#i spilled my soup and i have no more for the day

[nexus-nebulae]

"don't cry over spilled milk" well. you see. it's hard not to cry when it's the only thing you have to eat and you can't afford any more at all

[luck-of-the-drawings]

"And soda; runs off into the street..." "...and soda... is totally okay!"

[faebled-stories]

The Weight of Approval

Kinkvember Day 19: Facesitting

(G)-IDLE Cho Miyeon x Gender Neutral reader

It’s just another shift at the café—a grind that blurs together with yesterday and all the days before. The worn counters, the hum of the coffee machine, the clink of mismatched mugs—it’s all routine. The same cracked tiles beneath your feet, the same smudged menu board hanging above the register. The café isn’t much, tucked into the corner of a busy street, frequented more for convenience than ambiance. It’s the kind of place that serves as a pit stop for hurried commuters, not somewhere anyone lingers.

You barely register the motions anymore. Each cup you fill, every polite smile you force, feels like another tick of the clock until your shift ends. But even then, that only means returning to your tiny apartment—three floors up in a creaky, aging building where the walls are thin, and the heater groans louder than it works. Inside, there’s a stack of unopened bills on the kitchen counter, a fridge that hums louder than it cools, and shelves lined with little more than ramen packets and canned soup. Payday is still a week away, and you’ve already done the math—it won’t stretch far enough.

Every month is the same. Rent looms like a guillotine, always just one mistake away from coming down. The café job was supposed to be temporary, just something to cover the basics until you landed something better. But “temporary” stretched into months, and now it feels like a trap, closing in around you as the bills keep piling higher. Nights at your other job—a late shift at a dingy convenience store—blur into exhaustion. Between the two jobs, sleep is a luxury, and dreams? Those have been shelved for “later,” though you’re no longer sure when “later” will come.

The bell above the door rings, jolting you from your thoughts. It’s automatic to glance up, expecting a regular with their usual small talk and routine order. Instead, she walks in.

The woman is striking, her presence undeniable from the moment she steps inside. Everything about her is sharp and precise, from the tailored fit of her sleek black suit to the effortless grace in her stride. The glint of her designer heels catches the dull light of the café, momentarily outshining the worn surroundings. Her dark sunglasses obscure her eyes, but you feel the weight of her gaze, like she’s sizing up the entire room in a single sweep. She’s out of place here, like a panther wandering into a pet shop.

She doesn’t wait in line. Instead, she glides directly to the counter, her movements fluid and purposeful, ignoring the subtle whispers and curious glances from the few other patrons.

“I’ll take my usual,” she says, her voice low and polished, each word perfectly enunciated.

You blink, caught off guard. There’s an air of expectation in her tone, as though her usual should be obvious. For a second, you feel like you’ve failed an unspoken test, unable to recall what she’s asking for. “I—uh—I’m not sure what your usual is…”

Her sunglasses slide down just enough for you to see her eyes. They’re sharp and assessing, a piercing gaze that seems to cut straight through you. “Is there a problem?” The question is more of a challenge than a clarification, her tone daring you to falter.

Before you can stammer out an apology, your coworker Minnie steps in, her movements quick and anxious. “I’ll take care of it,” she says, her voice soft and hurried. She doesn’t look at you as she nudges you aside, her trembling hands already reaching for the espresso machine.

The woman steps back, folding her arms as she waits. Her gaze, however, doesn’t leave you. It’s piercing and unrelenting, a quiet power that feels suffocating. She doesn’t speak, doesn’t need to—her presence alone commands the room.

Minnie works quickly, though her nervousness is evident. She fumbles slightly with the milk, spilling a few drops as she pours. When the drink is finally ready, she hesitates, glancing at the woman as if trying to gauge her mood. After a tense moment, Minnie takes a deep breath, picks up the cup, and walks it over.

You watch as she offers the drink, her posture stiff, like she’s bracing for something. The woman leans in slightly, inspecting the cup with the precision of a jeweler examining a diamond. She murmurs something, soft and deliberate, but her eyes remain locked on you.

Minnie freezes for a beat, her shoulders tightening before she nods and turns back toward you, her steps quick and unsteady. Her face is pale, her usual cheerful expression replaced with unease.

“She…” Minnie begins, her voice barely above a whisper as she sets the cup down on the counter in front of you. Her hands fidget with her apron. “She wants you to bring it to her.”

You glance at Minnie, confused. “Me? Why?”

Minnie shakes her head, her eyes wide. “I don’t know,” she whispers. “But you should just do it. Don’t… don’t upset her.”

The anxiety in Minnie’s voice sends a chill down your spine, but there’s no time to question it. The woman hasn’t moved. Her gaze is fixed on you, calm and unwavering, yet it carries a weight that feels oppressive, like a predator sizing up its prey.

You pick up the cup, its warmth doing little to steady your trembling hands, and step toward her. Each movement feels deliberate, exaggerated by the tension in the air. Her eyes track your every step, sharp and unrelenting, leaving you feeling utterly exposed. The café’s noise—the hum of the coffee machine, the soft chatter of patrons—fades into a dull background buzz as all your focus narrows on her.

When you’re close enough, you extend the cup toward her, your pulse hammering in your ears. Her fingers brush yours as she takes it, her touch cool and fleeting, yet it sends a shiver racing through you. Her lips curl into a faint smile—small, deliberate, and unsettling, like she’s amused by some private joke you’re not in on.

“Well aren’t you adorable,” she murmurs, her voice low and smooth, with just enough of an edge to leave you unsure if it’s a compliment or a taunt. Her gaze lingers on you, unhurried, peeling back invisible layers like she’s already learned more about you than you’d ever willingly share.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat as she tilts her head slightly, her expression shifting into something closer to curiosity—or is it calculation?

“How would you like to earn some extra money?” she asks, her tone casual yet deliberate, as if the question is part of a test.

The words land like a thunderclap, unexpected and disarming. You blink, caught off guard, the full weight of her presence pressing down on you as the question hangs in the air. The answer should be obvious—of course you do. You think of the bills piling up on your kitchen counter, the hollow ache in your stomach from skipping meals, and the rent looming over you like a storm cloud. But there’s something about the way she asks, something that makes your pulse race with more than just hope.

“I—uh…” Your voice wavers, and you hesitate, but the intensity of her gaze pushes you to nod, slowly at first, then more firmly. “Sure.”

Her smile deepens, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. Instead, there’s a flicker of satisfaction, like she’s just confirmed something she already knew. She reaches into her purse with a deliberate, practiced motion and pulls out a business card. The action feels almost ceremonial as she hands it to you with a lazy grace. The card is pristine and minimalist: Ascend International. Cho Miyeon, CEO.

“Come to this address at 8 pm tonight,” she says, her tone smooth and unyielding. “Don’t be late.”

You glance down at the card in your hand, its edges crisp and cool against your fingertips. The weight of it feels disproportionate to its size, like it’s a key to a door you’re not sure you’re ready to open.

Her gaze flickers down to your mouth, and for a moment, she pauses, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of her lips as if an idea has just occurred to her. “Stick your tongue out,” she says suddenly.

The request catches you so off guard that you hesitate, unsure if you’ve heard her correctly. But her expression remains unchanged—no humor, no patience, only expectation. The air between you feels heavy, charged, as if she’s testing you.

Against every instinct, you comply, your face heating as you stick out your tongue. You feel ridiculous, exposed, yet there’s a compulsion in her gaze that makes resistance impossible. She studies you for a beat, her smirk deepening in satisfaction before she straightens, her presence as composed and commanding as ever.

“Good,” she murmurs, almost to herself, before turning and striding out of the café, her movements fluid and unhurried, like someone who always gets exactly what they want.

As the door swings shut behind her, Minnie sidles up beside you, her voice low and shaky. “You… you have no idea who she is, do you?”

You shake your head, your fingers clutching the card tightly. “No. Should I?”

Minnie’s eyes widen, her usual cheerful demeanor replaced by something cautious, almost fearful. “Cho Miyeon,” she whispers, glancing toward the door as if expecting her to walk back in. “She owns half this city. If she wants something from you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Just don’t screw it up. People don’t usually get second chances with her.”

You look down at the card again, its elegant design somehow intimidating. It feels out of place in your hands, like it belongs in a world far removed from your own. Yet, as the weight of her gaze lingers in your mind, you think about your reality—your landlord’s last warning, the meals you’ve skipped, the endless grind of multiple jobs that never seem to be enough.

Maybe this is the kind of risk you need to take.

If you can survive it

-----

Stepping into Ascend International’s headquarters feels like stepping into another world. The building itself is a towering monolith of glass and steel, its sleek facade reflecting the city skyline with an almost arrogant perfection. The sheer scale of it is intimidating, a symbol of power that dominates the horizon, making everything around it feel insignificant by comparison.

The lobby is no less imposing. It’s cavernous, every surface polished to a mirror-like gleam. The pristine marble floors stretch out endlessly, their subtle veining shimmering under the soft, calculated lighting. Minimalist artwork, abstract yet commanding, adorns the high walls, while brushed metal accents catch the light in subtle, expensive flashes. It’s a space that whispers sophistication but demands reverence, as if even the air inside has been curated for those who belong.

The people moving through the lobby only add to the sense that you’re out of place. They stride with purpose, their designer suits immaculate, their gazes fixed straight ahead as if they’re always on the brink of something important. No one lingers. No one hesitates. Everyone here seems to belong, moving in seamless synchronization, like pieces in a machine that runs on ambition and authority.

Clutching the business card Miyeon gave you, you force yourself to breathe steadily as you approach the reception desk. It looms ahead of you, an enormous slab of black marble so flawless it seems to absorb the light around it. Its size and stark design make you feel even smaller, dwarfed not just by the desk but by the sheer magnitude of the world you’ve just stepped into.

Behind the desk sits a young woman, impeccably dressed and exuding the kind of confidence that only comes from being part of something this powerful. Her name tag reads Song Yuqi, but it’s her sharp eyes that capture your attention. They snap up the moment you approach, and in a single, sweeping glance, she seems to assess everything about you—your clothes, your posture, the nervous energy you can’t quite suppress. It’s a look that feels both brisk and invasive, as if she’s already reached a conclusion before you’ve even spoken.

“Hi, I’m here for an interview with Ms. Cho,” you manage to say, though your voice sounds smaller than you’d like. You straighten your posture, hoping it’ll help mask the nervous tension tightening in your chest.

Yuqi’s lips twitch into a faint smirk, a flicker of amusement crossing her otherwise polished demeanor. “Oh, I know what this is about,” she says, her tone light and almost playful. Her gaze drifts over you again, slower this time, adding an unsettling layer of scrutiny. It’s as if she’s sizing you up for something you’re not privy to, enjoying a private joke at your expense.

Without another word, she opens a drawer with precise, practiced movements and pulls out a slim stack of papers. She hands them to you with a flick of her wrist, her smile deepening as though she’s waiting for your reaction. “Here,” she says, the amusement in her voice unmistakable. “You’ll need to sign this.”

You glance down at the papers, your breath catching as your eyes skim the first few lines. The text reads: Employment Contract. The words jump out at you—personal assistant, non-disclosure agreement, exclusive services—but most of the document is dense with legal jargon that blurs together as your eyes dart across the page. Then, a number leaps out at you—the salary.

It’s staggering. More money than you’ve ever made in your life. More than you’d even dared to dream of earning, even after years of grinding through multiple shifts and sleepless nights. For a moment, the weight of it all hits you at once: no more overdue bills, no more rationing groceries or waking up in a cold sweat over rent. This could change everything.

You glance back at Yuqi, who’s watching you with that same faint smirk, her amusement sharpening as if she can read every thought racing through your mind. There’s something unnerving about how much she seems to know—like she’s been expecting you to react this way all along.

Your hand hesitates over the contract. Rationally, you know this is unusual. Signing a contract before even meeting with Miyeon feels strange, almost reckless. But the rational part of you is quickly drowned out by the sheer allure of the number staring back at you. Slowly, almost dreamlike, you pick up the pen and sign your name. It feels surreal, like you’re crossing an invisible threshold into a world you’re not sure you belong in.

When you look up, Yuqi’s smirk has widened, her amusement shifting into something sharper, almost predatory. She takes the papers from you with a practiced efficiency, her fingers grazing yours briefly before she sets them aside. “Top floor,” she says, her voice smooth and a little too cheerful. “Room 2601. Don’t keep her waiting.”

You nod, your throat too tight to respond, and turn toward the elevator bank. As you walk away, Yuqi’s voice trails after you, light and teasing but with a faint edge of something you can’t quite place. “Good luck,” she calls, her tone carrying a hint of pity that sends a shiver down your spine.

As you press the elevator button, the weight of what just happened settles over you. The sleek lobby, the polished marble, the silent power radiating from every corner of this place—it all feels like it’s pressing down on you, reminding you of how small and out of place you are. Yet, in your hand, the signed contract feels heavier than it should, a reminder of the door you’ve just opened.

After stepping into the elevator, the doors glide shut with a smooth finality, sealing you off from the world below. Yuqi’s soft chuckle lingers in your mind, faint yet cutting, like the echo of something you can’t quite grasp. Was she mocking you? Warning you? The question gnaws at you, but there’s no time to dwell on it.

The elevator begins its ascent, smoothly but at an unnerving speed, and each floor that flashes by on the display only amplifies your anxiety. By the time you reach the top floor, your heart is pounding, each beat echoing in your ears.

The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out into a long, dimly lit hallway. It’s strikingly different from the bright, bustling lobby below—quiet, almost unnaturally so, with thick carpeting that muffles your footsteps. Floor-to-ceiling windows line one side of the hall, offering a sweeping view of Seoul’s glittering cityscape far below, the lights sprawling endlessly in the night. The silence is profound, almost oppressive, heightening the tension coiling within you.

At the end of the hallway, a single door waits: Room 2601. The numbers gleam in brushed silver, unassuming yet undeniably foreboding.

You approach the door slowly, each step making your breath come shorter, the weight of anticipation settling heavily on your shoulders. Reaching the door, you raise a hand, hesitate for just a moment, then knock. The sound is barely more than a whisper against the thick, quiet air. Then you wait, each second stretching out into tense silence, your mind racing as you imagine the woman behind the door—the woman who is already reshaping the course of your life with a single, strange offer.

Finally, the door opens. Miyeon stands there, poised and composed, her gaze sharp enough to cut through the tension you’ve built up in your mind. Her presence fills the room instantly, commanding and undeniable. The tailored lines of her outfit emphasize her power, every detail of her appearance deliberate, perfected. She doesn’t say anything at first; her cool, assessing eyes are enough to strip you of any lingering confidence.

“Did you sign the contract?” she cuts the silence, her tone calm but unyielding, the question landing with an air of finality. Her gaze doesn’t waver as she waits for your response, clearly expecting nothing less than the truth.

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you reply automatically, trying to keep your voice steady despite the nervous tightness in your chest.

A faint, almost predatory smile touches her lips, curving with just enough subtlety to unsettle you. “Good.” She takes a step closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. The weight of her gaze feels unbearable, as though she’s deciding whether you’re even worth the moment she’s spending on you. “Let’s begin your orientation,” she says smoothly, though there’s something in her tone that makes it feel less like an introduction and more like a trial.

You nod, swallowing hard, trying to push down the uncertainty tightening in your stomach. She watches you for a moment longer, as though savoring your discomfort, then parts her lips, her words delivered with meticulous precision.

“I need to know if you’re capable of handling my needs—whatever they may be,” she says, each syllable deliberately enunciated. Her eyes stay locked on yours as she takes another step forward, her voice low and unyielding. “This position demands complete obedience and total surrender. Is that clear?”

Her words hang in the air, their weight almost suffocating. You hesitate, the gravity of her demand pressing against you. “You…want me to surrender?” The words tumble out before you can stop them, exposing the crack in your resolve.

A flicker of disappointment crosses her face, quick and sharp, like a blade slicing through your hesitation. “Yes.” Her tone is calm, yet there’s an edge to it that leaves no room for misunderstanding. “If you want to work for me, I expect unquestioning compliance.”

She lets the silence stretch, forcing you to absorb the weight of her words, her gaze unrelenting. Then, her expression hardens slightly, and her voice lowers, smooth and controlled. “Do you understand?”

You nod quickly, a flush of heat rising to your cheeks. “Yes, Ms. Cho.”

She pauses, her eyes narrowing further, as if testing your sincerity. Then, with a measured look, she speaks again. “Good. Fetch the bench from the corner.”

The command catches you off guard, but her tone leaves no room for hesitation. You glance around quickly, spotting the object she means. The bench’s design immediately captures your attention—sleek and purposeful, with polished steel legs and padded leather cushions. Its unique height and tilted headrest stand out, clearly crafted with precision, though its exact purpose escapes you. There’s an air of deliberate intent in its construction, as if it was made for something specific, yet unknown to you.

Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on you as you approach the bench. The weight of her stare makes you hyper-aware of your movements as you grip the sides of the bench and carefully drag it to the center of the room. The polished floor amplifies the sound of the legs sliding into place, each scrape making your pulse quicken. The act feels symbolic, a deliberate display of your compliance, and the tension between you thickens with every passing moment.

When you’ve positioned it where she wants, you glance back at her uncertainty. Her expression remains unreadable, but the faint quirk of her lips suggests satisfaction. She steps closer, her heels clicking softly, the sound echoing in the quiet room.

“Lie down,” she commands, her voice calm yet leaving no room for doubt.

The words catch you again, and you hesitate for a brief moment, your body instinctively stiffening. “Ms. Cho, I—what exactly do you mean by…?”

Her gaze sharpens instantly, silencing you with a single look. Her voice, deceptively soft, cuts through the air like a blade. “Are you questioning me again?” she asks, her tone laced with challenge. “I thought you understood what surrender means. Lie down. Now.”

Her words land with finality, and you feel a flush of shame rise at your hesitation. Swallowing hard, you nod and lower yourself onto the bench, the cool leather pressing against your back as you settle in. The elevated headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward as though the bench itself is positioning you for her. The chill of the leather seeps into your skin, grounding you in the moment, while the faint scent of her perfume lingers in the air, mingling with the tension that fills the room.

Miyeon steps closer, standing above you, her presence towering, her gaze unbroken. Slowly, deliberately, she reaches down and hikes her skirt up to her hips, revealing toned thighs and the delicate edge of lace. Her movements are smooth, calculated, as if every motion is part of a performance meant to remind you of your place. She slips her panties to the side with practiced ease, her poise never faltering, and positions herself above you.

Her movements are deliberate as she lowers herself onto the bench, aligning her body perfectly with yours. The height of the bench leaves her perfectly positioned—not too low, ensuring her weight presses against you with satisfying firmness, yet not so high that she feels unsupported. The angle of your head allows her to settle fully, her thighs bracketing your face as her warmth and presence close in around you. The air feels thick with her scent—rich, musky, and faintly floral—flooding your senses and leaving your head spinning before she’s even settled fully.

Leaning forward, she braces herself on the bottom of the headrest, her hands naturally finding the spots perfectly molded for her grip. The design seems intentional, as if tailored for this very moment. Her fingers tighten briefly as she steadies herself, her gaze flicking down to meet yours. There’s no softness in her expression, only a sharp, expectant coolness that cuts through the haze clouding your mind.

“Stay still,” she murmurs, her voice calm but carrying the weight of command. The words feel like a seal on the moment, binding you to her expectations. Then, with deliberate ease, she presses down, enveloping you completely.

Your world narrows to her—the pressure, the weight, the intoxicating heat of her body as it moves against you. Tentatively, you extend your tongue, pressing it to her for the first time. Her taste floods your senses, earthy and rich, tinged with the saltiness of her skin. It’s overwhelming, disorienting, but also grounding, her presence completely consuming every thought, every breath. Encouraged by the faint shift of her hips, you try again, moving with more intention. You let your tongue trace slow, deliberate strokes, convinced you’re finding the rhythm she expects.

Her thighs press firmly against your head, creating a perfect seal that traps you beneath her. The leather of the bench beneath you feels immovable, your position leaving you utterly at her mercy. With her weight pressing down, each inhale becomes a struggle, your breaths reduced to shallow pulls of air through your nose—and every one of them is filled with her. Her scent is heady, musky, and floral, a potent blend that seeps into your senses and clouds your thoughts. It feels like you’re breathing her in completely, your lungs filled with nothing but her presence.

Her body feels warm, responsive, as though she’s relaxing against you, her hips beginning to move in slow, deliberate rolls. The grind of her pelvis against your face is measured, controlled, and demanding, and you adjust your movements instinctively, matching her pace. Her thighs tighten subtly around your head, holding you even more firmly in place, leaving no room for error, no room for escape. You feel every shift, every slight increase in pressure, and interpret it as a signal that you’re doing something right.

The faint tension in her breathing seems to deepen, her exhalations growing slightly louder, and you take it as a sign to focus more, to give her exactly what she needs. You adjust your tongue, letting it trace patterns you think she’ll enjoy, responding to the subtle cues in the way her hips shift. Her warmth spreads against you, slick and inviting, and you press more firmly, convinced you’re making progress, that she’s responding to your efforts.

Her scent grows stronger, mingling with the heat radiating from her skin, and you lose yourself in the rhythm she’s setting. Each movement feels purposeful, deliberate, as if you’re aligning perfectly with her desires. Her faint exhalations become the only sound you can hear, soft and measured, a quiet reward that urges you to keep going, to match her pace with precision. Her thighs flex against your head, squeezing slightly, and her hips grind down harder, forcing you to adjust to her increasing demands.

Trapped between her thighs, the pressure becomes all-encompassing, the weight of her pressing down leaving you barely able to think beyond her. Each inhale feels heavier, as though her scent is suffocating you in the most intoxicating way. You pour everything into your movements, your tongue moving in slow, deliberate circles, convinced that her silence is approval, that the steady roll of her hips means you’ve found exactly what she wants.

The seconds stretch into minutes, your efforts intensifying as her body shifts with increasing deliberation. The grind of her hips becomes more insistent, demanding, and you press harder, moving your tongue with more purpose. The pressure of her weight feels all-encompassing, her thighs gripping your head tightly, leaving you immobile, entirely at her mercy. You focus entirely on her, responding to her every movement, certain that you’re meeting her expectations.

Then, you feel it—a subtle, unmistakable slickness spreading against your tongue. It’s warm, intoxicating, and sends a jolt of confidence through you. Her arousal feels like confirmation, a silent acknowledgment that you’re doing something right. You match her movements with renewed focus, interpreting the growing wetness as proof of your success.

But then, without warning, her weight lifts.

The sudden loss of pressure is startling, disorienting, and you blink against the light as your eyes flutter open. The brightness of the room feels blinding, a harsh contrast to the cocoon of warmth and scent you’d been engulfed in. Her essence still lingers heavily in the air, clinging to you, intoxicating, making your head spin like you’ve been drinking something far too strong.

“Wait…” you murmur, the word slipping out unbidden as she rises fully. Without thinking, you push upward, your body instinctively trying to follow hers, desperate to maintain the contact, to hold onto the sensation. You feel drunk, untethered, and you try to lift your head toward her, as if that alone could pull her back down.

But Miyeon moves with calm, dismissive ease, pulling her skirt down and smoothing it into place with the same practiced precision she began with. She steps off the bench, her movements steady and composed, as though what just happened was a passing thought, nothing more than a fleeting interruption.

Her expression remains untouched by the moment, her gaze sharp and appraising as she looks down at you. The cool detachment in her eyes feels like a splash of cold water, banishing the haze that had clouded your mind. The confidence you felt just moments ago evaporates as she folds her arms, her lips pressing into a thin line.

“Time’s up,” she says smoothly, her tone businesslike, almost bored. There’s no emotion, no warmth in her voice, as though she’s closing a meeting rather than commenting on your performance.

You sit up slowly, your body unsteady, your breath uneven as you try to process what just happened. The remnants of her scent and taste cling to you, making your head feel light, dizzy, as though you’re still intoxicated by her presence. Your mind clings desperately to the moments when you thought she was responding—the subtle shifts, the pressing weight of her hips, the slick warmth of her against you. You were so sure you’d succeeded, but the cold finality of her words shatters that illusion.

Miyeon steps back, her expression unchanging as she watches you. Her gaze remains fixed, cool and detached, giving nothing away. The silence stretches, heavy and suffocating, as you wait for her to say something, anything, that might redeem the moment.

But she doesn’t. Her stance, her tone, her movements—all of it makes one thing clear: you’ve fallen short.

Her silence stretches, heavy and oppressive, before she finally speaks.

“You get a C,” she says, her voice unhurried, calm, and somehow all the more cutting for it. Each word lands with surgical precision, slicing through the hope you’d just started to build. Her tone is devoid of emotion, her expression cold and detached, as though grading a forgettable report. “You missed the mark entirely.”

The words feel like a punch, knocking the breath from your lungs. You stare at her, struggling to process, grappling with the sudden weight of failure. “You’re giving me a…C? But I thought—I felt you get wet, Ms. Cho. I thought…”

Her eyes narrow just slightly, enough to silence you before you can finish. The room feels colder as her gaze sharpens, pinning you in place.

“Did you?” she replies, her tone so detached it feels clinical. “Just because my body has natural reactions doesn’t mean you were doing anything remarkable. Don’t confuse basic biological responses with skill.”

Her words hit like ice water, cutting through the fog of your confusion and hope. She takes a step closer, her presence looming, her expression hardening as she begins to dissect your performance with brutal precision.

“Your efforts lacked strength,” she begins, her voice carrying a steely edge. “Your tongue was weak—unfocused. No rhythm, no consistency. I set a pace for you, and you couldn’t even manage that.”

She pauses, letting the words sink in, her critical gaze sweeping over you as though she’s already dismissed you. The weight of her disappointment presses down harder than her thighs ever did.

“And you completely ignored my clit,” she continues, her tone growing colder, harsher, each syllable cutting deeper. “I practically guided you there, made it obvious, yet somehow, you missed the most important part.” Her lips curl into a faint smirk, but there’s no humor in it, only a razor-sharp derision. “I even grinded myself against you, practically handing you the answer, and still, you failed to deliver.”

Her words are relentless, brutal. Each one dissects a flaw you hadn’t even realized, exposing every weak point you thought you’d hidden. It’s as if she’s stripping you down to the core, piece by piece, revealing everything you couldn’t see in yourself.

She takes a measured step back, her voice dropping lower, colder. “The bare minimum,” she says, enunciating each word with icy precision, “is to make me cum. And you couldn’t even come close to doing that.”

The words hit like a hammer, reverberating in the silence that follows. The finality in her tone leaves no room for argument, no possibility for redemption. Her gaze remains fixed on you, sharp and unwavering, her disappointment so palpable it feels like it’s physically crushing you.

“I don’t need someone who merely tries,” she continues, her tone growing colder still, like frost spreading across the room. “I need someone who performs, who instinctively understands what I require without me having to spell it out. Excellence isn’t negotiable in this position.

The words leave you hollow, your confidence shattered under the force of her critique. Each syllable lands with precision, tearing apart every scrap of pride or hope you’d felt during the act. The air feels suffocating, thick with the weight of her disappointment.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing the words out even as a lump rises in your throat. “Give me another chance. I can do better—I’ll work on everything you said, I’ll improve if you just—”

She raises a hand, cutting you off, her expression turning to stone. The gesture alone silences you, her gaze cold and unrelenting.

“There won’t be another chance,” she states, the words cold and final. “Not here. I don’t invest my time in mediocrity.”

Her dismissal feels absolute. Her attention shifts away from you, as though you’re no longer worth a moment of her time. She steps back to her desk, picking up a pen with the same calm precision she’s shown all evening, and resumes her work without so much as a glance in your direction. The sound of the pen scratching against paper feels deafening in the silence.

“You may leave,” she says coolly, her tone as unyielding as stone. “This position requires skill, precision, instinct—and you’ve shown none of those.”

The words hang heavy in the air, sharp and final, cutting through the silence like a gavel. Your body feels frozen in place, unable to move as the weight of her judgment presses down on you. Slowly, numbly, you rise, your legs unsteady beneath you, your chest tight with the sting of failure.

Each step toward the door feels heavier than the last, your mind replaying her critique with relentless clarity. The sharpness of her dismissal leaves you feeling stripped bare, your confidence shattered completely. You’d thought you’d done well, thought you’d sensed her responding, but her cold, clinical analysis has left no room for doubt. You fell short—entirely.

As you reach the door, you glance back once, hoping for even a flicker of warmth or reconsideration in her expression. But Miyeon’s gaze remains fixed on her paperwork, her focus already shifted, as though you’ve ceased to exist in her world.

You leave, her scent and the weight of her words lingering heavily in the air around you, each step away from her office feeling like another layer of failure pressing down.

The weight of her words settles heavily in the silence that follows, each one lingering in the air like a closing door. You stand, feeling hollow, the sting of failure biting deep. Each step toward the door feels impossibly heavy, as if you’re dragging your very sense of self along with you. Her critique replays in your mind, each cutting line driving the shame and disappointment deeper. By the time you reach the door, her dismissal has stripped you of whatever pride you had left, leaving you exposed and aching with the sting of her judgment.

