#so I didn’t trace it so it’s a little rough

[littlelamy]

Could you do like a post smut……maybe with a sweet shy type of reader and rafe. He has been really rough for once (which she liked) but when she gets up from the bed to walk, she falls in pain to the floor cus she’s super sore and rafe feels really really bad and he so sweet with her :(

author's note: really hope you enjoy this one, and thank you for the request! 💗🌟

your thighs still trembled from where they’d been pinned earlier, red fingerprints a stark memory of his grasp. each step was an ache you hadn’t anticipated, sharp and sudden, your knees betraying you as they buckled. the floor was cool against your skin when you crumpled, a small gasp escaping your lips. the soreness was a strange, searing aftertaste of the way he’d pushed every inch of himself into you like you were a conquest to be claimed.

“shit—baby?” rafe’s voice was still rough, a leftover rasp from the filthy words he’d growled into your ear hours ago. but now, it carried a softness, his bare feet skidding across the floor as he reached you, hands hovering like he didn’t know if touching would make it worse.

you tried to laugh, but it came out more like a whimper, your face half-buried in the carpet. “i… i think you broke me.”

the guilt hit him square in the chest, his brows pulling tight as he crouched beside you. “fuck, sweetheart, i didn’t mean—i mean, you liked it, didn’t you? god, i thought—” he cut himself off, arms gently wrapping around your waist to lift you, careful not to jostle. “jesus, you’re shaking.”

you didn’t resist when he cradled you against his chest, his warmth a balm to the ache. his lips brushed your temple, the gesture so tender it almost erased the memory of how brutally he’d taken you earlier. “tell me where it hurts,” he murmured, voice dipping low, full of remorse.

“everywhere,” you admitted, hiding your flushed face against his neck. “but in a good way.” still, there was a faint wobble to your voice, and he heard it.

he carried you to the bed, laying you down as if you were something fragile. his fingertips skimmed over the marks he’d left, his throat tightening at the vivid shades blooming on your skin. “damn it, i didn’t mean to…” he trailed off, shaking his head, then knelt beside you. “you’re too sweet for this. for me. what was i thinking?”

you caught his wrist, forcing him to meet your gaze. “i asked for it, rafe,” you said, voice firm despite the exhaustion clinging to your bones. “i liked it. all of it.”

but he wasn’t convinced, his jaw tight as his thumb swept along your cheek. “and now you’re on the floor, baby. fuck, i’m the worst.”

“you’re not,” you whispered, and when his lips hovered over yours, you leaned into him, soft and reassuring. “but i wouldn’t say no to you pampering me a little.”

his laugh was shaky, full of self-reproach, but he nodded, brushing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. “you’re getting the works,” he promised, already moving to fetch water and painkillers, blankets to tuck you in tight. “massage, bath, anything you need.”

when he returned, his touch was reverent, his hands steady as they traced circles into your sore thighs, his apologies whispered like prayers against your skin.

taglist: @namelesslosers @maybanksangel @averyoceanblvd @iknowdatsrightbih @rafesheaven @anamiad00msday @ivysprophecy @wearemadeofstardust0 @rafesangelita @sstargirln @rafedaddy01 @soldesole @bakugouswaif @skywalker0809 @vanessa-rafesgirl @evermorx89 @outerhills @ditzyzombiesblog @slavicangelmuah

[thef1diary]

THESE DIRTBAG!DANNY FICS EAT I LOVE THESE. LIKE IM SORRY BUT I GENUINELY DON’T HAVE GOOD IDEAS AND YET I LOVE THIS SO MUCH. HMMM… LEMME THINK.. (i have never done this before sorry babe)… MAYBE SOMETHING LIKE BEING INLOVE WITH HIS TATTOOED THIGHS/ADAMS APPLE (two completely different things ik) AND A LITTLE BIT OF A TOXIC RELATIONSHIP I KNOW ITS ALOT TO ASK AND IM SORRY. LOVE YOU SO SO MUCH ❤️❤️❤️❤️

— thank youuu!! I did a lil something on his thighs so lemme bring the attention to Danny’s adam’s apple. Em knows how I went feral over it recently and I knew I had an ask about it somewhere! 18+ content below

You had no business being this obsessed. It was just an adam’s apple—a piece of cartilage, for God’s sake—but on Daniel, it was mesmerizing. The way it bobbed when he swallowed or spoke, the way it stood out when he tilted his head back, the way it seemed to mock you with how much you wanted to sink your teeth into it.

You were straddling him now, his shirt hanging loose on your body, the buttons barely holding together as his hands roamed under the hem. He was smirking, always so goddamn cocky, but your gaze stayed locked on the column of his throat. His head tilted back against the couch, exposing his neck, and you felt heat pool between your thighs.

“You’re staring again, sweetheart,” Daniel drawled, his voice deep and gravelly, the vibration of it visible in the rise and fall of his throat.

“I’m not,” you lied, your eyes betraying you as they trailed back to his throat.

“Oh, you’re definitely staring,” he teased, his hand sliding up to the back of your thigh. “You’ve got a thing for my neck, huh? You're staring at it like you’re starving.”

Your cheeks burned, but you didn’t deny it. How could you? The thoughts racing through your mind were filthy beyond reason. You wanted to kiss him, bite him, lick every inch of that thick neck until he was a panting mess beneath you. You wanted to feel his adam’s apple bob against your tongue as he swallowed your name, wanted to sink your teeth into the tendon that stretched so perfectly whenever he turned his head.

“Fuck off,” you muttered, shifting in his lap, trying to mask the wetness pooling in your panties. But Daniel wasn’t having it.

“Aw, don’t get shy on me now,” he crooned, his fingers tracing slow, deliberate circles on your inner thigh. “You’re not very subtle, you know. I can feel the way you clench every time I swallow.”

You clenched again, your thighs squeezing around him involuntarily, and his laugh was a low, dirty thing that made your stomach flip.

“Fuck, you’re obsessed,” he said, his hand sliding up to your waist, holding you steady as you tried to wiggle away. “You wanna bite me, don’t you? Leave a pretty little mark right here?” He dragged two fingers up the column of his neck, his adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed for emphasis.

Your breath hitched, and he noticed. Of course he noticed.

“Go on,” he dared, his voice dropping an octave, rough and teasing. “Get it out of your system. Or do I need to beg you to choke me first?”

Your head snapped up at his words, your stomach flipping violently. You hadn’t said a single thing about that. But now that he’d put it out there, the idea lodged itself firmly in your mind. Your fingers twitched, and your gaze darted to his throat, imagining how his skin would feel under your hands—hot and firm, his pulse pounding against your palm.

“You’re insane,” you muttered, but it came out weaker than you intended, breathier, like you were already caving.

“I’m not the one eye-fucking someone’s neck,” he shot back, smirking. “But don’t stop now, sweetheart. I love this attention.”

Your hands trembled as they found their way to his neck, your thumbs brushing over his adam’s apple. His pulse thumped against your fingers, steady but quickening. His throat flexed as he swallowed, and your breath hitched at the way it felt under your touch.

“Fuck,” he muttered, his eyes hooded as he watched you. “That all you got? Thought you wanted to leave a mark.”

His words spurred you on, and you surged forward, your lips finding the curve of his throat. You kissed him there, soft and tentative at first, but it wasn’t enough. Your teeth scraped against his skin, and when he groaned, low and guttural, you bit down just enough to feel the muscle under your teeth.

“Goddamn,” he rasped, his hands finding your hips and gripping them hard. “Knew you were filthy, but this? Shit, sweetheart.”

You kissed and licked your way up to his adam’s apple, your tongue flicking over it as it bobbed. He cursed again, the sound rough and desperate, and his hips bucked against you, sending a jolt of heat straight to your cunt.

His adam’s apple moved against your tongue, and it was intoxicating—the rough texture of his skin, the way his muscles shifted beneath your lips, the sound of his groan rumbling in your ears.

“I can feel you twitching,” you murmured against his skin, letting your teeth graze the protrusion. “Does it turn you on? Knowing I can’t stop thinking about marking you up?”

Daniel’s laugh was low and breathless, his hips jerking up against you. “You’re a fucking menace,” he said, his voice raspier now, rougher, like your attention was unraveling him.

“Maybe,” you admitted, your lips curling into a smile as you pressed another soft kiss to his adam’s apple. Then, without warning, you sucked hard, your teeth scraping lightly against it.

Daniel’s reaction was immediate. His fingers dug into your hips hard enough to leave bruises, and a deep, guttural groan ripped from his throat. “Shit, you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered, his hands sliding up to the small of your back, pulling you tighter against him.

You grinned, your tongue flicking over the reddened skin you’d just claimed. “Not until I’ve had my fill,” you teased, your lips ghosting over his throat again, taking your time to savor the taste of him—the faint tang of sweat and salt and something that was undeniably Daniel.

“You love this, don’t you?” he said, his voice rough, his breath uneven. “You love knowing I’ll let you do whatever you want. Choke me, mark me up—hell, I’ll let you ruin me, sweetheart. Just say the word.”

You laughed breathlessly, your tongue flicking over the spot you’d just bitten, your hands tightening around his neck as you rocked your hips against him.

“Don’t tempt me,” you whispered, your lips brushing his ear. “I might just take you up on that.”

And based on the way he bucked against you, hard and desperate, you knew he’d actually let you.

want more dirtbag!danny? send me an ask with your filthiest thoughts and it’ll get answered during one of my dirty drabble days

[petersparkerrs]

baby fever

୨ৎ ୨ৎ ୨ৎ

- pairing: husband!andrew garfield x fem!reader

- summary: seeing andrew with your friend's child and on screen with a daughter gave you a massive case of baby fever.

- warnings: unprotected sex, pregnancy mentioned, smutty as hell, nipple play/sucking, established relationship, rough sex

- word count: 3.1k

- author’s note: second fic on here omg i'm so excited! thank u for all the likes and reblogs or wtv they are called, i'm still trying to figure out this app lol.

—————————————୨ৎ

You’ve seen all of your husband’s films, and they didn’t usually get to you too bad. It’s perfectly fine for him in your mind to have an on-screen relationship or even sex with another woman for a film because it's all scripted, but his latest was truly different. 

Andrew’s newest work – We Live in Time – obviously both broke and softened your heart and made you sob an uncontrollable amount. Despite the somber nature of the film, the rest of it was utterly heartwarming and just so domestic.

Not just the relationship and marriage aspect, but seeing him as a father. A girl dad, if anything. 

The sight of him and Florence playing with and carrying around their adorable on-screen daughter did things to both your head and your body. Ever since watching the film at it’s first screening, you couldn’t possibly get the thought out of your head:

Andrew giving you a child, helping you grow life; Andrew being the most wonderful father to the beautiful little boy or girl that you hypothetically birthed. 

The baby fever tugged at your mind for a bit, but died down in the months following the film’s release. You thought it was gone for good, but it crashed down on you ten times harder than originally at the simple sight of your husband playing with your friend’s little girl.

Your ovaries were practically screaming at you in seconds, your body begging you to let him put a child in you. Nothing sounded better to you right now than being all pregnant and swollen because you knew you’d be carrying his child. 

Getting home from your friends, after seeing him be so gentle and caring with your friend’s child, you couldn’t get the thought out of your head. The two of you showered and got cozy for bed, and of course Andrew noticed the lingering sense of distraction or thought on your face.

“You okay?” He checked, taking off his Omega watch and setting it on the nightstand while sat on the edge of your bed, giving you a borderline concerned look.

“Mm-hm.” You nodded simply, turned over away from him on your side. The scent of his fresh cedar shampoo and that amber cologne he sprayed on after the shower filled the air, helping you sense him just as he began to slide into bed and cuddle up behind you.

A pair of strong, familiar arms slid around your waist from behind, his scruffy chin coming to rest on your exposed shoulder with a quiet sigh. 

“I know you too well, baby. You can’t fool me tonight,” He whispered and peppered a few gentle kisses to the cold skin in an attempt to get you opened up, his slender fingers moving under your tank top and tracing the skin of your stomach ever so gently. “You’re all distracted since we got there earlier.”

He was too engrossed in the scent of your hair and cold, soft skin to see what exactly it is you’re distracted by now.

It isn’t until he notices your phone screen that he realizes what your mind is so preoccupied with. He was about to speak and ask again but the second his mouth opened, he heard the quiet giggling of an adorable baby coming from your phone.

The open-mouthed expression crossing his face instantly morphs into an amused grin when he puts it together and sees what’s going on. He buries his face deeper into your neck, chuckling softly and mumbling just under your ear. 

“Sweetheart.” He starts, trying not to laugh. This isn’t the first time this has happened – he’s dealt with your extreme swings of baby fever from time to time – just not anytime recently. “What’s that? You lookin’ at baby videos again or just happen to be shopping for onesies?”

His comment earned a quiet snicker from you, getting all giggly and shy when he points it out and finally notices. You scroll to the next video, acting like nothing’s up, as if your entire feed isn’t strictly baby after baby.

“Just scrolling. It’s nothing.” You cheese to yourself, reaching down to take his hand off your stomach. You lift it up to your mouth, pressing soft kisses to his knuckles for that usual bedtime comfort. 

Andrew does nothing but sit there and laugh, letting you take his fingers and do whatever it is you want with them. 

“Uh huh. Just scrolling, I’m sure. Just a coincidence, then?” He sneers into your hair, inhaling deeply to get as much of your beautiful scent as he can. Even if his nostrils seem to have built up a resistance against it from smelling it so often. 

The baby videos catch his eye as well, he just can’t help it. Anyone would get a little soft upon seeing a video of the most adorable baby girl giggling away in a onesie. Plus, it’s crossed his mind recently, and he doesn’t entirely hate the idea of thinking about a baby soon.

You simply nod and keep quiet, immersed in the little world in your head where the cute baby on the screen is yours, and you and Andrew are taking perfect care of it. 

“Come on, I can practically hear the cogs in your mind turning. Tell me what’s going on in that pretty head of yours.” He lightly grazes his cold nose against your ear, a shiver shooting down your spine at the proximity of his voice into your ear.

In a moment of hesitation, your body flips over to face him, the two of you becoming a tangled mess of limbs in no time. His hands instinctively wrap around your waist, resting on the warm skin of your lower back to tug you closer while he murmurs sweetly against your forehead.

“Looks like your baby fever is back, sweetheart. Written all over your face.”

He’s right on point with that, but you’re not ready to admit it just yet. The idea of having a baby with him is so highly anticipated in your mind but the conversation leading up to that decision wasn’t as simple.

“...Yeah.” You reluctantly agree, voice a soft whisper against his neck while his chin comes to rest on top of your head. 

You’re almost overwhelmed by the upcoming conversation but the feeling of one hand stroking down the back of your hair and the other tugging on your thigh to hike your leg up over his body soothed those nerves. Nothing ever has to be that serious with Andrew, he’s always able to calm you down and make even the most serious of discussions so tender.

“Yeah? Is this just, like, a quick baby fever phase, or something you’ve actually been considering? You’ve gotta talk to me, y’know.” He tried to be as gentle as possible to coax the not-so-easy answers out of you and figure out what you’re thinking.

You sigh and give him a soft smile, feigning annoyance and rolling your eyes at the question. But the mock annoyance doesn’t last long, as your head buries right up into his neck to inhale his intoxicating scent and try to calm down.

“I don’t know. I’m ovulating, I can’t believe anything my mind is trying to tell me about a baby.” You chuckle quietly, your nose ghosting against his jaw ever so softly. “I kind of… maybe want one.”

He sighs back, scratching gently at the base of your neck with his long fingers. “If it’s any help, I think you’ll be a great mom. The world needs more of your genes, too.”

The soft words and the tiny kisses you feel beginning to press against your hair send you in a complete 180. The hesitance was gone at the slightest touch of his fingers – possibly because of that previously mentioned ovulation – but also from the overwhelming urge to let him just fill you up and get you so pregnant.

“Yeah? You’d be the greatest daddy. It was all I could think about earlier when I saw you with those kids today.” You admit in a rushed whisper, letting go of all the shame and worries you had regarding the idea of a baby. “Seeing you with a little girl made me want you to fill me up so badly.” 

Andrew thought there would be a bit more of a serious discussion before this, but you seem to be jumping right into the fun part. The way your quiet voice and fresh breath ghosts over his throat causes a quiet groan to choke up in his throat, freezing him in place so he has to take a moment to collect himself.

“Hm. Can’t say I hate anything related to burying myself inside of you. Especially if it means not using any prophylactics.” He responds in equal fervor, the tiniest concern still bugging him so he just has to ask. 

“You sure, though, sweetheart? This is a huge decision to be making, we haven’t even talked.” He asks, voice getting quieter and shakier while you’re already tugging at his t-shirt. “Baby…”

His shirt is off in seconds and you’re on top of him before he even has a chance to breathe, your lips making heated contact with the skin on his collarbone. Absolutely no time is wasted before your own tiny tank top is off at the hands of Andrew, exposing your soft skin. Your nipples harden under his touch and the brisk air of the bedroom, earning a groan from the man underneath you.

“We can figure it out tomorrow morning if we regret it, I don’t care.” You gasp and try to inch closer, lips landing wherever they can while his hands work earnestly over the skin on your pretty breasts. “Want a baby in me. Just.. at least need to feel you finish. I’m craving it so bad, Andy.”

The previous gentle whispers and grazes are replaced with gasps and firm grasps at each other’s skin and clothing, getting everything off without a second thought. It’s like something possessed the two of you, the baby fever turning you into captivated messes for each other.

“I can do that.” Andrew chortled, pulling the sweatpants from your hips to leave you in the pretty pair of black panties that he loved so much on you. 

The weight of the shared decision hung in the air. Not necessarily heavy, but more grounding, like a reminder of the extraordinary journey you chose to step into with him. 

Once his boxers were off and discarded without a care across the room, your lips met in a fervent, sloppy kiss. In only a moment your tongue was stuck deep into his mouth, not just kissing him but sucking on his tongue in the lewdest, most vulgar possible way.

The eager and sincere sucking got a groan out from deep in his throat, pulling you back into the reality of the moment. Your tongue left his, moving to trail down his neck carefully while your hand moved down to pull your panties off. You couldn’t even handle having them on for another moment.

Andrew sighed at the feeling of your wet cunt rested on his stomach, his hazy eyes opening to take a nice gaze down at your body while you straddled his waist. The simple sight of the wet patch forming on his lower belly from how you were already dripping made him need you now.

Normally, he’d think to ask if you were okay first, check on you a million times to make sure you felt good, and take his time to let you adjust. But tonight something primal overtook both of you, not wasting any time at all. 

“Please. Need your cock. Inside. Now.” You gasped against his neck when his thumb came in contact with your aching clit, bucking against his hand like the needy mess you were. 

“So needy for me. Can you say that again for me, baby?” He groaned, grabbing your hips with no effort to be careful, lifting you up and sitting you on top of his already throbbing cock. Precum dripped out from the tip but was gone soon enough at a simple swipe of your finger along the tip.

You sat on top of his cock, but the absence of it actually inside of you made you whine.

“Andrew. M’not joking, please.” You whined again in utter desperation for the feeling of his warm length to fill you so right and stretch you out, but his hands kept you in place for the moment. He kept quiet, biting his lip in focus while he took his cock and gently brushed it against your slick.

Feeble moans slipped from both of your mouths at the slight contact on just the tip against you, making you need more. More, more, more. Andrew did love to tease you, but he knew now wasn’t the time to mess around and rub against you like that. You’d pounce any moment now to get him to put it inside.

You knew it was finally time when his hands moved from the sides of your waist and down to give your hips a loving tap. You know what that means: to lift up. He only suspended you for a moment before absolutely slamming you back down onto him, your hips meeting and his cock being buried inside you without warning or giving you any time to adjust. 

“Andr-” You started to groan in slight pain from the initial contact, but the feeling was replaced in seconds with the overwhelming pleasure he took his time to give you. His hips pushed up to meet yours passionately and desperately, squeezing you so hard and pushing you down to get the perfect angle in the depths of your pussy.

“Shh, baby. Giving you what you asked for. Just-” His voice was huskier than normal during sex. He’s normally so gentle and slow with you, but the visceral need to fill you up with a baby right now couldn’t handle that slow of a speed. He just wanted to cum as quickly as possible. “Just sit there and look pretty for me, yeah? Let me make myself a daddy.”

You didn’t protest one bit, shutting up at his command and sitting back while he guided your body down onto his, pushing harder than he maybe ever has during sex. Initially, you thought the erotic words spilling from his mouth would be the hottest thing of the night. But his mouth made contact with your right breast, swaying that opinion with no room for argument.

“Oh, Andy.” You whimpered, body arching and writhing every way to try to feel his pulsing cock as deep as humanly possible inside your wet cunt. His mouth sucked at your tit, teeth gently grazing the nipple and feeling it harden under his attention.

“Can’t wait to see these full of milk.” He mewled, letting his mouth come off of the right breast with a loud pop, switching to the other side. 

You never really thought of it that way, but the idea of pregnancy with Andrew was unbelievably hot. Normally it didn’t sound like such a sexy thing – swollen feet, morning sickness – but he made everything better. The thoughts of morning sex while he held and caressed your big belly, taking perfect care of you and the upcoming baby, were overpowering and all you could manage to focus on in the same moment he was balls deep inside of you.

Andrew, again, wasn’t being a gentleman. He’s fucking you dumb at this point, getting as deep as possible and hitting your favorite spot with each rough stroke. Whimpers spilled from your throat uncontrollably while the only noises heard from Andrew were the muffled groans against the skin of your tits in his mouth.

Just like he was rooting for, he felt the familiar stirring and tensing up in his gut.

“Baby, baby. Mmph- m’gonna cum soon.” He groaned and gave up on your breasts because he could hardly focus, wrapping his arms entirely around your body so you could be chest to chest during the last moments. “You sure about this? I can finish in you, right?”

You didn’t even allow yourself to listen to or process his words, nodding mindlessly like you were entirely drunk on pure lust. But he didn’t complain, obviously – it made his job a lot easier.

“Love you. Gonna- oh. Gonna make you the prettiest mommy, give you the most beautiful baby.” Groans escaped from his throat uncontrollably, his heading falling limply back while his hands squeezed at your hands with no remorse. There’ll for sure be some bruising tomorrow. 

As much as you wanted to, to make the moment more special, you couldn’t get out a single word. He’s got you completely numb and dumb in his arms while you look pretty and take him deep.

“There. Right there.” He growled into your ear, the most genuine of moans you’ve ever heard from him accompanying the filthy words while his release filled you up entirely and coated the inside of your pussy.

He rode it out slowly but pulled out to not overstimulate you, only now realizing how carried away he got that he didn’t bother checking on you or anything. It took a few moments for both of you to even catch your breath enough to breathe but he went right back to classic Andrew once he could speak. 

“Oh, sweetheart. Are you okay? I didn’t go too rough, did I?” He began worrying far too quickly, knocking you out of that gorgeous aftershock of the sex and making you snort. The moment was ruined, to an extent, but in an arguably beautiful way. 

“No, baby.” You whisper and fall down limp against him, head finding the familiar spot in his now sweaty neck to catch a break after the intense sex that you certainly are in no way used to. It wasn’t his typical well mannered self, but there was absolutely no issue in that – it may have been the hottest sex you’ve ever shared. “Okay, maybe a little. But it was fantastic.”

Both of you managed to calm down after a bit, the realization of what you’ve done finally hitting you in the afterglow.

“Oh.” He whispered, holding you as close as possible so you feel your intense heartbeats against one another. “I might be a daddy. Oh.”

[darlinluxx]

𝐍𝐄𝐖 𝐘𝐄𝐀𝐑’𝐒 | 𝐊𝐀𝐍𝐆 𝐒𝐀𝐄 𝐁𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐊 ౨ৎ

pairing : saebyeok x fem!reader

fluff

warnings : mentions of alcohol

summary : you and your girlfriend celebrate new years

a/n : let’s ignore how this is days late 😭 i had this fic wrote and then tumblr didn’t save it so i had to rewrite it but i think this version is better

if you have any requests, feel free to message me <3

𝐓he biting Seoul wind whips around you, tugging at the scarf you’ve wrapped tightly around your neck. but you barely notice the chill. your heart is a warm ember in your chest, fueled by the bright neon lights of the city and the hand clasped securely in yours. it’s New Year’s Eve, and you’re walking hand in hand with Saebyeok, the woman whose quiet strength and unwavering gaze have completely captivated you.

as you navigate the bustling crowds, snippets of conversations and laughter float around you, but your focus is solely on Saebyeok. you feel the rough pad of her thumb rubbing circles on the back of your hand, a small, comforting gesture that speaks volumes. you glance at her profile, the soft glow of a nearby streetlamp catching the sharp angles of her cheekbones, the determined set of her jaw softening just a fraction as she looks down at you.

