#the way there’s no growth at all. embarrassing

[1million]

anon i saw ur msg thank u for letting me know 😭😭 that’s actually fucking crazy

[ronanlynchusurper]

i don’t think we talk enough about declan being equally as down bad and ‘all or nothing’ with romance as ronan is. like yes ronan said he would start wars and burn cities for adam’s true smile, begged god for adam after he first saw him and fortuitously had all his objects of worship were in one downtown block etc but ronan had known adam atleast 18 months at this stage. whereas declan really risked it all to get tyrian purple overnight for a first date gift after ONE conversation…the man was discussing their marriage as a ‘when’ not an ‘if’ before we even saw them kiss like what’s his excuse lmaoo

[brionysea]

I have been reminded that s3 is one big sigh. my disappointment is immeasurable and my day is ruined

[teenagefeeling]

i think people need to get less comfortable assuming what's going on inside other people's heads

[blueberrybirdsworld]

My boyfriend is hot... somehow

Summary: She post a funny compilation of her boyfriend Lando on insta, he can't find a bad picture of her to get his revenge

Pairing: Lando Norris x reader

Genre: SMAU, fluff

Face claim: Chloé Gervais (the queen)

Author note: Try to uses fake text app now to create my texts message, tell me if you like it :)

Main Masterlist

@your_username

My boyfriend is hot… somehow

@landonorris: I thought we agreed to delete that last one 💔

@_user1: The second-hand embarrassment is REAL 😭

@_user2: No because WHY is he driving like he’s in a Fast & Furious audition

@_user3: The "somehow" in the caption sent me 💀

@_user4: The elevator one has me cryingggg he's just THERE

@_user5: Not the “boyfriend dump” turning into a full roast

@_user6: She woke up and chose violence and we SUPPORT IT 👏

@_user8: This is love. This is what love looks like 💀

@_user9: Every picture just gets worse I can't breathe 😂

@landonorris

Tried to get my revenge with a “girlfriend dump” but turns out she’s just too perfect 🤷‍♂️ not fair tbh.

@_user1: Bro this is the worst revenge I’ve ever seen 😭 she ate every single one of these

@_user2: You just gave us free girlfriend appreciation content 😂👏

@_user3: Lando accidentally joined the “I love my gf” club

@_user4: not him tryna roast and ending up making her look like a Vogue feature 💀

@_user5: be fr Lando, are you even trying??

@_user6: WHERE is the flop pic??? WHERE’S THE TROLLING??

@your_username: actually the only issue with this is that you’re the one taking them baby 😭 it’s not me, just you are a terrible photographer

@_user7: AHHHHH THAT’S SO REAL 😭

@_user8: omg wait can we get a full dump of all the terrible Lando angles 👀

@_user9: YES we demand a “he took this” compilation 🔍

@_user10: Petition to make @your_username’s next post just “photos Lando ruined”

@your_username

Does anyone else have a boyfriend completely incapable of taking a decent photo of you or is it just me 🫠

@landonorris: i feel attacked but also i stand by the finger-in-frame one, that was artistic.

@_user1: Nooo bc why is this the universal boyfriend experience 😭

@_user2: This post is so real it hurts 💀

@_user3: He’s got one job and still manages to flunk it 💔

@_user4: THE SHADOW ONE??? i screamed. he really said “let me ruin the lighting real quick” 😭😭

@_user5: Girl we need a full series called “Photos Lando Ruined” pls

@_user6: Lando’s camera roll gotta be 90% near-misses and blurry masterpieces

@_user7: Why are boyfriends allergic to good angles 😩

@_user8: Honestly the effort is there but the execution is… not 🫢

@_user9: pls drop a tutorial for him. or confiscate his phone. idk at this point

@landonorris

Happy birthday to the most beautiful, most chaotic, person I know 💘

@_user1: WAIT. These are actually good. LANDO DID YOU TAKE THESE YOURSELF???

@landonorris: YESSS I DID 😤 it only took 200 tries but LOOK AT HER

@_user2: Be honest bro who helped you 😭

@_user3: no bc that second one is giving Pinterest-level lighting??

@_user4: Is this… growth??? character development??? 😭👏

@_user5: man went from “thumb in frame” to editorial real quick

@your_username: okay but let’s not lie, I had to direct him like a whole photoshoot crew 😌 love u tho

@_user6: not her still being the creative director

@_user7: drop the behind-the-scenes pls. we need the chaos reel.

Author note: please feel free to comment and message me, it's the only way I can know your tought and feed-back on my stories and it felt good as an author :) Thanks

Permanent taglist : @bunnisplayground, @vampgege, @chocolatemooncoffee, @sashisuslover, @gold66loveblog, @carlando4, @il0vereadingstuff, @lilith-123321, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @h-rtsnana, @anonomano, @guacala, @charlotteking27, @ninass-world, @scarletwidow3000, @taetae-armyyyyy, @mynameisangeloflife, @tsuniio, @sophxxkiss, @teti-menchon0604, @angelluv16, @httpsxnox, @anunstablefangirl, @chocolatemagazinecupcake, @mayax2o07, @freyathehuntress, @verogonewild, @lilyofthevalley-09, @esw1012, @its-me-frankie, @linneaguriii, @ezzi-ln4, @rlbmutynnek, @actuallyazriel, @sofs16, @thulior, @sltwins, @henna006, @stylesmoonlight12, @lilaissa, @sideboobrry11, @l3thal-l0lita, @lorena-mv33, @ispywlittleeye-blog, @lesliiieeeee, @sageskiesf1, @adynorris, @curlylando, @rebelliousneferut, @justcharlotte, @secret-agents-stole-my-bunnies, @emneedshelp, @lando-505, @yukimaniac, @sashisuslover, @f1norris04, @dustie-faerie, @madicecream123

Let me know if you want to be add or removed from the taglist :)

[thegoldencontracts]

Hi sorry to bother you, but can you please make a part 2 of the courting fic where the prefect realizes what they were trying to say and "un-rejects" them?

Love your writing, keep up the good work!!

So happy to see people on the same page as me here, because I wrote the fic right before going to bed and my immediate thoughts were (I feel so bad so themm... wait but they're also being kinda stupid shit GUYS LOCK IN)

Anyways Part Twooo to this fic let's gooo! Featuring them getting a taste of their own medicine because I thought they deserved it (affectionate)

Cultural Exchange

—"You could have just said you liked me."

Characters: Leona, Ruggie, Floyd, Azul (same as in the first fic)

Notes: Let me I tell you I had wayy too much fun writing the little intro for each section I thought I was sooo clever didn't I

Leona:

—Humans are known to give flowers to their objects of affection. Bouquets, particularly those containing roses, are a common gift given to someone a human wishes to date.

Your phone, you noticed, was already open. A google page laid in front of you. Did Leona try to look something up and forget to close it? No, as slothful as he seemed, being careless like this just wasn't in his character.

But the phone was opened to-

Lion beastman courtship rituals.

The page stared you in the face, daring you to read.

"Lion beastmen," it said. "Have extended courting rituals. They stake out their desired mate and spend time building relations."

Wait. Those weeks the two of you had spent together...

"When the time is right, beastmen will often roar to declare their intent. They show desire by pawing, nuzzling, and-"

He'd roared beforehand, hands all over you.

"Biting."

Goddamnit you just fumbled Leona Kingscholar.

You wanted to crawl into a hole. You wanted to apologize. And you kind of wanted to yell at him for not just saying that like a normal person when you asked what was going on.

But that would have to wait for another time.

For now, you'd have to find some way to make it clear you returned his interests.

Flowers. Everyone, boy or girl, old or young, broke prefect or genius lion prince, could probably appreciate a nice bouquet.

So you stopped by Heartslabyul and the Seven themselves or whatever the deities of this world were must have been smiling down upon you, because they had a bunch of extra roses from some growth spell mishap they needed to get rid of.

"Good luck with your boyfriend," Ace had said, snickering.

So here you were. Outside of the Savannaclaw common room, a bouquet of flowers in hand.

"You gonna eat that?" Ruggie, standing in front of you, looking at the flowers scrutinizingly. Noticing the expression on your face though, he just laughed. "Jeez, I'm just joking with ya! I can get my own food. Maan, you're so dense... shishishi, no wonder Leona-san's obvious signs went right over your head!"

Speaking of Leona-

"Can you take me to him?" You asked, and Ruggie nodded.

"'Bout time. Leona-san's been in a mood since you shot him down." You didn't shoot him down, you just asked what he was talking about! "He's been sulkin' all day."

You had a feeling Ruggie was just saying that to embarrass him.

"But anyways, come on! The sooner you lovebirds kiss and make up, the better."

The door to Leona's room was locked. But Ruggie just pulled a hairpin, fiddled with it, and-

Of course he picked the lock.

"Your mate, Leona-san!"

"The herbivore's not-"

And Ruggie was gone. Just you and him now.

Leona stared at you from where he was lounging in his bed, tail flicking expectantly.

"You saw it, right?" He asked, voice deceptively impassive. You nodded.

"This all would've been a lot easier if you just explained what you meant. "I mean..."

You pulled the small bouquet of roses from behind your back.

Leona just stared, confused.

"Are you- callin' me an herbivore or something?" He asked. "You tryin' to say I'm fragile like the flowers?"

What.

He had the gall to expect you to understand these lion mating rituals or whatever, and he couldn't even understand what flowers meant?

"Lighten up, herbivore, I'm just jokin' with you," he said, taking the bouquet. "I do my research."

Unlike you was left unsaid.

"I really am sorry Leona-san," you said. "But how was I supposed to know you biting me was a mating ritual?"

"Well, it's more obvious than flowers," he huffed. You had to disagree, but since he was following your, uh, 'courting rituals'...

"I guess I should return the favor," you said, grabbing his arm. His face flushed ever so slightly, barely noticeable on that tanned skin of his.

And then you bit. He stared, shocked. But not the good kind.

"That," he said. "Was the weakest bite I've ever seen?"

"Huh?"

"You really are an herbivore," he said, before putting his head on your lap. "I'm going to sleep."

His tail flickered contentedly, though.

Cute.

Ruggie Bucchi:

—Humans give food items to their prospective mate, particularly sweet items with either a heart-shape or a heart-shape container. To highlight their affections, the sweet items are often made by hand.

Ruggie had been avoiding you. It was clear as day.

The excited little "Morning, Kantokusei-kun!" whenever he saw you had turned into a chorus of excuses about Leona calling for him and whatnot. His constant visits to your room had all but vanished.

You were getting fed up with it. What did you do? Did you accidentally eat his donut or something?

It all came to a head when you bumped into Leona in the greenhouse.

"Hey, herbivore," he said. There was something almost unnerving about the calm in his voice, the way he scrutinized you like he was picking apart the very fiber of your being.

After a while, though, he laughed.

"Ruggie's got himself up in a twist over nothing," he said.

"Um, what?"

"You," he said. "Do you know," he trailed off. "What hyena beastmen do—"

"—When they find someone they want to mate?"

Where did this come from?

"The guys do this thing," he continued. "Step forward and step away. Then they cross their legs and present their scent."

Oh.

He'd crossed his legs, telling you to join him on the bed...

"Seem familiar?" Leona said, a languid grin. "Good. Now clear this whole thing up. Ruggie's being a pain."

You accidentally rejected him! Goddamnit!

Well, if he'd just been a little more clear, you wouldn't've-!

Whatever. You needed to make it clear you liked him back, you supposed.

And what did you do when you liked someone? Make them chocolates! Heart-shaped ones for good measure. Plus, Ruggie liked food gifts, so that seemed like something he'd appreciate.

So you got to it. Made your chocolates, and off to Savannaclaw you went.

You knocked on the door. Once. Twice. Thrice.

Maybe he wasn't there?

But no; you heard a muffled yelp, from none other than him.

He wanted to hide. Unfortunately for him, in the time of your friendship, you'd long since learned how to copy his lock-picking technique.

Hairpin in the lock. Another one to serve as a tension wrench. And with a little bit of fiddling...

The door was open. Ruggie was staring at you, eyes blown wide.

"Hey, uh, pal!" He said, opening the window. "It looks like Leona-san needs another tonkatsu sandwich, and-"

"I'm sorry," you said, rushing to block the window before he could jump out of it. Well, hopefully that wasn't actually what he was planning, but you could never be too sure. "I mean, you were being really really vague, so honestly it was kinda your fault, but I- you know-"

You sighed.

"Just take this," you said, shoving the box of chocolates in his hands. "This should tell you how I feel."

You didn't know how you expected Ruggie to respond, maybe eat the chocolates happily, maybe say something about the changed nature of your relationship—

But you didn't expect him to stare at the chocolate like it personally offended him.

"What's this supposed to mean?" He asked. "You tryin' to butter me up so I owe you later or somethin'?"

What. What was he talking about. What was going on in his head when he said that.

"They're- They're heart-shaped chocolates," you said. "Do you- not feel the same way anymore or something?"

Ruggie stared at you like you'd just said the sky was green.

"Heart-shaped-" he stared at the chocolates. "Wait, m so iss this like- uh- it could be- you givin' me your heart-"

You saw the moment the puzzle pieces clicked together in his head. He probably didn't have the completely right idea, but eh, good enough. His face went bright red.

"You, shishi, didn't have to- go all this way, y'know," he said. "Not that I'm conplainin'."

He popped one into his mouth, and you could tell he liked it from the way his face brightened.

"Good?" You asked, and he just shoved the uneaten half of the chocolate into your mouth in response, the imprint of his sharp canines clear as day.

You chewed for a few seconds. It really was good. But more importantly...

"That was an indirect kiss, y'know."

"Indi-what?"

"Indirect kiss. Your lips and my lips touched the same thing."

"Talk about weird," he said. "Sharin' food like that's completely normal!"

And then, popping another chocolate into his mouth, he continued:

"Can't you humans just sniff each other like any normal person?"

Floyd Leech:

—Humans will often use humorous expressions of desire with prospective mates in order to gauge interest. These are known as "pick-up lines".

Floyd had been avoiding you all week now. You had absolutely no clue what you did. Was he really that upset you'd told him to just be honest if he was bored with your rambling?

But still, the fact remained that he was avoidant, and just generally in an awful mood. Maybe something else had happened? Maybe it was just a mood?

Your question was answered when Jade cornered you after school, a toothy smile that most certainly didn't reach his eyes.

"I hear you've had quite the spat with my brother, Prefect," he said. "I understand that you may not return his feelings, but I would advise you to apologize for your harsh words. My brother is not, as you insinuate, the sort to court another so casually."

Wait.

Court?

"What do you mean, 'court'?" You asked. "I was talking, he started yawning, he asked me to dance out of nowhere, and then he got angry and left. Simple as that. Where do you see courting?"

The gear seemed to turn in his head for a while, before realization dawned upon him, mouth widening into a little 'o'.

"Prefect," he said. "Are you aware that moray eels open their mouths wide as a sign of desire?

"Huh?"

"When a moray eels sees a prospective mate," Jade re-iterated. "They open their mouths. And as a finalization, they perform a mating dance."

Mouth opened wide... Mating dance...

"Holy shit," you said. Jade just stared at you, still slightly threatening.

"You're telling me he was trying to tell me he liked me and I pretty much called him a fuckboy."

Jade nodded.

"Indeed, you did."

You could only sigh, long and low.

"Damnit."

"I do suggest you, ah, clear the air," Jade said, though his tone made it clear this was more of a demand. "Make it clear to him what I realized."

"Yeah, yeah." You still thought he should've just told you what he wanted.

Jade nodded, satisfied.

"Then I'll be leaving," he said. But before he left, he turned back, for just a split second.

"Prefect?"

"Yeah?"

"My brother and I both lack very little in terms of comfort," he said. "So I think you'll find that actions and words shall both speak louder than any bribes you attempt to bring."

And with that cryptically delivered piece of advice, Jade was gone.

You got to work. No point in making something, you recalled. Best to just bring yourself and your own sincerity.

Floyd was near impossible to track down. You really thought you deserved points just for doing that. He really put you through the wringer, after all.

"Floyd!" you said at last, trying your best to stay calm as he scowled. "I have something to say."

"I don't wanna hear it."

"You- You do!" You said. "Listen, I know you're annoyed because I called you a playboy, but have you ever considered-"

"Shut up."

"-That it was actually your fault for being really really vague while also managing to misunderstand me in the worst way possible?"

Floyd looked like he wanted to snap your neck. He also looked intrigued, though, which was a good sign.

"What're you saying?"

"I'm saying that I didn't know you were trying to tell me you liked me!" You said. "I mean, you looked like you were yawning, and I don't know jackshit about moray rituals, so what the hell was I supposed to think? All I know is—I'm talking, you're yawning, and suddenly you want to dance. Of course I'm going to think you're bored!"

Floyd stared at you for a few seconds.

And then he burst out laughing.

"F-Floyd?!"

"Eheh, you're so stupid sometimes, Koebi-chan!" Very nice. "But you've got some guts for a shrimpy. Maan, I remember why I like you so much now."

In an instant, he was back to his typical, lackadaisical mood.

"Use your head a little more next time, alright? I really thought you were trying to say I was some flaky little guppy," he said. You shook your head vehemently, pushing down your urge to tell him that he was the one being ridiculously vague.

"No, I know you're not like that, I mean- I like you too!" Now what. "Uh- Uh-"

"You know, Floyd," you said. "They say the tongue is the strongest muscle."

Now, he just looked confused.

"It's not. When it comes to strength by size, the masseter-"

"So," you said. "Wanna wrestle?"

He narrowed his eyes.

"Tongue-wrestling would be boring. Why're you even bringin' wrestling up right now? Lame."

Did- Did he seriously not get it?

"Our tongues should wrestle," you re-iterated. He shook his head.

"How'd you even do somethin' like that?" he asked. "Just, like, put your lips together-"

You didn't even have time to realize when it all clicked for him because he grabbed you.

"Changed my mind. I wanna tongue-wrestle with you, Koebi-Chan!"

"And you were calling me the oblivious one?"

Azul:

—Humans will often initiate contact between their lips and the lips of a prospective mate, a phenomenon known as "kissing". When done for an extended period of time, this is called "making out".

Azul did not act particularly different.

But you could tell he was upset. It was written all over the slight strain of his saccharine smile, the way he laid it on just a little bit too thick when he attempted to ingratiate himself to you, and the slight bags under his eyes—a sign he was overworking himself in an attempt to distract from his problems.

Yep. He was definitely upset.

And of course, inevitably, the twins cornered you.

"You did somethin' weird to Azul," Floyd said, glaring at you. "Fix it or I'll squeeze ya."

Jade snickered from behind him.

Of course. Welp, you had absolutely no clue what you did, sooo...

"Is this because I offered to take him to the Doctor's office when his arm kept changing color?" you asked. "Seriously, I knew he didn't like getting help, but- ugh, isn't that too far!"

"Why'd you do that?" Floyd said. "Man, Koebi-Chan really is mean, tellin' Azul he's sick for wantin' to make you his mate."

"What does changing color have to do with, uh, mates?"

Floyd looked like he didn't know whether to laugh or slap you.

"You do know a little octopus like Azul changes color because he wants to be your mate, right?"

...

That couldn't be. That just- it-

"Indeed," said Jade. "Octopi will also often grab their prospective mate from behind."

His arm was changing color. He'd grabbed you from behind.

"Goddamnit," you said. Couldn't he have been a little more specific?!

That was it. You were not dealing with this stupid misunderstanding any longer! This stupid, insanely intelligent, oblivious octopus was going to know you liked him!

You stomped away.

"Where're you going, Koebi-chan?"

"Oya, going somewhere, Perfect?"

"Clearing the air," you said. That seemed to be an answer they approved.

"Actions speak louder than wor-"

"I know."

You cut off Jade's attempt at delivering cryptic advice before storming over to the VIP Room. There was Azul, working on some contract or the like.

"Azul."

"You're not allowed to be in here, you know. There's quite a hefty fee."

"Azul."

"Yes?" He looked up, looking entirely unhappy to see you.

"I didn't realize that thing you were going last week was a part of octopus courtship, you know," you said. "You really should've told me."

"What are you-"

"Let me show you a human courtship ritual to set things straight."

And you kissed him. It was not the sort of kiss that I initiated fireworks, nor was it anything like the novels you'd read. In fact, it was an exceptionally awkward kiss, because Azul was an awful kisser. You didn't entirely mind, though, it was cute.

You both had to pull away because Azul was out of breath, gasping and wheezing like he'd been made to run a mile for P.E.

"Does that make my feelings clear?" You said. He just huffed, looking firmly at his contract.

"I- suppose we can work something out..." He muttered, gesturing to the chair across from him. "Why don't you take a seat?"

The offer seemed simple, but the truth of it was clear.

He was considering that relationship.

So you sat, enjoying the contented silence and the resolved misunderstanding. But there was one thing you had to get off your chest.

"You know, it's insane how bad you suck at kissing."

"Shut it."

[sealmisuyu]

Seventeen and their baby💭

─┈ ۫  ˖  ⊹ ୨sealmisuyu◛ ˚₊🍈 ֹ ׅ ɞ more content under the cut!

You were convinced that being an idol was supposed to be cool.

You were also convinced that being the youngest in a company full of older idols should not mean you were treated like a lost puppy at all times.

But Seventeen had other plans.

The first time you met Seventeen, you were starstruck. The second time you were ambushed.

"She’s so small" Seungkwan announced, staring at you like you were a rare animal at the zoo.

"I’m literally a normal height" you deadpanned, but it didn’t matter because Mingyu had already picked you up off the ground like a sack of rice.

"HAVE YOU BEEN EATING WELL?"

"PUT ME DOWN THE FUCK—"

And from that day on, the teasing never stopped. You were practically a baby to them, and they took their big brother roles seriously.

"Did you drink water today?"

You blinked up at Minghao, who had materialized out of nowhere with a bottle of water in hand.

"Uh… yeah?"

He squinted. "Drink again."

You sighed but took a sip anyway, because you knew better than to argue with him.

And it wasn’t just that.

When you tried ordering coffee, Joshua intercepted with a horrified gasp. "You’re too young for that!"

"Josh, I’m literally an adult"

"You’ll stunt your growth!"

"I’M ALREADY GROWN?!"

Dino nodded solemnly. "This is how they treat me, too. There’s no escape"

Unfortunately you learned that the hard way.

One time, you tripped during a music show rehearsal, and before you even hit the ground, Joshua had already caught you, Jeonghan was checking your knees, and Hoshi was yelling at the floor.

"WHY WOULD YOU DO THAT TO HER?!"

(Hoshi please it’s just a floor)

And don’t even think about dating.

"Who are you texting?" Woozi asked casually, glancing at your phone.

"No one."

"You smiled."

"I was looking at a meme!"

But it was too late.

"WHO IS IT?"

"DO YOU HAVE A CRUSH?"

"IS IT SOMEONE WE KNOW?"

The way they interrogated you, you’d think you were committing a crime.

"Guys, I don’t even like anyone!" you huffed.

"Good" Vernon nodded"Boys are scary"

"…Aren't you a boy?"

"Exactly."

If you posted a selfie, they flooded the comments with embarrassing uncle energy.

"Our baby is so cute!!!" – Hoshi

"Why is she posing like that?" – Woozi

"POCKET SIZED" – DK

If you did a weevers live, they showed up in the chat like overbearing parents.

"Did you eat?" – Seungcheol

"Why are you still awake??" – Jeonghan

"She’s not even reading our comments, betrayal." – Jun

It wasn’t just words. They really did treat you like a younger sibling in every way. If you were lost in a music show building, you called Mingyu. If you were stressed about choreography, you messaged soonyoung for tips. If a sunbae was being intimidating, Wonwoo would just... stand next to you silently until they backed off.

And whenever you had a comeback, they made sure to cheer the loudest.

"She’s so tiny!" Dino cooed when he watched your latest stage.

"That’s crazy" Vernon muttered. "She’s literally our age gap in physical form"

You rolled your eyes at them but couldn’t help the smile creeping up your face.

They acted like you couldn’t even breathe without their supervision, but you kind of… loved it? They never let you feel alone in the industry, always making sure you had people to lean on.

So, after your first music show, when you turned your head instinctively to find your members, your eyes instead landed on them— Seventeen, screaming their heads off in the crowd like proud dads at a school play.

And when you cried after winning your first award, they didn’t tease, didn’t joke.

They just hugged you one by one, whispering, "We’re so proud of you little one"

And suddenly you realized.

They weren’t just your sunbaes.

They were family.

[superhoeva]

𝐩𝐫𝐢𝐯𝐚𝐭𝐞 𝐬𝐡𝐨𝐰 – 𝐚. 𝐜𝐨𝐝𝐲 (𝐬𝐦𝐮𝐭; +𝟏𝟖) | OKAY. very nervous and excited about this one. it was supposed to be a two paragraph blurb... then it balloned as it always does. very special thanks to @robbyology for their kind words about exploring kink in fic. i've become sooo much more open with others and myself when writing/reading taboo and dark fics but still start shaking in my boots when trying to show that growth. eneeways, i hope you find this as hot as i did! i need this man so bad y'all, i'm SICK. if anyone can guess where i got the title from, i'll give you my a cookie <3 word count is sitting at 1.2k :)

warning(s) include language, watersports, holding!kink, freaky!pope, taboo/dubcon, reader has a vagina, pope wants to watch you pee, bodily fluids, public urination; also PLEASE remember this is fiction. do NOT hold in your pee regularly unless you want kidney failure (which can very much kill you)

Of course, Pope doesn't realize he has a piss kink until you're sitting in the passenger's seat of his truck, leg bouncing and gritting your teeth. He immediately asks you what's wrong and you reassure him that you're fine.

"Just gotta pee..." you clarify, and his eyes zip to your clenched thighs.

Gulping, he thinks. You're on the interstate and will be for a while.

"Well... you want me to pull over or–"

You interrupt him with a shake of your head. "No. No, it's fine. Don't wanna go on the side of the road."

Pope shuffles in his place, flicking his stare to you again.

"You're sure?"

"Yeah, Pope. I'm good, just try not to hit any–" Thump. The vehicle jumps with a hard jerk, Pope steadying the steering wheel as you gasp and shut your eyes. Your thighs shut even tighter, a groan pouring from you after you hold your seat with a worried grip. "...bumps."

Mumbling a sorry, Pope scratches the back of his head. A thousand words are stuck in his throat and they won't move. Not with you less than an arms length away, doing a bad job at hiding your squirm and quiet groans.

Shit. Why the fuck is he getting hard? Is he that into you that the sight of you struggling to hold your piss is getting to him this badly? The answer is a resounding yes, and he's rock solid and bulging through the crotch of his jeans not even a few minutes later.

Luckily... or unluckily... you're too busy trying not to pee all over his seat. Fuck, the thought of that does not help the man, who ends up grunting out loud before he can stop himself.

