Rae-ha @rae-ha-writes - Tumblr Blog

Falling for Hyunjin pt. 2

Featuring: Hyunjin x f!reader, skz x f!reader

Themes: fluff, angst, idol au

Warnings: Seungmin isn’t really nice :(

a/n: disclaimer this does not represent them please do not take it as such, also this is just a short part leading towards a larger part coming soon

w/c: 1.4k

#kpop #kpop imagines #idol x reader #kpop angst #kpop x reader #stray kids x y/n #stray kids angst #stray kids au #stray kids fluff #stray kids x reader #stray kids imagines #stray kids #hyunjin x y/n #skz hyunjin #hyunjin x reader

stayycalm

" Let Me Help "

𝓹airing ꒱ ˒˓ Bang Chan x gn!reader ˒˓ established relationship. 𝓰enre/ angst, comfort, an actual happy ending for once lol, work stress is all-consuming, and perfectionist Chan has a hard time accepting help.

[ 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒆. ] — here is the last of the Lover's Roulette fics! this on is for @vividomakeup thank you to everyone who participated, and thank you so much for all the love you've given my account! Let me know what u think! <3

skzophreniic

⍣ ೋ cw: explicit sexual content, exes to lovers, mutual masturbation , penetrative sex, creampie, crying during sex, pet anxiety, mentions of pregnancy, artist!hyunjin, mdni

notes: in which your situationship ex hyunjin from college asks you to watch his dog for the week--and things spiral from there.

You almost don’t answer.

Your phone buzzes across the table, skittering like a beetle over the wood, and you glance at the screen with the reflex of someone who doesn’t expect surprises anymore.

Hyunjin. The name glows up at you, unfamiliar only in the way it makes your stomach twist—like a song you haven’t heard in years but still remember every lyric to.

It’s been months since you last spoke. Maybe a year since you last saw him. A coffee meetup that turned into wandering aimlessly through the park, talking like nothing had ever gone wrong between you, except it had. That night ended with a long hug and a promise to keep in touch that neither of you kept.

And now he’s calling.

youknowsoobin

title: let's ruin the friendship pairing: choi beomgyu x fem!reader genre: smut (mdni!), porn without plot (a tiny bit of plot), friends to lovers word count: 6.4k

summary: beomgyu ruins the friendship with four words. "you could kiss me."

author's note: i was working on something else (side eye) but had to take a break to get this out of my system. thanks for all ur love on the last one, I hope you enjoy this one just as much!! also, I cross-posted to ao3, so you can read it there if that's ur jam

tags/warnings: smut (mdni!), plot what plot, best friend choi beomgyu, soft dom choi beomgyu, vaginal sex, oral (f&m receiving), fingering, unprotected sex (oops), submissive reader, dirty talk, smoking, beomgyu talks you through it, gratuitous use of "baby"

“You could kiss me,” Beomgyu said, leaning against the brick wall outside, cigarette dangling from his lips.

The words made your skin cold, goosebumps spreading in all directions.

“What?” you stuttered as he passed you the cigarette. You stared at his fingers, trying to keep your eyes from finding his. You couldn’t look at him. Your lips parted, but words didn’t come out. What were you supposed to say to that, anyway?

saccharinezennie

alpha!beomgyu & his mate, (part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4 ➛ final!)

warnings: SMUT! p in v, unprotected sex (don't!), ALL things a/b/o, dom & sub dynamics, heat sex, oral (f & m rec), gyu's a munch, masturbation (kind of), fingering, teasing (lots of it), begging (reader says please A LOT), edging, praise, slick slurping, cum eating, strength kink, spanking, ruined orgasm, big dick beomgyu agenda, multiple positions: missionary, prone bone (kind of, it'll make sense), doggystyle, overstimulation, multiple orgasms, squirting, knotting, marking, claiming, basically porn with fluff sprinkled on top, gyu being a heartthrob, gyu duality king

whew, that was a mouthful :‐|

wc: 7.6k

scz note: this is how i imagined gyu for this final part! this will be the last part of this series! may or may not contain some errors. i hope you all enjoy it! x

"so... who was the alpha you spent your first heat with?"

ikeu05

I LOVE TO LAY WHEN LAYING IS NEXT TO YOU ✶ showing them affection

𝐢𝒏𝐝𝐞𝒙 ✸ ot7 x fem! reader 5.8k ( approx 820 words ) fluff lots of kissing teehee established relationship! au ୨୧ mentions of alcohol, wedding lmao, nicknames (baby, sweetheart, angel, my girl, love) lowk secret relationship in jay's jungwon's a little sad and burntout in his :(

이 HEESEUNG @ heeseung's family dinner

the soft hum of conversation filled the lee family dining room — the clinking of dishes, the warm scent of stew, and bursts of laughter threading through the air. heeseung’s house always felt like comfort incarnate: walls lined with framed childhood photos, the familiar whir of the old ceiling fan, and a table that never seemed to fit everyone but somehow always did.

for years, everyone had known heeseung and yn as the quiet couple. the affectionate, deeply-in-love kind, yes — but never the touchy type. at gatherings, while other pairs hugged or linked arms, heeseung and yn were content with a gentle smile shared across the table or fingers brushing under the tablecloth. the most anyone ever caught was them holding hands — and even then, heeseung’s ears would turn pink.

biggianteggplant

“Things They Didn’t Mean”

They didn’t mean to hurt you — but they did. And you started changing because of it. Now they notice… and it’s already different.

USHIJIMA WAKATOSHI

“Watch what you eat,” Ushijima says, voice low, neutral. He’s looking at your tray like it’s offended him.

You smile—a practiced, automatic thing—and laugh it off. “Oh, right. Yeah. Just hungry, I guess.”

He nods. Just once. And that’s the end of it. To him, anyway.

The next day, you bring a salad. You poke at the lettuce with your plastic fork, chew each bite like penance. He glances at your lunch, says nothing.

The day after, it’s just fruit. You peel a clementine slowly, fingers sticky with juice, and avoid his eyes.

Then you stop bringing your usual snack. The one he used to reach over and steal a bite of without asking. The one that always made him smile—subtly, but still. Now your bag is empty. So are you.

By the fourth day, Tendou corners him by the gym doors. “Hey, Wakatoshi,” he says, voice too light. “You realize she’s barely eating, right?”

Ushijima blinks. Still, silent. His gaze drifts toward you—sitting against the wall, water bottle untouched, your eyes vacant in a way he can’t quite name.

