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rafelandia · 3 days ago

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Two Babies (dad!Rafe Cameron x fem!reader)

Word Count: 5.4k

Warnings: angst, mentions of smut, pregnancy

Summary: Y/N is pregnant again before she’s ready.

Author's Note: Hello! Please enjoy my first Rafe one shot. I would love to expand on this couple so if you have any requests or any blurbs you'd like me to explore, please send me a message! As always, likes and reblogs are much appreciated - it helps more than you know. Happy reading :)

“Well, well, well. If it isn’t my favorite tiny human,” the pediatrician chimed as she kicked the door to the small examination room shut with her sneaker.

“You must say that to all of the parents that you see,” Y/N blushed, unable to hide the smile that tugged on the corners of her lips.

“I do, but this is one of the rare times when I actually mean it. Those blonde curls! Are you freakin' kidding me?”

She padded over to the miniature exam table to get a better look at the infant that was lying contently on her back and chewing on her pudgy albeit still tiny fingers.

“Let’s take a look at how you’re doing, sweet pea.”

The doctor, Melanie, lifted the stethoscope that was looped around her neck and placed it into her ears. Listening to the baby’s heartbeat to check for any abnormalities, she couldn’t help but give a sympathetic frown when the tiny girl under her tensed up from the cool touch of the metal.

“Nurse’s notes say she’s put on quite a bit. She’s finally caught up to her age group in weight. I’m assuming breastfeeding is going better for you both now?”

Melanie lovingly squeezed the extra chub around the baby girl's thighs.

“Yeah. We don’t really use bottles anymore. Finally got her to latch on and now it seems like all she wants to do it eat,” Y/N chuckled.

“Good! That’s good. There’s nothing wrong with formula like we talked about, so don't overexert yourself if becomes too demanding. Breastfeeding is cheaper though," Melanie chucked, though in her head she was kicking herself. As if this family is in any need to save money. "Is she hitting the milestones? Rolling over? Propping her head up? Babbling a bit?” she continued.

“Babbling, definitely. She keeps us up sometimes because we can hear her talking to herself through the monitor at night,” Y/N poked her tongue out at her daughter in an attempt to get her to smile.

“Having a bit of trouble propping herself up though. She can only do it for a little bit and then she’ll give up. She’s got Rafe's big head, so I’m sure it’s a bit of a struggle.”

Melanie laughed loudly at the mention of her patient’s father, admiring Y/N's wittiness even in the absence of her husband. Given the reputation of the Cameron family, others might think the couple were all work and no play, but Melanie had the privilege of getting to know them behind closed doors. While they took doctor's visits seriously, always paying close attention to what the doctors and nurses had to say regarding the health of their firstborn, her experience with the Cameron's changed her outlook completely. Y/N and Rafe were warm, welcoming, and quite funny sometimes - always making jests at each other or sharing little tid-bits of what their life is like at home. She wished everyone could see them this way. Melanie really wasn't lying when she doted on the little girl, they were the best.

“She’ll get to it eventually. All babies are different. She seems to be coming along quite nicely, though. Nothing abnormal or anything to fuss about. A perfectly healthy six-month-old in my book.”

Y/N sighed in relief, though she knew there was nothing to worry over to begin with.

“How’s mum doing? You taking care of yourself, too? You’re just as important as baby.”

“When I can. Rafe's really good with her. He’ll take over when he sees me struggling, but it seems like she only wants me these days. Think I might be coming down with something, though. I’ve been feeling awful for a few weeks. Like I got hit by a train. I keep reminding myself to go get checked out, but I always get distracted taking care of her,” Y/N gestured to her daughter that was now drooling onto the parchment liner and staring up at the ceiling as if there was something ornately interesting about the popcorn texture that had been stippled onto it.

“When you say, ‘hit by a train,’ what do you mean? I can examine you here if you’d like. As long as it’s nothing serious, I can send you something off to the pharmacy.”

Melanie re-fastened the snaps on the infant’s onesie, making sure not to pinch her chunky legs and placed her back into her mother’s lap.

“Ummm,” Y/N began, “Just extra drained, I guess? Kinda nauseous. I’ve been getting migraines a lot and even when I do get a good night’s rest, I still feel like I could go back to bed for the rest of the day. Maybe I’m just exhausted, I don’t really know. But it just feels a bit different than being worn out like I have been before.”

She could see the wheels in Melanie's head turning, noting each of her symptoms and trying to align them in a path that would lead her to the root of the problem.

“Can I ask you something that might be a bit personal?”

Y/N nodded, rubbing her fingers absentmindedly along the bridge of her daughter’s socked foot.

“Have you and Rafe been intimate since she was born?”

She was taken aback by the question, not understanding where Melanie was going with this or why it was relevant.

“Umm,” Y/N stuttered, feeling a static-y surge of embarrassment travel up her neck and onto the sides of her face, “Yeah. We have.”

A whole fucking lot ever since I’ve been cleared for it, Y/N thought, but kept to herself.

“And can you tell me when your last menstrual cycle ended?”

Then it clicked. She genuinely couldn’t recall her most recent period and even the thought of what Melanie was alluding to made her stomach twist into thousands of tiny knots.

“I- I don’t know. I’ve been so busy with her I don’t even really think about what’s going on with me half of the time.”

Y/N tried to make excuses, anything to avoid the obvious, but judging from the quizzical look on her daughter’s pediatrician’s face, she knew exactly where this was going.

“There’s no way,” she whispered, “I can’t be.”

Melanie's face dropped, now tender and apologetic when she realized that this was news Y/N was not ecstatic to hear.

“I know I’m a pediatrician, so that’s obviously the first thing my mind goes to, but can we at least get you to take a blood test? That way we’ll know for sure?”

Rafe came home to a quiet house. It wasn’t unusual, but seeing as it was well after six o’clock in the evening and his wife wasn’t in the kitchen making the pasta dish she'd been dying for all week was. Their grocery store had been out of her favorite canned tomatoes for over a week and she’d nearly tackled Rafe to the ground out of excitement when he’d come home from the grocery store with them the night before. Had he not seen her car in the driveway, he probably wouldn’t have even suspected her to be home.

He checked the living room first, and it was desolate apart from the baby pink, quilted playmat on the floor that was littered with a few of his daughter’s favorite rattles and teethers. Y/N's coat and purse were abandoned haphazardly on the couch, almost as if she tossed it aside in a hurry to get somewhere.

“Baby?” Rafe called out.

Nothing.

His head peaked into the nursery, stealthily and quietly in preparation to walk in on his daughter taking her scheduled nap before her actual bedtime. He’d gotten good at hushing his footfalls to almost complete silence as to not wake her, having made that mistake more than a handful of times.

And he was right. There she was, sprawled out in her crib with her arms outstretched over her head like a tiny starfish. Her chubby cheeks were smushed against her bicep, drawing her lips open the tiniest bit so that Rafe could see the tops of her fleshy, pink gums and the barely-there nub of her first tooth peeking through. More than anything, he wanted to wake her up - lift her from the plush mattress and cuddle her close, shower her with kisses and tickle her with his scruff to hear those baby squeals he adored so much, but he needed to find Y/N first.

She had to be in their bedroom, he thought to himself. Maybe she was taking advantage of their baby girl napping to also get some rest. She had been rather exhausted lately. Maybe she’d had a rough day and was relaxing in the clawfoot, porcelain bathtub that had been the selling point of the home they now lived in. The houses on Figure Eight were lavish, but not all of the bathtubs were - at least that's what Y/N told Rafe. Who was he to question his bride?

Turns out he was right again. Like he had done with the nursery, he held the metal doorknob tightly in his grip to keep the hinges from creeking and pressed it open gently. The room was completely dark, but he could make out the lump underneath the duvet on their king-sized bed as his wife.

Good. She was sleeping.

He padded across the hardwood floor, still being as quiet as he could until he crossed the threshold of the bathroom. There, he rid himself of the uncomfortable clothes he’d been wearing all day. Curse these professional business meetings that forced him to dress nicely.

All throughout the meetings, he wanted nothing more than to be home with his wife and baby, cuddling the afternoon away and watching shitty reality television while his daughter cooed and grunted and gurgled in her baby voice that he loved so much and could listen to all day. He wasn't always this way - he used to love this shit, but something inside him changed indefinitely when his daughter was born. Rafe was a softy now and he wasn't afraid to admit it. Maybe it was the fact that he’d been having to partake in these boring work meetings a lot more lately, which caused him to miss even the smallest aspects of his everyday life like changing diapers or checking the baby monitor eight hundred times throughout the day to make sure his daughter was still breathing. Perhaps he’d just been getting sentimental because she was growing so much these days, but it was an unpleasant feeling nonetheless.

His thoughts were interrupted when he deposited his heavy watch into the dish he kept on the counter and he heard a quiet yet still prominent sniffle among the clattering of metal against the glass dish.

“Baby? You awake?” Rafe peaked his head out from beyond the bathroom door.

He saw her body shift under the covers, but she gave no response. So he called out again.

“You sick or something? Can hear you sniffling."

Nothing.

Pivoting back around to the inside of the bathroom, he quickly shut off the light and carried himself over to her side of the bed where he could see her properly. Her face was tucked into her chin and all that was visible to him was the top of her head.

“Hey,” Rafe cooed, petting what he could reach of her hair and speaking even gentler than he had been, “What’s wrong?”

And that’s when he heard it - an almost inaudible choking sound of Y/N trying to catch her breath that immediately let him know she wasn’t sick. She had been crying.

“Whoa, baby,” he was already pulling the covers back with force, honestly not caring whether or not she minded the intrusion.

“Tell me what’s going on.”

She was emotionless when he saw what little he could her face, her puffy, bloodshot eyes and swollen lips illuminated by the hallway light being the only indicator that she was upset. She didn’t even react to Rafe tugging her head out from where it had been buried in the covers, simply rolling onto her back to stare idly at the ceiling.

“Y/N,” he called for his wife again, this time much more stern, “You’ve got to talk to me.”

She took several deep breaths through her nose, allowing her lungs to fill to their maximum capacity before exhaling with a sigh. Rafe could have sworn she was sucking all of the oxygen out of the room along with his patience each time she did so.

After what felt like ages, she parted her lips to speak.

“I went to the doctor today.”

“Yeah? For the six-month check up, right?” Rafe asked, not seeing why that was important but his mind quickly went to the worst scenario possible despite having just seen his daughter sleeping peacefully in her crib. He cut his eyes towards the hallway in the direction of her nursery before looking back to Y/N.

“Is she alright?” his voice now demanding urgency in the delivery of her response.

“She’s fine,” she quickly dismissed him, internally kicking herself for making Rafe worry.

“I was telling Melanie about how sick I’ve been lately and she -,” Y/N gulped and rubbed her knuckles against her tired eyes, bracing herself for whatever events unfolded after she said what she was about to say.

“She, umm. She made me take a pregnancy test.”

Now it was Rafe turn to be speechless. He stared at her with furrowed brows and his mouth slightly agape. His palms suddenly felt clammy against the white sheets that they rested on and his stomach felt like it had turned in on itself from how badly it was churning. Of all of the things he had expected to be wrong with her, this was certainly the last on the list.

“And?” he asked after what felt like an eternity of staring at her and saying absolutely nothing, though he already knew the answer.

“Ten weeks.”

Silent tears now spilled over her eyes and down past her temples. She couldn’t even be bothered to wipe them, instead letting them dampen a small patch of hair on either side of her head. Pregnancies weren’t supposed to be sad, but somehow, she had barely been able to stop crying since she left the pediatrician’s office.

“How,” Rafe whispered, moreso to himself than to her.

“I think you know how babies are made, Rafe” Y/N quipped.

“That's not what I meant,” Rafe fired back just as quickly, “It’s just...She’s still so little.”

He thought of his daughter asleep in the next room. She was the most perfect thing he’s ever seen and on the day that she was born, he knew he wanted nothing more than to fill his and Y/N’s house with as many blonde, chubby babies as he could fit beds in each room. He just hadn’t expected that his only child’s first birthday present would be the gift of being a big sister.

It was all too sudden.

“I just don’t know how I didn’t see it sooner. I mean,” Y/N raised her arms above her head before huffing and letting them fall to her sides, “I guess I was just so caught up with the baby that I hadn’t even had a second to think about what’s going on with me. It’s like I don’t even matter anymore and I-”

“Hey, hey now. Don't do that,” Rafe shushed her and curled up next to her frame as she began to sob.

He tucked her head into his neck, hugging her chest tightly as if he was trying to hold the pieces of her together before she shattered. His mind was running a mile per minute. It killed him to see her like this, killed him to be in this situation. The last time they had found out this news, there were happy tears - tears of shock and excitement about taking the next step in building a family. Never had he imagined that the next time they were presented with the very same news, that there would be tears of sadness.

Her voice was muffled against his now wrinkled button-down, but he could still make out what she was saying beneath her blubbers.

“I can’t do this.”

“What do you mean, honey? Of course you can. I can take more time off work like last time and let the boys handle everything for a bit. I know it's not ideal, but we’ll be alright,” he ran his hand up and down her arm in an attempt to soothe her.

“That’s the problem, Rafe.”

He lifted his chin from here it was resting on the top of her head to look down at her.

“What?”

“It's not ideal. You've only just now gotten back to work full time. You said everything almost fell apart while you were gone. It would fuck everything up. Plus, she's only six months old, Rafe. I can't go through that again so soon."

Rafe paused to break away from her and sit up straight against the headboard, “Are you serious? Of course I can take more time off work. You are more important than anything that could possibly be going on at the office.” He was a bit stunned by her words. She almost sounded annoyed, which didn't sit quite right with Rafe.

“But do you see what’s happening? Everything is fucked.”

His voice wasn’t so calm anymore.

“No, Y/N. I honestly don’t. I mean I know this is all happening much earlier than we expected, but what else is there to do? Will you please tell me what you're getting at, because I’m starting to get upset.”

Rafe's lips were pressed in a thin, straight line and his nostrils flared with every breath. Why was she being like this?

“I don’t know what I’m fucking getting at. I’m just overwhelmed."

“And you think I’m not? I'm trying my best to keep it together for your sake if you haven’t noticed,” it almost condescending the way the words rolled off his tongue.

“Oh, excuse me,” Y/N laughed sarcastically.

“Didn’t realize you were the one that's pregnant. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to grow all big and gross and swollen and be in pain every fucking day to the point where walking to the bathroom feels like a fucking marathon. Didn’t realize you’re the one that has to feel like you're burning alive from the inside out for hours and then just have to lay there while a doctor you’ve never seen before stitches you up because it literally tore your insides apart. Didn’t realize you-”

“For fuck’s sake, I get it!” Rafe was yelling now. They hadn't argued like this since they were much younger, and he absolutely hated it.

“It’s not the same and I’m sorry for suggesting that it was. I'm not sure what you want me to say though. I’m sorry? Is that it? Sorry for getting you pregnant? Sorry for having a job that helps us get anything we want for ourselves and our family? Sorry that I do everything I possibly can to keep you and the baby and everyone else on the fucking planet happy?”

“You’re being an asshole, Rafe,” she was just as angry as he was, scowl evident on her face even in their dimly lit bedroom.

“And you’re not making any fucking sense! Are you telling me you don’t want to keep it? Because I never fucking said that you have to.”

The thought had crossed her mind on the drive home from the doctor’s office, but the feeling left as quickly as it approached. She’d taken one look at her daughter in her car seat through the rear view mirror happily sucking on her teether and knew without a doubt that she couldn’t.

She felt a tidal wave of fresh, salty tears peaking and about to crash over her.

“I don’t want - fuck,” she put her head in her hands.

“I just-,” and then she broke.

Sobs wracked her body, making her shoulders shake up and down. She wasn’t even sure how she had any more left to get out, but it just kept coming. Over and over and over again until it felt like she was being suffocated and that no one was going to save her. She felt Rafe's hands move to rest on her shoulder blades and heard gentle, cooing-like sounds coming out of his mouth, but she couldn’t make out what he had said over the sounds of her own wailing.

“Baby, it’s okay. Just breathe. It’s alri-”

His attempt at subduing her was cut short by shrill cries coming from the digital monitor that sat on their nightstand. Rafe peeked over his shoulder at the screen, seeing that their daughter had woken from her nap and was now demanding the attention of her parents. He couldn’t help but wince as he watched her socked feet flail around in the crib; it was without a doubt that the screaming match they’d just had that stirred her from her sleep, and that hurt him just as much as it did to see his wife crying right in front of him.

Y/N heard it too, somehow. Perhaps it was because she’d been trained to react to every minute sound that she made and could recognize her cries from a mile away in the paralyzing fear that something was wrong with her or maybe it was because she looking for any and every excuse to get Rafe's hands off of her so she could get away from him and escape the argument they’d just had without making the situation any worse than it already was. Regardless, she turned her own neck to peer at the monitor and sighed heavily.

“I’ll go, Y/N. Just stay here.”

“No. I got it. It’s after seven. She’s probably hungry.”

She shrugged Rafe's hands away from her shoulders like his touch physically pained her and climbed over his body and off the bed without another word, not even giving Rafe the chance to take her hand and help her over the edge of the mattress. He knew she wasn’t going anywhere but down the hall and into the nursery, but he couldn’t help but feel like she was walking away from everything.

Y/N stared her daughter while she nursed. She started from the top of her head that was riddled with sandy blonde curls and worked her way down to the tips of her toes that would occasionally flex themselves out of habit. Her hair? Undoubtedly Rafe's. Her eyes? A perfect, entrancing shade of blue akin to Rafe's. Her lips? The same almost inhuman shade of fleshy pink, just like Rafe's. Surprisingly, the only physical trait she’d inherited from her mother was her nose, which was funny considering that Y/N had always hated hers.

She was content, suckling away at Y/N’s breast - her cries of hunger long forgotten. The infant hadn’t even flinched when a few more of Y/N’s silent, cold tears spilled over and left small wet spots where her onesie rested over her belly. She had no idea that her parents were upset with each other and she had no idea that in a little more than six months time, she’d be a big sister and there would be two babies fighting for their attention. Y/N was also clueless, but only as to how she was going to take care of a newborn and a one-year-old simultaneously. She’d always thought she’d have more time than this - more time to spend with just her daughter and Rafe before they decided to have another, but just like her eyes, things always had a funny way of never working out in her favor.

Three soft knocks on the wall withdrew her from her thoughts and she was greeted by her husband idling in the doorway like he needed permission before entering a room in his own house. It was off seeing Rafe Cameron this way - being the one with his tail tucked beneath his legs. It was usually the opposite. He had changed out of his work clothes and was now clad in his favorite pair of sweats that were permanently stained with spit-up. Y/N had tried everything under the sun to get the spots out, but he’d been persistent on not throwing them out.

“Can I come in?”

His voice was barely above a whisper and much calmer than when he’d been yelling at her about twenty minutes ago. He still hesitated crossing the threshold even after Y/N had given him a skeptical nod, but allowed his bare feet to pad over the plush carpet as he joined her on the loveseat in the far corner of the nursery.

He watched their daughter just as Y/N had, taking in her tranquil state as her fingers brushed reflexively against the underside of Y/N’s breast. He’d never been able to pry his eyes away every time he watched her nurse. There were no ulterior motives behind it whatsoever. It amazed him each and every time, how Y/N was able to provide their child with everything that they needed to grow with only her body. At first, Y/N hated that Rafe loved sitting in on her feedings, feeling exposed and unattractive despite Rafe's continuous affirmations that it was the most beautiful thing he’d ever had the privilege of witnessing, but over time she’d grown fond of it.

“I'm sorry for yelling at you,” Rafe started.

“It was uncalled for,” she quipped.

Y/N sniffled, rubbing her swollen eyes with the back of her free hand that wasn’t supporting her daughter’s back as she held her.

“It’s okay. It was a lot to take in. I’m sorry for yelling at you too.”

She couldn’t quite look him in the eye just yet, but she was slowy but surely getting there.

“It's not okay, actually. You’re right. I’m not the one having the baby. It’s you that’s got to do all the hard stuff and I know how scary it was last time. I should've been more considerate before jumping the gun.”

He shifted towards her on the cushions, afraid to touch her just yet but still yearning to be closer to her.

The best Y/N could muster was a quiet, “Thank you,” before she busied herself by attempting to run her fingers through her baby’s hair and untangle the mess she’d created while she was sleeping.

“Can I hold you? Please?” his voice was quiet and pleading.

Now was when she turned to face him and she was met with eyes that were just as red-rimmed as hers. She had heard the bathroom sink running for an abnormally long amount of time and a hard, frustrated pounding against the wall shortly after she’d gone off in the nursery to feed the baby, which meant he must have been trying to muffle the sounds of his own crying when she left their bedroom.

