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#arrow straight through the heart

aloyxtilda · 2 years

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Aloy my love, is there not a moment you don't look dangerously hot? You can put that arrow right straight through my heart.💘🌹🤤

#lesbian aloy #gay aloy #aloy #horizon forbidden west #gif #She looks so good #Put that arrow straight through my heart. 🌹💋

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becausegoodbye · 11 months

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(This is a really incredible essay by the recently-passed author and trans legend Rachel Pollack, first published in issue #9 of TransSisters: The Journal of Transsexual Feminism. I wanted to reproduce it here in full because it's a goddamn banger, because archived PDFs can be a bit hard to read, and because every trans person should get the opportunity to read it at least once.)

***

Archetypal Transsexuality

By Rachel Pollack, 1995

The San Rafael Hospital in Trinidad, Colorado has become a kind of shrine for transsexual people in America. Even for those who did not get surgery from Dr. Stanley Biber, his clinic in San Rafael has become synonymous with "sex reassignment surgery" in the same way that the entire nation of Denmark came to symbolize "sex changes" in the 1950s and 1960s, after Christine Jorgensen stepped out of Copenhagen and into the world.

A small hill rises behind the hospital, and on top of it, surrounded by trees and flowers stands a genuine shrine, a small structure dedicated to the Virgin Mary. Behind a conventional statue of Mary, with room for candies and other offerings, the building houses a more precious sculpture of the Christian Goddess. According to the plaque at the front of the shrine, a Trinidad man was caught in a blizzard and in danger of being blown away when be came upon the statue of Mary and clung to it until the fury of nature broke open and he could find his way to help and recovery. The sanctuary he created looks over Dr. Biber's clinic, gently blessing all the trans-formed women and men who pass through its doors.

Now, Mary occupies an interesting place in the history of mythology. Many people know that while the Christian Church attempted to portray God as entirely male, the ordinary people clung to Mother Mary as giver of hope, mercy, and nurturance. Less known is fact that the early Church consciously adapted aspects of various Pagan Goddesses to create Mary's image and place her in the hearts of the people. Two Goddesses in particular contributed to Mary: Aphrodite, who rose from the sea, and Cybele, a Goddess from Asia Minor who earlier had made a triumphant entry into Rome as the Great Mother of the Gods.

I have written elsewhere of Aphrodite as a transsexual Goddess. Her story tells us how the Sky God, Ouranos, was oppressing Gaia, the Earth, until Gaia gave a sickle (a women's harvest tool shaped like the crescent Moon) to her son Kronos. Kronos cut off his father's genitals and threw them into the sea. Ouranos does not die in the story, but withdraws into the shadows, the same way the male persona of many transsexual women will withdraw once the female reality has given itself permission to emerge. The severed genitals, however, do not sink out of sight. Instead. they stir up a great foam on the waters. Out of this foam, golden Aphrodite. the embodiment of femininity in all its grace and power, emerges into the world.

And Cybele -- when the Great Mother came to Rome she brought with her her Gallae. The Gallae were anatomical males who, in the midst of ecstatic group frenzy, used stone sickles to sever their own genitals, which they then flung through open doorways. The families who received the bloody relics considered them a blessing. In return for Cybele's grace, a family would tend to the bleeding Galla and nurse her back to health, at which time she ceremoniously received women's clothing and entered into the service of her Goddess.

The presence of Mary overlooking the San Rafael clinic, and in particular her mysterious emergence out of a storm, forms part of a great web of images and history. The web includes all the mythological figures who change sex or cross genders. It includes the real life Gallae and Hijras and others who alter their bodies as well as the tribal shamans who move into the roles of the "opposite" sex, usually not as a matter of conscious choice, but because the spirits demand it of them. It includes the Stone Age evidence of androgynous Goddesses and cross- sexed priests and priestesses alongside the increasing numbers of contemporary transsexuals who have begun to understand that, as Davina Anne Gabriel puts it, we cannot comprehend transsexuality without some notion of "transcendence," or, as Dallas Denny says, more bluntly, "Transsexuality is a religious experience."

To recognize our place in that web means, paradoxically, to step out of a trap. This is the trap in which we experience transsexuality as a sickness, or even just a psychological condition. For transsexual people, such an ideology (and that is what it is) has become more and more of a dead end - literally, with so many people losing their lives to depression, suicide, bad drugs, unsafe sex and all the other miseries that allow the purveyors of pathology to say "There? You see? If it wasn't a sickness, wouldn't they all be happy?"

Even those of us who insist that transsexual people are not "sick" will still talk about "healing," whether we think we need to heal from shame, or society's oppression, or unhappy childhoods. But as long as we speak of healing we stay within the world of sickness. In the United States we consider happiness the basic human condition, and any suffering as some sort of aberration. I would argue that transsexuality arises from a passion so powerful that it transcends issues of happiness. The word passion originally meant suffering, not pleasure. The suffering of transsexuality, however, is like that of religious ecstasy, or even orgasm -- overwhelming, intense, and ultimately joyous when we surrender to it and let it carry us into the power of the experience.

Think where transsexual desire leads us. We give up our positions in society (I am not talking here about the slide downwards in status for male-to-females, but much more basically of our very places in the world, a loss that applies to transsexual men as well as to women, even if the men eventually go up in status). We risk losing our family and friends. We face ridicule and sometimes extreme violence, even death. We take powerful and dangerous drugs to alter the very shape of our bodies. And finally, we undergo -- we seek out, even demand -- surgery on our genitals. No logical decision, or confusion, or social conditioning, or even mental illness, can account for such an overwhelming need.

Recently, a number of transsexual and transgender people have suggested that people seek surgery because of pressure from the medical profession, which convinces them that surgery will allow them to become normal members of society. I cannot believe this. I have met too many transsexuals who know very clearly that surgery is exactly and precisely what they want, and that the doctors are not their masters but their instruments.

To describe transsexual people as dupes of the medical profession, or slaves to social conditioning, or trapped in rigid ideas about gender roles, is precisely to take away our power, a power so intense that it terrifies people. Sometimes we can see the question in their faces. "What would make someone do -- or want to do -- such a thing?" And because the dual acts of changing gender and altering the body frighten them they try to think of an explanation. "He must hate himself so much." "She can't accept the role society has given her." "Her parents must have abused her." Each of these statements, and all the others, assume that the transsexual man or woman doesn't really know what he or she is doing. And more, they shift the focus from transsexuality itself to some external concept or ideology. All explanations, even friendly ones, drain away the passion of the experience.

It is time to realize that changing gender and altering the body are not the same thing. While many people cannot imagine a gender change without surgery, many others find surgery totally unnecessary. And many people who have surgery will say clearly that it is not the surgeon's knife that makes them men or women, that surgery only changes the outer form to match their inner feelings. The confusion of surgery with gender identity leads many people to think of postoperative transsexual people as superior to preops or to people who change gender without caring about surgery at all. This hierarchy is unfortunate , because it sets people against each other when them is no need for that. At the same time, it also takes away the mystery of surgery itself. Once again, it "explains" surgery as a way just to prove something, or to join an elite. But genital surgery is too strong an experience to dismiss in this way.

Gender identity is a matter of self-knowledge, but also of social functioning. We inhabit our gender and exhibit it to the world. Genital surgery is not really a social experience at all. Obviously, it becomes important in intimate sexual relationships. It may also give us more confidence, as well as legal status. Ultimately, however, surgery is private. It forms a mystery of the body. It may have more in common with religious body altering, such as ritual scarring, than with changing gender. (It is important to remember, however, that transsexual people not only desire surgery but go to great lengths to get it. This makes the experience radically different from any body altering imposed unwillingly on people, such as clitoridectomy performed on pre-adolescent girls, or even the surgery done on intersex babies.)

There is a verse in the Tao Te Ching, the ancient Chinese teaching on "the Way", that speaks directly to some of these issues. In the translation of Gia-fu Feng by Jane English it reads as follows:

"Knowing ignorance is strength. Ignoring knowledge is sickness. If one is sick of sickness, then one is not sick. The sage is not sick because he is sick of sickness. Therefore he is not sick."

Whenever we try to find the cause of our transsexuality we become weak. This is because we deny its reality within our selves and try to find some explanation outside of us. Some sickness or conditioning. If we know and accept that we are ignorant of what makes us transsexual, and that we should not waste our energy trying to pinpoint some external cause, then "knowing ignorance" will indeed become a source of strength.

But if we cannot know what causes transsexuality, we can know a great deal about it. We can acknowledge its power and its reality, we can learn about other transsexual people and their experiences, and we can discover its ancient worldwide history. To ignore all this knowledge only weakens us and makes us sick.

To overcome the pathology that our culture attaches to transsexuality, we need, above all, to want to overcome it. To finally and utterly reject it. To be sick of sickness. At the moment that we do this, that we become sick of sickness, we begin to escape it, and the deeper we go in that direction, the greater our liberation.

Carl Jung once remarked that the ancients had gods, we have complexes. The Gallae may have experienced feelings and desires similar to those of modem transsexual women. After all, since no one chose them to be Gallae, they must have felt the same overwhelming push to present themselves. But instead of seeing themselves as compelled by a sickness, they believed their Goddess had called them into Her service. Both viewpoints require a surrender, but when we surrender to a Goddess we join ourselves to her power and her beauty. When we surrender to a sickness we get nothing but shame.

Here are two more aspects of that web of images. In Greece, the main God who ruled over transgendered activities was Dionysus. His male followers would dress as women, his female followers would strap on large phalluses. He himself was depicted as a stick with a dress and a beard. Some of the more patriarchal Greek writers described him as "effeminate" or "womanly." Indeed, his myth tells us that he was raised as a girl, and even when he came into his Godhood he often wore feminine clothes and kept his hair long and flowing, something only women were supposed to do.

The psychologist Ginette Paris tells us an interesting story about Dionysus. Raised as a girl, he went mad in adolescence. Paris tells us that we do not know the cause of his madness. Certainly some of the readers of this magazine might make a guess. Insane, Dionysus wanders the world until he comes to Phrygia. the home not only of Cybele and the Gallae, but according to some accounts, Aphrodite. Cybele initiates him, Paris tells us, and restores his sanity. Paris says we do not know how Cybele heals him. Did she initiate him back into his femaleness? Did she lead the God to embrace the doubleness of gender? After he returned from his wanderings, Dionysus became the God of ecstasy, leading men but especially women out of the traps laid for them by a rigid polarized society.

The second myth does not invoke transgendered or transsexual issues quite so directly. However, it involves someone clinging to a statue for deliverance from an emotional storm, and thus it returns us to the presence of Mary overlooking and blessing Dr. Biber's clinic. The Greek Orestes went mad -- madness again -- after Apollo ordered him to kill his mother as punishment for her crime of murdering her husband. Though the Goddess Athena absolved him he still had to pay a penance to the Goddess Artemis (Orestes' mother had killed her husband because he had sacrificed their daughter to Artemis in the hope of gaining the Goddess's favor -- the story of Orestes involves generations of murder and abuse). Thus Orestes wandered the world carrying a statue of Artemis. Finally, he felt the insanity leave him, and he dared to put it down. He set it in a riverbed and walked away. Two Spartans passed by. When they saw the statue staring at them, horribly, from the water, they went mad.

Now, Spartans were known for being ultra-masculine, while Orestes, despite his defense of his father, was considered -- like Dionysus -- effeminate. Thus, the rigidly male Spartans cannot believe the sudden emergence of the dark feminine. But there are more direct connections to our own stories. Artemis was often linked with Cybele. The most famous statue of Artemis stood not in Greece but in Ephesus, a town in Asia Minor, the home territory of Cybele. The Phrygians themselves described Artemis as another name for Cybele.

The Ephesus statue showed the Goddess's torso covered in small globes. Most modern writers assume these are extra breasts, showing her power as the Great Mother. Recently, however, a British archaeologist pointed out that the globes have no nipples. The archaeologist suggested they might have represented the testicles sacrificed by Artemis/Cybele's gallae worshippers.

Classical Greek Artemis was not a mother Goddess but a virgin. We might describe her as forming a link between transsexual women and lesbians (or between the two sides of a transsexual lesbian). Goddess of the Moon, Artemis lived in the mountains apart from the male dominated civilization. She refused all contact with men, spending her time with her band of nymphs. A lover, as well as hunter, of animals, she also watched over women in childbirth. In short, she is almost the model of a back to the land radical lesbian. And yet, as Cybele. she also is the Goddess who accepts the Gallae into her service.

And a final link -- the early Christian council which established Mary as officially the Mother of God took place in Ephesus, the site of that famous statue, once considered one of the seven wonders of the world. And so we come full circle, to Mary, and to Cybele/Artemis, and to statues.

Writing about the story of Orestes, the statue of Artemis, and the two Spartans, Roberto Calasso states: "Such is the power of the image; it heals only those who know what it is. For all others, it is an illness." Transsexuality comes to us with all the power of a divine force who will not be denied. If we recognize it and accept it as a true vision of the self from the deepest part of the psyche, if we carry the Goddess with us until we find ourselves strong enough to set her down, then we may find it opens us to a life of spirituality and joy. If we try to deny it, or belittle it, or explain it away, it can destroy us. Knowing ignorance is strength. Ignoring knowledge is sickness.

If one is sick of sickness, then one is not sick.

***

#WHENEVER WE TRY TO FIND THE CAUSE OF OUR TRANSSEXUALITY WE BECOME WEAK #IF ONE IS SICK OF SICKNESS THEN ONE IS NOT SICK #I'm normally pretty allergic to invocations of spirituality #but this is a perfectly-notched arrow that goes straight through my heart #RIP Rachel Pollack #1945-2023

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hairmetal666 · 1 month

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Eddie thought inviting Steve to the Grammys would be fine, cool, no big deal. And it should be, but Steve is walking out of the suite's bedroom wearing a burgundy tuxedo that fits him like a fucking glove. His shirt is unbuttoned just enough to let chest hair peak out, and Eddie thinks he might faint.

He's always been attracted to Steve, of course, but never let it go further than that. Like, sure, Steve was hot as fuck, and sure he was the best guy Eddie had ever met, and sometimes, yeah, he did have to force away thoughts of Steve when he jerked off, and in other circumstances he'd totally be head over heels. Just, Steve is straight, the straightest, a fucking arrow.

Eddie tears his eyes from Steve's body. "You look great, man." He slaps Steve's back. Keeping it cool; keeping it so cool.

"Psh," Steve says. "Have you looked in a mirror? Oh my god." His eyes are saucer wide as they travel down Eddie's body.

"Is it too much?" Eddie crosses his arms over his bare chest.

"Are you kidding? You're--fuck, man. You look good as hell."

He's wearing a silky burgundy shirt, open to show off the necklaces around his throat, his tattoos, the silver in his nipples. His pants are leather, tight, sitting low on his hips and putting the cut of his pelvic bone on full display. They have a lace-up closure that comes dangerously close to showing pube.

Heat rushes to his face at the compliment. "It's--you know. Hazard of the job."

"Yeah, hazard, sure. Guess it's a hard life having hot dudes literally throwing themselves at you."

Eddie barks out a laugh. "That's a vast exaggeration."

"Is it?"

He blushes harder. "You're my date tonight, Steve."

"My point exactly."

His manager and publicist usher them out the door before he can ask what the hell that meant.

---

The ride is giddy and playful, Steve popping champagne to celebrate Eddie's nomination for Song of the Year, even though there's no chance in hell he wins.

Steve is happy. His face is bright with joy, eyes shining, laugh loud and infectious. He's gorgeous, knows it, will be an absolute menace on the red carpet. He's been with Eddie to parties and stuff before, doesn't have any anxiety in front of the camera and isn't obsessed with musicians like Eddie is, unafraid to meet them.

Or so Eddie thought.

Because now they're standing at the edge of the red carpet, Steve very nearly trembling next to him.

"Harrington?"

"That's--That's Madonna." Steve points to her. "We're not even ten feet away from Madonna." He gulps. "Eddie. Madonna."

Steve has met famous people before with Eddie. Ozzy, briefly, Janet Jackson, Dave Grohl, James Hetfield, and he'd always been fine. Barely batted an eye. But get him within reaching distance of Madonna and he falls apart.

Eddie doesn't think about it, grabs Steve's hand, twines their fingers together. "Okay?"

The smile Steve throws him, grateful and a little embarrassed, stabs straight through his heart. He calms as they make it up the carpet, but he doesn't drop Eddie's hand, even when they pause for pictures. In fact, he leans into it, drapes his arm around Eddie's shoulders, or around his waist, seeming to thrive the closer they are. Eddie feels this dangerous pull to indulge in it, to let himself believe it means something, and he doesn't quite have it in him to turn it off.

By the time they reach their seats, Steve is relaxed back to his normal charming and handsome self, doesn't bat an eye as Eddie introduces him around.

The show passes quickly with all the performances and Steve whispering jokes in his ear. It's the best time he's ever had at an award show, like he should have been bringing Steve along this whole time. He's so distracted that he's not really ready when Paula Abdul comes out to announce Song of the Year.

His name is read off as a nominee and Steve grabs his hand, squeezes tight. Eddie's heart flips in his chest. He's not paying attention when Paula opens the envelope, too focused on Steve's strong hand holding his. He hears her say, "And the Grammy goes to--" and everything goes fuzzy.

Steve is saying, "oh my god, oh my god, Eddie. Get up, get up."

And his fucking song is playing and everyone is cheering, a couple people slap his back, and oh shit, oh shit, he fucking won. He stands, Steve with him. He thinks they're going to hug, that's what you do in these situations, but Steve is kissing him. Not on the cheek and not a quick peck, but lip-to-lip, soft and sweet.

Steve just kissed him and he has to get on stage and give a speech. He has no idea what he says because Steve just kissed him. On the lips. On purpose. His ears are ringing and words tumble out of his mouth, thinks he says, "couldn't have done it without you, Stevie," before tripping over his feet to get backstage.

Interviews, photographs, congratulations all help him settle. He's still buzzing with the win, but aware enough now to think the kiss had to be an accident. They've been friends for nearly a decade and Steve never seemed interested in men generally or Eddie specifically.

It takes a while to finish up the backstage business, but when he makes it to his seat, Steve just beams at him. He doesn't mention the kiss, which makes Eddie think he's overreacting. It wasn't a big deal. Sure, he could still feel Steve's lips, warm and soft, against his own, but it didn't mean anything. He's just too in his big gay feelings to be objective.

They don't get a chance to really talk until they're back in the limo and on their way to the after-party.

"You won," Steve says.

"I won." Eddie smiles. "Crazy."

"You deserved it."

He shrugs. "I don't know about that."

"Doesn't matter. You did." Steve fidgets with the cuff of his jacket. "About earlier, um. The kiss. I--"

Eddie feels his face heating, heart kicking up. It was nothing, he knows, and Steve shouldn't have to-- "It was an accident. It's okay. I know you don't--it was the heat of the moment and--I know you're not--you don't--"

Steve blinks a lot, emotions flashing across his face faster than Eddie can categorize.

"What if I do?" Steve asks. His voice is too soft, eyes locked on the cuff link he's fiddling with.

"You--what?"

"What if I did mean it?"

"You're straight."

Steve goes pink. "I'm really not."

"Steve?" He shrieks. "Since when?"

"Um. Since you invited me to this?"

"What the fuck?" Eddie shoves him. "What the fuck, man?"

"I know, I know!" Steve pulls his hand through his hair. "You invited me and I freaked out and I didn't know why, and Robin made the saddest little face at me. Said, 'oh, dingus, you didn't know?' How the fuck was I supposed to know!"

"I think you wanting to fuck me should've been a pretty good indication!"

"I thought that happened to everyone!"

"It doesn't!"

"That's what Robin said!"

They're both yelling.

"Jesus christ. Jesus christ," Eddie keeps repeating.

"Look, I get it if you don't want me too, dude. I know that's not how it works, but I've been pretty crazy about you without realizing it for a while now, so--"

He doesn't mean to, he really doesn't, but he laughs. Like, super loud. Like a donkey bray.

"Okay, can the driver let me out? Like, can I go? I can't--"

"Wait, wait, sweetheart." Steve's gotten up, like he's about to knock on the partition, but Eddie grabs his wrist. "Of course I want you back, you idiot, oh my god."

"Oh." Steve's ears are pink. "Oh. Well. That's good."

Eddie huffs. "Just good? I won a Grammy and the guy I've been pining over for years wants me back. I'm having the night of my life."

