#i was initially going to do one set showing all four looks

[ordinaryschmuck]

What I Thought About The Owl House Pilot

Huh. Never thought I’d get to do this again, but oh well.

Salutations, random people on the internet! I’m an Ordinary Schmuck! I write stories and reviews and draw comics and cartoons.

And, above all else, I LOVE talking about The Owl House. I have an entire masterpost dedicated to talking about every single episode of the show and I’m halfway through a six-part review discussing everything that I love about it (Part Four's coming when it’s done. Let’s say…late June. Early July at the latest). I figured that after I’d finished that whole deal, I wouldn’t have anything left to talk about when it came to this series. Then, out of nowhere, the show’s original pilot leaked online…Sort of. It’s just an animatic with the show’s original voice cast voicing MOST of the lines, but it’s very much the pilot episode. It’s just not a finished product and I won’t share a link because I don’t think it’s exactly…legal. BUT I will at least share my thoughts about it because, well…Look at my blog. The Owl House has become the BIG THING that I obsess over for a reason and I love that I got to see what’s basically an alternate version of the show that I love. What do I mean?

Well, a pilot is MUCH different from a first episode. Where the first episode is meant to sell the show to the audience, a pilot is meant to sell it to a STUDIO. It can happen at any point of the story or act as the show’s first episode. Just as long as it shows off the characters, concepts, and tone, a studio can look at it, greenlight it, and allow the show to continue, BUT with some extra notes. Sometimes, those notes can change the rest of the series where others can keep the pilot good enough to stay canon. Some best examples off the top of my head are the pilots for Regular Show and Rick and Morty. You can tell that not much changed from the pilots of those shows and what was initially pitched, but there are clear changes in tone, animation, and even personality. Skips sounds a little more illiterate and Benson being more informed of the consequences of something as simple as rock, paper, scissors in the Regular Show pilot and Rick is noticeably more reckless and unprepared for situations in the Rick and Morty pilot. Nothing is set in stone with a pilot episode, even the ones that are canon. For the case of The Owl House, it’s pilot is no exception. A lot of it is just the same as “A Lying Witch and A Warden” at least in terms of plot and themes, but there are so many changes that show off what the series COULD HAVE been instead of what it was. How different? Well, let’s go through it all.

But real quick, I’m not going to do the “Like/Dislike” format I’ve done for previous reviews. Instead, I’m going to look through this pilot, note the changes it has, and share my thoughts on them. There’s also going to be a few spoilers to what happens in this pilot, so if you haven’t checked it out then I suggest giving it a watch wherever you can find it. It really is interesting to get a peak into what’s basically an alternate version of my favorite show.

With that said, let’s get into it.

Some Things Stayed the Same: Like I said, it’s basically an altered version of “A Lying Witch and A Warden.” The plot is that Eda uses Luz to get King back his “crown of power,” with some bits and pieces carrying over. Certain jokes that must have been too funny to get rid of, specific lines of dialogue that hit just the right notes, and some aspects of the characters’ personalities being just the same, proving that they're already perfect the way they are. It’s the changes, however, that makes for something more interesting. For one…

There’s More of an Emphasis on Comedy: As much as I love The Owl House, I’ll always admit that humor isn't its strong suit. It CAN be funny, really funny. But the jokes don’t land as well as something as Gravity Falls or Amphibia. I can say that a part of that could be because Dana Terrace wanted a more serious show, and we definitely get a sense of how serious it could be later in the series. Here, in the pilot, it definitely seems like there was more of an attempt to make the show comedic. King’s crown isn’t in a warden’s cell held within a magical barrier that only a human can get through. It’s in a Principal’s high school, locked in a human locker that Eda and King treat as something devious. Amity’s friends aren’t preppy mean girls who seem like they could cause conflict to Luz and her friends. They’re characters used for jokes who are amazed by Luz standing up to Lilith. There’s less of an edge and more of a lean towards cutesy fun, waiting until the very end to reveal something heavy. To me, it makes the pilot feel MORE like a Gravity Falls clone than the final product. Because while Gravity Falls has its serious moments, it makes it clear that it was a comedy first, both in the pilot and final product. Any moment of heart or drama was overshadowed by one hilarious joke after the other. Now, “A Lying Witch and A Warden” had a lot of jokes too, but there were also these moments that hinted at something more. You have the oppressive looking prison, the grand beam of light hiding human collectibles, a crazy chase from a threatening looking warden. And yes, the reveal that Warden Wrath was trying to go out with Eda was hilarious, but a warden who tortures a prisoner for speaking her truth gives a hint of how dark this world can be. Meanwhile, a principal sending a student to demon detention feels more like a joke, exaggerating how strict some principals can be.

And keep in mind, I’m not complaining about the pilot leaning more towards comedy. I actually laughed a lot more with it than I did with “A Lying Witch and A Warden.” I’m just trying to explain how the tone is definitely going for something different than the full series. It might have that darker twist in the end, but even that is nothing more than a surprise. I'll get into why later, but while it has darker implications, it doesn't detract from the fun times to be had. Not by much. From what I can gather from the pilot, it’s definitely going for a series with goofy, fun adventures with a bit of heart to it. It’s just missing that personal touch that’s in The Owl House. One good example of how?

There’s Not Even a MENTION of Camila: Before you say anything, this has nothing to do with me being Camila’s number one fan, to the point where I almost made a side-blog dedicated to her (I really should get on that, though…)

I bring up this change because Camila grounds the story in “A Lying Witch and A Warden.” She draws Luz close to reality and is the first thing that comes to Luz’s mind when in real danger, saying, “If I die, my mom will kill me!” More than that, though, Camila is the one real connection Luz has to the human realm. She has no friends nor adventures, but Luz always has Camila, with even the first episode hinting that. So when Luz starts getting herself into trouble or choosing to lie and stay in the Boiling Isles, it lets the audience get ready for the inevitable drama that could unfold when Luz finally tells Camila everything. By removing Camila, though, the anticipation of Luz telling her mom goes away with her. At least, it tells ME that there’s less of a worry about Luz basically running away from home. Either this version of the show is holding off from that for a future episode or that Luz and Camila’s relationship isn’t close enough where it matters. This is speculation, of course, but I still stand by that a sense of something personal with Luz is lost for the sake of having fun and epic fantasy adventures with entertaining characters. It’s still good and entertaining, and the pilot does offer something else that’s personal, but it’s not the same as The Owl House we all fell in love with. Though, it’s notable that our main cast stayed the same.

Luz, Eda, and King: Overall, I’d say that these three, personality wise, didn’t change much. King’s probably the least altered, being the exact same character he was in Season One aside from MAYBE having a design change (It’s hard to tell through storyboards). As for Luz and Eda, they’re more or less the same. There’s a BIG change with Eda (That I’ll get to later), but her devil-may-care attitude is very much the same, as well as her snark and soft nature towards Luz and King. It’s her magic that gets the real boost, being able to do more like teleport across the Isles and turn into a…softer version of the Owl Beast at will. It’s pretty cool to see the power that this alternate Owl Lady has. And then there’s Luz, who’s still the lovable weirdo we all know. Though, this version seems a lot more dim and I’m not really a fan. How does she mistakenly give a book report in geometry class? How did it take seeing Amity’s witch ears to realize that she belonged in the demon realm? Luz had her dumb moments in the show too, but not to this extent. There was still a sense of maturity and cognitive understanding that made Luz feel like someone that seemed weird but intelligent enough to think herself out of a situation. This Luz seems more weird and focused on using brute force on a problem. In a way, it makes Pilot!Luz more of an…emotionally driven Star Butterfly. A fun and capable character, but not the same kind I had made several posts and reviews talking about how much I love/personally connected to her. But, comparatively, I guess it IS the most minor change that could be done to this character. Now let’s move onto BIGGER changes.

The Boiling Isles: The look and feel of the Isles remains the same, but the fact that it’s more connected to the Human Realm is intriguing. From what I can tell, the Demon Realm treats traveling to the Human Realm like it’s going to a new country. You visit, make some memories, and, for some, send your children over to be a foreign exchange student of sorts. Except that racism seems to be encouraged in this regard as the demons and witches don’t see humans worth breathing the same air as them. And some think it’s more than okay to hunt down and kill if one human trespasses into their realm. And the reason for THAT is implied to be Belos’ doing. Er, I mean–*Checks the leaked pitch bible*--Emperor Pupa? Uh…I’ll just stick with Belos. 

And that’s extra fascinating to me because Belos being a witch hunter was a major twist that spoke VOLUMES of the kind of people he represents. To find out that this version is more anti-human makes me curious of what kind of angle the show would have taken. Would Belos have been your bare-bones fantasy villain or would the writers find a different way to tackle his symbolism? And is the reason why the Demon Realm is more open up to the Human Realm because he hopes witches and demons can report about their enemies for a possible invasion? There’s no way to know for sure because that version of the story will never come to be, but it’s interesting to think of all the things we COULD have gotten. The same goes for other characters.

Amity: To think, Amity was considered important enough to be included in the original pitch pilot alongside our main trio. It makes sense. Dana Terrace has gone on record in saying that Luz and Amity’s relationship was something she wanted from the get go, so it’s smart to establish it as quickly as possible. Though the route they take is definitely different. Instead of being enemies to lovers, Lumity, in the original pitch, went for the friends to lovers trope…kind of.

Luz, in this version, is someone so desperate for positive attention and respect that she latches onto the first person in school that was nice to her. Except that Amity was looking for some quiet and just so happened to look like she was supporting Luz when telling everyone to leave her alone. It was an act of kindness, but not one done in generosity. It still meant the world to Luz, though, making her go ALL IN with friendship. Only to be a little too forward and creeped Amity out to the point where she was polite enough to say “Thank you,” but you could see the desperation in her eyes to be anywhere but next to Luz. Yet Luz doesn’t see that. She’s still too focused that someone was actually nice to her that she blindly follows Amity into a new world just to return a weird looking passport. Because Amity’s Luz’s friend now and friends do nice things to each other. Only for Amity to accidentally reveal that she couldn’t care less for Luz and shatter her hopes and dreams in one fell swoop.

In a weird way, I’d say Luz and Amity are off on a better first impression here than in the original series. There’s no attempted dissections or witch’s duels. Just…Amity trying to be polite in Luz’s presence only to act like your typical mean girl when she THINKS Luz isn’t around. Tossing away the drawing is harsh for sure, but here’s the interesting thing: Amity didn’t know she was talking to Luz at that moment. She didn’t even get rid of the drawing until someone drew (haha) attention to it. If anything, it’s worth noting that Amity still kept the drawing on her. Almost like, despite being weirded out by Luz, Amity felt as though the drawing WAS cute and only got rid of it when she thought someone would question her for having it. Can’t have that Little Miss Perfect status shatter over something some human gave her.

Am I reaching as a Lumity shipper? Oh, most certainly yes. But we all know the inevitable conclusion between these two. We know where they’re headed. Dana has been pretty adamant about wanting it from the start and this pilot sets the groundwork well. Knowing where these two will end up, it’s easy to make connections and hypothesize what means what. Plus, look at the face of shock and amazement on Amity’s face when she sees Luz standing up to Lilith. That looks like a girl who’s…feeling things for this human weirdo. They’re not off to a ROARING start, but I can see how things could improve between Luz and Amity. And who knows, maybe this version of these two might end up dating sooner with how quickly they seem interested in each other. Again, am I reaching? Most definitely, but I went without any new Lumity content for over a year so LET ME REACH!

The point I’m trying to make is that this version of Amity definitely seems a lot more chill and polite at the start, even though it’s likely she still has issues of even being FRIENDS with a human. But not everyone starts off polite.

Lilith: Crazy to think that Lilith started out as…basically a one-off villain like Warden Wrath. At least, that’s what I gathered from the pilot. The pitch bible hints that there COULD be more to her, but at the same time she gets sent to a fire dimension and loses a hand. That’s one-off villain energy if I’ve ever seen it. But if she is meant to be something more, I would love to see what differences could come of her being the headmaster of Hexside instead of Bump and how she could either develop into someone better through Luz’s influence as a student or regress into someone worse as she makes Luz’s school life a living hell. Whatever could come from her, it was kind of fun seeing Lilith act as more of a threat with her…out of nowhere ability to turn into a bat monster. It’s a pretty cool design and I love that it was brought out due to Eda’s constant pestering, proving that Lilith is still the same insecure nut that I love. And it is pretty great that this pilot confirmed that Lilith really did dye her hair to look more serious. You CAN’T tell me that’s not why the Lilith we know ditched the curly red hair.

But that’s about it when it comes to changes towards characters and locations. Let’s talk about the potential differences in the ongoing story.

Luz Stays Trapped Instead of Choosing to Stay: I mean, technically she chose to stay by breaking that key for no reason, but that’s more of a consequence of not thinking things through. She didn’t NEED to break the key, Luz could have just as easily pulled it out. Instead, she kicked the dang thing, leaving herself trapped in this new world. And it’s here that I would like to once again point out how this makes Pilot!Luz different and what’s lost by not including Camila. The Luz WE know would have been more careful. She always felt like someone who fought smarter, not harder, even in that first episode. Luz didn’t fight Wrath head on, she rallied a prison riot that distracted him long enough for her to hit a firework ball into his mouth. She’s intelligent and resourceful, where this one…kind of is? It was smart to send Lilith to the fire dimension, but again, not a great plan to break the key. Plus, without Camila, this doesn’t feel like as big of a deal as it could have been. Camila was the first person in Luz’s mind as she destroyed the portal door in the Season One finale. In the pilot, with no Camila, it feels like a non-sacrifice or even that big of a deal. She’s stuck, sure, but Luz doesn’t really seem to care that much. She feels happy being with Eda and King and doesn’t seem to be in that big of a rush to get home. Plus, it’s not exactly complicated to get back. There was a whole line of portal doors in the beginning that Luz could potentially sneak through and there’s not yet an established cannon that makes it seem like getting a new key would be difficult or even complicated. Once more, it gives the impression that this version of The Owl House would be focused less on personal stakes and more like giving Luz that fantasy adventure she’s always been craving for. It would make for a fun show, but not the SAME show. However, it is worth noting that there could be some potential drama. Especially for one twist that was a JOLT to my system.

EDA WORKS FOR THE EMPEROR?!: WHAT?!

I’ll admit, I feel like the reason why this is so shocking is because of the Eda I know and the Emperor I learned to fear. I mean, Eda, the woman who would sooner eat her own fist before even CONSIDERING helping Belos, even before the witch hunter business, was originally meant to HELP him. Of all the changes that the series could have made, this was by far the biggest. Everything that I thought to be constant turned out to be a lie and I was NOT prepared for it!

But again, the reason why I got that big of a reaction is because it goes against everything I knew about Eda. If this was my first introduction to her, it’d be less of a shocking twist and more of a…hook. Like how Invincible’s first episode (Don’t watch if you’re a baby) ends with a character you THOUGHT you could trust doing this intensely dark thing. The rest of the season is leading you to figure out WHY this was done and how the other characters would react, making you want to see more as the show inevitably leads up to this big conclusion that changes everything you once knew. The same applies here, with the reveal making me wonder why Eda would do this, how long she’s been doing it, how it will affect her relationship with Luz, and whether or not it’d be an easy fix. And much like the ending of Invincible’s first episode (Seriously, NOT meant for babies), this hook makes me interested in wanting to see what comes next. Except I never will know because that came from a version of The Owl House that will never exist.

The pilot is interesting because it shows me what The Owl House COULD have been. I wouldn’t say that it’s better than what we got or even that it’s a better first impression than “A Lying Witch and A Warden.” It’s definitely FUNNIER, I’ll give it that, but it doesn’t make the original pitch better, it makes it different. Everything looks the same and sounds the same, but the overall feel of this pilot makes it something that would have had a different story, tone, and ideas on how to develop these characters. Would I have liked it? Absolutely. It seems like a fun time. But that doesn’t mean I like the show we got any less. This was more like…getting a peek into an alternate universe where a show I already love would have been vastly different. And after over a year without any new Owl House content aside from stuff that fans have made, this was a very pleasant surprise that leaves me excited for the NEW fan content that springs from all this.

But that’s enough talking about a show that could have been made. Time to get back to a series that came into existence and I still love so much. See you all then as you all milk this gift that the internet has given you.

#the owl house #luz noceda #camila noceda #eda clawthorne #king clawthorne #amity blight #lilith clawthorne #the owl house pilot #what i thought about #the owl house reviews

[kangseulqi]

SEULGI's spring outfits 🌼 look 3

#rv #red velvet #seulgi #t: gg #fav #femadolsedit #ggnet #redvelvetinc #femaleidol #* creations #i was initially going to do one set showing all four looks #but there are too many gifable moments! she's just so cute and beautiful here 🥺😭💙 #so be prepared to see multiple gifs from this video 🫶

[emmyrosee]

Rintaro is exhausted.

He’s been sprinting around non-stop these past few hours- yes, hours, he’s a man of weakness- trying to hold the fort while you’re at the doctors-that-hes-not-invited-to.

Kaiya, his little princess who now seems like the spawn of damned Satan, is on the path to weening off nap time, and it shows. Akito, the handsome and kind asshole, only seems to be interested in essay he’s doing in his room to avoid watching Kaiya.

It’s been four hours. Rintaro wants to leave these kids at a bus stop and ditch them. He doesn’t know how you do this every day.

“I’m home!” You call with a gentle close of the front door, and Rintaro cries in relief. Kaiya quickly dashes to you, followed by Rintaro himself scrambling behind her. You smile, and it’s like he can hear the choir of angels with it. “Shouldn’t you be asleep?” You ask Kaiya, and it’s prompted with a yawn.

Rintaro deflates, “she’s skipping sleep, remember? No more put downs, that’s why she’s being absolutely feral right now.”

You hum in agreement and look over at your little girl, who’s head is burrowed in the curve of your neck. “That’s true, but the pediatrician also said to not force her to stay awake so early, yeah?”

Rintaro whines in the back of his throat. You chuckle and head towards Kaiya’s bedroom, only stopping briefly to kiss your husband’s cheek. “You did great, my love. I’ll put her down and I’ll come right back out to take care of you.” He smiles softly and watches as you go. He stays put, like an obedient dog waiting for your command, hell he practically feels his invisible tail wagging at your return.

“Good boy,” you tease, grabbing his hand and bringing him to the couch. You sit down and smile easily, “okay. Tell me all about it.”

“They’re animals,” he groans, flopping on the couch next to you. “Literally. How do you deal with them everyday?”

You snort, “you get used to initiating the authority. You okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine, but-“ In the background, there’s a curse word that slips from Kaiya’s lips, followed by a crash in her bedroom, and Rintaro almost cries.

“God, we’re done, right?” He pants, flopping next to you on the couch. You laugh and shift over to gently card his hair through your nails.

“Done with what, baby?”

“We’re done,” he repeats. “No more kids. No more siblings. We’ve capped at two, that’s enough, they’re cute until their not, and we’re fine being aunts and uncles from now on.”

You smile down at Rintaro, continuing to card his soft locks. You don’t say anything though, only laughing again when one green eye peeks open.

“This is the point where you say ‘yes my beloved husband, we’re done, you’re getting a vasectomy tomorrow and laid every other night.’”

You continue to smile. He sits up, playfully afraid, before his eyes widen in realization.

“No.”

You raise your hands in defense, “I didn’t say anything.”

“I know that look, it’s the same damn look you gave me when you bought our dogs, don’t lie to me, woman.”

You shake your head softly before he tries to make sense of the non-verbal news you’ve just shared with him.

“You’re… we’re having another baby?”

“Don’t be silly!” You scoff, swatting at his chest. “I wouldn’t make a big song and dance if we were having another baby!”

There’s a glimmer of sadness in his eye while he pretends to deflate in relief, hand clutching to his chest dramatically. He opens his mouth to speak while you dig through your purse in search for a small, yellow envelope. If he wasn’t wallowing in self pity, he’d ask what you were looking for, what you could’ve possibly picked up from the gynecologist to home.

