#So sick of EVERY social media forcing me to share everything
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I love seeing the "mutuals" thing when my mutuals are in my notifs it makes me happy but genuinely I think actively making it so everyone can see statuses of like who is their mutual and who they're only just following and not allowing people to disable it is so sinister and BAD. Like I have genuinely in the past been unable to follow certain people who make me uncomfortable because I didn't wanna risk them checking their followers and realising I wasn't following them anymore and hating me/confronting me when I wasn't able to handle that, and now it's only made WORSE because those people can instantly see I'm not longer following them if I so much as reply to a comment or ask?? It isolates me from being able to interact with someone after I've unfollowed them because I don't want them to think I hate them or that it's anything personal, but tumblr has put my following on full display now and there's nothing I can do to stop it. Adding "activity icons" was foul but at least you can turn it off. It's all fucked up and I wish we could go back to keeping things actually private for once.
#Like... I followed someone bc we had a mutual friend and interest but then they started reblogging things I disagree w/make me uncomfortable#Like I don't hate them at all I just don't wanna see what they reblog on my dash anymore??#Shouldn't I have the right to privacy over how I control my OWN dashboard???#Soon they're going to disable hiding likes from people who follow you and I'm not kidding. I'm so sick of this#So sick of EVERY social media forcing me to share everything#tumblr shit
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can I request an ig blurb, fc is Claudia Tihan and it's like scandalous girlfriend type. thank you!
yes of course anon 🫶 enjoy! this is def a little different from what i normally write so hope u like it! let me know what you think 💕
MASTERLIST | SEND ME A REQUEST
yourinstagram
Liked by harrystyles, madisonbeer and 98,721 others
yourinstagram blue bubblegum twisted ‘round your tongue
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harrystyles Scubadubadububoo or whatever that guy said in that one song.
harryfan oh i get the song now
madisonbeer goddess.
yourinstagram 🖤
harryfan2 🤢🤢🤢🤮🤮🤮
harryfan1 am i the only one who doesn’t like her? idk she’s always showing off on ig and it rubs me the wrong way. none of his exes were like that
harryfan3 girl olivia walked out wearing his merch every other day 😭 get serious
yourinstagram
Liked by harrystyles, kendalljenner and 100,828 others
yourinstagram me by H for pleasing
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harrystan OHHHH WHAT ARE THEY UP TO
harry_lambert Beautiful picnic angel. Thank you for bringing the vision to life x
kendalljenner hi. marry me please.
emrata ur insane. ilysm
harryfan1 oh be serious
harryfan7 Yikes!
harryfan8 h has got to be sick of her constant showing off by now
harryfan10 there’s a reason why he only liked and didn’t comment 👀
pleasing
1,864,243 likes
pleasing Timeless delicates for everyday and bedroom wear. Coming soon.
Find Your Pleasing.
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yourinstagram 🎀🦢💕🧺
harrystan GIRL PLEASING LINGERIE?
harryfan777 designing lingerie for ur lifestyle brand and putting ur girlfriend in it. harry u are sick in the head!
harrygirl Harry are you willing to fight for your girl bc like…
harryfan4 i know she’ll do anything for attention but did she really have to drag harry and pleasing into it too
harryfan5 this is… not the move
harryfan6 why does she feel the need to insert herself into everything he does like WE GET IT
harryfan8 pleasing is now so far from what it was originally meant to be and it’s sad. i know he didn’t want to do this & she forced him to bc she’s desperate for the recognition. it’s so obvious
dailymail
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dailymail Y/N L/N shares new unseens from a risqué photoshoot for boyfriend Harry Styles’ brand, Pleasing. This comes a day after the influencer and model stirred up controversy after it was announced that she would be the face of the brand’s latest venture: a lingerie line. Fans have previously expressed frustration with her tendency to bare it all on social media, a sharp contrast from Styles’ minimal online presence, and this may be their final straw. Are we sick of hearing all the details about their Late Night Talking? ⭐️🛌
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harryfan8 you know it’s bad when even daily mail isn’t on your side
harryfan5 i never thought i’d say this but daily mail is right
harryfan11 do y’all truly have nothing better to do than to be bitter and tear down a fellow woman for no apparent reason
karen123 So sad that this is the state of our society now. Scared for the future generations.
harrygirl BFFR
yourinstagram
Liked by harrystyles, kaiagerber and 250,827 others
yourinstagram by the way, when he said “anything you want until the morning” he wasn’t exaggerating.
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harrystyles ❤️🔒
kaiagerber she said what needed to be said!
haileybieber 👏🏻👏🏻👏🏻
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#harry styles#harry styles imagine#harry styles x y/n#harry styles x you#harry styles x reader#harry styles fic#harry styles fake ig#harry styles fake instagram#harry styles social media#harry styles headcanon#harry styles fic rec#harry styles fanfic#harry styles fanfiction#harry styles fanfic rec#harry styles fluff
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Matt's Twitter videos broke my heart, like this is a guy who has repeatedly said that he has Depression and feels vicious criticism on the internet very acutely and still went "here are things I have done and yes i am heartbroken and here's why I am the way I am with socials" but it doesn't matter really what he says bc it's never enough. Social media """"activism"""" is so fake, like if you worry yourself sick and then present that to your followers as a performance, that means more to these people than anything anyone actually does to help. It's ridiculous and Twitter is more of a cesspool than ever.
It was so frustrating for me to see people react to that video with “this isn’t about you! This is about the people in Gaza!” Because if your activism doesn’t involve protecting your own mental well being and the mental well being of those around you? You will burn out and be able to do nothing. Matt was sharing why he wasn’t more vocal about everything online and I very deeply related because up until January I personally was distancing myself from seeing the worst of what was going on in Gaza because I didn’t have housing and was already on a thin string with my mental health because of that. I don’t and will not make someone feel bad if they have the privilege of being able to distance themselves from atrocities if they need it, and the fact that people genuinely are saying “fuck your mental health this is bigger than you” makes me think these are all people who just discovered activism this year and don’t realize how vital it is to be able to distance yourself when necessary.
Do I think it’d be great if CR did more? Yes. But they’ve already done more than the majority of companies and celebrities have done and instead of focusing energy on people who have done absolutely nothing they’re going full force at cr and I just don’t get it. That isn’t activism. Sharing the same link every day to your followers isn’t activism. I don’t talk about activism stuff on here cause this is my cr tumblr but like… its so clear that these fans do not know what activism actually is.
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maybe Shinunoga E-Wa by Fujii Kaze and like a Mina yandere type fic? (only if you're comfy with that ofc)
Love Me (Twice: Mina)
genre: angst - word count: 1800
content warning: yandere-themed, violence, kidnapping
The world stopped when you locked eyes for the first time. It was just for a split second, but that was more than enough to know for sure. You and Mina together. It was true love.
Mina was meant to be your one and only. She just had to make sure you understood that…no matter what it would take.
The young woman twirled her hair and would sheepishly giggle like some love-sick teenager when she thought of you. Your name next to hers looked prettier every time she wrote it in her notebook, and with every night you spent apart she grew more lonely. More desperate.
So every morning she made her bed, and made sure her room was tidy. Every single morning, she left the house with hope that today would be the day that you’d finally come around.
At 07:45 AM sharp Mina was seated already, patiently waiting for you to stumble in through the doors. You would always be in a rush, glancing at the professor with that apologetic look in your eyes. She’d do her best to hide her smile as she mouthed your words along with you. “Sorry sir, traffic.”
That pout on your lips was so adorable. One of the first things she noticed about you, actually.
That 8 AM class was the one time she counted herself lucky to be somewhat of a loner. After your eyes would search the room, they’d land on the seat next to her. The space was always empty, but she liked it that way. Mina didn’t need anyone. Every time you’d plop down next to her and your pretty lips curled into a smile as you said goodmorning, Mina knew she was complete.
Every day was the same, and maybe she could live that way forever: too shy to speak to you, but at least being able to bask in your scent every morning. It wasn’t perfect, but she was patient. Before long, you’d be together and she didn’t mind waiting…at first.
Mina loved you. She didn’t want it to go down the way it did, but you forced her hand. The moment that you walked through those doors and she wasn’t the first person you locked eyes with, it all changed.
She watched you with dark eyes as you passed your usual seat next to her and sat next to some other girl. You hugged her and smiled in a way Mina had never seen before. It made her blood boil.
In that moment, it felt like she was watching you slip through her fingers and she realised she never wanted to feel that way again. Mina had to make sure of it.
As angry as Mina was, she couldn’t blame you. You simply lost your way, and it was her job to show you just how perfect you two were. You and Mina – no one else. That was how it was supposed to be. So that was how it was going to be.
It took her a lot of courage to talk to you for the first time, but you were nice. Just as she expected you to be. It was not hard for her façade to rope you in: Myoui Mina, the shy, soft spoken girl no one in class would give a second glance to. Who would ever think she would pose any kind of threat? People were so easy to fool – even you, her dearest one.
It started with her asking about school assignment she couldn’t care less about, and you were helpful. For the first time she got a taste of your undivided attention, and it felt better than she had imagined it to be. You and her…it felt so electric. There was no way you couldn’t feel it too, right?
As the conversations got more casual and you shared facts about yourself that she knew long beforehand, she’d take the time to admire you. The way you talked with your hands fascinated her. You always seemed so passionate. She could tell by watching you talk with your friends…but that couldn’t even compare to seeing you so up close. The sound of your voice comforted her. Hearing you speak to her directly brought her serenity, more than just hearing your voice in class or looping the videos on your social media could ever give her.
Everything felt so right, and with every time you softly chuckled Mina was more certain that she was doing the right thing. The two of you were meant to be, and if the rest of the world wouldn’t understand or respect that, she had no other choice than to keep you to herself.
People were usually creatures of habit, and luckily for Mina, you were the prime example of that. It was not hard for her to plan it all out. All she had to do was wait patiently till exam season came around and you’d spend your days and nights basically living in the library with your friends and with … that girl. Mina’s stomach churned whenever she’d watch you walk out of the building with your fingers intertwined with hers and it took everything in her not to make rash decisions.
No, if this was going to work it had to be planned. It had to be calculated.
She had to hold onto her last ounce of patience tightly, until the day eventually came. There was only one day that you’d usually go to the library by yourself and that morning Mina made her bed with a grin on her face, knowing that that was finally the day you’d lay in it.
Her eyes watched you like a hawk from behind your car as you left the building. Her breath picked up and she whispered words of encouragement to herself. The dimmed streetlights of the parking lot illuminated just enough for her to see you approach closer and closer and her hand tightened around the cold rock she held.
She felt sick. The thought of hurting you, made her stomach ache. It killed her inside, but Mina knew this was the only way.
Just as you were about to open your car door, she emerged from the shadows. Your keys slipped from your fingers when she startled you, and without a second thought she kicked them under your car. Your hand held onto your chest, trying to somehow calm your racing heart.
“Oh, Mina?” Seeing her familiar face was supposed to put you at ease, but something about the look in her eye caused you even more discomfort. With a nervous chuckle you took two steps back. Mina took three forward. “…what are you doing here? I didn’t see you studying inside.”
Her lip twitched, and her grip tightened as she whispered. “I love you.”
“I…” It was then you saw the rock in her hand and her knuckles had gone pale from her harsh grasp. In hindsight, that was probably the moment that you knew how this would all end for you. “Mina, I’m flattered…but, uh, my girlfriend—”
“Girlfriend?” Mina repeated incredulously. The sharp tone in her voice was like none you had ever heard before – let alone from her. In fact, everything about her was suddenly so different. Her usual soft smile was gone, replaced by pursed lips, a dark gaze, and a clenched jaw. “Don’t be ridiculous. She can never know you like I do. She will never love you like I can!”
You took a sharp breath at her sudden change in demeanor, and she seemed to soften at that. Mina tried reaching for you with somewhat of an apologetic look, but you moved back.
“I’m sorry.” she returned back to a whisper, and as she stared at the ground her tight grip on the rock seemed to soften. All the while your mind was going in circles, trying to find any kind of way to escape the situation, but nothing came to mind. You blanked. You were helpless. “I’m so, so sorry for this.”
The last thing you remember before it all went dark was your measly attempt to scream for help as Mina swung, and then the impact. You didn’t even feel your body hit the ground.
When you woke, you were in her arms and tucked comfortably in bed. Mina held you as tight as she could, as tight as she’d always dreamed of doing – she needed you to know you were safe.
You groaned, and she chuckled softly. With a gentle stroke to the scar she left you, she shushed you. “It’s okay. I’m sorry for that. You’re all patched up now.”
“Mina…” your voice sounded more slurred than you expected it to be. Then you realised how drowsy you felt. “…wh- where—”
“Don’t worry.” The room was dark, but through your heavy eyelids you saw her smile. The smile that you knew all too well was back, soft, yet bright. Her hands caressed your hair, your cheeks, then she held your hand. “You’re safe now.”
“Home.” Your hoarse voice managed to croak out. “I need to go home.”
Mina’s eyebrows furrowed and her lip twitched slightly before it turned back into her signature smile. “You’re so silly. You are home.” The young woman traced figures on the back of your hand, and she sighed of relief. Having you so close was everything she had ever wished for and more.
It was just you and her now, and no one else mattered. Just like it was all meant to be.
The more you regained consciousness though, the more restless you became. It broke her heart, but she was prepared. “I hope you know I’m doing this for us.” she whispered before tightening the cuffs on your wrist. The hurt made you wince, and she gave you an apologetic look as she got out of bed. “I’ll let you rest.”
“Mina, please…” you tried. “Please!”
“I love you. You don’t have to say it back yet…but you’ll see.” She said, leaning in the door opening. You tried to follow her, but quickly realised the cuffs were tied to both your wrist and the bed frame to hold you back. There was no escaping, and that nightmare realisation seeped into your reality as you started to sob. “We’re right for each other, and I know you’ll love me too.”
And that was that. Mina left the room and locked it behind her, trapping you with a million questions about where it all went wrong, or whether you’d even make it out of this alive. You cried, begged, and pleaded, but your agony didn’t faze her. She slid down the door and held her ear against it with a smile on her face, feeling comforted by your mere presence.
Mina fell asleep to your voice that night.
#twice#mina#twice x reader#mina x reader#twice angst#mina angst#this is very different from my usual achey-heart breaky type of angst hahaha#i hope its decent and you enjoy#also the fact that this is almost 2k words and i wanted make these song request drabbles is just proof that i cant keep anything short 🥲🥲#have a good day everyone :)#Mina x fem reader#twice x fem reader#yandere twice#yandere Mina
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Atp I need to know less about the other members. Please Hybe stop sharing Jimin content with the other members because all it does is make me thoroughly dislike them. If taekook stay out of my face for an year straight, I may no longer have an instant ick feeling when I see them but you Hybe are not helping. I was feeling a tiny miniscule bit better about those two (absence makes the heart...less annoyed) but today's clip on Bangtantv with them at the Yoongi concert just reminded me in full force how much I dislike them.
It's crazy because more Jimin content makes me like him more. Same goes for Hobi to an extent - Namjoon and Jin are a mixed bag though Jin is good at playing everything off as a joke. But Yoongi, Tae and JK make me consistently dislike them the more I see them. Every glimpse of suchwita I got made me dislike Yoongi. I used to stan JK but even before he became the harbinger of payola and bad music, it was his extended lives (that I initially watched in full!) that got me totally sick of him. Not sure why I had literally the opposite reaction from everyone else but I'd like to think my pre frontal cortex was sending me signals about what a disappointment he'd be in advance. Tae is good is small doses like vegemite. He has a certain charm but the instant he shares more of himself on social media or any format really, he reminds of every social climbing wannabe edgelord fake friend I've ever had. Less of taegikook for my sake! And their sake! I don't need to know what huge jerks they are when I can't do anything about it.
You and I share the same sentiments.
Because ever since chapter two began I dislike certain members aand that would be Tae, Jungkook and Yoongi.
I don't really like tae and that has made it hard for me to enjoy certain vmin moments because I used be a huge vmin enthusiast. Because Tae lies a lot and unnecessarily so. And the amount of fs he's been doing for that cult is insane especially because he was in a relationship with someone. And then he goes online on a live in 2023 and proceeds to wear a durag and say the n word for clout, just to get people talking about him because he's so obsessed with the idea of him being the most popular idol ever.
And Jungkook is just a bum. And judging by his behaviour in chapter two. He's a horrible friend too. There's a lot I've said about him in the past I don't feel like talking about him anymore.
As for yoongi if he'd stop licking jungkooks ass just for a minute he'd be okay. And for someone who's built like a toad he's got a lot to say about other people's builds. And he's got such an ego for someone who flops so hard outside his group.
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I'm sick and tired of social media, but I can't stop myself from logging in to Twitter and looking at toxic discourse. I still don't know what's wrong with me...
When it comes to curbing a social media obsession, will-power alone often isn't enough and there is nothing wrong with you for struggling with that.
As much as I love the internet and the social media found amongst it, most social media websites are intentionally designed to be addictive.
But IMO social media is still worth engaging with as long as the media that keeps you coming back is something that makes you happy.
But with Twitter in particular, I've noticed that, more and more, that is no longer the case. When it reaches that point, you should
0. Identify when it reaches the point of obsession. Of realizing that a hub of your free time has gone from something you enjoy engaging with to one that is involuntarily stealing your attention and making you unhappy.
When you do inevitably notice this, there are a number of steps you should take, either short term just to redirect your focus or long-term if you're committing to a full exitus like I have been.
1. Uninstall the app from your phone. No good can come from having the source of your problems in your pocket and 1 button press away. AT BARE MINIMUM remove the shortcut from your phone's background. It is more confrontational to delegate your primary Twitter access as something you can only see on your main computer.
At least there, any time you spend on Twitter is directly proportional to the time you could spend doing literally anything else. This should automatically make you care less about it since now competes with everything else you could possibly want/need to so and it can no longer permeate the between-spaces of your day as much.
If you're like me and the main reason you keep your Twitter account at all is to keep up with notifications...
1b. Stop ALL forms of non-essential posting INCLUDING RETWEETS of things you like. After being conditioned for years as the guy who retweets every Orin post he sees, this has been a slow unlearning process, but for every single post you make - even if it's just sharing someone else's art - is an open prompt that gives you more reason to return.
Copy a link and share it in a discord server if you MUST, but any time you open the website and see a number next to the notification tab, it is a validation that you have reason to keep coming back.
If limiting it to your main computer isn't enough...
2. Completely log out. You know what's even more confrontational than needing to already be in your recreational space? A big ass screen plastered with the website's branding that requires you to manually enter your information.
If your browser has your login info saved, remove that shit. Your mission is to make signing into your account as inconvenient as possible.
Doing this much has historically been enough to keep me away most of the time, but some people may need to go farther...
3. Change your password. Create a completely incomprehensible and string of characters and store it somewhere inconvenient, but in a place you will never lose it. This is where things can get a bit risky, but if you truly and utterly misplace your password, you got a recovery email and 2FA for a reason.
And if forcing yourself to jump through all of these hoops isn't enough, you may just have to face that it's time to
4. Delete your account. Look, if you are struggling to control yourself to a point where you can STILL notice your usage habits are out of your own control - even after jumping through every single one of these hoops - this is an extreme problem and the time for cautious self-created barriers is probably over.
If you truly and utterly can't fight off the urge to return to a platform that you can confidently recognize as being harmful to your well-being, then the only thing left to do is to give yourself nowhere to return to.
Take a day to archive any personal favorite posts or bookmarks, and wipe the slate clean. Twitter may very well continue existing but you can at least ensure your own space within it does not.
Just as your addiction can be fed by the press of a single button, so too can it be cut off. Social media is given value through the connections you make over it. Although you technically CAN just create a new account, it will never be the same as your old one and that gives way you less to return to.
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⚠️⚠️TRIGGER WARNING: ED, body image, depression, mental illness ⚠️⚠️
I would never in a million years post something like this to any of my other social media accounts but I’m proud of myself and how far I’ve come and want to make a post. It’s likely that this will be taken down for the “inappropriate photos” and I sincerely doubt that many will take the time to read this, but oh well. I’m writing this for me.
The purpose of this post is to share my story and spread awareness as well as positivity.
My body image is something that I have struggled with for a very long time now. Since middle school, I was overly aware of how my body looked and I developed severe body dysmorphia. I refused to wear bathing suits, I cried in the dressing room whenever I went clothes shopping, and I constantly compared myself to those around me. I hated my body and the way that I looked. This obsession with my appearance and my weight continued to progress throughout high school and even college. I began working out frequently, I logged my weight and everything that I ate for years, I counted calories, I would use a tape measure to measure my waste. At 15 years old, I would sob quietly to myself while looking at my body in the mirror. I would force myself to throw up after meals or when I felt like I overindulged. I wholeheartedly hated myself.
It wasn’t until my adult years that things started to get really bad. From 2021 to late 2022, I was at my absolute worst. I was in a bad place mentally and I was feeling out of control. As unhealthy as it sounds, my eating disorder was one of the few things that helped me feel in control of my life. I began weighing myself 4-5 times every day, my hair started falling out in large clumps, I began passing out almost on a daily basis (at home, at work, in the shower, in public), I was freezing cold all the time, i was chronically fatigued, and my body hurt and ached at all times. I was refusing to eat more than one full meal a day, and that meal typically consisted of a bagel with butter. I would look up the calories in ibuprofen before taking it, I started drinking my coffee black to avoid the calories from cream, I was constantly lying to my friends and family about my eating, I wouldn’t even let myself drink carbonated water because it made me feel bloated. I was so so so sick. Within one year, I had lost a total of 50 pounds, gone down 2 bra sizes, and had no longer fit in any of my clothing. I am a 6’3” woman and was weighing in at 124lbs when I decided that I needed to make a change if I wanted to live.
In November of 2022, I decided to actively work on getting better. I threw away my scale and called my doctor to get a referral to an ED program. I was advised to go completely inpatient considering the severity of my problem.
