#bunny mask is VERY much a girl's girl so i feel like it's equally as likely that she feels the same kind of admiration for other women that- | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

yeojaa · 4 years

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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hournites · 3 years

Text

Heaven & Hell

Hournite Halloween Fic ✨

Halloween is hell for Rick. Not the holiday, exactly. Rick is pretty much indifferent. He never dressed up after his parents died and never really found himself wanting to. He always thought and said that costumes were stupid because it was better to ascribe to those beliefs than to admit he was sad Matt never cared enough to get one for Rick of his own. The entire Trick or Treat concept was basically forgotten to Rick as well. The properties were so spaced out in West Farms, if there were any kids it would take half the night to hike up different dirt roads just to get to the front door. And there weren’t any kids. It wasn’t Halloween itself that Rick dreaded so much. It was this damn school’s obsession with it. Watching his class trip over their long clothes in the hall as he pushed back to get somewhere or being begged by wannabes to supply drinks for their parties always put Rick in a bad mood.

Rick finds himself recalling all this bitterly when sophomore girls started shrieking when a boy in a dollar store mask screamed in their faces. The noise startles Rick so bad he nearly dropped his hourglass as he packs his bag for class at his locker that morning. He rolls his eyes and slings his bag over his shoulder, getting through a crowd of onesies, monsters, witches and playboy bunnies. Then someone grabs his elbow. Rick turns around, about to shrug them off with a killer glare, but loses the words when Beth faces him with an apologetic expression.

“Sorry!” she says. “I know you don’t like it when people sneak up on you, I called but I don’t think you heard me.”

Rick stares like an idiot. Beth’s hair is wrapped up in a tight bun with gold glitter creased along her edges and eyes. She’s wearing a white bodysuit matched with an almost silver satiny skirt that flares around her waist with fishnet tights and flats. Rick blinks and blinks again. She looks ethereal and glows with a brightness that Rick can barely fathom in the presence of that halo.

“You didn’t wear a costume last year.”

Beth hiked up her skirt. “I had nobody to dress up with me last year.”

Courtney and Yolanda come to both of her sides, flanked in equally obvious angel costumes.

“We’re the holy trinity,” Courtney says and strikes a pose.

Yolanda makes a face. “No...That’s not actually…” Courtney is already gone, spotting Cameron around the corner. “...Nevermind.”

“See?” Beth opens her school bag and pulls out a devil’s horn headband. “And we didn’t leave you out.” Rick doesn’t really get a say in the matter. She tugs on his sleeve and pulls him down, firmly sticking the red horns on his head.

“When did you plan this?”

“Last week,” says Yolanda. She checks her watch. “Shoot, I have to ask Miss Woods something before the test. I’ll see you in homeroom!”

Beth walks down the hall with Rick. It takes nearly three full minutes for Rick to string together a decent compliment as Beth explains how she put together her DIY outfit. She grins and grabs his arm, lacing her hand through his. “You don’t have to wear the devil horns all day, we just want a JSA picture to mark the anniversary.”

Rick stops short. “Wait...It’s been a year?”

“Since we officially joined? Yes, for us two, anyway.”

Rick’s been harbouring feelings for Beth for a whole year?

“Wow.”

They get to their homeroom class and find Yolanda bent down with her halo bobbing over her desk as she scribbles furiously to make her Chemistry summary sheet.

They take their seats by the back and save a seat for Courtney, expecting her to run late like usual.

Artemis walks by and snorts at them. “Appropriate couples’ costume.”

Rick immediately goes red as Beth curiously giggles, biting her lip and shying away from Rick’s eventual gaze.

“Couples’ costume?” he repeats.

Beth shrugs. “We can’t help what they think, right?”

Impulsively, Rick scoots his desk closer. “Maybe Artemis has a point,” he says. “We look very ‘Opposites Attract’ right now.”

Beth widens her eyes. “I think we’ve always looked that way.” Her expression is innocent but the mere fact she’s doing so purposefully while keeping eye contact is telling Rick she’s not so.

Rick takes a second to process what Beth means. He moves his hand along the desk, bumping her hand with his. “This wouldn’t bother you, then?”

“No.” Beth laces their fingers together and pulls Rick’s arm off her desk.

Homeroom starts.

Beth gets called for rollcall less than a minute later and she raises both their joint hands. “Here!”

Rick lets himself get tugged along by Beth, connected by the hand all morning. When the group meets up at lunch by their usual table, the girls greet him with their twin very unangelic smirks.

“Shut up,” he says when Beth momentarily leaves to find a plastic fork. “I can’t function today. She looks perfect.”

Courtney laughs, calling him a simp as Yolanda mutters, “We’re literally wearing the same costume.”

Rick doesn’t care much about their teasing when Beth comes back and blows him a glittery kiss.

Maybe Halloween isn’t so hellish after all.

#beth chapel #rick tyler #hournite #rick x beth #stargirl spoilers #halloween fic #stargirl #hn fics #hournites fic #tkv fic #hn talks

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bibbykins · 3 years

Note

For research purposes I must know. How will Bunny react if Joon gets his nipples pierced. (This thought has high key stemmed form thoughts of joon having nipple piercings and even thought I do NOT the mental captivity to dive into that right now, mayhaps I want to paw at his chest thank you🥵) —🦋

You rlly came out here swinging huh!?!?!

Joon with nipple piercings?!?!?! Bunny.exe has stopped working!! Let's say he had these all along and when MC first watches him slip off his shirt she GASPS when she sees them-

DAMNIT! I GOTTA! (This is sososo short and not detailed but I mean.. here it isss)

Note: this is a maybe-probably not(?)- canon ask drabble for The Household's Bunny series

Warnings: 18+, nipple play, nipple piercings, praise kink(?), dom/sub dynamics, hair pulling (?) Almost?, housewife kink

His eyebrow arched, and one would assume he was confused by your reaction had it not been for the knowing smirk that adorned his plush lips, "You alright, petal?" He was patronizing you, but you could hardly point it out as the silver bars that adorned his nipples stared at you. Arguably, equally patronizing.

You were almost in a trance as you leaned up on your knees, the bed dipping down as it cushioned your skin. Gazing up at him from you lashes with faux-innocence, you began to bring your hands towards the sterling jewelry, only for your hands to be caught into his grip. A whine bubbled in your throat, "Joon, you can't just show 'em to me and not let me feel."

He chuckled before leaning his face down to yours, "Shouldn't you ask first?" His tone was teasing as you pouted, "Like a good girl?"

"No fair! You said your body is mine as much as my body is yours." You huffed before looking at him with pleading eyes, "They're just so pretty, I was speachless."

He fought the urge to groan. He had to swallow down his own whine of why the hell were you so cute?! It was hardly fair that you possessed this innate ability to make his hard and dominant exteriror crumble being such a brat. Your eyes made him want to give into your every wish, especially when one of your wished were to explore his sensitive nipples because they're "pretty".

You bounced up and down to whine some more at his silence and he studied your movements with hooded eyes. Your vintage dress, the very one you intentionally wore to stir up his housewife fixation and get him to fuck you, had the buttons at the center undone, exposing your plush curves and lacy floral lingerie. And he was unfair? Yeah, right. You knew what you were doing when you "just happened" to wear the necklace he bought you with that outfit, and damnit, it was working. So were those damn puppy dog eyes you hadn't let up, "Fine." He sighed and his heart soared at the way you sprung up in excitement, placing a sweet kiss on his lips while he let go of your hands. Before you could make a move, one large hand laid on your neck. He was not squeezing but definitely keeping a firm grip, warning you as his dark eyes drank in your shock at the abrubt movement, "Gently, sweetheart."

"Yes, sir." You failed to mask your excitement, especially now that you knew they were sensitive. Namjoon’s dom switch was always flipped when you were approaching a sweet spot, so when he let go of your throat, you waste no time in letting a newly manicured hand travel up slowly. His breath discreetly hitched when your index finger made contact with the pierving just as you shuddered, "Gonna taste it, sir." Was all the warning you gave before your sweet lips wrapped around the other sensitive bud.

He threw his head back and cursed as his hand instinctively wrapped into your hair. However, like the brat you were, you were being gentle, almost too gentle, so that way he wouldn't pull you off.

You were utterly fascinated with them. Even as he was guiding your hips to ride him, your hands made their way to the bejeweled bundles of neves. You cried out when the stimulation caused him to buck up into you. You were having the time of your laugh playing with his pretty piercings.

Meanwhile, he was pretty sure you were trying to kill him.

#yandere bts #bts fanfic #bts series #bts smut #soft yandere bts

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wannabe-fic-writer · 4 years

Text

Natasha x Romanoff : Escape

Summary: The Red Room haunts you, from the moment you stepped foot inside to long after you’ve left. Truth is, you don’t think there is any escaping it.

Warnings: 18+ Violence, Depression, Mentions of Death, Smut

!!Final Chapter!!

Chapter 16

******

Three broken bones.

They’d need to be reset and wrapped but due to your enhanced abilities they would heal quickly.

For now though they sit under an ice pack.

While you’re use to damage being done to your body in combat, the last circumstance you expected to be injured in was holding your wife’s hand.

Natasha had gripped your hand with not a single regard to the pained expression on your face and you’d paid very little attention to the damage she had done. Between her screams and the doctors calmed words you couldn’t care less.

Even after she had let it go and slumped in exhaustion you worked through the pain. With the sounds of your child crying, you hurry to the foot of the bed, picking up the scissors as instructed and cut the umbilical chord.

Now you watch as the doctor and nurses follow the basic procedure of weighing and cleaning your baby, and also attending to Natasha.

Part of you feels a little useless as you stand to the side but more than anything you’re happy and concerned, slightly nervous. You really just want to hear that your wife will recover properly and that your baby is in perfect health.

As you wait for the nurses to finish up, you run the cool damp rag over your wife’s forehead, wiping away the sweat that had built up. You place a gentle kiss on her head, brushing away almost dried tears and loose strands of hair.

“I’m so proud of you lyubov moya, I love you so much.” You whisper praise and honest words into her hair.

Natasha gives a sleepy smile to you,“ I love you too.” She sighs, eyes closing.

Her rest hasn’t even begun before the nurses are stepping over with your baby.

“Congratulations on your healthy baby girl.” The nurse speaks through the mask.

She eases your little girl into the open arms of your teary eyed wife. They both handle the baby with care and gentleness, treating her as if she’s porcelain. She’s more precious than that and you know it, which is what makes you even more nervous.

During the pregnancy you had done everything you could to care for the baby and Natasha. Making sure Natasha ate properly and was equally as active as she was relaxing. Staying awake a littler longer than Natasha to ensure she remained comfortable and in the proper position while asleep.

All of that still hadn’t prepared you for this moment. Nothing truly could have but that’s usually the case.

“Y/N,” swallowing, you focus on your wife as she sits up to hand your daughter to you.

That phrase repeats itself in your head as you accept her.

Your daughter. You make sure her head is rested properly on your arm.

Your daughter. You press her close to your chest to ensure she’s warm and safe.

Your daughter.

A soft, almost inaudible coo escapes her lips. She just barely wiggles in your arms. And then those little eyes open.

When those emerald orbs stare back at you it’s an other worldly feeling. The emotions that swirl through your chest explode and fill you from head to toe.

It was undeniable that Natasha’s green eyes could motivate you to move mountains. For the same green eyes that belonged to your daughter, you swore you would move the universe.

“She has your eyes.” You breathe.

Natasha chuckles softly, mesmerized by the sight of you.

The red head remembers every bit of your panic and nervousness the months prior to this.

Staying up for hours reading pregnancy and child care books. Scurrying through the house to child proof every inch of it. Waking up in the middle of the night just to run your fingers over her stomach and make sure she and the baby were okay.