“cold?” she murmurs, her voice a low rumble that seems to vibrate through you.

“a little,” you admit with a soft smile, “but not with you here.”

she doesn’t respond verbally, but her fingers tighten around yours, and the corners of her mouth quirk upwards in a subtle, rare smile that always leaves you breathless.

you push through the crowds towards the river, the air becoming crisp and clean as you leave the more congested streets behind. the river stretches out before you, a dark mirror reflecting the dazzling fireworks that have already begun to paint the night sky with bursts of vibrant color.

you find a relatively secluded spot by the river, a little hidden alcove away from the main throng of people. Saebyeok pulls you closer, her body a comforting warmth against yours. she leans against a tree, and you nestle yourself beside her, grateful for the solidness of her presence.

the first fireworks explode overhead — a shower of gold and crimson light that illuminates her face, making her eyes gleam like polished obsidian. you watch her, almost mesmerized, as she calmly takes it all in. there’s a quiet intensity about her, a stoic grace that makes her seem somehow untouched by the chaos around you.

“they’re pretty,” you say, your voice barely a whisper, the words meant for her alone.

Saebyeok turns her head, her gaze locking with yours. there’s a depth in her eyes that always make you want to lose yourself, a hint of vulnerability that she rarely shows the world.

“yeah,” she replies, a soft smile tugging at her lips. “they are.”

silence falls between you, comfortable and easy. you stand side by side, watching the fireworks erupt in a breathtaking display of light and sound. the air is thick with the smell of gunpowder and alcohol, and the cheers of the crowd in the distance create a vibrant backdrop to this private moment you share.

you lean your head against her shoulder, feeling the solid muscle beneath her jacket. it’s a simple gesture, but it brings you a sense of peace and belonging that you never thought possible. you close your eyes for a moment, inhaling the familiar scent of her — a mix of leather and something indefinably her — and a profound sense of happiness that washes over you.

as the clock ticks closer to midnight, the fireworks reach a crescendo, a chaotic symphony of color and light. you feel Saebyeok shift, her fingers tracing lazy patterns on your hand. it’s a small, unconscious gesture, but it sends a jolt of warmth through your entire being.

“happy New Year,” she murmurs, her voice husky.

you open your eyes and turn to face her, the light from the final burst of fireworks reflecting in her dark eyes. a smile stretches across your face, a genuine smile full of happiness and gratitude.

“happy New Year, Sae,” you reply, your voice a little breathless.

and as the final firework fades away, leaving behind the soft glow of the city lights, Saebyeok leans down and presses a soft kiss to your lips. it’s a gentle kiss, full of tenderness and unspoken promises, a moment that seals the start of a new year, a new chapter, a new beginning with the woman you love. the cold fades away completely, replaced by the warmth of her touch, the promise of a future held in her gaze. the city may be celebrating, but in that quiet alcove beneath the fireworks, your heart is already overflowing. this year, you know, everything will be alright. as long as you’re near Saebyeok.

[sinnabarmoth]

Tribute for the Dragon (15/18)

Pairing: Dragon|Sylus x Fem|Reader

Summary: With the rut drawing to a close, you and Sylus look to the future for what this means for you both.

Content Warnings: Adult language. Minor breeding kink. P in V.

Length: 3k

Chapters: (1) (2) (3) (4) (5) (6) (7) (8) (9) (10) (11) (12) (13) (14) (16)

Read on AO3

You soon realized that dragon ruts were not for the faint of heart. The next week of your life was the most exhausted you had ever been. Every single day, multiple times a day, Sylus found you wherever you were and fucked you within an inch of your life. He had cooled off a little, able to push aside the lustful haze to offer you some respite the longer it went on.

But that first day had been the most feral he had gotten. You hadn’t left the hoard room until late into the evening and that was just because you absolutely needed more food than what he scrounged up from the kitchen between rounds. Thankfully the entire rut didn’t need to take place in the hoard room so you at least got the cushion of the bed back to make things a little more comfortable.

You were also shocked at how sweet he was during the whole thing. Despite how rough things got and how filthy he spoke, he would always be there to help ease you back down. And if you really didn’t want to have sex, if you were just too sore for anymore he didn’t push you.

In between rounds you’d lay together and talk about what your future child was going to be like. “And you’re sure I’m not going to end up laying an egg?”

Sylus chuckled. “Yes. You won’t lay an egg.”

“But the woman who birthed you--”

“Was cursed and her womb magically altered to be able to lay a dragon egg. You are not cursed and because I am at least half human you should have a normal live birth.” Sylus assured you, “Although, the state of the baby is uncertain.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, when I was born I looked almost entirely human except for my eyes and as I got older the scales and tail and horns grew in. The children will most likely be the same way. But I do not know what all they may grow. Some might have horns and tails and wings and scales, others may not. Maybe one grows horns and scales but no tail. Maybe another grows wings but no claws. I cannot say for sure.”

“At least I don’t have to worry about little claws or horns complicating things when they come out.” you touched your stomach. You looked back at him. “Do you want to try one more time?”

His smile sharpened. “You bounced back quick this time. Alright then, come here.” He sat up in the bed. He pulled you across his lap, your back pressed to his chest.

He receded the armor around his hands with a small groan. “Sylus, I know it hurts you don’t have to--”

“I want to be able to play with your pussy a little before hand. The pain is temporary and not important.” he dipped his now clawless hand between your legs, the soft pad of his fingers swirling over your clit.

You reclined your head back on his shoulder as little blips of pleasure heated your body. “That’s it,” he said, “Always so responsive to me.”

He removed his hand from your pussy and sucked the juices from his fingers. You whined at the loss but you only got a dark chuckle in response. “Do not worry, little bird. You’ll get my hand and much more back in a minute. But right now, I need you to do something.”

He caressed your arms and lifted them up and behind you before curling them around his horns. “Hold onto these while I play with you and do not let go. Understand?”

“Yes.”

“Good.” he sighed, feeling how tightly you were gripping his horns.

You thought he was going to go back to your pussy but instead he moved slowly, his hands gliding up and down your body at a lazy pace. He traced every dip and curve with his hands as if memorizing every inch of your body by touch alone. His mouth kissed down the column of your neck and to your shoulders. When his mouth landed on the faint mark of your mating bite he suck his teeth into your soft exposed skin. Arousal pooled between your legs as he continued to caress and tease you.

You could feel him getting hard underneath you. The hard ridge of flesh was hot and curved back to rest on your folds. You tried to grind against it but he pulled your hips back to keep them still. “Not yet.” his breath was hot in your ear, “I want you ready to burst when I put it in.”

He continued to strum your body, plucking at your most sensitive spots but without any of the relief you sought. It seemed wholly unfair that he could be so patient during a rut. Wasn’t he supposed to throw you to the bed and fuck you until you were screaming in a fit of lust filled rage? How come he was teasing you?

“Someone’s pouting.” he turned your face to his. “What do you want, little bird? What can I do to make that frown go away.”

“You can put your dick in me. That’d be a nice start.” you batted your eyelashes at him. “Please master?”

“Calling me master while I’m in rut,” he growled, biting your neck again. “Do you think that a wise decision?”

“I think it’ll get me what I want.” you smirked. “So please, will you put your dick in me and breed my pussy, master?”

“That dirty trick won’t work forever.” Sylus muttered angrily as he lifted your hips up.

“I just need it to work now.”

“Becoming my mate made you such a brat.” he hissed as he lowered you down onto his cock. “There, you have your precious dick snug in that tight little pussy. If you want it bred though, you have to work for it.”

“But--”

“You expect your master to do all the work? That’s what you’re here for. Now get moving but don’t move your hands. Keep them wrapped around my horns.” he cupped your breasts and pinched and pulled at your nipples.

You began shaking your hips, pulling yourself up and down on his lap. His cock slid against your walls, sending bursts of ecstasy into your brain while he played with your breasts. He had sufficiently worked you up enough that you felt like you could come right then.

“You feel so good, wildfire.” he moaned into your neck. “This is exactly where I want you forever. Fucking yourself on my cock, trying to make me come. Cause that’s what you want, right? You want me to come. You want me to come inside you and breed this pretty pussy of yours?”

“Yes!” you clamped down on him tighter. “Yes Sylus! I want it! I need it!”

“I know you do.” he groaned, drawing in a sharp breath as you sped up. “You make me wanna come, wildfire. Just keep bouncing yourself on my dick.”

One of his hands trailed down your stomach and found your clit, adding to the sensations that were already overloading your body. “I won’t come until you do.” he said. “So if you want my cum you have to come for me, wildfire. Come on you master’s cock and he’ll give you what you want. What you need.”

“Ha…ha…ah fuck!” you forced your hips to move faster, chasing a release so close yet just out of reach. Your hands were cramping holding onto Sylus’s horns. The tighter you held them the heavier his breathing got.

“Sylus…” you whimpered. You were so close. “Sylus please!”

“Right here. I’m right here.” he craned your head back to kiss you. “You can do it. Just come for me.” he rubbed your clit faster, his other hand squeezed your breast.

“Sylus!” you moaned against his lips as you both came. He smothered the moan with another kiss, panting against your lips.

“So good. You are so fucking good, wildfire.” he pressed a kiss to your jaw.

Your arms fell to your sides as you relaxed against him. He rubbed at your shoulders, relieving the ache that had grown there. He moved you back so you were laying side by side on the bed again.

You took several deep breaths to center yourself, grounding yourself by nuzzling into Sylus’s chest. “Hey, not that this hasn’t been a lot of fun but how much longer is this rut going to last? I’m getting exhausted.”

Sylus rolled his eyes. “You were the one that tackled me into bed this morning, not the other way around.” he reminded you. “I think you forget that your libido is just as bad, if not worse than mine can be.”

“Fine. I admit it. But really, do you think we’re any closer to knowing if I’m pregnant or not?” you stared up at him with wide eyes.

“Oh my sweet little bird,” he pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. “If you had let me speak this morning instead of dragging me back into bed I would have been able to tell you that you already are.”

“What?”

“You’re pregnant. I could smell the change this morning. That’s why I originally came in here. I was going to tell you after you had a chance to wake up a little more.” he was smiling the widest you had ever seen him.

“I’m really…” tears sprang to your eyes. “We’re going to have a baby?”

“Yes, we are.”

You wrapped your arms tight around his neck. It was happening! It was really happening!

Oh gods it was happening…you were…with a… You were going to give birth to a little dragon baby. Oh gods. This was actually happening! It wasn’t just a fun roleplay in bed. It was real. You had a little dragon growing in your womb.

“You look panicked. Are you alright?” Sylus asked. “I thought you’d be happy.”

“I am! I am ridiculously happy!” you assured him. “I’m also kinda terrified. In a few months we’re going to have a baby. We’re going to be parents and be in charge of another life. I mean, how do we even do that?”

“We’ll figure it out.”

With your pregnancy confirmed the rut wore off. You were thankful for the respite but now your mind was filled with nothing but preparations for the baby. You weren’t even showing yet and all you could do was make lists of things that needed done.

“Where is the baby going to sleep?” You asked Sylus one afternoon as you sat at the kitchen table, a list of things that needed done in front of you. At the top of the list was make a nursery.

“I suspect they’ll sleep in our room until they’re old enough to move them to their own room. There’s a lot of empty rooms in the mountain. We can fit a whole brood of hatchlings in here.” he kissed the top of your head and went about grabbing a bowl of stew from the large pot over the fire.

“A brood? Exactly how many kids do you want to pump into me?”

“I was thinking at least six or more.” he said with a shrug.

“Six!” you shouted.

“My ideal is nine since it’s a lucky number.” he took in your dumbstruck expression. “What?”

“You are insane if you think I’m going to birth nine kids.” you couldn’t even comprehend having a family that large. “I’ll give you three.”

“Seven.”

Was he haggling the number of kids you were going to have? Fine then. “Maybe four.”

“Five?”

“Four.”

“Alright, four.” he set another bowl of stew done for you. “Make sure to finish that. You’re eating for two now.”

“I know.” you set the list aside. “I need to go into town and do some shopping later, as well as tell my father and friends the news.”

“I’ll take you down whenever you’re ready. Are you nervous at all about telling them?”

“A little. It’s only recently that father came around to you and I’m not sure how he’s going to react. I hope he’ll be happy with the idea of being a grandfather at least.”

“You’re giving him his first grandchild, he’ll be thrilled no matter what.” Sylus assured you.

You grabbed some coins from the hoard room and left with Sylus for the village. Your first stop was to find your father and tell him the news. Sylus walked with you to the house but stayed in the background as you talked to your father. Your father was shocked at first but was soon smiling and congratulating you and Sylus both on your upcoming bundle of joy.

“I’ll have to get started working then.” he said, “I’m going to make a mobile for you to hang over the crib.”

“That sounds wonderful, father. Thank you.” you hugged him again. “I actually came into town to commission the woodworker for the cradle as well as buy some fabric and yarn to make baby clothes. I also need to find Tara and tell her. I know she’s going to be thrilled too.”

“That she will be. Congratulations, sweet pea. I can’t wait to meet them when they’re born.” he gave you a kiss on the cheek and you were on your way.

You left to run your other errands. Sylus was still by your side, looming in the corner wherever you went like a shadow. The village had really come to like him but he was still rather uncomfortable with the attention. He looked like he was going to fly away when you told Tara the news about your pregnancy and had given Sylus a huge hug in her excitement. She had promised to do a reading for your pregnancy as soon as possible and tell her mother so she could make you a perfect baby blanket for the little one.

Your last stop after the fabric shop was the woodworker to commission the cradle. There were some other people there that saw you come in with Sylus and froze. The woodworker looked up though and smiled. “Ah, what can I do for you today?”

“Hello, I came with a very special request. Mind you, I won’t need it for a couple months so take your time but what I really need is a cradle.”

“A cradle?” the woodworker smiled. “Oh my dear girl, you’re having a baby?”

“Yes. Yes I am.”

“Another mighty dragon in the village. What wonderful news.” the woodworker called to Sylus, “How big of a baby do we need to plan for?”

“A regular sized cradle should be fine.” Sylus said. “They shouldn’t be much different from a human baby.”

Sylus looked to his side where a man that had been waiting in the shop was staring at him. You didn’t recognize him immediately but it was a decent sized village, you didn’t have every face memorized. Sylus didn’t seem to appreciate the man’s staring and glared at him. “Do you have something to say to me?”

The man shook his head and took off. While most people in the village were used to Sylus there were some who still didn’t entirely trust him. It was an inevitability but hopefully in the years to come everyone would come to recognize him not as a threat but as a neighbor.

Once everything was done and finished you stopped by to say a final goodbye to your father and returned to the mountain.

You set what you had bought down and started getting preparations ready for dinner. While you were cooking you kept hearing Sylus walking back and forth past the kitchen. What was he doing now? While dinner simmered over the fire you went out to find him.

It was then that you noticed there was a carpet under your feet. That definitely hadn’t been there before. Where had it come from? And there were more carpets! They made a trail down the corridor and into your bedroom. Sylus was in there unrolling another carpet and layering it with the others.

“What are you doing? Where’d all the carpet come from?”

“Ah, yes,” he stood up, “I got to thinking that when the baby is born it’d be best if they had something soft to crawl around on so I’ve been finding whatever rugs I could from the hoard room and laid them out. I may also need to go around the walls and smooth them out so if they run into them they don’t get cut.”

It was endearing watching him worry and fret about how to make the mountain safer for your baby. You hadn’t even been pregnant a month and he was already doing so much. You walked up to him, your feet squishing against the plush carpet, and hugged him. “I’m so glad that our baby is going to have you as a father. I really am.”

His arms closed around you. “I’m the lucky one, really. To have a child with you. Knowing that this child is going to have you as their mother.” he knelt down, his face inches from your stomach. “Your mother is so good, little one. And I am going to love and protect you both for the rest of my life. I swear, nothing bad will ever happen to you so long as I draw breath.”

He kissed your stomach. You ran your hands through his hair, holding him there as he rested his head against you. “I can’t wait to meet our little one too.”

[solivagant242]

jupiter ⋆｡°✩☾🪐

pairing: dean x childhood friend!reader

warnings: blood, some angst, fluff

this is based on the song jupiter by flower face, since it's my current obsession on spotify.

enjoy!

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

overwhelming ecstasy

our bodies move in harmony

always waking breathlessly

from dreams that leave me wanting more of you

how long ago was it that you met? you can’t remember; far more years than seems possible. 

you’d been a wide-eyed, gangly kid with legs and arms that seemed too long for your body. 

you saw dean winchester for the first time in the driveway of his house, sitting outside on the curb and staring at the sky, painted richly by the evening colors. 

you didn’t know why he was outside so late- wasn’t it time for bed? your parents had already closed your door and tucked you in, the sultry summer air drifting in through the open window.

the window that was far too close to the ground outside for its own good.

you were outside and in the front yard in less than a minute, clutching the astronomy book you’d gotten for your eighth birthday to your chest. shyness swelled in your chest as you approached him, so still and dark-looking in the twilight. 

“are you looking for stars?”

he looks at you with his small face unreadable. “isn’t it too early?”

“a little. i think Jupiter is visible, though. if you look that way.”

you point towards the horizon and dean squints. “i can’t see anything.”

“it’s right there. see the bright?”

he looks, and his face softens. “oh. you’re right.”

that was how it started, on that hot july night so long ago. 

these silly games we play

stupid ways to make you stay

my heart's split open on display

i can't wait another day

to touch your face, to hold you

i just need you by my side tonight

you’re in high school now. towards the end of senior year. both you and sam have applied to college, and both of you have been accepted. him to stamford, you to princeton.

the letter is in your hand, the envelope freshly torn. 

dean’s face is swimming in front of you, tears clouding your vision. 

“please don’t go.”

your arms close around him, just like they always have. you hold his face close and kiss away his tears. 

overwhelming ecstasy

your name repeated endlessly

ice cream by the movie screens

we'll make out in the backseat of your car

ripped shirts and perfect throws

'til my body overflows

in the summer afterglow

i love you more than you will ever know

lazy summer nights, the feeling of dean’s lips and rough stubble. he’d grown bigger, older, harder somehow about his jaw and eyes.

but he’s soft with you. he’ll always be soft with you, his girl, his star girl. 

but it's alright

just keep it all inside tonight

we can leave right now, never come back home

you're all i need

forget everything that we used to be

take me to another place, fly me up to Jupiter

we can run away

but i'll always be at home with you

“come with me,” dean pleads outside your window less than a year later. 

your face is streaked with tears again. you can hear the rumble of his car outside, a tight-faced sam in the passenger seat. “i can’t, dean. i can’t leave my parents, my home”-

he comes closer, cupping your face in his hands. “run away with me. i want to take you somewhere safe, somewhere you won’t have to worry- you don’t even have to stay with me if you don’t want to”-

his lips taste salty with your mingled tears. 

overwhelming ecstasy

your skin is like a melody

your heartbeat brings me to my knees

just begging for a chance to simply

taste the moonlight on your lips

the fever sings, the honey drips

curtains closed, the record skips

no one's has ever loved like this

silver light is draped across your bed, casting dappled shadows across your bare skin. you’re wrapped in dean’s arms, face buried in his chest.

his body is curled protectively around you. In the shadows of the dingy motel room, his face looks aged and worn and far older than it should. 

you trace his lips with your finger before nestling back into his embrace and drifting off to sleep. 

i'm certain, it must be holy

to feel something so pure

overwhelming ecstasy

twisted in your entropy

clinging to you desperately

and i can taste the sweetness of your breath

the hunt hasn’t gone well and dean has been getting quieter and quieter, those green eyes dulling. when he kisses you now, it feels almost starved. desperate, like he’s trying to drink you in and can never get enough.

his fingers leave red marks in your shoulders when he embraces you. his face always crumples when he sees them, the evidence of how rough he’s become, the life he’s living steadily battering at him.

you rock him to sleep with his head in your lap. 

the stars are screaming loud

the world outside is breaking down

burning cities, whispered vows

and i can feel you all around me

nothing feels the same

nothing feels quite like you

the world is falling. stars plummet from the sky, and creatures whose names you don’t know are livid in the gutters. everything is black, the end of the world looming over you.

dean holds you like a prayer, clutching your bruised and bloodied frame to his chest. his tears are falling fast, faster than your steadily ebbing life force. cas’ blue eyes are hopeless. 

“i can’t fucking lose you, sweetheart. not now. come back to me- come back”-

we can leave right now, never come back home

you're all I need

forget everything that we used to be

take me to another place, fly me up to Jupiter

we can run away

but i'll always feel at home with you

and if you run, i'll be right behind you

you can feel dean’s rough hands on your skin. there’s a roaring in your ears that won’t dissipate, a dreamy euphoria settling into your bones.

for a moment you can swear you’re under the old tree at the winchester house, sharing the tire swing with dean, a mindless blur of stars lodging itself behind your eyes. you are young and innocent once more, and dean is resting his head on your shoulder-

but you can see a light in front of you, flickering in time with dean’s sobs, and you claw your way towards it. 

you cough out blood and dean breaks down in sobs, holding you to his dirty leather jacket at the sensation of your heartbeat beneath his fingertips.

we'll make it out

nothing left between us but light and sound

take me into outer space, fly me up to Jupiter

i am yours forever

and i'll always be at home with you

years later, many years later, when you and dean have found a permanent resting place beneath matching headstones, the angels still tell stories of you.

they speak of the pair of hunters whose love transcended pain and sorrow, who loved each other to death and back again.

and they name a new constellation after you, a scatter of glowing stars that surrounds Jupiter and is visible in the early morning and evenings. if you turn your head and squint, you can see that it faintly resembles the embracing arms of two lovers. 

and that’s what it’s called. the lovers. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

comment/reblog if you enjoyed this!

[oldsoul007]

loving you, loving me

joel miller x reader

summary: y/n and joel save time for the little moments in their busy schedules

a/n: veryyy domestic, kissing

joel miller masterlist

The sun had barely risen when I stirred awake. The soft light filtered through the bedroom window, casting gentle shadows across the room. I shifted, my body still heavy with sleep, but the warm weight of Joel beside me made it hard to stay asleep. He was still tangled in the covers, a few strands of his messy brown hair sticking to his forehead.

I smiled softly, brushing them away, the quiet intimacy of the moment making my heart flutter. Before I could think, my hand found its way to his arm, fingers tracing the familiar muscle beneath his worn-out shirt. Joel stirred just a little, his breath deepening as if he could sense my touch even in his sleep.

“Morning, handsome,” I whispered, leaning down to kiss the side of his cheek.

“Mmm,” Joel muttered, eyes still closed. “Mornin’.”

His voice was gravelly from sleep, but there was something comforting about it. Something that made the rush of our busy lives seem insignificant in this small pocket of quiet. He cracked an eye open, meeting my gaze with a smile that softened his rough exterior.

“I have to get up soon,” I murmured, already dreading the coming hours. “But I don’t want to leave you yet.”

“I know, I don’t want you to either.” Joel reached for me, pulling me into a brief but tender embrace. “But you have work, and I gotta get to the construction site.”

We both groaned at the reality of our hectic schedules, the same routine we’d shared for years. I leaned in, pressing a kiss to the corner of his lips before slipping out of bed. He watched me go, a sense of longing in his chest as he sat up, but he didn’t say anything—just let his gaze linger on me for a few moments before he started his own morning routine.

Later, at the office, I sat hunched over a pile of paperwork, the soft hum of the fluorescent lights above the only sound in the quiet office. I was buried deep in numbers when I felt the briefest sensation—someone’s fingers grazing against mine. Startled, I looked up and found Joel standing in the doorway, grinning like a schoolboy.

“Don’t you have a meeting?” I whispered, though my heart skipped a beat.

“I do,” he said, voice low. “But I needed to steal a kiss from my wife.” He leaned down just enough to plant a soft kiss on my lips, just a touch—so quick, but full of warmth.

I smiled, the weight of the day momentarily lifted. “I needed that.”

“I’ll be back tonight, okay?” He squeezed my hand before turning to go, leaving my heart full and my work still waiting.

