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cinnaminsvga · 1 month

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Harana | Jungkook

harana (n.): the act of wooing someone by serenading them

→ summary:

Unwilling to settle down with you after five years of dating, Jeon Jungkook decides to break up to chase after his dreams. In the aftermath, you leave your hometown, desperate to forget your past and relearn what it means to be on your own. Two years later while on your way to work, you pass by a familiar voice singing songs about a girl he had left behind.

{or alternatively: Jungkook still sings the love songs that he wrote for you. He still means them, too.}

→ genre: busker!au, exes to lovers, angst, humor → warnings: jimin is insane and kinda crude (he has some issues going on), jungkook is a pathetic wet bunny but he's trying his best, oc has So Many Problems, so much arguing and yearning, ambiguous ending??? but my god there is hope!! the humanity of it all!! → words: 16.1K → a/n: HOLY SHIT IM BACK (kinda) and happy new year!! yeah ok its march but im relearning how to form coherent sentences so be patient ;w; this is the first installment of my hfoh series that i teased a LONG time ago... i made it a resolution to complete this series by the end of the year before i kms (Keep Myself Safe) so here's to a brand new year :D (oh god @ universe pls be kind)

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

Two days before the incident, your shower nozzle decides to explode.

Okay, you have to admit that statement is a little misleading. Shower nozzles, in all its nonsentience, do not randomly decide to explode no matter how much you try to defend yourself to your landlord. Maybe your grip had been a little too harsh that morning, or maybe hanging 5 pounds of hair products on the handle had been a bit too much for the old sport to handle. Or maybe, just maybe, the universe was warning you about the incident.

Whatever it was, it doesn’t erase the fact that your shower would be out of commission for the next week or so (though your landlord seems adamant about prolonging your suffering as long as possible). Until then, you’re going to have to find some other ways to keep the grease and grime from building on you. Heavens know that you already have a thriving ecosystem living in the back of your couch—you don’t need another one growing under your armpits.

Lucky for you, you have friends. More importantly, you have friends who have showers. There is one problem though—all your friends live on the other side of the country.

It’s been two years since you moved to the Big City™️, but you have done little to grow your social network. Call it introversion or depression, either way, you have no more contacts on your phone than you did when you left your hometown. Well, except for one person, if you could even consider him one. Frankly, you didn’t have a choice.

“Welcome to my humble abode, stinky,” Jimin greets you as you enter his house. Your nose is instantly assaulted by the smell of Bath & Body Works® Sweet Pea, reminding you once more why you didn’t consider him a friend.

“Hey,” you reply gruffly, shucking your ratty shoes near his entrance. Your shoes look incredibly out of place amidst the sea of designer Chelsea boots and a singular pair of thigh-high heels. You take a glance at his living room, already feeling worse about yourself tenfold.

You had met Park Jimin by complete accident, much like how his mother probably felt when she first saw him too. You had never known anyone quite as… interesting as him, to put it lightly.

When you got your job as a hostess for a luxury bar and restaurant, you figured you wouldn’t make many friends with your coworkers. Everyone was so… pretty, but in the shiny, untouchable sort of way. Almost all of the servers were as gorgeous as the models you’d see in magazines. You hadn’t known that the owners only hired a certain “demographic” of people for their restaurant, and you were equal parts flattered and disgusted that you’d somehow made it (though you suppose your bullshitting skills were all to thank).

Unsurprisingly, even the bartenders were gorgeous, including one Park Jimin. He did have an aura to him that screamed “I’m a cut above the rest and I know it,” but that could just be the gold chains dripping down his neck. You almost mistook him as one of the patrons who mistakenly made his way behind the bar, and knowing the sort of clientele you’ve had to deal with so far, you wouldn’t have been surprised. It took a couple of weeks before you finally found out who he was (and what his fucking problem was).

Jimin was a part-time bartender with a full-time job as a bitch a self-made entrepreneur. Which is to say, he sold… tasteful photos of himself on the internet. You had nothing against his line of work. In fact, you would go far as to say you didn’t give a shit what he did outside of your shared workspace. But if there’s one thing Jimin is, it’s that he hates being ignored.

So when you were adamant about not oohing and aahing at everything that makes Park Jimin perfect, he made it his self-appointed mission to befriend you. Or at least that’s what he claims, but given how he treats you lesser than the shit that cakes his cheeks, you have a lot of doubts. Perhaps he’s never made an effort to make a friend, hence his inexperience with being a decent human being. Or perhaps he’s just an asshole, but who is to say? The point is: he’s the only person you knew in this godforsaken city who would likely allow you to use his shower without being awkward about it and that’s that.

The worst part about being an acquaintance with Park Jimin was that he lived in the richest area of Downtown but he wasn’t old money, that’s for sure. His entire essence screamed overconsumption, and his myriad of little trinkets littered across his apartment confirmed your previous assessment. You wouldn’t be surprised if you opened his freezer and found ten types of ice sorted assorted by color and shape like the extra bitch that he was.

He made his money through sheer force, and it would have impressed you if he wasn’t, you know. Him.

“Bathroom is over there. I placed a towel and other shower amenities that you can borrow,” he says pointing to a door with a large “FART ZONE: ENTER WITH CAUTION” sign taped to it. You don’t ask.

“Thanks,” you say flatly. You wait patiently for his out-of-pocket comment.

Like clockwork, Jimin smirks. “Sure thing. I gave you the super heavy-duty stuff. Figured you’d burn a hole through my expensive towels with how stinky you are, with your yeasty cu—”

“Aaaand I’ll be done in a few minutes. Thanks again Jimin,” you interrupt, making your way to the bathroom and slamming the door with as much force as you can muster. You hear something fall as the door shuts, and you vaguely hear Jimin mutter something about his “fart zone” signage.

You begin to prepare your shower routine, humming lowly as you go about your business. You try to ignore the suffocating scent of ten million diffusers entering your nostrils, wondering for the umpteenth time if Jimin is suffering from long-term olfactory dysfunction.

“Focus, Y/N. The quicker you shower, the quicker you can get the fuck out of here,” you whisper to yourself. However, in your haste, you knock over Jimin’s towel by accident. When the towel falls, a sheet of sandpaper slips out from underneath it, and you stare bemusedly until it finally hits you.

“YOU ARE SUCH A LITTLE BITCH!”

From behind the door, you can hear Jimin’s infamous cackle. “Did you find the loofah? I got it just for you, darling!” he shouts back through his laughter, and you just grumble back in response. How on earth no one has strangled him to death, you have no idea.

“Whatever. I’m gonna shower now! Go beat off or whatever the fuck you do in your spare time,” you grouse, stripping as quickly as possible.

When the first droplets of water hit your body, you can’t help but breathe a sigh of relief. You had both anticipated and dreaded going to Jimin’s house, but you desperately needed the shower. So you go through your routine, trying to find some semblance of relaxation throughout the process. However, it seems that Jimin was yearning for a little bit of attention as he chose to recline on the other side of the door and chat your ear off. Peace was never an option, it seems.

“Hey, Y/N! So why haven’t I seen you at work recently?” Jimin hollers from his living room. Despite the wall separating you, his voice manages to retain its volume.

You squirt a large glob of Jimin’s (expensive) conditioner onto your hands. “What do you mean? I go to work every day. You were the one who hasn’t been clocking in.”

You can hear Jimin scoff. “Um, correction! I went to work last Friday, which so happened to be your day off. If I didn’t know any better, I would have assumed you were avoiding me.”

And right you are, you think. But instead, you say, “Yeah, what a coincidence. I’ll be back to my regular schedule on Monday, though.”

“So that means you didn’t see the Justin Bieber wannabe stationed outside the restaurant then?” Jimin asks, voice miffed. “The guy suddenly sat down by the entrance window and a whole damn crowd started to appear! The absolute nerve of these people—don’t they know Park Jimin was just past the doors?”

This provokes Jimin to go on his long epic soliloquy, which you’ve learned to drown out over the past two years. He could go on hour-long tirades if he wanted, and any interruption from you would just bounce off his nonfunctioning ears. And so, you allow his voice to fall to the back of your mind, similar to white noise if it wasn’t so grating.

However, this was likely your greatest mistake. If you hadn’t been so exhausted, or if Park Jimin hadn’t been so damn annoying all the time, or if the stars had aligned just right… Maybe you would have been forewarned about the incident. It’s as if the universe was screaming at you to pay attention, but alas… You were standing on the proverbial highway, unbeknownst to the incoming traffic because you had your metaphorical AirPods on.

So there you are, completely showered but none the wiser to your impending doom, naively looking to the future with unsuspecting eyes. Even if you had known of what was to come, would avoiding it even be possible? In hindsight, you suppose not, but you still kick yourself for being so blind. If only you’d steeled your heart, then maybe you wouldn’t have felt like vomiting in front of a crowd of innocent bystanders the very next day.

xxx

Monday comes and your shower still isn’t fixed. Jimin makes the benevolent gesture of allowing you to use his shower in the meantime, though you’ll only partake in his offer as minimally as possible. He does mention that he’ll need at least an hour’s notice, warning you about “accidental voyeurism.” You shudder to think of what sort of horror you might find if you did visit him without warning, and you pray for the continued well-being of your retinas.

On your way to work, you’re too busy watching cute videos of animals to notice the unusual flock of people idling close to your workplace. When you get closer, however, the growing commotion is enough to rip your gaze away from your phone, and the sight of the large crowd makes you stop in your tracks.

It is 4 pm and the usual line of waiting patrons should not start piling up for another three hours, so this confuses you more than anything. You shuffle closer, squinting at the crowd until you notice that they aren’t lined up at all; instead, they have congregated into a large circle, but you are too far to see what they are surrounding.

An accident? You worry, wondering if something terrible happened. You tiptoe above the heads of people, subtly moving forward to take a better look. Curse you and your curiosity. You take a deep breath, bracing yourself to see something grotesque or astonishing, but instead…

It’s worse.

Inching closer, you can begin to hear a soft thrumming of a guitar and a gentle singing voice that causes alarm bells to ring in your ears. The warm melody digs up old memories of a time long past: of ballads sung outside your childhood bedroom window, of promises whispered under Spiderman sheets, of tender caresses tucking stray hairs behind your ears… They flood your senses, but all you can feel is dread.

It can’t be who you think it is. You accidentally elbow a guy on your way to get closer, unsteadying his grip on his phone.

“Hey, watch it! I’m filming a totally not-staged TikTok over here!” He yells, but you can hardly pay attention to him when you feel unnaturally drawn to come closer, still.

You’re nearly at the front, with just a couple of teenagers standing between you and the (not-so) mysterious street performer. But the distance is enough, and your breath catches. You can see him—

Black hair partially hidden under a bucket hat. Boots bigger than Pangaea and a pair of eyes equally as large. Dark ink snaking down his arms, peeking out from under oversized sleeves. Piercings that could rival Park Jimin on a good day. He isn’t facing you, but you can still see his big doe eyes, gentle sloping nose, and pretty lips stretched into a handsome smile.

Your heart is thundering in your chest. This can’t be happening, you panic. After two whole years of rebuilding and reshaping yourself, relearning how to be yourself and not… not just his girlfriend.

Jeon Jungkook stands before you, busking in front of your workplace of all locations. The universe could not have been any crueler to you.

You—you had been known as nothing more than Jeon Jungkook’s high school sweetheart. Buried memories of snide comments from jealous teen girls fill your mind, reminding you of the time when you were coined a simple side piece to the main attraction. Decor, as they would call you. Nothing more than a girl who happened to snag Jungkook before people realized he was going to turn… hot. A hot guy who could sing. An inevitable chic magnet, as they would call him.

And now, years later after much therapy and soul searching, your worst nightmare is standing in front of you in the flesh. This is what you will eventually dub the incident.

At that moment, however, there is little to no time to dwell on naming this ongoing core memory. All you can feel is the adrenaline pumping through your veins, as well as the nausea rising up your throat. You stumble backward, blatantly shoving onlookers away as you struggle to find some air to breathe. In hindsight, you probably should have backed away as subtly as possible, but you hope that your dyed hair might be different enough that Jungkook wouldn’t know it was you if he had glanced your way.

Even when you stagger towards your work establishment, the walls cannot perfectly muffle his soothing singing. You can’t make out the lyrics to his song too well, but his unmistakable voice is hard to ignore. Working as a hostess, your station is also coincidentally as close to the door as possible for maximum torture.

This can’t get any worse, you think as your mind races with conflicting emotions. You thought you had moved on, thought you were past the pain and the memories, but seeing Jungkook again, unexpectedly, stirs up a storm of feelings you thought were buried deep. Anger, hurt, betrayal—all rush to the surface, threatening to overwhelm you.

But there is no time to unpack all that baggage right now. Time will continue to march on, and your job is still on the line. How can you have the time to have a mental breakdown when you were still living paycheck to paycheck?

But even as you try to push Jungkook out of your mind, his voice echoes in your ears, his image burned into your memory. It's as if the universe is laughing at your misery, reminding you that despite all your supposed growth, you are still just you.

Painfully and pathetically you.

As you struggle to pull yourself together, a familiarly loud voice rings outside the edge of your consciousness. “Hey, Y/N! Fancy seeing you here…” Jimin greets you, his usual jovial demeanor halting midway when he sees your panicked expression. He clears his throat, perplexed. “Umm… Are you alright there, girl? You’re looking a little pale.”

You do not even have the mental capacity to wonder why Park Jimin was miraculously early to his shift, nor why he seems genuinely worried for you. Rather, all you can do is wave him off and use what little time you have before the restaurant opens to steel yourself for hours of melodious torture.

“I’m fine, Park. You should get to work,” you grit out, wiping your sweaty palms on your uniform. Normally, Jimin would have teased you about the obvious wrinkles on your skirt.

“You’re not the boss of me,” Jimin huffs, always the contrarian. He thinks better of it, however, and softens his tone. “Are you feeling sick or something? You look like you just saw a ghost.”

You freeze, perhaps giving yourself away a little. “I’m fine,” you repeat.

“You know, if you refuse to elaborate, I’m going to have to retract your shower privileges,” Jimin taunts with a smirk.

You feel a migraine growing by your temple, making you wince. God, why must men be the source of all your problems?

“I’m just… a little annoyed by the busker outside the restaurant,” you eventually admit, trying to be vague. Unfortunately for you, Jimin hates beating around the bush and would never take your crap if he knows something is up.

Unable to withstand the weight of his unimpressed stare, you clarify, “He was someone I used to know, that’s all.” You aren’t going to be any more specific than that, though you imagine Jimin gets the picture. You zip your lips, hoping to whoever is causing you pain that Jimin would somehow let the matter drop and leave you to your misery.

You brace yourself for his onslaught of questioning to come, and… it doesn’t happen. Instead, when you glance at Jimin, he is mysteriously stone faced. You wait for him to speak for what feels like a few minutes, but he doesn’t show any signs of wanting to tease or ridicule you. He simply watches you with a pensive expression. You can barely stop yourself from staring back at him, slack-jawed at his silence.

Of course, you aren’t just going to question your luck, or what little you have at least. So, you stay silent back and fidget uncomfortably.

Finally, Jimin seems to snap out of his strange reverie. He fixes you with a bizarrely sympathetic grin, patting you affectionately on the back. “I see… Well, if you ever need a drink tonight, head over to the bar for a little sip. I got you covered,” is all he says in response before sashaying away.

That was so fucking weird. You want to chase after him, perhaps beat the truth out of him. Jimin is nothing but a scheming dick, and you aren’t about to let him roam free with such sensitive information about yourself. Just as you’re about to stomp his ass (perhaps to relieve some of the building tension from your weary soul), your manager pops his head from his office door.

“Y/N! Make sure you’re logged into the booking system. There’s going to be a party of 20 coming in about an hour,” he reminds you, shooting you an apologetic look. You nod back with a sigh, swiping the booking tablet from the hostess desk and scrolling through the logs. Sure enough, it is going to be a busy night despite being a Monday evening. Perhaps a little busier than usual, in fact.

Whatever. You will use whatever distraction you can get, and perhaps the approaching noise from the restaurant patrons will be enough to drown out the sound of his voice.

You aren’t religious by any means, but you pray to whatever higher power exists that Jeon Jungkook doesn’t somehow decide to enter the restaurant. Stay outside, you plead. Outside the restaurant and your life, if possible.

Throughout the evening, you do your best to push aside the memories that threaten to resurface. You greet customers with a smile, lead them to their tables, and ensure their dining experience is pleasant despite the anxiety poisoning your insides. It's a routine you've perfected over time, a shield against the chaos of your emotions.

As the night wears on, you can feel Jimin's eyes on you from across the restaurant. You sneak glances back at him, and you blanch at his pitying gaze. If the restaurant had been slightly less crowded, you would have flipped him off.

He’s probably enjoying my suffering, you think darkly. Unwilling to give him the satisfaction, you straighten up and do your best to appear more unaffected. Just as you do so, you can hear Jungkook perfectly hitting a soulful high note.

“I’m so sorry for thinking I was strong,” you whisper to the universe. “Forgive me for my insolence.” You clench your fist in anguish, ignoring the confused looks from the customers in front of you.

By the time your shift comes to a close, you are completely and utterly drained. You feel like a snail that has been continuously salted over the past eight hours, and you cannot help but cheer in relief when the clock finally strikes two in the morning. You have to wait for the last few diners to make their leave, but otherwise you are ready to let your bed swallow you whole.

You stand by your hostess desk, leaning your head against it with a defeated sigh. Jungkook’s voice had died down only a few minutes ago, and you hope that by this point he has mercifully left the premises. You want to take a peek to make sure, but just as you’re about to make your way to the door, you feel a hand on your shoulder stop you in your tracks.

“‘Sup, bitch.” Jimin still has that weird, pitying gaze pointed at you, though his words don’t match it. “Are you okay to go home alone tonight? I can bring your dumb ass home if you want.”

You shove his hand away, ready to bite his head off when you think better of it. If Jimin drives you home, then that lowers the chances of seeing Jungkook down to pretty much zero.

“You know what? Thanks,” you grouse. Jimin smiles at you winningly, and the image of it brings a shiver down your spine. You hit him, creeped out. “Hey. Stop that, will you? You’re being really weird?”

Jimin scoffs, crossing his arms. “Me? Weird? At least I don’t look like a damn firework ready to explode just because my cringelord ex-boyfriend is singing sappy love songs outside—”

“Shut the fuck up,” you seethe, stomping on his foot. He yelps in pain and slaps your shoulder in retaliation.

“Ouch! Watch your ogre feet! My shoes are worth twice your monthly rent I’ll have you know,” he bristles. He breathes deeply, likely finding his inner calm (which you doubt exists). “But because I’m so nice, I’ll ignore your earlier transgression and blame it on your underdeveloped amygdala.”

You don’t know what’s more surprising: the fact that Jimin knew what an amygdala was or that he was forgiving you in the first place. “Whatever. Let’s finish closing up and then head out. I’m exhausted.”

You make quick work of your task and when you’re ready to head out, Jimin is already waiting by the backdoor. He’s twirling his car keys with a finger and gestures for you to follow him. As you make your way to his car in the back parking lot, you catch sight of a lone figure standing next to a beat-up pickup truck. He’s leaning against it, his hands busy tuning a battered guitar.

Your breath hitches, and you immediately feel nauseous. Of course the incident has yet to end. The night is young, after all.

Jimin accidentally slams the backdoor closed, and the noise wrenches Jungkook’s attention away from his ministrations. Immediately, his eyes lock with Jimin before finally turning to you.

Your heart skips a beat as he gazes at you, your mind racing with a hurricane of emotions. You hadn’t expected to see him again so soon, especially not after the tumultuous encounter earlier in the day. What did you say earlier? That “the chances of seeing Jungkook was down to pretty much zero”?

The chances of seeing Jungkook is low, but never zero, your mind unhelpfully supplies.

There is a long period of awkward silence. Jungkook has his mouth slightly agape, his hand subconsciously lowering his guitar to rest against his truck. To your left, Jimin’s breathing quickens slightly. You, on the other hand, are trying your best not to projectile vomit in this damned parking lot.

Jungkook is the one who decides to break the delicate silence. “Is that you…?” he calls out hesitantly.

Don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my name don’t say my—

“Y/N,” Jimin interjects. His gaze is steel cold, uncharacteristic of the carefree boy. He slings an arm around your shoulders, gently nudging you towards his car. With your view still fixed on Jungkook, you miss the way Jimin shoots the other boy with a playful smirk. “C’mon, babe. Let’s go home.”

His words startle both you and Jungkook. “Wha—? Jimin?” you splutter, flushing at his flirtatious undertone. You want to curse him out for his strange behavior, but all the shock has left you mute.

Jimin all but shoves you into the passenger seat. But just as he’s about to slam the car door, you hear Jungkook call out your name. It’s fleeting and quiet, but you heard him crystal clear.

It breaks your spirit to hear him say your name. For a moment, you feel as though you are floating.

When was the last time he called your name? And so softly, too? If you could replay that moment over and over, would you be able to catch some signs of tenderness in his voice? When you close your eyes later that night, would your dreams show you that he had been gazing at you with yearning? Was any of it true?

As Jimin starts the car and pulls away from the curb, you steal one last glance out the window, only to find Jungkook staring at you with an arm outstretched. You continue to watch him until his figure disappears into the night.

You are quietly immersed in your own thoughts, the whirlwind of emotions intensifying your persistent migraine. Unaccustomed to silence, Jimin decides to give his unsolicited two cents, as per usual.

“Geez. Didn’t know you were into the whole starving artist type. If I’d known, then maybe I’d stop trying to brag about my fortune to you,” Jimin scoffs. “If loser buskers like him impress you, then maybe I should—”

“Would you shut the fuck up for once in your fucking life!” You explode, whirling to face him with a glare. Jimin has the audacity to flinch, but he doesn’t take his eyes off the road.

“What the fuck? Why the hell are you mad at me?”

“What the hell was that back there? ‘C’mon babe.’” You mimic his voice with a sneer. “Why on earth would you do that? Now he thinks that we…”

“Why do you care what he thinks? He’s your ex, remember?” Jimin cuts you off, but you can’t even refute him. He continues, “Figured as much. And judging by how spooked you’ve looked all day, I have to assume that he was an asshole, right? Why else would you accept my offer for a ride home if you really wanted to avoid seeing him?”

You shrink under his accurate assumptions. Damn, were you really that easy to read? “I… I mean, yeah but…” You clear your throat, still feeling wronged by him. “You didn’t have to act like a weird prick in front of him!”

Without warning, the floodgates burst forth. You begin to ramble, the thoughts that have been weighing you down pouring out of you in waves. “Jungkook was my ex, yeah. But he wasn’t an asshole. On the contrary, he was really sweet. The nicest guy in my school, at least. Wouldn’t hurt a fly, that sort of person. I dated him all throughout high school and he was a great partner.”

Jimin hums skeptically. “Then why the messy break-up?”

“It wasn’t messy!” You retort defensively.

“Could’ve fooled me!” Jimin snorts. “I also frequently act like a trembling kitten when I see my exes,” he says sarcastically.

You ignore him. “The reason we broke it off was because he wanted to pursue his dreams to become a singer after high school and I wanted to do other things. It was a mutual break-up! Honestly, I’m glad that we did. Too many girls wanted him and all the unwanted attention was getting on my nerves. I was glad to find a reason to end it all,” you explain, hoping you didn’t sound as shaky as you felt. What you said was mostly true, though you left out the important bits to yourself. Mostly to save some of your dignity intact. (Truthfully, you just didn’t want to admit things you weren’t ready to face.)

“Then if you’re so glad, why do you look like you wanted to shit yourself? It ain’t adding up,” Jimin fires back.

“It’s just—” you stammer, trying to find a reason why you were so bent out of shape after seeing him. “I-I was caught off guard, I guess. I knew he was pursuing his dreams to sing and all, so I expected him to leave the country. I wasn’t expecting to see him outside where I work, of all places,” you mutter lamely. You have your head bowed, biting your lips from the nerves. Again, you weren’t totally lying.

Jimin is silent for a moment, contemplating your admission. When he looks so calm like this, it’s hard to get a read on what he’s thinking. As Jimin speeds down the highway, the street lights illuminate his face in a strange way, and for once, he looks like a stranger. His steely expression makes you nervous, for some reason.

Eventually, he asks you a question you would never have expected. “And he just let you go?”

You pause. “What do you mean?”

“I mean…” Jimin huffs, irritated. “He just up and left without a fight? If I were him, I would have…” he trails off, his jaw clenching.

You don’t know where this Jimin came from. Under the moonlight, Jimin looks livid, but that can’t be right. Jimin, mad for you? Sure, you’ve seen his anger directed towards you, but this? Everything’s gotten so complicated, and you are just about ready to succumb to sleep and hope to wake from this nightmare.

The rest of the drive to your house is silent, save for the sounds coming from passing cars. Jimin pulls up to your apartment complex, his mysterious anger finally subsiding.

Just as you’re about to reach for the car door handle, Jimin places a hand on your shoulder. “Listen, Y/N. I’ll talk to management tomorrow morning. I know the manager well enough that I can probably convince him to do something about that ex of yours. He’s busking on private property, so it should be easy to get rid of him,” Jimin says, tone serious. He swallows, and for a moment you think he looks a little nervous. “If that’s what you want, I guess.”

