#its a miracle i was able to play it at all

[wintercalamity]

Old drawing of my tav from a dumb art meme

[maxellminidisc]

Honestly sucks that I went a good while with my social skills unimpacted by my agoraphobia but its genuinely hitting me NOW. Like it sucks having been someone who, despite preferring my own company most of the time, still found a lot of enjoyment in getting to talk to people every now and then with ease and comfort and this skill acknowledged as a nice part of my personality. Now I'm like genuinely stressed by the idea of anyone talking to me outside my house, talking to strangers on the rare occasion I do leave my house now feels like pulling teeth. Like if you'd told me 5 years back that I'd be here now, terrified of even going to grocery stores to pick up like even one thing I would've never fucking believed you...

[bmpmp3]

recently i decided to start playing a new mobile rhythm game as i wait for sif2 to come out in english and a day later i nearly chopped off the top 4mm of my index finger by accident (blanket knitting incident). is the universe itself trying to stop me.

[ayakinari]

i think i should be allowed to skip tomorrow’s swimming exam. just because

[infizero]

deltarune theme again :3

[gilliebee]

uses my first genie wish to be the guy getting checked into the boards by brick

and my second to be the guy cherishing the fuck outta him and getting a head rustle for his efforts

[vociferans]

oh my god. im gonna be able to play subnautica in genshin <- hasnt watched the video yet

[rinnstars]

impressing you!

itoshi rin attempts to tell you he likes you in questionable ways

itoshi rin x reader : fluff, crack, use of brain rot terms, dti mentioned, super bad ending i’m so sorry idk anymore school got me, not proofread + likes and reblogs are appreciated <3

growing up with itoshi rin with all his personality quirks, you were pretty sure you could expect anything and everything from him - whether that be him showing up at your house at midnight without any warnings, or him wearing your hello kitty pajamas after school for ‘fun’, or even eating frozen cheese straight out of the fridge for breakfast. but nothing could prepare you for what the hell he just asked you.

“what.” one chance for him to take back, or more so one chance for you to regain back your sanity from whatever you just swore to god he asked.

“.. i asked if you’d like to play dress to impress together.. you know because youre always playing it during class.” what the hell.

maybe the world was ending, and you look outside only to now be even more dismayed that the sun is in fact shining, the sky is perfectly blue, and there was no cloud in sight. then maybe this was all a dream after spending the previous night playing games, you pinch yourself and to your horror, you do in fact feel the pain as you nip at your own hand, almost yelping to the oblivious rin sitting beside you. or maybe your eyesight is failing you and you’re seriously deluding yourself that its rin simply after being apart from him for months, you think, removing your glasses and wiping it and nope - that was in fact rin, still wearing a blank face that youre far too used to.

“do you even have a roblox account..” you were 100% sure that whatever horror games you’ve seen him play does not involve roblox and he’s probably more likely to be a discord mod than a roblox player - credited to you friending him on steam and seeing the horror of games he has bought on that app

“.. ill make one now.” and you think maybe blue lock has actually rotted rin’s mind or maybe his friends there has corrupted the rin you once knew.

and instead of spending your math class, you know paying attention and doing the work assigned, there you were at the back row playing dress to impress with itoshi rin attempting his best but clearly not dressing to impress anyone to say the least.

and maybe this is a miracle and an awakening because you were so sure since a little kid that itoshi rin, your best friend in this entire world, do not have any weakness - whether that be in sports (for obvious reasons), in arts (getting an A even though he ‘winged it’), in games (carried you in shooting games and horror games) that maybe you’ve finally discovered his achilles heels that is apparently fashion.. and handling getting humbled by kids on roblox.

“why the hell is this kid calling my outfit skibidi toilet” if anything, in your honest reaction, you’d call me something worst than that looking at the total mess of a outfit he was wearing because why the hell is he wearing two hairs at once that do not merge at all. in fact, you’d be polite to even call whatever he’s just made an outfit in the first place because it looks like he genuinely spun a wheel and picked pieces at random.

even funnier is that you can practically see rin’s ear letting out steam - clearly upset that he’s apparently not winning the top place. if anything, you think its funnier because he doesnt even rage like this playing his competitive shooting game, or when he doesnt get a good grade for his exams, or even when he drops his ice cream when you were little, only when he plays soccer and apparently dress to impress. now maybe with his ego, or whatever he said learnt at blue lock, would be able to let him score a goal (win top place with a good outfit)

however, to his dismay, and to your expectation, he in fact does not win top places, not even top 3, by the end of the hour long math lesson.

and to him, he practically just lost the first tip that bachira told him and as he quotes “if you like someone you’ve got to like have shared interest right?” and clearly and unfortunately he just cannot get into dress to impress in the same way that you just aren’t really interested in football which he completely gets. but now he’s in doubt about his own situation and by that he means the love test percentage thing he was convinced to take by again bachihara - failing at a whooping 15% that he was meant to be your soulmate. but if there’s something he’s good at, its perseverance and he will not give up just because multiple kids in the game called him skibidi toilet

and right now he thinks hes absolutely down bad and he is only proving the allegations that he really has a crush on you when hes spending time after football practice to play dress to impress. even worse, hes looking up online guides on “cheatsheets” to get outfits, entering millions of codes to unlock hidden items, spending the entire night playing this game.

and of course, its at 4:30am when you log in only to find one person playing dress to impress and youre pretty sure this is the equivalant to a sleep paralysis demon as you blink all the sleep away in your eyes to confirm the words in front of you: itoshi rin is playing dress to impress in the middle of the night. more specifically, itoshi rin who preaches about taking care of ones body by sleeping early, eating all three meals, doing yoga every single day is ruining his sleep scheuldue for a roblox game. and as all sleep deprived people do, you send him a message to confirm that its in fact him and not a hacker.

chat

you: r u playing dti or have u not logged out of dti since class 😭😭

rin: playing

you: R U ACTLLY INTO DRESS TO IMPRESS… who r u impressing 🙏🏻🙏🏻

rin: you

and you feel your heart stop - and not because of caffeine, or another realisation that yoive forgotten to do your work right in class or winning a lucky draw from the ice cream you share with rin. but then the realisation hits and youre now instead let down because of course sleep deprived him would say such words that unfortunately made your heart pump because of all the years you’ve known him, you know that whenever he doesnt sleep well, he always becomes a different person, spouting nonsense about everything and anything as all the logic that he’s so used to melts away from his brain. and so you without thinking close your phone and leave itoshi rin on read.

and maybe its even worse that when you wake up, you realise rin sends you the number of stars he’s collected over his overnight grind that’s somehow more than the amount you’ve gathered throughout the weeks of playing dress to impress and even funnier because he’s clearly texting the wrong person.

chat

rin: (1 attachement)

rin: is this a good rank bachiara

rin: should i check if mine n y/n’s soulmate on that love website increased

you: shld be 100%

rin: from 15%?

you: i’m more accurate than it btw r u still on dti

rin: ?

rin: oh ignore

you: no lets play tgt actlly vote me 5* i need to have more stars than u

and you can’t wait to go to math class to play dress to impress with rin at the back of the class (spoiler alert: he won all the rounds somehow) now dating (he gives you five stars)

[rebelfell]

I could tell you this is *really* it, but you’d never believe me… 18+, MDNI 1.7k

older!fem!Harrington!reader x eddie munson

cw: pregnancy/fertility discussions

continued from here, index here

“Did you want one?”

Eddie’s voice barely manages to break through the fog your mind had slipped into.

Tangled up with him in the softness of your sheets, cast in the scarlet glow of your scarf-covered lamp, body shiny with a sheen of sweat and your legs still trembling with the effects of the last few hours, it was a miracle your floaty, dopamine-addled brain had even heard.

“Huh?” you asked, lifting your head the full two inches you were able.

He lifts himself from his place between your thighs, where he’s been the last…twenty minutes? Thirty? It’s hard to say. Time has a tendency to stretch and expand when he’s in this mood. 

When all he wants to do is live down there—not even actively trying to get you off, just letting his tongue glide through your folds and play with your clit. Unhurried and engrossed.

Like he has all the time in the world.

Because at last he does.

It was hardly an ideal time to ask, Eddie knew that. But he hadn’t been able to get the question out of his head since earlier that afternoon. Even now, when he was smack dab in his version of heaven, he couldn’t put off the question he’d been wanting to ask any longer.

So he didn’t.

“Did you want one?” he asks again. And then, when your brow furrowed and your head started to shake in confusion, he adds, “A baby.”

“A…baby?” You repeat it slowly, pushing up on your elbows to look at him.

The doe eyes come out in full force as he looks up at you and nods. Round and open and so, so vulnerable it made your chest ache. Even with all the efforts he’d put into making himself look older—the glasses he’d been wearing more and more often, the beard that he was letting grow in—those eyes always gave it away that deep down he was still that scared, eager little twenty-something puppy come to life.

“Why?” you snicker. “You got a friend who can get one wholesale?”

“No,” he snickers back, smoothing his hand over your stomach. A little higher than where a baby would go, but you don’t tell him that. “I was just wondering if you, you know…wanted one.”

“Eddie, I…” You trail off, not quite sure how to answer. Because you’re slowly but surely starting to realize he’s not joking. With a hard swallow, you ask, “Is this about what you found?”

He doesn’t need to nod for you to know it is.

In the midst of clearing out the closet, making room for him to start bringing his stuff over and slowly move in with you over the last few months of his lease, he’d unearthed something.

It was just a shoe box, something that would typically be totally inconsequential. Something you’d stowed on the top shelf in the far corner the first night you spent in this house. Something that only came out for short intervals during particularly heart wrenching bouts of nostalgia.

You hadn’t labeled or decorated it. Hadn’t put anything on it to indicate just how precious its contents were. Nothing more than a tiny “E” in ballpoint ink on the bottom corner of the lid. 

Small enough to miss easily. But Eddie didn’t.

Inside, he found all his notes from that summer folded back up into triangles. A bottle cap from his favorite beer. A guitar pick he’d left out on the patio table one night you’d sat outside looking at the stars while he strummed “Going to California” on his acoustic. He’d had it stuck in his head for days, ever since you told him how Robert Plant and Jimmy Page wrote it for Joni Mitchell.

All the things you felt compelled to keep without fully understanding why.

Near the top were the more recent additions—the blood-stained rag you’d used to bind his hand the day he helped you move. Then the postcard from Berlin Steve sent you that mentioned his name. The envelope with the foreign postage he’d sent your bear in, a copy of Corroded Coffin’s CD.

And the outer packaging of a pregnancy test.

You hadn’t kept the stick itself. That had struck you as a bit too gross. But the box had lain in your wastebasket for weeks, staring at you from atop a pillow of used tissues and make-up wipes and q-tips and emptied toilet paper rolls. And when it finally came time to empty the basket, you found you couldn’t quite bring yourself to tie off the bag with it still sitting inside. 

So into the shoebox it went.

And when you came back up from downstairs, concerned by the sudden lack of thumping that had been near-constant all day, you found him sitting silently on the bed holding it in his hands.

You assured him it had been a false alarm. That the test was negative and that you promptly got your period just a few days after. That you opted not to tell him because you didn’t want him to worry, as you knew he would. That you knew he would have come running without a second thought. And as much as you wished he was there, you didn’t want to do that to him.

And he could understand all that. He really could.

But it doesn’t make him feel any less guilty that he wasn’t here. That he didn’t have a clue it was happening. And it doesn’t make him wonder any less what might have happened if the result had been different. Would you have told him then? Would you have wanted to keep it? Would you have asked his opinion, even knowing he would support whatever decision you made?

You could see his head was swimming with all these questions, getting lost in the whirlpool of them, and grabbed his face with your hands to pull his eyes to yours. 

Stop it, you told him solidly. You don’t need to feel bad about decisions we never had to make.

And you were right. He knew you were right. He didn’t need to worry about doing the right thing, because he could see it in your eyes that you knew he would have no matter what.

So the package went back in the box and the box went back in the closet. And you spent the rest of the day packing and sorting things into piles—toss, donate, storage—until half (okay, a little less than half) of the closet and drawer space was empty and ready for him.

You figured that was that. He didn’t mention it again or act remotely different as you sorted and talked and cleaned. Or when you finally showered and washed the layers of grime and sweat from your bodies only to crawl into the haven of your bed and fall into that easy and tempered, sort of languid lovemaking you both found you liked just as much as the urgent, desperate, carnivorous, animalistic kind of fucking you were prone to.

It wasn’t until he stopped to ask his question that you realized he was still thinking about it.

“Come up here,” you tell him, tugging loosely on a lock of hair by his ear.

And he does.

He slides up to lay beside you, head nestled in the crook of your neck, his breath fanning across your chest as he nuzzles his face against your chin.

You let your nails skim his back, trying to trace the shapes of tattoos you can’t see but know are there. The broadsword on his spine, the barbed vines that wrapped around his bicep, the D20 above his elbow and the bats beneath it.

“Do you want one?” you ask him after a long moment. Muted and wary.

He doesn’t respond right away, taking a beat to chew on his response. And you feel certain he can hear your heartbeat jump to an uneasy rhythm as you wait for his answer. Because what if he does? What if this is it? The moment you come to a real reason this can’t work—that he has dreamt his whole life of a family only to wind up with the person who can’t give him one?

“Honestly, I don’t know…but I’d love to give you one,” he answers solidly, “if that’s what you want. And I’d love there to be more of you in the world.”

“Ed,” you sigh, “I don’t even know if I can get—”

“What if we tried?” he asks, going on before you can dissuade it. “We don’t have to tell anyone we are, we can just…see if it happens. If it does, it does. And if it doesn’t, then…”

“Then what?” you ask quietly.

He shrugs, the corner of his mouth turning up in a smile. “Then I’d still have you.”

