#looking at his lips as his usual of course

[enviedear]

stay, little valentine, stay ｡𖦹° jason todd

🎧ྀི your roommate makes the fateful mistake of passing you, his roommate, off as his girlfriend to his boundary ignorant family. now the both of you are tasked with maintaining a faux romance for the entirety of a dinner at wayne manor—simple enough, right?

wc 4.2k | roommate!jason, lowercase intended, fem!reader, brief mention of booze, cursing, mutual pining, two idiots fake dating…truly what more can i say (a lot, so). please, enjoy my 'funny little valentines' day special ᯓᡣ𐭩

“there’s not enough room in the freezer for the ice trays. either move your booze or enjoy an ice free apartment,” your voice is tinged with annoyance as you stare down your long-term roommate.

he’s laid back on the shared couch, right cushion side, staring back at you with a impish grin on his face, “or, you could finally throw out that cake you bought for your ‘promotion’ party. since, the fuckin’ promotion never happened and it takes up half of my freezer.”

“our freezer.” you add. “and fuck you, i could still get that promotion any day now. i can always unfreeze it—good as new.”

jason seems to be beginning to tune you out as your eyes drift to a new letter on the fridge, stuck on with an ‘i hate gotham’ magnet. the print is fancy, cursive, bold black ink—YOU’RE INVITED—it reads.

“what are we invited to?” you ask, ice tray debacle not at all at the forefront of your mind now. not when you can tell your roommate’s got an invite from his estranged past guardian, none other than bruce wayne.

he hums a reply at first, still zeroed in to the rerun of some prison show. when he finally picks up on your question he sours, visibly, “some idiotic anniversary dinner for dick and kori. we’re not going, you weren’t even invited.”

you pout, “i want to go! why can’t we go?”

jason’s got a stern look on his face now, and you’ve always found it so unnerving how quickly he musters it up—usually so relaxed in your shared domain.

“we’re not going because i told a lie, and if we show up…everyone will know.” he groans, “just drop it, i need a little more time to ride this out.”

suddenly more intrigued, you prance over to him on the couch, flopping down beside him, “a lie?”

“don’t. just drop it.” he huffs at the obvious annoyance on your face, “it’s just stupid.”

“c’mon, we know all of each others ‘stupid’ shit. what was the lie, todd?” you’re being genuine, riddling your appeasement with a sweetly sardonic tone.

finally, after a good minute of staring at a very completive jason, he cracks, “i might have alluded to being in a relationship with you.”

your smile cracks before he even finishes his admission, oscillating between confusion and sheer giddiness—trying to halt the part of your brain that wants to imagine a life where a relationship isn’t such a laughable idea.

you curl your lips to stifle your last giggles before looking back up at him, “why?”

jason shifts in his seat, clearly uncomfortable with the question. his eyes dart away from yours, finding sudden interest in the television screen, "bruce kept...asking about my life here. if i was settling in, if i was happy." he runs a hand through his dark hair, "and then, all the others got involved, asking to set me up with people. i needed them to stop asking. and you-" he pauses, scratching the back of his neck, "you were the most believable option.”

you stare at him, unblinking, trying to process his words. "most believable option…” you repeat slowly, testing how the phrase feels on your tongue. a warmth spreads across your chest-whether from flattery or something else entirely, you're not quite sure. "so, what? think i can’t pretend to be your girlfriend for a dinner?" the idea sends an unwelcome flutter through your chest. you curse yourself.

jason's expression shifts, a mix of surprise and something else you can't quite read. "you'd do that?" he asks, his voice carrying an unusual note of vulnerability.

"of course," you reply, trying to keep your tone light and casual. "what are roommates for? plus, free fancy dinner at wayne manor? count me in." you're aiming for nonchalance, but your heart is racing at the prospect.

jason's jaw clenches, a tell-tale sign of him thinking too hard, "it's not that simple. they'll know it's fake. bruce especially—dick and tim too—they’re too observant for their own good.”

"oh please," you wave off his concern, settling deeper into the couch cushions, "we've lived together for what, two years now? we already act like an old married couple anyway. i know your coffee order, you know my work schedule. we share groceries, we fight about ice trays—“ you gesture broadly to the kitchen, "it's practically method acting at this point."

he looks at you then, really looks at you, with an expression you can't quite read. "you'd really do that? pretend to be with me in front of my entire family?"

"of course i would," you say softly, nudging his shoulder with yours. "what are friends for if not to fake date each other to avoid awkward family dinners?" you try to keep your tone light, ignoring the way your stomach flips when he smiles at you that rare, genuine smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the corners.

"fine." he finally concedes, shrugging his shoulders, "but we need to get our story straight. no holes, no gaps—i figured we'd keep it close to the truth. roommates who gradually realized there was something more." he pauses, then adds, "the best lies are built on truth or some shit, right?”

you nod, and start crafting the imagined romance with jason. over the next hour, you both piece together your relationship timeline—how you first bonded over late night takeout after his patrols, the way you'd patch him up after particularly rough nights, and how somewhere between shared grocery runs and movie marathons, faux you fell for him. or him for you—the both of you can't agree on that just yet.

you try not to focus on how easy it is to imagine, how some of these made-up memories feel more like documentation rather than fabrication.

"okay, and when did we actually get together?" you ask, pulling your knees up to your chest, trying to ignore how invested you're becoming in this alternate reality.

"three months ago." jason answers quickly, too quickly, like he's already thought about this. "after that night I came home really beaten up, remember? you were so pissed at me for being reckless."

you remember that night vividly—how he ever thinks you could forget, you’re unsure.

him stumbling through the window at three in the morning, blood seeping through his stupid jacket. how your hands shook as you stitched him up, how quiet he was, how close his blanched face was to yours. you’d attributed the racing of your heart to fear, but now…not so much.

"yeah," you say softly. "that works."

the rest of the week flies by in a blur of preparation and anxiety, until suddenly it's the night of the dinner, and you're standing in front of your mirror, wondering if you've made a terrible mistake.

you're wearing a deep red-toned dress that hits just above your knee—something you'd bought on a whim (a fifty percent off sale) months ago and never found the right occasion for. jason had given it an approving nod when you'd shown him, which somehow makes you feel more nervous than reassured as you stare yourself down.

"ready?" jason's voice comes from behind you, and you turn to find him adjusting his tie in the hallway mirror. he looks…different. good different. the suit fits him perfectly, and you wonder briefly if alfred had something to do with that. the older man has a penchant for doting over your overgrown battling ram of a roommate.

"as i'll ever be." you manage, trying to keep your voice steady. "but, um, how convincing do you think we need to be?"

jason's eyes meet yours in the mirror, "enough to fool the world's greatest detective," he sighs, "and his army of protégés." he turns to face you properly, and something in his expression softens, but he looks away too quickly for you to discern, "you look really pretty."

"thanks." you mumble, fiddling with your clutch. "so do you. very…boyfriend."

he laughs, but it sounds slightly strained. "that's the idea, isn't it?" he offers his arm to you, "shall we?"

the drive to wayne manor is muted. jason's knuckles are white on the shifter, and you find yourself reaching over to place your hand over his without thinking. he startles slightly, but he doesn't pull away—even keeps contact as he switches gears.

"hey." you start softly, "we've got this. we know each other better than anyone, we live together. besides, what's the worst that could happen?"

jason sighs, his hand tightening slightly under yours. "you clearly don’t know how bruce and tim get at these things. anniversary or not, they'll smell blood in the water if we slip up."

"relax," you assure him, glancing out at the looming trees lining the driveway. "i doubt they’ll care about your relationship timeline when they’re busy fawning over how happy dick and kori are."

jason shoots you a look that clearly says 'don't tempt fate', but his grip on the wheel loosens slightly. "just…follow my lead. and if it gets too weird, we can always fake a medical emergency."

"that...is always an option." you grin, trying to ignore the way your stomach flips when he smiles back.

the manor looms up ahead, and as jason pulls up to the gate, you feel his hand squeeze yours briefly, almost indecipherable.

"last chance to back out." he murmurs.

you intertwine your fingers with his, ignoring the voice in your head that whispers how right it feels. "not a chance, todd. you're stuck with me."

the gates open, and as you drive up the winding driveway, you're unable to shake the feeling that you're about to cross a line you can't come back from. but with jason's hand so warm and relaxed in yours, you're not sure you want to.

jason parks the car in front of the house at the partition, "in case we need a quick exit." he shrugs.

"i think you're too worried, jason. i doubt they'll even question it. you said they wanted you dating anyway, i bet they'll just be happy." your voice is quiet, hand hovering in front of the doorbell.

he sighs, "you don't know these people, they question everything."

before you can reply or try to alleviate his doubts, the double doors fly open. you grab jason's hand in your own and pull him closer, just as alfred sets eyes on the pair of you.

alfred's eyes visibly brighten at the sight of both of you, his normally reserved expression softening into something fonder, "master jason," he greets, a ghost of a smile on his lips, "and miss, how lovely for you to be joining tonight. everyone is very excited to meet you, i fear my few stories were not enough to quell them."

you smile, a real genuine one too, "it's nice to see you again alfred! i hope we're not too late—jason decided to change his tie last minute."

alfred hums and beckons you both inside, "fashionable tardiness, miss. i assure you."

jason, hand now sweaty in yours, chuckles, "he's being nice since you're with me. he's usually irate by my lateness."

you shoot jason a pointed look as alfred continues. "master richard and miss kori have been eagerly awaiting your arrival. their anniversary dinner is a rare occasion they’ve pulled out all the stops for, you see."

jason grumbles something under his breath that sounds suspiciously like, overachievers.

the sound of multiple voices echos through from a room, and you feel jason's grip tighten slightly. you've heard stories about his family for years now—mostly complaints, occasionally fond remembrances, and everything in between during late night conversations over takeout.

"master bruce insisted on formal dining tonight." alfred mentions, though his tone suggests mild disapproval. you've learned over your visits that alfred much prefers when the family dines in the kitchen.

jason scoffs quietly, "because god forbid we eat somewhere comfortable." you squeeze his hand again, a silent reminder of your emergency exit strategy. two years of living together has given you an extensive library of non-verbal communications.

the dining room, when you enter, is exactly as alfred has described it countless times—grandiose in a way that speaks to old money and older traditions. the table stretches long and elegant, set with what you recognize as the ‘good china’ alfred often mentions.

your muscles tense slightly as you finally notice all of the eyes on you—staring and studying—you have to think before you step.

bruce wayne rises first, and despite all of jason's stories, despite seeing him on tv and in newspapers, you're struck by his presence. "jason." he greets, then turns his attention to you. "we've all heard quite a bit about you from alfred, though significantly less from my son."

you feel jason's posture stiffen, but you're prepared for this. "oh, you know how jason is with sharing things." you say easily, the words flowing naturally after years of defending his privacy to nosy neighbors and concerned coworkers. "though, alfred's probably told you all my embarrassing stories by now."

dick grayson—exactly as handsome as the magazines suggest—breaks into a wide grin. "actually, alfred's been surprisingly tight lipped. just kept saying we should ask jason ourselves." his eyes sparkle with mischief. "which, of course, got us nowhere."

"some things don't need to be broadcast to the whole family." jason grumbles, but his thumb is mindlessly drawing small circles on your hand, a gesture you've learned means he's more comfortable than he's letting on. 

"oh, but this is so wonderful!" a melodic, cheerful voice chimes in, and you glance up to see koriand’r—kori to most—seated beside dick, her vibrant curly red hair catching the light as she smiles radiantly. "you must forgive us for prying, but jason does not often share such…delightful surprises."

"by 'us,' she means her." dick cuts in with a smirk, earning a playful nudge from kori.

"yes, and what of it?" she replies lightly, turning her attention fully to you. "you see, jason is like a tamaranian grisnek—so fierce and protective on the outside, but underneath, he is all kindness and loyalty. how could we not be curious about the person who has captured his heart?"

"great. glad we're all analyzing my personal life at the dinner table." jason mutters, though his hand stays on yours, his grip steady.

"do not be fooled," kori says in a whisper that is anything but subtle, her green eyes sparkling with mischief. "jason pretends to be irritated, but inside, i know he is glowing with happiness."

your lips twitch into a smile despite yourself, and jason sighs heavily, his shoulders sagging with mock defeat. "i think i'm gonna need another drink."

kori leans back, laughing softly, the sound warm and lilting, as she looks between you and jason once more. "you are lovely." she adds sincerely, her tone softening. "and jason could not have chosen better."

tim drake, who you've only seen in passing when he's stopped by your apartment to drop off miscellaneous ‘private’ documents, raises an eyebrow. "yes, it's all very sweet." he hums it almost, tone carefully neutral but eyes sharp, studying you.

"sweet indeed." you agree, letting some of your genuine fondness for jason color your voice. it's not hard to fake being in love with someone when you've spent two years memorizing their coffee order, patching up their wounds, and falling asleep on their shoulder during movie marathons. the hard part, you're starting to realize, might be pretending it's all pretend.

bruce barely looks up from his plate as he speaks again, cutting through your blissful thoughts of jason, “a shame i wasn’t aware you two were involved.”

jason tenses beside you, the muscle in his jaw ticking. “yeah, well. guess you don’t know everything, old man.”

bruce sets his fork down with deliberate slowness. his gaze flicks between the two of you, assessing, “i never said i did.” his voice is even, unreadable. “but you don’t bring people around often. that’s worth noting.”

jason scoffs, like he couldn’t care less, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—annoyance, unease, probably both.

jason’s hand finds yours under the table. it’s definitely not a calculated move, not a necessary nor obvious display for the act you’re putting on. it’s just—there. warm and solid, his fingers curling around yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

you don’t let go.

dinner progresses with a strange mix of tension and ease. You find yourself falling into natural conversation with dick about your work, while jason maintains a careful distance from bruce's attempts at engagement. still, his hand hasn't left yours, and you're starting to wonder if he's forgotten it's all for show.

"so—how did you two finally get together?" dick asks, leaning forward with genuine interest.

you exchange a quick glance with jason, settling into the story you've rehearsed. "it wasn't really some big dramatic moment," you say, the lie feeling uncomfortably close to the truth. "we just...realized we work."

jason picks up the thread smoothly, his thumb still tracing patterns on your hand. "she was patching me up after a rough night, mad at me for being so bruised," he says, and you can hear the genuine emotion in his voice. "and i just...i dont know—knew, i guess."

tim's watching you both with analytical eyes, and you wonder if he can see through the charade. "that tracks." he says finally. "you two have always been...close."

"speaking of close," dick interjects with a grin, "i think it's hilarious jason used to insist you were 'just roommates', and yet never went on any of the dates i set him up on. i should have known, really." there's a pout on his face, humourous.

you laugh, perhaps a bit too nervously, "well, we were. for a while." the irony of the statement isn't lost on you. you can see jason watching you from your peripheral, face stoic—but his eyes are soft. the way they watch over you, simply affectionate.

bruce, who's been quietly observing, finally speaks. "i'm glad jason has someone looking out for him," he says, and there's something in his tone that makes your heart ache. "he's always been...independent."

jason's grip on your hand tightens almost imperceptibly. "yeah, well, some things change." he mutters, but there's less bite in his words than usual.

the conversation shifts to safer topics—work, current events, alfred's latest culinary experiments. you find yourself relaxing despite the pretense, falling into familiar patterns of banter with jason, finishing his sentences, and sharing knowing looks.

it's during dessert that damian, who's been suspiciously quiet, finally speaks up. "you're good for him," he declares with all the authority of a youngest sibling. "he's less annoying when you're around."

jason chokes on his tiramisu, and you pat his back automatically, the gesture so natural you don't even think about it. "thanks, damian!" you say, fighting back a smile. "i think."

as the evening winds down and dinner ends, you find yourself in the manor's vast library, having wandered away from the group for a moment of quiet. besides, you feel somewhat redundant against their coded phrases and stories. jason finds you, as he always does.

"hey." he speaks softly, coming to stand beside you. "you doing okay?"

you turn to face him, suddenly very aware of how close he is. "yeah, i'm good. your family's...intense, but nice. just like you said."

he laughs quietly, but there's something different in his eyes. "you're amazing, you know that? playing along with all this. you didn't have to."

"i wanted to." you admit, and it feels dangerous how true those words are. "besides, what are fake girlfriends for?"

jason's looking at you with an expression you can't quite read, and for a moment, you think he might say something more. but then dick's voice calls from somewhere far off in the house and the moment gaps.