Y/N didn’t say anything, only shifting her weight onto one side so Rafe could easily lift her onto his lap in one swift movement without disturbing their daughter. He tucked her shoulder into his neck and softly kissed her skin and his hands moved to mimic hers so they were both holding the baby that was nodding off again in their arms. She found herself relaxing into his loose grip, her head tilting to the side to rest against his.

“I love you so much. You know that? I’d drop everything for you if I had to. I don't care about any of it anymore.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” she refuted, but there was no malice in her tone.

“I wouldn’t let you. You try to play it cool and I know that things are different now, but I also know that deep down you really like what you do.” The corner of Rafe's lips turned upwards, suppressing a chuckle at the fact that she really does know him that well.

“Well, just know that I would if you wanted me to. I’ve thought about it a thousand times. I want to be here for you. For her. Don’t want to miss anything. I finally got my shot at being normal when I met you and I hate myself sometimes when I think about all of the bullshit I've put you through.”

“Don’t,” Y/N paused to press a chaste kiss to Rafe's cheek.

“You’re a good person, Rafe's. A good dad. A good husband. Please don’t ever think that you’re not.”

She felt moisture pool in the dips of her collarbones where Rafe's chin lied, but she didn’t acknowledge it.

“I’ll be okay. Sorry if I freaked you out earlier. Think I just need some time to get used to it all. Just wasn’t expecting Melanie to drop the ball that I was pregnant when all I was expecting was for her to tell me that our kid is in the 99th percentile for weight and then send me on my way.”

This got a chuckle out of him, almost causing him to choke on his tears. He quickly rubbed the sleeves of his sweatshirt against his eyes to dry up any remaining wet spots on his face.

“She is pretty chunky, isn’t she?” Rafe jested while thumbing over his daughter’s rounded tummy.

After a moment of admiring their little chunk of a baby, with her milk-drunk eyes and puckered lips, Rafe spoke again.

“Two babies,” he huffed.

“Two babies,” she repeated.

His hands moved to caress Y/N’s stomach. She wasn’t showing yet considering that neither of them had even known Y/N was pregnant until today, but he still held her like her belly was the size of a watermelon and he was waiting anxiously to feel a hand or a foot press up against his palm.

“Might be kinda nice. They can share everything and we’ll only have to have one birthday party because they’ll be born around the same time. They’ll go to the same school and probably have the same friends. Kinda like twins.”

“Are you hearing yourself? Rafe Cameron? The party connoisseur? Suggesting his two precious babies share a birthday party?”

Rafe pursed his lips and blushed, recalling the fact that he'd already planned his daughter's first birthday in his head. Down to the tablecloth colors and dinnerware.

“Got me there,” Rafe chuckled.

Their banter was interrupted by a grueling rumbling sound coming from Y/N’s stomach that Rafe could feel throughout his entire body.

“Jesus, Y/N. You hungry too? When’s the last time you ate?”

“Uhh...this morning I think?” Y/N sighed.

“Couldn’t stomach anything when I got home.”

Rafe's heart dropped when he thought of how distraught she’d been all day while he was gone and with everything in him, he’d wished he would have postponed his meetings to go to check up with her and they could have found out together.

“Found those tomatoes at the store the other day, remember? Want me to make that pasta for you?”

“Ohh, yes please,” she immediately perked up at the thought.

“Starting to wonder if that was a craving now that I think about it. Didn’t we have it, what? Three nights in a row a while back?” she proposed.

Rafe giggled as he reluctantly removed Y/N from his lap and stood up from the sofa.

“Thought it was a bit weird that you wanted it so badly, but I know better than to question you.”

“She’s going back down. If you give me a minute, I’ll come downstairs and help you,” Y/N said, pulling up the straps of her tank top after realizing her daughter had long since forgotten about her breast and was conked out in her arms.

“I've got it, mama” Rafe quickly refuted. “Take a bath or something and I’ll bring it up when it’s done.”

“Okay.”

Y/N couldn’t fight the grin growing on her face at the nickname Rafe used that she still hadn’t gotten used to.

When she placed their daughter soundly in her crib, Y/N’s fingers stayed put from where they sat on the railing as she caught herself staring at the sleeping infant once more. Though she’d felt like her world was caving in on her just a handful of hours ago, the pieces were all coming back together now.

Of course, she wanted more children with Rafe. And now she was getting what she wanted. Just like he’d told her back in the bedroom, it wasn’t ideal, but they’d make it work. They always did.

With two babies.

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subjectsix · 3 days ago

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Very genuinely I appreciate all the people offering fixes (I really mean this, I hope it helps people finding this post and its showed me a few more Windows debloat options).

At the same time, it doesn’t change the fact that I’m sick of workarounds for something that never needed workarounds. Things that should be basic features on hardware you own. I even have a Linux machine with a Mint distro on it and have been messing around with it, but switching to Linux shouldn’t have to be the answer.

So many people are pointing out that they have to use a personal smartphone for work or for banking. I needed one to get the app to buzz in my office building’s locked door.

Things that should be tools (AI, photo editors, software on computers) have been weaponized against users. Social media is homogenized and difficult to truly personalize or control. Everything wants your phone number. Google asked me to add my home address to my email. Cars don’t come with knobs, but touch screens. It’s harder and harder to buy appliances that aren’t connected to wifi.

I am unbelievably grateful for those that have workarounds— who make programmers to strip bloatware, reprogram OSes for things like iPods and the Car Thing, who program raspberry pis to block ads, make forums and browser games and communities online as alternatives. We have gotta keep doing it. It can’t be about quick fixes and begrudging compromises anymore. Not everyone can ditch their smartphone or use Linux. But we can not shut up about stupid crap and make changes ourselves.

I don’t mean that to sound like a wearying call to action demanding you stop talking to that friend you only have contact with on Facebook, etc. But I do think it’s good to evaluate what you’re willing to put up with on your computer and what you can change for your own personal benefit, just like you should be able to do in the first place. And to not shut up and make your distaste for crap features known.

In the wise words of the angry guy in the Windows support forum:

I don't know I'm not done talking about it. It's insane that I can't just uninstall Edge or Copilot. That websites require my phone number to sign up. That people share their contacts to find their friends on social media.

I wouldn't use an adblocker if ads were just banners on the side funding a website I enjoy using and want to support. Ads pop up invasively and fill my whole screen, I misclick and get warped away to another page just for trying to read an article or get a recipe.

Every app shouldn't be like every other app. Instagram didn't need reels and a shop. TikTok doesn't need a store. Instagram doesn't need to be connected to Facebook. I don't want my apps to do everything, I want a hub for a specific thing, and I'll go to that place accordingly.

I love discord, but so much information gets lost to it. I don't want to join to view things. I want to lurk on forums. I want to be a user who can log in and join a conversation by replying to a thread, even if that conversation was two days ago. I know discord has threads, it's not the same. I don't want to have to verify my account with a phone number. I understand safety and digital concerns, but I'm concerned about information like that with leaks everywhere, even with password managers.

I shouldn't have to pay subscriptions to use services and get locked out of old versions. My old disk copy of photoshop should work. I should want to upgrade eventually because I like photoshop and supporting the business. Adobe is a whole other can of worms here.

Streaming is so splintered across everything. Shows release so fast. Things don't get physical releases. I can't stream a movie I own digitally to friends because the share-screen blocks it, even though I own two digital copies, even though I own a physical copy.

I have an iPod, and I had to install a third party OS to easily put my music on it without having to tangle with iTunes. Spotify bricked hardware I purchased because they were unwillingly to upkeep it. They don't pay their artists. iTunes isn't even iTunes anymore and Apple struggles to upkeep it.

My TV shows me ads on the home screen. My dad lost access to eBook he purchased because they were digital and got revoked by the company distributing them. Hitman 1-3 only runs online most of the time. Flash died and is staying alive because people love it and made efforts to keep it up.

I have to click "not now" and can't click "no". I don't just get emails, they want to text me to purchase things online too. My windows start search bar searches online, not just my computer. Everything is blindly called an app now. Everything wants me to upload to the cloud. These are good tools! But why am I forced to use them! Why am I not allowed to own or control them?

No more!!!!! I love my iPod with so much storage and FLAC files. I love having all my fics on my harddrive. I love having USBs and backups. I love running scripts to gut suck stuff out of my Windows computer I don't want that spies on me. I love having forums. I love sending letters. I love neocities and webpages and webrings. I will not be scanning QR codes. Please hand me a physical menu. If I didn't need a smartphone for work I'd get a "dumb" phone so fast. I want things to have buttons. I want to use a mouse. I want replaceable batteries. I want the right to repair. I grew up online and I won't forget how it was!

#computer tag #old internet

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runariya · 9 hours ago

Text

Touch the Sky (m.)

summary: You turn Jungkook’s military life upside down, and his heart along with it. pairing: idol!Jungkook x f!reader genre: idolverse, military-verse, S2L, fluff, smut rating: 18+, MDNI! warnings: allusion to minor assault, foul language, getting tasered (third party), fluff, JK's smitten, fluff, catcalling, protective JK, vomiting, aaaaaand fluff, explicit sexual content, oral (f. + m. receiving), protected sex, multiple f.orgasms, multiple (2) positions, pls lmk if I forgot smth word count: ~ 9.6k

a/n: This work is purely fictional. All characters and events are entirely imaginary and do not reflect reality. No translations are allowed without permission. Thank you for understanding! 💕

It’s getting annoying.

Annoying to the point where Jungkook can’t focus on his workout routine properly, and he reckons his comrades feel the same. They’ve felt it since the day you arrived, silently sitting in the corner of the gym every day, watching, assessing, scribbling on your tablet, keeping a straight face no matter what.

He’d seen it coming, though. One day, as usual, you entered the gym five minutes on the dot after training started, bowing to no one in particular but everyone at once. Your gaze bored literal holes into everyone present, like always, and it was only a matter of time before someone snapped.

Bong was the first, and last, not a week ago, when he saw red. He stormed straight over to you, cornered you, and demanded to know what the hell you wanted and who you were. Jungkook had half a mind to intervene, to de-escalate the situation because, well, frankly, you were, are, just a tiny, petite woman, probably just doing your job. And Bong? Bong was, is, 250lbs of pure muscle and testosterone.

But Jungkook hadn’t even had time to make the decision to walk over before you, without batting an eyelash, tasered poor Bong to the ground and resumed your notes right after, as if nothing had even happened.

But still, after a whole week has passed since then, it’s still annoying. You’re still annoying.

“Chill out, Jaykay.” Jimin, who’s letting his hands hover over the bench press in case Jungkook can’t keep the weight lifted any longer, though that would never happen, grins down at him.

“I am chill.”

Well, maybe he’s not. Not when he’s clenching his jaw so hard he reckons his teeth are seconds away from shattering, though not because of the weight, that’s for sure.

“Ignore her.”

“Who?”

And while Jungkook knows exactly who Jimin’s talking about, and also knows that, yes, he’s definitely aggravated by your stares at this point, he can’t do shit about it. He needs to remind himself that you’re just a woman. Clearly not part of the military, because you don’t greet anyone the way soldiers or others are obliged to, yet you’re still too involved to be here without someone escorting you out.

He can’t fucking think when you’re around. Not that there’s much thinking involved in working out, lifting weights isn’t exactly a task that requires brainpower, but your stares, whenever they find his form, which he can feel on his skin as soon as they land, fuck him up to the point where they make him forget whether he’s supposed to inhale or exhale, leaving him out of breath too soon and causing his muscles to ache like never before.

At this point, he’s sure you could be labelled as part of the gym’s inventory. Not just because you’re as silent as the equipment, if that’s even possible, but also because, if he’s honest, he can’t imagine this place without you anymore. It drives him insane, especially when all he wants to do is walk over and make you talk. Get a reaction out of you, any reaction, really. Maybe even choke you while his di—

His dumbbell freezes mid-push, his eyes incredulously wide at his own thoughts, as Jimin’s leaning over him, face split in half by the most insufferable, knowing grin Jungkook has ever seen.

“Thinking thoughts?”

“Shut the fuck—”

But as if the day couldn’t get any worse, Kang, the base commander, strides into the room, causing everyone, including Jungkook, to put their equipment away. In seconds, they’re standing stiff, saluting and reciprocating the greeting in unison: “Dan-gyeol. (Unity)”

“Resume.”

But nobody processes the command, too confused by the sight of someone in such a high position here.

Much to everyone’s surprise too, if that’s even possible, Kang turns to you. Again, he salutes, which causes you to rise gracefully from the bench and bow silently, as you always do.

Jungkook can’t tear his eyes away, not when your angelic face remains unmoving, nodding to whatever the commander is saying. And even though he’d love to strain his ears, play mouse just this once, to get a clue about what makes you so special, he knows he has to follow orders and resume his training.

While Jungkook stays silent like everyone else, he can’t stop his eyes from drifting to you again and again, like some pathetic little boy checking if his crush is flirting with someone else.

Stop.

A crush? No. He doesn’t do crushes. How absurd.

Though as your mesmerising eyes briefly glance his way, his heart flips him the metaphorical middle finger by rocketing straight out of his throat.

And Jungkook realises now, that he is doomed.

Fuck.

You’re late.

You’re never late, so why are you late this time?

Jungkook doesn’t know, and somehow he doesn’t want to know. Not because he kind of has a bad feeling about it, but because he refuses to acknowledge the possibility that you might not come back ever again. It would make sense, in a way, seeing as Kang came by the last time Jungkook saw you.

It doesn’t help that Jimin’s being a little shit too, unable to keep his mouth shut about Jungkook glancing one too many times towards the gym door.

“One more.” Well, at least Jungkook can pay him back by pushing him just a tiny bit over his limit.

“I can’t,” Jimin groans, clearly struggling to lift the dumbbell one more time. His arms are shaking, and his face is so red that even Jungkook fears he might burst a vein in his eye.

“You can, and you will, hyung.” He didn’t mean to let his frustration out on Jimin, but who can fault him?

He’s what now? 27 years old? Struggling with his emotions, no, scratch that, his hormones over a woman he hasn’t even spoken to once in weeks? He doesn’t even know your name, so why on earth are his hormones going haywire?

Jungkook can’t tell. Just like he can’t tell how many days have passed or how many are left in his military service. But he knows exactly how many times he’s seen you. God, he wants to roll his eyes at himself, at the way he’s acting like a teenager, when he never even got the chance to be one in the first place.

Maybe that’s the problem. He never had the opportunity to experience this kind of infatuation. His busy schedule and the ever-present gold-diggers demanding too much of him didn’t leave space for what others felt years ago.

But when the door finally creaks open, all those thoughts vanish.

And while everyone startles into saluting position, Kang enters the room first, it’s Jungkook’s eyes, though, that can’t look away from your petite form trailing behind Kang, bowing the second you both stand before the soldiers.

“Dan-gyeol.”

“Dan-gyeol,” everyone answers in unison.

You’re so pretty again, your hair styled perfectly, shimmering healthily under the fluorescent lights. Jungkook’s mind starts spinning in circles, stopping only occasionally as he notices new details about you he hadn’t before. Like how your left shoulder hangs slightly lower, probably from carrying your bag on that side. Or the faint tremble in your hands around your tablet. He’s not sure if that’s always been there or if his gut feeling was right all along.

“Private Song Bong. Private Jeon Jungkook. Step forward.”

Jungkook doesn’t like this, not when he can’t even grasp what he might have done wrong for him and Bong to be singled out. Maybe you snitched on Bong for cornering you. Though, to be fair, you tasered him, but still that obviously wouldn’t end well for Bong. Maybe Jungkook’s stares weren’t appropriate. Maybe he’s screwed up too and can’t do anything about the punishment he’ll get for just looking.

“Private Bong, your recent actions are unacceptable. Attempting to assault an outsider, especially a woman, not only violates military code but also brings disgrace to this unit. Your conduct has revealed major deficiencies in character, and as a result, you are hereby removed from your current duties in supply inventory management. Effective immediately, you will be assigned to latrine duty for the next month. Consider this your opportunity to reflect on what it means to uphold the standards of this base and the military as a whole. Dismissed.”

And while Bong doesn’t protest but just steps back in line, Jungkook’s hands turn cold, his eyes switching between Commander Kang and you as he waits for a verdict he doesn’t even know the cause of, all while you’re staring blankly somewhere behind him and the other soldiers.

“Private Jeon.” Jungkook can’t help but gulp violently, though he tries to keep his face as stoic as he was taught. “Your exemplary conduct, unwavering character, and outstanding mental and physical strength have not gone unnoticed. As of today, you are relieved of your current duties in the kitchen and reassigned to the elite training programme for aspiring jet fighter pilots within the special forces. You will accompany me and Doctor ___ immediately to commence your training. This is an extraordinary opportunity, and I trust you will continue to excel and bring honour to this unit. Congratulations, Private Jeon.”

Muscles stiff, Jungkook salutes on instinct. “Chungseong! (Loyalty) I will do my best, sir!”

“Resume.”

It doesn’t take long until Jungkook follows you and Commander Kang out of the gym as everyone resumes their training, his footsteps echoing awkwardly in the corridor, making him too aware of the way only his trainers squeak against the polished floor, but he pushes the thought aside.

This is big. Special Forces.

Something he’s dreamed about but always was told was off the table because of his tattoos. And yet, he’s somehow being escorted to God-knows-where in a wing of the base he’s never even seen before.

Excitement rushes through him, but right underneath it is curiosity he can’t seem to shake. What’s your deal? Who even are you? You’re not military, your lack of a formal greeting protocol and Kang calling you an ‘outsider’ made that clear, but you’ve been given more authority than most. He steals a glance at you, walking slightly ahead of him, your posture as stiff as ever, and not to mention, your face betraying nothing.

Kang stops outside a door and gestures for Jungkook to enter. “Private Jeon, step inside. You’ll be assessed for your new gear.”

Jungkook nods and salutes. “Yes, sir.” He hesitates briefly though, eyes flickering towards you, but you don’t even glance his way. Instead, you stay behind with Kang as he steps through the door.

Inside, another soldier is already waiting, a no-bullshit guy who doesn’t bother with introductions. There’s a computer, several measuring devices, and a distinct lack of comfort in the room as the soldier gestures for Jungkook to strip, and Jungkook just blinks.

“Boxers too, or…?”

“Keep those on,” the guy replies dryly. “We’re not running that kind of experiment.”

Jungkook huffs a small laugh, trying to shake off the awkwardness. He pulls off his shirt, then his joggers, tossing them onto a nearby bench as the soldier starts rattling off instructions, explaining how he’ll be measured, weighed, and fitted for his uniform and jet fighter suit. Jungkook nods along, though half of his brain is still stuck outside the room, wondering what the hell you and Kang are talking about.

The weighing and measuring process is straightforward enough, albeit a little dehumanising. He stands still as the soldier adjusts tools around him, scribbling numbers into a notepad. Jungkook’s not shy about his body, he’s worked hard for it, but something about the clinical nature of it all makes him feel strangely vulnerable and small.

“Alright, time for the cardio resting point assessment,” the soldier wheels a heart monitor over. “I’ll wire you up, then you’ll run in place for a few minutes. Clear?”

“Clear.”

Wires are attached to his chest, and the beeping of the monitor fills the room as Jungkook begins jogging lightly. The rhythm is soothing at first, his heart beating steadily as he focuses on the mirror in front of him, zoning out slightly, until the door creaks open behind him.

You step inside.

Jungkook’s whole body tenses, and he nearly trips over his own feet, though no one seems to notice. Through the mirror, he watches you position yourself against the wall at the back of the room. You don’t say a word, just stand there, observing him. And then, God help him just this once, your gaze starts travelling. From his legs to his torso, slow and methodical, like you’re evaluating him for parts. Jungkook knows it shouldn’t bother him, telling himself it’s probably part of your job or whatever. But it does bother him, and not in the way it should.

He tries to focus on his jogging, but his eyes keep darting to the mirror, catching glimpses of you studying him. When your gaze finally reaches his face, his heart skips a beat. Literally. And the monitor beeps erratically, the soldier frowning beside him.

“Hold up. Your heart rate’s spiking.”

Jungkook opens his mouth to protest, but you beat him to it. “It’s a malfunction,” you state smoothly, your voice soft and oh-so melodic, like fucking wind chimes he dreamed about. “He’s fine. Look at his form. Textbook. His fitness levels are well above average.”

It’s the first time Jungkook has heard you speak, a compliment at that too, and it knocks the remaining brain cells out of his skull, causing him to stumble slightly, catching himself just in time, but the damage is done. His cheeks burn as he wills his heart to calm the fuck down. What is he, a schoolboy? So embarrassing, Jeon. Get a grip.