That evening, practice ends. The sun is low, gym almost empty. You sit alone on the bleachers, staring at nothing, your fingers curling around the hem of your sleeve.

He approaches without a word, sits beside you like it's instinct. In his hands: two onigiri, wrapped carefully.

“I didn’t mean it that way,” he says, eyes on the rice, not you. “I just… I care if you're healthy. Not thinner.”

You don’t respond. Your fingers twitch toward your bag, but fall short. He places one onigiri in your lap, the other in his own hands.

You pick at the rice. Slowly. Cautiously. Like you’ve forgotten how to be hungry.

He doesn’t speak. Just sits with you, quiet, steady. Watching. There’s guilt in the way his shoulders slope. In the way his chopsticks pause every few bites, waiting to see if you’ll keep going.

You finish half. It’s the most you’ve eaten all week.

He nudges the second one a little closer. Not pushing—just offering.

“Please eat,” he says, barely louder than a whisper. “With me.”

And you do.

For a long time, he says nothing else. But his silence is kind now. Careful. And when he finally looks at you, it’s with eyes that say he’s sorry in all the ways words can’t.

SHIRABU KENJIRO

The words slipped out of Shirabu’s mouth like a diagnosis—clinical, cold, final.

And the worst part? You weren’t even fighting.

You had just spilled tea on your notes—weeks of lectures and scribbled diagrams now soaked through and curling at the edges. You laughed, a little sheepishly, brushing at the mess with your sleeve. “Well. That’s my sign to take a break, I guess—”

He didn’t laugh.

He stared at the papers like they’d personally offended him. “You’re not cut out for the kind of future I want.”

You blinked. “…Future?”

He nodded once, distracted, eyes already flicking back to his laptop. “Medicine’s not for people who lose focus. Who make little mistakes.”

You smiled, like it didn’t sting. Laughed, like you hadn’t heard that same voice in your own head on bad days. “Right. Of course.”

That night, you stayed up redoing your notes from scratch. And the night after that. And the one after that.

You started waking up before him. Stopped doodling in the margins of your med books. Stopped humming when you cooked, because every second needed to be productive. Coffee became a meal. Sleep became a luxury.

You didn’t complain. Didn’t cry. Just… shifted. Quietly. Carefully. Willfully.

The version of you Shirabu fell for—the one who teased him while quizzing him on anatomy terms, who wore fuzzy socks to study groups, who once made him a human heart out of Jello just to prove a joke—she was slowly fading.

At first, he liked the change.

The silence. The discipline. The way your pens were always aligned now. The way you never interrupted him mid-sentence anymore.

But then… He noticed.

You never touched him just because anymore. Never made dumb puns over dinner. Your shoulders stayed tense even in your sleep. The music in your world had gone quiet—and he hadn’t realized how much he loved its sound until it disappeared.

One night, he came home late from the library and found you at your desk, fast asleep. Your glasses were still on. Your hand was stained with blue ink, fingertips trembling slightly from too much caffeine and too little rest. There was a cut on your thumb from a broken pen. Your lips were dry. You looked pale—drained, like all your color had been slowly siphoned away.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there, heart sinking.

And when he touched your hand, you didn’t even stir.

He sat down beside you, swallowing guilt like poison. “I didn’t mean for you to become someone else,” he whispered, the words raw and foreign in his mouth. “I just wanted you with me. I didn’t realize I was asking you to lose yourself.”

His voice cracked. For the first time in years, he cried.

Quietly. Beside you.

Because you were still there. Breathing. Trying. But something in you had cracked.

And he had been the one to make the first fracture.

TSUKISHIMA KEI

That was the last thing he said to you that day. You had just finished gushing about your favorite show—something about parallel universes and time loops and a sad, smiley villain who reminded you of him (your words, not his). You were laughing, hands moving, eyes bright.

And he had sighed, leaned back in his chair, and muttered: “Are you done yet?”

You blinked. Laughed it off. “Right. Sorry. Got carried away.”

He didn’t respond. Just went back to scrolling.

After that, you didn’t talk about your favorite shows anymore. Stopped sending him memes. Stopped rambling in long voice notes that always ended with you laughing at your own jokes.

He noticed, of course. But didn’t say anything.

Yamaguchi did.

“She doesn’t text you stuff anymore, huh?”

Tsukishima scoffed. “Didn’t realize you were tracking my notifications.”

But later that night, alone in his room, he opened your chat. Scrolled through the silence. Past the last thing you sent—a meme, three weeks ago. A stupid one, about dinosaurs and headphones. He hadn’t even reacted to it.

The empty space beneath it felt louder than any rant you used to send.

The next day, he walked past a store on the way home and froze. In the window: a little keychain of your favorite character. The one you wouldn’t shut up about for two whole weeks. The one he pretended not to care about but secretly knew the name of.

He bought it.

He didn’t even think. Just… did.

The next morning, he dropped it on your desk before class. No warning. No note.

You blinked, staring at the tiny figure in your hand. “What’s this for?”

He adjusted his glasses, gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder. “So you’ll annoy me again.”

You stared at him for a beat, stunned. Then your lips twitched.

You didn’t say anything. But that night, he got a message.

[you]: i just rewatched episode 8 again and i need you to understand how emotionally devastating that scene was. also this keychain is SO cute i might cry.

He read it three times. Smiled. Just a little.

(Translation: I forgive you. I missed you too.)

SUNA RINTARO

He had said it offhandedly. Barely looking up from his phone.

You had just sent him a selfie—your hair a little messy, eyes a little dull, but your smile was there. Honest. Tired, maybe. But still you.

And he said: “You look tired.”

You blinked at the screen, lips twitching in a way that didn’t quite reach your eyes. Then replied, “Yeah. Been a long day.”

After that, you stopped sending selfies. Started fixing your hair more before calls. Wore cooler tones. More neutrals. Nothing bright. Nothing bold. Started double-checking the lighting. Your angles. Yourself.

One day you joked, “Better not look tired again, right?” But your voice was too quiet. The kind that curls at the edge of something fragile.

Atsumu noticed it first.

“She doesn’t send you stuff anymore, huh?” Suna didn’t answer. “You told her she looked tired, didn’t you?”

He shrugged. But his thumb froze over your chat. Unread messages: none. The last picture you sent had disappeared after twenty-four hours. You didn’t save it. And you hadn’t sent another since.

The silence in the thread felt heavier than words.

So he stared at his camera for a long second, then sighed and snapped a picture. No filters. No angles. Just him—messy hair, hoodie hood half-on, eyes barely open.

