#despite this the question sounds much meaner to me.

[nerdpiggy]

#be free my post #random polls #tumblr polls #poll #just a random thought. i think the question sounds meaner but idk why #cuz like #the first one is just a statement #but the question lets you answer 'no' #despite this the question sounds much meaner to me.

[touyaz]

love shot

pairing shidou ryuusei x fem reader

word count 1.7k

notes the dialogue in this is the focal point & i was experimenting with it a lot, so shidou does say really . weird things. he's a lil hot + nasty like that <3 if you dont like it sorry u have no taste ♥️🙏

WARNINGS oral (f rec), masturbation (m), fingering, lots of petnames (wife, babygirl, and some other weird ones), reader has body hair. calls reader's pussy 'she' but otherwise no pronouns.

MINORS, AGELESS & BLANK BLOGS DO NOT INTERACT. 18+ ONLY.

"ain't this the dream?" shidou murmurs, kneading your hips mindlessly. his head is buried in the crook of your neck, lips peppering kisses wherever they can. "bagged a cute, lil wife all for myself."

"stop it," you protest, leaning your head towards his so he has no space to press on. "we can do this later."

a displeased whine escapes him, and he tilts his head to dot kisses along your shoulder instead. "fuck that," he groans, and one hand comes up to tug the neckline of your shirt away. his mouth is hot against you, a little meaner than earlier with how he nips at your skin. he sweetens the blow with a fleeting kiss, only to repeat it all in the next second. "want your attention on me now."

"and i want to finish making dinner, but i guess—" you yelp when he bites the juncture between your neck and shoulder, dropping the knife in your hand so you can bat at his hands. "sei!"

"my bad," he snickers, his smirk searing itself into your flesh. "what'cha cookin', sweetcheeks?"

"curry," you snap, holding on to the edge of the counter when he doesn't budge. you bow your head, and as much as you want to finish making dinner, it's getting harder to focus on what you need to do next when shidou licks up the slant of your neck, nibbling on that soft spot behind your ear. "but it's all gonna— gonna burn if you keep this up."

"that's fine," he drawls, voice low like the rumble of a jet lifting off with the promise of taking you to new highs. "i'm in the mood for somethin' else, anyway."

there's no question about what he means when his hand snakes down your front, cupping where you're warm, wanting.

"bet you're pretty hungry for me yourself, huh?" he grins, rubbing over your sex firmly despite the layers. you can't deny it has you a little desperate, melting like butter in the hot pot next to you. it's always been too easy for him to get you like this, to have you craving whatever it is that he wants to do to you. "gonna let me take care of that for you?"

"you can do what you want later," you try again, one final attempt to win this battle, but shidou's never been one to share first place when it comes to competitions.

"or, i can turn this shit off," he starts, and he takes it upon himself to ruin everything you've done, turning the knob on the stove, so the fire dies out. "and you can hop onto the counter and let me dig into that sweet cunt of yours. sounds a lot better my way, yeah?"

there's no point in moaning about your half-cooked meal when he drags you away and helps you sit up on a cleaner surface.

"you're making dinner tonight after this," you tell him.

"yeah, yeah, whatever." he's more focussed on getting you out of your clothes, dragging your underwear down, too, and kicking the pile away when you're finally half-naked for him.

"and washing up."

"babydoll, i'll do whatever you fuckin' want, long as you spread your legs for me."

his words have you biting your cheek, and in a last ditch effort to defy him, you don't part your legs like he wants you to.

you also don't stop him from pushing them apart himself.

"not so mouthy now, are you?" he snickers, staring down at you. you can't hold his gaze and it makes him laugh louder. but then he leans in to kiss your cheek softly and the contrast has you clinging onto the edge of the counter, gulping. "you're so fuckin' cute," he murmurs, biting the fat of your cheek teasingly. "it's alright, baby, your cunt's doin' all the talkin' for you, dripping all over the kitchen. this your secret ingredient? cookin' up a love shot for me tonight?"

"shut up," you admonish, squeezing your eyes shut as if that'll help drown out his words. "that's so gross."

"fuck yeah, it is." he grins, canines bared and ready to feast. he finally sinks to his knees, and his voice sounds far away but no less overwhelming. "wouldn't mind you doing it for real. wouldn't ever wanna eat anything without it, though." he drags your legs over his shoulders easily. he wastes no time in getting his mouth on you, licking a long stripe up your slit and groaning at the taste. "oh, fuck yeah, this is it. been starving for your pussy juice all fuckin' day."

"don't— don't say that." you pull on his hair, taking your embarrassment out on him, but the moan he belts out doesn't sound the slightest bit pained.

"eh, why not?" he sucks your clit into his mouth, grazing his teeth over it lightly enough to make you jerk in his hold. he lets go with a wet smack of his lips, waiting patiently for you to look at him. when he notes the haze in your eyes, the dew on your lashes and the crease in your brows, he grins. "don't wanna hear how I've been thinking about your angel cunt all day? jacked off so many fuckin' times as well—"

"shut up—" you cry, yanking his hair, but he only rolls his eyes back shamelessly.

"fuck yeah, sexy." he drags you to the edge of the counter and back onto his eager mouth. his tongue is hot, wet, everywhere all at once. "pull it harder," he goads. "make it hurt."

narrowly, you watch as one hand disappears below, followed by the sounds of clothes ruffling as he loosens his trousers. "gonna make me nut all over the fucking floor."

he slurps noisily, messily, but it's not enough to mask the grunts and wet clicks that track each stroke of his length. his arm is a blur to you as he pumps himself, and your fingers flex around his pink-tipped strands in an attempt to ground yourself to something that isn't the lewd slide of his tongue into your sopping hole. his free hand joins in now, and it's your eyes rolling back this time, whimpers trickling out you as he starts circling your clit.

you barely understand when he starts mumbling into your pussy, "how about i'll cook ya dinner and you clean up my cum, how's that sound? off my dick and off the floor— so fuckin' dirty, bet you'd do it, though, eh?" he isn't looking for an answer, continues flicking his tongue and pinching your swollen bud and fucking his own fist to your whines. "soaking my face so much, yeah, you would do it, wouldn't ya? you've been like this all day? been waitin' for me to come home and eat you out? put up a fight earlier for what?" he slaps your clit lightly, but it's enough to have you bucking up, gasping. "yeah, that's it. been wanting this sloppy cunt on my face all day."

another hit lets you hear just how soaked you are from all his spit and drool, from your own arousal. "listen to that, she's been missing me, huh? sweet thing's been pent-up and leaking for me all day, haven't ya?" he kisses your clit and all along your slit, unabashedly wetting his lips with your arousal. "i'm here, babygirl, gonna take care of ya, gonna give you everything you're dripping for."

he uses his entire hand to spread your arousal around. he drags the mess from your slit upwards, soaking the hairs on your pelvis and drying off on your thighs only to push his fingers into your aching hole and follow the slick trail with his tongue instead.

"you ready to cum, baby?" through half-lidded eyes you can make out the way he looks up at you, eyes dark but sparking wickedly. "gonna give me all your honey-sweet love juice?"

you shake your head, gritting your teeth and hating every word that leaves him. you hate how it has you leaking onto his tongue, the coil inside of you winding tight.

he sinks his teeth along your thighs, curls his fingers in your pussy, and screws his hand around his dick. it's too much. he wraps his lips around your clit and sucks; he slips a third finger in and crooks it just right—

"don't leave me hangin' now, sugarcunt," he calls out. "let me get a taste of ya, i'm so fuckin' hungry. thought you were gonna feed me, huh?"

—and you cum with a drawn-out cry of his name, and he drags your high out until it hurts for him to give you any more.

"there she goes, give me all that sweet angel nut, baby."

your head spins, body heavy yet weightless.

over the sounds of your stilted breaths, you hear him growling, wet schlicks following as he brings himself to his own release. "oh, fuck yeah, this is it— gonna bust a— all over. should've cum in your little cunt— do it, next— gonna cum— gonna fuckin'—" his body tenses up and you watch as his cum spurts out, staining your cupboards.

he'll definitely be cleaning that up himself.

"that's the good shit," he sighs, slowing down his strokes. "feels so much better blowin' my load after eating your cum first. might have to bottle you up," he laughs tiredly. he slumps over, resting his head on your knee, and you push back the sweaty strands that cling to his forehead.

"what's—" you pant, taking a deep breath in. his chest heaves, but he doesn't look half as affected as you; if anything, he looks ready to go for another round or two, already dotting kisses back up your thigh. "what the hell's honey love juice?"

"all this good shit." he beams, easily sinking two fingers into your pussy. when he pulls them back out, he shows off the creamy strands of your arousal proudly. "and it's honey-sweet love juice. not a fan?"

"god, no," you grumble, staring at the webs that hang between his fingers.

you grimace as he slips his fingers into his mouth, speaking around them, "tastes sweet as honey, though." your face scrunches up with distaste and he continues, "how about sugar squirt, then? or creamy sex slick? or droolin'—"

#what is the point of a bllk smut fic if it doesn't revolve around reader getting head #do i tag LMAOO #fuck it we ball shidou girlies deserve smn #bllk smut #blue lock smut #shidou smut #shidou ryusei smut #shido ryusei smut #shidou ryuusei smut #blue lock x reader #bllk x reader #shidou x reader #shido x reader #shidou ryusei x reader #shidou ryuusei x reader #mine #mine.bllk

[sovya]

like magic

ran haitani x f!reader (with hints of rindou haitani x f!reader)

minors n ageless blogs dni

cw: inc-st, dddne, use of honorifics ("nii-chan/san"), slight manipulation (on ran's part), pet names ("princess" "little girl" "sweetheart" "sweet girl"), D/s dynamics (including having rules), infantilization, slight humiliation, praise, degradation, teasing, hand as a gag (to keep you quiet), piv (mating press), size kink, free use (if you squint)

synopsis: ran, after a long day of work, wants nothing more than to decompress with his favourite girl—but he doesn't want to share. ♡

an: if i forgot any cws, pls let me know ! also srry this is so disgusting lol

wc: 2.5k

"you make it sound so easy..." a loud huff departs from his lips, pink and slick with your saliva and his own.

your whines cut through the heavy atmosphere of your sizeable bedroom, a sound that echoes off the finely decorated walls before seeking purchase in the recesses of ran's mind.

"but i need you... don't you need me?" long eyelashes give shade to your gaze as you look up at him longingly. you can almost see him question if you're asking in good faith or if you're simply trying to rile him up. 

either way, it's working. 

"aw, c'mon princess, you know that i do... nii-chan just hates to hurt his favourite little girl, that's all."

"but 'm tough... i can take it! i've taken you before."

"no, i know... i’m only worried that if you hurt too much, you'll scream and cry and then rindou will wake up. an' if rindou wakes up, he'll want a turn with you… and we both know rindou will be much meaner to you than i am."

your eyes leave his face as you look around the darkened room, just barely visible thanks to the lights of the city. he makes a good point, even though you wish he didn't. as much as you love how rin fucks you, your sleeplacking body might break under his strength alone. your gaze returns to your eldest brother's face, giving him a dejected nod. 

"hey, don't look so sad, little girl... 'm still gonna fuck you." his form hovers over yours rather menacingly, his hands on either side of your head holding himself up.

he looks like a God like this, you think to yourself. his normally perfectly styled hair now falling around his face after his nightly shower, the dark purple strands contrasting against his rather pale skin. the tattoo along the length of his neck bobs as his Adam's apple does, as if intentionally drawing attention to itself—though maybe that was the point of getting it on his neck in the first place. your sights trail further down his body, his work shirt having been discarded hours ago, hung up for dry cleaning the next time the maids come by. despite the strain on visibility, you can make out the distinct markings of his half body tattoo, eyes following the intricate patterns the ink has weaved into his skin. he's too good to be true but he's here and he's real and he's looking at you like he wants to eat you—not whole, but to savour you instead.

"so how are you going to..." your voice trails off, words fleeing into the sound of the fan running on the other side of your room.

"fuck you?" he smirks at your hesitation to use a curse word, something him and rin have agreed is strictly unallowed—only for you though, of course. "'s okay, honey, you can say it just this once. i won't tell rin."

"how are you going to f-fuck me if you don't want me to make loud noises?"

his smirk spreads wider, like a burning wildfire across his face, one he couldn't contain even if he tried.

"i’ll be gentle, sweet. take good care of ya." he shifts his weight to his left hand, using his right to caress your cheek, his thumb smoothing out the plush skin there.

“but… what if it hurts? like you said…”

“hm…” ran starts to look around the bed before reaching for your stuffed rabbit, placing it onto your chest, “hold your bunny, okay? cry into her if you need to cry.”

an involuntary whine escapes you, your arms wrapping around the stuffed animal your brothers bought you many years prior—prior to this moment, prior to them fucking you stupid nearly every night.

reaching his hand down to the waistband of his sweats, he haphazardly pulls them down until the band rests around his muscular thighs, his cock finally springing free.

“see, baby, there you go. just hold onto your bunny an’ nii-chan will be right here, okay?”

“okay…” the utterance comes out much less confident than ran was hoping for, but he’s too hard and his day has been too long to give a fuck.

he gathers the skirt of your nightgown and pushes it further up your hips, his large hands finding their way to your bum as he lifts you slightly, allowing the garment to collect around your body, just below your belly button. he leaves your bottom half completely exposed, your cunt now in full view.

“just as pretty as the first time i saw her…” ran sighs, speaking mostly to himself.

while his left hand remains on your body, touching your side with a gentleness not unfamiliar to you, his right hand pulls back, finding its way to his aching cock. he begins to touch himself, teasingly slow, as his gaze drags up and down your body.

“nii-chan…” whining, you give him a pout and ran can’t help but laugh.

“what?”

“want touches…” your eyes begin to well up as you watch him masturbate above you, knowing that the brothers gave you a rule against touching yourself without their express permission.

“what do you say, then?”

taking in a shaky breath, your brows furrow a little more, “please?”

“please what?”

you can’t totally see his face given the darkness of the room, but you can just tell he’s got a smirk plastered across his face.

“p-please… ran-nii, will you please touch me?”

“touch you where?”

goodness, you feel like sobbing. you feel a painful lump in your throat beginning to form and you swear it’s going to weigh you down into the mattress and leave you there, crying, for an eternity.

“r-ran… please? i need you. need you t-to touch me on my… in my… my…” you struggle desperately to get the words out, wrestling with your mind to just let you say the words—those incredibly humiliating words—you need to say.

“your… what?” his hands go back to your bum, lifting you up as he goes to line himself up with your entrance. afterall, you both know he can’t have you sobbing.

“there! touch me there! please!”

ran places a hand over your mouth, trying to keep you from nearly shouting at him again. the sheer size of it engulfs your face, causing you to clench against him, and he can feel it.

he hisses out a “fuck” when he feels your pulsating cunt against the tip of his cock, the way your arousal is dripping down your slit.

ran simply cannot wait any longer. he needs to feel you wrapped around his cock. his sanity depends on it.

the hand on your face presses harder against your skin, the bones of his digits digging in as he starts to sink himself inside of you. his jaw falls slack, letting a strained groan make its way past his lips. it may be dark in your bedroom, but he can see how your eyes dart around his face in a panic, never having taken him with this little prep before. you’re scared and incredibly pliant, just how he likes you.

you draw in a shaky breath, intense and fraught, like with every inch he presses inside of you, he threatens to knock more air out of your lungs. gripping onto your plushie tighter, you feel tears beginning to pool at your lash line, his cock stretching you with a harsh sting.

“there you go sweet girl… look so pretty like this…” ran whispers as he finally bottoms out, his gaze nothing short of absolutely adoring.

you blink and a tear falls down the side of your face and onto the pillow, “i do?”

ran lets out a breathy laugh, nodding while his hips start with a relaxed pace, “yeah, princess, so fuckin’ pretty.”

smiling up at him, you manage a small giggle, “thank you, ran”

he begins to speed up, the sound of his skin slapping against yours getting louder and more frequent, “that’s not what you call me… you know that…”

starting to sob, you partially hide your face with the head of your bunny plush, “sorry nii-chan… ‘m sorry…”

clenching his jaw, ran groans through his teeth, low and needy—like a man possessed.

“there we go, good girl… that’s what i like to hear.”

his cock stretches you open, keeps you open, as it drags along the gummy walls of your cunt. the feeling is almost agonizing, despite the arousal dripping down and forming a little puddle below you. you feel an intense ache in your core, like he’s threatening to tear you open. and through all of this, you feel so ardent, so eager, so good.

feeling you tighten around him, ran draws in a sharp breath, his fingers gripping at your pillows even harder, “fuck, sweetheart… love when you do that. w-what’s it you’re thinkin’ about in that pretty little head of yours?”

you give him a drawn-out whine, all of a sudden feeling overwhelmingly shy. looking up at him, your brows furrow as you shake your head.

“no? you don’t wanna tell me?”

you can feel yourself tighten around him again, but you repeat your headshake.

“alright, that’s fine.” suddenly, ran stops his movement, causing you to gasp—and you’ve got that precious panic face back on—how cute.

“wait… no. please keep going, ran-nii. i-i’ll tell you, promise,” you do your best to talk quietly, but the possibility of ran stopping is just too much for you to bear.

