#anyways if you see me around within the hour hit me with a bat i need to go lay down (genuinely)

[elegyofthemoon]

i think the scariest thing of getting friends into stuff i like is when they connect the dots on why i like a character and they go 'oh. so you just have the same taste in character. always.'

like.....yes but dont look at me.

#avil speaks #im waiting for when my friend connects the dots but also im scared LMAO #its rare for me to get outliers i think...... #this isnt about any specific characters #but my friend did choke me the other day when he was like #'wait..... ur new guy has the same vibes as ur other fave guy' #oKAY 😭😭😭😭😭😭 SHUT UP OK 😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭😭 #tuesday does this to me all the time so it scares me whenever we overlap in interests and she just Clocks me #sighsssss #anyways if you see me around within the hour hit me with a bat i need to go lay down (genuinely) #headache Bad

[devilruin]

Invertito La Giustizia

Pairing — yandere capitano x gn reader

Summary — you've never been disloyal to the tsaritsa — you have never stepped out of line, caused trouble, or tarnished her ideals, because you know better than anyone else that the one time you do will be the last.

Warnings — general yandere warnings, mild violence, vague mentions of captivity

Post Type — full length work

Word Count — 1.7k

Author’s Comments — (capitano lovers come get your food!) who's a fatui fucker? yep that's right it's me. please hyv let him use the electro skirmisher model…

Within Zapolyarny Palace, there are many secret passageways. Some lead outside towards the night market, while others lead deeper into the ice, evermore closer to celestial blasphemy. Each corridor looks the same — tall icy walls, with the occasional hanging lamp for light — and if you’re not careful, you’ll end up walking in circles for hours on end. These uniform halls serve a dual purpose as a maze for those led astray (often with negative intentions), and as a trap for foolish trespassers. Which is why Her Royal Highness had all the written records of this frozen labyrinth destroyed long ago. 

“These stupidly complex passageways are going to be the death of me I swear…”, letting out a deep sigh, you press your back against one of the frozen walls, and slowly sink to the floor. Being a low-ranking member of the Fatui had its perks — a tidy place to stay with regular warm meals and hundreds of people to socialize with is hard to pass up as an orphan. Yet in all of your years here, the only friend you have is Alyona. 

Alyona, the absentee.

The chilly wind has your teeth clattering against each other, and you click your tongue in irritation. Anger fuels the strength in your legs, and you quickly stand, ready to move at a moment’s notice. You take two steps forwards before your left knee buckles under you, leaving you kneeling at the foot of a lamp. The candle’s flame sways languidly, almost as if it’s laughing at your predicament.

“I swear once I find her…!” , your gloved hands bundle into fists, stretching the thick leather till it cracks, yet you’re far too ticked off to care. Just the idea of wandering around these identical pathways for another two hours, looking for Alyona in a frozen maze, makes your blood boil with rage. Why do you have to be the one to find her again? She’s always ‘missing’ from her squadron anyway, so why do they care where she is now? Another deep sigh drags through your lips, as giving up was never an option — your legs follow your mind’s order to ‘get up and continue searching’. 

The deep passageways begin to merge and dissipate within the blink of an eye. 

“Tsaritsa, I wish I had a map. It’s so annoying to crawl around like a mindless cockroach. There’s nothing special about this place anyway, so I don’t see why — oof!” A sudden impact cuts off your stream of complaints. Whatever hit you was far too warm to be a wall, yet before you can turn to identify the object, it latches onto you with incredible force.

“There you are [First]!” It’s Alyona, her eyes brimming with excitement as she wraps her arms around your shoulders. “I was looking all over for you, you know?”, she bats her eyes and teasingly squeezes your upper arm, hoping to get a reaction.

Even though you’re exhausted and irked beyond belief, you gladly welcome her affection with a light chuckle. “That’s my line, you troublemaker! Honestly, do you even know how…” Half-heartedly, you ‌begin to give her a piece of your mind when a calm, deep voice beats you to it. 

“What are you two doing here?” 

Immediately Alyona and you stand as straight as a board. In front of you is one of the eleven harbingers — larger-than-life figures that run the Fatui like a well-oiled machine. There’s no telling what consequences might follow should you disrespect them.

“Lord Capitano, sir!”, even though your voice is still slightly hoarse from yelling, you salute first, and Alyona messily copies your action. Like a child mimicking their parent, the results are sloppy: she holds her elbow too high (it should have been level with her shoulders) and the cleanliness of her suit leaves much to be desired. Still, she hurriedly follows your actions. The two of you hold the salute like sculptures, and as your lungs burn from holding your breath, the primal urge to flee swims through your fear-induced mind. Out of all the people you could have run into, it just had to be him; ‘The Captain’ of the Fatui. As the main military leader within the Fatui, he’s well respected for his decisiveness in the field, and strategic planning off the field. To see his imposing figure standing before you, scanning your face for any traitorous signs, sends ripples of shame down your spine.

Capitano seems unimpressed by your demonstration of a proper Fatui salute, having seen an actual one at least a few dozen times per day, and moves closer instead.

“I’ll ask again.”, this time his voice is still, and the pressure he gives out is suffocating. The air around you feels thin, making you gasp for oxygen in the enclosed space. “What are the two of you doing here?”

His tone of voice clarifies that there’s no room for lies; there’s no way to worm the two of you out of this one. Your only choice is to confess, to tell him that the two of you were…

Alyona quickly lifts her head to respond, “[First] and I were heading towards the barracks, sir!” Willingly, she places the spotlight on herself — confidence oozing out of her every pore — choosing to burden herself with a major role. Like an actress on stage, she must recite her lines perfectly, as a single mistake would reveal her little performance. 

Capitano’s eyes seem to crinkle behind the darkness of his mask, and as he shifts his weight to one side, his head slowly rocks back and forth. At this moment, he has become a judge within this court of ice. One of his arms smoothly crosses itself over his torso, his large palm wrapping around his upper arm as he silently considers the validity of her statement.

“Were you now?”, his feet twitch with every syllable, almost as if the deadliest poison laces his words. He’s undoubtedly displeased with your behavior, and you’re positive that he is silently ruminating on your demise. The palpable tension in the air coils around your neck, threatening to squeeze out what little breath you still have. Yet before the depths of terror can swallow you whole, there’s a slight tug at the hem of your jacket. Alyona’s small, shaking hand had reached out and grabbed you, reminding you of the most important fact: you’re not alone. 

Courage bubbles up from deep with you, helping you find the resolve to look directly into his eyes and respond. “Yes, we were sir!”, your words come out clear, like a cleanly cut crystal. It’s a stark contrast to Alyona with her hidden right hand — still trembling from Capitano’s piercing gaze. His intense stare scrutinizes the both of you, skeptical of your true intentions.

He won’t fall for it. He knows better than to place his trust in the words of lowly grunts.

“Then…”, he pauses, visibly disappointed with your reactions, “Why are you in the Eastern Wing of the palace when the barracks are in the South Wing, Sergeant Alyona and Sergeant [First]?”, it’s only a single sentence, yet it rips away all forms of security. 

You had lied. 

To him.

Neither of you can formulate a response that will save you from the hole you’ve dug. The best that you can do is buy time with your stammering. “That is…”, you really wished you could come up with something, anything, to placate his anger. Yet, all excuses fell short on your tongue.

“Do you have no explanation for your actions, including answering a commanding officer dishonestly?” Capitano throws out one last line — morally thinner than a strand of spider silk — for either of you to hold on to. It’s a meager attempt at fishing out the truth, yet it’s painstakingly obvious that it does not matter.

“I see… very well, then.”, his baritone voice reverberates within the confined space. Mind evidently made up as he strides into your personal space. Before either of you can react, a wide, black gloved hand snaps upwards, harshly grabbing Alyona’s upper arm.

“I will tell Pantalone to transfer Sergeant Alyona to Sandrone immediately.” Alyona’s legs lock into place, while her eyes frantically shift around, looking for a way to escape from his clutches. 

“My Lord, you couldn’t possibly mean…!”

“You have tarnished the honor of the Fatui far too many times, Alyona Chepliev.” There’s no room for arguing with him, and instead of wasting her breath on excuses, she spins on her heel to face you.

“[First]! Help me, I don’t want to go to Lady Sandrone! She’s…” Yet before she can finish her pleading, an agile chop connects with the side of her neck, and knocks her unconscious. Capitano barely spares her a glance as he throws her inanimate body over his left shoulder.

“As for you…”, he silently trails off, obviously contemplating what horrible designation he should assign to you. He could leave you with Il Dottore, where he would subject you to a myriad of gruesome experiments. Or he may throw you into the hands of Pierro, who will exploit your every weakness in the name of ‘victory’. Either way, you’re doomed.

“From now on,” your teeth grind against each other in anticipation, “You will be under my command.” Your disbelief is in bold letters across your face, as you crane your head upwards with a matching pair of full-blown eyes and a slack jaw.

Capitano takes your silence as acknowledgement of his judgment, still walking a few feet ahead of you, when he continues his verdict on your transgressions.

"I will thoroughly embed the meaning of honor, to both oneself and one’s god, into you. Once you are free from the confines of your weaknesses, then I will acknowledge you as one of mine.”

“However, know this Sergeant [First]…”, swiftly, he turns on his heel, coming face-to-face with you in a blink of an eye. The encompassing air stills for a moment, sending a biting chill through your veins. One of his clawed fingers reaches out, quietly stroking the apple of your right cheek. He’s close enough to see and feel the warmth of his breath against your skin, yet it brings no comfort to your shaking figure as he gives you one final warning.

“There will be no second chances.”

© 𝐝𝐞𝐯𝐢𝐥𝐫𝐮𝐢𝐧 — 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝.

𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐠𝐢𝐚𝐫𝐢𝐳𝐞, 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐬𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞, 𝐨𝐫 𝐬𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤(𝐬) 𝐨𝐧 𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐩𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐦𝐬. 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤(𝐬) 𝐟𝐨𝐫 𝐚𝐧𝐲𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨 𝐀𝐈 - 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐞𝐬 (𝐛𝐮𝐭 𝐢𝐬 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐥𝐢𝐦𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐭𝐨) 𝐭𝐫𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐨𝐫 𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠.

#✒️— syl writes #🫀 — full-length #🩸 — capitano #gn reader #tw;captive #tw;darkcontent #tw;violence #tw;yandere #yandere genshin #yandere genshin impact #yandere capitano #yandere capitano x reader #yandere genshin x reader

[queerpumpkinnn]

So for the Sapphic September, (ik it's only August but im excited) i was wondering if you could write a little something of fem!reader x Wanda Maximoff and she cooks for the reader and they have a cute little breakfast date<3

Oh and also hi ilysm and your writing is *mwah* 🤌

anything for you lee <33

Sapphic September 1st: Monte Cristo, Dearest

0.6k words

Summary: Breakfast date at home with Wanda!

Pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

Warnings: eating, pure sweet fluff, like one sexual innuendo, let me know if I've missed anything!

~

The feeling of gentle lips pressed to your temple roused you, against your own will. In truth, you'd been awake for an hour, but you relished in the weighted, blurry state that made your flesh feel as stone for as long as you could.

But as lulling as that was, too many enticing sensations were pricking your senses. A sweet scent tickled your nostrils from somewhere around you, light blaring at you even through your eyelids, the rich hum that encouraged you to blink open your eyes.

"Good morning, lazy."

You peered up at the woman in front of you. You mentally flipped her the bird, and she could probably see you doing it. She laughed upon seeing you lift your head from the pillow- partly because she knew it held no real venom, and partly because there were probably lines on the side of your face.

"Not lazy." You mumbled, rolling halfway onto your back to stretch.

"Mm, a little lazy." Wanda smiled. "It's ten thirty."

"That's early. You should commend me for being up before noon." You smacked your lips, sitting up slowly.

"Oh, should I?" She rolled her eyes, but wrapped her arms around you nonetheless. "Is breakfast reward enough?"

You pursed your lips, sighing. "I think so."

"Good." She stood up. "'Cause it's ready."

You gave a tiny huff. You didn't want to stand. That was preposterous of her to even suggest.

"Wanda?" Your voice was still hoarse, so it sounded feebler than you intended.

"Hm?"

"Can we eat in bed?" You clasped your hands together under your chin and batted your eyelashes up at her. "Pretty please?"

Wanda tilted her head back then gave a groan. "Fine."

You giggled. "Thank you Wanda!" Your tone resembled that of a kindergarten class thanking someone on a teacher's cue.

"You're welcome. If you spill powdered sugar on the comforter you are washing it."

"Needs a wash anyway." You muttered, flopping back onto your side.

"Uh huh, whose fault is that?" Wanda grinned, stepping through the doorway.

You gasped incredulously, reaching for one of the small decorative pillows you'd discarded at the foot of the bed. "Yours!" You tossed it in her direction, but it thumped noiselessly on the door.

Luckily for her, you couldn't hit her as soon as she got back because she was carrying two plates of what looked like sandwiches- you could only see the bread from your angle.

"What's this?" You asked, stretching your neck for a better view, though she was already placing it in front of you.

"Monte Cristo, dearest." She placed a quick kiss to your hair before stepping out and returning with napkins and drinks.

Once she'd settled under the covers with you, you took her hand and squeezed it.

"Thank you." This time it was said softly and sincerely.

"You're welcome, bubs." She squeezed your hand thrice, tiny crinkles forming under her eyes.

The two of you fell into a comfortable quiet. It wasn't silence, but there was something about the atmosphere that felt like a serene little bubble, like nothing existed outside of the bedroom and time didn't exist within it. It was a reset button for the both of you, having a moment to simply sit in peace and enjoy being.

Well, sort of.

"I swear to god you're not even two bites in-"

"It's not my fault powdered sugar is aerodynamic!"

~

Wanda Maximoff Masterlist

Sapphic September Masterlist

Marvel Masterlist

Main Masterlist

#lee baby #wanda x y/n #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #marvel #wandavision #wanda maximoff #wanda x you #wanda x reader #scarlet witch #wanda maximoff imagine #marvel fanfiction #marvel fluff #marvel oneshot #sapphic september #lesbian #queer

[eisforeidolon]

Question: My question is, the three of us [her and her besties] have been watching a certain daytime serial since we were thirteen -

Jared: Lucky Charms? [does a little dance, checks to see if Jensen was watching]

Question: Yes, let's call it Lucky Charms. And I just want to know if you had to do it all over again, would you spend your time on that daytime serial? And is that something you'd recommend to other people trying to break into the industry?

Jensen: One hundred percent.

Question: Because we loved it. Since thirteen, our grandmas were watching!

Jensen: [laughs] Uh, yeah, no, that was really kind of my training ground. I didn't go to a proper film school, or acting school, and I didn't get properly trained - which is clear by, if you watch anything I do -

Jared: Anything he's ever done. Like right now.

Jensen: But there I learned things that I don't even think that they would necessarily teach you in certain acting schools. Which is, you know, hitting your mark, finding your light, understanding how to navigate personalities - which that show had, you know, thirty actors, and every one had a different personality. And you gotta have to, you gotta navigate that if you wanna survive. That was such a valuable experience for me, I've talked about it all the time and it's also such a great gig for so many actors out there. I always - when I left that show in 2000, I think, I always thought to myself, like, if I go out and it doesn't happen, I will one hundred percent come running back to this. Because it was so great. So yeah.

Question: I know in a lot of the other question and answer sessions, a lot of your colleagues have been mentioning community theater and things like that, school plays, but nobody mentioned -

Jensen: A soap opera. Uh, yeah, I think - and look, community theater? You know, going to school? In any kind of -

Jared: Making video and putting it on YouTube or something.

