." He takes in a deep breath, clutching the warm gloves to his chest. "Why are you giving me these gloves?"

The little girl looks confused; she even lets out a small huh. Jungkook thinks the girl didn't hear him, so he repeats his words.

You are that little girl. You shrug your shoulders. "Because I want to. You look cold. I don't want to see you cold."

"But," Jungkook's lips tremble. He is having a hard time accepting the gift. "I have nothing to trade you with."

"Who cares?" You sit beside him. "I don't want anything. I just want to be friends."

Present; 2023:

Until now, Jungkook has no idea why you wish to be friends with someone like him. Clearly, you were a world apart. It was winter then. Maybe it was a Winter miracle—if this is even a thing.

But Jungkook is sure of one thing:

"She makes me feel warm, Namjoon-hyung." The detective finally answers his friend's question earlier. "My wife makes me warm, loved, and hopeful."

****

You receive a text message from Namjoon asking you to pick up a hammered Jungkook.

"Hey, you're leaving already?" Taehyung sees you leaving the office.

You rub the back of your neck and smile softly at Taehyung, "Yes. I have to pick up my husband."

"Ah." Taehyung nods, "Jungkook, isn't it? The detective from earlier?"

"Mn. I'm really sorry about what happened."

"It's nothing," Taehyung assures. It will probably take him a long time to forget his encounter with those two strange detectives, but it's not so bad. They apologized and said it was an honest mistake. He motions toward the door, "You brought your car, right? Let’s go down together.”

“You’re going home too?”

“Not yet.” Taehyung opens the office door for his soulmate. “Just gonna get coffee.”

Taehyung’s obsession with caffeine doesn’t go unnoticed by you. Taehyung joined your team only this week but has probably gone to the coffee shop downstairs more than your team did.

You brush it off. It’s none of your business. What matters to you is what Jungkook drinks. After bidding Taehyung goodbye, you immediately rush to Namjoon’s house. He is absolutely right. Jungkook is wasted.

"Why did you let this asshole drink so much!?" You bare your teeth at Namjoon. "You know how he is, Namjoon! Did he even eat before chugging down soju? Soju! You made him drink soju!? Namjoon, you golden-eyed clumsy bastard! Your eye color looks like horse piss!"

You are getting creative with your insults now that you can see colors. Namjoon shakes his head. He likes you better when you still see in black and white; at least then, you don’t go around terrorizing people and their eye color.

"I'm sorry. He forced himself into my home." Namjoon throws Jungkook under the bus. He'd rather get a playfully upset Jungkook than a screaming girl like you.

You know better than to put all the blame on Namjoon, though. You know Jungkook drank himself stupid because he can't handle it when you are genuinely mad at him.

You swallow your fury, "You know what? Just…have a good night, Namjoon-oppa. I'm sorry for shouting and the trouble. I'll make it up to you some other time."

You drag Jungkook to your car.

The detective is no fun when drunk. He just passes out. You can't even get blackmail material out of this hell.

"Fucking finally." You cover your husband with a blanket after cleaning him up and changing his clothes into new ones.

"Bastard." You sneer but still end up softly kissing Jungkook's forehead.

Ah. The things you do for love.

****

Jungkook wakes up with a stomachache and a sweaty forehead. He dramatically whines, cradling his stomach like he has been shot there.

Thankfully, you show up at once. You are carrying a tray with a full meal.

"My stomach hurts." He complains, earning an eye roll from you.

"Of course it does. You fucking drank alcohol on an empty stomach. You also had that stupid drink at the coffee shop. Just what the hell are you thinking?"

You sit on the bed. You first brush your husband's fringe with your fingers, then cup his cheeks and casually wipe the side of his mouth.

"Here, eat something."

Jungkook doesn't need to tell you to feed him. You bring a spoonful of food to his mouth, gently urging him to eat.

The detective moans. Your food tastes like heaven, even better than those Michelin restaurants. "My wife is such a great cook. Thank you~~"

"Whatever. Just don't moan, bastard." You can feel your cheeks turning hot. You easily get flustered with compliments.

Jungkook suddenly wonders if Taehyung has said something to make you blush, too.

"Oi, Jungkook. Don't tell me you don't have an appetite anymore. You barely ate!"

It's not like the detective doesn't want to eat anymore. His mood only plummets when he thinks about your soulmate.

Jungkook utters your name softly and asks, "Are you happy?"

"What kind of question is that?" You scrunch your nose, but you still answer. "Of course I'm happy." I have you in my life.

"No. I mean, are you happy you can see colors now?"

"I'm happier." You are surprised at how quickly you answered. Maybe because it's never hard for you to tell the truth. But still...you don't want to sound insensitive. You know your husband has yet to see colors.

You try again, "I mean...seeing colors makes my job easier, and I’m not just saying this because I'm getting promoted soon." People in their world have a greater chance of success once they see colors. 

"I guess I appreciate my job even more. It makes me feel alive, if you will. Things seem "livelier..."

You look into Jungkook's brown eyes. You can see them sparkling. For the first time in twenty-plus years you have known Jungkook, this is the only time you have seen how pink his lips are.

You can feel your heart thumping.

Looking at Jungkook with colors makes you feel "More." You whisper, "I feel things more with colors, Jungkook."

More love.

More joy.

And more clarity about what you really feel about your best friend.

"That's good, then." Jungkook rests his head on your shoulders. "I'm glad you're happy."

He really is. If he can go back to last night, Jungkook won't hesitate to tell Namjoon that, even though it hurts him, he's glad you met the one fated to you.

*****

Months pass, and things get even better for you. You got promoted twice and now handle one of your company's major customers. Your wallet gets fatter—so shouting at Namjoon to tell Hoseok to calm down doesn’t work anymore. Your free time is almost non-existent, though. It makes Jungkook sigh.

“Hey, Jungkook. You’re free to go.” Jungkook’s mood soars when his partner at work approaches him.

“Seokjin-hyung!” Jungkook’s jaw drops to the floor. “Did I hear you right? Are you seriously allowing me to get off work an hour earlier!?”

Seokjin is a hardworking detective who does not joke around since he knows his job affects the public's general welfare. Still, he also knows that you and Jungkook are celebrating your anniversary as a married couple for ten years.

“Just go, Jungkook-ah.” Seokjin pushes him. “Just leave before I change my mind. And for heaven’s sake, get your wife anything but flowers. No one wants to see you sneezing all day. Keep your snots away--!!”

Jungkook walks faster, not wanting to hear his work partner complain. So what if he sneezes all day? So what if he’s allergic to flowers? You love flowers, so he’ll get you bouquets.

Humming, Jungkook makes his way to the flower shop. The snowflakes fall lightly. It’s winter. Jungkook met you in the winter of 2002. You also got married in winter, the year 2013. Other people don’t like this season, especially Hoseok, who watched Namjoon suffer a fall accident because of slippery ground three years ago. Thank goodness Namjoon is okay now.

Jungkook buys flowers and your favorite wine. He’s almost home when a ghost from the past blocks his way.

“Oh, if it isn’t the beloved scoundrel of my bitch of a soulmate.”

Jungkook stiffens, eyes turning dark as he takes in the lone figure of his father.

“Jeon Sungmin.” Jungkook’s tone is scathing.

“The one and only.” Sungmin juts his chin. “Did you miss me, son?”

“Don’t call me that.” Jungkook clenches his fist. Unadulterated anger fills his heart. He’s trying hard not to punch this pathetic man. “In case you forgot, I still have a restraining order against you. I can even arrest you myself.”

Sungmin lets out a sardonic laugh. It’s loud—the kind of laughter that makes Jungkook’s skin itch. He can’t see colors but could’ve sworn he sees blood. Maybe he just wants to claim blood.

“Don’t act so tough on me, boy. In case you forgot, you just stood like a dumb bastard when I killed your bitch of a mom.”

“Stop.” Jungkook chokes, feeling a lump forming in his throat. He can’t breathe. Memories have come to haunt him.

“Scared, aren’t we?” Sungmin drags his limping feet to Jungkook. Twenty years in prison broke his body but not his soul. Even with only his tattered clothes and one functioning eye, Sungmin can still bring terror to his son.

“You should be. You’re nothing but a pathetic scourge.” Sungmin pulls Jungkook’s collar, slamming him into a cold wall. “Now be of use and give me money.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. His eyes droop, wanting to puke as he feels his father stealing his wallet. He hears screams inside his head, the pleas of his mother. Jungkook-ah, run. Please. You have to save yourself. 

Jungkook remains rooted in his spot back then, just hollowly looking at the blood on the floor. He watched as Sungmin smashed the baseball bat into his mother’s head.

More screams. Sungmin didn’t stop the beating until the police officers came.

Twenty years later, Jungkook is still the same. He still can’t stand up for himself. He watches his father take his wine and wallet, leaving like nothing happened.

Jungkook doesn’t know how he manages to walk back home. He stays outside, ruined flowers in his lap. He cannot get in as his keys are inside his stolen wallet.

Jungkook could only wait for a purple-eyed girl whose eyes he thought were gray.

****

Like Jungkook, you get off work early as well. Your secretary runs after you, saying that you can’t leave yet. However, you dismissed the secretary and passed the work on to Yeonjun instead. You hate that you are not home yet. You are actually supposed to take the day off to plan your anniversary date with your husband better.

It’s your 10th anniversary, after all. You are thinking of cooking Jungkook’s favorite food and giving him a…body massage. Many things are running into your mind—you can’t wait to try them all with your husband. Too bad work is holding you back.

“Sunbaenim, what do you think about this color combination? Is the shade of blue too dark for this winter’s theme?” Yeji excitedly shows off her design.

You rub your neck roughly, stopping yourself from throwing profanities. Calm down. Yeji is a hardworking designer who only wants the best for the team.

“I’m thinking of using an aqua frost instead. One shoulder sleeve should do the trick if—”

Oh my God. ‘Someone, please kill me now.’ You scream internally.

“Yeji,” you press your lips into a thin line. “I actually can’t entertain you right now. Would you mind checking in with Taehyung instead?”

Yeji’s shoulders drop. “Ah, Taehyung-sunbaenim isn’t here at the moment.”

“What do you mean he’s not here?” You feel your head pulsating. “Where is he?”

Everyone is so busy. Taehyung can’t possibly skip work, right?

“He’s at the coffee shop downstairs.”

That son of a--!!

You stand up abruptly. Taehyung’s coffee break ended an hour ago! How can he still be at the coffee shop!? You are seething in anger. You know Taehyung is your soulmate, but you can’t just connect to him. The first few months are okay. However, you soon realize how incompatible you and Taehyung are. Your connection starts with colors, and it also ends there. Nothing more, nothing less.

“I’m going to call him.” You exit, ignoring Yeji’s call. Honestly, what you said is half lie and half-truth. You just really, really want to leave the office. It’s a pure happenstance to bump into Taehyung in the elevator.

“Hey.” He calls your name. Remnants of joy are still visible on Taehyung’s face. Two coffee holders are in his hands—he got the whole team some drinks. “I got coffee. Where’re you going?”

“Home.” You press the elevator button. “It’s my husband and I’s anniversary.”

“Ah.” Taehyung nods in understanding. He never once shows any sign of disappointment over his soulmate spending time with another person. “Didn’t you say Detective Jeon likes eating sweets? Jimin-hyung baked a chocolate cake today. Will you accept it as my anniversary gift for you two?”

You pause. It’s like your brain short-circuits upon noticing Taehyung’s expression when he utters Jimin’s name.

Jimin—the barista and baker at the coffee shop where Taehyung frequents.

“Taehyung,” your heart stutters. “D-Do you remember your first day in the office?”

“Of course.” Taehyung offers a small smile. “It’s hard to forget that day, don’t you think? We both saw colors for the first time.”

You blink at him, not saying anything.

Taehyung avoids eye contact, thinking he’s not smart enough to understand what you implied. He tries to remember every detail of that day.

“I think I came to the office ten minutes earlier. I got everyone coffee. Come to think of it, Jimin-hyung actually saved me that day. He knows everyone’s order—Hey, are you alright?”

“You…” You gasp. “You met with Jimin before seeing me at the office, right?”

“Yes?” Taehyung’s hands are getting clammy for grasping the coffee holders. It doesn’t help that you are acting weird, making him more anxious.

“Taehyung, I think there’s been a glitch.”

Yeji goes after you a few minutes later. Both of you and Jimin are taking too long. Luckily, she instantly spots you at the elevator door. You look agitated, while Taehyung seems dumbfounded.

“Sunbaenim!” Yeji tries to stop you two, but you and Taehyung have already gotten inside the lift.

“Yeji, there you are.” Taehyung passes the coffee holders to Yeji. “Drink this with the others. We’ll be taking another break. See you later.”

“Wait—!!”

The elevator door closes.

Yeji whines, “I still have to show you my designs….”

****

You rush home, excited to see your husband. However, your excitement quickly turns into horror when you spot Jungkook sitting on your porch.

“Jungkook!?” Your eyes dilate. Jungkook is staring into nothingness. You are familiar with this kind of expression, the kind where you are forced to swallow your insults because you know. 

You know something terrible happened to your husband.

You quickly open the door and pull Jungkook to his feet. The detective is still unresponsive, letting you drag him into the bathroom. You did all the work; you immediately opened the heater and got warm clothes.

“Kook,” you call softly, cradling Jungkook’s hands to blow on them. “ Can you lift your arms for me? Let’s get you changed, alright?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer but does what he’s told. You are shaking as you help your husband change. You want to give the detective warm water and candies, but Jungkook still looks shaken. You can only gently drag him to bed. You lay down beside Jungkook, hugging him close to your chest.

You didn’t ask any questions, allowing Jungkook to breathe first.

“I--” Jungkook hiccups, sounding broken. He weakly grips the hem of your shirt.

“I’m here, Darling.” You kiss your husband’s forehead. You hug him even tighter, wishing to melt your body and bones and offer all your warmth and love to Jungkook.

Jungkook calls your name, his voice almost sounding like a wounded animal.

You caress your partner’s cheeks. They’re wet. It takes everything in you to pick up the pieces of your broken heart. No. You can’t fall apart now. Jungkook needs you.

“Mn. I’m here. You can tell me what you want.”

“N-No.” Jungkook whimpers, “I don’t want anything. I—I don’t deserve anything.”

“Jungkook.” You break the hug and force Jungkook to sit up on the bed. He’s warm enough. He’ll live.

The detective cast his gaze down, though—an indication he doesn’t want to hear whatever you have to say.

It pisses you off.

“Jungkook. Look at me.” You demand sternly. But Jungkook shakes his head.

“No, you’re mad at me.”

“Heck yeah, I’m mad. I’m so mad I can punch your face right now.” You have been patient with him, believing he’s vulnerable and in need of space. But your heart is only soft for a sad Jungkook, not for a Jungkook who blabs stupid things.