You grab it, dig around for the small set of pictures and toss it onto his lap, letting him look and fully take in the pictures, eyes wide as saucers and hands trembling slightly.

Ultrasound pictures.

He looks up at you. You smile down with a nod.

“We’re having two.”

#posting before the other dad rintaro piece bc timelines aren’t real and the moon is cheese 🫶🏻 #suna rintaro #suna rintaro fluff #suna rintaro x reader #suna rintaro x reader fluff #suna rintaro x f!reader #suna rintaro haikyuu #suna #suna fluff #suna x reader #suna x f!reader #suna x reader fluff #suna imagine #suna haikyuu #haikyuu #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu imagine #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu x f!reader #haikyuu x female reader #haikyuu x yn #haikyuu x y/n #haikyuu x you #dad!suna #dad!au #dad!haikyuu #dad!hq

[chryblossomjjk]

distractions | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: fuckboy!jk x inexperienced reader

⇢ RATING: m/18+

⇢ WC: 1.1k

⇢ WARNINGS: cute couple content, they drop the 'l' word guys, n*pple piercings n sucking bc u know... fixation lmao, v suggestive but no actual sm*t, finger sucking lol, the love is requited :')

⇢ SUMMARY: jungkook agreed to let you do his makeup, but he can't stop getting distracted.

⇢ NOTES: ugh i missed them dearly!! will be putting out more drabbles soon, but i'm currently trying to focus on my other wip!! i haven't posted anything in so long so i wanted to share this with you guys! school n work is hectic i already feel swamped pls be patient with me :') i miss having time for a hobby lmao!! anyways, i hope you enjoy and let me know ur thoughts! love u <3 also apologize if there's any typos or weirdness, this wasn't beta'd!! if you haven't read practice yet, pls read before this!!

⇢ SERIES MASTERLIST

“Kook, look up! How many times do I have to tell you?” 

Four months into the relationship and his attention span, or lack thereof, never ceased to amaze you. With a frustrated groan, you place the pointy end of your Sailor Moon brush between your teeth before gripping his chin and turning his wandering gaze back to you. 

“Bambi, I’m looking up!” He yell-laughs, doe-eyes wide and sarcastic as they bear into you, equally frustrated. You can already see the concealer you applied just a few minutes ago creasing. Dramatically, he karate chops his tattooed arm towards the ceiling, paralleling your scantily clad frame straddling him. The sudden jump has you shifting against his crotch deliciously. Now’s not the time for fooling around, though. You’re determined to put the cute brush set Jungkook randomly gifted you a few weeks back to good use, starting with giving your sweet boyfriend a full beat. “This is up! What other direction is up?”

What an asshole. 

You pop the pink plastic out of your mouth, taking an annoyed chomp out of his annoying fingers. It's playful, of course. You mean, you’ve just got done with a whitening strip, after all…

Jungkook takes the opportunity to shove his digits further past your glossy lips, reaching down just enough to feel your throat constrict, then pulling back. He stares up at you with the cheesiest fucking grin, clearly pleased with himself.

“You’re mean,” you cough, wiping the drool at the corners of your mouth with the back of your hand.

“No you,” he counters, pinching your cheek patronizingly. “I love you, though.”

One month into the lovey-dovey phase of the relationship; that one where the initial butterflies fly away and you’re left feeling like ‘wow, maybe this is a forever sort of thing,’ and you still feel lightheaded every time Jungkook murmurs those three words.

“I love you, too,” you coo, reaching down to adjust his teddy-bear headband. Jungkook’s been growing his hair out. This was his last semester and he was determined to go out with a bang. For whatever reason, he had decided that bang was a mullet. You remember how confused you were when he showed up at your dorm at 3am, drunk off Fireball and excitement, asking you to cut his hair. You thought the request was outlandish and foolish, but you did it anyway, in your bathroom with eyebrow scissors. It came out a teeny bit crooked, and a tiny bit choppy, but Jungkook loved it, staring at his reflection with a big bunny smile and starry eyes. “But baby, this-” you tap on the headboard behind him, “-is up.”

He squints his eyes in defiance before complying. Ah, you’ve trained him well. A very good boy, indeed.

You’ve spoken, or thought, too soon, because after a few swipes of the plush bristles, a high-pitched ‘Appa!’ from your phone, leaning against your Kuromi makeup bag on the nightstand beside you, draws his dark pupils back to the cartoon. 

“That’s it,” you huff like an overwhelmed mother of three, yanking the device out of his sight. “Say goodbye to Aang. You’ve lost your Avatar: The Last Airbender privileges.” 

“C’mon, seriously?” He laughs while lunging forward, attempting to wrestle the phone out of your grasp. Giggling wildly, you toss it on the pink shag rug below you, out of his reach. The movement almost sends you toppling over. Luckily, Jungkook wraps an arm around your waist to keep you steady. “Bambi, you know I’m easily distracted.”

“But you said I could do your makeup,” you pout, batting your lashes at him.

“I know, I-”

“Don’t touch!” You shriek, preventing him from rubbing his eye.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes through a chuckle, holding his hands by his head in defense. “Maybe I…” You deadpan him as his eyes scan around the room before, not so subtly, landing on your chest. Cocking his head, he tuts his tongue and grips the hem of your shirt. Shamelessly, he stuffs the nearly transparent material into your mouth, exposing your bare breasts. “There, just like that,” he whispers, warm palms grazing up your torso to cup them, thumbs grazing over your little diamond heart jewelry. You gasp at the touch. “You know, I still can’t believe you actually got ‘em’.” Neither could you, honestly, but if there was one thing Jungkook has taught you, it’s that sometimes, you need to step out of your comfort zone. Take risks. Especially when it results in the cutest little nipple piercings. “So fucking sexy…”

You feel his forming bulge poking against you. God, do you want him. But even Jungkook’s dick couldn’t derail you from the mission at hand. Raising an eyebrow, you lift up the makeup brush.

The tits really seem to keep him preoccupied. With a hand on his cheek, you feel his mouth hollowing, sucking your nipple gingerly as you lean over him and fill in his thick brows. Obviously, it’s a bit hard to focus. Every now and then, you have to tug his hair to redirect his nibbles back down to soft licks. 

“Okay,” you announce, letting the shirt fall from your candy-coated lips and sitting up, “what color?”

Out of the entire thirty-pan rainbow eyeshadow palette you’re holding up for him, he lazily points to the darkest shade in the top color. His favorite color, of course; black. You should’ve known. Your lips scrunch to the side in contemplation. Jungkook would look so yummy with a smokey eye.

So you blend and blend away with blacks, whites, and grays. Shockingly, your boyfriend manages to stay still throughout the entire process. You’re proud of him, really. He’ll definitely get rewarded afterward. And you were right, the final product is absolutely delectable. 

“Baby, your eyelashes are stunning!” You swoon. “And the smokey-eye looks so so so good with your eye shape.”

Silence.

“Jungkook?” You lean forward, gripping his shoulders and shaking softly. Nothing but the sound of faint snores reaches your ears. The little fuck fell asleep. No wonder why he’s been so good. You laugh in disbelief, picking your phone off the floor and snapping a few pictures to show him in the morning. Reaching into your drawer, you take out a couple makeup wipes and start cleaning him up. You loathe makeup wipes and only keep them for emergencies, but Jungkook looks so peaceful that you can’t bring yourself to wake him.

Next, you snuggle beside him with a spare blanket, unable to yank your comforter out from under his thick, muscular thighs. He stirs when you gently pull off his headband. “I love you…” he mumbles, still half asleep. It’s as if the emotion is so ingrained in his subconscious that they bubble to the surface, even when he’s sleepy and incoherent. 

And you feel the same exact way. 

“I love you, Jungkook. Goodnight.”

© chryblossomjjk 2023 [do not copy, translate or repost]

#bts #bts x reader #bts smut #jungkook #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook series #jungkook fic #jungkook drabble #bangtan #jungkook scenario #jungkook one shot #jungkook imagine #bts imagine #jungkook x y/n #jungkook x you

[bellaxgiornata]

Seeking Forgiveness [Part Four]

Pairing: Matt Murdock x Fem!Reader Word Count: 3.7k

[Full summary and installment list for this series can be found here.]

Warnings/tags: 18+ contains angst, emotional hurt, delayed comfort, pregnant Reader

a/n: This one switches POVs at the end to Matt's. Hopefully you like the update because I quite enjoyed writing Foggy in this one. You'll see why... Feedback is always appreciated!

Tag List: @mattmurdocksstarlight @just-going-through-the-motions @paracosmic-murdock @yeonalie @auroraslibrary @1988-fiend @will-delete-this-later-probably @two-unbeatable-beaters @danzer8705 @ragamuffin285 @callmebrooklynbabes @spookyboogyuniverse @peachy-aisha @stevenknightmarc @nerdytreeflower @fucktthisworld @remuslupinwifee @kmc1989 @mywellspringoflife @thornbushrose @yarrystyleeza @shiorimakibawrites @thychuvaluswife @marvelcinematiquniverse @vallovesthedilfs @scoliobean @this--is--music @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @ashlynhasmanyhyperfixations @swissy23 @lilthbunny @that-girl-named-alex

Chewing another bite of your burger, you were barely focused on the conversation occurring at the table amongst your friends. You had been starving ever since the four of you had met at the restaurant, the smell of grilled food causing you to salivate the moment you’d stepped through the doors. So once the waiter had placed your burger on the table in front of you–the one thing you’d been craving nonstop all day–you’d tuned everything else around you out. Marci had shot you a curious look when you'd first dug into your food, but you’d chosen to ignore that, too.

Initially you’d set up this lunch date with your friends so that you could break the news to Foggy and Marci that you were pregnant. For the past two weeks now Karen had helped you keep your secret, but now that you were eight weeks along and had seen that everything was progressing well at your first ultrasound, you thought it was time to clue the pair of them into things, too. You’d been appreciative of Karen’s support lately, but truthfully being even less alone in everything right now sounded even more comforting and appealing.

As for Matt, you’d admittedly been doing your best to avoid him. He still had no idea about the pregnancy, and truthfully you weren’t quite ready to tell him. Over the past couple of weeks he had been calling you and leaving the occasional voicemail, but you’d ignored him every single time. And since you hadn’t had the heart to hear his voice or whatever it was he had to say for himself, you currently had twelve unopened voicemails from him. 

You knew you needed to tell Matt the news. Every day you told yourself that, and every day it was a constant battle with yourself between ripping the bandaid off and showing up at his apartment to tell him or not. But then you always became emotional at the thought of just seeing Matt again, and you ultimately always came to the conclusion that you just weren’t quite ready to face him, not with this. You also knew that it wasn’t the sort of news you thought you should tell him in a phone call, either. So for now, Matt had no idea you were pregnant with his child. 

“Whoa, slow down there,” Foggy teased from across the table. “Your burger is not going to get up and run away from you if you set it down to breathe for a moment.”

It took a second for you to realize that he was even talking to you, having been too focused on eating your food. Your gaze slowly slid up from your plate, noticing three sets of eyes on you. Thankfully Karen’s expression was more amused and knowing than confused and judging like Foggy and Marci’s across from you. Swallowing down your bite of burger, you lowered it back down towards your plate, sitting up straighter in the booth. You sent the pair of them across from you a sheepish smile, watching as Marci’s hand rose up towards her mouth. 

"You've uh…got some ketchup," she said, gesturing beside her lip. “Right here.”

Reaching over, you grabbed your napkin and dabbed at the glob of ketchup on your face. You could still feel all three sets of eyes on you as you wiped off the ketchup, and one look up from your plate confirmed your suspicions. Eyes darting over towards Karen beside you, you saw her send you a slight nod and a soft, encouraging smile. With a sigh you wiped your hands off on your napkin next, figuring now was as good a time as any during this lunch to break the news to Foggy and Marci. And at least the irritating hunger-nausea that seemed to accompany early pregnancy was temporarily abated with how fast you’d eaten half of your burger.

“Sorry,” you muttered. 

Foggy waved a dismissive hand, shrugging his shoulders as he sent you a smile. “Not a big deal, though I thought you had asked us here because you wanted to talk to us about something.”

“There uh, there actually was a reason,” you agreed, nodding slowly.

Your eyes slid back and forth between Foggy and Marci, your fingers fidgeting nervously with the napkin still in your hands. The pair of them curiously focused on you from across the table, lowering their utensils and giving you their full attention. Biting the inside of your cheek, you contemplated how you were supposed to tell them something so big. How did you lead up to telling someone that you're pregnant? So when you inevitably couldn’t think of anything to gradually broach the topic with, you opted for just spitting it right out.

“I’m pregnant,” you announced. “Just over eight weeks now.”

Marci’s eyes instantly doubled in size at the news, her lips parting in surprise as she gaped at you. Foggy’s jaw literally dropped, his entire body going rigid in the booth. From beside you, you felt Karen place a gentle hand on your shoulder, giving it a brief comforting squeeze.

“Holy shit,” Foggy breathed out.

You shot him another sheepish smile, still fidgeting with the napkin. “Yeah,” you muttered, “that’s about what I said initially, too.”

“So–so is it…Matt’s?” Marci asked slowly, her brows drawing together.

“Yes,” you answered.

“Whoa, whoa, wait a minute,” Foggy said, frantically waving his hands in front of himself. “You’re pregnant? Like right now? With Matt’s baby?”

“Yes,” you repeated.

Marci began to run a hand through her blonde hair, her lips pursing together as that furrow between her brows grew while she tried to process the information. Foggy was still sitting in the booth beside her and staring at you in utter disbelief. After a minute of that incredulous expression on his face, you quirked a brow at him, no longer able to stand the silence that had fallen over the table.

“What?” you asked him.

“It’s just–” he began, grimacing before shaking his head. “Matt doesn’t know, does he? That you’re pregnant? Because you two aren’t together but you’re carrying his child. And I don’t think he’d be acting the way he is if he knew.”

“Yeah, well,” you began bitterly, picking up your glass of water and bringing it to your lips for a drink, “that’s Matt’s fault.”

“So you’re just not going to tell him?” Foggy asked in shock, his brows shooting up onto his forehead. “You can’t possibly do that to him. You wouldn’t .”

“I am going to tell him,” you said, setting your glass back onto the table. “I tried to tell him that I was pregnant the night we broke up. But he wouldn’t stay to talk to me. Said he needed to go deal with the Russians. Again . He’s the one who told me to leave that night. Told me I could tell him whatever it was I needed to when he got back or that I could go." You winced, eyes dropping down towards your half-finished burger. “He left me alone that night–left us alone. So forgive me for not rushing to tell him the news a second time,” you snapped. “Because I don’t think I should have come last that night on his list of priorities, so right now he's not exactly at the top of mine.” 

“If he knew the truth there’s no way Matt would’ve walked out on you like that,” Foggy told you earnestly. “There’s no way. He’d have stayed, I promise you that.”

Your eyes flew up from the table, landing back on Foggy across from you. There was an almost pleading look on his face as he sat there across from you. But as you opened your mouth to respond, you could feel that familiar rush of anger unfurling inside of you as you remembered that night.

“I practically begged him to stay and talk to me, Fog,” you growled, one arm possessively wrapping around your abdomen. “I was crying and begging him to stay and he left . That’s on Matt, not me.”

“I absolutely agree with you on that,” Foggy replied quickly, nodding his head. “He briefly told me what happened that night and I agree that he fucked up. Big time. But knowing what I do now? I know Matt needs to know the truth. He needs to make things right–”

“There’s no way Matt could make any of this right, Fog,” you cut him off. “And even if there somehow was, do you really think Matt would want to raise a child? With what he does? How obsessive he gets over things? The way he doesn’t even take care of himself?” You shook your head quickly, one arm still possessively wrapped around your belly. “No, that man couldn’t possibly care about being a father. All he cares about is Daredevil and Hell’s Kitchen. He can have a relationship with his child, I won’t stop that, but I’m the one who’ll ultimately be raising this baby.”

“You don’t know that,” Foggy countered, shaking his head as he leaned across the table towards you with that pleading expression only growing more desperate on his face. “You don’t know Matt wouldn’t want to be a father.”

“Actually, Fog,” Marci said, cutting him off, “I think I’m with her on this. From the things I’ve heard about Matt’s hobby from you and Karen, I was honestly shocked he had managed to successfully keep a relationship for as long as he has. But being a father? That’s an even bigger responsibility. I mean, he already has difficulty prioritizing the firm with you and Karen half the time. You really think a baby would be any different?”

“Yes!” Foggy exclaimed, his eyes darting between you and Marci. “Matt has his flaws, sure, I know that. I do,” he continued fervently. “But I know Matt. He wouldn’t walk away from his own child. He wouldn’t .” 

"I'm with Fog on this," Karen said, catching everyone's attention. "I think Matt wouldn't be acting this way if he knew."

Marci’s eyes narrowed at Karen, her head slowly tilting to the side. "You already knew she was pregnant, didn't you?" she asked. "Because you don't seem very surprised right now."

"She showed up at my place shortly after the breakup and I told her," you explained. "I just didn't want to be alone in all of this. I had been waiting until after my ultrasound to break the news to you and Foggy next. I just–just wanted you all to know so I wasn't entirely alone."

Marci’s hand slid across the table towards yours, grabbing onto it. She sent you a warm smile that swiftly quieted the anger you felt towards Matt that had been burning inside of you for weeks now.

"You're not alone in this," she assured you, squeezing your hand. "You've always got us."

"Yeah," Foggy agreed, his face softening when you glanced at him beside her. "Whatever happens with Matt in all of this, you know we're always here for you. Through anything."

Tears began to fill your eyes, your lips trembling at the show of support. Truly you were grateful that everything with Matt had led you to at least meeting all three of them.

"Thanks guys," you whispered. "You don't know what that means to me."

Shutting your apartment door behind yourself, you turned and leaned your back up against it, slipping your aching feet out of your shoes with a deep groan. Head rolling back against the door as you stretched your toes, your eyes took in the sight of your empty apartment. Everything was neat and tidy except for the couch in your living room, which was often where you found yourself cocooned in a soft blanket whenever you were home lately, binging your shows and trying to ignore the hollow, lingering pain in your chest from your persistent heartache. 

The pillows on your couch were a mess, a couple of them stacked together and resting against an armrest that you'd long since claimed as your usual spot. The extra height of them stacked helped with your nasal congestion–another unfortunate perk of pregnancy you’d recently come to learn about. Your plush blanket was still strewn across the cushions looking exactly the same as when you'd crawled out from underneath it earlier to get ready for your lunch date with your friends. Truthfully your couch still looked about as inviting as anything could to you lately.

With a sigh, your right hand absently landed on your belly. Any other normal Sunday in the past you'd have had plans with Matt right now. Grabbing groceries together or maybe getting coffee. Planning out dinner or listening to audiobooks on the couch. Having mind-blowing sex in the bedroom that left you blissed out and pleasantly exhausted afterwards, the pair of you remaining naked in bed just talking and losing track of time for half the day.

But not today. 

Though admittedly it had been awhile since Matt had been able to give you his undivided attention on a weekend. Usually he had been trying to catch up on work or sleep before he went back out again as Daredevil at night. But that didn't stop the sting of his absence that you’d felt over the past few weeks since the breakup.

Eyes dropping down to your abdomen, a faint smile curled your lips upwards. You weren't truly alone though. Not fully. And at least Foggy and Marci knew the truth about your pregnancy now and were completely supportive of you. That's what mattered at the moment. 

"Alright my little devil," you whispered to your small bump affectionately, "what's on the agenda for tonight?"

Lifting the hem of your shirt up with your other hand, you stretched out the spandex band of your maternity pants with a frown. They had become far more comfortable than your actual jeans this past week, especially once those had been near impossible for you to actually button closed. You’d recently bought a few basic maternity items, but the maternity jeans made you feel considerably less attractive with that stretchy band reaching up to almost the bottom of your bra. 

"Should I get into something significantly more comfortable than these maternity pants?" you asked your bump. "Maybe those cozy, stretchy leggings I just bought? Then you and I could curl up and take a nap on the couch before figuring out dinner?"