“you promise?” 

his cock is still buried inside of you, and he’s just as desperate as you are to keep going, but he’s gotta tease you. what else are big brothers for?

sniffling, you nod, opening your mouth to speak, “was just thinking about how you feel…”

ran starts to roll his hips into yours again, a smug look creeping across his face anew, “how i feel?”

“yeah… h-how you’re stretching me out and…”

moving faster, bringing himself back to his previous pace, ran raises an eyebrow at you, “and what?”

“just… how big you are…”

he licks his lips and his eyes grow heavily lidded, the classic haitani stare piercing through your soul, sending the most primal feelings surging through you—feelings you can almost guarantee are rushing through him too.

“how big i am, huh?” his large frame shifts above you, ran’s hands moving off the pillows and to the undersides of your thighs, pinning your legs to your chest.

you let out a squeal and ran’s hand finds its way to your mouth once again, attempting to keep you quiet as the weight of his body keeps your thighs pressed to your torso. a muffled “mhm” leaves your lips but is cut off by your big brother’s palm, causing him to laugh. the low rumble comes from deep in his chest and you can feel his abdominal muscles tensing against the backs of your legs as he chuckles.

he’s so strong, the feel of his muscles like absolute torment to you, causing your cunt to clench around him another time.

“you’re such a naughty girl… getting off on your big brother folding you in half and fucking you like a toy.” ran growls, throwing his head back and moaning. his head comes back down just as quickly so he can look at you while he speaks again, “but that’s okay, you know that… nii-san loves his dirty little girl.”

ran moves his hand from your mouth, pressing his sweaty forehead against your own, gazing into your eyes with so much love.

i love when he does this, you think to yourself. ran can play all the mind games he wants, can be conniving and tease you until you forget where he starts and you end, but the way he looks at you when he’s close gives all of his secrets away.

“i love you s’much, ran-nii.”

before you can register what’s happening, ran’s lips meet your own, capturing you in a kiss. it’s passionate and incredibly comforting all at once, making you dizzy and sending your heart pounding. his soft lips move against yours languidly, a wide contrast to how harshly his cock slams into you.

“nii-chan wants to make you cum, baby… ‘s that okay?” ran practically moans into your mouth, but you know his question is rhetorical. you know it doesn’t matter what you want, not really. that you finishing is all a part of his fun, too.

you nod anyway, lips parted and wet with both of your saliva.

ran snakes a hand down between the two of you, the pads of his middle and ring fingers touching your clit as he begins rubbing fast, tight circles against it.

you can’t help but squeeze your plushie tighter, tears starting to well up and fall, the crystalline droplets catching what little available light peers into your room.

“you’re so beautiful…” ran still speaks against your lips, as if he’s trying to convince you to let go right there underneath him. “the best little sister a guy could ask for.”

whimpering, you dig the back of your head further into your pillow, ran’s lips having no issue following.

“p-please?” although you’re unsure of exactly what you’re begging for, ran takes the cue to keep going. his long fingers continue swiping at your clit as his cock drags against the sweet spot inside of you, your entire body shivering and your eyelashes fluttering as you struggle to maintain eye contact.

your eldest brother ruts into you like an animal, breath catching in his chest with each thrust inside of you. his lips meet yours once more as he feels you starting to spasm and clench around him, desperate to swallow your moans, keeping them all to himself.

a high-pitched mewl escapes from your throat as you finally cum around his cock, your arms and legs trembling as sobs begin to wrack through your body.

ran’s orgasm isn’t far behind yours, his movements stuttering as he wraps his arms around your back, desiring nothing more than to hold you close as he finishes deep inside of you. he looks blissed out and incredibly vulnerable, so unlike the untouchable God you’re used to viewing him as. still, you can’t see him as anything short of perfect.

as the two of you lay there, you do your best to catch your breaths, hearing the sound of ran’s heavy exhaling right next to your ear.

“you okay, princess?” ran’s the first to speak, as always. you guys could have gone for hours and he could be mere moments away from passing out, and he would still check in on you, still do all the aftercare you needed. he’s attentive and sweet like that.

“yeah, ‘m okay… are you?” your voice comes out as a whisper, moving your hands from the plushie you were holding to return ran’s embrace.

he chuckles, maneuvering his head so he’s looking at you again, the warmest smile on his face, “just peachy.”

suddenly, the tender moment is interrupted by the sound of the doorknob to your bedroom jiggling, followed by the harsh light of the hallway as it creeps open.

"aniki... i believe it's my turn now."

#ran haitani x reader #ran x reader #ran haitani x you #ran x you #pls heed the tags im so srs #tokrev.♡ #fics.♡

[jd-loves-fiction]

Could you write one with Dream and the reader where Dream discovers he's a soft dom? 👀

🌑 probably not exactly what you were hoping but i kinda went wild and that made it vERY fluffy :)

[21:56] Dream, as an Endless, a being far beyond your human comprehension, works differently than humans. That much should be obvious, and yet it still surprises you.

If the most mundane things make you do a double take, then it's to be expected that so would his more complex traits.

Your sex life, for example, is a source of near constant surprises. There is not a night you spend together that doesn't make you pause in wonder. 

The fact that Dream is still finding things out about himself greatly surprised you. Though he quickly corrected your train of thought; he's not finding new things out about himself, he's simply finding out what works best for the two of you.

Such a discovery is made one day, on one of your first times being intimate together, where Morpheus starts feeling the need to do more. To assert even more dominance. To take things just a little further. 

His grip becomes just a slight bit tighter, his words a dash more demanding. You go along with it because you trust him, and it turns you on beyond belief. 

And yet, even as meaner words tickle throat, ready to be spoken; even as his hand itches, ready to grip you tightly and without mercy, something holds him back. Something deep in his chest where, were he a regular human, his heart should be. 

"What's wrong?" You ask him, breathless, but not gone enough to not notice his hesitation. 

"Would it be a bad time to ask about your preferences?" He almost sounds sheepish, leaning back above you.

You chuckle affectionately, "It's not a bad time. Maybe a weird time but… I didn't think the King of Dreams would need to do things like ask questions."

"What do you mean?" He's so serious it makes even more affection flare up inside your chest.

"I thought you'd just know those things."

"I believe you would find it disrespectful if I were to take that information from you without your notice." His thumb rubs at the skin of your thigh as he speaks and it's a little difficult to not let both lull you to sleep. You're still getting used to that part of him. 

"Fair enough, I probably would. So what exactly do you want to know?" There's an easygoing smile on your face as you ask, stretched out like a napping cat amongst a sea of black satin sheets.

"Would it bother you if I were to be gentle?” You raise a brow. What an odd question. “I mean, if I were to only be gentle. I want to worship you, treasure you, not degrade you or hurt you. Would that be alright?”

The stars in his eyes shine so gently, so warmly, enveloping you in a warm blanket of love and adoration. He’s Endless, he doesn't need to ask, not really. You’d probably go along with whatever he wished for, and yet he does ask. Despite how… troubled it seems to make him?

“Of course it would. More than alright, in fact. I don't see why you'd even need to ask that.” You giggle, running your hands through his soft trenses to mellow his serious expression.

“Perhaps I would not need to. But I want to. I want to know what would best please you.” His pale, soft hands brush your features as they warm in tenderness.

“There’s nothing you could ever do that would not please me.”

#dream of the endless #sandman x y/n #sandman x you #the sandman #sandman x reader #morpheus x reader #morpheus x you #morpheus #morpheus x y/n

[phykoha]

TTT questions;

1- how long it took for TTT leo to walk? Was it like few miles or just 5 steps then heard " oh wait i hear someone getting destroyed " type of sounds.

2- after getting out of P.D (in movie leo was saved and i think TTT too) would he start living with hamato or just play " gotta go get the milk " card?

3- will TTT have any chances of having his teleport ability back or nah?

4- how does TTT behave around the kids? Like does he even hate little leo?

5- TTT still like Hawaiian pizza?

1) I wanna say 22 years because. He's walking. And walking would take a lot longer than using a ship like the Kraang would. And also him literally hanging out in that shit hole for 22 years, having to keep himself sane and rambling and complaining to himself is just funny to me.

But since time works differently there, it's hard to say for sure. I want to make it a point that despite him being in there for a long time, his body hasn't aged all that much. Given how he's moving backwards in time-space, the aging process was slowed to almost a halt. Donnie would need to do some analysis to see how old he is exactly...

2) That's complicated. I feel like they would want him to stay at the lair, and he would for a while. Walking through a wasteland for an indeterminate amount of time really makes a guy want to sit around and do nothing forever.

3) No, he lost that a long time ago. If he still had it, traveling through the prison dimension would've been a lot easier hdjfjjd even if he did have it, there would've been no exits, so it wouldnt have helped that much tbh

4) He's a little awkward around them, to be sure. Suddenly being face to face with younger versions of his brother's is pretty jarring, especially since he didn't know he was time traveling to begin with.

He doesn't.. hate Leo. He's a little harsh towards him at times and is a bit rougher and meaner with him than the others. It's more of a hatred toward himself. But eventually he comes to realize that this kid.. isn't him. This kid saved the world. Saved his family. Did everything he couldn't do. And. He's just a kid. And in realizing that about Leo, he realizes that about himself. He was also just a kid. Doing stupid things and saying stupid shit because he was a stupid kid who didn't know any better.

And that makes him feel... A little less bad about himself.

5) Yes he does. He gobbles that shit up as SOON as he can. First order of business upon settling in the present.

#blah blah blah #inbox answer #TTT AU #i am so normal about him (lying)

[spiteless-xo]

libido, passion, and another from the questions for all the boyz 😎

sexy selfship asks

hehehe ty for asking!! 🥰 im having so much fun with this

Libido - what is your f/o’s sex drive like? How often do they want sex?

jean is always horny--every day, multiple times a day. like i said in a previous ask, he gets really embarrassed about how much he wants sex! so he tries to downplay it and pretend like he's not super turned on, even though he is. 🥺 if he had it his way, we would just live in the bedroom--only taking breaks to eat or sleep

eren is also always horny, because he's such a gym rat. going to the gym every day and getting all sweaty and his blood pumping and his muscles aching turns him on so much that he's racing to get back home. he's very much a one-and-done kinda guy though, so we'll have sex and then he'll nap for like an hour, and then he spends the rest of the day just being a little baby

sex with suguru is an event, so it's a lot less often. 1-2 times a week, usually. he likes to draw out the days without sex with a lot of tension and teasing to make the days with sex feel even more satisfying. his thoughts are that doing it too often results in sloppy sex, and he always wants to perform at his best.

satoru is another every day, multiple times a day type of person. he's very rough though, so for me i need a break, and that just makes him even more insatiable and antsy.

Passion - is sex between you and your f/o fast or slow? Gentle or rough? Loud or quiet?

jean always starts out soft and slow and builds up speed and intensity the more worked up he gets. he tries to be gentle but when he's really turned on he gets pretty rough and nasty. but never quiet because of how much this man loves to babble and groan.

eren starts out fast and rough. sex with eren always feels like the first time after having not seen each other in months, despite the fact that we literally saw each other this morning and had sex the day before. he gets annoyed when his marks and bruises start to fade so he always makes sure we've both got fresh marks every day. he himself tries to be quiet, but he makes up for it by making a racket every other way he can--slamming the bed against the wall, the creaky mattress, the sound of skin-slapping-skin, etc etc.

suguru's preference is to be slow and gentle. as i've said before, he likes to make love as opposed to just fuck, so it's always really passionate and intense with lots of emotions. but he's good at reading my body and knowing when i want it rougher or faster and will adapt. he is very quiet in bed and if he does speak, it's always whispered in my ear or against my skin.

satoru is similar to eren in that it's always fast and rough. for him, sex is like a competition and he's trying to break me. he has no concept of slowing down and enjoying the moment, he just wants to see how many times he can make me cum before he does himself. also always soooooo loud and obnoxious.

Another - have you ever considered including someone else in your activities? If so, who would it be?

jean would absolutely never invite anyone. he's too jealous and possessive and he wouldn't want to see me getting pleasure from anyone else. but!! we talk about it a lot, theoretically. because jean is bi, we talk a lot about inviting another guy not to share me but to share jean, and he's more open to that idea but still feels bad that things would be lopsided. (lowkey he would love to include reiner or armin in the bedroom, but he'll never say those thoughts sober.) he's not interested in another girl in the bedroom because he thinks he'll be too overwhelmed and not be able to perform.

eren would absolutely want to invite jean because eren wants to show off, but then he'd be immediately furious when he realizes that jean is also good in bed. eren would get so grumpy and pouty about it afterward and never want to invite another person in the bedroom again. he would also be meaner to jean afterward and constantly get into stupid arguments with him. (meanwhile, jean's like, "i thought we had a great time!") he's open to the idea of bringing in another girl but him and i can't agree on someone so it never happens. in my selfship headcanon universe, eren and mikasa are like brother and sister, so even tho i desperately want to hook up with her, eren thinks that's disgusting.

including someone else in the bedroom is actually how satoru and i started seeing each other. suguru and i were already together and when the topic of threesomes or open relationships came up, satoru was the obvious choice, and now we're in a throuple lmao suguru had said for ages how similar satoru and i were but i refused to believe it because satoru was so bratty and annoying--and then he continued to be bratty and annoying by pushing all of my buttons and making me hate him even more, but suguru could tell it was more of a playful banter than genuine hate between me and satoru. me purposely saying i didn't want to do something that satoru did, just to piss him off. satoru doing things that i claimed i hated because he loved seeing me angry. stsg is enough for me, we have no desire to include anyone else.

#sleazymac-n-cheesy #aot #jjk #eren #jean #geto #gojo #tiff.ask #tiff.selfship

[misericordevn]

hi xeecee! your game is so cool and I've been thinking about it ever since I played it. one of the things that I credit to my ongoing obsession is how well-drawn all the characters are- while they have traits that come to the fore (Moira presenting herself as welcoming and upbeat, Eustace being rather acerbic, Flora being a teen, etc) they really struck me as full people, with all the flaws, quirks, and contradictions that entails.

aside from rambling about how great they all are, my question is: are there any characters that changed significantly from how you first imagined them over the course of writing Misericorde? or did they start as rough outlines and gain that definition through being written? thanks!

Thank you! That’s a good question. I actually drew all of the characters before I had much of a plan for writing any of them—I had a rough idea of the story and knew that it’d be an ensemble cast but the first thing I did was draw a bunch of character designs. This sounds a bit backwards but I think it really helped, I think. I mostly wanted to make sure the characters could be distinguishable at a glance despite all wearing mostly the same clothes and being drawn in black and white. Assigning personalities to the designs came naturally after that.

Eustace probably changed the most; all of the cast went through revisions both visually and in text but her original design was a lot more timid and shrinking, with her meaner/more sarcastic moments sort of appearing as a surprise. I think she’s a lot more interesting as a sort of unreadable, unpredictable cipher; the scene where she seems really mad and then reappears with pudding works a whole lot better when there’s some ambiguity. Was she messing with everybody? Was she actually mad and walked it off quickly? I like that a bit better than having her do jekyll/hyde stuff—that’s a archetype I really enjoy but ultimately I think where she landed was better for her character.

#misericorde #misericorde: volume one

[ladyloveandjustice]

Spring 2022 Anime Overview: Some More Good Food

I’ve talked about three interesting anime about awesome girls from the Spring 2022 season, but what about the rest of my watch list? Well, Spring was smorgasboard of scrumptious shows and here are my thoughts on the rest of what I saw!

(Note I left some in the backlog because there was SO much good-sounding anime this season and I had a feeling summer season would be pretty barren in comparison...and it is. So I’ve recently started Ya Boy Kongming and will probably watch Aharen-San too, but they won’t be getting reviews)

Spy x Family

This one was such a smash hit I don’t feel like I need to say much about it. The golden premise is that we’ve got a highly fictionalized, extremely loosely cold war inspired setting in which a spy needs a fake family to infiltrate a fancy school and stop a war. For this purpose, he just so happens to adopt a daughter, Anya, who’s a telepath (he does not realize this), and then (in part thanks to Anya thinking it would be cool and setting it up) he ends up fake marrying an assassin (without either of them realizing it). The entire family is keeping secrets to each other and desperately trying to pretend to be normal, but despite all the subterfuge, they develop a love for each other that’s clearly real, and find people who can accept them for their weird quirks.

Spy x Family is just a good time, a great mix of action and comedy with loveable characters. It has an extremely broad appeal and the animators clearly knew they had a hit on their hands, because they bought their A-game when it comes to beefing up both the action scenes and the comical expressions and jokes. It’s a top quality treat to watch all the way though.

Pretty much the only thing to watch out for in this anime is the sadly all-too-common character who’s way too obsessed with his sister (and he’s a member of the secret police, so all around garbage person), though since the sister in question is married, much stronger than him, and they’re both adults, it’s far less…horrific than anime can usually get about it. (I will say his dub actor makes him unhinged enough I found myself laughing at some of his lines, and he did fulfill his role as a catalyst for shenanigans).  Having read ahead in the manga, he also doesn’t show up too much.