He rolls onto his elbow and looks up to see the tears just starting to burgeon in your eyes. His hand comes up to brush your temple, following the curve of your jaw that is clenched in thought. The touch of his hand seemingly melts all the tension there, almost like magic, and you feel yourself similarly melting—looking back at this man who loves you so deeply and definitively.

Because you would love nothing more than for there to be more of him in the world.

“So, when are we gonna start…seeing,” you asked with a shy smile. “Right now?”

Eddie’s eyes widened, the corners of his mouth twitching he was trying so hard not to break out in a stupid-big, beaming smile.

“Maybe not just yet,” he said, the mirth in his voice shining through.

“No?” you ask, your brows lifting in surprise. “How long are we waiting, then?”

“Well, that all depends…” He ducked back down and returned to nuzzling your neck, lowering his voice to a husky murmur in your ear. “...on when you wanna get married.”

You let out breathy chuckles in between the quick, zealous kisses he began to drop on your skin, the ends of his hair tickling as they brushed the side of your face and fell across your chest.

“Ohh,” you laughed, reaching to lace your fingers with his. “Are you gonna marry me, then?”

Eddie pulled back once more and grinned down at you, the skin around his eyes crinkling his smile was so wide, his expression alight and filled with the purest form of mischief.

“Baby, I thought you’d never ask.”

prev┃

Standin’ on a hill in the mountain of dreams, tellin’ myself it’s not as hard, hard, hard as it seems…

[anemos-orca]

Zhongli's Dragon, Part 3: Helping Hands

◆cw: smut ft dom!zhongli x sub!reader, reader is half dragon, breeding kink (?), size difference, oral (reader recieving), pet name use (good girl), probably more qwq

◆NSFW under "Keep Reading"

◆ Part 1 ◆ Part 2 ◆

series tag: #◆zhongli's dragon

◆◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◇◆

You whimpered into Zhongli's addictive touch, your claws wrapping around his shoulders and taking a firm hold on his incredibly fancy robes as he laid kiss upon kiss along the length of your neck, hands squeezing and massaging the plush of your inner thighs. You wanted more, you needed more, and you knew that he needed it too.

The way his hands were twice the size of yours, the way his muscular frame pushed your body around with ease, the way his pupils blew out in a fit of animalistic lust- everything he did, everything about him only aided the hot and heavy atmostphere of his once dignified office.

Pulling back, he graced his long, masculine fingers along the soft skin of your sides as he pulled your silken blouse over your head, followed by your pretty little white bra. Your gleaming eyes met for only a moment before he dove back into your neck, kissing and suckling as though you were made of pure candy, while your own fingers dove under the hem of your pants to pull them off, earning a chuckle out of Zhongli, "So eager now, hmm?" he cooed, his voice so seductively smooth that it felt as though it were putting you into a trance. His firm kisses pushed you down to lay on your back and relax as they migrated from your now bruised neck down to your chest, turning from gentle pecks to ravenous licks and suckles as he took your breast into his mouth and returned his hands to your thighs. One of your hands seemed to have a mind of its own, releasing the grip on his clothed shoulder to tangle into his silky, dark locks. He hummed, seemingly amused by your greedy actions, and peered up to meet your eyes once again. They almost pierced through you, his burning orange gaze struck a sense of awareness of just how lucky you felt to have someone like Zhongli, Rex Lapis, Morax, the Geo Archon, in your life, no matter what name he may go by.

His hands began to grow closer and closer to the sopping wetness between your sensitive legs, albeit teasingly slow, before his middle and ring finger played at your folds, snaking their way between them to grace your clit. A harsh moan erupted from your throat and your grasp on the robes adorning his shoulders turned dangerously tight, nearly to the point of ripping them due to your claws. Letting go of your now hardened nipple from his mouth, he sat up, making you whimper as his hands vacated your body, "Tsk, tsk. We can not have those pretty claws of yours ripping my robes to shreds, now can we? What would i wear then?" he said, a sly grin crossing his face. You knew it was just an excuse for him to finally take off his clothes, though it wasnt something you were against. In fact, the sudden overwhelming desire to see his fully unclothed body over yours nearly shot a moan through your teeth. Upon seeing his bare, hardened chest, you could feel your arousal double- no, triple, at least. You didnt know you needed this sight engraved into your brain until now, and you were going to take every chance you got to soak it all in.

Zhongli leaned over you once again, capturing your lips in a passionate kiss before lowering himself to come face-to-face with your pussy. He groaned at the sight, drool pooling in his mouth as the tantalizing aroma of your arousal filled his sensitive, already worked up nose. The fact that he was able to control himself and not pin you down to fuck you senselessly right then and there was nothing short of a miracle.

You blushed harshly, feeling exposed and self-conscious as Zhongli stared at your needy cunt for a moment too long. Whimpering, you peered down to him, unsure if he was regretful of indulging in the moment or starstruck, "Z-Zhongli..? I-is everything oka-" your plea was cut off as with a pathetically loud moan as he suddenly dove into your wetness, his forked tongue pushing deep inside your core to lap up every glistening drop of arousal he could reach. You gasped again and again, cawing his name like a chant and begging him for more between breathless pants. His eyes closed, lost in the heavenly sweetness of your wetness, as his thumb incessantly circled over your clit, pressing and pushing at the exact places you so desperately needed him to as though he could read your mind- though, by the way you bucked and writhed each time he found the right spot, you might as well be speaking your mind loud and clear. Zhongli moaned at the unforgettably delicious taste of your pussy with each attempt he made to puck up more of your spilling juices, the vibrations very quickly sending you teetering on the edge of orgasm.

"T-there, Zhongli, more, m-more..." you begged, bucking your throbbing pussy up to meet his thrusting tongue and tireless fingers as he pleasured you.

Zhongli momentarily lifted his head, eyes half lidded and lower face glistening with the mess youve made of him, so that he could once again take in the sight of your needy, lewd expression. He would never grow tired of it, and each time you graced him with one, it was as though Celestia herself had sent a gift just for him, "Mmhh... Such a good girl..." he said, chuckling lowly as his tongue returned to your aching cunt, "Be a good little dragon and come for me, (y/n)."

That was all it took for you to fall over the edge. You basically screamed his name, your fingers tightening in his hair as you subconsciously pushed his face down into your pussy as you begged him for more, to keep going, to not stop. And he loved it.

Zhongli kept his tongue thrusting in and out of you and his thumb abusing your clit the entire ride through your high, only stopping once your thighs let go of his head and your moans settled to pitiful pants. He rose up from between your legs, hovering over your body on all fours as you lay, vulnerable and exposed, on the floor of his office, "You're lucky that everyone else has already left for the day. Otherwise..." he said, leaning down to whisper against your ear as his strong hand, still wet with your own slick, cupped your cheek, "everyone would have heard those delicious moans and known just how much you love it when your boss eats you out." he teased, causing you to deeply blush. Your hands rose up to his chest, tracing the lines of his collarbone and the muscles adorning his almost inhuman body, as you realized what came next- the main course.

Zhongli noticed the change in expression and gingerly kissed you, your cheek still cupped in his hand, before ever so slightly lowering his hips to grind his hardened cock against your folds.

"It has taken a lot of self-restraint to not pin you to the floor and breed you until you are nothing but a whimpering mess, but once i start fucking you, i dont think i will be able to hold back any longer."

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a/n: Ah i am so sorry this took so long to write ( •̯́ ^ •̯̀) i hope it is enjoyable to make up for it at least qwq

[adviceformefromme]

How to re-programme your subconscious mind…(tried and tested)

When the retreats don’t seem to have a lasting effect, you’ve done therapy, prayed, been to see healers, meditated… but for the life of you, stilllll have wounds so deep that they might appear to be resolved but the moment you meet someone who is wow you suddenly feel unworthy. Maybe not even suddenly, but your relationship wounds are running deep. Relationships trigger you. You end up feeling the same 90% of the time. Unlovable, unwanted, and rejected. The key to remember is that it started with you. With the mind, with your thinking. At whatever point in your childhood (or even later) you took on the belief that you're not worthy, your needs were not met. You took on behaviours that play out still to this day. Maybe it was hiding yourself, maybe it was lashing out? Whatever it is, the same way it started with you, with your thinking, with your processing of events. Is the same way you heal your self. Here are some steps: 

1] Forgiveness. Forgiveness is going to free you from your past. Write a list of all the people and situations that caused you pain from your earliest memory to this very day. Whatever pains are etched in your mind, write them down. Once your list is collated, start going through each scenario, sending love and forgiveness to yourself and whoever was involved. Imagine yourself as a loving carer healing the parts of you that were vulnerable, hurt and not safe. Visualise giving yourself love in each scenario. Creating peace. Once you’ve been through a scenario and feel truly at peace with the situation scribble it out and once you are completely done with the papers you can burn them and set yourself free. (this process can take weeks / months depending how long your list is but it's not to be rushed).

2] Whatever is still lingering, use your journal to clear this out. For example, if I asked you right now if the man of your dreams was to appear.. would you feel worthy? Right now as your are? It might not be a man, it might be a job, a salary. Whatever it is, start challenging your old beliefs. You might not feel pretty enough, you might not feel like you are deserving… whatever it is start questioning old ideas you have about yourself. Challenge them..

3] This is the most important step… Once you’ve done the above. You’ll start to see some themes, maybe in your forgiveness list you realised your voice didn’t matter as a child, and that you were silenced, and that you hid yourself as a way to feel safe…whatever you uncover. 

3.1 - You are going to write a script, in simple terms - something a child would understand and make sense of and you’re going to write out new beliefs to re-programme your mind. Example ‘I am willing to forgive those who hurt me, I am willing to forgive myself for the hurt I went through, I am no longer hiding myself from the world, I am choosing to be seen , to be celebrated, I am allowing my voice to be heard, my true voice, I matter’ - you want to cover all basis. Every old belief about not being enough, you need to re-write.

3.2 - Record yourself on your phone in a very slow peaceful loving tone reading your script. 

3.3 - You need to listen to this recording every single night for at least 1-4 weeks. (It’s usually 21 days, but I did a recording for 1 week on feeling safe and I felt truly healed as if it was a miracle). I was able to LOOP the recording using Mac...I sent the voice recording from my iPhone to my MacBook using airdrop and then opened the sound file in iTunes and pressed repeat. This allowed a short recording to loop all night as I slept. It’s really important to play this on a loop as you want to IMPRESS your subconscious mind with the new beliefs. It’s your own voice, its your own re-wiring. 

I hope this helps! The deeper healing work is crucial if you really want to remove those old wounds that seem to be stuck and not budging!

[utterlyotterlyx]

A Ballad of Storm and Shadow

Azriel x F!Reader

Part Five

Summary - Rhys had been content in taking the darkest secret of his family to the grave, but when the threat of Hybern increases, he has no choice but to send a message to another world and pray to the Mother that his call is answered.

Warnings - some fluff, flirtation, mentions of blood and gore

Part One Part Two Part Three Part Four

This is a crossover series, some aspects will differ from that in the books. Physical attributes are described in this fic, it is essential to the storyline of the character

Azriel hadn't been able to keep his eyes off of y/n despite Elain's incessant chirping about the gardens and her desire to venture into the city for more seeds.

The training grounds weren't usually so busy, but that morning it turned out that Nesta and Mor had begged y/n to spar with them, and she couldn't exactly say no, not when they had established bonds at dinner the evening before.

So there Azriel sat at the edge of the ring, watching y/n move like a phantom breeze and swing her sword like it was an extension of her soul whilst Elain chattered on beside him. He hadn't minded the sound of her voice, it was a miracle she was even speaking at all considering everything that had happened to her, and he was happy to play a part of her settling but it was clear that Elain believed there was something else between them.

He couldn't help but allow his eyes to drag over y/n's figure, from the curve of her hips in the leathers she donned to the tilt of her gleaming smile. Azriel was bewitched. Just as he caught her loosely braided hair swaying in the breeze and wondering how it would feel between his fingers, a voice pulled him from the image, "Azriel? Are you listening?"

Glancing to his left, Azriel's hazel orbs connected with those of Elain, doe-like and soft, and he felt his trance disperse into the air, allowing the clash of swords to fill his ears, "Sorry, Elain. What did you say?"

The pink of her skirt dusted against the dirt of the training grounds, her hair bristling in the unobstructed breeze, "I asked if you'd like to come into the city with me this afternoon? For the seeds?" Azriel moved his gaze back to y/n and didn't feel bad about it, he was more than happy to watch her train, maybe he would get to go head to head with her at some point as well. "She's beautiful, isn't she?"

Azriel hummed softly in agreement, "Yes, she really is."

"I didn't know that Rhys had a sister. Feyre never mentioned anything."

Frowning slightly, Azriel told her, "Feyre didn't know. No one did. Rhys was prepared to die with the secret, she's only here because he sent her a message, a call for aid. Once the war is over she'll likely return to her world."

Elain examined Azriel's face, the transfixed eyes and softened lips, the lax shoulders and how his shadows were perched upon his shoulders staring at y/n like she was the last blinkering star in existence. She knew better than to get between a look like that, a stare more powerful than one ever given to her. Elain sighed, gathering her journals in her arms, "Maybe another time?"

Without sparing her his eyes, Azriel nodded, rising to his feet and making his way over to the ring where both Nesta and Mor lay on their backs panting whilst y/n stepped over their forms with a smirk, wings stretching and knowing that the two females were done for the day. Y/N approached the weapons rack, settling her sword back on its perch as she felt that familiar cool curl around her arms, smiling downward at the shadows which caressed her skin. "Did you enjoy the show?"

