#a lil insecure about this full piece

[luveline]

Ok what about a lil fic of Remus being snappy with his gf leading up to the full moon? Just some angst and then fluffy ending with them reconciling

thank u for ur request! —remus says something he shouldn't before the full moon, and later campaigns for your forgiveness with affection and a confession. fem!reader, 1.2k

Remus lays on the couch with his forearm pressed to his eyes. It's the day before the full moon, and he feels the hours approaching like a death sentence every time. You hover in the doorway, watching, unsure of how to help. He gets the same every month (or rather, every cycle). 

Irritable. So anxious he can't breathe properly, let alone enter conversation. 

You hate seeing him like this. Your Remus, who spends every moment you're together trying to make sure you're as happy as you can be. 

Cautious, you round the sofa to crouch by his face. You hold out your hand, trailing a gentle fingertip down the length of his arm, tripping over pinched skin ridged by scars. He's beautiful no matter what, but he gets insecure about how he looks every full moon. You know he thinks he's a monster. You've no way to prove it to him beyond this. 

"Hey, handsome," you say softly. "I know you're not hungry, but I made dinner anyway if you feel up to it. And I know," —you drop your voice to a near whisper— "I know you're not in the mood, but I'm here. I can sit here and stroke your hair in silence all night if that's what you want, my love. I'll do whatever you want." 

"Then leave me alone," he says. 

Half snap, half firm defeat. You wince at the ire in his voice. It won't ever be nice to have someone you love speak to you like you're getting on their nerves, but you know what it is he's facing. You know this is hard for him to cope with. You can forgive him for everything if he makes it through this in one piece. 

"Okay. I'm sorry. I love you, Remus." 

He turns his head toward the sofa cushions. 

You leave the room with a heavy heart. In the kitchen, you try to eat, but every mouthful makes you feel sick, your eyes welling with tears as you chew. You're hurt, he's hurting, and this really, really sucks. 

The smell of dinner starts to amplify the nausea. You grab your plate and carry it to the back door, scraping your leftovers straight into the rubbish. You wash your plate and leave it to drip dry on the draining board, your eyes burning. You sniff, wiping your nose in your sleeve. 

You're hoping desperately that Remus will come around before bed, but he stays where he is. Thinking he's finally found sleep and wanting to leave him to that blissful reprieve, you creep through the living room and down the hallway into the bedroom. Tears fall as you change into your pyjamas. You're so tired that you barely have time to cry yourself to sleep. 

You're not sure how much longer it is when you wake. A familiar hand cups your cheek. 

From the warmth of your skin, he's had his hand there for a while. 

"I'm so sorry," Remus says. 

You don't know how he knows you're awake. He must have been watching you long enough to spot the difference. Honestly, you're not sure you want to see him yet, because you love him so much, and it breaks your heart to be at the end of his disdain even when you know the cause. 

You struggle to see him in the dark. 

"I should never have spoken to you like that." 

Your eyes close of their own accord, exhausted and sore from crying. "You didn't mean it." 

"I wish you'd shout at me," he murmurs, sliding his hand over your ear. His thumb draws along the shell of your ear. 

"I'm too tired," you mumble. 

Remus' head shifts closer to yours. Sharing the same pillow, his hand falls to your shoulder, his arm wrapping around you, a firm bicep pressed to your front. 

You let yourself lean into it. His breath warms the space between your brows. 

"It's no excuse, but I… I can't think of anything else but the pain, sometimes. I get so angry about it, because I'm–" He stops short, swallowing audibly in the otherwise silent room. "I'm scared. But I would be a hundred times more terrified if I didn't have you, knowing you're there for me, unflinchingly, before and after it happens, it helps me get through it. It's not fair that you give me so much peace and I just… 

"I'm sorry, dove. I don't mean to take advantage of your… heart." He says heart like he's been winded. He hadn't sounded finished, but everything stops at that word. 

You force your eyes open. He's looking at you with an unspeakable amount of love, kind to keel you over if you were standing. His eyes are pitch black in the lack of light, irises melded with pupils, giving him an even sorrier gaze. You raise a sluggish hand to his where it rests behind your back and pull it back to your face. You miss his touch. 

"I love you," you say. 

"I know," he says, his jaw tensing in an attempt to stage off tears. "I love you, too." You watch them collect in the corners of his eyes, following one as it slides to rest in the dip of his nose bridge while he lies on his side like this. 

"So don't be sorry." 

"But I am sorry. I can't fathom why I think it's okay to treat you that way." 

"You don't think at all, Remus. I'm not being flippant, but you're busy worrying about the worst of it." You shake your head gently. His hand twitches against your cheek. "I don't blame you." 

"I know," he utters. 

You stare up at him as he sits enough to tower over you. His smile is sorry, in love and ashamed. You want to tell him how it doesn't matter, that it's okay, but you're thinking maybe you need him to say it first. 

"I'm sorry." 

"Remus, you only told me to leave you alone." 

"I need you to know that any other time, you're all that I want. You're everything. I couldn't ask for more than you. Please don't think I'm cruel," he pleads in a whisper. 

You lift your chin incrementally. "I'd never think that." 

His apology kiss is coddling. Like he's worried he'll hurt you, like he's holding back, he kisses you like you can't handle more than a chaste press of the lips. 

"I love you," he says into it. 

You lift your head to kiss him harder. You love him, and you won't break. You can be exactly as strong as he needs you to be, so long as love waits at the end of the night. 

"I love you." A huff of a laugh escapes him. "Does this mean I'm forgiven?" Caution has his joke falling flat.

You nuzzle your cheek against his, knowing you'd forgiven him just as soon as he'd snapped. "If you let me stroke your hair. Did you eat your dinner?" 

"I'll eat it tomorrow," he says. A white lie, you both know, but he slides down further under the sheets so you can reach his head. 

You card your fingers through his hair until you've both fallen asleep. 

#remus lupin x reader #remus lupin x fem!reader #remus lupin fluff #remus lupin x you #remus lupin x y/n #marauders era #remus x reader #remus x you #marauders #remus lupin drabble #remus lupin blurb #marauders x reader #remus lupin imagine #remus lupin fanfic #remus lupin fanfiction #the marauders

[basketonthedoorstepofthefbi]

Big Hands (Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader)

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!PlusSize!Reader

Summary: You and your boyfriend, Spencer, are getting ready for a night out, when your insecurities start to get the best of you.

Word Count: 1531 -- it's just a lil guy

Warnings: Body insecurities, maybe a little bit of a big-girl-soapbox

A/N: I definitely wrote this very quickly this afternoon because I literally just felt like it. This is just a short lil one for the big gals who just want someone to notice them.

Anyway hope you enjoy! Thank you all who have commented/reblogged/liked my last fic!!

-

Your jeans hugged your curvy hips as you tugged them up to your belly button, covering the bottom, larger part of your stomach. You were tall, for a woman, but not taller than Spencer. He was, what, 6’1”? You stood around 5’9”, so he still towered over you, still had to look down at you when he spoke, still had to crane his neck to whisper in your ear. 

You were wearing a flowy, sage green blouse. Why were clothes so hard to find for a larger girl? It was all cold-shoulders and obnoxious patterns. You just wanted something that flattered your body type and made you feel sexy. Apparently that was just a ridiculous request. This blouse was cute, but modest, with a ruched, fluted bunching of the fabric in the middle. The collar was low-cut to accent your breasts, but the sleeves were long, which was annoying. You were going dancing tonight with your boyfriend and his coworkers. You didn’t want to show off all of your body, by any means, but you wanted to look hot. Who could blame you? And it was also going to get hot, temperature-wise. Long sleeves just didn’t feel like the most pragmatic choice. 

Sometimes you just gave up and went with the best option. And this blouse, that made you feel like you were going to a casual church event, not to a bar, was, unfortunately, the best option. 

You inhaled sharply and shrugged your shoulders as you looked in the full-length mirror hooked on the back of the closet door. Your hair looked really cute - the two biggest pieces on either side in the front were braided and dangled in front of you, effectively bringing your hair out of your eyes but also provided something to give your hair a little pizzazz. Your makeup looked great - a simple, subtle smokey eye and glossy lips. Your black boots looked good, peeking out from your wide-legged jeans, which hugged your hips and, honestly, made your butt look really good. 

It was just this stupid shirt. And maybe you were getting too much in your head about it. But you were transfixed on it, hating the way the sleeves bunched up a little, how the bottom half flowed beneath the ruched fabric, effectively covering your stomach, meeting your jeans and the top of your thighs. The color was too muted for a going-out top - you wished you could wear something more exciting. 

You sometimes wished you looked like Emily or JJ, or had the self-confidence to rock loud looks like Penelope did. But then you remembered that you were who you were for a reason. You looked like you simply because that was what you looked like. And there was no point in wishing you looked like someone else. 

Plus, Spencer was really into your body. He was nearly always staring at your breasts when you were in private, sometimes to the point where you had to snap your fingers in front of his eyes to garner his attention. 

It was flattering. You didn’t mind it if your boyfriend objectified you a little bit. He was respectful about it. 

“Y/N, are you about ready?” Spencer walked into your bedroom as you looked at yourself in the mirror. Your eyes met Spencer’s and you saw his neutral expression turn into a full-fledged grin, biting his tongue and all. “You look really nice,” he said, and you shook your head. 

“I look like a chaperone at a middle school dance,” you frowned, tugging at the fabric of your blouse in some illogical attempt to make it look different. 

“What?” Spencer stood behind you in the mirror. His chin basically met the top of your head, like too puzzle pieces. One hand rested on your hip, while the other slowly brushed your hair to one side so he could press a kiss to your neck. “I think you look great,” he added. 

You immediately felt tingly and your knees wobbled at the action. “But I’m not dressing for you,” you said, your voice instinctively dropping as Spencer’s lips trailed down your neck. You were having trouble concentrating on what you were trying to say. “I’m dressing for me, and I want to look cute. I can’t believe you’re even going tonight. You don’t dance, Spencer,” you pointed out, your self-control somehow beating out your desire for Spencer in the moment. You broke away from him and turned around to face him. 

“You do look cute, Y/N. I don’t understand what the issue is?” Spencer’s head cocked to the side as he looked down at you. “Also, I’m going out tonight because you want to. And I’m trying to keep an open mind. I might enjoy it.” 

You were proud of him. When you started dating about six months ago, he would have simply politely declined an invitation to a night out. And while you didn’t love going out every night, or even every weekend, for that matter, you did enjoy a night out occasionally. 

Regardless, he still didn’t quite understand what you were feeling about that damn shirt. “The issue,” you began, heaving a sigh, “is that I’m insecure about my body. Like any woman. You don’t get it, because you’re a man, and you literally have nothing to be insecure about.”

You knew the words were incorrect the moment you said them, but something kept you from backpedaling. You watched as Spencer shook his head, letting a small laugh escape him. “You could not be further from the truth,” Spencer pointed out, and you knew he was right. Men had plenty to be insecure about, and it was, in some ways, even more difficult for men to express those feelings. 

“Well, I think you’re perfect,” You let a small, playful smile creep onto your face, and Spencer rolled his eyes as you used his own tactic from earlier. He stepped towards you and his hands found your waist, contouring to match your curves. He knew them so well now, he could probably draw a map of your body with his eyes closed. 

“I appreciate that,” Spencer said, his voice a little softer as your eyes met his. His head dipped down, and you thought, certainly, that he was going to kiss you, but instead, his lips stopped just barely by your ears. You could feel his breath on your neck, and a shiver ran down your spine as he spoke. “You might be insecure, Y/N, but I am, too. You’re just human.” 

“What are you insecure about?” You found yourself asking, pulling your head back to look at him properly. Now you were curious. 

“My hands, mostly,” Spencer removed his hands from your waist, holding them palm-up, as if to present them to you for the first time. 

“What’s wrong with your hands?” You asked, placing your palms atop his. 

“They’re really big,” Spencer said timidly, and, admittedly, they were. But just by comparison. Your hands fit into his with plenty of extra space. You used your index fingers to trace his palms. 

“They’re not too big,” you told him, and Spencer just smiled down at you, shaking his head, like he was just humoring you. “I love your hands,” you continued. “I love that you can put your palm over an entire half of my face,” you said, guiding his palm to your cheek and grinning when his skin touched yours. Spencer’s thumb brushed your cheekbone. 

“And I love your body,” Spencer replied, and you just pursed your lips and shook your head. “No, Y/N, listen to me.” 

You let out a frustrated little exhale through your nose and let him continue. 

“I love the way you look. But I wouldn’t care if you were any bigger or any smaller. Because I love you. I’m attracted to you, to your mind, to your sense of compassion, and to your body. I love the way your hips fill out your jeans, how your stomach looks in your yoga pants,” he said. “I love the way you wiggle your toes when we’re watching something funny on TV, how you do a little shimmy in your seat when you’re eating something you really enjoy,” he explained, mimicking the movement. You looped your arms around his neck. “But mostly, I’m in love with your personality. How you challenge me, how you seem to bring out the best version of myself.”

You let out a wistful sigh. If this were a Jane Austen novel, you would have swooned. But instead, you used your grip around his neck to bring his face down to yours and kiss him. It was slow at first, then a little more intense, and when you finally pulled away, your forehead rested against his. 

“You ready to go now?” Spencer asked, and when your eyes opened, you saw that he was smiling down at you. 

You shook your head, a mischievous smile spreading across your face. “Not yet,” you said, your hands sliding down his arms until your palms met his. You tugged him in the direction of your bed. “I want to show you how much I love these big hands.” 

#spencer reid #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x you #spence reid x plussize!reader #plus size reader #basketonthedoorstepofthefbi

[taegularities]

colour me in: blooming | jjk (m)

Summary: You're the flower blossoming in Jungkook's living room, no matter how relentless the rain. And you're the sun he tirelessly orbits — warm as a home.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: fwb/f2l, fake dating; hints of angst, fluff overload, suggestive ➳ warnings: full jk pov!, fluff fluff fluff, but also crying, bits of insecurities, mommy and daddy issues, their friendddsss <3, oc's favourite blanket smells like him <3, his feelings for her are consuming him in a gorgeous way 🥺, grocery shopping 🍏 and then a housewarming party, jk chocolate chip nips appreciation (oc pinches them lol), horniness, implied sex + implied boner, sexual tension, flirting and teasing and bickering, yearning, convos about their relationship/life, cooking together hehe, jk is so… jk, kissing/making out, the ending ♡ ➳ word count: 15.6k ➳ a/n: domesticity is my favourite city and i never wanna leave lol. i've genuinely been enjoying fluff more than i ever thought i would. this chapter made me so damn happy and i hope it has the same effect on you guys, too <3 let me know how you liked it; feedback is always appreciated 🥺 also, there are lil sub-headings to avoid confusion with the timeline!! enjoy!! 🤍 ➳ a/n2: even though i am a tiny bit late… happy birthday @jkaxl. love you so much, axelle <3 ➳ listen to: daylight by taylor swift (ty anon <3) | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

”Are you happy?”

“I’m… I’m adjusting to it all. It’s new. But so far I feel— relieved.”

“Okay.” He pauses. “I’m sorry I didn’t encourage that feeling earlier. But… you know. You found your way on your own, and somehow, I find that just as remarkable. If not so much more.”

“Thank you.”

Silence breaks the dialogue, but there are still shreds of unspoken words he’s not letting out yet. Right on the tip of his tongue, resting quietly; so you wait. Let your weary gaze slump to your lap, blinking until you hear a rustle and a—

“Do you want to come over sometime?”

You don’t know.

So you respond in just that uncertainty, “Maybe at some point? When it’s… not so overwhelming anymore.”

“I understand. Hey,” another break in his speech, “I’m proud of you.”

Your heart suspends for a fraction of a moment, but you feel the seething, searing pain. Fresh, clumping up your throat.

“…Thank you.”

THE SUNDAY AFTER THE PRESS CONFERENCE

When Jungkook locks the door, the apartment is quiet, but the living room light still glowing.

Still fired up and hot, the cool back of his hand pats his warm neck and cheek. Your name threatens to tumble off his tongue, but an oddly calm feeling advises against it. And as he carries his bag into the living room, setting it down next to a big flower pot you so wanted, he sees why.

Because you’re curled up on the couch, temple against the back of it, legs pulled in. Your favourite blanket �� that you swear constantly smells like him — is draped half over you, falling off one of your shoulders.

You’re sound asleep. 

Jungkook recognises the pout even from afar; lets his eyes drift from your face to the hand peeking out of the blanket. Brushing a piece of paper that is holding on for dear life, attempting not to slip off your lap.

What if he never moved? If he kept staring?

Back in college, one of his dearest professors used to say, “You know it’s art when even blinking feels like a waste of time. You don’t want to spend a second not looking at it.”

That very semester is still a major component of Jungkook’s memory. Ever since, he’s seen a handful and a dozen and a hundred pieces that matched the words once uttered.

Just, never as much as today.

The sky has obscured since he left two hours ago — he wonders how fast that time passed for you. Either way, he reckons you didn’t rest until your body forced you to. Because it’s not anywhere near bedtime; but the changes in your life constantly add to your exhaustion.

He wanted to help. He did all morning before you sent him away, arguing that, “You’re already doing too much. And you hate paperwork anyway!”

To which he expressed, “But I don’t hate you or having you here!”

“Just go!” You reached to his left nipple, poking it, and he, wearing a frisky smirk, instinctively threw a protective hand over it. “The muscles demand your attention desperately. Just don’t look at other girls’ butts, ‘kay?”

He chuckled.

You made it sound like a life-altering goodbye to a year-long journey instead of a brief trip to the gym. He nodded solemnly, nearly saluting as he agreed, “You’re right. Gonna make sure I’m able to crush you extra hard.”

But it seems you crushed and knocked yourself out well enough. And that after he sent out various emails with you, drafting and crafting a battle plan, googling salient issues and their solutions, and writing down lists of everything still left to do before you can actually move in.

The two of you are lucky the landlord is laid-back. Usually, they don’t let anyone move in so quickly; demand a couple months. And you’ll already be settling here officially the very next.

Not that it makes any difference.

You already spend your dusks and dawns here, clinging, reluctant to go home. And he won’t tell you to; he’d be a fool to. Plus, he hates his bed cold.

Jungkook’s steps are slow, muscles painful to the touch. He sweeps his tresses back as he nears your slumbering, balled up form, soon pressing a hand into the arm of the couch. Suppressing a groan, he leans in; frees your closed eye from a lock before he plants a kiss next to it.

You stir with the softest flutter of your eyelashes, just a teeny tiny bit.

God. You tilt his world off its axis.

“Baby,” he whispers.

It must be pulling you out of the remnants of your doze, because your muscles awaken, corners of your lips twitching. The movement of your legs finally pushes the paper off the blanket, and Jungkook hurries to catch it before it can drift to the floor; places it on the table.

He kneels; and for the briefest, smallest moments, you flinch when your pupils eventually align with his. Then, relaxation floods you anew, and you grip the blanket, sliding it back over you — only for it to glide down again.

You smile — a tired beam, accompanied by a sigh. Not quite wide, because you’re not fully there yet, but still so genuine. Stretching a little, you murmur, “You’re back.”

“And you’re still working,” he scolds, albeit cushioning his words by bringing a fingertip to your jaw. Flicking affectionately, softly. “Did you eat?”

“Mhmmm. But it’s—” Your hand taps for something, moving under the blanket; and a second later, you’re lighting up your phone, squinting at it. “It’s not late. Gonna eat with you again. I’m not that tired anymore.”

As if on cue, you yawn, tears of weariness collecting. You interrupt it with a gentle snicker and promise, “I mean it.”

The lopsided smile emerges on his features quickly. The drowsy, vulnerable tone in your voice caresses his heart like a gust… but the meaning behind it doesn’t pass by him so fast.

“Don’t overwork yourself, okay?” he repeats for the fifth time today alone; it’s become a constant habit. A reminder, like clockwork. “The body knows when you do.”

“No. I feel great.”

“Just. Be nice to yourself, munchkin.”

“I am,” you defend, attempting to stress the verb, but not quite getting there, “I am. Don’t worry so much.”

An impossible demand; but how would he explain it to you?

Despite the shake of his head, he still gives in, “Okay. I’ll shower and be back in a sec, yeah?”

He waits for your confirmation until you hum in unintelligible agreement, moving back in to plant a kiss on your forehead. Rushes to the shower, washes off today’s effort.

Wet hair strands pushed back, he finds you shuffling and organising the papers you read and filled in today, placing them neatly in the middle of the table. You look more awake now, delivering a content smile before heading to the kitchen with him.

Only, your mind might not be entirely unfogged yet — because your movements are slow. Different from how he handles the stir fry that the two of you cooked for lunch together.

You were proud of your creation — told Jungkook how you’re still far from the skills he possesses, but not bad to start with and improving every day. Seasoning better, understanding how to cut faster without hurting yourself in the process.