"we should head back." jason says, but he doesn't move. "before they send a search party."

you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is racing. "yeah, we should."

but neither of you moves, caught in this strange liminal space where pretend and reality blur, and you're no longer sure which is which. even less sure if you hunger for dreams or waking existence—which is which? for a split second, you want to reach out. you desperately want to feel him—to possibly transfer the devotion you’re still too afraid to admit you harbor.

jason’s breath is staggered, coming out forced and shallow. his eyes, darker in the dim light, are flitting between you and the door—until he focuses in on you, fully. you’re too confused as to why he’s getting closer to you to react accordingly when his lips brush yours.

your first instinct is to furrow your brows, still confused. then, you kiss back. hungrily. confusion still fogs your mind, but nowhere near the way jason does. his lips are chapped, plump, and still tasting faintly of expensive dark liquor. his body cages you close him, hands respectfully at your shoulders. of course the only thing you can recognize is jason.

you err on the side respectfulness—opting to tug him closer by the tie. there’s a flash of the memory of him putting it on, and you can’t fight a small smirk from slipping onto your lips. jason must notice, because he finally breaks away to peer down at you.

“what?” he whispers, panting and staring down at your lips.

“what do you mean, what? we kissed.” you still feel giddy from his kiss, but reality begins to settle into you like a winter chill.

jason watches you closely, his expression a mix of smugness and unease, “hmmm—playing it dangerous.” he finally murmurs, shaking his head.

you arch a brow, feigning derision. “you say that to all the girls, todd?”

he exhales a laugh, raking a hand through his hair. “yeah,” he huffs. “that grand number of...you.”

before you can say anything, footsteps echo just outside the library's door. jason instinctively steps back, widening the space between you just as dick pokes his head in. “there you two are! we were about to send out a search party.”

you smile, pushing down the lingering tension. “sorry. just taking a little tour.”

dick’s gaze flickers between you and jason, a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. “right. well, come on. we're playing charades—and bruce is actually smiling. you don’t want to miss that.”

jason groans, but he follows you and dick back back toward the others. his hand brushes against yours in the hallway, and for a second, you think he’s going to take it again. but he doesn’t. 

charades is winding down by the time you return, alfred putting away various dry erase boards and markers with the kind of efficiency only a butler can possesses.

kori beams when she sees you, reaching out to squeeze your hand. “lovebrids! you have returned!" she gestures to herself and grayson, "thank you for coming—we would like to extend our support to your relationship.”

jason lets out a little breath, like he wasn’t expecting that—like he isn’t sure what to do with the sincerity. “thanks, kori.”

bruce, too, seems slightly less intimidating now. “thank you for coming—you’re welcome here anytime, both of you.” he tells you, and it sounds like a rare offering.

something about it all settles in your chest, warm and unexpected. you’ve spent so much time being jason’s person in private—patching him up, watching his back, making sure he gets home in one piece—that it’s almost startling to have it acknowledged in front of everyone else.

goodnights and goodbyes come soon after, and tim catches jason by the elbow before the pair of you can walk out the door, pulling him aside for a hushed conversation. you linger near the doorway, talking with kori and dick, but you can’t help the way your attention keeps flickering back to jason.

when he finally returns to your side, his expression is unreadable. “ready to go?”

you nod, murmuring your goodbyes as you both step back into the night air. jason doesn’t say anything as he leads you back to the car, but his hands flex at his sides.

the drive back is quieter than before, the easy banter from earlier replaced with something heavier, something neither of you seems willing to touch just yet. jason’s grip is tight on the wheel, his jaw set, eyes fixed on the road.

it isn’t until you’re pulling into the familiar streets near your apartment that he finally speaks. “they bought it.”

you huff a quiet laugh. “yeah? i told you so.”

jason’s eyes flick to you for a fraction of a second before he exhales. “thank you, seriously. you were great.”

you glance at him, something warm curling in your chest. “we just make a good team.”

something glints in his expression, something hesitant, something aching. “yeah,” he agrees, voice quieter. “we do.”

the silence stretches between you as he parks the car. you unbuckle your seatbelt, but neither of you make a move to get out. stuck stagnant.

“so, this is was fake...” you murmur, more to yourself than to him.

jason’s fingers drum against the steering wheel, knuckles red. “yeah.”

you should leave it at that. you should forget the kiss. you should revert back to just his roommate. you should laugh it off, make some joke about how convincing you both were—but you don't—instead you say, “does it still feel fake to you? us...tonight?”

jason’s breath catches. for a long moment, he doesn’t answer. you almost let doubt seep in.

then, he turns, his eyes dark and searching. “god, no.”

your heart stutters in your chest, and you swallow hard, pulse roaring in your ears. “good. me neither.”

for a second, he just looks at you, like he’s waiting for you to take it back, to laugh it off. but you don’t, you won't. and when he leans in—slow, hesitant, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away—you don’t.

you decide to meet him halfway, instead.

writer’s note .☘︎ ݁˖ all of my thanks to the helpful, @sunnie-angel for being my beta reader for this fic! thank you again for your services—and your sweet comments on this little story, very very happy to have a moot like you !!!

🖇️ masterlist | askbox | recent works

[jincapableoflove]

A Jar Full of Us | one-shot

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.

Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.

Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before

Word count: 10.2K+

Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.

MOODBOARD

A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.

Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.

A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.

Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.

A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:

Jungkook remembers the little things.

Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.

Jungkook.

Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.

This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.

You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.

Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.

You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.

But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.

And you're going to keep it a secret forever.

You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.

You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.

"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.

With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."

Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.

That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.

From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.

The box was almost full now.

You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:

Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.

His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.

His eyes smile before his lips do.

But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.

I love him.

The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.

Especially not Jungkook.

One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.

But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.

Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.

You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"

"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.

A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.

Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."

Your heart stopped. "What?"

"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."

Silence.

A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.

"You WHAT?!"

Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.

Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.

But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.

No. No. No.

This couldn't be happening.

Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.

Empty.

It was gone.

The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.

And now it was in Jungkook's hands.

Of all people…Jungkook.

Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.

Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.

He hadn’t seen it yet.

He couldn’t have seen it yet.

As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.

What if he had already opened it?

What if he read through every single note?

What if he found the one that said I love him?

Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.

Jungkook was your best friend.

He was your person.

And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.

The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.

And then…there was that moment.

The moment you almost confessed.

"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.

And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."

But you swallowed them down.

Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?

And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.

The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.

Would he laugh?

Would he think it was weird?

Would he—

Would he reject you?

No. No. No.

You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.

That was the plan.

It had to work.

As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.

Box 109.

You yanked it open.

Empty.

Your stomach sank.

Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.

You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.

No response.

You knocked again, harder this time.

Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.

The door swung open.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.

But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.

And the world stopped.

The box.

The open box.

Your box.

Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.

You felt like you were going to be sick.

No, no, no, no—

"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"

Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.

"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.

Oh. Oh no.

Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.

His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.

He cleared his throat, then read aloud.

"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."

Silence.

It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.

You thought you might actually pass out.

"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.

And then, to your absolute horror—

He smiled.

Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.

And then—oh god—he spoke again.

"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"

Your breath hitched.

Your brain went blank.

You wanted to scream.

The change was almost instant.

In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.

Not in the way you had imagined, though.

You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.

But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.

It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.

And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.

Instead, he turned it into a joke.

Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.

"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"

You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.

It was unbearable.

He kept doing it.

Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.

Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.

"So I look best in black? Good to know."

And then he walked away.

That was when you finally got the message.

Jungkook had taken it as a joke.

He didn’t care about your feelings.

It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.

And worst of all?

He was pulling away from you completely.

The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.

It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.

Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…

He wouldn’t push you away like this.

The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.

Or so you thought.

Because that’s when you saw him.

And he wasn’t alone.

He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.

A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.

Your stomach twisted.

You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.

If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?

Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.

A silent rejection.

What a jerk.

These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.

Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.

Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.

You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.

Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.

The thought makes your chest ache.

Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.

And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.

You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.

But now?

Now he barely looks at you.

And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.

The person you were most angry at was Joy.

Not Jungkook. Not yourself.

Joy.

Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.

That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.

“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”

She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.

But then she saw your face.

Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”

You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.

You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”

You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”

Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”

You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”

Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”

You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”

Silence settled between you both.

And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.

The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.

They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.

Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”

Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”

Your breath catches in your throat.

Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.

As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.

You’ve already been replaced.

Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.

It isn’t.

You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.

You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.

Even if he doesn’t love you back.

Even if he only sees you as a friend.

Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.

So, you do the only thing you can think of.

You wait for him after class.

Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.

Taking a deep breath, you step forward.

"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."

Jungkook halts mid-step.

His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.

"You don’t understand," he mutters.

"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"

Silence.

Jungkook doesn’t reply.

And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.

There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.

After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.

You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.

But you already know Jungkook will be there.

Probably Hana too.

And that's fine.

You'll just stay out of their way.

The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.

A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.

Jungkook is nowhere in sight.

Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.

With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.

But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.

And then you sense it—someone else's presence.

You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.

Jungkook.

You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.

Your heart stumbles in your chest.

The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.

“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.

He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.

Just like that.

The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.

The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.

Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.

You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.

Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.

But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.

Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.

He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.

Your heart clenches.

Is it for Hana?

You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.

February 10th. Your birthday.

You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?

Surely.

So you wait.

By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.

Not even a single text.

The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.

That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.

"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.

Your heart leaps.

Jungkook?

You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.

It’s from your parents.

Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.

"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.

There was still time.

It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.

Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."

But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."

She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."

Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.

Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.

If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.

Jungkook didn’t text that day.

He forgot your birthday.

You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.

The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.

Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.

It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.

You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.

You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.

But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.

Great. Just great.

Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.

You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—

But you don’t hit the ground.

Because Jungkook catches you.

His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.

For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.

He doesn’t let go of you immediately.

His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.

The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.

All that’s left is him.

Still holding you.

Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.

“Do you even care, Jungkook?”

His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.

But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.

So fast that you nearly stumble again.

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.

Then he turns. Walks away.

And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.

This is it.

This is your answer.

Jungkook has made his choice.

And now, it’s time for you to make yours.

You have to move on.

That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.

It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.

Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.

The pink heart-shaped box.

Your breath hitches.

You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.

For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.

Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.

One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.

"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."

"His laugh is my favorite sound."

"I wish he knew how much he means to me."

Tears blur your vision.

You never wanted him to know.

Because you never wanted to lose him.

And now, you have.

The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.

You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.

You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.

So tonight, you let the dams break.

And you cry yourself to sleep.

It’s Valentine’s Day.

You feel miserable.

Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.

So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.

Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.

You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.

You miss it.

No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.

Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.

Then the doorbell rings.

You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.

But it rings again.

What is Joy doing?

Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.

With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—

But there’s no one there.

Your gaze drops to the ground.

And then you see it.

A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.

You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.

Where have you seen something like this before?

Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.

With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.

That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.

"To Y/N."

Your heart stutters.

You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.

It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.

Your mind starts spiraling.

What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?

Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.

You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.

With bated breath, you pull one out.

You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.

"I lied."

That’s all it says.

Two words.

Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.

Jungkook.

Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.

It’s his.

The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.

Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—

Yesterday.

The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.

You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.

You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.

"Do you even care, Jungkook?"

You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.

But instead—

"No, Y/N. I don’t."

His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.

And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.

You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.

But now—

Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.

"I lied."

Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.

Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:

"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."

A sharp pang strikes your chest.

Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.

“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”

Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.

No apology. No denial. Nothing.

And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.

"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.

The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.

Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.

"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."

Your breath hitches.

He didn’t forget?

He chose not to text?

A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.

You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.

What you didn’t know was—

Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.

He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.

Because words were permanent.

Because he was afraid.

Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.

And that terrified him.

Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.

"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."

Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—

The library.

That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.

At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.

A jar.

The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.

Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.

But it wasn’t.

It was for you.

Every note in this jar was for you.

Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.

He had been writing to you all along.

By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.

Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.

"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."

A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.

You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.

Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.

And now, you finally know.

Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.

With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.

“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”

Your chest tightens.

You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.

“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”

The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.

After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.

And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.

The moment the words register, you don’t think.

The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.

You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.

Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?

Then, you see him.

A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.

But you do.

“Jungkook!”

He freezes.

You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.

His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.

You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”

Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.

Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”

Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.

"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"

Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.

"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"

He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.

"Because I was a coward."

You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.

Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."

Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."

His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.

"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.

"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"

His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.

"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."

Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.

You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.

You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."

Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.

"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."

He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.

"Say it now," you whisper.

Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.

You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.

He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.

"Y/N…"

You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.

His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.

"I love you."

A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.

Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.

"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."

Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.

"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"

Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.

"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."

Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."

He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.

"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"

Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.

Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.

The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.

Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.

You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.

When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.

Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.

Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.

His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”

You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”

Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.

“Deal,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you again.

The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.

His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.

Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.

"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.

You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."

The words break something inside him.

His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.

A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.

"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.

His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.

He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.

"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.

Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.

Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.

Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.

His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.

"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.

You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.

His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.

"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.

His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."

And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.

The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.

Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.

Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.

You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.

It’s you who finally breaks it.

“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”

His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.

“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”

You blink. “…What?”

Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”

You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”

Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”

Of course, she did.

You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”

Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”

You glare at him. “Shut up.”

His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.

Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”

Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”

Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.

“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.

Y/N, will you be my Valentine?

Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.

You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”

Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.

“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”

Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.

It had always been him.

Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.

Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.

So you close the distance.

You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.

And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”

Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he���s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.

Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.

Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.

Not to make up for lost time.

But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.

And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.

EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day

The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.

It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”

Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.

But this time, there’s something else.

Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.

You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.

Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.

Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”

You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”

He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”

Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.

"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"

Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”

You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”

“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”

You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—

"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."

His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.

Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.

You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.

Because you’d already found them.

Because you’d found him.

And maybe that was the answer all along.

taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld

thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3

[muffinlance]

Consider: Post-canon Zuko wakes up in the body of his childhood self, the morning of That War Meeting. Would he still speak against the plans, knowing his fate? What do you think he would do differently the second time around?

"Turned away at the doors, Zuzu?"

"Shut up, Azula," her brother sulked. But sulked weirdly, after staring at her too long and too wide-eyed, not like she'd surprised him but--

But like he hadn't expected her to be there. At all.

He turned away. ...He turned back. "Hey, Lala? Do you think you could help me practice that one set?"

He didn't meet her eyes.

She narrowed hers. "Which set?"

"The one I'm bad at."

She scoffed. Pushed away from the wall she'd been leaning against. "That's all of them, Dum-Dum."

He didn't shout or stomp or yell about the nickname. His lips twitched.

"It's okay," he said. "If you're afraid you won't be a better teacher that my instructor..."

It was the most obvious manipulation ever.

Perhaps if he proved an adequate firebending student, she'd work on his courtly survival skills next. Honestly, it was good that not even Uncle Gets-Cousins-Killed had been fool enough to take Zuko into that war meeting. She could only imagine how terribly that could have gone.

"Keep up," she said, and turned her steps towards the training grounds.

He did. There, and during the katas she ran him through.

Azula kept her eyes narrowed.

"Hey," he asked, "do you know how to bend lightning yet?"

As if he could have missed it, if she'd been able to get more than sparks. "I will soon," she said.

"You will," he agreed, and flowed through his next set. The one she'd only just mastered.

Father didn't notice how weird Zuzu was being. Uncle never noticed anything. Zuko ate dinner and asked a servant for seconds and didn't stutter or flinch or lose his appetite when father asked, coolly, what he'd done with his day. Azula's shoulders tensed, because one mention of how she'd squandered her own training time teaching him--

"Azula hogged the training grounds. For hours," Zuzu scowled, exactly like a petulant thirteen year old.

Exactly like he hadn't been acting all day.

By the time Father was looking her way, Azula had her usual smirk in place. "I'm sure there would be room for both of us," she said, "you're not afraid of a little friendly fire, are you, brother?"

Zuko sulked. And ate his seconds, like he was enjoying each bite. There was something in his eyes, like a joke no one else was getting.

---

Father died that night. A heart attack. There were the faintest of burns to either side of the treacherous organ; the royal physician hypothesized that he'd grabbed at his chest, fingers burning hot in his final moments; so hot they'd only exacerbated the problem.

The royal physician would never have been brought any victims of lighting strikes. Those that occurred in the capital did not generally require a doctor in the aftermath.

Zuzu ate a hearty breakfast.

He didn't order seconds. Azula gave him points, at least, for not being tacky.

---

The sages named Iroh as regent.

They named Zuko as Fire Lord.

"No," the tiny Fire Lord in his perfectly miniaturized Fire Lord robes said, sitting at the head of his war council. "We're not doing that. And I'll be reviewing all recent battle plans, as well. What's this I hear about a division of new recruits being deployed to the front?"

He did not mention how he'd heard of the 41st Division. No one asked.

"Prince Iroh, surely--" one of the generals tried to appeal.

The young Fire Lord's regent was looking as startled as the rest of them, for a moment. Then he sipped his tea, and smiled.

"Your Fire Lord is correct, of course. A change in our leadership--a change the other nations may mistakenly view as weakness--will necessitate a change in our strategy."

"Now," said their lord, "what, exactly, is our overall objective in this war?"

War, the new Fire Lord decreed, was not an end unto itself.