Admittedly Natasha had felt a little guilty during her pregnancy. There wasn’t a moment that you weren’t by her side. You attended to her cravings and the sporadic changes in her body, whether she was in pain or she needed you to fuck her into oblivion, without a second thought.

With each symptom that came with each trimester you adjusted and did everything in your power to be there for Natasha and ultimately your child. And she didn’t miss the sleepiness that lingered in your eyes or the tired sighs you let out every so often.

It brought the woman to tears more often than she’d like to admit, most times resulting in you trying to comfort her, which just made her cry more. She genuinely felt as if she was asking too much of you.

But you reassured her, after she finally broke and told you how she was feeling, that you would do it all again in an instant(part of you thinking of the chance of you having to do it again should you both decide to have another child) because you love her and your baby.

Every little move and decision you had made, despite your worry and doubt in yourself, you’d done it all because you love her and your daughter, and it all lead to this moment.

Right now, with your daughter cradled to your chest and love radiating off of you, Natasha knows that you’re going to be the greatest mother.

In the passing hours you both easily lose yourselves in her presence. Even as the nurses come in and out of the room to check on you all, has you sign all the necessary papers, and guide Natasha with breastfeeding, you remain completely entranced by the tiny human.

So much so that you’d forgotten about your friends and family out in the waiting room. One look at the clock reveals that they had indeed been waiting for ten hours.

Before you do anything you check with Natasha. If she says she’s too tired you’ll tell them to go home until she’s ready. But the excitement of seeing her family meet her daughter keeps her awake.

Fingers wringing together in excitement and remaining waves of nervousness, you step out the room and walk down the hall.

No one notices you at first, giving you a moment to take in all the support you and Natasha have.

The large waiting room is nearly full of Avengers and friends alike. Right beside the door sits the Captain himself clutching an adorable brown teddy bear. The three chairs beside him are occupied by the Starks: Tony sips from a cup of coffee with his arm thrown over his daughter, who is holding a slightly used white bunny rabbit with her mother on her opposite side.

Along the wall opposite the door sits the Bartons. Clint’s leg bounces up and down, Laura’s hand placed on the still one. Their children sit beside each other on Laura’s side, an assortment of balloons and flowers with them.

Bucky, Sam, Wanda, Carol, and Peter sit in the center of the room, the first holding a gift basket as a bag sits beside Carol’s foot. Lastly, seated behind them across three chairs is Bruce. It’d been years since you’d seen him in normal human form but it doesn’t surprise you that he chose this particular occasion to down size.

Making yourself known, you step into view. You’d never seen the group of heroes move so quickly before. They gather around you, an array of questions flying from their lips that causes you to smile.

“Calm down guys please.” Despite them shutting up, you still see the way they physically can’t calm.“ I am pleased to announce the birth of our perfectly healthy baby girl, Annalise Romanoff-Y/L/N.”

The nurses are not happy with the cheer that bursts over the group and you’re quick to silence them.

From there you bring back a few people at a time. The first group of course being Clint, Steve, and Tony.

You enjoy seeing the big bad super solider get so nervous when Annalise is placed in his arms, you imagine that’s how you look if not more nervous when you hold her. And of course Clint and Tony handle her with the care of that of a father.

The next group is Pepper, Morgan, Laura, Wanda, and Carol. Pepper and Laura, while very much in love with Annalise already, spend more time than the others checking in with Natasha. Which is to be expected, they’re the only ones who truly understand how wracking this all has been for Natasha.

In groups of three, the last of your visitors come in. All of which want to hold your daughter. Except for Bucky, Morgan, and little Nathaniel. Truthfully you weren’t too sure about letting Peter hold her as he was more than a little nervous, you didn’t want the jumpy boy to drop your daughter so you sat him down before handing her over.

Like all things, visitation comes to an end. Natasha loses her last bits of strength to stay awake and after another feeding she and Annalise are asleep.

Of course you are tired, you’d woken up at three in the morning and have been alert and slightly on edge for ten hours. Still you stay awake, eyes spending equal amounts of time looking at your wife and daughter.

Standing guard in the hospital room probably wasn’t necessary and you definitely need the sleep but you’ve already vowed in yourself to give anything for your girls. And it starts right now.

***** ***** *****

“Heads up Mama!”

Looking up at the sound of your wife’s voice, you catch the sight of your little girl quickly coming your way. You set down your drink, stand up, and scoop her into your arms.

“What can I do for you little miss?” You ask, earning a toothy grin from her.

She buries her face in your neck seeing Natasha walk over, mumbling,“ want juice pop.”

Your wife rolls her eyes in mock annoyance, a smile instantly taking over her face.

“Have I missed something?” You look from your daughter to your wife.

The older redhead nods,“ yes in fact you have. She wanted a snack and I pulled out her carrots and she took off toward you hoping to get a juice pop.”

There’s no denying that Annalise has both you and Natasha wrapped around her little fingers, and at the young age of three she knows exactly who to go to to get what she wants.

You give Natasha a pout,“ awe, come on mommy, one little juice pop won’t hurt.”

Hearing that you’re on her side, Annalise sits up and looks at you, before pouting at Natasha as well,“ pease mommy. One little juice pop?”

“I’m a highly trained secret agent and you two think pouts is going to make me crack?” She looks from your e/c eyes to the green eyes of your daughter.

One glance at each other and you’re looking at her with pouts and puppy dog eyes.

“Fine!�� Her hands go up in surrender,“ you can have juice pops.”

The two of you waste no time going to get the sugary snacks, Annalise making sure to bring back a strawberry one for your wife as Natasha deemed it her favorite.

It had taken years, for things to finally start to settle. Rebuilding the world takes time, and despite the progress there is still much to be done. But with the compound having been completely redone(with more safety precautions installed than there were to protect the state) the team decided it was time to relax.

With today being ultimately rare, as no one was off on a mission or working in general, Tony called for a picnic at the compound.

Gentle breezes pass through the large field, rustling the surrounding trees and wafting the nearby aromas: smoky scents of cooking meat from the grill, natural fruity tones from the table of healthy snacks and the contrasting sugary scents of the desert table.

Obvious sounds of happiness fill the air. Childish shrieks and squeals come from the bounce castle that the Barton children, Morgan, and Peter occupy. Boisterous laughter from the super soldiers, God, and soldier who stand around the drink coolers. A harmless altercation between Tony and Bruce being instigated by Clint, Happy and Rhodey, that is quickly broken up by their wives as they head over to join Wanda and Carol under the shade.

In this moment, watching all your friends spend the day together and seeing your daughter messily feed your wife a strawberry juice pop, you feel lighter than you ever have.

As a child you were taught that love is for children. Growing up you were trained and made to be a weapon. You’d done horrible things to people both good and bad. And for majority of your life you believed you were destined to do the bidding of the people who enslaved you, destined to live in the darkness you grew accustomed to.

Throughout that darkness there were shimmers of light, sprinkles of hope, and glimpses of a better future.

Natalia had illuminated the darkness that the Red Room subjected you to, little moments together showing you that love isn’t for children.

Natasha pulled you from the shadows HYDRA casted over you, proving that there’s more to you than the bad you’d done for them.

Misses Y/L/N-Romanoff opened the door to a future of happiness you thought to be unattainable.

Each alias belonging to and assisting in the creation that is the woman that single handedly changed your entire life. The woman that loves you unconditionally, that introduced you to the large group of people you call your friends, and gave you your daughter, a gift beyond your wildest dreams.

For the first time ever, with your family and friends surrounding you, you’d felt truly at peace. The demons of your past no longer loomed over you. You’d escaped the darkness they trapped you in. And nothing could mass the love and happiness it brings you.

******

Taglist: @thelastavenger-3000 @aaron-despair @messuhp@izalesbean @bvb-bk @username23345 @sighsam@confusinggemini612 @natasha-danvers @rileigh519@higherfurther-romanova @dynnealberto

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanoff imagine #natasha romanoff #natalia romanova #black widow x reader #black widow #marvel x reader #marvel #mcu x reader #mcu #reader insert #Escape

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parksseonghwas · 4 years

Text

espresso martinis and red hair.

∘₊✧──────✧₊∘

part one!

a/n: there is some wording that, now that i read it, implies???? seonghwa drugged the reader.

i promise he did not!!! for those who aren’t very knowledgable in drink/alcoholic beverages, vodka is a really strong alcohol no matter what it’s mixed with (oftentimes it’s >=30% alcohol) so if the reader has a particularly weak alcohol tolerance it won’t take much vodka to make them very drunk!

that’s how i’ve intended for it to be written! this kinda turned into seongsang x reader sorry :\

another point is that the alcohol names? they’re from irish pubs or bars haha, i’m irish and yeah,,, please don’t joke about the stereotypes

i’m so sorry to the requests i put off to write this

ೃ❅,. ˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳ ┊͙ w/c: 2,316

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park seonghwa was skilled at his job. he grabbed the bottle of kahlua—topped by a speed pourer, of course—with his index and middle finger, flipped it to pour the intoxicating liquid into a metal, double-sided cocktail measure, which would soon flip into a shaker made from the same material. alongside other ingredients, he threw in vodka, espresso, and a handful of ice. the top was shoved onto the container, slapped, and there was a rough shaking sound emitting from the metal as he wasted no time with theatrics or shoddy cocktail shaking. his movements were oddly poetic though.

once he was satisfied with the amount of condensation gathering on the metal, he slowed his rigorous motions and his hand smacked the side of the cups, loosening the top and setting it aside to be washed. he disappeared for a moment to grab glasses that steamed and were surrounded by cold smoke, having been in the refrigerator. a strainer came into view, and the deceivingly shallow glasses were filled with what was known to many as an espresso martini. seonghwa delicately placed two coffee beans in the centre of the drink, and the display was complete.

you didn’t order this. you were about to order, but your ever-so-knowledgable friend told you that “seonghwa makes a drink that he knows you won’t be able to resist”, but... an espresso martini? one of the most basic cocktails? there would have to be a fucking bunny rabbit appearing from the glass for you to be impressed or found to be unable to resist it.

your mouth opened to make a snarky comment, but the bartender’s eyebrow raised in a “you dare to challenge my intuition?” manner, and you found yourself sheepishly accepting the drink. the knowledge that he made you weak would later make seonghwa’s ego inflate like a damn balloon.

the man was all chains, piercings, and cockiness. the bar was a small joint, cosy, but not too comfortable. dimly lit, not dark. it felt shady, but homely. he was free of customers after he made your drink so he danced to the beat of the music pulsating through the speakers, hips swaying and his body completely under his command. his dyed red hair fell over his eye as he watched you take the first sip. a smirk grew on his face as he saw the look of surprise, confusion, and awe overtake your features.

another point to hwa, he laughed internally. really, he’d lost score of how many customers he pleased.

“okay, what the fuck did you do to this drink? why does the martini taste so good?” the snappy words were in the open before you had a chance to filter them, and the previous cheeky smirk was replaced with a laugh and a warm smile. he guessed the reaction, he’s used to it.

the last thing you remember him saying is, “a magician never reveals his secrets.”