"Shut-up." Steve's smile is so big, his eyes so bright.

He raises an eyebrow. "Make me," he says in his lowest register, but he's truly not prepared for it when Steve clambers over to him and lowers himself to straddle Eddie's hips.

"Holy shit," Eddie whispers. "Holy shit, Steve."

He give a wry little smile, eyes locked on Eddie's mouth. "Baby, can I kiss you?"

"Yes." Eddie clears his throat. "Yes, please, do that. Yeah."

Only, he doesn't. He's straddling Eddie, they're so close their breath mingles, and Steve's eyes flicker between Eddie's mouth and his eyes, lips so close to touching but not.

"C'mon, asshole," Eddie says.

"I knew you'd be a brat." He whispers. He wraps his hands into Eddie's hair. "Been dying to do this."

And then they're kissing. They're kissing and it steals all of Eddie's breath and his thoughts, and it's new but it's also like they've been kissing forever, like their lips and tongue know each other, like coming home.

He whines, high-pitched and breathy, and Steve laughs, kisses him deeper, moves closer, and Eddie feels how hard Steve is, the persistent pulse of him. And shit Eddie's close, on the brink just from this, from nothing, oh my god.

Steve's hands drift down Eddie's torso, mapping his chest and his stomach, coming to rest at the laces of his pants. "These have been driving me insane," Steve breaks the kiss to say. "Been thinking about undoing them all night."

"Fuck, sweetheart, you can't say shit like that," Eddie groans.

"Why not?"

"Because--because," Eddie sputters but then Steve's lips are on his neck and he's rolling his hips for friction.

Steve's fingers find the laces again, trace against them. Eddie's legs fall open, arching into the touch. "We're going to be so late," he murmurs as Steve's fingers get to work.

#steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #ficlet #fluff #friends to lovers #famous eddie munson #regular guy steve harrington #feelings confession #oblivious steve harrington #the grand tradition of steve harrington not realizing he's bi #eddie falls first steve falls harder #eddie's so cool about it #grammy award winning eddie munson #vaguely inspired by lupita and joseph at the oscars #driver roll up the partition please #a little bit spicy

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neo-nomatrix · 4 months

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In a world of boys, he’s a gentleman

Luke Castellan x Apollo kid!reader

word count: a little over 1k

summary: you’ve had your heart broken many times, maybe the Hermes boy will be different

You have only ever wanted to be loved. For whatever reason you haven’t had much luck. Sure, there were many guys.

Callum from Ares. The only thing hotter than him was his temper.

Ryan from Hephaestus. He would forge copper to make you jewelry, little did you know three other girls had the same gift.

Ezra from Athena. Always thought he was so much smarter and better than you. Made you want to shoot your arrow straight at him.

Aiden from Hermes. A liar who couldn’t take anything seriously.

Elliott from Ares. Was dared by Callum to lock you in a dark room. And he actually listened.

Being the child of Apollo had its perks, but it more often had downsides. Your least favorite being your ability to fall in love so easily. After Elliot you swore off falling in love. A pain even you couldn’t heal. You couldn’t understand why nothing seemed to work out for you, you were a dreamboat!

A beautiful daughter of Apollo who glowed like the sun. Not only were you his daughter, you were his favorite, the hundreds of freckles on your face proved it. You were kind and generous, always willing to take in an injured camper from dusk to dawn. Your smile quite literally lit up a room. Perhaps you were too nice? Maybe they thought they could take advantage of your kindness?

Whatever the reason was doesn’t matter. You decided to take a page from your aunt Artemis’ book. No more boys, no more falling in love. Things will be easier this way. You know it.

You should’ve been at the bonfire with everyone else. You chose to skip it tonight because you wished to be alone, at the archery range. Maybe you’d earn another freckle if Apollo saw you practicing your already perfect shot. Luke should’ve been at the bonfire too, singing with your half-siblings and roasting marshmallows.

“Hey! I need some help!” A deep, painful cry said.

Immediately worried, you turned around and saw Luke Castellan holding his abdomen. You immediately run over to him, taking his arm over yours and getting to your cabin as soon as possible. You decided the infirmary was too far and you could use the cot in your cabin.

You slam through the cabin door and lay him on the cot in the middle of the bunk beds. “Lay down.”

You pull up his blood stained orange shirt to reveal a large gash on the side of his toned stomach. You held your hand on his abdomen for a moment to assess what happened. A second degree burn and large slices, as if by a horn, caused this.

“How did this happen?” You ask as you start to transfer some of the pain to a potted plant, causing it to wilt.

“Accident with a hephaestus kid, wrong place, wrong time I guess,” He says slightly wincing.

“I can take most of the pain but it’ll still take a while to heal,” You explain.

“Weren’t you supposed to be at the bonfire, leading a song with the rest of your cabin?” He asks.

“I could ask you the same thing, wandering around the blacksmiths. You know those things they make are pretty hot right?” You scoff at him.

“Yeah I guess I do now,” he rolls his eyes.

You begin to bandage the wound and give him a slice of bread. “Bread? What the hell is this gonna do?” he questions.

“My sister Melody made it, it can heal the burns for the most part,” you say.

“Aren’t you the girl who dated Aiden?” He asks bluntly, taking a bite of the bread.

“That’s none of your business,” You roll your eyes.

“If you ask me-” he begins to say before you cut him off.

“I’m not.”

“He was an idiot. All those guys were. I mean seriously, didn’t anyone teach them how to treat a pretty girl?” He continues, not fazed by you interrupting him.

“All those guys? You know about them?” You question.

“I guess. I mean after word got out about that shithead Elliot I did some asking,” he shrugs. You frown at the mention of Elliot.

“Whatever, they’re all in the past. No more guys for me,” you tell him.

“You shouldn’t give up entirely, these guys are stupid. There’s someone out there who deserves you, trust,” He assures you.

“Oh yeah? Tell me when you meet him,” You laugh.

“I think i know a guy, actually,” He responds, sitting up slightly.

“Oh yeah? Do tell.”

“Well, he’s tall, tan, and goddamn gorgeous. Has these soft brown curls, and I heard he’s the best swordsman at camp. Perfect for the best archer,” He explains to you, smiling.

“You seem to be fond of him, maybe you should go date him,” You joke.

“Nah, I think he likes this girl from Apollo. Kind, generous, beautiful, best healer and archer around,” He locks eyes with yours, darting between your eyes and your lips.

He holds your face in his hand, circling his thumb. His shirt rides up exposing his stomach and bandages.

“You like what you see?” He teases.

“You’re an idiot,” You smile.

“That seems to be your type,” he shrugs and knits his brows.

Before you can say another word he presses a kiss against your lips, moving them softly against yours. One of his hands stays on your neck while the other ventures down to your waist and then the chair you sat in. He pulls the chair closer to him and puts his hand back on your waist. You move one of your hands to his knee and the other to right beside him, leaning in closer.

“Fuck, you’re amazing,” He’s whispers into the kiss.

You smile at him before pausing. “The bonfire’s almost over, maybe you should head back,” you say.

“Yeah probably,” he gives you one last hard kiss followed by another few pecks.

He stands up and steadys himself, the injury clearly still pains him. He starts to walk away but before he can leave he turns back to you and presses a few more kisses against you.

“Okay, I’m done. y’know for now,” he smirks.

“You’re welcome anytime,” You laugh and he leaves. He gives you two looks before exiting.

Maybe you’ll give this boy one more chance.

#pjo x you #luke castellan #luke pjo x reader #luke castellan x reader #pjo x reader #luke pjo #percy pjo #pjo series #pjo fandom #pjo #pjo tv show #percy jackson #percy jackson x reader #percy jackson and the olympians #luke castellan x you

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hichai · 1 year

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been a few blogs since i had real tags

♬ ─── i know the sound of your heart : music player!

♬ ─── i jump from every rooftop; so high‚ so far to fall : chai! chai! chai!

♬ ─── but my heart's no good & you're the only one that's understood : peppermint!

♬ ─── i believe the love you talk about with me : macaron!

♬ ─── i can see you staying here : korsica!

♬ ─── the arrow goes straight through my heart : CNMN!

♬ ─── without you everything just falls apart : 808!

♬ ─── 'cause there's no place that i could be without you : the best team EVER!

♬ ─── invaders must die : bad guys!

♬ ─── turn the dial on my words; i can feel that they fall short : vibes!

♬ ─── i see the truth when i'm all stupid eyed : musings!

♬ ─── i can't see this being a problem ever again : improv!

♬ ─── do we have to get all meta? : dash comm!

♬ ─── all this time & i still haven't found my place : before verse!

♬ ─── colours run prime‚ paint a picture so bright : main verse!

♬ ─── we are building a religion; we are making a brand : vandelay verse!

♬ ─── honestly‚ you can try; your heart is just as strong as mine : queue!

♬ ─── it's the only life you got : prompts!

♬ ─── so you gotta live it big time : answered!

#♬ ─── i jump from every rooftop; so high‚ so far to fall : chai! chai! chai!#♬ ─── i know the sound of your heart : music player!#♬ ─── but my heart's no good & you're the only one that's understood : peppermint!#♬ ─── i believe the love you talk about with me : macaron!#♬ ─── i can see you staying here : korsica!#♬ ─── the arrow goes straight through my heart : CNMN!#♬ ─── without you everything just falls apart : 808!#♬ ─── 'cause there's no place that i could be without you : the best team EVER!#♬ ─── invaders must die : bad guys!#♬ ─── turn the dial on my words; i can feel that they fall short : vibes!#♬ ─── i see the truth when i'm all stupid eyed : musings!#♬ ─── i can't see this being a problem ever again : improv!#♬ ─── do we have to get all meta? : dash comm!#♬ ─── all this time & i still haven't found my place : before verse!#♬ ─── we are building a religion; we are making a brand : vandelay verse!#♬ ─── colours run prime‚ paint a picture so bright : main verse!#♬ ─── honestly‚ you can try; your heart is just as strong as mine : queue!#♬ ─── it's the only life you got : prompts!#♬ ─── so you gotta live it big time : answered!

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astraystayyh · 4 months

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the premise : u apply lipgloss on felix because ofc he suits glossy lips except it takes an emotional turn???? because felix is perfect sorry. this is fluffyyyy and the sanest reaction to this man being ur bf (and these pics. these pics....)

“lixie, stay still,” you giggle, body nestled between felix’s legs. He's leaning against the bathroom counter, hands propped on the sleek ebony marble as you apply a shimmering lip gloss to his lips.

“but don't you wanna know what changbin said to me?”

“of course i wanna know what creative pickup line he used on you today. of course i do, baby,” you smile and he rolls his eyes at the sarcasm dripping from your tone, his tongue poking against his cheek before gliding in (fake) annoyance over his lips.

“but…” he muses, tilting his head to the side, his hands finding your waist once again (they've been away for two minutes too long).

“but when your mouth moves i can't technically apply lipgloss to it.”

“maybe you're just a bad make-up artist,” he teases, before quickly planting a kiss on your temple. “kidding baby. you're the very best at everything you do.”

“you're actually incapable of being mean,” you laugh heartily, your thumb swiping across his chiseled jaw.

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he pouts, his eyes widening slightly, golden light spilling into his pupils— it refracts into an arrow delving straight into your heart.

“you can't say this in the softest voice and expect me to agree.”

“i am very much capable of being mean,” he repeats, only this time his timber is many many octaves lower. his voice reverberates straight through your stomach, a deep melody orchestrating the untamed butterflies in your stomach.

“this is the equivalent of a kitten throwing a punch to me,” you pull his face closer, and he shakes his head, mouth shut tightly as you reapply the glitter infused gloss on his lips, going delicately over his cupid's bow. his eyes are boring onto you, yet you don't shy away from his gaze. it is a kind one— like a blanket knitted with love thrown over your body.

“done,” you whisper, hands trailing up to his hair, blonde silky locks akin to threads of sunlight. you think he must be favored by the stars— how they stored the sun inside every component of his being for him to keep safe.

“you have the prettiest lips,” your voice is suddenly hoarse, thumb grazing slightly over his lips, ones shaped like a heart— akin to the one freckle he has right underneath his eye.

it wasn't enough for him to have the kindest soul, no, love needed to be etched onto his skin too.

“felix,” you rasp out his name.

he catches your tears before you sense them falling, swiping his thumbs delicately on your cheek. “angel?”

“you're an idiot.”

“am i?” he brings you to his chest swiftly, your nose buried in the orange blossoms and sea notes of his skin— your home, the one you'd recognize in blindness, in despair, in safety, in love.

“i wanted to apply this lipgloss on you because shimmer would suit your angelic lips and then we'd make out. but you just had to be so beautiful and pure that it makes me wanna cry.”

“I'm sorry,” he says and you giggle, more tears spilling from your eyes.

“see, this is what i mean. why are you apologizing. this is so silly and you're so perfect and i can't believe you love me.”

“well i do,” he leans away, kissing your forehead tenderly. the sticky lip gloss lingers on your skin. “i love you so much, angel. i will only ever love you.”

“promise me?” you ask in a feat of vulnerability almost foreign to your being.

“i promise.”

you believe him.

“thank you. please don't put this lipgloss near anyone else or it'll make them cry too.”

“i think that's just you baby,” he grins, his thumb swiping over your thigh comfortingly, then, his nose brushing against your own. “kiss?”

you close your eyes, a sigh of relief, of longing escaping your body. “please.”

to be loved by felix— maybe you're the one favored by the stars after all.

#woah i missed silly little drabbles #this is my new serotonin booster #i dedicate this to my xi #and my anny #enjoy #felix fluff #felix x reader #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #skz fluff #stray kids fluff #skz imagines #stray kids imagines #skz reactions #stray kids reactions #skz fanfic

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ghostaholics · 8 months

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𝐊𝐈𝐒𝐒 𝐈𝐓 𝐁𝐄𝐓𝐓𝐄𝐑

➸ PAIRING: Lieutenant Simon 'Ghost' Riley x gn medic!Reader (same reader from here, but this is a stand-alone) ➸ SUMMARY: You kiss Simon's very minor injuries. And then some. (Or, alternatively: He's not actually wounded. He just wants to see you.) ➸ WARNING(S): some graphic descriptions of old injuries ➸ A/N: Need to preface that this isn't smut despite how the title and summary sound. Anyways, Jo knows I listened to Hozier's Other Voices 2020 version of "Work Song" for a week straight while writing this. ➸ WC: 2k

❝ 𝐖𝐀𝐒 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐈𝐍' 𝐎𝐅 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐅𝐈𝐄𝐋𝐃, ❞ he admits, low-timbered. It feels intimate, especially coming from him. Simon's sitting on the cot; it sags under his weight. He curls his hands over the edge of it as he leans forward. No casualties post-mission means he's got free rein to pick wherever he wants in the medical tent.

"Oh, yeah? What about?"

"That I should probably do my best to avoid injuries so I don’t keep pestering you. Can always just tell me to fuck off, y’know.”

“You’re gonna break my heart if you stop coming around.

“Mm,” he says in agreement. “Can’t have that can we?”

You nod your head earnestly. “I like your company.”

“Tryin’ to say that you’ll miss me?”

“I would.” More than he knows.

It’s routine now. He gives you just enough room, adjusting his position. You step into the space made between Simon’s splayed knees, his massive legs nearly bracketing yours with how close they are. He’s bigger than you. Well, considerably more mammoth-like in his proportions compared to an overwhelming majority of the soldiers that you’ve encountered, to be quite honest.

Simon acts as though he’s acutely aware of his size. You suspect that he purposefully makes himself smaller in your presence. Like now, how his shoulders are rounded forward, the column of his spine not as straight-arrow in that standard, militaristic posture most servicemen have adopted. As if he doesn’t want to appear too intimidating. Not that Simon could, to you. Hours doing his stitches and idle chitchat on your part have taught you that he’s much less ruthless than people seem to paint him as. But you appreciate the thought anyway.

You conduct the assessment – a typical evaluation normal for combat casualty care, more in-depth than the one you’d done when he initially stopped by and you did a quick once-over for any obvious injuries. Though given the complete vacancy in the medical tent, you find it hard to believe that you’ll come across anything on him since the mission went that smoothly.

The first thing you notice this time: he doesn't smell like spilled blood. It's different. Not that sweet, rusted iron of wet tackiness – the one that reminds you of a generous stack of two pence coins held between a pair of hands cupped together. He comes in that way a lot. Reeks, because war means that he's no stranger to charging through a shower of copper and lead-forged bullets out on the field. Everything else is still there, though. Maybe a dying campfire – crackling logs and blackened earth. Soft dirt excavated from a foxhole for cover while under enemy fire. All gunpowder and Marlboro Lights and diesel-fuel smoke. Fresh rain and a blue-violet sky after a storm. Victory without consequence.

You'd breathe it in if you could, pull the collar of his jacket up to your face. At this proximity, it’d be easy.

He drops the act when he’s in front of you. Lieutenant. Ghost. Battle-hardened, gruff. A natural-born leader. The kind of person to rip this world apart brick by brick – scraped up palms clutching onto broken pieces – to make sure that the plan is executed accordingly, no matter the cost. It’s hard for him to shed that layer. A drop in the bucket of information that you’ve gathered about this man.

You’ve seen him at his best. But you know him at his worst.

The laundry list of injuries over the years: blows to his torso and his back and his limbs that were brighter than technicolor – purples and reds and sickly yellow-green shades – deep, blotchy medals of violence decorating his skin like some kind of fucked-up kaleidoscope that was nothing to be proud of; when some bastard drove a knife right into his upper thigh, that dirty blade wedged through tissue and muscle which was sure as hell going to induce the nastiest infection without serious TLC and a tetanus shot; rib fractures 7-9 because he aborted an exploding heli, seconds to spare before landing on his side wrong from a height that was equivalent to three stories tall; old GSWs dotting his body the same way you’d shove push pins into a paper-flimsy map to mark the places you’ve been to.

And then there’s no contest for the top contender. 𝐆𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭'𝐬 𝐖𝐨𝐫𝐬𝐭 𝐈𝐧𝐣𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐬 𝐚𝐭 #𝟏: when he was rushed in on a stretcher, barely clinging to life. Lower abdomen shredded by exploding shrapnel. He was outside of the window of opportunity. Too far beyond that golden hour, so his chances of surviving plummeted to a single-digit percent.

He’s more than just a patchwork of scars. There’s a complex person underneath the surface. A miracle in the flesh to have toughed it out through all of that. Resilient. Perpetual. His callsign makes sense. Ghosts really do live forever.

Several seconds pass before you speak again. It’s a silly comment, teasing – poking fun at him. You don’t have any reservations when it comes to picking on Simon; he’s good about taking these things in stride. Funny, actually. He’s got a dry sense of humor. “I think… you like the idea of someone taking care of you.”

His response isn’t immediate. It’s delayed, said with intention. He doesn’t ever waste words. “Not just anybody.”

You nearly reel back at that. Warmth floods your face. You aren’t quite sure what to say, didn’t expect it. So you let the comment hang in the air between the two of you, busying your hands with slipping off his tac vest, triple-checking for hidden wounds, doing anything to keep yourself occupied while you stand this close to him in the wake of that remark. You’re engrossed in your work, in search of a distraction.

(He’s a distraction, isn’t he?)

And then your eyes stop in their scan. Right there: a small nick on the exposed sliver of skin between his glove and sleeve – open to the direct path of some wayward debris that happened to graze him. So tiny. You’ve seen paper cuts more harrowing than this – wouldn’t have even registered on your radar, especially if it’s being dwarfed by other critical wounds that hold decisive sway over somebody’s fate when it comes to your average life-or-death scenario.

Of course, you take your job very seriously.

You feign a sharp inhale. “Ah,” you say solemnly, guiding his arm up to your face for a closer look. “Found your problem.”

“I’ve got a problem,” he echoes, voice laced with amusement.

“See, you came to the right place. Anybody else would’ve missed it.”

“The verdict, then?”

“So terrible. Earth-shattering, in fact—”

Simon starts pulling away. “Alright, that’s enough of you takin’ the piss outta me,” he gripes.

You chase his arm to recapture it into your grasp. “Wait!” you say, huffing out a laugh. Your mouth sprouts into a wide grin that makes him roll his eyes.

“You gonna treat me or what?”

Your humor bubbles away as you come back to your senses. Those once-loud peals of laughter start to die down when you take his question into consideration. Because there’s really nothing for you to do; he doesn’t need you.

