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roses-ruby · 5 years

Text

{Bunny Cam}

Jungkook x Female Reader

Genre: Stalker AU, Angst, Smut, Mature

Warnings: Masturbation, Oral (Male receiving), Sex but not really, Obsessive/Possessive behavior, Toxic relationships, Yandere, Cursing, Spanking, Homophobia, Mentions of a slur, Mentions of gore, Murder, People being shitty

Word Count: 14,242

Summary: He watches when you sleep, he knows if you’re awake. He knows if you’ve been bad or good, so be bad only if you dare.

A/N: Lmao, the summary fucking sucks akfbkfbouhfo (so does the story). I planned this for kookie’s birthday but I wasn’t finished so fuck me. This is pretty dark so please be careful and make sure you read the warning! Edited but I’m always a dumbass so let me know if you find any mistakes. Also let me know what ya’ll think🥺 As always, enjoy!

He’d been at this for a while.

Well, a while could mean a considerable number of things. Let’s say he’s been at this for a long time; more accurately 3 years. He had your schedule memorized to a fault. The way you liked your eggs in the morning to the number of panties you owned, he could answer it in his sleep. He probably does, he thinks. Mumble about you in his sleep. You occupied his mind 24 hours in a day, and that’s why he felt he should be watching you all the time – like right now, as he sits uncomfortably on top of the willow tree next to your window. Perched in a posture that embarrasses him, with a branch digging into his inner thigh.

It’s all worth it when you finally come out from your steaming bathroom, a towel hanging dangerously low on your chest, showing the beginnings of your soft mounds. He almost moans at the sight, both from frustration at your tardiness and the sudden tightening of his crotch. Positioning his camera in front of his face, he eyes your figure through the lens. Careless yet graceful, you dance around your room from one end to another picking up your laundry and placing it in a basket. His camera softly shutters each time he decides to save a pose from you, which happens a lot. He wonders if he’ll get lucky once you head to your dresser and pick out a light orange sundress. A smile graces his features at your choice. It was one of his favorite dresses on you. But sadly, luck was not on his side as you come up to the window and shut the eggshell curtains on him.

Huffing, he sits up a tad to find the ledge he uses to exit the tree with his leg.

He learned the hard way that once you closed your curtains, you usually don’t open them for the rest of the day; so now he has to head home. He was disappointed of course, he wanted to continue watching you – especially in that dress. But its fine, better things await him at his house. Shoving his camera inside his satchel, he jumps off your back porch and runs to the alleyway a few meters from your place. There in the dark lane lays his locked bike, which he unlocks and hops on – beginning his ride home. He lived a few blocks away from you, not having the money to live in your side of town; but once he did, he planned on becoming your neighbor. It didn’t matter if you already had one, he knew he could take care of them easily.

After peddling for around a mile, he parks his bike near the run-down, motel-like apartment complex he lived in. Binding it to the rusted and useless ‘Cheap rooms available!’ board pole, he runs up the stairs to the second floor. The whole place was dirty, rat and roaches scurrying the floors ever so often, and there was a strong musty smell that enclosed the compound. The paint from the walls was chipping – tainted by unrecognizable stains and the wooden foundation grew mold. He hated this place, even if the rent made up for the appearance. Often, he would get into a quarrel with the land-owner, despising the man’s careless attitude towards the residence as well as toward his own rotten teeth and hairy chest. One day, he’d love to grab a blade and slice it right through the old man’s heart, but he promised you he’d only kill for you. Stomping his way past the ancient doors, he makes it to his own and slams it shut once inside.

His sanctuary.

Switching on the light of his small studio, he walks to the computer, settling his bag down by the twin bed. He scratches under his ribs over his hoodie as he settles into his chair. The tree by your house was filled with blood sucking bugs and he should probably do something about it, but he’s always so distracted by you he barely remembers to get other shit done. There was evidence of that scattered all over his cramped space, especially the floor. The 4 walls surrounding him are filled with photos of you on various days and angles. Polaroids of you hang in a line from a string on the ceiling, stretching out from one end of the room to the other. In front of him are multiple monitors, which he opens to reveal a video of you on your bed in your room. He lets out a content sigh at the sight of your calm form laying on your bed with a book. Your beauty shone even through the grainy pixels of the tiny spycam he hid in your room.

Moving the live feed to the smaller monitor on the right, he pulls up the spycam taping your bathroom, or more so your shower. He shuffles around his desk, picking up an open beer can from underneath his table. Relaxing back in his chair, he rewinds the broadcast to around 40 minutes ago, taking a sip of his drink. There you were, climbing into your shower, closing the glass door behind you. His eyes greedily graze your naked form, your radiant skin, the curve of your slender back, the way your nipples perked forward at the cold air. He was so glad he spent the extra money on this spycam with higher definition than the others hidden around your house, even if it left him broke for a month. His breath hitches when you slightly bend down to turn on the faucet, messing with the knob to get the perfect temperature for your shower with your ass on display. What he wouldn’t give to spread your cheeks apart, run his tongue along your folds and anus, drive his thick fingers deep into your cunt and have you dripping down his arm.

He didn’t notice how hard he was clenching the aluminum can until it exploded all over him, soaking through his jeans and hoodie. Groaning he picks up the tissue box next to his bed and begins wiping himself off. It was good that he became distracted before he could get too worked up, it was still light out and he didn’t want to be spent before midnight again. Throwing the tissues next to the other used tissues on the floor he gets back to doing his favorite thing. Pausing the window of your shower he brings back the live feed of you in your room to the main monitor. He smiles at you still lounging on your bed, the book placed over your chest as you scrolled away on your phone. You could be so lazy on the weekends, he cooed at your leg haphazardly dangling off the side of the bed. He loved it when you stayed indoors by yourself like a good little girl, it meant he could have you all to himself for the periods he spent watching you. It was just him and you, no one who could disturb his time between you both.

It isn’t clear to him when exactly you stopped connecting with the outer world. Perhaps it was when your lovers mysteriously vanished 3 years ago, or when men stopped trying to flirt with you all together. He recalls how scared you had been when officers came to interrogate you, and as bad as he felt – as much as he wanted to blow the heads off their burly bodies – he knew you deserved it for thinking you could make room in your life for anyone that wasn’t him. Or maybe it was because your best friend refused to talk to you ever again; a small rumor making its way to her ear about how you slept with her dad. Which was easy to believe seeing how he’d been fucking girls younger than his daughter for years. Most likely it’s when your parents cut off contact with you, the reigning black sheep of the family, when they received the sex tape you shot with your ex marked from you. An ex he ended up smashing each finger off of. Whatever it was, it was definitely because the gods had blessed him. You were meant for him and only him, and the circumstances that had all seemed to work in his favor only solidified that fact.

It was when he was off reminiscing about the most important years of his life that he bumped his leg into a hard brick-like object under his desk.

“Fuck,” He curses as his legs feels a light ting. Rolling back in his chair, he stares at the culprit that was the large stack of white paper. The manager had handed it all to him yesterday after he finished his second week of overtime; ‘to be stapled and collated’ he said. That motherfucker. Because of him – not only did Jungkook not have time to get home earlier to you, but he had to haul the hefty pile of papers uphill on his bike.

Whatever he thought about that guy doesn’t matter – he should get started on this task soon. Since this job is the one job he can’t afford to lose. So, with a heavy heart the young man clears his desk of the old ramen containers and sperm tissues and empty weed bags with one swift arm movement, cringing when he hears them hit the floor. Bending down, he easily heaves the stack up onto his now empty desk and begins to shuffle through them. Then he looks back up at you who’s back to reading her novel. If there was one thing he’d never do, it was show you how much of a slob he actually was. He couldn’t bear the thought of you finding him disgusting, so when he finally got you, he knew he’d do all the cleaning and housework. And that was fine with him, as long as he got to enjoy being a bit filthy while he was alone in this dreaded place. You would never find out, of course.

He starts to read the first document he grabs, something useless about company liability. Then he moves on to the next one, and the next. Until his mind is full of words and a yawn is crawling up his throat. Jungkook eyes you every few minutes or so, making sure you were still be his good girl. And that’s how he ends up spending his energy that day.

He wakes up with a large intake, forcing himself to sit up with his nose feeling strangely stuffed and his spine aching. As he adjusts his groggy vision, he notices the documents in a neater stack on the edge of his desk. That’s when he recalls the night before – how he was double tasking while trying to keep an eye on you lounging about. How you both took a break for dinner and watch some stupid melodrama with that tall actor you liked. And how he finally fell asleep on his desk at 2 in the morning while stapling said documents after you turned your lights off.

Jungkook didn’t have money for night vision cameras yet, but he was working on it! It sucks that everything was so expensive these days, especially love.

Yawning, he stretches his arms and back as he opens his sleeping screens hoping to see your face to cheer up his otherwise crappy consciousness. His face quickly falls however, when he notices you’re not in your bedroom or bathroom or living room or even your driveway.

Shit.

He freaks out and jumps out of his chair in sore legs, reaching for his bag on the bed.

9:12 his phone displays – making his round face turn pale. Running around in his room, he rushes to get ready. His bladder was especially full of the beers from last night. Other than that, there wasn’t much he had worry about since everything could be easily completed by multitasking. Such as brushing your teeth while pulling up your socks or combing your hair and looping your belt. After chaotically tying his white striped tie around his collared neck, he spritzes on the expensive cologne you once mentioned you like on a man, spraying on a bit more than usual since he hadn’t had time to shower. With that, he stuffs the skillfully collated and stapled documents into his black leather satchel and sprints out the door.

20 minutes later he was in front of the 25-story glass building. His nerves were eating at him as he hastily locked in his bike and entered the automatic doors. In front of him stood a black suited man in shades with his arms crossed.

As Jungkook jogged up a couple steps, the man raised his huge hand to stop him.

“I.D. please,” He spoke in a gruff voice

“Right,” Jungkook zipped open the front pocket of his satchel and brought out an employee I.D., swinging it around his neck. The man stepped aside, and he let Jungkook scan his I.D. in the machine next to him, that let out a green light afterward – letting him inside the small screen doors. He exhaled a breath, continuing his run to the elevators and punching in his floor. His insides felt like they were plummeting the whole ride up.

He really just wanted to quietly go to his desk, without making any ruckus or causing a scene but luck wasn’t on his side this time as the first person he sees when the doors slide open is his aging supervisor and his scowl. Once the man thoroughly eyes him in minor surprise of running into him, he frowns.

“You’re late,” The man grit through his yellow teeth

“I’m s-sorry, sir. I was up all night an-”

“I didn’t ask for excuses Jeon,” He sneers, “This is the second time this month, once more and I’ll have you kicked out of here- ass first, understand?”

“Yes sir,” Jungkook bows and steps aside to let the man use the elevator.

Before the doors slide close, his supervisor gives him another threatening glare. “Did you finish what I ordered? I’ll be back soon, and I better not find one mistake on those documents, you hear me Jeon?

“Yes sir” Like hell you’ll be back soon, you aging bastard.

Once he’s out of sight, Jungkook let’s out a sigh. He thought he was gonna lose his job today for sure. It wasn’t out of the ordinary for Mr. Jang to act this way towards him and most of the team. The only people – correction women he’s nice to are the ones he finds fuckable. Still, he’s glad this didn’t happen in front of you.

He opens the doors to the office space, breathing in the cold air conditioning and watching everyone scurry about as usual. Some girls glance at him as he indifferently passes them on his way to his corner. His desk was luckily located with yours directly in front. Even though yours was closer to the Manager’s office and his was further back near the conference room. When he sits down in his chair, he notices you’re not at your desk. For a few minutes, he just eyes your empty area with confusion. The worry he felt this morning crawling back into his system.

