#jokes on yall there are more couch pics coming

[yeahiguess3232]

3 and a half dads, one couch, zero sleep.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

#dungeons and daddies #jokes on yall there are more couch pics coming #dndads #dndaddies #my art #darryl wilson #glenn close #glenn close dndads #henry oak #henry oak garcia #ron stampler #i am not doneeee #trying out new stuff with coloring #still learning haha #making glenn hotter and hotter with every post is my passion #ron is babygirl as many have pointed out

[taegularities]

colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.

You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.

But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.

Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.

Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.

In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.

Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.

Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.

Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.

A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.

You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…

As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.

For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.

He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.

You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.

A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.

The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.

Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.

Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.

A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”

You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”

“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”

“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”

You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.

“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”

You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.

The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.

But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.

And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.

But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.

You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.

“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”

You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”

You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.

“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”

You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”

“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”

The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.

Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.

Because…

While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.

And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.

So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”

“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”

Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.

You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.

But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.

“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—

“Fridge?”

An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”

You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.

The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.

So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.

You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”

“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.

Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”

A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”

“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”

“…What did?”

“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”

“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”

“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”

“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”

He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.

And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”

His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.

Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough. 

His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”

Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.

But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.

This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.

You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”

Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”

“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”

…What?

The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.

Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”

“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”

“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”

“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”

…Huh.

You wait.

Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”

Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.

You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…

“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”

Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—

“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”

Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?

Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”

And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”

“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”

“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”

He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.

“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”

“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”

“So you can drop it as you please?”

“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.

But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.

So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”

But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.

Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.

With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.

Perhaps he does, too.

Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.

It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.

And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.

But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.

“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”

“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.

Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.

“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”

You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.

Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”

“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”

From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”

Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.

Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.

You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.

Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.

“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”

When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”

Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”

“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”

Hmm…

You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.

You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.

You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.

If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.

Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.

Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.

But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.

Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.

“Stop it.”

“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”

Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”

You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”

“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”

“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”

You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”

To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”

“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”

You blow a raspberry.

Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.

You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”

“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.

“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”

Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.

In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.

But not here, not right now.

Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”

“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”

“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”

“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.

“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”

Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.

As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.

You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”

And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.

Still are.

You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?

As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.

Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.

You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.

Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.

And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.

Guess it’s your fault this time.

Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.

His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.

“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”

You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.

He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”

But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY

The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.

It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.

The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.

And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.

The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.

But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.

Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”

The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”

And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.

The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.

THURSDAY

“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”

Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”

“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”

He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.

So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.

The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.

One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.

Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.

You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.

Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.

But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.

You sigh.

“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.

“You should go then.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”

“What?”

“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”

His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.

And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?

You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.

“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”

In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.

You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.

Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”

You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”

“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”

“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”

You look at his sculpted side profile.

You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.

But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.

So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.

The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.

You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.

Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”

“Well, eyes are important.”

The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.

You smile.

Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.

At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.

Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”

Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”

A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.

His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.

For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.

Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.

A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription. 

And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.

You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.

Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.

You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.

“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”

He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”

“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”

You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”

Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”

Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”

“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.

“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”

The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.

He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.

You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”

“Lemme look.”

He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”

And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”

“What?”

He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”

“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.

You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.

“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.

But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”

You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.

You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.

FRIDAY

The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.

Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.

Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.

Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.

He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.

If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.

He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.

When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.

He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.

“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”

His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.

You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.

A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.

A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.

An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep. 

He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.

Because…

Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.

And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.” 

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.

This cannot be.

There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.

It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.

Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.

This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?

No.

You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—

A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.

Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.

You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.

“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”

As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”

When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.

Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”

You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”

“Shit, really? What now?”

You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.

She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”

Per—

What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.

“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”

From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”

“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”

Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.

As everyone is, you suppose. But. 

“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.

She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”

To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”

Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.

But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”

Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.

None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.

As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”

You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”

“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”

“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”

“Would it help you?”

He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”

“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”

You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”

“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”

Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?

“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”

Oh oh. You feel bad.

Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.

But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”

You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.

The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.

From afar, he’s leering at you.

Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.

Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.

For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.

Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”

“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”

Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.

A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.

But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.

He doesn’t usually look like that…

“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.

This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.

Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”

He looks different. Why does he look different?

“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.

Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.

And you, still baffled, smile.

Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?

As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.

Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.

And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.

The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.

When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.

Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…

“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.

Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.

Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?

You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.

And he looks so goddamn good.

Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.

All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.

You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.

Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.

Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.

Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.

Fuck.

You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.

And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.

A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”

“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”

You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.

But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.

“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”

“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”

You bite your lip. You know.

You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.

The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.

This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.

New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.

God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.

A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.

He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”

You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”

When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”

He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room. 

You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.

And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.

He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.

The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.

A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.

He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”

You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.

Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.

You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”

Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”

“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”

“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”

You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”

You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.

But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.

Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.

“Right,” is all you say.

“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”

“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.

He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”

“Okay.”

The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.

And then, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”

You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.

“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”

Okay. Jerk.

At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”

No.

But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.

“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”

Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.

“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.

You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.

Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.

You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”

You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”

You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.

He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”

Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.

His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he’s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.

Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.

You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.

His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.

No bra.

He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.

Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.

And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.

Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.

You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.

Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.

The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.

He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.

In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—

“What?” he asks.

It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.

He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”

Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”

“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”

You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.

But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.

You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—

“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.

You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”

Oof.

If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.

SUNDAY

Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.

The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.

When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.

That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.

He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.

It’s been far too many days to still dwell.

But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.

Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.

Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.

Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.

You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.

And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”

It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”

You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.

They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.

He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.

The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.

A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.

But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.

Fuck. Home is too far away.

So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.

“No,” you answer.

“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”

Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.

“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.

“You sure?”

Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.

Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.

And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.

But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.

“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.

The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”

But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”

Holy shit.

This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.

“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”

“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”

Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.

Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.

What the fuck.

You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”

He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.

It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.

It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.

But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.

You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.

The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”

“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”

Unbelievable.

You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.

“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”

“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”

“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”

And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.

When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.

You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.

He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?

But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.

Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Oh. He’s mad.

His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.

There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.

But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”

“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”

“I—”

“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”

Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.

But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.

He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”

He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.

When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.

You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.

“I don’t know.”

With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”

He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.

But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.

“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”

The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.

“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”

But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.

You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.

“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.

His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.

“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.

Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.

And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”

“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”

He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.

Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”

“What thing?”

Ugh.

“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”

He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.

“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive. 

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything? 

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

#jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #bts smut #bts fluff #jeongguk smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts x reader #bts x you #bts imagines #bts fic #jungkook scenario #jeon jungkook smut #thebtswritersclub #jungkook fic #jungkook imagines #jungkook

[kitkilis]

akito + s/o who is ena's friend( he met reader because of ena) :)

i made s/o an artist too

Ena's friend

Shinonome Akito

the first time you and akito met was when you were going to ena's house to work on an art project for N25

ena: this is y/n, they're your age so i hope yall get along..

y/n: small nod of acknowledgement

akito: hey..

you were super polite at first cos your in someone's house that's basic respect

kinda awkward ngl so you only mostly stuck around ena

only after like the 3rd visit did you open up a little but only made small talk

that was until you dropped a that's what she said on him

akito, eating the pancakes ena bought back: ew why is it hard..?

y/n: thats what she said

ena: snorts

akito: stares at you in absolute disbelief

you had to hold back from laughing so hard that you just pressed your lips together and dragged ena away to do your work

the next time you came over to their house you started to feel more relaxed around there ans started cracking more jokes

akito says its lame but he clearly enjoys your company

when akito finds out you go to the same sch as his, he would come over to your class to visit you every now and then

and then he starts hanging out with you more often without ena playing middleman

he wanted to gift you something but didn't know what to get and when he asked ena what you would like as a gift. ena was like 🤨

ena: oooooo so you have a crush on y/n?

akito: what- no- well- i mean-

ena: heheh don't be shy i bet y/n likes you too

how could ena just sit there and watch when she clearly knows you both like each other

she's the one who pushed akito to confess

she definitely flexes about how shes the reason you two got together

teases akito and you a lot.

one time ena came home early to you knocked out on his chest and akito dead asleep on the couch with his arms around you

she took a pic to completely destroy you two with it the next day

#hatsune miku colorful stage #project sekai #project sekai x reader #shinonome akito #vivid bad squad #akito shinonome #akito shinonome x reader #akito x reader

[comfyswitcherblanketfort]

Grunge-Metal Geralt 2

holy fucking shit yall really loved the first one so I wrote some more

this is totally self indulgent tho. like yall have no idea. if i could live in any AU it would be this one. i have so many feels.

Warnings: drinking mention, nothing over the top, unwanted pics taken but like they’re celebrities? i guess, we get a bit emotional about past relationships/crushes but nothing too heavy

__________________________

Jaskier had no idea how he got there, but he was knocking on a green room door with a temporary label reading ‘The Witchers’ before the stadium had completely emptied. 

Lambert yanked the door open, Aiden clinging to his back like a monkey, and his eyes nearly bulged out of his head before a huge grin spread over his face, “Hey there, Jaskier!”

Eskel grumbled, “Haha, Bert. No need to fuck with Geralt.” 

Jaskier shoved his hands in his corduroys and rocked up onto his toes, “He’s not fucking with anyone,” he laughed, desperately trying to keep the nerves out of his voice as he peeked around the door jam. 

Geralt was curled up in the corner of a couch, now wearing a massive grey-blue hoodie and gold wire-rimmed glasses, scribbling in a composition notebook propped up on his knees. His hair was pulled back in a disaster of a bun with pieces falling in his face but Jaskier absolutely loved it. It suited him. He hesitated a moment before scrawling one last line in his notebook, brow furrowed as he chewed on his bottom lip.

When he looked up he snapped his notebook shut, “Holy fuck,” he breathed, “Hi!”

His eyes were actually gold. Jaskier had just thought that was some thirst driven exaggeration. He expected light brown, but no. He was staring directly at eyes that practically sparkled.

Lambert waved Jaskier in and he hesitantly stepped through the door, “Hi! I uh, dig your boots.” 

“Th- Thank you,” Geralt bit back a grin, blushing bright pink as he stood up, “I didn’t think you’d see my message. Or respond.” 

“After that performance?” Jaskier, normally bard-worthy with his quick tongue and easy conversation, was feeling his own cheeks heat up as he scrambled for something to say, “I’m honestly not sure if I even locked my car when I came back in.” 