Jensen: Right, any kind of expression of making kind of creative content - whether that's on a stage, whether that's in front of a camera, whether that's in your room with your friends, you know, reading a play, or whatever it is? I think all of that fuels something within you, if that's the kind of thing that you strive to do. And so I know that that experience for me was three years and it was - it was essentially my college. It was my training ground for what I went on to do. And I'm forever thankful for it, and I will always praise it.

Jared: Yeah, it's a, it's yeah - bravo. There's something I think he and I both learned in different ways and different times. And I love theater, I love being in theater, I love going to the theater - you know all this and that? It's different doing the version that we ended up kind of doing? Because if you're doing a play, you get three months to rehearse it. You get to go [gestures] left, right, up, down, center, forward, backward [Jensen nods]. Et cetera, et cetera. Doing something like where he started or where I started? You kinda learn really quickly, like, hey, you ain't got all day. You know? You ain't got all hour. Like, you have five minutes, get it right [snaps]. Like, 'cause we're moving on. And so that really helped when it was necessary, when he and I were working together, the sun was coming up in thirty minutes and we would have loved to have had three hours to get something done, but the sun was gonna come up and then it's not gonna make sense so we're gonna have to cut it anyways. So it's like, okay, we've done this before.

Jensen: I recently did a little part in a film, and it was this big end scene where all the [looks up, bats at air], all the -

Jared: Do you smell toast?

Jensen: [looks around comically] All the major players were in the scene and the sun was going down, but more importantly, [turns to Jared] there was a helicopter [Jared reacts] that was supposed to fly overhead. And the shot had to time out with the helicopter coming and we only had, like, two, two shots at it. And, you know, the sun was going down - so it was like a race to the finish. Well, my coverage was left to the very end. [Jared mouths something I can't make out] And of course everybody was - the director and the camera operator, and the dp - was like, 'We're so sorry, we're only gonna get, like, one or two goes at this.' And I was like, 'That's cool.'

Jared: I only need one.

Jensen: And it was like a full speech that I had [laughs], and I, you know, I tattooed it the first take, and I did it again the second take, and I remember the director, he's like, [emphatically] 'I love television actors.' [both laugh]

#spnnc 2023 #j2 gold panel #long post

[telleroftime]

This is me projecting but...

Yknow how lightning storms can happen with volcanic activity? Well, imagine a reader who's terrified of storms, just the clap of thunder makes them slip into panic, it paralyzes them, living in the castle when one of the Koopa Kingdom's regular storms hit.

Just how would Bowser react to that?

This was perfect timing because I actually started answering this during a thunderstorm where there was lightning every other second (not at all what I'm used to). Probably would have gotten this out sooner if I wasn't writing on data at the time.

Anyways! Angst my beloved -

Bowser isn't one to fear things. He never has been. He's always the source of the fear. From scaring people just to get his way, to moments when fear was truthfully not his intention, he knows he's frightening. It's why he was so enamoured by you. You were never really afraid of him. Sure, you had flinched away occasionally, but anyone startled would do so. You weren't afraid of him.

You were also not afraid of his kingdom and you voiced just that. The Koopa Kingdom? Beautiful? Bowser was certain he misheard you when you said it the first time. And the second time. But you meant every word you said and that had his tail wagging for days.

Naturally, you were cautious around fire. Even more so around the lava rivers that replaced where water would normally flow. However, you adapted to his kingdom. You adapted to the Darklands. It was like a second home to you and it made a warmth spread within Bowser's chest every time he thought of it.

So, when a thunderstorm rolls in, something that Bowser is very used to with how 'hostile' of an environment his land offers, he doesn't so much as bat an eye.

You, on the other hand, are handling it so much worse.

You had been planning on getting some work done when the sky turned dark a lot sooner than what you knew of the day-night cycle. It wasn't supposed to be night for a couple of hours still, and yet you were forced to turn on the magic lamps just to see what was in the room. This was certainly new, and checking your watch made no light of what was going on.

You only realised what was happing a moment too late when the sudden pitter-patter of afternoon rain turned to a downpour. It was a sudden whiplash, and the flash of light coming in from the window did little for your already rushing mind.

The thunder that hit next was all too deafening.

It hadn't taken long for your hands to start trembling and your blood ran cold long before the following flashes. The adrenaline followed quick and it set thick within your veins as you rushed out and away from the study.

You had no goal, walking aimlessly through the castle. Your eyes were watery, your vision hazy. Each crash of thunder felt all the more amplified by the wide hallways and corridors.

You never fully register the castle staff looking at you in worry, a few rushing to fetch the king, the rest getting out of your way.

When Bowser does find you he's all but panting. He was told that something was wrong with you and he dropped everything to rush in search of you. You have this twisted sort of smile you're putting up for him - the forced sort to try and ease his worry and achieving the opposite.

You see him talk but you don't quite hear anything. If you had it your way you would force your eyes shut and forget about the storm raging outside. Everything you've seen of thunderstorms - every warning about them in swirling in your mind like the rain pouring outside.

It only takes you flinching at the sound of thunder to let Bowser know what the issue is.

He's not the best at comforting people. He knows that. You know that. He's also never seen you like this. He knows the expression from other people - that fear-stained look that will definitely haunt him in the future. He doesn't know what to do.

Though it's not like he needs to know when you walk up to him and into his embrace. He can feel you quaking against his chest. He can feel your hands shake against his scales.

He would have long since barked orders at the staff staring at you if he wasn't for the fact he wasn't sure whether his booming voice would make it better or worse.

You barely register him picking you up and pulling you into him. You feel his hand cup the side of your face, pulling you that little bit closer. That's when the next snap of thunder is muffled. It's quieter. Between hearing Bowser's heartbeat with one ear against his chest, the other pressed to his hand, and your own shaky breaths, the sound of the storm is quieter.

If only by a little bit.

Bowser gives you time to cry. He hates to see you like this. If he could, he would have ordered the storm to be locked up in the dungeons. Of course, he's smarter than that.

It doesn't stop him from grumbling at it.

He's never hated the thunderstorms as much as he does now.

When you do eventually calm down, almost parallel to the storm's own quieting, Bowser will make sure you have fully calmed down.

Naturally, he wouldn't trust your own judgement. If you say that you are okay he will not believe it. He will not allow you out of his sight until a day after the storm. He'd nuzzle into you, huff and puff to get your expression to lighten. Anything to hear you laugh and that much more to ease the marks of worry from your face.

He'd disregard his duties if he had to, and he'd spend hours simply covering your ears and sheltering you from the thunderstorm.

Bonus headacanon:

I feel like Bowser wouldn't be that good at comforting, but he's be exceptional at distracting. He'd take you to the deepest part of the castle where the noise of thunder barely reaches and sit you there. He'd drag his piano if he had to. He'd sing for you. He'd play for you. He'd do anything to keep your mind from the storm.

And a final little tidbit because I love science and this counts as science:

Lightning near volcanoes tends to happen exclusively during eruptions, at least that's the most common form of it. With the Darklands being covered and - well - dark, I like to interpret that as pillars of eruption clouds layered over the sky. With the geography being how it is, lava rivers constantly in a molten state, I don't doubt the Koopa Kingdom experiences multiple eruptions a day. I love interpreting the thunderstorms coming from a collection of volcanoes errupting, sending waves of static-filled clouds in the form of potent thunderstorms.

(Also, fantasy aside, a fun fact about eruptions is that right before they happen - as volcanoes release moisture and ash into the air - there's a chance of mud rain which I love to assume is the Koopa Kingdom's version of hail. Well, that's not to say they wouldn't experience hailstorms, because they would. Those happen too.)

Apologies for the very messy answer to the ask. I know full well I changed tenses a few times within this post. I'm too tired to edit this at the moment and I don't want to reread it. I will later, maybe.

#bowser headcanons #bowser x reader #bowser #super mario #toonce responses #redaskeded

[ichisama]

1775 words | rating: g | high school au

Ichiro was, generally speaking, pretty good at knowing his limits and staying within them. It wasn't easy, going to school and raising his brothers, but it was always worth doing and never too much. Jiro and Saburo helped out plenty around the house, anyway; Ichiro wasn't doing it all alone.

But his days were packed. Free time was a rare thing for him, practically unheard of. If he wanted half an hour to read a new light novel, it meant sleeping half an hour less. If he wanted to catch up on anime with Jiro and Saburo, it meant ordering takeout instead of cooking—which was fine once a week or so, but not something Ichiro wanted to make a habit of.

If he wanted to do more than flirt with Samatoki—his best friend, and the simultaneously coolest, most handsome, and prettiest guy in his class—well, he couldn't. There was no time to pursue something like a relationship, even if Ichiro could tell Samatoki always flirted back.

And if he got sick…

Well, fortunately, Ichiro didn't get sick.

Or so he thought.

He could sort of remember being sick as a kid, back when he was real small, before Saburo had even been born. But he'd grown up big and strong, and lucky too. Lucky enough that he barely remembered what it felt like to be sick.

Which was exactly why he didn't recognize the symptoms until it was too late.

It started with a sniffle, an itch in his throat. Ichiro didn't think much of it; he was on cleaning duty at school that week, and wrote it off as a mild dust allergy.

Then came the headaches. Ichiro didn't worry too much about that, either, at least not at first. He figured he'd maybe stayed up too late the night before. Midterms were coming up, so he was hitting the books harder than usual.

But the headaches didn't go away, and he started to feel cold. In early October.

It was only then that he started to worry. October wasn't cold, and it was obvious that no one else in Ichiro's class felt the same chill. Samatoki's shirt had one more button than usual popped open, which did actually make Ichiro feel a little warmer when he noticed, but not enough to really cut through the chill that seemed to have wrapped itself around him like a cloak.

What did it mean to be cold when it wasn't cold?

Ichiro decided to look it up during their lunch break that day. He just had to get through their morning classes, drop by Jiro's class with his bento since Jiro had forgotten to grab it before leaving the house, and then he could look it up on his phone.

But Ichiro didn't get that far.

He made it through his morning classes, more or less, though he'd been so woozy that his notes were probably… of a questionable quality; he would have to see if Jyuto would let him borrow his always immaculate notes later.

Then he stood up, which turned out to be a mistake.

Ichiro didn't think he stood that quickly, but a dizzying wave of nausea crashed into him all at once.

He wouldn't know until someone told him, later, that he passed out then. All he knew was that he was standing one moment, swaying a little, and staring up at the ceiling the next.

Lying on the ground.

In Samatoki's arms, as Samatoki called his name in a panic, one hand gripping his shoulder tight.

"Samatoki…?"

Samatoki breathed out like a shot. His shoulders slumped with relief, but his grip on Ichiro grew even tighter. "Yeah. Yeah, Ichi. I'm here. You scared the shit out of me there."

It took a moment, a few dazed blinks, for Ichiro to really focus his eyes on his surroundings. Samatoki sat at the desk next to Ichiro's, and his chair had been knocked onto its side, his desk also thrown askew. He must have leapt to catch Ichiro when Ichiro…

Fell?

"Did I trip on something?" Ichiro mumbled, pressing a hand to his forehead, which was throbbing even worse than it had a day ago.

Samatoki batted his hand away and replaced it with one of his own, hissing after just a second. "Idiot. You're running one hell of a fever. Come on. We're going to see the nurse."

"Fever…?" Ichiro furrowed his brow. "Does that mean I'm sick?"

Samatoki snorted as he shifted his hold on Ichiro, starting to help him up to his feet. "What do you think?"

"But I don't get sick," Ichiro protested, in a voice that even he had to admit sounded… well, distinctly sickly.

Samatoki only sighed. "Sure, sure. Tell that to Jakurai."

They managed to get to the nurse's office, with Ichiro leaning heavily against Samatoki's side the whole way. Jyuto had offered to get Rio from the neighboring classroom to help, but Samatoki had snarled something at him that made him back off with an exasperated roll of his eyes.

Ichiro thought about protesting his close proximity to Samatoki too. If he was really sick, shouldn't Samatoki keep a distance from him, to avoid catching whatever he had?

But Samatoki was so warm. His arm around Ichiro's waist was secure and strong. Ichiro couldn't have convinced himself to pull away if he tried.

He was reluctant to let go even after they reached the nurse's office, where Jakurai took one look at Ichiro and told him to lie down. It was a fever after all; Ichiro was undeniably sick.

After leaving Ichiro with some medicine and strict instructions to rest there until he felt well enough to go home, Jakurai stepped out to take his own lunch break. Samatoki pulled a stool over to the side of Ichiro's bed, planting himself there and crossing his arms with a mighty glower on his face.

"What the fuck have you been coming to school for?" he demanded.

Ichiro winced, then regretted it, because it instantly made a flash of guilt shoot across Samatoki's face too.

"Really didn't realize I was sick," Ichiro mumbled. "Thought it was just… allergies, or not enough sleep. 'cause midterms."

Samatoki bounced his knee a few times. He finally sighed after a moment, and reached out to take one of Ichiro's hands in his own. "Idiot. You gotta take better care of yourself."

"I know."

"Or at least let someone else take care of you."

"I…" Even as out of it as he was, Ichiro wasn't completely obtuse. He knew exactly who that 'someone else' was supposed to be. "I wouldn't… be very good at deserving that."

Samatoki snorted and gave Ichiro's hand an admonishing squeeze. "Ain't the sort of thing you do or don't deserve, Ichi. Everyone needs a support system."

"Kinda ironic to hear that from the 'lone wolf' of—"

"Talk less, your voice is shot," Samatoki ordered. "Yeah, you're right. I was the 'lone wolf' type back in middle school, I didn't know how to rely on anyone else either. Hell, it's still hard. But that… that's something worth doing, worth learning, especially if you've got people relying on you.

"You're a good big brother, Ichiro. I know it, everyone knows it. But you don't have to push yourself to do everything on your own."

"Jiro and Saburo—"

"They help, I know. Just like Nemu helps me. But the thought of you working as hard as you do, every day, eats me up. The thought of you still doing all that while sick? That kills me. You gotta rely more on others. Friends. Neighbors. A… a boyfriend."

Ichiro certainly felt warmer now, almost like he was burning up. Whether that was thanks to the blankets, the medicine, or something else entirely, he didn't know. A combination of all of the above, probably.

"It's not like I don't want that," he mumbled, laying his free arm across his eyes. "But I wouldn't be a good boyfriend to have. Not as good as I would want to be. There's just… there's not enough time in the day."

They were still talking around the subject, the way they always did. But just barely. There was no question in Ichiro's mind that they both knew what they were really trying to say.

Samatoki squeezed his hand again, then relaxed his hold just enough to shift his grip, to let their fingers interlock. "That's why you're an idiot."

"Hey—"

"We would make time."

We.

Samatoki had finally said it, had finally made this about them. Not just some hypothetical boyfriend, but him.

He was asking Ichiro to rely on him.

"You could do better than a guy who's a single mother to his two kid brothers," Ichiro murmured.

"No such thing as better than you." Samatoki reached out and brushed a hand over Ichiro's forehead again, his brows furrowing at the heat he found there. "Would it really be so bad to lean on me, Ichi?"

"Of course not."

Ichiro couldn't deny it, couldn't even think about denying it. He knew Samatoki would do more to help him, would do all the things a… a boyfriend would, if only Ichiro let him.

Could he?

Could Ichiro let him?

"You won't get tired of me when I'm always busy?" Ichiro murmured.

"Do you really think I would?"