Overall, SXF is an easy rec. Whether you’re here for ass-kicking, cuteness, or to laugh a bit, it’ll scratch that itch.

Kaguya-sama: Love Is War Season 3

Speaking of animators who always bring their A-game, Kaguya-sama is back and as always it’s a spectacle. Especially the rap episode, which was bonkers and has to be seen to believed. Glad it’s canon Chika said motherfucker...twice. It’s still very funny, but doesn’t quite reach the hilarious heights of the second season and there were a couple more uncomfortable jokes- namely the series’ first ever mention of queerness is Chika mistaking Shirogane and Hayasaka-in-disguise-as-a-boy as being in a relationship and getting excited nosebleeds over it while also mentioning once that she’s “not sure if I should stop them or cheer them on”, so, not great.

However, on the character development front, this season was really great for almost everyone (except Chika, weirdly, because as the other characters have gotten nicer and gained depth, she stays the same and thus comes off meaner. Still pretty funny though!) We got to see Hayasaka assert her needs more with Kaguya, both Kaguya and Shirogane reevaluate their priorities, Ishigami continues the develop in a positive direction and…we make REAL PROGRESS on the central relationship. That’s right, actual solid progress on a will-they-won’t they rom com and the central premise of the series itself is challenged in a satisfying (and fun) way.

One thing that always bugged me a bit was that while we see a lot about what Kaguya sees in Shirogane and how she’s changed because of him, we don’t see her from his point of view and why he likes her as much, and this season actually fixes that by showing how he fell in love with her and how she inspired him and shaped a lot of his time in the school. There was solid growth for the characters and it will be interesting where they go next!

Shikimori’s Not Just a Cutie

Sometimes you just want to watch a show about good kids being sweet and adorable, and that’s exactly what this series is. Anyone who comes in expecting a strong comedy will be disappointed, but if you’re down for a soothing, slower paced romantic slice of life, you might end up liking it.

The central idea of the series is Izumi is a very terminally unlucky, danger prone soft boi who has a cool, princely girlfriend who protects him, and a I’ve seen a lot of people react like “ugh, are gender roles so restrictive that even having a girl who’s cool AND cute is considered subversive enough center a comedy around” but that like…clearly misses the point of the series, which is allow you to imagine being in the the position where you can watch your girlfriend be cool and dashing and sweep you up in her strong arms, which as a lesbian, I 100% am here for.

‘Cool Girlfriend’ fantasies are nothing new, but what sets Shikimori apart as enjoyable is it doesn’t go into the aspects of that  fantasy that usually lose me- like the part where the average joe boy stumbles into being better than the cool girl at everything, because he can only be worthy if he outdoes her, or the part where the boy doesn’t have to put in any effort while the girl centers her life around him, or the part where she gets her clothes shredded…you get what I’m saying.

Shikimori’s Not Just a Cutie works because Izumi works just as hard to make Shikimori happy as Shikimori works for him. It’s clear WHY she likes him- he’s genuinely very kind and, despite being cursed by the universe with bad luck, he spends most of his time thinking about the people around him and doing his best with what he has rather than being resentful. He also appreciates Shikimori for who she is and loves her dashing nature. Shikimori and the supporting cast also have enough interiority we’re actually able to spend an entire episode without Izumi in it at all.

Granted, Shikimori’s backstory- “I was just following along imitating other people in my family, which very coincidentally meant I was being more traditionally masculine and doing more masculine activities, until I discovered my TRUE dream (after reading a single chapter of shoujo manga), which just very coincidentally involved being more feminine”- is such a eyerollingly common cliché in anime that Gekkan Shoujo Nozaki-kun parodied it, but the end result is Shikimori discovered she didn’t have to hide the protective, rambunctious “cool” parts of herself even if she wants to be cute too, which while a common ending to this cliche backstory, isn’t a bad message.

It also did that thing I really love in anime like Kimi ni Todoke where two girls are set up to be romantic rivals, but instead a girl is like “well, liking this guy is something we have in common, actually, how could I hate you for having the same feelings I do?” and it becomes a point of bonding and reason for them to be friends. Look, is a little idealistic to hope for that for messy teenagers? Yes. Does it make want to cry and do I still absolutely love seeing a story where, where the cliche of women fighting over a man instead becomes a point of solidarity between girls? Also yes. Shikimori’s Not Just a Cutie is a world where good, sweet kids support each other no matter what, and it’s heartwarming to spend time with them. 

In this cute friend group, Shikimori isn’t shamed for being traditionally masculine in some ways and nobody ever gets on Izumi for being in a more traditionally feminine role either. It’s not anything earthshattering or amazing, but it’s a sweet anime and sometimes it’s nice to escape to a world like this and enjoy the chill vibes.

Ascendance of a Bookworm Season 3

Unfortunately, I found this entry of Bookworm to be a lot weaker than its previous seasons, perhaps because of it’s truncated 10 episode runtime. It’s still a good show with interesting world-building and there’s a lot of big status quo shakeups for Myne…but it all feels pretty rushed, especially considered how huge and sad a lot of things that happen at the end are. Light novel fans have mentioned it does dash through the plot comparison to the source material, and that makes me curious to check them out. Basically, still good, had some shakeups, but I was left just a little wanting- that’s really all I have to say about it.

#spring 2022 anime #anime overview #spy x family #kaguya sama love is war #ascendance of a bookworm #shikimori's not just a cutie #my reviews

[companionwolf]

Bad End #1

Summary: After being brought to the police station post investigating the crime scene of the death of Dr. Moulin, after the explosion set off in the adjacent holding cell by the other two J Cell members that were in the cave, Delta Green agents Jay and Jacob fail to escape.

TW/CWs: Character death

A/N: Not actually what happened in game by a long shot (*gestures at my very much alive and out of jail blorbos*) but I liked this enough to write it out as a sort of alternate ending thing. This one is more focused on Jacob; I might write a different bad end piece that's more about Jay later on, not sure yet. Also Jacob has OSDD (or something adjacent to it) for additional context.

The shots ring out louder than the cacophony of the officers around them.

Three to the back as Jay tries desperately to go for the door on the end of the hall. They fall hard to the concrete floor. They do not get up. They do not move.

Jacob wants to scream--

He can't.

He's frozen, far past fight or flight now; dropped into freeze and submit. The only evidence he's still even present and aware are the tears streaming down his face and the wails he cannot get out of his throat.

There's blood pooling beneath Jay now. The smell of it hangs in the air - metallic, fresh.

Jacob can't see much anymore through his crying and the blood that trickles down his face, from where one of the officers bashed something against it. Something in him is almost grateful. Almost, though. Only almost.

Because he can still see, past the officers around him. He can still see Jay's silent, bloodied, crumpled form on the ground.

They left me.

Another wail among all the ones he can't get out. They left me. Or they were going to. In the action of it. Confusion and -- is that anger? They rip through him like a electrical current, but fizzle out as quickly as they came, dampened by fear.

He wants Jordan, Jack, Joy, Jean. Whitney? The handler? Anyone. Someone. But no one is here.

No one except--

Jacob feels bile in his throat. He can't swallow.

Hs is 34 and 11 and 7 and 4 and everything at once and nothing at all. His insides are swirling, his brain can't pick any singular one of him, because he is not just him, never has been, so it tries to pick them all. This fails.

It throws just him back into the forward of his body. This fails too-- he's somewhere in between and somewhere beyond and it feels unreal. This feels unreal. Is he sure this is real? It hurts like it is but...

Jacob tries to focus. This fails as well.

It's all failing.

And it's all his fault.

If he had just been better, smarter, faster, this wouldn't be happening. Or at least maybe he'd have gotten away, or maybe they'd not have ended up at the station, or or or --

His vision darkens. He thinks he's trembling.

And then Jacob feels a hand outstretch to him, himself to himself. From somewhere inside someone calls.

It'll be alright, a voice says. You don't need to be here, Jacob. You don't need to be anywhere. Not right now.

Not anymore.

He strains through the black spots in his eyes, through the pain and blood and tears. One last look at Jay, guilt burning like the brusies--

Do you want to be there? When you die? A different voice. Meaner, colder. Do you want to be there, Ari Katz?

Jacob feels cold and slow and small, and he doesn't know that name. Am I going to die? Answering a question with a question-- typical of him.

Yes, you are. Despite its dark tone, the voice sounds about as scared as he is.

Yes, it repeats again, as if to reassure them both. Yes. Yes, you're going to die.

Jacob peels away from his body, tucks himself somewhere inside his skull amongst the stock still terrified others that reside there too. Away from this-- anywhere else now, anyone else now.

In the end, when it's over, he's already long gone.

#wolf barking #delta green #tailstrokes #ok i can post this now #'wolf i understand nothing' [shrug] #this is very much not what occurred in game but it does read kinda nice so #aliens & landsharks #runs on gay and horror

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.  WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide  RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif  of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all. 

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms. 

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization. 

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him? 

You’re not so sure. 

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows. 

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed. 

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did. 

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean. 

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?” 

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that. 

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you. 

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes. 

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise. 

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well. 

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows. 

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments. 

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary. 

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight. 

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise. 

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s. 

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face. 

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.  

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth. 

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self. 

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first. 

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups. 

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features. 

Oh, you loved this man. 

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane. 

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway. 

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. 

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself? 

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on. 

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.” 

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car. 

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant. 

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you. 

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass. 

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass. 

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit. 

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks. 

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe. 

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear. 

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs. 

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck. 

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush. 

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river. 

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river. 

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!” 

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is. 

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.” 

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.” 

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song. 

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off. 

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign. 

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device. 

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen. 

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line. 

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?” 

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?” 

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.” 

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred? 

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend? 

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate. 

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell. 

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird! 

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at. 

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?” 

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words. 

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?” 

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.” 

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut. 

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead. 

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again. 

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account. 

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?” 

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now. 

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook. 

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“ 

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.” 

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.” 

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms. 

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing. 

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes. 

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.” 

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat. 

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment. 

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze. 

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river. 

“I thought he was cool before.” 

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you. 

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth. 

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor. 

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?” 

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?” 

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own. 

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.” 

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.” 

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling. 

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen. 

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud. 

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief. 

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship. 

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man. 

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot. 

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim. 

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either. 

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.” 

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”) 

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes. 

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.” 

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement. 

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.” 

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes. 

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself. 

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone. 

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura. 

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this. 

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.” 

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end. 

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.” 

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly. 

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is. 

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead. 

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them. 

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.” 

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.” 

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr. 

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet. 

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again. 

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue. 

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey. 

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see. 

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck. 

Of course. 

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss. 

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it. 

And you’re all too ready to act on it. 

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy. 

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw. 

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare. 

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him. 

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds. 

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair. 

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips. 

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit. 

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders. 

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you. 

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull. 

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around. 

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you. 

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up. 

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view. 

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings. 

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you. 

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely. 

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise. 

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth. 

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness. 

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest. 

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor. 

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes. 

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air. 

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead. 

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions. 

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been. 

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table. 

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt. 

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again. 

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs. 

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true. 

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low. 

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you. 

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you. 

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix. 

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin. 

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction. 

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper. 

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust. 

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly. 

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips. 

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface. 

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed. 

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy. 

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why. 

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home. 

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you. 

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad. 

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying. 

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses. 

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes. 

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside. 

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds. 

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly. 

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?” 

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder. 

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you. 

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit. 

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you. 

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different. 

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap. 

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out. 

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat. 

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath. 

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds. 

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question. 

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.” 

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly. 

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic. 

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom. 

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet. 

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums. 

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?” 

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?” 

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you. 

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house. 

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise. 

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors. 

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.” 

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag. 

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

[animatedrapture]

"VORFREUDE."

Summary: Sakusa thinks of you as his vorfreude, his intense anticipation from imagining future pleasures. He swears it's not mere delusions.

Pairing: Sakusa Kiyoomi x F!Reader / slight Komori Motoya x Reader

Word count: 4.5k

Genre & Content Warnings: Slight angst. NSFW. Dark content. Yandere behavior. Porn with Plot. Incel/Bully!Sakusa. Virgin!Reader. Abuse. Non-con. Blackmail. Coercion. Misogyny. Slut-shaming. Slight manipulation and mindbreak. Fingering. Corruption. Defloration. Degradation. Vaginal penetration. Creampie.

Notes: Thank you soooo much to the lovely anon who commissioned this! Took a lot longer than it should've cause academics kept cutting in & joint with my anxiety. But yeah, thank you so much :') Thank you Faiwy for the final beta !! <3

If you're thinking about commissioning me, please refer to this post.

You’re a constant, Sakusa thinks.

For as long as he can remember, you’ve been following him and Komori like a lost puppy—whenever they were, you were sure to be there. He can’t think far back enough to remember when it started, but you were insignia of constancy, that was all Sakusa knew.

He listens intently while you talk to Komori from beside him, voice low and stumbling over your words every so often—he knows you're going out of your way to avoid saying something he could use to pull you apart with, piece by piece like a frail little toy.

"How did the test from yesterday go?" Komori questions you, right as your trio made it to the cafeteria.

Your easy-going smile falters at the mention of it. Sakusa already knows the answer. He shares that class with you, after all. He had the front row seat to see your face flushed with humiliation and how rigid your body grew when the professor told you Sakusa would be tutoring you.

Reminding him that out of everything about you, the way you wore your heart on your sleeve is something that insistently rubbed him the wrong way.

First, because he starts thinking about how easy you make it for people to take advantage of you; it makes his blood boil. Then, he starts thinking about every reaction he could get out of you, like how you'd look from beneath him as he used your body the way you wanted him to.

Because you do, don't you? Why else would you go out of your way to adjust to his habits? To carry around your personal sanitizer and wipes, always making sure the space you were in with them was clean.

Nothing else could explain how you strung along with them like loose thread.

It tugs at the heart beneath his ribcage—but whenever he sees you give all your attention to Komori, the betrayal sinks in, and he's reminded what kind of a woman you are.

A whore.

As you laughed nervously, taking a seat across from them, Sakusa wonders if you're having fun, wonders if for a moment you're riddled with guilt as you flirt with his cousin and him at the same time, in the same breath.

"N-no, it didn't turn out very well," you admit in between stutters, embarrassment creeping back in.

Komori frowns empathetically, "I could help you, you know—"

The sparkle in your eyes is quick to appear. God, you're so cunning. It makes Sakusa consider that maybe you failed the test on purpose, thinking this would happen—but that would be giving you more credit than due. You're just a dumb little girl.

"I'm already tutoring them," Sakusa interrupts, and he's unsure whether to be delighted or angered at the way your face falls sullen.

"O-oh right, but—but I'd love to get your help, Motoya-kun—"

The scoff Sakusa lets out is loud, loud enough to make you wince. "You're dumb enough as it is, you don't need distractions," his words come slicing like knife. You sink in your seat.

Komori laughs awkwardly, giving you a smile—sheepish and apologetic—he's so kind, he's always so kind.

Sometimes you wonder how they're actually cousins; until you're reminded that Sakusa hadn't always been this mean to you. He had always been cautious, but he wasn't ever mean like he was out to get you at every ragged edge.

Somehow, though, the closer you got to him—past his defenses and indifference towards you—the meaner he's gotten.

You were like a moth to a flame, not in the sense that you were attracted to its light, but more so like being punished with burn after burn the closer you got.

But your feelings for Komori begged you at every instance to swallow the humiliation down, at each of Sakusa’s degrading remarks.

You take out your packed bento, wiping at the table with wipes before placing it down, the cousins moving to do the same out of adapted habit, until you notice Komori digging in his bag, eyebrows furrowed like he's confused.

"Motoya-kun? What's wrong?"

He turns to you, scratching at the back of his head, "I think I forgot my sanitizer."

You're quick on your hands, offering him yours without missing a beat and Sakusa's reminded of why he even likes you at all.

You were persistent with being able to stick around them. He thought that was remarkable. That you'd never been freaked out by his habits, you respected his space—something he couldn't say with the people who pushed and disregarded his boundaries. That instead of forcing him to adjust to you, you went out of your way for him to be comfortable with you around.

And he's flattered, really. He doesn't have to wonder if he had a chance with you because surely, he does.

Since he's so nice—nicer than a whore like you deserves, he'll let you know your feelings are reciprocated, then he'll fuck you, because surely, that's what you want… Right?

Then maybe, when you're finally his girlfriend, he can start training you to stop being such a flirty slut, that you belong only to him and that you’re nothing but his property.

But for now, he can settle with the warmth in his chest as he notices all the ways you try to get his attention.

Being with Sakusa is hard, even with Komori around, it was nerve wracking. Conversations with him weren't any easier, if anything, they were more dreadful.

When you ask Sakusa about tutoring you, you do it over lunch just so you avoid having to walk up to him alone. His answer is curt when he tells you to come over tomorrow, and that he’ll pick you up from your place; because you can try all you want to outsmart him, but he’d always catch on.

Because Sakusa was smart, and you were just you.

