Hello! I’ve recently gotten into love and deepspace. I love your writing and I was hoping to request some Sylus fluff or a headcannon of all the boys! Whichever you prefer. I’d love to see them comforting or caring for a chronically ill reader. I got diagnosed with POTS recently and doing even basic task has become a struggle. If that’s something you’d like to write, I think it’d be really cute. Thank you!!
Taking Care Of Their Chronically Ill S/O- The Love And DeepSpace Men
parings in order: Xavier x Reader, Zayne x Reader, Rafayel x Reader, Sylus x Reader genre: fluff / comfort
a/n: hihi punny ! i hope you're enjoying the game !! and i'm really sorry to hear you're going through this and it's remember to know you're not alone in this. i hope you're able to get the support and care you need to make things easier. if you ever need someone to talk to or get your mind off anything, i'm here for you! ദ്ദി(ᵔᗜᵔ) i hope you this was alright and i hope you enjoy this and if i have the time ill try to write a sylus fluff !! ٩(^ᗜ^ )و ´-
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Xavier:
You would have to tell him what exactly you're going through to know what is going on. He'll research and look up everything on what you're going through until he's sure he knows what he has to do. He'll do his best to learn the necessary terminologies for whatever you're going through.
Obviously he would want to help. He'll reassure you that he is fine with helping you even if it were the smallest tasks like grabbing something for you or helping you write down something. He would never find anything you asked for to be a burden as long as it helps you take the weight off your shoulders.
He'll pick up anything on the floor and ensure that the house is generally safer for you. He would also try to find yummy foods that you can eat in your condition. He would also try them out with you so you don't feel alone.
I think he would also be good at making you feel validated and understood on the days when any pressure seems to build up.
He would try to stay up with you if you had a rough and sleepless night and make sure you can relax as much as possible first. He'll read you anything or watch movies with you or do whatever you want to get your mind off any discomfort.
Zayne:
He's always reading up on your symptoms and possible treatments for you. He would also have your routines memorized and know when to take your meds or ointments. If he wasn't able to stay home with you, he would text or call on his break to make sure you're okay and if you've taken what you need.
He never makes you feel like it's your fault or your a burden whenever you apologize to do something for you. He is more than happy to help and assures you there is nothing to apologize for. He is happy to be there and with you in any way he can be.
He'll also have a mini notebook or he'll have his notes app that tracks everything that happened to you. Things like foods you can't eat or updates from your checkups. Anything he can record just in case he needs to bring it up to the doctor.
Anything that's on your mind, he'll listen quietly to you rants and he'll talk you out of a bad state of mind.
He's familiar with medication due to his patients and his studies. If it's something he'll be unfamiliar with then he'll look up the side effects and makes sure that you at least have something in your stomach before you take it. It's important for him that you tell him what you're feeling. If you find the aftertaste of your medication unpleasant, he'll offer you a sweet treat after, as long as it's something that won't negatively impact your health.
Rafayel:
You'll have to explain what you're going through and as soon as he understands what you're going through, he will make it his priority to cheer you up and take care of you as much as he can.
He will always try to be there for you on your doctors appointments or any major procedures. You don't even need to ask him, he'll already be on his way there. He'll be there for you for support. He would also want to make sure you're being properly cared for.
When you're resting at home, he'll cling to you. He'll happily tell you any stories or talk about anything to you when you lack the energy to talk.
If you're slower than usual, he'll approach you directly to keep you company. If you stay in bed longer when you wake up, he'll ask if you need anything but he'll always bring you food in bed so you have energy. He'll try his best to help you. He'll bring you your favorite sweets, water, blankets, anything you want or need to get through these difficult times.
He'll always remind you how attractive you are, even if you don't feel it. Especially on days where you'll have post or pre-flare up or just a bad day in general where you don't feel like you don't look good. He'll always remind you how beautiful and how loved you are.
If you ever need space, he'll sit by the opposite wall so he's not far from you if you needed anything. If you need him to distract you, he'll chat about anything to you. If you need help with new exercises, he'll practice them with you or show you videos of what he saw online and try them with you.
Sylus:
He'll stand by you through every challenge. Whatever you're facing, he'll be there to support you.
He remains very understanding about what you're going though. He'll never make you feel guilty for being too painful or uncomfortable to do an activity or an outing with him. He'll put those aside and try his best to comfort you. Whatever is troubling you, he'll be there to listen and support you, always ready to care for you.
He is extremely attentive to signals of pain or any discomfort that you may make. He can use his evol to carry you but he's always willing to just carry you himself whenever you're feeling fatigue more than usual. He'll pick you up and bring you to any room you would like to be at. No matter where you would like to stay, he'll make the room comfortable for you. If you want to stay in bed, he'll smooth out the sheets and pat the mattress to make sure there are no crumbs in it and the pillows would be fluffed to your liking.
He'll also cook or bring your favorite meals to you so you can eat comfortably. He'll even run the perfect temperature when you want a bath or a shower and he'll add any herbs or salts to soothe any aches in your body. If your comfortable with it, he'll shower you himself. He doesn't want you too use too much energy and wants you to relax as much as you can.
Will hire the best doctors for you and he'll call the doctors regularly to monitor the progress of your treatments because your health is very important to him. He will sit by your side through every trip to the doctor. He'll be by your side on the bathroom floor or any bad nights.
If there is a time that he cannot be by your side, he'll either have one of the twins or both to watch over you. He'll literally give them specific and direct instructions on what you will need. As long as you feel the weight off your shoulders. Just in case, he'll have Mephisto to watch over you and if anything were to go wrong he'll be home as soon as he can.
During sleepless nights, he'll be right by your side, holding your hand as you both lie in bed. He'll gently kiss your forehead, temple, and hand, offering comfort and reassurance that he's always here for you.
I’m sorry I’m so late. Thank you so much @savage-rhi and @blossom-adventures for continuing to tag me in stuff even though I take so long to respond. Means a lot you’re still thinking of me 💕💕
I have a lot of WIPS that I haven’t put onto paper, and a lot I’m still working through. I’ll give you my most recent one.
I started a Sylus x reader piece going into my experience as an asexual person, broadly and also within the LADS fandom. It’s been a bit of a ride in a space that can feel hyper sexual (not that there’s anything wrong with that, just not my cup of tea). I’ve never really reflected on my own experience as someone who kept waiting to feel attraction like everyone else that just never came. I wanted to write something about that.
I also wanted to write about the fear being Ace has given me. It’s hard to have hope in dating/relationships when it feels like most people are just chasing sex or are confusing lust with love. I’m not aromantic, I want romance so bad! I just…don’t want sex. And that’s a problem for a lot of people.
I wanted to write an angst piece about a LADS MC who is ace, and subsequently begins pushing the love interests away because she thinks they’ll be happier with someone who can give them what they want (aka sex). Even though she does deeply love (and want in Sylus’s case) them, she thinks they deserve someone better than her.
Anyway, enough rambling. Blurb of piece is below:
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But not when he looks at you with those eyes. The ones that darken, that feel hot. Hungry. The ones that cause a shiver to ripple along your arms, raises the fine hairs no one can see.
What does it mean to be desired?
You’ve heard people talk about it. Like drinking fine wine in a dark room, something rich, deep, that coats the mouth and warms from the inside. Desire is sated by some in dim lights and by fluttered eyelashes, enough alcohol to dull the senses, open them to accepting the risks your otherwise sober brain may weigh. A swipe of a card, maybe a charming grin if the charmed is lucky. Others find it deformed into desperation, or perhaps depravity, searching for the easiest fix in loud bars, a dirty back ally.
To you, it has always been different.
It made you feel like meat. Not something glamorous to chase, or something to woo, to win over with the right combination of magic tricks. It felt like being meat. Unglamorous, wholly unnoticeable, another slab cut from the carcass of romance. Something to be consumed, and then inevitably discarded. There is always a butcher shop open, there is always fresh meat, served in dodgy night clubs, under throbbing lights, in gentlemen’s and women’s clubs (though there are hardly any of the latter), waiting for the knife, for teeth. What once lived as love died as romance, and became the flesh that feeds desire.
You could never be satisfied with meat. Perhaps it makes you greedy, greedier than those claimed by desire. You can’t settle for meat when you want the living breathing animal. You want love. You want to live beside it, hear its gentle breaths mimicking your own, watch it bound over the lushness of a cultivated, patient romance. Each blade of grass a gift in the jewel of your hearts, a seed planted and nurtured into something profound beyond the sea of wildflowers. No, you can’t settle for the taste of love and romance long dead, dripping down your chin, painting you in violent red instead of gentle green, bright pinks. The thought is unbearable.
It is frustrating how often lust, and consequently desire, is conflated with love. You’ve been sold the story enough times, in everything you see. It is an easy entryway to romance, to start with the instinctive and primal; sweat slicked bodies writhing like worms severed down the middle. It is easy to start there as the foundation of intimacy, and shape romance around it. You’ve already seen each other at your most vulnerable, what is there left to be afraid of? You’ve already trusted each other with the most tangible parts of yourself, your body, surely it is no great leap to offer the mind next.
It never made sense to you. And reality seemed content to prove you right. Rarely have you seen the pursuit of lust result in actual love, nigh actual romance. People want to fuck, that is a fact of life, and it isn’t inherently wrong. But rarely does desire extend beyond that. It is much too impatient to wait for the payoff of loving and committing romance to another. Why bother, when the next slab of meat is being packaged and shipped as we speak?
So, even though you know Xavier isn’t the kind of man to see you as something to consume, then dispose of, you can’t help but see desire underneath those stares. Ugly, insatiable desire wearing the face of your best friend, threatening to rip him away if you rebuff him.
Again, you know Xavier is not like that. He is far too kind to you for it. But you have played this game before, you have seen how it ends, who the winners and losers are. Too many times you pushed back against their desire, took the mask of who you thought were your friends from that hungry creature, and tried to just continue as friends. Too many times they became angry, called you anything from ‘a tease’, ‘stuckup’, or even went silent, turning into ghosts that haunted your memories. In the end, they will ‘win’ and only walk away with the anger of not being satisfied, and you will ‘lose’, left to pick up the shattered pieces of your broken heart.
And that is what you’ve felt like for so long. Broken. Everyone has this desire you seemingly lack. ‘Sex is what makes us human!’ some would say. The statement always struck you as ludicrous; all animals experience sex, even plants do to some extent. But then, what does that make you, if that desire is just…not there? It never was, and you didn't grow into it. You waited and waited, through middle and high school, through college and now as a hunter, you waited to feel the attraction that everyone else seemed to. But you never did. Maybe something’s wrong with you. Maybe you’re not even human at all.
