#he’s got those pretty dead eyes with no light in them

[machveil]

BestFriend!Simon Riley and his big, beautiful brown eyes. he doesn’t think they’re anything special, but he knows you like them. is it playing dirty when Simon looks at you through his eyelashes when he wants something? maybe, but can’t you just let him stay over for the night? he’ll be quiet - he always is. your couch is a little too small for him, you don’t mind him squeezing into bed with you, right?

BestFriend!Simon Riley that has such dark irises they could be mistaken for black. sometimes you can’t tell where his iris stops and his pupil starts. eyes half-lidded, pale eyelashes droopy - Simon’s resting face usually has his eyes looking tired, almost heavy with sleep even when he’s wide awake. if you ignore the way his eyebrows seem to furrow, knitting together for positive and negative emotions alike, his drowsy gaze is almost dreamy - especially when he’s looking at you

BestFriend!Simon Riley who stares at you until you notice. lounging on your couch as you talk to him, your gaze focused on the tv while his is on you. two episodes of your favorite show, that’s how long Simon was able to stare at you before you noticed - you spared him a few glances, but it never really struck you. he cracks a smile when you ask, “Do I have something on my face?”, a deep hum rumbling in his chest as he shifts his gaze to the tv, pale eyelashes catching the light, “Nah, just lookin’.”

BestFriend!Simon Riley that stares at his ceiling at night, legs crossed and arms behind his head. one of the now rare times he isn’t at your place, a rare instance he isn’t cozied up and surrounding you. deep, pitch black eyes in the dark room looking up, eyelids heavily with sleep as he dozes off waiting to march back to your place tomorrow, those big, beautiful brown eyes waiting to look at you as he asks to stay over again

[corkinavoid]

DPxDC Summoning Failed Successfully

Imagine a warehouse. Imagine a bunch of cultists in dark robes with all the candles, daggers, ancient books, and chanting. Now add Danny.

Only not as the summoned being, no. As a sacrifice.

He is sitting down, tied to a chair, in the middle of the summoning circle, looking as bored and deadpan as he can possibly be. The cultists are chanting, and he frowns, listening to their chants for a moment.

"Hey, is that Latin?" He questions, but to no avail, "You know you're not actually using those words correctly, right?"

"Keep quiet, child!" One of the cultists snaps. Danny leans back in his chair and shrugs.

"I'm just saying, you ain't summoning shit with wrong grammar," he huffs, seemingly absolutely nonchalant about the whole thing. Oracle, who is watching the whole ordeal through the surveillance cameras, raises her eyebrows. Red Robin and Robin are already en route to the building the cultists chose for their extracurricular activities, but now she almost wants to watch this a bit longer.

Gothamites are pretty used to all kinds of shitshows, but this boy is from out of town. She checked him through facial recognition. Daniel Fenton, a transfer student from Amity Park, Illinois.

A few more cultists stop chanting and turn to Danny.

"Do you know Latin?" One of them asks, and the boy makes a half-nod, making a thoughtful face.

"Not fluently, but, like, it's a dead language, I felt kinda obligated to learn it. Just for the meme, you know?" He chuckles.

The cultists, judging by their confused silence, don't know. Barbara doesn't know what he's talking about, either. But she is almost curious now, so she taps Robin's and RR's comm lines:

"RR, Robin, when you arrive, don't jump into the scene," she asks.

"Understood," Tim answers immediately, but Damian, of course, demands explanations:

"Is there an obstacle?"

"Not really," Barbara humms, "The sacrifice is in the process of de-escalating the situation."

She can almost hear the questioning silence over the comm, but, thankfully, no one argues. Meanwhile, one of the cultists pipes up, voice full of doubt:

"So, you can... like, proofread our incantation?"

"Yeah, sure," Danny nods, apparently fine with being sacrificed, "Who you're trying to summon anyway?"

"Satan," that same cultist answers, and Danny laughs approvingly.

"Classic," he nods and smiles, "I'll give you this. The circle is mostly alright, so you don't need an incantation to summon the fucker, I have him on speed dial." And with that, he leans forward, screaming towards the floor: "Ey, Satan!"

Barbara must say the act was actually convincing, but he went a little overboard with it now. She reaches to tell both Robins to get in, but suddenly, a loud, booming voice reverberates through the building.

"The fuck do you want, kid?"

Cultists fall to their knees - it doesn't seem like an act of worship, more like their knees bucking. The whole circle dimly lights up in red, smoke raising from it.

"Do you see this shit, Oracle?" Red Robin questions, and she mhm's at him, not sure what else to say. If this is still an act or a trick, she must say it's a very good one. Although somehow she suspects it's not a trick. She's seen enough magic in her life to tell the difference.

"Do you want to come to Earth, be gay and do crimes?" Danny asks, almost mockingly.

"Fuck off."

The red light flickers and disappears, and Danny looks back up to cultists, grinning cheerfully.

"Welp, looks like he doesn't wanna," the kid concludes and stands up from his chair. Barbara hadn't seen when or how he got out of his bindings.

The cultists just watch him walk out of the circle in bewilderment.

"Pursue?" Robin's voice comes over the comms, and Barbara thinks for a moment.

"I get a feeling like that's a bad idea," Tim mutters over his line.

Barbara agrees.

[yusiyomogi]

i think that kui portrayed kabru's mental health issues in a very interesting way, but it's what makes it subtle to some readers. the fact that he seems so functional to the readers, especially in the first few appearances, not to mention that a lot of his problems and symptoms are not obvious and can only be seen in additional materials, seems like an intended choice from the character writing perspective.

the way kui constructs his character centers around the idea of duality. he switches between two "faces" in the story constantly, he uses two speaking styles (and two pronouns indicating them), he's a tallman who lived with elves for a long time and carries both cultures, he's caught in the conflict between long-lived and short-lived races, he's constantly stuck between two choices in his inner conflicts (what to think of laios? should he prioritize preventing another tragedy or taking away power from long-lived races?), he's bisexual. kui also made him a gemini, yknow, a zodiac sign associated with twins and duality.

there's a certain theme in this and it does affect the way we interpret his personality and choices and it goes beyond text, it's metatextual too. it's a sway between what's hidden and what's shown to the readers about him.

the thing is, i think his mental health issues are meant to be downplayed and hidden, because it's true to his character. what do we notice about him in the main story and what's hidden? well, one of the first things we see is that he's not great at fighting monsters, he suffers from ptsd that makes him basically freeze up just from thinking about them. images of dead people turning into monsters, tearing each other apart and eating each other haunt him, making him feel ill from monster food. he downplays this a lot, hides it from other characters, straight-up lies about it, but at least readers got to see it.

with a keen eye you might notice that he doesn't eat enough food, almost never eats anything on-screen. he mentions that he's never cooked food in his life: wait, kabru, don't you live alone? in that sense "don't you wanna eat?" moment reveals two details of kabru's character at once: we got to see his aversion from monster food related to ptsd, but also his inability to notice his own hunger in general. he's strong and he almost always wears armor, but we know that he often dies in the dungeon. the armor hides that he's pretty scrawny for someone who fights physically, again, something that we can only notice after he takes off his armor (symbolism!).

funnily enough, here we have our first glance at this through additional materials: in the info page about the importance of calories and fat, kui mentions that kabru has lost a lot of weight since he started exploring the dungeon, because he died a lot. what it means is that he doesn't eat enough to cover the loss of weight. subtle, but clever detail.

speaking of him not knowing how to cook, this is another clever detail that hides bigger truth: kabru doesn't know how to do chores, he doesn't take proper care of himself. extra materials reveal to us that kabru lives in the basement, lacking light and clean air and he doesn't know how to clean his room or how to iron clothes and simply... never cared to learn? this is mostly omitted from the main story, even if it does have a place for it: for example, his journey with mithrun becomes infinitely more fascinating, when you know how little kabru cares about himself. but since those chapters are told through kabru's pov, he basically "hides" this from the reader, takes control of the narrative in the same way he tells a polished version of his tragic backstory.

he talks about mithrun's story like there's no connection, like he's not literally looking at the dark mirror of himself. and, ironically, he chooses to not be vulnerable in front of the readers just like young mithrun wouldn't. extra materials give us a glimpse again: when in the main story mithrun said "i can't fall asleep without spell or potion", in the extra comic (literally behind the scenes) kabru says "i use alcohol to help me fall asleep". there's a connection and kabru sees it, but he's not telling it to us. (and yes. there's evidence that kabru is an early-stage alcoholic. we can see bottles under his bed and what he says basically imply that he depends on alcohol: he's not using it for recreational purposes, he's using it as a substance to make himself sleepy and, probably, less anxious. when that dependence turns uncontrolled, it often leads to full-blown alcoholism).

bigger connection to mithrun is of course kabru's refusal to accept his own humanity, to see that he's alive, that he has his own needs and desires. he's suicidal in the same way: he can only see his goal, he doesn't care about his life, he only sees the value of his life in relation to that goal and he never think what's gonna happen to him after he reaches this goal (because he unconsciously believes that "the after" wouldn't happen to him). and he doesn't reflect on it, again, until he's met with a question "what do you want to do?". the way he doesn't see himself as alive is omitted again in the big portion of the story and only really comes up in the end, when he asks "what was the point of my survival?", in a basically joking moment.

but we can see it through the symbolism, through his connection to death in the story, through his eagerness to sacrifice his life for the idealistic goal in his mind. and of course, we can see it clearly through his mirror: there's a strong parallel between kabru almost committing double suicide while chasing his goals and mithrun literally getting himself killed while chasing his own.

what i'm trying to say, it's interesting that kabru uses his control of the narrative to hide his own vulnerability from the readers. maybe mithrun sees himself as leftovers and it's something cathartic for him to admit in the end, but kabru really doesn't want you to see that he feels the same way. that he's also "leftovers". but you see, they are standing together in that panel. as kabru continues to try shielding himself from your view, kui puts the mirror next to him, revealing what's hidden.

[alchemistc]

Once again I need to get off my ass and go work but instead all I'm thinking about is Them:

Buck's mostly got his breathing under control by the time he hears the side door slide open, and he adjusts his weight automatically, tips his chin as he straightens his spine, tugs at the bottom of his suit jacket like that will fix the wrinkles he'd made bending at the waist for the last ten minutes.

"Buck?"

He's turned away, thank god, so Tommy can't see the wince.

"I'm fine," he says, annoyed with himself and the world at large when it comes out wobbly. "Go back ins-." When he hears the door click shut again he takes a moment to hope Tommy's just left, again, but -

No such luck.

"That door locks from the inside," Buck murmurs, and tears his gaze away from the gentle expression on Tommy's face. There'd been a cardboard box wedged up in there by whatever line cook had been out here smoking when Buck burst through the doors, and the guy had left it with a warning about how insanely large this building was and how few doors along its perimeter were unlocked, and now the broken down box is somewhere beneath Tommy's left foot.

Tommy tries the door anyway.

It doesn't budge. "We could just call Eddie," Tommy says, and Buck feels the ire rise in his throat.

"Eddie's not here," he spits, and it feels like a knife under the ribs. Everyone fucking leaves, eventually. "Call your date, if you want. I'm walking."

Buck heaves himself up from his lean against the brick, takes two large strides to make it past Tommy and keeps going.

He should have known better than taking Bobby at his word that this stupid gala would be worth his time. So far he's dodged conversations about the curse of the 118, spent an unbearable five minutes smiling blandly at Gerrard before he could excuse himself, and tossed two numbers written on raffle tickets into the trash in his mad dash through the kitchens because apparently Tommy had been chosen as the rep for 217 and he looks fucking good in his suit, and he'd been pretty sure they'd be spending this Christmas together, until last month.

He's twenty yards down the alley when he hears footsteps catching up to him. Light, brisk - he's jogging to catch up and Buck doesn't want to deal with -

"Not my date," Tommy says, and Buck curses his own body for automatically slowing to allow him to catch up.

Buck snorts. "Okay." The guy was older - than Buck, at least. Grey around his temples, fat lips and clever eyes that caught Tommy's mid-sentence and sent them both into quiet hysterics.

"Buck, would you just -."

He's close enough to reach for Buck's arm, so Buck wrenches it away before he can make contact. "Don't call me that."

December twenty-third is one of those weird days where the world doesn't quite work the same. Traffic is heavier or lighter in weird places, people with nothing to do wander the streets or hole up in their homes making too much food and watching weird holiday movies, and even in LA it gets chilly enough at night to need a jacket. This one isn't doing shit to keep Buck warm, but the anger catching in his throat sure is.

"It's your name," Tommy says, exasperated.

"Not to you." Buck stops dead in his tracks, watches Tommy take another three steps before he realizes he's alone. When he turns, Buck doesn't allow himself to turn away from his gaze. Annoyance isn't a new look - Buck has tested the waters enough in six months to know intimately exactly how far he could push it before Tommy stopped indulging him.

He looks upset. Frustrated. Tired. Hot as fuck. Buck sort of wishes he'd do something about those first two.

Something other than walk away.

Tommy sighs. Runs a hand through his hair, and the sides aren't as high and tight anymore. There's a piece curling over the tip of his ear and Buck wants to tug at it, slide his fingers in there and tuck it back. "That was Sal," he says, and Buck flicks through the sadly small Rolodex of names Tommy has mentioned in the past. Another boundary Buck hadn't realized was a brick fucking wall in the way of getting to know his boyfriend.

Ex.

Sal. He'd been at the 118 with Gerrard, in the early days. Before Chim and Hen, before Bobby. He'd been the one to prompt Tommy into filing a complaint against Gerrard even though he'd been scared out of his mind to do it.

"I don't care."

He does care, is the problem. He cares so much. He's got a pile of fruit cakes and half a dozen pies sitting on his kitchen island right now that prove it. He can't seem to stop caring.

Tommy looks sceptical.

Buck brushes past him again, keeping his strides long. Tommy's the same height, but both literally and metaphorically he's always struggled to keep up when Buck had somewhere to be.

At least the panic attack has passed. Maybe he could take up running, as a cure all, instead of the weak ass recovery period he usually takes that involves him drinking a bottle of water and staring at the same spot on the wall until he sees stars.

So, fine. Tommy hadn't brought a date to the work function it was entirely possible Buck would be at six weeks after breaking up with him and disappearing into the damn wind. He'd bubbled Buck seven times that Buck knew of, and he hadn't brought a date.

Fine.

"I just wanted to make sure you were alright. You looked -."

Buck had watched Tommy wheeze with laughter and curl a hand around the dudes - Sal's - wrist and he'd felt like maybe he was gonna throw up. Like six months and the something he'd been working his way up to defining hadn't meant a damn thing. Like Tommy could just move on like he seemed to think Buck could.

"Doing great, Tommy. My best friend is moving to Texas and the man I thought I could -." Buck clears his throat. Shuffles sideways just a bit because Tommy is keeping pace now and his cologne is familiar and devastating. He doesn't have anything inside. Once he rounds this corner he could just order an Uber and go home.

There's nothing keeping him here.

"Eddie's moving?"

The no contact thing had extended to everyone at the 118, apparently. At least Buck wasn't alone in that.

Buck digs out his phone, slows his pace just enough to pull up the app he needs. He can feel Tommy's eyes burning a hole in the side of his head.

"Yeah, well. I'm getting used to people leaving at this point," he says, filling it with as much ire as he can. His voice doesn't wobble this time.

"Buck."

It's soft, this time, same inflection as when he'd cage Buck against a counter and lick into his mouth. "Don't worry about me, Tommy. You made it a point not to."

"That's not fair."

Buck couldn't care less. He's spent six weeks on a depression baking spiral and now he wants to go home and destroy every bit of baked goods he's made that are still left.

It only takes a few taps. They're surging prices, but that's not exactly a shocker.

He'd really thought the next time he saw Tommy he'd just be sad. Maybe he'd feel a little wistful about all the moments they'd shared that had meant something to Buck even if they hadn't meant the same to Tommy.

He wants to swing a fist, if he's being honest. He wouldn't. Not ever. But the desire is there and he hates it.

"Buck, could we just -."

"Stop calling me that!"

"I pay a mortgage, Evan!"

Buck can't remember Tommy ever raising his voice. It's - weird.

"I'm forty years old and I own a house and you asked me to move in to your loft after you told me you admired me." The emphasis isn't lost on him.

His ride is three minutes away.

"I got it the first time, Tommy. Haven't sucked enough cocks or done enough tests to know what I really want, so. Go enjoy your evening with Sal and -."

"That is not what I said." Cool, calm. Infuriating.

"Well that's what I got from it, so clearly we were never on the same page. I wanted a future with you and you've been eyeing the expiration date the whole time so -."

He's definitely not expecting Tommy's lips. But there they are, on his, and Buck's stumbling back, fully expecting the sharp crack of the brick at the back of his head as Tommy surges forward with him, only Tommy's hand curls around his skull at the last second and takes the brunt of the landing. His mouth opens on a groan and Buck licks up into it. Their noses clash and rather than shifting for better positioning they just press closer. Tommy's free hand finds the soft give of Buck's waist and his thigh finds purchase between Buck's legs and -

"You're willfully misunderstanding me," Tommy says, lips on Buck's jaw, heart pounding under Buck's hand, his breath ghosting along Buck's cheek.

"Never really gave me the opportunity for clarity," Buck bites back, and Tommy huffs, rolls his hips, tucks his forehead into the juncture of Buck's shoulder.

His pulse is pounding in his ears and there's a cloud of Tommy Tommy Tommy obscuring his senses.

"Do you still want that?"

Buck's phone dings in his hand.

His ride is here.

"Not if you're just gonna walk away again," Buck bites out, and shoves. Hard.

It barely moves Tommy, but it's enough to slip out of his grasp.

He doesn't glance behind to see if Tommy follows as he pulls at his suit jacket again and rounds the corner to try to catch - he eyes his phone - Sheri before she cancels the ride on him.

Doesn't stop him from hearing the footfalls behind him while he searches out the blue Honda Civic.

[bunny-jpeg]

hiii could i pls get hocus pocus rolls, pumpkin patch brownies and a dead velvet cake with a side of doctor pepper, white claw, pepsi zero and a gummy bear cocktail served by lando?? love ur fics!!

halloween bakery - bakery menu

the halloween menu is available until nov 2nd! so get those orders in during the meantime! thank you to everyone who has submitted, i'm trying to get them done in a timely manner! writing these prompts has allowed me to help manage some of my seasonal depression & chronic pains.

hocus pocus rolls: "next year you're wearing something that covers more." + pumpkin patch brownies: "you should've worn something a little thicker. you're going to catch a cold." + dead velvet cake: "we can't fuck right now. we have to hand out candy!" + doctor pepper: university au + white claw: slutty costumes + pepsi zero: rough sex + gummy bear cocktail: possessive behavior served by lando norris (formula one)!!

tags: smut/pwp, university au, slutty costumes, possessive behavior, rough sex, football (soccer) player!lando, protected sex, missionary style

"it's so cold tonight!" you yelped as you walked with your boyfriend to the house that he lived in with the rest of the football team. even though you were wearing a light jacket, the wind cut through it.

lando had a possessive hand on your lower back as the two of you walked across campus as the sun went down. he pulled at the back of the jacket a little and said, "you should've worn something a little thicker. you're going to catch a cold."

"well, they said it was going to be plus ten, so i thought this would be enough!"

lando remarked, "i think it would've been fine if you didn't wear such a thin costume." he gave your ass a quick squeeze, feeling the cheap material of the outfit under his palm.

lando knew the costume was slutty. how could he not? the jacket you wore couldn't cover up just how much that costume revealed. you were dressed as a cheerleader this year, and while that was a fantasy for lando. he would've preferred if the outfit wasn't being pranced around the house.

he was on the couch during the party. he was dressed in his football uniform and that was his 'costume' with his windbreaker jacket over it. he eyed you up and down as you chatted and drank. you looked cute. adorable even. your charm pulled people in.

there was a knock on the door and you went to answer it. your heels clicked against the hardwood floor but was drowned out by the loud music. lando got up from the couch and was close behind you. when you opened the door to hand out candy to those not invited to the party. he wrapped you up in his jacket.

"lando!" you yelped as the mini chocolate bars fell out of your hand

"next year you're wearing something that covers more." he then pulled you away from the door which caused you to flail as the candy fell from your hands, "you look too good, babe. i think that's enough for their eyes." he said as he hauled you upstairs.

you swore you heard lando's teammate, oscar, laugh over the thump of the music. you whined, "we can't fuck right now. we have to hand out candy!"

when lando got you to the bedrooms upstairs, he wrapped his strong arms around you, "someone else can do it. let the captain or someone else. i don't care. i just need you right now." he said. it was hard to hide an erection in those shorts.

lando's room was nice, but you had little time to admire the photos of you he had pinned to the wall before you were on the bed. you bounced on it as you fell on top of it. your breasts bounced and it only made lando more hungry for you.

"there's my little cheerleader." he said as he cupped his cock in his shorts, "you come to every game with my number across your pretty tits. you wear my last name like its yours." he chuckled before he pulled the jersey top off, "you hoping for a ring after graduation."

you blushed and wanted to push him away, but he pulled you in closer. you giggled when he kissed you, "i think you're buying ring before i can even think about it." you reached down and touched his cock in his shorts before they were pulled off and sent to the ground.

he chuckled before his lips touched your neck, "well, when you're my wife. this little outfit will be for my eyes only. i don't need all of the school to have their eyes on you. hungry like animals." you moaned when his kisses continued.

lando knew how to make you feel good, the kind of toe curling feeling that made it very easy for him to get you out of your costume. at least he didn't tear the thing off of you! his kisses continued as his clothed cock brushed against you. you knew he was painfully erect.

"my angel." he said, "prettiest girl on campus. fuck, you drive me crazy." he groaned a little bit when he eventually got his briefs off and let him rubbed his achy cock against you, "you have no idea how crazy you drive me."

you moaned, "please, lando."

you knew what everyone adored your boyfriend, he was great at what he did on the field and in the classroom. but he only had eyes for you, he yearned for you as his hands trailed up your sides. you were both naked on his bed, not the first time that had happened. but every time you were intimate with your boyfriend it felt special.

"i want you, i want you to badly." he got you onto your back and hiked your hips up against him where you wrapped your legs around his waist. he leaned forward and grabbed a condom from nightstand. you two had to play it safe, you were both still in school.

you replied, "i love you."

"i love you too, fuck, you look too perfect in the costume. i didn't know something could fit you so well." he chuckled as he leaned back a little to get the condom on.

you felt anticipation run through you as you laid out under him. you admired him. his toned body and bright smile. you could make out the pink in his cheeks from the immense pleasure between you two. to be fucking in the quietness of his bedroom while there was a party outside.

"i don't want you to have anyone else." he said as he gave his cock a few strokes to make sure the condom was on there securely. he then loomed over you with his hands at your hips as he sank his cock into you. your toes curled and your back arched at the feeling of him.

you held onto the covers under you, the same covers that you picked out for him. the soft blue that went with the minimal decor of his bedroom.

lando loved you and respected opinions you had, even if it was something simple like a nice bed spread. because at the end of the day, he still got to fuck you against the covers. the bed squeaked a little bit and lando realized that he had to slow his pace down. but where he lacked in speed, he made up in strength. and he roughly fucked you, slowly, making you feel every inch of him as he buried over seven inches inside of your achy cunt.

he needed you just as much as you needed him. he felt like a winner when he played with you in the stands. you watched him put his all into football and you loved him dearly. he never though he'd get that with anyone else. so that was why he was so possessive at times. he didn't want to lose you, you were everything to him.

and you dressed as a slutty cheerleader wasn't soothing the growl in lando's soul as he rutted against you. you were just so beautiful and the words hung on his tongue, but he couldn't say the words as the feeling of pleasure rushed through his body.

"such a pretty girl." he said as he rocked against you. he loved the feeling of your legs around his waist, he thrusted up into you and you felt amazing.

the pace was rough enough that it made the curl of pleasure bloom in your gut. you knew only lando could make you feel this good, make your core throb with want as he fucked you. your noises got a little louder but lando leaned in to kiss you on the lips.

no need to cause a scene at the party tonight. but, lando knew that at the very least oscar knew what you two were up to. you moaned against the kiss and wrapped your arms around him as he worked your body further. you shifted under his grip on you which only spurred him on further to make a mess of your pretty pussy.

"you look so good under me." he said, "no other guy can have you like this. only me." he chuckled a little, his voice tight from the pleasure as he worked his hips against you. you groaned a little louder as you clung to him, "part of me wants them to know, to all know exactly how you make me feel.

his words curled something in you and you felt the jump of lust inside of you. the pleasure coursed through you as the two of you fucked on the bed. your costumes were left discarded to be picked up in the morning. if you left the room before the party was over, you'd be wearing lando's clothes. not that slutty costume.

"please, lando." you whined as the pleasure worked through you. you knew from the first time he made you cum with his fingers and tongue alone that you'd be in for a world of pleasure with your boyfriend by your side.

"i always make you feel good, babe." he said with tenderness in his voice. he continued to fuck you, he grabbed your hips once more and hiked them up further to get a better angle of your sweet cunt.

the pace staggered, and the pace quickened despite the noise. it didn't help that the two of you were getting louder as you approached your climax. he whispered filthy nothings into your ear, about how hot you looked and how good he wanted to make you feel. it allowed the heat to bloom in your core as you felt orgasm wash over you.

you whined and arched you back, before you could get too loud, your ever loving boyfriend kissed you on the lips tightly. he continued to move against you, heavy, rough strokes that left you feeling on cloud nine. he came soon after with a heavy stroke and you both felt amazing.

"shit, babe."

you both laid out on the bed while the thump of the music downstairs reverberated through the bedroom. you both laid in each other's grasp and softly kissed. lando had gotten rid of the condom already and you two just laid under the covers together.

eventually you heard a knock on the door and oscar's voice, "hey, mate. party's wrapping up, i know you're busy with your girlfriend, but we need all the man power can get to get everyone out."

lando looked at you and kissed you on the cheek before he got out of bed to get dressed. before he left the room he said to you, "stay here, and don't put that costume on unless you want to limp back to your dorm tomorrow." and gave you a wink <3

[madamechrissy]

=͟͟͞♡ Healing Hearts =͟͟͞♡

=͟͟͞♡ Pairings:-Doctor Gojo x Intern F!Reader

=͟͟͞♡ Contents/warnings- Medical procedures, crazy sexual tension, lots of cussing, light angst, tons of humor, workplace relationship, the hospital is lowkey slutty lol. Reader 26, Dr. Gojo 34, small age gap- Grey's vibes ✨️

=͟͟͞♡ Word Count- this chap- 7.5k

=͟͟͞♡ Summary- You are the top Surgical Doctor intern, along with Maki, Yuta and Toge. You all are exhausted from passing the first month, sixteen plus hour days, days you don't even go home, all to get a top spot with the star Surgeon, Dr. Gojo, your resident doctor and boss. Or as you call him, Dr. Hojo. He's takes nothing serious but his surgeries it seems, and has a reputation for being a player, but he has that top spot, so you want to prove your worth! You just have to ignore those stupid butterflies he gives you, and those pretty blue eyes, along with his interest in you, and focus!

♡ Comment to get added to the tag list ♡

=͟͟͞♡ Part One =͟͟͞♡ Playlist =͟͟͞♡ Masterlist

♡ Part Two ♡

“Doctor, you should call it. The time of death.” Comes Miwa’s voice, soft and sweet, as you’re pumping your hands tirelessly over this woman’s chest.

The woman had a damn baby right in the hospital nursery, having had a placental abruption, they had gotten the baby out in time on the maternity ward, but then she lost too much blood, and they’d brought her here. You've pumped countless times, your elbows are locked, your arms are aching, there are tears sticking to your cheeks that you don’t know where they came from.

You’re counting, one, two, three… to thirty, then scowl up at the nurse assistant now. “She’s not dead yet, now do the breaths!”

The assistant squeezes the blue bottle, frowning at you in concern. “It’s been three minutes, the patient is likely gone.”