“Malfunction, huh?” the soldier mutters, glancing between the monitor and Jungkook. He doesn’t look convinced, but he shrugs and waves Jungkook off the machine. “Alright, you’re good. Get dressed and head to the next station.”

Jungkook nods stiffly, pulling the wires off his heaving chest and grabbing his clothes. You step out of the room before he finishes dressing, which is probably a good thing because he’s pretty sure his face is still bright red.

When he emerges, you’re waiting for him, tablet in hand and Kang thankfully gone.

“This way,” you gesture with your slender hand, not even looking at him. Your voice is still echoing in his head, soft and almost surreal to the point he debates if he’s locked in a dream. Still, Jungkook trails after you like a puppy, cursing himself for how ridiculous he feels and acts.

The next stop is a classroom-like space, though it’s more high-tech than any classroom Jungkook’s ever seen. Screens cover the walls, displaying schematics of fighter jets, and a stern-looking instructor stands at the front. You guide Jungkook to a seat near the centre, then take a spot near the back, again, silently observing. Of. Course.

The lesson begins, and Jungkook tries his best to focus as the instructor dives into the basics of jet fighter operation, rattling off jargon that makes Jungkook’s head spin even more. He nods along, taking mental notes, but it’s hard to concentrate when he can feel your eyes on him. Not in a direct, obvious way, but more like a gentle and subtle pressure, nagging at his consciousness.

He sneaks a glance back at you, and sure enough, you’re watching him. Your tablet rests on your lap, stylus poised, and you’re scribbling something down without even looking down. About him, probably, surely.

What are you writing? Does it matter that his leg bounced when the instructor mentioned G-forces? Or that his jaw ticked ever so slightly when he brought up emergency landings? What could you possibly be noting down about him that’s worth recording?

He catches himself zoning out and forces his attention back to the lesson. The instructor is explaining the mechanics of takeoff, and Jungkook tries to visualise it in his head. Still, his thoughts wander, looping back to you every time.

It’s stupid, really. He barely knows you. But still, he’s completely fixated. Maybe it’s because you’re different. Everyone else on this base is easy to figure out, soldiers, commanders, all operating within the same rigid system. But you? You’re an anomaly. And Jungkook has always been drawn to puzzles.

The lesson drags on, and Jungkook keeps stealing glances back at you. Each time, you’re scribbling something new, your expression as blank as ever and he wonders if you’re even capable of smiling. What would it look like? Would your face brighten like the sun itself, your eyes crinkling at the corners? Would your lips—

Nope. Stop. Not going there.

By the time the lesson ends, Jungkook’s brain feels fried. The instructor dismisses him with a curt nod, and he gathers his things, well, more so himself, glancing back to see if you’re leaving too. But you’re still seated, tapping away on your tablet. He hesitates, unsure if he’s supposed to wait for you or move on.

“You’re dismissed, Private Jeon,” you say without looking up.

Right. Of course you knew he was waiting for you, even without seeing him. He mutters a quick, “Yes, ma’am,” salutes and hurries out of the room, feeling like a complete idiot.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to expect when you appear at the door of his barracks the next morning. All he knows is that you’re there, standing stiff as a post, clutching your ever-present tablet to your chest like it’s a lifeline.

There’s something different about you today, though, something in the way your shoulders seem too tense, your hands gripping the tablet so tightly that your tiny knuckles turn bright white. And that’s when he spots it, the taser, hidden neatly between the edge of the tablet and your chest.

He’s not sure why it surprises him. You’ve made it clear that you’re not above using it when necessary, R.I.P. Bong’s dignity, but something about the way you hold it now, fingers trembling slightly, makes him pause.

You’re nervous. Maybe even scared.

“Private Jeon,” you greet, not quite meeting his gaze. Your voice is the same soft, melodic tone as yesterday, but there’s a barely audible hitch in it that he doesn’t miss. “Follow me.”

Jungkook doesn’t question it, just grabs his cap and falls into step behind you. He’s curious, of course, curiosity seems to be his default setting when it comes to you, but he keeps quiet, sensing that whatever’s going on, you’re not in the mood for him to voice his usual internal debates about your role on this base. Still, he can’t help but notice the way your eyes dart around the hallway, scanning every corner like you’re expecting trouble.

And, surprise, it doesn’t take long for said trouble to find you.

As you lead him through the barracks, a group of soldiers loitering by the common area turns their attention your way. The first mocking whistle cuts through the otherwise silent area, followed by a low murmur of suggestive comments that make Jungkook’s temper flare. You don’t react, not a single flinch, not even a glance in their direction, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your eyes turn a bit frantic, your pace quickening just enough to be noticeable.

The second whistle is louder, accompanied by a snide, “Oi, sweetheart, where’s the taser today?” and Jungkook feels something too hot coil in his chest.

Protective instincts kick in before he can stop himself, and he steps closer to you, his broad frame forming a shield between you and the others. He doesn’t say a word, he knows he doesn’t need to, his evil glare, honed from years of performance and discipline, says enough. The soldiers falter, their smirks fading under his gaze, and Jungkook takes a grim sort of satisfaction in the way they quickly turn back to their conversation.

You don’t say anything, but he can tell you’ve noticed. Your pace slows just slightly, and for the rest of the walk, the tension in your shoulders eases a fraction with each step. It’s not much, but it’s enough to make Jungkook feel like he’s done something right.

Finally, you stop outside a plain white door and push it open, gesturing for him to enter first. Jungkook steps inside, taking in the small, functional office. It’s sparsely decorated, just a desk, a chair, and a curtained-off area in the corner that seems to serve as a makeshift changing room or whatever. You follow him in, shutting the door behind you, and hand him what looks like a folded jet suit.

“This is your new gear,” you hold it out to him, again not meeting his eyes. “Try it on.”

Jungkook takes the suit, the smooth, high-tech fabric cool against his hands even where you were holding it seconds ago. “Here?” he asks dumbly, glancing around. He’s not shy, exactly, but stripping down in front of you doesn’t sit right with him.

You raise an eyebrow, the faintest hint of exasperation creeping into your expression. “There’s a changing area,” you nod towards the curtain. “Use it.”

“Right. Of course.” Jungkook wants to slap himself twice for good measure, just because he saw that area himself.

Quickly, he ducks behind the curtain, grateful for the small reprieve. As he pulls off his uniform and steps into the jet suit, he can’t help but wonder why you seem so tense today. It’s not just the soldiers’ comments, he’s seen you handle far worse without batting an eye. No, this is something deeper, something that has your hands shaking and your voice just a touch too steady.

By the time he finishes zipping up the suit, he’s more confused than ever. He steps out from behind the curtain, and you turn to face him, your eyes flicking over him in a quick, professional assessment.

“How does it feel?”

Jungkook shrugs, rolling his shoulders. “Tight, but not uncomfortable.”

You nod, stepping closer to adjust a strap on his arm. Jungkook swears he stops breathing for a moment, the proximity doing things to his heart rate that he’d rather not admit, thankful he’s not connected to the heart monitor this time.

He watches you as you work, the way your brow furrows slightly in concentration, the soft brush of your fingers against his sleeve. And then it happens!

Your mouth twitches. Just the faintest hint of a smile, barely there and gone in an instant, but Jungkook sees it. And it wrecks him.

Oh, he’s done for. Absolutely done for. That tiny twitch of your lips? It’s enough to send his brain spiralling into a mess of thoughts he has no business thinking.

You’re human. You can smile.

He doesn’t know why that thought hits him so hard, but it does. You’ve always been so composed, so insanely unreadable, that seeing even the smallest crack in your armour feels monumental. He wants to see it again, wants to say something clever or stupid or anything, really, to make it happen, but the words stick in his throat.

“Good fit,” you agree, stepping back. “You’ll need to wear it during all training exercises from now on.”

Jungkook nods, trying to focus on your words instead of the way his heart is doing somersaults. “Understood.”

You turn away, picking up your tablet, and Jungkook’s eyes follow you. He notices the way your hands are still trembling slightly, the way you keep glancing at the door as if expecting someone to barge in. And suddenly, it clicks.

You’re scared. Not of him, he’s pretty sure you’re incapable of fearing him, even if you probably should be after the way he’s been staring, but of the soldiers. Of this place. Of what your job forces you to do.

He remembers the way Bong looked at you after the taser incident, the barely concealed fury in his eyes. You’re not just some outsider; you’re a decision-maker. You hold people’s futures in your hands, and not everyone takes that well.

Jungkook feels a pang of compassion, realising how isolating that must be. No wonder you keep everyone at arm’s length, crafting an untouchable facade day in and day out.

“Is that all for today?” he tries, his voice softer than he intends, though he can’t help himself.

You glance at him, surprised, as if you weren’t expecting him to speak. “For now,” your tone’s still cautious but Jungkook now understands. “There’s a briefing tomorrow morning. Be on time.”

Jungkook nods, but he doesn’t move to leave. He hesitates, debating whether to say what’s on his mind, but the words tumble out before he can stop them.

“For what it’s worth,” he starts, meeting your gaze, “you’re doing a good job.”

Your hands and eyes still slightly, and for a moment, you just stare at him. Then, without a word, you turn back to your tablet, but Jungkook doesn’t miss the way your grip on it loosens, doesn’t miss the way your lips twitch again, just a little.

As he leaves your office, he can’t help but smile to himself too. Maybe he’s starting to figure you out, and he’s down bad for it.

The day after, you've brought Jungkook before the g-force machine, all sleek steel and imposing mechanics, like something out of a crazed sci-fi movie. Jungkook stares at it, his confidence wobbling slightly for the first time since he started his military service. He’s usually game for anything, but this? This looks like a whole different beast.

The control panel operator, a man who introduces himself simply as Sergeant Kim, gestures for Jungkook to step forward. “We’ll be running a standard g-force tolerance test today,” he explains calmly, though Jungkook's anything but. “You’ll be in the centrifuge, and it’ll spin progressively faster. The goal is to sustain 9 Gs. You’ll need to practice the anti-G straining manoeuvre, tensing your leg and abdominal muscles to keep blood flow to your brain. And don’t forget to inhale sharply every five seconds to stabilise.”

Jungkook nods, trying to keep his nerves in check. He knows what’s coming, he’s read about it, watched the videos instructed. But none of that preparation stops his palms from sweating as he climbs into the contraption.

As he settles into the cockpit-like seat, strapping himself in, he sneaks a glance at you before the door closes in his face. You’re standing off to the side with your tablet, your face, as always, composed, but there’s something in your eyes, noticeable even in this distance. Concern? Maybe curiosity? That ridiculous thought makes his poor heart do a little flip.

“Private Jeon, are you ready?” Sergeant Kim’s voice crackles through the comms.

“Ready,” Jungkook replies, his voice steadier than he actually feels.

The machine comes to life shortly after, and Jungkook grips the armrests as the centrifuge begins its slow but steady rotation. At first, it’s almost pleasant, like being on an amusement park ride. But then the speed picks up, and the pressure in his chest starts to build.

“Three Gs,” Kim announces. “Remember to breathe, sharp inhales every five seconds. And start engaging those muscles.”

Jungkook complies, tightening his legs and core as instructed. He inhales sharply, counting in his head to five, then inhales again. It’s manageable, for now.

“Six Gs.”

Now it’s not so manageable. The weight on his chest feels like someone’s parked a truck on him, and his vision starts to darken at the edges, fearing he might loose consciousness any second. It’s getting impossible to breathe, but he forces himself to stick to the rhythm. Inhale, hold for five, inhale and repeat.

“Good. Keep it up, Private. We’re going to eight Gs.”

Eight Gs feels like he’s being flattened by the universe. Every muscle in his body screams as he fights to keep the blood from pooling in his legs. His fingers dig into the armrests even more, not the least bit fazed bye the prospect of pulling a nail, and he can barely hear Kim over the deafening roaring of his blood in his ears.

“Nine Gs,” Kim announces, and Jungkook swears he’s going to pass out. His breaths are shallow now, too shallow, the strain overwhelming. He forgets to inhale on time, and suddenly the world starts to go black.

“Jungkook, inhale.”

It’s your voice. Clear, steady, crackling through the comms like a lifeline he needed. His body reacts before his brain does, taking in a sharp, desperate breath. The darkness recedes, and somehow, miraculously, he holds on.

“Test complete,” Kim announces, the centrifuge slowing with each spin until it stops and Jungkook’s free to leave this deathtrap. “Well done, Private Jeon.”

Jungkook can barely process the words. His body feels like jelly, and his mind is a swimmy, disoriented mess. But he hears the applause from Kim and a few blurred others in the control room. Then you step closer, your voice soft as you search his eyes, “Congratulations, Private Jeon. You did it.”

He manages a weak smile, the sound of your approval somehow wiggling through the fog in his head. And then, he remembers, because protocol demands it, he salutes sluggishly to Commander Kang, who’s watching from the observation deck.

“Impressive, Private Jeon,” Kang confirms with a nod.

Jungkook barely registers the compliment. All he knows is that his heart is racing, not from the test, but from the way your eyes linger on him for just a second longer, a little softer than usual.

“Follow me,” you instruct him after bowing to the observation deck, gesturing for Jungkook to come with you.

He stumbles after you, his legs and mind feeling like rubber, partly from the adrenaline, partly from the fact that you just saved his ass in there. You lead him back to your office without a word and when you shut the door behind you, Jungkook finally lets himself relax. Well, until you grab a bin from under your desk and thrust it into his hands.

“Uh, what’s this for?” he asks, confused.

“You’re running on adrenaline,” you explain, your tone matter-of-factly but laced with humour. “It’s going to crash. Give it a few seconds.”

“I think I’m fine—”

You hold up a hand, cutting him off. “I’m going to count down from five. Trust me.”

He blinks at you but nods, too dazed to argue.

“Five,” you begin, calm, expectant.

“Four.”

His stomach flips.

“Three.”

His head feels too light, almost floaty.

“Two.”

His vision tilts.

“One.”

And then it hits. A wave of nausea so intense that he doesn’t even have time to protest before he’s heaving into the bin.

You’re by his side in an instant, one hand on his back, the other steadying his hand over the bin. “There you go,” you coo softly, your touch surprisingly soothing. “Just let it out.”

Jungkook hates this, hates feeling weak, hates the thought of you seeing him like this. But your voice is so calm, so reassuring, that he can’t bring himself to care as much as he normally would.

When it’s over, he slumps back into the chair you pull up for him, wiping his mouth with the tissue you hand him. “That… was brutal,” he mutters, his voice hoarse from all the heaving.

You smile, the first real smile this time. “Welcome to special forces training.”

Jungkook laughs weakly, shaking his head. “Is it always like this?”

“Not always,” you muse, though your tone’s too teasing for his liking. “Sometimes it’s worse.”

He groans, but there’s no real heat behind it. Despite everything, he feels better. Like he’s actually flying. Like he’s touching the sky. And he knows it’s not just the fading adrenaline talking. It’s you.

You, with your stoic face and calming voice. You, who stepped in when he needed it most. You, who smiled at him like he wasn’t just another soldier to be measured and assessed.

As he gazes into your smiling face, still feeling like crap but somehow grateful for it, a realisation forces down on him like 9 G.

He’s truly falling for you.

Jungkook stands in the hallway outside your office, his hands stuffed into his pockets, shoulders hunched slightly as if he’s shielding himself from the possibility of rejection before it’s even happened. His thoughts are a mess ever since he first saw you, an ongoing tug-of-war between his nerves and his determination. He paces a little, then stops, running a hand through his short hair, the frustration about its length momentarily distracting him but not for long enough.

“Get a grip man,” he mutters under his breath but his nerves, nor his heart, won’t calm down.

It’s been weeks since you started working together more closely, weeks of seeing the real you, the quiet strength behind your professional mask, the flashes of humour you try to hide, the empathy you can’t quite suppress even when you think no one’s watching. He’s caught himself admiring you more times than he can count, and now it’s all he thinks about.

But this isn’t just a crush, he tells himself. This is so much more. You’re different. Special. And he knows he can’t let this opportunity slip by, not when he might regret it for the rest of his life.

Of course, there’s the little matter of protocol, of the fact that you hold a position of authority in a place where strict boundaries are enforced. But you're not exactly part of the military, and Jungkook knows his service is limited too. If he doesn’t act now, he might never get another chance.

But what if you say no? His brain goes into overdrive, showing him a list of reasons why this could go horribly wrong. He imagines you laughing at him, rejecting him outright, maybe even avoiding him after this. Maybe even snitching on him, causing his removal from the special forces and being assigned to latrine duty permanently.

Then he shakes his head. No. Stop overthinking. He’s Jeon Jungkook. An idol. A soldier. He’s faced grueling special forces training, survived G-forces that would knock most people out, and tackled challenges that seemed impossible. Surely asking you out can’t be harder than that.

“Just do it,” he preps himself, and before he can second-guess himself again, he steps up to your door and knocks.

“Come in,” your voice calls from inside, calm, angelic, and professional as always.

Jungkook takes a deep breath and pushes the door open, straightening his shoulders for some much needed confidence.

You’re seated at your desk, as usual, your tablet in one hand and a cup of coffee in the other. And as you glance up, clearly surprised to see him, you set the tablet and coffee down. “Private Jeon. What can I do for you?”

He hesitates for a split second, then, after an internal nod, takes his chances. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You nod, waiting expectantly. “Go on.”

Jungkook shifts on his feet, his nerves bubbling up again, but he forces himself to push through. “I was wondering if you’d… like to go out with me sometime.”

You cock a brow, and for a brief moment, he sees the cracks in your mask, the genuine surprise, the uncertainty. But then it’s back, your professional demeanour snapping into place like a rubber band.

“I appreciate the… sentiment,” you try carefully, “but I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

Jungkook doesn’t back down. “Why not?”

You sigh, standing up but toying with the things scattered on your desk. “Because it’s unprofessional. And temporary. My contract here has an end date, Private Jeon. I’ll be gone before you know it.”

“Exactly,” he counters, stepping closer. “That’s why I can’t let this go. I don’t want to regret not saying anything.”

You shake your head, moving towards the door. “It’s not that simple. You don’t understand—”

“I do,” Jungkook interrupts, maybe too desperate but he doesn’t care. “My service ends too. This isn’t temporary for me.”

That makes you pause, your hand hovering over the doorknob. “What are you saying?”

Jungkook takes a deep breath, his heart pounding so violently he can’t even hear his own voice. “I’m saying, I don’t want to date just for the sake of it. I date for the future, not just the moment.”

You turn to face him fully now, your expression conflicted, mask slipping just a bit. “Do you even realise what you’re saying?”

“Yes,” he confirms without hesitation. “I know exactly what I’m saying. And I know it sounds crazy, but I’m serious about this. About you.”

Your eyes search his face, looking for… what? Truth? Sincerity? Whatever it is, he hopes you find it, because he’s never been more honest in his life.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter, though your voice lacks conviction.

“Maybe,” Jungkook admits with a small smile. “But that doesn’t make it any less real.”

You sigh, glancing away, clearly wrestling with yourself. For a long moment, the room is silent except for the faint buzz of the air conditioning, but then, eventually, you look back at him.

“Alright,” you sigh finally, holding one slender finger up. “One chance. But if this doesn’t work, we go back to normal. Agreed?”

Jungkook grins, his heart soaring. “Agreed.”

You nod, reaching for the door. “Good. Now get out of my office before I change my mind.”

He chuckles, saluting playfully. “Yes, ma’am.”

As you leave with that tiny smile of yours, Jungkook stays behind for a moment, letting the reality of what just happened sink in. Then, unable to contain his excitement, he pumps his fist in the air, a triumphant smile lighting up his face.

“Fuck yeah,” he cheers quietly, still grinning like the fool he is.

Life's good as Jungkook lies sprawled on your bed, head propped on your favourite pillow as the opening credits of some drama flicker on the TV screen. The colourful glow of the screen illuminates your beautiful face as you settle beside him, legs tucked under the shared blanket as you lie down with your head on his chest. It’s quiet, comfortable, the kind of peaceful he’s come to associate with you, and his mind drifts back to the first date that really started it all.

He still can’t believe you said yes. The memory of that first date plays in his head like a highlight reel, vivid and heartwarming to its core. You’d chosen a small, unassuming café, your idea, of course, something low-key, hidden even, and away from the base and any other prying eyes.

Jungkook had been nervous in a way he hadn’t been since debut, trying too hard to appear relaxed even if he was anything but. But you’d arrived looking effortlessly stunning in a casual outfit that still screamed you from miles away, smiling shyly as if you weren’t used to being off-duty.

From the moment you sat across from him, every doubt he ever had melted away. Conversation natural, only punctuated by your quick wit and his occasional stumbles when your laughter made him forget whatever point he was trying to make, he fell faster and harder.