It’s lovely, watching the contentment spread in your eyes.

Yet, Jungkook always makes sure to stand close to your back, hands lifted, persistently ready to salvage the situation if need be.

But right now, judging from your clearly burdened brain, he bestowed a relatively simple task upon you. And you look so cute doing it — bun all messy, shoulders slumped, sporting (after stealing) his joggers since they’re so ridiculously comfortable, so get your own.

He side-eyes you every now and then, forbearing a chuckle; but when your lower lip juts in concentration, he can’t help but sling an arm around your waist. The jug containing the iced tea shakes, and you hold the glass carefully, voicing a little, “Oh— I… Kook.”

You’re wide-eyed and caught off guard; blinking when he tilts his head and leaves a kiss under your ear. 

You raise your shoulder at the tickling sensation, and when you call his name again, your voice is reprimanding. But he could pick out the endearment even in his sleep.

That’s how it goes every hour of the day; sweet and new ever since you started frequenting his place even more often than before.

Something has occurred since the press conference. Two days only — but the universe has changed. Maybe it has expanded faster than ever and birthed a couple billion more stars, made even the nights brighter. He doesn’t know.

All he does recognise is that unnamed, newfound feeling spreading in his chest, and he’s been unblurring it. Bit by bit. Letting it take on a form that will soon consume him. He’s sure.

And soon, there’ll be a fitting word and definition matching this phenomenon, too.

It’s triggered by even the smallest things.

Like by the sound of your steps when you walk through the apartment. Or by the way you hum your favourite song all the time, unconsciously; then singing the line you hold dearest to your heart before resuming to the hum.

Trust in me when I say…

Or even… by how you’re facing him an hour later, satiated and cross-legged on the bed as you finish up today’s work.

You’ll have to notify the bank and whatnot of your move soon, so you need to brainstorm the relevant institutions that the new address and information will go to. It shouldn’t take too long; you’re diligent, so you’ll just be noting down all numbers next to the places you need to contact and then crash.

Jungkook soon takes over that task, lips moving as he reads the words, writes them down. And amidst the end-of-the-day chore, you crane your neck to read, and tell him, “You have such pretty handwriting.”

“So do you. I didn’t know you made circles over your lower case I’s,” he looks closer to where you scribbled, tapping the pen against a letter, “and awwh. The curves of the T’s!”

You giggle before you add, “I’ve heard a pretty handwriting symbolises inner beauty, by the way.”

“Ohh, so we’re both beautiful.”

“No doubt. We need to take more pictures… we look great together.”

That’s what’s been filling the hours of these days, too, Jungkook supposes. The airy, light atmosphere within the four walls he’s come to share with you. Laughter and shared glances, despite the stack awaiting you — because it signifies far more than paperwork.

Which is why it surprises him when a subtle switch occurs, suddenly and unannounced.

When he looks at your fingers lifting a paper, he can’t say what you’re seeing, but your ardour falters a little. Crooning dying, expression not matching the smile on the pictures you spoke of.

Delicately, you trace the edges of the document before putting it back down, aligning it with the rest of the pile. Pushing the whole thing to the side, you sigh, and he, a silent observer up to this moment, asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Hm?”

“You’re thinking about something. And I don’t like it when you’re quiet like this.”

“Oh… It’s nothing.” The shrug is subtle and unconvincing, and the tight shutting of your lips so telling to him. He senses the tension before you finally reveal, “Dad called today. And…” He waits; another shrug. “It’s nothing. He just asked how I was holding up. And that he’s sorry things had to escalate on Friday.”

Ah. Odd.

Jungkook would never say it to you: Because he has never been one to talk families down, sever a bond by voicing his opinion, even if the relationship’s already hanging by a thread. No… he’d never say it to you.

But.

There’s a dull realisation in the back of his mind; and it evokes quiet anger in him. That… there was always a potential anchor inhabiting the same house as you, but never serving as one.

Hidden behind your mother’s back, letting it all pass — probably for you to build character.

Jungkook has always assumed that his dad did just that, too. Throwing him into the world without support, letting a seemingly irresponsible teenager, and then young adult, experience hardships in order to learn how to deal with them.

In contrast to your father, his dad wouldn’t apologise to him… yet, in the end, morally and emotionally, both your families fucked up big time.

“Oh…”

You nod, elaborating, “He wanted to know if I was going to visit him. But I need a bit of time.”

Right… thinking about it, you haven’t seen your father in a while. And your mother hasn’t blown up your phone since Friday evening — when you came out of the glass building, with equally glassy yet hopeful eyes.

You truly must have let off steam in there for her to back away.

“Is that why you were saying you’ll be rushing to the house after work?”

Because as far as he recalls, you’ve been talking about gathering your stuff immediately after working hours — or on Saturday mornings. Never any other time. Because you know they won’t be at home then.

“Yeah,” you confirm, “I feel horrible neglecting him like that, because he seems to be glad that I’m happy, but…”

Your lips point downward; you clear your throat, but it doesn’t hide the tremble in your voice, “I just wish he’d defended me sometimes. Dunno. Maybe he did and I just don’t know about it? And it never worked? It’s what I like to think.”

God…

“Because,” you continue your vent, “he was strict but not like her, and… Sometimes he did recognise bullshit when he saw it. I’d hear them talk and he wouldn’t always see eye to eye with her. But a bit more open support would’ve been cool, you know?”

Shit, how it angers Jungkook.

The knot in your throat; how you avert his gaze; the looming tears. It all angers him.

He moves his hand to your knee, keeping his voice and heart steady for you. Simply uttering, “Baby…”

“And… and then today he suddenly seemed… I don’t know.” You take a deep breath, shaking your head. Your blinking fastens, and you vehemently dodge Jungkook’s eyes. “I dunno how casually he said it, but he told me he was proud.”

The way you emphasise the word… as if it’s a stranger to you, like you’re trying it out…

Jungkook sighs, heart and chest heavy, muttering so kindly—

“Oh, sweetheart… Ah, come here—”

His palm shoves the papers aside some more, uncaring, and brings you closer to his body. Yearning for your embrace, he shifts with you until your legs wrap around each other. Fingers slither to your chin to raise it, and then pinch your cheek adoringly.

The bedroom light falls into your sparkling eyes, shiny with the dampness. You’re not crying, but you sniffle for a moment.

“Of course he is,” he whispers, keeping your face upright, “what’s there not to be proud of? You’re so fucking cool.”

“…You think?”

“Of course I do,” he repeats, “you’re so inspiring and smart and funny and awesome. I’m the proudest of you, in fact.”

The heat increases beneath his palms as your cheek smoulders, pupils promptly softening. As if the outline of your irises is blurring, relinquishing the harder, unwanted emotions.

“I could probably live with just that,” you respond, managing a tender laugh and mixing it with your sniffles. “But…”

But perhaps, the heavy heart won’t get entirely lighter just yet. And Jungkook’s turns half blue at the same time as yours.

“I wish my mom could react the same way instead of being so… stubborn. I mean, it’s a good thing that I want to stand on my own two feet! And aside from work — she also saw me in the summer, and she knew how I felt without you. She sees how I feel now with you, too, and yet.”

You puff out some air, as if you’d been dying to rant; and he imitates the release of a quiet breath, but for wholly other reasons.

Because…

Along with the melancholy drenching your voice, the guilt shoots an arrow to his heart. Guilty about this damn summer; about the days he nearly gave up on you. If he could encase your fractured soul in a quick cure…

“I’m sorry she keeps hurting you, baby. And… I’m sorry you cried. Being sad over a loser like me was the last thing you needed, so…”

He’s half joking; lifting the corner of his lips. You seem to know, too, because you match his smile — still pledging, “Being sad sucked, but… you’re right here now and. I do need you.”

It’s so easy for you to tinge his entire being in a bright pink. Because somewhere in the depths of his mind, he admits that he wanted to hear this. That he wants you to need him as much as he needs you.

“And I’m right here to stay,” he promises. “Even if she doesn’t. Okay?”

“Yeah… yeah. But maybe someday she can be proud, too.”

It’s fucking you up more than he thought. Probably more than you thought.

“I’m sure,” he guarantees, “some people accept their mindsets as the only truth, angel, but one day she’ll come around.” You only nod. So he adds, “I’ll fix this with you.”

“Fix it?”

“The issues you deal with. And the ones I deal with. You and I together, okay?”

Your motions are slow. The nod is barely one; maybe because his hands refuse to establish yet another distance to your skin. And maybe because you’ve tired yourself out once and for all. The slight slouch is telling; your body needs some rest.

Enough with the papers.

“You know… somehow, this excites me,” he says. The grin emerging confuses you for a while; the flicker in your eyes is as delightful as the moment. “Pulling out all the stops and making things better with you, I mean. I wouldn’t wanna do it with anyone else.”

And he’d know. Because if he’d been comfortable enough, he would’ve long ago; he had the chance to. Yet, the courage never surfaced — until with you.

His touch drops from your face to the side of your neck, shaking you gently before he says, “You excite me all the time.”

Shouldn’t be news to you — bearing his unceasing kisses and everlasting words in mind, his bliss is difficult to miss. There’s barely any containing it around you.

And maybe you know what he means; because judging from your dreamy smile, you can’t seem to muster any self-control either. Feeling the joy bubbling, growing, simmering in the middle of your stomach until it explodes and you—

Wrap your arms around his neck abruptly. Attacking him until balance abandons him, falling back onto the bed before you land on top of him. The hug is crushing, your body pushing into his with every sliver of fondness you can summon.

He could say something. Blurt more admissions dipped in honey. But he doesn’t question it; doesn’t comment on it. Only relishes the silence and your warm cheek against his chest, cuddling in.

And sighs in contentment.

A WEEK LATER

You’re messing up the structured system he established for himself.

The groceries are scattered in the cart; instead of playing Tetris with them, as he usually does, you’re piling them up randomly, unaware of the mess.

Jungkook doesn’t have the heart to tell you that the pack of eggs isn’t supposed to be balancing on top of other products like this. Because holy shit, you are buzzing. Not because you don’t know how to grocery shop, but because of the conversation this morning.

”I've got a whole list in my head. We’ll need a shit ton to make this work tonight.”

You were taming your hair as you listened; watching your reflection follow your movements — and as he readied himself for the day, Jungkook watched from afar.

You’d decided that for now, a week was enough to mourn the loss of whatever familial bonds could’ve been. Just last night you told him that starting this new life means an opportunity to gradually leave your sorrow behind, even if it takes some time.

And in celebration of the new arc you’re so joyfully approaching, you’d decided to host a housewarming of some sorts.

Jungkook’s friends already know his place; but the pronoun has changed. This time, you want them to step into your apartment, too.

Securing a hair strand with a clip, you asked, “Do we have it all here?”

“Not everything. Gotta go grocery shopping later.”

“Ohhh…”

Your fingers floated to the edge of the wash basin. You held it in your grip, leaning over it a little, staring into your own eyes quietly. He checked with another step closer to the bathroom, glimpsing at the expression in the mirror.

Calm, but thinking.

“What is it?” he asked, pulling his jeans’ zipper close.

“Uhh. Do you need help?”

“You should rest. You’re already doing so m—”

“No, no, I mean…” You let the sink go, folding your fingers. Inhaling for just a moment when your eyes fell on his bare torso. “I want to go grocery shopping with you. It’s Saturday and I have nothing to do until tonight. So… Please don’t go without me?”

The big eyes and saccharine question went straight to his heart; like one of Cupid’s pointy, sharp arrows targeting the exact middle of the organ. What else could he have done other than breaking into a breathy laugh — wide grin building a lively start to the morning.

“Of course. I’ll wait until you’re ready then.”

You raised a triumphant, tight fist, and he shook his head in delight. Diminished the distance between your bodies, a hand pressing into the back of your head before pulling you to his lips and placing a kiss to your forehead. Right before—

“Hey— ouch?”

It didn’t hurt; but he still felt the fingers pinching his tiny nipples — and heard your cheeky, “Why are they always hard? And why are you always shirtless, Jeon?”

He didn’t argue that changing into outdoor clothes didn’t count. Instead, the bright golden light you cast in his mind distracted him, taking him back.

You’d said that to him before; everything has changed since then.

“Why are you smiling like this?” you ask, holding a pack of four yellow apples in one hand, red ones in the other.

“Hm?” Jungkook rubs a hand over his cheek, feeling the glee in his countenance before flattening the dimples. “It’s nothing. I’m just liking how much fun you’re having.”

“I am! But most of all because I can’t wait to cook with you today.”

Your words instantly conjure pictures of a potential evening; idyllic ones mixing with utter chaos. Rushing and cutting and serving — but for one of the very first times together. Only milestones ahead.

A higher pitched gushing threatens to fall out of Jungkook, right here in the fruit aisle. But instead, you raise your hands again, asking, “Which ones?”

“Hmmm… neither. Let’s get the green ones.”

You let your arms fall, a finger pointing towards him, and say, “Ohhh. Good call.”

And then you proceed to complicate the cart labyrinth again. What a savagery. Jungkook waits until you’ve turned around and works on reorganising again, following his system. Then, he thinks — this could be draining, but it’s not.

Because you keep each other entertained. And neither of you bothers about the gapes you receive.

Not when he leans over the cart, shoving it in teeny tiny steps; continuing when he realises it makes you laugh.

Or, when you cheer once you find something the two of you like that nobody else enjoys; accompanied by exclaimed Ohhhhs and Haaas. And not as you argue when you find something to disagree about.

It seems that you do not dig dates, and he, the friendly omnivore, takes playful offence in that. He teases you across half the supermarket until you turn the tables, picking up an eggplant and interrupting him with a,

“Look! This is you.”

The roll of his eyes only veils his amusement a little, he’s sure. Because your enthusiasm remains steady, including the impish pull of his beige Supreme beanie over his eyes and a kiss to his cheek that paints the spot in a rosy dust.

Pointing to a glass of honey, Jungkook soon fights back, “And this is you.”

“…This is way too sweet and I do not know how to counter it.”

“Romance tends to make people speechless, darling.”

Your expression resembles an ellipsis; whether you’re out of answers or overwhelmingly affected by the selection of his words, he doesn’t know. He knows he’d short circuit if you ever said that to him.

“Fair,” is what you settle on, though, “wouldn’t I know what brain outages your romantic ass causes.”

You’re the model definition of a cheesy, movie-esque couple. Taehyung and Eun differ from the nature the two of you showcase; they already threatened to bring paper bags in case Jungkook and you overdo it tonight.

Can’t blame them. The world is certainly pink-tinted when you bicker and jest at the register; or when you hurry through an Ikea — courtesy of your last minute plan to buy plants — to make it home and cook in time.

Just this morning, you were daydreaming about the concept of furniture retailers and how such shops allow building a home with the most special person.

And then, as if wanting to clarify your sentiments, you turned in the car, facing him as you struggled with the belt, just to say, “Which is you for me. I’m building a home with you.”

Jungkook’s legs still melt into a puddle whenever he remembers the softness in your words, and the puppy gaze you threw as you finally leaned back in your seat.

Which is why it’s such a shame that the clock is ticking so relentlessly.

Because your initial elation turns into disapproval only for today as you wade through the labyrinthine, time-consuming design the store is so popular for. Trying to keep up with Jungkook’s pace and hastening across the rooms.

And even then, neither of your laughter ceases; you turn the most stressful situations into deep solace. The pressure soon gives way to a calm satisfaction the moment your apartment door opens.

You set up the few plants you brought; some under the window, some on the desk in the bedroom, right next to the Beauty and the Beast rose, and a jade plant in the living room. For good luck, you said.

And then, after resting for five minutes and abandoning all further breaks, you start work in the kitchen. Which proves as cooperative as he thought — that is, until you get into a friendly argument about whether to do the dishes now or later.

“One of us keeps cooking. The other washes up what we don’t need anymore,” Jungkook explains, repeating it over and over.

To which you keep defending, “Or. One cooks one dish. The other handles the second. And we finish cooking faster and then do the dishes together.”

His fingers pinch the bridge of his nose, and he whines, “It won’t make much of a difference!”

“Well, if it doesn’t, then we could do either!”

“BUT… it might get crowded if we work at the stove at the same time, babe—”

“You just don’t trust me with th—”

“Keep yelling at me like that, and—” Jungkook interjects, and you wince a tiny bit; but he continues a mere, barely lasting moment later, “and I swear I’ll kiss you.”

Beat of silence. Your eyebrows are still furrowed. And then, amidst the agitation, you erupt into laughter. Blend it with the chortle he can’t suppress, either.

To Jungkook, the sound is akin to a song — and he could spin the record all day long.

Spoiler warning — you do not kiss. But the lively chuckles and free-spirited conversations dye the atmosphere and flavour it. Its sweetness feels like a feathery kiss, too.

And whether it’s that very unlimited sense of familiarity, gradually growing, or your unwavering teamwork at last — you’re surprised when the late afternoon transforms into an early evening, a dimly blue, cloudy sky already changing into different shades of grey.

Time passed fast; but the hour-hand on the clock still hasn’t quite moved to where you’re waiting for it to settle. Because back in the living room, you’re still an hour early. Your guests are invited for around six, but you can’t say when they’ll actually show up.

Seems you wrapped up work at a convenient time. Better now than late.

You kiss your teeth in the middle of the room, scanning it for something to do. It’s clean; pretty. Plants set up, table wiped, cushions neatly set on the couch. So you remark, “We were so stressed, I didn’t think we’d be finished already.”

Jungkook, already plummeting onto the far end of the couch, pats the spot next to him, saying, “That’s good. Gives us a bit of time to relax. Anything you wanna do?”

But you don’t sit down yet. You watch your manspreading boyfriend lean back, big inked hand wrapping around the remote control. You look at the open button of his shirt, and the singular hair strands; the side parting. The mole under his lips and the big eyes.

He just doesn’t notice it until the lack of a response continues.

“Huh?” he voices again, finger stopping over the power button before his eyes flit back to you.

You look deep in emotions and distracted; if he could guess, then even… ferociously yearning. He waits with a dancing heart until you admit boldly, “There’s plenty I can think of that I wanna do right now.”

You fold your hands behind your back, chest out a little, legs crossing. You curl your lower lip in, nibbling at it. It affects him, and you know. He sucks in air, a hand on his thigh. Blinking at you, and then poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue.

He leaves out a puff of a tiny laugh, shaking his head a bit. Nearly succumbing to the thought that…

Perhaps there’s an activity you can indulge in before they come, right—

Wrong.

Jungkook, no matter how tempted, throws another glance at the clock, and argues, “Stop thinking of eggplants. They’ll probably be here soon, so your smooth-talking is not allowed to work!”

Your body relaxes, back in its prior position; you pout for a second. “Fine. Then I’ll get dressed before anything else.”

Jungkook sighs in relief — close. Way too close. Tonight might just stretch his jeans if you keep this up; his blood is already abandoning his brain and putting its attention elsewhere.

But you’re well-mannered in the company of guests, right?

Only one way to find out — an hour to go.

Jungkook heaves his body off the couch merely ten minutes later.

And maybe even that was too early.

Maybe he should’ve waited for you to trudge out of the bedroom; or should’ve gotten his clothes and changed somewhere else. Because when he follows your steps to find a new attire for himself, too, you’re sitting at the very edge of the bed, dress already on.

It’s not too posh; rather casual. A green cotton one, pulled up to your hip because you’re dragging transparent tights over your legs. A patch of your thighs is still visible; part of your ass on display where your panties don’t reach. Skin far too empty without his kiss on it.

He doesn’t know how you do it; but within a moment, you elicit a plethora of emotions in him. Burning desire; comfortable warmth; cosy affection. You look so cuddled in in that autumn dress.

Pretty. So gorgeous; you’ll drive him insane.

But the craze doesn’t manifest in hunger this time, but gathers in a single breath, let out in a sigh. Which… makes you recoil. Your hand briefly bolts to your chest, eyes rolling, head shaking. You murmur a quiet, “Babe…” before resuming the task.

Jungkook watches as you lift your body to pull your tights over your ass and the dress back into place, and then reaches out a palm to you; urging yours to settle in it.

Still trapped in a cube of daydreams, he tugs you in until your grace radiates toward him, and then tells you—

“My baby is the prettiest ever. Ever, ever.”

You take his fawning with glowing cheeks, smile so unbelievably worth being alive as you answer, “Your baby isn’t sure if she deserves this so suddenly, but… thankful either way.”

Your voice is an endearing mix of soft and enthusiastic. The combination that breathes life into a room. You’re so…

“God,” he says, squeezing your hand, lifting his other fingers to touch the hem of your dress. Fixing it albeit already perfectly sitting. Then looks up; eyes dropping to your lips. “Maybe you were right. Want to kiss you stupid right now.”

And he would; he wouldn’t hesitate if you didn’t move a palm to his face, pressing a thumb to his plush mouth. Telling him, “Nope, too late. The make up wasn’t easy to do. And dark lipstick is hard to remove.”