Jungkook balls his hands into fists, “You don’t understand. It’s so noisy in here.” He points at his head, “They won’t shut up. I’m—he….”

Jungkook gasps for air. You panic. You rub Jungkook’s back.

“Jungkook,” the saddest thing in this world is not seeing colors; it’s watching your beloved deal with the pain while you sit there pathetically, unable to take even a fraction of his hurt.

What good is a soulmate when all it can bring is color? Why can’t you take away Jungkook’s pain?

“He’s back, my father is out of jail.” Jungkook grips the bedsheet, “He’s come back for me. He hurt her before. He always takes away the people I love.”

Trauma is a part of Jungkook; napping silently and with one wrong shake, it’ll wake up and wreak havoc.

“You should run. Leave me. I don’t have a use to you, anyway—”

“Hush,” you can’t bear to listen anymore. You pull Jungkook to your chest, but the detective struggles.

“Please. You have to listen to me! Just leave! We’re not soulmates. I don’t understand why you’re still here!" Jungkook pushes your chest, but you catch his hands, burying Jungkook’s face into your neck.

“Oh, ma moitié.” The French endearment sounds easy coming out of your mouth. Jungkook melts at once. He sobs against your skin.

Ma moitié translates to my other half.

Jungkook wants to curse this unfair world. That’s right. How can you and him not be each other’s other half? It’s difficult to fight for you when fate is against you two. Sometimes Jungkook feels like no one has the right to tear you apart, mainly because you two paint each other's life—not with colors but with love. You and Jungkook are soulmates by heart. Many people call you twin black. The monochromatic world doesn't rob the two of you of happiness, love, and care. It takes one Jeon Jungkook to know that you like drinking cold water, not just 'cold water.' It has to be a certain degree of coldness:

If the water sits in the refrigerator for two hours, that's not cold enough. If it's water coming from a semi-solid ice cube, then that's too cold. 

You are fussy, but you give your effort to Jungkook similarly. Whenever you pick Jungkook up from work, you never fail to put your expensive leather jacket on the passenger seat, so Jungkook wouldn't have to deal with a burning hot seat. You don’t mind being stuck in the traffic and driving for hours to pick him up at work every day.

“Why can’t you be mine?” Jungkook doesn’t have the energy to push you away. His hatred is directed toward fate, himself, and his deranged father. Why are they against you and him being together?

“But I’m already yours, Kook.” You lick Jungkook’s tears and kiss his eyes. “Everything about me belongs to you. This,”

You guide Jungkook’s hands to your eyes, lips, and neck, then lower Jungkook’s hands to your heart. You let the detective feel your beating heart.

“You hear that, Kook?” Your eyes well up with tears. “That’s my heart telling you something.”

Goosebumps prick at Jungkook’s skin.

You do not break eye contact. “I love you, Jungkook.”

You have said those words countless times before, but it doesn’t fail to take Jungkook’s breath away—especially now that the I love you is said so softly…so romantically.

“You’re my soulmate, Jungkook.”

Jungkook flinches, shaking his head rapidly.

“T-That can’t be. You…you see colors. I don’t. We’re—we’re….”

Why are you lying? Why are you giving Jungkook false hope? It’s cruel.

But you are insistent.

“Jungkook,” you kiss him. “Stop thinking for a while, yeah? Focus on me. Focus on my heart. I love you.”

“I love you too,” Jungkook answers against your lips. He never responded before, simply allowing and relishing the taste of your sweet lips.

“I love you so much,” Jungkook repeats, groaning and biting your lips until it draws blood. Jungkook had never allowed himself to possess before, scared that he would end up ruining what he loved. But today is different. You are addicting. Claiming he loves you gives him so much power--

He pushes you to bed, pressing himself on top of you.

Jungkook kisses you. “I love you. I love you. I really, really love you.”

 --so much happiness.

“I love you.”

--so much color.

Jungkook stops kissing you; his head spins.

--so much color.

Color.

The monochromatic world is slowly changing.

Color.

More colors.

Jungkook’s eyes grow wide.

He looks at you under him.

He gasps and calls your name. Your name sounds like a prayer coming out of Jungkook’s mouth.

“Your eyes…they’re purple.”

You chuckle under him. You wipe Jungkook’s tears.

“Took you long enough to realize, Kook.”

Jungkook laughs hysterically. He stares into your eyes again, ensuring he’s not dreaming or going crazing.

Your eyes are really purple—not gray.

At this very moment, Jungkook realizes something: out of all the suicide methods in history, Jungkook thinks that if he were to try one, it still wouldn’t work because seeing the purple in your eyes will bring him back to life.

Really. No amount of oxygen can compare to the image of you lying on your bed, purple eyes glistening as you whisper sweet nothings to your soulmate. With that, Jungkook feels he can finally breathe.

****

Meanwhile, on Aurora Fashion Lane, Taehyung runs toward the coffee shop. The conversation he had with you at the elevator rings inside his mind.

There has been a glitch.

That’s right. Taehyung remembers that day like the back of his hand.

It’s 6:23am. He went to a coffee shop looking so composed, but he’s actually very nervous. However, the presence of the barista calms him down.

“You’re new here, aren’t you?” Jimin, the barista, asks. A soft smile adores his pretty face.

Taehyung feels his heart skipping a beat. He licks his lips, “You can tell?”

“You smell different.”

“Really.” Taehyung feels blood rushing to his face.

Jimin laughs. “Don’t be conscious. I said you smell different, not bad. I can tell because I’m blind. My other senses are heightened because of it.”

“Ah.” Taehyung is fascinated. Jimin prepares coffee like a pro. He won’t know Jimin can’t see if he didn’t say it.

“This one is for your head designer; she likes her coffee with some liquor. I sneak some little candies onto her tray so she can bring them home to Detective Jeon, her husband.” Jimin pushes a coffee cup to Taehyung.

“This one is for Yeji. She prefers iced coffee even when it’s freezing cold. This one is for Ji-Eun. She likes tea and not coffee. Yeonjun never changes his order. It’s always two shots of espresso. Jake drinks anything, as long as it’s not too bitter. And this,”

Jimin smiles, “Is for you. A bulgogi sandwich and iced latte. The sandwich is not spicy, so you don’t need to worry. Have a good day.”

Taehyung feels like floating in the air when he goes to work. He first sees you at the door, looking so pensive early in the morning.

You are thinking about your husband. His birthday is coming soon. You want to give him something precious.

A wristwatch? Nah. That’s too simple.

A perfume? Nope. You prefer it when he smells like you.

What about a picnic date near the sea? You can arrange for a firework display and…

Confess.

You flinch at your own thought.

Confess.

You want to confess to Jungkook because---

--you love him.

“Good morning.” Taehyung greets.

You are startled. You snap your head up to meet Taehyung’s face.

All of a sudden, a splash of colors welcomes you.

You see colors, and so does Taehyung.

“So yeah, I think there’s been a glitch.” Taehyung tries to explain to an expressionless Jimin. He swallows when the barista doesn’t answer.

Taehyung releases a deep sigh. Right. He probably sounds crazy right now. It’s not cool to suddenly barge at someone’s work and announce that you think the barista is your soulmate.

Taehyung scolds himself. He’s about to apologize and tell Jimin to ignore what he said when—

“I know,” Jimin responds.

Taehyung blinks up at him dumbly.

Jimin’s lips twist, “Didn’t I tell you I’m blind?”

What’s his blindness got to do with anything? Taehyung still likes him.

“Taehyung, I’m blind.” He repeats. “I’ve been blind since I was born. When I dream, I don’t dream visually, but.”

There’s a sudden pause. Jimin looks lost in thought.

He continues after a while, “The night before I met you, I dreamt of you. I saw a man who told me I was his soulmate. You two have the same voice, and here…” Jimin brings out his sketch pad and finally shows it to Taehyung.

“I draw the face of the man in my dream. Does it look like you?”

Taehyung gasps dramatically because, my gosh. Jimin has perfectly drawn his face!

“This is really me…I’m your soulmate, Jimin.” Taehyung stutters a breath. His heart beats fast.

Jimin chuckles softly, and then he touches Taehyung’s eyes. “Yes, you told me in my dream, too. I’m just waiting for you to realize it in real life.”

The thing about soulmates is it’s complex. Researchers even claim there are different universes, all of which have the concept of soulmates. Some hear the thoughts of their soulmates in their heads. Some are immortals and will only die if they do the act with their soulmates. And then comes their world, a monochromatic place where you’ll see colors once you look at your soulmate’s eyes.

But it’s not that simple. Sometimes, you have to free yourself from your own judgment first. Sometimes, you must be honest first; sometimes, you just have to wait.

****

Accept this fic while I take my time writing my ongoing JJK series here.

This is originally a soukoku fic I've written before. If you prefer that version, click here. I've converted it into a JJK x reader because it was requested by an anon here. If there are obvious mistakes in pronouns and such, please tell me because as said, this is originally a fic for a different fandom and it used to be a mxm pairing. I may have missed some thing while editing it.

I've written the same concept of soulmate ft. JJK years ago. It's a series which you can read here.

I appreciate comments the most! If you have suggestions about addtional tw, please don't hesitate to message me. Thank you ~~

[cumikering]

Neighbour Ghost x reader 8 (end)

1.6k | fluff The stray and his forever home (part 1)

“Bone apple tea.” You placed the cup of camomile in front of Simon.

“What?”

You pointed at your skull-printed shirt, the apple pie patch on his hoodie and the tea on the table. “Bone. Apple. Tea.”

He’d missed that brilliant smile too much. It was impossible to not want to kiss you. He chuckled as he pulled you to stand between his thighs.

That Sunday with your help, despite the pounding of his head, he packed the rest of his stuff and managed to move out. In the last few days he had before he left, he spent any possible moment with you, mainly eating his favourite Chinese takeout or cuddling on the couch.

Two months later when Simon came back, things crawled to how they were, with him visiting for dinner and leaving before midnight. Eventually, he stayed more and more nights a week, leaving more than a few of his shirts behind.

The divorce was finalised and his childhood home was sold. The city of Manchester didn’t mean gripping the straps of his backpack after school as he walked up the dreaded front steps anymore, nor sleeping restlessly lest someone barged in the door with another bizarre creature. The house was gone, along with the memories that breathed within the walls. He didn’t miss them.

His mum got a flat near Tommy’s and a job at a flower shop in the neighbourhood. ‘Not as nice as working with Ben’, she said. She had to buy her own bread, and none she’d found in the area tasted remotely close to how grand his were. She still cooked too much, but Tommy didn’t mind the extra whenever she dropped by. Little Joe always loved seeing his nana anyway.

Back from his next deployment, Simon held you at the door as he inhaled the warmth he’d missed terribly. After his shower, you showed him his shirts in their own drawer, not jammed between yours anymore. He smiled, pulling you in for a kiss.

In spring, he came with to visit your dad, insisting on wearing one of his dress shirts, even when you assured it was a regular lunch. He stood rigid on the porch, the neck of the wine bottle about to snap in his grip.

Your dad was taking too long. Was he arming himself before opening the door? Should he tackle and disarm him or take the shot like a man? He should have worn a tac vest.

“Si, relax.” You rubbed his back. “You’re already too tall. You’re going to scare my dad.”

Is that not a good thing?

Your dad (obviously unarmed) tried making small talk with him at lunch, but he sucked at it as much as Simon did, leaving you to do almost all the talking among the pauses. You only received short answers from the men who avoided each other’s gazes.

Also, who the bloody hell put the coriander in the chicken stir-fry?!

“Your dad hates me,” Simon declared as he drove home, the phantom taste of soap persisted on his palate despite the hours between.

“He doesn’t, I promise. He doesn’t even really like Chinese, but picked the place because I told him how much you love it. He really tried, but just doesn’t talk much with new people.” You stifled a laugh. “You should have cracked a few jokes.”

He gave you a deadpan look. “When we get home, I’m going to tickle you until you pass out.”

Home.

You’d made your flat Simon’s home too. You cleared another drawer for him, and another, and another, even when he didn’t have so many possessions. But you let him expand and take up the space he needed. He reordered a set of his ID discs for you to keep on your nightstand.

Things were… easy. Simple, like getting out of bed a little later on weekends. With his nose buried in your hair, arm around your waist pulling you flush to his chest, he held you in silence from dawn until you woke. Listening to your quiet breathing filled his chest heavy with warmth.

You’d asked multiple times if it bored him to be doing nothing, as if he didn’t lay prone behind rifle scopes for hours on end for a living. It didn’t, because being in your presence wasn’t nothing. You were real, and you were his.

You woke with a stir, a smile gracing your lips when you realised he was with you before your eyes opened.

“Good morning, my love.” He slipped the strap of your tank top off before peppering kisses on the nape of your neck down your exposed shoulder.

“Morning, Si.” You reached back to scratch his scalp.

He rolled you onto your back before crawling on top of you, kissing the column on your neck making you giggle with his weekend scruff. He pulled away to admire your eyes, always striking in the warm sun.

“Love looking at you.” You cupped his cheek, tracing the healed cut with your thumb. “You’re so beautiful, Si.”

He leaned in, and you stayed in bed a little longer.

In his shirt, you placed more toasts on the table.

“Two goldfish are in a tank…”

He handed you a buttered toast. “Don’t steal my jokes, luv.”

“It’s too lame to forget.”

“Yeah? ‘Cause I remember you howling at Tesco when I told it.”

“It was your first ever.” You smiled. “My favourite.”

“Why didn’t you tell me I was scary, luv?”

“I’m not sure they teach you to tell the scary bloke he’s scary in self-defence class.” You took a bite of the toast.

“Fair enough.” He shrugged. “Are you out of jam?”

“Forgot to grab some yesterday, but I didn’t forget your limes.”

Simon became a bit of a pie connoisseur. He figured baking was better than sparring with the intention of beating someone up to a pulp. He tried different fruits (even declared himself a pro at peeling) and techniques, and eventually other varieties. That late Saturday morning, it was key lime pie.

“Why’s the cat so small?” you asked as you tied your kitty apron around his waist.

“Why?”

“Because it drank condensed milk.”

He liked that you were becoming more like him. “You too, it seems.”

You mock gasped. “Rude! You know I can take you, Si.”

“Not in a fight.”

You slapped his chest playfully earning a hearty laugh from him.

Volunteering at the soup kitchen became a regular occurrence too, along with his sergeants. Sam ended up dating one of the volunteers’ daughters, the one he was introduced to. Unfortunately, his two other sergeants hadn’t had as much luck on their side. ‘Does your birdie have sisters or friends, sir?’ Eric joked, but it barely masked his hopefulness. You assured you’d ask around if they promised to keep each other safe while deployed.

It got hard at times, when things went sideways and the missions lasted longer, or when he had no way to contact you or wipe the tears off your face.

Somewhere along the way, Simon listed you as his emergency contact. You weren’t supposed to find out this way. Not this soon, not from his captain calling you about how he was unconscious, dying from blood loss from getting his leg slashed.