His kindness scares you. You want to tease him, ask him where Mr. Bitchy and his $2000 Chelsea boots had gone. Anything to make this air of severe sincerity to abate. This new Jimin feels suffocating. But instead, you nod your head stiffly.

Jimin makes a pained expression for a moment, but it’s quickly replaced by his usual playful smirk. He slaps you upside the head, laughing heartily at your stunned face.

“Get some rest, babe. I’ll see you tomorrow evening,” he chuckles, reaching over to open the door for you. You scramble out into the cold city air, taking one last look back at him through his window.

He rolls it down, leaning forward to flash a toothy grin at you. “Hey, stop with all the angst, pookie. Wouldn’t want my favorite toy to get sick from overthinking. Who else would I bother at work if not you?”

You snort, both endeared and irritated in equal measure. He’s right. Everything was going back to normal tomorrow, you’re sure of it. You flip him off with a cheeky grin before making your way to your apartment.

Everything is going to be okay. Jimin says he’ll do something about it, and for whatever reason, you feel like you can trust him on this. Surely good fortune was soon to be upon you.

xxx

Jimin had texted you while you were still sleeping:

Spoke to Manager Jeong about your little problem. He said he’ll deal with him.

You breathe a sigh of relief, your body feeling significantly lighter. Your sleep last night had been tumultuous and restless. You feel more tired than you did when you went to bed, but all your weariness fades once you read Jimin’s text.

Once you make it to work, you find that management has gotten rid of Jungkook somehow. Added with the fact that your landlord has promised to look into repairing your shower (no guarantees, but you want to stay optimistic), today has been significantly better compared to yesterday. You even catch yourself humming as you set up your workstation, a small smile gracing your lips.

Jimin has a later shift this evening, and you find that you are somewhat disappointed for once. Your overwhelming gratitude is surely the only reason, otherwise you would never admit to wanting to see him at any given time.

You are in the midst of texting Jimin about all the good news when your manager passes by your desk. You are quick to pocket your phone away from his prying eyes, ready to defend that you aren’t slacking off… but his demeanor does not reveal any ire. In fact, he looks rather pleased for once.

“Good afternoon, Mr. Jeong. What’s up?” you ask, suspicious. You instinctively fold your hands behind your back; it is a subconscious effort on your part to keep your distance from him. Something about your manager always gives you a bad feeling when he looks a little too happy.

He grins widely. “Everything is going splendidly, Ms. Y/N. In fact, I think today might just be our lucky day!”

Never during your time working here has his and your luck ever coincided. “Our lucky day?” you echo.

“Why, yes! I spoke with your lovely friend and coworker Jimin this morning,” he starts, and immediately your alarm bells ring. You don’t even bother correcting him about the ‘friend’ part like you normally would. He continues, “He gave me a brilliant idea about the busker who had been performing in front of the restaurant the past two days.”

You nod slowly, not quite understanding. “Yes… The busker has been quite… the spectacle,” you say carefully. Somehow, you know calling Jungkook a ‘nuisance’ would have been the wrong choice in this instance.

Manager Jeong beams. “Exactly! You must have noticed the amount of people we served yesterday despite being a Monday. Additionally, almost all of those new customers requested outdoor seating no less!”

You feel the world tilt on its axis. What is he on abou—?

“What are you talking about?” you exhale.

“Don’t you think it would be even better for business if we got that busker to perform inside the restaurant? Why, it’s a brilliant idea and I don’t know why I didn’t think of it first! Our live band has always been missing something special, and perhaps a vocal accompaniment is the exact answer to our problem! Think about it, the atmosphere would be…”

Manager Jeong continues to prattle animatedly about his plans to your unhearing ears. There must be static or cotton plugging your head because you cannot possibly understand anything he is saying. Jungkook? Inside? Performing at your restaurant? But Jimin said he had spoken to the manager about getting Jungkook away from you! None of this makes sense.

“That makes no sense,” you verbalize, unknowingly cutting Manager Jeong from his monologue. He halts in surprise, as if now just realizing you were standing there (much less capable of interrupting or disagreeing with him). When he snaps out of it, you sense that familiarly sinister aura emerging from him in waves. You belatedly realize he must have mistaken your outburst as antagonistic.

“Well, Ms. Y/N. Whether it makes sense or not, we have hired Mr. Jeon to perform live at the bar stage for the next four weeknights. If, for some unknowable reason, I am incorrect,” he pauses to emphasize his words, “then his services will be promptly terminated. However, judging by his popularity from simply standing out in the cold and singing silly love songs, I am sure that worry is unwarranted.”

Behind you, the telltale sound of the main door swinging open catches you even more off guard. You do not even have the chance to turn to face the newcomer, only managing to register the gust of cold wind that accompanies their entry.

And so, you hear him before you see him.

“Hello?” Jeon Jungkook greets quietly.

Even without turning, you can imagine how he looks, how he stands, how he feels, how he tastes—

Manager Jeong claps his hands gleefully. “Splendid timing! Speak of the devil…” The older man nearly skips towards Jungkook like a youthful school girl, accompanied by his uncharacteristic squeals of excitement.

You can feel his gaze on you, almost tangibly. With nothing but your shreds of dignity left intact, you force yourself to face him.

He’s still so tall, is all your mind can helpfully supply as you stand feet away from your high school sweetheart for the first time in two years. He’s still wearing the same bucket hat from the night before, semi-shielding him from view. Despite that, you catch a small flash of white graze his bottom lip as he chews the soft flesh nervously.

“Hi, Y/N.” He addresses you directly, completely overlooking your manager without a single glance. Despite his hat, he still has his eyes lasered on you, as if not quite believing you were there. You hate how his attention makes you shiver all the same.

Even though he ignored your manager (which would have been a major dispute had you done the same), Jungkook still receives a friendly handshake in return. “Mr. Jeon! I’m surprised you know Ms. Y/N, though I’m sure you must have spoken with her when she was escorting guests to the outdoor seating the other day.”

You had actually gotten your co-hostess to seat all the outdoor seatings yesterday, but you weren’t going to mention that.

Manager Jeong claps him on the back, inadvertently causing Jungkook to stumble forward closer to you. He looks up at you then, eyes bugging out of their sockets like a rabbit caught in a bear trap. You stagger backwards in turn, barely concealing the anxiety on your face. Oh fucking hell.

Your manager is none the wiser, of course. “Well, this makes my job much easier! Since you’re both acquainted, I’ll let Y/N show you the ropes. The band doesn’t start their set until later in the evening, but you’re free to take a look at the stage and other parts of our facility in the meantime,” he says, chuffed. Meanwhile, Jungkook looks like he’s been shot by a freeze ray.

Then, your manager points a sharper gaze at you. “Ms. Y/N, treat our super star well. I know you won’t disappoint me.”

Fucking superstar… You can only nod in defeat. “Y-Yes, sir…” you whisper, clenching your uniform with your fists. It is the only way to keep them from shaking like a leaf. You watch as his figure disappears behind his office door, leaving you to fend for yourself. Powerless, you train your gaze to the floor, unwilling to meet Jungkook’s eyes.

But the nerves are taking control of your body, screaming at you to eject, eject, eject!

“Sorry, I have to go to the toilet,” you splutter quickly, almost tripping over yourself on the way to the restroom. You dimly wonder if Jungkook is going to think you’re leaving to throw up, but you can’t find any self-respect left to care. All you need is air and space to breathe—preferably away from him.

You slam open the stall, hardly checking to see if anyone else is around before locking the door shut. You sit on the toilet, plant your face between your knees, and scream.

Should you go home and use sickness as an excuse? But even if you did, you still had shifts every weeknight. You would have to see him eventually. You can pray all you want that Jungkook will be fired by the end of the week, but even your delusional mind can never fathom the idea that anyone would willingly want to send Jeon Jungkook away. Plus, you remember that the regular band that plays at the restaurant has been wanting to get a singer to accompany them for ages, and you know just how damn affable he can be. They are going to love him, and you hate him for that.

It is clear to you that there is no other option:

You pull out your phone to quickly open up Indeed on your browser, frantically hunting for any openings that might fit your measly qualifications. However, you have to pause in your search to deliberate. Wouldn’t it be better to move out of the country? You had been so naive to think that moving cities was enough distance between you and Jungkook—going across the ocean is the obvious answer. Should you start up your Duolingo lessons again and hope that you can somehow survive in a different continent with only a few dollars to your name?

You shut your phone in despair. Whether or not your plans of escape are feasible or not, in the short term, you are stuck with having to suck it up and just learn to ignore your ex-boyfriend’s presence. Surely you can force out a fake smile or two, especially with how much practice you’ve gotten after working with unbearably entitled customers.

Taking a step outside of the restroom stall, you head to the sink to splash some cold on your face. You stare at the mirror, confronted by a girl who looks two seconds away from having a Netflix Original-esque meltdown. You rake your fingers through your hair, doing your best to look like you aren’t about to rush into incoming traffic. To no one's surprise, it doesn't work.

“Okay, I got this. Just pretend like he’s just some guy, because at the end of the day, he is just some guy,” you mutter to your reflection. She looks back at you unconvinced. “He may have broken my heart into little bite size pieces, but who cares! HE’S JUST A GUY!” You repeat the phrase over and over again like a lunatic, in a desperate attempt to cognitively alter your brain chemistry.

At that moment, one of the other stalls in the restroom creaks open, and a girl you recognize who works as one of the dishwashers walks out. You both have a silent eye conversation as she quietly studies your crazed expression and crumpled work uniform.

Eventually, she awkwardly clears her throat, pointing to the only sink in the restroom. “Uh, sorry to hear about your, uh, guy problem. Could I use the sink please?”

You hastily back away, allowing her to take your spot. You don’t even have the energy to apologize for your spectacle, just bowing sheepishly to her before making your way back to the main hall. If she rats you out to the rest of your coworkers, then that gives you another reason to move out of the country. Maybe you should consider a name change while you’re at it.

When you exit the restroom, you half expect Jungkook to be waiting for you by the door, but find that he isn’t anywhere nearby. He isn’t by your hostess station either, and you thank your lucky stars for once. Even if your manager had asked you to show him around, you’re sure that Jungkook can find his way around just fine. Plus, the stage is at the corner of the restaurant and is sufficiently far enough that you wouldn’t have to make eye contact with him if you were careful.

You don’t know which greater entity has been messing with your sanity these past few days, but you hope that they can show you mercy just once—a brief reprieve, if anything.

You clasp your hands in prayer. I’ll eat more vegetables, I’ll remember to floss, I’ll call my parents from time to time… Just please let me survive tonight.

“Remember, Y/N… He’s just some guy,” you reiterate through gritted teeth. If a passing coworker happens to overhear your demented chanting, then you pay them no mind.

You walk towards the entrance, flipping the sign to open. You feel like a video game character when you glance at the clock, which signals the start of your shift. You can imagine the red bold text hovering above your head: 8 more hours until freedom.

This is just like playing Five Nights at Freddy’s, except you’ve only watched the movie and you suspect your life is probably worse than whatever Josh Hutcherson had to survive through.

You take a couple heaving breaths to brace yourself for what will be the longest eight hours of your life. You’ll show Jungkook just how well-adjusted and mature you’ve become. You are a professional, and not even a boy with angelic vocals will make you crumble. After all, what’s the worst he can do?

xxx

He could, in fact, do a lot worse than you thought.

“I have many regrets being born at all,” you mutter bleakly, three hours into your shift.

Jungkook had started singing only an hour ago, so you had been filled with false confidence at first when the restaurant was filled with nothing but ambient chatter and soothing jazz music. You felt more and more confident as the minutes ticked by and your anxiety slowly melted away. You even forgot that he was somewhere in the back, likely warming up or whatever it is that singers did before a performance.

However, your brief moment of courage shatters almost immediately when Jungkook finally takes the stage.

At first, you did your best to tune out his voice, but it’s especially hard when whoever was in charge of the sound system decided to crank his volume to an excruciating level. You wanted desperately to grab some napkins and shove them in your ears, but you suspected that your customers (and manager) would be unappreciative of that gesture. And so there you lay, forced to wallow in Jungkook’s melodious singing like a criminal strapped to an electric chair.

But how much more pleasant an electric chair would be! Why on earth was Jungkook so adamant to sing sad love songs the entire time? Why couldn’t he be like his other singing contemporaries, who loved to write songs about getting bitches and making money? At the very least, even if he wasn’t quite a platinum selling artist just yet, surely he was constantly sharing beds with anyone he pleases? Couldn’t he sing about that?!

(In the back of your mind, you wonder if it would be less painful to learn that Jungkook has slept with multiple people… Because then, it would mean that he had moved on while you stood alone on your island, stranded and yearning.)

You didn’t want to think too deeply about his lyrics. However, you're only human. So when your mind barrier failed and you caught snippets of his singing, you noticed a pattern. There was always a girl in his songs. She was omnipresent, and Jungkook was always pleading for her. Begging and aching and wanting. But most all… he was always repenting. In every song, he always whispered a pious apology.

You feared what would happen if you turned around in those moments of weakness. You were terrified of admitting something, of letting words spill that had been trapped in your throat for the better part of two years.

Lucky for you, salvation comes in the form of one Park Jimin. Though, can you even count him as your savior when he had also inadvertently caused your demise?

Jimin doesn’t even have a shift today, so you’re more than surprised when his bright blonde head stumbles through the restaurant doors. His expensive coat is askew and his signature designer shades are nowhere to be found. He is panic incarnate—an expression you have never seen on his face before.

“Holy fuck,” he greets, his chest heaving as he struggles to catch his breath. His profanity startles the elderly couple waiting to be seated, their glares menacingly sharp. To his credit, Jimin doesn’t even seem phased.

In lieu of an answer, you gesture vaguely behind you. You can imagine how dejected you must look. “Holy fuck indeed,” you sigh.

It takes a moment for Jimin to regain his bearings. He straightens up and pats down his coat, but his hair is still tousled by the wind. If not for the fact that he has a car, you might have thought he had run all the way here.

“I am so sorry. I didn’t know this was going to happen,” he starts, genuinely remorseful. “I texted Manager Jeong this morning and he said he’d get your ex to leave, but I didn’t think he’d offer the damn bastard a job!”

“Mind your language, Park. I’m still at work,” you scold. You try your best to ignore the scrutinizing gaze of the elderly couple. You lower your voice. “And don’t apologize. I know you’re an asshole, but I doubt you’d actually prey on my downfall like this. I know you’re not into public humiliation.”

Jimin brightens slightly at your joke, but he still looks like a guilty puppy who'd been caught shitting on the carpet. “Yeah, well. I happen to enjoy tormenting you and I won’t let some upstart Charlie Puth wannabe ruin your life. That’s my job.”

You smile wryly at him. “Well, that’s too bad. Jungkook’s been singing for a few hours now and I’m pretty sure Manager Jeong is going to keep him long-term. He might have broken my heart, but damn does he have vocals. I'm sure you'll have plenty competition when it comes to 'who can make Y/N's life feel like hell.'”

Jimin doesn't smile back, but instead studies your face for a moment. Then:

“Do you think if I offer to suck Manager Jeong off, he’ll fire him?”

“What the fuck?” You nearly yell out in surprise, your jaw dropping to the floor. Judging by his serious scowl, you know he's actually considering it. By now, the elderly couple waiting to be seated have left the premises.

Jimin continues, unperturbed. “I know he secretly wants me, based on how his wife seems to have a personal vendetta against me. He definitely wants a taste of my bus—.”

“Stop, I get it!” You wave your hands to make him shut up, heat rising up your cheeks. “Never say that string of words to me ever again. You have just inflicted ten years of suffering onto my poor brain.”

“Hey, I’m just offering solutions here!” Jimin pouts.

You stare at him, unimpressed. “Save it. You tried solving my problems already, so let’s just accept the fact that there’s nothing else for me to do but to suck it up. It’s time for me to put on my big girl pants for a change.”

“I mean, I could do all the sucking instead, but you’re being a little bitch about it,” Jimin mumbles. He’s lucky you didn’t hear him this time, lest you give him something to really whine about.

“Anyway, I guess this is my life now. Nothing to do except hope that he never tries to interact with me or I can find another job,” you shrug.

Over your shoulder, Jimin fixes Jungkook with an icy glare that is cold enough to give you the shivers. For the first time that entire night, you hazard a glance back at the stage, finding that Jungkook is already looking back at you.

You whip your head back forward, perspiration forming down your back. For fuck’s sake, this guy.

“Well, let me know if he tries anything. I’ll beat that little freak into the floor if he tries so much as breathing the same air as you.” Jimin huffs, puffing up his chest with false bravado. You can’t help but laugh at his empty threat, knowing that Jungkook could probably bench press Jimin without breaking a sweat. Jimin's muscles are only for aesthetics, after all.

“Don’t worry, he hasn’t actually spoken to me actually. He can keep singing his sad little love songs, I really don’t mind,” you say, like a liar. Jimin snorts, wholly unconvinced.

“Well, if you need me, I’m heading to the bar to grab a drink so I can stare at your ex uncomfortably until he leaves. See you!” Jimin bids you farewell with a cheery grin as he skips a little too happily inside the restaurant.

Why'd you have to befriend the largest lunatic in the city? You massage your forehead with a groan, willing away your growing headache.

The rest of the night trickles away like molasses. Jungkook continues to sing his heart out, save for an hour intermission where he presumably takes a short break. In his absence, you hear Jimin guffaw loudly, his laughter too sharp to be considered happy. You faintly hear Jungkook shy stutters in response, and you momentarily consider running in to interrupt.

Why? Did you want to save Jungkook from Jimin’s unnecessary harassment? It’s not like Jimin is doing it out nowhere, he was just trying to be… a good friend?

You pause to ponder. As much as you hate to admit it, you know why you want to help Jungkook. But Jimin on the other hand? Why did he want to help you? Questions begin flowing through your head like a whirlwind, and your nausea increases. God, when was your next therapy appointment again?

You save those questions for another day. As you look at your watch, there are only thirty minutes left until two in the morning. You tap your foot impatiently, smiling curtly at departing customers as the restaurant slowly emptied. As they left, you overhear some of your regulars giggling amongst themselves, whispering about the cute new singer and his charming demeanor.

The last nail on your coffin has been hammered. Yeah, Jungkook isn’t going anywhere anytime soon.

With the restaurant closing soon, it sounds like Jungkook is ready to end his set as well.

Throughout the night, Jungkook rarely made a point to speak. The only time he didn’t sing was when he quietly introduced the title of his next song and the band swiftly began the first opening notes. For his last song, however, Jungkook decided to give a little more backstory for his final song.

“Hello, everyone. Thank you so much for listening to me for the night,” Jungkook says with a soft voice, his tone awfully shy despite his powerful belting throughout the evening. The few customers left give him a warm round of applause, and you hear the familiar sound of his timid giggles spill from the restaurant speakers.

“This will be my final song for the night. Most of the songs I sang today were covers, but this one is an original. I…” He hesitates for a moment, and something pulls you to turn despite the alarm bells ringing in your ears. You face him, and just like earlier in the evening, he is already looking back at you.

This time, you don’t look away; he does. His eyes flit to the ceiling, and he licks his lips from nerves. “I… I wrote this song a long while ago. I’ve never sang it in public before and I never thought it would ever see the light of day. Until, well…”

He stops again. This time, he gestures to the guitarist in the band, silently asking to borrow it. With a guitar in hand, he smiles a little more confidently at the small crowd of people. He begins strumming the first few notes, and your heart stops. “I hope everyone had a pleasant evening. Get home safe and have a great rest of your week. My name is Jungkook, and this last song is called…”

Before he can sing the first line of his song, you make a break for it.

You slam the restaurant doors open, and the stinging cold air immediately pierces their fangs into your skin. Your coat is still inside, but you can’t bring yourself to reenter. You take a long breath, the chill barely registering in your mind with how loudly your heart is pounding in your ears.

Hearing the opening to that song was enough to bring you back in time, three years ago:

You are in his childhood bedroom, his walls littered with concert posters and his floor a mess with unfolded laundry and guitar picks. The afternoon sun is streaming through his windows, bathing him in gold. You have an exam the next day and he has cram school to go to, but you’ve both chucked your books somewhere on his desk, left forgotten.

He has his eyes closed, concentrated. You’re both on his small twin bed, squished together side by side and thighs touching. You have your head on his shoulder and he has his hands on his guitar. He strums a few chords experimentally and sings a melody that only the two of you know.

(Not anymore.)

“Are you writing a new song?” you ask, voice a little scratchy. Neither of you had spoken for the past few hours, just basking in the setting sun and Jungkook’s indistinct strumming. But now, his chords sound more sure, more certain of something.

“Yeah, I just thought of it,” he hums. He opens his eyes a smidge, a smitten smile on his lips. You mirror him.

“What’s it about this time?”

His brows furrow. “I’ve been trying to write about other stuff, you know? Namjoon-hyung tells me it’s important that songs have meaning and impact.” He pauses in his strumming, looking a little conflicted. “And I get what he means. Art is all about saying something, but… I can’t help that there’s only one thing I ever want to talk about. Is that so wrong?”

You chuckle, understanding what he means. You nudge your head against his cheek, grinning from ear to ear. The fluttering in your chest has become routine to you at this point, but he somehow always knows how to increase it tenfold. “God, you’re such a sweet talker. Really, Koo. There’s no need to serenade with love songs—I’m already yours.”

He looks back at you, brimming with tender affection. “I know,” he responds. Then, he takes a pen from his bedside table, and begins writing.

During those years of dating him, you always thought that If he was a waterfall, then you were a teaspoon. You desperately tried to be enough for him, but you’re barely able to fathom the depth of his devotion. Everything about him was excessive, and you could seldom understand how he managed to contain himself. He was born to share himself, to tear bits of his soul so that the world may understand him, love him. His songs were a testament that he was trying to do that, and you always felt so lucky to be able to receive him, wholly and fully.

How cruel was it that Jungkook uses that same song to rip open the barely healed scab on your heart, leaving you bare and stinging and raw all over again.

You have no idea how long you've stood there in the cold. It must have been barely a few minutes when Jimin finds his way to you. He wordlessly shrugs his coat off and places it on your shoulders, but you make no move to acknowledge him.

You hope your silence is enough for Jimin to infer that you are not in a conversational mood, but he’s nothing if not impatient. He forcibly pulls you to face him, his hands warm even through your clothing.

“Hey, you good? Did something happen?” He asks with barely concealed irritation, but it’s not directed at you. Still, you flinch at his scathing tone, shrinking in on yourself. In your daze, you vaguely notice his resemblance to an angry baby chick.

“It’s nothing. Go back inside, I’ll be right there,” you mumble lamely, weakly pushing him back towards the restaurant. Jimin does not budge, instead leveling you with a hard stare. This time, you’re sure his irritation is for you.

“You idiot, you literally ran out like someone was out to get you. Of course it’s not nothing,” he grouses.

You sigh tiredly, shaking your head at him. “We can talk later. It’s almost closing time and I just want to go home and sleep.”

Before Jimin can argue further, the door to the restaurant opens once more, but it isn’t a leaving customer.

“What the fuck? What are you doing out here?” Jimin all but shouts at Jungkook. He holds up an accusatory finger at him and uses his other hand to nudge you behind him as if to shield you.

Jungkook winces, instinctively stepping back. Despite being a few inches taller than Jimin, Jungkook’s timidness makes him look smaller. “I… I was just worried about her—”

“Don’t you have a song to finish in there? Talk about professional,” Jimin spits out. Jimin maneuvers you so that Jungkook can’t see you, but you manage to catch sight of how his gaze follows you unfailingly.

“I finished up my set. It’s closing time.” Jungkook responds coolly. He’s still a little quiet, but you can sense some of his natural composure rising to the surface. When he needs to be, Jungkook has been known to stand his ground—usually when it comes to matters involving you.

At this time of the night and after hours of mental torture, the last thing you need is to watch your two worst nightmares duke it out in front of your work establishment. You are beyond exhausted, and you hardly have the fortitude to withstand another minute of their voices ringing in your ears.

Your eyes well up with tears of frustration, causing the two boys to freeze up in panic. You don’t give them the chance to fuss over you; instead, you haphazardly wipe your cheeks before roughly pushing them back towards the restaurant.

“Get back to work, you idiots.” Your voice sounds warbled even to your own ears, but you push past your overwhelming emotions in favor of getting back inside to close up. Hell, you might even call in sick tomorrow, just so you can cry pathetically into your bowl of cereal in solitude.

“I’m not even on the clock today!” Jimin complains faintly, but you only push him harder.

When you all reenter, you walk back to your desk and pointedly ignore the two of them until they awkwardly float away from your orbit. Despite the distance they give you, their gazes are still fixed plainly on you and they feel like knives digging into your back.

Eventually, all the final customers of the day take their leave, and your remaining coworkers start dimming the lights and bidding their goodbyes. From the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook bowing respectfully to the band, who were giving him friendly pats on the back for a job well done. Jimin walks toward you, his car keys dangling from his left pinky.

“No thanks. I’ll take the bus home today,” you declare before he can offer a ride. Jimin opens his mouth like a goldfish, flapping his lips dumbly as he stares at you in shock. You have no idea why he’s so surprised, given how you’ve been making it obvious that you need some space.