There's a shift that happens in Pope after that... one driven by the thoughts of his cock and not his brain. He inhales silently, pushing out his next question on a tight breath.

"...they were really pushing the drinks there, weren't they. You had to have... what? Four? Five? Was kind of impressive, actually. Chugged 'em all like a damn champ."

Pope doesn't look at you when he speaks. But he can still feel the helpless stare you throw his way, your eyebrows furrowed and body rigid as you squeeze. He bets you feel great, all warm and clenched. and he wonders how much warmer you'd feel if he can coax you into letting it go while he was still inside you.

Go ahead. Call him a freak, it's nothing he hasn't heard before.

"Andrew," you call out, the strain of your voice twitching his cock. The fidgeting you're doing is getting worse. More noticeable, more desperate, more distressed.

"Sorry. s'probably not helping, is it? Me talking 'bout drinkin' stuff," Pope continues, making sure to drive over the small hole in the road he sees a few feet ahead. The truck bounces again.

"Shit–seriously," you start, voice wobbly with what sounds a little like embarrassment. You turn to him halfway, eyes pleading. "No more bumps. please, or you'll make me piss my pants."

"Might be you're only option, darlin'," he eases out, swallow at the way your eyebrows furrow at his words. "Don't see another exit comin' up for a while."

You curse again, this time to yourself and quieter. Turning your head from him and to the window, you bite hard into the inside of your cheek as your bladder inches closer and closer to giving out.

Not one part of you is willing to admit that the pressure feels... nice. Better than nice and it's making you wet as you sit here next to the man who is unknowingly the usual cause of your arousal.

Out of the corner of the eye, you see the thick of his arms flex as they readjust themselves.

Hm. Okay.

You need out of this car.

Now.

"Okay, yeah. P-pull over, 'm not gonna make it back into town," you tell Pope, who feels a heat bloom throughout his chest.

He obeys you with zero words, merging the truck and pulling it to an easing stop. The rasp of his voice sounds just as you're rushing to unbuckle and pop open the door.

"Wait."

"What?"

"Just wait–

"Pope, what–"

"Can I watch?"

For the first time since you've gotten in the car, you freeze. It becomes so silent that you can almost hear the gulp that bobs Pope's throat. When you swivel your head, he doesn't look at you... not until you let out a small what?

A long inhale rises his chest and he holds it for a few seconds before huffing out the air, eyes cutting to look at yours.

"Can I?"

Pope doesn't blink the entire time you think on an answer. his heart jumps in his chest when you finally open your mouth.

"...okay."

He follows you away from the truck and behind a thick gathering of trees. Mouth settled in a hard lie to stop him from grimacing at the way his dick is rubbing against the fabric in his jeans with every other step.

Stomach flipping when you stop, you turn and blink at Pope. throwing him a tense smile, he quirks his mouth at you.

"So i'm just gonna..." you sputter out and he nods reassuringly, hands tucked into the pockets of his jacket.

"Do your thing," Pope tells you, scanning his stare to make sure no one else is around. Once he's certain, he looks back to you... eyes darkening when you start to unbutton your jeans.

Hooking your thumbs at the waistband, you pause.

"Do you... do you wanna get closer?"

Pope's answer is a hesitant step toward you. One that sucks the air from your lungs and compels you to pull your bottoms the rest of your way down. His breath hitches as you reveal yourself to him and he shudders all over.

He studies you, unmoving and eyes cemented while you lower into a deep squat and lean against the nearest tree. There's no use in trying to stop the sinking of his stare. rattling with a shaky, sharp inhale, Pope watches you... mesmerized as you finally release.

Jesus, you sound like you're coming with the noises you're making. choking out groans of relief and sweet whines. Your stream is strong and loud splashing beneath you messily, and Pope's mouth is damn near watering at your exposed slit.

"Fuck, that's pretty," the man mumbles to himself, hands clenched into tight fists. His cock is pulsing and now he's unsure that he'll make it home with needing some kind of relief of his own.

You finish with a easy trickle, and Pope hurries to offer his arm. Taking your hand, he tugs you upwards in complete silence, and you end up closer to him than you expect. It stays quiet between the two of you as Pope bends and helps you underwear and jeans back into place.

Buttoning your jeans, Pope floats his face near yours with a bite of his lip. All you can do is look at him. He looks right back.

"Thank you," you whisper.

"Thank you," Pope replies lowly, hands dragging across your hips before he pulls them away.

You don't think about your next move, you just do it. Grab the thick bulge between his legs and pressing until Pope croaks.

"Might need a few more minutes," the man grates out, voice edging with a held back laugh.

Pope groans out again when you squeeze him harder.

"No worries," you bob your head, eyes brightening a touch. "...Can I watch?"

© 𝐬𝐮𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐡𝐨𝐞𝐯𝐚

[nobodysystem]

scared of the dark.

[resident-gay-bitch]

Post upside down Steddie become kinda friends, they hang around eachother a lot because they both like to hang around the freshmen (they’re both anxiously attached to the kids and need to keep them safe 24/7)

Steve kinda thinks Eddie’s cute and dorky but doesn’t really give it much more thought because it’s pointless and Eddie is trying to get over his pointless crush on Steve because even though he’s actually not an awful person anymore he’s still Steve Harrington and that’s embarrassing for Eddie

Until one afternoon Eddie starts giving Lucas shit because he wants to play a oneshot with the kids but the weather is nice so Steve asked him to shoot some hoops and Eddie can’t believe Lucas would — again — choose stupid sport over D&D - goes on his whole laundry baskets spiel

And Steve just Doesn’t wanna hear it.

“Hey man, I get it alright, jocks fucking bullied you in school, sure you can have a problem with that but You’re a fucking bully foo Eddie. You talk about prejudice against those different to you, how about you hating anyone that’s not a fucking freak? You can’t just hate someone cause they like playin ball. Grow up man, get over yourself. You think it’s impressive that I changed since highschool? The day that You change and get some compassion will be the day that pigs fucking fly! Come on Lucas, let’s get out of here”

And Eddie just… he just… he falls in love immediately. He’s never had someone brave enough to talk to him like that before (besides Wayne and Hopper), can’t believe Steve has a big enough heart that he’d go off at Eddie like that, not to mention he’s even hotter when he’s mad and that anger is directed right at Eddie. And so he begins to Pineeeeeeeeeee. And he also thinks about what Steve said to him, talks to Wayne about it, realises that Steve’s actually right and starts to make a change.

After that day, Steve’s crush Dissapears. He can’t believe he ever was attracted to an asshole like that, someone that spent his whole life being made fun of for his interests going out of his way to make fun of someone else for his interests. Steve just doesn’t like that at all.

And so, the slowburn of Eddie growing and making himself a better person and genuinely making those changes in his life, and trying his best to play it cool around Steve, and Steve begging to see those changes in Eddie’s growth and begging to fall in love with him too.

And once they’re together, because Steve is a big believer in second chances so long as you prove you deserve one, Eddie admits that Steve was the first person to ever really stand up to him without fear, and that he really respects Steve for it, and so Steve will always tell Eddie when he’s in the wrong and Eddie really appreciates it and makes that change. And Eddie does the same for Steve too.

They just make eachother better because they believe in being better. They believe in kindness and forgiveness and compassion.

[porcalinecunt]

𝐆𝐈𝐌𝐌𝐈𝐄 𝐀 𝐁𝐈𝐆 𝐁𝐎𝐈 .ᐟ

🫗ᯓ 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ single sissy? wanting a big boy? meet mister ken ‘draken’ ryuguji! ♡

⋆˚࿔ FEATURING . . 𝜗𝜚˚⋆ 𝐊𝐄𝐍 𝐑𝐘𝐔𝐆𝐔𝐉𝐈 𝐗 𝐌𝐀𝐋𝐄! 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃𝐄𝐑

ྀི . ° . cw — ftm! reader , size kink , breeding , choking , headlock position , doggy position , praise , degradation(?) , stomach bulge , slight fluff in the beginning.

𓂃۶ৎ author’s note: i wrote this after midnight so sorry if its ass ; ; had draken thoughts and couldn’t contain them in my conscious. an nee ways, enjoy! <3

ᥫ᭡. ~ big boyfie draken is a sissy boy’s dream come true! after all, there’s not many hunks out there who’s willing to give boys like you a shot. after meeting you, cute in your ‘lil work uniform at the local cafe after putting street runts down, the second in command officer never felt any mushier with someone then with you.

after all, it’s like you couldn’t stop charming the guy! from kind words after a rough fight to patching him up to doing his braid every morning when he misses your hands roaming the dragon tattoo carved into the side of his head. his perfect little prince, a man he protects with his fists and body alike, someone who brings out the best in him even when things got serious. even more so thanks to the insane size difference between the both of you.

draken was huge, bigger then most of the guys even at a young age. even more so the older he got, his biceps bigger then your head and his body practically becoming a damn wall. it seemed like his growth spurt never stopped growing, until your face could only see his chest unless you craned your neck up to look at his face. you found it inconveniencing, annoying even! though through the eyes of draken, you only got cuter by the second.

millisecond if you count the times he nearly came by just making eye contact with you during sex. ♡

there’s a reason why this man has you in doggy tonight, not just to watch your pretty ass bounce as he fucks himself into your cunt, but to see you turn your head back to face him with the same heart eyes gaze that got you in this position in the first place. heavy eyelids with your irises rolling back everytime he hit that sweet spot, teeth sunken into your bottom lip as your face grew hot by the second. a normal reaction when your boyfriend’s fat cock is kissing your cervix and threatening to put a baby in you.

he felt heavy in your tummy, a bulge forming in and out as he dragged his girth along your sensitive walls. “kennyyyy!—“ you whined, turning your head again with a pout on your wet lips this time. “feels so good—ngh, wanna cum..cum in mee!”

“i know i know baby..doin’ so good f’me over here..” he leans down, cooing in your ear before licking your earlobe. he practically was on the verge of an orgasm, watching you squirm and plead for him was enough to push him over the edge. so much so, he couldn’t help but wrap his whole arm around your marked up neck and lock you in a chokehold. he felt your smaller hands shot up instinctively, gripping his wrist and bicep as he applied more pressure onto your windpipe.

he almost pulled away out of concern for your breathing until he felt you clench. suddenly, you felt a chuckle spill through his lips and into your ear. “ahh..you like this don’t ya?” “k-kenny..i jus—AH!”

“nah nah nah..don’t try ‘n run from me.” he pulled you up until your back touched his chest, arching away from your menace of a man as he pumps his length deeper into your ruined cunt. “your fuckin’ dirty boy, y’know that? tell me your a dirty boy f’me.”

“a-ah..’m y-you’re d-dirty boy..” you choked out, only to receive a tighter squeeze from your boyfriend. “i’m your dirty boy kenny! i’m your dirty boy!” you answered, both desperate yet cocked out beyond cognitive ability. how a simple headlock can have you babbling for dick embarrassed yet endeared you. didn’t matter anyways, draken was already inching towards his orgasm by the minute and you were going to take every last drop, even if he ended up knocking you up.

“yeahhh..my dirty boy loves my dick, always lovin’ my fuckin’ dick..” draken grunted as he screwed his eyes shut. “yess..i love it ken..i love it so so much!—ah!” before you could continue your mantra of your boyfriend, the feeling of your orgasm along with his hot seed spilling into your cunt knocked the wind out of your lungs. well, as much wind was left considering how tightly he was holding your neck. even so, you had enough energy to turn your fucked out gaze to him.

“can you do it harder next time?”

© porcalinecunt ��� 𓂃۶ৎ do not steal, translate, or use my work and claim as your own.

[crepezinhos]

Apex Predator

POV: Unexpectedly, Sunday decided to pay you a visit a few weeks after you’ve submitted yourself to an abortion. And much less expectedly, your relationship with him evolved to a whole new level that you’ve never even thought of… at the cost of finding out about a dark rumor.

⚠️ WARNINGS:

— This is a Yandere NSFW work

— Reader is FEMALE and uses SHE/HER pronouns

— Contains: Possessive, obsessive and manipulative behavior, hypnosis, cucking kink, dub-con?, usage of guns and threatening

— AU is: In-Game

— Yandere!Sunday x Reader x Yandere!Aventurine

— Reading of the previous part is advised

It’s been almost a month ever since the main conflict of your life has been officially solved. Despite your pity for the baby and Aventurine’s confidence on this issue, you decided that birthing it was not something you wanted or was prepared for, so you opted to unfortunately interrupt its growth before it was too late to do it. You felt horrible. Guilt has been consuming from you from the second you woke up after the surgery and it made you exhausted from all the overthinking and crying. And the second you found Aventurine wasn’t exactly fine with the abortion too, you felt forced to immediately terminate your relationship with him despite his insistence.

It felt uncanny to keep hooking up with him after you aborted his baby. A baby who could’ve continued his endangered bloodline or given Aventurine more reasons to enjoy his life that you chose to kill.

But unlike what you would expect from him, knowing he was hurt with this Avgin baby’s death, Aventurine didn’t take the breakup very well. In fact, he acted extremely shocked towards it, maybe even offended, even if a breakup would be the number one expected thing in a situation like this. He tried to argue with you about it multiple times, but you didn’t want to listen. You were a monster, and he was a mere victim who fell in love with you fro some reason, so you just kept running away from him. You blocked his phone number, ghosting every other number he’d buy to contact you., and you also started avoiding seeing him in real life even if he did his best to stalk you until he reached you.

…

…

God, what a horrible time to be alive.

Remembering all the messes this abortion brought to your life made you sick. So sick not even this comedy show you were helplessly trying to like was helping you getting distracted from your emptiness and depression.

Maybe if you focus just a bit more…

Knock knock knock

Hm?

What was that?

Knock knock

Is someone at your door?

Shit—! They must’ve been waiting for quite a while now! And who the heck could it be?!

You quickly jumped out of your sofa, immediately starting to walk in a fast pace towards the door until you suddenly remembered something that made you freeze in the spot.

You just remembered yourself of this. Aventurine’s attempts to reach you physically and talk to you.

This might be him. Big chances of it. He probably wouldn’t knock on it so gently, and instead, beat it as if he’ll die if he doesn’t come in, but this could be an attempt to make you at least open the door and give him space to possibly get in.

“Who is it?” You asked firmly, ready to hear Aventurine’s whiny voice.

“It’s me.” But the voice of who was actually behind it completely surprised you.

“M-Mr. Oak..?!” You immediately unpaused your steps your seat and rushed to the door.

What could he possibly want at your house? You’re not back at work yet, nor does he have anything to do with you or your issue in particular.

As soon as you opened the door, you met Sunday right in front of you, posing as usual, peacefully standing straight with both arms behind his back and an easy grin on his lips.

“I thought we already had a discussion on how I’d like you to address me, dear.” He referred to the way you reacted to his presence inside your home, scolding very gently, with no sarcasm.

“Ah… Sorry, sir— Sunday!” You sighed, embarrassed at yourself for your pathetic mistake and appearance while he stood to elegantly and angelic. “S-Sorry… I’m still not really used to that…” You shrugged your shoulders, avoiding any further eye contact with him.

“It’s ok. I’m just here to check if everything is okay with you. You didn’t come to work today.” He also shrugged his shoulders, but way more lightly.

“I’m… not supposed to be at work today… Today is the 3rd, I’m supposed to come back tomorrow.” You awkwardly argued back.

“Today is the 4th, dear.” But Sunday kept his easy expression as he maintained his argument.

“Is it?!” You quickly pulled out your phone that was guarded in the pocket of your pants.

11:36… April 4th…

…

…

FUCK!

“Oh my God! I-I’m so sorry for skipping work, sir! I-I mean, Sunday! Oh, God…” If you weren’t embarrassed enough previously, it got even worse now that you made two mistakes at once.

It got you so nervous that you felt forced to put your palms at your face to hide it from him. At least you could pretend you were just doing that out of stress, couldn’t you? Or did he know his presence was making you shy?

“No need to apologize, dear, as long as if it wasn’t intentional. Alas, it’s good for me, as a boss, to personally check up on my workers every now and then.” Sunday gently reached a hand of his to your hair, pushing a thick strand behind your ear, believing it was bothering you.

“O-Oh! Do you wanna come in?” Thinking you caught his message, you immediately undid your embarrassed pose and stepped aside, pushing your door a bit further away too to give him space to walk in.

“I would love that. Thank you, dear.” His little grin in his lips got a bit bigger, but you couldn’t see much of it since he immediately walked in your home.

While he took his first impressions of your house, carefully inspecting its details, you took advantage of him being backwards to you to fix yourself a bit. After all, you want to look minimally decent while hosting your boss, don’t you?

“P-Please don’t mind the mess… I didn’t know you’d be coming.” You fixed your throat too after speaking, believing your voice still sounded tired and sick, but Sunday did nothing but giggle at your worry.

“Don’t worry. I think you have a nice place, dear.” He turned to you again, looking a bit too proud of your home even if it looked so unorganized for his standards.

“T-Thank you…” You looked down again, not being able to handle his kind stare. “Well, hum… would you like a cup of coffee or tea? You can sit down if you want to.” You were a bit desperate to find something to distract you and him from the silence between you two.

“I’ll take the cup of tea if you don’t mind.” Sunday shrugged his shoulders again before beginning to head towards your sofa.

“O-Ok!” While you begin to walk in the other way, towards the kitchen, to start preparing his request.

And as you immediately started searching your catalogue of teas in your counter for his favorite flavor, you started to realize… you didn’t have it. Not a single bag of his favorite kind of tea. And neither do you have SoulGlad, his favorite beverage, in your fridge to at least mix it with the other flavors you have and call it a day.

If this was anyone else but Sunday at your home, you wouldn’t look at it as a problem. But he’s your boss, a very kind one but a very picky one. So picky he’d scold you every time you didn’t get his food orders 101% right, despite those always being so gentle. You didn’t want him to have any worser impressions of you, especially when you’ve just skipped a day of work for no reason at all, do you?

“Hummmm… S-Sunday..?” You walked back to the door frame of your kitchen, staring at him sitting down at the sofa from afar.

“Yes, dear?” He immediately turned his face away from his phone to pay attention to you.

“I don’t have herbal tea or SoulGlad…” You scratched the back of your head as you explained your situation to him.

“I’ll take whatever you have in there, dear.” But he simply smiled back at you again, which you found very confusing.

Sunday was always strict with his food. You promised. This isn’t the reaction you’d expect him to have at all at such an inconvenient situation.

It wasn’t anything serious, but it did give a bit of anxiety. Why was he acting extra sweet to you? Even if you’ve already flawed in the way you should call him, didn’t go to work, and now had zero of his favorite foods to please him. Does he have other intentions with you being here? Does he…

Want to fire you?

“Are you sure, sir?” You asked again, trying to rip out a more negative and honest answer out of him.

“It’s your home, dear, not mine. Your home, your rules.” But he still kept his softness towards you.

And well… he wasn’t wrong. So he at least had this common sense despite all his exigences and stubbornness? Why were you expecting so much less of him anyway? He’s the head of the Oak family, not some impolite punk.

“O-Ok, then…” You walked back to the kitchen after finalizing your little talk with him and spent the next few minutes working on two hot cups of matcha tea for you and him.

When you went back to the living room, you decided to sit in the sofa beside Sunday too, setting the tray with the tea cups in the short table in front of you two.

Sunday grabbed his cup of tea carefully, smelling the refreshing scent before beginning to break the silence between you two.

“So… How are you doing?” He turned his body to you, finally taking his first sip of the tea.

“Me? I’m fine.” You shrugged your shoulders, trying to not go too deep with the conversation.

“Fine? That’s all?” He confronted you lightly, chuckling afterwards. “It’s ok to be honest with me, Y/N. I seek to learn how you’re truly feeling.” Sunday lowed his cup, fully focusing on you while admitting his desire for the deep, harsh truth.

If he really wanted to know, you could at least tell him about some of the mess, couldn’t you? Aeons… Was this even an appropriate conversation to have with your boss?

“Well…” So you decided to lower your level of professionalism, taking a small sip of your tea to prepare yourself for the talk. “It feels weird, you know? I… never thought I’d ever find myself having to do something like this… to choose between letting a baby grow inside me or not…” Even if you’d already spent many hours pondering and sobbing about it, you could still feel tears coming up to your eyes as you spoke it again.

“Your grief is totally understandable and reasonable, Y/N.” Sunday never once stopped smiling at you despite the conversation being so dread, his voice as sweet as honey as he tried to comfort you. “I think a lot of women would’ve done the same in your situation.”

“And what would you do, hum?” And you, knowing Sunday’s beliefs in the protection of life, especially ‘the weak’, started to think maybe this wasn’t a good topic to discuss about with someone like him.

“That would be one intriguing question to make if I was a woman… I can’t ever find myself in such stakes.” Sunday took another sip of his tea, looking down to the floor to think about your question. “But… thinking alternatively, if I was a pregnant woman, considering my job and the quality of the father… I think I would’ve probably found myself doing the same to avoid any further suffer for me and the child, despite me not being exactly supporting of this kind of decision.” Sunday seemed to speak about the father a bit differently than the rest of his words, which caught your attention more than the rest of his speech.

“Are you trying to imply Aventurine wouldn’t be a good father?” You chuckled at him, trying to dig his truth out of him too.

“That’s not something I can judge, nor have the rights to. Only you.” His answer unfortunately made enough sense, avoiding a concrete ‘Yes’ or ‘No’, and that silenced you, giving him space to keep taking the lead in the conversation. “Talking about him, how is he doing? Did he take it well?” Sunday decided to temporality set the cup in his lap, as if he fully wanted to focus on the matter now.

But unfortunately for him, you felt very reluctant to answer. Your vocal chords immediately tangled around each other, as if it couldn’t find appropriate words to say, nor will to be spoken out.

“Hummm…” You mumbled, turning your head to the side and looking down at the floor. “He’s ok.” You nervously lied, flicking your eyes back to his a few times to show respect to him.

“Are you sure?” But Sunday seemed to have already captured your lie, his smirk giving it away.

“L-Listen… I just don’t really wanna talk about that part in specific… It’s very personal between us.” You rapidly turned your whole body to him, finding enough courage to challenge him like that, and that surprised Sunday’s ego a bit.

“I see…” Sunday looked away for a moment, taking another gulp of his tea in silence as you awkwardly sat still staring at him.

He seemed to be thinking, facing north, but truly looking at nothing relevant. The fact he still had a small grin to his lips even after your scolding made it look creepy too. Why the heck would he be smirking at the thought of your relationship with Aventurine and how the abortion affected him?

“But you know you can always trust me to tell your blues and secrets, right?” He turned back to you, but for some reason it hurt.

As soon as his eyes laid on you, a static noise started lowly playing in the back of your head, his words choking and mixing together together in a weird cacophony, for some reason. And your throat felt full, as if it wanted to vomit something… but not something material.

Your doctors warned you that you would probably feel a bit sick after the surgery. You could find yourself vomiting, fatiguing, having tough headaches, warm fevers or other small symptoms, but they didn’t warn you about nausea at all.

And it seemed to be growing worse the more you stared at him, extra colors beginning to shine in the edges of your vision. Every edge of every object, including Sunday, had extra layers of red, yellow and blue around them… a rainbow effect that followed your movement or their movement.

Had your blood pressure dropped to zero or something? Were you about to pass out? It’d be really embarrassing for you to pass out in front of your boss…

“As your boss, it’d be really important for me to know if you’re going through any discomforts or danger in your life or not. The IPC isn’t a joke to mess with, after all.” Sunday kept his smiley facade, not noticing how unwell you looked at the moment.

And the worst part is that his words made your throat feel tighter and heavier. Why did your body feel like it wanted to be honest with him it so bad? To tell your boss about your ex-boyfriend? About an abortion that didn’t invoke him?

“He… didn’t take it really well…” Your body acted on its own, and you had to pull yourself a bit back to stop your mouth from spilling out more words.

“Oh? He didn’t?” Sunday’s face finally became a bit more serious as he heard your answer.

And your body immediately breathed in, ready to speak on its own again, but then your mind, still a bit conscious and feeling very endangered, used its instincts to snap you out of it before you could say a syllable.

“I-I’m sorry, Mr. Oak!” You pulled yourself away from him again, putting a hand in your forehead as if you were trying to get a grip of yourself. “I-I’m not feeling very well…” Just as you said those words, you felt that heavy aura around you, weighing on your wellness, dissipate in a blink.

“Are you ill, dear? I can give you a few extra days off if you need it.” He skipped one step closer to you, trying to bring back the closure you two just had before your repulse.

“I-I… I’m not sure…” You turned your body to the front, as if you were ready to stand up and go grab some medication in your bathroom, but at the same time you didn’t feel desperate anymore to go after it, so you simply kept yourself sat awkwardly.

That weird sensation was really gone. In a blink, it was entirely gone. What the fuck was that?

“I-I’m sorry… I just suddenly felt really weird but it’s gone now, I don’t know why—” After breathing in and out to recompose yourself, you turned back to Sunday, still holding your own forehead.

“No need to worry, dear. If you feel unwell, I’ll take care of you.” Sunday skipped one step closer again, packing his hand on top of yours in your leg to conforto you physically.

“T-Thank you…” You relaxed your body at his gentle touch, letting your neck fall down even more.

“But… is Aventurine troubling you in any way, dear? You got me a bit worried.” He leaned in a bit closer to you with a assuring grin in his face, trying to regain your focus to him.

And he successfully did manage to make you look back at those irresistible amber doe eyes of his, feeling a bit of pity for his innocence.

“Not really…” Now that you had already begun talking about it, there was not a lot of reason to go back anymore, especially seeing how curious and worried he actually was with you…

“What do you mean ‘Not really’? This is a ‘Yes or No’ question, dear.” His thumb brushed your shoulders still trying to keep you connected with him, a bit more worried about your safety now.

“He’s just been annoying me with a few calls here and there, it’s not that serious…” Sunday’s eyebrows rose hearing that statement, his grin dying a bit.

“Why? Did you two break up?” He seemed a bit too interested in the topic.

“Well… yes. We broke up.” You tried to hold the truth back, but it wasn’t something you could really cover up anyway, so you just gave up and spilled it out, taking another sip of your tea too.

“Oh… I’m very sorry to hear that, dear.” He decided to take his hand off yours out of respect and concern for your feelings.

“No, it’s ok… It just… feels weird, you know? He’s the sole survivor of a whole genocide and I just… casually killed the next generation of his blood.” You ironized the situation for the sake of coping. “And even if he wasn’t a survivor of a genocide, it still feels horrible, you know?” You sighed in distress, letting all your accumulated thoughts out.

“So he’s grieving the baby?” Sunday asked curiously.