But that wasn’t even the worst part. The worst was the dread.
You knew about sex, thought about it. You understood it from a scientific and emotional perspective. You understood why people did it. You even occasionally enjoyed the thought of it; you could touch yourself when the need arose and not feel the need to extend the experience beyond that. But when you thought of actually experiencing it, in real life, with your body…the dread creeped in. Up from the bottom of your stomach, it spread sickening coils throughout your body. You wanted to recoil from yourself. You couldn’t, you can’t. The terror will eat you alive.
So you smile at him. You smile at him through the discomfort, and try to change the subject. Act like you never saw the darkening of eyes, the hunger that threatens to split his face and swallow you whole. Your smile that is not a smile, but a desperate begging of please, please don’t abandon me for this, I can’t give you what you want, please please don’t leave me for that. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.
The relief you felt after the paralyzing fear of him narrowing his eyes, assessing, looking you up and down, then that stare melting away into his normal soft expression is indescribable. And again, you are struck with wanting to give him what he desired as a thank you, a present for not packing up the pieces of himself he left in your life to try his hand at an easier catch. You want to properly express what it means to you that he chose to stay, despite your not-very subtle rejection. You settle for a firm hug, which he returns, his gentle chuckle shaking you both.
The days working with him get easier, the tension slowly bleeding out of your shoulder blades. He tried again a few times, letting the darkness cloud his face and gadging your reaction, before he stopped doing so completely.
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I hope this doesn’t come off as too anti sex (or anti Xavier. I love our sweet bunbun, and all the boys will be addressed in a similar manner). I love that other people can enjoy sex. I just…don’t want it. And as this blurb describes, frankly, it scares me a lot. Being sex repulsed in a culture that simultaneously deeply values and demonizes sex is so odd.
This piece is also inspired by a few things, along with, of course, my own experiences. Inspired by the ‘Feed Us Your Girls’ song/cartoon I’ve seen, and also by @/little bomb (inflitratorN7) on AO3, who writes beautiful pieces about introspection and what it means to be loved by Sylus.
But anyway, I hope you enjoyed 💕 Anyone who sees this feel free to participate.
sylus; 4,627 words; fluff, banter, no "y/n", mild spoilers for sylus's main storyline, subtle but not so subtle flirting, nicknames (kitten, little crow), kinda enemies to lovers
summary: the beginning of everything, all in shades of red
a/n: this was supposed to be fun lil drabble; alas, that's not what it turned out to be, but i hope you guys enjoy it nonetheless. i had fun with the banter in this one u__u
001. fire and brimstone
The city below is a shatter of broken stars, and from up this high, none of it seems real. You cannot reconcile the sight of all those scattered, pinpoints of light with the lives you know shine behind them. You cannot imagine sitting in your living room, scrolling through your news-feed, waiting for the water to boil for late night ramen.
“Trouble sleeping?”
You congratulate yourself on not wincing, on keeping perfectly still.
Sylus joins you by the window, his arms looped lazily in front of his chest, his dark silk robe falling open to reveal his chest. You keep your eyes resolutely on the technicolored skyline.
“Yeah,” you say, feigning a yawn, “just something about being held captive against my will that just… messes with my circadian rhythm, y’know?”
Sylus chuckles, the sound rumbling through him, low enough to make you shiver.
“Don’t tell a girl like you still needs someone to sing her to sleep.” He’s teasing. You know he is, and yet you can’t keep the heat from clawing up the back of your neck. You scowl, chewing on the insides of your cheeks.
“What gives you that idea?” you ask, still in your flailing attempt to seem calm, seem collected.
"Nothing in particular… just… the twins found a shocking number of plushies in your room so —”
"You had them go through my stuff?” you round on him, glaring, your fingers clenched into fists.
Sylus shrugs, peering at you out the corner of his eye, an amused grin ticking at his mouth.
“Feisty little kitten, aren’t you? Though for what it’s worth — they didn’t find much on how your Evol works.”
You huff, turning back to the floor to ceiling windows, knitting your arms tightly across your chest.
“You heard the shopkeeper — we have to — to…” you trail off, the words caught in the back of your throat like peach pits, hard and large and impossible to stomach. You flush, biting down on your lips.
“To what, hm?” Sylus sounds amused, and it’s this more than anything that spurs you onwards.
You turn to glare at him, “To not hate each other!”
Sylus cocks a single, arched brow.
“So, do you?”
You blink, feeling the ever-present heat prickling into your cheeks as you stare resolutely at the skyline outside. From this distance, Linkon City could be any other city, with it’s towering skyscrapers and twinkling lights.
“Do I what?” you ask, your voice softer as you try to pinpoint the exact location of where you used to live.
“Hate me.”
You turn; in the dimness, all you can see of Sylus is his firebrand eyes and his stone-cut features. The dark curve of his mouth and the sharp jut of his nose. When he turns to meet your gaze, you can barely stifle your gasp — his eyes are so red, so deep and strange.
“Brimstone…” you say, without really thinking about it.
Confusion flickers across his vulturine features.
“Hm?”
You lick your lips, feeling the dryness that had since collected there.
“Brimstone,” you say again, shaking your head and averting your eyes, only for Sylus to catch your chin in his fingers and force you to look back at him, to be swallowed up by his gaze, “it’s… something from… the ancient religions. It’s — back when they believed in gods and monsters, people would use the word brimstone to signify divine wrath…”
His finger slacken on your chin and you let your head fall as he takes half a step away.
He lets out a mirthless laugh, his eyes faraway as he stares out at Linkon City, laid out before his feet.
“I can’t say I know much about gods, but… monsters?”
You swallow, feeling the imprint of his fingers on your skin.
He turns back to look at you, his gaze soft, but no less startling. You feel an unnamable fire frisson up your spine and skitter back down again.
“Monsters are very, very real,” he leans in, closing gap between your body and his, till he has you nearly caged against the cool glass of the penthouse windows. He shifts to brush away a strand of hair, tucking it behind your ear with too-gentle fingers. His next words are whispered, his voice in a register so low it almost sounds like the shadow of sound — he leans in, his lips brushing by your cheek till you can feel the heat of his breath right next to your ear —
“And they look just like you and me.”
002. lipstick
“So at the auction —”
“Just do as I say, and you’ll get what you want.”
You narrow your eyes in the mirror, staring at the reflection of Sylus fastening a pair of ornate silver cufflinks to his impeccably tailored suit.
“Give me one reason to trust you,” you say.
Sylus looks up, a hand still on his cuffs as he meets your gaze in the mirror, unflinching.
“Since when have I ever asked you to trust me?”
Over on the dresser, Mephisto lets out a soft caw that sounds almost mocking. You swirl to glare at him and he has the decency to flap his mechanical wings, shuffling until he’s hidden from view behind Sylus’s shadow.
Sylus laughs, “Alright — settle down, little crow.”
You frown, “Little crow? What happened to kitten?”
Sylus shrugs, “Changed my mind. Figured little crow fits you a bit better. You know — loud, defiant…” he smirks as his voice trails off.
You don’t try to hide your consternation, “Often associated with murder?”
Behind him, Mephisto lets out an indignant ca-caw.
You try to sidestep Sylus, only to find yourself trapped against the mirror by his strong arms. He grins down at you, his canines flashing over his lower lip as he cocks his head.
“Like I said, fits better, no?” he asks.
You stare up at him, trying to make out what he’s thinking behind those firelight eyes of his.
“Let me go — I still need to finish my makeup,” you say, pressing a palm to his chest. You try not to think about the firmness of his muscles beneath your touch, or the heat of his skin, even through all these layers of clothing.
“What else is there?” he asks, his eyes flickering over your features; you shiver, feeling the weight of his gaze as it sweeps over your face like a sudden flare of heat, “you look pretty finished to me.”
You lick your lips, and feel a strange, savage satisfaction at the tick of his eyes down to your mouth, at the way his pupils dilate, at how they track the slow progress of your tongue as it laves across your bottom lip before disappearing back into your mouth.
“Lipstick,” you say, trying not to sound too smug.
Sylus puffs out a laugh before reaching over to the low dressing table and grabbing a tube of lipstick. He uncaps it with a finger, and twists out the color without once breaking your gaze. Vaguely, you feel your stomach tense, and you ponder the unfairness of this one, single act — how could he look so stupidly attractive doing all this when he’s got you trapped here? Like some sort of exotic songbird in a golden cage.
“T-that’s not the color I wanted —” you say, but even to your own ears, you don’t sound convincing.
Sylus’s smile slackens into a lopsided smirk as he tilts your chin up to press the cream of the lipstick to your lips, dragging it delicately across one way, then back the other.
“Press your lips,” he says, his voice softer and gentler than you’ve ever heard it before.
You do, feeling a stifling thump-thump-thump rise up to beat against the back of your throat as his eyes flick down to watch you.
“Mm… as I thought, this color looks great on you,” he says, pulling back to admire his handiwork.
You feel the air rush back into your lungs in a single, searing breath, caught between the urge to brace your arms against your knees and heave, or to drag your hand across your mouth to rid yourself of the lipstick.
You do neither though, because at that moment, the twins call from outside the door —
“Auction’s about to start!” says Luke.
“Hope you’re both ready!” says Kieran.
Sylus straightens, capping the lipstick with a sharp click. You force yourself to calm down, to focus on your breathing — four counts in, seven counts out.
“Are you ready?” Sylus asks, his tone once more whiskey-smooth and just as potent.
You roll back your shoulders and give a quick nod, speaking to yourself just as much as you’re speaking to him —
“Sure. Let’s get this over with.”
003. blood and roses
There’s blood on your hands and blood on the pavement. The world shimmers around you in wildfire and smoke.
“… so… so much blood…”
“You can’t die here —” Sylus’s voice cuts through the memory like a struck chord, resonating inside you till it’s the only thing you can hear, “that life you owe me? It’s not your time to pay it back yet!”
You reach for him, and the moment you feel your palms connect, a bead of heat pulses out from the center of your clasping hands. Your skin is slick with sweat and blood, but his hand beneath you is oddly cool and smooth.
The charred ashes of the beaten Wanderer fall around you like flakes of misbegotten snow; you wave your free hand to keep the pieces from falling into your eyes. A river of light seeps from the Deepspace Tunnel into the center of your chest, glowing brighter and brighter until it coalesces into a familiar gem-like shape.
It comes to a rest between your fingers seconds before it cracks, the light flickering once along the seam before going out.