The realization is slow-moving. It washes over you, rolls like waves as you finally begin to sober up.

Simon wants to be here, and he’s looking for any excuse to stay. He just can’t find the courage to own up to it.

“I dunno. Might be unconventional,” you throw out casually, playing along. “Risky, maybe – never been done before.”

But he’s undeterred. “Sure. Whatever you gotta do.”

You pause for a beat, fingers still wrapped around his forearm because you haven’t managed to let go yet. His skin is warm under your palm. You’re not sure what exactly possesses you to do it – emboldened by his encouragement, given complete carte blanche; he’s leaving this to your discretion. So you press your lips to that area where the cut is, right over his pulse point. If you had lingered for longer, you probably would’ve been able to feel it thudding, that solid rhythm and easy strength reminding you he’s alive.

You expected him to withdraw his arm in bewilderment. He should’ve kicked up a fuss about you violating his boundaries, should’ve told you that you overstepped. Something, right?

But he doesn’t do any of that. Simon’s studying you. Dark pupils. So chasm-deep that the ground beneath your feet might slip away. Ocean trenches, midnight-black like the charcoal smudged around his eyes. When they land on you, his gaze goes molasses-soft. He’s fond; there’s little room for doubt. The way he looks at you says everything. None of that usual coldness he harbors during an op. Instead, relaxed and more human than you’re used to seeing – all of his attention focused solely on you.

“Where else, Simon?” you whisper.

He’s thinking – carefully weighing his options – the same expression that he gets when a crossroads lies ahead of him and he knows his make-it-or-break-it decision will invariably affect the outcome of a mission.

After several moments, his hand comes up. Simon’s fingers curl underneath the hem of his mask; he’s been wearing the fabric balaclava more often since you’ve fixed the stitching on it. Then he lifts – not the entire way. Just to reveal the bottom half of his face. There he is. Sandpaper-rough stubble. The sharp cut of his jaw. A mouth that you’re convinced wears a scowl 24/7 behind his mask but is now slightly twitched up.

Even though you’ve seen it before, the sight of him never fails to steal your breath away. Feels like meeting him for the first time again. With how rarely he does this, it might as well be – that slow, heart-melting sensation is steadily filling the cavern of your chest.

And you lean in. Your lips brush against his; it’s a chaste thing – the kiss – if it can be called that. Gentle. Like how you’d stitch up his wounds with a light touch and kind intent. He’s built of sterner stuff, but if there’s anything you’ve learned about him, it’s that he’s capable of breaking just as easily as everyone else. You always handle Simon with care: unequivocal compassion and empathy when there’s so little of those left on this side of war – privileges that he’s never taken for granted.

“Better?” you ask quietly, tipping your head in question.

Simon hums his approval – this pleased, low sound in his throat. His hand slides across your lower back. He tugs you towards him. “Wouldn’t mind some more attention,” he murmurs, before slotting his mouth over yours. And then he kisses you like it might heal him from the outside in.

#simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x you #simon ghost riley x you #ghost x you #simon riley fluff #simon riley fic #cod x reader #cod fic #call of duty fic #call of duty modern warfare 2 #call of duty modern warfare #cod mw x reader #cod mw fanfiction #cod mw 2

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miniimight · 6 months

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DISAPPEARING ACT . rindou often disappears for weeks at a time, showing up at home as if it's nothing. a brief exchange triggers a factory reset in him, but you're not as open to it as he expected you to be...

prompt used "better than me disappearing for good. / is it?"

with married!rindou + fem!reader

warnings cursing. a lot of cursing. angst? rindou is an idiot and possessive.

you never got to see your husband anymore. so much so that you considered the chance of it happening next to nothing. you knew what you were getting into being in an relationships with him; lots of meetings and flights to other cities all meant extended time away from home.

you would've been a little more forgiving had he chosen to tell you these things. but no. morning after morning, you wake up to him gone without a trace, without consideration for how you feel. was he alive? was he with someone else? did he not care enough to call or even send a text?

it was as if you lived alone, and a stranger crashed at your place every once in a while. and while you shared polite exchanges, no amount of small talk could overshadow how bleak your marriage was.

it was eleven days before he showed up again. you were, surprisingly, awake when he returned. he was perfectly groomed, albeit a little jaded, but still regarded you with the same coldness you endured since he started leaving. you missed the warmth of your younger days, where he would hold you close and reassure you that you were meant for each other for life.

you decided today was as good a day as any. heck, he even might be gone tomorrow and it would be like you didn't say anything.

"i'm tired of you disappearing for days and then coming back like it was nothing." you said plainly.

he slipped out of his shoes, looking down at you. rolling his eyes lightly but sighing heavily, he started to pull off his tie. "better than me disappearing for good."

a wry smile spread on your face. oh, if he only knew. "is it?"

those two words sent an arrow straight through his heart.

rindou was silent, pretending as if he didn't hear what you just said. but when you scoffed and walked away, he knew it was too real for him to overlook.

"you don't mean that." it was less of a question and more of a please, don't mean it.

you shrugged and went back to your phone, too benumbed to even look at him.

he stared at you, utterly confused as to how to tackle this. "y/n." he said firmly.

you slowly raised your head to meet his eyes, void of any care. "what?"

"i said, you don't mean that." he stood like a tree in the middle of the living area, palms growing sweaty. he loved you. he couldn't lose you, not when you both went through so much to get here.

"don't i?" you responded, placing your phone beside you. not like i see you anymore, anyway. what's the difference?

"stop fucking talking like that and answer me." he snarled. you rolled your eyes, rising to your feet.

"look, rin. who the fuck cares what i think or say? certainly not you." you sighed, pinching the bridge of your nose. "just—just forget i said anything." you turned towards your bedroom. "goodnight."

wait. he lunged forward, grabbing your arm and spinning you around to face him, backing you against a wall. caging you with arms on either side of you, he stared into your soul, hoping to get some sort of reaction out of you.

you just stared back.

his heart clenched. yeah, he was away for weeks at a time. of course he didn't tell you. why would he? why would he burden you with that information?

"you really think me going away forever is better?" his voice was a whisper, but held the sharpness of a knife. "huh? you want me gone forever?"

you sighed. "i didn't say i wanted that. i just meant that, either way, it doesn't matter. going away forever, going away for weeks and weeks but only staying for a night..." your eyes met his, glossy but fierce. "it's the same to me. i don't care what the hell you do anymore, rindou. just let me go to bed."

he studied the person he truly loved for so long, wondering when it all went downhill.

you were impatient, ducking under his arms. "shit..." you cursed, rubbing the back of your neck as you walked away.

he watched you go. and he never saw you come back.

the next morning he woke up, expecting to see you in the kitchen or watching tv, but his house was empty.

"y/n?" he called out. no answer. he pulled up his phone. no texts, no calls. he bustled around the house, looking for some indication of where you went and he found nothing.

he called his brother, thinking that he was the next best person you would've gone to, but ran had no contact from you.

rindou sat on the couch, nothing to do but sit and wait. he looked around. everything was well-kept, pristine, and sanitized. it was like no one lived here at all. no one except a lonely spouse in an eternal cycle of wait for a husband that wouldn't even give them the time of day to say, i'm heading out.

i love you.

goodbye.

he leaned back, closing his eyes. he doesn't even say goodbye.

he hated himself for it.

hours passed and he didn't move from the couch. he knew you sat there for much longer, day after day, waiting for him. no wonder you were uncaring. coming home meant nothing if he would simply leave again.

then he heard the click of the door. he practically jumped off the couch, racing over to the entrance. he saw you with a couple groceries hooked on your forearms, struggling to keep the door open long enough for you to slip inside.

he rushed over. yanking the door open with such force, it slammed into the wall causing you to jump. rindou winced a little, steadying the door from swinging wildly.

you eyes met his and your face immediately scrunched with confusion. "what are you doing here?"

"well... it's my house..?" he said dumbly.

you pressed your lips into a line. "hm."

you expected me to be gone again, he thought bitterly. he cleared his throat. "let me help you with these," he alleviated the weight off your arms, bunching up a couple bags and carrying them all in one go. "you know, you could just order them for delivery."

you sidestepped him and walked to the kitchen. "why would i do that?"

"so you can have them brought to you from the comfort of your home." he responded lightly. following robotically, he was unsure where everything was supposed to be put away.

you laughed, catching him off-guard. on closer inspection, though, he knew that wasn't a genuine laugh. "rindou, do you think i want to stay in this place any more than i have to?"

you said it so casually, grabbing a bag from him and stocking the cabinets and fridges.

his stomach swirled with much more unease than he'd ever experienced on the job. it was the way you simply didn't care anymore, talking about the rift between you and him as if you were reciting the weather report.

fight me, he wanted to say. kick, yell at me, scream at me, do anything at all to show me you're upset. he knows he fucked up. you definitely know he fucked up. so why weren't you telling him that? why weren't you cursing him out for being a bad husband? your nonchalance came from a long time being cast aside, so much so that you expected it to happen; so much so that you gave up on him.

indifference was the final nail in the coffin of your marriage, and you were about to bang it shut.

he observed you, thinking about how many times you'd busy yourself with mundane errands to feel like you were living. how many times you'd come back to this flat, putting away shit you'd probably never touch. how many times you'd listen to the silence ringing off the walls.

he set the bags down and held your shoulders, turning you to face him. "i've taken the next few days off."

you smiled insincerely. "great."

rindou felt like a kid again, when he had work up enough courage to ask you out. "we... we could spend them together."

your eyes squinted. "why?"

he spluttered. "what do you mean, why?"

you swatted his hands off your shoulders. "god, i shouldn't have said anything," you mumbled. "rindou, this is just you feeling guilty because of what i said last night, okay?"

he frowned. "it's not."

your eyebrows raised as you rummaged through another grocery bag. "it is. don't pretend like you're gonna change. what did you think we were going to do—go out together? like old times, when we were happy and in love?"

his face burned. anyone else—if it were anyone else speaking so flippantly with him, he'd have them beat til they're unconscious. and past tense? when we were in love? his brain was doing backflips trying to find a way to salvage the situation. "yes."

you laughed that fake laugh again. it grated on his ears. "that's funny. i was just feeling a little vulnerable last night, is all. had a couple of drinks and maybe was feeling sentimental about the days when everything was simple."

rindou stepped closer to you, ripping the bag away from your hands and towering over you. "it is simple. we can—"

"we can't do anything." you curled your hands into fists, your voice trembling. "can you just..?" go away?

rindou's breath caught in his chest, fully anticipating another heartless laugh.

he hated it when you cried. he hated it when you were angry. he would do anything for your eternal happiness, he realized, and he'd been falling short of his promises for far too long.

rindou leaned onto the counter, bending at the waist. his hand rested on your waist and his eyes were laser focused on your expression, a confusing mix of frustration, sadness, and the will to remain emotionless.

"baby," he whispered.

"don't fucking call me baby." you hissed.

he pursed his lips, unwilling to compromise. "pretty baby. i don't wanna go on like this." his fingers brushed your cheek. "i don't want to you to be sad anymore."

"well, isn't that righteous." you rolled your eyes though your heart ached. it ached for him, for the boyfriend he was and the husband he promised to be.

he glared at you. "would you just listen?"

"no, rindou." you shoved him away from you, despite the overwhelming urge telling you to pull him in and hug him tight. "stop acting like i'm the one making things difficult. like you're being a fucking saint trying to bring us back together when the only reason we're like this is because of you." your voice became watery, growing in volume as you finally succumbed to all the hurt and pain inside you.

"i tried to be understanding." you sobbed. "i did. i tried. you have your work and i know that it's dangerous. but seriously—you promised you'd make time for me. you promised." you sniffed, rubbing tears off your cheeks, ranting without any goal in mind. "you don't even say goodbye."

he stood frozen, your emotions hitting him square in the face and leaving him dazed. it was like the only thing he could do was stand and watch.

"i didn't want to do this." you said tearfully. "i'm sorry i said anything, okay? i'm sorry. just—leave me alone."

his eyes narrowed. "never. i'm never leaving."

your glassy eyes shot up to meet his with a hard look of their own.

"i love you, y/n. and i'm never letting you go." he said firmly, stepping closer and closer to you. he was done beating around the bush; you should know that no matter how many times you push him away, he will never leave you. he'd make up for his mistakes; all you had to do was give him a chance.

you scoffed. "love? you love me?"

he caged you against the opposite counter with two arms on either side of you. "yeah. i do."

you stared up at him, tears staining your cheeks. "you're a liar."

"y/n." he growled—a warning.

"can't go back into the world having the poor little wife weighing on your conscious, is that it?" you snapped. "never stopped you before."

"y/n."

"no." you ducked under his arm, leaving the kitchen. you evaded his attempts to pull you back, running to the closet. grabbing a coat and your purse, you slipped on your shoes.

"where the fuck are you going?" rindou yelled after you. "this conversation isn't over."

"it is for me." you mumbled, throwing the front door open and ignoring the fire in the pit of your stomach. you got into your car and started it up. the garage opened at an agonizing pace, enough time for rindou to come bursting out the door. he stood at your window.

"y/n, you are not leaving. get out of the car."

"fuck off." you grit your teeth, your eyes raising to the rearview mirror to reverse. you screeched to a halt when you saw rindou's purple hair in the reflection. you gaped, rolling down your window and whipping your head to face him. "are you insane? move!"

he shook his head, standing in all his glory right behind the car. his arms were crossed and his weight rested on one hip; the picture of stubbornness. "you're gonna have to run me over."

you scoffed, laughing breathlessly at the absurd situation. "i'll call the police."

"you won't."

you grabbed your phone. "i will, don't try and stop me from leaving."

"you won't call the police, and you wanna know why?" rindou let his head fall to his shoulder. "you love me. i know you do."

you opened your mouth to retort.

"don't even try to deny it." he chuckled lowly. "you're just protecting yourself, baby. you're protecting yourself from the nightmare you call a husband, right?"

your eyes rounded, looking at him with an unreadable expression.

he walked to your side of the car, reaching through the opening to flick the window button. he slipped his hand out as it began to slowly slide back up.

"leave, then. just know i'm not going to stop my efforts to get you back." he smiled as he went back into the house.

the window closed completely.

you were brimming with annoyance, yet you couldn't help but feel a pang of heartache when you pulled out of the driveway, leaving your house—and rindou—behind.

this was so self-indulgent lol. i know they mean well, but when people apologize so quickly and with such intensity, i just get frustrated that i had to get to such a low point to see any remorse or change from them. and of course, i can't argue without crying my eyes out. anyway, do we want a part two?

#rindou haitani #rindou haitani x reader #rindou x reader #rindou imagines #rindou #haitani #tokyo revengers angst #rindou haitani angst #rindou angst #haitani brothers #haitani rindou #haitani rindou x reader #haitani x reader #tokyo revengers x reader #bonten #bonten x reader #bonten rindou

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tteokdoroki · 8 months

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☆༉ — MEGUMI FUSHIGURO. when you call, my heart answers.

about. megumi always picks up when you call, no matter where he might be — since his heart is always longing for you.

warnings. minors, blank and ageless blogs do not interact! sfw, fluff, college au, megumi is a simp n super soft, i mention a British snack (white chocolate buttons), sort of air-headed reader, selfship coded!! gn!reader.

megumi always picks up the phone when you call him, no matter where he is. even if he’s with the guys and they’re teasing him when your contact flashes across his screen (emoticons, glitter symbols and all), megumi answers.

he glares daggers at his friends, drawing a line with his thumb across the neck in a menacing gesture but speaks to you with the softest voice. “you called, baby?”

“hi ‘gumi, was wonderin’ if you could get some milk on the way home. i just got in and i tootally forgot.” your voice is chipper across the line, sweet as if it’s been dipped in powdered sugar that gives megumi some kind of energetic high.

“yeah, okay. i can do that baby.” he smiles to himself, blocking out the sounds of his rowdy friends by covering his free ear — wanting to focus entirely on you. “anything else you need?”

“mnah, i think we’re good.” you’re probably preoccupied with another task, either doing your nightly routine (which makes fushiguro pout because he loves to help you with your skincare) or rummaging about in your shared kitchen for a snack. if it’s the snack you’re after, he chooses to wait on the other end of the line. “wait actually, can you grab me some of those chocolates i like too. the white chocolate thingies.”

and there it is. he knows you like no other.

“buttons, baby. i gotcha.” it’s almost funny, how megumi finds himself clinging onto the last moments of your phone call, desperately grasping onto the wispy notes of your honeysuckle voice. it’s funny how when you call, he comes running like a man fallen victim to a siren song. just hearing you speak puts megumi at ease, makes him yearn for you, love you a little more. “be good, lock the doors so you can keep safe for me. okay?”

“‘kay! bye ‘gumi, love you!” the words rush out of your mouth and shoot a Cupid’s arrow straight through megumi’s heart. but then you pause as if you’ve forgotten something, whispering down the line. “be safe as well. i miss you.”

he chuckles again, still fending off his friends but manages to find answer with. “i miss you.” right back.

#megumi fushiguro x reader #megumi x reader #megumi fluff #jujutsu kaisen x reader #jujutsu kaisen fluff #jjk x reader #jjk x you #jjk fluff #megumi x you #anyways….#✧ ₊˚੭ — writing #tteokdoroki #✧ ₊˚💭੭ — aali just posted #angelshubnetwork

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soulmatesinc-if · 7 months

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A light-hearted interactive fiction game about soulmates, chances and choices, written in ChoiceScript.

|| LINK to demo || [79k]

Here at Soulmates Inc we specialize in chance meetings!

Love happens.

It takes by the storm. It is lucky, it is cruel, it makes no sense, it elevates. It is beautiful, it rears its ugly head, then it is beautiful once again. Now that, humans can manage on their own.

Soulmate-grade connection is an entirely different brand. Enter you. That's your brand. It requires dedicated labor. Whimsical meetings. Nuance.

As a soul-link, you arrange for those destined matches to happen using the powers of glamor at your disposal. An ancient practice, really, though, as with everything, it has evolved and happily marched with the times. You work out of an office, have a phone plan, a lease, and a favorite restaurant. Your boss is not a half-naked man with a bow and arrows but a fashionably dressed man who goes to a gym and drives an electrical Mustang.

It is nice. Modern.

Just one rule. The only rule, in fact. A scripture, if you will: never interact with a soul directly.

Which is precisely why your most recent half-match staring at your confused face is so damn bad. Worse yet, they can see right through your glamor for some reason.

Now what?..

love is all around you but it does not have to be for you: play as aro, ace, bi, gay or straight. Your romantic prospects are three, but each has a story to tell

explore who you are: a firm and enthusiastic believer, a burned-out office worker, or a skeptical soul-link questioning their purpose

use and evolve your soul-link powers: Empathy and Shroud

keep up with your job duties and bring people together while trying to protect your employer from a greater looming threat

someone is throwing around heavy words like 'destiny', but dealing with existential questions is entirely optional!

Amber | Andrew Wyatt Once a high-performer soul-link, they flew too close to the sun and snooped around where one does not snoop around. Having fallen from grace at a company that believes in chances, Wyatt is back on probation, though under your supervision. The light is snuffed out of their eyes, and instead of being a firm believer, Wyatt now drips disillusioned pearls of what they think is wisdom.

A languid redhead who wears sunglasses more often than not.

Samuel | Samantha C. Powell Sam has a steady job, does weekly family visits and always parks the bike properly. How do you learn that? Sam is also your sparkling new charge, a common everyperson, a salt of the earth—nope, not that simple at all! You cannot seem to find their soulmate (never happens) and they can see through your glamor (never happens either). To be fair, Sam is freaked out by it, too.

Your sporty charge in a wrinkle-free T-shirt with a mess of locs held back by a band.

Martin | Mia Romero A hectic ball of energy that is a human person, they are passionate about their distaste for your employer's business and are happy to go in length about it. Romero is messy, yet strangely put together in their belief: a hurricane that may sweep you off your feet if you are not careful enough. They know things, things no human should. You should probably report that to your boss...

A city dweller with hair tied sloppily in a short low ponytail, perfectly matched with dramatic eyebags.