---

The new Fire Lord continued to have time, to pretend to be trained by her. Azula watched him. Adjusted her footwork. Did not tolerate, and was not offered, any commentary on who was teaching who.

"What did you do with my brother?" she asked, as they flowed from one set to the next. As her hands, poised to throw fire, just so happened to be pointed his way.

He missed a step. It didn't look like an act.

"I'm, uh. Right here?"

She didn't bother to dignify that.

He didn't bother to look worried about her hands, one movement off from a true attack.

He looked around, then grabbed her sleeve, and tugged her further from any walls that may hide ears. The royal family's private training grounds were wonderfully large, and wonderfully open.

"It's me," he said. "It's still me. Just. More of me? Longer of me?"

She narrowed her eyes. A familiar expression, by this point. "Explain."

"...I found the Avatar," he said. "And this is definitely his fault, but--but I guess it started at a war meeting, when I was thirteen."

Azula listened. It was a very Dum-Dum story.

[seasprincess]

bf!rafe and his tantrums

fluff!

warnings: none, short one

Rafe has little tantrums all the time. You knew that better than anyone. You’d be there when he’d shout at some poor guys at a party for being to loud. Or when he’d shout at his sisters for going into his room.

He’s a spoilt little princess sometimes and it is rather funny to watch.

Even if it does mean that you have to calm him down. Usually by kissing, hugging or more…interesting ways.

“Dude fucking play the game!” Rafe shouts down the mic at poor Topper. He just wanted to play fortnite, not be yelled at by his friend. But of course Rafe gets too competitive like usual. Fragile masculinity routed in a fortnite game.

You just look up from your phone while laying on his bed. Rafe is tweaking, fist clenched and eyes locked on the screen. If anyone was to look at him they’d think he was a thirteen year old boy whose life revolved around a video game. Quite accurate.

“Are you fucking stupid!? Oh my god!” Rafe shouts again before slamming his controller down. You look at the screen and see that he’s been killed, coming in second place.

Rafe’s hands drag down his face, taking a deep breath before turning off his headset. Not even saying goodbye to Topper. He’s such a moody bitch sometimes. Even worse than you.

“Rafe, baby, it’s a game.” You say as you place your phone down. Not being able to stop the small smile that appears on your lips.

You’ve reacted the same way when you put on clothes that you thought would match but didn’t. But you still think he’s overreacting.

“Mhm.” Rafe says before biting the inside of his cheek. Stopping himself from saying something snarky back. In his little tantrums he will usually be snarky to you too. But seeing as he’s trying to stop that and being on his ‘best behaviour’ for you.

You can’t help but chuckle before holding your arms open. Signalling for the boy to come hug you.

Rafe sighs before heading towards your embrace, his head on your chest as your fingers find his hair. Well lack of.

You gently rub his head as he sighs. Letting his muscles relax as he slowly breathes in and out, calming himself back.

What a stroppy little princess he is.

a/n: thought of fortnite. wrote this. miss fortnite.

[pearlymel]

A Slow life

ft. sylus. Just comfort in general, they're married, your honor. mention of kids (they have one boy and twin girls mweheheheh) , tiny bit suggestive but fluff. 1.1k words.

It’s late now.

After a long and exhausting day, Sylus made it up for you by drawing a hot bath, full of bubbles and scents you liked (and a few herbs that would help soothe sore muscles according to Mephisto).

Sitting behind you in the tub, Sylus’ large frame pressed against your back. His chin is resting on the top of your shoulder, with his arms wrapped around you as he holds you against his chest.

And you're fairly relaxed. too relaxed until you remember your little troublemakers, “are the kids back?”

“Mm, they’re back,” he murmurs, nuzzling his face into your neck, “they’ll be asleep by now, it’s pretty late.”

He’s just quietly holding you, enjoying the feeling of your body in his arms, the warm water surrounding you both, and you grab a flower petal that had been floating around you.

“You alright?”

"Yeah, just making sure the twins looked after them, I should thank them somehow," you hum with a soft smile playing on your lips.

“I’m sure they’d appreciate that,” Sylus muses, his hand gently rubbing your side, “I’m happy to hear you say that, though,” he adds while burying his face into your hair.

A hand snaked back up to his hair, "You're a cute dad, you know?"

“Don’t know about that,” he huffs, but the sound is a little more embarrassed than usual, “you’re a great mom, though,” his lips slowly trails over the slope of your shoulder. “Our kids are lucky to have you.”

You finally turn your head around, twisting your slightly sore body so you would be able to face him, and you're careful not to splash the water or precious petals out of the tub.

Your hands finds his face, then your lips follow.

He makes a low noise of surprise, but it quickly morphs into a pleased hum as your lips meet his. He gives a gentle pull at your waist, guiding you to shift until you're straddling his lap.

His hands smooth over your body, large hands roaming down your waist to settle on your hips, holding you snugly in his lap.

"Hey," it's hard not to smile, especially when you know that Sylus is only like this for you.

Sylus chuckles, “hey back,” he murmurs, he still holds you steady, hands moving to your hips to keep you from wobbling, but he also moves a finger to lazily feel the strands of your hair between his fingertips.

"We were supposed to relax."

“You know how hard it is for me to relax while you’re in my lap?” he drawled.

You squint your eyes, "I can feel that, idiot."

“Oh, can you?” He grins, “mm, my apologies,” he sighs almost dramatically, “Guess I can’t help it, sweetie.”

Your pinch his cheeks playfully in return, "behave. we still might have to bake something for the twins."

Sylus’ lips turned down in an almost sulky look. The pinch actually makes him pout, something he would never admit to (that would take away from his big bad onychinus leader image.)

“I’ll behave.” he grumbles, “for now.”

"Be good. For now." you repeat.

Sylus raises an eyebrow, “I’m usually good,” his arms wraps around your waist again when he notices you leaning closer.

Your husband can be silly sometimes.

Your lips are on his skin, lazily whispering, "you bring me comfort."

He huffs a low laugh. but the way he’s holding you, he knows that you can hear the truth in his voice, even though he’s trying to sound sarcastic and witty. He knows that you could feel everytime he comforted you in a way.

He loves being your comfort. Being your safe place. Your anchor.

"But seriously I..." you rub your cheek against his shoulder, "you're everything."

“Mm,” he hums. likewise, he wanted to whisper.

You blink slowly, and Sylus can already see the telltale signs of your drowsiness, “you’re not allowed to fall asleep in the bath, honey.”

You lift your head up, "would you carry me out if I did?”

“Of course I would. ”

"Dry me? Clothe me comfortably?"

“Clothe you, tuck you into bed,” he hums, leaning back to grab the fluffy, soft towel he had prepared, and he brings it up to gently pat at your skin and hair.

“And get in bed with you,” he adds, his voice turning into a quiet murmur.

"Hold me tight?" you add on sleepily.

“Keep you safe, watch over you,” he carefully tries sitting you up, to carry you out so he could properly dry you.

You yawn, "and the kids..."

“I’d make sure they were okay, too. Then I’d crawl into bed with you, hold you while you slept.”

…

You wake up feeling surprisingly refreshed, and more importantly, well-rested. Sylus made sure you actually did sleep, and he held you through the night, just as he’d promised.

As your senses adjust, you’re first aware of the pleasant warmth seeping into your back. He’s pressed up against you, as close as possible, an arm slung lazily over your waist.

"Sy.." you were about to mumble, but you still listen to how deep in sleep he was, so you let him rest, even sacrificing his arm under your head. what a loving husband.

His breathing is steady and quiet behind you, and every so often—particularly if you start to move—he’ll tighten his hold on your waist, pulling you back snugly against him again.

"Sylus," you whisper, turning around slowly, carefully making sure not to bother him.

That is, until he feels the soft brush of your fingertips against his skin. It’s a barely-there touch, but it’s enough to stir him, he gives a low groan, lips giving a small frown as his half-lidded crimson eyes follow towards your hand.

You giggle quietly, he's so adorable when he frowns in his sleep like that.

“…What are you doing?” He asks with a slight morning rough voice.

"Watching you."

“You know that’s a little weird, right?” He pretends to be annoyed, but if he was fully awake, then you'd see those pink hued cheeks.

"Go back to sleep, honey." you peck his forehead before gently stroking his hair, as if trying to lull him back to sleep.

He’ll deny it, but he loves when you play with his hair.

This is his favorite way to wake up. To open his eyes and find you there, your hand running through his hair, fingers tracing his scalp.

He leans into your touch as he gives another low hum of contentment, the sound vibrating against your neck.

[twentyfivemiceinatrenchcoat]

a long drag of a cigarette. 

smoke floods his lungs, in sticky streams, glides into his throat and burns the back of it with a scorpion's sting. nicotine kisses his gums. he exhales, watches as the toxins form a cloud of gray, polluting the air. keeps the cigarette poised between his fingers as the bottom end crumbles to ash. the orange spark left by his lighter has all but faded, he can’t taste anything but slow, sweet decay — tender rot in his lungs.

suguru watches you, out of the corner of his eye.

it’s rare for him to have company, at this time of day. with such awful weather, to boot. that’s why his eyes can’t help but wander, to your figure, your vacant expression. the sight of it makes his bones twitch. you’ve been sitting there since he arrived, barely moving. you look young, scrawny, clothes too big for your body. there’s mud on your shoes and the cuffs of your jeans; their edges frayed and damaged, like you’ve been walking down concrete and puddles all day. your skin glistens with leftover dewdrops.

the air smells of rain. he likes it, despite his frizzy black locks, likes the contrast between the sting of the smoke and the life in the air, a summer soon to pass him by. he tastes it when he parts his lips and allows himself a tender inhale, earth and leaves and ripened clusters of honeydew being split into halves. when he looks down at the ground, he finds his own reflection; a silhouette in the puddle at his feet, ripples tearing his face in half. he looks weary. lilac smudges underneath his eyes, hair raised into an unkempt bun, the silver sliver of piercings on his bottom lip and helix catching the dim light of the lamp overhead. they gleam, in the humid air.

(he got them on a whim. a tattoo would be the next step, but he has no idea what design to choose.

mostly, he just wants to feel the sting.)

a choked out sound. it snaps him back into reality, plants roots and vines around his feet. suguru watches you, with eyes of burning cedar, tastes the visage of your image on his teeth and on his tongue.

for a moment, your gaze overlaps with his own. fickle eyes. you’re covering your mouth, staring at the cigarette only centimeters from their mark —

and he understands the issue. can see your eyes water from the smoke. it’s only you and him here, no one else who can complain or chew him out, just you and him outside the tiny konbini, by an alley littered with trash bags and hungry strays; cats, ravens.

you.

”… sorry,” he hums, vocal cords roughed up, lacking their usual luster. he doesn’t like the way it sounds. ”i’ll put it out.”

he crushes the cigarette under his boot. it falls on the concrete without making any noise, pliant as he makes it crumble apart, dissolve into black soot. dirty rainwater swallows what remains.

he should really quit, soon. 

with a rustle of fabric, he digs through the plastic bag hanging off his arm — searching for a bottle of water to moisten his dry throat, uncapping the lid and relishing as it flows against tender flesh. it feels nice, to have this routine. to come here every day, and have himself a silent smoke. suguru enjoys the structure. enjoys what little semblance of control he can get, after leaving his old life behind.

(after crushing his potential under the heel of his boot. his ears still ring with gunshots at night, but the silent death has strayed its course.

buddha, he thinks, lips twitching with a withheld smile. look at what a spectacle i’ve become.)

no words from you grace his ears. you duck your head, as if scared of the sudden attention, of his voice. he belatedly regrets his lack of consideration — wishes he had twisted it into a softer shape for the fickle creature to his left. but you aren’t coughing anymore, only sitting there with your legs dangling off the edge of the bench. with those lifeless eyes, a fish about to be gutted, just as weary as his.

like you’re about to fade into slumber. fade out of existence. 

even after all these years, even without sorcery — suguru can sense death. his instincts are forever honed. what he smells on you is decay, the same as the ache in his rotting lungs. you look famished, trembling fingers finding purchase in your lap, picking at a piece of lint on your jeans.

the sight makes his heart ache. breaks it apart, like an unripened fruit, splits and tears down the middle. you look so small, so weak. so very, very vulnerable.

a moment’s hesitation. 

suguru’s hand slips back into the bag, ghosts against a styrofoam cup and pack of wakaba cigarettes, before his fingers finally settle and curl around a soft, triangular object. wrapped up in neat sheets of plastic, still slightly warm to the touch. perfect.

he gives you a glance, and finds you’re already looking at him. eyes droopy with fatigue, but moving down his fingers, almost curiously. watching him pull out the cheap onigiri and cradle it in his palm. 

ah, now you’re looking away. skittish — he tastes the word on his tongue, allows his eyes to run from the bridge of your nose to the tips of your fingers. you’re coiled in on yourself, almost as if waiting for a blow. and oh, it hurts him, even though he isn’t sure why. even though he can’t recall the last time his heart felt this wet with pity. he feeds the cats around here, sometimes, but they never look so sad. 

”are you hungry?”

the words have left his mouth long before he can regret them. and suguru is pleased, to notice his voice has peeled itself of the rasp, invited smooth, silky vowels. he sounds kind, he thinks. hopes.

but you still look uncomfortable. he must appear intimidating, to you. tall, pierced, long hair and sleepless eyes. a handsome face does no good when you don’t even have the courage to look at it properly. you shift in your seat, not meeting his eyes. 

no response.

that’s just fine. 

”here.” he takes a seat on the bench, at the very edge, careful not to come too close. you jolt, but stay, as he unfurls his palm. ”you can have it.”

cautious eyes meet his own. still just for a moment, a flicker of light when you tip your head a certain way. then it’s gone, and your eyes are just lifeless again. he’s seen it before, in mirrors. he’s all too familiar with the act of drowning on land.

”go on.”

he tries his hand at a smile. voice a low lull, coaxing you forward, still patiently holding out the onigiri. 

a growl of your stomach. it’s barely audible, but he picks up on it, watches the way you clutch at your abdomen as if to muffle the noise. ducking your head, again, a bit of colour blooming in your cheeks. 

finally, a feeble hand reaches for his own. 

so you do have it in you.

”… thank you,” comes a murmur, a little scratchy. but soft, just rusty. how polite. he watches as your shaky fingers curl around the plastic, bring it to your lap.

suguru takes notice of your body language. still skittish, your shoe tapping at the concrete as if restless, eager to get away. but you’re more relaxed than when he first spoke to you. it feels good.

feels right.

(feels like something he’d forgotten.)

”how old are you?” he asks, uncapping the lid of his water bottle, just to place it next to you. hand reaching into his pocket, to pull out his lighter, her lighter, worn with age. ”if you don’t mind me asking.”

no response. you fumble with the plastic wrapping, having difficulty getting it off. the nori tears, he can tell from the way you mouth a wince. without thinking, he’s taking it from off your hands — practiced, as he unfurls it, peels the plastic and fishes out the rice ball. while he does, you finally speak, in a voice just barely raised above a whisper. 

”… ’m in college.”

a quirk of his brow. ”… are you?”

you nod. suguru gives back the snack, watches as you take a bite, listens to the crunch of seaweed and the quiet hum you let out as you chew. softly, slowly, as if savouring the taste. he isn’t sure whether to believe you or not. you’re younger than him, that much he’s certain of. ”… sure you’re not a runaway?”

it’s half a joke, half a question. he’s smiling, but your brows furrow together, face set into tense lines.

”… i just don’t have anywhere to go, right now.” 

another bite. crunch, chew, swallow. he watches your throat bob, waits for the quiet gulp. 

”that’s all.”

…

”i see.” he taps his fingers against the hood of the lighter, snaps it open and shut, a gaping mousetrap. ”that’s unfortunate. and your college can’t help?”

this time, he gets no response. you must already feel uncomfortable, sharing your troubles with a stranger. he understands, but an itch still gnaws at his bones. 

trust is a fickle thing. 

suguru watches you eat, and tries to calm the rising desire in his chest. warmth spreads throughout his stomach, at the sight, creeps into his veins. a coo on the tip of his tongue that he has to swallow down. he feels no need to have anything of his own, no real desire to fill his empty stomach. he only wants to watch, watch, watch, as you feast on what he brings you. he wants to watch you eat forever. it’s a sudden thought; his stomach twists with ill-content. 

a deep, aching pit. 

sometimes, he can still feel them. wriggling around in his womb, fighting for space as they crawl up his esophagus. all the curses they had him vomit up. 

he thinks he must have lost something, back then. thrown up more than he should have. a lung, maybe. his heart, his human heart.

no running soothes the longing. it’s a losing battle, to struggle against it, to not be swallowed underwater when he keeps his eyes shut for too long and finds he no longer remembers how to suffocate the urge. when he realizes life still feels like dragging mud into whatever house will keep him. there is a burning hole inside him, something left it there, a hollow space that only ever deepens, sinks a blade into his chest. 

what could fill it? 

who could fill it? 