Eskel snickered from behind Jaskier, stretching and putting his feet up on a coffee table, “Told ya.”

Aiden sighed and rested his chin on top of Lambert’s head, “This is so cute.”

Jaskier laughed, not entirely uncomfortably but definitely awkward, and ran a hand through his hair, turning back to Geralt. 

Geralt pushed his glasses farther up his nose and snatched his wallet from the coffee table, “I offered drinks. You wanna…” Geralt trailed off and made an exasperated, and maybe a little annoyed face at the guys behind him but when Jaskier turned around they were pretending to mind their own business, “How does Pensive sound?” 

Jaskier shot him a grin, “Sounds perfect.”

Geralt snagged his keys from a bag and held the door open for Jaskier, “After you.” 

-

“Okay so,” Jaskier took a sip of his drink and set it in line with their two empty glasses and a napkin holder, “Aiden and Lambert fuck?” he asked, pushing an empty glass and the napkin holder together. Geralt snorted and nodded so he went on, “And Eskel and Lambert are brothers?” Another nod as he tapped the two empty glasses, “And you and Eskel were college roommates?” he asked, gesturing to his half-empty glass. 

Geralt grinned, “You know, you’re keeping up pretty well for a self-proclaimed lightweight.” 

Jaskier giggled, “I’m trying really fucking hard.” 

Geralt leaned his head back and laughed and Jaskier was absolutely done for. He rested his elbow on the table and his head in his hand as he stared dreamily at this adorable man. He was carefree and soft around the edges, nothing like Jaskier had expected from the lyrics he’d listened to all night. And either he was a good listener or Jaskier had had one too many vodka-crans. 

When Geralt finally got himself under control he took off his glasses to wipe at his eyes before placing them back on his nose with a grimace, “I shouldn’t have taken my contacts out.” 

“Old prescription?” 

Geralt blushed, “Don’t usually wear them in public,” He admitted, pushing the frames higher.

Jaskier must have had too much to drink because he reached out and tucked a curly strand of white hair behind Geralt’s ear, “I think they’re cute on you.” 

Geralt’s breath caught in his throat as he stared at Jaskier, jaw hanging down just a bit, his pupils blown wide. Jaskier bit his lip and smiled as he pulled his hand away and rested it on the table between them, hoping Geralt would get the hint. Gods he just wanted to hold his hand and giggle until the sun came up. 

“Thank you,” Geralt muttered, blinking a couple times and laying one of his hands over Jaskier’s. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Geralt licked his lips and nodded, shaking the hair loose that Jaskier had just tucked away. 

“Why that song?” Jaskier stared at their hands, not having the courage to look at Geralt in case the answer wasn’t what he wanted it to be. 

“Hmm…” he didn’t sound upset, but he was certainly choosing his words carefully, “I’ve done the whole.. How do I put it?” Jaskier looked up at him only to see him staring at their hands too, “...‘I could be enough for you if you’d let me’ dance more times than I can count… and knowing it would never happen but yearning anyway…” he chuckled and glanced up at Jaskier, a sad look of acceptance in his eyes, “And I love your voice.”

Of course, he’d heard those words before, it was his job to have a good voice, but fuck, they hit different coming from Geralt. He was so earnest and disarmingly handsome that Jaskier felt anything he said would make him giddy. His chest felt warm and it took a moment for his brain to catch up. He had planned on showering Geralt with praise and adoration, not the other way around. 

Jaskier squeezed his hand, “I love yours too,” he whispered.

There was that gorgeous blush again, making Jaskier’s heart skip a beat. 

“I can’t imagine anyone thinking you’re not magnificent,” Jaskier mumbled, watching Geralt blush even deeper and dip his head so the loose hairs covered his face a bit. Jaskier may have been a flirty drunk, but he was one hundred percent sure he’d be just as forward with Geralt sober. He wasn’t leaving the bar without making damn sure Geralt knew he was gorgeous and talented and everything Jaskier could imagine wanting in life. 

“Careful. You can’t just say things like that,” Geralt warned, flicking the hair out of his eyes with a guarded but amused smile. 

“And why not?”

Geralt squinted at him for a moment, “I might believe you.” 

“Geralt, darling,” Jaskier started, sitting up and turning to square his hips toward him, holding his large hand in both of his, “I don’t mince words. I mean everything I say. And tweet. I really do think you’re wonderful. And I really do want you to sing me to sleep. Sometime. Anytime. I’m not picky.”

Geralt raised his eyebrows and took a breath in to say something but was interrupted by a camera flash in the low light of the bar and someone swearing.

“Oi!” Jaskier turned toward the light, and the idiot fumbling with their phone. 

Geralt squeezed his hand before he could say anything more, “It’s alright. The hair kinda glows in the dark, I’m used to it. I was thinking we could get out of here?”

Jaskier did his best not to let the sly smile take over his face and give him away, “Would you like to come to my place?”

Geralt grinned, “Absolutely. Mine is a shit show right now.”

“Is it really that bad?” Jaskier joked as they stood.

“Eskel is a slob,” Geralt laughed.

“Mine it is!” Jaskier declared, slapping enough cash to cover their drinks and an exorbitant tip on the table.

They walked out of the bar with Geralt’s arm around Jaskier’s shoulders, both with giddy smiles and a little extra pep in their step. 

#grunge-metal geralt #rockstar geralt au #grunge-metal geralt au #folk singer jaskier #singer jaskier #modern au #geraskier modern au #geraskier modern music au #geraskier music au #geraskier meet cute #geraskier first date #geraskier softness #geraskier bonding #feral jaskier #the witcher #the witcher fic #the witcher fanfic #geralt of rivia #geralt #jaskier #jullian alfred pankratz #listen soft boi geralt that gets all his agression out in his music makes me hnnnnggg #also soft boi geralt who didn't used to be so soft but has learned to channel it all into his music makes me hhhnnnggg too #im purely in this for Geralt ifyou couldnt tell

[thermaflute]

May you write a hc for Baku and/or todo with a black girlfriend

Thank you for your patience! Imma start rolling them out. Also included Sero on this one because the ask was similar!

Katsuki Bakugo

💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣💣

Your angry little sunflower. 

You initially curved his ass so hard because he came at you sideways. 

He had that “you definitely want me” attitude and you told his ass to kick rocks. 

He was kind of used to people throwing themselves at him so being told to essentially fuck off sent him reeling.

He felt awful man, he really did like you but he didn't know how to say it without, well, being himself about it.

He approached you the next day and apologized. It was an odd one but you could tell that it was hard for him to even say it so it must have been sincere. You gave him a chance.

Months later, you’re living your best life with Katsuki.

His favorite activity was showing you off. He even went as far as to get you on a hero magazine cover with him. 

There was quite a bit of controversy. People had some opinions about you, and he quickly assured you he has no regrets about loving you.

It’s not like he ain’t seen a black woman before but like you….you were something else. 

He was quick to defend you online, and quickly let anyone who had anything even vaguely negative to say about you know that they weren’t worth the dirt you walk on. 

He takes care of you man, and speaking of getting taken care of...

He’s definitely the type to spoil you, he wants to see you happy. Expect all kinds of luxury.

You basically accidentally become an Instagram model just because he flexes you too much (as if there’s such a thing).

He’s also the kind of guy to love matching clothes with you. Whether it’s the whole fit or just the colors, he’s the king of matching. 

He’s just a sucker for you man, he got himself a baddie and he’s so happy about it 🥺

Shoto Todoroki

🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄🔥❄

Imma be honest, he’s probably gonna come off weird at first.

Well intentioned, just has no game to save his life.

Bakugo heard him describe you as a “beautiful chocolate queen” and he volunteered his services ASAP. 

“You are gonna get PUNCHED saying that.”

“But she is :(“

Shoto swiped up on your story and said you looked “entrancing”.

Ain’t a soul has ever called you that and you FREAKED.

Bakugo was about to slap him over the head for that but you responded.

“Yeah you look good too Todoroki lmaooo”

“Good enough to date?”

“I meannnn, where are you trying to go?”

“Somewhere worth your time.”

Bakugo was proud of his handy work, the entrancing was still whack but he figured you were weird enough to let it slide. 

You were very quickly his girl. 

He was eager to learn all about you, but it sometimes came off a bit too forward. Lucky for him though, you never mind. 

“Y/n?”

“Yeah Shou?”

"Someone told me you had black girl magic? I didn’t know you possessed magical capabilities. I’m not scared or anything, I would just like to see it myself.”

You were stuck between laughing and curling him up and awwwing from just how oblivious and precious he is.

You plant a small kiss on his forehead and watch him get flustered, “that’s the magic Shou, do you not like it?”

“I do I do, I just thought there’d be more-” he waves his hands around trying to find a way to explain himself.

You lean in for a longer kiss on his lips and feel him relax underneath you. 

“Was that more magical.”

“Maybe….:

You laugh and actually fully explain what it is to him, he finds it absolutely endearing and uses it to describe everything you do. 

He’s a quick learner overall and he quickly gets all the little differences and embraces them fully. 

You never have to worry about your relationship with him man, you’re always worth the effort. 

Give this man the patience and love he deserves and you’ll receive it back tenfold.

Hanta Sero 

🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊🍊

Dude is a goofball.

He got uncle energy and you hate it but love it all at the same time.

He saw Denki talking to you while out on a run one day and you all shared a hilarious conversation. 

The second you said your goodbye and continued your jog he was begging to find out your info. 

He was whipped by you, you had your hair up in a poof and the sun was hitting your gloss just right. If he didn't know any better he would say you were an angel.

He found your Insta and was LIVING. You’re pretty, humble, and funny as hell. He HAS to talk to you.

Unlike the other two he had game from the get go, he immediately approached you the next day and asked you out.

Of course you said yes!

He is such a giver and so very patient and loving of things that usually confuse others.

He’s always there when you feel down, even if you don’t want to talk he’ll just hold you and tell you small jokes just to get you to smile. 

He’s also the kind of boyfriend to just bother you and then go back to minding his business. Randomly poking you and eating your food just to see you get on him about it.

He thinks it’s cute, okay. 

"What do you want!"

