#this is the best thing I have been told for a while

[borathae]

Killin' It Boy | JHS x f.Reader

“Jung Hoseok is many a thing in your life: Best friend. Part time lover. Eyecandy. And subject of your horniest desires. One night you stay over at his place, but fall asleep before anything can happen. You wake up the next morning needing him like you need air and he just so happens to need you too.”

Pairing: Hoseok x f.Reader (can be read without prior lore knowledge)

Genre: best friends with benefits!AU, Smut, Fluff if you squint really hard

Warnings: Hobi in a tanktop & grey sweats <3, Rougher Dom!Hoseok, needy sub!Reader, she just "casually" wears a thong around him, which obviously earns her what she deserves (a good dickening), making out & groping in his kitchen, which then continues in his bedroom, body worship for both, nipple play & licking for both, strength & muscle kink, now hear me out about the main thing!! she massages lube on his abs and then grinds on them :), yes this an ab humping fic :), multiple orgasms (f.receiving), afterwards he dicks her down HARD, clit play, breast play, choking & spanking (f.receiving), messy orgasms, creampie, cumming all over her chest, which he licks off <3, he calls her babygirl & good girl, the praisiest praise ever, this man can DIRTY TALK LORDD, i need a respirator fr, loving & soft aftercare

Wordcount: 6.9k

a/n: i don't want to talk about it. this is not how i wanted to return from my break but here we are 😶 i want to formally apologise for the damage this will do to you besties' pussies but i also want to say you're welcum. i put my entire sibussy into this story and it didn't help because hobi is still fucking haunting me omfg oh lord i need to run against a wall and forget all my memories fr 😩 have fun my whores i'm happy to be back 🖤

You are at Hoseok’s today.

Well, technically you are still at Hoseok’s after staying the night. Nothing happened. It was quite simple. The others aren’t currently at the estate and you grew tired of being alone. Taehyung and Jimin are on a best friend bonding trip to Hawaii, Jungkook is staying with Seokjin in Gordes because he really missed him and Yoongi had to spontaneously leave for Geneva to help his long term friend Fredrick with sorting out some issues.

And you? You honestly didn’t feel like going on a trip. So you stayed behind. You cleaned, did some gardening, you read, you took walks and enjoyed time alone. But then you got bored and so you took one very long walk to Hoseok’s.

That was yesterday and he welcomed you with homemade iced tea and pasta for dinner.

“Somehow I always end up eating pasta at your place”, you told him, enjoying it wholeheartedly.

“Sorry, it’s not my intention.”

“It’s totally fine. You make one hell of a pesto.”

Later you watched a movie where you fell asleep on his chest. Nothing happened.

Hoseok must have been awake for a while. His side is empty and cold. Which is a fucking shame because the second you woke up, you craved him. In more ways than one. You wanted his cuddles, desired his kisses and needed his touch. You huff air in frustration, staring at the empty bed longingly. It would have been so awesome if he was still here. He is always so warm in the morning and said warmth really brings out how amazing he smells.

You sit up and roll out of bed to leave for the bathroom so you can freshen up a little.

Hoseok is a very clean person. Quite frankly, he is the tidiest person you know. Each thing has his designated spot and things like dust or flyaway hairs were nonexistent in his bathroom. He left the door open and the scent of his shower gel still lingers in the air. You enjoy it as you wash your face and brush your teeth, eyes travelling over the tidy set up. He left his cologne outside today, which is totally shocking but also very tempting. You finish cleaning up and pick up the cologne to steal a sniff. Woody cedar meets warm grapefruit with a hint of shiso. It is masculine and sensual. If you could, you would bathe in it. It smells so good and knowing that he probably put it on after his shower makes you just a little droopy.

Now, you must be excused. Being close to Hoseok is very difficult because he is just so attractive. Yesterday, he opened the door in a tank top and some baggy grey sweats and you almost barked at him. It also doesn’t help that he is starting to get serious with you. Granted, you always knew that he wasn’t the funny perverted jokester he most of the times likes to give himself as, but seeing his more serious side become the norm around you just kind of hits different. He is so attractive when he simply exists without trying to put on a show. It’s in the little things. The way he closes a cabinet with his hip, the way he offers you something to drink and always makes sure that you are taken care of or when he tells you about his day while you rest on his chest and he traces your arm. He is so him these days. So completely and attractively mundane and normal and because of that, incredibly sexy.

Point being, you are just a little upset that last night didn’t lead to anything more and so you leave for downstairs with a plan. You are wearing nothing more than your lacy bra and a matching thong. You rarely wear thongs, because let’s be honest, they are fucking uncomfortable. You only wear them when you want to seduce someone and this is your plan. Seduce Hoseok.

Your heart races. This is something you never did before with him. You have no idea how he will react or if he will even like it. You might actually dissolve into dust of embarrassment if he ends up being weirded out. After all, you and he aren’t an official thing and stuff like surprising each other in your underwear isn’t just something that happens. But if you don’t try, you will always regret it.

Hoseok is eating his world-famous breakfast croffles (he always has to make them when you stay for breakfast) and sips on coffee when you enter the kitchen. He is engrossed in a video on his phone, judging by the sounds it is a dancing competition video.

“Good morning.”

“Good morning, one second I can’t look away. My favourite’s dancing.”

Just as you had figured.

“Yeah? Are they any good?”

“She’s fucking sick. I’ve never seen such footwork before. How the hell is she even doing that?” he says and moves the phone closer to see better.

You run your eyes over him. Baggy grey sweats and a white tanktop, dark hair styled messily on purpose and fingers adorned by rings. He is so attractive without even trying.

This is killing you. Your heart might give up before anything else. Hoseok keeps murmuring and mumbling to himself while you prepare a cup of tea. You know your way around the kitchen, so it is easy to do.

“Are you hungry? I’ll make you croffles”, he offers without looking up.

“Sure, I could go for a bite.”

“Alright, I’ll make them soon.”

“Yeah, take your time.”

He hums and continues watching. The water finishes boiling in the time being. You fill your designated mug, watching the tea bag tint the water caramel slowly.

“Damn, that was sick”, Hoseok lets out behind you.

The dance must have finished because you can hear the distinct sound of a phone being set down. It is now or never.  

You keep your back turned to him, acting busy and hoping that he looks.

“So sorry, I would have been so upset if I missed that, but now you have me all to-”

One second.

“What the fuck?” a very quiet whisper.

Two seconds.

“-yourself.” Loud again. “Damn, what’s going on with your clothes?”

“Why? What do you mean?”

“You didn’t wear that to sleep. Where’s your pjs gone?”

You turn and shrug your shoulders.

“Didn’t feel like it.”

His eyes are all over you, trying to undress what little clothing still covers you.

“Well fuck”, he says and drops into his chair, running his hand over his mouth.  He meets your eyes. “Not gonna lie, ___, this is making the morning a lot sweeter.”

“It is?”

“You’re like a dream, Seriously, the sweetest dream. Damn, just, sorry I’m inappropriate. It’s just underwear and I’m acting like I’ve never seen a woman in a thong before. Sorry.”

“You’re alright”, you say and chuckle, “I like it.”

You turn again so you can get some milk. You like your morning tea with milk. Anyone who hates this combination doesn’t know true culinary luxury.

“Fucking hell ___, you’re… Nah, that’s too much.”

He stands up and closes the distance. His hand brushes your waist.

“Please look at me”, he says, using his sexy voice for it.

You turn. His gaze is darkened in desire, making sinful love to you as he looks you deep into the eyes.

“Tell me that I’m not reading into this too much and you’re not just wearing this for the sake of wearing it.”

“I wanna tell you something about me.”

“Tell me.”

“I actually hate wearing thongs. They’re things of evil.”

He chuckles, sliding his fingers under the very thin string which sits on your hip.

“So why are you?”

“Because…” you begin to whisper, closing the distance so he can taste the words.

Hoseok’s purrs softly, parting his lips. Your breath taste minty and like temptation. He craves to fill his lungs with you.

“...I had hoped that you would like them”, you finish your sentence, raking your fingers up his sculpted chest.

“I do. I like them.”

Closer. Your lips almost touch.

“Good.”

“Kiss me.” He cups your cheek, chasing your lips.

“You first.”

Hoseok smiles in amusement, eyes flickering darkly. He slides his hand to the back of your head and pulls you in. You moan, knees buckling and body chasing him instinctively. He tastes sweet like the maple syrup he likes on his croffles. His lips are so soft, drawing you in. He is definitely the one to decide the rhythm. You just have to take it, keep up with it and you do. You take it with a racing heart, moaning every time he runs his tongue over your lips. You keep up with it, touching his body because you need to have all of him. His arms are so defined without being too overly bulky. His waist is so tiny and firm and his chest is strong with the perkiest of nipples. You rub them over his tanktop. He moans softly, following it with a chuckle. He sways your bodies from side to side, wrapping his strong arms around you so he can press you against him. He purrs deeply, letting you taste his desire in a slow tongue kiss.

You moan into his mouth. It feels so good to be held that tight just because you played with his nipples. Hoseok is so good in communicating with his body and he just doesn’t stop talking. As you continue to rub and explore his chest, he continues to purr and allows his hands to travel over your back. He uses his entire palms for it, making sure that you can feel every touch he places.

You switch your touch to his neck, ruffling up his hair and meeting his tongue with your own. He sucks on your tongue with a moan, squeezing your ass. He does it so desperately that you kind of wobble from side to side, getting on your tiptoes because he lifts you just a little.

“Jump”, he orders and you follow.

He catches you, bouncing you in his arms so he gets a better grip of you and kissing you as he does. You moan, grinding against his stomach and twisting his hair. His hands are under your ass, his arms flex as he carries you with ease. His kiss tastes like heaven, but you take it away when he sits you down on the kitchen counter and you have to gasp.

“Cold”, you whine.

“Hm, sorry”, he purrs, making it up to you by kissing your neck and shoulders. He is breathing heavily, constantly purring and moaning because the mere existence of you seems to drive him wild.

You don’t even care about the cold stone under your butt anymore. Not when he raises the fire in your veins. You close your eyes, gripping the edge of the counter and keeping him close with your legs. He feels them up, kissing a hungry path down to your breasts.

“So sexy, you’re so sexy”, he lulls, grinding into you with a shaky moan.

Thud.

“Ouch.”

He shoots up.

“What was that?”

You are pouting, rubbing your head, “I hit my head on the cabinet.”

Hoseok laughs, “are you okay?” he asks, petting the aching spot.

“No. You made me roll my head back with your stupid grinding and I hit it.”

He chuckles, “okay Miss Clumsy, let’s remove you from danger”, he says and lifts you off the counter.

You giggle, ruffling his hair and gazing down at him.

“Where are you taking me?”

“Bedroom”, he says, “now fucking kiss me.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Kissing him is like a drug and you are its addict. You kiss him as he leaves the kitchen, you kiss him as he walks up the stairs and you kiss him as he lies you down in his soft bed. He is the one to break the kiss, but the pleasure continues. Your neck gets kissed and sucked and because it’s Hoseok and his entire deal is being sexy, he bites you as well.

You mewl, rolling your hips up in desperate search for friction. He helps you find it on his hand. He hooks his pinkie in your thongs and pulls it to the side, connecting his thumb with your pussy so you can grind down on it.

“Hobi, oh god.”

“I love how fucking wet you already are, you’re just so good for me”, he praises. He hooks his other hand in your bra, tugging the right cup to the side so he has access to your nipple. He wraps his wet, warm and soft mouth around it, sucking on it gently and flicking his tongue over it.

If he didn’t have you wrapped all around his fingers, he definitely would now.

“Stop”, you gasp, pulling his hand away, “stop, please stop.”

“What’s the matter?” he asks, retreating his hand.

“You’re too good, I’m excited.” You fluster. “I almost came.”

He chuckles, eyes sparkling mischievously.

“Don’t laugh. This is really exciting for me.”

“Why? I’m just getting you ready.”

“I wanted you the moment I woke up.”

He widens his eyes, “really?”

“Yeah.”

“Well damn. I don’t know what to say.”  

You touch his chest, “I want something.”

“Tell me.”

“I want you to be rough today, okay? No more of that careful shit.”

He chuckles, “alright, I can do that. Anything else?”

“If you want to, you can choke me or spank me.”

“Hot. That’s hot.”

“So?”

“Yes, baby. Yes”, he says and kisses you again.

You moan in happiness, dragging your hands down his torso until you reach his pants. You slip your hands inside. Hoseok follows your hands just to take his pants off. The kiss has to break when he has to step out of them. A pair of tight boxers keeps his hard cock pressed to his thigh. He is soaking the grey fabric. The view is so hot but nothing beats the view of his abs as he takes off his tanktop. He throws it to the side and steps out of his boxers, wanting to reclaim his spot between your legs afterwards but you are faster.

You sit up, surprising him by pushing him down into the sheets by his chest.

“Alright, is this what we’re doing?” he laughs, dropping down willingly.

You climb his lap, sitting down right under his hard cock. He smiles in amusement, caressing your thighs.

“You’re so sweet”, he purrs, feeling up your waist.

“Mhm”, you hum absentmindedly, lowering your mouth to his neck to worship it needily. He smells like his cologne. You quite frankly lick and suck it off of him while Hoseok gasps for air and moans in pleasure.

You only leave his neck once you consumed all of his scent, having come to the conclusion that the rest of his body smells just as good.

“Oh shit”, he lets out under his breath, chest heaving up and down quickly as you lick his nipples.

But again, you don’t stay for too long. This isn’t what you crave the most. This isn’t what you have been thinking about ever since you saw him in this stupidly tight tanktop.

“Your abs are insane. Actually insane”, you say, dragging your tongue down the middle of them. Your hands follow it along his waist, thumbs running over his obliques. Hoseok chases your mouth, abs rippling under your tongue. He sighs, skin tingling.

You are so greedy. Your mind is going wild.

“I wanna grind on them”, you murmur to yourself.

“Then do.”

“Hm?”

Hoseok props himself up on his elbows. You look at him with widened eyes.

“You heard that?”

“You weren’t really quiet, were you?” He smirks. “Do it. I don’t have them for nothing you know? I bet I can make you cum on them.”

“Holy moly, Hoseok.”

His smirk grows. He cups your cheek and traces your lips.

“Deal?”

“Yeah. Deal”, you sigh and kiss him.

Hoseok drops into the sheets and grabs your ass, moaning deeply. His grip is gentle but also, for a lack of a better word, possessive. He makes sure that you can feel it – feel him – but not in a way which would hurt. This is supposed to be good for you and it is. Hoseok is so fucking good for you.

He makes you laugh, he lets you cry, he protects you, he listens to you and remembers mundane stuff like your favourite croffle toppings. And he feels like ecstasy when you touch. He is so fucking good for you.

“Hobi…” you sigh into the kiss.

“Hm?” he purrs, rubbing your buttocks.

“You’re so addictive.”

He laughs, “what are you saying?”

“Just…fucking want you.”

He moans as you kiss him, giving you a gentle push to make you finally scoot up his body. He is needy too. He can’t deny it anymore.

The kiss has to break for the thing to work. His head is supported by two pillows, laying higher this way so he has good view of his abs.

You crawl off his lap. Hoseok watches with heavy eyes as you take off your thong. Then you walk off.

“Hey, where are you going?” he asks, furrowing his brows.

“Drawer was it?” you ask, walking to his bedside table.

��For what? Come back here.”

You open the drawer. Bingo.

“Lube”, you say and show him the bottle of water based lube he keeps close by.

Hoseok tuts, smirking in amusement.

“What do you need that for, mhm?”

“You’ll see.”

You climb back on his lap and sit down. Hoseok instantly touches you, running his hands up and down your thighs and waist. He looks at you as if he wanted to devour you whole.

“So sexy. My babygirl’s so fucking sexy”, he purrs, spurring you on.

With confidence, you open the bottle of lube and squirt a sinful amount of it onto his abs. They twitch and flex as a reaction to the cold.

“Shit.” He laughs, squeezing your hips. “That’s cold, gotta warn me.”

“Where’s the fun in that? I could watch your abs twitch like that”, you say and put the bottle aside. You connect your hands with his stomach to massage the lube all over his skin.

“That’s hot…fuck, I like that”, he purrs, tensing and relaxing his abs wherever you touch him. “Yeah, just like that, babygirl…”

“How do you even get these abs? They’re insane.”

“Workouts, dancing, I’m just sexy, what can I say”, he says, following it with a rather cutesy giggle.

You agree, “you are. You’re so sexy.”

You spread the excess lube on your pussy and finally do what you need. You position yourself above his abs.

“That’s so hot. Use me, babygirl, you got it”, he encourages you, offering you his hands if you needed support. He has his arms propped on his elbows so you can really lean your weight on them.

You take them, of course you do. Those are Hoseok’s hands. You would be dumb if you didn’t take them. The lube smears between your palms, forcing him to grip you so much tighter than he normally needs to. It’s so sexy.

Your pussy touches his stomach. You exhale shakily, heart beginning to race. This is new to you and it’s already amazing.

“That’s good, babygirl. You like that?”

“Yeah, I do”, you say and begin moving. You roll your hips up and down on his abs, finding out soon enough that you can feel the definition. “Okay, woah yeah I do.”

He chuckles, rolling his lower lip between his teeth. He can’t decide whether to look at your pretty pussy on his abs or your cute face scrunched up in concentration. Maybe both because he is fucking into you. So into you.

“Take it at your pace, yeah? I’m right here, just enjoy.”

“Hoseok…”

Your pussy is mesmerising. The angle naturally hides a lot from his eyes, but what Hoseok can see is enough to drive him insane. You fit right around his abs, moving so perfectly on him. He feels you getting wetter and wetter. It’s so warm, really bringing out how fucking soft you are.

“Hobi, you feel so good”, you get out, squeezing his hands.

“I do?” He flexes his abs.

“A-ah”, you moan with your voice pitched, scrunching your nose.

“So sexy”, Hoseok whispers, doing it again just to hear you moan and feel you clench.

You didn’t think that you could feel it so well. You could fucking count them just by rubbing your pussy over them.

One, two, three.

“Hoseok, ah, Hoseok.”

Four, five.

“You’re such a pretty woman, riding my abs so well. Good girl, make yourself feel good.”

Six, seven.

“Hobi please.”

Eight. He’s got an eight pack. This sexy motherfucker actually has an eight pack and its currently getting marked by you. He is the canvas and you are the artist, creating impure art.

“Please what, babygirl? Want me to help you?”

You open your bra and take it off.

“Touch me”, you beg, guiding his lube covered hands to your tits.

His abs tense under you because of the position. He purrs deeply, watching with widened pupils as he covers your breasts in a sinful layer of lube. He rubs his palms all over your chest, drags them down your sides and up over your stomach, repaying the favour this way. Now you are both covered in lube, skin glistening in the morning light and bodies heated up.

“My sexy woman. Fuck, lube’s your best look”, he rasps, cupping your breasts to knead them in his messy fingers.

You twitch and tremble on him, leaking more of you on his hard abs. Praise paired with his touches is a difficult combination to handle. It turns you on so much to be messy and he is calling you sexy for it.

You press yourself tighter to his abs, speeding up your movements because he has you desperate. It squelches in wet sin, only adding to the pleasure. The fact that you can hear the texture of them…

“Fuck, this feels so good…”

“Yeah? Like it?”

“So much, ahm…”

“That’s it. Ride my abs, good girl. You’re such a good girl”, he praises, rewarding you with his thumbs on your nipples. It’s like he knows how a woman works. It’s insane how good his touch feels. Just one second of it and you already find yourself addicted to it.

“Hoseok, fuck please.”

“Tell me, babygirl.”

“Don’t stop.”

“Won’t.”

“Thank you”, you moan and throw your head back, arching your back. You grab his strong arms, chasing the feeling of him. His hands on you, his thumbs on your nipples and his abs under your leaking cunt. You chase it, chase it, chase it and it’s getting better and better.

By now you have his abs so messy that creamy strings of your slick stick to his skin, webbing themselves from muscle to muscle. It looks so good against his honey skin.

You don’t get to see it. Your eyes are rolled back by now.

But Hoseok sees it and he is hooked up on the view, leaking on his lowest abs and wishing for you to just take him in. But he can’t rush you. He promised you an orgasm on his abs and he isn’t one to break promises. Especially not when it comes to you. You’re fucking precious to him and the promises he makes you, sacred.

So he keeps his fantasy a little fantasy while he tenses and flexes his abs under your puffy cunt and plays with your pretty nipples. He switches between massages of your chest and attention to your nipples with little flicks and rubs. The pleasure courses through you in waves.

“I think I’m close.”

“That’s so good. You’re doing so well”, he praises, sitting up more just so his abs ripple for you.

You shake, digging your fingers into his arms.

“Oh fuck.”

“You feel me?”

“Yeah, I feel you…”

“Mhhm I feel you too. You’re so sexy on my abs. My sexy babygirl”, he rasps and takes your nipples between his fingers to tug gently and rub them. At the same time he rolls his hips up, letting you feel how his abs work when he fucks.

“Hoseok holy fuck, ah!” you croak and break. Your entire body just freezes. Hoseok moans loudly at the feeling of your throbbing pussy and takes your hips between his hands just to move them over his abs for you.

You sob, gripping his wrists as you tremble. You thought it couldn’t get any better, but he proves you wrong as he guides you.

“Ho-hobi. Hobi please. Please.”

“I know babygirl, I know. You’re cumming so good for me. Don’t worry, I’ve got you.”

“Hobi…”

“I’ve got you. I’m here”, he talks you through it because that’s what he does. He talks you through it, helps you ride it out and enjoys the sensations with a dizzy head.

He can feel when it stops for you. He is so fucking greedy for more but knows not to be. You always get a little vulnerable after your first orgasm. It’s as if your mind finally catches up with the fact that you were horny and it is figuring out whether to be embarrassed or want more.

You sit on him with your entire weight, eyes widened and glassy.

“I…”

“Hush, you’re okay”, Hoseok assures you, lifting you just to sit up and put you down on his lap instead. The creamy mess you left on his abs smears all over your stomach now that are you so close. He has his hands on your back, holding you safely as he kisses your neck.

“What are you doing to me?” you choke out, dropping into him.

He moves his head so it wouldn’t get squished. His chin now rests against your shoulder while you have your face pressed into the crook of his neck. Your arms are hooked behind his head and your hands are in his hair.

“I promised you an orgasm on my abs, didn’t I?” he speaks in a soft voice, scratching your back soothingly.

“Yeah, but.”

“But what?”

“It felt so good.”

He chuckles, squeezing your buttocks.

“So? Where’s the problem?”

You lift your head, meeting his eyes. You cup his face.

“I want more.”

“What was that?”

“I want more”, you say and slide your hand to his cock.

Hoseok tenses his stomach, showing you with a slight squint of his eyes that he feels your touch and he likes it.

“Tell me”, he rasps.

“I want more, please.”

“No. Tell me that you can’t get enough.”

“I can’t get enough.”

He smiles darkly, lowering his eyes seductively. He moves his head closer, letting you taste his words.

“Beg for it.”

“I can’t get enough, please Hobi.”

“You can do better than that”, he rasps, looking at your lips.

“Fuck. Please fuck me, I want more of you, please”, you beg, heart racing like crazy and head dizzy. It’s so hot to have to beg. Especially when he makes you work for it. And you work for it. You grind your hips down on his thigh, twisting your hand around his cock in hopes of convincing him.

“I like that, babygirl. Say it again. One more time”, he whispers, craving to kiss you. Your hand on his cock is making it so difficult to hold back.

“You’re a tease”, you whine.

“Fucking say it again, babygirl”, he orders, giving your ass a warning squeeze. 

“Please fuck me, please don’t tease me anymore please”, you whimper and try to warm his heart by dancing your tongue over his lips.

Hoseok growls and moves quickly. He picks you up only to pin you into the sheets and give you what you ask for.

You squeak, tensing up in surprise.

He knows how to do it so it fills you with electrical shocks of pleasure. He soaks up the view of your surprised eyes widening only to go out of focus and roll back all within a second.

“Go on say it. Say what you’re thinking”, he challenges you, pumping his aching cock into you in a desperate rhythm.

“Feels so good. Hobi, you feel so good.”

“Yeah? And what do well mannered women do, mhm?”

“Moan for you,” you moan, arching your back.

He chuckles, sliding his hand under your back and rewarding you with his entire length.

“Good guess, but no.”

You squeeze down on him so hard that he knows it was intentional. He growls, twisting the sheets beside your head.

“No, that’s not either. Go on, use your brain. What do we say after getting something?”

“Thank you”, you moan, twisting the sheets as well. There are no words on this earth to describe how good his cock makes you feel. First his abs get you sensitive and now you have his girthy cock splitting you open. This is actual heaven.

“Good girl. That’s it. Thank me. Go on.”

“Thank you. Thank you. Thank you”, you chant, getting louder and needier because your moans earn you more and more of what he has to offer.

He moves his hips as if he was on stage, performing and dancing just for your pleasure. Your second thank you earns you his skilled fingers on your clit and your third thank you earns you his other hand around your throat.

“Hoseok!” you wail, grasping his lower arm just to squeeze him closer to your throat.

He purrs deeply, tightening his fingers. Your pulse races like crazy, fluttering and faltering as he slowly and gently cuts off the blood flow to your brain. He towers over you, kneeling on the sheets as he makes dirty love to you. But you don’t get to see how sexy he looks. Your eyes are squeezed shut, your mind is completely lost in the pleasure.

“I’m going insane, you feel so fucking good. Fucking wanted you like crazy”, he says and moans loudly.

You match his freak with an even louder moan, clenching down on his cock because vocal men are such a turn on. Especially when it’s Hoseok. His voice is fucking made to make sex noises.

“Shit, woah…that feels good. Do it again”, he moans.

You clench, toes curling because it makes it a lot better for you as well. You can feel every vein on his cock this way, can feel his tip fuck against your g-spot and feel his base stretch you out. So you clench and clench and clench, whimpering and mewling for him.

“Yes”, he growls, chasing the tight heaven you offer him, “yes, yes, fucking yes. Babygirl, yes.”

He fucks you right where it feels the best. Over and over again he hits The Spot while his fingers flick your clit quickly and his hand reminds your throat that you are his’.

“Yes, babgirl, yes. You-”

“Hoseok”, you interrupt him.

“Yes?”

“You’re making me- oh god, Hoseok please. I have to- ah!”

“It’s okay, you can cum. Don’t hold back”, he encourages you, helping you with a soft rub on your clit and by letting go of your neck.

“Thank you!” You climax on his cock with a sob, writhing in ecstasy because this is so much more intense than the first one. Your head pounds from the blood rushing back. You feel your orgasm everywhere between your legs, thanking him over and over again.

“That’s it, don’t hold back. Good girl, I can’t get enough of you”, he talks you through it just as he fucks you through it. He doesn’t slow down. Why should he? When it makes you feel so good.

“More. More please. Please, oh. Please.”

“Wasn’t gonna stop anyway”, he says and easily fixes you to how he wants you. He rolls you to your side and bends your leg around his hips. He faces your pussy and just like this, he enters you. He gives you all of him, watching in delight how you tense up and writhe in pleasure because the position allows him to hit your g-spot more precisely.

“Thank you. Hobi please. Thank you.”

“I fucking love when you beg like this. Makes me wanna fuck you so much harder”, he purrs, using his abs and back muscles to give you the fuck of your lifetime.

Hoseok is many a thing. Best friend. Occasional lover. Artist. Pornstar, dancer and man obsessed. One thing is for sure however, he will use his mesmerising ability to move his hips to give you cock in ways you haven’t experienced yet. This is a passion project for him and he treats his passion projects with utmost and precise care. Because he likes them to be perfect.

If that means that he has to rearrange your guts and permanently carve himself into your walls, then so be it. Hoseok is down for the ride.

“Please, Hobi. It’s too much”, you sob and bury your face in the mattress. He watches how you bite into the sheets, how you grasp them with shaky fingers and how your toes curl.

“Just say it if you want me to stop. Hm?” He stops his hips. “Wanna say it?”

“No!” you practically yell at him. “Don’t stop please!”

Hoseok chuckles and picks his rhythm back up. He spanks your ass.

“Bad girl. Yelling is rude.”

You whimper, spilling tears. This is all part of his plan isn’t it? He listened to your wishes, memorised them and then planned the sexiest way of including them. First the hand around your throat and then he works you up to be yelling just so he can spank you. Holy fuck, this is all just part of his plan.

“Again please”, you beg desperately, leaking on his cock just as you leak tears into the sheets.

Spank! In sync with a rough thrust of his skilled hips.

“Thank you!”

“You’re so polite. Keep it up, babygirl. So good”, he rasps, rewarding you with two consecutive spanks and rough thrusts.

“Thank you”, you sob, clenching down on is cock every time he lands his bejeweled hand on your ass.

“So good.”

Spank!

“Hobi”, you sob and go back to biting the sheets.

Hoseok continues. He is panting by now, growling each time he exhales. He spanks you not because you need to be punished, but as an act of infatuation. He does it because it gives you pleasure, because it makes your cunt so tight on his cock and because it makes such a pretty sound.

“Good girl, you’re taking me so well. My good fucking woman. So good”, he praises, rubbing your clit with his other hand because you deserve only the best.

“O-i im uing”, you murmur into the sheets.

“What was that?”

You show him. Hoseok yelps, tensing up.

“___ baby…holy fuck, so tight”, he moans, throwing his head back and burying his cock in you to the very base just so he can feel every second of your orgasm. He didn’t plan on making you cum already so this one comes as a surprise.

You sob and wail, convulsing in paradisal pleasure before it gets too much and you squirt all over him.

“Fucking hell, you gonna make me cum. This is so hot”, Hoseok growls, suddenly moving like a messy, clumsy teenage boy. Coordinating spanks and clit rubs is impossible and his hips stutter whenever he pushes back in. So he holds onto a good chunk of your ass, bruising it between his strong fingers as he claims your weeping cunt. You are so tight and now so fucking wet. Your orgasm sticks to his abs as well, soaking his cock and balls. The view is so sexy to him, making it hard to keep moving. “Fuck, I’m close.”

You fight yourself to your elbow and reach for him.

“Please Hobi.” you beg, dragging your nails down his abs so hard that it leaves marks.

Hoseok looks into your puppy eyes and knows that he is done for.

“___ baby”, he moans, eyes going cross before rolling back and closing. His hips stop when his cock is deepest. He grunts, scrunches his face and you can finally feel it. His hot, creamy orgasm. It fills you up, sticks to you, makes you his’.

“Thank you, ah Hoseok, thank you”, you whimper, feeling up his abs as they ripple and tense rhythmically.

“Baby, this feels so good. Holy fuck, can I cum on your chest?”

“Yeah. Please.”

“Urgh fuck”, he growls through gritted teeth and pulls out of you. He flips you to your back and spanks your clit with his cock just once to get the message across before he angles it differently and jerks off over your chest to get that last wave of pleasure all over it.

“Hobi”, you whimper, watching the sinful show with hungry eyes. Look at his abs tense…

“That’s my woman. Fucking wear me around your neck, that’s my woman. So fucking good, urgh.”

You cry for him, gazing up at him with devoted, droopy eyes. You can’t decide whether to look at his heavy cock spurting white cum all over you and his long fingers or his glistening abs or his scrunched face. Maybe you look at all of it while you touch and scratch his abs and arch your tits closer to him.

Hoseok finishes in five sloppy strokes.

“Fuck ___”, he drops his cock into the mess he just made, playing with it by swirling his hips.

“Did you like that?” you ask him in a sweet voice.

He nods his head with closed eyes, catching his breath.

“You’re so sexy, babygirl. Can’t believe you let me do that”, he says and opens his eyes.

He drags his heavy cock down to your pussy, rubbing it through your well-loved folds and over your sensitive clit.

You squeak, closing your legs.

“Sensitive.”

He chuckles, kissing your knee.

“Sorry”, he says, pushing your legs open, “let me kiss it better.”

“Hoseok, god”, you gasp and sigh, melting into the sheets as he runs his mouth over your ruined body. This is so sinful and sensual but also soothing and relaxing.

He licks the cum from your chest, kisses the sore spots on your thighs and loves your neck with his lips. The mess between your legs he leaves. Personal preference maybe. You won’t complain. It’s so nice to leak him. You feel so fulfilled.

“How are you doing?” he whispers against your ear.

“I’m in shock.”

He chuckles, “is that a good thing?”

You nod your head vigorously, giggling.

He smiles, kissing your ear before he lifts his head. He is propped up on his elbow, resting against your side which makes it easy to caress your torso. His eyes are filled with soft adoration. He is glowing when he smiles.

“So how did I do? You liked what I did?”

“I get it now”, you whisper.

“Get what now?”

“Why you’re so cocky about your skills.”

He lowers his eyes shyly.

“Don’t say that.”

“You’re so good.”

“Ah, you”, he lets out and smooches you with a giggle. “Thanks. Wah, now I’m embarrassed.”

You snicker, “don’t be. I liked it so much. Oh god, I need a minute.”

“Mhm, take your time. I’ll be here to take care of you”, he says and uses the moments of relaxation to kiss you all over your body. “I hope you don’t mind.”

“No”, you sigh, writhing in relaxing pleasure. You don’t mind at all. You could never mind him. He is permanently settled in your brain, permanently living into your heart and permanently carved into your walls.

“You’re so fucking beautiful”, he whispers, kissing your inner thighs. They smell like sex. Hoseok soaks up the scent like an addict, leaving marks of devotion next to the spots his rough handling left. He leaves out your pussy again.

“Why do you do that?” you ask, playing with his hair.

“Do what?” he asks, looking up from your lower stomach.

“Leave it out”, you say, rolling your hips up.

“Because I can and I want to”, he purrs, kissing a quick path up to your face. He lies down next to you, cradling your face. “And because you should feel me a little longer.”

“But how will I get up and eat my croffles?”

He smiles against your lips and kisses you.

“Breakfast in bed, duh.”

“Really?” you ask, eyes widened in surprise. Such romance is new from him. He makes your heart race.

“Mhm, really. You should relax, let me treat my woman.”

His woman. He kept saying it as he fucked you. You don’t correct him. You smile and nod your head.

“Yeah, okay. But I can’t guarantee that I can keep my hands to myself when you do.”

“Do you have to be somewhere today?”

“No. But I don’t see how-”

“Then I don’t see the problem”, he flirts and pecks your lips.

You get it now. And it makes you giggle. He smiles, pecking your cheek.

“Relax. I’ll be back with breakfast”, he says and before he rolls out of bed, you stop him.

You steal a kiss, ending it by biting his lower lip. He smiles at you, eyes sparkly and infatuated by you.

“Don’t take too long, please.”

“Promise”, he seals it with a peck then finally gets out of bed to leave the bedroom naked.

“Aren’t you forgetting your clothes?”

“I cook best naked.” He gives you a cocky grin and a wink then closes the door.

“Fuck”, you drop into the sheets and blow raspberries. It is official, you won’t ever get him out of your head.

[consistantly-changing]

[Image descriptions in order: a Reddit post on r/whatsthatbook by u/clownthrowawayhelp, titled "help solve a fight with my girlfriend - book with monster clown that can turn into fears but NOT king's IT???" The post is tagged "solved", and says:

i say it's not king's IT she says it is. we've been disagreeing about this on and off for a year because she keeps bringing up scenes and going on about how good they were in the book but i've read IT and those scenes aren't in it. she says i read IT too long ago to remember. fair. it was a while. but she read it over five years ago too!

scenes she remembers that i don't remember in the og book: it was set at a school camp during the kid bits and there were adult scenes too 20-something years later but she doesn't remember them because they "weren't as good". the kids are different ages ranging from 5 to 20. there's a demon clown thing hunting them and it keeps turning into the things they're scared of to try eat them.

she remembers a scene where there was a rabid bear and one of the teenagers set it on fire using hairspray. at the end the clown is a female and there's eggs, and every kid in the camp ends up ganging up to try beat the clown to death with rocks. there's also a bit with some weird rapey werewolves but she's less certain about that.

she remembers some scenes that are definitely from IT too like the fridge and bill's bike and the bullies lost in the sewers so im pretty sure she's mixing up IT and some other book. i need to find the other book or we're both going to die mad about this. we need closure

sorry if this isn't the right place i don't use reddit but i'm desperate to solve this i need to be validated

she asked me to add this edit of things she also remembers even though she said she wants nothing to do with my search since she knows shes right - these are all quotes:

"the little guys died first and it was dreadful"

"there were so many horrible scenes in the camp bathroom king (she says)/the author as of yet unknown (i say) must have something against public bathrooms and by the time i was done reading i did too"

"someone died so enthusiastically they painted the wall with their insides"

"at least one person maybe more was described as 'unzipped' by the time the clown was done"

"there were at least two horny scenes" <-- look how can she say this and still think its king the man is like 80% horny scenes 70% scary scenes and theyre usually overlapping]

[Screenshots of the comments of the post.

There is a comment thread which says

u/Deejaymil: Hey OP, does your gf read fanfiction by any chance?

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says no but she didn't say no fast if you get what i mean, very suspicious stuff. and now she's giving me guilty looks. if she's been telling me how good some random fanfiction is for the last 12 months while thinking it was the og i'm taking my pajamas and going home

u/Deejaymil: Haha hey this is awkward

Hate to break it to you both but I think she's mixing up IT with a couple of fanfics. I can't link them because they're locked behind a privacy wall but one is an IT/Criminal Minds crossover (most of what you've described, though the details aren't quite right), and the werewolf thing is a different Criminal Minds fic from the same author. Ask her if the camp they were at was called Camp Moribund, if you need evidence for your validation.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: i cant believe gabby has done this to me

she left the room when i told her it's a fanfiction and then she came back to ask how you could possibly know that and now she's left again. i think you got it. she wouldn't be so mad otherwise

u/Deejaymil: I know because I wrote them Imao]

[u/clownthrowawayhelp: you are the best thing to ever happen to my relationship god bless your socks i will die telling this story to my children's children. i'm so happy i could cry

sorry if my post sounded like it was dragging your horny scenes i'm sure they're tasteful horny

thank you for devastating my girl's emotional wellbeing she needed this]

[u/Deejaymil: I feel like I've walked into a crowded room and everyone has stopped talking and turned to stare at me, this is the worst whatsthatbook solve I've managed yet haha. Usually I just saunter into the obscure animal book threads because I was cat-obsessed as a child...]

