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tetsuskei · 2 months

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synopsis: when a coworker brings their baby to work, that sets off the gears in kuroo's head to have some of your own

notes: first installment of oh, baby! repost from my old blog, with some editing done. please enjoy!

warnings: mentions of kids, unprotected sex, praise, body worship, cock warming, kuroo is horny on an astronomical level

interactions and reblogs are appreciated!

at first, everything is innocent. tetsurō knows his coworker only means well. but tetsurō should've expected that when ‘bring your child to work day’ came at the jva, that he'd encounter at least one infant.

his coworker asks him if he wants to hold their baby after catching him stare at the small child in awe. the resemblance between coworker and child clearly evident. he's so amazed at how strong genetics could be.

then tetsurō wondered how strong his own genetics would be when it came to your children.

to recall back, the conversation of children came up briefly between the two of you. you both decided that it would be logical to wait a little while before trying to have any. kuroo was focused on building up his career and so were you. you just wanted to have your priorities straight and be responsible. nothing's wrong with that, right?

and so the conversation had been left with a pin in it and you both moved on in life. you would question when to have children later.

when holding the child in his arms, kuroo only panicks for a moment (were babies always this small?) before the child naturally curls up into his chest. their tiny hand grabs ahold of his (ridiculously) large pinky before continuing to sleep soundly. they even coo with joy.

"they seem to really like you!" his coworker laughs. "you seem to be a natural with kids!"

tetsurō only crinkles his nose in confusion but he can't help the fluttering in his chest at those words. "i'm not really doing anything but holding them."

they laugh again and nod with understanding. "sure, but you seem to be the type to make a great father, kuroo-san. you're a good person. very patient and understanding. by the way, when do you and the missus plan to have kids?"

and so having been asked the question sent him on a spiral.

by the time he's asked, several years have passed since your first conversation about kids. both you and him are financially stable. you're both lucky enough to live comfortably, and you're both happy where you are in your careers. most importantly, you're both married.

honestly, just the thought of being married to you and having a little family turns kuroo on too much. but he wants to have a family that's better than the broken one he had growing up. the best thing he can do for his kids is show them a healthy and long lasting relationship with their mother. and god does he know he can do that. he loves you so damn much his heart aches. he'll walk across fire for you, and the best part is that he knows you'll do the same for him.

the man isn't really present for the rest of the day, having to be called out during a meeting for being unfocused, and eventually sent home after he lies and says he isn't feeling well. and it's partially true, because now that he knows he wants kids, he feels an empty hole in his chest almost as if a part of him is missing.

and if being 'sick' means trying to conceal the boner in his slacks, then so be it. he doesn't want to relieve himself of his problem, no. not when the only thing on his mind is cumming inside of you raw.

tetsurō comes home to the smell of your cooking, his second favorite scent right after you. just seeing you makes him crazy. he'd been thinking about putting a baby in you all day. his hands itching to get started.

you haven't seen him yet, but tetsurō doesn't waste anymore time. he simply eyes you intently, taking time to admire you and all the soft curves of your backside. your perfect ass. you feel the warmth of him before seeing him and that's enough to startle you.

a small gasp leaves your mouth as you look up at him surprised before a honeyed smile appears on your face. a smile that's only reserved for him. "hi! you're home earlier than usual."

he returns your greeting with a grin. "hi beautiful, how was your day?" he tugs you into his grasp. lean arms encasing you in his hold as he rests his chin on top of your head and massages your hips.

hips he knows that will bare his children.

"it was good tetsu, are you hungry? i'm finishing up dinner now, and we can talk about your day." you respond, focus retuned to the stove in front of you.

he has to admit, the food smells delicious, but he's hungry for something else this evening. and unfortunately he'll have to endure an earful from you later about letting the food get cold, but he doesn't mean any harm. he just has priorities.

he hums, turning you fully towards him. his eyes lower and become stuck on your stomach. brain stuck on the thought of you being round with his child. you would look so cute pregnant. your breast would be filled with milk, too. maybe you'll let him taste—

"'ro?" you voice snaps him from his thoughts. you try to make eye contact with him and he only smiles, not registering a single thing you just said. his large hands take your face in his hold and you feel his calloused fingers run over your cheeks before he kisses your nose and then all over your face.

"tetsurō, what's gotten into you?" you giggle. you didn't mind his affection, don't get it wrong, but there was something oddly...intense about the way he's acting that you know something is up.

the ravenette seems to contemplate his thoughts, carefully reeling over the words in his mind. "i just thought that...maybe we should start...tryin', that's all." he mumbles, mouth pressing kisses all over your skin. you shiver at his touch, at the way his scent and body crowd in on your space.

ah, there it is.

your cheeks heat up, and you know exactly what he means. his words always slur slightly when he's turned on, almost like he's delirious or hooked on lust.

that paired with his cock poking your backside through his slacks.

tetsurō only continues. "today my co-worker brought in the cutest little baby i'd ever seen. looked just like 'em, too. i didn't really understand how children could make someone so happy...but i'm startin' to." he explains, tugging off your pants and underwear in one fell swoop, the cold air hitting your folds makes you jump.

you swallow nervously, "tetsu—"

"made me realize how cute our kids could—will be. they'd be the cutest in the world, i'm sure. wonder if they'd have my eyes and your smile. and hopefully they'll inherit your hair or else we'll be in trouble." he laughs before he undoes his tie, then his shirt, and tosses the garments somewhere on the floor. his belt is undone next and he's quick to unfasten his pants.

you eyes widen, and your heart fastens at the mental image of a tiny child in your arms, the spitting image of you and kuroo.

your husband pauses again, his brows knitted in thought. "do you think...that i can be a good father? for our kids?" he leans his forehead against yours and closes his eyes for a moment as he must be pondering the very question.

“of course.” you nod slowly. "i don't think so, i know so. you'll be great with our kids, tetsu." you answer, running your fingers along his jaw.

"yeah?" he breathes, pulling down his pants along with his boxers. "do you still want some?" he moves your body so that you're sitting safely on the counter away from everything else.

"w-with you? yes..." you answer, voice getting caught in your throat as he prods his fat tip at your entrance. you're already soaked enough that you know he can just...slide right in.

kuroo's breathing becomes extremely labored and his gaze darkens at your words. his single strand of restraint is being pulled taut. "then can we? can we start trying, sweets?" his hands are groping at your chest and hips, and he riles himself up the longer he touches you without relief.

you barely say 'yes' before he pushes himself into you, his jaw going slack as he is enveloped by you, cunt warm and inviting and gummy walls pleasurable beyond means.

his eyes glass over and he's completely enamored by the fact that he can be this close to you. that you trust him to hold you like he is now.

you look up at him with near helplessness as his grip on your legs doesn't loosen up. the stretch of him never is something you think you can get used to, as you feel yourself struggle to adjust to his size. the heavy and thick fullness of his cock is intense. you can feel how it throbs with need.

"do you think—" he moans as your cunt drags over his cock, sucking him in more, "that they're going to be interested in volleyball?" he lets his tip kiss your cervix and you keen, causing a groan to escape his mouth. "you think they're gonna be a middle blocker like me?"

"are you really asking me that right now?" you sigh, fingers frantically gripping the counter beneath you. you move your hips against him and hope that will shut him up.

spoiler, it doesn't. "why not—fuck, just like that baby—it's a genuine question." he buries his face in the side of your neck, and the smell of your lavender soap invades his senses before his teeth choose to bite and scrape at your skin.

"you're such a volleyball nerd, tetsu." you laugh but soon moan as both of your hips move synchronously. "when are you not thinking about it?"

he huffs out a laugh, pressing a kiss to your temple as he presses you further into the kitchen counter. his lips linger against your skin before you felt them curve into a smile. "when i'm busy thinking 'bout your cute self, which is definitely more than volleyball."

you tried to formulate a response but only a refined moan escapes your lips again as kuroo pounds you. the sound of skin on skin filters out any remaining thoughts you had.

"you don't understand how crazy i've been goin' today." he grunts, nearly delirious in the way you cream on him so well. he can already feel himself twitch with the need to cum but as much as he wants to, he wants this moment to last a bit longer. he can't cum before you.

one of his hands lace with your own as he regards you. "been thinking about all the different ways to get you pregnant. of all the cute little maternity outfits you'll wear. of me taking care of you when you get tired and your feet ache. you're going to look so pretty carrying our baby, sweetheart."

he's rambling and you're not even sure if he's talking to you or if he's talking directly to your womb. but his words alone are enough to bring you to your first orgasm, pussy clamping down hard on his cock.

"jesus christ," he groans, struggling to keep composure, "it's like your cunt is trying to suck the life out of me."

you only whimper, legs quivering in a way you didn't know they could as you slip them tighter around his waist. with the way kuroo is bullying your insides he just might be successful at his agenda of getting you pregnant tonight.

he moves your legs over his shoulders, laying you down so your back is pressed against the cold surface of the marble counter. the new angle he decides to rut in you at causes you to cry out in surprise.

"so perfect, so pretty like this split on my cock. gonna be even prettier filled with my cum." his head bows so that he can kiss you and you eagerly meet his lips, the taste of him comforting, addicting, and familiar all at once.

he brings one hand down to your clit, moving his fingers methodically over your bundle of nerves as he coos and encourages you to cum again.

"tetsu, please," you whine, "you feel so good, wanna have your babies." the need and anticipation of getting your husbands cum is starting to make you frustrated yet needy all at the same time. yet the way he's making you feel right now makes you want this moment to last forever.

he must sense what you're feeling and hums, kissing you again sweetly. "oh you're not understandin' me princess," he breathes, hips moving in an animalistic way. "i'm gonna have you knocked up by the end of tonight. that's a promise."

"you promise?" you look up at him with doe eyes, mouth parted as little moans still escape you.

he'd give you the world if you asked. he'd pluck the sun from the sky, too. when he presses his forehead to yours he only professes his love to you like he's saying his vows for the first time. he can feel the tightening of his balls and burning pit in his abdomen as his release creeps up on him.

and when he pinches your bundle of nerves, you cum again for a second time. your eyes roll back in your head and your nails dig deeply into the muscle of his broad shoulders.

tetsurō nearly doubles over when his orgasm follows, and he spills thick, white cords of cum into you. his golden eyes look at you and you swear he cums just a little more from the eye contact you two hold. the hard throbbing and pulsing warmth he provides you makes you clench around him again, a feeling of wholeness and elation when you're finally full of him.

you're both incredibly still for a moment and you just hold each other. he sits you up with regard, and you brush back his sweaty fringe. his large hands massage your muscles before he carefully carries you to your shared bedroom.

he sits down and you realize you're both still very connected.

"t-tetsu!" you grab onto him, eyes widening as your taken by surprised at the new angle.

"fuck..." he hisses.

there's something sensitive in the way he moves inside of you, and you're not sure if that has to do with his cum inside of you or your cunt trying to hold in every drop.

kuroo always liked the notion of kissing your ring finger, because it reminded him that the two of you are joined—united. you start to speak but he does before you can even formulate the words.

"i hope you don't think we're done here." he murmurs, and by the twitch of his cock you know he's serious. him and his damned stamina. exhausted, you only shift your trembling hips to prepare for more.

it's looking to be a long night.

and so it's not surprising when several weeks pass by and when said coworker asks him again about kids, he proudly shows them the ultrasound photo hidden away in his wallet.

he only hopes that after baby number 1 you won't mind more.

taglist (send an ask to be added): @boosyboo9206 @milkteeboba @kodzukenmaaa @honeybleed

#kuroo x reader #kuroo tetsurou smut #kuroo smut #kuroo tetsurō x reader #hq kuroo #kuroo tetsurou x reader #haikyuu kuroo #hq x reader #hq smut #haikyuu smut #haikyuu x reader

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yawnderu · 2 months

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Final Girl — Slasher!Keegan P. Russ x Reader (2/?)

cw: stalking, noncon. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment.

"Are you listening?" The man in front of you asks the moment your gaze starts to drift off for the third time since you arrived at the office.

"Sorry. What did you say?" The dark circles around your eyes make you resemble a raccoon more than a human, the memories of your friends dying and their blood splattered all around the pale wallpapers. Images of nature that were supposed to be remembered as calming do the exact opposite, forever engraved in your broken psyche.

"Do you remember anything about the suspect?" The detective's voice is calm, laced with nothing but pure understanding and compassion, a man too passionate about what he does— and the man you're about to lie to, delaying the investigation of your friend's death just to save your own ass.

"Nothing other than what I've told you, sir. Everything is just so..." The pregnant pause makes him fidget with the pen in his hand, grey eyes focused on the way you look away from him, eyes squinting as you try to recall memories from that night, memories that are so painful he can see it written all over your face, making him feel a pang of guilt.

"It's okay. Call me if you remember anything else, yeah?" His warm hand rests on your shoulder after you get up, trying his best to give you a reassuring smile that is only met with weary eyes, making your way out without saying anything. There's hesitation in your steps, your heart almost beating out of your chest the moment you stop walking and look over your shoulder, briefly meeting his curious gaze.

“He had brown eyes.” Mr. Smith doesn't waste any time on adding the information to his notes, only making the guilt spread all over your insides like black mold, taking over what used to be your soul— it's all his now.

Your life was never meant to be a punishment, yet what do you call seeing the man who killed your friends everywhere you go? He's been taking over your entire life no matter how much you try to push the memories away, no matter how much you try to forget it all happened, only serving as a constant reminder that you didn't do enough.

Dreams colliding with reality isn't something new, yet your nightmares are so realistic that it almost feels like you were there. Even while you were hidden away in a dark closet, you can see your friends struggling against the much bigger, armed man, innocent bodies butchered while they were alive, a mess of limbs spread all over the rented cabin, blank eyes always staring at you, watching you run away and leave them behind.

Were you losing your mind? It all seems so real, to the point you're not even convinced you only saw your best friend die. Are you sure you didn't peek the kitchen the moment you cowardly decided to escape? The kitchen was blocked by a wall, and yet.

Cold water splashes all over your face, feeling the softness of your palm rub the skin, trying to come back to reality, to remind yourself that it's impossible to have seen the other bodies. The crime scene report is repeated over and over like a mantra, serving as a permanent reminder that you weren't there. No, not when only a body was found in the living room.

The person looking back at you in the mirror is a far cry from who you used to be. The dark circles in your eyes resemble more a dead girl walking than a real, healthy body, and perhaps that's what you are. If it weren't for the constant feeling of crippling dread and the tears spilling down your cheeks like a broken dam, you could've fooled a mortician.

The sound of your phone vibrating against the vanity brings you back to reality from your trip to Self-Pity Land, slapping some more water on your sweaty face before deciding to take a peek at the screen.

1:38 PM.

From: Ali💗

Almost there.

It's enough to make you scurry around the room, applying enough makeup to not make your friend worry, knowing that she wanted to get you out of the house just to give you a worthy distraction.

For what seems like the first time in forever, the corners of your lips tilt up into a smile the moment your friend wraps her arms around you, holding you close despite the odd stares you're getting from the people in the diner.

“Hey, you.” Her cheerfulness was contagious, to the point that even if only for a second, you get a sense of normalcy. A sense of community, despite your own feelings about the entire situation.

Your friend can talk for two. Something that you never noticed until now, listening to her ramble about anything and everything for the past hour. In a way, it gave you the chance to dissociate in peace, the words mixing together to the point they barely made sense anymore, completely entering one ear and leaving the other.

“He's looking at you.” Alina says in a teasing whisper, nudging you with her elbow. You give her a confused glance until she looks between the man and you, giving you the look.

Your gaze connects with a pair of baby blue eyes, forcing a sharp pain to cut through your soul. His eyes look too familiar, resembling the pair you see every single day in your nightmares. His entire demeanor screams ''cocky bastard'', manspreading on the seat of the table across from you, his arm propped up on the backrest.

“Awful timing, but I have to go.” Alina says with a small frown, though it quickly changes to a little smug smirk the moment she realizes the man is still looking at you. If she even notices your pleading gaze, it goes completely ignored as she gets up from the booth, giving you a strong, goodbye hug— and the stare from the man makes it clear that it might be the last one.

“Get some.” She teases in a whisper, quickly making her way out of the diner after paying for your drinks. You feel the urge to empty your stomach, yet there's barely anything there, only the slow-growing sense of pure dread the longer you keep staring at each other. Even when you force yourself to look away, you can see him staring at you from the corner of your eye, almost able to tell he has a shit-eating grin plastered on his face.

Leaving a halfway done drink behind, you make your way out of the diner, hoping that being out with more witnesses can save you. Is that really him? You barely got the chance to see his eyes yet you never saw his face, starting to doubt yourself the longer your tired feet drag you around the street. He could be an innocent man falling victim of your trauma, simply looking to get laid— you could probably use that, too, yet his icy stare and cocky grin is carved into your damaged mind.

“Need a ride?” A deep, gravely voice offers, nearly giving you a heart attack the moment your eyes meet his. Your hand goes up to your chest, trying to calm your fast-beating heart even when he gives you a reassuring, charming smile.

“No, thank you.” Your tone is far too polite and kind, still wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt despite the fight or flight screaming at you to flee— to get away from the man you're now convinced is the same masked man who murdered your friends.

“Get in the fucking car, princess.”

The charming smile he was shooting your way is gone within a second, his icy gaze piercing through your soul now that he knows you saw through his bullshit. Your gaze drifts down to the hand lifting a part of his shirt up, revealing part of his dark, happy trail— and his handgun.

There's hesitation in your steps as you walk to the passenger's seat, already feeling the smoothie you drank starting to crawl up your throat, almost making you throw it all up, yet you do your best to hold it in, shakily getting into his car.

“… My house's up ahead.” You purposely give him the wrong address, trying to protect your family and yourself from the deranged bastard. The ride is eerily quiet, almost making you even more nervous than if he was trying to make conversation with you. There's no music playing, no humming— nothing, other than his fingers tapping against the steering wheel and his calm breathing.

“We're here.” Maybe you're reading him wrong, but there's hints of teasing bleeding through his deep voice, his eyes shining with mirth when you step out of his truck, making your way to one of the houses. You reach the front door after what feels like minutes, your hand shaking as you think of what to do. You can hear the engine of his car still behind you, not driving away even when you told him that's your home.

I don't want anyone else to die because of me. If someone opens the door, would he murder them too? He has a gun, and the way he brutalized your friends makes it clear that he's not afraid to get his hands dirty no matter the weapon. His loud laugh makes every single muscle in your body tense up, hesitantly looking back at him, the pure amusement dancing all over his face doesn't ease your fears in the slightest.

“Come back, sweetheart. I'll take you home.” And he stays true to his word, driving back in silence, his warm hand resting on your bare thigh. You don't dare look at it, simply staring out of the window, feeling every single callus on his hand while the scenery gets more and more familiar. The black mold in your soul spreads by the second, threatening to rot you from the inside out, bubbling up into a disgusting brew as he stops in front of your house.

Your eyes briefly meet his, his pupils starting to dilate the same way they did when he was done brutalizing your friends; just like a predator who has never failed to catch his prey. You never gave him your address— in fact, you didn't say a single word since you got back into his truck, yet he still found his way to your house.

It's all starting to make sense. Despite assuming it's all a product of your paranoia, you've been catching hints of the masked man everywhere you go, blue eyes always staring right into your soul.

“Not gonna invite me over for some coffee?” Technically, it is a question, yet you both know saying no to him is not even on the table.

“Sure… I can make you a coffee.” Perhaps inviting a serial killer is not the brightest idea, yet what other options do you even have? He knows where you live and the places you frequent, you're not safe anywhere. His hand drifts down to the small of your back as you open the entrance door, hesitantly letting him back into the only safe space you had, willingly allowing him to invade your life.

“Atta girl.” What should feel like praise from an older man only serves as additional mental torture, the sound of the door closing behind you making all hope of surviving him fade away.

“Come sit on my lap.” He walks to the living room as if it's his own home, not even asking for directions, simply being able to navigate his way around like he's been here before— deep inside, you know he has. Your nose starts to sting as he sits down on the couch and forces you to straddle him, your thighs around his, allowing you to feel all the muscle.

“Don't cry…” He taunts, only now making you aware of the hot tears dripping down your cheeks, your lips trembling as he pushes you closer by the ass, pressing your clothed cunt against his hardening dick. His face is buried on he crook of your neck, loudly inhaling your scent as his starts to grind against you, calloused hands roaming all over your pretty body.

“Wanna feel my cock?” The vigorous head shake you give him is enough to make him laugh, open-mouthed kisses planted all over your neck and shoulders, not caring about leaving any marks. You can barely register the sound of his zipper coming down until he's guiding your hand to his warm, hardening dick.

You're too shaky to even do anything about it, disgust and nervousness turning into a dangerous mix, yet Keegan is a patient man. A patient man who gently makes your fingers wrap around his shaft, guiding your movements to jerk him off, getting even harder underneath your touch. Low grunts and muffled moans are spilled right into your ear, clearly getting off despite your very clear fear.

“You're doing so good, princess…” He murmurs. Keegan's free hand starts to sneak his way inside your shirt, slipping past your bra, his thumb brushing past your hardening nipple. Your brain is able to recognize that fight or flight aren't options anymore, so just like a wild animal trying to avoid a fight; you freeze.

Your shaky breaths mingle together, only interrupted by the low groans he lets out, his hand leaving yours for the first time, leaving you unsure of what to do. Despite the tears falling down your cheeks and the muffled whimpers, your hand keeps moving up and down his shaft, not wanting to die by his dirty, blood-tainted hands.

Keegan's mind isn't broken enough to not know it's wrong, yet it has been broken enough to the point he simply doesn't care. Thrown away by his brothers in arms and the marines, he doesn't have anything else to lose. No life purpose, other than to bring others the same pain he has suffered for years.

A quiet whimper escapes your lips as he moves your hand away from his cock, using his tip to move your underwear aside. His free hand goes to the back of your head, encouraging you to hide your pretty, tear-stained face on the crook of his neck, fully muffling your cries the moment he penetrates you. His dick is way too thick for his own good— stretching you open forcefully, despite the way he's actually going out of his way to make it as painless as possible.

“Shh, it's okay, kid. Just enjoy it.” He whispers into your ear, running a reassuring hand up and down your back, starting to move inside you, as if what he's doing could be even remotely enjoyable. A low, throaty moan makes its way out of his lips the moment he manages to bottom out, your body responding to the forced intrusion by getting you wet, not able to register that you don't want it.