By the end of the evening, he’d been so sure of one thing: you were the girl of his dreams. Not the fantasy he’d had growing up, full of vague ideals and superficial notions, but the ultimate, real thing. Someone who made him feel seen, loved, and inexplicably lighter all at once.

And he’d been right. You didn’t just help him fly in the military; you helped him soar emotionally too. For someone who’s spent years chasing perfection and pushing limits, you make him feel like it’s okay to just be. That’s why he can’t stop himself from smiling as he watches you now, your focus on the screen but your hand resting comfortably over his heart like it belongs there.

He’s been thinking about the future more often lately, imagining what it might look like when his service ends and he’s back to being “Jungkook of BTS”. The idea doesn’t scare him the way it might have before, but instead, it excites him, because he can picture you there with him, cheering him and the other members on, teasing him when he’s too nervous or too sure of himself, and being the calm to his chaotic lifestyle.

Jungkook can see late nights at home, your laughter not only ringing in your shared space but his heart too, and maybe someday a little one running around. Maybe even two. Or three. The thought makes his soul sing, and he has to shake his head to stop himself from grinning too widely.

The days following that first date weren’t much different on the surface. Everything on base stayed the same, orders were followed, routines were maintained, but the stolen moments with you were like a secret sea in the desert. Whenever you were alone, professionalism would snap away, and you’d be kissing and giggling like teenagers sneaking behind the school.

Jungkook’s favourite memory is when you’d pulled him into a supply closet under the pretense of finding something and kissed him until he couldn’t think straight, only for both of you to dissolve into laughter when someone, well, commander Kang walked past, oblivious.

And now, here he is with you, on his day off, not with his family or the boys but with you, learning more about you in your own space.

Your apartment is a reflection of you, organised yet cosy, filled with small details that hint at your interests. He’s noticed the stack of random books on your desk, the playlist of songs you probably don’t realise he’s memorised by now, and the way your kitchen counter has an odd mix of military-grade efficiency and homely touches like the mismatched mugs.

You shift beside him, breaking him out of his thoughts. “You’re staring,” you state without looking away from the screen.

He chuckles softly. “Can’t help it. You’re prettier than the drama.”

You’d roll your eyes if you were the type for that, but you’ve told him it’s something you detest to your core. To you, it means not taking the other person seriously and visually dismissing them, something you find deeply disrespectful. So, you just smile that unique smile of yours, nudging him with your shoulder. “Focus. You might miss something important.”

“Doubt it,” he teases. “It’s just another love triangle, isn’t it?”

“It’s about more than that,” you argue, turning your head to him now with mock indignation. “There’s depth here. Themes of loyalty, sacrifice, and the human condition.”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “And yet, the lead guy’s about to confess his undying love in the middle of a crowded park. Very original.”

“Alright, Mr. Cynic,” you pout, sitting up straighter. “You’ve got a point there.”

Jungkook cocks a brow at you, nibbling on his lip as he contemplates your words and decides to backtrack a bit. “What’s wrong with a public proposal? It’s romantic.”

“You’re right, it’s cliché.”

“Not if it’s done right.”

You scoff. “There’s no ‘right’ way to embarrass someone in front of a hundred strangers.”

Jungkook grins, sensing a debate. “Okay, hear me out. A public proposal is the ultimate love confession. It’s like shouting to the world, ‘This is my person, and I’m not afraid to show it’. It’s bold, it’s heartfelt, and it’s memorable.”

“It’s pressure,” you counter. “And what if the answer’s no? You’ve just humiliated both of you for no reason.”

“But what if the answer’s yes?” he leans closer, willing his eyes to gleam a bit more for you to fall into his trap. “Then you’ve just created a moment neither of you will ever forget.”

You tilt your head, considering him, eyes switching between his and his lips. “You’re really into this idea, aren’t you?”

“Maybe,” he shrugs, running the tip of his tongue over his bottom lip for good measure. “Not saying I’d do it, but I get the appeal.”

“You’d definitely do it,” you reply, smirking now, transfixed by his lips like he is by yours. “You’re exactly the type to go all out with a flash mob or something ridiculous.”

He laughs, raising his eyes to yours and his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, you got me. But only if I knew the person would say yes.”

“Safe bet,” you muse.

“Always,” Jungkook agrees softly. He’s looking at you in that way that makes your cheeks heat up, but he senses immediately that you refuse to let him win this round.

“Well,” you continue, turning back to the screen, “good thing I’ll never have to worry about it. I prefer my proposals private, thank you very much.”

“We’ll see,” he murmurs under his breath, grinning when you shoot him a playful glare.

While you’re both silently watching the last minutes of the drama, Jungkook can’t help but picture his future with you, stuck on the image of you in a white dress, of you carrying his children. It’s absurd this early in your relationship, but seeing as he’s had a dry spell for the last few years and you’re now lying beside him, he can’t do anything about the blood rushing to certain parts of his body.

Your body’s so warm against his, leg leisurely draped over his, tiny hand mindlessly tracing his pecs and abs, that it takes all his willpower to stop his cock from twitching even more.

Do you feel the same? You haven’t been intimate up to this point, though your chemistry is undeniable, the pull he feels surely not one-sided. As he strains his neck just a little, trying to sneak a peek at your face, he sees you biting your lips with hooded eyes. Then he feels your thigh clench ever so slightly against his, and he knows you’re struggling too, causing his heart to start beating a little faster, his cock to grow a little harder.

Jungkook lets his free hand wander to yours on his chest, caressing his way up your arm until he reaches your jaw, tilting your head to press the most tender kiss he’s ever shared with you onto your plush lips. He lets himself savour your taste, gently pushing you fully on top of him, hands settling on your ass cheeks as he gets lost in you.

There’s no hesitation in the way you grind your clothed cunt against him, no restraint in the feathery moans that echo from your lips to his. If there’s something Jungkook could wish for, it would be to make love to you seven days a week for the rest of his life.

Your name leaves his parted lips in a husky breath as you trail open-mouthed kisses along his jaw and neck, his hands sliding up under your shirt, pulling it off and discarding it somewhere on the bed.

Jungkook takes a moment to drink you in, just a short while, before grabbing you tenderly by the neck, pulling you down, and capturing your lips again as he rolls you both over, his shirt gone not long after.

Every time your eyes meet his, peeking through your thick lashes, his heart flips, reminding him how deeply you’ve ingrained yourself in him. Even though he wants to have every inch of you, touch every millimetre of your smooth skin, he settles for your lips for now.

Trousers off, you both help each other out of your underwear with tender touches, staying close, connected by shared breath, unable to separate even for a second. Jungkook’s so smitten, it should be embarrassing, but it’s anything but, not when your eyes mirror exactly what he’s feeling.

Helping you lie down on the mattress, Jungkook kisses his way down your body, over the valley of your breasts to your most sensitive spot, letting his nose brush over your clit, Jungkook takes a whiff, then licks the first stripe up your slit. The taste of you is the best he’s ever had, leaving every favourite food of his far behind as he gets lost between your legs.

Moan after breathy moan fills the room, each one enchanting, making him unable to stop, unable to slow down as he dives deeper, pushing his tongue further into your hot, fluttering walls, wanting more, needing more.

When your delicate fingers brush over his head, gently pressing him closer as your hips lift and stutter with your first orgasm, Jungkook feels like the luckiest man in the universe, lapping up your release like the dessert it is.

He doesn’t mind that his face is smeared with your juices, doesn’t care that he’s out of breath. Fingers caressing your sides, kneading your breasts lightly before settling his elbows beside your head, he kisses your dry lips and sucking your tongue.

He’s rather surprised that, despite your obviously petite frame, you’re able to twist your thighs against his body and send him falling over, straddled by you so quickly he gets a brief whiplash.

Jungkook would have never thought of you as dominant in bed, but as he gazes at you, absolutely fascinated to the point of shock, it becomes clear to him very quickly that you’re not dominant at all, but just intent on making him feel good as well.

The beautiful smile he’s learned to love from the bottom of his heart doesn’t compare to the light, shy blush coating your cheeks, your hands trailing along his body as you slowly lean down to kiss the shock off his face. He’s been kissed before, though nothing compares to this, nothing compares to your kisses, filled to the brim with adoration he can only drown in.

It overwhelms him; you overwhelm him in the best way possible, and he needs to speak his mind, needs to let you know, because he’s done wasting time when it comes to you.

Lifting your head, dwarfed in the size of his hands, he locks eyes with your glassy ones, letting his tattooed thumb trail over your rosy cheekbone as he confesses, “I love you.”

It should have felt difficult to voice, to admit, but he doesn’t feel scared, doesn’t fear rejection even for a split second. And when your eyes light up even more, brighter than when you were coming undone minutes ago, Jungkook knows he’s finally found peace.

“I love you too, Jungkook.”

Sealed by a kiss, he presses your small frame against his, not caring that the head of his cock gets squished between your bodies. Eventually, you break free, just a little, making him feel cold in an instant even though you’re still here, still touching.

“Let me make you feel good,” you husk against his pec, toying with your tongue on his nipple, sucking, blowing, circling it until you’re satisfied with the soft moans escaping Jungkook’s lips and his hips buckling instinctively.

Never has he felt this cared for, never has anyone given him this attention, this love, and he reckons he’s nowhere near done falling deeper in love with you. Especially as you slowly crawl back, inch by inch, your warm hands trailing along his body, your mouth imprinting the feeling of your lips on his skin to the point where he’ll never be able to forget.

When you take, or rather, try to take his big cock into your hand, your eyes glittering in wonder as you realise you need both hands to even come close to giving him proper satisfaction, Jungkook thinks he might unload right there and then. But he forces his orgasm down, forces himself to let it drag out even if it takes hours, just to enjoy this moment.

“Oh god,” you moan almost inaudibly around his cock as you first take him into your mouth, eyes rolling back as if his precum tastes like pure honey, making him twitch against your throat.

And while he knows you don’t like to roll your eyes at him, in this moment, seeing this sight of you, Jungkook would take any eye roll like a trophy. Saliva doesn’t take long to drip down, coating not only his cock but your hands too, pooling at the base of his cock and balls as you give him your all.

Feeling higher than he’s ever felt before, his hands tangle at the back of your head, pushing just a bit more but never too much, your moans around his cock vibrating in sync with his own. And while he desperately wants to finish, wants to let go and bask in everything you are, he knows he needs to fully connect with you.

So, it’s the only sane action that he gently removes your head from him, lips leaving his cock with a satisfied pop. You’re undeniably beautiful, you always were, but seeing your glassy, slightly fucked-out eyes, lips beautifully swollen, and a light sheen of sweat coating your entire body, you look like a fairy granting him his last wish.

“Come here,” Jungkook guides you to him, and you fall into his arms as if compelled by a spell, though he reckons he’s just the same.

He doesn’t know what to do with himself, doesn’t know how to not kiss you stupid, or kiss himself stupid, but he doesn’t seem to have the will to question it any longer. Especially when your hand leaves his short hair, aimlessly reaching for the nightstand and conjuring a condom from the top drawer.

Jungkook takes the cue, blindly accepting the condom from your tender fingers, only checking briefly that it’s the right size, he rolls you both over, rips the packet open, and in no time secures the latex around his still-leaking cock. As your hands caress his arms and abs, your eyes locked onto his, it’s not the sight of your naked body beneath him that makes him want to cry. No, it’s your ethereal face and the look in your eyes that undoes him so gracefully.

“Jungkook?” Your voice is as soft as ever, no tremble present, which makes him so proud. Proud that he’s obviously made you feel absolutely safe, safe in the way you make him feel too.

“Yes, love?”

The nickname makes you smile lovingly, clearly even more whipped for him as you suppress a giggle.

“I really love you,” you breathe, mesmerised to the point where Jungkook’s almost afraid you’re more in love with him than he is with you. Not that it matters, if he’s being honest.

“I love you more.”

The twitch of your brow makes him snicker, causing you to giggle as well. Jungkook captures your lips with a broad smile of his own, aligning his cock with your tiny hole, he pushes his hips in soft, careful rhythms until he’s fully nestled in your warmth. And as you, after a short breath, start to buck your hips against him, it’s his sign to get going, stroking his cock repeatedly against your tight walls. The wet squelches and your tiny cries of ecstasy are music to his ears, heart, and soul.

“Ah, Jungkook, god, there.”

He feels it, doesn’t need you to tell him. He can feel your walls clamp down on him. Still, he keeps going, needs to, both for your sake and his own.

“Come for me, love. Show me how good I make you feel,” he grunts in your ear, drowning in the scent of your hair as he keeps his pace strong and steady.

When you shatter beneath him, nails digging into the strained muscles of his back, Jungkook keeps going. He focuses, restrains himself, riding out your orgasm until your grip loosens around his frame.

“More?” he kisses our lips briefly, though they’re now only loosely parted.

“Yes.”

The moan that escapes your mouth is rather forced, but your eyes are still hungry.

So, Jungkook slips out, settling beside you and gently turning you onto your side as well, pulling you back against his chest. Lifting your leg over his, he pushes his cock back inside you from behind, thrusting into your dripping cunt without mercy while his hand finds your neck and jaw, tilting your head slightly so he can pamper you with kisses.

“Jungk-o-o-o-k,” you mewl as his other hand trails down to your clit, circling it in perfect rhythm with his thrusts.

“Yeah? Feels good?”

“So good. So good, Jungkook.”

And he feels the same, fantastic even, savouring every moment as he gradually builds his own orgasm.

“One more, love, hm?”

Jungkook drinks in the sight of you, your tits bouncing lightly, your eyes rolling back every few seconds, your tiny hands gripping his veiny arm, nails digging into his tattoos as you moan over and over again.

“Yes,” you cry, and that’s all it takes for him to let himself go too, letting his mind and body rise higher as he flies over the clouds with you right by his side.

“Fuck, ___, love, fuck,” he pants. Your walls haven’t stopped spasming around him for minutes, and his thrusts turn erratic as you both come together in a grand finale, gripping each other like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded on Earth.

The orgasm lasts far longer than Jungkook ever expected, though he wouldn’t trade even a second of it, not when you’re this perfect and he feels the same for you.

But eventually, even though he’s touched the sky with you, you both have to come back down. And as reluctant as he is to pull out, getting rid of the condom right after, it’s you he turns to, and always will.

Especially when the giggles you let out as he carries you to the shower are everything he needs for the rest of his life and beyond.

a/n 2: lmk what you think in any way you like! 👀 If you liked what you read, pls consider buying me a ☕️ Ko-fi.com/runariya 💕

Like what you read? Check out my other work here!

permanent taglist: @runariyaluvr , @kookiewithluv , @closer-to-jungkook , @dreamcatcherluvr , @blueofocean, @https-mei, @xsyruhh , @nemelkawar , @joonlover1207 , @elinaki92

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escapisttt · 1 day ago

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a lot of this was supposed to be posted for redacted kinktober but. college got in the way. i’m ovulating let me have this. it’s very long OOPS WHO LET ME OUT OF MY CAGE.

NSFW LMAO

lasko has a puppy kink. he likes being told he’s a good boy and craves to be of service to dear. would do anything to please them and do it well; it’s what turns him on the most. leash and collar. god, he’d lick the fucking dirt from their shoes if it made them smile down at him. yeah perhaps him and ash could bond over this. the difference between them though is that during those moments, lasko will never goof off or make jokes meanwhile ash is a bit of a brat. lasko would never disobey dear, but ash likes to push baabe’s buttons so that they “force” him into submission.

milo uses “good girl/good boy/good pet” hnnnngghh. as well as “pretty girl/pretty boy/pretty thing” oh my god. he’s so good at praise.

milo is usually pretty physically rough with it, going fast and deep, but you wouldn’t know that if you were just listening to his voice. sometimes while he’s absolutely fucking sweetheart’s brains out, he’s right in their ear speaking so softly and encouragingly with soooo much praise. “that’s right baby, ‘m i doin’ it right?” when he KNOWS he’s doing it right, he just wants to hear their confirmation. “yeah, lemme touch you, you like that? tell me you like that.” he looooves making sweetheart tell him how they’re feeling, and when they inevitably confirm that it feels good, he nods and doubles down. he craves good feedback, it’s his praise kink. “awwww i know it feels good baby, ‘m gonna make it feel even better.” it’s not condescending, it’s confidence. he knows what he’s good at, and he wants to get better. he’s a huge pleaser.

this is self indulgent if you aren’t into daddy kinks don’t read this one lmao. but daddy milo is soooo real to me. “was that too much? aw ‘m sorry baby, daddy’ll make it feel better. shh shh it’s okay, daddy’s sorry…” OUUUGGHHHH. “daddy wants what you want baby, tell‘im what you want. c’mon, be good and use your words, daddy wants to hear you,” i can’t do this anymore RELEASEEE MEEEEEEE. milo does it tastefully okay he’s not one of the weird ones TRUST ME.

milo who subs occasionally. to put a number on it, about 10% of the time. it may not be his natural default, but when the time is right, it’s so right. it happens one of two ways: either milo had a really rough, tiring day and needs to be coaxed into being cared for, or his sweetheart had been relentlessly teasing him. he’s such a brat at first, rejecting every dominant advance from sweetheart with a performative cocky demeanor, but it breaks down quickly enough when they touch him in the right places.

porter is such a masochist, but not in a traditionally submissive way. god, he loves when treasure slaps his face, yanks his hair, and scratches his back deeply on purpose. he likes being choked a little sometimes as well. but when all of these things are enacted on him, he smiles. he’s got a cocky grin and he’s nodding emphatically, his hips pistoning, almost twitching, even if he’s not inside of treasure. he’s groaning and his eyes are rolling back, but he’s not submitting. he’s daring them to do more, knowing that the only one whose limits being tested are theirs: how much are they able to take of porter when he’s losing himself to the pain? the more intense the pain, the harder he fucks treasure. basically porter is saying without saying, “the more you hurt me, the more i’ll pleasure you.” treasure essentially controls their own pleasure through him; if they want him to go faster, they dig their nails into his back or his scalp or his hips. and as soon as they let go, he lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding and eases back down to a slower pace. and porter knows what they’re doing. he likes it. he likes that they have that level of control over him, but he’s absolutely not a whimpering mess like lasko.

david does not like using toys or bondage material. that’s his job. he’s very animalistic in the sense that he does not want anything, even objects, interfering with his time with his mate. he’s the type to get jealous of a vibrator or any sex toy. not because he’s worried about it doing a better job than him, but because it was the thing pleasuring his mate and not him. if his angel is in the mood, he wants to know so he can take care of it. an unspoken rule in the shaw house is that neither of them are allowed to touch themselves. david sticks to this rule through and through, but if angel is caught in the action, the punishment is pretty intense, meaning overstimulation. david is usually quite rough and is already a lot to take even when he’s going slow, so him when he’s angry can be… a lot. he’s got angel on their tummy in the prone bone position and is absolutely laying into them, growling in their ear with genuine irritation. “you should’ve told me… why didn’t you tell me? is this not cutting it for you? you had enough of this cock? i thought you liked it. thought you liked being full of me, not a piece of fucking plastic.” yeah he’s angy. and he’s not being mean to them, he just wants to prove to them and remind them how good he makes them feel. they shouldn’t want anything else. and when angel does it because they think david is too busy for them? yeah he would stay up during all hours of the night to prove them wrong. “how do you think like that, hm? you think i’d put work above this? god angel, i do everything to come home to you, give my time to you. you don’t get that? let me keep showin’ you….”

azmidi who literally nuts on a lot of phone call role plays with sweetie (it’s canon yall hear the way his breath shakes all the time). just hearing their pretty voice, god he feels his pants getting tighter (if he wears those lol). he demands they tell him about their day even though they know he knows exactly how their day went. it feeds into that delicious fear of stalking, the idea that their every movement is being tracked and scrutinized and constantly mulled over. he wants to listen to them talk while he palms himself, nodding along with their version of events, happy that they’re being obedient and not lying to him. he doesn’t have to take himself out of his pants, though he likes to most times. he can come without that, just dry humping into his hand and pressing the phone to his ear, letting out the occasional moan. he knows sweetie can hear him, and if they show signs of getting flustered, it only makes him harder. “you know what you’re doing to me, right? you—you know… oh god…. hey, don’t stop. don’t stop talking. you’ve been doing such a good job, sweetie. let me hear you.”

william “eye contact” solaire. hngggnhnnhg. let’s imagine he’s got a long term partner, right? he is suuuuuuch a gentle lover. he’s not about rough sex very much, he’s too sophisticated lol. no, the actual reason he isn’t too keen on rough sex is because to him, his lover is a deity; an angel that walks the earth, the image of divine perfection. he isn’t going to treat them like a ragdoll, he worships the air they breathe for gods sake. he doesn’t see himself nearly worthy enough to be their companion, their equal. he gives them everything and then apologizes because it just isn’t enough. when he gave them their crown? “i hope you like it. the jewels are the finest i could find of course, for you. i—i perhaps could have gotten larger ones… i apologize. oh, but the weight may be a bit much for your neck… oh dear.” yeah this man is rich but he fucking won’t be if his partner doesn’t stop him from spoiling them. but i’m ranting, this is supposed to be about sex lmfao please ask me to make a post ab william i will do it so fast. this aspect of himself shows especially when he and his partner are intimate. he’s on his knees a lot of the time, staring up at his lover with worshipful reverence. he pleads in his soft spoken voice, his eyes fluttering shut as they put their hand on his cheek. “my love, what would you have me do for you? ask me anything.” and he means anything.