[u/Deejaymil: I'm never going to emotionally recover from this.]

[u/Deejaymil: Haha well, in honour of OP's poor girlfriend here's the IT one. I turned off the privacy setting so it should be accessible without a log-in. She faced her demons today so I can face mine.

u/clownthrowawayhelp: she says "thanks this is exactly it. if i can't have my dignity, at least i have something to read"

cheers. guess ill have to read it too now just to find out why she loves the bear versus hairspray scene so much

u/justmyrealname: "If I can't have my dignity, at least I have something to read" is such a good line]

help

[bizarrelovetriangel]

run away.

caleb wants to smash but keeps getting interrupted.

mdni. 18+ only. fluff and suggestive but no actual smut.

sylus version / zayne version

Lifting you up on the kitchen's counter table, Caleb slides his hands up to your thighs as he stands between your legs, kissing you with intensity that had you feeling lightheaded, yet you can't find it in you to pull away.

BEEP. BEEP. BEEP.

You jumped at the alarm blaring off the phone in the pocket of your pants. Caleb pulls it out for you and shows you the screen, where the current time is flashing at you mockingly.

"Waaahh — I'm late for work!"

You jumped off the counter table and playfully smacked Caleb's arm that tried to snake around your waist, refusing to let you go.

They're stealing you from him again.

If this keeps happening...

He might just have to take you away and hide you where no one can find you.

Somewhere just the two of you, with no one to get in his way.

"Caleb, this is all your fault!"

He chuckles and rubs the spot you hit. "You're the one who was all handsy while I was making breakfast. Don't blame me for trying to finish what you started."

"Hmph, excuses excuses. I gotta go, bye!"

Caleb laughs again as he waves a hand, watching you almost trip as you rush out of your apartment, slamming the door along the way.

He then sighs as he looks down at the tent in his pants that wasted no time coming alive.

"Guess I'll have to take care of this myself.... again..."

He tries again later on, same day.

After your work, Caleb is determined to make you feel so good, you won't be able to leave him and your bed the next day.

What better way to seduce you than preparing a nice dinner, then a massage right after?

It was perfect timing too because you came home exhausted after an action-packed day of dealing with Wanderers.

You had small scratches and bruises on certain parts of your body, so Caleb made sure those are taken care of first and foremost.

After dinner and shower, he joined you on your bed to help you apply healing ointments.

He hates seeing you hurt, no matter how tiny and inconsequential the injury is, but he has to keep in mind that this is your job and you're strong and more than capable of dealing with Wanderers, so he doesn't make a big deal out of it. The best thing he can do is support you, so he does his best to look after you.

"What about your head? Are you feeling any headaches? Dizziness? Confusion?"

"Nope! I'm all good, I told you!" you wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pulled his face against your chest to cuddle him. "Let's watch a movie!"

As ecstatic as he was to have his face buried against your chest, Caleb abandoned his initial plan of having sex with you.

You're clearly exhausted. He wants you to rest properly so your body can recover for the next time you have an action-heavy work day. Your well-being is more important.

"Alright, but it's my turn to choose the movie since you chose last time."

"Fine by me~"

Caleb joined you in your bed and happily cuddled with you underneath your blanket while the two of you enjoy an action-comedy film.

At the end of the day, he still got to rest his face on your chest, so Caleb was more than satisfied with his reward.

You try to keep a straight face as you lock eyes with Caleb.

Or rather, the Colonel.

Two days later after he returned from Linkon, you ended up reuniting with him sooner than expected, in Skyhaven when you got a sudden mission to go to Deepspace Aviation Administration.

A hunter has been requested to test out a new weapon that researchers and the military have been working on, and you volunteered to go when Jenna asked who wanted to take a trip to the floating island.

You were planning to surprise Caleb by going to his house after you're done with the tests, but he's the one that showed up out of the blue, right in front of you.

You were impressed at how unfazed he was when he saw you. The only thing that implied he recognized you is the way his pupils dilated before nonchalantly looking away from you.

With a straight face, Caleb faced the researcher next to you. "I see the Hunters Association have been invited to see the new weapon."

"Yes, sir." The researcher clearly looked nervous under the colonel's intense gaze. "They are the ones that are best suited for it, so we wanted to see how a hunter would perform using it under simulation."

That's where you are right now: in a typical combat training room that can create simulated Wanderers for anyone to practice on. The weapon you're holding is a type of high-tech gun similar to ones that you've seen Caleb used before, such as his Skybreaker.

"And she has been performing extremely well and giving us positive results, so the weapon seems to be a sucess!"

Caleb's left brow twitches. "Enjoyed watching Miss Hunter, did you?"

The researcher shrinks and looks away as his face becomes flustered. "I — uh — "

You grinned and patted the man's shoulder. "I'm glad to be of service! Thanks for inviting me!"

Caleb clears his throat. "Louis, was it?" The researcher nods quickly, as if he's going to be killed if he responds just a second slower. "I'd like to have a word with our guest, privately."

"Y— yes sir!"

You waved at the researcher as he runs out of the training room, almost tripping on his own feet along the way.

Then, you turned to Caleb and gasped with surprise as you found him right in front of you with very little space between your bodies.

"Having fun, Pip-squeak?"

You could feel heat radiating off from his body with the way he's leaning towards you.

And you don't dare to move back.

You're not afraid of the Colonel.

"I am, actually." you grinned. "This weapon is so fun to use!"

At last, his mask melts and you see Caleb's bright eyes and warm smile.

"Of course it's good. I was the one who commissioned it, after all."

"Really?!"

"It's originally meant for the Fleet to use for the pesky Wanderers we encounter on our missions. We've been testing out different energy sources and mechanism for weapons, so that's the one we came up with recently. I guess the Administration wants to let the Hunters Association use it too."

You scoffed and crossed your arms. "And you didn't tell me anything about this new cool weapon you've been building?"

Caleb chuckles at your pout and squishes your cheeks with one hand. "I was going to show you when it's fully done, but some researcher beat me to it. Tell me.... did you enjoy his company?"

The way his voice had gone deeper as he spoke the last few words caused a stir inside you.

"And if I did?"

Caleb's lips lost their amusement as they curled into a tight frown. He adjustes his hand to grip your chin, not enough to hurt but tight enough to prevent you from looking away as he leaned even closer to you.

Your noses touched as your foreheads rested against each other.

"If you did.... I might have to remind you..." his lips brushed against yours. "...whose company you should be enjoying only..." he then devours your mouth with his own.

His other hand found your hips and pulled your lower body against his, sliding a knee between your thighs.

Caleb moans as you tugged on the strands of his hair behind his neck, your hand dragging him down to you to deepen the kiss, which had grew more intense and desperate at every second.

He pressed his hips harder against you, and your core clenches at how hard he'd already gotten.

"Colonel — "

You jumped away from Caleb and picked up the gun that you didn't even know ended up on the floor without making a single noise.

The door was opened and in came a familiar Fleet member: Liam.

Caleb pretends to straighten his tie while you fidget with the weapon, trying to ignore how hot your face is burning.

Liam does a great job at dismissing the tension in the air. He clearly recognized you and he has some sort of idea of your close relationship with Caleb, but he doesn't say a word about it.

"Colonel Caleb, it's time to head out for the meeting."

Caleb nods, his cold mask reappearing. "Let's get going then."

You felt a little disappointed that your time with him has been cut off short yet again.

"Thanks for showing me how to use the weapon, Caleb. Bye."

Caleb's feet became thrice as heavy as he started to leave the training room.

He can't even give you a goodbye kiss or hug. Even if it's Liam, who he trusts more than anyone else in the Fleet, Caleb still can't risk anything.

At least, not yet.

There will come a time when you and him will not have to hold back on expressing your feelings for each other.

That's what keeps him going: to make sure that your shared tomorrows are ensured.

Even if it's not easy.

Still, the smile that you threw his way just as the door closed was enough to get him going for the rest of the day.

But for the rest of the week? Who knows.

Caleb is slowly losing his patience.

He can't take anymore interruptions.

Due to your hectic schedule, you didn't see Caleb until a week and a half later. The good news is that you'll finally have some time to yourselves as both of you are free for the weekend.

Caleb spontaneously wants to go camping, claiming that it's been a while since you two had done it, so you agreed and began preparations right away.

You started with shopping for tools and clothes, since he already has most of the essential equipment.

Because the location that Caleb has in mind is near a lake, you figured you'd want to go for a swim. Most of the swimsuit you own either shrunk or got lost somewhere, and so decided to buy one after getting the camping necessities.

"This is a little too bright — whaa — Caleb?!"

You screeched as Caleb enters the fitting room.

"What are you doing?!"

"The worker is half-asleep at the counter all the way at the front. She won't mind. You've been in here for so long, I'm worried that you're starting to feel lonely. So here I am, giving you company. You're welcome~"

"Caleb, you dummy." You lightly strike his head with the side of your hand. "At least be useful and tell me what you think of this swimsuit."

"You look great." he answers while sitting onto the bench, right next to your clothes.

"You didn't even look at it properly for three seconds."

"Don't need to."

You pinched his arm. "Be serious!"

"I am being serious." Caleb grins and tugs on your hand to pull you towards him. "You look stunning. Although... you might not wear it for long... " His fingers slowly moves towards the strings of your top. "Because I might get tempted..." his other hand traveled to your left thigh, caressing it softly before planting a kiss on your hipbone.

You bent down to capture his lips with yours, one hand sneaking under his shirt to feel his chest and abs. Caleb sighs against your mouth while his hands moved to your ass, squeezing them before leading you onto his lap.

At that moment, the saleslady's voice blasted from the store's speakers and made you jump.

"Attention to all customers: store closing in 20 minutes."

Because the trip was pretty much unplanned, you didn't expect the weather to be cool and cloudy. It's not the best, but it's certainly not the worst time to be outdoors, so you two headed out to nature anyways.

"You cheater!"

Caleb laughs at your accusation. "Just because all the fishes want to be caught by me instead of you, doesn't mean I'm pulling any funny tricks."

"Ugh! Yoy just got lucky with that spot! I just chose a bad one, that's all!"

"Even though we're basically right next to each other?"

"There's still a big difference."

Caleb caught a handful of fishes.

You caught one small one, but it's better than nothing.

"I don't need to eat your fishes. The one I caught will be more than enough to keep me full for a whole week!"

When it was time to sit by the campfire and eat dinner, you stubbornly refuse to eat the fishes caught by Caleb.

"No way I'm eating those traitor fishes!"

"Don't say that. You might hurt their feelings."

"They're dead."

"Their ghosts might be floating around us right now and they might be crying because you won't eat the souls they sacrificed just so you won't starve."

"Pfft — alright fine, I'll take some."

Along with the fishes you caught, you also ate the food that you've packed, all cooked by Caleb, so there was no shortage of meals.

Especially not for dessert. You didn't forget about the s'mores.

"I remember the first time we made s'mores. You'd always cry and get mad because you kept burning your marshmallows completely. Then, you'd steal my s'mores."

"Well, I'm a grown woman now." you grinned before stealing the s'mores that was on his stick. "I can make my own s'mores and steal yours."

Caleb dramatically sighs and shakes his head with disappointment. "I don't know why I never learn my lesson. Next time we go camping, I have to keep away from the s'mores monster."

"Heh. You won't be able to run from me." you scooted close so you could rest your head on his arm. "I'll put a leash on you so you can't leave. You're my s'mores maker forever."

Caleb smiles and rests his chin on the top of your head. "You don't need a leash. I'll gladly stay by your side and give you anything you ask for."

Your eyes widened for a moment, sensing the seriousness in his tone; however, you say nothing and shifted even closer to him so that you're embracing his arm.

He held your hand and rubbed his thumb against your knuckles. The two of you stared at the campfire and enjoyed the peaceful sounds of the crackling fire and the nature all around you.

Camping was a great idea.

After such chaotic days in the city, the comforting whispers of nature and Caleb's warmth has already cured your exhausted mind and body.

Caleb closed his eyes, fully appreciating the moment.

At last, there was only you and him. This is how it should be.

He wished time would stop just so that moment could last forever.

No one coming after you and him. No one to separate you. Nothing getting in the way of your happiness.

Just you and him and nothing else.

"Huh...?"

Caleb opens his eyes and looks around with confusion.

He wipes the droplet of water that landed on his nose.

"What was that?"

"What was what?"

Caleb soon got his answer when more droplets of water drizzles down on the two of you.

"Heh???!! It's raining?! Are you serious?!" you cried as the campfire slowly dies down due to the cold water that came to ruin your camping trip. "The weather app didn't say anything about rain!"

Caleb sighs. "Can't be helped. We can't stay here. Come on."

You had to take down the tent that you proudly put up upon your arrival. Caleb caught your frown and smiles, ruffling your hair.

"Don't look so sad. We'll just come back when it's not raining. We can stay much longer and you can have a second-chance at catching fishes."

"Are we going home?" you asked, already feeling disheartened.

You were really looking forward to spending more time with Caleb, away from all the distractions.

You were just starting to feel relaxed, but it looks like luck isn't on your side today.

"We could, if you want." Caleb grins. "Or....."

"Or....?"

Caleb's last minute solution for the interrupted camping trip is...

A hotel.

His plan is to temporarily stay at a hotel at another, smaller city where it isn't raining. Its area still has a peaceful atmosphere and more importantly....

"There's a hot tub?!"

Caleb was just as amazed. "So that's why it was so expensive. Here I was thinking they were scamming us for a simple room just for one night."

"Weeeell, too late to back out now~"

You wasted no time putting on the dried-up swimsuit that you'd used earlier at the lake and enjoyed the outdoor hot bath.

You can't help but sigh happily at the way yoyur body relaxes at the warm water that embraced your figure.

You rested your back against the rim of the medium-sized, circular tub and closed your eyes, taking a moment to appreciate the peaceful atmosphere.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't abandon me so fast just to get to the hot tub."

Caleb joins you a few moments later, in nothing but his swimming shorts.

"Poor Caleb. I hope you didn't get lost on your way here." you gave him a headpat as he stands in front of you.

"Of course not. I'll always find my way back to you." Caleb smiles as he twirls the pendant of his necklace with a finger.

You were not expecting such a sweet comeback to your sarcastic comment, and so you caught off-guard and was unable to come up with a witty reply.

"Y—you..."

Caleb chuckles as you suddenly lowered yourself and hid half of your face underwater.

"So much for camping, right?" he mumbles, looking up at the clear sky with bright stars and the moom beaming down at your figures. "We shouldn't have underestimated the weather."

The truth was, Caleb knew there was a chance of rain but he decided to proceed with the trip anyway because he was feeling desperate to be alone with you.

To run away from everything and everyone.

To be somewhere just the two of you, where no one can take you from him or him from you.

"True, it didn't end the way we planned, but..." you turned aside to face Caleb and wrapped your arms around his shoulders, locking your hands behind his neck, before pulling yourself close to him. "But this is really nice too. I like it here too."

Caleb leans closer to rest his forehead against yours.

"As long as I'm with you, I'd be happy anywhere."

His hands slides to your waist before his thumb draws circles on your skin. "I wish every day can be like this." Caleb whispers.

"Me too."

His lips gently brushes against yours. "The days will come when we won't have to worry about being away from each other. I promise."

He drops featherlight kisses on your lips, each one filled with passion that leaves you wanting more. As the seconds go by, his pecks gradually becomes deeper, lingering longer as if he's hesitant to break away.

Your lips parted and your tongues clash just like the little waves of water all around you, dancing along with the movements of your bodies.

Overcoming to his pent up emotions, Caleb captures your body and gently nudges you against the rim of the hot tub, trapping you between his arms by your sides and his body glued to yours.

As your thighs wrapped around his hips, Caleb's mouth moves down to your neck to leave a trail of mark on your skin, moaning with his eyes closed as your right hand traveled from his chest to his hips.

Your face flushes at the way he sighs as your fingers briefly brushed against the waist band of his shorts.

Caleb slightly thrusts against your body, and your eyes widen at the feeling of his hard cock against your throbbing core. You echoed the gasp that he lets out as he's unable to hold back on humping into you even more.

"Caleb...." your lips brushed against his ear. "I want to feel you more..."

Not a second after your whisper, Caleb twitches inside his shorts, and he resists mumbling out a curse, feeling his body heating up even more.

"Me too."

Caleb flashes you a small smile before kissing you once again, while his hands quickly but carefully work on undoing the ribbons of your swimsuit. The pieces of your clothing easily slides off and you gasp with surprise as you watch them quite literally fly off the hot tub.

"Caleb! Don't use your evol for that!"

He pauses his kisses and laughs shamelessly while getting rid of his clothes.

"Forgive me for getting a little carried away. We've only been interrupted about... a hundred times."

"Not a hundred!"

"A hundred and one." he murmurs, readjusting your bodies just a little so he could rest his chin between your breasts. "For every second we got interrupted.... we have to make up for it."

[letsdosciencetoit]

WIP - BuckTommy 5+1 - Part 3

Wanted to have this written yesterday, but got sick. Here's part 3 of 5 times the 118 worries about telling Buck that Tommy got married, and 1 time they realize they don't have to.

Part 1 Part 2

3. Hen

Hen has just finished her last 24 for the rotation and is looking forward to four days off.  Karen will be at work, while Denny and Mara are in school, so she has the day to herself until they get home.

She goes to the Trader Joes near the station before heading home to pick up some groceries, and the ingredients to make a big batch of Bobby’s chili.  It never comes out the same when she makes it.  The only other person who knew how to make it right was Buck, and she hasn’t seen him since the transfer.

There are no family meals at the station now, and she misses it. She wonders if she should reach out to Buck while she’s off, but she doesn’t know his schedule now. Maybe she should reach out to Chimney and see…

She stops before she rounds the corner when she hears a familiar voice in the next aisle.

“Sweetheart, I am not driving to Whole Foods if they don’t have fresh tagliatelle,” she hears Tommy argue, but the tone is fond, rather than exacerbated. He pauses to let the other person speak.  “Look, they have fettuccini or pappardelle.  Can I please grab one of those and come home?”

Hen pushes the cart forward, and sees Tommy leaning against a post with his phone up to his ear.  He’s smiling at whatever the other person is saying, then lets out a huff of laughter.  “I’m Italian, or course I know how to make tagliatelle. And you’d do that thing anyway.”

Hen takes Tommy in, seeing his smile, and how light he seems. The man pauses again, before he says, “Okay. I should be home in thirty. I love you, too.”

He hangs up the phone, and before he has the chance to clock Hen, she says, “I hear congratulations are in order.”

Tommy’s head jerks up, and he offers her a small smile.  “I guess Chimney told you the news?”

Hen nodded.  “I’ll say I’m surprised you moved so quickly, but I’m not really one to talk considering how Karent and I got together.”

Tommy smiles wider, clearly remembering the whirlwind romance, buying a house, and adopting Denny in short order.  “Yeah, we weren’t quite that quick with the U-haul.”

Hen snorts at the teasing jab. “So what brings you all the way to our Trader Joes?  You move with the marriage?”

Tommy shakes his head. “Not exactly, but apparently this store has the best selection of pasta, and he’s unwilling to compromise on his recipe.  I offered to come out after I got off today, but apparently I’m stuck making it from scratch after I catch up on some sleep.”

Hen is happy to see Tommy so smitten with his new man.  Still, she wants to check in with him.  “Rough shift, or something else?”

“No worse than normal, but I’ve been having some late nights at home,” Tommy answers, and on anyone else it would be a leer, but with Tommy, his tone and expression just let her know that if she’s going to pry he’s going to give her more information that she wants.

“Okay!  Still in the honeymoon period!  I got it!” she says, laughing and putting her hands up in the air in surrender.  “If you can tear yourself away from your new beau, you two should come over for dinner with Karen and I.  I don’t want to lose touch with you again.”

Tommy’s face shutters a little, and Hen is quickly reminded about how they’d lost touch after the transfer, and again after he and Buck split.

“I mean it,” Hen implores.  “I don’t want it to be another 7 years before we see each other again.”

“Okay,” Tommy answers, and Hen can’t tell if he’s serious, or just humouring her. “I’ll check our schedules and give you a call.  But the phone works both ways, Hen.”

“Yeah,” Hen admitted. “I deserve that.  I’ll do better.”

“That’s all we can try to do,” Tommy acknowledged. “But I’d better get this home so I can nap before I’m put to work in the kitchen.”

Hen waves him on.  “Yeah, yeah!  Get out of here and get your beauty sleep.”

Tommy just smiled and shook his head before he walked off.

*** 9-1-1 ***

Hen has the chili done by the time everyone gets home for the evening.  She’s even made corn bread with a photocopied recipe card Buck had given her, along with annotations in his hand writing on how to make it fool-proof for her.

They enjoy the meal together, even if it isn’t as good as Bobby’s, and she counts her blessings at how lucky she is to have the little family they’ve built.

After they get the kids ready for bed, she and Karen sit on the couch together and scroll on their phones.

“Tommy got married,” she offers up to Karen.

“Good for him,” is all Karen responds.

“I’m worried about how Buck will take it, if he finds out,” Hen says.

Karen puts down her phone and looks directly at Hen. “When was the last time you spoke with Buck?”

If she really things about it, she knows it’s been more than a month since he transferred stations.

Karen looks at her knowingly.  “I don’t really think you need to be worried about breaking the news to Buck.”

Hen feels a little ashamed, and Tommy’s words ring in her head.  “The phone works both ways.”

Buck had been reaching out, and reaching out, and reaching out for connection before he’d transferred. Maybe it was her turn to reach out now.

She sends him a short text, given the hour. 

HEN: Let me know your schedule, Buckaroo.  We’re long overdue for a date with a bottle of Tequila.

The message remains unread until she goes to bed.  When she wakes up, Buck has left a thumbs up, and nothing else.

Part 4

Tag List: @fenrirscarsback

[carlislefiles]

long distance | fushiguro megumi, geto suguru, gojo satoru, ino takuma, kamo choso, nanami kento, yuuji itadori ╰►living apart for a little while didn't seem to big a deal when it first started, but now he realizes that you've made being alone absolutely miserable and he copes...not at all. 12.5k words

a/n: hi hi! back with another headcanon post about the jjk men being so embarrassingly down bad for you, so nothing new of course. this was actually a request, so I hope it's what you wanted!! thanks for leaving a request, I love to get them :] warnings: cussing, kissing, vaguely yandere!suguru but he's trying his best not to be. I think that's all. some are canon compliant, i.e. sorcerer au, cult!geto, etc. and some are not; don't read too much into it please because I'm stupid and don't think very hard. enjoy <3

he always got nervous sending you off on missions. it’s not that he didn’t think you capable of handling yourself. no, megumi knows that you are. but curses are capable, too. capable of pain, capable of torture, capable of damage, capable of murder. he’s watched it happen one too many times. he’s come close to it himself, much too close for comfort.

so that ache is already permeating when yaga assigns you a mission. but this is not like most missions. long games were for special grades or, at the very least, adult sorcerers. you were still in school, still learning. but yaga thinks that’ll be good for you. so he sends you with nanami to some shabby motel in the middle of tokyo to retrieve a cursed object. all in all, no big deal. 

you didn’t cry when you left, didn’t cling to him at the train station or demand nightly calls or send him with some obnoxious token to remember you by. you kissed him, told him you’d be gone for a while, and promised to text when you could.

he didn’t think it would be this hard. it’s been four days. no messages from you yet. nothing but an empty text thread and that stupid blinking cursor in the box where he keeps typing things and deleting them. did you eat? are you okay? I miss you. deleted. deleted. deleted.

megumi isn’t good at being needy. he isn’t good at much when it comes to feelings, honestly. he’s trying not to think about the fact that the dorm feels colder without you. that yuuji keeps asking if he wants to hang out and he keeps saying no. that even nobara noticed he’s been quieter than usual. and then, finally:

“hey!

things are quiet here. I’m okay. 

nothing’s exploded, no one’s dead. don’t worry too much, okay? I know you are.”

he stares at the message for a full minute before answering. it’s the most emotion he’s shown all day. 

“trying not to. 

can you call tonight?”

that night, you do. your hair’s messy, you’re already in pajamas, and the lighting is bad. megumi thinks you look perfect. you don’t say much. you eat in front of the camera—instant ramen in a paper bowl, chopsticks clacking softly.

“you can never repeat this or I will kill you…but I’m kind of missing gojo-sensei’s late night convenience store trips for sweet treats. I’ve eaten plain noodles for the past three nights.” 

“yeah, but you’ll live.” god, he’s such a little shit.

you grin through a mouthful of noodles. “barely. nanami lectures harder than yaga. and he watches me eat like I'm gonna throw my food away or something.”

megumi tilts his head a little, lips twitching. “I would’ve watched you eat too.”

“yeah, but you wouldn’t judge me for only eating the noodles and leaving the broth.”

“...yes I would.”

you gasp, mock betrayal written all over your face. “that’s rich coming from the guy who eats cold miso soup straight from the fridge.”

he doesn’t deny it. doesn’t even blink. just says, “it’s convenient.” you both pause, a lull in conversation. "well, you should go to bed." he says, almost longingly, like he really doesn't want you to.

"wait, no! I still have to finish eating and write a mission debrief. don't leave me alone to this torture," you whine dramatically.

"isn't nanami on the other side of the wall? won't he get annoyed with us talking?" but it's a feeble, pathetic excuse. he doesn't care if nanami's annoyed, he wants to keep talking to you. but megumi is so painfully polite.

"nah," you lie. "he's probably writing his mission debrief. or laying in bed trying to pretend he doesn't miss his girlfriend."

"fiancée," nanami corrects, from the other side of the wall. you roll your eyes and keep eating, and that settles the matter.

megumi watches you from his own desk, textbook open in front of him, highlighter in hand. he doesn’t get much studying done. he keeps glancing at the way your hair falls into your face. the way you hum a little under your breath while you eat. the way you keep glancing at him to see if he’s still looking.

you tell him about the mission in vague terms. enough that he knows you’re still safe. you tell him how boring the town is, how the cursed energy’s been faint but persistent, how nanami makes you check in at regular intervals like a human tracking collar. you joke about it, but megumi hears the fatigue under the laughter.

still, you smile at him. stretch your arms over your head. let out a soft sigh and curl up on your thin little bed in the background. “you tired?” he asks.

you nod. “gonna pass out in a second.”

“I’ll stay on the line.”

you don’t argue. just mumble something like “okay, ‘gumi,” and turn the camera so it’s angled toward your pillow. he hears your breathing first. then the quiet shuffle of your blanket. and then—nothing. he doesn’t hang up. just listens to the soft rhythm of you sleeping and sets his phone down beside his own pillow. it’s the only thing that keeps the nightmares at bay. from that night on, it’s routine. if you don’t call, he doesn’t sleep.

some nights you eat in front of him again. sometimes he reads to you from the literature class you’re missing. you tell him you don’t miss the essays, but you do miss him reading to you, even if it’s monotone and serious. he takes it as a compliment.

he tells you that yuuji says hi. that nobara’s plotting to replace you as his “emotional regulation buddy” with a plush panda she won at an arcade. that gojo told the entire class you’re devastated to be missing “your favorite, beloved, beautiful teacher.”

you make gagging noises over the mic. megumi smirks. “gross,” you groan. “if I die, let that be the last thing anyone hears from me. not gojo-sensei slandering utahime’s good name as my favorite teacher.”

“you’re not dying, and utahime isn’t your teacher.”

“I know. just saying. and she’s still my favorite.”

he doesn’t like that kind of talk, even in jest. but he lets it slide. mostly because your voice is starting to fade again, and he can hear the soft, sleepy rasp that means you’re seconds away from unconsciousness. “goodnight, gumi,” you whisper.

he swallows. “goodnight.” he stays on the call long after you’re out, usually the whole night. he wakes up and nanami’s already dragged you out of bed. but sometimes, early in the mornings, earlier than he’d need to get up, he wakes to the sound of you saying “bye gumi,” before leaving. 

the calls had become a rhythm. a soft beat he could rest his heart against. so when the call doesn’t come—when you don’t pick up—megumi’s world tilts.

it’s a wednesday, just past three in the afternoon. he calls because he misses your voice, because he’s been holding on by the thinnest thread and hearing you breathe over the mic somehow makes him feel like his chest isn't full of barbed wire. it rings once. twice. four times. and then it goes to voicemail.

he stares at his screen. tries again. still nothing. he tells himself you’re probably just busy with the mission. maybe you’re asleep. maybe nanami’s giving a debrief. maybe your phone’s dead. maybe—maybe you’re hurt. maybe you’re bleeding out in some cold concrete stairwell and your cursed tool slipped from your hands and—

he calls again. and again. it spirals quick. too quick. he forgets how to sit still. paces his dorm room like the floor’s going to fall out from under him. pulls his hoodie tighter around him. shoves his phone in his pocket. takes it out. checks his texts. nothing. checks the school emergency threads. nothing. pings gojo just in case—doesn’t get an answer, which just makes it worse.

he feels it building in his chest—this clawing panic he hasn’t felt since he was a kid, since he watched his sister's body be wheeled away, since he realized he was alone in a world that doesn’t care how scared you are.

and then—his screen lights up. [your contact]: incoming facetime call. he answers before the first ring even finishes. “hello?” his voice is raw, low, already cracking.

“gumi,” your voice spills through the speaker, breathless, warm, real, and he can see your face, your phone propped up on the pathetic excuse for a desk in your motel room. “m’so sorry I didn’t answer.”

he exhales so hard it’s almost a gasp. the air rushes out of him like a lung finally punctured, like he’d been holding it the whole time. “what happened?” he asks, too fast.

“nanami was ripping me a new one,” you sigh, dragging the words out like a dramatic retelling. “I dropped a cursed object. by accident. no curses escaped or anything, he’s just being nanami about it.”

from somewhere behind you, nanami’s voice cuts in, sharp as a blade, “it was for your own good!”

“yeah yeah,” you mutter, rolling your eyes so hard he can hear it. “for my growth as a professional sorcerer, I know.” megumi doesn’t laugh, exactly. but something like a breathless, stunned smile pulls at his lips. you’re okay. you’re fine. his fingers are still trembling.

“don’t do that again,” he mutters. “don’t—don’t scare me like that.” he knows it’s irrational, that you’re on a mission and if you’re busy–for example, getting your ass chewed for a dumb mistake—he can’t expect you to drop everything for his phone call. 

“wasn’t on purpose, gumi.”

he knows that. he knows. but it doesn’t matter. logic doesn’t cushion the way his stomach still aches from the half hour of imagining you gone. “when you get home,” he says, voice rough, “we’re talking about this. about these long missions.”

“mm,” you hum. “you know we can't avoid them forever.”

“don’t care.”

you snort. “so bossy.”

“promise me.”

you go quiet for a second. not teasing, not stalling—just watching him through the camera, reading the too-serious look in his eyes. “…we’ll talk about it when I'm back,” you say softly.

megumi doesn’t push it. just says, “fine.” but he’s already made up his mind. he’ll talk to gojo. he’ll talk to anyone. no more of this. no more weeks without seeing you. no more half-breathing panic every time you don’t pick up. because he needs you too much to keep pretending this is normal.

you get home just after 2 a.m. about three weeks later.

you don’t expect anyone to be awake. especially not megumi. but the second you creak open the door to your dorm, you feel the warmth of the heated blanket across your bed and the familiar smell of your perfume hanging in the air like a ghost. he’s curled up on your desk chair, long legs tucked beneath him, phone in hand.

his eyes snap open the second the door clicks shut. “you’re late,” he mumbles, already standing. “you said midnight.”

you grin, exhausted. “blame the traffic. and nanami’s rigid driving; he’s almost as bad as ijichi.”

he’s already crossing the room. grabbing your bag from your shoulder. pulling the blanket draped over your other arm. but then he pauses—just a breath—and pulls you to him. no hesitation. no asking. he grabs you hard. arms like a vice, face buried in your shoulder, breath shaky against your skin.

you groan half-heartedly. “m’all gross. smell like gas station snacks.”

“don’t care.”

he holds you for another thirty seconds. maybe more. long enough that your fingers twitch against his back, grounding yourself, grounding him. long enough that your eyes sting with something quiet and familiar and good. then you pull back, barely.

“gumi,” you murmur. “shower. let me shower.”

he sighs through his nose but lets you go. watches you shuffle off into the bathroom, yawning as you go. he doesn’t lie down. he just sits.

legs tucked up, back resting against the headboard like he’s trying not to make himself too comfortable. because this isn’t his room. this isn’t his bed. but it smells like you—your detergent, your body spray, something floral and sugary he’d never be able to name but would recognize in any crowd. and it’s unbearable.

he hasn’t smelled you in weeks. and now you’re twenty feet away, humming off-key in the shower, and the reality of it slams him in waves. you’re here. you’re safe. your voice doesn’t sound strained. you aren’t limping. you’re home. and he feels—well…he doesn’t know what he feels. something like grief. something like longing, bent inward.

he picks at a loose thread on your blanket. he can hear the muffled splash of water. you’re probably using the shampoo he restocked before you left. the thought—so small, so domestic—makes his throat feel tight.

he hadn’t meant to wait here. he told himself he’d just check your room. make sure everything was warm. maybe leave a note. but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. not when the hours ticked past midnight. not when his hands wouldn’t stop shaking, the leftover tremor of panic clinging to his fingertips.

he’s not used to missing people. not like this. not in a way that guts him clean. he’s used to solitude. used to quiet. used to locking every sharp emotion behind his teeth. but you—you’ve made his silence heavy. you’ve made being alone unbearable. his eyes flicker toward the bathroom door again. he can hear the faucet shut off. movement. a cabinet. your toothbrush rattling. nothing special. ordinary things. and it moves him in a way nothing else has in days.

he wonders if you ever felt this way when he was on a mission. when he went quiet for hours. when his texts were flat and dry and full of nothing, just the bare bones of logistics. he never knew what to say. still doesn’t. you had always carried the weight of their communication, laughing off his ellipses and single word answers. he hated that it took your absence to realize how much he had taken that for granted.

his hand drifts toward the spot on your mattress where you usually lie. he presses his palm to the indentation there, barely noticeable, like a memory. like the way your body had fit there so many nights, warm and half-asleep and reaching for him.

he closes his eyes for a second. just one. listens to the lock click open. you come out in an oversized shirt and…are those his socks? gross, he thinks. they’re yours now. your hair is damp and messy and you’re rubbing at your eyes like you’re already halfway asleep. you don’t even notice the look on his face. which is good. because he’s looking at you like you hung the stars.

he doesn’t say a word when you climb into bed beside him. doesn’t flinch when you tug his arm toward you, drape it around your waist like it belongs there. doesn’t speak when you whisper something about the drive, about being sore, about the ramen being even worse on the way back.

he just holds you. pulls you into his chest like he’s still scared you’ll vanish again. like if he doesn’t wrap around you tight enough, you’ll disappear back into the wind.

and when you mumble, “shouldn’t’ve waited up for me,” into the fabric of his shirt, his breath catches.

he wants to tell you how much it wrecked him to wait. how every second of not knowing was its own kind of torture. how his heart felt like it was bleeding out in the dark. but he doesn’t. he just tightens his grip. noses into your damp hair. “couldn’t wait,” is all he says.

he hated leaving. hated the silence of being apart from you. hated the dull throb that settled in the hollow of his chest the second he stepped outside your shared space. it wasn’t about control. it wasn’t even about the cult, not really—though geto did have obligations. rules to keep, people to placate, power to maintain. no one ran an empire of belief and blood by sitting on their ass. but still.

the thing about being away from you was that it felt like waking up in the middle of a dream and finding the world gray and unrecognizable. suguru had known grief. he had known rage and cruelty, had held the hand of sorrow like an old friend. but this? this constant ache of missing you—of living in days you weren’t part of? it was a quieter suffering, but no less violent. it chewed at him from the inside.

you didn’t help. of course you didn’t. he could feel your affection like sunlight on skin, even from miles away. you texted often—too often, really, if he were a lesser man. if he didn’t live for every single message.

there was the blurry selfie you sent one morning, barely lit by dawn. bedhead in every direction, your eyes puffy with sleep and your mouth slack, crust of drool shameless at the corner. you looked like a disaster. you looked like home.

the bed misses you, you’d written beneath it. oh, and I do too. he stared at that photo for longer than he should’ve. long after he’d replied with his usual: go back to sleep. it’s too early. (you replied with bossy. he smiled.)

there was a picture of miso soup you made. you’d captioned it with theatrical misery: I made enough for you and I. guess I’ll have to eat it all myself :/

he laughed. a real one, from deep in his chest. he scared one of his subordinates with the sound. what a shame, he wrote back. 

there was a day you sent him a photo of yourself cross-legged on the floor, nanako braiding your hair and mimiko painting your toes the brightest glittery pink imaginable. they’d hijacked your phone and typed with relentless confidence: she so pritty sensei u better come home soon or we keep her

he’d answered with: the prettiest. she’s mine, not yours, he’d teased.

it struck him then, for maybe the hundredth time, how strange this life was. his days were grim and sterile. the smell of iron lingered on his clothes. he spoke to liars, sycophants, zealots. he disposed of the wretched, the corrupt. and yet…you were sending him soup. selfies with sleepy eyes and too-big shirts. pictures of your toes being painted like you had nothing better to do. like you weren’t worried about the dark parts of his life clawing too close to yours.

he missed you like a wound misses the stitch. like a man freezing misses the flame. you were busy, he knew. but not too busy. you always made time to call. the sound of your voice through the phone cut through everything. made it easier to breathe. he’d been in the middle of a meeting once when your name flashed across the screen. walked out without explanation. no one dared follow.

you greeted him with a teasing pout. “aww, you look tired, sugu.”

he rolled his eyes, dragged a hand down his face. “do I?” he murmured.