It’s hard. Every single day of this healing process has been hard for me. I have not once weighed myself since November and have been eating normal meals again. I refuse to let myself see the calories of the things that I eat and I’m pushing myself to break all of the unhealthy “rules” that I had previously made for myself. It’s obvious that I have gained quite a bit of weight since starting this journey, and although I still struggle with that and frequently have negative thoughts… I’m recovering and I’m trying. And that is all the matters.
I’ve slowly been learning to love myself with this new and improved body and I’m proud of myself for making it this far. I promise myself that I will continue to grow and heal even on days where I want to relapse or when I feel worthless or uncomfortable in my own skin.
I just recently learned some information that caused me to really, truly think about this terrible illness and how deeply and negatively it has, and always will, affect my life. About 3 weeks ago I wound up in the emergency department with severe heart palpitations, tachycardia, and vertigo. After doing an EKG and further testing, I was diagnosed with a rare heart condition in which can cause sudden fainting, seizures, or even sudden death. Unfortunately, one of the few things that can cause this, are eating disorders, more specifically anorexia nervosa. I wanted to throw up when I heard this. I didn’t realize how badly my ED could have been affecting my health. All that ever ran through my head was that I wanted to be skinny. I wanted to be thin because I didn’t feel worthy if I wasn’t. Surely, nobody would love me or want to see me naked if I wasn’t thin. What absolutely bullshit that is. I’m heartbroken for myself and I am so sad that I ever let myself get that bad. It devastates me to think about how many other people (men, women, young, old, etc.) struggle with eating disorders every waking minute of their lives. It isn’t worth it.
Please, please, please reach out to somebody if you are struggling with an eating disorder. You are so worth it and you deserve a chance at a happy and healthy life. You are SO much more than a number on a scale.
The first 5 photos are pictures that I took when I was at my unhealthiest and the remaining pictures are recent.
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I've been feeling so disillusioned by social media. In 2019, I grew a small following from tiktok and was able to support myself with my art, and for that I will always be so grateful. I was really enjoying posting on there and getting more comfortable sharing my life like I used to do in my tumblr era. However, I started being harassed and cyber bullied by someone I knew in real life and I ended up quitting on my socials for a while to focus on my mental health and to finish university. After I graduated, I kept thinking of trying to do the whole artist online thing but I was so burnt out and exhausted that I just couldn't muster the energy. Anyways, I turned off all notifs for every app and now even instagram makes me sad if I ever log in.
but I miss sharing my art and Im so sick of the pressure for numbers and followers that I used to force on myself and its stopped me from sharing literally anything for a long long time. So I'm going to start posting everything ive been collecting and if you see this and care, thank you but also its just nice to share my art and life again
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AMY LEE's Illness Forces Cancelation Of EVANESCENCE's Concert In Gliwice, Poland
EVANESCENCE has been forced to cancel its concert tonight (Monday, December 5) at Arena Gliwice in Gliwice, Poland as part of the "Worlds Collide" European tour with WITHIN TEMPTATION.
Earlier today, EVANESCENCE singer Amy Lee released the following statement via social media: "We are absolutely gutted to tell you that we will not be able to play for you tonight. There has been a relentless sickness going around our camp and it has, despite every effort, taken hold of my voice. My doctor says I can't perform like this without damaging it, and I am doing everything I can to heal so we can finish this tour.
"I know you are disappointed, believe me we are too, this is just one of those things that is out of our control. We have been looking forward to this for a long time and are already looking at ways to make it up to you. We see you, we're so grateful to you for bringing us here again, for listening to our music, for sharing your hearts with us, we know what it means. I promise we will be back. Until then, keep your head up, stay strong, and keep rockin'!"
WITHIN TEMPTATION will still perform in Gliwice and will put on an extra-special set for fans.
Ticket refunds can be applied for at the point of purchase until January 10.
The "Worlds Collide" trek, which was originally planned for 2020 and later moved to 2021 and then to March/April 2022, finally kicked off on November 9 in Munich, Germany.
EVANESCENCE and WITHIN TEMPTATION have sold millions of records worldwide and have been at the forefront of the music scene for more than two decades. Fronted by two of the most celebrated voices in rock music — Lee and Sharon Den Adel (WITHIN TEMPTATION) — the two bands have headlined arenas and festivals around the globe in their own right.
In recent months, EVANESCENCE had been touring the U.S. on a co-headline run with KORN, appearing at some of the major festivals, including Louder Than Life where Lee made a surprise guest appearance with TENACIOUS D, and seeing its breakout single "Bring Me To Life" re-enter the U.S. iTunes charts at No.1. They have also just announced a U.S. tour with MUSE for March 2023. Amy also took time out to record a breathtaking duet of an EVERLY BROTHERS track with Dave Stewart (EURYTHMICS).
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I got pensive and sad about the reasons why I almost completely stopped writing. If any of my readers are still here, after all this time, I would love to share it with you as part of my journey. For my followers and friends in general, there is also a little bit about how my life went in the past few years and what made me leave Tumblr/reduce its use to almost nothing.
First of all, let’s get this out of the way. I always see debate about fanfiction comments dying down because of how social media platforms work and how “engagement” works differently; I see readers wanting to give more kudos but declaring themselves completely unable to write a comment (and if you never learnt how, given the state writing and reading comprehension have been in for so many decades in education, I do not blame you at all. I am serious.) and authors being very angry about how we, who write free entertainment for so many, deserve to at least be rewarded with comments and thoughts. I see people not caring about whatever anyone does, being chill.
Here is my take on it. I firmly maintain I always wrote for my own pleasure and NEVER wanted my readers to feel forced to comment. They don’t have to pay me back for anything - I put out my writing for free willingly and I do not feel entitled to a “reward” for it. I am not American and do not buy into this bs line of thinking. However: getting comments is indeed very rewarding and fills me with joy, especially because it makes me feel that I did not create my stories for just myself, or for nothing at all (more on that later). They are so appreciated because they make me meet new people, build friendship over the things we like etc.
I do not want to skew your perspective: I get a kudos email at least every other day. I have written so much for so many fandoms that hardly a day goes by without my stories being unread. That in itself is an enormous accomplishment for me. But when it comes to actual interaction or sharing, compared to their view count, my stories have basically only known radio silence for the past 12 years. The most comments I got on a story was never more than 15, and that happened when Gravity Falls ended and people were still eager to read and share in their appreciation.
Over time, as life got bleaker and harder for us all, I understood that writing was an intense feat of emotional and mental labor which I had always underestimated in my early years. Since I was losing joy and emotion for everything, there was little point in doing it for myself; if it was meaningless for other people too and never brought me company nor joy, then I was not able to afford that labor anymore.
Little by little, I left it behind. I stopped writing, I stopped checking my accounts, and stopped remembering that I ever wrote fanfiction at all. As sad as I am to admit it, the silence became crushing loneliness in the end. Lack of interaction with my stories took its toll in the long run.
On the other hand, though, the overall reason is much bigger. I just happen to have had a shitty life, as most of you know. When I left high school, after five years of abuse and senseless overwork, I shifted to university with great difficulty. The abuse remained, with the addition of the teaching being close to zero. I worked like hell, never learnt anything important; and my work never was meaningful, well-made or good enough. I came home feeling like a complete failure each day, with the message now confirmed and clear in my mind: I was not capable of creating anything at all.
I graduated one week before my country, the first in the world, went into lockdown. Covid made me stop doing or wanting anything at all, and coincided with a period in which my then undiagnosed chronic illness took a drastic turn for the worse. Worn out, uncapable and unemployed, I lay in bed and in pain, wanting nothing but to die. The sickness lasted for almost three years uninterrupted.
Rejoining my wife is helping me heal, and I am looking for the right medications and treatments to keep improving. In her company, I started watching films and TV shows again. OMFD made me feel the wish to write again -- to add what I would like to see, something of my own. And while my story, eight hours in the making and intensely willed into existence despite my low energy, did very poorly interaction-wise, it gave a glimpse of my desire to write -- still there and still alive.
So yes, lack of interaction played a big role. But what really plunged the knife into my writer self was mental illness. I am fighting to be back, and I hope one day to feel that joy again -- to write for myself and my loved ones, and just not care anymore.
P.S.: to my readers who love my stories and always followed me, please don’t let this make you feel meaningless! You matter so so much and you always will.
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my only wish - knj | m
“ santa can you hear me? i have been so good this year. and all i want is one thing. please tell me my true love is here ” - my only wish (this year), britney spears
✹ summary- There are few things you hate most in this world. Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange… But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things. Christmas. And Kim Namjoon. So why did you agree to pretend to be Kim Namjoon’s girlfriend at his family Christmas party? Bah-Humbug.
✹ rating- explicit/18+/nsfw
✹ pairing- kim namjoon x reader
✹ word count- 15.1k OOF
✹ genre- smut, fluff, tiny tiny angst if you squint, enemies to lovers, fake dating au, idiots to lovers, brief mention of YoonMin
✹ warnings- penetrative sex, unprotected sex (dont do it), daddy kink lolol, namjoon has a big dick, oral sex (m/f receiving), cum swallowing, light cum play, dirty talk, light degradation (very light tbh), praise kink, lots of mentions of joon being a beefy boy, masturbation,
✹ a/n- its here!! finally! my contribution to rockin around the christmas tropes. big big big shout out to @ladyartemesia @xjoonchildx @untaemedqueen @underthejoon @yeojaa @snackhobi for being my co collaborators. and a warm shout out to @wwilloww and @hobi-gif for being some very lovely betas. thank you thank you! i hope you enjoy!
There are few things you hate most in this world.
Hornets, unnecessary fruit pieces in otherwise perfectly good jello, certain shades of orange…
But nothing takes the cake more than two simple things:
Christmas.
And Kim Namjoon.
Christmas, in your opinion, is nothing more than a consumerist holiday, anchored on ensuring you’re guilted enough from November 1st to the 25th of December to spend your hard earned money on shit your friends and loved ones won’t even use. It’s a time for people to pretend they love giving and caring, while shoving you out of lines in stores, buying up all the groceries as if it’s the end times, and forcing party after mindless party for “celebration” that ends in seeing your boss drunk and pants-less by the punchbowl.
And don’t even start on Kim Namjoon.
On paper, he’s your colleague, to put the terms friendly. In reality, he’s your opponent, your adversary. He’s annoying, rude, stuck up, and not to mention a douchebag heartbreaker. He’s everything you hate wrapped in one disgustingly handsome face.
The man never misses a chance to steal a case from underneath your nose, rub the praise he receives from your bosses in your face, and look ridiculously delectable in his tight suits that he insists he wears around the office. He absolutely infuriates you.
And now, as you sit in the company-wide meeting, your heart sinks as you realize the worst thing about Namjoon—he’s about to get the promotion you’ve been vying for your entire career.
That position was as good as yours—at least, you had thought.
That was until lead counsel, Seokjin, stands in front of all the attorneys present and calls out Namjoon’s name, commending him on winning his latest case—the case that you had done the bulk of the work for. Seokjin even tells the rest of the lawyers in the room that Namjoon is “someone to watch” with a glint of pride in his eyes.
The smug smile Namjoon sends in your direction as he teasingly nibbles on a pen with his sultry mouth is enough to make you want to tear his eyes out and use them as olives in the martini you sorely needed.
Namjoon smirks as he walks past you once the meeting ends.
“Make sure you watch me, baby,” he whispers into your ear.
His hand rests on your lower back and you hate how much he aggravates you, and hate even more so that he frustrates you sexually as much as he does intellectually.
Unfortunately, your body can’t keep up with your mind’s distaste for the elder lawyer. His presence around you makes your blood vessels tighten and your head feel light—nipples prickling against your bra when he winks at you.
“Asshole,” you whisper under your breath as you pack up your notebook.
“Oh, ___!” Seokjin calls out just as you’re about to leave the all-glass meeting room.
Your head suddenly screeches to a very frustrated, sexual halt when you turn to face the lead counsel of your company.
“Yes, Mr. Kim?”
“I’ve got a case for you.”
The smile on his face makes you relax. Maybe he sees your potential. Maybe he’s testing you just as much as he’s testing Namjoon. Maybe you’ll be the “one to watch” and you can rub that right in Namjoon’s perfect, stunning face.
A thick manila folder slides across the oak table towards you from Seokjin’s hands. The impressive volume of the dossier makes you giddy with anticipation.
“I know you won’t let me down.”
You nod, nibbling at your lips, before bowing to your superior and dashing out of the room as fast as your Louboutins can handle.
It’s not until you sit at your desk, a cramped little cubicle next to Park Jimin, your best friend and paralegal assistant, that you open the folder.
Your heart sinks as your eyes hurriedly rush over the title page.
Personal Injury Suit.
A dejected sigh leaves you as you throw the folder onto your desk and slouch back in your ergonomic office chair.
“What’s up, pussycat?” Jimin smiles as he rolls his chair over to your side of the cubicle. “Namjoon got you worked up again?”
You groan as you take off your reading glasses, setting them aside to rub at the burgeoning headache building at your temples. You had momentarily forgotten all about Namjoon in the hurried hope that you’d land a case of significance, something you could finally use to prove yourself.
Instead, you gained yet another in-and-out, settle outside of court case. Likely some elderly geriatric suing a corporation for too-slippery floors.
“Another fucking personal injury suit,” you whine as you thrust the folder into the lithe paralegal’s hands.
He looks over the documents and sucks his teeth.
“Man, Seokjin really has it out for you.”
You level a look at your best friend, before nodding and holding your head in your hands.
“Namjoon is getting all the good cases! He gets the media attention, the litigation deals, everything! It’s like I’m not even given a chance to show what kind of lawyer I can be when I’m stuck with all the nursing home and car accident suits!”
Jimin bows dutifully, nodding his head as you express your woes.
“I can do more than just personal injury litigation… and Seokjin knows that! It’s just that Namjoon keeps getting all the air-time!”
“I know, babe. I know.”
With one last sigh of disbelief, you take the folder out of Jimin’s hands and sit upright at your desk.
“Well, I guess if I’m going to be a personal injury lawyer, I’m going to be the best fucking one yet. Let’s get to work.”
“Yeah! Fighting!” Jimin cheers.
Namjoon sighs as he listens to his mother blabber on and on through his phone. He leans back in his chair and surveys the wide expanse of his corner office.
Seokjin gave him this space, an upgrade from the desolate cubicles when he won his last big case, Kim Taehyung, artist v. the city of New York. He can’t help but smirk as he glimpses you from his window, pouring over a case file. He notes the curve of your back in the silk blouse you’re wearing and the way it tucks into your pencil skirt. He wishes he could see the outline of your ass and watch as it sways back and forth when you walk.
“I just don’t understand why you can’t ever bring anyone home for the holidays!”
His mother breaks him from his silent reverie of detailing every aspect of your backside.
“You know your grandmother will not be alive much longer! And all she wants is her only grandson to be happy and in love! And a few grandchildren won’t hurt!”
“I am her grandchild, Mom.”
She’s silent for a moment.
“Well, I wouldn’t mind some grandchildren either.”
He groans again and presses his fingers to his forehead, a headache bubbling up behind his eyes.
“Don’t you act like that, young man! You have a big empty house, big car, big life, and no one to share it with. I just want you to be happy.”
She continues on and Namjoon can’t help but let her words sink in.
He has it all. Expensive luxury apartment, enormous bed, gorgeous kitchen, money to spend on traveling and enjoying life. Yet he spends most of his time here, stuck in his office. He’s utterly alone, regardless of how many social guests he tries to entertain, horrid dates he attempts to go on. He’s always left alone, and he feels it deep at the very bottom of his heart—the loneliness and desire for a companion.
“Mom! Mom!” He interrupts her diatribe on the futility of his adult life. “Stop!”
“Namjoon, I’m just conce-”
“I’ll bring home my girlfriend for the holidays, okay?”
There’s a stunned silence on the other end.
“A girlfriend?” she asks, tentatively. “Really?”
“Yeah,” he breathes, wincing already at the lie he’s spoon-feeding his poor mother—all in the name of getting her off his back. “She’s kind of shy, so I didn’t want to tell you about her yet, but now seems like the best time. I’m... I’m even thinking of proposing.”
The words come out of Namjoon’s mouth before he can stop them. His mom bursts into screams of delight, and he can tell she’s running to his beloved grandmother to tell her the news.
“Oh, Namjoon! This is all we’ve ever wanted for you. I’m so proud of you! I can’t wait to meet her! Oh, goodness, I can’t want to tell your father. Goodbye, son! I’ll see you two soon!”
She hangs up before Namjoon has a chance to even breathe.
“Fuck.”
He drops his phone to his wooden desk and grimaces.
How the hell is he going to find a fiance in the next 3 days before the holiday break?
There’s Jennie, his ex.
He thinks about it for a moment, before quickly dismissing it. No, much too clingy and possessive. She’d take it to be real, and he’d be stuck with her.
His last hookup, Jihoo?
No, too aloof. His mom would never buy that they were a love-sick couple on the brink of engagement.
A crash outside his office startles Namjoon, making him stand and exit the large corner suite.
The commotion is coming from your cubicle, where he can see you’re struggling to use the decrepit computer. The crash must have been from you slamming the keyboard to the desk, causing the individual keys to pop off the board.
“Shit! Jimin, help me put this keyboard back together!”
You shimmy out of your chair and onto your knees, an excellent sight for Namjoon if he wasn’t so concerned about your well-being.
The paralegal is standing above you, watching as you kneel to gather the pieces of the obliterated keyboard.
“Oh no, honey. It’s against my personal constitution to be on my knees unless it’s for a handsome man.”
“God, Jimin, come on.”
“Hey, it’s not my fault you hulk-smashed the life out of that poor keyboard.”
Namjoon smirks, turning back into his office and sliding into his desk. He easily opens his MacBook and emails Yoongi in IT, requesting a brand new computer for your desk—no holds barred. He wants the top of the line for you.
He suddenly has just the person in mind to be his fake fiancée.
A brand new, gorgeous computer is at your desk the next day you arrive. You nearly spill your hot peppermint mocha when you see the sleek machine atop your old plastic desk instead of the broken clunker that was there the day before.
“What the hell?” You ask Jimin as you set your coffee down gently as if any movement might scare the new computer away. “Did you order this?”
“I love you, but I would never order you something this nice.”
You can’t help but roll your eyes as you sit down to marvel at the modern machinery. At least Jimin is honest.
“Maybe I’ll call Yoongi and ask him where it came from,” you wonder aloud, hand hovering over your phone.
“YOONGI?” Jimin screeches, eyes suddenly wide and crazed.
“Yeah? The IT guy?”
“I know who Yoongi is, you dumbass! Here, let me call him! I’m your assistant!”
He scrambles to grab the phone out of your hand.
“You literally refuse to do anything I ask.”
Jimin smiles cherubically, completely ignoring your confusion. He’s suddenly the picture of a model employee.
“Don’t you worry! I’ll be right on it!”
He hops from your desk with your cell phone gripped tight, and saunters away to a secluded area out of your eyesight.
“What the fuck is going on today?” You ask out loud, settling into your chair and unloading your bag of files.
“How's the new computer?”
The sudden intruder makes you jump, nearly spilling your coffee, yet again.
“Fuck!” You shriek as you attempt to right yourself and the dangerously hot liquid sloshing in the paper cup. “You scared me!”
The chuckle that comes from behind you makes your stomach flip. You know that laugh. You could recognize that laugh a hundred miles away, in a hurricane, with headphones on.
That laugh is the sultry demon himself, Kim Namjoon.
“I—How did you know about my computer?”
Namjoon takes a knee, bringing his face to your level in your chair. He’s close to you, so dangerously close. You can smell the Giorgio Armani cologne applied to his pressure points—the heat of his skin warming the scent and mingling with his own subtleties. Your eyes nearly roll back in your head. He smells so comforting—like a home you never knew you were missing until he arrived.
“I saw it when I walked in this morning.”
He breaks you from your daydreaming of warm, firm hands caressing your body and you’re thrown headfirst back into reality—the reality where you can’t stand the man mere inches from you.
You push back from where you are and stand, eager to get away from Namjoon’s sudden interest in close proximity. He smirks and rises from his spot, pocketing his hands in his tight cream suit.
“Care to join me in my office for some coffee?” He asks.
His office. The one he scored after he won the Kim Taehyung case. The bitter betrayal still lingers in your mouth.
For the longest time, you had been equal in every sense; both living in the dingy cubicles with the computers long-destined for retirement. Then, Seokjin awarded him with the corner office, the one with the view of the entire city. You’d never forgiven either of them.
“I have my own coffee.”
Namjoon smirks as he eyes your paper cup, clearly a quick grab from the 7-Eleven around the corner.
“Looks fancy.”
You purse your lips and clutch your coffee even closer.
“Please,” he asks again. “I need to talk to you. It’s important.”
Namjoon’s face loses its snark, and you’re curious about what could cause the man to become so serious.
“Fine.”
You motion with your arm towards his office, encouraging him to walk ahead. He smirks again, ah—there’s that smirk, before he turns and heads into the gorgeous corner room.
He lingers by the door as you enter, waiting until you’ve crossed the threshold to close the door behind you. It surprises you. Something about being in a closed room with Namjoon sets you on edge. You can nearly imagine the man bending you over that fine oak desk, hiking your skirt up and spanking your ass until it’s red.
“Coffee?” He asks as he moves towards the in-office espresso machine.
“Are you fucking kidding me? You have a Nespresso in your office?”
All desperate and wanton thoughts of Namjoon sliding into you leave once you see the stainless steel contraption in the room's corner. Of course he has a $500 coffee machine in his office. He has everything you want.
“You like it?” His question is cocky. He already knows the answer.
“Fuck off.”
Namjoon grins and turns the machine on, pulling out two mugs while you sip your now lukewarm coffee. It suddenly tastes disgusting.
“So, what’s the deal, Namjoon?” You ask as he rests against the wall and waits for the coffee to brew. “You said it was important.”
Namjoon nods, a more reserved look taking the place of his usual cocky grin on his face. His gaze turns down to his shiny dress shoes.