But it quickly dissipates once you make your way out of the manager’s office, a few files in tucked under your right arm. Jungkook’s mood easily shifts at the sight of you and his heart starts to beat faster. He couldn’t go too long without seeing you, your graceful figure in that tight pencil skirt flawlessly hugging your hips. You sat at the front with rest of Team A who you supervised. Your side of the lineup were considered company gems; the pay was better, working conditions were more lenient and you all even had a dental plan. Sadly, thanks to him not knowing what to do and ultimately dropping out of college, he was grouped into Team B – the dispensable ones. His group was overworked and underpaid – even though the company made it seem like they treated all their employees equally. That was total bullshit.

And they had the worst fucking supervisor. An ancient stickler tyrant who acted like he was stepping out for business when Jungkook knew he was out fucking some blonde prostitute he was obsessed with in some cheap motel behind his sick wife’s back. Nothing in this company benefitted him. Not the pay, not the hours, and definitely not the bitchass supervisor. Nevertheless, he slaved all his days in this building for you. Looking up in your direction again, he smiles. He got to see you every day and that was enough for him. As long as you remained here, he would never quit. Just then a scowl made its way onto his soft features. What were you doing in the manager’s office half the time? Jungkook knew it wasn’t anything like that – that you were just doing your job, but doesn’t he call you in way too many times a day? His fingers clenched the strap of his bag as Jungkook thought about that man making a move on you.

You’re not good enough.

He was so lost in thought that he didn’t notice the clacking of heels and a pleasant scent light up his area.

“Jungkook?”

He jumps when he hears your voice, rolling back slightly. There – in front of him you stood with a large halo surrounding your figure. His throat feels caught as you meet his eyes and raise an eyebrow. You were the most beautiful being in the universe, he bet even angels compared themselves to you. But they wouldn’t hold a candle. Jungkook felt over the moon at your proximity, cameras couldn’t capture the absolute divinity you embodied so casually. The tip of your nose, the smoothness of your glowing skin, the light makeup over your eyelids. Even the posture you stood in was lethal. Everything was luring him in until he was completely lost and at your mercy, and he’s certain that showed on his face. He sucks in a breath as he hears you speak again, some uneasiness in your melodious tone.

“Umm…you’re Jungkook, correct?”

As he processes your expression at his odd behavior, he forces himself out of his reverie. Can’t have you thinking he’s a weirdo.

“Y-Y…Yes,” He manages

“Oh, good. I was just wondering if you have those documents Mr. Jang asked for? He called to tell me he would be a bit late and if I could retrieve them and give them to Mr. Kim”

Jungkook had always wanted to skin the face off his supervisor, but in this moment, he’s never adored a man more in his life. You actually came all the way over here and talked to Jungkook because of that old man’s incompetence. He hopes Mr. Jang receives the blowjob of his life today.

You eye the boy staring at you with wide bunny eyes. He was always so strange, you wondered why your female colleagues gushed over him so much. You were about to speak again when he stands up straight – making your startled feet shift backwards slightly.

“Umm…Yes!! I have them,” Jungkook states with his voice higher than usual. He opens his satchel and digs out all the documents, presenting them to you with one hand.

“Oh, thank you,” As soon as you reach out for them and bumped your hand into his accidently, he let’s all the documents go. They fall to the floor with a loud ‘thunk’ making a few heads in the neighboring desks turn your way. “Oops.”

You bend to the ground, gathering up all the paper once again. Most of them were in stapled piles, so thankfully they didn’t scatter around too much. When you assembled the bunch, you look back up at him from your position on the floor. His eyes seemed like they would pop out of his skull and you thought you heard him gulp as he continued to observe your position on the ground. Slowly you stand up straight, feeling unnerved.

“Thank you,” You say once again holding the documents on your chest. When you fail to obtain a response, you just awkwardly turn around, sensing his eyes following you all the way back to your desk.

What a weird guy.

Jungkook’s legs feel like a frail horse once he makes it back home. Trudging up the stairs and into his room with a slumped back, he jumps right into bed and kicks off his office shoes. He covers his eyes with his arms.

Then he smiles, stretching his pink lips and displaying his bunny teeth. He smiles so big and wide.

Wow. Wow. Wow. WOW.

You graced his presence. You talked to him. You even touched him.

Holding his face in his hands, he rolls around the compact bed like a teenage girl. Holy shit. This was real.

It’s not that you hadn’t spoken to him before – I mean you both did work in the same company for years and he’s wrote down previous dates of conversations in his both his calendar and journal. But you’ve never made this much eye contact, he’s never got to study your face this close for so long, and you definitely had never touched him. He almost exploded right then.

And then, the part that virtually killed him. You were on your knees…right below him. Innocently staring back up at him. FUCK!

Jungkook groans as recalling that image has him hard instantly. His mind was racing, and he felt he was going crazy with his body temperature continuing to climb. The sun was just beginning to set which let orange streaks of light into his room through the blinds. He huffs as his hand caresses down his torso to grab his bulge, hissing when his fingers make contact. Swiftly, he unbuckles his slacks, pulling them off his butt to rest on his knees. He continues to fondle his hard on through his briefs, moaning when imagining your soft hand instead of his much larger one.

His imagination takes him back a few hours ago, with you on your knees in front of him. But this time there’s no documents on the floor to pick up. This time, no one else is around the chattery office space – unworthy peasants breathing the same air as you. This time, your eyes have a dark undertone in them as you sit there without any clothes on. Your skin was as smooth as porcelain, color reflecting the ceiling lights of the office. He holds his breath when you take your right breast in your hand, pinching your perky nipple with your thumb and index finger. No distractions. No distance. It’s just you and him, and this heavy atmosphere.

“Jungkook,” You say in a sultry tone, crawling closer to him on all fours.

“Fuck,” He curses as you hook your fingers into the waist band of his underwear, slowly pulling the cloth down with a smirk. Jungkook catches a tiny gasp from you as his erection springs up to his stomach in front of your face. You lightly grab the underside of his shaft as his breathing becomes heavy. Poking your tongue out – you lick a stripe up his dick, and he tenses, shoulders rolling back with a shiver. With a mischievous glint, you bring your tongue around the top, swirling his precum over his head while tracing a vein up his shaft with a manicured finger. Your hand bobs up and down his dick as you continue to skillfully twirl your tongue around the tip. His hand clenches tightly as you wrap your pretty lips around the head and hallow out your cheeks to suck.

“Ahhnn,” He hopes you don’t mind his loud, sort of feminine moans. But he still bites his lip to suppress them.

You remove yourself with a pop. Your hand was still gripping around his dick, steadily moving along his rod. Stretching your lips, you wink up at him and he has to do everything in his power not to fall to the ground. He was light headed with lust clouding his vision. The room had gotten dimmer sometime ago, he could only make you out as he did this morning. Your strawberry scent invading his rationality as you sat in front of him. Your honey tone as you repeated his name. The way your red lips curved with every syllable you spoke. Lips you were once again opening as he took your luscious locks in his fingers and directed his dick along your mouth. For a moment he just traced around your lips, glossing them with precum. These lips were his possession along with the rest of you, only he gets to claim them. Then he brought his head back inside your mouth, watching you take all of him in with hooded eyes. Inching his way inside, he saw your jaw go slack and lids flutter the more he forced himself in. You looked so beautiful with tears surrounding your sockets as you struggled to breath when he hit the back of your throat.

“You’re so perfect baby,” Your warm cavern was made for this – for him. Once he feels your throat muscles relax against him, he takes himself out ever so slow, obsessed with how wet his dick became with your saliva. Just to push himself inside again, holding your head down as you struggled. He threw his head back, failing to keep his moans quiet as you gagged around him with your nails pushing at his thighs. Tightening his fingers amongst your hair, he pulled your head back with force before he stuffed you full of himself once again.

He keeps that pace swift and harsh, frustrated at how you were always a few feet from him yet still so far away. This is what he needs, what he craves. His heart beats harder every time he shoves into your wet entrance, watching the way hot tears roll down your cheek but you don’t try to fight off his brutal thrusts. Saliva was sticking at the edge of your lips; your jaw was practically unhinged at his girth and lipstick was smeared all over his dick. You let him use your face like a fuck doll, rolling your eyes into the back of your head as he speeds up with his orgasm approaching.

“You – you’re so beautiful,” He grunts with every thrust “My angel, my doll, my fuck toy. M-Mine. Mine. Mine.”

Words slurred against his mouth as you laid your tongue flat against his shaft, slick dripping of your chin. As his arms fell to his sides, you once again took control of bobbing your mouth and hand against his length. It was really just himself and his own fingers but God he could imagine it so well. He could retrace every part of your body – practically ingrained in his mind from how much time he spent stalking observing you. Hours would go by of him watching you masturbate. Memorizing each facial expression of yours. Thirsting for your heat – this thirst, this is exactly how’d you feel. Jungkook could practically taste it.

He cums with one last push inside your warm mouth and a loud cry of your name.

Opening his eyes, he takes in large breaths gaping at the ceiling of his apartment. Holy fuck, it’d been a while since he came so hard. Chest moving up and down – it takes a moment for him to calm himself. Still high off your pretty face stuffed with his dick. He lays limp in his bed, bringing his hand up to see the insane amount of cum covering his palm. This part always brought him an odd grief. Having to ‘wake up.’ Be alone in his dirty room with your divine company no longer in sight. There was an empty feeling, not just in his balls but in his heart. It was all your fault. Coming near him with those big doe eyes, practically begging him to fuck you on your knees. Yet you wouldn’t let him…not right now. Fuck. Fuck you.

Jungkook knew it wasn’t the right time, that you didn’t know him well enough for him to make a move, but his patience was wearing thin. He had to act fast since he desperately wanted this dream to become a reality.

You were typing away at your keyboard screen, finishing whatever goddamn report of the month. At this point, you were moving in autopilot not even registering any words that were making their way onto the screen. Your back aches as you sigh, you really hated this job. If the pay wasn’t so good, you would’ve quit so long ago. The only good thing about this company was the dental plan really, and the big house you got to afford due to your wages. Co-workers of yours were snarky pieces of shit who excluded you in any activities due to you being the boss’ favorite. Communicating with them was always troublesome, which is why you were here working overtime alone on this 4-person job. At least your co-supervisor was a nice old guy who acted like a gentleman. Really trashy towards his own team though and you were pretty sure he was cheating on his sick wife. When you were almost done with the last paragraph, your phone next to your coffee mug decided to buzz and interrupt the silent, dim office space.

You pick it up reluctantly, already knowing who’d be behind the bright screen. As usual, your misery proves you correct as the name of your arrogant dick for a boss flashes on your phone screen. He was one of those types; the men that feel like they’ve led a hard-working life because they went to a prestigious college without a sport’s scholarship even if they enrolled with their rich parent’s money. Any sort of self-reflection towards their privilege fails to register within them. This man called you for fifty things a day even though he had his own slutty secretary on her knees every time he asked. Maybe you’d feel for the girl if she wasn’t scowling at you whenever you passed by her desk to reach his office. You knew she hated you because he had a thing for you. When he wasn’t calling you in just to subtly check out your ass, he was making passive sexual remarks in completely normal work-related conversations.

It’s not like you didn’t find him attractive. He was tall, dark and you knew he was eating rich with how much time you spent eyeing his muscles. But god was he dumb as fuck. And he didn’t enthuse you any bit, other than maybe imagining him pounding into you from behind with his thick fingers wrapped around your neck. Sexual attraction was normal you suppose – you were two young attractive adults after all. But other than that, you really desired nothing to do with him. Actually, you desired no relationship with anyone at all, for that matter.

Since your last boyfriend’s disappearance three years ago, you recall being too scared to date for a while. Staying at home 24/7 and opting to buy some large dildos in the place of men. But that fear had left you long ago. Slowly, you became someone who just didn’t care in searching for fairytale romance or a passionate night with the love of your life. Instead you just wanted to feel the thrill of being alive, that ecstasy of feeling afraid – waiting for the unknown. You wanted to feel like you did when you saw your dead boyfriend’s horribly mutilated corpse. But that moment had fled too fast and everything around you had become predictable in some gloomy, miserable pattern – with nothing to excite you. Your life had actually become so unbearably boring that you had all the time in the world to accept these insane thoughts into your head, with no one to stop you from so. There was no point in shame any longer, you had your fair share of that when your isolation first started turning you insane.