As you step out of the building, the scent of her perfume still clings to the air around you, subtle but intoxicating. Her taste lingers on your lips, and her piercing gaze haunts your thoughts, replaying again and again with relentless clarity. You can’t stop thinking about every moment, every mistake, every opportunity you missed. Her words echo in your mind, each replay stinging more than the last, but beneath the pain and disappointment, something else lingers—a pull, an inexplicable need.

There’s something magnetic about her, something that refuses to let go. The effortless authority she carried, the way she dismissed you without a second glance—it’s intoxicating, a force that leaves you restless, unsettled. The intensity of her presence lingers, drawing you back even as the humiliation burns. Somehow, you want another chance, not to prove yourself to anyone else but to her—to earn her approval, to be exactly what she demanded.

-----

The morning after that unforgettable Monday encounter with Miyeon, you wake with her still lingering in your mind—her voice, her scent, the calm precision with which she had dismissed you. The memory of her critique, her unyielding detachment, plays over and over, cutting deeper each time. Somehow, she has taken root in your thoughts, filling them in a way you can’t ignore. Her essence lingers—not just a memory but something that feels alive, woven into every corner of your mind, unrelenting and impossible to shake.

The café where you usually spend your mornings feels miles away, though it’s just down the block. Instead of showing up to your shift, you find yourself sitting at your small kitchen table, staring blankly at your phone, waiting for something—anything—that might offer a way forward. The thought of pouring coffee, of going through the motions while she dominates your thoughts, feels unbearable.

By late morning, desperation pushes you to try a respectful, measured call to her office. Yuqi’s voice is professional, polite, and painfully impersonal. You introduce yourself, forcing your tone to stay steady even as urgency tinges every word.

“I wanted to see if Ms. Cho might be open to reconsidering…” you begin, your heart pounding with every syllable. “I know I didn’t meet her expectations, but if I could just speak with her, I’m sure I could—”

“She’s made her decision,” Yuqi replies with finality, her words cool and unyielding. “Ms. Cho has a very clear standard.”

The line goes silent, and you’re left holding the phone, the emptiness pressing down on you like a weight. Your heart sinks, but the idea of giving up feels unbearable. That night, you sit down at your desk, composing an email that takes far longer than it should. Every word feels inadequate, yet you pour your sincerity into each sentence. You admit your mistakes, express your deep respect for her, and humbly ask for another chance. As you hit send, you close your eyes and release a shaky breath, hoping your words will reach her, that she’ll sense your sincerity.

By the next morning, there’s no reply. The café calls to ask if you’re coming in, but you barely register the message. You can’t go back—not yet. The silence from Miyeon feels sharper now, amplifying your anxiety. Without thinking twice, you call her office again. This time, your tone carries a quiet urgency, though you fight to keep it professional.

“I understand Ms. Cho’s standards are high,” you say softly, your voice earnest, almost pleading. “But I know I can meet them. I just need a chance to show her.”

The rest of the day drags, heavy with unanswered questions. As evening falls, you find yourself composing another email, this time rawer, more vulnerable. You lay everything bare—your mistakes, your desire to improve, and just how much this opportunity means to you. With trembling hands, you hit send, feeling both exposed and hopeful.

By midweek, the desperation gnaws at you like a dull ache that refuses to leave. Miyeon has somehow consumed your every thought. Her presence is no longer just a memory—it feels like she’s there, looming in the edges of your mind, controlling your every emotion. Her scent, her voice, her unyielding control—they haunt you in the quiet moments, filling your chest with a weight that grows heavier with each passing day.

You’ve stopped checking your work schedule entirely. The thought of being surrounded by noise and chatter while Miyeon’s critique echoes in your mind is unbearable. It’s as if nothing else matters but reaching her, proving yourself worthy of her attention, her approval.

That afternoon, you decide to go in person. Nerves buzz under your skin as you step into the sleek lobby of Ascend International, the company’s towering headquarters. Yuqi greets you at the desk with a polite but distant smile, her practiced professionalism impossible to crack.

“Hi,” you say, trying to keep your voice steady. “I’m here to leave a message for Ms. Cho. I’d like to speak with her if she’s available.”

Her smile doesn’t waver, though there’s a flicker of sympathy in her eyes. “I’ll be sure she receives your message,” she says with polite finality.

As you walk away, hope mingles with dread. You tell yourself she must know—must feel—how far you’re willing to go to prove yourself. It’s impossible to imagine her being unaware of your persistence, of how deeply she’s embedded herself into your thoughts. Yet the silence continues to gnaw at you, relentless in its clarity.

Thursday passes in a haze. You leave another voicemail, your voice trembling with the weight of your growing need.

“Please,” you say softly, almost whispering into the receiver. “I know I fell short. But if she would just allow me one more chance, I won’t disappoint her.”

The intensity of your plea surprises even you, but at this point, pride is irrelevant. You’d give anything just for the chance to redeem yourself. As you leave the office, you find yourself in the lobby once more, hoping for even the faintest sign of acknowledgment. Yuqi looks at you with that same polite sympathy, her small kindness like a bitter reminder that you’re clinging to something fragile.

By Friday morning, the week’s silence feels unbearable. Every unanswered call, every unread email, weighs on you like a sentence passed. Miyeon’s critique plays in your mind with brutal clarity, her voice sharp and cutting as she dismisses you. It’s as if she left a part of herself with you, tethering you to her, drawing you back no matter how much it stings. You can’t let her go, and yet you fear that every effort has been futile.

Then, just when your resolve begins to waver, your phone rings. The unknown number on the screen sends your pulse racing, and you answer with shaky hands.

“Ms. Cho has agreed to see you,” Yuqi announces, her tone brisk and efficient. “Tonight at 8 p.m. sharp. Do not be late.”

Relief crashes over you like a wave, your heart pounding with a mix of anticipation and gratitude. You’ve been granted another chance—a chance to prove yourself, to rise to her impossible standards. As you hang up, the tension that has consumed you all week begins to dissipate, replaced by a renewed determination. Tonight, everything will change

-----

By 7:30 p.m., you’re pacing in the sleek lobby of Ascend International, nerves thrumming under your skin like a live wire. The building’s towering glass walls reflect the city’s lights, casting long shadows across the pristine marble floor. Yuqi sits at her desk, her posture casual yet poised, her sharp eyes occasionally flicking up to you as you move restlessly.

When the clock hits 7:40, you finally gather the courage to approach her desk. Yuqi’s gaze snaps to you, her lips curving into a faint smirk as she leans forward slightly, her tone light and teasing. “Nervous?” she asks, though it’s clear she already knows the answer.

You nod, swallowing hard. “She’s expecting me,” you manage, trying to keep your voice steady, though it cracks slightly under the weight of your nerves.

Yuqi doesn’t hide her amusement. “Oh, I know,” she replies, her tone bordering on playful, though there’s something sharp beneath it. She taps a perfectly manicured nail against her desk before gesturing toward the elevator. “Same room. You’re cutting it close, so I’d suggest moving quickly. Miyeon’s not known for her patience.”

Her words make your pulse quicken, and you nod quickly, stepping toward the elevator. But just as the doors slide open, Yuqi calls out, her voice dropping into something almost conspiratorial. “Good luck,” she says, a hint of mock pity in her tone. “You’ll need it.”

The elevator ride feels endless, the quiet hum of the machinery doing nothing to calm your racing thoughts. By the time you reach the top floor, your hands are trembling, and a bead of sweat rolls down your temple. You step out into a long, dimly lit hallway, its polished floors gleaming beneath your shoes. The door to Miyeon’s office looms at the end, imposing and unyielding, and you force yourself to move forward, each step heavier than the last.

At exactly 7:45, you’re standing outside Miyeon’s office. The weight of the moment presses down on you, suffocating, as you glance at the sleek double doors. This is it—the culmination of a week spent consumed by thoughts of her, by desperation, by the need to redeem yourself. Her dismissal on Monday has been looping in your mind, relentless and unforgiving, and you’ve been preparing for this moment every second since.

Taking a deep breath, you press your hand to the door and push it open.

The atmosphere inside Miyeon’s office is heavy, almost oppressive. Everything about the space exudes power, from the minimalist decor to the sharp angles of her desk.

Miyeon is seated behind it, her posture as precise as ever, her face unreadable. Tonight, though, there’s a sharpness to her expression, a tension in the way her hands rest on the desk. Her gaze lands on you the moment you step inside, freezing you in place. Her eyes are piercing, cutting straight through any pretense of confidence you’ve tried to muster.

“You’re back,” she says, her voice sharper than you remember, each word clipped and deliberate. The skepticism in her tone slices through the air, leaving no room for pretense. She lets the silence linger, her gaze unrelenting, before she adds, “I suppose you’re here to prove something.”

“Yes, Ms. Cho,” you manage, forcing yourself to stand taller, to appear more confident than you feel. Your voice is steady, but inside, you’re unraveling under her scrutiny. “I’m ready to meet your standards.”

Her lips curl into the faintest smirk, though it holds no warmth. If anything, it feels like a challenge, an unspoken test to see if you’ll falter. She stands slowly, her movements deliberate, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor as she rounds the desk. Every step feels measured, calculated, as if she’s sizing you up all over again.

When she reaches you, her gaze doesn’t waver. She tilts her head slightly, her eyes narrowing as she studies you. “You’ve had an entire week to think about Monday,” she says, her tone cool, almost conversational. “Tell me—what makes you think this time will be any different?”

You swallow hard, the question hitting you like a punch to the gut. “I’ve… I’ve thought about everything you said, Ms. Cho,” you reply, your voice quieter now, but no less determined. “I know I fell short, but I’ve prepared. I’m ready to prove that I can meet your expectations.”

Her eyes flicker, the faintest glimmer of something unreadable passing through them. She doesn’t respond immediately, letting the silence stretch until your nerves feel like they’re about to snap. Then, with a brisk motion, she gestures toward the center of the room.

“Then show me,” she says simply, her voice low but charged with authority. “And don’t waste my time.”

Without needing further instruction, you step toward the corner of the room where the bench waits, sleek and polished under the dim office lights. You retrieve it carefully, its weight familiar in your hands, and position it in the center of the room. The leather gleams, the elevated headrest perfectly angled for what you know is to come, designed to cradle you in place beneath her.

You lower yourself onto the bench, the leather cool and firm beneath you, grounding you as you settle into position. The headrest cradles your head, tilting your face upward in a way that leaves you open, exposed, perfectly aligned beneath her. Your breath quickens as Miyeon steps closer, her heels clicking softly against the polished floor. Each step feels deliberate, each sound echoing the weight of your expectations.

She stops just in front of you, her sharp gaze sweeping over you, calm and detached, as though calculating every detail. Without a word, she slips off her heels and sets them aside. Her fingers move to the hem of her skirt, gathering the fabric upward with fluid grace. Her thighs come into view, smooth and commanding, a contrast of elegance and strength. The edge of her lace panties teases at your vision before she moves them aside with a simple, routine motion.

Her scent—muskier, richer than you remembered—immediately fills the air. It’s overwhelming, a heady blend of something primal and intimate, saturating your senses as she steps forward and positions herself above you. It’s a smell that haunted you this entire week, lingering like an ache in the back of your mind. You’d tried to forget, to push it aside, but nothing could dull the memory of her—the way she consumed you so entirely, only to dismiss you without a second thought. Now, as her warmth radiates above you, it feels like you’re being granted water in a desert, but only if you can prove you’re worthy to drink.

When she lowers herself, her weight presses down fully, engulfing you in her presence. Her thighs press against your cheeks, trapping you completely beneath her. Each shallow breath you manage is filled entirely with her scent, and for a moment, you’re paralyzed by how familiar it feels, how much you’d been craving this. It’s as though the week of rejection, of begging for this chance, has only amplified your hunger. Nothing else could satisfy you but her.

Tentatively, you begin, pressing your tongue to her with slow, cautious strokes. Her taste fills your senses—earthy and rich, tinged with saltiness, intensely familiar and utterly consuming. The longing you’ve carried for days surges forward, and you push past your hesitation, tracing deliberate patterns as you adjust to the faint shifts of her body. Her warmth grows against you, and you focus entirely on her, on the faint signals she gives—the flex of her thighs, the subtle tilt of her hips.

Her breathing remains steady, restrained, and her body feels poised, in control, as if she’s still testing you. You move with more purpose, pressing your tongue more firmly, hoping to draw a reaction, to prove you’ve learned. Her hips begin to move slightly, setting a measured rhythm, and you match it, your tongue tracing careful circles in time with her movements.

Her thighs tighten slightly, holding you in place, and her warmth presses against you more firmly. For a fleeting moment, you think you’re succeeding, that you’re drawing her into the moment. But then, her weight begins to lift.

The change is subtle at first—the brief press of her thighs as they shift upward—but it’s enough to make your heart drop. Her warmth pulls away, leaving a sudden void that feels unbearable. Her expression is faintly impatient as she rises, her movements deliberate, as though confirming what she already suspected: that you’ve failed her again.

A horrible sense of déjà vu washes over you, sharp and unrelenting. The rejection from your first evaluation, the cold detachment in her voice, all come rushing back, amplifying the ache in your chest. The memory of that moment has haunted you all week, and now it feels as though it’s happening all over again. Panic claws at you, raw and immediate.

Her voice cuts through the silence, low and unimpressed. “I see you haven’t learned anything.”

The words slice through you, sharp and final, and desperation surges in their wake. You can’t let her leave—not again. Before she can move further, you reach up, your hands trembling as they find her hips, gently but firmly holding her in place. Your lips brush against her folds, pressing soft, pleading kisses that linger just a moment longer than they should.

“Please, Ms. Cho,” you whisper against her, your voice breaking. “Don’t leave. I know I can do better. Please—just let me try.”

She doesn’t move. You press another kiss to her, slower this time, the desperation in you mounting. “Please,” you murmur, your voice shaking. “I need this. I need to show you. I won’t fail you.”

Another kiss. She doesn’t lower herself, doesn’t speak, and the silence feels crushing. Your kisses grow more frantic, more desperate, your lips trembling as you pour every ounce of pleading into them.

“Don’t go,” you whisper between kisses, your voice cracking with emotion. “Please, Ms. Cho. I’ll do anything—just give me this chance. Let me prove I can please you.”

You press another kiss, and this time it lingers, your lips soft and reverent against her warmth. “Please…” you murmur again, the word barely audible, carrying the weight of everything you’ve felt this past week—the sleepless nights, the ache in your chest, the obsessive need to have this moment again.

For a moment, the air is suffocatingly still. Her body remains poised above you, her thighs tense, her piercing gaze boring into yours, unreadable and unwavering. You’re left hanging, each second dragging painfully as you wait for her to decide if your pleading, your desperation, is enough.

Finally, she shifts, lowering herself back down slowly, deliberately. Her weight settles on you again with a quiet finality, her thighs bracketing your face and trapping you completely beneath her warmth. Her presence floods your senses again, her scent, her taste, her closeness—more consuming now, more intense after nearly losing it.

“Continue,” she says, her tone clipped and cold, leaving no room for hesitation. “This is your last chance.”

Her words settle heavily in the air, fueling your determination. She lowers herself slowly, her weight pressing down on you with deliberate command. Her warmth engulfs you completely, her thighs framing your head, trapping you in place. Her scent surrounds you—intense, musky, and deeply familiar, stirring the longing that had haunted you since her rejection. This is your moment, your chance to prove yourself, and you won’t squander it.

You press your tongue to her carefully at first, savoring the sensation. Her taste floods your senses—earthy, slightly salty, and utterly her. It’s overwhelming, a reminder of everything you’ve been craving since that first evaluation. You move cautiously, tracing along her in slow, deliberate strokes, letting her subtle shifts guide you.

As you work, her hips begin to move slightly, a faint rhythm that you match immediately. You focus entirely on her clit, finding it with purpose and letting your tongue trace precise circles over the sensitive spot. Her body responds subtly at first—a slight flex of her thighs, a faint deepening of her breathing—but then she begins to grind against you, her movements deliberate, setting a demanding pace.

Her thighs tighten around your head, holding you firmly, and her warmth spreads against you as her arousal builds. The faint scent of her grows stronger, more intoxicating with each passing moment. The low sounds that escape her—soft, unrestrained moans—cut through the silence, quiet but impossible to miss. The sound of her pleasure fills you with renewed purpose, driving you to push harder, to make her lose the control she clings to so tightly.

You adjust seamlessly to her movements, your tongue pressing more firmly as her hips set a rhythm that grows more demanding with each passing second. The warmth of her envelops you completely, her scent thick and intoxicating, saturating your senses until nothing else exists. Her thighs flex around your head, tightening their hold, as if to anchor herself against the rising tide of sensation. Every inhale you take is filled with her, each shallow breath a reminder of the position she holds over you.

Her soft moans slip past her lips, each one slightly louder than the last, their restrained nature fraying at the edges. The controlled grace she carried moments ago begins to falter, her movements sharpening as her hips grind against your tongue with increasing insistence. You respond instinctively, letting your tongue trace circles that align perfectly with her pace, adjusting to every subtle cue her body gives.

Her thighs tremble against your cheeks, their strength faltering as the tension in her body builds. The moans grow breathier, tinged with urgency, and her weight presses down more fully, holding you in place beneath her. Her breathing becomes uneven, hitching with every deliberate motion of your tongue as you follow her lead, unrelenting in your efforts to meet her every need.

Suddenly, her movements grow erratic, the control she held so tightly slipping entirely. Her body tenses above you, her thighs clenching tightly around your head, cutting off your world to everything but her. A sharp, shuddering moan escapes her lips, low and unrestrained, the sound raw and involuntary. Her hips press down fully, grinding against your tongue with forceful, almost frantic motions, riding the crest of her climax.

Her body tightens completely, trembling violently as wave after wave of pleasure overtakes her. You remain steady beneath her, your tongue moving with careful persistence, guiding her through every pulse, drawing out each lingering sensation. Her knuckles whiten as her grip on the head rest tighten, her breaths coming in short, uneven gasps.

For a long moment, she remains like that—tense, trembling, pressing herself fully against you as the final shudders of release course through her. Only when her body begins to relax does her grip loosen, her thighs softening their hold on your head. Even then, you don’t stop entirely, your movements gentle now, offering a last, tender caress as her breathing begins to steady once more.

Her breathing slows as her movements begin to still, her weight easing slightly as she lifts herself just enough to create space. But as her warmth pulls away, a thought flashes through your mind: this isn’t enough. You can’t just meet her expectations—you need to surpass them.

Sliding your hands up, you let your palms glide over the curve of her hips, steadying her as you adjust her position slightly. Your fingers trail downward, curling firmly to grab handfuls of her cheeks. The sensation of her soft skin under your hands is electrifying, and you feel the tension in her body shift as you grip her firmly. You spread her open with care, creating the perfect angle to access her most sensitive, tightest spot. It’s a bold move—one she hasn’t guided you to, one she hasn’t even hinted at—but you know you need to take this risk. You have to make yourself unforgettable.

With deliberate intent, your tongue traces lower, teasing the sensitive curve of her entrance before pressing further, exploring the tight ring of her ass. The sensation is new, unexpected, and her reaction is immediate.

Her body jolts slightly, her hips lifting momentarily in surprise as a sharp, breathy gasp escapes her lips. For a split second, your heart races, unsure if you’ve overstepped. But then her hips press back down against you, a reflexive movement that tells you everything you need to know. Her thighs tremble against your cheeks as her weight shifts fully onto your face, and the tension in her body gives way to something rawer, more unrestrained.

Her moans begin to spill freely now, soft and breathy at first, slipping past the tight control she holds so carefully. The sound fuels you, driving you to press deeper, to let your tongue move in slow, deliberate circles over her most sensitive areas. Her grip on the desk falters as her hips grind harder against you, her movements growing more erratic, more demanding.

You alternate between her ass and her folds, moving with seamless precision. Your tongue delves deeply, savoring her, while your nose brushes against her slick warmth with each shift. Her hips jerk, grinding against your face as though her body can’t decide which sensation to crave more. The weight of her bears down heavily, leaving you struggling for air, but all you can think about is her. Every detail—the way her thighs tighten around your head, the faint tremble in her muscles, the unrestrained sounds spilling from her lips—it consumes you entirely.

Her thighs shift slightly, and then, with a deliberate motion, she lifts her legs off the floor, letting her entire weight press fully onto you. The headrest beneath you creaks slightly, adjusting to the added pressure as she settles in, trapping you completely beneath her. The shift is overwhelming, her body sinking into yours entirely, her warmth and slickness engulfing your senses. Each shallow breath you manage is filled with her scent, and the sensation is intoxicating.

Your hands tighten on her cheeks, spreading her wider as you focus entirely on her ass. You let your tongue explore deeply, pressing into her with slow, deliberate strokes, circling and teasing the sensitive area with unrelenting purpose. Her body tenses above you, her thighs trembling violently as her breathing turns ragged and uneven. Each exhale is sharp, shaky, and punctuated by guttural moans that grow louder and less restrained as she begins to lose control.

Her hips grind down against your face, her rhythm faltering, her movements desperate. Her breathing becomes erratic, catching with each flick of your tongue, until the sounds spilling from her lips dissolve into broken gasps. The pressure of her weight presses down harder, and her thighs clamp around your head with such force that it feels like she’s grounding herself entirely in you, refusing to let you go.

Her body begins to quake above you, losing all rhythm as her hips move erratically, chasing the sensations building within her. Her breathing stutters sharply, and then, with one raw, unrestrained cry—the loudest, most primal moan you’ve ever heard from her—her climax overtakes her.

Her entire body shudders violently, her hips grinding down fully, pressing you deeper into the headrest as she rides out wave after wave of intense pleasure. Her slick wetness spills onto your face, warm and undeniable, marking the raw power of her release. The sensation spurs you on, your tongue moving with soft but purposeful strokes, coaxing every last tremor from her body.

Her thighs quiver uncontrollably, gripping your head like a vice as she rides through the overwhelming storm of her climax. Each moan spills from her lips in sharp, uneven bursts, her control shattered entirely. Her grip on the headrest tightens, her knuckles white, as though anchoring herself against the intensity of the moment.

You can feel her unraveling completely, her body vibrating with aftershocks that seem to go on forever. Her weight remains heavy on you, holding you in place as she takes in shallow, ragged breaths, her body still trembling with the echoes of her release. Even as her movements begin to slow, her thighs remain locked around you, as though she’s reluctant to let go of the sensation. Every ounce of her focus is still on you, every ounce of yours entirely on her.

Finally, her body begins to relax. Her breathing slows, and her thighs loosen their hold, trembling slightly as she lifts herself off you with deliberate care. Her legs are unsteady as she straightens, smoothing her skirt with the practiced precision you’ve come to expect. Her breathing is still uneven, her chest rising and falling as she regains her composure.

For a moment, she stands there silently, her gaze heavy and unreadable as it lingers on you. The scent of her, the taste of her, clings to you, saturating your senses entirely. The room feels charged, her presence commanding even in stillness. You dare not assume anything—she’s still the one in control, and any sign of approval must come from her. Yet, in the weight of her silence, you can’t help but feel that you’ve done something right.

Her chest rises and falls evenly as she regains her composure, her expression remaining as poised and inscrutable as ever. You think you’ve proven yourself, think you’ve risen to her exacting standards, but the thought lingers, unspoken, as you wait. Every second stretches, heavy with anticipation, until finally, she speaks.

“Well done,” she murmurs, her tone softer than usual but still carrying that commanding edge. The weight of her approval lands squarely on you, and a quiet sense of pride begins to unfurl in your chest. Then, with a slight glance back at you, her lips curve in what could almost be a smile—subtle, fleeting, but unmistakable.

“Bold,” she says, her tone as measured as ever, but there’s a hint of something beneath it—impressed. “Unexpected, but… effective.”

The words hit you like a wave, filling your chest with pride, though you keep your expression neutral, refusing to let the satisfaction show too openly. Still, the acknowledgment lingers, affirming that your risk wasn’t just noticed but appreciated.

“Report here Monday morning,” she continues briskly, her tone returning to business. “You’ve earned your place.”

Her words hang in the air, settling over you like a blanket of relief. You don’t let the triumph show too openly, knowing she’s still watching you, but a quiet sense of accomplishment blooms within. She turns away, stepping back toward her desk with deliberate, unhurried movements, her heels clicking sharply against the polished floor. The sound carries finality, a subtle dismissal, but also an acknowledgment of what you’ve achieved.

You remain where you are for a moment, your chest rising and falling as you catch your breath, her scent and taste still vivid, still clinging to you. The weight of her words settles warmly over you—a victory hard won, a moment of validation you’ll carry with you. You’ve proven yourself tonight, but you know better than to assume it’s enough. This is only the beginning.

A faint trace of satisfaction flickers across her face as she glances at you one last time, her gaze lingering briefly before returning to her work. With an elegant nod, she dismisses you, her attention already shifting back to her desk.

Carefully, you rise, your legs unsteady from the intensity of the moment. Before leaving, you reach for the bench, the familiar weight grounding you as you lift it and carry it back to its original place in the corner of the room. The small act feels significant, almost ceremonial, as though returning it to its spot closes this chapter of the evening. Once it’s in place, you step back, sparing a glance at Miyeon, who is already engrossed in her work, her demeanor as composed as ever.

Each step toward the door feels deliberate, carrying the weight of everything it took to earn this moment. As you leave her office, the memory of her words—and her body—lingers in your mind, a reminder of what you’ve achieved and what’s still expected of you.

The quiet buzz of the building greets you as you exit, a stark contrast to the intensity of the room you just left. The evening air feels cooler, crisper, as you step outside, but the warmth of her approval stays with you. Miyeon’s words echo in your mind, solidifying the pride swelling in your chest.

“Bold. Unexpected, but effective.”

Those words, more than anything, stay with you, reminding you of the risks you took and the reward you earned. Monday will bring new challenges, but for the first time, you feel fully prepared to meet them. You’ve been given a chance to prove yourself again, and you’re determined to exceed every expectation.

-----

Back in the office, after the door softly clicks shut, Yuqi steps inside and leans against the frame, arms crossed and a smirk on her lips. “Alright, spill,” she teases. “What’s the deal? You actually allowed a second chance? I thought that wasn’t your thing.”

Miyeon glances up from her desk, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Oh, please. I knew from the start I was going to,” she says smoothly. “There was potential. I just needed to see it under the right conditions.”

Yuqi raises an eyebrow, the smirk widening. “So the whole week of calls and emails? You’re telling me that wasn’t just for your entertainment?”

A faint smile curves Miyeon’s lips as she leans back in her chair. “Maybe I enjoyed it,” she admits. “But desperation does something extraordinary—it strips away everything unnecessary. What’s left is either weakness or strength.”

“You and your tests,” Yuqi mutters, shaking her head with a laugh. “You could’ve just brought it up on Monday.”

“That wouldn’t have shown me what I needed to see,” Miyeon replies with a knowing glance. “Pressure reveals everything. It’s like a diamond—only the right conditions bring it out.”

“Wow,” Yuqi says, stepping forward to nudge Miyeon’s shoulder lightly. “Soft-hearted Cho strikes again. Admit it, you like a little drama.”

Miyeon chuckles, her tone turning playful. “Only when the effort is worth watching.”

“Noted,” Yuqi replies, heading for the door with an exaggerated wave. “Don’t worry, I’ll mark this historic event down. Second chances with Miyeon Cho—they’re like spotting Bigfoot. Rare and highly debated.”

Miyeon shakes her head, unable to suppress a laugh. “Get out of here, Yuqi.”

Yuqi grins, pausing at the door. “Hey, if you get bored over the weekend, you know where to find me. Or maybe I’ll just swing by Monday with popcorn to watch the show.”

Miyeon points to the door, her expression feigned exasperation. “Out.”

“Fine, fine,” Yuqi says, throwing her hands up in mock surrender before slipping through the door with a grin. “Don’t get too sentimental on me, boss.”

As the door closes behind her, Miyeon’s smile lingers. Her gaze drifts back to the now-empty space, thoughtful yet satisfied. She had known all along what could be achieved, but sometimes the right kind of desperation was the key. Pressure, determination, and grit—it all had to surface naturally, and it had.

With a quiet exhale, she turns back to her desk, already contemplating the days ahead with a sense of certainty.

[moonstruckme]

Heyyy there! I really (like really) love your writing!!! It makes my day when I see you've posted a fic! I was wondering if I could request one either with doc!remus or emtxmaradeurs where the reader is very sick and kinda out of it and she's taken care of. Like maybe he/them asking her 'are you with me/us' becuase it looks like you're going to pass out. If you've written something like this before my apologies. Have a great day!!!

Thanks lovely, hope you have a great day as well!

emt!marauders x fem!reader ♡ 670 words

When Remus and James get home from their shift, they find you and Sirius curled up on the couch, you with a mug of what appears to be noodle soup steaming in your hands. You’re taking sips of it like it’s tea. 