#interactive fiction #if wip #if game #if intro #choicescript game #soulmatesinc if #romance #choicescript #cyoa #humor

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twistedwonderlandimaginesblog · 4 months

Note

Hi hi hope I'm not too late to request something. If I am feel free to just delete this

Anyway can I ask for headcannons with a gender neutral reader with Sebek, Vil, Idia, and Leona with a s/o who loves to use cheesy pick up lines on them after they've started dating? Like they're already dating and their partner comes up to them like "Do you have a name or can I just call you mine" lol

Idia Shroud:

Some cheesy lines just get Idia to roll his eyes, knowing you’re purposely trying to get a reaction out of him, but some do manage to get exactly what you want. Hearing a genuine declaration of love, a confirmation that your souls are tired, and you compared him to an angel (your angel, specifically), he can feel the heat rising in his cheeks. He normally spiraled from embarrassment after, trying to hide the pink tips of his hair before you waved the victory flag right in his face, rejecting the fact that such normie pick-up lines could be super effective on someone like him.

Leona Kingscholar:

Leona wants to know what he did to you to subject him to the horror of pick-up lines when you already had to get through the hurdles all couples had at the beginning of a relationship. He could be surprisingly smooth himself when he wanted to, delivering the lines straight back at you as if it were a competition. He wanted to out-woo you and if that didn’t work; he wasn’t above fighting dirty. He knew the exact glint you got in your eyes when you were about to drop a new line and he acted first, smothering your lips with his own to successfully wipe your mind of anything but responding to his touch.

Sebek Zigvolt:

You have a 50/50 chance of it going right over Sebek’s head, or it piercing his heart like an arrow when he fully understood the meaning of your honeyed words. Pick-up lines weren’t effective for wooing him but they did provide you with a source of entertainment, especially when Sebek responded with genuine concern as to what must be wrong with your eyesight or if you had really injured yourself looking for him. He seemed a little frazzled when you stated you were just flirting with him, wondering why you felt the need to steal his heart when he had already offered it to you without pretense.

Vil Schoenheit:

Vil would show respect for a well-crafted yet still cheesy pick-up line, as long as it met his expectations. He judged based on word choice and confidence in your delivery, giving you a rating for each line in hopes of you finding a line to truly sweep him off his feet. He is still hopelessly endeared by your silly behavior, his heart nearly skipping a beat when you explained your reasoning for this to him. People were naturally too intimidated by Vil to flirt properly, so you thought he deserved the normalcy of, even if for only a short amount of time (and from someone he was already romantically involved with).

#Twisted Wonderland #TWST #Twisted Wonderland Imagines #Twisted Wonderland x Reader #TWST Imagines #TWST x Reader #Idia Shroud #Leona Kingscholar #Sebek Zigvolt #Vil Schoenheit #Idia Shroud x Reader #Leona Kingscholar x Reader #Sebek Zigvolt x Reader #Vil Schoenheit x Reader

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jungkookschin · 7 months

Text

older

think i need someone older, just a little bit colder, take the weight off your shoulders

synopsis: all your friends say you're delusional for thinking you have a chance with jungkook, the handsome older man you've known since forever, but you just can't seem to let him go. word count: 18k

pairing: older!jungkook x afab reader

genre: age gap au (seven years), social media au!!!, childhood acquaintance au, fluff, comedy, angsty, outta pocket, alludes to sexual innuendoes warnings: character death (not jk or y/n), cursing, nudity,

author's note: i am so overwhelmed with the support i've gotten for this fic!! obviously this isn't going to be the best written fanfic, but i genuinely enjoyed writing it!! and yes, there will be a part 2!

PART 1 | PART 2

“Girl.. be for real. He doesn’t want you.” Beomgyu’s opinion bounces off your bedroom wall but shoots into your heart like an arrow; you subtly glare at him through your vanity mirror. Though, the Snorlax plush headband and unblended concealer in triangles under your eyes is far less than intimidating.

“Okay, fuck you-”

Beomgyu shrugs. “You can wear all the makeup in the world and you would never get his attention,” he nonchalantly utters, not caring enough to even look at you while he addresses you. You pout, sulking as Beomgyu’s very real assertion settles into your system.

Jeon Jungkook would never see you that way.

He adores you because you’ve been acquainted since childhood- your parents being close friends. He’s seven years older than you and has witnessed you blossom from a childish boy-crazy kid to an equally boy-crazy adult, the same way you’ve seen him go from a prepubescent pre teen to a hot, older, rich, man.

“Look, and that’s not to say that you’re not pretty or whatever because you are pretty and a lot of guys want you, but Jungkook… he’s just too old for you,” he offers you an empathetic smile before attempting to assuage the petulance in the air. “Honestly, I would be even more concerned if he responded to your advances because that would be.. hella weird.”

Beomgyu’s claims often transform your brain into a philosophical battlefield. Would it really be all that inappropriate for Jungkook to see you as a woman? An age gap of seven years holds no real significance if you were both in your 20’s, right? But does Jungkook knowing you since childhood completely nullify any chance you have with him?

“Oh fuck off with that. I’m not a little kid anymore. I’m already 19 years old, almost 20-”

“The delusion is never escaping this one…” Beomgyu mumbles. He finally looks up from his phone when you spring up from your chair and stomp over to him. You hold your manicured claw up to scratch his face, but Beomgyu grabs your wrist before you can do any damage.

“You’re such a horse girl, don’t try to scratch me- wait are you crying?” Beomgyu’s gaze melts after noticing the tears accumulating in your waterline.

“No!” you respond, the tip of your nose becoming slightly red. You raise your sleeve to wipe your nose.

“Wait Y/N! You’re going to get makeup all over my hoodie!-”

Beomgyu halts when he sees your unblended concealer transfer onto his very white and expensive hoodie. His lips form into a straight line while he stares at you blankly.

“Sorry?” you squeak. He gestures dramatically- blinking at you like a pissed off owl.

…

You bolt to the door, sprinting from Beomgyu before he quickly follows in pursuit of you. You run through the house, tumbling down the stairs frantically, and when you turn the corner, you stub your toe against the wall, stumbling over and falling flat on your face.

You shriek in pain, holding onto your toe. Your eyes immediately tear up, sobbing through the pain blistering in your toe. And for some reason, Beomgyu is nowhere to be found.

“Y/N? Are you okay?”

You freeze when none other than Jungkook pops out of his room, completely shirtless with nothing but gray sweats on. His abs are literally ripping in your face and his entire sleeve of beautiful tattoos are practically mocking you- especially the mask one. It's laughing in your face because it gets to be on Jungkook’s body and you don’t.

You begin to cry even harder. No physical pain would ever compare to the pain of not being able to have him.

“Whoa, whoa, what happened?” Jungkook kneels down and takes your foot in his large hands.

Thank God you got your toes done the day before. His thumbs press into the balls of your feet while he carefully inspects your toes. “Not fractured, I think. Think you can get up, baby?”

Baby. He’s been calling you that stupid nickname since forever. That’s what everybody used to call you when you were younger; you were the youngest of all your parents’ friends’ kids after all. But for some reason, the nickname only seemed to stick with Jungkook. He has this horrible tendency (not really) of doting on you, taking care of you, and spoiling you to oblivion.

You sniffle, shaking your head.

Jungkook’s handsome face crinkles into a subtle laughter, an amused expression etched onto his features. He takes his pointer finger and thumb, pinching your nostrils and wiping your snot onto his sweats.

You smile sheepishly, butterflies erupting in your stomach.

This man will literally touch your feet and boogers as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. That has to mean something, right?

Jungkook scoops you into his arms bridal style and takes you into his room.

Why Jungkook has a room in your house is beyond you. It seems like he was always over doing some errands for your parents- not that you were complaining, of course. He sets you down on his bed and uses his large palm to smooth over the frizzy hairs that are sticking up.

“Just stay here for a while. I’ll take you to Urgent Care if it hurts in a few hours.”

Truth be told, that shit didn’t even hurt anymore, but there’s no way you were going to pass this opportunity up. You nuzzle into Jungkook’s sheets, his masculine smell absolutely amplifying your will to live. His cologne smells so good, the musky elegance of his scent making you dizzy as you bask in his essence.

Anyways! Looks like you’re canceling your plans with Beomgyu. Apparently, he already knows that.

Shutting your phone off, your eyes drift towards Jungkook, owlishly blinking at the computer code projected onto his large monitor. He’s got everything going for him: rich, hot, smart, successful. You want to cry again. “Jungkook, can I ask you something?”

His focus remains on the screen, eyes still boring onto the monitor before he absentmindedly responds, “Sup?”

“What would you do if a bear, a lion, and a gorilla just walked into this room right now?”

Jungkook’s fingers pause, hovering above his light up keyboard. He swivels around in his chair, his handsome features crinkling in evident confusion.

“I’m serious. What would you do if a bear, a lion, and a gorilla showed up in your room? If you aren’t able to answer the question, then I don’t really know if I feel safe here,” you elaborate as you gesture with your hands, the bratty tone laced in your voice attempting to guilt trip him for not having a backup plan for this very specific specific situation.

“Easy. I would feed you to them and then escape,” Jungkook bites back a cheeky smile before spinning around and returning to his work.

You gasp dramatically, pouting before you pull his covers over your head.

Jungkook hums to himself, laughing at how obnoxious you can be.

Later on, another question is conjured in your imaginative little mind, and Jungkook’s lip twitches when he hears your classic Jungkook, I have another question.

“Hmmm?”

“Do you think you could put me on with your piercing guy?”

Jungkook swivels around in his chair once again. “Thought you already had your ears and belly pierced.”

“It’s not enough. I want more. Wanna be like you,” you murmur, eyes settling on his five piercings decorating his left lobe, the one in his eyebrow, and the two on his lips.

“It is enough,” he immediately counters, “You shouldn’t put holes in your body.”

You cock a brow at him. “I know you’re not talking.”

Jungkook’s lip twitches upwards at your cheekiness. “Yea, I’ll send you his instagram. Tell him you’re with me and he’ll squeeze you in as soon as possible.”

“And I told Soobin to not piss in the water bottle, but he did anyway. And guess what? I almost drank from the same water bottle. Can you believe that? I was so fucking pissed at him I almost threw his piss back on him…” Yeonjun can tangibly feel that you’re not all there, your eyes occasionally drifting off- so his eyes follow your train of vision until-

“Oh c’mon Y/N!” Yeonjun’s fingers release the grip on the gym equipment, causing the weights to thunderously slam back into place. You yelp, flinching a bit before you swat Yeonjun’s biceps.

“You scared me you bitch!”

“You scare me! And what the fuck are you wearing? What kind of basic bitch wears a pink set to the gym?”

You gasp dramatically. “You did not just say that.”

“And stop drooling over Jungkook! He doesn’t want you-mmmphh!” You clasp your palm over Yeonjun’s mouth mid-sentence, your boba eyes glaring up at him. You release your hand, pouting at him dramatically when you feel you’ve tortured him enough.

Hands on your hips, you continue glowering at him and he gladly reciprocates the scowl on your lips.

Yeonjun acquiesces from the glare-off almost immediately, too entirely soft to hold a grudge against his best friend. “Did you only agree to come to the gym with me to see Jungkook?” he asks, sincere disappointment laced in his words.

You immediately soften, disheartened to hear the crestfallenness in his tone. You shake your head at the notion. “No- I wouldn’t do that. I swear he’s here by coincidence,” you explain thoughtfully, “I’m sorry for being an inattentive friend. It wasn’t intentional. I just get distracted whenever I see him. I’m sorry.” Your eyes return to Yeonjun’s who smiles knowingly at you. He opens his arms, offering an embrace and you gladly accept, hugging all the problems away.

“You’re such a lovestruck girl,” Yeonjun teases.

“I can’t help it. He just looks so good. Look at his arms and his tattoos- oh Yeonjun, I’ll never get over him. What should I do?”

“We just have to kill him. That’s the only option left,” your eyes meet his, his empty gaze boring into your skull before you both burst into giggles.

“You’re right. That is the only option left.” You take a step back to stretch your arms, releasing the tension in your limbs until you sense a very familiar walking pattern approaching you.

“Hey Y/N,” Jungkook casually greets, creeping behind you to wrap a single arm around your shoulder. He pulls you closer to him from behind, nonchalantly nuzzling his forehead into the back of your head. You use both your hands to grip onto his thick forearm. “Um, hey Kook.”

Yeonjun bites back laughter, watching how you practically become hysterical at Jungkook’s casual gesture.

Jungkook uses his vacant hand to dap up Yeonjun- over your head. “What’s up Yeonjun?” Jungkook grins. Yeonjun reciprocates the friendly greeting. “Hey, how’ve you been? You looked great with the tricep presses.”

Jungkook beams at that. “Oh, you saw? I’ve been bulking so I’m trying to go super heavy with the weights.”

“I can tell. You look fucking enormous,” Yeonjun comments.

Jungkook immediately dismisses the compliment with a wave. “Don’t say that. You look good too…”

Tuning out of the interaction, your brain begins to malfunction when you realize that Jungkook is extremely familiar with all of your friends. You definitely aren’t the most social person, often opting to napping in your cozy bed instead of going into the harsh, unforgiving world, but you are lucky enough to have great friends like Yunjin, Yeonjun, Beomgyu, and Jungkook knows all of them. That had to be indicative of something deeper, right? Perhaps his underlying affection for you? Or a sign that he was possibly in love with you?

“What are you giggling about?” Jungkook teases, gently using his vacant hand to ruffle your hair.

You crimson intensely. “Nothing,” you sheepishly respond, skitterishly ducking under Jungkook’s arm to scurry behind Yeonjun, using your friend as a protective shield.

“What’s up with her?” Jungkook asks Yeonjun, to which Yeonjun feigns ignorance. “Not a clue.”

“Well then, I’m gonna head out. I’m actually staying at Y/N’s for a bit because her parents are out of town. Can you believe I still have to babysit her?” Jungkook says to Yeonjun, giving you a teasing glance.

“It’s just in case someone stalks me or tries to kill me! I don’t need to be babysat,” you emphasize, scowling at Jungkook and he can’t help but to reach out and pinch your cheek. The casual gesture sends you over the moon.

“Whatever you say. You need a ride home though? I can wait so Yeonjun doesn’t have to waste gas on you,” Jungkook suggests, eyes darting towards yours then Yeonjun’s to detect any traces of reticence or hesitation in his features.

You do the same, glancing towards Yeonjun who actually sports a look of indifference. You playfully link your arms with Yeonjun’s before sending Jungkook a downward smile. “It’s okay Kook. Wanna spend time with my friend today.”

A touched gasp leaves Yeonjun’s lips as he holds his hand over his heart, gesticulating dramatically to convey his surprise that you would choose him over the man you’ve been salivating over the past thirty minutes.

Jungkook has no protests about your preference. “Alright Y/N, see you at home. See you Yeonjun,” he gives you a little squeeze before he departs.

Yeonjun waits until Jungkook is out of ear shot to provoke you, mocking you in an obnoxious, high pitched voice, “I don’t need to be babysat! You’re such a baby- but thank you for choosing me, you know.”

You tilt your head, eyebrows pinching before you subtly frown at Yeonjun’s comment. “Of course I would choose you. You’re my friend.” You say it like it’s the most obvious thing in the world- because it kinda is. Bros over hoes any day.

Yeonjun’s lips quirk up at the sentiment, “Oh how touching, thank you so much for gracing me with your presence, my queen.”

Jungkook thinks you can be such a princess sometimes, especially when you drag your feet back into the house, a sour expression consuming your pretty features. Particularly receptive to your emotional fluctuations, he doesn’t hesitate to ask you what’s up.

He leans against the kitchen counter, rolling his sleeves up to his elbows as his eyes settle on your moping figure. “Who made you sad? Bring them to me right now,” he muses.

You pause, letting your light green gym bag (with little Snorlax’s decorated all over it) fall to the floor with a thud before gazing at him with a vacuous expression. “Why are you dressed up?” you point towards his work attire- a simple white button up and slacks. The buttons on his dress shirt are undone and messy, giving you access to his chest and it makes you want to roll around on the floor and cry. His slacks are tight- accentuating his long, muscular legs and you decide that you’d be okay with dying only if you were suffocated between his thighs.

“Had a work call,” he responds, indifference laced in his voice, “Now who made you sad? Want oppa to handle it for you?” he teases, releasing a breathless laugh at the way your nose scrunches up in disgust.

Nonetheless, you spill everything to Jungkook- because you always spill everything to Jungkook and because you trust him with everything in you. He makes you feel safe. Plopping yourself down on the seat by the dining counter, you wordlessly slide your phone across the counter. Jungkook effortlessly stops your phone with a single hand, his eyes scanning across the array of text messages popping up on the screen.

“Not this guy again,” he mutters under his breath, gauging the situation.

“I know!” you concede, “Wish he would leave me alone- but I feel like I have to respond.”

The text messages were from none other than your ex-boyfriend, telling you how much he misses you, how he’ll do better for you, and every other generic I want you back text in the book.

There are various reasons why you feel obligated to respond to him: (a) the whole breakup was a mess and (b) it was your fault. You were in a long-term, committed relationship with your high school sweetheart until you recognized your exponentially growing feelings for Jungkook. The guilt of breaking your ex’s heart haunts you- his crying, tear-stained face often popping up in your mind when you feel shitty, making you feel even shittier. Though you were no longer emotionally tied to him you do feel obligated to give him closure, or at the very least respond to his text messages.

But you’ve had this conversation with your ex numerous times. How much closure does one need in order to move on?

“You don’t have to respond to him,” Jungkook’s sonorous voice pulls you from the thoughts plaguing your mind. “You’ve already told him how you feel,” Jungkook is the rational force in your life, always tugging you towards the right direction, especially when your susceptible mind feels the need to please everyone and everything.

“I know,” you sigh, “I just feel bad. He was my first kiss, first boyfriend. It feels like I just abandoned him.”

A look of contemplation blankets Jungkook’s handsome face, evident by the way his fingers trace over his chin and lips. “That’s true,” he eventually asserts, “but no one as young as you should stay in a relationship out of obligation.” He approaches you and settles himself down on the vacant seat beside you. “Actually Y/N, I’m proud of you for building up the courage to let him go. It would be more painful if you forced yourself to stay.”

You purse your lips and nod, allowing yourself to enjoy the sensation of Jungkook comfortingly rubbing your back. “t’s just sad. I used to love him.”

“I know Y/N, but sometimes you just have to start living in the present instead of the past. If you respond you’re just going to give him false hope. Just let it be,” he articulates, using prudence to assuage you.

You nod, craning your head to sustain eye contact with him, making the conversation feel all the more intimate and personal, “How would you feel if you were him? I mean- if your girlfriend broke up with you and you were still like- in love- with her?”

He tilts his head, thoroughly contemplating the question because he takes your feelings seriously, and he wants to give you the right answers. “If my girlfriend loses feelings then she loses feelings, there’s nothing I can do about it. I definitely wouldn’t beg for her back, I’d go out and make a lot of money instead,” he smiles, “But I wouldn’t know how it feels. I’ve never been dumped before,” he adds.

“Seriously?” you interject, not believing that Jungkook has never been dumped in his 26 years of living. “What about that one girl you brought to Thanksgiving Dinner a few years ago? What happened to her?”

“Ahh her?” he somewhat grimaces at the thought of his ex-girlfriend, “She was getting a little too suffocating so I let her go. She was really pissed off- tried to key my car and shit,” he states.

You gasp. His ex-girlfriend was so sweet to you- she even bought you a Snorlax plush keychain. But you can imagine Jungkook trying to hold her back while she jostles out of his grip, trying to key his car- his baby. “No way? If she ever comes back, just let me know. I’ll throw hands for you,” you enunciate, showing him your fists to which Jungkook just scoffs in amusement.

“Yea, I’ll definitely call you,” he remarks sarcastically before getting up, “So are you good, baby?” he asks, casually resting his hand on your shoulder, and you nod.

“‘M good. I’m not gonna respond to him.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk up at that. “Good.”

Jungkook is livid. You can tell by the way he spam calls you even after you repeatedly reject his calls. You quietly sneak out of the lecture hall and answer his call once you’ve reached the hallway.

“What? I’m in class,” you impatiently mutter.

“You’re fucking kidding, aren’t you?” he scoffs through the phone, “I canceled your appointment, by the way.”

The color drains from your face once you realize what this is about. “He told you?”

“You’re out of your fucking mind if you thought you could go through me to get your nipples pierced! I can’t believe you thought I would let you do that!”

“Why? What’s wrong with it?” you whisper shout into his phone, “I’m an adult, I can do whatever I want!”

“No you’re not. Baby, you can’t even drink,” he reiterates, a little more calmly this time.