He looks like he wants to argue again, but thinks better of it. A singular moment of restraint from Park Jimin, which is an act you once thought impossible. Maybe he does care about you more than you thought.

He stiffly nods at you, shoving his hands and keys into his pockets. He still has a frown on his face when he tells you to text him when you get home. You flip him off with a shaky smirk in response, a feeble attempt to bring some levity back to your now tense relationship. It works a little, and Jimin brightens up significantly. How simple-minded of him.

With a flippant wave, you leave work and head towards your bus stop. At this hour of the night, the streets are mostly dim, save for some street lamps and bars that stay open longer than your restaurant. There are always some people milling about, enough that you never feel too on edge about how late it is. Still, your bus stop is often empty, leaving you to mull over your thoughts in peace.

You are in the midst of jamming your earbuds into your ear when a presence makes itself known beside you.

Is it possible to go through the five stages of grief in under a second? You suppose not, but it’s hard to tell what sort of emotions swim through you when you come face to face with Jeon Jungkook again.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” you mutter under your breath. You pause the song playing on your phone to glare at him with as much venom as you can muster.

Jungkook holds up his hands in surrender, doe eyes wide like prey. “I-I’m heading home too! I’m not following you, I swear!”

You groan internally. Figures that you and Jungkook take the same bus home. But hold on— “Don’t you have a car? I remember you were parked near the restaurant the other night,” you note, squinting at him.

Jungkook looks sheepish as he rubs the back of his neck. “Oh, yeah. That car was my hyung’s. He lets me borrow it sometimes, but he needed it tonight.”

“Sure…” You level him with a skeptical frown. You remember his hyung, but don’t recall him ever owning a car. You aren’t even sure that his Namjoon-hyung is allowed by the country to drive a car, much less own one.

He could be lying, but you don’t want to give him an excuse to continue any conversation. So, you busy yourself with your phone and keep your head bowed away from him.

When the bus arrives, Jungkook makes it a point to sit a few rows behind you. Thankfully, he has a better understanding of social cues than a certain Park that you know. He leaves you alone, but your entire body still feels like a rope pulled taut. You have to convince yourself not to look behind you, your morbid curiosity scratching your insides raw.

You are in the home stretch now, and it’ll only be a few more minutes before you get to your stop and make your way to your safe haven. Hell resumes the next day and the next, but at the very least you’ll have your home to yourself. No one could take that away from you.

Again, this is where you learn that tempting fate is never a good idea.

When you exit the bus at your stop, you can hear his footsteps following you. It’s hard not to notice, especially when his large and distracting boots make such a distinct racket that makes him so Jungkook.

You hasten your pace towards your apartment complex, your shoulders hunched and hands shoved into your coat pockets in an attempt to hinder the bile rising from your stomach. He had promised that he wasn’t following you, but that proclamation seems to be standing on feeble legs with how long he’s been on your tail now.

Your street is filled with rows of low-rise apartment buildings, so you hope that if anything happens, you can yell as loud as you can and alert some compassionate neighbor to come to your aid. (Not that you think he would ever physically harm you, but… You can’t say the same about your mental state.)

Your home is just two buildings away from where you are, but Jungkook still seems determined to follow you to the end. You all but skip the remaining feet to your apartment entrance, your breath coming out in puffs as you finally muster up the courage to face your supposed stalker and give him a piece of your mind.

“If this is some convoluted way for you to find out where I live, then you aren’t being very subtle about it,” you say, your chin held up high despite the growing urge to vomit pathetically in front of your ex-boyfriend. You have your hand rested on the doorknob, just a moment’s notice away from bolting into your house if the need for a quick getaway arises.

To your surprise, Jungkook wasn’t following you as closely as you expected. He had stopped trailing you about two buildings down, his own hand poised on the door with a look of genuine shock.

You both stand there, staring at each other as mutual understanding dawns on the two of you.

Everyday, the universe learns of more creative ways to be cruel.

“Oh…” Jungkook’s voice falters. He looks simultaneously frightened and amazed, as if he too finds this entire situation unbelievably harsh. He swallows thickly, looking at you and back to his door in quick succession. “Well… This is a strange coincidence,” he murmurs.

You want to believe that this was his entire fault, that Jungkook had somehow managed to track you down to haunt you for the rest of your days. You want to believe that he’s a crazed stalker who is willing to find where you work and live so that every hour of your wretched life is filled with nothing but reminders of what-could-have-beens. You just want someone to blame instead of just the cosmos—you want someone tangible to hate so that your suffering can be given some sort of identity. You want to give your mourning and hurt a name so that you can learn how to heal.

You want to believe all of that, but it’s hard to do so when Jungkook looks so incredibly uncomfortable, as if he’d rather melt into the shadows and never be seen again.

In all your memories, you have never seen Jungkook look so small.

You heave a big sigh, your fingers grasping the door knob so tightly that you half-expect it to be dented from the force. You linger for a moment, your mouth opening but nothing spills out.

What is there to say? What do you say to an ex-boyfriend that you haven’t seen in two years, who is suddenly so deeply entwined in your life once more? Do you tell him goodnight? Tell him to stay away? Tell him to come home with you?

Jungkook looks equally as conflicted. His lips are pursed tight with words left unsaid. You aren’t sure whether you want to punch the confession out of his mouth or seal them up forever. It feels like eons before he finally breaks the silence with a mirthless laugh.

“I… I just wanted to say—back at the restaurant. When I sang that last song,” Jungkook begins, and his voice feels loud because of how empty the streets are. For a moment, you are reminded of a cathedral you once visited during a vacation, how sacred silence can be. The world holds its breath, waiting for him to speak.

“I meant it all. Every word. Every lyric. I never stopped…”

He trails off, shrugging his shoulders. He stares at you helplessly, but you don’t know what to say. You don’t want to listen any more, but your feet are planted to the ground. You’re frozen like a deer in headlights, forced to brace against him as he crashes into you.

He continues, “And when we broke up back then… I never wanted that to happen. You broke it off before we could even try something—and I hated how I didn’t fight for you harder. I let you misunderstand me because I was afraid you wouldn’t want to stick around if I didn’t succeed. I convinced myself that I was holding you down, but I never gave you—us—a chance. I never stopped regretting it since.”

“Me? Break up with you?” You echo incredulously. That statement is enough to break you from your trance, the telltale signs of indignation rising up your chest. “How dare you suggest—Me? You were the one who broke up with me, asshole! You were the one who broke my heart and decided to up and leave to god knows where! Only to miraculously respawn right next to me, groveling at my feet with sad love songs as if that’s enough for me to forgive and forget? Fucking entitled bastard,” you seethe.

Somehow, Jungkook manages to shrink more, like a bunny with his tail tucked between his legs. “Yes, you’re right that I broke your heart but… When I told you I was moving away to try and become a singer, it was always with the intention of staying together. I know it would have been difficult, but I wanted you to be with me through thick and thin. But when you misunderstood and took it as a break up, I let you go because, well… I was scared that it would happen eventually. Who wants to date a broke busking fool anyway?”

He laughs, but it sounds watery. He sniffles, and you hope it's only because of the cold. “I tried looking for you, but you blocked me everywhere and no one from back home seemed to know where you went. So I just accepted that we’d never see each other again… Until a few days ago, that is.”

A misunderstanding? Is that what everything boils down to? Years of trying to build yourself back up again, relearning what it means to be happy—all the fallen domino pieces in your life trailing back to a single moment in time? All because Jungkook was scared that you didn't love him enough?

You’ve never felt angrier in your life. You fear what you might say if you continue to stand outside there, face to face with the singular person strong enough to whittle you down to the bone. Jeon Jungkook is all soft smiles and sweet songs, but how come he’s always able to knock you off your axis? Few people on this earth can stitch you up and break you down in equal measure, but somehow, Jungkook manages to do all that and more.

Then, comes the guilt. Had it been all your fault? That you hadn't returned his love in equal measure? Had you secretly given up on the hope of being on his level? Always looking down on yourself: unable to move past your insecurities. Were you terrified of being his side piece, his girlfriend, forever?

Who are you, even? And where do you stand?

(Beside him, is what you want to answer. You don't know if that's the right choice.)

You can’t bear to look at him, least of all answer him. Without another word, you shove your house key into the door before slamming it shut despite the late hour. If you awaken any neighbors, you’ll apologize later. For now, all you require is sleep and hope that this has been all a terrible nightmare.

xxx

Reality is a bitter pill to swallow.

Jeon Jungkook continues to sing at the restaurant, and after only two days of repeat stellar performances, your manager decides to promote him as the official vocalist for the band. It hurts to admit that you're not the least bit surprised; you might have a hard time looking at him, but you can never deny his talent.

His song list has added a larger variety of genres ever since his first performance. That is to say, he isn’t always singing about lost loves and tragic couples every night. Perhaps it is due to some requests from customers or his other bandmates, but it doesn’t stop him from sprinkling one or two love songs into the mix.

He doesn’t sing any original songs ever again. That, at least, is a small mercy. He doesn’t make any moves to speak with you either, despite the daily awkward trips back home after the end of your shifts. Whether that’s because he’s given up on you (again), or he’s waiting for you to make the first move, you don’t know. Frankly, you don’t think you have the energy (nor courage) to do anything about it.

It’s a few weeks after Jungkook’s first performance at the restaurant, and closing time is approaching. You appreciate Friday nights the most because it means you’ll have two consecutive days to relax and avoid your problems. It’s also the busiest night of the week, when white-collar workers decide to drink and eat for as long as the night allows them. Busier nights mean more distractions, and you’re willing to deal with twenty Karens over one Jungkook.

During nights like these, your manager occasionally asks you to fulfill some waitress duties when there aren’t enough hands on deck. Normally you’d hate it, but earning the extra tips is enough to keep your grumbling to a minimum To this day, your landlord has yet to do anything about your broken shower, and you’ve finally conceded to the fact that you’ll have to be the one to do something about it.

As you inform the customers in your area that the last call for orders is approaching, you sneak a glance at the bar to see Jimin dutifully performing his job. That is to say, he’s flirting up a storm, getting women and men alike to blush from head to toe as he serves their drinks with a salacious smirk.

What a swindler, you think to yourself, snorting when he makes eye contact with you. He gives you a cheeky salute, mouthing something as he gestures to the back door.

Despite the semi-fight the two of you had all those weeks ago, Jimin was never one to argue about the same topic two days in a row. When you saw him the next day after your confrontation with Jungkook, Jimin was back to all smiles. You still catch him sending death glares towards Jungkook on most nights, but he doesn’t bring up the matter with you anymore. For that reason, you’ve gratefully settled back into your weird, banterful friendship with him. Even if there’s still a lingering tension between the two of you that you refuse to acknowledge.

You nod thankfully back at him, excited to go to his house and take a much needed shower. At this point, going to his house has become second nature to you, and it gives you an excuse to not see Jungkook at your regular bus stop every day. You have half a mind to never fix your shower for that reason, but of course there is still the problem of having to deal with Jimin every time you need to bathe. You hardly consider yourself an impatient person, but Jimin likes to toe the line far more often than necessary.

You’re down to your last two tables before you can close up shop when your manager suddenly barrels right into your path. You nearly drop your tray of dirty dishes to the floor, holding in a loud yelp as your suspiciously stern-faced manager halts you in place.

“Ms. Y/N, may I have a word with you for a moment? It’s regarding your paycheck for the month,” he barks, lips downturned. He appears disgruntled about something, and it sends a worried shiver down your spine. And here you thought Fridays are meant to be fun. He doesn’t wait for you to reply before he stalks back to his office, an unspoken command for you to follow.

You unload your dishes in the kitchen before making your way to his office. The small, dark room is cramped with overflowing file folders and coupons from multiple take-out places. You accidentally step on a stack of papers, and upon further inspection, seem to be a pile of applications for new hires. You distinctly remember complaining to him months prior about being understaffed and him replying that no inquiries were coming in.

As you approach, your manager shuffles through your coworkers pay stubs, and you notice yours and Jungkook’s on top of the piles.

Manager Jeong clears his throat. “Well, Y/N. It seems to be your lucky day. As you know, we split the tips based on your hours and what sort of duties you fulfill. With the new hire we have as our in-house singer, we’ve had to split it one way more to accommodate his arrival. However, he has recently requested to me that his portion be reallocated… to you, Ms. Y/N.”

Your jaw drops immediately. “I-I don’t understand, Manager Jeong,” you sputter.

Manager Jeong snorts, bemused by your reaction. “Don’t understand? Well, I suppose you’ll have to ask Mr. Jeon if you want his reasoning. Regardless, since we normally deposit your salary straight to your bank account, would it be alright if I hand you his tips in cash for now? He only informed me about his request an hour ago, and the accountant has already clocked out for the week.”

All you can do is nod dumbly back at him. With a huff, your manager presses a white envelope into your hands before promptly ushering you out of his office. “Well, that's settled. Out you go! Have a good weekend, Ms. Y/N. Don’t forget to lock the register before you leave!” He calls out before slamming his door in your face.

It takes you a moment to reanimate back to life. You stare at the white envelope for a long while, unable to fathom the scribbled out name of Jeon Jungkook replaced with your own name. Then, you crumple it into your fist before stomping over to where Jungkook and the rest of the band are in the middle of packing it up for the night.

Jungkook looks up from his guitar case when he senses you fast approaching. For a fleeting second, a smile graces his handsome face before it’s smacked away by your crumpled envelope.

“Keep your fucking cash, Jungkook. What the hell is your problem?” You fume, cheeks heating from agitation. Jungkook splutters for a moment, prying the envelope away from his face and looking at it in bewilderment. When he sees it clearly, recognition dawns on his face, followed by guilt.

“It’s just… my way of saying sorry, I guess.” He answers you meekly, neck flushing red in embarrassment. Behind him, the rest of the band grow silent at the scene before them, and you debate on telling them to mind their own business when they quicken their pace to leave.

“Well, keep your apology to yourself. There’s nothing to apologize for,” you correct him with a frown. To offer an apology is to offer accountability. You aren’t sure if you’re ready to hear him say that.

“No, it’s a sorry for… using you, I suppose.”

“Using me?” You repeat, dumbfounded. “For what?”

Jungkook smiles wryly back at you. “For inspiration?” he clarifies. For being the reason I can sing? He leaves that part unsaid, but you can almost imagine him saying it.

You feel heat rising to your cheeks again, but this time you aren’t quite sure if it’s from embarrassment, anger… or something else.

Unable to conjure up a response to his simple confession, you stomp away from him with a pounding heart and shaking hands. You continue the rest of your closing shift routine instinctually, your body moving on autopilot as Jungkook’s words continue to ring inside your head. When all is said and done, Jimin makes his way to your station with a questioning stare, but you wave him off in favor of stomping ahead of him to the parking lot.

In his car, Jimin rattles off about his latest exploits and purchases, his grating voice a comfort for once. You hum noncommittally during his stories when appropriate, but you suppose your usual indifference feels different, even to Jimin's untrained ears.

At his house, you drift to his bathroom immediately. You already have a shirt button undone by the time you get a handle on the door when Jimin’s hand stops you in place. You can feel his warmth emanating against your back as he slowly pulls the bathroom door close. With a tired sigh, you reluctantly turn to face him and find him standing closer than you expected.

He has an arm resting above your head, effectively caging you. You feel your shoulders sag. Damn, here comes another confrontation. Why can’t everyone just leave you alone?!

“Talk to me,” he says. No, he demands.

You push him away weakly, but he hardly budges. “Nothing to talk about,” you lie. Had you no filter, you’d be word vomiting all over the place ages ago.

Jimin groans, rolling his eyes in exasperation. “Enough with the emotional constipation. I’m here to listen, alright? No teasing or anything, I’m all ears and maybe a shoulder to cry on. Just don’t stain my Chanel top too bad,” he jokes.

You puff out a short breath—a sorry excuse for a laugh. “Don’t you get it? I don’t want to talk about it, and that’s that.”

“It’ll make you feel a lot better, though,” he offers.

You scoff. “What makes you think that? What if I just want to ignore all my problems forever and never grow from it? Is that so bad?”

Jimin pushes himself away from you, raising his hands in mock defeat. “You’re so fucking annoying. Can you stop running away from your problems and talk to me? Hell, talk to Jungkook for all I care! Just stop being a doormat and speak your mind for once in your damn life!”

“What are you, my therapist?” You brush past him, shower all but forgotten. You begin toeing your shoes back on, ready to head home tired and smelly. At the very least, you won’t have to deal with this stupid annoying asshole any longer.

Jimin strides back towards you, but for once he doesn’t do anything to forcibly stop you. Jimin has always been gruff with you, not afraid to push and pull you in any which direction. It’s part of the reason why you can’t take him seriously, even though you’ve recently realized why he was always being such a prick towards you—

“Yeah, I’m not your therapist. But for better or for worse, I’m your friend and I—I fucking care about you, alright? And it sucks seeing that good-for-nothing stick his nose in your business and act like he can do anything without any repercussions.”

Is Jimin being for real right now? “With how often you look at yourself in the mirror, you’d think you’d be better at introspection,” is all you say to that. You shove your feet into your shoes, not caring that you’ve probably put them on wrong. Maybe it’s because it’s Friday and the fatigue from the week has finally settled deep in your bones, but you can’t help but leave one last scathing remark to drive the final nail in the coffin.

“You know, if you were a little nicer to me, maybe I would talk to you. Hell, maybe I’d like you back. But no, just keep being your domineering, asshole self and I’ll keep being the same fucking doormat bitch you know and love,” you spit, turning towards the door and away from his face. You’re not even curious to see how he reacts. “I don’t need protection, alright? When I tell you to stay out of my business, you stay out of it. So don’t try and pretend to be my knight in shining armor.”

There’s an ocean of silence, enough to hear a pin drop. The urge to apologize surges to the surface, but you stamp it down. He’s petty all the time, so now it’s your turn.

Okay, maybe that’s a little too mean on your part, but you’re exhausted. Perhaps it is true when they say you should never act on your anger when it’s past midnight. But can anyone blame you? You’re only a girl, and girls need to snap too.

When he responds, his voice sounds weak. Park Jimin, weak? It's almost unthinkable. "Why don't you trust me?"

Isn't it obvious? you want to say. But some mercy remains within you. You'll pick up the pieces another time. Instead, you rasp out, “Good night, Park. I’ll see you on Monday.”

The walk of shame back to your house is long and arduous. Your phone dings thrice, likely signaling texts from Jimin, but you turn it off without checking for sure. For once, the weight on your shoulders is slightly lighter. You huff out a dry laugh, realizing belatedly that maybe Jimin is right—maybe speaking your mind has its benefits.

There’s a small park in your neighborhood that you always pass by. You don’t remember the last time you spared it a second glance, but this time you notice a lone figure swinging back and forth, arching dangerously higher than what you would consider safe. From a distance, all you can make out are the person’s comically bright boots, and you have a sinking suspicion you know who it is without seeing their face.

Cosmos, or whoever it is that controls my life, why must you braid our strings of fate so tightly? You ask, but as always, it refuses to reply.

Against your better judgment, your feet bring you closer towards him. He has his back towards you, his feet pumping him higher and higher and you half expect him to swing in a perfect arc like a gymnast on parallel bars. You have to keep your distance a bit, lest you get the wind knocked out of you by his signature stompers.

You clear your throat, and the boy stops mid-swing and nearly catapults himself into the spongey, playground floor. Hunched over and wheezing, Jungkook directs his shocked eyes at you with a comical stare.

You raise a hand in greeting. A peace offering, maybe. “Hello—”

“I swear I’m not stalking you!” Jungkook interrupts as he scrambles to his feet. He bows deeply in remorse, the action so endearingly him. “S-sorry, I’ll make my way home now…”

“I don’t own the park, Jungkook. I was just saying hello…” You snort, wringing your hands uncomfortably. You grind your shoes into the ground, the sound of crunching leaves breaking the still air. “A-and… to say sorry, for earlier.”

“Sorry?” Jungkook repeats, confused. When he realizes what you mean, he waves his hands frantically. “No, no! Don’t be sorry! It was my fault for being so inconsiderate. I understand how you might misconstrue my actions, and I made things more awkward. I’ll consider your feelings more in the future…”

In the future… You cough, unwilling to meet his bright and honest gaze. If you stare too long, you fear you might go blind.

“I come here to the park often, when I feel too cramped inside my apartment,” Jungkook explains, frantic energy radiating off him in waves. He’s gesticulating too much, a clear sign that he’s trying to hide his nerves. You remember how he would do the same thing in high school, whenever he had to present his projects in front of the class.

You hold a hand up, a weak attempt to get him to calm down. “I’m not here to interrogate you. I just wanted to…” What is it that you wanted to do?

The two of you just stand awkwardly like that, similar to a few weeks ago when you discovered you were neighbors. You’re grasping at straws in your head, both conflicted for wanting to tell him something and running away. Even if you were to talk to him, what would you say? There’s a reason you told Jimin you didn’t want to talk—frankly, it’s mostly because you have no idea what to say or feel.

But you do know, the universe responds.

I ask you questions all the time, and this is how you respond?

Either that, or you’re going insane, the universe remarks.

Jungkook pulls out his phone, his fingers fumbling as he unlocks it. He takes a furtive step towards you, but thinks better of it. There’s a few feet of distance between you, but it feels like worlds apart. Close and yet so far. You recall how you’d easily pull him towards you in the past, how being together felt as natural as breathing.

“I know you absolutely hated it the last time I played my original song at the restaurant, so I refrained from performing any ever since that night. But that didn’t stop me from writing them. I was fine with keeping them locked in a vault forever, but…” He hesitates, searching you for any signs of discomfort. When he sees the carefully blank look on your face, he continues with trepidation.

“Can I try a song for you? You don’t have to say yes, and you’re free to tell me to fuck off and I’ll never even look at you ever again. Just…” He flails one last time, a choked sob making its escape from his throat.

Are you hopeless for wanting to say yes? Or were you reverting back to your old self who relied on him and believed in him so heavily? If you wanted him out of your life for good, you would have quit your job at the first sight of him. Maybe you were masochistic. Or maybe were you hopeful for a new start, a chance to rekindle a relationship that you’ve secretly always wanted to repair.

You have so much life ahead of you. Many more mistakes will be made and maybe they’ll haunt you when you’re older. But would it really be such a terrible gamble to take one more chance?

You nod, and seal your fate.

He presses play, and the soft strumming of a guitar fills the empty playground air.

Not for the first time, you wonder how it can be so easy for Jungkook to be so… honest. He spills his heart in every song that he writes, and you know he’s never been a great liar. He can’t help it, being genuine is in his DNA. This crashing waterfall, this boy with overflowing emotions—he sings what he thinks but feels terrified because of it. You might not understand his honesty, but you know that fear. You know it all too well.

He beholds himself to you—raw and unfiltered. A little battered and bruised, but still Jungkook. Behind everything, still the boy you’ve been yearning for.

Maybe this song is what will give you enough confidence to admit everything to him, too. As you stand there, listening to his mellow voice sing confessions to no one but you and the stars, you think you grow a little more courageous that day.

Maybe you won’t be able to tell him tonight. Maybe not tomorrow, nor next week either. But as you gaze back at his hopeful eyes, you know deep in your heart that you’ll find the words you’ve been looking for.

“I’ll keep waiting for you, if you let me.” Jungkook’s voice floats gently to you, and settles in your open palms. This time, you don’t let go

xxx

Months later, Jungkook stops working at the restaurant when an offer from a major record company arrives in his mail. Apparently, a big shot from the local radio station had pitched him to an employee at that company and they were all pleasantly surprised to find a hidden gem at a random bar and restaurant.

In your apartment, you stare outside your window and to where his home is—well, where it was. You wonder if he finished packing his things, ready to make the big move tomorrow. You stand up with a stretch, sparing a glance at your still broken shower. It would be nice to have one more shower at his place… And after that? Maybe you should start looking for a nicer apartment; somewhere far away might be nice.

Your phone rings, and you see his contact photo light up your screen. With a smile, you answer.

“Come over, if you want. I won’t make you,” Jungkook assures you.

You laugh lightly, already halfway out the door.

#bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #bts x reader #jungkook x reader #bts reader insert #bts fanfiction #bts imagines #bts fluff #bts angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jeon jungkook #jungkook #bangtan #bts #bts fanfic

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daisynik7 · 3 months

Text

Make Me Sweat

Pairing: Aoi Todo x f!reader

Rating: Explicit - MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!

Word Count: ~2.5k

cw: written with a curvy reader in mind, canon-divergent (post-Shibuya but a happy one), all characters are 18+, explicit language, smut – cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, spit play, PIV sex (cowgirl position, mating press), breeding kink, praise kink, pet names (sweetie, sweetheart, baby, pretty girl, good girl), creampie

Summary: With the start of the new year, you make it one of your resolutions to become more active. You begin at your apartment's fitness center, where you run into your muscle head, loud-mouth next-door neighbor, Aoi Todo. He offers his gratuitous advice, annoying you at first. But when he suggests a particular kind of workout, it piques your interest enough that you can't refuse.