“Hello,” says Remus, perching on the armrest to peck his boyfriend on the head. “You two aren’t where we left you.” 

“One can only lie around in bed for so many hours,” Sirius replies, tilting his head back for a real kiss. Remus gives him one, and Sirius takes another for himself. “I’m very entertaining, but after a while we both needed a change of scenery.” 

“And why is our girl drinking soup like a warm beverage?” James directs the question towards you, but you don’t seem to notice. After a moment, Sirius answers for you. 

“She wasn’t doing very well with the spoon, and though I made some excellent points about how romantic it’d be, she wouldn’t let me feed it to her.” Sirius grins salaciously at you. You offer only a faint smile in return, and he squishes your thigh in his hand teasingly. “Eventually we had to compromise on a more innovative solution.” 

“I see.” James ducks his head, finding his way into your field of vision. “Sweetheart,” he says carefully, “are you with us?” 

You blink. Your eyes look fever glazed. “Yeah.” You match his gentle tone. “Hi.” 

He smiles softly. “Hey there. You seemed a bit far away, m’love.” 

“She’s only tired.” Sirius kisses the side of your head. “We’ve just had a nap.”

“Oh, must be nice,” James jokes. You smile in response. 

Remus frowns pensively as he plays with Sirius’ hair where it’s draped over the edge of the couch. It spills through his fingers like stygian water. “What’s her fever at?” he asks. 

“It’s coming down.” Sirius nods to the fever reducers sitting next to a half-empty bottle of cough syrup on the coffee table. “We’re working on it.” 

“What was it last you checked?” James presses, but Remus has already picked up the thermometer. He murmurs a quiet direction to you as he nestles it in your ear.

“Her cough’s gotten a lot better, too, if you haven’t noticed,” Sirius says proudly. “Right, babydoll? We haven’t been having many problems since the last time she had medicine.” 

That’s not saying much, James thinks as he looks around. There are still wadded up tissues strewn about the coffee table, enough that he wonders whether one of them ought to go buy more before you all get ready for bed, and even if your cough has abated the scrape of your voice indicates your throat still feels like you’ve swallowed knives. 

Still, he tries to sound upbeat as he says, “Yeah? That’s great,” and kisses your shoulder lightly. 

“I can see why you’re so tired,” Remus says. The thermometer beeps, and his brow pinches sympathetically as he reads the screen. “That nap was the first good sleep you’ve had in a while, hm, dovey?” 

“Yeah,” you say, your voice a thin rasp. “I still have to turn over every now and then when my nose clogs up, though.” 

“Poor love,” James coos, kissing your shoulder again. “I’m about to have a shower, would you want to sit in the bathroom with me and see if the steam does anything? I could use the company.” 

“That’s a good idea,” Remus agrees. “After you’ve finished your soup, though.” 

You give James a sweet, thoughtful look. “That would be nice,” you say. The sound of your voice makes him want to burst into tears. “Thank you guys for taking care of me.” 

Sirius makes an indignant squawking sound. “Um, that’s actually been me, in case you’ve forgotten. These two only just got here.” 

“Sorry.” You crack a smile, sleepy but real, and lean your head on Sirius’ shoulder. “Thank you the most.” 

He hums, quickly pacified, and lets his head rest atop yours. “Apology accepted. Luckily for you, I actually quite enjoy it.”

[allpiesforourown]

Goodnight one quick thought for the cherry magic au:

Binghe giving the clumsy employee in their department a bunch of iced drinks. He regularly buys snacks for everyone because it makes him look like a nice guy and is one of the many things that keep him popular.

When the guy offers a drink to shen yuan, binghe subtle kicks a computer cable in front of his foot, making him trip and spill all the drinks over shen yuan. She yuan is drenched in sugary milk teas and lattes and assures the employee he's fine and makes his way to the bathroom

Binghe slipping in after shen yuan and saying "xiansheng, allow me to help." Shen Yuan stiffens (he's been distant towards binghe lately for some reason) and insists he'll be fine on his own. Binghe says nonsense, it'll take forever for him to clean up alone

The wet shirt sticking to his skin would have been tantalizing enough, but shen Yuan hesitantly unbuttons and removes it until his torso is bare for binghe to see.

Binghe takes the shirt out of his hands and their fingers brush

Binghe: that fool.. if he'd spilled the drinks properly, shen yuan would have had to remove his pants too...

Shen yuan: binghe planned this!? He'd go that far to humiliate me in front of everyone..?

Binghe rinsing the shirt under the tap and holding it in front of the hand dryer. Shen yuan is wiping his chest with a wet towel while Binghe watches

Shen yuan shivers in the air conditioned office air and says his body is so sticky, it might be best to just go home and take a shower.. (binghe has some thoughts about making shen yuan even more sticky and unfit to be seen in public, which shen yuan also misunderstands)

Shen yuan isn't at work the next day - he called in sick. Binghe cajoles the hr man into giving him shen yuans address so he can bring his beloved boss some soup... and he finds shen yuan at home feverish. He got this sick just from wearing a wet shirt for a few minutes?

Binghe: so shen yuan's body is that sensitive.. that's good to know...

Shen yuan half asleep: he's in my home checking how easy I am to subdue .. I should ....

Shen yuan passes out and wakes up cuddled in binghes arms. Binghe claims shen yuan wouldn't let go of him in his sleep, but he can hear his thoughts and knows that's a lie.

Why would binghe softly cradle a sleeping person he hates...? Shen Yuan is starting to get a little confused ...

[seireiteihellbutterfly]

If You'll Have Me

A/N: Finally, this is here. Got this request back in March I think so anon, here ya go, sorry it took so long. Pairing: Megumi x Fem! Reader *(Both are 21 here) Warnings: Angst, breakup, pregnancy

It rained the day Megumi broke up with you. He sat there on your sofa, looking detached and apologetic, and you felt like your heart might choke you to death, the way it pounded frantically in your chest.

“I gave you everything!” You whispered furiously. “I supported you! Waited long hours for you to get home, without knowing what may have happened to you! I looked after Tsumiki when she became bedridden!”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Megumi’s eyes are like dark tunnels, with not a trace of warmth or emotion in them. “With everything that’s happened…I don’t feel like I’m worthy of you.”

“Oh, how noble of you!” You spat, feeling utterly humiliated. “I suppose you’ll say it’s not me, it's you?” 

“It is me. I see the fear in your eyes whenever I leave you for a mission. I hear the pain in your voice when I tell you I’m coming home late. I hate being the person that makes you feel that way. You’re such a good person. That’s why I think you’d be better off without me.”

“Get out.” You managed to squeeze the words past your tightening throat, your eyes stinging painfully, tears spilling from them. Wordlessly, Megumi gets up and walks towards the door.

Perhaps you’d been daring him to go because your heart stopped for a second as he got to the door. Part of you wished he’d stop, look at you, and gather you close, saying he couldn’t live without you. You’re begging him with your being to not throw this away. 

He’s supposed to stop, isn’t he? He’s supposed to realize he’s being irrational, that there’s no one better than him for you? You were a pair, meant to be. His look haunts you as he turns the doorknob.

“I’m sorry,” he says brokenly, before disappearing into the rain. 

You stood there, watching the downpour, feeling your heart crack and splinter, like a delicate teacup that had fallen from a shelf, no safe hands ready to catch it and prevent it from falling to its doom. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

A month later, you feel exhausted, more than usual. Getting out of bed feels like a chore. Your back and feet hurt, and nothing stays in your stomach. You try everything. Soup, saltine crackers, toast, applesauce. Whatever you ate made you nauseated and dizzy. 

You started worrying you had caught a really persistent form of the flu, but when your period didn’t start, you felt a wave of dread. 

Now, as you stared at the positive pregnancy test in your hands, you felt like someone had torn your body open, invisible wounds reopening and stinging afresh, chaotically spilling your feelings everywhere. 

“You need to tell him.” Gojo leans back in his chair, assessing you critically. You look at him coldly, cursing his six-eyes technique.

“I do not. And it’s none of your fucking business.”

“It is. Believe me when I say Megumi will not shirk his duties as a father. It would devastate him if he ever gets to know he has a child and that he was absent from its life.”

“How can you possibly assume that?” You cross your arms over your still flat belly and glare at him. Like it wasn’t bad enough that you were Megumi’s ex, now you were knocked up with his baby. “He wanted nothing to do with me. That man was barely able to keep promises to me as his girlfriend. What makes you think he’s going to step up and be a father to a child he probably doesn't want?”

“Because he knows what it’s like to be that child,” Gojo says the words quietly but with a firm edge that had you staring at him in disbelief.

“What?”

“Has Megumi ever told you about his dad?” Your silence says it all and Gojo narrows his eyes. “He’ll probably want my head if he ever finds out I told you this but I think it’s necessary.” Gojo sighs deeply and continues.

“Megumi’s dad loved him. But he simply wasn’t fit to be a parent. He abandoned Megumi and Tsumiki. Megumi was 7 years old at the time.”

You blink back tears as Gojo continues. “Megumi grew up as my ward. I don’t pretend to be his dad, but I can’t just let this slide. I understand you probably harbor resentment towards him, but cutting him out of this decision isn’t the right way to go about it.”

“I don’t want him to feel like he has any obligations towards me because of the baby. That’s the only reason he’d try to get in touch with me now, right?” You can’t forgive him for deciding to walk out of your life just yet, no matter what his childhood was like. 

“How long do you think you can keep this a secret? Megumi might not be around that much anymore, but you’ll start to show soon enough. If not me, someone else will tell him.”

Your expression hardens and you stand up with steely resolution coursing in your veins. “Thank you for your opinion. But the last I checked, though it takes two to make a baby, it only takes one to raise it.”

You pack your belongings and urgently move out of Tokyo by the end of the week.

.・。.・゜✭・.

Surprisingly, no one comes to bother you. You start over and manage to find work at a small accounting firm as a secretary. Your boss is sympathetic to your situation and doesn’t give you a hard time about needing maternity leave. Everything is going well despite the constant worry about running into someone from the jujutsu world but so far, nothing has happened. Your tummy swells and grows, the baby healthy and full of life. It brings you joy, knowing you carry this little being inside you.

One night, you wake up with a strange feeling inside your abdomen. Worried that the stress was getting to you as you entered your eighth month of pregnancy, you restlessly forced yourself out of bed and tried walking around the small apartment to ease your nerves.

It was a curious sensation, like something unseen was flowing through your veins, not sinister but a little unsettling. You place a hand on your swollen middle in hopes of soothing the baby then freeze when you feel the flow of cursed energy in your womb. 

You’d heard it wasn’t uncommon for sorcerer babies to begin regulating and channeling their cursed energy in utero, but it filled you with awe at how familiar the energy signature was to Megumi’s, vitality coursing under your fingertips as you felt it kick and turn. 

A soft rustling has you turning in panic, a gasp escaping your lips as you see 2 dog-like figures padding over to you from nowhere, their eyes glowing in the dark. Up close, you recognize them as Megumi’s divine dogs, their tails wagging as they approach you.

Motherly instinct has you clutching your stomach and angling away from them. Had Megumi finally figured out the truth? But the dogs’ demeanor didn’t seem to match that scenario. If anything, they looked curious and friendly. One of them finally gets close enough to nose your belly with its snout, before nuzzling the bump affectionately, which the other one mirrors. You watch in silent fascination, then feel a surge of energy from your womb. 

The baby was responding to the dogs. 

They recognized it as their owner. The dogs weren’t here because of Megumi. The baby had subconsciously summoned them. With a shaky hand, you pet both of them, seeing their eyes close happily. They bring back memories of Megumi and your eyes fill with tears.

“Does he want to be a father?” You ask them. They look at you with intense yellow eyes and before you can say anything else, vanish in a blink. 

.・。.・゜✭・.

The day the baby arrives is one of the happiest and emotionally draining days of your life. You lay on the labor bed, gripping the sheets as the contractions relentlessly come and go, each more painful than the last. 

You almost scream, not from the pain but in shock, as something noses your hand. Turning, you see the divine dogs at the side of the bed, unseen to the normal humans. You could’ve wept with relief, knowing you weren’t quite alone. You pet them and grip their fur as you finally deliver your baby boy into the world. 

The small pink bundle was a miniature of Megumi, the beautiful black hair plastered to its little head, screaming with the rage of life. With shaky hands you accept him, your heart so full of love you feel like it could burst. You’re so occupied that you don’t notice the divine dogs quietly padding outside, tails wagging, as someone lingers near the door.

Megumi has tears in his eyes as he hides just outside the room. He sees his child, and you, the person he loves and cherishes. You’re cooing at the baby, getting him settled down to suckle, his little hand wrapped around your finger so tightly.

Megumi balls his hands into fists feeling his fingernails dig into his palm, emotions raging through him. He’s so glad the two of you are healthy, and there’s regret for his mistakes of the past. He understands why you left Tokyo. You were a proud woman, independent, determined to not need him after he’d broken up with you. It wasn’t like you to grovel or beg. He was sure if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs by accident, he would’ve never found you. 

Yet he felt like an intruder, an outsider, unworthy of entering the room. He understands what he broke the day he left and it eats away at his soul knowing that he was the reason you didn’t come to him after finding out you were pregnant. It had taken so long for you to let your walls down, to learn to depend on him finally, and in an instant, he had taken that away from you, the one thing you had avoided for so long; the need to rely on others.

It was that which drove you, the shattered dependability, and he remembered how long it had taken to reassure you to be less guarded on that front. He was awful, no better than his own father. But he had to try. He knocks on the door.

You turn, breath catching when you see him in the doorway.

“Hi.” He tries to not let his tears show, but when your eyes fill, he can’t contain himself. He closes the gap and embraces both of you as you sob uncontrollably into his shoulder.  

.・。.・゜✭・.

Megumi sleeps on the sofa, taking care of his child with such tenderness and love. He relearns everything about you, appreciating all that you are. It takes time but the relationship rebuilds steadily.

“How did Gojo not rat me out?” you ask one evening as Megumi cooks dinner while you cuddle the baby on the sofa. 

Megumi pauses, and looks over uncertainly. “He did.”

“He did?” 

“Yeah.” Megumi’s voice is low. “He told me and said I’d regret it if I didn’t try to find you. I was a coward.” He turns the stove burner off and faces you. “I never stopped thinking about you. You were the best thing to ever happen to me. I still believe I’m not your equal, and I never will be. You were my home base. The single person holding my life together. How much more could I ask you to do?”

He joins you on the sofa, taking his son into his arms, rocking him softly as he starts to doze off. “I was so scared to ask you to forgive me. I felt like a hypocrite, reassuring you all these years that it’s ok to depend on me, and then taking that security away from you. I was the worst kind of asshole. But I knew I couldn’t be a deadbeat father. I looked for you. But you did such a good job covering up your tracks. Honestly, if the baby hadn’t summoned the divine dogs, I probably would have never caught on.”

The baby yawns and drifts off to sleep in his arms. Megumi stares at the little face, unable to forgive himself for what he almost missed out on.

“I want us to be all right. I want us to be a family. Can we?” He looks at you with doubt, knowing if you said no, it was well within your right.

You take the baby from his arms, carefully settling him down in the portable bassinet next to the sofa, and take Megumi’s face in between your hands.

“Yes,” you whisper, your voice choking up. 

Megumi pulls you against him tightly. “I love you so much. I’ll spend the rest of my life making sure to live up to being your equal.”

You nod, letting your tears flow freely.

“I love you too.”

all dividers and banners by @/ cafekitsune

@estarlias @daswanj @actuallysaiyan @whatshernameis

@byul9158 @mirrors-musings @Mangiswig

@that-goth-bisexual @connorsui @jadedjane @darkstarlight82

@soft--cherry @galactict3a @hunnie-lily

[itneverendshere]

saw that jj is readers neighbor. and i see rafe absolutely hating him, until he realizes that you take care of him like he’s your baby brother, especially when things get a little rough at his house

omg yesssss! it's kinda funny that he's beefing with a teenager. thank you for the request! 🩵🫂 alsojj never met milo before bc he only showed up after the kid was already sleeping, cause luke had a tendency to get rowdier at night 😣.

you're on your own kid - r.c

pairing: rafe x pogue!reader (bartender!reader universe)

There’s no way in hell JJ Maybank is sitting on your couch while you’re cooking away. 

Rafe swears he’s lost his mind. Maybe he hit his head harder than he thought when he was out on the boat earlier because what he’s seeing doesn’t make any sense.

There’s no way JJ is sitting there, his legs propped up on your coffee table like he owns the place. Like he belongs here. In your place. Your sister's place.

For a second, he thinks he’s gotta be dreaming. But nope, it’s real. The smell of whatever you’re cooking from the kitchen hits him in the face, and JJ’s laughter echoes through the living room.

This is your house, your space, and somehow JJ’s sitting there like he’s been here a thousand times before. He’s gotta say something.

Rafe clears his throat, trying to keep his voice normal but it comes out tight, strained. “What the hell’s Maybank doing here?”

You don’t even look up from the stove, just wave a hand in his direction, like it’s no big deal.

Like he’s no big deal. “Relax, baby. He’s just having dinner.”

“Dinner?” Rafe practically chokes on the word.

JJ catches the look on his face and smirks, leaning back further into the couch cushions.

“What, never seen a guy eat before, Cameron?”

Rafe scoffs, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “Dinner? At your place? Since when are you and Maybank this close?”

His eyes narrow on JJ, sprawled out on the couch like he’s got nowhere better to be. The guy’s even wearing his boots, dirt probably all over your cushions, and Rafe’s practically grinding his teeth at the sight.

JJ just smirks, because of course he does. “Jealous or somethin’, Cameron? Didn’t think you’d care.”

But then you walk over with a plate and set it down in front of JJ, and Rafe watches in shock as you ruffle his hair, so casually it’s like second nature to you.

Like you’ve done it a hundred times before.

JJ’s eating like it’s the first meal he’s had in days, and Rafe’s brain is still trying to catch up with what the hell is happening here.

You and JJ? Since when? Rafe’s stomach twists at the thought, because why would you even care about a guy like JJ? 

The guy’s got that scruffy look, bruises on his knuckles and faint ones on his arms. Rafe’s seen it before, the evidence of fights and bad nights. He knows what goes on at JJ’s house. He’s heard the stories. The arguments that spill out onto the streets late at night, the way JJ disappears for a while and comes back worse than before.

And then it hits him.

You’re not just letting him crash here.

You’re taking care of him. Looking out for him in ways that nobody else does, making sure he doesn’t completely spiral with a father like Luke Maybank.

JJ speaks up, grinning with his mouth full of food. “Her food’s so good, you gotta try it.”

“I’m her boyfriend, you think I haven’t tried her cooking?”

He’s being ridiculous, knows he’s not really jealous of a seventeen-year-old. It’s not that he’s threatened by JJ—hell no. It’s more that...he doesn’t like sharing you. Even if it’s just dinner.

He’s proud of you, though. Always has been. That big heart of yours, helping out some kid who clearly needs it.

Rafe crosses his arms, leaning against the doorway. “Since when did my girl become a goddamn soup kitchen?” The words come out harsher than he means them to, but you just glance over your shoulder and roll your eyes.

You know him too well by now.

“Baby, it’s just dinner. JJ’s had a rough day.”

“Yeah, well, so have I,” Rafe mutters under his breath, but he doesn’t push it. He can’t really. 

He knows the guys has been through it, and yeah, his dad’s a piece of work. But that doesn’t make it easier to see him sitting here, all cozy in the life Rafe’s tried to build with you. Yeah, maybe you fucking spoiled him because know the mere thought of another guy being in your space makes his blood boil. 

JJ wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, “Chill, Cameron. You’re acting like I’m movin’ in or something.”

He remembers being that kid—lost, angry, with no place to feel safe. JJ might be annoying as fuck, a walking nightmare to be around, but Rafe can’t hate him for that. Not really.

“Yeah, well, don’t get too comfortable,” Rafe mutters. He looks at you, softening. “You’ve got a heart too big for your own good, y'know that?”

“I thought you loved that about me?” You tease, turning back to the stove.

“’Course I do.” Rafe crosses the room, sitting on the arm of the couch, close enough to you but still keeping an eye on JJ. He watches as you stir something on the stove, a soft smile pulling at the corner of his mouth despite everything. Yeah, he gets annoyed, but fuck if he doesn’t love you for exactly this. You just have a way of making people feel safe, even the ones that don’t deserve it—or maybe need it most.

JJ leans back, letting out a satisfied groan. "God, that was good. She ever cook like this for you, Cameron?"

Rafe shoots him a look, eyebrows raised. "Yeah, maybe when you’re not eating all my food."

JJ just laughs, completely unfazed. “You’re lucky, man.”

Rafe doesn't answer, just stares at him, half of him wanting to tell him to get out and the other half knowing how good it must feel for the kid to have a moment where he doesn’t have to worry about anything. Rafe’s been there—different situation, same lost feeling. He looks at you again, knowing it’s you that pulled him out of that place. And now here you are, doing the same thing for JJ.

With a sigh, he slides off the couch and walks over to you, wrapping his arms around your waist from behind. “You know you’re too good for him, right?”

You laugh, leaning back into him. “For him? Or for you?”

Rafe presses a kiss to your shoulder, smiling despite himself. “Both. Definitely both.”

His lips linger there for another second before JJ’s speaking again, “Alright, y’all don’t have to be disgusting while I’m sitting here trying to digest. Seriously, have some respect. I’m a guest.”

Rafe’s jaw tightens, but he can’t help but laugh under his breath, his forehead dropping against your back. “You gotta be kidding me.” He sighs dramatically, loosening his grip on you and stepping back, but he’s still got that smirk. “You hear that, baby? We’re offending the guest. Can’t have that.”

JJ rolls his eyes so hard Rafe’s sure he’s gonna get stuck that way. “Yeah, you two keep it up, and I’m gonna lose this amazing meal you just made. Not trying to see all that lovey-dovey shit.”

Rafe leans against the counter, arms crossed, shaking his head. “You know, most people would be grateful for a free dinner.”

You toss a dish towel at JJ, which he dodges with a snicker. “You’re welcome to leave, you know.”

“Nah, nah,” JJ says quickly, stuffing the bread in his mouth. “I’m good right here.”  He stretches out again, clearly getting way too comfortable. “But if y’all could just tone down the romance while I’m around, that’d be great.”

Rafe’s still grinning, even though part of him wants to wipe that smirk right off JJ’s face. “You jealous, Maybank?”

JJ gives an exaggerated shrug. “Nah. I got my priorities straight.”

“Yeah? Like what? Getting on my last fucking nerve?” Rafe shoots back.

JJ lifts his hands in surrender, still grinning like a kid who knows exactly how make him lose his temper. “Hey, I’m just saying. Don’t go making me regret this free meal, alright?”

He glances over at you, and you’re shaking your head, smiling like this whole thing is the most entertaining show you’ve seen all week.

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” Rafe mutters, still eyeing JJ. “This is a one-time thing.”

JJ chuckles, unfazed. “Whatever helps you sleep at night. Just remember, I’m your girl’s favorite.” He flashes you a wink, and Rafe’s this close to tossing the bread basket at his head and tossing him out on the street.

JJ’s annoying, no doubt, but he understand, or at least he's trying to, that you’re doing it for a reason—helping the kid out, making sure he’s got a safe place for at least one night.

No matter how much he pisses him off, Rafe respects that. For your sake.

“You keep running your mouth and you’re both sleeping on the porch.”

Rafe turns to you, offended, “The fuck did I do?”

“You know exactly what you did,” you say, shaking your head. “Always making things competitive.”

Rafe scoffs, standing a little straighter.

“Competitive? Baby, I’m just protecting what’s mine.” He throws a glance at JJ, who’s still lounging on the couch like he owns the place.

“Man, protectin’ what?” JJ pipes up, laughing through his words. “I’m just here for the food and the show.” He gestures between the two of you. “Y’all could make a fortune if you charged admission. People love drama.”

Rafe rolls his eyes. “You’re lucky they’re not charging you rent at this point.”

He’s about to tell him to shove off the couch and leave, but the front door swings open. Monica walks in arms full of grocery bags. Little Milo is trailing behind her, clutching a stuffed dinosaur in one hand and a juice box in the other. The moment he sees Rafe, his face lights up.

“Uncle Rafey!” Milo yells, charging toward him with all the energy of a four-year-old hyped up on apple juice.

He bends down and scoops Milo up, setting him on his hip. “Hey kid. What’s up?”

Milo grins and holds up his juice box. “I got juice!”

Rafe chuckles, “Juice, huh? Sounds like a big day.”

Meanwhile, Monica’s busy setting the groceries on the counter, glancing at JJ sprawled out on the couch. She shoots Rafe a look, half-exasperated, half-amused. “Looks like we have an extra child in the house today.”

JJ, clearly not catching the jab, raises a hand. “Hey, Monica. I’m just keeping the couch warm.”

Milo tugs on Rafe’s shirt, completely oblivious to the grown-up talk. “Uncle Rafe, can I have a cookie?”

“Maybe after dinner, bud,” Rafe says, setting him down gently. “Go help your mom, okay?”

Milo pouts for a second but quickly gets distracted by the sight of JJ. He stares at him curiously, tilting his head. “Who’s that?”

JJ leans over the back of the couch, grinning. “I’m JJ. You can call me… your favorite new friend.”

Milo looks at him like he’s deciding if JJ is cool or just weird. After a second, he grins back. “Okay, JJ. Can I sit with you?”

“Sure, kid. Hop on up.”

Rafe watches as Milo clambers onto the couch next to JJ, giggling when JJ pretends to steal his dinosaur. It’s almost funny—if he wasn’t so good at making himself at home.

Monica, catching the scene, sighs and shakes her head. “Great, now he’s corrupted Milo.”

Rafe crosses his arms, unable to suppress a smirk. “He’s already got enough bad influences in his life.”

She raises an unimpressed eyebrow. “Yeah, starting with you.”

Rafe raises his hands in surrender, laughing. “Fair enough.”

You’re leaning against the counter, watching the whole scene unfold, and suddenly, it just hits you.

Rafe with Milo, the way he softens when your nephew runs up to him, lifting him like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Milo’s giggles fill the room and then there’s Monica, half-smiling at Rafe’s attempts to wrangle Milo, even with JJ sprawled out on the couch, egging the kid on.

Your heart feels so full, you almost can’t stand it. It’s one of those moments where everything just… clicks. You try to keep it together, but there’s this warm feeling in your chest, and you blink back the unexpected tears. How could you feel anything but love for all of them in this moment? 

Rafe catches you staring, his eyes softening when he sees the look on your face. He raises an eyebrow, but he’s already smiling at you, “What’s that look for?”

You shake your head, grinning despite the lump in your throat. “Nothing. Just... you guys. It’s... a lot.”

JJ, ever the clown, groans from the couch, “Oh God, please don’t get all mushy now."

But you can’t help it. You step closer to Rafe, wrapping your arms around his waist, laying your head against his chest. “I just love you. All of you.”

Rafe chuckles softly, kissing the top of your head. “Love you too.”

Monica glances over with a knowing look, shaking her head. “Alright, enough of this sentimental stuff. You’re gonna make me cry, and I just got home.”

You stay wrapped in Rafe’s arms for a moment, just soaking in the warmth around you. Monica’s pulling plates from the cabinet, setting them on the table with her usual no-nonsense efficiency. JJ’s somehow got Milo giggling uncontrollably, making goofy faces and pretending to steal his dinosaur every few seconds. The kid’s losing it, practically bouncing off the couch in fits of laughter.

Rafe leans down, his lips close to your ear. “You’re okay?” he murmurs against your hair.

You smile, nodding against his chest. “Yeah. Better than good, actually.”

He pulls back slightly to look at you, his blue eyes scanning your face like he’s trying to read every thought behind it. “You sure? You looked like you were about to cry a second ago.”

You laugh a little, wiping under your eye, even though the tears never really fell. “It’s just... this. All of this. It’s perfect, you know? I don’t know. It feels like family.”

“You really think so?” Rafe asks quietly.

You nod, feeling that same warmth flood your chest again. “Yeah, I do. I love it. I love us.”

He smiles, a little crooked but real, the kind of smile you don’t see too often, but when you do, it hits you in the heart. “I love us too.”

For a second, the noise around you fades, and it’s just you and Rafe, holding onto each other like you’re the only two people in the room.

Then, predictably, JJ ruins it. “Hey, lovebirds! Save that for later. You’re killing Milo’s vibe.”

You both turn to see JJ standing with his hands on his hips, looking dramatic as ever. Milo’s grinning, clutching his dinosaur to his chest like it’s his new best friend. 

“Yeah, stop kissin'!” Milo chimes in, giggling.

You rolls your eyes but pull away from Rafe with a chuckle. “Alright, alright. No more kissing.”

Monica smirks as she finishes setting the last plate. “Don’t worry, Milo. They’ll be gross later when you’re in bed.”

Rafe gives your sister a mock glare. “You’re hilarious.”

She pats him on the back, grinning. “It’s what I’m here for.”