NIGHT TWO

the next morning you woke up alone, thankfully. nonetheless, his words echoed in your head, no matter how loud your music blared and wrecked your head. the crimson red colour of his hair would come to your memory every so often, and you hated that he had such a magnetic presence. if you weren’t so hungover, you would have considered going for a second round of drinks with your friend. you guessed he used a higher quality vodka, or a better coffee liqueur because damn just a couple of those martinis made you paralytic.

to your dismay, a magician would never reveal his secrets.

the sound of ice and alcohol mixing in the shaker. the almost kaleidoscopic vision of his hands gripping the metal. the scent of intoxication with a faint coffee undertone in the air. the taste of pure heaven on your tongue as a new style of a basic drink flowed from the opening of your lips right down the back of your throat.

fuck seonghwa.

fuck seonghwa!

his cocky attitude, the smile on his lips once he noticed that his prediction was correct. you could kill him, really. you could kill your dear friend too, she probably told him about the drink, the fucker.

your mind was made up. when the bastard hangover shifted, you made your way to your wardrobe. not long afterwards you were dressed up, not to the nines or anything fancy. it was a bar, not a nightclub or an upscale restaurant. you were trying to prove a point to a skilled bartender who just happened to put a satisfying spin on a drink you hadn’t tasted in months.

high heels emitted a muted clack against a sticky floor, a constant reminder that the owner of the bar probably didn’t give a fuck who dropped their drinks. similar music blurred into the background, the bass vibrating below the soles of your feet as you made your way to the remaining empty barstool.

a cloth squeaked and twisted against a glass as seonghwa cleaned the remnants of beer from it. he wore a white and red patterned shirt, the sleeves rolled and crunched at his elbows. his forearms tensed and flexed as he cleaned, his voice low and smooth as he converses with his fellow bartender, who you knew—or rather... your friend knew—as hongjoong.

the pair discussed whatever topic came to mind, and they seemed comfortable with each other. the elder of the two lifted his head as though he sensed your presence, and swivelled on his heels to face you with a devilish smile. hongjoong simply went to serve another over-eager customer who was practically begging to be slapped.

“espresso martini girl. i’ll assume you’re wanting the same drink again?” a barely there glint in his eye meant that he was enjoying this, revelling in the thrill he got from knowing you were getting more and more flustered.

“i’ll have you know i do have a name.” the words came out sharp, snappy, snarky. you hated that he brought out this nature in you, but you really couldn’t help it. his playful attitude combined with his stunning looks was an equation that equalled you being an internal mess.

a mirthless laugh filled the short space of air between you and the mixologist. either he was impressed by the balls you thought you had to speak to him in such a manner, or he was pissed off. the second option sounded rather terrifying, though.

“i know your name. you were wasted last night and shouting it at the top of your lungs while you ordered rounds for the whole bar.“ the sharp clunky against the bar signalled that seonghwa was satisfied with how clean the glass was.

a flash of a memory came at his description of the night previous.

a loud cheer resounded from your lips as your friend tried to quieten you down, and you mimicked her shushing action overdramatically. “a round of shots for everyone in the bar!” you cried out, brandishing your empty shot glass in the air. seonghwa himself suggested that shots may be a better option since the martinis were loaded with vodka.

“really, i think you were lucky i knew you were fucking wasted and didn’t mean a word of it.” he pulled out a footed pilsner glass, tilted it, and pulled the lever on the coors light tap, then poured the drink with an expert hand. with little foam gathering at the top, seonghwa gave the drink to an older man who seemed knowledgeable in his alcohol taste; judging from the cold glass of coors light sitting in front of him, you knew different.

your eyes rolled instinctively, and your blood boiled with the knowledge that he was right. or... was your blood boiling because you were too hot in the small bar? you weren’t wearing heavy layers or large coats, so what was the explanation for the amount of heat rushing through every inch of your skin?

“fuck you, i wasn’t wasted!” you retorted weakly. both of you knew it was false though.

“wasted or not, did i get your order right last night?“ he leaned over, arms crossed and propping him up just mere centimetres from

you. the scent of various drinks cling to him like a newfound lifeline, and inhaling felt like taking a new drug.

“no, i drink cosmopolitans. but it was a nice shake-up, if you’ll excuse the pun.” cheeky smiles warped your features, knowing you had outsmarted the apparently all-knowing bartender. you watched his own expression contort into one of confusion.

how did he get it wrong? how did he manage to fuck up the one thing he thought set him apart from other mixologists and bartenders? he’ll admit that the pun was mildly amusing. however, if it was to be paired with the fact that he messed up that badly? he was never going to forget it.

you were never going to let him live it down either, and the hours of relentless teasing made the minutes slip away into nothing. you didn’t even feel the time pass, or maybe that’s because he made you a couple more martinis, and you were tipsy once again.

though... you couldn’t really tell if it was the alcohol or his presence that was intoxicating you. maybe it was a mixture of both.

before long, hongjoong was gone and replaced with a completely different presence. the new worker was threatening, yet he seemed comforting. sharply contrasted hair, large numbers of piercings, dark makeup and outfits made him seem... too scary. he smiled at his coworker, seonghwa, and his lips curled to reveal a smiley piercing, almost complementary to the bar that ran through seonghwas bottom lip.

“yeosang, you look like a fucking ghoul mask with that makeup.” seonghwa laughed, a smooth sound you had become all too accustomed to.

imagine hearing it when he’s teasing you relentlessly in bed.

woah. where did that thought come from? you screwed your eyes shut and your hand came too sharp to your forehead with an unflattering smack. maybe it triggered more lewd thoughts, but you’d never tell them to the stranger across from the bar, especially when you weren’t totally sober.

pulled by an invisible thread, yeosang took seonghwa’s place in your line of sight. he got to be centimetres away from your face, and he was almost mocking you. you were tipsy from little to nothing. hell, you even asked seonghwa to “slow it down!” when he was pouring the cîroc. you knew your shit, that was 40% alcohol and 100% a bad decision if you weren’t intending on getting wasted.

he picked up a glass and poured water into it, pushing it back across the bar to you, “i think we can safely cut you off there, hm?” he teased, knowing full well he had no control over how much a customer can drink. still, the gesture sent a fluttering feeling to your chest. he was all piercings and hard exterior, but god he seemed soft.

the aftercare must be godly if he’s like this when you’re sober.

maybe you need to get away from the bar. the bartenders being pretty and your mind being intoxicated was doing nothing to stop any new thoughts from flooding in unwarned and unannounced. yet, the horror on your face after four futile attempts at turning on your phone alerted yeosang that something wasn’t right.

“what’s happened? you look worried.” his features warped and his previously stone cold expression changed into one of pure concern. you laughed mirthlessly, and you watched as the mixologist tilted his head in confusion. what was so funny to you?

“my phones dead. i was about to call a taxi and get out of here but my phone battery clearly had other plans.” your elbows came to rest on the surface of the bar, your chin in your palms and your head shaking in pure disbelief. this night was fantastic, you were bantering with the pretty bartender who blew your mind, and now there’s another equally pretty bartender pitying you as you lamented the loss of your one connection to a way home.

“what phone do you have? one of us might have a charger we can lend you.” after he finished speaking, one of your hands went into your jacket pocket and feebly threw the phone on the bar. yeosang inspected it under the lights—or lack thereof—and huffed out a breath of air in exasperation, “fuck. not the same charger we have, sorry.”

you raised your eyebrows with a flat expression, unfazed by the unfortunate news.

“we don’t have a freephone yet, so is there anything i can do?”

“unless you can personally drive me home, there’s not much you can do.”

maybe yeosang would regret his next words, maybe he wouldn’t. he didn’t really know because he was so used to being teasing and relentless in his mocking ways. if he was to wreck his image over a cute bar-goer, so be it!

“well... where do you live?”

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sweetbunnykook · 4 years

Text

Q&A WITH 🐰: OY JK

A/N: Thank you to everyone who submitted a question for my first ever Q&A session with a character. Enjoy!

Bunny: Welcome to the first ever Q&A marathon starring my first yandere that I created on my blog, OY Jungkook! We have many readers send in questions they want him to answer and they have all been amazing; thank you for participating. Anything said in this interview will not be held against Jungkook whether it is from the readers or from him. This interview is a law-free zone, considering the context of his…activities in the story. Now, please give a round of applause for our cute but scary guest!

OY JK, beaming and bowing: I’m happy to be here, thank you for inviting me. I’m excited to talk about noona and I.

Bunny: Even if it’s NSFW?

OY JK: Especially if it’s NSFW.

Bunny, laughing: Let’s get started shall we? First question! Reader gucieguciekook said: “Hmm, oy!jk. What if Noona leaves you because of your unhealthy clinginess and constant need for intimacy and validation? OMG I LOVE U BUNNY”. Hahaha, I love you too!

OY JK: Phew, that’s a heavy one right off the bat. I think noona always appreciates me asking her for love and attention. Sure she gets a little annoyed sometimes when I’m upset that she’s more into her work than me, but I know when to back off a little bit so she comes after me for a change. I wouldn’t say my clinginess is unhealthy, just unordinary. So leaving is out of the question and I’ll do anything to stop that from happening. I’m a lucky man to be able to say we’re both equally obsessed with each other.

Bunny: I see…relationships are hard but as long as you love each other, it’ll be okay. Right?

OY JK, nodding: That’s right.

Bunny: Next question. From anonymous: “jk how do you picture your wedding with noona?”

OY JK, grinning: How much time do we have on this show?

Bunny: Plenty.

OY JK: Okay, to start off with, I want a small, intimate wedding with a limited number of guests so noona won’t be overwhelmed and it won’t bring back memories of her old wedding that shouldn’t have happened. Seokjin would be banned of course because he’ll just bring bad luck. As for decorations…she really likes peonies and orchids so I want the tables, the aisle, and the bouquet to be matching although the bouquet would be more beautiful because noona deserves the best. I want chandeliers and fairy lights too but nothing too bright and flashy. I’ll have a white suit on and she can pick a soft cloudy dress with a long tail, maybe something with chiffon and silk. No lace on anything except the veil. She might be pregnant by then so there must be a carpet and no dangerous areas like fountains and cliffs…actually, it might be a church wedding because she grew up religious and mother-in-law might like me better for that idea. For our rings, we’re getting them engraved and I’ll get a plain band and she’ll have the prettiest diamond from Cartier. We’ll serve cocktails and savory dinner items like roasted duck and lobster salad…but it depends on the season so I’ll have to wait until then.

Bunny: It seems you’ve thought about the wedding in detail.

OY JK, blushing: S-sorry, I tried to keep it brief.

Bunny: Oh it’s okay, I love the engraved wedding bands and flowers. Do you think noona would be thrilled?

OY JK: More than thrilled. I think she’d appreciate how much attention I’m putting into the smaller details. Noona is enthusiastic about beauty and I wanted to live up to her standards.

Bunny: That’s so sweet of you. Okay…next eyebrow-raising question from anonymous: “i see nsfw so i ask - koo what’s your favorite position with noona?”

OY JK: “I-I um…I like it when I’m sitting up and she’s on top so I can look at her face and play with her nipples. I can also hold onto her waist and control how fast or slow she wants it. B-But I also like missionary because noona gets to relax a-and I’m grateful that I can worship her body from head to toe in that position. It’s hard to pick a favorite when I’m just happy I get to touch her.”

Bunny: Is it hot in here or is it just me? Next question from stressedinmedschool257: “OY JK: will noona ever go with you to a shoot and will you ever ask to take pictures of her?? I’ve been seeing a lot of cute couple pictures like this and I think it’d be so cute to see you two doing it.”

OY JK, relieved his semi-boner is given a break: She’s been my muse since before we were in a relationship and it’s common for noona to model for me. I just keep the photos for myself. When she leaves work early or her vacation days coincide with my shooting days, I like to take her with me too. I gave her one of my cameras to use and she’s already taking pictures on her own hahaha, I think she’ll surpass my skills one day. We take a lot of photos on our dates too and the fridge in my studio has a few of our polaroid photos stuck onto it with magnets.

Bunny: That’s so cute! I’d love to see the couple photos another time. The same person is wondering about Taehyung and his girlfriend: “OY JK: have you ever met Tae’s assistant before?? If so, what did you think of her?? If not, do you want to or does Tae tell you enough about her???”