After lunch, you feel nothing but the dread bubbling in the pit of your stomach—churning and thrashing—because no matter how hard you try to push it down, the fact is that you’re actually scared of him.

Scared of the nitpicking he'll scrutinize you with—the way you sat, the way you looked at him, the way you trembled in his presence alone. You start thinking of what to wear, because even something as little as that can put him off—always commenting about how short your skirt is, how you're showing too much skin, how you're probably doing it on purpose.

But it's nothing you're not used to anymore.

So you tug on your fear, push it into a corner, and you tell yourself that Sakusa is mean, and condescending, and harsh, but he wouldn’t hurt you. You pick yourself up from the corner of your mind, and you repeat in your head like a mantra. Sakusa wouldn’t hurt you.

The ring of the bell breaks you out of your reverie. It reminds you that the day has almost ended, and that it felt like a blink faster than it should’ve been. Still, you pull on your things, gathering them to leave the classroom slowly emptying out.

You make a small sound of surprise when your eyes dart over to the door, where Komori stood, an anxious smile on his lips. He looks like he's been waiting for you, making your heart hammer against your chest like it wants to leap out.

Face-flushed and giddy, you walk towards him.

“Hey, Motoya-kun. What’s up?” You smile, all sweet and bright-eyed. From the pit of Komori’s stomach, something flutters. You only ever look like this when your eyes are on him; he thinks he wants to keep it to himself.

He brings a hand up to his hair, lightly scratching at the back of his head with a nervous smile, and it’s awkward in an adorable sort of way. He’s walking beside you along the corridor, it’s slow and the bit of silence between you is calm.

“Ah, well…” He starts, gaze flickering to the floor and back to you indecisively, “I was wondering if I could ask you to the newly opened café tomorrow. A-after you study with Sakusa-kun, of course,” He stutters a bit, offering you a boyish grin.

It so nearly pulls a squeak out of you, surprised in the most love struck sort of way. Your heart beats out of your chest unlike the way Sakusa makes you feel.

Your heart hammers out of fear of him—but with Komori, it's nothing but pleasant and warm and intoxicating.

Your smile is instantaneous; it comforts Komori as your lips part.

"I'd love to," you answer him softly, though an octave higher.

Sakusa finds you both like this, shyly smiling at each other like lovesick doves. There's nothing pure about you, you shouldn't be smiling that way. Especially not at the face of his cousin.

"Oi," he calls out, even through the face mask, his annoyance seeps into your skin and makes you feel small.

The blood that had rushed to your cheeks dries you pale at the glare he gives you.

"Coach is looking for you, Komori," he follows, yet never taking his eyes off of you.

"Right. I'll see you tomorrow, Y/N!"

Sakusa takes another step closer to you the moment Komori's out of sight. Your grip on your bag tightening, instinctively taking a step backwards.

The action alone makes him practically sneer with you cowering in response.

"Disgusting," he mutters, brimming with venom. "There's nothing I hate more than girls who throw themselves at any guy they see."

Maybe it's the sheer malice in his voice, or the way your eyes catch how his hand moves up—but you flinch, like expecting a hit to come across your cheek.

The pain never comes and when your eyelids flutter open, you're met with hard eyes the color of obsidian yet gleaming with a newfound resolve despite his furrowed eyebrows that suggested hitting you was far from the origin of his intentions.

Without a word, Sakusa walks away from you with his hands shoved in the pockets of his jacket.

You let your body slump against the wall. His eyes burn in the back of your head, almost like they’re warning you.

Right before you head to bed, your phone chimes once, then twice and it’s bittersweet. One from Komori, telling you he’s excited to see you tomorrow, and one from Sakusa—not beating around the bush, it says nothing but ‘9 AM.’

It’s firm and unyielding. Even as your head hits the pillow, forcing your eyes shut, sleep doesn’t come easy—not even at the thought of seeing Komori on a date.

It’s not the sunlight peeking in between your curtains that wake you, nor the sound of birds chirping outside your window. Instead, it’s the ache in your body acting like a bad omen. Nevertheless, you drag your body out of bed.

Your stomach churns but you get ready for the day.

You think the next hour couldn’t come any quicker, because you’re fidgeting on the balls of your feet and somehow, there’s goosebumps rising against your bare skin.

Your phone blinks back at you with a minute before nine o’clock but you already hear the knock on your door. Your breathing halts even as you move hurriedly to open it—and even when the air hits you as you find Sakusa on your doorstep.

You feel his eyes wander, from the very top of your head, down to your feet, and he mutters, “You look nice today.”

The blush that creeps on your cheeks is only natural. Compliments in any form that came from Sakusa were hard to come by—only because they were compliments in the most genuine, honest of ways.

Sakusa is mean, and if you were more honest with yourself, he’s a bully. But Sakusa, mean or not, is still Komori’s cousin; so you give him a smile, palms going clammy.

“Thank you, Sakusa-kun…” You trail off, hesitating on your next words, “You look nice today, too.”

And he does. The dark color of his clothes complimented his pale skin and dark, curly hair, and despite being covered by the mask, his pristine beauty seems to gleam through. Even seemingly unfazed, his gaze on you softens by a fraction.

As abrupt as it appeared, he’s already turning away, “Hurry up,” he quips, but his voice is softer because you look nice today were words that confessed his truest feelings—the ones that reminded him he’s so in love with you and that you’re the cause of warmth in chest.

Even when you strut around trying to get Komori to like you, Sakusa doesn’t attempt to deny the feelings he harbored, because you look nice today, too should mean something, shouldn’t it?

You know you’re dressed up for your date with Komori, but Sakusa doesn’t know that; so in that moment, he appreciates you. For once, there isn't one insult that lingers in his tongue or even in his head as he walks slowly.

Sakusa is nice today, you note as he keys the lock to his place. He had awkwardly placed his hand on the small of your back on the short walk it took from your place to his, guiding you along the sidewalk.

You've only been to his place once or twice, both times were with Komori, so you weren't familiar with the directions. The walk was silent, and in his silence, you found a reason to relax—just enough to make you think that this might go well.

Despite all awkwardness, Sakusa is forward. Seeing you sat on his couch so comfortably, the skirt of your dress riding up slightly, does nothing to hold back his urge to keep his hands on you.

It's a good thing he doesn't have to keep his hands to himself now, right? Since you like him so much, you'd let him fuck you now… Right?

Sakusa's movements are sly, that's why you don't question how he walks closer towards you, sitting so, so close to you—that's why you choke on the lump in your throat when his hand shoots out to grab you by the wrist, pulls you in, then presses his lips on yours.

The second that passes is only because you couldn't wrap your head around Sakusa—lips pressed against yours and body so close.

But the next second, you're pushing him off roughly enough to stop him and he's looking at you confused.

"Sakusa-kun, I think you misunderstood—I like, I like Motoya-kun, I didn't mean to—this is—" you're trampling over your words, looking at him with panicked eyes.

Sakusa mutes out the sound of your voice, all he can hear is the beating in his chest and the ache of it—the sound of his heart dropping to his stomach. He should’ve known.

All the softness in his eyes are gone. His hand, still wrapped around your wrist, gripping tighter and tighter; your heart skipping obnoxiously against your chest. Something about the way he's looking at you now petrifies you.

His silence feels deadlier than his destructive words, deadlier when you wince at his grip, whimpering, "Sakusa, you're hurting me—please," and still, he doesn't let up.

Not when he's roughly tugging you from the couch, taking your arm with a bruising grip, then he's hauling you somewhere. You thrash, panicked pleas calling out to him and apologies he doesn't deserve but you offer him anyway. All your protests are rewarded when he halts, turning to you without a hint of remorse, pushing you to the floor—his foot comes to your side, kicking you with a force that knocks the breath out of your lungs.

Bile is rising up your throat, coughing and arms shooting to your stomach to protect yourself. Scared feels too small of a word to describe the feeling that looms over you as he takes your arm again, dragging your curled up body.

Sakusa shoves you inside a room, even as you flail around and beg for help, his face remains impassive; whatever force you’re putting in the way you try to break free from his hold is futile. Of course he’s stronger. Of course, but you can’t possibly accept this, can you?

You made Sakusa yearn—disgustingly grapple on his feelings so needlessly, and nothing, he thinks, could be more unforgivable.

So he secures you on the bed, bound and within his claws, for you to take responsibility for the yearning you've planted inside of him.

"S-Sakusa, please," your begging sounds like a whimper. "I-I won't tell anyone! N-not even Motoya-ku—!"

You hear ringing in your ears before feeling the sting across your cheek. From inside your mouth, you can taste metal.

"You won't tell anyone either way," he mutters apathetically, like the idea of you telling anyone isn't a threat, "No one would believe you…"

He pauses, gaze on you hardening for a second, "You don't want Komori finding out you only got close to him because you wanted me, right?"

The sound of disbelief that escapes you is small, even the wide-eyed betrayal that flashes in your eyes does nothing to make him even pity you.

"You–I, I didn't—"

At your stuttering, Sakusa clicks his tongue, "You're such a dumb girl you don't even know what you want."

"That's not true, Sakusa—"

He glares down on you. The bed dips, bracketing your body between his knees, hovering over you, then leaning forward. His hands move slowly as if caressing you before grabbing your hair with a stinging tug.

The fear pooling your eyes only makes him even angrier.

"I hate that face," he grits out, "Always looking at me all scared, then you look at Komori like a shy innocent bitch, it pisses me off."

Pretty as you are, he lands another hit across your cheek—hard enough that you can feel a cut on your cheek trickling down with blood, the side of your ear going deaf. You’re not sure anymore if it was a slap or a punch—all that you know is that it hurts. Your vision is blurred when you open your eyes, but even through them, the insanely expressionless eyes of Sakusa are clear.

It dawns on Sakusa that you wouldn’t date him. Of course you wouldn’t. Sluts like you go for guys like Komori—so he’d just have to take you by force, make you date him by force, make you love him by force.

Besides, you look prettier forced, he observes. Your face tear-stained and bloody makes his cock throb in his pants. With your body weak underneath him, so helpless that it disgusts him and fuels him with desire all at once.

Something about your weakness, the innocence that spills from you contradicting his firm idea that you’re a dirty whore makes him livid. He pictures you painted with bruises and cuts, the image sending a shiver down his spine. Clenched fists pull back, only to land on your sides, on the same places he kicked you.

What makes you feel sick at the stomach more than the abuse he inflicts on you is the way Sakusa’s movements lack hesitation as his hands travel to your bare thighs.

"W-what are you doing?”

It's disgusting. Women like you are disgusting. You lead him on just so you can take advantage of his feelings like this—that even if he knew better, he'd still soften up for you.

It's you who lured him into this, he almost sneers at the thought. You were truly vile, and yet he loves you all the same—wants you all to himself all the same.

"Omi?' You breathe, frightened. The nickname falls affectionately, though, putting all your hope into it, wishing it would tug on his heart enough for him to let you go.

“Let’s talk about this, Omi? Please?” You cry, searching for his eyes—the ones trained on your thighs as he glides his hands against them, your dress bunched up to your hips revealing your baby pink panties. Your sobs only grow louder as he goes further up, going on as if he’s in a trance where he can’t hear you groveling at him to stop.

Strong, calloused hands stop at the band of your panties, fingers hooking, and only then does he look back up at you. Dark eyes drown you as he tugs them down torturously slow, exposing you to him in your most vulnerable state.

The same second you attempt to force your legs shut, comes a biting pain on the inside of your thighs, instantly blooming his handprint at the force. Your mouth opens to wail at the pain, but it’s the same wail that Sakusa swallows as he brings his lips to yours with a kiss so treacherously passionate.

Sakusa pulls away quickly though, eyeing your bare cunt, he brings his fingers to your slit, experimentally rubbing up and down and your response is immediate, somehow. Your slick gathers on his fingers, body squirming from beneath him.

“K-Kiyoomi, it feels weird—stop, please,” yet your hips buck into his fingers as he prods at your tight hole, “Don’t—Not there—N-no one has touched—”

He lifts an eyebrow, “You’re a virgin?” His question sounding more of a comment, because the hesitant nod you give him is almost needless when you hiss at the intrusion of his digit pushing inside of you; your walls clamping down on it, body tensing, he brings a thumb to your clit, circling with enough pressure to make it feel good.

And it’s wrong. So wrong, but it feels good because you’re moaning against your will, whimpering at the curl of his finger and at the additional finger he’s slowly sinking into you.

The stretch is uncomfortable and foreign. Nothing is in Sakusa’s mind but at the thought of you absolutely untouched, absolutely all for him to ruin. Your body instinctively leaning to his, submitting to his ministrations—fingers scissoring and pushing in and out of your pussy, the sound of your slick echoing in your ears as if to taunt you, but your legs are trembling, your gasps are broken and there’s a pressure in your pelvis about to snap.

“You’re so filthy,” he mutters, but he looks at you like you’re the farthest thing from filthy, and his comment is exactly what makes you break, eyes rolling to the back of your skull and cunt creaming around his fingers pathetically.

You feel so dirty, especially at the sound of your slick as he pulls his fingers out and shoves them inside your mouth—the taste of you tainting your tongue. Shaking your head profusely, you beg him with your eyes, “No more—please, I don’t want this.” you weep, muffled.

“Suck,” he commands, but your defiance is clear before you even shake your head, so he pushes his fingers down further, choking you until you gag and find it hard to breathe.

“Suck,” he repeats, and you relent.

Watching you suck messily on his fingers, drool and tears disheveling you, dried blood sticking to your skin, he frees his twitching cock out of its constraints.

Though hazy, your eyes catch it, the thickness of his cock—hard and flushed at the tip—your hands tugging at your restraints feebly making you panic and choke on his fingers, nearly biting down on them.

He’s quick to pull them out, glaring down at you with dark eyes, jaw ticking as his hands curl into fists; knowing what’s to come doesn’t prepare you any more at the excruciating pain of his abuse, even more so at his length pressing against your wet folds—cockhead nudging your puffy clit and making your cunt drool on him.

Both hands dig into the flesh of your thighs, pressing them to your chest. The pain on your face numbs at the sensation of him prodding on your entrance, ripping you apart and increasing the pain—your head throbs as he stretches your cunt with his fat cock, barely giving you time to adjust as he starts to move slowly despite your tense walls barely allowing him.

He curses as he ruts into you, bathing in your cries and moans, violating and invading the entirety of you. The pleasure of feeling you and having you just like this seeps into his bones, turning his languid thrusts more desperate.

“You make desperation look so pretty,” he groans, “You’re making such a mess, you like being forced like this?”

He insults you, but you’re everything he always wanted and more—the taste of your skin as he sucks marks onto your neck as if you were his to own, the clenching and humiliating sound of your cunt squelching as he pounds into you and grunts against your skin. His cock throbs inside you and drags along your velvety walls deliciously; all you can think is that you hate this.

Pressure, pain, the drowning pleasure of Sakusa all over you and inside you don’t allow you to retreat to the back of your head and forget. Not with the burning euphoria building up in your stomach or the moan that slips from your lips as Sakusa brings one of your legs down, bringing his hand to your breasts and thumb swiping around your sensitive nipples.

“O-Omi, please,” you sob, weak and submissive—just how you should be. Your nails dig into your palms, arms aching from your restraints. “I-I’m gonna—I think I—”

“Y-you really are a whore,” he spits, voice strained yet patronizing, still. “Do it, then. Cum on my cock.”

His hand moves in between your thighs, fingers pressing and rubbing circles on your clit as you cry out, tight walls clamping down on him and stuttering his already sloppy thrusts, your arousal running down his length and down to his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

Your moans come out as squeals of his name, your back arching and breath catching in your throat, vision going white as he continues to fuck into you.

His breathing is ragged, moving to bury his face into the crook of your neck in an odd show of affection, your swollen cunt pulsating around his cock as he suddenly stills, his low groan vibrating against your skin as he empties inside you.

You want to cry—but nothing comes out, all you can feel is the bruises on your skin, Sakusa’s cock buried deep inside you and his cum leaking from your abused hole, the stickiness and the sweat.

Maybe Sakusa’s right. Maybe you are disgusting, because as he peels himself from you, thinking it’s all over—Sakusa doesn’t undo the ties keeping you on the bed.

He reaches towards the bedside table, grabbing his phone. The sound of the shutter going off once, twice, over and over with the camera directed at you pulls your soul out of you.

“Omi—?” Your question remains a lump in your throat, but Sakusa is smart. He doesn’t need to hear your question.

“You’re my girlfriend now…” He mutters carelessly, “but I’m sure you don’t want Komori to see how you like to be fucked, right?”

#sakusa smut #haikyuu smut #yandere haikyuu #;commish

[bratkook]

queen of broken hearts. jjk (m) part one.

I’m the queen of broken hearts, break you in a thousand parts.

part two. part three.

pairing: jungkook x reader genre: smut, heavy angst word count: 3.2k warnings: one sided pining, jungkook is in lurv, oc is definitely not(also kind of a bitch), smut, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, slightly rough sex, finger sucking, creampie author’s note: this is based on a request from @koochiekoo​ for the milestone drabble yay! hope you like it bb ❣️

Jungkook doesn’t know why he allows himself to constantly wind up in this position. He knows it’s not good for him, leaves him feeling hollow each time his mind clears, leaves him wanting more of you in ways he knows aren’t possible.