He quits poking you, grabs your popcorn, and just leaves the couch. "Nothing."

"My popcorn 🥺". 

He will wait all day with you while you’re getting your hair done at your friends house, he even brings you and her some food back since it’s been awhile. 

She’s taking photos for your page and he’s just complimenting you, telling you how good you look and how he wants some photos of you too. 

Cue your ass looking awkward on a dining room chair with your hair just done. He doesn’t mind, he’s just glad his baby is happy. He sends the photos to everyone and Mina scolds him on not waiting until you were at least ready for the pic.

Speaking of hair, he got some texture himself so yall both sleep in bonnets. 

He be losing his own so sometimes you get back to your apartment late and just see him curled up on the bed with your bonnet on. 

You just about take it off his head because he couldn’t even steal one of your durags he had to take the bonnet with the really nice elastic band. 

He’s lucky you love him. 

🤡🧡🤡

#my hero academia #boku no hero academia #bakugo x reader #todoroki x reader #sero x reader #katsuki bakugou #shoto todoroki x reader #hanta sero #bnha x black reader #bnha x poc!reader #bnha x reader #bnha #bakugo headcanons #todoroki headcanons #sero headcanons #bnha headcanons #mha headcanons

[scandeniall]

sneakerhead suna

pairing: suna x reader

note: yes another suna drabble. this one probably sucks bc i tried to be a sneaker head once but yeah it was too much and all i know are coLORwAYs and GOAT. anyways idk what this is ignore me suna lowkey sneajerhead

wc: 641

Mentally suna is a sneakerhead (whether or not he drops the coin to actually be one is debatable). He always keeps up with the latest releases and has like a million tabs open of sneak peaks, unboxings and all that shit. Now dating him, you're going to hear about it a lot. He's up at like 3am and spam sends you so many sneaker pics like “babe would u get these for me” and “if you really luv me.” You truly put him on DND at night (and he knows this so if hes feeling extra then he’ll just spam you with so much shit like dumb memes and late night thoughts just so you can wake up to them). 

Take a shot everytime he talks about shoes when you're together (might have alcohol poisoning depending on the day.) You literally know all the terminology because of him. Like if you're physically together he’ll constantly hand you his phone/laptop to get your opinion. Just chilling on the couch your legs draped across his lap while he just shows you shit and occasionally caressing your leg is a fav pastime. When you go out shopping he's always like “you always get the more exclusive shit online” but that doesn't stop him from at least walking past the shoe store and glancing. 

When he gets sent shoes (bc you know PRO athlete) he gets pretty hype, but pretends it's like “yeah cool whatever.” He’ll either facetime or literally make you come over while he unboxes. He puts the shoes on to walk around the house “I gotta see how they feel” headass. If he hates the shoes though he will be on GOAT or StockX in 5 seconds flat. “Babe hold these up while I get a picture.” Pretty lucrative side hustle let's be real. “If I help you take these pics you gotta give me a cut when they sell” yeah he ignores you. 

Get him some real nice shoes he's been eying but refused to pay for himself for his birthday or like a celebration/milestone and he doesn't even attempt to hide how hype he is. Will post 10000000 pictures of the shoes HIS baby got him. Acts like an actual bf for once instead of the homie with the hugs and cuddling and kisses. Probably wears them for like a week straight and again posts a “fit pic” everyday of the week too. (Suna’s not a bad bf, yall love is just more like yall are literally homies- but with that he always makes milestones worth it for you too and returns the love)

If he manages to get you into sneakers too then whew (but even if not you’ll definitely own at least 2-3 pairs of pricy/exclusive sneakers just by nature of dating him). But do not let this man catch you being rough with your shoes, “DONT crease them” Shit you better walk flat foot af when you're around him. He posts shoe pics of you both with “goals” but is he joking or serious? Probably both. 

When you're wearing expensive sneakers it's probably the only time he’ll tie your shoes. He will show you the right way to lace them too “can’t have you looking dumb yk.” “how sweet,” and you're kinda just rolling your eyes. But back to him tying them. He knows how to bend the right way so that he doesn’t crease his shoes and mentally dies everytime you crease yours when you have to tie them. So to prevent that? He ties them. To outsiders it looks cute bc aw your bf is tying your shoes. But no, it's because he cares about your shoes more than you do.

You: you should just date your shoes

Him: Ok

You: ok yeah i'm out of here

Him: wait babe come back

#haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #suna rintaro x reader #suna x reader #hq imagines #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu imagines #hq imagine #suna imagines

[gaarasgirlfriend]

Could I have headcanons for modern au highschool Gaara?

gaara highschool au hcs

omg my first gaara request eee tbh this is just gonna be everything i’ve ever fantasized lmaooo i hope u enjoy !!

gaara is a very good student!! he focuses on his academics and loves physical science!! he wants to be an archaeologist after college 

okay so he keeps to himself a lot, hanging out with his siblings, rock lee and his friends, and naruto and sasuke

but one day you guys are partnered up for a science project 

gaara is worried because he doesn’t really want to work with anyone

but as you guys converse, he finds himself enjoying his time with you!! he’s even smiling at a few of your jokes!!

u find yourself gazing at him in awe when he smiles at you because he’s always so quiet and reserved in class

your face kinda flushes red too

he looks at you with concern in his green eyes, “y/n are you okay?”

“yep! more than!” you say meekly, avoiding his gaze

okay so you guys exchange numbers before heading off to lunch

you guys walk out of the classroom talking about where to meet up after school to work your project

you suddenly see ur buddy waiting for you so you say bye to gaara and rush off to join her

kankuro is leaning aginst the lockers watching the whole exchange. when gaara comes to his brother, he’s met with a cheeky grin.

“who’s she? she’s cute~” kankuro teases gaara as he rolls his eyes in response

“my partner for my science project. nothing more, come along now before i take your pudding from you.” gaara smirked as his brother pouted

“guess who i saw gaara talking to today?” kankuro tells their sister temari as she joins the table

“who?”

“y/n, that one chick who had a water balloon fight with naruto and that dog boy? she’s pretty cute. do you think she’s cute kankuro?” temari asked her brother, a knowing smile on her face with sneaking a glance at her brother who didn’t look amused

“yeah, what about you gaara, do you think she’s cute?” 

gaara does not response which only causes his siblings to cackle in response

okay so you guys both go to the library after school to work on your project

you guys finish it after an hour or two

“hey uh i don’t know if you have someplace to be after this but i was wondering if you wanted to grab something to eat with me?” you ask nervously

he smiles, “of course.”

so you two go out for some burgers or something

you guys have so much fun omg

you would steal some of his fries but he doesn’t mind

“would you like some more fries? i can buy you some more if you’d like.”

after about an hour of talking and eating he drives you home

“this was actually really fun, we should do it again sometimes. you’re a cool guy gaara.”

his heart is beating rlly fast but he calmly says, “i had fun as well, maybe we should talk about our next date tomorrow during school?”

“i’d love to.”

once ur inside ur eyes suddenly widen and ur like, “next date??? that was a date?”

but you considered it one as well so u didn’t mind

the next day you were working together in class but since you and gaara were on that grind yesterday, y’all finished so u just talked

“i’d like to take you out on another date tomorrow on saturday, are you free to go at 6?” he asked, a charming smile on his face

you blushed, “yeah, i am”

while dating

gaara would drive you to school and home every day

he would patiently wait outside the car after texting you about his arrival

sometimes he would come early so y’all could go to starbucks together

sometimes he goes by himself so he can greet you with starbucks and ur so happy u kiss him

he just smiles at u

you and gaara have science and study hall together

in science you almost always work together, and sit together

everyone in the class is surprised that you two are dating but they think it’s so cute

gaara doesn’t let u cheat off his papers but he helps u find the answers!! 

he’s the reason you pass a really hard test tbh he helps you study

during study hall you guys sit together while working on whatever

but if you guys are both free you get a hall pass and take a walk around the school together while holding hands

you guys sit together at lunch (along with ur friend ofc bc you’d never ditch her)

he def walks you to all your classes 

every girl is so jealous of you bc gaara is such a gentleman

pda he is okay with: holding your hand, hugging you, and giving you a quick peck 

i feel like gaara would swim?? you’re always at his matches

and you do sports, he’s always at yours as well

y’all would drive to his house to ‘study’ even tho u don’t have any upcoming tests

at school dances y’all would sneak away outside to just slow dance alone in the moonlight

y’all just cuddle on the couch

sometimes yall will fall asleep on the couch and kankuro sees and takes a pic

when he shows gaara, gaara threatens him

but also asks kankuro to send it to him so he can make it his lockscreen

#gaara #gaara x reader #gaara x reader fluff #gaara fluff #gaara headcanons #naruto x reader #naruto fluff #naruto #naruto headcanons

[skeletorific]

This Got Out of Hand (and we’re out of paint): Marvus Xoloto ♦♠Reader

yall i swear i’m gonna get on writing stuff that actually got requested but this idea wouldn’t release me until I’d finished it so here we fuckin go

This simply could not stand.

Black flirting and romance, once upon a time, was a concept utterly foreign to you. It had taken roughly three conversations with Tegiri and Polypa on the topic (and a lot of time spent around Galekh and Tagora) before it had registered to you as anything more than consistent hate fucking and passive aggressive remarks. 

That was before you met Marvus. 

The clown was many things: attractive. Creative. Charismatic. Funny. Way more intelligent than he presented himself as. He was also a shit-starter, would probably pail with Zebruh before he would confess to a genuine emotion without fifteen layers of casual slang and innuendo, and seemed to take intense pleasure in riling you the fuck up whenever he got the chance. One way or another he wormed his way into your head, and suddenly you couldn’t stop hearing his voice in your head even when he wasn’t around. Challenging you, teasing you, testing you, doing his utmost to get you a nice, steaming anger before ruffling your hair with a wink and walking away.

It was also possible you were a little bit smitten with him.

Or maybe a lot. 

Regardless, in time you’d come to understand that it was a mutual thing. For as much as he didn’t show it, you were beginning to read between the many, many lines with the clown. He enjoyed the hell out of you, sure, but he also seemed to find you something of a puzzle. Beyond the fact that you still hadn’t kicked Zebruh to the curb (and he never failed to send you an eye-rolling emoji whenever he appeared in one of your Chittr photos), every story about your past that came up seemed to render him a little bewildered about what it was you’d put up with in order to attain those sweet and lofty fruits of FRIENDSHIP. 