The more reclusive you stayed, the more apathetic you became.

Sighing, you click on his name to see what he wanted with you at this lovely time of the evening.

‘Had Lana review the documents

She said a page is missing from the last stack

Ask the intern about it’

Of course, he would think Jungkook was an intern. He surely paid him like one. You look up at his empty desk. For once in their despondent lifespan, Team B was allowed to head home on time. Great that meant you’d have to talk to that oddball again in the morning. Lost in thought at your dreadful near future, you get startled as your phone buzzes yet again.

‘More importantly, we’re still up for tmrw night, right?😉’

Staring at the screen with insignificance, you type your reply with bitter fingers.

‘Of course, sir❤’

When you’re about to type him a reply for the ‘intern’ text, a twinkle from across the room catches your eye. You glance back up to see the outline of an unfamiliar object on Jungkook’s desk. Peering into the indistinct space, you desperately tried to make out what was sticking up from his otherwise flat desktop. Oh, right! It hit you then – that was the black bag he carries around daily.

Honestly, you always thought he was weird, and you didn’t pay much attention to Jungkook. Writing him off as another tedious side character that appears in your timeline here and there. The ladies of the office surely seemed to disagree with you, obsessively gushing over his bunny-like features and sturdy physique. Little boys like him didn’t interest you. But you did find yourself studying him sometimes – you’ve always been a curious person – which is why you knew he carried that bag everywhere with him, never letting it out of his sight. Even today, he handed you the pile of papers straight from that satchel. He kept everything in there, how could he forget it here?! Although…he did look out of it the whole day today after your small interaction with him. Maybe he was unwell?

Whatever it was, the situation at hand was more important. If you told your boss Jungkook had left for home, even though he had every right to, he might get fired. That man was impulsive and became furious over the dumbest situations. He once fired an employee that gave 16 years to this company for not ‘ordering the right cupcakes for his favorite client.’ Groaning, you stand up and walk across the office to Jungkook’s desk, your heels clacking amongst the floor. As you thought, it really was his bag that was thrown on his desk.

It wasn’t right to look through his things and you didn’t want to, but you couldn’t have this young man losing his job over something as small as this. Something you can easily fix…hopefully. But why should his status at the company concern you in the least anyway? If he is or isn’t thrown out, it wouldn’t harm your life in at all. Crossing your arms in irritation at the headache starting from the battle of your moral interpretations, you reason that it wouldn’t hurt you to do one kind thing. Perhaps it might land you that promotion you were seeking tomorrow.

You felt bad. Your gut told you something was wrong. What if it’s not in there and you just invade his privacy for no good reason?

With reluctance you grabbed his bag, opening the zipper in slow motion.

Jungkook was peddling as fast as he could. Stupid. Stupid. STUPID. How could he be so stupid. The whole fiasco with you talking to him today and his stupid hormones made him overlook something important. It was ridiculous how he was more concerned in getting home and jerking off to you then paying attention to any of his surroundings. Shit. If only you knew of the power you had over him. He didn’t even remember the dumb item until he was looking for his expensive camera when he recalled leaving it in that bag and leaving said bag back at his desk! Everyone had probably gone home by now, right? He knows some of the janitors steal from the pricks of Team A, but if a whole leather bag is on his desk won’t they at least take a glimpse? SHIT. Jungkook pushes his feet down on the peddles with great force, practically flying towards the workplace like a car.

There wasn’t any way he could afford for anyone to see what was on that camera.

Barging into the office on two left legs, he wheezes with his palms on his knees as he surveils the area around him. Most of the lights are off and the room is empty of life or noise. In a hurry, he had run into some of the caretakers downstairs and they told him they didn’t start on his floor yet. Out of habit, he glances at your desk, to find you staring at him with wide eyes. He straightens himself immediately, closing his mouth along with the racket of his breaths.

Why were you still here?

You had your hands hovering the keyboard and a fresh batch of coffee stood next to you. Were you supposed to be working overtime today? He thought it was tomorrow because he memorized your schedule for this month last week. Did your plans change without him knowing?

As he continues to leer at you, you clear your throat which makes him snap out of his daydream. Carefully, he turns away from you walking towards his desk. The bag is still right where he left it. He knows he can just grab it and go, but the fact that you’re here with him…alone of all things. How good could today get? Fuck, he thought he drained himself enough for today, but his mind was still racing with substantial thoughts. Would it be okay if he talks to you? Maybe he could help you out in whatever you were working on. Before he could get too far and freak you out, he grabs his bag and swings it around his shoulder. Turning around again he takes slow step, trying to seem casual. Was he walking too awkwardly? Did he look good in this hoodie?

When he’s a couple steps from the door, you call out to him.

“Jungkook?”

He faces you with giant deer eyes, “Yes?”

“I received a text from Mr. Kim stating that the last page from the documents you gave me this morning was missing. Do you think you have it in your bag?”

He takes a moment to process what you said, “Yes? Um…Oh right,” He begins digging in his satchel. And there it was, one single page – stuck to the bottom, ripped from the edge where it was originally stapled. The corner of his lip perks up when he finds his camera on top of the document. “Here you go”

Walking over to you, he hands out the paper and you notice it shaking in his fingers.

“Thank you, that’s all.” You say, gently taking the paper from his trembling grasp. Setting it down aside, you pick up your mug to take a sip of your coffee. It was still steaming so you blow on it slightly, puckering your lips. That’s when you notice the shadow in your peripheral vison. You look up to find Jungkook – still as a tree – gawking at you behind an unreadable expression.

“Yes?” You say in a confused tone

“N-no nothing” He stutters, clutching the straps of his bag tightly. “Sorry,” He states, before walking away from you. Turning his head subtly, he gives you one last glance before he heads out the door.

Jungkook was sure he was going to pop open his knuckles as his characters dies once again. He had been gaming for what – two hours straight? His room was lit with only his PC’s screens, and he’s sure his eyes would drop out of his sockets if he doesn’t close them soon. Also, he’d definitely lose his voice from screaming into his mic so much at the arrogant teenage brat who keeps mocking him. If only this damn kid appeared two days ago. His gameplay sucks because his focus is somewhere else – on someone else. Yesterday’s events had punctured both his mind and balls and he was completely spent. Yet you still continued to linger in his mind, like you had your hand wrapped around his brain.

It was destiny, Jungkook believes. It was a sign; the stars are telling him to make his move. Finally, after three years all he needed was some form of answer to his craving for you and he knows he’s received it as of yesterday. He was planning on talking to you by the end of the week, maybe asking you out to coffee like normal people do. There was always that fear of you saying no, but not after last night. Jungkook acknowledges he’s handsome, knows how people view him both in the office and out on the streets. Unlike some of the virgins on his server, he’s had his fair share of pussy before.

There were tons of different types he encountered. A few girls that were looking for a handsome fling. Others wanting arm candy. The most annoying girls repeatedly tried to find a way to get beneath the sexual layer – thinking themselves to be saviors or that he’s some poor lost ‘badboy’ who needs saving – clinging onto him with their delusional fantasies. They were always the hardest to shake off. His favorite type were the girls who understood that they have no meaning to him, they just wanted to get spit on and choked during intercourse. This was all way before he met you, of course. Before he pledged his faithfulness to his and your relationship. Nevertheless, he does know how to get into a woman’s pants.

He wants more with you, however. He wants to hold your hand whenever he feels like it and laugh with you at the cheesy dramas you watch and come home to you when the dark thoughts in his head overwhelm him and his loneliness eats away his soul. Jungkook’s never understood what love is or why people put themselves through pain for something as silly as that, at least not until he met you. What he feels for you, its love isn’t it? It consumes him entirely and he numbs the ache of not having you by watching over you compulsively. By memorizing your habits, by making you as alone as he is. Funny…he thinks he’s become like those girls he hated. A more excessive version, perhaps.

Jungkook growls as he dies yet again and closes off his sever. Today was just not his day. He discards his headset and grabs his unfinished ramen cup, practically shoving the last of its contents into his mouth in one large take. Throwing it to the side, he grabs his energy drink and downs it in one go while he’s still chewing to help swallow without difficulty. Stretching his shoulders, he huffs, looking at the time on his screen. You were probably making dinner right now. Maybe watching a horror movie or finishing your novel. What if you were in that mood tonight, the one that made you rip off all your clothes and seize whatever sex toy you touched first in your drawer. He loved your dildos the most, he was always amazed at how they stretched out your cunt so nice and tight. Exactly like he wants to. Sometimes he’d break into your house just to lick them clean.

Shuddering from his thoughts, he opens his folder where he stores the camera records. His favorite part of watching you was the anticipation. He clicks the kitchen cam to find it empty. Okay, so you weren’t cooking. He goes on to click the living room cam. Also empty. In excitement, he clicks the bedroom cam…to find it blank? The screen was black, and it darkened his entire room. There was no sound or even static from the tape. Great…it’s probably broken.

He sighs, staring at the monitor in scrutiny. There were other times when his spycam’s malfunctioned or broke down over the past three years and it was always such a hassle. Barely managing to excuse himself from work to sneak into your house when you’re not around, finding the spycam (and maybe taking a trinket of yours), getting back home to diagnose it. And either spending hours fixing it or spending money replacing it. Then sneaking back in and placing it back up. Always took a lot of work and interesting fact he discovered – acting like a thief was sort of dangerous! Who would’ve thought? His ‘all black ensemble all the time’ hadn’t helped either. Your neighbor almost caught him last time.

Today was really not his day, but the important thing was to see what you were doing. He glances at his camera on the side of the desk. Would you have your window open tonight? Well…there was only one way to know for sure. He gets up from his chair, pausing a bit as his vision blacks out for a moment. When it returns, he grabs his camera and stuffs it in his satchel. Then he slips out of his sweats to pull up his jeans and has to sit on the bed to wear his heavy easy climb shoes. Once he picks up his keys, he’s out the door into the cool summer night.

The bike to your place was easy, the wind blew through his hair like a lullaby. His hair was getting quite long, most of it reaching halfway to his ears. He was going to cut it, but he saw you eyeing him last week. There was no way he was letting scissors come near him now, not with the way your gaze glossed over his strands.

He finally reaches the usual alleyway and locks his bike by a drain pipe, making sure to secure it tightly. The reason why he parked it here was so no one takes note of the large blue P5X in the middle of the backroad behind your house as it was too heavy to carry over your fence. Besides, he’d trust the abandoned alleyway any day over the quite suburban neighborhoods. If movies have taught him anything, it’s that the nice-looking places are always the deadliest. That’s another reason he’s installed cameras around your house; for your own safety.

Jungkook spots your place after a short walk, turning his slow steps into a quick jog. As he comes near, he notices the light of your bedroom window beaming into the road, and he quietly cheers. Your window was open – he finally gets to see your pretty face. When he was in front of your house, he hops the familiar fence into your slightly unkept backyard. Once he moves in with you, the first thing he’s going to do is mow the fucking lawn. He walks up to the willow tree standing sturdy by your window, waiting on him to climb on. He loved this fucking tree, it was truly a pure and majestic plant.

As usual, he grabs onto a firm piece of bark and he uses his shoe to push himself up. He repeats this process until he’s safely tucked into the branches of the large tree. As usual, the leaves were blocking his way, and also protecting him from getting caught. Using the leaves as a cover, he gets himself ready by pulling out his camera and perching himself on his stomach. And as usual he moved towards the light behind the leaves.

As usual. Everything was supposed to be as fucking usual. But today was not his fucking day, was it?