(you, you, you, his gut supplies.

you, and your fragile bones.)

a shiver travels down his spine. it’s gone as soon as it came, because now you’re licking the grains of rice from off your fingers, like a cat lapping at the white bones of a grilled fish. he thinks it’s cute, thinks you look perfect after a little meal. eating so well for him, out of his hand. you look less fatigued, less droopy, and suguru feels more alive than he can remember.

for a moment, ill-chosen, he pictures you in his home. seated at his kitchen table, legs dangling underneath it, your fingers guiding warm stew and freshly made bread into your waiting mouth. pictures you soaking in his bathtub, napping on the couch while the tv flickers on and off, wrapped up in blankets and resting on silken sheets, waiting for him… he plays with the idea, for a while. isn’t sure where it came from, just knows he wants it. 

and god, how long has it been since he felt desire?

”was it good?” he asks, suddenly, a smile playing at his lips, branches blooming with wisteria. ”tasty?”

a nod. he takes what he can get; dares not be greedy, when you’re already letting him so close. he wants you to trust him more than anything, right now, in this moment, more than he wants to breathe. more than he wants to ruin himself. you’re small, unsteady on your feet, all alone in the world. and you just happened to end up at the konbini he frequents.

suguru geto does not believe in fate.

he does believe in meaning. 

(the word sears a burning gap into his tongue.)

”i’m glad,” he says, the hum of a buzzing dragonfly, slipping the lighter back into his pocket. he stands up, to his full height, breathes in the humid summer air and lets it stifle his lungs. he ponders, ponders, ponders. figures he can let himself be a little selfish, after all the years he spent eating himself alive. the gift of a bleeding heart left on the counter to cool.

just this once, suguru doesn’t look to the rotting innards in his stomach for guidance — he takes. 

and the rainy day surrenders to the longing in his lungs.

”i know this is sudden, but would you like to come with me?”

his voice is silky, clusters of jasmine buds and honey, deep and warm and rumbling through his chest. you look up at him with big eyes. surprise, he wonders, or just caution? it’s good to be on edge, either way. 

just not with him. 

”i’m a social worker, of sorts,” a little white lie, just to get your guard down, just to soften the lining. ”if you have nowhere to go, you could come with me. just until you get back on your feet. of course, i don’t expect you to trust a man you just met, but…”

he eyes your clothes, your face, the decay sticking itself to your soul. 

(it seems to me like you’re out of safe choices.)

”i’d like to help you, if possible.”

suguru tilts his head. you meet his low-lidded eyes — a look of bewilderment crossing your features. eyeing him, warily, as if expecting him to pull the rug from under your feet, pull a dagger out of his coat. his bangs sway like dying ravens hung out to dry.

trust is a fickle thing. he doesn’t mind. it’ll take you some time to adjust to his presence, he’s well aware. 

”… what do you get out of it?”

your voice cuts into the air, the sharp edge of a blade. something like a hiss, but not quite; he senses the fear there, the trepidation. you’re guarded, that’s all.

it’s a good question.

company. duty. something to fill the pit in his chest.

meaning, meaning, meaning. 

”… like i said,” he exhales, wearing a smile, eyes narrowed into slits. ”i just want to help. that’s all.”

and it’s true. he does want to help. wants to water your roots, watch you flourish before him. how long has it been since he felt responsible for anything other than himself? he remembers satoru and shoko and a myriad of dying plants. he wants to keep you tucked under his wing, safe and secure, where he can make sure no more harm befalls you. the world has already run you ragged — he knows, he can tell, you’re one and the same. the world has soiled you too. he knows, he knows, but you’re safe now.

ask a dying man what he wants, and you will get only one answer. but suguru has always been greedy.

he wants to make breakfast for two, and sleep with his chest to your back. but can’t tell you that. has to coax you into it, slowly, treat you with the caution you’d use to bandage a fawn’s broken leg. he thinks you’d feel right at home, with him. his apartment is on the smaller side, but he could adjust to your needs. he has more blood money than he knows what to do with. as long as you feel welcomed.

”i don’t need anything in return.”

tobacco lingers in the air, melts into the heavy scent of wet asphalt and rain, hugs his skin. suguru watches you, watches you, watches you. from the twitch of your pinkie to the tap of your shoe against concrete to the flicker in your eyes when you realize he’s being serious, when you fall into the half-truth. 

trust is a fickle thing. it sweeps you in when your guard is down. leaves just as quickly. 

(but a human being at their lowest will always want a hand to guide them.)

”… where do you work?”

suguru eyes ripen. a smile tugs his lips into a crescent moon, a silent victory.

”i’ll tell you.” he reaches his hand out, hungry for contact, lets his open palm hang in the air. ”but first… what would you say to a warm dinner?”

he watches your pupils waver. ripples along water, a dirty puddle in the street. he can almost see his own silhouette, a looming figure, gazing down at you with piercing golden eyes. he could fit you in his pocket, he thinks. you’d feel right at home in his lap. 

ugly, ugly thoughts. the phantom curses in his stomach twist with glee, and suguru ignores their taunting. he thinks of neither god nor buddha.

(free of rot, but just as filthy.) 

a smaller hand approaches his. 

[millyphobic]

🐇 ‧₊˚ ┊COTTONTAIL SWEETHEART

✮ leon eating his bunny girl out from the back ✮

fem bunnyhybrid!reader x older!leon ❤︎‬ inspired by this post, pussy eating, fingering, spit stuff, crazy daddy kink (I can't help myself don't gang up on me), leon being a grade A munch <3 | MDNI

For as long as Leon could remember, you've always been a demanding bunny. Maybe it's his fault for spoiling you rotten, but your patience was basically nonexistent.

You wanted a treat? You'd butt your nose against him and bite at his shirts until he was hauling his ass into the kitchen. You wanted his attention? He wouldn't even get the chance to ask before hearing your foot thump on the floor, making your displeasure clear.

For a ball of fluff with floppy ears, you have quite the attitude. All pouts and nose twitches and so so many huffy sighs. Can't stand wearing clothes and prance around in nothing but cotton panties. Sleep in his bed, eat his food, take up his space. God forbid he tries to take a piss with the bathroom door closed. But worst of all was when you felt needy, no shame in you as you hump at his thighs and leave snail trails on his jeans.

You're spoiled rotten to the core but Leon doesn't care enough to discipline you. Not when you make the cutest noises as he gives into your whims.

You look perfect like this. Face buried in the bed sheets and ass up in the air, cheeky hands spreading yourself out for him. That chubby cunt of yours is practically drooling like always, it's like you're constantly in heat. Wriggling your hips as your silly tail swished to and from in anticipation. You really are the vision of temptation in Leon's eyes. Something straight out of his wet dreams.

"Can never catch a break with you, huh? Putting even more gray hairs in my head," he mused, not even bothering to undress as he knelt at the foot of the bed before you. You've been a good enough girl today anyways, waiting oh-so-patient for him to get back from work. And yeah, you tore your panties off and chewed up another pair of his slippers, you were just too precious not to please. And besides, who doesn't like eating pussy?

Worn out rug under his knees and calloused hands on the fat of your thighs, letting his breath fan against your skin. You're so sensitive it drives him crazy, your tail giving a twitch with every touch. A cottontail sweetheart is what you are, all for him to touch. "So pretty..." he murmured to himself. "Daddy's perfect bunny."

Leon is not one to rush. He took his time savoring you, peppering open-mouthed kisses at the inside of your thighs with a hum. You're like a drug, making his brain loopy with lust. Your musk dangerously sweet as it filled his lungs, his hands roaming over your plush ass to feel every inch of you. You're angling for him and he knows it with every little whine from your lips and wiggle of your tail but he wants to drag this out for you. Letting his lips wander, leaving a trail of spit and little nips, moaning into your soft body, up up up. Making little chomping noises to hear you giggle and raking his nails over your sides to tease you. Lips never ceasing as he marked you up with love bites and drool, higher and higher until the curve of his nose brushed against your slick folds.

And of course, you're always too eager for more more and more, pushing your hips against his nose fully and grinding against his face. It actually earned a chuckle from him, steadying your movements with a firm squeeze to the hips. "Relax, you're gonna bust my nose."

"But I need my daddy!" Right, of course. Who cares if you bust his nose. As long as his mouth still works. He just laughed again and sighed, chalking it up to you being your usual bratty self. You were never one to appreciate being edged anyways.

Leon is patient until he's not. Nothing gets him going like hearing you babble daddydaddydaddy! again and again as he dragged his tongue over your sodden folds, giving a hum of approval as you pull your sticky lips apart so he could lap at your clit with ease. You're like a pornstar when those saccharine moans leave your lips, sounds all muffled as you only hid your face more into the sheets. "Cmon, be a good bunny for daddy," he crooned, words muffled his face stuffed between your pretty cunt. You're coating his lips like lipgloss and with all that spit he's got slick soaking his stubble. Got your essence and musky scent on his skin, marking him up in your own way. Making it well-known that he's your daddy and you're his bunny and anyone who tries to change that will get their slipper chewed by you.

It's not long until he's got his neck awkwardly craned upwards to suckle on your clit, two fingers to stuff you full. He might wake up the next day with a sore neck but who gives a fuck when you whining and moaning for your daddy to make you cream, your darling little tail twitching faster and faster as get closer to cumming. He can feel it, practically smell it (no he can't, he's just delusional), in total awe as you throw ass back to fuck yourself on his fingers. Nasty squelches and little shlickslickslick's cloud Leon's head and all he can do is kiss and suck your clit and curl his fingers on your sweet spot to make you see stars.

Back and forth, back and forth your little cottontail goes as you finally cum, cunt walls spasming around his fingers as you cry out. It's ragged and whinny and real, thighs trembling and body tensing up. He could stay here forever, die and come back to life between your puffy folds. The suckles on your clit turn to little kitten licks and finally feather-light kisses, four pecks on your sensitive bud for the four letters in his name.

"That's my perfect girl, look at you. Daddy loves you so much, dad-Ow!" So much for trying to give you post-orgasm praise. Because your thighs promptly give out just as he starts to speak, basically sitting on his face.

And damn you and your little giggles, fizzling out what little annoyance he had. A few more kisses to the back of your thighs and a playful tug to your tail and enough is enough. He pulled away to stand up with a groan because carpet still isn't enough cushion for his old man knees, rolling you on your back. And, holy fucking shit, you really are the bunny of his dreams. Drooly lips and floppy ears that do their best to cover your teary eyes.

"I...need a nap," you announced, already curling up as you yawned. Always so straight to the point. His dick's probably about to explode from neglect but he doesn't care all that much when he sees his little girl so sleepy, climbing into bed and pulling you to his chest. You fit in his arms like a puzzle piece, a leg lazily tossed over his shoulder and your head slotted under his chin so he could kiss the base of your ears and get a whiff of that nice shampoo he uses on you.

Bunnybunnybunny. My bunny. All mine. All mine. Leon has absolutely got to get you a collar soon with his name on it. And soon.

"Night, night, baby bunny. Sleep well."

[kiwriteswords]

I was listening to Diet Pepsi by Addison Rae (it gives me so much Hotch vibes for some reason??? I love it) and I thought it would be the perfect occasion to make a request for your Thirsty Thursday 👀 I don't have much idea but I guess something in the car, maybe a younger reader so we have a lovely age gap and maybe something that goes with the lyrics "I write my name with lipstick on your chest I leave a mark so you know I'm the best" (don't need to be the name writing of course ahah but I love the idea of lipstick stains on his chest)

You're the absolute best and congrats on your 2k btw!! you deserve thousand more 🫶

Fog up the windows in the parking lot [Aaron Hotchner x Age-Gap!Reader] **

Ki2k Masterlist||MainMasterlist (not updated, sorry!)|| Ao3||Word Count: 3k|| AN: Hii! Thank you so much for this request--I still can't believe I was listening to this song when you sent this, haha. Great minds think alike!! I hope you like this (I can't write smut to save my life, but here i am doing a smut day.)

Tags/Warnings: female reader, porn without plot honestly, smut, mdni, unprotected sex, car sex, I am bad at writing smut sorry, horny hotch, sorta brat tamer hotch, age gap, you're hotch's controversially young gf, not specified if reader is BAU (so up to your imagination).

Summary: The one where Aaron Hotchner realizes he goes weak in the knees when he sees how tight his much younger girlfriend's jeans are.

Hotch couldn't help himself today, and it was all because of those jeans you decided to wear. Each time you bent over to grab something off the lower shelves at the grocery store, his heart skipped a beat, his mind filled with thoughts that had no place in the brightly lit aisles of their local market. You were oblivious to the effect you were having on him, focused on checking items off the grocery list, your hips swaying naturally as you moved down the aisles.

It wasn’t just the bending or the swaying; it was every little thing you did. Each time you reached up to grab something from a higher shelf, the way your back arched slightly, Hotch felt a pull deep inside him, a stirring of feelings he hadn't expected to be so strong.

When you both loaded the groceries into the car and then reached into the backseat to grab your purse, your jeans hugging you perfectly, Hotch found his eyes lingering. He was usually more composed than this, more in control, but today, those jeans had him teetering on the edge.

Driving home, he kept stealing glances your way, each look like adding fuel to a fire he was struggling to contain. Finally, he spoke, his voice low and tinged with a hint of warning and desire mingled together. "You have no idea what those jeans are doing to me," he confessed, trying to keep his focus on the road but failing miserably.

You turned to look at him, a mischievous sparkle in your eye, fully aware now of the turmoil you were causing. His words, so out of character for the usually stoic and controlled man, only brought a playful smile to your lips.

Hotch knew he was treading uncharted waters, not just with his emotions but with how openly he was expressing them. Despite the teasing from the team, who noticed how much younger you were, and their offhand jokes about him being like a lovestruck teenager, it didn't matter. You brought out a side of him he never knew existed. A side that felt alive, vibrant, and yes, even a bit reckless.

You sighed, looking in your purse for something beside Hotch in the passenger seat. He then all about lost it when you unbuckled your seat belt in the passenger seat and twisted to the back. Your ass was now level with his head, practically drawing him in. He had to keep his eyes on the road--but god dammit. 

The car shifted slightly as he adjusted his grip on the steering wheel, his knuckles whitening from the tension. "You're doing this on purpose now," he muttered under his breath, his voice laced with a mix of exasperation and barely contained desire.

Playing coy, you didn't respond immediately. Instead, you found your lipstick and settled back into your seat, taking your time to apply it carefully, glancing at him to gauge his reaction. His eyes flicked, catching yours, and you saw a flash of something intense in his gaze.

Hotch stepped on the gas a bit harder than necessary, the slight surge forward a clear indication of his growing impatience and agitation. You couldn’t help but smile at his reaction, teasing him further. "You know, you're really sexy when you're all hot and bothered," you pointed out, your tone playful yet sincere.

The remark seemed to hit a nerve, and Hotch took a deep breath, trying to refocus his attention on the road. But it was clear you had effectively distracted him, his mind racing with thoughts he usually kept well under wraps. This side of Hotch, the one that struggled between his composed exterior and the mounting desire you elicited, intrigued you. It was a side of him that came out rarely, and you relished the moments when you could draw it out, loving the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't watching.

You leaned back in your seat, a mischievous glint in your eye, and teased him, "I have a good idea."

Hotch's response was immediate and a little strained, his voice tight as he focused on the road. "The only idea I have right now is getting home and taking a cold shower." He was half-joking, but the undertone of his voice betrayed his growing frustration and need.

You laughed lightly, enjoying the effect you had on him, but decided to push the envelope a little further. "You know," you started casually as if the thought had just occurred to you, "I've always wanted to have sex in the car."

Hotch paused at that, his Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed, his throat suddenly dry. He glanced at you briefly, his expression a mix of surprise and contemplation. The rational side of him kicked in almost immediately, listing several reasons why that was not a good idea—safety, legality, the potential for discomfort. But before he could voice any of those thoughts, he felt your hand on his thigh.

Your fingers started caressing him, inching dangerously close to his groin. Each touch sent a jolt through him, scattering his thoughts and straining his control. His grip on the steering wheel tightened again, and he drew in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the road while battling the surge of desire your bold move had ignited.

He half sighed, half groaned your name, his voice strained as he tried to concentrate on the road. "That's not—"

But he didn't finish his sentence. The sensation of your fingers, the way you leaned closer to him, your breath on his neck as you whispered just how much you wanted this—all of it was overwhelming. Hotch gripped the steering wheel even tighter, the car speeding along as he battled the surge of desire that you sparked with your daring touch.