Pushing off of the door, you bent down with another groan as you picked up your shoes and placed them in the nearby closet. Afterwards, you shuffled your tired feet through your living room and straight towards your bathroom just through the short hallway.

"But first I'm going to pee for the millionth time today," you muttered under your breath. "Something I feel like I'm doing all the time now."

You used the bathroom quickly before heading to your room, taking your time to switch your clothes into something more comfortable. It wasn’t like you were planning to go out anywhere for the rest of your Sunday night. It didn’t matter that you were wearing a massive oversized shirt and a pair of maternity leggings that you’d rolled the waistband down to just below your bump. No one was going to see you, anyway.

“Alright,” you murmured as you left your bedroom, shuffling your way back down the hallway towards your living room. “Let’s nap and figure out dinner afterwards. Seems like you’re feeling pasta tonight, so I guess that’s the plan.”

Settling onto the couch, you pulled your feet up onto the cushions and underneath your blanket before you laid down. Almost instantly you could feel your sinuses closing up and you tried to ignore your irritation at it. At least it wasn’t the nausea, because that admittedly had been the worst part of everything so far. Getting comfortable on the couch, you tugged the blanket up to your chin, your eyes steadily closing as your exhaustion began to overtake you.

“You and I will be just fine on our own,” you whispered drowsily, patting your bump. “I’ll find a way to make this work. One way or another, we'll both be okay.”

Matt leaned forward, resting his elbows on his desk as he buried his face in his hands. He was tired and annoyed this morning, irritated that his Sunday out hadn’t been too eventful last night. Ever since he’d finished dealing with the Russians, having gotten Petrov into police custody with the help of Mahoney, Hell’s Kitchen had been oddly quiet on the organized crime front. Which was poor timing considering the fact that Matt hadn’t wanted to stay in his apartment where he’d just be reminded how alone he was every night. 

It didn’t help that he’d been sleeping horribly, too. He wasn’t out as late as he had been for the past few weeks, meaning he had the time to sleep, but he clearly lacked the ability lately. His mind just wouldn’t seem to quiet, becoming almost louder than the sounds of the city around him when he tried to. Which was also quite irritating. 

With an annoyed huff, he slid his hands down his face, straightening back up in his chair. He picked up his glasses from his desk and placed them back onto his face. He was tired but he still had work to do. There was a frustrating case he’d been helping Foggy with lately and he figured he could distract himself with that today. He didn’t want to think about anything else.

Though Matt had barely gotten far focusing on the case before he heard Foggy entering the office, closing the door a bit harsher than usual behind himself. Even Karen startled in her office at the unexpected rough slam of the door. Matt’s brows furrowed behind his glasses immediately afterwards when he heard Foggy make his way straight to his office instead of his own. 

Confused, Matt’s head darted up just as Foggy threw his door open. He could practically feel the anger radiating off of Foggy as he stepped into the room, his breathing heavy and his heart beating a little faster than usual. Matt’s eyes narrowed curiously behind his lenses at the tension in Foggy’s body and the increase in his blood pressure.

“Are you fucking serious, Matt?” Foggy snapped.

Matt's brows knitted further together, even more confused at Foggy's behavior this morning. He hadn't seen Foggy all weekend, what could he have done to upset him?

“About what exactly?” he asked carefully.

Foggy stormed further into the room, roughly slamming both of his hands flat on Matt’s desk as he leaned forward. Matt’s head tilted curiously to the side, noticing the elevation in Foggy’s heart rate further increasing. Apparently his answer hadn’t been the right one.

“You said you’d talk to her, Matt!” Foggy yelled. “You told me you were going to apologize and make things up to her! You told me that!”

Of course this was about you.

“Fog, I’ve been trying to reach out to her,” he replied calmly, trying to soothe his friend’s anger. “I’ve called her countless times over the past couple of weeks. I’ve left her multiple messages. She keeps ignoring me and not answering my calls. Clearly she doesn’t want to hear what I have to say. There’s nothing I can do about that.”

Foggy scoffed loudly, angrily shaking his head. “There’s nothing you can do about that?” he shot back sarcastically. “Are you serious? Dammit, Matt!”

Matt heard the way Foggy’s hand swiftly rose from the desk, swinging through the air towards himself. Matt’s hand twitched from its place on the desk out of instinct, ready to dart out and grab Foggy’s wrist, but he was stunned when his friend actually landed a hit upside his head. 

“What the hell, Fog?” Matt snapped, scooting back in his desk chair as he ran a hand over the sore spot on his temple. “What’d you hit me for?”

“Honestly, I–I’m surprised you even let me do that,” Foggy said, his anger briefly replaced by surprise. “Figured you would’ve stopped me before I could.”

“Well I didn’t think you were actually going to hit me!” Matt shot back. “Why the hell did you hit me?”

“Because I’m pissed at you, Matt!” Foggy roared, anger quickly returning. “And I’m disappointed in you! You damn well know you could show up at her apartment if she’s not answering your calls. You’re just making excuses.”

“Show up and do what, Fog?” Matt retorted. “Force her to talk to me when she clearly wants nothing to do with me? Hurt both of us even more by forcing that interaction? It’s probably better if she goes on hating me anyway. She’ll move on faster, at least.”

Foggy’s hand flew to the bridge of his nose, pinching it between his fingers. Matt heard the sharp hiss of his frustration between his gritted teeth. Seeing how upset Foggy was had Matt quickly beginning to question just why he was so worked up over this situation. It was between you and him, after all. Why did Foggy want you to apologize and talk this badly?

“Just promise me you’ll go over there and physically talk to her, okay?” Foggy said, his anger barely restrained. “That you’ll offer her a proper apology and talk to her?”

Matt shifted in his seat, his eyes once again narrowing behind his lenses. “Why is this so important to you?” he asked carefully. “It’s been a few weeks now, why are you still so adamant that we talk?”

“Because,” Foggy said, his fingers releasing his nose as his hand lowered to his side, “I know how important it is for the both of you. And I also know how stubborn and idiotic you can be. Someone needs to kick you in the ass before you make a big mistake an even bigger one. So just promise me you’ll talk to her.”

Matt’s tongue slipped out between his lips, nervously wetting them. After a moment he nodded, hearing the way Foggy’s heart rate started to gradually decrease back to its normal pace.

“Yeah, alright,” he assured his friend. “I’ll talk to her.”

“And I mean soon, Matt,” Foggy pressed. “Not in another few weeks.”

“Okay,” he agreed, nodding again. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her. I promise.”

#matt murdock x reader #matt murdock x you #matt murdock angst #matt murdock #daredevil

[supernovafics]

𝐅𝐑𝐎𝐌 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐀𝐁𝐋𝐄

"i'll be there for you" universe masterlist

pairing: bestfriend!roommate!steve harrington x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k words

warnings: explicit language, some mentions of alcohol, parent drama (both reader’s and steve’s parents suck)

summary: in which your parents and steve’s come over for dinner 

author's note: this has absolutely nothing to do with the harry styles song but the title of it is just very fitting so yeah<33 i’ve been rewatching a lot of gilmore girls this fall season so i feel like that's helped me get the hang of writing awkward/tense dinners with family lol so this needed to be done

general note: everything in this universe/series can be read as standalone oneshots but to understand the full “lore” it would prob be best to read the other stuff too<333

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

Fall 1985

When your and Steve’s parents first suggested this “early Thanksgiving dinner,” you thought that it wouldn’t actually happen. 

The initial idea sounded pretty funny to you— your parents and Steve’s parents would have a full on dinner at your apartment a week before the actual holiday. Yeah, right.

It sounded like the kind of idea that parents that really cared about spending time with their children would have, and that wasn’t how you’d necessarily describe yours or Steve’s. 

A month ago, when they told you about the ski trip the four of them were going on during the entire week of Thanksgiving, you expected to just not see them probably until Christmas— and that felt like a bit of relief to you because spending time with your parents wasn’t your favorite hobby.  

But then you remembered how, only during the holidays, your parents always had a need to show, or maybe more so “prove” to themselves, that they actually cared about you. So, of course, they wouldn’t let this stupid holiday go, and instead they thought that it would be best if you all did something early and together. 

And sadly, none of the immediate excuses that you and Steve came up with worked because your moms had solutions for everything.

When you told yours that the kitchen in the apartment was too small to cook for this kind of elaborate dinner, she simply told you that they’d buy and bring all of the food and you and Steve wouldn’t have to cook at all. She also not-so-jokingly mentioned that she would’ve never trusted either of you two cooking anyway.

And when Steve told his mom that the current dining table you two had was way too small to fit all six of you, she promptly had one ordered and delivered to your door in just a week. It was an expensive dark wood set that could comfortably fit six people, and you and Steve spent hours struggling to build it the day it showed up at your front door. It took up an obscene amount of space, but it did actually look kind of nice.

Now it was weeks later and the dreaded night was finally here, but you still tried to come up with any way to avoid it from happening. 

“And we’re sure that we really can’t get out of doing this tonight?” You asked Steve as you folded the blanket that was lying half-hazardly on the couch. “I could call my mom and say that we’ve somehow fallen tragically ill in the last hour?”

“I’m ninety-five percent sure that they’re all already on their way.”

“Shit.”

“It’ll be fine,” Steve said, and then he considered his words. “Actually, it will probably suck, but overall, we will be fine.” 

You let out a sigh and placed the now folded blanket back on the couch and then started cleaning off the coffee table, stacking the random magazines in a neat pile and then adjusting Harold’s cage so that it was nicely in the center. Your and Steve’s shared pet hamster was currently nibbling on the food that you had put in his bowl only moments ago. 

An abrupt feeling of worry shot through you as you looked around the apartment. The place was clean— probably the cleanest it had ever been— since you and Steve had spent the day doing everything to avoid either of your parents saying anything bad about the place. However, in the grand scheme of things, you knew that it didn’t matter because they’d still hate the apartment. They would hate how you two decided to furnish and decorate it, and they would passive aggressively make fun of the place for however long this dinner would have to be.

“Let’s try not to think about how bad this night is gonna be and just be glad that we’re not gonna have to suffer alone, like usual,” Steve said, practically reading your mind and the look on your face, as he started setting plates out on the new table. 

He was completely right. This was the first time that a collective Thanksgiving was happening among all of you. Usually, it was just you alone with your parents in Chicago visiting family members that you never talked to, and Steve was doing the same exact thing except he was in Indianapolis. You’d always end up calling each other at the end of the night from the hotel or family house you were staying at, and you’d tell each other stories about whatever weird family members you encountered or how boring it all was. 

It did make things feel a bit better that, for once, you didn’t have to go through this alone and neither did Steve.

“You’re right,” You said with a nod and then smiled. “We’ll be going through this shitshow together.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door and since Steve was closer he went to answer it. You took one brief and final look around the apartment before heading toward the door too, so Steve didn’t have to be by himself in this greeting.

“Hi,” He said when he opened the door and saw all of your parents standing there. There was a bright smile on his face and he effortlessly turned on that “Steve Harrington charm” that people had adored in high school— you hadn’t even gone to the same high school as him, but you still heard so many of the stories.

A chorus of Hi’s and Hello’s were heard as your moms entered the apartment first since they were carrying all of the food and your dads followed in right behind them.

“I still hate that you moved into a place that doesn’t have a front doorman, or, at least, a buzzer system,” Were your dad’s first words to you; deciding against saying the simple “How are you?” that you had expected. “You two should get a better lock on your door.”

You laughed a bit. “We live in Hawkins, not New York, Dad. I don’t think anyone is really itching to rob us anytime soon.” 

“Anything can happen,” He responded, looking at you seriously. “I’ll bring you a new one when we get back from Colorado.”

You only nodded at his words instead of saying anything to rebut them; you knew that he overall meant well. “Okay.”

Your attention turned to your mom and she pulled you into a hug that felt way too forced before pulling away and giving you a quick onceover. “Oh… Is that what you’re wearing?”

You thought that your outfit was fine; a V-neck navy blue knit sweater that was a bit cropped and a simple pair of black jeans. But, your mom always managed to find something wrong with everything, so this reaction to your current outfit didn’t necessarily surprise you; it did still annoy you all the same, though.

“Oh, um, no I was just about to change,” You told her and forced a small smile.

She nodded at that. “Okay, that’s good, that’s good. You go change while Christine and I get the table set up.”

You started heading toward your room but looked back at Steve first. He was in a conversation with his parents that looked like they were doing much more of the talking than him. As if sensing your gaze on him, his eyes met yours and he gave you a hopeful look and that was enough to make you feel a little better.

It didn’t take long for you to change. You kept your sweater on but traded your jeans for the long black silk skirt that your mom had always liked on you. You hoped this slightly different outfit would be enough to satisfy her, and if not, you were willing to suffer through her inevitable look of disappointment. 

You lingered in your room, tidying up your desk for no particular reason and then deciding to remake your bed. It was clear that you were stalling, avoiding having to face your parents again, and as much as you wanted to continue doing that, you also didn’t want to leave Steve to fend for himself. You were supposed to be suffering together, after all. 

You immediately noticed the dining table when you walked out of your bedroom. The food was now nicely set out and there were even brown placemats sitting underneath the plates that Steve had already set out. It was all set up in a way that would’ve felt nice and wholesome if either of your families had ever remotely felt like the ones portrayed in most TV shows or movies. But, they weren’t anywhere close to being like that, so this all just felt weirdly forced.

Of course, you didn’t say that, though.

Instead, you sat down with everyone at the table and desperately hoped that the next few hours of your life would breeze by. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“From the brochure, the pictures of the cabin look really great. We hope it actually looks that way in person,” Steve’s mom, Christine, said. 

You took another bite of the mac and cheese on your plate as you continued to listen to your parents talk about their ski trip that was happening next week, which they had been doing for the last twenty minutes and you fully didn’t mind it. Since the conversation wasn’t centered on either you or Steve, things actually didn’t feel tense or nervewracking. If you could just make your parents talk about themselves during the entire dinner, you would probably end the night with a smile on your face. 

“Oh, and there are a lot of bedrooms too,” Your mom chimed in before taking another sip from the wine glass in her hand. “Maybe you two could take a trip up there soon and invite your friends to go too.” 

“Yeah, that would be nice,” You said with a small nod.

“Enough talking about the trip, though, that’s probably so boring for your kids to hear about,” Your dad said, and you internally sighed because you knew the exact direction the conversation was about to go in. You felt him look at you. “How’s school been going? The semester is almost over.”

“It’s been good,” You answered, keeping your response short and sweet. You decided not to mention that you really couldn’t care less about the majority of your classes because none of what you were doing in any of them felt like it really mattered. 

“Okay, and your grades and everything are fine, right?”

You only nodded in response to his question, hoping that your lack of actual words would signal to him that you wanted to bring an end to this topic of conversation. Of course, that was only wishful thinking.

“That’s good,” Your mom said. “You have to make sure your grades stay like how they were in high school, or even better, for when you transfer to the University of Chicago. We don’t want to have any reason for them not to accept you again.” 

You suddenly felt like you were right back in middle school and high school, where your conversations with your parents solely revolved around school; what your grades were, if you were doing your homework and completing assignments on time, and studying for tests. It always annoyed you that the only times they would bother to pay attention to you was when it came to that stuff. Other than that, you were always seemingly an afterthought, never a bigger priority than their jobs. 

In a way, this entire conversation should’ve been expected; it was always inevitable. Pretty much anytime you talked to your parents in recent months, the discussion always seemed to circle its way back to that school and you going there in two years instead of right now, like they had wanted you to.

“I’m still so surprised that you decided to not go to the University of Chicago now,” Christine said and you turned your attention to her. It was starting to feel a bit painful to you that the subject still hadn’t changed yet. “When Steve told me that you were going to go to the community college close by, I couldn’t believe it, honestly.”

You noticed your parents share a look upon hearing her words. The mix of disappointment and annoyance toward you that was shared between them in that moment felt palpable. 

“I didn’t think it was time to leave Indiana just yet. I’ll be going soon, though,” You said, keeping your voice light and plastering on a fake smile, even though all you wanted to do in that moment was leave the table and hideout in your bathroom for the rest of the night. 

You saw your dad smile a little and then you also noticed the look of relief wash over your mom’s face. For some stupid reason, you still felt the need to make them feel pleased with you. And somehow that made you feel even more upset with yourself than anything they had said to you so far tonight. 

The only thing that managed to make things feel remotely tolerable right then was Steve sitting across from you, giving you a look that said, “Everything will be okay.” For the time being, you chose to believe him and you simply took another bite of your food. 

You were about to say something about how good the turkey was so your moms would start talking about the restaurant they got all of the food from and why they chose it— you were sure that there was some story behind it all— and that would finally bring an end to the college conversation. But, before a word could leave your mouth, Steve’s dad began speaking. 

“Well, at least, you’re in college. We can’t say the same for Steve here.” He then looked at his son. “Do you really want to work at a video store for the rest of your life?”

 Christine let out a sigh. “Jeff.”

“What?” He shrugged as if his previous question wasn’t completely condescending. “I’m just asking a question.”

“I’m actually starting at the community college next semester,” Steve told his parents and you tried to hide your immediate confusion. “I found out I got in a few days ago.”

“Well, that’s great,” Christine said happily, and Jeff smiled approvingly as well. 

You had no idea Steve had gotten in or even applied, and you wondered if he was lying right then to just get his parents off his back, but you couldn’t tell. Something about the way he said it honestly felt pretty real. The only part that didn’t feel real was that you were finding out during this dumb dinner instead of at any other time. 

“So, I was wondering,” Your mom began and you braced yourself for the impact of whatever she was going to say. “Why did you two decide to get a hamster? I feel like it makes things smell a bit funny in here…”

A part of you was glad that the conversation finally shifted away from college. But you didn’t think that the passive aggressive comments toward the apartment would begin with Harold. 

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

“Well, this night was fucking brutal.”

You let out a sigh. “You took the words right out of my mouth.”

Steve was doing the dishes as you put what was left of the food into tupperwares and then put them in the fridge. Surprisingly, it was a lot of stuff leftover; your moms definitely went overboard with the amount they had ordered. You and Steve already made plans to invite Robin and Eddie over tomorrow to have some of these leftovers.

“I’m actually glad that the dessert tasted bad since it made them want to leave early.”

“It was honestly a bit bittersweet because I was kind of excited for that pie,” You said as you placed the final tupperware of food into the fridge and then went over to Steve. “Oh, and also,” You punched his arm and ignored his immediate “ouch.” “Why the hell didn’t you tell me that the stars have finally managed to align and we’ll finally be going to the same school for the first time ever?”

He smiled a little at your dramatics. “I didn’t wanna make a big deal out of it just in case I somehow didn’t end up getting in. I swear I was gonna tell you tomorrow.”

“So, you did all of that annoying application stuff by yourself?”

“Robin helped me with it.”

“I would’ve been happy to help you,” You told him, and maybe you were being a bit overdramatic, but you actually felt slightly offended that he hadn’t wanted to come to you about this. 

The possibility of you two going to the same middle or high school was a far out idea that never happened because you lived in different towns. But, it was still something that was adamantly and wistfully talked about by you and him; how much more fun both of your school lives could be if they intersected in that way like the other parts of your lives did. 

Of course, going to the same college would’ve been the most obvious way for it to finally happen, but Steve never seemed that interested in going to college, and up until the last possible second you were being pushed toward Chicago by your parents. 

But now things were finally different.

“I know that you would’ve, but I didn’t want to talk about it to anyone, honestly. Robin saw me working on the application one day and decided to help,” He explained and you only gave him a small nod in response. “I didn’t even think I’d tell my parents about it, but when I heard my dad’s dumb comment about Family Video I felt like I had to say it so he wouldn’t keep looking at me like a disappointment.” He sighed. “And it’s kinda fucked up… I really don’t wanna care what my parents think about me and what I’m doing with my life, but I think there will always be a part of me that does.”

You thought back to your dad’s approving smile and your mom’s relieved look when you reassured them that you still planned to go to the University of Chicago; how much you still wanted to make them feel at least a little proud of you even though you knew you shouldn’t.

“Me too,” You said softly. 

“I’m glad we probably won’t have to see them again until Christmas.”