The hours between our brief exchanges seemed endless. By the time I got home that evening, the house was quiet, the air a little cooler, and the sun was setting in a soft cascade of oranges and pinks. I kicked off my shoes and headed toward the kitchen, where Joel was busy making dinner, his shirt rolled up at the sleeves.

“Smells good in here,” I said, my voice carrying a bit of weariness from the long day.

Joel turned, a smile immediately spreading across his face as he crossed the room. “I thought we could eat together tonight, no interruptions. Just us.”

I felt a rush of affection and walked straight into his arms. I didn’t say anything—just pressed my face into his chest, feeling the comforting rhythm of his heartbeat. He held me like that for a long moment, his hands moving gently up and down my back.

“I missed you today,” I murmured.

“I missed you too.” He kissed the top of my head, a soft, lingering gesture. “But hey, I think we both know there’s no such thing as too much love, right?”

I chuckled softly. “You say that now, but you’ve got a lot of work ahead of you.”

“We’ll manage,” Joel said, his voice warm with certainty. “I’ll find ways to sneak kisses in. I’ll make sure you never forget I’m here.”

And so, it went. The days were busy, the hours long, but whenever we could, we stole moments together. A touch of my hand while making coffee, a kiss on the cheek when no one was looking, an embrace that lasted just a little longer than it should have. Those tiny moments made up for the time we were apart.

At night, after the world had quieted, and the chaos of our separate lives had finally simmered down, we sat side by side, Joel’s hand nestled in mine, his fingers drawing circles against my palm. The silence between us was never uncomfortable—it was the kind of silence that spoke volumes, the kind that only two people who had been through years of life together could understand.

“I love you, y/n,” Joel whispered as we both settled in for the night, the room dark except for the faint light coming through the window.

“i love you too,” I replied, turning my face to him, my lips seeking his for a final, soft kiss of the day.

And as we lay there, with nothing but the sound of each other’s breath and the occasional murmur of affection, we knew our love—quiet, steady, and full of those small, meaningful moments—was more than enough to keep us going through the busiest of days.

[hrizantemy]

Nesta tipped the glass to her lips, letting the amber liquid pour down her throat. It burned, a scorching heat that clawed its way to her chest, but she welcomed it. The fire was better than the cold in her bones. Perhaps you can find it in yourself to try a little harder this year. Cassian’s words echoed in her mind, his tone clipped, as if her very existence was a weight he had grown tired of carrying. Harder. She should try harder. She swallowed the thought with another gulp, slamming the glass down on the table and motioning for a refill.

The tavern was dimly lit, its walls steeped in the scent of ale and desperation, a haven for people like her—people who didn’t want to be found. Nesta traced the rim of her glass with a finger, her gaze unfocused as the memories clawed their way to the surface. Every word he had ever thrown at her, every look of disappointment, every time he’d turned his back and left her standing there. It felt like drowning, except the water was inside her, filling her lungs with words unspoken, emotions unchecked. She wasn’t strong enough, wasn’t enough at all, and no matter how hard she tried, it never seemed to matter.

The liquor wasn’t numbing enough. The pain still burned beneath her skin, blistering, raw. Nesta grabbed the next glass, tilting her head back and pouring it down in one motion. Her throat ached, but she didn’t stop. Maybe if she drank enough, she could bury his words, bury the weight of expectation that pressed down on her shoulders. Her chest heaved as the alcohol hit her system, but the world didn’t quiet. It just spun faster, his voice still ringing in her ears. She couldn’t try harder—didn’t he see that she had nothing left to give?

“Another,” she rasped, her voice cracking as the bartender hesitated. She lifted her gaze, steel and fury shining through the haze of drink. The glass was filled without question, and Nesta wrapped her fingers around it like a lifeline.

He was right. Gods, he was right, and that knowledge cut deeper than any insult or dismissal ever could.

What had she been doing? Bedding strangers whose faces she couldn’t recall, whose names she never bothered to ask. Letting their hands roam her body in the dark, trying to fill the hollow void that never stopped growing. She drank and drank, night after night, hoping the burn of the liquor would drown out the noise in her head, the suffocating emptiness in her chest. But it never did. It only left her emptier, colder, and aching in ways she couldn’t name.

Her fingers tightened around the glass as she stared down at it. She wasn’t just drinking to forget—she was drinking to stop feeling altogether. As if, one day, if she poured enough poison down her throat, it would finally kill her. And the men… they were no better. She wasn’t looking for love or even comfort. She was looking for destruction, inviting it into her bed, letting it tear her apart piece by piece. Maybe if she ruined herself enough, no one would expect her to try. No one would expect her to be anything but the wreck she had become.

Nesta downed the drink, her throat burning, her chest tight with shame. He’s right, she thought bitterly, blinking against the hot sting of tears. Cassian had every reason to look at her the way he did, to speak to her like she was a disappointment. She was a disappointment. To him, to Feyre, to Elain, to herself. She slammed the glass on the table and rubbed her hands over her face, wishing she could scrub away the self-loathing, the memories, the person she’d become. But it clung to her like a second skin, impossible to shed.

And so, she ordered another drink, even as the realization clawed at her chest. He was right, but what does it matter? She wasn’t sure she had anything left to try with.

The glass hovered near her lips, her hand frozen as the memory surged, unbidden and sharp. Cassian’s voice, rough and unapologetic, echoed in her mind. “Your sisters love you. I don’t know why, but they do.” The words had been meant to cut, and they had. Even now, in the haze of drink, the wound throbbed fresh and raw. She took the shot, letting it burn down her throat, but it did nothing to quiet his voice. They love you.

Nesta didn’t know why, either. She gripped the edge of the table, her knuckles white, as her mind spiraled. Feyre, who had risked everything for them, who had clawed their family out of the dirt with blood and sacrifice. Elain, soft and gentle, who always reached for Nesta even when Nesta recoiled. They deserved better—better than her scorn, her sharp words, her silences. She had been nothing but a weight dragging them down. A sister in name only.

Her chest tightened, a wave of self-loathing crashing over her. Why did they love her? What was there to love? She had never been kind like Elain, or brave like Feyre. She had been a barrier, a wall of thorns, cutting anyone who dared get too close. That wasn’t loveable. It was cruel, and yet… they stayed. Feyre, with her patient words, her endless understanding. Elain, with her quiet smiles and unwavering belief in Nesta, even when Nesta didn’t believe in herself.

Another drink. She tilted her head back, but this time the fire didn’t soothe her. Instead, it sharpened the ache. Cassian’s words rang out again. “I don’t know why.” Neither did she. It felt like a curse, their love, binding her to guilt she could never escape. If they loved her, she should try. She should be something worthy of that love. But instead, she kept drowning herself in drinks and men and excuses, hoping it would all end before she had to face the truth: she didn’t know how to be the person they thought she was.

She set the glass down, staring at the table through blurred eyes. They loved her, and she would never understand why. Maybe if they didn’t… maybe if they gave up, she wouldn’t feel this weight. This guilt. This unbearable need to try harder. But they hadn’t. And that was why their love cut deeper than Cassian’s words ever could.

She wanted to scream, to tear at her skin, to make it stop. She wished she could disappear, sink into the nothingness she felt clawing at her insides. Maybe if she were gone, if she could just fade away, her sisters wouldn’t have to carry the weight of her failures. They could forget the wreck she had become, the one who drowned herself in everything that might kill her, who couldn’t even love them in the way they deserved.

The thought clung to her, dark and suffocating. She closed her eyes and imagined it—fading away, slipping into the shadows until there was nothing left but brittle bones and rotted skin. She could picture it, her body wasting away, the ache of it turning to nothing, the world forgetting she ever existed. There would be no more burden. No more guilt. No more pain.

Her fingers tightened around the glass, but the cold, empty feeling inside her only deepened. Perhaps that would be better. Better than this. Better than living in a world where she was loved by those who deserved more than her. Better than facing every day knowing she would never be enough.

Nesta’s fingers gripped the edge of her glass as the thoughts of disappearing, of becoming nothing more than a hollow shell, pulled her deeper into the dark corners of her mind. She could almost feel the weight lifting, the world fading, when the sound of low voices broke through the haze. Fae males. Men—no, males. The word still grated on her tongue, as if their very presence was an insult to her existence.

She didn’t have to look up to know they were there. She could feel the shift in the air, the unnatural tension that followed them wherever they went. Their gaze was heavy, predatory, like they were measuring her, appraising her as if she were some prize they could claim. Their footsteps were slow, deliberate, the sound of boots on the wooden floor a reminder of their arrogance. Fae. So confident in their own superiority.

Nesta’s jaw tightened, a bitterness rising in her throat, but she didn’t move. Didn’t acknowledge them. She couldn’t, not when she could already see it—what they wanted. They didn’t even have to say a word. The way their eyes lingered on her, like vultures circling a carcass, was enough. She could feel their eyes crawling over her skin, assessing, judging, already plotting their next move. They wanted something. Something from her, something she couldn’t give.

The sneer on their lips was unmistakable, curled with the kind of disdain that only those like them could master. She wasn’t worth their time, but they wanted to remind her of that.

Her fingers tightened around the glass, the liquid inside sloshing slightly as her temper flared. The pain in her chest, the weight of her guilt, pushed against the anger rising within her. How dare they look at her like that? How dare they think they could judge her? But they always did. Always had. Men, fae, it didn’t matter. They all saw her the same way—nothing more than a thing to be used, a thing to break.

She could feel their presence like an oppressive weight pressing down on her. They hadn’t come for her, not really. Not yet. But they would, if they could. She could see it in the way they waited, hovering just outside her reach, as if they knew she was vulnerable, knew she was broken and ready to be pushed further into the abyss.

Nesta’s heart beat a little faster, the anger building, and for a moment, just a moment, she wished she could tear them apart. The glass in her hand was cold, too cold, and she slammed it down on the table with a force that made the table rattle. She didn’t look at them, didn’t let them see how much their presence affected her. She refused to give them the satisfaction. But inside, beneath the anger and the self-loathing, there was the lingering burn of something else—fear.

Fear that she might become just what they thought she was. Fear that one day, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from becoming nothing more than a broken thing, discarded and forgotten.

The males were still lingering, their presence thick in the air, like predators circling a wounded animal. One of them, taller than the others, with eyes that gleamed in the dim light, leaned in slightly, his voice smooth and low as he spoke.

“You look like you could use some company tonight,” he said, his lips curling into a knowing smile. “How about I buy you another drink, sweetheart? You shouldn’t be drinking alone.” His words were not laced with malice or mockery—no, this was flirting. Simple, smooth, and utterly confident in the way only Fae males could be.

The phrase, the offer, should have made her recoil. Normally, it would have. It would have been the perfect excuse, the perfect reason to indulge in something fleeting, something that would distract her from herself. She could already feel the familiar rush—the heat in her blood, the need to feel desired, the thought of throwing herself at them, letting their hands touch her, the bed waiting to swallow her whole.

But not tonight.

Tonight, she didn’t want to be anyone’s plaything. She didn’t want to slip into someone’s bed just because it was easier than facing the ache of loneliness and emptiness that gnawed at her insides.

Nesta turned her head, meeting their gaze with a coldness that burned hotter than the alcohol in her veins.

“No,” she said sharply, her voice hard as stone. “I don’t need your company.”

Her eyes locked on theirs, and for the first time in what felt like forever, she held her ground. The weight of their flirtations, their glances, slid off her like water. She wasn’t about to be one of those broken women they could parade around, a prize to be won with empty words and smiles.

The taller male’s smile faltered for a fraction of a second, but he recovered quickly, not willing to push her too far. They weren’t rude, just persistent. Still, he didn’t flinch or scowl. He tilted his head, and the look he gave her was unreadable—admiring, even. His voice dropped lower, a touch warmer, as if to soften the rejection.

“Alright, no drink then,” he said, a subtle chuckle in his tone. “But if you change your mind, the offer still stands.”

She didn’t respond. Instead, she turned her attention back to the counter, the clink of glass in the background filling the silence. They lingered a moment longer before moving away, the spell broken.

But she didn’t feel relief. Just the hollow echo of the choice she had made, the sting of the emptiness still there, still gnawing, still pulling at her heart.

Nesta’s gaze drifted back to the glass in front of her, the amber liquid swirling inside, taunting her. She could feel the burn in her throat from the last one, the warmth spreading through her chest, easing the ache, if only for a moment. It wasn’t enough. It would never be enough. But it was the only thing that made her feel something other than the weight of her thoughts pressing down on her.

How many drinks, she wondered, before it was too much? Before her limbs turned to lead and her head spun in that hazy, welcome blur? How many before she would stagger out of here, the world tilting and swaying, and maybe just keep walking until she couldn’t walk anymore? Or until the bartender decided enough was enough, his eyes hardening, his patience thinning. He’d seen too many people like her—broken, drowning in their own misery, and he’d know when it was time to cut her off, to stop serving the poison.

Her fingers gripped the glass tighter, her knuckles white against the cool surface. She wasn’t sure if she was trying to steady herself or trying to hold on to something—anything—that could keep her grounded. If she drank enough, maybe it would all go away. Maybe the silence, the thoughts, the pain that never seemed to leave her would finally vanish into the depths of the liquor. But she knew it wouldn’t. It never did. The haze always lifted, and the reality would crash back, sharp and biting.

She took another sip, the warmth spreading again, her throat burning with each swallow. But this time, she didn’t feel the rush. It was just the same empty feeling, stretched out and stretched thin. It would take more. It always did. More and more, until she didn’t feel anything at all.

Her eyes flicked back to the door, the place where she could slip out and disappear into the night. She could do that—just leave, walk into the dark and keep going. It felt like the only way to escape, the only way to free herself from this. But she didn’t. Not yet. Not tonight. Instead, her eyes fell back to the drink. One more. Just one more, she told herself. One more and maybe, just maybe, she wouldn’t feel so damn empty.

Nesta felt the presence before she saw her, a shift in the air, a subtle pressure that told her someone had closed the space beside her. She assumed it was the male from before—the one who had flirted, the one who couldn’t seem to take a hint. She was ready to turn and shut him down once again, her words sharp, cold, something that would push him away, make him rethink whatever he thought he could have with her.

But when she turned, it wasn’t him.

Instead, she was met with a woman—dark hair, green eyes that gleamed in the low light of the tavern, her gaze steady, searching. She stood there, an aura of quiet confidence surrounding her. For a moment, Nesta was frozen, her mind briefly unsure of how to react. She didn’t care for any more company tonight, especially not from anyone who might want to pass their pity on her.

She almost sneered, almost opened her mouth to demand what the woman wanted. What? Another person here to stare at the broken thing, see if it might be worth their time to fix?

But before she could speak, the woman cut in, her voice smooth and warm, not at all what Nesta had expected.

“Can I buy you a drink?” she asked, her tone light, almost playful, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. No pity, no judgment, just a simple offer.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, the defensive wall inside her going up as she turned her gaze back to the drink in front of her. “I already have a drink,” she said, her tone clipped, not bothering to look at the woman directly. She could already feel the woman’s gaze on her, sharp and assessing, but she didn’t care. She didn’t need anything else from anyone tonight. Especially not some stranger offering to buy her a drink as if she couldn’t take care of herself.

The woman, however, didn’t seem deterred. Instead, she raised an eyebrow, her lips curling slightly into a knowing smirk. “A better drink than that,” she said, her voice smooth, like she was offering a challenge, an unspoken dare.

Nesta’s chest tightened, her protective instincts flaring at the woman’s casual dismissal of the drink in her hand. She could feel her hackles rising—Who does she think she is? She wasn’t about to be judged for her choice of poison. It wasn’t anyone’s business how much or how little she drank, or why.

“I don’t need your charity,” Nesta snapped, but her words seemed to slide off the woman like water.

Without a word, the woman slid into the seat next to her with an ease that suggested this wasn’t her first time at this bar. She gestured toward the bartender with a quick flick of her fingers, two fingers held up. The bartender nodded almost immediately, already moving to prepare whatever drink the woman had in mind.

Nesta watched, her eyes narrowing slightly as the woman’s confidence seemed to radiate, an air of someone who belonged here, who had made this place her own. She didn’t look like someone who was trying to win favor or sympathy. She simply acted like she was above it all, in the way only people who had spent enough time in places like this could. A regular. Nesta could tell without even needing to be told.

Moments later, the bartender set a fresh glass in front of her, the amber liquid sparkling in the dim light, the scent of it far richer than anything Nesta had been drinking tonight. It wasn’t harsh. It wasn’t a cheap attempt to drown everything out. It was… something else.

For a brief second, Nesta felt the stirrings of curiosity, but she quickly squashed it down. She wasn’t about to be impressed. She didn’t need anything from this woman, certainly not a drink she didn’t ask for.

But the liquid in the glass shimmered, calling to her in a way that no bottle had before. Still, she kept her eyes trained on the woman, her voice steady. “I’m not interested.”

The woman simply gave a little shrug, not taking offense. “You can drink it or not. Up to you. But if you keep staring at it like that, I’m guessing you’re a little interested.”

Nesta didn’t respond, but she felt the heat of her own gaze still lingering on the glass. Something about it felt different—more… real than the numbness she had been swallowing down all night.

Nesta couldn’t help it. Her eyes flicked back to the glass the woman had set in front of her, the temptation lingering in the air between them. She didn’t trust easily, but the woman’s casual demeanor, the way she didn’t push or pry, made her wonder. She leaned in slightly, her voice low but curious. “What is it?”

The woman grinned, a flash of teeth that suggested she wasn’t just offering something because she had to—she was offering because she knew the answer would pique Nesta’s interest. She threw back her own cup with a practiced ease, the liquid disappearing down her throat in one swift motion. “Try it,” she said, her tone light and unbothered, as though she had done this a hundred times before.

Nesta hesitated for a moment longer, but the woman’s lack of hesitation, the way she made the act so simple, gave her a certain reassurance. It wasn’t anything suspicious. She wasn’t trying to poison her, wasn’t trying to trap her with some strange concoction.

With a breath, Nesta picked up the glass, her fingers gripping it firmly as if it could somehow ground her. She raised it to her lips, glancing at the woman again, who was still watching her, calm and expectant.

And then she took the drink, letting it slide over her tongue.

To her surprise, it didn’t burn. Not like the harsh liquor she was used to, the stuff that felt like fire in her throat. This went down smooth, almost velvety, with a warmth that seemed to settle deep inside her, but not in the way she expected. It didn’t numb her, didn’t drown her thoughts. It simply… eased them, like a soft breath after holding it too long.

She blinked, her eyes wide, and for a moment, she didn’t know what to say. She had expected something jagged, sharp, something that would sting. But this… this was different.

“That’s…” she started, the words catching in her throat, unsure of what to call it. It was better than anything she had expected. Better than any drink she’d had in ages.

Nesta set the glass down slowly, the warmth still lingering in her chest. She glanced at the woman beside her, feeling the stirrings of something unfamiliar—something like appreciation, but she quickly pushed it down.

“Thanks for the drink,” she said, her tone clipped but not ungrateful. “But I’m not interested in whatever this is.” She gestured vaguely between them, the space heavy with the unspoken. Whatever the woman’s game was, Nesta wasn’t here for it.

The woman didn’t falter. She simply smiled, her green eyes flickering with something akin to amusement, but there was no mockery there—only curiosity. “And what is this, exactly?” she asked, her voice light, her smile growing a little wider, as though she was playing along.

Nesta narrowed her eyes, almost annoyed at the question. Wasn’t it obvious? She wasn’t interested in anything more than the drink. She wasn’t about to spill her entire life to a stranger who bought her a drink. She wasn’t about to let this woman weave some web around her and make her feel like she needed someone.

Nesta straightened in her seat, her eyes locking onto the woman’s with a steely gaze. She wasn’t sure why she felt the need to make this clear, but she did. Perhaps it was the way the woman had looked at her, the calm yet knowing way she had spoken.

“I’m not interested in women,” Nesta said firmly, her voice carrying a sharp edge as she narrowed her eyes, daring the woman to say something.

The woman paused for just a heartbeat, a flicker of amusement crossing her features before she let out a low chuckle. It wasn’t mocking, but it was certainly amused. “I didn’t think you were,” she said lightly, as if the idea itself was more of a joke than anything serious.

Nesta blinked, her brows furrowing at the response. The woman didn’t seem offended, didn’t seem disappointed. She wasn’t exactly offering anything, but she wasn’t withdrawing, either.

“You’ve made that clear enough,” the woman continued, taking a slow sip from her own glass, her eyes twinkling with that same calm amusement.

Nesta could feel her defenses rising, instinctively. She wasn’t interested. She wasn’t about to be cornered into something she didn’t want, no matter how charming or confident this stranger seemed.

“I said I’m not interested,” she repeated, her tone cool, measured.

The woman shrugged, completely unfazed, as though she hadn’t heard the challenge in Nesta’s voice at all. “I heard you,” she replied, smiling in that easy, knowing way. “Doesn’t mean I can’t be friendly, though.”

Nesta narrowed her eyes at the woman. Friendly didn’t usually mean this—whatever this was. And she wasn’t about to get tangled up in something she didn’t understand. Still, there was something about the woman’s calmness, her lack of expectation, that made Nesta second-guess the walls she’d been so intent on keeping up.

She didn’t have time to figure it out, though, and for now, she simply decided to ignore it.

“Whatever,” Nesta muttered, her voice softening only slightly. She grabbed her drink again, swirling the liquid absently, wanting to push the moment away, to move on.

But the woman just smiled again, an easy, nonchalant smile, and took another drink. She wasn’t going anywhere, and Nesta wasn’t sure whether that annoyed her or comforted her.

Nesta sat back in her chair, her fingers wrapping tightly around the glass, almost as though she needed to hold it to keep herself grounded. She could feel the tension pulling at her chest, an unease that had been there since she first entered the tavern, and it seemed to swell with every passing minute.

Without saying anything more, she tipped the glass back and drank, the harsh burn of the liquor searing down her throat. It was exactly what she needed—what she wanted—that familiar, biting sting that cut through the numbness and reminded her of everything she was trying to forget. She didn’t want the smoothness the woman had offered, didn’t want any comfort, didn’t want to feel something that might make her weaker. The burn was sharp, unforgiving, and it was the only thing that didn’t lie to her.

She savored it, the fire crawling down her throat, coating her insides with a heat that made her feel something—anything—other than empty. This was familiar. This was something she could handle.

For a while, there was nothing but the quiet of the tavern, the soft clinking of glasses, the murmur of voices in the background. The woman didn’t speak, didn’t offer any more drinks or any kind of consolation. She just sat there, calm and still, her own glass empty as she watched Nesta with an unreadable expression.

Nesta didn’t look at her, didn’t need to. Instead, she focused on the glass in her hand, letting the alcohol do its work. She could feel her chest tighten with every sip, but it wasn’t the same tightness from before. It was the pain she was familiar with, the kind that made her forget everything else for just a little while.

The silence stretched between them, thick and heavy, but neither of them filled it. No questions, no prying. The woman had said her piece, had given her the drink, and now she just waited, like she understood what Nesta needed without asking for anything in return.

Nesta didn’t know how long they sat there, but eventually, the burn from her drink started to fade, and her mind drifted again, though the ache in her chest lingered, sharp and unrelenting.

When she finished the drink, she set the glass down with a heavy hand, the sting still there, but it wasn’t enough to drown out the gnawing emptiness.

The woman didn’t ask if she wanted more. She didn’t ask if she was okay. She just watched, her eyes steady but not intrusive, as though she knew Nesta wasn’t looking for comfort, not yet.

Nesta pushed herself up from the table, the weight of the drink still heavy in her gut. She didn’t say anything more. She didn’t owe the woman anything—no explanations, no goodbyes. Her feet were already moving, the familiarity of leaving this place, of heading back to her apartment, already setting in. Back to the emptiness, the silence, the cycle that would pull her down once more.

She wasn’t sure how many more nights she could do this—the drinking, the spiraling, throwing her guts up and lying on the floor afterwards, feeling like nothing more than a body that was just taking up space. She had spent too many nights doing exactly that, and she was sure tonight wouldn’t be any different.

As she turned, ready to walk away, a voice stopped her.

“There’s music here in a few days,” the woman’s voice rang out, calm and unbothered, like she’d been waiting for this moment. “You should come.”

Nesta froze for a heartbeat, irritation flaring within her. Music? What did that even mean? She didn’t want music. She didn’t want anyone’s pity. She didn’t want to be a part of anything, not anymore. The woman’s voice was light, almost playful, and Nesta glared at her over her shoulder as though she might reject it out loud—tell her she didn’t need the invitation, tell her she didn’t need any of this. But she didn’t. She just stood there, her jaw tight, her chest seething with frustration, but no words came.