Fuck, not when he’s kissing it off…

“I…” Gulp. “Fine, princess.” He removes your hand from his face, towing you back into the living room. “Then, what do we do now? Movie?”

“Nah… It’s so hard to stop watching. Gonna kick them out again if we start now. What about… hm.”

Your eyes dart across the room, and Jungkook takes the moment to suggest, “Or we could have some soju already? Or wine, beer, whatever?”

“Or…”

You wait. Jungkook follows your gaze to the back of the room, surprised when it falls on a peeking canvas behind another big plant pot. Oh — that’s still there. He never took it out, and neither did you. Protecting his privacy, probably.

But perhaps it’s lighting a bulb over your head, because you soon ask, “Or. Wanna give me a house tour?”

“A house tour? Don’t you know every corner already?”

“Yeah but,” you shrug, rounding the couch with him in tow, “I wasn’t always here. You organised the place the way you wanted to when you moved in, so you’d know it better. Like…” You point to the turned painting, “What’s that?”

“That’s… Remember the drawing I had in my notebook? Of Gureum?”

Quite a while ago. You visited him for the first time in Namjoon’s studio back then; recalled it at the exhibit, too. Crazy how sentiments have changed. From a silly play-pretend game to damaged souls to this…

You nod.

“Yeah so,” he continues, “I painted him on a bigger surface.”

Your eyes shoot open, genuine interest in them. “Oh? Can I see?”

“Of course.”

It’s not his best work, honestly; but it is close to his heart. A piece he still wants to improve and feature in his own exhibit once it rolls around. The colouring process will be interesting; it’s barely an outline yet.

But you seem to perceive it with utter fascination and sheer joy. Because the moment Jungkook heaves the canvas up, turning it for you to see, your chin drops. You gasp, mumbling under your breath, “You’re kidding!”

“…Do you like it?”

“It’s so cute! This is…” You lean in, taking in every detail; commenting on it. “He’s a fluffball! Oh my god, the tongue peeking out. He looks so happy.” When you look up into his eyes, Jungkook’s heart does a thing; and his cheeks the other thing. “You painted him from memory?”

“Mmh, maybe a couple details? But I got most of him from a picture my aunt sent me a while ago. He’s been looking much older these days and I wanted to capture him before he ages even more. Made me miss him so much.”

“Awwh, Kook…” You pout. “I really want to meet him one day.”

He looks at you with something knowing and so telling in his gaze; he feels it unveil through his own stare. The knowledge he possesses about something, and that you don’t.

You might notice hints of it, but you don’t question it. Listening when he responds, “You will. He really is a fluffball and remembers me even after months and years of distance.”

“I love him already.” You lift, straightening your back. Watching as Jungkook sets the painting back before you add, “Okay. House tour. What else?”

“Hmm. Let’s see. Come.” He leads you the short way to the cupboard, and you follow in tiny steps, like an explorer running from one treasure to another. So exhilirated. So fucking cute. “Look, these— and don’t laugh, these are precious to me.”

“Laugh?”

“…These,” he opens the cupboard doors, reaching to the far back, behind some decoration; and pulls out a deck of cards. “Are my Yu-Gi-Oh cards. I used to collect them long ago, but I’m never throwing them away. Also—”

Your lips are parted, your eyes focused. Eyebrows shooting up gently, delighted when he takes out another small object from the back.

“My Jiraiya figure that I got for my tenth birthday.”

“Holy shit… I really never bothered looking in hidden corners.” Yeah… but now that you are, you’re making this place your own, too. No, it already is yours, the way he is. He swoons at the thought. “This is so cool. Why would I laugh?!”

“Ah… Were you a Naruto fan?”

You tilt your head. “A little. More into Detective Conan, though.”

Jungkook wonders… How foolish might his smile be looking right now?

“You… keep surprising me, angel,” he says — and you seem to like the praise.

Because you light up, forefinger touching his chest as you reiterate, “See? The house tour wasn’t a bad idea at all! Look at us tracking back the path of our souls, too.”

Jungkook can’t help but chuckle. You’re a breath of fresh air to be around; so incredibly tender when you’re yourself. After all those weeks, you’re finally back to who he used to know. Not as sad anymore.

Never sick of the hand-holding, he grips your palm again, voice hushed when he orders, “Follow me, quick!” The mysterious journey leads you to the closet next; back to the quiet bedroom as he playfully shushes you. “I haven’t worn them in a long time, so you won’t know, but… Look, because the secret's out.”

You crane your neck to see what he’s referring to. And when you do, you coo and laugh straight away. Endlessly enraptured when he claims, “Wahh. They were my super-favourites.”

Iron Man socks. Obviously worn a hundred times; so, so him.

His bunny teeth flash in all their glory when he smiles, dimples out and corners of his eyes crinkly. He feels you hold his hand tighter, and you pick the most supportive tone when you say, “You need to start wearing them again! It’s so sweet when you’re geeky.”

“Maybe you’re right.” He stuffs them back, though not to the very bottom anymore; places them on top for easy access. And then, he continues, “Okay. One more thing for the glorious house tour, and we’re done. It’s another important sight, actually.”

“Ah. Oh?”

Barely a couple seconds later, you’re back to where the trip started. Following suit when he kneels near the table; swift beam spreading over your face when he clears his throat and narrates, “This… Is where I painted on you. Not on another medium, but I painted on you. Remember?”

You must. He rarely abandons paper and his usual colours like that; but you were the most marvellous masterpiece he ever covered. The most outstanding canvas he’s ever drawn on…

“I do.”

Your gaze falls sideways; are you remembering the same heart on your waist that he does? And how he touched it; smeared it under the shower water. How your back pressed into his chest, unknown what feelings you truly harboured, but never failing to showcase his own care to you.

The kisses on your shoulder. The whispers in your ears. The plea for you to stay.

“Of course I do. It was so calming,” you add, “and so beautiful.” You touch the soft carpet, plucking at its tiny fibres. “You consider it a sight at Jeon manor?”

He snickers at your choice of words, but then inhales, and very sternly says, “Yeah. We also had sex here, so it’s forever tainted. I remember it felt… like… we should do it ag—”

“Now it’s you saying these things!” You move a fist to his bicep, pushing against it lightly. “Be serious. Be romantic! It’s not the time to make me want you.”

“Oof, hey… For the record, I was being romantic! And also, I only want you more when you’re being sweet,” he rubs the spot you grazed; he barely felt it, “but seriously. I still remember everything I felt for you. And how crazy you drove me… and how vulnerable you were.”

You’re still stroking the fur of the carpet as you look into his eyes; and he sees a molten puddle in yours. Only one side of your lips lifts, but the softness in your voice is genuine, “I think I still am. Just a lot safer than before.”

“…Good. Me too.”

And that’s all.

That’s all his mind comes up with, because all the words and infatuation are locked in his heart, moving to his fingertips when he inches closer. He raises them to your chin. Knees near yours and close the yawning distance until your lips are a whisker away.

Funny — how his strong chest holds a feeble heart. Bursting and aching, full and yearning.

If he could, he’d stay here with you forever, just like that.

But. The two of you have a party to host.

And the suddenly ringing phone reminds you of it. Makes you flinch until your noses and foreheads touch, and you laugh, rubbing them as you tap the couch for the device. The two of you lean against the sofa, cosy on the carpet as you pick up.

He hears Eun’s voice announce through the phone, “We’re all here. Just a warning, because you better not be naked.”

You shoot a glance toward Jungkook. He snorts, and you start, “Why would we…”

“‘Cause we’re early for once. Taehyung didn’t need as much time with his hair today. So be prepared.”

Jungkook nods in confirmation. Taehyung usually needs to be told an earlier time when invited to an event or get-together.

There are sounds in the background, and he readies himself to register another voice. But not a second later, the doorbell chimes. Guess the two of you will have to wait with the bare devotion. 

Because for now, it’s time to indulge the gang. Let them stream in with vibrant greetings, wrapped gifts, endless booze and sweets as irresistible as you.

Jimin is the only guest coming in a little later, rushing straight from his shift. And Jungkook recognises quickly that he’s not Jimin’s first pick for conversation after a timid handshake and parting of ways.

There’s no enmity between them; Jungkook reckons it’s more the awkwardness from the Blue Night still lingering between Jimin and him. Maybe even some leftover guilt about how he used to perceive the younger man.

At least, it’s strange when he, eventually, does take a seat on the couch, separated from Jungkook only by a healing Yoongi. You’re busy talking to Eun, and Taehyung has escaped to the bathroom. Yoongi maintains a healthy atmosphere with casual talks and soft jokes.

But even if somewhat reluctantly, it seems that Jimin is at least trying when he leans back on the couch, enabling a better view to Jungkook as he asks, “Did you paint that one?”

Jungkook follows the finger pointing at the wall next to the window; nothing too out of the ordinary. Just colourful flowers. It’s okay. Better this than nothing to warm up to each other.

Turning on the couch, Jungkook waves a hand in denial as he explains, “Ah, no, no. She bought it because she thought it’s cute.”

“But you could paint that, too,” Yoongi argues, followed by Jungkook’s shy, “I guess.”

“Ohh, okay, okay. Well, since we’re talking about it. Even if you didn’t paint it,” Jimin says, “been wanting to tell you that I loved your exhibit stuff. Uhm, Eun showed me pictures. Hope that’s okay.”

That’s surprising. Jungkook considers himself gifted in this sense, but— having someone actually boast about his work for him makes him feel… accomplished? Appreciated.

No wonder you hold your friends in such high regard.

“Yeah! Of course. Thank you, Jimin.”

“It’s a pretty place, by the way.”

Yoongi wiggles a finger back and forth with an agreeing nod, snacking away, a quiet listener for the time being. There’s something amusing about it; makes Jungkook smile as he tells Jimin, “Thanks. And I’m glad you could come. Can imagine work’s a lot, so…”

“Yeah. No worries. Everything for our girl.”

Jungkook hums as the chat dies and the awkwardness returns. And then, he remembers—

Speaking of — where are you again? Still in the kitchen? Seems so. Or at least, moving away from it bit by bit.

Immersed in a conversation, holding the frame of the living room door, at the threshold to the anteroom. You’re discussing something with Eun, your expression focused. He can’t really make out your words because of those exchanged between Jimin and Yoongi, but…

A moment later, you do look at him. And then away again immediately — as if he caught you. A motion of your hand waves whatever cryptic topic off; and intrigued, Jungkook comes to a stand.

In vain — because Taehyung returns the same moment, babbling about whatever Yoongi just said. And you use the opportunity to march into the room, asking Jungkook to help you set the table for dinner.

To his chagrin, most of them offer to help momentarily. Taehyung swarms around you, insisting on plating, making it impossible for Jungkook to find a moment to ask what your conversation was about. And eventually, he gives up — if it’s important, you’ll tell him.

So for now, he relishes the evening your friends grant the two of you. They compliment the food, narrate short and long stories, watching Jungkook and you unwrap the gifts — board games from Jimin, cutting boards and wine from Yoongi, a stylish, modern thermostat from Taehyung and Eun.

The ecstasy overflows, the screeches probably making your neighbours think of you unhinged. Wine spills on the table; curses exchange; laughing turns into crying.

If anything other than this life is considered good, then Jungkook doesn’t crave that goodness. The unbridled chuckles, and your never-dropping smile are beyond everything twinkling and gorgeous already.

And he’s happy, too. Elated when you cover your mouth when you laugh; and overjoyed when you stand at the window after dinner, leaning forward. Breathing in the autumn air.

Jungkook follows once things wind down and the guests agree upon an appropriate volume. He mimics your stance, lower arms on the windowsill and hands hanging relaxed.

His fingers graze the withering flowers in the window box. They’re slowly dying by the hands of the approaching cold, and the rain keeps overwatering them. Yet… they still let it hurt them, holding on for as long as possible.

So in love with the shower.

It’s almost a bit tragic.

Jungkook refocuses, turning to you and asks, “What are you doing?”

Your head moves to the side, and you kill the remaining distance between you. Step close until you’re nearly nudging his elbow.

“Just,” you nod into a haphazard direction; into the outside world, “looking at the rain. Got a bit stifling in there.”

“Yeah.” Jungkook throws a glance over his shoulder. “Also, I think they’re getting drunk.”

“Mhmmm. Except Jimin. Poor him is looking at the alcohol so longingly. Did you notice that he didn’t drink?”

“Someone has to drive them home, and Yoongi with his healing injury is out. I offered, but Jimin insisted on taking care of them and not, as he said, bothering us. Super thoughtful, really.”

You smile, nodding along before you silence. He doesn’t know what you’re thinking of; or what you’re seeing. Maybe you’re truly only revelling in the rain; contrasting it with the sunshine you radiate.

Maybe he should look for a rainbow somewhere.

In the midst of the tranquil evening, your gape strays from the drizzle with a blink. It descends to his twirling thumbs, and then moves along the length of his arm. Jungkook notices your attention from the side, but only turns to look at you when he realises what you’ve fixated on.

You gesture towards the hues and outlines on his skin, delicately touching the writhing snake as you say, “Want a tour for them, too, if you’d ever allow. I imagine it could be fun.”

“Tattoo tracing?” His lips move into an endeared smile; you look so fascinated. Like you’re seeing them for the first time. “I’d be down. I could even…” His fingers journey to yours, gently leading them to the flowers. “I can even give you a sneak peek.”

“Really?”

“Sure. Look.” He guides your touch over the dazzling orange of his tiger lily. “This is me. Tiger lilies beg for love. I’ve always sought love, too.”

Your eyes change. He knows you see it, too — the urge to never be abandoned again, all the time.

He can nearly see your heart ache. And feels his own thump a thousand miles a second. A fraction of it breaks off and jumps into your chest, making it yours; it does it all the damn time until you hold the entirety of it in the palm of your hands.

Unhurried, he steers your finger further, stopping at the blue tint; clearly hears you draw a breath when he tells you, “And this… This is my girlfriend. She’s even prettier in real life… that’s right.”

For a bit, you’re speechless. Jungkook keeps admiring you in the forget-me-nots for another second, and when you don’t speak on, he meets your eyes. You’re shaking your head, and then — slowly wrapping an arm around his, moving close, head on his shoulder.

From this angle, your cheeks are demanding to be squeezed; eyelashes kiss them softly, your lips tempting curves when you laugh. Jungkook doesn’t get enough of you… and you don’t want to make it easier for him either.

Because, “Shit,” you say, “you were right about pining more when someone’s being romantic. ‘Cause you’re making me want you so bad, in every way. Are you… still up for kissing me stupid?”

“Ahh… babe.”

“I just… You excite me, too, you know?”

“Don’t say these things while they’re here, baby,” he warns, although as tenderly as anyhow possible, “you’ll give me a heart attack, I mean it.”

“Now you know how I feel all the time!” you tease, fingers flicking raindrops into his face out of nowhere.

Jungkook recoils and squirms, taken aback, but it takes him a mere second to play along. He gathers rain in his palms, threatening to toss it into your face; bickering chaos at the open living room window until your damp hands rejoin and delicate digits interlace.

And as he looks at the sad flowers again, the reality of the moment makes him think. How the two of you used to resemble the blossoms in your window box, once enduring the incessant melancholy, too.

Much like the flowers towards the downpour, Jungkook and you reached for each other while being watered by gloom — but unlike the flowers, you’re still sprouting and thriving into something vivid and fragrant. Not beaten by the agonising shower.

The rain hurt me, but I wanted to keep fighting. Because I hoped. Because I adored.

And in the end, him and you aren’t tragic like them. You will never wither — only bloom.

An hour later, the apartment is empty.

You opened all the windows to eliminate the suffocating air; and the hot water running in the sink soothes your cold skin. What a relief to watch the clinking dishes lessen; you sigh at the small amount still left, and Jungkook catches it immediately.

“See?” he teases, loading the dishwasher. Even that seems like a task after such a day; tidying up the living room was more than enough. “Good that we did most of it during and after cooking. It’s so much even now.”

Eyes heavy, you admit, “I should learn to listen to you more.”

He clicks his tongue, skipping a response, and then, out of the blue, says, “Angel… I could get used to this.”

“To me listening to you more?”

“Yes. But no. To you being here.”

You glow up, even though you’re still facing the sink, smile a little hidden, “You need to. Because I’ll be annoying you all the time.”

“Oh, I believe you.”

You hit him with a spoon, wetting the spot a bit before handing the cutlery to him. Delivering a head tilt, he smirks. Amused before he remembers something and asks, “Hey. What were you and Eun talking about earlier?”

“Hm? When?”

“Before dinner. It looked serious.”

You halt mid-movement. Did he catch something? Maybe. But you only insist, “Nothing special. About her graduation… you know, since it’s pretty soon.”

Huh. Doesn’t seem to quite cut it.

“Mmmh. Anything else?”

You feign a thoughtful moment, as if you’ve wiped your memory clean off whatever she said to you. Then, you tell him, “Yeah. I told her how you played around with the recipe and came up with the best dinner ever. And how hot you looked doing it.”

“…You said the last bit, too?”

“No.” Jungkook blows a raspberry before comically pressing his lips into a line, eyebrows furrowing. “Don’t look at me like that, it’s not my fault. I mean, do you know how attractive is it to be among people and know that this one person is still only looking at you?”

Oh, all too well…

“I would definitely know,” he chuckles. “Shit. You’ve been testing me tonight, you know?”

“…How?”

“All those compliments and ambiguous statements.” You shrug your shoulders in apparent innocence, muttering a small, ”It’s true" before he digs, “Anyway, don’t distract me. Anything else she said?”

Perhaps you’re done playing games. And perhaps you should’ve kept doing just that; because your next answer is a much greater tease.

“…I’ll tell you about it soon enough.”

Jungkook squints, organising a plate into a free spot, playfully disgruntled, “Unfair.”

“Hang in there.”

“Alright. You’re lucky I trust you.”

Your grin is gaping wide, and he attempts his best to ignore it. But when you add an evil snicker to it, regarding him with pure mirth in your eyes, he folds, “What?”

“Nothing. You’re just so cute. You’ll keep acting like you’re digging, but still always know when to respect my decisions. Maybe the bar is low? But I find trust ridiculously attractive.” You throw a longing smile at him, bringing a damp fingertip to his cheek to poke. “And to top it off… You’re so pretty, too, and I’m just… enamoured from all sides and—”

You wait and he uses the moment to wipe his cheek on his shirt. But when you don’t speak on, he spurs you on, “…And?”

“And I want you so bad.”

The plate waiting to be set into the dishwasher drops on the counter. Jungkook stares up, regarding the ceiling with a seemingly agitated look. You don’t know what’s truly whirling in him, so you warily ponder, “…What’s wrong?”

“Nothing.” Jungkook turns the water off, taking the cups from your hands and placing them in the sink. He shakes his palms off the liquid, and then whispers, “Okay. Later.”

The hold around your wrist is firm, and the tug firmer. Determined, he leads you out of the kitchen, slapping a hand over the light switch; your eyes are wide when you ask, “Wait, we’re not do—”

His answer is predictable; yet, you didn’t foresee it. Because—

“Bedroom. Right now.”

THE MORNING OF THE CONFESSION

Unlike you, Jungkook has considered himself a night owl ever since he entered the bustling world of college. Settling in the city was a stirring experience, and the thrill of it, along with a girlfriend, exams and newfound friends, kept him up until the sun rose again.

He enjoyed what he did, too. Loved school, so he didn’t mind the fatigued eyes during lectures. Truly one of the handful of joys that helped rid his head of the brain fog he bestowed upon himself after each long, sleepless night.

And he was an avid participant in classes despite his sheepish persona — they shook him awake, the late afternoon workouts obliterating the rest of the exhaustion. Maybe that’s why he was so reluctant to flake out for the night, too; still energised.

But while Jungkook carried the spirit of a straight-out-of-the-high-school-freshman who disliked falling asleep early, he despised waking up at the break of day just as much.

Would groan, blinking into the sun, with no one to blame for his agitation but him. No matter how deep his fascination for his studies and how quick the fading of his initial irritation — the first few minutes of every day were pure agony.

Jungkook is still a night owl. Still wants the nights to stretch, albeit for other reasons now. But his attitude towards mornings has changed.

There’s a shift in his preferences now; you moved his universe by an inch, altered it so effortlessly. Suddenly, he doesn’t regret rising with the sun next to him. He doesn’t curse the groggy feeling anymore.

There’s a silky touch he seeks every single morning that his eyes open to, lips he follows with his own blindly. You’re a permanent presence now, air and fire to his lungs, and he feels the freshness, feels the burn whenever your fingers brush his shoulders upon waking up.

He won’t need to check in at work for a few hours still; yet, sleeping in would mean losing the minutes that you’re still here before walking out the door until the evening.

He’ll sacrifice a slumber for this. Voluntarily.