“i mean, lil stab-stab here, lil push off a cliff here, ‘sall gucci sunshine. normal n all that shizz.”  He’d said, in one of his rarer moments of honesty. The fact that both of you had slammed a couple liters of faygo in the aftermath of a particularly exhausting show probably had something to do with it. He lounged on the couch, absently combing fingers through his piles of hair. “but keep hangin out wih m-fers what still wish ya harm, or bloo shizzheads what won’t take no for an answer, that’s a whole other thing, uhearme?”

You’d waved dismissively from your position lying on the floor. You were a little drunk yourself at the time. “Its fine. Usually. And when its not its like….phoo, somehow it gets fine anyways!”

“jus sayin” he said, shifting until he was upside down on the couch, face inches from yours. Close enough that you could see the greasepaint starting to flake off. “need sumbody what can keep ya from gettin urself killed, lil buddy.”

“You volunteering?” You’d crooned. Ok, croon is a strong verb, it was more like slurred, but crooning was the intention is what matters.

“u askin me to?” He smirked, pressing a single claw to your forehead. Internally, you’re pretty sure that’s not how volunteering works, but noticing that isn’t at the top of your hierarchy of needs currently. 

“Mmmmaybe.” You rolled onto your back. You can feel your heart pounding just a bit right now, but somehow your voice is floating even and light. Like you don’t have a care in the world, and this is just one more joke in the scheme of your weird mobius double irony reacharound of a relationship. “Maybe I wanna go all gorlekh with you, what do ya think of that.”

“‘scuse?”

“Gorlekh. Gorgor and Lekh-…..lekh….” You made a dismissive noise, gesticulating your hands wildly as you moved to sit up. “The black one!”

“….ur talkin spades?”

“Yeah! The kissmissies….kissmich….” Wow faygo was no joke on your system. “The hate one. Like I don’t hate you, except I think I do a bit? But like in that weird alien way where I think it just makes me like you more and its confusing but I don’t wanna stop and you’re so damn cute and….and…”

Your voice trails off.

Because the man is honest to globes grinning. No smirk, no lazy half-smile, no lowered eyelids, nothing to give that careful impression that he’s only happy in a chill way. Just a huge, toothy smile that split his face.

Bro that shit was radiant.

“m-fer, u have no idea what ur in for….”

—–

You really hadn’t but you hadn’t had a moment of regret since then.

It was a constant game of one upmanship between you, an intense competition to see who could get who to visibly express their emotions first. Maybe that was unusual by kismesis standards: it didn’t seem much like Tagora and Galekh’s dynamic. But you were enjoying every second of it, and if Marvus had complaints he sure as hell wasn’t voicing them.

The only downside, all told, was the lack of time.You didn’t have hours to build on the tension. More often than not you had moments between shows. Actual antagonism had to be planned in to make sure the point got across without actually getting either of you hurt. After a full day of work he was usually too burnt out for more than light teasing and, to borrow his phrase, “sloppy makeouts”.

Those sloppy makeouts were becoming in themselves the point of your focus.

—-

After one such particular petting session, you glanced at the clock out of the corner of your eye. Fuck, it was late (er….early) and you had a long walk home with your car out of commision. You sighed, pulling yourself off of him with no small amount of protest. “I’ve gotta go.”

“u got some1 else u gotta do this to” he muttered, getting to his feet and brushing himself off. You were starting to realize a denied, overtired Marvus was a grumpy Marvus, which was as endearing as it was needy as hell.

“Maybe~.” You say, enjoying the glint he got in his eyes. You straighten out your clothes for a bit. “Tomorrow?”

“day off tomorrow bruh. clown church” He slipped an arm around you from behind, leaning down by your neck. “which means u can stay here-”

“Mm-mm” You slip free, nudging his face back. “Not tonight. Not here.”

“keep tellin ya juggz don’t spread shizz around” He said, lips pouting out a bit, which forces you to look away.

Denial is part of the game, after all. 

“‘Juggz’ aren’t the only people around here. And I’m not looking to get your fanbase up my ass. I’ve got more than enough people looking to cull me” 

“Hehe, tryna make me jealous ;o)”

You roll your eyes and head for the exit to his dressing room.The cool night air beckons outside, but you find your path suddenly obstructed by his arm. With a huff, you look up at him. “I’m heading ou-Mmm!”

The head turn had allowed him to get a grip on your chin and pull you into another deep kiss. Not a kiss, actually, if there was a word for it you’d describe it as some kind of facial wrestling match. He kissed around your mouth, your cheeks, your eyelids, in rapid succession, all the while insistently rubbing his nose and cheeks against your face as you spluttered. 

“Marvus-I—hey!!” 

With a final peck to the tip of your nose, he drew back grinning ear to ear, face paint now a smeary mess. “have a nice nite, b~” 

And you suddenly found yourself outside, hearing the door lock behind you. 

Oh that little- You snatched your phone out of your pocket and turned on your front facing camera. Sure enough, your face was now suddenly covered in white-grey paint, already caking on your cheeks and making you look like you’d fallen face first into glue.

“Marvus, I’m gonna kill you!” You said, pounding at the door. From the other side you swear you hear him laughing, which is only adding kindling to the fire at this point. 

Great. Perfect. You could either face the long walk home or use your sweatshirt to wipe it off and leave a visible stain on the black sleeves. Fuck it, you won’t be able to make it to Tyzias’s to do laundry for a bit, so you’re gonna have to walk of shame your way home. Fanfuckingtastic.

Practically the second you crossed the threshold your phone buzzed.

therealxoloto: send pics before u clean urself up aight ;o)

Oh he wanted a fucking-

You sent him a well backlit photo of your face, largely covered by an Alternian hand gesture Mallek had taught you.

therealxoloto: hell ye that’s that good shizz

Alien_among_you: you think you’re so funny

therealxoloto: clown church baby lmao

therealxoloto: i’m fxxkin hi lar i OUS

therealxoloto: ♠

Alien_among_you: ♠

You go to bed with cheeks red and chapped from being scrubbed, which was DEFINITELY the only reason they were red.

—-

After that, no kiss was safe, not truly. He’d found a button to press, and he sure as hell wasn’t gonna leave it alone while it still worked. Sometimes he’d led you go days, wipes even, without an incident, only to jump you once you were lulled into a false sense of security. Practically everything you owned had been stained with the stuff with the point, and you’d gotten more mouthfuls of it than you’d care to mention. 

And naturally, this meant war.

It took you some time to figure out an appropriate revenge. Just stealing his paints felt over the line somehow. While you were still figuring out the ropes of clown religion, the fact that you had yet to see a clown without the stuff probably meant it was important. Marvus had only just started cleaning it off in front of you, and while he hadn’t made a big deal out of it, you’d gotten the impression that it was kind of a moment for him.

So, taking the stuff wasn’t an option. All that was left was to thwart it.

Can’t mess up a face already covered.

You waited till he’d left to run an early rehearsal, then quickly raided the vanity, tracking down brushes and setting powder and a couple of those little white brushes. You opened the tins and carefully positioned yourself in front of the mirror. Alright. Ok.

You hadn’t exactly done this before, but how hard could it be to figure out? 

Fifteen minutes later you realized that optimism was a bit misplaced. You weren’t exactly aiming for perfect, but you at least didn’t want it to look like a kid had painted you up. That would give him leverage to flip the teasing back on you, which was not the point of the exerices. You kept have to undo your work. The diamonds edges were too round, or too wide. The eyebrows were uneven. It took you far too long to figure out how to even tape down your natural brows. The makeup wipes were starting to pile up and paint was getting much lower. How the hell did he do this every day, it looked practically effortless-

Footsteps in the hallway. 

Panic rose in your throat as you swept the trash into a nearby can and haphazardly tried to make the vanity look like it had when he left. As they grew closer, you realized your eyebrows were still taped down, and ripping those off in a hurry was probably not the best idea. You practically dove into the bathroom, locking the door behind you.

“¿Yo, I leave my palmhusk in here?” 

You feel a sudden rush of relief. Not your clown. You recognize the voice: Payasa, one of the newer acts. You open the door a crack, seeing a tall juggalette with close cropped hair and a complex design resembling a moth across the center of your face. Damn, you weren’t even managing basic geometric patterns, how the hell did she paint that on every morning?  “Haven’t seen it, sorry.”

“¿damn, sorry ‘bout the intrusion?” The lanky clown starts to leave, before hesitating. “¿uhh…..you doin alright motherfucker?¿Need me to get the big man?” 

“No! No….” you say quickly. “I’m fine.”

“¿alright…?”

A thought occurs to you just before she leaves. Normally it’d be uncomfortable asking, but…you wanted to get this done.“….actually you know what.” You push open the bathroom door. “Could I get some help with something?”

She turns around quickly, gaze eager. Alien or no alien, she’s new here and eager to please. “¿watcha need?”

“I need you to help me put some face paint on.” You say, gesturing pointedly to your eyebrow situation.

You feel a cold spot of dread as the clown’s cheeks go bright purple. Oh globes, is this one of those troll things you’ve just put your foot in. Did you just spit in the face of the mirthful messiahs or something. 

Payasa rubs the back of her head, eyes darting towards the door. “¿er….does Marvus…know about this?”

“Its a surprise for him,” You say quickly. Hoping against hope, because otherwise its back to the drawing board or figure out how to do it yourself.

“¿I…?” The clown grimaces, nervously tugging on one of her many piercings. She seems to be at war with something inside herself. Finally, she swallows and looks back down at you. “¿sure….?”

A relieved look crosses your face. “Thank you so much, I promise I wouldn’t ask otherwise, but I’m pretty hopeless at this. 

“¿heh…no p?” She said, giving you a shy half-smile. “¿did you uh….have a design in mind?”

“Oh, that’s the easy part. I just need you to copy Marvus’ design.”

Another weighty silence. The purple faded, and its hard to tell under the makeup but you think she might have just gone pale, her eyes bulging out of her head.

“….is that….is that not ok?” You say weakly. 