“yeah,” you said, soft. “a little.”

he considered lying. pretending he was fine. that he was just tired from work, from travel, from the endless cycles of doing what he believed was right. but instead, he just exhaled. let the truth out like smoke. “I just miss you.”

there was a beat of silence. a rustle as you shifted in bed. “I know,” you whispered. “you’ll be home soon. you’ll be in my arms before you know it.” you know that if you tell him you miss him, he’ll be ditching whatever cult business he needs to tend to tomorrow and driving home to you.

he closed his eyes. let the sound of your promise sink into his bones like warmth. that one sentence carried him for days. suguru geto had built a life from ruin. constructed an ideology from loss and pain and righteous fury. there was blood on his hands, and there would always be. but the knowledge that you waited for him—chose him—that you wanted him to come home, not as a leader, not as a god, but as a man—it was enough to keep going. only for so long, though. 

he’d decided he’d come home early. your precious, domestic texts and sleepy phone calls were only sustaining him for so long—small, bright glimpses into a life he was meant to be living in full. he’d stared too long at a photo of your socked feet propped up on the coffee table, your caption reading, these little guys are cold without you, and just…decided.

he wasn’t needed as badly as he was wanted. his responsibility to the cult weighed heavy, yes, but not heavier than the one he gave himself the moment he started loving you. and god, he loved you. so earnestly. so indulgently. as if he could worship the loneliness out of himself just by touching you enough, giving you everything you never asked for, offering you every corner of his heart like he owed you interest.

you told him he didn’t have to. he knew that. you never demanded a thing. never pressured. never made him feel like love was something transactional. but he had made a quiet promise to himself, sometime in the crook of a sunday morning with you pressed against him and sunlight painting your cheek—he’d love you so well, the world would forget it had ever been cruel to him.

so he came home. late. quiet. shoulder-heavy from travel, but stomach-light with the anticipation of seeing you.

he slipped into the house like a ghost—except ghosts don’t bring bags full of wrapped sweets and your favorite soy milk. ghosts don’t stop to make sure their footsteps don’t creak. ghosts don’t pause at the edge of the kitchen, heart pounding like they’re sixteen and about to kiss someone for the first time.

you were there. barefoot. bent over the stove in one of his old t-shirts, hair clipped messily, humming something tuneless as the smell of pan-fried dumplings filled the air. the domesticity nearly knocked him out. you looked like a dream he’d never dared to wish for.

and then you turned. and screamed. and launched yourself into him, clinging with all the force of a hurricane wrapped in a t-shirt and lavender body mist.

“when did you get back—how long were you standing there—why do you smell so good—wait, aren’t you supposed to be gone for another week—are you hungry—”

he just shushed you, kissed your hair, held you so close you whined, and cooed softly as if calming an overexcited cat. “missed you too,” he murmured. “so much, I couldn’t wait.” you’re flushed and breathless and glowing. and for the first time in too long, he feels…calm. like his body’s no longer stretched across two continents. like he’s whole again.

you finish cooking together, except his arms never leave you. he presses himself against your back, kissing your shoulder when you season something absentmindedly, humming when you sway a little to the music in your head. you tell him things he already knows from the phone calls, but hearing them now—woven with your laughter, punctuated by your hands brushing his as you grab plates—feels different. realer. better.

he makes you sit on his lap as you eat, feeding you little bites with his fingers, biting them himself just to feel your giggle against his jaw. “so clingy,” you murmur teasingly.

“deal with it,” he says, nuzzling into your neck.

the compliments come in waves, unfiltered. he missed your voice. your hair. the way you sit, slouched and cozy. the way you smell like rice steam and your favorite lotion. he missed your laugh, your offbeat commentary, the way you act like his t-shirts were always yours first.

you tease that he’s acting like you’ve been gone for years. but he just cups your jaw, tilts your head to kiss you slow. “felt like longer.”

you clean up together. he dries, you rinse. he hums as you put the dishes away, as if it’s some sacred duet. then, without a word, he scoops you up bridal style. you shriek. he grins, soft and sleepy. “bedtime,” he says simply, and that’s that.

in bed, he tugs the blankets high over you both, arms wrapping like he never wants to let go. your back presses to his chest. he buries his face in your neck. he doesn’t even speak. just breathes. in. and out. like your skin is the first oxygen he’s had in weeks.

and then you whisper, so mocking and sarcastic. “looks like you’ve missed the bed as much as it’s missed you.”

he doesn’t even pretend to be annoyed. he just hums, nose still pressed behind your ear. no bed is a bed without you in it. no life is a life without your warmth next to his.

you’d known gojo for years. adjacent, mostly. orbiting one another like curious planets in a system too chaotic to align—too many curses, too many tragedies, too many times your paths almost crossed. he was always a few feet away. loud and laughing, or solemn and deadly. the strongest. the best.

everyone seemed to gravitate toward him. you didn’t. not out of spite—just…you didn’t need to. and that alone made you unforgettable. you weren’t dazzled by the brilliance. you didn’t stumble when he walked into the room. you just met his gaze like he was anyone else. and god, that was all it took.

he spent months chasing you. ridiculous, grand, pathetically sincere efforts to earn your attention, your time, your affection. he hated how much he loved it. and he loved it. because for once, it wasn’t about being the strongest. you didn’t want his power. you wanted him. and now that he had you, nothing else quite compared. not even close.

of course, hard, cruel missions were just a part of his life—ugly constants that weren’t going anywhere. and he accepted that. he didn’t whine about it (too much). but what killed him now, what actually made his chest feel tight…was missing you. this was new. this ache, this yearning. he’d missed people before. friends, students, the dead. but this was different. a slow, golden kind of missing. like homesickness, but gentler. like longing, but soaked in love.

he left for a month-long mission—business, training, extermination, bullshit—with megumi and nobara in tow. the only thing that kept him sane was the note you’d slipped into his pocket. “good luck, handsome. not that you’ll need it <3” written in your loopy, familiar handwriting, laced with your perfume, folded once with intention. he kept it in the pocket of every uniform he wore. reread it constantly. swore the ink still smelled like you even after week three.

and then there were the calls. the constant calls. megumi swore he was going to throw gojo’s phone off a mountain if he heard your voice through it one more time. “eight hours,” megumi muttered once, utterly horrified. “eight hours. what do you even talk about?” gojo just smirked. “everything,” he said simply.

because it was true. you two talked about everything. and nothing. from global politics to what cereal you had that morning. you talked like it was oxygen. like if you stopped, the spell would break. and god, when you weren’t talking, you were texting. constant little updates that meant nothing to the world but meant everything to him. took a nap on your pillow. it still smells like you <3

burned my toast this morning, please come home and fix my life.

yuuji just dropped kicked a vending machine. your son is out of control.

he replied to everything. with emojis. with voice notes. with dumb selfies and long paragraphs and out-of-pocket comments that made you laugh until your stomach hurt. he’d wait five hours in a hostile zone for a curse to reappear and spend all of it reading back through your messages like they were scripture. he loved your voice. your thoughts. your jokes. your complaints about the coffee machine. your book recommendations. your grocery lists. you.

sometimes, late at night, when he was finally alone and the world had quieted, he’d just…watch you. on facetime. your camera angled toward your desk or the stovetop or your bed. sometimes you were talking, humming, scribbling notes. sometimes just brushing your hair or stretching. and he’d be still. quiet. eyes a little glassy. you were so real. so alive. and so impossibly his.

he didn’t even know what to say, half the time. which was rare, for him. he’d just murmur your name, and you’d glance at the screen and smile. and that was enough. he didn’t realize this kind of love existed before you. the soft kind. the quiet devotion. the love that doesn't demand anything except presence. and now? he can’t imagine surviving a single mission without it.

yes, he misses you. terribly. desperately. consumingly. he misses you like it’s a full-time job. like it’s a cursed technique in itself—one that gnaws at his chest and makes him sigh like a victorian widow. megumi and kugisaki are beyond sick of it. 

“did you know she was valedictorian?” “she expelled a special grade curse today, did you hear about that?” “she’s thinking about getting blonde highlights, what do you think? 'cause I think she’ll look gorgeous.”

and to make it worse, he says all of this unprompted. out of nowhere. while they’re eating. walking. fighting a curse. like he’s legally obligated to mention you every fifteen minutes or he’ll spontaneously combust. megumi glares. nobara sighs. gojo just smiles like the happiest idiot on earth. because honestly? the ache? the missing you? it’s the most beautiful pain he’s ever felt. how lucky is he, really? to love someone so good it makes his chest hurt? to have a reason to want to come home at all? he thinks about that a lot. how he used to come back from missions to empty dorms and empty beds. how his life used to feel like an endless hallway with no one at the end. now? he’s got you.

so he sends you things. takeout from your favorite place, delivered to your door like clockwork on tuesday nights. trinkets from roadside stands. little notes, scribbled on receipts and napkins and hotel stationery, folded into snail mail envelopes with poorly drawn hearts and terrible handwriting. souvenirs from tokyo, as if it’s not your backyard. “this made me think of you,” he always writes. every single time.

and when he finally comes home—god, when he finally walks through that door…you’re there. his house is dark except for the lamp you’ve left on. you’re curled up on the couch, eyes fluttering, a blanket pulled halfway over your lap, waiting for him like it’s the most natural thing in the world. and just like that, he forgets he’s tired. forgets the drive. forgets nobara and ijichi bickering in the backseat. forgets everything except you.

his chest cracks open and sunlight pours out. he practically launches himself across the room to scoop you up, spinning you in a dizzy circle before you can even stand. you’re real, he reminds himself in his head, pressing kisses to your cheeks, your jaw, your forehead, your nose, like he’s checking if you’ve been replaced by a doppelgänger. you’re here. you’re mine.

you’re laughing, breathless, arms looped around his neck as he carries you like a bride to your own couch. he smells like wind and exhaustion and sweets. his hands are everywhere—tugging your hair gently, holding your face, gripping your waist like he might float away without you. and the talking—oh, the talking—it starts instantly.

you’re telling him about the neighbor’s cat and your lesson plans and the weird dream you had last night, and he’s telling you about the guy who tried to stab him and how megumi learned a new technique and how he missed you so much it made his stomach hurt. you don’t stop talking. it’s like trying to drink from a firehose of love. overwhelming and nonstop and absolutely intoxicating.

you both fall asleep in the living room that night. you, tucked into his chest. him, whispering half-conscious declarations of love into your hair.

“I missed you so much, baby. like, actual physical pain. never leave me. ever. I'll die. actually. dead. gone.”

you just hum and stroke his hair. and he clutches you tighter. because this is his whole world. and it talks to him in your voice.

it was just a three-month internship. just one summer. twelve weeks, eighty-four days. not even a full season. but, to takuma, it felt like a lifetime.

and it was a critical opportunity—one of those shiny, brag-worthy, fate-altering positions that made people blink twice when they heard the name. working at a renowned fortune 500 company. a place with glass walls and brushed steel fixtures and a breakroom espresso machine that cost more than your entire rent. takuma was lucky to even be employed there. he was luckier to be handpicked. he couldn’t say no. even though he wanted to.

a whole summer away from you was a particular kind of torture he wasn’t built to survive. and it wasn’t like he’d be lazing about in a cushy little dorm, feet up, texting you all day. he’d be working. up before the sun. in meetings. taking notes. running errands. being important™.

and you’d be busy too. school was out, which meant full-time hours at a job that drained you to the bone. you were practical like that. no-nonsense. bossy in a way that only he could make soft. you took one look at his hesitation and gave him that look. and that was it.

you made him go. told him that your relationship could never come between him and his future. told him he had goals and ambition and plans—and none of them would matter if he didn’t take himself seriously enough to chase them. he called you mean. you kissed his forehead and told him to grow up. he left the next morning with tears in his eyes and your hoodie in his carry-on.

he was a good boyfriend. no, a great boyfriend. but long distance revealed a hard truth: you were the one managing all the actual boyfriend tasks. you texted him reminders like his mother.

take your lunch break. they legally have to let you.

coffee is not breakfast. I swear to god, takuma.”

we can only talk for five minutes. go to bed.”

go to sleep. do not respond to this. I'm serious.

and he whined about it, obviously. because he was a little brat and he missed you like hell. but being bossed around by you? being cared for by you from miles away? it melted him. reduced him to mush, to goo, to something warm and stupid and in love.

he thought about you constantly. obsessively. you weren’t just on his mind—you were his mind. his default brain setting. his internal monologue. his every other sentence in conversation. his coworker was going to snap.

by week two, the poor man knew your full class schedule, your favorite brand of hair conditioner, and the name of your cat from middle school. takuma would not shut up. not during meetings. not during breaks. not even while writing quarterly summaries. his fellow intern had to physically swat his arm to stop him from zoning out mid-presentation because takuma was daydreaming about you in too tight tank tops and daisy dukes. (which, by the way, you rarely wore, but in his fantasies, they were basically the only things in your closet.)

he was losing it. and the worst part? you weren’t even out partying. you weren’t living your best hot girl summer. you were at home, being responsible. studying for a semester that hadn’t even started yet. working long shifts at a minimum wage hellhole that absolutely did not deserve you.

he thought about you when he typed emails. when he walked through security. when he accidentally dropped his pen and found your scrunchie in his pocket.

you consumed him. and it was kind of…concerning.

you didn’t even text him much. you were sentimental in theory, not in practice. but he’d set your custom ping—something soft and sparkly and obnoxious—and every time it went off, he dropped everything. his clipboard, his sandwich, his laptop (once). nothing mattered more than those three words lighting up his screen.

miss you.

ate some strawberry pocky today. reminded me of you.

you better bring me a souvenir.

simple stuff. barely even emotional. but it had him blushing. smiling at his phone. kicking his feet like a high school girl in a shoujo anime. god, he was gone. he’d sigh and press his phone to his chest like it was your face. he’d write six drafts of his reply and delete them all. he didn’t want to sound too clingy—which was hilarious, because he was. completely. desperately.

he nearly sobs at his desk. a fellow intern throws him a concerned glance from across the boardroom. the last week of the internship, he’s jittery. manic. he can’t sit still. can’t focus. his work’s still excellent, but it’s powered entirely by the promise of you.

I bought the ingredients for your favorite udon to make when you get home :) 

oh god. a fucking smiley face. you never sent those. he throws his head back and groans like he’s been shot. the guy next to him asks if he’s okay. “just in love,” he sighs dramatically. seven days. seven days until he can lie across your lap and whine about capitalism and let you pet his hair while he tells you about his boss’ entire schedule from memory. seven days until he can finally, finally, come home.

he’s texting you dumb updates the entire train ride home. like, every single thought that crosses his mind gets sent to you as a message.

just passed a field of sunflowers. thought of you.

guy next to me is eating chips. I want to fight him.

I'm wearing the cologne you like. do I smell good from here?? 😏

and you’re reading them all. like they matter. like they’re important. because they are. you’re hearting each message. sending him little thumbs up emojis, laughing silently at his nonsense, and responding with fast fingers because you’re at work and you really shouldn’t be on your phone—but you can’t not. it’s takuma. he’s coming home.

the anticipation eats at you. he’s only hours away. and still, it doesn’t feel real. three months is a long time. three months is forever. three months made you forget what it’s like to hear him laugh in person, to feel his breath against your skin.

tonight’s dinner will be fun. your friends insisted. “celebrate!” they said. “you’ve been holding it down on your own, you deserve a night!” and yeah, they’re right. but when takuma actually gets there—god. it’s too loud. too many people. music blasting. laughter ringing. someone’s yelling about a spilled drink and someone else is screaming over a beer pong table. it’s overstimulating. and he’s exhausted. and he hasn’t seen you in eighty-four days. and all he wants is to be somewhere quiet with you.

then—he sees you. standing in the yard, talking with a few friends, untouched by the chaos. the rest of the world blurs.

he sees you. tank top. daisy dukes. a glass in your hand, your other arm crossed loose under your chest. hair kissed by sun, smile subtle, barely-there gloss. you are the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. and he’s not thinking anymore. he’s moving. across the lawn. through the bodies and beer and sweat and laughter.

you turn, meet his eyes—and that’s it. he kisses you like he’s trying to wake up from a bad dream. like he’s afraid if he doesn’t touch you fast enough, you’ll disappear again. his hands are wrapped around you, one in your hair, the other around your waist, pulling. he holds you like oxygen. he breathes you in. he kisses you like you’re a prayer he never said out loud.

someone whistles. someone cheers. one of your friends gasps out a half-laugh, half-“oh my god.” but none of it registers. just the way your fingers curl into his shirt. just the way your breath stutters when he finally pulls away. your eyes flutter open and you’re smiling—shy, surprised, soft.

and then—he grins, dazed and breathless. leans in again and murmurs, "I love your outfit.”

and you smirk, head tilted, knowingly smug. “I thought you might.”

"let's go home, yeah?" and you nod. yeah. home.

choso and you hadn't been dating for long. the concept of romantic love was still relatively new to him—foreign, even. for most of his existence, his idea of love was synonymous with protection, with blood, with survival. this was different. now, he knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that he was definitely, 100%, desperately, ridiculously in love with you.

but that sensation was new. often overwhelming. sometimes he’d just stop mid-sentence, mid-step, mid-thought, and look at you—brows drawn, head tilted, eyes wide—like he couldn’t quite figure out how all that affection fit inside his chest. he wasn’t built for this. not really. he didn’t know where to put all of it.

he didn’t say “I love you” often. not yet. not because he didn’t feel it—but because he was terrified that once he said it out loud, it would never stop coming out. like a dam breaking. like a wound that wouldn’t clot. to cope, he defaulted to closeness. physical presence was grounding. if he could see you, then he could breathe. you didn’t seem to mind. neither did he. you spent so much time together that megumi started calling you “the parasite couple” under his breath. choso didn’t take offense. parasites were just misunderstood.

when you left on a two-week-long mission, he stood by the door, stiff and silent, while you packed. his stomach felt strange. not painful—just...loud. like there were nerves bubbling in his bloodstream. his general thoughts were that he was worried. he trusted you, sure. he knew you were competent. but humans were fragile. you'd once bruised your knee walking into a coffee table. what if something actually dangerous tried to hurt you?

he considers asking yaga if he can go too—just stay a couple towns over, pretend it's a coincidence—but yuuji talks him down. “dude. don’t be weird about it. she’s gonna be fine. they wouldn’t have sent her if she wasn’t capable.” he knows yuuji’s right. he hates that yuuji’s right.

he hugs you for a long time before you leave. he doesn’t want to let go. not because he’s being dramatic—but because his brain keeps cataloguing the things he might miss: the sound you make when you stretch, your fingers in his hair, the way your socks never match. he helps carry your single bag to ijichi’s car and lingers near the curb while you make small talk with your reluctant chauffeur. he’s glad you're not flying. planes are unnatural. “giant metal bird coffin” is what he calls them.

before you climb into the backseat, you kiss him. it’s not a dramatic, cinematic kiss. it’s soft, familiar. your lips are a little chapped. the kind of kiss that promises i’ll come back. his heart stutters so hard in his chest that he sways slightly on his feet. you smile at him—that smile—and he wonders how anyone survives this feeling.

maybe one day, your kisses won’t give him heart palpitations…maybe. but he doubts it.

“I’ll be back before you know it,” you promise, tapping your fingers twice against his chest, just above where his heart is hammering. “and now you know how to facetime me. you can see me anytime you want.” he nods solemnly. like you’ve given him a sacred task.

he tries to be subtle. he really does. he drafts every text twice, sometimes three times, trying to land on just the right combination of calm concern and casual curiosity. he thinks he’s being clever. he is not being clever or subtle in the slightest. he leaves you voice notes, asking questions, rambling.

what time did you go to sleep last night? don’t talk to strangers. did you bring your charger? what’s the exact longitude and latitude of your hotel? do you have enough socks? just double checking—when do you come back again? did you eat? you should eat. I'm not saying you didn’t eat I'm just—just checking. ignore me if you already ate. actually don’t ignore me. respond when you can. no pressure

“you don’t have to text her every five seconds,” yuuji says, halfway through a cup of instant noodles. he doesn’t even look up when he says it. “you’re gonna give her stress wrinkles.”

“she doesn’t get stress wrinkles,” choso says flatly, still staring at his phone. “her skin’s too perfect.”

“okay, see, that’s exactly what I mean.” yuuji finally looks up, waving his chopsticks for emphasis. “you’re spiraling.”

“I'm not spiraling,” choso says, with all the conviction of a man who is absolutely spiraling.

“you sent her fourteen messages in three minutes, dude.”

“she could be in danger.”

“she said she was taking a shower.”

“.......showers are slippery.”

by day three, the nerves have fully colonized his chest. he’s not just lovesick. he’s worried. anxious in the way only someone who's lived through the worst can be. you’re strong. he knows that. he believes that. but strength doesn’t mean invincible. it doesn���t mean untouchable. and you’re so selfless, so catastrophically kind. the kind of kind that gets people killed.

choso’s seen too many strong people fall because they were too busy protecting someone else. what if it happens to you? what if you’re too busy shielding a civilian to dodge a hit meant for someone else? he tries to explain this to you on facetime. several times, actually. but he always gets distracted.

because you answer the call, freshly showered, hair damp and curling, hoodie swallowing your shoulders, and look up at him with those wide, unassuming eyes like he’s not a man currently being held together by string and blood manipulation.

you talk about your day. every detail, every dumb anecdote. the mission report you had to rewrite because gojo kept adding dramatic sound effects. the vending machine that ate your change. a black cat you passed on the way back to the inn. you talk, and choso listens. listens like it’s scripture. wide-eyed, silent, lips parted slightly like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your voice. nodding slowly, rhythmically, like a metronome. “uh huh.” “yeah.” “that sounds…like him.” “uh huh.”

he’s so mesmerized that you swear, one night, you see a tiny sliver of drool start to escape the corner of his mouth. “choso,” you giggle, leaning closer to your screen. “you’re staring.”

he blinks. slow. like he’s waking up. “I'm always staring,” he admits quietly. “you’re the only thing I want to look at.”

you short-circuit a little. he doesn’t even realize what he’s said. he insists you fall asleep first every night, even though you’re exhausted and he’s clearly worse off. “I’ll sleep better knowing you’re okay,” he murmurs. and he does. at least for a few hours. you’re always gone by the time he wakes up—already off to scout a cursed site or drag gojo out of a sugar-induced stupor. and the anxiety…it creeps back in. like tidewater. slow but sure.

still, your texts help. short. direct. enough to tell him you’re alive and functional.

leaving to go scout out a site with excessive cursed energy. I promise I'm being careful. I’ll text again in a couple hours. gojo is the most annoying person on the entire planet, remind me of that next time I accept a mission with him.

he rereads every message five times. he takes screenshots. it’s pathetic. he knows that. but the truth is: he would give anything—anything—just to hold your hand for five minutes. to feel your pulse, warm and steady beneath his fingers, and know that you’re safe.

he didn’t realize love could feel like this. it’s always been, up until this point, soft. kind. beautiful. overwhelming in a lovely, poetic way. like the sun coming out for the first time and stretching warm fingers across his skin, melting all the snow left behind from years of cold. you made him feel safe. known. like maybe he wasn’t just a collection of trauma and blood anymore—but something real. something deserving.

but this? this kind of love? it hurts. it aches in places he didn’t know could hurt. a deep, bone-weary throb that settles in his chest and pulses every time he thinks about you being somewhere he’s not. every time he imagines you standing alone in a cursed place, facing something dangerous. every time he glances at the empty space beside him and remembers it’s going to be empty for another seven days.

he didn’t know missing someone could feel like this. he didn’t know it could feel like grief. it eats away at him that he can’t be with you. not even to interfere—just to be there. in case. what if you need something? what if you drop your water bottle and no one picks it up for you? what if your shoelace comes untied and you’re too busy to notice? what if your hair gets caught in your jacket zipper and it takes you ten full minutes to get it out and you end up frustrated and alone and—who will help you, if not him? he should be there. he should always be there.

his hands flex at his sides. his body hums with this low-level urgency he can’t shake. fight or flight. protect or perish. the same instinct that kept his brothers safe for years is now turned toward you—and he doesn’t know how to channel it when you’re not near him.

and he’s not sure what to do with that. not sure what kind of man he becomes when he doesn’t have a purpose. when his job is to wait. he hates the silence in his room. it’s the worst kind of loneliness. knowing you were here and now you’re not. but you always seem to catch him mid-spiral, facetiming him exactly when he decides it’s been too long since he’s seen your face and heard your voice. 

because for you, yeah, being apart was hard. you missed him—his quiet presence, his constant check-ins, his overbearing love masquerading as casual concern. it wasn’t easy. but you functioned. you coped. you did your job and stayed in touch and kept your head on straight. choso…did not. he was a mess. restless. worried. half-feral. the ghost of your warm body in his bed haunted him like a curse. now that you’re back, he’s not wasting a single second pretending he’s fine.

you get home late. everything is quiet. the streetlights are humming and the world feels soft at the edges, like it's been waiting for you to come back. you're not expecting anyone. you thought you told him not to wait up.

but there he is—choso, standing near the steps with his hood up, hands in his pockets like he’s trying to keep them from shaking. he looks like he hasn’t slept in years. like he’s rooted in place by some force bigger than him. his eyes catch yours in the dark, and something in his shoulders loosens.

you barely get a word out before he’s crossing the distance and crushing you into a suffocating hug. you’re mumbling something about needing to unpack or go turn in mission reports to yaga’s office. he mumbles, arms locked tight around your shoulders, “not important. I've got you now.”

you laugh into his hoodie. “hello to you too.” he hums. it might be a greeting. it might be relief. you’re not sure. you didn’t realize how much you missed him until you felt the way your body settled into his. your bones remember him. your heart remembers him.

“we should take more missions together,” he adds a moment later, voice still low and flat like he’s making a tactical recommendation.

you grin, tired and stretching like a warm, lazy cat in the cold. “okay. that would be fun.”

he doesn’t say anything to that, but his arms tighten around you. just for a second. you don’t know how much he needed to hear that. he missed you so much he thought it would kill him. not in the poetic sense. in the actual, physical, hurting sense. two weeks felt like a lifetime. it felt wrong. unnatural. like something vital had been ripped out of his life and taken on a mission without him. you always said you were fine alone. but he wasn’t.

he scoops you up. not because he wants to be cute about it. because his body demands it. because now that he has you again, he's not risking even the smallest chance of you slipping away. the steps to his dorm are a blur. the hallway barely registers. all he knows is the way your weight feels in his arms, familiar and right, like you were made to rest there.

he doesn't even let you unpack. he doesn’t ask. just lays you down in his bed like he’s tucking away a treasure. joins you seconds later, pulling you in with the neediness of someone who's been cold for weeks and has just found the sun again. you sleep, finally. and he holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish if he loosens his grip.

by morning, his arms are deadlocked around your waist. his face is pressed into the back of your neck, breath steady, but there's a tension in him that never quite fades. like even in sleep, he’s preparing for the moment someone tries to take you away again.

you shift. once, twice. no give. you’re held fast. but it doesn’t feel suffocating. it feels nice, familiar. you press your hand over his, tangled at your stomach. his fingers twitch, tighten, tangle further. choso, even now, asleep and still, is reminding you: you’re home. 

nanami married you for a reason. and it’s not because he was feeling impulsive. he doesn’t do impulsive. no—he married you because he never wants to be apart from you. ever. even back when you were dating, before the shared toothbrush holder, before the joint tax returns, before you casually wore his surname like it had always belonged to you—he hated leaving. you didn’t live together yet, but every second spent away from you was filled with torment. not the dramatic kind—just the kind that gnawed slowly and methodically.

what if you got off work bone-tired and skipped dinner? who would cook for you? who would put a heating pad on your back and massage your feet and let you drool on his chest during a 90-minute documentary about the politics of Japan’s train system? what if your car broke down and it was raining and you didn’t have your umbrella and your phone was dead and your heels were too high? what if there was a sorcerer’s gala while he was away—who would hang off your arm, look stupid in a suit for you, worship the ground you walked on like a trained husband-shaped puppy? what if you opened a jar and the lid was too tight and you strained your wrist trying to twist it off? who would open it for you? who would kiss your wrist better and say, “you loosened it for me” just to make you feel strong? what if your neck hurt because you slept wrong and nobody was there to adjust your pillow, rub your shoulders, and scold you for not sleeping ergonomically? what if you had a nightmare and woke up reaching for him, but he wasn’t there? who would tuck you back in and whisper that you’re safe? who would pull you into his chest and fall asleep breathing in the scent of your shampoo? what if your zipper got stuck on your favorite jacket and you were late for something and already frustrated and flustered? who would help you without laughing, without teasing, without judgment—just gently fix it and kiss your forehead and say “you look beautiful”? what if you finally got around to assembling that bookshelf and it collapsed halfway through? who would wordlessly take over, follow the manual to the letter, and build it better than ikea ever dreamed?

he hates what-ifs. they make him feel helpless. because what if you needed him, and he wasn’t there? it simply eats him alive. so now that he has you, now that it’s legal and spiritually binding and signed on paper, he’s simply decided that leaving you is no longer an option. a trip away from his wife is inhumane.

he once went on a long mission right after you two got engaged and swore he aged five years in those short weeks. he didn’t sleep a full night. didn’t enjoy a single bite of food. got irrationally angry at a hotel pen. so, no—travel is out of the question.

which is why you’re currently shoving him out the door, a pressed shirt and briefcase in hand. “it’s gojo’s bachelor party,” you say. “it’s five days long,” he says, like the words physically wound him. “you have to go,” you insist, ignoring the withering look he gives you. “I don’t have to do anything,” he counters. “you’re his best friend.” the glare he gives is withering. “and, his only friend that isn’t 16 years old.” he scoffs. “I’m his coworker. and besides, he’s friends with shoko.” “oh please. ieiri would never admit to being his friend. she hates him more than you do.” so he goes. begrudgingly. and when the plane lands, he’s already got your contact pulled up. texts you: Landed safely. Will call you after I’ve unpacked. Love you. punctuation and all. capitalized. formal. very him. you read it at work and clutch your phone to your chest like a teenager.

he facetimes you as he unzips his suitcase—facetimes, even though he hates it, says it’s awkward. “you don’t even look at the camera, you look at yourself,” he once grumbled. but you pick up before the first ring finishes. “KENTO!” you squeal. “I didn't think you’d facetime!” he smiles, soft and slow. “I wanted to see your face,” he says, like it’s just a fact.

you coo. he blushes. you tell him you miss him. he immediately replies, “don’t tempt me. I have a browser tab open for a return flight in three hours.” you laugh. “you just got there. go have fun, kento.”

he sighs and props you up on the hotel room desk like it’s a Zoom call with a board of executives. “I’m not fun,” he mumbles. shocking. you tease him until he cracks a smile. you tell him you love him. you do the thing where you blow him kisses through the phone and he pretends to be embarrassed, but he loves it. gojo has to knock on his door for five straight minutes before nanami finally hangs up and leaves for the night’s events.

you get a text a few hours later. Goodnight, my love. the timestamp is ridiculously late.

you text back: good lord, how late did gojo make you stay out?

nanami: Why are you still awake? you: you’re texting me at 2am and i’m the one getting scolded for being awake?

he spends ten seconds too long responding, so you call. “if you thought I was asleep, why’d you text?” you tease. he sighs. “I was hoping you wouldn’t reply until morning.” “you know I can't ignore you,” you tease, but he looks so serious. he goes silent. just breathes into the phone. “sleep well, darling,” he says. “you too,” you reply, knowing he won’t, not without you there. 

the days blur together. calls in the morning while you’re brushing your teeth. calls at lunch while you eat in your car. calls when you’re off work and he’s getting ready for that night’s activity. you complain about having to ride the train home. “I hate that,” he mutters. “I hate that I'm not there to drive you.” “then come home,” you say sweetly, fluttering your lashes and smiling. “oh, don’t tease me. I’d do anything to be home with you. gojo signed us up to minigolf this evening.” the look he gives you says he’d rather driving a knife into his stomach. 

you jokingly suggest he take gojo to a strip club. he looks physically ill. “why on earth would you—?” “it’s a joke, kento.” “it’s not funny.” “you’re right,” you laugh. “you’d cry if a woman touched you that wasn’t me.” he doesn’t deny it.

he’s silent for a second, then says: “it wouldn’t be right.” you laugh; nanami kento, the eternal gentleman. 

he texts you on his final night, and he’s clearly drunk. not in a stumbling, slurring, karaoke-on-the-table way—nanami would rather set himself on fire—but in a way only you would notice. his texts lack punctuation. no capitalization. no perfect syntax. just: back at the hotel. alive. gojo is an idiot. and when he calls as he’s unlocking his hotel room, it confirms everything. there’s a muffled thud. a pause. and then, low under his breath, as he walks face-first into the bathroom doorframe: “fuck.”

you gasp like he just punched a nun. “kento kiyomasa nanami—did you just cuss?” “…it slipped.” “you never cuss.” “I do occasionally.” “kento. I’ve known you for three years. you’ve cussed maybe five times, and this is your first ‘fuck.’” he groans dramatically, and the sound is just shy of a whimper. when he finally tilts the phone to his face, he looks…wrecked in the softest way. tie gone. white shirt rumpled and unbuttoned halfway down his chest. slacks nowhere to be seen. hair tousled like he’s been pacing and running his hands through it nonstop. eyes sleepy, flushed, and glassy. he’s laying on his stomach like a teenager at a sleepover.

meanwhile, you’re sitting cross-legged on the bed, backlit by your nightstand lamp. damp hair clinging to your shoulders, your skin glowing from moisturizer, oversized sleep shirt hanging off one shoulder. and you’re giving him that look. that sleepy, “i love you so much it’s criminal” look.

he stares. you smile. minutes pass. finally, you tilt your head and laugh gently. “kento, what did you even call for? you’ve barely said anything.” he sighs like he’s just been caught mid-crime. “…I just needed to see your face.” “well, you’ve seen it. time for bed.” “no.” he shifts, gripping his phone like it’s a life preserver. “don’t go.” “okay…why not?” “I need to keep seeing your face.” you snort. “I'll stay on until you fall asleep, sweetie. but just think—if you sleep now, tomorrow will come faster, and you’ll get to see me in person.”

“...I could just stare at you all night and see you tomorrow.” “go to sleep, nanami.” “eugh, don’t call me nanami. it’s kento. or—sweetie. I liked that.” he doesn’t have the clarity to be embarrassed by that admission. you barely say anything, but your smile says it all. it floors him. nicknames weren’t your thing. you once told him calling someone “babe” felt like being cast in a cw show against your will. but he lives for these rare little indulgences, like a victorian man being handed an ankle.

he’s out in minutes. drunk sleep swallows him whole. and when he wakes the next morning—groggy, puffy-eyed, collared shirt all wrinkled and buttoned wrong—the call’s still on. your phone is face-down on your bed, but he hears you breathing steadily. you never hung up. neither did he. he doesn’t have the heart to end it.

you wake up not long after, hair wild, muttering about needing caffeine and how you’re out of creamer and if this is how society collapses. he listens, entranced, while brushing his teeth. packs while you throw on an outfit and kiss the phone goodbye. you don’t mention his drunken rambling. don’t tease him (yet). you just talk like normal, and he’s so grateful he could die.

when he lands—when he walks through the gate and sees you there, bouncing on your heels in the middle of terminal 9, grinning like the sun—you run to him. you launch yourself into his arms, koala-style, and he catches you with a grunt. you pepper kisses all over his face, ignoring the small crowd around you. you’re cooing, giggling, sing-songy voice saying, “you’re home, you’re home, you’re home,” like it’s magic.

once upon a time, there was a version of nanami who would’ve been mortified. who would’ve rolled his eyes and muttered about professionalism and “appropriate conduct.” that man is dead. this nanami holds you tighter than what’s probably allowed by airport safety regulations. he’s not letting go. not again. you finally pull back, brushing a hand over his jaw, cheeks flushed. “so…” you grin, wiggling an eyebrow. “feeling sober? or do I need to drive? might give you some more time to stare at my face.” he groans. but as you laugh—arms still locked around his neck, your perfume faint and warm and unmistakably you—he buries his face in the crook of your shoulder and breathes you in like it’ll fix every crack in him. and it does. it does.

after a week of blaring music, bad cologne, and gojo’s incessant, brain-melting antics, this—you—feel like quiet. like calm. like coming home in the most literal, soul-deep way.

I'm never leaving my wife again, he thinks, and it's not a casual thought. it's a vow. a personal mandate. a declaration of absolute truth. the world without you was gray, predictable, and painfully dull. but now—now you’re here and smiling, and suddenly everything is color again. texture. sensation. a rush of heartbeat and heat and softness that could crack a lesser man clean in two. he kisses your temple like it’s a lifeline and exhales, long and low, into your hair. god, he loves you. so much it might actually kill him.

“let’s go home,” he murmurs. “I’m never doing this again.”

you pull back, suspiciously pleased. “a bachelor party?” “no. leaving you.” you blink, pretending to swoon dramatically. “oh, wow. should I faint?” “you should be impressed,” he says flatly, “at how long I was able to stay away.” “I am,” you beam, cupping his cheek. “I love you, sweetie.” it’s a joke, but his soft smile is so painfully serious. 

“I can't believe fushiguro is letting you spend the whole summer with him,” you tell yuuji, voice tinny through the speaker but smiling all the same.