You sighed. “Apparently, my dad is gonna bring us a new lock for the door when they get back from their trip.”

“Oh,” Steve said and then smiled at you when it looked like he thought of something. “Okay, what are the odds that he’ll just send someone to put the new lock on the door instead of coming himself?”

You thought about it for a second. “Honestly, I’d say there’s a pretty good chance that would happen. He’ll probably be too busy with work after the trip to actually come and do it himself.”

“Okay, let’s hope for that,” He said as he finished washing the last plate and placed it on the drying rack. “So, since the dessert was a bust tonight, do you wanna go to the diner? I’m sure Mary would never fuck up her apple pie. And then when we get back, we can finish that bottle of wine that our moms left.”

You smiled at his suggestion. “You have a brilliant mind, Harrington.”

.・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。. .・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.

let me know ur thoughts<333

(requests are open for stuff you wanna see in the universe/series!🫶🏾)

#steve harrington x reader #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x you #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington x fem!reader #stranger things fluff #steve harrington #steve harrington series #steve harrington imagines #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington x reader smut #stranger things imagine #stranger things series

[vinsmokesangio]

"good for ya"

pairing: young!coriolanus x wife!reader

summary: you and your husband have a secret code for the intimate moments | based on good for you - selena gomez ft. a$ap rock

warnings: nsfw (minors dni) | afab!reader | cunnilingus | dirty talk | possessiveness | piv | unprotected sex | english is not my first language

my masterlist

a/n: You know when you haven't heard a song for years and when you hear it again you get that feeling as if it were the first time? I had this this week with "good for you" by Selena, and I immediately thought about writing about Coryo! hope you like it <3 PLUS, i'm not really good at writing smut but I tried my best lol

Simple and sparkling, Coriolanus Snow's initials in the shape of Marquise diamonds were on display on your neck. You didn't always wear it, but there was a kind of code between you and your husband where every time you wore that necklace, it was a sign that at the end of that day he could do whatever he wanted with you. Not that he didn't already do it, his possessive behavior went beyond the four walls. But in this case it was more special, your secret code, and above all, it symbolized how much you were his property.

One of the avoxes finished covering the makeup on your face with another thin layer of powder while the other pulled up the zipper of your tight dress, already knowing how much this would drive your husband crazy. You wave dismissing the avoxes that immediately leave your room, and then smile slightly, looking at your own reflection in the mirror. Your eyes shining with lust, just imagining what Corio would do to you at the end of this stupid ball. You were never a very sociable person, especially at these formal events that the new president of Panem was forced to hold to keep up appearances and pretend that he still cared about all those people he only interacted with out of obligation. But the reaction he had upon seeing you, and carrying his initials on a necklace with him, was worth it.

"Good girl. I know what you are asking for when you wear these Marquise diamonds.” he comes up from behind and whispers close to your ear, making your whole body shiver. His teasing mixed with a light scent of posca that came from his lips always brought you to a wave of adrenaline that was impossible to contain. You answer him, smiling mischievously.

“Let me show you how proud I am to be yours”. That sentence, that simple sentence spoken in your innocent and angelic voice, was enough for all of Coriolanus's self-control to immediately go away. And ironically, control was what he liked to have most, especially under you. “Let’s get out of here now.” Was all he could reply before grabbing one of your arms and guiding you to the second floor of the mansion, towards his room.

Once inside the room, Coryo's hands quickly search for the zipper of your dress, desperate to throw it on the floor. The whole set of things you had done today, for him, only for him, drove him crazy, especially knowing your true intentions. You just wanted to look good for him. Undressed, you walk to the bed without breaking eye contact with him, and sit, leaning your back, supporting your weight on your elbows. Teasing him, you take one of your hands to your necklace, while spreading your legs, like an invitation to a banquet.

“You naughty little girl. All dressed up just f’me” Coriolanus says as he walks towards you, unbuttoning the belts on his pants, already extremely tight due to his painful erection. With his pupils dilated and his blue eyes taking on darker tones, one of his hands finds your throat and squeezes it lightly. “You’ve been doing so good for me lately, and I’m going to repay you right now, darling”. His words make you let out a moan, as if they were going straight to your panties.

“Hmm, you taste so good, love” he attacks your pussy like a starving man, eating his first meal in months. The sounds of your moans are like music to him, which encourages him even more to skillfully move his tongue across your clit. He feels you squirm indicating your orgasm.

“C-coryo, I’m close, baby FUCK” shameless, you almost scream in pleasure, grabbing the sheets and pulling your husband’s hair, the way his nose presses against your clit is too much for you.

“That's good, huh? Come for me, pretty girl” and then you reach your peak, leaving your liquids all over Coriolanus's face, who was now smiling in approval. You never had such a beautiful sight.

“please, baby, I need you” “you need what? use your words, love” One of his hands goes to your chin and lifts your face slightly. "I need to feel your cock inside me, please Coryo!” you beg and Coriolanus feels his cock throb, as he puts you on your stomach and slaps your ass, making you gasp.

“you like that, huh? to be good for me, to wear my initials on your neck, you know you’re mine, don't you? my fucking property” he opens your legs and teases your entrance with the tip of his cock, already leaking pre-cum, which enters your soaking hole without difficulty. He starts to thrust lightly, increasing the speed as your moans also increase while his hands push you, making you sink onto the bed. Your cry of pleasure brings the feeling of control that Coriolanus likes so much, he loves the idea of knowing that he gives you so much pleasure.

He increases the speed of his thrusts, achieving his own pleasure, which arrives simultaneously with yours. Trying to catch your breath, you turn over in bed to face him.

“I’ll always be good for you”.

#coryo snow #coriolanus snow #coriolanus x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #giowriting #tom blyth x reader #tom blyth imagine #coriolanus x you #tbosbas #snow lands on top #president snow

[rorywritesjunk]

I felt the need to elaborate on Buggy as the Ultimate Girl Dad, because I am loving every Buggy as a Dad fic I've come across and decided to add into it. It's a mix of head canons and fic of all eight daughters and when they were born. Also can be read as anime Buggy or OPLA Buggy!

Rating: PG-13 because innuendos. Warnings: Childbirth, mentions of a difficult labor. A/N: I had a lot of fun just thinking up names for all eight daughters.

Buggy’s Eight Daughters

The first daughter, Lil Buggy (Lil or LB for short) is a clone of her dad in looks and personality. The first to inherit his nose (much to his distress) and the first one to really experience ship life. When she was two weeks old, Buggy bound her to his body while climbing up to the crow’s nest of his ship so he could show her the views of the sea. You nearly killed him for that. And while Buggy wanted to name her Buggy Junior, or BJ for short, you killed that idea immediately. 

“I don’t want BJ for her nickname. People may make fun of her!” You said as Buggy walked around your room with the newborn, keeping her close to him as he gazed down at her. 

“But come on, that’s what started that night we had when she was conci-” He looked up with a smirk and you resisted throwing a pillow at him. Not while he was holding the baby.

“Buggy!”

Mae was the second daughter. She was born with a full head of bright blue hair and your nose. Unlike her older sister, she was a bit easier. She was born when LB was about to turn 2, and well, older sister wasn’t too sure how to feel about a new baby joining the family. Surprisingly, Buggy noticed his daughter having more tantrums and generally being a terror since she wasn’t getting all of her parents’ attention, so he took to carrying her on his back while Mae would be strapped on his front, being the Ultimate Pirate Dad. He just had to remember LB was on his back when he sat down (which he sometimes did forget she was there because she often fell asleep back there).

“Oof, daddy!” A tiny voice squealed from behind him. It took Buggy a moment to realize LB was on his back again, so he jumped up from his seat and turned his head around to look at her.

“What are you doing back there?!” He asked, always sounding surprised. She fixed him with a glare that was so like his own it was a little terrifying. He got her off his back and sat back down in his seat, holding her into his lap while he turned his head back around to face his crew.

Cherry and Apple were next. Buggy wasn’t there when they were born. He was off dealing with the Strawhats, and while you never chose a name for the babies until a few days later, you took one look at them and decided on the names. Just like their oldest sister, the two of them had Buggy’s nose, and well, you thought the names would be as cute as their bright red noses. Cherry was the more daring of the two. Buggy literally had to keep one hand ready to grab her in case she decided to go overboard or climb up ropes on the ship. Apple was a little more cautious, choosing to stick near you more often than not. While Cherry was happy to join her father with the circus shows, Apple stayed off to the sides to watch.

“You named them what?” Buggy asked as he held newborn Apple in his arms. “Why?!”

“The names just popped in my head, Buggy!” You insisted as you cradled Cherry against your bare skin. “Besides, the names are perfect for them! Look at their little noses, like bright red apples and cherries!”

Buggy wasn’t sure how he felt about you comparing the inherited nose to fruit, but he wasn’t about to argue with a woman who’d already birthed four children, three of which had that same nose. 

Another set of twins came a year and a half later. Buggy decided having a midwife on board may be ideal since he couldn’t seem to stop getting you pregnant (not that you were complaining, it was split 50/50 who initiated these things). He was there this time. Lil Buggy and Mae helped with the names for their sisters. When you and Buggy sat the four girls down to tell them about having another sibling, Lil Buggy had pointed out the rainbow in the distance and Mae asked if that would be the new baby’s name. Buggy looked like would cry at that. 

“Wait, twins, again?!” Buggy exclaimed as he was handed the first baby. “We were expecting just one!”

“Sometimes the other one stays a secret, Captain.” The midwife replied calmly as she helped with the next one. “Better start thinking of a second name.”

Yea, right. When Cabaji let the four girls into the room once you were ready, Mae and Lil Buggy looked at the two twin girls before looking up at their parents.

“Rain and Bow!” Both insisted. You were too tired to disagree and Buggy was still in shock, especially since they had his nose again. He was wondering if he needed to propose marriage to you for birthing six kids already.

Buggy indeed proposed to you. It was flashy, with cannons, fire, and all six daughters running around with sparklers. You said yes because while you loved the flashy fool, you also wanted to douse the sparklers before something caught fire. 

Six daughters already. When Lil Buggy was 10, Mae was 8, Apple and Cherry 6, and Rain and Bow not quite 4, you announced one night at dinner that you were, again, pregnant. The reactions were as such:

“That explains a lot.” Buggy grumbled as he looked down at his plate. You glared at him and he followed with, “Explains why you have a radiant glow about you, my love!”

“Again?!” Lil Buggy exclaimed. “Can you two stop? There’s no more room!”

“Why?” Mae asked. “Why do you want more kids?”

“Where do babies come from?” Apple asked, looking at Buggy. He was not ready for this conversation.

“We picked you and Cherry out of a treasure chest, just like your sisters and just like this baby.” Buggy said quickly. “That’s how we get babies. From treasure chests.”

“Oh.” Apple seemed fine with that response but Cherry looked confused. 

“Why does mama get fat then?” She asked innocently. Buggy was about to say something but one look from you silenced him.

“Oh my God.” He whined. “Another one?”

Rain and Bow just kept eating while Buggy questioned his life choices in that moment and you looked ready to throw him overboard.

Inheriting his nose stopped with Rain and Bow, but his hair followed his daughters. When you gave birth to the 7th daughter, the family had been carving pumpkins as a fun activity. While some parents would worry about their children holding knives, you were more concerned about your husband with one. You decided to get up and grab some bandages from the midwife when it happened. She took one look at you, sighed, and led you to your room to help you give birth. It happened so quick that Buggy came to look for you after about a half hour and found you with a newborn in your arms.

“How! What?!” His jaw dropped seeing the baby in your arms. You just shrugged as you looked down at the newborn.

“Can we name her Pumpkin?” You asked. “I think it would be a fun story to tell, you know, what we were doing when she was born.”

Buggy wasn’t going to disagree with you.

The eighth and final daughter was born during a storm. Giving birth on the ship while waves crashed along it was not ideal. The other seven girls were hunkered in the room with you while you gave birth. Buggy was holding you while you screamed, threatening to kill him after you were done. This was, by far, the most difficult birth of the girls. Lil Buggy and Mae did what they could to entertain the other girls, hoping to get their attention away from your screams and cries while the ship rocked violently. Hours passed until they heard the cries of a newborn. The storm seemed to pass as well, and Buggy was crying as he held his newest daughter.

Lil Buggy, being the eldest, approached first to look. She saw the blue hair and sighed. “You won’t be able to tell us apart if you saw us all from behind, you know.”

“Yea, well, I’ll learn to tell you brats apart.” Buggy shot back. You were resting, having been given something by the midwife to help you sleep. The labor had been a rough one, and you were going to need your strength to keep up with the family.

“What’s this one gonna be called?” LB asked as she gestured for her sisters to come over. “I think mom needs to stop naming us, she’s getting silly with them.”

“What should we name her?” Buggy asked his eldest, his attention on the sleeping bundle in his arms. He glanced up at her. “I’m asking you.”

LB looked taken aback and scratched her head. “Um… why not… Crash?” 

“Crash?” Buggy repeated. He was about to comment that that was silly, but considering what the last few hours were like, he was glad she didn’t go with a weather related name. “Y’know, I think Crash is appropriate.”

Buggy decided as a Rite of Passage for Piracy, his girls would join him in a raid when they turned 14. You knew it was something of importance for him, and you trusted he wouldn’t get them hurt. They could protect themselves as well, and by the time Crash turned 14, each girl had their chance. Buggy deemed them all official crew members when they returned from each raid and always held a party for them. With Crash being the last one to go through with it, Buggy couldn’t help but feel a little sad his girls were all growing up. He wouldn’t get to do those fun “Firsts” again like he had with the others. He would never admit to anyone but you, but he liked being a dad.

A few months after Crash’s raid, and the girls were readying for another fun day of piracy, you pulled your husband aside for a brief meeting.

“Babe, if you want me, just ask. We don’t have to sneak around.” Buggy teased as his hands went to your waist, a big grin on his face. You put both hands on his cheeks and tilted his head down so you could look him in the eyes.

“Sneaking around is what caused this, Buggy.” You told him. “I’m pregnant.”

The scream from the clown was heard all over the ship and no doubt all around the seas.

#buggy the clown #buggy the clown x reader #buggy the clown opla #buggy x reader #buggy the clown headcanon #buggy the clown x you #buggy x you #one piece headcanons #lmao i had lot of fun coming up with names #buggy opla

[mundoperla]

❝𝙒𝙚’𝙧𝙚 𝙙𝙤𝙞𝙣𝙜 𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙨 𝙝𝙚𝙧𝙚?❞

DBD Killers x Gender Neutral S/O

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

— yall are literally just fuckin in the basement ain’t nun else to say

idk about yall but im in love with the reworked basement 💃 Vittorio mains y’all give me mixed feelings.

·:*¨༺ ★ ༻¨*:·. ★ ༻¨*:·. ★ ༻¨*:·.

— killer(s) included;; frank morrison, albert wesker my babygirl, & evan macmillan

⚠️⚠️cws;; some very slight possessive behavior from all of them, general nsfw, the use of the word “whore” from frank, Frank does in fact nut in you, some dub-con for weskypoo😩, kind of rough sex???, established relationships⚠️⚠️

✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:* *:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ✧･ﾟ: *✧･ﾟ:*

𝕱𝖗𝖆𝖓𝖐 𝕸𝖔𝖗𝖗𝖎𝖘𝖔𝖓—𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕷𝖊𝖌𝖎𝖔𝖓

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Frank was already very spontaneous so having quickies in random spots isn’t below the two of you. He could care less about the other survivors, what’s important is trying to find a new spot the fuck you in.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The main building? thats been done before. Inside the asylum? also done. Even out in the open barely covered by the trees, he’s doing his best trying to think of a new spot to make this alot more special.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ❛How about the basement?❜ He thought, maybe you’d be down for that? Definitely wouldn’t be the strangest place you’d fuck in.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You were iffy at first to say the least, but you could tell he was eager to find a new spot for the two of you. So you followed him, through the shack and down the rustic stairs all the way down to the eerie basement.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The air was thick and the humidity wasn’t helping either, although it was eliciting you to take off your clothes alot quicker.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ There was so much space surrounding the four conjoined hooks in the center as well as walls that hid the lockers well. You could have chosen to go behind one in case someone came in but where was the fun in that?

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He wasn’t apposed to fucking you in front of other people, it was definitely something he had considered doing many times to show that you were his—but of course that would stay in his back pocket for another time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Frank is immediately tossing his jacket to the side with his shirt following after, pulling his mask to the side so he could properly kiss you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ His movements were sporadic, trying to get you out of your own clothes while attempting to kiss you and remove his pants all at once. He just wants to feel your soft skin on his, he wants to see you unravel for him again like you have numerous times.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ It felt so dirty knowing that he was going to fuck you in a place where numerous people had met their horrible fate, no doubt a few that were strung on these very hooks by your boyfriend and his friends, yet it was also exiting in the sense of you being aware you would come out completely unharmed but fully fucked out.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s gripping your hips tight, visible indents lay where his fingers had been seconds prior. Frank had your back pushed up against one of the flat surfaces of the hook’s pillar, the two of you sat onto the blood coated floor as the last remaining articles of clothing were now discarded.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You were grinding against his now exposed cock, whimpering due to the friction and occasionally looking down where the two of you connected and then back up to his face. He knew what you were doing, and he wasn’t going to let you have control for long.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ❝ Do you see how wet you are for me ? I haven’t even put it in yet and you’re whining for it like a whore. ❞

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your legs are quickly tossed over his shoulders, Frank now aligning himself with your entrance. The initial stretch always stings for a moment but no longer than such, he was always careful in the beginning just for you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your insides are so warm. You don’t fully understand how he wishes to keep you to himself, away from everyone, just for it to be you and him together by yourselves. The idea of other killers and survivors being near you sets him off in a way that irritated him, he’d gone on multiple tangents to other killers and threatened other survivors to keep away from his partner; your fellow survivors sure did catch the hint…

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ None of the other killers paid you any mind however, only obligated to quickly dispose of you without any type of off track interaction so that Frank wouldn’t berate them afterwards. His yelling gets tiring after a while, who on earth wants to hear that???

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Anyways. His thrusts begin slowly, allowing you to adjust to his girth whilst also providing a good amount of friction for the two of you. He’s ready to stop the second you ask, but instead he gets your signal to go a bit faster. Of course this smug motherfucker will bury himself all the way inside and get you to tell him what exactly you want him to do in detail just to further rile you up.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ ❝ I need you to stop being such a bitch and fuck me until I can barely think straight. ❞

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your body is heating up with a mixture of arousal and embarrassment, he’s seen you in more exposed positions anyways but it always feels so lewd when he’s got you on full display for him. Him scanning your entire body with his eyes wasn’t easing your embarrassment either.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ His speed rapidly picks up though, a lot faster than what you had initially expected but then again it’s Frank, he’s not wasting any time to drill into you when given an opportunity.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The metal platform that held the hooks up in place rattled every time Frank rammed inside of you, his hands making their way back to your hips away from their original place from behind your knees.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ What was supposed to be a horrific room where many feared to even step foot in outside of chases, where numerous lives were lost in, an extension of this realm of horrors was completely flipped in the span of 15 or so minutes. The air was filled with more humidity than before accompanied by the sound of skin slapping against skin rapidly. Do the two of you have no decorum ?!

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The idea of going back up to the surface afterwards to leave with your team no longer felt ideal to you, the entity could impale you here because you were fuckin in her damn basement for all you cared, you just wanted to stay here with Frank so this feeling of bliss never ended.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your abdomen felt tight, sensitivity is at it’s highest than ever. Frank had the same tight coil in his belly, it wasn’t hard to tell that he was just as close as you by the way his pace picked up.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Inside, inside please. You silently begged, you wanted to feel that familiar warmth inside you again, thats what you wanted the most right now. Of course Frank wasn’t going to deny you the satisfaction of him filling you, he wanted to see it drip out anyways.