“I need a favor.”
“No.” Your answer is quick.
Namjoon looks up at you in surprise.
“You haven’t even heard it yet!”
“Yeah, well…,” you huff. “I’m not interested in helping you.”
Namjoon leaves his post by his elaborate coffee maker, forgetting about the piping-hot liquid drizzling into white mugs, as he stands in front of you. There’s that fucking cologne again. Why does he have to smell so good?
“You’ve got to help me. Please.”
His sudden closeness to you sets your brain off—your steely resolve begins to crumble.
“Fine, I’ll bite. What is it?”
His face lights up again. God, he has such a handsome mouth.
“I need you to pretend to be my girlfriend for my family Christmas party.”
If you hadn’t had such a good grip on the convenience store cup of coffee, it’d surely drop from your clutch and splatter on the expensive carpet of Namjoon’s office.
Your eyes widen, and your mouth falls agape.
“You—You what?!”
Namjoon sighs and lowers his voice.
“Look, I…” he struggles. “I told my mom I have a girlfriend, so she’d get off my back about it.”
“And why am I suddenly your best option for that?!”
You step away from the man, determined to clear your mind as the scenario weaves its way through your head.
Namjoon’s girlfriend. He wants you to be his girlfriend.
Well, his fake girlfriend.
He would hold your hand. He would kiss you. He would touch your body in ways you convince yourself you don’t think of often.
“You’re the only girl I know who’s got a good enough poker face to go along with it. And honestly… you’re the only girl I really know well enough.”
His last admission shocks you. Namjoon seems like the womanizing type—one to bring a different girl home every night.
“That doesn’t explain why the fuck I would want to help you.”
Namjoon steps back and moves towards the coffee machine again.
“If you help me, I’ll take all your shitty cases that Jin is giving you.”
Your eyes narrow at the tall man. It seems too good to be true.
“How d'you know about them?”
Namjoon shrugs and grabs a mug full of freshly brewed expensive coffee.
“I can hear you complain to Jimin about it every day.”
You grumble under your breath, sucking on your teeth as you try to process the terms of Namjoon’s deal.
“So you want me to be your fake girlfriend for your family…” you muse.
“Yes,” he agrees. “And I’ll do all your worst cases for the next 2 months. I’ll even give you my next big one. I know you want that.”
God, he’s right. That’s all you want. A chance to prove yourself to Seokjin, to the company.
With an aggravated sigh, you relent.
“Fine! But it better be a good fucking case. And, I’m using your coffee maker every morning.”
Namjoon can’t help but chuckle, loving the fire in your voice.
“Deal?” He murmurs.
He holds out his hand to shake on it, and it takes you by surprise how warm and soft his large hands are once you slide your own into his grip.
“Deal.”
Jimin is not going to let you live this one down.
Jimin doesn’t let you live it down.
He’s sitting on your couch, legs crossed underneath him as he hoists his wine glass filled to the brim. He holds it away from his body as he shakes with laughter.
“You’re telling me,” he wheezes. “That you agreed to be Namjoon’s fake Christmas girlfriend? You hate that man!”
Flopping into the couch beside him, you sigh.
“Yeah, well, it was my only option. He made me an offer I couldn’t refuse.”
“Okay, Godfather,” Jimin snickers. “Lord knows you still want to bone that man, anyway.”
“Jimin!” You admonish. “I do not! And that wasn’t the deal!”
He sips at his red wine with an impish smile. You hate it when Jimin looks at you like that, like he can see behind the lie you’ve so carefully crafted of your hatred for Namjoon.
“Then tell me, what was the deal?”
You fiddle with the stem of your own wine glass, sighing.
“He’s offered to take all our shitty personal injury suits for the next two months. And he’s giving me his next big case.”
Jimin actually looks surprised—as if he didn’t expect Namjoon to provide a deal so worth the cost.
“Wow,” he breathes.
You nod in reply, taking a large gulp of the pinot grigio in your glass.
“You’re still going to fuck him though, I know it,” Jimin adds.
You splutter your wine from your mouth, hand reaching over to gently slap Jimin on his taut abdomen.
“Shut up!” You cry.
Jimin looks proud of himself, sipping his red wine gleefully while he settles further into your couch. Wine nights with Jimin is the highlight of your weeks. Together, you bitch over cases, coworkers, dating struggles, and eat too much cheese and cured meats and nurse a hangover the following day with brunch.
“Hey,” you say to Jimin as you set your wine down on the coffee table. “Did you ever talk to Yoongi?”
Jimin’s cheeks immediately turn a shade of rouge.
“Yoongi? Yoongi who?”
“Oh my god,” you groan. “Yoongi from IT. You stole my phone to call him today? To ask about my new computer?”
Jimin swallows a large swig of his wine.
“Oh. Yes, I did.”
“And?” You encourage the blonde to answer further.
“And he’s doing well,” Jimin replies demurely.
“Jimin!” You huff. “The computer?!”
Jimin makes an ‘O’ shape with his mouth and bites his lip.
“I… might have forgotten to ask.”
Your mouth drops open.
“You literally stole my phone out of my hands to call him! What did you talk about?!”
There’s his blush again. The shade of pink on Jimin’s cheeks would be adorable if you weren’t so flabbergasted by his answers.
“I have a date tomorrow night.” He takes another sip as you let the reply sink in.
“Oh. My. God.” You gasp, a smile now overtaking your features. “You have a crush on Min Yoongi!”
Jimin sets his wine glass down next to yours and turns to you.
“I had no idea if he was into me! But when I called, I totally forgot why I was calling him and we sort of just… started talking and next thing I know, he’s asking me out to dinner tomorrow night.”
You playfully slap at Jimin’s thigh.
“You little slut—using my phone to get yourself a date. On company time!”
Jimin sticks his tongue out at you, before grabbing a pillow and slapping you with the overstuffed cushion.
“At least I didn’t agree to be his fake girlfriend!”
It’s the sound of your phone ringing at 7:32 am that wakes you from your spot on the couch, wine glass still clutched in your hand.
“What the fuck?” You grumble, eyes blearily seeking the offending object disturbing your sleep.
Jimin grumbles next to you, kicking at your foot as if it will stop the phone from ringing.
“Stop,” he whines and cuddles into his fetal position. “Turn it ooooff.”
You locate your cell phone and groan as you recognize the name on the caller ID. Namjoon. What the fuck could he possibly be calling for? And why did he have to call at seven in the goddamn morning?
“What do you want?” You snap as you hold the phone to your cheek and throw yourself back onto the couch.
“Well, good morning to you, sunshine.”
Namjoon’s voice, as sexy and sultry as it sounds, still aggravates you.
“Why are you calling me? It’s Saturday. Its seven am.”
Namjoon chuckles and you fight the shiver that works through your spine at the sound.
“I tend to keep human hours on the weekend.”
You can’t hold back the sarcastic guffaw that escapes you.
“Okay, Mr. Perfect,” you sigh. “That doesn’t explain calling me.”
Jimin kicks at your foot again.
“Stop talking,” he grumbles.
God, Jimin is such a diva when he’s hungover.
“Meet me at the cafe on First Street,” Namjoon says casually. “I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Right now?!” You ask, incredulous.
“I’m literally already here. Hurry before your coffee gets cold.”
You let out a whine that could rival a 5-year-old’s temper tantrum.
“Fuck you. I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
There’s no care about your phone when you end the call and throw it to the floor. Jimin grumbles and rubs at his eyes.
“Why the fuck are you having phone sex with Namjoon so early in the morning?” He asks.
“Jimin, I swear to God.”
He wraps himself in the throw blanket and buries his face back into the couch while you stand and retreat to your bedroom to throw on some semblance of appropriate clothing for the occasion.
“Fucking Namjoon,” you grumble under your breath as you change into jeans and a sweater. “Fuck him and his stupid, sexy face. And his unbelievable ass. And his stupid, probably enormous penis. Man, I hate him.”
As you’re re-entering the living room and grabbing your important items (keys, wallet, lip gloss just in-case), Jimin pops his head out of his blanket cave.
“Where are you going?” He asks, suddenly less annoyed and more pathetic. “You’re leaving me?”
“I have to go meet Namjoon for coffee. I don’t know why, so don’t ask.”
“You’re really going to let me suffer here? Alone? With no coffee?”
You spin around to face your best friend, who’s giving you an absolutely soul-crushing pout and puppy eyes.
“Yes. Call Yoongi.”
His precious pout is wiped away, and a devious smirk takes its place.
“Great idea!” He says as he digs around for his phone. “Be careful out there! It’s icy! Wouldn’t want you to slip and fall on Namjoon’s dick.”
Your only reply is one singular middle finger in Jimin’s direction as you exit your apartment.
Namjoon can’t help but smile as he sips his warm coffee. The cafe is warm and bright, despite the chill outside.
Things feel peaceful. Tender flakes of snow trickle down outside and frost up the shop’s window. There’s something about this time of year that strikes him down to the core. Something cozy, something warm.
It’s odd to think this will be his first year not celebrating the holiday alone.
Even if it is... well, fake.
The bell over the door chimes an arrival, and Namjoon can tell by the grumbles and grunts and stomps of snowy boots that it’s you.
“Over here!” He calls, raising a hand and turning to face you.
Wow, he thinks. You look gorgeous, even without trying.
You hurry your way over to the booth and plop yourself on the opposite side, immediately lunging for the obvious mug of coffee waiting for you on the table. You don’t waste a minute gulping the liquid down your throat, then spluttering when you realize it’s still hot.
“I thought you said it was getting cold!” You cry, airing out your burnt tongue. Namjoon can’t help but imagine that tongue sliding up and down his cock.
Not now. Wrong time and place to get a boner.
Namjoon smiles as he sips his cappuccino.
“I got you a fresh one.”
You make a face, but your features soften. As if you’re pleased with the idea that Namjoon cared to freshen up your cup.
“Oh, well--”, you manage. “Thank you.”
Namjoon doesn’t reply, but merely tips his head. The silence is thick enough to cut with a knife. Normally, you’re both normally so wound up in aggravating the other that a moment of calm is strange, but not unwelcome.
“So, why the early morning wake up?” You finally ask, fiddling with the handle of the mug.
Namjoon settles his cup down.
“We need to get to know each other. Deep shit, you know. The shit that lovers would know about each other.”
He notices you, watches as you nibble at your lip. You try hard to hide it behind the mug you lift to your lips, but Namjoon notices.
“I’m hoping maybe we could spend the day together,” he adds. “I need to get some Christmas gifts for my family and… well, it’s rather lonely doing it on my own.”
There’s a slight smile at the ends of your lips.
“And you needed me at seven thirty in the morning to do that?”
He stifles a laugh.
“Like I said, I operate at regular human hours. Even on weekends,” he replies.
With a dramatic sigh, you agree.
“Fine,” you say. “I’m an open book. Ask me anything.”
He watches as you settle into the seat of the booth, hands gripping the warm mug like it’s a personal heater. He notices you’re only wearing jeans and a sweater--no properly warm clothing for the snow storm ahead. He’ll have to fix that, and soon.
“What are you doing for Christmas?” He asks.
You level a look.
“Spending it pretending to be in love with you.”
Namjoon can’t help but snort a laugh.
“I meant after that.”
You shrug as you settle back into the seat.
“I don’t like Christmas. I don’t do much other than force Jimin to kiss me under the mistletoe and watch shitty movies with a gallon of boxed wine.”
“Hmm,” he hums. “You’re sort of a Grinch.”
A scowl comes over your face.
“I am not! I just don’t buy into this whole ‘prove how much you love me by buying me things’ shit. It’s a big scheme, I tell you! Capitalist propaganda! They encourage you to spend all your money, and if you don’t, they shame and guilt you by telling you you don’t love your family enough.”
Namjoon can’t help but laugh as you rant. It’s what makes you such a talented lawyer—your ability to feel a passion so deep within you you’re able to convince a stone-faced jury of your side.
“Don’t laugh at me!” You cry. “I’m serious! My family doesn’t celebrate, I don’t celebrate. I’d rather just buy gifts for my loved ones when I see something they’d like. Why do we have to put a time of year on it?”
He shrugs and scooches his mug around the carbonate table.
“I suppose that makes sense,” he muses. “But you’re still a Grinch. And a Scrooge. You’ll definitely get visited by some Ghosts at midnight.”
“Ha ha,” you snark sarcastically. “Hilarious, Namjoon. Don’t tell me you’re a big festive guy.”
“Somewhat. It’s my Mom’s favorite holiday. It’s why she’s so bent out of shape about me having a girlfriend. Something about family and love and shit.”
You nod, understanding him completely. Your own mother, despite her reservations towards the holiday, still makes a fuss over your single status. There must be some Mom code to obsess over your children’s woeful dating life.
“Well, I say let’s get on with it then. Ready to hit the shops?” He asks.
You’re mid-sip of your finally cooled coffee and you send a desperate look to the man in front of you.
“Already?!”
“We’re burning daylight, baby.”
Namjoon stands and you can’t help but feel a roar of flames in your belly at the pet-name. Your cheeks are surely flaming up and you admonish yourself for getting so peaked about such a trivial name.
“Please don’t tell me we’re walking,” you murmur as you sneak a peek outside.
The snow is falling down harder now, and you’re dreadfully underdressed for the weather.
Namjoon tsks at your lack of outerwear, but then shakes his head.
“No, we’ll take my Range Rover.”
You roll your eyes and grimace.
“Of course. You have a fucking Nespresso machine and a Range Rover. Asshole.”
Namjoon doesn’t even think about it as he grabs your hand and laces his fingers in between yours. If anyone asked, he’d say it’s practice—to familiarize himself with the way your fingers slot between his own so it’s not such a foreign concept when he does it in front of his family.
“Yeah, but I’m your asshole now, princess.”
Christmas shopping with Namjoon is mostly painless.
Normally, you dread the lines and the crowds and the confusion and the expense.
But with Namjoon, you relax and banter away with the tall lawyer. You’re completely at ease as you walk through crowded aisles and sort through racks of cashmere sweaters and stacks of fuzzy blankets.
“Mom will love this, don’t you think?” Namjoon asks, holding up a thick, exquisite looking blanket.
You’re about to answer with an affirmative when you catch yourself. You don’t even know his mom. You’ve never met the woman. Why does it feel as if Namjoon is someone you’ve known your entire life?
Why do things feel so easy with him?
“Sure, Namjoon,” you reply. “Seems like something most mother’s would be into.”
He smiles at you. It’s a genuine smile too, one that nearly knocks you on your ass. Your body is sent into overdrive constantly. He holds your hand, he places his hand at the small of your back to guide you through a thick crowd. He calls you baby and princess and doll.
It’s confusing.
It’s amazing.
You can’t tell if you love it or hate it.
Namjoon pushes the shopping cart and walks beside you, chatting easily about his various aunts and uncles names that you likely must remember at some point but you just can’t think about anything but Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon.
You hate him. He stole that corner office from you. He’s going to take the promotion you want from right under your nose. He has a goddamn Nespresso in his office and a Range Rover.
And yet, you can’t help but fall in place next to him and listen to him tell stories of his childhood, weaving tales of uncles who snuck him his first sips of alcohol and aunts who spoil him rotten. He’s easy to listen to, a natural story-teller. Your body feels warm, as if you’re sitting on a large hearth by a roaring fire. He’s comforting.
It’s infuriating and wonderful all at once.
“And that’s when my cousin Jungkook got caught smoking cigarettes. My grandma beat our ass so bad I couldn’t sit for a day.”
Namjoon finishes his story and turns to look at you. You’ve been staring at the man for nearly a minute straight now.
“Hey,” his voice is soft. “You listening?”
You shake out of the trance Namjoon’s deep voice sends you into.
“Yeah!” You reply with a smirk. “Sounds like this Jungkook is a guy I’d like to meet.”
Namjoon sucks his teeth and nudges you.
“Hey, you’re my girlfriend, remember.”
You stick your tongue out at him playfully.
“Fake girlfriend. I’m still a single, desirable lady at the end of the day.”
Namjoon hesitates before answering. He wants to reply something snarky, something sarcastic and witty. But he takes a moment to pause, allows himself to fully immerse himself in you. Even hungover, in yesterday’s jeans and an old sweater, you’re still an absolute catch. You’re the definition of desirable and Namjoon can’t help but allow himself to desire.
“Hmm, is that what you call it?” He asks, now allowing the sarcasm to permeate his words. “I was thinking you’re more of the spinster, cat-lady type.”
“Hey!” You pout as you slap at his arm. “I’m allergic to cats!”
“But you don’t deny being a spinster.”
“Fuck you, Namjoon.”
He grins and pushes the carts towards the candle aisle, a sure-fire gift for his aunties.
“In due time, my love.”
By the time Christmas Eve arrives, you’ve spent nearly every day with Namjoon. At work, he brings you fresh coffee from his Nespresso and buys you lunch. You’ve even landed his big case, an incredibly complex lawsuit that will showcase your skills. Namjoon gives you pointers and space to talk through the case with him.
Namjoon is, in fact, simply being kind. And it unsettles you.
Your heart and brain are at war with each other constantly. You should hate him, loathe him. He’s going to nail that promotion regardless of what you prove to Seokjin.
But your heart tells you he deserves it. He’s an incredible attorney and has earned every ounce of respect. You want Namjoon to get that promotion just to see that smile on his face. He’d do incredible things as Seokjin’s protege to take over the firm.
You hate to admit it, but Namjoon has melted the ice around your heart. And you’re dreading the day after all this is over, because it will be the day Namjoon stops holding you close and pressing soft kisses to your temple. It will be the day he stops pretending this is all real.
It’s Christmas Eve and you’re sitting in Namjoon’s expensive Range Rover, plush leather seat toasty from the built-in seat warmer. You can’t help but marvel at the way the oncoming headlights brighten up Namjoon’s features as he drives you down a snowy mountain lane. They always hold the Kim family holiday party at Namjoon’s late grandfather’s cabin in the mountains, a quiet getaway for the family to gather and spend the night together to wake up on Christmas morning and gather around for presents and food.
Which means waking up to Kim Namjoon.
It’s something you’ve dreamt of often, but denied yourself any actual possibility of it. Namjoon was always out of reach, and it was easier to hate him for his success he rightfully deserved than it was to admit the feelings that were always inside.
And now, although it’s artificial, you can’t bear to think of not spending your time with Namjoon anymore.
You steal a glance again at him, and smile as you hear his faint humming. He loves Christmas music. You learned that early in the week during another early morning coffee and ‘get to know you’ before work. Namjoon couldn’t stop singing Mariah Carey’s classic pop song under his breath as it played over the speakers in the cafe.
“It’s so pretty up here,” you muse as you force your vision away from Namjoon’s gorgeous face to the snowy scenery outside.
The snow is falling gently, not enough to cause a blizzard but enough to make it seem like you’re trapped in a picturesque snow-globe. Leaving the city and entering the magical forest stirs an emotion inside you you hadn’t felt in some time.
It’s Christmas Eve and there’s just something magical.
Ugh. Unbelievable.
Namjoon has even made you actually enjoy Christmas.
He nods. “Yeah, it’s my favorite place in the world, I think.”
“I can see why,” you sigh. “It looks like a painting.”
Namjoon glances over at you peering through the window. His heart hammers in his chest hard as your glittering eyes bounce around from tree to tree, a pretty smile on your face. The diamond ring in his pocket feels like it weighs a literal ton and he nibbles at his lip.
He bought it for the showmanship of it all, initially. It was his first purchase he made when he set up this whole rouse.
But now, it feels real. It feels like he’s really about to get on one knee and ask you, the girl he’s absolutely head over heels for, to marry him.
And then it will be over.
He’ll make up some story to tell his mom about how it didn’t work out and you’ll go back to being his coworker, and nothing more.
Namjoon can’t fight the sinking feeling in his stomach.
Nothing more.
He pulls into the driveway before you even have time to realize you’re there. He puts the car in park and smiles over at you.
He looks so cute in his puffy winter coat, hair pushed to the side and a smile that’s all dimples and cheeks.
Fuck.
“We’re here,” he whispers. “You ready?”
Suddenly, the nerves of meeting your fake boyfriend’s entire family slap you right in the face. You hope that you’re a good enough actress to get Namjoon through the night and into the morning.
“Ready as I’ll ever be.”
He nods and squeezes your hand, an unspoken comforting ‘I got you’.
Namjoon gathers his wrapped gifts and stacks them all in his arms, ignoring your pleas and giggles to help carry them in.
“No, no,” he assures. “I have to make sure my mom sees me being manly and helpful.”
As if on cue, the front door opens and Mrs. Kim is bursting out into the snowy night.
“Namjoon!” She shrieks, completely overjoyed. The rest of the family is standing by the door, eyeing you carefully with smiles and whispers. You pray to whatever Christmas God that’s listening that you can do this.
Namjoon sets the pile of gifts down just in time to wrap his delicate and tiny mother in his arms, hugging her tightly while she gleefully buries her face into her tall son’s chest.
“Oh, my son, I’ve missed you.”
Namjoon kisses the crown of her head and smiles.
“Missed you too, eomma.”
The scene has you misty-eyed and you swipe at your eyes to stop the tears. There’s no way you’re ruining the fantastic makeup you did for the occasion, but the reunion of Namjoon and his mother is heart-warming. He clearly cares for his mother more than he would outwardly admit.
Namjoon and his mother unwrap from each other and Namjoon turns towards you.
“Everyone, this is ____,” he breathes. “My girlfriend.”
His mother’s gleeful squeals now turn to you, and within an instant she’s gathering you up in just as tight of a hug as she did to her son.
“Oh, darling, we are so happy to meet you,” she beams.
The excitement in her voice makes you feel bad—like you’re conning an old woman out of her retirement. You’re instilling a sense of hope in the kind woman, and you can’t help but send Namjoon a look as you wrap your arms around her and return the embrace. His eyes sparkle with something you can’t read.
“I’m happy to meet you too,” you smile as you pull apart. “Thank you for letting me come.”