“It — the Aether Core —!”
“It’s power is yours now. Why’re you so surprised?” Sylus doesn’t let go of your hand, but realizing this, you pull away first, and he makes no move to stop you.
“D-did you know?” you ask, unable to keep the accusation from seeping into your voice.
“Does it make a difference?”
You clamp down hard on your bottom lip, weighing the answers. It isn’t until you reach up to absently card your hand through your hair that you notice — your wrist and his, linked together by a tangible string of red, pulsing power.
You gasp, “W-what —?”
“Tch.”
You wave your wrist, watching as Sylus’s hand follows the movement. Your cheeks darken as he looks away, sighing audibly.
“If you planned this —!” but your words are cut short by a sudden wave of vertigo — the world spins around you and for a second, all you can see is the pinwheeling stars above you, the bright, pulsating edges of the Deepspace Tunnel, and then — everything fades to a sweet, merciful darkness.
You wake up to the smell of roses, and a warm body next to yours. Groaning, you try to shield your eyes from the light filtering through the massive windows.
It takes you a second to orient yourself, and to realize why your wrist seems so heavy as you try to lift a hand and rub at your eyes.
“Looks like you’re up early, though Mephisto still has you beat.”
You blink blearily up at Sylus, sitting next to you in bed, his back propped up on a fortress of pillows, a tablet in one hand, the other still linked to your wrist, half-raised to your face.
You squeak, ducking down to hide beneath the covers, hurriedly wiping at your eyes and your mouth, a mix of horror and embarrassment mounting in your stomach as you realized you must have been drooling in your sleep.
“What did you do to me?!” you demand, pulling back the covers when you’re somewhat certain that you don’t still have drool-marks at the corners of your mouth.
Sylus, for his part, looks only mildly ruffled by your sudden stint back to wakefulness. He takes his time setting down the tablet with his free hand and picking up the steaming mug of black coffee.
“You fainted,” he says, as if that explains everything, “after the resonance worked. Though it makes sense you would — after finally getting the Aether Core and all —”
“No! I mean —” you gesture desperately between you, the pristine linen sheets twisting around you both like waves on a white-sand beach, “how did I — we — get here? Who changed me?” you ask, your cheeks flaring up even as Sylus sips at his coffee, seemingly content to watch you sputter yourself dry.
“Really? After all that, the first question you have is who changed your clothes?” Sylus asks, a distinct tone of mockery clear in his every word.
“Shut up! You know what I mean!”
“Do I? I don’t think I do — you’re going to have to be a bit more specific.” He grins, all splitting lips and too-white teeth. You stare, dumbfounded at his nonchalant expression before huffing and slumping back into your own pile of pillows. You blink, throwing up your free hand to shield yourself from the too-bright light of sunrise, shining straight into your eyes.
Wordlessly, Sylus taps a few buttons on his tablet and the windows darken, filtering out the harsh morning light, leaving the pair of you in a dim, yet luminous shadow.
“I just —” you cut yourself off before you can ask yet another mundane question, and finally, after a few minutes of mulling over what exactly it is you want to ask, you settle on, “what now?”
Sylus shrugs, casting his eyes back down at his tablet, setting his half-drunk cup of coffee on the bedside table.
“Now, we do whatever we want. You have your Aether Core and I have mine,” he lifts up his wrist, shaking yours in the process, “and we try to figure out how to manage this.”
“And if we don’t?” you ask dryly.
Sylus chuckles, “Then, we figure out a way to live with it.”
You roll your eyes involuntarily, “Ugh. Of all the people to be stuck to…” you mutter to yourself. And though you’d said it quiet enough for it to be an afterthought, both of you knew Sylus had been too close not to hear.
He scoffs, pulling you close, tipping you off balance so that you topple face-first into his chest.
“Wake up, little crow,” he says, his tone caught halfway between mocking and maleficence, twisting your face till you’re forced to stare out of the window at the dulled-out skyline below.
“You think you’re so great, being a Hunter and getting rid of Wanderers,” he says, a sharp venom seeping into his words as he speaks, and slowly, he punches a button the tablet that makes the windows un-tint themselves.
You watch as the sunrise bleeds itself dry over Linkon City, the harsh, morning light slicking the entire city in a vapid, orange glow.
“The brighter the light, the darker the shadow — do you really think that just because you and your little Hunter friends are out there killing Wanderers and saving the world, that there isn’t the a need for people like us?” Sylus pushes you away from him. It’s not a harsh move, but it’s not exactly gentle either.
And again, you can’t help feeling the imprint of his fingers, almost as if burned into your skin as your rub at your jaw.
It’s when you turn to glare at him that you meet his gaze and find him staring at you with a look that’s much more haunting than ghost. Much more longing than loathe.
“Well… you’re one of us now. And newsflash, little crow — sometimes, the world just doesn’t want to be saved.”
You let his words sit with you, like river stones, hard and smooth, feeling them sink slowly down the length of your throat to settle somewhere in the wide basin on your stomach. You avert your eyes, and it’s only then that you notice the bouquet of flowers sitting on your bedside table.
“What are the roses for?” you ask, reaching out your free hand to run a thumb along a single, velvet petal. It comes off at your touch, and you watch it fall against the unmarred white marble of the table top.
“A little present,” Sylus says, waving you away, “a thank you - for a job well done last night.”
“You don’t need to thank me,” you say, unable to keep the bitterness from your tone, “it’s not like I had much of a choice.”
“You did,” Sylus says, “you could’ve killed me. And you didn’t.
“I could still kill you now,” you say, though there’s no conviction in your voice at all. Instead, you reach out to tug at another dark red petal. It comes off just as easily as the one before.
“You could. But you haven’t. And don’t you think that warrants a reward?”
004. dawn
“I’ve never hated you, you know.”
You frown, squinting against the early-morning light.
It’s not the first time you’ve found yourself waking up next to him, and you think it won’t be the last. You flip onto your side to face him, feeling a familiar rush of heat crest into your chest as you come nearly nose to nose with him.
Sylus barely even flinches, cocking an eyebrow before reaching out to tug a stray piece of hair from your face.
“What?” you ask, even though you know full well what he’d said. So maybe, you just wanted to hear it again — is that so terrible?
“Hn,” Sylus grins, rolling onto his back to cast his eyes up at the ceiling, “I said you’re getting drool on my pillows.”
You squeak, fumbling to wipe at your face before the realization hits, and you jerk up, pouting.
“That’s not what you said!”
“Then you did hear,” Sylus casts you an amused glance.
You lick your lips, the soft cotton of sleep still muffling the world such that everything except him feels strangely out of focus.
“I — I heard… a word here and there —”
“Has anyone ever told you that you’re a terrible liar?”
You scowl, whipping around to pin him with a stare, “Where I come from, that’s not a bad thing.”
Sylus’s eyes tick towards you, his expression amused as he appraises you, and not for the first time, you feel yourself go warm beneath the solar-storm fixation of his attention. Like this, you can feel the air between you blistering, as oil to a lit fuse, as his eyes travel over the planes of your face, the curve of your shoulder, the thin silk strap that had since slipped to cling to your upper arm.
“No? I suppose not,” he concedes, pushing himself up, reaching over the bedside table to push at a small button on the far side. Somewhere else in the penthouse, you can hear an alarm bell ring.
“What’s that?” you ask, pointing.
“Coffee,” he answers, and you fall silent again, turning your face away from him to look back at the heartbreak city, carved in shadows against dawn’s liquid light. It’d only been — what — a week? A bit more? And yet you can’t bring yourself to see the city the same.
Nothing has changed — not really.
But everything’s different, you think, as the door on the far side of the bedroom cracks open and Luke peers in with a smug smile and two steaming cups of coffee.
“Black for the boss, and milk and sugar and all the trimmings for the little crow.”
Sylus tsks, a frown digging itself into the space between his eyebrows, his eyes flashing as he takes the two cups. Luke, to his credit, jerks back, dancing out of Sylus’s reach.
“Ah — sorry, sorry — didn’t know that was a special nickname,” he says, making a show of stooping to apologize, though neither of you miss the jesting crow beneath his voice.
“Out.” Sylus orders, and Luke doesn’t waste time scurrying from the room, cackling beneath his breath like a gleeful child.
You take your cup from his hand and give it a dainty sip, adjusting yourself against the pile of pillows.
“What? I thought that nickname was your idea.”
“It is,” Sylus says, relaxing back. The tether between your wrists sits slack and nearly invisible on the sheets between you. He stares down at the dark liquid surface of his own cup before turning to smirk at you, “doesn’t mean it was meant to be shared.”
You clamp down on another wash of heat, threatening your cheeks as you sink a bit deeper into the luxurious bedding. You wonder if you’ll ever be able to sleep on sheets this nice again once you figure out how to break the tether between you and you’re finally allowed to go home.
“Why say it where other people can hear if you didn’t want them to pick it up?” you shoot back, determined to get the last say, at least in this.
Sylus sets down his cup, cocking his head to look at you, “It’s not a joke if there’s no one around to hear the punchline.”
You level him with a glare, “Is that all I am to you? A joke?”
“Shouldn’t be a problem if I’m just your captor, right?”
You open your mouth to retort, only to find your voice stolen by the sight of him, kissed gold by the rising sun. You’ve never been one to obsess over beauty but even you can’t pretend to be unaffected.
Like this, he looks hewn from marble, a statue at the loving hands of a besotted sculptor — a lazy god rendered into silk and stone. He is smooth skin and burning eyes and a jawline that might’ve been turned on a diamond cutter’s lathe. There’s a base carnality in the way he looks at you (and looks at you) — his gaze so penetrating that somehow, you don’t think you’ve ever been seen this way before.
There’s a damnable elegance to him, even as his lips twitch up into a tell-tale smirk.
“What?” he asks, leaning forward just an inch, but the distance feels exaggerated by your closeness, such that suddenly, you’ve got to lean back to look into his face. He licks his own lips languorously, and you feel your chest tighten on a torque, caught in the turn of his smile.
“Kitten got your tongue?” he asks.
You shake yourself, shifting back slightly, “You’re mixing your metaphors,” you say, trying to keep your eyes from straying back to his face.
“They’re my metaphors to do with as I wish. So. Aren’t you going to answer?”
“Answer what?”
“What you think you heard me say, right before you woke up.”
You cup your palms around your coffee mug, feeling its heat seep steadily into your skin. There’s a familiar tingle at the tips of your ears and you know you’re already blushing.