The first thing he did when he astonishingly woke was to call you. He could ignore the sear on his thigh, or the fact that his eyelids weighed like lead, but not the guilt that sank into the pits of him when you were in a mess of tears.

“I’m so sorry, luv,” he croaked out of his throat that felt like sandpaper. “I mean it. I’ll leave this all behind if that’s what it takes to keep you. You just have to say the word.”

“Si, you don’t... always have to bend yourself backwards for others. I chose you for who you are, and I will keep choosing you, as long as you don’t give up on this. On us.” You sniffled. “Please come home soon. I need you with me.”

Simon was glad you stood by his decision to stay, because that afternoon a year after, as the major pinned on the new insignia onto his uniform, he couldn’t wipe the smile off his face when the mass erupted in applause.

Captain Simon Riley.

Among the crowd, next to Tommy and Beth, her belly carrying his niece, you had your arm around his mum, Joe’s hand in yours. From across the room, your sincere eyes made him feel like a hero, the most desirable man. He knew he wasn’t, but you looked at him like he was sunshine, and maybe, he was to you a little bit.

Nothing changed. Simon was still fatherless, still missed out on the memories a child deserved to have, but was never granted. Still bound to a past that wouldn’t go, but he was more than that.

He thought his dad was the only thing standing in the way of happiness, whatever it meant. He knew now. It wasn’t what he thought he wanted, wasn’t what he imagined, but it was perfect. This was what it was supposed to be like all along.

“For you,” he mouthed.

Simon Riley never wanted to be an oil painting admired by many, but he was, and always had been, a love note sealed with a kiss.

Line art from part 4

Masterlist

Thank you so much for sticking around until the end :) I greatly appreciate the support and kind words this little story has received. Take care!

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[worksby-d]

That’s the idea

Pairing: Andy Barber x fem!Reader

Summary: Andy has to calm your nerves before taking you to meet some of his coworkers.

Warnings: divorced!Andy 🙂‍↕️, age gap probably (‘cause it's me), shower sex, blowjob/face fucking, unprotected sex, 18+

Word count: ~1,200

a/n: it's been MONTHSSSS since i've written smut let's please be nice 😭🫶

“It's gonna be fine, hon—” 

His voice is slightly drowned out by the sound of the running water. As he showers, you're sitting on his bathroom counter, talking his ear off while waiting for your turn. It's all of your nerves bubbling to the surface at once at the thought of meeting his coworkers for the first time. 

Before he can try to quell your worries for the umpteenth time, you're going on again. 

“What if they don't like me?” 

“It's just a retirement party, sweetheart…” He waits for you to interrupt again, but you’re letting him finish for once. “Low pressure, I promise.” 

“I know, but…” 

Your but is quiet. The thought you can't shake is knowing that these are people that knew Andy’s ex-wife and probably liked her… liked them together. You know he'd hate the fact you're comparing yourself though. 

“What if they're mean to me?” You're kind of joking now, but it's your way of deflecting from your actual nerves for a moment. “You talk about them being assholes a lot…” 

“They're not gonna be mean to you,” he says sternly. “I won't let them.” 

All you can see through the fogged up glass enclosing the shower is his silhouette, but you can hear it in his voice that he's rolling his eyes at you. 

“Are you done yet?” You finally ask. 

You know time is ticking. 

Before his response, you hear the door slide open and you watch as he peeks his head out. 

“Come here, please,” he asks, waving his hand toward himself. 

Reluctantly, you hop off the counter and step toward him. 

“What?” 

Instead of answering, he kisses you. “Relax,” he murmurs against your lips. 

“I'm fucking nervous,” you remind him, as if he hasn't gotten the hint yet. 

“I can tell,” he laughs.

The slow, breathtaking kiss works for a split second, until his damp hand touches your cheek. 

“Andy,” you chuckle, pulling away. Your smile falters as you look in his eyes. “What if I embarrass you?” 

“The hypotheticals,” he groans, dropping his head back in faux anguish before looking back at you. “Remind me, who’s the attorney here?” 

That gets you to crack a smile. “But I'm being serious.” 

“I know you are,” he assures. “That's not gonna happen though.” 

His hands find yours, entwining his fingers with yours. And just like that, he's gotten you back. You lean in and melt into his kiss again. You don't stop him this time, letting him untie your robe and help you slip out of it. 

Stepping into the shower with him, his arms wrap tightly around you. 

“It’s not working,” you mumble. 

“What isn't?” He teases.

“You keep trying to calm me down,” you chuckle. “But we don't have time for this.” 

He drops his forehead to your shoulder, letting out a laugh. 

“You are so on edge.” He presses a soft kiss to your skin. His fingers are trailing up and down your sides. “Give me a couple minutes.” 

“Okay,” you sigh. “But no funny business. We really have to get going—” 

“Trust me, honey,” he says, kissing your neck. “This is very serious business to me.” 

Your lips part in a silent moan and your fingers flex, digging into his back. 

He smirks, knowing it's working. 

“Think you can get on your knees for me?” He whispers in your ear. 

…And you're gone. He knows exactly how to pause your racing thoughts when you give him the chance. 

He feels your nod. “That's my girl,” he smiles, holding your hands as you lower yourself to kneel in front of him, making sure you don't slip. 

It's hard to look away once you're level with his hard cock, but you shift your eyes to look up into his. He's giving you a look, as if telling you you know what to do. 

Your mouth falls open, enough for you to stick your tongue out for him. He slaps the head of his cock against it. 

“There you go,” he praises, caressing your cheek with his other hand. “Now open up all the way for me.” 

You listen, parting your lips further so he can thrust his cock into your mouth. 

Your hands rest on his thighs to support yourself as you slowly relax for him. You can hear him groan above you when he feels you softly gag around him. 

His hand on your cheek moves closer to your neck, and to the back of your head, keeping you still as he does the work for you. 

“Oh, yeah, that's it,” he moans quietly. “Fuck, baby.” 

Simple praises laced between his sounds of pleasure make your eyes roll back as he proves how easily he can, in fact, calm you down. 

When he feels himself getting close, he forces himself to take a step back, pulling his cock out of your mouth, and allows you to take in a deep breath. 

Your chest heaves as you take a couple more and let him help you up. Catching your breath doesn't keep you from donning a blissful smile once you're face to face with him again. 

“Feeling better?” He teases. 

You let out a short laugh, your lean-in for a kiss giving him your answer.

“Good,” he says against your lips. It turns into a deep kiss. intoxicating enough to keep you doing as he says. “Now turn around.” 

His hands stay protectively near your hips as you turn away from him, placing your hands in front of you and arching your back. 

“You’d think this wasn't your first time,” he quips as you move exactly how he'd position you. 

One hand slips from your hip to between your legs, teasing two fingers along your slit before rubbing your clit. 

“Gonna fuck this pretty pussy for good measure.” His voice is low as he strokes his cock with his other hand. “Want how good you feel to be the only thought in your pretty head, okay?” 

“Please,” you whimper, pushing your ass back against him, needing to feel more than just his fingers. 

One thrust of his hips has you moaning loudly, immediately begging him to move faster as you feel inch-by-inch of his length slowly sinking into you. 

He lifts and holds one of your legs up, spreading you open for him so he can fuck you deeper. 

“Feels so good,” you whine, dropping your own hand down to rub your clit again. “You're gonna make me cum.” 

“That's the idea, baby.” His laugh turns into a moan of his own as he feels your cunt tighten around him. “Do it. Cum for me. Let go, sweetheart.” 

After a couple moments of his steady movements and dirty encouragements, you cry out his name as waves of pleasure wash over you. It's a good thing both of his hands are on you, holding you up as your legs quiver. 

“Good girl,” he grunts. 

A few rough thrusts as he works you through your high cause him to come undone too. His hips still as his cock twitches, spilling inside you. 

“Fuck,” he breathes heavily, rubbing your side. His other hand gently lowers your leg and moves to keep a steady grip on your waist.

He pulls out of you slowly, giving you a second before helping you turn back around. 

“Very serious business, my ass,” you pant, working on catching your breath as you rest your head on his shoulder. 

“Hey,” he laughs and hugs you tighter. “It worked, didn't it?” 

“We'll see,” you sigh. 

“Honey…” He chuckles. He swears he doesn't know what to do with you sometimes. “It's gonna be fine, I promise.” 

Tag list: @patzammit @thummbelina @pppsssyyyccchhhiiiccc @astheskycries @chris-evans-indian-fanfic @turtoix @harrysthiccthighss @mrspeacem1nusone @geminievans1 @doozywoozy @americasass91 @dwights-new-plague @wwwmarissa92 @redhairedfeistynerd @whxre4cevans @aubreeskailynn @melchills-j @xoxabs88xox @before-we-get-started @chrissquares @christowhore @ice-dtae @mariestark @justile @rogersbarber @dilfbarber @payperhearts @vintagestarlight @miss-ariella @bemysugarbean @t-stark35 @seitmai @reginaphalange2403 @raelorns21 @mrsgweasley @pandaxnienke @brandycranby

[decodedlvr]

~ never did this before | virgin!Eddie Munson x virgin! Thick!Fem Reader \\ modern au

This story is based off the song Wet Dreamz by Jcole **recommend listening to it first to understand the story// can be perceived/read regardless if you are a poc; as I am mixed ♡ [descriptions of reader having tan skin and brown eyes; so it meets in the middle if you are a poc or not]

• Summary: after weeks of flirting and crushing on each other, you finally pop a serious question into your bestfriend Eddie’s head, and he has a hard time providing you with an honest answer // this is more like a rom com

• Warnings: MDNI; smut (not too explicitly) fluff, both kinda experienced? soft Eddie, cocky Eddie, sassy reader, brief mentions of smoking and drinking, he’s a little bit of a perv, masturbation, 69, protected piv, premature ejaculation, heavy petting, grinding, confessions, slight insecure thoughts? (both are 18+) word count :3.4k //sry 4 errors

Eddie’s Pov

Calculus. The last class of the day. My favorite class overall.

There she sat, giggling on her phone, showing me silly photos she took of her dog Skittle, the sun shining just right on her honey toned tanned skin, hair laying just as perfect as ever in that simple, claw clip. Curls and wavy bangs sectioned to shape her face, brown eyes that matched mine and oh those glossy lips..

I wanna kiss you so fucking bad baby.

Her outfit of the day, that new pink and black checkered shirt she got at the mall that I drove her to.

It’s so tight on you sweetheart, your tits look beautiful today.

White Reeboks as I have, but very much cleaner…

Those 100% perfectly stretchy, acid wash jeans you wear every week that fit your ass so fucking bad.. fuck don’t bend over.. don’t—

“Eddie? what’s wrong with you?”

Fuck— didn’t realize the moan that I slipped out when she dropped her phone, she cracked it..but all I could focus on were the back of her thighs when she bent over

“Sorry uh- I think I’m just sore from carrying those amps last night”, he says now rubbing his not sore bicep with a pout

Lie.

“Oh babe I’m sorry, come by later and I can rub it out for you” she replies

Why the fuck would you say that to me right now—

“Oh yeah? You’d just love to get your hands on me always huh sweetheart? ” leaning back in my seat, with a cocky smile

You blush and shove my arm playfully “you’re so stupid, you know what I meant”

——

She’s been like this for the past month, after Harringtons party. Smoking and drinking under that patio umbrella, away from everyone else. Laughing, holding on to each other for dear life. I tell her jokes, she ugly laughs. I love her laugh, it’s not fake it’s genuine like her.

We met at the drink table, both preferring whiskey over the red shit they put out.

We talked about our intrests, I was very suprised and impressed with how she carried herself. How she talked about herself. How she sat comfortably on my lap; as if we knew each other for forever.

Obviously her thick hips in that royal blue, tacky dress she wore caught my attention first

It takes a certain kinda person to make me laugh but she.. she was probably the most funniest and beautiful fucking girl I’ve never seen. A few beauty marks as she would call it, scattered down her neck and arms. Eyelashes so dark she could always pass on the mascara, the sweet charm and sass she had to her.. she was something different.

She was fresh to town and it was relief to meet someone new. Similar childhood experiences, divorced parents but her dad stopped reaching out to them. Her mom was just a bitch to her. Very narcissistic person but, she had her kind moments. She definitely wasn’t the worse mother I’ve ever heard of.

All of that lead to a heavy make out session in the bathroom.

Sitting at the edge of the toilet, her scratching the back of my head with those sharp coffin shaped nails, me squeezing the fat of her ass on my lap. Hell, I was surprised how into this she was.. considering I’ve only kissed two girls in my life.

Sure I’ve watched my fair share of porn, visited sex stores, took a few notes; even got a handy under the bleachers last year from Carol. She forgot to pay for the weed I gave her, she offered, why not.

“Oh yeah, what’s your name again?” I ask kissing down her neck

“Y/N, but you can call me anything you want right now” she whimpers at the feeling of me nipping her throat

-“fuck you’re a r-really good kisser”

“-could say the same about you sweetheart” feeling the roll of her heat over my already strained dick.

I wonder how many guys she’s done this with

“Sorry, I don’t usually do this but, there’s just something so sexy about you”—

Biggest fucking ego boot ever.

“Fuck baby, if you keep talkin to me like that I’m gonna bust”

“Awe, am I making you feel some typa way Eddie?” She smirks looking down at me

“You know you are”

—

Unfortunately that ended quicker than it started, Robin got too hungover and needed our space.

She told me her classes and we exchanged numbers.

After that we talked everyday on FaceTime after getting home from school. I show her a new guitar riff and she shows me the new necklaces or shirts she ordered.

Sometimes she’d forget she was on camera and changed out of her bra a few times.

Hey, couldn’t help but to look come on, I am just a man

I can’t tell you the amount of times I’ve fucked myself to that imagine every morning.. and evening and night..

Slept on the phone together, hung out at lunch together.

I only ever seen her at lunch other than at the end of the day in Mrs. Wilson’s calculus class. Bringing us back to now

——

“Mr. Munson are you done chatting now?” Wilson knocks me out of my trance

“Sorry bout that, yes ma’am” giving her a thumbs up sitting back up straight as she rolls her eyes subtly.

You slide me note. Folded up, in blue highlighted letters

You ever have sex before? Circle Yes or No ♡

fuck—we never even discuss stuff like that! how haven’t we? Don’t embarrass yourself man

Course I have, why? what’s got you so curious? ;)

I watch her look away quickly, gulping when she covers the paper to respond back

Well.. you’re cute and shit & was wondering if you wanna come over friday..? My parents have been gone all week and..we can hang or do whatever.. ♡

Did she wanna fuck? I hope so —wait you’re a virgin idiot, wait is she? probably not

I’m already there babe ;)

I reply with an easy smile, hiding the fact I’m in a state of panic

Good.. and uh bring those handcuffs on your wall too.. ♡

No way she’s a virgin talking like that

She rushes outta the classroom at the bell, turning back with a wink

Holy shit I gotta talk to Harrington.