Author’s Note: I used metric units (kg) to describe the weights. Also, I am no expert in lifting so please take all of this with a grain of salt LOL. I just know that canonically, these characters are fucking STRONG. I stopped with the tag list on this one bc technically this was a bonus fic and I wasn't sure if anyone wanted to be tagged in these. With that, please enjoy some shameless smut about our favorite JJK himbo! Divider credit to @/cafekitsune.

part 6 of to all the boys who live next door anthology series

When you said you wanted to start exercising more, you weren’t expecting this: being bounced up and down your next-door neighbor’s impressively huge cock. Yet, here you are, getting pounded with your ass slapping lewdly on his thighs. His big hands dig into the sides of your belly, his lips on the skin of your neck, voice gruff and husky. “Told you, didn’t I?”

Let’s rewind to a few hours earlier.

You haven’t been prioritizing yourself lately; your obligations during the day drain all the energy from you and your bed is always so enticing for a nap. When the new year approaches, you make it one of your resolutions to be more active. The gym in your apartment complex is finally open after being renovated the past three months and now, there’s really no excuses when the opportunity is just five floors below you. Your forego your usual nap and suit up in your favorite workout clothes, heading down the elevator to the fitness center.

Luckily, it isn’t crowded; the only other people inside are Aoi Todo, your neighbor, and his pink-haired buddy, Yuji. They’re both at the weights section, Yuji doing squats with the barbell while Todo spots him, yelling at him encouragingly. “Come on, brother. Hold it, hold it! You got this!”

Yuji grunts, holding the deadlift for as long as possible, eventually dropping it to the floor with a loud thud. Todo claps emphatically, beaming at him. “That’s what I’m talking about!”

You smile to yourself, amused at Todo’s contagious enthusiasm. When he notices you, he gives you a nod, which you return, slightly embarrassed for being caught watching.

Have you mentioned yet how fucking ripped he is? Today, he wears a loose tank, arm holes cut low to show off his extraordinary physique. Arms bulging with muscles, an incredibly large chest, a well-defined eight-pack. He’s built like a Spartan warrior, ready for battle, destined for victory. It’s impossible to ignore a body like his, even more impossible to ignore his eccentric attitude, which gets on your nerves when you have to listen to his noisy demeanor on the opposite side of the wall.

The cardio section is on the other side of room, so you make your way to one of the treadmills, setting the level to a walking pace for a quick warm-up. Before you put your headphones in to listen to music, you eavesdrop of their conversation, observing them from your peripheral.

“Good shit, brother,” Todo says, massaging his shoulders affectionately.

Yuji scratches his head, grinning. “Still got work to do to match my PR. After Shibuya, my strength hasn’t been the same.”

“You’re still the strongest fucker I know. Besides me, of course,” Todo adds, chuckling. “Spot me before you go.”

They replace the already notable weights with what you suspect are heavier ones. Yuji whistles through his teeth. “300. You’re losing your touch, don’t you think?” he teases, nudging him in the ribs.

Todo digs into a container of powdered chalk, coating his fingers with it. “I’m taking it easy today. Don’t want to over-exert myself in case something exciting happens later.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

He grabs on to the barbell, smirking. “I don’t know yet. We’ll see.” Maybe it’s your imagination, but you can almost swear that his eyes meet yours for a split second in the reflection of the mirror.

You continue to observe as Todo easily deadlifts 300 kg, as if it weighs nothing to him, repeating this ten times without breaking a sweat.

Yuji laughs, helping him rerack. “That’s crazy.”

Todo pats his back. “You’ll get there soon, brother. Once you’re fully recovered, you’ll be lifting more than me, I’ll make sure of that.” His unwavering support is actually endearing. Sure, he can be obnoxious, but this side of him is charming.

Unfortunately, this sentiment doesn’t last long. Once Yuji leaves, Todo decides to choose the treadmill right beside you, purposefully neglecting the surrounding unoccupied cardio machines. You’re still at a walking pace, eyeing him suspiciously as he stands there, blatantly watching you with a cocky grin. “Did you enjoy the show?”

Avoiding his gaze, staring at the console in front of you, you mutter, “Excuse me, but I’m trying to focus here.”

“Focus on what? Walking?” he scoffs, leaning on the handrail nearest to you. “You’re not going to get far if you keep going at a snail’s pace.”

You roll your eyes, finally looking at him. “So what do you suggest, Oh-Wise-One?”

It’s meant to be sarcastic, but of course, he thinks you’re genuinely asking. “You’ve got to alternate between high intensity and low intensity. Sprint for thirty seconds, then walk for a minute to cool off. Then repeat. Simple as that.”

As much as you appreciate the gratuitous advice, you’re already familiar with high intensity interval training. You’re just nervous to actually do it, not confident in your running abilities. “I’m not a good runner,” you admit.

“I’m sure that’s not true. Come on, show me what you got.” He crosses his arms over his pecs, waiting.

Deciding it’s better to relent to him rather than argue, you brace yourself, upping the speed so that you’re doing an easy jog.

“You can do better than that!” he hollers, reaching for the controls to increase the level, making the track move faster and faster. You’re sprinting full speed now, lasting about thirty seconds before you swat him away, tugging at the emergency shut off cord to stop it.

You catch your breath, glaring at him, sweat starting to bead on your forehead. "What the fuck, are you trying to kill me?!"

He’s unfazed by your outburst and oblivious to the asshole move he made. “Don’t be so dramatic. You did great. You have really nice form.”

You don’t let his compliments dissuade you from being angry at him. “You can’t just do that without any warning. I’m still getting used to all this.”

“You’re right, I’m sorry,” he apologizes. “I won’t do that again.” He watches you take long sips from your water bottle, scanning your figure up and down. A coy smirk spreads across his face. "You know, if running ain't your thing, there are other workouts we can try that might suit you better."

You continue to drink, gradually regaining your composure. "Like what?"

He leans in close to you, breath hot on your ear. "Sex."

You choke on your water, using your towel to wipe the mess. Ready to give him an earful, he hops off the track, walking towards the exit. "If you want to work up a real sweat, you know where to find me. I promise to make it worth your while.”