[rninies]

✮ sleeping over - gojo satoru

synopsis: gojo satoru finally convinces you to stay over his place.

warnings: fluff, gn!reader, pouty gojo, reader loves teasing him — wc: 698

notes: new fic after idk how many days yipee hey people

satoru dislikes staying at home sometimes. it’s not about how fancy his house is or even how comfortable it is. no, it’s about not having you in the house. he loves your company a lot and is always so dependent on you. he loves hugging you, kissing you, touching you — satoru loves your presence so much that he feels like he can’t live without you (it’s such an exaggeration you say to him when he says that to you).

“y/n, baby, honey,” satoru whines. he wraps an arm around your waist, pulling you back down onto his lap as you are about to stand up. “are you going to stay over tonight?”

“…mm, maybe next time,” you reply, and satoru groans.

“you always say next time, though.” satoru pouts, resting his chin on your shoulder. “come on. just this once. we’ve been dating for four months now! it’s gotta happen someday.” the way he tightens his grip on your waist is a silent beg for you to stay. “please?”

you sigh, finally giving in. “okay, fine.” satoru gasps, happy. “but you will be taking care of dinner tonight.”

“okay!” satoru says in excitement. “what do you want? sushi? pizza? pasta? say anything and you’ll get it!”

you stifled a laugh. “hm, you can just make anything you want. i don’t mind.”

“okay. i’ll make us some kitsune udon.” satoru says. you nod in agreement.

satoru lets go of you, allowing you to move away from him. he takes the ingredients out and starts cooking. you silently admire satoru from the couch, looking at him cutting up the ingredients, boiling the water, and waiting for the udon to finish. as soon as he finishes, he sets the two bowls down on the table, clapping his hands in satisfaction.

“dinner’s ready!” satoru exclaims. you stand up, the smell of kitsune udon filling your nose. “mm, it smells amazing, toru!”

“of course it does.” satoru smugly says. “i’m the best cook after all. the best one you’ll ever meet in the entire world.”

“pft-” you giggled. “yeah, okay whatever you say, master chef satoru.” satoru frowns, not taking the insult (as he would call it) very well. however, instead of refuting you, he sits down at the left side of the table, far from you, and starts eating quietly. “why are you sitting so far away from me?”

“no reason why.” satoru shrugs, continuing to eat his udon. “why? you got a problem with that?”

you suppress the smile from forming on your face, knowing the reason behind this. “no. just wondering why.”

satoru frowns once more, upset at the lack of reaction. he stands up and sits next to you, slamming his bowl on the table, and spilling a little bit of the soup. “i can never get to you can i?”

“nope.” you say, popping the ‘p’. “you’re just too cute when you’re mad.”

“i hate you,” satoru mumbles. “i hate you with my every soul. i regret inviting you to stay over.”

“yeah, okay,” you say, finishing your udon. “wanna watch a movie after this?”

“yes.” satoru replies immediately. you both finish your meal, satoru immediately takes your bowl to wash it. “you can go pick the movie. if you pick the same barbie movie-”

“i am definitely watching barbie: princess charm school,” you say and rush to the couch. satoru chases after you and the both of you grab the remote, fighting over it. “hey-! come on, give me the remote, toru!”

“no way! i am not watching that movie for the tenth time this week and it’s only tuesday!” satoru says. “let me watch something i’ve been wanting to watch already! come on, let’s watch horror!”

“no way!” you exclaim, pulling the remote harder. “you know how much i hate horror! you’re the one who asked me to pick the movie for tonight so you better let me watch barbie!”

satoru pulls the remote back and it actually leaves your hand, making you lose your balance. you gasp, trying to catch your balance but you fail. satoru quickly catches you and the both of you fall on the couch. unsurprisingly, you fall on top of satoru, to which he is very happy about. “hey.” he says with a smile on his face.

“don’t say anything.” you frowned, though you were in a really comfortable position. “don’t move, actually. i’m really comfortable.”

“what?” satoru laughs. “at least let me be comfortable.” he holds you gently as he moves back to the couch. “there. and since i’m a nice host, i’ll let you watch barbie.”

“really? yeay!” your eyes sparkled happily. you grab the remote and play it. “just admit you like this movie. it’s a fun one!”

“yeah, sure.” satoru’s eyes are on you, watching the pretty smile on your face widen as the introduction to the movie starts. “i do like it.”

taglist: @planetnini @xintre @kyoghurts @sad-darksoul (send an ask to be added!) <3

[lemonlover1110]

Hello! I hope you are doing well 😌 you are my fav writer and I just wanted to to throw out this crazy brainrot request to u bc I am SICK over it

So Florence nightingale syndrome right? Toji is like a professional boxer or whatever something athletic bc he's a fucking beast and he gets hurt, like his leg or something, and you become his at home occupational therapist. So you're like taking care of him and he's getting feelings for you while also being a stubborn ass bc u push him constantly so he can get better. and he's super hesitant to accept his feelings bc he's a Playboy of course.

I'm just picturing this one scene where you're helping him up and he's leaning on you and he says something like "are you sure you can handle me princess?" Idk I'm insane I'm sorry 😭😭😭😭

Pairing: boxer!Toji Fushiguro x f!caregiver!Reader

Warnings: Fluff, frustrated Toji, Florence nightingale syndrome, Toji has an injured leg and is a little bitch for a bit

*This was so fun to work on and now I'm having thinking a little too hard about boxer toji (I'm ovulating) sofjsof enjoy!

Discord 18+ - Twitter - Ko-Fi

Toji never really thought he’d be dependent on someone, yet now he can’t even take a shower standing up. After an unlucky boxing match, Toji ended up in a cast and crutches. That’s what he gets for not listening to his son who told him it was around time to retire.

“I’m not a fucking skeleton, I’m good in my field. I can do this for a couple more years.” How he wishes he could swallow his fucking words. He thought that after getting the cast off he’d go back to normal, and he’d have no issue with mobility. He shouldn’t have an issue moving his fucking leg again, he’s been moving it for more than thirty years, why should three months of not moving it change much?

Apparently he can’t do anything, which is why he has someone with him all day every day, helping him so he can get better. Toji’s main issue? He gets frustrated when someone tries to help him. 

“Be careful, it’s hot.” You smile at him as you put his dinner in front of him. He has a scowl on his face as you set it down in front of him. He tried to help make dinner but he couldn’t stand for too long. He’s mad, but not at you. He could never be mad at you. 

Toji wasn’t necessarily fond of you when you started working with him; he hates being dependent on someone else, and he knew that he would have to depend on you for pretty much everything. You try to help him though, and he should be more appreciative of you because of it, but in reality he feels like a fucking baby. He’s grown to like you though… A little too much for his liking. 

You leave him to eat, going to wash the dishes since he can’t do the task yet. Perhaps his own bowl and spoon, but not everything that needs to be cleaned. You watch him from the counter, watching his refusal to pick up the spoon and eat the soup you made him. Earlier he was so prideful, telling you that he would help you every step of the way during dinner, and he couldn’t even finish one third of it. You were proud of him regardless.

“It’s really good, Toji! The potatoes you helped peel really added a touch to it.” You’ve gotten close enough to be on a first name basis. You see each other every day, you stay in the same house, of course you’re close enough to talk to each other so casually. It doesn’t mean you should though. You’ve always managed to keep a very professional relationship with patients, but there’s just something about him that makes it hard for you to be normal around him.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m a fucking kid.” He says, pushing the bowl of soup away. He’s not hungry anymore. Toji stands up, his hands holding on to the table to support himself before grabbing his crutches. 

“Toji, if you’re not eating it, can you try to bring it over to me, please?” You ask. You know the soup has cooled down, if he spills it, he’ll be fine.

“If you want it, pick it up yourself.” Toji is clearly mad. You don’t take it to heart though, because you know it’s with himself and not you. 

“How about we go to the park tomorrow? It’s supposed to be a nice day out.” You talk to Toji who tries to watch a documentary. He’s not all that interested in what he put on, caring more about what you have to say. He might not show it, and he tries to deny it, but he has the biggest soft spot for you. “We can also get some ice cream, if you’re in the mood!”

“Hey… I’m sorry about earlier. I was just—” It’s hard to get an apology out of him, but sometimes he knows he’s in the wrong and he feels the need to apologize. He doesn’t want you to be mad at him, even though you’re clearly not upset with him. You’re so understanding and patient with him, he feels like he doesn’t deserve that.

“You’re fine, Toji.” You reassure him with a smile, your hand going over his balled up fist. You feel your heart skip a beat as you touch him. You’ve crossed the line past a professional relationship, and you should set some boundaries within yourself– But his other hand goes on top of your own before he brings it up, softly kissing your knuckles. It’s hard to set boundaries when he feels the same way.

“I’m tired.” He tells you, and you stand up to help him get up. Toji usually denies your help, but this time, he has no problem accepting it. You just want the best for him, and there’s some things that he can’t do completely alone. He has to take baby steps. He’s using you for support, and he’s scared that he’s too heavy for you. He asks you, “Are you sure, princess? Can you handle me? I know I’m pretty big.”

“You’re fine. I can handle you.” You reassure him, and you begin to walk to his bedroom. His room was previously on the second floor, but ever since his injury, he’s moved his bedroom to the first floor. You get him to his bedroom, helping him on the bed. You smile at him before saying, “Let me grab your crutches. You left them in the living room, right?”

Before you can walk away, he grabs your sleeve. Toji’s slowly realizing that he can’t fight off the feelings that consume him when you help him, and he’s usually not a fan of them. Toji’s been tied down once before, he certainly doesn’t want that again. But with you, it’s different. He doesn’t mind the idea.

“Will you lay down with me?” He asks, and you suck in your bottom lip between your teeth. You shouldn’t. He caresses your cheek with the back of his hand before he prompts himself up to kiss the corner of your mouth.

“Toji, you know this isn’t something I can do.” You tell him as he looks lovingly into your eyes. “I’m here to help you get better.”

“You can help me get better by laying down next to me.” Toji responds. You grab the hand that so lovingly touches your cheek and kiss it, before bringing your lips down to meet his momentarily. He swears he hears fireworks when your lips meet, even after you pull away.

He’s most definitely in love with you.

“I’ll go get your crutches. Good night, Toji.”

[an-gothamite-aka-zannalial]

If there's a problem with shapeshifters, brainwashing, copycats, or whatever. I like to think the batfam would say the most embarrassing things to others to prove they were the real one

Dick: tell something we only know

Jason: You hid the Batmobile from B because we accidentally used it to go to your school farewell party and ended up crashing into a lamp post because you were so drunk

Bruce: dick you what

Dick: I can explain

Jason: And you accidentally broke Alfred's favorite pan and then tried to replace it

Bruce: you know I change my mind, you alone in this son

Dick: wait, no don't left me

Tim: prove you real

Steph: You accidentally spilled an energy drink in agent A soup a few days ago, and begged me not to tell anyone

Tim: okay you real, And our agreement is still valid ok

Yj: you what tim

Jason: say something that can prove you not Copycat

Damian: The big wound on your chest was the result of you running and falling down the stairs in the league, not because you died

Dick: Jay why you lie to me

Steph: really I initially believed it was because Joker killed him

Tim: How could you fall down the stairs and get that big of an injury

Damian: It was a league ladder on a mountain, he didn't see the road at night because he was tired and slipped

Duke: Now I know I'm not the only one who gets injured because of silly things

Jason: *dies again

Harper: say it Copycat

Cullen: Before I become more suspicious, I want to say that Harper once peed her pants while riding a roller coaster

Harper: You bitch

Duke: Really I thought you were the I'm-not-afraid-of-anything-girl

Cullen: she just joking

Damian: Just admit you're a shapeshifter

Tim: No. And I have to remind you that you were the one who put those rat into the manor because you thought they were cute

Jon: what, is that true dami

Damian: No but ironically he is real

Bruce: you should

Dick: B Do I really have to tell you about the time you wanted to ask Talia out on a date but instead gave the wrong location,Or when you were scolded by Alfred for setting fire to the kitchen, or when you admitted that you were-

Bruce: enough you're my son

Jl: what

[amjad-danaf99]

In the heart of war-torn Gaza, where devastation and loss have become daily realities, lies the poignant story of Amjad Danaf and his family. Amid relentless airstrikes,And it wasn’t just my home that was destroyed. Years of effort and dedication were wasted in moments, and here I am standing in the ruins of my home, as I stand in the ruins of my life, trying to collect the remains of my dreams and memories. This house was a source of safety for me and my family, but the war left us nothing, and we face an ambiguous and difficult future.

Now, after all this destruction, my family and I live as displaced people, homeless and unemployed, with no clear future for us. Every day is a struggle to find food for my family, who have been deprived of every chance at a normal life by this war. Once upon a time, we lived in Gaza, in northern Gaza, where we had a home, a life,But now, after being displaced more than nine times, we find ourselves in the refugee camps in Deir al-Balah, and the war has stripped us of everything: our homeland, our security, and our future. Our daily lives have become a constant search for basic necessities, a far cry from the life we ​​knew before.

The dreams I had for my family now seem like distant memories, overshadowed by the relentless challenges of survival. Each day brings new doubts, as we navigate this harsh new reality, clinging to the hope that one day we may be able to rebuild what we have lost.We urgently call on everyone who stands in solidarity with us, and every supporter, to help save what remains of our lives. Your help, even in small ways, can make a big difference in helping us rebuild and restore our broken world. Rebuilding seems like an insurmountable task, but with your help, we can begin to piece together what we have lost. Your contributions, no matter how small, can provide the foundation we need to start over, and provide hope and a chance for a better future for our family. Your solidarity means the world to us as we face these difficult times.

Thank you for your compassion, your time, and your commitment to freedom and justice.

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[kentopedia]

.𖥔 ݁ ˖ LET YOUR HEART BE LIGHT — LEVI ACKERMAN

summary . . . your childhood best friend, eren, invites you to his christmas eve party, but your ex is going to be there. in order to get back at him, levi tags along as your fake boyfriend

contents . . . sfw, fake dating, f!reader, age gap (levi early 30s, reader early 20s), past unhealthy relationships, pining, fluff, humor, miscommunication, light angst, insecure and shy reader, zeke jaeger :/, not so friends to lovers, bff hange, she/they prns for hange — 12.3k

notes . . . my bday gift for my beloved that i have been speeding through the past couple of days, so pls ignore any errors. i adore him so dearly and he means so much to me. it's a little bit cheesy, and may be a little be rushed for christmas, but i hope you enjoy nonetheless. merry christmas everyone i love u all so so much <33

“Are you even listening to me, Hange?” you asked, sighing as you leaned your head back on the sofa, taking a long sip of your wine. The alcohol washed over you, soothed the tension that was wrought within your body as the warmth began buzzing through you.

Hange poked their head up from the simmering pot, a cloud of steam wafting up under the lid. With the combination of vegetables and spices, you were pretty sure that she was making stew for dinner — and far too much for just two of you, by the looks of it.

“Sorry,” Hange said, sheepish, glasses falling down her nose. “I’m almost done, I promise.” 

You frowned, but waved your hand, letting them return to the kitchen. Hange hummed a tune, their delightful mood such a contrast to the horrific news you’d received earlier in the day. 

Briefly, your mind wandered off into the misery you’d let yourself wallow in, but Hange came around the corner quickly, stilling your anger. There were two bowls in their hands, and they gave one to you, letting it warm your own palms, the smell deliciously comforting. 

“So what’s this about your ex?” Hange asked, interested, their voice expressive, attentive, as usual. “You got invited to his party?”

The scalding spoonful of soup slid down your throat, as you prepared yourself to start the conversation from the beginning. Hange was a horrible multitasker, though she denied it, and your entire half-hour of rambling had gone in one ear, and out the other. 

Though, just as you were about to speak, you were interrupted once more by a knocking at the front door. You glanced over to the source of the noise, then back to your roommate, eyebrows raised. “Are you expecting company?” 

Hange laughed a little; it was such a carefree sound, and one that always seemed to be spilling from their lips. “Oh, it’s just Levi. I told him I was making a lot of stew, so he could come over for dinner.” 

Of course  — Who else would be banging at your door at this hour?

You sighed, the sound leaving you in something akin to a small whisper, your expression falling in disappointment. 

Levi Ackerman lived on the floor below you, in an apartment you’d never been to, living a life you knew almost nothing about. It had been two years since you’d met, when he helped Hange move into your shared apartment, and yet, he was still an enigma after all that time. 

What you did know was that Levi was a few years older than Hange, many more years older than you, and he always seemed to be around. He was quiet, for the most part, but he had a sarcastic sense of humor that only a few people seemed to understand. Him and Hange were comfortable joking with each other; your roommate never got offended by his comments, ones that would’ve been scandalizing to some others. 

For a while, their comfort with one another had led you to believe they were dating. You’d asked Hange about it one day at dinner, a fleeting comment, as you stuck a fork into your dish. 

“So how long have you and Levi been together?” you’d said.

Hange had shot water out of their nose, fell back in their chair, cackling so hard that tears sprang to their eyes. You’d only stared back like an idiot, poked at your food, until Hange sobered, and apologized for embarrassing you. 

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Hange explained, sipping on their soda, still smiling like you’d told the funniest joke imaginable. “Levi and I are just close friends. My partner lives a few hours away, going back to school. He’ll be moving back home in a year.” 

You’d supposed it made sense, looking back. Their embraces were often stiff on Levi’s end, his affection coming on minimally. Hange was a much more touchy person, so perhaps, that’s where you’d crafted the image of them in a relationship. 

Which was a silly one, now that you could see your error in hindsight.

“And Levi?” you’d asked shortly after, curious about the man you’d known—and still knew—so little about.

“Oh, Levi’s not with anyone,” Hange had hummed, rolling their eyes like this was a point of contention. “He doesn’t really date.” 

“Why?”

“He doesn’t like to.” 

“Oh.” 

That’d been that, of course.

 You hadn’t asked any other questions, but in the months that followed, your mind had whirled, piecing together an image of Levi Ackerman that made the most sense to you. 

He was handsome; startlingly so. Beautiful to the point that you averted your gaze when he glanced at you, your cheeks heating, palms sweaty. A thirty-something, intelligent, quiet man with his act together. He drew women to him easily, took them back home. . . perhaps a different one every night. Maybe he kept them around for a bit, until he got bored of them.

He’d never romance them, and they’d never expect that from him. If he called them back, which he did rarely, it was never because he liked them. It was because he wanted something from them, nothing more. 

At least, that’s what you thought Levi Ackerman was like, in the times he was outside of the four walls of your apartment. Perhaps your stiffness towards him continued to stem from that caricature you’d created. 

You sighed, bringing yourself back to the present as Hange let Levi in through the door, his shoes loud against the hardwood.

Really, it was hard not to form biased opinions when Levi offered up so little about himself. 

When you did talk with him, which was frequently, the conversations always centered around you. He had asked you many times about school when you’d been finishing up your degree; Levi asked you about your job when you’d first started. 

Of course, he never offered anything up about his job, which you knew must have been quite nice, nor about his family, which you figured must have been quite complicated. 

And, as always, you were forced to wipe your hands on your pants, the sweat turning your palms clammy, as you scolded yourself for the fact that Levi Ackerman still made you nervous. 

Levi’s eyes flitted across the room as he walked in, the navy blue irises cool when they met your own. He didn’t smile, but he made some sort of acknowledgement of your existence, before Hange had dragged him into the kitchen and filled up a bowl of soup for him. 

Moments later, he was on one of the chairs before you, the bottle of wine in the middle of your odd little circle. Unconsciously, you had sucked in a breath, looking away, as Levi prodded at his bowl like he was afraid of the contents. 

“Well, it’s not going to jump out and eat you,” Hange rolled her eyes, snickering, at Levi’s bored expression. “Just try it, Levi.” 

“It smells different. What the hell did you do to it?” Levi let the spoonful fall back into the bowl, the broth dripping off the edge of the silverware. “I’m not participating in any kinds of experiments, Hange, if that’s what this is.” 

“Oh, be grateful.” Hange huffed, crossing their arms over their chest. “I followed a recipe. If you don’t want it, I’ll take it down the hall to Erwin.” 

When Levi said nothing for another moment, Hange made a move to steal the bowl out of his hands.

Quickly, he guided it away.

“No, no. I’ll eat it. Your cooking may be horrendous, but it certainly saves me time.”

Hange smiled, satisfied, reading between Levi’s cool remark, sensing a thank you in there somewhere. 

It had been hard, at first, to talk to Levi, and understanding him was a skill that you’d found you could only develop with time. He had a dry sense of humor, said very little with a smile, and could certainly be mean when he wanted to be. His words were often blunt, and even when he was joking, it was hard to tell. 

Once, when you’d first met, Levi had hurt your feelings. You’d tried not to let it show, but Hange had known, as always, and had squeezed your shoulder, reassuring. 

“Levi’s just like that sometimes, but he’s a good person. Just give him a chance. I think you’ll find you’re a lot more similar than you think.”

Similar was a bit far-fetched, but you supposed you’d grown to appreciate Levi’s sense of humor. Perhaps you even found him funny at times, laughed at his jokes. He was kind when he wanted to be, even if his communication was a one-way street. There was a distance between you, but a part of you wanted to keep it that way. 

Levi ate a spoonful of the soup, swirling it around in his mouth before swallowing. His gaze trailed to the ceiling, thoughtful, before muttering some sort of praise. “Surprisingly better than the last stew you made, Hange,” he said, and Hange was pleased, a smile widening across her face. “I assume your roommate had nothing to do with it, did she?” 

You made a face at him, not sure if he was insulting you, or trying to suggest that you could’ve improved Hange’s cooking. Either way, you returned his dry tone, swirling your spoon around in the bowl. “Well, if I did, it certainly wasn’t to please your fussy tastes.” 

Levi almost cracked a smile at that, but snorted instead, leaning back in the cushion of his chair. 

For some reason, Levi’s movement seemed to trigger Hange’s memory, and they flung their spoon out of the bowl, splashing soup on the coffee table, as they pointed it at you.

“Wait, finish your story!” Hange cut off Levi’s sentence, and he frowned, but said nothing, getting comfortable on the couch. 

Today, he was wearing a gray cable-knit sweater, and a beautiful silver watch that likely cost an entire months worth of your salary. His hair had been mussed a bit from the cold, cheeks tinged red. 

Levi must have come from outside, you’d realized, not just downstairs. Another mystery that you would never uncover — how Levi spent his weekends, besides the time he spent in your apartment.

Distracted, you looked back down at your hands, hating the way that Levi pinned you with his gaze. He was far too attentive, his eyes too intense; even if you had been as confident as you liked to believe, as self-assured, you’d never been able to hold eye-contact with the dark-haired man for very long. 

“Oh, that,” you said, huffing, recalling the news that had been delivered to you earlier that evening. Not so bad, really; you were making a big deal out of something so small. But the casual remark, via a text message from your high school best-friend, had been enough to sour your mood for the rest of the afternoon. “Well, Eren is having a party on Christmas Eve. All of our high school friends will be back home for the holidays, so I’ll actually get to see them for once.” 

Hange smiled, their eyes lighting up, but the confusion in her expression shone through knitted eyebrows. “Well, that’s great!” they said, as Levi sat quietly, slurping on his soup like he’d been raised in some penthouse apartment, a view shining over the city. You could imagine him with a nanny that had been specifically hired to teach him manners. A playful version of Levi as a child was near impossible to envision — you saw him only sitting calmly, politely, hands crossed over his lap. “Why do you seem so upset?” 

You looked away, chewing the inside of your mouth, your stomach turning. It was the last thing you wanted to think about, the way your two desires were at odds. How desperately you wanted to see all your old friends, the ones that were spread all over. None of you had been all together since you were in high school. 

Yet, the other part of you considered calling Eren and canceling on him, telling him you wanted to spend it with your family instead, that you’d just have to catch up with them next time. 

Who knew when that would be.

“Zeke’s coming,” you sighed, rubbing your arm. “It’s only been a year. I don’t want to see him again.” 

Hange’s eyes widened. Slowly, she leaned back, nodding, as understanding flicked through her face. “I see.” 

“Exactly,” you swallowed the last bit of soup, letting the warmth comfort you, wash over you in waves. Perhaps, it would cleanse some of the anxiety that sat riddled in your chest. “Now you see…” 

“Well, sure I mean—” 

“Who the hell is Zeke?” Levi interrupted, drawing your attention back to him, his back straight, despite being relaxed in the chair. Everything about him was so put together. Even the socks he wore even seemed expensive, his shoes by the door freshly shined. “An ex-boyfriend?”

“Ex-boyfriend seems too kind of a word for Zeke Jaeger,” you spat, letting his name drip from your mouth with every ounce of hatred you could muster. “He’s a plague upon my life. I’d do anything not to see him again.” 

Levi set the bowl down, curiosity piqued. “I don’t see why your friend invited him if he’s so horrible.” 

“Zeke is Eren’s brother,” Hange offered.

“Half-brother,” you corrected, tucking your knees into your chest to rest your chin against them. “Don’t give him that much credit. Eren’s an idiot, but even he doesn’t deserve to be related to someone as awful as Zeke.” 

Hange laughed, though you didn’t find it to be as hilarious as they did. Your scowl deepened.

“Anyway, Eren’s throwing it at his parent’s house since they’ll be out for the night — Zeke invited himself. With his new girlfriend, I’m sure.” Your rolled your eyes, tucking your cheek against the couch cushion. “She’ll be better than me, of course. Probably prettier.”

Levi studied you for a moment, reading the hurt that you tried to veil on your face. Usually, you weren’t so open with him. You didn’t like being vulnerable, and especially not with Levi, who seemed to view any emotion as a weakness. “I see the issue.” 

You huffed, a sound of agreement, and played with the loose thread on the sofa. “Yeah, well, it was stupid of me to date my best friend’s brother anyway. When has that ever worked out?” 

Hange reached across the coffee table to squeeze your hand, sympathetic. “Hey. Don’t do that. What’s done is done. Besides, what are the odds he’ll actually show up?”

“Uh, pretty fucking high if he’s staying with his dad for Christmas,” you scowled, rubbing your eye, makeup smeared on the side of it when you drew away.

Hange’s lips pulled together, flattening into a thin line. “Well…” Dark brown eyes flitted between you and Levi, who was looking at your roommate with something less than amusement. “You could always take Levi as your date.” 

“You can’t be serious,” Levi said, his tone flat, lips drawing into a thin line. 

“What? That’s… No,” you laughed awkwardly, growing hot, nervous. Suddenly, you were worried that your panicked stutter made it seem like this had been your plan all along. To get Levi to come as your date — which was ridiculous, really, but perhaps not so farfetched with the way he regarded you. “I can’t do that.” 

“Why? It’d be a big old fuck you to Zeke Jaeger. Levi is far better looking than him.” Hange gestured to Levi, as if you weren’t already painfully aware of how beautiful their best friend was. “He’s better in almost every way, actually. Not that the bar is very high.” 

“What the hell does that mean?” Levi asked, poking Hange on the side of the head. “Almost every way?” 

“Zeke’s pretty tall.”

Levi rolled his eyes, dismissive. “Like that matters.” 

“It does!” 

You stopped them before they could bicker any further. Hange seemed to make it their mission to always rile Levi up — not that it was very difficult, but it always brought an amused smile to her lips. 

“Hange’s right, though. The bar is not so high.” You shrugged, curling in on yourself again — just another reminder of how much of a mistake you’d made. How desperate you must have been to have fallen for Zeke Jaeger. Even Eren had warned you about him. “It’s a stupid idea, though. No one would believe it. Least of all, Zeke.” 

“Why not?” Levi said. “You think I’d be a bad boyfriend. Think I can’t play that role well?” 

“That’s not—” you began, but let the words fall away, sniffing back the self-deprecating sentiment. It wasn’t that you needed him to seem like a good boyfriend. Levi was unapproachable, cold, reserved, regardless of who he was with… Even his best friend. It would take very little from him to sell the performance. A small smile, a hand around your waist. Perhaps a kiss on the forehead for good measure. 

It wasn’t that, really. 

It was more that Zeke would know, immediately. Would see you together, and laugh to himself, because someone like Levi would never want someone like you. A statement as painfully clear as the color of the sky. 

You didn’t want to admit that to either of them, though. So, instead, you narrowed your eyes, challenging Levi, perhaps, even, daring him to retract his statement. “Well… can you?” 

“Which are you asking?” Levi drummed his fingers against his thigh, pale and slender, his nails clean, neatly trimmed. Distracting, almost. “If I can put on a performance, or if I can be a good partner?” 

You shrugged. 

Levi’s eyes narrowed further, thoughtful. 

“I’ll go with you,” he finally said, after a near minute of silence, in which you weren’t sure what to say. Hange watched beside you, painfully entertained. “I’d like to see how truly awful this boyfriend of yours is.” 

“Don’t say boyfriend,” you made a face, “and he’s pretty damn awful.” 

The next few days, you’d mapped out something of a plan with Levi — though, there was little between you that you needed to figure out. It wasn’t as if you were strangers. Levi had known vaguely that you’d had a boyfriend up until last Christmas, had known that you were still close with your group of friends from high school. 