He sent it with a message: “This is how I look when I actually look tired.” “You always look like someone I wanna keep looking at.”

You stared at the screen. Chest aching. Then, finally:

[you]: you're still bad at words. [suna]: yeah. but i’m trying.

And he was. In his own way—awkward, quiet, a little late.

But trying.

(And somehow, that was what mattered most.)

OIKAWA TOORU

You didn’t mean to bother him.

You had only sent three messages. Short ones. Thoughtful, even.

[you]: hey, u free later? [you]: you okay? you’ve been quiet today. [you]: let me know if you need anything. i’ll leave you be. promise.

And then it came. His reply.

Flat. Dismissive. Laced with exhaustion and that familiar edge he gets when he’s overwhelmed.

[oikawa]: you’re really needy sometimes.

You stared at the screen for a moment too long. Then you smiled. The kind of smile you force when people are watching. “lol sorry. my bad.” One last message. That was all.

And then you stopped.

You stopped texting first. Stopped sending him memes you knew would make him laugh. Stopped double-texting, triple-texting. Stopped reaching out at all.

You gave him what he seemed to want.

Space.

He noticed by dinner.

By the time the team wrapped up practice, Oikawa was already scrolling through your messages, rereading old ones like a lifeline. There were no new ones. No “I miss you.” No “Goodnight.” Just… nothing.

He opened your chat three times that night. Typed. Deleted. Typed. Deleted again.

What was he even supposed to say?

Iwaizumi noticed the silence too.

“She’s not needy,” he said while they packed up. “You’re just used to being worshipped.”

That stung.

Because it was true.

Oikawa Tooru had always been admired—on the court, online, in every room he walked into. He thought love looked like attention. He hadn’t realized until now that he’d treated your warmth like a reflex, not a choice. Until you took it away.

Until your silence said everything.

So three nights later, he was standing in front of your door.

A hoodie pulled over his head. Hands stuffed deep in his pockets. He looked small. Not in height—but in guilt.

He knocked. Once. Twice.

You opened it.

Your eyes were tired. Guarded. The space between you filled with things unsaid.

Oikawa’s voice was low. He didn’t even try to smile.

“…I miss your ‘needy,’” he said.

You blinked, lips parting slightly.

“I miss you.”

Still, you said nothing. Just looked at him like you weren’t sure if this was another performance or the real thing.

“I don’t want space,” he continued. “I want your clingy texts. I want the memes. The constant check-ins. The way you send me random thoughts at midnight.”

He looked down at his shoes.

“I want everything. Even the parts I didn’t appreciate.”

Silence.

Then he looked up, eyes raw.

“I only push away the people I care too much about,” he whispered. “And that’s you.”

It wasn’t poetic. It wasn’t dramatic. It was just honest.

For a long moment, you stood there. Then, slowly—quietly—you stepped aside.

He didn’t wait for permission.

He just walked in, shoulders trembling slightly.

You closed the door behind him.

And neither of you said another word. Because this time, he would show you through presence what he failed to express in words.

He came back.

And he didn’t let go.

SAKUSA KIYOOMI

It was just a bad game.

He was frustrated. Quiet. His shoulders tight. His jaw locked.

You knew how he got. You didn’t say anything.

You just reached out—softly, gently—for his hand. Not to fix him. Just to say I’m here.

But he pulled back like your touch burned him.

“Don’t touch me right now.”

The words weren’t loud. They didn’t need to be.

You blinked, hand frozen mid-air. Then you let it drop, your voice a quiet crumble. “…Sorry.”

That was it.

You stepped back. Gave him space. And from that day on, you stayed there.

You stopped reaching for him. Stopped brushing your fingers against his sleeve when you passed by. Stopped fixing his hair when it curled over his forehead. Stopped lacing your fingers through his on long walks.

You hesitated now—every time. Your hands hovered near him, never landing.

And Kiyoomi… didn’t notice.

Not at first.

But Komori did.

He waited until the locker room was empty, then slammed his locker shut louder than necessary.

“You told her not to touch you,” he said, arms crossed. “And now she doesn’t. Happy?”

Kiyoomi blinked, confused.

“She flinched when you brushed her arm, Omi. She flinched. That girl used to hold your hand like it was second nature.”

The words hit harder than they should’ve.

Komori left. Kiyoomi sat down, heart unsettled, brain replaying every tiny moment—your hands curled into your lap, your stiff shoulders, the way your gaze flicked to his fingers then away.

It was true.

You were gone, somehow, even while still beside him.

That night—no, early morning—he couldn’t sleep.

He stared at his phone screen in the dark, thumbs hovering. Then:

[sakusa]: i’m sorry. i didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.

No typing bubbles appeared.

He didn’t expect them to.

But the next day, he found you outside the gym, hugging your arms to yourself, pretending not to see him.

He walked straight to you.

You looked up, cautious.

He didn’t speak. Not yet.

He just reached forward—and for once, it was him who was shaking—and took your hand. Both of his around yours, like anchoring something fragile.

You looked down at the connection. Then back at him.

His voice was hoarse, barely above a whisper.

“I want you close,” he said. “Even when I’m upset. Especially then.”

Your lip trembled.

He held your hand tighter.

And in that quiet moment, on the edge of hurt and healing, you let yourself believe him.

Because sometimes, people push away what they need most. And sometimes, if they’re lucky, they get the chance to hold it again.

KENMA KOZUME

You used to sit beside him.

No words. No noise. Just quiet company while his fingers danced across the keyboard, headset snug over his ears.

You liked being close. He never complained—until one night, between matches, he muttered without looking at you:

“You’re kind of distracting when I’m streaming.”

It wasn’t cruel. It wasn’t sharp.

But it stuck.

You blinked. “Oh.”

And after that… you stopped.

You stopped bringing snacks and dropping soft kisses to his temple when he won. Stopped curling up next to him. Stopped humming under your breath or watching from the corner of his screen.

You stayed in your room more.

Quiet. Out of sight.

Invisible.

Kenma didn’t notice at first—too busy adjusting his settings, managing collabs, climbing ranks.

But Kuroo noticed. Over Discord, mid-game, as Kenma sat in silence between rounds, Kuroo muttered:

“She doesn’t bug you anymore, huh?”

Kenma blinked. “What?”

“You look kinda lonely now.”

The words landed like a delayed hit.

Kenma glanced to the side—out of instinct—at the space where you used to sit. Empty. Still.

He stared longer than he meant to.

His fingers paused over the keys. The stream kept running. The chat wondered what happened. But Kenma didn’t move.