“-and that’s what I’m saying dude, just sweet talk her, treat her like a princess, rub her in all the right places”—

“Okay but what ARE those places? I know her like tits and shit.. and well under her panties but what does it feel like? Ya know putting in it? What if I cum too fast and she laughs or runs away and never talks to me again..”—

I’ve been pacing back in forth in Family Video, loud where all the customers could hear. Definitely loud enough for Robin to upchuck her lunch

“No Eddie- just, come back here— Rob? watch the front please?” Steve grabs me by the shoulder making a bee line to the stock room

Sitting on the empty table still trying to gather my thoughts of Steve’s advice. “Well?” I rush out

“Damn man let me sit down first” he scoffs pulling a chair over to me

“Alright, you wanna know what inside a vagina feels like right?”

“Jesus, can you just say pussy or some shit”

“Same thing” he glared

“Okay well it’s not really sexy to just say vagina-

-“god Eddie, do you wanna know or not?” I can tell I’m testing his patience, I shut my lips, nodding eagerly

“Okay, so It’s like this- well like wet and really, really warm, almost like hot bath around your dick or a tight hug”—

“Wow, a hot bath thanks for the analogy Steve, I’ll make sure to take one when I get home”

He deadpans at me. “You asked me and I’m telling you, it’s hard to really explain other than a tight, wet warm hug. Oh!” he snaps his finger”-and sometimes it’ll tighten around your cock when she’s about to cum and holy shit dude— you better hold your load because the first time I had sex, it lasted about 10 seconds” My eyes widen

“WHAT!?” I shout before him shushing me “King Steve was a minute man?”— I joke

“Hey I said at first, when you get used to having sex your stamina gets better and for me personally”— he leans in “I can last approximately 45 minutes and 27 seconds” he sits back proudly

Cocky bastard.

Shit.

How long will I last? Will jerking off more boost my stamina?

——

Since that afternoon I did as much research as a I could, making a DIY sponge fleshlight.

That was a fail, got carpet burn.

Even bought condoms from the corner store, didnt know what size i was so, i grabbed all 4 boxes

Practicing my stroke game, using my pillow as a hole.

Down. Glide. Up. Down. Guide up.

Ow, fuck, cramp, cramp

This shits hard. My back hurts.

Throwing away the 8th used condom of the day, tossing myself in my desk chair, forehead sweaty, wrists throbbing; hearing my phone go off

FaceTime from Crush🖤

“Ah, fuck”— grabbing a shirt, wiping off the excess sweat off my skin, putting my pants back on, setting the phone up on my night stand, grabbing the guitar quickly setting it on my lap— “Hey! Sweetheart, what’s up, what are you up to?”

“I could ask you the same thing why is your face so red?” She asks giggling, laying on her tummy, tits spilling out , kicking her socked feet from behind

“Just took a hot shower is all”

“But your hairs not wet?” you give me a suspicious look, “Oh yeah, I just tied it up..sooo still want me over tomorrow?”

“Hell yeah! I picked up cookie dough the edible kind because I know you like that anddddd”- she reaches over her phone to grab something—“I rented whole stab franchise for a throwback”- showing me her laptop screen

“Well, that sounds like a party to me”

“You got that right..” She replies, biting her lip as if I didn’t notice,- “Anywaysss, just calling to remind you, see you tomorrow im tired, goodnight dummy *mwah*

She always ends our calls with a kiss on screen

Fuck I’m hard again

“Can’t wait sweetheart, sweet dreams” ending the call, looking down at my bulge

Welp, gotta jerk off again

Friday. THE day I might lose my virginity to the sexiest girl in school. My best friend.

I wake up earlier than usual, do my morning ritual, a joint. My nerves making me shower twice.

Should I shave?

Would she care?

A little trim wouldn’t hurt

May or may have not nicked my balls. Not too bad, maybe she won’t notice. Finding my nicest pair of jet black jeans I own, I only wear ‘em for special occasions and a wife beater? Nah that’s too much right? A flannel would help. Yeah. Definitely.

Hey I look kinda good, checking myself out in the mirror

Alright, wallet, keys, condoms, I glance over at the cuffs on the wall. Can’t forget those, stuffing them in my back pocket

—

My palms are sweaty, fuck even my ass is sweating.. 3 cigarettes already in, on my way to her house; of course I have a bad fucking hair day today, so I just opted for a low bun.

Before I could even knock, you open the door my jaw already on the floor

“Hi dummy!” You jump giving me a hug, pulling me inside.

What the hell is she wearing

A transparent green knitted, cropped sweater

is that her nipple I see? Those goddamn Nike shorts are doing her a favor—“Someone’s excited to see me?” Kicking off my shoes

“I’m always excited to see you.. also nice hair”

and neck goddamn, what is hell is he wearing you think, already feeling horny from the sight of my neck being so exposed

those jeans are doing his fine ass a favor

fuck I’m wet already

“Come on, already got it all set up for us”

“Lead the way princess” following behind you

I need to bite those fuckin legs.

——

We always sit like this on movie nights. Me against your headboard, back against my chest. I don’t remember how it started but I love it.

“Didn’t David Arquette also play in Spree?”

I squint back at the tv, “Uh yeah yeah he did, he was Kurt’s dad I think”

She replies with a mouthful “omyeah”

My hands have been holding both sides of her hips the whole time, occasionally rubbing them with my thumbs; every time I do it your breath picks up

Something else is about to be up—

“Huh?”

“Did you even hear me? You’ve been zoning out a lot recently”, you say sitting crisscross

“Something on your mind Ed’s?”

Gulp

“No no just— “ sigh

“Yeah, you. You’ve been on my mind.”

She smiles looking down, cocking her head to the side

“Oh yeah? Been thinking about me have you?” She grins

“You have no idea. ”

My breath hitches when you straddle me

Fuck me

“Wanna tell me these thoughts you’ve been having?” she asks twirling a piece of my bang

Remember what Steve said, sweet talk her

“Why don’t I just show you pretty girl”

Her smirk instantly falls, cheeks crimson “shit.. okay”

Running my hand up your thighs firmly, wrapping my arm around your lower back, my free hand pulling your face closer into my lips. “Like that baby?”

Who the fuck are you she thinks

“Fuck, yeah kiss me again”, I stare blankly until my eyes turn to pure lust, pushing her down to her back climbing on top to ease my tongue back into her mouth, my hips grinding into yours, hearing you whimper…

You’d think that’d make me harder but it’s when you grind back into me that did it

“You’re so beautiful you know that baby?.. fuck been missing these lips for weeks..”

“Shit, me too, been needing you so close to my body recently it’s been killin me,” she whines, rubbing her hands down my chest

—“that’s why I asked you to come over, could tell you were feeling me too”

You’re right about that, I mumble sucking your neck,

I’ve practiced giving myself hickies on my arms freshmen year.

Eddie, score

“That tank top Eddie.. t-take off the flannel let me see you? Please?” You ask giving me doe eyes. I sit up eagerly throwing it about, she sits up on her elbows, throwing off her sweater

The goddamn groan I let out

Jesus Christ

You lie back down bashfully covering yourself

A whore being shy huh?

“Whattt? She asks feeling self conscious,

“You’re..fuck.. just let me get a closer look please?” I plead, you nod shyly

Squeezing your breasts hard in my palm, licking my lips, nipping them, kissing them, hearing you gasp “holy shit -

“What??”

I do it again, in combination with my tongue, She doesn’t stop me she moans, making me feel bolder, “ Lemme take these off?” My thumbs already ready to yank your shorts down

You don’t answer

“Hey, it’s just me you know you’re beautiful to me, right?”

“Yes..you can take em off” she whispers

Thinking it’d be hot to yank them down quick like those sex movies

I try it..

“Ow! Fuck what the hell?” She jerks

I didn’t know she had the goddamn drawstring tied. , “Ow..you pout rubbing your hip, “Shit I’m sorry! I’m sorry”

I’m already fucking up, “It’s okay.. it’s just tied” she says undoing them pulling them off herself, holding her hands in her lap

I lean down to kiss both hips as an apology, looking up at you slowly undoing your hands

Cute little hair she has

“Can I um..”

She looks down at me gaining back her confidence, “You wanna eat me don’t you?” My eyes widen, gripping her side, “Yesss.. really bad” but I don’t know how to —

“Can I see you too?” again with that lip bite

“Of course” okay.. here goes nothing whispering to myself , yanking my jeans and all down in one swift motion, staring at the spot on the ceiling

You scoff with the sour look, “Oh my god”

WHAT WHAT WHAT

“You’re packing Eddie”

“Oh..thank fuck, really? I wouldn’t say that but..” I sit back in front of her

“Can I touch it?” You ask still staring at my cock

-..But I wanna taste you.. what if we..you lay on me but backwards..? Like 69?” I recommend

She nods eagerly, nervously but very excited, “Okay.. just don’t look at my asshole.. there’s a spot on it that looks like I didn’t wipe but it’s not what you think! It’s a freckle..”, I chuckle, rubbing your cheek nodding

Laying down flat, you swing your legs over my face

Oh god fuck, “Such a pretty pussy” i mumble

Suck a pretty cock you think

You’re both horny as fuck, both licking on each other immediately —“Jesus fuck!” I shout, hearing and feeling you choke on my dick

“Y/n, y-you done this before?”

“Yeah—“

Damnit.

-“But it was with a guy at my old school, said I was the best head he ever had” , you say rubbing my balls

Hot.

Okay Eddie do what feels right

so that’s the clit? how cute

Bringing my lips around your nub, licking you, tasting you, “Oh god why do you taste so good, you smell so..sweet?”

“Was that a question?” You ask popping my dick outta your mouth

“No, no just the sweetest pussy I’ve never tasted”-

the only pussy I’ve ever tasted

I’ve never smelt anything like this, I think I’m addicted

Flicking my tongue a few time feeling you react in a high pitched moan, sucking and massaging it lightly, my eyes flutter spotting your ass hole winking at me

“Holy shit” she’s pretty everywhere

“What?”

“You have such a pretty ass” blurting out

“Eddie! I told you not to look!” She whines trying to climb off, “Shut up I do what I want”saying firmly, pulling you back down by your thighs; sticking my pointer finger in your cunt,

so that’s the squeeze Steve was talking about

“Ohmyg— fuckk yes please” she vibrates around me, a guttural moan purging from my throat, curling my finger like they said —

“Oh! Fuck yes keep doing that Eddie baby please”—

“I am, I am baby you just suck my dick”—

Holy shit who am I—

“-Eddie I think I’m gonna cum yep, I’m gonna cum..”—

“Wait really?”

“Yes!”

“Really?” Asking again “YES EDDIE SHUT UP AND KEEP GOING, FUCK”—

Thrusting faster, licking faster I feel your wetness roll down and down into my mouth instantly making me cum in yours

“Fuck baby like that, fuck did you..just swallow?—“ I ask but you proceed to keep sucking-“OKAY OKAY, stop, s-shit!”

Pleading trying to stop you from overstimulating me further, “Shit.. sweetheart, that dude was right, that was the best head I’ve ever got”

The only head I’ve ever got

She lays back down beside me with a large grin,” Was that your first time getting head? You came so fast for me”

Lie.

Not replying I get up, finding the condom in my Jean pocket, “What’re ya doing?” You ask with a questioned expression, “Condom?” I hold up “Oh, oh yeah yeah right duh”—

Fuck I forgot with which way it goes on— got it

Turning back to you, cock still hard, nudging your core

You give me a small smile, watching me hesitantly about to slip my tip in

“Wait! Wait!”-

“What? Sorry, I didn’t ask”—

“Eddie I need to tell you something..”

“Yeah?”

“I can tell you definitely know what you’re doing but I just.. be gentle because I’ve never done this before..”

never done this before, never done this before

I stare like a deer in headlights, the weight off my shoulders lifted. I laugh sarcastically to myself , “That’s, well.. I should probably tell you I’ve never done it either.. like ima”—

“Virgin too?”

“Yeah, surprise?” feeling embarrassed, “How did I not know that? We tell each other everything” shrugging, “Not sure, but I’m glad you told me before I stuck ya”

“Ew don’t say stuck me weirdo”

“Look, I don’t know what I’m doing at all, I had to ask Steve for advice.. I figured you would know more I mean since you wanted my handcuffs”-, you bite your lip, head shaking

“I said that because, I figured you’d know how to use em”

“There actually just for decoration sweetheart, looked kinda metal”, we laugh in awe with each other , “But here we are..” I say biting the skin on my lip—

“Yeah here we are” you look back up at me, hopeful, “Do you wanna stop?”

“No..do you wanna stop?”

“Nah, been hoping you’d be my first actually”, you blush at my statement pulling me down for a deep kiss , “Let’s do it..”

“..but what if I cum too fast? that would be humiliating”—

- “I understand how it works.. don’t feel bad if you do, I promise I won’t laugh Ed’s” she squeezes my hand lovingly

My heart is erect

I nod, looking over all of you again, spreading your thighs a little wider, “I’ll go slow”

Furrowing my brows in consentration, slipping my tip in, surprisingly not easy mother fuck—

“Holy fuck you’re so-

“Tight? I know I have a hard time fingering my self as is”

“Why would you tell me that at this very second,” I try not to laugh, holding my shit together, “that’s so hot by the way,” bottoming you out, we gasp in sync

“Oh god”-

“What?”

“Holy god”—

“What!?? You alright?” She asks , “I’m about to cum already”—

“I told you, it’s okay”

“I know but that’s so embarrassing”

You clench around me on purpose, suddenly your eyes widen, feeling a warmth from inside, while also hearing me grunt almost in pain above you

Silence.

“Im so sorry fuck,” pulling out, shocked at how full my condom is, “Did you cum?”, she scrunches her nose, “No silly”

“But you squeezed me?”

“Yeah but, I didn’t have an orgasm”

Fucking Steve

-“But Steve said when a girl cums she clenchs around us” explaining further—

“First off, I’m gonna need you to not take advice from Steve and second, I mean according to my girlfriends we do.. it’s like a few squeezes but apparently we really squeeze for a long time when we do cum? Maybe even shake? I’m not sure but I think I’d know when I felt it”

Well shit

He looks like a sad puppy this won’t do you think

“But hey, we can try again right? Don’t be embarrassed if anything it’s kinda hot”

“Really?”

“I mean yeah, I made you cum in under like 1 second, biggest ego boot ever” you lighten the mood, nudging my shoulder smiling at me, pulling me for another kiss, “Don’t ever tell anyone that” holding my forehead to yours

You smirk, holding your pinky up “I promise”, Interlocking mine, noticing your body shifted closer, staring at your lips, “Let me try again Sweetheart” your eyes also on mine, nodding, crawling back to you, chasing your touch, taking each others breath—

Was that a car door??

“Is someone here?”

“Honey we’re home!”