When he finally gets a view behind the leaves using the lens of his camera, he almost drops out the tree all together. He let’s out a loud involuntary gasp. His throat constricts and his eyes widen at the sight he’s met with.

He first saw your eyes, your beautiful shapely eyes clenched together in ecstasy. Then he saw your arms. Your healthy, silky arms grasping onto someone’s broad back. And then your legs. Your sexy, glowing skin folded on someone’s hips. Hips that should’ve been his. He moves his camera out of his sight, taking your position in with his own two eyes. There you were, with your jaw hanging open and your body blocked out by someone else’s, a body you were urgently clinging onto. From then on started the moans. He hadn’t registered them before until just now, his brain connecting the movement of your mouth to the soft moans just now reaching his ears. A shaky breath leaves him.

“Uhh – ahh-” You were getting fucked, up against your wall.

“There,” You were mewling for the man pounding your smaller frame

“Faster!” A sob leaves his throat, his pants tightening at the scene. No, he didn’t want to get hard at this, not when his heart was shattering into a million pieces. But his body refused to listen to him as his dick started leaking precum

There was slight sweat on your forehead, your eyebrows were furrowed, and your now open eyes were glazed with desire. The muscles of the stranger tense as he holds you, hard ridges producing beads of perspiration – both yours and his – leaving no distance between your entangled limbs. He doesn’t know what to feel, just that his body hurts a lot all of a sudden. He accidently presses the camera shutter, not noticing it taking one pick after the other of the dreadful scene in front of him. Suddenly you make eye contact with him and his whole figure freezes.

You were looking. Fuck. You were staring straight at him, he knows you could tell he was here. He should get the fuck out of here – leave this place immediately but he’s frozen. The pounding of his heart intensifies when you smile.

You were…smiling? You were staring straight at him and…smiling? What the fuck was going on? A chill ran down his spine.

While making direct eye contact with him, you smirk, bringing your hand up to grab your boss’ locks. “Right there, baby,” You groan, throwing your head back but still staring out that window. “Ahh-You do it so well, better than mm- anyone.”

Jungkook was crying. He felt the tears leaves his sockets one by one. It was those days again – the ones three years ago. When you would break his heart daily by casually dating or flirting. When he had to put together that revolting tape of you and your now ex. Nausea crept his insides, his arms felt limp. Only the shadows know how he survived that time period. And it was supposed to be gone, that retched habit of yours. You were only his now. Yet here you were, with that evil glint in your menacing stare, mocking him with every breath that left your lungs.

When the bastard moves his head to the side to nose your neck, is when Jungkook catches a glimpse of the man who tore you away from him. It was him…your boss. Jungkook’s breathing becomes heavy.

You were doing this on purpose. You were torturing Jungkook on purpose. But WHY?! Why would you do that to him? Are you punishing him? It’s not something he knows for certain, but he does know this man had corrupted you. He took you away from Jungkook. He made you become this cruel. And Jungkook doesn’t share what’s his, ever.

It was that sudden thought just then, that blackened his pupils and clenched his teeth. The tears became hot, leaving a fire in their trail and burning the skin of his cheek. He no longer cried out of utter devastation, but a new emotion fueled him – bought back the energy that drives him to pursue you. Anger. Red, hot, scorching anger.

“I’m gonna cum”

He can no longer digest the scene. His stomach churned at the sight and he forced himself away, jumping out of the tree and falling feet-first into the lawn. As he straightened up, the ache got worse, his head felt like it would explode any second. So, he leaned on the bark, trying to keep cool. It didn’t work though as his mouth dropped open and he threw up all over the roots of the plant. His throat constricted and he struggled to breathe, eyes wide at the misery at hand. When he was done vomiting his guts, he took a step back and observed the sight in coughs he tried to keep silent. Pieces of food had mushed together and dyed into a green unidentifiable gunk by his energy drink, drenching the roots and grass surronding of the tree. He felt so sick, eyes hazy and the gross stench filling his nostrils. As soon as his conscious cleared a bit, he ran away from the scene of the crime.

Jungkook ran from the tree. From your yard. From the long backroad. All the way back to that silent alley way, not once looking back.

He was out of breath once he found his bike. Too exhausted to drive for now, he rested his arms on the wall. That’s when he noticed some of the contents from his earlier actions got on his pants and he wiped away at them furiously, grunting loudly. His grunts soon became whimpers and his eyes blurred once again as he let out a loud wail. Why would you do this to him? Why? He did everything for you, just to be with you…so WHY?

His body is shaking as he hangs onto the wall, trying to wipe tonight from his mind. The longer he thinks about, the crazier he becomes. Images continue to plague his mind and he shouts curses into the wall as his crotch continues to ache.

Why was he hard at a time like this? What the actual fuck was wrong with him?

No longer having the energy to care, with one last curse he unbuckles his jeans and pulls out his raging dick. Immediately he starts stroking his shaft strong and fast, and he uses the last of his adrenaline to fuel his pace.

He can see it still, your naked form. The gorgeous expanse of your skin and your legs spread apart. Except this time, you’re bent over your bed with your ass on display for him. Only for him. Your hands are tied behind your back but you’re not struggling. Yet.

Grunting, he jerks himself off as he imagines raising his hand up – then landing it straight on your soft ass cheek. You cry out as you shift away from him only to have him hold you down with his other arm. The skin around your butt becomes a rosy color, his hand print appearing in the aftermath. Immediately his pupils blow out, breath coming in hefty takes as he one again raises his hand towards your other cheek.

“How *smack* dare *smack * you *smack*” He grits out the last word so hard that he accidently bites his tongue. The taste of iron swirled in his mouth. Your cries were muffled against the bed your face was stuffed in and it makes his heart ache. This isn’t what he wanted, he only wanted to make sweet love to you. Give you everything you asked for. But he was weak and inept…underprivileged and a good-for-nothing. His insecurities held him back for three fucking years, but he was trying. Groveling away in the only company that would hire him. Letting himself be belittled, ridiculed, endlessly worked…all for you. He was trying really hard. Hiccupping as tears fall down his face, he rubs against your bottom to sooth you, not taking his eyes off of your cunt.

In exchange, that man embodied everything he wasn’t. Money. Status. Power. He could provide for you – he could give you anything you wanted and maybe that’s why he got to touch you. Jungkook recoils, recollecting what a dumbass horndog he became just because his fingers brushed yours. How sad was it that after all his efforts, Jungkook was stuck behind his dirty 4 walls masturbating to thoughts of you every night while this man got to live his dream without even half the work? What had he done to deserve you?

Not good enough. Not good enough. You’re not good enough.

“W-Why…did you do that t-to *hiccup* me”

“Why, when I love you so much?” When he recalls what you did, all the anger comes back. Red paints his vision as he once again spanks you like crazy, not caring about your screams this time. With how you angled your ass, you were practically urging him to continue. Heat radiates from you and his palm, his mind traveling a mile a minute. He brings his thigh up to your core, enjoying the way you instantly soak through his jeans while whining at the stimulation. Not just your suffering but even your face wasn’t correctly recreating in his perception, because to him this wasn’t about you. It was about your lack of fucking respect for him. Right now, only his pleasure mattered to his brain.

Pausing his merciless attack, he enjoys the view of your dripping cunt. Once again mindlessly rubbing at your bottom. Grabbing your sore ass cheek with one hand, he positions his dick at your entrance with his other. He groans as he sinks into you, stretching your insides apart. Fuck, if it felt this good in his own mind then he can’t even fathom how it would feel in reality. As he settles all the way inside, he doesn’t wait for you to relax around him. No, he wouldn’t wait for you.

Instead he pulls out and slams against you balls deep with one swift thrust. His moans sound out in sync with your cries – pleading for his forgiveness.

Before he could help it, he cums right then – abruptly, unfinished and the fury still alive in his bones. Inhumane growls come from him as he’s faced with the red brick wall that he coats with hot white strings of his semen. Bumping his forehead onto that wall, he slows his breathing, watching as the white streaks drip down the uneven ridges of the bricks. Reality kicks in. This is how it would be every time, wouldn’t it? He wouldn’t get to be inside you, he wouldn’t get to taste you, and he would spend away his days ejaculating prematurely like a fucking child.

Unless he did something about this.

Something he hasn’t done in a while.

As the young man continues to stand alone in that alleyway, an idea forms in his head. Since you were staring at him in such a sinister way – no surprise or fright in your face – you know exactly what he was doing and probably who he was. For the first moment that night, he flashes his pearly whites. Looks like it was finally time for you both to officially meet.

The man paced as fast as his heavy legs could take him, trying his best to seem confident and not an object of suspicion. Sweat was building in his temple and he could feel it. In that moment, all of his senses were at their peak and he’d probably be able to feel the flutter of a fly’s wings or a mole beneath his feet. As he wasn’t the most athletic, he was already out of breath from the steps he had taken, but he clamped his mouth shut. His eyes wandered around everywhere, staying no place more than a few seconds.

When he opens the doors of the building, he’s greeted with another presence.

“Good evening Mr. Jang.” A young janitor, probably his son’s age tells him. It has an unsettling effect on him – one where his eyes widen, and eyebrows raise. He responds with a forced smile, teeth clamoring faintly, as he continues to walk on by.

“Yes, good evening.” The worker’s pupils follow the blue suited man all the way to the elevator, where they are involuntary required to make eye contact again as he waits for his lift to arrive. Another forced smile from his side.

The elevator doors open quickly to Jang’s relief, and he gets inside. He hits the top floor immediately and looks towards his shoes. For a few seconds he just blinks, trying to see if this was some hellish nightmare he was stuck inside. If he could somehow wake up to a better reality. With her lying next to him.

The lift reaches the top floor and lets him out, he quietly walks into the windy night enclosed by the vacant terrace. There he pauses, running a palm on his bare head a few times to ease his discomfort. She did that for him too, it always calmed him down.

His phone rings. Again.

“Y…Hello…yes I’m at the rooftop. Yes, I’m alone.”

The aging man shifts on his legs as the distorted voice replies to him. It was that contrast of the unusually deep baritone in one ear and noiseless summer night in his other that ran a chill up his spine.

“I’ll do it…but please can I ask wh- no! NO! I’m sorry! I won’t do it again. I’ll do what you asked!”

“Just please,” He begs, bringing his hands up in the darkness to his head, “Don’t send those photographs to my wife…”

He sniffles bitter and exhausted, as the call ends and he’s once again completely alone. Eyeing his phone, he stands there for a bit just exhaling through his nose. The calm before the storm let’s say. Never in his life has he considered himself a kind man, he always took what he wanted from who he wanted as much as life allowed him to. His wife was just some rich whore he managed to impregnate in the 80’s, he didn’t mean to make a life with her. He also didn’t mean to just watch as life left her. But he can’t change what happened; he can’t change that they have a son who rarely speaks to them, he can’t change that he found another woman – much younger, much tighter. And he can’t change taking a generous life insurance policy out on her ill body. Divorce isn’t something he could afford, not when he’s this close.

Instead was he a murderer? No, he couldn’t cause someone’s death even if he was hoping for another’s. So that has to account for something, right? It was the least he earned to be able to love himself…didn’t he? With a deep sigh and a muffled sob, he clicks on his boss’s name and waits as his phone starts ringing, holding it next to his ear.

“Hello?”

He did it…he called him. Now he should start talking but no – the words won’t come out. Should he tell him the truth? Should he stick to the script? All he could do was stand there with his mouth catching flies as the other line repeats his greetings.

“Hello? Jang, what the fuck? I know it’s you. What the fuck do you want at this time of night?”

Compared to the other call, this man’s voice was louder, and he hated it twice as much. Perhaps this was destiny, a twisted fate of all the choices he’s made in the past couple of years. Kim had always been a brat, the reason Jang dreaded going into the office he should’ve originally been in charge of. The brat didn’t have half the qualifications he did, nor did he have half the rights to speak to him in such a belittling manner. Nonetheless, luck only delivers to the wealthy or sons of the arrogantly blessed. Seniority holds no place in competition to those privileged enough to win. Perhaps this was karma, another card of destiny – taking back what was unfairly given.