Breaking you apart is the closest thing to religion he's ever gotten. Keegan's lips crash against yours as his hips start to thrust up faster and deeper, growing more desperate by the second despite how wrong he knows it is. He shouldn't be enjoying this, yet he's just a broken, terrible man, the little sobs leaving your lips only making him fuck into you harder.

The human body works in odd, awful ways. You don't want this, yet every single nerve inside your cunt is being stimulated by his long shaft, sending signals to your body that make it feel much better after you got wet. The small moan that gets ripped out from your throat makes him break away from the kiss, amusement written all over his face.

Keegan's forehead leans against yours as his hips rock against yours, his breath hot against your face. From this position, you're able to examine his face, taking note of as many details as possible in case he decides to let you leave, no matter how slim the chances are.

Thick, black eyebrows, buzzcut, dark scruff covering his pale cheeks. High cheekbones, light blue eyes, no visible scars or moles.

You repeat it inside your head like a mantra, trying to use it as a replacement to keep your head occupied from the knot starting to tense in your stomach, tightening up more and more with each thrust. You know for a fact you're hating this, yet your body is betraying you, coating his cock with slick.

He pulls out only to slam himself back in, dragging more pathetic moans out of your lips the moment he hits your spongy cervix. The stimulation is enough to make you hide your face on the warm crook of his neck, biting your thumb hard to muffle your own sounds the moment you start tightening up around him, finally giving in to the stimulation.

Your teeth sink deeper into your skin despite the small whiny moan escaping your lips the moment your forced orgasm hits, barely conscious enough to register the cocky laugh above you, feeling his lips connect against your temple, his breath hot on your skin as he manages to pull out, shooting ropes of thick cum all over your stomach.

“See? It wasn't that bad, was it, princess?” You collapse against him with a loud exhale, not able to hold it together anymore.

“Why…?” It's all you can ask, and you're not even sure about the reason you're asking why. Why did he kill your friends? Why did he let you live? Why is he stalking you? Why did he force himself on you? Why is he caressing your body like you're made of glass, as if he didn't just destroy you into thousands of shards?

“Because I'm not right in the head anymore.”

Taglist: @h0ney-mushroom @bangtandaze @elentiyaiswriting @lollycotton @sleepydang @billiousserpent As always, thank you so much @moosch for the amazing art!! 💗💗 world-building with her has been so fucking exciting and I'm happy to finally be writing about Slasher!Keegan after we've been talking about it for months!!<333

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yelena-belovas-gun · 3 months

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Overworked (Natasha Romanoff)

Summary: You end up working a little too much.

Natasha Romanoff x fem!engineer!reader

Warnings: Overworking, tension, stress, anxiety, sickness, fever.

Requested by the following bao bun: @splat-tasha

Translations: 1. Detka: baby 2. Malyshka: baby girl 3. Dorogoy: darling 4. Moya lyubov: my love

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Honestly, working with S.H.I.E.L.D was very well paying, well-rewarding, and worth all the effort you put into it. You loved building things for the agents, coming up with new designs for weapons and bringing them up from graphite on paper into metal on gunpowder.

Natasha had to admit, though...you overdid it sometimes. You'd sometimes lose days of sleep over some new variation of a weapon, or while repairing a broken jet. Now, the bags under your eyes had pretty much become your personal accessory.

"Detka, please, don't overwork yourself..." she'd mutter against your hair as she cuddled your tired body after you'd finally let yourself rest.

"I won't, darling, I swear..." you'd mumble, but it would end up being a lie within the next two days, maximum.

This time, it went a little too far.

The entire day, you'd shown small signs that you were slowly falling sick from the amount you were working. Starting with your sudden loss of appetite, to blinking for a few seconds longer than any normal person would deem healthy.

"L/n, I need this ray gun fixed, asap," one of the agents said, handing you the said weapon. You shook your head to clear your foggy senses and nodded, taking it.

Later that day, Fury called you to his office and described a new kind of weapon they'd need for a stealth mission, and of course, you agreed to have the prototype ready within three days.

"Hey, Y/n, can you fix my pistols?" Maria asked you after that interaction, handing you a box. "For some reason, the safety isn't coming on on either of them since my niece messed with them, and I cannot have guns without a safety lock in the house..."

"N-no issue, Keya..." you mumbled, addressing her by the wrong name in your tiredness.

"Keya?" she raised a brow.

"Shit, sorry, I meant Maria..." you apologised, embarrassed. "I'm a bit tired, sorry. I'll have the guns fixed by tomorrow, no issue."

She smiled and thanked you, walking away.

You continued to walk around and work like a corpse, and felt the need for several cups of very strong coffee throughout the course of the day.

Natasha felt her gut telling her something was wrong, and decided to go and check on you.

And thank every merciful god that she did.

You were a mess, your workshop was like a hurricane hit it and it then got ransacked by an army of wild cats.

Nuts and bolts littered the floor, pages were scattered across two worktables joined together, grease stained the floor, and a concerning number of coffee cups were strewn around.

She heard the buzzing of a soldering iron and saw you at a worktable which had some of the surface visible. Your hands, which were normally so steady, were trembling, and you looked like you wanted to pass out as you fixed the safety lock of Maria's guns.

You got a phone call, and didn't notice Nat as you answered it, putting it on speaker.

"Hey, Y/n, it's Phil. Coulson," came the voice from the other line. "So, um, I know you fixed my car earlier this week, but I got into a bit of a scuffle...the engine's not starting up and I think I screwed up the oil tank while I was at it cause this bugger won't fill up at all."

You exhaled heavily, putting a grease-stained, and shockingly blistered hand to your forehead, making another black mark appear on your skin. "I'll come over tomorrow to look at it, Dave."

"...Dave? What the hell?" His voice sounded confused and irritated, making you click your tongue in annoyance and sigh.

"I'm sorry, that's the thirdtimetoday..." you muddled your words together as well, making him as you to repeat. "I said it's the third time I've messed up someone's name."

"No problem, just can you fix it?" He asked.

"Yeah," you bade him goodbye and cut the call, going over to your whiteboard, where an array of tasks and their deadlines were listed out.

Natasha was horrified to see how many of them were marked for each day.

"Y/n, what the fuck?" Natasha gasped, seeing your hand shake and seeing you screw up Phil's name spelling on the board thrice.

You turned around and gripped the edge of a chair for support. You had a headache, and now were too dizzy to stand.

"O-oh...h-hi, Tasha..." you smiled at her.

"Don't you 'hi Tasha' me, idiot!" She stormed over to you, but nevertheless took your greasy hand in hers tenderly. "Detka, you are so overworked..." she felt how cold your hands were and immediately checked your temperature.

Fever.

"And you have a fever!" She gasped, "Why didn't you tell me you were sick!?"

"I'm not sick...am I?" Your eyes widened as you looked at the board, panicking. "No, no, no, I can't fall sick! I have so many things to give by tomorrow!"

"Y/n," Natasha's voice was scarily firm as she held you in place, forcing you to look into her eyes. "I am taking you home, and you will rest, or else."

"But Tasha..." you whined, but she was having non of it.

"Moya lyubov, moya dorogoya," she sighed, petting your hair and speaking as if you were a five year old, "You need rest, otherwise you'll fall sicker. Now, go and wait in the car."

"...yes, Tasha..." you mumbled like a five year old, and walked off.

Natasha was like an angry mama bear as she stormed into Nick Fury's office.

"Nicholas Fury, how dare you run Y/n to such levels of exhaustion that she's fallen sick!" She exclaimed, seething. "She has a fever, she is literally stumbling around and surviving on unhealthy amounts of caffeine, and is mixing up people's names! How dare you treat her like a machine! she fixes machines, doesn't mean she is one!"

Fury sighed and remained calm in the face of the livid assassin. "Please, tell Y/n to keep her projects on hold, and that she has nothing to worry about because we will pay for this sick leave. Happy?"

"Very. Now if I ever see this happen again, I will commit murder, and it will be yours." She turned on her heel and stalked off, back to the car where you were.

She got into the driver's seat and kept you nicely warm in her jacket, till you both got home.

"Now, malyshka, please rest," she kissed your forehead and smiled after she'd tucked you into bed.

"Thank you, Tasha..." you mumbled. she lay beside you and gently stroked your hair, stopping after you fell asleep, and cuddled you to recovery.

Maybe overworking had it's own perks...

THE END.

#natasha romanoff #shield #natasha romanoff x reader #femreader #engineer!y/n #wlw #bisexual #lesbian

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loveemagicpeace · 10 months

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🪽Juno & Your Soulmate🪽

🎸Juno in Aries- you can get someone who is intense, fiery, brave, sporty, funny and who is bold. Someone who has his own way. They might even be a bit aggressive but this is only because they care so much. Your soulmate won't be afraid to create limitless electricity with you. You need someone you can look up to and respect, and who challenges you to go beyond your comfort zone when it comes to reaching your dreams. You want to be the first in your partner’s life.

🪴Juno in Taurus- you can get someone who is stable, serious, old school, has his own value, maybe someone who has money and material things are important to him. Someone with whom you will feel safe. They'll provide you with grounding energy so that you never have to worry where you stand. This Juno sign wants to feel emotionally and financially secure in a partnership. You also want your partner to be physically attractive.

🍸Juno in Gemini- you can get someone who has a very developed communication and mindset. Someone who knows a lot and who talks a lot. Someone who likes to multitask and is creative. Your soulmate will be an endless open book for you to read. Intellectual stimulation is a major focus in the relationship. Also u may have a multiple marriages or committed relationships.

🍰Juno in Cancer- you can get someone who is caring, compassionate, emotional. Someone who values family and family life. Someone who will show you the emotional path and with whom you can enjoy at home. Juno here does not make compromises and when their trust is broken it can change the dynamic of the relationship.

🍓Juno in Leo- you can get someone who is proud, charismatic, strong and fights for what he wants. Someone who will do a lot for you and put you first. Someone who will always have a child in him (maybe even a person who will be childish). Someone who will know how to have fun and find joy in things. Your soulmate will be a ceaseless source of excitement. You want someone to match your vibe and energy.

🦋Juno in Virgo- you can get someone who will be organized, have a healthy life or take care of their body, a person who will take care of you & do a lot for you. Someone who will be practical and fun at the same time. Your soulmate is a hard worker and they motivate you to better yourself every day. They lovingly critique you and help you understand what needs to be done in order to reach your fullest potential.

🩷Juno in Libra- you can get someone who will be very beautiful and put a lot of effort into their appearance. A person who will be charming, attractive. They show you beauty, they care about beauty, and fill you with it every day. You should find a partner that respects, admires, and wants a long-term vision with you. Your partner is often drawn to art and they often make art themselves, too.

🌠Juno in Scoprio- you can get someone who will be intense, passionate, emotional, jealous, possessive. Maybe someone who will help you discover your dark side or deal with it. Someone who has a lot of depth to him. You are their whole world and they get off on that intensity. Your soulmate will never fail to be a thunderstorm of devotion.

🧚🏼‍♀️Juno in Sagittarius- you can get someone who will be brave, optimistic, adventurist, adventurer. Someone who will bring meaning and wisdom into your life. Someone who will change your view of the world and teach you a lot. Your soulmate will make you feel like you're on a magic carpet ride. What they truly desire is to have someone that can keep up with their thought process and adventurous spirit.

🪽Juno in Capricorn- you can get someone who will be famous or have a role in the public eye. Someone who will be hardworking, mature and know a lot. You admire their courage and tenacity. A partner who gives in to their weaknesses rather than being strong will leave you feeling restless and lethargic. Your soulmate, instead, inspires you to try harder. A loyal, caring and devoted partner will win your heart.

🌱Juno in Aquarius- you can get someone who will be different from others. Someone who will be free, rebellious and have a different view than the rest. They always have an intelligent opinion you value and together, you want to save the world. A partner who doesn't care enough to do that, who would rather go through life without making a difference, will infuriate you. Your soulmate will be your hero. Your partner needs to respect your boundaries.

🐚Juno in Pisces- you can get someone who will be spiritual, imaginative, dreamy, fantasy, compassionate. They're forgiving, understanding, and they'll nurture and encourage your emotional depth. A person who will bring you a lot of peace and good energy. Your soulmate will grow wings with you and together, you'll fly away.

🫧Comment if you want juno in houses🫧

-Rebekah🌙🍓🧚🏼‍♀️

#astrology #energy #zodiac signs #planets #juno speaks #juno in signs #love #realtionship #soulmates

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rizsu · 6 months

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you're married to geto suguru, yet you plan to kill him. interesting, right? truth be told; you despise suguru. you loathe his touch, hate his voice, detest his entire person as a whole. you never loved him — it was simply just toleration.

suguru... he's a decent husband, at most. he gives you money — which is most important — he buys you gifts, he's home, at least. suguru gives you everything but himself. you cried for his touch, he never gave it. you begged for his presence, he said he had pressing business to attend to. he's the best but worst fucking husband ever.

it's not only his negligence, it's him slowly replacing you with someone else. slowly, but surely, you've noticed that another person has been consuming your presence, wringing you dry of the little authority you had within the geto residence. at first, it bothered you to the core. every time you spoke to suguru about these concerns, your voice echoed through the walls like a broken record. in one ear and out the other; heard but not listened.

your tears dropped, yet to him it did nothing but cause a wet mess. he'd always sigh, feeling guilty to leave you spiraling in your emotions. "don't cry, love," he'd say, whispering sweet nothings in your head. he'd bring you to his chest, completely swallowing you in his hold. his fingers would caress your body, reminding you that you're a geto, you're apart of him now. you're not alone. only the foolish marionette will melt in its master's dull words. once the marionette was you, twice is what it won't be.

the honeymoon phase wilted, what's left is nothing short of two adults tied together by a piece of paper. a liar is what you refuse to be. if anyone may ask, you will not lie. it's true, your heart feels heavy. you miss the suguru you met as naive teenagers, you miss the suguru who loved you from the moon and back. unfortunately, what comes must go. you've grown tired of being the sole one who reminds him about anniversaries and birthdays.

his effort to maintain the marriage no longer exists. his attraction to the mistress heightens every week. it hurts, yes, but you're numb to it. hell be damned you've become the forgotten wife but never will you ever be the wife who allows her cheating husband to be.

no, never. they won't get a laugh out of you — they won't get the last say. the blame glazes over both, yet it soaks suguru more. as a married man, he should've known better than to entertain a mere lady's lust to him. now comes his price to pay, and soon she will pay hers. a circus that walks together, dies together.

it's never easy planning a murder. you don't want to get caught — prison isn't somewhere you'd want to be. the easiest and most effiecent way to ensure suguru's death will be poisoning. not just any poisoning, however. a poison that kills naturally; something that'll make his death appear natural.

suguru's always been a healthy man, using an excuse such as "he fell ill," won't work. he doesn't have much enemies. his peers loved him. a death by food poisoning seems much more acceptable. food poisoning occurs in many ways: for example, if the food has been left out for too long, boom, food poisoning. it's not unusual for one to die by it, so the plan sets sail.

──

one: errands.

as usual, your role of playing the forgotten wife will remain the same. running your ‘errands’ will be as easy as flipping a page, suguru pays you no attention. today it'll be the same. the only obstacle would be to find the energy to arise off of the bed.

the subtle sunlight grants the room a warming aura, giving the perfect contrast together with the air conditioner. like always, suguru's gone. the only trace of him being here would be your memory of him sneaking in last night. at least he has enough manners to not wake you.

same old, same old. you'll only waste your energy worrying about him, let's just finish the morning routine.

"morning," out of habit, you greet the empty house. coming out of slumber to be greeted by an empty home used to do numbers to you. now, it doesn't. its merely a house cosplaying as a home.

the oh-so fluttering dreams of a married life with suguru have dusted away. if only you can go back in time and stop your lovesick self. whatever, no use dwelling on it now. there's a plan to layout.

a single toasted slice of bread, your bottle of water, a handbag, and the car keys are all you took out the door with you. the house keys are attached together with the car keys so it's not a worry. not like you'll be back before suguru anyway.

the drive feels silent. although the radio's on, it feels empty. maybe it's the effects of your clouded mind, or maybe it's you attempting to clear your mind. either way, it's nothing but trivial matters. at this very moment you most likely have to stitch up a lie believable enough to obtain the poison.

chilly, is what you think. you're at the destination; it's an apartment complex that was in the makings but was abandoned. it's dirty, puddles of water decorate the floor, and its filled with dealers and criminals alike. can't blame them, it's the perfect place for a hideout. coming here alone as a woman is something you'd never do... without a weapon that is. you don't own a gun, but you do own a pocket knife.

"psst," someone calls out. they must be calling another person. let's just continue walking.

"you, woman," they call again. surely it's not you. let's just speed up the pace.

"oi, rude bitch 'm talking to you," they specify and surely enough they aren't calling you a bitch, right?

"you're not talking to me with that attitude," you turn around, raising an eyebrow at the man — or lady, you don't know. their face is covered and their clothes are baggy.

the stranger walks you to, and you walk backwards. okay, it's kinda getting creepy.

"any — any reason why you're coming to me?" you questioned, trying to mask your obvious worries.

"aren't you the one who's here for the poison, missy?" they stop walking, reaching into their pockets before bringing a small, white tube in view.

oops, you're caught off guard. if this is who you agreed to meet with you only hope they don't run with the poison.

"oh — yes, that's me! how'd you know?"

"have my ways. ain't a dealer if i don't know my clients — even if they're a one timer," they speak, handing you the tube. "name's siren. just an alias, don't question it."

you carefully take the tube, in return you quickly place the envelope in their hand. ready to get out of there, you ramble out your words, "okay, thank you! the money is in there, bye! see you never!"

siren watches your frame scatter away from them, the sounds of your low heels clicking the floor making them chuckle. crazy woman, they think, returning their focus back on the money.

you're back in the car safe and sound. you know what, it's time to go back. you lock your doors, hide the tube in your handbag, and turn up the radio. now that the errand's over, you probably won't go outside for two days.

ah, home. nothing beats being home. except suguru's car is parked so that means he's here. the home is now back to the house. inhaling a deep breath, you mentally prepare yourself to have any interaction with him. you have your doubts but something inside you screams that he's going to talk.

"where have you been?"

well, that was quick. you only managed to take your heels off. talk about an impatient man.

"out for a breather, why?" you return the question, walking into the living room without glancing at him.

"all right," he says, not continuing the conversation.

ladies and gentlemen, never get married. suguru no longer cares to hold conversations. you can tell the ugliest lies to him and he wouldn't care. as long as you're back, it's okay. you're used to it, yet a silent voice in you wished that he would've asked more questions.

you continue on without glancing at him, making your way to the shared bedroom. it's a little after noon, you'll take this time to relax.

──

two: weird individual(s).

it's hot — you feel hot. a burning sensation engulfs your head. this wasn't supposed to happen. you were making dinner, casually sipping on your glass of wine as you go along. suguru, for some reason, finally showed himself for the day. without a word, he seated himself near the counter, pouring himself a glass of wine and keeping his eyes on you.

to say you're not uncomfortable would be a severe understatement. his eyes create holes in your back — it's annoying. say something if you want to, asshole, you complained in your mind but truly, you yourself weren't going to say anything.

and so, you carried on. dinner being cooked and suguru being weird. it got even more weird when he stood up. you're at the sink, cleaning as you go along. suguru's finished with his glass, so it's not out of the ordinary for him to stand behind you, trapping you with both arms as he washes his glass, right? yeah, it's pretty weird.

"uh, do you mind?" you softly spoke, which was also weird. why is everything just weird tonight?

suguru stays in that position, humming to a tune you're not familiar with.

"is it wrong to be near my wife?"

oh, now i'm his wife.

"not at all, suguru. it's just that i'm busy at the moment," you told half the truth. you are busy, but you don't want him near you.

"is that so?" he spoke, removing one hand only to place it on your hip. slowly, he begins to squeeze the flesh, lowering his head into the junction of your neck and shoulder. his voice, though muffled, can be heard with a low, seductive tone, "missed you all day, why not busy yourself with me?"

bullshit, but it's not bad. you can do with some physical destressing.

"not in the kitchen."

"sure."

and that's how you found yourself tangled on top of him on the sofa. sloppily making out with him, hands found freedom in his hair, and his hands found home on your hips. it's a hot mess, and you're kind of liking it. suguru may be a bitch, but he sure knows your body. it's been five years, after all.

"wait—" you broke the kiss, placing your hands on his chest. "let's st—stop," you spoke, stuttering as suguru leans his head to bite your neck.

"why?" he asks, curious at your sudden choice. you never stopped him before.

"i.. don't feel good, sorry suguru," you lied again. suguru isn't and is the problem. you'd love to go deeper with him but the realization that he's touched another woman like this disgusts you. it's no wonder you plan on killing him.

suguru doesn't speak. instead, he moves you off of him. "it's okay," he says, leaning in to give you a kiss on the cheek. it doesn't take long for him to leave you alone again. now you're feeling a pinch of guilt. i'm not wrong, right? he's the one who abandoned me.

you sigh, lifting yourself off the sofa. there's a dinner to indulge in and trust, you will enjoy it. you made it with your blood, sweat, tears, and some wine.

──

three: poison attempt day.

surprisingly, you felt energized today. as if someone charged six-hundred volts of energy to a dead battery. today's the day, hopefully. the man who cosplays himself as a husband is absent per usual. it's up to you to cook lunch.

you're already preparing; there's no time to waste. every minute needs your utmost attention — the kind of attention a predator gives its prey before hunting them. the one downside to this would be the poison's taste. it's not an overwhelming one, but it's there. anything with a strong scent comes with a strong taste, they say. you haven't put it to the test — no way, you're not suicidal — but the safer side's always better.

ginger, you think, ginger and onions overpower everything. bingo. a minute¹ change to the recipe's ingredients but it's nothing to fret over. trivial matters again. within an hour, lunch was finished with a cherry on top — except the cherry holds the uneven balance between suguru's life and death.

you removed your apron, flicked off the water from your hands after you washed it, and then threw yourself face-first onto the longer sofa. exhaustion massages your body, encouraging you to fall into its depths. its opponent, emotional drain, creeps up. your body's the platform, and they're the contestants. a battle of who will dominate you begins; a useless battle for the woman whose tears dried up long ago.

a heavy sigh escapes, i'm tired, you think. sliding your hands under your head, you use it to cushion the side of your face. it's quiet like always but you're left to your thoughts this time. it may just crown itself for being the first time you gave yourself leeway to part and understand your tangled emotions. it's like a ball of tangled wires: scattered yet neat. roads to untangle it are visible, yet its many wires frighten the person.

what you feel is nothing short of some doll who replaces her face to satisfy the owner. the marionette you once were and refuse to be again. she who shows you, you who show yourself, who is the real you? perhaps, it's all. everything is you, everything has become you. many versions of yourself dance around the stage, all moving towards to same goal: killing the one who drained them.

the clock ticks, each sounded second rips your skin apart. it's torturous, but soon it'll all be over. i think i need a nap, your last voice echoes away in your mind as you succumb to exhaustion. who knew planning a murder against your once beloved could've been this draining.