FUCK, not now!!

(again recommend you listen to Wet dreamz by Jcole; it’s a bop)

reblogs appreciated // this was fun. let me know your thoughts? I do realize the smut was kinda rushed? Should there be a part 2? Suggestions? Comments? Feel like I should have kept going for them to restart again but I dunno🤷🏽‍♀️

[awkwardandeccentric]

Stolas self-sabotages just as much as Blitzø does. Blitzø’s is just much louder and angrier. He is a flash of intense emotion that pushes you away. Stolas’ self-sabotage, in keeping with his character, is much quieter. He purposely puts himself in very uncomfortable and triggering situations (the Anti-Divorce party, the Anti-Blitzø party…lots of anti parties going on in Hell) because he thinks he has to. He assumes others don’t want to be around him so he doesn’t even try to socialize or form deep connections. And I think it’s worth mentioning, for all his talk in Look My Way about wishing he could see past the defenses Blitz has put up to cope with a harsh life, Stolas’ walls are just as strong, possibly stronger, and he has absolutely no intention of weakening them any time soon. Ever, if he gets his way.

Like, Blitz will mask his pain with jokes, but he’ll still…say it. He’ll still say he has daddy issues. He’ll stay say a Prince could never love an imp and he lashed out in fear. He’ll immediately follow it up with something disingenuous, but the words will still leave his mouth.

But remember in Apology Tour? “I’ve never seen you throw them back this hard.”

Blitz is still on the arc of learning to humanize Stolas instead of putting him on a pedestal, but the pedestal thing is partially Stolas’ fault. We don’t know what Blitz knows about Stolas other than Stolas has a kid, had a wife, collects carnivorous plants, is a gay man, and has an imp butler. Maybe he knows some other things, but we don’t know what else, if anything. Considering Stolas’ MO when he’s overwhelmed is to peace out, and Blitzø has abandonment issues…

But Stolas never told him about Stella. Or Paimon. Or that Octavia is a “precautionary heir.” Or the arranged marriage. Or that the other Goetia think he’s a joke. Or that he’s a rape survivor. Or that he struggles with severe mental health issues. Or even that he’s still injured from Striker’s knife wound.

So, if Blitz hadn’t sabotaged everything first, Stolas definitely would have been the one to do it. Probably so subtly, in such small ways, Blitz wouldn’t have even noticed until he came home from work and Stolas wasn’t there, his stuff gone and there being no indication as to why or how to reach him, most likely because the image he was trying to craft of being normal and put together finally cracked. Better get out now before they realize you’re not who you tricked them into thinking you were, right? Blitzø just loves the mask. And the mask has to fall off at some point. The show has to end.

[buckybabesonly]

Take Me Back To The Night We Met

Summary: He promised you forever and a day.

Pairing: Bucky x Female!reader

Genre: Angst

Word Count: 2.4k

Cold dinners, unanswered texts and overwhelming disappointment in your heart.

Just a standard Friday night, really.

You sat on the couch with your knees drawn to your chest, eyes fastened on the clock hanging opposite you. It was taunting you with each tick, tick, tick as you clenched your jaw and willed your phone to light up with a message from him.

You should be used to this by now. It happened so often that it would have surprised you more to actually see Bucky arrive home in time for dinner.

You knew it would be like this when you first got together. But after almost four years, it didn't make the disappointment sting any less. You knew he had bigger things to be doing - he was out saving lives and helping people. Yet a tiny, selfish voice in your mind wished that you could be placed as a priority for once. It felt like you spent half your time nowadays just waiting. Waiting for his call, waiting to spend time with him, waiting for something to give.

When the clock reached 11, you sighed and realized that it was going to be one of those nights where he'd stumble in at three in the morning, exhausted, or maybe not at all.

You packed the dinner you had made into a Tupperware box, pasted a sticky note on top with a message for your boyfriend when he returned. Reheat me for 3 mins! Love you ❤ 

It really was tough. It was one of those nights where you ended up staring at the ceiling of your bedroom in the dark, hot tears seeping silently onto the pillow beneath your head as those unhappy, insecure thoughts reared their head in the usual routine.

It was always this thick silence in the middle of the night that haunted you the most. It allowed you to be truly alone with your thoughts, and you had a lot of them.

You used to be so happy with him. And you still were, in a way. You felt so unbelievably lucky to have Bucky in your life, to be the one that he loved. And yet it was undeniably getting more and more difficult to ignore the problems that came with dating someone who did what he did.

The end to those upsetting thoughts came just as dawn cracked through the Manhattan horizon and you heard those tired, weary footsteps into the apartment, the sound of heavy combat boots being shucked off. Your eyes were closed, but you could visualize the way he silently crept into the room so as not to disturb you. You felt the tension leave your body when he slipped into the sheets beside you, and you instantly curled into his side like a cat.

"Did I wake you?" He asked quietly, his voice hoarse. He still smelt like blood and dirt, but you didn't mind.

"No," you whispered, your fingers grasping fistfuls of his shirt.

The relationship was unconventional and hard work, but you lived for the moments where Bucky came back home to you.

You stood on the snowy sidewalk, staring into the windows of the jewelry store wistfully. Diamond engagement rings stared back at you, glistening in the sunlight, dazzling you with their splendor.

More and more of your friends had been getting to that stage in their lives where they were becoming engaged, getting married, having kids (and some divorces, too). Every other day, it seemed like a new relationship milestone announcement was being made on your Instagram feed.

You were always being grilled by your friends about when Bucky was going to 'pop the question'. Your response was always a demure laugh and a joking retort of, You'll have to ask him!

But honestly, you weren't sure if that was where you were heading anymore.

Your relationship had never been conventional, and you knew what you were getting into when you and Bucky first started your relationship. Bucky didn't have a 9 to 5 job where he could come back home every night and help cook dinner with you and go to bed at the same time, make you breakfast in the morning and walk you to work.

It was never going to be like that.

So what did your future look like?

You trudged home in a slightly downcast mood, paper bags of groceries in your arms as you sighed.

You hadn't seen much of Bucky at all in the last few weeks. He had been out on a mission in Quebec, but he was going to be back tomorrow. A smile suddenly bloomed on your face - he was going to return just in time to celebrate your fourth year anniversary tomorrow.

I wouldn't miss it, my love, he had whispered on the phone to you two nights ago.

There was a new bounce to your step as you continued on to your apartment. You decided that you had to try and stop worrying so much about the future and just be grateful for each day - he was your Bucky, and that was enough.

Bucky was late.

He was supposed to arrive back at the apartment this morning, but he had sent you a couple of text messages at noon, your heart sinking.

Hey - have to stay in Quebec for a couple more hours. But will be heading back very soon.

Your reply was a hopeful, You promise?

Promise.

You remained hopeful even though there had been radio silence since. Bucky had never let you down on celebrating special occasions before - come rain or thunder, you knew he would make it back to you.

Or maybe that's what you used to believe.

You weren't sure what you believed now, as you sat inside the French restaurant opposite an empty chair, your nails tapping the tablecloth anxiously.

You clutched your phone in your hand like a lifeline.

I'm at the restaurant. Are you on your way? You texted him desperately, willing for him to suddenly appear in front of you with a bouquet in his hands and an apology on his lips.

Maybe you just loved torturing yourself. Living on whatever thin strand of hope was thrown your way, like a lifebuoy whilst you struggled to keep your head above the water.

Half an hour passed, the server with a sympathetic gaze coming over after 45 minutes and bringing you a starter and a glass of champagne on the house.

Your cheeks were burning, your chest tightening with such pain that you wanted the ground to open up and swallow you whole.

Finally, you called it a night and got into a taxi to take you home. Your feet hurt in your stupid heels and your dress felt too tight and uncomfortable, your heart hurting so much that you thought it might burst.

Surprisingly, you managed to hold the tears in. You held them in all the way up until you reached your front door, stabbing your key four times into the lock before you managed to open it, your hands shaking.

You wanted to slam the door back into it's frame as soon as you were in the safety of your home, and gasped when a gloved hand appeared out of nowhere to block it. You stumbled back, almost falling when Bucky materialized in the doorway, his arms holding you to steady you instantly.

"I'm so sorry." They were the first words out of his mouth as he kicked the door shut behind him, holding you close against his body. "I am so, so sorry."

You were quiet, your head unable to process his being in front of you when you had such crushing disappointment inside you from being stood up on your anniversary. Tears were silently running down your face as Bucky's grip tightened around you, your eyes staring at nothing.

You weren't even listening even though he was speaking endless reasons and explanations for why he was so terribly late, why he had been unable to text you back to let you know he wouldn't be able to make it in time. He was out there as usual, saving other people, being there for other people.

Not you.

"Call me selfish," you began eventually, your voice cracking. You peeled yourself away from Bucky, staring up at him with eyes that made his breath hitch. He could see the pain in them, the utter exhaustion in your gaze. "But I just... I wish I had you all to myself."

Bucky's face fell. He knew how you felt, and it destroyed him to see the way you stared at him now. He could feel how limp you were to his touch, and it suddenly scared him.

"I'm sorry," he repeated. "I know I let you down. There was nothing I could do. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

You almost scoffed at that word. Promise.

"That's the thing, Buck," you said sadly, taking another step back. His arms fell down to his sides. "Your promises don't mean anything."

He looked crestfallen at your statement. His lips parted as if he wanted to argue back, but you continued forcefully.

"How many times have you promised me that we'd be able to go on that trip together? How many times have you promised me that we can do a proper date night? How many times have you promised me that you'd be home for dinner?"

Bucky's lips pressed together in a stiff line. You had been angry at him before, of course you had. But what he noticed right now, overwhelmingly so, was that you were tired.

"I'm so... I don't know how much more of this I can take."

"What do you mean?" Bucky spoke then, fear creeping into his voice at your words.

"Look at me, Bucky," you half-laughed, gesturing at yourself. Your mascara was running down your face, you had kicked your heels off on the floor, you felt so ridiculous in this stupid dress that you had meticulously picked out for your special night with him. "I'm so sick of always being let down. I - I don't know how we can have a future together. I don't want to spend four more years not knowing whether I can expect to see you come home."

"We have a future together," Bucky retorted, his eyebrows furrowing. "I can't see a future where you don't exist."

"Can't you?" You shot back, honestly bewildered. "Do you really imagine us having a normal life together? Can you imagine us being married, having kids, settled down in a home that you're not always running away from?"

"Do you think I enjoy doing what I do?" Bucky asked, a flash of anger entering his tone.

"Actually, yes, I do!" You exclaimed truthfully. "You're hard-wired to fight and protect, Bucky. You need to help people. It's what you do."

Bucky was immediately quiet. You had hit the nail on the head. Fight and protect.

"I've barely seen you this year, Bucky. You've spent so much time out there on missions and saving the world and - and that's great, Bucky. Really, I am so proud of you. But you have to understand that I have things that I want and I'm not sure you can give that to me."

You felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. This was really how you truly felt. The dam had broken, and you had finally told him what you had been thinking.

You loved Bucky with all your heart. You loved him so much that the thought of losing him was excruciating.

But you couldn't run away from reality. You didn't think you could live the rest of your relationship like this.

"Do you think you could change?" You whispered, your eyes welling up again with tears. "Could you give up being a hero and stay by my side instead?"

Bucky's hands were clenched into fists by his sides as he stared at you. You couldn't decipher his expression, and you wished so much you could climb inside his mind and know what he was thinking.

"I love you," he said eventually. Your heart splintered with longing.

"That doesn't answer my question," you said sadly.

There was a long stretch of silence that filled the apartment. Eventually, he spoke.

"I don't know if I can change. I - this is what I do. I have to help people. There are people who need me."

What about me? You wanted to ask.

You nodded once.

"I love you," he repeated again, pleading.

"I love you too," you said, your lower lip trembling. "I love you so much."

Bucky had brought you so much joy. Every stolen second with him, every smile shared, every memory was a blessing. He was everything you had ever dreamed of and somehow even more.

But it wasn't enough.

"I know what I want, Bucky." Your voice was shaking. "Once upon a time, I really thought that we could have that. But the longer I spend in this relationship, the more I realize that those thoughts are futile. I'm chasing something that I will never have."

Bucky wanted to fall onto his knees and beg for you to stay. He really did - he wanted to hold your hands in his and beg you not to leave him. That he didn't know how he could live his days without you.

But he knew what you deserved. You deserved someone reliable, someone you wouldn't have to wait on. In front of his very eyes in this moment, he could see the product of his neglectfulness towards you. He could see the agony in your face, the weight of the disappointment he'd caused in every tear track on your skin. The epiphany hit him like a crushing weight to the chest.

If there was one thing Bucky always wanted to give you, it was happiness. He wanted to make you as happy as your existence in his life brought to him.

Maybe, in a twisted paradox, he would have to let go of his to be able to give you yours.

If Bucky could go back to the night you first met, he would have stared at you from afar, traced your profile with his eyes, admired the gentle curve of your nose and the color of your lips. He would have felt his heart still the moment you turned and met his stare with a shy smile.

But instead of approaching you and introducing himself, he would have forced himself to walk away if he had known the pain he would bring to you.

If you could go back to the night you first met, you wouldn't have believed the love that would grow in your heart for this man. The impossibly potent feeling that was larger than life itself.

You used to believe that your love for one another could overcome anything.

You realized that wasn't true on that very night, when Bucky left your home and you remained standing in the darkness, alone once more.

[eyesxxyou]

that's what they all say pt.3 (finale)

↳ ❝ [dbf!miguel o'hara x black!reader] ¡! ❞

rating. m

word count. 5k

synopsis. you wish your father would stop making you be near miguel but when you arrive at his house to drop something off, you meet the most important person in his life

or

you and miguel finally get together

warnings. p in v sex, unprotected sex (stay responsible), creampie, breeding/pregnancy kink, oral (f receiving), Miguel's ready to wife you up, sweet little Gabriella, Miguel being so father, Lyla's here! I also changed it so that Miguel's ex-wife is dead instead of them being divorced because I could. Let me know if I missed anything!

tags: @ihateuguys @chshiresins @futuristicpandakid

part 1 | part 2

It’s been all of a week since the gala and you were right, things with you and Nathan didn’t work out. You had broken up with him the very next night and of course, it didn’t feel good but you thought it better to end it now before he thought things were getting serious. Then the slew of curses came from him ranging broadly from calling you a “fucking bitch” to telling you that “you’re not even that pretty anyway”. All the usual bullshit.

It was no chip off your shoulder all in all.

It has, however, been growing more and more difficult to be around your father. You’ve fucked Miguel twice now and he was absolutely none the wiser. Someone so technically smart but when it comes to everything else he was completely unaware. All the while, he spoke more and more fondly of his friend. “Miguel” this, “Miguel” that, “that man is a genius!”

‘Yeah, so smart I bet his head game is insane”, you think to yourself, hating yourself for it. But you smile all the same at yourself because it’s a joke for you and only you.