Yet somehow his common sense and dignity leave without warning the minute you come to mind. His morality and self respect jump right off a cliff with no parachute in sight, succumbing to your every wish like a dumb little puppet for you to play with. There’s just something about the way you call him over, your saccharine lies wrapping him around your finger so beautifully he almost doesn’t hate it.

He knows you’ll never love him, not like he does at least, his heart’s open for you like a treasure chest, ready and willing for your taking but nothing inside was of value to you. It didn’t matter if he dipped his heart in gold and covered it in pearls, you’d seal the chest back up, weld it shut with a kiss to stop the lid from opening up again.

It was always a kiss, a kiss that left him swallowing the words back down that he knows will tear him away from you. As much as it pains him to know he could never fully have you the way he wanted, being able to go on dates, telling his friends you were his instead of having to pretend as if you two never spoke, being able to hold your hand in a tender act of love instead of the way he gripped them as he rocked into you. He’d rather have you like this than not at all.

He preferred to have you pouting underneath him because he had slowed his pace too much for your liking, your beautiful eyes giving him a roll that shows that your patience was slowly slipping. That was the only face of irritation he could handle from you, he could only picture the way your face would screw up in displeasure if he let the words of confession come tumbling off his tongue the way he wanted to.

No, he didn’t want that. He could settle with this.

“Jungkook,” you sigh out, your hands pressing against his chest being the anchor to bring him back to the ground, pull him out of whatever day dream he was currently in, “fuck me faster.”

The words hold no bite to them despite your impatience, but he knows if he doesn’t listen they’ll only get meaner. He briefly wonders if he might have a kink for that, the teasingly degrading words that dig into his skin like the blunt edges of your nails are now, they make his cock pulse inside of you as he recalls them.

Jungkook needs help.

A groan of annoyance finally fills the air as you lift your upper body up, your hand pushing at his chest once more to get him off of you. For a brief moment he wonders if you’re gonna kick him out but the thought leaves him just as quickly as it comes when your hands grip his slim waist, flipping the two of you over until Jungkook is sprawled out on what he knows is your side of the bed. He can tell by the sweet smell of your shampoo that lingers on the pillow by his head, the floral fragrance invading his senses and only making his heart twist further in his chest.

“You going soft on me?” You joke as you straddle his waist, your soft hand gripping the base of his sticky cock and guiding it towards your entrance once more.

The curve of your lips as you smile at him pulls him further under whatever hex you must have on him. Your hair hangs over your left shoulder as you stare down at him, taunting him as you let the bulbous head of his cock nudge against your hole, the angelic mask you don not doing much to hide the devilish intent you always had.

“No.” He weakly responds, rutting his hips up towards you to get you to sink down on him, succeeding in letting the tip of him breach your entrance. The warmth of your walls sinking onto the first inch of his cock has him groaning, his hands scrambling up to clutch onto your sides, giving you another moment to make your decision before giving up and forcing you down the rest of his length.

A sudden shout of his name reaches his ears as your thighs smack against his, your neck now exposed as you throw your head back at the feeling of his cock filling you up once more.

This was why you always called him over, a bad habit you couldn’t shake, a guilty pleasure no one could know about. Jungkook’s cock stretched you out just right, nudging along the sweet patch inside of you with no effort needed. It made you lose your inhibitions, left you hungry for something only he could satiate.

“Good, I can’t have you going soft on me,” you practically purred on top of him, grinding down on him in an intoxicating motion that sent his mind into a frenzy, “you know I don’t like it soft.”

His eyes roll back into his skull as you lean back, your palm resting on his thick thigh to give you leverage while you begin to lift up and slam back down on him, a pace intent to make him lose his mind. 

“Let me fuck you then.” Jungkook whines out, the fingers digging into your sides helping you keep the momentum, the resounding smack of your skin connecting filling up your room in the dirtiest way.

“Mm, tried that already.” You mewl out when his hands slam you down even harder, the tip of his cock just shy of hitting your cervix, making a shudder rack through your body. He feels the way your walls flutter around him, a wicked smile spreading on his lips when he sees the way you try and fail to act unaffected.

“You got too distracted.” You continue with a slight tremble to your voice, your free hand trailing up your torso until you’re fondling your tits in front of him, twisting and pinching your nipples until you’re keening from your own ministrations.

Jungkook lets out a curse as he plants his feet on your mattress, the action jostling you forward until both your hands are planted firmly on his chest, a squeal of surprise slipping out of you. As much as you liked to act like you loved being in charge Jungkook knew you too well to leave it at that.

The way you all but sob as he pistons his hips up into you spells it out, you liked being manhandled, jerked around in his grasp and Jungkook revels in it, in knowing that for this brief moment you needed him.

“Oh fuck.” You cry out, collapsing on top of him as he ruts into you in a brutal pace, the raunchy squelching with each thrust of his hips only making another gush of wetness escape you, leaving his cock glistening in your arousal each time he pulls out.

Jungkook laughs now, a teasing edge to it as he watches the way you crumble above him, the bratty responses programmed in your head and filed underneath his name being wiped from your mind as he spears you open on his cock.

“Not distracted anymore huh?” He taunts, a choked moan dying in his throat when you tighten around him as his cock curves just right inside of you.

A fog falls over your mind, too heady with pleasure to understand his question until he’s flipping you back over once more, his cock staying nuzzled inside of you. A huff leaves you at the change of position, turning into whimper when he hooks his arms around your knees and pulls them forward, reaching deeper inside of you with each roll of his hips.

“I asked you something Y/N.” Jungkook pants, the tingling pleasure creeping up his spine at his approaching orgasm, his brows pinching on his forehead as he ebbs it away, intent on focusing on you first.

A sharp snap of his hips clears the fog, your head turning to the side as a gasp rips through your throat at the delicious way he pounds in to you, “J-jungkook, ah–“ you murmur, almost delirious with lust and he wishes he could capture this moment in his brain forever, the way you sound so needy for him only, “no nngh, not distracted, you fuck me so good.” You slur in a way he can just barely understand.

He knows though, with the way your back arches up, your hands twisting and pulling at your sheets as he continued the deliberate roll of his hips. Whenever Jungkook was around you he was more often than not buried to the hilt inside of you, knowing the telltale signs of your approaching orgasm well enough to know that you were teetering dangerously on the edge.

Your chest heaves as you feel the coil winding up inside of you, a desperate cry of more being thrown out and he can’t deny you. His pace never falters, bringing his hands towards your face and up against your lips, brushing along them until you open up just enough for them to slip inside.

He lets out a pleased groan when your tongue laps at his digits, your lips wrapped around his fingers and sucking as if it was his cock, swirling around them like your favorite candy that gets pulled away too soon. Whatever complaint you had at the loss dies when you feel those same drenched fingers snake down your torso and press against your aching clit, the tight roll of his fingers combined with the urgent thrust of his hips turning you into a blubbering mess.

“You called me for a reason babe,” he lets slip, his own words wounding him as he says them out loud, admitting to knowing that he was being used for your pleasure, “you gotta let me do what you called me for right?”

A pathetic whine is all you give him, one of your hands coming up to spread across his back, your nails digging into his skin in a slight burn that leaves him hissing.

“Right.” You keen, your own hips rolling up in time with his, desperate for the release that was blossoming inside of you.

He feels the way your walls get impossibly tight around him, your nails leaving half moons in your wake, littering his back with indents that only serve to send him rushing closer to his own release.

“Fuck, you gonna cum for me?” He asks gently, his fingers rolling over your clit in a way that nearly makes you shriek, “Gonna get my cock all nice and messy?”

“Ah, y-yes,” you cry out, a helpless gasp leaving you as a final thrust of his hips sends you flying over the edge. Bursts of light flash behind your lids in a way that resembles fireworks as you squeeze your eyes shut, your muscles tensing up as your climax rushes through you in waves, crashing against the shore of your mind and bringing you back to the present, leaving you laying limp and whimpering as you slowly come down.

Jungkook continues to fuck you through your orgasm, your pulsing walls fueling the fire inside of him as he rocks in to you with more desperation. His eyes are glued to the fucked out look on your face, your lips wet and shiny as you pout out and mewl underneath him, begging him to cum inside of you.

Fuck, how could you say things like that to him and expect him not to fall for you?

Jungkook takes it as an order, doubling over you and burying his face into the crook of your neck as he ruts into you, his hips finally losing the grace they always had, stuttering with need until he’s cumming with a guttural moan of your name.

Your hands rake through his hair as he fills you up, soft yanks against his scalp that only leave him grunting against your skin while he gives another handful of shallow thrusts into your dripping cunt, stilling his hips, his arms giving out on him.

As he lays on you in a heap, the both of you being exhausted from getting your fix, you give him a moment to recover. His soft breaths hit your skin, your sore legs stretching out after he released his hold on them but he was still buried inside of you, leaving you feeling sticky and a little uncomfortable.

“Kook.” You whine, your fingers jabbing at his sides a little too harshly to come across as playful. The sweat on your skin was becoming tacky and the added heat from his body only aided in making you more desperate for a shower, desperate to get him off of you.

“Hm?” He grunts out when your fingers dig lower on his sides, squirming on top of you as if he didn’t weigh a thing, like he wasn’t just a mass of muscle that was slowly cutting off your oxygen supply.

“Get off.” You groan, both your hands cupping his sides and trying your best to haul him off. He doesn’t relent this time, knowing he was toeing the line by the tone in your voice.

Jungkook pushes himself up and off of you, hiding the groan with a clear of his throat as he pulls his cock out of your sensitive core, not getting a chance to properly stare at the way his cum coats your folds because the second he’s off of you, you’re sitting up on your bed.

He rests on his haunches as you card your fingers through your hair, fixing the bumps and knots he had caused as you stand up. The curve of your ass draws him in, he wants to reach out and touch you but his hands stay glued by his side. All he can do is watch as you saunter through out your room like he wasn’t still there, sitting naked on your bed.

The initial sting of this had left him a while ago, having grown accustomed to the routine that followed. Hardly any words ever followed this. Jungkook can only pull his lips together as he steps off your bed, grabbing his discarded underwear and jeans off the floor as you make a beeline for your shower.

He takes his sweet time buttoning his jeans, hearing the soft mist of the water splashing against the tub, along with the song you played on your speaker. A smile sneaks its way onto his face when he hears your gentle singing echo through the open door.

Jungkook allows himself this much time, his eyes roaming your room, seeing the traces of you in forms of posters framed to the wall, the mess of stickers and books sprawled across your desk, photos of you smiling and laughing with friends. He finds himself wishing that he could take the place of one of those photos one day, a snapshot of the two of you smiling in the same way, out in the open world instead of being confined in the four walls of your room like a dirty secret.

It’s that same wish that keeps him rooted on your bed, the same confession begging to come out at his new childish want. Jungkook can only blame himself for this, you had never expressed desire for something more and even though you had an inkling that Jungkook’s feelings lingered a little too deeply, he was the one who remained. He was the one who came to your beck and call no matter what time it was, regardless of what he was doing. If he turned around and denied you he knew you wouldn’t fight him on it, but he wasn’t stupid enough to think that you wouldn’t turn around and find someone else to fill his shoes. Jungkook found solace in knowing that he was still the one you reached out to when you needed to get your fill.

As the shower squeaks off he starts to panic, scrambling forward to grab his shirt and slip it on. Just as his head pops through the top you exit the steamy room with a towel wrapped snuggly around you, a look of obvious confusion on your face when you spot Jungkook still in your room.

“Oh, you’re still here.” You quip, a curious smile on your face that he can’t pinpoint.

“Yeah, sorry, I got...distracted.” He cringes at his excuse, the confidence he had for a confession slipping through the cracks the longer you stare at him.

You laugh at his remark, holding back the teasing comment you want to say in order to not keep him here longer than necessary. You rest against the side of your dresser as you eye him when he finally stands up, he looks hesitant for the first time, like he has something he wants to spit out.

“Did you need something?” You question, your eyebrow cocking up when he steps towards you with his hands fidgeting by his sides.

“I, uh,” he chokes out, his mind scrambling the sentence he wants to blurt out. How hard was it to tell you how he felt, just ask you out for coffee, not even dinner because that seemed too formal, something that would scare you off.

“I kinda have somewhere I need to be at right now Kook.” You cut him off, the phone you held in your hand vibrating and lighting up just as you say that. His eyes find the screen, eyeing the contact name that said ‘Joonie’ with a handful of heart emojis tacked to the end of it. It vibrates a few more times, an influx of messages from him filling your phone and it doesn’t take much guessing for Jungkook to realize that wherever you needed to be was with whoever this guy was.

And just like that the confession dies in his throat once more, your soft lips pressing into his in the first kiss of the night, succeeding in welding the treasure chest shut in the way you always did. It doesn’t prevent him from shutting his eyes and enjoying the kiss, even when he knows its intent is to shut him up.

You pull away with a light smack, pressing your lips together at the dazed expression on his face as he blinks back to reality, “Okay, I’ll see you around then?” He finally finds his voice, digging himself deeper into this like he always did.

“Sure Kook, see you.” You wave at him, giving him a sincere smile as he fumbles on his way out of your room like a dork.

Once he closes your apartment door behind him he sags against the wood, desperately wanting to bang his head against it but the last thing he needed was to have you thinking his banging was this Joonie person knocking.

“Next time,” he breathes out to himself, “next time I’ll tell her.”

#ficswithluv #goldenclosetnet #btswritingcafe #btsghostie #yoonkooknetwork #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #bts smut #jeon jungkook #new

[tamagochiie]

pairing: timeskip!kenma x fem!reader synopsis: You come home late from your cousin’s funeral, and though Kenma didn’t expect much from you but perhaps a few leftovers you’ve managed to steal away from the dinner, he finds you with a surprise: a sleeping child cradled around your neck and a teenage boy hovering behind you. Your poor boyfriend wondering what in the hell it is you’re plotting… tags: angst and fluff, time skip!, slight spoilers if you squint warnings: mentions of death, mentions of depression, cursing, mentioned homophobia w/c: 3.6k

tagging list:  @angrylittleriri​ @chims-kookies​ @gooseyhouse @kiyokoscunchie​ @unhappyraspberry​ @elianetsantana​ 

a/n: welcome to the THIRD chapter of the fic! i hope you’re all doing well since i’ve last posted. I genuinely apologize for the delay! a few personal things kinda popped up, and it kinda derailed the process of posting this fic, but at least we’re here now!  this is a bit longer compared to the other chapters, but i hope you all enjoy! please ignore any grammar mistakes, i proof read this to the best of my ability and it’s currently 5 in the morning :’) 

see you all next week for the final chapter.  p.s. I do have a smol surprise, so stay tuned for next week! 

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<< life as she’s known it | life as they’ll know it >>

Kenma had always been aware of the common misconception people had of him, and the lack of interest they had to confirm it: that he had the inability to express his thoughts and feelings let alone identify it. 

In a way, he did find it rather difficult to open up. Being bullied as a child silenced him into the dreading assumption that anyone who was kind to him or showed any interest in him were only doing so just to mess with him. 

It took Kuroo quite a lot when he first met Kenma. He bent his little body over and under, jumping through hoops like a show pony just to get Kenma to even blink his way. And though all that effort strained him, he wouldn’t hesitate to tell you he’d do it all again if he could. 

But it wasn’t a question of whether or not Kenma could identify what he was feeling and thoroughly express it. He had the right words, all of which were hanging off the tip of his tongue. He just didn’t know how to say it without sounding insensitive or heartless. 

So as he stares at Yuki twirling in a dress you found digging through one of your old childhood clothes, his lips run dry. His words tuck behind the swell of his heart because though Yuki does indeed look like the cutest child he’s ever seen, his thoughts are full of concern, worried about what people say to a little boy showing up in a jean overall dress with purple and yellow flowers embroidered at the hem. 

His eyes gape onto the sight before him, flickering over to Eiji when he hears him clear his throat. He seems just as troubled, quieter than usual while he watches over his brother. Not a single trace of amusement is seen in Eiji’s face. He doesn’t seem happy at all, and it phases Kenma; he’s usually stoic if not smiling in the presence of Yuki. 

Yuki continues to giggle himself, gripping onto the material of his dress to have it flow in the air. He looks up to meet your eyes, oblivious to the two boys muddled in their own distress. 

“I’m sorry, Yuki-chan,” You huff, smiling down to the little boy running circles in the middle of the living room. “If I had known the preschool was gonna accept you so soon, I would’ve brought you to the mall...But this should be fine for now, right? Is this okay with you, Yuki-chan?” 

Yuki disregards your apology, holding up your old frog raincoat as he beams at his “new” found clothes. 

“Plus, these don’t look so old, and it doesn’t look too girly, don’t you think?” You turn to Kenma who spares you nothing more than a nod. You follow his gaze and find it etched into the embroidered hem. 

It doesn’t pass off as boy clothes, he thinks, letting your words breeze past him. 

Kenma isn’t shy with breaking gender norms; he’s worn a few skirts and dresses himself, all that are still sitting in his closet to be worn again. His qualms aren’t with Yuki wearing a dress, but the treatment he’s expected to get when he shows up to his first day of school. He’ll be bullied into the same silence Kenma faced, and he’ll amount to nothing more than rubble beneath their judgement. 