─

suguru lazily enters, slackening his tie. his eyes focus on the lunch decorating the dining table. soon, his eyes travel to your resting figure. after all, you're in his usual position. she's sleeping, he thinks of the obvious, deciding to keep a low profile as to not wake you.

however, being a man means that you're prone to making mistakes... especially loud ones. from the cup connecting with the floor to the fork clanging as it fell, it's been a rather loud attempt at serving himself some lunch.

he's sure that you're awake. well, not entirely awake, but conscious enough to hear everything around you. the blame is his to own, again.

"it's untouched..." suguru whispers, confused at the perfectly untouched food that lies before his eyes. maybe you got a change of eating routine.

lies, of course. you'd be nothing but a joker if you were to consume the same food you poisoned. suguru doesn't know this, however. he's picked his path and the path hides its true face; wicked and heartless, like a haunted house pretending to be a normal house to lure in its victims.

it's been a few minutes later and you're now fully awake. you haven't moved an inch to expose yourself — just mindlessly gazing into the void of your shared house. you're aware that he's home, aware that he's found himself lunch, and aware that the clock's ticking sound has gotten louder. almost as if it knows its counting down someone's death day.

"is he eating?" you whispered, peeking from the sofa's backrest. "oh, he is."

suguru's at the dining table, scrolling on his phone as he shoves a vegetable in his mouth. his actions fill you with guilt, excitement, and fear. for a reason only god knows, you don't want him eating anymore. may it be due to loving him half of your life, or may it be due to the guilt of killing someone who mattered to others. whatever, who cares. no one — no one will, you chant in your mind, attempting to convince yourself.

"wait, suguru—" you acted out of your own will, cutting your speech short when you regained yourself. what the fuck? you're leaning over the sofa's backrest, reaching an arm out to suguru. eyes wide open, you try to piece together a reasonable follow-up response.

"hm? something wrong?" suguru asks, mouth filled with food. he places his phone face down and tilts his head. he looks innocent, as if he's not a cheating, neglecting bastard of a husband. well, that's the way life goes. the evil masks themselves as the innocent, basking in those who are more innocent than themselves, slowly consuming their energy for their own. selfish, selfish people.

"ah," you begin, awkwardly lowering your hand. "is the food okay? i tried a new recipe."

i don't want to kill him.

"yeah, it's good," he responds, taking a sip of whatever he's drinking.

he's wronged me.

you walk towards the dining table, pulling out a chair to seat yourself in front of him. "i see... how was your morning?" you questioned, swallowing hard. your legs are shaking, you don't know why. your heart races, you can't answer why.

"boring, same old stuff. i met with my client though, she's fun to be around," suguru tells, poking the food with his fork to get a good bite.

i fucking hate him.

you don't speak after that. instead, you bite at the skin of your lower lip. your emotions try to join together, yet they won't. it's like a lava lamp, they'll never truly connect. every time you're away from suguru, your hatred tames. every time he's back, it heightens. it doesn't take much more than his voice to fuel your restless anger. you observe him, watching the way his throat bobs each swallow. something feels off.

the two of you continue in silence, simply observing each other. suguru takes it upon himself to do the dishes, you remain put in the chair. his phone remained with you, face down yet dings with notifications. you've always wondered what it's like to have him text you every day. once it was a memory of the teenage years... now it's a sour dream.

──

four: night, night.

it's the same night, you're in bed with suguru. both of you are under the same covers, yet you're both at the extreme ends of the bed. a large, empty space separates you two. neither are asleep nor do they wish to be awake. a heavy feeling rains over their shared room. the tension's strong enough to break the strongest thread.

suguru's the first to turn, rolling himself over to you. he extends an arm to secure over your waist; this brings you skin-to-skin with his torso and your back. his head lowers to yours, resting his chin on your head. you give no reaction except stiffing your body. what's he up to?

his extended arm caresses you lightly, mimicking patterns on your delicate skin. he takes a deep breath before exhaling.

"my love, i know you're planning to kill me," he softly speaks, waiting for you to respond.

your heart drops. what? he knows? it's probably a bluff. you opt for remaining the way you currently are. if you continue pretending, he'll most likely continue speaking the truth.

"i've been watching you. i don't blame you, dear. i've neglected you for quite some time. i've cheated on you with someone temporary. if i were you, i would've killed me sooner. however, i won't lie and say i'm not hurt. if my wife were to kill me, i'd prefer it to be in an easy, quick way. you've chosen your part and i can't change that, but promise me: on my deathbed, you'll be there. it's not a request to mock you, but a request of seeing you one last time," suguru empties himself out, pouring onto you a bucket of words that hold the truth. the ugly truth you've avoided.

literally fuck off. it means nothing now, you think, judging suguru's words.

"i've been horrible and nothing can change that. i will not beg for forgiveness, nor will i beg for your love. it's already been done. but please, my dear... let me say sorry," his voice quiets to the end and the caressing stops. his hand remains firm, waiting for you to come out of your fake shell. "i know you're not asleep. answer me, please."

caught red-handed.

"i don't care for your fucking apology. it's a bit too late," you spit your venom out, thanking the gods that your back is what's facing him. "matter of fact, i hope you die soon. do as you wish, though. your time is limited."

suguru doesn't answer yet. his arm around you tightens. his breathing's getting uneven — you can hear it. it's shaking, the same way your eyes are shaking to prevent any tears — or as you call it, the pity tears.

he takes in a deep breathe, verbally exhaling a shaky one in return, "then, i'll apologize. i'm sorry."

that's it, huh, you think, almost voicing out your thoughts.

"it means nothing to apologize for actions i could've prevented a long time ago. so, i'm sorry. sorry that i've wronged you to the point you plot my death," he finishes, not having any more to say.

you wriggle out of his grasp, turning to face him. it's dark yet you can see his sadness. isn't that just too bad? the bar of the love you still feel for suguru exists, yet its overpowered by the hatred you've accumulated for him. it stings that he's going like this, but you rather it be by your own arms instead of another's.

"i don't have anything to say," you quietly speak, looking at suguru in the eyes. "if it doesn't work, then i hope you recover in the worst way. if it works and you die, i'll kiss you a merciful death."

the conversation ends. what's left are two adults staring into each other's eyes. there's nothing but empty voids facing each other. voids they once filled, voids they once created. it's too late; too late for anything. suguru's a petty liar if he says he's not afraid. who isn't afraid of death? he doesn't want to die, but what's done cannot be undone. he cannot turn the clock anti-clockwise and fix his actions. you won't be switching lanes, and it's set what the outcome will be.

minute¹ — pronounced my·new·tuh. meaning: extremely small. two synonyms: tiny, little.

#+ rizsu: jujutsu kaisen.#so this was definitely a thought #3.8k wc | tw. attempts of murder #geto suguru x reader #geto x reader #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #geto angst #geto suguru angst #jjk angst #geto suguru x you #geto x you #jjk x fem!reader #jujutsu kaisen angst

983 notes · View notes

vetteltea · 4 months

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Love Will Always Show | CL16 & CS55

Summary: The choice of a lifetime is yours to make, your husband and lover both longing for your heart. They face conflict, choices and most importantly, one another.

Word Count: 8.4K [& a bit more]

Warnings: angst, mentions of cheating and dishonesty, manipulation, hospital talk.

Note: The fact I was a newbie to F1Blr when this started and now...here we are. I want to thank each and EVERY person who has ever read this series. It's changed everything for me, it is truly my love letter to you all and I hope you enjoy the finale. You are all forever in my heart and I cannot thank you all enough.

PART 1: A House, A Home | PART 2: Where Do We Go? | PART 3: ‘You Think, You Know’ | PART 4: 'Love Will Always Show'

Love is a gentle hand cradling your back.

Time had suspended when your body had collapsed onto the rough floor outside of the Scuderia Ferrari hospitality. Immediately, several scarlet-clad personnel were running over, shouts echoing across the open space, somebody mumbling that they needed to get you somewhere safe and warm before your body temperature dropped dangerously.

There’s a question of who to call; your father wasn’t in the country, ever since your mother’s funeral, he’s become silent, your siblings having been lovingly sent to stay with a close aunt. He had been absent from the previous Ferrari meeting, his assistant having sent a message to say he would be absent for a little longer. Clearly, the death of your mother was taking a toll.

The next obvious choice of course, was your husband. However, with the win that he had been craving for oh-so-long, he was currently wrapped up in press, endless ‘congratulations’ messages from celebrities and presenters alike. Nobody would know where to find the monegasqué right now, let alone how to tell him of his wife’s status whilst surrounded by endless television cameras and sly reporters.

There’s no need for him, anyway. Leaving the media pen after vigorous questioning of his loyalty to the team and his current emotions on a premature end to the race, Carlos’ dark eyes quirk to the side, registering the crowd of bodies circling the hospitality area. They only widen when the realization dawns on his clouded mind that it’s you, your body is the one thing they are all crowding around.

His steps break into a run, no signal being given to his media manager nor his cousin. He speaks a few sharp, spanish words, creating a break in the circle, able to insert his toned body into the sea of red, immediately squatting, one hand coming out to elevate the back of your head. He knows how particular you could be with your hair, how you insisted on now sleeping on silk pillowcases to keep it healthy. Asphalt ground was not comfortable nor hygienic.

There’s talk; talk about whether to take you to the hospital, whether to wait for your husband to return and make the decision. Carlos feels his blood curdle at the use of marital status. His teammate, the man who had treated you no better than the way he had treated bonds of trust, was the one to make a choice of your health and wellbeing.

He simply cannot stand for that.

“We need to take her to the hospital.” He interrupts the commotion, the strong tone settling over the panicked employees. “Surely that is the best place for her if she is unconscious, no?” The whispers and mumbles which echo the surrounding members of the team signify agreement.

There’s a discussion of how to bring you in without drawing attention to the media. Surely, if a giant ambulance or even a medical car was to storm through the paddock, no doubt endless media outlets would be creating headlines before even bothering to speak to anybody present. The Spaniard is already making his own choice, using his arms to gently adjust your body.

He shouldn’t; he really shouldn’t be moving you, not when you haven’t been checked for broken bones or concussion. Yet, the idea of the most beautiful girl, Mariposa, lying on a hard floor with no form of comfort or safety sickens him to his stomach. Carlos is still gentle with the movements, letting your head lean into his stomach, one hand is supporting your back, tanned fingers digging gentle patterns into the curve of your skin. The other one traces once, twice, three times around your cheekbone, dark eyes transfixed on your features.

You must have hit your skin when falling to the ground; there’s a graze dancing across your cheekbone, specks of dirt resting in between each knock. The man cradling you is gentle, moving his shirt just enough up his body that he’s able to take the hemmed end, feather it across your cheek in an attempt to remove the offending chunks.

Someone nudges Carlos’s shoulder, more in an attempt to tell him somebody was just outside the Paddock; that they could drive you to the hospital right now. He…he can’t bring himself to leave you. A strong grasp lifts you from the ground, holding you close to his chest, murmuring that he would get you there, and he supposed somebody would have to find Charles.

The area grows quiet; Carlos’ pace draws away from the Paddock and to the back entry. He was thankful that the entirety of the drivers were still either trapped in the media or with their own teams, celebrating or commiserating. He had enough of that for one day; an entire six laps was barely worth speaking about.

You’re still unconscious, still limp in his arms. However, there’s a rise and fall of your chest, you’re still breathing. That’s all he could ask for at this present time. He silently promises himself there and then that when you wake up, he’s making his final move. Where Charles has been playing chequers, he is playing chess; he had proven that even whilst you were stuck with your estranged husband, he would love you regardless.

There’s a people carrier in the car park, he’s certain he’s seen various drivers use it before; a built-in stretcher lies in the back, it’s ideally a discreet ambulance. The media could be brutal with gossiping when any driver had to leave the track. It would look worse if Charles Leclerc’s wife was seen leaving the paddock with his teammate. The driver of the vehicle nods when seeing the two get closer, stepping to sit in the driver’s seat whilst Carlos adjusted his grasp.

He lays you down onto the stretcher; it’s secured, you’ll be safe for the drive. The man can’t help but feel a draw of protectiveness over you. What on earth had caused it to collapse? Had he done something? Blood boiled, if your husband had done anything to cause this, he could personally guarantee that Charles would not be finishing any races for the remainder of the season. He would make sure of that.

His attention is caught by the glimmer of silver on your left hand; your wedding band. When he reaches the car, tucks you into the seat carefully and makes sure the seatbelt is secure around your frame, his fingers glide over your hand, removing the band and putting it in his own pocket.

‘It’s for your own good,’ he tells himself. ‘If your fingers swell up, they may need to cut it off.’ He could tell himself this story a thousand times; it doesn't hide the fact that his true intention in this moment is simple; for once, he could be the devoted husband, taking his wife to be nursed back to health.

The Spainard leans down, pressing a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, murmuring that you were going to be okay, that he would stay with you the entire time. The driver shouts, telling him to take a seat so they could get there before the press figured out something was wrong. He kisses your skin once more, before closing the doors, sprinting to the backseat, throwing his body in carelessly.

Angst overtakes his senses, shouting at the driver to start the car, he doesn't care about being strapped in. This way, he’s able to lean over the backseat, one hand reaching out to clasp at your own. You need to know that somebody is there, that he is there for you. He’s always been there for you. The car pivots out of the parking space, beeling for the main road and to the hospital.

Love is a scream for your name.

“Charles, tu dois ralenir!” Joris is insisting he needs to slow down the car; turning the current Leclerc in hospital into a duo would not be a satisfying outcome.

Ever since he’s been told, all your husband can see is red mist. One Ferrari employee had sprinted up to him whilst he was in the midst of cameras, the grin on his face as he’s finally able to seek his wife out, wanting nothing more than to skip on the Scuderia celebrations and take you instead, your beaming smile radiating the energy he had been bathed in.

It’s funny how life can change in the matter of a few moments; one second, he’s on top of the world, the next, Charles is pushing through every media outlet, fan and celebrity, barging himself into his driver’s room. He doesn't have time to remove his fireproofs, to pick up any of his belongings apart from his car keys. He isn’t communicating, french profanities fall from his lips, shaking his head in rage that nobody could find him to tell him. Tell him that his wife had been taken to hospital.

Joris had been the one to sprint after him; he knew better than most, when Charles saw nothing but mist, there was no getting to him, not whilst he was determined to do something. The driver knew in his heart his best friend was not to blame; after all, he had no idea of your disappearance, he had been with Charles almost the entire time. And yet…he can’t bring himself to even speak to Joris. Not until the duo make it to his rented car, Charles is adamant he is driving.

He only starts speaking when his best friend tells him to slow down. The driver barely does, only drawing to a slower pace when he sees the traffic lights start to build in front of him. Even in a panic, he respects road rulings. Drawing to a stop, the man finally has a second to take a shaky, unbalanced breath, angry tears pooling at the bottom of his eyes.

“Why did nobody tell me my wife was at the hospital?” His voice is strained, he’s clearly holding back tears, whether they’re angry or fearful is a different question. “She’s my- she’s my wife!” He can’t stop repeating it, as if it’s a prayer. His wife. His wife.

“She’ll be okay.” Joris knows that’s quite possibly the worst thing he could say to his best friend, but it’s the only thing he can bring himself to say. “She will be. C’est juste par précaution.”

“Putain!” Charles’ words are sharp, immediately pressing on the acceleration as the light switches to green, overtaking three cars in a matter of moments. He’s a man of regret, he has been ever since he realized how much he adores you. In that moment, he can’t help but think of everything he could have done differently that afternoon. He could have come and found you right after the podium, could have given you his jacket and told you to stay in his driver’s room, he would come and get you after. He could- he could of-

He could of waited with you after the funeral. He could have come and picked you up from Milan when you went to spend time with Carlos. He could have deleted his mistress’ number, and told her he was married.

“Tourner à gauche.” Joris tells his best friend to turn left, the Hospital Car Park coming into view. Charles turns the car, immediately eyes are roaming for any space, anywhere he could put the car. A sharp whistle and point from his best friend shows him a space right by the Emergency Department, parking the vehicle in possibly the worst way he ever has done. Within three seconds, the engine is switched off, seatbelts are unbuckled, and he’s shouting to Joris to pay for the parking, he needs to get inside.

For a driver, his sense of direction is becoming worse. It takes him a solid minute to read a sign, before his legs break into a sprint, skidding into a bustling Emergency Room. There’s old men, leant over in pain, convinced they’re dying. A child snuffling, masses of paper towels on her head. A woman with a twisted ankle, her attention engrossed by the magazine in her grasp. It smells of hand sanitiser and bleach, the yellow walls are hurting his eyes.

A woman behind the desk taps the counter, drawing his attention. “Hey- Sir!” She snaps. You can’t blame her; it’s hour thirteen of her fifteen hour shift. “You can’t be in here unless you’re hurt-”

He shouts your name. It’s as if he completely forgets he’s in a building. Charles is embedded in a maze, even if a lady in front of him can pull up your immediate location, he needs to find you himself, and he needs to find you now.

It isn’t until Joris comes in, having heard his best friend scream your name, that he overtakes Charles so overcome that he’s now hiding his head in his hands, unable to say anything that wasn’t your name. His ears prick up when the second man starts speaking, giving the woman your first name, your last name- Leclerc- and when you had been bought in. There’s a light tapping of the keyboard, she tells Joris you are in the department round the corner, room ten-

Charles is gone before she can finish her sentence, catapulting down the hallway, dodging round endless people, frantically searching for doors with numbers, not names. He sees the number four. Six. Eight.

Number Ten rolls into view. Without a single word, his hand latches around the door handle, pushing so violently the door smacks onto the inside wall. His eyes immediately fly to the bed, you’re lying there, so unconscious, still so beautiful, some strips over the graze on your cheek. Still, arms to either side, one hand connected to an IV, clearly in an attempt to rehydrate you. His first question is the location of your wedding ring, where on earth was it? Has it been taken away? It’s a question he completely forgets about when his gaze travels further.

The other hand is being held by a Spanish man he knows all too much about.

Love is notes left on a coffee cup.

Both men stood, silently hovering over your body whilst the nurse came in to run a course of tests, check your blood pressure, the IV line, make sure you were being cared for in the best capacity. Each held a coffee cup, Charles’ still primarily full, he couldn’t stomach anything; he felt sick from seeing you lie here, not laughing, smiling, speaking. Carlos had downed the drink bought in by Joris in a matter of moments; to him, it was fuel. Something to keep him awake until you woke up.

Whilst Charles was the one to ask questions; ‘Do you know what caused this? Is she going to have any long-term issues? Does she need any assistance when she wakes up?’ Carlos has captured the marker which has rested alongside the clipboard of your notes, his tongue poked out in concentration. The marker grazes along the cup, leaving a note, drawing a tiny picture of a butterfly- Mariposa- and placing the cup on your table, a silent message for if you woke up and god forbid- he wasn’t there.

The nurse draws away from your body, diverting her next task to the two men.

“I need to continue the examination but…” She looks to the door. “I cannot have you both in here. You need to wait outside, the Doctor will come in for further tests-”

“Can one of us wait here?” Carlos is the first to interrupt, the look on the woman’s face tells him he’s made a mistake.

“Both.” She clarifies, pointing at himself, then at his teammate. “One and two. You need to wait outside. If she wakes up or there’s any…issues, we will let you know.”

It turns out, both men are hesitant to leave you; Charles moves first, crouching by your side, running a gentle hand over your hairline, pressing his lips carefully to your temple. He’s murmuring, french words of adoration and comfort, that he will be right there when you need him.

When one steps away, the other comes forward. Carlos doesn't say anything, instead tracing a gentle finger across your cheek. His touch tells you everything, it speaks volumes. He loves you, he’ll be outside, don’t be afraid to come running into his arms like you had done once before. The nurse begins to lose her patience, ushering both men out into the corridor, telling them to sit in the plastic chairs provided or go somewhere else; she really didn’t care.

The scene is reminiscent of two boys sitting outside of the principal’s office; Charles’ head hides in his hands, leaning forward, still dressed in his fireproofs. He’s tied the sleeves around his waist, the dark undershirt now drenched in sweat from the driving, both on track and to the hospital.

He feels movement next to him, Carlos’ hand dips into his pocket, pulling out something small, silvery. Her wedding ring. He supposes Carlos means it as a sign of goodwill, that he kept it safe. In the Monégasques mind, it’s the fuel to light the fire. Scoffing, he snatches the jewelry off of his teammate, placing the band onto his pinky finger, it’s the only one it would fit on, the only way he could keep it safe.

“Funny. You took it off her.” He’s growing mad, aggravated that Carlos wouldn’t just go away and leave him and his wife alone. Hadn’t he done enough already? “Why don’t you go back to Natasha?” The blonde ex-media woman for their team is referenced. Carlos opens his mouth, ready to snap back, it was a low blow for Charles to reference his history with the woman.

“I know what you did.” He huffs. There’s something…different. Different in the way he speaks to Carlos now compared to every other day. The polite, civil conversation is gone, the fact he couldn’t pass judgment because of his own actions has evaporated. “I know you invited her to Madrid just to make a move.” He remembers seeing the instagram stories, how your eyes were wide, full of life. He made you remember life is beautiful. “You kept her close. You wanted her and didn’t like that she was mine.”

“Yours?” He scoffs. “She’s not your property, Charles.”

“No. But she’s my wife. I’m the one she lies next to every night, I’m the one who will care for her in sickness and health, who’s shoulder was leant on through every bad time.” He pauses. “Who picked her up after you coaxed her into your bed.” He laughs. Actually, laughs. The memory replayed in his head, how sleepy you looked as he guided you back into the SUV, how your heart sank when seeing the blonde approach his front door. In that moment, you had convinced yourself you meant nothing to Carlos apart from lust.