Ichiro curled his own fingers, squeezing Samatoki's hand back. "No," he admitted, his voice a soft, scratchy whisper. "You won't get sick of me even when I complain a lot, about not being able to spend enough time with you, even when I'm the reason we don't get to spend a lot of time together?"

"You already do that," Samatoki pointed out.

Despite his exhaustion, Ichiro had to breathe a laugh. He thought about the messages they often exchanged, about how often he did, in fact, complain about that exact thing even now, even with them being 'just' friends.

"You really wanna take care of me, Samatoki?"

Samatoki lifted their joined hands and brushed a kiss to Ichiro's knuckles. "More than anything."

"Even when I'm sick and gross?"

"Even then." A smile curved Samatoki's lips against Ichiro's fingers. "You'd do the same for me."

"Yeah, well, I'm in love with you," Ichiro mumbled, almost surprised by how easily those words came out. Maybe it was because of the fever, or maybe it was simply because it was a confession that was long overdue.

"Idiot," Samatoki breathed, so fondly. "You know it's the same for me."

And if Samatoki was willing to go that far, to say that much—

Maybe Ichiro could start to let himself believe.

#crab writes #hypmic #ichisama #high school au #day 25!

[gotham-fan-shit]

Call it Echolocation

Pairing: Bruce Wayne x Bat obsessed!GN Reader

Request: Long request - Bat obsessed!reader discovering the batcave and Bruce’s identity as Batman

Warnings: Fluff

Word Count: 715

A/N: ik the request was not for battinson but i’ve been thinking ab him so it def comes off as him 😭 very sorry ab that

When you toss and turn in the dead of night, Bruce is rarely next to you. He clambers in beside you when the clock strikes an unholy hour, but soon after you close your eyes, he’s gone again. It’s happened one night too many - every night for the past two months is more than enough. Normally there’ll be a day every so often where he doesn’t. You know what he’s like, closed and secluded, so you’ll never pry. But curiosity might as well be your fatal flaw, so you slip out the covers and let your bare feet hit the cool ground.

It’s dark in the manor, and your eyes take a moment to adjust to its abyss. Faintly, there and gone, you can see Bruce’s silhouette dipping round a corner. You know you need to keep your distance - he’s far too assertive for you to trail closely behind. So keeping your distance is exactly what you do, tiptoeing down halls and turns, trying to keep a gaze on the merged shadow of his body. 

When he begins to head down the staircase, you have to stop yourself muttering a cuss. There’s no way you’re going to manage to clamber down those century-old stairs without them making a deafening creak. You walk heavily anyway, it’s a wonder he hasn’t already turned around. You think that maybe he’s just amusing you, letting you think you’re stealthy when he’s well aware you’re tailing him. You entertain the thought whilst Bruce makes careful paces, and soon enough he’s walking with purpose.

Your fingers trace, absentmindedly, over the outline of the bat on your t-shirt. It’s worn and stained, and the plastic vinyl material of the design is mostly faded, but it brings you comfort and, for some odd reason though you more than welcome it, it brings you courage now. So you brave the stairs, and they creak, little and often. But quietly, and that is a small mercy.

When you catch up to him again, hidden behind a wall, you see him fiddling with the grandfather clock. Within seconds, it swings open to reveal a shadowy rift, which he enters and descends, becoming cloaked entirely in darkness. You sense the “door” about to close, and rush towards it before it can do so, squeezing into the dark. 

The stairs that proceed you are illuminated at the sides in a gleaming blue-white, made out of a metallic charcoal grey material. You can feel your stomach twist into knots somewhat as you descend, each step becoming less visible; until, at last, you step down onto a cool rock floor. As you gaze upwards, eyes adjusted to the thick black smoke in the air that is the looming shadow, you are met with a wide expanse. Jagged rock and stalactite decorate the ceiling - though it is far too varied to be called that - which seems miles above. Somewhere, the dripping of water echoes, smacking the ground below it in a rapid tempo. And, best of all, hung from the various natural ledges that adorn the landscape, are dozens of bats. Their wings, leathery and the deepest black, wrap around them, and some expand to full wingspan as they screech and fly. And you cannot help but let loose a massive smile.

If there were people around, this would have been one of those embarrassing moments you don’t forget. But you can't help but let the giggle that so distinctly wants to escape do so. You’re so giddy, you hardly notice your boyfriend frozen a few feet in front of you, cowl in hands. You run up to him and take his face in your palms.

“You have bats - a cave full of bats - and you didn’t tell me?!” You yell, and he laughs, all nerves and awkwardness. And then, he plants a kiss on your forehead as you swing your arms around his neck.

“I wouldn’t have bothered trying to keep a secret if I’d known you’d react like this.” He teases, and you smile into him.

“Well, ‘World's Greatest Detective’, maybe it’s a good thing I followed you. Looks like you need some help.” You hear him mutter a soft “Yeah, maybe.” as he shakes his head, hair damp and falling over his eyes. And you agree. Yeah, maybe.

#dc #dc comics #batman #batfam #batfamily #batman family #bruce wayne #bruce wayne x reader #bruce wayne oneshot #bruce wayne imagine #bruce wayne headcanon #batman x reader #batman oneshot #batman imagine #batman headcanon #battinson #the batman #battinson x reader #batfam incorrect quotes #batman x reader oneshot #bruce wayne x reader oneshot #bruce wayne fanfic #batman fanfic

[leicamoments]

Like a mouldy cheese mate, you keep getting better!

The weather has been awful. Terrible. Dreadful. So bad in fact, that many of the local leagues have had their season’s start delayed for at least one and in many cases two weeks…with the prospect of a good few more fixtures postponed at the start of May.

I wanted to get out to a game on what was now the defacto first week of the cricket season, but my options were limited – certainly if I was staying within 15 miles of where I live. I also didn’t want to travel to a ground, only to find that the game was delayed and eventually abandoned – which happened to me last year.

Harrogate CC 2XI were scheduled to play at home against York CC 2XI in the Yorkshire Premier League North – Championship West, and to be honest, I didn’t really believe that it would go ahead given the fact that I had walked around the front and back pitches a week earlier and could have brought my swimming trunks - given the amount of water on the surface of both.

I arrived with half an hour to spare, parking on the small grass hill next to the scoreboard and gazed around the ground. It looked a mixture of okay to not-so-sure that a game could be played.

With umpires and players satisfied after a thoughtful wander around the outfield, the game started on time and York, who had won the toss, elected to take to the field with Harrogate batting first. It would be interesting to see how the players coped in some of the more wet parts of the outfield and how the ball rolled.

The first big hit went quite a distance, landing about two thirds of the way to the boundary rope and…dug in with half the ball disappearing into the soft surface. No bounce at all. But it must be said, it had landed on probably the worst part of the ground.

Harrogate batted with a first game of the season kind of pace, scoring slowly but steadily. The innings was looking solid, and the batsmen were playing with a real confidence.

Sanjay Mani caught the eye as he looked at ease standing at the crease and playing the ball around the ground, but it was Hector Hamill who really impressed with the selection of shots he was playing.

I’d seen Hector play a good few times last season and know that he has a very bright future in the game if he keeps on the trajectory he seems to be taking. I’ve seen other similar young talented players and they’ve gone on to play at higher levels.

Hector built the backbone of the innings for Harrogate, reaching 86 off 117 balls, including eight fours and one six.

That’s not to suggest that the home team were relying on the one player, good knocks by George Owran (10), Peter Greenfield (21), and a brilliant 44 by Ashley Griffin helped Harrogate to a total of 206 in just over 46 overs.

York’s Josh Wood was the pick of the bowlers with five wickets for just 32 runs.

As the players went in, my thoughts turned to lunch, and I headed to the gazebo set up outside The Balcony to see what was on offer. Food was being put on by The Round Table Dining company (www.theroundtabledining.co.uk), and the aromas were captivating.

I ordered spring rolls and salt & pepper chips, before heading inside to get a drink from The Balcony Bar.

The food was fantastic and the drinks service by Andy and Molly-Rose was excellent as ever…both highly recommended.

Anyway, energy suitably replenished I got back to the boundary rope to get some images of the York innings. A score just over 200 is probably 20 to 40 runs short of the sort of score that is expected on this ground, but the unknown element on this opening day of the season was the playing surface.

The first few overs seemed okay, but then the wickets started to fall, and York appeared to struggle to make runs. Guy Darwin impressed early on and ended up scoring 38 runs off 43 balls, but his teammates seemed to be struggling to stay at the crease, with most only managing to score a few runs.

As the drinks break was taken around the 25 over mark, it was clear that York wasn’t going to reach the target set and it was more a question of when they would run out of wickets.

I was surprised how well they played after the break, and it took the home team until the 39th over to bowl the visitors out for just 103. Harrogate had won by 103 runs, with Harrogate's William Harwood impressing with three wickets for just six runs!

So, a good day for Harrogate, earning ten points and sitting second in the table – although who really looks at a table in the first few weeks of the season!

I’d managed to find a game to cover on the [cough] ‘opening’ day of the season and play hadn’t been interrupted by rain at all (although there were a few drops near the end of the Harrogate innings).

Despite it not being a close game overall, there had been a few interesting battles between the batsmen and bowlers, and genuinely an entertaining match to start the 2024 season. Now we can only hope that a spell of good weather will dry more grounds out in the next couple of weeks and the league campaigns for all teams can get underway.

Oh! The title? The words of encouragement from one Harrogate player to his bowler!

#photography #canon #sports #sport #harrogate #yorkshire #thoughts #business #york #cricket #cricket bat #North Yorkshire #Harrogate CC #York CC #Hunters YPN #Championship West

[whoneedssubtitles]

favorite hero ☁️

part one of “to be loved by deku,” a mini-series about pro-hero deku falling in love with his seamstress. deku masterlist. general masterlist.

pairing: deku x costume designer!reader (fem reader, poc friendly)

genre: fluff, canon-verse ish, slightly suggestive at times?

wc: 1.5k

author’s note: i think pro-hero deku gets kinda funny and weird like this when he thinks he might like someone, so there’s a lot of little banter. i quite enjoy it and this piece overall, hopefully you do too!

Pro Hero Deku knows he’s good looking, he must be. The way his fans rush up to him during every patrol, looking up at him through batting lashes. The way they drape their arms around him in photos, the largest smiles on their faces. The way they shyly press a kiss to his cheek with a compliment Deku falls for every single time — “You saved me, you’re my favorite hero!”

But he isn’t any better. His hand rests on the fan’s lower back as they take a picture together. He lets it linger there, fingertips barely grazing their skin when he pulls away. And when they ask for a hug, he pulls them in as tight as he can and whispers something sweet in their ear; he is their favorite hero after all. Each movement was planned and thought out, calculated almost, to send shivers down spines, raise goosebumps on skin, and improve his rank amongst the other pros.

The TV screen in your office was flipped to the news, showing Deku going through his post-rescue routine of hugs, pictures, autographs, and interviews. He was still a tiny bit nervous in front of cameras since UA, or at least pretended to be, but it didn’t hurt him one bit. If anything, it made the news lady gush over him more. “What a cutie!” She squealed between clips, her hands smoothing down the tight, green work dress she definitely wore for the up and coming hero. Deku, still within earshot, bit back a smirk as he pushed his hair from his face.

You saw through the crap, all of it. No smile of his was sweet enough to distract you from the real issue at hand: his half-destroyed hero costume, and in a few hours, he buzzed your office to let him into the top floor of Plus Ultra Designs—home to Japan’s finest designers of hero costumes, gala looks, and more.

You had worked with other top pro-heros before, acting as a design assistant for Hawks and Mt. Lady during your high school internship, but you had a preference for the rising stars like Froppy, Shoto, and Uravity—the same heroes whose costumes you helped design back when you were a student in UA’s support course. During your first year at Plus Ultra Designs, you always kept your eye on Deku, bending over backwards to align your schedule with his usual designer’s so you could sit in on the appointment and make small suggestions. Soon enough, the two of you hit it off and Deku started personally requesting you—that’s when your manager moved your office to the top floor. We can’t have Deku seeing you in a shack like this!

The way Deku profusely apologized as he stumbled into your office closely mirrored the habits of his high school self. A light blush dusted his freckled cheeks and he still wore those damn red sneakers. He was just taller, a lot taller, and bigger, a lot bigger.

“It was time for an upgrade anyway,” you sighed as you ushered the projected number one hero into the changing room.

“Another one already? The last was only a month ago.” Deku’s voice carried from behind the curtain, his feet shuffling about as he put on the tattered jumpsuit.

“The best hero needs the best things, always.”

“You’re too good to me.”

You roll your eyes at that and make your way to your desk. It was littered with costume sketches: ideas for upgrades, smaller suggestions to increase performance, and possible outfits for TV interviews. Behind it was a wall of photos and kind notes from past clients. Your favorite was a picture of Froppy and Uravity posing with peace signs, their legs propped up on a captured villain. You took pride in your work. “Just doing my job.”

Deku poked his head out from behind the curtain, green eyes searching for yours. “I mean it.”

He disappeared behind the curtain for a few moments before coming out and stepping onto the small raised platform. There were several mirrors in front of him at slightly different angles, allowing him to see more of the damaged costume.

You took your place beside him, sketches and notes in one hand and tape measure in the other. “Would it be too much to ask for you to at least try to keep your costume together, Izuku?”

“I do try!” His scarred hand came up to scratch the back on his neck as he looked at himself in the mirror. There was a giant hole in the fabric on his side, exposing nearly half of his abdomen and his upper thigh. His right arm was bare except for his glove and protective material around his shoulder. He had already been patched up, with bandages littering the exposed skin. “I used to try,” he corrected.

You clicked your tongue against the roof of your mouth as you shifted to stand in front of him. “This one got you good, huh?”

“You should see the other guy.” He smiled as he began to reminisce, his chest bubbling with pride. “I saved people, so I’d say it was a good day.”

He raised his arms slightly to give you easier access as you wrapped the tape measure around his chest. “Where do you want me to put them?” He was always awkward with his body during appointments.

“So you can defeat a country’s worth of villains but you can’t figure out where to put your arms,” you teased under your breath. “On my shoulders is fine.”

He hummed in acknowledgment before leaving his hands on your shoulders. You took a few more measurements and scribbled them down on your clipboard.

You handed him your notes, letting him hold the small stack as your hands dipped below his waist to wrap the measuring tape around his hips. His gaze followed your careful hands. He bit down on the inside of his cheek once he felt your hands and fingers gently graze against his exposed skin.

He cleared his throat, shifting his attention to the papers you gave him to hold. “How long have we known each other?”

“Long enough.” You thought for a second before adding, “Maybe two years now.”

“Not longer than that? Not since UA?” His brows furrowed together, trying to search his memories for any moments with you.

“I’ve known of you since our first year, it was pretty hard not to,” you said with a dry laugh. “But I didn’t talk to you then.”

He nodded. “Why didn’t you?”

You shrugged. It’s not that you didn’t have a reason to not talk to him, besides maybe the general intimidation of his hero course status and your stupidly overwhelming high school crush on him. But you’d pass on saying that out loud. “I thought you liked Mei Hatsume. She was your first designer, right?”

“Yeah, but I didn’t like her like her.” He was quick to follow that up with a couple compliments. “I mean she’s definitely pretty and majorly talented, don’t get me wrong, but I think I spent most of my time around her completely tongue-tied and flustered.”

“And I’m not ‘definitely pretty and majorly talented’? I don’t fluster you?” You feigned hurt, momentarily placing a hand on your chest.