After a long, tense moment, Nesta simply turned and walked out. She didn’t owe the woman anything. She didn’t owe anyone anything.

The cold air hit her as soon as she stepped outside, sharp and biting, but it wasn’t enough to cut through the numbness that had settled in her bones. She walked, slow and steady, back to her apartment, the same apartment that had become her tomb of silence. The same apartment where she would drink herself into oblivion, and then fall to the floor, letting the sickness overtake her, just to feel something.

The woman’s words stayed with her though, trailing in the back of her mind. You should come. As if that could change anything. As if she could just show up to something—anything—and feel normal.

But no. Nesta didn’t want to feel normal. She just wanted to disappear.

Nesta didn’t know why she was here, a few days later. She had thought about it more times than she cared to admit, but now that she was standing at the threshold of the same tavern, she still wasn’t sure what had brought her back. She wasn’t interested in the music, wasn’t interested in anything except the pull of something different—a fleeting idea that maybe, just maybe, it could drown out the usual noise in her head.

The door swung open, and to her surprise, the sounds of laughter, shouts, and the unmistakable chords of violins filled the air. It was nothing like the quiet murmurs she was used to, nothing like the heavy silence that followed her every move. This was different. This was alive. She could hear singing now, voices rising and falling, a blend of joy and celebration.

The tavern was bustling with more people than she remembered, their faces flushed with drink, their laughter sharp and full of life. The energy was infectious, swirling around the room like an unexpected storm. It wasn’t the place she had left a few days ago, full of quiet and shadows. It was alive with music, and the difference hit her like a slap to the face.

Her eyes darted to the woman she had met before, standing near the bar with her back straight, a small smile on her lips as she watched the crowd. She didn’t seem surprised to see Nesta at all. In fact, there was a kind of knowing in her eyes, as though she had been expecting this.

Nesta hesitated in the doorway, the familiar feeling of wanting to retreat clawing at her. She didn’t belong here. She didn’t belong in the bright, noisy chaos that filled the space. She was used to being a ghost, to hiding in the shadows. But the music—it tugged at something deep inside of her, something she couldn’t quite ignore.

A violin solo rose above the noise, sharp and quick, its notes dancing through the air with ease. Nesta found herself following the sound, her feet moving almost on their own, carried by the force of the music. For a moment, she almost forgot about everything else—the emptiness, the pain, the heavy weight of everything she had been trying to outrun. The music was something else entirely. It was something she couldn’t control, and it was pulling her in.

As if on cue, the woman caught her eye and gave a subtle nod toward an empty seat near the bar. The invitation was silent, but it was there. Nesta didn’t resist. Instead, she moved forward, drawn into the unfamiliar warmth of the room, toward something that might just help her forget for a while.

The woman’s eyes followed her, but there was no judgment there—only something close to understanding. Whatever had made Nesta step foot back into this tavern, back into this world, it didn’t matter now. The music was all around her, and for once, she let it take the lead.

Nesta took a seat, the unfamiliar warmth of the tavern sinking into her skin as she settled onto the stool. The noise, the music, the laughter—they buzzed around her like a hive, and for a moment, she couldn’t find her place in it. But she stayed, her gaze flickering to the woman who had watched her since she walked in. The woman’s smile was knowing, unbothered, and she said simply, “You came.”

Nesta didn’t respond at first. She didn’t know what to say. She didn’t know why she had come either, but she wasn’t about to admit it out loud. Instead, she set her jaw, staring into the crowd. “I want a drink,” she muttered, cutting through the noise with a sharpness that was all her own.

The woman chuckled, a low sound, almost amused by Nesta’s bluntness. She didn’t say anything further. Instead, she raised two fingers to the bartender, who nodded, a familiar gesture that made Nesta’s stomach tighten.

The drink came quickly, the same smooth liquid from the other night, dark and rich. No questions, no hesitation. Just the same drink, placed in front of her as though it had been waiting. Nesta didn’t even think twice this time. Her fingers wrapped around the glass, and she brought it to her lips without a word.

The liquid slid down her throat with ease, no burn this time, just the gentle heat that followed. She felt it settle inside her, just like before, and for a moment, she let herself feel the warmth spread, filling the empty places. There was no rush, no frantic need to drink more than necessary. This time, she didn’t fight the smoothness; she let it flow.

It wasn’t what she expected, but it was enough.

As she sat there, drink in hand, the music began to pull at her in a way she hadn’t expected. It wasn’t just the background noise of a tavern anymore. The violins sang with such passion, such depth, that they seemed to reach into the spaces she had buried deep inside herself. The melody twisted and turned, a lively dance, full of sharp highs and soft, aching lows. It felt like the music was alive, like it was telling a story—one she had no words for but understood in the very marrow of her bones.

The singing added to the spell, a woman’s voice rich and velvety, rising and falling with each note. It was like the words didn’t matter as much as the feeling behind them, the emotion woven into every note. It was beautiful. Beautiful in a way that made Nesta’s chest ache, in a way that made her feel the weight of everything she had been pushing down, the things she had tried so hard not to feel.

She didn’t know how long she had been sitting there, listening. Time seemed to stretch and bend in the face of the music, each note pulling her further from the suffocating fog of her own thoughts. For a few minutes, maybe longer, Nesta let herself just exist in the rhythm of it, in the sound that wrapped itself around her like a cloak, pulling her into the world of this moment and away from everything else.

It wasn’t like anything she had felt in ages—this simple, unguarded beauty. And for once, it didn’t make her want to run. It didn’t remind her of her failures, or her pain, or the emptiness that always lingered. For a fleeting moment, it was just the music. And it was enough.

As the music swirled around her, a memory tugged at the back of Nesta’s mind, unbidden and sharp. It was the music from those old balls, the ones her mother and grandmother had insisted she attend. The memories were laced with the same melodies, grand and sweeping, full of grace and elegance. There had been a time when she had danced—though not for herself. The swirling gowns, the dimly lit halls, the heavy eyes of those who watched her, all judged by an invisible standard that only ever seemed to tighten with each misstep.

The music then had been beautiful too, but it was different. It was a command, a weight that pressed down on her shoulders with every step, every twirl. She had danced not because she wanted to, but because she was supposed to. For her mother’s approval, for her grandmother’s nod of satisfaction, for the image of perfection they had so carefully constructed. The laughter of others had filled the air, but it wasn’t real—it had been for show, just like everything else.

Nesta could almost hear the old voices in her head, echoing warnings about how she had to look, how she had to move. Don’t mess up, Nesta. The words had always come with the promise of punishment, should she falter. It wasn’t the joy of dancing she remembered. It was the tightness in her chest, the fear that gripped her every time the music started, reminding her she was never enough. Never enough for her mother, for her grandmother, for anyone.

She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, shaking the thoughts from her head as the music in the tavern continued to pulse around her. This isn’t the same, she reminded herself. This music isn’t for anyone else. It’s just… beautiful.

For a moment, she wanted to believe that it could be for her too. That it could be hers to enjoy without the weight of expectation, without the constant pressure to perform. Just a fleeting thought, quickly crushed, but for a moment, it was there.

The tavern’s music wasn’t demanding. It wasn’t a command. It was simply there, unfolding into the air, something raw and unrefined, as if it was meant to be felt, not controlled. And that was something Nesta hadn’t allowed herself to feel in so long.

She hadn’t realized it, but there was something about the music that felt oddly comforting, as though the tavern had been holding onto a secret she hadn’t known.

“I didn’t know the tavern played music,” she said, glancing over at the woman beside her, her voice quieter now, almost as if she was breaking a silence she hadn’t been aware of.

The woman, still calm and unhurried, raised an eyebrow at Nesta’s comment, her smile soft. “They do, every so often,” she replied, her voice warm but matter-of-fact. “Live shows. People sing or play—whatever the night calls for.” Her eyes sparkled with some private amusement, as though she knew something Nesta didn’t. “The tavern’s been here long enough to pick up a few things.”

Nesta took a moment, her eyes flicking over to the woman sitting beside her, studying her with a renewed curiosity. The first time they’d met, the noise, the haze of her thoughts, had clouded her perception, but now, in the quieter lull of the moment, she noticed more.

The woman’s dark hair fell in waves around her shoulders, rich and glossy, like the midnight sky on a cloudless night. Her eyes, a striking green, seemed to catch the light from the candles around them, almost glowing with a depth that made Nesta feel like there was more to her than just the casual demeanor she presented. Her features were sharp, but not harsh—high cheekbones, a straight nose, lips that pulled into a knowing smile, always one step ahead, as if she understood the silence between them without needing to fill it with words.

She didn’t dress like the others in the tavern—there was something deliberate about her look, as if she stood apart. Her clothes were simple yet elegant, dark, and tailored to fit her form, but there was an air of confidence about her that made her stand out even in this crowded space.

The woman’s gaze turned to holdNesta’s for a moment, the weight of her green eyes steady and unwavering. For the briefest instant, Nesta felt the air shift, as if the woman could see straight through her. The kind of look that pierced past her carefully constructed barriers, leaving something vulnerable in its wake. It made her uncomfortable, and instinctively, she averted her gaze, her eyes drifting to the glass in front of her, pretending to focus on the amber liquid.

After a beat, the woman’s voice broke through the silence. “What made you come back?” she asked, her tone light but with an edge of curiosity, like she was waiting for the truth to slip through Nesta’s lips.

Nesta’s answer came easily, a lie that slipped out as if it had been rehearsed, though she knew it wasn’t the real reason. “The drink,” she said, her voice steady, the words a smooth mask over whatever truth lurked behind them.

The woman chuckled softly, a sound that felt knowing, almost as if she understood the lie without needing Nesta to say more. She didn’t press further, though, letting the laughter fade into the background as she returned her attention to the music, tapping her fingers lightly on the table, as if the conversation had never been about anything other than the present.

And Nesta? She let the lie hang in the air, retreating back into the melody, letting the smooth rhythm of the song fill the empty spaces where her words had fallen short. It was easier this way, pretending that the drink had been the reason she’d returned. It was simpler to let the music carry her away than confront whatever had brought her back to the tavern in the first place.

Tag list: @litnerdwrites

[omelette-the-anomaly]

ROTTMNT screenshot redraw

[furuu]

∘ ◟♡ ˒ ʾʾ You rested your head against Sukuna’s broad chest, your fingers tracing idle patterns across his skin. He wasn’t exactly the cuddly type, but over time, you had learned that in rare moments like this, he didn’t mind your touch. Today, though, your curiosity got the better of you as your hand drifted to the right side of his face.

The instant your fingers brushed over the jagged contours, Sukuna stiffened beneath you, his muscles tensing. He let out a low, rumbling growl, and you hesitated, thinking you’d overstepped. But the large eyes on that side of his face blinked up at you, wide and almost… expectant.

"Those eyes are so big," you murmured softly, tracing the edges of the eyelids with your thumb. Sukuna grumbled under his breath, his usual irritation creeping into his voice. "Tch. They're not meant for your amusement."

But the eyes weren’t listening. They blinked again, slow and patient, their gaze fixed on your hand as if silently pleading for more. You bit back a smile, gently rubbing along the hard skin. The eyes fluttered shut for a moment, the lids twitching in contentment, and you couldn’t help but let out a small giggle.

Despite his protests, his body relaxed beneath your touch. His jaw unclenched, his shoulders eased, and the low grumbling sound deep in his chest took on a different tone—one that almost felt like… contentment.

The eyes remained focused on you, tracking every gentle movement of your hand, as if yearning for more of your affection. Sukuna, for all his bravado, let you continue, his protests fading into quiet grumbles. You could feel his large form sinking into the moment, as though he didn’t want to admit how much your touch soothed him.

You shifted closer, pressing your cheek against his shoulder, fingers continuing their soft exploration of the extra eyes. “It’s okay,” you whispered, a smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll be gentle.”

Sukuna huffed in response, but there was no real bite to his words. "Don’t make this a habit."

The eyes, however, seemed to disagree, blinking slowly and lazily under your care, as if savoring the warmth of your touch. Despite himself, Sukuna leaned into you just a little more, letting the moment linger in silence, the growl in his chest fading into a quiet, reluctant acceptance.

You felt his arm wrap around you, pulling you even closer, his usual roughness softened by the quiet, vulnerable moment. “Tch, you’re lucky I don’t mind you as much,” he muttered, though the way his eyes closed and his breathing slowed betrayed how much he was actually enjoying this.

And maybe, just maybe, Sukuna didn’t mind this softness as much as he pretended not.

[lovieku]

MOTHERFUCKIN’ TRAIN WRECK! ⋆ 정국

𐙚 if you were my boyfriend… and you were my girlfriend…

when renowned fuckboy jeon jeongguk catches feelings, he loses his mind. only when it comes to you, though.

based on this ask

from the grande series ୨ৎ

pairing: fuckboy!jk x fem!reader

genre: fwb au

warnings: small smutty moments (cunnilingus, fingering, tiny boob play), angst, fluffi maybe idk, whipped and jelly koo, ft. namjoon!!!, oblivious oc, deep down she feels it too but jk is simply too much of a simp so it doesn’t look like it at first, he’s also so petty and sassy, jokes about ending it if oc doesn’t give him a chance </3, he’s just a little shit, peep the lyrics from boyfriend hehe, oh btw happy ending!!!

word count: 18k

a/n: wowww i’m so sorry for this pile of nonsense, it’s so bad i vomited a little in my mouth. i hate every single thing about it but i didn’t wanna leave you guys starved. i love u sm and thank u for the support, but u’re allowed to leave hate asks for what u’re about to read rn ❤️ also i’m SO SORRY for being unable to write a jungkook who isn’t a simp

🏷️ perm taglist: @ceellliiinee @jaytheatiny @dolligguk @luvismenu @theyloveyams @stillwjk-channie-lixie @bookstoread199 @girlygguk @vieviela @myngiii @angelxkoo @nnybtitts08 @mpbrinkss @https-mei @lyywst @mhdelu @apobangpogirlyyy @khadeeeeej @awrkive

────୨ৎ────

Jeongguk was only supposed to clean you up. That’s what he calls it when his angelic face finds its place between your spread legs, sinful eyes locking with yours, paired with a smirk you can hardly ever survive.

After all, he’s a man of simple devices. Why bother fetching a towel when he can use his own mouth? When he can let his tongue lap at your juices, slurp every last trace, have an excuse to taste you again, and again, and again?

It’s barely even effective as a way to clean you up, of drying the slick mess that sticks to your inner thighs from cumming three times under his merciless doings— you both know that. Then, how does he expect you not to break a fourth when he runs his wet muscle so torturously along your slit, getting ever more soaked?

Jeongguk is not really trying to end the night. He’s drawing it out. He already had you unraveling in phases— first on his fingers, then all over his cupid lips, ending with you convulsating just another time around his thick length.

It was rough, left purplish marks of his harsh hold digging into your sides, a faint trace of a forbidden hickey just under your collarbones, where you can easily hide it.

In all fairness, he couldn’t help it.

It was you who provoked him. You always do, getting under his skin, teasing him about his skills, downgrading them with playful indifference and nothing more than a meh, as Jeongguk rasps in your ear, clearly affected by your session of foreplay when asking, “Does this make you feel good?”

You’ll be sent straight to hell for lying like that, with seemingly no remorse, but you’re unable to resist the dangerous game and the familiar thrill that comes from it. Nothing compares to the dark wave that takes over his hooded eyes, his motions ever more intentional, almost overwhelming.

He moves to prove something to you, to show you there’s no one quite like him, even with all the guys in your phone, on your lips, inside your sheets.

Jeongguk is your fuckbuddy, and your friend on top of the rest. So, when he first laid his lips on yours, the bottom line plumper than his cupid’s bow, it had taken a great amount of alcohol to flow through both of your veins and blur the lines, let instinct take over.

From there, it was like you couldn’t help yourselves; the physical attraction was undeniable, it’s what brought you here in between the mess of his bed. If you ignore the silly crush you had on him during the first year of college, this was perfect.

Your fuckbuddy contract (Jeongguk hates calling you that, he prefers my friend who makes me cum a lot) includes a heavy emphasis on a no-strings-attached relationship, that can be interrupted whenever one of the two feels uncomfortable, and that should not come before your friendship. On top of all, you both are not exclusive. No commitment, no jealousy. You’re perfectly free of meeting other people, fucking other people. Unless you’re going to date one of those, of course. Then, bye-bye friend who makes me cum a lot.

These rules were established almost a year ago, after your hands couldn’t help themselves from roaming hastily all over his body, pulling him impossibly closer. It was the second time you allowed yourself to feel him, following the night when he initiated things under the clouded lights of a club.

You couldn’t help it. You had been thinking of that moment for weeks now, and when you were left alone with him in his dorm room, pulse racing, it’s all your thoughts were reduced to. Kiss him, kiss him, fuck him.

You felt guilty. A friend shouldn’t be thinking of another friend like you were about Jeongguk. Especially after you promised yourself you wouldn’t let your buried crush resurface and ruin what you had built— even if the memory of that infatuation is honestly just laughable now (you would never think of dating him, pft).

But Jeongguk, ever the gentlest when it comes to you, assured you it was okay to feel as you did, because he felt it too. And was dying to touch you again. His words, not yours.

It’s only sexual. A casual, sexual relationship. Two friends who happen to find each other irresistible.

So when he reacts with a flash of competitiveness at the mere suggestion he might not be the best you’ve ever had, it’s… weird, the feeling that overcomes you. You acknowledge it for a split second, as if you’re searching to name that something inside you stirring, but before you can, it seems to make you fall apart immediately, your grip tighter, back arched, moans high-pitched.

He basks in his silent victory, in the factual demonstration that he in fact can’t be compared to all your other guys.

Except, there’s actually no other guys.

Back when this friends-with-benefits arrangement first started, you were occasionally fooling around with an older guy from campus named Mingyu. Jeongguk knew him, given that they’re in the same photography class. He was also aware of your casual fling with him. And yet, Jeongguk still kissed you. Actually, did so much more than just that.

Either way, the line has always been clear: he has no right to question who you spend time with and what you engage in, Jeongguk isn’t a saint either.

You love him, you truly do. With time, he has become one of your closest friends, and you honestly can’t see yourself getting through college without him.

But there’s no denying the fuckboy allegations, the ones that are constantly thrown at him all around campus. He is a fuckboy. It must be his easy charm, flirting as natural as breathing, tripping out his tongue with seemingly not much thought. At some point, the majority of the girls in your campus got to have their moment with Jeongguk, either because of mindless teasing or one night stands, occasionally turning into casual arrangements.

You have accepted it as part of who he is. You know his fuckboy habits haven’t magically changed when you two started fucking. He doesn’t really spend much time talking about it with you, occasionally mentioning his doings every now and then, but you don’t need to know; his friends and the people whispering in hallways and lecture halls fill in the blanks.

That is exactly why you’ve let Jeongguk believe that your sexual life is equally as busy, floods of boys from your inbox to your sheets, as if you aren’t too much of a hopeless romantic to even think of anything that isn’t exclusively monogamous.

But this isn’t the case. Jeongguk isn’t yours, you aren’t his. It’s just about sex, and you’ve accepted that. You don’t want anything more from him. You tell yourself the only reason you’re not seeing anyone else is that the idea of it makes you uneasy. That you’re more than satisfied with Jeongguk being your friend-turned-into-fuckbuddy, and you don’t need other ones.

Jeongguk is more than enough. Oh, he is.

“Fuck, Gguk. You’re gonna make me cum— Ah, shit— again.”

Your head is thrown back in his pillow, legs weakly tightening around his head nestled so close to your core, and it’s clear his goal has completely shifted from getting you clean and neat when the tip of his tongue moves to flicker on your sensitive nub, relentlessly abusing it with casual kissing and sucking.

He opens his mouth to take more of you, his wet muscle tracing your slit and teasing your entrance for— sadly —the shortest second, and the way he hums approvingly against you brings you even closer to the breaking point.

You’re a fragile mess, overstimulated from the previous orgasms but desperate to chase yet another climax, his hands roaming up to find your breast only spurring you further.

Jeongguk knows you by now, and is aware of all the subtle gestures that make you come undone under him. He knows just what to do to push you over the edge, and when to do it exactly.

You’re a sucker for dirty talk and praise, and occasionally, when the ideal situation comes, you love being degraded. It’s a side of you that only ever arises during sex, mind hazed and irrational, the delirious need for release clouding all your usually composed senses.

At first, he teased you for it. Not because he’s not as much of a fan as you are of talking during sex, but because he never pictured you to be the loud type. And you truly are.

Jeongguk pinches your nipples in hopes of you getting the message and lowering your volume, but it only makes you whine higher, your moans surely not going unnoticed by the other students in the dorm.

It can only be worse when he decides to speak against you, his voice a low, almost unintelligible growl, “Pussy’s so fuckin’ good. All mine, fuck. Want to taste your cum once again, c’mon babe. Give it to me.”

And you, always obliging and well-behaved, let go for a fourth time, hips furiously rutting against his face, his words making your surroundings spin, the way his nose would brush your sensitive nub having your eyes roll to the back of your head.

Your gasp is strained when he retreats with one last wet stripe between your puffy lips, sealing the orgasm with a kiss on your clit, and when he finds your face again there’s a cockish grin spreading across his, chin coated with your juices.

He immediately meets your mouth then, sharing your own taste, and you both moan shamelessly at the action.

Jeongguk collapses next to you, his body warm and relaxed, pulling you closer by your waist and almost making you straddle him with the force of his hold. He sighs into your hair, kissing the root of it, “You did amazing for me, pretty girl.”

A pleasant shiver runs down your spine at the praise and the pet name rolling off his tongue with ease. It’s ridiculous.

With your cheek pressed against his chest, you glance up at him through your lashes and a lazy smile threatens to take over your face, but your playful pout is more prominent, almost convincing, “I’m never letting you do that trick on me again. Next time, I’m just going to take a shower like a normal person.”

The laugh he lets out is rich and unguarded, his chest rumbling under your ear, and it makes you pull away with a mock glare, brows knitted together as you swat at his toned stomach, “Don’t laugh. I hated that.”

His dark eyes soften as they dance with amusement, the corners crinkling, and he hums, going along with your blatant lie from the way your lips struggle to contain a grin, “Oh, absolutely. You were screaming in horror, couldn’t stand it.”

“Whatever,” you mutter incoherently, standing up to escape from the inevitable loss. The slick between your thighs reminds you of why you need that shower in the first place, causing you to awkwardly wobble your way to his bathroom.

Jeongguk watches you with a lopsided smirk, stretched out on the bed, his brown hair a messy halo on the pillow, and it completes the concept he goes perfectly with, the one of a devil dressed up as an angel, even more when his voice drips with faux desperation, “Hey, come back. I need my cuddles.”

“You’ll live,” you toss back before pulling the door shut behind you and stepping into the warm embrace of the shower. The hot water stings at first, then soothes you, sliding down your skin.

Jeongguk already knows the outcome of what he’s about to do isn’t going to turn in his favor, but he tries his luck regardless, standing up hastily and limply making his way to his bathroom door.

He only knocks twice, then puts on his best begging voice, talking loud enough to be heard over the shower, “Toots?”

“No!”

A scoff filters through the steamy air, followed by the unmistakable creak of the door handle as he steps inside. He’s relentless, voices his thoughts with the kind of logic only he would find convincing, “C’mon, we’ll save water!”

You stand with your back to him, his body wash traveling down your skin in soap bubbles, the scent filling the air, and you let your shoulders shrug. You don’t turn around. Number one, because you’ll give in. Number two, because you can hear the pout on his lips, and that’s the reason for number one.

You try your best to sound annoyed, “Jeongguk, just leave. You don’t even pay for it.”

“Our poor earth pays for it,” he quips, stepping further into the cramped space, body still bare, and that’s maybe a number three for you, “Because you wanna be so unfair to your best friend and leave him out in the cold.”

“You’re not my best friend.”

His gasp is dramatic, you even hear it echo through the tiny room, and you fight hard to contain the giggle locked inside you, but it escapes in the shape of a snort, which you quickly try to conceal by clearing your throat. You even further go with the lie, “You heard me.”

“Unbelievable. I’m kicking you out the second you’re done here,” he tries his best menacing tone, the threat barely harsh and effective, closing the door behind his back with an exaggerated thump, followed by unintelligible grumbling.