𝕬𝖑𝖇𝖊𝖗𝖙 𝖂𝖊𝖘𝖐𝖊𝖗—𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖒𝖎𝖓𝖉

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Like Frank, he was not opposed to fucking you in front of your friends to assert dominance. But because he didn’t like the idea of others seeing you in a provocative position he had refrained from acting on that thought.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’d been gifted a new outfit by The Entity and Wesker was just as excited as you to see how it looked. Of course he wont show you that excitement on the surface but on the inside he’s in love with how you look in it.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ What if he just ripped it off of you. It’s a pretty outfit but what’s underneath is also very beautiful. However there’s survivors to be dealt with, he needs to remove unnecessary distractions before he even acts out. It wouldn’t take him long to do so anyways.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Jesus Christ. The game just started and your team is immediately wiped, you were aware that Wesker always let you leave when the two of you were put in matches together, but right now he intended to keep you here longer than usual.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s wasting no time by tossing you over his shoulder to drag you down to the rustic basement behind the saloon, tossing you back down onto the metal platform with a loud clank. Quickly tearing up your top and bottoms with ease. He needs to be inside you, away from the crows so the entity couldn’t see you. Even she doesn’t deserve the privilege to watch you crumble under him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s removing his sunglasses so he can get a better look at you, cat like pupils dilated at your shredded clothing that clung onto the smallest threads for dear life. He’s palming himself through the leather of his pants, trench coat discarded to the side. Wesker didn’t need to be vocal when he wanted you, his body language tells you enough.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’re slowly removing the last pieces of clothing left on your lower half, spreading your legs open and rubbing yourself so your boyfriend could get a clear view of the effect he had on you. No doubt that feeling is reciprocated the way his cock springs out of his pants, precum dribbling from the slit of the head.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Uroboros could be used for more than ruthless slaughter and power, so of course he was careful letting the tendrils wrap around your neck and torso as to not harm you. He wants you in the air, and he wasn’t going to throw you on a rusty hook for it so he settled for the alternative that wouldn’t hurt you. As long as he was careful though.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ His free hand is gliding along your body, making occasional stops to squeeze your chest or to press down on spots that would elicit different sounds from you. Such a pretty voice, let him hear more of you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s getting hotter the longer he continued to toy with you, he needed to feel you wrap around him now.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He won’t break eye contact with you as he slides in, he expects you to look back at him when the two of you are fucking in this position. It doesn’t matter to him if you’ve adjusted to his size or not, he just needs to feel you, to hear you. Nothing could ever feel better than you squeezing around him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your throat felt sore with how much you were screaming for him, he was being rough with you, the tendrils of uroboros around your neck occasionally squeezing a bit tighter than before with the extras on your torso dragging you up and down on Wesker’s cock like you were some fleshlight.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You weren’t complaining though, it’d be a bit painful trying to stand up afterwards but the pain would be so worth it. Having him fuck you felt like a luxury, despite him always manhandling you; it was always a wonderful experience. He knew what he was doing, and he knew what buttons to push to get you more and more heated.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’re cumming all over him, and all for him. He didn’t give you permission to do as such, he should punish you for acting without asking first. But he’s feeling nice today, he won’t get on your case for it this time.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ His stamina is insane, you’d lost count how many times you’ve came from him alone, and he’d only came once. He’s purposely denying himself his own orgasms, just to see how long he can suppress them until he eventually snaps. He’ll keep doing this unless you ask him not to, or if you tell him to fill you until he’s got nothing left. He won’t listen if you ask him the first question.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s got you to himself down here for as long as the two of you want, nothing wrong with some endurance testing.

𝕰𝖛𝖆𝖓 𝕸𝖆𝖈𝖒𝖎𝖑𝖑𝖆𝖓—𝕿𝖍𝖊 𝕿𝖗𝖆𝖕𝖕𝖊𝖗

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ There’s traps littering the entire shack and entrance to the basement, Evan is paranoid that someone could come in at any moment and he wasn’t taking any risks.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Nobody is allowed to see you right now, he’s tired of sharing your attention with others and he wants you to himself right now. Let him be greedy just this once.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ The two of you are hiding behind one of the walls, despite Evan being quite large it could still hide him too.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your back is pressed against his chest, one of his large arms is wrapped around your waist whilst his free arm snakes its way down into your pants. Your mouths intertwined with eachother, muffling moans from one another so that nobody passing by could hear.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ His heart is racing and his cheeks are flushed a deep crimson that the mask thankfully covered. Even in this realm he’s too prideful, he can live with the fact that he’d give you the best fucking of your life but not with the idea of you realizing you could get him so flustered.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Your ass is pressed against him now, he could get straight to it now but he just wants to hold you just a bit longer. His touches are so soft yet very powerful, he knows where and what he needs to feel to get you to fully submit to him.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’re trembling under him, he can feel it. Pulling away just as you were about to release, you visibly distraught by the loss of friction. However humidity greets you just as Evan pulls your pants down just enough where he can put himself inside you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Although he’s much.. bigger than average, both in length and girth, he’ll move as slowly as possible so he won’t hurt you. Always a gentleman regardless, but despite his best efforts to be gentle with you there’s always a stinging feeling when he slides in.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s patient with you, it always takes you a bit to fully adjust to his size before he can start moving but he’s respectful still. You take him so well every time, so of course he’s going to be sweet with you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’ve given him the okay to move, and if course he starts off very slowly, still cautious as to not harm you in any way despite your reassurance that you’re fine. Your back is facing his chest now, your hands on the rickety wall for some kind of support. Evan’s hands grip tightly onto your hips, his teeth gritted together as he groveled in your warmth.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ It’s harder not not make any sound when he starts speeding up ever so slightly, now hunched over you with his breath hot on the back of your neck. His hands don’t leave your hips ever, he keeps them there so he can slam you down onto him harder when he wants to let his hips rest before he continues thrusting.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He still can’t get over how warm you are, it baffles him every time the two of your are intimate. He’d keep you this close to him forever if he could, you were important to him, very important.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’s fully sped up now, slamming you down on his cock with anticipation. He’s close and he can feel that you are too. You had reached behind you to drag one of his arms to wrap around your waist again, gently caressing the scars that littered his forearms as he continued to rut into you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You always made him feel so loved, he wasn’t the man he used to be before he arrived in The Entity’s realm yet that didn’t seem to phase you in the slightest, that’s one of the many things he adored about you.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You’re making a mess around him now, coating his pelvis in your juices as well as having some of it drip onto the floor.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ He’ll ask you to turn around and open your mouth so he can finish too, to which you happily obliged. The two of you will sit in your spots for a moment to catch your breath, Evan bouncing back quicker than you to check for any external damage just in case, as well as asking you repeatedly if you’re really okay.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ You gather yourself together while your boyfriend removes the traps around the building, you didn’t want to leave, but you had to. Of course Evan didn’t want you to leave either, but he had promised he’ll meet you in the woods that separate the killer and survivor camps.

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ Maybe the two of your could start up another moment of intimacy extended from the basement.

˚ ₊ ˚✧ ₊˚ʚ♡ɞ ˚₊ ✧ ﾟ ₊ ˚

—

—

do not point out my spelling mistakes and grammatical errors i will cry at you

ALSO IM SI FUCKIGN TIRED I STARTED THIS AT LIKE 5 IN THE MORNING ANF I JUST FINISH AT 8 I AM EXHAUSTED

#dbd imagines #dbd smut #the trapper x reader #evan macmillan x reader #albert wesker x reader #the legion x reader #legion x reader #frank morrison x reader #dbd x reader

[s-4pphics]

dial. 1 (e.w.)

wc;cw: 3.2k, all ocs r black coded<3, fratadjacent!ellie, she has community dick, dina being mawtha, mentions of psychs, weed n alcohol so dubcon, bad parties, light smut MDNI, pussy eating, err exhibitionism a lil bit, mentions of porn LOL

“Hand me my mascara, pleeease.” 

“… Lemme connect to the speaker then.” 

You sighed in exasperation at your roommate’s bargaining, placing the blaring device into her devious hands before snatching your mascara from her. She was puffing from her dab as she connected it to her phone, her playlist blasting through your small, shared space. 

HOW YOU WANNA FUCK WIT’ A STAR—

Niah returned to her ironing board, slicing and altering her ugly Christmas sweater so it was as revealing as possible. You should’ve followed in her lead; you were already burning up from your vanity lights and long, furry sleeves. 

You never attended holiday themed parties because they were the most packed, but Niah threatened to set your limited-edition vinyl set on fire if you didn’t show up. You did want to protect your rare records, but you were also planning to attend anyway for more selfish reasons. 

You hoped Dina didn’t hate you too much. 

Your good friend didn’t hesitate to scold you in person a couple of weeks ago, bursting into your room with a full IHOP platter and a sharp tongue. She was much calmer when she returned to her room after screaming at you, but you understood her initial anger. You definitely made a mistake. A pretty big mistake. 

Didn’t I tell your stupid ass to leave her alone! You don’t fucking listen, that’s your problem. 

Were you wrong for letting Dina’s best friend rearrange your guts in her roommate’s bed? Yes, without a doubt! 

Were you going to fuck her again despite her warnings? Absolutely! She fucks too good and finals are around the corner. You need a destressor!

Dina was able to let it go after reprimanding you, but you knew that she felt a bit uncomfortable whenever you two were in a room together. It wasn’t due to your private relationship, but because Ellie was a degenerate slut that greeted you by pinching your ass instead of waving like a normal person! 

You and Ellie’s newfound… friendship? Situation? You weren’t sure what the fuck this was. What do you call fucking someone you barely know four times a week and then seeing them in their Starbucks uniform every morning on your way to class? The main topic of conversation is always either can I get two cream cheeses instead of one? or hold this blunt so I can make you squirt. 

You know she likes turtles! She has a small tattoo of one right under her ear! You couldn’t stop poking it when she drove you back to your building after digging you out in her car last week. 

You knew Ellie had a reputation on campus for being a shroom-slinging whore, but she’s… more than that! She’s so funny! And cool. And pretty. And a sweet-talker and—

… You may have developed a little crush on her since you started fucking. You haven’t felt these high school butterflies since you were in high school. 

Plus, she rolls up for you sometimes! That counts for something, right?

You applied your mascara, wiggling in your desk chair excitedly while you downed the rest of your shot. You choked down the burning liquid, and your phone went off. 

You sucked your teeth, turning in your seat to face an occupied Niah as she bobby-pinned her Santa hat onto her head. 

“Did you tell Dina t’come early? It’s not even eleven.” 

She looked over her shoulder at you, “Nah, is she coming?” 

“She’s almost here,” you showed your best friend the messages, and she shook her head, hastily retreating to the mirror to straighten her appearance. And show more cleavage!

“This bitch, I tell you.” 

You poured and downed two more shots for good luck, smudged your liner, and shoved your phone into your jean shorts pocket. You sprinted over to your roomie and slapped her ass with a bright grin, making her snort. 

“You’re a hoe. Hand me my phone.” 

You grabbed the plush on her hips and thrusted into her ass, “I’m getting fuuucked, I’m getti—“

She laughed hard, “Get off me!” 

You squealed and jumped in elation before Dina rang your line and summoned the both of you downstairs. 

The music was the main reason you hated Christmas-themed parties. How are you supposed to bump and grind to The Little Boy that Santa Clause Forgot?! 

You, Niah, and Dina had been party-hopping for the last hour, and you were bored out of your fucking minds! You were more interested in watching the burning ash falling from Niah’s blunt than this packed house. 

The soccer house disappointed you. And you’re still horny! 

Dina grabbed you and Niah’s hands and ushered you onto the just as packed front porch, littered with drunk people singing and dancing in the middle of the blocked-off street. This seemed more fun than the party! 

You could see Jesse and his friends out of the corner of your eye, so you grabbed your friends’ arms and dragged them down the slippery steps; You were so desperate for entertainment that you surged through the freezing cold like nothing. 

“Jesse!” You waved your arms excitedly as you jogged up to him. 

Dina’s boyfriend whipped his head around and smiled once he saw you and the girls rushing up. You saw Ellie out of the corner of your eye, draped in her Nutcracker sweater that read CRACK DEEZ NUTZ in large white letters and an antler headband. She looked you up and down… a few times as she gawked at your bare legs. You were so happy you decided to risk hypothermia and wear fishnets!

Pretend you don’t see her! Don’t look desperate!

You threw your arms around an extremely high Jesse before greeting the rest of the soccer team with polite hugs. All except Ellie. You caught a glimpse of the small bong in her hand before she brought it up to her mouth to rip from it. 

Jesse’s slow drawl snapped you out of your leering, “Fuck, y’all aren’t cold?!” 

All three of you answered unanimously, “YES!”

The group erupted into light laughs before Niah cut in, “Bro not gon’ lie… the music’s trash in there— “

“THANK YOU!” “EXACTLY!” “I TOLD THAT FUCKER TO CHANG— “

The entire soccer team concurred loudly, but you were hardly paying attention. Your hazy mind was hyper-focused on Ellie’s dirty sneakers, watching her weight shift from one foot to the other as she listened and laughed along to the complaints. 

“Hi, Ellie.” 

An… overtly flirty tone that you didn’t recognize caught you off guard, and you immediately stiffened. You peeped and eyed the girl that walked up with her friends, pulling her into an incredibly awkward hug. You took note of how offput Ellie was by public affection. 

She received it anyway, “Hey yourself. How you been?” 

Your ears grew, “Fine, chilling. You selling?” 

She tsked, “Not tonight, sorry. You can come by tomorrow or something if you have time.” 

“Alright cool, I’ll text you. Have a good night,” you saw Ellie’s head jerk in acknowledgment before the group departed. Your eyes dropped to the floor in front of you. 

… Ellie never gave her an address. Has she been to their apartment before? 

“You okay?” 

You jumped at Niah’s concerned tone from behind you. You sighed and nodded at her, “We can leave anytime.” 

Before you could reply, Jesse spun and interrupted, grabbing your shoulders, “Leave? What the fuck, it’s Christmas! Come back with us.” 

“Where, uh, where are we goin’?” 

He rolled his eyes like it was obvious, “Back to our place. I already know Michael isn’t gonna change the fucking playlist ‘cuz he’s a fucking loser! Let’s go, c’mon.” 

You mistakenly looked at Ellie, who was already looking at you. Her eyes were shining with mischief, the corner of her mouth lifting in a sly grin. She looked like she was waiting for your answer. An excited zap went through your chest. You spoke without hesitation. 

“Yeah! Let’s go!” 

You secretly watched Ellie take another hit. 

That Uber XL was crammed as fuck, but at least the music banged! Finally! Future just saved your fucking night! 

And Jesse made edibles from scratch! Christmas came early!

Nothing about this night was going how you planned; You were supposed to be getting your shit wrecked by your newfound… whatever, but instead you were getting handed adult gifts from the soccer players! You were not expecting to receive a holiday-themed goodie bag filled to the brim with pungent, iced sugar cookies. 

Niah accepted both yours and hers eagerly before making her way towards the living room couch to dig in. You, Dina, and Jesse were all sitting at the small dining table playing Uno. Ellie was playing with you all, but she excused herself to her room to take a phone call, and you hadn’t seen her since. It was her turn! 

Dina and Jesse were having an intense argument about the 7 and 0 card rules, and you moved on autopilot. You looked around to see all the soccer players and Niah laughing and slumped on the couch before you stood and trekked down the hallway. You knocked on her door. 

“Ellie? It’s your turn to take!” 

… Silence. No response. 

You knocked on her door again, “Ellie?”

You heard some shuffling come from inside, so you decided to check on her. She smoked a lot; Maybe she needed some help getting into bed! 

You slowly twisted the doorknob and peeped through the small opening in the wood, and her raspy tone immediately filled your ears like warm honey. 

“Uh huh, rub that clit like I would. Nice’n slow.” 

Ellie was completely shirtless on her bed as she twirled her antlers with her free hand, shoes kicked off as she spewed filth to… whoever the fuck was on the other line. She couldn’t see you, and you felt guilty for spying, but the fire that she ignited in your stomach planted your feet to the floor. 

“Mhm, miss you so fucking bad.” 

… Why were you still fucking snooping! Shut the fucking door! 

“Yeah? Gonna let me?” 

Why’d you almost nod? You’re losing it; You need to fuck her!

“Wanna know something really hot?” She whispered. Your heart was pounding in your chest and your palms were sweaty. Yes, you do! Anything! 

“I think we have an audience,” she hummed with a sly grin, setting her headband on her thigh before looking up at you. You nearly hit the floor like your stomach just did. 

She chuckled and your clit throbbed. You hate how desperate she gets you, “Yeah, she’s cute. She has the wettest pussy I’ve ever fucked.” 

Your body was on fire and your breathing was shaky; You swore to send your hospital bill to her address. She was going to put you in a coma! 

“Yeah… tag team her with me,” she bit her lip after her suggestion and that was enough to get you to slam the door. For the first time in your life, your embarrassment overshadowed your arousal. You heard her giggling! You're never going outside again! 

“Why the fuck are you standing there like that.” 

You let out a shocked noise at Dina’s voice, trying to look as… not creepy as possible. 

“I, uh, Ellie… S-She fell asleep! It was, um, her turn to pull and I just— “ 

You felt your phone vibrate on your cheek. Dina crossed her arms in front of her, staring you down with an arched brow. You flinched and pulled your device out, Ellie’s message sitting on your bright screen.

You held back your shudder. 

You heard Dina sigh, “Y’all better not be loud.” 

You glanced up at Dina’s hushed tone, her brow arched at you. 

“H-Huh?” 

“Niah isn’t going anywhere, and neither are you. Go see her,” she sighed and pointed at your snoring roomie. “Just don’t be loud. His room is right next to hers and I’m tired.” 

Your arms wrapped around her as you cheesed. 

“Ireallydidn’twantthistobeweirdIloveyousomuch— “

She snickered in your ear and patted your ass in encouragement, “Yeah, yeah, okay. Just… just try’n keep it light, okay? Have a good time and leave it at that.” 

“I will! Promise!” 

You planted a wet kiss on her cheek before turning to yank at Ellie’s doorknob again. 

You busted into Ellie’s room and was immediately hit with the sound of your moans. 

She was sitting on the edge of her bed, nonchalantly packing the same bong from earlier as your… series of Snapchat memories played on the table. She looked up at you upon entry. 

“‘Sup.” 

You waved lamely and immediately cringed. Why does she make you so fucking nervous! 

“… Wanna hit?” She ushered the bong to you. You shook your head and… spoke. You’re such an idiot! 

“No thanks… but you can, uh… h-hit this pussy?” 

The shock on her face made you pray for lightning to strike you down, never to be seen or heard from again because what the fuck did you just say and why did it sound like your screams from her phone were increasing in volume—

Ellie giggled. She actually laughed, and it made you smile. She sounded so cute, like she doesn’t obliterate pussy on a day-to-day basis! 

She grabbed her lighter and lit her overstuffed bowl, muttering into the opening, “Come watch this with me.” 

Your gut erupted with excitement when you shuffled closer, taking a seat right next to her, your shoulders touching. She blew her smoke away from you before grabbing her phone from her nightstand! How long did these memories go on for!

“I never got to ask,” she swiped to the next video of you gagging on her fingers. “You do porn?” 

You choked on air, “… No?”

She looked at you blankly, her thumb moving mindlessly on the screen, “You should. You’re so good in front of a camera.” 

Your face burned like she called you the most beautiful person in the world. Don’t look at her titties!

“Thank you!” You squealed with a bright smile. 

“Mhm,” Ellie gawked at you before shutting her phone off and tossing it behind her, pulling at the hem of your shorts, “Lay down’n take these off.” 

Your shoes went flying across her room, almost hitting her dresser before yanking your shorts down your legs. Ellie stood and grabbed your chin, halting your frantic movements and pressing a light kiss to your lips. The feeling didn’t last a second, but you swore your heart grew a heart before it exploded into red glitter in your chest. You’re shocked the remaining specs didn’t land on her face. She hardly ever kisses you!

“Gonna let me eat this angel cunt before I knock out?” 

You were a mere dog on a leash. You know your eyes glossed over at her tone. She smirked knowingly, pushing your shoulder until you laid flat on her blanket before dropping to her knees in front of you. 