“You know that’s not what I meant,” he said with a roll of his eyes. “But now I’m curious, would you like to?”

“Like to what?”

“You know,” he shrugged, “fluster me.”

“Izuku, what are you even saying?” You shook your head, a slightly awkward laugh escaping your lips. What a weirdo. “You should think before you speak.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I was only teasing.”

“Well? Are you going to answer my question?” He gently squeezed your shoulders, looking down at you from his elevated position.

You looked up to meet his gaze for a moment before looking back at your hands, wrapping the measuring tape around your fingers. Is he really pressing me about this? “You’re a handsome, sweet, up and coming hero. I think anyone would be lucky to have you, yes.”

“But would you want to have me?”

Now he was flustering you. You let out a small exhale as you felt heat rush to your cheeks, tearing yourself from Deku’s loose, but warm grip. “At least take me on a date before asking me something like that.” You took the papers from his hand, writing down the extra measurements you took as you made your way to your desk.

“Alright. Let’s do tomorrow,” he said, stepping off the platform and into the dressing room to change back into his clothes.

“Tomorrow?” You mentally raked through your schedule for the next day.

“At eight. Wear something nice,” he said before poking his head through the curtain with a smile, “though I’m sure you won’t have a problem with that.”

“It seems like I don’t really have a choice in the matter,” you stated matter-of-factly.

Deku laughed, the sound filling the office. “It was your idea.” He stepped out from behind the curtain and made his way to the office door, leaving his costume hung up neatly on the hanger. “I’ll see you then.”

Well, he was everyone’s favorite hero for a reason. This would soon be yours.

likes, reblogs, and comments are always welcome and appreciated :)

#daydream #bnha x reader #bnha x black!reader #bnha fluff #izuku hcs #izuku fanfic #deku fic #deku hcs #deku x reader #izuku midoriya x reader #midoriya fluff #midoriya x you #izuku x black!reader #deku x black!reader #deku fluff #bnha deku #deku x y/n #midoriya x reader

[fweasleyswhore]

Kinkmas Day 2:

Exhibition, Degradation, Praise and Daddy Kink

Let Them Hear - Fred Weasley

a lil gamer au fred fic for you !

a/n: this was discussed heavily with my friend @ilove-cedricdiggory and i had to bring it to life for them

Pairing: Fred Weasley x fem!reader

Summary: Modern AU /Gamer AU. Reader wants attention while her boyfriend is gaming, and he gives it to her, with his friends still on call.

Word Count: 2.4k

Warnings: smut, 18+ themes, daddy kink (p mild honestly), exhibition, degredation, pet names, oral and fingering (female reciving), unprotected sex (wrap before you tap kids!)

“Freddie?” Poking my head through the bedroom door I saw him sat at the end of the bed. His long nimble fingers were dancing around his gaming controller, something he had been doing for the better part of the day now. Without looking at me he pulled one side of his headphones off, revealing his ear. Pushing the mic down away from his face he looked at me from the corner of his eye.

“Hey baby, what’s up.” His fingers still danced across the controller as he asked, his eyes flickering over the screen that danced with bright colors as he played.

I moved into the bedroom, shutting the door behind me I slowly padded over to him. I played with the hem of my shirt, his shirt, and sat down next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder. “Need you.”

He let out a hearty chuckle, pulling the other side of his headphones off so they rest around his neck. “Is that so, you need me?” I simply nodded, pushing my bare legs together seeking for friction. The action did not go unnoticed by Fred who smirked in response.

“I promised them we woud play,” he spoke gesturing to his headphones. I could hear the distant voices of his friends, making out Oliver and Draco saying something about meeting somewhere in the game. I let out a short huff, looking at him with my best innocent face, batting my eyelashes up at him. He laughed again, leaning forward I rested my forehead against his shoulder about to admit defeat. “Awe baby, you got it bad?”

“Yes! I tried to tell you before you got on your game and that was two hours ago!” I whined.

“Tell him what?” I heard a voice ask from the headset.

My face flushed at the sudden realization that during my small outburst I had forgotten we were in the presence of other people. Fred laughed at my reaction and pulled the mic back towards his mouth.

“Y/N is feeling a bit, needy, right now.” Fred said smug as ever. I flushed even harder, smacking his arm lightly.

“Fred!” I scolded in a light tone.

“Go on and help her then Freddie,” I heard George say, recognizing his voice.

“We don’t mind, a new match is about to start anyway, just don’t join.” Draco said.

“You guys are alright with that?” Fred asked?

“Yeah, you will be done before this match is over, we all know you last less than two minutes.” Ron snorted. Howls of laughter could be heard over the headset and I watched as Fred’s smile transformed into a scowl. I brought my arm up squeezing his bicep lightly and offering a shy smile. The cold look in his eyes gave me shivers as he looked over to me.

He pulled the headset off, tossing his controller to the side. Instead of following suit with the headphones he pulled them over my head so one encased one ear and the other was left free.

“What are you doing?” I asked as he messed with the mic so it was situated next to my mouth. My words were met with with cheers and short ‘hello’s from the boys on the headset but I ignored it watching Fred’s movements and he turned off the TV.

He leaned into me, his lips barely brushing mine. “I’m going to show them how long I last, and how good I make you feel while doing it.” I felt heat rise to my cheeks and wetness pool between my legs. I nodded in response. “Words baby.”

“Please.” I begged, opening my legs. He smiled gratefully and dropped to his knees.

“Begging already L/N? Has he even touched you?” Draco asked. Before I could respond, Fred's fingers ghosted of my clothed folds, I bucked my hips as a gentle whine escaped my lips.

Tenderly he pushed my panties to the side. Licking a strip up my dripping pussy, he stopped at my clit, circling the nub gently. His movements driving me wild I cried out again.

“What’s he doing Y/N, what could possibly be making you sound like that so quickly?” Wood asked. I could hear the disbelief in his voice.

“He’s using his, his mouth.” I replied rather out of breath. I felt Fred smile against me and he changed pace, wrapping his lips around my clit, sucking lightly and drawing small circles on it with his tongue. It felt heavenly and I called out his name to let him know it. Tangling my fingers in his hair I pulled gently, he groaned, sending vibrations through me that had me bucking wildly into his mouth.

One of his hands found my hip, the other my thigh and he pushed me down keeping me in place as he continued to push me toward the edge. I let out a long whine as he stopped to lick another stripe up my folds, stopping to tease my entrance with his tongue. “Doing so well baby, being such a good girl for me.” Fred praised before diving back down.

“Don’t let him lie to you, Y/N, you’re slut. By the sounds of it you’re about to cum and it's barely been a minute.” George piped up, laughing through his words. I hated to admit it but it made me grow wetter, an involuntary moan left my lips as Fred continued his work.

“You like that, being told how much of a whore you are?” Ron asked, his voice was hoarse as he asked, sending shivers down my spine.

“Of course she does, listen to how much she started moaning, she's just a little slut, letting Fred use her.” Draco snarled.

I moaned out loudly letting my head fall back. My orgasm was fastly approaching and as long as Fred didn’t stop I was going to fall apart.

“Are you going to cum?” Wood asked.

“Gonna prove what a slut you really are?” Draco pushed. I moaned out again, Fred continued to lick at my clit, ravishing me. I lifted my head, looking at him with heavy eyes waiting for him to give me what I needed.

He made eye contact with me, raising his eyebrows in a silent question. I nodded feverishly letting out a small whine. He hummed against my clit, both answering me and tipping me over the edge. I came with a long moan, arching my back and fisting the sheets so hard I wouldn’t be surprised if I tore through them with my nails.

“F-Fred!” I jolted as he continued attacking my clit. His grip on my hip and thigh grew tighter and he pulled me against his mouth, not slowing down. I shook as the overstimulation took over, my abdomen, I fell back on the bed, arching my back as high as it would allow, my muscles clenched and unclenched, my legs shook of their own accord. Fred removed his hand from my hip, his fingers trailing over my entrance.

“Listen to her begging like a whore, you hear this?” George muttered.

“Unbelievable, she's a blubbering mess, falling apart at his every move.” Ron muttered.

“Do you like being used Y/N?” One of them asked, I couldn’t distinguish who as Fred teased my entrance with his fingers.

Letting out a long languid moan to answer their question, I bucked into Fred’s touch. The shake from overstimulation began to fuel the pit in my stomach as it quickly returned. Fred pushed two fingers inside of me, taking no time to crook them upwards and hit that spot inside of me that had me seeing stars. His lips pulled harder on my clit as his fingers sent a sensual pase. Pushing into me slowly and pushing against me. I was shaking, my second orgasm seconds away.

“Please, I-I need to cum,” I panted. “Please Daddy, let me cum.” I screamed as Fred suddenly fastened his pace.

“Daddy? I didn’t know you were into that L/N.” Ron said.

Realizing my slip I pulled my head up scared to see Fred but when I met his eyes they were lust filled, pupils dilated so much they almost looked completely black.

“Are you going to cum for Daddy?” Wood taunted.

I whined, begging for permission to release that would eventually happen with permission or not.

Fred nipped my clit lightly, brushing his teeth over it while simultaneously burying his fingers deep within me. I bucked wildly against his grip, cumming for a second time in mere minutes. I felt my release squelch on his fingers as he slowed down his pace, slowly pulling his face away and his fingers following suit. I layed there, blissed out and twitching watching him stand over me, wiping my release off his chin on the back of his hand.

“You did so good baby, so good for Daddy.” I felt my cheeks warm up as he used the title.

“Such a slut, greedy one too, has he gotten any attention.” The words from Draco pulled me from my blissed out state and I looked down at Fred to see his dick straining painfully against his trousers.

“Freddie…” I made grabby hands toward the man, he smiled and leaned over me.

“Not my name.” He whispered against my lips, moving to make open mouthed kisses down my jaw and to my neck.

“D-Daddy?”

He hummed against the column of my neck and I could feel his smug smile forming. “Yes baby?”

“Fuck me.” I said softly, placing my hands on his shoulders, pulling his head back up to mine I brushed my lips against his gently. “Please.”

“Such a dirty mouth, think he’d have half the mind to punish you.” George said. By the half hearted chuckle that escaped Fred’s lips I knew he heard him too.

“Not tonight,” He whispered, bringing one hand down my side he pulled up my shirt, bunching it above my breasts. “But next time I won’t be so nice.” One hand roamed the now free expanse of my chest as the other propped him up. His hand gently pinched my nipple, eliciting a moan from my throat.

“That’s too bad, I would have loved to hear him spank you.” Oliver groaned. I moaned lightly at his words, the thought of him bending me over and punishing me made me grow impossibly wetter. I would not be surprised if there was a wet spot on the bed.

“Spread those pretty legs for me.” Fred said. I quickly obliged, pulling my knees up and to the side, opening myself up for him. “Such a pretty cunt, all spread and wet for me.”

“You’re really wet for Weaselbee Y/N?” Draco asked, followed by a ‘hey’ of offense from George and Ron.

“Mate she’s drenched.” Fred replied having heard him. I felt my face heat up, feeling self conscious being the center of attention and having all the boys discuss my sex. Out of instinct I began to pull my legs together to hide but Fred stopped me. Pushing my legs apart he leaned down, landing a gentle kiss to each of my hip bones. “You’re beautiful baby, don’t hide from me.”

I nodded shyly, relaxing in his grip I brought my hands down to release him. Pulling his cock out he let out a low hum as I stroked it lightly, beckoning him closer to me with each pump. Soon his hand found my wrist, prying me off of him he linked our fingers together, using his other hand to line himself up with my enterance.

Slowly he pushed in, bottoming out and grinding his pelvis into me. “Ah, yes, m-move please.” I begged as he rutted his hips in a circular motion.

He pulled out almost completely before slamming back in, towering over me he held both my hands, pinning them above my head with his own. He set a relentless pace that had my stomach in knots in seconds. My legs felt like jelly as he bottomed out with each thrust.

“So good for me baby, taking my cock so well.” Fred growled in my ear. A broken moan left my lips in response.

“Thank you Daddy,” I cried out. I felt my eyes become glassy with pleasure and he leaned down placing gentle kisses on my cheekbones urging the tears to not fall.

“You’re such a little slut letting him use you like that.” Draco breathed into his mic.

“Such a whore spread open for him.” Wood added. I moaned, tightening my walls around him causing Fred to hit that spot inside of me perfectly.

“I’m going to- please Daddy,” I didn’t finish my sentence. It fell into a broken moan as Fred pounded into me with intent.

“Gonna cum Y/N?” Ron asked.

“Gonna cum on his cock like a little whore?” George followed.

“Yes!” I cried. “Please!” I begged, a few tears fell down my face as I fought off my orgasm.

“Go ahead baby, cum for me.” Fred moaned in my ear. I let go of all of my pride as I cried out broken thank you’s.

“Daddy, yes, yes, thank you.” My back arched off the bed, feeling my nipples brush against his chest. His hips began to falter and soon he pushed himself in me completely, cumming inside of me with reckless abandon. He pushed his already flush hips into me a few more time, driving his cum deep inside of me.

“Dirty whore did you like that, moaning for us, putting on a little show?” Draco asked.

“Yes.” I answered breathlessly. Fred tenderly pulled out, collapsing ontop of my chest.

“Dirty girl,” Oliver tutted.

“A good girl.” Fred responded straight into the mic. I blushed at his words.

“Can’t argue with that.” George said.

“Nope.” Ron agreed.

Fred pulled the headset off of me, I put up no fight, laying there with useless legs and ragged breaths.

“Don’t talk shit about my game, might I remind you none of you are in a serious relationship and I just made my girl cum three times.” Fred said into the mic. I heard arguing over the headset but it was soon diminished to nothing as Fred left the call laughing to himself.

He turned to me standing at the foot of the bed, running a single finger up my shaking legs. “You did so good baby, I didn’t know you had that in you.” He said a goofy grin adorning his beautiful features.

“I could say the same for you, Daddy.” I arched my back as I spoke, driving my chest into the air. I watched his eyes grow dark again, and I bet his dick was twitching watching me.

“If you want to walk at all this week I suggest you stop while you're ahead.”

“Make me.”

#fred and george #fred weasley #weasleys wizard wheezes #fred weasley x reader #fred weasley fanfiction #fred weasley fluff #weasley twins #harry potter #fred weasley fic #fred weasley one shot #fred weasley imagine #fred weasley smut #fred weasley x reader smut #kinkmas #kinkmas fred weasley #fred weasley kinkmas #im sorry i feel like this sucks #i hope u like this #harry potter characters #george weasley #oliver wood #draco malfoy #ron weasley

[raggaraddy]

Sugar Daddy turned sour

Request: Hi!!!! read all of ur works its all amazing cant believe ur new.. can i request for a yan sugar daddy taehyung x reader x yan sugar daddy jungkook. they found out that that y/n have 2 sugar daddies and they lost their sanity(as if they even have that)...Thank u and YOU GOOD,KEEP GOING💜💞💞💞💞😘😁

A/N: I don't know how to post a reply to a personal message yet because I am new and Tumblr deficient 😅 But I hope you like the scenario ^-^ thanks for the request 💜

Here for Part 2

Summary: Juggling two guys and getting everything you want from them has always been easy for you, and Taehyung and Jungkook are no exception. Or so you thought.

Trigger warnings: Mentions of non-con, assault, cheating, violence.

Yandere! Taehyung

Yandere! Jungkook

Sunday.  Taehyungs day.  

You open your webcam, checking your eyeliner quickly in the startup view as you wait for the Tae to pick up on the other side. He pops up quickly a beaming smile filling his face.  