He failed to register the threat looming right behind him, caught up in his pleasing daydream of a payback. His own karma watching him with hawk eyes.

If this is destiny…then he doesn’t have to feel bad about this, does he? It was always meant to happen, and he was just doing what the cards told him. He was just a messenger delivering a message.

And so, with a large gulp, deliver he did.

Kim parked his Benz at the back. He parked near the trees, their cover setting an ease inside his otherwise chaotic mind. The last thing he expected tonight was a call from that musty old man. Fucking Jang, he wonders why he hasn’t fired him yet. It was you who did most of his work anyway, while he was out fucking some chick from their red-light district bar. If only that bastard wasn’t also involved in his side business.

Getting out of his car, he takes fast strides to the structure in front of him. All of this was getting out of hand.

“There’s a mole…We should meet”

Kim wasn’t gonna lie, he was shitting himself the whole ride to the warehouse. Contrary to what people think, Kim considered himself a sharp man. He knew that none of his crap was really his, that his alcoholic father could take everything away in a matter of moments if he pissed him off enough. That man spent his youthful years beating the ‘sissy’ out of him and now uses his older age to sass the failing status of his business. It was such a curse representing that man’s last name. Such a tragedy that he was born into the mud pile he called a family. Maybe that’s why he took refuge behind illegal activities, turned his once average company to an underground drug laundering agency. That way he could earn his own money, untainted by his elegant family’s legacy. He craved that independence.

Everything was better than it seemed anyway. They weren’t distributors nor were they providers, they were just middle men. People who safely hid the drugs given to them by providers and taken away from them by distributors. Meaning he’d get the same amount of punishment despite having the least amount of profits. Apparently, young rich boys mean nothing to mafia heads or underground gangsters. Nothing more than disposable aid like he considered others. Tsk. Fuck all this shit.

What he needed to do was find this ‘mole’ Jang mentioned and eliminate him fast. There wasn’t any blood on his hands minus multiple teenaged addict’s untimely death, but he didn’t consider that his fault. However, this time he’d make sure to kill this son of a bitch – whoever he was – himself. The thought of finally having power over some plebian pleading soul right before he rips the life from their eyes gave him an adrenaline rush. Finally, he wouldn’t just be a monster because of who his father was, but because he could get shit done.

He grunts when he makes it to the warehouse doors, opening them with more force than he meant to. Once he steps inside, he notices that It’s too dark to see.

“Jang? Where the fuck are you?” Kim shouts into the shadows

…

Nothing but silence in return. He feels uneasy…like there was something terribly wrong with this place.

“Fuck,” He mutters, pulling out his phone to call the old man. His shoulders were tense, and his eyes roamed about. The alcohol in his system heightened his nervousness, made everything sort of unfocused even in the dark. With one call, he charged into battle without thinking, eager to blow someone’s head off tonight”

Ring Ring

Everything went in slow motion as he spotted a light coming from a few feet away. It looked like a phone. Kim gulped before he walked towards it. Praying that it wasn’t what he was thinking.

As he came by it, he began to tremble. His name was displayed on the small screen. It was cracked from an end and…there was something red on the front edge. What the fuck.

Snap

In an instant he turns around, the ringing still haunting his ear. He definitely heard something…or someone?

“W-who’s there?!” He tries to shout but his voice fails him as he squeaks. The realization that he’s not alone frightens him. All the vigor from before leaves his build and he becomes a small boy once again. The shadows symbolizing his father, the small noises sounding like the leather belt that bruised him continuously.

“W-what do you want?”

“Weak,” he hears his father’s voice sneering, “You gonna grovel like a f*g? You sissy.”

Anger swells inside his chest, his teeth clenching in pure hate. “I won’t grovel you motherfucker, come out this instant!” He roars before taking out his gun and shooting a few rounds at random. Still, no reply. Kim heaves in the darkness for a few seconds, placing his gun in multiple directions, trying to make out the cunt playing with him.

That when he notices Jang’s phone. It’s gone. Did someone take it? When? As he’s busy staring at the ground where it once laid, he doesn’t hear the steps of the shoes behind him.

*Crack*

He falls to the floor with a thud as something heavy hits the back of his head. The gun slips away from reach, further into the darkness. Screaming he clutches the gushing wound on his head, blood immediately making its way from the blow in his cranium. He tries to push himself up with one arm, falling back down miserably. That attempt lands him a hit on the back of his thigh as he wails. His vision blurs and he wheezes in pain, completely immobile in a growing pool of his own blood.

His father laughs at him, the leather belt in his hand crackling with pride. Turning himself around, he brings a weak arm up, pleading with the silhouette of what he thinks is a man. “P-please, I’ll give you whatever you want.”

The man scoffs, reaching behind him to pull out a tiny object. He flicks it a few times to reveal a lighter. As the fire brightens everything around him, he notices a bat in the man’s other arm. A very bloody bat. Slowly, he brings the lighter up to his face and Kim’s eyes go wide with the last bit of his strength.

“Y-you’re that i-intern-

“Name’s Jungkook.” The man interjected before bringing the bat up and smashing it into his face.

In a moment, the last thing Kim saw were spotted stars in his eyes before he felt the awful pop of his nose breaking and eventually lost conscious.

You were painting your nails. Scratch that, you were attempting to paint your nails. Bending your body in half and sticking out your tongue in concentration, you groan when that bombs, and you make yet another mistake. This shit was impossible.

After a long week of complete exhaustion, you were happy to be home on your couch with a pizza box on your left and a glass of wine on your right. Sitting there and swirling the brush inside your nail polish container you hummed along to the tune of the newest pop song stuck in your head. It was a nice night, compared to the heat wave your city had been experiencing for the past month. So, you decided to leave the windows open and let some breeze in. Soon you were thinking about watching a thriller on Netflix.

You sighed, this is always how your days passed no matter what type of weather was out there. Alone – in your way too large to live alone in house. Since your bitch of a best friend left you, she decided to take all your other friends with her. Online harassment from her minions got so bad you had to delete all your social medias. Family was no good either. Your parents were the most annoying creatures on the planet, refusing to let you in that one time you flew home to see them for the holidays. Whatever, it didn’t matter – you fucking hated everyone anyway. Fuck Melissa, fuck Dad, fuck David, fuck Uncle Ben.

There were sometimes though, where you would make a stupid penis joke towards an actor on screen and wished Melissa was around to laugh in that obnoxious way she often would. Or that your Dad would still call you for his check ins with one of his million pet names. You wished David was still around to see if your company really made you supervisor, he owed you like $40 bucks from the bed. And other times you wished Uncle Ben still brought you those expensive gifts from his crazy trips.

But whatever…like you said. Fuck everyone.

You’re startled when the doorbell chimes, almost bumping your acetone all over the place. In confusion you look over to your clock hanging above the dining room wall. It was almost midnight. Who could it be at this hour?

You jump again when the doorbell rings for a second time. Whoever it was sure was impatient. Moving your pedicure items to the side, you stand up in annoyance, making your way over to the door. Quietly you peek into the peephole, hoping to see a familiar face. Oddly, no one seems to be outside. Yet the bell chimes again.

With great hesitance you pull the door open, only slightly.

The sight you’re met with leaves your jaw hanging open. On the other side of the door – right in front of you, stood Jeon Jungkook. Not a trace of emotion on his face as he glared at you and pushed the door open the rest of the way. You back up slightly. He was holding a bat covered in blood and dirt, red and black stains surrounded the smooth skin of his face. The stench of iron and gasoline makes you scrunch your nose, and you put a palm over it in disgust.

Jungkook stands there, staring at you. You wore a white silk kimono, one side of it delicately hanging on your arm and exposing your bare shoulder. Smitten by just the sight of you, he breaths in your strawberry musk – mixed with acetone for some reason. When he steps inside you let out a tiny gasp. Raising an eyebrow, he continues to watch you. He prepared a whole speech about how you’re his and he was here to punish you accordingly tonight but as soon as your glassy orbs met his, he lost all train of thought. Funny, he was tearing limbs and breaking bones a couple of minutes ago and now he feels like he can’t even advance his hand to touch you.

When you continue to look at him with such distaste, he expected you to scream, to cry, to run. He was expecting you to act like his prey usually does.

He was not expecting you to smile.

“What did you do?” You ask him in the biggest smile he’s ever seen you in.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out of him. You step closer to him, tilting your head to hear his answer but he’s struggling to form words. Fluttering your lashes, you patiently wait for him to talk.

“I…I-I killed him.”

“Killed who?” You ask without missing a beat. It seems like you’ve realized though as your mouth forms an O and you let out a laugh, “Wait, Mr. Kim? You really killed Kim?”

Jungkook nods as his heart starts beating faster. He’s not used to you being so close and acknowledging him. “And Jang”

“Whoooaaa, and Jang?” You jump up in enthusiasm, surprising poor Jungkook.

“Y-you don’t care?” He asks in a tiny voice

You give him a weird face, “Care? Why would I?”

When he gives you the most clueless face in return, you sigh – crossing your arms. He sure was naïve.

“I found your camera,” You begin, looking up to witness his shocked reaction. He looks like he wanted to say something, but you hold up a finger to stop him, “Well, actually I found all your cameras. The first one being the one with all those creepy pictures of me.”

“At first, I was shocked, and a little upset. Then I became scared. And then I realized…that I was actually scared” You stare at him with wide, insane eyes and he wonders why he’s never witnessed this side of you. It was kinda turning him on. “I was scared…holy shit I was scared of you and it was the best thing ever. Then I wondered if you had any other cameras…and I was right.”

Lifting your head to the left corner of the living room, you point at the spot. “I found the first one there, and the second one in the kitchen and then in the bathroom and so on.” Suddenly your face becomes solemn and you give him a scowl that makes him deflate like a small animal.

“Then I thought…Wow! so much interesting shit is happening in my life – in my own home and I had no fucking idea? Why? Because my stalker happened to be a bitchass coward who couldn’t make a move?”

He winces when you berate him, his head dropping and tears forming in his eyes. There was so much he wanted to tell you, but a headache was forming in his brain from all the gasoline he had inhaled. You place your hand under his jaw, gently bringing his face up to yours again, “That’s why I decided to lure you out myself. I took off the spycam in my room and decided to fuck my boss, hoping you’d come see and do something. Knew you would perch on my willow tree seeing how the photos in your camera were angled…Which by the way is a fucking mess! Clean up the nasty chaos you made on my precious tree tonight!”

Jungkook nods firmly, still processing what you said.

“S-so wait…wait then Kim was jus-”

“Yeah, Kim was just a pawn. He’s practically been begging to fuck me for years anyway, and I was gonna do it for that promotion he offered me. But this is better. Also, Jang touched my ass way too much on ‘accident.’ I didn’t want them to die, but I don’t exactly care either.”

Jungkook smiles shyly. The fact that used Kim to get to him. You didn’t care about Kim’s money or his power. He got insecure for no reason. And you had just asked him to stay by telling him to clean up his mess! If he’s right in guessing your intentions, then he feels that he’s going to burst out crying. Although he’ll still punish you for fucking him. That agony he felt was still deep inside his gut and he hadn’t been able to cum for two days, plotting this elaborate scheme of murder. With everything you were telling him, he didn’t think you’d mind much.

You’ve accepted him, after all. He’s enough for you.

You’re enough.

“Tell me what you did to them.”