“Don’t tell me to just give up on her. I won’t. Charge em up.” You turn and say to Miwa now, and she sighs. “I said…” You’re pumping so hard you feel her ribcage just barely crack, but you can’t stop, she’s flat lined and she has a damn baby. “I said charge them. Thirty joules! C’mon, Yula…”

The patient’s name was Yula, her name was Yula.

You keep repeating it to yourself as you work over her, hopelessly staring at the screen, praying to see a blip, to see anything. You’ve already had to call time of death for patients, but something in this got you, in knowing that the baby wouldn’t even know her own mother. In knowing that she got here just in time to save her baby, only to fall unconscious.

You’re nearing four minutes, you realize with a panic, and you notice Miwa has not charged the paddles. “Doctor, you should-”

“Are you telling your doctor what to do?” You demand, breathless, and she pouts then, thin brows drawing together.

“If she says charge them, fucking charge them. Thirty joules, now.” Comes Doctor Gojo’s voice, deep and stern, as he steps into the room, glaring over at Miwa, who now suddenly decides that she will charge the paddles. You’d roll your eyes if you weren’t compressing over and over on Yula, exhaustion already setting in.

“Thank you, Dr. Gojo.” You manage, trembling with your effort, and he gently pushes you out of the way, you shake out your numb arms.

“You get the paddles, intern, okay. How long?” He asks.

“Almost four minutes, Gojo, she's crazy!” Miwa says. Your jaw clenches.

“Did I ask you anything?” He demands then, and the room goes silent, Gojo looks right at you, seriously, when you get the paddles and then he moves his hands, as you shock Yula’s chest now.

A blip.

“Please, please…” You whisper, choking up, and then the blip dies off. “She just had two blood transfusions, we need to-”

“Doctor, she’s been at it too long.” Miwa says. “She’s going to have no brain function if we go one more minute.”

“So we give her one more minute!” You shout at her, you never shout, you never break this composure you try to have, but you’re exhausted, weak, thank god Gojo’s pumping over her, his strong arms working faster than even you could.

“Hey, intern, look at me.” You look at Gojo then, at his pretty face as he’s working over her, his white hair falling over his forehead, he nods at the paddles. “Just breathe, yeah? Charge them to forty five.”

“Yes, Sir.” You manage, taking a breath, then you open your eyes, and look at the screen one more time, taking the defibrillator paddles, and shocking her chest, her entire body jolts. The room is dead silent, then you hear it, a heartbeat, a pulse on that machine, a steady beep… beep… beep…

You start sobbing in relief, uncaring what anyone thought at that moment. Doctor Gojo checks for signs of brain activity, rubbing her throat then, feeling her pulse. He grins at you, brightening that room with those glinting white teeth. He gestures for you to come over now, as Yula barely opens her eyes, gasping for breath then, leaning up on her elbows.

“What… where’s my baby?” She whispers, her lips are blue, but she’s talking, cognizant, aware. You feel chills through your body, goosebumps you rub gingerly with sore arms.

The first thing she asks, her baby. She’s gonna be a damn good mom, and she gets to be a mom. You push back thoughts of your own mom, taking a breath to finally speak.

“Your baby is nice and healthy, she’s strong. Like her mom.” You say softly, holding her hand delicately in your own, the nurses are unhooking her from the plugs in the wall, wrapping tubes and wires now, so that they can take her to get checked on Doctor Gojo’s orders.

“Oh thank goodness, oh…” She’s blinking tears now, and she looks to Doctor Gojo, who is smiling softly at her.

“She saved your life.” Gojo says, and you shake your head.

“He did, truly.”

“Well, a little, but mostly her.” He nudges you a bit playfully, and she’s smiling, holding her hands out to both of you.

“Thank you both so, so much. Thank you.” The nurses who all were not listening are quiet now, but you don’t blame them, many of them have done this for years, and you were new.

But something feels so good knowing she is okay, that she will live to see her baby, a fucking rush knowing you saved her, that Doctor Gojo had helped you, despite you going against certain protocol. You look up at him now, and his lips part as he studies you, seriously.

“We will get you to some tests, then you can hold your baby. How’s that sound, Miss Yula?” Satoru says, turning his attention to her, and she nods, grinning so big. She’s pale, she looks weak, but she’s strong and she’s alive.

“Thank you both so much. I can’t wait to meet my baby! Was it a…” Your heart pounds now, realizing she didn’t even see the baby yet.

“It’s a boy. You will see him very soon.” They wheel her away, Miwa is about to leave when Gojo pauses her.

“You will not do that again, I don’t care if she’s new, she is your doctor. Do you understand?” He asks, he’s quiet, so no one hears, and she is blinking back tears now, lip trembling.

“You’re being mean to me.” You try not to scoff, acting like you can’t hear a thing she says, Satoru doesn’t hide his scoff.

“Mean? It’s lives we’re talking about, not personal things.” He says, dropping his voice even quieter, as you work on putting in orders for medicines for Yula, you pretend you don’t hear, but something in you is curious.

“She’s insane.”

Ouch.

“She’s my best intern, and I like insane.” You can’t lie about how elated you are when you hear him. Doctor Gojo might come off as silly, or goofy, but he was the best, and the praise meant so much, even if insane may not be a compliment, from him it seemed like one. “How many times have I pulled a stunt like that?”

“You’re Doctor Gojo.”

“She went through the same schooling, she earned her place here. I am disappointed. I’ll have to assign you elsewhere if you keep on with it, you’ve repeatedly not listened to her. Understood?”

She looks at you, then looks down, nodding. “I get it, fine… but, can I see you later?” Her voice drops another octave, just a breath really.

“I’m busy today, but just know I’m not mad at you, okay? Just you need to trust her judgment, I only brought the best here.” He has his hands on her shoulders gently, she nods, then walks by you.

“I’m sorry. I’ve just seen… a lot of situations where that doesn’t work.” She says, and you shake your head.

“It’s okay, I am kind of batshit crazy to keep going so long. I think I really… because of the baby…”

“I understand. I’ll trust you next time.” She whispers, giving you a little hug now, surprising you. “You saved her.”

“Thank you, Miwa.” You give her a little smile as she leaves, and it’s just you and Satoru now, as the heavy hospital door slams shut. Satoru has his hands in the pockets of his white lab coat, leaning against the counter of the hospital room, looking at you. “I know, I know… I was reckless.”

“Completely reckless, and honestly she’s right. You’re insane.” He says, you flush then, looking down.

“Is this going to fuck up my chance to scrub in? I’m so sorry-”

“Why did you go so hard?” He’s suddenly right in front of you, the pounding of adrenaline racing through your body makes you overheated, lightheaded, to the point you feel a little dizzy.

“She just had that baby, Satoru. Fuck… Gojo. I’m sorry.”

“I don’t mind.” He brushes your hair back, it’s fallen out of its bun. “You want me to fix your hair?”

“You don’t have to-”

“I asked if you wanted me to.” You nod then, turning, and Satoru is taking your hair out of your bun now, gathering it gently. “So you wanted to try insane shit because she had a baby?”

“Yes. Sorry I’m such a mess.”

“You just gave four hundred compressions, you should be a mess. Now, is it just because you love babies so much?” He asks, long fingers massaging your scalp, you can’t help but shut your eyes. It feels so good.

“I do love babies, but no. My mother died having me, from the same thing, placental abruption. I was in the NICU for a long, long time. My dad had to care for me alone, poor guy had no clue what to do. I snapped, honestly, it wasn’t professional in any way, Gojo.”

He’s quiet, as he fixes your hair back up, now his big, sure hands are massaging your sore arms, you exhale, tilting your neck side to side. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, I never knew her. All I have are stories, I never even got held in her arms, just like Yula’s baby would have been.” Your voice is hoarse, your body is tired, you feel his gentle touch and crave more of it.

“You call your patients their names, not ‘patient’.”

“Yes. They have names, we should use them. Don’t you?”

“I do. But… you know that you are letting your emotions guide you, rather than your brain.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“I like that.”

“What now!?” You turn to look at him in shock, and he’s very serious, more serious than you’re used to seeing him. Even in surgery, his confidence carried over, and he could crack jokes as you would watch him through the glass. You were always amazed by that, the confidence, the skill, the ability to laugh even.

“I like that you said fuck protocol and tried your best to save someone, shit that’s why I’m as good at what I do as I am. I said fuck all these rules. Sometimes saving someone means trusting your gut.” He’s tilting your chin up, and for some insane moment you want to kiss him, is it the adrenaline, is it his praise, is it your heart racing so much you’re stupid?

You eye his plush lips, barely registering his words.

“You like that I’m too emotional? Isn’t that the opposite of what I’m supposed to be as a doctor?” You whisper, and he shakes his head then, leaning close.

“You’re unique, special. I find you intriguing actually, and exactly what I want in an intern. I’ll have to cover for your ass though with Yaga.”

“Ugh, I know.” You sigh now. “You’re about to take over as chief of surgery, aren’t you? I don’t want to fuck anything up.”

“Nah, no worries there, I have been getting away with shit for eight years. I’m the best so they do whatever the fuck I want to keep me.” He smirks, and you smile up at him, enjoying the close proximity far too much. “You owe me.”

“Anything! Oh, nothing pervy.”

His lips quirk up. “How dare you assume.”

“Well, Miwa is probably upset, you may not get a bj.” He snorts then, dropping your chin and rolling his pretty blue eyes.

“She absolutely was in the wrong to question you, and she knows. As for… well we don’t have a relationship, I don’t really date.”

You raise a brow curiously. “You just fuck?”

“Lots of fucking.” You snort, shaking your head.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“You should try it, you’re too stiff, you should loosen up.”

“Bet you- actually, you know what, no. I’m too happy to argue. Maybe I should go relieve some stress, shit.” Gojo laughs again, and you giggle now. “I’m losing my mind at this career.”

“That’s what good doctors do.” He taps your nose.

“Why do you do that?” You ask curiously.

“You’re cute when it scrunches up. Now, I want you to go out to eat with me sometime, that’s all I ask.” You sigh, tilting your head.

“Why, you’re Dr. Hojo, you can have anyone go out to eat with you, and do much more than I would, I’m sure.”

“Maybe I just wanna know what makes you tick, intern. Especially now that I saw you in action like that.” You nervously bite your lip, as you think of just being around him outside of this hospital, what would that even be like?

“Sure, we can go out to eat some time. Are you going to the party tomorrow?” You ask, and he nods.

“I’ll be there to make it fun. Now, you go put in your notes, I’ll go mitigate this with Yaga before it blows up.” He gently rubs your shoulder, walking past you now towards the door.

“Doctor Gojo?” He turns then. “Thank you, so much.”

Satoru smiles at you, nodding his head a bit. “You’re welcome intern, you owe me though, I’ll be annoying you about it.”

“Can’t wait.” You tease, he chuckles as he walks by, you nearly collapse, so overwhelmed, plopping down into the rolling chair and covering your face.

You saved someone. That eclipses it all, this is what you wanted to do, always, to save people, like your mom that day. No, not everyone is going to get saved, but if you can just do your fucking best, you feel good. You look at your watch, only one hour left of this insane day.

The night of the party

You’re rushing to get out of the hospital, to hurry and get to the party Maki, Yuta and Toge have started without you. You brought party clothes with you, so you quickly change into the outfit, a slinky little red dress that glitters even under the icky fluorescent lights above. You run over to the mirror, slathering on some concealer, mascara, and lip gloss.

You then dig through your bag, retrieving a brush, running it through your hair and attempting to look human, to look…

“Damn, intern, you look hot.” Gojo’s voice comes behind you, you gasp, jerking and dropping the brush, it clatters to the floor. He smirks at you.

“You scared me, shit!” He bends down, grabbing your brush, and for a moment his breath hits your bare thighs, you tremble as he looks up at your bare legs, taking his time to stand.

“Nice stems.” He says, you roll your eyes, snatching up the brush.

“Oh hush.” You turn, running it through your hair once more, peering at Gojo’s reflection, feeling how small you are compared to him in that mirror. “You bringing Miwa to the party?”

“She’ll be there I’m sure, but I told you, we aren’t dating. One blow job doesn’t make a girlfriend.”

“Only one, hmm? You have more stones to collect.” He chuckles, shaking his head, you turn then, slinging your bag over your shoulder, far too close to him. “God, you always smell good.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing!” You panic, shoving past him, and he is grinning far too big now, taking off his white lab coat, revealing those strong muscles, veins popping out under the pale skin, and since when are veins attractive!?

Everything about him is.

Be immune to the charm.

“I wanna show you something before you go, can you wait just a second? Or so eager to get to the party?” He asks, going to his locker, sliding off his shirt, your throat goes dry, you look quickly away.

“Just eager to make sure they don’t destroy my house.”

“Are you giving me a tour of your room?”

“No infinity stones to be found here.” He snorts, you look back and see him in his boxers, looking away again.

“All right, I’m decent. You’re cute when you blush.”

“I’m just… overheated.”

“Uh huh.” You look to see him now, as he shuts his locker and he’s wearing a dark blue dress shirt, black slacks and boots, he runs a brush through his hair, you’re entranced as his silky strands slide through so effortlessly. “There, all done, how do I look?”

“You look good, Gojo. You always do though.”

“Sure do.” You can’t help but laugh, he’s ridiculous. He grabs his wallet, shoving it in his pocket, holding out a hand. You look at it. “Come on.”

“Oh, fine. It better be good I’m already running late.” You put your hand in his, and he drags you down several halls, until you’re both in an elevator, still holding hands, you pull yours away, glaring at him. “I’m not gonna fuck you, Gojo.”

“Ouch, you wound me, mean little intern.” He puts a hand on his chest. “I’m so offended, I didn’t say that to you!”

“You fuck whoever, and that’s cool, I get it. You’re hot, and this job is stressful as shit.”

“You think I’m hot, hmm?” He leans close, far too close, you glare at him again, pushing on his chest, ignoring how good his muscles feel under your palms.

“You know you are.”

“Yeah, I do. And of course I wanna fuck you, look at you. But I also just want to… get to know you.” He cups your face, and your eyes shut for just a moment. “I know you’re a goodie goodie.”

“Am not.”

“So you’re freaky?”

“You won’t find out.”

“Oh no?”

“Nope.” He leans closer, and your chin tilts up, lips just a breath from him, so close you taste his sweet breath.

“Then why do you look like you wanna kiss me so bad, intern?” He murmurs, you lean even closer, before the elevator stops, and you step back, struggling to compose yourself, turning away. “Aw, you okay?”

“Fuck you, Dr. Hojo.”

He laughs once more. “Come on, I’ll stop teasing.”

“You’re such an ass.” You huff, stomping out, then pausing when you realize where you are. “The maternity ward?”

He smiles, hand now gently holding your inner arm, you ignore how good his hand feels on your bare skin. “I think you should see something.”

Soon he’s led you to a room, then you see them.

Yula holding her little baby.

“Oh my god.” You smile up at him, he studies you carefully, nodding over to where they’re sitting in the hospital bed.

“Go say hi, you deserve it.” His hand is at the small of your back, as you walk inside the room, Gojo stays at the doorway, watching you. Yula lights up when she sees you, grinning so big.

“You downplayed what you did, everyone is calling you a miracle worker, Doctor.” She says to you, you shake your head, stopping in front of them, looking at the beautiful baby boy, his cherubic little cheeks hollowing as he sucks on a bright blue binkie, then you look back at Yula.

“It was nothing, just my job.”

“No, it wasn’t nothing. If not for you… I…” She blinks back tears now, and you barely hold in your own.

“Don’t upset yourself, please. You have been through a lot, mama.”

“You should hold him!” Yula says.

“Me? I…”

“Here.” She sits up carefully, and you pick up the little boy, Yula smiles at Gojo and waves him in. “His name is Gojo.”

“What?” Gojo blinks a bit himself, coming to stand beside you and looking down at him, Gojo carefully brushes the baby’s cheek, his hands bigger than the little baby almost. You smile up at him, and for a moment, your eyes lock, then you both flush, looking away. “After me?”

“Yes, you were amazing. I’d have named it after you if it was a girl!”

“Oh, goodness. He is handsome, huh Gojo?” You coo to the baby, Gojo’s hand again comes to the small of your back, he is leaning over your shoulder, looking down at the bundle in your arms.

“Feels good, doesn’t it? Knowing you did a good thing here.” He murmurs in your ear, and you nod then, smiling back at him.

“Thank you for this, Gojo. And thank you, Yula.”

“Thank you both, you're getting Christmas gifts from me.” You both laugh softly, saying your goodbyes, and when the elevator closes again, you let the little tears fall. Satoru swipes at them, and you sigh.

“Fuck it.” You yank him down by his shirt, kissing his lips, expecting it to feel nice, or good… but instead, it’s electrifying, as if little shocks are radiating throughout your entire body. Satoru exhales, deepening the kiss, pressing you against the wall, hands at your waist, peering back to look down at you, to take a breath.

“Fuck…” He murmurs softly, brushing your cheek with his long fingers, running a thumb over your lower lip. “What did I do to earn something that sweet?”

“You did a lot for me. Thank you.” He kisses your lips again, but now his tongue slips in, and you feel desire pooling in your core, especially when his hands are trailing up your sides, and his tongue is dancing with yours. You pull back, gasping. “I’m sorry…”

“Don’t fucking apologize. Please.” He kisses you deeper now, and you lose yourself for that moment, his teeth on your bottom lip, your arms wrapping around his neck as he bends low. Your hands entwine in that silky hair, the hair you have wondered how good would feel under your fingers, his thigh coming between your thighs. “Oh my god…”

“Mmm.” You whine out, pathetic, hips arching up, and you feel him, his hard thigh, those hands overtaking you, tasting him, a hand enwrapping in your hair.

“You’re so hot there…” He murmurs, a hand sliding down your tummy, making it tremble, and you are questioning everything, until the elevator dings, and you both pull away quickly, but Satoru looks completely affected, eyes dilated, his breaths heavy as they come out, mirroring you.

“I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Yeah you should have.”

“No… but thank you. Really.” You touch his shoulder gently. “I will not be an infinity stone.”

“Think you’d be the whole gauntlet.”

“Oh whatever. Forget that, please.”

“No way.”

You both are walking out to your cars then, you’re fucking insane, you kissed Satoru Gojo, your boss! You kissed him. He’s walking you to your car now, opening your door, and you can barely meet his pretty eyes, so embarrassed. “I really shouldn’t have done that.”

“You were feeling something, emotions, gratitude… attraction.” He practically says the word like a caress, you feel it physically. “More probably. What’s wrong with feeling things?” He asks then, and you sigh.

“Feeling things for someone who you can’t be with, that sounds like torture.”

“Is it all that?”

“Yes. You should… forget it.”

“I’m not forgetting it. I’ll see you there?” You nod, shy as fuck now, surprised at yourself, touching your lips when you shut the car door, his kiss is lingering on your lips, like some drug you crave.

You gasp when he’s still standing there, grinning at you through your window. You roll it down, scowling. “Go on!”

“You were thinking about it.” He says in a sing-song voice.

“Was not!”

“Mmm, naughty intern-”

You rev up your loud ass car. “Can’t hear you!” He’s grinning far too big when you drive off, heart pounding.

You kissed your boss, and now you’re going to a party with him?

You have lost your mind?

“Bitch, you look so hot.” Maki runs over to you, shoving a questionable red solo cup in your hands, making you wince.

“Bad memories. You look hot too!” You kiss her cheek now, as there are people all over your house, dancing, laughing, most of whom you have no clue who they are. Some loud bass music is blaring, and it’s giving you a bit of a headache, but the energy is good, and you can see your roommates enjoying themselves.

Yuta is taking shots with Toge, you both walk over as Maki takes a sip from her own cup, her eyes sparkling. “Drink it!”

“Oh fine.” You take a sip, feeling the sweet, fruity drink. At first it’s fine, but then you can feel the burn of the alcohol. “Not bad.”

“Yeah, yeah, chug it bitch.”

“No!”

“Then take shots, pretty.” Yuta says, and you giggle, shaking your head. “What, you look pretty? Both of you do.”

“Pretty.” Toge says, blush on his cheeks when you kiss one, then Yuta’s.

“Aww thank you all.” Toge runs off then, leaving you confused, staring at Yuta and Maki who are whispering to each other. “What’d I do!?”

“He’s got it bad.” Maki says, seriously.

“What? No.”

“He does, poor guy. No chance.” Yuta says, you sigh.

“You all are silly, he does not. I would know, I live with him. He’s just a little… shy sometimes.”

“Exactly. You’re so evil to men.” You stick your tongue out at Yuta.

“Whatever! Am not.” You sip your drink, it starts tasting less biting as the alcohol warms your tummy.

“You’re mean as shit to Gojo. He’s got puppy dog eyes for you.” Maki says, as Satoru now walks in, Suguru right next to him.

“He has eyes for everyone.” You flush then, remembering the elevator vividly, as Satoru’s eyes catch yours across the room. “He’s my boss. Our boss.”

“The entire hospital is fucking.” Maki says, earning your look at her and Yuta, your eyes narrowing, assessing how close they are. “Not us!”

“Oh, you two so are. Since when!?” They both flush and look away, you cross your arms now, leaning forward. “In my house, terrible children.”

“Fuck off, you’re not our mom.” Maki sticks her tongue out.

“How long!”

“Like two weeks, chill.” Yuta clears his throat.

“I see something… over there.” Is all he says, then he leaves, and you scooch closer to Maki now.

“I tell you something, you tell me.”

You lean close, looking back at Satoru, Miwa is bouncing over to him, but for some reason he keeps looking at you, eyes shouldn’t be so intense you see them across the whole living room and dining room!? You have a pretty big house, but it seems small with this many people, overheating the area.

“Fine, we’ve had sex a lot, but only for a couple weeks, we’re not labeling it anything.”

“Oh…” You struggle to understand how your best friends are… hooking up. It doesn’t surprise you completely, though. “Not dating?”

Maki rolls her green eyes. “It doesn’t always have to be a relationship, you’re so old school.”

“Am not. I just… have a five date rule or so.”

“Bet Doctor Hojo breaks it.”

“Maki!”

“Time for your secret, and a shot.” She pours you both tequila, you shiver as you remember college with Maki, the amount of nights you’d both held each other’s hair as you got sick. “Don’t wuss out, you’re the hero doctor now.”

“Am not at all. Fine, bottoms up.” You both take shots down your throat, biting on your lemons now. “Blegh.”

“Baby.”

“I won’t tell you then!” You hiss, and she yanks you to her.

“You will!”

“Oh fine. I kissed him, there I said it.” You whisper, looking around fervently, as if someone can hear you whisper over booming music, Maki barely hears you, but she sees your gaze darts to Satoru, and his gaze hits you.

“Oh fuck… that’s so messy, you gonna hit it?” You shush her as he starts to walk toward you all, luckily he keeps getting stopped, everyone loves Doctor Gojo and him and Doctor Geto are getting swarmed by nurses and interns.

“No, no… it was a kiss. Maki he was so great to me yesterday, I think I really like him, but I can’t.”

“You can, just gotta be careful babes.”

“No, he’s… Maki he’s a slut.”

“Rude.” Sartoru says then, and you nearly spit out your drink, coughing then, Maki’s grin is huge, she pushes her glasses up, eyeing Gojo then.

“Hey Dr. Hunk.”

“It’s Dr. Hojo.” You glare at her, and Satoru slings an arm around your shoulders, lanky limbs overtaking you.

“She’s mean as hell, your bestie.” He says to Maki.

“She is, that's why I love her. Hmm, you should have shots with us!”

“Sounds good-”

“What, no!”

“Why? Scared I’ll out drink you?” He asks.”

“You absolutely could, I suck at drinking.”

“Even better, loosen you up-”

“Shots!” Maki hands you both shot glasses now, and you both down them, Satoru then bites a lemon and it’s far too sexy how he does, you feel your tummy clench just watching him suck one. “Hmm, I see… something over there.”

Maki dips now, leaving you alone with Satoru, and you don’t even know what to say, so nervous next to him. You keep looking at his lips, then down, and he surely notices, as they curl into a smirk. “You gonna give me the tour, pretty?”

“Pretty, thought I was just ‘intern’ to you.”

“You’re pretty, very pretty, little intern.” Satoru bars you against the counter now, and your hips shift side to side. “Aw, excited?”

“Shush. People can see!”

“Everyone’s fucking in this hospital.”

“No kidding.” You pout as you look at Yuta and Maki. “Some right in my own damn house.”

“You’re like an angry mom.”

“Hey!” You shove at him now, and then you see him sip a drink, watch that adam’s apple bob, and fuck…

Gojo’s gorgeous, and you haven’t had any in forever.

Usually you’re good, a nice smut story and a vibrator, but he does something to you, that makes you forget who you are, where you are. You still ease out of his trap now, sighing and shaking your head. “Not here.”

“Oh, not here? Are you planning on seducing me, intern?”

“Psh, you wish. I mean… we can talk somewhere else.”

“Talk, huh. That’s what the twenty somethings call it.”

“You’re so ridiculous, ugh… I mean… talk. Will Miwa get mad?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes.

“You really seem to think a blow job equals dating.”

“Yeah, well she’s already not a fan of me.” You take his hand now, walking him down the hall, where there are indeed people making out, including Miwa. You blink a bit then, and Satoru leans in close.

“Told you. The hospital is slutty.”

“Not me.”

“You’re so different.”

“Fuck off.” You laugh softly though, continuing through the hall, pointing at a room now. “Down there is the basement, where I hide my bodies.”

“Called it, serial killers have those steady hands.” You stick your tongue out, enjoying holding his hand far too much, he seems just as enamored as you, following you through each hall.

“There is Maki’s room, Yuta’s is there, and Toge’s is across from mine.”

“He’s in love with you, you know that yeah?”

“Why do people think that? He’s just a sweetie. And this… well this was my parents room, I just leave it be.” You murmur then, taking another sip of your drink, and Gojo frowns now.

“Can I see it?”

“Um… it’s all covered in sheets since forever, dusty and abandoned unfortunately so… nothing to see.”

“Curious if you look like your mom or dad.”

“Are you?” He nods a bit, and you bite your lip, shaking your head. “I can show you a picture of them, I have one in my room.”

“Dad’s gone too?” He asks, and you sigh, nodding, walking into your room, feeling the intimacy suddenly of such an action. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, really. My grandparents raised me. They’re good, they just moved out to Florida, retired.”

“You’re alone here?”

“No, I have my friends. Here, this was them.” You show him a little picture then, it’s frayed at the edges, of your mom and dad holding each other at prom. “They were really young here.”

“She was beautiful, you do look like her.” You get misty eyed at that, touching the picture, before shaking your head.

“Fuck you’re supposed to be here for fun, not me crying. What’s with me today?” Satoru turns you to him then, after you put the picture down, and you exhale, desire killing you, it’s like something is pulling you to him.

“Nothing is wrong with feeling things. I didn’t come here for a party, I came here to get to know you.”

“Why do you want to? Maybe I’m boring.”

“I doubt all that. So you tell me, intern, what do you want to do? Talk, look at pictures, give me a blow job?”

“As if!” He laughs then, and you realize it then... “You’re cheering me up, aren’t you Gojo?”

“Mmhmm.”

“You do that. A lot.”

“I’m glad.”

“You also annoy me.” Satoru’s pressing your back against your dresser, and you’re all too aware how hard his body is, how he’s muddling your mind. “What you wanna like… just fuck as friends or something?”

“I didn’t say that. You assume. Maybe I want to kiss you all night.” Your head falls back, Satoru is kissing you again, this time you let yourself go, feeling every bit of him, the kiss is more messy, more desperate than the elevator. Your teeth are nipping at his lower lip, earning a soft moan, as he grips your hips tightly, thumbs pressing into your pelvis.

“Mnh, we shouldn’t…”

“We shouldn’t. But… you’re really ready.”

“Ugh.” You’re a blushing mess now. “It’s been a while and… you’re really hot and…”

He chuckles. “You’re adorable. Let me make you cum, then, hmm?”

“Wh-what now?” You gasp when he’s picking you up, hoisting you on the dresser, spreading your thighs. “Gojo…”

“Satoru.”

“Doctor Hojo.”

He smirks, hands trailing up your thighs, your head falls back just so, hair cascading down your back, sighing at how good it feels. “You’re a brat.”