And it’s crazy how none of this requires any sort of effort or pleading from your side. How all you need to do is to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Those extra moments, no matter how fleeting, grant him a little more time on Earth with you, and he grasps it greedily. Even when you spend it teasing the hell out of him. Or, even when you wake up with scorching cheeks and endearing, high pitched complaints.

Like today.

“I still can’t believe yesterday,” you say.

“It’s okay.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard. Thinking about it, can I really show my face at the wedding? I’ll probably make things worse.”

Jungkook keeps glancing at the back of your head, the loose bun shaking with your movement. Smoothly, his fingers trace up and down your back; a gesture he started randomly and continued the moment you mumbled, “I like it… continue?”

Sat between his legs, you’ve been swaying for a while, both uneasy and amped about the approaching event. And to Jungkook, it’s as sweet as it is frustrating to see your brain fuming like that.

“Come here, baby,” he demands, content when you reverse into him. He wraps his arms around your chest, pulling you to his body, and presses a pillowy kiss to your temple. “You’re overthinking again. I promise you, we’ll make sure you have the most fun.”

“I embarrassed myself so hard,” you repeat, and Jungkook kisses his teeth.

“You’re a clown, I’ll admit,” you whine his name, and he laughs, “but I’m telling you. I know my mom and that was her I-like-you voice. Which I didn’t doubt for a second, by the way. Like, she really seems happy with how my life has turned out, and with whom. As am I. Understand?”

One more kiss to your scalp. He swings you from side to side, ignoring the ticking of the clock. In a few, you’ll be leaving the apartment, and Jungkook will need to kill the hours until he joins Namjoon at work. 

He shouldn’t be missing you already; but he still holds you tighter. Tighter until you let out a little groan, a hand on his arm. He can’t read your thoughts or decipher whether his promise helped; because you don’t answer yet.

Only wait for a few seconds, allowing him to wallow in your warmth until you call, “…Jungkook.”

“Mhh?”

“Talking about life and stuff… did you always imagine yours to be like this? Just curious.”

“Like this?” he ponders, mentally intertwining every current branch of his life into one healthily growing tree. He’s liking it. “Well… I graduated. An exhibition ahead that’ll hopefully bring me a step closer to my own studio and profession.”

You hum in pride, tapping his arm as an affectionate reward. He continues, “I do what I love, have some great friends… and I get to spend my days with my favourite person? Doesn’t sound too bad to me.”

You crane your neck to look at him; your lips are so close to his, tilted into a smile that’s so unbelievably you. “You called me that last night, too.”

“Huh? Oh, that’s right. And… I mean it. Like. Now that you’re here, it’s even clearer somehow?”

“…How so?”

“Mmh… whenever I used to get home, I’d think of what to eat and of showering and going to sleep. And when I come home now, the first thing I think of is you. What we’d cook tonight. Or what we might watch or talk about. You’re…”

He feels your chest rise under his limbs; a sigh of fondness as he knows it best.

“You’re the one I want to spend all my time with.” He pauses when you look at your blanket-covered lap, hiding your twinkling eyes. “So it’s clear.”

“You always sound so hopelessly…”

You halt mid-sentence, the touch against your arm tensing — much like his own heart, jumping to the next beat with a heavy thud. You shake your head; Jungkook doesn’t get to dwell in further thoughts… still doesn’t have the words for them yet.

Or doesn’t want to admit them yet.

If he thought about them long enough and arrived at a conclusion, would you think he’s rushing your relationship? Would it scare you?

Better not find out yet.

So he lets you talk and listens, “Anyway. So, is there anything, like… more? That you want to achieve someday? Or that you think of sometimes before you go, that’s still left for me to do.”

How fitting.

Pretending to be sinking into thoughts, Jungkook hums, letting his chest vibrate against your back, and then answers truthfully, “Yeah? Maybe a couple things. We’ll see them with time when I gather the courage to tackle them.”

“Like what?”

“Hmm… am I allowed to say that already?” More simulations, teasing you with a fake distant gaze and a hissing inhale of air. “I’m not sure. You’ll know.”

“Hey! That makes me nervous.”

“No need.” You interrupt his speech with another sound of disapproval, pulling a dorky, infectious chortle out of him; his nose scrunches up. “I’m kidding. I’m talking about all the goals I have for my career. I don’t want to stop, no matter what. Keep going and keep striving for more.”

You nod; someone as hard-working as you would understand. In a sense, you’re a role model to him, too — a sentiment that you, as you have often emphasised, reciprocate.

Yet, you advise, “Just don’t overwork. Think of Icarus! We can’t always get more than more, you know? There’s happiness in satisfaction with what we have, too. But either way…” You angle your legs, pulling them close; cuddling into him more. “I’ve got your back.”

And perhaps that’s one of the gazillion traits he cherishes so much about you.

Your position at work is reputable and treasured, and you could easily push him to work harder, too. Could want him to match your career success, because it’s more or less guaranteed for you.

But you don’t. You stand by his side, prioritising his happiness and mental strength, albeit unaware of how his future might turn out. When you say you’ve got his back, he believes you.

“I know,” he says, lips in your hair, breathing you in. “Yeah… I know.”

“Hmmm… okay,” you move on, “what about me? Do you have any expectations? Certain standards and rules? I just,” you reach forward, tugging the blanket over your chest and his arm, “I feel like that’s something one should talk about. Tell me if it’s too much, though.”

“No, you’re right. But honestly? Is it… is it weird to say that you’ve kinda become a standard?”

“…I— What do you mean?”

“I just mean that… I’m never going to tell you that I expect you to be loyal and kind because it’s the bare minimum, right? Who doesn’t want all that? I know you are, so I don’t need to say it. So I don’t have any other expectations from you; these things are already the foundation of our relationship. Just. Mmh, how do I say it?”

He thinks for a moment, but you’re nodding, as if you’ve already understood. But his thoughts don’t end here; they’re just difficult to word. In his mind, they’re clear, but upon having to express them, he doesn’t quite understand the concept of language anymore.

Curses its limitations.

But then, as emotions gingerly gather to a coherent sentence at last, he tries to explain:

“Rather than adhering to any rules or standards I could have, I feel like you’re building them for me. You make me have a type, you know?” He feels you dissolve in his arms as he taps between your clavicles. “And that’s you. I don’t want anyone if I can’t have you.”

Did he go off track? Possibly. But you don’t seem to mind.

Because your voice is painfully sweet and miniscule when you speak, on the brink of losing the fight against the tremble, “But you have me. Pinky promise that you do, for a long, long time.”

Yeah… yeah, he does. And he’d be damned if he let this go.

Because if he ever did — if he ever so foolishly lost you again after combating these cruel storms, you’d still remain his standard. He’d look for you in each face passing, and in every laugh sounding.

The blueprint. And an everlasting memory.

Does it make sense? He doesn’t know.

And it doesn’t matter anyway. You’re right here.

“I’ll take your pinky promises,” he says, overjoyed as he crosses his legs over your shins, peppering more kisses onto your cheeks, the corner of your eyes, on your ear. He speaks in between your sighs and quiet laughs, “What about you? What do you want?”

“I… I don’t think I’ve ever had any expectations either, but. The wedding and—” You hesitate, as if considering dropping whatever you were going to list; and then you start anew, “The wedding made me think, and I— I just want to have so much fun with you.”

“Yeah? Tell me about it.”

“I want all the ordinary things we do to feel special because it’s us doing them. And I don’t ever want us to regret anything, so… I want us to be brave.”

“Brave? Well, you’re already the strongest and bravest person I know.”

“Braver. I want to live without restraints. And I don’t want to overthink anymore.”

Hmm…

Jungkook has seen your jumbled up thoughts before. The pain you cause to your mind sometimes, and the zoned out eyes painting pictures of what you fear the most.

He knows that feeling. Has battled one too many beasts to lessen the ache; even if it’s not always possible. Even if he seeks reassurances sometimes, too. And maybe that’s the prominent and sole reason why he never dismisses your disquiet.

Why push you away if you’re already at an impasse? Why not lead you out of the maze?

“Take it easy, okay?” he soothes, letting his grip around you fall bit by bit to search for your fingers instead. “Restraints can’t beat us.”

“Yeah! I’m hopeful.”

“You should be.” Because thinking of all you’ve fought within the span of a couple weeks… “You’re the first person to show me that there’s no reason to be scared, you know?”

“Then…” You sit up, curling your fingers around his hand, lifting it mid-air in sudden eagerness. “Just imagine how life could go, right? We could go to the ocean. Oh.” You gasp, sucking in air. “Oh my god! The Great Barrier Reef!”

“Ohhh, that’s actually a solid bucket list item. And then, bungee jumping?”

You nod zealously; lacking your fingers’ mobility required to list things, you instead knock your intertwined hands against your thigh each time to come up with something new. Like now, “Cliffs. And northern lights, too. I’ve always wanted to see them.”

Reflexively, you look up.

Stare at the glued-on stars from last night, and the now missing projection you dozed off to. An effective visual lullaby; you didn’t even stir when Jungkook turned it off, tucking you in properly. In your blanket; in him.

“Hell yes,” Jungkook confirms.

“But the first stop’s your hometown… and the wedding. I want to meet your family and be super awkward about it.”

Jungkook laughs, forehead falling forward against your head. He shakes it for a second, and then recalls, “Ah… so chickens and family awkwardness. What else?”

He didn’t expect this to work out before he asked you. Considering you’ve barely started at Novaura, he anticipated gentle rejection. But now that it’s become a certain event in the incredibly near future, his heart pounds every time you mention it.

Because…

You in a dress. You in his house. You, dominating over every single heart that’s dear to him.

And it seems you’ve already thoroughly thought about this, because your answer shoots out of you like a bullet, “Wanna dance with you. And kiss you under the lights.”

“Angel… you’re over the moon about this, aren’t you?”

“…Too obvious?”

You allow a fleeting glance back to him before your eyes fall down to his bare arm, ending in a hand clinging to yours; covered in ink, much like the rest of his right limb. He knows you’re staring at the flowers without asking.

And as if knowing, reading your soul, he doesn’t find himself surprised when you suggest, “And then… one day… What do you think? Should I get a tattoo someday, too?”

“Totally, if that’s what you want. What would you wanna get?”

“Flowers to match? I don’t know. Maybe you can draw on me. Here,” you lead his hand to your thigh, sticking there for a while until you move up to your hip. “Or here.”

He wonders how focused your thoughts are right now. Because if they are, and you’re not fixating on the changes of his skin, you probably won’t register the countless goosebumps under his tattoos.

A giddy sensation spreads throughout his body, collecting in his chest and tummy. Memories of a nearly bare body, painted in his dozen colours returning. And then, pictures of the same hues blurring, smudging.

He breathes an exhale, insane at the thought of kissing those lines. Of lips trailing up your skin, stopping at your hip, dying a pleasant death.

Fuck.

“I… I would. I’ll paint you any day.”

His words come out more airy than intended, fingers itching to pinch your chin, to move your face to his. To slide down the mattress, to kiss your lips swollen, making out with you until the sun sets…

But the world is cruel and too real; the clock still ticks until he realises that freezing in place isn’t an option right now. So he says, “As much as I hate to say this… You should get ready for work.”

You groan; there’s something sweet about your unwillingness to go. Relatable. And it sticks until the exhaustion washes away with each second. Small breakfast in, clothes on, newfound work spirit restored.

Must be a good day approaching. 

And you’ve been enjoying the recent ones, he assumes. Despite being so good at what you do, there’s a clear difference in how you tackle a day at Charmante versus at Novaura.

And you confirm it when he accompanies you to the entrance, bidding you goodbye until you meet again later, “What I love most about Novaura is that they don’t feel the need to communicate everything with Mom. They’re their own independent world and trust themselves.”

“Right… You as someone equally independent will fit right in, so they’re lucky to have you there. Makes me wonder, though.” Jungkook pauses, watching you grab your jacket from the wall hook, “Are your Charmante people okay with you being at Novaura so much?”

A COUPLE DAYS LATER

“…I really don’t know if I can do this.”

Well, shit. Wasn’t he ready to strive for more, run endlessly until his feet tired? Where is the dread suddenly emerging from?

Jungkook has barely set his sketchbook down when lightning bolts head for him.

Countering his concern with kissing eyebrows, Namjoon’s full lips purse, dimples gone as he wonders, “What are you even talking about?” — Much at the same time as you utter a threatening, “Shut up,” pastry lifted, ready to throw at him.

Jungkook shies away from the table, ready to dodge your attack; returning when you place the crumbly croissant back on your plate. He presses his lips together before smacking and kissing them, finger rolling the pen over his sketches, but eyes fixated on Namjoon’s notebook.

“I’m serious. There’s so much to do until November, and I… how do I get so much done?”

“But,” Namjoon knocks against the random drawing open on the table, “you already have so much to show. And you can revamp stuff from college, too. Besides, it’s okay to try your best and be scared at the same time, Jungkook! That’s part of a growing artist’s job.”

“But, are you sure I’m a growing artist?!”

Namjoon mutters something under a breath, and you add something unintelligible to the reassuring mix. Jungkook’s worried gaze remains on the rough lines of pencil on paper, teeth repeatedly nibbling his lower lip. Baring his mole.

He closes the sketchbook, staring at the golden, imprinted letters on a dark black background. He’s filled a quarter of it already; the very piece you gifted him for his birthday almost a month ago.

In some way, opening to a blank page serves as inspiration alone. You furnished him with something so simple yet gorgeous; thoughtful engraving to use as a reminder to hold onto his efforts.

But…

Amidst the lasting zeal, he’s been racking his brain. Because. What if he immerses himself in this, spending hours tainting his fingertips in different tints — only to steer towards failure?

What if it doesn’t work out? And he ends up not amounting to much, other than trying his luck online and living on a bare minimum of a salary? Would he start tutoring young, aspiring artists?

And you…

You’re diving into a stable job, well-paid, well-known. If you end up carrying both of you on your shoulders… would you think of him as a washout? Grow frustrated and dissatisfied?

You’ve been repeatedly declaring your unswerving support, but what if you some day do realise that…

Ugh.

He stuck to this passion with the full knowledge he would never fall out of love with it; but now that he’s working for his dreams, the process seems so scary all of a sudden.

“And I’m at the wedding, too…” he says.

He leans back in his chair, moving his pupils away from the paper and instinctively up to you. More concerns threaten to tumble off the tip of his tongue, but when your eyes suddenly flicker with disappointment, his lips shut again.

You blink, unsure, before you ask, “Do you… not want to go? We could totally stay here if you need the time.”

Oh… 

Hadn’t you gushed about the event day in, day out now, he would’ve maybe believed your words. And in some sense, you probably do think of the alternative as okay, as long as he profits from it.

But he sees it in your eyes. And not just in yours — he’s been as enthralled by the idea as you. Which is why…

“No,” he responds, “no. We will go.”

Because the prospect of winding down with you has been keeping him sane. Doting on you under the countryside stars, showing you all you haven’t seen before, body to body dancing with you…

He’s not missing out on that, no matter what.

And god knows you need the break, too… especially after the utter hysteria last Friday…

“Kook, think about it. You need to be absolutely sure,” you argue, genuine worry in your gaze; from his side eye, he sees Namjoon nod in confirmation.

“I am. We’ll go, baby, okay?”

You don’t avert your gaze; your mouth closes a little, but you stay unblinking, waiting for his mind to change. He knows because he sees the thoughts floating at the surface of your eyes.

Like you’re still pondering; of course you are. As someone who’s been working hard for their career, even if just for a few months, you’d know. Who’d understand if not you?

The trance lingers between the two of you, and Jungkook lifts his lips, a vow and certainty in his smile. Moment only broken when Namjoon clears his throat and encourages once more, “Give it a shot, Jungkook… Those high-profile people need to see what you’re capable of! I mean, we’re so lucky to have them coming to our exhibits.”

Namjoon gestures randomly, across the small restaurant as he says, “Say what you will about this city, but we lure in quite a few esteemed artists for sure.”

“Who says something about this city?” you ask.

“I do,” Namjoon’s voice is soothing. One thing Jungkook has learned about him is that his flowery mind never rests. Lyrical; not always easy to understand. “I love and hate it. Leaving it, living it.”

He pauses, sipping on his diet coke before smacking the taste away and ordering, “Ask me anytime if you need any help, alright? And be confident.”

“And… what if it does work?”

Your gentle laugh sounds from the opposite side of the table, the straw of your milkshake on your tongue. The rhythmic melody calms something deep in him; perhaps more because he understands your reaction.

You’re just as cute worrying about things that he knows you’d ace.

“Well,” Namjoon starts, aware that Jungkook knows; still annihilating his unease, “the guy is ready to buy your art. If it goes well, he’ll sponsor you. Then, at some point, you’ll be able to afford your own studio and grow as an artist. Ideally.”

“Ah… ah, really…”

”Kookie,” your voice calls; you lean over the round table, shoving the milkshake aside, “don’t worry. And in the most unlikely case that it doesn’t go as planned, know that I’ll cheer you on either way.”

“And me too,” Namjoon raises a hand.

Your finger swings to and fro between Namjoon and you, and your expression changes from empathic and soft to the sweetest, most gut-wrenching smile he’s ever seen. The apples of your cheeks lift, pupils sparkling when you vow, “We’re here for you.”

He…

He could look at you all day, blinking be damned. Could pour out his emotions every second of every minute of every hour, and it’d still not match the endless letter his heart keeps crafting for you. 

Disregarding how much of a shipwreck the two of you were last Friday, his chest has still lightened ever since; an epiphany has never been sweeter.

Because…

The words he couldn’t compose into a poem before are now an ardent confession, with rhymes and a melody and infinite beauty. Roaming his mind nonstop, caught in that baby pink bubble.

When had his senses last heightened this much?

Because somehow, he still feels the damp trail of tears he cried that night. And the heart that beat against your cheek. You, frozen against him, processing his words.

If there are ways to make him fall in love harder, you’ve been presenting them all the goddamn time.

And fuck, it’s been hard focusing on anything but you.

Like, on paying. Or on upholding a conversation with Namjoon — assuring him he’d be back in the studio in a bit as he prepares to bid you goodbye for the day.

To his chagrin, the walk to your car isn’t long. It’s parked at a corner, convenient for lunch dates like these; you promised you’d join one with Joon at some point, and you did. Forty-five minutes passed too quickly. Felt like a moment.

“Namjoon is so nice!” you comment, hands in the pockets of your denim jacket.

You keep swaying back and forth, from your heels to your toes and back. Your smile and movements suggest a free spirit, but your risen shoulders and the shallow crease between your eyebrows drench you in something tense.

You’ve been like that since you suggested staying, focusing on his work.

“He’s so wise, too, really,” Jungkook responds, close to you in case your swinging moves leave you tumbling, “like, a cool mix between calm and dorky. I’ve been learning so much from him.”

“Jeon Jungkook and his love for his mentor. You will never stop talking about him.”

Jungkook shrugs, a hand to the nape of his neck, face warming, “He’s cool, what can I say?”

“Yeah.”

And once again… he sees you gulp. Unsure, pupils flickering. You usually don’t struggle maintaining eye contact. So he soon wonders, “Are you okay? I… I hope you didn’t misunderstand what I said earlier. I really do want to go to the wedding.”

“Hm?” you voice, chin lifting a bit before you dispute, “Oh. No, I believe you. If you say it’s okay, then that’s how it is.”

“What then?”

“What do you mean? Do I really seem like something’s up?”

“A little.”

“Uhm…”

You roll up your eyes as you dig into your thoughts. Scouring your brain for whatever might be meandering in the back of your mind. Hm… seems you’re not fully cognisant of the subtle change in your behaviour, either?

So maybe, it means nothing after all.

Then again. It must be something.

Because in hindsight, he didn’t only notice today, but all weekend, too—

Oh…

Maybe you’re just getting used to the new developments; maybe they’re just making you a bit bashful like him. Maybe…

Okay. Deep breath. He just needs to make it sound like a joke, nothing pushy or odd or awkward because—

“Or is it because I told you I love you? Have I scared you off already?”

He watches your breathing stop. As though flexing an x-ray stare, watching your lungs dry up, air stuck in your throat until it escapes through your nose. Honestly… he’s been feeling the same.

“No!” you answer, tone breathy, pulling a hand out of the pocket to sprightly push at his shoulder. He barely budges. “Of course not. All that does is make me want to faint.”

Jungkook chuckles, delighted when your laugh matches his own. He doesn’t always know how to take a compliment either; but you fix your speechlessness with that glow on your face. Fills his own body with fairy dust, too. 

His dimples are valleys when your fingers move to his open jacket, grazing the zipper and filling the seconds with quiet tenderness. He doesn’t know what to say to you until you let the silence prolong and then giggle into it once more.

If he could just dive into your brain. But all he has are his own, messy thoughts.

And those tangled thoughts say—

“Angel… Can I kiss you?” Now his lungs are collapsing, too. Worse, so much worse when you look into his eyes, still so surprised at every sliver of affection he signs. “I really want to kiss you right now.”