“I beat them to a bloody pulp.” Jungkook says monotonously. It’s the first sentence he states without stuttering. “Attacked them both from behind with a single blow and cracked their skulls. Continued to beat the shit out of them then dropped Jang’s body to an alleyway. Broke both of his arms. Dragged him to an empty warehouse known for drug transactions where I fucked up Kim. Smashed his face in, his eyeball was hanging out by the end of it…it wasn’t very attractive. Then I threw gasoline all over the place and burned it to a crisp. Firefighters and Media’s probably there by now”

“Holy shit…that’s…fucking crazy,” You eye the bat. “What if you get caught”

“I won’t…they’ll say it was a rival drug gang. Left a few traces of underground trash” He answers as you lift your brows. There was a lot you didn’t know about him, especially the three years prior to him getting that job in your office. You wouldn’t know of the life he had before he laid his eyes on you, the co-worker with the beautiful smile showing him around his new workplace. He wasn’t interested in returning to a time before you became his purpose for existing, but he was smarter than he looks.

There was a lot he understood.

Jungkook frowns at the floor before making eye contact with you, “Do you…hate me?”

“…Your weird ass excites me Jungkook. I think I fucking love you.” Meh, honestly you weren’t really in love with him. But it wouldn’t hurt to say it cause you knew as long as Jungkook stayed this psychotic, he’s the only man you would come close to loving. You hadn’t ever been in love before, but you were willing to ty it out.

At your confession Jungkook shows you his bunny teeth and his eyes crinkle. It meant so much to him, you wouldn’t even be able to comprehend. These three years have gone very differently for both of you, after all. While you were out there losing people from your life and wasting your existence away, Jungkook was falling in love with you deeper and deeper each moment he spent watching you. To the point of complete, irreversible fixation. A loud bell rings inside his head and he chokes up.

“I love you, too.”

You grab his cheeks, lurching forward to kiss him and it only takes a second for him to reciprocate.

It was a sloppy, hungry kiss. Your tongues swirls around his and your teeth bump into each other. You lick the sides of his mouth, tasting someone else’s blood and the residue of fire. It makes you moan into him. With that the beast awakens, dropping the damn bat out of his hands and grabbing your ass instead, pulling you close to him. His wet muscle dominates yours easily, your legs giving out slightly and he rushes to hold you up by your thighs. Ever slip of his tongue has you clenching your core in excitement. Lewd noises fill your doorway as you hang onto his sturdy frame and he pushes harder and harder against you. He bites your lip and you whine, feeling him smile into your mouth. When you felt like you could no longer breathe, you pull back to stare at his blown-out pupils with lust fogging your mind.

Out of breath, he whimpers as you rub against his hard on. He was sexy as fuck with his lips swollen and glossy with your spit, pupils dilated, his jaw ajar and lurid sighs leaving him. Jungkook held onto you for dear life while waiting for your next move, you felt his thick fingers digging into your thighs. You smile at him with heavy lids, running a hand through his wild strands. Cautiously, he places his face into your exposed shoulder and inhales your scent. Shivering at the sensation, you groan as he starts biting at your neck aggressively, as if trying to make a statement. You coo at him, trying to calm him down by patting his head, and you wonder if it worked once he slows down and you feel tears amongst your bitten hickeys.

That’s what excited you the most about Jungkook. There was no certainty about him, you couldn’t predict him at all. Some part of you thought he would come to kill you instead of Kim or Jang and the rush you felt seeing him in your entrance drenched in blood almost gave you a standing orgasm. Right now, you have no fucking idea why he’s sobbing into your shoulder while dry humping you with such eagerness…was he happy? Was he mad? Was he sad? You couldn’t tell that Jungkook was absolutely enthralled to finally have you in his arms – touch you all he wanted – and he did have a very rough and bloody week. He was emotionally drained. What you did know, however, was that you haven’t felt this much thrill for a long, long time. And the root cause of it was this man baby in your arms, covering you with gore and ash.

What a weird guy.

You weren’t sure where this was headed, all you knew was that Jungkook would be pounding inside of you on your bed in a couple of moments. Without changing of course because the guts spilled across his shirt was making you drip down your thighs. Wrapping your arms against the crying bunny rabbit, you speculated if there was another extravagant plot you could cook up to get him to kill someone – this time right in front of you. After all, it was as if you were Frankenstein and he was your monster with rabbit features and brawny arms. The thought makes you chuckle before you notice how he’s began hiccuping and repeating his love for you on your skin. Sighing, you whisper in his ear to simmer down. It was getting difficult to breath with how he was smothering you. Oh well.

Looks like your night just got interesting.

#Jeon Jungkook #Bts #Jungkook smut #Jungkook angst #Yandere Jungkook #Bts smut #Bts angst #Yandere bts #R:BC

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honeylikewords · 3 years

Text

gifts (din djarin)

(a hanukkah fic about my Very Definitely Jewish Darling, Din Djarin. i left a few things ambiguous-- for example, Grogu is very definitely the baby/child/son being mentioned, but his name isn’t used so that he can be interpreted as either a human or alien child-- but it should still all make sense. also, Din and his beloved being a married couple. that’s about all you need to know! enjoy!)

“You have to actually at least try to wrap them.”

Din casts a narrow-eyed look over his shoulder at his wife, who is standing behind him in her pajamas, arms crossed over her chest with a playful smirk on her lips. She leans against the doorway to his work room and points at the small pile of presents laying in crumpled, crinkled, crushed lumps of misshapen paper, her eyes twinkling in the glow of his bench lamp.

“It’s hard,” he grumbles, turning back to the task at hand upon his workbench with a pout. “Besides, it’s not like he can even open packaging.”

“You can’t just give him unwrapped gifts, sweetness. The wrapping paper’s half the fun!”

“When I was a kid, I didn’t even get presents,” Din grouses, fumbling with a piece of tape stuck to his fingers. “It was just lighting the candles, prayers, and maybe dinner. None of this gifting stuff.”

“I know, hon.”

Walking up behind him, Din’s wife places an affectionate kiss on his temple and rubs at his tight shoulders, giggling to herself at his dour disposition. The corner of his lips twitch but he seems to suppress whatever emotion had intended to cross his face, instead allowing for the frown lines to form deeply on his forehead as he scrunches his brows and futzes with the obstinate tape again.

“But,” she continues, “We both agreed that the little guy was gonna get presents for each night. And if we’re going to be giving gifts, we ought to be wrapping them. Right?”

“Yeah, I know,” he replies, voice softly distant but accepting.

There’s a pause as she reassuringly massages her thumb along the neckline of his shirt and he makes that low, clearing sound, deep in his throat-- the ever-familiar noise of Din trying to gear himself up to say something he’s shy about-- then casts his eyes down at his hands, picking aimlessly at the affixed tape.

“Could you, uh… help me, please?”

His wife chuckles and rolls her eyes, bending down to kiss him solidly on the cheek, nodding as she pulls up a stool and sits next to him at the workbench. She lifts up one of the malformed paper-piles trying to pass itself off as a wrapped present and reaches over Din’s fidgeting hands to pick up his box-cutter, slicing through the masses of poorly-placed tape and crumpled paper to excise the gift within.

A Hot Wheels car in a plastic box sits before her, safely removed from its cocoon of wrapping paper, and, satisfied with her work, she turns to Din, flashing him a warm smile.

“What paper did you wanna use for this one?”

Din scuttles off his stool and procures a laundry basket packed with long tubes of rolled wrapping paper. He picks up one printed with chubby penguins wearing knit vests and pom-pom hats, and presents it to his bride proudly.

“I thought he’d like them,” he explains, pointing at one of the vested birds. “He loves animals.”

His brown eyes glimmer beneath the lamplight, and his eagerness to please gives him a puppyish sweetness, almost as if he’s waiting for her to praise his selection in paper. She can’t help it; leaning over, Din’s wife gives him yet another kiss, this time a light, brief peck on the lips, and feels him melt slightly into her touch, his tension from his earlier frustration ebbing away.

When she pulls back, Din’s face is clearly warmed-- a certain glow about his cheeks and ears, and a pleased expression overtaking him-- and he flashes her a sheepish smile.

He watches as she carefully unspools a length of the paper and measures it against the matchbox car, flipping the container this way and that until she has the correct proportions. Once she is content, she takes up a pair of scissors Din had long-since abandoned on the workbench and glides through the paper easily, slicing off a neat section of it before aligning the present just so and making her folds.

Entranced by the efficiency of her motions, Din stares as she makes neat fold after neat fold, enveloping the small box in a smooth, crisp layer of the penguin paper. She holds down the nexus of the folds with one finger and turns to Din, pointing to something further down the worktop surface.

“Could you hand me a piece of tape, honey?,” she asks, twirling her finger as if that will summon the tape dispenser closer. “I can’t reach it from here.”

Din gives a wordless nod and cuts her a small segment of the tape, taking great care not to get it tangled around his fingers again as he gingerly affixes it to the end of hers. Once she has it, she places it on the central fold of the paper amalgam, then extends her hand again; a silent request for another piece.

Once more, Din cuts off a length of tape and gently places it in her hands, and watches her with wonderment as she seals the gift into its paper, flipping it over so that the seams are concealed at the bottom. She looks up and down the table, brows knit, and sighs through her nose.

“Did you… not bring any bows or ribbon out, Din?”

“...We have ribbon?”

She lets out a huff of affectionate exasperation and gets up from the workbench to scour through the basket of paper and finds what she’s looking for wedged in at the bottom; out of the depths of the wrapping paper basket she procures a rather beaten-looking baggie of stick-on bows and spools of ribbon, shaking it as if to say “behold, Exhibit A” to her husband.

Din gives her a beleaguered shrug of the shoulders followed by what he clearly hopes to be a winning smile, and she acquiesces, returning to the bench and tugging out a blue bow and unpeeling the backing of it.

“I think he’s going to love this one,” she murmurs as she affixes the bow, placing it jauntily on one corner of the box’s flat surface. “I think he’s going to love all the presents you picked for him.”

Out of the corner of her eye, she can see Din sit up straighter, his chest pushed out a bit more prominently, pleased and prideful. She chuckles to herself and pulls out a marker from a “WORLD’S NO. 1 DAD” mug on the desk, uncapping it and handing it to Din.

“Write who it’s from on it so he knows, okay?”

Din grins and nods, almost childlike. Just below the bow he writes the words “FROM DADDY TO KID” in his heavy handwriting, letters slightly clunky but nevertheless legible. He recaps the pen and places it back in the cup, pleased with his successful signage.

“That’s one done,” she beams.

“Seven more to go,” he responds.

They talk quietly as they continue to wrap his gifts-- a picture book, a set of chunky, toddler-fist sized building blocks, a plush frog, a box of bathtub soaps, a few tubs of play dough, a thick-pieced jigsaw puzzle depicting a rocket ship, and his “big present”, a push-along bicycle-- and Din helps as best he can, holding down junctures of folded paper for her or cutting off strips of tape or signing this and that as he’s asked to.

The bike poses a particular problem to the couple and they sit on the floor and take turns shearing off thin, manageable pieces to try and coat the vehicle in a sort of woven cask of paper, and as they work their conversation continues, voices soft to match the hour of the night.

“I think I got some candy, one year,” Din says absentmindedly, hands busy wrapping the infant-sized handlebars in a layer of puppies-in-yarmulkes-print paper.

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Every so often there were the chocolate coins or those, uh, you know--”

He frowns for a moment, trying to conjure the words to mind, pausing midway through the mummification of the bike. When he catches the memory, he snaps his fingers, smiling with satisfaction.

“Like, the gummy fruit slices? You know? Where they were, I think, supposed to look like oranges most of the time, but some of them would be green or blue or--”

“With the little white strip kinda towards the outside edge?”

“That’s the one!,” Din grins, resuming his wrapping. “We’d have those from time to time. They were always at least a little stale, but I remember them being there when we’d have the bigger gatherings; if there was going to be a group of people over for the meal, usually someone would bring along a box of those fruit slices for us kids.”

“I don’t think I ever ate those,” she remarks, wrapping a thread of the paper around the seat of the bike with careful delicacy, “But I’d see them in stores all the time and wonder about them. They looked good in that sort of ‘imaginary foods’ kind of way.”