“¿I-….it’s uh, fine!?” She managed to stammer out. The gazes towards the door returned, but after another look at your pleading face she seemed to gather her courage and slam it closed, making you jump. “¿its fine.?¿ Can do it quick, right?¿ Don’t have to be a big deal or nothin…?”

“Uh….sure?”

Payasa drags up a chair to the vanity bench and gestures for you to sit down. Despite the oddness of her behavior, you’re didn’t get this far looking gift clowns in the mouth. You sit down.

She makes quick work of it, though she still seems nervous. Her face keeps going purpler and purpler the longer she paints, and her ears flatten to the side of her skull as she worries her lip with her fangs.

“Are you sure this is ok?” You finally ask. “There’s not like, a rule against this or anything, right? I don’t want you to….I don’t know, commit heresy or something.”

“¿Nah, nah, not heresy, motherfucker.?” She says quickly, dabbing the poff in the setting powder before carefully dusting you. “¿Jus….little unusual is all.?¿But ain’t my place to judge.?”

“Why is it unusual?” True, Marvus seemed to prefer to do his own makeup, but you’d seen other juggalos do each others faces all the time, especially on the rare wipe end Marvus could drag you out to clown church. It had always seemed kind of peaceful. 

“¿I uh….think I’m gonna let Marvus tell ya about that.?” She mutters, putting on the finishing touches. “¿Ain’t sinful, though, promise.?”

“Well….that’s good, I guess.” You help her put the paints away. “Thanks again. His reaction should be worth it, at least.”

She let out a sharp laugh. “¿Yeah, imagine it will…?” She got to her feet, replacing the chair and giving you a lazy, two-fingered salute. “¿Gotta bounce and get ready for my set.?¿have a nice night, little motherfucker.?”

“You too.” Man, what does it say about your life right now that ‘little mothefucker’ read as affectionate. Before you can contemplate that, Payasa leaves the room, closing the door behind her. 

Marvus doesn’t come back for another twenty minutes or so. You lounge on the couch, scrolling through your messages and dicking around with a couple of games you’d downloaded for Diemen. You got so far down the rabbithole that by the time Marvus opened the door you’d almost forgotten what was on your face.

Almost.

“m-fin sound issues, swear 2 fxxkin glob…” He was muttering, twirling his staff absently in his fingers. “sorry i’m-”

He finally turns his eyes on you, and you’re treated to a rare sight.

Marvus Xoloto, speechless. Mouth still halfway open on its way to whatever he’d been planning to say. Eyes slowly tracing your face. You could practically see the question marks popping up over his head.

Its your turn to smirk, tucking your phone back into your pocket as you sit up, tossing your hair back a bit. “Lookin for your makeup rag? Bad news bitch, I’m already co-”

Marvus heads back outside, slamming the door. 

….Ok. Not the reaction you were expecting.

You waited for a second. Was this a bit?

….

Ok ok not a bit not a bit-

You scrambled to your feet, following him out the door.

Instinctively you move towards the green room, but he’s not there. Just a couple of the others, lounging around and hitting each other with squirts of a substance you deeply hope is whipped cream. One of them catches sight of you and their eyes go wide. “….damN, didnT knoW yoU anD xolotO werE therE.”

“Have you seen-….what do you mean there.”

They chuckle, getting up and clapping you on the shoulder, giving you a big goofy grin. “he’S A luckY maN. prettY surE I saW hiM headiN foR thE costumeS closeT. leT A brotheR knoW iF yoU neeD A buckeT oR somethiN, aY”

Coming down to it you wish Marvus’ friends were a little less helpful sometimes. “I…think we’re good. Thanks” You brush past him on your way to the closet, hearing a couple distant “whoops” as you retreated.

The costumes closet is tucked away in a small corner. He’s not there, and for a moment you nearly considered looping back to his dressing room, before-…

Is that muffled screaming?!

Nervously you tap on the door. “Marvus…”

The sound lapses, and there’s a long pause.

“…..ye?”

“You uh, doin alright in there.”

“heh…def b. gucci.”

“You kinda rushed out.”

“…..”

“I’m coming in.”

“…..cool” he says, sounding resigned.

You open the door. Its stuffed to the brim with an array of truly unspeakable clothes. In the blinding sea of color Marvus is practically camouflaged, but you do eventually spot him. Slumping against the back wall, holding a crumpled shirt in his hand that he seems to have been screaming into. His expression is stony and tired in a way you aren’t used to seeing from him, and his eyes aren’t meeting yours.

One of the hardest things you’ve had to figure out about kismesis is when to break kayfabe. Following every barb or prank with an apology kind of defeats the purpose of a kismesis. They’re supposed to let you dangle a bit. But at the same time there are lines that can’t be crossed. You’re not supposed to genuinely hurt them, or force past boundaries they aren’t comfortable being violated.

The issue, especially in Marvus’ case, is figuring out the difference between the two.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back against the cool metal. “So…..I’m getting the impression that this,” You gesture to your face. “May have been a bit more symbolic than was my intention.”

He’s quiet for a long moment. You can see him struggling against himself, probably considering whether or not he should try to laugh it off. In the end though, he just nods.

“And I may have hurt you somehow?”

“u didnt-”He groaned, tilting his head to lean against the wall and closing his eyes tight. “who even did that 2 ya…”

“I….they’re not gonna get in trouble, right?”

He gave you a Look. 

Right. Not his style. “Payasa”

“n she didn’t think to explain y that might give a clown some m-fin pusher problems?”

“She was acting kinda weird about it, but I think she assumed I knew. Or…was maybe a little too scared”

He sighed, breath coming out in a huff. “fxxkin messiahs…” Slowly, he slid down the wall to sit on the ground.

You hesitated a second, before approaching him. Carefully, you slid to sit down next to him, resting your hands on his knees. “…Can you explain it to me? Please?”

His claws traced out patterns in the shirt he was still holding, as his eyes seemed a million miles away. You found your attention drawn to the slow rise and fall in his chest, the tension in his shoulders. He seemed nervous, a weird look on a man who came alive in front of a crowd of millions of rampaging teens. 

“juggz paint iz personal shizz. start workin on the lewk on yer naming day and it keeps changin while you’re changin. lotta symbolism and liturgical shizz go into it but the main thing iz its….u.” He turns over his hands, staring down at them. Faint purple lines run across the palm, a crisscross of old scars. “ur paint’s ur identity. sum mothafucker steals that, they’re stealin u. hell, even gettin some1 else to paint for ya is a big fxxkin deal. ur puttin ur whole identity in their hands and askin em to put it on ya. lotta clowns don’t even let their quadrants paint em”

Your palms go clammy. In your long proud history of fuck-ups, this one didn’t quite take the cake, but it had definitely cut out a larger slice than would be deemed socially appropriate. “I….holy shit, Marv, I’m sorry.”

“sorry?”

“I didn’t realize, this was like, taking something from you. I can take it off-”

You cut off your sentence when you realize his shoulders are shaking.

If he’s fucking crying you are gonna lose your entire mind-

And then a laugh tears out of his throat. Low and throaty and sweet and uncontrollable, the kind of laugh you heard from him maybe once in a blue moon. You’re taken aback (and more than a little flustered). You can only watch, cheeks growing progressively redder as he slowly subsides, hunching up a bit as he tries to catch his breath.

“I…what….”

“fxxkin saviors, b, sumtimes i forget, ufeelme?” He turned to look at you, grinning wide. “forget how alien u are to allathis. i ain’t mad”

“You aren’t?”

“nah lmao”

“….then what was all of this about?!” You say, shoving his shoulder. “I thought you said-”

He catches your wrist, pulling you to straddle his lap. “hey, hey, don make a m-fer bust out the shoosh paps.” He says, tone completely amused as he soothingly strokes your arms. “jus shuddup for a sec and lemme get raw, kk?”

You decidedly have more to say. But… looking at the soft expression on his face you’re having a hard time remembering what it is. In the end you nod for him to continue, settling back at bit against his legs.

He takes your hand, gently unfurling it and caressing circles in the palm with his thumb. “ur paint is u. and the people all in ya life, the 1s that count….they’re also u.” His thumb presses down solidly, shooting sparks up your arm. “told ya, the design grows like u do. pretty much expected once shizz gets serious with some1 ur gonna change things up a bit to reflect that. like chahut. the heavy paint round the sight specs a reference to that little indigo shit she goes craftin with. doesn’t always happen right away, but, when it does…” He releases your hand and moves up to cup your face. Eyes lidding a bit as he contemplates the design, traces the diamonds with his eyes. “pretty fxxkin big deal”

“I…..so, when I….” Your face goes red with the sudden implications, which makes him chuckle.

“yeah lol. kick in the bulge. not xxxactly what i was thinkin i’d see”

“So….that’s why you left?”

His lips press together a bit, and he gives a shrug at least twice as nonchalant as it should be. “…yeah. woulda been trippy even if ya were another purple but knowin u had no fxxkin clue what u did. like watchin a lil squeaker paint prophecies in stick figures. had to get out just to make sure i didn’t do smthn weird as hell”

“…..like what?”

He hums, gripping your chin and dragging you back down to press a soft kiss on your lips. Warm breath fans across your face as he smirks, exposing just a bit more of his fangs than was technically necessary. “show ya when we got more time ;o)”

You groaned. “This is illegal”

“fxxkin arrest me then bih” He patted your thigh, flicking his brows up.

You mutter something treasonous under your breath.

“n-y ways, u should clean urself up” He kissed your forehead. “camera crew$$$ gunna b up my a*s soon”

You sigh. “Right…” Bracing your hands on his shoulders, you push yourself to your feet. “Heaven forbid we appear to visibly be a couple”

“rite? gross lmao”

You shake your head and smile as you head for the door. “Right. Gross.”

“hey.”

Before you can turn around he’s wrapped his arms around you from behind, fitting you neatly to him. He leans down to bury his face in your shoulder, and despite the circumstances that lead you here, you know the only motivation is a desire for closeness. “let me do u up next time” He mumbles, voice rumbling against the skin of your neck. “not mine, but….somethin a yours. find out who u are, ya feel?”