They say times are changing, so the people must be too, right? But there’s a persistent constricting feeling building up in his chest as if it comes as a warning sign. And the fact that Eiji looks just as uneasy as himself hints that maybe Yuki should change out of something less...worrisome. 

“Mmm, Yuki,” Kenma clears his throat, trying to subside the build up of his uneasiness, “maybe you should wear something else…?” Yuki’s smile falters at his words as confusion colors away his joy. “I think you should wear the pants with the little frog shirt you picked out instead.” 

He doesn’t mean for his words to come out bitter and cold, and the momentum of his panic leaves a lump in his throat he isn’t too sure he’ll be able to swallow if he keeps his silence. 

Yuki looks up to him, blinking away at his words with glistening eyes. “I don’t look pretty?” Yuki’s voice comes out small--smaller than his fingers and toes. Smaller than his ability to comprehend where Kenma’s truly coming from. “You don’t like it, Kenma-san..?”

Oh no, he thinks to himself. Panic rises from his stomach and climbs up to his chest; a tightness in his throat soon follows when Yuki begins to blubber, telling him how mean he’s being. I didn’t mean to make him--

“Kozume.” You chide, looking at him quizzically. He meets your eyes and he instantly freezes up, thinking you, too, have come to misunderstand him. “What are you doing? Do something.” 

But he can’t. If he opens his mouth, he’ll only sound meaner than before, and he’d rather not add any more confusion or any more pain to the little boy. 

“Say something,” You push, glaring at him. “Kozume.” 

His throat goes dry as well as his lips, and when he finally does gain enough courage, Eiji takes a step forward beating him to the punch. “Yuki, I think it’s better you just wear pants. Dresses are for girls, and you shouldn’t be wearing this kind of stuff.” 

Your eyes widen and so does Kenma’s. Eiji’s is stern and clear in contrast to all the other times he’s spoken since he’s arrived. You watch as he kneels to meet Yuki’s eyes, placing a hand on his shoulder before running it up to his cheek to wipe away his tears. 

“There might be some problems if you wear a dress to school, Yuki-chan. And didn’t we promise each other we wouldn’t cause them any trouble for Oba-san and Kenma-san while we’re here?” Eiji’s voice is a lot soft, yet his words are still firm. Yuki quietly submits to his brother, hanging his head low as he continues to cry. 

You stand there both stunned. 

You want to speak up, but you’re still unsure of your place; who you are and what you can say. So you stand there with Kenma tightlipped at your side with tension hanging above your heads, watching as Yuki quietly sniffles to himself as he hugs the pile of clothes he’s picked and carries it into their shared bedroom. 

Needless to say, everyone goes to bed tucked beneath the covers of their guilt. 

                                                                                   ❁ ❁ ❁

Quiet mornings with a steaming cup at hand while treading lightly through the endless sea of emails in his iPad brought Kenma an odd sense of peace, and he looked forward to it every morning. But much to Kenma’s dismay, the apartment is too quiet and the coffee bitter; the chill in the atmosphere is unsettling as he falls into deep thought. 

He thinks back to the events of last night; Yuki’s crying face, your contorted look of confusion, and Eiji’s words. It all comes pouring down on him like a bucket of cold water. 

Not even his coffee can spare him from the chill down his spine. 

He mentally kicks himself, thinking of all the other ways he could’ve said it better. How he could’ve prevented him from breaking Yuki’s little heart and avoided your cold shoulder as you left in a hurry to take the kids to their schools. 

Kenma sucks in a breath as the stinging spreads across his chest. The weight of his cup grows heavy and he shifts his grip to a more comfortable hold. Nothing about the morning is comforting, and it leaves Kenma in distress, the feeling spilling into his work as he continues about his day. 

He can barely read a single line of an email let alone write one; his senses aren’t as sharp as he struggles to smoothen his hand-eye coordination during gaming; and he catches himself zoning out in the middle of his online meetings, barely humming responses to questions he pretends to hear. 

Kenma wonders how Yuki’s doing, and what he could do to apologize and gain his trust back. Maybe he’ll get some strawberry milk on the way to fetch him, or buy the little duck umbrella he caught him eyeing at the convenience store. 

Kenma isn’t good with words if one were to ask him to be gentle and kind. He’s blunt and straight to the point, and it took him more than just a while to get used to softening the blow of his words and how he delivers them. 

And now, as he muddles in his misery does he ingrain those habits deeper into thought until it becomes muscle memory to his lips. 

He’s only then pulled from his squabbles when the doorbells rings throughout the apartment. His feet drag him to the door as his mutters in his resentment. What in the hell could be here--

“You’re shitting me.” Kenma grimaces at  the sight of the cheeky grin plastered across his best friend’s face as he opens the door; his hair tousled to the side and his usual business attire unkempt.  “What the hell do you want?” 

Kuroo pouts, pretending to be wounded by the bitter greeting as he holds a hand to his heart. “Is that how you greet an old friend?” 

“Not now, Kuroo-san.” Despite the bite in his words and his half-hearted attempt to shut the door, Kuroo welcomes himself in, kicking his shoes to the side before trailing behind him. 

“I miss your calls,” Kuroo teases, eyes wandering about the apartment, “you don’t even text me back anymore.” 

“I don’t have the time.” Kenma grits as he pinches the bridge of his nose. A drunken, dizzying feeling whirling in his head; probably because of all the coffee he’s downed and the little water he’s consumed. “Whatever it is you’re here to pester me with, please save it for another time and leave.” 

“Why? Stay at home daddy roles keeping you occupied?” The cushion of the couch bends beneath Kuroo’s weight as he leisurely raises his feet to the coffee table, arms relaxing over to the arm rest. “I wasn’t so surprised when you became a CEO, but this--fatherhood was something I’d imagined you’d do much later...” 

Irritation seeps through Kenma’s skin in the form of tense muscles and a clenched jaw as Kuroo continues on to pass cheap jokes and badgers him. He swipes a bottle warm from the fridge before joining Kuroo on the other side of the couch, kicking his foot off the table on the way. 

“You’re so cold to me.” Kuroo whines, ruffling Kenma’s pudding head hair, earning a disapproving tsk. “Seriously, how’s it someone like you skips the step to marriage and dives straight to having kids? I’m a bit hurt. I had to hear it from Shoyo. Like, seriously? Shoyo? I thought I was your best friend?” 

“Self-proclaimed.” He corrects, unbothered by Kuroo’s sore expression as he untwists the cap from the bottle before chugging the water down in one breath. “Will you leave now?” 

“Why are you so keen to push me out?” Kuroo lifts himself off the warmth of the cushions, moving closer to his evidently troubled friend as he picks off the seal from the plastic bottle. “Kenma, are you okay? Kyanma?”

Pinching the bridge of his nose once again, Kenma shakes his head as he leans his head back. Kuroo tilts his head, watching as his friend unravels in his pain; manifesting both metaphorically and physically. 

“I’ve said something mean to a little boy and he didn’t even deserve it.” Kenma fiddles the empty bottle, tossing it to the side before anxiously fiddling with his fingers. 

“What happened?” 

A deep and heavy sigh escapes him, “He was wearing a dress and I told him he shouldn’t. A-And, And it’s not like I didn’t want him to. I don’t mind it all, but people are mean and the thought that he might face the same kind of treatment I did--Kuroo-san, I don’t want that.”

“You only meant well,” Kuroo places his hand on Kenma’s shoulder, rubbing circles against the material of his old Nekoma sweater. “Though, you could’ve said it better--” 

“You know damn well I’m not good at that!” Kenma spits, cutting him off. 

“But the point is, you meant well!” He reiterates. “Might’ve come across as a lil douche-y, but the intentions were there. But I think you of all people know that no matter what, there’ll always be someone mean. And I don’t think you can shield him from that. Maybe temporarily, but not forever.” 

“I don’t want that kind of pain for him!” Kenma abruptly stands from his place, frustration tingling at his fingertips as it spreads throughout the rest of his body. “He’s so small, Kuroo-san. You should’ve seen him. I said one thing and it already looked like he was gonna break. What happens when he hears words worse than mine? What’ll I do then? What can I do for him?” 

Sniffling. It is the sound that follows after Kenma’s voice breaks and causes Kuroo to raise his brows. At first he thinks his ears have tricked him, but when he finds tears pooling down to his chin as he collapses back onto his seat. 

And it is at this moment, after all the time that has passed, has he seen him break.  

“I-I don’t know how to do any of this. I’m so confused.” Kenma babbles on, stumbling on his own words and choking in between his sobs. And all Kuroo can offer is a soft, rhythmic pat on his back to try and calm him down.

“I’ve been doing some reading about how to understand children or how to raise one, but it's so different. There’s all these theories and guidelines, but no one tells you that you forget everything you read the second they appear in front of you…” 

Kenma holds his head in his trembling hands, crying even harder. All the while he wonders what the child version of him would think if saw him as fragile as the fallen leaves that’d crunch beneath his feet. He’d wonder if he had known the stress he’d fall prey to, would he have continued? 

But as the image of you bleed through his worries, he’s more than sure of his answer. 

Yes. 

Yes, I would. 

Over and over again in one breath. 

“You will be to that child what you needed when you were bullied.” Kuroo’s words are steady, matched with an endearing smile to comfort Kenma’s crying as he meets his glistening gaze. “You needed someone to reassure you that all you heard were nothing but lies, so you do that for him.” 

“Ah, my dear friend, have you not heard of the phrase ‘It takes a village to raise a child’?” Kenma merely blinks at him quizzically as Kuroo snakes an arm around him to bring him close. “What I’m tryna say is: stop acting like you don’t have me, and Shoyo, and the rest of your friends who’re just within your reach. No one ever said it was only just going to be the two of you.” 

Kenma swallows thickly, nodding in agreement as he wipes away the snot dripping from the tip of his nose. He says his thanks that’s quieter than a whisper, it comes airy and a bit croaky from crying. 

The words of his best friend doesn’t immediately fill his heart with peace, but it does lift a little weight from his shoulders. It does give him the sense of security he’s been searching for. And all Kenma wants to do now is apologize to Yuki-- 

“Speaking of,” Kuroo clears his throat, wandering his eyes around the expanse of the apartment. “Where are the kids…?” 

“Oh, shit.” 

                                                           ❁ ❁ ❁

Kuroo and Kenma’s feet click clack against the pavement as they run down to Yuki’s preschool. The cool afternoon air winds past the pair; Kenma’s chest is heaving in pain while Kuroo barely breaks a sweat. 

“I can’t believe you forgot the child!” Kuroo shouts behind him, laughing at Kenma struggling to catch up. “How could you forget a child?” 

“I was pretty preoccupied today!” Kenma countered between ragged breaths. “If your ass didn’t show up I would’ve remembered!” 

“Not with all that crying!”

“Don’t you dare bring that up ever!” 

Kuroo’s hyena laugh carries two blocks over. Head turn as the two continue to bicker all the way down until they arrive at the preschool. Children clamoring before the gate, mingling with their parents and Kenma’s hooded gaze sweeps through the crowd to find a familiar tousled head of hair. 

“What’s he look like?” Kuroo towers over Kenma and the children, squinting his eyes and looking around as if he’s got any clue. 

“He, uh, he should be wearing jeans and a frog shir--” Kenma’s attention is pulled from a string of voices singing praises to find Yuki proudly twirling in his embroidered dress, basking in their compliment. 

It becomes clear to Kenma you dire need to leave the house immediately was because of this. Because you were being coy.

But Yuki’s joy is short-lived, locking eyes with Kenma huffing for air after all the running. But to the young boy gaping up at him, it looks as if he’s ready to yell. So he stops his twirling, his smile slipping away as the rest of the kids’ turn to face him. 

Yuki straightens himself, adjusting the straps of his backpack as he carefully walks towards Kenma with his head hung low. Kuroo elbows his side and nearly knocks out the little air he has left. 

He swipes his tongue across his lips before he speaks, But before he can even utter a sound, his train of thought is pulled from him once again. 

“Disgusting.” An abrasive, disembodied voice grimaces. Not a single care if they’re heard. 

“Why the hell is he wearing a dress?” Says another. 

“Honestly, this generation…” 

“Boy’s aren’t supposed to be wearing dresses.” 

The chattering picks up and soon all the parents are ogling at Yuki who can hear them all so clearly, and Kenma notices him shrinking into his froggy raincoat, trying to hide from their judgemental stares. 

This, Kenma thinks. This is exactly what I mean. 

Kenma is not an emotional person, and not once did he ever raise his voice or act on what he was feeling without thinking it over. And as much as he’d like to throw his hands and cause a scene, he remembers Kuroo’s advice. 

“Who’s child is this?” One of the mothers questions. “Who does this child belong to?” 

“He belongs to me, Miss.” Kenma rasps, taking Yuki’s hand in his before turning to the woman. “I am the guardian and this is my child.” 

“And you allow your child to wear a dress?” 

“Yes.” He answers, finding the footing in his confidence to talk back to a woman who can easily tower over him if she steps closer. “Yes, and what does that have to do with you?” 

“Have you no shame?” She glares at him in disgust, sighing. “He’s a boy! Boy’s shouldn’t be wearing dresses! It’s for girls! What kind of message are you trying to teach him?”

 “And what about you, Miss? Are you proud to show your kid and all these other young minds that its okay to be a bigot? That it’s okay to be uneducated?” 

“I beg your pardon?” 

“Then beg.” Kenma spits, his cat eyes burning holes into the mother’s skin. He’s completely unphased by the growing whispers exchanged between the parents. Kuroo watches proudly in the background, quietly cheering him on. “Skirts were worn by both men and women during the prehistoric times, and biologically speaking, it makes more sense if men were to wear skirts. They only stopped because people as close minded and uneducated as you feared femininity.” 

“So I should ask you the same question, Miss: have you no shame? Telling a small child he’s disgusting because we wanted to wear something that made him happy and comfortable. Is he hurting you?” 

The woman’s lips fall to an ‘o’ as she’s at a loss for words, and Kenma relishes in his growing confidence, bending down to Yuki to pick him up and rest him onto his hip. 

“You have no right to talk to my child that way.” Kenma clears his throat, taking a step back as he maintains eye contact with all the parents at sight. “Let me make this very clear: should you feel the need to take my place as his guardian and try to speak for me, I suggest you don’t.” 

Kenma let’s his words linger in the air and begins to walk away, Kuroo slipping through the sea of parents to walk alongside him. 

A smirk slips across his lips, looking down to Yuki clinging his around Kenma’s neck. 

“Wow,” Kuroo breathes, amusement lacing in his tone. “I didn’t think you had it in ya.” 

“Oh my god, I never wanna do that again.” Kenma twitches the cringe out from his body before pressing Yuki closer to him. “I hate talking to people.” 

“But you did a very good job, I’m actually super proud.” 

“Shut up,” Kenma mutters, locking his eyes onto the pavement ahead of him. 

He’s still shocked, unable to believe what had just transpired. He hated the feeling of everyone’s eyes fixed on him, and how quiet it was when he spoke. He hated having to speak up. 

But if had to do it again, he would. 

He’d do it again and again in one breath. 

#Kozume Kenma #Kenma Imagines #kenma x y/n #kenma x fem!reader #Haikyuu!! #Haikyuu hcs #haikyuu headcanons #Kenma x reader #kenma fluff #kenma angst #kenma headcanons #Haikyuu fluff #Kuroo Tetsuro #Kuroo fluff #Kuroo hcs #kuroo headcanons #Kenma hcs #Kenma Kozume #kenma kozume headcanons #haikyuu imagines

[certifiedskywalker]

Not Who I Should Be - Din Djarin

plaguenecromancer said: If that's okay, may i request Din Djarin x insecure reader? With him comforting her? A gal needs some fluff in her life 🙏 (if you're comfy with it ofc!)

AN: I’m sorry you’re feeling a little insecure. It’s not a good feeling, no matter what you’re having doubts or negative feelings about. I hope this comfort fic helps you feel better!

Boredom permeated every fiber of your being. The heat made it worse, stoked the flames of your tedium. Even inside, tucked into the shadows of the little home Karga had given you when he became magistrate, you itched to retreat from the fatigue. You longed for a fight, for something to work towards. Instead, you stayed still, tucked in by your window to watch beings of all shapes and species stride through the streets of Nevarro’s main city.

Boredom, this dissatisfaction, had not struck you in cycles. Not since the days before Mando and his small, green charge had entered your life. They had made life interesting, made crash landing on Nervarro’s sands worth it. Though, now, without them and their adventure, all you had was empty time. Less than savory thoughts and doubts had risen up to fill it.

‘What ifs’ plagued you most often, never leaving like the heat. What if you had pressed Mando, Din, to let you go with him after forcing Moff Gideon to retreat? What if you had stowed away on the Razor Crest? What if Din had not said that you would be safer if you stayed and that a life on the run was not a life for you? What if you were stronger, leaner, and meaner like the rest of the company the Mandalorian man kept?

Worst of all: what if you had told him how you felt?