You didn’t have time to take your fishnets off, so she tore the crotch of them with her two veiny hands, —holy fuck—exposing the wet patch on your lace panties. 

She didn’t bother to remove flimsy, damp fabric, merely moving it to the side and revealing the soft, curly hairs on your pussy, your clit throbbing whenever her breath hit it. 

“You gotta pornstar pussy, swear to god.” 

You snorted and looked down, “Why do you want me to do porn so bad?!” 

She sneered playfully, “I’m a girl with needs and I’m asking my favorite link to help me out. You get a fat check and I nut, everybody wins!” 

You laughed brightly, “You’re annoying!” 

She rolled her eyes before licking deeply into you. Your whole body shuddered at the feeling of her soft tongue, your hand finding solace in the loose strands from her bun. You moved her hair from her face, sitting up on an elbow so you could watch her lick you out. She started slowly, swirling her wet muscle on your pulsing bud, spread your slick around before dipping down, shoving her tongue in your pussy, and coming back up to spit all your juices on your clit 

Your thighs were trying to jerk closed around her head, but she pried them open, digging her nails into your plush skin in warning. Your wet gasps were catching in your throat with every skilled swipe of her tongue, your lashes fluttering 

You couldn’t hold back the loud moan that escaped when her tongue pressed against your walls, and she pulled away, landing a harsh slap on your pussy, “Don’t wake my friend up.” 

Your head jerked, “M’—oh fuck— “

She murmured uh huh right on your clit, and eyes rolled, your hips bucking down to get her to drag her tongue over that one spot again you love it when she licks right there—

She sucked your clit into her mouth, her soft lips massaging your sensitive bundle. Your ankles locked behind her head, her bun completely dismantled in your tight grip. 

“Ellie— “

“Yeah, angel? Boutta cum?” she mumbled against your pussy. 

“Y-Yeah— “

She snatched a hand from your thigh and fucked her index finger into your cunt, hitting all your spots like it was in her nature. 

You tried your hardest to shut the fuck up, but you couldn’t! Whines escaped your mouth as quietly as they could as she fucked and ate your cunt at the same time. Your soft walls were squeezing around her calloused finger like it never wanted her to leave, completely drenched in your slick.

“Cutest fuckin’ pussy. Give it t’me, needa drink that cum— “

Your jaw dropped in a silent scream, your walls clenching and squeezing and leaking on her before your orgasm crashed into you. Your lashes fluttered and your eyes crossed in your head, a line a drool dripping off your tongue and onto your fuzzy sweater. Your toes won't uncurl in your damaged stockings; You definitely weren’t going home tonight! 

You watched Ellie swallow every drop of your cum, releasing hums of satisfaction after every pulse of your pussy. Her eyes were sparkling! 

She forced the last of your pleasure out of you until you went limp on her mattress and pushed her head away. She landed a light kiss on your thigh before standing to stretch. 

“Take this shit off and lay down with me.” 

She lightly pulled at your sweater sleeve and rejuvenated you, tearing it and your bra from your body. She eyed your tits before walking over to her side of the bed and shredding her jeans off, sliding under her cotton sheets.

She said nothing, her back turned to you as her body relaxed into her pillows. You felt a little shunned, but she took care of you like she always does when you come over! You tucked yourself in, hyper-focusing on the blotchy bruises on her neck and red lines that cascaded down her toned back until you drifted off with a dull sting in your chest. 

omg the actual p1 ok slayyyy

taglist? :3

night yall LOL

teaser, 2, 3, four, five

#ellie williams smut #ellie williams #ellie the last of us #ellie x reader #ellie williams au #ellie williams x black!reader #ellie williams x you #fratadjacent!ellie #ellie tlou #lesbian #works 𖧧࣪ #black!oc #black!reader

[vampyrsm]

‣‣ COR UNUM: CHAPTER EIGHT | KAGUTSUCHI

‣‣ Synopsis: Our tale begins to unravel with secrets spilt from bloodied lips. Beneath the shroud of darkness, the woman known to wear many faces offers you a chance to discover the truth; should you listen to her even if it means you are to die?

‣‣ Main Masterlist | AO3 ‣‣ Pairing: Sukuna x Reader ‣‣ Word Count: est. 5.7k ‣‣ Warnings: Blank blogs & Minors DNI. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat. Set in the Early-Heian Period, trueform!Sukuna, cursed energy usage, body horror, Kenjaku gets their own warning, descriptions of wounds/attacks, threats of violence/death, female reader.

“Show me it again.” 

It had been two days since the initial fight with Sukuna, he had disappeared for the rest of the day after the odd way he had abruptly left but once he returned he had an uneasy air around him. He was harsher, a little colder than usual and yet he still did not kick you out of his bedroom at night. 

But now, here you were once again. Training with Sukuna. Today wasn’t going to be a fight, but rather he wanted to figure out your cursed technique. He had explained that he was well versed in all things cursed-technique related, he spent hours upon hours researching all the documented ones and even the ones that had been rumoured to exist before he did.

Thankfully Sukuna had allowed you to wear something more suited for training. It was similar to the outfit you wore at the first shrine but instead of the red and white colour scheme, it was purely black. It reminded you of the outfit you trained in as a child. 

You stood in the middle of the shattered arena. Someone had been generous enough to move all the rubble and scattered tree bark out of the way so the two of you could train more easily. 

You nod your head at his words. Sukuna had been asking you to display your technique without actually using it as an attack, he needed to get the fundamentals of it before you started to apply it to battle. 

The familiar flow of your cursed energy is something akin to second nature now, it seeps from your stomach and then through your body to the very tips of your fingers. Your eyes close, only to reopen again to see the snowflakes have been temporarily suspended in the air — slowly falling at a rate much too slow to be considered natural.

Sukuna is frozen too in the slowed world you find yourself in, and you wonder if he could really get an idea of just what your technique was.

You move at a normal walking speed until you’re standing directly in front of Sukuna. He looked oddly reminiscent of a statue when he was completely still like this, all four arms folded over his chest like the intimidating beast that he is. You take the time to inspect him. 

The cuts from the fight on his body were also gone, but if you looked closely you could see the very faint white lines where some of the heavier hits had been laid upon him. Interesting. You assumed that his technique was flawless enough to ensure no evidence of weakness was left behind.

You breathe in, blinking again and the world shifts back into place. Immediately Sukuna’s head snaps down to you, blinking as his brain processes just how quickly you moved.

“I see.” He comments, one hand uncurling from a bicep to rub at his chin. “So it’s not what I initially thought. I had assumed you were simply fast, faster than most. But it’s not that, is it?”

You shrug a little, you don’t really know yourself. All you had to go off of was your own personal experience and the comment from the blue-eyed Samurai who told you that it was a technique you inherited from your father.

“No. You don’t move fast at all. You slow down time. Everything around you moves at a much slower rate if it comes into contact with your cursed energy, but to the naked eye it just seems like you’re moving inhumanly fast.”

You have to applaud Sukuna on his deduction skills, he wasn’t kidding when he said he knew his stuff when it came to understanding cursed techniques. 

“I think that may be one of the stronger cursed techniques I’ve heard of. You could do anything to anyone before they could react.” 

“Including you?” You grin teasingly, and Sukuna’s upper lip curls in annoyance.

“No. Now that I know what your little trick is, it won’t work on me so easily.” 

Now it’s your turn to nearly snarl at the man, stepping away from the suffocating presence that follows him around. 

“So is that all I can do? Slow down time?” 

Sukuna hums, finding his position next to you as you overlook the land beneath the mountains. The sun was slowly setting on the horizon, casting the snow-covered world below in a deep orange. None of the people below knew that a man as monstrous as Sukuna was looking down at them all; watching their every move. 

“I think there’s more to it. That’s just the innate technique, there’s definitely room for you to develop techniques that branch off of that.” His eyes glaze over the clouds below. “That’s how all techniques work.”

“What about your technique?” You question him boldly, and Sukuna doesn’t bother to spare you a glance but his lips lift into a slight smirk.

“Do you know the power behind revealing your own technique in the midst of battle?” A shake of your head has that smirk broadening. “It’s a binding vow made with yourself. Reveal your technique to your enemy and it’ll become stronger.”

“But wouldn’t revealing your hand like that just open you up to being countered?” You ask, you were always taught to never let your opponent know your next move. It was baffling to imagine telling your enemy your cursed technique.

“Maybe. But if you’re stronger, faster, you will win.”

“So will you tell me your technique?” You ask again, and Sukuna has the gall to chuckle deep in his chest. 

“No. I don’t need to reveal it to you to beat you.” 

A silence washes over the both of you, the wind today thankfully wasn’t as aggressive as it had been the last few days. The storm had passed. You feel that same tranquil feeling you had the other day, the warmth from the sun even from beyond the clouds warms your cheeks.

Everything had changed so rapidly that you couldn’t quite believe where you were today. You had expected to die a long time ago, perhaps for your sharp tongue or simply for the fact you disrespected Sukuna far too many times with your actions. And still, the man seems unbothered by your presence next to him. If anything, he had welcomed it since arriving back at his ancestral temple here in the mountains. 

Even with the recent coldness he had been exhibiting towards you, he still didn’t push you away completely or kill you simply because he could. 

“I’ll be leaving tonight,” Sukuna announces, and you turn your head up to look at him but his gaze remains on the distant horizon. “Only for a day or two. But that means you will be here alone, with Kenjaku.”

You hadn’t seen Kenjaku since the day you arrived, and you had hoped to keep it that way but apparently fate has something else in store for you. The fear you had for the woman was still something you felt deep in your bones but with the discovery of your cursed technique and newfound use of cursed energy — you didn’t feel totally defenceless.

“Don’t provoke her. She likes to make jokes but she means it when she says she’ll kill you.” Sukuna finally casts a glance down to you, the seriousness on his face is enough to have you nodding with his words in agreement that you won’t provoke the woman. 

“Good. As for food, there’s plenty in the kitchen. However,” he turns to you sharply, “Do not go there at the hour of the Ox.”

It’s an ominous warning. The hour of the Ox was roughly after midnight when theoretically all the evil things came out to play. Was there something evil, other than Kenjaku and Sukuna, that lurked in the temple? You didn’t want to find out. 

“Okay.” You nod again.

“If I come back to find you dead, I’ll make sure to bring you back just so I can kill you myself.”

He didn’t give you the time to work your tongue to form a response to him. His presence next to you was gone almost instantly, his energy fading with each step he took further away from you until you couldn’t feel the familiarity of it when it pressed against your own.

That was nearly twenty-eight hours ago.

You had made sure to comply with his words, or rather, you worked hard to avoid Kenjaku. After you had tapped into your own cursed energy, it was as if the world around you came to life with the amount of residuals that everyone left behind. 

You found that Kenjaku specifically had muddied cursed energy, so dense and dark yet with traces of other cursed energy inside of it. As if it didn’t all belong to her. It was disturbing as much as it was confusing, you didn’t want to find out just what her cursed technique was to cause something like that.

Her energy lingered mostly on the opposite side of the temple, often leading to the main entrance. You didn’t care where she went during the day, you only cared that she stayed as far away as possible.

Even now, in the relatively safe confines of Sukuna’s bedroom, you could still sense her just lingering beyond the multiple walls that separate you from her. You had no idea what she was up to currently, but you knew for certainty that she was around. You wondered if she slept, you knew Sukuna claimed he didn’t need to sleep anymore. So was it the same for the woman who haunted the halls of the temple?

You direct your attention back down to the old loosely bound book in your hands, it had clearly been written a long time ago as it was falling apart at the seams. But it still retained all the ink on its page well enough for you to read it, some of the words were in very old Man’yogana. 

You had been grateful for the lessons your father had ordered you to take to understand the rich history of Japan. Man’yogana was something you had been able to learn when you were old enough to read and write. It was a simple system but it was essentially just Chinese characters in lieu of the Japanese language.

Could Sukuna speak it fluently? You imagine he had a handful of talents that you had no idea about, he seemed to know plenty about everything so you didn’t doubt that he too could speak multiple languages. Maybe you could prod at him to get him to teach you how to actually speak Chinese, you could only read it—barely.

Regardless, you could mostly work your way through this book with no real problem. Sometimes you’d have to figure it out for yourself what exactly was being implied but it was easy enough once you got a grasp of the basics. 

One of the things that was vaguely spoken about however was something called a ‘Domain Expansion’. You’d never heard Sukuna mention anything like that before, but it was often mentioned in books across different ages. It was meant to be a pinnacle of someone’s cursed technique and yet no one had a definitive way on how to use one, or even materialise it.

You wondered what your own domain would be like if you could make one. The books always said that it was directly related to the user themselves, or more specifically, their soul. What did One’s soul look like? Perhaps that was a vital part of knowing how to summon a domain, to know what your soul looked like and to expand it outwards with the help of cursed energy. 

Maybe Sukuna would be willing to help you figure that out. You didn't doubt that he could use one, he seemed to have mastered almost everything to do with cursed energy. He was very proficient in his techniques, even if he refused to outright tell you what it actually was.

Another technique you couldn’t quite wrap your head around was something referred to as Hanten; reversal. It was so sparsely documented that you couldn’t help but wonder if this particular book was just the ramblings of a man gone mad trying to understand how cursed energy worked.

The pages displayed no way of indicating just how to use reversal, or what it could even do. It mentioned self-healing, but that was about it. Now you knew for sure that Sukuna could use something like that, if not exactly that, you had seen him regenerate his hand in the flower field as well as survive the two fatal attacks on his body. 

The end of that page simply ended with a sentence; ‘With death comes the gratitude for life.’

This would be another thing you ask Sukuna for guidance with. He’d most likely outright refuse to tell you how to do it or what it even was. He seemed to be a more ‘figure it out’ for yourself type of teacher, but you’d dealt with that type of teaching in the past. If Kiso crumbled to your incessant nagging on how to be taught a certain thing, then you have a feeling that Sukuna may eventually succumb to you — or he’d kill you.

Either way. All this reading was starting to make your head ache, you blink blearily up from the pages in front of you to see that the sky beyond the slatted windows had wholly disappeared and instead replaced with an inky black smattered with blinking stars. Time seemed to slip away from you when you weren’t drowning in the presence of a man who occupied the space as if he owned it. 

You hadn’t eaten since earlier that afternoon when you managed to slip into the kitchen unnoticed and took a handful of different fruits. It seemed to be the only food readily available to you. You had spied there were some bags stuffed away into a far corner filled with rice, you didn’t want to intrude too much in the kitchen in the middle of the day. Who knows what lurks in the halls during the day.

But now the hunger was getting too much to ignore, you doubt fruit would satisfy the ache in your stomach. Putting the books down in the stacks you had formed throughout the day, you get up and head out of the sanctuary you made for yourself in Sukuna’s room. 

The halls are barren, as usual, you don’t feel any foreign cursed energy slinking through the temple. Perhaps you’d get lucky at such a late hour of the night and not encounter anyone on the way to the kitchen. The floor is cold beneath your socked feet, even when you pass by the lanterns that had been lit and recently replenished, there’s a chill that rolls through the building.

You make it to the kitchen without incident. Thankfully. The kitchen itself is illuminated only by a single lantern that sits in the centre of the wooden table that was often used to prepare food. There’s a slither of moonlight that seeps through the partly cracked open window, it stretches across the room and touches your toes as if to greet you. 

From there, you work on autopilot to prepare yourself some food. It was an easy task to prepare the rice, wash it thoroughly and find the appropriate tools to help light the fire in the Irori to cook the food properly. 

Whilst pilfering through the small storage cupboard for some of the tangerines you had seen earlier that day, you can’t help but wonder how the food even got here in the first place. You hadn’t seen Uraume in a while, not since the previous shrine, so you didn’t think they were here running errands for Sukuna.

That left one other person who was capable of heading into villages to get food. Kenjaku. Did she purchase food or simply take it? You don’t think anyone would have the guts to stop a woman of her calibre from taking what she wants. But still, the thought of her handing over coin in exchange for food seems like such an outlandish image in your mind that it elicits a soft snort from yourself.

“Something amusing, little lamb?”

The sultry voice has your fingers freezing in place, the bowl of rice steaming and billowing the hot air against your slowly burning fingers. The warmth of the thicker kimono you had managed to find was no longer doing anything to protect you from the frigid fear that climbed up your limbs and shackled you in place.

Kenjaku consumes the room whole with just her energy alone, she had no qualms about squashing you beneath the weight of it as if she was simply flexing the power she had over you. You don’t—can’t move to face her, your body fighting itself internally to just move–something, but nothing happens.

Instead, you’re stuck listening to her slowly approaching feet, the geta she wears click rhythmically against the cold stone floor until that suffocating presence feels like it’s wrapping around your throat and holding you uncomfortably. 

Her exhale of breath is warm against the bareness of your neck, and your fingers twitched in the cooling steam of the food you were cooking.

“What? Cat got your tongue? Last I heard, you were quite the firecracker. Where’s that voice gone now? Is it because your Master has left you here all alone?” Kenjaku breathes the words against the shell of your ear, the sneer evident in her voice.

“What do you want?” Your tongue manages to roll the words off smoothly, and you feel more than hear Kenjaku’s amused release of breath. She backs away just enough to allow your lungs to expand freely. The uneasy feeling of her energy is still ever present but it’s no longer bearing down on you.

You turn to look at her, and she’s smiling, though the smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes. Her long black hair has been swept up into a more traditional updo, her kimono is the same one you had seen her in the first time – her elegance is undeniable. 

“I want to know what’s so special about you.” She answers your question truthfully, surprisingly, her eyes do a quick sweep up and down your attire before they dart to your covered shoulder. “You see. I’ve known Sukuna for quite a while, and never once has he kept a woman alive for so long.”

“He’s kept you around, hasn’t he?”

Kenjaku’s face splits into an unnerving grin until your stomach twists uncomfortably. “We’re very different from one another. After all, I’m not the one who gets to sleep with the King of Curses himself.” 

Her words, whilst erroneous, still have your body set alight. That phrasing alone has heat rushing to your cheeks and the tips of your ears. Is that what everyone thought was happening? That you were sleeping with Sukuna? A part of you believes that if that were true, then it’d be easier to explain why he was keeping you around. 

How do you explain to someone that he’s keeping you around because you believe he wants to turn you into a weapon for his own arsenal?

“That’s not true.” You retort once the initial embarrassment bleeds into annoyance. Why was she so scornful towards you? Did she have hate for you because you were simply occupying more of Sukuna’s time? You hadn’t pinned her as being a jealous woman, she didn’t seem the type to busy herself with something as trivial as jealousy.

“No? So he doesn’t let you sleep in his room? He doesn’t let you bathe in the only hot spring still active so high in the mountains? He isn’t giving you special training?” Kenjaku pushes off of the wooden table she was leaning on, once again advancing upon you until you knock into the table with the rice bowl behind you.

Too long fingers wrap around your jaw, sharp nails digging into the flesh of your cheeks before wrenching your head up so that Kenjaku could get a good look at you. “What is it that he sees in you?” She demands in a chillingly dark tone, her energy burns at your skin the longer she holds you. 

You had to move. Do something. Anything to get out of the grasp of her cursed energy before something irreversible happened. It was near enough second nature now to tap into your own energy, the extensive yet fulfilling lessons Sukuna had provided you with had allowed you to call on it when you needed it the most. 

Kenjaku’s body slows completely to a halt, lips parted as if she was about to say something further to you and the room grows silent around the both of you. Thankfully whatever Kenjaku’s own technique might be, it doesn’t seem capable of keeping up with your own. 

You slip from her hand, your hand brushing along the table behind you until you feel the cool steel of the knife you had been using prior. She still doesn’t move when you shift the blade between the both of you, pressing the tip of the knife against the centre of her stomach. It wouldn’t kill her, but perhaps she’d understand you weren’t completely helpless when she cornered you like this.

The knife slips into the skin like butter, slicing past the long kimono she wears as if it were nothing but paper. The blood has not spilt yet, but you can see the minute twitching of her fingers as the pain starts to register. Your window is closing rapidly, you leave the knife embedded in her stomach before crossing to the other side of the room. 