“Yeah… I found him crying outside the hospital when he visited me after the surgery…” You paused, waiting for Sunday to say anything, but he remained as silent as a wall. “He keeps trying to tell me it’s just a temporary feeling and that he was just scared about us, but… I don’t really believe that.” For some reason, Sunday chuckled very quietly upon hearing those words, but you could still catch it a bit.

“I understand…” He looked away for a moment to process what you said. “I believe your theory, Y/N. Seems like he’s grieving both the end of your relationship and the baby.”

“Thank you, Mr. Oa— I mean, Sunday!” You suddenly realized you’ve spent the last few minutes calling him in the wrong manner again, but Sunday didn’t correct you one. “God, I’m so sorry!” You put your hands in your face and covered it again.

“It’s ok, dear. For now, it doesn’t matter. This moment is about you.” Surprisingly, right after he said that, something started buzzing behind you, and the both of you noticed it.

You looked behind you to see what was buzzing, only to meet your phone sitting in the sofa’s fat arms with an unknown number titling it.

Ok… Now this is very likely to be Aventurine.

You’d been ignoring him for quite a while now, and the more you do, the more bothered he’ll become with your wellness and the more he’ll annoy with these hundreds of numbers he buys just to call you.

And now that Sunday was a bit involved in the moment too, unfortunately, it’d be better to answer him than not to, or else Sunday could become a witness of Aventurine’s craziness.

“Uhhh…” You awkwardly picked your phone and stared at it for a few seconds, preparing yourself to the moment about to come. “Mind if I answer this real quick?” You decided to be a bit more useful and collected your empty tea cup, offering a hand so you could get his cup too.

“Go ahead, dear.” Sunday piled his cup on top of yours, letting you go right after.

You quickly walked away from the living room so you wouldn’t miss the opportunity to answer the call, and also to avoid letting the cups fall from your hands.

You placed them on the kitchen counter, wanting to check on the call first before cleaning them. So with a click on the big green button displayed in the screen, you put the phone against your right ear.

“Hello?” You said neutrally, but already with low expectations.

“Y/N?” The recognizable voice of Aventurine spoke, sighting afterwards in relief. “Y/N!” He said a bit more desperate, euphorically happy.

“Aventurine, you have to stop this.” You spoke firmly, trying to convince him with aggressiveness.

“Wait, wait, wait, wait! Please, don’t turn me off!” He screamed, thinking you were already about to click the red button.

“I already told you, I don’t want to talk to you.” You kept your firmness, but you lowed your tone down so Sunday wouldn’t listen ti you from the living room.

“But, Y/N, you never even gave me a single chance to talk to you!” He sighed in distress, all his excitement seemingly dying.

“Because I don’t want to deal with this bullshit right now! I just got out of the hospital and you expect my whole life come back to normal?! I’m sick, I’m tired and I feel disgusted at myself! I just want a few days off to breathe without you or anyone else bothering me! Is it too much to ask?!” You had to force yourself to whisper so your anger wouldn’t come out as a scream for Sunday to listen.

“I-It’s just a conversation! I don’t want anything else but to see your beautiful face and listen to your beautiful voice, baby…” He desperately tried to defend himself while trying to be goofy with you to calm you down. “N-No need for an immediate answer or kisses and cuddles! Just you and me checking up on each other!” He laughed afterwards, trying to cool himself off.

“If it’s just a conversation, why can’t you wait for it too?!” You used your other hand to grip in your scalp and press multiple strands of hair.

“I waited, Y/N! That’s the thing. I’ve been waiting all these weeks to talk to you but all you’ve been doing is giving me the cold and I’m hella worried! I’m coming to your apartment right now, please let me in.” Your eyes widened at that last statement.

“W-What..?! No, Aventurine! You can’t come here! Turn back and go home right now! I have a visit here!” You placed your palm in your forehead, anxiety growing about Aventurine possibly making a scene in front of Sunday.

“A visit? Who the heck is visiting you right now?” He sounded way more serious while he asked that question.

“A-A colleague of my work…” You tried your best to lie with confidence.

Knowing how obsessed Aventurine was acting right now, saying something vague like ‘It’s none of your business’ would freak him out. This answer would still freak him out, but much less.

“A colleague? What colleague?” As expected, he sounded a bit mad upon hearing that, but before you could say anything, he kept talking. “You know what, I’ll just park outside, wait for them to leave, and then I’ll come in and we’ll talk, ok? It’s that simple!” He wheezed a bit after talking again, in pure nervousness.

You sighed loudly and stopped to think for a moment.

Well, if Sunday was about to leave soon, there’s nothing else in your agenda today, and he really just wanted to talk… there couldn’t be a lot of danger in this, could there be? Especially knowing how this ‘just-a-conversation’ is probably going to shatter his heart and make him leave you alone for at least a moment…

You sighed again, but way more shortly.

“… Fine.” But in the other line you could hear him immediately sighing out of relief.

“Thank you so much, Y/N!” He laughed in relief, sounding very passionate. “God, I love you… I love you, I love you, I love you… I miss you so much… I can’t wait to see yo—” He kept bombing you with love and care, but you didn’t want to listen to it anymore, so you turned the call off and threw the phone in the counter right on his face.

Now you needed to find a way to wrap your talk with Sunday up so he could leave as soon as possible.

For now, all you had to do was wash some dishes.

And, now that you had both hands free, you grabbed each cup and placed them on the bottom of your sink, turning it on right after so you could start watering them. After quickly rubbing your sponge, which was already full of soap, on the cups, outside and inside, you turned the sink off and grabbed the cloth hanging in your stove’s handle to dry your hands.

You walked quickly back to the living room, not wanting to ignore his presence in your house any longer.

“S-Sorry for taking too long…” You sat down in the same spot you were sitting previously.

“It’s ok. Who was it?” He asked, referring to your call.

“Oh… just my mom.” You lied again, but thankfully it came put smoothly.

“I see… You sounded a bit distressed, though.” But Sunday still seemed a bit suspicious somehow…

“Well, my whole life is distressed now, so…” Before you could finish yourself, Sunday sighed very loudly, shutting you up.

“I think you need a few extra days off, dear.” Sunday argued, his grin turning a bit disappointed.

“Huh? Me? Oh, no, no, no, no! I can totally go back to work, Mr. Oak! I’m ok! This is nothing!” You scratched the back of your neck as you laughed at his unexpected reaction nervously.

Had he really fallen for your lie? Even if he did, you didn’t want to waste any more days resting for no good reason. You were afraid that beautiful, well-paying job of yours would be lost by whoever is substituting you for now.

“Nothing? You seem to still be a bit sick, your mom isn’t being helpful and supporting of your decision and your ex-boyfriend is disturbing your peace. I’m not quite convinced. Do you really think you don’t need any more days off?” Sunday challenged you as if for some reason he wanted you to take extra days off desperately.

And that made your eyebrows frown in suspicion. His whole behavior at this moment was being a massive signal to you that your job is highly endangered… or maybe… you already lost it.

“Am I… fired, Mr. Oak?” You asked reluctantly, your heart accelerating.

“Fired?” But for some reason that made Sunday quit his serious manner and laugh for a moment. “Of course not, dear! I could never dismiss a secretary as talented as you…” He rose a hand again and decided to rest it in your cheek to caress it with his thumb, trying to calm you down. “I just don’t want to overwork you even more during such tough times. It would worse for your mental health to add in work to deal with in between all those problems, don’t you think? Especially because we both know I’m not an easy boss… But I want to be easy with you today, Y/N. That’s why I’m here.” Sunday’s face leaned in closer to yours, foreheads almost touching, which made you even more nervous. “You’re unwell. So unwell you’ve even lost track of time today. That worried me a lot today, y’know? So I came here. To check on you and most importantly… take care of you.” Before you could even process all his words, you felt Sunday’s hand move down to your chin, his fingers hooking it gently.

“W… Wha—?” And much less, before you could respond him, Sunday shut you and him up, crashing his lips on yours so hard it made your brain turn off for a moment.

Art Credits (This account is heaven)

⚠️ = The moment ahead will NOT have Sunday’s harmony powers influence. After all, the fun in manipulating people is testing how little power you need to do so, isn’t it?

…

…

…

?!?!

W-What?! What is he doing?! He can’t do that to you!

“W-Wait! Mr. Oa—” Despite your peaceful protests, trying to pull yourself away from him, Sunday didn’t feel like stopping at all and only kept sucking your soul out of your body with that kiss.

But he thankfully stopped right before you could protest again to not scare you, staring deep down at your face with clear lust in his eyes and the smirk in his lips.

“I admire you, Y/N. I really, truly do.” He whispered softly, his passionate words trying to calm you down, but it only made you freeze in the spot. “You deserve so much compensation for all the extra hours I’ve made you work in the past… I owe you a big discount.” His actions were so light and gentle you didn’t even realize he was slowly pushing you down the sofa, only noticing it when you had already been pinned down on it. “Let me take care of you.” He leaned his face down between your head and head to whisper right in your ear before plunging his mouth on your neck it, biting its muscles.

You couldn’t hold back the moan he ripped out of you with that sudden bite, and that made you finally unfreeze and surprisingly start to panic.

“M-Mister!” You called him out, which only made him grunt deep in the back of his throat as a response, almost making him go madder than he already was with that cute nickname.

His tongue flattened in your skin, licking its way down to your shoulder instead, wanting to give it a bit of equal attention too.

“Forget everything, Y/N… Just focus on me and only me now.” His angelic voice echoed seductively in your ear, unconsciously convincing you to surrender to his initiative even more, spreading your legs so he could fit in between them better and tower over you completely, hands resting by the sides of your head.

His mouth deepened in your skin, covering a bigger area than before. He kissed and sucked your shoulder not very delicately, contrasting his usual elegant manor he usually had with you and everyone he knew. But, when he suddenly found your weakest spot on his pathway to your neck again, h nothing would push him out of there, sucking you like a starving leech.

After almost a minute claiming that area of you, he popped his wet lips out of your skin, admiring the view of the red mark he left behind for a quick moment, his fervor and lust for you rising, before going to the next step of his plan.

He decided to take your lips into a kiss with kiss again, beginning a sloppy, but passionate, kiss. And while he did that, a hand of his left the sofa and moved down to your body, his fingers starting to linger in the ends of your shirt, physically asking you if he could slide them under it. You arched your back as a way to demonstrate acceptance, and it made Sunday chuckle between the warm kiss you shared, but he obviously kept going on what he was doing immediately, his gloved fingers spreading away from each other as he started to move up.

Instead of immediately attending your wishes, Sunday decided to torture you by leaving you in the edge and started taking his time to feel every bit of your bare chest. First he started to caress your fluffy belly, appreciating its smoothness, then he circled your bellybutton and even thrusted it once just to feel it whole, then he took his time to go down every curve of your ribcage, and lastly, he moved his hand down to trace down the curves of your hips and hold them, previewing how would it be to hold it later on.

And once his exploration was done, he finally moved up and groped your breast once, letting his hand rest there peacefully while he waited for your consent. It made you gasp a moan another time, making you slightly panic again.

This is wrong. Really wrong. You are his secretary and he is your boss. Evolving your relationship with him would be nepotism, and just morally wrong. You should’ve never allowed him to fail in love with you, or even kiss you in the first place.

“S-Stop!” You broke the kiss abruptly, smashing your own hand on top of his, despite your shirt being between you two, but successfully caging him from moving further. “W-We can’t!” You turned your face away and tried closing your legs together again, but you couldn’t get him out of your way.

“What do you mean, darling?” Sunday’s warm breath and nose were brushing your cheek, refusing to stop the intimate contact. Another signal of his arousal.

“A-Aren’t you bothered with the fact that you’re my boss and I’m your secretary..?!” You heard Sunday chuckle after you said that, mouth beginning to kiss your cheek in appreciation.

“So cute…” That was his initial reaction, smirk growing lewder in his face. “I think it only adds to our professional relationship, don’t you think? You need to know so much about me…. why not learn a bit more?” His seduction was almost irresistible to you, your head slightly turning off for a moment. “Maybe we can start learning about how much I want to touch you right now…” He whispered directly in your ear again, making your cunt ache from need.

His logic didn’t make sense at all. But maybe this whole moment didn’t make sense either. Maybe your entire relationship with Sunday didn’t make sense to begin with. With his initiative, a fire inside you was beginning to light up for him. You were beginning to lust for him the same way he once begun too to be doing all of this. For all the moments he’s been overly kind and considerate with you, all the times he took you to fancy high-rank parties and presented you as a statue of gold, all the silly and serious conversations you’ve had with him in your phone and all the respect he’s shown for you.

It makes sense why would Sunday do all of that for you. He likes you. He wants more with you.

And be kind to yourself. It’s been months since you’ve last been with a man. Intimately or not. Your male coworkers didn’t know about your abortion, so they obviously didn’t bother looking for you, your boss was busy with work and couldn’t find many breaks to take advantage of, and your boyfriend has been making you feel even worse about this situation. You were needy. Needy for a lot. Comfort, love, pleasure, support…

And Sunday been giving this to you all this time. He’s trying to do it again now, actually.

Despite him unfortunately being your boss, one that sometimes made you exhausted too, he was technically the only one who cared about you enough to pay you an unrequested visit, and serve you with what your body craved. Actually, he’s been paying close attention to you ever since you’ve talked to him about your pregnancy.

He’s always been there.

And his touch on your body was so precise and mind-breaking. You couldn’t resist it. His gloved hands felt like feathers tickling your skin, massaging your breasts with so much care. A care you don’t even remember feeling with Aventurine.

“P-Please…” You pathetically surrendered, taking your hand away from his and placing it on top of your mouth instead to contain your embarrassment.

And Sunday just chuckled under his throat, finally unpausing his hand on your breast. The first thing he did was to pinch your nipple, making you flinch and squeak. Seeing your cute reaction, he made it a rhythm, and would repeat that move again and again after some brief moments to stimulate you. It didn’t even hurt you. All the pain and need was going to your cunt, who was wetting itself from the constant edging.

It was a mere massage in one of your breasts, but it felt euphoric to you. Your body was easily warming up and melting under him, facilitating his moves in you. You’d been successfully seduced and you wanted more of it. You wanted both his hands to be working on you, and then you wanted to move down to your aching pussy bad. But before working on it, you wanted him to take off his clothes and reveal his body. You wanted to see if he was as warm and sweaty as you. See if he wants you as bad as you want him.

Sunday unexpectedly moved his mouth back to yours and immediately proceeded to invade it wit his tongue. Despite your desperation for something more savage and immediate, Sunday kept it slow, gentle and passionate, as if he was choosing to throw all the control he owned of your body and mind away.

The worst part is that you knew his eyes were open, and they were staring at you nonstop. Your moaning face, with embarrassing red cheeks that demonstrated just how overwhelmed you already were. He was watching its every twitch. Meanwhile, your eyes were closed shut from the overstimulation and satisfaction, blinding yourself from his calm expression, unbalancing the power dynamics between you two even more.

In the back of your head, deep down, it perfectly reminded you of how Aventurine first found and fucked you. All exhausted, vulnerable and starved…

“Shhhh…” Sunday hushed you upon listening to your many squeaks and little noises of pleasure all because of his touch.

But he immediately moved on from your breasts as soon as he said that, leaning his body upwards and gathering both his hands to start taking his gloves off. He proceeded to place his hand exactly where it was before taking it off, giving it one last squeeze to your boobs before finally sliding it downward, fingers hanging in the edge of your pants in the end.

“Let me give you what you deserve, Y/N.” He waited for your consent patiently with a lusty smirk that signaled you that he was a bit impatient as he mired down at you from above.

You wanted it even more now with his teasing touch at your pants. And you could clearly see Sunday wanted it even more too.

But your brain just wouldn’t stop knocking in your head, telling you that you shouldn’t engage anymore, and you decided to stop and listen to yourself for a moment.

That was what got you pregnant, meaning that’s what brought you to do an abortion. You just got out of a surgery to do that. Do you really want to risk having sex now? It’s been barely a month. And what if you possibly got pregnant again? You would have to interrupt it again. Not only that but you don’t want you and Sunday to end like you and Aventurine, do you? Especially considering the fact that he’s your boss. How much privilege would you lose if such a dark hypothetical scenario happened? Would he leave you behind? Fire you? Ghost you? Is he secretly a one-night guy and is not making it clear to you right now?

You can’t have sex. Not now. Not for now.

“N-No!” Your body suddenly got very instinctual and forced you to sit up again while you screamed your protest.

“Is something wrong, dear?” Sunday immediately removed his fingers from your pants, backing away a bit to give you space.

“I-I don’t want to… do it… I can’t…” You breathed in and out, recovering from all the teasing he’d done to you yet. “I-I just got out of surgery… I don’t want to risk having to do another one again…” Instead of ripping a serious reaction out of Sunday towards your protest, he simply chuckled.

“Oh, silly, silly, Y/N…” He’d use this quote every time you’d make a silly mistake at work, and you didn’t understand where was the silliness of this moment for him to say it now. “Who said I’m going to use that? I don’t need to use that to make you have a good time.” He leaned his body closer to yours, delivering a quick kiss your nose. “Allow me to demonstrate, dear.” You felt Sunday’s right hand reach the edge of your pants again.

“W-Wait, then, what are you going to—” Before you could get more information, Sunday quickly fit his whole hand under your pants, right on top of your crotch, and ran a finger from the clothed bottom of your cunt to the tip of your clit. “A-Ah!” Your whole body shivered feeling the goosebumps from that tickle, weakening under his grip.

“Oohhh…” Sunday cooed in appreciation of your immediate reaction, grinding his fingers against your clothed hole to possibly get more of that kind of reaction of you. “You see, Y/N? I can give you a wonderful time and I can do it safely. All I need is your cooperation…” Sunday approached his head to your ear and whispered such teasing words on it to break you again. “So lay down for me again, dear.”

“S-Sunday!” Your body was tickling in sexual agony as he gently helped you push yourself down at the sofa, wanting your panties ripped apart immediately so he could touch your organ directly and stop leaving you at the edge of pleasure.

And Sunday thankfully seemed to understand you weren’t really enjoying the edging torture, so he quickly fit his fingers under your underwear and begun repeating those same movements of running his middle finger up and down upon your whole flesh, but now without the wooly barrier in between you two. Sunday even hummed under his throat in appreciation of your puffy, swollen lips, starving to savor them.

“Just enjoy.” His voice echoed in the back of your head, making your body weaken under him more than it already was.

The only part of your body that you moved was your hips, who were desperately attempting to get more friction between his fingers and your cunt, and Sunday didn’t fight it back at all. He allowed you to pleasure yourself as you pleased, he might even be enjoying it.

“You want me to put my fingers in, hum?” He talked dirty to you, the tip of two fingers going inside you in a way that made you throw your head back in desperation for him to thrust it all at once.

“Y-Yes! Yes, please!” Sunday’s grin grew in a creepy way, but you were quickly numbed out of your suspected thoughts when Sunday thrusted two whole fingers into you.

You squeaked in a bit of shock with his sudden initiative, and how dedicated it was, massaging your moistened flesh so carefully, waiting for your body to get used to him before beginning the actual process of fucking.

“That’s it… Just focus on me, dear.” He smooched your forehead passionately as he watched you struggle with the shock and proceeded to let them stick together as he stared down at you. “Nothing else but me.” Your eyes immediately started looking up at his when he said that, completely hypnotized by their shiny amber color.

Seeing your obedience, Sunday’s fingers started to move slowly, going in and out of you tortuously and making sure to punch that sensitive spot of yours he just found out in his trips. It was making you squirm with every thrust, your body relaxing in satisfaction of having something inside your pussy again and moving in a way that was meant for you. It felt even better now that you felt so insecure with everything in your life now, yourself and your relationships… but Sunday’s will to fuck you even with all these negative traits following you made you want to open yourself for him even more.

It all makes so much sense now. Sunday’s closure to you wasn’t normal, much less this. He was so distant and indifferent to his other workers. What would you out of all of them make any more special to him? It should’ve been obvious he liked you more than as a secretary. And it should’ve been obvious to you this whole time you were okay with it.

“You like this, Y/N?” And now you felt so horrible to have him trying to make you feel so good after so many months of you neglecting him, especially when he is currently neglecting his own erection just to focus on you.

You nodded, embarrassed of your own body making so many lewd mushy noises and so nervous at the sight of his cock so visibly hardened under his pants that it awakened your remaining consciousness again about this whole mess.

“S-Sunday… We shouldn’t..! Someone’s coming and I have to—” And somehow you managed to find strength to voice your protest.

“Get ready? But I’m helping you get ready. You can’t have visits when you look so tired and sick like this, can you?” He knew you couldn’t answer him due to the bliss he was making you feel, giving him the victory in that little argument. “I’ll be done soon, Y/N, I promise. No need to worry.” He kissed your cheek lightly and rose his body again, increasing the speed and depth of his fingers.

But it’s pathetic. It truly is.

Look at you, letting another man finger you like a toy while Aventurine, your dedicated ex-boyfriend is currently on his way to visit you. You know him. He’ll definitely come with a huge gift in his hands and shower you with so much love and affection… and you’re gonna have to pretend you weren’t just letting another man do that for him.

And that thought still managed to turn you on somehow. Maybe, if he saw what you were doing with Sunday, Aventurine would assume you’ve moved on and decide follow your steps, finally giving up in getting together with you again. Both you and Aventurine would finally find peace again if that happened. Isn’t that beautiful? The ends justify the means. Your body simply arched even more for him with your hypothetical imaginations, pleasing yourself with your own intelligence, worming in desperation for more of Sunday’s praises and touch.

All the liquids moistening you were thanks to only his fingers. Just his fingers alone.

“Such a beautiful, obedient woman… I love that about you.” He smirked towards the pornographic view he had of you under him, his cock twitching under his undergarments for any minimum attention at all, but being so painfully neglected.

You were so shy now that you were aware of what you were doing to poor Aventurine, turning your face aside and using your free arms to block the view he had of you. But that immediately triggered Sunday.

“No, no… Let me appreciate the view, dear…” He paused the movement of his fingers inside your velvety walls and pushed his thumb against your clit to edge you in punishment while his other arm gently tapped your elbows, trying to ask you to remove them educatedly. “Please, let me look at you, dear. You look absolutely stunning.” Sunday now grabbed your whole arm, seeing your reluctancy, and started pulling it away from your face.

You were unsure, so unsure and lost, but your body still decided to comply to him from the lack of choice, and let him see your face again.

“Beautiful.” It was the first thing he said to you as soon as your fucked face was visible to him again, making you a bit more comfortable with the moment as his creepy smile gained life again from above.

And unexpectedly, he decided to double down on the visibility and suddenly pulled your shirt upward, forcing your breasts to come out of their shell.

“A-Ah! W-Wait..!” You tried pushing your shirt down again, but his hand was holding it as if his life depended on it.

“Oh, Y/N… You’re a work of art.” Sunday grinned at the view, cock leaking cum on his underwear while his other hand gently fondled your right boob for fun and hunger. “I wanna see you whole.” He stated with a hoarse before suddenly removing his hand from your insides, making you whimper from the incomplete satisfaction.

But before you could complain more, he used both his hands to grab both sides of your pants and pull them down until they were on your knees, not wanting to waste much time taking them off for no reason.

Sunday’s cranial wings shivered at the sight of your naked too body, especially your pussy, all swollen and dripping wet because of him. He would never tell you such a disgusting detail, but his cock pre-came even more at that sight, wetting a bigger spot in his underwear, all that just from the excitement he felt seeing you naked, the excitement you gave him.

“Oh, Xipe… I must repent in advance…” And it obviously didn’t take more than five seconds of staring until Sunday’s middle and ring finger were shoved inside you again carelessly, making you throw your head back in surprise and lust.

Sunday was entirely hypnotized by you, eyes locked where they were, mouth almost drooling from hunger, dick twitching to be inside you… Nothing would stop him from staring at that Greek statue that was your body.

Sunday was honestly thinking deep down in his head that Aventurine could go fuck himself at this very moment. He could straight up break your front door using his hands and Sunday still wouldn’t stop fingering your hole. He could whimper all he wanted for you and he wouldn’t get it.

What? Did you really think Sunday didn’t hear your call from the kitchen? Why do you think felt so dizzy out of nowhere? Because of your surgery? Pfffttt…

This is going to be fun for Sunday. Very fun.

He really wanted this moment to be a greater moment for you, but deep down, he knew he had the most advantage in this moment and even most pleasure. Giving you pleasure like that while putting himself in the edge was more fun than he expected it to be.

Sunday’s fingers suddenly started thrusting you more aggressively now, trying to ruin you for his entertainment. Your thighs and underwear were glistened with your liquids, and soon your sofa was going to be a victim of it too.

“Wanna make you cum… Wanna make you squirt… Wanna make you feel everything…” Sunday spoke his prophecy hoarsely, body leaning down once again so his lips could reach yours again.

As he kissed you, way more savagely this time, his fingers started to solely focus on one specific spot of your walks and punching it every thrust, desperately trying to make you squirt. Shaking and rearranging your insides like that would soon force your liquids to come out of you to escape the madness going on at your abused pussy.

“S-Sunday..! T-Too much!” You screamed out his name a few moments before your body finally started to pop a few drops of your own liquids, taking Sunday’s attention away from you to watch your orgasm.

You looked so beautiful dirtying yourself up like that while your throat couldn’t even find a noise to emit from so much overstimulation taking your senses over. The more Sunday felt you spill out your juices, the more excited he felt to see it. So he abruptly pulled out of the kiss and locked his eyes towards your pussy, refusing to stop making your squirt until he had you soaked.

“Shhhhh… Don’t worry… I’ll clean it up after I’m done.” Sunday used his other hand to wipe a bit of your essence dripping from your thighs, bringing it up to his mouth and immediately starting to taste it.

You would never expect someone like Sunday to be so kinky as he was acting right now. Not that it bothered you, but the image he poses everywhere gave such a contrary idea of him that watching him act like that now was disturbing. It even creeped you out a bit. He was supposed to be a pure, elegant man, who fantasizes with nothing but making the world a better place for everyone and works on it daily like an angel. From a small insect to a God… he wanted euphoria for all.

Actually, never mind. It make sense why such an ideological man like him would find pleasure in giving other people sexual pleasure, but not as twisted and maniacal as he was right now in your logic. Maybe that’s what happens when you allow religion to play such a big role in your life.

“You’re about to cum, aren’t you? I can feel you tightening up… And here I thought you couldn’t get any better…” He grinned lustily, eyes shining with ecstasy while his fingers becoming greedier inside you. “Let’s cum together, Y/N…” His hand now moved down to his crotch again, jumping against it in search for that orgasm, despite it being still all guarded by his clothes.

Your body contorted more with the closure, and the way Sunday tortured you made it worse. You felt dizzy with the pleasure, and his distorted intentions only made you dizzier.

For how long has Sunday wanted this? This sort of reaction isn’t normal to your standards. Aventurine used to approach you so easily, acting flirty but very gentle, only to give you a common, but satisfying, night of love.