Don’t get yourself wrong though, you are on no good terms with Miguel despite the angry sex you two had in the bathroom of the gala. When you left him in the bathroom, you went to sit back down with your father and Nathan just as dinner was being served. Miguel didn’t return until maybe 10 minutes later, a thin sheet of sweat on his neck, his hair haphazardly restyled, and his once neat bowtie a bit uneven. There was no way he could come back to the party the way you left him, still hard and aching.

He ended up jerking himself off, his cock still slick with your essence. Was it shameful? Yes, utterly embarrassing too. His hand gripped the counter so hard, his hand stroking his length fast and hard with his eyes closed, trying to imagine you right there with him. God, your smell was still on his fingers and it was driving him crazy.

You didn’t spare him a single look the rest of the night and it drove him absolutely mad. You knew it too. That’s why you did it.

Anyways, spending your day running errands and doing chores for your father was not how you’d like to be spending a day off from your demanding job but you knew if you weren’t there to take care of him, he’d be wasting away in his own filth because he cares only about his career. You’ve been cleaning up the small amount of clutter he had around when he comes out with a metal box.

"I need you to take this to Miguel for me."

You immediately retract at the idea. "And why can't you do it? I'm already cleaning your house. Why don't you have a robot maid to do this anyway?" You know he's just too caught up in his own thing to do such a thing. You think you might gift him one to save yourself the energy.

"One, because I'm working on something incredibly important right now and I'm wasting precious time just by talking to you right now. Two, why would I do that when I have you?" He cracks a joke that doesn't even begin to bring a smile to your face but he brushes off your downer mood. "Look, Miguel and I are working on DNA splicing and he needs this sample ASAP. It's very important he gets it. I need you to take it because I don't trust anyone else with it."

You look at the box, your lip curling with the beginnings of a "no" but you know better than that. "I don't even know where he lives."

"Already sent you his address."

You try to find another way to avoid him. "Can I just leave it on his doorstep?" And the disappointment is palpable as your father shakes his head. "Nope, needs to be taken directly from your hands into his." His eyes narrow as you sigh. "Why are you so reluctant to go? You've never had a problem with Miguel before. You two are always messing around."

'Oh you wouldn't know the half of it, dad.'

"It's nothing. I'm just tired, that's all. I'll take it to him." It would be quick, in and out, you'd barely exchange a word, so much as a glance. 

Saying that you'll take it and actually taking it were two entirely different beasts. The first thing you thought standing outside of his house was that his home was distinctly him, overly geometric, sharp edges and corners but with a surprising amount of large windows, all tinted with reflective sheeting making it impossible to see inside. What if he already saw you? What if he was standing there, looking out of one of those windows at you standing at the end of his driveway? The thought terrified you.

You approached the front door and jammed your finger at the doorbell. Oddly enough, there was no chime. To your surprise, a small hologram of a woman appeared in front of you. She wore a large, white, fur coat and pink, heart-shaped glasses. Her smile was broad. “And who are you?”

“Y/N. I’m here to drop something off to Miguel.”

“Ohhh so you’re Y/N!” She suddenly appeared on top of the box, sitting with her legs crossed in front of you. “Oh you have put Miguel through it. I’ve never seen him so stressed over one person. How’d you do it?” You never expected Miguel’s virtual assistant to be so forward.

“I-”

And then the front door swung open and the hologram glitched away. You expected to see Miguel’s towering frame in the door but it’s not there; instead, your eyes catch sight of a little girl maybe 9 or 10 years old looking up at you with big, brown eyes. It’s absolutely unmistakable that she is Miguel’s daughter. She looks just like him. “Who are you?” Her voice is sweet and small, timid even.

You smiled softly and knelt down in front of her, setting the box down beside you. “I’m Y/N, a friend of your dad’s.” You offer out a hand to her and she takes it, shaking firmly. “I’m Gabriella everyone calls me Gabi though.” She came out of her shell so quickly, smiling just like her dad. It warmed your heart.

“Lyla, I told you not to let Gabi open the door.” You could hear Miguel’s voice approaching from around the corner. He was in a black shirt that hugged him in all the right places and gray sweatpants hanging just at his hips. He was rubbing a towelette down his face, wiping off messily done makeup undoubtedly done by the unstable hands of his daughter.

Miguel saw you and paused for a moment. “Y/N?” He began to wipe his face harder. “Gabi, mija. You need to get ready. Your friend will be here soon.” He had a few remnants of glitter in the corners of his eyes that he missed and his lips were still slightly stained cherry red. Gabriella turned to her father. “I already got all my things together, Papa.”

“Do you have all of your soccer stuff together?” He asks and she nods vigorously. “Knee pads?” Again she nods. “Shin guards?” Gabriella wraps her arm around his leg. “Papa, I have everything. You already checked my bag twice.” Miguel sighed and gently patted her head. He looked to you again as you grabbed the handles to the sealed metal box and stood once more.

“I’m just here to drop this off.” You place the box inside beside his door, too uncomfortable to dare yourself to take a step inside. “I’ll take my leave now.”

“Hold on.” Miguel was quick to say. He had you here, at his house, for the first time ever. “Can we talk for a minute?” His eyes are soft, a bit pleading.

You look at Gabriella and think about how you don’t want to start anything in front of his daughter. You hesitate, chew softly on your lip. “Yeah, sure.” You come inside, pick up the box so you can hand it off to him.

You don’t like being so close to him. You hate the way his fingers graze yours has he takes the box from you. “Thanks,” he mutters, setting the box down on his coffee table. He tapped the table and it lit up with a screen. “Lyla, make sure this box remains secure until I pick it up again.” The holographic woman from before showed up like she was laying on top of the table. “Got it, Miguel and Gabi’s friend is pulling up.” She points to the door before disappearing again.

Gabriella grins and runs off to go get her things so she can go and for the first time, you and Miguel are alone again. You don’t look at each other, both trying to find something to say in the moment. All you really wanted to do was leave. You felt like you were intruding on something deeply personal. You’re in his home. His daughter is here. This is his whole life right here.

“Is it always this chaotic here?” Your voice breaks the silence. You feel like it’s too loud. Why are your ears ringing?

A small smile creeps onto Miguel’s lips. “No, not usually. Gabi’s just excited to go to her friend’s house.” His smile faded softly and cleared his throat. He turned his whole body to you, broad shoulders sloping to a small waist. God, you loved his body. “Y/N-”

“Papa, I’m ready!” Gabriella came bouncing downstairs with her duffle bag, ready to run off with her friend. She runs to her father and he catches her, lifting her with an exaggerated groan. “Oh, you’re getting so big, mija. Soon I won’t be able to carry you around.” You doubt that much, with how large he was. He could probably pick you up as you were now.

You see how gentle he is with her, how soft his voice is, how he holds her like she’s the most precious thing in the world.

“Are you still coming to my soccer game tomorrow?” Gabriella asks him, her lips forming into a small pout as her hands grasp at his shirt. Miguel’s eyes softened. “Of course, mi amor. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Your heart warmed as he peppered kisses across her face and she let out a series of squeals and giggles. As much as you told yourself you hated him, he was a wonderful father and it was clear he adored his daughter. What a lovely little girl too.

He set her down and Gabriella looked up at you. “It was nice meeting you!” God, she was adorable. You smiled at her with a small hint of maternal kindness. “It was nice meeting you too, Gabi.”

She runs off out the door and Miguel follows her, seeing her off out the door before closing it. He sighed softly and looked back at you as you gaze around at his house. It’s decorated with a lot of pictures of him and Gabriella but none with a wife or girlfriend. Is that why he and your father are such good friends? Single fathers in their own ways whether it was by divorce or death. You’re too scared to touch anything, not knowing what’s a screen or not or what might activate Lyla.

“I think we need to talk about things.” Miguel begins with hesitation laced up in his voice, not knowing if this would spark an argument between the two of you. You squirm in your own skin. “I don’t know if there’s anything to talk about. I don’t know if you’ve finally decided where you stand but I know where I do.” You know the truth. The slightest push to sway you and you might come back around. You wanted him badly every single time you saw him. You always wanted his lips on yours, wanted his hands on your waist.

“I made my decision.”

You raise a brow at him, your arms crossing tightly over your chest as if to protect yourself from him. “Oh? And what is that?”

Miguel bites the inside of his cheek, his teeth clawing at the soft flesh. “I want you.” It took very little thought to come to that conclusion after the gala. He looked up at you while you were riding him and only thought that he wanted your face to be the first he sees when he wakes up and when he goes to sleep at night. He likes the way you feel in his hold, how you smell, how, for the first time since his fiance's death giving birth to Gabi, he thinks he could be happy with someone.

You hum like you’re not impressed. You tell yourself that you’re not going to give in so easily, he has to try harder than just that. You keep your back turned to him, not hearing how he approached so quickly and quietly. “Mía Carina, please.” His hand is suddenly on your waist, his fingers dipping into your flesh as he pulls you towards him

“What do you want me to say, Miguel? You want me to just fall into you and tell you I want you too?” You turn to look up at him and find that he’s much closer than you expected. “It’s going to take a lot more than just that.” You can see the way his mind whirls on his face as he thinks of what to do to get you to understand just how much he wants you and everything that comes with you.

You don’t expect him to get down on his knees in front of you, his hands on your hips as he pulls you close and presses his face into your stomach. “You don’t understand, mía carina. I want you. I want you and all the consequences that come along with it. Fuck– let your dad hate me, I don’t care. Please, Y/N. God, you don’t even know.” His voice strains as he looks up at you. He can see that he’s getting to you. The confliction on your face gives you away.

“You told me I was too young.” All you can think about is that first night. The idea of the two of you being together did seem a bit ludicrous but the way things fell apart that night.

“Baby-” Miguel’s hands gripped tighter. “What was I supposed to say? I’m in my 40s now. I have a daughter and you’re just beginning your life. I didn’t want you to be stuck with me and all these responsibilities.”

“That wasn’t for you to decide, Miguel.”

He kisses along the waistline of your pants. The softness of his lips grazing your hips sends a shiver skidding down the length of your spine. “You’re right and I’m sorry, muñeca.” His fingers slip beneath your shirt. “Please forgive me. Let me make it up to you.” His hands trace along the slopes of your body, the dips and curves that he so badly wants to commit to memory. “Lemme make it up to you, my pretty girl.”

He wraps your arms around your thighs and stands up, tossing you over his shoulder with ease. You squeal with surprise. “Miguel, what are you doing?” You hit his back but it has little to no effect on him.

“I told you, I’m gonna make it up to you.” He began to carry up upstairs to what you could only assume was his bedroom. You figured there wasn’t anything you could do about the situation at this point and that you might as well enjoy the ride and the amazing view of his ass.

He took you into his room and laid you down rather gently on his neatly made bed. Miguel stood above you with his hips between your legs. You made a motion to sit up but he shook his head with a disapproving click of his tongue. “No, you don’t do a thing. You’ll be a real muñeca now, won’t you?” His fingers play with the button on your jeans before undoing the fixture.

Miguel took his sweet time getting your clothes off, starting with your shoes and socks then continuing with your pants. He kissed your pelvis as he removed your underwear, this time keeping it intact. His kisses are wet, gentle, and teasing as he maintains eye contact all the way through. He leaves marks where his lips meet your skin, littering you with blossoming red marks all across your stomachHe takes your shirt next and finally your bra, leaving you completely bare before him.

Miguel’s large hands come to fondle your breasts, squeezing and manipulating the soft, malleable flesh against his warm palms. He thinks about how nice you’d look with swollen, tender breasts ready to feed his child. God, now he was thinking about impregnating you. Making his family all the bigger.

You’re so soft, every part of you drives him up the wall. He nudged the bulge of his cock against your core, feening to be inside you. “So pretty.” He murmured. “Mi linda muñeca. So beautiful.” Miguel trailed his fingertips along your body, between your breasts, down your diaphragm and naval and smiled at the way your body reacted so violently to his touch. He got on his knees at the end of his bed, placing either of your legs over your shoulders. You tremble as his large, calloused hands gripped and massaged the soft flesh of your thighs.

Miguel began his descent with a few kisses at your knees, slowly trailing his lips across the sensitive, supple flesh of your inner thighs. His breath is hot and each exhale builds an anticipation that begins to grow unbearable.

"Miguel please." You whine, desperate to know all he can do with that tongue of his. His teasing was killing you slowly and softly, the more torturous way to go. And how can he refuse you when you sound so pretty like that for him? He nipped at your thighs a little more, growing closer and closer to your wanting cunt growing wetter for him by the moment.

Finally, he kissed the slickened lips of your pussy. A sloppy, wet kiss with his tongue circling your swollen clit. Miguel spat on your pussy and watched it pool at your entrance. He put his fingers in the mess of it, humming softly as he eased his middle finger into your wanton hole. You whine again, buckling your hips down because his pace is excruciatingly slow.

Miguel placed his hand on your pelvis to keep you still. “Be patient for me. Can you do that for me, mía carina?” He fucks his middle finger into you a couple times before pushing his index finger in with it. His digits were long and thick, pushing and curling and massaging your silky walls in search of that soft spot that could have you crumbling in seconds.

His tongue was on your rosebud again, lips latched and suckling while his tongue flicked against the little bundle of nerves. Miguel kept his eyes on you, watching the way your face contorted. Your brows pinched with concentration and your lips parted to let a few strangled moans escape. Your fingers were in his hair, grasping at his soft curls. “Just like that– God…oh fuck, Miguel!” His fingers were pumping in and out fast and hard. Your heels dug into his back and your toes curled with pleasure.

It was almost pathetic how easily he could coax an orgasm out of you. The right stroke of his fingers and swirl of his tongue and he had you seeing stars and left your ears ringing. The building of a climax in the pit of your stomach bubbled like boiling water. You let your eyes close, squeezed them shut to concentrate on that feeling, help build it into something more and let it come to complete fruition.

“Go ahead and cum for me, muñeca. Can you do that just for me?” The low rumble of his voice against your aching cunt was enough to do just that. Your back arched off the bed, your fingers twisted in his hair, tugging at his roots to keep him close. Miguel slips his fingers from your, replacing it with his tongue while his arched nose continues to rub your clit. He liked the taste of you on his tongue, liked bringing you so much pleasure that your muscles spasmed and seized uncontrollably. His fingers massaged your thighs and hips. “Good girl. Mi buena chica.”

Miguel kissed your thighs again, his teeth grazing across your skin as your legs trembled. He was hard now—harder than before at least. His lips were slick with the very thing he hopes no one else in the world will ever get the chance to taste. He stood against, looked down at your little fucked out frame with tenderness. God, he loved you.

“Can you sit up for me, mi alma?” He asks you. You loved how gentle he was being with you and wanted to please him, so you fought against the aftershock of your orgasm and sat up in front of him. Your face was just against his pelvis with the obvious tint in his pants brushing his lips. You grabbed his hips and looked up at him. The valley of his abs and all those muscles.