#redacted audio #redacted asmr #redactedverse #redacted headcanons #redacted lasko #redacted asher #redacted milo #redacted porter #redacted david #redacted azmidi #redacted william

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autumnscribbles · 2 days ago

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the one | drew starkey

part 2

pairing: drew starkey x married!reader

summary: after drew picked you up after your husband hurt you, it’s time to face him together

warnings: mentions of abuse, slight physical violence, not really proofread

wc: 1.9k

authors note: thank you guys so much for all the love on part 1!!! it truly means the world to me! it took me a while to think of where to take part 2, but i wanted it to be somewhat open ended so i hope you still like it!!

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

The sun broke through the slight crack of the curtains, making you squint despite your eyes still being shut. Your eyes slightly opened, your mind instantly disoriented. You gasped as you quickly sat up, nervously taking in your surroundings. After a few seconds it came back to you. Derek. Last night. Drew.

The bed was vacant beside you. You remembered falling asleep with Drew last night, but you had no idea what he did after that. You smelled coffee wafting into the room, instantly craving it. You quickly threw the blankets to the side and found the kitchen, Drew’s clothes still on your body. His familiar scent comforted you and made you feel nostalgic for simpler days. Before Drew left to pursue acting, before you married Derek, before everything. You missed being carefree, riding your bike with Drew to go watch the sunset as you sipped on takeout milkshakes together. You missed when your biggest worry was what you would wear to school the next day, or what your weekend plans would be. You missed your life before all of this. Before you had to walk on eggshells around your husband, or spent every day trying to please him, or now thinking of him hurting you. You couldn’t even recognize yourself anymore.

“Morning,” Drew smiled over his shoulder. “Did you sleep okay?”

You nodded sleepily, rubbing your eye as you held back a yawn. He passed you a mug of steaming hot coffee, an attempt at latte art on the top making your lips curl up. Your eyes drifted to a blanket on the couch. Drew must have left the room once you fell asleep.

He knew you were vulnerable, and he didn’t want to take advantage of you. Didn’t want there to be any expectations or precedent for you sleeping in his bed. He didn’t want to use this as a way to insert himself in your life romantically. You needed space. Out of respect, he gently slipped out of the bed after you fell asleep, taking his place on the couch.

You sat on the couch with your coffee mug, tucking your feet under you. You let out a heavy sigh as the first sip warmed down your throat.

“Are you hungry?” Drew asked. “I can make you something.

You shook your head quickly. “I don’t think I can eat right now.”

Drew nodded solemnly, but told you that you couldn’t go the whole day without eating. At some point, he was going to make you something, no choice.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to do now,” you said, a lump forming in the back of your throat. “I don’t know how to face him after…”

Drew sat down beside you, leaving a comfortable space. He was treating you like you were fragile, and maybe you were. You appreciated how gentle he was being, even if the behavior usually would anger you. You never liked being treated differently, or like you were delicate.

“You can stay here as long as you need,” he told you. “And when you’re ready, I can go with you.”

“Maybe I’m just overreacting,” you sighed. “I probably deserved it, and he’s probably feeling guilty.”

“Stop,” Drew whispered, placing his hand gently on your shoulder. “You didn’t deserve that. No one deserves to be treated that way. I’m not saying this for my own benefit but you can’t go back to him.”

You nodded, knowing he was right. You always thought it would be easy to walk away in a situation like this, you didn’t realize all the nuance that came with it. Your own feelings of shame, of failure.

“We’re married,” you sighed, closing your eyes and tilting your head back. “It hasn’t even been that long and I’m already in a failed marriage.”

“You didn’t fail anything, y/n,” Drew said. “He failed you as a husband. You did everything right. He doesn’t deserve you.”

“I know,” you admitted, agreeing with him. You knew Drew was right, he always was. He was always the voice of reason, the little angel on your shoulder saying all the right things.

“I think I should go over there,” you uttered after a few moments of silence. “At least to get some of my stuff. I can’t just wear your clothes.”

“I’ll go with you,” he said.

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙

Drew pulled up to your home, which suddenly had a cold aura around it. This wasn’t home anymore. It never would be again. You spotted Derek’s car in the driveway, meaning he was likely still home. You wondered if he went looking for you last night, if he called anyone to see where you were. Or did he just go to bed soundly, not even thinking of you?

Dread filled your body as you looked at your house from the passenger window. How were you supposed to face him?

“I don’t think I can go in there,” you mumbled, your voice laced with fear, shaking slightly. “Maybe we should come back when he’s not home.”

“Want me to go in?” he asked. “Just tell me what you need and I’ll grab it for you.”

“I don’t think it’s safe,” you replied. “He’s been giving me a hard time…about you lately. He’s going to get angry and think I cheated or something.”

Drew clenched his jaw, anger fuelling him. The audacity Derek had to be jealous of him when Derek was the one who manipulated everyone to get what he wanted. Drew had a bad taste in his mouth at the thought that they were ever friends. Now that Derek hurt you, there was no going back. No pretending.

“If he’s actually sorry, he won’t say a word,” Drew told you. “I’ll be fast, we’ll just get the essentials today and we can come back when he’s not here, like you said.”

You finally agreed, somewhat reluctantly. You didn’t want Drew to go in there alone, but you had to admit you needed some of your belongings. You needed clothes, stuff to take a shower, your phone back. You listed a few things off to Drew, explaining to him where he could find everything. He nodded quickly, telling you everything was going to be fine before he hopped out of the car, crossing the imaginary yellow tape onto your property.

Drew rapped his knuckles on the door, anxiously awaiting who would appear on the other side. The door opened to reveal Derek, looking disheveled. His hair was all over the place, a white tank top on with a stain on the front, his breath smelling like booze.

“Do you know where y/n is?” he asked frantically, not noticing you in the car on the street.

“I do,” Drew answered stoically. “I came here to pick up a few of her things.”

“What?” Derek’s voice had bite to it. “She sent her little puppy for her? Too much of a wimp to face me herself?”

Drew had told himself he would remain calm, but something broke inside him. Hearing Derek still speaking that way about you after what he had done. He couldn’t tolerate it. Drew grabbed him by his shirt and pushed him on the wall.

“You touch her again I’ll fucking kill you,” Drew sneered. “Don’t call her, don’t look for her, it’s done.”

“She can tell me that herself,” Derek chuckled. “You just think there’s hope for you. She’s my wife, Drew. I don’t care how whipped you are for her.”

“It’s not about me,” Drew said, shaking his head. “It’s not about me, or about how you lied to me our entire friendship, lied to her. You crossed a like, Derek. You were a piece of shit before but now…you’re just a monster.”

Drew could barely finish his sentence when he was blinded by the punch to his face. He groaned as he lifted his hand to his eye, his vision white and searing pain shooting through his face. Stay calm.

“Nice, Derek,” Drew nodded. “You gonna hit her like that next time? Real great man you are.”

“Don’t talk to me about my wife.”

They didn’t notice you at the door, letting yourself in. You had started to get anxious sitting in the car. You were worried about Drew. It was time to be brave, and to stand up for yourself. You gasped by the scene you were met with. Drew’s left eye was discolored, bright crimson leaking from his nostril.

“Derek,” you breathed. “What did you do?”

“Babe,” Derek smiled, rushing over to you, placing his hands on your shoulder. You noticed the blood stained on his knuckles. Drew’s blood. “I am so sorry, I didn’t mean anything I- can you just come home to me? We can figure this out.”

“You punched him,” was all you could manage to choke out.

“Seriously?” he scoffed. “I’m trying to fix things and you’re focused on him? Here we go again with your little boyfriend.”

“There’s nothing to fix, Derek,” you said sternly, removing his hands from your shoulders and taking a step back. “I’m grabbing some things, and I’m leaving. You’re never going to touch me again.”

“You’re leaving me for him, right? That’s what this is?” he asked. “You’re just looking for the easy way out. I knew you were cheating on me.”

Drew stepped in to defend you, but you raised your hand at him. You knew there was a high likelihood Derek would hit him again if he had the opportunity.

“This has nothing to do with me and Drew,” you said calmly. “I was loyal to you, and a great wife. This is all your own doing. You’ll never be even a fraction of the man Drew is.”

Venom dripped in your words. You knew comparing him to Drew would hurt him, and maybe that was the point. He was constantly in competition, trying to one-up Drew, or to get you to think negatively of your friend. You were tired. Derek’s face twisted in anger, but you walked away before he had the chance to retort. You rushed to your room, quickly shoving what you needed into a bag. You felt dizzy, unable to process any of the events that had unfolded. When you came back to the foyer, Drew was by the door. His hand on the doorknob, waiting for you.

“Let’s go, Drew,” you whispered. “Goodbye Derek, don’t contact me. You can talk to my lawyer.”

With that, you were out the door, your heartbeat pounding in your ears as you sat back down in Drew’s car. He slid in the drivers seat, hissing slightly as he brought his hand up to his eye.

“I can’t believe he hit you,” you muttered, tears filling your eyes, but not quite falling. Just teetering on the edge. “I shouldn’t have let you go in there.”

“It was worth it,” he said, giving you a weak smile. “I’d take the hit a thousand times over if it meant he’d never hurt you again.”

The tears spilled over, but you couldn’t help but smile anyway. “My hero.”

The tension in the car was heavy. You were unstable, feeling so many things at once. When you leaned in towards Drew, he placed a hand on your thigh, his blue eyes boring into yours.

“Take your time,” he whispered, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “You’ve been through so much. I wouldn’t feel right taking advantage of this situation after everything you’ve been through.”

“As much as I want to. I’ve been thinking about kissing you for most of my life it feels like,” he continued, letting out an airy chuckle. “But I’m not going anywhere. So take your time.”

More tears spilled down your cheeks. Drew’s slightly calloused thumb brushed them away. He leaned forward, his warm lips connecting with your forehead. The warmth lingered as he pulled away, making you shiver.

“Let’s go home.”

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ ⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽༓☾∘

taglist: @percysley

#drew starkey x reader #drew starkey imagine #drew starkey fic #drew starkey #drew starkey x y/n #drew starkey outer banks

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thedreammweaver · 3 days ago

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No because I’ve been mad at the flippant “men suck” attitude in leftist spaces that leads to having 0 compassion for a while. One time I saw a post that was a celebratory screenshot of an article about how high the suicide rate in men was and I got blocked when I read the article and reblogged the screenshot with the context that it was talking about black men killing themselves due to racism and men who were victims of toxic masculinity feeling like they couldn’t get help.

That’s an extreme example but little things like “unfortunately I’m attracted to men 🤪” why is it unfortunate? I’m attracted to men, and it’s great. Men are not inherently born evil with no hope to change. Why do some leftists hold this “boys will be boys, what can you do about it” attitude just like non leftists do.

Also how do you think this shit makes trans men feel???? The constant “all men are trash, kill all men, etc.” can make us feel like shit, like we’re joining the dark side or something. At a certain point it doesn’t feel like a joke anymore. And I’ve seen people who do not identify as men treated poorly in queer spaces because they LOOK like a man so they must be bad and not trustworthy, even if they’ve told people in said space they are not a man.

I have been traumatized and hurt by more men than I can count quickly, but I also know that defining a whole group of people as inherently basically born bad is wrong and will never be productive.

The current culture teaches men to be horrible, but people can be taught differently, people can change. And people can grow up not believing the things they’re taught in the first place and turn out just fine.

I understand increased anger and wariness with the “your body, my choice” shit but be productive with that anger and maybe some of these people saying this can get deprogrammed. Carrying that “men are hopelessly bad, that’s just the way they are” attitude around isn’t going to change anything.

I tried to connect with my republican father by being open about being trans and being willing to teach him about things, he has pretended that the conversation never happened which has been disappointing and exhausting but I’m going to try again. Some people don’t take the chance to be better when they’re given the choice but some do. He has gotten better over the years in some aspects through me sitting down and having hard conversations with him. It is a lot of emotional labour and pain and I could just not do it, but I want to try.

If you don’t have the time or energy to do this stuff that’s %100 understandable. Just don’t carry around this idea that man is synonymous with bad and nothing can change that, cause if that’s the widespread belief what’s the point in men even trying to change. People can’t be helped if no one believes they can be helped. Some of the men saying this are teenagers, literal children. They’re not corrupted forever because they found community in a horrible space.

posts about the alt-right pipeline being compassionate towards young men while radical leftists shun and shame them are not fucking saying "the men are becoming violent because feminists are too mean!" and if that is your takeaway you need to get off tumblr until you've better honed your critical thinking skills.

those posts are talking about how effective the language and approach you take in your activism can be. this is literally cult deprogramming 101. if someone is being taken in by a violent or dangerous group, that violent or dangerous group is usually offering them compassion and solace while working hard to convince them everyone else in the world is their enemy. you are under no obligation to coddle or act compassionate toward these men and their violent ideologies, but if you have the means to try, it is something that you can do to make a tangible difference.

radicalized people are often only one loving friend or family member or external voice away from being de-radicalized. of course that is not always the case, but it very often is. a lot of y'all rightfully understand that you do not carry the burden of being that voice, but a lot of y'all also have a lot of internalized ideas about morals and punitive justice and have simply written off these people as deserving of only the worst and not worth saving.

ten years ago, my grandmother was a fox news watching republican who voted red in every election and very well could have fallen down the qanon rabbit hole if not for me and her daughter challenging her compassionately, walking her through hypotheticals that validated her feelings & proving why they were false, & being patient with her despite our extreme division in political ideology. it was frustrating fucking work! but i decided i wanted to do it, because i could see the horizon and i could see me making a difference!

"misogynists have been saying feminists are too mean for years, get new material" that is not the fucking POINT. the point is that you, feminist, can be the compassionate voice that guides your brother, your father, your cousin, your grandfather away from fucking becoming or staying a nazi. you can show them compassion and companionship. you can be the woman they think of when their alt-right bros try to convince them that women are the enemy. and you can choose to crystallize that image of yourself so wholly in their mind's eye as worth protecting that they may very well choose to reject those harmful ideas.

it's not saying you HAVE to do it! it's saying you CAN do it! don't you 'firebomb a walmart' people all love taking change into your own hands? where the fuck is that energy right now, huh?

#rant #vent

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yuuuuuuslazy · 2 days ago

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Christmas, Airports and Coffee *⁠˘⁠♡◍⁠✧⁠*⁠。

Husband!Scoups x fem!reader

Genre : fluff

Warnings : very fluffy

Leaning on your husband’s shoulder while he finishes some work, for the second time your flight has been delayed. A trip to Norway planned by your husband as a surprise for your 5th anniversary wasn’t going what you’d call smooth. First of all, the roads were jammed with cars even though it was 3am in the morning. After you arrived at the airport with just enough time to eat and check in your bags, your flight has been delayed by a whopping 5 hours.

5 hours.

After that, when you and seungcheol went for some very early breakfast, a kid who was running around had bumped into you and spilled water. Right after that you heard the system's sweet voice stating that your flight will be delayed for another two hours.

And that makes 7 hours.

You considered going back home but calling your sister back to pick you two up again….she wouldn’t be pleased especially when she’s got an early date to prepare for.

So here you are, two hours into the wait while lounging in the waiting area. Seungcheol decided to finish the worked he had planned for after the trip so he doesn’t have to stress about it too much later on. You don’t know how he gets anything done while you pester him and play with his face, but he’s doing it. Man is everything. As your whine about being bored for the nth time, he closes his laptop and takes out his wallet, whips out his very shiny black card and allows you to go buy yourself set of Lego at the Lego vending machine.

“Go on, I saw the way you looked at that machine sweetheart. Or maybe you want to go on a walk?”

Your luggage wasn’t with you anymore so it’s just a backpack and your handbag. Minutes later you found yourself getting a piggy back ride on your husband’s back while he walks through the airport to pass some time. He was getting tired of staring an excel sheet anyways.

You met in high school, where seungcheol was the senior you’d sneak upstairs to peek at during lunch break. Safe to say you were caught and successfully married your high school crush. You started a business together, and it got so successful that he’s now the richest 1% in the country. You always tell yourself you did a great job serving as his secretary and wife. Four years of dating and he asked you to marry him, which of course you said yes.

As he approached the Lego vending machine, you jumped off his back and skipped towards the machine, scanning through the items again.

“They’re so expensive…”

Yeah, that’s what you told the man who bought you a Steinway piano on a random day after you mentioned that it looks pretty.

The man- uh, your man scoffed and pressed the button for the biggest set available after swiping his card at the scanner. Your Lego tuxedo cat plopped on the moving surface as it brings down your set. Seeing you happy like a child with a set of toys to play with made him feel something furry inside.

Before he could ask you where you wanted to go, you grabbed his hand a dragged him to a chocolate store nearby. He loves spoiling you, especially when sometimes he can’t spend time with you due to being caught up with work. He buys you things and takes you places while being a great husband ; you make him his favorites meals then help him de-stress after coming home from the very infuriating clients.

After the gift store, the cafe, the clothing store and a cat petting pop up booth that’s at the airport for some reason, you clutched your newly adopted plushie while still holding his hand, walking back to the waiting area as you talked about nothing and everything.

So you burned a few hundred from his card that’s like a few cents to him. He always insisted that you must have everything and got you the fattest diamond ring you’ve ever seen in your life for your wedding.

From your dress, the venue, heck even your eyelashes costed so much. Yet that hardly put a scratch on his account it was like grocery shopping for him.

Deciding that the carpeted floor by the waiting area would be a great place to sit on, you plopped down and started to build your tuxedo cat. How cute it even purrs when you turn the head!

One hour of Lego and few uncomfortable sleeping positions that made you look like a shrimp later, it’s 45 minutes away from boarding. Finally!! You peeked at the large glass windows and saw white spots falling down. Oh yeah…you were supposed to reach by Christmas, but here you are still back home. You two decided that you should eat something before boarding. He went to order while you waited by the windows of the cosy cafe. Coffee, snow, and your husband. What else can be better?

“Sweetheart”

“Yeah?”

You didn’t think he’d pull a move like that. His soft lips now on yours, although you were in a cafe, but of course you kissed back while catching eye of the girls in the corner fangirling over the scene. Maybe it was your broad shoulders six pack 180cm rich cold looking CEO who whines and pouts because you didn’t kiss him good morning of a husband? They can’t exactly see his build under his fluffy coat but oh that face card never declines.

Cheesy, but it made the butterflies in your tummy go wild when he kissed you as the clocks struck twelve, signaling the arrival of Christmas.

“Merry Christmas love” you heard as he pulled out a little jewelry box. Upon opening it was the most beautiful necklace you’d ever seen in your life. You knew better than to believe that it was cheap when you asked him. The less you see the logo of the brand the more expensive it is when your santa is seungcheol. Of course you prepared to a surprise for him too, but that’s for when you check into a hotel. (Iykyk)

Your trip to see the northern lights started when you boarded the first class seats with Netflix on the tvs. The divider could not stop your husband from giving you kisses.

It may be simple but everyday with him felt special in its own way even if you just lounged at home lazily while your fluffy cat tried to snuggle between you both for the warmth. This must be what happens when you marry someone who loves you more than anyone, or anything.

An argument breaks out from the couple in front of your, seemingly from money as the air stewardess came and asked them to keep it down.

“Love, I want you to know that all the money and power I have, I’d burn it to ashes as if it meant we would stay together forever”

Blushing hard although you’ve heard loving words from your husband on a daily basis

"May I make a Christmas wish?”

“Of course”

“Might I request to be your Mrs.Choi again in the next life, and every life to come even if we were to be rocks?”

Soft laughter swallowed the tense atmosphere the couple infront of you gave off as you two started to look through the free stuff the airline had provided with the first class seats, knowing his answer would always be yes. Yes, anything for his princess.

"you'll always be my girl, okay?"

#scoups x reader #scoups #svt x reader #svt oneshot #seungcheol x reader #scoups oneshot #seungcheol fluff

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heartlesscorpse · 4 hours ago

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Life w/ Mr Crawling!