Stupid coffee, you think, trying hard to school your expression into a frown, stupid Sylus, you add to yourself, taking a long sip and biting back your sigh of relief at the mundane magic of caffeine and sugar.
“Does it matter what I think?” you sidestep the question.
Sylus doesn’t miss a beat, “If it didn’t, would I have asked?”
The torniquet in your chest twists tight enough to make your stomach flip as well. You chew on your bottom lip, mulling over your answer.
“I never hated you…” you say, finally, your voice barely more than a whisper or a breath. And even as the words fall from you like so many rose petals, you’re unsure if you’re repeating his words back at him or making an admission of your own.
Sylus only shifts back to his side of the bed, leaning against his pile of pillows. Your wrists sit atop the sheets, inches apart, and yet you can’t deny the dull pull of gravity between you, as if something beneath your skin is itching to be close to his.
You turn to face him, twisting your fingers in your lap.
The quiet softens around you both, settling until you let out another long breath.
“So…” you drag out the word as Sylus glances up at you, expectant. His eyes flicker with the fire of the rising dawn behind you, and in them, you can see the shadow of yourself, painted in darkness against the light.
“What’s for breakfast?” you ask.
Sylus chuckles, his head listing sideways as he studies you.
“Whatever you’d like.”
“Hm…” you make a show of swinging your legs out of the bed, shivering slightly as your feet come into contact with the cool marble floors, “are there pancakes?”
Sylus stretches his arms over his head, letting out a soft groan that evokes something inside you that you’d rather not examine at the moment. You keep yourself turned resolutely away from him even as you hear the distinct sounds of him getting out of bed as well.
“No, but there can be — you only need ask.”
“Fine, I want pancakes,” you say, finally turning around, only to find him standing right behind you, his silk robe discarded on the floor by the bed, his chest broad and entirely bare. Your breath catches in your throat as he cocks an eyebrow.
“Is that asking?”
You crinkle your nose, forcing air back into your lungs.
“Okay, okay — can we have pancakes?”
Amusement dances behind his eyes as he bends over you, propping a hand casually on the dresser behind you to limit your movements.
“And the magic word?”
You narrow your eyes, “Nevermind!”
“Mm — wrong. Two more tries.”
You try to duck under his arm but he catches you easily, spinning you back around to face him, nearly sweeping Mephisto from his perch on the dresser. The crow lets out an offended caw and flaps off towards the far end of the room, coming to a disgruntled rest on the back of a satin loveseat.
“Let me go!”
“Wrong again — last chance.”
You sink your nails into the skin of his forearm, trying not to think of the taut muscles corded there. He doesn’t even wince, though for a second, the tether between your wrists flares up like a fanned flame.
“Fine! Please!”
Sylus straightens with a satisfied smirk, turning around to make for the bedroom door. Your chest is heaving, and the sudden space between you make your head spin. You blink at his retreating form, and it isn’t till he reaches the door that he turns to glance at you over his shoulder.
“Hope you like raspberry jam.”
You level your breathing and hurry to catch up, clutching your own sleeping robe tighter around your chest as you fall into step next to him.
“I thought you didn’t like sweet things.”
He opens the door and steps aside for you to walk through first.
A request for Zayne with the prompt, "a note on public health" 🙏🫶☺️
send me one + a character and i'll write u a drabble (˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶)
32. a note on public health
zayne; 1,519 words; fluff, teeth-rotting fluff, fem!reader, no "y/n", zayne!branded humor, vague innuendos, established relationship
summary: a couple of public service announcements.
a/n: zayne cares much about your health ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧
001. sleep
For optimal health, one should get eight to ten hours of sleep per night.
You try to stifle a yawn as Zayne glances over the day’s news, projected onto the smooth white tabletop. He looks up, eyes narrowing as you freeze halfway through, attempting to mask the motion with a soft cough.
You reach for your half-finished coffee but Zayne tugs it away with a soft sigh.
“Didn’t sleep well last night?”
You purse your lips, averting your eyes as you reach for a slice of toast, tugging off a corner and stuffing it in your mouth.
“Would’ve slept better if someone hadn’t kept me up past my bedtime.”
This time, it’s Zayne who looks away, coughing as he sips at his own coffee.
“I made sure we finished at a reasonable hour.”
You jerk upright, eyes wide, mouth dropping open, a hot flush working its way into your cheeks. You wonder how he can keep such a straight face, how he looks so fundamentally unbothered. But then, he lets out a light chuckle.
“But you’re right — they say it’s not good to have strenuous exercise right before bed. I’ll be more careful next time.”
“Zayne!” you toss a crumpled bit of napkin at him, your heartbeat pounding at the back of your throat.
Zayne’s eyebrow flicks upward as he picks up the piece of tissue and gently lobs it into the trash can next to the kitchen counter before going back to this breakfast, the faintest hint of a smile shadowing his lips.
002. water
Adults over 19 should drink 1.5 to 2 liters of water a day for optimal health.
“Hello? What is it?”
“Hi! Uhm… where are you? I don’t — I don’t see you.”
“I’m… at home.”
“What? But… the app says you’ve arrived…”
Zayne sighs, “Did you dial the wrong number? This is Zayne.”
“…Oh! Oops.”
“Where are you? Have you been drinking?”
You hiccup, and he can almost see you shaking your head the way you do when you want to deny something you’d obviously been doing. He pushes up from the sofa, grabbing his coat.
“Not… not a lot — Tara just wanted to celebrate since —“ you hiccup again, “since it’s her first promotion, y’know?”
Zayne hums, “Mhm. Where are you?”
“No, no! It’s okay! I called a cab —“
“Cancel it. I’ll come get you.”
“But…”
“Cancel it. And send me your location.”
Thirteen minutes later, you’re climbing into the passenger seat of Zayne’s car with a sheepish smile.
“Sorry…”
“Don’t be. Here.”
You blink down at the bottle of water Zayne is pressing into your lap.
“Oh… thanks, but I had a lot of water at the bar!” You turn to flash him a bright, proud smile, “See? I do listen to you!”
Zayne laughs as he pulls into a stop light, glancing over at you, the bottle of water cradled between your hands.
“Yes, and I suppose you’re very proud of yourself this time?” there’s a teasing lilt to his voice that lets you know he’s not mad. Still, you scowl.
“Shouldn’t you be proud that your patient is getting better at taking care of herself?”
Zayne sighs, reaching over the tug the bottle from your hands before unscrewing the cap and handing it back to you.
“Drink.”
You look like you’re about to argue for a split second before you catch the sharp look in his eye and bring the bottle up to your lips for a long drink. Zayne allows himself a satisfied smile as he reaches over to give your knee a quick squeeze.
“Good. Good girl.”
003. sun
To maintain healthy blood levels, aim to get 10 - 30 minutes of midday sun, several days a week.
“It’s been raining for forever…”
Zayne looks up from the patient chart propped up in his lap.
You’re sprawled across the sofa on the other side of the room, staring at the bleary, rain-streaked windows with a dull, world-weary expression. Zayne’s eyes flick toward the window for a second before sliding up to the large clock above his door.
It’s three minutes till the end of the day, and he’d agreed you could wait for him in his office while he finished up.
“It has.” He drops his eyes back down to the chart in his hands. The patient is doing well — all things considered. He should keep them for another night of study before signing off to let him go home. Zayne punches in the quick note in for his nurses before setting the chart down.
“Weather forecast says it’s gonna rain all through the weekend too.”
“Hm.” Zayne gets up, rolling his shoulders loose of the knots that had gathered there before rounding his desk, “Come on then.”
“Oh! Are you done? Are we… going to get dinner?” You jump up from the sofa, seemingly revived, a smile on your face. Zayne regards you for a moment before turning.
“Not yet.”
“Not… yet?” you trail after him as he shrugs on his coat and locks his office door.
He can feel your curiosity bubbling for the entire walk to his car through the vast parking garage. He allows himself a smile as you slide in and look at him expectantly. For a second, he toys with the idea of not telling you, of seeing just how long you can hold out before you start to pester him.
“You’ll see,” he says, just as you open your mouth to ask.
“So… it’s a surprise?” you ask.
He shrugs, pulling out of the parking space and cresting through the dimly lit parking structure till he turns onto the bustling city street.
“I suppose it will be.”
“Did you… plan this?” he can hear the hopefulness in your voice, the giddiness sparkling there like soda fizz.
“No, but did you say I should try to be more spontaneous sometimes?”
“Sure but…” he can hear you pouting, “well, fine, if you really don’t want to tell me.”
He keeps quiet just to savor in the silence, in the knowledge that you are here with him, and so, so eager to know what he has planned for you. He wonders if it’s cruel to enjoy this, to love the way you’re so reactive, to love… everything about you.
You blink as he pulls into a darkened road, wide as it is, to the clearly gated Botanical Gardens. Your confusion only grows as the night guard there gives him a cheery wave before punching a button and the giant gates hiss open to allow you both entry.
“Thanks,” Zayne says, lifting a hand as the night guard waves them through with a bright smile.
He casts you a single glance before chuckling, “His daughter was a patient of mine a while back — she had a genetic cardiac condition that — well,” Zayne breaks off as he parks the car in the first space and opens the door.
“Regardless, she needed surgery. It was risky but… we managed to save her.”
He leads you down the winding path to one of the smaller greenhouses, lit up so brightly from the inside that you have to squint your eyes as he punches in an access code and lets you both through the door.
The wall of heat that greets you both nearly knocks you off your feet but a moment later, you smile as the warmth seeps into your skin, and you turn your face up towards the high ceilings, speckled with what you’re certain are tiny little sunlamps, beaming down at the arid landscape below.
“Are these… cacti?” you wonder aloud, shuffling over to a large, bulbous plant with long thin spikes.
“Yes, these are the desert plants. They need prolonged exposure to sunlight to live.”
“Oh…” you bend down to read the short description of the cacti before moving onto the next one, and then the next one. Zayne trails behind you, watching with a soft smile and softer eyes as you point out the tiny little yellow flowers budding on one, and the strange shapes of another.
“Not that this isn’t fun and all but…” you turn to him as you finally return to the front of the greenhouse, having seen all the different varieties of desert plants in this particular area, “why’d you bring me here?”
Zayne holds open the door for you.
“You looked like you were missing the sun.”
Even beneath the barely there lighting of the parking lot, Zayne sees your blush darkening your cheeks.
“I — I guess I was,” you say as you slip once more into the passenger seat of his car, looking over at him, “but… weren’t you missing it too?”