You shouldn’t even be thinking about another man right now while Sunday is working so hard to give you a mind-breaking orgasm. Maybe you needed something a bit more brutal and savage instead of Aventurine’s common love-making. You need to get him out of your head for now.

Even if he’s coming to your house right now, he told you he’d wait for your permission to go at your door, didn’t he? You really hoped that’s true because you’re seriously about to—

Finally, your womb snapped and begun to collapse your orgasm all down on Sunday’s fingers, making his finger a mess of both clear drops and thick lines of fresh white cum. Sunday didn’t even stop fingering you initially, although he could clearly hear your screams and your entire orgasm face. But when he finally started to feel your very essence start to drip in his fingers and cream him, he finally stopped and started scissoring you instead, trying to get your every drop of your cum around his moistened fingers. Meanwhile, the hand in his crotch trying to hold it more firmly, his dick twitching from the organ he also reached.

The entire time you were orgasming, that creepy grin of his wasn’t slightly washed away. If anything, it actually grew in pure admiration of you.

“Yes, yes, yes, yes…” Sunday kept cupping his own erection under his pants and cuddling it lightly, grinding it against his fist to satisfy himself just a little bit to relieve the pressure in his shoulders to help himself down there. “I can’t believe I managed to cum with you like this…”

When you finally stopped squirming in ecstasy, Sunday removed himself from you, immediately shoving those same fingers in his mouth and starting to lick like a starved dog. He loudly groaned as soon as him got to taste your cum for the first time, closing his eyes and cuddling his erection a bit faster and rougher as he did that.

“Oh, Y/N… You taste so sweet…” He cooed after swallowing your honey for the first time. “Promise me you’ll never stop working for the Family… Promise me you’ll always be my secretary… Even if I make bad decisions… Even if I do something that you hate… I want you to be there for me. Always. I’ll give you everything that you want…” Sunday leaned close to you, delivering quick smooches to your lips and cheeks as he confessed his deepest and honestest feelings to you. “From the bottom of my heart, Y/N… I lo—” Sunday wings suddenly twitched, and both his eyes widened, as if he’d noticed something.

Sunday lifted his head and quickly looked around, but while he did that, the front door of your home seemed to attract him the most, his head freezing in its direction. He stared it for a couple seconds, extremely quiet, until he suddenly wheezed.

“Come here, dear… I’m still far from being done with you.” Sunday’s hands suddenly hooked your hips and pulled your body upwards, forcing your sweaty back to unglue to the sofa, a fresh wave of cold air hitting you.

You weren’t expecting him to stand up from the sofa with you attatched to his chest and walk you around your house.

“W-What are you—” Sunday pinned you against that same door he stared at before you could ask what he had in his mind, a loud bang echoing in your home.

“Turn around, dear.” He whispered softly in our ear, seducing you into obeying him immediately as he dropped your hips and forced you to stand up.

“B-But, m-mister, I-I just came, w-we can’t keep doing—” You turned your body sideways and tried to cross your arms to make yourself less accessible to him.

You were foggy, sweaty and so overstimulated that you didn’t mind how Sunday decided to ignore your plea and simply take advantage of your pose to push your shoulder to the door, forcing you to position yourself for him. And soon enough, before you could protest again,you were shut up by his fingers thrusting into you once again, sending your mind to the clouds.

Your scream in reaction was loud, and you immediately regretted it.

“S-Sunday! I have neighbors!” You said between many moans of exhaustion and pleasure, using a hand to cover your mouth.

“No need to worry about them, dear. These solid walls are enough to cage every cute moan of yours inside this apartment.” Sunday’s other hand reached your face from behind, pushed your own hand away from your mouth and held your chin forced open to make sure those moans were coming out. “Just focus on letting aaaaallll that stress out and screaming my name.” Sunday leaned close and kissed your cheek passionately, simply to stand back to his place and fully focus on thrusting your overstimulated hole with his fingers.

You were extremely sensible with the recent orgasm and all that pressure and anxiety he put you on by fucking you in a risky spot. Despite his efforts to get rid of your stress, his fingers were so rough and deep inside you that it felt he was using his dick instead, and you were stressed at how loud you were because of it.

It didn’t take too long for his animalistic thrusts to start having an effect on you. The effect he wanted you to have.

Every damn second you’ve spent after the cursed night that got you pregnant has been a stress. You started to feel very sick and fatigued, and the demand of your work didn’t help it. Then, you decided to accept reality and take a pregnancy test, only for it to mark as positive. Then all that mess of deciding what to do with the baby flooded your entire life. Your relationships with Aventurine and your family, your amount of work per week, the efforts and money necessary to do an abortion…

It’s all horrible.

You fucking killed a baby.

That was what you didn’t want to face yet. You decided to kill a baby growing inside you. An innocent baby who had done nothing but follow the cycle of life.

It was too much. Your heart was overflowing with all those months of unexpressed regret, guilt, anger and so much more. And unfortunately, your eyes were the first ones to start to spill it out through long threads of crystal tears.

“Oh, dear…” Sunday immediately leaned down again and started showering your neck and cheeks with more kisses. “Everything will be ok.” Sunday hushed you right in your ear, which was supposed to make you less teary, but it only seemed to worsen you.

Your eyes rolled back and your back unconsciously arched more for him, allowing him to have easier access to your hole, whom was already easy to access in the first place.

“You’re doing such a good job…” Sunday finally freed your jaw, allowing you to fully cry and moan on your own again while that same hand went down to your clit and pressed it with two fingers.

“S-Sunday! I-It’s too much! I can’t..! N-Not in my door..!” Your voice became hoarse and weak with his masturbation, making you barely unable to finish your petty begging.

“Of course you can, darling… You’re such a resilient woman, after all…” Sunday kept praising you right in your ear every share of seconds.

Beautiful, charming, resilient, careful, attentive, intelligent, incredible, talented, determined, responsible, mesmerizing…

You couldn’t believe half of that praising. It did sound real because of his broken, harsh tone, but it all still felt so exaggerated. Or maybe he’s just been closeting all those words from you all this time.

“See? You’re doing so well for me… No need to overthink about anything else anymore, ok? Can you do that for me?” You were a bit weirded out by how Sunday was refusing to say anything in a loud, demanding tone anymore now and only kept whispering.

Perhaps he was scared he’d be too loud too and call the attention of your neighbors too, but you couldn’t do the same? How unfair…

“Y-Yes…” And you couldn’t help but surrender to the pleasure and let him play with you.

“Good girl.” Sunday kissed you one last time before his fingers went back to make a mess of you with his long fingers, who were thrusting you so hard hat it made you recoil against the door every time. And the nickname he decided to use with you didn’t make it any easier for you to keep yourself up, your walls tightening up around him even more.

It felt like he was going way more feral with you now that you were put in such position. The average speed of his fingers had increased, and the position made it easier for him to access you. His finger went in, scissoring and stretching your walls, then hit your g-spot and then went out, only to go in again and repeat that same process. And don’t forget that his other hand was circling your clit with no pauses throughout this rounds. It was vicious, addicting and truly overwhelming. You didn’t stand a chance against him in that moment. He had all control and power over you. And even if you did have a chance, you felt too good to want to take the opportunity.

It was true, Sunday was helping you unchain yourself and discount all that pent up stress. Even if it was at your door or him, it was still resulting positively to him.

“What a sinful woman you are underneath your facade…” But then you suddenly felt Sunday’s hand leave your clit alone and move up to your face again, his palm slapping your eyes shut.

You were now blind, seeing nothing but full black with a few bright spots between his fingers. Them you felt Sunday leaning in again, but not directly to you. He stopped halfway and didn’t do anything but to quietly wheeze after a few seconds.

“Perfect.” He said with no context, so you guessed he was talking about you.

You bowed your head down, feeling another burning sensation starting to spark in the back of your womb.

Even if your previous orgasm had just happened, looks like his overstimulation was truly destroying all your senses to make you cum so fast like this.

“You’re cumming again? I’ve barely even started, dear…” Sunday commented as soon as he felt your mushy walls almost crush his fingers entirely just like last time.

“S-Sorry…” You mumbled back to him with your trembling mouth.

“No need to apologize. You’ve done nothing wrong.” Sunday’s face finally leaned close to yours again. “In fact, I want you to cum. Just focus on cooling off your head and moaning my name until you cum on my fingers, ok?” The way Sunday whispered his order right in the hole of your ear made you obey immediately.

You threw your head down, leaving it hanging in the air while more moans came out of your mouth.

“S-Sunday! M-Mister Sunday!” You touched your forehead against the door, moaning right against its wooden material, moistening it with your warm breath as Sunday giggled under his thirst at every moan of yours.

“Good girl.” Sunday altered his wet fingers between your hole and your clit, prizing you for your obedience.

For the next minute or two, all you did was do exactly as commanded: accepting all of Sunday’s efforts and helplessly moaning his name, even if all your pleas would be ignored. With the help of his fingers stimulating your clit, your orgasm built up and released itself very fast, your mind fogging intensely one last time for a very long moment. Your insides burned with ecstasy, back arching to an angle where it could break.

Sunday watched it all silently, and you wondered what his face looked like watching you. He probably had that same smirk he’s been putting on his face this entire time, looking down at you with pure satisfaction and lust.

And when you were finally done cumming on his fingers again, he repeated that same action of sucking on them after taking them off you. But, unlike last time, he decided to kneel down and begun hooking your cream-pied lips with his tongue, licking it all out of you until you were clean and swallowing it down his throat proudly. Although you still found it really creepy, also the fact that he still had a whole load of cum dirtying his underwear. But that’s the whole point of intimacy, isn’t it? Let your partner tell you about his erotic kinks and let yourself tell your partner about your kinks too.

Having Sunday reveal so much about his intimacy was somehow comforting to you. Maybe you could trust Sunday to be more than just your boss. A one-night stand guy wouldn’t care so much about you like this, would he?

With a final kiss at your wet lips, praising your pussy for its hard work, Sunday finally stood up again.

“You’re exhausted, aren’t you?” You felt him lean down and support his face in your shoulder, a hand of his going to your belly and carefully holding it.

“Yes…” You whispered hoarsely.

“Yes what?” You sighed at that question, identifying his attempt at acting bossy with you even after sex.

Sunday was really that strict when it came to you referring to him appropriately. He’s still your one and only boss, after all. Now, it seemed he was accepting to be called in two ways, professionally and casually, so all you had to do was play along.

“Yes, sir…” You nodded your head while turning it back to stare at him. And as expected, he did still have that calm expression on his face as you predicted.

“Good woman.” Sunday simply pulled you away from the door and brought your legs to the air, beginning to carry around your house princess-style. “You’ve done an incredible job today. You deserve some good rest.” Fortunately, Sunday’s slightly weak arms didn’t have to do much effort to keep holding you since he simply dragged you back to your sofa and laid you down there.

“W-Wait… I shouldn’t rest now, I—” You tried lifting your body up again, but Sunday immediately locked your shoulders with his hands, pressing you down the sofa and approached his face to your right ear.

“Rest.”

.

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

…

“Once upon a time, a cute Avgin baby started to grow in a lovely woman’s womb.” Aventurine’s whole body shivered in shock and immediately turned back to catch who suddenly started to speak. “Although the baby loved the experience of being raised inside such a warm home as that woman’s womb, the same couldn’t be said for the mother.” And Sunday simply kept walking closer towards his direction, Aventurine fisting his own hands in anger. “She felt sad, depressed and stressed with the pregnancy… not only her but the cute Halovian baby had its space to grow inside the woman too taken away by the Avgin baby.” And then he finally stopped when he was standing right beside him, staring at the moving streets in front of both men. “So she fucking aborted it for everyone’s benefit.” He broke his calm, passionate tone while he told his ‘story’.

Aventurine could only wheeze at Sunday’s ‘story’, which wasn’t really one at all. Just a stupid metaphor to represent the situation he found himself in at this moment.

“You can only fuck Y/N when she’s the most vulnerable she could be… Says a lot about you, doesn’t it?” Aventurine refused to turn his body to him, only his eyes. Those threatening shiny eyes staring at Sunday as if he wanted to see blood coming out of his face.

“Whatever it says about me, it doesn’t take away the fact that I did it and she wasn’t against it.” Sunday gently shrugged his shoulders, enjoying the power dynamics between them.

“Are you sure she wasn’t against it? Are you sure you didn’t use any of your Harmony powers on her and forced the consent out of her?” Sunday’s eyes widened at the accusation and Aventurine’s disrespect to not even turn to him and face him like a real man after spilling out such a dangerous lie.

“Are you accusing me of rape?” Sunday lightly chuckled at Aventurine’s lack of response, confirming his suspicions. “Just because she likes to be obedient and submissive during this kind of activity, it doesn’t mean I forced her to do it.”

“You haven’t even seen half of what she can do in bed, and yet, you act as if she’s in the palm of your hand to comfort yourself. How cute… but, unfortunately, now that I’m back to her life, you won’t be able to see much more of her anyway. So no need to pretend you’re on top. We both know you aren’t.” Aventurine finally turned to him, threatening him a bit more seriously.

“If you were truly back to her life, I don’t think you would’ve minded interrupting our little moment in the door, but you still decided to stand in the other of it like a pathetic abandoned dog while I watched your agony through the peephole.” Sunday finally decided to turn his whole body to him, making his message a bit harsher for Aventurine to absorb and fight back. “Just like you also were when Y/N finally aborted that baby out of her.” Sunday was happy to see Aventurine’s expression immediately darkening with that last sentence, but unfortunately, his fun was ruined by Aventurine turning to his direction and taking one step closer to him, something pointy beginning to rub right on top of his heart.

Sunday looked down curious, only to find a revolver pointed right against his heart with Aventurine’s index already ready to pull the trigger.

“If you don’t want to die right now, I’d recommend you to keep your mouth shut about that.” Aventurine let his smirk for that brief moment to threat Sunday.

“Why? Does it still hurt when you think about it? When you think about what could’ve been the future of the Avgin blood?” Sunday smiled sadistically, enjoying Aventurine’s decaying facade.

“Shut the fuck up. That is none of your business.” Aventurine pushed the gun a bit harder against Sunday’s chest, which only seemed to intrigue him.

“My, my… You really don’t like talking about it, do you?” Sunday giggled at him for a moment, taking enjoyment at his deadly silence. “Well then, you’re very lucky. We can still discuss another very important matter.” Sunday put both his hands behinds his back, posing elegantly to him.

“What could it possibly be, Mr. Oak?” Aventurine didn’t take him seriously at all.

“Give up.” Sunday killed off his own smile, becoming as serious as Aventurine.

“Hm?” Aventurine listened to what he said, but he couldn’t believe Sunday’s audacity in saying such a thing, so he challenged him.

“Give up on Y/N.” Sunday repeated himself a bit more clearly.

“What on Earth makes you think I would ever give up on Y/N?” Aventurine wheezed. “You are literally on the verge of death at this very moment.” Aventurine pressed the gun against his chest harder again, but Sunday remained unmoved.

“Are you sure?” Sunday tilted his head a bit, demonstrating his serenity.

Aventurine’s brain clicked with that question. He has been feeling it for a quite a while now, but he didn’t think it was actually what he thought it could be.

But now it was confirmed. Sunday didn’t freak out at the sight of the gun because he replaced himself with an illusion identical to him.

“Really? Using your Harmony powers to get away from a cheap revolver? How pitiful and coward of you…” Aventurine used his other hand to rest his palm against his forehead and laugh at Sunday’s escape route. “I guess you’ve learned your lesson in the casino at least…” Aventurine referred to his fight with Sunday in the casino where Sunday pathetically lost to him, playing with it as a joke.

But before Sunday could add anything to the conversation, Aventurine removed the gun from his chest, only to quickly point it at the side of his head and pull the trigger, not letting Sunday even process it, much less protest against it.

But luckily, only a single click noise came out of it, meaning it was a dry shot, which made Aventurine’s smirk increase uncontrollably, finding Sunday’s reaction funny. He almost expressed shock when Aventurine pulled the trigger, but he didn’t let himself express it any further to not please the gambler’s sadism again. And when he finally recognized that the gun was actually fully empty, and that he fell for the gambler’s bluff to be scared of the shot, his whole expression died.

“I really did teach you a good lesson, haven’t I?” Aventurine put the gun back at his back pocket, proceeding to cross his arms. “Not to be rude, but you’re not the best at bluffing. I know you haven’t actually fucked your dick inside Y/N. I could tell it were your fingers against that door.” Sunday’s face darkened even more in surprise, feeling a bit insulted at the his comment on his skills.

Is it that easy to identify when you’re using your fingers instead of your dick? Well, Aventurine was clearly way more experienced at this sort of activity compared to Sunday, so it makes sense that he could identify such a thing.

“You haven’t even touched half of those grounds, much less explore them. How do you expect me to feel threatened by you?” Aventurine crossed his arms, slightly inflating his lungs to appear more powerful than Sunday.

“Don’t you see it, gambler? It doesn’t matter whether I’ve been actually inside her or not. Your dominance is threatened. Your precious girlfriend lied to your face and took advantage of your trust for her so she could get masturbated and manhandled by her boss.” Sunday took a step closer to him. “It’s a shame you didn’t stay for the whole show… You would’ve also listened to me cooking dinner for her, washing her clothes and dishes, then placing her in her bed so I could clean her sofa from the mess we did. Where were you during that time? Oh, yeah, crying and whimpering in your car like a baby. Do you really think that won’t make her think about the two men in her catalogue? Think about how I’ve taken so much more care for her this whole time compared to you?” Sunday smiled the entire time while he made Aventurine reflect about what he said, forcing his smirk to weaken a bit. “You’ve lost power, gambler. And you are still losing it.” Sunday finalized his talk a bit more serious, pausing for a moment to see his expression of struggle. “Admit your defeat before it starts to hurt you more.” Aventurine closed his eyes for a moment to facepalm his face again, laughing at Sunday’s challenge.

“You know how it works, birdie, I don’t do bets where I’m not—” But as soon as he opened them again, he found nothing but your building and the streets in front of him, freezing everything to try processing what had happened. “Fucking coward…” Aventurine assumed he’d just dissipated the hologram, turning his eyes to the streets again.

.

“What the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuuuuckkk..!” You repeated yourself over and over again as you walked around your house in pure confusion and desperation.

What the fuck just happened?! What the fuck did you do?! You fucked with your boss?! Your boss?! Out of everyone you know?! Mr. Oak?! And what the fuck happened to your house?! The kitchen is entirely clean, the counter almost reflecting your image on it from how clear it was, and also two bags with groceries on top of it with your market list all crossed out in the fridge! Your sofa was entirely clean from the mess you did with Sunday on it and all your clothes were clean, dry and piled up on top of each other, just waiting to be put back at your drawers!

Did Sunday do all of this?!

Why?!?!

You anxiously picked up your phone, in search of Sunday’s contact despite still being so embarrassed from what you had just done with him, and opened your messenger app.

There were two unread notifications. One from Sunday himself and an unknown number, which you assumed was Aventurine.

…

…

OH MY GOD, AVENTURINE.

You immediately opened the unknown number’s chat with you, meeting a total of three missed calls from them.

Oh, you messed up. Now you have 100% messed up.

You didn’t only fuck with another man, but you did it right before meeting with him, fell asleep and missed the fucking meeting! That means you’ve left him waiting for… 2 hours!!!

But fortunately, as you read his messages, you’ve realized how luck decided to stay by your side this time.

Hey Y/N

Aventurine here

Unfortunately I had to cancel our little meeting…

The IPC surprisingly needs me more than I need you…

I’m just kidding

No one else needs something as much as I need you ❤️

Not even close

Are you free tomorrow?

I have all day for you ;)

Maybe I can take you to that fancy restaurant you love… then we go shopping… then we finally settle down to talk

Is that ok with you?

I’ll patiently wait for your answer, my princess

Love you ❤️

You giggled a bit.

What are the chances of the IPC actually being helpful to someone?!

Although you found it a bit weird how someone as unserious as Aventurine when it came to work to prioritize it rather than you. Especially because… he’d typically do the contrary. He’d leave the IPC behind to solely focus on your needs and attend them.

Well, it doesn’t matter. If he can’t come, he can’t come. He is a Stoneheart, so, maybe his lazy and procrastinating choices are finally having their consequences… You can only imagine how exhausted you’d be if you ever procrastinated Sunday’s demands.

I could meet you tomorrow at night

But you can still come here after you’re done with work if you want to

Maybe you can come at 8?

You even thought about answering his last message with “I love you too”, but it didn’t feel appropriate in the slightest. You two were broken up, you have slightly fallen out of love with him because of this whole abortion mess, and you had just fucked with your boss.

After waiting for a green dot to appear under his default profile picture for a while, only to be fully ghosted, you decided to move on and see what Sunday had sent you.

Hello, dear,

If you’re wondering why is your kitchen so clean and what are those bags in your counter, no need to worry. That was me. You were very sleepy after our moment, and I would never let a lady like you, especially after going through such a rough surgery, to be overwhelmed by so many house chores when you are supposed to come back to work tomorrow. I hope my assistance was helpful. There’s no need for you to worry about ‘paying me back’ too.

By the way, I am aware that what we did was very unusual and it might’ve scared you at first, and it might still be scaring you now, so I feel like I must assure you of the fact that this won’t affect your job at all. We’ll continue as boss and secretary as we’ve always been during the daylight.

If you are uncomfortable with what happened, either me or the act itself, please, always feel free to open up to me, whether it is to discuss it or to keep making progress. But I won’t demand you to give me an answer now.

Rest well, dear.

Have a good day.

Wow.

This text… doesn’t feel real.

Mita funny how both of them texted you at similar times… as if the world was starting to show you exactly what you’ve gotten yourself into.

It feels like as if Sunday could read your mind.

You were starting to be concerned about your relationship with him indeed, even during the act itself, and neither did you want to give him an immediate answer. Although you typically hate taking advantage of the permissions or benefits that Sunday gives you, you decided to take this one and turn off your phone momentarily. This whole messy situation made your brain so busy and worried that it actually made you feel sick.

Your stomach felt a bit uneasy and your womb seemed to be contracting a little, giving you that good-old sensation of period cramps. So, you quickly rushed to the bathroom and opened your sink’s left drawer, where you kept all your medicine in, both normal ones and the ones prescribed for you after this surgery. You didn’t even bother getting a cup of water and just swallowed the little pill whole in a blink, a bitter taste spreading itself through your tongue and gums after it.

Fortunately, you were distracted from the taste of the pill due to your phone beeping again. And so, you picked it up again, the screen immediately turning on when it sensed your touch.

Surprisingly, it was your second ‘boss’, Robin Oak.

Hello, Y/N

Sunday told me you’re done with your surgery and that you got out of the hospital a few days ago. Is that true?

You immediately unlocked your phone to answer her, heading to Robin’s chat with you in your messenger app.

Yeah!

Finally home again ☺️

You decided to act extra sweet with Robin to not give her any unnecessary worries. She’s a worldwide pop-star. She already has too much trouble to deal with for you to bother her with yours, but knowing how kind Robin is… you doubted it would work. Sunday ordered you to not bother her with this trouble too anyway, so you had extra reasons to act soft with her.

That’s so good to hear!

I’ve been worried sick about you…

So much that I’ve praying for your wellness every night these past weeks.

You’ve always been so helpful to me and my brother… I should be helpful to you too.

Are you capable of leaving your home yet? Or are you still sick? We could hang out around Penacony this week and go shopping! 😊

Ms. Oak…

You’re too kind…

There’s no need to worry about me at all, I’m doing really well

We can hang out this week if you really want to, but if you plan in spoiling me with jewelry, I must stop you in advance…

But you must accept my gratitude!!!!!

Or did my brother m already spoil you?!?!?!

He told me he paid you a visit today!

Please don’t tell me he left me with nothing to do for you!!!!!!!

Well…

He just came by to talk a bit and help me with house chores.

Nothing serious.

Of course he did…

Ever since that episode in the casino he hasn’t stopped worrying about you once.

I’m not surprised he’s the first one to visit you.

…

Episode in the casino? What was she talking about?

What episode?

Oh.

You don’t know?

Well, Sunday has indeed been trying his best to keep this hidden from the public, but…

I’m surprised you don’t know about it…

Him and some guy from the IPC fought in his casino.

I don’t remember his name now but I’m pretty sure it was a Stoneheart…

…

…

…

What..?

What?

You typed back urgently.

For some reason it made a bit of sense.

The only Stoneheart resent in Penacony at this very moment was Aventurine under some orders of investigation.

Aventurine got you pregnant accidentally and Sunday has been acting overprotective of you ever since. Maybe Sunday went after him to discuss the topic, but… how would that lead to a fight? Both Sunday and Aventurine are diplomatic, and Aventurine in particular never had any sort of bad intentions with you to trigger Sunday.

But his overprotection of you… Was he upset about your pregnancy for some reason?

I don’t know a lot about it, but I know for a fact it happened.

What do you mean they fought?

Why would they ever fight?

I wish Sunday would tell me that too…

He could barely look me in the eye when I was confronting him about it…

I found it out through Penacony gossip pages in social media

I don’t think you’ll be able to find anything about it now because he’s targeting those posts too.

Any guesses?

You hated Ms. Robin’s unawareness. Even if she did know about your pregnancy, she didn’t know who’s the father is, much less that it was this father who Sunday fought with apparently…

I have no clue either.

I need to go now, Ms. Oak.

Home chores can’t do themselves alone, can they?

You smacked your phone back in the counter again facing downwards.

No, it can’t be true. It shouldn’t be making any sense.

It could be anyone who Sunday fought with. Who knows if the person he fought with is indeed from the IPC? Especially the Stonehearts? It’s just a rumor. It could’ve easily been altered to attract the eyes of the public.

Right..?

“Promise me you’ll never stop working for the Family… Promise me you’ll always be my secretary… Even if I make bad decisions… Even if I start doing something you hate… I want you to be there for me. Always. I’ll give you everything that you want…”

“From the bottom of my heart, Y/N… I lo—”

—ve you…

… That’s what he wanted to say, right..?

After everything he’s done to you now, it’s very clear that it was surely what he meant to say.

He loves you.

Sunday loves you.

Sunday Oak loves you.

And a man who loves a woman would surely be upset if she got pregnant by someone else, right? Maybe enough to take the matter in his own hands? Even if they’re not usually violent? A case as serious and heartbreaking as this could shake any man’s mind, wouldn’t it?

…

…

…

…

…

You should sleep.

This new information is still too vague and mysterious to you. You should stop overthinking about something you have no idea about.

You’ll need to do your own research before reaching your own conclusions. Whether it is talking to Robin, searching it up on social media or…

Talking to either Sunday or Aventurine.