“I know! it’s probably gojo-sensei’s doing, but I’m gonna pretend it’s just ‘cause he’d miss me way too much to go the whole summer without me.”

yuuji grins so wide it nearly splits his face, angling the phone so you can see the infamous fushiguro in the seat beside him. the look megumi gives you both is deadpan—dry enough to wrinkle a desert. you almost feel bad for him. almost. but you know better. megumi loves your boyfriend almost as much as you do. which is saying something, because loving yuuji feels like breathing: unconscious, necessary, natural.

they're on the train heading toward gojo’s not-so-humble mansion—bachelor pad energy, unlimited snacks, a pool, no rules, god help megumi. you spent last summer together, you and yuuji. he’d visited your hometown, chased your nieces around the backyard, helped you carry groceries down warm, cracked sidewalks. he got sunburned and bought popsicles from your corner store and slept with his head in your lap while you rewatched your childhood favorite movies.

this year, it’s megumi’s turn to have him. and honestly? it sucks. you miss him. constantly. in the big, heavy ways and the small, sweet ones. but there’s something beautiful in this version of love too—in the kind that stretches across space without fraying. you send each other everything. pictures. stories. little moments from your day. he shows you a blurry photo of a sunset over the pool. you show him a neighborhood cat you’ve decided to name after him. he sends you a selfie soaked to the bone because gojo threw him in fully clothed. you send a picture of your niece covered head to toe in pink sharpie (her little sister’s doing).

it’s like you never left each other. but you did. and when the day winds down and the calls get softer, more tired, more sincere—when megumi’s asleep on the other side of the room and yuuji’s voice drops to a whisper—he admits it. “I just can’t wait to see you again.”

and it hurts. because you’ve both been pretending not to miss each other too much, but the ache is real. quiet. familiar. you miss his laugh in the room. you miss his warmth. his over-the-top affection and the way he always holds your pinky first when you reach for his hand. and yuuji—he’s doing fine, technically. gojo is chaos incarnate. megumi’s company keeps him sharp. but his heart? his heart is still at home with you. every night, every call, every time he folds his pillow in half to mimic the way you used to curl up next to him.

you send him a letter the first week. it's handwritten. covered in doodles of your faces, your inside jokes, your hearts and stars and half-scribbled lines that turn into love notes without meaning to. he opens it in front of megumi and immediately starts crying.

“you two are disgusting,” megumi mutters, smacking him upside the head.

“oh, shut up! I know you miss your girlfriend too, fushiguro. at least mine sends me cute things.” yuuji hugs the letter to his chest like it might run away if he lets go.

megumi smacks him again, harder. “yeah, well, my girlfriend’s not a sappy baby.” lies, they miss each other terribly, they’re just too proud to admit it. they bicker for twenty minutes, but yuuji tucks your letter under his pillow that night. sends one back the next day. it becomes a tradition. a sacred exchange of stickers and pages and half-dried tears all summer long. he saves every one of your notes. brings them back to school in september like precious cargo.

mid-july, you send him a photo of you wearing his favorite red hoodie. he calls immediately. “you are in so much trouble right now,” he says, dramatic, clutching his metaphorical pearls. “i’ve been looking for that hoodie all summer!”

“it’s summer,” you say sweetly. “you don’t need a hoodie, sweaty guy.” ironic considering you’ve been wearing it all season. 

“you think I'm sweaty?” he pouts, wide-eyed, like this is the most offensive thing you could’ve said.

you laugh—head thrown back, sound full of warmth and life and you—and it breaks him a little. in the best way.

he gets quiet. his eyes soften. he blinks hard like he’s trying to press back tears, but they still shine.

“aw, baby…I miss you.” and he means it. he means it. loving yuuji is the easiest thing in the world. and missing him might just be the hardest. but you’ll both make it. love like this? it doesn't disappear with distance. it travels. it endures. it always finds its way back home.

the last week of summer, yuuji is buzzing. like, atomic levels of energy. chaos barely contained by skin and bone. his mood is so hyper, it’s starting to annoy even gojo—and that’s saying something.

“you’re acting like it’s been ten years,” megumi mutters on the train, as yuuji bounces his leg like a caffeinated kangaroo.

yuuji groans and dramatically slumps in his seat. “it feels like it’s been ten years.”

megumi rolls his eyes so hard it’s a miracle they don’t fall out. “you facetimed her literally seven hours ago.”

but yuuji is immune to logic. he’s a man possessed. you’re waiting for him. you’re probably already in his hoodie like the absolute menace you are, and he’s going to get to hold you again, finally, finally, finally. he practically explodes off the train the second the doors slide open, and megumi has to jog just to keep him in sight. yuuji tears across the campus like he’s running a marathon with a girlfriend at the finish line. because he is.

except. you’re not there. he skids to a stop outside your dorm. knocks. waits. nothing. he calls your name through the door just in case. checks the time, double-checks his texts—you were supposed to arrive yesterday. you’d even texted him earlier today about how your dorm felt a little cold without him in it.

confused and weirdly heartbroken, he drags his duffel to his dorm instead, figuring maybe you’re off getting groceries or finding your ra or something. he’s mid-sigh, phone halfway to his ear, when he pushes open the door.

and there you are. sitting on his bed like you’ve always belonged there. music playing low on his speaker. legs curled up beneath you. reading a book you’ve probably read ten times. wearing his red hoodie like the little criminal you are.

you look up. blink once. and then—“yuuji!!”

you scream it like your life depends on it. you launch yourself at him with all the force your body can manage. he catches you like he knew you’d do that, like he’s done it a thousand times, and you kiss him all over—cheeks, forehead, lips, chin, nose—endlessly.

he’s laughing so hard his abs start to hurt, tears springing to his eyes, because you’re real and you’re here and you’re warm and soft and solid in his arms and the hoodie’s all stretched out from where you’ve clearly worn it all summer and god, he never wants to let you go again.

he buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to breathe you in. you smell like home. he could cry. he might cry. megumi walks in just in time to witness it and looks seconds away from walking right back out. you turn, grinning wickedly. he flinches a little when you launch a hug at him too, but lets it happen. “I missed you, too, megumi,” you say, so bright it’s hard to tell if you’re teasing. “even if you completely ignored all the adorable letters and I sent you, you emotionally repressed little cryptid.”

he shrugs like it’s no big deal. “I kind of missed you too.”

yuuji practically melts at the scene. and then—you turn back to him. hands cupping his face. studying him like a miracle. “you look so tan,” you murmur. “and…did you get taller?” you always know just what to say to absolutely fluster him. 

your voice is so genuine it short-circuits his brain. he opens his mouth to respond and instead lets out something halfway between a wheeze and a squeak. you laugh again. the same laugh he’s been playing back in his head every night like a bedtime song. he kisses your forehead. he kisses your cheeks. he kisses your nose.later—once you’re both settled, once megumi has fled the scene like a man escaping a rom-com horror film, pretending he’s not off to go find his girl—yuuji turns serious for a second. his arms are wrapped around you, and he says it with all the honesty his full, stupid heart can muster: “I’ll have to tell megumi I’m sorry because I’m never doing another summer without you.” and you believe him. because when yuuji loves, he loves out loud. bold and bright and boyishly devoted. and you, wrapped in that love, never feel anything less than completely adored.

list of men who simply do not allow you to leave their presence:

sukuna ryomen

sukuna ryomen

sukuna ryomen

[sergioguymanproust]

As a shaman I pick my images carefully,the ones that resonate strongly with my experiences and my visits to places in my dreams and parallel realities.I have written in the past about strange encounters with things that are most certainly out of place .Now Native Americans have told of these things ,doors, stairs, windows , rooms , cabins , even elevators,spiral staircases leading to nowhere and their advice has always been to stay away from these things and never ever climb ,or ring the bells,not even knock on doors.So younger natives naturally curious keep a skin why? But the elders refuse to answer their questions.Because those who have disobey these orders and went ahead and climbed the stairs ,knocks on doors , never returned to tell their tales.As simple as that. Well,I can tell you there are maps showing where these anomalies are found,but not accessible to the common folk.Now,if you are a seasoned trekker and spends a great deal of time in National Parks in all seasons you might run into one of these strange spots and mark them on your map but a gut feeling warned you not to come too close because something very bad might happen to you. Here’s one case of a door similar to this one sits on a forest in the state of California,I won’t name the location suffice to say many have taken pictures but it never appears clear but rather with a deep fog ,not seen while taking the picture.It is indeed an anomaly but in three different occasions two men and a women went ahead and knocked, witnesses that saw this recount seeing a thick fog quickly covering the door and in the three different occasions the people simply vanished,no screams, no yelling jus the fog and in the end the witnesses simply ran away from the scene. The other explanation is that they are portals that entities use to move between their dimensions and ours.Most National Parks rangers know about it but when confronted by campers and trekkers they flatly deny it ,end of case .So ,now you know if you travel with family and friends and you happen to see something like this pic ,folks for your own safety move on and don’t even set camp near one of these anomalies.As a shaman who stays away from these things ,because I have seen them and forewarned about their powers ,you are best staying away from them. Keep away from their apparitions for your own peace of mind.Words by Sergio GuymanProust.

somewhere, beyond the trees

[todoriin]

can call me obsessed | phainon x gn!reader

clingy, sad, soppy phainon, fluff, sfw, unedited, modern!au

phainon: Good morning baby! phainon: Thinking of you :( phainon: I hope you have a good day!

phainon: I just walked by a cafe that you would like phainon: We should go soon!

phainon: Goodnight my love :> phainon: Sweet dreams phainon: I hope you're sleeping well phainon: And on time phainon: Don't stay up, ok? phainon: I love you

For nearly a week and a half, Phainon has been texting you relentlessly. After you had told him you needed some space, that you weren't feeling like a priority to him and needed a break to gather your bearings, he had agreed with barely concealed disappointment, looking as if you had torn his heart out and stomped it flat.

Phainon was always someone who had one foot in many doors, an overachiever of sorts, and for how busy he was, he did try his best to accomodate and spend time with you. However, one person can only stomach so much before other things start feeling arbitrary, and after many rain checks and late meetups, you didn't want to be the thing to hold him back and drag him down.

You didn't want to lose him, and you still loved him dearly, but sometimes love is not enough. You needed time to see if this relationship was something you and him still wanted.

"You're not breaking up with me, right?" He asks through a wobbly frown, eyes silently begging and saying what he didn't after you proposed some distance from each other.

"No, I just- you're a busy person, Phainon, and I'm not feeling like a priority right now, or like you even want to be with me," you reasoned.

"What? You've always been a priority to me, and I do want to be with you, I don't want anyone else but you!"

"You say that, but it's difficult to believe when it feels like you've put me on the backburner."

"I'm sorry, I'll do better, we can work through it, I promise!"

"It's not your fault, Phainon, life gets in the way sometimes. I just need space to figure things out."

"I don't want space," he frowns, holding your hand even tighter, refusing to let you go. "I especially don't want space from you."

"Phainon..."

"What can I do to fix this?"

You bite the inside of your cheek. "Give me some time, I'll... I'll let you know when I'm ready."

Eventually, he relents, but he voices his resistance and asks for one last kiss for the road. You grant it, and he pulls you in and breathes you in like air, as if you were the oxygen he needed before diving into deep waters and swimming against tough currents, even refusing to let you go for a moment so he can sneak more than just one kiss, pressing his lips against yours again and again.

He lets you go after that, staring at you like a kicked puppy as you walk away.

You never said he couldn't text you, so here you were, reading multiple texts that he sends a week, most of them detailing how he was thinking of you or missing you. It seems as if you occupied a lot of space on his mind, and he was determined to let you know whenever you did.

You would offer a reply here and there, and he would respond with great enthusiasm, trying his best to keep the conversation going; to prompt more out of you.

phainon: [ photo ] phainon: Look at this cute dog I saw! He had a little hat! phainon: You would have loved him haha phainon: Wish you were here phainon: ... phainon: Like. A lot

At the end of the day, you've realised how much you wanted him around too, and it was tough being without him. It seems as though he feels the same, if the texts were anything to go by.

you: can we talk?

For some reason, he doesn't respond within a close time frame this time. No, your message is left on delivered for a while, and you're left wondering if you've really messed up this time, or maybe you're too late and Phainon is finally fed up. Maybe he realised he deserved better than what you could give him.

Half an hour later, the doorbell to your apartment rings, and it's Phainon's voice that comes through the intercom.

"I'm here," he sounds breathless through the speaker, and you're so overwhelmed by the suddenness of the situation that all you can do is mutter a small 'come in', and hear him slam the door behind him.

You wait by the entrance, slightly nervous as you bite your nails. Why didn't he respond to you? Did he drop everything to come to yours?

A barrage of impatient knocks attack your door.

"Take me back," he pleads as soon as you open it. He has a big bouquet of flowers in one hand and his heart in the other, offering both to you with great desperation.

There are subtle deteriorations to his appearance- his hair is slightly matted, as if he has been running a hand through it, there are barely noticeable eyebags on his perfect skin, along with a few blemishes, and his cheeks are a little sunken. It seems like he hasn't been taking care of himself since you last saw him.

You forgot why you even asked for space in the first place.

Soulmates is a concept made by people trying to justify love and wholeness that being with someone brings you, that needed to put a label on this irreplaceable feeling of knowing you love someone and they love you in kind.

The feeling that Phainon brings you, and it's never been more clear that he's the only one for you.

However, in your daze, he has seemingly mistook your silence for rejection, watching your expression remain unreadable with a sense of impatience that creeps up his chest, squeezes his throat, and begs for an answer.

To your bewilderment, he drops to his knees, the bouquet falling to the floor as he wraps his arms around your hips and thighs, face pressed against your lower stomach.

"Please?" He pleads.

"Whoa, Phainon, stand up!" You exclaim, steadying yourself by putting your hands on his shoulders.

He shakes his head with firm resolution. "Not until you take me back, so please?"

"Phainon-"

"- I'll be good, I'll be everything you need!"

"I love you."

That silences him real quick, and all of a sudden he's jumping to his feet and wrapping you in his arms, keeping you pressed close to his chest until there's no space in between you. Then, Phainon breathes a sigh of relief, as if all is right with the world again.

He's all over you as soon as you let him in. When the bouquet is placed on the table, he's clinging to you like no other, laying on your lap and hugging your waist.

You fear he may burst into tears any moment.

The rest of the day is spent together. You go out for lunch, Phainon pays, you stay in for dinner, one that you cook, and things fall right back into place. He tells you about what he's been up to, you ask to know more, and he does the same, listening with great eagerness, and as his thumb rubs circles into the back of your hand, you realise how privileged you are to be loved by him.

When the moon is high in the sky and most of the lights in homes have been turned off, Phainon lays on top of you under your covers, his cheek resting on your chest and arms wrapped around your sides.

"I've missed you," he confesses while your hands run through his hair, untangling any knots they get stuck in.

"I missed you too, I'm sorry for being distant and thank you for being patient," you say. "You're too good to me."

He shakes his head. "I realised you were right, I've always had a tendency to keep myself busy and never give myself a break, I didn't realise how important that was until you brought it up."

"Still, I think there were better and less selfish ways for us to get there, but I appreciate that you were considerate of me, I needed some time to gather my thoughts. I love you."

Phainon presses a lingering kiss to your collarbone. "I love you more, I'm happy you're feeling better now, my love."

You hum happily, but suddenly, he wails very quietly, wrapping his arms around you even tighter. Before you can ask what's wrong, he speaks up.

"Never do that to me again, never ask for space again. If something's bothering you, we'll work through it together," he pleads. "Being without you was like prolonged torture, I don't want to go through that again."

You can't help but laugh softly. "I'm sorry, but I'm here now, right?"

"And I'm not letting you go ever again."

© TODORIIN 2025, do not steal, translate, repost my fics and do not recommend my fics onto any other site.

[hollyhomburg]

Hold your Breath (Count to Seven)(2)

(Pack alpha Hoseok focus, Background ot7 x reader, Omegaverse, Forced Caretaking, Omega scarcity au)

୨୧‧₊˚ Summary: Hoseok will never forgive the people who did this too you. Never. his anger comes out in strange ways. His love too.

୨��� ‧₊˚ Word Count: 14.4k

୨୧ ‧₊˚ Tags: Omegaverse au, omega scarcity, forced caretaking, Dom/sub undertones, dom! jimin x m/c, spanking, Discipline, idol au, Pack alpha hoseok x omega! m/c, Sickfic, Angst, Hurt/comfort, Background ot7 x reader, chronic health issues, themes of trauma, referenced family issues/childhood abuse, healing, Past Medical mistreatment, past neglect, Eventual smut, non-chronological storyline

୨୧ ‧₊˚ A/N: ah well... people said they wanted to see a bit more of dom jimin so~ hopefully this scratches an itch! well :( remember when i told you about my stressful life events that were on the horizon? well they're here <3 i fly out to california tomorrow for my sisters wedding lol watch us go no contact after this. but i wont even care because at least i have bts back lol

First part ~ ‧₊˚ ~ Masterlist

There are no second chances when it comes to omegas.

Although you tend to view what your parents did to you as a simple betrayal, Hoseok can’t see it as anything other than condemning. Abuse, neglect. Take your pick because each makes him equally as angry. Forgiveness is not something that comes to him easily. Is that a flaw or a virtue?

Occasionally they reach out or try to get in contact with you. They ask how you’re doing. Where you’re going, if you're coming home any time soon. Usually with videos at the airport attached and too much hope in their words. They just want to keep track of their daughter. they say. They just want to make sure you’re alright.

Hoseok calls Bullshit on that in a fucking heartbeat.

You’ve been no contact with them for years now. Handing over the burden of contact to Hoseok was an easy concession to make to your pack alpha. Of course, he would handle everything for you. Of course, this was his responsibility.

You’ve asked him to tell you if anyone gets sick if anyone dies, or if they make an effort towards a real apology. You won’t be bothered with the half-measures until then.

You couldn't have imagined our stress at the time. We just wanted to make sure you had the option. Omega's struggle to be free because of the way the world works. You could handle it. We only wanted you to do your best. You don't need an alpha, you've always been strong enough without one. You never needed all the things that other omegas needed anyway

It's my first time having a child- of course all parents make mistakes.

Please refrain from contacting my pack at this time. Any further action on your part will only result in a restraining order. 

You're exactly the kind of alpha we were afraid of.

They have his number and his number only; you only ask to see their texts every now and then. Hoseok only sometimes decides it's safe to show you. It's up to his discretion if you’re too fragile or if you’re only going to use the texts to make yourself feel guilty.

The only contact info they have is Hoseok's and even then, he rarely responds beyond telling them that you're still not ready, that you might never be. He’s only ever polite on your behalf but still sometimes if he's feeling particularly sensitive about the issue of your health he does tell them to fuck off.

That only ever gets a scolding look from you later when you inevitably ask to see their texts and he lets you see. And Hoseok acts scolded even though he can scent that underneath your misery- you're faintly pleased.

You don't have to ask him to defend you. You'll never have to beg for that.

Although you'd said you were perfectly well adjusted to life as an omega when they'd first met you the truth is that while you'd been able to scent and nest like any other omega, your instincts had long gone dormant and quiet. But they're fully awake now, after living with 5 alphas and 2 betas. They ring loud and clear.

You just struggle to listen to them sometimes.

The rest of the pack is on the same page too. The pack is your family in every sense of the world, you don’t need the people who hurt you anymore. Sometimes- the idea of them being your family gets a little tangled with everything else. Omega's need care, they need to be looked after, you know this.

You're not their child, but you are their omega. And that comes with a special set of responsibilities.

They might have reacted a little bit over the top with the mothering at the beginning. All packs go through an adjustment period when an omega gets introduced. You hadn't been theirs for more than half a year before you'd slammed the door in Namjoon's face and called him out on it after a particularly rough day.

But slamming doors is not something that Hoseok allows- not from the pups or from you.

Hoseok was there to mediate, the rest of the pack lingering in the vicinity too. To hear and watch over you. Nervous at the stressed tone of your voice. Taehyung and Jungkook rough house and hassle jin, either helping with dinner or getting in the way of it. Hoseok knows your instinct is to hide. But doing this here in the living room where everyone can see and participate is important.

You need to learn that you don't have to hide from them, that none of you, not your needs or your intentions- are too much for them.

Your omega is never going to feel safe and docile with all of them unless you stop hiding it.

So You and Namjoon sit on opposite ends of the couch. Jimin there in the armchair ready for your inevitable punishment. Hoseok will let him take the reigns in this and will let Jimin have this. The whole pack has been on edge all day. Has been able to sense that you're close to breaking- it's only Namjoon's luck that he'd been caught in the crossfire.

Having Jimin do the punishing has several Uses. One- Jimin needs it, and two- as a beta he'll be able to get you down more gently than any of the alphas. You'd get scared at the feeling of your instincts take over and it would have the opposite of the intended effect. If Namjoon brought you down into omega space you might go down so quick and drop so suddenly it would be scary. It wouldn't feel like a choice at all and it wouldn't be comforting.

let alone if Hoseok was the one to do it. If he ever dared to use alpha voice on you you might pass out. You need to understand that you need this, just as much as they do.

Hoseok will handle the aftermath- will tuck the alpha and you under either arm and soothe you later. He's watchful and prepared to step in if you need him. sitting in the chair legs splayed wide and inviting. fingers tapping out a rythem on the chair leg as he watches you squirm under the weight of so many eyes.

He's getting a bit better at letting the others handle you. They need this- to watch and make you submit just as much as Hoseok does.

Jimin sits, legs crossed, leaning his chin on his hand, watching and waiting for Namjoon and you to finish arguing. 

"You're not my father Namjoon, I don't want you to act like my fucking dad when you're my partner. I get that sometimes- you have these instincts- but it doesn't make me feel good." You're close to tears, eyes suspiciously glassy. Your head feels fuzzy but panicky like everything is happening faster than you can handle it. Leaving you overwhelmed and off kilter.

You glance at Hoseok, and he stares back impassively. Rubbing a finger across his bottom lip- but he won't intervene unless you actually do cry or you ask him too. You're just starting to learn to trust your instincts. To understand why your breath goes even around him and why things are easier to sort through when he's touching you- either with a hand on the small of your back or holding yours so delicately- like you're fragile.

The others understand but you don't. you've never had a pack alpha before. He's the only pack alpha you've ever known.

There is apart of him more wolf than man, that loves that fact. That he's your first and your only pack alpha, If Hoseok can help it.

And Hoseok is helping, that's what this is. Mediating. Making sure you adjust to the pack and the pack adjusts to you. Hoseok is here just as Jimin is as pack beta- to make things go smoothly.

It's strange. Growing up you'd been treated so often like you were strong. industructible no matter what. Any cold or sickness was met with a snear that you were tougher than that. Strong despite your shakiness, strong despite the fact that when pushed you broke. Strong like your weakness was ever something you could conquer. No matter how many times you told people you couldn't- that you couldn't stay awake to study, that you couldn't run any faster- that you couldn't try any harder without it hurting- they never listened.

But now everything's changed- the pack are almost too gentle with you. Too aware of just how fragile you can be sometimes. You like to act independent. You even might need to sometimes (Hoseok is not so convinced that you actually need independance or if you just feel like you need it). And while they'd never stop you they are always hovering a little. It's easier sometimes- but right now-

Right now it feels stifling. Right now it feels like you can't breath. Like something very bad is going to happen if you take too much- like they'll find out it's not worth it. That you're not enough. You lean away from Namjoon when he speaks, and you can see the hurt in his eyes as you do it. Can see that Jimin's eyes darken in disapproval, posture stiff.

But your skin feels like it's going to crawl off your body and leave you fleshy and exposed. Something fights to claw out of your chest. And no breath comes easy.

Until you look at Hoseok.

You're not sure where your anger comes from or if it even is anger at all. Afraid, you know you're a bit afraid of Namjoon, but afraid of what you can't say. You know that his controlling behavior isn't exactly why but you're too worked up to care. Maybe you've never been both afraid and safe before. Maybe you don't trust them to keep you safe.

A deep voice whispers in Hoseok's ear, hidden and telling. His desires and impulses dark and not to be shared. You don't trust them to handle everything for you.

Yet.

Hoseok waits, Hoseok reclines in the chair and watches. Namjoon's voice is deep and calm. Rational. You're the only one getting worked up here, but thats okay. All of this is okay.

"Our lives are all very controlled, they have to be to get to the level that we are. But we need to look after each other. I won't be made out to be some sort of monster when all I'm trying to do is make sure you take care of yourself. You can't expect me not to treat you the same way I treat the others."

"Now that's some bullshit. You treat me like-" your voice warbles, and Hoseok gives it another 10 seconds before he intervenes. "I might be your omega but I'm not some sort of pet. You never tell the others what they can and can't eat or do so why am I-"

Hoseok holds up his hand, stopping your train of thought. For what it's worth you instantly fall silent. Your shaking stops just a little at the show of dominance, at obeying. Your body wants it even if your mind struggles to comprehend it. It's like you're trying to listen to your omega and your instincts but you just can't hear them.

You need a push. And Hoseok is very gentle. Gentle enough to do the pushing.

Hoseok heart breaks a little at your overall posture, shoulders curled. In a big sweater of Yoongi's because you're feeling cold- even though it's spring and the house is kept at a comfy 70 deg for your comfort. Like you want your alpha's scent as close as possible even though they're right there. Like you don't trust them to stay.

That is their fault too. Comeback season can be stressful for you. Long hours and longer absences. This Hoseok knows. They'd finished a few days ago and they're home all the time now. It's a little bit of a whiplash for you and your omega. Going from feeling neglected to feeling stifled.

"Namjoon does do all of those things to us, it's his job as leader." You'd looked to Yoongi in the doorway suddenly.

He shrugs. "Things get stressful. Pack's like- exist to make sure we're all taken care of. I'd listen to any of them if they told me that I needed to rest. And it wouldn't matter who said it- if it was you or Hobi- I'd still listen." Yoongi being stern isn't something you're completely used to not yet. "And I'd do it without being a brat." Your breath hitches and you look away. 

Jimin scoffs, "just barely."

''Okay fine, I do it without being a brat to Hobi. You're lower in the hierarchy than I am and Joonies my equal."

"That's better." Jimin is satisfied. Voice a pur. But you find no comfort in Jimin's tone, or to him Nodding along to yoongi's words like it makes perfect sense. "You decide your boundaries, but we'll always step in if we feel you're being unsafe. You can't ask us not to do that."

Hobi had nodded, supplied. "You can always push back." He'd thought on it a minute more. "As long as you do it without being mean or hurtful."

With that Jimin had held his hand and beckoned for you, and your expression had turned nervous. "I didn't mean-"

"No buts pup. You know slamming doors is not something we do here. You almost hit Joonie in the face."

You look to Hoseok, double checking with him. "It doesn't matter that it was an accident." When you still don't move, Hoseok humms. "Do you need me to do your punishment today pup? Or will you let jiminie do it>"

"I want to do it." he says, just in case you need the reassurance. While the whole pack take their own turns disciplining you- certain members gravitate to it more organically. Namjoon- like Hoseok- struggles not to be overly gentle with you but Jimin has no such qualms.

You stay silent for a moment and Hoseok is about a second from making the choice for you before you get up slowly, tentatively moving in Jimin's direction. Not before looking back at Hobi for his approval.

Hoseok nearly wants to purr. His alpha already pacing- telling him look and see- you're already learning how to be good. How to obey not just him but the packmates too. He knows listening to your omega will only get easier over time so long as they keep showing you like this.

"But I said I was sorry and he forgave me for that." Namjoon had rubbed his nose. But none of them had moved, even though you're transitioning from discussion to punishment.

They all might like it a bit too much, watching Jimin handle you. It's ever so sweet the way you go down for the beta. Betas might have a lack of instincts- but they also make others come out.

"No buts."

You'd tentatively stood between Jimin's legs, the beta's hands smoothing up and down your waist, "take a deep breath honey. this isn't supposed to be scary."

"i know" but you still sound unsure. Hoseok had crossed his legs to watch, hiding a small smile behind his clasped hands. He might not be able to handle disciplining you himself quite yet- always too worried about being rough- but watching his pack get what they need under his watchful eye is something he greatly enjoys.

Especially with the way you squirm and eventually go docile. One day soon you won't fight your nature. The pack just has to get you there and get you used to this.

Your lower lip quivers, "I didn't mean to."

"We know. You're so good, you always take your settling like a good pup too."

Jimin's lips had looked awfully plush pressed to your knuckles. Kissing there once, then your wrist. Sliding the sleeve of your sweater up and over your elbow. Tipping his feet inward around your heels so that they trap you there between them. Squeezing your hips gently.

He kisses your elbow. "Now, would you rather I do it or Joonie?"

You stiffen, imperceptibly but it's there. "Would there be a difference?" Namjoon's eyes soften, and he shuffles just a little bit closer.

All of this bratting out and this disobedience is not in your nature. This is something that Hoseok knows deep down. It's all because alone you are unsafe. An omega alone in the world is a dangerous thing and you need the reminder of them close to feel their presence and their dominance. You weren't getting that, didn't know how to ask for it, and that's why you felt the need to act out.

You can be alone- you can be a perfectly functioning member of society without the pack but deep down, independence is not what you want or what you need.

Jimin hums thoughtfully considering your request, his other hand plays absentmindedly with the hem of your shorts. Slipping under. Rings flashing. Massaging you there a little, already warming you up. Your breath hitches.

"I think if Joonie does it, you'll only get 20. But if you ask for me- then it's 30."

Hoseok knows what he's doing, letting you choose, giving you a small amount of choice just to make you go down easier. You'd hovered, unsure. Stuttering. Seconds away from crumbling.

"Is it going to be here or- or-" You can't finish the sentence, and Jimin grins a little meanly. He likes making you say it. Likes it even more when you shy away.

"Is it going to be over your ass or pussy you mean? Your spanking?"

You squirm and Hoseok tips his legs wider, feeling himself grow hard. The whole house is silent, the sound of Jungkook and Taehyung roughhousing with Jin in the other room quieting to listen.

Jimin hums thoughtfully tugging down your pants and turning you around, practically making you twirl for them, you shuffle uneasily. Blushing too hard to meet Hoseok and Namjoon's eyes as they sit and watch. Keeping your legs tight together. Yoongi just kicks his hip against the doorframe and settles in.

Jimin appraises each, pinching you hard enough to make you jump. He wraps an arm around your waist, hand trailing down your stomach and then lower. Humming contemplatively.

"I think Joonie should be the one to choose. Hyung?"

~-~

It hadn't taken the pack long to realize that while you say you don't need parenting- you sort of do. The lines blur sometimes between being a Packmate and being a caretaker. It's hard to give you exactly what you need. Their instincts tell them to do things that aren't always straightforward.

So when your full-blooded parents reach out and ask for you, he makes the effort to tell them to fuck off it in a polite way. Mentioning lawyers and international omegan rights associations. And reminds them that they’re lucky they’re not in prison for what they did to you.

Your healing is something that Hoseok takes very very seriously.

All that pain and damage is a world away, not in this country and as far from you as Hoseok can make it. After finding out you were an omega you'd gone as far as you could from where you grew up, from all the people that knew you as a beta. Escaping into anonymity. Disappearing because you didn't know who to trust and how to be you anymore.  

Hoseok doesn’t like to think of you alone and afraid and adjusting on your own. But that’s what you’d been before them- alone. Coping and just barely. (This is not entirely true, you’d had a few years of light-hearted struggle sure. But the world supports omega’s at the very least, your struggle had been mostly internal- not that that makes it any better).

They're still dealing with the effects of their actions years later, not only psychologically. (You still struggle sometimes, too used and too comfortable with your independence, the pack does its best to let you keep your small freedoms within the confines of what they’re willing to allow. All to keep you safe, happy, and healthy.)  

But physically your health has never been steady.

They've taken you to omega specialist to omega specialist. Immunologist to immunologist. Each of them had recommended the same thing: time to adjust and closeness to your alphas. Regular scenting and exposure to dominance to get your body functioning as it should.

No less than 6 hours of recommended nesting time per day. More than the usual recommended 4 or the bare minimum 2 for omegas. Less than two hours of nesting daily would get the OHS (Omegan Health Services) called on any pack. Famous or not.

Omega's immune systems biologically need closeness with others. Mostly to soothe and help regulate body temperature and metabolism. Other omega nestmates would be ideal, but to be fair, having your betas on either side of you, stuck between Jiminie and Jin like a happy little sandwich does the trick most days.

But it also reminds you of other less happy times. Sometimes it's the alpha's you reach for because Jimin and Jin, as lovely as they are...

They bring up bad memories.

Your beta parents had suppressed your omega nature in two ways; By keeping you away from alpha’s and by feeding you large doses of suppressants every day or several times a day- to arrest your omegan nature.

Hoseok’s not sure what they planned on doing, if they were going to keep you hidden forever or just until you were old enough to understand and make the choice to be a beta on your own.

There were some parts of being an omega that were harder to suppress; even given their efforts. You have distant memories of it. Fond memories even if you wish they weren’t. Cuddling between the two of them in their bed finally finally feeling safe. The way they’d hold your hand carefully crossing the street. Drying your eyes after a skinned knee.

You don’t know if these things matter to you because you’re an omega or just because you miss the people who once claimed to love you.  

You’ve told him the story a handful of times. The pups only once. Hobi, Yoongi, and Namjoon know more because they'd had questions. Hoseok thinks about it more often than he'd ever admit to you. Namjoon too has the tendency to ruminate.

You'd grown suspicious over the years that the bitter drinks you were fed every morning were not keeping you healthy but instead making you sick beyond repair. You were never able to run as fast as the other beta’s during recess, always the slowest, always the shortest, always the smallest. Written up for sleeping in class.

Your body started to reject the smoothies the older you got, you'd vomit them up on accident. The bitter tang strange. Medicinal. The more determined your natural biology was to push through the worse you'd felt. You remember being in class, reprimanded for falling asleep again- trying to pick up your pencil only to have it fall to the floor. Your hand shaking too hard to hold it.

A tremor that you still occasionally get to this day. A tremor that omega’s only get if they undergo scent deprivation and instinct neglect. A syndrome carefully outlined for all alphas and beta’s once they go through omegan education in primary school.

You’d been given that too. You're smart. You’d started to connect the dots.

Certain things never added up about your childhood. You were sent to an all-beta school and your parents lived in a remote area. Your nearest neighbors miles and miles away. Why did they move from the city shortly after you’d been born? Why were they recluses now when before they'd hopped from city to city? They don't even let you go shopping with your friends or to the store with them on your own.

They teach you languages you'll never use, educate you more and more- and push you harder and harder. They never let you rest or sleep past a certain time in the morning.

They never let you nest.

You always went to a 'family friend' for blood tests. You always had doctors come to your house and not the other way around. There have always been glances given over your head, knowing looks that you are kept ignorant of. Tense conversations overheard, disdainful looks when you ask for larger clothing or when you ask for affection or when you ask for anything.

When you need anything.

It got clearer the closer it got to falling apart. Your mother freaked out after you went to a friend’s house after school. A friend who had an alpha for a father. The next morning, your father had grown panicked when you’d forgotten your morning breakfast smoothie, had driven all the way to school to give it to you. He hadn’t left until he’d watched you drink it all.

“You need to listen to me. I know you don't understand right now but this is very very dangerous for you if you don't do everything I say. You'll lose everything we've ever given you.”

You’d stopped taking them secretly, just to confirm your suspicions. Under the full assumption that you’d been making it all up in your head and that a week of skipped breakfast would hardly cause a cataclysm.

But it had only taken a few short days before you’d collapsed at school and been rushed to the hospital, not your first heat but a pseudo one.

Alpha’s- there are alpha’s here. You’re not supposed to be around alphas, are you? There are police here too. A lot of people. maybe twenty looking after you. you don't want your parents to see. they'll probably be mad at you for getting sick again.

Federal agents look so funny in their suits and badges. Talking to the doctor in the doorway when you can't give a coherent statement. Why are you making these noises? These purrs and chirps and squeaks. Why do you need fluids? Why is the bed around you big and deep and plush? Why is there a hospital guard at the doorway and why are you in the omegan wing of the hospital?

You don't belong here, you try to tell them. Try to be good and get out of here even though you're almost too weak to get off of the bed. the walls are so steep and you are so so small. they catch you before you fall onto the floor.

But no ones angry at you. not for being too weak to get out of bed.

You're cooed at and gently but firmly placed back in the bed. You don't think it's a bed actually, you think it might be a nest. But you're not sure you've never seen one before.

You're in no shape to fight.

A kind-looking beta man with grey hair grips your hand across the bedspread asking you to recite everything you know about omega’s once you're lucid. Everything you’ve learned in school. nodding until you start to understand.

You snatch your hand back from his touch. Scared of it. "We thought you'd be more comfortable with a beta social worker rather than an alpha or another omega. But I can get someone else if you're dissatisfied."

“No, that can’t be. I’m a beta. I’ve always been a beta. There must be some sort of mistake.” 

"I don't want to press charges. Please. Tell me what I have to say for things to go back to normal."

"No…You're right…I don't want to see them. But I don't have anywhere else to go."

"You do have a place to go, we here at the OHS only want to help omega's thrive. You more than qualify for government assistance."

You’d been removed from the home and placed directly in OHS housing. A safe building meant for omegas that needed healing with separate sterile apartments and on-call medical staff.

It had been a bit of an adjustment- but a lot of the omegas there were young like you and a lot of them came from worse situations.

Omegan trafficking. kidnapped. Hidden like you but without seeing sunlight. those omega's who sit out in the garden and cry and cry and cry because they're free now. Some of them bear the marks of abuse too- Noses and scent glands burned out. Hardly able to speak or look into a beta's eyes without shaking let alone an alphas.

By the end of the first week, you start to realize that you'd been very very lucky. It doesn't make you any less angry. Things could have been worse but- your family could have also just...not done that to you. That's the worst part isn't it? They could have chosen to love you but they just...didn't. They chose to be hateful instead because that was easier than even trying to give you what you want.

No, not want. Need.

Alphas are…strange. You collect facts about them. The one who guards the front door of the building isn't scary even if he does carry a gun. He will sneak sweets if you ask nicely. Enough that brightly colored wrappers litter the bottom of your nest. There are cameras in the hallways but they don't care if you move about freely so long as you do it before curfew.