Zayne’s grin skews as he tugs on his seatbelt, but he schools his expression back into its usual mask of stoicism as he answers, “No. I’ve already got you.”
hii!! i saw that you take requests? i was wondering if i could get a taehyung fluff where they celebrate their birthday! my birthday is Dec 31 and since his is Dec 30th i wanted something along the lines of like celebrating together alone bc my bdays have always been shitty and this year was the same so i want all the fluff you can give me please <3 if your requests r closed then that’s totally fine!!! i also wanted to say ur an amazing writer and i luv ur content so much!!
𝐢𝐧 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐨𝐦:
pairing: kim taehyung x f! reader
genre: fluff || non-idol au || best friends to lovers au
summary: it was no secret that you had never been fond of your birthday, and taehyung hated that you always seemed to celebrate alone— your birthdays won’t be the only celebration each year now that taehyung’s flower has finally bloomed.
word count: 3.6k
tags/ warnings: fluff, nothing crazy, mild birthday slander, reader is an over-thinker, he calls her baby way too many times, tearful confessions
notes: I FOOKIN FINISHED ON MY BIRTHDAY LETS GO! this is my gift to all of you, my lovely readers!!
✿ ✿ ✿
Taehyung’s feeling for you were akin to a flower.
The day the two of you met, planting the seed of his budding feelings. Where you acted as the sunlight he needed to grow; wherever you were, he would follow—growing in whichever direction you were. The first signs of his seedling pushing past the surface of the soil had been months into your friendship.
Minutes after midnight and you’d been stood at his front door, cheeks washed red from the bitter winter air, almost hunched over as you catch your breath; clearly having ran, even as the clock struck 12 and a new day began. You hadn’t wavered from your mission, silently hoping that Taehyung was still awake, because even if it technically wasn’t his birthday anymore, you refused to let the magic fizzle out just yet.
“These are for you” you’d thrusted the bouquet into his chest, pretty little white narcissuses and prickly holly wrapped up in brown paper, tied ever so delicately with a white satin ribbon, where the little red berries rivalled the colour of your cheeks. Perhaps just as round, temping enough that Taehyung had to stop himself from asking to sink his teeth into your supple looking flesh.
“I looked online and it’s your birth flower” you’d told him, standing up a little taller, a little more confident when you see his blooming smile.
“You did this for me?” he asks, bearing the brunt the frigid December cold as he pulls his door open wider, fingers gentle as they close around your wrist, tugging you into the warmth of his apartment.
You nod, hands cupping around your cheeks to try and warm your face up a little. Radiator in the hall sending waves of mellowed heat your way until you could feel the tips of your toes and fingers, nose no longer icy.
Taehyung couldn’t help but smile, and you couldn’t help but think he had the prettiest smile you’d ever seen.
Always so radiant, always so expressive, always so Taehyung, that you couldn’t help but think your efforts were worth it when he looked down at you like that. The miniscule pain of scouring the city for a flower shop willing to help you late into the night, and winds that had almost knocked you over, it didn’t matter because Taehyung was smiling at you like that. Pretty-pretty Taehyung and his pretty-pretty smile.
“Thank you” he’d laughed, “Thank you so much. How about some hot chocolate to warm you up?” he’d offered, and you’d agreed, how could you not?
The stem of Taehyung’s flower had grown fast, with every free weekend the two of you spent together, the little spark of developing love had burst into rapid flames.
Taehyung didn’t mind, revelled in the fact he felt something so raw about another person, never having felt anything like this before. He’d been unsure, fumbling over himself until he found his footing, worked out what you liked and what you didn’t. A little clumsy with his growing adoration until he sat back and realised the feelings he had for you were very real. A shadow in his mind weighing the consequences of acting on his emotions, because why would he fuck this up if he already had you? Maybe not in the exact way he wanted, but it was better than not having you in his life at all.
He wasn’t above dating, had milled around in high school, experimenting with whoever he pleased but nothing would ever be able to compare to what he had for you. An inexplainable warmth that blossomed throughout his body, where delicate vines weaved around his heart and the most beautiful flowers had started to bloom. Where the more Tae learnt about you, the faster he was falling.
He’d never been a fan of the term ‘falling in love’ something a little too melodramatic for his tastes, the very thought of falling for another person less romantic than it had been painted out to be. Because if his life were to be art, then he never wanted it to be the soppy kind, where you know the end is never good and the characters of the play seemed to always live in impending doom. Where only one will come out on top and get what they want while the rest suffer.
He’d learnt falling didn’t have to be bad, falling—where you’re cushioned by clouds crafted with passion to break the fall. Where kisses taste sweeter and bare skin on skin felt electrifying. Where your mind bubbles over with thoughts of that person until you can’t help the smile that threatens to tug at your lips, and you want to make sure they’re stood by your side. Because as long as you were near, then that’s all he needed.
Taehyung’s favourite type of falling is when you work up the courage to look into his eyes. Always shying away from eye-contact, always a little fidgety when you notice him looking at you for longer than deemed proper for just a friend. He liked your eyes because you’d always been expressive, ever so easy to read, and ever so pretty.
Your outer beauty had only ever been a bonus to Taehyung, and if he had to compare your beauty to any of his favourite things, then surely, he would compare you to a freshly bloomed flower.
✿ ✿ ✿
It was no secret to Taehyung that you hated your birthday.
You’d always seemed to withdraw yourself from everyone the week before the big day, and he’d asked once, why you held so much disdain towards it, and you’d simply shrugged. Telling him you never understood the hype and never felt the need to make it a big event out of it. You never minded celebrating your friends’ birthdays, always going to family parties with well-thought-out gifts and a little skip in your step, but never held the same when it came to you.
“What are you doing here?” you open the door wider when you see its only him, fingers fiddling with handle out of nervous habit— and he watches as you rock back and forth on your heels. Clearly not expecting his arrival, and he would have called, if he didn’t already know you were home.
It’s a little out of character for him to show up to your apartment unannounced, knowing you preferred when he told you at least a few hours in advance that he was coming over, or he wanted to take you out. And as much as you hated the niggling habit of overthinking, it had never put him off, simply moulding his life around your needs as if they were his own.
Because as long as you were happy, so was Taehyung. Another strange side effect of being in love with someone he supposes.
“Can you come with me?” his hands fall out the pockets of his coat, corners of his lips tugging up into a soft smile.
You blink up at him, eyebrows furrowing, “Like— right now?”
“Yeah” he nods, feeble guilt itching under his skin. Like an invisible rash that he couldn’t get rid of, irritable in a way he wants to pull his hair out.
His palm lays flat against your door, pushing it open wider to let himself in. You don’t seem all that worried as you close the door behind him as he slips his shoes off, coat slung over the arm of your couch before he’s making himself comfortable, running a hand through his windswept hair.
He turns to you, “Go get ready, I’ll wait here”
“Where are we going?” you call over your shoulder as you wander into your bedroom, uncaring as you leave the door open.
“My place” he bends forward, trying to catch sight of you as you scuttle around your room. Always fascinated by the way you move, often painfully unaware of your surroundings. Though he doesn’t mind all that much, tips of his fingers tingling each time his hands fall over your shoulders or holding you by the waist has he help guide you, your hand held in his, so you won’t get lost in a crowd, or simply just for the sake of holding you. Your skin like a magnet, drawing him closer whenever he was near, your very existence fascinating to him that he can never seem to get enough.
“Huh?” you pause in the doorway, head tilting, and Taehyung can’t help the smile that stretches onto his face, fondness blossoming around his heart, “Why didn’t you just call me over then?”
“I have a surprise for you” he waves you off, watching as you nod, hesitant, but a small part of his heart swells at the fact you trust him enough to play into his plan even if he can see you itching to ask a million other questions. Questions he would be more than happy to answer, though he doesn’t push. Simply lets you stew in your own thoughts, trusting that you’ll kept your faith in him, stepping forward if you truly needed anything.
“But why?” you throw another sweater over your shoulder, “What should I wear?”
Taehyung pushes himself up off the couch, wandering towards your bedroom—more than equipped in knowing your home, often acting like it was his own.
“Whatever you’re comfortable with, baby”
You flinch, not having expected him to be there when you had turned around, “What are we doing?”
“I told you it’s a surprise” he croons, picking up the clothes strewn across the floor.
He folds them into neat piles at the end of your bed— ready for you to put away later as you continue your search for something to wear. Knowing that if he weren’t to do it, they would be left blanketing your floor until you worked up the motivation to finally clean up. At least this way he’d gotten your least favourite part out of the way.
“But what if I’m overdressed, worse, what if I’m underdressed?” you turn back to look at him, fingers fiddling with the hem of your shirt as Taehyung simply stares; never one to back away from prolonged eye-contact.
“Baby, I told you to wear whatever you’re comfortable with. We’re only going to my place, nowhere else if you don’t want to” he soothes, beckoning you over with a hand. And you follow, always so good for him.
You stand between his legs, looking down at Taehyung where he sits on the edge of your bed, “No matter what you wear, you’re pretty, yeah?”
Taking your hands into his own, fingers laced, Taehyung watches as your mouth opens at the gentle contact, closing abruptly when you can’t seem to find the right words to say. Mind whirring behind your eyes, and he worries he’d pushed you too far.
Hesitantly you nod, “Okay” you whisper, swallowing thickly as his thumb runs over the back of your hand.
“Well done” he squeezes your fingers before he’s nudging you back towards your closet.
He watches as you peek over your shoulder, not very subtle as you try and match what he’s wearing.
“How about we match today?” he suggests, watching the lingering anxiety leave your body as your shoulders deflate, eyes lighting up.
“Really?” you ask, grey sweatpants already held tightly in your hands and Taehyung smiles.
“Of course, baby”
✿ ✿ ✿
“Are your eyes still closed?” Taehyung asks, as he bends down, helping you slip your shoes off.
You hum, hands falling onto his shoulders to keep balance. And he suddenly becomes hyper aware of how close the two of you are, hands gentle as he holds onto your ankle, your warm skin under his fingertips electric as his heartrate picks up.
Your hands slide down his arms when he stands at full height, fingers loosely gripping onto his wrists as he pulls you further into his apartment; careful to tug you around the toys his dog had left strewn across the floor of the living room.
Your feet sink into Taehyung’s plush carpet, pitter patter of Yeontan running into the room at the sound of your giggles, warming Taehyung’s heart. Simple domesticity of the situation maybe something Taehyung had been craving; because when he had you like this, no semi high-end dining, no unobtainable expectations from the eyes of others. Simply you and him, where the world beyond his apartment meant nothing, because it didn’t matter where he was as long as he was with you.