No… he needs to. Needs to blossom in this breezy weather. But he won’t tell you that.

He’ll just keep looking at you. One second, two seconds — until you’ve raised your hands to the collar of his jacket to move him closer, soon sneaking your touch further up to his neck. A miniscule and wordless hint of approval, and he basks in it avidly.

Twitching palms hesitate for only the subtlest of moments before they’ve dashed up to your cheeks, cupping your face and leaning in and…

Lock.

A picture of a lock. And of its key.

The first thing to flash into his mind.

Because how do his lips fit so perfectly between yours? When you touch him like this, delicate fingers caressing his jaw, how do you feel so much like a feather? And the damn way you sigh into his mouth… how you reciprocate the kiss.

He will never tire of telling you, telling himself, that you match him just like the ocean complements the shore. And it’s baffling. How perfect this feels, and how right it feels.

You do make the ordinary extraordinary.

Like a kiss that is shared a million times a day, between so, so many people. But you’re moving your lips against his. Holding onto him, tilting your head, soaking in his warmth. Going tentatively, then a bit faster, then slow again.

For the merest moments when your mouths part, you gasp, inhaling before pushing your fingers into his hair, at the back of his head. Then back against him, seeking his tongue; such soft sounds meeting his that he swears he could cry.

Cry about the shiver down his spine and the flutter in the pit of his stomach. About the world becoming a backdrop to everything in the middle of the pavement; and about how his thoughts only revolve around your shared breaths and the feeling of your warm cheeks. 

Just you.

You, you, you.

Still too far away. Why do you drive him so incredibly mad?

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He loves you. He loves you.

Under a breath and against your soft pillows, he mutters your name; so airy that he barely recognises his voice. His tongue drags over your lower lip, pecking one more time before he establishes an intruding distance between you.

Your foreheads touch for a transient bit, thumb skimming your cheek. When he opens his eyes, yours are still shut, and you’re feeble in his grip. And then, he asks, “What’s wrong?”

You swallow again. Take a breath before admitting, “You’re right. There’s something I want to ask you, and I was so stupidly… nervous about it.”

“Yeah?”

“The whole gang, they… they’ve been planning something. They paid for it and all, but they’re waiting for me to give them an answer, so they know if I need to pay them back or if they should cancel or, or—”

He interrupts your ramble with a soft, “Tell me, babe.”

“Okay,” your eyelids finally open up; your gaze is so hazy when you look at him. “It’s a trip. Four days, three nights, during the wedding week.” He hasn’t said a word when you hurry to add, “But, we can leave earlier. It’s a road trip kinda thing to the mountains and the beach and. They want us there, too.”

”Oh.”

“…Yeah.”

“I… Baby.” He moves back, shaking his head. He was careful not to ruin your hair, well aware you have half a work day ahead of you; but he still brushes a strand back. “Were you and Eun talking about that two weeks ago?”

“Yeah. And Tae also said I should be the one to ask because you’d like that. But then things happened and all the stress and…”

“But… even before that. Why were you so nervous asking me about it for so long?”

“Because,” you answer, one shrug of your shoulders, “I wanted to wait and see how you feel about the exhibition and the workload. And you already have limited time because of the wedding and I didn’t want to take away more of it.”

He can’t help but beam; why does this feel… endearing? Mirrors his own thoughts when he asked you about accompanying him to the wedding.

“We really do have the same brain, don’t we?” he asks.

“You’d think we’d learn.”

You say it lightheartedly, yet gnaw on your lips. He tongues the inside of his cheek, keeping eye contact, and then queries, “There’s something else, right?”

“Ah, just.”

You look unsure, trying to make sense of your thoughts, but your uncertainty makes him uncertain, too. So he exhales before he prods, “What? What what? Is it something bad?”

“No! Just. They’ve been wanting to do this since the summer. They never talked about it to me because you and I were… you know.” You kiss your teeth, and he uses the second to whoosh away the aching memories. “But they never cancelled for us, either.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because they’d say, and I quote, ‘Just wait.’ They knew we couldn’t stay away from each other even before we did.” You laugh. “Eun told me that day in the kitchen.”

Even before you did?

Untrue. He knew he didn’t want to live without you the moment you left his apartment, tear-soaked and heartbroken.

“Okay…” he starts, “and you were worried because?”

“Because you always get so sad when I talk about the summer. Explaining the context of the trip seemed hard to me, and I didn’t want you to feel guilty.”

Oh…

Shit, man.

“You’re… ahhh… my sweet baby.” He wants to hug you to his chest and never let go. But you’re already running out of time, lunch break nearing its end, so he only grips your shoulders. “You know that it gets better after two minutes, no? Because whatever happened, I have you now.”

He flicks your chin as he has been lately; it cheers you up. Makes you smile a bit, conjures the pout away. Adding to the effect when he says, “Don’t worry so much, my love.”

Another inhale. Then, you admit, “I’m sorry. I dragged it out.”

“It’s okay.”

“So… would you come? Do you think you could take some time off work and all? I’d understand if it’s too much.”

“Hmm… Right before the wedding, isn’t it?”

“Mid-october, yes. We could leave earlier!” you reiterate, hellbent on assuring he’s not obligated to do anything. So sweet, how you scratch your head. “They’d drive on. It’s convenient because it’s all in the same week.”

“Mountains and beach, you say.”

“If you don’t like them, we can stay at the hotel and chill together.”

Shit.

His grin widens with each heartbeat; you notice, because despite your suggestions, you sound more lively now.

And yet, it’s funny you’d question all these things like this at all. Don’t you remember damp cheeks and gentle touches?

Just days ago.

How he was still trembling when you left Eun’s complex. How he stopped you before climbing into the car, much like now, mumbling a timid, “Angel…”

And then retracting when his heart combusted. Looking into your eyes, still red, his own mind filled with nervous fear before settling on, “Nothing. Let’s go home.”

Or how you cried in the living room. How you broke down, terrified he might walk away. How his breath quivered, how his head spun, how he felt like he might throw up or faint or scare you off.

The damn sickness in his stomach until he spat the hidden words for the first time. And the pounding of his heart when you responded with a mumbled, “Kook… How.”

And… how his chest constricted at everything that followed after that. Don’t you remember?

In spite of every indication he threw your way — you still worry so much.

Funny you’d be so nervous around someone who wants to see the entire world with your hand in his.

What did you call it again? Wanting to be brave.

So fucking easy with you.

“How about…” he begins, staring into anticipating eyes, hearing a storm of cheers rumble, “going shopping before we leave?”

Your demeanour changes momentarily. The unsure girl, afraid to hurt him, soon finds her way back to her foundation. You light up, a hand over your mouth; your cheeks must be hurting. 

You deliver one, short jump and then pull him back in, kissing his lips once before scattering a couple more pecks next to them. He soon finds himself pushing you towards your car, forcing you back to work, but you have a thousand things to babble about.

He’s adoring all the bright stars in your eyes — now he understands how you feel when you see the same universe in his.

It’s crazy. How effort is never required from your side for him to feel that way. How you only need to breathe and talk and smile and stay.

Stay stay stay.

The word sails and wafts through his dazy thoughts like a silent prayer. Begging and begging; pleading to allow him to pour all his love on you, although he doesn’t need to ask. You always let him anyway.

And he guesses he’s using that permission thoroughly. Maybe that’s why keeps craving and burning for more; why he’s been holding you tighter these nights.

His tiger lily pressed against your heart.

*head in hands* they are so crazy for each other, pls 😭 warmth and reassurances and support and bickering literally build the foundation of their relationship and i love them sm :') for some reason the editing process knocked me out, but i still adore this one so so much, and i hope you guys did, too!! 🥺

feedback is always so so appreciated!! you guys are literally such a freaking supportive bunch and have kept this series alive for so long and i love you to death :( here's to the first one this year!! as always, please consider leaving a like, reblog (with or without feedback!), comments and spammm my inbox with everything that's on your mind hehe <3 any kind of msg makes my day!

and nowww!!!!! moving on to cmi: palette and VACAYYYY!!! mwah mwah 🤍

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x you #bts imagines #jungkook fic #bts angst #jungkook angst #jungkook

[c0kitty]

𝐍𝐎𝐖 𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈���𝐆 ....  𝐌𝐘 𝐆𝐈𝐅𝐓 𝐓𝐎 𝐘𝐎𝐔 w/ bakugo katsuki x gn!reader              « 0:00 ─〇───── 0:00 ⇄                             

summary: two times you crocheted katsuki something + one time katsuki realizes something so painfully obvious. (⛦) content: fluff! kissing. reader tears up. reader crochets. comfort!! love confession. sickeningly sweet. i'm a lil bad at summaries. gn pretty sure. (⛦) w/c: 1.6k+

i. your first project, 

the first time you’d crochet him something,  it was a pretty shitty day for katsuki. he had spent a little more than an hour meeting with his friends who, in the most kindest words, were spawns of satan. the constant teasing left him a little drained, the food he left in the dorm fridge was gone, and he was left with a headache throbbing at his temples.

to add on, he hadn’t seen you all day.

so, he goes to your dorm, finding it already open. something he’d always given you mouth on. (what if a stranger comes through? even if it was a little impossible with the amount of security that roamed the halls.) inside, he pauses at the entrance, finding you sitting on your bed, holding a long slender stick with a hook at the tip.

it looked like a miniature murder weapon. “... what the hell is that?” 

seemingly startled, he guesses by the reaction of your eyebrows shooting up to your hairline, widened eyes, and a small gasp that left your lips. “fuck me, why the hell are you so silent.”

“hello to you too, princess,” katsuki sarcastically remarks, stepping further into the room. he comes closer til’ he was just about hovering over you.

you pick back up whatever the hell was in your hand. you could still feel his stare, which you quip. “it’s crocheting, tsuki’. i’m trying to pick up a hobby to get off my phone more. its kinda fun.”

katsuki grunts as a reply, moving to sit next to you. it causes the mattress to slightly sink to his weight, whilst he goes to take off his shoes, methodically, all while watching you. 

with your teeth catching your bottom lip, you looked so focused, engrossed, not paying a mind to him. his gaze eventually drifts towards what was hanging from the stick. it’s long and narrow, with a soft-looking material, colored a deep-shade of red, and black. it was a scarf.

it’s edges weren't perfect, a little bumpy and not entirely straight, but it still looked pretty damn good. his crimson eye’s go to meet yours, but he finds you already looking at him. “i was gonna make it a surprise. but i made it for you.”

a nervous smile plays at your lips, “do you like it?” 

nobody has ever really taken the time to create something personal for him — the warmth in his chest, made him just want to crumble, n kiss your pretty lips. it was nothing short of perfect, even the imperfections.

he'd forgotten you were waiting for an answer and a flicker of insecurity hints in your eyes, your words hanging in the air. 

but, he quickly reassures you, his hand traveling,  holding at your chin. “it's perfect, okay?” drawing nearer to you, he presses a chaste kiss to your lips. “perciate’ you so much baby.”

ii. just for him,

it starts to become a thing every other week. you would crochet him a piece – either something that fit his, in your words, “grunge” style, or something from the colorful yarn leftover from your old projects. and regardless, he would proudly wear it.

over time, people start to notice. seeing him wear a cute black cat beanie was a little out of the norm for him. and the following week, he would wear the same-stitch, fingerless mittens. everyone knew he wouldn’t buy those by choice. someone had to be giving it to him, someone he cared about. someone, like his girlfriend.

being in a school full of smart heroes had its many downsides.

people start to ask, or he would say, "harass you," to make them things. it starts to piss him off after a while — hearing your continuous no’s, and then them trying to ask again like your answer was gonna change after a minute. plus, it’s not like any of those broke assholes were willing to pay, they were just planning to mooch off you.

and, maybe there was a selfish reason for it.

he didn’t want you to share something you were so passionate about with people you gave no shits about, or lov–  liked. because it would lose its value — lose the stupid special feeling he got.

this surge of events eventually leads to him cursin’ them out for you, because you were just a little too nice to yell, give murderous glares, or deliver creative death threats. which after, they wisely never approach you about it again.

iii. your last gift, for the year of course,

its a cold new year, katsuki watches as a snowflake falls delicately onto your nose. you guys were huddled on the balcony of his parent’s home, thanks to his mom's desperation, and persistence to meet you. and to his embarrassment, his mom and you got along very well, so well in fact you guys exchanged numbers, planning to meet with each other without katsuki himself.

despite his loud protests, you’d forcibly ushered him out in the shitty-ass cold because you wanted to see the snow.  the frigid air embraced you both, his breath left white in the air. katuski’s body pressed the balcony handle, you’d positioned yourself in front of him, his arms encircled your body, his hands holding at your waist.

“you happy princess? m’ freezing here just for you to see the same old snow we see every year.” he complains, even though his crimson-red eyes held warmth, ones that matched your growing smile. you raise your heel pressing a short kiss at the corner of his lips, before retreating. 

“quit being dramatic; it’s so beautiful out here.” you insisted, before your eyes widened, like you’d remembered something, and abruptly, you leave an inch of space between the two of you, reaching for something in your puffer jacket.

there’s a slight furrow to his brows, not understanding why you had to pull away — leaving you out of his grasp. til he puts it together, as you pull out a terribly wrapped item, a gift.

“i told you we didn't have to give each other anything.” 

“yeah, like the $100 dollar gift you gave me today. see, i knew you would do that so i came prepared.” you say, pointing an accusatory finger. 

“now open.” you shove the present in katsuki’s hand, and shaking his head in disbelief, he grabs it, tearing the wrapping off. 

“i know i already made you one. but i saw how … worn out it was.” 

holded in his rough hands, was a scarf. reminiscent of the colors to the one you gave him months ago — the one he had worn all the damn time, sometimes even in the hottest of weather. with how much time he wore it, after a while, the color of that scarf started to fade, with the yarn unraveling.

“here let me put it on for you.” you take it from his hands, draping it around his neck. you watch as he glances down, just admiring it. “looks so pretty, baby.”

this scarf looked more intricate, with the stitch pattern on the scarf resembling daisy blooms. he’d noticed how your crochet skills seemed to improve, the scarf had a cleaner, straighter edge than the other one. 

and for some reason, as he looks down at your gift, a flood of memories of the moments with you, seem to be all rushing to him — your sweet, drawn kisses, the stupid arguments, and your laughter that seemed to always ring in his ears.

moments like those, that laid ahead for the both of you, made him want to look forward to the future, your guys’s future. to wake up next to you, morning breath n’ all, to lazily lounge on the couch and havin’ to forcibly cuddle because of you, to possibly sharing each other's last name. it all swelled katuski’s stupid heart. 

it was so obvious why. with your soft gaze on him.

“i love you.” he blurts out, his eyes fixed at your parted lips.  

“i love you so damn much, it’s so fucking stupid. you turn me into a sap, y’know. everytime i look at you i just can't help but want to smile, want to hold you. everything I do, every thought that crosses my mind, somehow, it goes back to you. …i ” he sighs, his bravado faltering for a moment, red eye’s averting from yours. 

“you don't have to say it back, i just wanted to tell you.” katsuki grumbles, the tips of his ears red as it can be, as he does his best to maintain his ‘i could care less’ facade.

“look at me.” and katsuki does, he’s met with your glistening eyes, stars reflecting. “i love you too, you idiot.”

he couldn’t help but release a soft, incredulous laugh — he was really rubbing off on you. somehow the space between the two of you closes again, your hands fit in his warm jacket. tightly hugging him, as if he was going to leave any second.

“and of course, you had to one up me with a grand ass speech.” you relent, looking up at him, a small pout forming over your features.

“m’ always two-steps ahead. catch up princess.” he replies, a smug smile spreading across his plush lips. his mittened hand moving to hold at your face, thumb brushing along your cheek.

his eyes flicker to your lips, watching as your tongue glides against it. “... can, i?” your lashes flutter at him, weakly nodding. and then your being kissed, slowly, and sweetly. his tongue brushing your bottom lip, savoring you, savoring this moment.  

#bakugo x reader #bakugou x reader #katsuki x reader #bakugo katsuki x reader #katsuki x reader fluff #bakugo katsuki x reader fluff #bakugo fluff #katsuki fluff #mha x reader #bakugo katsuki x you

[charliedawn]

Hey I was wondering how do you think the slashers would react if they're s/o was wearing a piece of their clothing or mask (for the masked ones)? Honestly I think if Michael found his s/o wearing (or even touching...) His mask that's a killable offense right there lmao.

Jason Voorhees:

Jason was asleep when you took his mask. When he woke up and didn't find it—he started panicking.

He made a mess out of his bedroom in a desperate attempt to find it and locked his door so that nobody could come in.

You frowned as you found the door locked and knocked on the door.

"Jason ? Are you alright ?"

He wasn't.

He hesitated to open the door, but you then slid his mask back to him through the door.

"I'm sorry. I just wanted to surprise you."

He understood what had happened and opened the door a little to look at you. You seemed genuinely sorry and he finally opened the door for you to come in.

Jason wears the mask for a reason. He is insecure to the extreme. It's the only way for him to hide himself and if it had been anyone else than you ?

...That person would have been dead and buried.

Brahms Heelshire:

Brahms actually woke up when you were looking at yourself in the mirror with his mask on.

He seemed stunned for a moment before he silently got out of bed to stand next to you.

Once you saw him in the mirror, you turned around. You were ready to apologize, but then saw the way he was looking at you.

He wasn't angry. Far from it. He just stared at you and smiled before slowly removing the mask from your face.

He then put it back on his and took a deep breath—as if smelling it. He then hummed appreciatively and wrapped his arms around you.

"...Brahms' mask smells good now." He whispered and held you closer.

…

Well—that backfired.

Vincent Sinclair:

Panic. Immediate and irreversible panic.

Unlike Brahms or Jason, Vince is deeply ashamed of his face. It isn't about being insecure or having a couple of scars. He is TERRIFIED of his own reflection.

Vincent used to be attached to Bo. Being twins at birth, it made him feel as if there was someone out there who understood him.

But, the mask is a mark of shame—the constant reminder that that connection is severed. And he feels ugly because of it. Because he was disfigured from the operation—while Bo wasn't.

They are different now, when there were supposed to be one and the same.

Plus, he’s only got one mask. It took time to make as he had to get Bo to agree to mould a mask with his face.

So, he would get mad. He would also be pretty physical about getting it back.

He COULD hurt you.

Do not steal his mask, unless you are absolutely sure and asked permission beforehand.

Michael Myers:

...You have a death wish. There is no other possible explanation.

Michael values his mask more than anything in this world.

He hides his face for a reason. It became a part of him over time and he HATES when people see his true face.

So, do not steal his mask.

But, I don’t think you’d be able to anyway.

Michael almost never takes it off and if anyone tried to take his mask away ? Wrists would get crushed. Just saying.

Freddy Krueger:

"If you take the hat, sweetheart…Be ready to face the consequences."

Freddy LOVES his hats (Yes. Plural. He’s got a full drawer of them in his room)

He counts them all before going to bed and when he saw that one of them was missing, he was ready to track the person down and draw blood.

But, when he understood you were the little thief, he smirked and simply closed the door behind him. He then sat down and grinned mischievously at you.

"Looks good on ya. But since you stole it…How about you offer me a show as compensation, hmm ?" *pats his lap and smirks*

Sleazy lil’ goblin to the end.

Pennywise:

If by some MIRACLE, you managed to get Pennywise’s gloves…He’d be furious. Pennywise hates touching people and his gloves are like a second skin to him.

Pennywise *appears behind you and screeches*: "GIVE THEM BACK THIS INSTANT, YOU STUPID HUMAN !"

Pennywise is usually pretty chill. So, for him to get really mad ? Yeah…No stealing the clown’s gloves. Never.

Bo Sinclair:

Bo's cap is his own way of hiding his insecurity. He has a scar at the back of his ear from the operation to separate him from Vince.

He doesn’t like people looking at it, so he wears that cap all the time.

One day, you decided to remove it while he was sleeping, and he grabbed your wrist before you could run away with it.

He then smirked and tutted playfully.

"Careful, darls. You take my cap, I take your life."

You knew he was only kidding, but there was also a little bit of a warning in his eyes.

He likes his cap. It’s the only thing he got left from his dad and his tolerance is zero. So, do not try to steal his cap, or ask first. He would allow you to wear it eventually, but still…Bo is not someone to be messed with.

#fandoms #imagine #fanfic #jason voorhees x reader #brahms heelshire x reader #vincent sinclair x reader #michael myers x reader #freddy krueger x reader #pennywise x reader #bo sinclair x reader

[kazukazuhas]

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ old friends, lloyd garmadon.┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ act two ;; scene two┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

  ୧ ⎯⎯ CONVERSATIONS

୧ ⎯⎯ WARNINGS ;; unspoken daddy issues ;; lloyd being a little insecure and scared ;; unrequited love // pining ;; lil bit of romanticizing

  ୧ ⎯⎯ NOTES ;; i love you, lloyd monty garmadon

  ୧ ⎯⎯ PREVIOUS ┊MASTERLIST┊NEXT

  ୧ ⎯⎯ TEXT ;; NO IMAGES

  there was talking when you woke up —muffled and slurred by your sleepiness,— from where you presumed was outside of the room. you shift to face the windows, where lloyd and his displaced chair was when you fell asleep to find that he focused on the door with narrowed eyes staring holes as he listened. he always had better hearing than you. 