Turning on the balls of her feet, she came face-to-face with Azriel who peered down upon her with wonder, his lips curled upward into a knowing smirk, "It was impressive," he told her with his arms folded over his chest, sparing a glance backward over his shoulder at a groaning Mor who was struggling to stand on her feet without swaying. "I'm just wondering when it will be my turn."

"Your turn?" Y/N took a singular step toward him, her scent becoming entangled with the air he inhaled, infecting his bones straight down to their cores.

"Yes."

The fire in her eyes danced with intrigue, and all Azriel could think of was having her trapped beneath him, his legs pinning her body and hands wrapped around the back of her neck. He could almost picture the sparks of blue in her eyes up close, how they would ebb and flow with the ire of submitting to him.

"We can go now," her voice teased as her chest brushed against his, "If you're ready for me that is."

A soft breeze swept over her face, causing the shorter tendrils of hair to stick to her cheeks, and Azriel couldn't stop his marred fingers from reaching out and removing them from her skin, lightly brushing his digits along the contour of her cheekbone and allowing his gaze to roam over her face.

"I'll always be ready for you," his voice held a certain softness to it, like he was speaking to her in the dead of night, hushed so that he wouldn't cause the storm to stir.

His touch lingered on her cheek, and up close, Azriel was mesmerised by the hue of y/n's eyes. They weren't just violet, they were a myriad of purple and storm grey, with the smallest speckles of blue which caused them to appear alight, and her limbal ring was a shade of deep onyx which just gave Azriel one more reason to be completely consumed by her.

Y/N went to speak, to open her perfectly sculpted lips and say something, but the words were stolen from her throat. In his shadow, she was simply y/n, not a queen or the most formidable warrior Erilea had ever birthed, not the daughter of the Valg or the bringer of the storms; under his eyes, she was just y/n. And she quite liked how that made her feel.

Though, she had wished that she was paying more attention to her surroundings, namely to the set of eyes that were likened to her own now glancing between her and the male who held her cheek in his hand. "Your match will have to wait," Rhys' voice slithered between them, pulling their gazes apart but not their bodies. He held a report in his fingers, his eyes were brimming with concern, "There's an update on Hybern's movements," his eyes moved to his sister, the only one who was truly undetectable and able to do what he so desperately needed, "I need you."

The rage that was written upon Azriel's face was so intense that it made even Rhys feel small.

After his interruption, Rhys had moved the entirety of the Inner Circle indoors, away from any prying eyes and ears, into the main seating area within the House of Wind. It was a comfortable place and the view beyond the arched windows was truly exquisite, even in the daylight when y/n could carve out every section within the mountains where various settlements lay, even the specific place where the pool of starlight resided.

"No." Azriel had snarled at Rhys' request from beside y/n. The Shadowsinger appeared relaxed, but there was molten ash swarming within him, within his eyes and his limbs. "If she were to get hurt then it'll be you that will have to face Aelin and Rowan and tell them why their closest friend, ally, and queen, has been harmed."

It seemed as though only Azriel understood the gravity of what the wrath of Aelin and Rowan would mean for them all, and he knew that with Aelin and Rowan came Lorcan and Aedion, y/n's bloodsworn, and Manon, the latter of which when she was mentioned made Azriel shiver.

Huffing with amusement, y/n rose from her place beside Azriel, finding his protectiveness to be rather alluring, "I can handle Aelin and Rowan," she paced toward the balcony, fixing a pair of leather fingerless gloves to her wrists and ensuring her twin blades were secured against her thighs. Y/N turned to face Azriel who had also risen, wings bristling at his back like they were preparing themselves to shoot off into the sky after her. "One day, you might stop underestimating me."

"I'll use the storms as cover, you'll get the information you need," she told Rhys stoically, opening the large looming balcony doors and stepping into the heightened winds.

Hybern was moving, the threat increasing, but the reports were too vague for Rhys, too conflicting, and he needed someone to report first hand on their movements, size, weaponry, the beasts in their arsenal. Everything. The rest of them were too recognisable, but y/n had the power to disappear whenever she wished, and that was the power that they needed.

"You don't know the continent." Stopping in her place, she turned, finding Azriel at the mouth of the doorway with Rhys stood not that far behind him. "You'll need help navigating the skies and knowing where exactly you are. Let me come with you."

Rhys nor Cassian had ever seen Azriel appear so desperate to be close to someone. From his seat beside Feyre, Cassian tilted his head toward his brother whose hand was outstretched to y/n, and if he could notice the longing glances between them then it must have been extremely obvious to everyone else. He had convinced himself that Mor was lying about was she saw in the training ring that morning, but apparently she was telling the truth.

Cassian had never seen Azriel look so obsessively helpless.

It took her a moment, but y/n nodded, once, and stiffly, before she spoke, "Stay close. You won't survive a lightening strike if it catches you."

The words should have scared him, or at least made him feel slightly wary. But Azriel didn't feel anything other than delight and privilege at the thought of being able to navigate the skies with her, and to be shielded under her power.

Unfurling her wings, Azriel watched in awe as the tips draped over the moon. He could count each feather individually from where he stood, he could etch the curves and membrane to his memory. And with a single beat of those onyx wings that resembled the night sky, y/n soared upward, craning her body in the direction of the wind before allowing it to support her flight.

Azriel wasted no time in joining her.

Three days.

Seventy-two hours.

Four thousand, three hundred and twenty minutes.

That's how long they'd been away for. Spending hours of the night in the wrath of the storms, scouring the lands below their flight for a sign of the Hybern forces. Though it was to no avail.

They'd return to the small cabin they had found at dawn each morning, y/n groaning for a bath and Azriel seeking a moments rest that never found him easily. Azriel had become grumpy, tired of the bristled winds and icy rain that poured down upon him every night thanks to y/n’s storms thundering on to protect them from anything that may be watching from below.

Apparently she was used to such conditions.

It also didn’t help that his rest was confined to the small couch by the entry, his wings ached and there was only a small fire to keep him warm. In those dim moments of discomfort, Azriel wished that he had taken up y/n’s offer to sleep in the bed, to stretch his wings and rest just enough to keep his senses sharp, but he could never take something from her, not when her power was exhausting her to keep them both safe and hidden in the skies.

The nights went by with little conversation, though whatever words were spoken were always light. Despite the importance of their mission, y/n was doing her best to separate the seriousness from it; Azriel had chosen, no, begged to go with her, and she wasn’t about to make the time they spent together full of misery. Though, what y/n did know was that it would be easier for her to find the armies of Hybern on her own. Thanks to Azriel’s need to answer every single one of her questions, y/n was sure that she could navigate the skies on her without issue.

“Az,” y/n called from the doorway of the bathroom where pools of steam swirled along the floor. Azriel craned his head toward her, hazel eyes moving up her bare legs to the towel that was wrapped around her body, allowing his imagination to run wild, “Take the bed,” she told him, nodding toward the plush pillows and sheets that were calling out to him as she adjusted the towel around her chest, the twin mountain tattoos to Rhys’ rippling at her knees.

“You need it more than me,” he told her pointedly, raising an eyebrow at the tapping of her impatient foot again the wooden floor. Even with damp hair and glistening skin, y/n was by far the most mesmerising female he had ever seen, her jaw was so sharp that he was sure it would cut him if he ran a finger along it, her eyes were so bold and hypnotic that they threatened to possess his soul, and he would let them. “Your power has been keeping us safe for three nights now, it needs to recharge.”

Scoffing, y/n folded her arms over her chest, “I don’t think you know how my power works,” she sauntered back into the bathroom, pushing her hair over her shoulder before pushing the door to, but leaving it open by just a crack to allow the bathroom to air out from her obscenely hot bath.

He wished that he could have controlled the urge, he wished that he could just stay put, but the devil chirping in his ear was convincing enough to push him to his feet and slowly move toward the door. Through the crack, he watched as she dropped the towel to her waist and raked her fingers through the lengths of her hair. Azriel watched her skin shimmer in the light of dawn, and saw the curve of her breasts as she moved about, though, that wasn’t what he could focus on. It was the scar trailing from her ear to her tailbone which held his eye, it was angry and scaled, and grey in places, like it was still healing, he kept an eye on it even when her wings rustled at her back, drying themselves from the slick ointments she used which made her smell like his own personal heaven.

Azriel continued to watch as she ran her fingers over her skin, stopping to examine every bump and scar with a frown before tugging a short-sleeved but skintight shirt over her head and reaching for a brush to run it through the wind-induced knots in her drying hair. All Azriel wanted to do was care for her, to run that brush through her hair and place feathering kisses down the length of the healing scar that curled down over her shoulder and spine, but he wouldn’t, instead, Azriel turned away just as y/n reached the unwind the towel from her waist and resumed his position on the chair just before she exited the bathroom altogether.

“Take the bed, Az.” Y/N told him sternly, twirling her hair around her finger and tying it in a low sitting bun, “I’m going to go for a walk anyway, we need more firewood.”

Looking to the once plenitude chunks of wood that were dwindling to almost nothing, Azriel sent her a sidelong glare as she tugged on her shoes, “I’ll go.”

“No you won’t,” she replied, voice cold and demanding, her violet eyes were screaming for a moment of solitude, and despite his objections and the refusals in his ears from his shadows, he stiffly nodded and turned back to the ashen fireplace with a small frown. “I’ll be back soon.”

She left the small cabin quickly, throwing her cape over her shoulders and tugging it closer to her body as she traipsed through the sullen woodland, branches bending under her feet and the wind whipping against her reddened cheeks. All she had to do was get far enough away from Azriel’s earshot to be able to plunge herself into the skies without him realising what she was doing. Part of her felt bad for leaving him behind, but it was clear that he needed to rest, and that the shrill cold and damp of her storms were beginning to weigh him down.

It was a kindness really. In her eyes anyway.

Once she could no longer see the cabin, y/n walked for another fifteen minutes before unfurling her feathered wings and with one beat sent herself soaring upward through the trees. For a moment, she floated there, deciding which direction to go, and she summoned the spirit of the wind to aid her, allowing it to coil in her mind and will her northward toward a set of three mountains that she and Azriel had scoured on the first night.

On approach, they felt different, and y/n flew higher into the clouds to use them as cover as she soared over the clearings and valleys, not wanting to dip any lower in fear that she’d be seen, but she had no choice.

Y/N dipped over the peak of the tallest mountain, the same one she looked at before she went to sleep in the cabin because she thought that it touched the moon, and immediately saw what they had been looking for. The armies swam for miles down the valley, tall wooden cannons stood at the mouth of the woodland, surrounded by tents and fires; the stench of death filtered through into her lungs, and she could feel the power of that damned cauldron not too far away, and she deduced that it had wisely been glamoured. Amongst the tents and soldiers milling about the space, y/n spied winged beasts perched far away from the foot soldiers, probably because they were too terrified to be anywhere near them, and y/n didn’t blame them, their pointed ears and elongated teeth, and their leathery wings were enough to make even her feel queasy. But y/n had fought and survived much worse beasts than the ones stationed below.

Counting the cannons and making mental notes of the sizes and breeds of beasts in the arsenal of the King of Hybern, y/n went to swiftly turn back, to allow the wind to carry her back to the cabin to gather Azriel and then move onward to Rhys.

But the sharp piercing of arrows through her wings stopped her from doing such things, and y/n fell downward through the skies, whatever poison they had dipped the arrowheads in seeping into and weakening her body and powers. The wind flew by her as if trying to slow her fall, and with the last speckle of her power before it dimmed completely, y/n sent out a wave so strong that the air vibrated and hummed just as she hit the ground with a sickening thud.

Groaning, she rolled onto her front, wincing as she counted the four arrows that were embedded into the feathers and membrane of her wings, which made flying to safety impossible. There was no way that Prythian or Hybern would have the knowledge of the poison to slow her unless they knew that she was in their world, somehow, the King of Hybern was wholly aware of her presence, and he had taken steps to ensure that she would at least be slowed enough to be fatally harmed.

Y/N pushed herself shakily to her feet, her fae ears struggling to keep track of the beating of wings approaching her position as they became muffled and her vision hazed. How could she be so stupid? How could she be so unaware of the legion of soldiers and beasts watching her from the peak of the mountain? Queens weren’t meant to be shot down from the skies, especially fae queens who were at one with them.

Retrieving the dagger from the waistband of her briefs, she looked up through the trees, spying the wavering shadows of the winged beasts hovering overhead and willing her wobbling legs into the thickness of the woodland, struggling up the mounds, panting and grunting as she did her best to ignore the spreading poison in her veins that weakened her more each passing moment. The chill coursing up her spine told her that the beasts were closing in, that and their giggles of terror echoing through the forest, making it clear that they were enjoying the hunt and had no wish to kill her, but to only take her back to their master.

The Queen of the Fae continued to run as fast as her legs would allow, relying on her depleting senses to carry her to safety, but it was to no avail.

A body barrelled y/n into a nearby tree, and she felt her ribs crack and splinter underneath her skin at the force of it. Tears prickled her eyes and soft whimpers of frustration fell from her lips, but she wasn’t allowed to clamber to her feet, not when a winged beast drew a scream from her lips as its talons became embedded in her belly, her shriek was loud and shrill, and it sent shockwaves through the earth and air.

“Pretty thing, isn’t she?” A voice as void as death teased, saliva from its fangs dripped onto her skin, searing the surface with its acidity, “Did you truly think that he didn’t know of you? That you wouldn’t come to aid your blood?”

Ripping its talons from her flesh, y/n felt the blood flow from the open wound. The beast curled a razor sharp digit under her chin, lifting her gaze to its face, and its cunning grin made anger swarm inside of her chest.

“How did he know?” Y/N panted, blood continuing to pour from the deep puncture in her abdomen, doing her best to distract the clan of nightmarish creatures for just long enough.