OY JK: Thank you, swing by my studio and I can give you a peek. No pictures please, for the sake of noona’s privacy. For Tae…I actually haven’t met his assistant before but we’ve talked on the phone and I’ve seen a photo of her. She seems very nice and genuine and I think Tae would appreciate someone who can keep up with him, you know he’s always traveling and it’s hard to get him to sit still. She’s head over heels for him and I think she’s great although I won’t hold my breath if she chooses to leave. Tae can be…difficult so I hope the best for her. I don’t tell them everything about noona so I only listen to what they want to tell me. Relationships are hard.

Bunny: Maybe one day I’ll have Taehyung join us in a Q&A.

OY JK, giggling: It’d take a miracle for him to do anything fun but I’d like to see you try.

Bunny: Okay, now back to noona. Anonymous asked: “Dear oy Jungkook, what’s your favorite physical attribute about noona and your favorite non physical attribute about noona?”

OY JK: Ah, it’s so hard to pick one but I’ll do my best. My favorite physical attribute would have to be her hair. She uses a honey hair mask that makes her hair smell so comforting that I fall asleep immediately when I spoon her and her hair is in my face. It’s so soft and long too. She has wavy hair so when she straightens it, it’s even longer and I just love combing through it. As for a non-physical attribute, I would say…her generosity. When we eat together she gives me the bigger portion and if she sees that I’m tired she always lets me nap on her lap and reassure me that everything is okay. She…she puts up a lot with me, I know. I love her so much for loving someone like me.

Bunny, choking up: Ah, Jungkook, you’re killing me. Please introduce me to any friends you have, I’d like a boyfriend as adorable as you.

OY JK: I’ll call Jimin and see if he’s interested but his cat steals all his attention these days.

Bunny: A cat as my love rival? I’d never win. Okay! Let’s end this on a fun note. Final question from anonymous: “what jk do if noona wont dress as a cat girl for him?”

OY JK: …

Bunny: …

OY JK: …C-can I please borrow a pillow?

Bunny, handing him a pillow to cover the very obvious tent in his pants: I’ll make sure to edit this out before airing.

OY JK: T-thank you and sorry…um…uh if noona won’t dress as a cat girl I…I’ll just have to accept this reality but she can’t resist me putting cat ears on her if I win a bet. That’s the rules.

Bunny: Why do I have a feeling from your reaction that you already have a plan to trap her into wearing cat ears?

OY JK, suppressing a smile: My lips are sealed.

Bunny: Well, this ends today’s Q&A session. Thank you once more to Jungkook for entertaining the readers and extra thank you to the readers for sending in questions. In case I don’t see you all next time, good afternoon, good evening, and goodnight.

#bunny:drabble #bunny:Q&A #interview with OY JK

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encursed · 3 years

Note

💭 (from Bernie!)

vibe check! get your vibe checks over here! (accepting!)

“Brother, am I... am I intimidating?”

The suddenness and straightforward nature of her question causes Bruno to freeze, his lips stuck on the rim of his teacup mid-sip. He pauses, sets his tea down onto their shared table and hums curiously.

“Hm? I don’t think you are. What makes you say that?”

Veronica sighs. She feels a blush creep along her cheeks, and masked though it may be, the girl shrinks beneath his gaze— it was not so often that she were so acutely aware of her effect on others. It was even less often that she would deem it important enough to ask Bruno about.

“Um... you see, there was this girl I met some time ago. I think her name was Bernadetta?”

The princess takes a sip from her tea, looking to the horizon beyond her brother as though to reminisce— their encounter had been a short one, but it stuck with her in a way that she didn’t quite expect it to. While she would normally revel in the idea of striking fear within the hearts of others, the fact that it was a classmate who feared her felt... odd. Being in the same class meant that they were supposed to be peers; equals. But with Bernadetta, things felt more cat and mouse; predator and prey.

Veronica can’t say she particularly likes it.

“She was a nervous little thing.” the girl explains, “She would not stop stuttering as she spoke. She was like... like a little rabbit being chased down. Her shaking and quivering annoyed me a little, I won’t lie, but... I don’t think I made it obvious enough for her to notice... or be scared by...”

Veronica frowns. She lowers her gaze, devoting her attention to the pattern on the tablecloth that looked very interesting all of a sudden. Had she been so rude during their first meeting? Fingers grip the thin handle of her teacup, their tightness threatening to snap it off entirely.

“...back to my question...” the princess continues, shaking her head, “Am I intimidating? Intimidating enough to make someone act like that, anyways...”

There is a thoughtful silence between them before Bruno speaks, his chin resting sagely on his hand.

“Perhaps to some people, you are. But to others, you also aren’t. Suppose it all relies on perspective. It’s possible you are intimidating, sure, but the opposite can also be true.” he shrugs, “I daresay it’s even possible that this girl you met is simply intimidated by everyone.”

The princess looks up as he finishes, facing her brother with wide, awed eyes— how was it that he ended up so smart? Perhaps he took the good parts of their father’s genes; however much those were, anyways.

“Oh. When you put it that way, it makes much more sense.” Veronica says, her shoulders relaxing, “She does look like the type to be frightened around most people. In fact, I can’t recall seeing her not act so jumpy around others...”

Veronica huffs, slightly amused.

“Heh. So maybe she really is just a timid little bunny rabbit... I see... Thank you for explaining.”

#verseandrhyme #—❝∙◦✥ ᴅɪᴅ ʏᴏᴜ ᴄᴀʟʟ ꜰᴏʀ ᴍᴇ..? (ᴀꜱᴋꜱ)#((thanks for sending!!!))#((bernie the bunny rabbit...))

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tiaragqueen · 4 years

Text

Verboten

✂ Pairing: Yandere! Prince! Haninozuka Mitsukuni x Princess! Reader

✂ Word Count: 901

✂ Trigger Warnings: Manipulation, possessive behavior, yandere theme.

[Edited]

***

Honey’s name messed with my brain more than Math. Let's see how many times I misspelled it as Honinozuka.

If you like my writing, please support me on ko-fi!

“I won't lie to you. I know he's just not right for you, and you can tell me if I'm off. But I see it on your face when you say that he's the one that you want.” - Treat You Better [Shawn Mendes]

You always disliked the idea of arranged marriage. Sure, it had its benefits: you wouldn’t have to exert too many efforts in searching for a potential partner and his wealth was already established to ensure a secure future. However, it took away the freedom and joy to know what kind of person your spouse was. Because, regardless of his personality, you would still marry him in the end. Royalties didn’t care much about whether you were fully suitable for him, or if he was a good person deep inside. They were more concerned about his demeanor – the mask he displayed to the world – or if he had vast possessions.

And as much as you refused to badmouth your own parents, they were still one of those royalties.

Fortunately, they weren’t superficial enough to send you off to an equally shallow man. They had run a background check on every man who had proposed you, and they concluded that Haninozuka from the Mitsukuni Kingdom suited you very well.

And, well, they weren’t entirely wrong.

Haninozuka, or ‘Honey’ as he had insisted you to call, was a perennial optimist who you rarely encountered among haughty and bratty princes. Though, his height and visage resembled more of a child than an eighteen-year-old teenager your parents had informed you beforehand. He, as you had observed, was very fond of confectioneries and cute things. He even carried around a pink bunny doll named ‘Usagi-chan’ that you learned was a gift from his late grandmother, and something he was protective of.

And due to said behaviors, too, you began to consider him as a little brother. Instead, you had a crush on a boy from the Hitachiin Kingdom, Kaoru, who you met on a ball several months ago.

Despite being younger, Kaoru was more mature and insightful than his older brother. You had stumbled upon him sitting in the gazebo when you sought for a break after a tedious small talk with other nobles, blissfully stargazing. Under the iridescent stars and nippy night air, you both chatted with each other until Hikaru came and told him to go home. The farewell tasted bittersweet on your tongue as you waved, thanking him for the delightful company. However, a grin from him promptly diminished the melancholy and loneliness that suffocated your chest.

And under the crepuscular sky, you wondered if you could marry him instead.

Honey didn’t know about this secret, forbidden feeling. At least, that was what you had assumed. He appeared the same as always; playing dolls, drinking teas, and chatting about whatever came to his mind. Although you despised being forced to marry a stranger, his lighthearted attitude had changed your opinion slightly.

Until you noticed his smile grew a bit duller than usual.

“[Name]-chan,” All trace of ebullience disappeared the moment he spoke up after a lull. “you like Kaoru-chan, don’t you?”

You couldn’t resist the way your eyes dilated once he inquired about it. Swallowing quietly, you mustered a lie. The first lie you would utter to your future husband. The first lie to conceal your complicated emotions. The first lie that would soon become your downfall. “Of course not.”

He hummed. “That wasn’t what it looked like, though.” Your brows twitched, but you managed to control the confusion. “The way you stared at him that night… I’d say you like him, or love him, even.”

You sucked in a surprised breath through your teeth. How did he know that you encountered Kaoru during the ball? You were sure nobody was in the garden aside from you both. Could he be-?

“It’s not nice to lie, you know?” He pouted playfully despite the faint darkness that swirled in his glittering pupils. “Especially for your fiancé. What would your parents say later?” He shook his head. “They’d surely be disappointed in you.”

“What are you going to do?” you whispered.

“I won’t do anything if you do something for me first.” When you slowly raised your head, Honey leaned forward until his face was millimeters away from yours. “Forget about Kaoru-chan and pay attention to me.”

Your lips quivered as you struggled to speak.

“Can you do that? I think it’s simple enough. In fact, it’s already expected of you. Unless…” Honey glanced around the spacious room. “You want to be stubborn and risk staining your reputation and heart.”

“What do you mean?”

He pursed his lips as if he was contemplating whether he should tell you or not. “Well, let’s just say, another girl has stolen his heart. Do you know Haruhi-chan?”

When you gingerly shook your head, he continued. “She’s a commoner, actually. But, somehow, she managed to differentiate between him and Hikaru-chan; something that others struggled to do. And from there onwards, both of them fell in love. Do you think it’s worth pursuing someone who has already been smitten by another person when you already have one who’s willing to make you happy? Someone who will give you their undivided attention?”

You went quiet.

“Think about it, [Name]-chan.”

“I…” He tilted his head questioningly, and you found yourself intimidated by the simple gesture. You licked your dry lips and nodded. “… Yes.”

His expression instantly lit up. “There! That wasn’t so hard, was it?” Honey stabbed a slice of red velvet and gently fed you. “Don’t worry. I’ll be here to guide you so you won’t stray again, [Name]-chan.”

#Yandere anime #Yandere anime au #Anime yandere #Anime yandere au #Yandere oneshot #Yandere scenario #Yandere imagine #Yandere honey #Yandere ohshc #Yandere ouran high school host club #Yandere Haninozuka #Yandere Mitsukuni Haninozuka #Yandere honey x Reader #Yandere Haninozuka x Reader

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ourladyoftheironmasque · 4 years

Text

A Cross-Time Caper

When Hawk Moth's machinations inadvertently lead to the akumatization of Ladybug, it will take a bunny, a butterfly, a monkey, two ladybugs and three cats to set the world to rights again.

Chapter One of Three 3,564 words

It was all still very theatrical, of course. He bowed low, head nearly even with his hips, one arm bent across his stomach, the other extended up and out. The broad grin permanently etched on his face these days was the perfect compliment to his exaggerated manners. “A pleasure as always, Ladybug, but I’m afraid I must be going.” Another paw pad on his ring vanished, leaving him with two. Chat Noir straightened, and drew his baton.

Two weeks ago, this would have gone down differently.

Probably, he would have bowed over her hand. His performance against the day’s akuma victim always informed his flirting. When he was pleased with himself, he was the old world gentleman. He thought it charming to bow over her hand, kiss her knuckles and call her m’lady. Ever hopeful good work would earn him romance, he’d resist leaving her until his ring demanded it. (Or until she teased him so much that he lost his nerve.)