A QUICK WARNING BEFORE YOU READ: This is following after the Blissful Love Life ending, if you don’t want spoilers I suggest scrolling! — Anyways moving on from that, I FINALLY got the fucking motivation to put something out after how many months, (yay!) Starting off with my new horror game fixation :)))) Finally got my brain juices going, and I thank Homicipher for this. This is probably going to be me posting abt it for a while. BUT it gave me the motivation to write stuff at least. If you also noticed I changed the formatting a little with my hcs and I think I like it better this way w/o the bulleted list, so Imma def keep this.

⭑.ᐟ — Ever since you’ve escaped the other world with Mr. Crawling, you had some small difficulties in getting back in the swing of things. You no longer had to worry about your safety, check over the shoulders for any monsters, you had your normal life back now.

⭑.ᐟ — And this time you had Mr Crawling to share it with! :D

⭑.ᐟ — When you first brought Mr Crawling home with you, man was absolutely ecstatic and he immediately went exploring around the house while you fixed him some food to eat.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr Crawling really liked your place, it felt cozy and warm, it had you too of course, and it was so much more welcoming and nicer in appearance compared to his world. Plus there was a lot of new stuff he hasn’t seen before.

⭑.ᐟ — It was a nice change not having the house to yourself anymore, Mr Crawling made the place a little more lively with his presence, following you around the house like a lost puppy, occasionally asking a few questions.

⭑.ᐟ — You showed him many things, movies, books, and lots of other things. He even had his first shower too!

⭑.ᐟ — You even tried teaching him basic words in your language such as “hello”, “goodbye”, “thank you”, or “please”. While Mr Crawling was having a hard time getting a gist of them, he still tried his best. <3

⭑.ᐟ — With your old life back it also meant you had to pick up your job/college again too.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr Crawling was never fond when you left the house for this long, so he mostly sat around at the front door waiting for your return.

⭑.ᐟ — Then upon your arrival it’s extra cuddles tonight to make up for loss time. He’s sad that you left him alone for this long :((

⭑.ᐟ — On the bright side however he likes going on grocery runs with you! Since nobody else could see him, it wouldn’t bring any unwanted attention. Of course with Mr Crawling’s babbling as he followed you into the aisles, you brought headphones/airpods with you so people didn’t think you were insane for talking to yourself.

⭑.ᐟ — Mr Crawling in general is very happy you let him tag along with you leaving his world, he couldn’t be any happier getting to stay by your side. And his love for you grew as well! :)

⭑.ᐟ — The first time he tried saying something in your language was “I love you” to show his gratitude. Though it sounded a bit butchered for a first attempt, the sentiment still meant a lot to you and it was a step towards somewhere to say the least.

#homicipher #dead’s hcs #homicipher x reader #mr crawling #mr crawling x reader #gn reader #fluffies

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atleastpleasetelephone · 2 days ago

Note

I just want to say how good your stories are and I really love them they are so detailed and good!.. I wanted to request a fic. Nympho reader trying to get Elvis's attention ata family and friends dinner (the memohis mafia, their wives yk) but he denies her until he can't take it anymore and drags her off to the bathroom and fucks her hard and makes her be quiet. 🙏🏼

Maneater

A/N: Sorry this has taken me so long! I've been thinking about it on and off for a while now, and finally got something written down.

Pairing: Elvis x nympho!reader

Word count: 2.3K

TWs: Infidelity, name-calling, spanking, rough sex, mirror sex, reader is gagged, degredation kink, praise kink, a handjob, p in v sex, also probably should mention the appearance of Lamar's dick, might need a warning...

Elvis fixes you with a stern look as he tells you yet again that this is a nice dinner and you’re not to do anything to mess it up. What he means by that is that he doesn’t want you winding him up at the dinner table. He’s never met a girl like you. You’re desperate for it, all the time. He can’t keep up. Perhaps he could have, in his 20s, but not now he’s 34. He gave up trying to please you with his hands and mouth and dick all the time - his jaw started to ache and he’s getting worried about his fingers anyway from all the karate. The less said about his dick the better. He’d eventually caved and bought a vibrator, something to make you cum a few times in a row and hopefully shut you up. When that stopped being a guaranteed cure he decided he couldn’t take it anymore and broke up with you. He’s never broken up with a girl before (they usually do the leaving) and it was difficult. Made even more difficult by him finding you sucking Jerry off, not more than an hour later. So he’d taken you back, out of jealousy really, he supposes.

“You’re going to be a good girl, right?”

You twist a few strands of hair around your finger and tilt your head to the side. It’s not that you don’t want to be good. You just have these urges, and they don’t really seem to be stoppable.

“Yes, Daddy.”

He walks the few steps between you and pinches your cheeks with his fingers. “Right?”

You nod enthusiastically. “I’m going to be a good girl.” Already you’re squeezing your thighs together. He really needs to learn that you find all of this such a turn on that it’s just making the whole situation worse.

“Good. Let’s go downstairs.”

***

You manage the first course without incident, but by the time the main dish is on the table you’re thoroughly distracted again. Elvis sat you to his left so that he could keep an eye on you, and he’s been careful not to touch you or even really look at you directly that much. But there’s so much sauce he keeps having to lick his lips, more than usual, and you can’t help but think about all the other places that tongue has been or could go… You wriggle about a little in your chair, getting some friction between it and your pussy, thinking about him eating you rather than the meatloaf.

Elvis notices your tell-tale movements and reaches one hand beneath the table to pinch your thigh, hard. You squeak, but you get the message and stop moving. He clears his throat and moves his hand back to the table, returning to his conversation with Joe. You take a few deep breaths and try to get your head back in the game. Eat dinner, ignore Elvis, be a good girl.

“How’s it going, pipsqueak?” Lemar asks, from your left.

“‘M not a pipsqeak,” you hum, fluttering your eyelashes and putting your hand on his thigh. So much for being a good girl.

Lemar grins. He doesn’t usually get a lot of attention from the ladies, but you’re the exception. And he likes you because you treat him just the same as you do everyone else - as a potential ride.

“Look like one to me,” he teases. “Enjoying your meatloaf?”

You shrug, putting down your fork. “Can think of some meat I’d prefer…”

Your hand wanders a little further up Lamar’s thigh, and then you chance a look over to Elvis, who is still studiously ignoring you. Well, if you can’t get his attention you’ve sure as shit got Lamar’s.

Lamar actually blushes at your words, looking nervously over at Elvis now himself. He’s going to get into trouble for this but it’s turning him on so he’s not sure if he cares. Elvis is deep in conversation with Joe and his wife and hasn’t noticed anything, so the other man doesn’t stop your hand as it continues its journey up his thigh, finally reaching his dick and giving it a friendly squeeze. He’s playing with fire now, but he just takes another mouthful of meatloaf as you unzip him one-handed and dip your hand into his boxers, starting to stroke him.

He tries not to choke on the food in his mouth at the sensation. Your little hand is very skilled, even at this weird angle, and suddenly he realises that you could make him cum at the dinner table. And you probably will, since consequences don’t really seem to bother you. Not that surprising, since all the guys know you sucked Jerry off and Elvis took you back anyway.

You’re already moving quickly, and you don’t bother trying to cover up what you’re doing that much. No-one notices though, busy chatting and eating and drinking, not paying any attention to you. You pout, almost to yourself, and then decide you have to do something to get some attention. You hate to be ignored.

“Elvis?” You drawl, lazily.

Lamar freezes. Why on earth are you doing this? This is worse than just making him cum at the dinner table, this is making him cum whilst Elvis watches. It’s a miracle no-one has noticed what you’re doing, and you want to Elvis to notice, of all people.

“Yes, honey,” Elvis replies, coldly, rolling his eyes.

Your hand is still working Lamar’s dick and he’s getting closer and closer to release. Now Elvis has turned to look at you, he knows he can’t try to pull your hand off him, that’ll make it too obvious. But he can’t let you keep going, that’ll make it even more obvious. He panics and so he does nothing, feeling his balls getting heavier as you keep jerking him. There’s no way that this ends well.

“Are you enjoying your meatloaf?” You lick your lips teasingly.

Elvis frowns a little, thinking that something about the way you’re sitting looks weird. Your shoulder keeps moving and… something about Lamar looks weird too. Suddenly it snaps into focus and he realises what’s happening. Around the same time as Lamar cums with a barely disguised moan.

“You little slut.”

He stands and grabs you by the arm, dragging you out of your chair and then behind him as he marches up the stairs. Lamar. Lamar of all people. And at the dinner table! He’s not sure he can keep seeing you but he can’t break up with you without teaching you a lesson first.

Lamar zips himself up and tries to look innocent, although it’s not long before the other guys figure out what happened, especially when they see the stains on his pants. It’s only the presence of the wives that keep them from really ribbing him at the table, but they can barely believe it. That girl Elvis is seeing really is some kind of nymphomaniac.

Your stomach flips and you feel yourself getting wetter as you struggle to keep up with him, first up the stairs and then into the en suite. He slams the door and then rounds on you, fury etched into his face.

“Ya really just gave Lamar a handjob at the dinner table? In my house? With me right next ta ya?”

You bite your lip. “‘M sorry, Daddy. I can’t help it.”

“You need to learn,” he growls.

And this is the problem. He thinks this is a punishment, but you’re just excited. You want to be taught lesson after lesson. You like it when he gets like this, a little out of control. You want him to fuck you like an animal and keep going way past the point of enjoyment. You want it to go on and on until you beg him to stop, and even then he continues.

He spins you around to face the big mirror over the bathroom sink, pushing you so that you bend at the waist, your little skirt flipping up to uncover your ass. Pulling your panties down and off, he stuffs them in his pocket and looks briefly at your reflection. You look back at him, big doe eyes and pouting lips.

“Maybe this’ll teach ya.”

He spanks you, hard, and you yelp. So he carries on, over and over again. You can feel his rings against your skin, making each slap sting even more. Little squeals fall from your mouth as he keeps going, your ass getting redder and redder.

“Shush.”

“Sorry Daddy,” you coo, trying hard to clamp your mouth shut and not make any more noise.

But he doesn’t stop hitting you, and it’s starting to get really sore, and you can’t help yelping again and then wriggling a little, a half-hearted attempt to get away.

“I told ya to shush.”

He grabs the panties and stuffs them into your mouth. You can feel your arousal running down your leg. Jerking Lamar off was worth it for this reaction.

He spanks you a few more times but he can see how turned on you are and he can’t pretend his dick isn’t aching right now too. Dragging a finger up the inside of your thigh, he brings it up, wet, to his lips and lets you see him lick it.

“Dirty little girl,” he hisses.

You moan around the panties, drool pooling around them and starting to spill out of the sides and into the sink. He looks into your eyes and… you look… happy? He can’t understand it. After that spanking, the way he’s humiliating you, the panties in your mouth… how can you be happy? He unzips his pants and takes out his dick, pushing it inside you hard and fast. You groan at being so full so quickly but your wetness means he slides in no problem, you’re so ready for him. Even more than usual.

He grunts as he starts to thrust into you, one hand on your hip and the other in your hair, bunching it into a makeshift ponytail. Your hips bump the sink with every thrust and you know you’ll have bruises tomorrow. You’ll probably have a bruised ass, too, with the beating he gave it. You moan again, pleasure rippling through your body as he pulls your head up and arches your back, his dick hitting somewhere delicious inside you.

“Nasty little slut,” he groans, pulling your hair some more. “Look at yourself.”

You look at yourself in the mirror, hair everywhere, mascara running down your red cheeks, saliva spilling over your chin. Then you look back at him and his eyes look wild, almost black with lust and fury, his face flushed and his lip curled into a sneer. He briefly lets go of your hip to pull the panties out of your mouth, letting them fall into the sink.

“What d’ya look like?”

“A nasty little slut, Daddy.”

His eyes roll back in his head as he starts to pound you, wanting to somehow fuck this out of you. You’re such a damn frustrating little girl. So obedient when you’re taking his dick, and so goddamn wayward when you’re not.

His dick keeps rubbing that place inside you that you like so much, and you know you’ve got to be almost there now. But you can’t just cum without permission. You could jerk Lamar off without permission, but cumming was a whole different story.

“Daddy, I need to cum.”

“Ya always fuckin’ need ta cum. That’s the problem with ya.” He snaps.

“Mmmm. But now. Please. ‘M so close.”

“Fine,” he huffs, and the result is almost immediate, your walls are pulsing around him, squeezing and squeezing.

You scoop up the soggy panties from the sink and put them back in your own mouth, so that the noise you make as you cum on his dick is muffled. But he still hears it, and still sees your face contorted in ecstasy in the mirror, and combined with the way you’re squeezing him there’s nothing he can do but cum too, hard and deep inside you. He groans, staggering backwards and then managing to sit himself down on the toilet lid, legs spread, head thrown back. Fuck. That was good. You were a damn good fuck.

You spit the panties out of your mouth then straighten, legs like jelly, before turning around. Seeing him there with his dick still out of his pants you can’t help yourself. You kneel down between his legs and start to lick him clean. His head slowly moves forwards and he stares down at you, incredulously.

“What’re ya doin’?” There’s a softness in his voice now, and he finds himself stroking your cheek with his forefinger.

“Bein’ good,” you tell him, licking a final stripe up him and then looking up at his face. “Hoping for round two,” you add, more honestly.

He shakes his head. “Little girl, you are insatiable.”

You nod. “I know. Sorry, Daddy.”

He sighs and pulls you up into his lap. “What am I gonna do with ya?”

Your arms slip around his neck and you look at him with those big doe eyes again. “Spank me? Teach me a lesson? Fill up all my little holes?”

Elvis blushes at your filthy mouth, even after the things he’s just said and done to you. He shakes his head again.

“It’s this big hole,” he says, pinching your cheeks with his thumb and a finger, and then pressing his forefinger to your lips. “That keeps gettin’ ya in trouble.”

You nod sagely. “I know. Probably best to fill that up too.”

He can’t help giggling. There’s something adorable about you, even if you are the filthiest girl he’s ever met. You giggle too. You like this, this attention from him. Even though he’s not fucking you or spanking you, you like him up close and intimate like this.

He kisses your temple and then makes a decision.

“Alright. To hell with this dinner. Get on the bed and I’ll shut ya up properly this time.”

***

Taglist:

@vintagepresley @arg-xoxo @from-memphis-with-love @msamarican @blursedblegh @returntopresley @eapep @everythingelvispresley @i-r-i-n-a-a @sissylittlefeather @arrolyn1114 @jhoneybees @cattcb @polksaladava @lookingforrainbows @jkdaddy01 @ccab @epthedream69 @lustnhim @elvisslut @pomtherine @that-hotdog @ladelinee @angschrof @fairybloodsucker @deltafalax @makethemorning @elviswhore69 @ilovequeen978 @wildhorseinkansas

#elvis #elvis presley #elvis fanfiction #elvis fic #elvis presley fanfiction #elvis presley fic #elvis smut #elvis fanfic #elvis presely smut #elvis imagine #elvis presley fanfic #elvis presley x reader #elvis presley x y/n #elvis presley x you #elvis x reader #elvis x y/n #elvis x you

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moghedien · 2 days ago

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this isn’t meant to be judgement on what other people choose or their opinions and there are reasons why there is no actual ideal solution, but if I’m playing the game in which I want every character to get what I feel is the best outcome for them personally, Shadowheart is always ending the game with her parents alive

There are a couple of reasons for this. I’ve done both endings with the Selûnite path for her, and I literally just let her pick what she wanted the first time (which ended in her parents dead) and seeing both, I do think she’s happier with her parents alive in general. I think, as with other characters (specifically Lae’zel comes to mind in her romance) you have to kinda challenge them on what their first immediate response is when giving them an option in order to get to what actually makes them happiest and what they’re afraid to admit

But if we’re not even taking like the arbitrary measure of happiness into account, I do think that thematically, keeping her parents alive is the only real option if you don’t want Shar to win.

The options here are either let her parents die and Shadowheart is free of the pain in her wound, or save her parents and Shadowheart spends the rest of her life with the threat of the wound hurting her at any moment. Basically no parents and no pain or parent and chronic pain for the rest of her life.

Harsh options either way, and especially when you phrase it as “chronic pain forever” being the thematically correct path, but look at it from the angle of rejecting Shar and what those options really signify form a Sharran angle.

If her parents die, she has no pain, which is good, but she also has no parents. She has no way of learning about her past other than random scraps she might find or maybe eventually remember somehow. She also has no attachment to her Sharran cloister anymore and no attachment to any Selûnite community either. She’s void of everything, including the physical pain. Now there’s obviously like emotional turmoil she’s feeling, and you do get a scene where she expresses that, but it’s from her loss. She only has loss now. The Lady of Loss gave up her physical hold on Shadowheart and in doing so, made Shadowheart embrace loss. Shar might not win completely, but she doesn’t really care about her individual followers and communities as much as they want her to. This is still a win for Shar because she still got Shadowheart to make Sharran choices in the end and embrace losing everything: the pain, her parents, her community, her past.

Hell, the desire to free oneself from pain entirely is a very Sharran pursuit. It’s why we see people turn to Shar. Ketheric turned to Shar as a way to get Isobel back and free himself from grief. One of the people that can lead you to the Sharran cloister is a man who remembers nothing about himself except that the House of Grief helped him because he was very sad and now he isn’t. Nevermind the fact that he doesn’t even know where he lives now or that Ketheric didn’t get what he wanted, it’s the motivation of freeing oneself from some kind of pain that drives people to Shar.

That is why Shadowheart received the injury in the first place.

I jokingly call it a shock collar sometimes, but that is basically what it literally is. You can get Shadowheart’s dad to reveal more about it if you control her and go talk to him in camp. The wound is because Shadowheart was constantly misbehaving and her parents weren’t converting, and they needed something to keep her in line and also motivate her parents. Shadowheart’s pain was supposed be negative reinforcement for her not to act on her kinder inclinations and for her parents to finally fall in line and reject Selûne so that they would stop seeing Shadowheart in pain. The desire for no more pain was supposed to drive Shadowheart and her family closer to Shar.

And all of this on top of the fact that Shadowheart’s memory was wiped repeatedly to an extreme degree, even by standards of the evil memory wiping cult. She was supposed to be a blank slate that only desired to feel nothing by the end. The perfect Sharran.

So if she keeps her family alive, what does she get? A life time of guaranteed pain from Shar, but also her family. Guilt over learning all she’s done to her parents over the 40 years they were held captive, but also answers about her life before Shar and kinder memories with them after Shar. She doesn’t get to not know all that she’s done and all that’s been taken from her, and she’s forced to feel all the negative emotions that come with that, but she gets comfort and positive feelings too.

The moment I keep going back to is the scene you get after she saves her parents where she’s clearly distressed. You get a similar version of this if her parents are dead, but if her parents are alive, they show up at the end of the scene when she’s crying because of the guilt she’s feeling toward all that happened to them. The specific moment in that which I obsess over a bit is when Shadowheart apologizes to them and says that they shouldn’t have to see her like this (because they just walked in on her crying). And it’s her mom’s response to that which makes me a little insane

It’s the emphasis on feeling that really gets me, and I think is the most important part here.

Because Shadowheart was apologizing specifically for them seeing her feeling. She was in this moment apologizing for them having to see her crying and in a very vulnerable emotional state over her own personal struggles and the immense amount of guilt she feels over seeing the extent of what was done to her parents, some of which she did. She’s not supposed to feel anything about that, as a Sharran. She’s not supposed to feel at all as a Sharran, good or bad.

But it’s her very visibly feeling something that her mom points out wanting to see. it’s the one word she puts emphasis on, because that alone is proof that Shar doesn’t have a hold on her. If she’s feeling something, even if it’s bad, then Shar isn’t winning and isn’t controlling her. Shar literally had to resort to trying to coax her into wanting nothing more than to be free of feeling in order to get her to behave, after all.

If Shadowheart accepts that she’ll have pain for the rest of her life in order to save her family, Shar doesn’t get anything but the shock collar she already had. And the point of the shock collar was to eventually never use it. Hurting Shadowheart wasn’t what Shar wanted. Shar wanted to eventually stop hurting Shadowheart because that meant she was a good perfect little Selûnite-turned-Sharran who had been properly corrupted. Pain wasn’t the point and was supposed to have an ending if Shar got what she wanted.

So when Shadowheart rejects the loss of the pain, that’s about as close as she can get to telling Shar to go fuck herself. Her plans didn’t work, not even a little. Shadowheart isn’t wiping her slate clean (again) and rejecting feeling things just because they’re painful. She’s reconnecting with the past that they spent 40 years trying to erase and she’s doing it even though it’ll be hurt.

Basically by keeping her parents alive, she’s doing every single thing Shar has spent four decades trying to stop her from doing and giving Shar absolutely nothing in return. Shar gets nothing besides the ability to hurt Shadowheart, which isn’t even something she wanted in the first place.