And with that, he's gone, leaving you speechless. And intrigued.

~~~

After dinner, you take a long shower, Todo’s unconventional suggestion replaying continuously in your mind. You’re almost certain it’s a ridiculous joke, though the more you analyze it, the less ridiculous it seems. In fact, by the time you’re drying off in front of the mirror, checking your reflection carefully, you’re seriously considering it. You’re not particularly tired from earlier, so maybe you have room for one more workout. And hey, if the offer still stands, why not take it?

You slide into a different pair of leggings, one that shows off your curves, and slip on a t-shirt, fulling prepared to exercise. In your running shoes, you walk the few steps next door and knock twice. When he doesn’t answer within the first ten seconds, panic sets in and you’re tempted to turn on your heel to retreat. Before you can, the door swings open and you’re greeted by Todo’s bare bust. He smirks, not at all surprised to see you standing in front of him. “Hey.”

Swallowing the thick saliva gathering on your tongue, you let out a meek, “Hello.” His enormous frame towers over you and you can’t help but salivate at the sight of him. You always assumed he’d be the type of guy to walk around shirtless in his apartment. Not that you’re complaining.

He beckons you inside, closing and locking the door shut behind him. “Can’t stop thinking about it, huh?”

You roll your eyes at him, cracking a smile simultaneously. “Well, it’d be rude to turn down such a generous offer, right?”

He lets out a small laugh, stepping towards you, gripping at your hips to pull you into him. “I knew you were a smart girl.”

You’ve severely underestimated how much bigger he is than you until this moment, as you peer up at him eagerly. “Todo.”

He bows his head down, mouth grazing your ear. “Aoi.”

“Aoi,” you repeat, breath hitching.

“Good girl,” he praises, making you shudder with anticipation. “Tell me exactly what you want and I’ll give it to you.”

You paw at his chest, admiring his sculpted muscles, pressing your fingers into them without even making a dent. “I want you to give me that workout you promised me.”

“Yeah?” he croons, his noticeable erection strained in his sweatpants. “You want this fat fucking cock, don’t you?”

He’s as vulgar as you imagined he’d be and it only spurs you on. You link your arms around his neck, on your tippy-toes to meet him for a kiss. Instead, he hoists you up, holding you with his hands below your ass, your legs wrapped around his waist. His boner throbs as you buck your hips on him, desperate for friction on your aching clit. “You feel it, don’t you?” he purrs, grinding you against him. “That’s all for you.”

He carries you into the bedroom, kissing you sloppily with his massive tongue invading your mouth. When he can’t take it anymore, he tosses you onto the mattress, stripping his clothes off swiftly, you doing the same. He crawls on top of you, ogling your naked body, a lustful gleam in his expression. “You’re so fucking hot.”

“You’re so fucking big,” you blurt out in response, not knowing a better word to describe him. Because everywhere you look, Aoi Todo is big. Big biceps, a tremendous torso, a huge fucking cock ready to fill you the fuck up. You spread your legs open for him, practically begging for him to fuck you.

“Look at this perfect pussy,” he coos, face inching closer to your cunt. He hocks a thick wad of spit directly onto your clit, smearing it with his tongue. “So wet for me.”

You squirm beneath him, unable to control yourself. “Fuck, Aoi,” you swear, toes already curling from the sensation.

“I’m going to make you come first. Make this pussy extra creamy for my dick. Is that okay, sweetheart?” He massages circles into your clit with his thumb, looking up at you from between your thighs.

“Yes,” you whine, trembling with arousal.

“Good girl,” he says again, and you realize how fucking sexy it is when he praises you like this. “Can I finger you too?”

“Oh god, yes,” you moan, growing impatient, needy for whatever he’s willing to offer you.

With his lips latched to your clit, he teases your entrance with his middle finger, slowly sliding deeper until he bottoms out. He adds another digit, pumping inside you while he sucks on your bud, tongue swirling around it. You rock your hips against his face, greedy for more. Todo hums, encouraging you, the vibrations spurring you on until it’s too much. You come for him after a few more strokes, gushing all over his face. You reach down to grab his hair, trying to pry him off you, but he’s obviously way stronger and more resilient. “One more,” he muffles, chin shiny with your slick, his tongue flicking your clit. “For me.” He flashes you a cocky smirk that makes him even more impossible to deny.

You throw your head back into the pillows, staring up at the ceiling, hazy-eyed from the pleasure. The squelch of his fingers in and out of your wet cunt is obscene, combined with the shameless moans pouring out of you. After your second climax, or maybe it’s the third (you’ve lost count), he finally eases off you, slurping his digits clean to swallow up your juices. “You’re doing so good for me, pretty girl.” He strokes his cock in his fist, tapping the glistening head on your swollen clit. “It’s going to feel fucking amazing.”

You hum, the only response you can muster in this fucked-out state.

“How do you want it, sweetie?” He lifts you off the bed, having you straddle his lap. “You want to ride me?”

You nod, resting your head on his shoulder, yearning for anything. “Yes.”

“Fuck yeah,” he growls, slapping your ass before guiding his cock into your slippery cunt. You gasp, astonished by the extraordinary girth of him filling you up to the hilt. “You’re swallowing me up.” He spreads your cheeks apart, squeezing your ass in his grip. “That’s my girl.”

You gaze at him, pressing your forehead to his, sticky with sweat. “Fuck me,” you whimper, kissing him fiercely, completely enraptured by him.

He does, bouncing you on his lap, hitting your sweet spot over and over until you’re unraveling for him once more. “Told you, didn’t I? Told you I’d make it worth your while.”

Whatever semblance of rationale you had is gone. All you can think of is Todo’s manhandling you like a fucking rag doll, pliable and yielding to his every touch. Before you reconsider it, you spout the words, “Breed me,” wishing nothing more but to have his hot load leaking out of your cunt.

As if he wasn’t already feral enough, he most certainly is now, planting his feet on the bed to fuck up into you faster and harder. “That’s what you really want? You want my fucking seed in you? Oh fuck. I’ll give it to you, then. I’ll give it to you so fucking good.”

It happens quickly; you’re on your back again, folded nearly in half, knees to your chest, Todo fucking you in a mating press like his goddamn life depends on it. The mattress creaks noisily with each savage thrust he delivers. Sweat drips from his face onto yours as you kiss each other passionately, his massive body surrounding you as he floods your womb with his cum. “Fuck, milk it all out of me baby. That’s it. That’s my girl.”

You stay like this for a moment, allowing yourselves to catch you breaths and cool down. This really was a workout. Todo takes his time, reluctantly pulling out and watching his cum ooze out of you.

“I can’t believe we did that,” you sigh, hiding your face in the pillow.

He gets comfortable beside you, giving you a smooch on the forehead. “Honestly, I’ve been wanting to do that for a while now.”

“Really?” You look at him, cupping his cheek gently, wiping the perspiration off his brow with your thumb.

He smiles, nuzzling into your palm. “Yeah.”

“Then maybe we should make this a regular thing,” you suggest as you snuggle into his arms.

“Sounds like a plan to me,” he agrees, embracing you.

And just like that, you have yourself a new and very, very personal trainer.

#todo aoi #todo x reader #todo jjk #todo smut #todo aoi x reader #todo aoi smut #aoi todo #aoi todo x reader #aoi todo smut #aoi todo x you #jjk x reader #jjk smut #to all the boys who live next door #todo x you

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fuckyeahgoodomens · 3 months

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David and Michael talk about the S2 Finale 🥺

David and Michael interview with Kim Roots from TVLine, about the S2 finale. July 2023 [S2 Promo: C: I could always rely on you. You could always rely on me. We're a team, a grou p. And we spend our existence pretending that we aren't.]

KR: What happens in the finale between Crowley and Aziraphale is something that some fans have been yearning for a very long time. Was there a pressure? Did you have any conversations about what this might mean to the fandom? Talk to me a little bit about like when you found out this was going to happen and kind of your initial reactions.

Michael: Well, you know, the relationship between Aziraphale and Crowley, obviously, is something that the audience seemed to really warm to, and obviously was part of why the idea of doing Season 2, you know, seemed like it could be something that could work. Following how that relationship develops has been something that the audiences have really got into. So we've taken that very seriously, and Neil takes it incredibly seriously. So tracking that relationship and that journey between them, because obviously on the surface, they seem like they're complete opposites, and yet clearly, they're kind of compelled towards each other in all kinds of ways. And now that they've been being cut off from their respective head offices, they only have each other, so that pulls them together a lot more, doesn't it? And the stakes are always high around them, and they sort of end up going on a journey together, but it takes them to different places and where we leave things at the end..

David: Well, that's the thing. Nothing is resolved. So whatever happens and whatever you may have seen at the end of Episode 6, it's also important to note that that doesn't finish the story. In fact, that just sor of ruptures things.

Michael: It's the start of another story.

[S2 Promo: A: I forgive. C: Don't bother.]

David:I think you have to be careful if there is something delicate that has generated a lot of excitement about where will that end up. As soon as you end up there, as soon as you finish that story, it's all over, isn't it?

Michael: You don't really want to find out who killed Laura Palmer. [Twin Peaks series plot]

David: Yeah, exactly. Exactly.

KR Like you said, David, there is no resolution, which made me very happy because this feels primed for a third go-around at some point. Have you had any conversations about that with Neil about possibly keeping the story going?

David: Well, if you've seen where Series 2 ends, there's certainly the teasing of further tales to come, isn't there? Whether we will ever find out what those tales are is in the lap of... well, certainly not on our lap.

Michael: No, it's on the laps of the audience.

David: Laps of the audience, yes.

Michael: We are sitting firmly...

David: In the tops of the audience as it streaming.

Michael: Yeah, it's not in my lap. I know that. When we first started Series 1, we always knew that the story went a lot further because Neil and Terry had talked about it. They just hadn't written it down, but we knew there were ideas, and we have not yet reached the end of those ideas.

David: No.

Michael: You know, if we get a chance to tell more of this story, it does already exist.

David: Yes.

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aphroditelovesu · 6 months

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Yandere Golden Trio Headcanons (Platonic)

❝ 🔮 — lady l: another Harry Potter headcanons because my mind is buzzing with ideas yayy!! I hope you like it and forgive me for any mistakes! 💜

❝tw: obsessive and possessive behavior, jealousy, overprotection and implicit murder.

❝ 🔮pairing: yandere!golden trio/harry potter, hermione granger and ron weasley x gender neutral!reader.

You probably did not know, but they were obsessed with you from the first day of class at Hogwarts. All of you were new and some strangers to this world and they needed something they could cling to, something that would not leave them and that someone was you.

You met on the train. You and Hermione sat together and talked a little until you went with the other boys, at her insistence, you went along and that was when you met Harry and Ron.

They were ecstatic to discover that you were new too and couldn't wait to be with you at Hogwarts. Once you were selected into a house other than theirs, they would sulk and even get angry. But if you were a Gryffindor like them, there would be no problem to deal with.

They are incredibly possessive of you and they will get upset and irritated when you are with someone other than them, especially if it is someone like Draco Malfoy. You are theirs, you had become theirs since the first conversation on the train and you would continue to be theirs.

Harry is the least possessive, but he is still very jealous of you, even with his own friends. He is very kind and polite, so loyal to his friends and so adored, there is no bad intention in his actions and his thoughts are all about you. He needs to protect you, take care of you because he can't bear to lose you.

He is very calm and rarely loses his temper, Harry just wants to protect you and take care of you. He can't lose anyone else and he can't lose you. Harry is very overprotective and suffocating at times, wanting to know how you are and what you are doing. He's just looking out for you like a good friend would.

Ron is very possessive and suffocating, his insecurity will take him to extremes just to get your affection. He is very lively and optimistic, he is always the one who will lift you up and make you laugh every time you are feeling bad. He cares for you very much and secretly longs to be your favorite.

He is very insecure deep down and fears being abandoned by you, and he can't have that. Ron likes to keep you with him, always keeping you safe and secure, and most importantly of all, just with him. Ron is very spontaneous and lively, desperately wanting to be loved by you.

Hermione is the most balanced, or so she likes to think. She is very intelligent and kind to you, always making sure you are well and happy. Hermione likes to stay by your side in silence, whether it's reading a book or talking about something. She would love to help you with your studies, even if you don't need it, but it would make her very happy.

She is very possessive and manipulative, having seen you first, she should have more right to you. Hermione is fiercely protective of you and jealous, wanting to be the only one to have your attention. She is very careful about you and is always trying to help you, even if you don't need it, but this helps her feel needed. Hermione is a big fan of hers, always rooting for you.

They are extremely protective of you and they are willing to do anything for you, including using forbidden magic. Harry is very suffocating and needs constant reassurance that you are okay, Ron desperately wants your attention and affection and Hermione needs to care and guide you.

You will always be theirs. There's no way to walk away, even if you wanted to. They would never dare to harm you in any way, but if you are resolute in doing things that they vehemently disapprove of, punishment will be meted out. They don't want to scare you, that's the last thing they want, but they have limits.

At any sign of conflict or danger you will be removed. It doesn't matter if you know how to fight or are good with spells, they won't risk your safety and your life. And if you are hurt, they will go into a frenzy of rage and worry and will not stop until they find the culprit and deal with them. No one can hurt you.

Harry would always protect you and be by your side, holding your hand if you needed it. Ron will always cheer you up and say the right things to make you happy and Hermione will always guide you and take care of you in her own way.

Once they become obsessed with you, there is nothing to be done. Not even Dumbledore could help you, not when the obsession, the need to protect you, was already so ingrained in the Trio. You would have to get used to being deeply loved and protected because they aren't going anywhere and neither are you.

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astroph1les · 3 months

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this love [h.c] | chapter four

summary: after the events of last night, you’re living in bliss with hazel: sharing secret kisses and gentle touches. you and hazel try a few new things. when isabel catches the two of you, an unsettling realization comes into play.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: a lot of affection, blushy adorable sapphics, smut — fingering (r! receiving), discussions about homophobia, inexperienced! reader, knight! hazel is forever going to be the death of me.

word count: 6.1K

a/n: first post of the new year! i’m so incredibly sorry for the delay for this guys. life has been so insanely weird lately and i missed writing my sweet girls <3 new year’s resolution to try and post a lot more for yall. enjoy my loves ♥︎

‘this love’ masterlist

Time is sacred.

You never paid attention to time until Hazel. It either froze or went by entirely too fast when you were with her. Especially now that your relationship with her was anything but professional. Yes, of course, you were both extremely careful with how you acted towards one another when Isabel or any of the guards were around. Keeping your distance but stealing longing glances until you rounded a corner where there wasn’t a soul in sight and kissed until you couldn’t breathe.

The first week of being with her like this was indescribable. You never knew you could experience this amount of happiness within yourself. Though it took a few days for you both to become comfortable with yourselves.

The first day was on edge. You awoke that next morning to Hazel’s perfectly sculpted face pressed into your velvety pillows to match your title as royalty. As you stared at her cupid's bow, an uncomfortable amount of guilt settled within you.

What would your mother think? What would Isabel think? What would the kingdom think if they found out the princess was in fact more different than they thought. That was you were a sapphic and would not want to be wed to a prince, but instead a woman that was a knight.

You were afraid. Heart-aching, soul-crushing, overwhelmingly afraid for the future.

But the moment Hazel opened her eyes and sent you a tired smile in your direction, you felt a wave of relief flush over you.

“Morning, princess,” Hazel spoke through a stretch and a yawn.

“Morning,” you reply shyly as you brushed your tousled hair out of your face.

“Are you okay?” Hazel hesitantly raised a hand to caress your puffy cheeks from your well-rested slumber.

You can’t help but lean your cheek into her warm yet slightly calloused palm.

“Yeah. I’m just thinking.” You respond truthfully to her question.

Hazel caressed the apple of your cheeks, watching as the beam from the windows highlighted the back of your head to reveal your frizzy hairs. A bright angelic halo of sorts.

“About last night?”

You nod as it was true but there was so much more. Your half-truths were weighing on your chest uncomfortably.

“What happens now?” You question as you’ve never experienced anything of the sort.

Hazel shakes her head as she continues to caress the side of your cheek.

“Let’s just stay in the moment. It’s gentle here with you, princess.” Hazel whispers with nothing but kindness in her voice.

You simply smile tiredly and inch yourself more into her if that was even possible. You could feel her abdomen pressing into your own through the thin material of her shirt. Your arms are close to your chest as she continues to caress your face with delicacy.

A beat passed before you heard a soft knock at your bedroom door. You sat up with a jolt at the noise, practically snapping your neck to look at Hazel who, too, had a panicked expression on her face.

“Who is it?” You call out as you run a hand over your frizzy bed hair.

“Isabel! Remember? You wanted to talk about Hazel this morning.?” Isabel’s confused and muffled voice flowed through the door.

No. You, in fact, had not remembered. You were too busy kissing and snuggling Hazel.

Hazel mouthed to you with a cocky smile on her face; “me?”

You silently shush her with a playful shove to her shoulder as you shake your head. Hazel placed a kiss on your shoulder as she chuckled quietly at your embarrassed flushed cheeks.

“Isabel, can you meet me in the dining room? I’m not… presentable at the moment.” You nervously laugh, fiddling with a loose strand on your elegant covers.

Another beat of deafening silence.

“Alright. How long will you be?” Isabel sounded extremely hesitant from behind the door.

Guilt settled in your gut. You were going to tell her eventually. Maybe. You weren't sure if it was worth the risk. Yes, Isabel had never once showed you any sort of aggression or hatred towards anything but you never knew how someone could be when you revealed that you were, in fact, a sapphic.

“Only ten minutes. I promise.” You assure her, glancing at Hazel who seemed a bit weary.

“I'll be in the dining room then,” Isabel borderline mumbles through the door.

Once you heard her footsteps recede past your bedroom and down the lengthy hallway, you let out a sigh of relief. One of your hands pressed over your rapid-beating heart to try and relax your anxious thoughts. Hazel was about to tease you about how you were going to be talking about her with Isabel but as soon as she noticed your shaking hands, it was no longer amusing.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Hazel’s voice whispers as she notices how hard your breathing became. Her hand gently caresses at the side of your face.

“I-I don’t know what I’m going to tell her, Hazel. She’d—“

“You don’t have to tell her anything if you don’t want to. She is not obligated to know, princess.” Hazel assured you.

You shook your head before replying; “she’s my friend. I trust her.”

“I understand. If you wish to tell her, that is okay with me but,” Hazel licked her lips as she paused her words to try and find the right ones. “Are you going to be okay with it? With any sort of reaction that could happen after you tell her; bad or good?”

Yes, for the good. No; for the bad. Your mind was flipping back and forth. You were about ninety percent certain that Isabel would be okay with you and you and Hazel’s relationship. That small percentage of the gut-wrenching possibility that she could despise you forever was holding you back from saying ‘yes’.

“I won't tell her. Yet, at least.” You said simply.

“And that’s okay.” Hazel’s gentle tone reassured your buzzing anxiety.

You nod slowly, a smile spreading onto your face. Hazel’s lips curled as well, leaning forward to kiss your cheek softly.

After reluctantly getting out of the bed, though Hazel’s lips were a painful temptation, you met up with Isabel in the dining room for breakfast. Linda and Nina cooked you and Isabel eggs with slices of bread on the side with a few choices of homemade jams from the fruits growing in the garden.

Hazel had to have been in the knights quarters by now as you kissed her goodbye before making your way to lie to your only friend. Isabel had already begun spreading the blueberry jam onto the wheat bread with an excited look on her face.

“What happened in the garden?” Isabel questioned.

“Um, well,” you start as you pick at your over-easy eggs to try and remember what you and Hazel had come up with, “we kind of got into an argument about why she was upset with me. We talked it out and now we’re all good. I think we’re closer now because of it.”

Yeah, her tongue in your mouth ‘close’.

Isabel nodded along before tilting her head with furrowed brows. “What exactly did you two talk about?”

“It was nothing really. We’re okay now is all that matters.” You emphasized to the honey haired beauty.

Isabel seemed to not really believe what you were saying and you were internally panicking and hoped that she would move on. Thankfully, she just nodded and continued to eat brunch with you. She moved on to tell you that she enjoyed seeing her family so much that she was hoping to be able to leave the palace on her own to stay with them for a few more days.

“Bel, oh my god. Of course,” your eyes soften at her beaming eyes.

God, it was eating at you how you could lie to someone as incredibly sweet as she was.

“Okay,” she said through giddy laughter as she took a bite of her slice of bread, “I’ll pack clothing for the trip after breakfast. Thank you so much.”

“What did I tell you about the ‘thank you’s?” You raised your eyebrows at her, pointing at her with a fork.

“I know, I know. I just…” Isabel sighed as she looked like she was stuck on her words. Her eyes were following all across your features and it caused you to mess with your flyaway hairs subconsciously.

“What?” You let out a soft chuckle, avoiding her eyes.

“You seem brighter today.” Isabel admits with a sweet smile.

Another stab to the heart. This really wasn’t going to be easy on you, was it?

A few days followed and you grew more and more comfortable with being this intimate with the charming knight. The kisses were heavier and the touches lingered for longer.

This beautiful morning, you forced yourself to get up from the safe space of the soft bed and got ready for the day. Hazel strangely enough kept her distance from you as you got ready on your own. Isabel was still in town with her family so the palace was eerily empty; other than the knights, of course.

You brushed it off as this was probably just as new to her as it was to you. Two women being intimate like this wasn’t unheard of but it was drastically shamed upon. The thought of the two of you being exposed to the public struck an inexplicable amount of fear through you.

As you slipped on the dress, you watched her through the mirror as she stood up from the bed. You tensed up as her hands reached out to carefully tug on the ropes of the corset in the back. You sucked in a deep breath Hazel’s fingers grazed against the bare skin of your back.

“Is this okay?” Hazel’s whispers.

You simply nod, a very obvious blush on your cheeks as she ties the corset portion off to secure the fabric onto your body. Hazel traces the stitching before retracting her hands to smile at you through the mirror.

“You are beautiful, princess.” Her tone was genuine as her eyes fell to the sage green material of your corset portion of your dress.

“You are a charmer, Hazel,” you reply, trying to hide how much that lifted your spirit.

Hazel chuckled at your deflection of her compliment as she already knew how you were.

“And you are stubborn.” Hazel leaned forward to place a feather-soft kiss onto the crook of your neck.

The gesture caused the faintest of gasps to leave your lips before turning around to face her fully. You were met with her deep blue eyes staring into your own, a glint that was unrecognizable in hers.

“Would you teach me how to fight?” You change the subject, somehow suddenly remembering that she was a trained knight.

Hazel’s eyes narrowed for a moment in thought as you lean forward to scrunch up your nose in her face. Hazel copied your actions which caused you to smile adoringly at her.

“I think you could already put up a good fight so…” Hazel cleared her throat and jerked her head towards your bedroom doors. “Let’s go and test that theory, princess.”

You couldn’t believe she agreed so quickly. You had no experience whatsoever in any other kind of combat. The only thing you knew how to expertly do was disassociate when your parents scolded you.

“Wait, really? You’ll teach me?” You beamed excitedly at her words.

“Of course. Whatever my princess wants,” her tone deepened ever so slightly that caused shivers to run down your spine.

Hazel motioned towards the bedroom doors with a small smile as you hadn’t responded to her comment. All you could do was reciprocate the smile as you followed behind Hazel as she tugged open the door for you. She stood to the side with perfect posture as you walked past her, a soft ‘thank you’ leaving your lips.

You haven’t gotten any new news on how your parents were doing or if they had even arrived in the new country yet. You didn't care as much as you should but there wasn’t an ounce of guilt within you. You haven’t enjoyed yourself in such a long time and it was all thanks to Hazel. Oh, and of course your parents' obsession with giving you away to some random prince.

“What do you want to learn first?” Hazel questions as she walks side by side with you as you make your way to the back of the palace. “There’s sword fighting, hand-to-hand, archery— well that’s considered hunting more than anything but a skill nonetheless.”

“Well, what do you think I could be good at?” You ask curiously.

Sometimes you hated how you couldn't be inside of Hazel’s mind to see what she thought of you. When she looked at you, it seemed a lot more gentle than saying your parents were too. It intrigued you more than anything.

Hazel looked over at you with a smug smile before shaking her head. Damn her private thoughts.

“What?” You press with her a confused chuckle.

“How about we start with hand to hand combat, princess, yeah?” She completely dodged your question.

You would’ve minded a lot more but the way she tilted her head when she spoke to you made your head cloud with desire. You blush and nod at her suggestion. You followed her to the training area designated for the knights just outside of their quarters, eyeing the wooden set up of the swords.

There were a few bow and arrows and targets that were carved into wooden boards. Bow and arrows were more for hunting as you were told by your mother and father.

“How do we start?” You question as you stare out at the open area of grass.

“Before we start, we have to discuss the one ground rule.” Hazel cleared her throat, turning to you with a more serious expression. “The second you feel any sort of uncomfort or fear, you tell me immediately. Do not hesitate. I mean it, princess. It’s my job to protect you and make sure you’re okay.”

“I thought the job my father gave you was to keep me in line because I’m ‘stubborn’.” You quip with a cheeky grin.

“Well, he hasn’t been wrong about that, has he?” Hazel’s eyebrows rose at you.

You remained silent as you knew she got you there. Your stubbornness was evident in this very moment.

“Now, tell me you’ll say if you don’t want to do this anymore. Even if it's mid-fight, you tell me.” Hazel’s eyes bore into your own, your face heating up from the intensity of her deep blue gaze.

You nod, biting back your cheeky attitude to show you were serious about this as well.

“No. Words, princess.” Hazel shook her head.

“Yes, I will tell you.” You suck in a deep breath as you straighten your back.

“Good.”

Was it normal to be aroused by a voice? You asked yourself as she gently yet sternly spoke to you. You felt like you were going insane by wanting to have her instruct you how to do anything and everything.

Now being early summer, beads of sweat were forming at your hairline. Your hair was already into a singular ponytail, being held back by a piece of ribbon that was the same color as your corset portion of your dress. Your everyday dress clung tightly to your body, the flowy sleeves sending a breeze to up your arms with every movement. Hazel had half of her short hair tied up, the look suiting her quite well. You were afraid you would be distracted and get accidentally punched in the face.

“Now, when in combat, a lot of the time your opponent will try to throw you off guard but it's usually some form of punch,” Hazel explained as she slowly circled you.

“Okay, how do I do that?” You turn your head to follow her body.

“Do what?” Hazel blinked.

“Throw a proper punch.” Your eyes are wide with curiosity.

Hazel stopped her circling right in front of you with a soft smile.

“Hold your fists up for me, princess. Like this.”

Hazel demonstrated what your stance should be. You imitate her position, holding your fists straight outwards. She shook her head at you before reaching forward to adjust your arms so that your elbows were bent.

“There we go.” Her voice is calm before she holds up her palms. “Now take a hit at my hand. I need to see how hard you—“

You throw your fist forward to her palm with all the strength you can muster as she is still talking to you. Hazel stops talking to wince at your blow, shaking her hand out to ease the sting that followed throughout her palm and wrist.

You gasp and cover your mouth with both of your hands, muttering out soft apologies quickly. Your own knuckles burned slightly but all you could think about was how you hurt Hazel.

Hazel then chuckled as she shook her head as well, still shaking her hand. “That was good, princess. You are a lot stronger than you look. Hit me again.”

You froze as you noticed her pale cheeks were now slightly flushed as her smile grew. You take position once again as you throw the punch again to her other open palm. Hazel was tense as she urged you to throw the punch again and again and again.

Each blow felt… like a relief. All the pent-up annoyance and anger that was towards your parents for the past 20 years were being let out at the moment.

“You know, you could’ve been a knight if not a princess,” Hazel spoke up as she was finally giving her palms a rest from your slight aggression.

Your chest was panting softly as you too needed a small break, tilting your head at Hazel. A proud smile settled on Hazel’s face which caused you to reciprocate with a tight-lipped grin.

“Really?” You shut one eye as the sun’s rays beamed onto your heated skin, slightly blinding you.

“With your strength, princess, absolutely.” Hazel leaned closer to you, leaning forward to kiss your cheek.

Your initial reaction was to look around for anyone but you were still within your own walls of the palace. Just you and her able to enjoy each other's touch. Once this realization settled in, you carefully placed your lips onto hers; a ghost of a kiss even. You tested the waters to see if she even wanted to kiss you when you were all sweaty and out in broad daylight.

Hazel chased yours when you tried to pull away, her hands settling on your waist. It was a careless idea. You wanted to be careless as long as you could feel her lips on you.

“What are you doing to me?” Hazel pulls away to ghost her nose over yours.

Her words were desperate, begging for you.

“Distracting my opponent.” You reply as you allow your palms to rest on hers that were on your waist. They slid up her arms to her biceps to grab onto the muscle lightly.

“You're a vixen, princess.” Hazel lets out a pained sigh before grabbing onto your waist tighter to lock her lips with yours.

The word echoed in your mind. You had only heard it a few times within the literature you read. A vixen was a fierce and sexually attractive woman. Hazel had just admitted that she had thought about you in a sexual manner.

You had merely read about arousing actions. It was rare to find intense and erotic scenes in the fiction you read but when you stumbled upon a few pages of it, you felt ashamed to be absorbing something like that. All of it was centered around a man and a woman.

“Do you want to go to the library?” You hum as you back up slowly from Hazel.

Her brows furrow at your suggestion, having not expected you to say ‘library’ of all places. Her demeanor switched as she knew the library was one of your favorite places in the palace; next to the garden and your bedroom.

“Are we done with practicing for the day?” Hazel questioned but she was taking gradual steps towards your backing away figure.

“I just want a little more… privacy, if that’s okay?”

Which had been code for ‘I want to devour you with no one around’. Hazel’s eyes eyed you up and down with only desire and admiration. Your panting chest and cheeky smile caused her to follow you without a doubt in her mind.

After all, you are her princess.

“You’re a little minx, you know that?” Hazel shook her head as she pointed at you with a smile just as giddy as your own.

You didn't deny her words but instead only continued to back away until you were speed-walking towards the library’s outside doors. Hazel was hot on your feet, a smitten chuckle leaving your lips as her hands chased after your waist. You let out soft giggles at her grip as you tug one of the door handles open to reveal the shelves of dusting books.