“Who cares? You’re not my mom! I can do whatever I want. Even if it’s through someone else!” you bark back. The silence that ensues intimidates you.

“Baby.” His voice is low, and it’s kinda hot but you don’t pay attention to it because of how angry you are at him trying to monopolize your actions.

“I’m not a fucking baby anymore so stop calling me that!”

“You’re not a baby?” Jungkook laughs lowly into the phone, as if the claim itself is ridiculous.

“‘m not.” He can practically hear your pout through the phone.

“You can’t even get on a plane by yourself.”

You gasp at Jungkook’s low blow. That was one time. A month ago, you took a flight to Vegas for EDC to meet up with Yunjin, who flew out the day before you. But you had no clue how to check your bag in, and were far too intimidated to go through the security check by yourself. What if they thought your ID was fake? Or worse what if they sent you to jail? There was just no way you could go through by yourself.

You remember the way Jungkook shook his head at your preposterous notions but nonetheless still agreed to take care of you.

So Jungkook drove you to the airport, carried your bag for you, weighed it, and checked it in. He also stood with you for the entire thirty minute wait at security and only left the airport when called and told him you were waiting at the departure gate.

You don’t respond, and he takes it as an opportunity to further his point.

“That’s what I thought. End of story. You’re not getting it done.”

He hangs up and you blissfully sigh. This literally takes feminism back 32904098 years, but you kind of love a man that can put you in your place.

Jungkook goes to the gym everyday solely so he can beat the shit out of Taehyung and Mingyu, who get off on tormenting him for his extremely complex and profound feelings for you.

Hooking up to the bluetooth speaker and blaring the sound of police sirens, going “Ayo! He’s right here, officer!” every time they walk past a policeman- they even go as far as putting handcuffs on him while he sleeps- hooting and howling in laughter when Jungkook wakes with his hands restrained.

Initially, it made his intestines twist and turn with pure guilt, guilt about harboring feelings for you, the little girl who used to prance around his room and do cartwheels in futile attempts to impress him.

His friends make him feel like shit, but they’re his friends for a reason.

“Hey, so how’s Y/N?” Mingyu casually asks, sinking into the welcoming leather of Jungkook’s sleek, black sofa. He props his feet up on Jungkook’s coffee table- mahogany brown and custom designed to suit Jungkook’s meticulous and elegant taste.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at the nonchalance of the comment, half expecting Taehyung to pop out of nowhere in policeman cosplay, ready to put him in cuffs. “Why’re you asking?”

When Mingyu detects the hostility blanketing Jungkook’s features, his jaw drops in realization of the reality of the situation. “Wait.. you don’t take us seriously when we tease you about that shit, right?”

Jungkook cocks his head in confusion, settling beside Mingyu, chopsticks in hand as he blows on his ramen. “I mean, kinda. I feel guilty about it.”

Mingyu eyes his friend for a while, and Jungkook slowly turns his head towards Mingyu when he feels lasers boring holes into his skull. “What, asshole?”

“Ah, sorry man. I didn’t know it bothered you. I kind of thought it was a given that you and Y/N are cute together. Didn’t know the age gap bothered you.”

Oh.

Jungkook pauses, setting his sizzling ramen back into the plastic container instead of into his mouth, and Mingyu feels the need to further elaborate.

“I mean, you’re always helping her out, taking care of her, that’s pretty cute.”

Jungkook blinks at Mingyu, raking his tattooed hand through his hair. “Doesn’t that just make me look like a dumbass?” he mutters, before letting out a bitter, light-hearted laughter at the reality of his assertion.

His emotions for you run deep and intricate, but one thing remains unequivocally clear: he doesn't do these things because he expects something in return. That would be selfish. Obligation doesn't factor into his decisions either. Jungkook doesn't subscribe to such motivations when it comes to his personal life. He views it as unnecessary and cumbersome—except when it involves you. Whether it's looking after you, lending you money, helping you with homework, or driving you to the airport, he does it all because he genuinely loves you.

He acknowledges the peculiarity of his natural inclination to care for you. In the past, he's ended numerous relationships due to girls he found excessively clingy, suffocating, or overbearing, all attributes he easily uses to describe you- but he lives for that shit when it comes to you.

Mingyu’s forehead wrinkles in confusion. “What? That girl loves you, Jungkook. If she does good in school and gets rich, you’d be bathing in that shit,” Mingyu jokes, causing Jungkook to sputter out laughter at the absurd thought.

“Right now though?” Mingyu continues, “She wouldn’t be able to change your tire or some shit, but she brings you this sense of peace, and that’s something every guy needs in his girl.”

Jungkook pauses at that.

Jungkook is abruptly awoken by the blaring sound of his ringtone. Groggily, he reaches for his phone on the nightstand, eyes barely open.

You, the only person that would call him at 3 in the morning, and you the only person he would answer at 3 in the morning.

Babysitting is the last word he would use to explain why he’s at your house right now. He’s at your house because, well, he would do anything for you, even if you aren’t aware of the lengths he would go to keep you satiated and happy.

He’s aware that men find you charming for your ditzy and oblivious nature, but Jungkook likes you regardless of whether or not you possess such an arbitrary trait. But it is true that there are a lot of things you aren’t aware of, like how utterly lovely you are. Jungkook knows you- sees how oblivious you are to the men who shamelessly ogle at you, or the boys who practically break their necks to get a glimpse at you.

You have this resonating effect on him. You drive him crazy and you don’t even know it.

Initially, Jungkook had never truly focused his attention on you, yet as time passed, an irresistible attraction began to pull him toward you. He vividly recalls an incident in particular that left him dumbfounded.

Jungkook’s mom visited yours to drop off some vegetable. Gifting fruits and vegetables from their gardens are the way the aunties demonstrate their love and appreciation for one another. Jungkook reckons you didn’t know he was there because you pranced down the stairs with the tiniest boy shorts and camisole top. Jungkook isn’t the type of man to become disoriented over the sight of a woman’s body, practically desensitized from all the women he’s been with, but he stiffens at your presence.

“Wow baby!” His mother giggles, using your classic nickname as she ogles you shamelessly, “You’re getting really sexy!”

She playfully nudges your mom, “Are you ready to have grandchildren?” The joke makes your mother roll her eyes, though a smile lingers on her lips, infinitely proud of her beautiful daughter.

“I wish someone would marry my daughter!” Your mom jests, “All she ever does is sleep! I just wish a man would even look her way!”

Jungkook’s eyebrows pinch in bewilderment. He knew your mother was only joking, teasing you as per usual- because clearly, you are captivatingly gorgeous. You make a sly comment in return to make his mom giggle, always so smooth and sociable with the old ladies.

Suddenly, you randomly swivel around, yelping at Jungkook’s presence. “Oh hey,” you greet, fidgeting in place, “I didn’t know you were here. Sorry- I should cover up a little.”

For the first time in his life Jungkook is speechless in front of you. You. You just look so pretty standing in front of him, your manicured fingers twirling a single strand of hair, gazing at him and gnawing your lips like he makes you nervous when in reality you make him tremble with just one look. It makes his chest tighten and he inhales deeply to compose himself.

“No. Not at all, you should be comfortable in your own home,” the smile he offers you is forced, polite, and you’re bewildered at the tension accumulating between you and him. Your eyes glint downward; you can’t even look at him, and suddenly a bold wave of impulsivity washes over you.

“Hey Jungkook, can we talk in the other room?”

Jungkook’s eyes flash towards his mother’s then rapidly back at you. Subconsciously, his eyes trace down your body and he feels like has to physically gouge his eyes out to prevent himself from looking.

“Yea, sure.”

He follows you upstairs into the guest room, taking extreme measures to keep his pupils focused on the ceiling lights above your head. However, his efforts work against him because the ceiling lights shine on you like a spotlight, illuminating your gorgeous figure as you make your way up the stairs.

Your fingers wrap around his forearm and you pull him into the room.

You waste no time getting straight to the point.“Jungkook, I think I’m pregnant.”

Jungkook blinks, processing what you just said. “Huh?”

You bite your lip anxiously, crossing your arms while you look down at your toes. “My period is late, and I don’t know what to do- you’re the only person I trust to talk about this.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to confirm the sentiment. “You can trust me with anything. I’ll always take care of you- ‘m just a little shocked because I thought you were still a virgin.”

Gasping dramatically, you pout at him and stomp your foot. “I’m not a little kid anymore.”

Yea, clearly not, he thinks. “Just act normal. After I drop my mom off at home I’ll come back with a pregnancy test.”

You nod and give him a downward smile. “Thanks- ‘m just really nervous and I hope I’m not pregnant because I don’t even remember who the dad is and-“

Jungkook frowns at that, perturbation morphing onto his features. “Y/N, you don’t remember who the dad is? Please don’t do that- only sleep with people you trust. Please.”

“I trust you.”

The words tumble from your lips immediately, before you can even process your thoughts. You clasp your hand over your mouth, a small gasp leaving your lips as you gaze up at him in pure horror.

Jungkook doesn’t know what to think- doesn’t even know if that was just a fragment of his imagination. He blinks at you, brain too fused to even conjure a proper response.

“Wait- I didn’t mean it like that!” you blurt out. At that moment, you give up on any attempt to salvage the situation and scurry out of the room, stumbling back down the stairs.

Jungkook runs his hands over his face.

He’s going to hell for the thoughts running through his mind.

Thank God you weren’t pregnant but after that night Jungkook just never looked at you as just a family friend. It’s complicated . It’s morally conflicting, and it frustrates Jungkook like nothing else.

“Hello?” he speaks into the phone

“I bled on my bed,” you sniffle into the phone, “Just please come upstairs,” you say before abruptly hanging up.

He begrudgingly rises from his bed. Though tired, he doesn’t hesitate to throw his black t-shirt over his head to look presentable for when he checks up on you. Rubbing at his eyes with his knuckles, he shoves his hands into the pockets of his black sweats as he makes his way up the stairs. He gently opens the door to see you sitting idly under your covers, clinging onto your Snorlax plushie for dear life. You’re wearing

He sits on the edge of your bed. “You ran out of pads?”

You don’t say anything, remaining stiff like an ice sculpture, not melting under Jungkook’s warm touch like you usually do.

He nods at you and gently tugs on your oversized T-shirt, urging you to get up as he sticks out his hand. “Change the sheets and I’ll go out and buy you some pads-“

“Jungkook, I'm in love with you.”

Abrupt.

Impulsive.

Messy.

But you feel like you just have to say it. With a radiant glow on your rosy cheeks, you purse your lips in a demure manner, physically unable to look at him. You have to look at Snorlax to get your words out instead.

You inhale deeply. “I’m sorry if that makes you uncomfortable, and I’m sorry if it creeps you out but I’ve always had feelings for you- and I hate you for it because I don’t think I’ll ever have the capacity to love anyone else like I love you.” With glossy eyes you finally peer at him just to see an entirely indecipherable expression- you’re not sure if it conveys shock, bewilderment, or horror but it evokes the most unsettling and humiliating sensation in the pit of your stomach.

Just as day transforms into night, humiliation morphs into anger, and anger morphs into nonsensicality. Outrage bubbles within you and you chuck the Snorlax plushie at his face.

“Fuck you! How can you treat me the way you do and expect me not to feel anything?! I emotionally cheated on my ex with you! You’re the fucking worst and I hate you. I hate you so fucking much!” Your hands frantically search for every single squishmallow, plushie, and teddy bear you have and you violently chuck your beloved squishies at him. From zero to one hundred, you’ve escalated rapidly and you feel like you’ll die if you don’t convey everything to him right now, in this moment.

Jungkook remains stoic, somewhat resembling the statue of a Greek god: handsome and stagnant, not even flinching at the impact of your squishies hitting his built body or the way you nonsensically scream at him.

“This is all your fucking fault Jungkook. You ruined my life! You ruined love for me! I’ll never get a boyfriend, never get married, never have kids because of you! I’m going to die alone and it’ll be all your fucking fault! How could you do that to me? How could you do that to me?” You erupt into sobs, pushing your face into your hands as you violently cry. Snot, tears, and saliva leak from your face as the chagrin completely consumes you.

“Y/N.” The sound of Jungkook’s deep, baritone voice is barely audible over the sounds of your heaving.

“I’m sorry Y/N.” He does sound sorry, but you can’t help but question the authenticity of his words because he didn’t do anything wrong in the first place. It’s like he’s merely uttering an apology to appease you.

But for Jungkook, he’ll apologize a million times if it helps dry your tears. He never let his pride get in the way when it comes to you.

He sits at the edge of your bed, using his finger to tilt your chin up, revealing your disheveled, snotty, and glossy face. You whimper when your vision clears and focuses on him.

He wipes your face with your own shirt, tugging up the hem to absorb your tears, still gentle and attentive. You swat his hand away. “You need to stop doing that,” you mewl, blinking more tears from your eyes.

“You need to stop crying. It makes me sad,” he retorts, passing you the same Snorlax plushie you violently launched at him. You cushion the plushie on top of your thighs and bring your knees to your chest. You inhale and exhale deeply, trying to settle from your emotional high.

“You don’t even take me seriously,” you mumble, peeking up at him.

“I always take you seriously,” Jungkook responds, “but I want you to stop crying first-

“Jungkook, kiss me,” you breathe out, “If you don’t hate me, then kiss me,” you say, your eyes fluttering shut, delusionally- as if he was about to kiss you. Instead, you feel his large palm on your head, softly caressing your hair.

“I’m not gonna kiss you. You should get some rest.” His voice is deep, calm, and composed. How can he be so normal when you’re on the brink of losing your mind?

Your face scrunches up in indignation before you erupt in tears once again, practically screaming. “Fuck you! I hate you! I hate you!”

“Y/N.” He calls your name repeatedly.

“Y/N-”

“Shut the fuck up you asshole!”

“Y/N,” his voice becomes more stern with everytime he calls your name, but you don’t let him get a word in. You keep screaming at him, calling him every name in the book of insults, shaking him off every time he goes near you.

When he attempts to sit by you, you violently push him away. “Go away! I’m not a little kid anymore! I don’t fucking need you anymore! I’m gonna be single forever because of you! If you don’t want me to be single forever then just fucking leave and never come back!”

You’re aware that your words are horrible, but the overwhelming sense of embarrassment and shame erupting in your system prevents any rational train of thoughts from developing in your mind. You’re embarrassed and devastated that Jungkook doesn’t reciprocate your feelings, and it sends you spiraling.

He attempts to calm you once more by sitting on your bed, but you push him even more violently. “Don’t fucking touch me! I’m never gonna find love because of you! Just fucking die, just leave forever if-”

He staggers on his feet, caught off balance from the force of your push, and for the first time in his life Jungkook yells at you.

“Y/N!”

Giving you no time to say or think anything, he seats himself on your makeup chair, tattooed hand gripping onto its top rail. “Y/N,” he scowls deeply at you, features blanketed in exasperation, “We’ll talk about this later, but you need to calm the fuck down. You’re hurting me when you talk like that.”

Your eyebrows furrow deeply in horror, your cheeks tear-stained and your eyes filled with sorrow. The haunting realization of what you just said settles into your system. Your quivering lips barely enunciate your words. “Kook, I’m so sorry,” you blubber out. “I shouldn’t have said that, I didn’t mean it. I promise I didn’t mean it!” You shoot up, stumbling over your own feet and collapsing onto the floor. You’re a mess. Your face glistens with a layer of your own snot, and your hair is matted and tangled, the result of the countless times you tugged at it during this interaction.

Unbeknownst to you, there's a red blotch near the lower hem of your T-shirt, and droplets of blood escape you and drip onto the floor as you stumble out of bed. Jungkook notices though, eyebrows pinching in concern as a very disturbed expression morphs on his face when you collapse to your knees, your trembling hands holding onto him for support. “I’m so sorry. Please don’t leave. Please don’t leave. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean it! It’s all my fucking fault!”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you sniffle. “I’m so sorry I said that. That was so horrible of me. Please don’t die. I’m so sorry.”

A sigh of vexation leaves his lips, but nonetheless he remains patient, compassionate towards the devastation that consumes your face. “I’m not gonna die.” He cups your face with his tattooed hand, and uses his thumb to wipe the idle tears on your face. “I forgive you. It’s okay.”

“Promise? Promise it’s okay? I’m so sorry,” you cry even more, desperately latching onto his hands, using the side of his fingers to wipe your eyes.

“It’s okay,” he confirms, tilting your head upwards before wiping your face with a makeup wipe from your vanity. “‘M really tired. I’m gonna go get your pads then I’ll be back.

You sniffle. “Okay. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” The smile he gives you is forced, and it makes you feel horrible.

He motions his head towards your bed. “Get some sleep. I’ll wake you up when I come back.”

You tiredly listen to his words, getting under your covers and holding onto your Snorlax plush. “Good night Kook.”

“Night,” he says, somewhat emotionlessly, flickering the lights off and vacating your room.

Horrible. You wake up with puffy eyes, infinite eye boogers, and an awful pit in your stomach. The memories of last night come flooding in and you immediately check your phone to see if Jungkook texted you. There’s nothing there.

Why would he want to talk to you after what you did?

You decide to send him a text message to further emphasize how sorry you are.

You throw your phone on the bed and scream into the stomach of Snorlax.

Dry. He’s being so fucking dry and it’s all your fault.

The next few weeks are spent with you attempting to redeem yourself.

You have no idea why you’re in front of Jungkook’s work, let alone with a lunchbox cake in hand. Begrudgingly, you stumble inside the tall building, awkwardly smiling when you come face to face with the sweet old security man. Jungkook’s work place is fancy as hell. Every floor of the tower hosts the office of an aristocratic company. There are even enormous, airport-esque x-ray machines stationed towards the entrance. You have to walk through a metal detector to be granted access into the building.

“Why hello, young lady! What business do you have here today?”

“Um, I have a cake for someone. H-he works at HYBE Tech Solutions.”

“Alright, go ahead and put your bag and belongings here,” he says, motioning towards the tray on the X-ray machine conveyor belt. You watch as your belongings pass through the machine and come out on the other end. Then, you step through the metal detector, holding your arms up to be properly inspected. You bid the security man goodbye and walk towards the elevator.

An ominous feeling of stupidity washes over you as you press your fingers onto the elevator buttonsYou feel stupid. You feel dumb. You feel silly. You would never do this for a man, but here you are.

You take a deep breath before you stumble in, coming face to face with the lady that works at the front desk. Your eyes settle on the badge on her blouse. Dorothy. You vaguely remember Jungkook ranting about this woman, venting about how she crossed professional and ethical boundaries- often sneakily creeping her fingers up his chest while they spoke and even going as far as to dig into the company’s database for his personal information.

You clear your throat. “Hi, how’s your day been?”

“I’m great! Thanks for asking, hun. How can I help you today?” She asks, voice bubbly and uplifting, perfect for customer service.

“Oh! Um- I have something for Jungkook. He works in the tech department.”

Her bubbly and friendly atmosphere immediately diminishes, and she raises her eyebrows at you before eyeing you conspicuously. With a vacuous expression, she picks up the landline, pressing her thin fingers into the numbers. “Hey, can you let Jungkook know that there’s a child here for him?”

You purse your lips at that, rocking back and forth on your heels. You try to avoid eye contact with this woman by looking elsewhere- pupils frantically darting to the daisies on the front desk or the grandfather clock that sits idly against the beige walls- but she’s persistently staring you down.

Thank God Jungkook appears from the end of the hallway.

He sports a light blue button up and brown slacks, a stack of papers in his tattooed hand while the other rakes through his short hair. He looks delicious as ever and clearly Dorothy agrees because she practically moans as he walks down the hallway.

“Y/N?” He narrows his eyes in your direction, confirming that it’s really you.

“Um hi Kook. I brought you something.” You use two hands to present the styrofoam box to him.

Jungkook’s eyes scan from the lunchbox to you. He places the stack of papers on the front desk before accepting the box and popping open its lid. “A cake?” he questions, and you nod shyly, fidgeting in place.

“Thanks,” he plainly says, giving you an awkward smile before his eyes dart towards Dorothy, who is intensely scrutinizing the interaction. There is tension in the atmosphere, and Dorothy’s presence isn’t helping.

He clears his throat. “You didn’t have to, you should be studying,” he says, his words a little more light-hearted this time.

You shake your head. “I wanted to do this for you. I’m sorry for last night, Koo.”

He stares at you before letting a sigh escape his lips. “t’s okay Y/N. Told you I‘m not mad. We’ll talk about this later.”