You take your sweet time in his now steamy bathroom. You shampoo twice, deliberately squeezing out a generous amount of his own fancy product in your palm, making sure the squeak of the bottle is heard through the door so he knows you’re helping yourself. His high-quality hair dryer blasts warm air over your damp hair until it’s only mildly wet. And you even rummage around his cabinet, indulging in his collection of expensive skincare creams. These little luxuries are exactly why you never pass a single occasion to shower over at his dorm room.

And the second you’re done in there, he doesn’t kick you out like he threatened. It takes a moment for him to move his attention from his phone to your figure, wrapped around in his fluffy robe, and he doesn’t even try to keep up the menacing act. Still spread on his ruined bed, his furrowed brows relax, and his lips break into a grin. He scans your face, then giggles, “You’ve got a massive pimple on your forehead.”

“Fuck you. I’m taking one of your hoodies.”

“It’s called borrowing,” even in the midst of checking out your freshly-washed naked body, now being stripped from his bathrobe, he’s still committed to the game of banter you two always play.

“It’s not if I’m not giving it back,” you counter, voice muffled by the fabric of one of his many black sweatshirts you’re already pulling over your head, quickly shuffling into your jeans, helping them up with some small hops that make him grin.

He doesn’t seem bothered by your comeback, too used to losing his own clothes to your closet; rather, he watches you move with what seems like hurry around his dimly lit room. He shifts higher, letting the sheets slip to reveal his still bare, and slightly sweaty torso, “Wanna hang out together at the party tomorrow?”

”Hmm, I’ll just see you there,” you don’t pay him much attention, using your phone camera as a mirror to wipe away any smudged mascara under your eyes. “I’ve already got a partner, actually.”

Jeongguk fully sits up now, vision a little blurry from the hasty and sudden movement, phone forgotten, “A partner?”

The way you casually let a smile tug at your lips while talking about a man is new, “Yeah. A guy from my English class asked me to go with him. He’s pretty cute.”

You’re too busy shoving your belongings in your bag and mentally cataloging every single item to notice the expression your best friend is currently sporting, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly. Tank top, makeup, laptop… where the fuck is— oh, here. Lip balm. What else?

Jeongguk thinks you’re forgetting something deathly important. A fucking explanation, maybe? He’s known you to occasionally fool around with random guys, but he thought it was just that. Occasional and random. When did it get to having a partner? That sounds silly. Or maybe a little too formal, a little too real. What the fuck does having a partner even entail?

You’re blissfully unaware of the stubborn storm taking over Jeongguk’s thoughts, especially because you’re not exactly sparing him a second glance, moving with single-minded focus, hurrying to leave. Because apparently it’s so bad to want to spend the night with your best friend. Share a bed, watch a movie, talk gossip (it’s been so long since you’ve updated him the way only you can about the latest campus stories, ugh). Amazing, yes, that’s totally fine with Jeongguk.

And he does manage to sound unbothered, “What’s his name?”

“Namjoon.”

Jeongguk focuses on your slim fingers slipping your lip balm into the front pocket of your bag, syllabes leaving his lips in a slow mumble, “Ah, Namjoon. I know him. I guess.”

Fucking Kim Namjoon. Of course he knows him. 6 feet tall, polite, model student Kim Namjoon. Shit. Great choice. No, really, he’s the perfect catch.

“Hm? Well, I think he’s very nice. And hot as fuck.”

He grimaces, “Gross.”

“You’re one to talk,” pulling the hood over your head, you finally meet his eyes. You’re completely oblivious to the thoughts gnawing at him, so you think his disappointment is only caused by your next words, “I should get going now.”

“What? You’re not staying over for dinner?” The way he looks up at you with doe, puppy-dog eyes almost makes you trip on your own resolution, but you only ruffle his hair from your stance next to his bed, hoping the small action is enough to satisfy your hunger. Not for dinner.

“Nah, sorry Gguk. Gotta get up early for English class.”

He scoffs, moving stubbornly from your soothing touch, “Sure. English class with Joohyuk.”

“…Namjoon.”

“Right, that’s what I said. Namsun.”

You raise an eyebrow, half-laughing, “No, it’s Namjoon.”

“Namgi.”

“Namjoon.”

“Whatever, don’t care.” The words have barely any space to roll out through his pout, and along with his petty little slip-ups it’s the most childish act you’ve seen him pull so far. To be completely honest, he seems to break a new record every other day.

You fight the urge to roll your gaze at the ceiling, finding it impossible to deal with pouty, hungry and cuddle-starved Jeongguk. You sigh, muttering, “Insufferable.”

“Give me a kiss, brat.”

The teasing comes so naturally that for a second you don’t ponder on the demand being something a normal friend wouldn’t exactly ask. But it isn’t one you’ll deny.

You bend down to meet him as easily as he let the request out, muttering a playful Oh, I’m the brat now? before brushing his pushed lips with yours in a sweet, short kiss, enough to draw a soft sigh from both of you. You hum against it, voice warm with something that contradicts your words entirely, “I hate you.”

“You love me.”

“Sure,” rolling your eyes, you grant his cocky figure that little win, too tired to put up a fight, even if you almost rethink it when he confidently leans back against the pillows, smirking up at you. You decide to cut it short, it’s for the best, throwing your bag over your shoulder as well as one last look at him, before readying yourself for the walk of shame through his frat.

────୨ৎ────

Namjoon is, by all standards, the perfect guy. He’s genuine, smiles sweetly with his dimples showing and his eyes crinkling into crescents that make him seem both wise and youthful.

Careful, even protective over you, making sure you’re comfortable. With your drink, with your seat, with your conversation.

Almost too attentive, which should calm your nerves, but instead you feel yourself unable to fully let go. Open up to him like he’s doing with you, like you think you want to do.

You’re not sure. You can’t feel that mysterious spark everybody talks about. That spark Jeongguk admitted he’s never felt with anyone so far, no matter the number of girls he’s been with. The one he’s confessed he’s desperate to feel. The one you hope he can find.

Wait, why are you thinking about Jeongguk?

Said boy has yet to acknowledge you, standing across from you in the crowded living room of your mutual friend’s house. Each weekend, the same ritual brings you back here, whenever Taehyung’s parents head off for one of their rich-people, luxurious trips. The space is familiar, a backdrop to countless parties, all too often ending in someone’s drunken confessions and stolen kisses that’d become the talk of campus until the next party came around.

As tradition would want, with the clock ticking its way past midnight, you’d be drunk out of your mind already. Tonight, however, you’re not even sure you want to be here.

Namjoon is keeping close tabs on your drinks, monitoring each glass you reach for, and you know he means well; ordinarily, you’d find it sweet, endearing even. But it only seems to heighten your anxiety now. It just reminds you of how out of place this whole thing feels. You want to drown your awkwardness in a wave of liquid courage, and the irony isn’t lost on you: the very reason why you’re nervous is keeping you from numbing it.

Namjoon makes you way too aware of yourself. You wish your first proper hang out wasn’t at a filthy frat party, the blasting music causing you both to lean into each other to make conversation. The proximity makes your palms disgustingly clammy, and you hope he doesn’t reach for your hand.

You also think this isn’t the type of scenario that best suits Namjoon. You would have loved to be with him somewhere softer, with less noise and more light, talking over coffee instead of loud techno, his poetic speech lulling you into infatuation. Maybe then, this would have gone like you had imagined it might. Like you wanted it to go, just to prove something to yourself. You’re still not sure what exactly.

But this house — this party — is a natural habitat for people like Jeongguk. It’s a playground he navigates with ease, his charisma amplified by the darkened rooms and faint cigarette smoke that seems to follow him, just like everyone around him. They exist solely to orbit his mood.

It’s as he saunters back inside after yet another smoke break that you spot him again, his focus entirely on whatever girl is currently at his side. With Namjoon leaving to grab a drink for the two of you to share, you take the short moment to be a shameless creep and study your friend’s movements from the other side of the room.

You can’t help but feel a sting of irritation. Jeongguk is fully aware you’re here. You’d texted him earlier, just something casual to say you’d arrived, maybe even expecting him to meet you or give you a quick wave. Instead, there’d been no reply.

Just like the TikToks you’d sent last night, after you told him you wouldn’t be staying over at his, that also went ignored. You didn’t think too much of it, figured it was probably one of his petty acts. You aren’t any better: it’s not like you’ll go up to him to say hi, not after he ignored you. Those videos were funny, too. He’s the one missing out.

But now, your eyes squinted to try and get the best possible view on each detail of the scene in front of you, what you notice is nothing about him and everything about who he’s currently spending the time he could have used to acknowledge you with.

It’s not just whatever girl. It’s Haeun.

You haven’t seen them hanging out together in what feels like months, and frankly, you’re thrown. Maybe that’s also the reason why he suddenly had no time for you. You scoff.

You’re just confused, really. Jeongguk didn’t mention a thing about her, and it’s not like he’s ever kept his hookups or flings a secret. But Haeun was never just that. She was the one he seemed almost ready to get in his first serious relationship with, the one girl you thought could make him forget all about his usual habits.

When Jeongguk had first started hanging out with Haeun, he’d seemed uncharacteristically interested. You naturally found yourself rooting for him, hoping he’d take a leap and start something real after many failed attempts.

At that point, your casual arrangement with him had been going on for a while, but you knew it wasn’t built to last. You’d expected it to end sooner rather than later, and you were okay with that. You just wanted him to be happy with himself and his choices.

But on the night he was supposed to take Haeun out on a date, the one that could have changed everything, it’s like a magic vacuum turned on and sucked all his progress away. He’d shown up in front of your door instead. No explanations, no details about what had happened; he didn’t want to talk. He only wanted to be near you and sink into silence.

That night you laid next to him, his head on you, hair sprawled out on your stomach, and said absolutely nothing.

Since then, he hadn’t mentioned Haeun at all, and you’d assumed it was over. The right side of your brain was irrationally glad for that, greedily geeking at the prospect of still getting to keep Jeongguk close in ways that go over a simple friendship. In ways that have you thanking God for not taking your friend’s sex skills away from you; in ways that have your nose scrunching whenever he leaves small, delicate pecks on the side of your neck as you watch a movie cuddled in his embrace. If he had decided to go on that date, you would be denied all of this luxury.

The left side of your brain is a little less greedy, a little more rational. The half of your mind responsible for keeping some logic instilled in you even thought it could have been a good thing for Jeongguk to experience a different side of relationships.

You’ve always sensed there to be deeper reasons beneath Jeongguk’s carefree front. You’ve watched him jump from girl to girl, dip in and out of flings with seemingly no thought, as if he’s not trying to bury issues he should find a different answer for, to avoid whatever insecurities he’s run too far away from to face.

He’s never had to spell it out for you. You never pressed him on the topic either. And you think he’s grateful for it, for your silence that offers him the stability he won’t admit he needs, for simply staying and understanding. For allowing him to be vulnerable.

You wish you could give him more than that quiet comfort. Wonder if you should try your luck and push him to see that he does deserve something real— more than the distractions he uses to keep his fears at bay.

Jeongguk would make an incredible boyfriend. He always spots the small details, the slight changes in your mood, and he picks them up before you can even notice yourself, caring in a silent way that doesn't go unnoticed. Not by you.

It’s easy to imagine him being the kind of partner who’d cater to his girl’s needs effortlessly, even in quiet, even if hidden. You know he could be that person if he could just let anyone in beyond sex. When he’ll find the one, it’ll be clear it’s all he was made for.

Right now though, if anyone were to ask you that, you’d advise them to just go and look for another one, because he’s a little, lying piece of shit. You’re just a tad bit upset about it, if your crossed arms and furrowed brows are anything to go by.

You don’t understand why he’s now there, standing next to the girl he himself stood up, the one he looked ready to fix everything for, and then wasn’t. Leaning in close as if nothing had ever happened.

Why couldn’t he tell you, at least give you a heads-up if he was reconnecting with her? You know it shouldn’t bother you as much as it does, but the fact that he’s hiding it stings. Are you overthinking this?

When he lifts his head from her ear and scans the room, his eyes landing right on yours for a brief second just to look away, you don’t think you are. His attention shifts back to Haeun as if he hadn’t seen you at all. What the fuck?

You question what’s the point of having eyes to see when you are now forced to witness Jeongguk leaving the room with Haeun hanging her draggy weight on his arm, his smile cockish as he helps her up by her waist, fingers digging dangerously close to the curve of her perfectly shaped peach.

Their chemistry is undeniable, hands finding skin with unpracticed ease. It must be the way Jeongguk can effortlessly work his charm with any girl he deems attractive enough to fuck, his smirk and the way he lets his nose scrunch almost timidly, as if you can’t see right through him, making women potty in his sculpted hands.

The prospect of your best friend getting laid by the girl he was almost ready to change it all for should make you happy. Smile, at least.

Instead, you frown, mindlessly taking long sips from the straw in your glass and letting it stir your too watered-down cocktail that lacks any real flavor. You don’t even try to find answers as to how another drink landed right on the counter you rest your back on, but you’re glad for it.

You’re more upset at the fact that he decided not to tell you anything. You would have helped him through it, supported him, advised him on what to do, how to move in such a situation. But even if he didn’t need any of this, you would have appreciated just knowing. From him.

The ways in which the two of you are intertwined right at this moment don’t exactly allow him to completely leave you unaware of his actions. It’s not fair.

But then, are you even supposed to feel like this in the first place? Is only sex supposed to have this impact on you? Is even the smallest cell in his brain producing a thought that might take him back to you, and could it compare to a third of what you think and feel?

Does he not get that tingly sensation with you, ‘cause he’s used to it? ‘Cause you’re nothing too different nor special from all the choice he has laid at his feet, nothing out of the usual routine?

A gentle hand on your arm jolts you out of your thoughts. The touch is delicate, but the way it pulls you from your spiral is rough, making you stumble on the already wobbly stool you’re sitting on. When you look to your side, Namjoon meets you with a warm smile.

You hadn’t even noticed him being back next to you, and you figure that’s probably how that drink found its way in your hands. You’re a deer caught in headlights as you look at him, then down at the almost empty glass, then back at the boy. Your eyes widen impossibly more, and you struggle with finding a louder volume to your voice, almost fading with the music, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to finish this all by myself.”

You remember him saying he’d get a drink for the two of you to share before leaving you with your haunting thoughts. He just laughs in a way that should soothe your nerves, but it doesn’t, “It’s okay. You look like you needed it. I’m getting another one for me and catching up with some of my friends over there. I’ll be back in a bit, alright?”

“Yeah, totally. No problem,” your words roll out your tongue in a slurred hurry, face already turning to the opposite side of the room, and you’re not even sure what you’re agreeing on. You just feel Namjoon slip away from the seat next to yours again.

The brief interaction was enough for Jeongguk to have time to completely disappear from your strict observing, and just like the boy who should have had your undivided attention tonight, he equally slips away. From your vision, from the party. And from you. He’s with Haeun now, after all. And you’re alone.

Being truthful, Jeongguk is once again slipping away from his problems only. He doesn’t know how he ended up with Haeun by his side, but when he found your big, confused eyes in the midst of what should have been his escape for the night, he thinks he could name a few reasons.

It’s suffocating, the grip you have on him. He can almost feel one of your slim, delicate hands around his throat. He’s a dirty little sadist, of course he enjoys the pain. But he shouldn’t, so he runs from it until his back hits the wall, and the hold only gets tighter.

There’s nothing to do but face the truth. And you’re in front of him, eyes lost and inviting him to tell you. What should be easy for him to say, what he owes you. But the words get stuck in his throat, right where you’re pressing, and he feels like he might stop breathing.

He could die like this, with your narrowed orbs pitying him, and he badly wishes you would call him a coward. The hold is just enough to hurt him, not to make him lose his senses; if anything, it only makes his head spin around the one thought he wants to avoid. You.

With the quickest distraction he could get his hands on, he keeps adding to it: Haeun clinging to his side, he steps out the packed room to light the nth cigarette, the smoke clouding his vision and making the image of you fade from behind his eyelids. You release your hand from him and disappear. He almost whines. He misses you already. But the faint ache is a reminder.

Instead, in front of him is the only girl he should have truly avoided. Haeun is another reminder. Not because she looks similar to you, you’re way prettier. You’re beautiful.

No, it’s just because he remembers Haeun being his first victim, using her to bury something stronger growing inside him. But it didn’t work then, and it doesn’t work now.

She’s the only girl he tried his luck with to avoid his now unavoidable feelings for you. Then, he physically couldn’t touch another woman beside you. So he started flirting with more cigarettes and alcohol. Maybe some joints then and there.

Jeongguk would love to know why he prefers destroying himself rather than just be the confident man he lets everyone else think he is, go up to you and be honest, like you make it so easy for him to be. The fact that it almost slipped out of him more than a couple times scares him.

It shouldn’t. He wants to fall into that soothing caress, but could he even handle the possibility of you simply, and rightfully if you deemed it the correct choice, rejecting him?

The answer is no. He can’t afford losing your touch on him, your lashes fluttering when you look up at him, your fingers tracing secret maps on his back. He wonders if you’re outlining the safest ways for him to escape from the maze he himself created, of which he forgot the exit to.

With Haeun pressing herself to his side, he thinks he’d rather stay trapped there at this point. A maze built by lies, letting you believe he’s fucking other girls on the side when he feels sickened just by the thought of it, his hand now coming up to push the girl back to a safe distance. Built by insecurities, preferring having you think that you’re simply one of the many he has when he firmly believes you’re the only one that the universe has especially assigned him to.

It’s making him lose his mind, while you live unaware, free from the truth. He’s sure in the stretch that went from yesterday, when you told him about your fucking partner, and tonight, seeing you so close to said partner’s face, your dress custom-made by the hands of every angel populating heaven, Jeongguk developed some kind of clinical illness. The flame of jealousy in his toned tummy has eaten him whole.

And he feels slightly ashamed of himself knowing this is how he found himself circling back to his first poor attempt at running away from you, in the form of a short girl, her eyes now questioning him just like yours had done earlier. Haeun furrows her brows, “Are you seriously doing this again?”

Jeongguk sighs, glancing away to take a long drag from his cigarette that fills his lungs and almost aches. He avoids the eye contact that would be needed for a conversation like the one he’s forced to have — one that wouldn’t have occured in the first place if he could just be a normal person — instead he looks back to the room through the glass doors, “I’m sorry, Hae. I— I can’t do this—“

“Yo, Gguk. You need to come with me now. ___ is throwing up in the bathroom.”

It’s Taehyung sliding the glass door open with more force than what he usually puts, and right now nobody would tell he’s the same one always advising his friends to be delicate with it. The look on his face is panicked and it quickly reflects in Jeongguk’s eyes, flickering between his friend and Haeun.

Next, his reflexes are quicker. He steps inside the house, skipping past Taehyung and the flood of college students dancing their Friday away to Usher and seemingly not caring about the urgency written all over his expression.

He makes it to the bathroom where people have started to crowd around as if lining up to an unmissable show, and he doesn’t care if his pushes are too rough as he makes his way through.

You’re quite literally hugging the toilet, your face one with the lid as a few girls try and help you with your hair. The moment they see Jeongguk, it’s like they know he’s the one that you need, that he’s finally here and you’re in good hands. He shoots them a quick nod as they step aside and then, he’s immediately crouching next to you, gently gathering your long locks into his fist.

He moves some stray strands behind your ears while you keep letting it all out, and as much as his broad back is enough to hide you from watchful eyes, he can still hear murmurs from onlookers.

It’s as Jeongguk is debating whether he should cuss them out or keep his attention on you that Taehyung comes to promptly clear the crowd, closing the bathroom door behind him only after making sure his friend doesn’t need any more help.

Jeongguk appreciates the gesture, knowing how overwhelmed you can get in these scenarios with too many people around. Although, no matter how calm he appears for your sake, his heart races even as you seem to settle and sit on the tiled floor, your back resting against the cool wall.

You gulp down a few times, squeezing your eyes to try and ground yourself, the way you can feel Jeongguk’s hand hold the side of your leg, his thumb delicately brushing the inside of your thigh, definitely helping.

“Toots,” he whispers, face close to your own, “Hey, doll. You’re okay now, hm? What happened?” His voice is low, slow, almost scared of flowing past his lips.

When you open your eyes he’s directly in front of you, squatting down to stay on your level, and his brows are drawn high in worry.

You sniff, your voice still rough from the scratching on your throat, “Fucking— Jimin. I met him in the kitchen and we mixed too much shit together—“

“Weren’t you with Kim Namjoon?” Jeongguk interrupts you, both his tone and the way his eyebrows now dip inquisitive.

You shrug, looking down at your fingers fidgeting, “Dunno. Why the fuck am I still not sober,” the way you tone the question doesn’t make it sound like one, and you end up giggling at yourself, hiccuping in the process.

Jeongguk sighs, unconsciously tightening his hold around your leg, his fingers digging and making you whimper subtly. He notices, soothing the skin only to take both his hands to scoop you up by your armpits, lifting both your bodies on your feet.

You yelp, throwing your weight on him with another one of your senseless chuckles, looking up at his bothered face through your lashes. He straightens your posture with wide palms on your waist, throwing one of your arms around his shoulders and causing you to step out of the small room on your tiptoes. He grumbles, “I’m taking you back to the dorm now. And we’ll talk about this tomorrow.”

“Talk about what?”

“Namjoon.”

You stay quiet as the both of you, your body snug against his, walk through the party and out the house to reach Jeongguk’s car. Your thoughts are sluggish, failing to grasp why he’d even want to talk about Namjoon. Isn’t he just a nice guy? You’re more concerned with Jeongguk’s seemingly irked tone and the distressed way his tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.

A soft, involuntary whine escapes you when you think you might be the reason for that, shuffling yourself closer into his warmth, but the contact is brief as he gently settles you into the passenger seat and clicks the belt, then he closes your door and circles the car to the driver’s side.

Awkward. The only sound that can be heard is the soft hum of the engine, beside the fuzzy buzz in your ears. You feel laughter bubbling up in your chest but you hold it there, turning to study Jeongguk’s side profile. Inhaling, you start, “Can you— can I put on—”

“No.”

Your smile falters, “What? C’mon, give me the aux.”

“The last thing I want right now is to listen to those songs.”

Any previous tipsy instinct that made you want to laugh at the situation fade with his words and the way his grip on the steering wheel says more than what he’s letting on. You’re hazy, but his clenched jaw and laser focus on the road make you sit up straighter, adjusting your slouched posture and the skirt of your dress with it, pulling it further down your thighs.

The tension coming off him feels so heavy that it leads to irrational, childish tears pricking your eyes, and you sound defeated when you whisper, “Are you mad at me?”

He brakes a little too hard at the red light, and you both lurch slightly forward. Jeongguk seems to realize just now that he’s unfairly taking his anger out on you, and the way you let out the question in the smallest voice makes his heart speed up, turning to you with apprehension, “No, toots. No, why would I be? I’m mad at that fucker.”

“He was just talking with some of his—”

“He left you alone. He was supposed to take care of you. Not let you get fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk sounds final, his tone allowing no more condoning nor excuses for the tall guy now left behind you, back at the party. But you don’t seem to focus too much on the meaning of his words, rather you bask in the consequences of them. He’s not upset with you!

That spurs you to contradict him further, this time on the accusation he threw at you, but it’s less than credible when you say it through a sheepish smile that unconsciously made its way on your lips at the protective edge to his tone, “I’m not fucking wasted.”

Jeongguk only sighs, but you can see him visibly relax, shoulders going down and leaning against the back of his seat, right hand coming to pat your bare knee with a small smile on his pierced lips.

You share a look that fully sobers you up only to get you high all over again off his doe eyes, the artificial lights dotting a universe of their own in those orbs, undiscovered galaxies and planets inviting you to move there, even with no water, no oxygen, no way of surviving.

When the soft hue of the red light reflecting on the side of your face morphs to green, he moves his attention back on the road, taking his hand with it to shift gears. Then, he concedes, “Put on the playlist.”

You blink, a little taken aback by his sudden shift in mood, but just as quickly you recover. Your brain seems to be able to focus on one thing at a time either way, so you don’t ponder on your insides collectively moving at the way he looked at you and instead reach for the aux cord, fingers tapping on your phone screen absentmindedly, with a conscience of their own.

Music interrupts the quiet, and you can’t help but join, “The night we met I knew I, needed you so. And if I had the chance I’d, never let you go. Sing with me!”