There in the far right, away from any big windows of sorts was a red velvet couch with gold lining. You eyed it curiously, waiting patiently for your knight. Hazel shut the door behind you as she peered out the window at the open field to make sure there was no one in the surrounding areas.

Once she made sure the two of you were okay, she turned to you who was already sitting on the couch waiting for her. You were sitting upright, staring up at her with wanting eyes.

“Can I ask you something, princess?” Hazel hummed as she traced a few spines of the books.

“Uh, yes?” You were confused but tilted your head to look at her side profile.

“Have you ever read erotica before?”

The question stunned you. Your eyes darted across the shelves in a panic as you in fact had read some hot erotica before. It had completely caught you by surprise the dirty words inked on the pages of some unknown romance novel. Yes, it was between a man and woman but the feeling it had given you ached in your lower regions.

“Only a few times, yes, but not many,” you admitted shyly.

“Is it arousing for you?” Hazel asked.

What is she leading up to?

Your nose scrunches up at the memory before replying with: “Not always. I feel the man gets a majority of the pleasure in most of them.”

Hazel merely hummed and nodded as you weren't wrong. However, it was painfully obvious as the ones who had read were in fact written by men. The pages were etched with descriptions of a man's ‘throbbing shaft’ and ‘reddening tip’ that had made your body cower in disgust.

“See, that’s the problem. There aren't many novels targeted for women.” Hazel now was inching over to you. You nod in agreement, still looking up at her with curious eyes. “The men usually treat the women like they’re nothing but a pretty face and something to control.”

”I’m pretty sure that’s most men in real life as well.” You add on, shaking your head.

Hazel now stood right in front of you, reaching a hand out to cup at your jaw gently. The motion made you freeze but allowed the touch with caution. Hazel’s rough thumb grazed over your lower lip, your breath hitching at the feeling.

“Will you let me make you feel good, princess?” Hazel’s voice was barely above a whisper, eyes locking with yours. “Show you what that should feel like?”

You almost responded with, ‘You already make me feel good’, but then you realized she meant like in the erotica: sexually.

“Yes.” You muttered in a trance, tilting your jaw up in hopes she would capture your lips in a kiss.

Just as you had hoped, she leaned downward to kiss you softly, both of her hands cupping the sides of your warmed face. Your palms slid down her arms as you allowed her to use her thumb to dig into your cheeks causing your mouth to open a bit. Her tongue swiped over your bottom one hungrily. The kisses only grew heavier as Hazel was now kneeling down to where you now had to lean yourself to chase her addicting lips.

Hazel pulled away for a moment to stare at your flushed face before attaching her lips to the underside of your jaw. You jump a little in surprise but the feeling of her sucking and tugging at your skin makes goosebumps rise and a wave of arousal flow through you. Your cunt pulsed needily in a way that’s never happened before.

“Hazel,” you whimpered as your hands were sliding up into the lower part of her makeshift half-up hair-do.

“You sound prettier than I ever could imagine, princess,” she mutters on the wet spot on your jaw, excitement rushing through her veins.

This caused you to smile shyly at the compliment, cheeks warming up. Hazel pulls away from the length of your jaw to admire how beautiful you are when you’re so desperate.

“How did you plan on making me feel good, my knight?” You question with a cheeky grin, using one of your hands to trace around her hairline.

But you never failed to make her just as desperate.

“Do you trust me?” Hazel took said hand into her own grasp, raising your hand to place ever so gentle kisses on your sore knuckles.

In a dazed, lust-driven state, you nod eagerly.

“Yes,” you whimpered out.

Hazel let go of your gentle hands to guide her own to the bottom of the skirt portion of your dress. You watch the charming knight with eager eyes to see what she is going to do. Her palms were pressing into the plush of your thighs underneath the skirt, the mystery of what she was planning on doing was driving you insane.

“You’ll tell me if you want me to stop and I will, okay?” Hazel’s warm palms were massaging the skin sensually, leaning down to kiss at your exposed knee.

“I don’t think I’ll want you to,” you admit with a soft chuckle as she kisses just a bit higher past your knee.

Hazel too chuckled but she shook her head: “Even so, you change your mind and you let me know immediately, princess. Okay?”

You nod and mutter an ‘okay’ back. Hazel sucked in a deep breath before inching her hands up to the waistband of the undergarments of your dress. Your breathing grew rapid as she began to tug the material down your thick thighs. Hazel watched your face for any sort of discomfort but you only appeared excited for what was to come.

You lifted your feet to allow her to remove them completely. It was an arousing thought to know you were bare for her underneath the skirt of the dress. You’d only ever worn them with your day-to-day dresses as you found them restricting but didn't want to risk accidentally revealing your bottom to the palace staff.

One of her hands tossed the white cotton shorts to the side as the other was at the crevice of your hip and thigh. Your eyes fluttered as her fingers teased on the outside of your aching lips. Your mouth fell open as she gently parted your legs, a breeze brushing past your wet pussy.

“Can I touch you here?” Hazel’s hands brushed past your pubic bone, just above where you were hoping she would touch the most.

“Please,” you breathed out, adjusting yourself to where you were more towards the edge of the couch.

Hazel hummed as she carefully dragged a single finger through your folds. You were practically dripping with arousal, the noise sending shivers down your spine. Hazel muttered a curse under her breath at the feeling of how warm you were. She switched to two fingers just teasing at your cunt. The obscene sound made her feel like she was the luckiest woman to exist to be touching you like this.

Hazel did something that almost made you moan out loud. She suddenly removed that hand from underneath your dress to take her glistening fingers into her mouth. The knight didn't hold back a moan at the taste, needing more of you. The moan causes your ego to boost to the highest extent and you whine at the loss of her attention.

“I could taste you forever,” Hazel groaned before leaning forward to kiss you passionately.

You whimper against her mouth as you get a hint of your arousal on her lips. It wasn’t as good as Hazel was making it out to be but it only made you wetter at the fact that she audibly moaned at the taste of your cunt.

Hazel’s hands pushed the clothing up your legs to rest right on your upper thighs to sneak one hand underneath the skirt. That same hand made its way to your aching core to slip her middle finger into you. You gasp softly, clenching down on her hand. The feeling was foreign but you strangely couldn't get enough of it.

“Does that feel okay, princess?” Hazel questions.

You hum to confirm with a nod of your head.

“Okay. I’m going to move now and you tell me if you want me to stop,” the blue-eyed knight informs you before placing a kiss on your cheek.

You can’t really focus on speaking at the moment. Hazel’s finger begins to pump slowly in and out of your pussy, the motion sending shocks right to your aching clit. This time the moan that leaves your mouth is loud, followed by a whine that you can’t even begin to describe as other than feral.

As Hazel’s arm began to move forward and back, you were gripping onto her toned shoulders as leverage. There was slight sweat forming at the base of your neck and spine. Before you knew it, your hips were rolling down onto the finger. Hazel encouraged you with soft kisses to your cheeks and jaw.

Hazel then slipped in her ring finger next to the middle inside of your warm walls, watching as your face contorted in pleasure. Your brows were furrowed and your jaw hadn’t picked up since she first touched your hip.

“How’s my princess doing?” Hazel pecked your lips.

“Feels so good.”

“Yeah?” Hazel grinned at you.

You nod, too focused on how amazing her fingers are working into you to smartly comment like you usually would. They curl against a spot inside of you that erupts the loudest moan you’ve ever made to echo inside the library’s walls. Hazel presses her lips to yours eagerly; to both quiet you and kiss you.

Your abdomen was tightening up as her pace quickened. It felt like you had to pee. Were you going to pee on her?

“Hazel, it feels tight right here.” You place a hand over your stomach, panting as you try to explain the strange feeling.

“It’s okay. I got you, princess. Let go and it’s going to feel so good. Just like I said I would make you feel,” Hazel rushed out as her free hand was now rubbing circles across your untouched clit.

You trusted her so you listened to her words and continued to enjoy the intense feeling. The sound of Hazel’s discreet moans only drew you on. You arched your back into her as your head grew fuzzy as an overwhelming amount of pleasure rushed from your lower back to the tips of your toes.

Hazel’s voice was all you could hear, pressing gentle kisses onto every piece of exposed skin. Your chest heaved up and down slowly as you rode your orgasm out. Her words were not clear yet as you were trying to process what had just happened.

“Princess, can you talk to me, please?” Hazel’s hands were sliding your undergarments up your legs for you as you were coming back down from your high.

“You— What was that?” You chuckle as you shake your head, gradually sitting yourself upright.

“A little trick we learned in knight training,” Hazel joked as she kissed your quivering thighs.

You weakly pushed her shoulder but then tugged at the fabric as a silent ‘come here’. Hazel got the hint and leaned down to take your plush lips onto hers. You slowly kissed her with gentle hands caressing at her neck.

Her hands were resting at your hips, humming in a state of bliss with you.

The door opened causing you and Hazel to remove your lips from one another quickly. You attempted to appear as casual as possible but it was no use. You heard a gasp that left from someone’s lips causing you to look up to see Isabel with eyes wide in shock.

“I’m back from… seeing my family. I’ll leave you be, princess.” Isabel tried to back out of the room but you were quick to call out for her.

She never calls you princess. You're more than just the ‘princess’ to her.

“Bel, wait, please don’t go.” You take a step forward, urgency in your voice.

Isabel held her head down and pretended to not hear you, briskly walking out of your bedroom and allowing the door to shut behind her. You looked over at Hazel in a panic, your chest rising and falling at a rapid pace.

“I have to go after her, Hazel.” You give her an apologetic look as you rush out of the room before you can even hear her response.

Isabel wasn’t down the hall as you expected but in fact, right outside the library’s door. She was nervously picking at her fingernails. Her eyes caught your own, widening at the sight of your nervous figure.

Neither of you spoke for a beat, eyes locked one another. You were frozen, afraid if you moved she would take off in a sprint to tell someone about what she saw you and Hazel were doing. The silence was deafening.

“So I guess that’s what you meant by closer,” Isabel finally spoke softly, clearing her throat as she tucked a flyaway back behind her ear.

Her words caused your brows to furrow until you looked at her to see her lips pursed into a smile.

“What?”: is all you’re able to reply with as you’re in shock.

“I always thought you had a liking towards her but definitely not that much of a liking,” Isabel joked once again.

Now, you were extremely confused. She was acting so normal about this. No snarky comments about how what you two were doing was unnatural or disgusting.

All you can do is reach forward to pull her into a hug. Isabel accepted the embrace with open arms as she allowed you to let out a soft cry against her shoulder. It’s been a while since you’ve shed genuine tears, especially around people. It was something that you had forced yourself to repress due to your fear of being seen as pathetic by your parents.

Every shout, every degrading comment, every lecture, every poke at you pricked at your tear ducts every time but you had forced yourself to hold back any sort of weakness. It would only lead to even more ridiculing.

“You don’t hate me?” You question through the sobs.

“You’re happy now. I could tell that day I left how much brighter you looked. That’s all I want for you,” Isabel pulled away to grab onto your hands lovingly, “she does make you happy, right?”

You let out a wet laugh, wiping your hot and damp cheeks with one hand.

“A scary amount.”

Isabel let out a soft laugh as well. Her face twisted into a serious expression, her face softening in a way that you’ve never seen before: fear.

“I am afraid for you two. If anyone in the palace finds out about your relationship, I can almost guarantee they will not be kind.” Isabel’s worried voice tells you and winces as she tells you something that shatters your heart: “I’m sorry to tell you this, too, but your parents are also coming home a month early. They should be here in two weeks. One of the knights that patrols the gates heard from a messenger. He informed me when I arrived back.”

You stare at Isabel not knowing what to say. You weren’t ecstatic. Why would you be? You and Hazel have barely shared a week together and now what could’ve been three months had shrunk to one.

Time is fleeting. Time is a new found enemy.

tag-list: @toritea @echo-ethe @em-la-femme @pascalrry @piperlivingdeliberately @elsblunt @bellaramseylover @princessmars @ignepatron @idkwhatimdoingherelmao @guzzlingplastic111 @akila-twt @teenagedramaqueenlisa @vster0769 @moonbyune @silentliesblog @kali-q @0jaylene0 @lovecomesfrmwithin @thewinterlunarhalo @jamespotterloveslilies @writerinloves-blog @uraesthete @spencerreidswhore187 @piapiaweee3 @liv012 @astrologybitch04 @strawberryyivy

#hazel callahan #hazel callahan x reader #wlw #sapphic #lgbtq community #this love #knight hazel #hazel callahan x you #hazel callahan fic

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theabigailthorn · 9 months

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In the kindest way possible, I miss when your videos had more solid conclusions. I've been a fan of your content for years and it even got me interested in philosophy as a whole, but the past two videos especially have felt like they were building up to a powerful conclusion like many of your videos in the past have had, only to turn into a Nebula promotion before it feels like you've actually come to the thesis.

It saddens me because I think you're very good at strong ending arguments, and without even realizing it (before now) I had associated your videos with leaving off on a sort of mic-drop moment that always made me very excited and empowered. Of course, this is only my opinion, and your videos are your own and I'm incredibly happy for your play and your work on Nebula, I just can't help but notice it feels like something's missing now.

I have a lot of feelings about this feedback

Firstly, Philosophy Tube is very deliberately explorative, not conclusive. The point is to give people the concepts they need so they can go away and apply them themselves, not to tell anyone what to think. So I consciously resist firm intellectual conclusions when I'm writing because I think they risk terminating people's thought processes.

Secondly, I've been running my own experiments and I've noticed that a tiny minority of people always say this no matter how explicitly I state the conclusion. On the most recent episode I forced myself to state it very clearly - even called the final section of the video 'Conclusions' - which suggests to me that what you're after is emotional catharsis rather than intellectual resolution. When you talk about feeling "excited and empowered" those are emotional states rather than the state of having learned a new thing. And that's fine, some videos need to end on an emotional beat! But not all do or can. If I made every single one do that it would start to feel artificial. Certain ones like Identity need it, but just like not every theatre show needs a curtain call not every Philosophy Tube video needs to end on a wham line. Sometimes we're learning and we're in educationmode.

Thirdly, I would argue the most recent one ends on a note of emotional ambivalence (very deliberately so!) because that's the whole point: it's not meant to wrap everything up in a neat bow and tell you how to feel, it's supposed to present this multifaceted problem and encourage you to work through your own thoughts and feelings on it. And that is a kind of emotional conclusion in its own right, albeit a deliberately unsatisfying one.

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star-sparkler · 4 months

Text

(Found a lil drabble I wrote a while back that I wasn't gonna share outside of my buddies but you know what? Cute Brand New Papatello be upon you.) *

It wasn’t until he was cradling his daughter to his plastron, fresh from the tube she’d been grown in, that it occurred to Donnie he had never once in his life held a baby before. The thought was equal parts terrifying and surreally fascinating.

Distantly, he knew his family was losing their collective minds over the infant turtle mutant. He vaguely recognized a coo from someone - Leo? - telling the others to look at Donnie’s expression right now (“He’s a goner already.” An affectionate laugh. “You good, Dee?” “Shhh let him have this.” “Her fingers are SO small!”). But the longer Donnie looked at the baby curled into his chest, the less his family’s voices made sense.

Sound fell away. Hesitantly, Donnie brushed a hand - as big as she was - over the curve of her tiny shell. It was softer than his, the smooth leather surface still damp with incubator fluids. He could feel the ridge of her spine. The alien familiarity, the echo of his own shell, the smallness and fragility of her, the miracle that she was here and alive - a million thoughts and feelings simultaneously colliding - made Donnie’s breath hitch and a wave of warmth wash over him.

Donnie had already decided he cared about this baby, and his dum dum brain had already sent out all the dum dum hormones that filled him up with more dum dum affection for her than he knew what to do with. All the researching and the planning and the prepping and the step-by-stepping so that everything would be fully assembled to help her thrive and grow had been rigorously completed. And yet. And yet and….and yet….Donnie had never been so prepared while also being so helplessly lost and overwhelmed.

Words failed him.

His fingers were touching lightly over her cheek, her brow, hands so small they made his heart squeeze. She was incredible. She was the scariest thing he had ever beheld. And also the most beautiful. His stomach flipped. Instinctively, she searched for something to latch on to, mouth as toothless as a koi fish on the tip of his finger. The sound she made was an unmistakeable, Donnie’s-world-altering, high, sweet chirp. Donnie didn’t realized he’d clicked back automatically until an especially shrill noise of delight erupted from his brothers. With it, the vacuum tight bubble around himself and the baby popped.

Sound and smell and sight outside of himself and his miniature copy rushed back in. It was disorienting, but Donnie’s focus was resolute. He tried to ask for the bottle they’d prepared for her. She needed feeding and there was still some potential trial and error ahead in figuring out just what she would eat (baby formula? Turtle food? A Yokai recipe of some kind? Donnie had about a dozen different forms of nourishment prepped just in case. But he couldn’t manage to ask for a single one of them. The very thought of taking his attention off of her was absurd.

“How you holding up, Dad Man?” Leo asked with a laugh, the sound softer than usual. All of his family had settled down after Donnie came back to himself, maybe recognizing he was toeing the line of overstimulated, maybe just genuinely soft and happy themselves over seeing whatever it was they saw on Donnie’s face. He could worry about the implications of that when he reviewed the footage for his archives later. Right now however…

Replying should have been easy. Just string together a few coherent words, Donatello. Speaking was something he was perfectly capable of. He inhaled to do so. The rise of his chest for air, however, made the baby stir against him, peeping softly, and what little remaining rationale Donatello Hamato had flew out the window. Donnie was scooping her in closer, pressing his nose to the top of her head as he curled around his baby.

“Perfect.” He mumbled.

“Ha! Say again?”

“She’s perfect.”

Augustine Hamato, daughter of Donatello Hamato - his stomach flipped at the thought - was absolutely, two hundred percent…perfect.

#AugustineHamato #Papatello #this man is smitten ur honour I don't know what to tell you. scared senseless and overwhelmingly in love with da baby

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turtlecleric · 2 months

Text

I Know Now

late as usual ~ nsfw, rise!donnie x reader (cw: altered state of mind)

---

“Dearest?”

“Yes, Donnie.”

"Tell me again."

You blow out a slow breath, closing your eyes and pushing down the hint of exasperation that's starting to bloom in your chest. He's worried, you remind yourself. Unsure. Hesitant in a way that you simply aren't. You can be patient, for him.

"It will be disorienting and confusing," you say once more. "I may feel overwhelmed or scared. I may not be able to control my thoughts or actions. I may hate it."

Donnie searches your face, brows furrowed. "And you still want t-"

"Yes."

The movement of his free hand tapping rapidly against his thigh catches your eye. It makes you soften further, seeing how worried he is about this. About you. You step forward to wrap your arms around him, and his own slide around you immediately, making the bottle of pills in his hand rattle as he does. His cheek rests on the top of your head, and you bask in the comfort of his hold for a long moment before leaning back to catch his gaze. Somber, anxious eyes look back at you.

"I trust you,” you murmur. “I understand the risks. And I still really want to do this. Okay?"

His mouth opens, but he closes it without saying anything. When he opens it again, it's with a firmer, more resolute expression.

"Okay," he says, nodding and pulling away fully from your hug. "Let's get you set up then."

He leads you to the bed nestled in the back corner of the workshop - one that he put together specifically for this. Sturdy, with a mattress that has just the right amount of give, an absurd number of pillows, and the softest blankets and sheets you've ever had the pleasure of running your hands over. The memory of when he'd first shown you the finished product makes you smile.

It's perfect, Donnie!

Of course it is! I made it to your exact preferences based on the data I've collected over the past few weeks, and - oh, let me show you how the heating function works!

God. You love him so fucking much.

Settled amongst the pillows now, with him kneeling on the bed beside you, your heart sings thinking about how much work he's put into this. The pills, obviously. The bed. The lectures and pamphlets and reminders that you don't have to do this - despite the fact that you were the one who requested it in the first place. Wanting to experience a taste of what it's like for him, so you can understand better but… also because you're a little selfish. He's told you countless times how much better his season is now that he has you. Alone, it had been miserable. With you… it's something incredible. And he always seems so content during his season - relaxed and satisfied and so goddamn happy. Giddy with it, even. You want to see what that feels like.

"The effects should last approximately one hour," Donnie says, pulling you from your thoughts. The bottle rattles again when he gingerly shakes a single pill into his hand. "Don't forget that your heart rate will increase, and you'll start to feel really warm. That's normal. Oh, and don’t forget that-”

"Donnie," you call softly, cutting him off. You take the pill from him with one hand and use the other to weave your fingers around his and squeeze. "As long as I'm with you, I'll be fine."

His eyes soften, and the tiny smile on his face bolsters you. Before he has a chance to make you repeat the warnings (again), you reach over to one of the cup holders jutting out from the side of the bed and pick up a water bottle.

(It's important to stay hydrated, dearest. Ooh! Watch this, there's a hidden cupboard for snacks that raises up when you press-)

The pill goes down easily, and Donnie immediately starts to ramble again. Reminding you of what to expect, of the contingency plans in place should you decide this really isn't for you and you need to stop. You half-listen, smirking when he falters for just a moment as you start to strip.

You'd thought you might get a bit chilly since he keeps it relatively cold in here, but you're feeling okay even without your clothes. You get comfortable on the bed, lying down and… about to ask how long it will take for… hm.

Hm.

He's still talking, but you're a little distracted by the way his throat moves as he speaks. The way his tendons stretch and pull when he shifts, when he turns his head, or... the glimpses of his tongue, his teeth, as he talks.

Wait. Focus.

"-feeling?"

You blink up at him. "...Huh?"

He looks like he can't decide between worry or amusement. It's not an unusual expression to see on his face - you evoke that in him pretty often - but something about it mesmerizes you.

"How are you feeling?" He says again.

Feeling. How are you. Feeling.

It's hard to focus when you're staring at him. Looking away feels impossible, but you manage to close your eyes and think.

You feel... warm. That's right. He said that would happen. You feel… hazy. Like your thoughts have to drag themselves through molasses to make it to the surface. Hungry? No, hungry isn't quite right, but it's... similar. Like a craving. You want. You want. You feel your pulse in your throat, hear the blood rushing in your ears. You miss him. He’s right here, but you miss him.

When you open your eyes and see him there, you feel yourself relax. His gaze is intense. Heavy. It makes you shiver, goosebumps rising along your arms and legs, and you try to focus. Focus. Try to…

Why aren’t you touching him? It seems stupid to not be touching him. More than stupid, it feels wrong. You reach out, resting a hand against his plastron, feeling the vibrations there as he speaks.

Wait, what is he saying? You see the movement of his mouth, and you hear the words, but… the meanings slip away like smoke in your hands. Your name is the only thing you recognize, and oh, the way he says your name has you shivering again. Shivering - but you're so warm. The thought makes you smile, but it falls when you suddenly become aware of every inch that separates you from him. You place your other hand on his arm, curling around his bicep, pulling him closer, because he’s so far away. Even when he moves where you pull him, letting you wrap around him and press your face into the crook of his neck, he’s still too far away.

He says your name again. Quiet and gentle, and you love the sound of it. It echoes in your mind, a layered whisper that soothes something you can’t put a name to. You breathe him in, nuzzling into his neck as the both of you lie down together. Arms around each other, your legs entwined, he’s right here but you need him closer. You need… something. You need…

Hands massage your back. Your shoulders. Someone is moaning and you think it might be you. You want to say something, but you can’t, can’t, can’t - there’s an ache in your chest, a burning in your stomach. Your thighs are sticky. You need- you can feel your cunt throbbing.

A brief moment of clarity. Suddenly you can understand his steady murmuring, can fully remember what's happening and how you got here.

“-okay, I’m here. I’ll take care of you, okay? You’re safe, I’ve got you.”

You need him. You need him, you need him right now, and you have to tell him. You don’t even care, don’t have the capacity to even be embarrassed by how whiny your voice is when you finally manage to speak. “Donnie. Donnie, please. Please, I need you. Please fuck me, please, Donnie, please, I need-”

The moment he kisses you, all of your thoughts slip away. There is only him and you and him and you and him but then he pulls away, and it hurts. You miss him. You try to tell him, ask him to come back, but someone is whimpering, and you miss him, and it hurts, and you can’t think.

You miss him.

His hands find you again, his lips pressing against your own, and the relief is overwhelming. Your entire body shudders, shaking apart beneath him. You can't differentiate between the touches, his hands and mouth here and there and everywhere, everywhere, everywhere at once. Someone whines again.

Donnie lies on top of you then, arms pressed between you and the mattress, holding you close against him, and oh. The weight of him, the smell of him, the taste of him - it’s enough to make you go boneless. Something, something - his knee, you think - slides between your legs, pressing against you. You can't help but grind against it as his tongue just barely glides against yours. It’s so warm. Everywhere, everything, warm and good and safe.

You’re trembling, chills running up your spine, lighting sparking along your skin. You’re flying, you think. Weightless, somehow, with only friction and pressure and Donnie Donnie Donnie. He adjusts, his knee moving away, but before you can protest something slips inside of you. His finger, you realize after a few pumps, and it's better, so much better, but it's not enough and you need more more more-

Donnie is whispering something that you don’t understand, but his voice alone is like a balm. Soothing your impatience. Your desperation. You focus on the rumble of it, then on the rub of his jaw against yours, then on the slick circles of his thumb against your clit, then his fingers - two, now - pumping easily in and out of you. Your hips are in constant motion, your arms clawing at his arms, and you can't stop seeking him in every way that you can. Time warps - there is no time, only feeling as you fight to somehow have him closer.

He lifts himself up, and you miss having his weight press you into the mattress, but then you feel him start to press something bigger inside of you, and fuck yes this is it. His cock - this is what you were craving, what you need more than oxygen itself, and it feels so fucking good. The feeling of him inside you, filling you up, full, so full of him. And then he starts to move and - no, this is what you need. This delicious, wet friction, the feeling of him spearing you open again and again as you pull apart at the seams. There is only him and here and now, and it’s all you've ever wanted and it's yours.

Are you coming? You can't tell if you are or if it just feels that good to have him pumping into you. You can't seem to think past each thrust, your mind going blank after every... Fuck, are you coming? Or does it just feel that good-

One of his words slips through the mist that's replaced your mind. Mine. It makes your skin spark. You've never felt more safe, more content, more full. It's almost too much. Just the brush of his scales against your skin is enough to overwhelm you, and fuck, fuck, are you coming or does he just feel that good inside of you?

You want to tell him… something. Something. You don't know, couldn't put it into words even if you could manage to control your mouth enough to speak. You might already be speaking. You’re not sure. His voice, though, you are sure about. It's a constant echo in your mind, and you can’t understand the words but at the same time you do. You understand. Safe, pretty, good, mate, mine. Yes, yes, yes. You’re his. Forever.

Your heart is beating so fast. Your entire body is one big heartbeat, pulsing with every movement he makes. It’s almost scary - would be scary if you didn’t feel so fucking good and so completely, utterly safe. You're an imploding star, a burning, writhing, blissed-out thing that used to be a person and that may not ever be one again. You think you might be okay with that.

God, are you coming or does it-

That thought is abruptly disintegrated when you do come. Your eyes roll back into your head, waves and waves of shimmering pleasure lighting up every nerve. On and on and on, it doesn’t stop. It doesn’t stop, and you’re sure now. This is you coming, and it isn’t fucking stopping. Someone is crying, and this shouldn’t actually be possible. It shouldn't be possible for a person to feel this way, and it isn’t fucking stopping, holy fuck. The wave swells in a way it never has before, cresting and cresting and cresting, and- oh. You’re crying. That's you.

breathe, darling. got you, beautiful, mine, doing so good. breathe. that’s it, pretty girl

He’s comforting you, you think. What is there to comfort? There has never been anything that feels as good as this. You’re still coming and he’s still fucking you through it, and thank god, because if he stopped you might actually die. You reach for him, but he's already there.

mine, mine, mine

You think you might be starting to come down from that insane high. The trembling seems permanent, but you can think a little, can take in more of what he's saying now even though it's a little slurred in your ears.

“- got you. All mine, so pretty and perfect. Smell so fucking good, taking my cock like you were made for me, like the perfect mate. So good, pretty girl, you're doing so good. I love you so-”

He's happy with you. You're being good. You're good. You're good and safe and warm, and he's here, and this is where he belongs, always. Deep inside of you, fucking you, always, always, with his fingers in your mouth and his teeth in your shoulder. You can't separate pain from pleasure. It's all one swirling, overwhelming cacophony of sensation until you feel him release inside of you, coating your insides with his come, marking you as his in every way - and it does something to your brain. You think you really are talking now, thanking him, maybe, or just- fuck, you can't concentrate, you're so full.

Part of you mourns, even through the thick haze of your mind, knowing that he will pull out of you soon. But you're surprised to find that he doesn't, that he only needs a few moments before he's hard and pumping into you again. More sweet, incomprehensible words fall on your ears like so many shooting stars, and time continues to warp, and oh, fuck, the wave is cresting again-

---

When you wake, the first thing you become aware of is the fact that you feel so unbelievably relaxed. The second thing is that Donnie is holding you, stroking your hair and speaking to you softly.

You take a slow, deep breath, and his words stop, then start again. This time you push through the haze enough to actually listen.

“You haven't stopped smiling,” he says, his own smile audible in his voice.

His hand continues to brush through your hair, while the fingers of his other hand tap absent-mindedly against your thigh. It's nice. You bask in the feeling for a moment before you respond.

“It was like… like you said. The way you feel now, during your season. I just felt really… connected to you. Safe. And happy.” You sigh, snuggling in closer. “And really, really good. I don't know why you were so worried I would hate it.”

His hands stop. Then start again. When he answers, you can't hear the smile anymore. “It's only like that when- when you're with the person you…”

He trails off, and you wait for him to elaborate. He doesn't. The silence grows heavy. You pull back to look up at him, but he avoids your eyes, his lips thinning and his brows pinching together. You finish his sentence for him.

“The person you love?”

His throat bobs when he swallows, and his tiny nod makes your chest ache. To think that - even after everything you've been through - he was still unsure. Worried that the pill would not only make you miserable, but also that it would confirm your true feelings.

Or lack thereof.

“Donnie,” you start, but he cuts you off with a kiss. Slow, gentle, and intimate. He kisses you until you forget how to breathe, and when he finally pulls away you have to take a few moments to remind yourself of what you were going to say. “You thought I wouldn't-”