Taglist: @mel-vaz @gaboplaydespacito @weirdcatkid @something-i-can-never-have @hana-no-seiiki @frootyanthem @ruikeremi @thegriffinbird @vortexbloom

Don’t forget to like and comment if you liked it! <3

[absdollievu]

Ruin me gently

bully!abby x fem!reader

Warnings: slight nsfw towards the end, public-ish sex

You hated Abby Anderson before you even knew what the word “hate” really meant. It started in kindergarten — she knocked over your juice box and called you a crybaby when you dared to tell the teacher. Her laugh was loud and mean and got under your skin like splinters.

That was the first time you swore vengeance. The first of many.

Every year, like clockwork, Abby made it her goddamn mission to ruin you.

In middle school, she got a growth spurt. You didn’t. Suddenly, she was towering over everyone — all muscle and swagger. She shoved you into lockers just for fun. Flicked your ears in class. You’d be mid-sentence, and she’d interrupt with some loud, stupid joke that made the rest of the room laugh. But it was never funny to you. Not once.

And high school? High school was worse.

You remember the locker room incident with surgical precision — a trauma branded into your teenage brain. You came back from the shower, and your clothes were gone. Completely gone. All that was left were your underwear, dangling from Abby’s stupidly strong fingers as she paraded them around like some kind of trophy.

“Look at this!” she had laughed, loud enough to echo. “The legendary cherished chonies — guarded like the holy grail.”

You wanted to die. No — you wanted her to die. And if you’d been even a little taller, a little stronger, maybe you would’ve launched yourself at her right then and there. But she was always bigger. Always stronger.

So you waited. Bided your time. And whenever the universe handed you a sliver of opportunity — when she tripped, or slipped, or even just dropped her guard — you hit back. Once, you managed to deck her right in the jaw during sparring. Your knuckles throbbed for days, but the memory of her surprise? Worth it.

She laughed then, too — blood in her teeth.

“You’re so fucking feral,” she said, almost impressed.

God, you hated her.

You hated the way she called you “runt” with that smug grin. Hated the way her biceps flexed when she pulled herself up onto fences. Hated that you noticed.

And you especially hated that part of you was obsessed. Not in a like way — fuck no. It was in your bones, how badly you wanted to wipe that smirk off her face. How you dreamed of pinning her, embarrassing her the way she did to you.

But it was impossible.

She was nearly five times your size, and she knew it. Weaponized it.

⸻

You hated Abby Anderson like it was your religion.

And it wasn’t just the shoving or the stolen clothes. It was how she never let up — how even when you were minding your business, she’d just appear. Like a goddamn curse.

“Hey, shortstack,” she’d greet you with a smirk, nudging your shoulder with hers hard enough to knock you off balance. “Grow an inch yet?”

You’d roll your eyes, jaw clenched. “Die mad about it.”

That was the thing: you didn’t run. Not once. Even when she got in your face, even when she pinned you against lockers with that smug, infuriating smile — you never backed down.

You didn’t want to give her the satisfaction.

But then something… shifted.

It started small. Instead of just shoving you, she’d lean in close — close enough that her breath ghosted your ear.

“New shampoo?” she’d ask, mock-sweet. “Smells like strawberries and desperation.”

You grit your teeth and shoved her back, but she didn’t push harder. She just laughed, low in her throat, and walked off like she hadn’t just short-circuited your whole nervous system.

Then came the nicknames. Not just “runt” or “loser,” but new ones. Weirder ones.

“Sweetheart.”

“Bite-size.”

“Princess.”

The worst part? She only used them when no one else was around. Like they were private. Like she was claiming something.

And you—God, you wanted to scream. You didn’t like it. You didn’t like the way your stomach twisted or how heat crept up your neck. You especially didn’t like the way her eyes lingered on your mouth when you talked, like she wasn’t even listening to the words — just waiting for an excuse to say something filthy.

She was toying with you. She had to be.

So you started fighting back — not just with fists or words, but with venom dipped in sugar. Quiet digs, whispered jabs that made her raise a brow.

“Wow,” you’d say, eyes flicking down her arms. “All that muscle and still couldn’t open a pickle jar yesterday. Impressive.”

And she’d grin. Not angry — not even annoyed. Just… entertained. Like you were her favorite little game.

Sometimes you’d find her staring at you across the yard, arms crossed, head tilted. Not menacing. Just watching. Assessing.

The next time she shoved you, she didn’t slam you into anything. She just pressed you up against the wall, one hand flat beside your head, eyes dark and unreadable.

“You’ve got a mouth on you lately,” she said, voice quiet.

You scowled. “Must’ve learned it from you.”

Her smile widened. “That right?”

You didn’t answer. Wouldn’t give her the satisfaction.

But when she leaned in — too close, again — you didn’t move. Not an inch.

And that silence between you? That was new. Electric. Heavy with something unsaid.

Something shifting.

And you hated it.

You hated how it made your heart race. You hated how your body stopped recognizing the difference between rage and want.

But most of all?

You hated that you couldn’t stop thinking about what she’d do if you finally shoved her back.

And meant it.

⸻

The locker room’s quiet — steam clinging to the air, the harsh hum of overhead lights the only noise. You towel off your hair, muscles sore, mind already halfway out the door.

You hear the door creak open.

You don’t have to look. You know that sound. Heavy boots, confident stride.

Abby.

You roll your eyes and mutter under your breath, just loud enough for your own satisfaction, “Here comes fun sunshine.”

You think you got away with it — until her voice slices through the stillness, sharp and amused.

“What was that?”

Your hand pauses mid-dry. You don’t look up. Don’t give her the fucking satisfaction. Just keep rubbing the towel through your hair like she’s not there, like her presence doesn’t light every nerve in your body on fire.

Silence.

Then the scuff of her boots moving closer.

You see her shadow shift, her voice lower, soaked in challenge. “Say it again,” she says, tongue poking into the corner of her cheek, eyes locked on you like she’s already got you pinned. “I fucking dare you.”

You finally look up. Her arms are crossed, her body close — too close — heat radiating off her like a furnace. That smirk’s plastered on her face like it was born there.

You raise a brow, unimpressed. “Didn’t think you were hard of hearing.”

That’s all it takes.

She steps into your space, slow and deliberate, backing you up until your spine hits cold metal. Her hand slams against the locker next to your head — not touching you, but caging you in like prey, and making you flinch. Her body crowds yours, chest nearly brushing against your towel-wrapped skin.

You don’t breathe.

Her eyes search yours, flicking down to your mouth for just a second too long.

The smirk never leaves.

“You’ve got a lot of attitude for someone who shakes when I breathe on ‘em,” she murmurs, voice low and full of something that makes your skin prickle.

“I’m not scared of you,” your breath hitched

She leans in, lips inches from yours, the air charged and suffocating.

“No,” she says, voice barely above a whisper. “You’re not. That’s what makes this fun.”

Your heart is a jackhammer. Your fists clenched so tight your nails dig into your palms. Every instinct screams to push her, hit her, kiss her — and fuck, it’s all blending together now, tangled beyond recognition.

Her hand slides just slightly down the locker, fingertips brushing your side, making your breath hitch.

And then—

The door slams open.

Laughter echoes down the row of lockers. Someone shouting a joke, oblivious. Casual. Normal.

Abby freezes. Her hand drops.

She steps back like nothing happened — like she wasn’t just about to ruin you against cold metal — and flashes you a look over her shoulder. Not regret. Not even apology.

Just that same smug glint.

Her voice is casual, cocky. “Later, sweetheart.”

And then she’s gone.

You’re left standing there, towel slipping a little lower, skin flushed, chest heaving, fists still clenched — pulse roaring like a war drum.

Fuck.

You hate her.

You hate her so fucking much.

⸻

It’s quiet.

The kind of quiet you like — not the silence of tension, but the calm hum of pages turning, low whispers, footsteps muffled by carpet. You’re curled into the corner of a table near the back of the library, thick book in hand, attention fixed. Peace. Finally.

Then the door opens.

And of course it’s her.

You don’t even need to look up. You can feel her — the shift in air pressure, the smug gravitational pull of her presence.

You don’t react. Don’t flinch. Maybe if you ignore her, she’ll go away.

Spoiler: she doesn’t.

Abby stalks straight past all the empty tables in the library and drops into the seat right across from you.

You lift your eyes just enough to glare at her over the rim of your book.

She’s slouched in the chair like she owns it — broad arms crossed, a slight tilt to her head like she’s bored. But her eyes? They’re locked on you, gleaming with trouble.

“Didn’t peg you for the reading type,” she murmurs.

You don’t bite. Just flip the page.

She grins wider. “What’s that about? Another teen fantasy about a sad boy with a tragic past?”

You sigh, slow and deep. “It’s about forensics.”

“Oh, sexy.” She says with her cocky tone that you absolutely fucking hated.

You finally lower the book. “Do you just wander around looking for people to annoy or is this a special service just for me?”

Her grin only deepens, dimples threatening to make her look charming — which is unfair, because nothing about her should be allowed to look soft.

“I only give this much attention to people I like.”

You scoff.

Then she’s up, and for a second, you think she’s leaving — until she rounds the table and drops into the seat next to you, thigh brushing yours.

Too close.

You shift, but there’s nowhere to go. Her heat is right there, all-consuming, and she leans in like she’s reading over your shoulder.

“What’s this part mean?” she asks, pointing at a diagram.

You stare at her. “You seriously care?”

“Nope,” she says, popping the p — and she grins again. “But you do. That’s interesting.”

You freeze.

That… wasn’t a dig. It wasn’t a joke.

You glance at her. She’s watching you — but not in that cocky, cruel way. She’s genuinely looking. Curious. Focused. And worse — close. Her breath brushes your cheek when she exhales.

“You’re smart,” she says quietly. “Kinda hot.”

You blink, pulse stuttering.

Then her hand is on your thigh, casual, like it’s always belonged there. Heavy and warm and intentional. You’re not even sure how it got there, or when you let her get this close.

“I could be nice to you, y’know,” she murmurs, lips dangerously close to your ear. “If you asked.”

You hate the shiver that runs down your spine.

“I’m not asking,” you whisper.

She hums low in her throat — a sound that vibrates through you. “No. You like it better when I take it.” You say with instant regret.

Her hand slides higher, slow, testing the waters. Her fingers graze bare skin above your knee, slipping under your shorts, just a tease. You suck in a breath and she smiles, lazy and full of hunger.

Your hand catches hers, stopping it. But you don’t pull away.

She leans in, voice like honey and heat. “What? Library’s too sacred for you?”

Her thigh presses against yours. Her lips ghost over the shell of your ear.

And fuck it — your restraint breaks.

You grab her shirt, drag her in, and your mouths collide in a kiss that’s messy and angry and needy. Her tongue slides against yours, claiming, demanding, and you meet her just as fiercely, biting her lip hard enough to draw a sound out of her throat that goes straight to your core.

Her hand’s between your thighs now, moving with confident precision, knuckles dragging along the seam of your shorts. You gasp into her mouth, and she swallows it like she’s starving. Starting the fast circles on your clothed cunt.

And then—

Footsteps.

Voices.

She pulls away instantly, lips red, pupils blown, hand retreating.

She exhales, glancing toward the aisle. Then back at you.

“Guess we’ll finish this somewhere else,” she murmurs.

And with one last smirk, she gets up and walks away.

You pause

What the fuck just happened

And most importantly

Why the fuck did you enjoy it.

⸻

a/n: OH MY GOD, kinda cringed halfway through this but I hope you guys enjoyed💕💕 part 2??

[jungkoode]

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 19

˗ˏˋ redefining stances ˎˊ˗

"You have always put people in different categories: friends, dating and fucking. And the idea of someone redefining that makes your chest twist inwardly, because that's just not how it works. Never has."

next | index

⋆｡°✩ chapter details ✩°｡⋆

word count: 15k

content: parental expectations, inner monologue, anxiety attacks, body reactions, redefining terms (friendship), fights, communicating (kind of...), subtle propositions, blowjob, handjob, embarrassment and insecurity / self-doubt (f), guiding (m), orgasm, cumming on face, hanging out plans.

✧ author's note ✧

WHEEEEEEW. okay. hi. hello. greetings. blessings upon your crops.

So first of all, I must humbly report that the new goal system (Tumblr and Wattpad having to align like twin stars) is working beautifully. It gave me a luxurious (dare I say scandalous) nine-day window to edit, tweak, breathe, and cry. And I only did one of those things on the floor (take a wild guess). I’m keeping it for now, besties. Let’s see if it continues to save me from myself.

Now. This chapter. Yeah. She’s 15k. And I would say “I don’t know how that happened,” but I would be lying through my teeth. Ask Koopsy. The BJ scene alone was 3k at one point. And then I had time. And we all know what happens when I have time. I rewrote it. And suddenly it’s eight. I regret nothing. It’s unhinged but like… in a deliciously purposeful way.

I especially loved dragging some vulnerability out of our girl—Y/N’s still that stubborn “keep it all inside or die” kind of girlie, but you’ll see her starting to leak, emotionally. And the way Jungkook isn’t being mocking when she cracks a little? When she masks her insecurity and he just sees her? HELLO. I giggled. I kicked my feet. I twirled my hair.

Also?? This chapter really digs into how fundamentally opposite they are when it comes to emotional frameworks. Like, Y/N hears “friendship” and sees expectations, accountability, people expecting her to care back. Hard pass. Meanwhile Jungkook is like “let’s label this so we can safely not fall.” LMAO. It’s giving defensive strategies 101. It’s giving textbook avoidant-anxious overlap. It’s giving both of you need therapy immediately and maybe a hug.

BUT. You’ll also see a little growth. A spark. A whisper of a maybe. She doesn’t fully shut down. She doesn’t say “no.” She’s simmering. And as someone with trauma? That simmer is progress. That’s real. That’s human. That’s our girl doing her best with a backpack full of emotional grenades.

Anyway. This is your 4x VERY slow emotional slow burn reminder. If you’re here hoping they’ll acknowledge feelings soon—first of all, who are you? Second of all, no. Third of all, this is not a customer service inbox. You don’t get to file complaints. You get to suffer. That’s the deal.

Enjoy the chapter, scream in my inbox, or join the crying circle on Tumblr where the rest of Kiki Nation gathers to chant “girl what the hell” in unison.

Welcome if you're new. Godspeed if you’ve been here.

Kiki out.

⋆｡°✩ read on✩°｡⋆

ao3

wattpad

Pancakes smell like rain and roses and a home you can't go back to.

The smell is soft at first, curling around the edges of your consciousness as you blink against the morning light filtering through the blinds. Warm and familiar, it drags you back—not to this kitchen, not to this apartment, but somewhere far away. Somewhere softer. Somewhere safer.

Pancakes always smelled like home. Like rainy mornings where the sky was a patchwork of grays and blues, stitched together by streaks of silver rain that blurred the world outside the window. Mom would hum as she worked, her voice low and steady, blending with the sound of batter hitting the pan and the hiss of butter melting into golden pools.

She never measured anything—not really. Just a spoonful here, a dash there, warm milk poured straight from the carton into the bowl without hesitation. She’d laugh when Dad complained about her ‘eyeball method,’ but he never said no to her pancakes. Not once.

The kitchen always smelled alive on those mornings—like butter and sugar and coffee mingling in the air, weaving through the faint floral scent of the potted roses Mom kept near the window. She swore they dulled the smell of food, but they never did. The pancakes always won, their buttery sweetness overpowering everything else until it felt like you could taste them just by breathing.

You loved those mornings. Loved how they made the house feel lived in for once—like more than just walls and furniture and people passing each other on their way to somewhere else. On rainy days, it felt like home. Like something worth staying for.

Maybe that’s why pancakes were your favorite. Not because of how they tasted (though they were always perfect—soft and fluffy with just enough sweetness to make you grin through a mouthful), but because of what they meant. Because they were more than breakfast; they were a memory stitched together with rain and roses and laughter that echoed long after the plates were cleared.

You close your eyes now, letting the smell wash over you like a wave, pulling you under until all you can think about is that kitchen—the one with the chipped tiles and mismatched chairs where Mom would stand with batter-stained hands and Dad would sip his coffee too loudly just to annoy her.

And for a moment—for one fleeting second—you’re there again.

Home.

The problem with perfect memories is they're usually lies.

And then it's gone.

The mirage of home evaporates like morning dew on grass, leaving behind the acrid aftertaste of something that never really existed. Not like that. Not with the softness your mind painted over the jagged edges.

Those pancake mornings? They always came with conditions.

‘Straight A's this semester, honey? Pancakes on Sunday!’

‘Piano recital went well? Let's celebrate with breakfast tomorrow.’

‘SAT prep finished early? I'll make your favorite in the morning.’

Always a reward. Always a transaction. No matter how much vanilla extract Mom added to the batter, you could still taste the expectation underneath—bitter and metallic, like pennies on your tongue.

Makes sense why you can't enjoy things without earning them first. Why everything has to be deserved.

The scent wafting through the apartment shifts now. No longer just butter and sugar and rain-soaked roses, but something sharper. Something that stings the back of your throat and makes your stomach twist.

Guilt.

Because who the fuck resents pancakes? Who looks at a mother standing over a hot stove, humming while she makes your favorite breakfast, and thinks: this isn't enough?

You do, apparently.

You who had everything—the nice house, the private school, the parents who ‘just wanted what was best.’ The ungrateful daughter who still squirmed under their touch, who counted down the days until college like a prisoner marking time.

You don't have the right to feel trapped by love. You know that.

People would kill for what you had. For parents who showed up. For a home without holes in the walls. For pancakes on Sunday mornings.

So entitled. So privileged.

The voice in your head sounds like Mom when she's disappointed—soft and somehow, sharp at its core. She never raised her voice. 

Never had to. 

Just that quiet, ‘I expected better from you,’ that cut deeper than any scream.

Your teeth grind together, jaw clenching so hard it aches. 

There's a pressure building behind your eyes, hot and insistent, but you refuse to let it out. 

Not over fucking pancakes.

Not over the way Dad would look at your report card before he looked at you. 

Not over the way Mom rescheduled your life without asking, because ‘Yale doesn't accept students who waste time on sketching.’

Not over the way they both pretended your opinion was valued while systematically stripping away every choice that mattered.

‘We're just guiding you. We're just helping. We're just doing what parents are supposed to do.’

The smell of pancakes is suffocating now. Cloying. Sweet in a way that coats your tongue and makes you want to scrape it off.

And still, there's that whisper, that insidious little thought that's been following you since you left: Maybe if you'd been better—more grateful, more deserving—it wouldn't have felt like a cage.

Because that's the real fucked-up part, isn't it? You miss them. Miss the security of those Sunday mornings. Miss knowing exactly what was expected, even as you chafed against it.

Miss feeling like someone cared enough to map out your entire life, even if they never bothered asking which direction you wanted to go.

The guilt surges again, stronger. 

What kind of monster resents safety? What kind of daughter hates being loved?

The kind who runs away to New York and still wakes up in the middle of the night, heart racing, thinking she's late for a lesson she never wanted to take.

The kind who changed her major three times before settling on English, just because it was the one subject Dad thought was ‘impractical.’

The kind who buys her own groceries and pays her own rent and still can't shake the feeling that she's doing everything wrong. That somewhere, someone is keeping score, and you're failing.

The kind who smells pancakes and wants to cry.

Not because you miss home.

But because part of you is afraid it's following you here, to the one place that was supposed to be yours. Just yours. With no expectations attached.

The smell is coming from the kitchen. Someone is making pancakes in your kitchen.

And you don't know whether to smile or scream.

Your fingers clutch your phone, because the pressure building in your chest has to be channeled somewhere. 

The numbers glare back at you, accusatory.

8:00

8:00

8:00

Panic bubbles out of you.

Late. You're late. You're always fucking late. Dad's voice in your head, that disappointed sigh. ‘Time management reflects character, dear.’

You bolt upright, heart hammering against your ribs, and then—

Nothing is right.

The sheets aren't yours. Too dark, too soft. The wall is wrong—black, with one accent wall in deep red that you've definitely never painted. There's a carpet beneath your feet when you swing your legs over the edge. Your water bottle isn't where it should be. Your clothes aren't where you left them, you’re naked.

This isn't your room.

This is Jungkook's room.

Jungkook's bed.

And suddenly last night comes rushing back in fragments that make your skin heat up.

Not the usual—not the snarky comments across the kitchen table or the silent treatment when you're pissed at each other. Not the avoidance of the last four days where you both pretended the other didn't exist.

No, last night was... talking. Just talking. Both of you just... existing in the same space without trying to burn it down.

And then—

Jesus Christ.

You press your palms against your eyes, but that doesn't stop the memory. Him between your thighs, making those sounds like he was the one getting pleasure from it. The way he looked up at you, eyes almost black in the low light. How he touched himself while tasting you, like he couldn't help it.

And then after, when you both should've retreated to separate corners to lick your wounds and rebuild your walls—you didn't. You fucking climbed into his bed. Told him to stay. Like it was nothing. Like it was normal.

What the actual fuck is wrong with you?

You can't even blame alcohol. Two glasses of wine over the entire evening doesn't equal drunk. Doesn't equal stupid decisions. Doesn't equal... whatever the hell last night was.

So what was it?

You drag your hands down your face, feeling the heat in your cheeks. 

Are you really that easy to disarm? One decent conversation, one night where he's not being a complete ass, and suddenly you're sleeping in his bed like some kind of...

Like what? Not a girlfriend. Not a friend with benefits, because friends actually like each other. 

Just... a girl who got confused. Who let her guard down. Who maybe wanted, just for a night, to not fight everything and everyone.

Including yourself.

You grab one of Jungkook’s discarded black T-shirts (oversized ones, because he thinks he’s cool or something) and some clean boxers to entertain your thoughts. 

But it’s no use.

Your fingers dig into your scalp, tugging at your hair. You want to bang your head against the wall until these thoughts scatter, but then you remember—again—that it's not your wall. It's his. This entire space belongs to him, and you're the intruder here.

Except he didn't say no, did he? When you suggested, he didn't really hesitate. Much. Just huffed, carried you and then plopped right next to you. Like maybe he wanted it too.

And for one brief, stupid moment last night, curled up in sheets that still smelled like him, you thought… maybe this could work.

Maybe you could actually be friends.

Real friends.

The kind who talk about shit that matters. Who know things about each other that have nothing to do with sex or power plays. The kind who don’t pretend silence is neutrality and eye contact is war.

But friends means caring. And caring while fucking is a road that leads straight to complication city, population: you, crying on the bathroom floor at 3 AM wondering why you weren't enough.

Fucking is one thing. Dating is another.

Being friends? That’s a whole different monster.

And you’re not naïve enough to believe people can safely be all three at once—not without bleeding somewhere.

Sure, people who date usually start as friends. And yes, most people who date also fuck.

But you?

You don’t date. You detonate.

And Jungkook? He’s got matchsticks for fingers and a mouth that knows exactly where your fault lines are.

So, no. He doesn’t get to be all three. Doesn’t get to orbit your life from multiple angles. Doesn’t get to slip into your day like heat and leave like regret.

He’s not dating material.

But he is fuckable. Dangerously, addictively, ruin-your-life fuckable.

So that’s where he stays. Logically.

You check your phone again. Still 8:00 AM. But it’s Saturday, which means—

Your new job. Barnes & Noble. 10:00 AM.

The panic recedes, leaving behind a hollow sort of relief. 

You're not late. You have time. Two whole hours to figure out how to look Jungkook in the eye without thinking about his mouth between your legs or the way his voice sounded when he talked about his ex or how he looked when he seemed actually, genuinely concerned.

Two hours to rebuild all those walls that somehow, without you noticing, started to crumble.

You're not sure it's enough time.

The heel of your palms dig into your eyes as you let out a sigh that feels like it's been trapped in your chest for days. 

Fucking pancakes. The whole place reeks of them, sweet and buttery and—

Pain slices through you, vicious and unexpected.

"Fuck—" 

Your body curls in on itself automatically, a reflex you can't control. It feels like someone's taken a rusty knife to your insides and decided to twist. Your hand flies to your lower abdomen, pressing against it like that'll somehow help. Like you can hold yourself together through sheer force of will.

The IUD. Has to be.

It's been nagging at you for days now. Little pinpricks, the occasional twinge that made you wince but was easy enough to ignore. 

But this? This is something else entirely. This is your body throwing a full-scale revolt.

You sink back onto Jungkook's bed, chest doubling over toward your knees. 

Breathe in. Breathe out. Just like Mom taught you, back when panic attacks would hit in the middle of the night before big tests. Back when your chest would get tight and the world would spin and everything felt like too much.

‘In through your nose. Hold for four. Out through your mouth.’

‘Good girl. That's my good, brave girl.’

The memory of her voice is so clear it's almost like she's here, sitting next to you on this bed that isn't yours, in this room that smells like someone else. Guiding you through the pain like she always did. Always so calm. Always so sure.

Even when you hated her methods, you never doubted she knew what she was doing.

The pain ebbs, receding like a tide that's bound to come back. It leaves you empty and oddly fragile, staring at the dark gray carpet between your bare feet. The urge to slide back under Jungkook's covers is almost overwhelming. To just hide there until the world feels less overwhelming.

Something soft and warm brushes against your ankle.

Griffin looks up at you with those unblinking amber eyes, his tail a question mark behind him. He makes that little chirping sound that's not quite a meow, more like he's asking if you're okay in the only language he knows.

"Hey, buddy," you murmur, reaching down to scratch under his chin where he likes it best.

He leans into your touch, purring loudly enough that you can feel the vibration through your fingertips. 

Such a simple thing. Touch and response. Need and fulfillment. No conditions, no expectations. Just connection.

It makes your throat feel tight in a way that has nothing to do with pain.

Griffin bumps his head against your palm, demanding more attention. Typical. Exactly like his owner—always taking more than he's given.

The thought makes you snort softly. 

You stand, slower this time, wary of another attack from your rebellious reproductive system—yet nothing happens. Small mercies.

When you open Jungkook's door, the smell of pancakes hits you like a wall. Rich and sweet and somehow wrong. Not like home. Not quite. Different ingredients, different hands.

And there he is. In a fucking Sonic the Hedgehog T-shirt and matching pajama pants. Hair a mess, like he styled it with a fork and an air fryer. Flipping pancakes like he’s got his life together.

Standing in the kitchen with his back to you, shoulders moving slightly in time to whatever's playing through those expensive headphones. Completely in his own world. Completely unaware that you've been having an internal crisis in his bed for the past twenty minutes.

Completely, infuriatingly normal. Like last night changed nothing.

Maybe it didn't. For him. 

Maybe it didn’t. For you.

Or maybe it did. 

You sigh, dragging yourself toward the kitchen because someone needs to make sure he doesn't burn the whole fucking place down. The security deposit is half yours, after all.

Jungkook doesn’t show any sort of acknowledgement, headphones clamped over his ears, head bobbing so violently you're genuinely concerned it might detach from his neck. 