If he had embarrassed himself during the fight, then he’d be defensive. All sass and unearned bravado, the sort that a girl with self-respect just couldn’t let stand in a boy who couldn’t back up his trash talk. He’d call her Bugaboo just to hear her yell at him. That was his other favorite persona—the little boy on the playground who didn’t know how to tell a girl he liked her, so he antagonized her instead. Sometimes she answered his absurdity with cleverness, but more often than not she’d cross her arms and feign annoyance. Chat Noir always wanted attention, but when he was disappointed in himself, he usually tried to goad her into being upset with him, too. A good job meant looking for rewards he wouldn’t find and his easy acceptance of their absence; when he performed poorly, he’d force a scolding out of her if he had to. With hindsight, she’d let him have his way too much. When Chat Noir went fishing for a set down, his partner should have been the one propping him up.

Now she was Ladybug, always.

And she wasn’t the clever one anymore.

Giving up on Adrien and watching him ride off into the sunset with Kagami should have ended with Marinette climbing atop Luka’s white horse. He was sweet, and she liked him. Maybe he was a little too punk rock and anarchy for a beautiful house and three children at the end of their story, but it’d still be a good story. They would be happy together. The disparity of their feelings had left their friendship unbalanced, but if they were together, then Marinette could reciprocate. She could appreciate and support and respect him like he always had her.

But.

Life never wants to follow the path it should.

Her heart, Marinette learned, was interested in hopeless pining exclusively. As for her stomach, well, that started doing flip-flops for Chat Noir. And although her tongue was just as adept at barking out a plan to defeat the an akuma as ever, once that was finished so was her ability to string together a coherent sentence.

Ladybug wished she could say it was because Chat Noir had matured a lot recently. Because he had! Chat Noir stepped up during the battle against Miracle Queen and it turned out quick thinking and strategy agreed with him. There had been more equal division of labor in the past two weeks than the entire preceding year combined. Just in time, too. Without Master Fu to guide them, they were on their own. Ladybug could not have shouldered the burden of the Miracle Box and come up with all the plans and always be ready to wind her yo-yo around Chat Noir’s ankles to yank him out of the line of fire. Saving Paris had never been a game to him, exactly, but he’d enjoyed it in a way Ladybug couldn’t. To don a mask and smack a monster with a stick was how Chat Noir blew off steam. It was his escape from stress. Now even he could not deny the magnitude of the job before them.

The identities of their entire team had been compromised.

The loss of Master Fu’s memory was bad enough, but it also meant they lost their access to Guardian lore and the Grimoire.

The only council they had left was their kwamis, and transformation cut them off from Tikki and Plagg. Ladybug and Chat Noir had always been fond of using the two of us against the world as a rallying cry, but now it was true. And Chat Noir was pulling his weight.

Ladybug wished she could say she fell in love with him because of that. It would have been poetic, somehow. It would have been worthy of him.

But no.

Marinette had a good cry over Adrien—a dozen of them, really—binged ice cream and terrible rom coms with Alya, heard some variation of if he doesn’t see how special you are then he doesn’t deserve you from literally everyone she’d ever met—most in good faith, though the Chloe version was excruciating in it’s backhanded compliments and the Lila version was pretty obviously designed to make her feel worse—and bought a new diary. New pages for a new era. In general, Marinette did her absolute best to put her feelings for Adrien behind her.

If Adrien and Kagami made each other happy, then that was all that mattered, right? Right.

Right.

Marinette did her absolute best to put her feelings for Adrien behind her and they went absolutely nowhere because feelings don’t go away when you ask them nicely. But the loyalty to Adrien that had once made the idea of dating someone else feel so relentlessly wrong? That did leave. It turned out the world was filled with people as cute and smart and funny and kind and gentle and charming and vulnerable and brave and good as Adrien. Her heart scamped right up to Chat Noir and went, Well! How about this one? Isn’t he exactly who you’ve always wanted?

And when she tilted her head and squinted, he kinda was.

Only...she didn’t have to squint, actually.

Or tilt anything.

Looking back, Ladybug had probably been half in love with Chat Noir all along. Her dislike of the cute nicknames and attempts to steal kisses had simply been part of the mask. Another means of distancing Ladybug, Ultra-Competent Hero of Paris from Ladybug, Regular Teenager Making Up How to Save the World As She Went. For a while, she even fooled herself! Before Felix, she might have said Chat Noir pushed her boundaries and ignored her comfort zones. But after? The contrast between her playful partner’s irrepressible flirting and the actions of someone who pressed onwards without caring about her feelings could not be sharper.

Looking back, Ladybug had definitely been completely in love with Chat Noir all along. When viewed through the lens of having loved him, their year fighting side by side made so much more sense. It was her own love that she called upon to conquer Dark Cupid’s spell. When Chat Noir wondered if he would have had a shot in a world without Adrien, Ladybug couldn’t imagine one—but Oblivio soon stripped her of her memories, and photographic proof suggested that in a world where she was at least ignorant of Adrien, she would have fallen into Chat Noir’s arms immediately. And then there was Chat Blanc’s timeline. Ladybug could never know what really happened in that twisted world. Chat Blanc had babbled a lot about them being in love, but in the moment, Ladybug had thought nothing of it. It was simply his one track mind run off the rails. But from the safety of distance and a repaired timeline, she started to wonder if Chat Blanc had been more lucid than he let on. Maybe something had happened between them…

And ended with the boy she loved akumatized, Paris a half-submerged hellscape and herself dead.

Rationally, she knew Ladybug and Chat Noir could go get an ice cream at Andre’s together without triggering the end of the world. There must be a step in between their love and the destruction of the city they were charged with protecting. It was a moot point. He had a girlfriend now.

(Sometimes, she was confident she could steal him away if she tried. He’d wanted Ladybug for so long. Surely if she just apologized and told him how she felt, he’d forget all about other girls. But doing that would make her a bad person, wouldn’t it?)

(Other times, it wasn’t right and wrong that stopped her, but the fear that he didn’t care anymore. That Chat Noir would say no, and Ladybug would have to face that she’d lost her chance with him forever.)

“Pleasure’s yours, I mean, nine. Mine. I mean… See you next time, Chat Noir.”

At least the precarious nature of their transformations meant Ladybug was never trapped in a long, awkward conversation with Chat Noir. When she made a fool of herself in front of Adrien, that was agony for hours. Chat Noir only had two pad paws left, and her earrings were not faring any better. He was leaving, and she wouldn’t see him again until they were in the thick of a fight.

He was kind enough to never question her sudden tendency to get tongue-tied. Ladybug knew he noticed. His banter came slower, like he had to make a mental adjustment when her confidence disappeared.

It was in that beat of silence—the one that used to not be there, but hung over her like the blade of a guillotine while Chat Noir cautiously decided how to respond—a brand new opportunity for chaos that two weeks ago would not have existed, but did today—when she wished a black hole would open up and swallow her whole

that one did.

Sort of.

“Minibug! Kitten Noir!”

It wasn’t a black hole, but the white-blue void of the Burrow. Bunnyx hung half out, arms making sweeping gestures to urge them closer. “It’s go time!”

As far as holes to swallow you up so that you don’t have to confront your own embarrassment went, the Burrow was kind of a lousy one if Chat Noir was invited. “We’re about to transform back!”

“I came prepared, Minibug. I’m sure you both did, too, with snacks for your kwamis.”

Chat Noir tossed Ladybug an uneasy smile. “Bunnyx wouldn’t be here just for chit-chat. We’d better go.”

(He had lately developed an irritating tendency to take his job seriously.)

(The love and support of his girlfriend was so freaking good for him that it was a little grating.)

Bunnyx’s security measures were, unsurprisingly, a pair of bowls slapped over their heads before she ushered them blindly into the Burrow. Well. Ladybug more or less knew to expect that. Chat Noir yelped. It was good to hear his facade drop, even if just for a second. He had come into his own recently, but underneath it all, he was the same pratfalling goofball he’d always been.

“Spots off.”

“Claws in.”

Familiarity with her purse made any awkward groping unnecessary. Producing a macaron for Tikki was as natural as breathing. For her part, Tikki seemed to be in awe of what she could see. Marinette heard a tiny “Wow” pass Tikki’s lips and from further away, de-transformed Chat Noir trying to placate Plagg. There was a job to be done. No rest for lazy cats, and no time to explore for Tikki.

“Tikki, Spots on!”

“Plagg, Claws out!”

The Burrow was full of secrets. Bunnyx monitored untold timelines, ushering their lives along the best possible path. Although she had heard Chat Noir transform and knew their identities were safe for another day, Ladybug did not dare remove the bowl. Bunnyx would tell her when it was safe to look.

“That—”

“Don’t!”

“—is the mini-est Minibug I’ve ever seen.”

Ladybug tilted the rim of the bowl back. Bunnyx was glaring daggers at a thoroughly unconcerned Chat Noir. A taller Chat Noir. His shoulders were deliciously broad, and his mop of blond hair was not a smidge neater. What should have been absurd—a grown man in a skin tight cat costume, bell and all—simply wasn’t. He stood with the complete assurance that he belonged in that outfit, and so it looked natural. Right.

Ladybug eyes darted to the boy Bunnyx had brought with them. He’d also tipped his bowl back, and was staring dumbfounded at his future self.

“I mean it,” Chat Plus Sombre said, looking thoughtfully at Ladybug, “What are you? Thirteen?”

Ladybug bristled. So he was a grown-up, so what? That didn’t mean she was useless. “Almost fifteen.”

“She may be a newbie,” Bunnyx interjected, “but she’s good.”

Chat Plus Sombre held his hands up in surrender. “No need to remind me how fast Ladybug picked up the ins and outs of being a superhero. I’ve been playing catch-up since the day we met. I’m just surprised you went this young, Bunnyx. Isn’t the goal to pick her up five minutes before she quit?”

Quit.

The casual way the word rolled off his tongue, as if Ladybug quitting could ever be normal, made her blood run cold. It was one thing if she wasn’t needed anymore. She’d happily hang up her yo-yo if Paris was safe. But it sounded like she’d left Chat Plus Sombre high and dry, reduced to plucking partners out of the timestream in order to keep on fighting.

She was going to quit.

Bunnyx treated the revelation like it was normal, too. “For you. They’re gonna take a quick detour. I found something else in the timestream that needs fixing. We’ll get back on track once Minibug and Kitten Noir have accomplished their mission.”

Chat Plus Sombre frowned at Chat Noir. “I don’t remember being tagged for one of these.”

“One of what?” Chat Noir cried. “And where’s future Ladybug?”

“We can’t tell you,” Bunnyx answered. “It’s bad enough you saw him as it is.”

Chat Plus Sombre shrugged. “Nah, it’s fine. I don’t remember this at all. He’s definitely gonna get mindwiped.”

“And her?”

Crossing his arms, Chat Plus Sombre acceded the point to Bunnyx. “Okay, since I don’t know my little lady is also gonna get mindwiped, I’ll be infuriatingly obtuse. That suit you better?” It didn’t appear to placate Bunnyx, but Chat Plus Sombre had evidently compromised as far as he was willing. “My Ladybug—by which I mean the Ladybug of my time, attach no further significance—is fine. She’s taken a temporary leave of absence. We—she planned it in advance. No Guardian mindwipe activated. She’s coming back. But since Paris still needs a Ladybug, we take one from the timestream as needed. There’s a gap of about three years between when she made the plan and when she needed it that we usually swipe a Minibug from.”

That felt...reckless. Tentatively, Ladybug said, “I thought time is delicate.”

“It is,” Bunnyx answered. There was a slight air of scolding.

“But,” Chat Plus Sombre interjected, “you’re not replaceable, and the earrings are too powerful to sub out even if just anyone could do the job.”