The alpha that runs the kitchen always says yes to second portions of ice cream if you take more veggies too. If you leave your sweater unbuttoned the pretty alpha with long shaggy hair that watches you walk through the gardens will grip your elbow over the small stream and tell you about the schedule- about things you can ask for.

Like a computer and a stereo system for your apartment, like for outings with armed guards. She tells you that although the world is safe enough for omegas, Those at the OHS just want to be sure nothing happens to these omegas since you've already been through so much.

At least they smell good.

And they almost always do everything you ask when you work up the courage to talk to them. They're bigger than you and the beta's. Stronger. Gentle giants capable of picking you up and heaving you over their shoulder if you try to shout or fight. You don't try that- but some of the other omegas do.

They're…a little wild. Some of them. You know what it feels like to be backed into a corner. How thoughts and feelings rush at you- instincts. Are those instincts?

You hear some of the others whisper about omegas that have gone feral or nearly feral. You only see it once. An omega bites down on an alpha shoulder, drawing blood. You've seen blood before, you're not sure why it makes you want to duck behind another alpha, careful to gather you and the gaggle of other omega's, a small boy, younger than you and mute pressed into your spine for safety.

This omega isn't in trouble. They'd just refused to go to the showers for the 3rd night in a row. And there are certain things like hygiene that your caretakers are very very firm about. But the alpha hardly flinches.

"That was a really good bite! It even stung a little! You're getting so much stronger- I'm so so proud. How about some bubble bath as a reward?"

You do envy their pain tolerance and their tolerance for discomfort a little.

It's a newfound sense of power. You ask, and they fulfill the request. That's an alpha's job, isn't it? Beta's are harder to manipulate. But if you outline exactly why you want your request they're usually a little bit amenable.

Unless that request is for more screen time, or to stay up later, or to take an extended run around the compound instead of taking your afternoon nap, to forgo the sunscreen, or to exercise beyond just lifting stupid 2lb dumbells. There are certain things that they won't allow no matter how much you ask.

It’s not quite the death sentence that your family seems to think it is. They’d always talked down on omegas in front of you. Always said they were lazy and spoiled and that the government did too much for them. But you’re not spoiled and you try not to be lazy. You’re always up and moving.

That's part of the problem.

The alphas and betas at the OHS don't seem to like it when you try and help them stack chairs or help clear the tables, or help with the other omega's moving their things upstairs. You get scolded for lifting boxes, for giving up your blanket during movie time, for not telling someone that the shoes provided where giving you blisters.

It's hard for you to understand that you don't need to be helpful, you don't need to earn affection here. That the bruises on your knees and your blisters actually are cause for concern and they're not faking it when they tell you that you need to be careful.

The endpoint here isn't control. The endpoint is safety. For you to understand just how to fulfill your own needs and keep yourself safe until you have an alpha (or ideally a whole pack of them) to do that for you.

There are placement agencies. High-end alphas in Louis Vuitton shoes that bring gifts and paperwork and the promise of wealthy packs with them once a week. Some of the omegas take them up on that offer.

You usually avoid the atrium when they're in, the only part of the building available to outsiders so long as they pass through the scanners and are supervised. It's supervised visitation only. You meet with your social worker once a week to decide if you're ready to see your parents to talk to them.

You never are.

You're Unsure about what exactly you want your life to look like now that you're free. Now that you're new.

Omegan Health Services is just about the only government agency that’s properly funded- and you were well taken care of as a result. It's not all bad. It feels a bit like summer camp maybe. The Arts and crafts are fun, the nesting lessons are a bit annoying (you can never seem to get it right, never satisfied with your work, always an overachiever). Doctors visits and mental health check-ins. Nutrition classes.

But the scenting lessons.... those you don't mind.

You didn’t like nesting back then, didn’t understand it. An older omega who smells like honey comes and sets one up for you in your little apartment once a week. Cupps your cheek and asks if you'd like to try and make one on your own this time.

There's no there to teach you how to be obedient because contrary to what you’ve been told- that’s not an omega’s only purpose. Omegas have a purpose beyond what you’re learning, although it’s hard to put a pin on what exactly their value is.

But they had confined you to a nest, scruffing the back of your neck, when you’d tried to stay up for a full 12 hours like before. A normal amount of time you said, you could handle it. Why would you need a nest when you've never had one before?

Honestly, part of you finds it a bit ridiculous at first.

“Would you please try? For me? It would make me very very happy if you'd nap for me.”

What's stranger is how you can tell the alpha is happy when you put your head down, you can smell it in the air, a deep sweetness, the kind that makes you get goosebumps and makes your toes feel all fuzzy. It feels good to make them feel good. Feels better when you ask to try and scent them- and get more of that on you.

You'd slept for 3 days straight after that. It was like your body finally understood what it needed, finally understood that it didn't have to go without anymore.

Just after your first heat, your hormones had leveled out. You’d stayed on hormones until the doctors at the OHS had verified that no, your body hadn't sustained life-threatening permanent damage beyond a relatively weak immune system- susceptible even for an omega. Your parents had been charged with omega endangerment and narrowly avoided prison time thanks to your testimonial.

That was as much forgiveness as you were capable of.

But too soon, you'd been 18, on your own and unprotected with placement agencies and every alpha that you'd ever come in contact with breathing down your neck and intent on wooing you. You were given everything you’d ever needed by the omegan protection program. A small apartment. Food and clothing budget. Weekly check-ins by your social worker just to make sure that your living situation is still stable. That you haven't traded your nest (admittedly a little sparse) for a bed, that you haven't lost weight, and that you're still sleeping enough.

You're a good omega. For a while, you keep your sink empty of dishes. Your laundry hamper always half full. Your teeth stay brushed and so does your hair. You don't leave your apartment much. Too nervous, too worried, too afraid.

Too omega, it's all too new.

The OHS might have given you the bare bones, But what you wanted to do with the rest of your time was up to you. Of course, you could go to school as you initially planned, almost every college has an omega's only program, most omega's don't apply for things like neuroscience or pre-med track. You toy with the idea, feeling like something of a test subject yourself to meet with guidance admins and even the head of a college.

"It's not every day that we get potential omegan students. and i understand that you're technically a ward of the OHS but-"

"Technically."

"Yes well- I'd like to personally take you under my wing even if that is the case."

You were too used to being independent, too scared to trust anyone just yet after such a betrayal. Despite winning what many people think of as the genetic lottery your life still feels...

Sour. Empty. Scary.

You'd trade all of it for what you had back. For the lack of betrayal (a small part of you tells you that you might not have minded it at all if you'd never found out. You might not have cared that you were being mistreated at all. You might never have realized it beyond them being the idea of 'harsh parents'

You wish you’d had a family that understood you, that wanted you just as you are- but that’s not always possible. You’d show them- you’d decided that you could be an omega and be independent. Those two things didn’t have to be mutually exclusive. You don’t need a pack yet. You might not ever even want one. You’d cast out a net in a wide range of searches to find a job- a big city, where most omega's live, where you can settle in among the masses, where you won't be that abnormal. Any job will due.

Maybe even in another country.

Becoming a professional scenter is an easy avenue for omegas banking on some modicum of financial independence. They’re always needed and they’re always compensated well- if the job isn't a little emotionally demanding.

It didn’t matter that you’d never scented anyone in your life before you'd been found out, that you could hardly even hear your instincts at all thanks to what had been done to you- you are wanted all the same. Scenters are in such high demand that the fact that you had no experience wasn't even a facet of your interview.

It’s easier for you to follow your natural inclinations now after years of practice and the pack's careful guidance. But Hoseok still burns with the knowledge that it should have been easy for you. It shouldn’t have been hard and he will make everything else in your life easy to apologize.

“Hobi, you’re being silly. You didn’t even know me.”

“But still-” instincts aren’t always straightforward, they don’t always make sense.

You didn't just apply to idol companies either. You'd landed first at a tech start-up and then at a hospital (which hadn't been the right fit- too much stress for you, too many people that were too sick for your weak immune system to be exposed too). You'd worked at several different establishments before landing at BigHit.

By the time you met them, you’d realized what you liked. The more freedom the better.

Omegas are naturally smaller and slighter than betas or alphas. Jimin is the only one truly close to your size, and even then, he’s still almost a foot taller than you and man-handles you with ease. None of them struggle with a princess carry or (Taehyung and Namjoon's favorite) a straight up bear hug.

Because of your upbringing, you’d always looked a little more ashen, a little weaker than the typical omega. It was enough to tug on even the most reasonable alpha's heartstrings and make their instincts go a little haywire. Even ones that had the privilege of growing used to an omega’s company.  

Hoseok had noticed, because Hoseok always notices.

It’s not all that uncommon for a single workplace to hire an omega to work as a scenter. It’s especially common in the idol and model industry. Omega's are either found through placement agencies that charge a pretty penny in finders fee, scouted off the street, or through omegan protective services.

There are certain guidelines. Certain rules. They’d had it drilled into their heads as young impressionable alphas not to overstep.

An employer must provide comprehensive nesting materials and launder them twice weekly. An omega is not allowed to scent more than 15 people per day or work more than 25 hours in a given week. If they say they don’t want to scent a person that’s final. Omegas aren’t to be coerced into allowing anyone into their chosen nest. Disobeying an order from an omega is grounds for immediate termination because if the company loses its designation as a safe haven omegan employment opportunity- then that’s it.

There are no second chances when it comes to omega’s.

And yet despite these rules and regulations set out by the government they are an easily negotiated expense. Hoseok hadn’t been exactly resistant to the idea of bringing someone new into their orbit again or re-incorporating worktime scenting into the pack’s schedule and care plan but he hadn't been exactly ecstatic at the process either.

Was the company really established enough to support an omega full-time? Could they handle the stress of adjustment to someone new and juggle that with the stress of tours and promotions and shows? It's easier probably- if this omega isn't hired specifically for them as the last one had. It's probably for the best if this omega has more broad overarching responsibilities.

But certain factors had led him to agree even if he was tentative. Jimin had been looking so skinny- enough to set even the most respectful pack alpha on edge. Hoseok hadn’t even been pack alpha for that long either. Maybe two years at most.

Namjoon might lead the group in public but everyone could tell by just a simple look that it was Hoseok who really held the reigns. Who counted heads and double-checked the placement of a finger, a foot, a kiss. Who gripped the back of Namjoon’s neck when it became clear that the translators needed to do their jobs.

You were brought in during one of the usual monthly company meetings. All the heads of staff and Namjoon as group leader gathered in one big room, along with Hoseok and the designated pack alphas of the new groups not yet debuted.

Although Hoseok has taken a special interest in Chaewon and Soobin and taken them under his wing He knows that things might happen beyond the company's control- like what happened with him and Namjoon. Pack alpha and group leader are two separate titles. Two separate sets of responsibilities that often overlap.

But they're all starting to realize that Bangtan will always be the special case. They’re the model to emulate sure- but they’re also the exception to the rule. More than one pack has fallen apart because more than one alpha wanted to lead.

This building is still new to them, the freedom that comes with making the kind of money that they do now is new too. Namjoon hasn't even properly set up his studio yet and Yoongi is still insisting he can set up his furniture all on his own. Jungkook still does their laundry even though they could have it sent out. They don't have time for any of this.

Taehyung got lost on the way to practice the other day and had to hone in on them by scent alone. Jungkook is supposed to go into a rut in a few weeks right before an award show, if his usual rut schedule keeps, all of them can feel it coming. Hoseok has many more things on his mind than a new omega in their vicinity.

But that changes when you enter the meeting room.

Hoseok isn't thinking of a new omega and the possibilities that come with it when you walk into the room, he's only thinking of the veritable mountain of to-dos on his list after this meeting. There are several personal and public matters that require his attention and his job as pack alpha never ends.

There's a consult for Yoongi's shoulder surgery later that afternoon. And Namjoon had asked for his opinion on some rap lyrics. Jimin had asked for his eye on some new choreography and a meeting with the pack's dietician. And then after that, a meeting with an architect for their new pack house, something specially designed and renovated, more problems, reinforced steel beams, and the question that everyone was avoiding asking-

If the pack would like an omega nest room included in the plans.

On the outside, no one would ever expect Hoseok to be stressed, but he's three coffees in and not even halfway through his to-do list for the day. Namjoon knows, his hand is gripping the Hoseok’s knee under the table, a settling touch, a touch that says that if he needs- Namjoon can handle this.

But everything, everything in Hoseok's brain goes quiet at the sound of a knock on the door.

Biologically all omegas are pretty to alphas, it's just instinct and conditioning. Hoseok knows this as he stands with everyone at your entrance. It’s just biology that makes them all seem this way- delicate and gentle. Pretty in the way that small fragile flowers are pretty. The kind of thing that’s so small and cute that you just want to hold it to your chest and protect it. It’s not quite cute aggression but not far from it either.

So precious you think that if you touch them, you'll hurt them.

Hoseok thinks you might be unfairly pretty for an omega, enough that he does a bit of a double take. Looking up at you, then dropping into a bow a beat off from the others. He's not the only one, Namjoon's posture instantly straightens, even Bang Si-Hyuk at the head of the table stops tapping his pen and stands to shake your hand.

It's near-instantaneous, the way that the room falls into a hush, you aren't the first omega scenter that Bighit has hired- although usually- a scenter is a privilege only afforded to the pack during comeback season or stressful stretches of production where everything seems stalled. And even then- single sessions are much more reasonable.

But the company has more resources now, more resources that come with things like younger groups and world tours and now- a full-time scenter. Instantly Hoseok notices how you hold your head high regardless of the stares, simultaneously strong and vulnerable, trusting but cautious.

His alpha, usually controlled on a short leash, lifts its head and sniffs at the air.

By the window, Mr. Lee traces your movement across the room with his eyes as the CFO outlines the ideal schedule regarding scenting. How the online portal will function with time slots booked out at a dozen different times per day for multiple alpha sessions or single ones, less if you feel you're overwhelmed.

You'll be free to roam around the building whenever you desire for all other times, moving from space to space without the hassle of locked doors. Even just having an omega's scent circulating through the HVAC system will boost productivity by an estimated 11%.

Having the freedom to choose where you'll nest will only add to that. the last of them should be set up by the end of the day. There will be 4 on every floor and one in each practice room. If you like a spot that doesn't have one all you have to do is ask and they'll move it. This is something that would normally be left up to a regular manager but the CFO had insisted that he be personally responsible for your 'matriculation' as he puts it.

Hoseok doesn't like it one bit. He's not the only one, Mr. Lee subtly steps forward and Namjoon's jaw ticks. As the CFO is an alpha, and 10 years older than him and 15 years older than you. But it's all outlined in your contract, work hours, and obligations.

Boundaries. Boundaries are a good thing.

Seokjin had asked to read it over a few weeks later, just to make sure there was no possible way you could be taken advantage of. There are so many new people around these days. New support staff, new stylists, new trainees.

But Bangtan is the breadwinner here, Namjoon and Hoseok are on the board and this is a big decision. It's reasonable- isn't it? That the people who built the company would double check and would make sure that a new very important employee wasn't being taken advantage of.

There was no way the pack alpha of the largest group in the industry was going to hire an omega without putting in the legwork. Of course, Hoseok had put Jin up to it. But still- your photo on your application did not do you justice.

You blush at the CFO's praises, and at his insistence that your freedom to go where you feel you're needed in the company was of paramount importance a little over the top even to Hoseok’s ears. Your scent sweetens a little. Not necessarily in the way that indicated arousal or anything untoward like that, but the type of scent that indicates ease and comfort and that omega is feeling safe.

Namjoon's lips part to breathe in more of it. It's so strange to Hoseok's system that he gets a little hazy-headed, missing the next thing you say, your introduction, most of it. Blood roars in his ears as he watches you.

You’d been drawn into this company for several reasons, one being the generous pay- almost twice as much as the industry standard and the overall description. You have the power to reject scenting sessions if you’re not feeling up to it, and the medical benefits are complete (as if the government-provided omegan care wasn’t top class- not every country provides it, but you’re not used to Korea, not yet.) Your schedule is up to you, the PTO is unlimited.

And they’re not even going to make you do paperwork.

If you’re not actively in a session with someone their only request is that you nest around the building if you feel comfortable enough to not do it in private. Other than that, you have an office with a TV and dimmable shades if you feel like taking a nap.

Hoseok should check that office, make sure it's in a well traveled and easily available place should anything happen- near a fire escape hopefully, closer to the ground floor just incase but not on the ground floor in the event of intruders either- Hoseok should-

Your eyes flicker to Hoseok's only once, and a jolt goes through his body. Barely managing to resist the urge to loose a growl. Namjoon's hold on Hoseok’s knee goes hard enough to bruise.

You are not necessary for the rest of the meeting, although you sit two people off from Bang Sihyuk, a few spaces to Hoseok’s left, in the corner of his eye but drawing over half his focus. Hoseok isn’t easily distracted; he’s not easily swayed.

If this is what it’s going to be like. He’s going to need to exercise his self-control and become its master very very quickly. He cannot do this job without absolute discipline- absolute focus- absolute-

You’re mostly quiet, why are you that way? Is something not to your liking? Did you eat? It's awfully early for an omega to be awake. Do you have someone who might mind that? Someone to look after you and keep you from waking up too early. If you have an alpha- they must be a good one, they must have the epitome of self-control to allow you to work so early in the day regardless of how it must tug on their instincts. The same way they're tugging on Hoseok's right now.

You do look a little sleepy. Maybe Hoseok should offer you his sweatshirt or perhaps guide you to his studio and the comfy deep couches or-

It doesn't end up being the most productive of meetings. Hoseok spends most of the time trying to work up the courage to say something to you. Ask your opinion on the comeback colors (He's worried he doesn't look good in pink), literally anything. Trying to untangle his words from his instincts enough to not sound like an asshole who thinks omega's can't handle themselves. Time running out and Hoseok is making a shit first impression. He can tell.

You don’t leave before bowing (something that instantly sends off alarm bells in Hoseok’s head). He almost wants to tell you that there's no need but he just stays silent. He's going to beat himself up over this for ages- he's such a fool. He can't even say hello. Heart rate elevated. Mind rambling. Hands shaking so hard that he has to grip the back of Namjoon's neck to keep from trembling all over the place.

What the fuck is going on.

Your Korean is a little stilted, but Hoseok doesn’t mind it at all. Body leaning into the way your voice wraps around the words.

"Thank you for looking after me."

You’re quiet, you’re shy. You’re soft.

You’re everything. Hoseok’s alpha whispers. You’re mine. Mine mine mine mine mine mine mine

Mine.

“It’s no problem at all.” "We're at your disposal." "If we do a bad job of that please let us know." "Do you need anything for today? There's lunch in the breakroom." "you don't need to bring your own- company lunch is apart of your contract." "That food is hardly nutritious though? I can get anything you like and have it delivered to your office...or mine." “My door is always open for you." "Mine too!”

Even Namjoon had offered, voice impossibly deep, near purring. "I'm here if you need anything. Hoseok hyung too." It's not how he usually sounds, it draws Hoseok's focus for just a second. His packmate is off, Hoseok can tell. Hoseok grips the back of Namjoon's neck again just slightly scruffing him, passing it off as brushing something off his shoulder.

He watches you follow the movement before you turn away, Mr. Lee is already holding the heavy door open for you. “I've got it.” it's the first time Hoseok has heard Mr. Lee speak all month. Usually laconic, usually unspeaking. Not out of necessity but just because that's the way he is.

And the other alpha is even blushing.

Hoseok had stayed silent, he wouldn’t have been able to manage a sentence or a word even if he’d opened his mouth.

Later Yoongi will ask what you’re like, clicking through that song- a few hours into fiddling with the snare that just won’t seem to settle into the beat properly. The other alpha is always able to tell when Hoseok is on edge, and he hasn’t been able to relax since your meeting.

“How where they, they new omega?" Yoongi’s body is tense, he's been tense for hours and unwilling to just rip off the bandaid. Hoseok can sense it, but Hoseok and Yoongi have always had an easy sort of love. Hoseok does not let Yoongi stew alone but he does let him take his time to gather his thoughts.

His eyes are intent and dark. Hoseok reaches over slowly, careful not to spook him, settling his hand on the back of his neck. Yoongi relaxes imperceptibly.

Hoseok leans forward, rubbing his mouth across Yoongi's clothed shoulder before leaning his chin there and sighing.

“We’ll be careful.”

He nuzzles again just a little. A temporary relief. Feeling his alpha roil beneath his skin before he straightens back up into his own chair, Yoongi's nuckles drag along his thigh.

It will take several days for Hoseok to calm down over which time he’ll throw himself into his work and do his best to avoid you. “She has a nice voice.”

Yoongi's clicking stops momentarily.

“You know, omega’s voices are pitched at a different decibel that activates a different portion of an alpha’s hindbrain.”

“You sound like Namjoon.”

Yoongi snorts, wrinkles his nose in the way that sort of looks like he's an angry kitten. hoseok feels himself smiling before he realizes it. shoulders unfurling from their tensed up position. “He told me that earlier. Right before he headed off to the department store.”

Hoseok swallows around a growl. Keeping his breathing measured. He didn't even notice Namjoon heading off- distracted as he was. Normally Hoseok is bound to let one or two things slip when they're stressed- around comeback season or near deadlines. But there are none of those any time soon.

He’s good at coping with stress. He’s not even sure why he’s so stressed out right now. “What was he getting? A welcome gift?”

“No, I think he was getting a nest for his studio.” Hoseok curses runs a hand through his hair, and clicks around aimlessly on the program. Listening to the track again one more time through. Aware that Yoongi is watching him and not the lines of progressing audio. Aware that he’s still awaiting a response.

“You’re worried. Why?” Yoongi is always straightforward, always to the point, backward hat and sweatpants, all of him at ease and comfortable here. Hoseok debates it. Letting Yoongi in, confiding in him.

“She seemed a little…fragile. My alpha had one hell of a reaction to it.” Hoseok finally decides. It's not exactly the truth- not exactly the chorus of 'mine mine mine' still running rampant in the back of his head, a buzz in his ears, annoying and distracting. All-consuming in the silence. Hoseok will let the rest of the pack come to their own conclusions.

“They all seem that way.”

“Yeah. But this was different.”

All he knew was that the second he saw you, he knew he’d do anything for you, anything to keep you happy, safe, and healthy. And those aren’t normal feelings to have for a stranger- omega or not.

Some hidden feral part of him might have liked it a bit too much. Your vulnerability and your earnestness. Unlike alpha's or the few other omega's that Hoseok has the opportunity to meet, you don't seem to be skilled in keeping your scent meditated into something gentle or less potent. You're unable to conceal your scent even though that’s what the company hires you for. Most omega scenters would at least make some effort towards privacy.

But not you. It's almost like you don't even realize it or that you don't have the energy for it.

No- you feel and it’s right there. All laid out on the table. Your scent is never subdued- through the whole of the meeting, you never seemed to even try to contain it either. Shifting in your seat made it sour- like you were uncomfortable. When the CFO had talked it had gone mellow and mute. Like your mind was wandering.

But it had been oddly genuine. The way your scent had flickered, untamed, startled, and nervous to shy. To surprised and pleased. And then for a moment when your eyes flickered to his almost…

Excited. Sweet.

Despite Hoseok's resistance to booking you out for a session, the rest of the pack's alphas and betas do not have the same misgivings. They book time to scent you through the online portal the first week just to meet you, then once a week after (twice in Namjoon's case, he's a little over eager). Even Jimin and Seokjin who need scenting only once a month book you out twice in the first ten days although the second time Hoseok's is pretty sure it's just to give you lunch and a break.

Hoseok gets used to your scent on them, after workouts and before meetings. On the elbow of Namjoon's jacket, the other alpha blushed at Hoseok's knowing and cautioning look. The day before a showcase and in the afternoon over dinner. There are hints of it everywhere.

Hoseok never scents another alpha on you, not in the hallway when he passes you or on the others inadvertently. Omega scents- they stick differently, on everywhere and everything. Biologically it makes sense from a resource standpoint. An olfactory claim- so that other omega's will not tread over their territory. Alpha's can scent each other like normal like that too- beta's similarly although it takes a substantial cuddle for the scent to stick (ie why Jimin is nearly permanently wrapped around them even on the best of days).

For the first five or ten minutes after a scenting you might carry a bit of an alpha's scent profile- which is why the company books you out with half-hour breaks between each appointment- just to give you time to recuperate and for the scent to dissipate. Omega's are slippery, skin too soft to hold onto a scent for long. Alpha's and beta's cannot scent omega's the conventional way- not if they want to indicate a claim.

An omega only smells like another alpha if they've been knotted by them.

It's a deeper, more complete sort of scent that doesn't fade for a few days. A twinge. A subtle edge of their scent. Hoseok hates a little that his alpha picks up on it, that no one's knotted you. not recently enough to tell. He waits preemptively, tail already half tucked, anticipating disappointment. But it never comes.

If you do have a partner (or partners as most omega's have) they must not knot you frequently or at all. He's too embarrassed to mention it to the others. To ask if they've noticed too. You just shouldn't talk about omega's that way- it's impolite to point it out.

There are other small hints of you everywhere. Hoseok passes by your office on his way from his practice room to his studio, noticing food and packages, roses, and channel shopping bags with a scoff.

It's not just your scent everywhere either, Hoseok's pack mentions your name casually, tones soft and velvety. Hoseok must be imagining things- because there's no way that the pack is already saying your name with a croon.

Hoseok feels like he's losing his mind.

Namjoon's late to practice again. Which doesn't help. And Hoseok's protest dies in his throat when he catches a wif of you on Namjoon.

"Sorry I was late, she fell asleep on me and I didn't want to wake her."

Yoongi has the opportunity to jump in before Hoseok even can. Still collecting his thoughts, trying to keep his alpha down. "Did she seem tired? Is she getting enough rest?"

"We should talk to management about reducing her number of avalible time slots." Seokjin comments.

"But then it will be even harder to get scented- my next time isn't until monday, 3 whole days hyung." Taehyung drapes himself over Yoongi's back to whine.

"At least you got to scent her this week already- mine's not until tomorrow." Jungkook's pout is audible to the ears. Hoseok's growl cuts him off.

"Guys- Focus."

Jungkook doesn't go into a rut before the award show, Jungkook goes into a rut the day after he schedules his first scenting with you. A few hours later. If Hoseok's being honest he'd say he's been able to scent the pre on him- thick and musky alpha ready for a fight- ready to protect and provide and prove- barely an hour after meeting you.

Fucking hell.

Hoseok can smell where you are from a hallway away and can sense it days after if you've walked by his studio. All of it. He pretends he's not keeping track of you. Occasionally he opens up the online portal on his phone, but he never works up the courage to make an appointment with you for a scenting. Even as the weeks drag on Hoseok’s alpha gets more and more restless.

Very few omegas work and even fewer packs allow them to. It’s a function of packs- a pack without an omega isn’t one that will survive for long and to have their focus shift is entirely counterproductive. There's too much fighting between alphas, too much jostling for position and resources. Even if you like each other, even if you love each other. Hoseok has learned that it’s not easy as pack alpha, balancing their wants, desires, and the needs of 7 different people.

Even without the whole international super-star thing.

But with an omega- everyone is calmer, everyone is settled. Everyone has one singular goal guiding every interaction. Every moment.

Protect. Provide. Keep safe.

Before you- the beta’s were a little bit of a placeholder for the alpha’s more dedicated instincts. Jimin loves to be fussed over, to have his contacts taken out and his skincare patted on and manhandled from room to room. Jin loves it when they stand close and measure his breathing, his movements, his everything. The touches to his knees, his hips, the way Jungkook nuzzles into his back just so.

But they can only handle it for so long without going a little bit crazy, their instincts might be a bit more willing to handle a bit of babying. But they still have their own instincts- however fickle.

Hoseok has done nothing but that since you came into his care. Is doing only one of those things tonight, provide. A sold-out show, lyrics on the tip of his tongue and breath filling his lungs. All of it is always worth it. He loves his job; he really does but-

He loves it a little bit less when it keeps him from you. Touring isn’t only taxing on him, but taxing on you too.

Disrupting an omegas schedule with long-term travel is not recommended medically, even less for you given your fragile health. Hoseok might not have acquiesced to it at all if you hadn't pouted, and might not have agreed to it at all if not for the circumstances.

You'd been unwilling to separate yourself from him. Not after finally getting him back after so long.

Hoseok can smell your sickness on the air before he even makes it out onto your floor of the hotel, his managers, staff, and Mr. Lee following his blind spots. In the elevator and all the way up, not saying anything, his hair standing on end, foot tapping as the numbers climb higher and higher to the penthouse suite.

Everyone stills for a moment when Hoseok enters, careful to stay where he can see them. The hush of an angry alpha on the air telling. Your hotel room is crowded with doctors. It shouldn't be surprising to him. It shouldn't be so grating. Hoseok should know, he’d called them all in before leaving today. Had insisted upon Seejin staying home, that Hoseok would be fine with one of the other managers today.

They crowd parts around the waist-high nest to let him through. The nest is plush and custom, one of two- the other of your nest has already been sent to your next hotel- a luxurious expense to have an omega nest follow you wherever you go- but one that Hoseok was more than willing to pay so that you can be comfortable wherever you go. They have more than enough money to spoil you, so why shouldn’t they? What use is any of this if the one person they promise to protect and provide for isn’t taken care of?

His heart clenches painfully when he spots you, breath going a little ragged.

you're a small heap, arms and legs tucked close like you're having trouble keeping yourself warm, or maybe like the nest is too big, too unsafe. You've tucked yourself into the side of the nest, eyes closed, cheeks flushed with fever, resting prone against the side walls. All so that the doctor can press his stethoscope to your throat, your heart, and your back to listen to your lungs. he doesn't hear hoseok, ears in the stethescope,

"Can you breathe deep for me sweetheart, there you go. That's a good omega."

Hoseok can't fucking breathe.

The doctor’s part around him and quiet and the tense inch of him that hadn’t relaxed, not during the performance or the ride over one bit, finally eased away.

Hoseok drops to his knees at the edge of the nest. Normally he’d never allow anyone, fan or not, the management or not- to see him on his knees. It’s not something that any alpha does in public without ridicule. But for you he hardly even notices. Leaning over the edge of the nest. All but ready to get into it.

His hand threads a shaky hand through your hair, it's hard to tell if he's instantly soothed by your presence alone or if your breathing calms just a little more. Hoseok strokes down the curve of your head. Your eyes are closed. Neither awake or asleep. You seek out his scent almost immediately, nose pressing with a zing to his inner wrist that goes straight to his chest. Letting out a soft exhausted chirp that makes his throat and heart feel all tight.

You make a soft trilling noise, a precious little omegan sound that under other circumstances Hoseok would never allow anyone to hear but the pack. The order is clear; alpha in my nest, please come, alpha here. Hoseok's body lurches and it takes more control than he has to keep himself from tumbling into your nest entirely.

There are people here, Hoseok's instincts have already decided they're threats. Hoseok must remove them before he comes in. You turn your face into his palm nuzzling and nosing. Trying to get more of his scent on you even though you’re too stuffed up to scent him. Your other hand loosely tangles with the fabric of his shirt.

“How is she?” He breathes. Eyes fixed on your face, measuring the puffiness under your eyes, the raw skin of your nose, the dryness of your lips. You whine and reach for him, a noise so heartbreaking it almost makes Hobi want to gnash his teeth.

Hoseok spots it, the tiny band-aid on the inside of your arm. Small, pink. He blinks down at it. Thumb treading close, you hiss a little, and at closer inspection- he sees it's a little bruised.

Hoseok goes deathly still. The doctor keeps talking, oblivious to Hoseok's frightening quiet. Rushing over himself to update Hoseok. He spares no detail. No detail at all.

Hoseok burns.

“Her fever peaked this afternoon at around 101.3 degrees, at which point ant-virials were administered orally. She’s eaten a little since then and her potassium and iron levels were taken, just to be sure. A banana bag was administered at-”

the doctor breaks off as Hoseok jerks, hands tightening to fists by his side. You nose at the spot where his hand just was your eyes still closed. You're so sick he can hardly even smell you, your scent dampened by the weight of your sickness.

Logically Hoseok knows it's just a cold. You get like this every time you get sick. But logic has no place here, not now. Not with you so weak.

“You mean to say- my omega was given an IV without my approval?” rage rolls off him in waves and Seejin reaches out to set a hand on his shoulder, Hoseok doesn't even remember standing up, doesn't remember trying to shove. But between one blink and the next he's nearly doing it. Hoseok’s self-control is hanging on by a thread. “And- You did that without notifying me first?"

Hoseok is not proud of his rage, he’s not proud of a lot of things. But defending his pack has nothing to do with ego or dominance. It has nothing to do with pride as he backs the doctor up against a wall. Nearly snapping his teeth at his neck. Hoseok’s alpha wants more than blood, more than something to break under his hands. Rage makes him tremble nearly violently.

Thank God for NDAs and goodwill. Tomorrow. When Hoseok isn’t acting like a cornered dog he’ll apologize probably with a fancy gift of some sort. This same doctor who resists the urge to cower will say. “Happens all the time, you know alphas.”

But hoseok doesn't know, right now all he knows is Rage. But for now, Hoseok is a threat. An alpha is always a threat around a sick omega. His laugh sounds cruel even to his own ears. “Do you enjoy being licensed to provide omegan care doctor?”

For what it’s worth, the grey-haired doctor hardly backs off, hands raised. Seejin and Mr. Lee come close, a gentle presence waiting to see if Hoseok will snap. Hoseok should remember that you’re not his property- that you can and often do make medical decisions on your own. But right now, Hoseok’s having a hard time separating need from fear.

Hoseok watches them from the corner of his eye, part of him begging for them to intervene. For a reason to get violent. his alpha tells him violence might fix this. Might solve everything might-

“If any of you ever do anything like that again I’ll make sure you-”

You tug on his pant leg, effectively cutting him off, completely extinguishing his anger. He looks down and you’re looking up at him. Half sprawled out of the nest to reach him; hand fisted. Mouth drawn down in a pout. Eyes cracked open.

The very first time you’d ever looked up at him from the confines of your nest had taken his breath away. This time is no different.

The first time had gone something like this:

He’d been in the practice room where you’d chosen to spend the afternoon, lured in by the promise of open windows and sunlight. Hoseok had never spent too much time around omegas before. Too much like cats, too tentative, too restless.

Most of the time he treats his twice-monthly scentings as something routine. An omegan café, high-end on the edge of the city. An omega scenter in comfy pajamas, a nest that smells of cleaning spray, all for him. Rinse and repeat.

Most of the time when he sees you’ve taken a spot in his favorite practice room, he closes the door softly with a quiet apology and just goes to the one next door. Unwilling to bother you with the squeak of his shoes and the pounding of the music.

Nesting isn’t like napping, omegas can tune out sound when they’re nesting- it’s more similar to torpor in a way or hibernation. The body’s metabolism slows down and omega's go vulnerable. The brain becomes sluggish. Scent strengthens while other bodily functions dwindle like heart rate and reaction time. It’s a very very important part of omegan recovery.

Hoseok doesn’t want to interrupt that in the slightest- especially given the nagging feeling in his chest. His instincts say something that's hard to parse through. A language that he's only half fluent in. Ever-present since you've been hired.

He sees you joke around with some of the trainees and sees each of them duck their head to receive a brief (and probably slightly illegal given scenting laws) rub of your wrist over their heads before their first showcase.

Hoseok sees things like that all the time and tries to stay calm through it. Reminding himself that you are an adult, that you are not vulnerable, and you are not constantly in danger. Despite what Hoseok’s instinct are having him believe.

He was content to switch and swap for the practice room with the best acoustics. But then the next day he’d gone to the alternative practice room again and found you there again too. Flip-flopping back and forth.

He’d told Namjoon and complained a little. "Doesn't she understand that I’m trying not to disturb her? I'm trying to be respectful." Both of their backs up against the practice room wall. Bodies sweaty, resting. Hoseok hands off his water bottle giving Namjoon the first sip.

"Has it occurred to you that she might want you to disturb her?" Hoseok's expression had twisted, Namjoon's knowing smile dimply, near unreadable.

"Joon-ah, What are you thinking?" Namjoon had stood, offered his hand, and pulled Hoseok to his feet.

"I think alphas are the ones that need to do the chasing, not the ones that get chased." 

So, the next day, after flip-flopping from room to room for weeks. He’d tread into his favorite practice room quietly, carefully, already able to tell you where in there from the sweetness of your scent on the air alone. The late afternoon stretches the sunset red beyond the windows. And Hoseok takes a deep breath of your scent (you've been in here for hours, it covers the air in thick blushes of berries that have goosebumps rising to his arms).

You don't notice, you don't hear, eyes staying fixed on the sunset. He makes a small noise in his throat. More submissive than he means it.

You look from the window to him.

Your scent- it’s hard to describe your and if asked Hoseok might fail to properly pinpoint it. It's something deep and fresh but sweet and airy like a summer evening with a nearly berry undertone. Blackberries or blueberries, the tart feeling of them hitting your tongue. It's a lovely scent, a unique one. Hoseok has never met another person omega or not- that smelled half as delicious as you.

You’d looked up at him and smiled. Hoseok’s throat had felt tight, his spine straighter than stretching could ever get it.

He waits a beat, another. He's completely forgotten why he's in here for a split second and he stumbles into the room. Voice shaky. Totally not a good first impression- this is the first time you've ever been alone together in the same room. The first time you've ever been one on one with Hoseok.

Hoseok is making a fool of himself. He should have brought food or maybe a gift like namjoon did. Maybe one of those fancy little drinks with the cut up fruit from the cafe downstairs.

“Is- is it alright if I practice in here?” He even stutters. He can hear Namjoon and Yoongi snickering from a floor away.

“Yes!” You’d chirped, resting your cheek against the edge of the nest, pausing before you’d continue. Squirming a little happily, and Hoseok huffs, sort of endeared, sort of less nervous just by how eager you seem. This is why you’re here in this room. He shouldn’t be blushing watching you shift and get comfortable in the nest.