“No thanks necessary,” she admonishes with a wink. “We had to beg Namjoon to bring you. It seems he wants to keep you all to himself.”
“Eomma!” Namjoon snaps. “Be appropriate!”
She nudges you with her elbow knowingly, which makes your cheeks flame hot, before she leads the way back into the house.
“Come in, come in! Let’s get out of this snow.”
Namjoon encourages you to step inside with a gentle hand at the small of your back—a touch that makes your body light up brighter than a Christmas tree.
“Thank you,” he whispers in your ear from behind. You can feel the warmth of his lips and your body reacts.
How is it that any simple act makes you desperately horny for the man? You pray for some respite from your sexual frustration over the next day. How are you going to last over 24 hours?
Namjoon deposits his massive haul of gifts under the tree and returns to your side, wrapping an arm around your shoulders to bring you close. He introduces you to uncles and aunts and cousins. He even introduces you to his infamous cousin, Jungkook, who smirks at you in a way that makes Namjoon pull you in closer to his body.
“Are you doing okay?” Namjoon finally asks after the rush of relatives greeting you dies down. He turns you towards him, to face him directly with his hands on either of your shoulders. “You’re killing it.”
You can’t help but smile. Namjoon’s family is all incredibly kind and funny. They welcome you into the family with ease and it chips away a little more each time at your heart.
Because this is all fake.
One day, Namjoon really will have a girlfriend to bring to Christmas and to show off to his relatives and it won’t be you. You’ll be back at your apartment, watching shitty TV re-runs and binging on Chinese takeout, as you do every year. It’s a jab at your heart each time the bitter truth rears its ugly head.
“Yeah,” you nod. “I’m great.”
“Look!” Jungkook shouts. “They’re standing under the mistletoe!”
Namjoon blushes a shade of red that likely matches a blush on your own cheeks. Sure enough, the green branches of the mistletoe taunt you from above.
You’ve never kissed Namjoon before. In all the skinship and closeness of the last week, you’ve still yet to close the gap to kissing the man.
“Oh, come on Kook, that’s a stupid tradition,” Namjoon murmurs awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck.
Jungkook smirks as he steps up next to you.
“Well, if you’re not going to do it, I’d be more than happy to take your place.”
Jungkook wraps a loose arm around you and gives you a charming smile. He must be very popular with the ladies, you think. That’s a charming smile.
“Hey!” Namjoon grabs for your hand and tugs you out of Jungkook’s predatory gaze. “She’s my girlfriend.”
Namjoon looks at you for a moment, assessing your comfort level with everything about to take place. His lips look so inviting, so plush and warm. Now that you’re thinking about kissing him, you can’t help but focus on the way his lips pucker so gently and naturally.
And then it happens. Namjoon lowers his face towards you and it feels as if the world is in slow-motion. It’s happening.
The first press of his lips is soft and conservative. You take a split second to register, but instinctively you press against his lips with determination and wrap your arms around his neck to deepen the kiss.
He groans softly as you trail your tongue out to seek purchase in his mouth, and he opens for you without hesitation. His hands grip at your waist and bring your body flush against his. You can feel his cock twitching and rising from the kiss that’s gone from innocent and playful to passionate and deep. It feels like the world around you has stopped and the only thing that matters is Namjoon, his mouth, his body against your own. He tastes like hot chocolate and peppermint, and you want more, more.
“Oh my god, stop,” Jungkook’s voice shatters your illusion of being all alone with Namjoon. “Now you’re just showing off.”
Namjoon pulls away from you, eyes dazed as he tries to right himself.
“You two are just so perfect for each other,” Namjoon’s mother says, who’s suddenly appeared in Jungkook’s place. “Let me show you your bedroom.”
“Oh, we’re sharing?” You ask without thought. It’s a large house, with ample bedrooms surely for you to have your own space.
Namjoon nudges you in the ribs gently, eyes widening and mouthing a ‘what the fuck do you mean?’
“Of course dear, don’t be silly,” his mother replies with an eyebrow waggle and a chuckle. “I remember when your father and I were dating. He would sneak into my room after my parents went to bed and keep me up all night long. Your grandfather would ask me if I had terrible dreams that night, because I looked so tired.”
Namjoon makes a face. “Eomma, please,” he begs. “Please don’t talk about my parents like that.”
As his mother guides you down a long hallway, your mind is whirring with too many thoughts of Namjoon, of sharing a bedroom with Namjoon, of seeing his sleeping face and waking up next to him. It’s all too much, too overwhelming. You pray there’s a couch in the room you could sleep on, because you’re far too weak and you’d rather fight the desperation in your body than face the fact that you want nothing more than to curl right into Namjoon’s strong arms and let him hold you all night to sleep.
Fuck.
“Here we are!”
His mother opens the door with grace, and flicks on the light. The room is beautiful in its simplicity. A king sized bed, a fireplace, and a balcony with a view of the sprawling snowy scene outside. It’s cozy and warm and decorated with its own Christmas tree.
“Wow,” is all you can muster.
“Aish, Mom,” Namjoon sighs as he drops his bags. “You didn’t need to do all of this for us.”
Mrs. Kim holds his hand in both of hers. “Well, I know how special this Christmas is going to be,” she winks. “I want you to enjoy your time here. Now, I’ll leave you two alone for a bit. Dinner is in an hour, so ‘freshen up’!”
Another wink, and Namjoon makes another face. She definitely wants grandchildren, that much is for certain.
She closes the door behind her and you’re left standing in the room, overnight bag in hand.
“This is—Wow, this is amazing.”
You’ve never experienced Christmas like this—with decorations and warmth and family. It’s as if the love of the Kim family permeates the very walls of the expansive cabin, like it’s built into the foundation itself. For a moment, you allow yourself to soak it all in. This is all yours. It’s your Christmas and you finally understand why so many make such a fuss over it. The results are nothing short of remarkable.
“Yeah, she really does the most,” Namjoon laughs.
He takes the bag from your hand without your notice and you step towards the balcony to peer into the night. The landscape looks as if everything has been covered in soft marshmallow. The snow is untouched—picture perfect.
“I’ve never had anything like this before.”
Namjoon settles your bag and his on the bed, watching as you soak in your own wonder. The smile on your face is not one he sees often, one of pure joy. Namjoon swallows hard as he realizes he wants to be the one to always put that smile on your face.
“Not such a Scrooge after all, eh?”
You turn from the still-life view outside and back to Namjoon, where he stands at the foot of the bed. He looks so different outside the office. He’s wearing skinny jeans and a flannel shirt, his puffy jacket hanging by the door. No cream suit, no slicked back hair or shoes shiny enough to see your reflection. Just simply Namjoon.
He’s no longer the man who steals the limelight in the office. He’s no longer the man you see as your adversary or your rival.
He’s the man who’s showing you the magic of Christmas, the spirit of love and kindness that embodies the season.
He’s the man you’ve fallen in love with.
And yet, he’s the man who will leave once this is over and return to his proper life, and you to yours. He’ll return to sleeping with models and movie starlets, and you’ll return to binge watching Great British Bake-Off with Jimin and a carton of Chicken Tikka Masala.
And Christmas will never feel as special as it does now.
So, you’re determined to soak in it for a little longer. It’s going to hurt regardless, so why not push that hurt off until tomorrow and allow yourself to pretend you live the lie you’re spinning for Namjoon’s family?
“I think I’ll just freshen up and change into my dinner outfit, then?” You ask out loud, grabbing for your overnight bag and heading towards the ensuite.
Namjoon, who expected a witty retort, takes a moment to reply.
“Oh,” he coughs. “Yeah, sure. I’ll err—, I’ll just get ready out here.”
You quickly escape into the bathroom, closing the door and resting on it as you exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding.
The tension in the bedroom with Namjoon was too thick, too powerful, especially after the kiss you just shared. His cock had been there, straining in his jeans as you licked into his mouth. The kiss felt so natural, as if you had always kissed Namjoon like that. Your heart beats loud and hard in your chest just from the thought of it.
You really needed to get a handle over yourself. You still have dinner to get through, and an entire night in a bedroom with Namjoon. A bed with Namjoon.
No, you won’t allow yourself to go that far. You can pretend you’re his girlfriend, but all thoughts of his delectable body doing scintillating things to yours is strictly off-limits. You shake all thoughts of a thick, heavy cock sliding into your mouth and warm hands spreading you open, and set about fixing your makeup and changing into the gorgeous cocktail dress you purchased for the occasion. It wasn’t often you got to get dressed up. The emerald green velvet dress clings to your body and highlights your curves. It’s a sexy dress, definitely, but also appropriate for a formal evening with your boyfriend’s parents.
Well, your fake boyfriend. Right.
After fixing your hair and buckling your heels, you take one last glimpse in the mirror for good luck and exit the room.
Your breath is nearly knocked out of your lungs as you see Namjoon.
You’ve seen him dressed up for court and for TV appearances millions of times, but you’ve never seen him like this.
He wears a blood red button up without a tie, a few buttons open to emphasize the casual look, tucked into the tightest and sexiest slacks you’ve ever seen. They hug his thighs and sit at a spot on his waist that you just know is rippling with cut lines from his work in the gym. His hair is tucked back with a bit of hairspray, and he’s fixing the sleeves of his shirt when he sees you.
His eyes widen and his hands fall to his sides as he soaks in your appearance.
An absolute vision.
He can see the gentle valley between your breasts and the way your dress pushes up your cleavage and displays your collar. The dress follows the delicate curve of your waist and hips and ends at your knee, but teases him with a glimpse of thigh that has him wiping his mouth in case he’s drooling.
“You look incredible,” Namjoon murmurs as you step closer.
“So do you.”
You swallow hard as he continues closer to you, breathing harshly as he stands right in front of you. You could reach out and unbuckle his expensive slacks and fist his cock right there. You’d fall on your knees for him, if he asked.
There’s a moment of silence as Namjoon’s face inches closer and closer to your own, each unable to verbalize just how desperate either of you feel for the other.
“Namjoon, I—,” you start. You want to tell him. You want to tell him everything—that you don’t want this to be fake, that you want this to be real, and you want to be his and his forever.
“Yes?”
You swallow hard, shaken by just how close his lips are to yours. He’s inches away and all you can focus on is the way his plush lips look and how well they fit against your own under the mistletoe.
“I just—, I really um, I’m just very…”
You’re not making sense. Comprehension of language is quickly soaring out the window because the only words you know are ‘Please, for the love of God, kiss me and make me yours’, but you can’t bring yourself to speak them out loud.
Namjoon’s hand cups your cheek, as if he can tell what you’re trying to say.
“Yeah,” he breathes. The inches between you turn to centimeters, to bare millimeters. Your eyes flutter close as you feel his breath dance over your lips and your heart beats so loud you’re sure the entire household can hear it. He’s right there and moves in to close the distance—
“Knock Knock!!”
The forceful, cheery voice of cousin Jungkook forces both of you to jump away from each other as if you’ve touched a burning stove. Your head feels light, like you’ve forgotten to breathe for the last ten minutes and you’ve suddenly taken in too much air.
The wooden door squeaks open and Jungkook pokes his head in, a shit-eating grin on his face.
“Auntie sent me to get you. It’s dinnertime!”
Namjoon rubs his face frustratedly. “Yes, thank you, Jungkook.”
Jungkook doesn’t leave, however. He smiles at you and winks.
“Would you like an escort to dinner, madame? You look tastier than the roast beef downstairs.”
A blush creeps over your cheeks as Namjoon storms to the door where his cousin laughs.
“That’s enough, Kook. We’ll be down in a minute.”
He sends you one more grin, then retreats from the door and closes it behind him.
“Sorry about that,” Namjoon apologizes. You’re not sure what he’s apologizing for—Jungkook, or the moment before.
“It’s alright. Let’s go?”
Namjoon nods and holds out his hand with a smile.
“Let’s go, girlfriend.”
Dinner with the Kim family is as delightful as every other interaction with them has been. They’re polite and funny and ask questions about your life and your family.
They ask how you met Namjoon (at work), what your favorite quality about him is (his smile and his ass), and what your first date together was (coffee at seven in the morning).
You tell stories of Namjoon in the office, of your best friend Park Jimin who’s secretly trying to date the IT manager, of your parents and Christmases past.
By the time dessert is served, Namjoon’s mother looks at you as if you’ve put the very stars in the sky.
Namjoon doesn’t miss that look either. He can see the way his family is falling in love with you and somewhere deep in his stomach, he feels the guilt rising. All of this is a lie. Not only is he going to break his own heart, but every heart of his family member’s too.
“We’re all just so overjoyed that Namjoon has found someone to share his life with,” his mom speaks softly. It’s the first time she’s been thoughtful and quiet. She’s a woman who’s larger than life, you’ve found, so the softness in her tone strikes a chord. “You’re absolutely perfect for him. I’ve never seen him happier.”
Fuck.
“Thank you,” you murmur sincerely to his mother. “I’ve never been happier.”
Namjoon peers up from where he’s been pushing around his uncle’s famous chocolate cake on his plate to watch as you speak.
“Truthfully, I never cared much for Christmas. I thought it was a rubbish holiday and spent it alone every year with a bottle of wine and some takeout. Namjoon really changed that for me,” you smile at the man and place your hand in his lap to hold his free hand. “He showed me more about Christmas in one week than I’ve felt in my entire life.”
Namjoon’s mom wipes away an errant tear and he squeezes your hand under the table.
“I guess the Grinch’s heart has grown 3 sizes, after all.”
Namjoon’s joke lightens the soft mood, and suddenly there’s chatter around as the family members move about to wash dishes and clean up the mess of dinner. Everyone leaves the table except for you and Namjoon.
“That was some good acting,” he whispers with a sad smile.
“Right,” you whisper back, nibbling your lip anxiously. “Acting, of course.”
You should have thought through the bedroom sharing thing more.
Because sharing a bedroom is one thing.
And sharing a bed is another.
And of course, the only pajamas you thought to bring tonight is a very sexy long shirt that says “no coffee, no talking” with a bedazzled pair of shushing lips. That’s it. Just a single shirt. Not even a pair of shorts or pajama pants.
You slip into the bed first, as far onto one side of it as possible. It’s a king sized bed, and it still feels too intimate, too close.
Namjoon exits the bathroom after his shower, rubbing at his wet hair with a towel. He’s shirtless, wearing only a pair of flannel pajamas, leaving his bare chest on display.
Sweet lord in heaven, you nearly cry out loud. He’s absolutely ripped, pecs defined and droplets of water from his hair streaming down. You want to chase each drop with your tongue and circle back again. You shut your eyes tight and clench your teeth. Why, oh why, does he have to look so fucking sexy at a time like this?
Namjoon sees you at the edge of the bed, shutting your eyes closed like you’re a shy schoolgirl afraid to see a naked man’s body. He feels guilty for making you be here. He knows you’ve likely got better things to do than spend time with a man you openly hate.
“I’m sorry,” he apologizes for nothing in particular.
You ignore it. Instead, you’re trying to think of every un-sexy thing in the world you can possibly imagine. Taxes, a bunch of bees, old people, shark attacks.
There’s absolutely nothing that can stop the image of Namjoon’s perfectly sculpted body from bursting into your mind. You’re nearly pleading with yourself to just go to sleep and contemplate how hard you’d need to hit your head to knock yourself out as fast as possible.
“I’ll sleep on the floor,” he says as he grabs a small throw blanket from the closet and throws it to the ground by the fire.
It snaps you from your musings of how best to forget how badly you want to suck Namjoon’s cock through his pajama pants.
“What?” You sit up in the posh bed and finally make eye-contact. “Why? It’s freezing. There’s a literal snowstorm outside.” You motion to the window of the balcony. What was once a gentle snowfall is now a full-on winter storm.
“There’s a fire. I’ll be fine, I sleep hot anyway.” Namjoon’s voice is low and without energy. He almost sounds sad.
God, is being with you that hard for him? You know you’re just the artificial replacement until he has the real thing, but you’d actually hoped Namjoon had found it as comforting and warm as you had.
“Namjoon,” you sigh. “This is a king-sized bed. You don’t need to be waking up with back pain because you gallantly slept on the floor.”
To emphasize your point, you tug back the blankets on the other side, beckoning him to join.
He hesitates for a moment, as if he’s weighing the pro’s and con’s and sliding into bed next to you in his mind, then stands and pads his way on the plush carpet towards the bed and slips in.
There’s an entire football field of distance between you two in the bed, but it feels like he’s right beside you. You imagine sliding in right next to him, wrapping your arms around his taut chest and pressing soft kisses to his stomach.
You squeeze your eyes closed again. Stop it, you horny slut.
“Thank you, again.” Namjoon breaks the silence. “I really appreciate you helping me out.”
“Yeah,” you swallow hard. “Of course. What else was I going to do? Jimin’s probably sucking Yoongi’s dick right now, so I’d be watching baking shows alone.”
Namjoon laughs for a moment, then quiets.
“You know, I don’t even really want that promotion at work.”
You’re surprised by the sudden change in topic, but you turn over to face Namjoon.
“What?! Really?”
Namjoon nods and stares at the ceiling. “I don’t think I’m that good of an attorney to get it, anyway.”
His statement makes you sit up in bed again, staring at the man in disbelief.
“Are you fucking kidding me, Namjoon? You’re the best lawyer in the firm.”
Namjoon says nothing, just turns to stare at you curiously as you continue.
“You’re like… literally better than Seokjin, too. The way you handled the Taehyung case was nothing short of historical. Like, that was an impossible case, and you nailed it. That was your ‘OJ’ case, you know?”
Namjoon barks a laugh.
“My what?”
“Your OJ case!” You use your hands to emphasize the importance of what you’re saying. “Like, they’ll write about you and how impossible the odds were of winning that case. And you won it! Not even Seokjin could have won that case.”
He’s silent again, watching as you speak directly from your heart with all the fire and passion you feel about the things you care about. It’s what makes you such an incredible lawyer, too.
“Wow,” he breathes. “Thank you.”
You settle back down from your excitement, suddenly bashful at how fanatical you became.
“You’re welcome,” you murmur. “You deserve that promotion. And the office.”
Namjoon smirks.
“And the Nespresso?”
Your eyes narrow and send a glare to him he can see even with the faintest of light in the room.
“No, no one deserves the Nespresso, except for me.”
He chuckles and settles down into his pillows.
“Goodnight,” he whispers.
“Goodnight, Namjoon.”
There’s a beat of silence and your eyes flutter shut easily. It’s quiet, and all you can hear is the crackle of the log in the fireplace and the wind blowing past the balcony windows as the storm outside rages.
“Oh,” Namjoon whispers again. “And, Merry Christmas.”
You can’t fight the smile that creeps onto your face.
“Merry Christmas, Joonie.”
“Happy Christmas!” A voice bellows through your bedroom at approximately seven fifteen am.
You groan, immediately grimacing and burying your face into your firm, warm pillow.
“Nooooo,” you whine, trying to hide from the offending noise.
Namjoon shakes awake, and notices Jungkook standing at the bedroom door once again.
“It’s time for presents!” He giddily explains. “And, they gave me the job of waking you two up.”
“Of course,” Namjoon yawns.
“You look a little wrapped up,” Jungkook smirks, eyeing your sleeping body. “I’ll give you two a minute. Don’t get distracted.”
Namjoon rolls his eyes and watches as the door closes, before he turns his attention towards you.
Somehow, in the middle of the night, you’ve scooched yourself to his side of the bed and draped your body around his. Your face is buried in his chest and your legs are haphazardly intertwined in his own.
He bites his lip. His cock is rock solid, not just from his usual morning wood, but from the way he can feel your tits through your shirt, and from the sight of your pink panties. Namjoon wants to take them off with his teeth and bury his face in your delicious cunt, and his cock is nearly screaming at him to get on with it.
“Hey,” he whispers to you, actively ignoring the demon that is his turgid length. “Wake up.”
This causes you to cling harder to his chest, rubbing your sleepy face on him.
“What is it with you and early mornings?” You ask, blearily raising your head to peer at him judgementally.
Namjoon bites his lip, curious about your reaction to the tight embrace you’ve got on him. He doesn’t want to say anything, doesn’t want to break the spell. Frankly, he wants to push your sleep shirt up and stuff you full of his cum.
“Merry Christmas?” He offers shyly.
You take a full minute to recognize what’s happening.
You’re no longer on your edge of the bed. You’re wrapped around the man like a koala, legs strewn over him without care and clinging to him like he’s a lifeline.
“Oh!” You gasp as you jerk out of his grasp.
In your movement, your leg brushes over an obvious tent in Namjoon’s pants, making him groan softly. You shut your eyes, embarrassed at how disgustingly horny you are for the man who’s not even interested in you sexually.
“Christ, I’m so sorry,” your cheeks flame bright red and you scoot further from him.
“No, no, don’t be,” Namjoon wheezes as he tries to fix himself. “It’s fine. It’s more than fine. It’s great. It happens. Don’t worry.”
He continues to stammer out reassurances as he leaves the bed and bolts into the bathroom to fix his unruly tented pants, leaving you sitting atop the bed washed with shame.
“Fucking hell,” you whisper to yourself as you rub at your cheeks. “Get a grip of yourself.”
Inside the bathroom, it only takes Namjoon a few fisted jerks of his cock and the mental image of you beneath him, begging for him, until he’s silently cumming on an expensive towel. He bites his free hand to stifle the moans he makes as his cock pulses.
By the time he arrives back in the bedroom, you’ve changed into a hoodie and yoga leggings that accentuate your ass so delectably that Namjoon thinks about turning right back into the bathroom for a second round.
“I’m sorry!” You nearly shout when he walks into the room. “About the bed. You were warm and I was cold. That’s all.”
Nmajoon simply nods, doesn’t want to have to explain how he wishes he could wake up like that every day. Doesn’t want to describe in vivid detail how he’d wake you up with his tongue buried deep in your cunt.
“Let me grab a shirt and we’ll head out, yeah?”