“You’re such a good daddy, Miguel.” You murmur, kissing the swell while your hands slipped beneath his shirt to caress his muscles. “How sweet you were with Gabriella. I love a man that’s good with children.”

“Oh really?” Miguel bent down at the waist to kiss you, purring softly against your plush lips. “Funny, I was just thinking about how nice and pretty you’d look pregnant and in my bed.” You moaned softly against his lips, your hand stroking the back of his neck. “Miguel.” His large hands were on your breasts again.

“You want to help me make another baby? Make me a daddy again?” His tongue was against yours. “I wanna make you a mommy. WIll you let me do that?” He wanted to cum deep inside you, press his hand against the exterior of your womb and know that his child was growing in there. It might just be a nice little fantasy, hormones running high, but it turned him on. It turned you on too. Birth control in these times meant you couldn’t get pregnant unless you intentionally stopped taking it. No risks involved.

“Yes, please.” You pushed Miguel back so you could stand up. The height difference was much the same but now you were at least at his chest. You looked up at him with wide, pretty eyes and offered him the same human kindness he offered you by removing his clothes. You grabbed the hem of his shirt and helped him take it off before doing the same with his sweatpants and underwear. You realize that for the first time, you two are completely naked in front of each other, bare and vulnerable.

Miguel kissed you again because he simply couldn’t help it. He kissed you because even though it hurt his back to keep bending down like this, he loved kissing you so much that it didn’t matter. He picked you up with ease and walked around the side of the bed to place you further up on it. He climbed up on top of you, caressed the side of your body as he grabbed a pillow.

"How do you want it?" He asked, liking to give you a choice in the matter. You looked at the pillow he was grasping and took it from him. Miguel watched as you lied on your stomach and quickly caught on when you placed the pillow beneath your hips to elevate them. He liked the way you thought.

Miguel mounted the back of your thighs, wrapping his hand around the veiny length of his cock while his other hand pulled your hips up a bit more to expose your tight, wet, little pussy. He tapped the head against your entrance before easing himself in just enough that he no longer needed his hand to guide. He leaned over you, pushing deeper until his hips met your ass flush and everything that made the two of you two separate beings disappeared.

You turned to look back at him from your position and hooked your arm over his shoulder and around his neck to pull him close. His hands were on either side of your body, supporting the both of you. Miguel kissed you and at the same time thrusted his hips sharply into you. “You’ll make such a great mom, mía carina. I’ll put a baby nice and deep in you and we’ll be a happy family.” He rocked his hips, pulling back until just the tip remained positioned against your wonton pussy before sinking back into his own personal heaven.

Miguel wasn’t fucking you. It wasn’t fast or rough or fueled by blatant, blinded lust. His pace was slow and steady, quite nice actually.  Each thrust drew a placid moan from your lips or a whimper of Miguel’s name against his tongue. Thai kind of sex was the baby-making kind of sex. You never had it but you knew it all the same, you could feel it. This was the kind of sex that made his daughter.

“You’ll be such a good mom to Gabriella.” He kissed your cheek, tracing his lips across the curve of your jaw. He hoped saying something like that wouldn’t scare you away because he wanted you to be a part of his family. Gabriella never met her mother, grew up without any semblance of a mother figure at all. At first, it was just because he was heartbroken, freshly widowed, and now with a daughter. Then after a couple years when he thought he might finally be able to get back out there, the occasional date here but no one was allowed to meet his daughter. He didn’t want anyone who wasn’t going to be a lasting part of his life make an impression on her, get her mind going. He was afraid her real mother might be replaced, that Gabriella might be mistaken. So he made sure she knew who her mother was, showed her pictures of her, told her stories, etc.

It’s only been in recent years that Miguel has realized that Gabriella still needed a maternal figure in her life. And trying to find someone willing to step up and raise a kid that isn’t theirs is hard to imagine, no less you, a girl in her 20s with no children of her own and a whole life ahead of her. He wasn’t trying to tie you down like that.

You moan softly, loving the way his body pressed against yours. Your skin stuck to his with the thin layer of sweat that seemed to try and bound you two together. You loved how full you elt, his cock plunging in and out at you in firm, timed strokes. The two of you so desperately clung on to each other like someone was trying to pull you two away from each other.

The way you felt with Miguel was electric, like nothing you ever felt before and you thought that this might actually be love. This could be love right here and that terrified you and excited you. Because you were so in love that you were perfectly happy with the idea of being a close part of his personal life, eventually coming to help parent his daughter at your age.

“I’m close, my love.” Miguel was beginning to lose all sense of self. His breathing began to pick up as his hips buckled a bit faster. “Gonna cum in your pretty little pussy, claim it all as mine.” He sat up finally and suddenly you felt a bit cold without his body on yours. His large hands grasped your hips to keep you still and watched as his cock sank deep into you. God, the way your walls stretched to contain him, gripped him like no other.

You knew he was just on the edge when his hips began to slow into spaced, yet harsh thrusts. “Fuck, fuck, fuck– God.” He choked as his abdomen tightened and he pressed his narrow hips as hard as he could against your ass, pressing himself as deep as he could inside you.

You moan at the feeling of his hot cum filling you, painting your walls in nice, thick spurts. Miguel lets out a low groan, his eyes squeezing shut as you rock back and forth on his dick, milking him for all he had to offer you. There was so much that it began to leak at the corners, creating a milky white ring right at your entrance.

Miguel left you slowly, not truly wanting to leave the soft warmth of your body. Cum immediately began to surface and dribble down the front of your lips. It was quite the sight, such a beautiful one. He just had to take a moment to admire his work.

“You havin’ fun back there?” You ask after a beat of silence. You turn around beneath Miguel and sit up just enough to kiss his chest before he bends down to meet you halfway. His hands come to find purchase on your jaw, his thumbs rubbing circles on your cheekbones. Your smile into the kiss before laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

You stifle your laughter as you pull away from him and lay back down on top of his bedsheets. “My dad is so gonna kill you.” You look up at Miguel as he runs his fingers through his hair and sighs. He came and laid down beside you, wrapping a arm around your waist to pull you closer. “Let’s not tell him just yet. I have to figure out the best way to explain it.”

You roll over and murmur into his lightly hair-covered chest. “I don’t think there’s any good way to explain this to him. Might as well rip the bandaid off while he’s not expecting it.”

“That might be the right move.”

[tenjiiku]

heaven / au

You thought he was ugly when you first started. No one admits when they find someone unattractive. Something about it being too cynical and mean. And, sure, you heavily subscribed to the notion of objectivity — beauty is in the eye of its beholder. You could get behind that, especially considering that you did not reckon yourself to be the poster child of an ethereal vision. But, simply put, you did not behold him as such for the first few months.

The first few months.

Looking back, maybe you were being too hard headed. Ugly was probably not the right word to use. You didn’t care then, you don’t care now. You don’t care anymore. Frankly.

“Isagi Yoichi,” he introduced himself as — holding a cordial hand out to you as you awkwardly sat at your assigned desk. You didn’t know whether to stand up and shake it, or remain still. You remember making a weird movement as though you were about to get up, but, ultimately, you meet his eyes sitting down — craning your head.

He was not smiling. If anything it looked as though he was forced to introduce himself to you. He was thirty years old, six years your senior.

“L/n Y/n,” you murmured.

And that was that. For the first few weeks.

You still lived with your mother. As a result, you had access to free lunches. The others on your team did not — or, could not — afford such a luxury of having the time to make theirs. So, often, you found yourself going out with them at noon to a nearby hole in the wall place which sold freshly made sandwiches along with other items.

You remember not even noticing Isagi-san’s presence in the group. Not until he waves his hand in front of your face as you blankly stare at the walls covered in the shop owner’s family pictures. They were from Portugal.

“You want anything?” He had asked you.

Shyly, you had responded, “Uhm, no. I brought lunch.”

Isagi-san hadn’t pushed there, which you were relieved of. Making conversation with strangers was never your strong suit. But, once everyone had procured their lunches and you took a step out of the shop, he was right behind you.

You had felt something on your head. It was his hand. In it, a paper bag. Sheepishly, you had looked up and he had gently smiled down at you, handing it over.

“Their banana bread is great.”

Before you could have gotten a word out, he was already with the others.

A few weeks pass. Snow starts to fall. You got into an argument with your mother over your favourite red scarf she donated without consulting you. You ended up buying the same one for double its price, because some idiotic celebrity wore it once during a random November evening — the night of their divorce.

You are a terrible person. You think. But everyone around you thinks you are an airhead who is too stupid to be evil.

“What’s your favourite sport?” Haiba-san, a colleague of yours asks. He is standing by your cubicle, which is next to the personal coffee machine your team purchased years ago (Your office was closed concept, no one could enter without a key card. It is also why many various pictures of Isagi-san decorate a colleague of yours’ desk).

You don’t get the chance to answer. Haiba-san is already talking over you. You let him. You are better than him.

“Yoichi’s crazy about football. It’s an illness,” he jokes. Isagi-san stands a foot away, and your eyes flicker towards his frame. He’s already on his feet, shoving Haiba with a cackle. You let them argue for a while, playing the role of their captive audience. You are quite good at doing so, with all your years of practice.

Until, Isagi-san asks, “Do you play?”

He asks it softly, nothing like Haiba-san. You feel a bit sweaty despite it being below zero degrees celsius outside. Shyly, you shake your head — fearing your voice will crack if you try talking.

Isagi-san hovers, today. He doesn’t leave you to your peace like the day he bought you banana bread.

“Anything else?”

And you don’t know what compels you to answer. During the moment, you’d chalked it up to being too nervous to not give him an answer. Looking back, deep down, you knew you wanted to impress Isagi-san. He looked so interested — but not the way Haiba-san was, for his own self-satisfaction.

“I… used to play badminton… in high-school.” You’d whispered, not expecting any sort of reaction.

Isagi-san’s eyes had widened, and he’d made himself comfortable on a chair outside your cubicle.

“That’s cool,” he says, “You still play?”

You looked down at your lap like an idiot and shrugged your shoulders. You’re dumber than a dog. “Sometimes, when the weather is warm.”

Your petite colleague, Mari-san, interrupts the peaceful silence with an outlandish out of character statement. “I like hockey. Just watch a bunch of big dudes bully each other on ice. Very North American.”

You remember feeling very comfortable that day. That was the first time you felt like you belonged.

It didn’t snow much last year. It concerned you heavily. Was the Earth dying? What was the point of you working? You still had student loans to pay. What would it even matter if you died the next day? Hour? Minute? Second?

Papers drop down onto your desk. You jumped and turned down the audiobook you were listening to: All About Love by Bell Hooks.

“L/n-chan, could you please finish this for me? Please?” Mari-san’s pretty voice and pretty face and pretty eyes plead with you. And how were you to refuse a beautiful woman?

“Uh, sure,” you answered through a mouthful of your burrito. Never mind that it was lunch. You were new here, so you had to make your mark.

Your work extends into the evening. It feels nice, though. You don’t have much plans for Friday night. Sure, you had planned on heading home, taking a warm shower, eating a salad-sized bowl of pasta and touching yourself to a disgustingly cliche erotica — but you could do that any time. Saturday morning, for example.

A hand touches your shoulder. You almost launch out of your seat and hit the culprit right in the face. A familiar grunt reaches your ears. Then your eyes.

“Isagi-san,” you exclaim, “Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry. I got scared.”

He only waves a hand and laughs. You look away, embarrassed. It was a bit ominous with the office lights automatically dimmed.

When he stands back up, wipes the tears that formed in the corner of his eyes and smiles down at you, he only but corrects the way you called him. “Yoichi.”

You didn’t know if it was because of the environment or if it was because you were ovulating, but Isagi-san looked particularly delicious in low lighting. With his sleeves rolled up to expose his forearms, the few buttons of his top undone at the top, and his usually kept hair ruffled after a long, gruelling day of work ��� you felt your stomach twist.

You feel gross.

“Seems like we’re both stuck doing overtime.” He jokes. You force a smile and internally kill yourself a million times, in a million different ways.

You sense his eyes gravitate to your monitors. On one, you were working on the few files Mari-san requested help with. On the other, a generic Tokyo News Channel plays, repeating the same news over and over again.

“The news?”

“It’s… nostalgic.”

Isagi-san smiles again, and you feel your hands sweat when he drags a chair to sit next to you.

“You’re a strange girl.” He sighs, “Let me help you.”

“I—,” Isagi-san doesn’t let you finish.

“Before the last train leaves.”

You look at him and try to think of any way to get him to leave. But the prospect of going home a little earlier than intended, and smelling his cologne for a while longer were tempting offers, indeed.

“Uhm… thanks.”

It is zero degrees in January and is raining when you leave. It is the end of the World but you run behind Isagi-san who holds your hand through the train station. The red scarf you adamantly refused to get rid of is wrapped around your neck and almost suffocates you from all of the hysteria. But you still cannot help but smile.

“Come on, come on, we’re gonna miss it!” Isagi-san hollers, and you laugh as he drags you as though you are his favourite bag.

He stops near the elevator which takes you up to the platform of the train and pales at the size of the crowd.

“Shit.”

Frantically, you look around, hoping to be of some use. It’s when you notice.

“S—Stairs!”

Isagi-san whips his head around to look at you and grins. Tugging you along, you cannot help but feel oddly giddy that you were of some use to him.

It feels nice. To be heard.

When you finally board the train with four minutes to spare (the conductor deciding to be a bit generous) you practically sink into the first empty window seat you spot. Isagi-san takes the one across from you. You look up at each other, sighing, then laugh.

Isagi-san looks very pretty with tears in his eyes from joy. You think this is the first time you’ve found a man attractive for all he is.

“What are you listening to?”

His voice is the same softness as it was all those months ago. You did not even notice you were still wearing your wireless earbuds. You also did not know why you grew so damn nervous all of a sudden in front of Isagi-san of all people.

“PJ Harvey…”

“An American artist?”

“I… like the melodies.”

He hums. You hold your breath, then you criticise yourself for holding your breath.

“Send me a playlist of her best, you’ve intrigued me.”

You can only nod. When the conductor announces that there is only a minute until departure, Isagi-san gets up and walks in the aisle.

“Get home safe, Y/n.”

Your eyes widen and you cannot help but involuntarily ask him, “This.. is not your train, Isagi-san?”

The man stills for a second. Then he only offers you a smile.

“Ah, nah. I take another line. It leaves in ten minutes. Thought I’d make sure you didn’t miss yours.”

You blink, not knowing what to say. And because Isagi-san is Isagi-san and he knows you and you know him, he takes the initiative to leave for you.

“Goodnight!”

The entire train ride home, you remember murmuring goodbye in twenty different tones, none of them the right one.