Like his brain doesn't have enough problems already without the potential concussion.

Now that you're closer, you can actually hear him—not just humming, but full-on rapping? along. 

Or trying to. 

The tinny leak from his headphones gives you just enough to recognize that god-awful song that's been all over TikTok lately. 

Gang Baby, NLE Choppa.

Of course that's what this idiot listens to while making breakfast.

He spots you in his periphery and doesn't miss a beat, turning just enough to start mouthing the lyrics directly at you. His eyebrows do this ridiculous waggle when he gets to the part about let me B-A-N-G and let me fuck some.

You curl your lip in disgust, which only makes him snort and rap more enthusiastically.

"Real classy, Rogue. Nothing says 'good morning' like misogynistic garbage at—" you check your phone, "—8:12 AM." 

He pulls one side of his headphones away from his ear. 

"Sorry, what? Couldn't hear you over this absolute banger."

"I said," you position yourself next to him at the counter, peering at whatever he's mixing in that bowl, "you have the musical taste of a horny fourteen-year-old who just discovered his dad's Playboy collection."

"Hey, don't hate. NLE Choppa is a lyrical genius."

"Oh yeah? What's next on your sophisticated playlist? 'Me So Horny'? Maybe some 'My Neck, My Back'? Real breakfast ambiance."

"Those are classics," he grins, completely unashamed. "But I reserve those for special occasions. Seduction purposes only."

"Has that ever actually worked on anyone with more than two brain cells?"

"You tell me, Nix." His voice drops half an octave, eyes flicking down to your lips for just a second before he turns back to his bowl. 

You make an incredulous sound. 

“What the fuck are you making, anyway?"

"Protein pancakes, babyyyy!" He drags out the word, lifting the spatula like it's a trophy.

Your face must show exactly how you feel about that because he laughs.

"What? Gotta maintain these gains." 

The fucking idiot actually flexes then, one arm curling up while he continues to stir with the other.

You swat at him, connecting with his bicep. 

Firm. Solid. Warm. 

You pull your hand back like you've been burned.

"God, you're so fucking stupid."

"Stupid hot, maybe."

You ignore that, moving toward the coffee maker. The one thing in this apartment worth waking up for.

"Ah ah," he tsks, reaching behind him. "Already made you some."

You pause, watching as he passes a mug over to you. 

Your mug. The dark blue one with the chip on the handle that somehow ended up being yours even though you can't remember buying it. Steam curls from it, carrying the rich scent of coffee—strong, with just a hint of hazelnut. 

Exactly how you like it.

You bite the inside of your cheek, wrapping your fingers around the warm ceramic. 

“Thanks," you mutter, the word almost painful to push out.

"So," he says, pouring batter onto the griddle, "you're eating some pancakes, aren't you?"

You purse your lips, hesitating. 

On one hand, protein pancakes sound like something a gym bro invented to justify eating dessert for breakfast. 

On the other, your stomach reminds you it's been empty since those chips you inhaled around midnight.

"Come on," he pushes, "you need protein to maintain that ass, Nix."

Your jaw actually drops. "Excuse me?"

"What?" He grins, ducking his head when you swat at him again. "I'm just saying, would be a pity to throw that to waste. You've got an amazing—"

"Ughhhhh, okay! I got it!" You cut him off before he can finish. "I don’t wanna hear it at this hour. I'll eat your stupid pancakes, my god."

He looks far too pleased with himself, flipping a perfectly golden pancake like he thinks he’s an actual chef or something. 

"They're not stupid, they're nutritionally optimized."

"Is that what your protein powder labels call them? The ones with the half-naked bodybuilders flexing on the front?"

"Hey, don't judge my fitness journey."

"Oh, I'm judging everything about you, Rook. It’s my whole brand.”

He just chuckles, sliding the first pancake onto a plate and pouring more batter. The domesticity of it all is somehow ridiculous.

It feels too normal. Too easy. Like you've done this a hundred times before.

Like maybe you could do it a hundred times more.

Dangerous thought. Very dangerous.

You take a long sip of coffee, letting the bitter heat scald away whatever the hell that feeling was.

Jungkook slides a plate toward you, two perfectly golden pancakes stacked and steaming. 

And honestly; they actually smell... decent. Not like the protein chalk you expected.

"Bon appétit," he says with a ridiculous flourish of his hand. "Try not to fall in love."

"With you or the pancakes?" You grab a fork from the drawer, sitting on one stool and poking at your breakfast suspiciously.

"The pancakes.” He says with a smirk, joining you in the adjacent stool. “I’m too much for you to handle.”

You roll your eyes, taking a reluctant bite. Fuck. They're good. Like, actually good. Not gritty or chalky or tasting vaguely of chemicals like most protein-enhanced food.

His smug grin tells you your face has already betrayed you.

"Don't," you warn, pointing your fork at him.

"Don't what?" He leans forward, one elbow propped on the table. "Don't mention how your eyes just rolled back in your head? Or don't point out that I'm right about something, and that's clearly causing you physical pain?"

"Don't be insufferable before 9 AM." You take another bite, speaking around it. "I haven't had enough coffee to deal with you at full throttle."

"What about last night? You seemed pretty happy dealing with me at full throttle then."

"Seriously? We're doing this now?"

"Doing what?" He stabs his own pancakes with his utensil. "Having breakfast? Talking? Being... you know, normal?"

"Normal. Is that what we're doing?"

"Well, yeah. I mean, last night was..." He shrugs, taking a bite of pancake. "Nice. You know? We actually talked. Didn't try to kill each other. Maybe we could do that more."

Oh god. This is exactly what you were afraid of. This weird, awkward morning-after attempt to redefine things. 

He's going to want to put a label on it now, isn't he? 

Turn your convenient arrangement into something messy with expectations and feelings and other terrifying shit.

Friends. Or friends with benefits or whatever stupid idea he’s about to come up with. 

No. Absolutely not.

"We talked," you say carefully. "We also fucked. Let's not make it weird."

"How is it weird to suggest we could be, I don't know, actual friends?"

And there it is. 

"Friends." You stab at your pancake with more force than necessary. "Right. Because that's what people who've seen each other naked are. Friends."

"I mean, yeah? Friends who fuck. It's a whole thing. People do it all the time."

You look up at him, fork frozen halfway to your mouth. 

“And how's that worked out for you in the past, Rogue? These fuck-buddy friendships of yours—all solid, drama-free arrangements, were they?"

His eyebrows furrow. "I'm not suggesting we start braiding each other's hair and sharing deep dark secrets. Just saying maybe we don't have to pretend we hate each other 24/7."

"I don't hate you," you say automatically, then immediately regret it.

He scoffs. "Progress."

"Don't get excited. I don't like you, either."

"Sure you do." He grins around a mouthful of pancake. "You like parts of me, at least."

"Your modesty, definitely. That's my favorite part."

"Not what you were saying last night."

You throw a napkin at him. It flutters pathetically halfway across the space between you. 

Stupid napkin. Stupid Jungkook.

“Can we just—can we just eat? Without dissecting our relationship status?"

"What's there to dissect? We live together. We fuck sometimes. We talk sometimes. We don't hate each other. Seems pretty straightforward to me."

"Nothing's ever straightforward. Sex is one thing. Friendship is another. Put them together, and it's a disaster waiting to happen."

"Why? What's the issue? You really think if we start being decent to each other, suddenly the whole arrangement falls apart?"

"No, I think if we start being 'decent' to each other, suddenly there are expectations. Suddenly I'm supposed to care if you're having a bad day, or listen to your problems, or worry about your feelings when we're fucking."

"Wow. The horror." He rolls his eyes. "God forbid you acknowledge I'm a human being and not just a convenient dick."

"That's not what I meant—"

"Then what did you mean? Because from where I'm standing, it sounds like you think I'm too fucking stupid to understand boundaries. Like I'll immediately start writing your name in hearts or some shit just because we've upgraded from roommates to friends."

"I didn't say—"

"I don't want to date you, Nix. I don't want to be your boyfriend. I just thought it might be nice to not act like we're in some cold war every time we're in the same room. But if that's too much emotional labor for you, fine. We can go back to pretending the other doesn't exist unless we're naked."

The sting of his words surprises you. Why do you even care? This is what you want—no messy emotions, no expectations. Just the convenience of living together and occasionally hooking up. Clean. Simple.

Except now it feels anything but.

"You're twisting what I said."

"Am I? So you're not freaking out about the terrifying prospect of actually being friends with the guy you've been sleeping with?"

"I am not freaking out." You are absolutely freaking out. "I just think it's... cleaner. If we keep things the way they are."

"Cleaner." He snorts. "Right. God forbid anything in your life gets messy."

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"It means you've got your shit locked down so tight you're about to snap in half." He stands up, grabbing his mug of coffee. "You think I don't see it? How hard you try to control everything? How fucking terrified you are of anything that doesn't fit into your perfectly organized boxes?"

Your grip on the fork tightens. "Oh, please. Tell me more about myself, Rook. You've known me for what, one month? Clearly you're an expert."

"I may not know shit, but I see enough. I see you'd rather cut someone out completely than risk them having any kind of power over you.”

"Fuck you," you spit, but it comes out weaker than you intended. 

Because he's not wrong, and that's the worst part.

"Yeah, we've established that part works great." He drops his plate on the sink and it clatters noisily. “Look, forget it. You want to keep pretending we're strangers who occasionally fuck? Fine. Works for me. Less work anyway."

"That's not what I said." You stand up. "I just don't see why we need to redefine everything. Why can't we just... let it be what it is?"

"Because I don't even know what the fuck it is! Am I your roommate? Your fuck buddy? That guy you hate but tolerate because the rent is cheaper split three ways? What the hell am I supposed to tell people when they ask about you?"

"Why are people asking about me?"

"Jesus Christ." He throws his hands up. "That's what you focus on? Not the point, Phoenix."

"Then what is the point? Spell it out for me, since I'm clearly too stupid to get it."

"The point is, I talk to you more than I talk to most of my actual friends. I see you every day. I know how you take your coffee and what you look like when you come. So excuse the fuck out of me for thinking maybe, just maybe, we could drop the whole 'we're just roommates who tolerate each other' act and admit we might actually be friends."

You stare at him, chest tight with something you can't name. 

Can't or won't. 

This is exactly what you've been avoiding—this messy, complicated conversation that blurs all the neat lines you've drawn.

"I don't do friends with benefits," you finally say, voice quiet, your plate joining his. "It never works. Someone always ends up hurt."

"Who said anything about hurt? It's not that deep, Nix. We're not in a fucking rom-com."

"No, we're in real life, where things get complicated and messy and people have expectations they don't even realize until they're disappointed."

"The only expectation I have right now is for you to stop overthinking everything for five seconds."

"I'm not overthinking. I'm being realistic."

"You're being paranoid. And kind of insulting, if I'm honest. Like I'm some lovesick puppy who can't handle a casual arrangement."

“I’m paranoid? That’s rich coming from you, Ro. Real fucking rich."

His eyes narrow. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"It means you're a fucking hypocrite." The words tumble out, hot and fast. "You want to talk about being friends? About opening up? That's hilarious coming from the guy who deflects every personal question with some stupid joke."

"I don't—"

"You absolutely do. Every time." You step closer, jabbing a finger in his direction. "Ask about your financial situation? Oh, it's fine, just selling a kidney next week, ha ha. Ask about your ex? Turn it into some bullshit story about how she 'graded' you after sex, like it's all a big fucking joke."

His jaw tightens, a muscle jumping beneath the skin. "That's different."

"How? How is it different? You want me to be all open and friendly, but all you do is deflect and crack jokes.”

"I didn’t say anything about being all open and—”

"Then what are you saying?" You throw your hands up, frustration making your voice rise. "Because it sounds like you want all the benefits of friendship without any of the actual vulnerability. You want me to be your friend when it's convenient, but god forbid I ask about anything that matters."

"What do you want to know, Nix? What deep dark secret are you dying to hear? How I'm drowning in debt because my ex fucked up my credit? How I can barely make rent some months? How I wake up in the middle of the night panicking about money? Is that friendly enough for you?"

The sudden honesty knocks the wind out of you. Your mouth opens, closes, opens again like a fish gasping on land.

"That's what I thought." He tilts his head, motion clearly angry. "You don't actually want to know that shit. You just want to point out that I don't share it to win an argument."

You both stand there, breathing hard, like you’re studying each other.

But then Griffin rubs against your ankle, completely oblivious to the emotional warfare happening above his head and you…

You, honestly, feel tired.

Bone-deep tired. 

It's too early for this much... whatever this is.

"Look," you sigh, the fight draining out of you. "Maybe we're both right, in our own way. And maybe we're both being assholes."

He blinks, clearly not expecting the shift. 

After a moment, his shoulders drop a fraction.

"I’m listening.”

"Last night wasn't terrible," you say, choosing your words carefully. "Talking. Whatever. Maybe we don't need to define everything right now?"

"Revolutionary concept." His voice has lost its edge, that familiar sardonic tone creeping back in. "Not immediately labeling every interaction. Who would've thought?"

"Shut up." 

You pick up your coffee mug again, taking a sip to hide the relief washing over you. 

Crisis averted. Boundaries preserved. 

For now.

"So what are you saying?" he asks, leaning back against the counter. "We just... see where things go?"

"I'm saying maybe we don't have to be strictly roommates or strictly friends. Maybe we can just... exist in the same space sometimes without trying to kill each other. And if it turns out we don't hate it..."

"We can revisit the friend thing?" He raises an eyebrow.

"Maybe." You shrug, aiming for casual. "If you manage not to be completely insufferable."

"Tall order." He's almost smiling now. "I'll have to suppress all my natural charm."

"If that's what you call it."

You roll your eyes, relieved to be back on solid ground. 

This you can handle—the banter, the back-and-forth, the careful dance around anything too real. 

This is safe.

Under control.

"Just eat your protein pancakes, Rogue. Don't you have gains to maintain or whatever?"

"Can't skip arm day," he agrees, flexing dramatically. "These biceps don't maintain themselves."

"God, you're insufferable."

"Yet here you are, eating my pancakes, drinking coffee I made you." He gestures at your mug with his own. "Almost like you tolerate me."

"Stockholm syndrome, obviously."

"Obviously." He hums thoughtfully for a moment. "So, we're good?"

"We're..." you search for the right word, "...fine. For now. Let's just take it a day at a time, okay? No pressure, no expectations."

"I can do that." He nods, looking almost relieved himself. "One day at a time. Starting with today, where you admit my pancakes are fucking amazing."

"They're edible."

"They're incredible and you know it."

"They're protein powder with extra steps."

"They're a culinary masterpiece that your taste buds aren't sophisticated enough to fully appreciate."

"My taste buds are perfectly sophisticated, thank you very much."

"Says the girl who eats chips at midnight."

"At least I don't drink protein shakes for dessert like some kind of psychopath."

"Don't knock it 'til you try it. My midnight chocolate protein shake would change your life."

You make a gagging sound. "I'll pass, thanks."

"Your loss." He shrugs, then glances at the clock. "Don't you have to be at work at 10?"

"Yeah, but it's only—" you check your phone, "—8:30. Plenty of time."

"If you say so." He moves towards the space between the entryway and the couch. "First day, right? Gonna sell some books to the masses?"

"That's generally what happens at a bookstore, yes."

"Well, don't let your sparkling personality scare away the customers."

"I have excellent customer service skills, I'll have you know. I can fake being nice for hours at a time."

“You sure ‘bout that? Haven’t seen you be nice for more than thirty seconds."

"That's because you don't deserve my niceness."

"And the customers at Barnes & Noble do?"

"They're paying for it. You just get the real me."

"Lucky me," he snorts. "So, you nervous? First day and all?"

"It's a retail job, Rogue, not brain surgery. I think I can handle scanning books and saying 'have a nice day' without a panic attack."

"Just asking." He takes a sip from his mug. "Making conversation. Like normal people do."

"Yeah, well." You shift, suddenly uncomfortable with how... normal this feels. 

Like you're actual roommates having an actual conversation. 

Like maybe this friend thing isn't so impossible after all. 

"I should probably start getting ready."

"Right, sure." He nods, glancing at his room. "Wouldn't want you to be late for your first day of shaping young minds through literature."

"It's Barnes & Noble, not the Library of Alexandria."

"Still. Books. Knowledge. Power. You know."

“Has anyone ever told you that you talk a lot of shit for someone who reads, like, one book a year?"

"Hey, I read." He looks genuinely offended. "I just finished that one about the guy who—"

"If you say 'Rich Dad, Poor Dad,' I'm going to throw this mug at your head."

"I was going to say 'The Subtle Art of Not Giving a Fuck,' actually."

"Of course you were." You can't help the laugh that escapes. "How original. Let me guess, you also have 'The 48 Laws of Power' on your nightstand?"

"Whatever, man." He shakes his head, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. "Suck my dick."

The words come out light, amused—a casual dismissal that’s not angry or bitter, just a throwaway line, the kind of thing he'd say to Yoongi or any of his friends when they're giving him shit.

But something about it—the vulgarity or maybe the signature shitty and playful challenge in his eyes—makes you reckless.

"Okay."

You tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, eyes sliding to the side as the word slips out. 

Casual. 

Like you just agreed to pass the salt, not... that.

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His body goes rigid, one foot already pointed toward his bedroom. He turns his head slightly, just enough for you to catch his profile.

"Huh?"

You cross your arms, teeth worrying the inside of your cheek. A shrug lifts your shoulders—noncommittal, like this isn't making your heart hammer against your ribs.

Your eyes drift back to his. Meet and hold.

"I said okay."

He turns fully now, coffee mug dangling forgotten from his fingers. 

"Okay... what?"

"Sucking your dick." 

You watch his throat bobble, the muscles in his neck working as he swallows. Like he’s processing what you just said. Like you just suggested something completely alien, something that requires a full system reboot. 

And okay, fine, maybe it wasn’t the most casual thing to drop into conversation. But still. 

You arch an eyebrow, scowling at him because why is he overthinking this? Does he not want you to do it? Don’t all guys want to get sucked off? Isn’t that, like, a universal truth or something? What’s with the hesitation?

The longer he stands there, frozen and dumbfounded, the hotter your frustration burns. It’s not like you even want to do this (okay, you do, but that’s not the point). 

The point is he’s always the first one to be like “bet” whenever you throw out some reckless suggestion. 

Pushy without being pushy—he knows boundaries, sure, but he’s still the guy who’ll smirk and say “you won’t” just to see if you will. 

And now? The one time you actually offer something? He’s looking at you like you’re speaking Simlish.

You move toward him, until you're face to face. 

His mug wobbles in his grip, coffee sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

You look up at him through your lashes. 

"I said I can suck your dick if that's what you want."

A shaky exhale escapes him, warm against your face.

"Nix..." His voice has dropped an octave, rough around the edges. "Don't fool around. That's not nice."

"I'm not fooling around."

Slowly—so slowly it feels like time has stretched into something thick and syrupy—you sink down to your knees.

The kitchen tile is hard, and really, it should be uncomfortable. Should snap you out of whatever madness has possessed you.

It doesn't.

Jungkook bites down on his lower lip, the sharp edges of his teeth digging into the flesh like he's physically holding back a curse. You can see the evidence of his interest already straining against his pajama pants.

His fucking Sonic pajama pants.

Because of course. Of course this would happen while he's wearing cartoon hedgehogs. Of course this

moment—where you're on your knees in front of him, heart pounding, breath shallow—would come with this absurd detail that makes it real in a way that's almost uncomfortable.

Your hands come to rest on his thighs. 

Strong. Solid. Warm. 

"I mean, we've been hooking up for a month now. Almost." Your voice sounds different to your own ears. Lower. A little breathless. "You've eaten me out multiple times, but... I haven't sucked your dick. Not even once."

Your eyes drop deliberately to the bulge straining against ridiculous cartoon fabric. It should be funny. 

It's not.

"Is it because you didn't want me to?"

He shakes his head. Fast. Emphatic. A jerky motion that tells you everything you need to know.

"So why didn't you ask me?"

He doesn't answer. Can't, maybe. 

His throat works again, adam's apple bobbing. His pupils are blown wide, dark and hungry as he stares down at you.

Your fingers play with the waistband, slowly—so fucking slowly—pulling it down just enough to reveal his hip bones and the trail of dark hair that disappears beneath the elastic.

"Have you thought about it at all?"

"Yes." The word comes out strangled, like it fought its way past whatever restraint he's trying to maintain.

Your eyes snap up to his.

He curses when your eyes lock onto his again—the control you have, even down on your knees.

"Yeah?" 

"Yeah." He exhales, surrender in the sound. "Yes, I've thought about your beautiful plump lips wrapped around my cock, Nix. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

Heat blooms in your cheeks, spreading down your neck, across your chest. 

You hadn't expected him to be so... explicit. So honest.

"Maybe." Your thumbs brush against the skin just above his waistband. "What else have you thought about?"

His mug clatters onto the counter beside him, abandoned and his now-free hand comes to your face, thumb brushing against your bottom lip. 

"Thought about how you'd look," he murmurs, voice pitched low enough that you have to strain to hear it. "On your knees. Just like this. Those big eyes looking up at me while you take me in your mouth.”

Jesus. 

Your body responds instantly, a rush of heat between your thighs that makes you press them together unconsciously.

When did Jungkook get so... articulate?

His thumb presses slightly against your lip, just enough to part them. "Thought about how warm your mouth would be.

How good it would feel. How you'd sound."

"How l'd sound?”

A smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, confidence returning as he watches your reaction. "The little noises you'd make. The way you'd moan around my cock when I pull your hair."

Oh.

Your hand moves higher, finding the hard length of him through his pajamas. He hisses through his teeth when you palm him, fingers wrapping around his shape.

"Like this?" you ask, squeezing gently.

His hand moves to your hair, fingers tangling in the strands at the back of your head. 

Not pulling. Not yet. Just holding.

"Getting there." His voice is strained now, tight with need.

"But in my head, there's a lot less talking and a lot more—"

"Sucking?"

His laugh is half groan. "Yeah, Nix. A lot more sucking."

"Hmmm" you murmur. "Where's all that big talk from earlier?"

"Temporarily relocated," he manages. "Blood flow issues."

That startles a laugh out of you, breaking the tension for just a moment. Trust Jungkook to crack a joke while you're literally about to have his dick in your mouth.

Your hands pause, giving his bulge another soft squeeze before—

“Wait—couch.” He grabs your wrist, stopping your motions. “Let’s do this properly.”

“Seriously?”

“Yeah? Better for your neck and knees and all that. Let’s go.”

You roll your eyes but follow as he then drops onto the couch, sprawling like he owns the place—which, technically, he does, but still. His left elbow hooks over the cushion rest lazily, and his knuckles come up to rest against his cheek as he leans into it. 

The picture of nonchalance. 

Except for the way his hips shift slightly, rolling upward in a small, deliberate motion as he spreads his legs wider.

Your eyes narrow. 

That little buck of his hips? The way his thighs stretch out as if to frame you? It’s not subtle. 

Neither is the look he’s giving you now—those half-lidded bedroom eyes that always seem to appear when he’s horny. His lips curve into something smug, and god he’s so obvious it’s almost embarrassing. Like one of those guys in bad romance novels who lounges around shirtless, flexing for no reason except to remind everyone they have abs.

“So?” His voice is low, dragging out the single syllable like a challenge.

You cross your arms tighter over your chest, glaring at him because—what? Is this supposed to be seductive? Is this his idea of foreplay? 

“You’re already making me regret this, you know that?”

He snorts, the sound sharp and amused as he tilts his head slightly. “I don’t know why I doubt that.”

Your only response is a scoff—short and derisive—as you step closer. The floor feels uneven beneath your feet, though you know it isn’t. It’s just your nerves playing tricks on you. 

Because this is real now. This is happening. You’re about to suck cock. Rogue’s cock.

You want this. You do. You’ve been curious about this for longer than you’d care to admit—curious about him, about what he likes and how he reacts and whether he’ll look as smug when he’s falling apart under your mouth. 

But still… You haven’t exactly done this much before.

David—the forgettable high school boyfriend who thought foreplay was optional—had pretty much stuck his dick in you and called it a day. He didn’t even know girls could orgasm until you brought it up once during an argument (and even then, he seemed skeptical). 

Your life hasn't been that tragic since then, thankfully.

A few hookups here and there have shown you that men aren't a total lost cause after all—some of them even know what they're doing! But sucking dick?

That's... different. It's not something you've done often enough to feel confident about it.

Sure, you know the basics—you've read enough spicy books and fanfics to have a decent idea of what works (English majors don't judge; they research). 

But knowing what works in general isn't the same as knowing what Jungkook likes. 

And this is his cock you’re talking about—his stupidly perfect body and his stupidly perfect everything else.

And now here you are, kneeling between Jungkook’s thighs while he looks down at you with that stupid smirk of his.

You glance up at him expectantly, hoping for some kind of cue or instruction or… anything really. Like he always does, talk shit with that big mouth of his. Dirty talk or whatever. 

But all he does is blink at you for a moment before he hooks his thumbs into the waistband of his Sonic pajama pants and starts pulling them down.

His cock springs free, standing there like it owns the place. 

And okay, yeah, you’ve seen it before—plenty of times, actually. 

You’ve had it inside you, for fuck’s sake. 

But this? This is different. This is up close and personal, inches from your face, glossy and flushed and looking way too proud of itself.

Beautiful isn’t the right word. It’s a cock. A literal penis. 

There’s nothing beautiful about it—it’s just a piece of meat, veiny and slightly curved and standing at attention like it’s waiting for applause or something. 

And yet... you can’t look away. 

Why is it so glossy? Is that normal? Does he always look like this when he’s hard? You don’t know why your brain is spiraling into a full-blown analysis of his dick right now, but here you are, mentally beefing with it like it personally insulted you.

Be so fucking for real right now.

And again—there he is. Silent. Watching. Not saying a single goddamn word.

Which is weird because usually, Jungkook doesn’t shut up during sex. He’s all about the dirty talk—filthy little comments that let you know exactly what he likes, what he wants, what he’s thinking. 

But now? Nothing. Just this expectant silence that makes your skin prickle with self-consciousness.

You hate him for it.

Your hand wraps around him before you can overthink it anymore. Because okay, fine—you might not be an expert at this, but you’re not completely clueless either. You’ve sucked cock before (not a lot, but enough to know the basics), and you know how jerking off works. 

So that’s what you do: start slow, your hand moving down his length in a steady stroke.

He hisses softly at the contact, his hips shifting slightly against the couch cushion. When you glance up at him from beneath your lashes, he’s already looking down at you—his lips parted just enough to catch your attention as his tongue darts out to wet them.

And still, he says nothing.

“What?” You grunt the word out before you can stop yourself, frustration bubbling up in your chest.