…..You cover his hands your own, squeezing them tight and biting your lip to hide a grin. “….bold of you to assume there’ll be a next time, bozo”

“c’mon, we both kno u can’t resist the idea of my touchstumps all up in ur nugbone hehe ;o)”

“Sure that sentence would be very sexy to someone who isn’t an alien.” You turn in his grip to face him probably. “….love you.”

“aw, babe, that’s gay lol”

“I taught you what that means and you weaponize it against me? Treason.”

“i’m 1 naughty m-fer.” He kissed your forehead. “love ya 2”

“And…..hope you aren’t attached to this shirt.”

“…wha-”

Acting fast, you yank up his shirt and scrape it across your face, taking as much greasepaint off as you could before breaking free of his grip and bolting out the door. Loud, clowny curse words chase you as you tear through the halls, a smile threatening to break your face in half as you ran.

The road to vengeance is long sometimes, but it sure is sweet.

#hiveswap #hiveswap friendsim #marvus xoloto #marvus x reader #marvus fic #pale black vacillation #hs marvus #fluff

[kitanoko]

-ok their music vid is super steamy so …ya, Aoyama keeps telling them they gotta be “SPARKLINGGGG” throughout their fake dates and so momo had her outfit all picked out. She wears a sexy deep V neck Grecian inspired dress and well…the team told Todo he can wear whatever the hell he wants ‘cas he’s gonna be shirtless anyways lol -”wait im going to be shirtless?” Todo asks confused. Yaoyorozu’s imagining VERY INTIMATE things at this point but she tries to breathe deeply to calm herself down (wait will she be shirtless too?! nononono this is fake date that’s all!) - She looks like she’s having a fever and Todo squeezes her hand and reassures her its just a simple stunt and nothing more. “So relax.” he says and she’s sorta disappointed? -they’re told to hold hands…play around…smile, act candid, GO BACK TO HIS PLACE late at night and of course, they’re also told to ‘pretend to kiss’ -”Right behind that pole, put their faces super close and act like ur about to kiss” -Todo’s totally comfortable with it and just OUTRIGHT KISSES HER, she sinks into it and they sorta end up making out? -even the PR team is embarassed at this point and they take like 2 or 3 pics of it and they stop and they go “Ok guys…don’t have to make it THAT real” -Todo apologizes to her after casually and she’s like its okay *blushy blushy* -Yes todo finally goes shirtless on the balcony and momo can’t even face him. He tells her that they did it before during their MV so this isn’t any different is it? Her heart’s pounding out of her ribcage and his smell is so alluring its…hard to concentrate -After their pics go public, Fuyumi and Natsuo are FREAKING THE EFF OUT. Yes, Fuyumi runs to the hospital to show Rei and yes, Endeavor’s happy. -Natsuo intervenes and todo goes “yeah we’re just friends.” -Eventually this starts becoming a joke ‘cas Kaminari’s like “O OF COURSE UR JUST FRIENDS. I HOLD HANDS WITH BAKUGOU TOO. I CASUALLY TALK WHILE HALF NAKED WITH MIDORIYA AND YOU KNOW…JUST BROS BEING BROS.” “No Kaminari. Really, this is just a stunt.” “oh yeah and u feel NOTHING?” Todo ponders. Blinks twice and goes “well its weird, its a slightly different feeling than being friends with you…or with iida…or midoriya. Just slightly. My heart beats faster, sometimes i feel nervous about how i should act around yaoyorozu and i never want her to be hurt…i always want to protect her and i’ll support her no matter what. Maybe this is what happens when you become BEST friends.” Kaminari sighs. Todo is so clueless it frustrates him. -Over on Jirou’s side (Jirou is a famous rock star btw and yes she’s dating Kaminari who’s also a well-known rocker), Yaoyorozu’s squirming and cuddling herself on Jirou’s couch. A cup of hot tea rests beside her but it is untouched. Jirou starts bursting out in laughter and she’s like “OK u are SO in love with Todoroki its amazing how ur not admitting it. Anyone with eyes could see it.” Yaoyorozu hugs her knees closer. “No I ….I…we are…” “Can you hear yourself Yaomomo?!” Jirou laughs harder. “Pikachu and I started off with the same feelings as you so yes. You’re just in denial and Yes I’ve solved the mystery. Your PR team knows it too, they’re just rolling with it.” -The paparazzi’s following all of Todo and Yaoyo’s closest friends around and interviewing them and Bakugou straight up goes “ they are FCKING okay. Now leave me alone.” -Todo phones Bakugou and gives him an earful of how Baku can totally ruin Todo’s name if he wanted to but be considerate of Momo ‘cas she hates vulgarity. Bakugou seethes. -Baku addresses the issue again with another paparaz outlet and says “sorry I really meant last time that they’re DOING THE DO. I wanted to make it sound more ‘polite’ for yall mothafckas and they are in love. it makes me wanna vomit saying it but there it is.”

Ok Imma stop here HAHA imagine the rest of how they eventually get together, but I’d say todo just straight up tells her no more acting and momo’s like ok while the rest of the world which a brain goes ‘fcking finally!’

#todomomo #todoroki x yaoyorozu #bnha #my headcanons #with selephi!

[kayah16]

Ardian goes to see his grandparents

Ardian parked outside his grandparents house all 3 puppies in the back seat watching Secret Life of Pets. He looked at the garden he used to work in while he was staying with them. Pulling weeds up and putting fresh soil down. Watering it everyday and standing outside shirtless when it would rainstorm.

He remembered watching the plants grow. His grandmother grew watermelon, squash, cucumber, spicy peppers, and other stuff she cook with. He remembered playing basketball and football with his grandfather. His grandfather telling him to put some meat on his bones. His grandfather chopping his chest whenever Ardian would say he cheated in a game.

For his grandfather to be 75 he had a lot of energy. Him sitting on the porch with his grandparents drinking sweet tea or lemonade. Him coming in from school and seeing them dancing around smiling. And in 6 months or less that can be gone cause his grandfather is dying.

Sighing softly to himself he looked at his 3 puppies in the backseat. Getting out the car he opened the door for the puppies who got out and waited for him. He locked the car door and used the key his grandmother gave him to open the door to the house.

Earth, Wind, and Fire "September" blasted through the speaker and he stood and watched his grandparents dancing.

"Come on now Mama. You too old to keep up?"

"Don't try it old man. Keep up."

Ardian took his phone out and recorded them dancing smiling softly. He didnt want that to end. He didnt want them to stop dancing. The puppies started to wiggle their tails as they got excited.

The song ended and Grandpa and Grandma Jones hugged each other close as Always and Forever played. Ardians brown eyes got glossy as he thought about his grandfather leaving for good.

"We did it all Mama. Raised a good daughter. She got a good husband and we have grandchildren. What more is their left to do?"

"Meet my future wife and stay here for your great grand kids."

Ardian interrupted as he ushered the 3 pitbulls in. Cuddly ran excitedly to Grandma Jones. Wolverine and Barkely stood back. Kneeling down by the older ones Ardian started to talk to them.

"Thats Grandma Jones and Grandpa Jones. Its okay. Look watch."

Ardian stood up and took Cuddly out Grandma Jones arms which caused the puppy to growl. He wrapped his arms around her hugging her tight. He let her go and hugged his grandfather with the same strength.

"See. Come on. Come meet your great grandparents."

Wolverine and Barkley sniffed around the older couple and started to bark happily.

"This is Wolverine and Barkley. Haleigh and my newest babies."

Grandma Jones and Grandpa Jones looked at each other amused.

"So its you, her, Cuddly, Wolverine, and Barkley?"

"Yea. Let me show you this pic we took."

Ardian went to the photo gallery on his phone and went to the picture with him, her, and the three puppies.

"So I'm guessing since yall a family. You told her the truth."

Grandpa Jones asked.

"Not yet Grandpa."

Grandma Jones side eyed her grandson who put his head down.

"Boy what you waiting on?"

"For God to make a return."

Ardian joked.

"Well I'm tell you this. If you dont tell her the truth then remove yourself from her life completley."

Grandma Jones replied.

"I thought you said you loved her?"

Grandpa Jones asked.

"I do."

"Keeping secrets and living with lies is not showing her you love her. Tell her the truth."

Grandma Jones requested as she left the living room to go fix lunch.

"Your parents were just here."

"Really. Did Dad eat the whole kitchen up?"

Ardian joked.

"Your Dad has an appetite I see where you get it from. Come on we can toss the football with the puppies."

Ardian took his denim jacket off and placed it on the couch and followed his grandfather.

AN: Fluff. Ardian and his grandparents. Sorry it sucks.

#Ardian Fic #Grandma and Grandpa Jones #kayah writes a mess

[djmayday]

Making Amends (Angst Prompt Sequel)

((((i felt a mc-saddened after the prompt so i made a happy ending, i still suck at writing but whatever))))

A few hours after the incident, 2:42 a.m.

After the stressful night, Molly found herself lying in bed, not being able to sleep. Partially because of the lecture Lily gave her, but mostly because she couldn’t help but have the things she said repeat in her head.

‘Don’t talk to me about pain as if you have ever experienced it!’ Those words held Molly’s mind at a standstill.

Her hand instinctively went towards to where her left eye should be, as if it’d come back one day. It won’t.

Angrily sighing, she forced her hand away, sat up and slouched, not caring if her hair went in front of her face for a moment. While grabbing her sunglasses off the desk next to her bed, she got up and headed towards the living room. S.p was sitting at a table passed out, there were some cards spread around and a radio lightly playing music.

‘Must’ve played some rounds with Lily after she talked to me,’ Molly mumbled. She tapped the edge of her sunglasses, the time appeared on them in glowing blue letters for a moment before she let them fade. ‘It’s late, it wouldn’t hurt to hang around and distract myself,’ She thought.

Then she started to pace around the room trying to think of a distraction. Ironic. right?  As she paced she soon found herself zoning out and humming to the music, it reminded her of back before she met Timara, or any of them, really.

Another pang of guilt went through her, ‘All of us came from nothing to something, but risked everything for it. Even Chi, and, yikes, I get why she was so pissed, I’d‘ve done killed someone if they said something like that-”

“Hey.”

“OH FU-”  Molly’s mouth quickly got covered before she could finish screaming. Molly pulled away from them and was about to start throwing hands, until she noticed who it was.