  “hi,” he quietly greeted you, examining you for any discomfort with the firm, cold —though now a little softer, you think— look he had when looking at the door; he returned his attention back to continue listening to the commotion. you look up at him with confusion on your face, squeezing his hand to get his attention but it doesn’t budge him much. “skywalker?” this time, you call in hopes you get some explanation. 

though, you can't deny the focused look on his face is adorable.

  he squeezes your hand back, perking up as the conflict grows loudly outside of the room. he shook his head, looking back at you with a soft warmth in his eyes. “sorry, i was trying to piece that story together,” he admits, a little sheepish smile on his lips as he beams softly at you. 

  “and?” now you’re curious. 

  “so, i think the first lady, wanted to see someone –who i guess just got admitted in– but there’s another lady who said she can’t– so they got into an argument of who can and can’t do what,” he breaks it down quickly with his attention divided between you and outside; the commotion had died down now and the sound of light shuffling began to sink away. “sounds like some family drama.”

  “sounds less terrible than our drama– speaking of… what’s up with your father, may i ask?” it's an impulsive question you ask, but you keep your tone light in the case he decides to back away from the topic. lloyd was never one to talk or ask about his father, a man you doubt he knew. he sought to find that affection in your father, who willingly showed it to the boy.

  lloyd tensed up (you mentally curse yourself for being curious about his father) before returning his full focus on you and the topic at hand, he gnawed a little on his lip and looked down to where your hand was intertwined with his. the blond cleared his throat and spoke in a low, uncertain tone, “he was a tyrant.”

  that was all he said for several minutes, leaning down to rest his head on the soft covers and mattress of your hospital bed, still avoiding your eyes. “had been trying to take over ninjago for… months? years?” he hesitantly continues, looking up with soft –hurt– eyes.

  “that’s– why he left. but he’s better now. nothing like what he was before– not all evil and.. he’s my dad now,” lloyd explains, putting his explanation in simple words as a hesitant smile grows on his lips.

  you sit up slowly, threading a hand through his hair, you smile at him with a similar, warmer softness to comfort him. “are you scared of being him, what he was?” he nods a little, leaning into your touch. “you won’t be, lloyd. you’re a good person,” your words are soft spoken —but they’re true— as you watch him, he sighs quietly before nodding again. 

  “i– i know.” his voice was small, soft with uncertainty and slight fear mixing despite his agreement. “thanks,” he mumbles, looking up at you with a small smile on his lips.

  “anything for you,” you muse, smiling back as he closes his eyes and enjoys the feeling of you playing with his hair so delicately. your words have a gentle tone of promise in them, a little love and adoration. you mean it, you’d do anything for him. 

  lloyd looks up at you, peeking with one eye as he questions your words a little, noticing the vague underlying tone of them. but he drops his curiosity and chuckles a little, lifting his head up so your hand holds his face in a not awkward way. lloyd tilts his face inward, pressing his lips to your palm softly and, in the process, making your heart swell a little. “right back at you.” you smile back at him, his own words were sweet enough for you.

  he hums, leaning into your hand with one of his holding it gently.

  “hungry?” he asks a little quietly, squeezing your hand a little. you shake your head, “not really.” lloyd laughs, kissing your palm again —oh, why did he do it a second time?— before pulling away and reaching for the table at the foot of the bed with his unoccupied hand and sliding it towards you —the other was still holding yours. “you say that but you’ll be hungry in less than a minute.”

  he’s right, you both know it– proves that you two haven’t changed much in your years apart, proves that your friendship’s still the same; something you’re fortunate for having.

  “eat up when you’re ready.” he leans back on his chair and hums a little, smiling while focusing on your hand in his.

 you stare at the food, conflicted on whether or not to prove him right on his observation, opting to change the topic. “who– uh, the ninja? who are they now?”

  he squints a little out of confusion before sighing as he thinks of an answer, humming for a bit before he speaks. “as the name suggests, they’re ninja.” he looks at you, waiting for you to ask more questions so he can answer accordingly.

  when you nod he smiles and continues. “there’s six of them, each have an element and a colour assigned to them and usually what they’re referred to depends; except the water ninja because she and lighting ninja are both blue, one darker and the other brighter– uh, respectively. she’s newer to the team compared to him so he’s preferred to as the blue ninja as well. sometimes she’s red and blue, so it’s easier to call her the water ninja.

“the fire ninja is red and the ice one’s white. the earth ninja’s colour is black and lastly the green ninja is… green,” he explains– rambles harmlessly, looking to the side unfocused as he talks.

  the last sentence answers your question, one you didn’t want to ask but regardless sought an answer for, you’re a little hesitant to ask. “green ninja?” “yep, he’s the one that brought you here,” lloyd confirms. 

  “he and the water ninja were on patrol, and they were in the area when you were–” he stops, eyes hardening when he almost mentions the earlier incident. you watch him, sighing and squeezing his hand. “i’m okay now, lloyd. it’s fine, i’m fine.” you smile at him with a soft understanding look in your eyes. he nods. “i know.”

  the guilt claws at his insides —you can tell he feels it, but you’re unsure as to why— as he buries his face in the crook of his other hand and the blankets. he places your hand back on his head and rests his head on both arms more comfortably. “i’m glad nothing worse happened to you,” he says muffledly, glaring straight ahead at the blankets. 

  there was something he wasn’t saying, conflicted as he bit the sleeve of his hoodie slightly with eyes glued to the blankets. you combed through his hair, soft blond fluffiness with brown peaking out in a few curly locks. you sighed, patting his head to get his attention. lloyd tilted his head to glance up at you, questioning you.

  “let’s eat?” you asked, willing to prove him right if it might his mind be taken of whatever he was thinking about. he smiled a little, a mischievous sparkle in his eye as he sat up. “of course,” he’s grinning ear to ear as he pulls the table closer to you, food rattling a little and grabbing something from his bag. “nya made some food for you and sent, and hospital food is a solid no.”

  “thank nya then,” you sigh happily, watching him unwrap something, a sandwich he probably packed for himself. you slide him some of much food nya sent, “eat,” you command, staring at him challengingly. 

  “no.” he stared back, a mischievous grin on his lips. 

  well, this’ll be fun.

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˗ˏˋ ꒰ 💌 ꒱ kazukazuhas copr. 2023 darling┊ ˚➶ ｡˚ ☁️

#✧ writing ✧ #old friends; lloyd m. garmadon #ninjago #ninjago x reader #ninjago smau #ninjago angst #ninjago fluff #lloyd ninjago #lloyd garmadon #lloyd montgomery garmadon #lloyd x reader #lloyd x reader fluff #lloyd x reader angst #lloyd garmadon x reader #lloyd garmadon x reader fluff #lloyd garmadon x reader angst #lloyd garmadon smau #fluff #angst #fanfiction #romance #writing #smau

[gettinshiggywithit]

!Bakugou falling asleep with his s/o on video call!

Scenario:-what if Reader and Bakugou fell asleep on a call/video chat?

Pairing:- bakugou x gn!reader

Genre:-fluff/comfort

Type:- oneshot

A/N:-shout out to @cloudy-zephyr for bein my muse on this one too!couldnt do it without you babes😘

Okie so it started at like 8pm

He wanted to finish ‘cos he had to go to bed by 9 and well he didnt wanna stay up too late

Dont get me wrong the boi loves ya but he NEEDS his eight hours😭

So eight pm rolls around and you join ur special zoom link🥰

AND HES LATE

(like GURL WHY IS U LATEE FOR A VIDEO CALL)

but then while ur fuming cos NOW U ONLY HAVE 55MINS AND NOT 60

He comes into the chat and guess what homeboy’s wearin😭

This man is wearing a full three piece tux and is at his kitchen table(the lighting is perfect there)

And ur just like “BITCH WHERE HAVE YOU- oh wow well hello there~”

And he’s just 😏

And nowww u feel insecure and a lil embarrassed cos this bitch is in a tux and you’re in bed in your pjs with messy hair

Oh also as if on cue ur led lights just turn to red and it looks like u AND ur room are blushing

You ask him why he’s wearin a tux and he just says “gotta look presentable for my partner dont i😏”

And ur like “SIRRR you look amazing REGARDLESS”

But ofc u cant sayyy that so u just say “dam right😤”

You laugh and then move on

You talk about the most random shit and also talk abt some pieces of shit😅(i.e. people you both dont like~)

Eventually it becomes 8.55 and he seems a lil tired

So you ask him if yall should sign off

But HE say No~

You are FLABBERGASTED

but you dont complain

You go on for another 1.5 hrs and then he keeps his head on his arms and closes his eyes

He still replies durin ur convo

But hes slurring his words

And soon enough hes out like a light

And keep in mind this man is in a FULL FUCKIN TUX asleep on the kitches table~

For you🧡

So you keep ur computer on ur second pillow and cover up the laptop a little with your blanket too

And then you fall asleep while admiring ur boyfriend and his adorable features

Be starts to snore so u mute him and then before you forget you take plenty of screenshots

He wakes up the next day at 6 to find that hes still on call,hes still in his tux and-

He was starting to get annoyed with himself (he thought hed fallen asleep thinkin abt u after the call) but then he sees that ur still there and smiles

Maybe it was worth it after all~

Oh btw he DEFINITELY took screenshots of you too

Made it into a collage and gave it to u on ur birthday is what he did~😭

please dont repost my work here as your own on any platform all rights belong to me except that of the characters used,their right belong to their respective owners.but these stories? mine.

feedback,likes,reblogs and comments are so very appreciated tbh :’)i hope you enjoyed and ill catch ya next time!

Comments & Reblogs w/ tags >>>>>>>>>>>likes please

Taglist open for anyone interested!

#bakugou katsuki #bakugou katsuki fluff #bakugou katsuki x reader #bakugou katsuki x gn!reader #bakugou katsuki x reader fluff #bakugou katsuki imagine #bakugou katsuki bnha #bakugou #bakugou fluff #bakugou x reader #bakugou x gn!reader #bakugou x reader fluff #bakugou imagine #bakugou bnha #bnha #bnha fluff #bnha imagine #bnha x reader #bnha x gn!reader #bnha x gender neutral reader #bnha x you #bnha x yn #bnha x y/n #📚jaya’s tales #bakugo fluff #Katsuki bakugou #bakugou drabble #bakugou x you #Katsuki bakugou drabble #mha

[the-archxr]

THE WAY IN WHICH I FUCKING GIGGLED IS INHUMANE THIS SHITS SO SOFT DUDES (AND SO FUCKING LONG I ACTUALLY HAD TO INCLUDE A KEEP READING BREAK).

STEVEN - steven's kisses are soft. gentle, and oh-so-smooth, yet extremely public. when you first started dating (when steven's nerves were at their very highest and you were just starting to get to know each other), the most steven would do in public is lay a quick peck to your cheek. I think during the beginning of relationships, steven would absolutely give it his all in private, but would be extremely nervous about pda. think…the kind of shyness where people would still know you were dating, yet would never see him actually kiss you. steven likes having a piece of his life just to himself, and that includes you. but as you fall in love, as he begins to realize (with a little nudging from marc), that you actually want to be kissed in public—that that is your love language—the boy makes it his new mission to make it up to you. and that starts with him getting off of work one day, and instead of kissing you on the cheek and accepting the tea you brought him like usual, his hands come to the sides of your face as he pushes his mouth to yours. it’s the softest, yet most fervent kiss you’ve ever shared. and so, it becomes your lil’ habit: kissing in the foyer of the museum as the rest of the world watches.

MARC - soo….I firmly believe marc spector is an ah-mazing fucking kisser. now, I don’t think that this is necessarily a controversial opinion, but I think that even with his lack of meaningful relationships, he gives it his all when he kisses people. like his kisses are the kind that always steal your breath and make you feel like you’re floating. like imagine a kiss that makes you swoon?? that’s his default, m’kay? BUT. when marc is in love—head over heels typa beat, his kisses are a lot more subtle. marc has no problem kissing your mouth, in fact it’s one of his favourite things to do. but sometimes he doesn’t have the time, or, something comes up when the two of you are in public and he needs to leave quickly. so, when that boy is in love and he doesn’t have the time to tell you, he kisses your knuckles. he’ll be in the car, admiring how fucking beautiful you are, and as you turn the corner he’ll pick up your hand and kiss your knuckles. or if you’re in the middle of sex, and you’re just on the verge of coming for the first time, he’ll kiss your knuckles before pinning them above your head. sometimes you miss it. sometimes, especially at the most random times, you don’t really register that he’s doing it. but when you do catch him in the act, you just smile and kiss his knuckles back…an unspoken acknowledgment.

JAKE - NOW JAKE?? OH MY GOD, JAKE… so we all know jake lockley isn’t the biggest talker (I mean he literally stayed fucking silent for ever as marc and steven fought over the body, so his self control and ability to not ever fucking say a word is pretty high). he’s just quiet. a smooth-talker when he does choose to open his mouth, but for the most part, quiet. even around you (not that he wants to be). part of jake’s main insecurity is that he isn’t as vocal of the feelings he has for you as the other guys, and he isn’t as vocal as you. you always unapologetically tell your boys you love them. except when you say ‘I love you’ to steven and marc, they say it back. jake, not so much. again, it’s not that he doesn’t feel that way. he does. that boy’s so in love with you it physically hurts him. it’s just he can’t, he’s not good with words. but he is good with his actions. so whenever he feels like telling you how much he loves you; when the words won’t come out no matter how hard he tried, he kisses you on your forehead. wherever he is, whatever he’s doing, when he wants to say it, he’ll just walk up to you, cradle your head and press his mouth right into your hairline. it’s so much more different than his other kisses—a lot more gentler and full of emotion—that even without him having to explain it, you know what it means. forehead kisses are reserved for your love, and your love only.

✨the-archxr thoughts✨

#the-archxr thoughts #marc spector x reader #marc spector #steven grant x reader #steven grant #jake lockley x reader #jake lockley #moon knight x reader #moon knight tv #moon knight #mr knight x reader #mr knight #khonshu #the moon boys #ask me anything!

[neonponders]

Part 3 for the wonderful @wrecked-fuse ‘s pocketverse!

~ Part 2 here ~

on ao3 here ~

🚬 🚬 🚬

Little Steve smoothed his blue shirt over himself as he stood on Mrs. Harrington’s compact mirror, tiny foot prints on the glass below him and one hand print on the glass in front of him.

“You okay, lil man?” big Steve asked as he set down a teacup saucer of meticulously chopped fruit on the coffee table. Then he furrowed a brow at Billy following the aerobics exercises on the television...in his full aviator outfit. “Is he okay?”

Billy answered himself, amongst enthusiastic grunts and howls, “Gotta stay fit t’stay sharp, Stevwie!”

“Can you take the jacket off, at least? I don’t want to have to figure out how to clean that.”

“No way! HEY.”

Steve pinched the back of his coat, but only enough to make him stop jazzercising. “Heat stroke is serious, B. Don’t cook the one marble you’ve got.”

Billy slid right out of his jacket, exposing a sweat line down the back of his new, red shirt. “Did you cook too much and get soft?”

“I don’t want to hear it from the guy living in my pocket. Be grateful for the extra cushion.”

Billy cackled and went back to exercising. Steve began to stand up to get him some water, but frowned at little Steve munching forlornly on a piece of pear. “Steve? What’s up?”

For such a little guy, those big brown eyes blinked up at him like a javelin to his heart. Steve wondered if this was what he was like when he got his way all too often in years past.

“I...I think I stink.”

His concerned face lifted up to meet Steve’s matching one, small hands twisting the fabric of his blue button-up.

How is he insecure? He’s been alive for like a minute - 

“You smell good to me!” Billy called.

Oh, Steve corrected and knelt down to set his head on the table. “Come here. Let me get a whiff of you.”

Little Steve stepped off the compact mirror to press his tummy against Steve’s lips, arms outstretched so his hands waited on Steve’s cheek. Giggles bubbled out of him as the larger Steve inhaled short bursts of air. “You know...you might be right. We can fix that - and speaking of funk.”

The squawk that came out of Billy was one for the books as Steve took the dishtowel off his shoulder and caught Billy on it by sweeping it behind his knees. “Foul pway!”

“It’s bath time,” Steve clipped, pausing long enough for little Steve to climb onto the towel as well. On his way to the kitchen, Steve opened the glass display case of his mother’s fine china, and took out the largest teacup. At the sink, he filled it up two-thirds of the way, and dripping in hot water from the electric kettle. “Reach in there, tell me if it’s too hot or too cold.”

“Why do we need baths?” Billy cried indignantly.

“Because it gives you something to do while I wash and blow-dry your clothes.”

“You’re makin’ us into swoup!”

“How about some bubbles?” Steve segued, swiping the tiniest smear of dish soap onto his finger and mixing it into the cup. He didn’t trust them on their own while he got proper soap from upstairs, so it would have to do. Either way, little Steve brightened at the rainbow suds and Billy gave one a derisive poke. “Come on, you two. You’ll feel better after your first bath.”

“Come on, Biwwy!” Steve heralded, accepting the hand to propel him up and over the edge. For a micro second, big Steve felt terrified that they couldn’t swim, but the cup was shallow enough for the little one to sit with his head above water. He kind of rolled like a floatation device as well.

Not to be outdone, Billy gripped the rim of the cup. When Steve offered to help him, he groaned, “I got this, pwetty boy.”

Steve pressed his lips into an annoyed line, but the little bastard managed it with a splash. One by one, sopping wet garments got flung out of the cup. Steve said dryly, “Thanks, guys. I’m carrying you upstairs, okay?”

Billy seemed to be gauging the correct level of enjoyment from little Steve, who sat blissfully against the curved wall of the cup, soaking.

Big Steve had his sights set on the special detergent he kept upstairs. Just because he could replace certain things didn’t mean they didn’t mean a lot to him. So he filled his bathroom sink with suds from the delicates detergent and agitated the water with the clothes for a few minutes until he rinsed them off.

By then, Billy and Steve needed to be moved to a towel, so he blowdried a washcloth to get it toasty, and helped them out to it. Steve kept the blast of air away from them while he dried the clothes, watching mutely as little Steve patted Billy down with a corner of the washcloth.

It was Billy who noticed and pointed, “What’s that!”

Steve turned off the hair dryer and answered, “Lotion. It makes your skin soft.”

Billy audibly scoffed, but then his brows furrowed contemplatively. “Do you use it?”

“Yep. Do you want some?”

“If Stevwie wants some,” he countered.

“Does it smwell nice?” said Steve asked.

Big Steve dodged, “It’ll make you smell like me,” because it was fragrance-free. His hair products and detergents had enough fragrance for his taste.

He already had a cotton swab ready, and pumped out a small drop on both ends. Setting it down, he advised, “Just get some on your hands and rub it into your skin. Don’t put it in your hair.”

Little Steve piped, “What about my haiwr?”

“I can take care of your hair,” Steve soothed. “One thing at a time.”

Billy was grimacing over his lotioned legs stretched out over the washcloth. “This is grwoss! Why do you do this?”

“Just give it a second. You’ll be fine. Do you want to work on your hair or me?”

“Me! You can’t be twusted with these perfwect waves.”

Steve exhaled a measured sigh and held an eyedropper of hair oil. Billy reached his hands up for the drop, and climbed onto the detergent cap to see himself in the mirror. Steve, meanwhile, used a fresh swab to dab water from little Steve’s hair.

“Steve?”

He paused. “Yeah?”

The little one hesitated, but it was a marvel how much expression he had for someone so small. He seemed afraid, but hopeful. “Is...is there a big Biwwy?”

“Big Billy?” Steve repeated dumbly. “Uh. Yeah, actually. There is.”

Brown eyes widened as small Billy rotated to ask, “Is he cool like me?”

Steve sassed, “Is he an adorable little punk? No. He’s usually a big pain in my ass.”

He felt small hands on his forefinger as little Steve held onto him. “Is big Biwwy like you?”

His voice softened as he petted a swab with hair oil over his head. “What do you mean?”

“You have a Biwwy. And Biwwy has a Steve. Does Biwwy have a Steve and Biwwy?”

“I...don’t think so,” he said warily, thinking of Max. “We would’ve gotten word by now if he knew about you.”

Those little features opened. “He doesn’t know!”

Steve’s own cramped a little. “You want him to know?”

That slightly disproportionate head went rosy with a blush. “My Biwwy needs a Steve. I can be Steve for big Biwwy too!”