And proof of this is shown in the epilogue, where if you romance Shadowheart and kept her parents alive, you both point out what Shar hasn’t been triggering the wound much lately. She triggers it a lot and randomly in the end of the game, and it’s clear she’s pissed off, but by the time six months have passed, it’s apparently barely happening. Because pain wasn’t the point and it wasn’t what Shar wanted. The pain was Shar throwing a tantrum because she didn’t get what she wanted. Shadowheart calls it petty in the game and that’s literally what it is. Just pettiness from a god. And it’ll probably happen to some extent for the rest of Shadowheart’s life, yes, but it’s clear that Shar is bored and realizes it’s not going to work. She might try some other ways to get at Shadowheart eventually, but in making that choice, Shadowheart denied her any ounce of power that Shar actually cares about. Even if the pain is there, the fact that it’s there is proof that Shar failed.

#shadowheart #Shar #bg3 #emmeline hallowleaf #arnell hallowleaf #baldur's gate 3 #long post

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mattyriddlesbitch · 1 day ago

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Healer (Chapter Five)

Mattheo Riddle x F!Reader

Warnings: Mentions of blood and fighting, slightly angsty

It was fourth year now. Last year felt like you really made progress with Mattheo. He was opening up more, you caught a few smiles from him. Though, they were mostly at the expense of someone else, but he wasn’t so closed off anymore. He always gladly accepted the sweets you gave him when you came back from Hogsmeade, still never daring to tell you he hated them.

The fights and trouble-making didn’t seem to end, though. In fact, it seemed to get worse at times. He would never tell you about them either, you always had to find out through other people or when you’d see him covered in new injuries.

Today, you were walking to the Great Hall when you found Mattheo bloodied and injured outside in the courtyard, sitting on the ground against the tree. He was hissing in pain as he smoked, but otherwise, showed no indication that he was hurting. Everyone else either didn't notice him, or was too scared to approach him and headed to the Great Hall for dinner. You decided to check on him instead, coming up from beside him.

“What happened?” You asked, standing a few feet away from him.

He looked up at you as he exhaled some smoke. “Got into a fight.” He said simply, almost monotone.

“Are you in pain?” You asked, kneeling in front of him, ignoring the cold of the snow on the ground on your knees.

“What do you think?” He responded in a frustrated tone before sighing, closing his eyes for a moment. “Yes, I am.”

“Let's get you back to your dorm and get you cleaned up.” You said, standing up and offering a hand to help him up.

He looked at your hand for a few seconds before standing up without your help and dropping the cigarette, stepping on it to put it out. He started walking, wincing and leaning a hand on the tree to steady himself. He sighed again and clenched his jaw.

“Here. I got you.” You said, coming up to his side and wrapping an arm around his back to help steady him.

He didn't look happy, but he let you guide him back to his dorm, even if you had to stop a few times.

You finally got to his dorm and guided him over to the connected bathroom, making him sit on the toilet seat. He sat down with a heavy sigh, leaning his head back as you scoured his cabinets for a first-aid kit.

“Under the sink, behind the towels.” He said without looking at you.

You grabbed the first-aid kit and placed it on the counter beside him, grabbing the antiseptic and a cotton pad. “This is gonna sting. I’m sorry.” You said, putting antiseptic on the cotton pad before placing it gently against a cut on his cheek. He let out a wince and you apologized again. “I’m sorry. You know, we wouldn’t have to do this if you didn’t keep getting into fights.” You say with a small sigh, moving onto another cut.

“I know.” He muttered, looking down, refusing to meet your eyes this whole time.

“You’re not gonna stop, though, huh?”

“Probably not.” He shrugged.

“You’re ridiculous, you know that? You’re so stupid. It’s like you’re intentionally getting hurt. What would’ve happened if I didn’t find you?” You’ve never really gotten upset at him, never insulted him, never criticized his choices, and now here you were, ridiculing him.

He finally looked at you, silent for a moment. You were so sure he was upset at you, pulling your hand back from his face as you looked back at him, waiting for him to tell you to get out.

“You don’t have to care about me, you know? I’m aggressive, and a dick. No one really likes me. The boys barely tolerate me. I get into fights what feels like more often than not. You don’t have to take care of me.” He said, looking between your eyes.

“I know. I’m not caring about you or healing you out of obligation. I’m doing this because I want to. Also, those boys do more than tolerate you. You can be a dick, but they all do love you and care about you. You know that, right? And it’s not out of obligation either.” You didn’t look away, having a small staredown with him.

“So you just care about me out of pity or something? You have no reason to care about me. And how would you even know what those guys feel? They could hate me and hide it. They could pity me too because I have no one else but them, so they tolerate me. They could just be tolerating my bullshit.”

“They’re not friends out of pity, Mattheo. They aren’t the type to go out of their way because of pity. If they didn’t like you, you would know it. And I don’t need a reason to care about you. I don’t care about you out of pity. I just care about you.”

He shook his head, looking to the side with a sigh. “That’s such bullshit.”

You took a deep breath through your nose before cupping his face gently to turn his head back to you, making him meet your eyes. “I promise it’s not. I’m telling the truth. I care about you. Those boys care about you. We’re not just tolerating you.”

“How do I know that?” He asked quietly. You could see a hint of sadness behind his eyes.

“You don’t. You just gotta trust us.” You replied just as quietly as him.

“Yeah, trust isn’t exactly something I’m good at.” He let out a huff, pulling his head back from your hands.

“I know. But I mean it. I’m telling the truth. Have I ever lied to you?” You asked, dropping your hands to your sides.

He was quiet for a moment, looking down. “No. No, you haven’t.”

“So trust me then, please?” You asked quietly, crouching down to meet his eyes without touching him.

He sighed softly. “Alright.”

You smiled at him before standing back up. “Let’s finish getting you cleaned up, yeah?”

He just nodded and looked back up at you, letting you clean and bandage his cuts in silence other than his small winces and your quiet apologies.

“How do you feel?” You asked once you were done, packing up the first-aid kit.

“Like hell.” He said, watching you.

“Well, maybe some rest will help fix that.” You said, putting the first-aid kit back in the cabinet.

“Do you wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?” He asked suddenly and you tried getting up quickly, hitting your head on the counter.

“What?” You asked, looking at him as you rubbed the back of your head.

“Do you wanna go to the Yule Ball with me?” He repeated, keeping his normal expression.

“I, uh-” You stood up, looking at him in confusion. “Um, yeah. I’d love to.” You nodded.

“You alright? Didn’t hit your head too hard?” He asked, standing up to look at the back of your head.

“I’m fine. Just a little bump.” You said to reassure him.

“Good.”

“How’s your leg? You were limping earlier.” You asked.

“It’ll be fine before the ball if that’s what you’re asking.” He said, and it was hard to tell if that was a joke or not.

“I mean now. Is it alright?” You asked, frowning slightly as you turned your head to look at him.

You saw the faintest smile on his face. “It’ll be fine in a few days.” He said, turning to leave the bathroom. “Come on. You don’t wanna miss dinner, princess.”

“Two years later and you’re still using that pet name. Are you ever gonna drop it?” You asked with a small smile, following after him.

“Probably not.”

“Fine then. I’m calling you Matty from now on.”

Chapter 4

Taglist:

@jeannie-beannie @mixvchelle @helendeath @evaslytherpuff @leandre2006

@yours-truly-5 @hpnsfwaddict @mayamonroem @brittney-121 @leovaldezsbitch

@dracoslovergirl @littlemadamred @mattheoriddleluvbot @acornacreacure @opheliamalfoy236

@demieyesore @akira1246 @queenshu @prettypinkprincess15

@jolly4holly @st0n3dbarbi3 @kurumbukaari @whydoireadanymore @sweet-afternoon

@ilovehpb0ys @satosugu4-ever @rcailleachcola @mattiesgirl

@alwayslatetothefandoms @satosugu4-ever @whydoireadanymore @dustie-faerie @mcdonaldshelppage

@shaquilles-0atmeal @gillyweeds @pluto-9456 @jooniebluesworld

@hereticdance @cindyss @saint-marvel @atadoddinnit

@simpforromance @yours-truly-5 @kenjikishimotoswifey @fallingblackveils @simpforromance

@strxwberri-s @nickirae @esmerai-artemis @blu3b3rrymuff1ns @m1lilachp

@roseofsharron438 @abeoavita @rafesba @ter-luer @slutsluvpaola

@lhotse8801 @eneywey @suna-rintired @maxsisly @ur-local-wizard

@notavailibles-world @tantrumbaby

#slytherin boys #slytherin boys x reader #mattheo riddle fluff #mattheo riddle x reader #mattheo riddle

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nostalgiclittlespace · 1 day ago

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help idk how to be a caregiver

TW: Brief mention of ABDL and kink

Not to worry, I’ll run you through the basics!

Firstly, Caregiving, put simply, is take care of an age regressor. And taking care of an age regressor just means helping someone who thinks and feels younger than they actually are. While this can seem daunting, especially at first, here are some tips :)

1.Firstly, communication is key. When acting as a Caregiver, you should probably know how, when, and why your Little regresses. Asking your regressor about their individual needs is really the most important thing. There isn’t a cookie cutter answer, as we all have different triggers, tastes, etc. Some good points of discussion are:

What age do they usually regress to?

How often and for how long do they usually regress?

What gear do they use?

When do you need to be present/contactable?

What are good or happy things that can cause regression? What bad things can trigger it?

Are they prone to pure or impure regression?

What things make them happy when regressed?

2. Based on the established needs of your regressor, it might be a good idea to get basic supplies. For example, snacks, sippy cups, stuffed animals, and coloring books. These are necessities, especially if they already have their own gear, though I do recommend them for ease and comfort.

3. Most regressors really just want to be cared for like children. Using nicknames such as ‘kiddo’ or ‘baby,’ helping them with tasks such as cooking, playing toys with them, talking through something scary going for a walk together; it’s all about retaining that child like experience, with you taking the place of a parent or babysitter.

4. Know their interests and hobbies and engage with them. Watching Bluey, having a tea party, reading, gaming, exploring the park—whatever it is. Just doing it with them will make them happy.

5. You might already know this since you’re on my blog, but Caregiving is in no way NSFW. It is entirely SFW. Do not confuse it for any ABDL or kink relationship. Again, you probably know this, but I do feel the need to say it since this will be circulating this side of the internet.

6. Just be there. Listen to them talk excitedly about their day. Tell them you’re proud. Give them a sticker. Remind them you love them. It’s those small things that really mean a lot. 7. Lastly, here are some important things not to do. All of the things listed below can be incredibly damaging or even traumatic

DO NOT:

Say derogatory things like “you’re too old to be acting this way.”

Sexualize their regression

Intentionally trigger them without permission

Weaponize or withhold caregiving and regression, such as “I won’t take care of you if you do this” or “I’m going to tell everyone about this if you don’t listen.”

Disrespect or disregard their opinions because of their headspace

Use corporeal punishment

Generally do/say anything that is unkind or disrespectful!

Ok, that’s all I can think of for now. I might update this as time goes on. And if anyone in the community has anymore suggestions, feel free to add them! And to you personally, anon, thx for taking the time to ask and learn about all this. I know it’s a lot, but just that you’re willing to educate yourself on the community means so much. So thank you! anyway, hope you all are having a great day!

-Marty

#sfw interaction only #sfw agere #sfw regression #age regression caregiver #age regression community #agere little #agere blog #age regressor #agere community #little space #agere caregiver #sfw caregiver #permaregressor #permaregression

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etherealeowyn · 2 days ago

Text

“When you look at me like that my love, I don’t think I could do anything other than give in to you" - Elrond (Rings of Power) x Fem Reader

Y/n reunites with Elrond and explains that she doesn't want to be left behind when he goes on his journeys anymore.

Fluff

Word Count: 817

My requests are always open, so feel free to message me if you have an idea! I'll write for any character from The Lord of the Rings, The Hobbit, or The Rings of Power!

All the trees surrounding the city of Lindon had turned into a series of warm orange and yellow hues. Fortunate were one’s eyes when the autumnal sun danced upon their leaves, for it seemed as if they were sparkling, making the already ethereal location even more stunning.

Y/n’s long blue velvet dress swept across the floor as she walked on the perfectly lain cobblestone path, her footsteps echoing through the open halls. Her eyes flickered from tree to tree, feeling a sense of immense happiness knowing she was once again visiting the place she loved so dearly. Delicately, she held a letter from her love, comforted by the knowledge that she would soon be in his arms.

Her elven ears slightly perked when she heard footsteps growing closer from behind. A small smile tugged at the corner of her lips when she recognized that the steps were familiar, belonging to none other than Elrond.

“My love,” Elrond spoke, his soft voice breaking the near-silent atmosphere of the hall.

Swiftly he spun her around by the waist until her body was delicately pressed up against his. Y/n stood there momentarily, staring into his eyes, taking in all his gorgeous features before saying, “It feels like a lifetime since I last laid eyes on you.”

Elrond laughed slightly before responding, “I agree, a few months feels more like a year when I’m away from you,” making her blush.

“Promise me, you’ll never leave me again. Life is so mundane without you, I practically died of boredom.” Y/n joked, causing the elf to smirk at her.

Tucking a strand of her long hair behind her ear, he said, “I’ll try my best, but you know good and well that I can’t promise something like that,” with a laugh. “Middle Earth always has something in store for me that I cannot prepare for.”

“I can’t argue with that,” she replied, “But maybe Middle Earth will be kind enough to let us make up for the time that we have lost with each other.”

“I can only hope,” Elrond spoke, taking one of his fingers and delicately placing it under Y/n’s chin, before angling her face up so their lips could meet.

“Or…,” she began, wrapping her arms around the elf’s neck, “Perhaps next time I could join you.”

A mix of surprise and concern appeared on his face, this being the first time that Y/n had ever asked to join him on one of his missions. At the same time, he couldn’t help but imagine how much more enjoyable it would be for him if the love of his life accompanied him.

“I certainly wouldn’t mind that, but you must know that most places I travel to are riddled with danger. I’m not sure if I’d be able to keep you safe,” he replied, worry prominent behind his voice.

“Darling, I have immense faith in your abilities to protect me, quite frankly, I feel safer in your arms than here,” she spoke, looking up at Elrond through her eyelashes.

Y/n had grown tired of the long days and even longer nights spent without him in various elven cities, for she never felt at home unless she was by Elrond’s side. She was willing to follow him anywhere if it meant she’d be by his side.

“When you look at me like that my love, I don’t think I could do anything other than give in to you,” he said turning away for a moment to hide the rosy blush creeping onto his face.

“I’m well aware,” she replied taking one of her hands and gently caressing the side of his face, “Does that mean that I could go with you next time?”

“Yes… but on one condition,” Elrond responded grabbing her hand from his face and placing a delicate kiss on it.

“I’d do anything,” Y/n whispered hastily, eagerly wanting to know the condition that he had thought out.

“Would you marry me?” he asked, his grey eyes softening and brimming with pure love.

Y/n’s jaw dropped slightly at his question, before she immediately jumped into Elrond’s arms, letting him spin her around in celebration. When he finally set her down, she gently grabbed both sides of his face and brought his lips to hers, planting a kiss full of pure excitement.

“I’m going to take that as a yes,” Elrond spoke, with a smile pulling at both corners of his mouth.

“It’s absolutely a yes, a thousand times yes!” she exclaimed before the elf pulled a beautiful silver ring from his pocket, adorned with the most stunning moonstone that Y/n had ever seen.

She extended her hand and watched Elrond slide it onto her index finger, immense joy running rampant through her body, making it feel like she was floating.

“I can’t wait for our next journey together,” Elrond softly stated, wrapping his arms around Y/n in a loving hug.

#elrond #elrond x reader #elrond imagine #elrond fanfic #lord of the rings #lord of the rings rings of power #lord of the rings x reader #lord of the rings imagine #lord of the rings the rings of power x reader #lord of the rings the rings of power imagine

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arvandus · 20 hours ago

Text

The Beauty of Broken Things

Barbatos x GN!Reader

Content warnings: SFW; reader with (vague) mental health issues; Reader has self-deprecating thoughts and low self-esteem; hurt/comfort; lots of dialogue; romance; first kiss (cuz I'm a sap 💚)

Author's Note: Not me coming out of hiatus to drop this at 1:20am on a weekday. ANYWAY.... I was going through it a month or so ago and this was very therapeutic and self-indulgent to write. Hopefully you'll find some comfort in it as well. 💚

You creep into the RAD greenhouse under the cover of the Devildom darkness. The warm yellow lights, usually on to allow students to observe and take notes, are turned off for the evening, causing the devildom flora to transform from something familiar to something alien, branches reaching like arms and long, pointed leaves stretched out like grasping fingers.

But despite the sinister threat of danger that is interlaced in the native plant life, it still feels comforting. The gnarled limbs and black leaves feel more protective than threatening, arching over your head to provide a canopy of privacy in the quiet, uninhabited space.

Usually the greenhouse is a bustle of student activity, with botany classes often perusing the aisles with their notebooks and art students lingering with their sketchbooks. But classes had long since ended, the busy chaos of academia ushered away by the sinking of the large Devildom moon, bringing with it night within night.

You need this. You need the silence, the privacy, the darkness. The House of Lamentation doesn’t offer it. The Demon Lord’s castle is also not an option as you don’t want to impose purely for the sake of self-isolation.

No, this is perfect. It is safe, safer than losing yourself in the real forests that press against the outskirts of the Devildom. It is a place for hiding, a place for becoming invisible. It is a place that makes you feel small, from the tightly clustered plants around you to the vast starry sky that slowly rotates high beyond the confines of the glass ceiling. You could almost pretend you’re a bug, an insect, or some other small life form who’s only purpose is to exist in the here and now, moment to moment.

Maybe then you could find peace in your mind; maybe that voice of sickness and lies that whispered louder than any demon would fall silent.

Not all days were this bad. But the added stress, the fatigue.... you knew it was only a matter of time before you found yourself dangerously close to that pitch black rock bottom. You felt it encroaching, a shadow teasing the edges of your mind, and you knew... you knew you had to find somewhere to gather yourself, to work through it without interruption or curious eyes.

This helps. A place of quiet, of privacy, of nature, even if the nature isn’t your own. In its own alien way, it’s perfect.

Perfect, but also lonely. You both love and hate it, glad to be unnoticed for once but vulnerable against the rare isolation. Rare, but not unfamiliar. You sit with it; let it soak into your bones. Like putting on old shoes that still fit, worn soles perfectly conformed to your feet, your mind eases into accepting that familiar ache, a feeling not often experienced anymore, but still deeply rooted in old memories and dreams. The old loneliness hollows you out, slows the blood rushing through your veins as your mind eventually quiets to a low hum of white noise. It brings its own twisted kind of peace; not the healthy kind that heals and rejuvenates, but the broken kind that separates you from yourself, an act of cutting rather than mending.

If you could turn to stone in this moment, you would.

But not even this will last forever, your quiet reverie interrupted by the sound of the door to the greenhouse opening and closing. The sound of the click and the creak of the hinge is startling against the endless quiet, and it makes you jolt. You fight the irrational urge to hide within the surrounding shrubbery, as if such an act would truly hide you at all, and instead curl in on yourself with arms and legs crossed on the stone bench where you sit.

Whoever it is, is as silent as a ghost; you hear no footsteps, nor sounds of breath. Whoever it is does not speak, so you know instantly it is not any of the brothers or even Diavolo. But you feel their presence, and you know they feel yours. There is an awareness in the air that wasn’t present before, the atmosphere going from one of empty quiet, to buzzing consciousness.

A moment later, a familiar pair of polished black shoes come into your field of view, attached to a familiar set of legs that stand formally in a way that only a royal butler could accomplish.

You look up and your eyes meet Barbatos, who stares down at you with a calm, curious expression and a slight tilt of his head. He’s still dressed in his RAD uniform, but his white gloves are removed, likely tucked into the interior chest pocket of his tailcoat.

“MC,” he says gently. “I did not expect you to be here. You do know that the RAD campus is closed, yes?”

“I know,” you reply.

Even so, you make no motion to move, your body still curled within itself protectively. It isn’t so much to protect against him, but to hold onto that feeling of smallness that helps to separate you from the ache in your chest and the cacophony of your mind.

“Why are you here?” you ask.

“Some of the flora require care after school hours, so I tend to them prior to locking up for the evening.”

“Ah.” Your sour mood strips you of your warmth, your words fading away as you retreat back into yourself.

Barbatos stares at you for a moment longer, before gesturing to the bench. “May I?”