“We’ll get some next time we’re out,” Din says. “Gotta at least try ‘em.”

“And we’ll have to get him some applesauce,” she notes, adding to their mental list.

“Yeah, he seems to like the latkes better when we have applesauce with them. Takes after me like that, I guess.”

She looks up to see Din smiling to himself, and she knows that smile well-- it’s the expression he wears when he thinks proudly of his son, when he’s picturing that tiny little face and those big, dark eyes and sweet smile.

Overcome by affection, she reaches her hand out and lays it atop his, stilling him in his work. He turns his head up to face her, at first surprised, and then comforted. He cocks his head to the side and gives her another smile she knows: a smile of love, his eyes tender with attention, hazy with memories.

She interlaces their fingers and leans across the bike, coming face to face with him, and rubs the ball of her nose against his, feeling the tickle of his wispy mustache hairs and the smoothness of his skin. His breath is warm against her face and she sighs, contented.

“You’re a good dad, Din Djarin,” she whispers, feeling him tremble slightly at the words, at the ghost of her voice trailing over his skin.

She feels him nod and push slightly closer, hovering his lips over hers with an intended pause, a permitted distance.

“Thank you,” he rasps back, cowed by modesty.

He hesitates for half a second, a fraction of a moment, until he feels her putting her hand on the side of his face and becomes emboldened-- he presses forward and pushes their lips together, slow and deep and soft, unhurried in his indulgence.

Din allows one hand to tuck under the back of her head, cupping her close as he closes his eyes and savors the moment. He doesn’t care that they’re hunched over their child’s half-wrapped bicycle, nor that it’s well past midnight, nor that his legs and back hurt from sitting at an awkward angle at his workbench all those hours. No, all he can think of is this: her, warm and yielding and loving, her lips against his, a piece of his family, his clan.

They linger with one another for a long moment, then part, lazy and hesitant, hovering mere millimeters away. Din’s fingers trace softly along the base of her skull, brushing the hair at the nape of her neck to great effect. She brushes their noses together again and blinks up at him, gazing into the warm depths of his richly brown eyes as he scans her face with them, flitting from feature to feature to gauge her emotions.

He traces a hand down her shoulders and strokes faintly at the ridges of her spine that he can feel through her pajamas, his touch surprisingly dainty for a man so often entrenched in roughness and power and strength. Charmed, she lays her head on his shoulder, stretching slightly across the width of the bike still situated between them so as to wrap her arms around his neck and press her ear to his chest, both of them still and silent but comfortably so.

Din’s fingers continue to glissade up and down the column of her neck and back, every so often tantalizingly tickling at her sensitive hair and making her shiver, pleased. She squeezes him tight and nuzzles into his chest.

He makes that noise again-- muted but buried, but a rising clearing-- and he shifts, slightly discomposed as he tries to gather his courage. Looking up from his chest, she watches his face as he moves the corners of his mouth, readying himself.

“I, uh,” he starts, cheeks beginning to color slightly, “You know… I love, um, love you very much.”

She pauses, then grins.

“Of course I do, Din.”

“Thank you for helping me,” he mumbles. “And for kissing me. And thinking I’m a good dad.”

At that, she laughs, and Din is taken aback, an abrupt embarrassment overtaking his expression. She sits up and shushes him, putting her hands on either side of his face and pressing pecks all across his cheeks and lips, giggling between kisses.

“No, no, honey, it’s not that,” she titters, amused by his indignant countenance, “It’s just so cute!”

He furrows his brow and frowns.

“You know I’ll always help you,” purrs his wife, brushing one of his downy cocoa-colored curls behind his ear. That seems to melt his icy stiffness, if only a little. “And that I love you so very much. Right?”

At that, he lumberingly nods. She smiles, and joyfully kisses the downturned corners of his pouty lips.

“It’s just so cute that you’d thank me for kissing you,” she says, a glittering edge of adoration tinting her voice. “We’re married!”

Din’s face flushes and he looks down at his hands, wringing his palms slightly. His boyish bashfulness has her heart aflame with affection, and she can’t help but push closer, tipping the bike over slightly as she kisses his face anew, endeared to him beyond words. She kisses the ticklish spot just under his ear and Din lets out a little half-yelp, half-laugh, and she beams up at him, watching his sullen sulk fade away.

“I know we’re married,” he mutters, trying to suppress his mirth. “But it’s still… it still surprises me, sometimes.”

“Oh, honey,” she breathes.

Looking away, Din fumbles a bit and tries to stand up, making it to his feet with some effort as his knees make a slight popping noise. His wife giggles and he casts a sharp look down, preemptively scolding her away from making a joke about his age. Extending a hand to her, Din lifts her to her feet as well, somehow managing to gracefully guide her up and around the bike and directly into his arms, holding her to his chest with no barrier between the two of them.

His fingers worry at the hem of her pajama blouse as he takes pause, his eyes flickering between her face and anywhere else in quick succession. He seems to be trying to take stock of what to say or do, judging his options internally and allowing a silence to grow externally as he assesses his next move. Making a judgement of her own, his beloved puts a hand on his cheek and strokes along the patchy line of stubble starting to form the barebones beginnings of a beard.

“I love you,” she says, clear and confident and unabashed. “Always have, always will.”

A light comes into Din’s eyes, and he ducks his head, pushing his face into the tender crook of her neck and burying himself into her warmth, demuring into her skin with mumbled words and kisses. She feels his hands squeeze at her waist and lift her to his chest, then--

“Oh!”

Din is lifting her and spinning her, a surprisingly excited move from a man usually so reserved and reticent, and she can’t help but let out a bright, cheery peal of laughter, which, she is even more surprised by, is met with equal laughter from her usually severe husband.

His laughter is soft but deep; arid, with a light rumbling chasing each building layer as he lets himself become more and more open with his joy. She can’t help but feel like a shy girl again, in his hands, listening to the sound of his beautiful, unmatched voice as he laughs, only for her, only in her arms; she floats with butterflies as he sets her down and gives her a kiss, his face heated with his characteristic sweet diffidence.

“Sorry,” he murmurs against her lips, not bothering to pull back from her as he speaks. “I just got a little excited.”

“Don’t apologize,” she stammers with a grin.

“And you look so pretty when I pick you up and--”

Pushing forward, she silences his ecstatic stutters with a genial kiss, and listens to him sigh contentedly out through his nose, the sound not dissimilar to that of an old dog being petted in just the right spot.

Just as they begin to mould their lips to one another more deeply, a noise from behind makes Din whip his head around. The monitor he has sitting on his workbench is chirping, relaying sounds from the baby’s room: he’s fussing, stirring in his sleep and making small, plaintive cries. Instantly, Din’s eyes become filled with worry and his countenance shifts from intimate husband to concerned father, and he turns back to his wife, brows knit.

She strokes his jaw and kisses his chin softly.

“It’s alright. He’s just waking a little. But,” she says, putting her hands on her hips and surveying the wrapped gifts, “I suppose we ought to hide these away before the little one can peek at ‘em.”

When the monitor registers another whimper from the baby and Din’s expression becomes even more distressed, she takes his hand and gives it a reassuring squeeze, not letting him slip through her fingers into a mire of his own worries.

“And then, right after, we’ll go check on him. Okay?”

Din nods, a modicum of confidence restored to him when the monitor falls silent and stays so for many moments in a row. He gives her a quick, fleeting phantasm of a smile-- warm and sweet, shy and docile-- and she falls just a little bit more in love with him, the same as she does every time he lets her see that perfect smile of his.

He moves to part from her to start picking up the presents, but she tugs at his hand slightly and holds him back. Casting an inquisitive look over his shoulder, he meets her eyes and has time to blink once before she puts her free hand on his chest and presses up on her toes to lock lips with him.

“Happy holidays, honey,” she hums as their lips part with a delicate sound.

Din blinks, then grins back.

And goes in for another kiss.

#long post #din djarin #original #YES i know it's late (hanukkah is already over) but i wouldn't feel good doing anything Christmasy until i'd done this one!

14 notes · View notes

tcm--holland · 7 years

Text

simple pt. 3 // peter parker

word count: about 3.5k

a/n: wtf almost 80 notes on pt. 2?? i love you guys thanks so much for the support it really boosts my motivation to keep writing!! this is actually edited whoa and warning for profanity. also idk what to do now that this story is done, so pls pls send in any ideas if y'all have any! just ask if ya wanna be on the tag list! sorry that this is late, life came by and made me super busy, and thanks for reading <333

part 1 | part 2

masterlist

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When Peter Parker started being apart of your life, his timing couldn't have been better. As Spider-Man, he made you want to save the world and gave you the confidence you didn't know you lacked. Even when you screwed up as S/N, he stood firmly by your side. As Peter, he gave you something to look forward to at school. He made all of your anxiety disappear with one mischievous smirk. He made you feel something special inside that you simply couldn't describe.

It's been exactly one month since you talked to him that day on the roof. Ever since then, life has gotten dull, like a pencil that you lost the sharpener to so you try to make the best of it.

He tried to talk to you so many times, but never in person. You can't find the courage to talk to him in person, either. He sent you pages and pages of text messages containing apologies. Some are just a few words and others are paragraphs long. You haven't replied to any of them. You don't have the courage to do that, either. Every time the thought of Peter returns to you, you can feel your heart break a little more. Maybe it hurts so much because for the longest time, he was the one good thing in your life. Maybe it's because he broke a long held promise.

"Spidey?" You asked one day as you swung your legs back and forth at the edge of the roof.

"What's up?" He turned to face you, head tilted to the side slightly.

"I want to make a promise. We can't hide anything from each other anymore."

Spider-Man stared at you for a few seconds, then shrugged. "Okay! Well, my name is -"

"No, no! That's the only thing that we should hide. I meant anything other than our identities. You know, you don't have to worry about what I'll think if you're honest. That's the only reason why I got mad when you finally told me why you weren't coming every day." You rubbed your arm and frowned.

"Wait, so you don't actually hate Mr. Stark?" He sounded surprised.

"I mean, the guy didn't do anything to me or you. I might heavily disapprove of the guy, but I don't hate him, no."

"...You're right. We should be honest with each other. But what if one of us finds out the other's identity? Then that kind of messes everything up."

You thought about this for a while, trying to come up with a solution. "Tell the other person. I think the other would figure it out eventually. I mean, you're smart as hell and I'm pretty okay too. So might as well tell them, right?"

"Well, yeah, but what about the secret identity thing?"

"If one already knows, then there's no point in upholding that anymore. The only purpose of not telling each other who we are is to keep things simple," you smile under your mask and shrug. "It's okay, you're probably someone I don't even know. But we have to keep each other's secret if that ever happens. We'll figure out the rest when we get there."

"Okay. Promise to keep the secret and to tell each other everything," Spider-Man nodded. You held your pinky out to secure the promise. Chuckling, he wrapped his pinky around yours.

Only then did you nod back. "Promise."

A tear slips out of your eye, glistening in the fluorescent lights of the Chemistry classroom. Come on, you can't cry in the middle of a Chemistry test. You quickly wipe it away and write faster, teeth gritted in determination. How did it get to the point that you can't even go through the day without remembering Peter? For a second, you glance at Peter only to see that he's been staring for a long time now. Shit, he caught you. Your eyes momentarily meet. In that fraction of a second, it feels as though you saw through to his internal torment. A heavy weight sets on your heart, one that doesn't let go even when you look away to get back to writing.

Towards the end of class, your teacher stands up and starts announcing some kind of project. You're hardly listening as you stare at your shoes. Maybe you could forgive him and just forget about this whole thing. Then you could just hug him and...and...

You think you might start crying again, but you bite your tongue as hard as you can without making yourself bleed. You feel the familiar strain on your forehead as you do your very best to not let your classmates see your tears. That would be an embarrassing situation to explain to your teacher.

No, of course you can't forgive him that easily. You've told Peter how much you hate dishonesty. But he tossed that right out of the fricking window, knowing how you'd feel. What a prick.