“I was wrong to worry,” he says simply, cutting you off once more. “I know that now.”

You consider pushing further, but the pleasant fog that still clings to your mind makes it hard to think. You close your eyes and breathe, trying to focus past the memory of his lips on yours. It’s hard when his hands still trail through your hair. When you open them again, he’s still avoiding your gaze.

“You know I love you. Right?”

His eyes finally meet your own, and you see something there. Something that’s too big to put a name to but that relaxes your concern nonetheless. He leans toward you to press a quick kiss to your forehead, and when he pulls back his lips have settled back into a soft smile.

“I know, dearest. I know.”

---

tag list: @yorshie @khayalli @thejudiciousneurotic @luckycharms1701 @mxalmighty @thelaundrybitch @justalotoffanfiction

#tmntspringshellebration #turtlecleric scrolls #rise!donnie #thank you again for proofing yorshie dear <3

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fantastic-nonsense · 4 months

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I wouldn't mind the heavy focus on warrior Amazons so much if they were allowed to be competent instead of just being used as red shirt cannon fodder. But it seems DC only hypes up the Amazons as deadly fighters so other characters can look more impressive when they take them down.

Oh and Happy New Year.

Happy New Year! Forgive me if I use your ask to talk about a piece of the Wonder Woman mythos I've wanted to discuss for some time, because your complaints offered me the perfect segue to write a nice, in-depth meta on it and I couldn't pass up the opportunity.

Honestly, I think a lot of people (both creatives and readers) either don't know, forget, or fundamentally misunderstand the nature of the Amazons' warrior status. So they often get reduced to "deadly warriors who strike first," "supposedly deadly but generally incompetent warriors when outside of their own books," or "militant man-haters" by a lot of people. None of which are true.

The Amazons are incredibly competent warriors and have been since Marston's first portrayal of them in the 1940s, so I don't inherently mind them being shown as such. However, where people get bogged down is insisting that they be shown as deadly and trigger-happy offensive fighters who are happy to strike first and hard, which fundamentally goes against the philosophy and thematic messaging built into Amazonian lore.

DC's Amazonia, lore-wise, is traditionally framed as an Aphrodite vs. Ares "peace and love vs. violence and war" story. In Marston's original rendition of the Amazon's backstory Aphrodite is not only their patron goddess but also their sole creator; it was only after Crisis on Infinite Earths and George Perez's long-overdue lore expansions that the rest of the goddesses became co-creators and co-patrons of the Amazons. Regardless, Ares and his domain are consistently invoked as what the Amazons don't want to be like or engage in. That behavior is the antithesis of what Amazons are supposed to be. This lore informs literally everything about how the Amazons view both their combat abilities and their duty to the goddesses.

The contemporary Amazons are, for the most part, women who died in terrible and traumatic ways at the hands of men (usually through domestic violence, murder, or as conquests of war). When the goddesses created the Amazons by reincarnating these women via the Well of Souls, they specifically charged them to become their champions. And what did these goddesses want? They explicitly wanted justice and protection for women in a violently patriarchial world. The Amazons being warriors is thus specifically tied to an understanding of necessary self-defense and protection (both of themselves and other women), not offense.

Which of course is what lands the Amazons on Themyscira in the first place: invoking the goddesses' ire by not obeying these commands after their rebellion against their enslavement by Heracles and his men crosses the line from the necessary battle to achieve their liberation into wanton violence and revenge:

"The battered Hippolyta prayed to her goddesses and found the courage and inspiration to free herself. Athena had reminded Hippolyta of the Amazons' purpose and mission—but not all of the Amazons remembered. Or cared. They yearned for vengeance. For retribution against those who violated them...and under Antiope, many found it." -Wonder Woman: Our Worlds at War (2001)

And as Hippolyta and Menalippe tell Antiope:

"No, Antiope. Never vengeance; never again!" /// "That is Ares' way, Antiope. We achieve no glory by embracing the Dark God's power!" -Wonder Woman (1987) #1

The Amazon way is promoting a society based on love, equality, truth, and peaceful conflict resolution, not vengeance and violent combat. It's a philosophy that defines Diana's mission in Man's World as an ambassador, teacher, and living example of her peoples' way of life:

Enraptured, they listen to her dissertation on equality between the sexes, tolerance, peaceful coexistence. Social Philosophy 101, Amazon Style. -Wonder Woman (1987) #170

Diana's gods-given mission was to spread the Amazonian ideals of conciliation—to give those living in the World of Man the proper tools to peacefully coexist with each other. It was her life's purpose to teach the possibilities of respect and love by being a living example of an upbringing founded in those ideals.

Truth-seeking, diplomacy, and peace are the Amazonian way of dealing with conflict, not violence. And when you are forced to engage in combat (and you should be prepared for that eventuality because sometimes it will happen), your goal should be self-defense and de-escalation, not offense and prolonging the conflict longer than necessary.

This is also, as an aside, why Diana (and specifically Diana in her capacity as Wonder Woman) does not usually carry offensive weapons like a sword and why her primary "weapons" are the Lasso of Truth and protective bracelets. She's the official representative of her peoples' culture and personally deeply believes in that cultural philosophy. Other Amazons have different views on the matter, including her mother, but Diana grew up completely separated from the World of Man and fully immersed in that belief system, which deeply informs how she views her mission as Wonder Woman.

Personally, I think many (but not all) of the problems re: depicting the Amazons in the modern era come from various writers attempting to solve contradictions that don't exist. They see "kickass trained warriors living peacefully on an island" and see that as a contradiction they have to solve: why do they train if they're pacifists? Why do they fight if they're peaceful? In reality, it's not a contradiction: their status as warriors and champions is specifically tied to self-defense and protection (both of themselves and others), but given the choice they don't want to have to take up arms to protect people because that goes against their fundamental cultural philosophy. Outsiders and meddlesome gods are the ones who force them to do that! What they want is for everyone to be treated with love, respect, and understanding so they don't have to!

And there's a lot of problematic elements built into the concept's execution, but this is the core thesis behind the split between Hippolyta's Themyscirans and Antiope's Bana-Mighdall. The Themysciran Amazons have had their fill of violence and war; they just want to live in peace. But a) they were specifically tasked with guarding Doom's Doorway when they were taken to the island, a duty which necessitates perfect combat readiness, and b) their history is littered with examples of people refusing to leave them alone. So they train, in case someone decides to take shots at them, but otherwise live in peaceful isolation. Meanwhile, the Banas looked at that same shared history and went "we need to take the fight to the outside world. Offense is the best defense, and the only way to protect ourselves and the other women of the world is to actively seek vengeance for the violence women face." So they chose to actively intervene in Man's World, fighting constant battles and exacting revenge for any women mistreated at the hands of men.

...which is also why Artemis was such a necessary and interesting addition to the Wonder Woman mythos (even if she's often handled...poorly), because she and Diana represent two diametrically opposed views of how to protect and represent both their cultures and the women of Man's World, but that's a rant for a different time.

Anyway, the Themysciran Amazons' martial pacifism as a cultural value isn't a contradiction; it's one way of looking at a history filled with violence and victimization and saying "no more." And it's a pretty subversive way of doing so, which (well-written) comics tend to note!

So yes, the "Amazons are warriors" mentality has always been there and has been solidly emphasized at various points throughout Wonder Woman's history, and it should be acknowledged and shown that they're all incredibly competent in battle when they're forced to engage in it. But the way in which it gets emphasized is what defines whether a writer has a solid understanding of the history and baggage that comes with depicting the Amazonian struggle and the socio-political issues embedded in their lore. And unfortunately...many writers just don't seem to get it.

#sorry for just ranting about this but I HAVE to correct the narrative every time this comes up. it's not a want. it's a need.#someone hire me to write a political history of Amazonia #I could do SO MUCH with the recurring themes of isolationism vs. interventionalism as a method of self-defense #dc comics #wonder woman #wonder woman meta #diana of themiscyra #artemis of bana mighdall #queen hippolyta #dc amazons #dc meta #long post #asks

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die-pink-maus · 2 months

Text

📖 Mein Tutor 📖

❤︎ Darawing Credits: @shkretart ❤︎

Synopsis: Reader makes a New Year’s resolution to be more productive, finding herself fascinated with language, she decides to hire an in person tutor to give her the run down on Deutsch. However, turns out that learning German isn’t the only thing on readers mind…or her tutor, König’s 🤭

TW: 18+, MDNI, heavy smut, fluff fluff fluff, MDom, age gap relationship (26/41), dirty talk, female pronouns used, fingering, p in v, eye contact during seggs, size kink, female reader, vanilla seggs

AN: This is a ✨one shot✨ all the goods are here and there aren’t any additional parts. I would say this is a “medium” burn lol, there’s quite a bit of background and dialogue before we get into ITTTT. I’m learning German at the moment and my tutor is really cute, so it made me think hmm…😂 Also, I do tend to write König as a softer character, so this won't be for you if you don't like fluff, but I'm going to try my hand at a more domineering version of him soon. I hope you guys like it!

Word Count: 5,412

❤︎Like & Reblogs Are Greatly Appreciated!❤︎

Enjoy! 💋

I’ve never really been one for New Year’s resolutions, but considering how chaotic my life was last year, I figured setting a goal or two for myself would probably do me some good. I’d been searching for new and productive ways to spend my free time for a while now, and discovered that I really enjoy learning new languages. Language has always been incredibly fascinating, but I never realized just how fascinating it could truly be until now. He’s retired, ex military, and practically everything about him is unknown, down to his name as he only goes by his former callsign which is König. He’s shrouded in mystery with just the right amount of danger — everything from the way he caries himself to the black ski mask he wears during our lessons is telling of his obscure and likely troublesome past. But behind this large secretive wall appears to be an overall happy man, one who chooses to spend his free time teaching people such as myself how to speak in his native tongue — German. He’s an incredible teacher, he’s taught me more than I ever thought was possible in two months. He makes our lessons enjoyable and fun, I’m almost always ready for our next lesson the minute one ends. I practically count down the days of each week, patiently awaiting 7pm on Friday nights when he graces my front door, barely able to walk through the door frame without bumping his head due to his unbelievably tall and brawny stature. I think about him more than I’d like to admit. The sweet praises that escape his lips at the end of each lesson, how the wrinkles around his stunning blue eyes crinkle up when he listens to me say a new word he’s taught me — I assume he’s smiling considering I can’t see anything other than his eyes. “Very good, schatz.” He says as he gives me a playful round of applause. There’s something about him that draws me in. I don’t really know what he looks like, but from what I can see, he’s perfect. Probably the tallest man I’ve ever laid eyes on, a muscular physique that never goes unnoticed even in loose fitting clothing, it’s damn near impossible for my mind not to wander off. I know he’s much older than me, and for all I know he could have an entire family with a wife and children. Considering how sweet he is, it wouldn’t be surprising at all. I’m not too sure if German is considered a language of love by many, or anyone at all, but he has a way of making it sound so sexy. I’m damn near hypnotized by the rough and rugged tone that coats each word he speaks. Even in English, his accent is absolutely endearing, it takes everything in me to keep my composure as my core heats and arousal slowly begins to glaze the soft pink cotton of my panties.

Our lesson is almost over for the evening, but I’m feeling a little bold…another thing I promised myself this year is that I won’t allow fear to control my life. I doubt I ever cross his mind. He probably doesn’t look at me or think of me in all the many ways I do with him given our age difference, but I’m old enough to know what I want. Tonight’s the night I start making it clear that I’m interested, and if it’s not reciprocated, at least I tried. He began packing away his notebook and heading towards the foyer when my eye caught a glimpse of a vintage bottle of red wine I’d bought earlier in the week. “Um,” I began hesitantly, my mind sorting through ways in which I could make him stay a little longer. I walked over to the kitchen counter and grabbed the bottle of wine, along with two glasses from the cupboard above. “Any plans for this evening? I was thinking…maybe you’d like to have a glass of wine with me?” I blushed. The look in his eyes was reminiscent of a deer in headlights. Figures he’d be caught off guard, considering we’d never spent time together outside of our lessons. “Well, I don’t have any plans at all,” he laughed, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, the wrinkles around his dazzling blue eyes crinkling up. “Are you sure there isn’t anyone else you’d rather share that with? Looks like an expensive bottle, don’t think your boyfriend would appreciate you sharing this with the strange masked Austrian man who comes by to teach you German once a week.”

“Well, who said I had a boyfriend?” I giggled, my cheeks ablaze from slight embarrassment at his assumption. “I just assumed that a beautiful young woman such as yourself…” He began as we held each other’s gaze. “So is that a yes or no?” I smirked.

“Alright, wine it is.” He said hesitantly as he removed his boots. “I’ll invoice you for the extra time later.” He teased. We both took a seat on my sofa “Prost!” I smiled after I poured us both a glass, and raised my glass with him. “Sehr gut, Schatz!” He praised before raising the edge of his mask up to his nose and taking a sip. This is more of him than I’ve ever been able to see. His jaw line is strong and chiseled, peppered with an even layer of stubble. “Alright, you have to tell me,” I began. “Why do you wear the mask?”

He paused for a moment, thinking of an answer to a question he probably gets quite frequently. “There are quite a few reasons…” he sighed. “The military has and always will be a large part of my life, I suppose there’s some comfort in it for me. Maybe I just feel a little exposed without it because I’ve worn one almost every day of my life since I was a teenager.” He laughed. “Also, there’s the matter of safety…”

“Why would you need your mask for safety?”

He sighed, “It’s complicated, but there are situations you can sometimes get yourself into that cause you to make enemies out of people you wouldn’t really want to make enemies with.” He said. It hadn’t really occurred to me until just now that he’s more than likely had a hand in ending someone else’s life. It sounds silly, because he was in the military so I should have just assumed, but aside from the mask and his large, intimidating body, it’s kinda hard to picture him as some ruthless assassin. All of our interactions thus far have been so pleasant, and he’s never been anything other than a gentleman, there’s a part of me that wonders… “Are you okay?” I asked, a pang of immediate regret stirring within me as soon as the words left my lips. I guess I just can’t imagine having to do the things he probably had to do. I don’t think I’d be okay, I don’t know how I could cope with taking another life, or watching the life of someone else get taken. He cocked his head to the side, eyes slightly squinted as he let out a brief chuckle. “You know,” he began. “I don’t think anyone’s ever asked me that before…” he trailed off. “I would say…I wasn’t always okay, it was very hard in the beginning, but over time I’ve learned to be okay.” He beamed, a softness gleaming in his eyes, almost as if he was glad I asked. “I’m happy to hear that” I smiled.

I’d like to think I was able to gain his trust that night, something I know is probably a challenging task for many others. Since then, we’ve made it somewhat of a tradition to share a bottle of wine after each of our lessons. Sometimes he even cooks dinner and chefs up a few of his favourite Austrian dishes. Nothing makes me melt more than seeing how overjoyed he is that I’ve enjoyed something he made. Another two months have gone by, and it’s safe to say that he and I have been growing…closer, but be has yet to make an actual move. The ball is now in his court, so let’s see what he does with it. It's Saturday and I'm bored as hell. We spoke earlier and since we both aren’t doing anything, we decided maybe it would be a good idea to do something together, so I invited him over. This would be the first time we’d be spending time together where a lesson hasn’t taken place beforehand, so as excited as I am, I’m also feeling quite nervous. I made a small plater of appetizers for us to snack on while we do whatever it is we’re gonna be doing. Ultimately there’s no set plan, so I’m thinking we’ll probably end up watching a movie or two. My doorbell rang a few minutes later, and there he was holding a 6 pack of German beer and an extra large pizza. “You told me you enjoy pizza last time, so I figured I’d bring some for us to share.” He smiled.

“Great choice.” I giggled as I moved aside so he could come in. “I did half meat lovers, and half extra cheese with pineapples.” He said as he opened the box to display the pizza, the look in his eyes hinting at how proud he was for remembering the toppings I like. “Very simple order, but it’s something very few can seem to get right,” I laughed as he placed the pizza on the counter top. “Thank you, König.” I said as I wrapped my arms around his torso. He’s huge so a proper hug just doesn’t work, but no hug in this world compares to a König hug. Those big muscular arms wrapped around me, engulfing me into his strong chest. He always smell amazing, like fragrant musky oud and aftershave. “Natürlich, Schatz.“ he whispers as his hand roams over the back of my head, fingers gently playing in my hair. I could stay in his arms forever, I’ve genuinely never felt safer than I do right here. We haven’t really had a moment quite as intimate as this one. We’ve hugged many times before, but not like this. We pulled away and smiled at each other. I cleared my throat before heading over to my kitchen to grab plates and napkins. "So how has your day been so far?" He asked a he took a took a seat at the breakfast bar. "Honestly, it's been pretty boring thus far, I'm counting on you to entertain me" I teased.

"And how do you expect me to do that?" He smirked.

"That's your job to figure out, not mine." I winked.

"Alright, what's you opinion on horror movies?"

"Love 'em!"

"Paranormal or slasher?"

"Hmm, haven't watched a slasher in a while..." I said as I took a seat on the stool beside him, grabbing a slice of my half of the pizza.

"Okay, I'm gonna count down, we're both gonna say a slasher on three and then go from there."

"Alright."

"Eins, Zwei, Drei..."

"Saw marathon." We both said before proceeding to burst into laugher. "Well that was easy," He laughed. "Never would've pegged you for a Saw type of woman though."

"Hey...ya girl's got good taste alright?" I laughed as I took a bite of my slice. We moved everything to the couch and setup Netflix. Luckily for us, Netflix happens to have all of the saw movies available for streaming. I took a seat on the couch after figuring everything out with the TV. "Why are you so far away?" He asked. I sat frozen for a moment, not sure what to do, the blood rushing to my cheeks as I face him. One of his arms rested gently behind the couch, signalling for me to come closer. I smiled bashfully before sliding closer to him, his large robust arm swinging around me and nuzzling me into his side. I gently placed my hand on his chest, before looking up at him. He looked down at me, the wrinkles around his eyes doing that thing I love so much to give away that he's smiling. He gently rubbed my arm, lifting his mask up to his nose, as he placed his finger underneath my chin. He leaned in close, gently rubbing his nose against mine. "May I kiss you, Schatz?" He whispered.

"Ja." I breathed.

"Sehr gut..." He smiled, taking note of my Deutsch response, as he closed the gap between our lips, enrapturing me in a kiss so deep my body turned to jello. His tongue entered my mouth, taking the kiss to new heights. It was dripping with passion, riddled with fervour and yearning. It was hot. Sensual and inviting, I was practically speechless when he pulled away, a string of spit connecting our swollen lips from the brief make out session a few seconds prior. He pulled me back into his chest, gently placing a kiss on the top of my head. Seems like he’s doing something with that ball after all.

By the time we’d finished watching the movies, it was nearly 2am. We were both slowly beginning to doze off before König took notice of the time. “Schiße,” he groaned as he rubbed his eyes. “When did it get so late?”

“No idea.” I yawned as I gently rose from his chest. Ugh he’s so comfy, I really didn’t want to get up, but I didn’t want to push things too far along by suggesting that he spend the night, no matter how badly I wanted to, and fuck did I want to. That one kiss alone was more than enough to have me practically dripping through my panties and down my thighs. He’s such a phenomenal kisser. For a good hour throughout the first movie, I pretty much had to fight myself to keep my mind off of imagining those lips of his covering my entire body in wet gentle kisses. Feeling them enclosed around my nipples, sucking and nipping at them with his teeth while his large calloused hands roam about my body. Picturing him between my legs, his sweet, rough tongue lapping over my swollen nub and dipping between my folds, blue eyes piercing my gaze as he watches me writhe in pleasure beneath him. I would let him have me all over the house, on every piece of furniture, every corner and crevice, I want to be able to look anywhere in here and remember how hard he fucked me…but I don’t want to come off too eager. We got up from the couch and headed towards the front foyer. “I had a great time tonight.” I blushed. “I’d love to maybe do it again sometime.”

“I agree,” he said. “But maybe, only if you’d like to, I could take you out for dinner somewhere nice?”

“Yes,” I said a little two quickly. “I would love to.”

“What about after our next lesson this week?”

“That works for me.”

“Perfect.” He said as he finished putting on his shoes. “I’ll see you then, Schatz. Guten Nacht” he said, gently pulling me in for a tight embrace, placing a kiss on the top of my head. “Let me know when you make it in.” I said.

“Roger.” He smiled, playfully saluting me as he headed out the front door.

Sundays are what I like to call Self Care Days. I’ll normally do a full deep clean of the entire house, engage in some intensive skincare, play my favourite music, drink my favourite wine and eat my favourite foods. It wasn’t until I was finished washing off my clay face mask that I realized I was missing the wine and food. I quickly slipped into a pair of black leggings and a white hoodie, then grabbed my car keys and headed out to the grocery store a few minutes away to grab a bottle of Chardonnay and a few ingredients I’m missing to make lasagna. The supermarket is relatively empty today, which is quite surprising considering it’s a Sunday, but I have zero complaints. I definitely prefer it this way, there’s less anxiety surrounding finding the things you need as you can simply take your time. After grabbing my favourite jar of tomato sauce, ricotta cheese and big bottle of Chardonnay, I began walking off towards to the cash register. As I mindlessly drifted through the aisle towards the cashier, I caught a glimpse of someone familiar. My eyes trailed over the produce section of the grocery store and I saw him — König…but he wasn’t alone. Beside him, a beautiful statuesque blonde, gently rubbing his arm as a little boy around maybe around 3 or 4 years old sat nestled between his arm and chest. My heart practically sank and fell right out of my body and I froze dead in my tracks. No, nothing is set in stone between he and I, but what the hell is going on? Why spend any time at all with me outside of our lessons? Why kiss me the way he did or ask me out to dinner? It’s not like we sit and talk about German for hours over multiple glasses of wine, watch movies on opposite ends of my couch in complete silence, or conjugate verbs while he cooks me Käsespätzle. I’m no fool, I see the way he looks at me…but if he’s married, I want absolutely nothing to do with him. Once I’d gotten over the initial shock of what I’d seen, I was enraged. I decided the next course of action was going to be absolute pettiness. I began heading over in his direction, a gigantic phoney grin plastered across my face as I approach him and his family. “Oh wow, König!” I exclaimed. “Had no idea you and your family also shopped here too.” I said through nearly gritted teeth. “Yes, I’m surprised I haven’t run into you here before.” He smiled, seemingly oblivious to being caught. “I’m one of König’s students, nice to meet you.” I smiled as I turned to the blonde.

“Karina, likewise.” She smiled.

“She’s my Friday evening student, she’s progressing quite well!” He laughed.

“Ahhh…I’ve heard quite a bit about you actually.” She smirked.

“I’m sure you have…well I just wanted to come over and say hello. Take care” I said before I walked over to self checkout. As angry as I am, more than anything else, I feel foolish. Of course he has an entire family, and of course she’s beautiful. Good thing I grabbed the big bottle of wine today. The first thing I did when I got home, aside from pour myself a glass of wine, was cancel the rest of my lessons with König before blocking his number all together. I feel so disgusting and betrayed. Why wouldn’t he tell me about her? Was he hoping I’d be interested in being some sort of mistress? Considering this is something that was initiated by me on the basis of “I’m gonna get what I want this year”, this is a little embarrassing.

The thunderstorm brewing outside was the perfect addition to this mess of an evening. About 3 glasses of Chardonnay and 3 slices of pizza later, I still can’t get over seeing him with them. I just feel so stupid. I genuinely thought this could have been the beginning of something…special. As mad as I am, I cannot get over how amazing he looked with that baby in his arms. Considering how patient he is with me during our lessons, I just know he’s probably the most amazing father, but I have to just try to move on I guess. I got up to pour myself another glass of wine when my doorbell rang. Very strange seeing as it’s 10pm and I’m not expecting a visit from anyone other than a brutal hangover, but I’m not expecting that till tomorrow morning. I opened my phone to check my Ring camera before going towards the door. It’s him. What the hell is he doing here? Was today not enough? I walked over to the door, taking a very deep breath before proceeding to open. He’s soaking wet from head to toe. His white, crew next t-shirt sticking to his body, revealing a clearly defined chest and sculpted abs. “What are you doing here?” I asked.

“You cancelled your lessons…and then I tried calling you and never got through. I thought maybe something happened to you.” He said.

“Really? König, please, spare me the pity party.”

“What? What are you talking about? What pity party?”

“Wasn’t it enough for me to have to see you with her? And then you act as if it’s not weird as hell for me to be interacting with your wife.” I spat. He stared at me for a moment before doing something I never thought he would do. He pulled his mask up and over his head. I stared at him, dumbfounded. I drank him in, assessing all of his features — he’s beautiful. He has a buzz cut, which is different than what I’d always pictured, and a scar the slits through his eyebrow that looks…pretty damn good if I’m being honest. His expression grew soft, mildly amused as he watched me stare at his maskless face. “Schatz,” he said. “That is my sister, Karina, and her 4 year old son Markus.” He laughed.

“Fuck…” I cursed under my breath.

“Can I come in please?” He asked. I nodded as I moved aside to let him through the front door. I really don’t know what’s worse, me assuming that the similarly large blonde hair blue eyed Austrian woman standing beside him was his wife, or the outburst I just had. I would crawl under a rock and live there for the rest of my life if I could, because I genuinely cannot handle the embarrassment. I walked over to the linen closet to grab him a towel to dry off. “Thank you,” he said as he put the towel to his face. “Now, what’s all of this about me having a wife?” He asked, smirking knowingly as he clearly already knows the answer. I’m not at all ready to have this conversation, but here goes. “I guess when I saw all three of you, I just assumed that was your wife and child.” I sighed. Looking back, especially now that I’ve seen his face, I definitely see the resemblance between him and Karina. “We’ve been spending a lot of time together after lessons…that kiss last night…I thought there was something between us.” I blushed.

He stepped closer to me. “Of course there is, I asked you out for a reason.” He laughed in mild disbelief. “But I do have a hard time understanding why you would be interested in me…You are so beautiful, too beautiful, but I’m so much older than you and all the things I’ve done —“

“König, I don’t care about any of that. All I care about is how I feel when I’m with you.”

He smiled as he raised his hand up to my face, cupping my cheek in his palm. My heart began to race at the sensation of his touch. “Why do you think she said she’s heard a lot about you?” He laughed. “I help her out with my nephew while her husband is deployed. Admittedly, you are all I can ever seem to think or talk about these days. I am happiest when I’m with you.” I never thought I’d hear him say these things, but God does it feel so good to hear. He leaned down and I leaned upward to close the gap between our lips. I never understood what people meant before when they said they felt a spark when they kissed someone, that is until he first kissed me. I never want it to end, but I also want more and I can tell he does too. He picks me up, effortlessly walking us both over to the kitchen before placing me on the countertop, his kiss growing hungrier and hungrier by the second. My hands sauntered about his torso through his damp shirt. He pulls away briefly to take it off before returning to my lips. I wrapped my legs around his waist, pulling him in closer between my thighs. A small moan escapes my lips as I feel his hardened length push up against my pussy through his grey sweatpants. Fuck, looks like he’s big all around. My pussy weeps at the thought of him splitting me in half with his big stiff rod. His hands slip beneath my oversized shirt, softly massaging and caressing my tits as we continue to kiss, his hips slowly grinding against my sopping wet heat through my panties. Christ. I could cum right here. The motion of his hips alone is enough to send me spiralling out into a fit of intense pleasure. I can’t wait to feel him fill me up, and see the look on his face as he slips into the slick mess he’s created. He begins to roll and pinch my nipples between his fingers as his lips move towards my jawline, slow soft kisses trailing down my neck as I whimper and moan, my sensitive nipples growing harder beneath his touch. I pull my shirt up over my head, allowing his lips access to my exposed chest. His lips continue to trail downward towards my breasts, taking one of my nipples into his mouth, while his hand continues to massage the other. “Oh, König…” I moan quietly as my head falls back, goosebumps slowly decorating my entire body as he takes his time catering to my nipples. “Your body is incredible,” he breathed as he came back up to meet my lips. “I love the way it reacts to me…” he said lowly, his hand trailing along my side until it reaches the hem of my panties. “Oh…I wanna taste you.” he whispered in my ear. I placed both feet on the countertop and leaned back onto my elbows, slowly sliding my panties off and down my legs, flicking them off to the side in one swift little kick. He fell to his knees, spreading my legs apart to admire my sticky wet folds. “Schiße, Schatz…” he moaned as he looked up at me, placing gentle kisses along my inner thighs. “I’m going to make you feel things you’ve never felt before.” He smirked as he planted slow purposeful kisses against my heat. He nuzzled his face between my folds, his tongue lapping gently at the arousal pouring from my tight cunt. “Ohhh…” I moaned out, my hand resting on his head as he picked up the pace, my clit throbbing uncontrollably as his tongue ferociously flicks against it. “Fuck, König…God, you’re gonna make me cum.” I whimpered, legs beginning to shake as his hands held on tight to my thighs, fingers digging into my plush flesh as I squirmed beneath his lips and tongue. He began sucking my clit while his tongue continued to flick against my swollen nub, my orgasm building as I watched him indulge in me, enjoying and savouring every ounce of my sweet juices. He came up for air, licking his lips as he took in every inch of my naked body. “I could eat your pussy all day, Schatz. Fuck, you taste even better than you look.” He praised.

“Now I want you to cum for me.” He said, slowly sliding two of his fingers inside me, his thumb rubbing swift circles against my clit. My back arches up off the counter as the room fills with the loud, obscene noises of me growing closer to succumbing to my orgasm.

He leans over me, fingers curling upward and into that delightful spongy spot inside me. He kisses me slowly as I cum all over his fingers, bringing them to his lips to lick them clean. “Sehr Gut.” He smirks as he pulls away, my eyes immediately drawn to the large bulge in his sweatpants. He pulls them, along with his boxers, down, revealing his long, hard, uncut cock. Fuck…he might actually split me in two. He’s gotta be at least 9-10 inches with a fair amount of girth, and a thick vein that embellishes the side of his length. I sat up as he placed his hands on my hips. “Are you sure about this, Schatz? I don’t wanna hurt you…you’re so tight.” He said.

“Yes, I’m sure.” I said, gently taking his hardness in my hand, slowly stroking him as I held his gaze. “I want you, König.” I breathed as I positioned his thick leaky tip at my entrance. “I’ll be gentle.” He breathed against my lips before kissing me , slowly pushing forward. I leaned back onto my hands to allow him more room to go deeper, his hands resting on the counter on either side of me. “König,” I gasped as he went deeper, slowly thrusting in more of himself little by little. “Am I hurting you?” He asked, expression awash with concern as he takes a brief pause. “No. I want more,” I moaned. “I want it all.”