“Your brother isn’t the only one with allies in high places,” the others chuckled, happy to sit back and watch their ring leader torment the poisoned queen at their complete mercy. “Our king wants you alive, but we personally don’t want to see a thing like you live.”

Not a monster like you.

Poison to the earth.

Kin of demons.

Their chants echoed around her, burying themselves into the marrow of her bones.

The beast raised its gnarled hand, a sadistic grin upon its monstrous excuse of a mouth, ready to strike. Ready to take the life of a poisoned queen of a different world.

But it stopped.

Not by its own accord, however.

A blast of dark magic erupted from the east, sending the creature looming over her wailing and clutching at itself whilst it twisted horridly through the air, becoming impaled on a nearby set of branches. Flashes of blue and gold coiled over her hazed vision followed by the dying shrieks of beasts gargling on the blacks of their own blood, and despite the blood coating her lips, y/n couldn’t resist a smile.

Turning her head to the side, she counted three males, two from her world and one not, all fighting, all appearing to her in their own glorious beauties, but they were too enthralled in the taste of battle to notice what was creeping up on them, all too focused on what was going on at the tips of their fingers to observe.

Without thinking, and with using all of the strength she had left, y/n threw herself onto her feet, knife in hand and vision clearing with the last burst of adrenaline that flowed through her veins. Before it could reach Azriel, she hurtled herself onto the back of it, screaming and digging her dagger into its spine over and over. The monster clawed at her legs, shredding the fabric of her pants and slicing her skin like paper. It didn’t stop her, and with one final plunge into the back of its skull, the monster went rigid and fell onto the ground, leaving her stood before the three males that she was far too relieved to see.

Heaving in uneasy breathes, Y/N rested a hand on her hip, knowing that all the three males could look at was the deep wound settled into her stomach that was leaking blood at the tempo of her heartbeat. “Azriel, I’m sure you introduced yourself to Lorcan and Aedion?”

Azriel didn’t say a word, he couldn’t, not when she looked as she did. Pale. Bloody. Weak. Her hair had become loose and stuck to the side of her face, her clothes were saturated in blood and filth, and her wings. Gods. Her wings were impaled with arrows, feathers askew and some littering the ground.

How she was still standing, none of them knew. They all knew that she should be dead.

It was Lorcan who was the first to move, a male that towered over Azriel birthed by death itself, he moved to y/n, catching her swaying body in his large arms. “Tell me you brought Yrene,” y/n pleaded breathlessly, wincing as Lorcan swept her into his arms with little to no effort at all.

“She’s at that shack you’ve been staying in,” Aedion paced across the ground splattered in blood, her own and the creatures that had shot her from the skies, and rested his hand on her cheek, worry laced in the eyes which were twin to Aelin’s.

“Good. That’s good,” her once pristine white teeth were drowning in an ocean of red, it poured from the corners of her lips, and with a stiff nod from Aedion, Lorcan ran faster than anything Azriel had ever seen, leaving him and the blonde haired warrior alone in the clearing.

“If she dies,” Aedion trailed off, already not enjoying the company of the Shadowsinger considering he had allowed his queen to venture in the void on her own, he turned to Azriel, eyes ablaze and disgust snarling on his lips, “We will tear this world apart.”

We. As in Aelin and Rowan, Aedion and Lorcan, and no doubt the thing they called Manon.

A chill ran down Azriel’s spine at the thought, but all he could do was nod and move back to the cabin with Aedion in tow, watching and assessing him. He couldn’t describe the fear he felt when that rush of power startled him awake, nor the pain in his gut that felt like he was being disembowelled, and when Lorcan and Aedion barged into the cabin with a sheepish woman in tow did he realise just what was happening.

Azriel had called for Rhys instantly before they left for her, leaving Yrene behind to set up her supplies with a paling face, like she could smell in the air what was coming her way.

By the time they had made it back to the cabin, the anguish was palpable in the air. Rhys and Lorcan stood leaning against the beams of the door, both looking up from the ground through their lashes once they heard the rustling of leaves and footsteps approaching. From the look on his face, Azriel knew that Rhys was furious, with him or the appearance of Aedion and Lorcan he couldn’t quite tell but he was leaning toward the former.

“How is she?” Aedion stalked ahead, wanting to go into the room, no doubt because of the bond that flowed between him and y/n, but Lorcan stopped him with a firm hand on the shoulder, halting the warrior before he could take one step further.

Rhys’ gaze fell on Azriel and he cocked his head to the side with no emotion in his eyes, “Where were you?”

“I was sleeping.” Lorcan scoffed at the words, he knew that he would never choose to sleep over protecting his queen. “She told me that she was going to get firewood.”

“And you believed her?” Aedion asked, distaste on his tongue and hatred in his eyes.

“I had no reason not to,” Azriel deadpanned, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse of y/n inside, “Will she be alright?”

The observant eye of Lorcan swept over him, noting his desperation, noting his guilt and self-loathing, and he shuffled on his feet, “If anyone can save her then it would be Yrene.”

As if on cue, the door to the cabin opened to give way for Yrene to step outside, and Azriel caught a fleeting glimpse of y/n upon the bed, chest rising and falling with bandages wrapped around her torso and thighs. “She’ll live, but the effects of the poison may last a couple of days,” she sent a pointed glare to Lorcan and Aedion, one of question. “The question is how they got their hands on the only poison that can hurt her, it’s too refined a recipe to live in this world.” Yrene wiped her bloodied hands upon her apron and sighed.

Aedion and Lorcan shared a pointed glance, “Aelin will want her back in Erilea once she hears of this.”

Sighing, Rhys ran a hand over his face, like he knew something that the rest of them didn’t, “Aelin already knows that my sister has been harmed,” his words beckoned the attention of the three males and Yrene, and Rhys’ eyes flickered between all of them, “Aelin is in Velaris. It seems that whatever brought you here did the same for her, and Rowan, and the one you call Manon. And since y/n’s power won’t fully return for a few days, you’re all stuck here.”

Dread settled into Azriel’s gut at the thought of what beating was due to come his way, but he refused to focus on it. He entered the cabin, slowly approaching the bed and drifting his hand over the pallid fingers of y/n, shivering at the cold that settled inside of him.

“I’ll winnow her back. Can you take care of those three?” Rhys appeared at his side, eyes soft as they drank in the corpse of his sister. Rhys moved to her, sliding his hands under her legs and around her back, apologising to her gently at her soundless whimpers.

Once Rhys was done making sure that she was settled and as comfortable as she could be, he stepped backward into the black mists of his power, leaving Azriel alone with three beings he was sure wanted to end his existence.

Authors Note

Sorry this took so long! Life has really been lifing recently 😭

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[cupidbedsy]

𝗰𝗵𝗶𝗰𝗸𝗲𝗻 𝗻𝗼𝗼𝗱𝗹𝗲 𝘀𝗼𝘂𝗽 ; 𝘲𝘩43 ୨୧

➪ summary: after the devastating loss, y/n makes it her mission to make quinn feel better, and the key is her homemade chicken noodle soup

➪ warnings: the canucks round two loss, quinn is sad

➪ word count: 1.1k

➪ file type: fic - reupload

➪ sunny's notes: this one was rough to reread but i still love it in some way. it made me sad reading it again bsfr

© sunflower-lilac42 ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

© cupidbedsy (sunflower-lilac42) ; do not copy, repost, or translate my work and designs on any other website or here

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She tried, she really did. But her boss was relentless, he was not letting her take a day off, not even a few hours. So here she was sitting in her office when her boyfriend was playing in game seven of round two of the Stanley Cup playoffs. 

She knew how nervous he was before the game having called him on her break. She had to calm him down before he left for the arena. Without Brock, she knew this game would be harder than the previous ones.

By some miracle she was able to make it back to their apartment for the third period, it was around 8 when it started. She sat on their couch, still working but mostly watching the TV that splayed the game across it. She felt as if she was sitting on edge the whole time.

As the clock ticked down, she only grew more nervous and anxious, wanting nothing more than for them to at least score a goal. Her knee bounced up and down, her laptop completely abandoned on the other side of the couch. She breathed a small sigh of relief once they got the power play. 

The first goal they scored, she all but jumped off of the couch. Taking a deep breath and clapping her hands, she sat back down and watched the game intently, thanking Connor as much as she could. And then Fil scored too. She smiled a little bit of hope making its way back into her body. 

A lonely tear slid down her face as the final seconds came to an end. She watched as their camera panned to all of their faces and she broke when she saw the look on Quinn’s. He had worked so hard for this, overworked himself until he passed out on the couch. He didn’t deserve this, none of them did. 

She made quick work of making him something to eat, her homemade chicken noodle soup that always seemed to cheer him up. She knew that there was a good chance that he wouldn’t eat it, probably have little to no appetite at all, but if he didn’t, they could heat it up tomorrow. 

When she finished making it, she let it sit on the stove, keeping it warm for when he arrived home. She moved to the couch to continue working, occasionally getting up to stir the pot. 

She didn’t know how long it had been until Quinn got home, she only knew when she heard the door click open and the sound of keys clattering on the counter shook her from her working state. She stood up and walked over to him but halted once she saw him holding his hand up, “I- I’m going to go shower.”

She nodded and reached her hand out to at least give him a reassuring touch but he shied away from it, making his way to their bedroom. She wasn’t sure how much more heartbreak she could take from him. She heard the shower turn on a couple minutes later and she didn’t know what else to do. She went back to work, hoping Quinn would be done soon and come out to at least sit with her. 

Yet, after thirty minutes there was no sign of him. The water had turned off about ten minutes ago so she knew he was at least out of the shower, the bathroom not so much. She set her computer off to the side, making her way into their bedroom. She found him sitting there at the edge of the bed, his hands clutching one of his shirts. She walked over and kneeled behind him on the bed, wrapping her right arm around him and her left hand moved to rub up and down his arm. 

She lightly kissed the side of his cheek and waited for him to say something. He whispered something but she wasn’t sure what he had exactly said. She moved to situate herself so she was sitting more comfortably before leaning in to hear him better, “Hmm?”

“Why does it hurt so much?”

She frowned at his words, her left hand now clutching his left one, “Because that’s your team, Quinny. Because you’re the captain and you feel like you let them down. But I’m going to tell you right now that you are in no way shape or form to blame here.”

He shook his head, trying to move away from her. He was afraid that if she was around him too much he would let her down too, afraid that he had already let her down. Her grip tightened around him causing him to stay in place. Finally, he broke. 

He buried his head into her chest, wrapped his arms around her waist, and sobbed into her chest. She ran her fingers through his hair, occasionally kissing the top of his head. She held in her own tears, not trying to give him another thing to worry about. 

As his tears slowed, he moved his head away and wiped the remnants of them from his cheeks. He locked eyes with her and for the first time that night, he allowed himself to truly relax. She ran another hand through his hair and smiled softly at him, “What’re you thinking about?”

“That I’m really glad I have you.” He reached out to hold her hand, gripping it tightly. 

“And I am really really glad to have you, Quinner. Nothing is ever going to change how proud I am of you. You led this team to the second round of the  playoffs in your first year as captain, you did amazing.” 

He smiled at her which caused her to smile again as well. He hugged her tightly once more before mumbling, “I smelt chicken noodle soup.”

She laughed, “Of course you did. Made it right after the game finished. You want some?”

He nodded and stood up, holding his hand out for her to take. They ate in silence, occasionally looking up to sneak glances at one another. She did the dishes as Quinn made his way back to their room to settle himself into bed. She joined him a few minutes later, clad in one of his sweatshirts and the first pair of pajama pants she found.

She kissed him before snuggling into his side, “I’m so proud of you, Quinny.”

His eyes glassed over a little as he leaned down pressing a kiss to her head, “Thank you.”

𝗩𝗔𝗡𝗖𝗢𝗨𝗩𝗘𝗥 𝗖𝗔𝗡𝗨𝗖𝗞𝗦 𝗠𝗔𝗦𝗧𝗘𝗥𝗟𝗜𝗦𝗧 ୨୧

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[hisunshiine]

—college nights, diner fights | jjk

pairing: waiter!jungkook x waitress!reader au/genre: diner au, e2l, angst, smut, fluff rating: M wc: 9,664 warnings: POV switches (obvious, tho) mentions of domestic abuse and alluded infidelity (parents not pairing), JK's mom has terrible boyfriends and his dad is a petty "Disney" dad, Reader's parents are better but not around often, mentions of Jungkook having to protect his mom from the bad boyfriends, mean teachers, enemiesssssss, triggering middle school memories can be brought up upon reading the banter of middle school JK and reader LOL but also not LOL, swearing, vulgar statements, forced proximity, secret mutual pining, a drunken physical altercation/assault at work (mild), mentions of blood, minor cuts/scrapes, kissing, tattoo tracing SMUT warnings: oral (f receiving), praise an: shoutout to my beta readers @colormepurplex2 @downbad4yoongi @mrsparkjimin18 @peachiilovesot7 for helping me get this thing done in time despite me being on vacation and dragging my feet! thank you all so much for the motivation, for brainstorming, and just all around positive feedback! summary: If you can't stand the heat, get out of the kitchen! You and Jungkook have been enemies for as long as you can remember—elementary school even—and when Seokjin hires him despite knowing this, you have to call a truce during working hours. When an incident at work leads Jungkook, and you, to put things into a different perspective, will the heated diner fights become a passionate college night? Or will it fizzle before it can start?

Bangtanstrology Writing Event hosted by ME of @bangtanwritershq

My Big 3 are: Sun (Member): Gemini- Jungkook, Moon (How They Met): Scorpio- Late Night Diner, Rising (Trope): Libra- Enemies to Lovers

Part 1: Elementary School

Elementary school is supposed to be fun. For you, 11 years old and in the fifth grade, elementary school is perhaps the best time of your life so far. Your dad signed up for career day, and you are excited beyond measure for him to come in and meet with your class to talk about his job.