You twiddle with your fingers, your puppy eyes flickering towards him.

“Hug?” he asks, cutting the tension, tilting his head while he holds his arms open. You pout, nodding before running into his arms. He holds you tight, and whispers into the top of your head so Dorothy wouldn’t catch heed of the conversation. “You made me sad last night, you know.”

“‘I’m sorry.”

“‘It's okay. I can never be mad at you for too long,” He subtly releases you from his embrace and pinches your cheek. “Now go home, okay?”

You take a step back and offer a nod. And for some reason, Jungkook feels that you’re looking at him as if you’ll never see him again. “Enjoy your cake.”

Jungkook smiles back, waving you goodbye. You turn to the office lady, who quickly averts her eyes once you notice her blatant eavesdropping. “Thank you auntie. Have a nice day!”

Jungkook has to physically restrain himself from laughing.

A heart emoji. Butterflies erupt in your stomach at his most insignificant actions. You hold your phone to your chest and bite back a smile.

Loud music booms and vibrates through the walls of this massive mansion. There’s a huge pool, complete with a waterslide and waterfalls spilling into the pool. You’re surrounded by tons of other like-minded college kids, clad in nothing but a white lace bikini. You’re able to acknowledge that it isn’t the most tasteful outfit, but you feel good and you look good.

After jumping in the pool and violently pelting water balloons at each other (effectively scaring away all the hoes), you and Yunjin lie under a cabana mindlessly scrolling through your phones. You only look up from your phone when you sense Yunjin holding up her phone for a selfie. Jungkook would have rolled his eyes at the sight.

“Can I show you something?” you abruptly blurt out, eliciting a cynical look from your friend. “Is it bad?”

You immediately shake your head, composing your posture so you can properly show Yunjin your texts with Jungkook. Her eyes rapidly scan over the phone in moments and she shoots you a sly glance.

“So do you think?-”

“I don’t know… but I really, really, really hope that it means something. I don’t want him to see me as a little kid anymore, you know?” Bashfully, you smile at her, your demure expression a complete juxtaposition to your practically naked figure.

Yunjin cups your cheeks making your glossy lips pouty. “Y/N! You’re about to pull Jungkook!”

“I am?”

“Yes you are-”

Yunjin flinches dramatically when a harsh stream of water unexpectedly drenches you. You both whip your head to the culprit in question: Beomgyu standing directly in front of you with a massive water gun.

“You bitch!” Yunjin shoots up and runs after him with you rapidly following your partner in crime’s lead. But as you’re running towards Beomgyu (who maniacally screams and dashes), another stream hits you from the back.

The second culprit. Soobin. You sprint towards, latching your claws onto his white T-shirt him while you tug him towards the pool. “Wait Y/N! I just dried off. I’m sorry! I’m sorry!”

No mercy for this bitch.

You position yourself behind him, using your whole body to push him into the pool. Splash! You jump and squeal in excitement when he emerges from the water wiping his face with his hands. You laugh hysterically in his face, childishly pointing your finger at him, finding it even more hilarious when he gives you the stink eye. “That’s what you get, asshole!-“

You pause and shriek in horror.

Somebody just pulled on the strings of your bikini top, exposing your boobs to the entire party.

You instinctively crouch, shoving your chest into your knees.The gasp of horror that leaves Soobin’s lips mirrors yours, and he immediately springs into action, rapidly lifting himself from the pool and sprinting after whatever asshole just violated you.

“Y/N!” Your savior, Yeonjun appears in front of you, crouching to your level. He rapidly rids himself of his shirt and pulls it over your entire figure. “You’re good, you’re good,” he whispers calmly to you, trying to prevent you from having a full blown panic attack. You stand up reticently, folding your arms over your chest, eyes trained on the ground and only looking at Yeonjun’s feet to gauge which direction you’re heading in.

“You okay?” Yeonjun settles under the cabana. “That guy is such a dick,” he mutters to himself.

You nod and sink into the cushion of the outdoor-couch. “I’m so fucking embarassed.”

Attempting to salvage the situation, Yeonjun immediately shakes his head. “No, no. Nobody saw anything.” You shoot him a skeptical look, knowing damn well everybody in the party saw your bare boobs.

“Is that Jungkook?”

You immediately whip your head towards the left, and indeed Jungkook is walking your way. You can’t believe he’s real. All heads whip in his direction as he makes his way towards you. He flicks his head back to prevent hair from falling in front of his eyes, barefoot, black T-shirt, and gray shorts. He looks so handsome you can’t even comprehend it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, quicklyducking under the roof of the cabana before he positions himself in front of you. He inhales and exhales deeply, the blistering sun forming particles of sweat on his forehead.

You look up at him and your heart melts. The sheen of sweat on his face, the way his eyes fixate on you. Your heart skips a beat. You want to cry. Again. Out of embarrassment, and how emotional you become at Jungkook’s mere presence.

You bury your head into your knees, making Jungkook's eyebrows pinch. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

Yeonjun opens his mouth, hesitatingly glancing at you to confirm if telling Jungkook is okay.

You shoot up and practically catapult yourself onto Jungkook, latching onto him like a Koala. “Nothing happened,” you say, nuzzling your face into his shirt. “Come swim with me. Please.”

Jungkook sighs, using his large palm to tame your frizzy stray hairs. “Y/N. We need to go home.”

You cock your head in confusion.“Wait why?”

His voice becomes oddly stern. “Y/N. It’s important and we have to go home.”

“To your place or mine?”

“My place. Just follow me.”

You haven’t a clue as to why Jungkook is behaving so urgently, but you follow him nonetheless. You pick up your purse and give Yeonjun a quick hug, running after Jungkook who cooly breezes past everyone, not a single person missing the hot guy who suddenly showed to the party.

Jungkook opens his car door for you and allows you to step in.

“Jungkook… is something going on?”

“Yes, there is,” he says grimacing slightly, shutting the door for you before he climbs into the driver’s seat.

This nauseating anxiety bubbles inside you and sends chills up your spine, making you flinch when Jungkook closes the car door on his side. Jungkook doesn’t say anything, just looks behind his shoulder to reverse from his parking spot before zooming out of there.

“Is this because of what happened the other night?” you ask, and he glances at you quickly.

“No, it isn’t.”

“Well.. are we going to talk about it?” you push, twiddling with your fingers.

Jungkook shakes his head, noticing your trembling fingers in his peripheral view. He reaches over and puts his hand on top of yours. “Not now.”

You don’t respond, shifting in confusion.

“Here,” Jungkook starts, throwing his phone in your lap, “You can play whatever song you want.”

You purse your lips and silently nod.

Sooner or later, you arrive at Jungkook’s apartments, and he leads you up the stairs and sits you on his black leather couch.

He cups your face with both hands, caressing the apples of your cheek with his thumbs. With your eyebrows pinched, you peer into Jungkook’s eyes, conveying your confusion through your scrunched facial features.

“Y/N, before I tell you what I want to tell you, I want you to take a few breaths. Just know that I’m always here for you.”

You nod steadily, pretty facial features still crinkled in confusion.

“Y/N, your parents were in a car accident, and they didn’t make it.”

“What?”

And as the haunting realization settles into your system, all you can remember are your shrieks of terror echoing throughout his apartment and the way Jungkook holds you against his body while he wipes your tears and assuages your loud cries.

The few days that proceed are a blur, but Jungkook takes care of you and is far more attentive than he ever has been. You cling onto him like fragile glass ornament hanging from a delicate thread- like he was all you had left because he was all you had left. He was your spring solace after a harsh winter, and the way he treated you indicated as much.

Jungkook works from home so you aren’t alone. For the entire day, you sit on his bed and watch him work. You eavesdrop on his meetings, falling asleep to the sound of his voice and whenever you wake up Jungkook ensures that he feeds you, constantly worried about your inability to eat.

You’re queasy just thinking about going back to your house, so your daily and nightly attire consist of pieces from Jungkook’s wardrobe. You haven’t verbally acknowledged what has happened- not ready to talk about the death of your parents. You’re just trying to survive, and you feel like you’re barely making it.

Thankfully, all your friends and family have been extremely helpful trying to get you through your grief. Jungkook’s mother stays with you for a few days, and after that Yunjin sleeps over with you for a few days- but you know that a piece of your heart has been ruthlessly ripped form you.

“Y/N, you need to take a shower,” Jungkook expresses, obstructing your view of the TV. His toothbrush hangs from his mouth, toothpaste residue bubbling around the perimeter of his lips. You owlishly blink at him, observing how his expression hardens at your look of indifference.

You scoot towards the left end of the couch, hoping to get a clear view of Ever After High projected on his flat screen TV.

“Y/N you haven’t showered in three days,” Jungkook interjects, “Please take a shower.”

“I will. Later.”

He pushes up his glasses, staring at you with intense disapproval. “Y/N,” he says sternly, trying to be gentle despite his qualms.

You acquiesce, pouting at him. “Okay, fine. Later.”

His frown deepens. “Y/N.”

You chew on your bottom lip, deeply contemplating what Jungkook has asked of you. His large frame remains frozen in front of you. No matter how you position yourself on the couch, he renders you unable to watch the princesses prance around on the TV.

“Okay… but will you at least come with me? I don’t want to be without you.”

Jungkook pauses.

“I don’t mean like getting in with me, but will you just sit on the toilet and talk to me?” You ask, sinking into the leather of his sofa and using your sweater paws to sweep your hair back.

“Yea, I’ll do that.”

Once you step in the shower, you close the curtains, and strip yourself from your clothes, handing the pile of clothes to Jungkook. You turn on the water, yelping at the sensation on your body. Jungkook was right. You needed this and you kind of do smell like butthole.

“Wait Y/N, do you want me to go to your house and get you underwear?”

After folding up your (his) T-shirt and boxers, he notices that you haven’t been wearing any undergarments.

“No!” you call back, “I don’t want you to go there! Not yet,” you call back.

“Then do you want me to buy you some?” he responds, placing the folded clothes on the bathroom counter.

“Um, maybe we can order some on Amazon.”

“Just send me the link and I’ll place the order.”

“Okay.”

A wave of silence washes over the bathroom, and you peek your head from the shower curtain to see what Jungkook’s up to: scrolling on Instagram. On his screen is some instagram model’s bikini pic, his fingers pausing on the screen so he can look at the photo.

“Who is that?” you ask, making Jungkook jump in his seat.

“What the- Y/N, just take your shower!” Jungkook feigns annoyance but can’t help himself but scoff in amusement at how petty you can be.

“Is she prettier than me?” you ask, glaring at Jungkook with disapproval.

Jungkook purses his lips and tugs the shower curtain past your face and holds it against the wall, preventing you from peeking your pretty head past the curtain. He holds it there for a good minute, unfazed by the thrashing against the shower curtain.

Swish.

You swipe open the shower curtain from the other side. Your eyes bore into Jungkook’s and Jungkook thinks you’re foolish not to realize how alluring and sultry you are. Your bare body is akin to a sculpture of the goddess Aphrodite. Water drips from the crevices of your body and you gaze at him with anticipation etched onto your face. You’re just standing there, but your posture is so seductive- or maybe it’s just the natural curvature of your body.

“Why don’t you join me?” your sweet voice makes his Adam's apple bob in his throat.

When he doesn’t respond, your features morph into humiliation, regret consuming you. You nod your head. “Sorry Kook, I’ll just-”

“Y/N, you’re gorgeous. Any man can see how lovely you are. Honestly, you take my breath away every time I see you,” Sensing the trepidation on your face, he solidifies his claim, “I mean it Y/N. You’re beautiful, and I want to join you but I’m not going to. You’re hurting right now and I don’t want to do anything to take advantage of you.”

And he isn’t lying, he yearns for every kind of contact with you, but he’s not going to go through with this. Not when you’re traumatized from the death of your parents. Not when you’ve been so unhinged for the past week, refusing to even shower.

You stare at him for a second, dazy eyed and your eyes darting around the room. “Okay Jungkook. I’m sorry.”

He smiles sweetly at you and gently closes the shower curtain. “It’s okay Y/N. I’m gonna head to my room. You’re welcome to come visit me anytime.”

Boys’ night. Jungkook being the handsome stud he is, happens to have friends that are also handsome studs. Jungkook offered to postpone boys’ night but you declined his attempts to make you more comfortable. Jungkook has exerted so much effort to take care of you. There’s no reason for him to forgo time with his best friends. Besides, you can always hide in your room.

You crack your door open slightly ajar, peeking through the crack to spy on Jungkook and his friends. Antisocial is the perfect word to describe you.

The sound of the doorbell ringing was your cue to lock yourself in your room. Jungkook knocked a few times, but you were too scared of other people that you didn’t even grace him with a response.

Clearly Jungkook got the message because he opted to leave a greasy piece of pizza outside your door, sending you a quick text message about it.

You just wanted to scout the scene, see who was there. Mingyu, Taehyung, Jimin, and Namjoon. Soju bottles are scattered around the table, and there’s some music blaring from the TV. You’ve met everyone here a few times- they all know you, but you aren’t close with Jungkook’s friends like he is with your friends.

“Oh Y/N! Come join us!” You freeze at Mingyu’s words, and all eyes in the room whip towards your direction.

“Umm..” you close the door gently and leap into the safety of your bed.

You overhear their banter through the wooden door. “Hey! Why are you making little kids uncomfortable!” Jimin yells, slapping Mingyu on the neck.

Your lip quivers, and you inhale deeply, gathering the courage to step outside of the room. You quickly put on deodorant, and step out stealthily, taking a seat next to Namjoon on the couch. No one seems to notice you, and you tap on his shoulder. Namjoon whips his head towards you, the confusion on his face melting into fondness.

“Hi,” you squeak out, fiddling with your fingers.

“Hi Y/N,” Namjoon greets, the kindness laced in his voice assuaging the trepidation bubbling on your inside. Jungkook’s red lava lamp illuminates the room with shades of crimson, and your eyes flutter shut when a ray of light shines on your face.

“Are you okay?” Namjoon inquires, holding his hand up to shield you from the light.

“Yea, I’m fine,” you blink a few times. You don’t say anything, just awkwardly take a bite of your pizza while your eyes dart around the room.

Namjoon doesn’t seem to know what to say to you either, so the two of you just sit and eat pizza in silence. For a moment, your eyes lock. You owlishly blink at him and he blinks at you for a good minute.

But then, to your surprise, Namjoon sets his pizza down, opening his arms. Your features scrunch up, and you let yourself melt into his warm embrace, glossy tears rolling down your face.

“I’m so sorry about what happened,” he expresses, gently caressing the back of your head with his palm. You sniffle. “t’s okay,” you sob, “but I’m so sad. I don’t know what I’m going to do.”

“You’ll get through this. We’re always here for you.”

His words invoke a tornado of intense feelings in your system, and your strong facade crumbles as you become vulnerable in Jungkook’s friend’s embrace. By this point, everyone has noticed your presence, and suddenly the night becomes about you.

After wiping your tears with the back of your hand, you find yourself sitting in between Jungkook and Namjoon in a “friendship circle”. It’s quite cute that these grown men still sit criss-cross applesauce in a circle, but you’re overjoyed that you’re welcome to the group.

“I brought you a cake Y/N,” Taehyung announces, handing you a lunchbox cake. With your doe eye, you look towards him before opening the lid of the cake. A lunchbox cake with Snorlax’s face iced on the top. “Jungkook mentioned that you really liked Pokemon, so I thought you’d find this cute,” he continues, slightly trailing off. You’re Strong! Is what it reads, and you fall into pieces, your features crumpling up before you burst into tears.

Jungkook laughs in fondness at the vulnerability of your reaction, wrapping a single arm around your frame.

“Th-thank you,” you sniffle, offering Taehyung a crooked smile. “Can we eat it together? I don’t want to get f-fat.”

At that, a chorus of no’s echo through the room, and you giggle a bit.

Your heart is incredibly full. Family. Friends. People who care about you. This is something your soul desires, something your soul needs.

The night meets its unfortunate end, and you stand in front of Jungkook as you bid his friends goodbye. Before the boys walk away, you find your fingers clinging onto the hem of Jimin’s oversized shirt. Before he ventures off, he turns around and graces you with an endearing look of confusion. “What’s up?”

“Can I come with you?” you spout.

“You want to sleep over at our place?” Jimin questions, gingerly scratching the back of his head.

You shake your head steadily, “I just want to talk to you,” you clarify, gazing up at him shyly. Jimin’s eyes dart towards Jungkook’s for approval and Jungkook nods his head. “Go ahead. I’ll give you guys privacy,” he pinches your cheek affectionately before closing the door. You stand on your tiptoes, peeking through the window of the apartment to ensure that Jungkook isn’t eavesdropping.

Jimin leans against the railings, observing you carefully.

You tug on the hem of Jimin’s tee, urging him to follow you to the lobby of Jungkook’s apartment. He follows in your stead, not questioning you until your actions pause. You shift around uncomfortably for a bit, and you look up at him. Taking a deep breath, you find the courage to ask him the question that’s been lingering in the back of your mind.

“Do you think Jungkook and I could ever.. be a thing?” you finally question, shifting your weight between your feet, a crimson sheen sweeping over your cheeks.

Jimin’s eyebrows pinch, and he repeatedly opens and closes his mouth, looking for the right words to say. “Like romantically?”

Your eyes cumbersomely drift towards the painting behind Jimin. “Y-yea. I really like him, and I want him to be my boyfriend- and I know he’s attracted to me but won’t act on his feelings because of his ethical qualms,” you stutter out, pursing your lips after seeing how Jimin’s face morphs into astonishment.

“Well, I don’t think Jungkook is seeing anyone right now- but Y/N, if I’m going to be totally honest, I don’t think you and Jungkook being a romantic pair would be appropriate. I mean, he’s known you since you were a kid. Even if he does like you, I don’t think he would cross those boundaries.” he very gently explains, meticulously finding the correct wording to not hurt your feelings.

You bite your lip bitterly, sinking into the realization of his assertion. “Yea, you’re right. I don’t know. I guess it’s just a stupid crush,” you dismiss your confession with a wave and offer Jimin a shy smile.

Jimin pouts at your invalidation of your own feelings. “Don’t say that. I know you’ll find someone who cherishes and loves you. Someone you deserve,” he asserts. You smile at him, nodding before he ruffles your hair and leads you back up the stairs.

Someone you love.

Would you ever find it in yourself to love anybody that wasn’t him? Jungkook has successfully monopolized your heart, your soul, your very being.

Ping!

Tonguing his cheek, Jungkook impatiently and abruptly brakes at a red light, accelerating rapidly when the light turns green. He changes from his casual clothes to a black sleeveless shirt, loose leather pants, and a beanie. Mingyu sits on the passenger seat, frantically typing on his laptop as Jungkook zooms down the highway at record pace.

Breaking into a frat house to terrorize some dumb college kids definitely wasn’t a part of the plan tonight, but Jungkook was down for some last minute terrorism.

“So what are you gonna do? Threaten the kid? Call the cops?”Taehyung questions from the backseat, both hands gripping on the headrest of Mingyu and Jungkook’s seats.

“Look, I’m really trying to not sound corny, but I’m going to torture him,” Jungkook enunciates, which evokes a few seconds of silence.

“This bitch-”

“He’s lost his fucking mind,” Mingyu mumbles.

Jungkook laughs to himself, amused by the comments of his friends. Jungkook is an intelligent, rational person. Normally, he wouldn’t take it this far but he deems it extremely necessary for this particular situation.

“What the- now he’s creepily laughing to himself-”

“If we tell Y/N about this she’s going to be scared of you,” Mingyu abruptly comments, shooting Jungkook a pointed look.

Jungkook pauses, seemingly deeply considering the utterance of his friend, toying with his lip ring for a while he finally makes a comment. “I won’t do anything bad. I’ll just intimidate him a little.”

His friends sigh, not pressing further on the matter because Mingyu and Taehyung were pissed off too. Instead, Mingyu rolls down the windows of the car, allowing the breeze of the cool night to consume the interior of the car.

Jungkook considers this very night a milestone in your healing process. You isolated yourself in his apartment for two consecutive weeks, your grief severely limiting your social capacity and ability to normally interact with people. His friends were privy to your situation, purposely not coming to Jungkook’s home out of respect for you. But tonight, the color that reappeared in your aura overwhelmed his heart with joy.

While you were on the couch, talking to Namjoon about something, Jungkook got an alarming text from one of your friends- Yeonjun. Jungkook is cool with your friends, but not close enough to be sending private text messages, so his eyes brows pinch in concern when he sees the notification pop up from his phone.