"Hey, don't look at each other yet. Since it's a short project that shouldn't take you longer than a few days, you'll just be working with the person next to you." Groans and mumbles fill the room, but your teacher isn't having any of it. You hear people near you cuss under their breath.

Whatever, another project shouldn't be that big of a -

Your train of thought stops immediately when you realize who the person beside you is. Oh hell no. No no no no. What is this, some kind of movie? This doesn't actually happen in real life, right? There is absolutely no way this is real.

He catches your gaze. In your case, this does happen in real life. It's not so weird when you remember that you live in a world where the Avengers, like, exist. You try to sound as professional as you can when you speak to him. If you ever make it big as a superhero, you're sure you'll have to be great at that skill around people you're not necessarily on good terms with. "Uh, okay. So I can get books from the library to use as some of our references. Or the internet. That works, too. And like, we need a plan. Also, this is obviously not going to get done at school, so um..."

You mentally curse a little for being so awkward. It was all structured and nice in your head, and then it came out the way it always does. So much for professionalism.

Peter's listening intently. "I could come over," he says eagerly. You look at him, silent with your eyes narrowed. "Uh, if you want, that is. You don't have to do anything. I was just suggesting it...even though it didn't really sound like a suggestion. I just thought it would be ideal, 'cause you live closer to school than I do and..."

You stare hopelessly, watching him gradually get more and more tense. He's so damn cute. The look in his eyes is just as you remember from that one day in Chemistry. It feels like it was just yesterday. It's the unmistakable look of shy adoration that's so unique to him. You wonder how he can still be like that when you can't even bring yourself to smile anymore. It looks like nothing can take away his excited nature.

"Peter," you say softly to get him to calm down. You haven't said his name out loud in a long time. Even when you talked to Iris about him and shared your issues, you never referred to him by name.

He stops immediately, his cheeks starting to redden in realization of his rambling. "Y-Yeah, I know I should shut up."

"That's not what I was going to say. I was just going to tell you to come over today. Uh, maybe not right after school."

"Oh, okay," Peter says, sounding a little breathless. Seeing him like this takes your breath away, too. "I'm busy after school too."

"I know." You look away, lost in your thoughts once again.

After school, you do your best to clean up your room. You stuff the clothes on the floor into a laundry basket and toss stray papers into your recycling bin. Once your bed is made and your room looks better, you sigh. Your eyes float up to the suit on your shelf, neatly folded. It's dusty and the equipment needs to be updated, but you don't even think about touching it. You look away before you can get any ideas. You know that deep inside, you miss that part of your life. You just want to kick ass and leap around trying to be as cool, like some of the bigger superheroes.

You sit on your bed and do your other homework as you wait. The hours tick by, one by one. You even start planning out the project, sketching out all the details so that the only thing that needs to be done is the actual work. You clean up your room some more, starting to get a little bored. You comb your hair and tie it back. At six-thirty, you start thinking he might have stood you up. Maybe he got busy being Spider-Man. Not that you're upset at him for that. You know that the job gets busy sometimes. You pick up your phone to call him, but then set it back down before you do.

At eight, you're sure he's not going to show up. You sigh and sit on your floor. What if something had happened to him? Maybe he needs your help, and all you need to do is call him. Guilt twists in your stomach. You turn to look at your bookshelf and the many books you've collected over the years, telling yourself that everything is okay. A new one about spiders sits on the edge of the shelf, its receipt tucked into the cover.

You turn back to your window and yelp a little. There, sitting in your window in his suit with a slightly bent churro in hand, is Peter. He always freaks you out when he sneaks up on you like that. He hasn't even changed out of his suit, but at least he brought his school bag.

"Sorry for being...late..." He pants, holding out the churro to you like a rose. "Thought I'd...grab something along the way." He clutches his side in pain.

You stand up and rush over to him, frowning. Grabbing the churro and his bag, you set them aside. "What happened? Did you get hurt?" You help him in, worried.

"Oh, uh, it's nothing, Y/N," he reassures in a way that only has the opposite effect. He slides off his mask to reveal scrapes and bruises on his face. There's a little smile on his face, much to your confusion.

"Peter, what the hell did you do?" You make him sit down on your bed, bringing your hands to his face. When you do this, his breath hitches. As your thumb skims over his cheek gently, he winces. "Sorry," you say quickly, frowning deeply.

"Hey, you should see the other guy! I had to knock him out for the police to get him. Crazy! I hope I didn't injure him that bad though...do you know if knocking people out hurts them a lot?"

"I don't know anything about medicine, Spidey! And who cares about him, look at yourself!" In your panicked state, your nickname for him slips out. You only realize this after you've said it.

"It's okay," he says as if everything really is okay. How is this okay? He's so calm, it's kind of scaring you. There's a distant look in his eyes, like he's not really completely aware of his situation.

"What is wrong with you? Why are you not freaking out about this? Are you drunk or something?" You exclaim, trying to snap him out of it.

Peter blinks. "No! I'm fine, really. It gets worse than this sometimes, so I don't know why-"

"It gets worse?" Your eyes widen, wondering why he suddenly can't handle a few purse snatchers. He shrugs indifferently. "Okay, uh...I-I'll get ice or something. Dude, why are you here? I don't even know where the band-aids are in my own house!"

"The project," Peter says simply. You don't like him like this. You just wish he'd make a joke or something so at least you know he's being normal. Come on, Peter!

"The project." You're trying not to get pissed off at his utter disregard for himself. "The project? The goddamn project? You go and do this to yourself, and the only thing on your mind is a stupid Chem project?"

"Uh...yeah...?"

Your eyebrows draw together. He's starting to make you feel like crying. "Peter, please. Tell me what's wrong. You're seriously freaking me out. Are you okay?" You ask the last question with more emphasis this time, tilting his chin up to make him look you in the eyes. His normally clear dark eyes are bloodshot, and there are purplish bags under them.

A beat passes before he responds. "No."

You look at him for a long time, trying to figure him out. His hair is a sweaty mess, and...has he been crying? You swallow, doing something you never thought you'd get to do again

You lean over and wrap your arms around him. "Ow, ow, not there," he says gently, and you quickly move your arms. He's warm, but that might just be because he was just leaping around buildings for the past few hours.

He rests his forehead on your shoulder. With your other hand, you smooth the hair out of his face. God, he looks awful. How did he manage to get himself beaten up this bad? Millions of questions form in your head, none of which you know the answer to.

You know he's crying when he starts shaking. Your shirt is going to get soaked, but you don't care. You hold him a little tighter. "You can tell me anything," you remind him quietly, but your voice breaks at the end.

"I miss you, Y/N." The way he says it, it shatters you completely. His voice is raw and rough, full of so much emotion that you weren't prepared for. Your lip trembles slightly and threatening tears fill your eyes.

"I-I can't be Spider-Man. Not if you're not there with me, Y/N, I just can't. I need to hear your voice through my suit, because I can't focus on anything anymore. I can't fight without you." Your throat tightens, knowing that your situation hasn't really been much better. You quit being a hero that day because you knew you couldn't keep doing it on your own. And it's been killing you since.

All of your previous hatred for Peter disappears like nothing. You can't even bring yourself to be angry at him anymore. You don't care about what he did. All you can see is how hurt he is now, and how he needs your help. You close your eyes and let yourself cry as his voice continues

"I never wanted to hurt you. When I found out that you were S/N, I got scared. I thought you wouldn't like me if I was more than regular Peter Parker to you. But I was stupid to think I could make it work. I know I broke our promise, and I'm so sorry for that." You stare out your window, tears streaming freely. You should've been there out with him. All of the emotion you bottled up for a month comes pouring out in a rushing torrent. You somehow kept it all together for an entire month. You avoided him whenever you could, you ignored his texts and calls. You did everything you could, and it tore you apart inside to do it all. Only now are you feeling the pain you pushed away then, deep in your heart.

"Please look at me." You look at him, and he lifts his head to face you. Gently, you set a hand on his cheek.

"You don't have to say sorry anymore, Peter. I forgive you. I forgive you." You rest your forehead against his, trying to calm down so you can stop crying.

He finally wipes his tears away with the sleeve of his suit and does the same for you before looking into your eyes. It's only now that you realize how close you are to him. "I-I love you, Y/N. I always have, I just didn't know until now." He whispers, leaning in slightly.

You close your eyes and kiss him, gentle and sweet and everything you expected. You've never kissed anyone before Peter, so you're going entirely by instinct. His arm reaches around your waist and tugs you closer. His other hand rests on your cheek, bringing warmth to you. The butterflies in your stomach intensely flutter, and you let it all consume you for a few minutes. You place one hand on the back of his neck to gently push him closer to you.

When you pull away, it's only for air. You breathe heavily, not knowing whether what just happened was real or if you were just imagining it all. You'd always read about kisses like these in novels, but you didn't know if it really existed. It seemed everything was a fantasy with Peter Parker. Old mistakes forgotten, you give him a shy smile. "I love you and that churro," you murmur, and for the first time in forever, you hear his beautiful laugh. This makes you inexplicably happy, just to see some of his sunshine poke through.

"Speaking of which, I went through a lot for that churro," Peter says. You grin and grab it to take a bite out of it in appreciation. But before you can, Peter plucks it out of your hand and eats nearly a mouthful of it.

"Now it's only half a churro!" You laugh and grab his hand to eat a bit of it before standing up. "One sec, I'll be right back."

You race downstairs, ignoring your parents' hellos and opening the freezer to grab all the frozen things you can get. They give you a strange look from across the room. Quickly, you try to think of an excuse before you drop something. "I'm, uh...hungry."

"So you're eating frozen peas?" Your dad questions, eyebrows raised in mild concern and disbelief.

"Yep," you grin nervously and sprint back up to your room before he can ask anything else. Peter sees you enter with a load of frozen things to serve as ice packs, laughing.

An hour later, you have Peter mostly well taken care of. With his guiding, you ice the bruises properly. He showers, coming out smelling like your strawberry body wash. You consider buying another bottle for him just so you can smell it when you hug him. You both sit on the bed and finish the project without wasting time, thanks to your planning. "We still have three days to do this whole thing," you remind as you add the finishing touches.

"Yeah, and that's three days that we can spend together. Under the excuse of the project, of course." He gives a mischievous smile that's so contagious that you're smiling back.

"Hm...I approve of this idea."

You don't talk again until the project is finished, and by then, it's late. "Are you sure May won't mind you staying until, like, midnight?"

"Yeah, yeah. I told her where I am, so it's all good."

He sits against your pillows, and you rest your head on his chest. You stretch your legs out on the bed. "You know," he begins. You glance up at him to signal that he has your attention. "You thought I was ripped, but I'm nothing compared to you."

"Whoa, I did not say you were ripped! I mean, you are, but that's besides the point. And thank you! I try."

Peter laughs. "Seriously though, do you work out or something? What gym do you go to?" It takes a moment for you to realize he's teasing you. You shove him slightly, trying not to smile.

"Screw you."

"I mean, that would be great, but in case you forgot, we're just fifteen. Maybe wait a while before we get that stage-"

"Oh my god. Screw you!"

"I told you, we should think about things like that before-"

"Ahh! Stop! My ears are bleeding!" You cover your ears and giggle as he gives you a big grin.

"Y/N?" Peter says after a bit of silence.

"Mhm?" You nestle your head into his neck as he loosely wraps his arm around you.

"You're going to be S/N with me now, right? Like, you'll fight crime again?" He sounds hopeful.

"Of course I will."

"Really? And you'll talk to Mr. Stark, too?"

"Okay, don't push your luck there. But I'll think about it, if it makes you happy."

"Thank you, Y/N." He looks into your E/C eyes, and in that moment, you know. Queens needs you, and Peter needs you even more. Everything is complicated, but for once, you don't hate it. Simple is starting to look a little boring with someone like Peter Parker in your life.

_________________________

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