However, small Billy piped in, “I’ll be the judge o’him! This big one just barwely made the cut!”

Steve’s eyes rolled. “Thanks, B. You’re a peach. I guess...I have a phone call to make.”

#harringrove #pocket!au #pocketverse #wrecked-fuse #neonponders #ficlet

[aemehhh]

Heya! I don’t usually wrote requests so sorry if I come off as awkward😅 I was wondering if you could write a small thing about gorino being with someone who’s insecure about their height

I’m 5’10 and sometimes I just feel down about it Yknow? I don’t feel desirable because guys prefer short girls or whatever, if this is to much you can completely ignore this. I do really enjoy your work btw<33

YAY!! I got my first ever request!!! :D

It's definitely not too much to ask, I think this is an amazing request! I had to ask some of my tall girlie friends about their experiences, because I am on the opposite end of the height-spectrum 💀 This is also a little rushed, so I'm sorry if it doesn't meet your expectations!

Also, I am so sorry I took so long to write the request! I hope you had a wonderful start to the new year!

Little message to the Readers in general; I just want everybody to know, you're absolutely gorgeous, no matter your height!!!

Giorno is ~20 and Reader and him are engaged, so it's an established relationship :3

Giorno with a tall! fem! Reader

Wc: 905, a short lil thing!

———————————————————————

This day was genuine ass. You went shopping with you friend and genuinely couldn't find a single piece of clothing that looked good or that fit right. Jeans that looked perfect on your shorter friend were way above your ankle on yourself and the long-sleeved shirts you tried, since winter is approaching, just looked so weird on you. You didn't even attempt to look for shoes, instead you told your friend you were going home because of an "emergency".

And there you were, sitting on your bed, cuddled up in a blanket and reading a book in order to distract you from the loud voice of insecurity that rang in the back of your head. Turns out the book wasn't helping, though.

It was a regular romance book, sappy as shit and a slow-burn. Usually you ate these up like crazy, but the main character was described as a short, beautiful woman. There it was again; having to lean up on your tip-toes to kiss your partner, your partner looking down at you, all those things that were considered super cutesy and desirable. You weren't that. You threw the book on the bedside table with a mad huff, throwing your blanket over your head.

Fuck, no, you're literally taller than your beautiful, angel of a fiancé. You lean down slightly when you kiss him, and you don't have to stand on your tip-toes in order to hug him. You just knew the nonnas on the streets send judging looks your way when they see you two holding hands.

Speaking of your fiancé, he entered your shared bedroom, seemingly home from whatever job he had today. You were aware Giorno most-likely already knew you didn't buy anything today; you've seen his subordinate follow you around the whole time. To be frank, you kinda signed up for constant supervision when you started dating the Don of Passione.

"Cara mia, are you alright?" Giorno spoke softly, he always does so with you. His voice held the upmost adoration for you; a tone nobody got to hear, but you. He knelt down on the floor by your bedside and lifted your blanket slightly to look at you. His beautiful, bright eyes met yours as he took your hand into his.

"Just a bad day, don't mind me, my love." You spoke and sat up. You felt Giorno's hand grasp yours just a tad tighter.

"I do mind, though. Something is bothering you, I can see that clear as day. Alessandro told me you didn't get yourself anything today either. What's the matter, amore? Please let me know so I can take some of the burden off of your heart." Giorno reached up and put his hand on your cheek oh-so gently. His touch was full of love, as usual.

You averted your gaze to your sheets. You felt stupid for thinking the way you do. You know all too well that Giorno loves you more than anything in this world, but you don't feel as desirable as other women. They would look so much better by his side, so why did he choose you?

You were silent for a little while, but then you started to feel guilty. Not telling him would make him feel as though you didn't trust him, which you did. So, you took a deep breath and told him everything. You spoke about your shopping trip; how it made you insecure about your height again and then about how your book made it worse. All in all, your head really wasn't up in the clouds and by the end, you almost had tears pricking in the corner of your eyes, which you tried masking by blinking a lot and looking at the ceiling.

Giorno noticed, of course. He stroked your cheek gently and pressed a kiss to the back of your hand before he spoke again.

"Amore, you're the most beautiful woman that has walked this earth. I do not care about your height in the slightest. I love you more than I have ever loved anything ever before. If these measly, cheap stores do not carry clothes appropriate for you, I will hire the designers personally to tailor the perfect clothing for you. If someone looks at you the wrong way, consider them dead tomorrow. There is nothing that would stop me from making sure you're comfortable and happy. You're the light of my life, the ray of sunshine in the early mornings of a beautiful summer day and I wish, I so wish you would see yourself in the way that I see you. You're perfect to me in every way, my love. Just seeing you smile makes my heart fill with so much joy, I wish to scream it out to the whole world. Sono pazzo di te, tesoro." Giorno's voice was filled with sincerity as he put a hand to your chin, gently tilting your head to face his eyes again. He then smiled and gave you a gentle peck on the lips before getting on the bed on top of you to hug you tightly.

Giorno's words made you smile as you returned his embrace, croaking out a quiet "I love you" before burying your head in the juncture between his neck and shoulder.

In a world that doesn't see your worth, Giorno worships the very ground you walk on. He vows to do so until the day he dies.

#jjba #jjba x reader #giorno x reader #jojos bizarre adventure #my first request hihihi #hope you enjoy #vento aureo #reader is sad #but it's okay! giorno is here to comfort her!

[beautifulhigh]

Since we’re all up in the feels today (thank you @queen-saltyfries for this!) then lemme just go off about how TK utterly changes in the space of a handful of episodes, and that is no mean feat.

We meet this kid, seemingly loving life and living the dream. He has this impressive rescue of the winder cleaner from the Chrysler Building, he’s about to propose to Alex (he’s bought a ring! Boy is serious!), he’s got this cute lil’ smile and he’s adorable. He’s nervous but that’s normal, right? He’s taking after his father, making big swings, grand gestures. Go big or go home seems to be the Strand way.

And then he crashes. Big time. RIght in front of us. We get exposition in two scenes showing us that behind this façade we have an addict whose boyfriend is in love with someone else and he had his heart broken to the point of relapse.

It is established for us, right off the bat, that TK Strand is not a hesitant kind of man. He rolls right up to that ledge without a second thought, he’s clearly planned the proposal to make it really special, and when he relapses there’s no hesitation there either. (More on that later.)

But when he goes to Texas with Owen he takes the time to rebuild himself. He isn’t hesitant with Carlos (”I recall the fifteen minutes after we first met.”) and it’s all fun and games - until it’s not. And TK gently shows a piece of the real him in 1x03 when he tells Carlos about his addiction. The 126 don’t even know yet, his brothers and sister in arms, and yet he tells this cop he’s been hooking up with and he’s “not looking for this” with him. Up to that point TK has been going right up to that ledge Carlos and enjoying the thrill of it but he’s been keeping anything real at arm’s length. He did real, it ended in a ring and some pills. But in the moment when Carlos calls him out on “doing something so suicidal” it strikes home. He sees the pattern and he sees that Carlos sees the real him and so he breaks the cycle - something I don’t think Owen has ever managed to do, but that’s another meta.

TK changes on a dime, having established one character he then becomes something else. Something a little less rash, impulsive. He’s still that guy who shoots from the hip - he blows up at Carlos in 2x08 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos isn’t blameless) and he blows up their relationship between seasons 2 and 3 because of his own insecurities (although Carlos again isn’t blameless), but he comes back each time. Right up to the conversations in 3x13 where he stays every time. He doesn’t walk away from the table and he doesn’t cut off the conversation on the couch.

He looks to be better. He fails sometimes, but he tries. He is honest with Carlos in 1x10 that he doesn’t know what he wants instead of stringing him along which would have been the easier option. But he knew Carlos was catching feels, he wasn’t sure about the feels he was catching, and so he took a step back to think about it. This time walking away was a good thing - something he should have done with Alex when he realised he was being so distant. TK is learning when to stand, when to walk, when to talk and when to listen.

Even when he stands on the ledge of a full on relapse in 3x08 we see hestitation. He’s laser focused when he gets to the firehouse: he gets changed, he grabs the pad, and he’s right into the ambulance. Do not pass Go, do not collect $200, do not stop for red lights until he has the vials in his hand. That moment when it becomes real, he hesitates. He’s not pocketing them right away and acting like nothing’s wrong (and he certainly had enough time to do that before Owen found him). I’d like to think that he realises that the impulsive side of him is winning out and that a part of him doesn’t want it to.

In the first half of 1x01 TK seems like the kind of guy who has everything going for him: good at his job, getting to do impressive rescues, a seemingly serious relationship, and it’s all crashed down around him by the halfway point. The TK who dances with Carlos at the end of 1x01 is not the same TK we met in that elevator in the Chrysler building. But he also kinda is. He’s impulsive, but he’s not all in. He cares but he’s cautious. Big gestures in small moments - because you can’t tell me telling Carlos about his relapse isn’t him going “here, this is the heaviest part of me” and Carlos goes “well if you want or need a hand carrying it let me know” like it’s nothing when it’s everything TK has ever wanted.

And in 3x18 he is impulsive again, but it comes from a realisation he had in 3x13. He knows he’s going to marry this man, he wants to marry this man, and he can’t wait any longer to ask the question. He stays when Carlos tries to deflect, assuring that “it’s not drama, it’s love - the kind you can’t get away from”. He’s fearless in a very different kind of way. He’s rescued himself in an impressive way, starting a sobriety journey twice over with love and support. He’s about to propose to this man (they own property together!). He’s not nervous, but why would he be? His heart is on the bed between them, right with Carlos’ in their joined hands, and while it’s thousands of miles - literally and figuratively - from where we met TK in the pilot, it’s also him.

And I’m just in awe of how much he’s changed and how much he hasn’t.

#idk what this is #I just word vomited onto a post #so have my thoughts #there are more where they came from #overthinking jen is overthinking #tarlos #tk strand #carlos reyes #911 lone star #911ls #tw: addiction #tw: relapse #tw: drugs

[toyafreethoughts]

Hello again! I am here for the match up trade we spoke about; the fandoms I would like to be romantically matched up in are HXH(no Hisoka!!!!), black butler, jjba(part 4), One piece, Oran high school host club, danganronpa 2, final fantasy 7, devil man cry baby, demon slayer(I would love a demon), and blue lock. 

I am panromantic with a male lean, I don’t really care for pronouns(but I mainly use she/her), and I’m an ISTP Aquarius.

I have chin length curly blonde hair with green eyes and ivory skin tone; I’m extremely insecure about my face and body. I’m 5’5” with a mixed grunge aesthetic. I’m built strong and stocky with longer legs. I have scars on my shoulders and back that I’m not a fan of showing to people.

I am relatively an introvert and tend to keep to myself and the people I care for, I enjoy having my time alone but I enjoy having verbal and physical connectings with others. I am quite nice and enjoyable to be around but if you start off or get off on the wrong foot with me at any time it is very hard to change that. I do have a slight bit of anger issues and will lash out at those who tick me off. I protective over those I care for and will do anything to make sure they are happy, even if it means I’m not. I can also be pretty chaotic and have surges of energy; but those drop quickly

I enjoy music like grunge, rock, indie and alternative, but I will listen to most others if I’m introduced to it. I enjoy drawing both digitally and on paper along with story writing and making characters. I enjoy nature and bug anatomy(but I love staying inside all warm and comfortable on my couch). I love cooking and baking by myself and with other people and I enjoy just talking with others about what we like to each other

I dislike red meats, people who are full of themselves or wanting to be topic of conversation always, people who are loud and noise for no reason at all. I dislike being out in public for long periods of time and I dislike disloyalty in relationships.

If I were to think of my ideal partner, I want someone who is loyal to me, who will always be there for me when I need them. I want to be able to be both best friends with them and partners with them. I want someone who can keep up with me but also just cuddle with me and be there. I want someone who won’t right away trust me, but I want someone who once they will, they will be open with me so I can help them with what ever they need help with. 

Have a good day/night and just text me if you need anything!!

Ladies, Gentleman, and Non-Bianary Pals we interrupt your day with a special trade matchup for @therapy-ghost !!

A/N: thank you so much for your patience Ms. Ghost :) i hope you enjoy all your matchups as much as possible—! Let’s start this.

Songs I was listening to: Mind Brand - Maretu, Dispair Incident - Sumia, every pill - kets4eki, asteria and pedro, Tricky House - Xikers, CAKE - Itzy, Vegas - Doja Cat, STAR WALKIN’ - Lil Nas X, Congratulations - Post Malone

Your HXH partner will be…

Shalnark!

In my opinion, i think the two of you would just vibe together you two got along together pretty quickly, you guys would have a lot of conversations on anything important or not they were always the best.

He can also stand your chaotic energy, though it would probably tire him out.

Even though he sees his victims as puppets he would never think that way with you at all, you made him feel something he never felt for ages, I don’t think he would do any PDA but when y’all are in a private area he will be very, very affectionate with you.

He would also listen to anything your listening to such as rock, indie, alternative music, whatever it is and even if it isn’t to his tastes he would say anything and just relax with you.

Your Black Butler partner is no other than…

Undertaker!

While he is a eccentric and enigmatic person while you are a nice and somewhat chaotic person you’d both be perfect for each other!

He will always giggle whenever you guys are having conversations, he’s not like laughing at you of course, it just means he enjoys having chats with you.

You guys will always be a chaotic pair, sometimes you even prank people (mostly ciel) and you guys will be laughing your asses off! There’s no doubt that this is probably his first romantic relationship he will always stay loyal to you, why wouldn’t you think he wouldn’t? There’s no other person out there like you—!

He would also admire you drawing, cooking, baking and etc, he would love to taste test with whatever you cooked! Or if you drew something and gave it to him he’ll forever treasure it and protect it with his life.

Your JJBA partner is…

Josuke Higashikata!

This was a little bit hard for me but after some thinking I thought Josuke would be a good match for you! You guys didn’t really start off bad in my opinion, i think that he was very respecting of your angerness and decided to say hi to you and have a conversation and then it went on from there!

I think you both are very protective of each other, i also think that if he see’s anyone trying to flirt with you he’ll be boiling with jealousy, but I think you would comfort him anyways and he’ll be okay for the rest of the day :)

You guys are like the best friends to lovers troupe lol, he started falling more in love with you when he would always have conversations with you and also because of your fascinating personality.

If you’ve been out in public for to long and you ask your boyfriend, josuke, if you can go home he’ll be taking you back home without a word or complaint.

Your One Piece partner is…

Shanks!

Honestly, I feel like he’s a great match for you, he’s super friendly and charismatic towards you, but by 20x more times :) he enjoys having a lot of connecting conversations with you, its probably the king enjoyable part about his day to just be able to talk to his loved one.

He is very caring towards you, you say you wanna go home? Right away!, To many people? He’ll take you to a more quieter place then! He can also vibe with your chaotic aura, he’ll probably join you if he’s in the mood.

He would also love taking you on walks through a forest to see your face light up with excitement when you see a beautiful view in nature.

He super appreciative of your caring attitude, he’s forever grateful when he’s in the arms of your care and he’ll be happy to do the same in return for all your love.

Your Ouran High School Host Club Sweetheart is…

Kyoya Ootori

Your so lucky to have this man holy moly, super okay with your anger issues, if you even get mad at tamaki he wouldn’t complain at all.

Whenever he’s on break and everything, he loves having his conversations with you, you were also his favorite customer and somehow you started dating him?!?! what did he ever do to deserve such a caring girlfriend like you… anyways, he’s like the mother figure to the club and since your also a card taker the entire club will be begging for both of your help.

He’s someone who will be there with you no matter what happens, if something bad ever happens he’ll tell you who hurted you and will have a nice little “chat” with them :) if that’s not the case and you don’t feel like talking if that happens he’ll go and get some tea and cookies for you both pull you into a hug and let you cry on his shoulder until your ready to talk.

Your Danganronpa 2: Goodbye Despair Partner is…

Gundham Tanaka!

This was a little hard but I also thought of Kazuichi for you but I wasn’t sure if it was the best choice so it’ll go in my little round-ups when you finish this, but honestly, you both seem to be chill with each other!

He honestly enjoys having conversations with you! But also, he also loves your creativity for your art! He also loves your story writing to and he also hopes you enjoy his creativity as well since I know that he would want someone who appreciates his creativity, also he’s a gentleman, there will never be a time he’s disloyal to you, that’s a nono.

He also loves your appearance, he doesn’t see a reason why you would dislike the way you look, he’ll be happy to show you that your beautiful no matter what, he’ll show you in many ways.

He’s not someone who shows any affection in public, but in private he’ll show you a lot but he’ll be super flustered and hide his face in his magenta/purple-ish scarf, also he only trusts you with his pets! thats how much he loves you :)

Your Final Fantasy 7 partner is…

Cloud Strife!

In my opinion, it just made sense to me, let me explain why, with your polite demeanor it’ll make him slowly come out of his shell a little, not fully but a little! It’s a good process, when you also start holding conversations, he probably won’t talk a lot but if you keep doing it more he’ll start talking and then he’ll be able to have his trust with you.

Even though you both have very different personality’s it doesn’t change the fact how well you guys get along, after a lot of his tragic pasts he wasn’t really the same, but since you came along you’ve been making things a lot better for him, you would always comfort him anyway possible and he’s beyond also grateful, even if he doesn’t talk a lot or show much emotions he wants you to know that he’s always there for you, he’s also very protective of you and make sure nothing will happen.

He would also love your cooking too, honestly make him anything and when you look away the food is already gone, no he did not throw it away, he ate it like it was his last meal.

Your Devilman Crybaby partner is…

Akira Fudo!

Honestly, I think he needed someone like you in his life, he was bullied for being a “crybaby” a lot, he would cry on anyone’s behalf, including yours, you were concerned and you wanted to help of course, he appreciates it a lot but it wouldn’t stop, but you’ll always be there for him. :)

He’s super happy that he has someone who cares for him like he would do for you to! (sometimes in questionable ways, but not all the time for you!), after some time he feels a strong sense of loyalty towards you and decides to keep it that way for you!

I think he would also like listening to rock music (he gives me the vibes kinda), so I think when you guys are hanging out there’ll be some rock music being played softly in the background while you guys are handing around.

As soon as you guys get into a romantic relationship he’ll trust you with all of his life after that, he now thinks that there’s no one else for him then you now and will make sure to keep you with him forever <3

Your Demon Slayer Matchup is…

Enmu!

I also thought of Douma but he does make others feel uncomfortable about themselves so I didn’t think that was a good option so I thought that Enmu would be a good match for you! Even with his sadistic behaviors, if your a demon he’ll be sure to respect you if you tell him so otherwise.

He’s absolutely in love with your appearance, he always kisses your face whenever your near him, he also loves your personality as well! it’s very dominating so I think it’s another reason why I paired you with him.

Since he’s your boyfriend, if you ever have any bad dreams he’ll always chase them away and promise you good and happy dreams whenever you have them, and thats a promise he’ll never break towards you, that’s his way of comforting you.

And lastly, Your Blue Lock Partner is no other then…

Yoichi Isagi!

His cheerful and easygoing personality was good enough to know that he would be your beloved boyfriend ^-^ his innocent habits probably don’t get on your nerves but mostly on other people, he’s also very loyal to you as well.

He will also love being your best friend too! Another best friends to lovers troupe here lol, he also loves watching you do draw, cook and anything really, he enjoys rambling about anything to you, mostly about his soccer games.

He also loves if you drive him to his games and listen to any music on the way there, and maybe you guys go get something to drink, either from a coffee shop or gas station, and y’all would just have a lot of fun anyways!

Round-ups: Gon (Hunter X Hunter), William T. Spears (Black Butler), Tamaki Suoh (Ouran High School Host Club), Aerith Gainsborough (Final Fantasy 7), Douma (Demon Slayer).

#joey posts! #matchups #matchup #x reader #anime #games #video games #ouran high school host club #OHSHC #OHSHC matchup #OHSHC matchups #hunter x hunter #HXH #HXH matchup #ff7 #ff7 matchups #demon slayer #demon slayer matchups #demon slayer matchup #jojos bizzare adventure #jjba part 4 #JJBA #danganronpa #danganronpa 2

[utterlyinevitable]

the very first night (let’s go back in time)

Pairing: Bryce Lahela x F!OC (Hannah Weill) Rating: Explicit  Warning: it’s sensual?? little bit of nipple play Tropes: Pining; NSFW; Friends with Benefits; Drunk; Meet Again; 

Summary: Following An Evening in December, Bryce & Hannah are alone in his hotel room making up for the insecurities of their past. 

a/n: another smutty lil snippet from this fic i’ve been trying to write a la rebranded for my oph babes 💖 i like this one so much better than the last e&b piece. i hope you do too xx

_________________

There’s something meaningful swirling between them neither cares to acknowledge but can’t help but feel. Han elongates her body up towards him at the same time Bryce moves closer. 

It’s glorious. 