Charles was a jealous man; he had taken pride in stripping off his teammates' clothing, wrapping you in his own, soft hoodie. You were his. Carlos wouldn’t care for you the way he did, he was a man too full of lust. He was convinced the Spainard didn’t make you laugh, didn’t make you smile, didn’t make you come-

“You corrupted her, Carlos.” He finishes. “I know what you did-”

“-And I know what you did.” Carlos snarls. He doesn't care about anything more; he knows all too well that his teammate could go crying to the Ferrari bosses, have him removed from the team in a blink of an eye, throwing some false information out which he would have to comply with. But he doesn't care. His affection has grown too strong for that.

“I know everything, Charles.” He’s monotone, he’s stating facts. “I know how she waited at home for you on her birthday, whilst you were in your mistress’ bed.” Carlos remembers asking you about your plans the previous week, how you had brushed them off. “I know how she made you dinner every night, how you refused to eat it.” Charles feels his stomach drop, the endless leftovers stacked neatly in the fridge, the meals he had never bothered to try. “I know on your wedding night, you came into the hotel room drunk, covered in bites and she slept on the sofa-”

“Enough!” Charles’ voice shouts, standing up from the plastic chair in the corridor. He doesn't have to hear this, he can’t bear to hear this. One mistake a day was something he was always able to brush off. Hearing each and every one of his infidelities laid out in front of him sent his mind into overdrive. “You have no right to comment on-”

“On what?” The Spainard is standing up now, chest out and arms folded. “On your marriage?” He laughs, he smirks. “Can you call it that? A marriage is a bond between two people who love one another-”

“I love her!” Charles cuts him off, stepping closer. “I love her.” He repeats himself. Carlos looks gobsmacked, shaking his head in denial.

“You have a really weird way of showing her you love her.” He continues to poke, to prod. “Sharing a bed with another woman is not how you show love-”

“I admitted to my mistakes!” He’s quick to defend himself, how the restraining order was placed and a lawsuit filed, how he promised if you wanted to know anything, see anything, he would let you. How he would spend the rest of his days always feeling dread and regret. “I fixed them-”

“Who says she still loves you?” Carlos has snapped.

Charles hates to admit that he may be right. Is it really fair for him to expect your love after everything that has happened in the past year? It didn’t matter how many times he begged, he pleaded or promised. The man you had married had spent the better part of 365 days in the arms of another woman, a woman that as he stood here, clinging onto any hope of his marriage, meant absolutely nothing to him.

His slim fingers trail down, circling the cool band which rested on his left finger. He had decided there and then, he would keep it on, always. There would be no more reasoning, none. If Lewis could wear his earrings, Charles would wear his wedding ring. He looks back up, Carlos still boring into him with dark eyes, the anger he radiated almost entirely visible.

“Do you love her?” He presses. He needs to know; he doesn't bring himself to care that you had spent a night in his arms, not when he had done it to you a thousand times over. The idea makes him sick, but nothing compared to the idea that you are in love with somebody that isn’t him, not when he needs nothing but for you to come home, back to your home with him.

Charles swears he feels vomit rise into his mouth when Carlos nods. He’s not stupid, not really. He knows how he fell for you properly in the past few weeks, how for Carlos who has been in awe of your affection and attention, the center of every race weekend you had reluctantly attended. It may have been to support him, but you could still enjoy the fact that Carlos would be there, too.

Your husband isn’t sure what he wants to do anymore. If there wasn’t an examination happening, he would have run into your private room and locked the door. Instead, his glassy eyes gaze up, catching Carlos’ dark ones. It hits him at once; his teammate, somebody who he once considered a close- no, best friend, was the one who had taken his wife away from him. His brain can’t catch up with his body movements, the red mist clouds over once more.

Charles Leclerc punches Carlos Sainz in the nose.

He doesn't intend for it to be a strong punch; Formula One drivers are a lot stronger than they realize, and the contact not only causes the Spaniard to knock back, shouting out in pain, but a sharp sensation rockets through Charles’ clenched fist, wiggling his fingers as they relax. Carlos’ nose is immediately red, becoming scarlet by the moment, though no blood has fallen. Your husband’s immediate reaction is ‘Should have punched him harder.’

He doesn't have time to think about anything else, not before he has two strong hands on his chest, shoving him harshly. The sudden sensation causes him to lose balance, falling to the floor and landing on his back. A shock radiates through his body, Carlos looming over him, clearly ready for a second punch.

That thought is drawn away when the door to your room opens, both men immediately staring at the nurse, her hair worn and eyes tired. Before either man can throw a question at her, she speaks.

“She’s still not awake, we’re going to bring her around in an hour, but she’s going to have to stay overnight for observation. If one of you could get her some overnight things-”

“I can.” Charles immediately cuts off the nurse, pulling himself to sit up and stand from the floor. “I’m her husband. I will get them.” It’s a subtle jab to the man in front of him, Carlos still holding his nose, convinced it was about to start bleeding any moment. He would have gone and sought out attention for himself, if he hadn’t felt a sharp vibration in his back pocket, a phone call. In any other time, he would have ignored it. But he knows who it is, he knows how important it is.

Without a word, Carlos answers the call, rapidly speaking in Spanish as he walks down the hall.

Love is a pocket square at the bottom of a suitcase.

The contrast of Charles leaving the hospital was night and day to him arriving. He hadn’t spoken a word to Joris, apart from expressing that he needed to go back to the hotel to get your overnight items. Although it was barely a ten minute drive away, every minute felt like a century; he wanted nothing more than to go back to the hotel, sit by your side and hold your hand until you woke up.

He could have sent Joris back, given him the room key and told him to grab some things, but it didn’t seem right. The idea of his best friend going through your suitcase didn’t sit comfortably with him. Moreover, he didn’t know. Charles knew; he knew what pajamas you found the most comfortable, what outfit would be easiest for you to travel back in, how you wanted your panties and socks paired together and how your phone charger had to loop clockwise.

The ornate hotel room looks dull without you; your suitcase still rests in the bottom of the wardrobe; you had hung up evening wear, dresses for the inevitable after-parties. Folded in your suitcase remained your other clothing. Charles is quick to select his items; the tropical cotton pajamas. You had bought him a pair in the same fabric, telling him that they would be the comfiest thing to sleep in. Your stitched jumper and comfiest jeans. You had worn those jeans when you had tagged along to his photoshoot for the Ferrari livery, holding his water and the APM Monaco jewelry he couldn’t wear. Your outrageously expensive hairbrush. You had brushed his hair through after a particularly bad race, whispering promises that it would get better, that the car was going to evolve for him, the best driver on the grid.

Bile rises to Charles’ stomach and with no warning, he sprints to the bathroom, dropping to his knees by the toilet and throwing up the barely-there contents of his stomach. He had barely eaten, barely drank any water, but couldn’t help the sickness in his tummy.

He pulls away from the toilet basin, eyes watery, breath trying to catch up with the speed and cries.

Charles doesn't realize it’s happening at first, he hasn’t cried like this in so long; the kind of crying where you can’t fathom words, you don’t make a sound because you’re crying so deeply. The kind where your chest is exploding and your heart feels like it’s going to explode. The kind where all he wants is for his mother to cradle him like she did when he was five, run her hands through his hair and whisper him words of comfort.

This time, he doesn't want his mother, he wants you.

It’s selfish, it’s so incredibly selfish and it hurts to know that it’s taken him until now to realize what you mean to him. It would never happen, but his wound-up head can only close his eyes and visualize you running in, pulling his head into your chest and running your hands through his dark tufts, pressing cool lips to his forehead and promising him over and over that it was going to be okay. You were going to be okay.

He lets himself cry for five minutes; he times it because he wants to collect your things and make his way back, Joris was waiting in the car. When the five minutes are over, he pinches his nose, taking short, ugly gasps until his eyes remain bloodshot but not blurred. The sound of the toilet flushing echoes through the hotel room, making his way out of the bathroom and to the items he had hurriedly dropped atop of your suitcase.

Nimble fingers cradle each item, carefully rolling and tucking them into a pillowcase; he didn’t have a bag big enough to suffice each item and couldn’t bring himself to bring your entire suitcase along, it almost seemed as if once you had it, you could disappear from his life. At least this way, he could have one final farewell if you chose to leave. The items are almost secure, until his grip on the pillowcase folds, glassed eyes catching a glimmer of blue hidden at the bottom of the case. With no hesitation, he pulls on the fabric. His heart drops on the realization of the item.

It’s a pocket square. More specifically, it’s his pocket square from your wedding.

You don’t know when you had started packing it, but you supposed it was from your mother’s own doings. After her wedding to your father, she had always carried around her ‘something blue,’ as a gesture of good luck, of safety. After the first time you had found out about Charles’ mistress, you had discreetly tucked the fabric into your bag, carrying it around, a silent hope your husband would return to you.

It hadn’t worked in Jeddah. In Imola. In Spa. In Monaco. You had reluctantly taken it from your bag one evening, on the plane home from consoling your family, using your pen to doodle in the very corner ‘Mr and Mrs Leclerc,’ a silent fantasy of the loving marriage you had dreamed of.

That night was the first time you and Charles ever shared a bed.

The fabric lingers between his fingers, the blue contrasting against the silver of your ring, still resting on his pinky finger. Now changed into his own clothes, he slides the ring off, wrapping it gently in the pocket square and sliding it into his trouser pocket. As he does, he recognises your handwriting, the titles printed in the bottom of the fabric.

He can’t help the tears rolling down his cheeks once again.

Love is a desperate telephone call.

Carlos is still pacing around the outside courtyard of the hospital, having been on hold for a grand total of seventeen minutes. He is not a man of patience, he is not a man of quiet.

The phone buzzing in the corridor had been a welcome call, despite the situation. His lawyer, finally ringing him back after what felt like days of apprehension. He had dipped from the public eye to try and grab hold of some privacy, slipping in his wireless headphone so as not to hold the device to his ear for hours upon hours.

Almost thirty minutes ago, his lawyer had called him, confirming his thoughts of the previous days.

"You're not wrong." His lawyer has already clarified it once, twice, three times. "If there is evidence beyond a shadow of a doubt, then it is the correct term for a divorce.

Carlos feels his blood run cold. He loves her, he's as certain as that as he is of the fact that the sky is blue and his win in Silverstone. The man wants nothing more than to make her feel cherished, adored. Taking a bite out of his teammate was just a bonus feature.

That had been a few days ago, when the anger had surpassed him after Natasha’s return, how that made him look as bad, if not worse than Charles. He’d immediately sent her packing, blocked her on every form of media, gone as far as to insist if she ever came for a visit, he wouldn’t be present.

The second part, the evidence, had been laid out all too perfectly.

The line suddenly clicks, signaling his lawyer had returned. Carlos doesn't wait for a verbal queue, the audible sign of his return is more than enough.

“Do you have it?” He asks, barely any time to let the man on the other end of the phone respond. “You must have it, no? It should have been sent. I made sure it was sent.”

“I have it.” He clarifies. “I have them right here.” A rustle of paper is heard from the other end of the telephone, content of an envelope being spilled onto his desk. “Are you sure you want me to send these to be confirmed as evidence? That the women in the photographs will not retaliate?”

Carlos had not been entirely honest with you. Not about his knowledge of Charles’ situation. Ever since the confession all those months ago, the understanding that you knew of Charles’ affair, he had been playing a long, patient game. He had photographs, evidence of the mistress’ appearance at each paddock, her arms snaking around Charles’ body, kisses between the duo. How he could continue to do so, whilst you, the epitome of beauty, sat in his drivers’ room, playing the doting wife. At one point, he had considered going directly to the press, directly to Ferrari themselves to out their ‘Golden Boy.’

And then…he had seen you with him in the Paddock that one race, looking through the window of his driver’s room. How your fingers latched onto one another, how genuinely shattered you looked when she had shown up yet again, lingering outside of the hospitality area. The guilt snuck through him, how he had seen her arrive, and yet failed to mention to you, give you any warning of her presence.

Even if he had been the one to invite her. Even if he had been the one to press her about sending the photographs to Charles, not blackmail. Merely a reminder of his actions, how much he supposedly missed his mistress.

“She wouldn’t.” He’s quick to respond. “She wouldn’t care.” He’s not wrong, his mistress being in the limelight would only elevate her status, with the way his teammates’ brain worked, it would more than likely draw them back to one another.

“And Mrs. Leclerc?”

It’s the first time Carlos has hesitated. Even if he couldn’t admit it to himself, he knew that your relationship with Charles had grown, that ambient it was made paper-thin, the trust was slowly beginning to come back. He thinks about how your eyes blinked widely, in awe of your husband on the podium earlier that day, how it supposedly didn’t matter he had spent most of your marriage wrapped in her arms, you still looked at him like that. Did you look at him like that? Like the way he looked at you.

This action could draw out a multiverse of reactions but at the end of the day, he had settled with two. The first was that you understood, that you would see the evidence, and understand the case. Divorce Charles and marry him, even if it meant he would give up everything.

The second is that you would see the chaos he caused and you would never speak to him again.

“Mr. Sainz?” The voice at the end of the telephone draws him from his questioning, running a hand across his red, swollen nose. It wasn’t broken, but god it was hurting. Bruised, most likely. “I need an answer.”

He needed to speak to you.

“Can you just-” He huffs, running a hand through his dark hair, his fingers almost getting caught in the strands. Of course his hair was tangled, he’d been doing nothing but pulling on it ever since he arrived at the hospital. “Let me speak to her. Hold it for 24 hours. You can do that, yes?” It’s not even a question now, nor a request. It’s a demand. He can’t do this, he can’t openly destroy your marriage for his own sake without speaking to you, without knowing for a fact that you love him.

Your name is carved onto his soul, onto his skin. The first thing he thinks about in the morning, and the last thing he would think about at night. There is no life he wishes to live in if you’re not there. Even as his friend.

There’s suddenly a light tap against glass, snapping the man’s attention from his device. He mumbles something in Spanish, telling his lawyer he would call him back, dreading who was coming out into the private courtyard.

He visibly relaxes when he sees it’s just a man, sneaking out whilst tears pool on his lower lashline, giving Carlos a warming nod.

“You don’t mind if I join you, do I?” The Spainard shakes his head. “My wife- she’s just being induced and wanted some space. She’s…” He gestures, trying to explain to a complete stranger how a few minutes ago, his wife wanted to cry and shake her head, but wanted nothing to do with him. It was all his fault.

Carlos offers a warm hand on his back, patting him firmly. “Congratulations. Do you know what you're having?” He’s invested, anything to distract him from his previous phone call, the weight of a decision on his shoulders.

The stranger grins. “A girl.” He smiles harder. “I don’t mind, as long as they arrive happy and healthy. But god- a girl, just like her.” He thinks. Carlos thinks. In an alternative universe, he’s sat by your side, pressing kisses and praises to your skin, holding you tighter as your daughter enters the world, ready to meet her mother and father. She would be like you; your eyes, hair, smile. It would be another you to love, to adore.

“Your first?” Carlos presses his question. The man sighs, shaking his head, shoving his hands into his pockets as he looks into the polished corridor.

“No. She’s…” He pauses. “We got together after hiding how we felt for so long, how we wanted to be with one another.” He looks to Carlos, clearly ashamed and embarrassed of the situation. “I know how it sounds, but sometimes you can’t help it. I- I love her.”

A band snaps in Carlos’ stomach; love knows no bounds.

Love is waking up to think of your person.

The first thing you register when you come around is brightness. You’re not in the soft glow of the luxurious hotel room you and your husband had been given, nor the candle-lit bedroom of Carlos’ apartment. No, the light is bright, blinding. An off-white which made your eyes squint.

Your senses are heightened; the only scent which flares through your nostrils is hand sanitiser and overpowering lilies. Nose scrunched, you attempt to wiggle your body upwards, aware of the IV line pinned into your hand. Panic immediately settled through your tummy, until your eyes flickered to the bag, realizing it was just water, they just wanted to rehydrate you.

Hesitantly, you wiggle each part of your body. Arms, hands, fingers. You’re able to move, though you couldn’t…you couldn’t remember why you got here. Memories are hazy, you remember Charles’ podium, the way he kissed you so deeply, so lovingly. Carlos’ hand on your waist, pulling you back to stop you from the champagne trickling over your body. You were overwhelmed, overworked and…you guessed it just all became too much.

You just about manage to turn your body, the first thing you’re aware of is that your cushion smells familiar. Warm nodes, sandalwood and seasalt. It’s a smell you’ve grown all too accustomed to, burying your face into their chest whilst you took refuge in his arms, in a hotel room. Charles had been there, already. His celebrations had clearly been cut short, whether or not it was for show or because he cared.

The second thing is the coffee cup. Cardboard, the contents clearly already drained, but handwriting etched onto the side in a thick, black marker. The handwriting, the doodle of a tiny butterfly. Carlos had been there, too.

There’s a sharp pinch on your cheek, fingers reach up to your skin and feel the butterfly strips against you. Immediately, a thousand questions come back to your mind, none of them being answered through your own memory. Instead, the door opens, a nurse in clean, bright uniform walking in, closing the door behind her. She beams at the realization you’re awake, shoulders relaxing.

“You’re awake!” Her tone is incredibly warm, seemingly very happy you’ve decided to wake up on your own terms. She’s quick to move to your bedside, pressing the back of her hand to your forehead. “How are you feeling? Have you warmed up?” You’re not sure what she’s referencing, eyebrows furrowed in confusion. She takes the look on your face as unknowingness, able to fill in the gaps.

“You collapsed on the track.” She’s trying to get through everything she needs to tell you. “We did some tests, you’re incredibly dehydrated for a start, you need to try and get some rest.” She pauses. “It’s nothing to be concerned about, we have collapses from dehydration every so often, more than you would realize.” Her eyes flicker down, finding it hard on how to phrase the next part of the question. “You also seem…incredibly worried.” You’re not sure how she could tell that from simply examining you, but you nod in confirmation. “Your blood pressure, it’s incredibly low. That’s why you fainted.”

“Yes.” You pause. How on earth were you about to explain the past twelve months to a nurse, a complete stranger? “There’s been some…reasons. You know, for the stress.” Her eyes soften, but the questioning continues.

“Are you trying for a baby?” You shake your head. “Moving house?” A shake. “Have you…lost somebody recently.”

You freeze, memory flickering to your mother, how in the midst of fixing your marriage, discovering your affection towards another, she had disappeared from the world. This time, you nod your head, drawing your knees up to your body, shivering. The nurse is quick to wrap a blanket over your shoulders, closer to the answer.

“I lost my mother.” You breathe out, shaking your head. “I lost my mother, and she’s the only one I can go to.” Now you’ve started speaking, you can’t finish. “I want to make them happy. I want to make him happy.” There’s tears glassing over your eyes.

You want him. You want him right now.

She sympathizes, she understands. “Sometimes, all you need is for them to tell you it’s going to be okay, right?” She lets her words trail off, turning to the door of your room. “He’s outside. He’s been waiting to see you.”

Your blood freezes.

“Would you like me to get him?”

You nod before you’ve even realized, your body clearly knows better than your mind. The nurse stands up straight, pacing towards the door as you feel your heart begin to race harder, frantically. She steps out of the room, a minute mumble on the other side, clearly a warning to be incredibly careful. It’s barely a minute before the door swings back open, dark hair and frantic panting.

You glance up, your heart softens at those eyes.

The eyes that you, the reader, wanted to see as you glanced to the door.

GREEN EYES [CL16 Ending]

BROWN EYES [CS55 Ending]

This is everyone who asked to be tagged! @Mac-daddy-210 @aundercover@barnestatic@omgsuperstarg@chimchimjiminie16@caelum-the-part-time-nihilist @magicalcowboyarbiter @gaslasysblog@junetto @beatrizmel-472 @motorsp0rt@crowdthena@screemqueen@lewislvr@styles-sunflower@itspaddockprincess@adeptustemptations @amalialeclerc @meetmyblondemuffins@formulanando@lorarri@christianpulisic10@gaypoetsblog@thisbitxhs-blog@goldsainz@ru-kru@magical-spit@hrlzy@nooshytushie@gaslysainz@marvel-at-stucky@sugarvibez@adeptustemptations@roseseraj@leclercdream@pjofics@hecatesfavoritechild@poseforme@thisbitxhs-blog @adalynneva @meganlikes2purr @sabrinaselina55 @laneyspaulding19@heavenlyiecreature@pink-teddy-bear@nooshytushie@strawberries-and-racing@milasexutoire@ohthemisssery@florkt@obsessedwiththeideaofyou@ru-kru@myhomeworksnotdone@ineedafictionalman@bregarc@allywthsr@summerslike11@wildcupcake@willowpains@marlenamallowan@leclercloml@katzenwahnsinn@be-your-coffee-pot

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errantnight · 1 month

Text

Seeing a lot of post and comments, and so many angry fights in youtube comments in particular, about the cloud/tifa/aerith love triangle bullshit and like...

Everyone knows I clearly don't have a dog in that particular race but I honestly believe that Cloud is way too traumatized and dealing with that to have even a shadow of a healthy relationship with anyone right now and there is no possible way of getting to that point until everything is finished in the last game and he remembers who he really is.

Like he's so HURT. He is DAMAGED.

Zack isn't just confused by Biggs calling Cloud a badass, it's the attitude Biggs describes that is so very different than the Cloud he is intimately familiar with. Cloud's personality right now is an amalgamation of Zack and what he thinks a cool mature SOLDIER should be with a thin layer of 'jaded mercenary in a 90s tv show' slapped on for good measure.

Even if other characters find him attractive personality-wise as he is, and not just his good looks, I think that would end up being a big problem after he gets his memory back because that would end with him being a different person than they fell for. I really hope that there is a significant change in Cloud's body language and general mannerisms and maybe even personality.

This is not the sweet and shy Cloud Strife in Crisis Core, this is a man broken by torture and loss and grief who can't face any of that and add in the Mako poisoning + traumatic amnesia and he's practically unrecognizable.

I want Cloud to be happy, I don't really care if he ends up with any of the characters 'canonically' - I just want him to be happy and whole and to MAKE IT. I want to see him really openly smile.

Cloud smiles a lot more in Rebirth, but they're usually small tucked away things. He never looks someone in the eye and smiles.... unless he's possessed. And then he's smirking and smiling all over the place. He even smiles WITH TEETH in the Gongaga Reactor when he's slaughtering troopers using Sephiroth's fighting style. He looks so happy and confident and it looks SO alien.