Mingyu’s eyes drifted towards Jungkook, who was noticeably brimming with indignation. Jungkook scoffed to himself, a macabre smirk on his lips before he laughed erratically at the message. He repeatedly wiped his face with his hand, chuckling in amusement. Jungkook discreetly passed his phone to Mingyu without a word, with Taehyung looking over his shoulder, both of them gasping at the message.

This whole time, you were oblivious to the scheme Jungkook was contriving and Jungkook intended to keep it that way. You were carrying the weight of the world on your shoulders, and Jungkook would cut his limbs off to lessen that burden. The indignation and resentment bubbling within him threatens to erupt because he’s so fucking pissed off.

You’re everything to him, and the thought of you being violated makes him want to indulge in his violent impulses. He can’t imagine how you would feel knowing that video spread around, and usually he would confide with you about these things but right now he needs to sweep this under the rug and make sure it never comes back up.

Luckily, he and Mingyu both have degrees in computer engineering and know how to hack into technical infrastructures.

Jungkook pulls up to the frat house, rolling the window down steadily before he rests his elbow on the ledge of the window. He sits there for a second, toying with his lip ring while his eyes bore into the interior of the house. He’s sure he looks creepy as hell- just staring into the house.

After a few minutes of waiting in silence, some guy arises from the house and approaches the car.

Jungkook keeps his lips sealed until he’s close enough to perceive his features.

“Uh is there something yall need?” the guy asks, innocently scratching the back of his head.

“Yea,” Jungkook responds, voice firm and somewhat chilling, “Your name Josh?”

“Yea? What’s up-”

Jungkook kicks the door open, knocking Josh over until he’s rolled on the floor, clutching his leg as he shrieks in pain.

“Oh shit, are we really doing this?” Taehyung mutters before joining Jungkook outside the car.

Jungkook sits on top of Josh, continuously punching the shit out of him before he spits on the kid’s face. He uses a single hand to lift him by the collar, and violently pushes him against the car. “You mad Y/N rejected you? So you pulled that shit?” Jungkook menaces, his face centimeters away from Josh’s.

Josh whimpers, crying- too horrified to coherently respond. “I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” he pleads, tears and snot streaming down his ugly face.

“Shut the fuck up!” Jungkook repeatedly bangs Josh against the car. “I’m gonna say this shit once and I’m not going to repeat myself,” he seethes, satisfied by the way Josh whimpers and nods his head pathetically.

“You’re not shit. You’ll never ever be good enough for Y/N. You’re the same as the shit on the bottom of my shoe,” he breathes against Josh’s face, who whimpers and cries, “If I ever see you messing with Y/N ever again- I will ruin your whole life.”

Josh nods, unable to do anything else.

“Got it?” Jungkook seethes, pushing Josh’s head against the car door.

“Got it!”

“Good. We’re going inside, and you guys are going to watch us go through all of your iClouds, and we’re going to delete every single copy of the video there is, alright?”

“Yes! Yes! That’s fine! I’m sorry!”

Jungkook scoffs in amusement at his despicable demeanor, before he throws Josh on the ground and enters the house.

“I can’t believe we’re doing this,” Mingyu mumbles, following Jungkook’s lead into the house.

You anxiously wait for Jungkook to return home, absentmindedly toying with the Switch to distract from the hysterical thoughts frantically racing through your mind. You’ve done everything you could to distract yourself, your restless heart aching to do something of substance.

You’ve been isolating yourself from society for the past month simply because you can’t bring yourself to leave Jungkook’s home, as if it was your safe haven.

You dread the moment you have to return to your home, memories of your family coming to mind. You’ve been trying to avoid thinking about everything, and you reckon that it’s time to process everything. There are aspects of grief that you find unfathomable- questions you have that make you want to throw up.

What will happen to the home that holds the memories of your family within its walls? How will you assimilate back into society without your father, without your mother? You’re not confident that it will ever be the same, and your heart sinks into your stomach at the notion- but you have to be resilient; you have to face it.

It feels worse to avoid the reality of your life than to face it head on.

You’re pulled from your thoughts by the sound of the doorknob turning.

“Jungkook!” The way you call his name is breathless, and his eyebrows pinch in concern when you pounce on him. Nonetheless, he allows you to nuzzle into his embrace and he soothingly rubs your back- like he always does.

“Wasn’t gone that long,” Jungkook absentmindedly comments.

“I know- just missed you. I’m sorry for being clingy,” you murmur, to which Jungkook shakes his head at the absurdity of your words.

“Not at all. Stay here for as long as you want. I’ll take you with me wherever I go,” he adds, settling into the leather of his sofa. You shuffle after him like a cute little penguin, sitting your ass directly next to Jungkook despite the vacant empty space on your right side.

“Then am I allowed to sit next to you?”

Jungkook’s features crinkle up in amusement, nose scrunching as he laughs lightly at how cute you are. He pinches your cheek, “It’s one thousand dollars for every minute you’re within a five foot radius of me,” he comments, tone stoic and firm.

He doesn’t have to look in your direction to visualize the way your pretty lips fall open, swatting at his bicep for his cruel words. “Jungkook, I don’t have that money! You know I only have 35 cents in my bank account!”

“Okay, then go sit over there,” Your eyes follow the trail of his pointed finger, the corner of the room.

“Fine! You fucking asshole,” you mutter bitterly, jumping up from the couch and stomping away with a hmph, until Jungkook slyly wraps his hand around the circumference of your wrist and pulls you to him. You collapse onto the couch, your back against his chest, and your butt between his legs.

He clings onto you, almost suffocating you with the way he wraps his arms around you, grabbing his elbows as he locks his arms over your head. “‘M just kidding- you know that. I can’t survive without my baby either, y’know?”

Your chest erupts with butterflies, and you hold onto his forearm with both of your hands. “I know.”

The next day, you return to school. Your professors were so empathetic and understanding to the nuance and confusion of your situation, allowing you to complete your coursework from the comfort of Jungkook’s home.

Grief isn’t a linear process. Though you’ve found it in you to return to school, it’s the mundane and the typical that you’re becoming increasingly bothered by.

No one in your Philosophy class is paying attention to this movie, clearly. You can tell by the lit up screens scattered within the clusters of students, and you aren’t diligent enough to not be one of those students, doodling flowers and Snorlax’s on your paper.

For the second you do look up at the movie, your heart stops. It’s always the most mundane, irrelevant details that get to you. The scene barely occupies a minute and it makes your chest tighten in the worst way possible.

The main character walks down the wedding aisle, her arm linked with her father’s. The haunting realization settles in your system- you will never ever experience that. You begin hyperventilating, your hand crumpling the paper, and you quickly rest your forearms on the table before shoving your face into your forearms. People are already looking at you and you can’t fathom the humiliation so you stay like that until class is dismissed.

You finally lift your head, rubbing your eyes to adjust the blinding ceiling lights.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You shriek at the unexpected voice and whip your head to the left.

“Hey hey hey- I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you,” he breathes out, rolling his chair towards you before rolling back so as to not scare you further.

“No no, you’re good,” you breathe out, inhaling and exhaling to bring you down from your petrified high. “Just having a shitty day,” you explain, sweeping away the hair dried to your face by your tears.

He seems to be unable to conjure a proper response, peering at you with an empty gaze and you sink in your seat, feeling the need to further explain yourself. “Well there was that part in the movie where Emma got married, and that made me feel horrible because I recently lost my dad.. And my mom.”

“Wait, I’m sorry. You don’t have to explain yourself to me,” he articulates, “I just noticed you haven’t been in class for a while and was kinda worried when I saw you crying. I’m sorry if I pushed your boundaries.”

“You know me?”

His lips tug up in embarrassment as he gingerly scratches the back of his neck. “Well we usually sit next to each other so I thought we formed an acquaintanceship or something,” he mumbles.

“Oh I’m sorry,” you pout at him, “I usually tap out during class so I never noticed you. What’s your name by the way?” You shyly stick out your hand, and he gives you a straight lined smile before shaking your hand gently.

“Sunghoon. I-I’m really sorry for your loss by the way,” he adds, and you find his nervousness quite endearing. You shyly smile at him, and he gazes back at you with similar amity. He ever so softly pulls your wrist towards his and scribbles his number onto your forearm. “Feel free to text me if you ever need help with homework. You missed a lot of school,” he offers, and you find yourself giggling at his forth forwardness.

“Thanks Sunghoon."

When Jungkook returns from work that night, the first thing he’s met with is you shoving your boots on, seemingly ready for a vivacious night out. Your figure is adorned with a white satin slip on dress, and your hair is put up in an elegant updo. Jungkook pauses, eyes settling on your figure before scanning up to your face; he thinks this is the first time he’s seen you with makeup on since he wiped away the mascara running down your cheeks the day he broke the news.

“Hey daddy,” you purr, “Where have you been? The kids have been waiting for you,” you giggle, sliding your mini purse down your arm.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, humorously scoffing at your corny choice of words.

You giggle, skipping towards him before jumping onto him, latching around his neck before you whisper in his ear. “‘m going out with my friends, don’t wait for me to get home because I might stay the night with Yunjin.”

Jungkook stiffens, remaining frozen while you back up from him.

“So, do I look like an angel, or what?”

“Always look cute,” because despite the infesting irritation bubbling in his system, he would never not tell you how it is. You are cute, always cute, always like an angel.

“Thanks,” you giggle, skipping towards the door but before you can skip past him, he latches onto your wrist. “Wait.”

You tilt your head, slightly confused. “I bought something for you.”

He digs in his backpack and pulls it out. Nipple pasties. “You never wear a bra, so I thought you’d be safer if you put these on before you go out.”

“You were the one who said I had small tits!”

“Okay, well you still have nipples- so at least put these on to keep you safe.”

You narrow your eyes at him, but he doesn’t back down. You snatch the pasties from his hand and march into the bathroom. “Fine!”

Jungkook lounges on the couch, eyes trained on you before you bid him goodbye and skip out of his apartment. He inhales deeply to settle the erratic palpitations in his chest. He needs to stop being so protective of you.

Your arms linked with Yunjin, you skip around from one club to the next, dancing and partying your little hearts out. When the night comes to a close you prance to the local ramen shop around your campus. From a distance, you can already make out Jungkook casually speaking with his friends. He’s always so animated when he’s with his friends, dramatically gesturing and hip thrusting in the air while his friends laugh at his immature jokes. He’s got a cigarette between his pointer and middle finger, taking slow puffs, allowing the smoke to fill his lungs before he tilts his head to exhale a long plume of smoke into the atmosphere.

That’s right. Jungkook smokes occasionally but never lets you do it. What a hypocrite.

His eyes drift off for a second until they land on you, and his lips curl up in your presence.

“Well look, if it isn’t my favorite girl,” he teases, letting out low laughter at the way you crimson when all his friends’ heads whip in your direction.

You narrow your eyes at him, giving him a dirty look that Jungkook cooes at. Even when you were trying to intimidate him you akin to a cute Snorlax, so adorable, eyebrows pinched and lips pouted- how could he feel anything but adoration at that?

“Aw angel,” he jests, throwing your words right back at you, “Don’t ignore me, ‘m sorry for teasing you,” he catches you as you walk past him, pulling you towards his chest before resting his chin on top of your head.

He casually smiles at Yunjin. “How’s my angel been doing? Has she been behaving?”

Yunjin’s jaw drops at the bold statement and you attempt to wrestle out of his firm embrace to berate him.

Just kidding. It’s getting late, though. Do you girls need a ride home?” he asks, finally letting you go just for you to stumble out of his grip and almost land on your face, but luckily Jungkook pulls your shoulders back without even looking in your direction.

“Jungkook, it’s literally 10,” you deadpan.

“Oh c’mon, I don’t want you girls to get kidnapped or something,” he snarkily responds.

“How about you give us some money instead?” Yunjin jests, clearly joking, but Jungkook takes it so, so seriously. He raises a brow at both of you. “How much do you need?”

“Wait no- I was kidding,” Yunjin quickly clarifies, her ears becoming slightly red, “you don’t have to..”

Jungkook looks from you to her, then back at you before whipping out his phone, taking another puff of his cigarette before blowing the smoke upwards, careful so you don’t inhale any smoke.

Ping!

Your eyebrows pinch in confusion when you get a notification, and you unzip your mini purse to grab your phone, allowing the screenlight to illuminate your pretty features.

JEON JUNGKOOK HAS TRANSFERRED YOU 500 DOLLARS VIA HYBETRANSFER.

“250 each, alright?” Jungkook laughs, taking another puff of his cigarette before he saunters off, his friends pushing him around and teasing him.

“Ayo, when did Jeon turn into a sugar daddy?”

You and Yunjin are left dumbfounded, even more so when Jungkook turns around and makes kissy lips at you.

You fall to your knees.

The next morning is the weekend.

You absentmindedly chomp on your cereal, eyes still crusty and mind still hazy from the morning daze. Jungkook arises from his bedroom, hair still messy and sticking out in various directions- but he still looks as handsome as ever, the tired and morning glow suiting him wondrously.

“So, I’m planning a trip with my friends at the beach. We’ll stay in an AirBnb. You wanna come with?”

You pause, features crinkling up in confusion. “Which friends? The ones from last night or Mingyu and them?”

“Mingyu, Tae, Jimin, Namjoon,” he counts off, before shrugging, “I already planned to take you with me so it’s not like you have a choice anyways.”

You scoff to yourself in amusement. “Aren’t you being too forceful?”

Jungkook narrows his eyes and graces you with a look of skepticism. “So you don’t want to go? or..”

“No!” you rapidly interject as you shoot up, clearing your throat and regaining your composure at the way Jungkook smirks at you.

You settle back into your seat. “I do want to go,” you exhale, “but do I have to pay for my own room or something? I’m broke.”

“Oh, I was just gonna have you stay in my room,” Jungkook responds, trailing off as he tries to detect any trace of apprehension on your features, “Is that alright with you?”

You don’t even realize you’re holding your breath until you breathlessly exhale. “That’s perfect.”

So that’s how you found yourself at the beach, in nothing but your black bikini, prancing around the waves with Taehyung.

“Jungkook watch!” you call as you swivel around towards Jungkook, who’s applying sunscreen to his legs, not really paying attention to what you were doing.

You stand in front of the upcoming wave, holding your arms out as if you were going to embrace the wave. “I’m going to stand against the wave!”

At that, Jungkook whips his head upwards, eyebrows pinching in worry as he shoots up. “Tae! Get her! She’s gonna get swept in by-“

And on cue, the wave collapses over you and you tumble into the unwelcoming water. “Motherfuck-“ You thrash and scream, powerless against the unforgiving currents until a pair strong arms pull you from your armpits and drags you to the sand.

“Holy shit Y/N, are you alright?” Taehyung asks, crouching beside you as he pats your back, allowing you to cough the water up.

“Y/N that was so dumb,” you hear Jungkook’s voice as he approaches you, crouching beside you as he hands you his black steel water bottle. “Take a sip,” he urges, and you nod shakily, grasping the bottle with both hands before you take a sip from it.

“I’m okay. Thanks for saving me Taehyung,” you smile at him and he releases a sigh of relief. “You scared the shit out of us!”

You gulp down the water and close the cap, returning his bottle to him. “Sorry, I won’t do that again, but can we get back to playing now?” you smile as you playfully fling a ball of wet sand at Jungkook.

Jungkook closes his eyes on impact, scoffing in amusement before he grabs you by your legs, signalling Taehyung to grab your arms before they both lift you and run into the ocean.

Jungkook waits outside your shared room, knuckles softly knocking on the wooden door. A towel loosely wrapped around his lower waist, water drips from every crevice on his body, but he can’t enter until you’re done changing.

“Oki! I’m done!” you call out, opening the door for him, a towel in your hand as you use it to scrunch up your damp hair.

“Wow. You’re really muscular,” you giggle, fingers hovering over his abs before you look up at him for approval to feel, to which he gently pushes your head aside and waltzes into the room.

When he’s done changing he beckons you back to the room, and you plop in the king sized bed, belly down and legs swinging back and forth in the air.

Jungkook lies down beside you, resting his head on the pillow as he scrolls aimlessly on his phone, only looking over when he hears your ringtone go off.

You answer the call almost immediately.

“Oh hey Sunghoon!” you greet, shooting up from the bed to touch up your appearance in the facetime camera.

Sunghoon. Jungkook knows all your friends and he hasn’t heard that name before.

“Hey Y/N, how’s your vacation going?” Sunghoon asks, and you take a seat at the desk, propping your phone up against the wall. You twirl an idle piece of hair around your fingers. “It’s really fun here, I feel great,” you explain, “so what’s up?”

“You look like you’re having fun- wait, is there someone in the room with you?”

You rapidly turn around and look at Jungkook, then tilt your phone at an angle where he isn’t visible. “Oh, he’s just a family friend, do you want me to go somewhere more private?”

“Oh no that’s cool, I was just wondering but I called to ask you about the homework…”

A family friend? Jungkook scowls at that. Wordlessly, he breezes past you and exits the room, closing the door and sits next to Jimin on the couch.

Jimin takes a few moments to acknowledge Jungkook’s presence. “Hey, is there anything going on between you and Y/N?” Jimin finally asks, eyebrows furrowing in concern when he perceives Jungkook’s sour face.

Jungkook pauses. “Why are you asking?”

Jimin shrugs. “I don’t know. Don’t you know she has a crush on you? Isn’t it inappropriate for you two to be sharing a room?” Jimin continues, nudging Jungkook with his elbow.

At that, Jungkook buries his face into his palms. He’s let this go on for far too long. “I know,” Jungkook murmurs, voice projection muffled by his hands.

“You know? The other day she asked me if it was possible between you two and I straight up told her that you wouldn’t go for it.”

Jungkook remains wordless at that, and he thinks he’s developed an idea of the reality of the situation.

Jungkook was too scared to address the subject with you; he let it linger for far too long. He didn’t want to burden you with anything else besides what you already had on your plate, and you got in your head about it. He never explicitly stated that he more than reciprocates your feelings, leaving you dangling on a string.

He’s going to fix that.

“No Jimin, that’s not it,” Jungkook clarifies, wiping his face with his palms. “I like her too, and I’m going to tell her tonight,” he states firmly, slightly craning his head to gauge Jimin’s reaction. His reaction isn’t what Jungkook expected. Instead of a look of concern, worry, or horror, Jimin looks over the moon.

“Well shit! I wish I knew that before! You guys look perfect together!” he exclaims before eagerly patting Jungkook on the back.

Jungkook raises his eyebrows at his friend. “Really? Don't you think I should wait a little longer? Until she's ready?”, to which Jimin simply shakes his head.

“Y/N's an adult. She can handle herself. I thought you wouldn't go for it because of the age gap, though. I guess I shouldn't have told her that," he says gingerly, scratching the back of his head. ”Sorry Kook."

Jungkook doesn't say anything, seemingly in deep contemplation. "It used to bother me,” Jungkook clarifies, "but it doesn't anymore."

“So what’s wrong with it?"

That’s right. There is nothing wrong with it.

A cool night on the beach. You feel the cool breeze through your air, the lunar radiance of the moon illuminating the beach. You’re adorned in a lovely, summer-esque two piece set with floral patterns running along the fabric, The top piece is cropped and strapless, exposing your collar bones and belly button piercing, and the bottom piece is a long, flowy skirt that blows marvelously against the wind.

You gingerly step outside the beach house, enjoying the cool sensation of the night breeze. The guys are all hanging out in the yard, soju bottles and beer cans scattered on the wooden benches positioned on the beach. Namjoon and Jimin are posted up on the benches, chowing down on meat whilst engaging in pretty animated conversation. You spot Mingyu and Taehyung running around the beach, slapping each other and chasing after each other, their dirty heels slipping against the coarse sand.

Jungkook is stationed at the grill, frying meat for his friends. His tall and built figure is concealed by his loose black T-shirt and black sweat shorts that you have worn a few times during your extended stay at his place.

You creep up behind him, swiping away the stray hairs that the wind blew into your face. Tapping him lightly on the back, you coyly skmile at him, a bashful glow illuminating your face.

Jungkook sensed your presence the moment stepped foot from the house, but still acts like it’s the first time he’s ever seen you. He does a double take, eyes scanning up and down your face and body- you look so lovely and elegant in your little two piece set. “Hey,” Jungkook finally returns your greeting, a little breathless.