Ladybug looked away, embarrassingly flattered.

“We’ve wasted enough time,” Bunnyx declared. “Better get back on track.”

“She says that,” Chat Plus Sombre added merrily, “but it really doesn’t matter. It’s time travel. She’s gonna drop you in the same nanosecond no matter how much time we spend in here.”

“You can only say that because you haven’t faded from existence.”

Chat Plus Sombre flailed. “Don’t you dare listen to her, Minibug and Mini Me! I’ve stopped existing loads of times! I’m an expert at it! You just—whoosh!” He snapped his fingers. “Stop.”

So the new and improved Serious Chat Noir was not a step away from pointless self-sacrifice. His adult self sounded like it was half-badge of honor, half-hilarious to disappear. “It isn’t funny,” Ladybug said, feeling vaguely faint.

Cat Plus Sombre softened. “You liar, you’re not almost fifteen. That was pure fourteen-and-a-half.”

Ladybug crossed her arms. “Like you can tell. You thought I was thirteen a minute ago.”

“You had a bowl on your head! It’s not fair to judge my level of knowing you-ness by what I thought when you had a bowl on your head. I demand a re-do. Get me another Minibug, Bunnyx.”

“No. Stop.” Bunnyx inhaled. “Here is what is going to happen: they are going to do their mission. We are going to wait here. If they fail, we dip back into time and try again. We’ll do it as many times as it takes for them to get the win. Then, we’re going to go back to our time for the mission we were supposed to be doing. I will not be taking questions.”

Chat Plus Sombre held up a finger. “Not a question. Comment: We broke Mini Me.”

Bunnyx fisted her hands in her hair. “You said you don’t remember this!”

“I don’t. He’s just not having any fun with this, so I have concerns.”

It was a good point. Chat Noir had been awfully quiet. “Can you give us a minute?” Ladybug asked.

Chat Plus Sombre gestured to the Burrow. Yes, it was surprisingly large, but there was no privacy to be found. “Not really.”

“Pretend.” Ladybug shooed Bunnyx and Chat Plus Sombre to the far side of the ...what even was this? Plane of existence? Pocket dimension? Chat Noir sank to the floor, knees up and put the bowl back on his head.

“Kitty, what’s wrong?”

“Him. Me.”

Well, that was just crazy. “You realize you grow up to be Doctor Who, right? Pulling companions from time and space. You should be excited!”

“I’m trying so hard to not be that guy anymore. Looks like it doesn’t even matter.”

“What’s wrong with that guy?” Ladybug happened to like that guy a lot. So much so that seeing him curled in on himself like this was a complete crisis, disastrous enough to forestall all stuttering.

“Were you even paying attention to the way he talks about you?”

“I don’t like how me quitting seems normal to him, but I guess I just don’t understand why we’re both going to think it makes sense someday.”

Chat Noir’s shoulders hunched. “Thought so. He keeps calling you his and you don’t even notice. I stopped doing that.”

“I noticed you.”

“I know the nicknames didn’t mean anything to you, but they mattered to me.”

She should tell him that she missed the nicknames. She wanted to be his lady, his Bugaboo, his everything. But that wasn’t fair to him. He had a girlfriend now.

“Are you really fourteen and a half?”

That it was even a question to Chat Noir struck Ladybug with unexpected force. That level of specificity into their ages was so far into Secret Identity territory that they’d never gone there. Chat Noir didn’t know how old she was. But his adult self could pin it down within a span of months. Chat Plus Sombre knew her better than Ladybug had ever thought she and Chat Noir could realistically know each other.

Ladybug didn’t answer, but they both knew she didn’t need to.

“You quit, and he goes through time looking for different yous instead of just getting a new partner.”

“That’s not his fault,” Ladybug protested. “If I don’t give up the earrings, what else can he do?”

“It isn’t fair. I’m trying, Ladybug. I really am.”

She laid her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. “I know you are. You’ve matured so much. I’ve been really impressed these past couple of weeks. You’ve been awesome, and you shouldn’t look at him and feel like you’re not. Because he’s awesome. You’re still a superhero when you grow up, and a really good one. I’m jealous. I don’t grow up to be Doctor Who.”

Chat Noir eased the bowl back. “Let’s just do the mission and go home.”

Probably, Bunnyx and Chat Plus Sombre couldn’t avoid overhearing the conversation, but the polite thing to do would have been feign ignorance. Yet the moment Chat Noir announced he wanted to get it done and go home (and probably get an ego boost from his girlfriend), the illusion of privacy was shattered.

“That sounded like ready to roll to me!”

“Cross-Time Caper is go!” Chat Plus Sombre cocked one hidden eyebrow. “When are they going?”

Ladybug pulled Chat Noir to his feet and tossed his bowl aside. They followed Bunnyx to the window she beckoned them towards. It was Paris, of course, the beloved skyline marred by a whirling, writhing mass of red hovering in the air near Notre Dame. Bunnyx zoomed in.

The red was…ladybugs? Ladybug bit her lip. Those were her Miraculous Ladybugs of creation, but they weren’t repairing magical damage and disappearing. They were hard at work, diligently crafting something in the sky.

Bunnyx scrolled down, and on the street stood Chat Noir, (a third Chat Noir) staring up at the ladybugs, his face streaked with tears.

“Oh,” Chat Plus Sombre breathed. “This I remember.”

She had a feeling she knew the answer, but Ladybug asked anyway. “What’s going on?”

Grim, he said exactly what she suspected he would: “You’ve been akumatized, m’lady.”

#miraculous ladybug #love square #fic #time travel #ladynoir #reverse crush #marinette dupain cheng #adrien agreste #chat noir #ladybug #bunnyx

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dojae-huh · 5 years

Note

This caught my attention that doyoung likes pyhsically tough /emotionally strong guys. He chooses his friends like this too, taeyong,johnny,jeno mark etc. And then there is jaehyun too. Idk if it is the right term but he is a bit feminine too compared to other members/ society. He also doesnt like what most boys do,enjoy and like and does more things girls do generally. Is it bc he is emotionally and pyhsically a bit weak so he finds the opposite to complete him?

Wow, way to mischaracterise the bunny.

It’s a pity I can’t post a picture of Johnny hiding behind Doyoung here as I didn’t save it.

Anon, don’t look at exterior, look at actions.

Doyoung is one of the most emotionally strong members in NCT, this is the reason he can take care of others and why everybody listens to him. He is not a rock, but it is his problem, that everybody perceive him so reliable, righteous, knowing, that it is OK to tease him and forget that he also can be weak. And Doyoung relies on himself too much, Taeyong has to ask him to “when you feel down, let us know, let us be there for you”.

Taeyong is emotionally weaker, it was Doyoung who helped him in Rookies days. Tae needs a lot of love and support to have confidence and powers to fight. It is easy to see that Johnny (who openly says he cried regullary in the past) follows Do’s example in dealing with and caring for other members. Jeno yes, a very calm steady guy, but he was picked up as a bias, because he listened to Doyoung, when he was a child.

By majority of 127 members Doyoung was chosen as “the most older brother” figure. He is friends with the 95 line because they are closer to him in mental age (sans Yuta). The difference in age diminishes now. Haechan and Mark are perceived as equals more and more (”Mark is not cute anymore”), but during trainee days a few years were a lot.

Yes, Jaehyun is attractive to Doyoung because he is reliable and strong minded himself. It means Doyoung doesn’t need to “baby” him, he can relax around Jae, trusting him not to put kitchen on fire. Still, Doyoung has to lead Jae around and boost his confidence.

Physically weak? He can curry Taeil bride style and not crumble under Johnny and Taeyong jumping on his back. He also wasn’t the first member to stop push ups in “Idol Room”. “Things girls do generally”? Like what, lighting up scented candles, using face masks and cooing over chicks (Taeyong), sleeping with stuffed toys and liking cute things (Johnny), liking pink colour and worrying about additional kg (Jaehyun)? Don’t apply Western masculine stereotypes to another cultures. Not being interested in sports or driving cars has nothing to do with “emotional/physical” weakness. Yes, Doyoung has slight mannerism, but him being thin is cultural. Face is important for an idol in Korea, not bulging muscles. Doyoung keeps his body very thin intentionally (same as Kun, who is constantly on a diet). In Korean eyes a beautiful face is a small and thin face.

And I’m not touching here the ball of vipers that is “girls are weak, boys are strong” topic, this blog is not about this nonsense.

#ask me away #Doyoung is my bias #Doyoung is a dark bunny

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xiv-endora · 5 years

Photo

Send in two (or more) names and I’ll fill all this out about the ship!

General:

How long will they last? - A very long time. I feel like these two would be good at talking about their issues, if they ever had any. Communication is key!

How quickly did/will they fall in love? - ...I’unno man cause, I’m thinking the first time they saw one another smile and found themselves staring too long into each others gaze; it was then they fell without ever really knowing.

How was their first kiss? - It’s either something really passionate and slow, the whole ‘stare into your eyes’ and then move in for the kill deal orrrr.. it just happens out of instinct. Endora goes to thank Cassian for something, without thinking, she gives him a kiss out of appreciation. It’s in that moment the two are locked in a ‘oh no’ moment.

Wedding:

Who proposed? - Either one of them maybe? Cassian more than Endora? She wouldn’t have an issue with doing it though and chances are, she would, if placed in that situation. Wouldn’t be romantic from her end though. More of a, ‘hey I got you this ring..can you wear it like, 24.7 for me? kthnxbai.’

Who is the best man/men? - @the-wanted-man Roman no doubt.

Who is the bride’s maid(s)? - ..Roman again (that’s rough).

Who did the most planning? - Neither one of them. Most likely they shot a few ideas back and forth, both ended up agreeing they want something private between themselves. No theme, no invitations, nothing. Just each other.

Who stressed the most? - Endora maybe, because she’d be a bit paranoid that part of her past will come out from the shadows and ruin everything, literally.

How fancy was the ceremony? - Back of a pickup truck | 2 | 3 | 4 | Normal Church Wedding | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Kate and William wish they were this big. THEY HAVE THEIR OWN KIND OF WEDDING.

Who was specifically not invited to the wedding? - Their fathers, family from both sides that haven’t been in their lives for x amount of years.

Sex:

Who is on top? - They switch it up, all depends on the mood and what they’re feeling.

Who is the one to instigate things? - Endora. Poor Cassian, bless his soul.

How healthy is their sex life? - Barely touch themselves let alone each other | 2 | 3 | 4 | Once a couple weeks, nothing overboard | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They are humping each other on the couch right now The two know how to express their feelings for one another in small and large gestures, let alone sexually. So it’s pretty damn healthy.

How kinky are they? - Straight missionary with the lights off | 2 | 3 | 4 | Might try some butt stuff and toys | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Don’t go into the sex dungeon without a horse’s head

How long do they normally last? - Think this depends on where the two are cause, if they’re at home? ..It can be for as long as they’d like or who tires out first, essentially. Let’s just say a decent amount of time for the both to feel extremely satisfied.

Do they make sure each person gets an equal amount of orgasms? - Much as Endora would want Cassian to get off much as herself, she might be the one experiencing one or two orgasms more than him. He’s a giver and is pretty passionate about things.

How rough are they in bed? - Softer than a butterfly on the back of a bunny | 2 | 3 | 4 | The bed’s shaking and squeaking every time | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | Their dirty talk is so vulgar it’d make Dwayne Johnson blush. Also, the wall’s so weak it could collapse the next time they do it.

How much cuddling/snuggling do they do? - No touching after sex | 2 | 3 | 4 | A little spooning at night, or on the couch, but not in public | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | They snuggle and kiss more often than a teen couple on their fifth date to a pillow factory.

Children:

How many children will they have naturally? - They wouldn’t really plan out how many they’d have in the long run, it just, ..happens! Two?