Even when he was messing up his memories with Zack's in the opening that smile didn't look like his. It reminded me of modded games where someone else's body is overlaid with another characters and the expressions just don't quite match up...

I want to see him at ease and happy and if he ends up with someone and is happy then I'll be happy for him. I just.... don't see it happening in the next game unless there's an epilogue and it's been a bit.

#ffvii #ff7 #cloud strife #fanfiction #final fantasy vii #final fantasy 7 #ffvii rebirth #ff7 rebirth #shipping wars #don't fight me #I don't care

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luvyurself · 2 months

Text

sick and tired

my close call with bronchitis yesterday inspired me to write this LMAO

c/w: she/her pronouns, brief mention of getting eaten, sick fic, we’re thugging it out tho, dogday cuddling us AUGHHHH, pure fluff, he wants us to be healthy :D

(I mentioned Bobby bearhug in here because she’s a cutie pootie 🫶🏼)

_______

from the time she had spent in this god forsaken factory, she’s endured scrapes, cuts, bruises, bloody noses, and possibly a broken rib or two.

she’d been grateful for the saving graces of the abandoned first aid stations, thankful that some of them still had bandages and disinfected to make sure she didn’t get an infection in any open wound areas.

but, unfortunately, she would forget about the immune system infections that were easy to catch in an abandoned facility such as this.

it started with a sneeze after she awoken from the few twenty minute naps she awarded herself with, which escalated into multiple sneezes throughout her journey.

she docked it to just allergies, this place was infested with dust over the years, it wasn’t that much to worry about.

the gas mask she found to protect herself from the red smoke catnap had made did little to stop her from sneezing. even with the amount of times she dusted it off.

when she decided to save the last remaining smiling critter from his ultimate death from getting eaten from the inside, she was basically running on the little breath she had and adrenaline.

her chest tightened with pain at every breath she took, consisted sneezing turned into dry coughing as she practically stumbled with every step.

after making it out of the elevator escaping the flesh eating toys, she began to walk off the elevator, clammy hands gripping the grabpack as she mumbled to herself about which direction the first aid was.

“angel?” she hummed and turned to the voice, headache starting to form as she shut her eyes to try and soothe it.

dogday wasn’t unaware in the signs of a rising sickness in humans, he would see them all the time when the kids in the playcare acted like nothing was wrong when they were obviously close to collapsing.

and she was no different. he could see her chest quickly rising and falling as she tried to collect her breath, how her legs and hands shook and how chapped her lips were.

she let out a gravely cough, body shaking as she groggily pushed out, “first aids somewhere here…..gotta get you fixed up.” she mumbled, pushing through as she grudgingly walked forward.

he stared at her for a moment, the permanent happy expression on his face seemed to change to a worry smile.

when she first grabbed him off the restraints that held him, he saw that tired and determined look in her eyes that made the empty feeling in his chest spark with something he had not felt for a long time.

the first stumble and second stumble she made almost wanted the dog to just release his grip and let the animals take him to eat, but the dry cough that escaped her lips made his grip tighten around her waist.

even though he thinks he wasted her precious time to save him, he was going to make sure she was going to be make it through this hellhole.

he wasn’t going to lose the person who made him have hope to see another day.

a moment of silence past by before the dirty orange dog let out a dry laugh, “well, angel, if you want to go to the first aid station,” he used his big hand to point to the opposite direction, “then you might want to go that way.”

she blinks owlishly, slowly looking where his hand was pointing and letting it process in her mind.

“…..ohhhh.”

_____________

she slowly placed dogday on the first aid bed, breathing a sigh of relief and nearly collapsed too before she straightened herself up.

“okay….okay….” she swallowed thickly, running a shaky hand through her hair. “there should be a stitching kit here somewhere-“ she coughs in her arm, turning around to rummage through the cabinets hastily.

the orange dog looked down at his lower half, opening to the inside of his body was always something that scared him.

he was grateful she was planning to stitch him up, but with the way she could barely could walk made him worry about hurt herself.

looking back at her, dogday cleared his throat before calling out, “forgive me for staring, angel, but you look a little under the weather.” he spoke with concern lacing his voice.

she let out a ‘huh?’ while she rummages through the dusty cabinets, before sniffling and taking a short breath, “ah it’s probably just-“ she stopped to sneeze, muffling it in her arm.

“just-“ she sniffles, shortly laughing, “a day cold.” she celebrates internally when she saw the sewing kit, turning around to face the giant dog on the bed.

she grabbed a chair and sat down next to the bed, letting out a satisfied sigh as her legs finally rested and began opening up the kit.

she rummaged through the box, “now I don’t call myself a professional stitcher-“ a cough “-I assume it’s going to be easier then stitching up skin, but just let me know if it starts to hurt.”

dogday stares as she fumbles with the needle and thread, whispering a few curses as her fingers seemed to miss the needles hole.

he watches as she paused for a moment, closing her eyes as her breath became shaky and sharp, one of her hands going to her chest to press against it.

her sickness was getting worse, and she seemed to be getting stressed. so he decided to do what the old dogday would had done.

give someone a smile.

it takes a moment for her to compose herself, before clearing her throat and opening her eyes, “okay, okay, I’m alright, I’m going-“ she felt a large hand on her forehead, gently pressing it and a deep hum rumbling out.

she didn’t notice him moving to rest on his side, his face a few inches from hers. she couldn’t tell if it was the embarrassment or the sudden change of body temperature making her face heat up.

a few seconds of analyzing her, before he mumbled something to himself and nodding. he pulled his large hand away from her.

he stared at her when he spoke, “I can’t feel your body temperature, fur making it hard to tell.” he rose both of his hands up wiggling his fingers.

she squints her eyes in confusion, tilting her head as he taps the side of his head, “however, my sharp instincts tell me, and they are never wrong,“ he raises a finger and taps her nose gently, “that you have caught a small bug, angel.” his voice held a calm tone mixed with playfulness.

her nose twitches when he tapped it, making a small shaky smile form on her lips. it didn’t matter how small it was, he took that as a victory in his book. she sighs softly, tapping his hand that rests closed to her on the bed.

“okay, maybe I caught a bug,” she cleared her throat, running a hand through her hair. “but I can’t really afford being sick right now, I’m literally-“ she coughs, giving a short ‘excuse me’ before starting again, “being chased down every corner I turn.”

dogday rests his head on his hand, “you’re more at risk of getting caught now that your sick, you need rest,” he studied her body language carefully, watching as she shook her head.

“no, I need to patch you up,” she holds her chest as she coughs in her arm. “I can stitch up your top half so it won’t be expose, maybe we can find your leg’s somewhere around here.”

he watches as she talks to herself, picking at her lips. he sighs softly, raising to place a hand on her shoulder and seeing her flinch at the touch.

“angel, please, I can wait to be stitched up,” he spoke softly, rubbing her shoulder tentatively. he didn’t want to see her push through her sickness just to fix him up.

“what I don’t want is to see you collapse and hurt yourself,” he pointed at her body language, how her body was basically shaking like a leaf.

his ears twitch as he heard the deep intake of her breathing, before she released it in a soft exhale. she places the stitching kit on the floor, placing her hands on her lap.

“okay, you win.” she could practically see his imaginary tail wagging in satisfaction, making her smile. “I’ll go and lay down-“

she felt two hands wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the surprisingly soft embrace of the mascots chest. she breathed through her nose, and softly sighed at the faint smell of vanilla.

he never lost that scent.

dogday hummed a random song, gently rubbing her tense shoulders. “I’d like to say hugs are the best type of medicine, next to laughter of course.” he felt his chest warm up at the soft laugh from her lips.

“god that’s so corny.” she sniffles, coughing a bit into her fist.

he laughs, tapping his fingers against her, “well, a old friend taught me that, and it always helped me,” he gives his own cough, clearing his throat as he adds on, “I’ll look for some medication for you, but for now-“

he playfully squeezed her, making her laugh more. her laughs were congested, but he didn’t care, he just cared about getting her better, “let the hugs work it’s magic.”

she giggled, wrapping her arms around his plush body and sniffling a bit, mumbling softly, “thank you, dogday.” she blinks wearily, before closing her eyes and drifting off to sleep, her body losing its tension as she inhaled his vanilla scent.

dogday watched as she falls into slumber, his giant hand cradling her back as he nuzzled his face into her hair. “no, thank you, my angel.”

it felt good to give a smile, even in this hellhole, to his angel.

AUGHHHHHHILOVEHIM

#poppy playtime chapter 3 #ppt x reader #x female reader #x reader #dogday poppy playtime #dogday #poppy playtime #dogday x reader

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the-boy-meets-evil · 9 months

Text

some habits are hard to break | feat. jungkook

(where you know that jungkook is the last person you should keep running back to, but neither of you can seem to let the other go.)

pairing: jungkook x fem!reader genre: angst, smut, est. relationship rating: explicit, minors DNI word count: ~12.5k warnings: the relationship isn't healthy (but they're very human), miscommunications, misplaced hope, bad habits, unhealthy coping mechanisms, cheating (reader on unnamed boyfriend), mentions of past trauma (reader), mentions of therapy, mentions of mental health struggles (reader), explicit smut: unprotected sex (don't do this), fingering (f. receiving), oral sex (f. receiving), handjob, semi public sex (behind a closed door at a club), teasing, hair pulling, light choking, i think that's it but let me know if i missed anything

a/n: she is finally here! i did not expect this fic to take me this long, but here we are. thank you to one of my favorite humans @ugh-yoongi for reading this over and assuring me they weren't terrible, just human. this story feels personal to me so that was reassuring.

a/n 2: lauren has asked for a pt 2, so i’ll be writing that after i get through both my collabs due in august 💕 banner/divider credit: my bby @classicscreations who always comes through tagging: @pjmparadise @axialitae

Every single thought is the same. You know better than to send the text sitting on your phone. You know precisely why it’s wrong. You know that nothing is ever going to change.

Here’s the thing. You’re in a healthy, stable relationship with someone who’s good to you and for you. He’s honest and caring, funny and sweet. Despite all of your baggage, he never makes you feel less than, never makes you feel broken. This is the first time in your life that you’ve been able to lay all your shit on the table and have someone accept it unconditionally. And he always does what he says he’s going to. You’re never up waiting at 2 in the morning, wondering where he is because he hasn’t called or texted.

So, yeah, things with him are good, great even.

But…

And that’s the thing, isn’t it? As soon as there’s a but, it’s like you can’t see all of the good. It’s all just a placeholder before what may be the worst three-letter word in the English language. You wonder if it means there’s just something fundamentally wrong with you. Who looks for the “buts” of every situation? Why can’t you just appreciate all the truly wonderful things in your relationship?

Because you’ve had the one thing you’re missing. You know it exists and it’s hard to forget.

Your boyfriend is great, perfect, even, in almost every way that matters. It’s just, you’re not exactly…satisfied. And you know that you could guide him to be better for you in that way. He just seems a bit sensitive about it at times and you don’t want to make him feel less than since he never does that to you.

This is exactly why you’re staring at your phone. Paralyzed because you both want to send the text and know you really can’t. Your body remembers his, remembers the way the slightest touch sent your heart racing. You try to also remember every word he’s ever uttered to you, too, because he’s always been very clear about who he is.

It’s fucked up that you’re even considering it, beyond wrong that you typed those 5 words out in an empty conversation thread. (Even though you usually keep every conversation, you deleted this one after you got serious about your boyfriend. You say it’s to keep the temptation away, but really, how well is that working now?)

You: what are you up to?

Just like that, your need to fill your desires wins out against every other rational thought you have. Part of you hopes that he doesn’t respond. It’s been months since you last spoke and you know he’s got a short attention span. Maybe he’ll spare you having to make a final decision.

Jungkook: out getting some drinks with friends

He doesn’t. His answer comes in far quicker than you expect it to and you get that same feeling in your stomach. Like anticipation mixed with desire. You’re so fucked.

Jungkook: what are you up to?

Tomorrow you’ll look back and realize this is a chance to bow out, to realize that this is a mistake. That you hadn’t sealed your fate when you sent the first message. You could still just bow out and walk away, leave the message unanswered.

You don’t.

You: nothing, just at home alone Jungkook: what about the boyfriend? You: away for work

You know that you should feel bad now. A normal person might realize that this was destructive behavior, that you’re purposely sabotaging your own long-term happiness for instant gratification. At least, that’s what your therapist tells you.

Jungkook: I can be home in 15 minutes, I’m just around the corner

The message is really your last chance, whether you consciously think about it or not. There was no preamble with Jungkook. He assumes you’re texting him so you can come over. And he’s right, isn’t he? You weren’t exactly texting to catch up with someone you weren’t ever friends with anyway. No, you’re both adults and you know what this is. Just like you’ve always known.

You: give me 30 and I’ll be over

Was there really any other outcome? From the moment you opened Jungkook’s contact to start a text, this was the inevitable end. You can pretend that you have control and you were on the fence. But, you know the truth, and so does Jungkook. He knows it from the moment your name appears on his lock screen. This only ends one way, the same way it’s ended countless times before.

Thirty minutes later, after cleaning up and getting dressed, you stand on Jungkook’s doorstep. There’s a moment where you genuinely question if this is smart. Smart is the wrong word, you think. Of course, this is fucking stupid. You could ask 100 people and every single one of them would probably tell you to turn around. So no, this isn’t smart. The real question is if you’re going to do it anyway.

Jungkook opens the door before you even knock and the question dies. There he is, in baggy sweatpants and a t-shirt, like the true fuckboy you know he is, and your body remembers. It remembers every kiss, every touch, every tremble. It starts to react without your permission. By the smirk he’s wearing, you can tell Jungkook remembers too.

“Right on time,” he says, leaning against the door frame like he needs the support.

“Are we gonna have a whole conversation out here?” It’s a challenge and a mistake all rolled into one.

He doesn’t answer, just moves aside so that you can step past him. There’s a moment, as you’re stepping past him and glancing around his apartment, of nerves. Of wondering what the fuck is going on. But his apartment hasn’t changed, not that you expected it to, and neither has he.

“Want anything to drink?” he asks, moving around you to the kitchen. He looks back over his shoulder at you, a confident smirk on his lips. “We could do a couple shots.”

“Trying to get me drunk?” you wonder. Still, you follow him into the kitchen.

“No, definitely not.” His answer is swift and his eyes roam over you, appraising. “You just seem a little on edge.”

“Wonder why that is,” you huff out.

Jungkook leans back against the counter, eyes still trained on you. “If you don’t want to be here…”

“I didn’t say that either,” you respond.

There’s this weird tension settling between the two of you and you’re not really sure what to do about it. Not really sure how to get out of your head for even a second. That’s when you feel Jungkook’s hands on your hips, pulling you back against his body where he still leans against the counter.

“I don’t want you to feel pressured,” he says and dips his head to kiss along your jawline.

“I don’t,” you respond.

“Do you want me to stop?” he whispers against your skin as he continues to kiss down your neck.

The only thing that comes out for a second is a hum when Jungkook lightly sucks at the base of your neck where it meets your collarbone. “No.”

“Are you sure?” He’s pulled back now and looking you directly in the eye.

You take a breath and then another when your heart starts to speed up. The only thoughts are of his lips on yours, his fingers grazing along your body. Slowly your fingers trail up his arms and he doesn’t move at all. Just watches you and waits for you to make your decision. Leaves it all up to you.

So you do the only thing you can, the only thing you were going to do once you sent that text. You let your fingers find purchase in his hair and you press your lips hard against his. He’s turning the two of you around in an instant so it’s you pressed into the counter. The kiss is hard and desperate, like you’ve both been starved and this is the only way to solve that. His hands feel like they’re everywhere and it’s still not enough, not completely what you need. Nobody has ever set your body on fire just from kissing the way Jungkook does. It’s bliss the way your brain goes almost silent except for thoughts of him. And you know he’s just as turned on, can feel it in the way he’s pressing against you.

Jungkook kisses down your neck again and you don’t even bother to hold back the moan. When you feel him lightly sucking into your skin before pulling away, part of you wishes he’d do it harder. Wishes he’d leave a mark. Wishes for something to show what you’re doing here tonight without you having to say it. He doesn’t, though, and you know he wouldn’t even if you asked.

Instead he pulls away, smirks at your whimper from the lack of contact, and reaches for the hem of your shirt. He’s still asking permission, so you give it. Your shirt and bra disappear in record time and his mouth is back on. Softly kissing down the space between your breasts and across the underside of one. It’s too much, the way he knows exactly what you need, the way his lip ring teases you as he moves across your skin, the way he stops to just look at you when he knows he’s driving you crazy.

Well, you think, two can play at that game. Before he even realizes what you’re doing, you’re spitting into your hand and reaching inside his sweats and boxers (since he’s annoyingly still clothed). You’re slowly dragging your hand along his length, moving painfully slowly. He groans when you slide your thumb over his tip and pulls back.

“Fuck,” he says and slowly pulls your hand out.

“What?” you ask, actually confused.

“Come on, I can’t fuck you against this counter but if we don’t get out of here, I’m gonna try,” he says and pulls you along into the bedroom.

Jungkook kisses you hard and lightly pushes you back onto the bed. You prop yourself up to watch him quickly undress. You love watching the way his muscles contract with each movement, love the lean lines of his body, absolutely love everything about him. If he sees you watching him, which you’re sure he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he leans over you, kisses you hard again as he pulls your pants and underwear off nearly in one motion.

“Eager,” you taunt.

“You won’t be saying that when you can’t walk tomorrow,” he says.

Before you can answer, Jungkook is flipping you over so that you’re on your hands and knees, pressing down on your back so your ass is in the air. You’re a little surprised, because usually he takes his time with you. Not that you’re complaining. He moves on the bed and then you hear a bottle opening seconds before you feel the cold liquid at your entrance. He may be a lot of things, but he always makes sure you’re taken care of.

Despite his words, he still slides into you slowly and lets you adjust to him. His hands grip your hips tightly as he rolls his hips into you almost carefully, like he’s not sure if you’re adjusted. It’s bordering on painful that he’s so still.

“Fuck Jungkook, move,” you whine.

“What’s that?” he asks.

“Just fuck me, please fuck me,” you beg and you hear the low chuckle.

“Thought you’d never ask,” he says and snaps into you hard.

“Fuckkkkkk,” you draw out.

Removing one hand from your hip, he presses you back down into the mattress. You arch your back further so he has a better angle and let the pillow muffle your moans. It mixes with his own groans and the slap of his skin against yours every time he buries himself fully inside you. There’s something frantic about it and you’re sure this is what you’ve been missing. Sure this is what you need. He removes his hand from your hip again and roughly slaps your ass.

“Oh my god, Jungkook,” you yell.

He slaps your other ass cheek and it makes you scream out again. Yes, this is what you need. Someone to be a little rougher with you. Someone who doesn’t treat you like you’re going to break or worry if you can take it because he knows. He knows exactly what you can take and exactly what you like. Him pulling on your hair is only further proof of that.

And then he’s pulling you to him, so that your back is against his chest. The new angle has him hitting deeper inside you, reaching that spot that nearly has you seeing stars. Jungkook moves his hand out of your hair around your neck, gripping lightly.

“Do you like that, baby?” he whispers roughly in your ear.

“Yes,” you moan out.

“Because I fuck you the best,” he continues.

“Jungkook, fuck, just fucking choke me, please,” you beg, unbothered by how much you’re begging him.

That doesn’t need any answer from him beyond his fingers tightening around your throat. It’s the perfect pressure too, just like every other time he’s choked you while fucking. It makes you feel a little lightheaded but also like everything feels that much more amplified. Every hard thrust into your cunt pushes you closer to the edge. Every breath sounds louder. Everything is just more.

He also knows your body to know when you’re close. You almost whine when he removes his hand from your throat because you felt like you were about to come. And then he rubs a thumb over your clit, continues to make sure you come first, like always.

“Fuck, fuck, I’m gonna come,” you shout.

“Come on baby, I wanna feel you come,” he says into your ear.

It’s the only permission you need as you let go. Somewhere, in the haze of your high, you can tell that he’s coming too, that his release comes just after yours. It’s all you can do not to slump against his body, though. His arms are strong around you as he pulls out so that both of you can lay down on the bed.

A few minutes later, after he’s cleaned you both off and you’re lying together in bed, you wonder how you’re going to extract yourself. You’ve never really felt awkward around him, so you’re not really sure why you do now.

“I should be going,” you say and start to sit up.

Jungkook is quick to pull you back down. He meets your look of confusion with nothing but desire. You think, not for the first time, it’s the kind of look that you drown in. The kind of look that ruins you.

“And just where do you think you’re going?” he asks.

“Home?” you offer.

“Why?” he fires back.

“I don’t know, Jungkook, we already fucked,” you say. Part of you is a little exasperated at having to spell it out.

“Do you really think I’m going to let you leave here when I haven’t even tasted you?” he asks.

Fuck.

(He follows through with exactly what he says. It’s slow and measured, like he wants to pull apart every thread you have one by one. Like he wants to ruin you for anyone that isn’t him. Like he doesn’t know he already has.

The lip ring is new since the last time you fucked him and you’re not sure if you’ll even be able to tell when he’s between your legs. Until you’re praising him so loudly you’re sure his neighbors must hear. Or maybe it’s just because he’s so good at getting you off. Even if tonight, he takes his time, brings you to the edge over and over before finally letting you slip over.

It’s the early hours of the morning by the time you’re both worn out. You offer to call a ride, only to have him insist you stay. It’s much too late to be going anywhere when he’d be worried if you were safe or not. So you stay and it’s the best sleep you’ve gotten in awhile.)

The wait is excruciating. Your boyfriend comes home tonight and it’s terrible timing, you know, but you also know that you have to tell him what happened. It isn’t fair to him to just go on without knowing. He’s one of the kindest people in the world, doesn’t deserve this. He’s not broken like you, something you’ve pointed out since the beginning. Maybe those intrusive thoughts were right and you just aren’t built for healthy relationships.

Although you haven’t told many of your friends what happened, you had to confide in a few. Each of them tells you that you shouldn’t tell him what happened. They say that it’s just one of those things where confessing might make you feel better, but it’ll only make him feel shitty. It’s hard to know how he’ll feel. Shitty is probably fair. But, you think they’re wrong about how you’ll feel. Getting this off your chest will just replace one weight with another. Wanting to come clean isn’t about clearing your own conscience. It’s about honesty and him having the ability to make an informed decision.