“You’re the bratty one. What do you mean just… get me off.”

“Stress relief. Why not let me help? I am a doctor.” You blush furiously, and he smiles. “Cute.”

“I’m not your patient…”

“Roleplay.”

“You kinky little- ah!” Satoru slides his hand between your thighs, cupping you where your panties are, and he pauses, mouth open slightly, snowy lashes lowering over dark blue eyes in the dim room.

“You’re that wet from kissing?” He whispers, you shut your eyes, taking his hand, with every intention of pulling it off, but you just keep it there, around his strong wrist, feeling his pulse flutter under your thumb.

“I don’t do this.”

“I’ll just finger you.”

“You gonna get me off with your fingers?” His smirk is now a wicked grin, his fingers slipping under your panties, finding you slick and hot. He exhales.

“I know anatomy extremely well. And no, it doesn’t have to change things, I can still be professional.” He slips a finger inside your pussy now, you’re clenching around him, moaning, covering your mouth then. “Fuck you’re tight.”

“Pro-profes… you!? Not… mmm… fuck it, yes, there!” You’re arching your hips up, he is watching your every move intensely, analyzing you like you’re a medical case for him to solve, every breath you take, every movement of your hips, the way your brows draw together. He’s crooking his finger just so, and you see stars, gushing all around his long finger that’s too fucking deep.

“There’s that spot.” He leans close, sliding two fingers inside now, your pussy greedily sucks it up, your hands clinging to his expensive dress shirt, his lips just an inch away. “It’s not on any anatomy, is it, this spot? But yours is easy to find, pretty, right there.” He hits it again, and you’re getting closer and closer, whining out, pulling him closer. 

“Mpfh.” You can’t manage a syllable, it’s too good, the stretch, his nearness, you crave him so bad you can’t think.

“Want me to make you cum?” He asks, sultry voice as much of a caress as his soppy fingers.

You nod eagerly, then he kisses you, pulling your hips down, pumping his fingers in and out, hitting the spot over and over. “Satoru…”

“Fuck that sounds good from your mouth.” He kisses down your neck, before whispering in your ear. “So this is a place on the human anatomy, your clitoris. There it is, it’s a tiny little thing.”

“Fuck!” You’re clinging to him desperate, pathetic, as his other hand reaches down, thumb circling your clit. Your eyes lock then, his pupils are so big there’s just a ring of blue, his eyes almost look black, his cheeks flushed.

“When I use both, it can overstimulate you, can’t it?” You mindlessly nod, tears in your eyes as he’s working you. “Hear how wet you are?”

“Mmm…” You’re done with words, his long fingers are too good, and you can hear how wet you are in your room, the squishing sound as he pumps inside your little walls, and you’re soaking his hands.

“I feel it, there, your pussy is tightening up, your nipples are rock hard, you’re biting that lip. You’re about to cum for me, aren’t you?” He murmurs, studying you still, and then you shatter, earning his moan along with your cries, as you feel your orgasm hit so hard you can’t see, just clinging to his dress shirt wordlessly. “Fuck you’re pretty, look at you.”

“Satoru!” You barely manage to focus, when he’s rubbing your pussy up and down between your lips, you jerk you’re so sensitive, you damn near could come again. “Fuck, fuck…”

“Sensitive?” You weakly nod, and now he is sliding his two fingers inside his mouth, sucking, and your jaw drops, breasts heaving. “You’re so yummy.”

“I am?” You whisper, he nods, and takes his other hand that was on your clit, rubbing your own arousal on your lower lip.

“Taste yourself and see.”

You lick your lower lip tentatively, pussy still pulsing around nothing, then he growls, grabbing you, kissing you over and over. You’re a fucking mess, so weak now, you want to say fuck it, suck him, touch him, do anything to make him feel good, you want him inside you.

Your legs are wrapping around his narrow hips now, hands shaking when you’re unbuttoning his shirt, fuck you’re so ready you can’t even remember anything you said you would or wouldn’t do. 

“Want you.” You whisper weakly, he exhales, big hands cupping your face.

“Yeah?” You nod again, and he’s kissing down your throat now, pulling you flush against him, your throbbing cunt right against where you feel him, his hard cock under his pants, you weakly grind, mind fuzzy from him. “You feel so good, shit I thought you didn’t-”

Knock. Knock. Knock.

“Shit…” You hop up now, adjusting yourself, looking in the mirror to see your fucked out, dilated eyes, all glittery, your cheeks flushed, your hair a mess from his hands. “I look like I got fucked, dammit.”

“You didn’t yet, imagine how you’d look when I got done with you.” He’s kissing down your neck now, images flying in your mind, as the door keeps knocking, then you hear Maki’s words.

“Someone passed out! We need you, please!” Maki’s words are like cold water, you and Satoru both rush out without a second thought. “Fuck… I’m sorry-”

“No, what’s wrong?” You and Gojo ask at the same time, she looks between you both for a moment.

“It’s embarrassing…” She admits.

“What is?” You ask, as she leads you to Yuta’s room, confusing you further.

“I may have been riding him and…”

Yuta is passed out, half naked on the bed. “Maki, did you kill him with your pussy!?”

“No! Maybe.”

Satoru chuckles, going up to him then, and peeking at his neck. “Did you all get freaky?”

“No!”

“Maki.” You glare at her, shutting the door now. She flushes, tilting her head back and sighing.

“I choked him, he likes it!”

“I think he’s just zonked from it. He’s responding fine. Hmm…” He says your name then, the man that just had you cumming on his fingers…

Fuck…

“Grab some ice.” You run down stairs, come right back up with a cup of ice, handing it to Satoru confusedly. “Watch and learn, interns.”

Satoru now throws the entire cup of ice on Yuta’s face, and he sputters, waking up and gasping. Satoru’s evilly chuckling, Maki is damn near in tears, and you’re watching with ongoing confusion, alcohol setting in, post bliss orgasm, thrown off that you just found Satoru throwing ice attractive.

“Thank you, shit!” Maki hugs Gojo tightly, as Yuta flushes, looking around at the three of you.

“Maki! I was fine.”

“You scared me!” She’s kissing him then, deeply, and Satoru and you gently walk back, you close their door with a quiet click, sighing and looking up at him.

“What made you think to do that?”

“I’ve had freaky sex.” He teases. “I’m kidding, I just saw the marks from her fingers on his throat, put two and two together.”

“You’re like Sherlock Holmes.” He shrugs then, and his phone starts buzzing, he frowns as he looks at it. “What’s wrong?”

“I gotta head out, nothing big.” He leans close, and you look down shyly, lashes casting shadows under your eyes.

“Then good night, and be safe?” You say, he nods, running a finger over your swollen lower lip then. “Satoru…”

“You still owe me a date, I’m no hussy. Can’t have that and not go out with me.” You feel far too good now, as he’s asking you out.

“But we shouldn’t.”

“And you shouldn’t have been insane yesterday, but it worked. Be a little crazy, just… a date.” You nod then, and he leans his forehead on yours. “Also, your anatomy? Perfect.”

Your pulse thrums in your neck, chest tightening as he says it. “No, certainly not perfect…”

“Mmm, it is, and I would know. An expert on female anatomy.”

“Well thank you, slutty doctor.” He snorts, pecking a kiss on your lips, one that you would never be able to get out of your head.

“I expect a better tour sometime.”

“Keep dreaming. But… lunch, I agreed.”

“Sunday work?”

“Yeah.”

“Text you then.” Satoru leaves then, and leaves you leaning on the hall, suddenly the door opens, and Maki and Yuta peek their heads out.

“A date!?”

“You should be passed out, freaky asses.” You shove them back in their room, running off to yours as they try to bombard you with questions, you lay on your back, staring up at your ceiling, the glow sticker stars from your childhood still decorating the ceiling, you never did take them off.

You like him, you really like him. But you need your career, it’s just beginning, and would this just fuck it all up? Could you keep this shit separated? You can’t do this, you can’t…

Your eyes shut, flitting images of Doctor Gojo enjoying your anatomy filling your mind, keeping you up half the damn night, as you hear it get quieter, assuming the party has died off. You lay on your side, looking out at the window, seeing the moonlight shining through just so.

Your phone goes off, and it’s your stupid ex, earning your scowl, as you delete it, but then a new message pops up.

Doctor Gojo: Let me know if you need anatomy lessons again, intern.

You snort, shaking your head.

You: You wish!

Doctor Gojo: Hmm, still taste you.

You: Oh my god, good night Doctor Hojo!!!

You hate that your heart hammers in your chest as he hearts your message.

You’re so fucked.

Taglist: @lost-resonance @lostfracturess @unfortunately-tia @allofffmypeaches @chiyokoemilia @makingtimemine @antisocialinlw @meg3mis @miizuzu @nanasukii28 @zoeyflower @wstaley2 @bunheadusa @blue-musingss @ameliariddle @labelt-san @moncher-ire @jkslaugh97 @aldebrana @shadeowz @gojo1228 @victoriaaaa00 @jaeminaur @seeing-stars-alt

Part Three

[evilminji]

You know all those Cults in Gotham?

Bet at least ONE of them could spring for both a Legit Magic User and a Cloning pod.

Because The Wayne's? Hearts of Gold. Long standing pains in the asses. Probably the only thing standing between this gods forsaken wasteland of a city and Their Dark Lord. For GENERATIONS no less!

It's sooooo obnoxious!

So they want to Curse Um dead. Just a good ol fashioned bloodline curse. Destroy um from within, etc. BUT! To do THAT? You kinda need a blood relative to sacrifice!

And Bruce is... well... rather infamously An Orphan With No Biological Kids (at that point).

So? What do you do? Make one, obviously. You send in some of your own on a Holy Mission. Honeypot that playboy! Get us a kid to sacrifice! Our God will reward you etc! But... FFS! What? Are brunettes not your TYPE or something?! Pretty lady! Throwing herself at you!!

TAKE THE BAIT!

But he DOESN'T. Because he's both really used to that behavior, as The Wayne Heir and a False Playboy, AND because? He's fuckin Batman. He can see through your schemes.

Okay.

Okay!

Plan B!

Get us some DNA. We'll CLONE the sucker. That should be doable, right?

........OH COME ON! How?!

Batman: [REDACTED] / Cultists: 0

Fuck it! This is impossible! How are we supposed too... *eyes drift over to the Wayne Family Private Graveyard* .......Idea? Ideeeeaaaa~! Someone get us a shovel!

So they, cultist bastards that they are? Fuckin rob a grave for some DNA.

OBVIOUSLY though, it can't be one of the more RECENT graves! He probably VISITS those! Watches them! No we gotta be SNEAKY! Get one a bit further back! Mwahahahaha! We're so brilliant! Our God is gonna give us SUCH a Good Grade in follower!

A thing that is both REAL and possible to achieve!

So, while a Weirdly FURIOUS Batman? Is just... VIOLENTLY breaking ALL of their bones? Cultist 17 is furiously digging like his life depends on it. Either somebody snitched or Batman was hunting them down! Either way?

Gotta! Get! That! DNA!!! *digs faster*

Ah HA! Got it!

Fucking SCATTER! Run you fools, RUN!!! *everyone bolts*

And AT LAST! They have it! Wayne DNA! Now? Pop that sucker into the machine and make us a baby! Too sacrifice! *relieved noises* Man, that was hard work you guys. But we DID it!

Except??

Theoretical Babies? And "Real, slowly forming in front of me and becoming a human child" type babies? VERY DIFFERENT psychologically. It's ONE thing to sacrifice a HYPOTHETICAL baby... but when you're the guy running and monitoring the Cloning machine? Watching it slowly form and come together into... into a CHILD?

You start asking questions of yourself. Of God.

Of what, EXACTLY, you are willing to do.

What lines you find yourself unwilling to cross.

And yeah, your life was SHIT before the cult. Yeah, you were alone. Adrift. Without purpose. Angry at the world for all of its ugliness and failings. But... sitting, alone, in a dark room? Nothing but the steady hum of machines and the cool light of that pod? You are left with nothing but time... and your thoughts.

And the baby.

The one... the one YOU made.

Almost... he's almost like a son, in a way. Your son. Floating there, innocent and unknowing. Destined to be born, only to die painfully, for a cause he could not even begin to understand. Because he's too young. Too small. Just... just a baby.

The baby YOU made.

Doubt seeps in like mist. Creeping into the cracks forming in your faith. Surely there's another way, right? Why not save up for a better magician? Or... or hire a hitman? Why involve a child? Surely... surely your God would not WANT this, right? Or if He did! Surely, he would want the boy to be able to CHOOSE, right? A noble sacrifice, for the cause?

The pressure builds. Batman is tearing the city APART looking for your fellow Believers. Leadership is pressuring you to get "It" ready all ready.

He's not an "it".

They are dismissing your questions. Threatening and posturing, as you grapple with your faith. Where? Where is the COMMUNITY that you joined? The camaraderie? Every day, Believers are being torn down. The faith has lost so many!

How can this be WORTH it?

Your faith is slowly, cruelly, strangled in your chest. A death, by ten thousand silences, and ten thousand more cruelties.

Your son is ready.

You do not tell them.

The Clone of Bruce Wayne's great-grandfather is small, but healthy, in your arms. A tiny warm body, with a strong beating little heart. You call the police. Leave your phone, call running, on the desk. No one thinks to stop you, as you calmly walk out the back door.

Why would they doubt?

You are Faithful.

You drive. Pray to a God you have lost faith in, beg forgiveness for what you do now. Your beat up old junker of a car makes decent time, as you leave Gotham. Your son, asleep in a carefully made nest of blankets, on the seat next to you. You drive. You keep driving.

Past towns.

Past cities.

Out of the state.

Stopping only to feed your son and fuel your car. You... you can not bring yourself to care about what will happen to you now. You know they will find you. Know this is the end. But something ancient burns in your chest. A caring you never thought was REAL.

You are afraid.

But you will not let them harm your son.

Finally, a town. Far from Gotham. Quite and cheerful. It calls to you.

Here. It... it has to be here.

You find the hospital. Tears choking you. There is a place to drop of children. You've seen them before. How strange, that now you stand before it and HURT. Your arms not listening to your command. You... you have to do this. You HAVE too.

He is just a baby.

He is your son.

You have to keep him safe. And... and that can not be with you.

You gently put your baby boy into the drop off. Press the buzzer. And then? You make yourself walk away.

Get back in your car, and drive. The gun in your glove box will insure they can never pry from you, what you have done. Where he is. He is safe now. He has to be. You... you did your job. As his father. You made sure he was safe.

You can barely see the road, through your tears.

You take your secrets to the grave.

And Danny? He grows up. Is adopted young and never knows different. Both a Fenton and a Wayne. Knowing only one of these, to be his. But... that Wayne? Was a damn fine man. A pillar of his community and a champion of the people.

Got tossed more then a few blessings, in his life.

They weren't the STRONGEST. But they added up. And more importantly? Were hardly the refined magics of the more powerful. They were cast onto "Him". By blood and bone, more often then not. Which was all well and good!

When there was only ONE of "Him".

Cloning technology did not exsist. So why would you word carefully against it? Danny becomes a VERY lucky boy. Survives many things he should not. In fact, the kindness and hard work of his original? Gifted back in magically powered well wishes? By this, he survives something NO ONE could possibly expect him too.

It saves his life.

His template would be quite pleased, knowing that. That his life of good deeds, saved the life of the child he never got a chance to meet. That it protected his children, from even beyond death.

And in Gotham? At long, long last. The program Bruce made in his helplessness and despair, to search EVERY child until the child made of his bloodline was found? Spits out a match.

A Watchtower engineer.

Daniel J. Fenton.

@hdgnj @hypewinter @lolottes @babbling-babull @nerdpoe @mutable-manifestation

[kirozai]

—HSR YANDERES AS TROPES.

Forced Proximity? Soulmates..? Amenesia! Common tropes that always end up happy! Your favorite characters love you so so much! But.. is it in the way you want?...

content warnings: yandere, toxic love, unreliable narrator, descriptions of gore, unrealistic relationships, unwanted PDA, depressive elements, suggestive, gn!reader (maybe ideas for makeup but most of the part is gn) pairing(s): sunday x reader, blade x reader, aventurine x reader, jing yuan x reader word count: around 350-500 each, 2100+ words in all A/N: I got a tiny bit carried away

Aventurine - Amnesia

WHAT’S PLAYING: engravings - Ethan Bortnick

Your eyes are blinded by the casino lights. The sound of chips being thrown and cards being shuffled fills your ears. Things feel so familiar, but at the same time, completely foreign. You turn your eyes to your lover. At least you think he’s your lover.

Two weeks ago you woke up in the dead of night on a hospital bed feeling numb from your head to the tips of your toes. The hospital lights were blinding making you feel dreary. You slowly regained movement by wiggling your fingertips and finally being able to sit up on the comfortable bed. As you gazed around the room you felt shocked to see gold engravings on the trim of the walls. It’s obvious it was a hospital, but it felt too expensive.

And you? You felt out of place.

A nurse walked into your room with a pan of what seemed like a new IV bag and other things like syringes and such. She turned wide-eyed and gasped as she suddenly dropped the pan of expensive medical equipment. You couldn’t make out what she said as she mouthed something out loud. The drowsiness hit you and you passed out.

The next time you woke up to a man sitting beside your bed in the most luxurious clothes you ever laid eyes on. He looked worried, very worried. Realizing you woke up once again his Avgin eyes-

Wait Avgin?...

“Sweetheart! You’ve been out for months. How are you feeling? Is there any pain? How… Can…?” He spoke quickly but after the first couple of sentences, his words faded into mush.

He called you sweetheart though, you deduced he was someone close to you. Someone that must have cared for you. 

But then why do you feel-

Cutting your thoughts you paused. Thinking was causing you too much pain and headache at the moment. You tried to recall what happened. 

And at that moment you realize you couldn’t even recall who you were.

After some time of recovery, you were able to get a couple of things down. The handsome man’s name was Aventurine. He is your lover. (?) You two have been together for quite some time now. You were diagnosed with severe amnesia, but your lover was kind enough to explain everything to you. Although, he was still hesitant to explain what happened to you and the reason why you were in the hospital.

You tried to get something out of the many doctors and nurses, but they seemed… scared.

Aventurine never left your side when other people were around. It was either you and him or no one at all. Leaving you lost and not being able to truly be clear about your condition. Everything went through Aventurine. 

One day during your walk around the large hospital, Aventurine got a call. He looked at it and furrowed his eyebrows, smiled at you, said it was an urgent call, apologized, and left for a brief moment. 

You dragged your IV stand a couple of steps more and abruptly stopped in your tracks as you overheard a pair of nurses talk about… you?

“IPC… they… lies… Aventurine… hiding.” Those were the only few words you were able to make out.

It no longer mattered though because Aventurine’s bright smile found you again and you walked back to your room first. If only you could see the piercing glare that he sent to the nurses. He wouldn’t know what to do if you heard about the fates of them after spreading lies to your pretty head.

After the recovery, you settled in enough to “your life”. Now you sit next to your lover whose luck shines more vibrant than a newborn baby’s laughter. You feel content for the most part.

I wonder if you would still feel content if you were able to take a good look past Aventurine’s perfect poker face. While you sleep he watches you worriedly, wondering if you’ll remember one day. Remember that this perfect love story he crafted isn’t so perfect after all. He wonders how you would react if you were to find out again the atrocities he’s committed in the name of “love”. He holds his chips tightly, but luck has always been on his side.

So tonight like any other night, you’ll smile with no idea of what had occurred in the past. At the end of the day, occasionally it is better to live unaware.

•••

Jing Yuan - Grumpy x Sunshine

WHAT'S PLAYING: Carousel - Melanie Martinez

The Luofu General was known for his joyous laughter and the positivity that he spread throughout the entire planet. He joked and was an infectious smiler. You on the other hand were known as the Yin to his Yang. If Jing Yuan was the sun, you were his moon. It’s adorable on paper, isn’t it?

You do nothing less than agree with the fact that your husband Jing Yuan was very positive. The reason why differed from others though. 

You believed the reason he was so happy was because he sucked every smile, every laugh out of you. 

Your story was the average fairytale, opposite attracts and then they fall in love. The End.

Unfortunately for you, Jing Yuan was anything but ordinary, and maybe that played a part in your perfect tragedy. 

Jing Yuan loved you. You knew that for sure. He had always been a PDA person, always close to you and you would most likely be seen dead than without his arm around your waist. It wasn’t a big deal though. This is what lovers usually do right?

Until you tried to back away. Things got… messy. 

Arguments ensued and you realized that he never really treated you as an equal. He loved you, yes, but he viewed you as lesser and somehow put you on a pedestal at the same. exact. time.

“You don’t respect me.” You stated firmly.

“But I love you.” He replied as if nothing was wrong.

You never thought your husband to be a jealous person and truly he was not. The possessiveness is what got you through.

It began small from making excuses on why you shouldn’t go out,

“It’s my day off!” or “It might rain soon.” Both are lazy excuses you’ve heard again and again. Yet you still seemed to fall again and again for his sunshine charms and wits.

You were the perfect lover to Jing Yuan, loving, kind, and malleable to believe whatever he wanted you to believe.

At some point after the large argument you two shared, you didn’t remember the last time when you had left the estate. 

You felt stuck, stuck on a carousel that kept going around and around and stuck trying to read between the lines of Jing Yuan’s perfect facade. If you caught him at the wrong time you wouldn’t see him for days and when he would return he would haphazardly apologize with the stupidest excuses. 

You never raised your voice anymore after THAT argument though. You were too scared to. So even when he scratches his name into your skin, even if he hugs you so tightly to the point that you feel like your lungs are collapsing, you find excuses for him. For yourself. To make this entire relationship work

Because you love him.

And you don’t not what scares you more anymore. The slight warning in his tone and the ever-present toxicity seeping its way into your originally “perfect” marriage. 

Or.

The fact you’ll still stay even if it gets worse.

Why?

Because you love him.

•••

Blade - Forced Proximity.

WHAT’S PLAYING: This is Love - Air Traffic Controller

There’s blood on the walls, the floors, and even on the couch. Anything you’ve been able to find you’ve smashed onto the ground. Your hands are covered in blood. No worries to Blade though. He sits on the couch covered in the blood of a man. Your eyes flicker to the dead body right in front of you. The now dead man who tried to help you escape from this prison Blade oh so lovingly calls “your” home to no avail.

Blade’s red eyes stare into the distance of space. Perhaps he’s wondering what he should do next for your transgressions. Perhaps he is wondering what he can do to make you smile again. Or maybe, he doesn’t care. Maybe he finds happiness and contentedness in your suffering. After all, a being who is forever stricken by mara might find peace in others' pain. 

But.

Past this mara-stricken being is a man who does have some semblance of love for you. Blade knew your every like and dislike. He would trail kisses up your neck and on your lips. You’d joke together. You both were disgustingly domestic at times. At least that’s what appeared. Loving Blade wasn’t difficult when every moment you breathed you were near him. 

You wear outfits perfectly fitted to your style sponsored by your self-proclaimed lover himself. Anything you want you’ll get. Jewels, clothing, books, anything you could ever desire. It’s nothing but pocket money for the Stellaron Hunter. 

Your mascara has been smudged after all the tears. Your sniffles fill up the room, you look at your palms. Hands covered in scratches and blisters from broken glass and accidental burns. You don’t have to worry though, Blade will patch it all up for you. This situation will fade into the past just like all the others. Your head peaks again at the dismembered and maimed body on the floor. You stop breathing yet again. You shut your eyes and open them once again when you feel a warm breath on your neck. 

It’s Blade, you can tell that the mara had warned off him. He tightens his arms around your body and somehow pulls you closer than he ever did before in your “relationship”. You blink once again as a tear rolls down your cheek and pray to any Aeon out there for help. Despite this, you're well aware it’s no use. There’s no place in the universe where Blade won’t find you. So you close your eyes to hum a broken chord as you prepare for the cycle to begin again.

•••

Sunday - Soulmates

WHAT’S PLAYING: Butch 4 Butch - Rio Romeo

Fairytale love stories where the prince and the princess lived happily ever after were something that you grew up with on your home planet. As you grew up though, “soulmates” left your mind. Other things like making credits and exploring the galaxies were more on your agenda than finding “true love”.

True love was a fairytale. Something that didn’t exist and that’s what you stood by ever since.

Ever since your planet was destroyed by its inhabitants. If people couldn’t love the homes they lived in how could they ever love one another?

You enjoyed travel, you enjoyed learning about other planets, cultures, and people. You didn’t have time for the nonexistent love. Though you enjoyed hearing the stories of it. You’ve met others who found their “soulmates”, their one and only blessed by the Aeons themselves. 

On your travel across the world, you stumbled on Penacony, The Planet of Dreams and Entertainment. The perfect and endless days are what brought you in the most. You could be there for days on end but turn out to only spend a couple of hours outside in the “real world”.

Real world huh?

You think you miss the real world a little bit. 

“Are the pastries not to your liking love?” Sunday inquires.

“They’re… fine.” You reply.

Sunday smiles. You don’t know what it means though. He smiles at everything, he smiles at gatherings, at your laughter, and even at the tears you desperately try to hold in. He thinks of you as something to be protected, something that should be kept safe in a cage, away from the tainted lies of others.

Everything feels uncomfortable, from the moment you met Sunday you felt an odd gravitational pull towards him. It was truly as if he was your soulmate. 

Except,

Something begged you to run away, something deep in the back of your soul. It all went away when you laid eyes on him though. 

You wish you listened to your fight AND flight response.

Everything you wear is coordinated by the Head of the Oak Family. From the tiniest detail to your entire personality. Sunday is a firm believer that only the true you can come out behind closed doors, with locks only he has access to. His mansion was the perfect enrichment for a now flightless bird like you. 

Perhaps the fairytales were somewhat true. The prince and the princess always seemed to stay forever together.

[castillon02]

Tim reviews Jason's operations management and makes a suggestion.

"Your first move: hire a head of sanitation," Tim said.

"You think a janitor's gonna solve my suddenly-successful-startup problems? What, by sweeping them away?" Jason rolled his eyes.

Tim steepled his fingers. “The good news,” he said, “is that your drug distribution and community norms enforcement hierarchy is very clear. You also have people doing marketing, program management, HR, facilities, and admin. Your system of rotating duties when people get injured isn’t bad—people generally benefit from cross-training—but you should formalize the top positions and compensate your new leadership team. Including sanitation.” 

“Sure, sure, I'll just tell one of my guys their job is to be head shit-scrubber instead of a badass neighborhood protector!" Jason threw up his hands.

Tim raised his eyebrows.

“It’s bad enough getting them to clean up a crime scene when they’re on my literal shit list! A couple of them thought that lighting the building on fire was an easier way to get it to stop smelling bad and having DNA. Guess who had to add five new slides to his powerpoint about evidence disposal?" Jason glared.

Tim grimaced. "I had an intern in the office who thought that he could just throw trash off his desk for the cleaning staff to pick up."

He and Jason shared a commiserating look that silently said, We were both stupid enough to work with the League of Assassins, and even we wouldn't do that.

“Anyway," Tim continued, "since you're dealing with...that...you can just hire an outside party. Lots of people in Gotham know how to clean up dead bodies and keep their mouths shut. I can advertise the position and send you the likeliest candidates for an interview. I’ll have to incorporate you, of course, but I’ve had the paperwork ready since I got back from the Middle East.” 

“Incorporate me?” 

“Red Hood LLC, technically."

Jason's breathing became calculatedly even.

"Once you’re legit in the eyes of the law, we can work on squaring away everyone’s taxes and keep you from getting Capone’d.” 

“I’m as legit as one of Two-Face’s two-dollar bills!” 

“Yeah, but when you’re an LLC, all your crimes are white-collar crimes, and no one cares about those.” Tim shrugged.

“...Pretty sure that’s not how that works, bud.” 

“It’s how the court of public opinion works. And if anyone tries to say that Red Hood, CEO of Red Hood LLC, and Red Hood, notorious vigilante, are the same person? Tell them to prove it. So what if you have the same outfit? It’s a free country and people can wear what they want. And if they ever get your DNA results, Oracle says no they didn't.”