He knew quite a bit about you, something you only just now realized. Levi often said little, but he was observant, picked things up easily. He seemed to know you better than you thought, and it wouldn’t be difficult to convince everyone of your closeness.

With that knowledge, you calmed, realizing that, maybe, it wouldn’t be so difficult to spin your relationship into a romantic one. 

The story followed: Levi had been there for you after Zeke had broken up with you. You’d been friends for a while. He had asked you on a date shortly after. Simple — no outlandish lie. 

Still, a part of you contemplated telling Zeke you’d been fucking Levi while you were still together. He probably wouldn’t believe it anyway, but you wanted to see even a hint of frustration on his usually dull expression.

On your way back to your hometown, Levi insisted on driving his car, one that was a few years old, but still had that new smell, every single inch of it outrageously clean, each crack in the cushions vacuumed. There was hardly anything in the vehicle; a pair of sunglasses in the center console, some spare cash next to it. 

He’d picked you up with two coffees, which now rested, empty, in the cupholders. 

The two of you spent the ride mostly in silence, listening to a Christmas playlist that Levi had awkwardly switched to, as if he’d been embarrassed of whatever he’d been playing before. One hand held the wheel, the other resting against the console, tapping on the leather between you. 

You stared, the movement of his fingers distracting. For the second time, you were staring at his slender hands, the veins dark under his skin. How nice they were, like something out of a painting.

God, when did you start noticing that? 

“Thank you for the coffee,” you said, realizing your manners all too late, embarrassed you hadn’t said it earlier. “How did you know what I liked?” 

Levi glanced over, slowing down as the light turned red. For a moment, he hesitated; contemplated. Pink tongue flicked over his bottom lip as the car idled. “Hange told me.” 

“Oh.” 

Levi shrugged. “Well, you’re welcome anyway.” 

The light turned green. Silence settled between you once again. 

You twitched uncomfortably, wondering how much you should say — or shouldn’t say. There weren’t many times you had been together, just the two of you, without Hange somewhere near. 

Levi didn’t seem to be in a talkative mood, but then again, he could’ve just been focused on driving. He was gracious enough to take on that responsibility, and you didn’t want to be distracting, even if the near silence was driving you mad. On the other hand, there wasn’t much you wanted to say. Every time you thought of something, a conversation to strike up, it died just as quickly on your lips. 

Eventually, Levi seemed to grow tired of the awkwardness between you, how stiff you appeared to be. His eyes darted towards you once again, studying you from the corner of his eye. “If you want people to believe that we’re dating, you’re going to have to stop acting like that.” 

You blinked at him, shifting in your seat. “Like what?” 

“Like…” Levi shrugged. “Like I’m holding you at gunpoint.”

A laugh bubbled out of you. “What does that mean?”

He gave you a blank expression, certainly calling you an idiot with nothing more than a gaze. “It means you make it blatantly obvious you don’t want to be around me. I know you dislike me, but maybe…” Levi shook his head, dark hair falling into his eyes. “At least try to pretend otherwise.” 

Your stomach twisted up as Levi worked his jaw, frustrated, undeniably. For some unknown reason, it made you feel ashamed, even more shy around him than you’d been before. Levi was probably used to women who knew what they wanted. Who could meet his eyes without feeling a sense of shyness creep up their spine. Who could do a lot of things that you couldn’t, and could match his wit and sarcasm without feeling the rush of dread that you’d offended him. 

“I don’t dislike you, Levi,” you said, huffing. “I just — don’t think we get along well.” 

“That’s news to me,” he said, tapping the gearshift. The music turned down two notches from where he punched the button on the wheel. “Hange says we’re quite compatible.” 

“What?” you laughed loudly, ignoring the race of your heart, the furl of anxiety in your chest. “Don’t listen to anything they say — Hange wants to set me up with everyone. You’re hardly the best option.” 

Levi, for once, quirked his lips in something near a smile. “Funny. I thought the same thing.” 

You scoffed, warm again, crossing your arms over your chest. It was infuriating, really, how you felt around him. Surely you weren’t the only one — Levi radiated confidence and authority, entirely. You’d never seen him interact with many others, but surely they averted their gazes, cheeks warm, stumbling over words. Surely, you couldn’t be the only one who seemed to feel so small under the breadth of his presence. 

Another song played before he spoke again, tapping his fingers against the wheel. Familiarity sprung up around you as the landscape began to change, the scenery transforming into one you’d grown up in.

“Why did you date Zeke, anyway?” Levi asked, this time, not bothering to look at you. He stared straight ahead, passing a slower car, the blinker tapping wildly against the dashboard. 

You shrugged, scratching your wrist as you looked out the window. How you loathed this topic of conversation. It didn’t matter why you’d dated that man — only that you had, and you regretted it. 

You found yourself telling Levi anyway. “He was funny,” you said, quietly, watching the clouds pass above in the sky, dark and gloomy. “He was charming. He liked to read and so did I.” 

Levi hummed, but it was dismissive, an acknowledgement of pity and nothing more. Deep down, he was probably laughing, amused at your idiocy. “That’s it?” 

“I know it’s stupid… I was stupid,” you said, defensive, curling your hands into fists. “He was my first boyfriend, and I was naive. I wanted to be loved, and Zeke told me he loved me.” You felt the wash of angry tears come back upon you, and you flushed them away, sniffing. “I just didn’t know he’d told two other women the same thing at the same time.”

Levi’s eyes flashed, surprised, as they darted back towards you. “Jesus,” he muttered, fist turning white as it clutched the wheel. “You were right. What a fucking asshole.” 

You smiled a bit, shaking your head. For all accounts, Levi could be an asshole in his own way; a comment you decided to keep to yourself. 

“Yeah, well, what’s done is done. I don’t give a shit about Zeke Jaeger. He can rot in hell for all I care.” You wiped your face, yawning as the sun began it’s descent in the sky. “I’ve given up on finding love anyway. I just don’t want Zeke to have the satisfaction of knowing it was his fault.” A sigh left you. “Besides, that was probably the point. Our relationship was likely just a way to test some philosophy he’d come up with — nothing matters, least of all love.” You rolled your eyes. “He’s like that.” 

Levi didn’t say anything, but you could see him thinking, his eyebrows tied closely together. “But, you know that’s not true, don’t you?” he said, his tone flat, as usual. “You can’t possibly think that you don’t deserve to be loved.” 

You smiled. “Of course,” you said, nodding. “I’m just better off without it.” 

Levi took a breath, looked over once more, and then let the conversation die. 

You hoped it sounded much more convincing to Levi’s ears than your own.

While you were visiting, over the next couple of days, you were staying at Pieck’s apartment. She was two years older, but had been in some of your university courses, and you’d met back in college. You’d found out you were from the same city, and had bonded instantly, having lived such a similar life, in the same place, without even realizing it. 

The three of you had grabbed a quick dinner, and when you got back late, Pieck gave you a little tour of her small apartment, showing Levi more than anything, since you’d visited her twice before. 

“Here’s the other bedroom,” Pieck said, flipping the switch on. It was a room filled with soft pink decor, the comforter lacy and white. “My roommate is visiting family, so you’re welcome to sleep in here; she doesn’t mind. I’ve cleaned the sheets and everything.” 

Levi thanked her, and Pieck smiled sleepily, walking back to her own bedroom with a wave. 

You watched as Levi set his bag down, tugged off his thick jacket. He hung it, gently, on the back of the desk chair, unhooking his watch to set it down beside the coat. His wrist looked so bare that way. Nothing to cover it up, exposing the even softer skin where the accessory usually rested. 

You looked away. “Is everything okay?” you asked, by way of making your exit, eyes flicking around the room. 

Levi glanced up, unfolding a pair of clean clothes from his bag, almost like he’d forgotten you were standing there. “Should something be wrong?” he asked in return, placing a pair of flannel pajama pants next to the gray t-shirt. 

For some reason, the image caused your heart to swell, the sight of something so normal within Levi’s grasp. The organ that continuously betrayed you sped up, beating harder.

It was endearing, really, to see such a mundane side of Levi. He always lived in that enigmatic shroud, some sort of ever-present being that you couldn’t quite understand. 

You smiled softly. “No. Just wanted to make sure. Goodnight, Levi.” 

He said something back, but you were already halfway down the hall, slinging your own bag to Pieck’s room. She was on her side, scrolling through her phone, dark hair splayed across the pillow like a halo. Though, the moment you entered, her attention doubled, eyes crinkling as she grinned. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” you said, frowning, as you followed the same routine as Levi, slinging your bag down to pick out a fresh pair of pajamas. 

“You didn’t tell me he looked like that,” Pieck muttered, the sound of her voice always tired, no matter how much sleep she got. “Zeke is going to hate him.” 

That, at least, had a sense of relief pooling inside you, a laugh spilling out. “I sure hope so.” 

She set her phone on the nightstand, laying flat on her back as you continued through your routine. Her introduction to Levi had been brief, but already, she seemed to like him well enough. 

Maybe they’d end up together, you thought dimly. Pieck had been single for a while, and you’d always thought she was much more charming than you, much prettier. Perhaps Levi would like her.

The idea put a sour taste in your mouth.

When you returned, face scrubbed, teeth clean, Pieck was nearly asleep, the lamp on her side of the bed the only source of light in the room. She glanced up at you sleepily, batting her eyes before you climbed next to her. 

“I can’t believe you,” she said softly, already half-asleep. “How can you stand it?”

“What did I do?” 

For a moment, Pieck stared at you like she didn’t know who you were. A yawn left you, even as you tried to hide it. 

“Is there something wrong with him? Is that the reason?” 

You crinkled your eyebrows together. “Levi?” A million different things ran through your head, but Pieck seemed to want an honest one. “I mean…” Was there, really? Were your speculations and assumptions enough to pass judgement on Levi Ackerman? Or were you just too intimidated by him to admit that he was much nicer than you thought. “Well, you met him, didn’t you?” 

She blinked, then laughed, slapping you with the pillow. “You’re so ridiculous. Why aren’t you together then? I mean, actually together?” Pieck hummed, tapping her hand against the pillow, before she tucked it back under her head. “You’ve got hearts in your eyes when you stare at him.”

“What?” you said, bursting into a fit of giggles. You’d thought it was a joke, but Pieck didn’t smile, didn’t even force a laugh alongside you. “I don’t — I’m not.” 

“I mean, he clearly likes you quite a bit,” she continued, smiling, “if he came all this way. He listens to you, practically hangs off your every word.” A pause. “Wish someone would look at me like that,” Pieck sighed.

You rolled your eyes. “Levi’s just like that. He’s a good listener.” Although, when it left your lips, the last few words came out slower, more uncertainly. Was he really like that? You could think of plenty of times where he’d blatantly ignored people he didn’t like, left a conversation with a snide comment if he didn’t agree with the subject.

Pieck didn’t seem to believe you, a smile tugging on her lips. “Right. A good listener like you, huh? Listening until you don’t care anymore.” She didn’t give you a chance to respond, your indignant protests enough. “It’s funny. You get so flustered you get when he teases you. I just,” she hesitated, tucking a hand under her cheek. “Well, I just didn’t expect that from you — you weren’t like that with Zeke.” 

Again, your cheeks grew hot, your entire body warm. Already, you wanted to kick the covers off, sweat pooling at the backs of your knees. “I’m — No. It’s not. . . Pieck, it’s not.” You buried your face in the pillow, frustrated, hating the grin that curled onto her lips. “Look, I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not like that. He’s just — ” You shook your head, words evading you. “I mean, you’ve seen him.”

Pieck laughed, the sound soft, raspy from exhaustion. “I’m only teasing you,” she whispered, her smile almost wistful. “I know what you mean. He’s older, he’s handsome. He probably knows what he wants.” Then her face grew serious, eyebrows drawing together. “But, I also think you’re not letting yourself admit that you’re attracted to him.” 

“Pieck,” you huffed, feeling that itch at the back of your skull, under your skin, that you couldn’t quite scratch. “I’m not. Half of the time, I’m not even sure if I enjoy his company.” 

She stared at you for a moment longer, unamused, before rolling back onto her side, facing away from you. “Whatever,” she mumbled, a dismissal, like she truly thought every word that left your lips was a denial. “I think you’re just scared after what happened with Zeke. I think you know Levi is exactly what you’ve always wanted, and you don’t think he could possibly like you.” 

You started to protest, maneuvering onto your elbows, but Pieck hushed you, flicked the lamp out. 

“Night,” she said, signifying the end of the conversation. “Just… think on it.” 

An indignant groan escaped you, as Pieck shut her eyes, her breathing evening out not a moment later. You’d always been jealous of how easily she could fall asleep, while you continued to lie awake in bed, left with nothing but your own thoughts. 

Which were certainly not, and would never be, plagued by Levi Ackerman.

Unsurprisingly, Levi had been the first one awake, sitting in the kitchen as he scrolled through his phone, a pair of wired-rimmed reading glasses perched at the edge of his nose. He was already dressed, looking unsurprisingly perfect, while your hair was disheveled, pajamas still on, eyes sleepy. 

You’d stared at him awkwardly, embarrassed by your appearance, and ignored his brief greeting before you slinked back into Pieck’s room, putting yourself together rapidly. You refused to speak to him until you were ready to leave.

Pieck was spending the rest of the weekend with her father, so you and Levi were left to your own devices for the day. You decided to take him around the town, showing him all the places you used to frequent. It was nostalgic, showcasing your city to a man who’d never been here, wouldn’t know the depth of your memories, those that were tied to a smell, a scene, a sound. 

Levi was, to your surprise, quite interested in the places that you’d been around as a child. As usual, he asked many questions, digging into your past without offering anything in return. And, as usual, you let him, all too excited to reminisce about the grade school where you’d met Eren Jaeger, the restaurant you’d always gone to with Sasha. 

It warmed you, how caring he could be — something you’d always known, but perhaps, hadn’t really paid attention to until Pieck pointed it out. Levi did seem to take everything you said to heart, store it in some memory bank with your name labeled right on it. He remembered things you hadn’t even known you’d told him, but must have, at some point. 

When it neared noon, you took him to a coffee shop that you used to study at, right around the corner from your old school. It was still the same as it had been back then, like nothing had changed at all. 

“It’s nice that you have such fond memories,” he said, and there was a small smile on his lips as the two of you entered the cafe, the smell overtaking you almost immediately. 

You laughed, shrugging. “It’s better in hindsight.” There’d been times when all you wanted to do was leave. Now, you couldn’t help but miss it. 

Levi ordered your coffees, and though you’d protested, trying to push your card in his direction, he paid for the both of them, and waited at the end of the bar while you saved a table. Once again, he’d gotten your coffee order correct, but now that you were able to read the side of his cup, you noticed it wasn’t coffee at all, but actually tea — Earl Grey, steaming, far to hot to drink when he took the lid off. 

“Are you not a coffee drinker?” you asked, and for some reason, Levi seemed surprised by the question, his eyes flashing. 

“Not really,” he admitted, his hands folded around the paper cup. “Sometimes, if I don’t get much sleep the night before, but—” Levi shrugged. “It makes my hands shake, which does nothing but irritate me.” 

You smiled, letting the words sink in. Levi didn’t seem like the type of person to dislike coffee, but he sipped at his tea slowly, huffing as you blinked back at him. 

“What’s the matter?” he asked. “It’s not a crime to dislike something, is it?”

“No,” you said, looking back down at your drink, antsy. His mouth was drawn flat, unamused as always… This time, though, you couldn’t help but admire the curve of his cupid’s bow, the plushness of his lower lip, which was such a contrast to the color of his pale cheeks. “It just surprised me, is all. You never tell me anything about yourself.” 

Levi’s eyebrows rose to his hairline. “Well, you’ve didn’t ask. You never do.” 

You opened your mouth, then shut it, thinking through all the conversations you’ve had, all the questions you’ve answered, but never returned. “Usually a conversation is two-sided,” you supplied, leaning forward, accusatory. “I share things about myself, and the other person does so in return.”

Levi’s lips lifted up, nearly a smile. “I’m not really the type of person to spill my heart out unprovoked.” He took a long sip of the tea, glancing out the window at the snowy sidewalk. “If you really cared, you would ask. I won’t bother anyone with useless anecdotes about my life.”

You watched the movement of his hands as he set the cup down, fiddled with the lid beside it. “So that’s all?” you asked, unamused. “All this time, I’ve thought you were some great mystery, and you were just waiting for me to return your questions?”

Levi snorted, though there was a hint of humor in his gaze, flashing from the Christmas lights that were strung around the shop. “Don’t blame me — I’ve always been honest with you,” he supplied, matching your posture. “Maybe you’re just a poor conversationalist, and you’ve made assumptions about me that aren’t true.” Though his tone was clipped, there was still a sense of disappointment in his words. 

You let his words sink in, opening your mouth, then shutting it, silencing your protests.

Levi sighed, spinning the conversation towards your evening, rehashing the plan for any questions that might arise. Though you nodded, engaged, your mind was still on his confession, the words gnawing at you. 

It was true, you realized with disappointment. Levi had never avoided any questions you’d asked him outright, had always given you a small smile, before carefully answering. You had, really, been avoiding him — perhaps, for no reason at all. 

That evening, you arrived at the party just a few minutes after six, when Eren had told you to arrive. Many of your friends were already there, the street lined with cars that you didn’t recognize. 

Unsurprisingly, Eren was the one to answer the door, throwing it open and pulling you into a hug before you even had time to react. Your name left his lips in an excited exclamation, and you breathed in the familiarity of him, a deep-rooted nostalgia at the sight of someone you’d known for so long. 

“It’s so good to see you,” Eren said, even though it had only been a few months since you’d last gotten together, not years, like it might have felt. 

His hair was longer than when it had been when you last saw him, and he’d bulked up a bit, but otherwise, hadn’t changed. That was a comfort in itself, just like the smell of Carla and Grisha Jaeger’s house, the furniture that had been the same since you were an adolescent. 

Eren guided you through the door before glancing over your shoulder, noticing Levi for the first time. His eyes widened, green eyes electric as your name left his lips, aghast.

“You didn’t tell me you were bringing someone!” Eren’s posture straightened, and suddenly, he was on his best behavior, trying hard to impress the man that you’d brought with you. 

Levi gave him a once-over, glanced over to you, and then stuck out his hand politely. “Levi Ackerman,” he said, shaking it. “You must be Eren—”

But Eren’s attention was already caught by another part of the conversation. He shook his Levi’s quickly, not bothering to answer the greeting, before saying, “Ackerman? Maybe a long-shot, but do you know my girlfriend, Mikasa?” 

Surprise flashed in Levi’s irises as he followed Eren inside, nodding. “Actually, she’s my cousin.” 

At the same time, across the room, a familiar voice shouted Levi’s name, running over to throw her arms around him. Mikasa’s body rammed against Levi’s shorter frame, and despite his strength, he let out a small puff of air, shocked, as she crashed into him. 

“Levi, what are you doing here?” Mikasa said, smiling softly, before releasing him, returning to her normal, calm self. “I had no idea you knew—” A pause, as she flicked her eyes between you, puzzling the pieces together. Her palms covered her mouth, but a sharp squeak emitted from her throat, excitement. “You two are together?” 

You hadn’t even gotten the chance to greet her, but Mikasa held you close, her perfume so familiar, hair soft against your cheek.

“What a crazy coincidence — I had no idea… Well, of course, it makes sense. You’re so perfect for each other. I can’t believe I didn’t think of introducing you earlier.” Mikasa rambled on, uncharacteristically, and even Eren seemed surprised as he darted his gaze between you. “How did you meet?” she said.

Levi sighed, perpetually put-out, and followed Mikasa to one of the couches. 

You sat with him, but stayed silent for the most part, enjoying watching them interact, smiling at the sight of him so comfortable. Levi spun the story of how you’d “ended up together,” and you offered a few nods here and there, too distracted by the revelation of their relation. 

Ackerman was a common enough name that you hadn’t even thought about it, but the more you looked at them together, the more you could see their similarities. Their quiet, but confident demeanors, intellect, and grey eyes. Even the way they spoke was a bit similar. You felt like such an idiot, and when there was a break in the conversation, you said as much. 

For once, though, Levi didn’t take it as an opportunity to tease you for your foolishness. “Truthfully,” he said, squeezing your hand gently, “I should’ve realized. I knew Mikasa had moved here recently, but I hadn’t been to see her, and I hadn’t met her boyfriend.” 

Only later did you remember how nice his hand felt in your own — those cool, pale fingers wrapped around your hand, as if he hadn’t even had to think about it. How you’d accepted them so easily, feeling warm, calm, his fingertips against your knuckles so natural.

Mikasa and Levi seemed happy to catch up, so for the next couple of hours, you made the rounds, visiting with your old friends and the people they were now seeing. Historia and Ymir, the only high school sweethearts left in your group, had even managed to show up, even though they lived the greatest distance away from home. It had been a surprise, and you’d nearly cried when you saw them, leaping away from the table, interrupting your conversation with Jean, to get to them. 

Later, you found Levi in the kitchen, a drink in his hands, as he took in the silence away from everyone. 

“Everything okay?” you asked, smiling, your entire face bright as you shuffled through the cooler for your own drink. “I didn’t mean to leave you alone, I’m sorry.” 

“Don’t be sorry,” he said, tipping the bottle back to his lips before setting it on the counter. “I managed to meet almost everyone anyway. They seemed pretty pleased you have a boyfriend now.” His expression was completely serious, and though his face always was, it sent another round of laughter through you, the beer you’d already drank settling in. 

“I hope you gave them a good impression.” You took the spot at the counter beside him, ignoring the softness of his eyes, the way they melted as he stared at you. 

Had that always happened, or were you just imagining it… 

No, it was definitely the beer. 

“Maybe a bad impression would be best,” Levi disagreed, running his fingers across the counter, beside the spot where you rested your hip. “That would make it easier for them to accept our break-up later on.” 

“Of course,” you teased, though the mention of the “breakup” that wouldn’t take place at all made disappointment seep into your core. Perhaps, over the course of just a few days, you’d come to enjoy Levi’s company. 

Or, maybe, you just decided to accept that you’d always enjoyed it. 

“I won’t do that, though,” he concluded. “Not when you look so happy.” 

You didn’t get the chance to contemplate that before Mikasa stuck her head through the kitchen door, calling out to get your attention. “Hey.” There was a frown on her face, and she nodded back towards the front door, pointing behind herself. “Zeke’s here. Just so you know.” 

You sucked in a breath, nodding, and Mikasa smiled sympathetically before going back to Eren.

For some reason, you were even less prepared to face Zeke than you thought you’d be.

“Okay?” Levi asked quietly. HIs eyebrows tugged up, towards one another, concerned. 

You forced a smile, and stepped away from his embrace. “I’m fine,” you said, nodding, but you weren’t able to meet Levi’s eyes, too enraptured by the panic that had begun to claw at you. “Let’s go, better to just rip the band-aid off.” 

“I’ll be out in a second.” 

Although you didn’t want to walk out alone, you left Levi, heading back to the living room, where at least you’d have the protection of your vast group of friends. You considered grabbing another beer — you needed more than just one to get through the evening, but before you could protest, Sasha had whisked you away, pulling you into some ridiculous, made-up game with Jean and Connie. 

For a while, you were able to avoid Zeke, until he’d caught you in pursuit of another drink, your laughter dying the moment your voice was called out in a tone you had never wanted to hear again.

“I didn’t think you’d actually show up.” 

You shifted, spinning around, nails digging into your palm, your jaw clenched. The sight of Zeke standing there sent a wave of nausea over you, doubly so, when you saw the woman standing next to him. 

She wasn’t the same one that you remembered with him before, the reason he’d split up with you an entire year ago. No, this one was much taller, her hair smooth and dark as it cascaded down her back. She was wearing a pair of brown, round glasses, and she was beautiful. 

“I came to see Eren,” you said, eyes flitting between Zeke and his new girlfriend. She seemed just his type. Pretty, intelligent, a sense of style to match. Anything and everything he’d claimed that you were not. “I was certainly hoping to avoid you.” 

“Yet, here we are,” Zeke smiled. He looked the same, exactly the same, as if time has done nothing but turn him into a worse version of himself. His eyes were a little more dull, another wrinkle around the corners, but that was the extent of it all. “This is my girlfriend, Cassandra.” 

Cassandra greeted you politely, spoke in a way that was much more smooth than your own voice, her back straight. Instantly, you wondered how anyone like her could fall for someone like Zeke. Yet, you supposed you had done just that, which only proved your stupidity.

Zeke attempted to make small talk, and you smiled, awkwardly, uncomfortably, as your hands began to shake at your sides. It must have been obvious, what you were to Zeke, and you felt horrible for making Cassandra endure the formalities. 

“How have you been?” Zeke asked, placing an arm around Cassandra’s shoulder to tuck her into his side. You watched the movement with disgust. “Seems like much hasn’t changed about you, has it?” 

It was low, in a way that only you and Zeke could understand — and your face was burning, hot, as you looked around the room for anyone to free you from the conversation. “I’m fine,” you said, wrapping your arms around yourself, close to telling Zeke to kindly fuck off for the rest of the evening. “Actually-”

“There you are,” an arm wrapped around your own waist, a hand on your side. Calm, instantly raining down upon you. “I was wondering where you’d gone.” 

Levi kissed you on the temple, and for a moment, your brain short-circuited, questions rising up as you glanced over at him, mouth parted in surprise. But Levi wasn’t looking at you, too busy fixing Zeke with a bored expression, eyes flitting over him in judgement.

“You must be Zeke,” he said, and perhaps it was just your imagination, but you felt him squeeze your hip once, as if comforting you. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Zeke cracked a smile. “Good things, I hope.” 

“Terrible, actually.” 

That only seemed to heighten Zeke’s amusement, and he laughed, loudly. “You must be the new boyfriend.” 

Levi glanced down at Zeke’s outstretched palm. “I am,” he said, but made no move to shake Zeke’s hand, ignoring the formalities. Instead, he guided you away from the couple. 

For a moment, you blinked, staring out at the space where your friends were congregating, unbeknownst to the interaction in the kitchen. Then, you were relaxing into Levi’s side, the smell of his cologne lingering on his sweater, soothing you.

“I’m sorry, Levi,” you mumbled, shaking your head. “I could’ve avoided him. You didn’t have to kiss me.” 

Levi rolled his eyes. “That? That was nothing.” He came around to face you, eyes scanning you for any sign of sadness. “Are you okay?” 

His consideration shot warmth through every vein of your body, igniting your skin. A smile spread across your lips, and you felt dizzy with it, hating it all at the same time. “I’m okay,” you said, leaning closer, if only to remain within the space of Levi Ackerman. “I just can’t believe him. Showing up like that, and—” 

“Don’t give him the fucking time of day.” Levi shook his head, for once, his seriousness not bleeding into sarcasm. “Just enjoy your time with your friends.” 

You locked eyes with him, watched as his features turned tender, the cool blue of his irises lightening under his thick lashes. Swallowing, you nodded, looking away, and resumed your place close to Levi, remembering you were supposed to be selling the relationship, not making people question it. 

Levi squeezed your shoulder, and you went back to talking with Mikasa and Eren, even though you were distracted by the other pair of eyes that watched you from across the room.

Zeke’s gaze was all that you could feel, even though all of your friends did their best to maintain your attention, remind you that Zeke might have been there, but it didn’t matter — not when there were so many others that cared about you. 

It didn’t do much to soothe you, but your tried your best to relax, studying Levi as he spoke, the movement of his sharp jaw, the soft hair that rested over his forehead. He was wearing a soft, burgundy button-up, the sleeves tighter around his wrists, one that complemented his complexion nicely. It nearly matched your own red dress, this one a brighter shade, but still, close enough to seem as if you had planned it. 

As the evening went on, the tension drained out of you, and you began to feel more comfortable under Levi’s arm.

Fleetingly, you wondered if this was what Levi was really like in a relationship. Attentive, caring, sweet. Softer towards you only, a secret smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, even if he didn’t let it show. 

The thought sent a spiral of longing through you that you ignored, and you sighed, hating that you were constantly on edge. If not from Zeke, than from the way Levi was holding you close, his fingers grazing, caressing your sides. 

“By the way, Levi, happy birthday,” Mikasa said, a giggly mess after a few beers. “I almost forgot!” 

You made a face at Levi, your expression tied up together. “Birthday?” you asked, frowning. 

He waved you off, mumbling a thanks to Mikasa, before she walked off to find another drink, one Eren insisted she didn’t need. 

“Levi?” you said again, grabbing his pale wrist, your hand gripping the watch tightly. “It’s your birthday?” 

“Tomorrow.” Levi cringed, looking over your shoulder, like that was the last thing he wanted to discuss.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” 

A horrible emotion washed over you, one that was both guilt and melancholy. Levi knew your birthday. Hange had invited him when they’d made you a birthday dinner, and Levi had brought you some flowers, a gift card to your favorite store.