Here you watch as time spins to catch up with your actions, your own cursed energy flooding back into your body and Kenjaku lurches forward as if she were about to crush your head. Her spare hand comes down to her stomach, long fingers curling around the handle of the knife to try and assess just what had happened.

You expect her to react, to lash out and attack you in the middle of the kitchen but instead, she turns to look at you. Her eyes are wide, her skin looking just a tad more paler than usual. You caught her off-guard.

“Zen’in.” She mutters the word that turns your blood to ice, how did she know your family name from just the use of your cursed energy? The confusion on your face makes her smile wide once again, her fingers tightening around the knife before she rips it from her stomach in a crude spray of crimson droplets. 

It drops to the stone floor with a wet clatter, bouncing once then twice until it stops too far for you to reach if you had to make a dash for it. 

“You have no idea what Sukuna has done. Do you?” She laughs the words, and her hand that had been pressed to her bleeding wound moves to reveal the stab wound had been healed. “Foolish, naive little girl. He keeps you around like some sort of pet, and you have no idea what he’s taken from you.” 

You truly had no idea what she meant by that. How could you? How could you know what Sukuna had done before he plucked you from your old life?

Kenjaku laughs at your expense once again, dragging you from your slowly spiralling thoughts. Her eyes that were usually narrowed in a fox-like gaze are widened, and the brush of blood along one of her cheeks makes your stomach twist with something like fear. She looked terrifying. 

In a split second, she closes the gap between the two of you, pushing aside a stool on the ground in hopes of grabbing you before you slip away. Her hand wraps around your throat before you can react, your head bouncing harshly against the wooden beam behind you. Kenjaku was much taller than you, and stronger too apparently. Her fingers are cruel in the way they tense around your throat until you choke.

“I should kill you where you stand for daring to harm my body.” She snarls, leaning in close enough that you can smell the perfume that sticks to her. It had a soft flowery scent but beneath it was something you had become acclimated to; she smelled like death. 

Her free hand drags up along the side of your face, soft knuckles digging into the fat of your cheek before she presses the pad of her thumb into your temple. Her wide green eyes are consumed wholly by whatever manic thoughts are currently bouncing around in her head, the tip of her thumbnail continues to curl inwards until it starts to break through your skin.

“Do you think Sukuna would realise you were dead?” She muses to no one in particular, she clearly isn’t asking you for an answer as she watches the blood that beads at the tip of her thumb before it rolls down along your cheekbone. “I doubt it. Your technique seems easy enough to use.” 

The hand that had been pressed to the side of your head moves to her own, her fingers drag along the length of the scar before you watch in abject horror when her fingers curl into an invisible seam. There’s a slick wet sound as the skin continues to stretch until it’s free from its other half. The blood that pours down her face doesn’t seem to phase the woman.

Instead, her grin spreads. The initial rush of thick blood painting her lips a deep shade of crimson before it spreads onto the whiteness of her teeth. 

“I think a Zen’in would be—” She stops in place, the hand shifting the top half of her scalp stops just before you get a peek of her brain. She remains in place, but her eyes narrow towards the entrance of the kitchen. “Oh. Maybe another time.” 

Kenjaku leans back, uncaring for the blood and cerebrospinal fluid on her face soaking into her kimono, as she runs a finger across the seam on her forehead to ‘re-seal’ it. 

“Run back to your sanctuary now little lamb. You’ll find your answers there.”

Kenjaku retreats, but not before she brings the hand that had been clamped around your jaw to her mouth. Her tongue drags from the base of her palm to the tip of her thumb, lapping up the blood spilt from the cut on the side of your temple. She doesn’t say anything else, simply smiles before turning away to slink off into the darkness where she came from.

You take the sudden change of events to leave the kitchen, leaving behind the food that no longer seemed appealing. You had no idea what Kenjaku was capable of, but you didn’t doubt that it had something to do with the brain.

In no time at all, you’re plunged back into the familiar warmth of Sukuna’s room. The hearth was still lit but slowly dimming, you’d have to relight it at some point. But not even the threat of the cold could shake the need to figure out what Kenjaku had meant. 

What did she mean that you’d find your answers here? You’ve been alone in this room for a day now, and you’ve scoured through the multitude of scrolls and books until you were convinced there was nothing you had missed. Sukuna had an extensive amount of research into cursed energy and techniques, but nothing was the ‘answer’ you were now currently seeking.

You step further into the room, glancing across the neatly made futon bed that you were planning on sleeping in after you ate something. There was nothing of interest there, and there was none when you took a glance towards the seat where Sukuna often perched each time you slept in his bed. 

Twisting on your heel, you find yourself in a similar situation to just the other morning. The large weapon chest that you had wanted to go through remains untouched, you hadn’t thought twice about it after Sukuna had allowed you to train with your cursed energy. It didn’t seem necessary to revert back to weapons when you could use your own energy. 

You also didn’t think Sukuna was too keen on giving you access to a weapon just yet, he always ignored your questions at the start if you were allowed to use a weapon despite the fact you won your silly bet during that initial sparring session.

But now, here you stand, looking down at the deep brown mahogany chest. Along the lid are deep engravings of symbols that you don’t recognise, you kneel down to find that there is no lock or latch to ensure that only Sukuna can open it. Perhaps he believed you weren’t stupid enough to snoop through his possessions despite the warning.

You however ignore that warning, pushing up the lid with the heel of your palms until it creaks and opens fully. It hits the wall behind it with a loud thud, a quick gust of air and dust blowing upwards into your face. Inside you’re met with what seems like thousands upon thousands of thin strips of paper; talisman, if the lettering on them was anything to go by. 

They seemed to be for suppression, and with the opening of the box came a rush of something you now recognised as cursed energy. But it wasn’t any old cursed energy, it wasn’t even Sukuna’s. It felt so familiar, like a smell you couldn’t quite identify anymore as time went on.

You lean up on your knees just enough to peer into the weaponry box, and you simultaneously feel your heart and lungs seize up in your chest. There was only one object in there. One singular object that you would be able to identify even if you were stripped of your vision and could only feel it with your hands.

It’s a katana in a beautiful black sleek sheath, the handle was also black with gold threads weaved through. If you were to remove it from the sheathe, the steel of the sword would be the sharpest of any weapon with a darkened blade ridge.

This katana was something you had agonised over as a child. You yearned to just hold it. But the holder would never let you.

Your father would never let you.

Your hand moves before you can stop yourself, the handle is cold beneath your fingertips as is the blade guard. The weight it holds is significant, it was made to be slightly longer than your traditional katana — something your father as Shogun had requested to accommodate his swordsmanship.

He was truly a master with a sword, or any weapon for that matter, he moved as if he were made of water. He cut down countless men when he was called upon and as Shogun, he did not change. He was ruthless, a true Samurai warrior.

And here is his weapon, trapped in a box filled with talismans that were designed to hide the energy that seeped from the weapon. You hadn’t realised the weapon was imbued with such strong energy as a child, but now you can feel it. It feels just like your father. 

Like a hug from a man who had not seen you since you were a child. His energy seamlessly seeps into your hands, curls around your fingers until it feels natural to hold the weapon in your hand.

There was only one reason Sukuna would have your father's sword.

When they delivered the news of your father's passing, you weren’t allowed to visit his body or his grave. It struck you as odd then but now it makes your stomach churn. When a body was unable to be seen or unable to be buried, then that meant only one thing: there was no body.

Did that mean Sukuna knew who you were before he had killed your husband and taken you captive? How were you so blind to the obvious? He had kept you alive, even saved you from certain death, healed your wounds and then went out of his way to train you. He knew exactly who you were, and what you were possibly capable of. 

You doubt he felt any sort of remorse for what he’d done, you doubt a man like him could even feel guilt. Your fingers curl tightly around the handle and the sheath of the blade, the metal of the guard clinking as if it were ready to be released. 

That goal you had set for yourself so long ago in the burned-down shrine sits at the forefront of your mind. You will kill Ryoumen Sukuna. Binding vow be damned, you will kill him.

A sliding door behind you opens before you hear the voice of the man whose presence alone brings your blood to boiling point.

“—And when I find out who sent me on a wild goose chase, I’ll have their eyeballs for supper.” The door slams to a sliding shut behind him, and you can immediately feel the rigidity that comes with his energy when he is angry. It was overly hot, a suffocating kind of energy that demanded you down on your knees with your forehead pressed to the floor.

Sukuna doesn’t move however to find out who had sent him out of the temple for a day, in fact, if you didn’t feel his energy so close by then you’d assume he had immediately left the room. But you can hear the expanding of his chest with each breath he takes, you can hear the fabric of the kimono he had worn for the day move. 

No. He was most definitely still in the room, and he was watching you – observing, to see what your next move might be. Briefly, you wonder if he is hesitant to approach you. He clearly had a distaste for the weapon now cradled in your hands or he wouldn’t have gone to great lengths to suppress its energy until it was undetectable.

“I warned you.” His voice is no longer dripping in malice from just a few seconds earlier, instead, it sounds devoid of anything defining. And so his warning falls flat against the pain swelling in your chest. You had been sharing food with this man, training in such close proximity that you had momentarily been blinded to what he truly was.

A monster.

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#dead dove do not eat #cw gore #cw dark content #cw violence #tw cannibalism #sukuna x reader #sukuna x you #jjk x reader #banner artwork is official game art for ghost of tsushima made by ian jun wei chiew

[wooahaes]

a little less daunting

pairing: non-idol!3racha & gn!reader

genre: comfort fic.

word count: ~0.7k

warnings: reader is Going Through It. food mentions. depression mentions.

daisy's notes: i need them :(

Sometimes it felt like your friends always  knew when you needed them the most. Case in point: they had shown up to your apartment with homemade food while you were in the throes of your third crying fit in the past few hours. The bad part was that they had caught you, but the good part… Well… You trusted them, plain and simple, to be kind to you now. It was hard getting to this point, sure, but the feeling of Changbin’s arms around you was unmatched by anything else.

Chris had taken initiative, his hug warm but fleeting as he called Jisung over to help him set your little dining table so the four of you could enjoy dinner together. Changbin, on the other hand, had settled into his task pretty easily: hugging you. His arms were strong around you, making you silently thankful for how often the guy worked out. He was built like a teddy bear in your opinion (as were Chris and Jisung—maybe you had a type when it came to close friendships…?), and just as snuggly as one. Every time you tried to pull away, he’d whine at you. Of course, you knew Changbin well enough to know that if you needed to get up, he’d let you go the moment you said something. Changbin knew you well enough to know that too much affection made you feel guilty.

So did Chris and Jisung. That was kind of the reason Chris told Changbin to “not let you go” unless necessary. 

“You guys really don’t have to do this,” you said, arms wrapped around Changbin now (he’d let you go long enough to let you turn around, so you could fully embrace how cuddly he was). “I mean it.”

“And I’ve already told you that we wanted to,” Chris was rooting around in one of the drawers. “Did you rearrange shit?”

You suddenly remembered your two-in-the-morning need to do something, to rearrange something, and how that manifested in you dumping out your drawers, washing everything inside, and rearranging everything. There was a reason you’d been using and rewashing the same few utensils for the past few days. “... Maybe.”

Changbin squeezed you a little tighter, raising his voice as he looked to Chris, “Check the other drawer already, we’re hungry.”

Jisung pulled open the drawer closest to the sink and immediately found what he and Chris been looking for. “Why are they over here…?”

“Because I thought moving the drawer next to the sink would make doing dishes easier,” you whined. “And now every time I’m by my microwave, I keep reaching into the wrong drawer.” 

Chris shook his head, already opening up a cabinet to find cups. “I’ll fix it.” 

“You don’t have to—”

“It’s fine,” he said. “When’s the last time you cleaned?”

For a moment, you said nothing. When was the last time you really cleaned…? You’d been decent about bagging up and taking your trash out, but washing things and whatnot? 

“Nevermind. We’ll take care of it,” Chris sighed, shaking his head. Fuck, you failed again. He set the cups aside, making his way over to wrap his arms around you and Changbin. “If you’re struggling, all you have to do is call me. I’ll come over.” 

“Call us,” Jisung said as he quickly approached. “That’s what we’re here for.”

Part of you wanted to refute it. They were your close friends, nothing more—but Chris had always insisted that you all were practically family now. Instead, you stayed silent, and shut your eyes for a moment, just savoring the warmth of having friends who loved you showing it in so many ways. You felt the kiss that Chris pressed against the top of your head before he pulled away, saying something about how he’d looked up some of those recipes you’d talked about before and hopefully made the right one. He’d dragged Changbin and Jisung over to his place hours ago just to make a couple other things for the four of you to share…

And suddenly the world felt a little less daunting, at least for a minute.

taglist: @twancingyunhao @weird-bookworm @jinnie-ret

#wooahaes.fic #skz imagines #skz x reader #stray kids x reader #stray kids x you #skz x you #stray kids imagine #skz fics #stray kids fics #stray kids fluff #bang chan fluff #changbin fluff #han fluff #han jisung fluff #bang chan x reader #changbin x reader #han jisung x reader #han x reader #wooahaes.fall23

[vettelsvee]

FIRST VICTORY (PART 1) | Sebastian Vettel

f1 masterlist | history series masterlist

history series season 1: part 1 | part 2.1 | part 2.2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5

summary: sebastian gets his first pole position, while diana realizes that perhaps the world of motorsport she had idealized was not as wonderful as she had imagined. except for seb, of course, who was the one who, in part, made her continue in formula 1.

word count: 7060

warnings: curse words, bad language, mentions and act of sexism. mentions of sickness and medical terms. seb and di getting closer. just nico rosberg doing nico rosberg things (friendly reminder that whatever you read here is fiction, and nothing that happens here or how characters act is real)

taglist: [@theseerbetweenus @annewithaneofthegreengable @vincentvanshoe] if you wanna be tagged in each part just tell me in the comments <3

¡! you can read the fanfic as diana or y/n, but the faceclaim will always be my girl emma stone :)

feedback is truly appreciated!

2008

Italian Grand Prix  Autodromo Nazionale Monza

September 11 th Thursday

Monza had not welcomed them as they had hoped.

The sun had barely risen on that Thursday, marking the beginning of the Italian Grand Prix, hiding behind multiple dark gray clouds loaded with water that threatened to unleash upon the circuit at the most unexpected moment.

Diana, with her umbrella in one hand, backpack hanging from her back, and her accreditation hanging from her neck, entered the paddock with a downcast look. She had been with the Toro Rosso team for six months already, and although she knew she was living her dream of being part of the sport she loved so much and was aware from the moment she set foot in that world that it wouldn't be a bed of roses, nothing was turning out as she had initially imagined.

The first three or four Grand Prix had gone well, and they had even strengthened her bond with Sebastian due to his DNF situations. However, as the weeks passed and, with them, the months, everything started to go downhill. While initially the team seemed happy to have a girl among them, derogatory comments, an abundance of sexist jokes, and daily attitudes of the same kind became Wagner's burden. She couldn't help but feel undervalued and, above all, useless.

"I'm sure that when Diana gets promoted and becomes my engineer everyone will want her," Vettel said on one occasion when he heard a sexual proposition from one of his mechanics to another. "Trust me, Diana Wagner is going to win championships with me."

No matter how much the dyed-blonde had tried to prevent Seb from defending her to avoid drawing more attention, he didn't mind; on the contrary, he did it willingly.

"I have four amazing women in my life, and I wouldn't want them to be treated like that," the driver explained, showing a photo of his sisters and mother. "Despite being a ladies' man I know there are limits, and respect is above everything for me."

That didn't help at all as Diana ended up being relegated to minor, unimportant tasks. Suddenly, she found herself going back and forth in the paddock carrying coffees, preparing some meals and running errands for anyone, as if her only function was to be a decoration. She didn't know, but she was sure she had worked too hard to show that she deserved that opportunity more than anyone else who had applied for the scholarship. And not only that: she also tried to gain the trust and, especially, the respect of Toro Rosso members, although it seemed to have worked only with the blue-eyed blonde.

Despite proving her worth in every free practice, qualifying and race, and regardless of learning a little more every day, her senior engineer completely ignored her.

As she crossed paths with people on her way to the team's box, she reminded herself that she had arrived there on her own merits; that she had worked for years and that, if this moment was not the right one for her to shine, she would do so in the future. Patience, and especially attitude, along with luck, were the keys to success, and her father had ingrained it in her over her twenty years of life.

A group of Ferrari engineers accompanied by Felipe Massa passed by her arguing heatedly about possible strategies for Sunday's race and some configuration for the race car. As they almost always mistook her for a grid girl, Diana always took advantage of that. This time was no exception. Carefully, she began to follow them, pretending to attend a phone call to listen to as much of the conversation as possible and mentally note everything they said down. Sebastian's performance had improved since the race in Monaco thanks to some contributions she had made to Alex, the driver's engineer, who obviously took credit for it. She knew that no matter how much information she shared, it would not be acknowledged as her own, but the fact that she could help secure at least a podium for Vettel was all that mattered to her.

"Now, apart from being an aspiring intern, are you also a spy?"

Nico's voice made her come to a sudden halt, realizing she had been caught. A blush started to spread across her cheeks, accompanied by an unpleasant nervousness in her stomach.

"I was just snooping around a bit," the girl explained, growing more nervous as she saw the blonde approaching her. "I wanted to find out what's being discussed around here, that's all."

"About Ferrari's strategies, am I right?"

Diana didn't say anything, confirming Rosberg's assumption.

"That's what I like most about you, that you're determined."

"But you've barely seen me," Diana responded a bit curtly. "I just want to learn from the best to be the best, and I would do anything for it," she commented sincerely.

"Would you come with me now for a coffee?"

The young woman began to feel a shiver running down her spine, feeling uncomfortable with the German's suggestion. Every time she had had a chance to talk to the driver it had been in the same way. That had only made him gradually gain more confidence with her, and the hints became more and more direct.

"Thanks for the invitation, but I'm more of a tea girl," the girl said ironically, trying to maintain composure. "Besides, I don't know if you know, but I came to work and prove my worth, not to boost anyone's ego."

Before the Williams driver could reply, a familiar voice joined the conversation. Sometimes, Sebastian Vettel seemed like Spider-Man and appeared just when the Austrian needed him most.

"What are my eyes seeing? Nico Rosberg flirting, again, with our amazing intern?" he questioned, wrapping his arms around Diana. "Come on, lower yourself to that... I didn't expect that from you, Rosberg."

"I was just being friendly with her," the other guy tried to pretend with a smile. "Right, Di?"

Diana nodded, agreeing with him even though she knew it wasn't true. Vettel noticed how the girl's body tensed a bit due to discomfort, something that bothered him a little.

"Di?" Seb replied. "Now you're close to her?"

"Sebastian," she said, interrupting him because she was aware that if she didn't, things would escalate. "I just wanted to go for coffee, really, but I don't feel like it because I have work to do," she approached him, placing her hand on his chest, and said something in a low voice. "There's no need to make a scene."

Sebastian took a deep breath and calmed down a bit. He didn't like the intentions that many guys had with what he considered his friend, and Rosberg was no exception. He had heard many insinuations with that girl coming from many mouths, and every time someone said something he wanted to start a fight no matter how much he tried to control himself.

"Well, Nico, why don't you let Di and I go back to our garage? We need to discuss some private matters."

Nico accepted, with a mocking smile on his lips.

"Of course, I wouldn't want to interrupt whatever private thing you're going to do."

"Don't make things up, you bastard!" Wagner shouted at him as Rosberg winked at them and began to walk away briskly.

The girl thanked Sebastian mentally. Sometimes Nico could be not just a little but too heavy. It's not that she found him ugly, far from it, but she liked to get to know people before throwing herself into their arms and acting as if they had known each other their whole lives.

"Thanks for that, Seb, but I had it all under control," Diana thanked.

"Sure," the driver replied nonchalantly. "Rosberg can be a bit... let's say persistent," he explained as they walked, seemingly aimlessly. "But that doesn't mean he's not a good guy!"

"I haven't said otherwise."

Vettel stopped and looked at the girl. He barely knew her, and although it was true that in the last few weekends they had become closer, he still didn't have enough confidence to talk about certain topics...