He took a deep breath, trying to regain some semblance of control, but the more he thought about your suggestion, the more appealing it seemed. Here he was, a man always in control, always calculated, yet at this moment, driven to the edge by the simple act of your hand on his leg.

"We should... we should at least pull over," he finally conceded, his voice a mix of reluctance and desire, realizing that resisting you completely was a battle he might not want to win today. As he scanned for a secluded spot to park, the thrill of the impending escapade with you sent a jolt of anticipation through him. 

Hotch pulled the car over, the tires crunching softly on the gravel as he turned off into a secluded spot shielded by trees. Without a word, he reached over the console, his movements deliberate, and captured your lips in a rough, hungry kiss. You moaned into his mouth, your lipstick leaving a taste of cherries against his lips, igniting a fire within him that he hadn't allowed himself to feel in years.

His hands roamed over your body with a sense of urgency and ownership, finally reaching across the console to trace down your legs to those tight jeans that had been torturing him all day. His touch sent shivers up your spine, and you pulled back breathless, meeting his gaze which had darkened with raw desire.

"You’re gonna need to help me peel these off," you suggested with a playful yet sultry tone, motioning towards the backseat, "Maybe back there would be better?"

The idea sent a thrill through Hotch, the tightness in his own jeans growing at the thought. His brain buzzed with a cascade of 'what ifs' — what if we get caught? What if someone sees? Yet, the logical side of him was quickly overridden by the sheer desire to be closer to you, to explore this daring side of your relationship.

Hotch's decision was made the moment you suggested moving to the backseat, but as he surveyed the space, he realized there was enough room if he pushed the driver's seat all the way back. The SUV, similar to the one he drove for the FBI, was spacious, but even then, the two of you fit just barely.

You began to wiggle out of your jeans in the passenger seat, and Hotch reached for his belt with urgency. Typically, your intimate moments were full of foreplay, and you both took your time, savoring each other. But today was different—there was a sense of rush, an urgency in the air as he pulled himself from his jeans, his eyes never leaving you.

"Come here," he said in a low, commanding tone that sent a shiver down your spine. It was a direct, uncharacteristically blunt invitation, but it carried all the intensity of your mutual desire. He adjusted himself, making space for you, anticipation etching every line of his face as he awaited you to straddle his lap.

Your eyes went from his to his hand as he began stroking himself with a semi-achingly slow pace that made your eyes widen. He watched you slide your panties down your legs, kicking them to the floor of the car with your jeans and shoes.

The rush, the spontaneity—it all contributed to a thrilling urgency neither of you could deny. As you moved towards him, leaving the constraints of your jeans behind, the tight confines of the SUV seemed to close in, enveloping you both in a private world where only your intertwined desires mattered.

You slid from the passenger seat, the fabric of the car seats whispering beneath you as you maneuvered yourself toward Hotch. The confined space of the SUV made every movement more deliberate, more charged with an electrifying tension. Your heart raced as you reached him; his eyes locked onto yours with an intensity that mirrored the pounding of your pulse.

Carefully, you straddled him, positioning yourself over his lap. Hotch's hands immediately found your hips, his grip firm and sure, anchoring you securely against him. The close quarters of the SUV enveloped you both, creating a cocoon of intimacy that amplified each breath, each subtle shift in movement.

His hand moved from your hip to between your legs, spreading you and finding the wetness that waited for him there. He groaned, feeling it; he threw his head back, opening his neck for you to nip at and kiss. You began unbuttoning his button-up, glad he went without the tie today and just the button-up and jeans--a casual look you loved. 

You reached between the two of you and positioned him before swiftly sinking down with a shared groan filling the walls between the two of you. You felt the pads of his fingertips grip your hips again as you began to rock into him, subconsciously clenching around him. 

His hands caressed the curve of your ass, guiding your hips to rock against him. The way he pressed you so firmly down against his hips had the right amount of pressure on your clit, causing you to roll your eyes in pleasure. 

His hands spread up your sides on your still-clothed top. Through your shirt, he grabbed at your breasts roughly before returning to your ass. 

Hotch got a little rougher, meeting your hips rand ocking against his with a thrust beneath you. You could feel him deep within you. Caught in your throat was a moan, but the pleasure was too immense--too good. 

“You have no idea what you were doing to me today in those jeans,” Hotch panted, his lips finding the crook between your shoulder and your neck as he began to meet you thrust for thrust--so deep, so good--so much. 

“Oh,” You squeaked, “I have an idea.” You laughed, breathlessly. 

“Fucking,” Thrust, “Brat.” The sound of your hips smacking. Your thighs sweaty now against him, and your wetness now audible. 

“You love it,” You breathed, your lips going down to his chest now, kissing him and leaving marks of your lips from your lipstick, stained across his chest. 

“Yes,” He thrusted again, sharper now, but the rhythm beginning to falter. “You better hurry up and come,” he said breathlessly. You clenched around him with a glint in your eyes, “I’m serious.” 

Reaching between the two of you, you began working your clit with a circular rhythm that was old faithful in any situation. Hotch’s eyes squeezed shut then open, continuing to meet you. There was a found tempo from the way your fingers circled your clit and the way his hips met yours.

You felt the coil begin to tighten as your orgasm approached. Your thighs began to shake and you threw your head back. Hotch’s fingers bruising your hips continued with each deep thrust. Over and over and over. Just right. 

You came with a gasp, which was then covered by Hotch’s lips kissing you. His hips beginning to lose control as his own orgasm left him. You felt him empty within you, only adding to the sensitivity you felt deep within you. His hips stuttered against you, resting, but your thighs still shaking against him. As if to hold you into place, his hand rested at the small of your back, settleing you. 

A groan left his lips into your mouth, and the two of you slowed with lethargy. As the intensity of the moment ebbed, Hotch's hands gently caressed your skin, soothing and tender in their touch. The two of you were left sweaty and breathless, the aftermath of your passion palpable in the close, humid air of the SUV. His hands moved slowly, tracing patterns across your back and shoulders, each stroke helping to ground you both as you came down from your highs.

The small space of the car, which just moments ago had felt electrifying and exhilarating, now seemed overly warm and confining. As you both caught your breath, the reality of the situation gently settled in—a mixture of amusement and affection hanging between you.

"We definitely need a shower," Hotch murmured, a slight grin playing on his lips as he acknowledged the state both of you were in. The thought of continuing this intimacy in the shower brought a soft smile to your face.

"And maybe a detail for the car," you added, laughing softly, the sound mixing with the faint hum of the idling engine. The humor of the situation wasn't lost on you, and Hotch's responding chuckle told you he felt the same.

"So, I take it you liked the jeans?" you asked, a playful note in your voice.

Hotch glanced at you, a smirk playing on his lips. His eyes held a glint of mischief mixed with undeniable affection. "I loved them," he admitted, his voice low and enticing. "But for the sake of productivity, maybe never wear them again around me if we actually want to get anything done."

His witty response made you laugh, the sound light and carefree. It was moments like these that deepened your connection, mixing playful banter with the intense chemistry you shared. 

Your fingers trace the outline of your lips marked all along his neck and chest from the now-smeared lipstick you had applied moments before. A mischievous smile spread across your face as you pointed them out. "You know, this might be my favorite look on you now," you said, the playful tone in your voice tinged with a hint of satisfaction.

Hotch raised his eyebrows, a slight blush coloring his cheeks as he reached up to feel the marks, his fingers brushing over the spots you indicated. The corners of his mouth turned up in a smile, appreciative of your boldness and the memory of the moments that led to such disarray.

"Is that so?" he replied, his voice laced with humor and a warmth that reached his eyes. "I suppose it's a good thing we're heading home then. I might need to wear it more often if it gets that kind of approval."

As you watched the fading lipstick marks on his skin, you leaned closer, a teasing gleam in your eyes. "I like marking what's mine," you murmured, tracing a finger lightly over one of the marks, emphasizing your words.

Hotch looked at you, his expression softening into one of deep affection, the playful retort ready on his lips turning into something far more tender. "Sweetheart, you don't need marks to know I am," he replied, his voice gentle yet firm, filled with a sincerity that warmed you through.

You kissed him tenderly there before he patted your bare hip. You smiled against his lips, knowing the two of you had to leave this little intimate cocoon now. “I know, I know,” you sighed against his lips before whimpering, slowly moving off of him, trying not to make an entire mess of his already dirtied car. Hotch groaned, feeling you leave his lap. 

Despite the age gap between you, something about being with you made Hotch feel as though he was losing his innocence all over again; each moment tinged with a freshness and excitement that he hadn’t realized he’d been missing. It was a rediscovery, a rejuvenation of spirit in the best way possible, with every laugh, touch, and shared secret making him feel both wonderfully vulnerable and profoundly alive.

He sure hoped you wore those jeans again. 

[dpspcehntr]

💝 Valentines Day Special 💝

Paring: LADS OT4 x Reader

Word Count: 2.1k

Warnings: MC and her four boyfriends, voyerism (if you squint), group sex, P in V, fingering (f receiving), oral (m and f receiving), double penetration, squirting, over stimulation, cream pie, cum eating ,masturbation, pure filth, not beta read

A/N: Hello all! Happy Valentine's Day to all who celebrate 💖. This request was too fun not to turn into a full fic. I worked on this instead of doing my homework so I hope you enjoy! It's all of them and its me going ham as usual. I tried my best but oh man writing for five people is HARD! I hope you enjoy and remember that reblogs are deeply appreciated and help me out lots. Lots of love! Byeee!

It was unusual to not hear anything from either of them for an entire day let alone on such an important holiday to you. You didn't think much of it as you went along with your work day, which of course was mostly just paper work. When you finally look up from your screen the time read 6pm and it was time to head home. You sigh, get up to stretch your limbs and check your phone. There was only one message from Sylus saying they had a surprise in store for you once you reached your apartment. Again you shrug it off and pack up your belongings for the day. Once you made it home you see a note placed on your door.

Open Me

You chuckle as you put your key in the lock and open the door. To your surprise you walk in to see all four of them waiting for you. The place is decorated with hearts and flowers with a designated spot on the couch for you to sit. Once seated you put the pieces together on what the "surprise" is. You shudder with excitement as you look each of them in the eyes. Zayne places a hand on your thigh and pulls you in for a kiss. Xavier lingers over your neck, letting you feel his breath over you. Rafayel sits at your feet, watching and waiting. Sylus is no where to be seen as of yet. You feel yourself getting wetter and wetter as they become more assertive with their touches.

Zayne slips a hand down underneath your skirt. His finger drags along the wet fabric as you bite your lip. Xavier groans in your ear as he kisses down your jaw and neck. Rafayel sits on the floor humping your leg and waiting his turn. Sylus sits across the room watching it all with a smirk on his face. It was much too early in the night to feel overwhelmed but you didn't know how much longer you could last. Zayne slips a finger underneath your underwear as Xavier pulls your legs open wider. You throw your head back as a moan escapes your lips. When you open your eyes you find Sylus leaning down before pulling your lips in you’re a searing kiss. You felt gluttonous as you whined into his mouth begging for him to touch you. So many hands and lips on your skin and you still wanted more. He pulls away from you with a chuckle and once again takes in the scene in front of him. Zayne curls his fingers inside you as Rafayel leaves a bite mark on the inside of your thigh. You wanted so much more but you were too enwrapped in extasy to voice it. Xavier grips your chin and plants a fierce kiss onto your lips as his tongue slips into your mouth. His tongue grazes yours as he moans into your mouth. Your hand grips him through his pants and strokes his hard on. The other is snaked into Zayne's hair pulling just enough for him to pant next to you. Zayne pulls his fingers from inside you and holds them up to Sylus for a taste. Xavier takes your chin to make sure you can see. Sylus takes the digits into his mouth with a hum. He makes a show of licking and sucking every drop of your wetness from his fingers before releasing them with a pop. Your face erupts into heat as you watch, the fantasies of your late nights only becoming more real as the night goes on. Rafayel continues to leave bites and hickeys on your thighs as he continues to hump your leg, oblivious to what is happening above him. You tear your eyes away from the three men and look down at him. You take his chin in your hand and pull him into a kiss. He greedily accepts you and licks the inside if your mouth. He moans into your mouth and slows his humping. A string of spit follows you as you pull away from his mouth. Your shirt is lifted over your head by Xavier as Rafayel undoes the buttons on your skirt. You lift your hips as he pulls your skirt and underwear from you. You're left naked and under the lustful gaze of their watching eyes. You waited for someone to make the next move as the anticipation made you drip onto the couch. Each of them takes their time ridding themselves of their clothes and surrounding you once again. Zayne takes your hand and leads you to the bedroom.

"Wait here."

Without another word he leaves the room. You lay down on the bed waiting for somethings. Overwhelmed with desire you slide a hand down your body and lightly trace circles on your clit. You sigh as you arch into your touch as you take one of your breasts in your other hand. You twist and twirl your nipple in your fingers as you increase pressure on your clit. You're so engrossed in your pleasure you don't hear them enter the room. You feel Xavier grip your wrist and pull your fingers away from your throbbing clit.

"Impatient are we? Don't worry you'll get what you want soon."

He climbs into the bed and settles by the headboard. You crawl over to him and pull him in for a desperate kiss. You grip his face as you moan into the kiss. You feel someone grip your hips and line himself up with your hole. You groan into Xavier's mouth as they thrust into you fully. He presses down onto your back and whispers into your ear.

"I've been waiting for this."

Rafayel kisses the base of your neck before pulling out of you and thrusting fully back into you. You pull away from Xavier's lips to take him in your mouth. He hisses as you close around the head and suck. Rafayel pounds into your harder making you take more of Xavier in your mouth. The taste of him was intoxicating as you moan around him. He grips your hair and thrusts deeper into your throat. Rafayel continues his brutal pace, fucking Xavier deeper into your throat. Xavier pulls you off of him and into another searing kiss. He moans at the taste on himself on your tongue as you lick into his mouth. Rafayel scoops you up and presses your back onto his body, continuing to fuck into you. In Rafayel's grip you watch as Xavier gets closer to you. He kneels to pull you into another kiss as he lines up with your entrance. Rafayel pauses so Xavier can push into you with him. The stretch of this makes your head spin as Xavier settles into you. Your brain goes blank as they thrust deeper into you. You clench down on both of them as your orgasm crashes over you, squirting as they continue to fuck into you.

"Fuck!"

Rafayel's hips stutters as he sinks his teeth into your shoulder and releases his load deep inside of you. Xavier continues to pump into you as Rafayel pulls out of you. You hold onto Xavier as another orgasm washes over you, the mix of your juices and cum going sticky on your thighs. Xavier pulls out briefly to lay down with you on top of him. Once situated he lines himself back up with your entrance and thrusts in. You scream as he picks up his pace chasing after his own high. The sound of skin on skin fills up the room as he thrusts faster into you. You feel the pressure of your release building up inside of you as Xavier reaches his own high. He paints your walls with his cum as he continues to thrust into you bringing you to completion. You clench down on his, milking every last drop of cum before he pulls out of you completely. He slides out from underneath you and places a kiss on your forehead. Before long you feel another pair of hands grip your hips into position. You feel the head run up and down your dripping slit as you let out a shutter. Zayne rubs the tip onto your clit coating it in the precum leaking from his hard on.

"I'm not going to last much longer.

He pushes deep into your dripping core with a hiss. You squeeze him for dear mercy, begging to cum again. You grip the sheets as he begins to pick up the pace, plowing into you like a madman. You thrust back into him, meeting his hips. Your voice hoarse from yelling as you cry out for him to keep going. You were so close, teetering on the edge. He continues his pace, too lost in the feeling of your clenching around him. He thrusts in as far as he can before blowing his load deep inside you. You clench around him as you leak all over him and the sheets below. The mix of your juices and cum leaking onto the bed below. You collapse onto the mattress as he goes soft inside you. You wanted more, so much more. You whimper at the lost of him as you clench around nothing. He plans a soothing kiss on your lips as Sylus takes his place behind you. Xavier and Rafayel climb onto the bed while lazily jerking themselves off. With his other hand Rafayel and Xavier reach under you to play with your nipples and stroke your clit. You feel Sylus line himself up with your entrance and push in. He takes his time, letting you feel every single inch of him inside you. Xavier continues to play with your clit, rubbing and pinching it lightly. Rafayel finds a way to take one of your nipples in his mouth as he lightly swirls his tongue over the bud. Their touch was overwhelming but it just wasn't enough to reach your high. You whine and moan as they each take their time with you. Once Sylus bottoms out he stays there to let you adjust to his size before pulling out and thrusting back in completely. You can only lie there and take what they are giving, over stimulated and blissed out beyond your imagination. The feeling of Sylus pounding into you has your head spinning. Just a little bit more and you'll reach your peak again. Rafayel switches to the other nipple while Xavier increases his speed on your clit. You let out a silent scream as your release takes you by surprise. You clench down on Sylus as he groans at your tightness. Xavier and Rafayel leave the bed soon after, letting Sylus have his way with you. He grips your hips harder as he fucks you onto him. His rhythm growing more erratic and his own release is coming up. Your grip the sheets underneath you for dear life as your another orgasm washes over you. He thrusts deeper into you, kissing your cervix as he begins to cum. He fills your dripping hole with yet another load of cum. You cry out as your orgasm washes over you and a feeling of exhaustion settles in your limbs. Yet you still crave more, you want more of them, your cravings only growing stronger with each release. He pulls out of you with a squelch and sits back on the bed. You lay there for a moment before you feel a set of hands on your hips. The grip of Zayne was undeniable as you feel his face linger closely to your abused hole. You shutter at the thought of what is to come.