Later that night, he found himself in front of your door. A bag of your favorite snacks in hand. Slightly crumpled from how tightly he’d been holding it.

He knocked once. Soft.

You opened the door, eyes tired. Surprised.

He didn’t speak at first. Just held out the bag.

“…What’s this?” you asked quietly.

“Peace offering.”

Your brow arched. “You said I was distracting.”

He looked down, fingers flexing.

“I know,” he murmured. “I was wrong.”

You stayed quiet.

So he stepped forward, placed the snack gently beside his controller on his desk, then turned back to you.

“Come sit with me?” he asked. Then, even softer: “I miss your noise.”

You blinked.

And for the first time in days, your lips curved—just slightly.

He held his hand out toward you.

And this time, when you took it, he didn’t let go. Not even when the game started. Not even when chat noticed.

Because he wasn’t playing to win anymore. He just wanted you back beside him.

Even if you distracted him. Especially if you did.

MIYA ATSUMU

You hadn’t meant to cry.

You didn’t even realize it was happening—until your voice cracked mid-sentence, and you saw the way Atsumu’s expression tightened, not with concern, but irritation.

“I’m not in the mood for your drama right now.”

It hit like a slammed door.

You blinked once. Twice.

Then you nodded.

"Sorry," you said, voice barely there.

And after that—you stopped.

You stopped venting. Stopped opening up. Started smiling too wide, laughing a little too quickly.

"I’m fine." "Just tired." "Nothing big."

You said it so much, you almost believed it.

But Atsumu didn’t.

Not at first—he was too wrapped up in training, in pressure, in exhaustion and ego. But Osamu noticed.

“You broke something, y’know,” he said one night, tossing a towel over Atsumu’s head. “You might wanna fix it before it stays broken.”

That’s what finally made him pause.

And that’s what led him here— To the empty gym hallway, where he found you sitting against the wall, knees to your chest, eyes blank.

You didn’t notice him at first. Didn’t look up. Didn’t flinch.

He walked over, crouched down, and gently rested his forehead against your shoulder.

“…I’m the drama,” he whispered, voice raw. “Not you.”

You stayed quiet.

He clenched his fists. Loosened them. Then tried again.

“Please don’t hide your feelings from me. Ever.”

Your throat tightened.

You looked away, eyes burning, lip trembling—but still, you said nothing.

So Atsumu pulled you into his arms.

Held you there. Not asking for forgiveness, not rushing it—just there.

“I was stupid,” he mumbled into your hair. “I was tired and selfish and I made you feel like too much.”

His voice cracked.

“You’re not too much. I was just too stupid to handle someone real.”

You didn’t say anything right away.

But your hands slowly—finally—gripped the back of his jersey.

And that was enough.

Because this time, he wouldn’t let go first.

KITA SHINSUKE

You were tired. Not just physically, but the kind of tired that settles in your chest and makes everything feel heavier. You forgot to do something small — misplanted a row of seedlings in your shared garden, or maybe you overslept and missed breakfast with him.

He didn’t yell. He never did. Just that calm, steady voice:

“That’s not very disciplined of you.”

No anger. Just disappointment. And somehow, that was worse. It clung to you for days.

You started fixing your posture more, triple-checking tasks, waking up earlier than needed. No more lazy mornings. No more spontaneous dancing in the rain or lying in the grass just to feel the sun. You stopped being soft. You started being… correct.

And he noticed. How your laugh faded. How your hands trembled when you thought he was watching.

It was Aran who quietly pulled him aside one afternoon. They were harvesting. The sun was warm. But Kita felt cold at the words:

“She’s not blooming anymore. She’s surviving.” “You’re so focused on raising standards… you didn’t see her lower herself.”

That night, he found you tending the garden. The same bed you both built together. The soil was dry. The petals curled inward. And so were you.

He knelt beside you silently, heart heavy.

“Discipline matters,” he started. “But so does grace. I should’ve given you more of it.”

You didn’t look at him. Your fingers kept digging gently through the soil.

So he did something rare. He placed his hand over yours. Soft. Still. Sure.

“You don’t need to be perfect… to be precious to me.”

Your breath hitched. And when you finally looked up — eyes glassy, dirt smudged on your cheek — he smiled, just barely.

“Let’s grow softer things. Together.”

KAGEYAMA TOBIO

You’d tried something new. Maybe you curled your hair, tried eyeliner, wore that outfit you weren’t sure about but finally had the courage to put on. You didn’t expect a grand reaction. But you didn’t expect that either.

“You look weird.”

He didn’t laugh. Didn’t smirk. Just said it like a volleyball stat: flat. Unthinking. Unfiltered.

You smiled like it didn’t hurt. Went to the bathroom that night and wiped it all off. Told yourself it wasn’t a big deal.

But the next day, you played it safe. No more makeup. Neutral clothes. You toned it down, layer by layer, until it felt like you’d erased something. And he didn’t even seem to notice.

But others did. Sugawara asked Kageyama during practice, teasing but genuine:

“What happened to all those selfies she used to send you? I kinda miss the glitter.”

Kageyama blinked. Paused. Scrolled through his phone that night. Through bright lipstick, messy buns, silly filters, captioned doodles. Gone, now.

And then it hit him.

You’d stopped sending anything. Stopped showing anything.

He found you that night, seated quietly on the porch or your shared bench near the gym.

“Hey…”

You looked up. Tired. Dull.

He sat beside you, awkward fingers twitching on his knee.

“You’re… not weird. I mean, you are, but like. Not—bad weird. Like… your kind of weird. And I liked that.”

You didn’t respond. Just stared ahead.

So he added, softer this time:

“I’m stupid with words. But I didn’t mean to make you feel like you had to disappear.”

You swallowed. He turned slightly, desperate and clumsy:

“Please don’t change for something dumb I said. I didn’t realize how much I loved… all of that. All of you.”

You turned to him. Eyes glossy, voice small:

“Then why didn’t you say that sooner?”

He didn’t have an answer. So instead, he reached into his pocket and held out the phone screen — a selfie of you from a month ago.

“I saved this one. I liked your smile here the most.”

DAICHI SAWAMURA

It was something small. You tripped on a stair and instinctively, he caught your wrist, pulling you close before you fell.

Someone whistled. A teammate teased: “Ooh, Daichi, playing knight in shining armor?”

He panicked. Embarrassed. Tried to play it cool. So he shrugged and muttered,

“She’s not my responsibility.”

Laughed it off.