He’s been measuring them- tracking the similarities from nest to nest, some omegas like a lot of blankets- others like a lot of pillows. But you don’t like too much, just a duvet occasionally in some of the other colder practice rooms- especially the ones underground. And a pillow now stuck between your knees for you to wrap your body around while you nest.

He might have seen you do that with Jungkook at one point. After his rut when he'd been a little… volatile. And he'd walked into the breakroom- the other alpha nearly completely tucked beneath your body. Hoseok might have spent hours thinking about it, it's hard not to notice and Hoseok knows omegas like to hug things but-

He might actually be going insane

“I've always wanted to watch you practice on your own!” hoseok flushes furiously and tries to turn away so you can't see, unsure what to say even less what to do. At second glance you're half lifting yourself out of the nest, something that sets off alarm bells in his head. Nearly makes him come close and shush you- ask you to sink back into it. "What one are you gonna do? Hope world? Or-" you prattle on while Hoseok's eyebrows climb higher and higher into his hairline.

Oh? Could it be that you're- that you're a fan? That you like their music. Hoseok's not sure why- but he didn't expect that, or expect this.

You are not strangers, you’ve met before. Only that time You were upright and Hoseok- shaking your hand careful not to squeeze too hard. Making the rounds to meet everyone personally. Eyes flickering from your clasped hands to your face and back again. Nostrils flaring as you caught his scent in the air.

Hoseok knows he smells good, like drippy mangos in the summertime. Sun-warmed fruit. Mellow but sticky. He preens a little at having an omega so obviously appreciate it.

You must not know what you’re doing to him at all as you lift your nose to the air and breathe deep, pausing in your listing of his many performances, eyes fluttering. He knows you like his scent as he sets up, out of the corner of his eye he catches something that looks suspiciously like a happy little shiver. If a beta or alpha did that it might be creepy- but an omega.

Hoseok might have scrubbed off his scent blockers just a little earlier. So you could smell him better.

This is different than your first meeting. This is the first time he’s ever been alone with you. You are the only two people here now. And the quiet and intimate proximity makes Hoseok’s skin feel tingly. But this is just what omega’s do, just what omega’s feel like. Hoseok had been warned that his body might have…peculiar reactions to being around an omega regularly for a prolonged period of time. Increased protective instincts.

The other boys aren’t here to soften the edge of tension with their puppy pile clamor. You attend their group practices a few times a week. Your officially booked time is a bit different, but when you’re not booked out and in the hours between your sessions with the other groups- you do gravitate a little to their spaces.

Hoseok’s not quite sure if he’s noticing a pattern or if his instincts are just overly hopeful.

But this is different. Feels different as Hoseok sets out his water bottle and queues up the music. His heart shouldn’t be beating so fast. “So you know our stuff?” He teases getting comfortable. You hide your blush under the edge of the nest.

"Just a little. I looked you up when I started working here-"

"Everythings to your liking?" He asks, checks, keeping you in his peripheries, mindful of startling you or making you nervous. Any omega would get nervous one on one with an alpha. You should never feel that way around him- Hoseok doesn't want you to.

"Yes- everyone's been so welcoming." He hums, it's more of a pur, more of a muted growl. When he looks back at you- you're looking at him. Eye contact. Too quick. Hoseok looks away.

He clears it out of his throat, shaking himself clean a little. "What do you wanna see? I don't usually take requests but-" For you I might. For you I would. Hoseok hides his flush by clicking around on the computer, audio files listed alphabetically. The concert arrangements- not the regular recordings.

You hum thoughtfully, tipping your head this way and that, leaning your chin against the omega nest. It’s a simple one, fairly standard. It sort of looks like an oversized cat bed, set up kind of minimally (something about that doesn’t please Hoseok’s alpha, although you do have similar omega nests in just about every room in the building, meant to facilitate your comfort in whichever space you might ask for).

Hoseok had come upon you asking two trainees to move yours to the hallway with all the windows (that was suspiciously close to his, Namjoon’s, and Yoongi’s studios.) It will be a few more weeks until you ask them if it's okay if you set up a private nest in the corner of their studios. Yoongi already has a spot cleared out just in case. Namjoon's had one set up in the first week.

The other day he had walked by just as you cupped their cheeks and dragged your wrist down their throats, the pair of alpha’s flushing red and smelling heady. A priceless reward and one that Hoseok was instantly jealous of.

Maybe he'll get that today.

Hoseok is always keenly aware of your nests when he finds them empty- they’re not always unadorned, sometimes there are pink frilly sweaters and sweatshirts draped over the edge. Gifts from alpha’s whose scent you like and betas too. There’s one in the waiting room with a maplestory plush that Jin keeps well-scented and you tend to tote from spot to spot. Jin smells as pretty as he looks; like fresh orange blossom and lemon slices, something citrusy and fresh.

During practice with you in the corner. Taehyung asks you why and you tell him gladly. easily. intimacy with others ins't always easy with a pack as close knit as there's they have friends too- but Hoseok is always nervous, always watching and making sure his pups are okay and not asking private personal questions that certainly are not work appropriate. He's just about to say something to Taehyung when you respond, resting your cheek across the top of the pink plush, blinking up at him blearily. "I like to hug things in my sleep,"

Yhe alpha had leaned over to ruffle your hair. You'd pressed up into the touch happily. "You're just like me! If you need to nap and I need to nap we should like- hug each other!"

That painfully obvious attempt at flirting had been the source of many teasing episodes over the last few weeks. Jungkook had needed to be taken over a lap for high-pitched. "You're just like me," More than once. An inside joke in the making if ever there was one. Taking care of his pack is easy for Hoseok, every movement practiced so many times he could do it with his eyes closed.

The next day, there might have been a full-sized teddy bear, scented by each member of the pack, waiting in your office for you. The pack had waited for Hobi to be done with a meeting just so that he could scent it too and he could scent it last, making his scent on it the strongest.

Call it a welcoming gift if you're too shy to call it a courting gift.

The pack's scents are a comforting overlap, one that Hoseok is intimately familiar with. He can smell that this nest, the one in his practice room, has traces of them. He knows the whole pack’s schedules and often wakes up early just to pour over it with coffee. And he knows that you’ve seen each of them over the last week for a session. That you see them every week that sometimes- you bump people to the next day just in case.

Hoseok just didn’t realize you’ve had your sessions here, in his practice room until right now.

Hoseok knows this, knows that you like his pack’s scent, and yet. You have nothing in this nest, nothing in his practice room from any of the others. Your omega nest is simple and unadorned in here. Here it's just you and just him. You tilt your head to the side, thoughtfully considering his question.

“The pretty one, the one that you and Jiminie do.” Jiminie huh, Hoseok’s alpha had purred, nicknames already. Hoseok doesn’t say anything, he just nods and queues up the track, turning it lower than he normally would. Aren’t omega’s ears more sensitive? Is that something that he should be worried about?

Hoseok doesn’t miss a single step, keenly aware of your chin perched on the edge of your nest. Intimately aware of your eyes on him following his every movement.

The world and everything outside of the room melts away. Until it's only the music and you.

~-~

It’s a far cry from now, as you peer up at him from the nest. Cheeks flushed with fever.  Tugging all of his attention inches away from this confrontation getting bloody. Hoseok's hands are claws against the alpha doctor's skin, one on his shoulder and the other on his throat. All Hoseok sees is red, all Hoseok sees is you. Hoseok is finally able to fixate on you again. For today at least, the performance is done. It is once again just you and him.

Scared, omega hurt. Omega might go, omega can't go. has to stay. Fear- no- it's terror. It's always terrifying when you're sick. Because one day you might not get better. One day that might be it. Protect, treat. Feed. Get rid of the threat of omega and keep omega safe. Soft omega, my omega, sick omega. Keep safe keep safe keep safe keep-

Your voice is so quiet, but Hoseok would hear it in a roaring stadium. Over 6,000 people or 60,000. It cuts through the panic, his heavy breath heaving in his chest, bones creaking with the force of his trembling. Their whole body out of wack.

Hoseok has only ever wanted for you to be okay. He wants it so badly that it burns in his throat. Worse than a lump, worse than an ache. A wound.

“Hobi." Your tone leaves no room for argument. "Stop it. You’re being mean.”

~-~

Notes:

the beginning part of this might be a little bit too much for me. i'm having alot of family issues right now. i did /not/ intend on putting it in this fic but oh wellllllllll

honestly i struggled to articulate their dynamic in the sections with jimin, hoseok, and namjoon also ft. yoongi but!!! i think i did a good job! and people wanted to see more of dom jimin. i wanted to emphasize that they're all dominant in some way over the m/c but they all step aside when they need to exercise those dominant feelings.

i love playing with reader expectations vs experience in fics, i really want you guys /as/ readers to question whether or not her parents were right in trying to hide her being an omega.

less notes this time because i kept getting distracted from this fic and all the shit that is going on in my life at the moment. not only bts's comeback but also just life stuff. my older sister is getting married next week so i will be away. because of that i might not get around to answering messages for a little while (either that or i'll be camped out responding to each and every one of them and escaping to this fantasy world lol)

[the-unidentified-author]

I Want to Fill My Mouth With Your Name. I Want to Eat You Whole. | Robert 'Bob' Reynolds| Thunderbolts*

Warnings/ Tags: SMUT[NSFW], shy guy, smut, nerd, talks you through it, maybe not as nerdy as you thought, his eyes glow when he cums, he likes to talk you through it, consensual!

Summary: Youre working late at night and Bob joins you not wanting to be alone in the tower. One thing leads to another and now you have him in your mouth as he moans your name.

Word Count: 5,877

A/n: Long one again sorryyyyy.

Not my gif, if its yours and you would like me to remove it just ask <3

It had been a long day, the kind of day that left your head aching and your eyes bleary from staring at computer screens. Working later was something that you hated, but occasionally, it was a requirement. You were a scientist, one of the best, and you had been employed and set to work in the Avengers tower. Your work mostly consisted of studying the various skills of those that resided in the tower, along with cataloguing and keeping track of the super serums.

You’d been holed up in your lab for hours, the fluorescent lights harsh and unforgiving, the hum of machines a constant drone in your ears. You were tired, bone-tired, but you couldn’t stop. If you did, then you would just have to come back to it in the morning and well you were in the flow now.

And then, like a breath of fresh air, Bob had appeared in the doorway, lingering uncertainly, hands shoved deep in his pockets. “You’ve been down here a while,” he’d said, voice soft, hesitant. “I thought… maybe you could use some company?”

You’d tried to wave him off, to tell him you were fine, but he’d taken a tentative step into the room, eyes darting around like he wasn’t quite sure where to look. “I could help,” he’d offered, nodding towards a stack of haphazard files. “With the organising, I mean. If—if you want.”

You’d protested, but truth be told, you were grateful for the help—and for the company. The tower could be lonely, especially at night, and you knew Bob didn’t want to be alone with his thoughts any more than you did.

The work had gone quicker with Bob’s help, his presence a soothing balm to your frayed nerves. You’d fallen into an easy rhythm, a comfortable silence punctuated by the occasional soft comment or gentle tease.

“You know, I had no idea you were so good at filing,” you’d said at one point, shooting him a playful grin, trying to draw him out of his shell.

He’d ducked his head, a faint blush staining his cheeks. “Well, I—I have a good memory,” he’d murmured, eyes fixed on the files in his hands. “And I like to help. Where I can.”

Your heart had warmed at that, at the quiet admission, the vulnerability in his hunched shoulders, his downcast eyes. You’d wanted to reach out, to brush that errant lock of hair from his forehead, to tilt his chin up and tell him just how much you appreciated him, how much his presence meant. But instead you turned back to your work, trying not to think about him.

A few hours later and the two of you had made a sizeable dent in cataloguing and organising the myriad of files you had been sent. It was late now, the tower was hushed, the city’s glow beyond the windows dimmed to a gentle amber, as if even the bustling metropolis knew to give you this pocket of peace. You could almost forget the world existed outside these walls—almost. The only sound was the rustle of papers and the soft click of keys, a quiet symphony punctuating the stillness as you and Bob worked late into the evening.

You were pouring over mission reports and data readouts long after everyone else had retired for the night, the faint hum of the sleeping building a comforting backdrop. The room was warm, the air heavy with the scent of old books and new technology, the glow of computer screens casting eerie shadows on the walls.

Bob sat across from you, brow furrowed in concentration, golden brown hair tousled from running his fingers through it repeatedly. The soft light cast half his face in shadow, but you could still trace the bow of his lips, the line of his jaw, the curve of his neck disappearing beneath his collar. The play of muscle and tendon in his forearms, the hoodie he always wore pulled up them to just below the elbow.

He was close enough that you caught the faint, clean scent of him—not just soap and warm skin, but something indefinable, something superhuman. It was a heady, intoxicating scent, like sunshine and salt and power, and it made your head swim, made you want to lean closer, to breathe him in.

The surrounding room faded away, your focus narrowing on him—the way his lashes fluttered as he read, the way his fingers drummed on the table, the way his throat worked when he swallowed. You were caught, captivated.

You shouldn’t be staring. But you couldn’t help it, couldn’t tear your eyes away even as your mind raced, wondering at this sudden, intense pull you felt.

Why him? Why now? You’d known Bob for weeks. But something was different now, something had shifted, like a key turning in a lock, a door swinging open to reveal a room you’d never known was there.

Maybe it was the intimacy of the moment, the hush of the empty tower, the lateness of the hour. Perhaps it was the way he’d smiled at you earlier, warm and open and just for you. Or perhaps you were just too tired, you thought to yourself.

You’d always found him attractive, of course—what red-blooded person wouldn’t? But this was different. This was a yearning, an ache, a need that went beyond the physical, that tugged at something deep in your chest, something you hadn’t even known was there.

You wanted to know him, you realised with a start. Wanted to understand what went on behind those big, sad, blue eyes, wanted to trace the lines of his mind as surely as you wanted to trace the lines of his body. Wanted to see him, really see him, in a way no one else did.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted him to see you too.

Reaching for a tablet, your hand accidentally brushed his where it lay on the table. He flinched—actually flinched, a soft gasp escaping. You paused, curious, watching him visibly compose himself, cheeks tinged a fascinating shade of pink.

“Sorry,” you offered, not sorry at all, mind already whirring with questions—and possibilities. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“No, it’s—it’s fine. I just—” He searched for words, fumbling, before looking away, abashed. “Sometimes I’m a little jumpy.”

“Jumpy,” you echoed, not quite a question, filing that reaction away. Your eyes traced his profile, the tension in his shoulders, the way his breathing had quickened just slightly. “Is it…me?”

He tried to laugh it off, but the sound was strained, the nervous energy lingering between you like a live wire. “It’s not you, I mean—it’s sort of me. It’s just… well, sometimes things feel a little… more, for me. With my powers.”

You angled your body toward him, curiosity blooming between you. “More?” you repeated softly, letting the word linger, inviting him to say more.

His fingers fidgeted with the edge of a folder, not meeting your gaze. “Yeah. It’s—my senses. All of them. Good, bad… it can get intense.”

You let the silence settle for a moment, thinking about what it would be like to feel everything turned all the way up—touch and sound and light, every sensation pressed close. “Is it always like that?” you asked, softer. “Even now?”

He shot you a glance, half sheepish, half defiant. “It’s worse when I’m…tired. Or if I feel—” He broke off, swallowing, his gaze drifting to his lap. “If I’m… nervous, I guess. Or… when something gets my attention.”

You felt your pulse speed up, imagining that you were the ‘something’ that caught his attention. “That sounds overwhelming,” you murmured. “Don’t you ever want a break from it?”

Bob gave a breath of laughter, shaky but genuine. “All the time. But sometimes it’s…not so bad. If it’s the right kind of feeling.”

You watched him for a long moment, the lines of his jaw, the vulnerable curve of his mouth. He was still tense, but there was something open in his eyes now, something that made warmth spill through you. Something stirred within you, something brave.

“What kind of feeling is it now?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper, afraid to break whatever fragile, electric moment you’d found together.

He met your gaze at last. There was a question there, but also hope, and beneath that, unmistakable want.

The room’s tension thickened, the city humming distantly outside, a quiet bubble forming around your corner of the world. That faint feeling of bravery started to burn, fill your chest. You knew what you wanted, and you decided to tip the boat out. You shifted closer, hesitating for just a moment before your next words came out, softer than before, careful: “Bob… what if… what if, I could make you feel good? Would you want that?”

His eyes found yours, uncertain but achingly hopeful. The tension was thick, and regret started to rain down on you. But then he nodded, just a small jerk of his chin. “I—I think I would.”

You held his gaze, your heart thumping hard in your chest, something warm and giddy rising in you at the trust in his eyes, the tentative want. Your fingers twitched at your side, but you didn’t reach out, not yet. You wanted to savour this moment, the sweet, heavy anticipation of it.

“Can you… can you tell me more?” you asked, barely above a whisper. “What does it feel like, with your powers? When it’s good?”

He swallowed, throat working. “It’s… it’s a lot, sometimes. Like—like everything is turned up, too bright, too loud. But when it’s good, it’s… it’s like I can feel everything. Everywhere.”

“Everywhere,” you echoed softly, something fluttering in your stomach at the thought. “And do you… do you want that? To feel… everything?”

He nodded again, a small shiver running through him. “Yes,” he breathed, voice rough.

Your gaze wandered over him—tracing the line of his throat, the breadth of his shoulders, the curve of his bicep straining against his sleeve. You imagined the warmth of his skin, the hitch of his breath, the way he might tremble under your hands.

“Where… where would you want me to start?” you asked, your voice shaking just slightly.

He wet his lips, chest heaving. “I—I don’t know. I just… I trust you.”

“Trust me,” you echoed, something warm blooming in your chest. “I—I like that. I like that a lot.”

You moved slowly around the table, and he turned to you, eyes watching as you moved closer. You reached out then—not to touch, not yet, but to let your fingers hover just above his skin, close enough to feel the heat of him. You traced the air over his hand, his wrist, his forearm, watching in fascination as he shivered.

“Is… is this okay?” you murmured, glancing up at him through your lashes.

He nodded frantically, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Please,” he whispered, and the word seemed to hang in the air between you, heavy with meaning. “Please.”

But still, you waited, drawing out the moment, letting the tension and anticipation build and build between you until it was a physical thing, a weight in the room, a thrumming in your veins.

“Bob,” you breathed at last, and his name on your lips was a question, a promise, a prayer.

“Please,” he said again, voice raw with want. “I need—I need you to touch me. I need—”

You started slow, stepping between his legs spread open on his chair, letting your fingers trail up his forearm, tracing the lines of his veins just beneath the skin. His arm was dusted with fine, dark hair, the muscle beneath solid and defined. You marvelled at the size of his hands—large, strong, capable—as they trembled ever so slightly at your touch.

He shivered under your touch, eyes fluttering shut, breath quickening. You could see the corded muscles of his forearms flexing, feel the heat radiating from his skin, the vitality pulsing just beneath the surface.

“Bob,” you murmured, voice low, soothing. “Just relax. Let yourself feel it.”

He nodded, throat working, and you could feel the tension in him slowly unwinding, his body leaning into your touch.

Your fingers danced up to his shoulder, tracing the curve of muscle there, before trailing up the side of his neck. He shivered again, a soft sound escaping his parted lips, and you smiled, something warm and powerful blooming in your chest.

“Is this good?” you asked, your lips just inches from his ear. “Do you like this?”

“Y-yes,” he breathed, voice shaky. “God, yes. More.”

You obliged, your fingers slipping into his hair, moving through the soft strands. He practically melted against you, a low moan vibrating in his throat.

“Bob,” you whispered, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “Can I… can I kiss you?”

He nodded frantically, turning his face towards you, and you closed the distance between you slowly, so slowly, giving him every chance to pull away.

But he didn’t. He met you halfway, his lips soft and warm against yours, hesitant at first, then growing bolder, more desperate.

You kissed him slow and deep, pouring every ounce of want and care and tenderness you had into the press of your lips, the slide of your tongue against his. He responded in kind, hands coming up to grip your shoulders, your hair, anywhere he could reach, like he was afraid you might disappear.

When you finally broke apart, you were both panting, foreheads pressed together, noses brushing. You could feel the heat of him everywhere, like a brand on your skin.

“Bob,” you murmured, voice rough with want. “Can I… can I touch you? Really touch you?”

He nodded, eyes wide and dark and full of trust and a little lust, and you took a shaky breath, your hands sliding down to the hem of his shirt.

You paused there, giving him one last chance to say no, to change his mind, but he just looked at you, waiting, wanting.

So you slid your hands under his hoodie, palms flat against the warm skin of his stomach, his chest, feeling the muscles jump under your touch. He was all smooth skin and chiseled strength, his body trembling just slightly, like he was holding back, waiting for you to make the next move.

His abs were rock-hard under your hands, each muscle defined and distinct. You could feel the raw power coiled in him, barely contained, a thrill of exhilaration shooting through you at the thought of all that strength beneath your hands.

You took your time, exploring every inch of him, fingertips tracing the lines of his ribs, the dip of his navel, the curve of his hipbones. He shivered and shuddered under your touch, breath coming in soft pants, eyes squeezed shut like he was trying to memorise every sensation.

It struck you then, the contrast between the powerful superhero who could lift cars and crush steel in his bare hands, and the trembling man beneath your fingertips, vulnerable and open, willingly surrendering himself to your touch.

Each brush of your fingers drew soft gasps and whimpers from his throat, his body reacting with raw sensitivity to every caress. He was like clay beneath your hands, muscles shifting and flexing, following your touch like he couldn’t bear to lose the contact.

His hands remained fisted at his sides, his immense strength leashed, allowing you to set the pace, to explore and map out the topography of his body at your leisure.

“Bob,” you whispered, your hands sliding around to his back, fingertips digging into the muscles there. “Do you want… do you want more?”

He nodded, frantic, desperate, hips rocking up into your touch. “Yes,” he breathed, voice raw with want. “God, yes. Please.”

And that was all you needed to hear.

You took a shaky breath, your hand sliding slowly down his stomach, your fingers teasing just beneath the waistband of his jeans. He was panting now, his breath hot against your neck as he leaned in close, his forehead coming to rest on your shoulder.

“Is this okay?” you whispered, your voice rough with want, with nerves.

He nodded frantically, his hands moving to your waist, gripping tight like he was afraid you might disappear. “Yes,” he breathed, the word hot against your skin. “God, yes. Please.”

You worked the button of his jeans open with trembling fingers, the sound of his zip echoing in the quiet room. You could feel the heat of him through the thin cotton of his boxer-briefs, the hard ridge of his erection straining against the fabric.

You palmed him through the material, revealing in the way he bucked into your touch, the way his breath caught in his throat. He was pulsing beneath your touch, his hips rocking shamelessly, his hands tightening on your waist.

“Please,” he panted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Please, I need—”

You slipped your hand beneath the waistband of his underwear then, your fingers brushing against the hot, hard length of him. He was silky-smooth and scorching to the touch, pulsing under your fingertips, a pearl of wetness beading at the tip.

You teased him with feather-light touches, tracing the veins, the ridge of his head, the soft skin of his balls. He moaned low in his throat, hips jerking, hands clenching on your waist.

“Tell me what you need, Bob,” you whispered, your voice low, seductive. “I want to hear you say it.”

He shuddered, a full-body tremor that seemed to wrack him from head to toe. “I need you,” he breathed, voice raw with want, with need. “I need to feel you, all of you.”

You smiled against his hair, your fingers still teasing, stroking, exploring. “You want me to… what, Bob?” you teased, your teeth grazing the curve of his ear. “You want me to touch you? Taste you?”

He nodded frantically, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands clenching and unclenching on your waist. “Yes,” he gasped, hips bucking shamelessly into your touch. “God, yes. Please.”

You closed your fist around him then, stroking slowly from base to tip, your thumb swiping over the sensitive head. He moaned a broken guttural sound, hips rocking into your touch, his breath hot and harsh against your neck.

“Like this?” you murmured, your voice low, rough. “Is this what you need?”

“Yes,” he gasped, nodding frantically. “Yes, please, more.”

You stroked him slowly, torturously, varying your grip, your speed, keeping him on edge. He was trembling against you, his breath coming in ragged pants, his hips rocking shamelessly into your touch.

“Please,” he panted, his voice muffled against your shoulder. “Please, I need—”

You leaned in then, your lips brushing the shell of his ear. “What do you need, Bob?” you whispered, your voice low, seductive. “Tell me what you need.”

He shuddered, a full-body shiver that seemed to wrack him from head to toe. “I need you,” he breathed, voice raw with want, with need. “I need to feel you, all of you.”

You smiled against his skin, your teeth grazing the lobe of his ear. “You want me to… what, Bob?” you teased, your hand still stroking him slowly, torturously. “You want me to taste you?”

You let your hand slide away from him then, trailing your fingers up his thigh as you sank slowly to your knees in front of him. His eyes widened, breath catching in his throat as he watched you settle there, your hands coming to rest on his hips.

“Is this okay?” you asked, your voice low, rough with want. “Do you want me like this, Bob?”

He nodded frantically, his hands fisting in your hair, his hips bucking forward, seeking your touch. “Yes,” he breathed, voice raw, pleading.

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding slowly up his thighs, your thumbs brushing the crease of his hips. He shivered under your touch, breath coming quick and harsh.

“You want me to touch you?” you teased, your voice low, seductive. “You want me to taste you?”

He nodded frantically, his hips rocking forward, his hands tightening in your hair. “Yes,” he gasped, voice rough with want. “Please, yes.”

You leaned in then, your breath ghosting over the hot, hard length of him, and you could feel him trembling, feel the way his muscles tensed and jumped beneath your hands.

“Please,” he panted, his voice raw, needy.

And with that, you leaned in, your lips brushing the tip of him, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of wetness there. He moaned brokenly, hips bucking, hands fisting tight in your hair.

You took him into your mouth then, slowly, teasingly, your tongue swirling around the head of his cock. He was hot and hard and throbbing against your tongue, and you could feel the way he trembled, the way his breath caught in his throat.

“God,” he panted, his head thrown back, his hands tight in your hair. “Fuck, that feels so good.”

You took him deeper then, your mouth sliding down his length, your tongue stroking the underside of his cock. He moaned low in his throat, his hips rocking forward, his hands urging you on.

You could feel him pulsing against your tongue, feel the way his muscles tensed and jumped beneath your hands. You could taste the salt of his skin, the musk of his arousal, and it was heady, intoxicating.

“Please,” he panted, his voice rough with need. “Please, I’m so close. I need—”

You moaned around him, the sound vibrating against his skin, and you could feel him shudder, feel the way his cock throbbed against your tongue.

You worked him with your mouth, your tongue, your hands, driving him higher, pushing him closer to the edge. He was trembling against you, his breath coming in harsh pants, his hands fisting tight in your hair.

“Please,” he panted, his voice raw, needy. “Please, I’m going to—”

And with that, he came, his cock pulsing against your tongue, his hips bucking wildly in the chair. You swallowed him down, moaning at the taste of him, the feel of him throbbing against your tongue.

He shuddered, a full-body tremor that wracked him from head to toe, and you could feel the tension draining out of him, feel the way his muscles went loose and liquid beneath your hands.

You pulled back slowly, your tongue darting out to lick the last drops from the tip of his cock. He moaned softly, his hands falling from your hair to your shoulders. Then as his breath steadied, his hands cupped your face, his thumbs stroking your jaw.

“God,” he breathed, voice rough, sated. “That was—”

You smiled up at him, your hands sliding up his thighs to rest on his hips. “Good?” you teased, your voice low, playful.

He was still panting, his chest heaving, as you rose to your feet. Before he could say anything, though, he reached down, tucking himself back into his boxers, with shaking hands. You watched him, your heart racing in your chest, anticipation coiling tight in your belly. Then his hands found your waist again, tugging you closer until you stood between his spread thighs, your bodies flush against each other.

“Thank you,” you murmured, your voice soft, sincere. “For trusting me. For letting me… letting me take care of you.”

He shivered, his arms coming around you, holding you tight against him. “Thank you,” he whispered back, his voice rough, emotional. “For… for everything.”

You held him like that for a long moment, just savouring the feel of him in your arms, the steady thump of his heart against yours. Eventually, though, he pulled back, his hands coming up to frame your face, his thumbs stroking your cheekbones.

He looked at you, his eyes dark, intense. “I want… I want to take care of you too,” he murmured, his hands coming to rest on your shoulders, toying with the collar of your lab coat. “Can I… can I touch you? Can I make you feel good?”

You shivered, your breath catching in your throat, and you nodded, leaning into his touch. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice rough with want. “Yes. Please.”

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and his hands slid down your body, pushing your lab coat off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor in a crumpled heap. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted, his fingers going to the buttons of your shirt. You shivered, your skin prickling with goosebumps, your breath coming quick and harsh.

He undid the buttons slowly, carefully, his knuckles brushing against your skin with every one. You could feel the heat of him through your shirt, the faint tremor in his fingers, and it sent a thrill through you, a shiver of anticipation.

When he was done, he pushed your shirt off your shoulders, letting it fall to the floor on top of your lab coat. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted.

“Beautiful,” he breathed, his eyes roaming over you hungrily, taking in every inch of your body. “So beautiful.”

You moaned softly, arching into his touch, your hands fisting in his hair. He teased you with feather-light touches, his fingers skating over your skin, tracing the curves and planes of your body.

“Bob,” you panted, your voice rough with need.

He cut you off with a kiss, his lips hot and demanding against yours, his tongue delving into your mouth to taste you, claim you. You moaned, kissing him back just as fiercely, your hands roaming his body, desperate for the feel of his skin against yours.

Bob stood, then He walked you back towards the lab table just a few steps behind you, his hands sliding down to cup your ass, lifting you easily. You wrapped your legs around his waist, grinding against him shamelessly, your fingers digging into his shoulders. He pulled his hoodie over his head, his head tilting slightly as you looked at him. Bare chest and rippling muscles, he liked the way you looked at him.

“Please,” you panted against his lips as he kissed you again.

He moaned, his hips bucking against yours, his cock hot and hard against your core. “I’ve got you,” he promised, his voice rough, needy. “I’ll take care of you. I’ll make you feel so good.”

He set you down on the edge of the lab table, his hands sliding up your thighs, pushing your skirt up around your waist. You shivered, the cool metal of the table against your bare skin, the heat of his touch branding you.

“Lean back,” he murmured, his voice low, commanding, and you obeyed, your elbows resting on the table behind you.

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and his fingers hooked in the waistband of your underwear, dragging them down your legs, discarding them on the floor. You shivered, feeling exposed, vulnerable, but so, so wanted.

“Fuck,” he breathed, his eyes dark and hungry as he took in the sight of you, spread out before him like a feast.

He leaned in then, his breath hot against your core, and you felt his tongue dart out, tasting you, teasing you. You moaned, your hips bucking shamelessly, your fingers tangling in his hair.

It was hard to believe that just minutes ago, he had been shy and uncertain, his cheeks flushed as he confessed his desires to you. Now, there was no trace of that hesitation, that nervousness. In its place was a hunger, a need that bordered on animalistic.

“Is this what you need?” he murmured, his voice low, seductive. “Do you want me to taste you now? To make you feel good?”

You nodded frantically, your hips rocking against his mouth, your breath coming in harsh pants. “Yes, Bob, I want that.” you gasped, your voice rough with want.

He smiled against your skin, then leaned in, his tongue delving into your heat, tasting you deeply. You moaned, your hips bucking against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair.

He feasted on you like a man starved, his tongue stroking, probing, exploring every inch of your sensitive flesh. He moaned against your skin, the sound vibrating through you, sending shivers down your spine.

You could feel the heat building in your core, the tension coiling tighter and tighter with every swipe of his tongue, every brush of his lips. You were panting, moaning, your hips rocking shamelessly against his mouth, seeking more, more.

“Bob,” you panted, your voice rough with need. “Please. I need… I need to come. Please, make me come.”

He moaned against your skin, his tongue moving faster, harder, his fingers digging into your thighs. You could feel the scrape of his teeth against your sensitive flesh, the suction of his mouth as he drew your clit between his lips.

The contrast between his earlier shyness and this hungry, desperate man was intoxicating, overwhelming. You could feel the last of your control slipping away, feel the tension cresting, crashing over you.

You came with a cry, your hips bucking wildly against his mouth, your fingers tightening in his hair. He moaned against your skin, his tongue stroking you through your orgasm, prolonging the waves of pleasure that washed over you.

As you came down from the high, your breath slowing, your body going limp against the table, you marvelled at the transformation in him. This man, this hungry, desperate man, was the same shy, uncertain boy you had comforted just minutes ago.

He stood then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes dark and hungry as he looked down at you, sprawled out on the table like an offering.

“Do you want this?” he asked, his voice low, rough with want. “Do you want me, all of me?”

You nodded frantically, your breath still coming in soft pants. “Yes,” you breathed, your voice raw with need. “I want all of you, Bob.”

He smiled then, slow and wicked, and he reached down, to the waistband of his jeans, pushing them down his hips along with his boxer-briefs.

You moaned softly at the sight of him, hard and leaking, the evidence of his want, his need for you. He was beautiful, every inch of him, and you wanted him, all of him, with a desperation that bordered on madness.

He stepped between your spread thighs, his hands coming to rest on your hips, his thumbs stroking the sensitive skin there. “I’ll be gentle,” he promised, his voice low, earnest. “I won’t hurt you.”

You nodded, trusting him, loving him, needing him. He lined himself up with your entrance, the blunt head of his cock nudging against your heat.

He pushed in slowly, carefully, his eyes locked on yours, watching every flicker of emotion that crossed your face. You were tight, so tight, and he was big, stretching you, filling you.

“God,” he breathed, his voice raw with pleasure, with awe. “You feel… you feel incredible.”

You moaned, arching into his touch, your hands fisting on the table behind you. He bottomed out inside you, his hips flush against yours, and he stilled, giving you time to adjust, to breathe.

Fuck, she’s tight, he thought, his breath catching in his throat, his heart pounding in his chest. So tight, and so warm, and so… fuck, she feels like heaven.

He could feel the way your walls gripped him, like a fist, like a vice, and it took everything he had not to move, not to thrust, not to lose himself in the incredible feel of you.

Gentle, he reminded himself, his hands trembling on your hips, his thumbs stroking soothing circles on your skin. I need to be gentle. I can’t hurt her. I won’t hurt her.

“Move,” you panted, your voice rough, a command. “Please, Bob. I need you to move.”

He obliged, pulling out slowly, then thrusting back in, his hips snapping against yours. You moaned, your legs coming up to wrap around his waist, urging him deeper, harder.

His jaw clenched, the muscles in his neck and shoulders bunching with the effort of holding himself back. “Ah, fuck,” he grunted, his voice rough, strained.

She feels so fucking good, he thought, his teeth grinding together as he fought for control. So tight, so hot, like she was made for me.

His arms trembled with the effort of holding himself up, his muscles taut and straining. He was fighting himself, fighting the urge to let go, to lose himself in the incredible feel of you.

Can’t… can’t lose control, he thought, even as his hips continued to move,

He started slow, careful, like he was afraid of hurting you, of losing control. But it felt so good, so right, the slide of him inside you, the friction of his skin against yours.

“Harder,” you panted, your hands sliding down his back, your nails digging into his skin. “Please, Bob. I need… I need more.”

He moaned, his hips bucking against yours, his pace increasing, his thrusts becoming harder, deeper. He was losing control, his movements becoming less careful, more desperate.

Fuck, fuck, I’m losing it, he thought frantically, even as his hips continued to snap against yours. I’m going to hurt her, I know I am, but fuck, she feels so good, so tight, so perfect.

He could feel the last of his control slipping away, feel the need, the hunger, the desperation clawing at his insides, demanding more, more, more.

“I’m so close,” you panted, your voice raw with need, with pleasure. “Bob, I’m so close.”

She wants this, he thought, his hands sliding down to grip your hips, his fingers digging into your skin. She wants me, all of me, even like this, even out of control.

He shifted his angle, his cock rubbing against that perfect spot inside you, and you saw stars. You came with a cry, your walls clamping down on him, your nails digging into his back.

Fuck, she’s coming, he thought, his hips bucking wildly, his cock pulsing inside you as he followed you over the edge, spilling himself deep into your heat. His eyes glowing gold. She’s coming, and it’s the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.

He collapsed on top of you, his breath harsh against your neck, his body trembling with the aftershocks of his orgasm. You held him close, your arms and legs wrapped around him, your lips pressing soft kisses to his hair, his temple, his cheek.

“Wow,” you breathed, your voice rough, sated. “That was… that was incredible.”

He chuckled, his lips curving into a smile against your skin. “You’re incredible,” he murmured, his voice low, earnest. “Absolutely incredible.”

And in that moment, sated and safe in each other’s arms, you knew that you would never let him go, this shy boy, this hungry man, this unbelievable, wonderful person who had captured your heart so completely. You wondered if it would be okay for you to ask him for round two.

A Link to My Complete Inventory

[weasterberry]

Ok, a lot of misinformation here.

First off, he was judged unfit to stand trial by a panel of doctors. Not some random judge. And I don't think his legal team argued against that. He's severely autistic. Letting him stand trial would be wrong to do. We have NCR (Not Criminally Responsible) rulings for a reason.