"May I?"

You look back to him, his pupils are blown wide as he watches and waits for you. You choke out a yes and wait for him. His tongue is instantly on you, licking and sucking as the sting of over stimulation settles in. You beg and plead for him to let you cum just one more time. His tongue expertly licking into you and slurping up the taste of all of you on his tongue. He hums into you as the cum coats him tongue, he was addicted to it. You cling onto the bed sheets as another orgasm runs through you, leaking over his lips and jaw. He grows more desperate as he sucks harder on your clit extending your release. He unlatches with a pop as he takes a look at you covered in hickeys and bite marks. You shutter under his gaze as you roll over onto your back. All of their eyes watch you in desperation as you settle into your new position.

"Whose next? "

You muse as you wait for round two to begin.

[cherrycheolkat]

• random slutty CUTE thoughts - seungcheol •

the valentine’s day one with clumsy cheol

seungcheol has big plans for valentine’s day, but everything seems to be going wrong - he just wants to make it the best valentine’s day you’ve ever had, no matter what

seungcheol had plans for your valentine’s day evening - he planned the food, the jewelry, the flowers, literally everything PLANNED

but now he’s lying on his back in a hospital bed because he tripped in the bathroom - he wasn’t even showering - he just slipped and whacked his head on the tile and maybe got woozy when he saw some blood

it was so embarrassing, literally everything about tonight was supposed to be sexy

but when you come into the hospital room, worried and squishing his cheeks, asking if he’s ’okay’ and ‘what can you do’ - all he can think is how you’re so cute when you’re worried about him, cooing over him and petting him, calling him ‘baby’ and kissing his forehead - he certainly doesn’t hate it

plus, he’s usually the one who’s protective, but you’re kind of scary when the nurses can’t answer basic questions, like whether it’s a serious head injury or a mild concussion

he’s annoyed when the doctor says he needs to stay the night because he can literally imagine everything he planned sitting at home and going to waste, but at least they say you can stay the night too

you had planned for that, of course, and already brought some extra clothes for yourself and for him, plus a tablet full of downloaded shows and movies and the pillow he likes and an extra blanket

it’s funny to him how a few things from home and having you curled against him make a hospital room seem almost homey

he’s almost okay with things, but also he isn’t at all - tonight was important - he had been waiting to tell you something and this wasn’t the romantic evening he had planned

but when you lean up to kiss him, your warm lips pressing to his, he immediately feels all the warm, quivering feelings you always make him feel - he loves those feelings dearly

you lean back slowly, smoothing his hair and staring at him quietly for a few moments, he returns your gaze, adoring the gentle way you look at him, like he’s someone truly special to you

you lean down again, kissing his cheek softly, “you’re so sweet for planning everything,” you whisper

he flushes slightly, “you weren’t supposed to see that,” he whines

you just smile, “but i did and it was so perfect” —

he stops you, “i know, but then i fell and ruined everything”

you shake your head, “you didn’t ruin anything, cheol,” you assures him, “it’s just a special story we can tell everyone one day,” she smiles, “the day i realized i was completely in love with you,” you kiss him again, lingering for a moment before pulling back

his eyes were large, “i was supposed to confess today!” he whined again

you laugh softly, “so go ahead then - it’s not like we can’t realize it the same day”

he shakes his head, “no, i’ve known - i just wanted to tell you today so it’s romantic…special,” he pouted

you nod, “ah, so you wanted it to be memorable when you told me?” you giggle, “there’s nothing memorable about today, i guess”

he knew you were joking, but he still sulked, and you press closer, “cheol,” you stroke his cheek, “really, i mean it, i love you,” you whisper, “just you,” you press another kiss to his cheek

“maybe i’ll pick another romantic day,” he exaggerated his pouting, making you laugh softly

you nuzzle close, “at least i told you as soon as i knew how i felt”

he sighs, “i knew at christmas when you picked the matching necklaces and refused anything else they had”

she laughed, “that? can it be something else?”

“no - it’s just when i knew you were really the person i love,” he strokes your cheek

you smile, “i guess it’s okay then”

he rolls his eyes, “i love you too,” he finally confesses

you nuzzle closer, enjoying his warmth, “i love you more”

he swats your arm gently, “i’m injured, let me win,” he pouts

you grin, “of course you win, my perfect cheol”

────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ──── ────୨ৎ────

a/n: i just wanted something cute for cheollie

♡ kat

if you want to be tagged, go [here] my [master list] if you want to read more

[ldydeath]

My Heaven | Kwon Ji-yong (G-Dragon)

Summary: Jiyong wants to marry you.  Warnings: None. Author’s Note: This is short sappy fluffy fic in honor of Valentine's Day.

Today was your five year anniversary and Jiyong wanted to make today as special as possible. It was no secret that the man was crazy about you, he only told you every chance he got. Which is why tonight at dinner, he was going to propose to you. Jiyong had been talking about marriage for a long time now, bringing it up in interviews. Tonight had to be perfect. Jiyong didn’t know what he’d do if you said no. He wasn’t going to think about that right now, he had too many other things to prepare than to think about the worst case scenario. 

You had been given very clear instructions to pamper yourself that day, mani, pedi, buy a new outfit, all at his expense and then meet Jiyong at the restaurant for dinner. You weren't stupid, or at least you hoped you weren’t. Men didn’t usually drop such large hints when they were about to propose but Jiyong couldn’t keep a secret to save his life. Not that he’d said anything, but he was good about dropping the biggest, most obvious hints. You’d had butterflies in your stomach all day as you pampered yourself for your big date. There was nobody else in the world for you and you couldn’t wait to spend the rest of your life with your soulmate. 

“Hi you.” You grinned at your boyfriend as you walked into the restaurant. You took note that it wasn’t the fanciest place you’d imagined but you trusted Jiyong, whatever his vision was you knew you’d see it soo. “Hi.” He grinned, standing up to greet you with a kiss.

He was nervous, something he’d never been good at hiding but you hoped you could reassure him throughout the night that you knew and it was an easy yes. He had to know this was all you’d ever wanted, since the first day you’d met him. He was special, he was amazing, he was yours. Who wouldn’t want to be with him for the rest of their life? 

“How was your day?” You couldn’t help but laugh at the question, and he raised a brow in response. You shook your head taking a sip of your wine. “It was good, how was yours?” He leaned back in his seat, a smirk on his lips. “It was good.” 

As you two ate, he continued to tease you, asking questions and watching your disappointed reactions every time. This was definitely more fun than leaving hints around the house for you. Not that he didn’t have more tricks up his sleeve, because of course he did. He cleared his throat as he finished eating and leaned over the table, a card dangling from his fingers. You eyed it suspiciously before taking it from his fingers. 

“What’s this?” You looked up at him before eying the card again trying to make sense of the address on it. “Meet me there in twenty minutes.” His eyes scanned your body, before he tilted his head to look down at your shoes. “Might want to change those.” He stood up, adjusted his coat and walked over to you, planting a kiss on your cheek. “I’ll see you soon. Dinner’s already paid for.” He winked at you before walking out of the restaurant. 

What the fuck? This man was going to drive you insane but you couldn’t help the grin from spreading across your face. The address he’d given you was to one of your favorite spots in town and you couldn’t wait to get there. You had time though, it was an easy five minute drive to the location and you didn’t want to arrive early. He too needed to be kept guessing. 

You pulled up at the park and made your way through the entrance, not sure where to go when you spotted a faint glow off in the distance. Your stomach was currently doing summersaults, why were you nervous? It was only the moment you’d been waiting for for nearly five years. Spotting Jiyong standing in the middle of the courtyard you smiled as you made your way to him. 

He’d lined up the circle with roses and twinkling lights, making it look like a scene straight out of a fairy tale. Which it was, every day with Jiyong had been a fairy tale. You couldn’t help but smile when you saw him. His face lit up and he grinned at you.

“Took you long enough.” You rolled your eyes as you stopped in front of him. 

“Had to change my shoes, remember?” He smirked at your comment, pleased that his trick had worked. "What's all this?" You knew the answer, but you needed him to say it.

Grabbing your hands in his, you offered him a reassuring squeeze. Your eyes stayed locked on his, trying to memorize every detail of this moment. Which was getting difficult with the way he was looking at you. He always looked at you like you were the only person on the planet but this was different, somehow. More intense, more love than you’d ever remembered seeing. 

“You are by far the best thing to ever happen to my life. I knew when I met you that you were different, I wasn’t prepared for how you were going to come in and flip everything upside down. Everyday's an adventure with you, I genuinely have no idea what’s going on in that brain of yours or what you’ve got planned for us and I wouldn’t want it any other way.” He paused, pulling a box out of his pocket, your breath catching in your throat as he smirked at you before kneeling down on one knee. “I had so many things prepared to say to you but I’m afraid if I don’t ask you now I’ll chicken out. I want to spend the rest of my life trying to make you as happy as you make me, will you marry me?” 

You stood there for a minute trying to get the words to come out, all you wanted to do was yell yes a thousand times but you couldn’t get the words to come out. You nodded your head frantically and Jiyong grinned at you as he moved to slide the ring on your finger. 

“Yes, yes…a million times yes.” You cried as you threw your arms around his neck, pulling him closer to you. He laughed before covering your lips with his. “Oh my god, I’m going to be Mrs. Dragon” you squealed as you pulled away, bringing your hand up to your face to examine the ring. Not that you cared at all about the design, you only cared about the man it belonged to.

Jiyong laughed, shaking his head as he wrapped his arm around your shoulder, leading you back through the park. “Maybe we should try Kwon.” He teased and you shook your head. You’d tell him some other time that you would be requesting all your friends to call you Mrs. Dragon from here on out. He was the one that said he liked you keeping him guessing anyway. 

“I love you.” He sighed into your hair as he planted a kiss on your forehead, opening your car door in one swift moment. God, he was so hot when he oozed this natural confidence.  “I love you too, Mr. Dragon.” You leaned up pecking his lips and he rolled his eyes as you slid into your car. 

He had the rest of his life to argue with you about names. If you wanted to be Mrs. Dragon, he’d call you that, whatever you wanted. He was going to spend the rest of his life spoiling you. 

tag list: @wcnderlnds, @alosss-blog@sooyasya@dprvivi@infinetlyforgotten @mirahyun @loveesiren

[gyeomsweetgyeom]

Just thinking about Fratboy!Jaehyun... who yes, of course he knows his birthday is on Valentine's Day, but that doesn't mean he's not going to ask you, his girlfriend, to be his valentine. He doesn't care that it's his birthday all that much because at the end of the day, he still wants you to feel special and loved.

So on February 13th, he comes home from his classes with a pretty bouquet of roses in his hands and a card with some cheesy pun and a smile on his face. Who would have guessed that the former fuckboy of Nu Chi Theta would be so excited to be in a committed, loving relationship and excited to ask his girlfriend of over a year to be his for a day that was usually all about him?

He comes into the frat house, sets his backpack near the staircase and finds you sitting on a couch far too dirty and unworthy of someone as precious as you and simply smiles. He loves how comfortable you are in a house that was once drowning in testosterone, you made it better for everyone.

"Sweetheart," he starts, entering your line of sight, "I know Valentine's Day is a little different for us, but I still wanted to ask, like I have before, if you'd like to be my valentine?"

You pout at Jaehyun with pure and utter affection, "Baby! I'd love to!"

Jaehyun leans down to press a kiss against your lips and hands you the bouquet and the card, "perfect, we can celebrate the day after tomorrow-"

"Well, I didn't finish," you reply awkwardly, "Haechan kind of already asked me to be his valentine..."

Jaehyun's face falls, "tell me you said no."

"Baby," you whine, cupping his face, "he's one of my best friends!"

"And I'm your boyfriend! Hello?! You can't be another guy's valentine on my birthday!"

"Well, it's not like we'll be going on a date or anything! We're just making each other valentine's baskets and that's it," you explain, pressing what you hope is a calming kiss against his lips.

"But it's my birthday," Jaehyun protests with a pout.

"Exactly, my love, so you know I like to treat you on your birthday. I'll spend the night tonight, tell you happy birthday right when the clock strikes midnight, we can put some of these flower petals to good use, and I have a special surprise for your eyes only," you whisper huskily, eyes dark while you trail soft, teasing kisses up the side of Jaehyun's neck.

He feels himself melting against the stained cushions of the couch, finding that in this moment he would say yes to anything you say or ask. His eyes fall shut, enjoying the feel of your soft lips against his sensitive skin while one of your hands finds its way under the worn cotton of his t-shirt, nails trailing over the pale skin of his abs. You smirk against his skin as a shiver runs down his spine, he's so pliable and docile in your hands when he's like this.

The make out session, foreplay, teasing— whatever, is interrupted when you both hear a sing songy, "oh, Sweetheart!"

You pull away from you boyfriend with a confused pinch in your brows. It comes as a surprise to both you and Jaehyun when you find the Jaehyun's core frat brothers walking toward the two of you all holding beautiful flower arrangements in their hands, your favorite snacks, and stuffed animals.

"What is going on?" Jaehyun breathes out, eyes zeroed in on his frat brothers with a matching look of confusion on his face.

"Sweetheart," Yuta starts.

"Will you," Johnny carries on.

"Be our," Jungwoo continues.

"Valentine?" Mark finishes off.

"God, another 7 guys to share you with?" Jaehyun breathes under his breath before turning his attention to the guys, "you guys know she's my girlfriend, right?"

"Jaehyun, she's frat sweetheart. This is literally the least we can do," Doyoung explains with a look that leaves no room for complaints.

And Jaehyun can't even find it in himself to complain, not when he sees the look of pure joy and the tears of happiness in your eyes as you go down the line and hug your friends one by one while accepting the gifts. He's so in love with you.

a/n: trying out a bit of a different format here

[nanamisgirly]

imagine nerd!Choso, you both are in the same degree. he didn't really noticed you at first but, for some unknown reasons, he kept bumping into you— wether in the hallway or you'd be few rows in front of him during lectures. And just like that, he developed an obsession toward you. and might god forgive him, but he couldn't help jerking off his cock at the thought of his length disappearing between your lips, eyes flickering up at him with a teasing glint. he was kind of sad you didn't even know he existed :/

but how lucky! in one of your lesson, the teacher assigned a partnered project. and fortunately, the duo were made with a randomized system!! Choso did not think twice, with some quick manipulation on his computer, he paired himself…with you! almost too easy

on your side tho, you had never heard the name Choso before. So when you reached out to set up a time for the project, you didn't expect much of it. But now…sitting across from him…his wide figure looming over the table, inked arms straining against the ridiculous tightness of his shirt…that was another story. How hadn't you noticed such a pretty face?? sharp eyes lined with kohl, two messy buns with some rebellious strands framing his beautiful features, and perfect dark purple painted nails tapping against the table. ‘am i blind or sum?’ you wondered. 

nerd!Choso was originally awkward with social interaction but more so when it came to you. He clears his throat "I- uh," he started, voice trembling "f-for the work, would you like t-t- to…" his cheeks flushed an adorable pink as you stared at him, giving him time to formule his thoughts ‘such a cute boy’ you mused.

"we can do it at my home!" he suddenly blurted out, words rushed, as if the poor man hadn’t said it now, he never would have :( "i- i mean, t-the assignment! o-of course..." he was so embarrassed of himself, his hands nervously cupping his warm milk chocolate "if— if you want to.." his eyes darted anywhere but yours, unable to hold your gaze. not when you were looking so intently, like you were seeing right through him. because what if you had some superpowers, the kind to read his horny thoughts, the kind to know exactly how many times he fucked his fist to the image of your pretty mouth stuffed full of his aching cock. catastrophe!!!!

nerd!Choso was blushing furiously, messier, stuttering over his words more than usual when you were unconditionally giving your best to give the man a gooood ride. “p-p-please” he whined, voice breaking. You leaned in, your breath warm against his ear “tell me, my pretty shy boy…what are you begging for, hmm? use your words, pretty". 

choso's hands gripped your thighs like a lifeline, fingers digging into your skin. “y-you— mngh, it's— it's too good. i can't last— i— please,” he choked out, eyes glossy as you slammed your hips down harder. His happy trail rubbed against your clit with every grind. the friction giving you as much pleasure as him.