It’s rare that you get to spend time with your dad, as his job keeps him pretty busy. The fact that he was able to show up today was a miracle in and of itself, but he negotiated presenting first so that he could leave first to get to work. 

“Everyone, please welcome our first parent speaker, Mr. Cha.”

Your classmates applaud as your dad steps forward to the podium in the front center of the classroom and you beam from ear to ear. He looks all spiffy—hair styled well, suit pressed, and shoes shined. 

“Good morning, boys and girls, I am Mr. Cha, and I am here to speak to you about my career. To be honest, I have two jobs,” he pauses as the kids, including you, look at him in both awe and confusion, “I am the father to that little girl right there,” he points to you and you giggle. “That is a full time job all on its own, but for the other time spent working, I am a plastic surgeon.”

You can’t help the pride you feel from your classmates clapping as your dad shares. He talks about the schooling needed to get to his position, shares study tips for the transition to middle and high school, which—while still some time away—will be good to begin practicing even now. 

“You’re so handsome, Mr. Cha! Have you ever had any work done yourself?” one of the students asks during the question time.

“Ah, great question! I have tried some of the treatments that we offer at my clinic, because if I don’t believe in it, why should others have faith in me and the services I offer?” he explains. “I had a colleague of mine fix my deviated nose bridge, which I injured playing basketball in college, and I maintain my skin with various anti-aging treatments as well. It’s important to start taking care of your skin even at this age! Princess, come help me please.” Your dad gestures to you, and you rise from the chair, only a little embarrassed at him using your nickname. “Help me pass these out to your classmates.”

You begin walking around the room, placing the small cardstock printouts on each of your classmates’ desks as your dad continues speaking.

“These are coupons for my office. You can give these to a family member, or if your parents will allow you to come in, we offer a free consultation to check your skin, and a reduced rate for any skin care products or procedures for any of my princess’s classmates and their family.” He wraps up his presentation there, pulling you into him for a side hug as he smiles at your classmates and the other parents waiting in the wings to present. “Thank you for letting me present, I’ve got to run because I have a rhinoplasty scheduled today, and I need to prepare, but I had a lot of fun talking with you all today!” As your dad kisses your forehead, he whispers a quick goodbye as he leaves your classroom. You’ve never felt so proud.

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“Okay, everyone, let’s line up for P.E.,” Ms. Kim directs, and you jump in line with your peers to walk down to the field. Your classroom teacher disappears for his break as Ms. Kim takes over, and thus ensues a battle between your class as you play ‘Capture the Flag’. 

“The rules are simple,” Ms. Kim explains, “a ball is placed on each side of the field in that box.” She points at the four cones creating a safe zone with a kickball inside of it. “Once the game begins, players have to cross the midline into ‘enemy’ territory to try and capture the ball and bring it back to their side. The other team has to stop you from stealing the ball by pulling the flags to remove your waistband—no tackling! Understand?”

“Yes, Ms. Kim!” 

“Good. If your belt is pulled off, you stand off to the side at the cone here, okay? That’s the jail. To rescue your teammates from jail, you have to high five them. You must return to your side before attempting to go after the ball again. Once a player enters the box, they are safe, but they cannot stay in there forever…” 

You tune out Ms. Kim because you already know how to play, and instead busy yourself with wrapping the tan belt around your waist, adjusting the position of the three blue flags hanging from it. The red team moves to their side of the midline, and you stretch your legs idly as you wait for the teacher to blow her whistle. 

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Huffing, you pout as you walk to the jail cone, re-attaching the waistband that your classmate pulled off. He’s put you in jail several times now, almost as if he’s targeting only you during the game. It’s getting a little irritating, since Jeon Jungkook is the fastest boy in the fifth grade, but he’s spending all of his time chasing you instead of helping his team win. Even now, he’s guarding the jail so your best friend can’t come to save you again.

“Dang, JK, you pulled her flag again?” Kim Taehyung snickers loudly as he jogs over to where you’re held captive.

“Can’t let the princess get everything, now can we?” he taunts, a sarcastic tone to his words.

Kim Taehyung, unable to whisper to save his life, leans into Jungkook and asks, “Do you think her dad worked on her face? No way she’s that pretty on her own.”

Your feelings are split between irritated and pleased at the backhanded compliment. 

“She’s not that pretty, it looks more like her dad messed up her face, ‘cause she’s so ugly,” Jungkook counters, and it’s hard to decipher if his cheeks are red from playing or from talking about your looks.

“But, you said last week that she was—”

Ms. Kim’s whistle blows to end the game, and you miss the end of Taehyung’s statement. Walking away from the two fools, you barely get a foot outside of the jail zone when a sharp tug at your waist stops you in your tracks. You look down and see your belt missing, and hear a soft thud a few moments later as it hits the grass in the opposite direction several yards away.

Taehyung is laughing, his large boxy grin behind his hand as Jungkook smirks at you. 

“You lost.”

The two then take off towards where your teacher is collecting the game belts, leaving you to backtrack to get yours.

“What took you so long? Everyone else has already returned to the building. Taking your time  to head back to class is not good sportsmanship.”

“But, Jungkook—”

“No excuses. Hurry up and get inside.”

Jogging back to the building, you get another scolding when you reach the classroom, with your teacher telling you that just because your dad is a surgeon and came for Career Day does not mean you get to behave this way. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Jungkook eats up every second of the scolding, seeming to enjoy the way you wilt as it continues. As you walk back to your seat, you don’t see Jungkook stick out his foot, and you trip loudly as the desks and chairs nearest you clatter and clang as you try to regain your footing.

As the boys snicker at your forced clumsiness, you vow to yourself that Jeon Jungkook is the worst person to exist, and you will hate him for as long as you live. 

Part 2: Middle School

Jungkook’s had a hard week. Chuseok just ended, and he had to spend it with his dad’s family instead of with his mom this year, per their divorce agreement. He’s partially thankful because it allowed him a moment to rest. His hypervigilance with his mom’s new boyfriend is tiring, and his grades are suffering for it. But Jungkook is tired of these men sniffing around for a piece of the ‘supposed’ alimony his mom receives from his dad, because everyone was aware when the CEO of Jeon Industries divorced his wife and married his secretary. Jungkook begged to switch schools, but his parents refused, despite it being reported on several news outlets for a month in sixth grade. 

Eighth grade hasn’t been so bad for him though, no one talks about the divorce anymore, and Jungkook is able to be just Jungkook, known for his athletic abilities and gaming. He was able to guilt his dad into a new gaming computer, since he forgot to take him back to school shopping, and Jungkook is able to help his mom pay the bills each month with the earnings he makes betting on Overwatch. 

So when he returns back home, tired of hearing tales and seeing pictures of the trip to Cancun with the new baby that conveniently interrupted the planned shopping trip, to see his bed holding a Nike box with the shoes Jungkook begged his mom to get at the start of the year, he’s elated. He erupts into shouts and whoops of excitement, running to the kitchen to hug his mom.

“Ouch!” she can’t hide the wince as Jungkook pulls back from the embrace.

“I didn’t even squeeze you that tightly, Mom. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s nothing, you know how clumsy I am, I ran into the dining room table the other night—”

Jungkook doesn’t even think as he reaches for the hem of her shirt, barely lifting it to see an ugly burgundy bruise spreading across her abdomen.

“Mom! Did he do this to you?” Jungkook demands, fury building in his body. 

“N-no, honey, you know how I c-can be,” she stutters through the lie, but they both know the truth. 

“Mom, if he did this because of money, just return the shoes, it’s fine.”

“No. I bought those for you. You deserve them.” His mom is resolute, turning away and adjusting her shirt as she goes back to cooking dinner. “Plus, we broke up. He won’t be back.”

Up in his room, Jungkook readies the shoes for school tomorrow. He has a few nice things, his dad is a CEO after all, but after the divorce, Jungkook chose his mom, and his dad took it personally. His dad didn’t understand, but the choice was clear to Jungkook. His dad had a new wife, but his mom had no one. Jungkook couldn't leave her too. But his dad became spiteful after that, and so Jungkook can’t take most things his dad buys him to his mom’s house, including certain clothes and shoes. 

It’s why he’s so upset about his dad missing back-to-school shopping, because those were usually the only things he was allowed to take to his mom’s, but this year he has nothing new. Not until his mom bought him the Nike Dunks he’s been coveting. Jungkook is happy, proud of his mom for choosing him over the newest boyfriend, and lying in bed, he finally feels like maybe his life isn’t so bad. He hears a knock at the door, and his mom’s tired feet shuffling to answer it.

“Please, Jongyeon-ah, I promise, it won’t happen again.” 

Jungkook rolls over, grabbing his headphones to drown out the sounds of the pleading, good for nothing, weaseling himself back into his mom’s life.

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 “Yo, Jungkook, those dunks are fly!”

Jungkook props his shoes up on the desk next to his in class, showing off the brand-new kicks to Taehyung.

“Yeah, they're limited edition.” Jungkook knows his response is a little douchebag-esque, but he doesn’t care. He’s wanted these shoes for the longest time, and after all of the bullshit he dealt with during Chuseok and now waking up to see that greasy slimeball his mom said she was done with shirtless at the table for breakfast, he just wants to pretend for once that his life is perfect. 

“Take your crusty shoes off my desk,” you scoff. Jungkook ignores you for a few seconds, leaving his feet where he has them propped on your desk. He hates that you called his shoes crusty, knowing that they’re not. They don’t even have a speck of dirt on them! He made sure of that upon his arrival, being overly cautious with each step and wiping away any blemish he perceived to be there.

“Awe, is the princess jealous she doesn’t have the limited edition dunks?” Jungkook can’t pinpoint when this rivalry started, he just knows that for as long as he can remember, the two of you have been enemies. 

“There’s a reason the supply is limited. It’s because they’re ugly and they stopped making them once they realized someone would have to be an idiot to wear them. You sitting here with them just proves this point.” You push his crossed feet off your desk and he lets you, but Jungkook holds you in his glare.

“One day you’ll stop being a hater, drowning in all that Haterade you’ve been drinking,” Jungkook makes a play on words, and his friends ‘ooooh’ and high five at his middle school burn.

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At lunch, Jungkook precariously steps between the seats to avoid damaging his shoes. His shins are starting to hurt from how he’s walking to avoid creasing his sneakers, but it’s worth the pain to him. He’s successfully avoided getting any food on his shoes from the sloppy eaters, and as he makes the last stretch to the door, a loud yell catches him off guard.

“Watch it!”

Nayeon, one of your lackeys, warns everyone as she’s bumped by you and her red sports drink goes flying. Jungkook is stuck between tables, backpacks cluttering the aisle and Nayeon’s body flailing taking up all of the space. It all happens in seconds—a hip check, a flying drink, and the contents now strewn across the floor and Jungkook’s new sneakers and laces now stained a bright red, dripping across the leather and fabric of his brand new, limited edition Nike Dunks. 

“Oh my god, Nayeon, you are so clumsy!”

Jungkook gawps at you, unbelieving, as your annoying voice fills the silence that took over the room only moments before.

“So sorry, Jungkook. Nayeon bumped into me and then she spilled her haterade—I mean Gatorade—all over your new shoes! I hope those weren’t hard to get or anything! I’m sure your CEO daddy can get you a new pair.”

Jungkook storms from the room, seething at your audacity. If you had any idea about his life, would you treat him this way? He wishes you could walk a day in his shoes, maybe you would realize that life outside your perfect, princess bubble is not always sweet, and would think twice before being a bitch to him, but it’s too late for him to change his view of you. You are the devil’s spawn and Jungkook has never hated someone as much as he hates you.

Part 3: High School

Getting into BTS-U should be easy for you, what with your dad being an alumnus, but you don’t want to rely on nepotism. You’ve been working your ass off for good grades all four years of high school, and the final determination of your competency is about to start. Only one student can represent your high school as the Youth of the Year, winning prestige and honor by being granted early admission into any four-year university in the country of their choice without needing CSAT scores. 

The last of the trials, the oral interview, is scheduled for today and as you sit outside the room in the creaky, overly hard chair, your heart pounds. Of course, the final two students competing for this merit would be the two students who despise each other the most in the school, making the competition that much more important to you. 

You cannot lose to fucking Jeon Jungkook.

“We’re ready for you!”

The chipper voice startles you from your thoughts as you steel yourself to go into the final challenge. 

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“Thank you all for your participation in the Youth of the Year program. As you know, the contenders were all very high achieving and will have plenty of options available to you for your future. Do not let not being named deter you from the future awaiting you all. Now, today, we interviewed the two finalists from this wonderful school, and while both were outstanding, one student really opened up and shared a vulnerable side to him that inspired us. He has already begun an incredible journey in his young life, showcasing a will to succeed. Jeon Jungkook, please stand.”

The crowd in the auditorium bursts into applause as you burst into tears. The one good thing about this ceremony is that the finalists do not sit on stage, so in the chaos and celebration, you are able to sneak away to the bathroom. Jeon Jungkook looked so shocked to have been chosen, but you knew that he couldn’t actually be shocked. His mom stood up with him, hugging him with pride, and your parents couldn’t even be bothered to show up for such an important moment. 

You tell yourself it’s not a big deal, that you have done well and will most likely have the same options for college as Jungkook does, but being a Youth of the Year finalist is not the same as being the Youth of the Year. What really hurts you the most is that if the roles were switched, Jungkook’s mom would be there to hug him and tell him he did great and fought hard. If you had been chosen, you still would’ve been alone, but at least the loneliness wouldn’t have hurt as much. 