“Y/n! Baby, I’ve missed you.” He’s radiant. As happy and as bubbly he always is. 

You go along listening to him excitedly run through his past few days, telling you everything in excruciating detail as he jumps from one half-finished thought to another. He may be an adult but he certainly has a young soul. The whole while you feign attention, your fingers continually fidgeting with the diamond necklace or the matching bracelet he had sent you a few weeks back.

“How was your weekend?”  He finally gets around to asking. 

“Not so good. I always have to work so much," You complain, batting your eyes at the camera.  

“You could always quit and come live with me.” He jokes-but not really. It’s a topic he has raised 3 times already.  And you have the same answer ready as always. 

“Daddy, you know I’m a strong and independent woman. I could never let someone else pay for me.” You pout, running your tongue over your lower lip while pushing your chest up a little to draw attention.  “It’s just my rent is so expensive. I feel like I work just to pay the bills.” 

In truth, your rent is already being covered by someone else.  But he doesn’t need to know that. 

While you continue to run through the fabricated details of your weekend, Taehyung is distracted, looking down at his phone.  You know what's happening. It’s like a game. And you’re winning. Your banking app sends a notification, letting you know that K. Taehyung has just sent you a payment. 

You open it up. Yep. That's rent for the month.  Or more, money for that new TV you wanted.  

“Oh! Daddy, noo.” You whine down the camera. “You can’t.  I am okay. Really. Please don’t spend your money on me.” You frown if only to stop the smile that is fighting to fill your face. 

“I want to baby. I have the money, and I just want you to be happy. Don’t stress about bills okay. I’m here.” 

Sometimes, it’s almost too easy.  

“Okay Daddy, if you insist.”

Tuesday.  Jungkooks day.  

With Jungkook it’s a much more straightforward transaction.  He has said he wants to pay for you and he hates the back and forth pretences.  He just wants you to say thank you, smile pretty, and give him all your attention.  

“Do you need anything more for the week?” He asks through the camera.

“No Daddy, you take such good care of me. Thank you.” You smile. 

“You still have the weekend of the 14th off?” He raises his eyebrows suggestively.  Off-screen you quickly scan through your calendar.  

14th, 15th and 16th: Jk weekend.  

Hmm, that came up quicker than you expected. You try to keep your booty calls with them as far apart as possible. 

“Of course, I’m so excited! I haven’t seen you in weeks.” You say, it been less than 100% truthful.

“Months.” He corrects with a surreptitious undertone.  

“Where are we staying this time?” 

You always insist to stay in hotels. Because ‘your apartment feels too busy and mundane, and you want the time you spend with him to be magical and undistracted’. Honestly, you just don’t want him, either of them, in your personal space. You purposefully chose boys who live a few hours away.  It’s hard enough to keep them separated in your everyday life with them being far away. It could only get messy for them to know where you live and how to reach you in person.

You’ve certainly gotten smart at this. Arranging the two men into different days of the week, scheduling them into your calendar to keep them apart and unaware of the other. Both had specifically said very early on that they do not want to share you with anyone else.  And that you were all theirs. And while both of them seemed to trust you, you knew their reactions would be unpleasant, to say the least, if they found out about the other. 

Sugar Daddies can be so possessive. 

But while both these men are very handsome, money is better and more reliable than boys. And if they are stupid enough to spend it all on you, why should you care.

The week passes quickly and it’s the 14th.  Once more you find yourself in the lobby of a 5-star hotel. Jungkook arrived in town early and sent you a message with the room number. 

Time to actually work for your money. 

You knock on the door only to find it slightly open.  Entering there is a trail of rose petals lining the floor leading into the suite. All the lights are dimmed with a warmth of candlelight filling the room. This is so typically Jungkook. Pulling out all the stops to try to impress. 

Dropping your bag at the entrance, you close the door behind you and explore inwards.  

“Daddy?” You call out in a singsong voice. Your heels clack on the tiled floor as you round the corner into the living room. Jungkook is sitting on the lounge, one leg crossed over the other, arms rested up over the back. You smile at seeing him. You always seem to forget just how stunning he is in person. 

“Which one of us are you referring to?” A deep voice startles you from behind. You jolt, spinning to see Taehyung standing behind you leaning against the wall.  

Holy fuck. 

Your mind starts to jumble through what is happening. Thinking about what it was that might have given you away. Evaluating how much they may know. And planning your next move.  

Damn it.  You doubt you’ll be able to smooth talk your way out of this with Jungkook. He’s too direct and absolute. So you’ll just have to accept that that relationship is over. However, you might be able to salvage this situation with Taehyung if you play your cards right. Being defensive should do the trick.

“What is this?” You snap, keeping focused on Taehyung. “This is such a violation of my privacy! You keep smothering me Taehyung! See this is why I tried to find someone else to hang out with.” You stomp your foot. He would always wrap around your finger so quickly with the little girl act. 

“Ha!” He blurts out a short laugh in contradiction to how you expected him to react. “Wow. No, go on. I want to see where this is going.” 

“Do you think we only just found out about each other?” Jungkook pipes up, coming from the couch. 

You sigh. You had almost saved enough for a holiday to the Maldives too. But they seem to know too much. Fine. You can burn both relationships. They were starting to get too clingy anyway.  “Whatever.” You roll your eyes. You got all you could from them. Time to move on to the next.

As you shrug them off, Taehyung steps into the path of the front door. 

“Where do you think you’re going?” Both he and Jungkook start to close in tighter. There is a cold tone to his words. Something far too close to a threat for your comfort. Even in heels, both men naturally stand taller than you which usually wouldn’t bother you. But with an unsteadiness to your footing and a very short dress on, in a dark room with two men you have used and spurned, you are feeling even more vulnerable than you feel you should. 

“Move.” You order. 

A smirk on his lips, Taehyung lifts his hand up and backhands you, knocking you back a few stumbled steps. You gasp, your hand clinging to your cheek, eyes wide in shock. He starts forward, Jungkook intervening, standing between the two of you. 

You can not believe he just hit you! He has never done anything like that before.

“No, don’t do that.” He stops Taehyung as he starts to swing again.  Shaking all over, you’re relieved that one of them is seeing sense.  You take the outstretched hand of Jungkook, lip trembling from the burn on your cheek. He draws you closer and you wrap into him for protection. In the same motion, his free hand swings down punching you in the stomach, doubling you over, dropping you to the floor. “If you hit her head, she might get spaced out. I want her to feel this.”

His words send a chill down your spine. This can not be happening.

“Are you crazy!” You gape, trying to speak while gulping down air. Your head is dizzy, your lungs burning.  Kicking off your heels for better movement, you climb back up to your feet not wanting to engage either man. Eyes focused you look past Taehyung to the door, storming forward. “I’m leaving. We’ll forget all of this, okay.” You bargain through short, panicked breath. 

Taehyungs large hand slams you into the wall, pressing his palm against your shoulder. He follows Jungkooks lead, pounding his fist into your gut. And then again. And again.  His hold removes letting you free and you plummet to the ground, crying within broken huffs while cradling your battered torso. 

“You’re right. That is better.” He laughs at Jungkook. 

“Stop!” You beg, unable to raise your voice above a soft yelp. 

“What's wrong baby? You wanted two men. Now you have them.” Taehyungs bright smile returns to his face. This time with an entirely different meaning than it had ever had until it shifts into a straight, harsh look that you have never seen from him. “Didn't you always say you wished there was some way you could repay me?” 

“You said that to me too.” Jungkook joins his side, both hovering above you, trapping you between them, the wall, and the floor. 

Leaning down Jungkooks hand follows you as you squirm away from him. His fingers wrapped around your throat and lift you up, keeping you against the wall. He takes advantage of you being stuck, leaning into you pressing his lips to yours as you resist as much as you can. 

“Baby, you’re going to pay us back for every dollar we spent on you.” He snarls. 

Taehyung turns your face to him, also forcing a kiss on you. “Don’t worry, Y/n, you’ll see that we know how to share.”  

Part 2

#yandere bts #yandere jungkook #yandere taehyung #sugadaddy #cheating #bts smut #bts fanfic #bts #yandere #yandere bangtan #taekook #bts reactions #bangtan reactions #jungkook #taehyung

[tumbling-darkling]

Midnight Hang-Outs

This is a small crossover between Danny Phantom and DC! (Specifically Danny and Harley Quinn!) Following the prompts from Day 11 and 12 - Midnight and Scars (more of mentioned than revolving around it) Harley might be slightly ooc because I don’t read a lot of DC comics but maybe consider it more of like AU Harley Quinn. Mother hen. She feeds the vigilantes of Gotham on slow nights.

Harley glanced over to the boy sitting next to her on the rooftop of the Gotham Bank, she had been planning to break into it to draw out some fun with any nearby vigilantes but instead she had spotted the scrawniest looking glowing teen she’d ever seen. Well he was the only glowing teen she’d ever seen, but the poor kid was struggling against some freak in a white suit.

He had already devoured about 10 of the breakfast sandwiches she bought from a nearby 24 hour fast food joint, she couldn’t remember the name but her pal, Jeremy, always worked late shifts and gave her most of the grease filled wraps for free. Which she got a total of 20 and was beginning to worry that it wasn’t enough for this endless void. She thought she could calculate this kind of thing better based on Batsy’s kids, then again none of them had powers. That must be the factor throwing her off.

She glanced over him again, taking in his features for probably the hundredth time since she spotted him. White hair that gently wisped around his face like he was constantly underwater, pale blue-green skin with neon green freckles that sparkled like stars in the night, toxic green eyes that matched the freckles, flecks of blue hidden within the irises that shone in the right light. He hand pointed ears and little baby fangs, and his suit itself reminded her of the superheroes she’s faced before, but the material seemed all wrong when she got a closer look. It wasn’t spandex, or that thick armour like fibre that Batsy likes to use. She didn’t know what it was made out of. That flaming looking D was enough to hint at a superhero gig, like Superman and that ‘S’ on his chest. She didn’t care that it was supposed to be a symbol for hope, his name was Superman and that thing was an S, end of conversation.

The kid had taken off those gloves in order to eat, she didn’t blame him though, eating with gloves on was weird, and those white gloves would stain like a motherfucker. What caught her attention about it was the scars. Little one littered this kid's hands, and then there was a ligament scar coating his left hand. It was the brightest of all the scars, glowing slightly a wicked green as if he was still being electrocuted.

She turned her gaze back to the streets below, “So, what are you doing out this late?” She asked, avoiding sensitive topics like the scar. “It has to be way past midnight at this point.”

The kid glanced over to her, then shrugged, “had to chase Boxy all the way out here, the dude flies fast for a ghost obsessed in boxes.”

Harley glanced back over, noticing the kid now had finished the last of the sandwiches as he looked in the bag for more, shoving the garbage into it once he confirmed there was nothing left, “Boxy? Was that the freak in white?”

The kid shook his head, “nah, that was a government agent. G.I.W, or the Guys in White. Must’ve followed me, cornered me after I was already exhausted from chasing Boxy all over town. Boxy is the Box Ghost, blue ghost dude in overalls, fairly harmless but he can be a pain in the ass when he wants to be.”

“Want me to blow the rest of those agents up for you?” Harley asked, leaning closer while flashing a sinister grin.

The kid jerked back, “no! No it’s fine, just caught me off guard! I can handle them just fine, you don’t need to blow anyone up!” He squeaked out quickly, wildly waving his hands around. Harley couldn’t help but grin at the display, he reminded her a lot of Batsy’s kids. Energetic, good hearts (most of the time), think they can handle the world.

“So are you one of Batsy’s kids? Harley voiced her thoughts.

The kid blinked owlishly at her, “Batsy’s… you mean Batman? The Batman?”

Harley shrugged, “yeah, Batsy. He has quite a lot of them so I like to try and stay updated when he gets a new kid. You almost fit the bill, young teen, dark past, though the powers would be new.”

“How do you know I have a dark past?”

“Well, you said you were a ghost, right? Meaning you died and judging by your age, died before you even finished high school. I’d call that a dark past,” she kept out the lingering question of how he died, that wasn’t something you exactly ask someone when you first meet them. “So you aren’t one of Batsy’s kids?”

The kid shook his head, “nope,” he popped the p, “never even met the dark knight before. I barely visit Gotham, well anywhere if I can help it, I try to keep my problems in my home turf.”

“I see, you know what, I should’ve known better. Batsy would never let his kids run around this late anyway,” she hummed. “I did once see him chew a Robin out for fighting crime past his curfew, it got me arrested for sticking around to watch but boy was it worth it!” She laughed. She was surprised that Batman hadn’t gotten to this kid yet, anyhow. He didn’t always stick around Gotham ever since he joined that hero club, but that just meant that this dude had even more of a chance to find this kid. Must be dumb luck or something.

“Batman puts curfews on his sidekicks?” The kid asked, mouth agape.

“Well duh, the guy is all about the well-being of his kids. He has a no killing rule but he gets close to breaking it when one of his kids gets almost killed. He keeps them well fed, makes sure they sleep, I know because I can hear him from across rooftops at times and I fight enough of his kids to notice they aren’t skin and bones like you.”

The kid looked down at his ungloved hands, and she noticed him tracing the pattern of the ligament scar lightly with his other hand. His expression changed as he seemed to run through a series of thoughts before he spoke again, “why did you help me?” He asked, not looking up to meet her eyes, “you are a villain, right? You fight Batman and Robin, and other superheroes too if they face you. You know I’m not a villain, you said so yourself. So why help me? Wouldn’t it be better to just let a vigilante kid get knocked off so you don’t have to deal with him in future crimes?”

Harley felt her heart shatter, who the fuck hurt this kid like this? “I’m not some heartless bitch,” she said in a matter of fact tone, “you and all the teen sidekicks or vigilantes out there are still fucking kids. I have morals, and some villains don’t have the same morals as me, but seeing you getting kicked around by some freak in an alley where no one could see you? That kind of shit rubs me the wrong way. I fight teen heroes from time to time because I know they can handle it, they can fight back and I myself won’t stoop so low as to kill them if I manage to get in a few lucky hits.” She lightly nudged his shoulder, “and it’s not like you’ve personally wronged me or anything. I felt like being nice, helping out. You seem like a good kid, so why not help you out? Maybe one day I can call a favour and you can distract Bats while I kidnap the president?” She joked.

The kid looked up suddenly, sending his hair in rippling waves as he was giving her a wide eyed and the most worried look imaginable. She couldn’t help but let out another laugh, “I’m joking!” She clarified. “But I think we could have some pretty interesting game nights with Ivy. Not illegal game night, more like Uno or something. Maybe just a little gambling.”

The kid relaxed again, “well… uh… thanks. For helping me. And the food. And talking,” he rubbed the back of his neck, looking up at the sky.

“No problem, be sure to come visit again. Hey, maybe I can even introduce you to Bats at some point! Make a big show and pretend you are a villain and then BAM! Just kidding he’s just a glowing vigilante I helped out once!” She stood up, stretching her arms a little, “be sure to take it easy on your way to your home by the way, maybe take a nap or something on the way there.”

The kid nodded with a smile and stood up with her, then paused as shock filled his eyes and he spun quickly towards Harley, “Wait- how do you know I sleep-?”

Harley laughed, “well, I don’t think ghosts normally eat, so I’m assuming you sleep too,” she offered a soft smile, “just take it easy, and hey, if you ever find yourself in trouble.” Harley then pulled out a business card she usually kept for shits and giggles, handing over the poorly designed card to the kid, “know that you have a friend in Gotham who’s ready to help. And who knows how to get Batsy’s attention the fastest.” She winked.