Jason tilted his head and started smiling. "You want Red Hood to be the Scarlet Pimpernel and Percy Blakeney. At the same time."

"The more blatant you are about it, the better. Rub elbows with Gotham's elite and tell them that you can't imagine why someone would let a Crime Alley vigilante ruin their ability to wear a red hood as a fashion statement, but in your company, people have spines. Especially when they're job creators. If you play your cards right, red headgear will be back in fashion."

"And then?"

"And then," Tim's eyes gleamed, "you start selling merch."

"Oh, shit." Jason's smile turned into a full-on smirk.

"On a sliding scale, of course."

"Those nepo babies are gonna pay me so much money to look cool."

Tim smiled. "And that's how hiring a head shit-scrubber is going to mitigate your high growth and cash flow problems."

[kookiewithluv]

✿—✧SPACE BETWEEN US✧—✿

Pairing: Jungkook X Reader

Genre: college au, friends to lovers, fluffy (?), angst

Trigger warning: it's super cringe!

Word count: 9k

Summary: You have been in love with Jungkook for ages but never said anything. When a surprise date turns into a dramatic showdown, his hidden feelings come crashing to the surface.

a/n: The characters and situations depicted in this chapter are fictional and are intended for entertainment purposes only. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The portrayal of emotions and interpersonal dynamics is a creative interpretation and should not be taken as a reflection of real-life relationships or events.a/n: Do not use this story as your own. I don't allow translations or reposting of my work on any platform, including YouTube.

a/n: Yes, you're probably experiencing déjà vu—I'm reposting this without a single edit. After my last account got suspended for reasons beyond my control, I figured what better way to kick off my return than by sharing one of my cringiest fanfics? Honestly, it's pretty on-brand for me, don't you think?

All Rights Reserved ©

@kookiewithluv 2024

You sat in your classroom, the hum of idle chatter around you barely registering. The lecture wouldn’t start for another thirty minutes, but you couldn’t care less. You just needed to be alone. The weight of recent events pressed down on you like a suffocating blanket, leaving you numb and confused. Your mind raced, thoughts tangled in a mess you couldn’t unravel.

Your phone vibrated on the desk, the screen lighting up with notifications. You glanced at it: 200+ texts and 28 missed calls from Jungkook. Without a second thought, you picked up the phone, turned it off, and set it back down. You didn’t want to deal with it, with him, with anything. Time seemed to blur as you sat there, your heart aching, your eyes glassy. But the tears wouldn’t come. They just sat there, stuck, like everything else inside you.

“Blush? Blush, are you okay?” Jungkook’s voice was soft, almost hesitant, as he spoke beside you.

You flinched, startled out of your thoughts. You hadn’t even noticed him sit down. Turning to face him, you were met with a sight that made your chest tighten. He looked so soft, so pretty in that moment—his pink lips curved into a worried pout, his hair falling messily over his forehead, half-covering those big doe eyes that seemed to shine even more because of it.

He reached out, his hand resting lightly on your shoulder, and called your name again. “Blush,” he said, the nickname rolling off his tongue like a quiet prayer. But you knew better. You did.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his voice filled with concern. You just shook your head and forced a small smile, turning away. What were you supposed to say? That you were what was wrong? That you’d fallen for him, knowing he’d never be there to catch you? The words were right there, lodged in your throat, but you swallowed them down, feeling them settle heavy and painful in your stomach. The ache clawed at your insides, begging for release, but you took a deep breath, holding everything in.

Jungkook was still watching you, his gaze piercing through the walls you were trying so hard to build. He gently cupped your face, turning you back to look at him. “Eyes on me. I’m talking,” he said, his tone soft but firm. The way his thumb brushed your cheek was so tender it almost broke you.

“You should—” he began, but the classroom door creaked open, and students started to file in, breaking the moment. He pulled back, checking the time, and you followed his gaze. Just as you both expected, Professor Min walked in, signaling the start of class. Relief washed over you, grateful for the distraction, for the escape. You silently thanked Mr. Min for his impeccable timing.

As the lesson began, you tried to focus, but your mind kept drifting back to Jungkook, to the conversation you’d narrowly avoided. Your chest felt tight, your heart heavy, but you pushed it all down, forcing yourself to stay composed.

The class went on, but all you could think about was how close you’d come to spilling everything. And how you still couldn’t bring yourself to do it.

Class ended earlier than expected. Mr. Min had cut the lecture short, saying he had something urgent to attend to. The moment his words left the room, you were already packing up, hands moving frantically as you stuffed your notebook and pens into your bag. Your movements were jerky, almost desperate, as if the faster you moved, the quicker you could escape.

Jungkook was right beside you, his presence heavy like a storm cloud about to break. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his gaze, those eyes you usually found so comforting now burning holes into you. As you zipped up your bag, you felt his fingers twitch, like he was about to reach out, but you didn’t give him the chance.

You bolted for the door, your steps quick and purposeful. Just as you reached the threshold, his voice—a smooth, velvety sound that usually made your heart skip—called out your name.

“Blush,” he said, soft and hopeful.

But you didn’t stop. You didn’t turn around. You didn’t even acknowledge him. For the first time, you ran away from him. Your heart hammered in your chest, each beat a painful reminder of what you were doing, but you couldn’t stop.

The hallway blurred as you hurried through it, eyes fixed straight ahead, refusing to look back. You knew he was still there, standing in the doorway, probably confused, maybe even hurt. But you couldn’t deal with that now. You just needed to be alone.

When you reached the canteen, you went straight to the farthest corner, away from the clusters of students laughing and chatting. You dropped into a chair, slumping down as you pulled the hood of Jungkook’s hoodie over your head, trying to hide from the world. Your hands fiddled with the hem of the hoodie, twisting and tugging at the fabric as if it could somehow ground you, make everything go away.

You curled in on yourself, your head bowed low, eyes fixed on your trembling hands. The familiar scent of Jungkook still clung to the hoodie, but instead of comfort, it brought a fresh wave of pain. You bit your lip, fighting the tears that were threatening to spill over.

In that moment, the bustling canteen felt a million miles away. All you could focus on was the way your heart ached, the way it felt like something inside you was slowly breaking apart. You wanted to scream, to cry, to do anything to release the pressure building up inside you, but instead, you just sat there, hiding beneath the hoodie that was his, trying to hold yourself together, trying to breathe.

You were drowning in your thoughts, the noise around you fading into nothingness. A voice yanked you back to reality, snapping the delicate thread of your spiralling mind. You didn’t need to look up to know who it was.

A light touch on your shoulder—soft, almost hesitant—tried to pull your attention. She already had it, though she didn’t realize it, because you still hadn’t looked at her. She stood to your left, leaning in slightly.

“Are you okay?” Lilith asked, her voice laced with concern. You kept your eyes down, refusing to meet hers.

Lilith. The campus beauty queen. The girl everyone adored. The girl who loved Jungkook. And everyone knew it, too. They rooted for them to be together, whispering about how perfect they’d be. The thought made your stomach churn, a bitter taste rising in your mouth. You hated it.

She continued, her tone gentle but insistent. “Jungkookie is worried about you. He was searching everywhere for you. You should talk to him. Should I call him—”

Your blood boiled at the sound of that nickname. Jungkookie. He hated that name, had told you so many times how much he despised it but never her. she kept calling him that, oblivious or maybe just indifferent. You clenched your fists, nails digging into your palms as you struggled to keep your anger in check.

“No,” you practically yelled, the word bursting out before you could stop it. Lilith flinched, her eyes wide with shock. She pulled her hand back, her fingers twitching nervously. But you didn’t care. You didn’t feel guilty. All you felt was anger—anger at yourself for losing control, and a burning hatred for her.

Without another word, you grabbed your bag, roughly shoving it over your shoulder as you pushed past her. She stumbled back slightly, her lips parting as if she wanted to say something, but you didn’t give her the chance. You stormed out of the canteen, your chest heaving with frustration.

The fresh air outside did little to calm you. You headed straight for the parking area, your steps quick and determined, each one pounding out the anger inside you. When you reached your car, you spotted it immediately and hurried over, yanking the door open.

You slid into the driver’s seat, slamming the door shut behind you. For a moment, you just sat there, your breathing harsh and uneven. Then, with a frustrated groan, you tossed your bag onto the passenger seat, not caring where it landed. Everything felt too tight, too overwhelming. You buried your face in your hands, your fingers curling into your hair as you tried to steady yourself.

But the anger wouldn’t leave, wouldn’t let go. It bubbled just beneath the surface, a constant, throbbing ache that wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t ease. And all you could think about was how much you wished it would just disappear. How much you wished everything would just disappear.

Taking a deep breath, you gripped the steering wheel tightly, trying to push all the swirling thoughts out of your head. With a quick motion, you pressed down on the accelerator, and the car roared to life beneath you. You didn’t hesitate as you started driving, focusing on the road ahead, wanting to leave everything behind.

But as you drove away, something caught your eye in the rearview mirror. Jungkook. He was running after your car, his face a mix of desperation and panic. You could see his mouth moving, probably yelling your name, but the sound was lost to the roar of the engine and the rush of blood in your ears. You didn’t stop. You didn’t even slow down. You just kept going, watching as he grew smaller and smaller in the mirror until he disappeared from view.

The ride home was anything but peaceful. The guilt gnawed at you, sinking its claws deeper with every passing mile. You tried to push it away, to convince yourself that you were right to leave, that you needed space. But the image of Jungkook’s face, the way he’d run after you, wouldn’t leave your mind. You’d ignored him all day, and you knew it must’ve hurt him. But you shook your head, refusing to dwell on it. You couldn’t handle that right now.

When you finally pulled into the driveway, the silence of your empty house greeted you. You parked the car in the garage, the engine’s hum dying down as you cut the power. The quiet was suffocating as you walked into the house, the echo of your footsteps bouncing off the walls. Your parents weren’t home. Again. Even though they had promised they would be. You let out a bitter chuckle, shaking your head at your own foolishness. Why did I even believe them? you thought. It was your birthday tomorrow, and once again, they weren’t there. Meetings, parties—whatever it was, it was always more important.

You made your way to the living room and sank down onto the couch, turning on the TV in a half-hearted attempt to distract yourself. But nothing on the screen held your attention. The images blurred together, the voices just white noise in the background. Your mind was too cluttered, too full of everything that had happened today, to make sense of anything playing out in front of you.

Frustrated, you got up and headed to your room, the emptiness of the house pressing down on you with every step. You didn’t have the energy to cook, the thought of food making your stomach twist. “Guess I’ll sleep hungry tonight,” you muttered to yourself, a hollow laugh escaping your lips.

You collapsed onto your bed, staring up at the ceiling. The silence was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own breathing. But sleep didn’t come. No matter how much you tossed and turned, your mind wouldn’t quiet down. Thoughts of Jungkook, your parents, the loneliness that seemed to cling to you like a shadow—it all kept swirling in your head, refusing to let you rest.

You curled up under the covers, pulling them tightly around you as if they could shield you from the thoughts that wouldn’t leave you alone. But no matter how hard you tried, the weight of the day wouldn’t let you go. And so, you lay there, eyes wide open, the darkness around you feeling like a reflection of the emptiness inside.

You lay in bed, staring at the ceiling as the room was cloaked in darkness. The silence around you was heavy, oppressive, and as the memory of the day crashed down on you, the tears began to flow uncontrollably, streaming down your face at an unusual speed.

Tomorrow was supposed to be special—your birthday. Even if your parents weren’t around, you’d convinced yourself that Jungkook’s presence would make it memorable. This morning, you’d been brimming with excitement. But all of that shattered the moment you stepped onto the college campus.

The crowd had been the first thing you noticed—a sea of students gathered in an unusually large cluster. Your curiosity had drawn you toward it, and you’d squeezed through the masses, pushing past eager onlookers until you reached the front. What you saw made your heart sink.

Lilith and Jungkook stood there, framed by the throng of students. Lilith held a bouquet of flowers, her face radiant with a hopeful smile as she offered it to him. The sight was enough to tell you what was happening. She was proposing. Your heart twisted with a mix of dread and hope as you watched Jungkook. He looked visibly distressed, his hands trembling slightly as he took the bouquet. A flicker of hope ignited in you that he might reject her, but the moment he accepted the flowers, that hope was dashed. The crowd erupted in cheers, and your heart shattered into pieces.

As if the scene couldn't get any worse, it did. The crowd began chanting, “Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!” The noise was deafening, each cheer driving the knife of betrayal deeper into your heart. Jungkook’s face flushed with a mix of frustration and embarrassment. He grabbed Lilith’s hand and tugged her away from the crowd, leading her toward a more private corner. You knew it wasn’t about him not wanting to kiss her in public; it was about him wanting to keep those private moments just for himself, away from prying eyes.

Recalling the memory now, as tears flowed freely and uncontrollably, your heart felt like it was being squeezed tight. The image of Jungkook’s nervous expression and Lilith’s hopeful eyes replayed in your mind, each scene a fresh cut. The darkness of your room mirrored the darkness in your heart, the weight of the day’s events pressing down on you with crushing force.

You clutched the pillow to your chest, your sobs muffled but relentless. Each breath came in shaky bursts, and you could feel the tears soaking through the fabric. The tears and the pain were all-consuming, leaving you with nothing but the hollow ache of rejection and betrayal. The silence of the room was deafening, broken only by the sound of your own brokenhearted sobs.

It’s funny how quickly things change. The person who once made your heart flutter with joy now seemed to be the source of all your misery. But it wasn’t his fault. He had no idea of your feelings. You never told him, and now you were left with nothing but regret.

The minutes dragged on with torturous slowness. The clock still hadn’t hit 10, and you were restless, your body aching from the weight of your emotions. You took a deep breath, trying to steady yourself, and closed your eyes, hoping to find some semblance of peace. Yet, amid the turmoil, a small spark of hope flickered within you. Maybe, just maybe, Jungkook would call when the clock struck midnight. Maybe, as he had done in the past, he would stand on your doorstep with a big bouquet of daisies, because he knew how much you loved them.

Hope brought with it a tangled mess of uncertainty and fear. Part of you desperately wished for him to come, to see him standing there with that familiar, warm smile. But another part of you feared what that would mean. If he showed up, you knew you might not be able to hold yourself back. The thought of begging him to love you, to confess your feelings, terrified you. You wanted nothing more than to be happy for your best friend, the one you loved with all your heart, without letting your own desires ruin his moment.

As these conflicting thoughts swirled in your mind, you became increasingly aware of the exhaustion that weighed down on you. Your body, worn out from the emotional rollercoaster, finally succumbed to sleep. You hadn’t noticed when the weariness took over, but soon you were drifting off, your breathing evening out as the turbulent storm of your mind began to settle into a restless slumber.

The harsh buzz of the alarm clock jolted you awake. You reached out with a groggy hand to silence it, grumbling under your breath. As you blinked your eyes open, a dull ache throbbed in your head, and you winced at the sting of light. Your eyes felt like they were weighed down by sandbags, red and swollen from hours of restless sleep.

With a groan, you rolled out of bed, stumbling toward the bathroom. Each step felt heavy, your body dragging as if weighed down by an invisible burden. You shuffled into the bathroom, standing in front of the mirror with a sense of numb resignation. The sight that met you was far from flattering. Your hair was a tangled mess, and your face was puffy and pale. You let out a shaky breath, your reflection mocking you. "Happy birthday, ugly," you muttered to yourself, bitterness lacing your voice.

You turned on the faucet and splashed cold water onto your face, hoping to wash away the remnants of the night’s tears. The brisk water was invigorating but did little to lift the fog in your mind. You brushed your teeth mechanically, the familiar routine providing a small comfort. As you stepped into the shower, the warm water hit your skin, but it did little to soothe the ache inside you.

Your thoughts kept drifting back to Jungkook. You’d hoped he’d come by, as he used to, or at least send a message. But as the minutes ticked by, it became clear you were wrong. You chuckled bitterly at your own foolishness.

He hadn’t called.

Not even a text.

It was as if you’d been erased from his life, replaced by someone new.

Finishing up in the shower, you turned off the water and stepped out, feeling cold despite the warmth of the steam. You walked to your closet with a heavy heart and pulled on a simple white tee and blue baggy jeans. You chose a pair of Jordan shoes, not because you don't felt like dressing up, but because you couldn’t muster the energy for anything more. The effort felt pointless when it seemed no one remembered or cared about your birthday.

You caught a glimpse of yourself in the mirror as you dressed, and the image reflected the hollow ache you felt inside. With a resigned sigh, you walked out of your room, ready to face another day, feeling like a forgotten afterthought.

You hurried out of your house, barely pausing to lock the door behind you. The cold morning air bit at your cheeks as you slid into the driver's seat of your car. Your movements were mechanical, driven by a deep-seated weariness. You started the engine and pulled out of the driveway, the rumble of the car filling the silence of your thoughts.

As you drove to college, Jungkook’s image was a persistent shadow in your mind. Each turn of the wheel seemed to echo with memories of him—his laughter, his smile, and the sting of his absence. You gripped the steering wheel tightly, knuckles white, as you fought to keep your emotions in check. There was an undercurrent of nervousness you couldn’t quite place, a fluttering uncertainty that made your heart race for reasons you couldn’t define.

The drive felt endless, each minute dragging by as you replayed yesterday’s events. By the time you pulled into the college parking lot, you were nearly suffocating with frustration and sadness. You parked your car with swift, jerky movements, almost slamming the gearshift into park.

Stepping out of the car, you took a deep breath, trying to shake off the melancholy that clung to you. The walk from the parking lot to the campus felt like a trek through a fog. Your eyes were downcast, your footsteps heavy as you made your way through the bustling campus. You barely registered the chatter and movement around you, lost in your own turmoil.

You finally reached the canteen, its familiar smell of coffee and breakfast foods mixing with the lingering bitterness in your heart. As you pushed through the doors, the chatter and clatter of trays and dishes surrounded you, but you barely noticed. You moved through the crowded room, shoulders hunched, eyes focused on the path ahead. Finding a spot at a table, you sank into a chair, tossing your bag on the table, feeling the weight of your emotions pressing down on you, as if the whole world was a muted blur around you.

You took a deep breath, getting up and walking to the counter, eyes scanning the options in front of you. The canteen menu was as uninspiring as ever, but hunger gnawed at your stomach, reminding you of your own laziness for not cooking anything. With a resigned sigh, you grabbed a plate of waffles and a cup of coffee, the safest bets in this lackluster spread. After paying, you turned to head back to your table, but something made you freeze mid-step.

There he was—Jungkook. His eyes darted anxiously around the canteen, scanning faces, moving with a restless urgency that made your heart skip a beat. For a brief moment, the urge to bolt gripped you, to just turn around and leave before he spotted you. But you shook your head, grounding yourself. He wasn't looking for you. He was probably searching for his new girlfriend, Lilith. The thought stung, but you swallowed it down and continued back to your table.

You set the plate and coffee down with a soft clatter, sinking into your seat. Just as you lifted the cup to your lips, ready to lose yourself in the warmth of the coffee, you heard it—his voice cutting through the chatter of the canteen.

"Blush. Blush."

His nickname for you.

His footsteps followed, growing louder as they neared. Your breath caught in your throat as you set the cup back down, unable to take that sip.

In no time, Jungkook was standing right in front of you, his presence commanding, and something was different. You forced yourself to look up at him, your eyes meeting his, only to be met with an expression that sent a shiver down your spine.

Anger? Why did he look angry?

His brow was furrowed, jaw tight, and his eyes—those usually warm, comforting eyes—were now darkened with frustration. You couldn't understand it. What did he have to be angry about? Confusion churned in your gut, and for a moment, all you could do was stare at him, words failing you. The air between you felt charged, heavy with unspoken tension, and you could feel the weight of his gaze bearing down on you, waiting for an explanation you didn't have.

"Why are you ignoring me?" Jungkook’s voice softened as he gazed at you, the anger in his eyes fading into something that looked like sadness. He tossed his bag onto the table beside yours with a thud, then crouched down in front of you, his gaze never leaving your face.

Before you could react, he reached out, grabbing the sides of your chair and turning it to face him. His hands found yours, gripping them tightly, as if afraid you might slip away. The intensity of his touch sent a jolt through you, weakening your resolve. It was a good thing you were already sitting, or your legs might have given out beneath you.

"Blush," he whispered, his voice so soft it barely reached your ears. The sound of your nickname on his lips made your heart clench painfully. God, you loved him—so much it hurt. But what did it matter? You couldn’t tell him. He had a girlfriend now. You reminded yourself of this bitter truth, feeling the familiar ache of heartbreak settling in your chest.

You closed your eyes, trying to steady your racing heart. Taking a deep breath, you attempted to pull your hands away from his, but he only held on tighter, his grip almost desperate. It was as if he feared losing you, like you were the one thing keeping him grounded. The intensity of his hold made your heart ache even more. Could it be? No, you must be imagining things.

"Why?" he asked, his voice breaking slightly. "Why are you doing this? I’m trying to talk to you, and you’re just… not talking to me. You ignored me yesterday too."

His words hung in the air, heavy with confusion and hurt. You stared down at your intertwined hands, your mind a whirlwind of emotions. What could you say? There were no words that could fix this. The truth was too painful to speak. You just wanted to disappear, to be anywhere but here. The realization that he didn’t even remember your birthday only twisted the knife deeper. You felt like crumbling into pieces, but you stayed silent, holding back the storm of emotions threatening to escape.

You wanted to ask him if he even remembered it was your birthday. Did he really forget you in just one day after getting a girlfriend? It wasn’t about him not loving you or you loving him—that was a secret you’d buried deep. But you were best friends. Did he forget that too? How could he stand here, blaming you, while he acted like nothing was wrong?

But you didn’t ask any of those questions. The words that escaped your lips were far different, softer, weaker. “I’m sorry,” you murmured, your voice barely above a whisper.

Jungkook’s gaze locked onto yours, searching for something—maybe an explanation, maybe an apology. You couldn't tell.

“I was just… It’s… My parents aren’t home. And I was feeling sad and lonely,” you lied, trying to force a convincing smile, but it didn’t reach your eyes.

For a moment, his eyes softened, the tension in his shoulders easing. He seemed to believe you, and that only made your heart crack a little more. Where had that Jungkook gone? The one who could see through your smiles, who always knew when something was wrong even before you did. The boy who used to notice the sadness hidden behind your laughter was gone, replaced by someone who couldn’t even spot the lie on your lips.

He nodded, his grip on your hands loosening slightly. “I get it,” he said, his voice softer now, more understanding. But he didn’t get it. Not really. He didn’t see the pain you were hiding, the way your heart was shattering piece by piece.

You swallowed hard, biting back the words you wanted to scream. Instead, you just nodded, letting him believe the lie, even though it tore you apart inside.

Jungkook stood up and gently patted your head, his touch warm but distant. "It will be okay, hmm?" he said, his voice soft, almost comforting. You nodded, feeling like a fool. Will it ever be okay? No, it won’t. It can never be okay. You loved him too much for things to be okay. This love was too deep, too consuming to ever fade. The only way for it to end would be for you to end, or else this love would live on inside you forever. That thought terrified you—the idea of loving him for eternity, never being able to touch him, while time made him forget you. And yet, you'd be left with nothing but memories, trapped in a loop of unrequited feelings.

“Blush?” His voice pulled you back to the present, soft and filled with concern. He smiled at you, that sweet smile he always reserved just for you. But now, that smile only reminded you that he wasn’t yours anymore—if he ever truly was. Nothing about him belonged to you, and maybe it never did. You were just fooling yourself, weren’t you?

“Don’t think much. It’ll be fine. I promise.” His fingers brushed your face, his thumb tracing lightly over your nose—a gesture that used to make you laugh, that used to light up your world. But now, it only made you want to cry.

You forced a smile, the corners of your mouth lifting just enough to convince him, even though your heart was breaking inside. His touch, his words—they were meant to soothe you, but they only made the ache worse. You wanted to believe him, to cling to the hope he offered, but deep down, you knew better. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Jungkook smiled, his eyes sparkling with mischief as he pulled a chair closer to you and sat down. His happiness was infectious, but it only added to the heaviness in your chest.

"I have something for you," he said, his voice laced with excitement. "want to see it?"

You didn’t really want to see it. The weight of exhaustion was already pressing down on you, making you feel dizzy and drained. All you wanted was for him to leave, for this feeling of doom to pass. But you nodded anyway, forcing yourself to respond.

When his eyes lit up at your response, a small part of you felt a flicker of happiness. You watched as he reached for his bag, your gaze following the movements of his hands, wondering what he was up to.

He pulled out a large box of chocolates, and a genuine smile finally touched your lips. For a moment, the weight in your heart lightened just a little. You looked up at him, trying to match his enthusiasm.

"I know you love these," he said, holding the box out to you, "and I thought you were angry at me, so I needed to make it up to you."

You took the box from him, managing a laugh. "I wasn’t angry, but thanks," you said, your voice a mix of gratitude and something else—something you couldn’t quite name. He reached out and tucked a stray strand of hair behind your ear, the gesture tender and familiar, making your heart ache even more.

But despite the sweetness of the gesture, the happiness didn’t quite reach your heart. A box of chocolates wasn’t enough to make up for what you really wanted—a simple “Happy Birthday” from him. Yet, you pushed those thoughts aside and leaned forward, wrapping your arms around him in a tight hug, thanking him for the gift.

As he patted your head soothingly, you closed your eyes, willing yourself to feel the comfort he was trying to offer. But deep down, you knew that nothing could fill the emptiness inside you—not the chocolates, not his touch, not even the sound of his heartbeat close to yours.

You pulled back from the hug, your eyes lingering on his, those big doe eyes that seemed to hold the universe in them. He was everything you could ever want, the very definition of perfection. And maybe that’s why you couldn’t have him. He deserved someone better—someone like her.

He smiled at you, a warm, affectionate smile, and playfully squeezed your cheeks. Just as he was about to say something, a voice interrupted from behind.

“Jungkookie!” Lilith’s voice, sickly sweet and sharp, pierced through the air, making you wince.

Jungkook’s head snapped around, and he smiled at her, his entire demeanor shifting in an instant. She came striding towards you both, her high heels clicking loudly on the floor. Jungkook’s eyes widened in surprise, and even you felt a twinge of concern that she might stumble and fall flat on her face. But she didn’t.

And as much as you hated to admit it, a small part of you was disappointed that she didn’t fall. You wanted her to.

In no time, she was standing in front of Jungkook, her hand sliding into his as she pulled him to his feet. It all happened so quickly, like a flash of lightning. One moment he was sitting with you, his hands gently cupping your cheeks, and the next, he was standing beside her, her arms wrapped possessively around his left arm.

He brushed her arms away, his expression softening as he bent down to your level. “Look, I’ve got to go now. I… I have something important to do. Take care and eat the chocolates, okay?”

And just like that, he was gone, leaving you with nothing but a box of chocolates and the emptiness gnawing at your chest.

You stared at the chocolates, the sweetness now a bitter reminder of everything you wanted but couldn’t have. It wasn’t the chocolates you craved—it was him. But all you got was this, while she… she had everything you wanted.

You turned deliberately back to your food, your appetite gone, but you forced yourself to eat anyway. The food tasted like ash in your mouth, but you swallowed it down, trying to fill the void that only seemed to grow with each bite.

The day dragged on, each hour blurring into the next. You didn’t see Jungkook again—not that you expected to. He was probably busy with his new girlfriend, and though you told yourself you didn’t care, the truth was harder to swallow. You cared. You cared too much. But you were tired of admitting it, even to yourself.

Finally, the day came to an end. You packed up your things, barely aware of your surroundings as you walked down the corridor, out of the building, and into the parking lot. Spotting your car, you headed straight for it, tossing your bag onto the passenger seat with a sigh.

Just as you were about to start the engine, you heard someone call your name. You glanced out the window and saw a guy waving at you. When your eyes met, he jogged over to your car, his expression nervous but determined.

Standing beside your car, he smiled awkwardly. “Hey! You probably know me…”

You shook your head, and his face flushed a deep shade of red. “That’s okay, I’m Jay. We’re in the same class. Literature?”

You nodded, waiting for him to continue, feeling the weight of his nervous energy in the air. He took a deep breath, then suddenly blurted out, “Will you go on a date with me?”