It actually goes far better than you thought, somehow. He’s hurt, how could he not be? Despite that, he’s calm in the conversation. Instead of breaking it off there and then, which is what you expect, he suggests taking a step back. It’ll allow the relationship to be less defined and maybe less serious. You can’t really believe it when he says that he’s there to work things out with you and give you the space to figure out what you need. It breaks your heart a little bit more, somehow, to see him so patient with you. You don’t deserve it.

Instead of seeing this as a failure, he wants you to see it for what he sees it as. This is just a slip, a step back. There’s been so much trauma in your life that it’s natural for you to have moments where you slip. He’s hurt, yes, he’ll admit that, but he’s not angry with you. At the end of the day, he genuinely cares for you and he’s willing to do whatever it is the both of you need in order to move forward. You both agree that therapy as a couple might be important. However, he insists that it can wait while you sort through how you’re feeling.

Overall, you think you feel okay about it. Things will look different with him for the time being, but you can actually see past this moment in time. That’s new for you. You’re feeling hopeful for the future and you even let yourself imagine a future with him in it. Maybe this isn’t the end of the world after all. Maybe this is just something you actually needed to close a chapter.

Weeks go by. Therapy is back to being once a week, sometimes twice when the sessions fit into your work schedule, and you do trust this therapist. Really, you do. She listens to everything you say and interjects in meaningful ways. It’s clear that she’s actually listening to you and giving you genuine feedback, rather than some previous therapists that only asked how something made you feel. Sitting in that office has forced you to face a lot of deep-seated issues, everything from your childhood to past relationships to the deepest recesses of your mind. Sometimes you don’t really want to relive those moments, but she’s always done a good job of explaining why you need to do the work.

But…

And there it is, again, that stupid three-letter word that brings everything to a screeching halt.

Despite all your therapist’s work, there’s a part of you that doesn’t see the future anymore. Therapy is wonderful and you’re actually really thankful you found this therapist. You’re sleeping better, you feel lighter, and the world doesn’t feel like it’s going to crush you every day. Maybe she’s a little too good at her job, though, because you’re wondering how to move forward. Your boyfriend is perfect…for someone. And you’re not sure anymore if that someone is you.

It’s been weeks and he’s still just content to take the backseat while you do whatever work you need to do. It’s stupid, you know it’s stupid, but you want him to fight for you. You want to see that he is actually upset over what happened with Jungkook. It’s not healthy, you know that and your therapist reminds you it’s not healthy. You’re doing everything you can to make your brain catch up that it’s not healthy. You can’t shake it, though. All the doubts and insecurities creep back in when he still doesn’t seem bothered.

So you do the only thing you can think of, the thing your therapist disagrees with. Well, disagrees with the reasoning, not with the idea itself. You break off the relationship. He tries to approach it in such a way that leaves the door open for you both to come back to it down the road. You don’t want loose ends, so you lie. It hurts to see his face crumble when you say you just don’t love him and he should find someone that does. It’s cruel. You hate yourself for doing it. But you think it’s easier this way. This is too comfortable and you don’t want to string him along.

Then, you make the second decision your therapist disagrees with and text Jungkook. After seeing she can’t make you see her perspective on the break-up, she suggests spending some time alone to learn more about yourself. That’s terrifying. If she could hear your thoughts, surely she would not suggest leaving you alone with them. They’re intrusive and self-sabotaging and just loud, so loud.

Unsurprisingly, Jungkook is happy to hear from you, happier still to know that you’re unattached again. Not that he minds being discreet, he’s happy to confine things to the four walls of his apartment. It’s just that he also likes to get you dressed up and go out. He’s always liked having someone pretty on his arm, even if he’s just at some local sports bar.

That’s not where you end up tonight, though. Your head is especially loud and you want some quiet. Need to get lost in something other than the potential mess you’re making of your life. When Jungkook suggests a club a friend of his owns, you say yes before he even finishes asking. The place is familiar to you and it’s perfect, in all its noise, low lighting, and crowded spaces. There’s no better way (at least as far as you know) of quieting your brain than going somewhere even louder.

It’s easy to get lost, several drinks in, as you press your back into Jungkook on the dance floor. The tight dress that seemed like such a good idea rides up your thighs now, with a little help from the light sheen of sweat covering your body and a little more help from Jungkook’s hands that grip you tightly.

Everything is familiar. You’ve been here before, to this exact club with Jungkook, more than once. And it’s the kind of easy you’re looking for now. As his hand inches further up your thigh, you press further back into him, looking to erase any space between the two of you. Tonight is just to forget and Jungkook is excellent at that.

Maybe if you were a little less drunk, you would stop his hand. You are in public, after all. As it is, you really don’t care. He likes to tease, gets off knowing someone may see, and you’re not in the mood to put a stop to it. Tonight, he seems even more daring than usual. He lets his thumb graze the thin layer of fabric at your core, likely feeling how much you want him. You shudder as his warm breath tickles your ear.

“There’s a storage closet in the back that might be unlocked,” he says, voice low with desire.

And that’s new because you’re certain that of all the times you’ve fucked Jungkook, none of them have been at the club. It’s been close, getting a little carried away under the table in one of the VIP booths, running his hand up your shirt on the dance floor, but you’ve never fucked him here. You’re also a little too tipsy to register that at the moment when all you want is him.

It’s too loud for you to answer him so you just squeeze his hand and nod. That’s all the permission he needs, anyway. Before you can give it a second thought, he’s pulling you off the dance floor and down a hallway. He looks around like he’s not completely sure where he’s going and then sees a door.

The door opens and you’re both in without another thought. Jungkook crowds your space, pressing you against the closed door and stealing your gasp with his lips on yours. Your hands find purchase in his slightly shaggy hair and one of his hands digs into your hip, holding you firmly in place. Like there’s anywhere else you would rather be in that moment.

From the moment his lips make contact with yours, you remember why you ignored your therapist and walked away from your relationship. It’s just a kiss, granted a pretty heated one, but still. It’s just a kiss and your whole body is alive in a way it hasn’t been since the last time you were with him. As he trails kisses across your jaw and down your neck, you can feel the heat he leaves behind with each touch.

Jungkook also never makes you feel self-conscious about the way your body responds to him. Not that your boyfriend, ex-boyfriend now, ever said anything about your moans, but he was also really quiet in bed. And you stopped reacting as much, because it wasn’t the best part of your relationship. Not that you want to be dwelling on that now. Not as Jungkook is working his way down your body, clearly just as turned on as you, eliciting soft moans as he goes.

When he drops to his knees in front of you, you think you may really be done for. He lifts one of your legs and rests it on his shoulder, your dress hiking up around your hips in the process. You lean back against the door for support as his tongue makes contact through the thin fabric. It’s another tease, a Jungkook specialty, and you find you don’t much care. Thankfully, he quickly moves the fabric to the side. The movements of his tongue, fast and slow and fast again, are perfect. Your brain goes blank, just the kind of blank you need. No thoughts except for his tongue on you and the bliss of it. Even the thud of the bass out in the club dulls to background noise. Every one of your senses is present in this moment in a way you haven’t been lately.

His movements quicken and you knot your hands in his hair both to find purchase and to let him know that you’re close. Not that it’s hard to tell by the increase in your moans. He knows what he’s doing and he knows that he’s got you on the edge. You want to tell him that you want to feel him inside you and can’t make yourself speak the words. A second later it doesn’t matter. He slides one finger in, then quickly adds another and your brain goes fuzzy.

He pushes you over the edge too fast, you want to savor more of this moment, more of him. You register that somewhere in your bliss coming down from the orgasm. You need more of him, more contact, more of whatever it is that makes your brain go quiet. You’re catching your breath and refocusing when you notice his pants down around his ankles. Did he get that hard just from getting you off? He’s already pulling a condom on and you’re almost relieved.

“You didn’t think I was done with you yet, did you?” His confidence drips off of him when he’s like this and you wish you were the kind of girl who had something witty to say back. You wish, at least now, that he didn’t affect you like this.

Instead, all you do is shake your head at him. You don’t trust yourself to speak and he doesn’t seem to mind. In one movement, he puts his hands on the back of your thighs and picks you up, still keeping you pressed against the door. The next second, he’s slowly sliding into you, letting you adjust. It’s the only break he gives you before setting a fast pace. Your legs tighten around him and your nails dig into his back. You’re sure they would leave a mark if he didn’t have a shirt on. Part of you hopes maybe they still will.

One of the best parts about Jungkook is that he doesn’t ever need to ask what you want, he just seems to know. He knows what you like and when you want something faster like this or when to take his time. It’s like he’s mapped your body with the way he’s able to hit just the right spots in just the right way.

Your head rolls back against the door, eyes closed and brain numb. Even then, he manages to bring you back to him, kissing up your neck until you meet his lips. The kiss is messy, capturing each of your moans as they escape. Jungkook’s grip on your thighs is as strong as the pace he’s setting and it isn’t long before you’re falling over the edge again.

A pleasant daze settles over you as you do your best to look presentable so that you can leave the club. (You don’t succeed and you definitely look just fucked, but the club is in full swing and the only people who might be able to tell are the poor workers that have to stay sober).

“Do you want to come back to my apartment?” Jungkook asks the question, one hand gripping yours while the other pulls up Uber on his phone to order a ride home.

And it’s kind of funny, how he asks like he doesn’t know the answer. In the time you’ve known him, Jungkook has been a lot of things, but he’s always been confident above all else. So it catches you off guard that he asks.

“As long as it’s okay with you,” you say and he smiles that easy smile.

“Of course,” he says.

You can’t really place the feeling that settles over you at such a small exchange, everything is crowded with the lingering effects of alcohol and sex. But something feels different and you think you like it. Almost like a part of you is waking up.

The next few weeks pass in somewhat of a blur. You’re happier than you can remember feeling in a while, much more fulfilled in all aspects of your life. Despite some reservations that your therapist has, you agree to start seeing her every other week unless something changes. You’re hoping to drop it back down to once a month but understand her hesitance to make such a big change so quickly. It would be a shame to ruin all that forward progress, after all.

Most of your free time is spent with Jungkook, a fact that your best friends are quick to point out with some version of the same cautionary advice. They want you to be careful, want you to remember your history with him, don’t want you to get ahead of yourself. It seems like they just don’t understand. Yeah, you and Jungkook have been here before, multiple times, but this is different and they just haven’t seen that.

Every other time led up to this. It took a relationship falling apart for you to realize that none of the other times with Jungkook were failures, they were just your “right person, wrong time” moments. Now the timing is right for both of you.

You knock on the door to his apartment, surprise take out in one hand, realizing belatedly that maybe you should have given him a warning of some sort. What if he was busy or had already eaten?

“Oh hey, what a nice surprise,” Jungkook answers with a smile as he steps aside to let you in.

Suddenly, you feel kind of silly for the momentary worry that showing up like this would be too much. Jungkook seems like he meets you at each point, so this shouldn’t be any different. It also helps that you’ve known each other for years and you know the way to his heart (through his stomach with only his favorite foods).

The whole thing feels surprisingly normal in a way you weren’t expecting. Jungkook makes small talk as he gets plates from the kitchen and sets them down for you to eat. He offers you a drink from the fridge, gets one for himself, and it’s just…easy. The whole thing with him is easy and you’re so thankful that you took this chance. As it turns out, he’s exactly what you need. Maybe he’s even the reason your last relationship ended the way it did. Not that you would ever say that. For all his outward strength and his image, Jungkook can be surprisingly sensitive. The last thing you’d want would be him feeling responsible for causing other people pain.

You’re not really sure why you do it, but you mention that your friends have a lot of warnings about the relationship. In what should be typical Jungkook fashion, he brushes it, reassures you that you know what’s happening and that’s all that matters. It doesn’t matter what your friends think because you’re both happy and living in the moment. You smile at that. This is definitely the best kind of happy.

Once you’ve gotten plates of food, you settle down together and Jungkook pulls up Netflix. He’s got a whole list of movies and shows that you can pick from, all things he wants to see or thinks you’d like, he tells you. And that’s sweet, isn’t it? That he sees something on Netflix and saves it in case you want to watch it together. It makes your heart constrict a little bit. It doesn’t feel like something you do with someone who’s only casual. Surely his thinking about you, when you aren’t around, is a positive sign.

You sigh happily and let him decide what it is he wants to watch. Not that the two of you ever really finish anything. It’s the thought that counts though. And Jungkook seems to be thinking of you. For a second you wonder if this is just the list he’s created for anyone he has over, you haven’t talked about seeing other people. Until you realize that most of them are thrillers. It’s your favorite genre but probably not good for generally inviting girls over. You really need to stop second-guessing everything with him.

Another few weeks go by as easily as breathing and that small part of you that’s waiting for the other shoe to drop gets even quieter. You’re not even thinking that this feels different anymore because it is different. Instead of late-night (or really any odd hour of the day) texts, you’re making actual plans on when you’re going to see each other. It doesn’t feel like a fuck buddy, it feels like someone you’re moving along with in a different way. There’s a lightness to every space of your life now, a lightness that looks a lot like Jungkook.

Of all the things Jungkook is good at, and there’s a lot, because he’s hyper-competitive and doesn’t like losing, cooking is decidedly not one. That suits you just fine, though. Cooking is an absolute favorite of yours and cooking for someone you care about makes it all that much better. It had taken a little more convincing for Jungkook agree to you coming over and cook for him, he didn’t want to be a bother, but you were glad to be here now.

“I know this isn’t really what we do, but I have a family wedding to go to, for my cousin, and I was wondering if you’d come with me? It’s kind of last minute, I know. I just wasn’t expecting to have to go alone,” you say and Jungkook puts down his fork. You’re nervous again and you’re not quite sure why.

“Sure, why not?” Jungkook says easily.

“Really?” The question is out before you can stop it.

“I like spending time with you,” Jungkook says, “we have fun.”

“We do, yeah,” you agree. “It’s just…it’s like 2 hours away, so I got a room. And you’d obviously need a suit.”

“This may come as a surprise, but I have been to a wedding or two before, so I have plenty of suits. And what kind of idiot would I be to turn down an overnight date with you?” Jungkook is smiling as he says this and it puts you at ease.

“It’s in 2 weeks, which is really soon,” you say. Jungkook pulls out his phone.

“Friday or Saturday wedding?” He’s looking through his calendar to see what he’s got going on.

“Saturday,” you say and he puts his phone down.

“That’s fine, I’ve got something going on Friday, but Saturday and Sunday are all yours,” Jungkook says.

Easy. Everything is just easy. You weren’t even really thinking of asking him to come to the wedding when you decided to cook for him. It just seemed like the right timing to ask and your cousin had just texted you that afternoon asking if she should change the seating chart. Although she said it wasn’t a big deal, you know she’s secretly going to be relieved to not change anything.

Not planning things also really is your motto these days. You weren’t planning to stay over at Jungkook’s when you offered to cook. Yet you wake up in his bed the next morning all the same, like it was a foregone conclusion the second you stepped over the threshold.

You figure now that Jungkook is coming with you to a family wedding as your date, that your friends will get off of your back about him. And most of them do. It’s been over two months of seeing him, which makes it feel more stable. Mostly, they’re happy if you’re happy and know you’re enough of an adult to handle your own life. Most days, at least. It’s just one of your closest friends that’s holding out. Not that he doesn’t like Jungkook, because he does, he’s just also been friends with you since you were kids and he’s seen how this has gone.

“It’s different, Jimin,” you say for what feels like the hundredth time.

“Have you had The Talk?” He doesn’t put quotes around it, but you can hear them in his tone anyway.

“No, we haven’t had The Talk,” you say, matching his tone. “We’re both adults, like actual adults, I don’t think it’s necessary.”

“This time around with him started with you cheating on your ex,” Jimin says in a not-so-subtle reminder. If it were anyone else, you would leave.

“Thanks, I remember,” you bite back.

“I love you, you know that. I just want to make absolutely sure you’re not going to get hurt with this. I need to know he’s in this as much as you are,” Jimin says.

“Can you ever really know that?” The question seems valid enough.

“No, everything in relationships is a calculated risk. But it’s on you to make sure you have all the numbers before doing the calculations,” Jimin says.

“Meaning?” You think you know what he means, but it’s best to be sure.

“Meaning,” Jimin says with faux exasperation, “that the talk will let you know where he stands and allow you to be on the same page. He could lie, but then that’s on him if you get hurt. If you get hurt now, when you haven’t had the talk, that’s on you.”

“Little harsh, Jiminie,” you say, using the nickname to try and soften him.

It doesn’t work and he just shrugs. “We’ve done this song and dance a few times, maybe too many times. I just don’t want to see this end badly.”

“Then have a little faith, he is coming to a family wedding,” you say.

“And some of the way the conversation went makes me a little uneasy,” Jimin admits.

“Just have some faith. This time is different, I can feel it,” you say.

There’s a lot more than Jimin wants to say, a lot more he wants you to hear. But he’s also known you for years and seen you through every one of the Jungkook phases. People change all the time, he knows that. As people grow, the things they want or need evolve. Until you have an actual chat with him, though, Jimin is not ready to say this time will be different. It’s silly because he also knows that you’re going to do what you want, you always have. Not in a bad way, you’re just very stubborn when it comes to listening to advice. All he can do is hope for the best and be there if you need a shoulder. He tries not to think when you need a shoulder. As much as he likes being right, he likes you a whole lot more and he wants this to work.

The wedding goes well, great even. Jungkook is a hot topic of conversation, with a number of your family members gushing over how attractive he is and how good you look together. It gives you a small amount of pride to hear it too, even if it shouldn’t. It’s also good to have someone to retreat to when your family gets overwhelming. The added benefit of them not knowing him is that you both can slip out of conversations much easier. He’s never met anyone in your family and they don’t have as many questions for him. You also did an excellent job of establishing that you and him are very early on in the relationship, so questions about getting more serious are off the table.

Staying in a hotel with Jungkook is also a much better experience than you thought. You’ve stayed at each other’s places countless times over the years, but you’ve never gone away somewhere together. Even though it’s only a few hours from home, everything feels different. Everything feels more intimate. And there’s something to be said for hotel sex too. Everything is new and more exciting.

You reach out to Jimin the day after you get back to let him know how things went. And you’re a little surprised by his response. Instead of being excited for you that it’s going so well, he asks again if you’ve talked to Jungkook about where you are and where you’re going. It’s kind of a buzzkill and you’re quick to tell him so. But Jimin is stubborn too.

Jimin: I love you, you’re my best friend in the entire world, but I’m scared you’re going to end up hurt Jimin: I’ll be here to celebrate once you talk to him and I’ll say sorry when it’s all cleared up, but until then, I can’t fully support it

That hurts. It’s like he doesn’t realize that in not wanting Jungkook to hurt you, he’s hurting you instead. You shake that thought off as quickly as it comes, though. It’s not his intention to hurt you and somewhere deep down, you know he’s making sense. Jimin has been your go-to person for everything in your life since a matter of months into the friendship. The two of you were able to click in a way you haven’t really experienced with anyone else. So yeah, maybe, on some level, you get where he’s coming from and maybe you’ll understand later. Not right now, though. Right now you’re just hurt and a little angry at your best friend for not supporting you the way you want him to.

(Jimin, to his credit, does think he’s supporting you. It may not be in the way you want him to and you may not see it, but it’s the way he needs to support you. There’s a moment where he thinks that he’s the friend you deserve, just not the one you need right now. So he’ll let you be mad at him as long as you need to. Or maybe he’s been watching Dark Knight too much lately.)

This is where you know you’re not always the best at being an adult. Whether Jimin is right or not becomes irrelevant because you’re more concerned with not letting him win. It’s like he tells you something and you have to do the opposite, just because. Which, really, that’s probably something you need to address in therapy. It’s probably not a healthy approach, but it’s where you’re at for now.

Things feel…a little different. Not good different, either. At first, you were positive that it was just the lingering effects of Jimin being Jimin. Even when he’s not speaking to you, since this is not the first time he’s done this, he’s very loud. But days go by and the pit in your stomach only gets deeper. You can’t separate your own thoughts and anxieties to see if anything with Jungkook is actually different.

When you stop to think about it, though, everything with Jungkook should be different. It’s been around three months now. Three months of you spending a truly absurd amount of time together. Three months of movie nights in, dinners out, random trips to the park. Three months of ending up in each other’s bed every time you went over. Three months of you not seeing anyone else. Was he seeing other people, though? Surely not. Would there really even be time?

But…

That nasty word coming up to haunt you again. But, could you really make any assumptions where another person was involved? After all, your ex had no reason to think anything was wrong with you, no reason to think the relationship was coming to a screeching halt. Yet, it did. It did because you stopped talking to him. Well, you didn’t stop talking to him, you said a lot of words. You just didn’t say any of the ones that actually mattered.

It’s impossible to keep the last conversation with Jimin off your mind. You will never tell him he was right, but you’re also constantly wondering if it’s time for that talk. Lately it’s been taking Jungkook longer to do everything. Longer to text you back, longer in between seeing each other, longer to come out of his phone if he checks it while you’re hanging out (something he never used to do).

And, okay, from the outside, you know how any of those things look. It’s just, you’re still really happy and you’re not really looking to give that up. You think that maybe what’s best, for now, is just to take a slight step back, not be the one to reach out to him and make plans. Either he’ll make plans with you or you will have the final push to have a conversation you should have had weeks ago. (Really, you should’ve had this conversation before you blew up your life, but who’s counting?)

Jungkook: hey, things have been kinda crazy with work, but can i see you tonight?

Which answers that, doesn’t it? You ignore your smarter thoughts, most of which are driven by Jimin’s words playing on repeat, and answer quicker than you should. Even though you offer to stop on your way to pick food up, Jungkook says he’s already picking something up and to just meet him at the apartment.

It’s all different now. Before, when things were only happy, you’d be excited that he knew you well enough to pick up takeaway for the both of you. Now, you wonder if he really has been busy with work. There’s something about the text that implies something’s shifted. You hate it and you want to just go back to before. Maybe tonight will be the perfect chance for that.

It’s not.

The silences are awkward and what’s worse is that you can’t tell if Jungkook feels awkward about it as well, or if it’s just you. Actually, what’s worse is you don’t know which you’d prefer. Then there’s this weird space between you while you’re watching a movie. It’s like you’re not really close enough to cuddle and you’re not really far enough away for it to be a normal, friend-sized space between you. It’s just this awkward limbo and you��re trying really hard not to overthink the space being a metaphor for where the two of you are in this weird relationship.