The judges who interviewed you must think you don’t need the help, that you have everything you could ever want, so why would they choose the spoiled little rich girl? Why would they choose the girl who eats dinner with the maids, who read bedtime stories to herself growing up, the girl who has everything—everything except a family that loves her more than their careers and supports her unfailingly?

Facing the mirror, you reach for your purse and pull out the small makeup pouch so that you can erase any evidence of the sadness you feel today, brimming with the unshed tears of yesterday, and prepare your battle face to go back out there and be cordial as the runner up. Another battle you’ll face alone. 

Part 4: College at BTS-U

“Welcome to Jin’s Diner, have a seat wherever you’d—what the fuck are you doing here?”

The chiming of the door opening caught your ear, so you’d turned to greet the newest customer, except instead of an overly tired trucker or a group of post-clubbing college students, you’re faced with one Jeon Jungkook.

“You kiss your mother with that mouth?” he asks, eyebrow pitched and smirk full of snark.

“No, I kiss your father with this mouth. Now get out.” You go back to wiping down the counters, ignoring the stare of your arch-nemesis as you finish cleaning.

“Now, now, Baby Cakes, let your new coworker into the diner so you can finally get the help you've been asking for.”

You turn to the owner’s son, Kim Seokjin, mouth gaping open in confusion. “Coworker? I thought you read through the notes I made on all of the applicants?”

“Yes, I did, and they were very helpful. He’ll be working nights with you, so show him to the back while I grab a lock for his locker and a uniform.”

“Sir—”

“Now, Cakes.”

Seokjin disappears into the hallway towards his office, and you turn back to Jungkook, who’s standing smugly with his arms crossed watching you.

“Ugh, keep up, small fry.” 

Jungkook’s black boots squeak along the freshly mopped floor as he hustles to catch up with you. The doorway behind the counter opens into the kitchen, where the two line cooks, Hoseok and Yoongi, work diligently. Hoseok is sitting next to the recently delivered products with a clipboard in hand as he counts the items, while Yoongi is wiping down his area before the rush begins. You clear your throat loudly to gather their attention.

“We have a new waiter, his name is Jeon Jungkook, but he shall go by Small Fry, I think.” The smile on your face is devilish, and the two men snicker as they take in the newbie rushing in behind you.

“Wait, why am I ‘Small Fry’?” he asks, only a little out of breath from having to round the counter and catch up to you.

“Because everyone who works here gets called a food nickname, helps with the creeps, especially on nights.”

“I’m Suga,” Yoongi greets, “and this here is Hobi-Honey, but we just call him Hobi for short.”

“And I’m Baby Cakes, as you heard bossman say.”

“What’s your real name again, Small Fry?” Yoongi asks, his platinum hair shining in the fluorescent kitchen lights.

“It’s Jungkook,” he answers, emphasizing his name as he glares at you.

“Hmm, Baby Cakes, I think he might be better suited to Cooky…”

“Isn’t that too close to his name?” you argue, hoping to keep Small Fry, but when you see Hobi shake his head, you know you’ve lost.

“Fine, Cooky it is then! Next new hire will be called Small Fry no matter what!” you concede, waving Jungkook to follow you towards the back of the kitchen.

He trails you quietly as you push a swinging wooden door with a circular window in it and lead him into the employee lounge. Seokjin is whistling to himself as you enter, twirling a metal lock around his finger. You look around the room, surprised at how quickly he had everything ready.

“Great, you met Suga and Hobi then?” he asks, nodding at the door you just entered.

“Yes, I figured it would be best to do that first on the way here.”

“So, Jungkook—”

“He’s Cooky,” you interrupt, but Seokjin just shakes your rudeness off.

“—Cooky, this here’s the lounge. The door you just entered is used while you’re on shift for breaks and such. When you arrive for your shift and leave for the night, it should always be through the door behind me.” He gestures to a purple-handled door. “To the left are the employee cubbies, and to the right, we have the laundry station, small kitchenette, and door to the staff bathroom.” 

You nod at the TV mounted on the wall next to the swinging door. “The remote always stays on this table,” you tap the main table in the room that seats six, “and we typically keep the TV on ESPN, MTV, or my personal favorite, HGTV.”

“Thank you, Cakes. Now, your Jin’s Diner gear stays here, we’ll wash it for you after each shift you work.” Seokjin points to a stacked washer and dryer in the corner. “Just throw it in the wash after your shift each night. We’ll put it back in your cubby for you once dry.”

Jungkook nods, but he looks a bit overwhelmed from all of the information. You take the lead and sit down first hoping he’ll follow you. You know Seokjin talks fast and moves through the employee information even faster, and despite not liking Jeon Jungkook, you need the help on your shift since Mochi quit to focus on his last semester.

You grab a permanent marker and white label from the center of the table, tossing it across to Jungkook with a little more force than necessary.

“We each have a cubby, with a small locker inside. Use this to write your name and then claim an empty spot, and you can also write your name on the tags of your uniform.”

Seokjin grabs plastic-wrapped clothing articles from the cabinet next to the laundry station and approaches the table, too, tossing down the new clothing. 

“Your gear. Shirt, apron, and a ballcap. If you want a visor instead, let me know. Black, khaki, or blue jeans, black non-slip shoes, keep the blingy jewelry at home.”

“Dammit, I was planning to choke him with his chain after the first shift.”

Seokjin levels his gaze at you, and you know you’re pushing your limits with him. 

“I’ll have you follow Baby Cakes around to learn the drill for taking orders, but mostly you’ll be bussing tables tonight. I’ll work on the final processing of your paperwork in the meantime. Cakes, come with me while he changes.”

You follow Seokjin out of the lounge and back towards the office. He opens the door and steps back to allow you to enter first, shutting the door behind him as he follows you into the room.

“You need to tone it down. I know you said that you and he have some bad blood, but we need the help and he’s the best applicant we have.”

“It’s deeper than that, Jinnie, he’s literally been tormenting me since elementary school. We work with heavy-duty machinery and cutlery. You might come in one morning to find that one of us has stabbed the other to death.” You push out your bottom lip and give him your best, roundest, watery puppy eyes. “Is that what you really want?”

“What I want is to have a fully staffed evening shift so that my best girl can stop having bags under her eyes and complaining about her feet hurting every shift.” Seokjin smiles teasingly at you. “Plus, you need a good annual review to get a raise, and training new employees looks good to the owner.”

“Your dad is the owner! You can just tell him to give me a raise!”

“I could…but this is so much more fun. Who knows, he’s kinda hot…maybe you find out that the reason he’s picked on you your whole life is because he has a crush on you.”

“That fallacy is just a way for the patriarchy to continue to push abuse acceptance and the ‘boys will be boys’ agenda.” You cross your arms, but overall you know Seokjin is right. You’ve always prided yourself on being able to adapt well to situations, put a fake smile on when you need to deal with rude customers or your parents missing another monumental event in your life. “But fine. At work, it’ll be a ceasefire. That’s about all I can promise you.”

“I thought you said there would be a ceasefire!” Seokjin yells at you from where you sit in his office. Jungkook is seated next to you, slouching in the chair with his head turned away towards the wall. You can see his jaw clenching every few seconds as Seokjin continues berating you. “Instead, I got a call from a family friend that you two were so busy yelling at each other for not doing your jobs that you effectively stopped doing your job!” 

You huff as you roll your eyes, turning away from Jungkook’s severely hot—no—aggravating jawline, (where did that thought even come from?) to respond to Seokjin.

“That’s not even what happened last night! This idiot decided to fuck with the seating and of course, since the big game is tomorrow, we had a lot of people stop in and it was noisy. I was trying to seat the guests who were being louder and rowdier on one side so that our regulars,” you glare at Jungkook, who’s still refusing to look at either you or Seokjin, “could dine in peace, but when I ran to the back to restock the napkins for the bar top, he seated people himself. He’s not the host. He’s still a newbie! It’s been, what? Three, four months?”

“...Four,” Jungkook mumbles, but you ignore it.

“And so then poor Mrs. Hana ended up dealing with the hooligans who disrupted her meal, and yes, it was when I was trying to explain to him how seating works—”

“I know how seating works, it’s not rocket science!”

“So then why would you mess with the flow of the diner and seat them there?!”

“Because you,” Jungkook finally breaks the stoic act and turns to face you abruptly, so much so you almost visibly jump, “kept seating the large groups in your sections, which meant that you were giving yourself the better tips and leaving me with the geriatrics who barely leave anything!”

“Are you serious? You think I was trying to take tips from you? I hate dealing with the sports crowd! I would have gladly traded with you if you had said something to me, but you were too busy ignoring me when I was trying to talk to you about dividing up the floor—”

“—you talk to me like I’m a child, so of course I was ignoring you, you dolt—”

“—really piss me off, you think I would stoop so low, probably because it’s what you would do—”

“Shut up, both of you!” Seokjin’s eyes have a hardness to them you are not used to seeing. He’s usually laid back, but the stress lines on his face speak to an underlying tension you aren’t aware of. “Look,” he takes a deep breath, rubbing his hand over his eyes briefly, “this can’t happen again. Mrs. Hana could’ve broken her hip slipping on the spilled soda, and her son is debating suing us. My dad is obviously handling this situation, but that means your jobs are on the table. If her son demands it in exchange to avoid a lawsuit, I can’t stop it.”

It settles on you at that moment, how severe this is. You know that the little, old lady regular slipped and fell, but both you and Jungkook rushed over to help her up, comping her meal and walking her outside to sit quietly and assess how she was feeling while waiting for her son to arrive. Not only that, but he didn’t seem mad when he picked her up—just worried about if she was in pain and if she needed to go see a doctor. Apparently, after the shock wore off, his anger set in.

“I’m sorry, Seokjin. It won’t happen again.”

“Get to your shift, I’m sure Nam—I mean Porkchop—is ready to go. Remember, Suga will be late today, the championship game is tonight. So no more ignoring the hooligans and Cooky,” Seokjin gives his leveled glare to Jungkook this time, “Baby Cakes is in charge. I know you’re eager to prove yourself, and you’ve done well so far, but she’s worked the aftermath of championship games before.”

Jungkook stares back at Seokjin, a low humming tension filling the room before he answers with a “Yes, sir.” 

The diner is louder than Jungkook’s ever heard before as he goes around clearing tables now that the game is over. His coworker, Yoongi, did amazing from what he saw on the screen. BTS-U wore their white home jerseys with purple and black lettering, so it was easy to see when number 3 hit the game-winning three-pointer. 

Now, as the same white jersey is stepping into the diner, all of the fans cheer and bang their cups and silverware to congratulate the MBC Cup National University Basketball Championship’s MVP for the win tonight. 

Jungkook looks across the dining area, where he sees you kneeling on the countertop clapping your hands above your head. The uniform dress that you chose for tonight has risen higher up your thigh than normal—probably from the way you climbed up onto the counter—giving Jungkook a pretty good view of the skin leading up to what he’s sure are lace panties. He’s walked in on you changing one too many times to not know your preference. 

He can’t look away from you; something about the sheer energy radiating off of you is magnetic, as if you’re lit from within, and before he knows it, he’s moving closer to you. Jungkook knows he can’t stand you personally, but physically? He’ll never admit this aloud—not since Taehyung almost told you the truth back in elementary school— but you’re the prettiest girl he’s ever seen. 

He doesn’t have much time to ponder your looks as you bring two fingers to your lips and let out a loud wolf whistle, setting you off balance with the action. Luckily he’s already been pulled into your orbit, because he catches you with two strong hands on your waist before you can fall off the counter.

“Thanks, Cooky!” you say, eyes alight and voice pleasant, as if you’ve forgotten who Jungkook is to you, and who you are to him. 

“No problem, Baby Cakes.” Jungkook helps you climb down, and when you bend forward to place your palms on the counter to dismount, he sees his hypothesis on your panties is right. His eyes remain on your ass as you extend a leg to the floor, and despite the trouble the two of you got into before your shift, Jungkook can’t seem to care to remember why he shouldn’t be enjoying the view.

“Congrats, Suga!” Jungkook watches as you launch yourself into Yoongi’s arms, giving him a loud smooch on the cheek.

“Thanks, Cakes, that last shot was for you.” He winks, and Jungkook doesn’t understand why he’s feeling so affected, but he wants to blame it on those panties you unknowingly flashed for the irritation he feels toward his friend for flirting with you. She’s your enemy, Kook, get it the fuck together.

Jungkook stalks away, grabbing his bussing bin and rag so he can clean up the table of the group in line to pay.

🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️🍽️

“Fuck you and your sorry-ass school!” 

Jungkook turns his head to see you standing feet shoulder-width apart with your arms crossed, looking so much like the evil bitch he’s come to know. Only this time, it’s directed towards an EXO-U fan, by the looks of the silver and black shirt he’s sporting.

“Sir, I’m going to have to ask you to leave.”

You command the space well, and had the man been sober, he probably would have listened to you when you gave him the polite option to leave on his own two feet. As luck would have it, the man grew more belligerent with each passing moment, causing Jungkook to run and grab Yoongi from the back to help handle the situation. Jungkook doesn’t like what he’s hearing when he returns to the front.

“You dumb cunt, we don’t have to leave! Come over here, baby, suck my cock like you suck their players, bet that’s why they won, huh? Saw you all over their star player earlier, let me get a piece, bitch.”

Jungkook wants to lunge at the man, but Yoongi beats him to the table, effortlessly grabbing the man by his arm and neck to yank him from his booth seat.

Jungkook gets to his other side, helping the man walk towards the double glass doors as Yoongi mutters menacingly at the patron.

“Best not show your face around here again, if you know what’s good for you. Find another place to eat, and we won’t beat your ass.”