“preeetty boy," you cooed, trying to maintain your composure despite having his fat dick stretching you enough to see stars. “is this what you've been thinking about the whole year? me riding you? or even better,” your mouth went for his neck, licking softly, contrasting with the pulsing grip of your cunt, milking his cock. "touching yourself to the thought of my glossy lips wrapped around your pathetically big dick ?" your voice was so sensual "tell me, tell me and i'll give you what you want” that man was moaning, the sluttiest moans escaping his throat. in response, your walls clenched harder, trying to suck him in even deeper at this point. “i— i was— i mean, i- fuckfuckfuck" choso were sur he lost the ability to form a simple sentence, his head falling back as he felt his tip kissing your cervix. but he tried his best to continue "i— i was…pumping my— my cock at the- mngh, thought o-of you..t-takin' me…d-d-deep,” poor boy was losing his mind. You've never seen a man being that pussy drunk, so openly lost into you, that was addicting.

your fingers trailed over his inked pecs, moving along the curves of his tattoos making their way to his nipples, and you pinched. not too rough to hurt but enough to send jolts of pleasure through his body. “look at this good boy," you sighed, feeling choso throbbing inside you. "earned the right to cum inside me… would you like that?”. 

you loved teasing him. he was a total whimpering, fucked out mess beneath you. ‘so cute’

nerd!Choso was as sur as the sky is blue that you had superpowers, somehow. and you both sur as well scored a beautiful A on the assignment.

(*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ꕤ*.ﾟ

[lov3notts]

yours, always

summary: draco’s gift to you for valentines

a/n: i’ve decided to release the other boys stories, theo is next :)!!

mattheo’s version; draco’s version; theo’s version

Navigation; masterlist; request rules

Hogwarts on Valentine’s Day was a spectacle. The Great Hall was filled with floating pink and red decorations (courtesy of Professor Flitwick’s overenthusiastic charms), enchanted roses whispered love notes to passersby, and heart-shaped confetti drifted through the air. It was sickeningly sweet—at least, according to Draco.

"Honestly, who thought pink was an acceptable color for the ceiling?" he muttered as the two of you walked through the castle corridors.

You rolled your eyes. "It’s festive, Draco. You don’t have to act like it’s a personal attack."

"It is a personal attack. On my eyes, my dignity, and my ability to keep my breakfast down." He shot a glare at a pair of Hufflepuffs giggling over a stack of enchanted chocolates before turning back to you.

"Speaking of which, you’re not expecting me to do any of that ridiculous Valentine’s nonsense, are you?"

You raised an eyebrow, unimpressed. "Of course not. I know you, Malfoy. If you were going to do something, you’d act like it was my idea and then pretend you weren’t trying too hard."

Draco’s smirk twitched. "You wound me, love. I am a man of mystery."

You snorted. "You are a man of dramatics."

He gasped, clutching his chest. "I see how it is. I pour my heart into this relationship, and this is what I get."

You rolled your eyes fondly, nudging his shoulder. "Come on, I have to get my Potions book from the common room before class."

He followed you without question, hands stuffed into his pockets as you made your way to the dungeons. The Slytherin common room was mostly empty, the fire crackling low in the hearth. You were halfway to your dormitory when Draco suddenly grabbed your wrist, pulling you back toward him.

"Wait."

You turned, eyebrows raised. "Draco, what—?"

Before you could finish, he placed something into your hands—a small black envelope, sealed with silver wax and a small velvet box.

You blinked, looking down at it. "What’s this?"

Draco shrugged, but his fingers twitched slightly at his sides. "Just open it, will you?"

Curious, you carefully broke the seal and pulled out a neatly folded piece of parchment. As your eyes scanned the words written in his elegant, slanted handwriting, your breath caught.

"Happy Valentine’s Day, my love.

You should know by now that I don’t do grand romantic speeches. I’m not going to stand on a table in the Great Hall and declare my undying love for you—mainly because McGonagall would have me scrubbing cauldrons for the rest of my life. But I will say this:

You are the only thing in this castle that makes any of this ridiculous nonsense bearable. You make me laugh when I want to hex someone. You challenge me when no one else dares. And somehow, despite my many, many flaws, you still choose me.

So, this is me choosing you. Today. Tomorrow. Every day after that.

Yours, always.

— D.M"

Your heart clenched. You read the note twice, then again, just to make sure you weren’t imagining things. You slowly opened the velvet box, revealing a delicate silver bracelet, its charm a tiny serpent curled protectively around a shimmering emerald.

"It’s charmed," he said, voice softer now. "To keep you safe. And warm, if you ever need it." He hesitated, then added, "I had it made for you."

You blinked, surprised. "Draco… this is beautiful."

When you finally looked up, Draco was watching you, his usual smirk softened at the edges, warmth flickering behind his eyes.

You didn’t say anything else. Instead, you launched yourself at him, wrapping your arms around his neck. He stumbled back slightly but caught you with ease, his arms tightening around your waist.

"I take it that means you liked it?" he murmured, amusement laced in his voice.

You pulled back just enough to look at him, giving him a quick kiss on his lips "You’re an idiot, Malfoy."

"Charming."

"But you’re my idiot."

His smirk returned, but this time, it was warm. Real. He cupped your face, brushing his thumb against your cheek before leaning in, his lips brushing yours in a slow, lingering kiss.

When he finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours. "Happy Valentine’s Day, love."

"Happy Valentine’s Day, dray."

And as much as he complained about the holiday, you knew—without a doubt—that this was the best one he’d ever had.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

©lov3notts ,do not copy, translate or claim any of my writing or works as your own.

[luvst4rc0r3]

Valentine’s Day Dates!!!

Sevika, Jinx, Ambessa, Vi, Caitlyn, Ekko, Mel, Vander, Silco

Valentine’s day with them!

SILCO

You and Silco never made a big deal out of things like Valentine’s Day. Or birthdays. Or promotions. Achievements were acknowledged with a nod, maybe a quiet “Well done,” but that was the extent of it. The only exception was your anniversary, and even then, it was just a small gift, exchanged without ceremony before life moved on as usual.

So, when the 14th of February rolled around, you didn’t think twice about it.

The day was like any other—long, exhausting, filled with the usual dealings of the Lanes. By the time you got back to Silco’s office, all you wanted was to sit down, maybe steal a sip of his whiskey, and let the rest of the world fade away.

But the moment you stepped inside, you knew something was different.

The usual scent of damp stone and cigars was laced with something richer—spiced, warm. The office was dimly lit, the sharp glow of the fish tanks casting flickering light over the walls. Silco stood by his desk, sleeves rolled up, a cigarette dangling loosely from his fingers. And on the table…

Your eyes widened.

There was food. Real food, not just the quick, thoughtless meals you both shoved down between business dealings. Two plates, wine glasses filled, and something sweet tucked to the side, like an afterthought. It wasn’t extravagant, but it was more effort than either of you had ever put into a day like this.

You turned to Silco, skeptical. “What is this?”

He exhaled slowly, tapping his cigarette into a nearby tray. “A meal.”

You arched a brow. “A meal?”

His lips curled into something that wasn’t quite a smirk, but close enough. “A meal. With you. No business. No interruptions.” He stepped closer, tilting his head. “Unless, of course, you’d rather I pretend this never happened.”

You blinked.

Silco didn’t do things like this. He didn’t entertain sentiment for the sake of it, didn’t indulge in traditions that meant nothing to him. And yet, here he was.

He must have seen the surprise on your face because he scoffed, shaking his head. “Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” you teased, crossing your arms.

“Like I’ve grown a second head.”

You laughed, stepping forward, fingers grazing the edge of the table. “I just wasn’t expecting…” You gestured vaguely at the scene before you.

He hummed. “You never expect much from me.”

There was no bitterness in his tone, just a quiet observation. You met his gaze, something tight twisting in your chest.

“I never need to,” you admitted softly.

Because even without celebrations, without grand gestures, he was always there. In the way he ensured you were safe. In the way his hand lingered at your back when you walked together. In the way he listened, even when he pretended not to.

But this… this was something else entirely.

Silco studied you for a moment longer before gesturing to the chair. “Sit.”

You did. The food was simple but good, the wine smooth, the atmosphere… different. Comfortable in a way that neither of you usually allowed.

At some point, he reached across the table, his fingers brushing yours before settling over them completely. No words, no explanations—just the warmth of his touch, a silent understanding passing between you.

Maybe you didn’t celebrate Valentine’s Day. Maybe this was a one-time thing.

But tonight, it was enough.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

VANDER

You understood why Vander couldn’t take you out tonight. The Last Drop was packed, busier than you’d ever seen it. Every seat was filled, tankards clashed together in celebration, and coin exchanged hands faster than a Zaunite could blink. It was good for business, for the people, but… it stung just a little.

He’d promised you a night out. Something simple—just the two of you, away from the noise and chaos of the Lanes. But as the hours passed and the rush never slowed, you knew the night wasn’t going to end the way you’d hoped.

So, you sat at the bar, nursing a drink, watching Vander move from table to table, his laughter blending with the chatter of the crowd. He caught your eye a few times, his expression apologetic, but you just smiled and shook your head. You understood.

You didn’t even remember when sleep took you. One minute, you were swirling the last drops of your drink in the glass, the next, warmth surrounded you. The smell of something rich and savory drifted into your senses, pulling you from the depths of sleep.

Blinking, you realized you weren’t at the bar anymore. Instead, you were curled up on the worn-out couch in Vander’s home, a blanket draped over you. Soft candlelight flickered against the walls, and laughter—bright, full of love—filled the room.

Pushing yourself up, you turned towards the source of the noise.

Vander stood in the kitchen, sleeves rolled up, moving with ease as he stirred something in a pot. Vi and Powder were setting the table, bickering over where the plates should go, while Mylo and Claggor handled some kind of bread, arguing about whether it was “too burnt” or “just crispy enough.”

You blinked in surprise.

“Look who’s finally awake,” Vander rumbled, turning toward you with a sheepish smile. His arms were dusted with flour, his apron slightly askew. “Was startin’ to think I’d have to carry you to the table.”

Your heart clenched in the best way.

“You… did all this?” Your voice was thick with emotion as you looked around. The table was set, the food smelled incredible, and the warmth of home settled deep in your bones.

“We felt bad you didn’t get your fancy date,” Vi admitted, hands on her hips. “So, we brought the fancy date to you.”

“Minus the fancy,” Mylo added.

“Hey, I folded the napkins all pretty-like,” Powder huffed, pointing at the messily crumpled napkins.

Claggor grinned. “They look great, Pow.”

Vander walked over, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. “Didn’t want the night to end without showin’ you how much you mean to us.” His voice was low, warm. “To me.”

You swallowed the lump in your throat and smiled up at him. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

He chuckled. “Of course I did.”

The kids were already pulling you toward the table, eager to show off their work. The food was simple but filled with love, laughter bouncing between the walls of the home you shared.

Maybe you didn’t get your quiet, romantic evening out. But you had something better—a family, a home, and a man who loved you enough to turn a missed date into a night you’d never forget.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

MEL

A folded note rests on your bedside table in the early morning light—a simple message in elegant handwriting:

“Meet me where forgotten dreams glow tonight. – Mel”

That single line tugs at your curiosity all day. As dusk falls, you follow her cryptic invitation through the maze of back alleys and quiet streets of the city—a route Mel always seemed to know, one that bypasses the neon glare for something a little more raw and real.

You arrive at a long-forgotten courtyard, tucked away behind crumbling brick walls and overgrown ivy. There, under a canopy of soft, flickering lanterns, stands Mel. Clad in a blend of edgy sophistication—a tailored jacket paired with vintage boots and just enough mystery in her eyes—she radiates an aura of rebellion and grace.

A gentle smile plays on her lips as she greets you. “I know the world expects grand gestures,” she begins, her voice low and playful, “but I thought tonight we could have something more…authentic.”

Mel has transformed this hidden nook into a secret haven. A small table is set for two with mismatched vintage chairs, the surface adorned with wildflowers that seem to have sprung from the very soul of the place. The soft strains of a soulful melody float in the air from a well-worn record player, setting the tone for an evening that feels both intimate and adventurous.

As you settle into the cozy setup, Mel shares snippets of her day—stories of chasing the city’s pulse, of diving into forgotten corners to uncover hidden beauty. “I spend so much time chasing after chaos,” she admits with a half-smile, “but tonight, I’m chasing something real.” There’s a sincerity there that warms you more than any candlelight.

Between bites of delectable treats and quiet laughter, the city’s relentless pace seems to melt away. When the record changes and the music grows softer, Mel leads you along a narrow staircase to a rooftop overlooking a tapestry of twinkling city lights. There, with the hum of urban life far below and a blanket of stars overhead, she stops and turns to face you.

“Sometimes,” she whispers, drawing you close, “the most unexpected paths lead to the most enchanting destinations.” In that suspended moment, you feel the promise of something genuine—a love that thrives in the hidden spaces between chaos and calm.

And as you share a tender kiss beneath the night sky, you realize that Mel’s Valentine’s Day isn’t about elaborate plans or public displays. It’s about crafting a secret escape where every heartbeat, every whispered word, is a reminder that even in a tumultuous world, love finds a way to glow.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

EKKO

In the heart of Zaun, Ekko’s day always felt like a race against time—and today was no exception. Amid the clatter of tools and the hum of his latest gadget, tiny glowing orbs—the fire lights—danced erratically around his cluttered workshop. Their flickering sparks illuminated his workbench as he fine-tuned a device meant to bend time itself.

So absorbed was he in his work that he almost forgot what day it was. That is, until a particularly bright fire light zipped up beside him and chirped, “Hey, Ekko! It’s Valentine’s Day!”

Startled, he paused mid-adjustment. In an instant, the other fire lights converged into a sparkling, playful swarm. Their lights blinked in what you could almost call a chorus of mischief. One of them—its voice soft but insistent—seemed to say, “We’ve got this, boss. You wood take care of yourself tonight—and go on your date!”

Ekko blinked, a sheepish grin breaking through. How could he have been so wrapped up in keeping these little sparks safe that he’d lost track of the day meant for him and you? With a few quick taps on a panel, he set the fire lights to “self-manage” mode (they’d proven they could handle a little chaos on their own), then grabbed his jacket and dashed out.

Moments later, you found him waiting on the bustling streets of Zaun, his eyes alight with a mix of urgency and genuine affection. “Sorry I almost left you hanging,” he said, a playful edge in his tone. “These little rascals nearly made me miss our date.”

You couldn’t help but smile at his flustered apology. Hand in hand, you and Ekko slipped away from the familiar clang and clamor, heading toward a quiet rooftop tucked above the city’s neon glow. Up there, away from the incessant buzz of machinery and misbehaving fire lights, the chaos softened into a serene promise of time just for the two of you.

As twilight deepened, Ekko’s usual confidence gave way to a rare vulnerability. “I might be great at bending time,” he murmured, gazing out over the city, “but I’d trade every second of it if it meant missing a moment with you.”

That night, with Zaun’s lights twinkling like distant memories below, Ekko and you shared laughter, whispered secrets, and the kind of silence that spoke volumes. The fire lights, safely taking care of themselves back at the workshop, had given Ekko the gift of presence—reminding him that no matter how busy life gets, there’s always time for love.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

CAITLYN

Caitlyn is nothing if not precise, even when it comes to something as simple as Valentine’s Day. While everyone else is scrambling with last-minute plans or awkwardly trying to put together some grand gesture, Caitlyn has already thought of everything—because that’s just how she works.

You wake up to the sound of your doorbell ringing, a little earlier than usual. When you answer, you find a basket of neatly wrapped gifts—each one with a small note, perfectly handwritten by Caitlyn.

The first note reads: “For a perfect start to your day. I’ve already planned the rest, don’t worry.”

Inside the basket is your favorite breakfast—freshly baked pastries and a thermos of tea, exactly how you like it. You smile at the thoughtfulness.

By midday, Caitlyn picks you up, her usual posture calm and collected. She’s dressed in a light lavender dress, a bit more delicate than her usual attire, and the warmth in her eyes betrays her usual cool demeanor.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” she says softly, offering you a smile that makes your heart skip a beat. “I’ve arranged something special for us.”

She takes you to a secluded garden, one that you’ve never visited before. It’s quiet and serene, filled with vibrant flowers in bloom and a soft breeze that carries the scent of the blossoms. There’s a small table set for two, surrounded by fairy lights that twinkle as the sun starts to set.

Caitlyn smiles as you look around. “I thought we could have a quiet evening, away from everything. Just you and me.”