Jungkook is on his phone a lot throughout the movie too, which only worsens the way you feel. He says he’s still got a lot going on at work, that they’re in very real danger of missing deadlines and he’s so sorry. The rational part of you really wants to let it be that. The louder part of you, the one you know is irrational, can’t leave it alone. At least internally. You know you can’t say anything out loud and have it come across right. Your internal monologue is another story, though.

But, that’s the thing, isn’t it? You made a lot of assumptions about where you were with Jungkook, about what the two of you were doing, about it being a relationship. The reality is you’ve been fucking regularly for months now and haven’t bothered to define things. It was perfect at the beginning, when Jungkook insisted that the two of you knew what was happening and what other people thought didn’t matter. It made you feel like it was you against everyone else. Which should’ve been a clue. A relationship should never put you against the people outside of it. A healthy relationship should be able to integrate into your regular life.

You don’t stay over at his place that night. Jungkook offers and even makes it seem like he wants you to. You might even believe him if he didn’t mention getting up early for work and checking his phone. That annoying voice in the back of your head is shouting danger, danger, danger. The ugly thoughts wonder if he actually wants you to stay at all or if he just doesn’t want to be the bad guy for sending you home.

He gives you a kiss in the doorway and you’re on your way out. The last little bit of positivity in the back of your mind is hoping he’ll change his mind, that he’ll come rushing out and say he’s been stupid. Of course he wants you to stay and of course it’s worth it being tired at work tomorrow because he’s missed you, things have been off, and he wants to make sure he fixes them.

But, he doesn’t do any of those things. The doubts firmly take hold of your brain.

The next day, you’re still thinking over what you want to do when you get an unexpected text from him. He’s got a function after work, the kind of thing where you have to go to a bar and pretend you want to be socializing with coworkers off the clock, but it’s okay because the boss usually buys a few rounds. It’s the kind of thing someone might ask their partner to come to, so they’re not so bored.

Jungkook’s message is clear. He wants to see you. After he’s done with the work function, which he warns might not be until later. So he understands if it’s too late for you to come over since it is still during the week and you have to work tomorrow. He seems genuinely excited when you say you’ll definitely still come over and your heart constricts for a second.

You need to set your phone aside, just for a second, just long enough to let your heart settle back down, because you’ve made up your mind. It’s time (past time, honestly) that you have a real conversation with Jungkook. This last exchange proves it. You’re back to being the girl he calls up after a night out at the bar, the booty call for sex. Admittedly, it is the best sex you’ve ever had, but that’s not the point. For a bit, you were the girl that he made plans with. And, yeah, he’s asking you before he goes to the bar if you’ll be there after. But, the fact is, it’s still same day and it’s not really anything more than a hook-up text.

The text from Jungkook letting you know he’s heading home comes and you take a couple shots to give yourself the confidence to go through with The Talk. You weren’t planning on driving anyway. No matter how this goes, you’re not planning to head home afterwards so having your car seems more inconvenient than anything.

Apparently, Jungkook only beats you there by a few minutes, which might’ve bothered you in any other situation. The way he says it sounds accusatory in your mind. All you can see now is talking before you lose the little bit of liquid courage you have.

“Do you want to watch a movie or do you just want to…” Jungkook asks, trailing off suggestively.

That pit in the bottom of your stomach worsens. The unfinished question hangs between you like a glaring sign saying he just wants to fuck you. It all just feels really cheap and like another waste of your time. Just another in a long line of mistakes. Only one way to find out, though, and so you take a deep breath and dive in.

“Actually, I kind of wanted to talk to you,” you say and that brings him up short.

“About what?” Jungkook asks.

He seems defensive. It’s all wrong. Something in you had been holding out hope that this would go exactly the way you wanted it to. That hope gets harder to hold onto.

“Just…this, us,” you say, hating how you sound so unsure.

“Us?” Jungkook asks and somehow that makes you angrier. Is he being fucking stupid on purpose?

“Yeah, Jungkook, us,” you say with more bite than you intended. “We’ve been doing this dance for, what, like 3 or 4 months? What are we doing, exactly?”

Jungkook’s confused. He gets this look on his face sometimes, like he’s trying to work out a really complex calculus problem and just can’t make things make sense. It makes him look younger, more innocent. It makes you want to protect him. But you can’t afford to think that way, and he doesn’t need to be protected.

“We’re just, I don’t know, we’re hanging out. We’ve been having fun, you know, everything is just easy, which is nice,” Jungkook says.

“Just hanging out and having fun? What, are we back in college?” Your voice raises an octave because, despite all your planning, you really aren’t ready for this.

“I’m not really sure what’s happening here,” Jungkook admits.

“I’m just confused,” you admit in return. “Like we’re always together, we go out on dates. You came with me to a family wedding for fuck’s sake.”

“Yeah, because I like hanging out with you and the wedding seemed important to you,” Jungkook says.

“It was important but still, what is this?”

Jungkook really still looks helpless and you’re constantly reminding yourself not to take care of him. It’s not what either of you needs. “Why does it have to be something defined? Why does there have to be this big deal?”

“Because we’re grown now, because I can’t keep blowing up my life for…” you start, but cut yourself off, quickly closing your mouth again.

“No, blowing your life up for what? For me?” Jungkook asks and you look away, unable to see him looking at you like that. “I never asked you to blow up your life for me.”

“You didn’t exactly turn me away that night either. You knew I was in a relationship,” you say and he scoffs.

“Yeah, I did know. But last time I checked, it’s not my responsibility to make sure you don’t cheat on your partner. I wasn’t the one in a relationship,” Jungkook says.

“No, because you’re never in a relationship, you’re always just having fun,” you say, voice dripping with disdain.

“And what’s so wrong with that? I’ve never been anything but honest about exactly who I am and what I want,” Jungkook says.

“People change all the time! Excuse me for thinking you’d grow the fuck up and realize actually being with someone isn’t that bad,” you say and Jungkook rolls his eyes again.

“What do you think I’ve been doing? I know being with someone isn’t bad. We’ve been having a great time for months until whatever the fuck this is,” Jungkook says.

“And how many other girls have you been having a good time with at the same time?” The question is out before you can even figure out if you want to ask it.

Opposite you, Jungkook rolls his lips together, like he’s trying to give himself a minute before answering. He can have a short temper at times.

“I’m not really sure why the answer to that question matters,” Jungkook says and you shake your head.

“I should’ve known,” you say.

“None though, for the record. Like I told you, I’ve been busy at work. So, I’m either there, working out, playing video games, or with you,” he says and you come up short.

“What?”

“Don’t take that the wrong way,” Jungkook says quickly. “I haven’t fucked anyone else in months, and I haven’t wanted to either. I’ve been having a great time with you. But, that also doesn’t mean this is something more than it is.”

“Meaning?” The balloon of hope pops just as quickly as it formed and you’re feeling even worse than before.

“Meaning,” Jungkook starts. “I don’t want…this. I don’t want to be fighting with you about some bullshit definition of what we are or where we’re headed. I like you, I do. But my answers to those still haven’t changed from the first time we hooked up 7 years ago. I don’t want that super committed relationship with expectations and check-ins and eventually marriage. I don’t want a house and kids and a white picket fence so the dog doesn’t get out.”

“You make it sound like a death sentence,” you say, completely deflated.

“I don’t mean to, it’s just not for me. It’s not what I’ve ever wanted and I’ve never kept that a secret,” Jungkook says. “I mean, I don’t know, maybe it is like a death sentence for me.”

“It feels like a slap in the face,” you admit and Jungkook bristles at that.

“Why? Because I don’t want the same things as you?”

You struggle to find the right words because that’s not what you meant. “Because you must have known it’s what I wanted and yet we still kept going.”

“I guess I figured you heard me when I said, over and over again, that it wasn’t what I wanted,” Jungkook says. “I figured you heard me and you could make your decisions on what you wanted.”

“It just seemed like…” you start and frown. “We’re always together, it felt like more.”

“So you just assumed that it was something more without even asking me about it?” Jungkook asks and gets a glare in response.

“Okay, that’s a little extreme,” you say.

“Is it? I can see it. You’re mad at me, which I get, kind of,” Jungkook admits. “But also, I don’t get it? Because none of this had to happen. If you’d talked to me instead of building it all up in your head…”

“Wow, that was kind of a dick move,” you retort and he shakes his head.

“Or is it a dick move to create a whole relationship in your head and then make me the bad guy for not being on the same page?”

That brings you up short again. Does he have a point? Is that what you’ve been doing all this time?

“I do actually care about you,” Jungkook says. “I know that may be hard to believe, but I do. It’s also really fucked up to create a whole world in your head and then turn me into the bad guy for not being on the same page. I always said we were having fun, that it didn’t matter what friends thought, that we’re just going a day at a time.”

“Because you knew, Jungkook, you had to,” you say. He furrows his eyebrows at you. “You’ve always said things like that and for what? What reason do you have to constantly remind me what this is if you don’t think there’s confusion?”

“Once again, it is not my job to force a conversation you may want to have. Weren’t you just saying we’re not still in college? That goes both ways,” Jungkook says.

Round and round and round in circles you and Jungkook go. You’re mad at him for something that he may not even be able to control, something that you’ve always known about him. And you’re mad that he’s known you probably weren’t on the same page for a while. He’s mad that you’ve had so many of these conversations in your head or with friends without cluing him in. He’s mad that he feels like the bad guy.

The whole fight feels pointless, honestly. You both are mad at the other and maybe you both have a reason to be annoyed. Maybe he has a point and maybe you need to take a step back to examine some of the decisions that you’ve made too. Maybe he’s not the only one bringing this house of cards crashing to the floor.

And maybe that’s not something you want to deal with tonight.

The rational part of your brain knows you should leave and call an Uber straight to Jimin’s apartment. That same part knows that even if he has someone over, he’ll drop everything to make sure you’re okay. He won’t even start the I told you so until tomorrow. Because Jimin can be a giant pain in the ass when he wants to, but he’s got the biggest heart in the world. Going to Jimin’s is absolutely the right decision.

That’s why you call an Uber and head to the bar.

After a few drinks, the empty seat next to you is taken by a stranger with fluffy hair and an easy smile. Despite your protests, he takes over your tab so that you can keep drinking. It’s a bad idea, you know it’s a bad idea, and you don’t really care. You don’t really have any room for good ideas right now.

For his part, he actually seems like a decent guy, if you were sober and present enough to notice. He tells you his name, his job, about his friends. You think he even mentions movies he likes. Nothing about it feels like the normal situation at a bar. Then again, it’s a Wednesday night, not exactly prime time to be out picking someone up.

The next morning, you wake up in a too bright room in an unfamiliar bed and immediately start piecing things together. The conversation with Jungkook and your subsequent decision to get completely shit-faced come rushing back. A sense of shame washes over you. This is the part where some attractive guy, usually one you somehow know, walks into the bedroom, maybe wearing just a towel, and you realize what you did.

Except this isn’t a movie, thankfully, and somehow you’re actually clothed in the bed. You’re in an oversized t-shirt and gym shorts, but you also still have your bra and underwear on. Likely a sign that nothing happened beyond you getting embarrassingly drunk last night. Actually, looking around the room, it looks more like a guest bedroom than the master. Did you actually manage to find a decent guy when you were hellbent on making bad decisions?

You aren’t really in the mood to figure any of it out. Your clothes are folded up beside the bed and, when you get up, you hear the shower running. It’s the perfect time to leave without having to have an awkward conversation. And since you were at your quota for those, you grab your phone from beside the table and slip out, thankfully unseen.

First up, your text thread with Jimin. Which is a mistake, of course you had texted him and of course it was barely coherent. But bless Jimin, honestly, because you see he had taken care of calling you out of work. Actually, bless him for having all your passwords and being able to sign into your email to send the message. You know part of him calling you out is also so that he can carry out his Jimin-approved therapy, but you’ll take it. You’ll even take him telling you he was right.

In a slightly uncharacteristic move, Jimin is waiting outside your door when the Uber drops you off. He’s already been shopping for the essentials and he’s got his arms open for you to collapse into him before even crossing the threshold into the apartment. There’s nothing on his face except for care and concern, which really isn’t surprising. His beating you to your own apartment may be surprising, but him being the best friend you’ve ever had isn’t.

Everything kind of pours out of you at once when you and Jimin sit down on your couch, the tears, the self-loathing, the anger, the confusion, the pain. So much pain. Pain over your ex, pain over Jungkook, pain over past shit that you really thought you were over. It’s like the past months with Jungkook were just a bandaid, putting off the day you would eventually feel everything. There’s no putting it off anymore though. Now you’re in it and you’re so thankful for a friend like Jimin to hold your hand.

He’s surprisingly quiet throughout the whole thing. He listens to your thoughts, comforts you during the gaps in speaking, makes sure you have snacks and something to drink, keeps music playing quietly in the background because he knows you hate the silence. He asks questions that are gentle, nothing too heavy or accusatory. The only time he gets firm is when you cry about not deserving a friend like him.

“Yeah, you can be an asshole sometimes, but don’t ever let me catch you talking that way about yourself,” Jimin says, unmoving. “You’re human and we all make mistakes. We learn and we move forward. I won’t let you be mean to yourself, though. That’s what you don’t deserve.”

Once you feel like you’ve said everything that you could possibly say, Jimin informs you that you’re taking tomorrow off as well and that he’ll be staying over. Just like when you were in college. The order for the night was trashy TV and junk food and no wine for you because you’re still hungover and no talking about feelings at all. You can pick all that up again tomorrow, but tonight is about giving your brain a break.

It takes much longer than you expect to really come to terms with what happened between you and Jungkook. You haven’t seen him since you walked out the door. In fact, you hadn’t even texted him until reaching out yesterday to see if he was willing to meet up. It wasn’t to work through things, though, as much as it was for you to heal. And hopefully for him to heal as well.

The past few months have been some of the scariest and most rewarding of your life. You’ve never really been alone, separate from a partner. You’ve gone from one relationship to the next for as long as you could remember and ignored anyone suggesting to take time nearly as long. The fight with Jungkook had been a wake-up call, an unwelcome one at the time, but one that you can now see the value in. It forced you to really look at yourself, at your choices, at everything that led you to that moment, to learn what you actually wanted.

And you don’t really know what you want, but you think it’s somewhere between your ex and Jungkook. Yes, you want something stable and comfortable, someone that you know and that you can rely on. At the same time, you want someone that will challenge you, excite you, keep you on your toes. It was unfair of you to put all that onto Jungkook. Whatever mistakes he may have also made, you want to own yours. Part of you knew that he was never going to be what you needed him to be and rushed forward head first anyway.

Everything led you to this point now, where you wait for Jungkook to show up. He had replied quicker than you expected and seemed happy to meet, despite you being clear on needing to talk to him. Maybe there were things he needed to say too.

The tinkling of the bell over the door catches your attention and you watch Jungkook walk through the doors, somehow exactly the same. It’s only been a few months, you remind yourself, not like he could change entirely.

The next part feels awkward, how do you greet him? You stand, considering what to do, when he saves you the trouble and goes in to give you a quick hug. Nothing too serious and also nothing too formal.

“Thanks for meeting me,” you say and he smiles.

“Of course,” he says. “I’ve been thinking about everything that happened too, honestly, so it felt like a good time.”

And just like that, it’s easy to talk. Really talk. Jungkook lets you go first and you lay out everything you’ve learned over the past couple months. He lets you make your apologies and makes his own. You’re able to take ownership of the mistakes you make, because you really understand them after months working through your shit, and feel like he’s forgiven you for how you handled things. You know that you can never fully expect to get closure in life, but this feels close. It feels like you can actually close the door on a chapter to move forward.

Apparently he’s been doing a lot of work on himself too. He admits to knowing that you were in deeper than he was and letting it go on anyway, something he’s not proud of and something he hopes you’ll forgive. He’s not there yet but he’s working on better communication, letting partners know what he can give and what he can’t. He’s trying to figure out what it is he actually wants and what he doesn’t. Even though you don’t need him to say it, he also wants you to know that, as cliche as it sounds, it wasn’t you. Not entirely at least. He got so caught up in how good the physical side of things was that he didn’t consider how you were both hurting each other.

Neither one of you is really sure how to leave things. Part of you, and you can see part of him too, wants to ask if there’s a way to move forward as friends. He’s been part of your life on and off for the past 7 years, since meeting when you were only 18 years old. You take the plunge, though, and say that he’s always going to have a place in your heart. You’re just not sure he can have a place in your life, at least not now. There’s a moment of relief on his face. Like he’s happy you were the one to make the call because he isn’t sure he could. He really does have a lot of work to do, he says.

“Do you know him?” Jungkook asks as the conversation is naturally winding down.

You turn your head to follow his eyes on a man wearing dress pants and a nice shirt. He seems caught up in whatever he’s reading on his laptop, slightly shaggy hair slipping into his eyes. You’re about to say no when he looks up and meets your eyes. There’s something…familiar about him. Like you know him from somewhere that you’ve forgotten. Almost like the memory is hazy and you can’t fully grasp it. He smiles, a really nice smile, and then looks back down at his laptop.

“I don’t think so,” you finally answer.

“He keeps looking over here,” Jungkook comments. You look for any sign of anything negative on his face, but it isn’t there.

“Yeah, I don’t know, if I do know him, I can’t figure out from where,” you admit.

“Maybe you should say hi,” he says and you just smile.

“With you here?” you ask.

Jungkook smiles with a shake of his head. He’s standing up the next second. “I actually have to go to an appointment with my therapist.”

“I’m proud of you,” you say and stand as well to give him another hug. Slightly less awkward this time.

“I’m proud of you too, proud of us, really,” he says.

“Take care, Jungkook,” you say.

“You too,” he answers with a smile.

Just like that, he’s heading out the door. He looks back once to smile at you and you wave. You’re wondering if that’s the last time you’ll see him. Maybe it is and maybe that’s exactly how it should be. Things feel better now, easier. There’s no lingering doubts and even though you know you still have a ways to go, you think that you can really do it this time.

But before you can retreat further into your own head, a voice breaks through your thoughts.

“This seat still taken?”

You look up to find the man that Jungkook asked about moments earlier and that’s when it clicks. Yes, you do know him and you finally remember from where. The world certainly works in mysterious ways.

i hope you liked it, it was definitely a ride writing it <3

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #kvanity #bangtantheatrenet #jungkook angst #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fic #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #bts fic #bts smut #bts x reader #bts x you #bts scenarios #bts imagines

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aleksanderscult · 2 months

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Analyzing Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power

(I'm so sick and tired of seeing people use his "You are nothing now" words as a way to justify how he didn't love her that I decided to create a whole ass post about it.)

First of all, let's see what the powers of a Grisha mean to a Grisha, shall we?

For a Grisha her powers is the same thing as the oxygen is for all humans. The constant beat of a person's heart.

Indispensable.

And in a way it's implied that a Grisha cannot live without it. Just like birds can naturally fly, just like a fish can naturally swim. It's part of their nature, part of their body and soul.

Now let's see Aleksander's reaction to Alina's loss of her power.

The moment he saw Alina being unable to summon, he froze. At first he's in denial of what he sees.

How can a Grisha not being able to use her power? A power that is always there no matter what? A power that "feeds" them and keeps them healthy and alive.

We see Aleksander being in a state of shock as he tries to comprehend what is happening with her:

He had never seen anything like that. A Grisha losing her powers is unheard of. Impossible.

He tries again and again to summon her light and bring it to the surface. The fact that he can't feel it causes him panic and pain. In a way, he can't find her soul.

And the very fact that she also lost her collar and feter is impossible too. When a Grisha claims an amplifier, a connection is made that can't be broken.

Another fatal loss for Alina and a disastrous blow for Aleksander and his knowledge, since he knows more than anyone else how amplifiers work and how a Grisha's power work. All the hundreds of years he had spent watching and studying the ways of the Small Science and of power, have gone to waste right now as he tries to understand what is going on with the woman he loves.

His near immortality and rare powers always made him seek someone else to connect with. Someone to understand him and be on the same level as him.

People say that he never actually wanted Alina to be his equal. Well, based on his words and reaction here, I would say he wanted to.

Right now there's no pretense, no tricks or a façade. We see him "naked" and exposed showing us his terror of Alina's loss and despair for his fate. Of being alone forever.

"You were meant to be like me."

Aleksander wanted her strong and confident. Unafraid to rise above the others and to stand right beside him.

"You're nothing now."

I know it sounds cruel but it is true.

If a bird lost its ability to fly or a fish its ability to swim, would you call that normal? If a person stopped breathing or her heart stopped beating, would you call her alive and whole?

Alina lost the very essence of her being, her soul and identity. What happened to her was something completely unnatural and just wrong. Aleksander has lived for centuries and knows more about the Grisha than anyone else (except of course his mother) so he knows that what happened to her, has crippled her. She's not the Alina she was. And she's never gonna be.

It's not a statement of disgust, apathy or scorn. They're words of pain and mourning. Shock and anger.

It's a complete ruin for Alina.

A devastation and tragedy for the unfortunate Grisha that experiences it for the first time in their history. And an equal devastation and sorrow for the Grisha that watched it happen to the person he cared most about.

And it's actually funny how Aleksander seems to be the only person that was devastated for what happened to her.

Everyone else was:

"Alina lost her powers"

"Okay cool".

In a way you can say that it was proof of how he was the one that truly cared about her fate while the rest of her friends didn't seem to give two flying fucks.

The Darkling just gave up.

All he had fought for, all the patience he had mastered for years waiting for his equal to come, went to dust right in front of him.

In a way he committed suicide and just let Alina kill him.

Now if he didn't love her as some people say, why did he do these things after she lost her powers?:

1) Called her to his side and searched for her hand to hold it.

2) Smiled at her and stroked her tears.

3) Entrusted her with his last wish because he'd seen her kindness and believed in it.

4) Asked her to say his name one more time so he could hear it from her one last time. A name that he had probably never said to anyone else for centuries.

5) Begged her to not leave him alone while he died because loneliness frightened him.

I'm sorry but if I was dying, I wouldn't want anyone at my side but the people that I loved the most. And Aleksander wanted the same too.

There's no way he felt disgust or anger towards Alina even after she stabbed him. Whatever she did, he forgave. And whatever happened to her in the end didn't stop him from loving her and wanting her presence at his side until his own end.