Jeongguk breaks into a grin, no matter how much he fights it, “You’re so fucking wasted.”

“So won’t you say you love me? I’ll make you so proud of me. We’ll make ‘em turn their heads every place we go, so won’t you please,” Be My Baby by The Ronettes fills the previous silent tension, which you seemingly already forgot everything about, using Jeongguk’s free hand as your own personal microphone, folding it in a fist between your palms.

Jeongguk would never say it out loud, especially now, after he only pretended he had to be begged to put it on, that he’s actually grown attached to this playlist. Started as a little mishap and turned into something that got under his skin, much like you have.

Its creation came about from a comically embarrassing moment that gave you ammunition to tease him for weeks. Although, he’s glad for it when he reflects deep enough: the whole episode helped shape the bond between you two, adding to its foundation.

He still doesn’t know how you managed to slip so sneakily into his dorm that evening, but what’s sure is that he wasn’t expecting you, taking the time of his life in his bathroom, fresh out of the shower. Simply following his usual routine, one that you wouldn’t have exactly considered usual since you only ever knew him as an avid Drake listener, he hummed along to Elvis Presley’s Can’t Help Falling in Love flowing softly from his phone speaker.

It wasn’t just that, of course, because then he started styling his wet hair in an exaggerated pompadour and fully got into character, strutting dramatic poses in front of the mirror and even practicing Elvis’s iconic curl of the lip. If his soul was by any chance watching over the scene, you’d hoped he’d agree with you that Jeongguk was truly giving Austin Butler a run for his money.

The private show sadly ended when he caught sight of you in the foggy glass, your lips sealed shut to try and hold your delighted laughter, but it got ripped out of you in the form of an obnoxious snort the moment his eyes went wide in horror and his face crimson in shame.

It was hell for a few weeks after that. You didn’t let him off so easily, teasing him for being a secret softie with a love for old-school romance under all the layers of his tough fuckboy image that only ever seemed to handle trappy beats.

When you jokingly suggested he might as well get fully into the act and start calling you toots or something, he didn’t back down from the tease, scoffing at you with narrowed eyes. Somewhere along the way, the dry, sardonic tone with which he first used that pet name on you stuck, and it became less of a joke, more of an endearing way to refer to you, and only you.

Before either of you could second-guess it, the playlist was born. You two crafted it together in fits of laughter and late-night texts, with Jeongguk suggesting songs from his secret stash and you contributing the ones you grew up on.

It quickly became the soundtrack to many of your aimless car rides, something that neither of you acknowledged outright but silently cherished. Sometimes, you’d get so carried away and slip into the roles of a ‘60s couple, playfully reciting cheesy lines back and forth.

No matter how much Jeongguk pretends he hates it to save what’s left of his bad boy reputation, he really doesn’t. Not even a little bit. Even the way he rolls his eyes and groans isn’t enough to hide the spark in his eyes when you sing along.

He feels worse than a pubescent teenager when he lets his guard slip to hear you hum words he can only imagine are just for him, meant in the way he wants. You swing side by side and smile up at him with dimples digging long slits into your cheeks, and he has to act as if it makes him feel completely normal and not like he’s going to crash his car any second.

Each lyric that spills from your mouth feels like it’s tying him down, even with your sweet voice a little unsteady, thanks to whatever is still left from the night’s drinks. You’re so not aware of what it does to him.

Your eyes are on the road, but Jeongguk’s linger on you, his fingers unconsciously tapping the steering wheel to the tune.

“I’d save every day like a treasure, and then, again, I would spend them with you.”

Jeongguk purposefully veers off onto streets he doesn’t need to take, buying himself a few extra minutes with you, but you don’t notice and he pretends to not know either. Would never admit it’s because he wants to hear you sing a little more, and that this ongoing joke between the two of you might be his favorite thing in the whole world.

“But there never seems to be enough time to do the things you want to do once you find them. Hold on, this one’s a little lower. I’ll find my note, wait,” you’re mostly talking to yourself, cheek pressed to the cool glass of the window, but you glance at Jeongguk as if seeking for approval, clearing your throat, “I’ve looked around enough to know that you’re the one I want to go through time with.”

Just as Time in a Bottle by Jim Croce fades out, Jeongguk pulls into the campus parking lot, turning the engine off and cutting the music with it. None of you move right away, accepting the stillness in the car.

You don’t accept the silence, though, letting your mind speak a thought that has been nagging at you, “Can you fuck me here? Right now?”

The way you voice the request would make anybody who didn’t understand English think you’d just asked for something as mundane as a glass of water, your eyes unfaltering, a small smile on your waiting lips, voice barely slicing through the quiet. It’s almost as if you don’t know it’s the kind of thing that could derail Jeongguk’s entire thought process.

Jeongguk lightly chokes on his own breath, giving a few coughs before turning to you, his tattooed hand messing his hair further, “Jesus Christ, ___. You know I can’t.”

You tilt your head, considering him, as if this is a serious debate rather than drunken rambling, “Why not?”

Jeongguk can only sigh. He takes in your disheveled state and notices the way your exposed skin prickles with the cold, reaching for the leather jacket he carelessly threw on the backseats before heading to the party, having had no idea you’d be the one wearing it by the end of the night.

He wraps it gently around your shoulders, moving sticky, stray strands of hair from your face, “You’re so drunk. Look at you.”

“I told you I’m not,” you protest weakly, but your confidence falters when his fingers ghost over your face.

“There’s vomit in your hair,” he shuts you bluntly, tone softer than the honest words.

“Oh,” your stubbornness doesn’t work this time, and you’re mortified as you glance down at your lap, where his fingers fall to mindlessly play with the zip of his bomber jacket, brushing your tummy in the process. Your voice doesn’t sound so sure now, especially when each subtle graze sends small shocks through you, “That’s disgusting.”

The soft chuckle he lets out has you stealing a look upward, and when you catch his expression your slowed down brain can only come to the conclusion that maybe he doesn’t find you all that disgusting: he sports a rare, wide curve of his bunny smile, eyes crinkling when that same fondness finds its way onto your lips. You can’t help what they do next, a mind of their own as you rest them on his own mouth, the tip of his nose tickling your cheek.

It’s the faintest of kisses, and it’s delicate, fleeting, over far too soon, but you’re the one to pull back first no matter how much longer you need it to be, “That was probably disgusting too.”

As you rest your back on the seat again, his eyes are still closed, and they flutter open as slowly as a smile stretches on his mouth when he meets you. You’re giving him a look he doesn’t deserve, one he shouldn’t lean into.

His voice is a whisper, and it fans over your face, still close to his, “Not at all.”

Gleaming eyes scan every angle of you, as if trying to find anything that’ll hold him back from what he really wants to do. But, of course, his need only grows when he lets his gaze wander down, then up again.

He glances to the side with a gulp, moving his body back to reach for the car door handle, “You think you can walk or should I carry you?”

“Carry me, please,” you mumble, not even pondering on the first option, and the moment the sound leaves your lips he’s out and reaching for your side, opening your door and scooping you up like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

The walk to his dorm is a blur, with you dozing off in his warmth and being lulled by the hums escaping him and reverberating through his chest, melodies of the earlier songs playing against your ear.

You regain awareness when a splash of warm water cascades over your now naked body, the sensation startling enough to make your lashes flutter against your damp cheeks. The water runs over your face, washing away the remnants of the night, the drowsy yet oddly light sensation taking over you causing a giggle to echo against the walls.

You’re still too disoriented to process the tenderness with which Jeongguk’s hand moves, brushing through your soaked strands of hair and moving them from where they flattened on your face, combing through the sticky locks.

With half-open eyes, you’re met with the sight of him in front of you, standing close enough without needing to step into the small space with you, his brows furrowed as he works the shampoo through your hair. It’s a soothing, slow motion, the one he massages your scalp with, and it only melts you further into sweet slumber.

If it weren’t for one of his hands resting tightly on your hip, grounding you as the scent of the shampoo mingles with the steam curling around you, you would have gladly swayed into his palm, letting your weak body fall into his strong one.

You sniff, leaning into his care, voice small and oddly sincere, “I’m sorry for,” hiccup, “taking you away from Haeun. You two seem close again.”

Jeongguk stills for a moment, his fingers pausing in your hair before resuming their soft motions. He pretends he didn’t hear, and you pretend you never talked in the first place when he guides you to steady yourself as your knees wobble, “Hey, stand still. You’ll get shampoo in your eyes. Close them.”

You obey, letting your eyelids drop shut as you feel his hand gently tilt your head under the spray, his touch as tender as the words he isn’t saying.

If you weren’t a victim of both sleepiness and alcohol at this very moment, your thoughts would be racing each other like eager contenders in the Overthinker Marathon, each one fighting tooth and nail for the gold medal. They’d be dissecting every little detail of the night— the way Jeongguk had ignored you, his lingering hand on Haeun’s waist, only to be there the second you needed him, the girl from earlier not even worth mentioning.

Instead, your every thinking cell has taken a rare vacation, lounging together on an imaginary green field, clinking glasses filled with leftover cocktails from earlier, lazily watching clouds drift by.

Although there’s one cell in particular, too tipsy to sit still. It hops around gleefully, urging your lips to move before the Thinking Cell General can intervene. The way it jumps up and down, up and down, makes you giggle as you blurt out, “I don’t know if it’s the water, but I’m very wet.”

The silence that follows is thick, punctuated only by the sound of water cascading down your back. Jeongguk freezes as if the words have physically reached out and yanked him into stunned stillness. He can only let his throat bob in a visible swallow and look away, warning you in a strained mutter, “___. This is your last warning. Stop teasing me.”

You whine, pathetically wiggling your weak and pliant body in his hold to seek for some kind of reaction, but he doesn’t budge. He’s uncharacteristically focused on his tasks, ensuring every trace of shampoo rinses from your hair, rather than your hardened nipples bouncing with your stubborn movements.

But you recognise the way his jaw clenches so tight it must hurt, how he refuses to let his gaze wander lower where the steam of water outlines your form. His restraint is razor-thin, yet he holds it tightly, breathing only slightly uneven.

You’re not deterred by his warning; you never are. It’s the tiny tracks in his resolve that keep you pressing forward, voice laced with a vulnerability that makes his hand twitch against your scalp, “Just… I just need your fingers. Please.”

Jeongguk exhales sharply through his nose, but he doesn’t answer. Instead, he angles the spray to wash the last suds away, hyper-focused on the practical task as though it’s a lifeline to his dwindling self-control.

But you’re persistent. You reach behind you, fingers messily finding the knob to twist the water off, and with the spray halting you’re left only with the hum of the bathroom fan and the faint drip of water.

Your other hand finds his, guiding his wide palm to rest on your lower stomach, just above where your want is written in every inch of your body. You whisper, plead clear in your tone, ”You know I want this. Won’t ever regret it. I’m conscious enough to be sure of that.”

Jeongguk huffs, his chest rising and falling as he stares down at you, fingers flexing slightly against your skin. He closes his eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as if accepting defeat. He can’t win this battle.

The brown-haired boy steps into the shower, the small space shrinking even further with the addition of his broader frame, forcing you to back up against the wall. Fully dressed, water clings to his fabric, and the contrast of his damp clothes against your bare, exposed skin makes you irrationally wetter.

Jeongguk keeps silent, and at this point you don’t care how desperate you look, pushing yourself against him and getting his clothes wetter in the process. It pushes him to initiate a torturous path along your skin, using his middle finger to trace a journey from your chest, savoring the way your breath hitches, down to your warm core.

The droplets of water he collects on the way are used to spread your puffy lips and press right on your sensitive nub, making you gasp. You’re a trembling mess from the simple motion, and he has to use his free hand to steady you against the wall.

Your breasts aren’t left without being taken care of, because the moment he begins circling motions on your clit that have you seeing stars, he lowers his head to envelop one of your tits in his ravenous mouth, teeth teasing it punitively, all while looking up at you with sliced, sinful eyes.

He’s greedy, and you can’t believe he managed to hide it so well until now. But his resolve crumbles the more he revels in the way you fall apart for him, and he loses control on your chest. The sensation is sharp, delicious, and the contrast between the harshness of his bite and the softness of his tongue has you whimpering.

You’re ashamedly aware of how close you already are, his digits picking a fast speed that urges you to let go and coat him in your juices. He knows, simply from the way you let your mouth fall agape and release loud moans in the steamy air, pushing your nipples further in his swollen lips.

When he inserts one finger in your warm hole, you jolt in his secure hold, eyebrows shot upwards in the shock of your sudden orgasm, one that hits you all too harshly. It drags on deliciously, Jeongguk never wanting it to end, the slurping sound of his sucking on your tits making your surrounding spin, along with his thumb accompanying the way his single digits thrusts into you.

He only stops when you unconsciously run from his doings, slim hand wrapping weakly around his wrist, and he retreats with one last wet stripe along the curve of your boob, promptly collecting your taste from his fingers, and he thoroughly hums around them, eyes closed and cheeks hollowed.

You think you could come again from the sight alone. Panting, you smile through your ragged breaths, “Fuck. Thanks.”

Five minutes later, no one would bet you’re the same girl that begged him for his fingers and came in record time around them. Now, you sit serenely on the toilet lid, wrapped up in Jeongguk’s warmest hoodie. The oversized fabric swallows your frame, knees tucked under it as you hug them close to your chest. You look as innocent as ever.

Jeongguk stands in front of you, meticulously brushing through your damp hair with practiced gentleness, each stroke of the comb a soothing lullaby. You rest your chin lazily on your folded arms, eyes closed, the edges of sleep blurring your thoughts.

You let out a contented sigh before murmuring, words unfiltered, “You’d make the perfect boyfriend. You always take care of me. And kiss me when I need it.”

The motions of the brush stop for a fraction of a second before resuming, and what you hear next is Jeongguk’s throat clearing, his voice low and almost shaky, “That sounds so very wrong, toots.”

“What do you mean?” You don’t open your eyes as you ask the question, the warmth of his presence and the excuse of the last traces of alcohol still flowing in your tired body making you bolder than usual.

“You want me to be your boyfriend?”

“In another life, maybe. Yes,” you don’t waste time replying, words carrying a dreamy quality, “I mean, would be cool.”

“Cool?” He chuckles, but it’s the kind that’s half-exasperation and half-something else entirely, voice strained with an edge of desperation too, “God, I don’t even know why I’m still putting up with you.”

You only nuzzle closer into the borrowed hoodie, giving voice to your next thought, your thinking cells now hosting a 60s themed party, “Be my, be my baby. My one and only baby.”

The sound of your singing fades under the whirring roar of the hairdryer, and Jeongguk is quietly thankful for the way it drowns your sweet hums completely, fearing if he hears another one of those tipsy love confessions leaving your lips he might drop to his knees, undone by something he knows he can’t claim.

You rest your head against his stomach, full weight leaning on his standing figure, his long digits pulling through your strands. If you’d look up at your best friend for even one fleeting second, you’d probably laugh at the concentration on his expression, his only goal drying your hair enough to not have you waking up with a headache the following day.

You sniffle and snuggle impossibly closer to him, the heat radiating from his tummy and the white noise lulling you further into drowsiness, every careful motion of his hand coaxing you closer to sleep.

When your phone pings from the bathroom counter, the sudden buzz makes you jolt slightly. You lift your head sluggishly and gesture toward the phone, mouthing up to Jeongguk, “Pass it.”

He hands it to you without turning off the hairdryer, keeping an eye on your sleepy movements. You blink at the bright light for a moment before your expression shifts, eyes widening.

You’re completely jolted awake at the only notification on your home screen: it's Namjoon.

You tap Jeongguk’s stomach with the heel of your hand— softly at first, then with increasing urgency. The repeated motion forces him to stop the device and place it on the counter as he looks down at you, trying to peek at the screen, “What?”

You hiccup and sniff before blurting out, “Namjoon. He texted me”

The boy that was just now carefully drying your hair scoffs, arms crossed over his chest, “What does that asshole want?”

The response to the rhetorical question doesn’t come, either because you decide to ignore it purposefully or unconsciously: you look totally engulfed by the words on your otherwise empty chat with Namjoon, and Jeongguk can’t help but subtly lean his body lower to read the same texts you’re going through.

Kim Namjoon [4:26 a.m.]: Hey. Sorry for texting late, I heard from someone you threw up back at the party. I’m so sorry. I completely lost sight of you in that mess. Are you feeling any better? Very sorry again.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: It’s totally okay if you don’t want to hear from me again. But I wouldn’t forgive myself if I didn’t at least try to make it up to you.

Kim Namjoon [4:27 a.m.]: I’d really like to take you out on a date. Would you let me?

Jeongguk kisses his teeth irkedly, “Why the fuck does he text like Prince William? Fucking English major,” and he truly tried his best to sound unaffected, but the words leave his mouth before he even knows he’s thinking of them.

Luckily, you don’t seem to notice, reading the message aloud like you can’t quite believe it yourself, “He said he’d like to go on a date with me. Like, he asked me on a date. And said he would like it. To go on a date—”

“Yes, we got it.”

“He doesn’t hate me, Gguk!” Once again, his petty comments go unnoticed as your face lights up, eyes crinkling with joy as you practically beam up at him.

Jeongguk wants to be annoyed, but he simply can’t when he’s met with all the stars in the universe right in your glossy, tired eyes. He swallows hard and forces a soft chuckle, “No, he doesn’t, toots. Anyone would be crazy to hate you.”

The grin on your lips only widens, nose scrunching adorably as you let your cheek sheepishly brush against your shoulder, “Oh my god, Gguk. I’m going on a date with him! Heh.”

“That’s nice,” he says, picking up the hairdryer again before your words can settle too heavily in the space between you. “I’m not finished with your hair, though. Stay still.”

The device roars to life once more, its noise filling the room and covering your excited giggles. Jeongguk keeps brushing through your hair with steady motions, his face impassive, but he feels something tighten, heavy and unyielding in his chest.

He tells himself the noise is a blessing, a shield from the silence he wouldn’t know how else to fill—or from the sound of his own voice, betraying him in ways he can’t afford.

────୨ৎ────

“I’ll miss the sex when Namjoon will ask me to be his girlfriend.”

In the quiet of the library, your sudden whisper startles Jeongguk. The chair screeches under him and it gains the both of you a few annoyed looks. He nods in apology at their way, moving closer to the table again, and he has to blink a few times before he can even meet your eyes. The scattered pens all over the white surface looked more interesting either way.

“When he— his— what?” He feels pathetic for being unable to even form a senseful sentence, but there’s no absolute way he blames his brain for that. It’s his heart, stuttering along with the barely intelligible question.

It cracks at the middle the more your grin splits your face in half, nose scrunching adorably, and he may be a horrible friend but he can’t bring himself to return your irony, nor the masked excitement under it.

If he were handed pen and paper and asked to write about how he feels right at this moment, he wouldn’t put down a single thing. Not because there isn’t anything to say. He fears your innocent teasing has done something catastrophic, snapping that one damned string that connected his brain to his heart, and the two aren’t communicating. Jeongguk is in the middle of two angered parents, fighting and on the brink of divorce. That’s what he gets for being a total pussy.

You shrug, frowning slightly when all you’re faced with is his blank expression, eyes unresponsive and detachedly looking elsewhere, but you keep yours on him, studying even the small movements, “I mean, he’s a nice guy. I think he’s serious about getting to know me.”

The word serious causes an involuntary twitch of his head, tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, and he sounds way too defensive, “And are you?”

Furrowing your eyebrows at his unexpected reaction, you return to your previous mindless doodling, keeping your voice low, “Well, he’s cute. Let’s see where this thing goes.”

“What about me?”

The question catches the both of you off guard. Your pencil halts as you glance at him through the corner of your eye, and even if you can’t see him clearly, the way his dark orbs widen is almost comical that you would laugh in any other situation. But now, the air is oddly tense and it makes your nose scrunch in awkwardness.

He breaks it with a chuckle, a subtle tremor in it that luckily goes unnoticed by you but that will probably keep him up at night for the next five years, and he lightly shoves your shoulder in an effort at feigning ease, “You really wanna pass on this dick?”

“God, you’re gross,” the annoyed roll of your eyes has Jeongguk releasing a breath he didn’t realize he was holding; it’s odd, but that’s just who he is.

The second you return to weightless banter, he’s back in his element. He can smirk, tease and deflect— these are tools he’s mastered over the months. But the thought of stripping naked for your eyes to see, and not in the sexual way you two engage in almost every night, terrifies him.

The waters are safe for what seems a fraction of a second before you pull him down in the deep, dark seas again, this dynamic between you foreign. While it is a simple, innocent question, your deceptive tone triggers unfamiliarity within him, “Besides, how’s it going with you and Haeun?”

“Huh? Oh. Haeun, yes,” his attempt at buying himself extra time is laughable, especially when Mr. Brain is now yelling at Ms. Heart for always wanting to get in the way of things he can handle alone, “Wonderfully. We— She— Huh, kissed me.”

Ms. Heart is furious. She has no other choice but to reach in her purse and slap the divorce papers on the dinner table, the glasses clinking against the plates, and Jeongguk flinches. Brain is speechless, clueless on how to react.

You only seem slightly taken aback, eyebrows raising in mild surprise, “Really? That’s nice.”

Jeongguk is equally clueless, subtly squeezing his eyes shut as if hoping to wake up somewhere else entirely, maybe in an ideal world where Kim Namjoon doesn’t exist and Mr. Brain and Ms. Heart are happily married.

Instead, he’s still in the library, and you’re still sitting next to him, scribbling on your English textbook. He frowns, getting pitiably lost in the view of your side profile, “Yeah, nice. Huh, when’s your date?”

When you glance up at him, you seem to be realizing just how odd it is for the two of you to spend this much time talking about your respective hook ups, and you cringe slightly at the unusual formality, wishing Jeongguk would just tease you like he usually does when you tell him about your untruthful and made up sexual adventures.

You purse your lips in thought, “Tomorrow, actually.”

“Oh. He’s going fast.”

“I like that.”

“I know you do.”

No matter the effort you put into trying to hide your amusement, a snort escapes you, and you quickly look away to recover from the childish grin spreading on your lips. You shake your head, closing the book in front of you, “You’re fucking disgusting.”

Jeongguk only smirks in an oddly proud way, nodding at your flustered state when he realizes he successfully managed yet again to shift the conversation from topics he doesn’t want to hear or talk about. He shrugs, “You just said that.”

“And I’ll say it again.”

“Whatever,” a small chuckle follows the dismissal, his hand coming to brush through his fluffy hair, getting too long for his liking, “I really wanted to see you tomorrow.”

Once again, Jeongguk is way too honest, way too easily. Ms. Heart is marching hastily with Mr. Brain walking close behind, trying to make sense of the situation and pushing her to reconsider her actions, but it’s no use: she’s tired, and sick of being walked over, again and again.

He doesn’t like the underlying meaning behind that, and wishes Mr. Brain would grow a pair and just swoon her back into love again. Jeongguk doesn’t like the genuine surprise etched across your face either, or, well, he doesn’t like the effect it has on him: it’s almost unbearable to accept that the blush dusting your cheeks, the one you’re probably unaware of, is caused by his unfiltered honesty. Because sincere bluntness isn’t exactly something he tries to show. Then, why does it spill out of him uncontrollably? Why— why do you look so beautiful like this?

“Hm,” your smile is small, but your dimple betrays it, Jeongguk’s whole resolve cracking with the way you sound dangerously decisive, “Too bad. You’re late.”

Jeongguk shouldn’t overthink this. You’re simply engaging in the usual dynamic, teasing him like always, no reason for his palms to sweat. He shouldn’t panic over the way nothing about what you said feels simple, nor usual, and your tone carries more than what you both want the words to mean.

He doesn’t know if it’s a warning or a test—or worse, the truth. Maybe he’s imagining it. Maybe Brain just misinterpreted the comment, too distracted by its constant squabble with Heart, both of them ignoring Jeongguk, who is still sitting at the cluttered kitchen table with his plate half-full, surrounded by a mess of inky emotions he doesn’t have the courage to clean up.

The sound of forks clinking against plates grates against his ears, drowning out the hurried excuses spilling from your mouth, the ones you’re babbling and making up along the way of gathering your things and standing up from the round table, shouldering your bag in the same hurry you left his room with before the next time he saw you was nose to nose with Namjoon.

You huff, giving a small, tight lipped smile that should be meaningless, but to Jeongguk it isn’t, “I’ll go now. See you around?”