But your smile didn’t reach your eyes.

You’d never expected him to take responsibility for you. You weren’t asking to be saved. But you’d thought — maybe — it was okay to lean. To trust. To fall near him.

After that day, you stopped doing that.

You handled everything alone — even when your hands shook carrying too much, even when your emotions threatened to spill.

No more late-night texts. No more spontaneous hangouts. No more quiet moments walking beside him.

You avoided everyone for a while.

Until Suga found you missing again from another group outing and went straight to Daichi.

“She knows she’s not your responsibility, Daichi. She just thought… you gave a damn.”

That silenced him.

That night, he went up to the school rooftop — the place you always went when you needed to breathe. You were already there, arms wrapped around your knees, eyes on the sky.

He didn’t speak. Just sat beside you. Let the silence ache between you both.

Then finally, barely audible:

“I wanted to protect you. Not push you away.”

You didn’t look at him. You just said, hollowly:

“You don’t have to explain. I get it.”

But he shook his head gently.

“No, you don’t. I didn’t say that because I didn’t care. I said it because I was scared of how much I did.”

You blinked, eyes burning.

“You’re not my responsibility,” he whispered again — but this time softer, reverent. “You’re my person. That’s… different.”

enhaflixer

Kiss Me, He’s Watching

fake bf!Heeseung x being stalked!reader - You kissed Heeseung to escape your stalker’s gaze—but the danger didn’t end there. One fake kiss, and suddenly everything is terrifyingly real.

Warnings: stalking, fear, explicit smut, possessive dynamics

The fluorescent lights of the subway car flicker overhead, casting an unflattering glow across the half-empty train. It's later than you'd usually be out on a weeknight, but your coworker's birthday drinks ran longer than expected. You check your phone: 11:43 PM. Only three more stops until home.

That's when you feel it—the unmistakable sensation of being watched.

You glance up from your phone, trying to appear casual as your eyes scan the car. And there he is. Third seat from the door. A man in his thirties, wearing a dark jacket despite the warm spring evening, staring directly at you. When your eyes meet, he doesn't look away. Instead, his lips curl into what might be considered a smile, if it weren't so utterly devoid of warmth.

You quickly look back down at your phone, heart rate accelerating. It's nothing, you tell yourself. Just another weird encounter in the city.

muniimyg

BED CHEM // JJK

♡ extra: manifest that you're oversized

series m.list // taglist unavailable

warnings: smol argument (slight angst), jk and oc ignore each other for a few days,,, smut ! somewhat virgin au... jk guides oc and oc is unsure but curious the entire time !!! very domestic of them :') ,,, jk eats her out, jk lives out a fantasy and face fucks oc, oc tries cowgirl for the first time & jk takes over in the end lol. raw sex, both of them orgasm & get all mushy in the end <3

note: oh my gawd this smut took me so long to write . tmi one of the side effects of my meds is a lower sex drive so i haven't been in the headspace for this ,, i'm so happy i got around to it. obviously it's not perfect or even close to what i envisioned for them ,, but i also think that's what makes them so hehe haha .

enj !

hoshifighting

— Synopsis: After years of being Mr. Choi's personal secretary, you had become accustomed to the dynamics of working closely with him. However, fate had brought about a change – Mr. Choi's son, Seungcheol, would now be taking over the company. Unbeknownst to you, Seungcheol had harbored a secret crush on you for years. — WC: 8k — WARNINGS: Smut, mentions of collapsing, blacking out, burn-out, teasing, dirty talk, fingering, oral (f. receiving), cock riding (pro-riddah), 'jealousy', all types of moans and whimpering, crush confessions, creampie, reader is mentioned as 'noona' sometimes.

You started at the company fresh out of college, eager to make your mark in the corporate world. Landing an internship and apprenticeship seemed like the perfect opportunity to kickstart your career. But from the beginning, it was a whirlwind. The partners and directors barely acknowledged your presence, treating you as if you were invisible.

hoshifighting

— Synopsis: Where you “unfortunately” caught your best friend's roomate—your unsaid enemy—masturbating in their shared apartment. — WC: 4.6k — WARNINGS: smut, monster cock!seungcheol, explicit language and content, overstimulation, dry fucking, oral as a tongue massage (f. receiving)—a reward <3, body fluids (cum), dry humping, cock riding, dumbfication, degradation, aftercare, exhaustion, and DIRTY TALK.

here’s how it always goes with seungcheol:

you walk into a room, he immediately finds something to scoff at. maybe it’s the way you dress, maybe it’s the way you talk, maybe it’s just the fact that you exist in his general vicinity. but it doesn’t matter what you do—he hates you. or, at the very least, that’s what he insists on showing you.

joshua, your best friend and possibly the only person in the world who can tolerate both of you without losing his mind, always tells you to be the bigger person. “he’s not that bad,” he says, as if seungcheol didn’t practically hiss at you last week for sitting on his side of the couch.

but whatever. you don’t go out of your way to piss him off, and he doesn’t go out of his way to be nice. that’s just the way it is.

which is why you hesitate when joshua calls you:

“i swear, i wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important. i left my keys at your place before i flew out, remember?”

“okay, but i literally don’t want to step foot in his apartment,” you stress, cringing at the thought.

“it’s my apartment, too,” joshua deadpans.

you groan, already feeling a headache coming on.

“just go in, grab the folder on my desk, and leave,” he insists. “cheol probably won’t even be home.”

which is how you find yourself standing outside their apartment door, holding joshua’s keys and hyping yourself up like you’re about to enter enemy territory. which, in a way, you are.

bonniepop

another night where you fight, another night of silence. another night where miya osamu sleeps with his back to you.

the realization that there is not much more you can do to save your relationship clutches at your chest with an iron grip.

the gravity of it makes you whimper. pressing your lips together, you shakily push yourself up to sit blinking back tears while blindly stepping around for your slippers, willing yourself not to sob—not here, not where he can hear. your toes touch the fluff of them, and you hurry to slip them on. you need to get out of here.

moechies-deactivated20260306

nanami who has you impaled deep on his cock, hands restraining your tiny, quivery wrists.

you’ve been a bad girl.

fussing over the smallest inconsistencies throughout your day spent with your dearest fiance — having taken a day off to spend with his darling girl. but you’re a brat — there’s no doubt about it. nonetheless, it’s kento’s responsibility to put you back in your place, turn you back into the pliant, nice, and smart woman he knows you to be.

so when you begin to act indifferent than your usual self, slamming cabinets with a mean force and glaring off at your fiancé at his feeble attempts to comfort and confront you, he knows you’re feeling off.

and he knows it’s not your fault — you’re big on emotions but hefty weak when it comes to communication. so, he’ll just have to force it out of you.

so that’s how he forced you here — mindlessly bouncing atop his cock with your arms confined and pressed roughly against the concave of your back. your consistency is mindless, allowing your little pussy and those weak thighs of yours to think for you as your mushed little head spits out scenarios in order to calm your fiancé.