It was Chi, she looked super out of it though. ‘It might just be the lighting,’ Molly thought, ‘but she looks like she’s got some dark circles around her eyes too…’

Molly snapped out of her train of thought, “Uhh, heyyyyyy, C. How’s uh-”  She cleared her throat, “What’re you doin’ up this late? I-”

“-You were humming loud as hell,” Chi interrupted.

Molly sputtered,“Wha- bu- Hey! What makes ya think it was me?!”

“You’re the only one up,”

“I....damn, you got me there,”

“But what’re you doing up this late?”

“It’s called regretting life for a little bit,” Molly kicked a little at the floor, her gaze avoiding Chi’s, when you don’t feel for a while, it’s easier to look someone in eyes but man, the unchallenged stare of her’s ain’t Molly’s thing, “It seemed fitting tonight,” she admitted.

Chi tilted her head, making Molly sigh, “Look, I hate to sound like that ‘depwessive bitch’ but that argument really got me thinking...” She walked over to the couch, “Hang with me for a sec?” Chi quickly plopped down on the couch, Molly following suit.

“Listen, about earlier, I didn’t mean what I’d said, there was a lot of things being thrown around and well...” She held her own hand to stop the urge of putting it near her eye again, “It just… it struck a nerve, y’know? And I got defensive of my ego,”

“You should work on that by the way,” Chi stated, shifting a little in her spot.

“I know, I know, my ego is twice my size at this rate,”

“Which isn’t that much,”

Molly quickly did a double take, “Uh? Fuck you?!”

Chi let out a snort and started to laugh, turning into a soft fire that was barely warm, but comforting at same time. Molly sat there dumbfounded for a sec, before chuckling a little too. Soon they calmed down.

“Oooh boy, with jabs like that, it’s no wonder we argue a lot,” Molly jokes. Chi hums in response, her fire quickly dies out, and she looks more tired than ever. She laid herself across the couch, not caring if she was basically crushing poor Molly’s legs/knees, and fell asleep.

Molly tapped her sunglasses again, checking the time, ‘Dang, it’s super late now,’ She thought as she rubbed her eye. She looked back down at Chi, ‘Down like a rock, huh?’ She thought as she leaned back, before long she fell asleep as well.

It’s not perfect, this isn’t the first nor will it be the last they argue and make-up. This just happened to be the worst. But now they take better care in what they say now, Molly especially. They’re learning how to be better, and that’s what matters.

The end uwu

…

BUT WAIT- YOU ENCOUNTERED A BONUS SCENE-

A flash woke the two up, that and giggling. Chi opened her eyes first to see S-p taking a pic or two of them while laughing. Lily was there too, she had a slightly proud look on her face.

Molly shuffled and opened her eyes, “Nh- Wha?” Then she noticed the camera and her face flushed. Not realizing Chi was there, she started to get up, knocking her off onto the floor.

“Sippy! The heck’s wrong with you!? Delete that!!” Molly yelled, S-p just stuck her tongue out and rushed off. Molly running after her.

Lily helped Chi up, “I’m glad you both are on better terms,” She said softly. Chi just nodded in response.

Legend has it S-p uses the photos to blackmail Molly.

Yep, just another day in the weirdest house ever.

((I HoP E YALL ENJOY MY Tr AS H AAA A a AAAAAAA, also i know chi had like,, combusted in the last part and probably didnt have enough time to do it again but shhhSHHSSHSHHHHHH i needed it for the moment™))

#text #my writing #my art #text post #writing #chi #lily #s.p #molly #!!!! owo !!!!

[haechanfairie]

nct and cuddling

so i saw this post by @sunnyhyuck and i needed to make this lmao

taeil: likes to be cuddled, not much of a cuddler, is very soft, will lay on top of u, probably put on a migos album soft music or one of those 10 hour long lofi hip-hop studying playlists and it will be very relaxing and sweet,, probably harmonizes to some of the songs softly and ask you to run your hands through his hair and you will both most likely fall asleep

johnny: can cuddle, probably will cuddle, and you will be engulfed and/or wrapped by his tall, long-bodied ass (which doesn’t sound too bad tbh) but you will be warm and probably watch vine compilations on repeat, and maybe scroll through and laugh at twitter beef for a while and maybe watch old snsd music videos and live performances (flower power and karma butterfly a faves and  genie live version,, and into the new world remix????? bithc)

taeyong: def loves to be cuddled, will cuddle almost anywhere, also soft, y’all read to each other and he probs falls asleep in ur warm embrace, but didn’t plan ahead for a blanket so shivers for a while as you try and untangle yourself from him and get one, bc he got u down on lock,, but soon finally get free and try and find the fluffiest blanket and then just settle next to him and wrap it around yourself and cuddle him until you fall asleep as well

yuta: does both and likes both, will make it so much more complicated than it needs to be, will plan out the logistics before you even ask him so he can wow u with his cuddling skills, but its all for good reason bc he’s so good at it and you don’t know why but the minute he holds u or u hold him one of yall knocks tf out into dreamland and afterwards is like “wow best sleep i’ve had in ages”

kun: a cuddler, so cute, and will pout if u don’t. cuddling is an event for him, so he probably made sure his schedule was clear, made yall snacks and drinks before cuddling, stole the comfiest blanket in the dorm, loaded up “the little prince”, “mune: guardian of the moon”, and some Disney original movies to keep y’all awake and is prepared for at least 5 hours of cuddling, no joke

doyoung: more of a cuddlee than that of a cuddler, wants to be wrapped up in u, blankets, and lov. he is probably gonna want a quiet space to cuddle, will make bad jokes, and will lock his arms around u so u cant escape from his shitty jokes (not that you want to) but he makes you laugh and sometimes tickles u softly and u retaliate and yall have a sweet soft time

ten: cuddle him,,, he needs it,,,,, will wrap around you like a koala and is about as soft as one. ur cuddling is not quiet, he will put on like a funny video and the both of u will cackle lmao. he probably loves to entangle yalls legs and tease u and he’s the type to like, while ur in the same space like he’ll still message u memes jfskljfhjdsjf and is super smiley about the entire thing like he’s happy to spend time with u

jaehyun: cuddler, has strong arms so if u need to move to a diff cuddling spot he will gladly carry u there. likes to cuddle on the couch and monopolize it will watch what’s on the tv with you. probably holds ur back against his chest and if ur not on a couch, then ur probs on a bed and it’s probably quiet and he falls asleep after half an hour

winwin: will do both,, at the same time, is powerful and will use his charms to get u to cuddle. he will either be quiet or talk about stuff he enjoyed throughout the day that he thinks you’d like. he’ll also have sweets for it, like caramels or gummy candy, and if either of u have had a bad day he will look up cute baby animal pics and try to cheer up a bit

jungwoo: its 50/50 with him, like he might pull a winwin and do both, or will adamantly want to be cuddled or be the cuddler. will talk excitedly in your ear, is so happy to see you, can’t wait to tell you about his day and hear about yours, probably end up wrapped around u completely and running his hands through your hair and/or massaging your head or like just like scrolling through insta pointing out good memes

lucas: will cuddle you so hard, and also put on a nice old sitcom to watch, like high kick or an old drama like boys over flowers, idk but it’s gonna be nice and familiar and he will make jokes and funny commentary about it as u watch, also a vine compilations/funny videos kinda of guy and yall have a good time cackling and being headasses

mark: wants to be cuddled, won’t say so but will give you hints. like he’ll sort of hang around u really close and wrap around you or give u puppy eyes until you catch on. and then he latches onto you and then will either tell you a story he made up either on the spot or was mulling over in his head for a while, or  talk shit while yall watch something, probably one of john mulaney’s shows on netflix for the 63rd time

renjun: we will cuddle you and you will be happy about it. is probably exhausted every time he initiates it, and just wants to be in a calm and safe and warm environment to pass out to. if he’s not tired then he’ll tell u about either the hot roasts he made that day, childhood renjun trivia, or something he liked. either way he’s pretty smiley and/or about it and ur heart is bleeding bc he is a Cutie Pie

jeno: the cuddliest, you will melt, his entire smile will melt you and u will Want to cuddle him every time he opens his mouth. you will most likely be showering him with compliments and he will be living for it, wrapped in your arms, and you might play story games, like the ones where you say a sentence and then the other person says a sentence to try and keep it going, and they get more absurd with each sentence

haechan: c u d d l e  h i m. absolute softie. will pretend to protest but will absolutely lov and comply with it like he is Ready. like kun, probs has snacks on hand, not necessarily for this but more in general. probably likes watching mini dramas on youtube or short films, or watching performance vids of his fav artists. that or he just passes out right after his second of third snack

jaemin: he is Soft and wants to cuddle u and lov u. probably a vine compilations kind of guy, but he watches those super obscure vines that don’t really show up on most vine compilations. that or he will show you some really cursed shit and you will both hate it but also love it. also that or he’ll show you some songs that he likes or recommends

chenle: will do the cuddling, wouldn’t mind being cuddled. yall usually cuddle while sitting up, laying against each others’ chest (like u lay against his chest if he’s cuddling u, and vice versa) with your arms wrapped around each other. y’all are a board game couple and usually play stuff like yutnori or catan like a random iq game like, blox or puzzle pro idk but anyways yall have fun with it and its really light-hearted fun and cute