“Here we go” Taehyung pulls his wrists from your hands, picking Tannie up, “Open your eyes, baby”
Taehyung watches as your eyes flutter open. You blink down at his coffee table, head tilting in confusion before you’re turning to him.
“What’s all this?” you ask, eyebrows furrowed.
It hadn’t been much, nothing like he would have truly planned if he didn’t know you had what could only be described as a weird hatred towards your birthday. He’d made sure to get your favourite cake, balloons taped to the walls, all those of your favourite colour—handpicked out of each pack. You eye the platter of sandwiches, and he has to hold onto Yeontan a little tighter as the dog spots whatever other of your favourite snacks he’s picked up that morning. All laid out in little bowls, where confetti had been scattered over the table like the petals of a rose.
“It’s your birthday” he urges, smile still tugging at his lips.
You nod, “I know that but, why—” you gesture to the cake, to the small giftbox, utterly overwhelmed by what you see, and Taehyung wonders briefly if he’d rocked your brain into overdrive.
“I thought we could celebrate together, I know you don’t really like your birthday, but I thought for once I’d do something for you, like you’ve done for me”
“You did all this, for me?”
And although this isn’t his best work, nice restaurant in the middle of the city ready to be called for a late reservation if you hadn’t liked what he’d prepared for you. Wallet tucked away in the pocket of his coat just in case he took you for a walk around the park where he would buy you all the treats your heart desired until your bellies were full, sleepy on the way home; and maybe he would offer to carry you.
“Of course” he nods, letting Yeontan hop onto the couch before he’s tugging you to sit at the coffee table. Knees pressed against one another as you sit adjacent to Taehyung.
You peek into the cake box, “Shut up, you didn’t buy one of those really pretty lunchbox cakes” your look up at Taehyung, eyes wide and he only grins. You stare at it in awe, purple iced flowers climbing the sides of the cake, blooming in shades of lavender and violet in gradient. Where fondant leaves weaved through bunches of flowers like wild vines.
“This is for you” he pushes the wrapped box across the table towards you. Brown paper tied off with a pretty white ribbon—little white daisy pin stuck in the centre of the bow.
He watches as you shake it. Fingers delicate as you pull the ribbon apart, dropped in a small pile beside the box of your cake, and he only expects you plan to save it for later. Scraps of long forgotten art supplies hidden in the depths of your closet for when you really needed it. Always a little bit of a hoarder, though you like to blame it on sentiment.
The tips of your fingers skim over the velvety box, a deep red with little golden stars embroidered into the fabric, “What is it?”
“Open it” his back falls against the couch, fingers thrumming across his thigh, anxious of your reaction.
You lift the lid of the box, bottom lip tucked between your teeth.
“It’s so pretty” you murmur, head lifting to meet Taehyung’s gaze.
You watch him lift his hand; matching ring sat snug on his finger. Your gaze flickers down towards the ring in the box, “They’re matching?”
“Yeah”
The corners of your lips tug up into a smile, “You’re cute” you giggle, gentle as you pull the ring out of the box, sliding it onto your finger, the same one Taehyung had his on.
“You think so?” he leans forwards, eyebrows raising in question, and he watches as you swallow thickly, “Come on, don’t be shy now” his smile is lazy, a little cocky and you can’t seem to help the heat that tickles your cheeks red.
He watches you debate whether to stay silent or not, “Yes” you breathe, tongue slipping past your lips to wet them.
“Yes what?” he urges, revelling in the way you fidget in your spot—fingers itching to pull you closer into him, moulding the two of you into one being until he doesn’t know where you end, and he starts.
“I think you’re cute”
“I think you’re cute too” he smiles, deft fingers tucking his hair behind his ear.
“You what?” you splutter, “That’s not funny, Tae”
“It wasn’t meant to be” you watch as he sits up straight, careful as he takes your hands into his own, “Why would you think I’d joke about that?”
His eyebrows crease as you let out a long sigh, “Because well, you’re—you’re you and I’m just me”
“There’s nothing wrong with you” he shakes his head.
“I’m not perfect like you, Tae” you try to pull your hands from his, no real force behind the gesture, fingers barely slipping from his grasp.
“I’m not perfect” he laughs, leaning forwards like he wanted to tell you a secret, “You are though”
You blink, “I’m not” he watches as tears glaze over your eyes.
“Come on, baby, why’re you crying” he coos, gentle as he pushes your hair out of your face.
“Because I really like you, and I feel stupid” you admit, one hand still held in Taehyung’s as the other comes to wipe your face of the tears that cascade down your cheeks.
“I really like you too” Taehyung stands, manoeuvring his way around the table, falling to his knees beside you.
“No—not that kind of like. I like like you” you cover your face with your hands.
“Hey” he calls, “listen to me”
You snivel, daring peek out from behind your hands, a new wave of fresh tears glazing your cheeks shiny as he smiles, always so soft, always so reassuring.
“I like like you too, my baby” he laughs, barely there, but the puff of breath deflates his chest, “Haven’t I made it obvious enough?”
You shake your head, “Now I feel really stupid” you cry.
“No no no” he shakes his head, cupping your cheeks, “I clearly didn’t realise either”
You hiccup, “I’m sorry”
“What for?” his eyes flit between your own.
You frown, “Crying”
“Don’t apologize for that” his eyebrows crease, fond smile pulling at the corners of his lips, “Can I kiss you?”
He watches as your eyes widen a fraction, “Yes”
His thumb brushes away a lone tear when you close your eyes, watching as a sliver of peace washes over your face. And he understands, of course he does. All the built-up tension, nights of wondering if your feelings were to ever be reciprocated, if this budding love was one sided, if it could be more than friendship—all that doubt had evaporated. Exasperated whispers of how this would never work out, suddenly silent, mind and heart free. Pure unadulterated love soaring the skies like a dove let out of a cage with no plan of ever returning, the feeling of freedom, the freedom to love you, too addicting.
Taehyung feels you smile into the kiss as his lips press against your own. Ever so soft, neither of you rushing.
Your arms slink around his shoulders, pulling his body closer to you as he tilts his head to deepen the kiss. Your lips part, gentle gasp dripping off your tongue, tacky and sweet as his hands skim down your body, pulling you in between his legs.
Albeit reluctant, Taehyung pulls away, chest heaving for air as his heart hammers against his ribcage. Your fingers skim over your bottom lip.
“One more” you whisper, hands falling from Taehyung’s shoulders to cup his cheeks like he had your own.
“Okay” he nods, hands still firmly holding onto your hips as you press your chests together, head tilting. Your thumb brushes over his jaw when your lips meet, both a little surer, a little more confident in yourselves, Taehyung teasing as his tongue prods the seam of your lips.
You grant him access, embarrassed whine following a moan as his tongue slips into your mouth—any qualms about you not sharing his feelings bubbling into a fizzy confidence.
“Does this mean you’ll say yes to being my girlfriend?” he smiles down at you, lips a little kiss swollen and shiny.
“If that’s okay with you” you nod, eyes falling onto the ring on his finger, your own glinting in the light of the setting sun that spills through the window.
Taehyung’s feelings for you were akin to a flower.
A flower that had been in the budding stage for years, love disguised as vibrance, hidden away from your eyes as to not scare you away, attracting you like a bee only hoping you’d be happy with that he had to offer. A flower that was now in bloom, because really what it was missing was you. Just wholly you who adores Taehyung as much as he does you. Two flowers blooming in the same flower field where your stems intertwine, growth from here on out together rather than alone. Because even if your petals were the same as the rest of the flowers that grew around you, what you had was special; something none of the other flowers had—each other.
“Guess this means we have a reason to celebrate your birthday every year” he leans forward, soft kiss pressed to your forehead.
🌱 feedback is always appreciated <3 and thank you for reading!
Tags: Agoraphobia, Sad Backstories, Angst with Happy Ending, Freeformish, y/n discusses an emotionally abusive relationship she was in before the story starts, hopefully not as depressing as these tags make it seem.
Words: 9791
a/n: Last year I was listening to too much PJ Harvey and wrote this fic. It is a little self-indulgent but what ff isn’t?
Summary:
Might as well get this over with. You sigh and raise your hand to knock, steeling yourself for patchouli and shell necklaces.
The door opens.
A face peers out at you. There’s no beard, no long shaggy hair. For a moment, you wish he did walk around shirtless. He’s handsome. He’s taller than you, with brown hair that almost falls into his eyes and undercut on the sides. Warm brown eyes and a cute nose. It’s fucking cute his nose. He’s wearing cargo shorts, a Hawaiian shirt and white crocs.
Well, that’s better. He’s still handsome and his kind eyes make you want to confess some prior sin, but it’s easy to scowl at a guy in white crocs.
summary. Jungkook is tired of the way you look at yourself and decides to draw out exactly how he sees you in his eyes, in the end making you second guess your self-image entirely and fall in love with him all over again.
contains. a bittt of angst, jk’s drawing skills, insecure oc, a drunk-in-love/supportive jk (🥺), oc hates her appearance and jk wants to fix that, everyone needs a jk like this in their life 😕
concept was inspired by @bebejungkook's gym bunny :) lovey-dovey/suportive jungkook has me in a chokehold lately…
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“Stop staring, Jungkook.”
Throwing his hands up in surrender, he travels his eyes up to yours through the mirror with a smirk growing on his face, his taller figure standing tall and proud behind you.
“I can’t even look at my beautiful girlfriend now?”
His hand goes to wrap around your waist from behind, but you quickly grab his wrist in an effort to stop him.
“It’s different when I’m practically naked.”
“I’ve seen your body so many times before, I know you remember those times…”
You lightly hit his chest at the implication, turning away from the mirror to grab your shirt off the bed and put it back on.
You didn’t expect Jungkook to barge in as you were examining your figure in the standing mirror, but he did and his gaze has been all over you since. You were wearing just panties and a dainty sports bra, your breasts overflowing out of the top, which is hot to Jungkook but tight and ridiculously uncomfy to you. You would size up but then it wouldn’t give you the right support. However, you sadly don’t blame the ridiculous manufacturers any more than you blame yourself.
In a way, you’re somewhat glad Jungkook walked in because if he hadn’t distracted you, the cruel thoughts that were brewing into something a tad more intense would’ve carried on. The more you stared into that mirror, the more that damned self-hatred grew.
You know he loves you and your body, but you still can’t help feeling this way. Especially when he's right there to see for himself, no matter how different his thoughts are compared to your own. You still hate what you see and subconsciously fear that he might too.