Yoongi lets go of the man once they clear the sidewalk into the parking lot, the man’s friends stumble out behind, but Jungkook shoves the man hard, and he falls to the ground. He feels no remorse for the man; he reminds him too much of the creeps his mom dealt with: stench of alcohol on their breath that grew with each vulgar word that rolled out of their mouths, animosity leeching from their greasy skin—Jungkook needs to wash his hands and splash his face. 

Fleeing inside, he bypasses you cleaning up the mess the rowdy table left behind, unable to hear the words you say clearly enough to decipher them. He knows that it’s almost time to close up and he has a few tasks to do to help speed up the process, but he’ll get to them in a minute. He just needs a minute to shake off this feeling, and then he’ll be okay to do the final cleaning for the evening, and find out what you said.

You’ve always hated dealing with the championship game guests, but always loved being with the crowd because of the thrill and your love for the game. The shift wasn’t terrible work-wise, as Jungkook really pulled his weight throughout the shift, allowing you to be in charge as the hostess and main waitress, filling in where you needed and bussing tables as the guests rotated through the double doors.

And you can’t lie, when you almost lost your balance on the counter, it was kind of hot that he was there to catch you, and help you down safely. With his jawline that can cut glass and his warm hands sitting large on your hips, you were a little sad to have them drop away, but you hid your disappointment in congratulating Suga and then moved on with the shift.

Of course, such a perfectly good shift had to end with a douchebag. To your surprise, when you turn to look to Jungkook for help, he’s already approaching with Suga in tow. And damn your worst enemy if he doesn’t do the second hottest thing of the night, vanquishing the drunkard with the sailor’s mouth from your sight, his foul friends trailing behind. 

You clear off the table, the half-eaten food discarded in the trash and you realize that it needs to be taken out now before the last of the tables are done. Jungkook speed walks past you, so you call out to him, “Cooky, take the trash out, please!”

You finish sweeping under the table, then wipe down the booth’s table as Suga also returns inside, pausing to check on you.

“Everything good, Cakes?”

You nod, placing a hand on your hip as you reflect on the incident. “Yeah, he was a real fuck boy, but you and Cooky saved me just in time.”

“Always…I’m surprised Cooky was so worked up when he called me from the kitchen. Usually you two are at each other’s throats, I would’ve thought he’d enjoy seeing you deal with a rude customer.”

“Well, we did get yelled at earlier by Jin for last night, so we promised to work together and drop whatever rivalry we have during working hours. So maybe that’s it.”

“Mmm…maybe. Well, let me go help Hobi, this last wave will keep us later if I don’t.” Yoongi takes a few steps to round the counter, then calls back out to you, “The trash is about to overflow, Cakes!”

Frowning, you notice that Jungkook has yet to return to take out the trash. Glancing around the room, you see most of the tables are in stages of eating or waiting for their food. They all seem well and distracted with clips from the post-game coverage, so you decide to take out the trash yourself. Maybe the truce between you and Jungkook isn’t as intact as you think. 

Grumbling to yourself, you tie off the bag and lift it from the bin, foot angled to keep the wheels from sliding across the floor from the tug. You eye the replacement black bag, but decide to put it in once you return from the dumpster. 

You hate taking out the trash; you love feminism but some tasks are just made for men. You refuse to use the loud trolley with the janky wheel, so you carry the bag gingerly, resting it down every few steps as you make your way across the sparsely lit back parking lot.

“Well, if it isn’t the bitch who didn’t let me finish my meal.”

You snap your head around, eyes roving for the source of the raspy words, finally landing on the douchebag discharged from the diner only 10 minutes ago.

“We didn’t charge you for it, so I suggest you leave before this turns into a real problem.” You keep your eyes on him, watching as he shifts around on his feet, inching closer to you. You hold your stance, refusing to look weak in case he decides you’d make a good target.

“Maybe if you come suck me off like a good girl, I won’t leave a bad review online about how much of a cunt you’re being. Matter of fact, throw in some pussy, let me fuck you properly and I bet all that attitude will drop. You just need someone to tame you.”

The man lunges for your left arm, his meaty fist closing around your wrist and you pull back to break the contact but he’s strong. You yell out, stumbling back away from the trash bag and he follows, heavy footfalls adding to the sounds of the evening. 

“Let go, you freak!”

You jolt your arm, wrenching it in as many directions as you can to try and relax his grip but he pulls you closer to him until you can smell the ethanol on his breath as he places his other hand forcefully on your shoulder. 

“I said I wanted you on your knees, stupid bitch,” he utters, and reflexively you punch him in his dick. He groans and releases you, hunching over in pain. You make out a figure stepping through the service door, and you call out for help. Attempting to step around the man, you only make it a few steps before you feel the weight of the man bearing down on you again.

“You stupid bitch!”

You try to run, but the man has the back of your dress in his grip so instead, your shoes scrape the asphalt in the same place repeatedly. A loud thwack of flesh on flesh sounds right before you’re released, dropping the short distance to the concrete. Your palms and knees feel the sting of the gravel but the relief of being out of the man’s hold overpowers any lingering pain as you scramble to your feet. 

Behind you, Jungkook is pummeling the man in the face, and you pause for a moment in shock before you rush back to him, grabbing his bicep to stop him from swinging again.

“Cooky, stop, I’m okay! Jungkook!”

He freezes, turning to look at you as if to see if your statement is true, and seeing that you’re serious, he appears to deflate a bit, no longer an attacking watchdog but a protective knight, making sure his charge is unscathed.

“Let’s go.” He gestures for your hand and you place yours in his, letting him guide you away from the groaning sack of trash and the garbage bag on the ground.

The fluorescent lights of the break room are blinding after the darkness of outside. Vaguely you hear Jungkook yelling at the others working, followed by the clattering of kitchen items, but you’re so out of sorts you don’t even realize that Jungkook has maneuvered you into a chair and is gently checking your knees, palms, and arms. He brushes off the remaining dirt from your skin.

“Are you hurt anywhere?”

His voice sounds pained, and this pulls you from your thoughts and back to the present with him. 

“Um, I don’t think so.”

“Where all did he touch you? It might not hurt now, but once the adrenaline dies off, you might feel it.”

“Um, my arm, my shoulder, I can’t…I don’t know.”

“It’s okay, let me check your neck…he grabbed your dress and pulled you, so I wanna make sure it won’t bruise.”

He takes your face in his hands delicately, tilting your head to expose your neck to his view. The proximity has your head spinning, his cologne enveloping you as he leans closer, a hand leaving your cheek to allow a finger to trail across your neckline. You know he’s just checking to make sure that there’s no lingering marks, but you don’t think that the after effects of tonight will be anything anyone can see. He grabs a glass of water for you, and you sit quietly while he tends to the minor cuts on your palms from the jagged gravel in the parking lot. 

Time seems to pass as you’re deep in thought, but you’re not sure how much until Seokjin appears, his purple and white painted face replacing the doe eyes and clenched jaw. He looks frazzled, as if he just left an after-party for the championship and was pulled into work. You realize after a moment that that’s actually what happened, and chuckle at yourself. He says your real name, pulling you out of your laughter.

“I’m so sorry this happened, luckily Jungkook was there. I don’t know what I would've done if something happened to you.” Seokjin pulls you into a hug, and you reciprocate, squeezing him tighter as the feeling of being held feels good. He pulls away sooner than you like, but he continues talking to you about what’s been going on since you’ve been sitting in the employee lounge.

“Look, don’t worry about staying and cleaning up tonight, okay? We’ve got everything under control. Hobi called the cops and Yoongi made sure the guy didn’t flee before they came. He’s in their custody now.”

“What about Jungkook?” you ask, uncharacteristically using his given name.

“He’s giving his statement to the police now. They’ll want to talk to you too, but I can put it off for tonight if you need,” Seokjin offers kindly, but you want to get it over with.

“It’s okay, I’ll speak to them now.”

“If you’re sure. I’ll grab one of the detectives now and they can take your statement, and then I’m sending you home. Jungkook will drive you, okay? You’re still a bit shaky.”

You look down at your hands, seeing the tremble Seokjin is referencing and nod. There’s no use in putting up a fight. All of the men you work with have now proven that you’re safe with them. Seokjin walks over to the door, popping his head out to call for an officer, and he paces quietly as you recount what happened, starting with the attacker growing belligerent in the dining area. Once finished, Seokjin grabs Jungkook from where he’s talking with Yoongi outside the door, ushering him to take your belongings and get you home.

You follow along, compliant, waving goodbye to the others as Jungkook pulls off into the main road back towards campus.

“You live by BTS-U, right?”

“Yeah, at Omelas, next to the train tracks.”

Neither of you speak again until he parks, turning off the engine to his jeep.

“Here, let me help you.” Jungkook grabs your backpack and climbs out of the SUV, coming around to the passenger side door to open it for you. You jump out and lead the way to your first -floor apartment. Unlocking the door, you flip on the lights as you toe off your non-slip work shoes.

“My roommate is out of town visiting her parents this weekend.”

Dumping your purse onto the kitchen counter, you walk further into your home, Jungkook trailing you slowly. He kicks off his shoes, socks shuffling quietly along the carpet as he enters your living room after closing and securing the front door lock. He places your backpack on the couch, and the two of you stand there awkwardly.

“Um, do you want some water or something? I have juice, milk, beer…” you trail off, uncertain.

“Water is fine, thanks.”

You grab a glass from the cupboard, filling it with ice water to return the favor from earlier as you bolster your courage to thank him. You hand him the glass and before you can think too hard, you just start speaking.

“Jungkook, I just wanted to thank you, for coming out there and, you know, saving me. I know we don’t get along much, but you really came through and I appreciate it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, blinking up at you from where he’s sitting on your couch. He takes a long sip from the glass, and he seems uncertain if he wants to speak but does so anyway.

“It was nothing, really.”

“Why, um, why did you help me, I mean—I’m just saying, oh this is coming out wrong—”

“Look, I’ve had a lot of practice dealing with creeps like him. I’ve had to do it plenty for my mom, and I just don’t like to see anyone getting hurt, not even my arch nemesis.” Jungkook tries to joke it off at the end, but his tone reveals so much more to you about what he’s not saying.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t know it was like that for you back in high school.” You sit down next to him, closer than you normally would with your backpack taking up part of the seat, but you don’t mind it. You feel safer being closer to him.

“I mean, why would you know?” he asks, leaning back into the couch and taking another sip. “You have a perfect family, I’m sure nothing like this happened on the weekly at your place.”

“No, but like, my perfect family isn’t what everyone thinks it is, either. My parents didn’t pay attention to me, always busy working and what not. Honestly career day, back in like fifth grade was the only time one of my parents made it to something, and even then, it was so my dad could advertise his business. I felt so sheltered growing up, like I had no life skills. It’s why I work at the diner.”

Jungkook digests your words, understanding blooming through his chest. 

“I get that. It’s funny, I remember that day so well, I was so jealous of you, because your dad showed up for you. I guess our dads are the same though…I think if I had grown up with my parents still together, I would’ve felt like you do. My dad kind of left me behind when he remarried, you know? In a way, that made me less sheltered, because when I was with my mom, I had to grow up fast. I couldn’t always have the nicest things because she couldn’t always afford them.”

“I didn’t realize that you had to split time between them. One of my friends, Jimin? He told me about how your dad wouldn’t let you take things back and forth between houses.”

“Why did he do that?” Jungkook looks a little scandalized, and you’re sure it’s because Jimin is one of his best friends. He’s the one who recommended that he apply to Jin’s Diner in the first place, and how you knew to warn Jin to not hire Jungkook, not that it worked. “I didn’t know you were close with Jimin!”

“We used to work together…you actually replaced him. It’s why we were hiring in the first place. But, he told me that because he was trying to get me to ease up on you one day. I was complaining about something and he was trying to make you more human, I guess.”

Jungkook just nods. You know he probably realizes there’s no reason to be mad, it was all in the past and Jimin was coming from a good place when he revealed that.

“Well, it’s true. My dad is kind of the worst. My mom saved up to get me some Dunks back in middle school because my dad couldn’t be bothered to take me back to school shopping. As if I didn’t grow a foot and 3 shoe sizes.”

“Oh fuck, you know, I’m sorry for making Nayeon spill her drink on your shoes. That was really evil of me.”

“We were like 13? 14? All middle school girls are evil.” Jungkook chuckles. You’re relieved at how gracious he’s being, but a little annoyed. You turn to him to say as much, but he continues to speak. “Honestly, I don’t even know why we went toe to toe like that. We probably would’ve been best friends if we had combined our smarts. You were really great during the Youth of the Year competition. I’m sorry that you didn’t win, I think you deserved to.”

Jungkook is looking back at you now, with his pretty doe eyes, sitting so close to you. You don’t know what to say so you don’t say anything, instead focusing on his star-filled eyes and the way they’re staring into your own. His arm moves slowly, lifting to bring his hand to your face, curling a tendril of hair behind your ear.

“It’s getting pretty late now, I should get home,” he starts, but his eyes speak volumes and it doesn’t seem like he wants to leave just yet. “But there’s still one more thing I need to apologize for.”

Your eyebrows furrow, confused as to what incident it could be when his lips meet yours in a tender kiss, not too forceful but not shy either—just the right amount to let you know this isn’t a mistake. It takes you a few seconds to respond, but when you sense Jungkook about to move away you pull him in closer, keeping his lips where you can access them. It’s not enough though, so throwing caution to the wind, you straddle him as your tongue swipes for entry, pushing him further into the couch as you lean into his fit body. He groans at your boldness, large hands planted firmly on your ass as the kiss deepens. You feel dangerously high, lacking oxygen, but you can’t stop—you don’t want to stop. He’s intoxicating.

His fingers tighten imperceptibly, and you know he, too, is at the end of his air, so you break apart, chest heaving as you stare at his lips, red and plump from the kiss. 