In an attempt to free yourself from your regret, you shook your head and moved away from the window. People watching only worked as a distraction for so long. You needed to busy yourself with something, anything else. If you didn’t...you released a trembling breath.

Rather than stand alone with your doubts, you started towards the small kitchen nestled in the corner of your quaint abode. As you made your way over, you ignore the mirror hung on the far wall. All your worries and hurt seemed to gather in the reflective glass. If you wanted to shake the dull darkness, you would have to stay away from it; and yourself.

For the moment, the tea making process would serve as a distraction enough. As you reached up into one of your cabinets for a cup, there was a knocking at your door. The sound made you jump slightly. You had not been expecting anyone. Warily, you made your way towards the door and peeked out between the curtains of the window beside it. You saw a familiar head of dark hair lingering in the doorway and a wave of relief washed over you.

Eagerly, you reached over to unlatch the door. A moment after, it opened with a soft clanking and Cara Dune gave you a knowing grin. You quirked a brow at her in a silent question. Her grin only widened; a sight you were not used to.

“I’ve got a surprise for you.”

“A surprise?” 

Cara nodded and waved her hand. “Follow me.”

Before you had a chance to respond, Cara was already walking away. You sighed and slipped on your shoes before following after her. Nevarro’s back streets were not as crowded as the main thoroughfare. Despite his seedy past, Karga had eliminated most of the crime, via decriminalization or more reasonable law, which, in turn, eliminated the need to use the dark back alleys. The lack of traffic allowed you and Cara to make it to the catina-turned school quickly.

“The school?” You asked, but, as usual, Cara pushed forward without an explanation. And, as usual, you followed after her. Anticipation twisted your stomach as you wondered and walked towards whatever surprise Cara had in store. You were half expecting a wounded child or an infestation of womp rats tucked into the school’s walls. 

Once inside, your wondering turned to confusion. Class was in session with the reprogrammed protocol droid referencing the New Republic Core Worlds and the varying hyperspace lanes that connect each Rim of the galaxy. You glanced at Cara who, still smiling, leaned towards you. She extends a hand towards the front of the class. 

You follow the direction of her pointed index finger. Heads of hair and attentive children blocked your view of the front of the class. Moving to the side to get a better glimpse did little to help. With a few steps forwards, you saw that the desk on the far left was empty.

No, not empty. 

A little head of green skin peeked out from over the desk behind him. The Child. Your eyes widened at the sight. Suddenly, with a mind of their own, your feet started towards him. Before you even reached his side, the Child turned his head and his large, dark eyes met your gaze. A small gasp of excitement fell from your lips.

He remembered you, even after being away so long.

Without paying any mind to the lesson taking place, you scooped the Child up into your arms. He cooed as you lifted him, tiny hands reaching out towards your face. Small and warm, the Child’s hands rested on your cheeks. You let out a breathy laugh and smiled.

“I missed you too,” you said softly, “and the shiny man that carries you around.” The Child squealed at your words and you took the sound as a sort of giggle. “Where is he? Hmm?”

Knowing that, while he was responsive to you, you wouldn’t get a true answer from the Child, you sent a glance over your shoulder at Cara. When you did, you saw that she was casted half in shadow. The sight was enough to make you do a double take. Looking back for longer than a moment, you saw the shadow’s source.

Standing partially in front of Cara was your Mandalorian. You stared into the dark lines of his visor, wondering if he was staring at you too. The regrets you had run from suddenly caught up with you. Air was knocked from your lungs as Din took a step towards you, suffocated you with a wave of self-consciousness. Whatever lecture the protocol droid was giving was quickly drowned out by your heartbeat thundering in your ears. 

He takes another step and you feel your skin warm. How ridiculous you must look and what a mess too. Your slip-on shoes were tattered as was the cardigan shawl draped over your shoulders. This morning, you had dressed to stay indoors. Now, you were standing in a classroom, precious Child in arms, and staring at the only man you had ever truly fallen for.

Another step and you feel your chest tighten. You have a million things you want to say, but only one thing you want to do. Despite that, your feet stay firmly planted to the floor, unmoving. There would not be any running into his arms or even meeting him in the middle. Fear and doubt gripped you too tightly for that. 

One more step and, “hey.”

“Hi,” you whisper, suddenly aware of all the pairs of eyes in the room. A few of the children, unentertained by the lecture, stare awestruck at the shining, metal man that had just strode into their classroom. “I mis-”

“We should leave these kids to their schooling,” Karga said, stepping out from beside Cara. You peeked over Din’s shoulder and nodded at him. As Karga and Cara made their way towards the door, you followed suit. When you passed him, you heard elements of Din’s  armor clank together as he stayed close on your heels. Even a pace or so in front of him, you could still feel the warmth of his body behind yours as you all made your way to the Magistrates office. 

Once there, the trio wasted no time in telling you their newest plans.

“You’re going to blow it up?”

“Erase the stain of the Empire from our glorious home planet,” Karga extrapolated with an all too knowing smile.

“So, you’re blowing it up,” you sighed. The Child let out a coo, big dark eyes peering up at you from where he was nestled safely in your arms

“See! Even the baby agrees with me!” Karga clapped his hands together and let out a chuckle. You frowned and shook your head before refocusing your attention on the Child. 

Before you could respond, poke holes in this horribly vague and wild plan, Din’s hand reached out. Gloves fingers reached towards the Child, stroked the top of his head and down the curve of one of his large ears. You looked up and saw the Mandalorian fixed on the little creature. Though, he must have sensed your eyes because the visor lifted quickly; his hand still lingered near your arm. If you were not so enraptured by Din’s close proximity and focused line of sight on you, you may have felt how his covered fingertips so carefully brushed against your upper arm, the place where the Child’s head rested comfortably.

“Can you watch him?”

 The stillness of Din’s voice was usually what stirred your stomach; his tone was always forward, stoic. But, with that question, there was a bend that made your heart flutter in your chest. He was worried, or overwhelmed by something, you weren’t entirely sure. All you were sure of was how, when he spoke to you like that, you would do just about anything he asked of you.

Though, as much as you adored the Child, you wanted to help. You yearned to be where the action was. In this case, an abandoned Imperial outpost. Not quite the complete savior from boredom you had wished for, but it would get you away from yourself long enough. Din leaned closer and you swore you saw a flash of his eyes in the rays of light that struck his helmet's visor.

“Y/N?” Mouth suddenly dry, you struggled to find your voice while lost in his; lost in the way he said your name. No, you would slow them down, weaken the team. The last thing you wanted was to add more worry to Din's already heavy shoulders. He hadn’t even asked if you wanted to come with; he knew that you weren’t combat material, not a hardened warrior, not a worthy addition to the team. When you finally found your voice, your held the darkened gaze of Din’s visor, staring into the blackness at the points you imagined his eyes would be.

“Of-of course.” You cringed at the stammer laced in your words. Nerves and doubts had ways of undermining your every attempt to remain collected in front of others; the Mandalorian especially so.

“Good.”

Good? You felt your whole body warm at the single word. Self conscious, you opened your mouth to say something, anything to deflect attention from your burning cheeks and wide eyes. Luckily, Karga always had something to say.

“Then it’s settled! Let’s check in with our get away driver.” Karga turned on his heels and, somewhat leading Cara out of the office, left the room. Cara sighed and nodded at you before following the man’s trail. 

“You’ll be alright here?” You focused your gaze back on Din. His visor, his gaze was still trained on you. You don’t think it ever left.

“Yeah,” you said quickly. He was nervous too, wary about leaving the Child, his child, in your care. Your lips turned to a frown,  weighed down by the weight of Din’s and your own self doubt. 

“If he gives you trouble, I’m a comm away.” You nodded at his reassurance, but your expression did not change. “Thank you.”

“No problem,” you said softly, watching as Din started towards the door. He gave you one last look, hand gripping the door frame with one foot out under Nevarro’s sun. “Stay safe.”

Din lingered in the wake of your words before he finally nodded and followed Cara towards the edge of town. You watched him go through the window, and found yourself where you began: waiting for an adventure, an escape from your own mind. A small chittering from the Child pulled your gaze back in. His little green hands were reaching up towards your face again, wonder in his dark eyes.

“You’ll keep me busy, won’t you?” You asked, and the Child cooed in response. “We’re both kind of lost, aren’t we?”

“Am I boring you?”

The Child yawned in response, with his eyes slowly closing and, even slower, blinking open again. You took a long breath before you reached over from where you sat to pick him up. Pieces of ration bread clung to the skin around his mouth, a few crumbs falling to the floor of your little homestead before you could wipe them away. You would have to clean later.

“Guess my little stories aren’t as exciting as the adventures you’ve been on, huh? I can’t imagine all the places you and your Mando have gone.”

With eyelids heavy, the Child only chirped once in reply. You strode over to the piecemeal couch you had found and placed against the far wall. Mismatched tones of red cushions swallowed you as you sat down. Your body sank into the fabric, held you as softly as you held the Child in your arms. Every aching bone and muscles sighed in relief as you wedged yourself in the couch, snug between the cushions and the armrest.

In the distance, somewhere in the city’s nightlife, a creature howled. Though, not even an explosion or the opening of a clanky door could distract you from the Child. Except for yourself. Except for the doubts and thoughts and insecurities that swirled about your head. Your brain felt like a dusted engine, ready to burst under the pressure. Finally, it did.

“If I were fitter, quicker to the draw….” you laughed at yourself bitterly. “No, if I were better, overall, I would have gone with you and him. If I weren’t scared, in my head, I might have too...I’m just-”

The Child chittered softly, in tune with the rise and fall of his little chest. For a moment you waited for him to make another sound, say his piece. Then, the same chittering, the same long breath. He was asleep and you were alone with your thoughts again. 

“I’m just not who I should be,” you finished.

A sigh fell from your lips as you shifted to set the Child down. Like you, he sank into the cushions but he wiggled his way deeper. You wished you could sleep as soundly. As you moved to your feet, you caught the telltale clanking of your metal door closing.

With a lurch in your heart and stomach, you spun around on your heels, frightened but ready to attack the intruder. Afterall, the Imps were still after the Child. But it was not a platoon of sneaking Stormtroopers or officers clad in black that greeted you. It was your Mando, Din.

“Hey, hey, it’s just me.”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s just you. You scared the starlight out of me!” You kept your voice to a louder whisper, as to not wake the Child. “I wasn’t expecting you back so soon.”

“Neither was I,” Din admitted, taking a few steps towards you so he too could lower his voice. “The outpost wasn’t as abandoned as Karga said.”

You raised your brows at him. “But it’s…”

“They’re gone, for now. As long as he,” he tipped his helmeted head towards the Child, “and I stay here. It’s not safe, for anyone.”

“Are you two ever safe?” You ask, a joking, bittersweet twinge to your words. When they had left, leaving you on Nevarro with Cara and Karga, you don’t think you ever stopped worrying about Din and the Child. Or wondering about what your life would have been like if you had gone with them. A glance at the Child sent you back to those daydreams; instinctively, you smiled.

“No,” Din answered seriously, “and that’s why I never asked if you wanted to join us.” You turned your eyes from the Child back to Din. Dark and unyielding, the visor of his helmet was trained on you. “Not because...you’re capable, Y/N. You’re…”

“You don’t have to say anything. I understand why.” You raised a hand and waved him off. “You better get going anyway.”

In an attempt to escape the white-hot embarrassment that had begun to crawl up your neck, you started towards your kitchen. How could you have been so unaware and let him hear you? Why were you even talking to the Child like that? Why did you have to be so-

As you passed Din, his hand caught your upper arm. It was a harsh grab. It was more like you were a floating piece in a hologram puzzle and the user finally put you in place; right where you belonged. Warmth spread to every far reach to your limbs, every track of skin. Overwhelmed by the heat, you looked up and out towards Din once more. 

“You’re exactly who you should be: brave, when it counts, and kind. I wish I knew more people like you, but you’re enough for me.”

Tears stung behind your eyes, begging to be shed. You were frozen now but warm still; a sort of puddle captured in the freezing grip of words you didn’t know you wanted, needed to hear. When you muscles finally thawed, you didn’t say a word. Instead, you leaned into Din’s touch and he, much to your surprised, opened his arms for you.

Beskar was cold against your skin, seeped through the fabric of your clothes. A stark contrast to the flames of want and affection that engulfed you. Din’s hand dropped from your arm and wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to him. His other arm moved so that his left hand cradled your head, held it to his chest.

In that moment, your thoughts scattered, succumbed to the heat captured between your body and Din’s. For the first time, there was no smoke in your head that tarnished everything you did, said, or felt. It was only you and Din, together; exactly where you should be.

#din djarin #din djarin x reader #din djarin imagine #din djarin imagines #din djarin fanfic #din djarin fanfiction #mando #mando x reader #mando imagine #mando imagines #mando fanfiction #the mandalorian #the mandalorian fanfiction #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian imagine #the mandalorian imagines #star wars #star wars imagine #star wars imagines #star wars fanfiction

[mpreg-is-always-possible]

How To Choose

Story Summary

Valerie Jones had never had to put much thought into what her life would turn out to be - she was to go to school, find someone to settle down with, and get a job, that’s the plan. But when her first day at her new job ends in an unexpected trip to a different dimension, one with soulmates and superheroes, how can she reconcile what she had planned and what life has dished out?

Masterlist

Author's Note

Hey all! I hope everyone had a good and restful holiday season and that your new year is off to a good start. I got to see friends and family that I haven't seen in a while which was really nice and also partly why this chapter is late. I'm hoping to update a little more in the next few days since I have nothing going on until the spring semester starts up again at the end of the month. Anyway, thanks for reading and I hope you enjoy the new chapter!

Chapter 9

Valerie sat in a tan chair in the sterile-smelling hospital room next to Steve, a news report showing a congressional hearing where Congresspeople were interrogating Natasha softly playing in the corner. The room was cold, and Valerie stared at Steve who was in a coma, wanting to hold his hand or climb under the blanket with him. Both felt equally inappropriate, but she couldn’t help the thought. Steve was so still, it made Valerie uncertain if he would wake up, despite the doctor’s reassurances. The cuts and bruises on Steve’s face had largely healed but Valerie had to restrain herself from worrying about them.

“Mind if I wait with you,” a voice called from the door. Valerie looked up from Steve’s face and saw Sam standing in the door with a speaker in hand. Valerie nodded and Sam took a seat on the other side of the bed.

“I heard you haven’t left his bedside,” Sam said, turning off the tv. Valerie shook her head. “Why not?”

“I didn’t want him to be alone,” Valerie said, quietly.

Sam nodded and pulled out his phone. In a moment, music flowed from the speaker and Sam sat back in his chair.

“I don’t want to push, but if you want to talk about what happened I’m here for you,” Sam said. Valerie looked up at him – he had a sympathetic look on his face, but it wasn’t patronizing. Valerie hadn’t seen Sam since he, Natasha, and Fury found her and Steve on the riverbank. There wasn’t time to check in with each other or anything, but she assumed Steve told him about their connection. Valerie gave him a small, fake smile.

“Thanks, Sam. I assume Steve told you about everything,” Valerie said, turning her gaze back to Steve’s face.

“If by everything you mean that you have a long-distance boyfriend who is not one of your soulmates, then yes he told me everything,” Sam said. Valerie closed her eyes and shook her head.

“That’s technically true I guess, but the term long-distance is doing a lot of heavy lifting. I’m from another dimension where soulmates don’t exist. I don’t know exactly how I got here, but it’s probably because of the convergence that happened last week.” Valerie said. Sam just sat there, his face giving nothing away. He took in the information for a moment, the only sound to be heard was the voice of Marvin Gay.

“So, you’re a long way from home,” Sam said. Valerie snorted.

“Yeah, to put it lightly,” Valerie said. “Also, I appreciate the first thing out of your mouth not being about how overwhelming it all must be or if I’m understanding the connection okay or whatever. I’m so tired of answering that question.”

Sam smirked. “I’m sure but if you want to talk about any of that, I’m available.”

“Thanks, Sam,” Valerie said.

“It must be hard though, having a boyfriend back home but having to deal with having soulmates here,” Sam said after a moment.

“Yeah, it’s not easy, but I just keep reminding myself that this is just a mix-up and that I’ll be home soon.”

“Do you want to be home?”

Valerie’s head whipped up and she gave him a look that was meaner than she meant it to be. His hands shot up and he shrugged.

“I’m just asking, you practically haven’t left his side since we found you guys and you’ve spent most of this conversation staring at the comatose guy than the guy talking to you.”

“Of course, I want to go home, my friends and family are there. My job is there, my boyfriend is there,” Valerie said. “I have a plan for how my life is supposed to go and abandoning it for a parallel universe is not an option.”

“Plans change, Valerie, and what if you can’t go home?”

“I don’t want to think about that,” Valerie said. Sam just nodded

“Tell me about your boyfriend,” Sam said. “What’s his name.”

“His name is Matt, he works at his dad’s business at the moment but he’s in law school,” Valerie said, her eyes trained on Sam.

“How did the two of you meet?”

“We met at a frat party our freshman year,” Valerie said. “We had a lot of mutual friends who all said that we would be good together, so he asked me out. We’ve been dating ever since.”