Second off: from the article that OP chose to screenshot but not link for some reason: "The court heard that Kurtaj had been violent while in custody with dozens of reports of injury or property damage." he also "As well as hacking offences the boy was sentenced for what the judge described as 'unpleasant and frightening pattern of stalking and harassment' of two young women." and when assessed by doctors to see if he was fit to stand trial he basically told them "the second you let me back on a computer I'm going to do more cyber crime because I enjoy it" and then he was released on bail, while still under police supervision, he continued hacking (this was the rockstar hack) so like... even without a laptop and while being actively watched by the police he was brazenly doing crimes on the grounds of "I like doing them"

Third off: indefinite hospital stays are, in fact, normal for this kind of finding. This is why everyone who complains about "the insanity plea" being used for criminals to get away with things is an uninformed idiot. If you are found Not Criminally Responsible then basically the court says "we don't find you guilty of the crime because you can't meet the standard for Mens Rea (guilty mind) BUT that means you can't be trusted out in society at the moment so you have to go to a hospital and get treated until you're better". Like... if someone is having violent delusions then we absolutely cannot let them out of the forensic hospital until we're sure those are under control. If someone is so incapable of preventing themself from doing a crime (even if it's a fucking based as hell crime like hacking big corporations) to the point where they do it while knowingly under police watch and tell the doctors examining their fitness for trial "I will absolutely do this crime again the second you let me out" and also are engaging in stalking and assault behaviours then yeah... they're probably best off in the forensic hospital until they get that under control because

Fourth off: the alternative is sending him to a normal jail for 10 years with no real support while having to deal with the general prison community, having him get out, immediately do the exact same crime again a week later and then go back to jail for life. It's not better.

why can rockstar games institutionalise you for life like nikita kruschev for being autistic

[thebumblebeesworld]

PAPA’S • HERE

part one • annie x smoke

summary: striken with grief after losing his daughter, smoke runs away to chicago. what he doesn’t know is that annie is pregnant with his second child, at home alone, grappling with the grief and joy all at once. she drafts letters that she doesn’t send. she sends out prayers that she knows he won’t hear. but one day as annie opens her back door, she sees smoke, stooped at the grave of their daughter.

cw: grief, death of child, hoodoo, use of the nword

a/n: requested by @lizbehave but i took a few creative liberties!! i would have been too sad writing about their child being seven before meeting her dad- this is a seriesss. i already have a bit of it written up!

part two

masterlist

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

month one

Annie could tell it that very night. Her stomach twitched wildly in her sleep and her eyes flitted quickly behind her closed eyelids as she dreamed. She couldn’t rest. Not with the images of a single fish swimming rapidly in the Mississippi River haunting her sleep.

She tossed and turned and passed her hand over the bedsheets to seek comfort in her husband.

But he wasn’t there.

Smoke had left earlier that day—just before sunset. He and his troublesome brother caught the first train up North, and Annie was so beside herself. She understood, but she couldn’t feel resolved. Not with how things went down. Not with how tears ran down their faces as they made love for the last time that very morning. Not with how she was dreaming of fish and thinking of her baby girl at the same time.

Annie’s grandmother had equipped her with a plethora of root-working knowledge and tools to be a strong and spiritual woman. All her life she’d heard her grandmama tell a woman that she had dreamed of fishes, and nearly nine months later, that same woman would birth a baby.

That is how it was the last time Annie was pregnant: the very night her baby was conceived, Annie dreamed of Lake Pontchartrain. There was one calm and tiny li’l fish swimming in circles around her legs as she rinsed her feet in the still murky water. The fish touched her timidly—told Annie its name in a reserved voice. It was the same name she and Smoke always said they would give to their first baby girl.

But as Annie tossed against the bedsheets, she found that this fish dream was very different from the first one she had.

Her mind was unsettled.

Disrupted.

Annie knew it was a clear sign that her child was set to be a rambunctious little one. Her and Smoke’s firstborn had all of her parents’ best qualities.

She was quiet like her papa—observing the work around her and taking everything in.

She was keen like her mama—able to discern things even at her little age.

Grieving her meant not only grieving the life she’d lived but also the life she deserved to experience. They never got to see her walk. Never got to celebrate her on her birthday. Never got the chance to see how she’d grow into herself.

This baby—Annie predicted—would be just like their uncle. When she woke up the next morning, her bedroom was charged with a sly energy—similar to Elias’ (and Elijah when he allowed himself to loosen up a bit). It amused her and filled her with a joy she never thought she’d have again. She was ready for the handful her baby would be.

For an entire month, Annie went about her life, cradling her belly as she envisioned her future. Smoke was only supposed to be gone for two months, set to return after scoping out the Chicago scene.

He promised that he didn’t want to plant no roots. He just desired a new environment to allow his grief to subside. She understood. He wanted to flourish outside of Mississippi’s borders so that he could provide for Annie and their household. As he cried into her neck while they fucked, he promised to write home biweekly. Promised to come home in two months. Promised that she would always be his home. So Annie let him go.

She understood.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

month two

Grief set in real heavy on Annie’s heart. She had yet to receive a letter from Elijah, and the whole pregnancy thing had her even more saddened by the loss of her sweet baby girl.

Annie spent most of her days curled up in front of her altar, praying for Elijah’s safe return, calling out to her ancestors for a sign of his love and of the breath in his body.

But she received nothing.

Annie didn’t know if he and Stack had even made it up North at all because he had promised to write. And Smoke didn’t go back on his promises, especially the ones he made to her.

She didn’t know what to do. She had no address to send her own letter to. There was no way for her to get in contact with the man she loved. Every idea she came up with was like shooting in the dark. They had no Chicago family, didn’t have a real plan on what they were going to do when they got there—or at least that’s what they told her.

Elijah and Elias just left.

Elijah left her.

So Annie saddled with praying and working root and doing the things she knew best. She spent so much time begging for a man she didn’t even know was still alive, but she’d do whatever she could until she found him, because Elijah was hers.

When she wasn’t curled up in front of the altar, Annie was down on her knees at the grave of their daughter. She cried tears of anguish and wailed long into the night. When she first dreamed of her baby, she never thought that she’d have to deal with the pain of burying her child. She had experienced a mother’s worst nightmare, and now she was going through it all alone.

As she groveled at the small patch that held her daughter’s tiny body, she doubled over even more when she felt that tinge in her belly.

Their baby was growing.

It reminded her of those first moments of her baby girl’s life. How they shared a body and blood. How they were one. How Annie had lost her after fighting so hard to get her power to take hold.

She was so angry with Elijah for leaving them. All three of them.

But she told him that she understood because, at the time, she did. That need to get away from it all had often found her, but she just couldn’t bring herself to run like he had. She had her daughter’s grave to tend to. She had a life growing inside her—a life who’s daddy didn’t even know they existed.

The situation angered her more than she felt comfortable with. She’d never been truly angry with Elijah. She always saw him as her sweet love who could do no wrong; But now, as she cried to her baby girl and cradled her bulging stomach at the same time, she was enraged with him.

How had he so easily come to that decision without consulting her first?

The day he left, Annie woke to her husband’s side of the bed being cold. She called out his name to which he didn’t answer. She scrambled to her feet and slowly walked toward the front of the house. Looking out the front window, she saw Elijah and his brother in a heated debate.

Hushed voices.

Angry bared teeth.

Necks snapping as they challenged each other.

“Why you ain’t said nothin’ yet, nigga,” Stack yelled, pushing Smoke’s shoulder with force. The older twin’s nostrils flared up and his fists clenched, nails pressing into his palms.

“ ‘Cause how do you tell yo’ woman somethin’ like this,” his voice broke, showing his raw emotion. “She ain’t gon’ understand. She just ain’t. I can’t be here in this house. In this grief. In all this stupid fuckin’ emotion.”

“So you just gon’ leave without sayin’ shit?”

Annie’s bottom lip trembled as she neared the door. Leave? And go where?

Things had been so uncertain since their baby died. The house brewed with an emptiness that made their hearts beat slow and tired. They missed the liveliness of their love. They missed the gentle cooing of their baby girl in the early morning hours.

But she never thought he’d leave. And it didn’t sound like he was planning to take her with him.

Annie kept nearing the door, trying to be as quiet as possible to get whatever information Elijah clearly wasn’t ready to relay to her.

“Get yo’ fuckin’ head in the game! We leavin’ today, Smoke,” Stack screamed far too loud at the anger he was feeling towards his brother’s stupidity. He had already said goodbye to Mary, and even though it was originally his idea to go to Chicago, Elijah came to him saying that he was finally ready to commit to the idea.

Stack’s admittance that they were leaving that day caused Annie to forget where she was, forget that she was meant to be quiet.

She gasped. Quiet and low.

But he heard.

Smoke snatched the front door open to see Annie with her hand over her mouth and tears streaming down her face. His own resolve crumbled as he saw the way she gazed upon him with a look of disappointment and betrayal. This is what he hoped to avoid.

“A-annie,” he tried to reach for her, but she pulled back.

“Elijah,” she shook her head at him. “You leavin’ me?”

Thinking back on this two months later—pregnant, grieving, and angry—Annie was more livid with herself for forgiving him for his folly. She so easily accepted his apology and just let him lay with her as a goodbye—“something to keep yo’ mind on me while you up in that big city.”

She was foolish, especially since he still wasn’t home and she hadn’t gotten word from him. She was already going through so much with the death of their baby and now she had to make sure that the child inside of her was healthy and well nourished.

She couldn’t be erratic.

Couldn’t think too many foul thoughts.

But she was alone without her husband and the father of her children.

She was upset and rightfully so.

She promised herself that when he came back, she’d have more dignity. She couldn’t let him back in without groveling and pleading for her hand back.

Two months. He said he’d be back in two months.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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[lucydixon]

You waited for me

Summary: This is the final installment of the "Breaking the Rules of Attraction" miniseries. You and Erik reunite and actually talk once the shock wears off.

After a week of feeling sorry for himself, Erik returned to the cafe for the first time, desperately in need of some caffeine. 

Everyone in the house had commented on the dark circles and constant brooding at one point or another, but he kept shrugging them off. 

One, he didn’t want to talk about it. And two, it was fucking embarassing to be this torn up over a highschool sweetheart at his big age of 27. 

He’d yet to sleep through the night since he’d last seen you, and it was clear as day on his face. 

Despite the fact that it now served as a painful reminder that you wanted nothing to do with him, they had the best coffee in town, and he really needed the pick-me-up.

He did a double-take when he saw you sitting at the table just outside the door, tearing up a straw wrapper absently while an iced coffee sat on the table, untouched. You looked troubled, and he wondered if it was his fault. 

Then he wondered if you were waiting for him. 

He stood there, frozen, a hundred feet away, for long enough that you noticed him eventually. As if you could sense he was there. 

You held his gaze and offered a tight-lipped, very obviously forced smile as you nodded towards the seat across from you. 

So you were waiting for him. 

Even if it was just to say your piece and tear a strip off of him, it sparked the tiniest bit of hope in his heart. 

Erik shoved his hands deep in his pockets and walked over. 

He sat across from you wordlessly, scanning your face with a frown. 

You were paler than usual he remembered, and your eyes were red-rimmed and bloodshot.

You looked like you hadn’t been sleeping either. 

You seemed to look him over, having the exact same thoughts. 

“He’s not mine.” You blurted suddenly, shocking you both, “The kid in the library, he’s not mine. I never said it the other day. Didn’t even think to.”

“Oh.” He breathed, feeling a wave of relief rush over him. “Okay.” 

“I just wanted to let you know.” You muttered, fidgeting with the torn-up bits of the straw wrapper, “I don’t know why, but I did.” 

“I’m really sorry about the other day.” He sighed despite that flicker of hope growing stronger. If you wanted him to know that badly, surely, there was a chance that you still felt something.  “I just wasn’t expecting to see you, and I guess I panicked.”

“Good.” Your shoulders stiffened, but you didn’t look up from your pile of paper. “That was a crazy thing to say after what you did.” 

“I’m sorry for that, too.” He breathed so softly that you’d just barely heard him. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more sorry about anything in my whole life.” 

You glanced up at the distraught look on his face and had to look away again. 

You told yourself that you were gonna leave it at that and just go. Get on with your life knowing that he didn’t think you’d wronged him. But when it came time to get up and go, you just couldn’t do it. 

“Then why’d you do it?” Your voice was just as low. 

Just as small, and vulnerable, and raw as his. 

“Cause I’m a fucking idiot.” Erik sighed heavily and scrubbed his hands over his face roughly. “Guess I thought I was doing you a favour, and maybe I did. You went off to college. Probably met someone better than me. Maybe you’ve still got that someone, I don’t know.” 

“All I do know is that I wasn’t good enough for you then, you deserved more.” He frowned. “Hell, I’m still not good enough for you. I just need you to know that it had nothing to do with you or anything you did. It was all me, being a dick to push you away.” 

You opened and closed your mouth a few times, unsure where to even start unpacking what you’d just heard, when it slipped out. 

“I don't.” You breathed. 

“You don’t what?” His eyes snapped up to yours, full of regret and shame. 

“Have anyone.” You cleared your throat, cheeks warming slightly until you decided what you wanted to say. 

“Look, I don’t know why the fuck I’m here, Erik. I really don’t.” You sighed, “I just felt like you should know that I didn’t sneak off with a baby or immediately jump into bed with a stranger.” 

“If the kid’s not yours, whose is it?” He tried to steer the conversation away from his accusation, hoping he could keep you around after you’d said your piece. 

“I’m tutoring him.” You shrugged, finally sipping your coffee and grimacing at the temperature of it. “He’s behind on reading.” 

“That's what you’re doing for work now?” He cracked a little smile. “Back to teaching degenerates how to read?” 

“What is this?” You squinted at him. 

“I’m just curious.” He held his hands up in surrender.

“I’m not sure it’s a good idea for us to keep talking.” You spoke so softly that he wasn’t sure if you were talking to yourself or him. 

“Why not?” Erik couldn’t help but feel a little panicked. 

“I just wanted to tell you, that’s it.” 

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” He blurted. 

“What?” You breathed, eyes widening slightly 

“Tell me you didn’t miss me.” He repeated, a look of determination on his face. “You obviously care enough to be sitting here in the first place.”

“So look me in the eye and tell me. I’ll leave you alone if you can do it. I’ll never bother you again.” 

“If you want me to go, you have to tell me to leave.” 

He could see that you were getting irritated, but you didn’t storm off. 

You just opened and closed your mouth a few times 

“I can’t.” You sighed finally, pinching the bridge of your nose “Jesus, Fucking Christ. What is wrong with me?” 

“Nothing’s wrong with-” 

“You don’t know that.” You snapped angrily. “You don’t even fucking know me anymore! It’s been ten years, Erik. We are not the same people.” 

“Let me get to know you then!” His eyes were pleading. “Please.” 

“There’s a reason you’re here.” He rambled, “Why we’re both here after so long, and I know you probably hate me, but you’re here, with me, right now. You waited for me.” 

“Please.” 

“I-” You looked like you wanted to run. 

But you didn’t. 

“How is this supposed to work?” You asked finally, raking a hand through your hair. 

“Wait, Really?” Erik perked up. 

“Obviously, I’ve lost my damn mind.” you scoffed. 

“Lucky me.” He beamed, eyes darting towards the counter. “If I go get a coffee, are you still gonna be here when I come back?” 

“Probably?” You shrugged, being completely honest. 

“Not good enough,” He tutted playfully. “Come with me?” 

“You need me to walk you to the counter?” You almost looked amused. 

“I’ll get you a new one.” He offered, nodding to the watered-down drink in front of you. “I think that one’s more melted ice than coffee by now.” 

“Wanna hold hands?” He wiggled his eyebrows at you, holding his hand out to you. 

“Don’t push your luck, Campbell.” You scoffed, but he could see the faint smile on your face as you stood anyway. 

For the first time in ten years, the smoke inside his head cleared, and Erik felt like he could breathe again.

You'd waited for him.

Just like he'd been waiting for you all this time.

Dividers made by @saradika-graphics GIF by @ververik

Masterlist

[seungsoftly]

asking you out while in college ― enha hyung line

୨୧ genre: drabble/fluff ୨୧ wc: 4.53k ୨୧ contains mentions of drinking, partying, and taking painkillers (a safe dosage)

livi's note ♡ i'm so stoked to be posting my first fic on this blog! i really enjoyed writing this, and i hope you guys enjoy it as well! this is only part one of this drabble, so i'll hopefully have the second part with the maknae line up soon! reblogs, likes, and comments are greatly appreciated, and i wish you guys happy reading!

divider credits to @uzmacchiato

→ lee heeseung

even though you now know that he can get really loud and bold with his words when he’s gaming, you would have never thought heeseung spoke louder than a hesitant whisper before he asked you out.

you’d always notice him passing by you when you were sitting in the quad, studying with you friends because you wouldn’t do so otherwise. he had a shy habit of keeping his head tipped towards the ground as he walked alongside some of his own friends, adding a few words to their conversations occasionally.

sometimes you wondered whether he was just that quiet or if he simply preferred to do most of his talking somewhere private where nobody except those close to him could hear what he had to say.

either way, heeseung was pretty cute. he always wore some worn pair of jeans with holes beginning to wear into them and the edges fraying almost out of control. but nothing was more out of control than his growing feelings for you.

little did you know, heeseung barely managed to keep himself walking upright every time he walked even in the same vicinity as you. you were fifteen feet away in the quad, sitting on your little picnic blanket and wearing a cute top and skirt for the weather that came at the end of spring, he was staring at his feet as he walked past, willing them to just please not jumble into each other and embarrass him in front of you

he truly longed to have the confidence to ask you out on a date. if he’d just been bold enough to do so when you two first met, heeseung honestly thought that he might have been near to proposing to you by now. only in his dreams did you wear a ring that he’d given to you while on one knee, asking if you’d be his wife.

but his friends were so ready to be done with heeseung staring off into space where you’d walked past minutes ago, not even bothering to pretend just a little bit that he was paying attention to what they were saying. they nagged him for months about whether or not he’d gotten the girl yet, groaning when he denied. in their minds, it was time that he stepped up and was a man about it.

so they did their best to throw heeseung straight into just doing what he’d been avoiding. he was given a shot glass full of liquor and told to take it, suspicious of what they could possibly want him to be doing afterwards but still following through with drinking the whole thing down with only a minor facial expression.

“cmon man,” jay said to heeseung as he and a few of the other guys guided him along the sidewalk. heeseung didn’t realize until the whole group had stopped in front of a very familiar courtyard that the boys had brought him right to you.

“now go get her,” jake said to him with that charming smile of his. the rest of his friends offered some silent cheers and the alcohol seemed to have worked with the purpose that they’d wanted it to.

heeseung took several confident steps, his brain fogging up a little bit, but it only kept the doubt from the front of his mind. he could do this. he’d dreamed of saying these words to you. now all he had to do was speak them.

you weren’t expecting him to walk up to you with the air of confidence that was currently floating around him, but you honestly loved it. you’d never seen heeseung like this, and it was really a good change for him. he matched the shy, clumsy person that he’d been around you previously, but this was a much better fit for him.

“hey y/n! how are you on this gorgeous day?” heeseung asked with a very forward look on his face. bless his heart. you could see right through him, but you were still going to play along if he’d done all of this just for you.

you responded with a bright smile and a giggle, “i’m wonderful! might i ask what sparked you to come talk to me now of all times?”

to make it even better (and heeseung even cuter), a slight blush bloomed across his cheeks as his face twitched back to that shy boy before returning right back to his now confident attitude. “well i think you might have caught me then. i’ve been meaning to ask you this for a long time, but will you go out with me?”

your smile grew even wider despite expecting something along the lines of this. “hmm, i think i will.”

an almost identical smile appeared on heeseung’s face, his shoulders drooping as if he’d just stopped holding his breath about something. “that’s great!” he exclaimed, not processing that he’d just said that for a few seconds until he clapped his hands over his mouth with a shocked look on his face. “i didn’t mean to say that out loud,” he mumbled, embarrassed yet again in front of you.

grabbing onto his arm, you giggled once again and reassured him, “oh please, it’s fine heeseung. i know you’ve been working yourself up to this for a while.”

the man flushed again. “wait, how did you know that?”

“well, i always see you avoiding eye contact when you think i’m looking and then you stare when i’m not, plus i’ve never seen you so awkward around anyone but me. it also doesn’t help that all of your friends are over there peeking over the wall trying to see if you succeeded or not.”

→ park jongseong

the first thing you noticed about jay was that everything about him screamed wealth. his clothes, his car, even the way he carried himself day by day. he didn’t flaunt it like some other people that attended the same college as you both. rather, it was almost like his money flaunted him.

for the first few months, it was all just hearing about him and being both skeptical and stunned at the fact that someone with his reputation was even on the same campus as you. the girls would always gush about how handsome he was, but how aloof at the same time. according to their hushed whispers, he’d never spoken to a single one of them before and that was exactly the allure of him.

if any one of them would ever manage to get him to speak even a word to them, it would become the talk of the century, almost a present time myth. you just scoffed whenever it was brought up among your own friend group, not quite understanding why they were still obsessing over a man that clearly didn’t want anyone within your college.

the first time you truly saw him up close and in person was about three months into your sophomore year. jay was a junior, but was on a slightly different class track as he was a business major and you were an english major. it was midterm season, and you two had one class together so he first caught your eye when he entered the exam room to take his midterm for the class.

for a second you could’ve sworn that he looked right at you, cold eyes warming a touch in your gaze. but the moment was over quicker than it started and you two, along with the rest of your class, were then starting the exam. the only reason that you two hadn’t seen each other up close yet was because all of the seminars for this particular class were online and nobody had to come in person until midterms.

jay was well aware of his influence among his peers, along with the reputation that they’d come up with for him. it wasn’t that it was bad. in fact it was actually really good, which made it a lot to live up to. to them, he was perfect and cold and handsome, denying every girl and only really talking with his small friend group.

sometimes it got exhausting keeping up that image that everyone had of him, but he’d gladly do it just to be the best in your eyes. you were the one person that wasn’t constantly trying to chase him or get him to talk to you, and it had resonated within him a lot harder than he’d originally thought.

jay would love to just be able to walk up to you and ask you out, but as life was always difficult, things were not going to be that simple for him. you two would be instantly surrounded by a mob of jealous and crazed girls, and that wasn’t how he wanted you to remember the first time he asked you on a date.

instead, jay was going to try his best to make this as private as he could, for both his sake and your sake. but don’t get him wrong, this wasn’t to undermine the feelings he had for you. this was to avoid all of the things that you clearly didn’t want to get involved in since you were never a part of the crowd that loved to follow him around campus.

his first step to this was a little unconventional. he cashed in a favor that heeseung owed him, being his friend of course he agreed. it was a fairly simple task anyways so he really didn’t question it. jay was glad. the thing was, heeseung actually shared an in person class with you, which made him a good messenger.

so, one sunny morning when you’d just taken your seat in that class, you were surprised when heeseung deliberately walked by your desk because his seat was on the other side of the room. it didn’t require him to come this way to get to it. there was even more shock resonating through you when he pulled a single red rose out of his jacket and set it gently in front of you.

originally, heeseung was planning on winking and whispering something to you about it, but he’d decided against it knowing jay’s tendency to use his anger before his actual thoughts. at least there was a note attached to it signed with a “j” that prevented you from getting the wrong ideas. he didn’t want the girl that jay wanted thinking that he had feelings for her when it was actually his friend that did.

you had a few minutes before class started to fully process what happened, but you were still a bit confused until you noticed the crisply folded note attached to the beautiful flower.

unfolding it, you read, “i have my eye on you. would you maybe tell me yes? - j”

so it wasn’t heeseung that held feelings for you. it was someone whose name started with the letter j. there was really only one name that stuck out to you, and that was jay himself. but there was no way he would have sent you this, right? the red rose did scream his level of luxury, but why would he give it to you?

he could have picked anyone at this college, but he chose to send a flower to you. it seemed odd, but you didn’t think too much more into it until the second delivery was made.

you didn’t even hear about the flowers first. not before hearing your roommate literally talk up a storm about how the jay park had spoken to her. about what? quite literally one sentence that was only five words long. “your roommate is y/n y/l/n?”

he’d asked a question about you, and your roommate was still freaking out about him speaking to her. that clearly established her priorities in your friendship. and what clearly outlined them even more was her obvious jealousy about the full bouquet of red roses that were delivered to your door with instructions to give them to you.

she was so upset that she didn’t speak to you for hours, leaving the dorm and not returning until late that night. clearly it was over the fact that her so-called idol only talked to her to try and get with her roommate.

you weren’t sure whether or not you felt touched or something else. jay was obviously putting in the effort to get with you, but on a personal level and not just walking over to you and getting the both of you mobbed. it was an aspect of consideration that really hit deep within you. you weren’t going to deny that he wasn’t handsome and attractive, and this kindness that he’d shown you while pursuing you really made you want to say yes.

finally, you opened the little note that had come with the flowers and a small smile blossomed on your lips.

“if your answer really is yes, let’s talk pretty girl. xxx-xxx-xxxx - jay”

and yes it most indeed was.

→ sim jaeyun

the very first impression of jake that you had was that he was a literal human embodiment of a golden retriever. you’d never seen a man excited like he was over the most unimportant, trivial things.

your friend group and his friend group were fairly close, not to the point that you all were going to be combined, but you’d rather meet up with each other at a party than any other groups. all of jake’s friends were honestly really nice, but nobody tried to latch onto you and become friendly with you like he did.

when you’d asked him why it was your arm he was clinging onto so desperately, jake’s response told you a few things but still left you confused.

his eyes were slightly glazed over from the night of drinking that had been underway for some time as he excitedly mumbled, “it’s just you! you’re so pretty and awesome and usually everyone would have just rolled their eyes and ditched me by now.”

you couldn’t help but feel bad for the slightly intoxicated man, letting him hold onto your arm for the rest of the night until your friends started to head home and you needed to go with them seeing that they’d been your ride to the party and would be your ride home as well. thankfully one of your friends had agreed to be the designated driver for your group so that you all didn’t have to coordinate calling ubers and all.

it was nice to finally get out of the crowded frat house, still booming with music and people even at two in the morning, the short drive back to your dorm serene, but the exhaustion had begun creeping in at that point. by the time you stumbled into your dorm, your eyes were barely open and you felt ready to just faceplant on your little twin sized bed and just pass out.

but the little voice inside your head told you that you wouldn’t wake up very happy in the morning if you didn’t go wash the makeup and sweat off your face and take this uncomfortable dress off.

those few more exhausting minutes dragged along, but you were right that washing your face and putting on some comfortable sleeping clothes would make your morning a lot better. you let out a tired sigh once you were finally ready to sleep, the fluffy cream colored duvet on your bed looking all the more inviting.

somehow you also remembered to plug your phone in just before your head hit the pillow, but you just managed to miss the notification that your screen lit up with the moment your eyes were closed and you were fast asleep.

jake: gnihgt pretty grl <<3

…

your head was pounding when you finally opened your eyes, although it really wasn’t as bad of a headache as you’d had one morning freshman year when you’d yet to have gotten used to the party culture and truly when you needed to stop. you remember not even being sure that you’d survive the day your head hurt so bad. this was nothing some ibuprofen and water couldn’t fix.

digging under your bed, you managed to grab the little bin that laid there that contained all of your medicine that you had in your room. the lid snapped open easily and you set it next to you on your bed so you could rub your eyes open quickly before shuffling through the cold medicine and other things until you located your precious bottle of ibuprofen.

you twisted the cap off it and shook out two pills, just going ahead and taking them dry because you just didn’t feel like reaching for your water. it was just like that some mornings. you’d gulp down half of the water left in your water bottle on the little table beside your bed in a moment when you were absolutely parched.

but as you reached for said water bottle and did in fact gulp down most of it, you noticed several notifications on your phone, the screen having turned on while you hydrated yourself from last night’s drinking bout.

a couple of them were texts from your friends saying that they were glad you’d gotten home and that they’d made it back to their rooms as well, but one text stood out to you. an obviously drunkenly typed one from jake.

your heart warmed as you clicked on the message and read it a couple of times, sending a heart emoji back. it was so sweet of him to text you last night. jake was honestly just such a cute human being in general, and you were so glad that your friend groups were getting closer.

however, as time went on and your friends hung out together more and more, jake was pretty sure he was having a never-ending crisis. god he was so whipped it was embarrassing. but at the same time it was you so he really shouldn’t be thinking like that about having feelings if it was for you.

you weren’t ignoring him. you weren’t being mean to him, in fact it was quite the opposite. you chatted with him rather often when you two saw each other, but you never questioned the drunk texts that he had a habit of sending late at night and that you responded with little hearts to in the morning.

it was killing him on the inside, not being able to truly explain how he was feeling and the deeper meaning behind the texts that you just thought were cute golden retriever friend jake sending you randomly.

the anticipation of potentially trying to ask you out phased in and out as the weeks went by for jake. there were days where he’d just be dreading the thought of maybe having to walk even in the same general area as you, and there’d be some days where he’d be about three seconds away from confessing everything to you while you both were in front of all of your friends.

jake needed to just do it. he had the feelings, he just needed to find the time and the words. and of course in typical college boy fashion, he did so at the most embarrassing, inopportune time. while drunk at a party over a text message.

jake: y/nie u wnat to go on a date wih me? i lub u so muchh but i just can’tt tell u yet :(

he didn’t even remember sending you that text until you responded the next afternoon. 

y/n: aww ur so cute jakey <3. i’d love to! hopefully sober u feels the same haha.

jake’s head was pounding, but he could still process the shock he felt at your answer, and the sort of humiliation at the fact that it had come to this.

this still deserved a fist pump in celebration though. he’d done it! he’d finally asked you out, and you didn’t say no! nothing could wipe this smile off his face now.

→ park sunghoon

sunghoon never appeared to be someone that preferred words over actions. in fact, it was shocking to you when you first heard him speak, not thinking he was going to do so around you at all.

this was true; sunghoon just preferred to not engage in conversation with people he didn’t know very well or when he was out and about around campus surrounded by random people. his friends were used to it, letting him nod along and maybe add in a few quiet words to their chats as they walked to classes or to the library or even to a cafe for breakfast. 

it was a whole lot easier for him to focus on his schoolwork and his skating when he didn’t get sidetracked talking to random people. he had grades to maintain in order for him to keep his athletic scholarship, and making sure he was entirely locked in on said athletics was important because he took pride in his performances.

sunghoon was known as the ice prince of the college’s figure skating team for a reason, and he didn’t want to let anyone down. his family always told him that he did amazing and that he needed to stop being his biggest critic. but he’d just spent so much of his life doing this that he didn’t know what else to do than practice, find the mistakes that needed to be corrected, and perfect things until they couldn’t become any better.

“hoon,” jake said to him in that tone that meant he was both teasing and concerned, leaning towards the latter. “you’ve got to stop being so ocd about things and just accept that everything isn’t going to be perfect.

the man in question did, in fact, know that not everything was perfect, but he wanted to try and get the things he had an influence on as close as possible.

this mindset remained within sunghoon’s brain for years. he’d been like this since the beginning of freshman year, and now it was nearing winter of his junior year. he truly wasn’t expecting anything about it to change, at least not until you entered his life.

you with your chaotically thrown together bag and your coffee-stained jeans entered his life and somehow managed to throw his mind out of the carefully woven way that he’d made sure it was. instead of thinking about what still needed work in his program, sunghoon started thinking about when he’d see you next.

he would have thought that his coach would be mad when he said something about sunghoon being a little bit less obsessive about the little things during practice, but all the man had to tell him was that he was glad that sunghoon had relaxed a little bit.

soon enough, his friends began to take note of the same thing. sunghoon seemed a little less uptight and smiled more, especially when the boys hung around your friend group. they were confused as to what it might be that was causing their very serious friend to lighten up a bit, at least until they caught sunghoon staring at you a little too long and a few times too many during one of your combined hang outs.

once that was finished and they met in jay, jake, and sunghoon’s apartment, his friends were all over him.

“so that’s what’s gotten you all flustered!” jake exclaimed amidst the clear exchange of money between jungwon and niki.

sunghoon rolled his eyes at that, “you guys bet on this?!”

“of course we did man!” the youngest replied back. “i made bank on this because someone said that you were just getting burnt out.” the gaze back at jungwon made it obvious that he hadn’t been expecting sunghoon to be thinking of a girl out of all things.

“guys,” heeseung cut in, ever the wisest as the oldest among them, “how about we stop teasing and see how we can get hoon back into his groove while figuring out these feelings that he’s caught for y/n.”

a couple nods and murmurs followed, sunghoon’s friends knowing when to stop and when they needed to be good friends that helped the quiet boy understand and admit his feelings.

the six other boys let sunghoon come to them with talks of his feelings for you, and over time began to devise a plan when they could tell that he was at the point where he was really down bad for you but just didn’t have the courage or experience to make them known to you.

meanwhile, you’d grown a little crush on the cold ice prince. your friends did know that you were catching feelings for someone, but not who. nevertheless, they still encouraged you to make words out of those feelings and finally tell the lucky man that you wanted to date him.

however, you truly believed that it wouldn’t be that simple. he wasn’t going to talk to you. he barely even talked to his friends from what you could see.

at least, you had those beliefs until the day that jake sim handed you something and asked you to go take it to the rink since he was about to be late for his class. like any good friend, you said yes, slowly but surely making your way there.

but when you opened the door and stepped into the rink, the ice in full view, you were stunned.

there was sunghoon, gliding along, body dancing in elegant lines and jumping with graceful power. it was marvelous. you’d never seen him skate before, just heard the things people had said about him.

even though there had been nothing but good said about sunghoon’s skating skills, you firmly believed that they’d still undermined the way that he moved across the ice.

soon enough, sunghoon came to a stop at the edge of the arena, noticing you and the fact that you had something that jake had promised to get to him in your arms.

you stepped down to the entrance of the rink, meeting him at the little door that swung open.

“uhm jake gave me this to get to you. he was going to be late for class and i was free so..”

“oh, thank you,” he chuckled. “although i don’t think that was why he asked you to come here.”

you were confused. “wait what?”

“yeah. my friends know me well and have said i just need a little push to just say one sentence.”

again, this still wasn’t making much sense to you, and you had a feeling that sunghoon could tell based on the look you had on your face.

“so what does this have to do with me again?”

he let out another one of those attractive chuckles, bringing you to realize that you were actually having a conversation with the park sunghoon. crazy, but really weird.

“it involves you because they want me to step up and ask you out. so how about we have dinner together one night?”

stunned, you stuttered out a yes. this might actually be one of the best moments of college you’d experienced so far.

© seungsoftly 2025 please do not copy, repost, or translate

this is a work of fiction and is not intended to depict any accurate representation of any members of enhypen. please do not take this as real.

[lamentationsofalonelypotato]

What Are We Doing?

Pairing: Din Djarin x f!reader, Reader POV, Din POV

Summary: Moving is hard, but being in love with your roommate is even harder. Takes place after Season 3 when Din and Grogu have been living in their cabin on Nevarro. This is the seventh fic in my Sugar, Spice, and Starlight Series!

Tropes: Bakery AU, Grumpy vs. Sunshine, Mutual Pining, Fluff, SLOW BURN, Miscommunication (just gonna keep it going), Stubborn!Din, Forced Proximity, Idiots in Love.

Word Count: 7.2K

Warnings: Anxiety, Lil bit of cursing (3ish words?) Fluff, Angst, FLUFF, Miscommunication (I'm sorry?), Idiots in Love (That Are So Stubborn It's Killing Me), Grogu being a little cutie, Karga having the WORST timing in the world, The reader is really soft, likes to bake, and take care of Din and Grogu? Reader being a little bit self-deprecating? Din being a little bit self-deprecating to himself? Din might be a little bit OOC.

Note: This is told from Reader's perspective. Any references to the reader is made using you or your. There is no use of y/n! I tried my best to proofread, but nobody's perfect. If you don’t like, don’t read, but if you do like, you’re my favorite! I'm just starting to write for Din, so please be gentle.

Internal monologue is in italics and is in first person.

Main Masterlist

Series Masterlist

A/N: The slow burn is burning...

Guide:

Cyare: Beloved

Cyar'ika: Sweetheart

Burc’ya: Friend

Reader POV

This is weird.

You think to yourself as you walk up the dirt path towards Din’s house with the sun on your back.

It had been a few days since he'd recovered from his cold, but you'd been back every day to make sure that he was okay. Cleaning around the house, making sure that he was eating, and taking care of Grogu while Din was asleep. Grogu had developed his own little version of Din's illness, sneezing and coughing occasionally, so you'd taken to walking around the house with him strapped in a make-shift sling on your body while you did little things in Din's home and Grogu slept soundly with his head on your chest.

But true to Din's word, he still wanted you to move in, which you still thought was a little odd.

Odder still was that it seemed like your relationship had changed.

In the week since you'd taken care of Din things had been different. On several occasions while the two of you walked through town, Din had reached for your hand, holding it in his as you wove through the crowds. You could feel everyone's eyes on you, but you didn't care.

Not when Din was holding your hand like he didn't want to let go and you didn't want him to.

There was unfortunately a little part of yourself that missed the feeling of his skin against yours. His leather gloves didn't compare to the feeling of his rough, worn palm clasped against your own.

You were thoroughly confused by Din's sudden change, but you didn't ask him why he was doing it, because that might mean you would have to tell Din that you loved him and that wasn't an option.

And you were also afraid that he was only doing this because he was trying to again ward everyone off from coming near you whenever he wasn't around.

So you just let him do it.

Din is walking beside you holding an overloaded box of your books. How he was doing that by himself you didn’t know. It was heavier than you and Din acted like it weighed absolutely nothing, which was doing wonders for your imagination. It was difficult not to admire the way his muscles flexed under the Beskar as he followed you, but all it did was make you remember the glorious burnished skin of his arms that Din had shown you the other day when you'd stumbled into his home and he was wearing only a t-shirt and a pair of sweatpants.

You really were trying to forget that image.

The image of his perfect golden skin flecked with the occasional freckle, covered in the thin white crisscross of scars you wished to trace with your fingertips and know by heart. Which probably is why you were having so many sleepless nights, because each time you tried to close your eyes the memory of the strong feeling of Din's unarmored body wrapped around you and the sound of his honeyed voice slipping through the darkness of your bedroom.

It was getting even harder to pretend that you weren't attracted to him and that you weren't in love with him. Especially not when you had spent practically every waking moment this week with Din and now you were moving in with him.

Oh marvelous meatpie madness, I'm moving in with DIN!