For a moment, the world seemed to stop. His words hung in the air, and you processed them in stunned silence. But as you remained quiet, you saw the panic start to creep into his eyes, his breath quickening. Realizing he might be spiraling, you quickly stepped out of your car and placed a gentle hand on his arm, offering a reassuring smile.

“Hey, it’s okay,” you said softly, trying to ease his nerves. “You don’t need to worry.”

He looked at you, relief washing over his face, though he still seemed uncertain. “It’s fine if you don’t want to. I’ll understand. You—”

His eyes lit up, a mixture of surprise and happiness flashing across his face. “Perfect! I’ll pick you up at 7 from your house.”

Your smile faltered slightly, the thought of giving out your address making you uneasy. “No, it’s okay. I’ll meet you there. Just send me the address.”

You exchanged phone numbers, his excitement almost contagious as he nodded eagerly. You still didn’t know him well. But at least this was something different, something that might distract you from everything else.

As you drove home, your thoughts drifted back to Jungkook and the emptiness that had taken root in your heart. But maybe, just maybe, it was time to try something new. To have a little fun, even if it was just to forget the pain, even if only for a night.

Time blurred by, and before you knew it, the clock struck six. Your phone buzzed with a text from Jay, providing the address of the restaurant. You glanced at the message before quickly getting ready, slipping into a simple black dress—nothing fancy, but short enough to make an impression. With one last look in the mirror, you grabbed your keys and headed out.

The drive to the restaurant was uneventful, your mind wandering as you navigated the familiar streets. When you arrived, the small vintage-themed restaurant immediately caught your eye. It was charming, with a warm, inviting atmosphere that made you smile. You stepped inside, scanning the room until you spotted Jay sitting in the corner, waving at you enthusiastically. You had to stifle a laugh—waving seemed to be his signature move.

You walked over, and as you approached, he quickly stood up and pulled out your chair with a shy grin. “Quite a gentleman, aren’t you?” you teased, unable to resist. His cheeks flushed pink, and he mumbled, “You look really beautiful.”

Settling into your seat, you felt a small flutter of satisfaction at his compliment. He ordered food for both of you, and the conversation began to flow naturally. Jay was nice—easy to talk to, with a soft demeanor that made the evening pleasant.

But then, mid-conversation, you noticed his hand suddenly move toward yours. He placed it on top of your hand, his touch tentative and shy. The urge to laugh bubbled up again, but you forced it down, deciding to let it slide. It didn’t feel right, but you didn’t say anything, noticing how nervous he was.

However, Jay seemed to misinterpret your silence. A few moments later, he scooted his chair closer to yours, his face inching toward you with a look that was all too clear. Your eyes widened in alarm, and you instinctively leaned back, creating distance. But Jay didn’t get the message—he continued leaning in, oblivious to your discomfort.

You opened your mouth, ready to stop him, but the words never left your lips. In the blink of an eye, Jay was on the floor, groaning in pain, clutching his side as he struggled to catch his breath.

And standing above him, fists clenched and jaw tight, was Jungkook.

His chest heaved with barely restrained fury, his usual calm expression replaced with something darker, more intense. His eyes, usually warm and full of mischief, were now cold as they locked onto Jay, who was still writhing on the floor. Jungkook’s hand twitched as if he was ready to strike again, but he held back, his gaze shifting to you.

He took a step closer, his presence overwhelming, and your breath caught in your throat. His eyes hard and cold met yours, the anger in them abating just a bit, but his voice was soft when he spoke. “Are you okay?”

"Huh?" You asked, puzzled, and startled. For what really? In your head, you believed Jay didn't have any wrong intentions. But Did you say anything? No. You were too dumbfounded to pronounce a word.

"Blush, are you okay?" He repeated.

You nodded, though the shock was still coursing through your veins, making your limbs feel heavy. Jungkook’s eyes searched yours as if looking for any sign of distress, and when he seemed satisfied that you were unharmed, he turned his attention back to Jay, who was trying to scramble to his feet.

“Stay away from her,” Jungkook warned, his voice low and menacing. Jay paled, his eyes darting between you and Jungkook, clearly terrified.

You wanted to say something—to calm the situation down—but the words were stuck in your throat, tangled with the confusion and a hint of something else. Relief, perhaps? Or was it something more? Hope? But, for what?

Jungkook’s gaze hardened further as he looked at Jay and then again at you, his voice firm now. “Let’s go. You shouldn’t be here.” He held out his hand, and for a moment, you hesitated, glancing at Jay, who looked utterly defeated. But in the end, you placed your hand in Jungkook’s, letting him lead you away from the chaos he had just caused.

Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pulled you out of the restaurant with a force that left you stumbling to keep up. His grip was tight, almost painfully so, as he dragged you toward his car, his jaw set in a hard line. When you reached the car, he yanked the door open and practically shoved you inside, slamming the door shut with a sharp thud. You wanted to tell him that you’d driven yourself, but the words caught in your throat. Something in the way he moved, tense and angry, made you stay silent.

He climbed into the driver’s seat, his movements quick and stiff, and started the car without a word. The engine roared to life, and soon you were speeding down the dark streets, the silence between you heavy and oppressive. The air inside the car was thick with unspoken tension, and you found yourself nervously fidgeting with the hem of your dress, your heart pounding in your chest.

You could tell he was furious; the tight set of his jaw, the way his hands gripped the steering wheel like it was the only thing keeping him from losing control. The cold night air seeped in through the cracked window, brushing against your bare skin and making you shiver. Despite his anger, Jungkook noticed. Without a word, he reached over and rolled up the window before flipping on the heater.

“My hoodie’s in the back seat,” he said harshly, his voice cutting through the silence. “Grab it and fucking wear it.”

The words were gruff, his tone filled with irritation, but the gesture was astonishingly thoughtful. You turned around to reach for the hoodie, and that’s when you noticed it—an enormous bouquet of daisies and a cake resting on the back seat. Your fingers froze mid-air as you stared at them, a mixture of confusion and curiosity swirling in your chest. Are they for me? Did he really? Your mind raced with these thoughts. You wanted to ask him about it, but when you glanced at his face, the sharp angles of his clenched jaw and the angry flicker in his eyes made you think twice.

Silently, you grabbed the hoodie and pulled it over your head, the fabric soft and warm against your skin. It was far too big, swallowing you up like a blanket, and his scent, a mix of something fresh and woodsy, surrounded you as you took a deep breath. For a brief moment, a small smile tugged at the corners of your lips. He really was huge, you thought, but the smile faded quickly as you stole another glance at him, his expression still hard and unyielding.

The drive seemed to pass in a blur, the tension in the car making every second feel like an eternity. Finally, you reached your home, and before you could even reach for the door handle, Jungkook was out of the car, moving around to your side. He yanked the door open with a roughness that made you flinch and grabbed your arm, pulling you out onto the sidewalk. His grip was firm as he dragged you toward the front door, his steps quick and determined, leaving you no choice but to stumble along behind him.

Your mind was racing, trying to make sense of everything that had just happened, but before you could process it all, you were inside your house, the door closing with a sharp click behind you, and he was standing in front of you.

Your heart pounded in your chest, each beat echoing like a drum in the tense silence that followed Jungkook’s outburst. The fear in your gut twisted tighter with every step he took toward you. You had never seen him this angry before. He was always the boy who had been your childhood friend, the one you fell for in middle school but never told. At first, it was fear of rejection, and later, the fear of losing him and your friendship kept your feelings hidden. But now, wasn’t he lost to you? Didn’t he belong to Lilith now?

“Why the fucking hell were you out with that idiotic being?” His voice was like a whip, harsh and cutting through the air. The force of his words made you flinch, your shoulders tensing as if trying to shield yourself from his anger. You caught a flicker of something in his eyes—was it regret?—but it was fleeting, quickly masked by his furious expression.

Before you could gather your thoughts or find the words to respond, he took two swift strides toward you, and suddenly you were face-to-face. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, a storm of hurt and pain swirling in his eyes. “Do you like him?” he demanded, his voice cracking with raw emotion. “Do you love him?” He didn’t wait for your answers, bombarding you with questions while his face remained inches from yours.

You tried to speak, but the words were trapped, your throat tightening. Jungkook's hands gripped your shoulders, his fingers digging in with a possessiveness that left you breathless. “Damnit, say something!” he shouted, shaking you slightly. “Why were you out with him?”

But instead of answering, you shot back a question of your own, desperation lacing your voice. “How did you know I was out with him, Jungkook? How did you even find me Jungkook?”

You didn't want to answer his question. Why should he care if you loved someone or not, when he had accepted Lilith’s proposal just the day before? Now he had a girlfriend. He had no right to demand answers from you.

His anger flared further, a deep scowl marring his features. “Does it matter?” he snapped. “Does it fucking matter?” His eyes were intense, demanding an answer, and he leaned in as if he might kiss you, his breath hot against your face. “Why don’t you answer me? Do you love him?”

The intensity of the moment, the way he was so close and yet so distant, made you tremble. “Yes, it matters! It matters to me!” you shouted, your voice breaking with the force of your emotions. You pushed him away, the shove more about your need for space than real anger.

Jungkook stumbled back, his eyes widening in shock. His face twisted with hurt, and tears began to well up, glistening in the harsh light of the room. He stared at you, his expression a mix of pain and confusion, as if your rejection was a blow he wasn’t prepared for. The sight of him—this person who had always been so sure and confident—crumbling in front of you left a sharp pang in your chest.

As you looked at his tear-filled eyes, a deep, gnawing guilt settled in your chest. Why did you still care so much about him? You wondered. Your love for him was consuming you, and it was tearing you apart. You opened your mouth to respond, but he spoke before you could.

“I came to your house to celebrate your birthday,” he said, his voice cracking with emotion. “I wanted to surprise you. This time... I wanted to surprise you on your birthday, that's why I didn't wish you before. But. But when I got here, I saw you getting into your car; before I could stop you, you left, your car was already speeding up. I chased after you because I really wanted to make you happy. You were loo-looking sad all day. But, I lost you somewhere along the way, then sear-searched for your car for like forever. When I finally found it, it was parked outside that restaurant.” His voice rose with each word, and his eyes were wild with a mixture of frustration and hurt. “And the moment I walked in, I saw him trying to kiss you. You didn’t even stop him!”

The anger in his voice dissolved into tears. His shoulders shook as he struggled to breathe, the weight of his emotions crashing down on him. You could see the pain etched into his face, his breaths coming in ragged gasps.

You moved towards him, your own heart breaking at the sight of him in such distress.

You moved towards him and wrapped your arms around him tightly, hoping to offer some comfort. “Jungkook, what's wrong?” you murmured, your voice gentle. “why are you crying? Please, don’t cry.” But he pushed you away, his hands shoving you forcefully. His reaction stunned you, and a wave of realization hit you. So this is how he felt when you pushed him away.

You tried again, but he pushed you off once more, his eyes filled with anguish. “You love him, don’t you? How long? Huh?” he sobbed, his voice cracking with pain.

Determined not to give up, you moved towards him again. This time, when he tried to push you, you held your ground. You guided him to the couch and gently made him sit down, his shoulders shaking with each breath. You stood beside him, your hand soothingly stroking his back. “Please, don’t cry,” you whispered, trying to keep your voice steady.

He buried his face against your waist, his arms clinging to you. “Why do you love him and not me?” he asked, his voice muffled but full of hurt. “I thought you love me.”

For a moment, you were frozen, staring at him in disbelief, questions swirling in your head making your heart ache further. He knew. He knew you loved him, yet he chose her over you. Now, he was asking you this. How could he? How could he ask this when he was with Lilith? Did he expect you to chase him while he enjoyed his life with someone else?

With a mix of frustration and sorrow, you pushed his hands away from your waist. His crying intensified, but you no longer cared. “How can you say that?” you yelled, your voice breaking. “You accepted Lilith’s proposal yesterday! You’re dating her now! And you’re telling me not to love anyone else?”

Jungkook shook his head vigorously, trying to explain. “I— I didn’t... She... I... No. Please,” he started, but you cut him off.

“You knew. You knew I love you. You knew I was upset!” you continued, your voice rising. “still, you left me alone with those stupid chocolates while you went off with her!”

He tried to explain himself again, but you interrupted again, your anger spilling over. “I didn’t want those chocolates! I wanted you!” you shouted, your hand striking his chest. “You’re a heartless bastard. I’ve loved you for so long, and you never cared! Was it too hard to fall for me? And, why crying now?”

Jungkook’s face twisted with frustration, he knew you love him, he always did, his mouth opening to say something, but you cut him off once more. “You always stopped me from calling you ‘Jungkookie’ or ‘Kookie,’ but you never minded when other girls did it!”

He was growing increasingly agitated, his face reddening with frustration. Without fully realizing what he was doing, he grabbed the back of your neck and pulled you close. His lips crashed against yours, the urgency of the moment catching both of you by surprise.

For a brief second, you were frozen, his kiss demanding and intense. But then, you began to respond, your lips moving against his. The kiss was raw, filled with all the emotions neither of you could put into words.

He slowly pulled away, both of you breathing hard, your chests rising and falling rapidly. Your face was flushed, partly from the kiss and partly from the shyness creeping in. His eyes softened as he looked at you, his thumb gently brushing against your cheek. “I’m not dating her, Blush,” he whispered, using the nickname that made you feel like home for the first time in what felt like forever.

You blinked, your heart stuttering at his words. “What?”

“I’m not dating her,” he repeated, his voice steady yet full of regret. “Yes, she proposed, and I didn’t reject her immediately, but that was only because there were so many people around. I didn’t want to embarrass her in front of everyone.” His hand dropped to yours, holding it firmly. “I told her in private afterward that I love someone else. That I love you.”

Your breath hitched as he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. “She said she needed help with a project, and after rejecting her, I couldn’t say no. So, I left with her, but I didn’t want to. I just... I’m sorry, Blush. I love you, and only you.”

You felt your heart skip a beat as his words sank in. He lifted your hand to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “And those names,” he continued, his voice low, “I never liked them. It always felt like they were calling a baby, but I didn’t care enough to stop them because... well, they didn’t matter to me. The only person who matters is you.”

His words wrapped around your heart, squeezing it tight. You couldn’t hold back anymore. You grabbed the collar of his shirt and pulled him down, crashing your lips against his. The kiss was urgent, desperate, full of everything you’d been holding back for so long. His arms wound around your waist, pulling you closer until there was no space left between you.

After what felt like an eternity, you broke the kiss, both of you panting, foreheads pressed together. “I love you too, Jungkook,” you whispered, your voice trembling with emotion.

His arms tightened around you, his face buried in the crook of your neck. “I’ve loved you for so long,” he murmured against your skin. “I was just too scared to lose you.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look into his eyes. “You won’t lose me,” you promised, your hand cupping his cheek. “Not now, not ever.”

He leaned into your touch, his eyes closing as if he were savouring the moment. “That's a good thing because... I'm planning to keep you forever and ever and ever. I’m never letting you go,” he vowed, his voice firm, and you knew he meant every word.

Jungkook’s arms wrapped tighter around you, pulling you even closer, as if afraid you might disappear. His forehead rested gently against yours, his breath warm on your skin. A soft smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he looked into your eyes, the intensity of his earlier emotions fading into something softer, something tender.

“Happy birthday, Blush,” he whispered, his voice filled with affection.

Before you could even respond, he suddenly scooped you up into his arms, making you squeal in surprise. He laughed, the sound full of joy, as he began to twirl you around. The world spun around you, the colours of the room blurring together, but all you could focus on was him. The way his eyes sparkled with happiness, the way his grip on you was firm yet gentle, and the way his laughter filled your heart with warmth.

“Jungkook!” you laughed, holding onto his shoulders, feeling like you were floating. “Put me down!”

“Never,” he teased, twirling you faster. “Not until I’ve spun you around enough to make up for all those tears.”

Your laughter mingled with his, and the room filled with the sound of your shared happiness. Finally, when he slowed to a stop, he carefully set you down, though his arms stayed wrapped around you, keeping you close. You were both a little dizzy, swaying slightly, but you didn’t care. All that mattered was being in his arms, feeling his warmth, and knowing that he loved you.

Jungkook’s hands gently cupped your face, his thumbs brushing over your cheeks as he looked at you with a smile that made your heart melt. “I’ve wanted to do this for so long,” he murmured. “I’ve imagined this moment a thousand times, but it’s so much better than I ever dreamed.”

You smiled back at him, your hands resting on his chest, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath your fingers. “This is the best birthday I’ve ever had,” you confessed softly.

He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss on your forehead. “I'm sorry for making you cry. I won't ever make you cry again,” he promised. “I always knew you love me I just... I was... I tried to tell you many times but everytime it felt like it's not the right time, I'm sorry my love. I promise I'll make up for all those tears I've caused you because of my stupidity. Gosh! I just love you so much, Blush.”

You felt tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but they were happy tears. You leaned into his touch, feeling safe, loved, and for the first time in a long time, you felt like everything was going to be okay.

Jungkook’s arms slid around your waist again, and before you could say anything, he lifted you off your feet once more, spinning you around slowly this time, his smile wide and full of love.

“Happy birthday, my love,” he whispered as he twirled you gently.

Wow, you made it to the end! Honestly, that deserves a medal or maybe some serious painkillers. If you’re still breathing and not currently plotting my demise for making you read this—congrats, you’re a legend. If you’re crawling towards me with murder in your eyes, don’t worry, I get it. I cringed so hard writing this that I think I bruised a rib.

I know, I know. This is like a bad joke that just won’t end. I’m cringing harder than you are. But hey, sometimes you just need to unleash your inner masochist and share the pain. I posted it because I felt like it. So, let’s bond over this collective trauma, or you can just plot my demise in peace. Either way, thanks for sticking around and surviving this with me. Here’s to us—brave souls navigating the wreckage of my writing. Cheers!

a/n: Let me know what you think in any way you like—comments, messages, carrier pigeons, whatever! I'd love to hear!

[astralis-ortus]

sunday, sunday, sunday

✱ husband!bc × fem!reader

— now, and every sundays to ever come. i want to spend them all with you.

w.count → 1.1k genre → fluff, fluff, fluff. just tooth rotting fluff. warnings → very minor cussing (just once)(atp cussing is a given lol), kissing, time jump (twice), chan referred to as chris a.n → blame the man for putting the idea in my head like what can i do??? his insta post??? hello??? not to mention his song recommendation while i was writing this??? laufey's like the movies??? what??? he wants me dead atp<////3 ⋆ see masterlist

it’s sunday.

to be fair, it has been sunday since the moment chris’ eyes flew open a few hours ago. it’s sunday when he got ready, it’s sunday when he got his light makeup and hair settled, it is sunday when he finally wore the crisp tailored suit that has been turning his heart into the loudest marching band ensemble he’d ever known.

but to be fair,

it’s not just any sunday.

“bring those shoulders down, hyung. you’re gonna get cramps at this point.”

“oh shut up,” chris groaned, feeling more embarrassed about the fact that he got caught more than the fact that his nerves are firing non-stop at an untraceable rate. “just take the pictures, felix.”

albeit rolling his eyes at chris’ rather feisty comment, it was proven impossible to wipe the cheeky grin off the younger’s clearly ecstatic face. after all, it’s a monumental day in chris’ life—and he’s very honored the older trusted his (and technically hyunjin’s) skills to capture the day’s earlier moments.

“see? that’s already all better,” felix cheerily quipped, snapping several pictures as soon as he caught a glimpse of chris fixing his posture. besides, a little movement here and there does make the picture come out a lot more natural, which was the one thing you repeatedly told him (and hyunjin) as something you wanted to see most in the final cuts.

you.

the mere thought of you was enough to melt the remaining stillness present in chris’ face.

it has been a wild few months; meetings after meetings, fittings after fittings, testing, changes in plans, some other minor revisions, checklist, checklist, checklist. chris was justifiably spent, and so were you. there were arguments (you refused to call them fights, knock on wood), there were a couple of shed tears (out of frustration, of course), there were a few hours of leaving each other on read (justifiably so, considering both of you are quite the stubborn pair), but there were also a lot of make-up dates, plenty of exchanged giggles of excitement, and bountiful of prayers for the days to come.

those days have been wild, and this sunday will begin to prove that every second of it was worthwhile.

“chris hyung!”

woken up from his trance, the glint on chris’ eyes finally returned as he found hyunjin’s head peeking from inside the room—the one he’d been waiting on for the past 10 minutes while his head was busy creating bits and pieces for his life montage.

“ready to see your bride?” asked the younger, grin replicating the ones felix is sporting behind his lenses.

am i ready?

palms running over the fabric of his carefully crafted suit, ones you finally chose after debating over a dozen others you deem was ‘not grand enough for someone about to spend the rest of my life with’, chris took one final breath.

“ready.”

it’s sunday.

it’s been exactly a week since your wedding day, and you finally got your hand on the stack of developed pictures courtesy to your now-husband’s talented teammates. originally, you wanted to take part in picking the films, but the duo was pretty convincing when they said waiting for their pick would make a good little surprise to enjoy on your honeymoon trip.

“come on,” chris beckoned, curls framing his beautiful face while his hand motioned to the empty spot next to him on the bed; one you just left after a call from the front desk informing you about the tiny package under your husband’s name. “let’s see how hyunjin did at taking your pictures.”

“and felix at yours,” you added with a grin, swiftly claiming your throne while your fingers were busy ripping open the brown envelope. “i want to see my husband as much as you wanted to see your wife, you know. not to mention, that suit was absolutely perfect on you.”

“not again,” his defeated giggles has been chris’ way to answer to your every compliment on his look since the day of your wedding. “you need to stop that before my head blows up to the size of a hot air balloon, my love.”

“well,” you shrugged, finally getting your hand on the stack of pictures before then snuggling right into the warmth of chris’ arms, “have you ever thought about trying not to be so hot all the da-“

and of course, stealing kisses has also been his alternative should you continue to run your mouth and try to turn him into a blushing mess.

as if that’s not exactly the reason why you kept up with the praises.

“can we start looking at the pictures,” he muttered over your lips, evidently smiling as his lips brushed against yours, “or do i still need to shut you up?”

you hummed, letting the warmth of his skin hover over your face before your lips captured his in a quick peck, “pictures. need to see my cool husband.”

the way his laugh reverberates against his chest never fails to warm you up.

“okay, picture it is then.”

it’s sunday.

you didn’t expect moving to be this hard—sure, you’ve been living together with chris even before you two got married, but had you really been accumulating that many stuffs?

“fuck—i think it’s not the right screw,” your husband’s mutters forces your line of sight to gravitate towards his hunched figure, still hovering over the half-built shelf on the floor of your living room.

“you reckon it should still stick out this much?” he questioned, beckoning you to look at the silver piece, sticking out like a sore thumb. “no, right?”

“think not,” you huffed, crouching next to chris to look at the scattered pieces around him, “was this all? did they send the wrong one?”

chris groaned in defeat, deciding to lean onto your warmth instead of voicing his answer. maybe building your own furniture was not exactly a good idea to spend your first weekend home after your honeymoon trip.

treading your fingers through his soft curls, you then came up with a suggestion, “i’ll get you a pineapple juice then we’ll figure it out together, yeah?”

and it sure perked him right up.

looking at you with sparkles lighting up in his eyes, it felt right—it felt like even through the worst sundays, chris would still be the there to welcome you home.

“thank you,” he grinned—the boyish kind. the one that made you feel like a swarm of butterflies, one that gets you blushing like a schoolgirl in front of her first ever crush. his lips then found its home on the bare of your thigh, printing a quick kiss on the surface, “you’re the best.”

“mm, i know,” you answered with a giggle, feeling the warmth breaking through your skin before returning the kiss on his plump lips while feigning ignorance to the way your heartbeat grew louder by the second.

“you’re still the bestest of the best, though. can’t beat you.”

©️ astralisortus, 2024. | likes and reblogs are highly appreciated♡

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

trouble, m | jjk

... aka, jeon jungkook’s dick is so good and your pussy is so heavenly that faith in humanity is restored.

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

warnings: rated M (18+) for language; a hookup turned awkward meeting at a goddamn McDonalds of all places; smut (fem reader, hair pulling, heavy making out, m-receiving oral, doggy, penetrative sex, fingering, m-masturbation); non-idol!BTS – ft best friend!Park Jimin being a wingman little shit classic

--

“Oh, I’m in trouble.”

Panic coursed throughout his veins.

“I can’t be here.”

And maybe a little bit of arousal too.

“Jungkook, this is a public place,” Park Jimin corrected him. “Anybody can be at McDonald’s.”

He almost got up from his seat, except he was boxed in a corner of a crowded fast-food restaurant and Jimin shoved the tray full of food right in front of his face. The other side of the table held various shopping bags full of things that Jimin thought his mother would like for the upcoming new year. Why did Jeon Jungkook have to be here? Well, he was the one guy from Busan who happened to be Jimin’s close friend and Jimin’s mother’s favorite friend of her son’s. Therefore, Jungkook obviously had to select something for Jimin to buy just so Jimin could say, Jungkook thought you would look nice in this cream sweater, thus gaining maximum best son points.

Yeah, Jungkook didn’t really get it either, but he was told that he was getting free food out of it.

Didn’t think it was going to be McDonald’s, though.

Also didn’t think that his fuck from last night was going to serendipitously appear, standing in line looking drop-dead gorgeous as she pushed the fur-lined hood of her coat back. Her lush hair spilled out in soft waves over the shoulders of that the black suede long-line stunner, far too much luxury for the city mall. And then there was her face. What god thought it would be funny to allow someone to look that effortlessly pretty bare-faced? Who put such sexy eyes on such a cute face? One glance and one would think, how cute with those dimples and pillowy lips, and then do a double take when the shape of those foxy eyes sunk in, holy shit, fuck me right now. Or, at least Jungkook had thought that. Still thought it, looking at her again in the daylight. Tight white top, heather gray sweatpants that didn’t match the lavishness of the jacket, and easy black-and-white sneakers, clearly everything thrown together to grab some food quickly while being a goddamn snack herself.

Jimin was carefully positioning Jungkook’s meal in front of him – fries, massive sandwich with both a beef patty and fried chicken patty, tall Coca-Cola and all, chatting away, and all Jungkook could do was gawk like an idiot.

Like he said, he was in trouble.

Tomorrow.

The ghost of her hand slid up his chest, caressing his skin while her voice curled by his ear, soft lips kissing down his neck.

I hope your friends ask about me.

The image entering his mind, the way she smiled above him, her skin alight from his mood lamp with specks of red light playfully dancing over her jaw, her fingertips tracing his muscle making his heart race, her soft thighs against his, smooth and sleek and making him insane.

The devil was in the details.

“Hello? Did you space out again?”

Jungkook jumped, startled that Jimin was glaring at him. “What?”

Those small hands stiffly pointed to the food spread before them. “Eat? Come on, it’s busy and we don’t want to take up too much time.”

“R… Right.”

He had about two seconds to take a bite out of his sandwich before Jimin casually asked in between bites of curly fries, “Oh yeah, you ran off last night with that sexy lady. How did that go?”

Jungkook choked.

-

That’s all I am, sex and shallow feelings, tch, what an idiot, acting like it was ever anything else, I don’t need anyone and I won’t need anyone, go ahead and act all high and mighty in front of your friends during the day, we all know you’ll be begging to crawl in my bed at night.

Mind a billion thoughts a minute.

You tilted your head and found yourself not that hungry. Still, some fries and a drink sounded good, so you picked that. Reached into the fur by your chest and pulled out your cardholder, tapping it to pay as you continued scowling in your head, trying not to let it show in the form of resting-bitch-face.

Ten minutes before this moment had been an annoying confrontation. You considered if you could have handled it better.

Or more savagely.

You should have pulled up all those messages you had left on read.

Sigh, but, no, you hadn’t thought of it. Ultimately, it wasn’t worth your time. It would have been a childish move. Why was that anyway? Why was it that you needed to be the “bigger person” and not be petty when some guy got all up in your face about you not wanting a relationship as his supposed friends crowded around in a circle around you two, clearly silently intimidating you? In public! Fuckin’ bum-rushed you on the street as if the showy dramatics would illicit shame or obedience. Yeah, because you were a woman who would just kill to be in a relationship, right? You scoffed internally. ‘Cause it was just so important to be in a relationship, more than, oh, I don’t know, actively not being in one that was definitely, absolutely gonna make you miserable?