You’d never even bothered to ask when his birthday was. Hadn’t even thought about it. 

“I don’t really celebrate,” he shrugged, running his tongue over his cheek. 

“I’m sorry — I should’ve —” 

“Don’t.” Levi brushed your hair out of your face, shaking his head. The touch soothed you, his fingers so gentle on your temple. “It’s really okay. People are usually too busy with Christmas, and I don’t care much about it anyway.” 

You opened your mouth to protest, Levi shook his head again, smiling. “Don’t apologize. Mikasa is the only one who knows, really. Hange knows it’s in December, but I don’t like making a big deal of it.” He sighed, pinching his temple, before looking back at you. "I promise. It doesn't matter."

Still, you couldn't help but feel horrible for not realizing, for dragging him out of town for you, when it was his birthday. “I’m sorry,” you said again, heart clenching.

Levi rolled his eyes, defensive, and moved along, tugging you forward, clearly not wanting to discuss the matter any further. 

It ate at you for the rest of the evening, though, nearly distracting you from the fact that your ex-boyfriend was there at all. 

You stuck with Levi for the rest of the night, but eventually, needed to use the bathroom, hoping to get back downstairs as soon as possible. Though, your plan was undermined when you opened the door, the other side revealing Zeke, leaning against the wall. His eyes raked over your body, a mix of anger and hunger as you left the bathroom, waving your hands to dry them completely. 

“Zeke,” you said, ignoring the hammering in your heart, the way that your panic had spiked the moment you saw him. “What the fuck do you want?” 

He laughed, though it was without humor, as he pushed away from the wall, coming towards you. You felt small under his dark gaze, the way he pinned you, so much more cruelly than Levi did. “I can’t tell if you’re actually serious, or if you’re fucking with me,” Zeke said, and it took you a moment to figure out what he was referring to, his eyes hard and narrowed under the thick lenses of his glasses. “Do you really think I believe you? Believe this act that you have going on with your boyfriend?” 

You blinked back at him, momentarily at a loss for words, before you forced a laugh from your chest, spitting at him cruelly. “God, Zeke,” you said, shaking your head. “Are you so paranoid that you think I would go to that extent? I stopped caring about you a long time ago, and I’ve moved on.” You tried to push past him, blood rushing through your body; all you could think about was getting back downstairs to Levi. 

“Right,” Zeke didn’t let you get far, grabbing your wrist and jerking hard. He forced you back into the wall, your shoulder hitting it with a thump. “I know you’re still not over me. You haven’t been, and we’d both be better off if you could admit that to yourself.” 

You glared, prying his grip off, even if he wouldn’t let go. “Leave me alone, Zeke. I’ve never regretted anything as much as I regret you.” 

“Please,” he scoffed, rolling his eyes, grazing them all over your face. Zeke had never been a good listener, had never seen eye to to eye with you, but he sure pretended to. “You wanted me for years. You loved me.” 

“Maybe at some point. Not anymore.” you said through gritted teeth, tugging again, desperate almost. But Zeke didn’t let you free, his grip harder, bruising your skin. “Zeke. Get off of me. I don’t want to talk to you.” 

That subtle remark served to do nothing but make him angrier. His features contorted, shoving you backwards so you were pressed against him, his knees brushing your thighs.

A flash of fear went through you, and though you didn’t want to seem like a coward, didn’t want to scream for anyone in the house to help you, you considered it. Zeke towered over you, his breath fanning over your cheeks, thumbs grazing your jaw. “I’m not an idiot,” he said, smiling, that same saccharine grin he’d given you when you were together. “I know that man downstairs isn’t really in love with you.” 

“What makes your so sure that you’re right about that?” 

That seemed the question he had been dying to answer all evening.

“Oh, it’s easy to spot, really. Just look at you,” Zeke said. “You were nothing without me, and you’re nothing still.” He laughed, loud and cruel, finally stepping away, giving you an escape route. “No one wanted you before, and no one wants you now… Especially not now that I’ve ruined you.” He shrugged, tucking his hands into his pockets, a dismissal. “And it was so easy to do.”  

Tears sprang to your eyes; breaths left you, stuttered exhales that were more than forced. “I hate you.” 

“Why?” Zeke asked, curious. “I did you a favor.”

You stared at him, wondering how he could possibly believe himself to be so benevolent, to have saved you from some existence that would have been miserable, without the divine lesson he’d bestowed upon you. Though, it wasn’t long before you realized that he was taunting you, trying his best to make an embarrassment of you, laughing at the way the tears had flooded your eyes so easily.

You rushed down the stairs, holding back your sobs.

As your feet touched the bottom step, you collided with another body, turning the corner, too off-kilter to recognize who it was. “Sorry,” you said, the word coming out soft, weak. “I’m sorry, I have to—”

“Hey.” Levi’s soothing voice washed over you, his hands on your shoulders snapping you out of your distress. At first, he hadn’t realized that you were crying, the tears hidden by the palms that covered your eyes. Gently, Levi pried them away, taking your wrists in his hands, staring at you with a severe expression. “Hey, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?” 

“I’m fine. I’m fine,” you said, wiping at your face furiously; Levi was unconvinced. “I just… ran into Zeke upstairs, that's all.” 

That soured his mood immediately, expression turning cold, a glare overtaking it as he understood. “Fucking asshole,” Levi ground out, teeth clenching together. “What did he say to you?”

“Levi, I said I’m fine.” But your glossy eyes revealed the opposite, the tears leaking from the corners of them only exacerbating the fact that Zeke had said something cruel. “Leave it alone.”

“Did he hurt you?” Navy eyes flicked all over your face, narrowing in concern. “What did he say, love?” It slipped from his lips, without thinking.

You stared back at him, frozen, hesitant. That sort of softness was one you’d never heard from Levi before, had never seen him so furious, yet so worried. It seemed every emotion that he had tucked away was bleeding onto his face, and you leaned into his touch, let him examine your wrists. A red ring was around it from Zeke’s heavy hand. 

“I’m okay,” you promised, barely a whisper, taking your wrists back to hide them by your sides. Your lip quivered, and you looked away from Levi's concern as new wave of tears rushed over you, warming your body with despair. “He just doesn’t believe that we’re together. Said that you’d never love someone like me, anyway. That Zeke ruined me.” You shrugged, rubbing your elbows. “The usual.” 

Levi clenched his fists, pushing past you. “Fuck.”

You could see the anger spelled out all over his expression, as he began his ascent up the stairs, feet heavy, infuriated. 

You clutched at his sleeve. “Levi, stop. Just let it go.” 

“I’m not going to let him fucking talk to you like that!” he said, and it was, nearly, the most emotion you’d ever seen out of Levi, his hands practically shaking at his sides. “He can’t just — ”

Levi grit his teeth, then shook you off, taking long strides to get to Zeke, who was leaving the bathroom just as you arrived. Although the smarter part of your brain nudged at you to stop Levi, you couldn’t help but let him play out his anger, wanting to see the look on Zeke’s face when he approached him. 

The loud steps against the stairs gathered your ex-boyfriend's attention, and Zeke smiled, looking down at Levi from under his glasses, amused. Though, he didn’t get a chance to say a word before Levi had tugged him by the shirt, forced him against the wall, his gaze hard, almost scary.

Levi’s strength was almost surprising, had you not already known, but Zeke hadn’t. He glanced at Levi, then you, wide-eyed, before recovering smoothly. “Sent your guard dog after me, did you?” he asked you, a dull expression on his face. 

“Don’t talk to her.” Levi snapped Zeke’s head back against the wall, forcing the taller man to look at him. “You may think you’re better than you are, but I don’t. You’re a piece of shit, and you never deserved her.” Levi said, eyes pinched, the words calm, even more serious than if he’d been shouting them. "Just stay the hell away."

“Really?” Zeke said, a smile curving onto his lips. “Or what?” 

Levi stared for a minute longer, contemplative, and you sucked in a breath, wiping your eyes. You hardly registered the movement of Mikasa, who had rushed up the stairs, wrapping you up in her arms, whispering something to you that you didn't comprehend. 

Before either of you could react, Levi had swung, hit Zeke square in the nose, blood trickling down not a moment later. When the blond man tried to react, swinging aimlessly, Levi ducked, and grabbed at Zeke's arm, forcing a knee into his stomach. 

Zeke coughed and keeled, muttering a silent, “shit,” and a few other expletives, but not making any moves to swing again.

After he released him, Levi flexed his hand, looking over his shoulder to see you staring at him, Mikasa holding you tightly. He exhaled, sniffed back his anger, and turned.

“Levi—” you started, but he said nothing, pushing past you, his fingers running through his hair as he made his way down the stairs. 

Mikasa whispered something else to you, but you wiggled out of her arms, ignoring her, as you followed after Levi. Your tears had dried, but they had, nonetheless, been obvious to everyone, who seemed to know exactly what had been going on when you walked downstairs. 

Still, you didn’t meet any of their eyes, frowning, as you pushed open the door. You ignored the fact that it was below freezing outside, and you were in nothing but a jacket, when you found Levi, drawn to him light a magnet. 

Flurries of snow rained down, dusting the top of Levi’s head, like little crystals against his dark hair. It was much quieter, away from the chatter, and the music, the night calm and serene, wrapping you in a blanket of comfort. 

“Levi?” you said, approaching him quietly, shivering in the brisk air. It had snowed much more than you'd thought in the past few hours, coating the ground, painting a scene so perfect for Christmas Eve. Crystals of ice hung off the edge of the railing, the wind whipping the flurries around in a swirl. 

Levi glanced over his shoulder, but said nothing for a moment, his breath coming out in a cold puff of air. Slowly, you came up beside him, watched as his cheeks began to tinge red from the wintery air, his hair brushing across his forehead from the wind. 

“I’m sorry,” he said, blinking at the scene in front of him, as he leaned against the icy railing of the balcony. “That was a stupid thing to do. I embarrassed you in front of all of your friends.”

You paused, before a small laugh erupted from you. “Embarrassed?” you smiled, pulling on his forearm to guide his attention back to you. “Levi, no one cares. Truthfully, I’m grateful,” you admitted, retracting your hand, swallowing. “I never would’ve had the courage to do it myself.” 

Levi’s eyes flashed, and he glanced over at you, conflicted. Christmas lights shimmered against the snow, dulled only by the darkness that lingered above you.

“Regardless,” he muttered, fixated on the wave of red and green. His lashes were coated in droplets of white, and your voice caught in your throat. He’d never looked so beautiful. “That was immature. I’m not — We’re not even really together.”

You laughed, the sound light and airy. “Well, surely Zeke believes us now. I think you’ve done enough to sell it, haven’t you?” 

Levi sighed, dropping his gaze to the railing, his shoulders falling. “I suppose.”

Still, there was tension between you, and your stiff joke did little to diffuse it. You ran your hands up and down your own arms, feeling the goosebumps beneath them, trying to force your attention away from how cold you were.

“Zeke deserved it,” you said, quietly, shaking your head, eyebrows knit together. "You shouldn't feel bad."

“I know,” whispered back, just another exhaled of the wind. Levi didn’t move, didn’t bother to look at you, despite the fact that you were desperate to read any twitch of his expression, to get him to reveal what he was thinking. 

Finally, after far too long, he glanced over, raked his eyes across your figure, the frozen posture that your body had turned to, the confusion all over your face. He frowned, dismissive. “We should go inside. You’re freezing.”

“I’m okay.” 

“No—”

“Levi,” you said once more, halting him, a frowning permeating your lips. “Why did you do it?” 

His face twitched. “Zeke? I told you, he has no right to—”

“No, no. Not that,” you waved him off, crossing your arms to hold them tightly to his chest. “I mean... Well, I suppose that too, but why did you come? Why would you choose to spend your birthday here, with me, of all places? Why do you even pretend to like me at all?” 

Levi stared back, slowly blinking, his eyes wide, startled. Then, he started laughing, and for the first time, it was genuine. The sound left him deeply, amused, by your question.

And though, you didn’t understand, had no idea what was so funny about the sentiment, you couldn’t help but feel the warmth of his humor all the way down to your toes, the sound a battle against the brisk cold that slapped against you. 

“You think I don’t like you?” Levi asked, shaking his head, laughs subsiding to a small smile. 

“Well,” you said, defensive, sniffing. “Yeah. I’ve always thought that.” 

“And? What do you think now?” 

You remembered the small smiles you had shared, secrets almost. The way he talked with all of your friends, made an effort to see the beauty in the home you’d grown up in. The way he listened to you, took in your words and remembered them for later. 

You shrugged, though it was half-hearted. “I don’t know.” 

Silence fell between you, before Levi had cupped your jaw, tracing the softness of your cheeks, the hollow beneath the bone. His eyes held a sadness you didn’t understand, before he had looked past you, to the house next door, the one beyond that, and the one beyond that. 

“Hange said you had no idea. I thought I’d been fairly obvious about it, all this time, but maybe I’m oblivious myself.” 

“Levi,” you began, frustrated, confused by the way he touched you so gently, the way his sarcasm had subsided, and nothing remained but the gentleness between you. “I don’t—”

“I’m in love with you.” 

A pause.

Another.

Slowly, your jaw fell slack. Your eyes grew wide, and you swallowed, as the sentence repeated over and over in your mind, until you could make sense of it. 

Levi stepped away, clenching his jaw as he turned you, only his side profile visible. “I have been for quite a while. Hange was the one who pointed it out, and I realized…” He sighed. “Well, I realized they were right. I love you, and I thought that, maybe, if I pretended to be your boyfriend, you’d see I’m not as bad as you think. I didn’t care about spending my birthday at home because I want to be around you — I want to be around you, as often as I can. Perhaps, I'm a complete fool for that, but...” He trailed off, and though his eyes had hardened, not revealing any of the misery he felt, you could see it. 

“Levi…” 

“I just hope you know that whatever Zeke has planted in your mind, it isn’t true,” Levi spat, clenching his teeth. “You’re not unloveable. God, you were so easy to fall in love with, and I had no idea, that all this time, you’ve been thinking otherwise.” He sniffed, caught between sorrow and fury. “I would never have told you how I felt, but it doesn’t matter, anyway. As long as you know that what he says isn't true.” 

You were still whirling from the confession, but Levi had already begun to walk off, trudging off into the house.

“Levi, wait,” you said, grasping at his arm before he could go back inside, get too far away from you. Your head was spinning, and you couldn’t think, couldn’t hear anything besides the words I’m in love with you.

And though he was frustrated, and a culmination of many other things, Levi did as you said, because he loved you; because he loved you, and he listened to you, and you had a hold over him. 

Levi stopped, looking back at you, breathing deeply, waiting.

“I—” you began, but the words died there, because Levi looked so pretty with snowflakes on his lashes, and you thought of all the questions you’d never ask, and the fact that all this time, you’d wanted Levi… even if you’d been to scared to admit it. 

You kissed him.

Your lips pressed against his, and though he was caught off-guard, eyes wide, he fell into it instantly, arms coming around your back to hold you close. Levi kissed you with a passion that Zeke never had, grabbing at your body like a lifeline, desperate and adoring.

Levi tasted of peppermint, smelled like tea, and felt like a home you hadn’t known since you’d been back here. Something clicked into place, your mind shifting, and your hands fisted in the back of his coat, holding onto him tight. 

“You love me?” you asked in a small voice, eyes glossy from a sort of happiness you hadn’t felt in years. 

Levi smiled down at you, his expression bright, the corners of his eyes crinkling. He traced your jaw, kissed your forehead, your nose, your cheeks. “I love you.” Another lingering kiss on your lips. “I’d spend all of my life showing you, if you’d let me; getting rid of all those lies Zeke planted in your head." Levi inhaled, rested his head against your own gently. 

“I thought you didn’t like to date," you said, closing your eyes.

He huffed out a laugh. “I don’t.” 

“Are there other women?” 

“What?” Levi shook his head, amused, when you finally pried your eyes back open. You wondered if you’d ever seen him so happy; if you’d ever seen him happy at all. If, maybe, you could keep him happy forever. “No, I’m — Is that what you’ve thought of me all this time?” 

Embarrassed, you dipped your head to his shoulder, warming yourself up in his embrace. He took that as yes for an answer. 

“I’m not interested in dating, and I really haven’t been with many people before, contrary to what you believe,” he teased, running his fingers along your spine. “Certainly, not since I met you. Does that answer suffice?” 

You ran your hands against his chest, kissing his collarbone, his neck, then along his jaw, letting every ounce of your affection seep into it. “I don’t want you to see anyone else,” you admitted, looking at him from under your lashes, remembering exactly what Zeke had done to you, at exactly the same time that he did. 

“I won’t, my love,” Levi swore, kissing you once more, sweet and wonderful in the snowy Christmas Eve. 

"And, maybe," you began shyly, playing with the buttons of his deep maroon shirt. "We can start fresh tomorrow. I don't know enough about you, Levi Ackerman," you said, frowning, a wrinkle forming between your eye. "But I'd like to."

Levi relaxed, shifting into a version of himself that so few would ever get to see, sweet and caring, with eyes so soft. He smiled. "I can't think of a better way to spend my birthday."

જ⁀➴ REBLOGS APPRECIATED !

[juletheghoul]

unclean

a/n: Honestly, you can blame my period for this one. I took a huge liberty because usually women on their periods in this time weren't treated the way they should have been, also took an educated guess at forms of relief. This is un beta-ed, any mistakes are my own. Shout out to @foli-vora for losing her mind with me, thanks my love! 🩷Hopefully you enjoy!

Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, Marcus not being a little bitch about periods, creampie, blood & mess lets be real, boob worship, master / slave dynamic (power imbalance), Marcus calls reader Girl, reader calls Marcus Dominus, let me know if I missed any!

Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader

word count: 2.4k

reblogs are appreciated

Prev chapter Masterlist series masterlist

-

The wince came without your permission, your face twisting in discomfort as you poured his wine, pausing for a moment to steady yourself; thankfully without spilling a drop.

“Are you hurt, girl?” You unclench your eyes and find him staring at you with a frown, no doubt confused by your expression. 

“Apologies Dominus, it is nothing.” You bow your head but hiss nonetheless and he puts down the bread. 

“Answer me truthfully girl, what pains you?” His eyes are intent and for a moment you cannot tell if it is annoyance or worry that twists his features. Heat rushes to your face, men usually don’t take the news well when they are reminded of the troubles of the opposite sex. You fidget, pulling your bottom lip between your teeth while you gather your wits. 

“It is just, my blood will flow soon Dominus. Sometimes the pain precedes it.” You bow your head and stare at the floor by his feet, gearing up for the usual responses you’d get from the men you’ve served, anger, or disgust. He says nothing, but when you look up he nods once. “I will retreat to my chambers soon. I will send someone else to tend to you if it pleases you, Dominus.” 

“I require nothing further, you may tend to your needs.” He dismisses you gracefully, much more so than any other you’ve served and it’s as though a heavy weight has been lifted from your shoulders. 

The blood does not dull the pain. 

Hours after confessing to your Dominus, you can do nothing more than curl up in your bed, and suffer in silence. One of the older women had boiled some water for you to dip a flat stone, place it on your belly for relief and it had worked wonders for a time but both the water and the stone had gone cold ages ago. All that was left to do was grit your teeth and bear it. 

You cannot help but crave him even more, with the blood flowing, your lower back and breasts aching, and your insides twisting, the pleasure of his cock seemed like the miracle that could cure you. Men didn’t do that though, women all knew it was nothing more than what the female body did, but men–society deemed it unclean. And so you had to endure, without the relief of his body or his gift. Still, you couldn’t help but be grateful for him, he did not protest to the women in his service sequestering themselves until it passed. He did not ask questions, he did not balk at the talk of pain. 

The first day passed, and the second found you in more agony. The second was the worst for you, when the blood was the heaviest, and the discomfort grew nearly unbearable. 

The women brought you hot soups and wine warmed with spices, boiled water for the stone and clean rags for the mess. You thanked them, with tears in your eyes and they nodded and left you to your misery. You slept when you could, but when the night came, sleep had become a stranger, and all you could do was pray to all of the Gods to either take the pain, or take your life. 

Your door opened late into the night and you thought one of the women had brought more hot water but it was him, your Dominus, standing at the threshold to your modest chamber bathed in soft candlelight and shadow.

“Dominus-” You struggled, moving to stand too quickly and falling back to sit on your bed. “Apologies Dominus, what-” He held up his hands to forestall your speech. 

“Peace, girl, I am not here to ask anything of you.” He came in and closed the door, his voice softer than you’d ever heard it. “I heard one of the women speaking about you, she said you were suffering a great deal.” 

“I am well, Dominus.” You could barely keep the grimace off your face.

“Do not lie to me, girl, I can see the agony.” He approached slowly, he’d already prepared for bed and wore a simple tunic. “I have heard it said that pleasure often eases the pain, but I will not force the issue if you do not desire it.” You stared up at him, confusion creeping into your pain-addled mind. He stood, staring at you, for all intents and purposes a gift from the Gods in himself. “Would you like me to help you?” 

“I– but you are not… the blood does not bother you, Dominus? I am unclean–” He raised his arms once more, a frown arranged on his features. 

“Blood has never bothered me, girl.” You droop with relief, tears springing to your eyes and an altogether different ache building between your legs. “You need it don’t you, you need me to take the pain away, hm?” He speaks softly again and all you can do is nod, pitifully. He stands before you, taking in the unruly state of you and for a moment you think you can almost see a soft affection on his face. His thumb swipes against the plump of your lower lip softly, “How do you desire it? Soft? With kisses and gentle touches?” he holds your chin between his pinched fingers, tilting your face up to gaze into his dark eyes, “Or do you desire it more forceful? How do you need me to fuck you?” 

Tears well, and you’re not sure if it’s the softness in his voice or the relief so clearly visible on the horizon, but you swallow around the lump of gratitude in your throat. “I want it all, Dominus,” you hold onto his forearm, afraid that if you don’t make contact with him, he might evaporate like dew in the morning. “I want kisses, and gentle touches but I want force as well, I need your gift to ease the pain.” 

“And you shall have it, my brave girl.” He reaches down, carefully pulling your tunic up and off and your nipples harden almost painfully. He slips his hand down, palming your breast softly, “Do they hurt too much for my attention?” soft as a breeze, his thumb strums at the sensitive tip of your breast and you bite your lip. 

“They ache, but I do not wish for you to stop.” You bring his other hand to your other breast, sighing at the tenderness in his touch. 

“I will be mindful.” He pulls away for a moment to undress and the sight of his cock standing at full mast is enough to make you whimper. “Patience, girl. You will have it soon enough, as deep as I can get.” You nod, but all at once you realize where you are. 

“You wish to have me here? My bed is not as lush as yours-” He sees slight embarrassment on your face and he waves it away. 

“This is my house, girl, I will have you where I please.”

You move back with a wince and he follows, discarding the soiled rag tucked between your legs without so much as a flinch and whatever feelings of devotion, of loyalty or possibly obsession you have for him grow to greater and greater strength. He settles between your spread thighs and just the warm heft of him is soothing, the heat of his skin on your belly, the heavy press of his cock on your sex like a balm. 

Wordlessly he presses his lips to yours, soft, and then not so soft and his tongue explores your mouth, he tastes of wine and dark ripe fruit and you cannot help but wrap your arms around his neck, thread your fingers through his thick waves and whimper. His lips travel, mapping out their course across your skin, down the column of your neck, the base of your throat until he takes your breast in gentle hand and licks at the peak and the moan escapes your lips without your leave. He moves to the other and showers it with the same affection, both breasts shiny with his spit and your cunt melts for him like frost in the face of the sun. You can feel the way he coats himself in your want, his cock slipping between the lips of your sex. He continues to worship your breasts, licking soft like a kitten, and then sucking the tip into his mouth until you cannot take it anymore. 

“Please Dominus,” Your voice breaks when he lets go of your nipple with a pop, enjoying the way you writhe underneath him. “I need it, I need your cock.” He kisses at your breast again before slipping his hand down, and finally slipping into the wet clutch of your cunt. “Gods above, yes, yes yes, please Dominus-” You’re breathless, the feel of him is good enough to make your eyes roll back into your skull. 

“Yes, I know girl, I’m right here.” He punctuates his words with a sharp thrust and the moan you let out is obscene. “This little cunt is going to behave for me, isn’t it?” His lips barely touch yours, speaking the words into your mouth; his words, his rhythm making you drip onto the fabric below. The sounds between your legs are vulgar, wet and far more appealing than any music in the world, but it is not enough. You let out a whine, pitiful and painful and he frowns. “Is it not enough?” There is no anger, only the quest for truth in his tone and you shake your head, heartbroken and shaking with need. He pulls away, and you let out a cry of anguish and clutch to him, if he left you like this you don’t think you’d survive. “Peace, girl. We will change our positioning so I can give it to you how you need it.” 

When he pulls away, your eyes widen in shock and horror. Your blood has smeared all over him, his cock, his groin, spreading up almost to his belly, it collects at the mouth of your cunt and when you look down it is all over your inner thighs, the scene looking more like a battle than a bedding. He shakes his head, raising a hand to stop the apology before it is given. 

“This does not frighten me, girl. This is not the first time I have been covered in the blood of another, and it will not be the last. Turn around, I would have you on your hands and knees.” You nod, and with a wince you rush to comply, presenting your backside to him and within a moment he has pulled your hips back to meet his, his cock entering you with no resistance and from this angle he knocks the wind out of you. “There it is, this is the answer, yes?” He thrusts again forcefully and a sound you’ve never heard comes out of your mouth, a dark, wanton noise and it only proves him right. 

“Yes Dominus, please, like this–” you don’t finish your sentence because he pulls back and punches forward again with enough force to rock your bed. Your head drops, your back arching and he sets a brutal pace. Tears slip out from the corners of your eyes, trapped between where your face presses against the back of your forearms and you think for a moment that nothing has ever felt better. 

He grunts, and for a handful of minutes the only sounds are your combined heavy breathing, the wet squelch between your legs, and the rhythmic rocking of your bed. His fingers dig into the meat of your hips hard enough to bruise but it matters not, the pleasure is too great, the relief of his cock is a sign that the Gods are real and that they have sent him to you. 

You reach underneath, gasping at the feel of your cunt spread wide to take him and at just how wet you are. The engorged little pearl of your pleasure begs for attention, and you cannot deny it. With a handful of swirls you seize up, screaming through your climax and he groans as the fist of your cunt squeezes him tight, making him slow slightly but he doesn’t stop. Your knees give out for a moment but he doesn’t let you falter. 

“I am not finished with you yet, this little cunt will take what I give her.” His grip tightens and he lifts you back up into position. Fucking you through your flutters, “You will give me another, girl, you will squeeze my cock again, only then will I give you my gift.” He’s breathless, maneuvering his hand around to reach between your legs while he drapes himself against your back. His fingers manipulate you rougher than you did, forcing another climax out of you while his hips drive his cock deep enough to kiss your womb. 

The second climax is more intense and lasts longer and the force of it milks him dry. You feel him empty himself with a punched-out groan, collapsing onto you once his cock twitches for the last time. 

Everything is silent, and for a moment, you think you might have gone onto the afterlife but then he shifts and you take a deep, steadying breath. The relaxation is so great you are afraid to move, afraid that any engagement of your muscles might result in the pain returning and so you stay still as he pulls out. You will clean once he is gone but he shocks you again when you feel a cool cloth on the skin of your backside. 

“Dominus, I can–” You turn your head to him slowly but he shakes his head. The tenderness in his hands not reaching his face. 

“Silence, girl.” He says nothing else, but dips the cloth into the basin of water again and rings it out, cleansing the mess between your legs silently. “I expect you to let me know the next time you are in pain.” Once he is satisfied with his task, he dips the cloth again, and uses it on himself and there is something about seeing him do this that is unnatural, you cannot help but stare. He is quick; utilitarian. 

He drops the used cloth back into the basin, grabs his tunic and slips out of your room without so much as a glance but it matters not, you are asleep before he shuts the door.

-

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[wizzard890]

So there’s a trend that I absolutely hate in online discussions of (non-satirical) genre, particularly genre that’s influenced by the gothic. This trend makes my eyes roll back in my head until I can see through my own skull. It makes me want to bite a car in half. It makes me want to step into the jellyfish tank at the New York Aquarium and beg for the sweet sweet annihilation of a thousand stings. 

I call this trend: Oh Just Be Sensible, and it goes like this:

“Why do vampires always end up covered in blood when they feed, I don’t spill soup all down the front of my shirt when I eat dinner. Real toddler energy.”

“Why do people always cut their hands to swear oaths, everyone knows it would hurt way less on the [insert body part with fewer nerve endings]”

“Vampires shouldn’t be feeding from people’s wrists, it damages the tendons, if doctors don’t take your blood from your wrist, vampires shouldn’t either! No one will be able to flex their fingers the next day.”

(This comes up a lot with vampires, I mention, as I stride purposefully into the glistening mass of jellyfish.)