“That was your…apology for? Or you were…apologizing for…kissing me?” you pant, trying to catch your breath.

“Both?” he says with a cute, bunny-like smile, “one, for hating you all these years, and two, for kissing you out of the blue.”

“And if I want you to apologize to me more?” you half-question, half-goad, and Jungkook gives the right answer, leaning into you once more so he can kiss you hard, teeth nipping at your bottom lip before pulling away.

“That’s something I can do.” Jungkook uses his strength to flip you onto your back on the couch, knocking your backpack out of the way and onto the floor. “Is this okay?” He searches your eyes for your consent to his hands on your thighs, fingertips skimming the hem of your dress. 

You nod, and he trails them higher until he’s grasping the band of your panties and sliding them down without haste. You enjoy the commanding presence he takes on, unlike the people you deal with on a daily at work, indecisive with what to order, he knows exactly what he wants, and when Jungkook pushes up your dress and buries his face between your thighs, it takes everything in you not to climax right then. His tongue flits around your clit, teasing you as his hands massage your thighs while keeping them wide for him. 

“Jungkook,” his name is a breathy whisper in the air as your fingers curl around his locks, tightening your grip when he flicks closer to where you need him. “Please.”

You wiggle your hips, searching for more friction from his tongue but he just pulls away, tutting his tongue at you for being bad. You sit up slightly to glare at him.

“Patience, baby.”

Whining, you lay back on the couch with a huff. “This is why we hated each other bac—oh, fuck me,” you finish with a moan as he flattens his tongue across your pussy and stimulates every nerve he can cover. Wrapping his lips around your clit, he begins to suck, gently flicking his tongue every few seconds as he positions two fingers at your dripping center. Delving inside of you, the plunge of his fingers reaches the ache inside of you, causing your legs to tremble as he fine-tunes your body like an instrument. 

“Feels so good, mmph, fuck,” is all you can manage to say as he continues to pump his fingers, the squelching of your walls suctioning them back in with every tug out only making you wetter. Jungkook hums, and the thrumming sensation curls your toes. Arching your back, you tug his hair hard as you mewl loudly from the impending orgasm.

“You can do it, baby, cum for me,” Jungkook praises, “you’re doing so well, squeezing my fingers so tight, watch me.”

When his mouth once again finds its rhythm on your core, it takes just a few seconds of making eye contact with Jungkook, doe-eyes wide as he watches you enjoy his tongue, before you shiver and melt into the euphoria he’s bringing to your body. 

“That’s it, fuck—you look so pretty, baby.”Body spent, you stare up at the ceiling blinking as you come back to earth. Jungkook tucks himself behind you, holding you in his arms. You look down at the arm over your waist, your fingers lightly tracing the tattoos on his exposed full sleeve. You can feel his bulge, know that there’s so much more…apologizing you both need to do after years of being enemies, but you have all night for that. And in the morning, you don’t know what will happen, if there will be more to come after tonight, but what you do know is that at this moment you don’t hate Jungkook; not even a little bit, not even at all.

🍽️🍽️🍽️

© hisunshiine 2023. All rights reserved. 

thank you for reading!!!

[captain-hawks]

Hello hello! I've recently discovered your writing and am going absolutely WILD over it, especially your kn8 fics!!

But I would love to request Kenma Kozume(timeskip) and bathroom/shower with the reader as his roommate and helps him destress after a long day of working for his company and youtubing !!

collaboration

kenma kozume x f!reader

Kenma's nearly content to ignore his accidental discovery of your late night activities...until the sight of you wearing one of his shirts snaps the last remaining fragile threads of his willpower.

wc: 1.1k

c: 18+ only, and they were roommates, streamer!kenma, camgirl!reader, (guilty) masturbation, handjob

SPICY SLEEPOVER WEEKEND — PART V

It’s a miracle, Kenma thinks to himself as he lays one palm flat against the smooth tiles of the shower wall, that he’s lasted this long.

His cock hangs erect and flushed between his legs, precum leaking from the tip, and a satisfying flood of pleasure surges through him when the fingers of his other hand close around its girth.

Eight months he’s lived with you in this two-bedroom apartment, eight months of soft, mumbled ‘good morning’s over coffee and late nights spent watching bad movies and playing video games on the couch. 

You’re his roommate.

You’re his friend.

And he’s spent the last two months trying to forget about his accidental discovery of what exactly you’d fucking meant when you grinned at his streaming set up the first day you moved in, idly commenting that you “stream on occasion, too.” The answer to his question, though incredibly belated, came in the form of your tits on his computer screen late one night as he fervently searched for material to quell the aching need tented in his sweatpants. 

He didn’t realize it was you, not at first. Not until you moved over just enough as you began to finger yourself to reveal a familiar, brightly-colored collage of posters behind your bed. 

Kenma likes to think he’s been a decent roommate—he’s gone to whatever lengths necessary to think of anything but the swell of your perky tits and the sight of the slick arousal staining the inside of your thighs while he’s jerked off in the days since. He even blocked his own access to the website you stream on to avoid any future misclicks driven by selfish temptation and curiosity.

(Kuroo laughed so hard he cried when he told him and proceeded to call him a masochistic idiot.)

He might have even been able to move on past the entire thing unscathed…if he hadn’t stumbled out of his room today after streaming a grueling, infuriating six-hour-long raid to the sight of you bent over in front of the fridge wearing nothing but a t-shirt and pale pink cotton panties.

That still was nearly a recoverable offense, if not for the goddamn fact that the black t-shirt in question was his.

Even now, with his eyes firmly screwed shut as hot water pours down his back, the sight of KODZUKEN written in large, white letters across your shoulders is an insistent, hungry echo against the darkness of his eyelids. 

Just this once—

Kenma lets himself remember the way your tits bounced as you scooted back across your mattress, the shape of your pert nipples, the way your hips arched up off of the bed when you slipped two fingers into your cunt. 

All the blood in his body rushes to his cock. His head drops against the tiles, water sliding down the damp strands of his hair as steam fills the room. His balls ache.

He’s a fucking terrible roommate.

Kenma strokes his cock and bites his fist and wonders if you’d let him come all over your tits. 

(He wonders if you’d wear that shirt while he fucks you.)

He shouldn’t be doing this. He shouldn’t be fucking his fist wishing he was sinking his cock into the tight, wet heat of your cunt. His chest shouldn’t be heaving at the thought of burying his face between your thighs and lapping at your swollen pussy until you’re whimpering from overstimulation.

And suddenly, as disasters often go, a few unfortunate events occur simultaneously—

The bathroom door Kenma left unlocked in the midst of his frustration bursts open.

You loudly announce that you need to brush your teeth quickly.

And Kenma groans your fucking name while he’s pumping his throbbing shaft, the sound easily carrying across the bathroom tiles.

Kenma freezes, and everything goes silent, save for the sound of the running water pouring from the shower head. 

“Don’t stop on my account.”

He gapes, turning to look at the shadow on the other side of the frosted glass of the shower door.

“Can I help?” you continue when he doesn’t respond.

Kenma knows he’s never quite had a way with words, but now he’s well and truly at a fucking loss in this moment. 

“Why?”

Your soft laugh goes straight to his dick. “Because I want to.”

When the shower door slides open partway, you’re still wearing his shirt, and Kenma allows himself a brief moment to freely take in the sight before him. 

“Hope you don’t mind I borrowed this,” you tell him, lips quirking upward in a smile as you tilt your head to the side slightly. “I may have accidentally left something in your drawer to make up for it.”

Kenma blinks, but he doesn’t have time to ponder over what you mean, because a moment later, you’re leaning into the shower just enough to wrap a hand around his shaft. He exhales roughly, taking a step backward, the door of the shower pressing into his shoulder blades as he turns his head to the side to glance at you.

He’s so hard, it hurts.

You run your teeth over your bottom lip as you stroke him, fingers deftly sliding up and down his length, breathy sighs leaving your lips as he gives in to the urge to rock his hips forward into your touch.

“Have you been watching my streams?” you ask him, lips hovering against the shell of his ear.

“Once,” he exhales sharply as your fingers clasp his balls before stroking from his base to his tip, thumb sliding over the precum that continues to steadily leak out.

You smile at him, like you know how fucking hard he’s been trying to maintain some modicum of respect for you as his friend. And then you send all of his good intentions spiraling in to a fucking ditch—

“That’s a shame. Personally, I like watching yours right before I stream.”

He knows beyond a shadow of a doubt that he’s never been this hard in his life, not when your fingers are wrapped around his cock in the shower while openly admitting that you livestream yourself masturbating to him playing video games.

And because you clearly know no mercy, you tack on, for good measure:

“We could collaborate…”

Kenma comes so hard he nearly blacks out, his hips sloppily jerking into the grip of your fist as he slams both hands against the wall and groans, hot, sticky ropes of cum spurting from his cock and painting the gray tiles below.

—

Later, after Kenma finds a lacy, red thong nestled amongst the shirts in his dresser, he doesn’t feel bad at all when he fucks his fist with it wrapped around his cock.

—

And while he’s not quite ready to run the risk of someone on your streaming site recognizing Kodzuken while you’re whimpering and gasping as you ease yourself down into his length, his viewers are none the wiser when you take his dick into your mouth from beneath his keyboard in the middle of his next raid. 

[babushkatty]

Tranquil SAGAU - Part 2

-> Part 1

-> Part 3

"How does it feel like, to fly?" You asked idly, cuddling into Dvalin's feathered, soft back.

"I could show you," is what you got for an answer.

And so here you were, flying over Mondstadt (the country) and being utterly speechless at how little justice the game did to the utter beauty of it all.

Hills of grass and farmlands (it made so much sense for Mondstadt to be a country of agriculture, of farming, how had you not thought of it before?) rolled lazily wherever the eye could see, stretching well over the horizon.

Forests swayed with the wind as Dvalin flied by, lush crowns blending into one another and protecting the animals underneath.

Lakes and rivers cut through the monotony of greens and browns with a brilliant blue, sparkling in the sun like Edward Cullen.

The mountains of Liyue, so small you had the impulse to grab them into your hands despite how far away they were, were like an extension of Mondstadt -- a slow and steady rise from a mere molehill to a towering behemoth overlooking the vast world.

Dragonspine, instead of playing into the beauty of Mondstadt, seemed to go directly against it. Using it to enhance its' own presence, to have your eye stray and appreciate the cold, ethereal mountain of snow and ice instead. It looked deceptively peaceful from so far away - the nearly permament snow storm looking like a translucent garb shrugged elegantly onto white robes of an indifferent jade beauty, whose mere gaze could freeze you to death.

And Mondstadt (the city) looked like a mere speck of dust in the grand scheme of it all.

"How pretty," you couldn't help but say, head swaying to and fro as you enjoy the view and the gentle winds from where you sat, sprawled out like a starfish on the dragon's back.

You kind of saw a pattern there, but you certaintly weren't complaining.

Dvalin huffs a laugh.

"It is only natural, Teyvat was made by the All-Mother. Anything made by their hand is bound to be beautiful."

You laugh, loud and unrestrained and uncaring, because there was no one to scold you for being yourself anymore, "Indirectly complimenting yourself, are you?"

And Dvalin laughs too, a deep rumble of a laugh that has him dipping in altitude for a moment before he rights himself.

It was nice.

"I'm hungry."

"Then we shall land."

.　 . • ☆ . ° . • ° : . * ₊ ° . ☆

While you ate some fruits that a few adorable squirrels offered to you almost as soon as you landed (which made you melt into a puddle of happiness again, because they were so cute it hurt and they let you pet them a few times before they left), Dvalin made himself comfortable and started speaking. He wove stories like a master seamstress --of Teyvat, of Mondstadt, of Barbatos and of his own past--, giving birth to such vivid imaginery that you almost felt like you were there with him while it all happened.

He was a great storyteller.

The years of friendship between him and Venti probably contributed to it, there is only so long you can go without picking up a few things from an insistent friend after all.

"Durin was a pitiful creature. An artificial existence made by an arrogant Alchemist of Khaenri'ah in a futile attempt to recreate the All-Mother's miracle of creation, wishing for freedom and friendship but unable to attain them."

Dvalin huffs.

"I had to strike him down, for the safety of Mondstadt. And even on his death bed, not once had he blamed me nor Barbatos, merely wishing we had met in better circumstances."

The mood turns somber.

"His heart still beats in Dragonspine," you say after a while.

Dvalin exhales a long and drawn out breath.

"You will be able to put him to rest, once you grow stronger. It is merely a matter of time."

Quiet protests of you not being the All-Mother, of you simple being (Name) and nothing else, are quickly shoved to the back of your mind and ignored.

Instead, you ask why he believed so.

"You have purged me of the Abyssal filth that had tortured me for centuries with your mere presence, despite having descended only recently. That is enough confirmation."

You blink in suprise.

Didn't that mean you were much earlier in the timeline that you thought?

Huh.

Something to think through while you monch on the fruits.

Then again, did it really matter how early into the timeline you transmigrated? You weren't an ambitious person and you didn't crave adventure and excitement. People like you manned the market stalls rather than making a difference.

...you probably jinxed yourself.

☆(ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ* ✨ Author Note✨

Countdown to All-Mother dearest jinxing themselves and making a difference - however long it takes me to write the next chapter!

Now, ✨how do I taglist people cuties✨

I am trying to tag someone but the @ can't find them, someone heeeeeeelp I'm poking and fat-fingering everything on their profile but it doesn't work :(

Also, if someone is bored of boring music check out The Kiffness on youtube, I'm having a Kiffness x Goat collab on repeat and it's dope af.

Kookee kookee with a cockatiel is dope too.

And the cat jams.

He has a whole playlist of just cat jams, what more does a coach potat like me need?