He smiled, “Gutes Mädchen.” He said, holding my gaze as he continued to push into me, my eyes widening at the delicious feel of his fullness. “Fuck.” I moaned.

“Mmm, look at you…” he smirked. “Schiße, you take me so fucking well.” He breathed, watching his fat cock slip in and out of me, letting out a guttural moan as he bottoms out. “Mein Got, you’re so fucking tight.” He said as his thrusts began to pick up pace. “So…big…” I moaned as he thrusted harder, eyes glued to mine, basking in my aroused expression as he continued to fuck me. “Harder.” I panted.

“You sure you can handle it, Schatz?” He asked.

“Yes. Please” I begged. He stood up, gently pulling me towards the edge of the countertop, placing my legs in the air, and wrapping one of his arms around both of my thighs before slamming into me repeatedly. “Oh my God.” I cried out, his thick tip kissing the sweet gummy edge of my cervix over and over. “This is what you wanted, ja?” He taunted.

“Y-yes.” I moaned, barely able to speak.

“Aw, what’s the matter, Schatz? Thought you could handle this?” He smirked, watching as my pussy gushes around this cock, dripping down it’s base. His free hand moved towards my clit, his thumb continuing with those hypnotizing circles as he mercilessly pounds my cunt, his face and chest glistening with sweat. I can feel myself about to come undone. “You are so beautiful.” He whispered. I’ve never been fucked this hard before, or taken anything nearly as big as him. I am completely overwhelmed with pleasure in the best way, and the look and his face let’s me know the feeling is mutual. I damn near explode all over his cock, coating majority of his length in my creaminess. He pulled out, I could tell his orgasm was about to follow mine. I climbed off of the counter top and got on my knees, licking my slick off of his shaft before wrapping my lips around the head of his cock. He grabbed hold of my hair and I began sliding my lips up and down his shaft. “Fuck…” he whimpered. “I’m gonna cum.” He moaned. I picked up the pace, sucking him vigorously. I continued until he couldn’t hold back anymore, shooting ropes of his hot, sticky cum down my throat. I held his gaze as I swallowed. “Fuck….” He exhaled, trying to catch his breath as I rose to my feet. He pulled me into him, kissing me hard as we both came down from our high. “That was incredible.” He smiled, brushing a loose strand of hair behind my ear. “It was.” I blushed. “I’m sorry about earlier.”

He laughed. “There’s nothing to apologize for, Schatz, especially not after that.”

“Would you like to spend the night?” I asked sheepishly.

“I would love to.” He smiled as he gave me a kiss on the cheek, before scooping me up into his arms bridal style. “Let’s go take a shower, Ja?”

“Lead the way!” I laughed as he headed towards the stairs.

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vakarians-babe · 1 year

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After a historic 6 week strike, the Temple University Graduate Students Association - the first graduate worker union in Pennsylvania - has WON.

When we went out on January 31st, I don’t think any of us thought that we would end up here. This was a long and arduous process that could never have been accomplished without everyone involved—and I do mean everyone.

Numerous news outlets have been reporting throughout the whole strike, but I’d like to run through what, exactly, it is we’ve done.

After well over a year of negotiations (we went to the table in January of 2022 after the administration delayed responding to our RFIs for months) and more than a year without a contract (it expired on February 15, 2022), we were stuck with an administrative team whose position was, resolutely, “we are happy with the contract as it is.” Their belief was that teaching and research assistants, who facilitate—at a conservative estimate—approximately one-third of all instructional work here on campus were “not a core function of the university.” Pay was structured around a tier-based system that generated inequity as part of its structure which ultimately manifested as race and gender based wage gaps, and that pay averaged out between 19k and 20k for the majority of our bargaining unit. We had only five days of parental leave in the event of childbirth. To cover a single dependent on the dependent healthcare plan required an individual to spend approximately 30% of their paycheck. There had been no substantive raises or adjustments for the cost of living since our first contract as a union.

During the strike, Temple university cut our healthcare and revoked tuition remission, attempting to break us through punitive bills and threats. They quite literally threatened peoples’ lives in addition to their livelihoods. International students were threatened for daring to exercise the rights they have as visa holders to engage in protected concerted activity. They attempted to break our will and our organization.

They failed. We didn’t.

On Monday, voting on a second tentative agreement closed. The contract negotiations team and the executive board unanimously endorsed that TA. It passed at an overwhelming 98% vote among our members. That TA, which will now become our contract, did the following:

Eliminated the tier system completely

Brought our pay up to 24k at the beginning of our contract, reaching pay of 27k by its end in 2026

Introduced 25% dependent healthcare coverage which, in addition to the pay raises, lowers the burden of single dependent care to just about 18% of one’s paycheck instead of 30%

Increased parental leave to 21 days

While this contract is not the most perfect contract, it is one of the largest single contract wins in recent history. It signifies an incredible amount of organizing power and it opens the door for future negotiations that will make TUGSA even stronger.

But more importantly, this strike and this contract are incontrovertible proof that graduate worker unions can win. They are proof that we can do it, and that administrations cannot expect to silence us through retaliation. We are stronger than them.

The fight doesn’t end here. The union of graduate workers, faculty, postdocs and more at Rutgers University has passed their strike authorization vote. The graduate workers at Duke University are fighting for their right to be recognized as employees, and that fight will soon be passed up through the nation to challenge rulings made at the National Labor Relations Board. Graduate workers at other universities in Pennsylvania and the Philadelphia area are moving to unionize. TUGSA continues to organize—our next contract negotiations will begin in less than two and a half years. Now is the time to support graduate workers. We cannot backslide. We have to fight for each other, because when we fight, we win.

#tugsa #templeunionmade #temple university #grad worker strike #strike #labor rights

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matan4il · 1 year

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Buddie 618 meta

Since this could have been the show finale, not just this season’s, I hope you allow me to do a small overview of the ep as a whole with this in mind.

I’m gonna be honest, I want to send ABC a bouquet of flowers, because if this would have been the show’s last ep, it would have been an incredibly disappointing one. Not that it didn’t have merit. 911 has always been about the importance of the good that we do - for ourselves, for our loved ones and for strangers. That’s why the significance of this ep’s emergency was actually great. We got to see the 118 saving themselves, each other and be saved by a complete stranger, who wouldn’t have been there if it weren’t for the 118 saving him four seasons earlier. My issue with it is that it would have been better IMO to spread out this emergency over two eps, really give it room to resonate emotionally, in much the same way that Buck’s lightning strike did. That would have also left more airtime for the team’s personal lives to get closure.

When looking at the personal resolution to the 118’s stories, I did like the return to Henren’s adoption via foster care storyline, it needed closure and I’m so happy this is the one it got. I have talked in more than one fandom about the importance of showing how same sex couples ACTUALLY go about becoming parents, so I think this is extra significant. I can’t wait to see this not just being a wink at the end of a show finale, but an actually developed storyline in s7. I also think “Here’s to more chaos and more love” is my fave line in this ep and a perfect summary of the best of 911. I also loved Bathena getting to go on their honeymoon, getting to live carefree for a moment. They absolutely deserve this, and it felt even better thanks to being a callback moment. I also enjoyed seeing Madney seal the details of their wedding. I have loved and enjoyed them since Maddie called Chim cute in 206, they deserve all the happiness and joy, and to me, having to see her twice this season bracing herself for the possibility of losing Buck and / or Chim (in 611 and now) made it even more meaningful to see Madney happy by the end of the ep. Again, I can’t wait to see the actual wedding in s7. It’s gonna melt all of our hearts. Still, all of these resolutions felt a bit rushed and I believe they could have had more of an impact if they were more than blink and you miss it moments during the final montage.

But if those felt underdeveloped, that’s nothing in comparison with Buck and Eddie’s personal lives’ resolutions. Was 911 really going to leave them with the “endgame” of women who literally only showed up as Love Interests in the last couple of eps of the show? If I weren’t a part of fandom, as a casual viewer, I would sincerely not have even remembered Marisol from her emergency, so I would have been confused by her and Eddie’s conversation. In fact, I found it funny that when Eddie wants to text her, it’s presented as a disruption to Bobby’s talk, just like Buck’s call with Kameron. I also thought it was wild that we discover Marisol and Eddie exchanged numbers, because that most certainly wasn’t even hinted at during 617. We clearly saw him walking away, they exchanged a last look, and that was it. Eddie and Marisol are so underdeveloped, we don’t even know how they happened! Did Marisol rush after Eddie? Did he come back to ask her for her number? Did they both decide to take the leap? How did the conversation go? Why was their phone call in 618 so awkward if they had already made their intentions clear when they exchanged numbers? We have zero answers to these questions. This was so forced, so unearned, so underdeveloped, it makes it painfully obvious that it was done just to not leave Eddie heterosexually single. Because I’m sorry, homosubtextually, he’s been married for years.

Which brings me to Buck and Natalia. I gotta roll my eyes at my own 615 meta, where I talked about the meaning of her name connecting her to birth, now we literally had her at the birth of Buck’s bio kid. What a piece of ironic foreshadowing. And yet, despite Natalia being a bit more developed than Marisol, despite the fact that Buck had what was maybe the most invested in personal resolution in the finale, it was still a let down for me. We have mostly seen why Natalia doesn’t suit him in eps 615 and 617. She did come back in the finale, but then so did Taylor in 414. That doesn’t mean either woman fits Buck as a partner. I’m left with the uneasy feeling that we have here a rerun of that s4 finale in terms of the ep shoving both men into relationships with underdeveloped LIs. TBH, the juxtaposition makes 618 worse IMO. Because the comparison with Marisol and Natalia actually makes Ana and Taylor look slightly more invested in! That says a lot about how little 911 cares about the 618 LIs. But it also gives me this bad sense of stepping in place with Buck and Eddie in terms of their romantic development. For example, the fact that Buck ends up tying yet another one of his couches to yet another gf at a way too early stage of their r/s (too much time couldn’t have passed between Kameron giving birth, ruining Buck’s couch, and his conversation about getting a couch together with Natalia since he was just getting around to having the old one looked at to see if it could be saved. He’s once again rushing into commitment with a girl he doesn’t yet know well enough, and who we saw in 615 he was idolizing as truly seeing him, when the truth was very different or she wouldn’t have run out on him in 617. I also can’t tell you why Natalia came back based on the few interactions we’ve seen between them, we haven’t had a single meaningful moment between them so far to explain it, making it clear he’s going in circles. I do suspect Buck doesn’t realize this is him repeating past mistakes, he thinks this is progress given his ability to let go of the baby, which could be an interesting angle to explore in s7. But probably what makes giving Buddie rushed heterosexual “endgame” LIs worse is that every bit of development either man made that isn’t about their love life got sidelined in this ep...

I think in a sense, the underdevelopment of all of Buck and Eddie’s LIs, even the “endgame” ones in what could have been the show’s finale, might actually be a testament to the power of Buddie. If a showrunner knows they could never hope to develop any LI to have with either Buck or Eddie even a tenth of what they have with each other, that can explain not even trying. In fact, we got a reminder of the strong bond between these two men during the call. Buck saved Eddie, just as Eddie saved Buck during the lightning strike. The way they looked at each other, the zoom in on their hands grasping one another, was very emotionally poignant exactly because we have seen these two losing their whole damn minds trying to save the other man on more than one occasion. And Buck used the words “I got you,” a reminder that they will ALWAYS have each other’s back, on and off the field.

The good news is that ABC has a chance to correct the course of where this finale left off. I do believe the move is being done knowing they would have to rejuvenate 911 if they want it to fare better than on Fox, and I think that giving Buddie the room to become canon would be exactly that. But I have said in more than one of my ask replies that to me, no matter what, this show has been telling the epic love story of Buck and Eddie, with the little family they built. Whether TPTB go through with that canonically or not, this is what they gave us. And nothing will take that away from me. If 911 ends with Buddie being single, I’ll just assume their feelings realization and confessions happen after the end of the show. If 911 ends with “endgame” heterosexual LIs, I’ll just know that those couples eventually break up at some point during the 118’s post-show future, and then Buddie finally get together. Because that’s the story we got over the course of the last 5 seasons, one that only has a single possible resolution, whether the show itself gives it to us or whether it forces us to have to imagine and write it down in fix-it fics ourselves. We ALL know what we saw. We ALL get what Buddie have. We ALL see how that inevitably would lead to them getting together sooner or later, and if it doesn’t happen during the show, then later it is, but it WILL happen. That’s how I look at the show, and that’s why even if this were the last ep of it, it still wouldn’t have destroyed Buddie for me. I hope this POV can help others, too.

~~ I’m gonna be here during the hiatus, if anyone wants to be here with me. Thank you so much to all of you who made s6 a lovelier ride by taking it with me! I’m endlessly grateful for every single one of you. xoxox

~~ (my weekly meta posts) (my Buddie gifs) (all of my content)

~~ My tag list will follow in the reblog, please let me know if you wanna be added/removed here.

~~ Thank you to the amazing @whosoldherout for making this season so much better with your gifs, for these meta posts and in general!

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joon4eva · 11 months

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forg_tful — kim namjoon.

summary. where namjoon's forgetfulness gets him into trouble.

genre. established relationship ✰ angst ✰ fluff

word count. ~3,482 words

tags/warnings. angst; lots of it, crying, namjoon is a green flag idc, oc is whipped, apologies and a happy ending, oh also here's this to give you an idea of how i pictured joon towards the end of the story

masterlist :)

"sorry"s and "i forgot"s seemed to become part of your daily conversations.

tonight was the night you'd been waiting for, the evening you finally introduced namjoon, your boyfriend, to your parents over dinner. to your relief, everything went smoothly and your parents adored him.

however, despite the outward success of the event, frustration bubbled deep within you.

the reason for this internal turmoil stemmed from multiple factors. first and foremost, you were late to the dinner; an issue in itself.

but what added fuel to the fire was that your tardiness was a direct result of namjoon forgetting about the event altogether.

this wasn't simply a matter of being late - it went much deeper than that.

you had done everything possible to ensure he would remember – leaving sticky notes on the fridge, setting calendar reminders on his phone – but to no avail.

in the beginning, namjoon's forgetfulness was almost endearing – he would forget where he'd put his keys or the name of that movie you both watched last weekend. but eventually, this tendency seeped into larger aspects of your relationship, causing him to miss important dates or appointments - moments that mattered a lot to you.

it seemed like you were constantly having to cut him some slack and reschedule plans, hearing apologies aplenty.

but somehow, namjoon always knew how to make it up to you - showering you with kisses and sweet gestures, making incredible plans for recompense on another day, or even demonstrating his love physically in ways that left you dizzy and unable to walk straight for days afterwards.

but this time felt different.

this time, it felt like his apology was more of an afterthought than a genuine act of remorse. it felt like he simply didn't care – as if your frustrations were utterly inconsequential to him.

before leaving for dinner, shit really hit the fan; heated words were exchanged at lightning speed through clenched teeth and narrowed eyes.

his defensive attitude made it apparent that he simply believed another quick apology would be enough to sweep his negligence under the rug.

as much as you tried to suppress it throughout the night, frustration eventually took over your usually sunlit demeanor.

somehow, both of you managed to plaster on fake smiles upon arriving at your parents' house, pretending that everything was fine between you.

every warm smile felt forced and every tender touch unnerved you.

you could barely bring yourself to look at him the whole night, and every time he tried to make a reassuring or affectionate gesture by holding your hand or wrapping his arm around you, you subtly but firmly rebuffed him.

by some miracle, your parents remained oblivious to the storm cloud hanging over the two of you.

somewhere deep down, you knew you couldn't simply let this go – not this time.

and so, this brings us to where you find yourself now – in the car with namjoon in the passenger seat as you both return home in silence.

the quiet is deafening, your demeanor frosty, and your eyes stubbornly focused on the road ahead, while namjoon's eyes occasionally dart towards you nervously. at red lights, your vision blurs as you stare resolutely at the world outside, acutely aware of his silent presence beside you.

namjoon, usually so adept at reconstructing bridges burned in anger and patching emotional wounds with well-timed humor, seemed at a loss for how to approach this situation.

this time, it appeared he couldn't simply laugh and charm himself out of this.

he exhales deeply, running a hand over his face. "i really am sorry-" he begins, but you cut him off, your voice barely containing the pain you felt.

"namjoon, please. i don't have the strength to listen to another one of your apologies..."

he blinks at you for a moment, wordless. his heart aches with guilt as he sees just how upset you are - more than he had ever seen before.

he opens his mouth as if to say something more but ultimately decides against it.

"i just want you to care, namjoon," you murmur through quivering lips, tears balancing perilously on the edge of your eyelashes. "that's all i want. am i asking for a lot?"

sudden honking from behind startles the both of you as the car behind you grew impatient with your delay at the green light.

with a jolt, you press on the accelerator, driving on towards home as fresh tears threaten to escape from your eyes, your throat growing increasingly tight with unshed emotion.

with a quiet sob firmly concealed behind clenched teeth, you bite your lip and try to focus on the road ahead – unsuccessfully fighting against a flood of fresh tears cascading down your face.

namjoon quickly averts his gaze, allowing it to wander aimlessly beyond the confines of the car, seeking solace in anything but the heart-wrenching sight of your sadness.

the elevator ride up to your apartment was filled with deafening silence - one where neither of you dared utter a single word as if doing so would shatter what little remained between you both.

as soon as the apartment door creaked open and you stepped inside, your resolve seemed to enter shaky territory.

for a brief moment, you stand still just inside the doorway, your clammy hands still clutching onto the keys.

your eyes follow namjoon as he takes several steps into the entrance. he removes his shoes and coat, seemingly on autopilot.

however, he soon pauses his actions and turns to face you, visibly aware of your eyes scrutinizing his every move.

"i think…" the words caught in your throat, "i think i'm going to spend the night at my place." your voice was barely audible, even to yourself.

namjoon's face registers surprise, and he stops in his tracks, eyes studying you intently for any sign that might reveal your thoughts.

after a brief pause, he moves to slip his coat back on again, his brows furrowing in concern.

"okay. i'll come with—"

"no, namjoon," you interrupt him firmly. despite the hitch in your voice barely rising above a whisper, there was no doubt how serious you were. he stops moving – his face reflecting his surprise and confusion.

namjoon has always been inseparable from you; there hasn't been a single night he has spent away from your side since you've been together.

"i could take the couch if that's..." namjoon starts again tentatively.

"just… let me have this space tonight. please."

his broad shoulders tense and he lets out a shaky sigh, turning his head away for a brief moment so that you wouldn't see the hurt that flickered across his eyes or the subtle gestures as his fingers came up discreetly to wipe at them.

he turns back to face you again and there's a vulnerability in his gaze – his normally confident exterior now replaced by feelings of insecurity and genuine fear at what this separation might mean.

as if propelled by instinct, namjoon crosses the distance between you both faster than you can react. he wraps you tenderly in a warm embrace, his arms enfolding your body against his firm chest.

his hand comes up to cradle the back of your head as if trying to protect you from the world or, perhaps, himself.

as you lean into him, the warmth of his body seems almost too much to bear – like walking on hot coals or holding fire in your hands – yet you know that it's exactly what you're yearning for.

his arms draw even tighter around you, and he lowers his head to press it lightly against your hair; the familiar scent of your shampoo wafting towards his nostrils.

he exhales tenderly before murmuring your name softly. with a voice strained by raw emotion, he whispers hoarsely, "i love you," allowing each precious syllable to crack the tiniest bit.

"and i'm sorry. i know i messed up. but please remember that i love you."

—

the drive back to your apartment is hazy, almost as if your body transported you there without any conscious effort from your mind.

your hands grip a duffel bag stuffed with essential toiletries and a few changes of clothes, enough to last a couple of days.

the thought of turning back and returning to namjoon crossed your mind multiple times. the lingering sensations of his arms wrapped around you were still so vivid; his heartbeat pounding against your chest felt as if it was still happening.

and as difficult as it was to admit, by the time you had managed to finally step through the door and leave the house, a part of you had already forgiven him.

when you unlock the door and step inside your old apartment, you notice that everything is exactly as you left it; eerily clean along with the darkness that envelops the space, the accompanying emptiness, and the lack of life within.

the emptiness is almost palpable, with a barren fridge and clean empty shelves serving as a stark reminder of the life you've temporarily left behind.

the only reminder of your presence in this apartment is the furniture that you bought brand new when you first moved in - before namjoon had ever asked you to live with him.

rather than feeling like home, your apartment appeared abandoned and forgotten; a place where no one had ever taken residence.

with a flick of a switch, dim light fills the living room casting shadows on the surrounding walls.

you stand there, rooted in the center of your living room, as a memory suddenly resurfaces:

you and namjoon had been dating for nearly nine months at the time. by then, both of you were comfortable enough with each other to spend nights together at each other’s homes; so much so that it almost seemed natural for your things to mingle together.

you were both sitting cross-legged on your couch together, warm cartons of chinese food cradled in your hands while letting a cheesy romantic comedy flicker across the tv screen on netflix – his selection no less.

the remnants of dinner were almost gone when namjoon ventured deep into the takeout bag and emerged triumphantly with two fortune cookies clasped tightly between his fingers.

handing one over to you, he flashed a warm and playful smile - the kind that seemed to make his dimples more prominent than ever.

"i'll open mine first," he declared confidently.

you watched him fondly as he eagerly cracked open the cookie, listening intently as he read aloud:

all things are difficult before they are easy.

he pondered the words for a brief moment, then, in true namjoon fashion, nodded to himself and adorably popped both halves of the cookie into his mouth.

reclining against the couch cushions, he gives you a playful wink and motions for you to proceed. "your turn," he mumbled through his self-satisfied grin.

you broke your own cookie, feeling the small slip of paper between your fingers, and your eyes raced across the message before they stopped dead.

the words printed there sent your stomach tumbling, your heart performing dizzying backflips inside of your chest:

your fortune: move in with me?

you glanced up at namjoon just in time to notice him observing you intently, a smug expression dancing across his face – it was clear he was enjoying the sight of your reaction.

"well?" he asked innocently, feigning ignorance as he leaned in closer to where you sat on the couch.

"what does it say?"

—

in a fit of frustration, you spin around, clutch your duffel bag tightly, and trudge towards your bedroom with heavy, slow steps.

pulling on your pajamas and brushing your teeth almost mechanically, you finally crawl into bed – but sleeping alone feels alien to you.

the chill of the empty sheets envelops you, and try as you might to shake it off, it's an uncomfortable sensation that clings to your skin. your heart grows heavier as blankets enshroud your shivering form in a futile attempt at comfort.

when morning arrives — or perhaps it's afternoon by now — you find yourself even more exhausted than before if that's possible.

the sunlight filtering through your curtains causes a strain on your groggy eyes as they slowly crack open.

with one arm stretched out from beneath the covers, you reach for your phone — clinging to a fragile hope that maybe, just maybe, namjoon had called or left a message while you were asleep. reality's cold slap stings as your screen is devoid of notifications.

although space was something you thought you wanted – needed even – it was never something that felt so crushing with its absence filled by namjoon.

groaning slightly, you sit up in bed and stretch before rising unsteadily on weary limbs.

coffee – that's what you need right now.

you were sure that you didn't have any cream though, but perhaps the bitterness of black coffee would suit your current mood; it's almost as if the scent of it was already lingering in the air.

you groggily shuffle down the hallway with bleary eyes. except for an odd denim jacket tossed on the counter, nothing seemed out of place.

your eyes widened at the jacket as you halted abruptly: buttoned cuffs, oversized, and slightly faded.

it was namjoon's.

your eyes quickly dart to the entrance, where a pair of shoes that couldn't possibly be yours were thrown carelessly next to the door.

your heart skips a beat as adrenaline momentarily jars you awake.

the sound of rustling emanates from the kitchen, and with bated breath, you walk towards it. cautiously, you approach and peek around the corner.

there stands namjoon with his broad back overshadowing everything else in view.

he's clad in a crisp white tank top, toned arms on display and muscles subtly rippling beneath the fabric. his back faces away from you as he appears wholly engaged in some task at hand.

you rub your tired eyes and squint, trying to recall whether yesterday's events were merely figments of your imagination or if they genuinely transpired.

you remember everything vividly: it really did happen.

absentmindedly perched on your kitchen counter are two mugs; namjoon smoothly fills each with coffee while he hums to himself.

what catches you off guard is the presence of your favorite hazelnut creamer next to the mugs - something he clearly must have picked up for you - as well as an all-too-familiar takeout bag from your favorite bagel shop.

the creamer— so delightful that on one occasion, you could have sworn you were hallucinating when you swung open the refrigerator door, only to find that namjoon had stocked it with multiple bottles. they were meticulously arranged in such a way that they occupied the majority of the uppermost shelf.

"so you won't have to worry anymore about running out too quickly," he had explained that day.

a mixture of emotions bubbles within; anger competes with relief, anxiety dances with affection.

you wanted this, didn't you? your secret desires brought to life with his unexpected presence, yet simultaneously neglecting the boundaries you had asked for.

it was difficult to deny how alluring he looks in that tank top, the very image of domestic perfection as he prepares your morning coffee and a fresh breakfast spread.

and then he turns around, clutching both mugs in his hands.

he freezes, seeming equally startled by your sudden presence – as if he wasn't expecting to be discovered just yet.

his lips quirk upwards in a hesitant, yet warm smile as his eyes take in the sight of you—sleepy, tousled hair, and the adorable pout that comes with a still-drowsy state. "good morning," he murmurs softly.

"hi."

the two of you stand there for a beat, the awkwardness of the situation settling like a thick blanket around you.

the question spills out of you without warning:

"how did you get in?"

he glances down at the coffee mugs still cradled within his grip, cautiously responding, "you always leave a spare at our place. i thought it would be nice to talk over breakfast."

your voice falters as you try to respond, but any words that might have come forth dissolve into the swelling lump forming in your throat. instead, you opt for a subtle nod before turning away and leading him towards your small balcony.

as you step outside, the bright morning sunlight makes you squint, still adjusting from having just woken up not too long ago.

you take a seat with namjoon at the small table on the balcony, silently munching on cream cheese-slathered bagels and sipping coffee, which slowly helps lift the fog of grogginess clouding your mind.

your eyes occasionally flicker towards namjoon, whose pensive gaze seems fixed on some far-away point in the distance.

a somber cloud seems to hang over him and a sinking feeling in your stomach tells you that he's here to bring an end to something.

"i fucked up yesterday,” he says, breaking the silence, “i know that.”

your head turns to look at him, saying nothing.

"i'm sorry," he begins softly. "i know i can't make it up to you now, but i genuinely am sorry."

namjoon's eyes remain locked on the same distant point as before, and as he continues to speak, they're filled with a profound sadness that seems almost unbearable for him.

his voice begins to tremble ever so slightly as he starts to explain himself further. "i've always been forgetful; it's among my most significant flaws. but i want you to know that it's never been out of carelessness when it comes to you. sometimes, my mind just gets overwhelmed."

he takes a deep breath, glancing at his hands before turning to look at you and adds, "i promise i'll do better; not just because i need to but because i love you. and the fact that i was in bed without you last night made me realize just how much i truly hate being apart from you."

pausing for a moment, he reluctantly allows his hand to hover over yours before gingerly placing it atop your own.

"i understand if it takes time for you to forgive me – i'm not asking for it right now," he admits quietly, his voice wavering slightly. "all i need is a chance to prove to you that i can change and be there for you when you need me."

namjoon then slowly removes his hand and looks away, giving you space to consider his words while fidgeting with the coffee mug handle.

you release a heavy sigh and look away too, trying your best to hold back tears. "oh, namjoon," you murmur, forcing a weak, watery chuckle.

this man, you think to yourself, will be the end of you. gently, you reach out and take his hand once more, interlacing your fingers with his.

"you cannot do that to me again."

in response, he turns his head to look at you once more - tears brimming in his eyes as they drink in every detail of your face. his expression softens with love and relief as he nods earnestly, "i won't. i promise."

holding namjoon's hand firmly in yours, you slowly stand up from the cozy, cushioned chair, beckoning him with a subtle nod of your head, signaling him to follow suit.

he rises from his seat, his tall figure towering over you as he instinctively stretches his arm wide, then gently pulls you into a tight and loving embrace.

his arms envelop you while his cheek tenderly rests on the top of your head. sighing contentedly, you nuzzle your face into the comforting fabric that covers his chest.

"namjoon," you quietly ask, snuggling deeper, "have you slept?" you can hear the slight rustle of fabric as he shakes his head.

"nope," he replies, his voice resonating through his chest.

he presses a tender kiss onto the top of your head before continuing, "you know i can't sleep without you." his words bring a smile to your face and a chuckle bubbles up within you.

"let's go back to bed, then."

you both walk back inside your apartment and into your bedroom where everything feels warmer than it did just yesterday: the bed that awaits you; the covers that promise to envelop the two of you in their cozy embrace; and namjoon himself, whose presence brings solace to your heart.

and as you lay down next to him and rest your head upon his chest, namjoon's heartbeat fills your ears—slower and steadier than it was the day before.

the sound is a soothing lullaby that leads you both to fall into a deep slumber, allowing you to sleep better than you have in what feels like an eternity.

#bts x reader #bts fanfiction #bts imagine #kim namjoon #namjoon x reader #bts #namjoon imagine #kim namjoon imagine #kpop imagines

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