“Nothing,” he says quickly, too quickly—like he wasn’t expecting you to call him out.

You narrow your eyes at him suspiciously, but his face gives nothing away.

“Okay,” you mutter under your breath, pulling back slightly as doubt creeps in around the edges of your confidence. “I’m doing everything wrong. Forget it.”

You start to stand up—because honestly? 

Fuck this. 

Fuck him and his smug silence and his stupid perfect dick that’s making you second-guess yourself when you were perfectly fine five minutes ago.

But before you can fully retreat, his hand shoots out to grab yours—not rough or demanding, just firm enough to stop you in your tracks.

“Hey,” he says softly, his voice low and almost... gentle? “Hey, no. Don’t do that.”

You stare at him for a moment, then look away because suddenly eye contact feels like too much.

There’s a beat of silence before he swallows audibly, like he’s pondering what to say. 

“Do you want me to…” He hesitates for half a second before continuing, his tone careful but curious. “Verbally tell you what I like?”

You purse your lips tightly, the edges pressing together in a way that’s almost painful. 

Because somehow, saying yes to that—admitting you need him to tell you what to do—feels like losing. And you don’t want to lose. Not here. Not to him. Not when he’s sprawled out like some kind of smug king on the stupid couch, looking at you like he’s waiting for you to figure out how to solve a puzzle he already knows the answer to.

He doesn’t push, though. His hand stays on yours, warm and steady, as you let him pull you gently back down. 

Your knees hit the floor again, and the carpet feels rough against your skin, grounding you in the moment even as your brain screams at you to get it together.

“Okay,” he says after a beat, his voice soft but probing. “What’s up?”

Your eyes snap to his, narrowing slightly at the question. “That’s what I should be asking you.”

He raises an eyebrow at that, clearly unimpressed with your deflection. 

“C’mon. Usually you’re so mouthy. You literally made me beg yesterday just to eat you out. I don’t get this sudden prude thing you’re pulling.”

Damn him. Damn him and his ability to read you so well it feels like he’s got a script for your every thought and reaction.

“I’m not acting prude,” you snap defensively.

“Really?” His lips twitch upward. “Because you’re staring at my cock like you’re mad at it.”

Your jaw tightens as embarrassment flares hot in your chest. 

“I’m not mad at it,” you mutter through gritted teeth.

“Then what’s the problem?” He tilts his head slightly, genuinely curious now. “Tell me.”

You blink at him, caught off guard by how simple he makes it sound—like voicing whatever’s swirling in your head is the easiest thing in the world. Like it’s not tied up in knots of insecurity and doubt and whatever else is making your throat feel tight right now.

Because he’s right. You could just tell him. That would solve everything, wouldn’t it? But somehow, the thought of saying it out loud—of admitting that maybe you’re not as confident about this as you’d like to be—feels like stepping off a cliff without knowing if there’s anything to catch you at the bottom.

Why does it feel like losing? Like humiliation?

His brow furrows slightly when you don’t respond right away, and then he asks—carefully, hesitantly—

“Okay… have you done this before? A blowjob?”

The question makes your stomach flip for reasons you can’t quite explain. Your eyes drop to the floor as heat creeps up your neck and into your face. 

“…Yus,” you mumble under your breath.

“Yus?” He repeats incredulously, leaning forward slightly like he didn’t hear you right.

“Yes,” you say louder this time, still staring at the carpet like it holds all the answers to life’s mysteries.

“But not often,” he guesses—and fuck him for being right again.

Your head snaps up at that, ready to fire off some kind of retort about how that’s none of his business or how he should shut up because clearly he’s not an expert on everything either—but then he laughs.

Out loud.

And it stops you cold.

Because it’s not mean or mocking or anything close to what you expected—it’s just… laughter. Light and genuine and almost disbelieving in a way that makes something inside you loosen just a little bit.

“What?” You demand sharply.

“Oh my god,” he says between chuckles. “Phoenix—is that what this is about? Why didn’t you just tell me?”

You glare at him because what else are you supposed to do? Admit he’s right? Again? Absolutely not.

He notices anyway—of course he does—and his grin softens into something closer to understanding as he leans back against the couch cushions.

“Bro,” he says lightly, shaking his head like this is all so obvious now. “It’s totally chill.”

You scoff quietly, looking off to the side because meeting his eyes feels impossible right now.

“I mean it, you want to try, right? You want to experience it or whatever? Nothing wrong with that.” He pauses for half a second before adding with a small smile: “Let me help you, aight?”

You don’t say yes. Of course you don’t. You never say yes.

You run your tongue across your upper lip instead, slow and lazy like you’re tasting the tension, and shrug—shoulders stiff like maybe it costs you something to agree. 

Which, okay. It kind of does. Dignity’s already dangling by a thread.

But he reads it. Of course he does. Like you’re a fucking cartoon strip and he’s already memorized every panel. 

He just grins—guffaws, really, because apparently this is hilarious to him—and tilts his chin toward his cock like that’s normal. Like this is a fucking TED Talk on Applied Dick Science.

“Spit.”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Spit on it.” 

Like it’s nothing. Like you’re asking him if he wants oat milk in his coffee and not literally hocking a loogie onto his dick.

Your face does something between a grimace and a snort. “What are you, a porn algorithm?”

“Relax. It’s not a kink thing. Just helps with… y’know. Glide.” A shrug. So casual. “Friction’s not your friend, Nix.”

You squint at him. “So now you’re a physics professor.”

“Professor of good head,” he says under his breath, eyes twinkling like he thinks that’s clever.

You exhale slowly through your nose. Not quite a sigh. Just enough to say fine, sure, without actually giving him anything. 

Then your eyes flick down, then back up.

And maybe you don’t mean to hold eye contact for as long as you do, but whatever. Your gaze locks on his, and his mouth hitches slightly at the corner.

One of those small, lazy smirks that says he’s watching everything you do. Which he is.

You drop your eyes again. Shift forward. Palms to thighs. Inhale once through your nose, just to clear whatever mental fog is still clinging.

Then you lower your face toward him, mouth hovering just above the head of his cock.

And okay. It’s a little intense up close like this.

Flushed dark pink at the tip, that little bead of precum catching the light. Skin taut where it stretches up and around the curve. 

And yeah, it’s pretty? Like, stupid pretty. Which only pisses you off more because it’s a dick. You shouldn’t be thinking aesthetic right now. You should be—

He hisses.

Literally just from your breath.

Like, your breath grazes the head and he inhales sharp through his teeth, a low sound punching out of his chest that he probably didn’t mean to make.

Your eyes cut up automatically.

And you absolutely, one hundred percent bite back a smirk. Can feel it twitch at the edge of your mouth, creeping in before you catch it.

He doesn’t say anything, but there’s a flicker of amusement in his face. A slight arch of his brow, a ghost of a grin that says ‘don’t get cocky’, which is rich coming from him.

You don’t let the moment stretch too long.

You glance down once more, tilt your chin forward, and—

Let spit fall from your lips.

Slow and steady.

A warm trail that splatters right onto his cockhead with a soft, wet noise you pretend not to react to. The drool stretches in a thin line as it drops, catching and sticking in places before sliding down the shaft, slick and messy in a way that feels weirdly intimate and way too graphic for how not romantic this is supposed to be.

You hear him exhale again—less sharp this time, more like a breath he didn’t know he was holding—and when you glance back up, your eyes meet his.

Big. Wide. Intentional.

Because yeah, you’ve read enough porn. You know this trick. Know the effect eye contact has. 

Especially from down here. Especially when your lips are half an inch from his dick and your saliva’s still glistening on it.

And okay. Fine. Maybe it’s a little performative. 

But he does it, too. Every goddamn time he’s between your legs, he’s watching you like it’s a sport. 

So maybe it’s not just for you. Maybe it’s projection.

It definitely is.

Because the second your spit hits his cock and your eyes stay locked on his, Jungkook makes this—noise.

Not a grunt. Not a moan. Just this tiny sound, like a choked-up breath dragged out of his throat against his will. The kind of sound you’d miss if you weren’t listening for it. 

But you are. And you do. 

Your fingers wrap around him without thinking. Automatic, almost. Like your hand just knows what to do now. It’s not a tight grip, not at first—just enough to feel the weight of him, hot and heavy and fucking ridiculous in your palm.

You give him one slow pull. A test run. Casual. Clinical.

And his head tips back instantly.

“Ahh—god, yeah,” he groans, voice pitched low and raw like it just escaped him.

You blink. Stare. Something tightens low in your stomach, unexpected.

But before you can fully process the way that noise slithered into your spine and curled up there like it pays rent, he’s looking down again. Immediately. Because apparently the view of your hand jerking him off is not something he’s willing to miss.

His gaze drops to the contact like it’s life or death, pupils blown and mouth slightly parted. He looks wrecked already, and you’ve barely done anything.

Kind of gratifying. Not gonna lie.

So you keep moving. Slow. Measured. A couple more strokes, just to test what rhythm feels natural. Your hand adjusts automatically, finding that friction-slicked spot between too loose and too tight. Thumb brushes the underside near the head, not on purpose, but—

“Yeah,” he breathes. “That’s—”

Pauses. Swallows. Licks his lips like he’s trying not to rush it. 

“That’s good, but… here.”

His voice is soft now, like he’s trying not to scare you off. Like if he speaks too loud you might slap his dick and walk out. 

And then his hand’s there. His actual hand.

The tatted one.

It swallows yours whole like it’s got a god complex. His fingers are longer, rougher, his palm calloused from guitar strings or camera work or something equally shitty—and it lands on top of yours like this is how. Like he can’t not touch. Like the need to guide is stronger than the need to just sit there and enjoy.

And okay, that’s kind of hot.

He doesn’t even do it weird. No pervy whisper, no ‘lemme show you, baby.’

Just—grips your hand, adjusts the angle, and starts moving it the way he would. His pace. His pressure. His exact rhythm.

He’s demonstrating. Demonstrating. The way he does it.

Which—Jesus. Okay. That’s a thing you’re watching now.

You track everything. How he drags you up to the head and tugs just a bit harder when you get there. Not painful, just… firmer. Intentional. Then down again—not all the way, not to the base. Just past halfway. Controlled. Like there’s a limit he doesn’t cross.

You assume it’s a sensitivity thing or maybe it just doesn’t feel good that far down. Maybe it’s one of those ‘my dick isn’t a joystick’ scenarios. 

You don’t know.

But you clock it. Catalog it. 

Mental note: no base. No excessive tug. Got it.

He lets go of your hand after a few strokes, slowly, and leans back just an inch—enough to say ‘your turn’. Still watching, though. Like a perv. Like a mentor.

Like both.

You copy what he showed you. Try to mimic the pressure, the pace, the not-too-tight but not-too-flimsy grip. Try to keep the motion smooth even though your brain’s busy yelling ‘are we seriously learning how he jerks off right now? is this real life?’

Apparently yes. It is. And it’s working.

Because he makes this sound. This little hhuhh in the back of his throat, barely audible but very much real. Not exaggerated. Just… a reaction.

You hold back a grin. Barely.

Pride hits low and hot in your chest like you just got an A on a test you forgot to study for. 

Not because he said something—but because he didn’t. 

That little exhale? That shift in his hips? That subtle fuck, yeah cue without words?

Validation.

Your eyes flick up. You want to see it. Read him.

But he’s not looking at you.

Still staring at your hand. Brows drawn, mouth slack.   

And then—

His front teeth catch his bottom lip. Plush, pink, a little too soft for how filthy he is, and he bites. Not hard. Just enough for it to dimple inward and make something flicker behind his lashes. 

The kind of flicker that screams overthinking, like maybe the feeling’s a little too good, and he’s trying to ground himself with pain or pressure or… whatever the fuck goes on in his chaos brain when he’s like this.

Then comes the sound.

Somewhere between a hiss and a grunt, like his body can’t decide if it wants to breathe through it or fuck into it. 

Rough at the edges, low, weirdly conflicted.

His head dips again.

“Also,” he breathes out, voice crackly and uneven now, “do… do this. Look.”

His hand comes up before you can ask what this is.

Big, again. His palm wraps around yours like he’s your goddamn training wheels. Not even pretending it’s not a tutorial anymore. 

His fingers press lightly into your skin, adjusting your grip—less on the full stroke now and more—

“There,” he mutters, repositioning your thumb, sliding it higher. 

Right to that spot beneath the crown. Soft little groove. Just barely noticeable unless you’re paying attention.

Which, apparently, he really fucking is.

“You feel that?” he says, voice dipping. “Right under. The… fuckin’—yeah, that. That’s the spot.”

You nod a little, but your eyes don’t leave your hand, now with your thumb angled like a pressure point. Like you’re disarming a bomb with one finger.

His voice drops again.

“Okay, now when you stroke—” his hand moves yours with his, slow and controlled, “—pull up like that, and when you hit the top, tighter there—yeah, squeeze just a little—and your thumb… drag it with you.”

He does it again. Once. Then twice. Demonstrating like this is a team sport and you’re in pre-game drills.

That spot.

That frenulum, or whatever the technical term is. 

Doesn’t matter. What matters is how his breath stutters when you pass over it, how his mouth goes a little slack while he watches.

“That’s the shit, Nix,” he says, almost like it’s to himself. Like he’s taking mental notes on his own cock. “That right there.”

Then he lets go again. Fingers slip away from yours, slow. 

And he licks his lips as he leans back into the couch, arm flopping over the top cushion like he’s trying to play it cool again, even though he’s still watching you like a fucking hawk.

So. You try.

You mimic the motion exactly. 

Same rhythm. Same pressure. Same thumb glide up the underside, and—

“Fuck.”

That one’s not breathy. Not soft. Full-bodied groan. Low and honest, punched out of his chest like his lungs just gave up the ghost for a second.

You do it again. And again.

Thumb dragging against that spot every time you pull up. Your grip tightening near the crown, loosening at the glide down.

He melts.

That’s the only word for it. 

His whole body sinks into the cushions like gravity just tripled. Thighs open wider, neck drops back over the edge of the couch, mouth hanging open now like he’s past the point of pretending he’s unaffected.

“Fuck, yeah—that is…” he pants, lips parted, eyes fluttering before he forces them open again, zeroing in on your hand like it’s holy. “That’s fucking perfect, Nix. Jesus Christ, you’ve got magic fingers or some shit.”

Your smirk barely hides itself.

He’s a talker. You knew that. But this? This is next level.

“Fuckin’ knew you’d be good with your hands,” he groans, eyes flicking from your fingers to your face and back down again, tongue dragging across his bottom lip like he’s trying not to say more but can’t help himself. “Just like that, just like that—shit, that’s so fucking good—”

Your thumb twitches tighter without thinking, and his hips flinch.

And it’s so fucking dumb, the way your stomach flips at the reaction. Like you’re the one being touched. Like you got your nerve endings scraped raw by one tiny squeeze.

But there it is—his hips flinching, a twitch so fast you might’ve missed it if you weren’t laser-focused on every damn micro-expression crawling across his face. 

His mouth opens for half a second like he’s gonna say something, maybe crack a joke, maybe tell you to go harder—but then—

He chokes a breath.

Like it gets stuck somewhere between his ribs and throat, all tangled up in want.

It is shaky, and it hitches like it costs him something to let it out. 

Like just existing through this is work.

And you see it—the way his pupils expand even more, ink bleeding into every millimeter of brown. 

He’s not blinking. He’s not moving, not really. Just chest rising and falling way too slow, like he’s afraid any sudden motion might snap this thread thin tension.

You lick your lips before you can stop yourself. Because he’s staring. Still. At your hand, yeah, but also your face now. 

Like watching you react is part of the pleasure. Like your mouth is more interesting than porn.

And okay. Maybe you’re a little into that.

Maybe that’s why your hand tightens again. Just a little. Not even on purpose this time, more like instinct. Your thumb swipes over that spot again, light and smooth and mean, and his chest fucking jerks.

Then—

A noise. Escapes him. Not a groan. Not a moan either. It’s like a stuttered-out puff of sound that crackles in his throat on its way up, all gritty and broken, like it got caught in static.

And right after that, so soft you almost miss it, he says:

“Your mouth.”

You freeze.

Your pulse jumps like you’ve been caught doing something wrong. Even though you haven’t. Not really. Just… hand stuff. Just skin and muscle and spit and heat.

But his voice? It’s not filthy when he says it. It’s awestruck. Like he’s seeing a fucking shooting star. Like it’s something to be whispered.

Your mouth.

It echoes weird in your head. Bounces off all your internal walls.

You blink up at him, eyes dragging from the handjob, and you look at his face.

And the expression there?

Jesus. He looks like he’s praying.

Not to God. Not even to you. To the feeling. To the moment. To the idea of your mouth on him.

And for some reason, your voice is already moving before your brain can catch it. “What do you want from my mouth?”

You don’t say it cute. Don’t coo. You’re not flirting. You’re daring. Like if he says something you don’t like, you’ll bite down instead of suck.

He blinks. Laughs, almost. Not like it’s funny—more like it surprised him. The way you said it. Like you slapped him with your voice.

Then, low and kind of incredulous: “What do you think I want, Nix?”

And he grins when he says it. Real slow. Not smug. Not sleazy. Just… real. Like that’s the stupidest question you’ve ever asked and he’s giving you a minute to catch up. To get there on your own. Like maybe you’re the dumb one for asking when the answer’s right there, hard and twitching and shiny in your grip.

You glance up through your lashes because fuck it, might as well lean into the trope while you’re down here. Might as well make it mean something.

And you swear to god—something inside him glitches.

Like his whole respiratory system shorts out. You hear it, barely—a tiny gulp, some micro sound buried deep in his throat like a trapped hummingbird. 

Fragile and desperate. 

Faint little flutter.

But it’s real.

Like a ‘fuck’ slips out of the space around you. Not even from his mouth. Just—exists.

As if the universe itself groaned.

And you know he felt it too because he looks at you like you just made the sun blink.

His hand lifts again, slow.

Fingers curl gently around your face, brushing the hair out of your eyes—not rough, not fast. Just… precise. Like he needs to see you. Like eye contact is currency and he’s suddenly flat broke.

You don’t move. Just let him. Let his thumb skim your cheek. Let his gaze drag over your face like it’s got weight behind it. Like you’re something he doesn’t want to blink away from.

And then—his voice. Low. Warm. Calm in that way that feels like it’s trying to keep a leash on something unhinged underneath.

“Suckle the crown a bit while you keep your hand moving. Up and down. Not fast, just… keep rhythm.”

You blink. 

That phrasing. 

Suckle.

What the fuck is he, a medieval warlord?

Still.

Your pulse stutters.

Because he says it like he’s thought about this. Like it’s not just a ‘hey, mouth on cock now’ moment, but something he’s imagined. 

Something he’s replayed in his head with specificity.

“Focus on the tip. You don’t gotta go all in yet. Just use your tongue. Like… tease the slit a little. Then suck around it. Not too hard. Gentle. Like you’re figuring it out.”

Your brows twitch up just slightly, but you nod.

Because yeah. Okay. That you can do.

And your hand’s still on him—hasn’t left. Just slick and steady, lazy little drags up and down his shaft with your thumb gliding right under the head like he showed you.

You shift forward. Let your lips ghost over the tip. Let him feel your breath first. Not teasing, not on purpose. Just… checking the temperature.

You feel the tension ripple through his thigh when you finally close your lips over him—soft, just the crown. Mouth warm and wet as it envelops the head, not too much suction yet. Just heat.

And then—yeah. You suckle. Gentle at first. Not a full draw, more of a tug.

His reaction is immediate.

Lips part. Chest jerks up half an inch.

One of those sounds again. Low. Raspy. A curse swallowed before it could hit air.

Your hand doesn’t stop. You keep it moving—slow pumps that glide down, then back up, thumb still catching that spot he likes every time you reach the top.

“Yeah,” he breathes out, voice low and rough around the edges. “That’s it. That’s—fuck—that’s the perfect pressure. Mmhm. Yeah.” 

His words come in stilted bursts, like they’re being dragged out of him against his will. 

“Keep… keep moving your hand while—ughhnn—keep sucking the tip.”

You do as he says because what else are you supposed to do? You’re not about to stop now—not when he’s making noises like that, not when his cock twitches every time your tongue flicks over the slit. 

But there’s this nagging thought in the back of your mind, this tiny voice that won’t shut up: 

Why isn’t he telling you to take the whole thing already?  

Isn’t that what most guys want? The whole deep-throat porn star routine? You’ve read enough smut (done it a couple times too) to know how this is supposed to go—or at least how it usually does. 

But Jungkook? 

He seems… content. Like he’s not in any rush to shove himself down your throat.  

Maybe he doesn’t want to rush it? Or maybe he’s just weird like that?  

Your eyes flick down to your hand. Analyze the movement. The rhythm. The way your fingers wrap around him, snug and slick, dragging up and down with just enough pressure to make him twitch but not enough to push him over. 

You remember how he did it. The angle. The squeeze. The way his thumb skimmed that spot under the head like it was a fucking button.

You mimic it again. Just to see.

And that’s when he exhales. Soft. Controlled. Like he’s trying not to let it out but can’t help himself. 

The sound drips from his lips like water hitting a rooftop—quiet, but sharp. A little hiss of breath that makes your thighs clench.

Then—

“Look at me.”

It’s not a command. Not barked. Just… said. Low and even. Like he’s asking for something simple. Like it’s no big deal.

But you don’t.

You kind of… ignore him. 

Not on purpose, really. 

It’s just—you’re embarrassed now, okay? 

You don’t want to look up and see his smug face while you’ve got his tip in your mouth like some idiot who doesn’t know what she’s doing. So you keep your eyes trained downward, focusing on the task at hand (and mouth).  

“Nix,” he says again, more pointed this time. “C’mon. Eyes up.”  

You want to bite him for that tone alone—like he’s daring you or something—but reluctantly, you glance up through your lashes. More of a glare than anything else because fuck him for making demands right now.  

He huffs out a laugh at your expression, shaking his head slightly like you’re hopeless or something equally annoying. 

“No, not like that. Like… big. Wide.” He pauses for half a second before adding with a grin: “Make your eyes pop.”  

You pull off his cock with an audible pop of its own because what the actual fuck is he talking about now? 

Your brows knit together as you scowl up at him, and he looks back at you with those stupid boba eyes of his—round and inquisitive like he doesn’t realize how ridiculous he sounds right now.

“Make them pop?” you echo, incredulous. “What the fuck does that even mean?”

He looks at you. Blinks once. Then shrugs, like he’s just now realizing how stupid he sounds.

“I don’t know, man. Just—make ‘em all wide and cute.”

You stare.

Then scoff. Loud. Disbelieving.

“You want me to look dumb and innocent while I suck your cock? That’s what you’re into?”

His eyes widen. “No—Jesus, no. Not like that.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Seriously? Because you sound like a creep.”

He groans. “God, you’re always so fucking blabbermouthed.”

“And you’re always so fucking vague,” you shoot back.

He glares at you. “I don’t mean, like—virgin vibes, okay? I mean that look you get. When you’re being a little shit. When you’re pushing buttons and pretending you’re not. That’s what I like.”

You blink. Your mouth opens. Then closes again.

He leans forward slightly, voice dropping. “I want you to suck my fucking cock like it’s all you want, while pretending you’re not sucking my soul through it. That’s what I’m talking about. Not some weird creepy thing.”

“Oh.” 

You blink once before pursing your lips thoughtfully again. 

“…Okay.”

Because okay indeed. You know what he means.

You hate that you know what he means.

He rolls his eyes, but his cock hasn’t softened. If anything, it’s thicker now. Heavier. The head flushed a deeper pink, veins more prominent. Like he gets off on arguing with you. Like this whole back-and-forth is foreplay.

And maybe it is. He’s already said twice he likes it when you’re mouthy.

Is this what he wants? You pretending you don’t know what you’re doing while you absolutely do?

You take a deep breath before shifting forward again—this time making a conscious effort to widen your eyes as much as possible while looking up at him through your lashes.

Big and round and innocent or whatever. Like you have no idea what effect this is having on him—even though the way his breath catches in his throat tells you exactly what kind of power you hold right now.

And yeah… maybe this is what he wants: you, pretending not to know exactly what you're doing while totally knowing anyway.

So that’s what you give him.

Wide eyes locked on his face as your lips part once more—and then slowly close around the head of his cock again.

And then, your hand moves faster.

Not sloppy. Not rushed. Just—more. More pressure, more rhythm, more confidence. Like your body’s finally synced up with his. Like you’ve figured out the exact tempo that makes him twitch and grunt and grip the couch like it’s the only thing keeping him tethered to earth.

And he’s feeling it.

Hard (okay that was kinda funny, don’t deny it). 

You can tell by the way his thighs tense under your palms, muscles flexing every time your fist glides down his shaft and back up again. By the way his abs jump when your thumb flicks under the head. By the way he’s breathing now—through his teeth, through his throat, like he’s trying not to make noise but losing the battle.

You keep your mouth soft around the tip. Suction just enough to make it wet and warm and tight. Tongue moving in slow, deliberate waves underneath—right there, under the crown, where he’s taught you he’s most sensitive. 

And it’s funny, because you can feel it. The way he jerks every time your tongue drags across that spot, the way his cock pulses in your mouth like it’s trying to say yes, that, again, more.

And you don’t stop.

You keep eye contact, too. Big, wide, innocent. Like you’re not doing anything special. Like you’re just here, hanging out, casually ruining his life with your mouth.

He looks down at you, and his face is—fuck.

Wrecked.

Brows scrunched, mouth half open, eyes glassy like he’s buffering. Like his brain’s trying to load the next thought but keeps getting stuck on your lips.

Then he groans.

Low and guttural and sharp, like it got dragged out of his chest with a hook.

“Oh my—fffuckkkk—”

His voice breaks halfway through the word, like his throat just gave up. His hand shoots out, grabbing the back of the couch, knuckles white.

“Fuckin’—god, Nix—”

You swirl your tongue again, slow and mean, and he whines.  Actually whines. Like a kicked puppy. 

“I’m gonna—” he pants, hips twitching up into your fist, “—I’m gonna bust a fat nut, I swear to god—”

You snort around him. Can’t help it. The phrase is so fucking stupid, so him, and so hot in the dumbest possible way.

He hears it. Groans again. Throws his head back against the couch cushion and drags a hand down his face like he’s trying to physically hold himself together.

“Don’t laugh at me, you little—fuck, that tongue—”

You do it again. That wave motion. Just to be a menace. Just to see if he’ll break.

He does.

"Y-you have no idea," he pants, Adam's apple bobbing frantically as he swallows between words. "No fucking clue what you do to me when you—hnngh—when you stare up at me with those goddamn eyes while my cock's in your mouth."

His voice is all over the place now. Cracked. Desperate. Like he's trying to keep it together but you're not giving him a single inch of relief.