You return his stare with your own before moving over just enough to make room for him. The bench is small, comfortable for one, a slight squeeze for two, but he sits nonetheless, seemingly unbothered. The proximity of him is a brand and a blessing, the heat of him surprisingly comforting while your heart thuds harder in your chest. You’re rarely ever this close to him, any prior instances of physical contact occurring out of necessity rather than choice.

You both sit in silence for a long time. You aren’t sure if he is expecting an explanation from you, but you couldn’t give one even if you wanted to, the struggles within yourself too tangled to fully unravel, especially with how weathered you feel.

Finally, after a few minutes, he is the one to break the silence, the smooth richness of his voice breaking the quiet that sits like a bridge between you.

“I often find the Devildom flora more beautiful in the dark.”

It is an olive branch, and you take it, a small smile curling the corners of your lips.

“Me too,” you reply. “It feels more natural this way. When the lights are on, it feels like we’re trying to force the plants and flowers to be something they’re not.”

Barbatos stares at you for a long, quiet moment before returning his gaze ahead of him. “Indeed. Things are more beautiful when they are allowed to be themselves.”

A sentiment you share, and yet it isn’t one you can extend to yourself, and it cuts you.

“I wish that were always true...” you mutter.

It’s a thought whispered past private lips, and you regret them instantly when his keen, green eyes, nearly black in the darkness, flick back to you.

“Why would it not be?” he asks.

You shift uncomfortably and swallow the lump that suddenly manifests where your voice is supposed to be.

“I don’t know...” you finally mutter evasively.

You feel his eyes lingering on you, and it feels as if he can read the dark thoughts that live there, shadow where sunlight should be. But if he can read your mind, he doesn’t say so, and he doesn’t pry further.

Instead, Barbatos does something that you do not expect. His hand covers yours, untangling your fingers from your tightly clasped palms that sit in your lap. His touch is warm, warmer than you thought it’d be, and you can’t help but wonder how different his body really is from yours when it feels so human.

You watch as Barbatos twines his fingers with yours, a simple but shockingly intimate action. It’s surprisingly comforting, fulfilling a longing within you that you didn’t even realize you carried so heavily until just now; an anchor of companionship, unwavering in its simplicity, gentle in its unassuming nature. There’s a lack of expectation in Barbatos’s touch, a quiet acceptance of the here and now, of the you of this moment, rather than the ‘you’ that you always present to others, or the ‘you’ that others expect of you.

It makes something within you surrender. It forces the dissociation from your mind, pulling you instantly back into reality, into your body. Barbatos’s tenderness, given freely without price, carves a space for itself within your chest, and it hurts, the sudden sharpness of vulnerability an open wound. That vulnerability is unfamiliar, raw, terrifying. It calls forth your fears, makes the voices of wrongness sing louder than ever, listing all of the ways you are undeserving of this moment. And you’re angry, angry at their presence, and their ability to ruin even this for you, to taint something peaceful and beautiful with something so ugly.

The tears finally come, blurring your vision and spilling over silently onto your cheeks. More come immediately after, and you sniff, your nose starting to run as you wipe at your face. A handkerchief appears within your view, and you take it, your heart too shy and embarrassed to look at Barbatos properly or even offer him a mumbled thank you. But he shows no discomfort or disdain for your tears or lack of manners. Instead, he sits quietly with you, waiting patiently as he holds your hand securely within his own, his thumb rubbing soothing strokes on the soft skin between your thumb and index finger.

Quietly you cry, and quietly he waits. Each second longer that you cry is a confession of your imperfection, your brokenness, and each second longer that Barbatos stays by your side is an acceptance, a forgiveness. And so, without even speaking to one another, the very act of this shared moment provides a cleansing of your heart that you’d never felt before. Each drop of salty water is a purge, a release. There’s an amusing irony to it; an exorcism of sorts in a place where God isn’t welcome, supported by a creature who’s existence came from darkness.

The catharsis brings release, and the release brings fatigue. The rigidness of your spine gives way to something more pliable, and you lean your head against his shoulder as you continue to weep, albeit gentler now that the worst of it has passed. Barbatos lets you, his thumb barely missing a beat in its strokes against your hand. He makes no effort to increase his physical reassurance; no arm around your shoulder, no leaning of his head against the crown of yours. You’re grateful for it, not quite ready to be touched so completely. Maybe soon... after all, the thought does entice you... but not yet. Not when your heart is still raw and tender.

No, this is perfect. It’s just enough.

Finally, the floodwaters of your heart recede, and you wipe away the last traces of wetness from your cheeks with his silk handkerchief. It’s damp with tears and snot now, and you know you’ll have to wash it before returning it to him. You fiddle with it with your free hand, your thumb tracing along the cursive B that is sewn into its corner with dark thread, the color muted to black in the dark.

Your hands are still intertwined with each other, your head still resting against his shoulder, and you’re grateful for it as you find the courage to finally speak, your eyes still trained on that cursive B.

Your voice is quiet, hushed by hesitancy. “Barbatos...I have a question...”

“Hm?”

“When I die, and my soul leaves my body.... does.... does that mean that the mental illness won’t be there anymore? Does that part get left behind?”

“Ah,” Barbatos says softly, his voice rich with understanding. “I see.”

You sit up, although his hand still holds yours; after all, you haven’t pulled away yet. But your eyes... your eyes are downcast, the shame of your breakdown too heavy regardless of Barbatos’s tenderness.

Now that you’ve finally confessed your fear it becomes easier to speak, and the words come more freely. “I’m just... I’m tired of being this way. Feeling this way, thinking this way. It’s always there, like this big, lurking monster that I can’t escape from. Except it’s a part of me. I don’t know who I am without it. And I’m—” tears choke your words, but you force yourself to continue even as your eyes once again brim and sting. “I’m just so afraid that it’ll never go away. Even when I die, and my soul is separated from this broken fucking body—”

A long, slender finger covers your lips, halting your impending tirade of self-loathing. It forces you to finally look at him, and you’re surprised to see how deep the concern goes within his dark gaze.

“Shh,” he says. “Don’t say such things. It does the richness of all that you are a disservice.”

His words stun you into silence, and you stare at him wide-eyed. He holds your gaze for a moment longer before taking the handkerchief from your clenched fist. You start to protest, embarrassed at the state of it, but he ignores your concerns and uses a relatively clean spot to wipe away your new tears.

You fall silent as he cares for you, and in that silence, he begins to speak.

“You humans so often like to label and categorize things, an attempt at making sense of the world around you when you’re forever doomed to know so little. Lines of comparison drawn on a beach, not realizing that in the end, it’s all made of sand.”

You frown. “I don’t understand.”

“What you’re speaking of is a sickness of the mind, correct?”

“Yes, that’s one way to put it...”

Barbatos takes your palm in his hand and turns it face up. “I’ve heard you humans often use the term ‘mind, body, and soul’ as if they are all separate. Back when I spent time in the human realm, humans treated the soul as synonymous with the heart and the mind as synonymous with the brain, both housed within the body.” With his finger, he draws one large circle, and within it, places two dots vertically spaced from each other.

You stare at your palm as you ponder his words. “Yes,” you say, “that idea still lingers... sort of...”

You take his hand in yours, and draw your own circles – a small, a medium, and a large, all inset within each other like a target.

“I think... I see the soul and mind as synonymous of each other, in way, that they depend on each other. Or...”

You hesitate, your fears surfacing again as you stare at Barbatos’s open palm.

“I think...” you continue slowly, “I think I’m afraid that they’re the same thing. That the soul only exists because of the mind. If that’s true, then if my mind is broken, then so is my soul, and I’ll be carrying that brokenness with me forever. It’s like... trying to forge something using a metal riddled with impurities. The integrity will always be compromised, no matter how beautiful the shape in the end.”

Barbatos’s open hand closes around yours, cradling your fingertips that still rest against his skin. He turns your hand over palm up again.

“Imagine this” – he draws a large circle – “is your body. And this” – he draws a smaller circle within it – “is your mind.”

You wait for the third circle, but it never comes. You frown.

“Where is the soul?”

“Everywhere,” he says.

Your gaze lifts from your open hand to his eyes. He smiles back at you in quiet mirth, then drops his gaze back to your hand. His fingers retrace over the larger circle he’d first drawn into your palm.

“Your soul,” he repeats, “is everywhere.”

Confusion once again surfaces in the contours of your face. Barbatos stares at you for a moment as he searches for the words in a way that you can understand. His eyes sink deep beneath the surface of you, and it makes you shift beneath his gaze. After a moment he blinks, his amusement returning.

“Perhaps it is my choice of words that is unclear,” he says. “Allow me to try again.”

He pokes your forehead with his index finger. “Your mind is not the same as your soul the way you fear. It is simply consciousness, self-awareness provided you by your biology,” he explains.

“You mean my brain.”

“Yes.”

“So my mind is just another part of my body.”

“Precisely. Your body is merely the medium through which you experience this life, whether it’s through your senses, such as sight and touch, or through your consciousness.”

He returns to your hand, his fingers tracing the invisible large circle for a third time.

“Your soul, on the other hand, is a different thing entirely. It isn’t something that can be contained to one organ within you. Not your heart, not your brain. It’s deeper than that, richer,” he says quietly, as if sharing a secret.

His touch travels, his fingertips gliding feather-light across your palm, up your wrist, following the tendons and veins to your forearm where goosebumps begin to awaken across your sensitive skin.

“It’s energy. It’s life,” he continues. “It’s eternal, and it’s woven into every fiber of your being, a golden thread holding you together like the universe’s most exquisite tapestry.”

Your breath catches in your throat as his fingers curve around your forearm until he holds it within his hand, his thumb rubbing gently against the soft skin where your veins rest beneath. His words enrapture you, his touch enthralls you. If there was ever a moment in your life you could stay trapped in forever, it would be this one.

But the moment is short-lived. Barbatos’s soothing touch halts mid-motion, his expression turning blank, as if he suddenly remembers himself and realizes the growing intimacy of the exchange. He withdraws his hand, and it leaves a cold emptiness where his warmth had been.

You ponder his words, but it only leads to more questions.

“My soul is everywhere...” you mutter. “But Barbatos... if it’s woven into my body, then how...?”

“How does your soul pass on after you die?”

You nod.

Barbatos holds his chin in his fingers thoughtfully. “You are thinking too literally. Perhaps it is my own failure to find the right words. Human speech doesn’t offer enough nuance to fully describe something your kind still struggles to understand.”

He ponders a moment longer, his brow knit together in concentration. Finally his head lifts and his gaze meets yours. “Ah. Perhaps we can describe it as such. Your body is made of matter, correct? And if you look deep enough, you know that all matter is made up of atoms. But not even atoms ever completely touch.” He takes your hand in one of his and holds it up, your palm facing him, as he brings his other hand within a hair’s breadth; close enough to feel the heat emanating off of him, but not actually touching. “There’s a negative space, ever present yet so infinitesimal that you’d never know it’s there.” His hand finally touches yours, his fingers aligned with yours as he splays them out. “It is this space that your soul exists, interwoven, encapsulating every atom of what you are.”

You’re staring at your touching hands, wide-eyed now, as you take in what he’s told you. The scope of it feels nearly too vast to properly comprehend, despite how hard you try.

“It’s all very... complicated...” you mutter as you finally lower your hand back to your lap.

“Hm, is it?” Barbatos replies with a curious tilt of his head. “Here then, another example, but simpler. If you were to lose a limb, would it damage your soul?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because they’re separate.”

And finally, it clicks for you.

Barbatos smiles. “Precisely. So, if a lost limb will not damage your soul, then why should a damaged mind?”

The weightlessness of relief begins to spread from the center of your chest, and you release a long, deep breath.

“I see,” you say. “So when I die...”

“When you die, your soul continues on, transformed, as your body decays.”

The balloon of relief breaks and you do a doubletake. “...transformed?”

Barbatos nods. “Yes, by your experiences and choices in this life.”

Once again that despair rears, the dark void opening beneath your feet as you cling to your dwindling hope. You once again wrap your arms around yourself protectively, as if you are the only one who can keep yourself from falling, despite the presence of the demon directly in front of you.

“But... Barbatos,” you protest, “sometimes mental illnesses can cause people to make bad choices. Wrong choices. Hurtful choices. If those can impact the soul, then wouldn’t that mean the soul does get damaged? Or tainted?”

Barbatos falls silent for a long moment, and you avoid looking into his eyes, your gaze downcast. His hand reaches out and covers your forearm reassuringly, but your arms remain crossed.

“As a demon, I cannot attest to how just the Celestial Realm’s rules are. I, for one, find them to be rather suffocating and arbitrary, lacking in nuance. But even I would be shocked if such things weren’t taken into consideration when it is time for a soul to be set upon the scales of judgment.”

Scales of judgment... the idea makes you nauseous.

Barbatos’s touch to your forearm is replaced by both of his hands on your arms just below the shoulders. You can tell from the way he moves that he is ducking his head lower in an attempt to catch your avoiding eyes, but you keep yourself hidden lest your tears return.

“MC....” he says softly, “are you worried that you will be judged unfairly when your time comes?”

It takes a moment for you to find your voice, and when you do it’s thicker, heavy under the weight of emotions. “Maybe... or maybe I’m worried I’ll be judged fairly.”

“If you do not go to heaven when your time comes, then the Celestial Realm truly is run by fools.”

His words surprise you, and you finally catch his gaze, amusement beneath a raised, sarcastic brow. Your skin grows hot and you avert your eyes for a different reason, your shoulders lifting slightly in subtle retreat.

“Well,” you continue, “you said yourself that the soul gets transformed during this life. I’ve made some not-so-great choices, so far. I’ve done things I regret; hurt people I’ve loved and even people I didn’t. What if my soul is not as good as I hope?”

Barbatos gives a soft scoff of amusement, his brows pinching up in the center as he stares at you in wry amusement. “My dear, the very idea that your soul is anything but good is quite literally an impossibility.”

Your tension loosens slightly. “How do you know?”

The corner of one side of his mouth quirks up slightly. “Well, to start, I am a demon. And as one of the oldest demons, I have devoured countless souls across my lifetime. If anyone is to be an expert on the quality of a soul it would be me.”

Something about the way he talks so simply about his violence, combined with his intimate kindness, makes you feel lightheaded.

It takes an extra heartbeat for you to find enough air in your lungs to speak. “And, uh...what does a demon such as yourself consider high quality?”

Barbatos stares distantly, and for a moment he feels ancient. When he speaks, his voice seems almost otherworldly, holding a resonance to it that wasn’t there before. “It varies from demon to demon. Some enjoy the flavor of corruption upon a soul, some prefer the sweet, crisp freshness of innocence and purity... but all human souls possess something that ours lack, something that makes us crave. We’re drawn to it, in the way your human realm plants are drawn to sunlight.” He pauses and shakes his head. “No, perhaps that analogy is too mild. It is more how the Devildom’s Succubus’s Kiss lures its victims into its choking vines with the sweet promise of fruit.”

You swallow for a moment, your throat suddenly dry as you stare at your now empty palms where your longing for him sits abandoned.

“You make it sound as if humans are the dangerous ones,” you chide.

A half-hearted attempt at a joke, but Barbatos chuckles nonetheless.

“Yes; perhaps you are.”

You can’t tell in this moment if he’s referring to ‘you’ as in humanity, or ‘you’ as in something far more personal. It only makes the curiosity sharper, honed on the whetstone of your pining.

“And my soul...” you continue, “what do you sense, Barbatos?”

Dread immediately follows your bold and vulnerable question, fearing what he must inevitably see in you. Is Barbatos the type to enjoy the flavor of corruption, to find value in broken things? Or is he more of a purist, always a keen eye for perfection? You fear you already know the answer as you take in his crisp RAD uniform, his perfectly smooth features. Your gaze falls downward, an attempt to hide what you’re sure he already knows.

One heartbeat, two. Then your chin is being tilted up by his thumb and forefinger until your eyes are forced to meet his. There’s a hint of luminescence in them, the green noticeable now where it wasn’t before, pushing against the dark monotone of night that previously washed his irises in near-black. His eyes are searching, seeking, finding, and you can feel the magic, the power that unravels every defense, every barrier. Finally, his gaze settles, the green quiets to a deep, sleeping forest of pine in winter. It’s peaceful; soothing.

If Barbatos’s earlier release of your arm was to provide distance from the growing intimacy between you, then the attempt was in vain. Because now the affection in his gaze is unmistakable, the deep shadowy green cradling you the way his fingers cradle your chin. It weakens you, makes you feel like putty in his touch.

“You glow,” Barbatos whispers, “like sunlight trapped in ripples. It’s blinding, and yet so beautiful I find it impossible to look away. I can feel it in you, emanating like heat from a hearth, and it makes me long for a home I’ve never had.”

The hum of his voice makes you shiver, goosebumps forming across your skin. The adoration in his eyes falters briefly, the lingering green fading to black, giving way to a dark, ancient sorrow.

“I think,” he continues, “it’s a glimpse of what heaven must feel like. A small piece of divinity passed down to you from your ancestor.”

His fingers release your chin, but the vulnerability remains, if not slightly muted due to the distance imposed by the lack of physical contact.

“I am different from Lucifer and his brothers in that I was never an angel. I came into existence exactly as I am, and as such I’ve never known divinity. And yet... despite never knowing it, there is still a strange... hunger for it. It is a peculiar thing to miss something you’ve never known.”

“You... long for Heaven?” you ask him.

Barbatos tilts his head thoughtfully, his gaze absent somewhere past your shoulder. “Not so much Heaven the place. It’s more so the purity, the grace, to feel that sense of wholeness that the divine offers. It’s why we are drawn to human souls. Angels, you see, are far too potent. Too much divinity hurts a demon; it can even kill them. But you... you humans have just enough of both worlds within you to allow us a taste. It can be rather addictive, especially for younger demons who have not yet had enough millennia to control their hunger.”

His pupils dilate in the dark as he refocuses his gaze. His eyes meet yours and linger for a moment before slowly drawing down to your parted lips. “You are a rare case indeed. More potent in your divinity than the average human, but not enough to hurt.”

You quirk a smile at him. “Barbatos, are you saying I’m irresistible?”

It is a joke, one you feel comfortable making because of its ridiculousness. But then he gives you a smile you’ve never seen before that makes your stomach drop and your body awash with heat. There’s a directness in it, a challenge presented in a wry upward turn of the lips and the glint of teeth in the faint starlight.

“Perhaps,” he says.

You try to brush him off with a scoff and break eye contact, feigning interest in the shape of the black leaves that arch over the both of you in the darkness.

“Now you’re just teasing me,” you mutter.

“Oh? You don’t believe me,” he comments. “Perhaps there is more I can do to convince you then.”

Your heartbeat falters, tripped by hope, and you keep your eyes above and around lest you combust right in front of him.

“Convince me?” you question.

You’re attempting to feign indifference, to protect yourself from the inevitable rejection you know is coming, because surely he’s not... he doesn’t mean.... he wouldn’t... that look in his eyes earlier... affection yes, but that can mean anything...

Barbatos takes your chin in his fingers and pulls gently until you have nowhere else to look but directly at him. Your breath catches in your throat as you stare at him, into him. There’s a flicker there, a glow of swirling green, like nebulae trapped within his vastness.

“Indeed,” he whispers, the warmth of his breath upon your parted lips. You realize he’s closer than you anticipated, closer than ever before.

Your lightheadedness is returning, and your genuinely afraid you’ll faint, so you force yourself to keep speaking.

“What kind of convincing?” you ask.

He smiles that smile again, the one that turns your insides molten. “The kind that doesn’t require words, since you seem to doubt them so fervently.”

His thumb draws gently across your lower lip, his half-lidded gaze transfixed. “Would you like to be convinced?” he mutters.

You swallow and answer honestly.

“Yes.”

Barbatos’s eyes return to yours and his lips curl into a soft, genuine smile. He closes what’s left of the distance, his warm lips capturing yours as his fingers release your chin in favor of gently cupping your jawline.

You close your eyes and reciprocate, your hand resting against his chest.

It’s gentle, soft, and for all of his heavy flirting just a moment ago, it is as unassuming as when he’d first held your hand. It washes away the last dredges of worry, calms the ever-present unease that always lingers. The clouds of your mind finally part, even if just for this moment, and for the first time in a long while, you feel feather-light as a peaceful warmth spreads from head to toe to the tips of your fingers.

When your lips part, Barbatos keeps his hand on your cheek and plants a gentle peck to your forehead.

“Now, believe me when I say you are beautiful. Believe me when I say that you are good. And most importantly, believe me when I say that I am always here for you.”

Your choked by emotion, your eyes once again burning, but this time for a different reason entirely.

“Even when I’m being sad and pathetic?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly.

Barbatos puts his forehead against yours as his lips curve into a tender smile.

“Especially then.”

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