“Was the only reason he asked you out because your friends said you guys would be good together?” Sam asked.

“No…” she said, shortly.

“What did you guys talk about,” Sam asked.

“I don’t know – everything, nothing,” Valerie said. Sam nodded.

“Do you miss him,” Sam asked.

“I miss my life,” Valerie said, looking at Steve again. Valerie thought back to the ring she found the morning she left. Did she miss him? Short answer: She missed her life ergo she missed him. But truth be told, she just missed his predictability and her reaction to Steve’s near-death experience gave Valerie a lot to think about. She had never been so worried about a person before, though she had never known anyone to be in that kind of danger until that point. Still, she couldn’t help but feel like her feeling of worry could only be matched by those of a person whose partner was in a warzone or some other incredibly dangerous job. Valerie’s concern for a man she had only known for about a week was too high for it to not mean anything.

“That’s not what I asked,” Sam said.

“It’s complicated,” Valerie said.

“Why is it complicated,” Sam asked. Valerie sighed.

“The morning before I came here, I found a ring in our sock drawer, and it made me realize that I had just let this relationship happen to me for no real reason. I love Matt, but when I thought about marrying him it felt like I would be settling into a life that was expected of me and not one that I chose for myself,” Valerie said. “And now I’m here in a place where your significant other is chosen for you, and I’m just expected to go with that. I mean what’s the difference between doing what’s expected of me back home and doing what’s expected of me here? And what’s worse is that the connection between Steve and I makes it difficult to really think about what I want for myself.”

Sam nodded and leaned forward in his chair, considering his next words.

“Can I let you in on something,” Sam asked. Valerie nodded. “You don’t have to be with your soulmate and if you really don’t want to be with Steve you can break the connection. All you have to do is agree that you two wouldn’t work out and the connection is severed.”

Valerie’s eyes widened. This was not what she was expecting. She looked at Steve's face again and took in his still features. His black eye that was deep hues of black and blue was now yellow and the cuts on his cheeks and lips were nearly healed. They just needed to agree that they weren’t good together, they could do that. Valerie’s and Steve’s conversations tended to revolve around three things – getting Valerie home, making sure Valerie was comfortable, and Steve’s stories about Bucky. Steve didn’t seem concerned at all about their connection in her mind, and if he did, Bucky was back. Finding out Bucky was alive must have killed any interest in pursuing their connection in Steve’s mind, right?

“Nothing I’ve read has mentioned that, and everyone I’ve talked to has made it seem like it’s nearly impossible to break the connection,” Valerie whispered, turning away from Steve. “But if we just need to agree that we’re better off apart, why didn’t anyone tell me?”

“Not many people try to break a connection before they’ve even given it a chance,” Sam said. “So, breaking the connection is conflated with extremely dysfunctional relationships.

“How do you know this?”

“There was a person in my unit who met their soulmate while on tour in Afghanistan. Their soulmate lived there and was committed to his work in gathering as many resources as he could for the villages in the area. The things he did put a target on his back and being the soulmate of a U.S. soldier would make it even bigger and put his soulmate in danger. They talked about it and agreed that it would be better if they went their separate ways and after a few weeks their names disappeared and they got new ones,” Sam said.

“They got new soulmates?” Valerie asked. Sam nodded.

“Yep, I don’t know if they ever found them or what, but they got new names. It was a complete surprise to everyone, especially my colleague,” Sam said. “I did some research on it and while it’s pretty rare, there have been cases of people amicably ending their soulmate connection and, in every case, recorded, they get new names.”

Valerie just sat back in her seat taking in the information. She could end her connection with Steve and do it fairly easily, but she would get a new name. Or names, she thought to herself.

“Did any of them have multiple names,” Valerie asked. Sam’s brows furrowed. “Did Steve not tell you about Bucky?”

“Bucky is Steve’s soulmate,” Sam said. “Is he yours too?”

“He is,” Valerie said.

“Well, damn,” Sam said. He sat back in his chair again. “Did you tell him you were his soulmate when you saw him?”

Valerie shook her head. “It didn’t seem like the time, or that he would even care. I mean, isn’t the only reason he didn’t kill Steve is that he kind of remembered that he knew him?”

“Yeah, probably,” Sam said. “Well, at the very least you can stop your connection with Steve if that’s what you want. Look I don’t know what the difference would be if you were to be with Steve and potentially Bucky versus if you were to be with Matt, but I do know that a person who doesn’t care about a person doesn’t spend literal days worrying about them when they don’t call or text when they say they will or get angry the way you do when they finally show up after being MIA.”

Valerie nodded and with that the two just sat in the room together waiting for Steve to wake up. Valerie kept looking at Steve's hand, fighting the urge to grab it, while Sam read some book she hadn’t heard of.

After about 20 minutes, Steve began to move, and he opened his eyes slightly to see Sam sitting to his left. He closed his eye again, listening to the song that was playing that he had never heard, and mumbled out, “On your left.”

Sam looked up from his book to see Steve still laying with his eyes closed and then looked up at Valerie who watched the whole thing. She was overjoyed that Steve woke up, her happiness bubbled out of her and poured out of her mark and into Steve. Steve turned his head to his right and opened his eyes ever so slightly to see Valerie smiling at him. He’d never seen her smile before and it reminded him of the sun with how much it lit up her face. It was infectious and made him smile as much as he could with how badly his face hurt.

“Val,” he mumbled, and he turned out his right hand for her to hold. Without thinking, Valerie took it and leaned on the bed to be closer. She looked into his half-lidded eyes and was immediately transfixed. She felt like they were in their own little world. She didn’t notice the music stop or Sam sneaking out to give the two some space.

“Shh, Steve, you’re hurt and need to rest,” Valerie said, squeezing his hand.

“Bucky’s alive,” he said. “He’s alive and he needs us, needs me.”

“I know Steve, Bucky pulled you from the water,” Valerie said. “I was on the riverbank when he pulled you out. I tried to get him to stay but all he said was that he needed to go.”

“I need to find him, Val, he needs help.”

“You will, but not before you recover,” Valerie said. Her hand found Steve’s and she squeezed. Steve gave her a small smile and she could feel his mark get warm with happiness.

“How’d you get out,” he asked.

“The guard Rumlow left to watch me really dropped the ball and let me get the best of him,” she said. “I hit him with my chair when his back was turned and ran out of the room. When he caught up to me, I broke his nose and ran. Eventually, I found an exit.”

Steve sat up a little straighter, his eyes darting over her. His grip around her hand tightened and she stroked his knuckles with her thumb to soothe his worry.

“You fought off a guy from the strike team? Are you hurt?” Valerie shook her head.

“I got away without a scratch,” she said.

“Maybe you should get some proper training, you could be a good agent if your getaway is anything to go by,” Steve said, smirking and settling back into bed. Valerie scoffed.

“I think I’ll stick to teaching, but maybe some self-defense wouldn’t be too bad,” she said.

“I’m sorry you went through this, Val,” Steve said. “I wanted to move you to a safe house as soon as we got away, but it was too dangerous.”

“It’s okay Steve, it all worked out. I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said. Steve took in her appearance. No scratches or bruising or cuts, but she looked at him with the same kind of caring look that Bucky gave him when he cared for Steve while he was sick. Steve still couldn’t believe he was holding her hand – it was so soft, and it just felt right. Steve tried to push aside his want to be with his soulmate, but he couldn’t help himself.

“I want you, Valerie,” he murmured so softly Valerie almost missed it. But his words sent a chill down her spine, and she stiffened in her seat. She pulled her hand back and clasped her hands tightly in her lap. Steve opened his mouth to speak, but she gave him a tight smile and stood from her chair.

“I should tell someone you’re awake,” Valerie said before walking out of the room, Steve calling after her.

Valerie ignored Sam’s calls as she passed him on the way to the nurses' station. She told the man at the desk that Steve was awake and turned back towards Sam. He looked her over, confused by her stiffness.

“You seem pretty tense for someone who was just smiling a few minutes ago,” he said. Valerie wrung her hands together to loosen them up.

“Steve needs to be looked over,” she said simply. Sam nodded.

“Are you going back? I’m sure Steve would be fine if you –“ Valerie interrupted him with a huff.

“He said he wanted me, Sam. What am I supposed to do with that? We talked about how this would go the day after I got here. He said he’d help me through this, and now he just wants to make this harder!” Valerie said, her voice rising with each word. A mean-looking nurse shushed her loudly and Sam quickly guided Valerie to a small waiting area down the hall.

“Val, I hear you, and you’re in a very difficult situation, but so is he,” Sam said, quietly. Valerie shook her head.

“I get that things with Bucky aren’t great right now, but he’ll get Bucky back. But if I allow any feeling at all to develop for Steve, then going home is going to be incredibly difficult. I have a plan for my life Sam, this is just a detour.” Valerie said in a panicked hurried voice. Sam let her vent, he stood in front of her with a look of understanding and kindness that made her heart slow just enough to stop her from hyperventilating. When she finished, she took a breath before speaking.

“Sam, I can’t have him,” Valerie choked out, tears welling in her eyes. Sam took a moment to consider her words.

“Valerie, you were thrown a curveball you weren’t prepared for, and then displaced from your home. You don’t have any ground under your feet,” he said, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. “You haven’t had a moment to process all of this. You can’t expect yourself to decide if you want to pursue your connection yet, even if you had known about soulmates your entire life.”

Valerie’s tears fell freely at his words. She felt everything she had just gone through fall on her like an anvil and at that moment, she realized how much she missed her home. She missed her parents in the same way a child misses their parents on the first day of kindergarten. She felt so alone and all she could do was wrap her arms around Sam’s waist and cry. Sam wrapped his arms around his friend and squeezed, hoping she knew she had people in her corner.

Chapter ten

Tags: @izhetttttt

#Stucky #soulmate au #angst #stucky x oc #original female character #slow burn #eventual smut #also on ao3 #HowToChoose #Soulmate!Steve Rogers #Soulmate!Bucky Barnes #slight canon divergence

[silence-burns]

Please Hate Me //part 51

Fandom: Marvel

Summary: Based on: “Imagine having a love/hate relationship with Loki.” by @thefandomimagine​ Who would have thought that babysitting a god could be so much fun?

Genre: slow-burn, enemies to lovers, banter, smut

The TV buzzed quietly in the living room, repeating the same string of information all the news stations had been reporting since yesterday. It was amusing to see how many different words could be used to state the same thing without anyone noticing, especially if the only clip actually capturing the event that'd been on everyone's tongues for the past 24 hours lasted for less than 10 seconds and had been recorded on painfully cheap equipment.

Still, a suspicious and still unexplained cloud of what appeared to be dust, rising at the edge of the observable surface of the Moon, kept people plastered to the screens.

Peter kept an eye on the report just in case any actual news dropped,  but so far, despite his ever growing curiosity, the world's experts were just as clueless as they had been yesterday, especially since investigating the site in person was not really an option.

A shiver ran down the boy's arms, urging him to keep moving. Even though the windows were wide open, the sour stench still hung in the air of his apartment. Fanning the air with an incredibly colorful and tacky fan aunt May had bought last summer, Peter had hoped to make the apartment a breathable place again before she was back.

"Don't look so smug," Peter gave Barbara the side eye. "It's your fault."

From the heights of the chandelier, the undead owl blinked slowly with all the smugness only an untouchable criminal was capable of mustering. In fact, the gagging odor only seemed to worsen.

Peter coughed, shuffling in even closer to the open window. They say that experience is the toughest, but also the best teacher, and Peter had no reason to disagree.

"...no wonder they didn't let you eat inside."

Peter checked the news again. He was dying to drown Loki and you under all the questions about what precisely had happened on the Moon. The boy had no doubts that your little visit there was directly connected to the incident, but he had no way of learning the truth just yet. The only two people knowing the facts were currently incapacitated and trying their best not to die on Peter's bed. Or at the very least not to let go of all the alcohol consumed.

Despite his best efforts, Peter was unable to wake them up. When he had offered to hide them from Thor for reasons they weren't the most open about, Peter had no idea it would be for such an extended period of time. Peter had only suggested his house because he knew aunt May was supposed to work till afternoon, but these few hours of peace and quiet were coming to a rather swift end with each moment Peter was incapable of waking and then moving out the two drunkards clinging onto his bed for dear life.

Peter had no idea how to explain them to aunt May. Or the undead owl poisoning the air from the heights of the chandelier.

With the door to his room firmly shut, Peter hoped his secret stash of people that definitely shouldn't be there would stay secret. He had a big chance of succeeding after all. If only he managed to fan out the stink in time and—

The keys rattled in the lock with the familiar jingle of all the little gadgets aunt May loved to keep attached despite their utter uselessness. 

Peter looked at Barbara. Barbara looked at Peter. The boy could've sworn the owl recognized the thoughts rushing through his head at that moment, and decided to be even meaner than usual. Before Peter managed to put together a story explaining how an undead and rather unhygienic owl came into his possession, the owl took a swift exit through the open window and disappeared, leaving only the stench behind.

"Oh, come on…"

Increasing the speed of his fanning, Peter hoped it would be enough. The sounds coming from the door shattered his hope.

Aunt May coughed as she walked in, dropping the grocery bags on the table. "Peter, sweetheart, please tell me no one died in here while I was gone."

She took the fan from his hands and leaned out of the window, taking large gulps of the fresh air.

Outside, there was no sign of a stinky undead owl anywhere in sight. Not even one filthy feather to prove how close to guessing the truth aunt May was. Peter was unsure whether it was for better or for worse, but it surely left him with all the questions remaining to be answered.

"No, of course not!" he laughed the fakest laugh of his life. "It's not like any animals could get in and just...decompose, right?"

"Well, it would certainly be hard given what floor we live on, but you know New York, the rats can just get anywhere."

Peter watched in growing terror as his aunt looked around, set firmly on finding the source of the smell. The living room was a closed space, with only so many pieces of furniture to look under before the idea of marching into the boy's room popped into her head.

There was little to no doubt his own head would be torn from his neck if she beheld the sight of it.

"That's not rats, really! It's just… well, Ned made me swear not to tell a thing, but you know his stomach and I had told him the burrito we had after school didn't look very well, but he was insistent, so…"

Peter shrugged, trying his best not to show how fast his heart was drumming in his chest. He made a mental note to apologize to Ned later, or at least buy him a burrito next time they met. Not mentioning the reason for it would probably be the wisest, though.

Aunt May sighed with what could only be read as parental concern. As Peter's closest friend, Ned was a frequent guest to the apartment and many meals have gone by with May admiring his appetite. She knew well the capabilities of Ned's stomach and the inhuman amount of food it could make disappear. 

"Poor thing, I really hope he recovers soon. Is he still there?" May whispered, nodding towards the bathroom.

"No, he just...left."

May raised her eyebrows. "In that state?"

"I mean, he said he was fine now and could make it home."

"You should call him," she gave up on her search and started unpacking the groceries she got on her way home. "I really hope he made it in one piece."

"That's a great idea, I'll do it right away."

Before May managed to say another thing, the boy was already gone, the door to his room firmly shut. She smiled to herself. Ned was a good boy and she was glad Peter still had a friend in him for so many years. If only his choices in food weren't a health hazard...

Peter locked the door behind him, pushing his back to it. He took a deep, if rather shaky breath.

"I'm glad you're finally awake, but what are you guys doing?"

You turned your head away from the open window, banging it into Loki's. He winced, but continued to assess the 10-story drop to the ground outside the building. 

"We're sneaking out," you slurred. "The suits are coming."

"What su-"

Even through his closed door, Peter heard the doorbell ring. He froze. "Who's that?"

"I don't remember, but they want something from us."

Peter looked at the door. Then back to you. Loki was already missing.

The fire escape was an old and wiry thing, stubbornly fighting against the rust and corrosion throughout the years. It stood mostly unbroken, which was greatly appreciated by the two people currently about to use it. But the passage of time left its mark that could be well heard by all the residents of the building. The high-pitched, irritating sound of old metal creaking under every step was a steep price to pay for a way out.

Peter took a deep breath in his now-empty room. It did little to steady him. Behind the door, he could hear a conversation between aunt May and a voice he almost recognized. Maybe if he snuck out after them…

"Peter, come here for a moment!" May called him with a smile to her voice.

It couldn't be that bad if she was smiling, right?

Reluctantly, Peter returned to the living room, bracing himself to meet whoever the suits were. 

"Hello, Peter," Agent Coulson nodded politely in his direction. 

SHIELD was in his house and Peter had little to no doubt the agent wasn't there to try his aunt's home baked cookies. 

"I'm sorry for the rush, Peter, but have you perhaps seen…," the agent looked at Peter's aunt, "your new coworkers? I can't contact them lately. We were working on a new project."

Peter watched his aunt link his apparent 'internship' at Stark Industries and Coulson's words. Even though she was growing giddy and engaged the agent in some small talk about the job, Peter knew the agent was still waiting for the answer.

There was only one way of getting out of this mess.

Playing dumb had always been his savior.

Peter was the image of innocence as he asked, "Who?"

But Coulson's features hardened almost imperceptibly. In one short moment, Peter knew he messed up.

Well, maybe playing dumb didn't work on certain people.

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