Dinner is light and elegant—small bites, fresh fruit, and a carefully chosen wine. Caitlyn insists on pouring, her hands steady and practiced. The evening unfolds slowly, with soft conversation, gentle laughter, and the quiet sound of the wind rustling the leaves.

At the end of the night, Caitlyn leads you to a small bridge overlooking a pond, the stars just beginning to twinkle above. She hands you a delicate silver necklace, a charm shaped like a key.

“I thought you might like this,” she says, voice soft. “A reminder that you hold the key to my heart, always.”

You take the necklace, fingers brushing hers as you clasp it around your neck. Caitlyn steps closer, wrapping her arms around you. “I know I can be… a little formal sometimes. But with you, I can be myself.”

And for Caitlyn, on Valentine’s Day, that’s more than enough. A perfect, quiet evening, with the person who means everything to her. It’s not about grand gestures or over-the-top displays of affection—it’s about the subtle, meaningful moments she shares with you.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

VI

Vi is a bit of a softie, though she’ll never admit it. So when Valentine’s Day rolls around, she might not have grandiose gestures or flashy gifts, but she’s got something just as meaningful—a day with you.

The morning starts off with a surprise: you wake up to the smell of coffee brewing and the faint sound of music playing from the other room. When you step out, there she is, in her usual leather jacket, but with a big grin and her hair slightly messier than usual.

“Morning, sweetheart,” she says, a little too casually, like she’s not trying to act extra sweet. “I made you breakfast.”

It’s not gourmet, but it’s exactly what you like—scrambled eggs, toast, and a side of bacon with a mug of coffee that’s just the right temperature. She hands you the plate with a little wink. “Figured I’d get you ready for whatever the day brings.”

You tease her a little, “So, what’s the plan? More punching things?”

She chuckles, but there’s a warmth in her eyes. “I had a better idea.”

By midday, you’re not in the Lanes, not fighting, but instead walking hand-in-hand through a quieter part of the city. Vi’s in no rush today, taking her time to show you a side of Piltover you’ve never seen—the small spots where the crowds don’t linger, the quiet parks where the sound of the wind in the trees is louder than the noise of the streets.

She’s been sneaking glances at you all day, her usual tough-girl attitude softened by the way she holds your hand, her thumb rubbing over your knuckles. And when you both stop at a secluded spot overlooking the city, she pulls out a small, simple gift—a hand-carved pendant, rough but beautiful.

“Had this made for you,” she says, voice unusually shy. “I know it’s not much, but I wanted you to have something that reminds you of me—something that doesn’t have to get destroyed.”

You can see the effort behind it—the thoughtfulness she’s not always known for. And when you kiss her, she holds you close, just a bit longer than usual.

Later, the two of you end up on a rooftop, watching the sun dip below the skyline. She leans into you, her weight comfortable and familiar. “I don’t need the whole world to know how much you mean to me. But I think I can show you, at least.”

Vi’s Valentine’s Day might not have been grandiose, but it was all the more special for how real it was. And as you sit there, wrapped up in her warmth, you know that in her own way, she’s giving you everything you need.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

AMBESSA

Ambessa Medarda is not a woman of half-measures. She doesn’t do anything small—not in war, not in power, and certainly not when it comes to you.

You don’t even realize she’s planned something until the morning of Valentine’s Day, when a personal envoy arrives at your door with a message written in her sharp, elegant script:

“Be ready by sunset. Wear something you’ll want to be seen in.”

The rest of the day is a blur of anticipation. When the evening arrives, a private airship—yes, airship—is waiting to take you to a location kept secret until the moment you arrive.

And where does she take you? A grand feast in a palace lit by candlelight? A secluded getaway on a floating estate?

No. Ambessa Medarda doesn’t just take you to dinner—she owns the evening. The entire venue, a stunning high-rise overlooking Piltover, has been reserved exclusively for you. The table is draped in silk, the food prepared by the best chefs in the city, and the wine? A rare vintage, likely acquired through means you don’t want to question.

She’s already waiting when you arrive, dressed in regal attire that commands attention. Ambessa smirks as she looks you over, eyes sharp with appreciation.

“You clean up well,” she says, offering her hand. When you take it, she presses a slow, deliberate kiss to your knuckles, her grip firm—possessive, even. “Come. I intend to make tonight very memorable.”

Dinner is filled with sharp conversation, teasing remarks, and the kind of tension that leaves your skin burning under her gaze. She watches you like a hunter who already knows they’ve won. And she has. Because at the end of the night, when she leads you to the edge of the balcony, showing you the city glittering below, she leans in, voice low against your ear:

“Tell me, my love—how shall I conquer you next?”

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

SEVIKA

Sevika doesn’t do Valentine’s Day. At least, that’s what she claims every time someone brings it up. She scoffs at the idea of cheesy gifts, overpriced drinks, and love-drunk couples wandering the Lanes.

But when it comes to you? She’s got a soft spot—one she tries really hard to hide.

You don’t expect much from her today, and honestly, you’re okay with that. Just having her around is enough. But Sevika? She always finds a way to surprise you.

After a long shift at The Last Drop, she shows up at your door with a bag of your favorite takeout and a bottle of top-shelf liquor (the good kind, not the cheap stuff she hands out to randoms at the bar). She doesn’t make a big deal out of it, just hands it over with a gruff, “Figured you’d want somethin’ decent to eat.”

You grin. “Is this your way of asking me out?”

“Tch. If I was askin’, you’d know it.”

But she doesn’t argue when you pull her inside, setting up a quiet dinner away from the usual chaos. She lets you play whatever music you want, even if it’s the sappy kind she pretends to hate. Somewhere between bites, she reaches into her coat pocket and tosses something onto the table—a small, worn-out metal lighter.

Your brows furrow. “You… got me a lighter?”

Sevika leans back, exhaling smoke from the cigar she just lit. “Had it for years. Lucky, or whatever. Thought you might wanna hold onto it.”

It’s not flowers, it’s not chocolates, but it’s her. A quiet, unspoken way of saying she cares.

You press a kiss to her jaw, feeling the way her muscles tense before she huffs out something close to a chuckle.

“Alright, alright, don’t get all sentimental on me.” But when she pulls you into her lap a second later, her grip firm and steady, you know exactly what she means:

She loves you—even if she’ll never say it outright.

⊹────⊹ ꯭┄ׁ┄ ʚ͜♡͜ɞ ┄ׁ┄꯭   ⊹────⊹

JINX

Jinx isn’t really one for traditional romance. She thinks all the pink and red hearts everywhere are kinda corny, but when it comes to you? She’s willing to make an exception—her way.

The day starts with chaos, because of course it does. You wake up to the sound of something crashing in the other room, followed by Jinx swearing under her breath. When you step out, she’s standing in the middle of a mess, surrounded by streamers, confetti, and what used to be a heart-shaped cake. She looks up at you, cheeks smudged with frosting.

“…Okay, so maybe baking’s not my thing,” she mutters, arms crossed.

You laugh and help her clean up, stealing a bit of frosting from her cheek just to see her pout. “We could always just buy something.”

“Nah, nah, I got a way better plan.”

And by that, she means dragging you all over Zaun for a Jinx-style date. It’s reckless, messy, and somehow perfect. She takes you to the rooftops, where she’s set up a little hideout with pillows, blankets, and snacks she “borrowed” from various shops. There’s even a bouquet of flowers, though some of the petals are missing—probably from her carrying them around all day.

“Ta-da!” She throws her arms out, grinning wide. “Romantic, huh?”

You sit with her under the neon glow of the city, watching the lights flicker. She fidgets a little before pulling something from her pocket—a small, handmade charm, rough around the edges but undeniably her.

“Made this for ya,” she says, voice uncharacteristically soft. “Y’know, so ya always got a piece of me with ya.”

Your heart melts. You kiss her, and for once, she’s quiet—until she pulls back with a teasing smirk. “Alright, alright, don’t get all mushy on me. I got one more surprise.”

And that’s how you end up running from enforcers because Jinx thought fireworks in the middle of Piltover were a fantastic idea. But honestly? You wouldn’t have it any other way.

AHHH!!! HAPPY VALENTINES DAY!!

I WANT FOOD

[heeluvv]

the crowd YEARNS for brat-tamer enha x bratty reader

very late to this request but i did it so i hope you like this, also note, it's pretty long and i kind of rushed it at the end..but still i hope you like it either way :)

𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐏𝐎𝐈𝐍𝐓 ۫ ꣑ৎ

pairing ￬ brat-tamer! enha x brat! reader

genre ￬ smut

warnings ￬ overstimulation, p in v, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), etc.

natty's notes ￬ mdni, hate comments will be deleted.

you've always been a brat—a spoiled, insufferable tease who thrives on defiance. pushing buttons, breaking rules, testing limits—it's all second nature to you. but tonight? tonight, they've had enough.

dinner time is a disaster. you push your plate away with a dramatic sigh, rolling your eyes when heeseung tells you to eat. "i'm not a kid," you scoff, stabbing at your food with your fork. "you can’t make me."

jungwon exhales sharply, placing his utensils down with deliberate patience. "don’t test us. eat."

but you don’t. instead, you slouch back in your chair, swirling your drink lazily, watching their growing irritation with amusement. jake’s jaw tightens. sunghoon leans back, arms crossed. sunoo shares a glance with ni-ki, who only smirks, waiting to see how far you’ll push them.

"oh, is little princess pouting again?" jay taunts, raising an eyebrow. "acting like a brat because she’s not the center of attention?"

you roll your eyes. "maybe i wouldn’t act out if you weren’t all so boring."

that’s the final straw.

chairs scrape against the floor as they stand, movements slow and deliberate. the atmosphere shifts, the air thick with something far more menacing than their usual patience. suddenly, you don’t feel as bold.

jungwon is the first to speak, voice eerily calm. "we warned you."

sunghoon steps closer, tilting his head. "you wanted attention? you’ve got it."

the realization of what’s coming settles in, your confidence faltering as they corner you. hands grip your wrists, pushing you down, making it clear that this time, there’s no escaping.

"let’s see if you’re still so mouthy after we’re done with you," heeseung murmurs, dark amusement in his tone.

niki acts first, his hands gripping you firmly as he lifts you onto the table, the wood cold and unyielding against your back. his fingers, calloused and eager, work swiftly to remove your clothes, the fabric whispering against your skin as it falls away. "this’ll teach you something.." he growls, his voice a low rumble like distant thunder. he kneels before you, his mouth finding your warm, damp center with a hunger that steals your breath. his tongue, hot and insistent, explores your most intimate places, sending waves of sensation crashing through you.

you gasp aloud, the feeling of his tongue working through you like liquid fire. "is this what you wanted, baby?" jake taunts, his voice a velvety purr as he steps closer. his hands, strong and sure, rest on your full breasts, kneading and massaging, occasionally rolling your nipples between his thumb and forefinger, sending sharp jolts of pleasure and pain mixed together. "ki—! please.." you plead, your thighs trembling violently against the side of niki's head, your body taut as a bowstring.

"look at you now, so helpless.." sunghoon sneers, his voice a slow, lazy drawl. his hands, deliberate and teasing, rub against the growing bulge in his pants, the friction creating a rustling sound that seems to fill the room.

your release is a freight train barreling down the track, the way niki works his tongue on you sends electric shivers cascading over your body like a waterfall. jake's hands roughly massage your breasts, his calloused fingers grazing against your soft skin, sending a wave of heat coursing through your veins. and then, there's a new sensation—heeseung's soft lips pressing firmly on your neck, his hot breath on your skin.

it sends you spiraling over the edge, a supernova exploding behind your eyelids. your legs shake violently, like a leaf in a storm, as you cry out your release. niki laps you up like a cat with a bowl of milk, his soft tongue gliding along your sensitive skin. your respite is short-lived, as you feel sunghoon's mouth on you, his hungry touch more demanding than niki's gentle caress. the overstimulation is a live wire, raw and electric, coursing through your body. "ngh! hoonie—s-stop!" you moan, your back arching off the dining table, your body taut like a bowstring. you hear sunoo's chuckle, low and throaty, from a few feet away. jungwon's taunting echo fills the room like a dark melody, "already begging to stop when we haven't even started, baby?"

sunoo steps closer, his fingertip tracing a delicate line over your stomach, leaving a trail of goosebumps and fluttering sensations in its wake. "you look so cute, baby…" he murmurs, his voice a low, velvety purr. his fingers drift languidly downwards, grazing your aching clit with feather-light touches. meanwhile, sunghoon detaches himself from you, only to replace the feeling of emptiness with the thick, solid length of his cock. he slams down on you roughly, a guttural grunt escaping his lips as his head tilts back in ecstasy. "oh fuck… shit," he growls, his pace quickening, sunoo's fingers matching the rhythm perfectly. "please! i c-can't!" you gasp, your eyes welling up with tears as your second orgasm threatens to overwhelm you, the sensation of their dual attentions pushing you swiftly towards the brink. your body trembles, the room filling with the symphony of your combined pleasures, the air thick with the scent of desire and the electricity of passion.

the air is thick with a charged atmosphere, as the dim lighting casts long, dancing shadows across the room. "you're going to take it, all of it," jungwon murmurs, his voice a low, velvety growl that seems to resonate within your very core. he positions himself on your left, his lips tracing a delicate, meandering path down your wet cheek, each touch a spark igniting your skin. suddenly, you're overwhelmed by a tidal wave of sensation, your second orgasm of the night ripping through you like a storm. the feeling is almost unbearable, a loud sob erupting from your throat as intense pleasure courses through your veins like liquid fire.

sunghoon withdraws quickly, a loud groan escaping his lips as he discharges himself onto your stomach, the warmth spreading across your skin. sunoo swiftly takes his place, not giving your body a moment to relax. he enters you in one fluid motion, your breath hitching at the sudden intrusion. your body is still trembling from the aftershocks of your previous orgasm, the sensations heightening every touch, every movement. sunoo pushes you higher up onto the dining table, your head tilting back for mere seconds before you feel a pulsating hardness against your lips. it slips past your lips and into your mouth, the salty taste and smooth skin filling your senses. the loud whine and grunt confirm it's jungwon, his slow thrusts allowing your warm mouth to envelop him completely.

"this is what you get for being such a brat…" heeseung taunts, his lips never ceasing their relentless assault on your neck. you can feel the pressure building, the pleasure and pain intertwining as you're sure your neck is adorned with dark, purple hickeys—each one a testament to the night's intense passion.

you're aching from the intensity. the room is filled with the thick scent of sweat and sex, and a chorus of grunts and moans. the pleasure is overwhelming. you're losing count of the waves crashing through you. your body convulses, and vision blurs as the orgasm rips through you. you feel the sudden gush of release as you squirt all over sunoo. he had fallen to his knees after his own climax. you can feel the heat of him on your thighs. you can practically taste the salt of him in the air.

you can't catch your breath. you can barely form a thought. jake is behind you, his cock stuffing you, stretching you, filling you. each thrust is hard and impatient. he is wild and hungry. you feel yourself shaking, building again. heeseung is in your mouth, his fingers gripping your hair. you can feel the veins of him against your tongue. he is aggressive. he is close.

your neck is strained, your throat constricting around him, and the lack of air makes you lightheaded. you can feel the vibrations of heeseung's groans, his body trembling as he hits the back of your throat. you can't speak, only whine softly, the sound vibrating through heeseung, sending goosebumps rippling across his skin. the pleasure is too much. It's a mess.

you're shaking again, the fourth orgasm tearing through you like a storm. jake doesn't pull away. he roars, a guttural sound from deep within his chest. he comes hard, his body jerking against yours. his cum shoots through you with such force, and he moans loudly, a chorus of "fuck! fuck!" filling the air, his cock pulsing inside you.

you try gasping for breath when jake pulls away, but there's no respite, heeseung cock prevents it from happening. jay is there, pushing inside you. his hand is on your throat, his fingers tightening and loosening, pulsing with his thrusts. heeseung groans, feeling your throat constrict around him. his cock is slick and hot in your mouth.

jay leans down, his breath hot on your ear. "fuck baby..i’m not going to last long," he whispers, his voice strained. his brows are furrowed, sweat dripping from his temples. he comes with a chorus of grunts, filling you, his body shaking against yours.

heeseung follows right after, a low grunt escaping his lips. he fills your mouth completely, his body trembling as he rides out his orgasm. the room is thick with the smell of sex, a heavy musk that clings to your skin.

niki chuckles softly, his voice a low rumble. "think you learned your lesson, sweetheart?" he asks, a smirk playing on his lips. you try to nod your head, your body limp with exhaustion. you know better now. you won't mess with them again. your body aches, your mind is blurred, but the lesson is branded into your skin. you're theirs, completely and utterly.

natty's notes ￬ i hope you enjoyed!