The kid took the card, a confused grin tugging at his lips, “thanks. Hey, uh. I go by Phantom. Since I never really introduced myself.”

“Well Phantom, nice to meet you,” Harley grinned back.

#danny phantom #phantom #danny fenton #danny #fenton #ghost #dannymay2021 #au #harley quinzel #harley quinn #dc #crossover #fic #fanfic #fanfics #writing #my writing #fun #sweet #talking #Danny gets adopted #kinda #might be a little ooc #for Harley #I don’t read a lot of dc comics #but I LOVE the idea of Harley feeding all the teen vigilantes she comes across #she’s not the meanest villain #she probably looks at teenage heroes #and goes #who let these babies on the fighting field

[bluefuckboy]

vampire!Dabi x m!reader

A/N: not enough Dabi x m!reader out there so here’s a contribution with a twist. Reader works at a bloodmobile donation center and receives a late night visitor...

WARNINGS: blood (obviously), non con elements, body horror, very brief references to homophobic slang, implied virgin reader, implied death,

Word Count: 4,276

“Thanks again man!”

“Yeah no problem.”

Except it was a problem. Or rather more of an annoyance, even if you were on the end shift anyway. Protocol was two people for transport back to the hospital, but your coworker was very adamant that if he didn’t get to his girlfriend’s right at 9pm then they were over. You’d neglected to ask how he “forgot.”

You were more than capable of managing the bloodmobile by yourself. It was just a little lonely since the drive back to the hospital was close to an hour. Not to mention the time it took to double check donation storage before you could even head back.

You were midway through the A- donations when you heard a knock at the door. It had been at least twenty minutes since your coworker left. It was past 9pm now and everyone at the donation event had left around seven, so you were slightly wary to go to the door.

Upon peering through the window on the door you saw nothing initially. Just the parking lot illuminated dimly. There were shadows from the trees that made strange shapes on some of the parking spaces. It made you slightly anxious, so you turned to go back to the donations when another rap sounded on the door.

This time there was a man in front of the door. He was tall and lanky, his messy black hair was tousled by the slight breeze. A cigarette was perched between long, pale fingers with black nails and what looked like tattoos that came up to the wrist. His other hand was tucked into the pocket of a trench coat, black of course, which almost reached the heavy duty combat boots he was scuffing impatiently on the pavement.

He tapped on the glass of the door with a knuckle, but didn’t look up, opting to take another drag of the cigarette while casting a bored look in the direction of a streetlight.

Your hand hovered over the door handle. You knew opening the door was probably a terrible idea, but for some reason this guy had piqued your interest. You were curious to find out what the heck he was doing in front of a mobile blood donation center at this hour of the night looking like the long lost member of My Chemical Romance.

You slowly unlocked the door to the bus and opened it a crack. The man turned around and looked up at you. His face was pale, and eerie. There were multiple piercings studded across his cheeks, and up to his ears. The lower half of his jaw was heavily tattooed, the ink winding down to his neck and disappearing below the collar of his shirt.

You cleared your throat.

“Can I help you?”

“I dunno, can you?”

The question was mocking and he ended it with a toothless smile. His tone irked you and you informed him that you were done taking donations.

His brow lowered and he mused, “Donations? I thought this was a late night food truck. I even brought my crazy straw.”

He produced an impossibly twisted black straw from the trenchcoat, holding it up for you to see. You stared at it as you tried to come up with a response.

“Sir, this is a mobile blood donation center, not a food truck.”

The man tutted his tongue and peered past you slightly. You moved to block his view of the inside of the bus. He pursed his lips and crossed his arms, taking another long drag of the cigarette and blowing the smoke a little too close to your face for it to be a mistake.

When he spoke it was almost to himself, mumbling, “I don’t know why I even bother to make conversation.” He chuckled. “And what a waste of a clever joke.”

He laughed again and then sighed, letting the cigarette dangle loosely between his fingers. You were thoroughly confused now. Your confusion turned to disgust and slight horror as he brought the cigarette back to his lips. Instead of taking another puff, he drove the still lit butt into the center of his tongue, putting it out without even batting an eye.

You gaped at him, speechlessly watching as he tossed the butt aside. He was unfazed, despite the fact that he had surely just severely burned his tongue. He was merely stretching now, as though he were getting ready for a workout.

After coming back up from a deep toe touch he quipped, “Nothing like a nice palette cleanser, hmm?”

You blinked at him, and then suddenly he was making his way up the steps casually. You put out an arm.

“Excuse me, sir, I can’t let you in.”

The statement made him laugh.

“Letting me in. How 18th Century. You’re cute.”

He made to come into the bus. You tried to stop him, but suddenly found yourself unable to move. It was like the muscles in you body were cramping all at once.

The man easily slipped past you and there was a strange sense of foreboding building as you tried to move again. Pain shot through your legs and you grit your teeth. You were able to move your eyes and found yourself staring into the face of the man as he stood in front of you.

Up close you could see the dark circles under his eyes, heavy bags that accentuated his gaunt features. His eyes were unsettling, cerulean and dangerous. You couldn’t bring yourself to look away. As you stared at them they seemed to flicker between a darker color momentarily, but it could have been a trick of the terrible lighting within the bus.

You watched as the man shut the door behind him and strolled slowly through the bus. He had his hands clasped behind his back, casually peering at the equipment as though he were looking through a library.

Upon finding the open intake box you had been sifting through, his eyebrows went up and a smile crept across his face. He knelt down in front of it and picked up an A- donation packet. He tucked it under his arm and then shuffled through the other packets as though he were looking through a collection of vinyl records.

“Any AB-?”

The question was directed at you and you were suddenly able to move your tongue again, which had felt like it was stuck to the roof of your mouth.

You tried to keep my voice steady as you said, “Sir I need you to put that down and please leave.”

He looked over at you with an amused expression, then turned back to the donations.

“I’ll take that as a no then. At least you’ve got a couple O-‘s. Always a safe bet, if a little bland.”

He sighed and then did something which would have made your jaw drop if you could have. He stabbed the crazy straw into the bag and then took a long sip of the blood. He swallowed, smacking his lips.

“Decent enough I suppose.”

He took another sip and emptied the bag, tossing it aside before moving on to the one he had tucked under his arm. All you could do was stand motionless and watch as he picked out a few more bags and sat casually on one of the donation chairs.

He propped his boots up on the chair and leaned back, sipping form a bag of B+ plus. You could feel sweat dripping down your back. Your muscles were painfully tense and you could feel fatigue setting in, but you couldn’t relax.

You tried in vain again to move and the man’s unusual eyes flicked up to you. He wiped a bit of blood clinging to his lip and sucked his thumb into his mouth. It was overtly obscene and clearly done to annoy you as he knew what he was doing was not only illegal but downright disgusting.

You could feel your legs starting to shake and were worried they might go out and send you flat on your face. Instead, you found yourself suddenly released from whatever strange force had been holding you hostage.

It was so sudden you just fell to the ground in a heap. The man laughed.

“How graceful.”

Despite the feeling of utter exhaustion that was washing over you, you were somehow able to get up and spin around to face the man. You were a bit larger than him and you needed to get him restrained before making a call to the authorities and figuring out what inventory he had decided to drink.

You moved to grab a strap from the chair he was in, quickly buckling it over the wrist that was by his side. His eyebrows went up, but he didn’t make a move to try and fight as you put the straps at the bottom of the chair over his feet so he was bound by all but the hand that held the bag he was still sipping from.

He swallowed and said, “Do I need to give you may safeword?”

Before you could snap back at him for the sexual comment, he lifted the bound arm up. The restraint broke like a piece of dental floss, snapping in half. The restraints on his feet were broken just as easily and you backed away slightly as he swung his legs over the chair and stood up.

He inspected his wrist, even though there were clearly no marks on the tattooed skin. The bag he had was tossed aside and he looked at you.

“I don’t usually prefer to play with my food, but I suppose if you want to have a little fun we could. I prefer fresh anyway.”

Before you had time to react he was grabbing you by your lab coat, swinging you onto the chair as though you weighed nothing. He practically threw you onto it and you felt you head hit the wall of the bus behind it.

“Whoops,” the man said, cracking a smile.

Your own blood went cold as he parted his lips for this smile. His canines were abnormally long, pressing into the soft flesh of his bottom lip. As you looked into his eyes, you saw they had a reddish tint to them, almost staining the blue, glinting as he leaned closer to you.

Your mind went to the tales of blood sucking monsters you’d heard growing up. But those were just stories and fairytales. This had to be some psychopath or sexual deviant who got off on a kink that had to do with bodily fluids.

The man was inches from you face and you found yourself unable to move again. You were stuck sitting in the chair sideways, your legs dangling over the edge. Your heart was racing, making blood pound in your ears.

You felt a chill run down your spine as the man leaned forward. His breath against your skin as he spoke was almost unnaturally hot.

“Sounds like a marching band, doesn’t it?”

Somehow you knew he was referring to the pounding of your blood in your ears. You felt something wet on your neck and the marching band was a cacophony of sound. His tongue was right at your pulse point.

His voice was almost a whisper.

“I’m sure you say this daily, so hopefully you won’t be too surprised. This may sting a little.”

Your eyes went wide as he suddenly sunk his teeth into the column of your neck. You could feel the two points of his canines drive deep, puncturing your skin easily. Your body spasmed as he pulled the fangs out. Blood oozed from the wound, but it was lapped up before it could drip over your collarbone.

The man went back to the gouges and this time you felt yourself jerk violently as he began sucking. A hand was suddenly on your upper thigh, then another on the opposite side of your neck, holding you there. It felt like receiving the world’s most painful hickey.

You shuddered and the hand on your thigh tightened. The man had a strong grip, and was putting just enough pressure to give a warning. Not that you could move if you wanted to. You weren’t in control of my body anymore.

You were hyper aware of each area of your body he was touching. The skin of his hand against your neck was cold, but his mouth on the other side was warm and damp. You could feel his tongue press into the holes. The sensation was like nothing you’d ever felt before.

For some reason it wasn’t pain you were feeling. There was a strange warmth spreading over the back of your neck and down your shoulders. The man pulled away from your neck for a moment. You could hear him swallow as you felt saliva and blood begin to drip onto your shirt, staining the collar of your lab coat.

He put his mouth on you again, but this time there was no sucking. Just the feeling of his tongue laving over the broken skin. It made your stomach drop and your mind began to feel foggy.

You didn’t know how much blood you’d lost. You could still hear the pounding heartbeat in your ears, but your body felt off. You must have involuntarily jerked again because the hand on your thigh slid upward, almost pressing into the dip of your pelvis.

The man must have been trying to keep you from jerking. But the feel of his thumb at the jut of your hip combined with the pressure of his long fingers around your side was making you feel strange in a different way now.

His lips against your skin was now sending heat to other areas of your body. You felt panic begin to rise in your chest. All the sensations were too much for you to handle and the lack of control over your body led to a response you hadn’t anticipated.

The man pulled back and you were mortified as he glanced down at the obvious bulge in your jeans. He raised an eyebrow.

“I suppose that explains the poor flow.”

He sighed and you could feel cold air rush into the space between him and you as he backed away. There was red at the edges of his mouth. He did a circular swipe with his tongue to lick it away and you felt your pants get even tighter.

Your cheeks were burning and you wanted to cover yourself, but you were still unable to move. The man had put a finger on the side of his face, tapping it in thought. You inhaled sharply as he suddenly swiped his thumb over the twin punctures on your neck, gathering a thick glob of blood.

He put the digit in his mouth and sucked on it in thought briefly before saying, “You humans never change.”

You were able to move your eyebrows down, relaying a confused expression to which he replied, “You’re all driven by libido. Just the slightest stimulation arouses you. It’s rather annoying actually.”

He tutted his tongue and your eyes widened as his hands were suddenly at your belt, unbuckling it deftly. He pulled you toward him, yanking off your pants. You felt your breath quicken even more. You could see your cock tenting your boxers. You wanted to disappear.

However the man had other plans. You nearly jerked off the table as he put the tip of his pointer finger on the head of your cock. He rubbed at the fabric of your boxers. You could feel they were damp.

The finger was moved to the waistband of your boxers. The man tugged them off, not being gentle as he dragged them over your flushed cock. You inhaled sharply and desperately wished you could do something, anything, to stop him as he took you in his palm.

He gripped you, musing, “I’ll never understand the hype over drinking from you virgins.”

The blush on your cheeks spread down your neck and chest and the man laughed.

“I suppose there is the thrill of seeing you come undone at the slightest touch.”

He moved his hand up slowly and thumbed over the head of your cock, which was practically dripping now. You shuddered and let out a pathetic noise as he dug the nail of his thumb into your slit.

“You’re particularity responsive,” the man said, rubbing in a slight circular motion, “Do you perhaps, hmm, what do they call it these days? Bat for the other team?”

The man gave you a ornery smile. You couldn’t say anything. Your tongue was stuck pressed up against your bottom teeth. Even if you could speak it was a subject you didn’t want to talk about, especially with some random psychopath.

However said psychopath was now bending down, pushing your legs further apart, saying, “If you swing that way then perhaps you haven’t found yourself a catcher.” His hooded eyes glanced up at you briefly before he continued in a lower voice, “Or maybe it’s a pitcher you’re looking for, hmm?”

Your whole body spasmed violently as he brushed the pad of his thumb over your asshole. His slang was outdated and embarrassing, but it was obvious he was experienced. The thought excited you more for some reason.

The man grinned and suddenly you were able to move. You gasped loudly as your mouth dropped open. The spit that you hadn’t bee able to swallow dribbled down your chin and you grabbed the edge of the chair to keep myself from tipping over.

You glanced down at the man and was met with a sultry gaze, combined with a vulpine smile. You tried to bring a hand up to push him off, but you had no strength. It was taking nearly all of your energy to try and lean forward and close your legs to try and cover yourself.

He brought the hand not on your cock up to your torso, pushing your shirt up. His fingertips were like ice against your heated skin and you couldn’t resist him as he lightly pushed you so you were lying on your back, legs parted, completely exposed.

You gasped as you felt the man take your cock in his mouth. There was no warning, no tongue teasing beforehand, just the tightening of his throat around you as he took all of your cock in.

Your nails dug into the cheap leather of the donation chair as he pulled off, switching to sucking on the head of your cock while chilled fingers made their way down to cup your balls. You shuddered and then cried out as you felt a finger ghost over your entrance.

The man’s wet maw was on you again, saliva dripping down your shaft as he teased you. You whined slightly as he leaned back after sucking half of you for a brief moment. He was looking at you with lewd curiosity.

You were surprised as he leaned forward so your faces were inches apart. His eyes were definitely tinged red now and his features seemed sharper, the angles more prominent. You gaped at him and then cried out in pain as he suddenly bit you again.

It was a different spot, closer to the junction of your collarbone and neck. The bite was harder, but for some reason the pain was arousing now. He pulled back and you didn’t have time to react as you felt his mouth on yours.

His lips were cold, but everything else was hot. You could taste the copper tang of your own blood in your mouth as he snaked his tongue sinfully past your lips. His fangs tested your bottom lip for a moment before he started kissing you so forcefully it felt like he was trying to devour you.

When you finally parted you were gasping for air. Blood and spit were dribbling down your chin and you could see saliva dripping from the man’s fangs as he gave you a feral smile. Then his hand was cupping your chin, his thumb dragging your bottom lip down.