You didn’t really know what you were to him. He’d continued to use the words Cyare and Cyar'ika more often over the past few days, and each time he did you were disappointed. He was calling you friend and yet he asked you to move in and he couldn’t seem to stop holding your hand.

Of course you were sleeping in the guest room not in his bed-

Your cheeks warm at the thought of sleeping with Din in his bed. The memory of the way his voice sounds without the helmet sending a wave of heat through your entire body.

“Are you alright? You’re unusually quiet.” Din says as you walk up the steps to the front porch.

“Yeah I was thinking.” You step into the living room and begin to maneuver down the small hallway towards the room that was now technically yours.

“Are you having second thoughts?”

You can’t help but notice that Din sounds a little disappointed when he asks that.

Why? If he cares about me living here only because he wants me to be safe, why does it feel like he's disappointed for another reason?

“No. I want to move in, but-“ You enter your new bedroom and stop so suddenly that Din bumps into you, the box of books in his arms jostling. “What is that?” You point with your free hand at a hand carved wooden bookshelf in the corner of the room. “That wasn't here the other day.”

Din had showed you where you'd be staying as soon as he felt like standing up without falling over. The room itself was quaint, but you loved it. Like the rest of Din's house it had a certain amount of charm.

The room itself was already bigger than the apartment you had been living in. Painted cream and held only a wooden chest of drawers made from a light colored wood, a mirror, a small bedside table, and a full-sized bed with a simple wooden headboard. There was a small bathroom attached which meant that you wouldn't have to use the communal one in the hall that Din used. You had tried to fight with Din about him moving into this room so he could had the attached bathroom all to himself, but he refused.

“It’s a bookshelf. I made it. You don’t like it?”

“You made me a bookshelf?” You whisper, surprised.

He didn't have to do that. He's already giving me a room in his house.

“You’ve gotta put the books somewhere. And at your apartment they were all over the place. Almost broke my neck trying to get the boxes out.” Din laughs, but you still can't look away from the wood that's been sanded down so soft it's like silk, standing proudly beside the small window that allowed the golden glow of the sun to seep through the thin curtains.

Tears prick behind your eyes the longer you stare at it, everything hitting you all over again. All your confusion and frustration over Din doing something so sweet, something that almost felt like he cared at you the same way you cared about him making the tears roll down your cheeks.

Din notices immediately and places the box of books on your bed. “Cyare? Did I do something wrong?” His tilts your head up to look him in the eye, the roughness of his glove against your chin comforting, but nothing like the feeling of his skin against yours that you longed for.

“No, you didn't.” You sniffle staring up into the opaque visor, seeing the reflection of your tear streaked face in the polished metal. “Just that no one has ever done that for me before.”

“Made you a bookshelf?”

You can only nod. “Thank you Din.” You hug him tightly around the waist, the metal of his chest plate cool against your cheek when you press your face against it.

“You’re welcome Cyare.” He breathes hugging you back.

Being in Din's arms always felt like coming home after a long day, as if he was made purely to wrap his body around yours. It only made whatever was going on between the two of you harder. You wanted so badly to tell him how you felt, but Din was Din.

He was so tightly locked away in that metal armor that you were afraid to tell him how you felt for fear that he'd push you away. And you couldn't lose Din or Grogu. You barely survived when Din didn't come in last week, and you knew that you wouldn't be able to face him if he laughed in your face after you told him you were in love with him.

How did everything get so complicated so fast?

"I-" Din clears his throat, pulling away slightly. "I also got you something."

"Huh?" You look up into his helm, confused. "You got me something? Din you didn't have to get me anything- you made me bookshelves." You say as you pull away and gesture to the shelves in question.

"I got it a few weeks ago." Din continues, but you notice his helmet tilt a little bit away from you, as if he's nervous, hands twitching slightly. "I was going to give it to you the other day, but you were talking to-" Din hesitates. "Your brother."

The mention of Ezekiel makes you pause. You remembered how Din acted when he saw you with Ez, how his shoulders tensed and the cold tone of his voice when he pulled away from you. There was still a little part of you that didn't believe Din when he'd told you that he was having "a bad day," because if that were true, then why had he continued to avoid you all week after? Wouldn't he have come in the next day?

But despite the memory of how Din acted when your brother was in town, you couldn't help but smile.

Each time Din brought you a gift from somewhere else you thought it was unbelievably cute whenever he'd get nervous about it. Mostly because you could imagine that his cheeks were heating with a blush and the thought that you made the big scary Mandalorian that other people avoided like the plague, blush filled you with an unashamed amount of joy.

He reaches into his pocket to pull out a small leather, hand-stitched pouch, and holds it out towards you.

"It's not going to bite me is it?" You joke as you take it from him, again wishing that it's his skin you feel when your fingertips brush together.

"Do you think that I would get you something dangerous?" Din sounds worried.

"No, I was kidding."

"Oh."

The tone of his voice made you imagine a bashful smile, and you wanted to see it so badly. The small taste of Din's voice that you’d heard this week only made you long for more. You wanted all of Din, not just the pieces you saw when you were together.

He doesn’t want all of you.

The little voice in your head whispers, as you remember the way Din keeps calling you his friend.

But why doesn't he treat me like one?

You shake off the unwelcome thoughts as you reach inside the small pouch and feel cool metal against the tips of your fingers.

The necklace catches in the sunlight when you pull it from the bag. It's beautiful, a long silver chain, with a circular silver pendant the size of the tip of your thumb. It’s imprinted with the symbol of a Mudhorn, exactly the same one that sits on Din’s right shoulder.

“Do you like it Cyare?” Din asks gruffly, leaning his head in your direction.

“Yes! Thank you.” You beam up at him. “It’s beautiful, it’s just like your armor!”

"Yes."

"But I-" You bite the inside of your cheek, trying to think of a way to phrase this. "I don’t think I can accept this Din."

He stiffens. “Why not?”

Din's heart stutters to a stop in his chest. For you to not accept this meant that you were not accepting his courtship of you, that you were refusing to marry him. Of course you didn't know that, but Din was determined to try his hardest to find the courage to tell you, even if it took him a few months… At least now you were going to be in his house and he wouldn't have to worry about you in the city, but Din wanted more.

He wanted all of you all the time and more than that, he wanted to give you all of him, even though the thought of confessing that to you scared him to death.

Truthfully, Din was already worried that you were having second thoughts about moving in to his home. He had noticed today that you were a little quieter, more subdued, as if you had something on your mind, but you hadn't told him. And all he worried about was that he was doing too much, and now it was scaring you away.

"It must have been expensive and-" You begin to babble. The other gifts Din had gotten you were not as fancy as this one. The small carved figurine, the shell from another planet, a rock- even the hand embroidered apron didn't seem to have been something that Din paid a lot of money for. But this?

You were almost seventy percent sure that this necklace was made of Beskar, and it wasn't a secret how rare and how expensive Beskar was. You didn't want Din to spend all of his money on you, not when he had a little one to care for.

"I mean- You could have gotten Grogu something, new clothes or shoes, or paid for something important-"

"This is important.” Din says firmly. “I want you to have it."

The sigil of the Mudhorn catches in the sunlight again, and there's something scratching at the back of your mind, some inkling, some feeling that you were missing something. All of this seemed so out of the blue.

The bookshelves, Din's reaction to seeing you with your brother at your shop, his continued emphasis on you living here with him and Grogu, Din always bringing you gifts, and now this?

A necklace made of Beskar that had his clan sigil on it?

You knew a little bit about clan sigils. That they were an extension of family- so for Din to give you this seemed a little odd.

"Din?" You whisper, looking up from the necklace.

"Hmm?"

“What are we doing?”

"What?" Din's helmet tilts to the side in confusion.

“Is this weird that I’m moving in? I mean you’re my friend but-“

“But?”

“You hold my hand and you build me bookshelves and you always bring me things back from wherever you go. You walk me home and come with me to the market. And this necklace is beautiful- I love it, but I’m kinda confused.”

“Why?” Din reaches out with his glove to gently cup your chin, thumb curving up over your cheek. You gasp softly with the contact of his hand against your face.

See even this! This isn't a friend thing, this is-

The feeling of his eyes on you makes your heart stutter an extra beat and your mouth go completely dry. 

“I- I mean you keep calling me Cyare and I know you told me that it means friend, but it kind of feels like we’re more than friends and I-“ You bite your lip. “I don’t really know how I should feel. Because I kinda- I mean I-“

I love you.

Din breathes your name.

There’s a loud knock on the door and the sound of Greef Karga’s booming voice shouting something indiscernible from the outside of the house fills the air.

Din lets out an audible sigh. “I told him not to bother me today." He grumbles more to himself than to you.

You did find it a little humorous that for someone who never wanted Karga around, Din certainly didn't say no as often as you'd expect him to.

"Din please I-" The tears had begun to prick at your eyes again, a lump of frustration lodging itself in your throat. You're trying so hard not to tell him that you love him at the same time that you are, while also trying to understand what this is. But you can't finish your sentence, instead you stand there with Din's hand on your cheek waiting for him to explain.

And just when you think that Din is going to answer, he raises his other hand to clasp your cheeks between his palms and he tilts his head downward to press his forehead against yours.

You gasp in surprise. You knew what this was, what it meant to Din.

He had shown you the night he killed the Transdoshan for you, told you that this was how Mandalorians kissed while wearing a helmet, but it was so completely out of the blue, and so surprising that you forget  how to breathe. The helmet fogs against the warmth of your skin, the few precious moments that Din presses his forehead against yours lasting a lifetime. You raise your free hand to lay solidly over the right indention of his helmet, where his cheek would be, wanting this to last a few more seconds, not wanting him to pull away, trying to reaffirm something, anything in his mind that you want this, that you want him. The smell of Din is all around you, something metallic mixed with the hard smell of leather, gunpowder, and spice.

Familiar and comforting.

You look up into the helm, smiling softly into the visor, feeling the warmth of Din's gaze, the eyes you wished to see with every part of your being focused on where you stand.

Something inside tells you that Din is smiling back at you.

Is this really happening?

"I promise-" His voice rumbles up through the solid chest-plate, his gaze focused on your face through the silver helm. "That when I come home we'll talk." Din whispers, still not moving his hands from your cheeks and his forehead from yours. “I promise you, Cyare.”

The use of the word "home" makes your heart jump and buckle in your chest. It's a reminder. This is your home now as much as his, had felt like home the first moment you walked through the front door a week ago and found Din sick. But with the feeling came something else, a prickling anxiety and confusion at Din's continued use of the word 'Cyare,' even after he had "kissed" you.

"Okay." You breathe softly into the space between the two of you.

Din pulls away and takes a step back, letting your hand fall from his cheek as he does, but he lingers in the doorway for a moment. "Do you like the necklace?"

"Yes."

You did. It was beautiful in every way. Delicate, dainty, but made from the same impenetrable silver as Din's armor. The same metal you were sure that Din had built a wall around his heart with years ago. You wondered how long he had pushed other people away, how long he had used his armor to keep out what you so desperately wanted to give him.

"Do you accept it?" There's a heaviness to the words, some riddle that you can't understand.

"Accept it?"

“A minute ago you said you couldn’t.” Din’s voice shifts into something that sounds like worry.

“I-I do.” You nod your head. “I’m just worried that you spent so much money on me when you could have gotten something for Grogu.”

“Grogu doesn't need a necklace."

You can hear the humor in his voice, but it does little to stop the continued confusion you still had over this whole situation. You wished that Din could just tell Karga to go away and stay with you to ease your nerves.

He turns to go.

"Din-" It slips out before you can stop it and his helmet turns back in your direction waiting for you to finish. "I-"

The three little words were on the tip of your tongue again, each one haunting you like a bad dream. You were so afraid of telling Din how you felt, so afraid to scare him away that it felt like there was a vice squeezing your chest.

You lose your nerve, face falling. "Nevermind."

"I promise that I'll be right back cyar'ika." Din says again, his shoulders tense. "And we'll talk."

"Okay."

He hesitates for another few moments as if he wishes to say more, before he turns and vanishes down the hallway, the heavy footfalls against the smooth wooden floors like distant thunder over the plains.

Please don't go.

Reader POV

Grogu coos softly, running his hand down the worn binding of one of the books you gave him moments ago to make him think that he was helping you unpack, his little nails scratching against the spine.

In another world you would smile at him and laugh, maybe ask if he wants you to read to him, but right now you weren't feeling up to it. Your frustration and inner turmoil was reaching a head, and at this point you were trying to keep yourself from storming out the door, finding Din, and demand that he tell you what this was. You knew that Karga needed him for something, but you wanted him to explain what was happening to you.

You needed Din.

I always do.

And he'd been gone for hours which did little to ease your anxiety.

“What are you doing?” The hologram of your brother projects from your holopad watching you sort through the box of books on your bed.

“Unpacking." You say.

Your brother had called maybe twenty minutes ago to ask you how to make sweet rolls, and even though talking about baking usually cheered you up, right now it didn't. All you could think about was Din and the "kiss" the two of you had shared. You could still feel the chill of his helm against your skin, feel the sharp but smooth indention beneath the palm of your hand where it rested against his cheek, and you could feel the lingering flutter of the butterflies in the pit of your stomach.

The necklace was now hanging from your neck, the cool circle of metal resting against the soft skin between your collarbones as a reminder, proof that what had happened really had, and that it wasn't some fantasy you'd imagined. It really was beautiful, polished to a shine and not too heavy, perfectly balanced.

But what does it mean?

“Unpacking what? Where are you?” Ezekiel squints his eyes as if he can see more of your surroundings, but you knew that he'd only see you standing with a book in your hand.

“I moved today.” You sigh as you stack another book on the pile you were transferring to your bookshelf.

The bookshelf Din made for me. The one that he made me because he's such a good friend.

Your chest tightens again.

The memory of Din "kissing" you had been welcome, but you didn't understand why he used the word "cyare" after, as if he hadn't kissed you and that was just a friendly thing he did.

After he gave me a necklace. A NECKLACE.

A necklace seemed like something that you would give someone who was more than a friend, but again, you weren't sure if you were only mistaking Mandalorian customs with something else.

“You moved? Where? To the shop?” Ez looks confused.

You expected him to be. The last time he was here a week ago, you'd told him that you were thinking about moving into the shop instead to save some money. That was before Din had asked you to move in with him. And you hadn't exactly wanted to tell your brother you were moving in with Din, especially because Ez didn't like him.

“No. My-“ You pause trying to think of what to call Din. “Friend asked me to move in with him.”

Because that's all he is.

“What friend? Wait the Mandalorian? What’s his name again?”

“Din.”

"The jerk?" Ezekiel frowns at the memory of when he first met Din.

Honestly, you didn't blame him for not liking Din given how Din had acted when he was in the bakery and now you weren't sure it really mattered. Before you had been excited for them to meet, because Ez was the only family you had left and you thought that there was a possibility that something was going to happen to between Din and you.

Now you weren't sure at all.

“He’s not a jerk, he was just having a bad day.” You defend, using the same excuse that Din had when he apologized to you.

Even saying it out loud to your brother sounded stupid.

Ez rolls his eyes and waves his hand. “Flimsy excuse. But He asked you to move in with him? Are you guys together?”

“Nope." You say sharply, stacking another book on top of the pile with a loud 'smack'. "Friends, just friends."

"Ooookkkaayyy. What's wrong?"

“Nothing."

"Something's wrong. I can tell."

“It’s complicated.”

"Try me."

You hesitate as you pick up the stack of books and begin to place them on the bookshelf one by one. There was a part of you that couldn't believe that Din had made this, given how smooth the wood was, and how seamlessly it all fit together. It made you think of his perfect kitchen, your dream kitchen, the one that reminded you of where you grew up with your grandmother, the one you'd been lusting after since the first moment you saw it in Din's home.

Like Din's arms.

Your cheeks flush slightly with the thought, remembering again what it was like for Din to hug you when he didn't have his armor on last week and how you longed for the gentle caress of his ungloved hands against your skin.

"I'm not really sure what we are." The words come out before you can stop them. Maybe it's because you're so frustrated or maybe it's because the only person you have or want to talk to is the only person you can't talk to about this because he's so-

Din.

“Do you like him?”

“Yeah.”

“Then how is it complicated?” Ez asks, lounging back in his chair. His hair falls forward around his face, reaching his shoulders in unruly dark curls with the movement and Ez reaches up to push them away.

“I don’t know he’s kinda guarded. Doesn't say too much about that kind of thing. But he does things that feel like more than friends and it’s starting to confuse me.” You turn back to your bed where the holo-pad sits.

You couldn't tell if he was back at his small home or if he was in his ship. You figured that it must have been getting late where he was just as it was getting late here.

Thinking about the time only made you worry a little bit about Din coming back and think about the conversation the two of you are going to have. 

“Like what?”

The last person you wanted to talk to about this was your brother. In fact, you'd never had anyone to talk to your brother about in the past, there'd only been Din. Just Din in a sea of other men who never made you feel anything at all, which basically meant that you couldn't compare him to anyone… but it really was a desperate times call for desperate measures situation.

Because who else am I gonna talk to about it? Grogu? That might be a little above his level.

Your only other friend was Din, and he wasn't back yet and you still weren't sure how you were going to start the conversation with him. You were hoping that he'd be the one to start the conversation, given the fact that he was the one who said the two of you would 'talk.' Not to mention he had 'kissed' you so maybe, just maybe he would start it.

You look down at where Grogu is playing with the book, opening and closing the front cover. He holds it up to you as if he wants you to read to him, cooing softly. His little ears perk up, dark eyes wide with curiosity.

You didn't want to say no to him, it wasn't his fault that you were so out of sorts, so you sit down on the bed making yourself comfortable. Grogu crawls across the handmade quilt that you'd put on the bed as soon as you got there and into your lap, holding the book in front of him.

“I mean- He walks me home from the bakery at night and to the bakery in the morning, he brings me back little things when he goes off planet, he holds my hand when we're at the market, and he asked me to move in because he said that it would make him feel better knowing that I was safe!" You sigh in frustration. "And today he kissed me!"

"He removed his helmet?"

"No, he just pressed his forehead to mine."

"Ew." Ez scrunches up his face. "TMI."

"You're not helping." You sigh as you gently rub Grogu's ears and open the book to the first page so he can look at the pictures.

“I don't know what to tell you little sis, it sounds like he likes you. Especially if he-" Ez shudders. "Kissed you."

“I know! But he keeps calling me friend in Mando’a and I don’t know why.”

I shouldn't have let him go. I should have made him sit down while I went out there to tell Karga to go home.

“He’s calling you Burc’ya?” When your brother says the word you shake you head.

“No.”

He purses his lips. “Then what word is he using?”

“There’s two.” Grogu makes another small noise to signal you to turn the page, so you do. One of his little hands is resting on your hand where it holds the book. His nails scratch slightly against your skin, but it's familiar and you can't help but pull him in closer to you.

“What two?” Your brother presses.

“Cyare. Sometimes he says Cyar’ika.” You shrug.

Ez snorts so loud that the hologram flickers, his face splitting into a smile.

“What?”

“Did he tell you those meant friend?” He wheezes out in between laughs, doubling over in his chair.

“Yes?”

What is so funny? Why is any of this funny?

By now your temper had begun to flare again, and given the fact that you never, ever, got angry it seemed pretty significant.

I didn't bring this up just so he could laugh at me! I wanted him to help me!

"And he’s been - HA- bringing you little gifts whenever he leaves and comes back?" Ez chokes out, his body convulsing with the force of his laughter.

"Yes. Ezekiel what is so funny?!"

Grogu reaches up for your pendant, grabbing it between his three fingered hand, toying with it while he looks at the pictures in the book, completely oblivious to what was happening.

You watch your brother's gaze lock on the necklace. “Did Din give you that too?”

“Yeah, when I moved in today. Why?”

“Is it his clan sigil?” He leans forward to examine the imprinted sigil of the Mudhorn.

“Yes? Ezekiel I have no idea why you keep asking me all these questions and why you're laughing! What does it-"

Ez interrupts you before you can finish the question. “So he’s calling you cyare and cyar'ika, has been bringing you back little gifts from wherever he goes, he asked you to move in with him, and he gave you a necklace with his Clan sigil on it?”

“I swear if you ask me one more question Ez I'm going to-"

This is it. This the last straw. I'm going to kill my brother.

First, you’d have to find someone who was willing to fly to the Outer Rim and second you'd probably need to get a step-stool so you could be tall enough to reach his throat to choke him out, but you were going to do it!

But he isn't phased by your threat. "I'll be there tomorrow."

Shock ricochets around your head like a thunderclap. "What? You were just here? Why are you-"

“I’m bringing Max with me.”

“Ez for the love of-

“I gotta go baby sis. See you in the morning.”

“Ezekiel!”  You shout, but his image flickers and then disappears from the projection, leaving you in the silence of your new home.

Damn it.

Grogu gurgles in your lap, holding up the book for you to see.  You glance down at the child, noting the way his big black eyes focus on you, a happy smile on his face.

It tugs at something in your heart to see him look at you that way, it always did. You loved Grogu more than you loved Din, cared for him like he was your own. You figured that somebody had to. Yes Din was a good father, but you wanted to take care of Grogu too.

Grogu didn’t understand why he could feel your emotions jumping and changing so quickly, ones that didn't feel good to him. Emotions that felt almost sad. Grogu didn't want you to be sad, because he was afraid it meant you were going to leave. And Grogu wanted his mother to live with him and his father.

He coos again softly and nestles into your chest, one of his little hands wrapping around your thumb.

"What's wrong buddy?" You ask him with a sigh.

It was fruitless to try and figure out what Ez was going to do, so it meant you were stuck waiting until tomorrow for him to show up with his friend Max in tow. You'd met Max a few times. He was like your brother, always joking around, never took anything seriously, but he was kind to you, sweet.

Grogu touches your cheek, blinking his dark eyes at you, a silent question.

"I'm okay."

You weren't.

Din was still on your mind. He was always on your mind. There didn't seem to be any escape, and truthfully you didn't want to.

"Are you hungry?" You ask Grogu, pulling him up to stand on your stomach, bracing him back against your knees. You had gotten groceries with Din earlier, so there was actually food in the house. And you couldn't remember the last time that Grogu ate. "Come on I'm starving."

Besides, maybe cooking would take your mind off of Din…

Doubtful.

Din POV

The walk home seemed longer today, perhaps it was because Din was exhausted from listening to Greef Karga or perhaps it was because he was eager to get back to you.

The wind rushed from the East, fluttering through Din's cape, and rustling through the small bouquet of flowers in his right hand. He meant to have some at the house this morning when you first moved in, but he figured now was as good a time as any to get you some.

Din hated the way you looked when he left. He could practically feel your anxiety and frustration soaking through the air of the room when he walked out. And Din knew that he probably should have told Karga to go on a long space-walk without a helmet, but… Din was nervous.

He chastised himself.

He was a Mandalorian! One of the best warriors in the galaxy. He'd faced un-winable odds without bating an eye and without feeling fear, but one look from you made Din feel like he was stripped bare. As if you could see beneath the armor that hid him from the rest of the world, as if you saw and knew the things he did and didn't care.

Din couldn't imagine anyone doing that, accepting the kind of person he used to be and…

The kind of person I am.

Din knew that you should run away. That he should have been the bigger person and ignored you that the day he met you in the bakery when Grogu wandered into your shop, that Din should have stayed away, but he couldn't.

It was an addiction, you were an addiction, and he didn't want to stop.

And now you were going to live with him.

Having you here was perfect, felt cosmically correct. This week when you'd made him soup and nursed him back to health, Din had felt things that he didn't think he could anymore. And when you lingered in his home, cleaning, cooking, and taking care of Grogu, Din felt his heart fluttering in his chest, felt the weight lift from his shoulders for the first time in his life. The weight that settled the moment he set out on his own all those years ago, when he walked the path of the Mandalore and his hands stained with the blood of those who stood in his way.

The same hands that you took so gently in yours, fingers smoothing against the rough patches, holding them between the two of you and gazing up at him with the same trusting smile that made Din feel like he'd swallowed an exploding star.

Everything about you was so different from him and yet Din couldn't stop going to you.

Each time you smiled at him, his tongue gained a hundred pounds and sat in his mouth like a dead weight. Each time he saw you in one of those soft fluttering dresses you always wore, his mind short circuited. Each time you touched him and said his name, it made Din lost all semblance of control.

The same control that he tried to hold to tight whenever he was with you, the control that seemed to waver in the night when everything was quiet and Din tried to sleep but all he saw was you behind his closed eyelids, all he felt was the soft curves of your body in his arms, and all he heard was the sound of your voice whispering in his ear.

When he arrives home there is a meal on the stove you’d made beneath a covered plate waiting for him, but Din isn't hungry. His own anxiety over what he's about to tell you is tying his stomach in knots. Din couldn't understand how around you he was reduced to a bumbling buffoon and why the hell he never seemed to be able to say what he was thinking.

Din had never been really good at talking, especially not to you. The gifts were a wonderful way of avoiding it, but today-

A flash of how you looked when Din left crosses his mind again. How anxious, how frustrated, and how upset you looked. Din hadn't wanted you to feel that way on a day like today, a day that should be happy, and yet Din saw the tears in your eyes.

So he'd kissed you. He'd done it to give you some peace of mind, to comfort you, to give you some promise of what he was going to tell you when he was coming home.

The same speech that he'd rehearsed in his head the whole time he'd been with Karga.

I was so stupid. I should have stayed here with her. I-

Din hears a soft sound coming from the living room and he turns his head. You’re laying on the couch, curled under a blanket with Grogu snoozing softly in your arms, curved protectively around him as if you wish to protect him.

Din feels a warmth flood through his body that he's never known the longer he stands there watching you. Watching the soft rise and fall of your chest, the way each breath moves a stand of your hair on the cushion beneath your head, the gentle sound of your snores filling the quiet, and how perfect it seemed that you were here in his house.

Our house.

The correction in his head makes Din's cheeks flush beneath his helmet. Because you were living with him, you had moved in, you were here to stay-. His eyes are drawn down to the necklace that hangs from your neck, the shine of the silver catching in the light.

Something stirs deep inside of Din, seeing you there with his son, wearing his clan sigil- The same primal protective instinct he felt the minute he saw you with the Transdoshan.

She accepted it. Accepted me.

Din contemplates if he should wake you, tell you the very thing that he'd been trying to say over the past week when you were taking care of him, the same thing that he wanted to tell you when you stood up for him with Ms. Cross, the same thing that he'd wanted to say the night that he sat in your bakery gently wiping blood from the scratch on your face while you cradled his hands between the two of you, and  the same thing that he'd been trying to say the first moment that he walked into your bakery and saw you standing there with Grogu in your arms while his son looked up at you with a wide smile.

Din places the flowers on the table next to the couch before he carefully pries Grogu from your embrace, walking down the hall to put him to sleep. Grogu coos softly, wrapping his little finger around Din's thumb in his sleep, but doesn't wake.

When Din comes back out to get you, you're still snoring softly, the blanket pulled up to your chin while you slumber. He hates to move you, not when you look so comfortable, but Din's afraid that you're going to get a crick in your neck if he leaves you like this.

As gently as he can, Din picks you up, his arm coming down underneath your knees to pull your body up into his arms. He feels his heartbeat stutter. Din didn't think that it would feel better than whenever you hugged him, but it does.

Your body curled up in his arms, everywhere his cold hard armor clashes against every soft curve of your body. The gentle beat of your heart rattling around in his helmet, each soft sigh fogging against the metal of his chest-plate.

It does something to him. He's reminded again how much he wants all of you and how he wants you to see all of him. The cloying worm that squirms in the back of his head and tells him to forget about his creed and let you have him the way he's wanted for months. To share parts of himself he never wanted to with anyone else.

But he can't do it, not now. Not like this. He thinks it's selfish to wake you when you're sleeping so soundly.

He might also be procrastinating because even though he spent all his time with Karga trying to think of a way to tell you, he still has no idea what to say to you or how to start the conversation.

Din has no idea how to tell you that he loves you and that he wants you to be his wife.

Because there's a little voice inside that keeps asking Din:

Why would she want you?

He starts to make his way through the house, each step careful as he tries his best not to wake you.

Your bedroom is dark, but Din finds his way through the mess of boxes, pulling back your sheets and blankets.

“Din-“ You murmur and for a moment Din thinks that he’s woken you, but all you do is curl further into his chest with a sigh. One of your hands falls against his arm, squeezing his arm subconsciously.

“I’m right here my Cyare.” He murmurs pressing his forehead against yours. It feels like second nature. "I promise I'll always be here."

The loss he feels when he places you in the bed is familiar, it's the same one he feels whenever he has to say goodnight to you or whenever he says goodbye when he leaves to go off planet.

Din figures that he's waited this long to tell you, one more night couldn't hurt, but he still leaves the bouquet of flowers on your bedside table before he walks off to his room, all the while wishing that he could curl up beside you and allow the gentle beat of your heart lull him to sleep.

A/N: Alright... Don't hate me for another cliffhanger, but we're so close to it! And also this chapter was getting long 😅 BUT, honestly I love y'all so much. I had no idea that I was going to get as big a response on this fic series and it's been so wonderful to see 💚

Thank you so much for reading! Likes, Reblogs, and Comments are not required, but are always appreciated! The comments really keep me going! If you'd liked to be added to my taglist for fics in this universe please let me know!

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[nohoney]

spilling hot tea with bakugou ໒꒰ྀི ౦  ̫ o꒱ྀིა

“So you know how she’s been seeing that guy for the past few months but hasn’t become his girlfriend yet?” you tell Bakugou as you walk beside him in the deli aisle, waiting until he finishes speaking to the butcher to get a pound of fresh chicken. “So I asked her why she hasn’t put a label yet and she was like, ‘Oh I just saw some red flags.’”

Bakugou leans on the cart and waits for the butcher with his order. “What kind of red flags?” he asks passively, more interested in how pretty you look with the new top you bought just a week ago.

God her tits look so good.

“Okay so, I was listening to her voice note and she was saying stuff that she caught him on some small lies, like about how he gets VIP tickets for stuff. He’ll say one thing to her but then he’ll say a sort of different story to other people. And that he got all butt hurt because her and her guy best friend slept together years ago and it was only just for fun and they haven’t done anything in forever. So she decided to just take space from her guy best friend so that this new ‘not boyfriend’ guy can be more comfortable.” You explain as you scroll through your instagram feed, liking a picture of one of your friends in a swimsuit and then moving on.

“He got into some dumb fight with her housemate’s brother over beer pong when she brought him over for a chill barbecue kick back. But oh my god, I have to tell you the absolute killer that I had to call her out on.”

Alright, he’s getting more intrigued now. His eyes glance over to the butcher who’s almost done prepping the meat that he had requested. You take a small step back to dig through your purse for something, unknowing that someone was behind you. Bakugou reaches forward to take your arm and gently pull you back to him so that you don’t bump the person behind you.

“So what is it?”

You still dig through your purse but continue to speak, “So apparently she bought him a ticket for some show a while back—I didn’t ask much details about the ticket. But she wants to be paid back by him, which she’s entitled to and all that.”

Finally finding what you were looking for, you pull out a small tube of lip gloss and start to unscrew the cap off.

“She tried talking to him about it and apparently he had told her,” you pause to apply the gloss to your lips, running the wand back and forth along your bottom lip first before applying to your upper lip, “that he couldn’t pay her back with money but he could pay her in other ways like being there for her emotionally.”

Bakugou’s eyebrows shoot up in surprise and the butcher announced that he’s ready to check out. “You fucking serious?” he asks, trying not to believe that your friend is… not letting herself get taken advantage of in that way.

“Crazy right?” you drop your lip glossinto your purse and start to walk to the register so that the chicken can be paid for. “And she’s not even sure that she wants to be his girlfriend yet too.”

The conversation pauses so that the meat can be paid for, but god Bakugou wants to talk so much shit.

“What do you think of that babe?” You ask after shoving the receipt into your purse.

“I think your friend deserves better and that this guy she’s seeing is a bum.” Bakugou can’t help but reel over this piece of gossip. And he wants to talk more about it but you’ve moved on to wondering what else could be fetched for dinner tonight. He briefly remembers how you and your girlfriends get cozy with each other to update and trade stories over…

“Hey, you wanna get some wine?”

You glance over to Bakugou, briefly surprised by the proposal before smiling and nodding your head.

“Fuck yeah I do.”

[sugarskies]

bob breathing

summary: bob can't sleep. john helps him (yearningly). word count: 1,201 notes: follow up to shit, he's cute but can be read alone.

Things were awkward after that night.

It was John’s fault, one hundred percent, and he was willing to admit to that. Bob didn’t act any differently but somehow, John couldn’t help but stare at him in a way he hadn’t done before; and that way of staring brought back the butterflies which caused his crisis which convinced him that avoiding Bob as much as possible was the best course of action.

So, yes. It was awkward when Bob walked into a room and John made an excuse to leave. It was awkward when they sparred, and his face flushed, and he cut the match short for a drink of water. But the awkwardness was easier to handle than it was to face the reality that John might have another side to him that even he’d never seen before.

Knock, knock, knock.

John startled and glanced at the clock on his phone. 2:43 A.M. He’d been scrolling aimlessly through social media for hours, insomnia kicking his ass. Who else was awake at that hour and why would they knock on his door? He called out a quick, “It’s open.” He almost hoped it was Bucky. For once, a spontaneous mission didn’t sound like the worst thing.

“Hey.” Bob squinted when he pushed the door open, his nose scrunched in a way that John definitely did not find adorable. He was still in his pajamas—an oversized white t-shirt and blue flannel pants, with his bare feet sinking into the carpet. “I saw the light on. Why are you up?”

“Can’t sleep,” said John. He put his phone on the bed beside him, his legs covered by his duvet. “Why are you up?”

Bob pushed a hand through his tangled and frizzy hair. He must have been tossing and turning for a while. “Can’t sleep,” he echoed.

“Nightmares again?”

“No, I haven’t slept at all.” He pulled on his fingers, twisted them around in front of him as he stared at the floor. His gaze flickered left and right, never stopping in one place for more than a second. John’s poor self-image made him assume Bob was judging the state of his room until he added, “I think it’s the start of a manic episode.”

“Oh.” John’s concern was a thousand times higher than it would have been two weeks before. Or maybe it was the same and he just wasn’t ready to admit that yet. “Are you all right?”

“Yeah, I just— I don’t know how to explain it. I feel like I’m vibrating.”

“Is that how you can usually tell?”

“That and a headache.” Bob nodded and winced. So, the headache was already in place too. He wanted to hold Bob close, to take the pain away from him. “And I was really bitchy all day. Yelena’s probably mad at me. Ava too.”

John shook his head. “They’ll understand. Come here.”

He patted the open half of the mattress beside him. For a second, Bob just stared at him as he picked at his thumbnail. Then he closed the door and relented. He lingered by the side of the bed until John gestured again for him to sit down. Bob sat on top of the blanket while John was under it, but his natural warmth quickly seeped through the material.

It was impossible not to stare into Bob’s blue eyes. They were dimmed with exhaustion but still so bright, so full of kindness and compassion. His jaw clenched as he chewed on his lip, his toes bouncing at the end of the bed. John couldn’t tell if he was vibrating, as Bob said, but he was definitely fidgeting far more than usual.

“All right, close your eyes.” Bob did as he was told but the visual sensory deprivation seemed to make his fingers more restless. “I’m going to teach you something the Navy SEALs use to calm down.”

“You were in the Army,” Bob correctly observed, one eye popped open.

“Knowledge travels,” said John. He moved two fingers in the direction of Bob’s open eye, and he quickly snapped it shut. “This is called box breathing. Think of a box. Each side is one step. Inhale, hold, exhale, hold. First side: inhale slowly while I count to four. Focus on how it feels when the air fills your lungs. One, two… I said slowly, Bob.”

“Sorry.”

“Try again.” His tiny smirk was fucking everything. John took a moment to soak it in before he continued. “One, two, three, four. Now, side two: hold it. One, two, three, four.”

Bob’s fingers curled around the blankets beneath him, tugged at them tightly like he was forcing himself not to fidget. John wanted to tell him to stop, to let his body do what it needed to, but he didn’t know what other coping mechanisms Bob had, and he didn’t want to overstep.

“Side three: exhale slowly—” Bob chuckled at the way he said it and shit, the butterflies were back “—and get all the air out of your lungs. One, two, three, four. Last side: hold it there. One, two, three, four. Remember the sides? Let’s do it again.”

John let his own eyes drift shut for a bit as he counted for Bob, listened to the gentle sounds of his breaths. That was what John needed. That was the white noise that finally made the tension fall from his shoulders.

“Shit,” muttered Bob after their seventh time around the box. The right side of his lip curled upward, and John couldn’t help but smile with him. “Why does this actually work?”

“I was in the Army,” John reminded him. “I didn’t get all the details.”

Bob snorted before he resumed his deep breaths and John resumed his counting. Twenty minutes earlier, John was doomscrolling through horrific posts about him, about his team, and not a word of it seemed to matter anymore. Nothing in the world mattered except for Bob; the way his chest rose and fell, the way his eyelashes rested on the top of his cheeks.

John had no idea how many times he’d counted to four by the time Bob’s head fell on his shoulder. His heart beat against John’s upper arm, his tangled curls tickling the collar of John’s shirt. For the first time since the last time Bob fell asleep on him, John allowed himself a moment to stare. How could a man be that goddamn beautiful?

He draped his arm around Bob’s shoulders and pulled him close. Close enough that without stretching, without thinking, John was able to press his lips to the top of Bob’s head. To lean his forehead against him, to soak in his scent, his warmth; to feel his own heart beating, to allow the butterflies to swarm inside him.

Because John didn’t know men could be so beautiful. He didn’t know that he could find men so beautiful. But he recognized the tightness in his chest, the bubbling in his stomach. Bob was his person in the way no one had been since Olivia. And while he wasn’t ready to act on that yet (and maybe he would never be), he was ready to accept that it was true.