Also, he hadn’t even been that good in bed.

“At least I am sex. You couldn’t even be that for a slut with as low standards as me,” was your frigid reply before walking away.

You couldn’t understand it. What was so great about relationships anyway? People only got into them for easy sex. A lotta work for a shitty time. You could get laid without the emotional baggage of another, thank you.

Although, sex probably wasn’t easy for people who acted like little bitches.

Hah.

You thanked the employee and accepted your food, wandering over to the drinks fountain with your paper cup. A basic day of running errands on your off-day now ruined by this bullshit. Nothing a little McDonald’s couldn’t fix though. Something about the nostalgia of hot, simple, cheap fast food made it more delicious. You probably should have gotten a sandwich or something, but you didn’t want to be too full and not want to do your errands after. Fried potatoes it was.

Hey, people called you sex, not the epitome of health.

You notched your finger on the tab and watched the honey-sweetened black ice tea pour out of the nozzle, which was the exact moment your intrusive thoughts popped up.

You avoid making deep relationships so that no one will notice when you die.

Thanks, brain.

Funnily enough, no one had ever said this to you. You would think someone would have noticed by now but, no, this was a revelation you made yourself once you were old enough to understand yourself better, and it came randomly while showering. Hmph. Goddamn showers. You slipped past a lovey-dovey couple to sit by the window counter, plopping down on one of the stools to munch on your fries for a bit. Alone. Some people wanted a lot of people to surround them. A sense of community and togetherness. Some people wanted a chosen few, valuing the quality over quantity. And some people were like you, loners who accepted who you were and that was NSFS – not safe for society – patiently waiting for the one that really understood you.

Or maybe there wasn’t anyone like you and you were just delusional about that.

Anyway, didn’t really matter. This kind of thing simply ended with thinking in circles. Sure, you could dwell on the whole question of existence, the why, but you had determined the more important was the who, the self within, and that wasn’t driven by the why. The who was driven by instinct.

If your instinct was to eat, fuck, sleep, repeat, then so be it.

Oh, and occasional responsibilities, like getting your tires rotated. Hence why you even outside today in the first place.

Hah, what a bother.

You munched on your crispy, hot fries and didn’t bother anyone. You learned not to expect too much out of people. They talked a lotta talk and didn’t walk much walk. I want this, this, and this, you heard a whole lot and nobody did it. A speech was all well and good, just not nearly as half as interesting as doing. And if you didn’t want to do it, you didn’t waste time beating yourself up over it. If that resulted in you only hooking up and avoiding relationships that you didn’t feel like committing to, then at least you weren’t disingenuous or fake.

Yup.

Looking out the window, you watched the people rush past with their shopping bags, linking arms with each other to avoid slipping on the sidewalk. Snow flurries falling down, down. The glass was clean enough that you could see inside the restaurant too. Tables with families and friends sharing simple, cheap fast food and turning it into a collective memory. Laughter and conversation echoed around your silence.

The looking glass showed you two ways.

You didn’t mind it, but it was evident you weren’t part of it too.

Hmmmm.

Your gaze stopped at a pair of guys. One of them was wearing a big black bucket hat. You noticed him because large brown eyes were actively staring back at you. Ogling, even.

What the–

You turned slightly and sat up straight with alarm as Jeon Jungkook stiffened and shifted, scooting closer to the person next to him, sneaking a not-so-subtle glance at you. You continued to look back in stunned confusion.

At goddamn McDonald’s?

Is no place sacred?

It was only less than twenty-four hours ago, but last night felt like another world.

-

Your fingers framing your face.

You licked your lips. Staring into his eyes, everything dark except for the mood lamp he left on. Cycling lights slowly drifted on the ceiling in a colorful haze. It was easy to remember all the shit people liked to say about you when you were alone, she’s so pretty but I hear she’s only into casual sex, what a shame, but you found solace in knowing that they had one fact wrong, because casual sex was for casuals and that was the wrong adjective to describe what you did.

Definitely the incorrect one to describe what transpired between you and Jeon Jungkook last night.

Your hand slipped from your cheek, and you touched his skin, bringing his face close to yours, keeping the whispers only in the air that you shared with those trembling lips.

“You’ve got cute eyes, but I bet you can be sexy when you want to.”

What was wrong with this? What was wrong with your comfort zone being someone else’s hands on your waist, pulling you closer? What was wrong with accepting the surge of power you felt licking the side of his mouth, adding slippery friction to the harshness of the metal rings pierced there, drinking in his moan as you teased him? It was just so annoying caring about all that noise trying to get to you, telling you to tone it down, telling you to stop, and, for what, don’t you have shame, that’s not how women should act, no. What they really meant was that was not how they would act. The consensus was to strive to be the respectable audience, always strive to fit in and be the quiet ones.

You envied their desire for silence.

Because you had to be loud.

You tangled your fingers in his long black hair and pulled his head back, running your tongue over his neck, tasting that skin and the anticipation vibrating in those muscles underneath. Admired the shivers under your body as you rolled into him, nice and slow and agonizing, whispering dirty things to him, things you wanted and none of it safe for work, finally bringing his head back down to nip at those gasping lips, intending on turning them pink and prickling with want, kissing him softly in contrast to the way you tugged at his hair every time he tried to intensify it.

“P-Please…”

His hands on your bare ass, hiking your dress up, digging his fingernails in, trying to keep his breathing even as desperation bled into it.

“You said to show you what I like,” you murmured. “I like teasing you.”

You pressed your body to his so your perfume would cling to his clothes, his bedsheets, his skin.

-

This was going to sound dramatic, but Jungkook was pretty sure last night she saved his life.

Actually.

That sounded very dramatic.

And kind of pathetic, so Jungkook kept that thought to himself, but nevertheless he kept that secret close to his chest, next to his racing heart that couldn’t seem to slow down, especially when her nails raked down his back while her tongue snaked around his, sucking on it lightly compared to the force behind her hands, the contrast between kiss and touch causing unbearable levels of arousal. He hadn’t expected a casual conversation to turn into this. He liked to think he was maybe charming, perhaps suave in some cases, occasionally daring, but he didn’t want anyone to get the wrong idea.

Casual sex could only stay casual if both people got the memo.

And Jungkook knew he didn’t want to get in too deep unless he was sure and the truth was that he wasn’t sure if he was ever going to want someone that much. It was fucking terrifying to be that vulnerable. How could he ever be “sure”? If he failed at his own goals, the only one he was letting down was himself. If his plans didn’t go as planned, well, that sucked but it was okay because it was only himself and he could do something about it. But getting his heart broken by someone else – ugh, what could he do about that? Worse, everything became so complicated when people didn’t say what they meant and didn’t mean what they say. It would be nice to experience the good stuff without the chance of getting his heart broken.

Cut out all that risky business.

It was a bit strange that this situation hadn’t felt like a risk. Of course it was, how was it not risky bringing a woman you barely knew to your apartment with the intent to make out and who knows what else, but, hey, the moment had felt right.

Or maybe it was the gods playing tricks on him.

But, anyway, her tongue wrapping around his balls felt amazing.

She pressed her soft lips to the sensitive skin and sent shivers through his legs as her fingernails dragged down his tense thighs. He hoped they left marks, or at least lingered for a few hours. Looking down, and those sly eyes were gazing back, like they knew exactly the effect they had on him. Sparkling when her name escaped his lips in a pleading whisper, glinting in the low light as her head tipped back and her tongue curled underneath his balls to lick that thin skin behind him, making him gasp and almost fall over, his palm smacking into the wall to hold him up. A jolt of radiating pain shot up his forearm, and then her hot, wet mouth surrounded him and swallowed his cock as deep as it would go.

He wanted to say he had made a sexy moan, but he was ninety-nine percent sure his neighbors were awake, so instead Jungkook whimpered and rested the crown of his head against the wall, feeling his hair stick to his face. Apparently, his embarrassing vocalizations didn’t matter though, because her head started slowly moving back and forth. Her eyes closed, humming steadily in satisfaction. His breath caught in his throat, forgetting all about the pain and instead drowning in the pleasure that rose like scalding steam. Ecstasy shimmered through every blood vessel in his body. Soft lips, swirling tongue, tight throat that closed in around the swollen head and pulsed, pulling him in deeper, and Jungkook could feel it, his cock twitching and getting harder, the insistent softness on the cusp of not enough, and yet so much was happening. Flexing wet muscle under the head every time she backed up, trapped in that warm sleeve, her cheeks sucking inward and drawing him deeper every time her lips pressed into his crotch, her graceful fingers fanning over his thighs and ass, stroking his tingling skin in time with her tongue.

Holy fuck.

Maybe it was dramatic that last night she saved his life by blowing his dick with such incredible skill, but Jungkook was sticking to this drama.

Wasn’t casual sex supposed to be wham, bam, thank you, next. Not, holy shit, my cock is so fucking deep in her throat I can feel her neck muscles flexing, but perhaps he had done some good deeds or this year was going to be extra prosperous in the sex front (it wasn’t a question that came up much among those elderly fortune tellers his mom visited, how odd). It had to be something like that, because how was he supposed to know the friend of a friend was going to be, one, hot, and, two, down to fuck, and, three, actually good at it?

And, four.

Readily manhandle him. But not in a threatening way. In an unafraid-to-say-and-get-what-she-wanted way. The direct, forward assertiveness was sexy as hell, but Jungkook wasn’t going to tell other people that he liked it when a woman took charge. That wasn’t exactly small talk. It didn’t come up naturally. He didn’t even tell the women he had previously slept with. It hadn’t felt like the right atmosphere. And, well, the sex was just okay. He figured he had to be careful in what he said when he wasn’t sure if they were going to be long term.

He had to cover his ass.

Speaking of.

Her fingernails sank into his ass and dragged down harshly as she tilted her head back. His throbbing cock slid down along the back of her throat, sending uncontrollable tremors up his chest and down his legs, pain and pleasure and perfection.

Jungkook slapped a hand over his mouth and let out a muffled half-scream.

She started focusing exclusively on the head, back and forth, running her tongue over it with her plush lips constricting the base, holy shit, and his eyes rolled back in his head, his hand falling, exhale thin and thinning out even more as he was reaching the end. It was too unexpectedly good, fuck, it made the muscles in his back tremble and his blood boil, o-oh, fuck, made his heart race and his calves strain with tension, I’m gonna c-cum, made his scalp tingle and his mind go blank with pleasure and he never thought an orgasm could be this intense unless he was the one getting himself off, but he was wrong, he was so fucking wrong, because he could feel the tightening in his core spiraling a bit too much and he was going to lose his fucking mind.

He gasped and screamed under his breath.

The high hit him like the sudden violent snap of elastic, so sharp that he was winded and able to feel the muscles of upper thighs spasm, shooting a rather impressive amount down her throat, almost regretful he didn’t pull out so that he could see how much it was, but none of that mattered, ensnared in wave after punishing wave of indecent, gratified lust flinching through his shaking, hard muscles as he felt his cum fill her mouth.

She swallowed.

Jungkook almost punched the wall, the oversensitivity almost painful, his hoarse voice on the verge of cracking.

“C… Careful…. P-Please…”

Those eyes flickering up, and she seemed to understand. Gently, pulling back just a little. He almost buckled at the sensation of the sucking lessening, such a good feeling but overwhelming in the afterglow, and then it was cloud-nine bliss, achingly perfect in the way she carefully slid his cock along her tongue, his twitching length gliding in the puddle of saliva and cum, repeatedly, soaring high like the moon, the thick viscosity creating a slick friction that was wicked heaven.

He wanted to say, oh, yeah, I lasted a long time after that.

He did not.

I’m in trouble.

He realized that the second she got on her knees on his bed, raised her ass, and turned her head back to smirk at him. Made direct eye contact as he tried to hide his gulp and put on the condom, keeping his hands low so she didn’t see them quiver. He was staring a bit too much, but she simply reached over and took his right hand, caressing his tattoos, and then he gasped as his fingers touched slippery wetness, looking down, and was he allowed to fall in love with a beautiful pussy at first glance or not allowed? Fuck, she even had a cute asshole. Was that too dirty to think or what?

Jungkook didn’t contemplate it too much as she slid his fingers into her, the soft, firm walls wrapping around him.

“Ready?” she hummed.

“Y- Yeah…”

In hindsight, he could have said much sexier things other than, yeah, but that was the least of his problems. Getting on his knees, sinking in, and he nearly blacked out with how good it felt. A steady controlled pulse surrounding him. Somehow, his cock became even harder, his fingers splaying out over the juicy curve of her ass, deeper, so tight, and it was all her, that cute face smiling back at him with the tip of her tongue tracing her upper lip. Naughty smirk widening, captivating foxy eyes filled with mirth shining in the darkness of his bedroom.

Jungkook didn’t even care.

He was just trying not to bust a nut at this excessive amount of sensuality that he hadn’t been prepared for.

“You look very sexy with your hair over your face like that.”

He hadn’t even noticed the strands of black covering his vision because he had been too busy looking down.

“Your back looks… oh, f-fuck… looks so beautiful…”

She grinned and lowered herself on his sheets to push back against him.

He had stuttered because her pussy had squeezed him in between his words. There wasn’t any time to be eloquent anyway, not with the sudden need surging through him at this improved angle, his grip on her hips tightening and thrusting his hips forward, wincing at how loud that smack was, surely someone outside heard, but there was nothing he could do about it, didn’t want to stop, couldn’t stop, sinking his teeth into his lower lip and trying not to add any additional noise, wanted to slow down but it felt so good when he was so deep, so tight and choking his shaft, the sensitive head of his cock rubbing against her walls and swelling. Even with the condom he felt so much, pressure and power and intensity, placing a palm on her lower back and groaning between clenched teeth, the arc of her ass so obvious and the bounce so visible that he would dream about it, all of it, the slaps of body to body, thrusting hard, rough, his ears tingling with her low, sexy moans, too good, felt too good, and he wanted to last longer but just couldn’t.

Threw his head back and yelled under his rushing exhale, straining to contain his cry in his chest.

Didn’t last much longer with a new condom and in missionary position either. He kept staring at her pretty face and perky tits, feverish desire racing with every slap of hips-to-hips, his hair falling into his eyes, struggling to see her hands clutching his pillows, and then she arched her back to give him a full view of those perfect, tasty-looking, hard nipples. Honestly, he was proud of himself for lasting the ten minutes that he did. Five minutes. Er, at least he hoped he lasted more than five minutes.

He was sweaty and gasping but he asked anyway.

“Sorry, I… Are you upset at me?”

She tilted her head, confused. “For what? That felt amazing.”

His face burned as he mumbled under his breath.

“I… I usually last longer…”

“Oh.” Blink. “Oh!” She grinned at him, and it was so devious that Jungkook realized this must not be the first time she had heard that. “I don’t care about things like that. But, uh…”

Her sex saved his life.

Her next words murdered him on the spot.

“You know, when you came, uh… I’m sure you were trying to be quiet and all that, but you sounded a bit like one of those faraway screams that happen in movies. You know, when someone gets thrown far away mid-battle. A very tiny, aaaaaaa…”

Not the best sex of his life comparing his orgasm noise to the Wilhelm scream.

-

You could admit it.

You shouldn’t have said that.

But also shouldn’t people be told of such things so that they became more self-aware? It took everything in you not to burst out laughing in his presence (although you did laugh a lot when you arrived home). And it wasn’t as if you were going to see him again. For a while, anyway. Definitely not the next day at goddamn McDonald’s.

Right?

Wrong.

You gawked at Jungkook until the other guy with him noticed and started staring at you too. Oh, jeez, it was Park Jimin, another one of the guys who had been there last night at the birthday party. You remembered him and his distinctive, bubbly giggling all night. He had a great voice too, making listening to karaoke actually bearable. He was, however, the kind of guy that wanted to be in the know about everything and everyone.

Aw, shit.

You weren’t ready for another repeat of this morning.

Jimin’s round, discerning eyes recognized you immediately even in your casual clothes and lack of makeup. You snapped your head back to your empty paper packaging. Snatched up your cup, pushing away from the window counter and stepping down, winding over to the drinks machine to top off on tea before sprinting it. Hey, McDonald’s wasn’t that cheap anymore. Inflation was a thing. Better get as much as you could before leaving.

You tossed the oily packaging and your napkin before turning around, immediately nearly colliding with Jeon Jungkook.

“Gah!”

“Oh!”

And he grabbed your waist.

Of course, he did.

Your bare waist, because you were wearing a crop top under your heavy coat.

You kept your drink-holding hand out of the way and gasped into his chin, your other hand landing on his left upper arm and squeezing, suddenly tense all over. It was hard and solid under your grip, twice as tense as you were.

“S-Sorry, Jimin pushed me…”

You vaguely heard Jungkook mumbling but you didn’t have time for this, didn’t have time to be let down again by humanity. Didn’t have time for Jeon Jungkook getting into your face about you fucking and dipping, scolding you about being too blunt, and possibly even directly calling you a bitch. Not that you didn’t deserve it. You just didn’t want to find out that cute-faced, criminally-undercover-sexy, surprisingly-a-very-good-fuck Jeon Jungkook could maybe be a shitty person.

Didn’t want to know.

Better not to know.

“S’okay. Let me get out of your way,” you mumbled back, turning your head away.

“You’re not in my way.”

You heard him say it, didn’t believe it, and yet his hands were still around your waist.

“Actually… Please be in my way.”

You froze.

Snapped your head back and found yourself centimeters from Jeon Jungkook’s face.

Oh, I’m in trouble.

He let go of you, slowly, his touch hovering as if you would make a break for it in the middle of this crowded McDonald’s, as if you would bowl over small children and their Happy Meals to escape, sending plastic toys flying in your wake. But you did no such thing, instead holding your breath, realizing how upset you would be if this was another you’re an insensitive whore moment. The truth was that you didn’t care until you did, or at least until you fully comprehended that you were glad to see Jungkook rather than completely indifferent. Why? He hadn’t said anything special. Just, please make it home safely. You had thought that was weird, please. Brushed it off as him being polite or even maybe trying to entice you with that light touch of submissiveness, anything but the possibility of him actually, honestly, straightforwardly caring about your safety.

You learned to expect people not caring for much except for themselves.

“I… Good afternoon,” you managed to get out, stepping closer as a crowd of kids squashed themselves against the drinks fountain, clambering over each other with their paper cups, yelling about how you snooze, you lose even though there was plenty of soda in a fast-food restaurant.

An adult, presumably a guardian, ran over to tell them to quiet down.

“Y… Yeah…” was Jungkook’s strangled reply, startled at you attempting conversation.

You held your sweet tea and tried to lightly bow, but realized that you could hit him in the chin if you did. You stepped aside to avoid that, and then his hand darted out. Stopping. Suddenly aware of what he was doing, stuck on what to do, looking at you helplessly for instruction. This was some love song or romcom movie shit.

No.

This was a goddamn McDonald’s, not awkward-sexual-tension meeting grounds. You grabbed his hand and pulled him along, spinning to find yourself crammed into the table with a grinning Park Jimin and too many shopping bags.

“Oh, hey. Funny seeing you here.”

Jimin was stifling his giggles.

You immediately let go of Jungkook’s hand, your face frozen and expressionless.

“Ah, Jungkook, can you watch my food?” Was it your imagination or did Park Jimin just bat his eyelashes? “I’m gonna go put the gifts in my car.”

Oh no.

“Stay right there!”

Jungkook looked mortified. “Jimin, wait–”

But he did not wait. Ruffled fluffy black hair, mischievous smile, and a whoosh later, those crinkly paper bags gone like a disappearing act, leaving you and your fuck of last night with a half-eaten sandwich and cold fries.

“I… He… I’m sorry,” Jungkook sputtered, jerking erratically.

You clutched your tea like a liquid social safety net. “Sit down. Children are staring at us.”

Sure enough, a small crowd of curious peepers were climbing the low half-wall and peering at you and Jungkook. They were being plucked off one by one by a pair of exasperated ladies who looked like they desperately needed a nap. As soon as one child was removed, another climbed up to take their place. Inquisitive little bundles in brightly colored jackets, pom-pom beanies, and sipping soda from paper cups. Jungkook whipped his head back, exposing his red ears under his bucket hat for half a second, saw the kids, and sat down beside you, turning his back to them.

Now even bigger peepers were directed at you.

“Uh…”

You cleared your throat. Drank some tea. “Erm.”

“I... I didn’t expect to see you here.”

You almost choked on your chuckle. “Yeah, uh… same.” You ticked your head to the outside, in the general direction Jimin had run off too. “Shopping for new year stuff?”

Jungkook shrugged. “Mostly for Jimin’s family. I usually shop online.” He scrunched his face with a little bit of dismay. “It’s too much on the weekends sometimes.”

“Yeah, I’m the same.”

Your knee touched his.

He looked at you.

Don’t look at me like that. I’m gonna want to kiss you.

“And we’re in the middle of a McDonald’s.”

“What?”

You could see stray strands of black brushing against his cheeks. Could see those starry brown eyes under that big bucket hat, those pink lips parted and that small mole underneath them trembling, something you had noticed last night even in the low light because you had been licking up his neck and watching his open mouth, savoring the way his whine travelled by vibration through your insistent lips from his throat.

“I don’t want to make out with you in front of all these children,” you clarified, letting out a slow, concealed breath. “But if you keep looking at me like that, I’m going to make a bad decision.”

People only get into relationships for shitty sex.

Right?

I want to be around him.

“Um… I think Jimin wanted to get an air fryer and who knows what else… I’m supposed to carry the big stuff,” Jungkook grumbled, sounding like he wanted to abandon his current adventure for a different kind of adventure. Still, he begrudgingly remained a good friend. “But tomorrow…?”

You weren’t sure if he was aware that he was getting closer to you, practically thigh-to-thigh and shoulder-to-shoulder, but then you put your hand on his coat sleeve. He froze up, holding his breath. He smelled good. Fresh and clean, like laundry from the dryer. He was close enough for you to clearly discern his scent.

Close enough for you to remember.

“I need to get my tires rotated,” you finally remembered. “I’ll call you.”

His cheeks flushed pink. “C-Call me?”

“Yeah, give me your number.”

-

She asked for it like it was easy.

Who cares? Jungkook determined, after all, that he was easy. Or at least his hands were hurriedly fumbling with his phone as he blurted out the numbers as calmly as he could, which was probably not that calm, but who cared? Not him and definitely not his dick.

“Thanks. Don’t forget to answer or I’ll feel dumb.”

“Wait, give me your number.”

She paused, glancing at him. Shivers all over when their eyes connected, and he was sure he saw a guarded flicker in those eyes, but then it was let go, her lashes lowering, casting away the unknown reservation that he hoped she could tell him one day. And yet she stayed silent, turning her phone over in her hand.

“I want it,” he breathed.

Her eyes shifted back up. Ghost of a smirk on those lips.

Like she was trying to hold back.

“I’m going to give it to you,” she whispered to him, and he had to lean in, no, wanted to lean in and the scent of her perfume caught him, sweet and smokey, all those memories flashing back, in the dark with fistfuls of his sheets and breathing in, his pillows, his blanket, his clothes, heavenly and arousing. “Just saying I come with a warning label.”

“What kind of warning?” Jungkook found himself asking even though he was desperate to indulge in this risky business.

“I’ll never let your last that long,” she purred with a smug smile. “Don’t give up, okay?”

Jungkook felt his cheeks burn as he typed down the number and kept his retort to himself because Jimin suddenly appeared and the conversation was abruptly over. He jerked his head away quickly as she mouthed a tiny aaaa under her breath, teasing him, and this was a bad decision but he answered the call anyway when it came.

-

What are you doing? You don’t do relationships. People don’t like the way you do things. They’re complicated and full of secrets. They can’t be honest. You’re too honest. It doesn’t work.

Your intrusive thoughts had worked the graveyard shift and were now doing overtime.

They don’t like you.

You weren’t that surprised at these thoughts. You also did the absolute most when fucking and probably not enough outside of fucking. Some would call this karma. You would call it a nuisance. Shut the fuck up, brain. You already knew all this. You knew and you muted all that sound, all that excess noise that warned of tomorrow being ruined, chose to shut it all out until there was nothing but the melody of Jeon Jungkook’s bated breath.

You could listen to your head and let those thoughts fuck everything up.

Or you could place your fingertips on Jungkook’s lower lip and feel his gasp travel through your nerves, feel the way your blood shimmered in your veins and raced faster. Caress that pink curve to stop at his lip rings, tangible, hard and soft juxtaposed. Breathe out, your eye line lifting, up, finding those large dark brown orbs surrounded by wispy black tendrils.

Jungkook wanted you.

That was pretty obvious, especially from his hands trying to slide up your skirt.

He was just waiting for you to start it off.

You could listen to your head or choose to feel and listen to your instincts, dangerous as it was.

I’m in so much trouble, fuck.

You knew it, and yet you leaned in and kissed him anyway. Something about him, the way his eyes instantly closed when you came close, the way he trusted your eyes wouldn’t stay open, the way his lips gave in to your insistence, no, yearned for it, his fingernails sinking into your hips and yanking you close, onto his lap and into his heat, and then it was darkness and tongue and breathing into his mouth, hot and unnerving and addictive.

You hadn’t even noticed you had closed your eyes until you felt your hands sliding into his hair. Barely even perceived how you held your breath when your chest pressed against his, gasping, too many clothes in between and all the anticipation, dancing your nails over his scalp and sucking on his tongue, his melodious moan melding with your heartbeat roaring in your ears.

What is this?

You rolled your hips into his lap and Jungkook groaned, breaking the kiss and tipping his head back, his hardness twitching between your legs, insistently pressing up through his sweatpants as his neck became exposed. And there was nothing you wanted to do but press your lips to that mole on his neck, tasting that tan skin and inhaling his scent, wanting to be covered in it, drenched in it, dancing kisses up his jaw and catching his ear with your teeth, tugging on his hair and rocking your hips back and forth, turning hot friction into hot, damp friction.

“I c-can’t…”

His moan rang in your ears, his fingers pushing up the sides of your panties and driving them into the crevice of your ass, creating a damn thong with too much fabric.

“Can’t t-take it anymore…”

Pulled hard and you gasped, feeling the slinky fabric slip in between your folds, soaked and soaking, strong hips knocking into that dug-in fabric and practically bouncing your pulsing pussy on his rock-hard erection.

You curled your arm around his head and tipped his face to yours, seeing his glassy eyes and open mouth, his shaking breath feathering against your chin, and if Jeon Jungkook was a liar, then he was a damn good one, one of those liars so deep in the lie that it started becoming truth.

He whispered your name in the shared air, between his and your trembling lips.

He’s too desperate to be a liar.

You closed the distance between lips and tangled your tongues in the tango, lifting your hips at the same time, smiling at his whine before silencing it by pulling his hand between your legs, pushing the thin fabric aside, and then the collective sigh. Yours, shivering satisfaction. His, driven desire, fingers exploring and sending shivers through your legs. Wet and slippery and soft. Pressing his face into your neck and then gasping when his soft lips pressed to your throat, light kisses and wanton need, his other hand sliding up your sweater, pushing it up.

I want you.

He slid two fingers into you and moaned into your skin, slow, pressing his touch into your clenching walls, his eyes closed under you. In, out, building pleasure, your hips following, riding his hand, deeper, intense, hard, his tongue licking your collarbone and your lashes fluttered, suddenly overcome by shivers.

“I w-want you…”

He gasped against your throat, almost a whimper, those pleading eyes half-opening. Pulling out slightly and rubbing slow circles that made your hips flinch, his fingertips brushing against your slick clit, and those brown eyes darkened, tipping his head back to watch your face. His fingers on your waist tightening, holding you in place, shifting his fingertips, and you bit back a hiss, locking your knees, staring back into his starstruck eyes that showed you everything he was as he stroked your clit, igniting all your nerves and scorching your skin in passionate flames.

You saw what Jungkook was saying.