“do it correctly. i know you can.” the man grumbles, sitting himself up against the soft pillows with a rough readjusting to your sore wrists. they ache — having being pressed against eachother for nearly an hour, and your fiancé having no intention to release them any time soon.

you writhe in his grip, crying out his name with a soft whine as a peace offer for mercy, any mercy.

“correct your posture and straighten your thighs. like i taught you many times before. don’t tell me you forgot, darling.” he eyes you condescendingly, sighing with a disappointed demeanor that has you whimpering.

“y—yhes.. yes sir!” and you do just as he says, straightening your back and stretching out your legs. it takes you a weak couple of grinds before you manage to find a suiting pace — although slow but kento deems it acceptable.

“well done. now,” kento grunts, “tell me what’s gotten you so fussy today. will you?”

you huff, shaking your head softly with an adorable pout, increasing the speed of your pace in hopes to lose the man in his thoughts with your hips.

“now now,” kento warns, his free hand, the right one coming up to squeeze at your cheeks, his calloused thumb jabbing into your right dimple, the rest of his hand laying tight against your left. “we’re not about to play the guessing game.”

you squeak in pain, eyes closing shut which forces the previously bubbling tears to spill over your lash line.

“speak up, darling, or you won’t be cumming anytime soon. i can promise you that.” he growls — which is his last and final warning, an assertion of dominance you’ve only seen once long before.

“i—i—“

nanami removes his grip from your face, a contradicting thumb that comes to wipe at your tears so sweetly you might just cry again.

“wa—wan’ you to put a baby in m—me already,” you hiccup, “wan’a have your kids, k—ken.” finally, you crack.

nanami cums.

you squeak inevitably, not expecting the sudden fill in your womb, thick ropes of spent painting your walls white and filling your tummy. “o—oh shhh—shit.” nanami whines, cursing himself when he feels it leak against his tummy. your hips slow, meaning to stop, “no.. don’t stop. keeping going, l—love. until you can’t, for me.”

you nod shakily, hiccuping softly when you hear the man chuckle, leaning back against the headboard with a weary stare. “that’s it, doll? you’ve been so fussy, so mean all day just because you wanted me to breed this little w—womb? aw.” nanami coos, and you can’t help but feel the slightest bit embarrassed. you’re quick to pout again at his teasing, but your ploy is quickly shocked to failure when he presses harshly against the chub of your tummy — directly atop your womb.

“darling, you must communicate. how would i have known you’d ask of s—something so simple?”nanami stutters when you drop onto his lap, situating yourself tiredly onto him. “i just— ‘s-s embarrassing.” you whimper in response, lifting your head to receive a gentle kiss from the man.

kento’s quick to flip you over, quick enough that you don’t even notice your hot body against the cool sheets with your fiancés cock still impaled deep into you. “no worries now, it’s all done.” nanami grins, “now all i’ve got left to do is make my woman feel good, isn’t that right?”

twogyuu

because grocery shopping is my love language

pairing: jeonghan x fem!reader

synopsis: jeonghan finally convinced you to move in with him, but you're starting to think he has ulterior motives.

genre: fluff, crack, ninaverse/tuvos!couple (takes place somewhere in between the prequel and before they got married lolol)

wcc: 856

a/n: MOM I MISS HIM SM 😫

. . . .

"Did you grab the chunjang sauce?" you ask.

Jeonghan hums softly at your voice, tearing his eyes away from the vacuum-sealed package of rice cakes to watch you approach the cart, each hand fisting something you picked up from a distant part of the store. You set scallions and apples atop the teetering pile of cereal, spices, and other small snacks in the shelf above that would usually hold a toddler, eyes scanning the rest of the groceries for the said paste.

Jeonghan extends a hand in your direction, and not even looking in his direction, eyes still lingering on the items in the cart, you knew to to just slip your hand into his. It immediately brings a smile to Jeonghan's face, his chest blooming with, dare he think it, love. He gently pulls you to his side, your free hand, coming to rest on his upper arm. Jeonghan thinks he could get used to this . . . or maybe he already is.

gojonanami

❝ 𝐘𝐀𝐊𝐔𝐙𝐀 𝐅𝐈𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄 ❞

❝ WHAT HAPPENS WHEN TWO YAKUZA HEIRS ARE FIGHTING OVER WHO GETS TO MARRY YOU ?? ❞

✧ pairing: yakuza!satoru gojo x f!reader x yakuza!suguru geto

✧ summary: you had no patience for the yakuza lifestyle your grandfather had -- you wanted to live a normal life, but when it leaks that your grandfather is in talks to have you engaged to one of two yakuza heirs -- you realize you're in deeper than you thought -- especially when they both fall in love with you.

✧ warnings: 18+, nsfw, smut, fluff, inspired / dialogue / scene concepts taken from the manga “yakuza fiance,” (which the fic is named after), reader's age is ambiguous, but all are 20s+, violence (as expected from mafia / yakuza stories), blood, stsg have tattoos, implied satosugu (just a passing mention of dating briefly), stsg have sadomasochistic tendencies, a little ooc, switch! gojo (very sub gojo), switch! geto, oral (f + m), deepthroating, handjob (m), fingering (f! receiving), double penetration, sex (p in v), creampie, poly relationship implied ending,

✧ wc: 18,476

“I don’t want to marry either of you,”

And your statement is met with confused stares — and normally stares like this wouldn’t be terrifying to the average person, but these were not average men you were dealing with.

Satoru Gojo and Suguru Geto were anything but average — in many ways.

Both were incredibly handsome — Satoru was blessed with a piercing blue gaze of the heavens and snow white locks that could stun any person into silence, and Suguru was no slouch either — with long inky black locks tied into a neat bun and his sharp features and his almost all too alluring smile — the two of them looked like they belonged to a modeling agency. Both were also brilliant, attending one of the best high schools in Tokyo, before going to the best university, leading in their respective specialities (Satoru studying physics, while Suguru chose literature).

And, the two were both the heirs to two of the most dangerous Yakuza families in all of Japan.

But right now, they are your biggest problems, personified.