“Huh, sure. Let me know how it goes with Namsun.”

You roll your eyes at the playful attempt, his grin just as empty, “Right. Bye Gguk.”

You’re off the hallway before he can add anything else. Not that he would have been able to. Your bag swings with your big steps, slim hands coming to absently tug your plaid skirt lower, and Jeongguk thinks and thinks.

He realizes he really doesn’t want to know how your little date goes. Would rather shoot himself rather than hearing you talk about another guy taking you out to dinner, stealing you from him and sealing the end to whatever the two of you have.

His options are narrowed. He either commits in front of you and forever changes the trajectory of your life or does something about Namjoon. But why does the option of ending his life sound much easier than stepping up to big, buff Namjoon, infatuated with the same girl he likes?

Oh.

The admission jolts him. It’s a physical reaction that causes his chair to shriek again under his movements, but this time he’s not polite enough to apologize for it. He must look crazy, wide eyes burning holes into his hands planted steadily on the table in front of him.

The girl he likes. You’re the girl he likes.

And every signal is there. The spark he sought for now lights a nervous feeling in his stomach, its fireworks interrupting Brain and Heart’s incessant arguing.

Does he look stupid not doing anything for the girl he likes? Not fighting for the girl he’s been falling for all this time?

────୨ৎ────

It should be easy. It is easy.

Jeongguk can’t let the sleepless night spent reciting lines to his ceiling go to waste. He’s sure not even theater kids could match his determination. And as he marches across campus toward the gym, where the squeak of sneakers and the echo of grunts will lead him to the person needed to put the plan into action, he reviews step by step what he’s told himself to do. It’s a well-rehearsed script, each word, every calculated expression—he’s gone over it a hundred times, accounting for every reaction.

Step one, be casual. Friendly, even. Approach Namjoon like there’s nothing calculated about this interaction—no ulterior motives, no scheme brewing beneath the surface. Just a casual catch-up between two guys.

“What’s up, Kim,” when Jeongguk spots the slightly taller boy exercising at a steady walking pace on the treadmill, he immediately hops onto the free one beside him.

Namjoon startles slightly, then smiles with those stupid, charming dimples of his, and it’s one that Jeongguk would probably only give if forced, “Hey, Jeongguk. Long time no see.”

The brown-haired boy nods, setting the speed and quickly catching up to Namjoon. He keeps his tone deliberately cool, even borderline disinterested, “You been good?”

On his left, your almost-boyfriend shrugs, jogging along, “Yeah, just studying, man. What about you?”

“Pretty much the same,” he hasn’t cracked open a book in weeks, and that study session from yesterday was just an excuse to be with you. But he can’t afford to let his thoughts linger on you too long or he’ll lose focus. He needs focus. “You catch that last game?”

Step two, pretend to care about what Namjoon is saying and then proceed with the acting skills only to suddenly remember something totally random he wanted to mention.

“Fuck, don’t remind me. I was so sure we would win,” the sweating man sounds way too affected by the recent football match, and Jeongguk fears if he asks one more question for the sake of pretending he’ll never get to the actual point.

So, he goes straight to it, “Yeah, it was rough. Oh, by the way. You know ___, right?”

The simple mention of your name causes a small stutter in Namjoon’s step, but he recovers with the stupid smile from earlier, only this time it’s wider, “Of course I know her. Why do you ask?”

Step three, just be honest. He just has to lay it all out. Be straightforward. Tell him the truth about how he’s felt for so long and what this whole thing with you is doing to him. It’s not a confrontation—it’s a conversation. Jeongguk will politely explain that he’s liked you for a while now, that he’s been in your life long before Namjoon, and, as a courtesy, he’d appreciate it if he would step back from pursuing you.

Civil. Calm. Totally chill. There’s absolutely nothing to get worked up over.

"You really don't know? Have no idea?" Jeongguk asks, his voice dropping, tone more pointed than he intended.

Namjoon slows his treadmill slightly, glancing over with furrowed brows and a faintly amused smile. “No, man. Enlighten me.”

“She’s my fucking girlfriend.”

What. The. Fuck.

That wasn’t the plan. Not even close to the plan.

────୨ৎ────

You feel stupid.

Wrapped around in your warmest coat, you still shiver. It could be the way your legs are exposed under your wool dress, high black boots reaching just beneath your knees. But there’s something else to the chill, making you shake in fading jitters. The excitement of the evening you told yourself you were looking forward to morphs into anxiety, and the passing looks of people mean more than they should as minutes tick and tick; they seem to glance at you for too long, their looks heavy with what you can only imagine is judgment.

A young girl swaddled in small but striking details from head to toe — delicate earrings that catch the light, a scarf knotted perfectly at the neck, polished nails clutching the strap of an expensive-looking bag, hair done up in a neat slicked bun — glancing nervously at her surroundings can only mean one thing: she’s been stood up.

Namjoon was supposed to meet you in front of the cozy cafè just outside the campus, its warm tones and surely even warmer ambience so very inviting. Maybe you’d go in, order a steaming hot chocolate for yourself, and chalk this up as a lesson learned. But instead, you chose to wait outside, shifting on your tiptoes every so often, scanning the crowd for a glimpse of the first man to ask you out in what felt like ages.

You feel as though you’ll be forever destined to wait more when thirty minutes go by and Namjoon is nowhere to be seen.

You frown, swaying on your heels. What you feel is not disappointment— not at first. But that only causes you to feel worse about yourself when you realize you’re almost relieved the tall man hasn’t shown up, and he’s not here to turn fears into even scarier realities. The date would have given a concrete meaning to your actions, and the thought stirs something not exactly pleasant within you.

The scratch at the back of your mind grows harder to ignore, and no matter how much you try to shake it off, your subconscious finds ways back to it when your hand instinctively dives into the depths of the expensive purse you had specially chosen for this occasion. A purse meant to complement your carefully selected dark ensemble— an effort that now feels entirely wasted. You spent so much time getting ready for something you’re not ready for at all.

Pulling out your phone, your thumb scrolls to Jeongguk’s number with a natural automatism, typing before you even register why he’s the first person you feel the need to tell.

You [9:39 p.m.]: hi

You [9:39 p.m.]: namjoon stood me up lol

The typing bubbles appear faster than you anticipated, and as you watch them dance across the screen, you burrow deeper into the fragile warmth of your jacket, the tip of your nose numb from the cold.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: Whattttttt????

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:40 p.m.]: He’s such an asshooooooole

Your first instinct is to snort at his reaction, a childish grin tugging at your lips, but it turns into a scowl when the more you reread the text, the more it sounds weird. He usually never texts like a six-year-old using his mom’s iPad.

You [9:40 p.m.]: yes he is

You [9:40 p.m.]: why are u textin so weird btw lol

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: Wym weirddd

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:41 p.m.]: I’m totally normal

You [9:41 p.m.]: wtv

You [9:42 p.m.]: u still wanna hang out?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Yes please

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Want me to pick u up

sassy queen 💁🏻 [9:42 p.m.]: Where are u rn

The head tilt is unconscious, but you feel it click in place. You’ve mentioned how Jeongguk is caring, how he can read your needs like no one else and caters to them quietly, but he’s never this pliant, this malleable. You like him because it’s hard to get him to bend (and you’d rather die than let Jeongguk know about this).

You [9:43 p.m.]: is ok

You [9:43 p.m.]: i’ll just walk

You [9:43 p.m.]: be there in 10

The walk usually takes you less than 10 minutes, but before meeting him, you decide to head back to your dorm and change out of these stupid fancy clothes you picked out for the date.

You keep your head low as you walk through the hallways, the full glam you put on impossible to miss as it sparkles under the fluorescent lights, just as your boots' heels echo through the corridors.

Taking off the dress and heels feels like peeling away the embarrassment of rejection, the weight of disappointment settling in as you realize you couldn’t prove to yourself that you could do it, that you can do it, take the leap and let something serious into your life.

You question whether you're even cut out for it when the guy who seemed perfect ended up proving the opposite.

Now, back in more comfortable clothes — Jeongguk's black hoodie from the other day and baggy sweatpants — you feel a little more like yourself. Scared of emotions, scared of commitment, no matter how many hours of your day are spent daydreaming about it.

The second you click the door of your room open, it’s like you can smell a weird shift in the air. And you do, literally sniff, scanning your surroundings for any hint of something burning or out of place.

But it’s not about the dorm in its physical state, no— it’s the odd silence that you’re met with, the people you’re used to sharing the space with now uncharacteristically careful with their volume.

“Oh my god, ___,�� that is probably why you’re visibly startled by the sudden voice coming from your side, Iseul looking like containing excitement is the hardest task she’s ever been asked to deal with, just like the few other girls behind her, all practically vibrating, “You’re finally here.”

You furrow your brows, chuckling confusedly at the unusuality of it all— well, it’s not like you don’t get along with these people. It’s just that you’ve never gone over meaningless jokes and talks about the state of the dorm, plus you’ve never exactly been the center of attention like this. It feels off, and it reflects in your uncertain tone, “I am?”

“I’m so happy for you,” Binna chimes in next, grabbing your shoulders with way more enthusiasm than the level of your relationship with her would normally allow, and the way all of their heads nod along that it feels like a coordinated performance is starting to scare you.

“You’re… happy for—”

“I’ve always known you and Jeongguk were perfect for each other,” the affection dripping from Binna’s voice sickens you, maybe even more than the words she’s speaking.

Huh?

You swear you feel your heart skip a long beat before you mask it with an obnoxious, nervous laugh, only growing more when none of them crack a smile or react, “Me and— okay, is this a fucking joke?”

“C’mon, ___,” Iseul says, her sweet voice doing nothing to calm your tension, and if anything it only heightens it, “You don’t need to hide anymore, Jeongguk told Namjoon that you’re his girlfriend.”

Oh. So this must be a fucking joke.

And you can’t stand it.

You barely manage to shake off their relentless curiosity, the entire dorm suddenly buzzing with an interest in you after years of peaceful and civil indifference, and it only overwhelms you to the brim.

Fury boils in your chest as you step out of the building, the cold air failing to cool the anger that flares up within you. With every step, your frustration grows, and you hastily type on your phone as you make your way toward the one person that’s responsible for your temper.

You [10:07 p.m.]: what the actual fuck jeongguk

The response comes so quickly, almost as if he were waiting for you to type it, and you scoff in disbelief. In that moment, you feel a twisted sense of understanding with serial killers. It makes you question how much control you actually have over yourself.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:07 p.m.]: What’s up?

You [10:07 p.m.]: why’s the whole dorm asking me how's it like to be your gf?

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: Eeehhhh???

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:08 p.m.]: That’s so weird

You’re actually gonna fuck this man up.

You [10:09 p.m.]: jeon jeongguk.

You [10:09 p.m.]: they’re saying you told namjoon i’m your girlfriend.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:09 p.m.]: Don’t use my full name and the period please 🥺

You [10:10 p.m.]: i’ll fucking kill you.

sassy queen 💁🏻 [10:10 p.m.]: You’re so hot when you’re like this

You [10:10 p.m.]: shut the hell up.

The banging on his door comes shortly after, and Jeongguk doesn’t even flinch. He knows it’s you, and frankly he was even expecting your arrival to be louder, hit him a little harder than it does. And when he lets you in, you storm in his space with no room for oxygen, door closing behind you but unable to contain the volume of your rage private.

“Can you explain why the whole campus thinks we’re dating? ‘Cause you’re not my boyfriend, and I’m not your girlfriend, and this is not fucking funny.”

But Jeongguk evidently does find it funny, chuckling under his hand coming to cover his mouth while the other one lifts to show you the bright screen of his cracked phone, “Really? The uni Instagram page is shipping us.”

“Shipping us?” You snatch the device from his hands, eyes widening as you scroll through the amount of stories posted in the last hour, everyone and their mother feeling entitled to weigh in on your nonexistent relationship. You whine, a hand resting at your forehead in disbelief, “Oh my god, this is ridiculous.”

“What, are you ashamed of me?” Jeongguk asks casually, walking back and sitting on the bed with a soft thud, his whole demeanor relaxed with a nonchalance that makes your left eye twitch.

You scoff, unwilling to grasp how this is even an actual thing happening to you, tossing the phone back at him, “A little bit, yeah. You think this is a fucking joke, huh? I’m now apparently dating the uni’s most popular fuckboy.”

The damned boy in front of you leans on his forearms, pouting just for show, “Hey, that’s mean. I’m no fuckboy.”

Bag thrown to the ground with a violence that it does not deserve, you start pacing back and forth in his room, letting out a borderline insane laugh, not knowing whether to scream or cry, “Yes, you are. You went through every single girl in this building.”

“Do you really think of me like that?”

The sudden sincerity that you think you spot in his tone makes you halt your steps, body turning to him as he sits straight again, his head tilting slightly.

You sigh, frustration mounting, and you throw your head back at the ceiling for any signal from the universe that this is indeed a joke, a bad, huge joke on you, “Jeongguk. Please.”

Silence fills the room next, but it doesn’t make it any easier to think nor does it quite register in your brain, mind racing with jumbled and chaotic thoughts, barely coming through as coherent words, getting intertwined with one another.

But the more you walk from one side of the room to the other, the more you’re almost able to untangle the mess, just enough to start processing what’s happening.

Then, a nuclear bomb wipes it all out, Jeongguk’s words the missile, his quiet tone the explosion, “I don’t want you to see nobody else.”

“What the fuck?”

The aftermath of the destruction is not only loud, ears ringing with a shrieking alarm going off, your figure stiff with shock, but you feel its heat burning your whole body in consuming flames that threaten to swallow you whole if you don’t let them take over, rise, flood every nerve until all you can feel is the rage boiling in your veins when you practically scream at him, ”What the hell does that even mean? You're being selfish!”

“Am I?” Jeongguk asks calm, calculated, gaze locked on yours as if daring you to challenge him further. His tone is maddeningly measured even as he pushes himself off the bed and closes the distance between you.

It’s like he’s planned this— attack after attack designed to destabilize you completely. Not only did he thrust you into the spotlight without warning, claiming you for the whole campus to see as if you’re worth nothing more than a stupid prank and a few laughs.

But now he talks with a grace that belies the chaos he’s stirred, as if his words are just another fact, something as simple as the weather, “I haven’t been seeing anybody since this summer. Since we started using no condom.”

Your pupils tremble with something far more complex than just anger, though you refuse to give it a name. He’s practically towering over you, his stance purposeful, making you feel small; as if the intensity of his gaze is not enough that it makes you falter, as if the humiliation he’s putting you through isn’t either. Head shaking, your voice does too, “That’s— not true. You’re a fucking liar. You— What about Haeun?

“Nothing even happened with her.”

The speed of his denial sets you off, an incredulous scoff breaking free as you roll your tongue against the inside of your cheek—a habit you’d picked up from witnessing his easy tempers, “Then why did you tell me you kissed?”

“Because—” Jeongguk hesitates, and the pause is so out of character that it almost gives you whiplash. The boy who always has something to say suddenly seems unsure. His hand flexes at his side, a nervous tick you hadn’t noticed before, and he exhales as if the words are fighting their way out of him, “‘Cause— I was jealous.”

“Jealous?” Your voice cracks on the word, a laugh bubbling out of you that’s sharp and fractured, borderline unhinged. It cuts through the room like broken glass, and his expression tightens, jaw clenching. But he doesn’t interrupt.

“Jealous,” you repeat, louder this time, your incredulous tone thick with rage. “You’re telling me you made up that bullshit because you were jealous?”

He doesn’t respond, and it pushes you closer to your limit, on the verge of exploding. You don’t know how you find it within you, but with a long exhale and a quick prayer up at the ceiling, you meet his gaze in an almost patronizing manner, “Jeongguk, we are not exclusive. I thought that was well implied. You don’t get to act like this. You don’t get to be jealous.”

Nodding along to your words, Jeongguk’s brows draw together, his expression somewhere between anxious and defensive. There’s something in his eyes, something close to fear, but fear of what, you can’t quite place.

When he speaks, his voice is softer than yours, as though he’s trying to keep it from breaking, “I know. We both agreed to that, yes. We’re both allowed to see other people.”

The words feel rehearsed, like he’s repeated them to himself a hundred times. But with the silence stretching, it’s clear he’s struggling to say more. His lips press together briefly, and his gaze flicks to yours, searching. It’s as though he’s waiting — no, hoping — you’ll interject, offer something to fill the space.

You don’t. You hold firm, tilting your head slightly, your confusion evident. Your wide, questioning eyes, so big, so honest, pull the truth from him in a way you don’t intend, and he exhales like it’s been forced out of him.

“But I don’t want you to.”

The sheer audacity of his words hits you like a slap, the kind that stings more because of its unexpectedness. You snort, although there’s nothing particularly amusing about your heart cracking at the middle, but you manage to keep it from resounding in your words, "That’s so fucking mean. Do you even hear yourself? You get to fuck whoever you want, and I’m kept hostage? And now—now everybody thinks we’re dating!"

"That’s good," he says, simple, unflinching.

You blink, disbelief coursing through you as your lips part in a strangled gasp. "What?" The word is half a whisper, half a shout, and it escapes before you can temper it, "You’re so selfish. I fucking hate you.”

The emotion is foreign from what you’re used to showing him, softness in quiet ways, affection in silent gestures. But now, it’s all loud rage, the opposite of love spilling out of you in volatile waves. Your hands curl into fists at your sides, itching for release, something, anything to make him feel the way you’re being forced to feel, to cut through the weight of his seemingly impassive expression showing only the barest twitch in his brows, a crack too small to satisfy your anger.

It isn’t enough. You need more.

Your palms find his chest, shoving him with the force of every burning feeling inside you. “You’re stupid,” you spit, watching him take the push without exactly budging, like he’s made of stone. It only stokes your frustration further, your hands pushing again, harder this time. “And dumb.”

Jeongguk doesn’t step back, doesn’t fight you. He stands there, his chest steady, absorbing your hits without a word. His lack of resistance only makes the storm inside you rage harder, and the tears you’ve been holding back threaten to spill over.

You scramble for more, anything to turn the reality of what you truly feel into the illusion of anger, “And— and— Why the fuck are you silent! Say something!” You aim another punch at his chest, but it’s impossibly weaker, the exhaustion showing in your useless attempts at getting at him.

You sniff, and you know you lost against his indifference, your voice wavering feeling like a confession you didn’t mean to make. “Asshole. You’re being so mean. You’re making me cry.”

That’s what finally breaks him. Only the tears slipping rapidly from your eyes get his resolve to crumble. His hands are on you instantly, gripping your shoulders gently but firmly, refusing to let you squirm away. You slap at them weakly, but his touch is steady, his fingers brushing strands of hair from your face, cupping your chin to tilt it up toward him.

“Toots, no. Hey, hey,” he whispers, his tone soft in a way that disarms you completely. His thumb swipes at a stray tear, but your face turns away, evading him like it’s your only line of defense. He doesn’t back down, “Stop crying. Hey, look at me. Will you?”

“Stop calling me that!” You finally snap, jerking your face away again. The tears are spilling faster now, no matter how much you want to fight them, no matter how much you want to cling to the fury. “I hate you. You’re fucking all the girls in this college, and I’m only fucking you, because— because—”

“God,” Jeongguk groans, exasperation dripping from his tone. You’re about to hurl another half-formed insult or maybe even take a swing at him again, aiming low, but his next words stop you cold.

“Do I have to spell it out for you?” His tone is quieter now, more deliberate, the vulnerability in it cutting sharper than anything else he’s said. “I like you. I broke the rule.”

You’re sure your heart will fail you today. It misses at least four beats, and it steals the oxygen from your lungs, along with the color from your face.

You stammer, eyes widening as your pulse picks up again and pounds in your ears. “Don’t—don’t say shit like that. I swear to God, I’ll actually fuck you up. Stop—lying to me.”

“What the fuck, ___? I’m not lying to you,” Jeongguk’s voice attempts to be steady but it can’t hide the desperation, as if he’s holding on by a thread. “Why would I?”

The question is simple.

Why would Jeongguk lie to you? Does he have a reason to fake this?

The world seems to tilt, the ground beneath you shifting in some irreparable way.

You should feel scared. You should feel repulsed at the thought of commitment, the weight of his words pressing against you like a cage. But you don’t.

Instead, your eyes dart between his, searching for cracks in his sincerity, like a frantic spectator watching a tennis match, every glance like a volley in the game of something bigger than either of you. The matchpoint sends a thrill through your chest, something overwhelming and terrifying but not unwelcome.

Jeongguk watches you closely, feeling the weight of the silence between you stretch on longer than he can handle. He knows he’s the one that should break it, knows the truth he’s holding inside has to be spoken now.

It’s now or never. He can’t keep pretending—this isn’t just some casual thing to him, and he’s not ready to let it slip away without a fight. You’ve become everything he didn’t know he needed, and yet here he is, paralyzed by the fear of rejection, of being vulnerable, of watching the one thing he wants most slip right through his fingers.

But that’s the thing, isn’t it? If he doesn’t speak up now, he’ll lose everything. His fear has no place in this moment anymore.

It’s a long exhale before his voice drops in soft honey, shaking with the weight of the truth, “Look. I know it’s hard to trust me. You’ve seen me fuck up multiple times over this stuff. But I want to stop this cycle. I want to allow myself something good,” his eyes search for any signal that he should stop talking, but in yours he finds every reason for him not to, “And you’re everything good that life will ever concede me. I can't… I can't let you go. I can't lose you.”

"Jeongguk…" His name slips from your lips like a prayer you've been too afraid to speak aloud until now. But you see it— he’s ready to find every solution, even if it means confronting the fear that has held him back for so long.

“I like you so much it’s killing me,” he admits, voice low and raw, every syllable cracking with vulnerability.

It’s a slow realization, like a tide that comes in quietly, softly. You’ve felt its caress for so long, and now that it embraces you wholly, you feel your heart expand, filling with the same warmth, the same longing.

The words you wish you could say are caught in your throat. You look up at him, eyes wide, trying to comprehend, to take in what he’s offering. You’re almost afraid to ask, as if the answer will shatter something you’ve worked so hard to protect, “You like me?”

“I lose my fucking mind when it comes to you.” His confession is a rush of honesty that sweeps through you, his eyes not leaving yours, like he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he blinks.

The world feels like it’s slowing down. There’s so much you’ve been holding back, but you don’t know how to make the words fit, how to make them sound right.

Jeongguk takes a small step back, his voice quieter but still heavy with emotion. “It’s okay if you wanna end it here,” he murmurs, his words barely above a whisper, like he’s bracing for the worst. “At least it wasn’t because you got with some other stupid guy.”

You shake your head, the thought of losing him too painful to bear. “Stop—” You let out a frustrated sigh, hands curling into fists at your sides. “God, you’re so dumb. This could have been so much easier if you’d told me sooner.”

He looks at you, confusion flickering across his face. “What do you mean?”

You feel your chest tighten, the truth slipping out before you can stop it. “I like you too,” you admit, the words finally leaving your lips hastly, like they were just waiting for the right moment. “I agreed to the date because I thought you were still… fucking around.”

His face softens, and there’s a flash of relief in his eyes. “I wasn’t. Haven’t been in so long.”

“...No Haeun?”

“Hell no. I don’t want no kiss if it isn’t from you.”

You laugh, a low sound that fills the air between you. “Cheesy fucker,” you tease, but there’s a warmth in your chest now, a feeling you can’t ignore. “Well, if you want to know, I wasn’t seeing anybody either. Namjoon asked me out randomly, but I haven’t been with anyone else since… this started.”

His eyes widen slightly, and for a moment, everything is quiet. He looks at you like he’s just heard something he never expected to hear. “Oh,” he says softly.

“Yeah.”

Jeongguk steps closer to you, his hands reaching for you, voice thick, “I’m so sorry, baby. I never meant to make you cry. It’s breaking my heart.” His thumb brushes across your cheek, gently wiping away the remnants of the tears you hadn’t even realized had fallen. “I’m so sorry.”

You shake your head, your heart swelling with both regret and tenderness. “It’s okay,” you say softly. “I’m sorry for yelling all that stuff at you. I don’t hate you. I…”

Before you can finish, his lips crash against yours, and all the confusion, all the fears, prove themselves to be worth this moment.

They dissolve into something real, the kiss trying to make up for lost time, for all the things left unsaid.

When you pull away, your foreheads resting together, Jeongguk’s voice is quiet but determined. “Come here, baby. You’re mine.”

“Prove it.”