He wanted you so bad, not just a little, not just for a couple orgasms, not just for every night but also every day, even every afternoon and every twilight and every dead of night. Every kiss, every touch, every look into the eyes telling you this meant more to him than casual and for some reason it didn’t feel like a burden.

Casual sex could only stay casual if both people got the memo.

Suddenly, you realized neither you nor him were getting the damn memo.

You leaned forward and breathed in his exhale, squeezing his hips with your thighs, harder, yes, so good, fast and harsh and closer, closer, pulsing sensitivity escalating, your fingers tangled into his long black hair, entangled moans slipping out, fuck, yes, I’m close, Jungkook, fuck, and he was good but this was more than skill, more than half-lidded eyes and your hand falling, tracing his jaw, biting back your orgasm until…

Until.

“I could stare at you forever,” you breathed.

Closed your eyes and moaned into his mouth, the high crashing down, leaking all over his fingers and causing his touch to slip, dripping down, everywhere, all over the front of his pants and down your legs, and there was no time to care, dragging Jungkook into kiss after kiss, driven by snaking pleasure coursing through your veins. His wet fingers grasped your thigh, kneading the softness, his whines trapped by kisses, begging for your legs against his naked chest.

How could you refuse him?

You just couldn’t.

-

I’m so fucked.

Truly, madly, deeply fucked.

Past in trouble and actually in danger, danger, you’re seconds away from cumming, clenching his jaw and grinding his teeth so he felt something else, anything, please, clutching fistfuls of his sheets and wondering why the fuck the condom wasn’t reducing any sensation because, holy fuck, his cock was trapped in a hot, slippery, tight sleeve that pulsed around his twitching, hard length every time he descended. He couldn’t think, could barely breathe, could do nothing but follow that carnal instinct to thrust over and over, deep as possible, the angle so good he closed his eyes so they didn’t roll back into his head even though he was hopelessly losing his mind at the sensations of her, so soft, so intense, so good his legs were shaking with tension, the rhythmic smacking obscenely loud, rattling bedframe echoing throughout his bedroom.

“H-Harder,” she gasped breathlessly.

Harder?!

Was she trying to kill him?

She lifted her hips and Jungkook knew he was fucked.

He threw all of his energy into his hips and sunk his teeth into his lower lip, his lip rings hitting his teeth. Metal hitting bone. Screaming in his head and tightening his vocal chords, thankful to see her eyes closing, her head tipping back, low satisfied moan of his name travelling to in his ears and then all that he was keeping together shattered and slammed into him, heat rushing and mind-numbing, euphoric high punching all the air out of his lungs, visceral tension snapping at his hips and now he was pumping the condom full, o-o-oh, fuuuuck, her walls shivering and amplifying the good feeling of sexual intoxication, his vision a blur, only now realizing all the sweat sliding down his back and forehead, his damp hair swinging down over his eyes, and maybe lasting a only a couple minutes but it was a damn good couple of minutes if Jungkook was allowed to say so himself.

He was panting, hardly able to catch his breath.

It wasn’t enough.

Fuck, he was so horny and he was barely recovering from his first orgasm. Didn’t know what came over him. A wave of insanity? Inconsolable craving? Willful sacrifice of his soul to the sex goddess in his bed right now? Dramatic, sure. Casual, no, pushing his palms against the bed, shuddering as he pulled out of that tight warmth, almost regretting it, but then he looked down. At the shiny slickness, his white cum swollen at the end of the condom. He gripped the opening and pulled down, peeling it off with a whine, and Jungkook was pretty sure he was overwhelmingly crazy or overwhelmingly horny or both, because why else would he scoot his knees up and start jacking his spent dick like a madman, whimpering at the sensitivity and the slippery friction and the scene before him – her legs lowering from his shoulders, those curious eyes glinting under him, her soft, bouncy breasts rising and falling rapidly in her heavy breathing, fuck, so sexy, so fucking sexy, faster, tighter, staring at those hard nipples he wanted in his mouth right now, so fucking bad.

He let his eyes flicker up.

Gasping, baring his depravity.

She smirked, her tongue tracing the edge of her upper lip.

“Cum on me, Jungkook.”

Words so simple that they could be said by anyone, but this was different, this was too much intensity, too much irresistible pleasure, too much too sure about this feeling, this moment, this connection, and then her fingertips slid up his hard, tense, trembling thigh, sinking her fingernails in and dragging down, those stings of pain sending him over the edge.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

His eyes rolled back and his hips pitched forward, flinching powerfully and shooting cum over her stomach, up her cleavage, sudden streak of white glistening against her skin, jolts of aching bliss penetrating his quivering muscles. Shared gasp, everything smelling like sex, his bedsheets, his clothes, his skin, mixing with her perfume. Sweet like candy and heavy like lust.

Jungkook wanted to douse himself in it.

Her cum and her perfume.

He pressed the dark, purple-red, swollen head of his twitching cock to her cum-covered stomach and moaned, dragging it across and slipping further and further into blinding oversensitivity, on the edge of too much but he liked it, fuck, he liked it more and more as he saw her sly smirk and foxy eyes sparkle, savoring his reactions. It made him want to give in to this side of him more.

Her hand lifted, fingers curling around his chin, stroking his lower lip with her thumb.

“You’re so sexy, Jungkook. I love the way you look at me.”

Something about the way she said it, making him feel that she really meant it.

No, know that she really meant what she said.

His heart fluttered. Took flight.

No.

Soared.

They really were such simple words, nothing complicated at all, and that was how Jungkook knew.

He was sure.

--

masterpost

[serosluv2]

obsessed bf x pretty gf trope hcs w sero & shoto pls & ty 😁😁 (seperately pls)

It’s only 7 months late but here u go anon 😘

a/n: I wrote this in an hour in the bathtub so if it is shit- don’t tell me bc I’m just getting back into writing 😭😭

Shoto Todoroki

He fits this trope so well.

He is THEE resident pretty boy of UA so it makes perfect sense that he has the prettiest girl in all of Japan. (The world)

He is the teeny weeny ist bit dense on like how to take proper photos of you for the ‘gram but trust that he WILL be searching up everything about lighting and angles and exposure and zoom- all that nonsense.

If you’re a social media girly he may leave like one or two comments. He isn’t the best about being outwardly obsessed with you, he is all about those private small moments. Not being able to take his eyes off you anywhere. Always needing to be beside you. If he can’t be with you then trust he is texting you at every free moment and expects a response within 5 minutes.

He loves shopping with you and helping you pick out outfits or jewelry or how to style your makeup that day. He has no real opinion on what looks better tho he just loves seeing you get all prettied up. (Yk that tiktok where the girl is trying to decide on a dress color and her bf is just like “wtv u want mama u look breathtaking in both” ?That’s him.)

I feel like he doesn’t really buy you anything in the beginning of your relationship bc he doesn’t really see the point/value or something in that BUT all it takes is for kaminari to get you some product you’ve been wanting for a while for secret santa and seeing how touched you were by the gesture sends him into over drive:

“OH MY GOD! KAMI!!” You exclaim- wrapping your arms around him. “How did you know? I’ve been looking for this everywhere!” Shoto notices how big your eyes got and the slight blush on your cheeks from excitement and he feels, something unpleasant. Jealousy? Envy? Possessiveness? Whatever it is he doesn’t like how grateful you’re acting toward the blonde. I mean sure, he got you something nice you’ve wanted but that’s not his job (he just so happened to get you for secret santa so he kind of had to get you something) he’s not your boyfriend only your boyfriend- HIM- should be gifting you stuff. Then he kinda has a “ohh.” Moment and realizes he has never really gotten you anything just because.

Anyways after that whole interaction he is getting you anything and everything you look at for more than a second. You keep looking at some necklace at the store? Bought. He sees you liking tiktoks about girls getting flowers? Now you’re getting a bouquet every date night. Does he himself have money? No, but that No.1 hero daddy sure does. And let’s be honest he kind of owes shoto for making his childhood - for lack of a better word- awful.

In conclusion, Shoto loves his pretty girl and will do anything she asks of him without question.

Hanta Sero

Clawing at my cage for this man.

Now sero has been… infatuated with you since he first laid eyes on you one faithful morning. You were ordering at some coffee shop he passes by on his way to school and just one glance had him stopped dead in his tracks. The way your hair framed your face perfectly, your face in general because holy shit- you were gorgeous. Straight out of a magazine. He quickly took notice of the little embellishments you made to your uniform.. uniform? The same one Mina has. OH MY GOD YOU GO TO UA AND HE HAS NEVER SEEN YOU BEFORE?

He literally cannot stop thinking about you and boom you appear again in the halls. Your going the opposite direction has him with your friends and he sees you all have a little cafe cup. Did you buy them all a drink before class? So you’re stupidly gorgeous and nice. Great, he, for sure, has no chance with you now.

But oh that’s where he is wrong.

When you guys start dating he actually cannot believe it. He is very guarded at first because- now it’s my personal hc that sero is a bit insecure- he can’t fathom how you, YOU, would actually want to date someone like…him.

But once those walls come down he doesn’t shut up about you. Seriously all his friends are so annoyed:

“Good god soy sauce if you mention your little girly friend again I’m hurling you across the city.”

“You’re just mad you don’t have a girl as pretty as mine- don’t worry baku-man, I’m sure one day some poor person will take pity on your soul.”

Sero did in fact get hurled across the city that day.

Now where he differs from Shoto is that this man is a GOD with a camera. He has that artistic eye and is able to capture you being your baddest/cutest/authentic self.

Literally ya’ll

He also has a good sense of style. He never thinks you look bad in one thing versus another but he will take into account the vibe of where you’re going and what’s you’ll be doing and give his opinion based on that. Because he grew up with sister and knows how to get around the “which one looks better?” Type question without hurting you.

Now sero doesn’t have money to spoil you senseless but what he does have is the forever lasting instinct to put your comfort above his own. It’s freezing and you didn’t wear a jacket because “a hoe ever gets cold”? Don’t worry sero will give you his and be visibly growing icicles on his body to keep you warm. Feet hurt from those impractical shoes? He’s caring you all the way home even if he is still terribly sore from a killer arm workout the day before with kirishima. A no a mudy puddle and you’re wearing your new white shoes :(! Well sero is laying his jacket down over it or simply caring you over the puddle. He isn’t the type to roll his eyes at how “ridiculous” or “spoiled” you’re being. You are y/n freaking l/n. He’ll do whatever you need to make sure nothing in your life goes wrong.

He also is the type to spam comments in your TikTok or Insta post and makes all his friends do the same. Not that you need it- he just loves fueling your ego.

[apocalypseornaw]

What If

Dean Winchester x Reader

You make assumptions after a night in Dean's bed that prove to be false

Warnings: Mention of steamy times, cursing, hurt feelings

Heat was the first sensation that hit you. The heat of a warm body curled up to your back. A strong arm laid across your stomach and warm breath hitting the back of your neck as he slept. How the hell had you ended up in this position when the two of you had simply set out to watch a movie last night after Sam had gone to bed?

You'd been in your room, laid across the bed reading a book Alex had sent you for your birthday. It was pretty good so far but you knew you wouldn't get far in it when you heard Dean singing lightly as his footsteps got closer to your open door.

You slid a bookmark in place and laid the book on your nightstand before your green eyed best friend ever Madeira to your door. You glanced up about the time he knocked “What's up Dean?” He smiled slightly “Well Sammy's gone to bed but Claire sent me a list of the top five rated horror movies. The top two we have on streaming”

A grin split your face “Go get them up, I'll grab drinks and meet you in the TV room” he winked at you “that's my girl” then turned to walk off down the hall.

You let out a sigh if only he knew what it did to you when he did shit like that. That wink, calling you his girl. The way he always invited you to watch movies, go for late night drives or how gentle he was patching you up after hunts. You shook your head to clear those thoughts out, he was your best friend. Yeah he was drop dead gorgeous but you couldn't help that you had eyes. You wouldn't ever cross a line he'd never acted as if he wanted to cross and risk that relationship.

____________________________

You were sitting next to Dean on the couch, your feet were curled up under you and Dean's favorite blanket was draped across you both. About halfway through the second movie a jumpscare actually got to you and without thinking you curled into his side, hiding your face in his chest.

He chuckled lightly as he tucked his arm around your body “Oh come on sweetheart. I've seen you take on shit a lot scarier than that and not blink!” You looked up at him and stuck your tongue out, trying to ignore just how close your faces were “Bite me Winchester. Real life doesn't bother me because if it can touch me and hurt me I can touch it and hurt it”

He shook his head “You're something else” you raised an eyebrow “What you mean by that” he raised his hand that wasn't curled around you to push your hair back that had fallen into your face “Beautiful, smart, badass. Pretty damn close to perfect” you could feel your cheeks warm slightly. It wasn't unusual for Dean to compliment you but it always made your stomach flip. “Oh shut up” you pushed against his chest hoping to turn this semi flirtatious moment into a teasing one but damn him if he didn't cup your chin gently and lift your head to meet his eyes before a smirk slipped onto his face “Make me”

You don't know what came over you at that moment. Maybe temporary insanity? Regardless you found yourself moving forward until your lips met his. It was just a simple kiss but something you'd dreamt of for far too long. It didn't take him even half a second to react. His hands went down to your hips, pulling you over into his lap and when the action caused a light gasp to leave your lips he slipped his tongue into your mouth rolling it against yours in a way that had you melting into him.

When you ground your hips down against his and a deep groan left him that was when reality set in. You were currently straddling your best friend, making out with him and damn near dry humping on the couch. You broke the kiss and damn near jumped off his lap. “I am so sorry Dean. I don't…I don't know what was going through my head”

He stood up, adjusting his jeans as he did so and your eyes flicked down to see a bulge that made your legs weak. The look in his eyes, damn how many waitresses and barmaids had you cussed over the years for having that look focused on them and now you couldn't think straight. “I wasn't exactly shoving you off” he replied taking a step closer and when you didn't back up he quickly covered the space between you pulling you into his arms “You're my best friend Y/N. Besides Sam no one on earth means as much to me as you do but that kiss was….fuck…if you want then this never happened. We'll turn on a different movie and nothing more”

“Or?” You asked, feeling your heart leap into your throat. A smirk slipped back onto his lips “Or we could go to my room and talk” “talk?” You repeated and he nodded “nothing has to happen”

________________________

A moan of Dean's name left your lips as he kissed a trail down your neck, his fingers slipping inside of you easily. “Fuck I love hear you say my name like that” he teased. It didn't take him long to find that one spot inside of you that had you clenching around his fingers and your legs shaking around his wrist.

He continued to pump his fingers lazily in and out of you as he worked you through the orgasm. When you weakly pushed at his wrist he caught your eyes before licking his fingers into his mouth, those sinful lips working as he sucked your juices off his fingers. “Taste as good as you look” you shook your head with a laugh “Take your pants off and get up here Dean” he grinned “Yes ma'am”

He stood long enough to slip his pants off then crawled up the bed, kissing his way up your body until he got to your lips. He caught them in a searing kiss that let you taste yourself on him. He pulled back enough to meet your eyes “Are you sure about this?” You nodded and felt his hardness pressed against your inner thigh “I want this”

He pressed another kiss to your lips before lining himself up with your entrance. When he slipped inside of you a moan left both of you at the feeling. He dropped his head down against your chest once he was fully inside of you to give you time to adjust. His lips left a trail across your collarbone “you feel so damn amazing sweetheart” After a moment the discomfort of the fullness of his gave way to pleasure so you turned his face to kiss him “Move Dean”

He began to roll his hips tentatively against yours and when your reaction was your eyes rolling back slightly at the feeling that was all the clearance he needed. “Eyes on me, beautiful. I want to see you come undone” it took you a minute to focus your eyes back on him and when you did he smiled almost shyly “look at you Y/N. Damn you're perfect” he pulled almost completely out of you then slammed back in. Your hands went to his shoulders, fingernails cutting into the skin as he sat a grueling pace that filled the room with the sound of skin hitting skin and both of you moaning the other's name.

When you felt yourself reaching that peak he bit down gently on your neck “Let yourself go baby. I'm not far behind. I want to feel you come around my cock, please” Dean Winchester of all men begging you to come? Christ, that pushed you over the edge with a scream of pleasure ripping from your lips.

His thrusts faltered slightly and through gritted teeth he asked “Don't you have an iud?” You nodded and he buried himself inside of you with one final thrust. The feeling of him coming worked another small orgasm out of you that had your legs shaking around him.

When he pulled out you whimpered slightly and he apologized with a light kiss “Just gonna grab my shirt to clean you up some baby ok?” You nodded weakly and felt the bed dip before Dean was knelt between your knees “Open up for me beautiful” you slowly spread your legs and he smiled “you look so fucking gorgeous like this. All fucked out” he used his shirt to clean you up as best as he could before tossing it back to the floor.

When he laid back down next to you he ran a finger down your side which caused you to squirm. “I'll go to my room once my legs work” He slipped his arm around you to pull you back against him “Take your time. No rush”

Every insecurity and what if started to flip through your head. Dean wasn't a settling down type. He didn't like attachments because he knew that put a target on them. He cared about you enough as a friend to put himself in danger. This wouldn't work. Either he'd not want this and feel some sort of obligation from your years of friendship or worse he would feel for you what you truly felt for him and it would end with him getting himself killed to keep you safe.

______________

It took some work to slip out the bed without waking him but you managed it and slipped your clothes on quickly. You needed a shower and to get the hell out of the bunker for a few minutes. You just needed to clear your head. It was supply run day. Groceries were needed and mail needed to be checked. You'd tell Sam to let you handle it. That would give you breathing room.

When you parked your car back at the bunker Sam came out to meet you and help with bags. When you glanced behind him he shrugged one shoulder “Can I ask something that may not only be none of my business but may be uncomfortable too?”

You nodded “We've known each other for a good chunk of our lives so I'd say yeah” he grimaced as he ran a hand across the back of his neck “I heard you and Dean last night so I thought…I don't know what I thought but did something happen? Because he seemed upset that you left while he was asleep”

“Sam, I didn't want to make things weird for Dean. You know my feelings” he nodded “but did you ask him his or just assume?” You didn't have to say anything Sam saw the look in your eyes. “He's in the library cleaning guns. I've got the bags”

________________

You could hear the clinking of metal when you got closer to the library. You stopped right inside the doorway and watched Dean for a moment. The way he handled the guns was a thing of beauty. He could probably break them down, clean them and put them back together in his sleep at this point.

He didn't look up from the colt before saying “You made it back in one piece” you nodded lamely “Dean can we talk?” He laid the colt down and raised his eyes to meet yours “Let me guess where this is going. You had a good night but don't want nothing to change”

You swallowed hard under the intensity of his stare “Can I talk without you putting words in my mouth?” He waved a hand to say go ahead “Dean you're my best friend and I love you, I fell in love with you. Last night was fucking amazing but I don't want to make you regrets things, you don't do love, you don't do relationships”

“because why? Dean's a man whore that just bed hops? Because Dean is incapable of love? Because despite us being best friends for over a decade there's no possibility that I fell in love with you too? There's no possibility i fucking wanted to wake up with the woman I love in my arms?” You flinched at his tone despite your heart flipping at his words “You love me?” He stood up and walked around the table “How could I not?”

You took a step back putting your back to the wall. He stood right in front of you, leaning a hand on the wall just over your head but giving you room to move “I love you Y/N. I'm in love with you. Last night was everything. Now what other demons are lurking in your head cause you know I don't mind taking on each and every one of those sons of bitches”

“What if you get hurt protecting me?” You asked and he smiled “baby I'd do that now but I know for the most part you can handle yourself and don't act like you're not self sacrificing either” you laughed despite yourself “What if you get bored of one woman?” He grinned “unlikely but we can always role play sweetheart. Believe me I mean it when I say you're fucking perfect for me”

“What if…” he cut you off by saying “What if you stop giving me excuses and let me kiss you? We could both die tomorrow and if that happens it happens but I'd rather have a day knowing you were completely my girl then live the rest of our lives just having part of you. I'm yours, you mine?” You nodded “Always. Now kiss me” He grinned “Yes ma'am”

[animasolaoriginal]

I n f a t u a t e d ♦️ONE

CHAPTER ONE TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE◾️TEN ELEVEN◾️TWELVE◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN SIXTEEN◾SEVENTEEN◾EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

A chance encounter under the strobe light. Hips swaying to the thumping bass. Dark eyes following her every move. Gazes meeting through the crowd. She came to him. He took her away. Changing her life forever, guiding her into submission.

ruthless nightclub owner ❌ innocent young woman with a crush

WARNING: NSFW! Explicit sexual content. Age gap. Size difference. Noncon/dubcon elements. Roofies. Abduction. Dom/sub dynamic. (For more tags, check it on AO3!) // WORDS: 3.9k

A/N: Please remember: This is fiction! As much as I enjoy writing fucked-up characters, this is not real. I do not condone this behavior! Men, be nicer to women! Girls, always check your drinks! Be mindful of strangers, no matter how nice they seem and how hot they look. And be careful what you wish for! So, technically this is a modern AU of my original story Innocence Lost, picks up on some themes, but it's basically just a fucked-up man abducting a girl (it's not stated in the beginning, but she's over 18!) and having fun with her (and then things may escalate a little!). Be mindful of the tags! This may be my darkest piece yet. (Dead dove, do not eat, as they say, right?) Also pretty self-indulgent, but there is some plot between all the filthy smut that is to come, I swear. > There are no names, no physical descriptions other than a size and age difference, so you can imagine any character here! <

ONE 🟥 TWO

Innocent.

She's been innocent, the sweetest little thing he's ever seen. Laughing with her friends, oblivious to her own beauty, blind to the leering stares of every single male around her. And he's been one of them, staring, watching her, looking her up and down as she moved her fragile little body to the beat of the thumping bass, motions contorted and jerky in the strobe light, hair swinging, hips shaking, lips curling into happy smiles.

So innocent.

Probably just a mask, an act. Or maybe she's really been as pure as she looked back then, he'll never know. Because as soon as he's laid his eyes on her, she's been corrupted, tainted by his dark desires. He wanted to corrupt her, ruin her, and he always got what he wanted. He lured her in, kept watching her until she noticed his stares, the darkness in his gaze, the hunger within him. And she came to him, drawn to his mystique, his persistence.

Curious little thing, clueless to the monsters around her.

He smiles at her, rakes his eyes over her body, over that outfit she chose to impress without realizing what might happen, whose attention she might attract. The tight top, squishing those small breasts (pert little nipples standing proud under the shifting breeze of the AC), showing off the flat of her stomach, the flutter of her belly after she's danced her heart out, chest heaving, sweat on her brow, beads rolling down her pale, untouched skin. Slim naked arms holding the drink between her fingers, the soft rattle of cheap jewelry on her wrists, around her neck.

Girly, cute, pure.

And that skirt, mid-thigh, tame when she's standing still, scandalous when she's moving, the fabric flowing around her legs, bending down (bending over), accidentally showing off those cute little panties beneath. Giggling when she realizes her mistake, small hands trying to cover up, but people already saw, and she's aware. She's been aware he saw everything of her. Eager eyes, big and fucking innocent, following his every move.

He takes the drink from her, stares down at her, no longer smiling, and she looks up, chin tilted, so tiny in front of him, innocent, expectant, excited. Putting the glass down, he grabs her wrist, frail cheap jewelry bending under his grip. For a small moment she's hesitant, notices the strength in his fingers, the determination behind the gesture. But she still follows him as he pulls her away from the bar, into the shadows.

How do you break an innocent girl? Show her what's what? What may happen if she steps into the lion's den wearing that skimpy top and maybe-scandalous skirt? So naive. Swinging her hips to the blasting music, bouncing those tiny tits, laughing like nothing else matters, enjoying herself. A little light in the moving darkness. A light he wants to savor before he'll let her burn out.

If she'd be any other girl, he'd have her pinned to the wall, skirt flipped up, panties ripped down, his belt open in seconds before he'd sink his cock into her tight little cunt, to ravage her, ruin her, use her like she's supposed to be used. But she's too pure to be railed against a wall, in the dimly-lit club, for everyone to see.

He still pushes her against the wall, inhaling that little gasp she issues when she hits it, looking up at him, lips parted, eyes wide, gaze blurry, pupils already dilated, the thrill of the encounter and adrenaline of the night (and possibly some drinks she was mysteriously gifted) pumping through her body. Grabbing her face with his big hands, he holds her firmly when he leans closer, takes his time, gives her time to push him away (what a rare treat, girl), but she just stands there, looking at him, a little glint in her eyes, her lips curving up ever so slightly.

She wants this.

And he gives it to her. His lips meet hers, one hand holds her cheek, thumb guiding her chin, while the other hand slips into her hair, fisting it, a tight grip to hold her as he kisses her, a soft beginning, quickly turning rougher, more hungry, desperate. And she kisses him back in the same way, mirrors his motions perfectly. Such a quick learner. Their tongues slide against each other before he pushes deeper, tastes the inside of her mouth, that sweet taste, of some sugary drink and her, so much of her, and it's intoxicating.

So sweet. Innocence oozing from every pore.

He cages her in, pushes her against the wall, feet on either side of hers, knees around her legs, and she's that tiny thing in front of him, standing there, kissing him back, but her body seems frozen, hands at her sides, immobile. Petrified? A doe-eyed thing caught in the headlights? Not for long. His hand moves down to her waist, fingers digging into soft skin, warm and smooth, slipping up under the hem of her shirt, teasing at the little mound beneath.

No bra. Too innocent (and small) to need one.

Her hand comes up then, closing around his wrist, but she's not pulling him away, she's pushing his hand higher until his rough palm closes around her breast. Tiny tits, usually not his preference, but it's cute, that little squishy flesh under his big hand, warm and soft, and the longer he kneads it, the harder her nipple pokes into his palm.

And then she moans into his mouth. His eyelids flutter, and he stares at her, lips hovering over hers, heavy breaths mingling, head spinning, the tension in his stomach making it so hard to keep his composure, to stick to his decision to spare her his usual treatment. He gropes her small tit once more before he pulls his hand back, sliding it down her side, watching her closely.

He grabs her ass cheek harder than intended and leans in to capture her mouth when she yelps quietly in response, swallowing her noises, the thump of the music vibrating through his tense body. In his mind he's already ripped her clothes off, run his hands all over her smooth, untouched skin, fingers pinching her nipples, teasing between her legs, slipping deeper, into her tight innocent warmth –

A grunt escapes him. She's gripping the front of his shirt, her small hands clinging to him while she kisses him back, eagerly, completely lost in the unexpected encounter. Eyes closed, humming against him, body inching closer, searching for his warmth. The hand on her ass pulls her against him, a little thud that makes her mewl into his mouth, before it slips lower, cups her rear, pushes her up, fingers brushing against that little damp piece of fabric, and it's enough to make him hoist her up onto his hip.

Her hands claw at the collar of his shirt while her legs wrap around him almost automatically, conditioned, programmed to submit. A deep-rooted thing she isn't aware of yet. Her pelvis presses into his hipbone as he balances her, back pressed to the wall, both of his hands now on her plump cheeks, holding, groping. He can feel her warmth, that hint of wetness, arousal she's probably confused by.

“I'm gonna take you with me,” he rasps into her neck as he leans in to shower her soft skin with hungry kisses, lips closing around her fluttering pulse, sucking the blood to the surface with a determination that surprises himself.

“What?” she breathes against his cheek, a sweet little sound in his ears, so pure, a soft hum in the atmosphere.

“Don't worry about it,” he mumbles, licking over the bruise he's created on her neck. She shivers in his hold, chest moving against him. He leans back, licking his lips, meeting her curious gaze. “You need another drink,” he says with a smirk. It's not a question.

He sets her down again, grabbing her hand, leaning over to brush his lips over her temple until she looks up at him. Then his other hand is on her chin, holding her as he crashes his mouth against hers for another searing kiss. A little whimper escapes her. She's confused, he can tell, overwhelmed by whatever is happening.