To feel him. To have his hands trailing her body, tracing more defined curves that were only shadows before. To trace the slope of his shoulders with her fingertips and feel the taut muscle there. To be pulled closer and closer, and twirled to a dance he’s leading. 

Fireworks exploded in her gut, every nerve ending on fire. It was too slow and moved too fast at the same time. One of his hands holding her head in place as he slipped his tongue between her awaiting lips. Hannah moaned softly as his tongue moved with hers. As he kissed her slow and purposefully. As she let herself get lost in the way he tasted like hops and home - earthy and reassuring, like the the gentle folds of waves as they sat on the sand in a dream she’s always coveted. She’s lost to the feeling, putty in his hands as she lets him take control. 

She’s pulled forward, tugged by the lips as Bryce backs himself up to sit on the bed. Hands fisting in her waist as he draws her towards him once more, missing the press of their bodies. Han’s helpless but to do anything but lift her legs to straddle him - precariously kneeling at the edge of the mattress trying to keep her full weight off him. But he pulls her down harder. Kisses her into delirium until she can’t keep herself up. Wanting every bit of their bodies touching.  Leaning in, her arms wrapped around his neck and fingers fisted in his sun-kissed locks, heads tilting together deepening the kiss. His fingers running delicately across her body, careful and purposeful and feather-light that made her skin tingle, arching asking for more of everything. 

And he’s handling her with care. God, she doesn’t want to think. Doesn’t want her brain to ruin this and compare it to her fantasies, or worse - think about how she compares to all his past others. So she kisses him, harder. Gives a guttural beg of ‘please’ as her hips roll into his. Bryce is all too eager to oblige - to obliterate everything else but here and now. 

Hands move to places unseen. Places friends don’t explore with friends. 

There’s never been anything friendly between them. 

It’s more. More gasps and moans as lips find hidden treasure. More please. More off. More hands everywhere. More clothes on the floor. Hearts beating erratically. 

“You’re beautiful,” he all but whispered in earnest. Soft amber eyes on hers, boring and imploring her to believe him. 

The look of reverence on his face as he uncovered more bits of her body she always kept covered up... - it was so much. 

For the first time Hannah Weill felt herself bloom under the attention. 

Instead of closing her eyes and letting it happen, she took control. Her hands trailed down his chest to the hem of his top. 

“I want to see you,” she muttered against his lips and her fingers worked to expose the hot skin underneath.  

He raised his arms and she slid off his top. 

A second passed. Then another with only shallow breaths passing between them. Her silver stare stuck on the dips of his chest, the curves of this man’s body.    

“Touch me.” 

So she does. Her filed nails trailing, exploring his pecs and down to the outline of abs that surely weren’t there when they’d known one another. He’s muscular and manly, not soft and boyish. Far from the fantasy she used to have of him - of them together over years and years. And he has tufts of chest hair now too. Her finger cards through the wiry strands that curl around her fingertip. 

He watches her, hands on her hips still rooting her there. 

He wants to say something, so does she. But what can you really say at a moment like this. Idle conversation couldn’t withstand the moment. 

When words fail mouths move.

Bryce took one of her breasts in his mouth. Shifted her higher up his body to eagerly plop his lips around her. Her hand found the back of his head and she held him in place while he flicked his tongue across her nipple before grazing his teeth and nipping her just enough to elicit a whimper. 

Without complaint he moved to the other, lavishing her body in the only way he’d know how. It’s too much. The circles he was swirling against her sensitive skin mimicked the patterns she was grinding against him, driving them both wild - seeking pressure that wasn’t close enough. His hand slid between them to thumb at her center through her jeans, trying to match her place and give her some release. But it wasn’t enough. 

An annoyed whine passed her lips, a huff as she pushed his shoulders away. “Off,” she declares as soon as his concerned gaze met hers, and Bryce drops his hold completely. Lets her get off him, disappointment beginning to creep into his brow. 

She steps back, just enough to fully use all her limbs without any impediments. His eyes are still on her and she watches him, too. Stares with a sinister smirk as her thumbs work the buttons of her jeans. Bryce catches her eye, as much as the sight of watching her strip could be his undoing, he quirks a brow in askance. 

She nods and no sooner does he rid himself of his trousers. The speed and fumbling by which he obliges endearing as ever. This isn’t weird, or awkward as most first times would go. No, this is a long time coming. They’ve played this scene out many times in the back of her mind. 

Hannah moves towards him, but Bryce keeps her at arms length. His eyes rove her body - curvy and alabaster and every flaw on display with the din of the foyer light spilling in on her like a spotlight. And for a brief moment she recedes into herself - steels herself from the rejection that’s about to come. This was nice, but it’s over now. This isn’t supposed to happen for them. Unrequited love is meant to be just that - fruitless and never real. 

Bryce breathes, wanton and wanting. “You’re beautiful.” 

“Thank you,” what else is she meant to say. 

His hands caress her sides, up and down the swell of her hips, her waist, the sides of her chest. Pads of fingers ghosting her breasts, circling her areolas as he considers her attentively. She waits. And waits for the rejection she knows is coming. 

“B-” there it is, on the tip of his tongue, the but we should stop. 

She knows it’s coming and the strings of her chest are dangling by a frayed thread, waiting to drop. Her lips part, ready to finish the sentence for him, her eyes darting to the side to find the quickest path to her clothes. But

“Before we continue…” he strides over to his rucksack, riddles around for two heartbeats too long, and finds what he’s looking for. The look on his face as he saunters over holding the ream of two condoms is contagious enough to have her smiling back. “Safety first.”

________________

a/n: i’m getting better at this??? 

> complete masterlist <

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Bryce:

@weaving-in-words​​  

#bryce x mc #bryce lahela #open heart #choices open heart #open heart fanfic

[cassynite]

6, 9, 16, 19 for Sparrow! <3

Thank you for the questions 🥺❤️ I love granular kinds of questionnaires like these, they always make me pause and think a lil bit about my characters a little more.

OC Character Development Questions

6. Does your character have recurring themes in their dreams?

Yea absolutely! Themes of her childhood before she was kidnapped appear constantly in her dreams--bright, sunny days, bright colors, large blooming flowers, the cliffs splashing into the sea with the wind blowing with enough force that it feels like she could jump off and it would be able to carry her. Climbing trees, great big reaching branches propelling her into the sky until she's on top of the world. Her brother, or pieces of him--his smile, his laugh, the way he talked so fast when he was excited she couldn't understand him, the way his hands always skillfully worked on the tiniest details of whatever he was creating--also show up frequently in her dreams. Freedom, flight, warmth, and family, that's what her mind draws for her in sleep.

9. Is your character’s current socioeconomic status different than it was when they were growing up?

Yes, Sparrow's status has changed a lot throughout her childhood! As a child, she was the younger sister of a very respected but very young engineer in a country where material needs were met as a matter of course. Crow's work and prestige meant that he and Sparrow were able to live quite well despite their young ages, though it was relatively humble. Away from the direct city, in a little house on a high cliff where others weren't as bothered by experiments on protoypes, Sparrow always had what she needed but wasn't living lavishly or anything. When she becomes a slave for House Arvanxi she ends up in a very awkward place in the household. She is property in Cheliax, the lowest of the low, but being a body double means that she also has to be seen and treated as Evaethi when needed. Because of this she's given fine clothes, a noble's education, and is separate from the servants and slaves--but if she makes a mistake, angers Gregoriath, or is otherwise defiant or doesn't live up to expectations, the punishments are as harsh as they would be for anyone else with a collar. Sparrow has gone without food, been beaten and whipped, and threatened all the while--because what she has here is still good, isn't it? Better than anything anyone else would give her as a slave. If she continues to fail to live up to the expectations of her position, Gregoriath can always sell her again. Pretending to be Evaethi puts her in a similar position--a noble, but not really, and terribly conscious of the fact--and Sparrow at the beginning of the game is prepared to strike out in the world with little more than the clothes on her back. Of course, when she finally closes the Worldwound and marries Daeran, she becomes a noble in truth--one who will never have to worry about any kind of material need again, and who can travel the world whenever she pleases. She's recognizable, a respected leader of the community, and far above any kind of status she'd have even dreamed of as a child.

16. Which does your character idealize most: happiness or success?

Happiness, full stop. Success in Sparrow's eyes is to be happy, to have found peace in herself and her surroundings and finally become allowed to live in a way that lets her be free. Material wealth, prestige, accolades--they're all pointless to her, secondary to gaining the emotional fulfillment that she craves.

19. What is your character’s biggest relationship flaw? Has this flaw destroyed relationships for them before?

Sparrow's biggest relationship flaw is her insecurity in its strength. She is always waiting for the other person to leave--for them to realize that she's not worth sticking around for, that her idiosyncrasies and her nerves are too much to handle and for them give up. It leads to her catastrophizing arguments, planning for the worst possible reactions and outcomes, and hiding concerns, criticisms, and complaints from her partner for fear that expressing them might make her too much trouble. It makes arguments--even over small things--monumental tasks to get through, and it's hurtful to the other person, because what does it say about Sparrow's view of them that she thinks they'll abandon her at the drop of a hat? This hasn't destroyed previous relationships because Sparrow never had previous relationships to destroy--every connection she made prior to the Crusades did leave. It does, however, create a few rocky points in Sparrow and Daeran's relationship after the Crusades end and they marry. They do eventually work through them, and Sparrow does learn to talk herself down from her first instinct to jump to the worst conclusion.

#cassy answers #aeoncoded #oc: sparrow #one day. i'll write the first post-marriage blowup argument she and daeran have #once i figure out what it's about lol

[dairy-farmer]

What do you think about Tim being the cutest little pudgy baby boy when he first comes to Bruce? Like he’s always been a lil chubby? Soft little pocht tummy, chubby cheeks and a lil hint of a second chin, thick thighs and arms and chubby hands and the perkiest little tits?

Like maybe Bruce sees him and decides this kid’s *his* now, he’s gotta protect him, so Tim never becomes Robin? He becomes like this kid who Bruce dotes on, showers with love and attention, who never walks anywhere because Bruce always carries him on his hip, always has a hand rubbing and feeling his pudge — whether his tummy or tits or thicc ass) — and he always misses his lips, always hand-feeds him, etc? Haha just some mild feedism maybe 😅😅

THIS IS SO CUTEEE 🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰 YES YES TO ALL OF THIS ALL OF YOU ANONS HAVE THE MOST BRILLIANT IDEAS!!!!!!!

tim having the softest and sweetest hands and pudgy cheeks.his eyes practically sparkle and bruce can't help but stare at him. he's so delightfully rosy-cheeked with full lips and long lashes. he's soft, bruce can just imagine touching him and having his fingers sink into his fleshy plushness. his lips are shiny and his nails are neatly trimmed and painted with a clear polish. tim has the prettiest mouth bruce has ever seen, a perfect cupid's bow and naturally pink lips.

bruce can't help but watch, enchanted as tim eats the little cakes from his lunchbox. soft crumbs scatter on his lips and he neatly licks them up with a swipe of his tongue. tim's haircut suits his roundface, bangs curling near his brows and soft strands kissing his neck and cheeks. both dick and jason had been hardened, muscular children.

dick from his work as an acrobat and jason from the strength needed to survive on the streets. the batmobile's tires hadn't been light and jason had boosted three by the time bruce caught him.

tim was soft and pudgy in the way kids were supposed to be. tim was born into privilege and it shows from the softness of his thighs and stomach. bruce wants to touch him, pinch his cute sides but he knows that might bring tim to tears. he's a sensitive boy. bruce can see it in the way he stutters and looks down. he can tell from the way tim wears big baggy sweaters and loose jeans. insecurity brought on from the cruel mouths of children that don't understand what a gorgeous little thing tim is. he's practically made of sugar, that's how mouthwateringly sweet he is.

bruce feels like a creeper when he watches tim. offering him lollipops, candies, and chocolates from his utlitiy belt. he watched tim unwrap them with his delicate little hands and press them between his sweet rosepetal lips. bruce loves the soft, quiet sounds of his chewing. the sounds are wet and bruce imagines the heat inside of tim's mouth, strings of saliva stretching across inside him as he swallows to his soft tummy.

tim isn't robin material. bruce doesn't want him to be robin knowing it would make him hard and rough. tim needs to be soft he needs to stay soft.

bruce telling tim he's not cut out for robin brings him to near tears, his bottom lip trembling and eyes filling with tears. his body hunches over in insecurity and he stutters "i-i can change, i can g-get-"

and bruce rushes to stop him, to dry his tears. he tells tim how perfect he is, how soft and lush he is. how being robin would change that. he needs to stay like that, just like that.

tim comes around often to check on bruce. to see if there's anything he can do to help him get better. so he keeps bruce company.

they drink tea together while bruce works. alfred brings down a tray of cookies and tim quietly nibbles on half. he eats like a gentle mouse, soft bites and both hands holding onto it.

he eats half the plate, exactly half. and he squirms beside bruce, nursing his hot, half finished tea.

when bruce takes his break he picks up one of alfred's 'biscuits' and carefully breaks it into pieces, pressing a piece to tim's mouth which is parted in surprise and staring at him.

slowly, hesitantly, tim's mouth opens and bruce presses the baked good on tim's tongue and watches him chew with little motions of his jaw.

that's how it is. and bruce does it until every cookie on the plate is gone.

one time, bruce picks tim up from school and they make a stop at a bakery that bruce had seen tim looking up for his friend ives' birthday.

bruce buys a dozen and in a moment of weakness, picks up the frosting from one of the little cakes on his finger and offers it to tim.

tim's eyes widen slightly, blue gaze darting between bruce's finger and face before slowly leaning in.

bruce witholds the shiver that wants to race through him at the feeling of tim's warm, wet mouth taking his finger in.

at the first taste of sugar tim lets out a hum of delight and both his hands drift up and hold bruce's hand still so he can take his finger in deeper.

bruce's throat tightens and his breath hitches as he watches tim lick him clean.

he thinks of how tim would look, how he would feel if he covered his cock is sweet buttercream frosting.

tim pops off with a wet sound and satisfied 'ahhh'.

he licks his lips and smiles with his sweet sinful mouth.

"it tastes like ice cream!" he remarks with happiness. "it melted right in my mouth!"

bruce swallows thickly and hands tim the rest of the box to hold and desperately hopes they will keep his attention enough that he won't notice the prominent bulge in bruce's slacks.

bruce tries to resist from touching tim. he knows that's a step too far. but one day they're walking and tim trips over a little hump in the carpet and bruce catches him.

his hands slip under tim's winnie the pooh sweater and feel his warm, soft, velvety skin. the back of bruce's hand brush the soft edge of tim's little tits. his fingers dig into the soft of him and bruce has to do everything to maintain his composure when he helps tim up.

tim is blushing a furious red and he's near tears as he stutters apologies.

bruce lets him go when he darts away.

his hands are burning with the phantom feeling of tim in his arms. the memory haunts bruce, it follows him everywhere, it colors his interactions with tim until one day- one day bruce, reaches out.

he wants to touch tim, just a little, just a bit.

bruce is injured and on bedrest. tim is on nurse duty and trying to get bruce to drink his medicine. he looks so sweet in his thick, knitted sweater. and bruce he just...wants...a taste.

tim jolts at the hand bruce rests on his thigh, staring down at it with wide eyes. but then bruce takes his medicine.

so he lets it be.

bruce's thumb strokes tim's thigh, he presses his fingers in and grips that soft bit of tim.

bruce imagines feeling the rest of tim. his soft stomach, his tender tits, his rear. but he also thinks of other parts of tim.

the warmth of his mouth and if his saliva would taste as sweet as the rest of him. he think of tim's cunt, if it will be as pink as the rest of him, as plush and soft as he is. he imagines pressing his fingers in and watching as they're swallowed in just like tim's mouth had done.

bruce gets braver. tim gets used to his touch and at some point, bruce starts carrying him everywhere.

like tim's a living teddybear, warm and comforting.

tim warns that he's heavy but bruce brushes him off and picks him up.

tim barely weighs anything to him.

"it's like picking up a daffodil." bruce remarks idly as he rubs his cheek together with tim's fullness.

tim is a sweet boy, like a tender soft caramel. he does not belong in bruce's hard, cruel world.

he needs to remain as he is.

soft. pretty. angelic.

he needs to stay just like that.

for bruce's sanity.

but if bruce were honest.

he stared down at tim squirming on his thigh, the heat between his legs evident the harder bruce presses into the seam of him. bruce is massaging one of tim's tits in his hand, fingers rolling the little nipple and pinching it into a peak. tim always has the best, softest parts.

if bruce were honest. he lost his sanity a long time ago.

#anonymous #asks #answered asks

[jmaceofspades]

The Sun and the Star: A Nico di Angelo Adventure (Book Review)

The Percy Jackson series has always been very dear to me even though I just found out about the book series in the early 2020 before the Covid pandemic. Did my obsession with PJO altered my personality too much? Yes, yes it did, to the point that the words “Dam” and “Schist” are permanent additions to my vocabulary. Until now, its influence on my life is very much evident in my speech or way of talking. I’ve picked up a lot of things from various characters, like gaining more pieces for the puzzle that I call ‘my personality’. I think it’s a common thing for readers to just absorb their favorite character/s personality and mix it with their own. Now finding out that Rick Riordan or “Uncle Rick” as well Mark Oshiro, was writing a SOLO BOOK for one of my beloved demigods, Nico di Angelo, I was ecstatic (I screamed) when it was announced. I was anticipating it of course, especially after reading the last book for the “Trials of Apollo” series, I was just waiting patiently for it to happen.

BACKGROUND

The Sun and the Star: A Nico di Angelo Adventure is a stand-alone book written after the events of The Tower of Nero, the last book of the Trials of Apollo series released in 2020. This solo book is co-written by Rick Riordan, author of the entirety of the Percy Jackson Universe, and Mark Oshiro, New York Times #1 bestselling and award-winning Latinx queer author. The Sun and the Star (TSatS) is told in a third-person point of view of Nico di Angelo and Will Solace. It focuses on the relationship of Nico and his boyfriend Will, also known as Solangelo. The book was announced on October 6, 2021. To make sure that Nico’s point of view as a gay person including Solangelo’s romantic relationship to be authentic as possible, Riordan decided to co-write this book with YA author Mark Oshiro. On September 28 of the year 2022, the cover art of the book was announced alongside the official release date which was on May 2, 2023. The cover art of TSatS was done by Khadijah Khatib.

Strengths

One of the strengths of this book is that they did not shy away from any sensitive topics that Nico and Will were experiencing throughout their whole journey together to Tartarus as well as their relationship. The topics about their insecurities, doubts, sexuality, PTSD, and emotions were nicely explored. Mark did a really good job in fleshing out their characters so well, especially with Will's real self finally revealed. These were never the main focus in Riordan’s previous works, which makes it a really nice experience to read through and see a character’s thought process and how emotions are presented as the story progresses. The struggles that my favorite demigods experienced felt really relatable.

Another one of the strengths is that they made their FIRST relationship to be realistic, there was no blind trust on each other. Blindly trusting someone does not always go well including the fact that they were venturing into Greek superhell. Throughout the book, Nico and Will communicated really well, of course there were some misunderstandings here and there but they weren’t even shy in bringing it up about it which is really refreshing! After reading so many stories with problems that can literally be fixed by just TALKING with one another, this book was an absolute blessing.

Weaknesses

If we’re talking about weaknesses, I would probably say the timeline, Nico’s official full name not really existing in Italian, and the horror of the place called Tartarus because it is superhell after all. The timeline of the Percy Jackson Universe has always been a bit confusing since characters made references to shows or movies that were released in the future where the actual setting is set. Nico mentioning and referencing Lil Nas X’s song titled “Montero” in the story set in the 2010’s is very much out of place because the said song was released in the year 2021. The name “Niccolo” does not exist in the list of various Italian names, but it can be seen as a typographical error unless said otherwise. The proper first name for Nico would be “Niccolò”, where stress is present. Lastly, Tartarus, this place was always presented to be one of THE most dangerous places that a demigod or a God would ever step in. I guess I kind of expected more thrill or horror once Nico and Will arrived there (it was probably a terrifying place for them though) just to live up to its name and the whole build up of it.

Thoughts

All in all, I love it with all my heart and soul. I would read it again anytime and any day as long as I have time in my hands. I love how they Tartarus as a metaphor of PTSD, a really witty choice on their part. The characterization of Will Solace outside of other people’s perspective was just so nice to see because he was always described as this cool, calm and collected head of the Apollo Cabin in the previous book. Seeing just how human he is while reading the book made me love his character even more. Another thing I adore is that Nico in the book started to be like his old self before everything became a dumpster fire, which made me cry because it’s so evident that he’s healing and becoming more open and happy! Seeing my favorite pairing have such an endearing dynamic with one another was an absolute blessing. I would definitely recommend it to anyone to read.

#21st century lit #tsats #nico di angelo #will solace #solangelo