Their families were both vying for your hand in marriage — thanks to your meddling grandfather who shipped you off to Tokyo to get a would-be Yakuza husband — your yakuza family hoping to broker peace after decades upon decades of fighting with one of the other two biggest yakuza families around — the Gojo and Geto families respectively.

“Excuse me?” Suguru speaks first, a single eyebrow raised, arms crossed over his crisp white button up.

“I’m not here for this yakuza bullshit. I’m trying to live my own life — and I’m not in the mood to get swept along in my grandfather’s wishes for me to get married,” your hand is in your bag, fingers curled around your collapsible metal pole, “and I don’t care to know either of you, I don’t really care to stick around you — especially because all its earned me is the disdain of all the other students who have crushes on you — so how about we simply tolerate each other for this year?”

lxvemaze

instagram stories with bf!yoongi

namjoon, jin, yoongi, hobi, jimin, taehyung, jungkook

venusblooms

◞ YEARNING OBSERVING YEARNING.

꒰ satoru has been gone for three months thus far and you’re at the end of your rope with missing him. ꒱

ᴍᴅɴɪ. 5.2k. f!reader. no curses, idol au. fluff. angst. happy ending. est/semi-ldr. satoru’s a successful idol. sfw. reposted.

you know that this is his dream, but the loneliness you’re constantly left to face is becoming genuinely unbearable. long distance dynamics are not at all for the faint of heart. there are days when the video calls are all you long for, seeing his adorable face filling up the screen and smiling at you quite lovingly. then, there are days like today when, for a brief, fleeting moment, you consider breaking things off with the love of your life ꒰ and one of the most famous men in the world ꒱, gojo satoru.

“you’re supposed to tell me before, baby. like along the way. before it gets so overwhelming that you’re ready to leave me and throw away my entire heart when i’m literally trying to get home to you. before all of that.” you cover your mouth to hold back the sound of your own cries, forcing sniffles and tiny hiccups in the place of moaning and wailing. your vision becomes blurry and fills up with shimmering tears, because satoru is very openly, very audibly crying — small sobs and whimpers between his speech. “who said i don’t need you? who said that?” he asks, voice broken and fearful. “if i didn’t need you, i wouldn’t cry like a fucking baby at night because you’re not with me. i feel sick inside missing you. wishing you were here with me. wishing i could give you a normal fucking relationship, but i’m not in a normal position. you knew that. i told you. i begged you not to give up on me if you were agreeing to do this with me. you said forever and now you’re trying to take it back? no. i don’t accept that. i won’t. so what do i need to do to keep you? what will it take?” “satoru…please…” “no. there’s no please. tell me what i need to do to keep you. because honestly, angel, you’re ripping my fucking heart to shreds right now. we have to figure this out. there’s no way in hell i’m letting you walk away from us.” he sniffs, weak cries still flowing into the phone, painting every crevice of your heart in a shade of aching. “there’s no walking away from us, baby. okay?” your lower lip trembles, overwhelmed by his determination to keep you. maybe you’re wrong about not being a priority. “i’m sorry, satoru. i just…this has been so fucking hard. and then i went to the wedding all on my own. again. and everyone just keeps asking why you never show up with me anywhere. again. it just…it got to me really bad this time. it’s so hard. being completely and utterly taken but having to live practically single because your partner can’t be there. i miss you, satoru. i’m lonely.” “baby, i understand. i get it. i feel that way, too, you know?” his voice is soft, warm even, trying to maintain a sense of calmness, compassion, and love. “it’s hard for me, too.” “is it?” you question very seriously. “because every time i see clips of you from your shows on ig or tiktok, you look like you’re having the time of your life. smiling from ear to ear. being surrounded by so much love that it doesn’t seem to matter to have mine.” he squeaks but then goes silent. you hear the opening of a door and the harsh closing behind it, all the background noise falling completely silent. you hear that he’s still crying at the softest volume he can manage. when he speaks, his voice is softly appalled, brittle, threatening to crumble at any moment.

upon hearing his words, there’s now a thick blanket of guilt covering the top of your sadness, feeling more like it’s suffocating you. you haven’t thought of it that way, from his perspective, haven’t even considered the amount of events he attends alone. he’s with his friends and members, sure, but times and events where he would, can, or should bring a plus one and his is actually able to attend is…never. for you, his presence is seldom. it’s rare, but it is. whereas with him, your attendance is entirely nonexistent. not because you want it that way. not for a lack of trying on your part. “i…you’re right…i can’t say that. it’s not fair.” you admit quietly, voice low and lightly ashamed of the words you say and his experience you disregard. “i’m sorry for saying that to you, satoru.” “let’s just get through this, okay? no apologies. i just want to keep you, and i can’t get off this phone until i know i am.” he sniffles hard. “i love you, angel. you know that, right? you know you’re not in this alone, yeah? we’re in it together.” tears still silently flowing, you respond tenderly. “i know you love me, satoru. i love you, too. but…are you even happy like this? don’t you want more than this?” “what more is there to want? i have exactly what i want and exactly what i need. and both of those things are you. of course, i wish you could be there and be here with me, but i know you’re supporting me no matter what. it pushes me to do my best every time. getting to see you after is the highlight of those evenings. skipping after parties to come crawl into bed with you is my favorite pastime.” you don’t say anything iat first. you just wonder where to even go from here. he says breaking up isn’t an option. he says he’s going to stay on the phone until he knows he’s keeping you. he says he’s fine with things as they are, even if they hurt you both, because he has you, and it’s worth the sacrifice. you feel the same way; you do. and maybe for a split second, you just forget, become too jaded by the heaviness of feeling like you’ve been isolated and abandoned. but you recall quite vividly that you told him after the first year together that there’s no separating for you both. only forever and working it out. no forfeiting, only fighting tooth and nail to make it work. “what do i need to do, baby?” he asks, much softer, much more loving. “how can i keep you by my side?” the kaleidoscope of butterflies swarm you. the way it feels, it’s like your heart is free falling, diving to find him and be drowned in all his devotion. “i…i..” you sigh, shaky and defeated. “nothing…nothing at all, satoru. i’m here. i’m sorry. i’m sorry for all of this.” “just needing me?” he asks, his voice small and raspy, teeming with all of his longing. “because…i’m just needing you, too. and it hurts a lot.” although he can’t see, you nod in agreement. it does hurt a lot, a whole fucking lot. your quivering lip and tear-filled eyes can attest to that much. “yeah,” your fragile voice falls as a whisper. “m’just needing you so bad. and it hurts that you’re not here.” “m’on my way, okay? i’ll be home soon.” he promises. “just wait for me. give me a little more time. please, angel. just hold out a little longer for me.” “yeah…okay…okay. i’ll hold out.” you promise. “i miss you.” a sniffle and a declaration. “we won’t have to miss each other for much longer.” in the background, you hear him returning to all the noise. inwardly, you sigh. there’s always something distracting, always something in the way of you both being able to submerge into your time together fully. you both just got over a small hurdle that threatened to end in you leaving this house and the life you made with him inside of it. “it’s so fucking loud in here.” he grumbles. you hum, agreeing. “where are you even?” “airport,” he answers calmly. “connecting flight.”