“You know I honestly don’t get it.” Jungkook perks up while throwing himself on the bed beside you, the bed shaking at the sudden impact.
“You wouldn’t.”
His aura becomes a little bit more serious at your comment, and he furrows his brow in gesture for you to elaborate.
“It’s just… you don’t look like this,” you motion your hands to your frame, “you're like a literal god… it’s kinda fucked up y’know.”
He can’t help the boom of laughter that he let out upon your statement, his hand landing on his chest in playful offense.
“Fucked up how?! And just so you know, everyone has something they don’t like about themselves, it’s normal… even for 'gods' like me.”
You throw the nearest pillow in reach at his face, causing another one of his mischievous giggles.
In a way, he’s right. In an obvious, literal way he may be somewhat onto something. But when he speaks for the majority, you somehow don’t feel as if you’re eligible to fall into that ‘majority’. Sure, everyone is insecure one way or another, but when you feel as if you simply cannot accept yourself, it’s not the majority that’s on your mind, it’s only you. You and your problems, the problems that feel too big to let go of just because others might feel the same about themselves. To put it simply: your too caught up in this complex and bitter perspective to care about how common and normal it may be.
So, because you don’t completely agree with Jungkook’s encouraging words, you simply skip pass them.
“I don’t mean to like… pester you, by the way. I know you’re fed up with me always talking about it by now.”
He swears he feels a piece of his heart break off when he notices how upset you genuinely are about your appearance and now how you feel guilty for hating it. He’s ran out of words to say, because it’s not a far stretch for him to draw the conclusion that you don’t take much thought into them anyway. He knows you appreciate him, but appreciation and actually accepting his help are two very different things. Two different things that are usually associated with each other, but there’s no association here given you won’t let him help you. Your mind is set and he loves you dearly, but damn you’re stubborn when it comes to this. And it’s killing him not being able to help.
So this is it. He can’t keep seeing you like this. Time to resort to the last option.
“You’re right, I am fed up.”
Your heart sinks at his words, expecting him to say something completely different. Drench you in kisses, tell you not to say things like that. So his agreement startles you in a way. Not that you would have listened. But still, his new, unfamiliar words are enough to shock you.
“I— Oh. Okay, well I’m sorry for that I didn’t-”
You cut yourself off when he gets up from the bed, leaving the room in the in the matter of seconds and leaving you sat there against the headboard, beyond confused.
You attempt to think over the brief conversation you just had, only puzzling yourself further when you don’t see anything too wrong with it. What could you have possibly said that hit a nerve?
You stay frozen, not really capable of doing otherwise, and right when the idea of calling out for him comes to mind- he walks in again. Except this time he has his sketchpad and pencil in hand.
He’s fed up so… he’s going to draw? You can’t tell if you’re confused or fond of how adorable that is.
“What are you doing?” You ask in a small voice, still taken aback by this new behavior of his.
“I’m drawing.”
You resist the urge to say “no…” in an overly exaggerated, sarcastic tone, though you resist. Joking may result in pushing it further. Instead, your head tilts and your eyes squint, not understanding your adorable yet very random boyfriend at all.
“Okay… Um, what are you drawing?”
He tilts the sketch pad down to show you his dumbfounded face.
“You, duh.”
Oh.
“Jungkook, baby, that’s cute but -“
“But nothing. I’m gonna let you finally see what I see, just trust the process and stay right there.”
You groan at his tactics, genuinely flattered at how much he cares but you know one drawing won’t change years worth of self hate. Again, you appreciate him. So, so much. And you’re happy to see how determined he is when it comes to your self-acceptance, but things like this don’t heal overnight. Jungkook knows that deep down, but it never hurts to just try.
“It's gonna take you so long to finish, plus I'm tired.”
“Then take a nap.”
You throw another pillow at him, biting back a giggle after he glares at you. A bubbly feeling of genuine contentment and relief given he’s not actually mad washes over you. You’re happy that the mood shifted. It’s Jungkook, the light of your life and reason for existence, after all, of course you feel bubbly.
“Don’t you need my eyes to be open?”
He doesn’t look up when he speaks, his full attention on the pencil that’s sketching lightly against the paper.
“Jagi,” he starts in a matter-of-fact tone, “I know your eyes like the back of my hand, probably even better to be honest.”
Your heart can’t help but to feel all mushy like a teenager in love at your boyfriend’s statement, and you put actual effort into not smiling.
“Yeah, yeah,” you attempt to shrug off, eyes falling shut as you get comfortable in your spot, “just hurry up.”
…
You didn’t intend to actually fall asleep.
But the tranquility of laying besides Jungkook, comfortable silence running throughout the room and being accompanied by the delicate noise of the pencil streaking softly against the paper, as well as Jungkook’s slow, concentrated breathing, it was more than enough to make you to doze off.
Hazy eyes fluttering open, you gulp to cure your dry mouth as you instinctively turn your head to see your boyfriend, only to discover he’s not there. You also take note of the time displayed on the digital clock propped on his nightstand, your brows creasing as you slowly sit up.
It’s three in the morning, and the lights are off, candles blown out, and the door is closed. Jungkook must have turned everything off for the night, and that leads you back to wondering where he could be.
You kick the heavy comforter off your legs, slipping out of bed and reaching over a bit to tug the lamp on.
You glance at the hallway of your master bedroom, assuming to see him in the bathroom but the lights there are off too.
“Jungkook?”
Your voice is hoarse due to the deep, rather good, sleep you just had. So your efforts to call for him was a fail.
However, glancing in the direction of the bathroom, you notice his sketchpad is wide open and strategically propped against your lamp with a ripped out page laying in front of it.
You try your best not to peak at the displayed page before reading the small note that reads ‘love u, hope this makes u love u too. ur pretty cool or whatever so I think ur missing out. -the boyfie’.
The note itself was enough to make your heart turn to mush, so when your eyes met the page of the sketchpad, it just about melted.
On the small page laid a sketch of something capable of capturing your whole heart, engraving itself into it and making you feel as if you are in the clouds. It’s a drawing of you, that part is unmistakable, but something is different about it.
You think it’s… beautiful.
Of course doubts start to rain on your short lasting self-love parade. You can help but wonder is this drawing just an exaggeration? Does he really see you like this in his eyes? Do you really look like this? This is you after all… so why do you like what you see? How are you liking what you see?
“Holy fuck, Jungkook.” Are the words that come out upon a deep exhale, realization hitting you harder than ever before.
You almost want to cry. Not only do you really like this drawing of yourself and for once you see yourself as beautiful, but he drew it. Jungkook, put in effort to draw out exactly what he thinks you look like, all because he wanted you to feel this euphoric, relieving feeling. He didn’t give up on making sure you love his favorite person as much as he loves her. That person being none other than you.
God, you love that man.
Standing up, sketchpad in hand, you make your way to the standing mirror. Your eyes repeatedly go from the paper to the mirror, and your heart feels as if it’s teleported away and is currently surfing on the moon. Odd explanation, but the most accurate analogy. You can’t pinpoint what it is about the drawing. There’s no exaggerations now that you’re comparing it to your real body, but something about the drawing is so exquisite.
It’s like an illusion of some sort. The more you compare your real reflection to the page, the more your real body becomes dead on with the drawing. Like the drawing is unlocking a different perspective and leaving you with no choice but to understand that just like the sketch, you’re beautiful.
A tear wells up into your eye, and you decide that’s your cue to get ahold of yourself and find Jungkook so you can try your best to express even a fraction of the love you have for him.
Opening the door, the scent of… something catches your senses. Looking into the kitchen, your boyfriend’s back is to you as he continues to work in the dim light of the kitchen, stove on as he stirs something in the pan that’s on top of it.
It’s like you love him even more after that whole thing, which you didn’t even know was possible given how in love you were with him prior to. But here you are, almost nervous to speak as you continue to gawk across the room at Jungkook. You settle on clearing your throat to draw his attention. You had a lump in it anyway.
Turning around swiftly, his bunny smile makes an appearance and the corners of your mouth dip down in a fond way. You can’t help yourself when you stride over to him, collapsing yourself into his arms (which you do end up regretting when he stumbles) and trying your best to show him a physical gesture of ‘I love you’.
He picks up quickly, embracing you tight with his arms wrapped around you like he doesn’t plan to ever release. His lips find sanctuary on the top of your head, absentmindedly swaying your bodies side to side as you continue to stand there and just hold each other for a moment.
“I saw the sketch.” Your muffled voice speaks against his bicep that’s currently flexed due to how tight his hold on you is.
He lets out an airy chuckle against the top of your head, some stray hairs of yours fluttering at the abrupt breeze.
“Never would have guessed,” he jokes, “did it work? Do you love you now?”
You can’t help but to laugh at his purity and innocence, tugging away slightly so that he can release his hold and you stare up into his eyes, hands cupping his cheeks.
“Not as much as I love you, but really close.”
His eyes spark with a look of admiration. He knew you were capable of at least trying, so knowing that he took part in that first step of your self-love process, the fact that his drawing is what kickstarted that very process, it warms his heart and he’s glad to be in your life.
“That works for me.”
You rise on the balls of your feet to capture his lips in a hunger-fueled way, passion engraved in your intentions and lacing its way onto his plump and just-as-eager lips.
If he weren’t in the middle of cooking, you would have been more than okay with standing there, kissing him all night. So pulling away, you nod over to the stove that was left unattended to.
He turns around as if you reminded him, quickly turning the nobs off and sighing of relief when he uncovers the lid of the pan to discover he didn’t ruin whatever was inside.
“It’s three in the morning, why are you cooking?”
Your tone was soft, still hazy as you weren’t fully back down from cloud nine yet.
He grabs two plates from the cabinet, falling silent for a good moment or two as he continues his task, finally turning to face you as he answers, this time with two plates of carbonara in his hand.
“I’ve noticed you’ve been sleeping early lately to avoid dinner…”
His tone was too soft and very timid, like he felt bad for calling you out but he knew he couldn’t just not address it. Your eyes flick to the ground.
“Hey, I’m not disappointed or anything. Today can be the start of changing those old habits, okay?”
Again, you find yourself on the verge of tears. Happy tears. The effort he’s putting into maintaining your well-being is so overwhelmingly comforting and you find yourself understanding why it is you fell in love with him in the first place. You can’t picture a life without him.
“I…” As soon as your eyes flick up to meet his, you break. Not too badly, but soft tears do begin to stream rather quickly down your face.
He reaches over to place the plates on the counter in front of the barstool chairs, latching his arms back around you as soon as he gets the chance.