"Angel," he breathes, and okay, that’s a first (but at least it’s not ‘baby’, ew?) "You're gonna make me cum so hard. So fucking hard I might black out."

Your tongue flicks again—right against that sensitive bundle—and his whole body jerks like you've touched a live wire.

"Christ,” he hisses through clenched teeth. "I can't—I can't even—"

You keep going.

Hand stroking faster. Tongue teasing. Mouth suctioning just the tip, just the crown, just enough to make him lose his mind.

"Nix," he warns, voice strained and desperate. "I'm right there. Right fucking there. You're about to make me—"

His cock pulses against your tongue, the tip growing impossibly harder, slick and hot and heavy in your mouth as his whole body gets visibly ready to detonate. 

“Nix,” he pants, voice raw and desperate. “Nix, I’m—I can’t—fuck, I’m gonna—”

His breath catches. Swallowed back like it’s too big to spit out. His whole chest stutters with it, like the air’s too thick to pull in, like the pressure’s building faster than he can handle.

“Y’tongue,” he gasps, barely coherent, hips twitching up into your fist. “Stick—god, god god—stick it out f’me. Stick that pretty tongue out f’me, Nix. C’mon—”

You don’t hesitate. You just do it. Mouth popping off the head with a wet little tsk, tongue sliding out slow and flat, glistening with spit and still tinged with the taste of him. 

You hold it there, just like he asked.

And he groans.

“Look at—” he starts, but you’re already there. 

Already staring up at him with those same wide, round eyes he asked for. 

Tongue out, lips parted, face tilted up like you’re waiting for it.

He jerks forward, one hand flying to his cock, wrapping around himself and taking over. 

Fast. 

Rough. 

Desperate. 

Like he’s been holding back too long and now he’s got seconds left before he combusts.

“Yeah—ahhh—shit—ah—ah—fuck—”

And then—he breaks. Makes these little grunting, bitten-off noises—like he’s trying to hold them in but can’t. Like every spasm punches another sound out of him. Cums. Hard.

Hot, thick ropes strip across your face—cheeks, lips, chin. 

Some of it hits your tongue, sticky and salty and obscene. 

It drips down your jaw, slides over your skin in messy, wet streaks, and he’s still going. Still twitching. Still jerking himself through it like he’s trying to drain every last drop.

“Oh my god—” he chokes out, voice cracking. “Oh my fucking god—”

His head tips back, eyes blown wide and mouth slack with disbelief.

“You have the prettiest fucking eyes, Nix.”

And he sounds so, so wrecked while he says it, that you can’t help but believe him.

Like it’s the filthiest thing he’s ever said. Or maybe the most honest. 

You don’t know why your chest twists into knots. 

You don’t know why his eyes, hazed, dizzy, looking down at you is suddenly one of your favorite views. 

But you did it. You excelled at it. 

And Jungkook liked it. 

That’s what matters. 

He gives his cock a few lazy strokes, working the last drops out like he’s wringing water from a sponge, chest rising and falling in slow, heavy breaths.

Your eyes catch on the faint sheen of sweat on his collarbone and the way his lips are parted just enough for his tongue to dart out to wet them.  

“Fuck…” he mutters. “Fucking hell.” 

Another breath, deeper this time, like he’s trying to find his footing again. 

“That was fucking amazing.”  

You smile—small, sly, the kind of smile that doesn’t need to try too hard. 

“That easy, huh?”  

He snorts, running a hand through his hair, pushing it back from where it’s fallen into his eyes. 

“When you’ve got a mouth like yours? Yeah.”  

The compliment shouldn’t make your cheeks warm. It’s just Jungkook being Jungkook, all cockiness and shameless flirting. But still, you feel a flutter of… something. 

Pride, maybe. Or just the lingering high of having him completely at your mercy.

You push yourself up from your knees slowly, legs stiff from being on the tile for too long. There’s a moment where you think he might reach out to steady you—his hand twitches like it’s considering it—but he doesn’t. Just watches as you stand and brush your hands down your thighs like that’ll somehow make this whole thing feel less messy.  

“Gonna clean this mess up,” you say, already turning toward the bathroom before he can respond.  

“Want me to help?” His voice follows you—soft but not hesitant. Like it’s just something he’d offer anyone without thinking twice about it.  

You pause mid-step, glancing over your shoulder at him. 

He’s still seated on the couch, pants and boxers shoved down his hips, shirt rumpled and sticking to his skin in places. He looks ridiculous and hot at the same time—like someone who just got thoroughly wrecked but hasn’t quite figured out how to pull himself back together yet.

And for some reason—maybe because he asked so easily—you feel your throat tighten awkwardly.

“Uh…” You hesitate, fingers brushing against the edge of the doorway as you try to find the right words. “No. No, I’m fine.”  

He doesn’t say anything at first—just purses his lips slightly and nods like he’s accepting your answer even if he doesn’t entirely believe it.  

It should be awkward, but it’s… not. Not entirely. Just unfamiliar. 

New territory you’re not sure how to navigate.

“…But thank you,” you add quickly before darting into the bathroom like a coward.

When was the last time you thanked Jungkook for anything?

You lean against the door for a moment, eyes closed, trying to process what just happened. Not just the blowjob—that part’s easy enough to compartmentalize—but the rest of it. 

Not the banter either, you do that too. 

The almost-friendly moment afterward.

It felt… nice. Easy, even. 

Like maybe being friends with Jungkook wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world.

Maybe that’s why you step out after cleaning your face, instead of hiding in your room like you normally would. 

Maybe that’s why your eyes search for his as you enter the living room.

He’s already sprawled out like nothing happened. One arm stretched across the back cushions, legs spread wide in that annoying way men always seem to take up space. He’s even cracked one of the floor-to-ceiling windows open, letting in a cool breeze that’s slowly clearing out the lingering scent of sex.

Griffin’s curled against his side, purring loudly as Jungkook absently scratches under his chin. The cat gives you a lazy blink when you appear, like he knows exactly what you’ve been doing and is judging you for it.

You clear your throat, crossing your arms over your chest. Your eyes drift to the TV—some car restoration show you don’t recognize playing—before finding their way back to him.

“So,” you start, the word hanging awkwardly in the air between you. “Do you have plans this afternoon?”

He looks up, one eyebrow quirked in mild surprise. “After you get off work, you mean?”

“Yeah.” You shift your weight, suddenly feeling awkward. “I’m done at five.”

Why is this awkward? You just had his dick in your mouth, for fuck’s sake. Asking about his schedule shouldn’t feel more intimate than that. 

“No plans.” His fingers continue their gentle scratching behind Griffin’s ears, the cat purring so loudly you can hear it from where you’re standing. “Why? You offering something better than my thrilling agenda of watching YouTube guitar tutorials and ordering takeout?”

You roll your eyes, but there’s no real annoyance behind it. “There’s this new exhibit at the MoMA I’ve been wanting to check out. Photography thing.” 

You shrug like it doesn’t matter either way. Like you’re not actually inviting him to do something that doesn’t involve getting naked. 

“Thought maybe you’d be into it. Being a film major and all.”

“Phoenix wants to hang out with me? Voluntarily? Without the promise of orgasms? I’m shocked.”

“Forget it,” you mutter, already turning toward your room. “It was just a thought.”

“Hey, no—wait.” He sits up straighter, disturbing Griffin who gives an annoyed meow. “I’m in. The photography exhibit sounds cool.”

You pause, glancing back at him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods, and for once, there’s no teasing edge to his voice. “I’ll meet you after work? We could grab dinner after, if you want.”

“Sure.” You try to sound casual, like this isn’t the first time you’ve made actual plans together. “There’s this place in the East Village I’ve been wanting to try. Nothing fancy, just… food.”

“Food is good. I’m a fan of food.” He grins.

“Great. I’ll text you when I’m done.” You head toward your room, needing to get ready for work. 

“Sure, Nix.”

As you close your bedroom door, you can’t help but wonder what the hell you’re doing. This feels suspiciously like the friendship you’ve been so adamantly avoiding. 

But maybe—just maybe—it wouldn’t be the end of the world to actually enjoy his company with your clothes on for once.

Besides, you need to keep him occupied until eight. Yoongi had been very specific about the timing when he texted you this morning about Jungkook’s surprise birthday dinner.

Keep him out until 8. Taehyung and Hobi are setting up. Don’t mention ramen.

And yet, he hasn’t even spoken about his birthday to you. 

What kind of person doesn’t mention their own birthday? 

The same kind who makes protein pancakes and pretends everything’s fine when it’s clearly not, probably.

You check your phone. 9:15. Plenty of time to get ready for work and figure out how to navigate this strange new territory where you and Jungkook do normal people things together. 

Like friends.

The word still feels foreign, uncomfortable. 

But not entirely wrong.

goal: 500 notes.

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⋆｡°✩ taglist✩°｡⋆

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @jimineepaboya @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @annyeongbitch7 @jkrailme @rpwprpwprpwprw @mar-lo-pap @jeontae @whothefuckisthishoe @mikrokookiex @minniejim

© jungkoode 2025 no reposts, translations, or adaptations

[letoasai]

Will work for food ~ Part 4 (1/2)

Part 3 -- Master List

Danny’s hubris was coming back to bite him. It had been so funny when Nightwing–Dick–had invited him to the next family dinner. The next family dinner that happened to be Thanksgiving. Danny hadn’t had a Thanksgiving in a long, long time. He’d been delighted to accept. 

He’d nearly trilled in amusement at the way Tim flushed, kicking Dick under the table in a small attempt to get him to stop talking but the invitation had already been given. 

Danny could practically taste Dick’s glee and Tim’s embarrassment. Emotions weren’t as good as regular food but they were hard to ignore when they grew to a certain level. 

Tim had awkwardly agreed that Danny should come to dinner and Danny accepted, telling Tim to just summon him the usual way. 

It was almost unfair for him to have so much quiet knowledge surrounding their conversations, but it came in handy for the normally closed off vigilantes. Tim knew his family was a lot, and was afraid of overwhelming Danny. Their time together would have to be shared now, but Danny didn’t think that was necessarily true. Tim didn’t want to put Danny on the spot, which was kind.

Tim had always been kind. He didn’t summon Danny for favors or deals but because he could and because he cared. The emotion was so straight forward and genuine that Danny knew he was being rather selfish with it. It had been so long since he had someone new, and living, in his life. 

He lived a long life, and he would just live longer. As a halfa, and a powerful one at that, his life tap danced a precarious line. His living half would always mirror his dead half, and it had taken him some years to work out that his Phantom form could change based on his perception of himself. 

He’d spent so long thinking he might never age, that he’d stayed small for years. Barely looking older than fourteen as he’d headed for his twentieth birthday. It was then he discovered that with enough practice he could alter his Phantom hazmat suit. It was redesigned, changing as he had. He’d mentally grown over the years, his title of King only adding to his development. 

When he changed his ghostly appearance, he realized he could age to match how he felt. He could finally look like the young adult he was. That had had side effects on his living half. The growth spurts had been nearly painful, but within six months he’d change from a young teen to a young adult. 

It had been exciting, but excruciating enough that he hadn’t wanted to change his appearance so abruptly again. Changes would be slower next time, but he was unsure if he could go backwards in his living appearance.

All the same, at least he looked more like an adult. He could live as much as he was able. 

His identity reveal with his parents hadn’t exactly gone badly, but it hadn’t gone well either. Jack and Maddie had tried to accept him, but they simply couldn’t. They couldn’t look at him, and while he didn’t end up on their laboratory table, they simply pretended he didn’t exist. It hurt at the time, but he still had his sister. He had Sam and Tucker and Ellie and Val. 

Danny had moved out and for several years had pretended to be normal. It had been nice, until it had gotten boring. Danny split his time between the living and the dead, taking his role as king more seriously in the Infinite Realm over time. It got harder for him to return as his friends aged and he stayed the same. Ellie understood better how he felt, but her wanderlust kept her moving. 

He checked in often over the years, but he’d still be both delighted, and devastated the day Jazz strolled into his lair with a smile and a hello. She looked younger than she’d been in decades and Danny had clung to her and sobbed. She was here! Safe! It was wonderful. She was dead. Jazz had been old and had left behind children and grandchildren. That didn't make it easier on either of them, but they had each other.

Tucker had been next and he was torn between just hanging out in the Infinite Realm or being reincarnated again. For ages, he and Danny had just hung out and caught up, right back to being the best of friends. 

Val had followed some years later, but she had been preparing for this more than the rest of them. Her ghostly form had returned to her the Red Huntress moniker and she couldn’t be more thrilled. She wasted no time traveling with Ellie. 

Sam was the one Danny hadn’t yet been reunited with in the Infinite Realm. She was pushing a hundred, and had become the reigning ‘grandma Ida’ figure in the lives of her grandchildren and great grandchildren. Danny envied her for that. She was so supportive when their parents hadn’t been for them. 

Danny drifted off in his thoughts as he pondered his next dinner date. He was excited for a home cooked meal, but he was quietly thrilled to spend more time with Tim. He’d been neglecting a part of himself since Jazz had died and it showed. His sister was terribly excited he’d made a new friend after so long. 

When he felt the pull of a summons, Danny listened carefully, relieved to hear Tim’s voice. He’d been getting anxious just waiting around and the day had finally come. He pulled himself from the portal, turning from Phantom to Danny and tugging nervously at his sweater. He didn’t really have many nice or formal human clothes since everything in the Infinite Realm was often done in his royal regalia. 

He’d tried to look nice though. Dora had braided his hair for him in some intricate pattern and his normal NASA hoodie had been traded out for a new black hoodie gifted to him by Sam. It was over top a navy blue sweater. He probably didn’t need both but he liked to have the option of a hood. 

He wore his nicer pair of jeans and sneakers too. Honestly, if he was going to be spending time in a living dimension again, he was going to need to go shopping. 

Danny opted to appear just outside the structure he was summoned from. It felt more polite somehow to knock on the manor’s door. Sam would have loved this place. 

It only took seconds but Tim pulled the door open swiftly, he was nearly out of breath but he smiled bashfully when he greeted Danny. 

“Hey Danny.” 

“Hey,” Danny said with an awkward smile. “Thought i’d..uh, politely knock?” He shoved his hands in his pockets. He somewhat noticed that his normal clothes weren't hanging off him the way they had been. At least he’d been putting on a little weight having lunches with Tim.

Tim returned his smile and gestured for him to come in. “And it was thoughtful.” 

Tim looked nice, the way he always did. His button down looked brand new and someone had obviously ironed his pants and he didn’t wear shoes, just dark socks. It was the kind of casual touch that proved he lived there. 

“I’m sorry.” Danny muttered, voice his usual low cadence. He didn’t like using his aura or ‘kingly voice’ around people when he didn’t have to. He had nothing to prove. “I know it’s a holiday but i don’t really have much in the way of living human clothes anymore.” 

“Hey. No.” Tim said immediately, head whipping around to look at Danny again. “Absolutely no one in this house is worried about that. If you are, i have an entire closet you can pick through to find something else but it’s not necessary. The only thing we requested was you. You look great.” 

Danny rubbed his arm and despite his unease, smiled. It was almost funny the way Tim tracked the movement with his eyes. His feelings on the matter were genuine. Danny’s attire didn’t matter to him. “If you’re sure. I didn’t want to come off as ungrateful when you’ve invited me into your home.” 

“Impossible.” Tim said, stepping further inside with Danny beside him. “I assure you, once the pictures have been taken, everyone will be throwing the dress clothes to the side.” 

“Pictures?” 

“Master Timothy.” An older man was approaching from the dining room. “I trust you haven’t been rude to our guest.” 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, Alfred.” Tim smiled, entering into some kind of familiar song and dance. “He usually likes to keep his outer jacket so i didn’t ask to take it to hang up for him." 

It made Danny smile when he’d connected the pieces. He’d heard a few stories about Alfred over the last few months. Most of them from Tim himself but Dick had happily told a couple. The man took his job very seriously. It almost reminded him of Fright Knight. 

“Um..” Danny mumbled, sounding like he didn’t know where to start. Did he introduce himself? He’d gotten better at these kinds of things when ghosts were involved. The living almost baffled him now. 

Tim took over. “Danny his is Alfred, technically he’s the butler and caretaker of Wayne Manor, but his real job is caretaker and grandfather to every brat that lives here who doesn’t deserve him.” 

That had the corners of Danny’s lips tipping up even as Alfred quirked a brow at the rather bold comment. 

“Alfred, this is my friend Danny. This will be his first Thanksgiving in many years.” 

Alfred offered a polite bow, a bend at his waist that looked beautifully formal. “We’re so pleased you could join us, Your Majesty.” 

“Oh no. Danny. Danny’s fine.” He didn’t miss the way Tim raised a brow, but Danny wasn’t surprised. It might have been the first time Tim had seen Danny anything close to flustered. “The Majesty thing is kind of stuffy and this is your home that i was invited into.” 

“If you insist, Master Daniel. I hope you have come hungry.” 

Danny knew his smile was weak. “Starving. Tim and Dick both promised this would be the meal of my life. Unlife?” He shook his head and cleared his throat. “And if you don’t mind, i have a little trauma with the name Daniel. I’d really prefer Danny or Phantom if you’d rather.” 

Tim’s eyes narrowed briefly and Danny knew he was already organizing dozens of questions. Now however, wasn’t the time to ask them. That didn’t mean he wasn’t making several mental notes. 

Alfred also also caught the quiver in his tone and didn’t press the matter if the shift in his emotions were anything to go off of. “Master Danny is it.” Alfred continued seamlessly, voice pleasant. “We’re truly happy to have you. I have been asking about your attendance at dinner for some time.” 

Tim sighed loudly, a touch more dramatic than usual but Danny was happy to see Tim someplace he could be so informal. “Okay, that was my bad. I was having fun going out with you and any dinner here you attended would suddenly be a family dinner.” 

“Everyone is curious?” Danny assumed. 

“Incredibly.” 

“Now Master Timothy, it is impolite to keep your guest hovering around the door. Dinner is nearly ready.” Alfred said. “Please be the proper host.” 

“Yes, Alfred.” 

Danny fiddled with the sleeve of his hoodie briefly. “I’d…offer to help but i’m a disaster in the kitchen. At least i was. I’m also afraid of reanimating food during the cooking process so i think i’ll stay well out of the way.” 

Alfred looked faintly surprised but he focused on the first part of the sentence. “It was still very kind of you to offer. I have everything well in hand.” 

Tim turned to look at Danny. “I know you’ve explained this to me before, but it’s crazy that you had to fight your food.” Saying that Danny had ‘explained’ that was over stating things, and they both knew it. Danny had said the only foods he didn’t like were the ones that bit back and Tim had taken him at his word. 

“It can be a problem.” Danny mused. He’d always been useless in the kitchen but after he’d moved out of his parents home, it became a chore he didn’t care for. His ectoplasm was so strong and it was bound to affect his environment over time. “You know, that might be why i stopped bothering to eat for a while. It’s not instantaneous or anything but long term exposure around me would reanimate whatever’s in the fridge.”

“Well, that’s one mystery solved.” Tim said, linking his arms with Danny’s to lead him to one of the more casual livingrooms at Alfred’s insistence. 

“Maybe?” Danny offered, distracted by looking around the manor. It was like a blast to his past only more. It was greater than the house Sam had grown up in, and far more tasteful than anything Vlad had. 

It was downright artistic. He’d seen enough ghostly lairs to see old mixing in with modern. The Wayne manor was stunning. 

The manor was equal parts old glamour and modern relic that was lovingly cared for by the occupants that lived there. The brilliant chandeliers and the beautifully carved staircase were more than simply eye-catching. The artwork was actually pleasing.

“You okay?” Tim asked quietly, biting at his lip worriedly. He was anxious as if afraid something about the manor had upset him. His phone was in his hand and Danny could tell he was texting one handed. Tucker could do similar feats. 

“I’m fine. I was looking at the pictures.” He nodded his head to where many framed photographs were displayed.  

“We’re glad you liked them!” Dick all but materialized by their sides and Danny couldn’t help but laugh. He was so light on his feet. “Tim took those!” 

Danny’s brows shot up in surprise. “Really?” 

Dick hummed his affirmative. “Yep, he’s a for real photographer.” 

Tim’s ears went pink. “It’s just a hobby.” 

Danny wandered closer to one of the frames, pulling Tim along with him by their linked arms. He smiled at the aerial view of Gotham. It was beautiful. “You have a lot of talent.” 

“Uh, yes. Thanks.” Tim muttered, throwing a scowl at his older brother who grinned, completely unrepentant. Not for the first time, Danny was reminded of Ellie whenever Dick was around. He cared so deeply, but that didn’t stop him from being a mischievous little imp. 

“I’d love to see more.” Danny said. “After dinner maybe?”

There was a light to Tim’s eyes at the notion. Danny wondered if it was less a hobby and something a little closer to a living obsession. Those were probably good to nurture. “If you want. Bruce has hung up a bunch of them but i have, you know, a portfolio.” 

“I’d love to see.” Danny repeated quietly. 

Dick glanced between them, his own mirth so obvious that Danny didn’t need empathy to feel it. “C’mon you two. It won’t be long before dinner’s ready and we still need to take the customary pictures.” 

“Pictures?” Danny repeated, realizing that Tim hadn’t answered him before. 

Tim nodded and gestured for Danny to follow him and Dick. “Thanksgiving is technically in two days, but we’ll be out patrolling then so we celebrate early.” 

“Our family’s kind of well known though.” Dick offered. 

Danny snorted. “The joys of a double life.” 

“Exactly.” Tim said. “We’ll take pictures tonight and each of us will post a couple on the right day to give ourselves alibi’s. It’s fairly simple.” 

Danny would have loved to have had the luxury back in the day. It was hard living with some of your biggest critics. “How much of your family will be coming?” 

“Most of it.” Dick said. 

“Probably.” Tim echoed, still looking a little worried about how the evening would go. Danny had seen many of Tim’s siblings and met a few of them. He wasn’t really worried, but was charmed that Tim was. 

Tim wanted the dinner to go seamlessly. Danny hoped he could help that along without his Fenton luck getting in the way.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

maidenless board game club headcanons

Time to bully Azul and Idia :)) I often picture their club meetings being just them shit talking the other person and calling them rizzless…

Any and all mentions of the reader are meant to be gender neutral; gendered terms may still appear in these headcanons, but never in reference to the reader.

Curiouser and Curiouser...

Azul likes to think he’s suave and could bag “anyone he set his mind to.” Eh, why hasn’t he tried to woo anyone then? For him, he states it’s a matter of pride!! He would never be emotionally vulnerable to just anyone, you know. A-And besides, he’s focusing on his business and personal growth right now, he doesn’t have the time to toy with hearts! (Or so Azul insists.)

The reality is, he has never kissed anyone outside of his family. Just soft pecks on the cheeks in greeting, mainly to his mother and grandma. Azul would never admit this out loud though, he thinks it detracts from his “cool” persona.

The thing about Azul is that he overthinks EVERYTHING. He’ll sit there and map out every possible thing that could happen on a date and how he will prepare to handle them. This includes what to say and when he should smile when speaking… He’s charming, yes, and starts off with a strong first impression—but he also tends to come off as too rehearsed or humble bragging about his accomplishments.

Azul’s desperate for a S/O not because he wants one per se, but because he wants validation that he is, in fact, attractive and desirable. After all, he made such an effort to change himself and to come off as confident, intelligent, and capable. He would like to bask in the reassurance that his efforts were worth it, because now he can “have” whoever he wants.

Aaand therein lies another problem. Azul is still stuck in the mindset that relationships are transactional. You do a favor for him? Well, he has to match it. He gives you a gift? Then he expects one back. Yet Azul keeps himself to an emotional distance, too afraid to be completely honest about his flaws.

Idia thinks the issue is Azul’s personality. When Azul demands to know what exactly his clubmate means by that. Idia just sneers and goes off on a tirade. According to him, Azul-shi may look like he’s got everything put together, but since he’s actually a greedy scumbag, no amount of expensive cologne or nice clothes can cover up a rotten core.

Sometimes he and Idia just head back to the Mostro Lounge and pour one out (non-alcoholic drinks like fruit juice) to drown their sorrows. Jade and Floyd show great interest in these sessions, but Azul is cautious about letting any truly embarrassing experiences slip out.

The twins will occasionally dare him to snag a date with whichever random person walks through the doors to the Mostro Lounge next. Azul initially took these as personal challenges and did his utmost to win these dares, but after a string of embarrassing flops he now knows better than to be baited.

Idia is scared of 3D people and prefers to stick to his anime waifus and aidorus. REAL people could never compare! They’re too flawed and unpredictable—and, worst of all, they don’t come with dialogue options and affection meters to help Idia gauge what to do/say and when the Love Flags will trigger! What’s an introverted otaku to do?

He’s the type to openly disparage happy couples and love while secretly craving the warm touch of a flesh and blood person in the depths of his soul. His ideal is a kawaii gamer who’s into all the same things he is! … Unfortunately, he’s way too shy and unconfident to ever take a stab at it!! This is his way of coping.

He goes into the chats of his favorite streamers and tosses tons of money to get his comment read and to be noticed. Idia is the type to get super parasocial with the objects of his affection (he owns all the merch, goes to the events (virtually), has had a membership since day 1, etc.), even if he scoffs at the idea when directly confronted about it.

Literally bro spends his free time moderating Discord servers and Subreddits to complain about dating. Oh, but then the INSTANT he learns a user is single he starts treating them completely differently, calling them cute and his kitten or whatever. It’s amazing how much boldness he gains from behind the safety and comfort of a screen.

He doesn’t realize the value Ortho has as a wingman. Some people are super into the idea of doting on a younger sibling or dating a guy that loves his family—but Idia never brings these up as aspects of himself. Idia often vents about dating to his little bro and then tells Ortho he’s so lucky he doesn’t have to put up with stupid complex human emotions like love. Ortho just stares at him and begs his big bro to not get catfished.

He unfortunately drives people off with his sometimes pompous attitude. He’ll challenge others’ knowledge about his favorite media and get into extended arguments with them about the subjects he’s passionate about. Only “true” fan are allowed here! If you don’t get it, Idia will mansplain to you for hours at a time over VC.

Idia’s frequently the first to instigate (verbal) fights with Azul over their appeal in the dating scene. Offended, Azul usually fires back with some remark about how Idia hasn’t even witnessed him making eye contact with a REAL living, breathing woman. “Fictional women and a ghost bride do NOT count!”

You're nice to Idia ONCE (like, you let him borrow a pencil because he forgot his for an exam) and BOOM instantly this guy is lurking in the corners, giggling creepily ("Hihihihihi...") and shyly watching you from a distance. He's way too anxious to actually try and shoot his shot, but now he's fully convinced you're into him. (Idia lives out his fantasies with you in life sim games to cope with not having you irl 💀)