His voice was husky as he said, “It seems you’re enjoying yourself.” He yanked your face toward him. “Unfortunately I can’t finish eating until we can take care of this it seems.”

As he spoke he pumped your cock a few times, making you squirm under him. He smiled and then you were gagging as he stuck two fingers into your mouth.

“I’ll let you do the sucking for a while,” the man said.

His expression made you nervous so you obediently began sucking, despite the humiliation you felt each time you heard the squelch of spit. When he was satisfied with the amount of your spit he’d gathered on his fingers, he pulled them out abruptly.

He moved his hand below your waist and you jumped as a slicked finger nudged at your hole. The man’s mouth was back on the new bite and it felt like your body was going numb. You could feel him suck at your neck as he pressed a finger into you.

You’d never tried any anal play before, so the feeling of someone pushing their finger into your asshole was so foreign you instinctively jerked away. The finger slid out and the sensation made you shudder.

You shut your eyes and hoped that you might have lost enough blood to pass out. But you could feel every sensation as the man’s finger entered you again. He was relentless in his sucking and now you were beginning to feel dizzy.

Your mind was hazy and when you came back to yourself the man had worked two fingers into you. He curled them upward and you felt like you’d been struck by electricity. It was pleasurable and you could feel more precum drip from your cock as he moved his fingers inside of you.

The man’s other hand was suddenly on your cock, putting pressure in just the right area. He twisted his fingers as he pumped you slowly. It was too much and you cummed so hard you saw white.

Your ears were buzzing and the room was spinning. It felt like you were having an out of body experience, especially as you felt the man’s wet tongue tracing down your abdomen. You couldn’t lift your head to look, but you could feel as he swirled his tongue against your skin.

The wet sensation was gone and you heard him say, “I wonder what the police will come up with as an explanation? After all accidents do happen, but certainly they’ll have never seen a scene like this.”

You felt his nails sink into your thighs. They were abnormally sharp and you cried out. The man retracted his right hand and his face came into view, going in and out of focus as you tried to stay conscious. He caressed your cheek briefly and then the nails which were more like claws, were digging into your scalp.

The man forced your head back and kissed you again. This time the fangs that nipped at your bottom lip drew blood. It rushed into your mouth when he pulled away. There was red dripping down his chin and his fangs glinted as he licked them.

He placed an almost chaste kiss to your bloody lips. When he spoke his voice was almost a hiss, hot air just ghosting over your mouth.

“Such a shame really. A young man with his whole life ahead of him. Oh well. At least we were able to have some fun though, hmm?”

He pulled back enough for your eyes to focus on his face. His eyes were clearly red now, just like the blood that was smeared over his face. The sight was horrific and you felt sick.

Red tinged saliva dripped from his fangs as he opened his mouth to say, “My condolences.”

At those words you closed my eyes and braced yourself. Of course he was going to finish you off. There was no way he’d let you live. If he truly was a vampire like the legends of old, you knew far too much now. Plus you were nothing more than another meal.

You felt his nails rake down your thighs and then he bit into your inner leg. You could hear a scream echo in your foggy mind and you assumed it must have been your own. The man clenched his jaw with so much force, a terrible, wet crunch rang in the air.

He’d gone for your femoral artery. You only knew of it because you had studied it, browsed the pages and diagrams, reading how long it took to die after it had been severed. Was it a minute? Less?

You could feel your heartbeat becoming irregular. Blood, your blood, was seeping into the material of your jeans and your vision was beginning to go dark. What little feeling you still had in your body sent shooting pain through your leg and pelvis. The horrifying crunch must have been one of your bones.

Your vision blurred and for some reason your mind recalled the man’s question earlier regarding the blood types you’d gotten donations of for that day. AB- was what he’d asked for. It so happened that you were AB-, a fact you’re sure he found out as soon as he sunk his teeth into you. He’d gotten what he was looking for after all.

As the world faded away completely, you wondered if it was a cruel irony or almost poetic.

#dabi #dabi x reader #dabi x m!reader #vampire!dabi #vampire dabi #dabi smut #dabi x you #dabi x male reader

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

���No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook’s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You’re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

“But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

#jungkook #jungkook fic #jungkook smut #jungkook fanfic #bts fanfic #jeongguk #jungkook fluff #kpop #kpop fic #jjk #bts x reader #how did i manage to write this

[lovesanmotion]

Light - Jeong Yunho

summary: cool uncle by day but mafia boss at night, jeong yunho is ready for anything; except for falling in love.

tags: @couchpotatoaniki (yes i am tagging you bcs you blossomed this idea to me hihi)

A deep sigh left Yunho's lips, lighting up his cigarette and sticking it between his lips before releasing pearly white smoke. His once neat suit was now covered in sweat, dust and a trickle of blood from earlier events, singlehandedly killing a mafia group from the neighboring city. He lifted his wrist watch and checked the time - 10:01pm. Sandwiched between his middle and index finger, Yunho raises his cigearette stick onto his lips and puffed out a smoke.

His once cool composure broke when around the corner, the slim but curvy figure of his neighbor - y/n y/l/n came into view. She had her head hung low, shoulders drooping down and walking gloomily home. But Yunho stared at her. Around y/n, he felt like a high school boy who has a crush on her. He didn't also missed the fact that it was too late for y/n to go home. Work hours ends at 5-6pm, but 10? Yunho wondered if you took an overtime.

As y/n passed him by, he couldn't help but smile to himself. Feeling his face heating up. Getting up from the bench, he dropped his stick and stepped on it before following you home. With his hands tucked inside his pockets, Yunho wondered why you ever chose to live in a dangerous city like this. Was it because the rent's cheaper? Or to live close to your office?

He stopped his tracks and hid behind a pole, watching you get inside your home building safely. Watching you get home safely is what Yunho's been doing ever since you moved into the area and with a smile on his face, Yunho walks back home.

As the sun sets into the blue sky, Yunho packs up a lot of candies in his pocket before leaving his home and strolling to the neighborhood park. Clad in a bright red and white striped shirt and pants a bright smile on his face, Yunho would never be mistaken as someone who killed a group of guys last night. The cool breeze swept past him, causing his bangs to fly away.

As he found the children playing merrily and happily in the park, his heart swelled with an overwhelming feeling. How he wished these children would grow up into kind and humble adults. When the children saw him coming up to them, a chorus of "uncle Yunho!" greeted him, followed by all of them running up to him for a hug, some even hugging his legs.

Sitting down on the wooden bench, he gave each child a piece of candy and chocolate. Their little smiles upon tasting the fruity and sweet treats brought a smile on his lips too. However, Yunho mentally did a head count on the children.

1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7, 8, 9. One was missing, and the one missing happened to be his favorite. He was about to open his mouth and ask them where y/s/n when a small but cheerful "uncle Yunho!" greeted him from behind. Turning around, his eye's widened.

His neighborhood crush, holding an ice cream cone with one hand and the other holding hands with his favorite child from the playground.

"Mommy this is uncle Yunho! He's the one who always watches us and gives us candy when we play here!" A deep shade of red plastered on Yunho's cheeks. Slowly he turned away and sunk a bit lower on his seat, feeling himself getting shy. But he was a little surprised to know that y/n has a son.

Yunho watched as y/s/n joined the other kids in the slide and on his left side became occupied by you.

"Doesn't it get a little sad when you watch them slowly grow up? One day they are only crying for attention and the next thing you know you walk with them to preschool." Y/N spoke, taking a lick on the vanilla cone.

"Do you have kids at home?" Yunho shook his head. But he would very much like to have one with y/n.

"I'm y/n by the way!" He looked at the hand extended out for him to shake before looking at your smile. Yunho's heart beated loudly inside his chest, not missing the sight of the ice cream on the corner of your lip. He slowly leaned in and raised his hand, wiping the cream away with his thumb.

"Nice to meet you, y/n. I'm Yunho." He smiled at you, seeing that pink tint across your cheeks. Yunho thanked the gods that this might be the chance for him to properly talk to y/n. He turned to his side and striked up a conversation with you, slightly getting distracted with the way how you lick your ice cream.

"Uh..hello? Earth to Yunho?" Yunho snapped out of his trance and shook his head, batting his eyelashes. Yunho stared at you. "What was that again?"

"I was asking you earlier if you wanted to have lunch with me and y/s/n. Think of it as a thank you for watching over my son." Turning his head, he saw the children leave one by one until it was your son left sitting in the swing.

"I-I would love to!" He blurted out, maybe a little too loud. Yunho suddenly backed away, suddenly feeling shy but he only found y/n chuckling at him.

"That was cute. Anyways, let's me show you where I live." As Y/N got up, so did he. He took the pleasure of carrying y/s/n in his arms as he followed you to your place, he had to pretend he didn't know where you lived. How was he going to explain that he has been following you for months already?

"Welcome to our place!" Spoke Y/N in a cheerful tone. The place didn't look half bad. As he sets y/s/n down and removes his shoes by the doorway, he took in the appearance of your place. It isn't big nor small, perfect for two people living, light wooden floors, cream colored walls, yellow and green cupboards and a mini bookshelf thats occupied by books about numbers, letters, alphabets and story books.

"This is a nice place you've got" Yunho says, sitting down on the couch only to be sunk lower as he didn't noticed how the couch was small.

"I guess I was lucky to find this one. More greenery in the province than just seeing buildings in the city." Y/N spoke, Yunho watched her enter the kitchen. He got up and excitedly followed her like a high school boy following his crush around school.

"What are you going to make there?" He asks as he stood behind Y/N making her jump a little. Yunho didn't realized how close he has gotten to her, but he felt like his heart would burst at how small she is close to him.

"Does pasta sound nice?" Y/N tilted her head to the side. If only his mornings were spent this close to y/n, Yunho would be in heaven already.

As Yunho was about to say something, in came little y/s/n holding his school bag.

"Mommy, can you help me with my homework?"

Two heads snapped to look at y/s/n who stood by the doorway of the kitchen.

"Your mom would love to!" Yunho smiled at y/s/n, held y/n by her shoulders and pushed her out of the kitchen despite her many protests against it. Yunho opened the fridge to check what ingredients were available, he grabbed whatever he needed and placed them on the counter and started cooking.

It was only like last night, he was using the very same knife to slice throats and now he's slicing meat with the same knife. But Yunho was only occupied by the merry thought of cooking for his crush.

After half an hour passed, Yunho beautifully plated three pasta bowls on the table. He gave himself a pat in the back for doing an excellent job and was about to call y/n and y/s/n to eat when he heard some talking.

"Mommy do you like uncle Yunho?" A small voice, y/s/n, as Yunho thought. His heart raced upon hearing this kind of conversation. There was a moment of silence, Yunho was fidgeting to know your answer.

"Mommy can uncle Yunho be my dad?" Yunho clutched his chest dramatically, pretending to wipe a tear from his eye. But there it was again, that silence.

"Let's see, y/s/n. Want to see uncle Yunho if he's done?"

Yunho started to get up from his spot but hit his knee in the process, an inaudible sound came out of his mouth and suddenly the door swung open. Y/N and Y/S/N stared at him with a blank yet confused looks on their faces.

"Uh..lunch is ready!" Yunho smiled and instantly stood up from the ground. As he lead them to the kitchen, he was proud to see their expressions and sat down, paying attention to y/n's reaction before eating.

"So what do you do, Yunho?" Y/N asked while twirling pasta with her fork.

Yunho racked up his brain to think of what should he say. But he choked up in between.

"I'm unemployed at the moment" He says. There was no way he is ever going to tell that he kills people, raids warehouses and factories and regulates drug deals within in and out of the country. "What about you? What do you do for a living?" Yunho gulped the food down his throat before facing you.

"I, uh...I just work at, at a very boring corporate office. They don't pay much."

"Is that why you do overtime and get home late at night?"

"What?"

"What?"

Yunho stared at y/n wide eyed. That was wrong of him suddenly mentioning it to you. He shook his head and carried on the conversation by changing the topic.

For the whole afternoon, Yunho stayed with Y/N and Y/S/N, watching kids movies while having a snack. Y/S/N falling asleep in the middle of the movie. Yunho took the pleasure of letting y/s/n sleep on his chest, he could get used to being a househusband. With the sun setting, Yunho thought it was best for him to go home. But was stopped by y/n to join them for dinner. On the outside, Yunho thanked you. But on the inside, Yunho was giggling.

He cooked once more in the kitchen, clogging out y/n's protests. Dinner became a happy meal as all three of them became full. While y/n was cleaning up in the kitchen, Yunho asked permission if he could take y/s/n out for a walk, promising he'd be home by 8pm.

Yunho took y/s/n to the convenient store, handing him a whole bar of chocolate in his small hands. But the little boy stared at him.

"But mommy says I can't have too much sweets" the small boy pouted.

"But your mom isn't here right? This'll be our little secret. You and me." Yunho grinned at the small boy who flashed a toothy smile in front of him.

"Uncle Yunho do you like my mommy?"

"Very much." Yunho suddenly stopped as he looked back at the child with him, now grinning at him.

"Okay, that's another secret between us. Don't tell your mommy about that too okay?" The small boy nodded his head quickly, Yunho held his hand and walked back home with him. Unaware of two eyes following them as they head back.

(gif is not mine! credits to the rightful owner!)

#ateez fanfic #ateez x reader #ateez imagines #ateez yunho #jeong yunho #ateez oneshot #mafia!ateez x y/n #mafia!ateez x reader #mafia!yunho x reader #mafia!yunhoxy/n #kpop fanfic #kpop x reader #kpop imagines #kpop oneshots

[wh6res]

johnny — part of the my bloody valentine collection.

prompt. the closer you are to your soulmate, the warmer you feel. the farther you are, the colder.

synopsis. johnny had always preferred you in winter clothes, anyway. you can say it makes his job a lot easier.

warnings. tread cautiously. smut, swearing, mentions of drugs, mentions of smoking, mentions of stalking, violence, implied kidnapping near the end, johnny's a lil delusional, implied slutshaming

disclaimer. a friendly reminder that i do not, under any circumstance, condone or support any acts like this. this is not love and this is not how a normal relationship should be like. the things i write are all fiction and should be treated as such and if you don’t like it, please do not read it and waste your time hating on it. the 9 members of nct 127 do not act like this in real life and shouldn’t act like this in real life.

inspired by red.

in a world where finding one’s soulmate is a big hot and cold game, having sex for the heck of it proves to be a challenge. who’d be willing to take off their clothes when you literally feel negative degrees because your soulmate lives on the other side of the world?

but it’s weird, really. some people don’t have their soulmates living in another country. some people lucked out and have their soulmate living just across the street, or next to their house, and probably didn’t need all those winter clothes that other people wear.

johnny had eventually developed an unspoken rule to only get with the ones who are bundled up in their ‘lil jackets and parkas, running the other way from people who show more skin. he isn’t a masochist, why’d he want to spend time with someone who’s close to meeting their soulmate?

it hadn’t been two years when johnny met you in the brick alleyway of a local bar near the university, in the shortest, skimpiest outfit he’s ever seen. he tried to stop himself, oh, he truly did, but your cat-like grace and alluring eyes threw him off his game completely. one bottle of cheap beer led to another, exchanging whispers led to kissing, and kissing led to… well, in your mattress.

sure, the springs digging against his back as you rode him like a fucking horse hurt but it has a charm to it. with the pain and pleasure mixing into something so blinding that it was the best sex he’s had for years.

it was only after he'd cummed for the 5th time with you that night and had called it a day, did he realize that you haven’t met your soulmate nor were you feeling any closer to meeting ‘the one’ despite not wearing a jacket in the least.

you don’t know the relief that surged through johnny’s veins when you said…

“what? soulmate? i haven’t met them yet. wait a minute—you thought because of what i’m wearing, my soulmate’s close?” johnny felt a little stupid as you laughed, tugging the bedsheets higher up against your chest. “people i fucked always ask me that but nah, nothing can stop me from wanting to wear something that makes me feel confident.”

there’s something about you that johnny suh cannot pinpoint. it was that annoying feeling of having the words at the tip of your tongue yet being unable to say them. maybe it was the way you talked? the way you acted? or just the charisma you seem to exude so effortlessly? johnny would rather die than admit to anyone that you got him wrapped around your pretty little nimble fingers with just the bat of an eyelash.

he felt like utter shit for literally walking out on you as abruptly as he did (screw drunk taeyong for getting into bar fights again) but at least you guys exchanged numbers and talked about all that needed to be talked about.

when johnny went out that night to try out local bars outside the uni, he never thought he'd be coming back home, sober and satiated, with a new booty call.

the arrangement went on a few more times. and by few, johnny meant a hefty few, considering you saw each other more than his ten fingers can count and had always alternated between his place and yours. although due to taeyong being a constant nuisance (“i’m not just going to fucking move my gaming nights just so you can get your dick bounced, suh!”) he was always at your place, instead.

not that either of you minded. johnny had to sneak in and out of the university because you lived off the campus grounds but it’s well worth it. anyone will do anything for a taste of heaven, right?

not that you were an angel by any means but johnny discovers your moans turn whinier when he addresses you as such. it makes his cock throb with want, hearing you lose yourself underneath or on top of him as he used you to get off.