[tonycries]

Little Heaven

Synopsis. He’s just your friend-with-benefits, right? So why - in the still haze of the soft sheets and you, fúcking you so sensual and tenderly - does he feel like he’s found his own personal heaven?

Pairing. Multiple x Reader

Content. MDNI, fem! reader, unprotected, kinda fluffy, he’s both pússydrunk and in love, slow to rough, marking, mentions of marriage and kids, morning, swearing.

Word count. 1.3k

A/N. Probably the fluffiest smút I’ve ever written.

You were just his friend-with-benefits, right? No strings attached, right? 

So why was he here? Sinking into your plush mattress, quiet morning sun just barely peeking in through the curtains as he wraps his arms around your naked figure. 

God, he really shouldn’t be here. He shouldn’t be laying you on your side, drinking in your soft little, “G’mornin’.” Both of your movements languid and still burning with soreness. Your hips pushing back desperately into his as he positions himself so that his leaking tip was just kissing your swollen folds. 

He shouldn’t be whispering soft kisses into the marks that littered your skin. Licking one, long stripe up the sinful trail of hickies down your neck. All sensual touches where it was bruising grips last night. 

That was rule #1, right? No marks. 

Or was it #4… 

Ah, right now he couldn’t give less of a fuck. Not when his greedy eyes wander the expanse of your face, fingers trailing along the features he’s mapped a thousand times over. Tracing delicate patterns across your skin, snaking down, down, down to leisurely lift your leg a little higher. 

Bare chest warm against your back, his voice is low and gravelly in your ear as he whispers, “I had a dream y’know.” 

Mind still thinly veiled with sleep, you lean into his warm touch, “Mhm?” 

Your breath hitches at the way he drags his swollen head teasingly across your slit, pooling your slick on his achingly hard tip. Smearing your juices with his thumb as he pumps himself lazily. It’s so torturously good. You almost miss the way he buries his face into the crook of your neck, murmuring a soft “Had a dream of us.”

Oh? 

Before you can overthink his words, he’s nudging in gently. So agonizingly gentle. And you can do nothing more than let out barely-audible whispers of his name as he bullies his throbbing cock into your snug cunt. 

You feel so full. So drunk off of the delicious burn of your pussy and him. 

And it seems he was drunk on you just as much, because as soon as his hips are flush against yours, the words escape him. So quiet and groggy with sleep, that you almost don’t catch them.

“Had a dream that I made you my beautiful bride.”

Oh. 

That was new. His words hung heavy in the heady air. 

Shivers run down your spine - all the way to where he was buried in your dripping cunt. Your voice is slightly shaky as you let out a humorless laugh, “Oh yeah? Must’ve been a nightmare then.”

Soft lips press against your forehead, breathing in your scent. Absolutely searing as he mutters out a muffled, “No, was the best dream I ever had.”

And then, with the audacity of someone who didn’t just send your mind reeling, he pulls his hips back unhurriedly. Immediately fucking into you at a slow, sensual pace. Tip kissing your cervix as he rolls his hips languidly into yours, making sure you feel every bump and graze against your tight walls.

You don’t know what’s more maddening - his agonizing pace or the words that tumble out of his lips. “Y’looked so beautiful in white. So pretty walking down the aisle to me.” 

His lips brush against yours, hands dancing across every inch of you he could reach. Gently caressing the skin like it’s something divine, soothing over the marks from last night as if an apology. “Don’ think I’d want to see anyone else there.”

You glance back at him - only to find his eyes already on you. A jolt of electricity runs across your skin at the pure warmth in them. And you realize that, no, this wasn’t a joke. 

Not trusting yourself to speak, you simply grind your hips down to meet his, abs rubbing against your ass. Letting out a broken whimper of what sounds like his name as he moves down a hand to press rough, little circles over and over your throbbing clit. 

“Saw a little something else too.” he hums, a sly smile curling his lips as his other hand dances across your body to press down on your stomach. Hard. “Saw that I had some competition - two actually. Funny, right?”

“Hah- h-hilarious.” you manage to choke out as his thumb speeds up on your clit, hips moving a bit more purposefully. A bit more like you were used to. Rock-hard cock plunging into your quivering cunt in deliberate, sloppy thrusts that have you white-knuckling the sheets. 

“Though…” he trails off dangerously, pulling back all the way until his furiously hard tip was just kissing your waiting hole. “I wouldn’t really mind.”

And with that he’s sheathing his throbbing erection in your wet pussy completely. A gasp of delight leaves him at the way you take him so readily. Walls sucking him up so sinfully - perfect. You were always so perfect for him. 

“Dreamt we had a lil’ house with a big garden.” God, he can feel his cock harden so painfully at the fucked-out little ah! ah! ah! leaving your pretty lips each time his hip smack into yours. It’s music to his ears, such a shame he just can’t shut the fuck up right now. “And then you dressed the kids up while I made breakfast.”

“Then you made us do taxes and I didn’t even fucking mind.” His voice is strained now, words slurring together as he rams his cock deeper and deeper, glistening with your slick in the soft morning glow. 

“And finally at night, I say we should make a third one.” 

He looks at you, a sly grin stretching his lips, eyes half-lidded and a dangerous twinkle in them that has you wondering whether everything he said before was merely a ruse to fuck you silly. And it probably shows on your face - because he grins lowly in your ear, “Don’t worry, sweetheart, we have till our wedding night f’me to fuck you slow.”

And oh he almost feels guilty. But he can’t bring himself to slow down at the way your swollen lips drop into such a pretty oh! at his words. Mewling at the sting of his heavy balls as they smack your ass. Walls clamping down desperately on his dick, milking him for every drop of pleasure. Each thrust into your warm core has his eyes rolling to the back of his head, brows furrowing in ecstasy as he focuses on making you lose your mind. 

He shifts his angle slightly, grinding expertly against your g-spot just right, and you throw your head back, releasing a low moan of his name.

“Shit. Yeah, say m’name, sweetheart. Jus’ like that.” he moans breathlessly. 

His name - soon to be yours.

Maybe.

You turn your head to face him, eyes fiery as you capture his in an equally scorching kiss. Cock slamming into your poor, abused cunt with an intensity that matches that of your lips.

Probably. 

Biting down on his lower lips, soft yet insistent. Humming deliriously against his mouth - and in the heat of it all, he feels you smile against his lips. Ever-so-slightly. 

Definitely. 

And then you’re cumming. White-hot pleasure behind your eyes, walls clamping down so deliciously around his twitching cock. It sends him over the edge as well - whispering your name as if a prayer, voice hoarse with emotions neither of you could name at this very moment. 

Hot ropes of his thick cum paint your trembling cunt white, milking the soul out of him as you both ride out your climaxes together. A creamy ring forming around his base as some truly animalistic part of himself fucks his seed into you - a promise, he likes to think.

“I’m serious about the dream.”

Almost as gentle as that one. 

As the haze settles, his thrusts slowing down to just shallow grinds, a fragile silence envelopes the room as neither of you speak. Because maybe no other words were needed. 

And right now, morning sunlight harsh on his skin, strong arms pulling you warm body flush against his, no one but you two in this quiet world - he doesn’t think he’d like to be anywhere else.

All is well in your little heaven.

- GOJO, GETO, Choso, SUNA, ATSUMU, Tsukishima, Kuroo, EREN

A/N. Bro it took longer to think of what to write than to write this. 

Plagiarism not authorized.

[kamitv]

Suguru walking in on you pleasing yourself would probably go something like…

“Well, shit. Didn’t know I had such a slut for a wife,” He’d comment mere seconds after walking in on you.

You’d be laying on your stomach, back arched, knees bent, legs spread, and a hand in between your legs as you fuck a rather lengthy dildo into your sloppy cunt. Your husband, who you weren’t expecting to be home so soon, seems anything but surprised to catch you like this.

If anything, Geto barely tilts his head as he approaches the bed and then cracks a smirk, “Look at this pussy… fuuck, she’s drippin’ all over the place. All because of some stupid toy?” As he makes his comments, he’s unbuckling his belt and tossing it to the side.

“Suguu… S’not ‘cause of the toy,” You huff out with a pout, shamelessly staring at your husband as you continue pleasing yourself. “I missed you.”

“Yeah? Y’Missed me baby?” He’d tease, not even bothering to take his shirt off as he can’t help but reach forward and swat your hand away from the toy stuffed inches inside your cunt. He’d purposefully drag the item out of you, listening to that filthy squelch before brining it to his mouth and licking your taste off. “Mmh. Couldn’t even wait f’me, huh? Were you missin’ me or my cock, princess?”

You let out a heavy sigh and wiggle your hips back a bit, begging for him to give you something-, anything, “Both Suguru.”

“Needy ass girl,” He’d scoff in response.

He’s actually rather kind when he catches you pleasing yourself. Which is how and why you ended up with his cock inside you not too long after he’s come home.

Geto doesn’t really like knowing you were getting off without him but at the same time, something about coming home to you whining his name as you imagined he was fucking you instead of some toy kinda turned him on. He wondered how often you did this kinda thing.

And so he decides to ask you while he’s stuffing your cunt full of his thick cock, “You fantasize about me often, baby?” He hushes out to you, staring so deep into your eyes that it makes you feel embarrassed all over. His tone is so soft and loving with you too that it just makes you shudder beneath him as if he’s not fucking you at such a merciless pace right mow.

All you can do is nod as your jaw hangs open, “Uhuh… mmgh, I-, hah, think about you a-ah, all the t-time, Sugu.” Your words come out in between moans but that only fuels his arousal.

The way his lips curve into that knowing little smirk has your nails scraping against his back before he lets out a low hiss. “Fuck. You imagine my cock’s inside you when m’not even here?” Geto asks rhetorically before shifting his hips and hitting that one mushy spot inside you, “You replay our moments together, huh? Maybe we should record it one time so you have somethin’ better to get off to.”

Your legs squeeze around his waist and he notices your back arching up off of the bed. Geto thrusts in harder and faster, eager to watch your face twist up the same way it was moments ago before he’d caught you— he’d never let you feel that euphoric sensation more with some toy instead of his cock. Not that he’s jealous, of course…

“S-Sugu,” You choke out with how rough his hips grow against yours.

His head tips down into the crook of your neck and you can feel his fat cockhead knocking deeper and deeper into your sopping walls as his strokes become more calculated-, passionate almost. “Mhm, I know baby, I know,” He coos against your skin, his breath hot and tone almost hoarse, “M’right here,” God, his gentleness was a complete contrast to those mean hips of his.

Even the way his hands traced along your arms in search of your hand to grab had you so utterly weak.

“Y’missed this right?” Geto whispers hotly as he shifts his lips up to the crown of your ear, “Missed how I treat this pussy, huh?”

Your neck arches as you toss your head back and you feel his fingers squeeze onto one of your hands whilst he presses it down into the mattress. Moaning quiet little babbles in agreement to his soft-spoken yet lewd words, your cunt gushes around his aching cock, almost invitingly encouraging him to continue talking like that.

And who is he to ignore such encouragement? Pressing against your ear again, he starts fucking you a little slower but noticeably harder, “Agh… Missed you too, pretty girl. Hah, missed how she,” He emphasizes that word with a heavier thrust, “Takes me so fuckin’ well-, shit.”

Then he moans into your ear and you think you cum at the sound alone. So clear and provocative, echoing in your ear and making your mind go blissfully blank. “Ha-ah… ngh, Suguru, I… mmh..” You moan as his cock splits you open so deliciously.

Hell, that’s all you could do. Geto weighs his body down against you, pinning you to the mattress completely as he drags his cock almost all the way out of your twitching pussy just to give you a seconds rest. Not that it really helped as he slipped his dick right back into you, his jaw dropping and a filthy moan leaving his wet lips at the way your cunt feels so utterly soaked and warm wrapped around his cock.

Geto swears he could fuck you like this for hours and hours and hours but he’s too eager to see other things.

“Gonna have t’show me how you fuck yourself one of these days, love.” He huffs out breathlessly between thrusts.

You quickly start shaking your head at that—lost between reaching your high and processing his words, “N-No…”

“No? Oh c’mon,” He puts on this pout to mock you, “You don’t wanna show me? We’re married… I’ve shown you how I touch myself when you’re not around, why can’t you do the same, hm?”

“S’embarrassing…” You mumble with your lower lip poking out so deliciously that it makes your husband smirk.

“Aw, it’s embarrassing?” He teases, “Baby, I like it when you’re embarrassed. Plus, you looked so fuckin’ cute tryin’ to fuck yourself without me. Could’ barely take that piece of plastic ‘nd it’s smaller than my cock.”

“Sugu-“

“M’just sayin’…” He shrugs, “I want you to put on a lil’ show f’me. You can do that can’t you?” You’re shaking your head all over again and he frowns, “No? But baby,” His body presses down against you as if to emphasize his words and you could feel his tip pressing into your sweet spot, “C’mon, don’t make me beg for it.”

“I-I…” You’re left stuttering and moaning as your eyes travel to the back of your skull, “Ah, Suguru-, mgh…”

“Or would you rather me demand it, huh? Should I tell you you’re gonna show me what you were doin’ with that toy before I got here?” Geto pants into your ear, his lips brushing against your warm skin as you nod frantically in response. “Yeahhh? Alright then, gimme one more ‘nd then you’ll put on a lil’ show for me, ‘kay?”

[kateschi]

midnight check-in

synopsis: in the middle of the night, you are woken up by a call from your husband.

pairing: timeskip!bakugou katsuki x f!reader

the phone buzzes on the nightstand, dragging you from the edge of sleep. squinting at the glowing screen, you see katsuki’s name flashing across it.

it’s late—past the time he should have been home, but not unusual given the unpredictability of hero work. swiping the call open, you press the phone to your ear, voice still heavy with sleep.

“did I wake you?”

his voice is rough, but familiar, crackling through the line like static.

there’s no apology in his tone, but you can hear the subtle hint of concern buried underneath, like he’s weighing whether he should’ve waited until morning to call.

“no,” you lie, sitting up and adjusting to the quiet darkness of the room. “it’s fine. what’s up? are you coming home soon?”

there’s a brief pause on the other end. you hear the faint shuffle of his gear, like he’s shifting in his seat, maybe still in the office or the agency car. “yeah, I’ll be home in a bit. just… wanted to check in.”

check in? katsuki doesn’t just check in. the man’s explosive, stubborn, and blunt to a fault—never the type to dance around what’s on his mind. so, when he calls you this late just to ‘check in,’ something feels off.

“everything okay?” you ask softly, leaning back against the headboard. your fingers toy with the edge of the blanket, tracing small patterns over the fabric.

“yeah, just a long-ass day,” he grumbles, his voice a little lower now. he’s tired, you can tell, but there’s something else lurking in the background of his words.

“didn’t mean to be out so late. I know I said I’d be back before—”

“katsuki,” you cut him off gently. “you don’t have to apologize for doing your job. I know how it is.”

he lets out a frustrated huff, and you can almost picture him running a hand through his hair, the way he does when he’s feeling restless.

“still,” he mutters. “I said I’d be there, and I’m not. doesn’t sit right with me.”

your heart softens at that. even though his words are gruff, katsuki has always had a way of showing he cares—usually in his own roundabout, katsuki-style way.

“you’re here now,” you say, your voice a little warmer. “that’s what matters. I’m just glad you called.”

another pause, this one heavier. there’s a slight crackle from his end, like he’s shifting again, probably leaning back in whatever chair he’s stuck in, the tension still clinging to him.

“yeah, well… I didn’t wanna wake up and find out you’re pissed I didn’t get home.” there’s a touch of humor in his voice, and you can practically hear the smirk on his lips. “figured I’d save myself the trouble.”

you chuckle softly, shaking your head. “you’re not getting out of trouble that easily, katsuki.”

“darn,” he clicks his tongue, but the familiar grumble in his tone makes you smile. it’s his way of saying he missed you, without actually saying it.

for a moment, there’s just comfortable silence between you.

the sound of his steady breathing on the other end of the line makes your chest ache a little—wanting him here, not just on the other side of a phone.

“you almost home?” you ask quietly, the warmth of the blankets doing little to fill the empty space beside you.

“yeah.” his voice softens, dropping just enough that you can tell he’s not as guarded anymore. “should be there in about ten.”

“good,” you murmur, stifling a yawn as you sink further into the bed, imagining him walking through the door any minute now. “I’ll wait for you.”

there’s a beat, a moment where his breathing catches ever so slightly, before he grumbles again, but softer this time. “you don’t have to stay up for me, y/n.”

“I want to.”

the silence that follows feels different—warmer, like he’s smiling, even if you can’t see it. and maybe it’s the exhaustion in your voice, or the way you said it so matter-of-factly, but something in him shifts.

you hear him let out a quiet breath, the kind he only ever lets out when he’s alone with you.

“...you’re such a damn idiot,” he mutters, but there’s no bite to it. just warmth.

you smile into the phone, eyes already half-closed. “takes one to know one.”

he snorts at that, a rare sound of amusement that you love catching him off-guard with. “whatever. just keep your ass in bed. I’ll be there soon.”

“mhm,” you hum, already feeling the drowsiness tugging at you again, but there’s something in the comfort of his voice that keeps you tethered.

you shift slightly, hugging the blanket closer, waiting for the familiar click of the front door. before you drift off entirely, you murmur, “love you, katsuki.”

there’s a pause, and for a moment, you think he’s hung up. but then, quietly, with all the weight of a promise, he replies.

“yeah. love you too.”

the call ends with a soft click, but even after, the warmth of his voice lingers in the quiet room. you smile to yourself, feeling the space beside you growing less empty by the minute.

kofi — navigation — masterlist

do not copy, translate, or plagarize

[bunnis-monsters]

I found you recently and I love your stories SO MUCH! I love to bull and cow hybrid stories so I have to ask, what would the do if the reader had too much during sex? Like what if something happens and reader wanted to quit suddenly?

I’m assuming you mean when you want to stop in the middle of sex.

The bulls would probably be the reason you’d be tapping out in the middle of sex due to how rough they are, but the cows aren’t completely innocent. Though they’re gentle, they will overstimulate you until your sobbing and blubbering out pleas for them to give you a break.

Their soft, long tongues lap at your cunt until you’re so sensitive even the warm air they breathe out while looking at your puffy pussy can make you cum. Once you start crying they panic and try to soothe you, gently petting your head and rubbing your belly… and continuing to eat you out.

It takes them a minute of listening to your blubbering to get that you’re crying over the overwhelming pleasure, and want a break. Once they realize they back off and put their heads in your lap, their lips wobbling as they look up at you with their big, sweet brown eyes. It’s hard to stay mad at them when they look so cute…

They apologize by gently bouncing you on their cocks and cooing, letting out soft moos as they play with your breasts. When you’re tired they all curl up with you in a cuddle pile.

With the bulls, you’re going to be bred nearly daily by several bull hybrids over 6 feet tall. Despite the fact that they’re being very gentle with you by bull standards, by human standards the sex can be rough, and sometimes painful if they’re not careful.

The second you yelp in pain all the cows perk up, watching the bulls from their side of the barn. The curiously come over, gently nuzzling into you and reaching out to trace your body.

“You’re hurting her, she’s just a little one. You can’t be rough, she’s a runt.”

It’s a little insulting to be called a because you’re a human, not a cow… but you’re just too tired to correct them again.

The bulls feel a little bad, seeing you whimper and cry… they nudge their heads against you and kiss your head, careful not to nick you.

“Sorry, little one… didn’t mean to hurt ya…”

You’re pampered for the rest of the night and get a few days off of being bred.

——————

NSFW TAGLIST: @sunset-214 @screaming-crying-screamingagain @strawberrypoundtown @avalordream @icommitwarcrimes @bazpire @im-eating-rn @anglingforlevels @kinshenewa @pasteldaze @j3llyphisching @unforgettablewhvre @yoongiigolden @peachesdabunny @murder-hobo @leiselotte @misswonderfrojustice @dij-ology @i8kaeya @wetslutforyou

[notquitecanon]

Keep talking // Simon “Ghost” Riley x reader

Summary: Simon really likes your new sundress AND wants to hear about your day. These things can coexist

Tags: established relationship, pretty domestic, yapper wife x silent husband, sunshine x grumpy kinda??? Whatever tropes the kids are saying these days suggestive but not NSFT, dumbification if you really squint, husband Simon Riley, pg-13 at worst

—

Simon was staring at you. Intensely. Him staring wasn’t exactly a new thing, he was a silent creature by nature. He watched, he listened. Especially to you. He loved listening to you.

You’d barely noticed his intense gaze as you flitted about the kitchen of your shared home, putting away the things you’d bought while you’d been out, all the while chittering on about your day, the people you talked to, the things you’d seen, things you’d bought, things you’d almost bought, things you didn’t buy, what you had for lunch, what you were thinking for dinner… And Simon listened like always, absorbing your presence like a plant absorbs sunlight.

Anyone else would have been cowed under the weight of his stare, but not you. Not only were you used to it, you loved having his attention. Every now and then you’d offer him a sweet smile when you looked to him or press a kiss to his cheek or jaw or wherever you could reach easiest as you’d squeeze past where he was leaning against the kitchen counter, absolutely dwarfing the appliances. His face gave away nothing, it never did so you kept talking- yapping, you’d call it jokingly.

“Anyways, that’s when I told her-“

“New dress, love?”

His interruption cut you off. You set down the purse you were unpacking and looked to him as you trailed off.

“Hm?”

Simon kicked off the counter, closing the short distance. It was then you noticed that his eyes weren’t on your face or eyes or even lips, but instead tracing the line of the strap laying on your shoulder.

“‘aven’t seen that one. Is it new?” His eyes roamed to the skirt where his fingers had caught a sliver of the bow in the back, “Soft.”

You cleared your throat as you turned around to face him, “I got it a few weeks ago, since it’s getting hotter, sun dress season and all, but it might be a little much for running around town…guess you haven’t seen it though-“

You cut yourself off again when you felt the tension in the tied back slack. The snapped your eyes to Simon, realizing he hadn’t dropped the bow’s string as you turned.

“I’d remember this one, lovie.” He was still gazing at the hem line appreciatively, where the delicate pattern you loved so much revealed your thighs.

“Well, then it’s new to you.” Your voice was quieter now that you’d realized the specific intensity in his gaze. Simon grunted in response, his large calloused hands resting at your hips. You could feel the roughness and warmth through the thin summer fabric.

“You were saying?” He reminded you with a slight smirk, knowing he’d derailed your train of thought. Cheeky bastard.

“Oh, uh,” You started again, preoccupied with the little circles he was rubbing on your hips, “I told her that, well, that-“

Simon nodded along to your barely coherent dialogue, as if he was listening to a TED talk. Heat was rising up your chest and neck as the solider kept getting closer until your chests were basically flush and your legs were interlocked, your chatting was only slightly better than babbling but you continued choking through your story. Even when he’d slowly moved you backwards so that you were the one pressed against the counter. You hadn’t realized you stopped once again until his brows raised, “that all?”

“Si-“ You all but whined, sharply gasping when he suddenly and effortlessly lifted you unto the kitchen counter, the stone counter chilling the backs of your thighs. Even sat on the tall counters, you still only came up to his broad chest, “We have your friends coming later-“

“And I cleaned up the yard just like you asked, love. Wearing this dress tonight?” Simon questioned gruffly, brushing a kiss first across the top of your head and then leaning down to dust a trail of kisses down your neck.

“What? Probably- but” you stuttered, the heat of his breath making it hard to track the different tracks of conversation.

“Good, does this come in any other colors?” His questions almost fell on deaf ears as he brushed the straps off your shoulders so he could continue his path down your chest. The hands on your hips had traveled first to your knees and were slowly hiking the hemline of your dress up. He paused when you didn’t answer, cutting those sharp eyes up to yours, squeezing your thigh to get your focus back on him and not just his hands. You hummed in confusion, “colors, love?”

“Oh, uh, a couple I think,” you nodded as the squeeze to your thigh turned to a kneading moving further up, “I wanted to try one, but it was hard to decide-“

Simon was sinking to his knees in front of you, never breaking eye contact, “Keep talking, love. I’m listening.”

Simon was a hard man to say no to, so you kept talking. Jumping from thought to thought as they became fewer and farther between, a hand in his hair to ground yourself as he’d offer questions from between your legs until you could no longer say anything but his name.

___

I wrote this in 20 minutes on an airplane. It’s not proofread nor is it really in character. First time writing for COD but hopefully not the last… we shall see where the hyperfixation takes me