“It’s all a process, and I’ll be here with you every step of it.”
His words are so utterly genuine and you can tell how it’s real and coming straight from his heart. You can tell how much he just wants to be there for you if you’d just let him.
And for the first time, you’re letting him.
“I love you, Jungkook. So fucking much.”
~~~
A/N: ahhhh my first fluff one shot!!! I hope it wasn’t underwhelming 😭 I’ve had writers block for a minute but I rly wanted to finally just finish this one up. anyways, stay tuned for more stuff :) i just need to get over this writers block first lol… oh and i have a series on the way??? get ready for dilf/professor jk everyone 🫠
welcome to my masterlist! below you will find my series collection as well as my one shot collection. enjoy your stay luvs! <3 xx
**warning: most (if not all) of my works are rated r and contain mature themes such as vulgar language and explicit sexual content. please be advised before proceeding, thank you.
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Series:
m=mature
✏️= ongoing
Teacher’s Pet | JJK (M) ✏️
professor/dilf!jungkook x student!reader or jungkook x reader
forbidden relationship!au, sneaky links to lovers au, age gap
Hooking up every so often with your English Literature professor, what’s the worst that can happen? Falling in love, perhaps. Embarking on a sexual-turned-serious relationship with your professor Jeon Jungkook a month before graduation, you are as happy as can be. You, Jungkook, and his 4-year-old daughter, Dahlia. Except there’s just one teeny-tiny little detail Jungkook failed to mention… that detail being his ex-wife isn’t so much of an ex after all.
Teacher’s Pet M.list
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Cigarettes After Sex | MYG (M) *COMING SOON
yandere!yoongi x shy!reader or yoongi x reader
yandere, dark thriller, high school au, classmates to lovers, fast burn, introvert!yoongi, broken!yoongi, shy/introvert!oc, smut, eventual fluff, heavy angst
A limited series in which a new friendship turns into something uncanny and killer. Min Yoongi, he keeps to himself and struggles with accepting or even finding love. Emancipated at a young age and held back twice due to too many absences, he’s now 19 and in his senior year of high school, living off of the money he gets from making and selling beats online. You, 18, are also in your senior year. And just like Yoongi, you have trouble finding love due to a lack of feeling loved. It’s been a week since you switched bio classes, and your new classmate has caught your eye. However, just like him, you talk to no one. Can the shy girl get the shy boy? And if so, will she be able to endure getting much more than anticipated…
Cigarettes After Sex Teaser
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More series are yet to come…
One Shots:
☆= smut ♡= fluff ☾= drabble
Each of the works below are below 10k words!!
a/n: listed from newest to oldest! **most of the old ones are not my proudest works 😭😭
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—YOONGI.
All Night | KNJ ft. MYG ☆
In which listening to music during a smoke sesh with your best friends Namjoon and Yoongi in the studio turns into much more.
desperate | MYG ☾
In which you attempt to resolve you and your boyfriend’s fight with sex.
Midnight Musician | MYG ☆♡
Waking up in the middle of the night to the sound of your boyfriend playing piano, you follow the noise and end up getting more from him than just a sideshow.
In the Dark | MYG ☆
When watching straight porn with your boyfriend Yoongi, you begin to get turned on but it’s not the guy you’re focused on. When Yoongi discovers you masturbating to female content later that night, things take a good turn.
Advice | Taegi ☆
When a depressed Taehyung opens up to Yoongi about his sexuality crisis, he receives more than just advice.
What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas | MYG ft. JJK ☆
What was supposed to be a late-night drinking session at the hotel’s pool deck with your best friends Yoongi and Jungkook escalates into a sinful night you’ll never forget.
Drunk on You | MYG ♡☾
You’re all at the members penthouse drinking and talking when suddenly you begin to feel horny needy for your boyfriend Yoongi and beg him to take care of it for you...
Drunk on You: Part 2 | MYG ☆
After drunkenly confessing to your reluctant boyfriend Yoongi who was drinking with the members downstairs that you were feeling horny, he gives in and fulfills your needs upstairs.
Sunday’s Sunset | MYG ☆♡
You and your boyfriend Yoongi spend a lazy late Sunday afternoon in bed, attempting to make soft and intimate love that inevitably turns rougher.
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—NAMJOON.
talk to me | KNJ ☾☆
In which your boyfriends morning voice turns you on and he notices.
All Night | KNJ ft. MYG ☆
In which listening to music during a smoke sesh with your best friends Namjoon and Yoongi in the studio turns into much more.
Friendship & Erotica | KNJ ☆
Your best friend Namjoon gets turned on while reading erotica in your shared hotel room and decides to accompany you in the bathroom as you prepare for a bath.
Dainty Distractions | KNJ ☆
While your boyfriend Namjoon takes a business call in the kitchen, you decide to walk out in lingerie and touch yourself in front of him…
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—JUNGKOOK.
All Mine | JJK ☆ *COMING SOON*
Showing up to the annual company banquet in a risque outfit, Jungkook can’t stand the amount of eyes on you. Eager to channel his frustration, he takes you to his office.
accidental | JJK ☾☆
Your boyfriend Jungkook accidentally turned you on right before bed.
Fix You | JJK ☾♡
Jungkook sings to you in the bath after an argument that lead to you getting wasted and him having to take care of you.
In My Eyes | JJK ♡
Jungkook is tired of the way you look at yourself and decides to draw out exactly how he sees you in his eyes, in the end making you second guess your self-image entirely and fall in love with him all over again.
Members with Benefits | Jikook ☆
A friendly dispute over who’s dick is bigger turns into a curious Jungkook wanting to experiment with a needy Jimin.
What Happens in Vegas, Stays in Vegas | MYG ft. JJK ☆
What was supposed to be a late-night drinking session at the hotel’s pool deck with your best friends Yoongi and Jungkook escalates into a sinful night you’ll never forget.
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—JIMIN.
One Night in Seoul | PJM ♡☆ *COMING SOON*
What started as a lonely night of tiredly walking the streets of Seoul turns into a memorable night of exploring the city after meeting a stranger named Jimin. Spending the entire night with the stranger leads to new beginnings.
sleepless | PJM ☾☆
Hundreds of miles away and unable to sleep, Jimin calls you from his hotel room to help with his loneliness and neediness.
Remind Me | PJM ☆♡
After a dinner where Jimin’s cousin was a little too infatuated with you, you assure Jimin that your heart is set on him and only him and he proves his love back to you in bed.
Members with Benefits | Jikook ☆
A friendly dispute over who’s dick is bigger turns into a curious Jungkook wanting to experiment with a needy Jimin.
Waiting for Your Countdown | PJM ☆☾
You tease, deny, and overstimulate the absolute fuck out of your submissive sneaky link Jimin.
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—TAEHYUNG.
99 Cent Store | KTH ♡☆ *COMING SOON*
Ever since the incident, your days have been unpredictable. Typically landing between very bad or just bad. Today was one of those very bad days. And when seeing Kim Taehyung for the first time since, you also break down for the first time since.
Still the Same | KTH ☆
When you left your bdsm partner/boyfriend Taehyung last year, it left him shattered. Running into him at a party, he seems to be a completely different person. He seems to have ditched his past lifestyle. However, you know exactly how to bring him back to his old ways.
Advice | Taegi ☆
When a depressed Taehyung opens up to Yoongi about his sexuality crisis, he receives more than just advice.
~
—JIN.
The Game | KSJ ☆☾
After arriving home from an event with your husband Jin, he cures his boredom by asking you to play a sexual game with him.
At First Touch | KSJ ☆
You and your boyfriend Jin haven’t taken that sexual step yet but when you voice your concerns to him he solves it right away...
~
—HOBI.
Mile High Club | JHS ☆ *COMING SOON*
After meeting a stranger at the airport and getting to know him in more ways than one, your delayed flight isn’t so much of an inconvenience to you after all.
⤕ as part of the Once Upon A Fantasy collab with @jamaisjoons @yoonia @inkedtae @kookdiaries @kth1 and @opaljm | banner by the lovely @jamaisjoons | thank you to @xjoonchildx @inkedtae and @sugaurora for reading this over and being so incredibly encouraging. every single word of praise helped me get through this. i cannot express how grateful i am for you!
⤕ Pairing: Emperor!Hoseok x Court Musician!Reader (inspired by The Nightingale by Hans Christian Anderson)
⤕ Genre: fantasy retelling; fantasy au; soulmate au; romance, angst, smut, horror, angst with a happy ending
⤕ Rating: NC-17
⤕ Summary: Hoseok has spent his whole life promising and swearing that one day he will marry you. After rejecting an arranged marriage with the High Princess from a neighboring kingdom, the scorned Princess uses her dark magic to curse Hoseok into falling in love with her in an effort to usurp the throne. Heartbroken, you flee the empire. When the world is plunged into permanent night, you start to know it is down to Hoseok’s curse. When you receive word Hoseok has fallen deathly ill, you start to wonder if anyone can save him at all.
⤕ Warnings: explicit sex; explicit language; graphic depictions of violence; graphic depictions of blood; discussion of death; graphic depictions of murder; depictions of hoseok dying; vaginal fingering; cum play; semi-public sex; loss of virginity; virgin sex; pain kink; size kink; impreg kink; impregnation; blow jobs; hand jobs; pregnancy kink; body worship; breast play; nipple play; creampie; dirty talk; unprotected sex; manipulation; betrayal; arranged marriage themes; crying; begging; marking; scratching; biting; politics; blood; cum swallowing; teasing; passionate sex; wedding night sex; depictions of ptsd; depictions of depression; loneliness; sadness
⤕ Word Count: 60K
Hoseok was born at the first crest of new dawn.
In the Emperor’s quarters he was placed into his mother’s waiting arms, the rich crimson slivers of morning light breaching the boreal curtains at the same moment her tears spilled from the corners of her eyes. Kneeling anxiously at her bedside, his father pressed his fingers to his lips in nervous silence.
A passing sensation of greed claimed him entirely, wanting the entire world, and all the light inside it, for the small bundle who only cried in the same instant he took his first breath. Words evaded him; too much rapture, too much pleasure, too much love and, all at once, the terrible, insurmountable fear the comfort of his family’s existence would soon disappear.
Hoseok’s mother, so content and at peace as her newborn son settled into the valley of her breasts, did not find any cause for worry. She had been blessed with an angel, and angels ride the wings of sunlight. Instead, she smiled at her husband, casting a reassuring glance as she pressed a kiss to the soft tuft of hairs at his head where his crown would eventually rest.