Your eyes dance over the defined ridges of his body, a little crest-fallen at the idea that this might be the last time you see him shirtless, but you nod anyway.
“Yeah.”
The ring box sits in a deceptively large box beneath the tree. Namjoon wrapped it last night and hide it at the very back. His heartbeat hammers in his ears as his family passes around gifts and opens each with squeals of delight.
His mother gave him new ties for the office, ones that Namjoon prefers. She’s even gifted you with jewelry, which makes your eyes water at the sentiment.
It all begins to be too much. It’s harder and harder to hold back the tears as each of Namjoon’s family members gives you gifts. It doesn’t matter the value, not at all. The fact that they specifically set out to include you in their gift-unwrapping makes your heart snap in two.
This is all too much, it’s too real.
It’s everything you never dreamed you could have. A loving partner who lets you sit in the space of his legs and rubs your arms soothingly. A family who goes out of their way to include you in the abundance of love and company. A cabin so warm and cozy.
The tears don’t stop.
It’s at the end of the gift exchange that you finally allow yourself to breathe.
“There’s one more,” Namjoon whispers as he moves from behind you and fetches a large box from behind the tree. “It’s for you, princess.”
Curiously, and suspiciously, you eye him as he sets the enormous gift in your lap. You had done nearly all his Christmas shopping with him, and can’t remember a single thing he would have gotten for you.
“I hope it’s the Nespresso from your office,” you snark with a smile. His family members all laugh and exchange knowing looks to each other.
Namjoon doesn’t think he can breathe. He watches as you begin to carefully unwrap the large box, which reveals another box, slightly smaller. He can’t help but grin as you continue to unwrap the nesting-doll style gift until you’re down to the smallest one, the one that holds the ring box.
With one last tear of paper, your eyes widen as you recognize the velvet box.
“Oh--,” you breathe as you delicately pry open the gift.
Inside sits a dazzling and gorgeous diamond ring. It catches the light from the fire and sparkles like a firecracker.
“Oh my god,” you whimper as the tears flow again.
He’s proposing.
Namjoon settles himself onto one knee and tucks an errant piece of hair behind your ears.
“You’re the best thing that has ever happened to me. I knew from day one that you were always the girl I wanted to marry,”
Namjoon’s speech sends daggers to your heart. He’s so convincing for something so counterfeit.
“I’ve been in love with you for as long as I can remember, much longer than we’ve been together. You’re who I want to come home to every night, and who I want to wake up with every morning.”
It hurts. It hurts so badly that you’re crying even harder as he continues to speak. His family must think you’re simply overcome with emotion and love that the crying doesn’t give it away, but inside you’re absolutely dying.
There’s no way you can recover from this.
Tomorrow, Namjoon will take the ring back to where he got it from and return to what he had before. He’ll leave you behind, broken and hopelessly in love with a man who faked a relationship so well that you fell for it, hard.
“____, will you marry me?”
You take several large, gulping gasps to reply. You can’t shatter the illusion. Namjoon’s parents are weeping with joy, while his relatives record the moment on their phones and wipe away errant tears. Even Jungkook looks soft, proud of his cousin for taking the next step in his life.
Oh, how you wish this were all real.
“Yes,” you lie with a smile. “Yes, Namjoon, of course!”
Namjoon grins and pulls you to standing, gathering you in his arms as he hugs you tight. His family cheers and hollers in the background, and you sob into his shoulder as you cling to him.
He easily slides the diamond ring out of the box and onto your finger, where it sits and taunts you. The weight is heavy, and you whimper at the realization that this will never be for you. It will sit atop a pretty model’s finger sometime soon, when Namjoon resumes his regular life.
“Oh, my darlings, I am so happy for you!” Namjoon’s mother appears and wraps you both in a hug, weeping and kissing cheeks. “We must discuss planning!”
It’s the straw that breaks the camel’s back. The tears and weeping turn to wracking sobs, which quiets the family as they watch you hold your face in your hands.
“I’m sorry,” you apologize through your grief. “I—I just need a moment.”
Without another word, you turn from the scene and bolt back towards the bedroom.
It’s silent and Namjoon’s heart sinks.
This must be too much for you, too much for you to pretend to love him. He knew it was too much and he should have discussed it with you beforehand.
“She’s just a little err--,” Namjoon tries. “Easily emotional. I’ll go check on her.”
His family understands as Namjoon hurries towards the bedroom and gently opens the door.
You’re sitting over your overnight bag, trying to shove any clothing into it you can, while you sob openly.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers. “I should have told you. I sort of... told my mom I’d be proposing to my girlfriend.”
There’s pain in your eyes as you snap your head up to look at him. It nearly destroys him.
“You should have warned me!” You gasp. “Namjoon, I can’t do this.”
Namjoon lowers his head and shoves his hands into his pockets of his pajama pants.
“I get it. I know you want to go back to your regular life. I can take you home now.”
You’re silent for a moment, standing and moving towards the man.
“Don’t you get it, Namjoon?”
He raises his head to look at you curiously, brow knitted together with confusion.
“I’m in love with you, you asshole!” You cry, pushing at his chest. “I can’t continue to pretend this is real anymore. I love you, I absolutely love you and I can’t go on watching you pretend you love me too. It’s too much for me to handle.”
Namjoon’s world freezes in time as he watches you slide the ring off your finger. He grasps your hand to stop you, his eyes boring into your own.
“I never had to pretend.”
Before you can speak, Namjoon cups your cheek and pulls you in close, mouth sealing over your own in a desperate kiss.
You don’t fight it, not at all. You sink into his grasp and kiss him back with fervor, with all the pent-up emotions you’ve held back all this time.
“I’m in love with you,” he whispers as he pulls away from the kiss. “I meant every single word I said.”
More tears stream down your cheeks, and Namjoon is quick to wipe them away with his thumb.
“I know it’s maybe too soon for us to really be engaged, but I—I want that, with you,” he adds. “I want you to be my girlfriend… for real.”
“Are you being serious right now?” You ask as your hands cling to Namjoon’s waist.
He can’t help but to laugh, nodding in reassurance as he leans down to press his lips to yours in a tender kiss.
“Never been more serious in my life.”
“I can’t believe you’re mine,” Joon murmurs into the nape of your neck.
You were supposed to be driving home to your apartment now, back to real life, but the snowstorm raged on and Namjoon decided it might be best to spend yet another night in the cabin. Together. As a couple. A real couple.
You didn’t put up much of a fight.
He’s pressing soft kisses into your tender skin as he closes the door to the bedroom.
“All mine, all mine.” He chants it like a mantra.
You’re trying to maneuver your way into the dark bedroom, only guided by the light from the fireplace. Namjoon stops you and pulls away from your neck, eyes soaking in every inch of you.
“You have no idea what I’ve been dying to do to you,” he speaks after a moment of appreciating your beauty.
“Hmm, I think I have some idea,” you say, a finger at Namjoon’s chest, directing him towards the bed. “I’ve been dying to suck your cock, Joon,” you whisper in his ear as he makes his way backwards. “Will you let me?”
Namjoon nods in a daze as he sits on the edge of the bed and watches as you kneel. Your eyes are full of hope, full of lust. It makes his cock harden further.
“Please do,” he breathes. “I’ve wondered what you’d look like with your mouth full of my dick.”
You smile as you tug at his flannel pajama pants, pulling them down thick thighs and calves until they’re completely off. Your mouth waters at the sight before you. Namjoon’s cock is thick, head weeping with pre-cum and straining hard against his taut chest. He’s been working out more, you can tell. His arms are full and strong, and his chest is so firm and defined.
He’s an entire three-course meal.
Before you move closer to his cock, Namjoon stops you.
“Take your shirt off.”
You comply easily, already settling well into an obedient role. He discards the shirt to the side and marvels at your breasts. He can’t wait to mark them up, suck them until you’re crying.
“Perfect,” he sighs. “You’re fucking perfect.”
He allows you to resume your work, eyeing the length of his cock before wrapping a hand around it and gently pumping.
“Shit,” he breathes as his head falls back. “I’ve dreamt about how it’d feel having my cock in your hands.”
“What else have you dreamed about?” You ask with a teasing smile, bringing your lips to the tip to paint tiny stripes. He tastes salty, somewhat earthy, and the pre-cum that’s gathered at the top gets swept up by your tongue.
Namjoon can’t believe how lucky he is. Can’t believe how incredible it feels to have you here, licking at his cock like a lollipop. He’s enchanted by the way your delicate tongue swirls around his head, testing and teasing.
“You look so good, princess,” he whispers as he tucks stray hair behind your ears.
You’re encouraged by his sweet-talk and soon descend to take his cock fully in as far as you can go. You’re definitely out of practice, but you steel yourself up to take him completely to the back of your throat. Namjoon’s desperate moans and cursing only encourages you further.
Soon enough, you’ve started a rhythm of bobbing your head and swirling your tongue and pumping your hand down his thick length. The noises leaving your mouth are sinful—slurping and sucking and whining around him. Namjoon’s got a hand on the back of your head, holding your hair in a makeshift ponytail and coaxing your bouncing head further down his cock.
“Oh, shit, baby,” he grits through a tight jaw. “I’m gonna cum baby girl, fuuuuckkk—oh god, yes baby, just like that.”
You slurp and swallow around his cock as much as you can, head bobbing at a frantic pace while you cast your eyes upwards to the man to watch him come apart. He meets your eye contact and loses it at the fire burning in your beautiful eyes.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” he gasps as his cock pulses. “Cumming, baby—ohhhh, shit, take it all, baby.”
After slowing your pace completely, you sweetly moan around his length as his salty cum splatters on your tongue. Bringing Namjoon to climax with your mouth is already one of your favorite hobbies, and you’re desperate to do it again.
When he’s completely spent in your mouth, you pop off carefully and present your tongue to your boyfriend, who smiles.
“You gonna swallow my cum, baby girl?” He asks, cupping your cheek sweetly.
You nod in reply, and he groans as he watches you close your mouth and visibly swallow his load.
“Fuck, that was so hot. Fucking kiss me already,” he demands, pulling you up gently by the hand and pressing his mouth to yours. He doesn’t care if he can taste himself still lingering in your mouth. In fact, he thinks your mouth should always taste like him.
Namjoon holds you close as he kisses you, tongue diving around and seeking purchase in your mouth. His hands are roaming your body, cupping your breasts and caressing your curves. He can’t get enough. He doesn’t think there will come a time in his life when he won’t love touching you.
His hand smoothes over the satin of your panties and he smirks into the kiss as he feels how wet they are.
“Oh my,” he tuts as he rubs at your clothed slit. “All this from sucking my cock, princess?”
It’s too late to be ashamed of it. You simply nod and whimper as his thick fingers rub at your core. You’re dying to feel those fingers inside you, scissoring you open to prepare you for his massive cock.
“P-please,” you gasp, needing more of him. “Please, Joon.”
He lets out a breath of contentment, loving the way his name sounds in your breathy moans. In one quick swoop, he flings your panties off and onto the floor and slides down to his knees where you knelt moments before.
“I want to see this pretty pussy up close,” he murmurs as he lays you out at the edge and spreads open your thighs as wide as he can.
You’re gorgeous, absolutely mouth-watering. He licks his lips as he watches your folds drip with arousal and takes a delicate finger to trace the slit gently.
“Fuck,” you gasp as he swirls his finger around your sensitive clit. It’s been so long since someone else has made you orgasm, you’re sure you won’t last a second with the man of your sexual dreams face-first in your cunt.
“This is my pussy now,” he states as he leans in close and licks a fat stripe from your hole to your clit. “I’m going to make you cum every fucking night, baby. Gonna claim this cunt as my own.”
You’re trembling from his words and his actions as he soon buries his face into your pussy and eats as if he’s a man starved. His tongue swirls around your hole before swiping up to your clit, making your back arch and keen off the bed. His lips wrap around your throbbing clit and sucks gently, lewd noises echoing off the walls of the bedroom.
“Namjoon!” You squeal as he slides two of his fingers inside you and slowly pumps. They’re thick and perfect, and they’re better than you could have ever dreamed.
“Cum for me, baby,” he coaxes as he licks at your clit. “I know you want to.”
He’s right. You’re desperate for it and the string inside your belly that tightens with each thrust of his solid fingers has it nearing a snapping point.
Namjoon speeds up, adds a third finger and fucks into you like a man on a mission. He watches your face pinch in agonized delight and is hypnotized by the way your tits bounce with each thrust up. His cock is rock solid again, aching to bury itself deep inside your womb and coat you with his cum.
“That’s it, baby girl,” he breathes as he watches your body quiver. “Cum on my fingers, let daddy see you fall apart.”
He presses his lips to your clit one last time and sucks, and it sends you reeling over the edge into bliss. Namjoon moans as he feels your cunt convulse and squeeze his fingers as if they’re his cock, and he nearly whines at how good it’s going to feel when he’s balls deep inside of you.
“Fuck!” You cry as your back lifts off the bed and your legs shake. “Oh, my god!”
Namjoon kitten licks at your pussy as you come down, cleaning up the juices that coat his fingers. He doesn’t break eye contact with you as he does it, sucking up your essence like it’s an expensive wine he won’t waste a drop of.
“You’re so fucking sexy,” he says as you try to catch your breath. “I can’t wait to fuck you in my office.”
The smile on your face turns lustful as you spread your legs open once again and present yourself to him.
“Why don’t we practice right now?”
Namjoon grips the base of his cock and gives himself a few pumps as he stares at your gorgeous body—laid out and ready for him.
“Merry Christmas to me,” he murmurs as he presses a kiss to your lips and lines himself up.
In one swift motion, he slips inside your juicy channel and buries himself to the hilt. You’re so wet and warm and tight that Namjoon falters and groans out loud.
“Holy shit,” he cries. “Sweetest fucking pussy I’ve ever felt in my life.”
Namjoon filling you up to the brim is something you’ve only ever dreamt of, and now that it’s happening you feel intoxicated. He’s so thick inside you, stretching you past what you thought you could handle, and the burn is so sweet.
“Fuck me, Joon,” you beg as he continues to still inside you. “Please, fuck me, daddy.”
It’s the magic word for Namjoon and instantly he’s snapped back to feral, ready to claim you as his own. He grips your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, delighted by the squelching juicy sounds of your cunt as he takes you.
“That’s right, baby girl, I’m your fucking daddy,” he grunts. “Take this fat cock for daddy.”
Your legs quiver with each thrust and Namjoon sucks a nipple into his mouth, nibbling gently on the bud which makes your body thrum with electricity. He’s marking you, claiming you inside and out, you realize. You whine and keen for him to continue, and Namjoon growls as he doubles his pace.
He thrusts into you without abandon, desperately seeking his release that will have him spilling his cum anywhere he possibly can.
“Mmm, look at my pretty princess,” he groans as he stares at your blissed-out face. “Taking daddy’s cock so good, being a perfect little slut.”
His words make your eyes roll back into your head. You’d never had someone speak so nasty to you while being so kind and praise-worthy that you don’t think you can now ever live without it.
“G-gonna cum, daddy!” you cry as you feel your body nearing the edge. “Please let me cum!”
Namjoon gasps for air and drops a thumb to your clit to rub circles on the sensitive bundle.
“Yes, baby girl, cum for daddy. Cum on my cock, princess.”
Namjoon’s unrelenting pace and thumb handily stroking your clit brings you to the end, sending you screaming into orgasmic delight.
Namjoon nearly weeps at how good your cunt feels convulsing around his cock, walls coaxing him and gripping him tight as if your pussy is begging for his own release.
“Cum inside me daddy, please,” you beg as you try to catch your breath.
Namjoon needs no more permission. He gasps as your channel tightens around him impossibly and sends him into his own release. He whimpers as his cock pulses with ferocity, loads of cum splattering your walls.
He doesn’t pull out. Instead, he rests his sweaty forehead on yours as you both try to catch your breath.
“Holy shit,” you gasp as you feel yourself returning to Earth.
Namjoon laughs and presses a kiss to your lips, before nodding.
“Yeah,” is all he can manage.
After a few shuddering breaths, you wrap your arms around your boyfriend’s naked body and hold him close, as close as you can.
“If this is what Christmas is all about, sign me up.”
Namjoon buries his face into your neck and kisses you sweetly, before lifting and giving you a playful smile.
“I guess all Scrooge needed was a good fuck. Dickens got that part all wrong.”
Returning to work after the New Year was easier this year than it had ever been in your career.
Namjoon was given the promotion. He told Seokjin he wanted to keep his corner office near you because he “likes the view”, and that he would give all his top cases to the best lawyer in the office—you.
Jimin won’t stop screaming when he sees the diamond ring on your finger. You haven’t wanted to take it off since the moment you put it on. Maybe it’s not an engagement ring quite yet, maybe it’s just more of a promise. Either way, Jimin is ecstatic and confused as he shakes you down for answers.
He walks with you to your desk, chattering away about his week with Yoongi, while you sip your convenience store coffee.
“What the fuck?” Jimin asks as he notices something on your desk. “What is that?”
As you round the corner, your eyes catch sight of a gleaming silver contraption on your desk, right next to your brand new computer.
A Nespresso.
A smile crosses your lips as you approach the expensive machine and notice a folded up card on top.
Inside, the card is simple.
“To the only girl in the world who deserves a Nespresso. Love, Namjoon.”
taglist - @ardoren @devilion14 @bykookie @rageyoudamnednerd @holynamtiddies @thejooncrew @dee-ehn @yrc1963 @fireheart2003
#bts smut#bts fanfic#kim namjoon smut#rm smut#namjoon smut#ficswithluv#rockin around the christmas tropes#bts imagines#bts reactions#kim namjoon imagines
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i have the warmth of the sun within me tonight
characters: takami keigo | hawks
genre: smut n fluff
notes: this piece was written with someone specific in mind, but i wanted to share it here, too!! this is, by far, the healthiest and most wholesome piece i’ve ever posted on my blog ehehe | title cred: the warmth of the sun by the beach boys
warnings: 18+ minors do not interact, reader is extremely scared of thunderstorms, v romantic, shower sex, minimal prep, slight size difference/size kink
words: 4.6k
synopsis:
“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.
And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.
It’s dark. It’s so dark it almost looks like night despite the fact that it’s only late afternoon, heavy bloated clouds—charcoal and fluffy and overstuffed with raindrops—obscuring the safety of comforting golden rays from the entire city.
The torrential downpour feels endless, and for a brief second you’re terrified it truly may never stop, streets below having flooded with the rain, cars slowly wading through them, tires spraying out streams of water as they do.
Magnificent strikes of lightning crack through the dreary sky like thick roots snaking through the foggy canopy of smoke and steel, momentarily tainting them in shades of periwinkle and lavender and casting flashes of brilliant silver light across the skyscrapers and condominiums.
Their sudden presence makes you jolt, a rapid shudder working its way through your entire body, skin pebbling with chills in its wake.
But it isn’t the lightning that bothers you—not really, anyway.
It’s what comes after.
Rumbles of thunder so loud, so violent they cause the glass windows of Keigo’s apartment to quiver and the hardwood beneath your feet to tremble, roll through the sky, and you swear you can see the clouds ripple from the force.
Arms squeezing tighter around your body, your fingers curl in the material of your—his—hoodie, desperately attempting to resist the urge to grab your phone, to frantically scroll through social media as worried eyes scan for any mention of his name, for shreds of dreadful news, for things you never want to hear.
You hate it when he has to work in storms such as these. And you know, you know you shouldn’t be watching the sky, shouldn’t be searching the splotches of gunmetal adorning the atmosphere for a glimmer of scarlet and gold, shouldn’t be standing so close to the pristine glass windows that your uneven puffs of nervous breath cloud them, tiny blankets of condensation left by the hot air you exhale fleetingly staining the surface, evaporating into nothing just as quickly as they appear.
But you can’t help it. It’s a compulsion, almost—like some sort of sick obsession, some sort of twisted addiction you can’t control. Because—Because you have to know, unable to stand that feeling of uncertainty that gnaws away at your insides, incapable of handling the ambiguity and vagueness that comes packaged with the not knowing. You have to at least try—try to do everything in your power to stay informed, and if that means facing a vicious thunderstorm head on, with your cheek pressed against the cold glass as your gaze searches the tumultuous sky, then so be it.
You can brave it for him. You swear you can.
“Baby,” he scolds gently, his sudden presence surprising you, causing you to throw a quick glance over your shoulder. Topaz eyes observe you, overflowing with concern, pretty bowed lips turning down, soaked strands of gold hair sticking to his forehead, cheeks and neck. “How many times have I told you not to do this?” And although he’s reprimanding you, his voice is sweet, smooth and syrupy like the finest honey. “You know how much thunder freaks you out,”
You scoff, stiffening almost defensively as you turn your nose up a little, still avoiding his eyes. “It doesn’t freak me out,”
“Oh?” he laughs a little as he kicks off his boots, tension easing from his shoulders with every step towards you, every step further into the warm sanctuary of your shared home, wet sock-clad feet slapping against the hardwood and leaving gleaming footprints.
“Kei,” you whine a little, gesturing his dripping body. “You’re getting water everywhere,”
“Hey now,” a playful smirk spreads across his lips, and a sudden, sharp whoosh slices through the air as his wings spread, spanning nearly half the living room. He gives them one good, thorough shake, crimson feathers trembling and sending tiny droplets of water flying. “I wasn’t done,” he speaks over your squeal of his name, smirk growing into that trademark mischievous grin. “You shouldn’t just stand at the window and stare up at the sky—it only scares you more,”
“I’m not scared,”
Vicious growls of thunder roil through the sky before you’re even finished speaking, almost as if it’s laughing at you, mocking you, your body flinching as the sounds crash over you, curling in on yourself a little, face puckered up in a wince as your words stutter, catching on a gasp in your throat.
Exhaling a soft sigh, Keigo holds his arms open wide, wings still stretched to span them. “Yeah, right. C’mere,” When you don’t begin moving immediately, he sighs again, strong hands gently pulling you towards him.