jisung: ultimate king of doing both either separately or at the same time. yall probs just fuckin broke y’alls entire backs to luna’s free somebody after listening to an f(x) playlist (which is highly specific but i just need them to come back so shitty management ent if ur out there) and are tired and just laying there probably watching old music videos like dance practices/dance videos wrapped around each other and its a super chill atmosphere. probably have like cold drinks like lemonade lying nearby

~~~

this was,,, so much longer than it needed to be and such a mess i’m so sorry skfdkhsljdfasja this probably isn’t accurate and there are spelling mistakes but enjoy ig anyways bye

#i finished this at 1am please have mercy #this was gonna be short but then i got emotional ad too into it sdjfjsdhsdhf #nct #nct u #nct 127 #nct dream #nct 2018 #nct 18 #nct scenarios #nct imagines #nct reactions #nct writing #nct fluff #taeil #johnny #taeyong #yuta #kun #doyoung #ten #jaehyun #winwin #jungwoo #lucas #mark #renjun #jeno #haechan #jaemin #chenle

[blazinbeautywrites]

Dirty Attraction

Length: 2,046

Genre: Thirst cuz Jay is thirsty lol. But seriously I guess this is lowkey angst.

A/N: This is WAAAAAAAAAAAY overdue so enjoy. Btw this is part of a series.

Gia and Naomi have been best friends since they were out of the womb. Their mothers were best friends and raised their daughters together. After Naomi’s mom died, Gia took her on a trip to Korea since she was a huge fan of kpop and khip-hop. What was supposed to be 3 months in Korea turned into 3 years and the girls couldn’t be happier with their new lives.

“I really need to hit the gym. All I’ve done for the past 3 weeks was work, eat and sleep,” Naomi complained while flipping through a magazine in the kitchen.

“Well lucky for you I have the rest of the week off so we can go later on today and Friday. I could use a little leg work,” Gia replied.

“Okay.There’s this new gym that’s kinda lowkey and no one really goes there except a few artists when they don’t wanna be bothered by annoying fans. I’ve been there like twice,” Naomi said.

“And here you are, telling me of this secret idol gym. Obsessed much?” Gia said laughing a bit.

“Haha, look just be ready in a hour!” With that Naomi left and went into her room to get ready. Gia laughed at her ridiculous friend and hopped off of the kitchen stool she was perched on. She felt her phone vibrate and saw that Parker aka Dumbfoundead was calling her. She and Naomi have known Dumbfoundead since he was just starting out in the underground rap scene and have been friends since then.

“Hey what’s up?” Gia asked.

“Nothing much just relaxing before my set. I miss you though,” Dumbfoundead said.

“Boy you’ve only been on tour for a day, get it together boo,” Gia said laughing at him.

“You’re so damn mean. Anyways I have a surprise show in Hongdae real soon and I have some tickets and passes for you and my baby Naomi,” he said.

“Your baby? Boy you so damn sprung. Yall been crushing on each other for like 2 years and yall both still single,” Gia stated.

“That’s only cuz she play too much. She know she wants this,” he said.

“I’m gonna pretend like I didn’t hear that, but anyways when is the show?” Gia asked.

“Saturday night. I really wanna see you guys so please say you’ll come,” Parker whined. Gia loved hearing him beg so she decided to mess with him.

“Hmmm I don’t know. What’s in it for me?” Gia asked him.

“Well now that you mentioned it, I have someone I want you to meet,” He said.

“Why are you always trying to set me up? I’m good I don’t need a boyfriend,” Gia said, moving the the couch.

“Who said anything about a boyfriend? I’m trying to get you laid. I know it’s been a while so I’m just trying to help you out,” Dumbfounded retorted.

“Boy, how dare you!? I can get dick on my own ya know!” Gia said.

“Okay, okay, buuut I showed him your pic and he wants to meet you, so can you please just do this for me?” he asked.

“Fine, but if I don’t like him you have to leave me alone.” Gia said.

“Deal. So I’ll see you guys this weekend?” he asked.

“Yes we’ll come!” Gia sighed.

“Thank you so much! Oh and tell my baby wear something sexy for me,” Dumbfounded replied.

“Goodbye dumbass,” She heard him laugh as she hung up. Gia realized that she only had 30 minutes to get ready. She used 10 of them just searching for her gym clothes. She finally settled on a semi mesh sports bra and matching shorts. She put her curls up in a high ponytail and walked downstairs to pack her gym bag with her necessities. She saw Naomi already packed and ready waiting by the door.

“Well it took you long enough princess,” Naomi teased.

“Bite me!” Gia retorted.

“Bitch you wish.” Naomi said. The girls joked and shared a bit of banter as they rode to the gym.

***

“Where did you say this gym was again?” Jay asked Gray.

“It’s just right outside of Seoul. I heard about it from a friend of mine who owns the gym. He says it’s lowkey and some artists go there when they don’t wanna attract attention,” Gray said.

“Damn. I feel like we’re going on a road trip,” Jay said.

About 30 minutes later they arrived at the gym. Jay and Gray grabbed their bags and walked into the gym. The outside was very modest but the inside looked amazing. It was huge with marble floors and walls. Jay was amazed and when he looked around his eyes landed on another amazing sight. He watched as this girl with beautiful, glowing brown skin stretched and when she bent over he felt himself stiffen a bit. Gray watched as his friend nearly exploded and started laughing. He then walked over to the front desk to talk to his friend who owns the gym.

“Hey you see those girls over there, who are they?” Gray asked pointing. Jay walked over to his side, also wanting to know who the beautiful stranger and her friend were.

“Oh that’s Naomi and Gia. Gia is the one in the shorts and Naomi is the one in the pants. Naomi’s been here a couple times. This is Gia’s first visit,” the owner said.

“So her name is Gia? Fuck even her name is sexy.” Jay said. He kept staring at Gia, only to be met with Naomi’s eyes who smirked at him.

“Okay girl don’t look now but Jay motherfucking Park is checking you out,” Naomi whispered to Gia.

“Girl what?” Gia said slightly turning her head to look at him. When they made eye contact Jay immediately looked away and began fiddling with a pamphlet on the front desk.

“He better go somewhere. Ain’t nobody worrying about him. I came to workout that’s it. I’m not trying to make a damn love connection at the gym,” Naomi said.

“But girl he is so damn fine, Gray fine ass over there too. This is a damn dream come true. I didn’t expect this shit,” Naomi said.

“Well you can fuck them both for all I care. I on the other hand am going to workout until I can’t feel my body,” Gia said. Naomi looked at her friend and rolled her eyes, going back to her own workout. 15 minutes later Gia had finished her warm up and made her way to the treadmills. She saw that no other treadmill was open but the one next to a man, a man she realized was Jay. Gia groaned and quickly approached the treadmill and slid her headphones in her ears. Jay laughed once he realized she was avoiding him so he decided to to mess with her. He took off his shirt, draping it over the bar on the treadmill. Out of his peripherals he saw Gia glance at him and he knew that this little game of his was on.

“See something you like?” Jay asked. Glancing at him sideways, Gia removed her headphones.

“Excuse me?” She asked, tilting her head a bit.

“I asked if you saw something you like. You keep staring and shit,” Jay said. He looked at her and smiled. He held out hand for her to shake but was quickly dismissed by the wave of her hand.

“I only looked because you deliberately took off your shirt to get my attention. It was desperate as fuck. I guess it’s true what people say about you. You are a cocky fuckboy,” Gia said. Jay was a little taken aback. He’d never been spoken to like that before and it was completely throwing him off.

“Hold the fuck up, you don’t even know me to make that judgement,” Jay said. He was irritated that people continued to judge him based on his image when he was more than that.

“Well what do you expect me to think when you portray yourself the way you do? Look I don’t mean to be a bitch but come on. If you’re so butthurt over what I said, how about you stop acting like a childish womanizer and show people the real you. If you’re how Naomi describes you to be then I rather see that than what I’m looking at now,” Gia said. She cut off her treadmill and walked towards the locker room.

“Wait so you know who I am?” Jay asked.

“Not really. Naomi is a fan of you and the rest of AOMG and all I hear about is how fine and talented yall are. Personally, I don’t listen to you guys nor do I plan to. Now if you excuse me I have to go,” Gia answered. She began wiping off the little sweat that accumulated on her forehead. She made her way into the locker room where she saw Naomi washing her face at the sink.

“Sooo how was it talking to Jay Park?” Naomi asked.

“He’s a fucking asshole. Though I do feel bad about the shit I said to him. I was a bit too harsh,” Gia replied.

“Wait what did you say?” Naomi asked.

“I basically called him a fuckboy, then I maybe lowkey called him fake,” Gia said. Naomi look at her friend in disgust.

“Oh my god. Dammit Gia! Before we leave you are apologizing. God I’m never gonna fuck Gray. Why are you like this?” Naomi said.

“Bitch that’s all you care about. Ain’t shit stopping you for busting it open for Gray. Look let’s just go. I’ll fucking apologize,” Gia said. They both packed their bags and made their way back into the gym lobby. They spotted Jay doing chin ups while Gray was filming him.

“Go. Now!” Naomi said. Gia whined and made her way over to Jay. Once she was close enough she cleared her throat causing both men to look at her.

“Look I know you probably won’t care but I’m sorry about earlier. I was a bitch and at times I say shit I really shouldn’t. I had no right to insult you and make assumptions the way I did. Sooo umm yeah, sorry,” Gia quickly turned around and made a beeline for the door to amusement of Jay and Gray. She was nearly there when Jay’s voice drew her right back in.

“Ya know you really didn’t have to apologize. I don’t care much about what people say however, I do plan to prove you wrong. I mean if you let me,” Jay said. As if on cue Naomi popped up right next to Gia.

“Of course she’ll let you. You should take her out and let her get to know you, ya know the real you,” Naomi said.

“NAOMI! Shit! Well this has been great. Nice to meet you-”

“Look Jay we have this thing to go to on Saturday but it shouldn’t run that late so maybe we can all meet up afterwards and hang out,” Naomi said.

“Actually we too have a thing Saturday so how about a nice Sunday brunch or some shit?” Jay replied. Gia looked between Jay and Naomi and felt defeated.

“Fine. I’ll go out with you Sunday or whatever. Can we leave now Naomi” Gia grimaced and gave Naomi a pleading look.

“Okay okay. By guys! Naomi gave Jay and Gray one more lasting look then turned and walked out the gym with Gia. Once the girls were far enough Gray turned to Jay.

“What the hell happened? We’ve only been here for a damn hour. How the fuck did you already get into it with her?” Gray asked.

“Just a misunderstanding. It’ll all be cleared up this weekend though,” Jay said.

“Just don’t fuck her. She seems like the type to get attached. We don’t need another Bora situation,” Gray said.

“Trust me, she’s definitely not Bora. Anyways, let me finish up these last few chin ups then we can go. I’m fucking starving,” Jay said. Both men laughed and once Jay was done they said goodbye to the owner and left the gym. Jay couldn’t wait to see Gia again but he definitely wasn’t prepared for the other events that happened that weekend.

#mine #text posts #jay park #aomg #khh #jay park scenarios #aomg scenarios #khh scenarios