“isn’t that right, angel? come on tell me how much you love me fucking you. this is what you live for isn’t it?” johnny hisses, leaning forward, his chest touching your back as he railed you from behind.

you were way too lost in the pleasure to even answer him properly. you just felt so full, the slight curve of his cock aiding him to hit all the right places whenever he ruts his hips forward. he doesn’t even need to use his hands on you and johnny revels at how amazingly responsive you are.

all he can hear is you and boy was it enough to get him off. from your moans, to the clapping, to the lewd squelching sounds, to the springs of the mattress poking your front. everything is leading up to that moment you’re both chasing, that searing pleasure of climaxing.

when he feels you getting closer, he flips you onto your back, wanting to see your face twisted in sheer ecstasy when he makes you cum.

“johnny!” you scream when he hauls your legs over his shoulder, hitting impossibly deeper, grazing the walls of your cervix. “shit, shit, shit—i’m going to—”

he halts all movements.

the answering whine he got from you made him quickly wrap a hand around your throat, the other gripping your hips so hard you just know it’ll leave a nasty bruise the next morning. “you didn’t answer my question, sweetheart. go on—you live for my cock, don’t you?”

“johnny, come on—ah!” he cuts you off with a pointed look, the hard thrust rendering you speechless as he wraps his hand just a wee bit tighter around your neck.

“what did i say about whiny angels, hmm?” he leans down to your ear, puffing his hot breath with every word he spoke and drawing more beads of sweat on the side of your face. “go on, love, don’t be shy. i know you love my cock but i don’t tolerate you ignoring my questions.”

well, you’re fucked—figuratively—as you fail to remember whatever question he asked you only seconds ago.

you squeeze your eyes shut when he starts moving in the slowest pace possible, teasing you and making you work for it. as if your dilemma is written clear on your face, johnny coos, tilting his head. “what… is my angel having trouble?”

the surprised moan you let out when he gives another hard thrust sends shivers down his spine. he revels at your scrunched up face, both from the pleasure and wracking your brain frantically for whatever johnny wants because you sure as hell know that he’ll keep this pace up just to torture you.

“johnny,” you plead, nuzzling your face by his forearm propped beside your head. but one look at his face and you know he won’t drop it no matter how much you plead and beg for you to finish. “i didn’t—didn’t hear what you asked—”

“that’s just too bad, now, is it?” you squirm underneath him with one particular hard thrust, your head nearly hitting the wall behind the mattress.

“please… re—repeat the question? i promise i’ll do anything! you know i will! i’m—i’m your angel, right? i’ll do anything! just—”

“fuck the question,” he gasps, feeling you clenching around him as he gives in to the pleasure he wants to feel. screw pretenses. “that’s good enough.”

he started yet again his brutal pace, stopping only after you finished so he could pull out, ropes of his essence painting your naked stomach.

johnny doesn’t immediately slump next to you, reaching forward to the box of tissues lying on the floor next to the mattress so he can clean you up. he knows your heart flutters when he takes care of you after, that’s why he does it always, without fail. he can feel your hammering heart as he wiped away all of his sticky cum off your torso.

both of you are shivering underneath the thin blanket. with the nature of the soulmate rules plus the busted heater in your apartment, being naked as the day you were born is quite a bad idea unless you want to suffer from hypothermia.

“want a cig?”

johnny chuckles, putting an arm up to support his head. “you always ask me that and i’ll always say the same thing. i—”

“don’t smoke.” you finish his sentence, your giggle rings akin to that of a little girl as you click the lighter, angling your head so the cigarette butt will reach the small flame.

“those things’ll kill you,” johnny mumbles, eyeing a discolored portion of the ceiling.

you snort, tempted to blow the smoke directly to his face but you know what happened before—angry sex with johnny suh borders more on pain than pleasure… but masochists are made to love the pain, aren’t they?

johnny bolts upright in a coughing fit, the springs of the mattress groaning in agony with the sudden movement. only after he’s composed himself again after that small blast of smoke you blew towards him did he start glaring at you. yet his annoyance dissipates the moment he sees the eagerness and mischief swirling in your eyes.

“you’re gonna fucking pay for that.”

johnny doesn’t like thinking that he’s growing attached. what the heck is taeyong even saying? feelings make everything messy and the last thing johnny wants to do is mess up whatever the fuck you guys have—not friends, not lovers, just smack dab in the middle.

so why is he so affected by the sudden infrequency of your texts? you used to reply within seconds after johnny asks if he can come over, now it takes you hours and more often than not johnny has already taken care of the problem himself by the time you replied.

and your texting style has gradually started to change, as well. gone are the days you’d humor him when he gives poorly disguised sexual innuendos for the fun of it. when johnny does end up coming over, you’re still as noisy and whiny as a bitch in heat but… there’s something off with everything. 

with you.

johnny’s just concerned. can he not feel that way? concern doesn’t automatically equal to any romantic feelings whatsoever, right?

“are you okay?” he asks, never the type to beat around the bush with someone. he tries to force out a chuckle, afraid whatever he said sounded a tad too serious. “i mean, i don’t know. is there something wrong—”

“i met him.”

“who?”

one look in your eyes and johnny knew you were pertaining to your soulmate.

he dashes over to you in a heartbeat, running his hands down your arms but before he can even reach your hands, you’ve hissed and pushed him away. “you’re hands are freezing, johnny!”

it was only a moment, seconds of touching you yet he can feel you weren’t as cold as you used to and it only meant one thing.

johnny’s smart enough to know he wasn’t your soulmate because if it was, you would’ve gotten warmer from the day you two met—but no, you were as cold as him, and had excused fucking each other as a means of sharing body heat. but even if that was the case, you both have made the agreement to still see or fuck around each other even after meeting your own respective soulmates.

jesus christ, you were the one who brought the issue up! and now… now what’s this bullshit he’s hearing from you?

“i can’t—can’t do this anymore, john,” you say firmly as you stand across the room, far away from him. hugging yourself as if you were the one breaking and not johnny. “we’d be hurting other people—”

“but you said—”

“i know what i said,” you snap, piercing eyes heatedly finding his. “i was stupid back then, i thought i can keep this up but—the guilt, johnny. you don’t know how guilty i fucking feel!”

“guilty?” he asks incredulously, taken aback of the implications of that one word.

you being guilty meant you’ve already met and have probably spent a reasonable amount of time with your soulmate (so that’s what you’ve been doing for the duration of you not talking to him). you being guilty meant you’re not exactly the proudest with whatever relationship you have with johnny and had probably kept your little midnight rendezvous with him a secret to your soulmate. you being guilty meant the sex you had only an hour ago was meant to be a goodbye of sorts, if the apologetic look you’re shooting him is anything to go by.

“look,” he’s never heard you sound so defeated before. “it was great, okay? the time i had with you, sex and aftercare and pillowtalk—all that shit. it was great but we both know it’s going to end eventua—”

“is the sex that good?”

“excuse me?”

“oh, i see,” johnny says condescendingly, a tone he’s never used when talking to you before but you’re leaving him with no choice. “he’s bigger, is that it? that has to be it. i wouldn’t put it past you, anyway—”

the slap you gave him only served to make his cock twitch under his sweatpants.

“leave.”

staring isn’t a crime. what can a pair of eyes do? it may be sharp like a knife and heavy like a gun in one’s hands but other than that can it physically do any harm? the answer’s simple—no, it fucking can’t. this is why johnny, for the life of him, can’t fathom as to why and what taeyong is so pressed about. johnny never thought him as a nagger, but his friend has transformed into an overgrown bat hovering behind his shoulders as if he’s some kid in need of monitoring.

“you call her a slut and now you’re being a stalker. wow, john, how utterly irresistible you’ve become.” taeyong looks so unfazed by johnny’s sharp eyes that the taller male’s fingers twitched in annoyance.

“i’m not stalking her!” he hisses under his breath, elbowing taeyong’s ribs only to curse when his bone hits the plethora of enamel pins stuck on his friend’s leather jacket. “and i didn’t call her a slut, either. get your facts straight.”

“but you implied it didn’t you?”

before johnny can even growl out a response, taeyong has quickly slipped into the bodies dancing in the middle of the bar.

so what if you were here? so what if this is the same bar you guys met? johnny’s not here for you. fuck, no. he’s here because this bar is closest to the uni and he isn’t in the mood to walk farther than a few blocks.

but no matter how much he claims otherwise, actions have always rang louder than words and johnny knows he’s creating a fool out of himself every time his eyes stray a little too far left and onto your figure, sitting next to a guy whose arm is wrapped around your waist like a vice.

but that’s not the interesting part—johnny wonders why your soulmate has another girl pressed up on his left.

oh, that’s your soulmate alright. judging by how you’d fan yourself fruitlessly with your hands, judging by how you’d cradle the glass filled with cheap beer and ice in hopes of the cold remedying your dried up palms.

but what sold you out? it’s how your eyes met his from way across the room. he knows you enough to see the apprehension and shock in your face only to quickly school it into indifference. the moment you glanced between him and that shitty soulmate of yours, he knows you’ll come crawling back into his arms—it’d only be a matter of time.

and not even hours later johnny’s phone rang and he stared down at your caller id with a sense of pride and sick entertainment rushing through his veins.

he knew he won, he just knew he did.

“and what does the angel need in such an hour?”

funny how you kicked him out of your apartment and now you’re ringing up his cell on the exact time you used to meet each other when you fucked around.

you’ve always been someone he can’t read, someone he can’t understand. may it be your logic, or your actions, or the words you say but it was all part of the appeal. a mystery johnny can’t help but want to unfold. when you called, the last thing he had ever expected was to hear you half-crying and half-moaning out his name like a mantra. he hears the sharp slick sounds and your shaky breath and knows exactly what you’ve been up to.

johnny isn’t a cruel person. it’d be mean of him to not give in when you had asked him so nicely.

“i’ll be there in five, angel.”

you wind back to each other for numerous times even after that night. you yourself always in the same predicament of being high as a fucking cloud, and johnny constantly getting flashbacks of the first few weeks he had with you.

but the way you treated each other has long passed the blurry lines of unspoken boundaries. you just felt so warm lying between his arms that he can’t help but tuck you in tighter, running fingers through your hair as you slept like a baby next to him and not on your soulmate’s bed.

johnny thought he’d won after you came back to him. how foolish of him to think that winning had something to do with this when it had everything to do with the small sparks of desire eating away at his insides—the desire to have you all for himself.

johnny scowls when you ask him to be quiet while in the middle of sex just because your soulmate called. johnny scowls when you refuse to meet up with him because you already have “plans” with your soulmate. johnny scowls when he smells a faint cologne that doesn’t belong to him on the whole of your apartment.

you yawn, subconsciously trying to shrug off johnny’s arms from your body in your sleep as you turned your back on him.

but want to know what johnny hates the most? what leaves a taste so bitter in his tongue that his whole day becomes a whole fucking mess? you trying to push him away… only to throw yourself back right into his arms.

how confusing can you be? how much more of the awful migraines will you let johnny endure? you’re driving him up the wall, pushing him to the edges of his sanity and the frustration only serves to add fuel to the fire.

what was so great about your soulmate that you can’t leave the bastard for good? johnny’s not stupid, he’s seen hickies countless of times to know that some purple marks on your skin are more than that—those weren’t hickies, they’re bruises. and god knows how much johnny hurts inside when you flinch away from him when all he wanted to do was pick away a fallen eyelash on your cheek.

he needed to save you, to snatch you away from the horrors of tartarus to worship you like a goddess again. and when he mulled everything over and over and over in his head, he only came up with one thing.

johnny perks up when he feels the phone vibrating on his lap, your caller id flashing in the dark room as he gamed on his pc. he eyes the phone in the corner of his eyes, contemplating the choices he will make. it’s not that he doesn’t know it’s wrong, but he needs you to wake the fuck up and you were taking too little too long for his taste.

his ringtone is deafening in the quiet room, he watches it vibrate against the table for a few more seconds until it stops. you have one missed phone call/, it says on his notifications.

the screen turns black.

he makes his move.

“what took you so long?” you whine, eyes red and seeing everything in a kaleidoscope as you stumble towards the door in a haste to get to johnny. you hear him strut through the door, shutting it close before hearing the soft pads of his shoes hitting the floor when he toes them off.

“i had to run errands, angel.”

with your hazy mind, you don’t detect the scratchiness of his voice. it’s as if he screamed his heart out until his own voice started to feel like knives against his throat every time he spoke. you were too high, too stoned, that you thought he sounded like melted chocolate, the drugs fucking up your whole system.

you giggle, folding in on yourself as you slumped to the floor, leaning against the wall with your knees tucked under your chin. “what kind of errands?”

“want me to show you?”

you were giggling when you signed your death wish. “yes, please!”

when he leans down, you didn’t smell the metallic scent that seemed to cling onto his clothes, didn’t see the splotches of red that ruined his favorite white shirt, didn’t taste his inhumanity when he leaned down to capture your lips into a heated kiss.

everything is under a thick layer of guise when you look down high up from cloud nine. but if only your feet had been anchored to the ground, maybe you would’ve seen everything as it was—would’ve seen the bat as it comes swinging down the back of your head after he’d pulled away. not enough to kill, just enough to knock you out. the clock starts from there.

johnny needed to be efficient, quick on his feet, as he incapacitated you with enough cable ties and darted around your apartment to shove everything in his duffel bag.

he mumbles to himself as he slots you inside the modest clothes he bought—he’s seen your closet enough to know that there wasn’t enough clothes that can keep you warm, so instead, he made you wear his own.

“this isn’t my fault,” johnny says under his breath as if trying to convince himself. “she forced my hand. forced me to do it. this is her fault.”

with all your big talk of able to withstand the coldness from when you had yet to meet your soulmate, he knew you won’t be able to handle the freezing heights brought by the temperature now that he left your soulmate to rot in a ditch.

this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault. this isn’t my fault.

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