(didn't really love her, my ass)

#the darkling #pro darkling #darklina #pro darklina #yes because when you smile at the person that stabbed you and wipe her tears then you must hate her #oh! and let's not forget how he wanted to see her the moment he got resurrected!#that man came back from the underworld and said “Where is she?! Where's my wife?!”#like daamnn calm down you lovesick fool #oof #aleksander morozova #pro aleksander morozova #alina starkov #alarkling #pro alarkling #ruin and rising #shadow and bone #grishaverse trilogy #grishaverse

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sweetie-bri · 2 months

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Voodoo Doll [Giantess Growth]

"I know it sounds cringey, but at the time, it felt like a healthy way of dealing with my school crush. Yes, I made a voodoo doll of her using a small amount of her hair and some modeling clay from art class. I didn't think they did anything! Nobody does."

"Keep talking, son. What happened next." The interrogator checked to ensure the stenographer was still getting all of my testimony. "How did she first get... Like she is now?"

"Well, as we all know, voodoo dolls affect the person they're modeled after. If I had torn an arm off, she would have broken her arm. If I had poked her with needles, she'd probably have a sharp stinging pain but... I didn't think much of anything would happen if I put more modeling clay on the doll. I just wanted to make it look more like her."

"So, what'd you add?"

"I... added a bit to Sam's hips and boobs. I guess I overdid it. She looked so happy. Adding any clay made her bigger. It didn't really matter where."

"Why didn't you stop there?"

"Like I said, she looked so happy! Her body was filling out in an explosive way, and I just wanted to give her that feeling again and again. I slopped more and more clay on the doll, and eventually, she started getting taller as well as gaining more to her figure."

"That doesn't explain why we can't incapacitate her..."

"Sure it does. She's affected by the voodoo doll constantly. If you put a hole in her real body, the voodoo doll doesn't have that hole, so it'll just regenerate."

The interrogator leaned in close. "Where's the doll, son? As much as you like seeing her at this size it's obviously too dangerous for society at large."

"Um... Uh... Don't be mad... Please?"

"I won't. Where is it?"

"The school made me give back all the clay, I didn't mention the hair, so... It's probably about to get mashed together with all the other clay in the facility..."

#sweetiebri #giantess #bri #sweetie #growth #giantess growth #sizeplay #growth caption #giantess caption #macrophilia #macro #giant woman #growing woman

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sugar-plum-writer · 3 months

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Let Me Love You

Theme: Comfort Fic [Body insecurity]; One-shot Paring: Gojo x fem!Reader; established relationship; full fluff and comfort A/n: A comfort fic of Gojo comforting you when you are insecure and are going through an episode

"I love you"

[To everyone going through these problems- you are not alone, you are a beautiful person, okay? It is hard when the past habits suddenly come back to haunt you; when you look in the mirror and suddenly you feel like you are the ugliest person on Earth. It is hard, just know- as long as you are healthy nothing else matters. You just be the best version of you <;3]

GOJO

He could not pin it down but something was wrong, it was worrying- the fidgeting- the way you often looked at the mirror discretely, the way you had suddenly reduced the quantity of food you ate.

Even when he gave you something sweet after all he knew you also had a sweet tooth just like him, you declined and ate only a bite.

Instead of your usual clothes, you wore more baggy clothes, not that you did not look hot, you did but- you covering yourself up so much was unusual. After all, it’s just you and him, he has seen all parts of you, what is there to hide?

Hell, he had even secretly taken quite explicit pictures just to keep it for himself

This is why this sudden behavior change was worrying, he did not think much about it at first, but, when he saw you covering your face more often, the pulling of sleeves, and the way you froze, almost embarrassed when he tried to take off your clothes

It was very unusual- and he wanted to get to the bottom of it.

“Y/n what’s the matter?”, forcefully he made you sit in front of him

“What? What do you mean?”, chuckling you smiled, “Nothing is wrong”

“See…you cannot lie to me, I have very good eyes” With a sharp breath looked into your eyes

“When something is wrong…I know it, I feel it”

“Your heart, and mine- it is connected” Gently holding your hand into his, “When something is up, I just know it, even without words I feel it, why?”, he chuckled and smiled

“Because I love you”

He just stared into your eyes, not saying another word

It felt as if he could see behind the facade your eyes wore, people say they can see through the facades of people, the fake masks- but what about the facades of the eyes? Who can see through them? Well, he could, peeling layer after layer and you not even realizing it.

Tears filled your eyes threatening to spill out, why was he like this? Why did he love you? Why love you so much that- he could see the ugly side of you. The broken one. The side you so desperately hid.

“Y/n…”, seeing the tears in your eyes, the quiver of your lips, he pulled you into a warm hug

“Who hurt you?”, he cooed caressing your back, running his fingers up and down your spine

“You know you can tell me anything right?”

“I-I”, the dam holding the tears broke and you just started sobbing

“I don’t like myself��”, burying your face in his chest “I feel so ugly, everything about me is so ugly” you cried

“I am a monster”

“Sweetheart…you are beautiful”, cupping your face- his thumbs gently wiped your tears

“The most beautiful woman I have ever laid my eyes on”

“Who called you ugly? I want to talk”, his voice steeled his grasp tightened

“No-No one did, though high school…I just, it’s not the first time...”

“First time? You have…felt this before? And what about high-school?”

“Yeah” face stained with tears you broke down even more as past, memories flooded your brain

“Like an episode, out of nowhere it hits me like a train-“

“And I just…I cannot even smile without feeling how ugly my smile is…”, more tears streamed down- lord knows how many nights- hell days you have cried like this

“I am so ugly, my face is not pretty, and my body is not perfect...”

Quietly he just held you tight, hearing all the words that you kept pouring out from the depths of your heart and soul, the number of times you had called yourself, “ugly”, and “not pretty”, it made his heart tighten- squeezing it so tight- it overwhelmed him.

“Y/n…look at me” Lifting your sobbing face- and caressing your cheeks he made you look into his eyes

“I love you” his lips kissed your eyes, “You are beautiful”, his lips kissed your forehead, his warm breath near your neck as he kept kissing you- every inch of your body

“I love you so much”

“I adore you, your skin, heart, eyes, - everything”, his hands moved under your shirt caressing your breasts, tugging your panties

“I love all of you, darling- I will love you so much”, grasping your fingers he kissed them- delicately as if it’s a treasure- his treasure

“Satoru…”, feeling even more teary you looked at him

“I will love you so much- I will make you forget everything- all the hauntings in your heart and mind, I will love them all away. Just let me love you."

Link to Masterlist!

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luv-gukkie · 1 year

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★ 𝐝𝐞𝐚𝐫, 𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 ★

ᗯᗩᖇᑎIᑎᘜ ⚠︎︎ : іᥒᥒ᥆ᥴᥱᥒ𝗍!rᥱᥲძᥱr, ᥲgᥱ gᥲ⍴, іᥒ𝖿ᥲ𝗍ᥙᥲ𝗍ᥱძ!ᥡ᥆᥆ᥒgі, 𝗍ᥲkіᥒg ᥲძ᥎ᥲᥒ𝗍ᥲgᥱ, ᥎іrgіᥒ!rᥱᥲძᥱr, ძ᥆mіᥒᥲᥒ𝗍 ᥡ᥆᥆ᥒgі, 𝗍ᥲkіᥒg ᥎іrgіᥒі𝗍ᥡ, ⍴r᥆𝗍ᥱᥴ𝗍ᥱძ sᥱ᥊ (good job yoongi), innocent!rᥱᥲძᥱr, ᥆rᥲᥣ sᥱ᥊ (𝖿ᥱmᥲᥣᥱ rᥱᥴᥱі᥎іᥒg), ძ᥆ᥴ𝗍᥆r!ᥡ᥆᥆ᥒgі

Pairing: Fem! Reader x Yandere Min Yoongi

last time you were here, your tummy was upset and your nose sniffled every chance it got. you told yoongi how you felt with such an upset tone. "dr.min, i just don't want to be sick anymore. i don't like it." you pouted, your pink lips falling down so cutely. he remembered what you wore too. a nice little pink dress that reached your thighs with some white shoes that had long, white socks sticking out of them. your mother sat in the corner, explaining to him that you've been ill for weeks and that you were terrified at just the thought of walking through the hospital doors. you blushed at the comment, whining your mother's name for spilling too much information. he checked your temperature and other things as well, asked you some questions that your mother answered instead of you, annoying him in the process. what would it take to just hear your voice more. but other than that, you were such a sweet girl. that's why he gave you a strawberry flavored lollipop each time you visited. maybe it was the small sparkle in your eyes when you saw him pull out the sweet and the way you told him that you were very thankful. it's the same reason why yoongi has a gummy smile on his face when he saw your scheduled appointment. oh boy, he couldn't wait to see you.

the first thing he noticed as he walked in was your shoes neatly placed beside the hospital's chair; clearly standing out in plain room with white walls and no decor that could possibly illuminate like you did. you sat there, legs pressed together and hands under your legs with a gentle smile pressing on your face. "hi mr. min!" he laughed in return. you could never get the fact that it was dr. min. no matter the amount of time he and your mother told you. at the thought of your mother, he didn't see her. "where's your mother?" at his question your body slouched and you stared at your lap, "my mom told me to come on my own...that i'm a big girl." a pout on your lips as you told him.

whenever you came, it was a refreshing sight of life and a better day for him because all day he would stare at people who complained to him or coughed in his face and other monotonous doctors that had gray strands growing in their hair and wrinkles on their bodies. however, yoongi could always count on you to make him smile. "don't worry, this will be fast and fun!" he moved the strand of soft hair behind your ear and placed his hands on top of your lap, rubbing them, "let's start!" he wiggled his eyebrows making you giggle. he checked you and everything seemed to be normal. when he asked why you came, you explained to him that you had gotten a terrible flu and that you worried it could be something else as you kept on sneezing each second of the day. exaggerating was always a big part in your personality, yoongi found it hilarious.

yet, there was a stutter at his smile when he realized you didn't fake your illness to see him. but it was all alright, at least he could see you now and in a healthier state. "okay, well you're all better now. how are you?", he asked, well aware that it's his job to find out if his patients are healthy mentally as well,"anything happening at home?" his back facing you in order to type in his computer, prescribing a medicine to help you with your allergies. the ones that you said turn your face red, nose stuffy, throat itchy, and eyes all watery; that make you stay in bed. when yoongi heard a broken sob behind him, he's never looked so fast. he ran to be by your side, worried completely on your behalf. he caressed your face and pulled at your cheeks gently, whispering to you. "what's wrong honey?" you couldn't face him when you had this guilt building up on you. "d-dr. min, i l-lied to my mom", he nodded his head, suggesting that you should finish, "a-and to everyone else that i don't have a boyfriend." you finally cried out in frustration; big, fat tears falling down your face. "b-because i-i do!" yoongi couldn't believe what was coming out of your mouth. his mind not willing to grasp around the fact that you had someone that held you. that kissed your lips, held your hand, and cuddled you secretly. his mind trying to form another version to help him cope. it's true that every young person has someone before they find their true love. yet, sometimes the person they date from young ages are the ones where everything happens.

your heavy head finally looking up to see his reaction, his figure loomed over you and his dark eyes seemed distant as they stared at you. his gummy smile no longer there, just a pat on your head and he left your side. at least he tried, your hand quickly grasped his wrist and a whine escaped your lips along with a cry. "m-mr. min, please stay!" you grabbed his white coat, doing your best to prevent him from leaving the room. tears strayed form your eyes, your knees touching the cold floor as you continued to babbler nonsense. anything to make him stay and comfort you. he was the only one you could trust, you couldn't tell anyone else. your frustrations pausing when he turned around to look at you on the floor, "good girls don't do that (y/n). they don't lie like you did", his face said it all; how disgusted he was by your actions.

"b-but mr.min i'm not lying to yo-", his shoe smoothly touched your covered cunt. "stop talking." you whimpered at the contact and hugged his leg as a reflex. "you probably fool around with boys." you shook your head at his comment with small moans slipping out of your mouth as his foot pressed against your folds more. you close your eyes at the feeling of your stomach clenching. his eyes lusting at the sight beneath him. "a slut." he says as your eyes water. he could easily take off that tiny skirt you always wear and that buttoned up white shirt that's see through, giving him and everyone else the view of your bra and cleavage. sobs broke out of your mouth as you mumbled things he couldn't understand, all while pushing your cunt against his shoe. hiccups escaped your small mouth, delicious to yoongi's ears. he kneeled to be just above your head, "does it feel good?" his voice covered with curiosity to know how you felt, questions popping up in his head if you had ever made love with someone else. your voice timid, "i-it feels weird," as you spoke to him you fastened your hips. your fingers clawed the fabric of his pants. "describe it honey," yoongi removed the hairs sticking to your sweaty forehead, fascinated at what he was witnessing and hearing from you.

he never thought he would have this chance. a chance with you. you whispered how it made your princess part feel strange and hot. made you wanna go faster. he played with your hair like how his fingers traced the cream buttons to your shirt. yoongi's foot started bouncing up and down with you on it. your breath became ragged and yoongi smiled down at you, "go on little one, finish up." you moaned out, "mr. min i-i feel like i need to pee." your lips separated and cheeks all blushed. your sight covered with unknown, innocent lust. his fingertips undid five of the tiny buttons, cleavage fully exposed and bra straps slowly caressing your shoulders as they fell down. his long fingers landed on your thighs, rubbed them all the way until your skirt wasn't doing it's job on covering your pussy and your thighs. the scene in front of him taking his breath away: panties all drenched with your own needs, the fabric colliding your folds each time you inched forward and back to reach your high, and his leather shoe smeared with your wetness. the hold on his black pants tightened and a muffled scream, and that's when he saw it. your panty moved aside just in time for him to catch sight of your cum dripping out onto his shoe and the floor. folds covered with the sticky substance that made his mouth water and eyes all hazy from it.

yoongi noticed the change of pace, your head starting to lower and eyes fluttering. "what's wrong, little one?" his eyes dangerous, "did you like it?" he asked, this time fully taking off the blouse and bra. he almost couldn't hear the "mhm" from your throat. almost. it was a reassurance that yoongi could continue. "you wanna slip out of your skirt?" he helped you up on the examination table, ignoring the pain of the erection you caused. your dazed form so easy to carry and control. probably even easier to break. your small hands compared to his, pushed the patterned skirt down to the glossy floor. yoongi walked to the door and fully locked it. your big eyes watching him for his next move. a need you didn't know about creeped out of your tiny hole. you laid back, overwhelmed and in tears on why your hole keeps closing around nothing but fresh, cool air. why it felt so lonely and warm, hoping mr. min could fix it like he always does to help you get better from colds.

yoongi spreads your legs apart, giving him the sight of your panties and the valley of your tits. he fondled with them; his cold fingers tracing you silt with the material sticking to folds. he dips his face close and put your legs on his shoulders. his lips leaving a tiny peck on it. then a long lick in the center of your panty, where he could feel the puddle of cum sitting. he drags them off your legs and into the pocket of his white, laboratory coat. "mr. min, it bothers me!" you whine out and throw a mini tantrum at how long he was taking. he was gonna take it slow, but you could be such a brat sometimes. throwing a fuss when all he wanted to do was help, he needed to teach you why you have to be patient. something your mom missed to teach you and now he could. yoongi settled himself between your legs, a mess forming on the harsh, thin paper beneath the two of you. he shifts his fingers under your thighs and pulls your measly form to him. he makes sure your head is away from him. he tugs of every clothing that blocks his dick from meeting your hole until his bare shaft is out and hitting his abdomen. "spit," he demands as his hand closes in on your mouth. and once he has it, yoongi pumps his cock a few times with your saliva, rubbing it all round his cock. since you wanted to hurry up, now you're gonna feel the consequences of not waiting to get your hole stretched before.

yoongi groaned in sweetness as slid his cockhead on your slit, using all the wetness he can receive to spread it out. your nails break through the thin paper under you at the anticipation to get away from the feeling. "it might hurt a little," he pauses because yoongi knows he's lying to you. but it's too late to turn back now so he puts a condom on for protection. yoongi gently pushes the palm of his hand on your mouth and jerks his cock past your cum-covered folds, through that small hole of yours. his palm hides the painful scream you emit from his peers and the plump tears fall out all over again, coating the dry tears. "it's okay baby, dr.min is just gonna push the rest in." but before he does, he looks at you in the eyes, as if searching for something.

you don't realize what it is, all you know is how your jutting your hips towards yoongi even though the mushroom tip of his cock felt worse than a regular booboo. the way your cunt ached with heat and your hole kept swallowing nothing telling you to push down through the pain. your walls painfully molding around his cock. your hands attached themselves around his waist, fisting his lab coat. you whimper his name loudly as you roll your eyes till the back of your head. yoongi doesn't dare to move, not wanting to hurt you in the process of making love to you. instead, he whispers soft, gentle words to your ear. he caresses your arm until your elbow and back again. he connects both of your foreheads together, a gummy smile on his face that brings a smile to yours. "mr. min, why are you smiling?" you ask with curiosity in your tone, slowly forgetting about the pain between your legs. "cause you're so cute." he says in his casual tone, knowing that you don't notice the difference of how he talks to you compared to every other person who walks the ground of earth. your cluelessness to his lovesick eyes and small hints. your jaded eyes only seeing his lazy, brown orbs with nothing in it. and when yoongi starts moving his hips against yours, his stiff dick is submerged entirely into your sopping cunt.

his slacked mouth he breathes out a heavy groan at the feeling of your walls randomly contracting around him. the pleasure so unknown and foreign to you. not knowing why you felt so full when dr.min finally pushed against you. why your body reacted like this, but yoongi knew why your back arched. it was the dull ache of his cock resting inside of your tightened pussy. every single twitch of his cock intensifies a tensing of your own cunt, both of your bodies feeling high. his beautiful hair is messy on his head, and each time you looked down you see his muscles flexing as he holds you against his body when he pivots his pelvis into you.

he wishes he could be yours. even if he told you, you wouldn't understood. he's got all these secrets building up on him, all of them include you. he shouldn't be here with you; with your scent on him, wrapped around in your arms with your clothes on the floor. But he can't help that you've got him wrapped around your pretty finger, and that you don't even know the power you hold over him. "my pretty, little baby," he purrs into your ear. his warm breath hitting your ear shell causing a faint moan escaping your plump lips. in his mind, both of you are connected without a barrier, so he pushes himself as much as he can with the lasts of his few deep, rough thrusts. plunging himself as far as he can into your womb, thinking of how your cunt pulses around him heavenly and with that, his cum spurts on the condom. yoongi lifts your hips up while you arch your back as you milk his dick completely. your voice is filled with panic as you stutter, "i want to pee." your eyes make contact with his as your mouth opens to let out a loud moan from the luscious orgasm. your eyes closing shut at the eye contact, shy that you're peeing in front of yoongi again. you're leaking out all over, some of it goes to the floor.

yoongi's eyes twinkle at the sight of you. his mind taking a picture of you like this. you were too good for this world, too pure to walk around by yourself but he couldn't block you from it. he wasn't one to mess around with people's life, and he definitely wasn't going to mess with yours. it was your choice what you wanted to do, not his. no matter how his beating heart rang in his ears or how thoughts ran throughout his mind to shield you, to keep you locked up from everybody else. even that mom of yours who dared to send you to the doctor's office your own. anybody could've taken advantage of you. yet, in the end, he could never. you could decide what to do with your own life. so, at least for now, yoongi was just gonna watch you from faraway. but his heart betrays him because it continues to pester him on his desires on how he wishes he could be yours. and even if he told you, you wouldn't understood. he's got all these secrets building up on him, all of them about you, of how much he fucking loves you. he shouldn't be here with you; with your scent on him, wrapped around in your arms with your clothes on the floor.

yet he can't help that you've got him wrapped around your small finger, and that you don't even know the power you hold over him. "my pretty, little baby," he purrs into your ear. his warm breath hitting your ear shell causing a faint moan to slip out of your plump lips. such a small sound from you makes him go crazy. "i'll have you soon." he whispers more to himself than to you. yoongi pulls out and throws the used condom away, his hands sculpting you back up to perfection. the small buttons sliding through the holes, all the way up to the collar. your eyes dart all over the room, avoiding yoongi's eyes as you feel the wetness on your pussy lips.

your panty is sealed in his pocket, but you've already forgot about them, letting the cold breeze touch your cunt. you can feel the stickiness between your legs, your lip quivers and your eyes fill up with tears until you finally let them go. "yoongi", you weep, "i'm sorry that i peed~." your cheeks flourished with tears and blush at the embarrassment you felt coursing through you. "please don't tell anyone," you begged, a little scared in the inside. "it's okay, let's not tell anyone, pinky promise?" he said, sticking out his pinky finger. nodding your head, you took his finger into yours, noticing the height difference. your tiny hole squelching wetness out without knowing why. yoongi snickered as he watched your cunt get wet at anything. "you like this, don't you? i thought you were a good girl. but you like it when i put my fingers inside of you, especially when my cock splits your cute pussy lips apart. never knew you could be such a whore." you feel a shiver go up your spine and a gush of something out of your princess part when his fingers part your folds. the air flowing in causing you to moan out his name and hold on to his wrist. "because you were a good patient, you can ask me for anything you want." that's how you found yourself repeating after yoongi for him to ram his fingers inside you as a reward. each leg on his side with your skirt flipped upwards once again. warm forehead against the chilly wall, eyes rolled back. completely unaware that yoongi's phone was out, filming every second your cunt wrapping itself around almost his whole fist.

"i'll see you next time, can't wait!" yoongi gives you a gummy smile. "here, a strawberry lollipop." the lollipop pressing against the tip of your noise. your eyes shine at the sweet treat, pulling it out of his hand with grabby hands. skipping away from him after a mutter of goodbyes from you, enjoying the first time you've gone to the doctor alone.

"very soon." a grin on his face as he watches you walk away from him with one hand holding down your skirt. yoongi laughs in the inside at the realization of something. he makes his way to bathroom and secures himself into a stall digging into his pocket for a certain piece of fabric. when he draws it out, your panties are dangling on his finger pads. he snickers at the fact that you left unaware of your not having any underwear on and he's slightly envious that the cool air is touching your bare pussy. so careless of you that any breeze could flip that already short skirt of yours upwards. oh such a slut people would think you were, walking with your cunt unclothed. yoongi spends his time fondling with your panties, playing around with them, making them kiss his cock all around.

he knows he'll see you soon, and when that time comes, you'll be his too.

#bts yandere #tw yandere #yandere bts #yandere #obsessed #obsession #bangtan #bts #bts smut #innocent eyes #innocentgirl #min suga #min yoongi #bts fic #yandere x reader #yandere x darling #bts suga

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