Your body melts into his touch—an automatic and involuntary reaction, almost instinctual at this point—and you slump against his damp chest, nuzzling your cheek against the firm muscles.
“I’ve got you,” he says softly, arms wrapping around your body as he holds you tightly to his, voice reverberating against your ear. “The Big Bad Scary Thunder can’t get you here,”
Eyes rolling, you scoff at his playful teasing, a tiny smile materializing on your face as you pull away a little to look up at him, greeted with the sight of brilliant eyes—made of sunshine and liquid gold, you’re absolutely sure of it—gazing down at you, lips quirked in a cute little smirk.
His beauty never fails to knock the breath from your chest—it seems you can never be prepared for it; no matter how many times you’ve seen him, how many times you’ve been close enough to count the individual eyelashes lining those orbs, how many times you’ve been close enough to feel the inviting tickle of the short golden hairs decorating his chin—and you’re not sure you’ll never get used to it, either.
A peculiar mix of adoration and concern swirl in his honey irises, though you can see the mirth and amusement dancing just beyond that, thinly veiled by the love and worry.
“Oh, shut up—” another bang of thunder fissures through the sky, so raucous it makes the thick clouds waver and swell, your words morphing into a fearful little squeak, quickly burying your head back against the safety of his chest.
Fingers curl in the wet suede and you hug yourself closer to him, tugging him closer to you, body beginning to shudder.
He’s hushing you now, arms and wings curled around you in a defensive embrace as words of comfort pry past his lips, tender voice sheathing the armor of crimson surrounding you.
“At least they aren’t as bad as the ones back home, yeah?”
“I guess so,” you mumble, unconvinced, eyebrows knitted and mouth sculpted into a deep pout. “I still don’t like them, though,”
“I know, I know,” a warm hand rubs soothing circles into your back, voice only marginally louder than the next bout of thunder as it vibrates against your face, another quiet yelp clawing its way up your throat. “Shh, you’re safe, you’re safe,”
“Kei,”
The nickname escapes in a mangled little whimper, and you can feel it—fright, terror, dread—building in your chest, a strangling type of panic that weaves and winds itself around your windpipe and crushes; because they’re getting worse, they’re getting closer, growls and grumbles following the flashes of lightning almost immediately, roaring loud enough to quake buildings, your heart thudding so violently it’s almost painful. Tears sting your eyes, and you shake your head against him, as if trying to burrow into his chest, to carve out a little space in his ribcage, right next to his steadily beating heart, and live there.
“I-I take it back, they are as bad as the ones back home,”
Or, at least, this one is
Keigo doesn’t argue, all traces of amusement evaporated from his face, replaced by trepidation that mixes with his worry and pinches his features, eyebrows furrowed and lips downturned as he cradles you against him. Ferocious tremors course through your form, chest beginning to hitch with swallowed sobs, and he squeezes you.
“Make it stop, Kei, please, m-make it stop, make it go away,” the words are nearly inaudible, wept into his chest and muffled by his jacket, snarled, snared, snagged on the choked sobs and gagged sniffles that scrabble and tear at your throat with their razored talons.
And even drenched, clothes sopping with rainwater, he’s still so warm, like he has liquid sun flowing through his veins, scalding waves of heat radiating off of his body and seeping into yours, cozy and consoling as it douses you, as it sinks into your skin, your bones, your soul itself and marinates there, twisting and twirling into a small ball of sunshine, of him, that sends pulsing zaps of warmth circulating through your flesh.
“Okay, alright,” he’s saying as he rocks you gently, crimson wings wrapped entirely around you both, shielding you from the storm. The scent of freshly mown grass and sticky vanilla ice cream is nearly overwhelming as it washes over your senses, invading your lungs and smothering you in its embrace. It’s a welcomed feeling, the beautiful suffocation it affords you with, vibrant bursts of heat rushing through your veins, whole body flooded and thrumming with a deep-seated comfort—a special type of solace, of reassurance, of contentment unique to him, unfathomable and mystifying on all accounts, that soothes your frayed nerves and calms your irregular heart—because he smells like home; not your home halfway across the world, your real home, your forever home.
“Come,” he instructs a moment later, stern yet tender, keeping an arm draped firmly around your shoulders, one of his wings curving around the limb as he leads you away from the window, scarlet feathers obstructing your vision.
—
The bathroom—comprised of gleaming marble and shining chrome—is enormous, housing a mammoth glass shower that spans the length of the furthest wall, large enough to more-than-comfortably accommodate his wings, and then some.
Steam fogs the glass, and a soft hiss slips from between your teeth as he cages you between his chiseled body and the freezing marble, cold rock stinging your already heated skin, his wings spreading to mimic his arms, providing another layer of protection and entirely immersing you in him.
It’s your favourite when he does this, when he engulfs you in his grasp and creates a tiny universe where it’s just the two of you, whole world having fallen away outside of the barricade his thick wings offer—and you’ve never felt safer.
And it’s amazing, you’re thinking to yourself—or maybe you’re murmuring it, lips moving in a daze—it’s amazing how even after all of the rainwater pouring from the sky, all of the zipping through those dense clouds, all of the vicious wind that whips against him as he soars; none of it could ever manage to wash away, to ever dull, his intoxicating scent, not even for a second.
You’re completely overcome by him, vanquished by his enamoring eyes and his saccharine smile—drunk and high off of it all, addicted to him in the sweetest way—and he hasn’t even done anything yet.
But you’re leaning into him, closer and closer and closer, lips parted as you inhale deeply, filling your lungs, your chest, your heart and veins and blood with his aura, his essence, him. He conquers you, intoxicates you, poisons you in such a beautiful way, and you’re enchanted by it, yearning for more, a greedy and insatiable craving that will never be fulfilled.
And he knows it. He knows the effect he has on you by merely existing near you—his cocky smirk and dazzling gaze tell you so.
But then his eyes soften, glazing over with something else, lidded as they slowly travel across your body bared to him, and his mouth falls open only for his tongue to suck his bottom lip between his teeth, and his fingers reach to trace your features, the curve of your cheek and line of your jaw, the most gentle caress.
“You…Are breathtaking,”
And he really does sound out of breath, as if he’s in awe from your beauty, as if this is his first time seeing you, as if you’re some sort of goddess, having descended right in front of him, and it forces chills to erupt across your bare skin—damp and splattered with tiny droplets of water that gleam like morning dew clinging to grass—despite how boiling it is between him and the steam from the shower.
It’s a feeling you can’t quite explain, a feeling you’ve never really been able to find the appropriate words for, something that makes you feel simultaneously powerful and weak, a swirling concoction of contradictions that invade your bloodstream and travel straight to your brain, infusing the tissues with the potent mix and sending tiny sparks buzzing through your veins, collecting to flutter together in the pit of your stomach.
He kisses you slowly, tonight. He kisses you like it’s his last day to live, kisses you like it’s his first time, unhurried tongue deliberately exploring the concavities of your mouth—every nook and ridge and crevice—as if committing them to memory, as if attempting to leave his stamp, his mark, his claim, on the real estate there.
He kisses you until neither of you can breathe, lungs shriveling as your chests heave, exhaling into each other’s mouths only to suck breath from each other’s mouths a moment later. He kisses you until you’re dizzy from the lack of air and he’s burning and hard and pressed up against your thigh, leaking head rubbing against the supple skin, leaving the prettiest gleaming trails of cream. He kisses you until you’ve gone stupid from his spit alone, fervent in the way you swallow it greedily, in the way you attempt to suck, slurp, steal more from him as it surges to your brain, tissues and nerves vaporizing into nothing more than a dazed mist, spiked with him.
The kiss breaks with a sharp whoosh of air, his lids lifting to reveal glassy pupils outlined with the thinnest ring of amber. Your tongue darts out from your mouth to lick and lap at the stringy, viscous remnants coating your chin; starved, ravenous, and forever unsated.
The chuckle huffed out from between swollen, saliva-soaked lips is nothing short of sinful, makes your vision blur and your stomach swoop, a murmured tease following it.
“Eager, aren’t you,”
And you want to point out that you weren’t the one practically humping someone’s hip, but the words tangle in your throat, catching on a gasp as nimble fingers slip between the apex of your thighs, an involuntary groan spilling from his throat.
“Fuck,” his head falls forward, face buried in your neck, and sucks an inhale through his teeth. “How are you already this wet?”
He’s nearly whining as he dips two fingers into you, soft little sounds that fall from his lips and sop into your skin, his breath scorching—sizzling more than the steam in the shower—against your neck.
And those fingers, now plunging into you, knuckles curling the moment they’re deep enough to press moans from your chest and cries from your throat, feel so familiar as they stretch you open—the same fingers that pet your hair and brush away your tears and feed you pieces of fried chicken; they feel like home.
Yet as comforting as that is, as much as it has your chest swelling with something so large, so dense you’re terrified your ribs may shatter and splinter under the strain, they aren’t enough. Not right now, not today.
Because even with the water hitting the tiles and the exquisite symphony of his pants and your mewls, you can still hear it, menacing blasts encroaching on you, deep and heavy and threatening to split the little world Keigo has created, the small haven his wings and arms provide.
“Please, please, Kei,” you’re nearly wailing out, forcing bleary eyes to open, belated in the way they find his gaze. “I-I want you, I need you,”
“Sweetheart,” he starts—and you know that tone, stitched together with hesitation and concern and embellished with thin ribbons of patronization. “You know you can’t take me without being opened up at least a lil’ first,”
Another clap of thunder rattles the apartment, sounding as if it’s just outside the bathroom door, ranting and raging to get in, and both of your hands claw at his wrist, trying to pull his hand away as words bubble past your lips, high and terrified and desperate.
“No, Kei, not tonight. Please, baby, please, I need you now, right now, Kei, right now, pl-please,” and you’re nearly choking on the pleads as they barrel up your throat and out your mouth, all garbled together and stuffed with spit. “I can handle it, promise,”
A hoarse whine hitches in his throat, the worried knitting of his eyebrows carving creases into his forehead. With pinched features and a scrunched face, it looks almost as if he’s in pain; like it’s pure agony to deny you. And you can see it, can see the internal struggle reflected in his eyes, stare wrought with the tug and pull between desire and care. But that need is growing, spreading, curling around your organs in a tight embrace, suffocating you with its urgency.
A final please, Keigo, croaked out in a broken whimper and thick with the threat of tears, is what breaks him, shatters his resolve to a fine dust and whisks it away in one breath.
“Alright,” he’s murmuring, though his voice is strained, tense and gruff under the combined paradoxical weight of lust and apprehension. “Alright, hush now, I’ve got you,”
Then he’s hoisting you up, and your legs are wrapping around his waist, one hand clutching the top of the glass door, the other digging bruises into his neck as he buries his cock inside of you in one swift movement, a set of relieved gasps escaping you both.
It stings a little, sharp pinpricks shooting through your gut as his thick cock stretches you open, but they’re chased promptly by thorns of pleasure that dissipate the pain.
Because he feels so good, and you feel so full, and everything feels so perfect like this—everything feels right again.
But a boom of thunder explodes through this moment, blowing it to bits and pieces, and you reflexively jump, whole body flinching in his arms.
“Shh,” he’s whispering to you as he pulls you closer, chest pressed flush against yours. “Don’t worry, songbird, I’m gonna make it better, alright? Just focus on me,”
And so you do, eyes slipping shut as his hips begin to pump—slow at first, almost languid in the way they roll forward, each thrust thorough, cock nearly entirely unsheathed before it plunges back in, the head nudging your cervix, and you revel in the delicious cracks rasps—of your name, of curses, and praises—that fall from his lips with each rut.
“S’deep,” you mumble, words already jumbled from the carnal bliss, from the hedonistic decadence that surrounds you, emanating off him and percolating into you, instantly diffusing the tension and panic knotted like thick vines in your chest—even though he’s barely fucking done anything. “S’deep, Kei,”
“Yeah?” the word fans across your face, sweet and fragrant, hazy eyes opening to be met with glittering gold, strands of honeysuckle hair stuck to his forehead and temples, framing the dark gaze watching you, pupils almost voracious in the way they soak up your expressions, almost greedy in the way they scan your face as his hips move, looking for more. His forehead knocks against yours, penetrating stare boring into your face. “Good? My baby like it?”
“So good,” your head nods in small movements with the whimpered affirmation, bumping against his. It’s already beginning to build, smoldering deep in the pit of your stomach, the spark that had been dulled when you had begged him to stop, begged him to give you more—to stretch and fill and form you like your insides were made for him—reigniting, bright and scalding.
“More, please,”
It just slips from your lips, brain already beginning to melt as you allow yourself to be submerged, swallowed and consumed by him; an innate desire that swamps your mind and floods your senses, and you want it all.
But he complies without complaint this time, void of the usual teasing remarks and requests that you beg for it, because he can see how depleted, how drained you are, utterly exhausted from the terror of the storm, his understanding evident in a gentle confirmation tumbling from his lips.
And his groans and grunts are so beautiful, vibrating deep in the recesses of his chest, louder than any thunder as they rumble in your ears. You find solace in them, gulping them in as he pushes them out, letting them vibrate down the column of your throat and collect deep in your belly, kindling with the flickering embers that burn and glow and multiply with each thrust, furling together in a tense ball of churning heat.
The canting of his hips increases, faster and faster and faster with each rock forward, the escalating force resulting in your body to rubbing against the marble and glass, tightly curled fingers readjusting themselves, slipping a little from the foggy condensation coating the surface.
You don’t even realize that your sensitive skin’s been rubbed raw from the action, too tangled up in his noises, his pleasure, his cock, to notice, too tangled up in him to care at all.
“Here,” Keigo pants out, hips suddenly stilling. A low whine catches in your throat, eyebrows furrowing as you attempt to fuck yourself on his cock, a breathless snicker escaping his parted lips. “I know, baby, I know,” he’s telling you as strong arms readjust you, folded wings suddenly spanning, a gentle gust of air bathing your slick body in little goosebumps, before they wrap around him—around you—sheltering you from the glass and marble as they swoop under your ass and thighs, aiding Keigo in supporting your weight. “Don’t worry, I’m gonna take care of you, I promise,”
And it’s so much hotter like this, so much more intimate like this, uneven puffs of breath mingling as his forehead rests against yours, florescent lights reflecting off of his thick feathers and tinting everything—his skin, his eyes, his hair—scarlet.
The sudden snap of his hips startles a moan out of you, and he laughs again, carmine-tinged topaz eyes positively glowing. And he looks so gorgeous like this, looks like a fucking god like this, those fine gold hairs that cover his body catching in the soft light and shimmering.
He’s kissing, licking, nipping anywhere he can reach, stamping your flesh with physical manifestations of his love, pace never faltering as skilled, powerful hips continue to pound into you, cockhead dragging against that spot with every buck.
Your legs flex around his waist, muscles coiling as the sphere roiling in your stomach blazes, curled into a concentrated ball of fire. The heat it exudes is nearly unbearable now, heavy as it sinks into your gut, glowing orb spiraling as it coils, tighter and tighter and tighter until—
“Want you to cum for me, baby,” Keigo nearly keens, almost as if he’s begging you instead of commanding, voice cutting through the dense haze your brain has evaporated into. “Can y’do that for me? Be good and cum all over my cock?”
Yes, yes, yes, your head is nodding, emitting affirmatives in the form of high little mewls with each jerk. And it only takes two more sharp pistons of his hips before the fire-filled ball bursts, half of his name escaping your throat in a fractured cry as your entire body stiffens, cunt clenching so vigorously it’s almost painful.
Words start to spill from his mouth, an endless stream of praises, sandwiched between dark groans and broken whines and hitched curses; Y’so good for me, y’know that? Ah, f-fuck—So gorgeous when you gush all over my—my cock, baby, y’feel so good, I love you, I love you, I love you.
Hot, thick cum fills you suddenly, coinciding with his last choked out declaration of love, cock throbbing as it spurts rope after rope, taut stuttering hips pressed flush against your skin.
—
Everything aches as you unwind your limbs from around him, muscles sore and legs trembling as Keigo forces you to stand, propping you up against the shower wall and returning with the fluffiest towel only a moment later. Large hands pull you towards him, dragging you from under the shower head and into his arms, swaddling your shivering body in Egyptian cotton and strong arms and soft feathers.
He leaves the shower running on purpose, steady flow of water hitting the tiled floor and marbled wall, efficiently drowning out any roars or claps of thunder.
And you’re so tired, so pliant and boneless in his arms, barely able to keep your weighted eyelids from fluttering shut. He keeps you in his lap as he sits on the closed toilet, cradling you to his chest as best he can as he gently rocks you back and forth, whispering out praises—you did so well, you always look so gorgeous taking my cock—and avowals of his love, constant words oozing from his lips, sentiments cascading over your body like a stream of thick syrup.
Unconsciousness has you in its clutches, nearly slipping into the familiar embrace that promises the numbing ecstasy that comes with such an intense orgasm, until your tummy growls, and Keigo laughs.
“No, sweetheart,” he chides softly as you nuzzle into his chest, an indignant noise sounding at the back of your throat. “You have to eat at least a little before you can fall asleep,”
“Don’wanna,”
“I know,” he’s saying sympathetically as he stands, placing your feet on the floor a moment later. You wobble a little, eyes still shut, and he chuckles again, murmuring to himself about how fucking cute you are as he begins to dress you, tugging soft fleece that reeks of him over your head.
—
The rain has slowed to a drizzle by the time you’ve been clothed and fed, constant and leaking from the clouds overhead as you snuggle against Keigo in the plush sanctuary of your shared bed, tummy full and happy with roasted chicken and sauteed veggies. A deep contentment settles itself in your bones, weaving itself around the ivory in a protective glaze and imbuing you with a sense of calm, a sense of relaxation, a sense of relief, and you hum, Keigo’s lithe fingers trailing up your spine absentmindedly.
If you’re being honest, you’re not quite sure how he did it, how he slipped, slithered, seeped through the few cracks in your defence without being violent, without being forceful—how he tore down all of the barricades and shields you had built around yourself, hardened and firm from several years of paranoia and distrust, from the perpetual fear of being hurt again. It should scare you, really, how quickly he did it, how easily and inconspicuously he did it. But it doesn’t.
It doesn’t, because he did it with love; stripping those protective walls with genuity and sincerity, dismantling every brick and stone with gentle touches and soft kisses and tender words. He did it with respect, with patience, with passion and affection and devotion.
So it doesn’t, because there’s nothing to fear—because you’ve never felt more safe in your life, here enveloped by his strong arms and cozy wings, resting on his chest, legs tangled in knots together.
And as you drift off to the gentle pat-pat-pat of the raindrops against the windowpane and the steady thumping of Keigo’s heart echoing in your ears, you realize he’s your very own ray of sunshine, forever present to keep those menacing clouds and malicious thunder away, even in the strongest, the harshest, and the scariest of storms.
#takami keigo x reader#takami keigo smut#bnha smut#hawks smut#hawks x reader#takami keigo#hawks#AAAAAH ITS SO VANILLA LMAO#it's really sweet tho#i hope it brings some of you some comfort and feelings of buzzy happiness <333
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Breaking You
Chris Evans
Parte Deux - Hurting You
Synopsis: You begin to feel the true consequences of you hurting Chris and it's beginning to overwhelm you - and him.
Word Count: 2,483
Author's Note: I listened to quite a few songs to truly get into the vibe of this but The Cinematic Orchestra - To build a home (slowed) really got me into the energy I want to be delivered from this write-up. Happy Reading! Feel free to let me know how you feel!
Warning: Explicit Language, Mention of Mental Illness, Sexual Content
You’ve rarely had to consider yourself as someone who runs from her problems. You’d probably proudly tell anyone that asked that you quite confidently tackle your problems head-on.
However, you’ve created quite a serious problem for yourself. A broken heart.
What you have periled numerous men with, is now afflicting you. The odd thing is, is that you are exulting in it. It’s an oddly familiar sensation; it drowns your body in an intangible sickness that paralyses and asphyxiates you.
You sit at your piano, watching the silent and unmoving countryside. The fields of Portofino showered with golden sunlight, the brio reflecting into your room.
You haven’t pushed aside the sheer curtains since you arrived four days ago. You’ve taken your first shower this morning, the water sinking you into its comforting, warm embrace. You don’t really want to tell yourself aloud why you chose to come back to your grandparents’ old house, when stuff is going wrong. You’ve decided that playing the piano and smoking your days away is better than confronting yourself in the mirror - good thing all the furniture is covered with sheets. The sorry state of your face would make you plunder even deeper into your melancholy.
You will yourself to forget him and try to forget his existence.
But it’s virtually impossible, with him promoting a new film three towns over.
Good thing is you feel physically incapable of stepping outside of the confines of the house. The ladies that tend to the house scurry around the town buying food for the house and maintain its upkeep, they attempt to feed you three meals a day or four. You refuse most of the time, and they regard you with concerned gazes.
How could you begin to explain that with breaking a man’s heart, you subsequently had broken your own? His words blistered with bitterness bit you and dragged you down to the same pits of sadness that you plunged him into. You can probably say that you loved him, but you’ll probably truly never grasp why you can’t stay in something that requires such cemented commitment.
“Signora?” Your house governess interrupts your train of thought, you pull your cigarette away from your lips. “Sí?” She presents you with a letter addressed to you. The handwriting vaguely familiar to you. You thank her and dismiss her, the cigarette back in between your lips.
The letter doesn’t inform you of who it is from, but you hope, in the depths of your ribs that it’s from him, but you couldn’t possibly understand why he would ask to meet with you. He left you wordlessly two months ago and hasn’t been in contact since, not even through subliminal messages on social media. You can wager that you’re probably dead to him. It was made clear to you when you stood at the beach outside of your friend’s Malibu compound. He would rather die than get back with you; you don’t blame him.
You turn back to your piano, the keys feeling like lead beneath your shaky fingers. You play out a melancholic tune, your fingers feeling like they’re losing blood, you play clumsily, your eyes welling with tears.
You do have to admit, you feel extremely guilty for leaving him.
Life was beautiful with him.