“Can I have some?” you ask, pointing to the grill.

“Uh yea, I actually made a plate for you a second ago,” Jungkook takes the prepared plate of your favorite meats, but pauses before he hands it to you. He hasn’t a clue if you’re doing this on purpose, but you’re looking at him with the sultriest of eyes, and it drives him crazy. His Adam’s Apple bobs in his throat, and he collects himself before handing you the plate.

You tilt your head, sending him a look of confusion at his hesitance, but Jungkook sees it as a gateway to talk to you. “Y/N, can we talk? Like now?” Jungkook asks, rubbing at the nape of his neck.

“Sure, what about?” you solicit, setting the plate on the table.

Jungkook immediately shoves his hands in his pockets, and motions his head towards the beach, obliging you to follow him. “About what you told me at your house..” he trails off, “that one time in the middle of the night,” he adds.

He perceives the way your features morph into embarrassment, so he decides to take the lead on this conversation. He approaches you, standing beside you momentarily before smoothly lacing his fingers through yours. “Let’s go.”

Unable to conjure a proper response, you follow his footsteps in silence until your bodies appear as distant figures by the ocean. With your toes kissing the water washing up on shore, he turns back to look at you, fingers still intertwined. But you stop him before he can open his mouth.

“Wait- Jungkook. Let me explain myself first,” you begin, thankful that the night sky conceals the obvious bashful glow on your cheeks.

Jungkook who is seemingly expressionless nods his head, signaling you to let your words out.

You gently pull your hand from his, twiddling with your fingers before you can speak. “Firstly, I just wanna apologize.. to you,” you begin, ignoring the way his nose scrunches in confusion, “I feel like you’ve been so good to me- you always take care of me. Your family is the only family I have left,” you continue, bashfully tucking an idle strand of hair behind your ear.

“So I’m sorry for forcing myself on you, and I’m sorry for mistaking your care towards me as romantic affection,” you continue, subconsciously gesticulating with your hands. “I know you said you don’t like it when girls are clingy but I’ve been nothing but clingy, and you still take care of me and care about me.” Your words are passionate, and they’re true. “Everyone told me that a relationship with you would be inappropriate.. but I was too persistent and too selfish. I’m so sorry Kook. You must’ve been so shocked when I yelled at you and when I.. opened that shower curtain,” you finish, shaking your head in embarrassment.

When you finally complete the sentiment, you tilt your head upwards to gauge his reaction. His eyebrows pinch in confusion, and his mouth is slightly agape. “What?” he asks breathlessly, eyebrows pinching even further. He runs a tired hand over his face. “Y/N- just- I can’t believe you said that. Y/N, I love you. And I don’t care if you’re clingy, and I don’t care what anybody else thinks of us.”

You gasp at his words, a profound sense of emotion absolutely overwhelming you.

“What I care about is what you think of me, and whether you’re happy,” His fingers find yours, and he holds your hand and looks right into your eyes to properly convey his sincerity. “Y/N, I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner. You were just going through so much shit and I didn’t know if you were in the right headspace or if you were even serious about how you felt for me-”

He stops when you yank your hands away from him, using the back of your hands to wipe the tears streaming down your face. The shapes of his eyes turn into little crescents, petrified at your reactions. He removes your hands from your face, holding your wrists.

“Y/N, don’t cry. Please say something.”

“Jungkook, it’s too late. I-I don’t think I can do this- with you- I mean,” is all you’re able to say and Jungkook’s chest tightens impossibly.

His heart drops to your stomach, a crestfallen expression morphing onto his handsome features. “I-is that how you really feel?”

Another tear streams down your face and Jungkook itches to wipe it but suppresses that urge.

“I love you Jungkook. I do. I really do!” you cry out, “But I can’t date you, ever. I never want to lose you,” you sob between sniffles. “I’ve made up my mind. I’m sure of it!”

The situation is bitterly ironic. Jungkook spent months tiptoeing around his feelings, your feelings, because he wanted to ensure he was what you wanted. Even when you blatantly threw yourself at him, he made the conscious decision to not pursue you. He spent months deciding your feelings for you- and now you’re telling him you don’t want him and he can’t do anything but accept it.

“Y/N, you’ll never lose me. I’ll always be here. Even if you change your mind.. I’ll always be here.”

“Jungkook, I lost my whole family. You’re all I have left,” you explain, trailing off a little bit, “If I lose you then I have nobody.”

“No, I swear- Y/N, you’re it for me, and I mean it.”

You sniffle, wiping your cheeks, eyes, and nose once more. “What- hiccup- does that mean?”

“It means… whatever you want it to mean,” he concludes.

“Jungkook…” you trail off, “Don’t wait for me. If you find a girl you like, then you should go for her. All I want is for you to be happy. It’s what you deserve,” you offer him a soft smile, a direct juxtaposition to your tear stained cheeks.

His chest tightens at that and he shakes his head. “You’ll always be my priority. Me? I’ve dated enough girls, I can be single for the rest of my life.”

You immediately swat his chest at the sentiment. “No, Jungkook. You should be with someone who takes care of you, not someone you have to take care of all the time. I’ll just always be your family friend who had a stupid crush on you in college.” Your attempt to lighten the atmosphere is futile and makes Jungkook’s scowl deepen.

“You’re more than that to me. You’ll always be.” His hand latches onto yours, and you pull yourself from him.

“No Jungkook.. I’ve made up my mind. I really don’t think we could ever…” When your voice breaks and more tears accumulate in your waterline, Jungkook stops you, not wanting to cause you any more pain.

“I got it, Y/N. But just know I’ll always be here… in any way you’ll take me.”

READ PART 2 HERE

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Text

petal plush’d

Daryl Dixon x Reader

Summary:

Sinnedenoderum: Floral Species - When inhaled by human beings it has psychoactive properties as well as acting on the nervous and vascular systems. Often causes a lack of inhibitions and desire or delusion of the need for sexual intercourse. In some cases will cause tumecense in individuals affected.

Setting: Season 2, the farm.

Warnings; dub-con (reader is willing but daryl doesn’t ask), drugging (sex pollen, without consent/forcefully), size!kink, panty sniffing, oral (m and f), unprotected piv, mentions of vomit (no one actually vomits), rough sex, swelling genitalia, poorly written SMUT, no plot just VIBES (sex pollen vibes)

Word Count: 3k

A/n: heed the tags y’all. Enter at your own risk. This is more idea/concept than good prose so; sorry if it’s written like dogshit.

18+ mdni.

masterlist

Daryl should know better. Everyone who ever known anything up in the mountains knew you don’t smell the purple flowers. Daryl shouldn’t be wasting any time smelling any flowers. Supposed to be out hunting. But nah, had to stop and do it. After all there was a whole damn bush of ‘em. How could he not?

Honestly, he’d probably already been influenced by the time he kneeled down and took a big inhale. The spores already creeping in and taking hold of him. As soon as he does it, he stands up straight as an arrow. A mission. A need. An ache.

He stalks back to camp, handful of flowers and spores that he’s tracking all through the forest. This is how they spread. This is how they used the human species to populate.

He’s over by the tents, blinking back into reality as he unzips yours. He doesn’t know it’s yours, doesn’t care. Doesn’t matter. His brain is reset - back to zero. Back to puberty and being so horny he could fucking die and he’s going to find a pair of used underwear and he’s going to put it in his fucking mouth. His ears are pounding, he’s never felt dirtier. His cock rock hard and killing him.

Your few pairs of dirty panties are hidden in a ball in the bottom of your backpack and they are honestly disgusting. Just exactly how Daryl likes them. Worn maybe a few days, and when you were working in the sun. Sweaty and salty and tangy and delicious. His saliva bringing the taste back to life on his tongue, his eyes roll back into his head.

He’s an animal. On all fours in your half unzipped tent with a wad of soiled underwear in his mouth. Hand shooting down his pants to touch himself but it doesn’t feel like anything.

Nah, he should know better. Knew it wouldn’t. Knew he either had to ride it out or find a girl. But now he knew he had to find whoever these belonged to. This fuckin’ taste. He needed you.

He quickly scours the tent for a clue as to whose tent it is. Coming across some silly charm bracelet he’s seen you wear and a few notebooks he’s definitely seen you writing in.

Daryl exits the tent with a bit more hesitancy, his heart pounding even harder. Part of his brain fighting back against what he knew this flower was about to make him do to you.

This is how they spread.

He comes across you alone on the far edge of the field hanging laundry on the line, almost hidden in the tall grass that edged the property, grateful that he didn’t have to face anyone else like this. His hand covers his hard dick in his pants before he calls out to you, “Hey!”

You jump, not realizing anyone had been out here with you, wondering how long he’d been standing there. You give him a once over and realize something’s wrong, he’s out of breath and looks like he’s in pain. “Hey!” You call back, continuing to hang clothes, “What’s going on?”

You put your hand up to shield the sun as you make eye contact with him. He’s standing there with his hand over his mouth, slumped shoulders, other hand loosely over his crotch - before he starts walking toward you. Feet scraping against the grass as he stalks over.

“Gonna need yer help w’somethin’.” He shouts, finally getting close enough to speak at a normal volume; to see him without squinting your eyes in the sun.

He’s flushed, his heart racing. You can tell just by looking at him that whatever he needed help with, you didn’t want to be involved. You assumed it was something like hard labor. Or walking far somewhere. And you were enjoying the mendacity of hanging the laundry on the line. It was serene. "I'm kinda busy, can't someone else help you?"

"Naw, s'gotta be you." He replies quickly, his voice almost dancing up your neck. His moves are deliberate as he positions himself behind you, one hand grazing the skin on your shoulder before pulling it right across your body. Crossed across your chest, he whispers even deeper into your ear, "These're yers, righ'?" He asks gruffly while pulling his arm up and into a light chokehold, elbow crooked around your neck, his whole body pressed into you. Your eyes shoot wide while he holds up a pair of your used panties with an extended arm directly in your line of sight. The light stain clear as day, you're more mortified than confused. His grip gets tighter, "They are, ain't they?" his heavy breaths moving your hair as he speaks into your ear.

You nod, cautiously, curiously. "Mmhmm"

As he pulls the panties close to your face you see the soft purple colors of a flower - and then you smell it. On top of your own scent there is a light delicate unmistakeable floral smell. Daryl’s holding the flower inside the panties, shoving them both forcefully in your face. “Don’ be shy, com’awn.” He grunts, without taking his arm from your neck he removes the flower to put the panties back up to his own face. He maneuvers you slightly in his grip and shoves the flower back into your nose. Both of you taking deep breaths in. You don’t have time to wonder what the hell is going on before it hits you. Daryl’s inside his head screaming at himself, but he can’t stop. He doesn’t know he wouldn’t have to use some flower to get with you. Or that you’d probably have done this willingly.

You don’t have time to think about it. You don’t care.

You’re overtaken. Set to zero. This insatiable need; you look over at him, gnawing at the light stain right in the center, and it fills you with desire. He tears himself away to see if it had worked yet. Your dilated pupils in the midday sun were an instant give-away. He pulls you fifteen feet towards the tall grass and shoves you backwards, you land on your ass and your elbows but even that pressure and shock vibrates through your body like a dull orgasm.

Your heads swimming, you’re fucking drowning in it. Daryl’s between your legs and pulling your panties off of you as fast as all of this seemingly has happened, his tongue covered in saliva like he’s fucking drooling for it. He needs you, now. To taste that fuckin’ juice right from the tap. He dives into you nose first, parting your lips harshly for his rough tongue, he’s not trying to please you. He’s trying to eat you alive. He’s never been hungrier.

There’s a thought prickling in your subconscious; you know the flower is what did this to both of you. Looking down your body, his tongue on your cunt is starting to become way too sensitive, you realize your pussy is swelling. Engorged, puffy, and honestly adorable. Daryl seems to like it, licking along the glossy wet skin more slowly. Taking your swollen lips in his mouth and swirling his tongue all around them. The sensation vibrating inside of you only reminding you of how hollow you feel. “Daryl-!” You choke out, he grunts into you in response.

“Put that fat cock down my throat already.” Your eyes go wide at your own words, you can’t imagine ever saying that; and yet it slips right out of your mouth like you’d never been more confident in your whole life. It is what you wanted. But…damn. It was like every dirty thing your subconscious ever wanted was pushing it’s way through and to the surface. It’s on your skin, it’s in your thoughts, it’s bursting out of your fuckin’ soul.

When Daryl hears your words it sparks something inside him too. Reignites a desire long lost to actual experience. Something he’d always wanted to try but never could. He was going to fuck your face until you threw up all over his cock. He smiles, kissing up your leg, “Ya wanna choke on it, huh?”

Your eyes roll back as you feel him move from between your legs, shuffling through the tall grass to kneel beside you. Daryl gazes down at your body, your skin sunkissed and flushing and perfect, everything seemed brighter. Like you were fuckin sparklin’ in the sunshine. He’s not expecting his cock to be just as swollen as your pussy was, but jesus christ. It almost makes him lose his balance, he’s never seen himself look so big. It turns him on that much more. He can’t take it, your mouth just inches away and drooling for it.

Your cheeks immediately burn at the entrance of his engorged member. Spit rocketing out the sides of your mouth around him as your breath quickens. He pushes himself deeper into you. poking at the back of your throat and you gag. He doesn’t care, you don’t care. He drives himself in and out of your mouth with no abandon, like he’d never been able to do before. Always too scared, too ashamed, too embarrassed. Never able to take the back of the girls head and just force her down on him. Exactly everything he’s doing to you now. And you love it. Your eyes sting with tears, and you’re gagging and spitting up thick strings of saliva and mucus, and you can hardly breathe. Daryl’s looking down at you, thinking to himself that he’s never seen someone look more fuckin’ beautiful. “Takin’ ma cock like such a good slut, hm?”

You look up at him, mouth stuffed full. As he speaks your eyes flutter closed, nothing's ever sounded hotter. It seeps into you and shakes your core. Daryl pulls his hips back, hands in your hair and pumps long purposeful strokes into the back of your throat while he continues praising you, “So. Fuckin’. Good. Fer me.” Each grunt another rough assault on your mouth.

Your jaw was starting to seize up, your cheeks completely abused. Your tears turning to real ones, whines at the back of your throat. Snot bubbling out of your nose as you try to breathe.

Daryl doesn’t notice but he stops anyway, pulling himself out of your mouth, his cock bouncing proudly as he makes his way between your legs again.

He’d looked down and over you, taken one look at that puffy pussy, jiggling in the sunlight, and the flower took him over. No thoughts left in his head; no more perverse diversions, just the need to empty inside of you. To fill you full.

You close your eyes and wait as you feel him push through your folds, kissing the head of his cock with your sensitive clit a few times before dipping himself inside of you. His swollen head pushing your walls apart is an agonizingly delicious burn. Slowly inching himself inside, he can’t fucking breathe you’re so fucking tight.

Every part of you pulsates with extra blood, so sensitive and juicy and perfect. As he starts to pull out, you can feel your pussy being pulled back with it. The size and girth of him creating a suction inside of you, it pulls him back in. Daryl groans deeply at the feeling and begins to reposition himself

Grabbing your legs and pushing your knees up toward your head, your hips angled directly to the sky as he plunges long deep strokes into you. Your pussy pulling up with his cock every time he pulls out. You can see him pulling and pushing with every thrust, your lips coming to meet his shaft and swallowing him again.

“Fuckin’ made for ma’ cock, huh?” He takes one hand off the back of your thigh and holds himself at the base, rubbing himself back and forth through your folds harshly. Watching the plump skin jiggle around his cock. He’s never seen anything like it, so full and perfect and so fucking hot. He almost gets lost in it, fucking up and into your tumescent lips, but you want him inside again. You’d never felt so full in your life.

You buck your hips up into him and he gets the message, burying himself inside of you slowly and to the hilt. He pulls himself out of you again, even slower. Both of you just feeling as every vein and bulge is suctioned tight to your walls as he moves.

You both seem to drone into this feeling. Him slowly sliding in and out of you, both of you watching as your pussy contracts around him - until you start moving to meet his hips, wanting him even deeper.

Daryl sits up and repositions you both again, his thick calloused digits moving over your skin so gently in comparison to this whole experience. Pushing your legs, and repositioning your hips so that you’re face down in front of him. Can’t fuckin’ wait to feel that grip from behind. He knows he’s done for the second you arch your back and push yourself back into him. He’d hardly got the tip in before you were bottoming yourself out ontop of him. As you slowly pull yourself off he watches your asshole puff out, his cock head pushing it out from the inside. Fuck, he can’t even move. Just letting you ride him from underneath, watching your asshole push out and around his cock from inside your fucking body. Holy fuckin’ goddamn shit.

You milk his cock with your pussy until you can feel him swelling even more. You slow down to give him back control, to let him use you however he wants. Daryl takes one hand on each hip and pushes you flush with the ground. His thumbs spreading you apart so he can watch his cock drive into you as he finishes. He’s doesn’t know it yet but he’s going to think about how good your cunt swallowed him every time he cums for years - it’s the most intense orgasm he’s ever had in his life.

Pulling your hips back against him with such force his fingernails dig into your skin, your gasping out screams as he fucks into you so deeply you forget how to breathe. You can feel every single twitch of his cock as it pulsates his load inside of you.

But you were still aching. He slumps over ontop of you, his sweat kissed forehead dropping to your shoulder, as if reading your mind he asks you sweetly, “What do you need?”

“Suck on my tits.” You rasp out, not needing even a moment to think about it. Your nipples had been screaming for attention this whole time. He grunts a smile into the skin of your shoulder before flipping you over on your back again. Moving out from between your legs he kneels on the ground beside your sprawled out body. He moves his hand swiftly over the top of your dress and yanks it down, your nipples just as puffy and swollen as your pussy. Even though the effects of the flower are wearing off Daryl can’t help but salivate again at the sight. He dips his head down to your chest, licking into your nipple, pushing it around inside his mouth. You lose it. The tight tension in your belly unraveling and twisting itself into every part of you. Your hand shoots down between your legs to play with your clit but Daryl pulls it away and replaces it with his own.

His warm rough fingers circle your sensitive bundle of nerves so gently, you’re dissolving against his touch. Climbing inside and up the steep hill to the top of your orgasm. His lips still tightly sucking on your breast, one hand between your legs, and the other pulling on your other nipple harshly. Your body feels so ruined, so pulled and prodded apart, destroyed against the force of the flower through the arms of a man. It cascades through your cunt like you’re expecting, but you’ve never felt an orgasm that tore through the nerves in your nipples as well. Like every place he’s attached to you explodes all at once. Screaming into the open air while it rips through your body. Pussy to fingertips to toes and back again, a shaking mess underneath of him.

Daryl didn’t have time to feel the post-nut shame, not with you to take care of. But you feel it. The prickly grass on your skin like small reminders of the dirty things you’d said, you’d done with him. The way he’d seen your body, the way it reacted to him.

His voice cuts through, as he’s putting himself away and back into his pants, “Shit, sorry I made ya do all that. It’s the damn flower…” he doesn’t even know how to explain, how to begin to apologize for what he’d just done to you. How he’d violated you.

“No,” you scramble, blushing, “I liked it. I mean-“ you cough, standing up and dusting yourself off, “I know the flower made me really like it. But, I would have… liked it anyway.”

Daryl observes you getting awkward and stumbling over your words, it makes him feel less like a super fucking predator. He takes a few big strides to stand close to you again, leaning down and kissing your forehead. He touches his thumb to your lips, “Cuz yer fuckin’ made fer me.” He means it. Your scent, the way you fit around him, the way you took his cock so perfectly. Fuckin’ made for him.

“Don’chya got somethin’ yer s’possed ta be doin’, girlie?” He tugs on some of your hair before slapping your ass and making his way back to the tents. Leaving you to gather yourself and finishing hanging clothes. Going back to tell everyone the bad news that he didn’t hunt anything today. ‘Cept a pretty girl and her womb.

He left that part out. And no one believed him about the flower when he tried to warn them it was in the woods close by. Just an old Appalachian wives tale. Sure.

a/n: had this idea swimming for a few days, had a few parts written. Blasted it out in a few hours and I didn’t really proofread it but I feel like this is NO PLOT JUST VIBES.

#daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #twd daryl #daryl dixon smut #daryl fanfiction #the walking dead daryl #daryl dixon imagine #daryl dixon x female reader #daryl dixon x reader #daryl dixon x y/n #daryl dixon x you

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