Pulling her towards the bar, he nods to the barkeeper, a gesture often used. She's leaning against him, caged between his hard body and the counter, looking up at him with those big eyes. He smiles down at her, caressing her soft cheek with the back of his finger. He's got her, he knows. She doesn't even care about her friends anymore (and they seem to have forgotten about her too, he can see them dancing on the other side of the room). All she does is look at him, mesmerized.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees the bartender sliding the drinks over the counter top. He takes the prepared drink (something sugary with a special ingredient) and hands it to her, then takes the little vodka shot for himself, eyes fixed on her as he clinks the glasses together. She smiles shyly and takes a cautious sip, while he downs the shot in one go, feeling the liquid burning down his throat. The music thumps around them, the air thick and heavy with alcohol and sweat, and a tension that's just between them.

The innocent girl, sipping her drink, staring up at the man, who watches her with a predatory smirk. His hand is heavy on her hip, warm and comforting, holding her in place, thumb rubbing over her fluttering stomach. She finishes the sugary concoction and wipes her mouth, glass empty on the bar. He leans down and brushes his lips against her ear.

“Come with me,” he whispers, and she shivers, her hand finding the front of his shirt again. He steps back, his hands running along her arms until they close around her slim wrists. The bass sits low in his guts, and he can't help but move his body slightly to the music as he leads her backwards. She laughs softly, a little sway to her hips as she follows him. But they leave the dance floor and walk back into the shadows.

He watches her closely, she blinks more, eyelids heavy, lips parted, that cute little tongue out to lick them, once, twice, again, almost obsessively. He takes her to the back, past the office, the music becoming that thick beat in the distance, a deep thrum in the air, through the walls, muffled as if the world was made of cotton. He leans her against the wall, a body too easy to move by now, his hands on her shoulders as he leans down to rub his nose against hers.

“Be a good girl and stay right here,” he tells her, waiting for her to understand.

She nods slowly, licking her lips again, and he presses his mouth to hers, capturing that sweet little tongue, sucks on it, kisses her deeply, tastes the sugar and her and more. Dangerous move, but he can't help himself. He leans back, moves his lips down her jaw, along her neck, swipes his tongue in a broad stroke over that soft skin. She mewls in response, and he grins against her before leaning back.

“I'll be right back,” he says, his eyes boring into hers, making sure she does what he tells her. She nods again, biting her swollen lip.

He hasn't planned to take her, but he'll adapt, as always. It's a risky move, but he somehow knows it's going to be fine. He has an eye for these things, knows what to do if situations (opportunities) like this present themselves. Just a few calls, some more ominous nods to his employees, no problem, just a few minutes of his time to sort things out. Somewhat. He doesn't even know why he's taking her away, it just feels right. The temptation is too strong to ignore.

He shouldn't have left her.

When he returns, they are there, crowding her, two guys, frat boys probably, drunk out of their minds, slurring and stumbling, but determined to take what is now his. He's on them in no time, hand ripping them away from the frightened but still confused girl, frozen in place as hands gripped and groped her, slipping under her clothes, going places that are reserved to him.

His fist lands hard against a jaw, one of them tumbling to the floor with a howl, the other, too drunk to react, just stares at him, and he doesn't wait for him to realize what is happening. There's blood on his knuckles when the second guy goes down as well, two crumpled guys on the floor, holding their bloody faces. He grabs the girl with his left hand, carefully pulling her against him. She's swaying, legs trembling, arms wrapping around his waist helplessly.

One of the boys stirs, and he steps on his hand and kicks him back, another howl swallowed by the distant thump of the music. He takes a few steps, raps his fist against the door. A bouncer opens it, and he tilts his head towards the mess behind him. “Take care of this,” he orders, and the burly man nods, slipping into the club while he maneuvers the girl out of it.

The night is cold, semi-fresh air, but the noises are no longer muffled. The city breathes around them as he guides her to his car, parked in the back. She clings to him, barely able to function on her own anymore, eyes heavy, lips parted. He leans her against the trunk, hands holding her soft face, looks her over. She looks at him from under her lashes, too out of it to realize anything anymore. He gives her a soft kiss to her warm cheek, a little giggle escapes her.

She falls into the passenger seat, a frail little body unable to move on its own. He leans over to buckle her in, feeling her deep breaths on his chin. A short side glance shows him she has her eyes closed, chest rising and falling, head lolled to the side. His hand is on her cheek as he kisses her gently, savoring the warmth, already imagining what he could use her for. But he has to be patient.

When he rounds the car to get behind the wheel, his morals flare up, a rare occurrence, but the sight of her slumped into the seat, helpless and fucking innocent, makes him wonder how it's come to this. He's seen her dancing, in that tight top and short skirt, a laughing little light in the darkness around her. Pure. Ready to be soiled. He inhales the cold night air and slips into the driver seat, shaking his head to get rid of those damn doubts, flexing his bloodied knuckles on the steering wheel as he turns his head towards her small form.

In the end she is just another body to be used, like she should be.

They arrive at his place, and it's a blur for him to get her into the elevator, a little breathing bundle in his arms, so light and heavy at the same time. Temptation. He puts her down on the bed, watches her, how she curls up into a ball of limbs and hair, breathing softly, skirt bunched up around her hips, that sweet round butt on display, cute panties he wants to rip off her immediately. But he refrains, sighs, turns away to wash the blood off his hands.

Unbuttoning his shirt as he returns, his eyes are on her, taking in every detail. He keeps his pants on, keeps his hard erection in place for now, no matter how difficult it is to hold back. The urge to just take her is strong, push those panties aside and impale her on his thick cock. It'd be so easy. She wouldn't even feel anything, wouldn't remember a single thing. And there's the problem. He doesn't want to fuck a lifeless body, no matter how cute she looks.

He wants to see the fear in her eyes, the pain when he penetrates her, stretches her, deflowers her, possibly. Maybe even the lust growing in her pupils, that dilated look of pure bliss. Who knows, she might be into this. She followed him so willingly, she came to him, after all, approached the monster that kept staring at her. She made the first step. He just watched.

She stirs on the bed, soft little noises tumbling past her lips. He leans over her, rolls her onto her back, turns her head to the side so she won't choke on her own spit. There are other things he wants her to choke on. Later. It's almost caring how he brushes her hair out of her face, caresses her cheek, flushed and warm from sleep. Thumb finding the contours of her lips, soft and wet, pushing between them, into her mouth, searching for that sweet little tongue.

He pulls back with a deep sigh. Watching her for another moment, he decides to undress her after all. At least the skirt has to go, so he moves his hands under her body and fumbles for the zipper, then pulls it off her slim legs, nudges her shoes and socks off in the same move. He even removes her cheap jewelry, the soft clanging sounds of the thin metal filling the quiet room. She stirs slightly, smacks her lips, but doesn't wake. Not that she could, not yet. He folds the skirt and puts it on the nightstand, the sneakers he leaves under the bed, socks tucked into them, then turns his attention back to her sleeping form.

So fucking innocent in her tight top and those cute panties. A soft pink with little white bows on it. Childish almost, a girl caught in that awkward phase between adulthood and innocence, right on the verge. He doesn't know how old she is, but he trusts his bouncers to only let in girls of age. They're experts in finding fake IDs, good judges of character also. To be honest, though, it wouldn't change anything anyway. She is here now, on his bed, ready to be used, soiled, ravaged. He can't fucking wait.

But he has to, so he leans back and inhales deeply, ignoring the strain in his pants. His hands are itching to touch her, feel that warm smooth skin, pure and untouched. Almost. He can see the bruise on her neck that he worked into her. His mark. The beginning of many more, he's sure. He leans in, braced on one arm, one knee denting the mattress, his other hand tracing her jaw until he feels the little thump of her heartbeat in her jugular. His fingers curl around her neck, thumb pressed to her throat, as he stares down at her.

His mind floods with images of soft lips strained around his cock as he forces it down her throat, the tears in her eyes, the desperate grip of her fingers, trying to push him away as she struggles to breathe, spit and cum on her face, dripping down her chin, down between her tiny tits, chest heaving, throat bulging, a small body shuddering under the assault. He leans back with a groan, his stomach tensing in anticipation.

His hand trails down her side, teases those soft mounds under the top, scrapes over the hem of her panties, down her inner thigh, a little nudge and her legs open, a body to move how he wants to, so pliant. He's tempted to throw his plans overboard, the urge growing to just take her and relieve the throbbing need in his pants. His fingers are shaking as he brushes them between her legs, over the soft, slightly damp fabric of her underwear.

He can't help himself any longer, he slips a finger under the hem, feels her warm skin and the slick gathering between her soft folds. Biting his lip, he traces her slit, from the little hidden nub down to her entrance, and he can already tell she's never been touched here before, tight and pure. Maybe she's had her own little fingers in there, but she'll soon find out that it won't compare to anything he's planning to do to her.

A grunt escapes him when he pushes the tip of his finger into her hole, a little squelching sound accompanied by a little whimper. He looks up, but she's still gone, head turned to the side, drool gathering in the corner of her parted lips. He watches her as he dips his finger deeper, feels the tight grip of her cute little cunt, so warm and squishy, barely able to accommodate one of his digits. This will take some work if he wants to keep her.

He's used virgins before, broke them, ravaged them until their blood mixed with his cum, their pained screams like music in his ears, but this girl... she's too innocent to be treated like that. It's a strange feeling he's never had before. It's warm and somewhat comforting, as smooth as her tight little pussy. He pumps his finger slowly in and out, noticing the wetness gathering around it. Her mind may be clouded, but her body reacts nonetheless.

Why not start her training while she's unconscious? Might make it easier for her once she comes to. He settles next to her, pushing her panties aside more to allow his thumb to find her clit. Pumping his finger, he rubs it gently, draws tight circles around that sensitive bundle of nerves, feels it pulsing under his touch. His cock twitches against the fabric of his pants, and he grits his teeth to ignore it.

Her body shudders, little uncontrollable twitches in her thighs, her stomach fluttering, her soft breaths slightly faster as he keeps working his finger into her tight warmth. His eyes on her face, relaxed in sleep, but there's still a little twitch to her eyebrows, a little furrow, a quiet whimper falling from those plump lips. He fingers her faster, thumb pushing harder on her nub, those sweet squelching sounds making his head spin.

A tiny moan erupts from her throat, a quiet “Ah...” humming in the atmosphere, and he feels her tensing up, her walls gripping his finger, but he works it in and out still, knuckles-deep, thumb assaulting her clit. He wants to lean in and taste her so bad, but somehow he holds himself back, another trait he's new to. Instead he watches her small body convulsing under his touch, hips jerking against his hand, cunt clamping down on his digit, and when he pulls it out, her wetness seeps out of the tiny hole, trailing down to the other, dripping onto the sheets.

He inhales deeply, takes in that sweet scent of her orgasm, and wipes his hand on her inner thigh, spreading her release on her warm skin, before he leans back and brings his finger to his lips, unable to fight the urge to taste her after all. He prefers to have his face between soft thighs, drinking directly from that intoxicating fountain, but for now it'll do. His tongue laps around his fingertip, and he closes his eyes, taking her in, that sweet, sweet taste.

Before he leaves her be, he adjusts her panties and throws the blanket over her sleeping form. Then it's a short trip to the bathroom, shower turned on, clothes discarded on the floor, and he's barely in there when his right hand closes around his angrily throbbing cock.

Fuck. This girl will be a challenge. An exercise in restraint.

🟥 TWO

End notes: So, I guess the slow burn of Innocence Lost got to me, big time. I have no idea from what dark and ugly depths I pulled this story, but it is here, at least the first 10 chapters of it, the first season if you will. (And there will be more!) I'll upload a new chapter every Monday!

I hope the tags didn't put you off too much, but if you are reading this, maybe you pulled through, and I thank you for it! Thank you for joining me on this wild ride! I appreciate you very much!

By the way, this all came to be, somehow, because I've been listening to a lot of Electric Callboy recently (strangely enough, iykyk) and their video to Hate/Love kinda brought this all down. Or at least started it all. Sometimes inspiration strucks in the weirdest forms.

Thanks again for reading! Next chapter on Monday!

AO3 / / / MASTERLIST

CHAPTER / / / ONE◾TWO◾THREE◾FOUR◾FIVE◾

SIX◾SEVEN◾EIGHT◾NINE ◾️TEN

ELEVEN◾️TWELVE ◾️THIRTEEN◾FOURTEEN◾FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN SEVENTEEN EIGHTEEN◾NINETEEN◾TWENTY

[fallatyourfeet]

Unbroken (Jon Snow x Reader -One shot)

Summary: Shortly after the Battle of the Bastards, Sansa discovers some unexpected news regarding YN. Jon is thrilled to hear you're alive, but unfortunately, the news is bitter sweet.

Word count: 3234 Sorry (This is a super long one shot for me, I usually try to keep them under 2000 words. But I guess this one got away form me)

Warnings: It's pretty dramatic and angsty. YN has been mistreated by Ramsay. I'm sure you know what that means!

Please feel free to send me a message/comment/ask, I would love to know what you think.

A/N: This fic was a request from @automaticpandadreamer Hope you like it. God knows you've waited long enough

Hello I love your book Northern Light so musch I'm still reading it three years after discovering it. I was was wondering if you could do like a Jon Snow x reader who is from a warrior house that the Starks have known for a long time. Her house get attacked by the Boltons and Ramsy does....Vile things to her as his plaything and she helps Sansa and Theon escape but not before Ramsay lays a huge whipp across her back giving her a scar but after that she meets Jon and she is happy to see jon .

Jon assumed you were dead. It hurt to even think it, but surely Ramsay would never have allowed you to breathe another day, once you helped Sansa and Theon escape. Never for one moment, did he believe he would return to his childhood home, after all these years and hear Sansa speak the words. “She’s alive, Jon… YN’s alive.” Standing in the middle of the courtyard, his knuckles still covered in Ramsay’s blood, Jon found himself overwhelmed by the unexpected and welcomed news, his mind racing with cherished memories.

During his childhood, you were a regular visitor to Winterfell, accompanying your parents for feasts and celebrations and usually staying long after they returned to Bear Island. And they were some of his happiest memories. Wherever you were, Jon was never far behind. The two of you were all but inseparable.  

You were not like other girls. Strong, fierce and surprisingly unpretentious for a highborn. Memories flooded back. Watching you shoot bow after bow perfectly into its target, while his fell uselessly to the ground. Could still remember how quickly you could saddle a horse then tease him playfully for being so slow. How many days had he spent sparring with you in that very courtyard? Snapping and splintering countless wooden swords trying to get the better of you, but you were far too quick for him. And how vividly he could recall Catelyn’s disapproving stares. Never knowing if it was the fact that, you, a trueborn lady of House Mormont was allowed to train as a warrior. Or the fact that you were allowed to train with him, a bastard. Maybe it was both. Or maybe it bothered her to know that you enjoyed his friendship, maybe even valued it above her own children. Whatever the issue, Jon refused to acknowledge it, even as a little child. He would not allow her disapproval to spoil his time with you.

And when you returned to Bear Island the letters began. Parchments covered from back to front in your handwritten script. Sharing your stories, hopes and dreams, filling the void between your infrequent visits. Miles and miles may have separated you, but those letters brought you closer than ever. You were his best friend. No. You weren’t. You were more than that. Much, much more. And up until now he thought he had lost you.

“Where is she?” Jon barely breathed the words, his voice caught with fragile hope… hope that he was not dreaming.

Sansa answered with hesitation, “The Maesters’ Turret.” And when Jon made a move to leave, she grabbed him by the arm, her eyes filled with concern for both YN and her brother. “She’s not in a good way, Jon.”

Jon was silent a moment, unsettled by his sister’s expression, “What do you mean… is she going to be okay?” He was eager to pull away, to see your face, but Sansa didn’t loosen her grip.

Looking across the courtyard Sansa took a breath, her eyes settling on the spot where less than an hour ago Ramsay laid in an unconscious mess beneath Jon’s fists. Turning back to her brother she replied, “Yes. She is going to be okay… but Ramsay he…” Sansa struggled to find the right words, “He has left his mark on her…”

Jon didn’t quite know what she meant, but he knew it wasn’t good. Pulling away from his sister, he wasted no further time, heading straight towards the maester’s turret. He needed to see YN with his own two eyes… needed to see her alive and breathing. Moving through the courtyard his eyes caught sight of Ramsay’s blood, his lips tightening into a hard line as his feet kicked through the crimson dirt. Part of him wishing his fists had drawn Ramsay’s final breath. That man… no… monster, did not deserve to live another day. And if both Sansa and YN didn’t want to take it away themselves, he was more than willing to do it for them

Reaching the turret Maester Wolkan greeted him, but Jon had no time for pleasantries, coming across rather abruptly to the new master of Winterfell, though Jon paid it no thought at all. “Lady YN, how is she… where is she?” Jon’s eyes searched behind him, seeing nothing but a dimly lit room and a shelving unit crowded with apothecary bottles.

Stepping outside the turret doorway Maester Wolkan closed the door behind him, speaking in hushed tones, confirmation that YN was inside.  “Lord Snow, Lady Mormont is currently resting. I have given her milk of the poppy. Lord Ramsay he… he left her in a bad way… this time.”

Jon’s face contorted at the maester’s words, as if the sound of them physically hurt his ears. “What do you mean, this time… what did he do to her?” Jon asked with hesitation, not sure if he was equipped to hear the answer.

Maester Wolkan was a little surprised. Sansa had not long left to find Jon and inform him. Not realising he had given her little chance to explain before leaving her standing in the middle of the courtyard. The maester shifted apprehensively on his feet, not feeling threatened by the former Lord Commander, but rather ill at ease by the intensity of his concern. “Ah… Unfortunately, Lady YN has been here far too often these past months.” Taking a deep breath he continued, “Lord Bolton did not take kindly to her aiding Lady Sansa’s escape.”

Clearing his throat, he grew even more uncomfortable… how was he going to explain the extent of the torture inflicted upon this poor woman, when it was clear the man before him cared deeply for her. “It began with a single lashing the night Sansa escaped,” (leaving out the detail of how brutal that single lashing was; it tore her back wide open), “Ramsay would send her here every day so I could treat her wound, only for him to whip her again the very day it healed.”

Jon’s stomach churned, but he could tell the maester still had more to say. Trying to prepare himself for the next onslaught he took a deep breath, before Wolkan continued, “Every time I would heal her, he would whip her again… but last night, he… he could have killed her… I’ve never seen injuries like it.”

Burning rage twisted at Jon from deep within his core. This animal of a man had repeatedly defiled his sister, murdered Rickon before his very eyes and had been torturing the woman he loved, for months. Not even daring to imagine what other unspeakable things he probably inflicted upon her. Jon could barely think, he needed to see her. Stepping forward he reached for the cast iron latch, the urgency in his features alarming Wolkan, “I’m sorry Lord Snow, she needs to rest… please… come back tomorrow.”

Shaking his head, Jon replied, his hand already opening the door, “No Maester… I’m staying with her until she wakes… I’ll be quiet.”

Entering the turret, it was difficult to see, the room kept dark by heavy drapes drawn across the windows. And yet, immediately Jon felt some relief. He could hear you breathing. It was dry and raspy, but at least it was steady; it was strong. It took his eyes a moment to adjust to the dim candlelight tucked away in the corner. But it was the glow of the hearth flickering around the stone walls that had the air twisting in his chest. It illuminated your form, the shadows rippling across blood-soaked bandages wrapped loosely around your torso. Resting on your stomach, you were so still, eyelids heavy with induced sleep, your hair pinned to the top of your head to keep from interfering with your injuries. The table beside you was a mess of strong-smelling ointments and bandages, while the discarded ones sat overflowing in a bucket underneath, soaked red with your blood.

A wooden chair sat in the corner, but it was not close enough, he needed to be beside you. Moving to grab it, he stopped short when he reached out and noticed his hands. They were covered in dried blood and mud, remnants of the battle that took place outside the castle walls just a few hours earlier. With a deep breath, he realised he needed to clean up just as Maester Wolkan walked in, clearly thinking the same thing.

With fresh towels under his arm and a jug of hot water in his hands, he looked to Jon, “If you’re going to stay, Lord Snow, you’ll need to clean up. Lady YN can’t afford to be exposed to any contaminants.” Putting them down on a table behind a screen, he added, “Your sister is bringing you up a fresh tunic.”

Nodding his head, Jon smiled softly, “Aye. I just realised that myself.” And no sooner had Jon disappeared behind the screen, came the quiet knock at the door announcing the delivery of his tunic.

Settled in the wooden chair beside you, Jon had time to think. The milk of the poppy had given you much needed hours of rest. He could tell you were heavily sedated because you barely murmured or moved when Maester Wolkan changed your dressings. And he thanked the gods. Never had he seen injuries like it. Any previous scarring left behind by Ramsay was indistinguishable, your poor back… it was… it, it didn’t look like a back at all. In the end he had to turn his head away, unable to imagine what anybody could have done to deserve such treatment, let alone you. Jon sighed heavily, if only he had arrived a few days earlier, then maybe he could have saved you the suffering.

Jon thought about everything that brought you to this very room, forever scarred. It was your loyalty to the Starks, his family. When Robb called his banners, you marched beside him into every battle, leaving him thinking you had died along with his brother at the ‘Red Wedding.’ But in the middle of his grief came some sunshine in the form of a letter. It was sealed in the familiar wax stamp of House Mormont and addressed to him in your beautiful script. Yet, clouds quickly swallowed up the sunshine when he took a moment to breathe, his heart sinking as quickly as it had soared. What if the letter had been sent before that fateful night at The Twins? Though his concern was short lived as his shaking hands unravelled the parchment. Your words making it clear that you were alive.

Dear Jon,

I’m sorry to be writing under such dark circumstances, wishing I could fill this page as I did when I was a carefree child, to fill it with stories born of joy and hope, and memories to make us smile, but life hasn’t followed our childhood dreams. Instead, we are faced with grim reality, leaving us feeling hollow and betrayed. Losing Robb at any time was going to be painful but losing him in the manner we did is incomprehensible. The betrayal and disloyalty that took place at The Twins that treasonous evening leaves me enraged.

Somehow, I was sparred. Sheer luck saved me, after leaving the hall just moments before they locked the door, managing to find my horse amongst the slaughter and escape. Our poor men stood no chance, murdered as they sat around fires drinking the very ale offered by their killers. It was an unforgivable and cowardly act that the North will never forget.

Now that I’m home, I pray for days that begin and end with no discernible events, but I fear harder times lie ahead, much harder than I can fathom. The number of Wildings reaching Bear Island increases every week. Not to raid, but to seek refuge, and the stories they bring keep me awake at night. As a brother of the Night’s Watch, I’m sure you’re no stranger to these stories and the fear I see in their eyes troubles me deeply.  

Please know that I think of you often. I can’t imagine how hard it must have been receiving the news of your father’s death and then Robb’s while sworn to the Night’s Watch. Every day, I pray for the safe return of Arya, Bran and Rickon and hope Sansa finds protection under her new Lannister name.

Take care Jon. I will write again soon, hopefully bringing more light in these uncertain times.

Yours 

YN

And your letters continued. Just as you promised. Words reliving cherished memories, furnishing his thoughts with new stories, providing much needed smiles for trying times. Until your final letter arrived. It’s content still as fresh as the day he read it, ‘At first light I will be leaving Bear Island. The Baratheon Army is marching on Winterfell, and I intend to help them take it back from the Boltons.’ And that was the last he heard of you. Leaving him with no other conclusion, than believing you died alongside Stannis’ army when Ramsay defeated them in the Wolfswood. All until Sansa showed up at Castle Black and told him all you had done for her.

Jon had held no hope for your survival, sure that Ramsay would make you pay with your life. And yet, Jon had underestimated the cruelty of the beast, could not comprehend the lengths Ramsay would reach to punish your unyielding loyalty. Realising as he stared at the blood-soaked bandages which held your back together, that the sick monster had taken pleasure in the process. He enjoyed both the physical and mental damage he wreaked.

But here you were, still alive and fighting, defying Ramsay in the most determined and tenacious way. It was almost worth letting Ramsay survive if only to see you grow healthy and strong. To see you unbroken. To see the strength in your eyes as the life disappeared from his.

Pulling Jon from his darkening thoughts, came the soft whisper of his name, “Jon?”

How long had he been sitting there? Jon had no idea. Somewhere amongst his thoughts he must have fallen asleep, noticing the first light of dawn creeping in around the edges of the drapes. Announcing the arrival of a brand-new day.

Fully alert now Jon slid to the edge of his chair, his heart pounding heavily in his chest, reaching out he gently took your hand, his thumb running back and forth across your knuckles. “Yes, YN. It’s me.”

You winced, as you made a move to sit up, though you tried to hide it.

Wincing in sympathy Jon carefully brushed the hair from your eyes, responding tenderly, “Please, don’t move. Stay there. Maester Wolkan has already tried sending me away. He’s worried I won’t let you rest. Don’t give him an excuse to try it again.” Giving your hand a comforting squeeze, he leaned over, his face just a few inches from yours, his voice barely a breath from cracking, “It’s good to see you YN… I’m so sorry I wasn’t here sooner, before…” Jon’s eyes betrayed him, involuntarily lingering on your back.

Cutting him short, your words were a little groggy, but clearly, your mind was not, “Hush Jon, it wouldn’t have mattered when you arrived. He was always going to react like this.”

Without thinking, Jon asked the question he never meant to ask, at least not for some time, “Why did he do it?” Upset with himself, he tried to take it back, “Sorry YN, I didn’t mean to ask, don’t answer, I don’t know why I- “.

Cutting him short again, you answered without hesitation or regret, “I provoked him when he said he was going to take pleasure watching the bastard of Winterfell die.” Anger flashed across your features as you recalled the moment, defiance rooted deeply in your voice, “I told him this battle would be his last… That you may be a bastard by name, but he is a true bastard in every other sense of the word.”

Jon thought he saw a smile touch your lips, not sure how you found amusement in your current condition, “He didn’t like it when I told him he was going to lose, that soon the flayed banners will be lying in the dirt where they belong.”  You cleared your throat, the action causing you to wince again, “I can still see his rage, him waiting for an apology, for me to beg for my life… But I couldn’t… I just stared back… said, kill me if it makes you feel better… But it will not save you.”

Jon’s heart broke, his guilt intensifying. His lips started forming an apology, but you refused to let him speak the words, knowing exactly what was running through his mind. Despite your discomfort, you took your hand from his, reached for his cheek and spoke, “Stop Jon, don’t you dare apologise. It’s not your fault… he’s a monster. I don’t regret it and if I had the chance I would do it again.” Jon shook his head in disbelief, no one would willingly endure your suffering if they had the choice, but here you were speaking the words. Never had he been more in awe of you.  “I would. I had control in that moment… I won the battle. He didn’t break me, Jon. He couldn’t. I wouldn’t let him. Not once… Not ever.”

Struggling to ignore the heavy lump forming in his throat, he swallowed thickly, forcing himself to remain strong, if only for you. “I don’t know how you did it, YN. You’re stronger than any woman I’ve ever known. Ramsay will pay… pay for everything he has done to you and Sansa. What you did for her, I can’t… I don’t know how I can ever repay you.”

Moving your hand from his cheek, you rested your head against the bed, taking his hand your expression softened, your beautiful eyes trying to disguise their pain. Tears gathered behind his eyes, but he refused to let them fall. With a deep breath, you somehow found the strength to smile, “Remember the blue lake I used to talk about when I was little. The volcanic one my father would take me to?”

Jon nodded, a soft smile warming his features, “Of course, you used to talk about it all the time.” Pink touched his cheeks when he recalled, “I still have the picture you drew of it. And the letter you sent it with.”

“Yes, I remember asking if I could take you there one day.” Giving his hand a gentle squeeze, your eyes searched his, looking for something. Something to grab on to or hope for. Something to look forward too. And as you spoke again, he knew he would do everything in his power to give you what you needed. “I know defeating Ramsay Bolton is only the beginning. We have many battles left. But promise me, when we come through the other side of them, you will let me take you there.”

Moving closer, he knelt beside you. You looked so tired and drained and somehow even more beautiful than he remembered. With the greatest care he took your face between his palms, placing a feather light kiss to your forehead, his reply more sincere than any words he had ever spoken. “I promise. But for now, you must rest. Sleep… I’ll still be here when you wake.”