He would have served you the sun on a platter if it meant making you smile - but you’re meant to destroy beautiful things.
It was what your father told you. You ruined his marriage to your mother; your sheer existence drove her to the brink of insanity. Since you were conceived you were a parasite that took the love your mother had for your father and you guzzled it out of her, taking all of her focus and affection. When you were born your parents refused the diagnosis of postpartum psychosis. Your mother believed you were an angel sent from heaven and doctors were trying to take you from her; so, she slowly succumbed to the madness and your father eventually was forced to send her away. The resentment he felt towards you all but scented the house, you were a poisonous leech, and you were treated as such.
You take the last drag of your cigarette and drag yourself to your walk-in closet, you decide on taking another shower - scrubbing away the odour of tar and smoke. You ready yourself for your strange and mysterious encounter. You dress yourself and half an hour later rush out to your car. The sun is low in the sky by the time you start driving away from the house, the countryside hugging you from all sides.
The drive is long into the town centre. The sky is blushed with pink and tinges of orange. You park your car and take a slow walk to the Splendido Mare; you enter the hotel’s restaurant and are led to a table. Your order a glass of wine and wait. After ten minutes you take out the letter, you read it from start to finish and confirm that the invitation was not a figment of your imagination; you were indeed summoned here by a mystery writer. Whom you hope is him.
You sit for half an hour at your table, you sip your anxiety away through two glasses of wine, you step outside and smoke two cigarettes and yet you’re still waiting. You flit through your phone notifications; you decide against your better judgement to type his name into the Goggle search bar. You fleetingly glance around the sparsely attended restaurant. You lock your phone without looking at the updates about him.
The thought of him makes your chest ache, harshly. The pain is tangible, you place your hands over your chest and wince. Something is not right.
You’re not aware of his slow approach, his hands wringing around each other, his cheeks red with nervous energy. He wishes he had had a shot of something - anything before getting here. He doesn’t recall what filled him the mad inspiration to send you a stamped letter to meet him at his hotel restaurant. He doesn’t know whether he wishes he had just called the brunette and spoken to her tonight; but he misses you. Madly.
He pulls out the chair in front of you. You can both tell that you’re holding in your breath.
Every time you see him it feels like the first time, all over again.
And he feels the same, but for either of you to admit it would be succumbing to defeat. You’re engaged in a silent and unspoken battle of wills.
“You sent me a letter?” You show him the letter. He nods, you sigh. “What is it you want to talk about?” You’re afraid to look into his eyes, they’re huge lakes filled with your dreams and deepest desires.
He hesitates, a ghostly sentence is formed on his tongue – he decides against materialising it. “I heard you were nearby; thought we could catch up.” He motions for the waiter. You narrow your eyes in - almost offence. What does he think, that you’re old pals?
He wants to catch up, but you want to do everything. Mostly profess your adoration for him and make love to him.
You despise the feeling; you’ve never felt like this for anyone. The alien feeling makes you heat up, your chest rises and falls quickly; agony filling your body as if you were a vessel to claim. “Right,” is all you can utter.
“What have you been up to?” He’s ordered two martinis, his eyes connecting to yours. You wince as the pain in your chest returns. How can he be so close yet so far?
“I was filming a fragrance campaign recently.” You speak quickly, an itch to smoke tickling your fingers. He nods, his eyebrows raised high.
“Nice.” He sighs and extends his clasped hands further onto the table. You look even more beautiful than in his thoughts, which he can’t expel you from. It seems your haunting presence is with him to stay, and his imagination can’t do any justice to your face and your intoxicating smell.
The conversation you have over your first drinks is dry, emotionless and full of hidden desires.
After each of you have three cocktails you let out the first laugh. He’s released himself a bit from the shackles of wanting to one-up you, his joke about his dog’s stubbornness reminding you of the good days of domesticity with Christopher and his dog. You move out to the terrace, candles flickering in the wind; you share more laughs. Memories being shared between you about life together.
There’s a clear shared emotion - longing. You crave the late summer nights sharing the dance floor with his friends or yours; him undressing you slowly in your pool; the nights watching the fire pit in your Santa Barbara home; the dinners enclosed in brick walled Italian restaurants with candles illuminating your elated faces.
“Come up with me.” His suggestion is quiet, his lips edging closer to yours. You nod, overcome with emotion. He grips on to your hand, the grip of a man thanking his lucky stars. He leads you to his room, on the top floor. A paradisiacal view of the sea and hills greeting you. The sun has set completely, and the moon casts a pale light over the buildings across the water.
Chris closes the door, and no sooner is he clutching at your lips with his. His hands smother you onto him and you meet him with the same desperation. Your hands slip under his shirt and moan into his mouth, your lipstick smearing over his lips. You feel him inhale your smell; he sighs desperately as he pulls you closer to him. You fall onto the chaise lounge in front of the open doors leading onto his balcony. The wind whispers sweet nothings onto your skins as you meld together, your bodies wanting desperately to be combined. He removes your clothes with familiar precision and your fingers touch him where you know he likes it.
The grooves of his skin are familiar, his dick entering you slowly as your fingers caress his tanned skin. He looks spectacular underneath you, his skin illuminated by the moonlight. You ride him slowly, you lips adventuring each other, like your bodies are each other’s long lost home territory. Your lips touch again, but it feels like the first time all over again. You feel yourself melting, your brain feels high, your limbs terribly relaxed. You guess this is what true love feels like. There’s nowhere else you’d want to be.
You love him. Only him.
He turns you over, on all fours, one hand gripping your throat and the other around your hair. He thrusts into you - with passion, his lips ghost over your shoulder. You feel your eyes close, the strength to fight the sedation unable to be found. It goes on for a while, and he flattens you onto your stomach. He lays on top of you, his hips gyrating against your skin, his arms encircling your torso. You feel safe, his head laying to rest in between you shoulder and jawline. He inhales your scent and kisses your shoulder, his lips printing their mark on your skin.
He turns you over and takes a deep breath, his eyes hold your entire world. They’ve trapped you into his universe and you have no desire to leave. He’s your whole world and you gave him away on a silver platter - but he’s here. He accommodates himself in between your legs and gives you a hug, his lips find yours in the darkness. The moonlight bathes you generously and he nestles himself inside you again. His lips refuse to leave yours; his thrusts grow in fervour; he wants to bury himself inside you and never leave.
He’s so deeply, and madly in love with you.
He can’t believe you hurt him. He hates you for it.
He pulls away from your kiss, his breathing heavy and slightly laboured.
His hides his face in the nook under your head. You feel like crumpling when you feel tears run over your shoulder, you hug him tighter. You want to stitch his wounds closed, tightly with your bare fingers and your lips. You want to mould your bodies together and live forever in this moment. His fingers reach for your clitoris and he makes love to you in two different ways. Your head lolls back and you feel ecstatic, currents washing over you slowly and you orgasm.
Chris kisses you desperately, swallowing your moans. He thrusts into you, complementing your orgasm. He releases himself into you, slowly moaning into your mouth.
After a few moments he stands up from the lounge chair and heads to the shower, as he walks through the door, he turns to you. He smiles in a way that you understand is an invitation to join him in the shower. You stand slowly, your legs feeling like jelly. You join him for a warm shower, peppered with tender kisses and saccharine touches.
Your bodies unconsciously refuse to part until you’re lying in his bed. He turns off the lamp and lays facing you.
A sweet look embalms his irises. His hand lifts itself to nestle under your cheekbone. He regards you softly.
“I love you,” he whispers, his voice shaky.
You smile sleepily, “I love you too.”
You’re hypnotised to sleep by his soft breaths.
—
The sunlight reflected on the lake wakes you out of you slumber, the first dreamless one you’ve had in months. You turn to the side where Chris is and find nothing but empty air. You sit up quickly; the room is deadly silent. Nothing but your movements on the bed make noise. You scramble out of the bed and look for him.
There’s no trace of him in the room. You let out small wail of desperation. What if it was all a dream?
You pace the room, an uneasy feeling setting itself in your chest. You feel the space between your ribs tighten and your head feel faint. Your legs feel weak and unsteady, you crumple into a heap near the chaise lounge. Your breath feels constricted, massively so. The world begins to spin, and you fall onto your back.
It feels like a heart attack.
You can barely feel your heart.
You drag yourself to the counsel table, desperate to reach the phone. Your hand misses it massively, instead a hotel branded paper flickers down next to you. You pick it up, the tightness in your chest limiting your movement.
I guess this is goodbye, I can’t get over the fact that I’ll never be able to trust you. No matter how much I want to.
I hate you for ruining us
I’ll miss you, forever.
With all my love,
C
--
Parte Quatre -
Tags -
@chvntelle-99, @krispy-toes, @hampass, @calimoi, @saltyflowermakertaco
#chris evans imagine#chris evans#chris evans x female reader#chris evans fanfiction#chris evans angst#chris evans smut#chris evans fluff#andy barber#andy barber series#andy barber one shot#chris evans blurb#steve rogers#captain america#steve rogers fanfiction
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Sashimi Chain of Sickness 🍣
A.N : askjdbskd ok so the cat is out of the bag, finally me and @spence-sickfics can post our babies here :D a chain of sickness in bangtan’s dorm ! idk what else to tell, but we have a fun time working it and i hope you guys enjoy this story as much as we enjoy writing it ! :D here we go for the first day ~ it’s a long ride but i hope you like it :] ((you can read it on @spence-sickfics blog too!))
Sickie : Namjoon and Jungkook // Caretaker : Yoongi, Taehyung
TW : emeto
Day One:
(by sickyoonminie)
Namjoon curled his body smaller. He’d been awakened early by a series of cramps seizing through his stomach. He pressed his palm deeper into his stomach, hoping that the pressure might alleviate the cramps.
But it failed.
He rolled onto his back and let out an exhausted groan. His right hand mindlessly stretched to his phone on the nightstand. He squinted when the bright screen hit his eyes. 7AM.
He let the phone plop down before nuzzling himself deeper to the pillow. He tried to sleep again but nothing was working, so he got up from his bed, stretching his arms high above his head.
After a quick shower, he put on fresh clothes, and headed downstairs.
"Joonie, why are you up so early?" Seokjin greeted him from the kitchen, his hand busy with the toast and scrambled egg. For some reason, the sight of food made Namjoon’s stomach swirl. He feels full, despite not eating anything since last night.
"Can't sleep again", he mumbled as he set himself to water. Gulping it down in one go. He frowns when it feels heavy on his stomach.
Something is wrong with him.
But he shrugs it off. Maybe it's his nerves, or maybe he's too exhausted.
"You want some?", Seokjin asks, placing the scrambled egg on top of the toasted bread. Namjoon shakes his head, taking another gulp of water.
Seokjin takes one for himself before sitting next to Namjoon.
After that, it’s silence between them. But the members started going downstairs one by one, and it didn't take long before the kitchen became “lively”.
Namjoon tries to fall into conversation, but he just—didn't have the energy for that.
" You okay, Joon-ah?", Yoongi slides quietly beside him as they walked to their car.
"Huh? What do you mean hyung?"
Yoongi shrugs, "I don't know. You look a little off today, or maybe that was just my feeling"
Namjoon hums, glancing at him as they get inside their car. They sit in the middle seat.
"I just, don't get enough sleep", Namjoon sighs and leans on the window.
" You should stop caved in your studio", Yoongi mumbles, gaining a scoff from the younger, "Says you hyung"
Yoongi chuckles, "Try to sleep for few minutes"
And maybe Namjoon will comply.
—
It's Namjoon's fault that he just brushed off the uncomfortable feeling in his body this morning. As a result, he just feels worse by now.
He curled on the couch in his studio. He's shivering, despite the air conditioner being off. His hand settled on his stomach that has been so upset, like nauseous, but at the same time it feels bloated too.
Everything just felt off for him.
A sudden knock interrupts his thoughts. He groans before getting up. His muscles ache.
"Hyung! Are you busy? We want to get dinner!"Jungkook's doe eyes and bunny smile is the one who greeted him as he opened the door.
Namjoon leaned on the door, feeling tired.
"We? Is everyone coming?"
Jungkook nods, "Yes! Even Yoongi-hyung"
Namjoon contemplates for a second. Maybe he just needs to eat to make everything that has been going on in his body go away. If he thinks about it, his appetite hasn't been the best as he was too busy with the album preparation.
He sighs before mustering a smile "Tell them to wait for me. I'm coming"
Jungkook nods before giving him a thumbs-up, "Thank you, hyung!"
—
"Woah, this place is .. crowded", Hoseok chimed in, throwing his arms around Namjoon's shoulder as they stepped into the restaurant. Namjoon wants to bat it away, as it pressed his sweater to his skin that had been prickling uncomfortably because of his fever. But he's too lazy to do it.
" Don't worry, we had booked a secluded place", Seokjin says from behind.
Taehyung walks alongside Namjoon as they all walk to their table. Taehyung grabs the chair closest to the door before he sits down, while Jimin sits beside Taehyung. He scoots closer to Jungkook in the corner, as Yoongi takes the seat directly across from Jimin and beside Namjoon. Seokjin and Hoseok settle on the remaining orders, and Namjoon orders the same dish as Jungkook and Seokjin. Sashimi. It suits for dinner as it's not too heavy but enough to make him full. The waiter leaves as soon as their order comes. Namjoon lets out a breath as he relaxes.
They were having a nice meal, talking, and laughing. Namjoon can see that they're having fun. And the food is nice. He even got three servings, hoping that eating more could somehow drown out the pain in his stomach.
It was just as he finished his third plate when he felt an odd sense of pain in his tummy, and for some reason, the sashimi tasted funny too. He glanced at Seokjin and Jungkook. They seem fine, munching happily. He shrugs, maybe it's only his tongue messing with him. He had been felt off the whole day anyway.
He decided to just let it go. He'll think about it later.
—
"Hyung", Jungkook calls him when they are seated on the couch, everyone was retreating to their room. Ready to go to sleep.
" Hm?" Namjoon hums, not opening his eyes. He's tired. He's full. It feels like energy just sucked out of his body. And he could feel his fever going worse too.
"Um, are you feeling fine?", Namjoon tilts his head, looking at the younger with a frown, "What?"
"I mean. The sashimi .. it was fine, right?", Jungkook bites his lip, fiddling with his fingers. His eyes were wide, afraid of what Namjoon would say.
"What?", Namjoon blinks, "Yeah. Yes, it was".
"Oh."
Namjoon opens his mouth. Then closes it.
"Then maybe my tongue is just being funny", Jungkook said. A slight grin on his face. It looks more forced than usual. " Okay then I will get ready for bed, hyung. Go to bed soon, you look tired,", he adds, giving a squeeze on Namjoon's shoulder before he retreats to his and Namjoon’s shared bathroom.
Namjoon looks at the younger's retreating figure before looking at his hands. There is a dull pain in his stomach which started to hurt right after Jungkook asked him that. He doesn't like that. And he doesn't like the suspicion that comes after.
He stands up, heading towards his bedroom. Freshens his body and downing a Pepto-bismol along with some fever medicine that Seokjin bought a few months ago.
Maybe, it was just him being paranoid—in addition to his off-ish body the whole day.
It will be fine after he sleeps. Right?
— —
Night One:
(written by spence-sickfics)
Jungkook hadn’t been able to go to sleep until almost midnight. It seemed all the other boys had agreed on going to bed early, as everyone was most likely preparing for another long day at the studio. Jungkook, however, was too uncomfortable to sleep. Uncomfortable, mostly in his head. A nagging worry about Namjoon’s quietness throughout the day. Another worry, that the sashimi tasted kind of off. A bigger worry, maybe that Namjoon was sick or hurt and that’s why he ate so much. After knowing the leader for ten years, Jungkook was familiar with Namjoon’s tendencies to conceal any sort of discomfort he felt physically. And Jungkook also knew that the leader liked to eat a lot at meals that he didn’t want to talk at. To keep his mouth busy, probably. Maybe Namjoon was sick from the sort of strange-tasting sashimi? No, that didn’t make sense. He was acting weird before that. And if that was true, then both Jungkook and Seokjin should be sick by now. Come to think of it, though, Jungkook was noticing a dull ache in his belly as the hours ticked by.
Speaking of the hours, he’d lost track of time by around eleven pm. Namjoon was asleep in bed beside him by that point, in fact, he assumed everyone was asleep except for him. Jungkook had tried to go to sleep for around thirty minutes, but to no avail as the pain in his upper stomach grew. He’d taken a single painkiller at around 10pm, going back to bed and looking at his phone. But whatever he had taken wasn’t doing much to cover up the twisting sensation he experienced. He’d been able to distract himself, though, dully scrolling through social media and wishing he could fall asleep. He wondered if it’s what Namjoon had been feeling like every night recently, he’d overhead Seokjin and Yoongi expressing concerns for the leader’s insomnia. Whatever it was, though, Jungkook was able to fall asleep upon taking the painkiller. It hadn’t done much, but it had fogged up his brain enough to let his worries fade away.
Jungkook woke up again at around two in the morning, to a sharper stabbing pain in his stomach that made tears well up in his eyes. He sat up quickly, placing and arm over his middle and realized how sick he felt. His stomach looked horribly bloated, it felt like the contents were fighting to get out and it was making too much noise. He felt nauseous, not in a particularly heavy way, but more the feeling of disgusting sickness. He felt Namjoon stir, but not wake next to him. Jungkook needed his hyung’s comfort badly, but didn’t want to wake up Namjoon as he knew how tired he must be. His stomach was rolling as he let a quiet burp escape him and moaned quietly, putting his head in his hands. He hiccuped, and a wave of vomit splashed in the back of his throat. Before he could even process what was really going on, Jungkook clamped a hand over his mouth and ran out of the room, into his and Jimin’s shared bathroom. At that point, he bent over the sink and let the surge of vomit come out from his mouth. He winced at the sight of barely-digested sashimi. It must have been bad, he thought before his stomach cramped and he was sent into another wave of throwing up. He kept feeling his throat constricting with gags, feeling fearful for a minute until he felt a warm hand on his back and saw the lights turn on.
“You’re okay, Kook,” Namjoon whispered, his voice hoarse from sleep. Jungkook panted, then turned on the water to wash the sink out. “You all done?” Namjoon asked, and Jungkook nodded. He still felt terrible. Lucid. He knew he didn’t have a fever and he didn’t feel like throwing up again but his stomach was killing him.
“Yeah, sorry Joon, I just feel really sick all of the sudden. I think it was the sashimi. Do you feel sick too?” Jungkook asked as Namjoon guided him to a seated position on the ground together.
Namjoon swallowed, and Jungkook saw how pale the older looked. “No, not really,” Namjoon said lowly. His words were punctuated by a low gurgle from his stomach, and Namjoon paled further.
“That didn’t sound ‘not really sick’, Joon,” Jungkook offered.
“Yeah, says you,” Namjoon mumbled, “Worry about yourself.” Namjoon hadn’t meant to come off so sharp, but being distracted from what he felt like was his job to take care of Jungkook was the worst. The pain in his stomach had gotten worse too, making him more irritable and a sense of nausea was now bothering him too.
Jungkook frowned. “I’m sorry, hyung.” He looked sad to be scolded, and Namjoon instantly felt terrible for speaking to him in such a way. He wanted to apologize, but he felt nausea rising in his chest along with the guilt. He opened his mouth to speak but all that came out was a gag and he leaned over the toilet, shutting his eyes tight and breathing heavily while waiting for it to come. Jungkook’s eyes went wide before he went over to put a hand on Namjoon’s back, and patted gently as vomit came rushing out of Namjoon’s mouth and splashed into the toilet. His body was shaking badly, likely a product of fever. It looked more than painful.
Jungkook felt himself get nauseous again just watching Namjoon and had to stand up before gagging again and throwing up a bit more into the sink. Namjoon was heaving, probably too loudly to hear Jungkook getting sick anyways. When Jungkook was done, he returned to Namjoon, who finished up a few seconds later after a few quiet dry retches.
“Namjoon,” Jungkook whispered, “Shit, you are sick. Lay down, please.” Namjoon obliged and lay as far as he could, upper body resting on the edge of the bathtub and hands over his face.
“Jungkook, can you please get Hoseok or something? I feel awful,” Namjoon admitted and Jungkook looked at him. His stomach was bloated, face pale and sweaty. He looked awful, and Jungkook almost said yes. But he was suddenly feeling really nauseous again, and his stomach was hurting worse.
“Uhm, I’m not sure if I can--huhghh--” Jungkook tried to speak but was cut off by a violent gag as he went back to the sink and threw up again, more undigested food pouring out in a thick stream from his stomach. It was Namjoon this time to stand up shakily and put a much-too-warm hand on the younger’s back, still feeling feverish but wanting to help Jungkook badly. He rubbed the back gently, until Jungkook was reduced to dry gags. His face felt sweaty as Namjoon pulled back the overgrown black hair into a ponytail to avoid getting it stuck in vomit. Namjoon’s hands were shaking badly, and Jungkook swore he could feel the body heat radiating from the older.
“Ughh, Namjoon, I’m so sorry,” Jungkook muttered, sliding a hand up under his shirt to put on his stomach, “My stomach hurts so bad, hyung.” He turned around to look at Namjoon, who still looked pale. Eyes half-shut, not able to pay attention to whatever Jungkook was saying. The singer gently placed a hand on Namjoon’s forehead and frowned when he felt how warm it was. “Oh, gosh, hyung, you feel warm.” Namjoon hummed in agreement, opening his eyes slightly. Jungkook was unsure what to do, still feeling sick himself when he saw Taehyung walk through the door. His eyes were puffy from sleep, but he could still see the situation at hand and was concerned immediately.
“Jungkook-ah? Namjoon-ah? Are you guys sick?” he asked, rubbing his eyes.
Jungkook nearly cried from relief. “I was sick a couple times, and he was too, I think he has a fever, thank you for coming, Tae.”
“Huh? Why are you sick? How is Namjoon even standing up, his eyes are closed?” Taehyung’s brain was too foggy from sleep.