How many children will they adopt? - Pets can be considered as children, right? Cause if so then Endora would be thrilled to adopt a murder or two of some of her feathered friends. Little kids though, there’s no telling how many they would take in. Another one of those situations where it just happens and in the end, they couldn’t be happier.

Who gets stuck with the most diapers? - Cassian. #bestdad

Who is the stricter parent? - Neither are strict really. They’re on the same wave length and agree that their kids should be allowed to make their own mistakes, let alone experience life themselves without rules holding them back from knowing what being a child is really like.

Who stops the kid(s) from doing dangerous stunts after school? - Again, neither. They’re going to watch their kid be a dumbass and then ask if they’re okay or not.

Who remembers to pack the lunch(es)? - Maybe Cassian? Endora would remember if she wasn’t so tired the night before, would even do it the night before. But there’ll be those mornings where she’ll nudge Cassian awake, urging him to make the lunch before their kid leaves for school. She’s too in love with sleep to do it herself.

Who is the more loved parent? - ...!? THAT IS TOUGH. Uh, both would have their own situations the kids would go to. Cassian for the boys to talk about.. guy stuff, girls with their mother about.. lady things. I’d like to think that their family would be open enough to talk about either parent, no matter what.

Who is more likely to attend the PTA meetings?- Endora. She has no issue in speaking up on any topic and not afraid to make a scene if ever the time called for it. Cassian would go to, but might not be as mouthy as she would- only when it came to defend their children.

Who cried the most at graduation? - Neither one. Between all the hugs and praise, no tears would seen.

Who is more likely to bail the child(ren) out of trouble with the law? - Let the kids sit and rethink about what they did in order to get where they are. Then? Either mom or dad would show up with the ‘learn your lesson?’ look and when they get home, the other parent might give some punishment. They break up the whole ‘being the bad guy’ thing, so neither parent is hated more than the other.

Cooking:

Who does the most cooking? - Depends on their schedules. Whoever is off at work most that day wouldn’t to worry about it. Most likely it’d be Endora though but she won’t do the dishes. NOPE.

Who is the most picky in their food choice? - ...Endora.

Who does the grocery shopping? - Cassian!

How often do they bake desserts? - She loves to bake, so, if she has the time to do it then there will always be baked goods in the house. Could be every other night, twice a week. All depends really!

Are they more of a meat lover or a salad eater? - Meat.

Who is more likely to surprise the other(s) with an anniversary dinner? - Cassian. Endora would most likely..not give him anything dinner related, more of a cliche “dessert”.

Who is more likely to suggest going out? - She would, but it wouldn’t be frequent. More of a.. ‘hey let’s get out and enjoy ourselves’ kind of deal.

Who is more likely to burn the house down accidently while cooking? - ..Endora and most likely, a fire has broken out two or twelve times. But who is counting, yeah?

Chores:

Who cleans the room? - They both are organized people, so there’s no set person to do this.

Who is really against chores? - Neither one.

Who cleans up after the pets? - Pretty sure Cassian would help out but Endora doesn’t own any pets that needed to be cleaned up after. They’re mostly out in the wild, but again, this would be a team effort.

Who is more likely to sweep everything under the rug? - Bless Cassian’s soul if he ever tried it cause boy, Endora would give him a earful about that. But neither one of them would do this-- hopefully.

Who stresses the most when guests are coming over? - Endora only a little bit because there are some things she doesn’t want others to see, so, ..she’d be trying to pick up pretty quickly and be sure everything is safe.

Who found a dollar between the couch cushions while cleaning? - Cassian, but Endora says it was hers and plucks it out from his fingers.

Misc:

Who takes the longer showers/baths? - Endora? Cassian might take longer ones after a long day of work, cause he’s always covered by something or another, but she’s most usually taking her time especially if it’s a bath. If they’re in it together? ..No telling how long they’ll be.

Who takes the dog out for a walk? - Not Endora, he would.

How often do they decorate the room/house for the holidays? - Anything that she celebrates or feels strongly about, Endora will easily decorate for. Especially if they had kids, to show tradition or something. But if it’s just them? Anytime they wanted to decorate would be wonderful. For new memories shared together from their past, or start anew.

What are their goals for the relationship? - Be open, trustworthy and always themselves. No need to lie, nor wear a mask. They both want to feel this way for their entire relationship because quite frankly, it’s the best. Also, to never go to bed mad at one another. Endora won’t let him sleep if they argued and haven’t made up or at least spoke about what’s wrong.

Who is most likely to sleep till noon? - He doesn’t sleep long or well, so that’ll be Endora.

Who plays the most pranks? - Cassian.

@cassian-kane

#answers #stories #Pretty Pretty Princess #Friends is the 'f' word

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streetsmartstevie · 5 years

Text

Walls Could Talk || Stae + Sam Para

TAGGING → @samerystargaryen, @streetsmartstevie, @yesyesyoumae

TIME FRAME → March 13th, 2019

LOCATION → Amber, Dani, Rachel, and Stevie’s apartment

DESCRIPTION → Sam makes a surprise trip to find out just why Stevie’s been acting so strange. And gets a bit more than she bargained for.

Mae was surprised that Stevie wanted her to come over. As in—Stevie was okay with Mae being around her apartment. Usually, Stevie insisted that she comes over to Mae’s place only to reduce the risk of getting caught by people they really didn’t want to get caught by, so this was different. And it was stupid of Mae to do so, but she had a little hope that maybe things were changing between them. Maybe there was more. But Mae knew. Mae wasn’t more than just sex to Stevie. A great ass. Hot until she opened her mouth. All that stuff. She’d take what she can get, though. And if sex was all she can get from Stevie, she’d just learn to live with that. But if Mae was being honest? It was starting to get to her. Mae wanted more and felt more than Stevie did, so it killed her that sex to Stevie was meaningless when it meant so much to her.

Regardless, Mae was here. Because she’d take what she can get. So long as it involved that pink-haired grump. As Mae made it up to Stevie’s apartment, she sent a quick text to Stevie to tell her she was reaching Stevie’s door. She knew Stevie wouldn’t want Mae to hang out in the hall for too long and create suspicion. Despite how complicated it all was, there was still something exciting about their situation. The sneaking around. The lustful looks they’d give each other from afar. All of it.

Stevie glanced around her room, doing a mental check of the minimalist space. She'd put away the acrylic paints she'd been working with and the piece she'd been working on was safely tucked away. Given how handsy she and Mae got, she didn't want them to bump into it and ruin all of her work. Patting her hands on her legs mindlessly, she looked over at the clock. Yeah, Mae should be over soon. Stevie made her way out to the living room, scrolling mindlessly through her phone. The texts from Reggie caught her eye and she scowled to herself. That shit at Battle of the Bands, it had lowkey pissed her off. And not in a dumb, jealous way, that wasn't it. She just... didn't like seeing Mae making out with Reggie of all people. Hadn't she and Harper just broken up? What the fuck was that shit? No, she didn't care who Mae slept with. She could fuck Reggie or Lara or anyone, it didn't matter to her. Just, the timing seemed shit on that particular front, that was all.

Her phone buzzed in her pocket and, not even bothering to check it, she made her way over to the door. Running a hand through her hair to make sure her hair looked just right, Stevie nodded to herself in the hallway mirror. She looked fucking hot and she knew it. Stevie pulled open the door and shot Mae a lazy, cocky smile, "Hey. C'mon in." She said, gesturing for the other girl to enter.

Mae quickly smiled when she saw Stevie. “Hey!” Mae greeted back as she stepped inside. “It’s been a while since I’ve been here.” Mae tried not to cringe when she remembered the last time she was here was when she got completely drunk off of Stevie’s moonshine. Mae had made a complete fool of herself, and Mae couldn’t lie, she was still upset that moonshine didn’t taste like the moon. “Nothing’s really changed.” Mae mumbled as she looked around, anyway. Mae wasn’t sure why she was stalling. A part of her felt a little weird after the whole Reggie ordeal at Battle of the Bands. It wasn’t something Mae did on purpose. It just happened and it didn’t mean anything. And it didn’t really compare to Stevie. Mae would pick kissing Stevie over anyone. She was in too deep.

“Did you get tired of hanging out at my place? I thought you thought my bed was comfortable. And there’s no cute Duck to play with.” Mae added. Mae would admit that she definitely took advantage of Duck to get Stevie to stick around longer than usual. Or really any reason. Mae even fucked up her kitchen sink, so Stevie could stay an entire hour longer than usual. Mae drooled over Stevie’s arm most of the time.

Stevie shut the door behind Mae, fully ready to just kiss Mae and get things going but... She just kept on talking. What the hell? What, was she trying to make small talk? They didn't do small talk. That wasn't what they were about. Leaning against the door, Stevie folded her arms across her chest while Mae babbled, waiting for the other girl to finish talking. But goddammit, she just kept going. Mae was the fricking Energizer Bunny of nervous talking, Jesus. When Mae finally stopped, Stevie shrugged. "Just felt like switching it up. Besides," Stevie stepped forward, slipping her hand to rest on Mae's hip, "My bed's pretty comfortable too." She leaned in and kissed Mae, hard. She wanted to remind her that whatever that whole talking thing was? It wasn't why she was here. They were just friends with benefits, if she could even call Mae a friend. People with benefits? Whatever, Stevie liked it better this way.

Mae chewed on her lip as Stevie stepped closer to her and placed her hand on her hip. “Is it? Because I thought mine wa—“ Mae was interrupted by a hard kiss from Stevie and Mae groaned as she kissed Stevie back equally as rough, tangling her hands in Stevie’s hair. Mae pulled away. “Wait.” Mae paused, a smirk forming on her face. Stevie had a little control for a moment, but Mae was usually the one in charge when it came to what went down in the bedroom. “Wrong spot.” Mae pushed Stevie against the wall by the doorway. Anyone could walk in, but Mae wasn’t thinking about that right now. “One more thing.” Mae grabbed Stevie’s hand and moved it from her hip to her ass with a smug look. “That’s better.” Mae pressed her body against Stevie’s as she kissed down to Stevie’s neck, making it her mission to leave a mark or two on Stevie’s neck. Stevie could deal with that later. But right now? Mae didn’t care.

Something was going on with Stevie. Sam was sure of it. It'd been weeks since they'd spent any time together outside of soccer, and Sam was tired of waiting around and giving her sister space. This whole waiting and letting Stevie come to her thing wasn't working. For all Sammy knew, Rachel wearing her D.A.R.E. shirt around their apartment wasn't helping either. Stevie could have stopped 'just saying no' to drugs without looking back. Losing her sister to addiction, or maybe just to secrets, wasn't going to happen on Sam's watch. With a determined attitude, Sam made her way to Stevie's apartment and didn't plan on leaving until she got some real answers. "This isn't your fault. We can get you help," Sam practiced under her breath as she approached the door.

Stevie groaned as Mae pushed her against the wall, maneuvering her so that her back was pressed against it. Fuck. "Goddammit." Stevie swore under her breath, her hand squeezing against Mae's ass. God damn. As Mae moved her lips to Stevie's neck, her eyes fluttered shut. She was too focused on the sensation, the way Mae was pressed up against her. Fucking christ. She could feel the way Mae was working her neck and had a sneaking suspicion that there would be a mark left over. "You better not." Stevie warned, as she slid her hand into the pocket of Mae's jeans to palm her ass. Stevie was too focused on the way it felt to worry about the door, or even remember that she hadn't locked it.

"Stevie, you here?" Sam asked as she lightly knocked on the apartment door at the same time as she tried the knob. If Stevie was in trouble, Sammy wanted to be there to help her. No more giving her a chance to run off or avoid her. She was determined to get answers today. Luckily for her and her plan, the door was unlocked and swung open. "We really need to ta-" The words stuck in her throat at the sight that greeted her on the other side of the door. If told to make a list of all the possible things she expected to find, Stevie and Mae going at it wouldn't have been on the list at all. It was too crazy to even imagine. With Mae? Stacey's Mae?? "What the fuck?"