when he says it, you aren’t sure why it makes you start to cry all over again. maybe because you know it means he’s still gone. he’s still so far away, and he’s not coming home soon. he still has more work to do, more promises to his fans to fulfill, and more time he owes them all. he’s on a connecting flight and probably didn’t anticipate having this conversation right now. he probably planned to be asleep, but he ends up reconciling having to go to their next show utterly heartbroken. “off to your next stop?” you ask, sniffling and continuing to wipe your tears. “yeah…yeah i am. my last one, actually.” he says. “my last flight for a very fucking long time, i hope.” this makes you smile, him talking about coming home, him talking about anything other than being gone for longer than the three months he’s already been. “where’s your last stop?” he chuckles. “i suppose we’ll find out soon enough.” “what? is it like some secret show they didn’t tell you guys about?” you ask him, confused by his response. he hums his uncertainty. “that’s fucking weird.” “yeah, a bit. but, baby…are we good?” he asks timidly. “you’re still mine?” you look down at your knees curled up to your chest, dejection filling up your existence, because you know as soon as you give him the answer he wants, he’ll be off, leaving you on your own again. still, you murmur, “yeah…yeah, i’m still yours.” “good,” he breathes. “no takebacks.” you giggle. “okay,” “promise?” “yeah, baby, i promise.” he sighs his relief. “you had me freaking out, baby. you had me fucking losing it. the thought of you leaving? coming home but it’s not to you? just yuuji and the house we picked together? all our pictures on the wall? i was gonna have a meltdown.” “i’m sorry.” in the closet still, you stand to your feet, finally finding the energy to get up and change into clothes you can sleep in. that’s all you want to do now: go to sleep so you can stop thinking about all of this, so you can have a few hours where missing him isn’t plaguing your existence and stealing the air in lungs, a few hours where his absence isn’t like a chisel to an ice block on your resolve. “no apologies.” his gentle reminder. “no walking away.” your soft agreemet. “i know, baby.” “only loving bear forever.” he added. “only staying by his side.” you nodded, a smile reshaping your lips that sunk into a melancholic pout. “only loving bear forever. and staying by bear’s side.” “i love you, angel. i have to go, but get some rest. it’s late there. and i just know you left your shoes in the doorway. please pick them up. it’s so unsanitary and yuuji is already a little vacuum for random particles.” much to your surprise, you laugh. “how could you possibly know that?” “because you’re my honey and i know you.” you roll your eyes at him, still smiling fondly, heart bursting with reminders of why it’s him. why you chose him, why you were willing to do the hard part for all this time, why there’s no walking away, why there’s only loving him forever and staying by his side. “of course a bear would be quite familiar with his honey.” you note, nodding as you undress. “you get some rest, too. i love you so much.” “you better love me back.” he grumbled. “goodnight, angel. i love you, too. so, so much.” when the call ends, you find yourself crestfallen, succumbing to all the waves of indubitable despondency. here you are, alone again. ending your night alone again, laying on his side of the bed that doesn’t even smell like him anymore because he’s been a ghost to the egyptian cotton for months, alone again. you change into a big shirt, one of his, because if you can’t have him then you’ll cling to all of the belongings he leaves behind.

he’s right, truly, there’s no walking away. not when every thread of your lives is tangled and stitched together, not when those tangles and stitches are the very seams of who you both are: part of each other. you lay in bed filled with regret about what’s happened, because even though he seems happy that he isn’t losing you, you worry he would start to have doubts of his own now that you’d basically threatened to leave him. does that mean it’ll be on the table for him in the future? when you fall asleep that night, weepy and emotional, a dark cloud of impending doom looming over your head, you wonder why he can’t be there. why can’t you both be together without anything or anyone in the way? the next morning, you wake up groaning because yuuji’s zooming through the house, barking at the top of his baby lungs and you’ve had enough already. how can a creature that hardly weighs 10lbs emit such sounds and project them so loudly? you pull another pillow over your face to drown out the sound. there’s no way it isn’t incredibly early, so yuuji’s behavior is quite honestly disrespectful. “yuu, please.” you whine, pulling blankets over your head. “let mommy sleep.” what alarms you then is the shuffling in the hallway you hear and you spring up, heart racing in your chest thinking that someone’s gotten in and that’s why yuuji’s having a conniption. unsure of what to do, because you have neither weapons nor burglar-combat strength, you decide to crouch down beside the bed, contemplating whether or not you should go ahead and try to wedge yourself underneath it. you aren’t expecting anyone. satoru is god knows where. the only other people with a key are his two best friends outside of his members and parents, but all of those people call before showing up. yuuji’s barking turns into whining, and the voice that coos his name sends your heart clambering up into your throat. “aww, did you miss daddy?” satoru coos in the hallway right outside the bedroom door. “i missed you, too, bud. let’s go see if your mom missed me as much as she says she does.” upon hearing his voice, realizing it’s him and he’s home, you rise to your feet so fast, you nearly fall right back down to the floor. you squeak trying to catch your steps. when you look up, your favorite boy is standing in the doorway to your bedroom, looking at you with a lazy grin spanninng his lips, a huge duffle on his shoulders that he drops immediately upon seeing you. of course, your sobbing and blubbering is instantaneous. “you’re home?” you ask, lips set into a deep pout. “really home?” he nods, ardent eyes melting at the sight of you. “angel, get over here.” and you do. you go around the bed carefully because you have a horrible habit of running into things and you shoot straight for his arms that are wide open and waiting, ready to receive you urgently and without hesitation, scooping you up while your legs wrap around him and your arms go around his shoulders. he’s home. he’s home. he’s home. “why didn’t you tell me?” you ask, so angry and so grateful at the same time. “oh my god, i almost broke up with you on your way fucking home?” the sob you release makes him chuckle, becoming teary-eyed himself.

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