There are direct answers for some of these when it comes to the practical visual language of a particular medium (for example, you cut your hand on stage / on set because you can hold a blood pack in there, and even if you don’t have an effect, the gesture and its purpose can be discerned from the nosebleeds) but what really gets me is how thematically boneheaded this sort of observation is. 

Like, let’s go down the list here. 

Why do vampires end up covered in their victims’ blood? Well Scoob, do you think it could maybe have something to do with their bestial, inhuman nature? Or with the erotic and sensual abandon with which they can approach violence, now that they’re untethered from human morals? 

Why do people cut their hands to swear oaths? Aside from what I mentioned above, do you think maybe it’s because it adds a layer of gravity to see two people swearing an oath to one another with blood dripping from their clasped hands? Do you think it’s maybe to evoke a unity of body, something greater and more primal than a unity of word? Or maybe to remind us of the dire consequences of breaking a blood oath?

Why are authors having vampires feed from people’s wrists if it damages their tendons? Damn, maybe that’s because it’s where the pulse is. You know, the pulse? The heartblood, the thing that races when you’re scared or turned on or both? The thing that stutters when you’re close to death and could, should the author choose, ring in the vampire’s ears like a chime or a great pounding thunderclap. Maybe in a story about undead beings who drink blood, we can sacrifice a bit of sensible reality in order to enforce the emotion and thematic heft of a scene? 

Images like these communicate what is happening between two characters, not just the events that are transpiring! No one making stories forgot to consider ~sensible~ little observations, because it would be absolutely inane to consider an observation with the creative value of a wet paper towel. This stuff is part of our visual language for a reason! Themes also need to be communicated! 

God, like, okay, I’m exhausted and the aquarium staff keeps yelling at me when they find me here, but let me just wrap up by saying that relationships, character and meaning are expressed in so many ways beyond dialogue or internal monologue, and those expressions are so rarely sensible. 

(Also all this shit looks cool as hell, do you really want your protagonists swearing to die for one another by dabbing their slightly bleeding elbows together, grow up.)

[redvexillum]

Me: Alrighty-ho! Time to work on my grossly late fraugwinska's DBD x HH event and @6esiree's contest!

Me, completely a sub to my desires despite having zero experience writing a lucifer x reader fic: This is gonna be a quick, dirty, SHORT one shot. No problem-o! *nearly 5000 words later* fhuck.

TAGS/WARNINGS: vexi's brain rot, p in v, cunnilingus, wtf did I just write, f!reader, lucifer isn't quite over lilith because ✨drama✨️, low key blaming @sociosin for sending me spicy Lucifer's ask and @the-other-soup for drawing sexy lucifer - I stood no chance guys

When you first matched with DuckLover69 on Cinder, you laughed, thinking it was a typo—surely, he meant to type DickMaster69. That seemed on brand for a hook-up app straight out of Hell. But as you stood there in his room, surrounded by luxurious, crimson-hued furniture and bed sheets of rich satin that would have looked decadent if they weren’t crowded by piles—actual mounds—of rubber ducks, you realized this guy hadn’t mistyped at all.  

This man really, truly, loved ducks. 

Maybe a tad too much.

You wove your way carefully through a veritable army of rubber duckies, each dressed in an outfit more absurd than the last. A little one in a sombrero sat beside a duck knight, complete with a silver helmet and a feather. You squinted. Was that one wielding a miniature sword? It stuck out from its back at a haphazard angle, as if this duck had met some unspeakable end in battle. 

How…avant-garde?

“Sorry for the wait!” A nervous, high-pitched voice broke the silence, followed by an anxious chuckle that echoed through the room. You turned to see Mr. Duck Lover, as he’d introduced himself online, standing stiff as a board, his hand twirling a crimson red apple atop his sleek, obsidian-black staff. 

He was exactly as odd in person as he’d been in your chats: curious to a fault and totally oblivious to social cues. His very first question had been, “So, do you know the King of Hell?” Not exactly small talk. But you had shrugged it off, telling him the truth—that you’d hardly kept up with Hell’s political scene since you arrived. You were too busy dealing with entitled assholes in your new, endless service job, a punishment so mundane it felt like Hell’s personal version of torture. 

You’d expected the conversation to taper off after that, but Mr. Duck Lover had caught you off-guard by taking a U-turn, asking without reserve if you liked sex. The question had been so blunt, so awkwardly dropped into the conversation, that you’d ended up laughing. After a hellish day dealing with rude customers, his lack of tact and straight-up weirdness had been refreshing, if bizarre, and you’d surprised yourself by playing along. 

And now here you were, standing in his duck-filled lair, looking at him in all his nervous, overdressed glory. “You weren’t kidding when you said you liked ducks,” you said with a grin, trying to keep your face as neutral as possible as you waved at a particularly stylish duck with a feathered boa around its neck. 

Mr. Duck Lover's shoulders stiffened, and his eyes darted back and forth. Two bright red circles painted his cheeks, and he looked like a mime who’d been caught halfway through his act. His fingers fidgeted with the apple on his staff as he tried for a casual smile, though it came across more like a grimace. 

“I-is that a dealbreaker?” His voice cracked, and you could practically feel the nerves radiating off him. You chuckled, stepping a little closer, savouring the way his breath caught, and his cheeks flushed a unique shade of gold, the colour spilling across his nose in a way that was like glittering treasure strewn across white sand. 

“Nah, just… observing,” you said, your grin turning wicked. “What’s wrong, Mr. Duck Lover?”  

You reached out, tucking a stray strand of gold that had fallen over his forehead back into place. He froze, his breath hitching, his eyes widening as if he’d been zapped. The blush on his cheeks deepened, and he puffed them out, holding his breath, looking for all the world like he was trying not to combust from embarrassment. 

Odd, yes. But somehow, interesting. You found yourself curious—very curious—about just what went on in that strange, nervous, duck-obsessed mind of his. 

You chuckled softly, warmth pooling at the base of your throat as you took him in. How adorable. Everything about him felt so out of place for a guy on an app specifically for hookups. He stood there, stiff as a board, his eyes darting to your every move, arms glued to his sides as though his own body wasn’t sure what to do with itself. And as you leaned closer, you noticed a large portrait hung in the back corner of his room—a family picture, quaint and well-loved. 

Am I his rebound? you thought, as you slid your fingers along his collar, grazing the crisp fabric before slowly easing it off his shoulders. His vest, a pale pink stripe against white, gave him a soft, almost innocent look—a stark contrast to the nerves dancing in his wide eyes. He didn’t resist, simply let his jacket slip down his arms, his breath coming shallow as you leaned in, feeling the heat rise as your faces neared, breath mingling. 

With a gulp, he stammered, “I gu-guess we’re doing the do, that's fantastic!” He tried to smile, his teeth peeking out in a goofy, uncertain grin as he let the jacket fall to the floor. 

“You mean…” you whispered, your voice low as you pressed against him, feeling his entire body tense beneath your touch. “Fucking?” 

He squeaked—actually squeaked—and tried to clear his throat, summoning a shred of composure. “That’s right, f-ffucking,” he stammered, the word awkward on his lips as he sounded it out like it was a foreign concept. “Because that’s… what we do. Now. Here.” His body shivered slightly, and you could feel the tremble that ran from his chest to yours, betraying his every anxious thought. 

A spark of curiosity bloomed in you as you watched his attempts at bravado crumble with each beat of silence. You felt it all click into place. In Hell, family didn’t exactly… exist. Sinners couldn’t create new life here, so the idea of settling down with a partner wasn’t the norm, let alone the idea of casual intimacy. But here he was, talking about sex with the clumsy innocence of someone barely familiar with the concept. “Hey…” you murmured, a thrill lacing your words. “Are you… a virgin?” 

The question struck him like lightning, his eyes going wide, his fingers clutching at his vest in a mixture of embarrassment and flustered denial. “Wha—first time?” He laughed—a loud, forced laugh that seemed to rattle out of him, like he was trying to chase away the truth. “Oh, no, no, no, not at all! I’ve… I’ve used my penis in… numerous ways.” His voice dropped to a low, desperate tone. “I even shape-shifted a few times for… added spice,” he said, his forked tongue flicking nervously, searching your face as though hoping to see doubt there instead of amusement. 

But you couldn’t help it. The men you usually met were arrogant, self-assured, and too focused on themselves to care. Yet here he was—blushing, hesitant, endearing in his innocence. A wicked grin spread across your face as you let your fingers trail lower, smoothing down his vest, tracing each trembling line of muscle underneath until you reached the waistband of his pants. 

You glanced up, meeting his gaze with a mischievous smirk, and his breath caught. His lips quivered, his cheeks flushed, but he returned your grin—innocent and eager, albeit with a slight, deliciously shaky edge. 

You wondered just what kind of man Mr. Duck Lover truly was as your hands moved along his body, peeling away each layer of his clothing, his meagre defences landing on the floor with gentle thuds joining with yours. For all his usual fidgeting and awkwardness, there was something disarmingly tender in the way he touched you, as if each stroke of his fingertips was sacred, each caress reverent. That boyish, clumsy charm he wore like a mask seemed to slip away, leaving behind a quiet intensity in his gaze that made your pulse race. 

“Been… a while,” he murmured, his hands wandering in tentative exploration, pausing over the soft curve of your breast, then settling firmly at your hips. The admiration in his voice deepened as he sighed, his eyes tracing over you as though you were something divine. “God really did create the perfect being,” he whispered, his lips grazing your shoulder, and as your bare bodies met in a slow, full embrace, it was your turn to hold your breath, struck by the unexpected gentleness of it. 

You almost chuckled, the urge to tease him—“Praising God in Hell? How blasphemous,”—hovering at the tip of your tongue. But as he drew you closer, his face tucked deep into the curve of your neck, words fell away, replaced by a silent warmth that seeped into every nerve, every inch of your skin. His arms wound tighter around you, his body pressing against yours, not out of desire, but a kind of longing that felt… deeper.

Meaningful. 

Your arms wrapped around him on instinct, though your mind buzzed with confusion. Shouldn’t this be a quick, meaningless fuck by now? Yet, here you were, tangled in his arms, savouring the sensation of him, feeling the quiet, almost desperate comfort he sought as he held you. The naked intimacy was strange, yes. Unexpected, yes. But something in you didn’t want to break the moment; it felt like a balm, easing all the stress and tension that had worn you down for far too long as you toiled away in your eternal damnation.  

You closed your eyes, surrendering to the steady warmth of his body, your fingers tracing delicate paths along his spine. Each gentle touch pulled soft, barely audible sounds from his throat, the hint of a moan muffled against your skin as your fingers reached his hair, petting through the soft strands. His hair was even softer than you’d imagined, and you felt him sink into your touch, both of you on the brink of letting go.

Letting go of what? You weren't sure.  

But suddenly, he pulled back, and the spell shattered. His cheeks flushed, his hands awkwardly clutching at your waist as he avoided your gaze, his nervous energy flooding back. “Right, uh, sex. That’s what we’re… here for, isn’t it? So, we should, um…” He forced a grin. “Do the, uh… the sex!” 

That was when you finally absorbed your surroundings, the vast emptiness around you, the solemn quiet of his home. There was a lonely hush here, dark and endless, filling every corner, every shadow. And, of course, the lifeless ducks haphazardly thrown around. 

But there was no one else. 

Not a soul in these halls. 

You slipped your hand into his, guiding him toward the bed with a gentleness that felt at odds with your own intentions. You almost considered tucking him under the covers, wrapping him up and telling him that he didn’t have to prove anything to you, that he could wait until he was ready. But he wasn’t a child, and you weren’t here to be his caretaker. 

He lay down first, an eager anticipation flickering across his face despite the faint tremor in his limbs, his gaze fixed on you as you joined him. His body, still soft with nerves, lay at ease, his cock resting against his thigh. You reached out, taking him in hand, moving slowly as your fingers traced down his length, stroking him with a softness that coaxed him to relax. You felt him tense, then soften beneath your touch. 

“Oh… oh wow,” he breathed, his voice catching as he watched your hand, eyes wide with wonder. “Y-you’re… you’re pretty good at this,” he stammered, awe shimmering in his voice as he struggled to keep his composure, his gaze flicking between your face and your hand, his lips parting in quiet gasps. 

At that moment, you couldn’t help but smile—feeling the thrill of his innocence, of his complete surrender. And somewhere in the warmth of his admiration, his trust, you realized you didn’t mind slowing down. 

True to his word, his body responded to your touch with a newfound firmness, his length growing against your hand, his skin silky and heated beneath your fingers. The sensation felt achingly familiar, like a melody you’d danced to before, each note resonating with a purpose neither of you had voiced aloud but understood all too well. 

Loneliness.

That was the reason, unspoken and raw, why you both found yourselves here tonight. You didn’t need his name, didn’t need his history because tonight was about filling that hollow ache. It was a fix—a fleeting, intoxicating drug against the gnawing ache deep in your chest. For one night, the world and its relentless wear could fall away in the ecstatic blur of release. 

You moved to straddle him, your body lowering until your wet, aching centre pressed firmly against the length of his cock, heat melding with heat. His eyes flicked down to where your bodies connected, then back up to meet your gaze, a hungry, almost reverent look filling his face. As you began to grind your hips against him, the friction sent a rush of molten heat through you, a spark igniting as you slid over him, slick and needy. 

He watched, his breaths coming in short, shuddering waves, head falling back against the pillow, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he should reach for you or simply feel. His own pulse matched yours, every breath and heartbeat syncing to a rhythm of shared need, unburdened by names or burdens. 

Slowly, you lifted your hips, guiding him to your entrance, pressing yourself down until his thick, warm tip pushed past your folds. Inch by inch, you took him, feeling every delicious stretch, every bit of pressure radiating inside you. A soft, desperate mewl escaped your lips as you sank fully, your bodies meeting in a perfect, seamless join. The raw sensation of him filling you hit deep, igniting pleasure like embers to flame. 

His head tilted back, his eyes fluttering shut, a low hiss slipping past his parted lips. “This is…” he began, voice trembling, his fingers flexing as if fighting to keep control, “oh gosh… really wonderful.” His hands faltered, barely grazing your hips before he let them fall to his sides again, his face flushed with both pleasure and nervous restraint. His hips lifted, seeking you instinctively, meeting each of your downward strokes with soft thrusts that went deeper, each time pushing him further within. 

“Oh, oh jeez, oh—golly…” He groaned, his fingers twisting into the sheets as he struggled to find words, every breath shuddering as he fought to keep up. His words, his earnest surprise, almost made you laugh, a kind of sweetness seeping into his awkward sounds as he gripped the sheets tighter. “Wow…” 

You bit back a smile, letting a small laugh escape between breaths. “What? You’ve never had good sex before?” you taunted, rolling your hips, drawing him fully within before slamming back down again. 

His cheeks flushed a deep gold, his chest expanding as he gasped, his muscles tensing beneath you. “N-No—ah, that’s not…” His voice wavered, breaking off in a moan as he sucked in a breath. “Oh, no… if you keep doing that… I won’t last long.” His voice softened, rich with pleasure and just a hint of pleading, as his eyes met yours, full of shy desire. “Please… I want this to last… just a little longer.” His words trailed into a low, trembling moan, his hands finally reaching, hesitantly finding their place on your waist as he held you, breath heavy with yearning, surrendering entirely to the moment with you. 

You hummed thoughtfully, sliding him out of you, his cock springing free and bouncing against his stomach, throbbing with the loss of warmth. His sudden whimper made you smirk, biting back a laugh as you hovered just out of reach. 

“I'm nowhere close to finishing,” you teased, keeping your wet heat tantalizingly close to him, yet unreachable all the same. 

“I can fix that!” he nearly shouted, grinning like he’d just found a solution to all the world's problems. Sitting up eagerly, he waggled his eyebrows with such intensity that it made you giggle. “After all, I was quite the… generous eater in my day,” he added, flicking his forked tongue out for effect. 

“Oh, is that so?” You chuckled, giving him a playful look. “Show me, oh great, generous eater.”  

He joined in your laughter, but then his eyes drifted over your shoulder. His face faltered, brows knitting together, and you followed his gaze. The same family portrait you had initially noticed back in your view—a tall, curvaceous woman with long blonde hair standing beside him and a child who seemed to carry hints of both their features. 

You moved next to him, and leaned back, trying to keep your tone casual. “If you’re going to bring a one-night stand over, maybe next time use a room without a family portrait.” The words came out sharper than you intended, a twinge of bitterness souring the edge. 

His shoulders tensed as he turned to you, eyes wide with a guilty look. “Oh—no, that’s not…I…” He stammered, his hands fluttering in the air as if trying to reach some explanation. 

You sighed, deciding to throw him a lifeline. You were here for fun, not drama. “Hey, relax. It’s…whatever,” you said with a casual shrug, a grin playing on your lips. But that lingering bitterness in your chest didn’t quite vanish. 

Mr. Duck Lover seemed to seize onto your words, scrambling between your legs, though his excitement from earlier was starting to wane. “I’ll make it up to you,” he murmured, leaning close, fingers hesitating on the curves of your hips, as if battling his own mind. His face hovered near your core, yet he seemed frozen in place, like he was staring into the void rather than your body. 

It was quite a comical sight. 

If you weren't in the picture, that is. 

There he was—his head bowed at your centre, practically on the verge of a self-reflective breakdown. While you laid there, spread out and ready, and he was having an existential crisis. 

You sighed, raising an eyebrow as he muttered to himself, “I can do this,” almost like he was about to leap off a bridge instead of…well, pleasing you. His hands twitched as his hands hovered over your hips, eyes squeezing shut in concentration as if gearing up for some monumental challenge. 

By now, the mood had evaporated, leaving behind only the lingering awkwardness of his whispered self-encouragement. Five seconds later, you realized that, yes, you’d completely lost the heat of the moment, and this was likely going nowhere but more awkwardness. 

You reached out gently, brushing his cheek. “Hey…maybe we should…” you started softly, hoping to ease him off this self-imposed, anxious ride and spare you both whatever spiral he was about to go down. 

His eyes snapped to yours, full of a pleading, vulnerable intensity, his lips parted and his gaze almost desperate. “No, no, I can do it!” His voice trembled, and he bit his lower lip, the slightest twitch in his left eye betraying his nerves. “It’s just been….” 

You softened, trying to help him find the words. “Years?” 

“Centuries,” he murmured, looking away as if confessing a secret. 

Centuries. The realization hits you with a strange thrill. You liked older men, sure, but you wondered how long he had stayed in Hell for. “Oh…” was all you managed, feeling the surreal weight of the moment. 

“May I?” he asked, his voice a tender murmur, fingers twitching, hesitant to touch you. You could only nod, slightly taken aback that he was asking for permission now, especially after where you'd both already been just minutes earlier. 

The moment his fingers touched your skin, he exhaled deeply, closing his eyes as if relishing the warmth. He pressed a featherlight kiss against the curve of your hip, his touch more gentle than you could have imagined. With each kiss, he drifted lower, his lips tracing delicate patterns along your skin, until he found that sensitive spot just above your core, making you jolt beneath him. 

Your emotions tangled, caught between surprise and pleasure. You’d expected something hasty, careless, but this…this felt almost achingly tender. 

He opened his eyes, the intensity of his gaze softening as his lips brushed against you. Then, slowly, his tongue traced between your folds, a warm, pleasant heat that sent a gasp spilling from your lips. His own groan followed, deep and low, a sound of unrestrained need, as he continued to explore you, his lips and tongue working in gentle, insistent rhythms. 

You bit your lip, mirroring the way he’d done earlier, clutching the sheets as your body arched, heels pressing into the bed. Every reaction you gave seemed to stoke something in him, drawing another low, desperate moan from his throat. He rocked his hips against the mattress, as if drinking each of your gasps, as if they were fuelling his own desire. 

“Ah—D-don't stop,” you whimpered, your chest rising as your back arched from the bed. But he didn’t let you escape, his lips chasing every inch of you. His mouth closed around your sensitive nub, sucking gently before he dipped his tongue to explore further, the alternating sensations sending you spiralling. 

Your breath came ragged and broken, each wave of pleasure building faster as he licked and sucked with an almost feverish devotion. His own body responded in turn, his hips grinding against the bed, the friction drawing needy, guttural sounds from him that only fed your own pleasure. 

The rhythm intensified, and just as you thought you might break from the mounting sensation, he pressed deeper, his tongue a soft, insistent force. You clenched around the bliss rising within you, every muscle tensing, as he held you there, relishing every sound, every tremor of pleasure that passed between you both in the heady, dizzying night. 

“Shit,” you gasped, your hands tangling in his hair, fingers tightening as you pulled him closer. His lips pressed even harder against you, and you felt yourself unravelling, teetering on the edge of something wild and raw. “Oh, fuck, fuck,” you whimpered, your legs bending as the fire in your belly coiled tighter. Then, with one last fierce suck and an indulgent lick, he shattered your restraint. The wave of pleasure crashed over you, tearing a ragged cry from your throat as it flooded every inch of your body. 

He moved with you, his own hips shifting as if in sync with the rhythm of your climax, his mouth still sealed to you, eager to take in every tremor and quake of your release. His hand slipped beneath him, the hurried motion of his strokes intensifying, his fingers relentless as he chased his own peak while lingering over every pulse and shudder of yours. 

He moaned against you, his mouth vibrating with his own mounting pleasure, his hips twitching as he hit his release just after yours. His strokes slowed, tapering off as he gasped, his lips finally releasing you as his chest heaved. He knelt there, breathless, lips glistening from the shared passion, drenched by the evidence of his pleasure pooling between you. 

But he didn’t pull away. Instead, he crawled up beside you, eyes softened as he reached for you, arms wrapping tenderly around your shoulders, guiding you to rest your head against his chest. You stayed there, uncertain yet draped in the quiet intimacy of the moment. His heartbeat pounded against your ear, each beat so fierce you couldn’t tell if it was his or your own. 

His hand drifted up to brush your hair back, fingers combing gently as his breathing settled into a steady rhythm with yours. He pressed a gentle kiss to your temple, then another to the crown of your head, his lips lingering as if they held some unspoken affection, each kiss like a vow. 

“You were wonderful, dear,” he whispered, his voice a low, affectionate murmur, pressing another soft kiss to your hair. He stayed there, his arms cradling you, showering you with gentle kisses, an unexpected tenderness weaving around you both in the aftermath, grounding you in a warmth that felt real, if only for this moment. 

“I'm not sure how to even respond to that” you murmured, your mind still a haze, struggling to piece itself back together in the lingering aftershocks of your release. His fingers brushed tenderly along your cheek, and when you looked up, his eyes were warm, soft, his gaze holding an intensity that made your heart skip a beat. 

“You’re perfect,” he said, tilting your chin up, his voice thick with emotion. His lips pressed gently to yours, lingering as if he wanted to etch this moment into his mind. “You’re everything I want and more.” His voice cracked, barely a whisper, before he pulled you against his chest, his arms tightening around you with a fervency that felt almost desperate, as if he were holding on to something he couldn’t bear to lose. 

The raw affection in his embrace left you spinning. He held you as if you were his—an intimacy that felt foreign and startling. You’d just met him, after all. Yet here he was, clinging onto you as if you were more than a passing connection, as if you meant something deeper, something that couldn’t be dismissed. It was unnerving, a stark contrast to what you’d expected. 

Your eyes drifted to the shadowed portrait in the corner of the room, catching the faint outline of the woman in it—a powerful figure with curling horns and a smile that was as beautiful as it was unsettling. Whoever she was, she lingered here, like a ghost following his every step, a reminder of a past not fully left behind. 

But then, he murmured into your hair, “I love you. Please… don’t go.” His voice was fragile, almost broken, and his arms wrapped around you even tighter, his head pressing against yours, as if the strength of his embrace alone could keep you with him. 

There were many reasons people used Cinder. Some were looking for a thrill, some for a fleeting escape, some for connection in a moment that might otherwise feel empty. Maybe that was all this was, a bandage to the wound of loneliness he didn’t want to admit to, a warmth he hadn’t felt in ages. 

You hesitated, your hands resting limply against his back. This wasn’t what you’d come for; it wasn’t what you’d expected. But then, you could feel his frame trembling beneath your touch, the vulnerability in his grip as if he’d waited lifetimes to feel the comfort of another. Gently, you placed a hand on his back, feeling the way he drew in a shaky breath. 

“I won’t,” you whispered softly, almost to yourself, your voice filling the quiet between you.  “I’m here for you.”  

It was a lie, but a beautiful lie, nonetheless. 

At your words, he shuddered, holding you tighter, his trembling easing as if you’d just unlocked something buried within him.  

You were just a passing soul, but at this moment, maybe that was enough. 

[winterzsurprise]

Change My Mind [6]

Pairing: BTS x reader

SUMMARY: As a make-up artist, you were expected to glamorize your clients with brushes and products that cost a week-worth of food, not to befriend them outside of work, let alone have them save you from dates yet here you are five years later as one of their closest confidants.

Being a stylist of the world's biggest boyband is no easy feat, someone is doing flips, someone can't stay still and one's asleep but its fine, you can work around their chaos but then one day, you find out they're all your soulmates, a whole different can of chaos you don't think you can handle.

Tags: Soulmates AU, Friends to Lovers, Eventual Smut, Not Beta Read, Slow Build, Polyamory, Attempts at Humor

Words: 6.9k

If you weren't able to catch the author's note, update will be very slow due to my campus enrolling us to a government extracurricular that spans for three months so updates with be VERY slow until then. Sorry this one took long, had to remove one chunk out of this chapter so I could have it posted as soon as I could. Also ik the last chapter's ending was so rushed, I'll try to fix it once I get the time so for now, ignore that mess ;-;

EDIT: plenty of details edited out but nothing too important, also fixed a few mistakes.

Please vote Jimin in Visa Choice in MAMA voting and push Namseok to the top 10 for Fan's Choice award! STREAM I'LL BE THERE

<<Prev || MASTERLIST || Next>>

________

“Noona, please… Just turn around…”

“I would if I could, but I'm at my limit here!”

“I will break your fingers if you don’t move.”

“Try it and I’ll tell Namjoon you were the one who spilled alcohol on the book he was reading the other day!”

“Just turn around damn it!”

“I already am! I'm not gonna take a fucking peak!”

You're living through a nightmare.

Never in your life did you think working as a make-up artist for an up-and-rising boy idol group would eventually lead you to where you are now; with half of your body out of the bathroom with an arm stretched inside to hold Jimin’s hand that's also reaching out for yours while he stands in front of the toilet.

What are you, Bangtan's—The current biggest boyband in the world—makeup artists doing, holding onto one of the member’s hands while he’s in the bathroom exactly?

Soulbond strain, that’s what the doctor had said. That's what caused the constant fatigue you and Jimin were feeling yesterday which eventually caused you both to pass out from exhaustion. Due to how ill-informed they are of both your marks, they weren't aware of how fragile your new bond was and how much touching should be involved for the first few days.

So now, you are sentenced—sentenced because having to hold your soulmate's hand while you piss, and eventually, shower and shit is the most embarrassing thing to ever happen to you—to nonstop skinship with Jimin for a week. Though after a few days, your body could withstand not holding his hand for almost a minute and you hoped it goes past an hour when the week finally ends.

Today marks the last day you both will be confined to the hospital as they've finally cleaned up one of the spare rooms in the dorm so you could move in.

You were so glad you could finally eat something more nutritious than bland soup. It should be a talent to be able to cook a soup so tasteless it would even make a white person frown despite the numerous vegetables and meat on them.

Since Jungkook's Birthday, you found yourself more often than not staring at the ceiling after eating, dreaming about eating other food so intensely it's like you could taste them in your buds.

A few days have passed since you found out you were soulmates with your best friends but you still couldn’t wrap your head around it.

The thought that these five—possibly seven depending on Seokjin and Hoseok’s test results later today—down to earth, aphrodite-blessed men with even more beautiful traits were tethered to you is bizarre. The idea never fails to short-circuit your brain every time you think about it. 

And it's hard not to, not when you wake up sleeping next to the peaceful face of South Korea’s IT boy—with his arms wrapped around you and his head nuzzled under your chin; Its something you’re still trying to get used to as you’ve never dared to sleep while cuddling with your friends, no matter how tired you might be. It was far too intimate of an act, reserved for those who are romantically involved and for someone with feelings as fickle as yours back then, it was inappropriate.

Not that it mattered much now but it's still difficult to be comfortable with the domesticity of it all.

Save for Taehyung and Seokjin, everyone else has continued working, although you had advised a weary looking Hoseok to take a break, he insisted that he's fine whilst practically dragging himself out of the room. Namjoon had assured you that he'll watch over his hyung but you had threatened Yoongi for extra measures. 

Speaking of work, your friends have been blowing up your phone since Jungkook's birthday, asking why they were required to sign a whole different NDA and you told them about your soulmates. 

All of them reacted positively, Minhyuk had even pleaded to hear about how you discovered and had asked to be informed of all the latest happenings, from the courting, dates, and even the bedroom—something you had promised to hit him for once you're back to work.

But for now, you were stuck with a foot out of the bathroom and body turned to the opposite with an arm stretched far out to hold Jimin's hand as he finished his business. 