When Sam opened the door, Mae’s lips had made their way back to Stevie’s. Mae heard the door open and quickly pulled away. Mae was expecting Rachel, Dani, or Amber to be on the other side—which would’ve been fine. That could be handled well enough. But when she saw Sam on the other side of the door? Mae’s eyes widened and her face turned red. Well, fuck, Mae didn’t know what to do. And her first instinct? Well— “St-Stevie! Breathe!” Mae exclaimed as she smacked Stevie’s chest a couple times to get her to “breathe” again. “You’re good now.” Mae turned to Sam and laughed awkwardly. “She was—uh—she was ch-choking. Obviously. So…I was giving her mouth to mouth.” Mae nodded. “To save her life.” Mae nodded again. “Yeah. That’s what I was…what I was doing…” Mae trailed off, rubbing the back of her neck. That didn’t come out as well as her head imagined it.

Stevie's eyes snapped open when she heard the door open and she caught a glimpse of blonde out of the corner of her eye. A very familiar blonde-- FUCK. Pushing Mae away from her, Stevie stared at her older sister in shock. What the fuck was Sam of all people doing here? They'd been doing so well with the not talking and avoiding each other. It had honestly been really great. But, now of all fucking times, she was here? God, what the fuck. Before Stevie could say a word, Mae was smacking her chest, making her cough in surprise. What. The. Fuck. Glaring at Mae, Stevie rubbed her sternum as the other girl tried to bluster her way through an excuse. Ignoring Mae, Stevie folded her arms across her chest and stared at Sam. "What the hell are you doing here?" She asked, venom dripping in her tone to mask her fear. Christ...

Sam wanted more than anything to turn around and unsee everything she'd walked in on, but her feet wouldn't cooperate. Too much of her brain was trying to compute the scene in front of her, and that was before Mae started performing some sort of CPR. "Me? What are you doing here?" Sammy asked as she motioned her hand in the general direction of the two girls in front of her. "The only thing you could have been choking on was Mae's tongue." Looking between her sister and her other sister's ex-girlfriend, Sam could come up with no explanation that made sense. None. Not even close. And the more she tried and failed, the louder her voice got. "Does Stacey know? Is this why you broke up with her?!"

At the speculation from Sam that Mae broke up with Stacey because of Stevie, well, it was a thought in Mae’s head that she did toy with from time to time. It wasn’t that far off, but Mae didn’t like to think about that possibility. “No, that’s not…I didn’t cheat on Stacey. This started after Stacey and I broke up. So it’s not cheating it’s not bad— “ Mae closed her eyes and sighed. She wasn’t making this sound better because there was really nothing Mae could say that would convince Sam that sleeping with Stevie while being Stacey’s ex-girlfriend was a great idea. It wasn’t. Mae knew that, but her feelings for Stevie clouded whatever inner conscience screamed at her that this was a bad idea. “Stacey doesn’t know. And she shouldn’t know. It would…I don’t think that’s a good idea at all. So don’t…you know...” Mae chewed on her lip. "Don't say anything."

Stevie kept her jaw clenched tight as she listened to Mae try to explain the situation. They hadn't been sleeping together when Stacey and Mae were together, that shouldn't even be a question. Was the entire situation... less than ideal? Yeah. But she wasn't the other woman in this. No fucking way. "Besides, we're just fucking. Don't blow this out of proportion, Sam. I swear to God if you try to fucking lecture me about this..." Stevie warned, her hands balling into fists at her sides. What happened had happened, there wasn't anything they could do about it. But, starting now? They needed to fucking keep this on lock. Stacey could never find out about this.

"You'll what, Stevie, go fuck one of my ex-girlfriends?" Sam shook her head as she tried to understand the situation. She was far from innocent when it came to relationship drama herself, but at least she could have honestly say she was following her heart at the time. It'd let her into a mess that she was still trying to mend over a year later, but doing just over sex? It was the crazy cherry on top of the insane sundae she'd stumbled on. No matter which way she looked at it, nothing added up.

"I get it when you're a jerk to me, but this is Stacey. You know this would hurt her," she continued in a calmer tone. "You both do." Sam looked from her sister to Mae, wondering how she'd managed to misjudge someone so badly. "You guys can't keep doing this. Not without talking to her." Just imagining how much it would hurt Stacey left Sam torn. She hated having to keep her sister in the dark, but being the one to break her heart by spilling everything sounded even worse.

It felt like a hard gut punch to Mae when Stevie told Sam they were just having sex. Nothing else. Well, maybe to Stevie that was case. But for Mae? It was so much more. Mae looked over at Stevie with frown before looking away and sighing as she crossed her arms. For the longest, Mae ignored the feeling that what she was doing was wrong, so when Sam threw it to her face that it would hurt Stacey? She couldn’t hold back the guilt starting to grow in her. It’s not like Mae wasn’t facing the consequences, anyway. Stevie couldn’t give a fuck about her or see her as more than just a meaningless hook up, so maybe that was her punishment for what she took part in.

“You’re right.” Mae spoke up, looking at Sam. “We should stop.” Mae looked over at Stevie before looking back to Sam. “I don’t think I can keep doing this, anyway.” Mae hated being in this position. People were seeing her as more than sunshine Mae and it was fine if Stevie saw her as anything but, however Sam seeing her in a not so positive light? Kinda made her want to get the fuck out of here.

Stevie glared at her sister, folding her arms across her chest, chin tilted defiantly. "Maybe I will, don't fucking test me." She said. All of this was bullshit-- the way that Sam looked at her, the way that she acted so much better than her. She hated this. She hated this more than if Stacey had walked in on them. The way that Sam tried to tell her how to live her life, it was being a kid all over again. With Sam trying to boss her around, trying to tell her what was right. "So what? It's not a big deal. You can't tel--" Stevie's words caught in the back of her throat as Mae spoke up. What? She was agreeing with Sam? Swallowing, Stevie stared back and forth from Mae and her sister. Stevie nodded slowly, "You agree with her? You're taking her side on this?" She asked Mae, a pit forming in her stomach. It wasn't because Mae didn't want to see her anymore, that wasn't it. It was the fact that she was following Sam's lead. Just like everyone else did.

Turning back to her sister, Stevie's jaw clenched tight as she tried to contain her anger. "You always do this. Why can't you just leave me the hell alone? I don't give a shit about what you do with Kate or whoever you're fucking, so why do you care about who I'm sleeping with? You don't get to tell me what to do anymore, Sam."

"Why can't you understand that I care about you?" Sam asked with an exasperated sigh. There were quite a few people who had told Sam that she was wasting her time on Stevie. They told her to give up. They'd pointed out how she didn't need to sacrifice things for her sister. Said she shouldn't go out of her way to look out for her when it was clear to everyone that Stevie didn't care about family the same way. For the first time, Sam could see it.

"But if that doesn't matter to you, then know that I care about Stacey. I don't want to see her hurt, and that's exactly what this will do. I think you know that, or you wouldn't be hiding it." Seeing the smoke coming out of Stevie's ears the longer the conversation went on, Sam decided to leave it alone. Maybe it's what she should have done in the first place, but better late than never. She'd gotten her answers, and at least it wasn't drugs? Leaving Mae to deal with Stevie's wrath was perhaps unfair, but Sam knew she owed her nothing. Mae made her bed, or wall in this instance, and now she got to lie in it.

"And you're right, I can't tell you what to do, but that means I don't have to keep your secrets for you either. You're on your own, Stevie. It's what you wanted, and now you have it." Sam shook her head and headed out the door. No matter how much she wanted to stay and try to talk some sense into Stevie, to find a way to get her to see the right thing to do, she was getting nowhere. Closing the door behind her, Sam didn't look back.

When Stevie turned to Mae with a surprised look that Mae was agreeing, Mae opened her mouth to say more when Sam started to talk again and Mae stayed silent, chewing on her lip as Sam left Stevie and Mae to their own devices. Mae felt like she shouldn’t have been here for that. For Sam’s leaving—which felt like it was a matter bigger than her and Stevie being caught. Mae stayed quiet for a few moments before speaking up again.

“Um…I—I’m sorry.” Mae shook her head. “I know you’re angry at her, but she’s right. About us. About this.” Mae paused as she sighed, unsure of how to go about this. But one thing Mae knew for sure? They couldn’t keep doing this. The hooking up. It wasn’t just going to hurt Stacey, but it was going to hurt Mae too. Because Mae wanted more. Mae wanted Stevie to stick around and make her feel like she was wanted by her. And not just in a lustful way. Mae stayed quiet a little longer, debating whether she should say the next words on the tip of her tongue. And then she did.

“But she’s wrong about one thing,” Mae paused. “Stacey wouldn’t be the only one getting hurt.” Mae chewed on her lip. “I’d get hurt too—I am getting hurt.” Mae paused again. “Because I’m just sex to you and you mean more than that to me.” Even though Sam told Stevie that she was on her own now, Mae would stay if Stevie wanted her to. Stevie wouldn’t be alone. Mae would stay. Mae would stay for as long as Stevie wanted her to. All Stevie had to do was say it.

Stevie kept her lips pursed tightly together as Sam spoke, fuming all the while. She hardly paid attention to what her sister was saying, she didn't care. She didn't care what Sam thought, she didn't care what Stacey thought, she didn't give a shit about any of them. She didn't need her family, they were the ones who thought they could just interfere in her life. And they couldn't. But, when Sam turned her back on her, Stevie bit the inside of her cheek, hard. Fuck. This was what she wanted, it was. She wanted Sam out of her life. Then why did it suck so much?

"Yeah, just go." Stevie said, but the door had already shut behind her sister. Staring at the door for a moment, she turned to look at Mae who was already speaking. In a bit of a daze, she listened without really hearing the words. This was Sam's fault, this was her fault for butting in... But as she stared blankly, certain words trickled in, filtering through the haze. getting hurt... mean more than that....

That jolted Stevie out of her train of thought. "What? Hold the fuck up, what?" Fighting against the rush of panic that washed over her, Stevie swallowed hard. "No. No, that wasn't the deal." God, this was all going to shit. First Sam's bullshit and now Mae? She couldn't deal with this. She didn't want feelings, she didn't want "more", she didn't want to deal with Stacey, with Sam, with Mae, with anyone. She just wanted to be alone.

Taking in a deep breath to steady her nerves, Stevie pointed at the door. "Get out. Get out of my apartment." Stevie said, her voice quiet and calm as she stared at the floor in front of Mae. She didn't even want to look at her. How had this happened? How had it all been ruined?

Mae wanted to tell Stevie that it was Stevie’s deal, but Mae always thought about Stevie in a different way. As more. What kind of more? Mae didn’t want to get into the details. But it was more than what they had now. Or whatever was left of it, anyways. But Mae didn’t say anything. Mae didn’t even say anything when Stevie told her to get out. Stevie didn’t want her to stay, and that was fine. Mae had a feeling Stevie wouldn’t want her to, anyway. Mae nodded slowly as she pushed down the knot in her throat and quickly opened the door and left, exhaling as soon as she closed the door.

“Fuck.” Mae whispered as she kept walking. A part of Mae wanted to run back in and tell Stevie she lied. That she didn’t feel anything. That they could still have their arrangement and Mae would just suck it up. Because Mae wanted to pretend a little longer that Stevie wanted her whenever Stevie kissed her or touched or held her for just a second. Mae would pretend for Stevie for as long as she wanted her to. Mae was good at pretending she was something she wasn’t, anyway.

#para: mae diaz #para: sam evans #para #p: 005

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