It only took you three nights and four days to realise: You think you like Yoichi. You don't think you've ever liked anyone before. There was Yamada-senpai in elementary school, but he made fun of your braces in front of all of his friends and ever since then you've sworn off on ever giving your heart to a filthy man.

You hate yourself. You can't help but say,

“H—Hello!”

When Isagi-san walks in. And he only ignores you. He looks dejected, like he has had a long night. You can only wonder about the possibility.

“Hey,"

Haiba-san thankfully asks the question which forms in your mind when Isagi-san takes his laptop from his cubicle, “Where are you heading, Isagi?!”

“Ah, I have a ton of work to do. Gonna sit in one of the offices outside.”

You think you like Isagi. He won’t spare you another glance.

Two weeks pass by. You tried to convince yourself you don't like Isagi-san. But then he wheels up into your cubicle again during lunch and acts as though nothing is wrong in the universe. You have been thinking about him nonstop for three hundred and thirty six hours and he treats you like you are his favourite bag. Still. Nothing has changed for him. Everything has, for you.

“What book is that?” He asks, eyeing the novel on your desk. You want to bash his skull in.

“Heaven by Kawakami.”

“I’ve heard of this.”

You want to hold his hand again. He picks it up.

“Is it any good?”

You want to stab his leg.

“Uhm, yeah, so far. A bit dark and disturbing, if you can handle it.”

You want to kiss his cheeks.

“Do you mind?”

You want to punch his dad.

“Go ahead.”

You want to never let him go.

The next day, after your spiral, he messages you on your work phone.

>> Ninomiya is terrible.

>> In Heaven.

Your heart races. You read his messages over and over again. You know it's small. You know it's terrible. You know this will hurt you. And it does.

In your eleventh month of working, you eavesdrop on Isagi-san and Haiba-san's conversation. Well, you do not really eavesdrop. More like they have their conversation right in front of your general vicinity. Half of you wonder if they know you even exist. Or, maybe, they care too little about your existence to deem you not a threat to their private gossip.

Isagi-san has a girl he likes.

“I keep telling her, I’m here for her, as a friend, you know. She’s just hung up on him.”

Isagi-san has a girl he likes.

“Still, you shouldn’t be harming yourself by doing this.”

Isagi-san has a girl he likes.

“What’s your opinion, L/n?”

You don't know why you were born this stupid. It was a bit cruel of God to do this.

“I… don’t know.”

Isagi-san is so soft with you. So gentle and sweet. He does not even realise what he's done, “You don’t have any advice?”

You can only nod, “I… wouldn’t know.”

They carry on their conversation. You leave. You don't see Isagi-san the rest of the week, and you are glad you don't.

Come three weeks, you grow anxious. You confide in Haiba-san.

“Where’s Isagi-san?”

“You didn’t know? He’s going to Europe for vacation.”

You don’t know why the news hits you as hard as it does. Why didn’t he tell you? Were you and Isagi even close enough to be considered friends? At times, he could be so sweet — enough for you to think that sweetness was only reserved for you. At others, he could be so cruel, always keeping you at an arm’s length from his life. Were you that untrustworthy to be let in? Were you that inexperienced he thought you stupid to understand? You were six years his junior — but you knew the world. You’ve known about it since you were twelve. Everyone in your life has deemed you dumb ever since you were a child. But you knew what you wanted and how you wanted it — no one in the entire universe could convince you otherwise. Not your mother, your brothers, your friends, or Yoichi.

And maybe that’s why the two of you could never work.

You cried for the first time that year. You have no one left to love. Bitter, cold and alone.

It feels like the End Of The World in July. 

[ckret2]

no actually you know what now that I've cracked the joke, "Stan Pines/Bud Gleeful enemies-to-lovers" would be extremely funny.

Mrs. Gleeful is clearly in hell. Even if you assume her mental state is 100% due to Gideon's behavior, Bud is obviously ignoring her distress. I think "husband just realized he's gay and/or he just flat out had an affair" would come as a relief to her, I think she's desperately waiting for a good enough excuse to get a divorce and she doesn't even realize it. This is a great move for everybody.

Plus, if they got hitched, this would make Stan Gideon's stepdad. And that's absolutely hysterical for both of them. Imagine them giving each other a death glare and doing the whole "STAN PINES." "GIDEON." mutual enemies stare down, every time Stan picks him up from school. Imagine Bud telling Gideon to do his homework, getting screamed out of the room, and sending in Stan to tell him instead.

Like yeah yeah sure sure you can make arguments about the potential chemistry, you can point out all the personality traits they have in common, you could say something about how Bud is a 20~30 years younger Stan (crooked salesman/business owner) who got what Stan may have secretly longed for but never had (a nuclear family), you could choose to read a little too much into their eagerness to set up their younger relatives as an excuse for the two of them to "pool their profits," you could even give them both a shared love of cars since that's Bud's business and Stan's lovingly kept the same car since he was a teenager, sure all that's there.

But I'm here for the comedy.

I wanna see them independently come up with two get-rich-quick scams, combine them, and produce a new scam that's infinitely stupider.

[ray935sworld]

For everyone thinking that rosquez was nasty fucking while Alex and the academy had no idea... No one is less subtle than Rossi and Marc. So are you actually thinking that a bunch of 16-19 year old boys full of testosterone and adrenaline think about anything else than fucking?

Have you met 16 year old boys?

They were making jokes about it the whole time. They just had to hide it better than rosquez did.

If Vale said 'Marc was great today at the race' someone made a blowjob gesture and they were cracking up. If Marc was in visuable discomfort to sit, they had to bite their cheeks not to start giggling or someone had to come up with an unrelated joke so they could laugh without being suspicious. If they randomly disappear they joked that Marc was fucking Vale on and now off track (that one was from Alex cause the boys would never admit that their boss was getting beaten)

The only thing that could stop them was the divorce Cele. Cause he's baby. They can't make sex jokes in front of a baby. Not after Pecco had to explain why they said Marc did a 1.69 time instead of 2.09 and Luca had to stop him from giving a 14 year old the trauma of his life by telling him the truth.

[n4rval]

hi I just wanted to say your tags on the gaster poll posts are so correct yessss (always enjoy your takes just in general). thank you for being one of the seemingly very few people out there who also believes there's no way the timeline works for gaster and alphys to have been colleagues. however, him haunting her benevolently is something I'm 1000% here for <3 (also I hope your finals went well and you get to have a nice relaxing break!)

HII HELLO HI im glad you like them!!! knowing you read these motivates me to keep being Absolutely Very Normal About Him on the internet

personally it's less of a believing thing and more of a come on it's written right there thing, but since we're here.

behold! dingus timeline. (and the hottest of takes with freshly baked personal headcanons otherwise what am i doing)

Not a skeleton?

Isn't 201X too early?

Indeed, not a skeleton, but rather, some guy. Something about how monster's bodies are manifestations of their SOUL, and him oddly resembling a strange looking man does well to represent his insatiable curiosity and love for creating. (things humans are known for in a better light)

On the other hand, you will be pleased with how fascinated he is by "FLESHLINGS AND THEIR CALCIUM DEPOSITS".

And then they fucking died.

201X is the year the first human fell into the underground, and shortly after, the royal family has moved to New Home. This means some decent exploration of the cavern has already been made. Scientists could very well already have been working on optimizing life underground, with special attention to the large and ever growing new capital.

My idea? As this idiot has been aiding exploration with his antics, Gerson was the one to appoint him to Asgore. Something about his talent with turning garbage into non-garbage. With a little patience and getting familiar with his odd manerisms, it was not too long until he got to be the prince's weird godfather.

Cracking already?

And everyone was devastated, mainly the close family. Not only that, but amidst your mourning, the one couple responsible for your unrealistically high standards for romance just divorced. Is love even real anymore. You eat ants with your cereal and your work consists mainly of convenience improvements and absolutely nothing groundbreaking. What's the point of breaking that pesky barrier again? Child murder? Come on.

That's the Wingdings PATIENCE and BRAVERY encountered in their adventure. Dear god, you're lame. Aren't you some kind of genius? Get yourself together! And together he got his self, now, he has children to look after. Surely there must be some other way. He must stop coming up with new flavours for chips and find some other way.

... Dear god, the King is going to kill them.

BONES and DT

Listen. He's old. You got your wrinkles, he's got his cracking. What? You meant to point out some major event of injury must have been responsible for his current state of deformity? Well, he's old AND heartbroken. That's a direct blow to the SOUL, okay.

Jokes aside (kind of), doing any lasting damage to a monster is quite difficult given their magic forms can easily be healed through, well, magic. They can, however, eventually "fall" (wink wink) and dust away with age - which cannot, however, be fixed with magic.

With a little determination however ...

Something about the anomaly.

He found it, the other way. It was the bones all along, the so needed sustainance for channelling such a high concentration of that power. Well, not necessarily, but a boney structure will endure much more and last much longer than a meaty one. Also, it looks so cool.

You know this guy, he gets first dibs on any and all dubious substances that might or might not deal the last hit to the nail on his coffin dust urn(?). And when it all works out (dubious), he might as well play a little. What kind of things can he make? With the material properties of these calcified remains infused with his own magic, animated with determination.

Some new, powerful magic tricks?

A new kind of monster, maybe?

DARK, DARKER, YET DARKER.

There is a lot of interesting things one can do with isolated DT, aside from making bones rattle with life - for example, peeking onto the complex layers and ramifications of what composes reality. This is when the already kooky scientist grows a little mad; manic, if you will. This is the Wingdings sans was familiar with.

Time travel this, resets that, blah blah blah alpha timeline, the anomaly, the angel, the anomaly again, all things that only make sense to him and his illegible mess on the black board. The lack of detail is killing him, he needs to know what it is - what it does, why it does, how it does. Not to stop it, no, there is no stopping it.

Rather, an overwhelming need to understand it.

He falls somewhere in recent history, details of it left ambiguous. The shattering, combined with the amount of DT running in his magical... mathematical physiology, rendered all of his self but an espectator of his reality; confined to the code and unable to do anything but watch, powerless before the nature of his very being, like a corrupted program.

It is all rather frustrating, besides the burden that is coming to terms with simply not existing anymore, watching was pretty much all this research was and now ever will be. That is, until something interacts with him. It is different from the tragic prince, whom no matter how much DT he's accumulated, he is just as confined to this world's rules as other elements. Not this one, not the force from beyond. Not "YOU".

He makes it a mission to reach out, despite the limits of the code, to give away bits and pieces of him and see if you bite. But not too much, he's seen how you tend to exhaust a world for knowledge, something he can oddly sympathize with. I mean, what will you do once you find everything? One cannot fully know a person.

Maybe in another world, prophetized by a cute, little white dog. A much better world for everyone, without so much as war or disease, his greatest creation yet. And he could invite you to it, to experience bewilderment, to be reminded of wonder. If it could even help you, wherever you are, to deem your own world worth of partaking ... then the experiment was a success.

[short-black-diamond]

please could you do the characters rin sae oliver and kaiser for the ‘blue lock characters types’ ( female reader) thank you i really loved that post <33

love anon 💙

yes of course, I'm just a little mad at myself that I couldn't make the other post longer.. also thank you for including the gener my love💙

(Please call yourself 'love anon 💙' okay? ...or however else, it was just an idea :} )

Warnings: some have body types included, but these are just headcannons, okay?

Characters: Rin, Sae, Oliver, Kaiser, Karasu

---

Blue Lock's types?! ...part two

part one

Rin:

Bro that boy is a simp.

correction: they're all simps.

I think we somehow forget that the only thing they can do good probably is play football, otherwise they look like normal teens with muscles to me

However!

I think Rin's type would just be a girl who takes stuff seriously, as in not being a person who jokes a lot but who focuses on her studies and stuff

I mean, he can speak english pretty good, so I think he'd also like a girl who is bi- or multilingual (I'm european, take me Rin)

but also a girl who is like-- I don't know, maybe a little reserved for herself? Who doesn't really give too much price about herself?

I think he read a little too many romance novels (headcannon) and these girls now intrigue him 💀

but yeah, all in all I think his type would be reserved and no-nonsence, booksmart girls

bonus if you wear glasses, it makes you look cute and intelligent in his eyes

...

Sae:

I think the spanish girls have him down bad for them

I think he likes fun girls? like, girls where it's not boring (to him)

Imagine you met him in spain and just thought he was a hot dude and you just wanted to have some fun so you just do sum weird shit and he enjoys that

like, I can just imagine him trying to be goofy just for the hell of it because I always see him so bored and gloomy and stuff like that so I feel bad

Yeah, I can definitely see him simping for girls who like to crack jokes left and right

also maybe (I'm putting in body types here) he likes girls with nice asses? He looks like an ass guy to me

when a girl walks in front of him, with the jeans beinf full with juicy cheeks, he stares at them

shamelessly

I said it and I'll say it again.

Sae looks like he'd enjoy the company of a funny girl with a nice ass

we all thank the spanish girls for that.

...

Oliver:

hhhhhhhhhhhhhh

anon 💙... why him...WHY HIM ????

he a runner he a track star (...is it the right lyrics?)

Bro he'd just fuck anything that's female and breathing in his eyes

he looks like a 30-something year old divorced alcoholic who can't keep shit together

but okay.

also he fucks random bitches and you want me to give him a type???

bro I think just girls in general are his type?

Elder girls?

Cuz like in that one karaoke scene, he wanted to hang with two grown ass women💀

so yeah there you have your answer, he likes older ladies💀💀💀

...

Kaiser

a german huh?

I bet he just likes blond haired girls who like to run after him sorry not sorry

ok but seriously.

He is pretty arrogant, a big egoist, and loves to misinterpret things

so I'd like to imagine him chasing after a girl who's "playing hard to get" (his words not mine)

no but seriously, he really thinks the world evolves around him💀

Ness this is all your fault

but other than girls who are not interested in him, I think he also likes girls that are pretty sarcastic and make him feel worthless, just so that he can prove it to them.. (I really don't know)

but other than that, I think he likes the idea of a one-sided crush, and wants to "make her fall for me."

like bro fuck off with your weird-cut, ugly-white-ass hair

Karasu

I really don't know much about him because I've been watching the anime until the last episode and then I read the manga but not from the start so I'm sorry if there were some canon events that I don't know of..

but let's think about his type

I'd say...a calm girlfriend? A loyal one as well? (*cough*Otoya*cough*)

But I'd even choose Shidou over Otoya tbh💀

okay let's get back to the topic at hand.

Karasu just wants himself a loving and calm girlfriend, who gives him the vibe of a nice forest or steadily flowing river where he can calm his nerves

He looks like he gets angry easily..

so he has a soft girl

he likes chubby girls, just imagining hugging one and resting his head on your shoulder as he uses your soft tummy/juicy thighs as a stress ball and sighs contently

I don't know but Karasu makes me feel stuff...😍😫

---

Hellyu, how was that? It was actually rather fun thinking about their types, and I think I did a pretty good job. If I didn't, tell me and I'll change that!

Read you in the next post!