“I think the sashimi, but maybe Namjoon-hyung was sick from something else too, he has a fever. He’s falling asleep right now, at first he was holding me up but now I’m holding him up, as you can see.” Jungkook responded, and cleared his throat. “Can you please get him some fever medicine? I can’t take care of him, my stomach still feels so sick.”
“Yeah, of course, please lay him down for a second. He needs some rest. I’m gonna get some medicine, and, uh...Seokjin-hyung. I’ll get him too. You don’t have a fever?” Taehyung responded.
“No, I feel really awake and lucid actually. My head is clear, it’s just my stomach, which --” he paused to inhale shakily as a worse cramp wracked his stomach “--could you get some medicine for, please?” Jungkook said.
“Yeah, of course. I’ll be right back.” Taehyung left the room. Jungkook spoke gently to Namjoon.
“Hey, let’s sit down for a second, Joon. Just rest a little and we’re gonna give you some medicine,” he said. Namjoon nodded and sat down, resting his back on the wall. His eyes were open, but glossy and not really looking at anything in particular. “Gosh, Namjoon, it really seems like throwing up made you so much groggier, yeah?” Jungkook tried to joke, but no response. Namjoon just closed his eyes slightly. Jungkook frowned in worry and felt the leader’s forehead again. Somehow, it felt warmer than before. And crap, he’d forgotten to ask Taehyung to bring a thermometer. He’d probably remember it anyway, though. And Jungkook was looking forward to nothing more than being able to rest. He could still feel the cramps twisting in his stomach, and he’d been able to bear through them for the past few minutes but now he wasn’t sure if he could do it anymore. He was beginning to feel sicker by the second, too. His lower stomach was churning as well, and it felt almost like there was a rock sitting in his stomach. He wanted to feel better so badly. His fingers played with his small ponytail, as they always did when he got anxious. The worst part of this was he knew what food poisoning felt like. He knew that this would last much longer than just a few hours, and he hated nothing more than feeling sick and useless. He needed more than anything a few cuddles from Taehyung once he got Seokjin taking care of Namjoon. Jungkook sighed to himself as he thought about it. A cuddle and a stomach rub from Taehyung was the best thing he could possibly imagine. Just a few more minutes.
A few minutes went faster than Jungkook predicted, and it felt like no time had passed when Taehyung came through the door again, followed by Yoongi this time. Jungkook stood up, “Tae, why is Yoongi here? I thought you were going to get Seokjin,” Jungkook asked.
Taehyung shook his head. “Yoongi said that Seokjin was complaining that his stomach hurt really badly before he went to bed. He ate the sashimi too, so he’s probably sick.” Taehyung paused. “Jungkook, let me take you to my room and get back to bed. You look really pale.”
Jungkook nodded. “Be gentle with him though, Yoongi, he’s so tired.” Yoongi nodded in understanding and kneeled down close to Namjoon as Taehyung helped Jungkook stand up. They were halfway out the door before Yoongi spoke.
“Taehyung. He has a fever of nearly 101 degrees (38.5 celsius). Should I call the staff?” Taehyung turned back around.
“101 isn’t too high. Just let me know if it gets worse. I’m bringing Jungkook to my room, and since I don’t have a roommate right now we won’t wake anyone up. You should bring Namjoon back to your and Seokjin’s bed. Keep an eye on them both, okay?” Taehyung responded, still gently using his hands to stabilize Jungkook.
“Sounds good,” Yoongi said, and Taehyung walked off with Jungkook. "Come on, Kook-ah. Let's get you to rest, hm?"
Yoongi kneels down as well in front of Namjoon who looks in pain, brushing his damp hair slightly, “Joon-ah, let’s rest too?”
#bts sickfic#bts emeto#tw emeto#tw vomit#sick!namjoon#sick!jungkook#caretaker!taehyung#caretaker!yoongi#ryu's collab first part
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birthday polaroid - cth
summary: making memories on calum’s 25th birthday.
author’s notes: happy birthday to calum! i hope he has a wonderful day and i hope you guys enjoy a little moment in time with our favorite guy. thanks to @lowkeyflop for sending me an idea that inspired this piece.
masterlist || request
Everyone around them knew. The small touches and the laughs shared between one another when they thought no one was looking. Everyone knew from the lasting gazes or the way they always found each other in a crowd. Calum knew that he liked her and if he was being honest, he was absolutely terrified to find out if she felt the same. But everyone knew the truth. They were inseparable and it was no secret that there was something more than just friendship.
When Calum and her first became friends, it was nothing more than hanging out with their friend group and texting every once in a while. Calum couldn't remember when things changed between the two of them. He couldn't remember when his heart started racing every time he thought about her or being near her. He couldn't remember when he started craving her attention. But he wasn't sure if she felt the same way about him. He didn't know if her hands got sweaty and her mouth dry when they hung out. But he really hoped so.
She was in love with Calum. That much she knew. She was in love with the person she'd seen him become in the years of friendship. She was in love with his smile and his laugh and everything about him. She never had any plans to tell him how she felt, that would've been insane. She knew Calum, she knew that relationships were never for him and knew that he was afraid to ever be vulnerable in front of a person like that again. So no, there was no way she was ever going to tell Calum that she was truly, madly, and deeply in love with him.
One thing Calum loved about her was how passionate she was about celebrating life and all the joys that came with being a human. When Calum first started hanging out with her alone, he learned very early on that she always tried to make everyone's day better. Whether it was playing Calum's favorite song in the car whenever he was having a bad day or letting Michael borrow her fuzzy sweater when he was cold and had forgotten a jacket on movie night. But Calum found himself more and more in love with her whenever she was just herself when she was with him and she was carefree. He loved listening to her laugh and then talk about something she was loving that day. He loved watching her eye light up whenever her favorite song played and the way she would dance along to the music in the car.
Usually, on his birthday, Calum made plans to spend it with his friends and close ones. They'd usually go out to brunch and start the day off planning whatever fun activity they had for Cal's big day. Then there was the usual outing to whatever club they'd gotten bottle service at that night. Or there was a party at someone's house which usually ended with too many shots and Calum ending up on social media the next morning replaying the events of the night. But this year, Calum felt like shit. His cold started off as a tickle in the back of his throat, a tickle that wouldn't go away no matter how many times he cleared his throat or how many cups of tea he drank. Eventually, the tickle turned into a sore throat and a runny nose with a cough that forced Calum to make the decision on how his twenty-fifth birthday to be canceled. The day before his birthday, which was usually spent hydrating and what Calum described as the calm before the storm, he sent out the text to cancel any plans in order for him to rest and feel better.
Calum hadn't expected anyone to show up. He'd sent out a text message to his friends the night before that he was sick with a cold and that any birthday plans would have to be rescheduled. If he was being honest, hiding in bed covered with blankets and sipping tea out of a Chewbacca mug was a perfect way to spend his birthday. He hated the idea of growing older and was not looking forward to waking up hungover from partying. But Calum wasn't expecting his doorbell to ring at two in the afternoon on the day of his birthday. So he'd ignored it at first, hoping that whoever had been at his front door would get the hint and leave him alone. Leave him to be a year older by himself while a cold that left his nose stuffed and his throat sore stuck in bed. It wasn't until he heard the familiar tone of his security system pinging, telling him someone had opened the front door, that Calum sensed something was off.
"Duke, please tell me your father isn't passed out in the shower or worse," her voice rang out from the living room, making Calum put down the book he had been reading and make his way out of the bedroom.
"Sweet girl?" Calum asked confused, his dry throat making his voice crack a bit.
"Calum," she mumbled, a small smile on her face as she turned to look at him. She had that addicting smile that Calum loved so much, the one Calum liked to think she only showed when she was truly happy. She was holding multiple things, something that seemed to comically in excess, gift bags, and brown paper bags, and a pink cardboard box had been set on the kitchen counter.
"Happy birthday!" she cheered as she set down everything on the counter, "I know you said you didn't want to celebrate since you weren't feeling good but...it's your birthday and I wanted to bring you some stuff to hopefully make you feel better," she mumbled as she walked over to him and pulled him into a tight hug.
Calum watched as she walked around his kitchen, humming quietly to herself while she waited for the soup she'd brought for him to heat up on the stove. She'd been here since the afternoon, something Calum was more than grateful for, making sure that he'd been drinking enough water and that he was taking medicine to help with whatever cold had decided to hit him on his birthday. As the day went on, with birthday presents unwrapped and many pictures taken on the polaroid that she'd gotten him as one of her gifts.
"A camera?" Calum had asked with a sniffle as he unwrapped the box with a pink bow on top of it.
"You always talk about wanting to capture more memories. I thought that maybe having polaroids would help with that. They're more concrete, not as easily forgotten like in your phone." she mumbled and smiled, taking another bite of the cake they'd both been sharing.
"I love it." Calum nodded, "Take a picture with me?" he asked as he pulled the camera out of the box and started to set it up.
Calum hadn't planned on kissing her. He hadn't planned on capturing the exact moment when he told her how he truly felt about her on a polaroid camera, but his heart was full of love for her and how she'd come over to celebrate his birthday with him even after he tried to kick her out to not get her sick. But Calum hadn't planned to kiss her when she sat next to him and held the polaroid camera up in front of them.
"I love you, you know that?" Calum mumbled softly, his own eyes widening as he met her eyes. Before he knew it, his lips were on hers and a flash went off behind his closed eyelids.
The kiss was soft, exactly like she was, soft and warm and everything Calum had needed. Her hand cupped one of his cheeks, pulling him closer as her eyes closed and she fell deeper into the kiss. Calum's arms wrapped around her waist and his forehead rested against hers as they both pulled away. They both let out a shaky breath, Calum's nose brushing against hers as they sat in each other's arms, eyes closed because they were both too afraid to open their eyes and find out that this was all just a fever dream.
"I...I love you." she whispered, finally breaking the silence and opening her eyes, "I always have loved you." she mumbled.
His tired eyes and red nose made a perfect picture, one she'd save not only in her phone but in her heart too. The small polaroids from that day were laying on the bedside table, reminding her of the sweet boy who was dozing off with his head on her chest. His soft breathing warmed her heart and she pressed a kiss onto the top of his curls, her arms tightening around Calum as she felt him start to drift off.
"Thank you." Calum mumbled against her shoulder, "Made my birthday special, made me finally realize how much I love you." he whispered, letting out a soft yawn.
"You deserved to have a beautiful birthday, Calum. Even if it was just laying in bed and eating way too much cake." she teased and pushed back his curls, pressing a kiss onto his forehead. "I'm glad you love me as much as I love you, birthday boy."
"Mhm, best birthday ever," he whispered, his eyes finally closing as the smile on his face fell and he finally drifted off to sleep on what was the best birthday ever. Maybe, just maybe, being twenty-five wasn't going to be as bad as he thought.
taglist: @hoodhoran @finelliine @moonlightcriess @dinosaursandsocks @mxgyver @calpops @karajaynetoday @notlukehemmo @calumrose @devilatmydoor @lyss-xo @lowkeyflop
#calum hood imagines#calum hood blurb#calum hood fics#calum hood oneshots#calum hood x reader#5sos fics#5sos blurbs#5sos imagines#5sos oneshot#5sos x reader#5sos#calum hood#5 seconds of summer#gemma writes#happy birthday calum!
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unbothered
a/n: another addition to so it goes! just little snippets of acts of service between jungkook and oc. this takes place over the first school year together. also, if you guys have any ideas for more drabbles, pls send them in! enjoy! warnings: mentions of food consumption, coffee consumption, hints at students family life.
series masterlist
i.
It's Friday, the end of the second week of school.
The past three days, Jungkook and you have been arriving at the same time. You'd wait for one another, catching up from the day before since you parted. He'd crack a joke about how he wasn't sure what tires him out more, his roommate's stupid shit or waking up early five days in a row.
Today, you're running twenty minutes behind; twenty-five minutes before school started.
Teeth brushed and face washed were your first two priorities this morning. You were able to throw your hair up into a messy updo; not having enough time for the full routine, only patting moisturizer into your skin. It would be enough to make it seem like you put some effort, right?
It's after you've parked, backpack hanging over your shoulder, tote bag hanging low from your hand, that you spot Jungkook's car and freeze.
Did you leave him waiting?
Clocked in, you make your way to drop off your belongings in your room as fast as you can. No one stops you in the hall, a small sigh of relief leaves you. Who knows how long Ms. Lee Ji-Wan, a second grade teacher who literally beams sunshine, would have kept you if she spotted you.
A moment, just a small moment you allow yourself. A moment where you're not rushing yourself, worried about being somewhere, in the comfort and stillness of your classroom. Hand rubbing your nape, head slowly rolling out to the side. Just a moment.
And it's not ruined, not when you hear three soft knocks on your door before sliding open.
Jungkook's head is poking in, his wide eyes searching the room before settling on you. His eyes quickly look you over before he allows himself in, door closing behind him.
"You didn't wait, did you?" is the first thing that comes out of your mouth, your hand moving down to rub your fingers against your collarbone.
"Not long, no," Jungkook reassures you, not staying still.
"Jungkook," you frown, reaching over to your desk for your coffee, that you realize you forgot when your fingers wrap around nothing, balling up into a loose fist.
"Here," Jungkook laughs, moving his hand from behind his back. An iced coffee.
Hands instantly clasping against your chest, big eyes and a hopeful tug of your eyebrows; your facial expression reading, "is that for me?" Jungkook laughs, holding the coffee out to you, shaking it to show you that it's real, and it's for you.
"I got here just before you, actually. I was in the mood for some expensive coffee and figured you'd like one, too," Jungkook explains, that smile never leaving his lips.
ii.
The end of a meeting is always such a relief.
The quiet, exciting buzz that comes with the meeting being called to it's end, almost like an exhale that relieves your body from the weights of the world for just that moment; weightless and carefree.
The chairs being pushed away so teachers could stand, the sound of shuffling paper and occasional crumple, quiet chatter while some people gathered together, others just making their way of the room. Talk of lunch plans, upcoming events (personal and 'professional').
That was feeling is what you look forward to at the start of every meeting.
It's the feeling you relish this moment. Tae-yeon rubs your forearm, telling you she'll see you after the day ends before rushing off to join Jae-eon, physical education teacher. You look after her, standing up, watching as the pair makes their way out of the room.
You turn back towards the center of the room, eyes scanning the room until you spot Jungkook.
Jungkook's not in the spot he deemed as his unassigned assigned seat during meetings, but at the front of the room, talking to the principal. His body language is animated; his papers on the chair closest to him, hands moving regardless of close they are to his body. You could see how his eyes widened and his tone came off as serious, passionate.
You can't help but watch. You can't help but wonder what he was so passionate about, what he was sharing with the principal.
You can't take your eyes away, not until they bow to each other and the principal is turning towards you, to make his way to the exit behind you. Quickly, you duck your head and a quiet wish leaves your lips, "have a good day, sir."
"You waited," Jungkook simply says, your head turning upwards and eyes automatically moving to his face.
"Yeah," you hum.
"You didn't have to," Jungkook reassures with a small smile, folding his small stack of papers in half and tucking it under his arm. He makes his way towards you, hand gesturing towards the door.
"Yeah, but I wanted to. We always go to lunch afterwards," you state.
"Oh," Jungkook falters behind you. He watches you make your way to the door, turning midway when you don't feel his presence.
"You wait for me," you shot back, a teasing look on your face.
"Yeah, because I haven't been sucked into a teacher's clique," Jungkook defends jokingly.
iii.
You're looking over the math worksheets from this morning, red pen in one hand, chopsticks handling japchae in other.
"This is DEAN" playlist on Spotify plays softly from your computer. You hum, in tune to the music and to the taste of the japchae that your roommate, Sana, made last night.
You don't hear the door open, your face down towards the container of noodles. Cheeks full and puffed out, you throw your head back, a quiet moan, eyes closed. God, you loved noodles.
"You okay?" Jungkook laughs, taking you by surprise.
Head lowering to look at him, your eyes are wide and don't bother chewing, just watching as Jungkook gets closer.
"I thought you had lunch plans," you struggled, slowly chewing and swallowing, repeating the process until your mouth becomes empty again.
Jungkook laughs again, reaching over to twist the cap off your bottle of juice open before handing it to you.
"Take it slow."
You wave him off, taking a sip, eyes looking him up and down.
"You didn't met up with your friend... Seokjin?" you ask curiously, hoping you got the name right.
"I did," Jungkook nods and taps his finger against your desk, "but Jin-hyung had something come up."
Your lips pout, brows furrowing, "Sorry. I know you were looking forward to it."
"It's fine, I know where he lives," Jungkook cackles, placing a small container in front of you, "but just as I promised..."
"Is this the cake he made last time?" You gasp hopefully, pulling yourself closer.
There's a glimmer in your eyes, it makes Jungkook laugh quietly, shoulders shaking and nose scrunching up as he nods.
"He gave me some extra after I mentioned that I shared it with a friend from work," Jungkook smiles, popping the lid open.
What you didn't know about Jungkook that his hyung(s) did was that Jungkook only shared food with people he really cared about.
iv.
Since the days Jungkook and you used to just magically show up at the same time to school and wait for each other so that you could enter the building together (neither you or Jungkook know that the other peeked at the time when they realized that arrive at that time, thus the new addition to their daily routines), you've both had the other's phone number.
First, texts were exchanged when one of you decided to go for a coffee run, always asking the other if they wanted something.
Then came the texts to tell the other that you were running late (you showed up ten minutes before the school day started just to find that someone turned on your computer).
Following that were the texts that came in the evening. The "what was the name of the website that you those pens?," "what was the dish you mentioned Namjoon made for dinner?," the "I have roommate cake and coffee tomorrow morning!!!"
You remember the first time Jungkook took a sick day, after the winter break, after you'd deemed yourselves friends and not just coworkers.
You're in the teacher's lounge, lips hovering over your water bottle. You're pretending to pay attention to your phone, thumb scrolling against the screen as if you're on social media, but in reality, you had your conversation with Jungkook opened. Subtly trying to type out everything you were hearing in the teacher's lounge.
"before you call me a child, I just have to say... you chose the wrong day to be absent, mr. jeon."
Jeon Jungkook: what is this? are we fourteen? are you trying to get me to wonder what the day is like without me?
You scoff to yourself, trying to bite back a smile.
Jeon Jungkook: when I woke up again this morning, it was already 10am, and the first thing that popped into my head was that it was two hours into the school day and math is almost over.
A laugh leaves your lips, the noise from the nearby teachers becoming quiet as they looked over at you.
Eventually, your texts ranged throughout the entire day. From the morning texts asking if the other wants coffee, texts swapping recipes in the late afternoon, to just asking about weekend plans and just...talking to one another.
v.
"I'll have you know, Jeon Jungkook, that my Saturdays are sacred," you gushed, waggling your finger jokingly.
Jungkook snorts, pushing the cart past you, leaving you standing there. He throws a quick glance over his shoulder at you, rolling his eyes with a smile on his face.
"No one forced you to tag along," Jungkook points out.
"You're right. But, you also know that I cannot and will not turn down a lunch invitation," you sigh dramatically.
"Ah, so when you see my face, you see a money bag?"
"Didn't you hear? The way to someone's heart is through their stomach," you sigh, hand over your chest, walking closer to where Jungkook's stopped.
Jungkook's looking at things that he can gift the students in the after school art club. You both had already gotten little gifts for your respective classes, but Jungkook had told you that he wanted to give his art kids some supplies so that they'd be encouraged to keep doing art; supplies that parents couldn't afford or in some cases, didn't want to purchase.
"I have three students who go to high school next year," Jungkook murmurs to himself, scratching the back of his neck, "but I don't want the rest of them to think I don't care about them."
"What were you planning on getting for them?" you ask gingerly, hands running over the different sketchbook covers.
"Taehyung was able to get some good quality mixed media sketch books from the art museum. They hold workshops every week and he found some extras," Jungkook turns to look at you, a hint of a soft smile, "so I was thinking a basic watercolor set, some pencils, color pencils?"
"Mmm, maybe leave the water colors for the ones going to high school? Not that you don't trust the younger ones, but water colors seems like some more responsibility," you comment.
Jungkook hums back in acknowledgement, moving to stand next to you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand at his proximity, your heart racing when you catch his scent.
"You added erasers and sharpeners?"
"Pencil set."
"Hmm," your eyes scanning down the aisle. You spot chalk hanging at the end of the aisle, hand reaching out to pat Jungkook's bicep before quickly moving down the aisle. Adjusting your bag onto your shoulder, you dramatically gesture towards the various packs of chalk.
"Not only can they make art in their sketch books, but out in the neighborhood," you try telling it to him like a salesman at a car dealership, "art that can be remade, reworked. Sidewalks, driveways, whatever!"
Jungkook can't fight off the laugh as he doubles over, his laugh echoing around him.
His laugh is contagious, it might be your favorite sound. It has you breaking character, your laugh joining his; a symphony that could bring crowds together, one that people never wanted to stop hearing.
"What? It's not good?" you defend yourself through giggles.
"Did I say something?" Jungkook chuckles, pushing the cart towards you, carefully placing several packs of chalk in.
"Did I win myself some dessert?" you turn away to peek at the other aisles.
"That already came included with the lunch offer. You, my friend, have won yourself something even better."
You realize Jungkook's movement until you hear his voice right in your ear.
"You get to pick one thing from the store and I'll buy it for you."
You shiver, stepping away from him, overwhelmed. You try to brush off the way the back your neck heats up, your heart beats a little faster, your hands get a little clammy. Just a moment to compose yourself, yet, a moment becomes too long when the hairs on the back of your neck fall back down and his scent is no longer surrounding you.
You look up with wide eyes, watching Jungkook make his way into the aisle that had "acrylic and oil points" written at the top.
"Wait!" You call out, trying to catch up to him, "you can't judge what I pick!"
tagging: @yslkook
#jungkook x reader#jungkook x oc#jeon jungkook x reader#jeon jungkook x oc#jungkook fluff#jungkook imagine#so it goes
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