So far, there's been no accidental flashing, to which you've been thankful for. The whole ordeal is already awkward as it is with only having to hear each other pee.

Jimin couldn’t even jokingly flirt with you the whole time, far too mortified with the idea of both parties being able to hear the stream of piss to even bother coming up with jokes to lighten up the situation, nor could you dare look into his eyes after the first few times you both had to go through this. You had refrained from eating too much in fear of having to shit during the week but you knew it would eventually happen.

Especially since you both have been greenlit to eat take outs and Seokjin had generously offered to buy you both food—bless that wonderful, handsome man—and dragged Taehyung out with him. 

You had been hesitant to make a few demands at first because do you even deserve the kindness Seokjin is showing you after hurting him for years? But the man proved himself devoted once more when he listed down the food you’ve been craving desperately for without hearing it from your lips.

(Tae had joked that maybe it's the soulmate mark manifesting a little late and Jimin elbowed him for that.)

You didn’t even get to tell him not to bother when he began to loudly chant gibberish as he pulled Taehyung out of the room with him.

After all the babying and princess treatment you've been receiving in the short time of knowing you were soulmates, it's hard not to feel frustrated having your best friends become your beck and call when they—save for Yoongi—hadn't been doing so for the past few years. It was somewhat pressuring that you could ask Jungkook to brush his teeth and immediately drink orange juice and he'd do it without question, if not gargling the juice for a little while longer just because you asked him to do it. 

From living alone and getting used to doing things by yourself, to suddenly having five people who'd follow your whims almost blindly, was overwhelming and slowly becoming more annoying than it is helpful.

If it wasn't for the guilt from getting irritated, you would've blown up on the first day when most of your soulmates had refused to let you stand up and walk around the room in fear of having you collapse.

Sure you had passed out from the soulbond strain but that same bond rendered you invulnerable to most things, you're not about to die walking around the room with Jimin, Yoongs.

You couldn't fault Jungkook and Tae for wanting to baby you. Jungkook never had someone to pamper and spoil, and Taehyung only had Jungkook; Even then, it wasn't in a romantic way and Jungkook was also being taken care of by the others so he didn't need to do much. His ex and him didn't last long enough for when BTS’ fame had skyrocketed and he had more money than he could ever spend in his life and is quickly running out of things to spend it on.

Still, it was hard to take all the coddling. It was better when they treated you with the distance platonic relationships had granted you.

The sound of a zipper broke through the awkward atmosphere before the flush of the toilet came. With a tug on your hand, you stepped back into the bathroom to follow Jimin to the sink so he could wash his hand, eyes still refusing to meet.

God, how did a friendship where he could literally strip off to his underwear in front of each other could turn so awkward like this?!

After spraying his hands with an overloading amount of alcohol—”Noona that’s overkill, I’ve already washed my hands.” “That’s just water, I’m not letting you touch me with a hand only washed with water!”— you and Jimin returned to the bed, huddled next to each other as you both scrolled on social media with both your bare legs thrown over his.

There's been comments left on your instagram page asking for Jimin's health and you decided to reply to one comment to say that he's fine and recovering. Silencing the app, you move to twitter when the door suddenly opens and in comes Seokjin holding up two plastic bags of takeout, flexing them as if they were golden medals and you sit up.

“Your handsome savior has arrived with fries and actually good food!”

“Hi noona!” Taehyung greets as he steps out of Jin's shadow.

“Jin you're actually the most good looking man I've ever seen in this forsaken planet, did you get me cheese and sour cream flav—”

“Of course I did,” He scoffed, putting down two paper bags and one drink carrier on your bedside table before placing the rest on the table near the bathroom door. “Who do you think I am?!”

“He almost ordered it all in cheese until I reminded him that you wanted sour cream too, noona.” Taehyung chimes in with a grin as he closes the door, a hand hidden behind his back while he holds a covered cup in the other. 

Seokjin snapped his head towards him with an indignant ‘Ya!’, to which Tae only giggled at.

“You bought that heinous, god awful sweet tea with my money! How could you do this to me?!”

“I offered to pay but you—”

“WITH MY MONEY!”

Everyone only laughed and Jin trudged over with Jimin’s lunch in hand, offering it with an outreached arm and he took it. At least, he tried to. Jin suddenly raised his hand over his head. You watched as Jin continuously teased Jimin whose reach is limited due to the need to be holding your hand. 

Jimin then finally got a grip on the plastic bag’s bottom and suddenly, their fishing game became a tug of war.

“Wait wait wait! You're going to tear it! It's going to spill!”

“Just fucking give it to me, hyung!” Jimin grunt, tugging one last time and the side of the bag rips, immediately Jin lets go.

“Why would you pull that hard?!”

Jimin ignored him in favor of pulling out his container, which he realized is overwhelmingly little compared to your three packages.

“Hyung!” He screams with his bottom lip jut out, dragging out the word. “How come I only have one food package? I'm also a patient, you know?!”

“You didn't request anything.” Jin says nonchalantly, shrugging.

“We've been together for years hyung! You should've known what I wanted like you did noona! This is blatant favoritism hyung!”

Seokjin ignored him, handing you a large bowl of mixed flavored fries, a large boba tea, and a plastic container where an aroma of caramelized fried chicken is leaking out of it the moment it leaves the paper bag. Next to you, Jimin scoffed, incredulous as he crossed his arms.

“She gets fried chicken, fries and boba but I only get Jajangmyeon?!” 

Once again, he ignored the younger man, rolling his eyes as Taehyung bounds up to his disgruntled best friend to reveal the half occupied half empty paper beverage carrier hidden behind his back, grinning widely as Jimin’s face morphs into disbelieving betrayal.

“Wow, so this is how we do things now, huh? I can’t believe you’d do this to me when I’m a patient!” 

“I’m so sorry, you poor poor thing.” Taehyung pouts as he offers out the food and Jimin spared no time in swiping the bag from him.

With their bicker finally coming to an end and Taehyung comfortably sitting crossed legs at the foot of you and Jimin’s bed, you turned to your food.

After eating nothing but bland, runny soup since the night at Jungkook’s birthday, tasting the cheddar almost made you tear up. You had taken advantage of the privilege of tasting far too long, being able to finally ingest something else felt euphoric, as if you were given the chance to walk through the garden of eden.

Exaggerated much but it's the only way you could explain the feeling.

Wasting no more time, you dug into the french fries bowl. 

You hear Seokjin whisper something underneath his breath, sounding incredulous. You watched as he crossed over to Taehyung and snatched his cup, ignoring the younger man’s indignant yelp and took a sip.

Instantly, the mixed taste of cheddar and sour cream was washed away by the familiar taste of Taehyung’s heinous tea preference of illegal amounts of tea and milk. The harsh difference of the three flavors along with the texture of fries gliding on your tongue makes you gag. Your soulmates react, Jimin placing his food down to place his cupped hands under you as if trying to catch your puke while Tae flinches, about to reach over until he sees his brother already positioned to help you and turns to fetch you a glass of water instead.

“You ate too fast noona, try to chew it first.”

“You ate too fast noona, try to chew it first.” You mimic in a tone far too high to be his and Jimin rolled his eyes.

“Why are you being so annoying today?”

“I’m sorry I’m getting cranky after someone disrupted me eating—” Your words abruptly end as Jin suddenly surged in to hug you.

You look at Taehyung who’s staring longingly at his tea still in Jin’s grasp behind you before turning to a similarly perplexed Jimin mid-bite of his tteokbokki. Raising an eyebrow at him, he responds with a shrug before continuing to stuff food into his mouth.

But as you rested both hands on his shoulders, Jin suddenly sniffled.

“Jin?”

Alert, you gently push him off and your eyes meet with his misty pairs, matched with a teary smile stretching plush red lips. Your heart leapt to your throat as both his hands cupped your cheeks and kissed your forehead in under a second. But instead of getting a seizure or being struck with an overwhelming amount of pain, nothing happened.

Instead a warm feeling, akin to what the rest of your soulmates caused you, wrapped around you like a thick blanket and you froze.

Then, Jin stands with an excited yip and excused himself out of the room, leaving you and the others confused.

What?

You didn't need to look at Jimin or Tae to know they all had huge question marks hanging over their heads as they stared at where they last saw their hyung disappear out of the room.

Why didn't your body react from having someone kiss your forehead while your bonds were still unsettled? From what you've read, there's always a chance of it happening, yet even if your relationship with him stretched over years, there shouldn't be any reason why he's not causing you and Jimin pain.

Unless he's also a soulmate.

Immediately you were reminded of the time he had carried you and wondered why no one ever questioned why nothing fatal had happened when he had done that in the DFA. Even if it had everyone in a flurry of panic, someone should've noticed and questioned it right? Yoongi should have at least.

There was also that one time Hoseok had held your hand in the car, it was brief but it should've done something still with a Nexus bond as complicated and huge as yours. Yet like with Seokjin, nothing happened.

“What did I just watch?” Taehyung began and you wish you had the answer. “Did I just witness my soulmate get stolen by Seokjin hyung?”

“No,” Jimin says, eyes thoughtful as he looks at you before turning to the bathroom door. “I think we just discovered that hyung is also tethered to her.”

Both your head snapped to the man next to you.

In the small amount of time you stared at your soulmate, the pieces began to click as the cogs in your mind whirs with all the possibilities before it took you back to the moment the horrendous taste of Taehyung's tea violated your tongue. Your mouth falls into an ‘o’.

“Shared Tastebuds.” You mutter.

Jimin opens his mouth to ask you to elaborate when Seokjin reenters with a doctor following behind him, red faced but the blinding wide smile he wore was enough to make you forget he was crying not a second before. The doctor next to him looked ecstatic, eyes a little crazy at the newfound discovery.

“Congratulations, it seems that also Mr. Kim here is a part of your Nexus bond!” He says a little cheerily as he hugs the clipboard close to his chest. “It would do you all well to inform the rest of the group of this finding. From a professional standpoint, I do think that Mr. Jung has a huge chance of also being a part of your Nexus.”

To say you never had doubts that the other two members were a part of your nexus would be a lie, you had hoped they were but the absence of mark manifestation symptoms made it hard to believe they’ll be one of your soulmates.

Who knew all it took to find out if you and Jin were connected was eating while in the presence of each other? If you hadn’t fainted from the lack of food and the Soulbond strain, would you have found out about it earlier?

Was he the reason you’d taste the savory taste of a well-seasoned grilled meat or the sweet fizzling taste of a soda late at night yesterday?

Or is the bond you both have will allow for long distance sense sharing? There are two types of Shared Tastebuds after all.

“The results are due today right?” Jimin asks and the doctor turns to his watch.

“This afternoon I'm sure just before you both are discharged. But,” He turns to Jin. “For now I'll be taking Mr. Kim with me to register his soulbond and involvement in your Nexus.”

When they left again, the three of you remained unmoving, stunned. 

It must be Jimin’s touch that had kept you calm throughout the revelation because you didn’t know how to react. There’s no doubt joy in the hurricane of emotions swirling in your chest, as well as the pacifying effect from both your and Jimin’s touch overwhelming the rising stress and conflict at the back of your head, forcing and pushing them back into the shadows.

You knew you should be stressing over the possibilities of having seven soulmates and how you’d divide your time to be able to equally spend time with everyone, it was already difficult having five these past few days. More often than not, you found yourself suffering a headache caused by the constant noise and overwhelming sensations each individual soulmarks gave you. 

From the constant sounds of Namjoon’s heartbeat at the back of your head, and Jimin’s touch making your skin thrum, even the Amoneuron in your blood is having a hard time keeping you away from soulbond hyperactivity.

Someone’s phone erupted into a shrill scream, it was Taehyung’s. Picking it up, he automatically puts it on speaker and holds the end of the phone close to his mouth. 

“Is it true? Please tell me it’s not true! I’m already competing with most of my hyungs for noona’s time!”

“This isn’t a competition, gguk.” Yoongi drawled in the background. “Didn’t we already establish that? No fighting for her hear—”

“What soulmark do they have?!” 

“Manager Sejin is already on the way with a lawyer to handle the legal side of things, how are you guys doing right now? Is noona good?” Namjoon asks, sounding closer to the mic.

“She didn't faint if that's what you're asking about. If anything,” Taehyung turns to you. “She looks a little out of it.”

“How did it happen? Is it the test? Is it out already?” Hoseok's voice came through, nervous.

“Yeah we'll deliver it to you later also, remember hyung complaining about tasting something weird? Apparently he was tasting the hospital special soup—”

_______

On your dismissal, the doctor had handed the eldest their test results. Seokjin had thrown him out since he already knew what it'll entail but held on protectively on Hoseok's envelope.

Jimin had proposed a small celebration for the mark's manifestation for everyone, nothing too grand, just a few take outs appropriate for tomorrow’s dinner—because Jungkook and Tae had requested pancakes and waffles for whatever reason—and a small cake. 

With five—not counting Jimin as he insisted that you both sit the activity out and Hoseok who visited his sister but promised to return the next day to read his result at dinner—men at your disposal, boxing up and moving your items into their dorm was easy, even if Yoongi has noticeably slowed down the stairs carrying the same one box he’s picked up since earlier; not that you’d call him out on it but you knew Seokjin and Jimin would to do it instead.

If it wasn't for Jungkook's eagerness to have you move in, it would have taken you all longer than you had today.

It was surreal seeing the items in your home slowly decrease, the mass on your shelves and all the personality of every room disappear with every box filled. You had been staying in the same apartment since you were 21, to have its familiar sights and spots be slowly stripped off of its glow felt sadder than you thought it would be.

BigHit had requested your company friends do all the basic packing such as your clothes and products while you were at the hospital, it wasn't forced but they acted like it was anyway. They (read: Minhyuk and Nabi) had jokingly complained about being tasked with doing things your soulmates should’ve been doing, Minhyuk going as far as threatening to sneak off something into one of the boxes and you feared for your life for what that something might entail.

You offered to buy them anything they want the next time you all visit the mall in exchange for their full cooperation and Minhyuk had vowed to run your bank dry with a sly grin.

“It's not like you’d even need them anymore when you’ve got the world’s biggest boyband as your soulmates, might as well spend your hard earned money on important things; friends, especially me though.”

You wouldn't deny the fact that you tried dating Guwon with the hopes of living lavishly without lifting a finger but the world would have to bathe in fire and water before you'd let them buy you expensive things outside of food; that you accept because you'd be able to taste and experience delicious dishes. Not to mention, it's practical.

Having your furniture moved out as well was out of the question after an hour of argument with Jimin and Jin who insisted on having you buy new decorations, except for the books, trinkets, and plethora of BTS collection you were given by the members themselves every comeback.

You argued that you didn’t need them to buy new furniture when you already have working ones.

But that argument was easily disproved when the maknaes (plus you as an unwilling participant and Namjoon because: "hyung you’re big, we need to weight test it!") had jumped into your bed and the frames creaked and trembled.

He was right, as much as it pains you to accept it.

But just because he's right doesn't mean you agree with him.

In the end, with one against eventually all of them, you were due for furniture shopping with Jimin, Yoongi and Namjoon the next day. Today though, you were bunking with Jimin due to the need for constant skinship and the lack of bed in your new room.

You spent the better half of the afternoon unboxing and filling your closet with your items which barely filled two shelves out of six that were bolted onto the wall of the small well-lit room.

“Noona, your closet is a bit… barren.”

“The closets are just huge, I have plenty.”

“I’m concerned that you think this is plenty.” He says, thumbing the material of your cream cardigan.

“Don't you fucking dare Park Jimin.”

He smiled. “Who says I'm the one who'll do the buying? I don’t gift clothes noona, you should know that.”

After finding out your and Jin’s soulmark, you had thought deciding what you ate for dinner until the bond settled would be a hassle or until you both learn how to disable it. But Jin had simply agreed on your choices that night with a shrug of his shoulder.

And that amount of trust in whatever you’ll pick scares you in ways you never thought it would.

It's just a simple decision, one would say, but the ugly voices at the back of your head wondered if you even deserve this amount of consideration from him when you hadn’t noticed his lingering feelings for you for years.

But it seems like that fact has long been swept under the rug when the maknaes bounded up to you with mischief in their eyes.

Upon the realization that their Jin hyung would agree to almost anything you’d eat for a while, Jungkook and Taehyung wasted no second running up to you to propose the idea of ordering you a strawberry ice cream for dessert, claiming it was the only way to test their hyung’s love for her.

“You see noona, if hyung really loves you like he said he does, he would suck it up like the man he is.” Jungkook had reasoned to you with Taehyung nodding behind him and Jimin grinning mischievously next to you.

Fortunately for Jin, you don’t think forcing him to taste strawberry flavored things on the day he found out he wasn’t untethered would be a good decision despite the loud voice at the back of your head goading you to follow through their plan for fun.

But you promised the maknaes that you’ll do it someday.

Dinner was surprisingly uneventful with a few talks about the schedule changes and the rumors Jungkook had read and heard from his small friend group outside his brothers. If it wasn’t for the soft glow of gold at the edge of your vision from where your foot is resting on top of Jimin’s under the table and the faint outline of the red string of fate stretching across to Yoongi’s right pinkie, you would’ve tricked your brain into thinking it was a normal dinner with your friends.

With the words streaming out of Jungkook’s mouth, Tae and Jimin’s additional information and the scandalous gasp and widened eyes around the table once the pieces began to form a picture, you almost thought it was an average weekly dinner with your bosses.

But soon enough, plates are taken into the kitchen and Jimin is already pulling you up to your room, saying how he wants to take a shower and that you should take your toiletries.

Something you had dreaded since you heard the doctor had sentenced you to be in constant skinship with Jimin.

Why are you even nervous?! You had seen him and his brothers in their boxers from being one of their make up artists yet your heart had been thudding loudly in your ears the moment you had entered his room with your travel bag in hand.

Turns out, there was a truth in the saying “Ignorance is bliss” in the fact that knowing something could alter the way you think and perceive even the smallest of actions. In your case, knowing Jimin's your soulmate while facing the dilemma of showering together had you completely fucked up.

On the verge of a breakdown, half a foot on the ledge and the other hanging over the fall.

You had swam in public pools with him before but it was always with the presence of others, to be alone in a small room in nothing but your undies while maintaining skinship with your soulmate—

Isn't that a bit too intimate?

Will you even survive?

To stand half naked in a minimal space alone with Jimin, your heart might just collapse.

Seeing him in his underwear shouldn't faze you as much as it should. He and the others has stripped in front of you in a haste of changing into the next costume for the next performance but in the minimal space of his bathroom where you both are secluded away from the other dwellers of the building and he's already topless and is now unbuttoning and sliding the zippers of his jorts, the mass in your throat kept on thickening with the tension in the air.

Your eyes roamed the soft, flatness of his stomach; from up his lightly freckled bare chest and down to the thin trail of hair down his abdomen. The prominent bones of his adonis belt had your throat drying up.

Seeing him topless shouldn't affect you the way it should yet you found yourself heating up at the sight of them.

When he begins to remove his pants, you force yourself to look away, cheeks burning hot as you thumb the top buttons of your—Taehyung’s—polo before beginning to undo them all with your heart thudding loudly in your ears.

The string tied to your finger lights up in a rhythmic beat, persistent and hurried. Wrapping your fingers around it, Yoongi's loud concern immediately washes over your body. You respond to him by pushing down reassurance down the lane and the thread dulls from one side.

“Did hyung contact you?”

You turn to Jimin, already stripped down to his boxers.

God is really testing you today, putting a handsome man in his underwear in front of you and tempting you to let your gaze fall down for a glimpse of his thick muscled thighs you always saw through the fabric of his skinny jeans.

“Ye-yeah, nothing to worry about though. Give me your foot, I need to remove my shirt.”

Obediently, he puts his foot forward and you step on it before making quick work of your shirt. You feel his burning gaze roam your skin and you shiver from its intensity.

By the time you had your pants pooling on the floor alongside his, your heart is thudding uncontrollably in a way that might concern Namjoon at how fast it's going.

Why is the calming effect of Jimin's touch absent when you need it?

“Ready to go?” 

You almost jumped at how hoarse his voice had gotten but recovered quickly and nodded, stepping first into the shower and twisting the valve towards the hotter temperature. Jimin hissed the moment the water touched his skin, breaking the stifling tension for a moment.

“How are your skin not burning off?! It's so hot!”

You rolled your eyes. “You're being dramatic, it's not that hot.”

“It is! The mirror is literally steaming!” He exclaimed, pointing at the long horizontal mirror above the sink which is indeed, fogging up. 

Jimin then leaned over, his naked chest touching your back. Goosebumps prickled your skin and you barely stopped the urge to shiver as he manipulated the valve until he was satisfied with the temperature. When he steps back, you finally let out the breath you didn't realize you were holding.

Hearing your exhale, he laughed lightheartedly. The fucker did it on purpose.

Trying to ignore the thumps of your racing heart, you busied yourself with the task of washing your hair. You reached for the shampoo bottle and popped open the cap, body still facing the wall.

“Noona.”

You looked over your shoulder and Jimin was scratching the back of his head sheepishly.

“Can I wash your hair for you?” He shyly asks, his sly attitude from earlier nonexistent. “I've never done that with someone else before. I-I’ve always wanted to do that now and now that we're soulmates, I was–I was wondering if maybe I–we could—”

“Not even with that girl you’ve dated before?”

He shook his head. “We were too busy to do something like that, noona. Idol lives and all that. It's one of the reasons why we broke up.”

“She was pretty nice though.”

His lips quirks up. “Don’t get jealous noona, you’re my soulmate after all.”

You hit his shoulder and he brought his arms up to shield himself, giggling. “Do you want to wash each other’s hair or not?!”

Despite your agreement, you were beyond nervous as you handed him the shampoo and turned around to shut the shower off. The string on your finger thrummed once more, still concerned as your heart leapt up to your throat when Jimin's fingers began to thread and scrape his nails against your scalp.

A thrill of pleasure shoots down your spine and you hold back the urge to mewl as he begins to put more pressure on his motions.

It stayed like that for a while and you reveled in the pure domesticity of it all. 

When Jimin retracts his hands, you reach for his shampoo and order him to turn around.

“What if I don't want to?” He challenges with a mischievous smirk.

“If it gets in your eyes, it's your fault.”

He giggled and shrunk down to your height, to which you hit his shoulder for and he laughed, standing back up. 

“Can you even reach the top of my head like this?”

“Fine but don't complain about your knees hurting, you wanted this.” You jokingly say as he bends his knees once more, a playful lilt in his eyes.

Once you lathered the shampoo enough, you began. 

You’ve seen multiple couples on screen shower together and had once wondered how it’d felt having someone to help reach the spots you couldn’t as well as do those domestic things such as brushing your teeth together and just washing each other in general. The actors always made them natural and romantic, with the soft lighting bouncing off their skin and their laughter ringing in the small space.

But showering with Jimin is anything you’ve ever thought of.

Against the other members, Jimin is easily dwarfed by them, matched with the constant jokes about his height, it's easy to forget that the man is still taller than the average man. He towered over you, his eyes intense and lit with a playful sultriness. His lips twisted into a mischievous smirk as he bent his knees low enough where you could touch the top of his head without risking a stiff neck or standing on your tiptoes.

He’s peering up at you yet you feel smaller under his gaze.

He had always done this, getting into your face while you retouched his makeup. In a way, it was nice that you’re slowly regaining the normalcy 

But it's not appreciated when he’s doing it when you’re already fighting demons trying so hard not to ogle at his body and explode from how flustered you are.

“Are you seriously getting flushed now noona? We’ve done this plenty of times already, why now?”

Is he seriously asking you that?

He laughed. Your thoughts must’ve reflected on your face.

“Didn’t know you’d be affected by something as normal as this. Don’t you see us naked at least every other day?” He asks with a quirk to his eyebrow and you narrowed your eyes further at him.

“You know damn well why,” You say, slapping his shoulder before turning to open the shower once more. Laughing when the water burst open above him, cutting him off from replying.

With the tension dissolving with the shampoo on his hair, a playful grin replaced the coy smirk and with his newly washed hair, he grabbed your arms in an iron grip and began to shake his head at you, flicking water from his hair and onto you.

When he was done, he then pulled you into the stream with a bubbling laugh as he watched the shampoo suds dissolve with the water. But with both your arms pinned in place, you weren't able to wipe your eyes and had them closed the moment he had you under the shower head.

“I'm—I’m going to put chili in your fucking water, I can't see!”

With sorrys in between fits of giggles, Jimin reached up to wipe your face for you when he realized this.

Shower with Jimin sailed smoothly from that point on. After his teasing, he made no more attempts to fluster you, even when he was scrubbing your back a little longer than it should've taken. 

He had, however, made comments on how many steps there are for you to shower.

“Why do you need to shampoo twice, use soap AND body wash? It’s not like you’d ever get sick anymore when I’m here.”

You just rolled your eyes and told him to leave if he’s going to complain about your routine. Eventually though, you speed through your routine due to him whining about how he’s starting to feel cold, lightheaded—to which he dramatized by leaning his hurting head on your shoulder—, and is suddenly sleepy.

Changing into your pajamas was a little hard as you attempted to do it all under the safety of a towel while also maintaining skinship with Jimin every other ten seconds who's also doing the same.

You managed somehow and soon enough, you both situated yourselves into the bed, with your legs thrown over his and backreading the bangtan gc that had awakened the moment Jimin had his phone.

Surprisingly, even Jungkook was active.

           [21:24] Mimi: It's so weird tae            [21:24] Mimi: I’ve never seen someone use soap AND body wash THEN washes their hair t w i c e            [21:24] Hoba: I do that…            [21:25] Mimi: That’s expected hyung, you’re a neat freak.            [21:25] You: Why are you so weird about me being clean?!            [21:26] Mimi: ITS PSYCHOPATH BEHAVIOR            [21:26] Jinnie: hoba I think he just called you a psychopath            [21:26] Hoba: 🙁            [21:27] Ggukie: NOW YOU MADE HYUNG SAD            [21:27] Hoba: 🙁            [21:27] Hoba: you think im weird jimin-ah?🙁            [21:27] Yoongs: why is this even a conversation            [21:27] Joonie: Jimin just because you don’t do it, doesn’t mean it's unorthodox.            [21:28] Minnie: you’re one of them, are you hyung?!            [21:28] Tete: I still cant believe Jimin just showered with noona…            [21:28] Tete: why are we breezing through that information?            [21:28] Jinnie: ok so lets not talk about that            [21:29] Jinnie: what do you want for breakfast, beautiful?

Reading his message felt like cold water dousing you awake and you’re suddenly attacked by a wave of guilt.

Is it okay for you to even make demands like this? Do you even deserve being Seokjin’s dearest?

“Ask him for waffles, I'm craving for them.” Jimin says, his voice slicing through your thoughts and you turn back to your phone.

           [21:29] Ggukie: ask me too hyung!            [21:29] Jinnie: alright I’ll bite            [21:29] Jinnie: what do you want brat?            [21:30] Ggukie: noona’s love :DD

You watched as Jin’s profile pic pop up and came down multiple times, and each time they do, your and Jimin’s giggles multiply.

           [21:32] Jinnie: I’m blocking you            [21:32] Joonie: I should have you kicked out for that stupid, corny ass joke oh my god            [21:32] Yoongs: that activated my fight or flight            [21:32] Yoongs: don’t do that again            [21:32] Ggukie: hyung ask me again            [21:32] Ggukie: promise I’ll respond properly this time :]            [21:33] Jinnie: Y/N?            [21:33] Ggukie: HYUNG            [21:33] Minnie: she says she wants waffles :>            [21:33] Jinnie: I don’t believe anything that comes out of your mouth, Park Jimin            [21:34] Minnie: D:            [21:34] You: I want scrambled eggs and pancakes :D

“Betrayal!”

“You shouldn’t have played around earlier then.” 

“You shouldn’t have played around earlier then. Give me that!” You stretch your arm away from him but Jimin was faster, managing to pluck your phone from your grasp and moving to place it on his side of the floor.

Without hesitation, you launched yourself at his hand making him yelp before it dissolved into giggles when you managed to catch him and had curled up around his arm, fingers attempting to pry him away from your phone.

It was how Tae had found you both in and immediately lept in, taking your side the moment he had seen you and Jimin tussled for your phone. 

With Tae’s help, you were able to take back your phone only to see that it had locked itself from the many times the screen had picked up on both you and Jimin’s palms and had typed in the wrong combination after the other. For that, you slapped his arm.

“What did I do wrong?! It’s not my fault the stupid phone couldn’t differentiate between palm and fingers!”

“If I wasn’t required to touch you, I’d have you kicked out of this room.”

Jimin pushed himself up, face incredulous. “This is literally my room.”

“Next week you should sleep in my room instead, noona. I’d love to have you there.” Taehyung says, pulling you to his chest and side-eyeing his friend. “I wouldn’t be as mean as Jiminie.”

“Why am I getting disrespected in my own room? Is it gang up on Jimin day?!”

“When is it not gang up on Jimin day?”

“Why you—GET OUT OF MY ROOM!”

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