She wasn't his close friend.

Even so, there was something she didn't know about her, but that attracted him immensely.

"Do you like Nico?" he asked without hesitation.

"What? No!" Diana shouted, attracting the attention of those around them. "How could I like him? All he does is ask me out, come up to me every time he sees me alone and invite me to his room in the Williams box! I don't want to hook up with him or whatever he has in mind!"

Sebastian started to mock her. Despite being a good girl, sometimes she seemed so innocent that it made the German feel sorry for her. He decided not to continue the conversation because he knew his temper was strong enough to tell him to fuck off.

"Will you join me for the press conference? It's in like half an hour," he commented, looking at his wristwatch.

"I thought Alex needed me to talk to him or something," the girl deflected the proposal. "Anyway, I can't even get in. I'm not a journalist."

"Well, I'm afraid you'll have to pretend to be one."

Diana didn't have time to accept the invitation as the German had already gently taken her by the wrist and started walking briskly towards the room where the press conference would be held.

As soon as they arrived and entered, still holding hands and attracting some curious looks, the Austrian was amazed at the immense proportions of the place. From the outside, it seemed much smaller, but she had before her a spacious and well-lit room, with a long table and five chairs arranged on a platform in the center, where Diana supposed the drivers would sit. Behind it was the Formula 1 logo, followed by a Monza Grand Prix 2008 sign.

The driver and the intern continued walking together, still admiring the last completely stunned at the journalists, cameras and other professionals from around the world present.

"Sit wherever you want, newbie," Vettel pointed to the seats where some reporters were already sitting. "I have to pretend that I love answering questions, and you have to pretend you're the best journalist in the room. Let's get to work and then I'll invite you to whatever you want, okay?"

They both parted with a smile. Wagner proceeded to settle in one of the back rows so as not to attract too much attention. She greeted people around her with a fake smile, trying not to let them discover that she was just an intern that no one wanted.

She watched as the drivers who would attend the press, besides Seb, took their respective seats. Kimi Räikkönen appeared with a serious face, something normal for him; Fernando Alonso exuded confidence, and Lewis Hamilton was relaxed, although alert to what they might ask him: it was only his second year competing, and he had already become one of the candidates to be the world champion of the season.

Vettel, as he seemed to do in any situation, was making jokes and chatting very animatedly with some reporters, receiving reprimands from what the intern knew as his public relations, Britta Roeske.

The event's moderator introduced himself, starting the press conference. Despite already knowing them, he presented each of the drivers present, mentioning their team and asking some unimportant questions.

Sebastian, who was the last in line, seemed visibly bored and acted as such, despite the multiple glances Roeske was sending him from her seat, until it was his turn.

"Now let's move on to one of the youngest on the grid: Sebastian, what do you expect from this weekend?" the curious presenter asked. "And, most importantly, are you worried about the rain?"

The young man regained his composure and approached the microphone.

"I have no expectations: I just want to do my best and not die of boredom until I get my first victory," he commented with his characteristic humor. "Regarding the rain, it's like a surprise visit from your mother-in-law, you know? It can show up at any time, hurt you a lot, and even be uncomfortable and challenging, but you can't deny that it adds excitement," the guy got a bit more serious. "Jokes aside, I think all of us would prefer it to be dry and sunny on Sunday, but rain is also part of the show, and if it comes, I'll welcome it with open arms."

The man, after thanking Sebastian with a look, turned to the audience and opened a brief round of questions to the journalists. Surprisingly, almost all of them were directed at Sebastian, who had become a sensation after his announcement as Mark Webber's future teammate at Red Bull Racing next season.

It was normal for everyone to want to know more about that guy from Heppenheim who showed promise.

"Sebastian, do you think you could outperform any of the Ferraris and achieve a good result for Toro Rosso?"

"I don't know, it could be. What do you think, Kimi?" he laughed, looking at the Finn with humor. "Ferrari is incredible, and Monza is one of their homes. I'm here to compete and try to do my best, so I'll strive for that."

Vettel nodded slightly, thanking in a whisper and giving the floor to a blonde reporter, with light eyes, whose name he thought he remembered being Sally.

"Vettel, next year you'll join Red Bull Racing. Anything you can tell us?"

"The best is yet to come," he replied, winking at her. "I hope to see you then. You know I'm always ready to answer your questions, Sal."

The questions continued, and they were even directed at the other three men accompanying Seb. Some were more technical, and others focused on the driver's mentality or the team's strategies, but that didn't prevent Wagner from getting bored. Throughout the forty-five minutes it lasted, she paid attention and took notes in a notebook she always carried with her because any information, no matter how minimal It was, would help her learn more about that extensive sport. Being there was a privilege she never thought of, so she couldn't waste anything because she didn't know when she would have the chance again.

Time passed faster than she initially thought. When the one who had directed the whole event, named Carlo, declared the session over, Diana remained somewhat mesmerized watching the journalists and photographers begin to gather their belongings and leave the press room, in an orderly manner for security reasons. She thought about staying a little longer, but she ended up succumbing to the pressure, getting up and heading towards the exit while keeping her gaze on Sebastian, who was saying goodbye to his colleagues.

Diana decided to wait for the driver at the entrance, but seeing that everyone, except him, had left, she went to the Toro Rosso box hoping he would be waiting for her there. The girl didn't know what to expect from the blonde, but being stood up after waiting for an hour and a half wasn't among her possibilities.

Although she didn't expect much from the German either. [...]

September 13th  Saturday

Even though the pain Diana felt in her stomach was still quite noticeable, she had to put on a brave face and act as if everything was perfectly fine. She knew there were sick leave allowances even for interns, but the girl didn't want nor could she afford to risk losing it all over a simple stomachache.

The day before, Friday, she didn't take part in the two free practice sessions because a noticeable discomfort in her stomach began to manifest in the early hours. Initially, she attributed it to the disappointment she had felt after being stood up by the German; when vomiting started and diarrhea set in, she didn't hesitate to go down to the hotel lobby, ask for the nearest hospital, and call a taxi.

"I'm afraid to say that it might be gastroenteritis, Miss Wagner," the emergency room doctor informed her after running some tests. "Refrain from your work for a few days and stick to a bland diet."

The cake that Amelie had made for her birthday and that her father had insisted on keeping in the refrigerator for five days, despite being quite poorly made, seemed to be the culprit of her indigestion.

There was barely half an hour left for the qualifying session to begin. Quickly, she passed her accreditation through the scanner as fast as she could, holding onto her belongings tightly, and ran to the Toro Rosso garage as fast as she could, trying to stave off the urge to vomit. She had a terrible night, battling constant stabbing pains and nausea, making her feel like a pregnant woman. If it hadn't been for a pill that had been prescribed to her after insisting a lot, her diarrhea would probably still be continuing at that moment. She clenched her teeth tightly to avoid vomiting right there, and she was grateful that it was raining because her umbrella made her less noticeable.

The moment she saw her workspace, she hurried even more, closing the umbrella and placing it in a stand at the entrance. The looks were already starting to intimidate her, but she didn't feel panic until she reached the area where Alex, Seb's track engineer and, let's say... her boss was.

"Where the hell were you yesterday, Wagner?"

Fiori quickly took off his headphones, leaving them around his neck, and turned to look at Diana sternly. His expression showed a mix of anger and annoyance, and the girl knew that nothing good was coming because this forty-year-old was not particularly known for his empathy and kindness.

"I informed a public relations girl you have around here, I think her name is Martha or something like that," the girl explained, trying to justify herself, "and I also brought the medical certificate. I've had gastroenteritis since Friday morning, and I went to the emergency room. The doctor advised me to take a few days off, but I decided to come today."

The man reluctantly took the paper and examined it thoroughly, looking for any sign that this information might be false. He couldn't believe that a young girl was there; let alone, that he had to endure her.

Although what Alex Fiori hated most about her was that Sebastian praised her so much.

"Are you feeling better now?" the Italian inquired, still absorbed in the medical lines.

"Yes, a little, thank you," the blonde sincerely thanked. "Really, Mr. Fiori, I'm so sorry I couldn't attend yesterday, and I'm even more sorry they didn't inform you. I didn't have anyone else's contact."

The man took the paper grudgingly and examined it thoroughly, looking for any reflection that this information might be false. He couldn't believe that a girl was there; let alone that he had to endure her.

"Let's hope you don't miss again for nonsense like this," he replied indifferently, tearing the paper aggressively. "I need you to be here and fulfill your responsibilities. That's why we tolerate you and pay you every month."

Diana just nodded, threatening tears to escape from her eyes.

"Of course," the girl tried to declare. "I promise I won't miss a day again, Mr. Fiori."

"Don't make promises you won't keep, Wagner," he bluntly replied as he headed towards Vettel. "Now just sit down and stay quiet during qualifying. I don't want to hear you."

The girl felt a knot forming in her throat as she watched her boss approach her pilot. She tried to maintain composure, but it was impossible: she shed a tear easily and wiped them away as quickly as she could to avoid drawing even more attention. She felt frustrated and powerless because she couldn't defend herself or express what she felt in those moments.

She did what his engineer instructed him. She grabbed her headphones, sat a bit farther away than usual, and started watching Q1 on the screen in front of him. It had only been about five minutes, and Alex's comments to Vettel were already resonating in his ears.

"Come on, Seb, you have to try to nail a perfect lap on the first try. We need to secure a spot in Q2."

"Copy," the German replied.

From her seat, Diana could see Sebastian's engineer gesturing wildly with his hands every now and then, upset with any maneuver the driver made. She observed from her monitor the laps he was doing: gradually, his times were improving, and although his performance was not the best, combined with the ineffective car, it was surprising to the Austrian.

"Seb, you're improving," Alex informed him as optimistically as possible. "We just have one chance to complete a lap, so try to concentrate as much as possible."

"Copy."

Sebastian pushed the car to its maximum, hugging every inch of the track without exceeding the track limits. Wagner was amazed, and she could hardly look away.

Fiori informed Seb that, for now, they were through to Q2, although it was still necessary for the German to extract a bit more speed from the car to ensure participation in the next qualifying round by a few milliseconds.

Every second that passed felt eternal for Wagner, who was holding her breath with excitement. Finally, when Vettel moved on to Q2, she could breathe easy. In the garage, cheers of excitement echoed, something that made her laugh because, in reality, he had only advanced about five positions on the grid, not a significant achievement, but a good merit given the ineffective car they had.

After a quick analysis of data and preparation for the Q2 strategy, of which Diana had not been a part but had listened attentively, as if she didn't care, it began.

The girl had heard that they had decided to stick with the wet tires they had used in the previous session. It seemed like a mistake to her because a majority of the other drivers would be using new pairs. Therefore, when they saw Sebastian's times, despite being good, starting to slow down compared to others, they hurried to call him to pit stop. Diana couldn't help but laugh. She wasn't the most qualified to judge, as she wasn't an expert, but if they paid more attention to her, such things wouldn't happen so often.

The girl still had a long way to go, but let's say Wagner saw a few DNFs coming and despite sending direct messages warning, they ignored her.

Maybe that's why her boss disliked her so much.

"We can't afford mistakes, Seb!" Alex shouted over the headset as the German went out on the track again. "You have only one damn chance, so I hope you make the most of it."

Sebastian sighed, possibly a little tired of the man's comments.

"Alex, I know. I'm trying my best."

Diana felt the tension escalating in the box. Bourdais had been eliminated from Q1, and Seb was their only hope. In those moments, every lap was crucial because telemetry warned them that there were only tenths of a second between drivers, making the competition even more fierce.

The shouts continued exchanging between the engineer and the driver, and the girl began to sympathize with Vettel. While she understood the position Alex had to maintain, at the same time, she was aware that he was risking his performance, annoying him and adding even more pressure to the equation.

"You can't just make rookie mistakes at this stage, Vettel! I need you to perform a fast lap. Take advantage now that there's no traffic."

The guy just accepted the order, frustrated with the behavior he was getting from his engineer. It wasn't the first time he had spoken to him like that, but it definitely seemed like his typical qualifying anger was exacerbated by the absence of a certain girl the day before.

Sebastian continued pressing as much as he could, cutting every corner and straightening every turn, trying not to make too many corrections due to the rain, and even overtaking those who were in his way on his lap, even when they were at high speeds and he could risk losing control of the vehicle.

Diana began to feel panic at that moment. He shouldn't risk so much because he could crash or go off the track at any moment.

But we're talking about Sebastian Vettel. Of course, he would try to be the best.

When the session timer hit zero, and the guy crossed the checkered flag, he immediately found himself in the third position. Diana felt immense relief and also a subdued excitement, seeing that Seb had advanced to the final qualifying session.

The path to the pole position was close, and everyone at Toro Rosso was aware of it. Now, more than ever, the Austrian could sense how tense her boss was. The good thing was that his nerves seemed to be under control, as all he did was send encouragement and opponent data to the German.

"Come on, Seb, the pole is yours! Just concentrate and don't think about anything or anyone else."

"Thanks for reminding me, Alex. I was already starting to think about what I would do tomorrow when I won the race," Vettel replied sarcastically.

Diana couldn't help but silently laugh at Sebastian's comment. She didn't understand how, despite the pressure, he always found a way to maintain his sense of humor.

"Sebastian, don't say or do stupid things," Alex scolded him. "We need a bit more time to secure P1 for tomorrow. Hamilton is getting closer to your times quite rapidly."

"I'm trying my fucking best, okay?"

The tension increased with each passing second, and Diana couldn't take her eyes off the screen, following every move the German made on the track. The girl silently prayed, hoping that everything would finally go well for both the guy and her team.

"Seb, the pole position is yours!" the engineer shouted, gripping the microphone tightly as he stood up. "You're the best, you've done incredible!"

The girl felt a wave of joy and, why not say it, relief, upon hearing that Vettel had secured the first position on the grid for tomorrow's race. She was impressed by the guy's skills: it was undeniable that the Toro Rosso didn't measure up to other cars, so this was an impressive achievement and, especially, a reason to celebrate for the whole team.

All team members started celebrating immediately, leaving all their belongings on any surface they found on their way to parc fermé. Everyone was ecstatic, and Diana was no exception. With a smile that covered her entire face, the girl made a motion to get up to join her colleagues and, above all, congratulate the driver on his first major achievement in Formula 1.

Before she could even get up from her seat, Fiori was already in front of her, arms crossed, giving her a cold and disdainful look.

"Where do you think you're going, Wagner? I hope it's not where I think it is. You better stay here. You have no place in the celebration."

Diana felt a bit confused and, above all, hurt by the man's comment. She was aware that she wasn't a favorite among some staff members, including Alex, but the way he belittled her made her feel like garbage.

"Mr. Fiori, I'm also part of the team," the blonde commented. "I would like to congratulate Sebastian on his achievement."

"You don't need to congratulate him, that's the business of the team members, not interns like you. Just stay here and clean everything up. I don't care what time you finish, I want everything to look perfect tomorrow."

The intern nodded with a lump in her throat. She wanted to shout a thousand things at that Italian man who made her feel worse and was, in part, the main reason she wanted to give up on everything she had ever dreamed of. It was clear that all kinds of sexist comments bothered her. The treatment she received, and that she had just received, as if she were a mere servant, made her feel like she was living in Cinderella's story, except that she didn't have evil stepmothers or stepsisters, and of course not a prince charming to save her or, at least, help her.

Hours passed and the rain continued to fall vigorously. Despite this, the party for Toro Rosso did not stop and, as she heard from some people who approached to take their personal belongings, it would move to a nearby bar.

Diana felt a little more at ease when everyone left. Slowly, she went from picking up tools, office supplies and even some pieces of the cars, to sweeping and mopping the floor, ending up cleaning the bathrooms, which seemed not to have received bleach since they were created. It might seem a bit strange, but that was serving the girl to clear her mind and forget everything she had been told and done over six arduous months.

Feeling displaced was an understatement, and she knew she had to do something about it. Her stubbornness and, especially, the fear of losing everything made the Austrian not dare to challenge Alex's authority. She feared that if she didn't comply with what was asked of her, she would be kicked out of her position in the internship program, and an opportunity like that would be hard to come by again.

In those moments, surrounded by the noise of falling drops and the hum of the air carrying a fallen leaf from the trees, she realized she was alone and always would be.

She was the only thing she had in her life, and she had to protect it; breaking down or giving up at the slightest thing was an unviable option.

She had to fulfill a dream and couldn't afford to believe the comments she received every day because, in the end, each and every one of them was a lie.

"Hey, are you here?"

The young woman turned towards the garage entrance and saw Sebastian dressed in a gray team-logo T-shirt, jeans, and a completely wet umbrella in his right hand. His gaze seemed sad, and he appeared concerned for the girl in front of him.

"You shouldn't stay alone here, especially with this shity weather," the driver declared entering the place.

Wagner tried to force a smile, although she couldn't pretend in front of the only person she didn't consider a threat there. Her tears threatened to escape, but she controlled herself enough not to break down.

"I'm fine, Sebastian," the blonde tried to disguise. "Don't worry about me. I just have a couple of things left to pick up, and then I'll head back to the hotel."

"I know you're very smart, that's why I know you know, as much as I do, that you shouldn't be doing this," the guy spat out seriously. "It's not your responsibility: there are people from the cleaning department who take care of it." He approached the girl and embraced her. "You should be at the dive bar we were at, drinking tequila shots and celebrating with the rest of the team that I got a pole position."

"And the first one, by the way," Diana received an unfriendly look from the German, hinting that she should stop making excuses. "Fiori told me to stay here, and I didn't want to intrude on that celebration that seems so important to keep exclusively for team members."

Sebastian felt even worse for the girl. He had heard through his radio everything Alex had said to her before the start of the qualifying, and, even though he was aware that she had been mistreated and belittled by her engineer for a few months now, he now felt very guilty about it. Also, leaving her hanging because he got caught up in a phone conversation didn't help his mood.

"You don't have to listen to Alex. You're part of the team no matter what they tell you, and you have the right to come with us."

"Sebastian," the girl lowered her gaze, trying to calm herself, "I don't want to cause trouble or bother anyone. I'm here to learn and be useful."

"You are useful, Di," Vettel put a hand on her shoulder and lifted her chin to make her look at him, "it's just that no one, apart from me, has seen what you're capable of yet."

The Austrian could see sincerity in Sebastian Vettel's eyes. She was still a little hurt because she had been waiting for him for hours, excited because finally, she could do something different than just going to the hotel, but she knew that there was finally someone who supported her, and, above all, that she wasn't alone.

Perhaps, Wagner thought, she finally had a friend.

"Thank you, Seb... Sebastian, I mean," she expressed with gratitude, correcting herself quickly.

"You can call me Seb. My inner circle calls me like that," the driver explained, "all thanks to my sister Lara. She's ten, but if you saw her with Mick... They seem like two completely different people despite being born just a year apart."

Diana didn't understand much but she just nodded, confirming what the driver had said. She was almost finished mopping the floor, and that meant it was time to take her belongings and go back to her hotel. Tomorrow was race day, and they had to be ready early in the morning.

Both of them made sure everything was perfect and headed toward the exit of the paddock at a calmer pace than they should have. The night was colder than usual, bothering Diana a bit, who was surprised at Sebastian's ability to endure such low temperatures.

Without a doubt, that guy surprised her quite a bit.

"Are you leaving now?"

Vettel stopped a few meters from the girl, looking at her intently. He was heading to the parking lot, and he thought Wagner would too. It was not just a matter of weather conditions, but also the late hours of the night.

"Yes," Diana objected. "My hotel is about half an hour from here. If I hurry, I'm sure I'll be there by ten-something."

"No way you're going to go alone so late," the German replied. "There are a lot of crazy people out there and I don't want anything to happen to my favorite paddock girl before I win my first race."

"Seb, I'm serious," she thanked him, "but I can do it for myself. I do this every weekend, and nothing has happened to me."

Sebastian tilted his head, imperceptible at the words coming out of the girl's mouth.

"No, nothing has happened to you yet," he insisted. "From now on, I don't care what you say or any excuse you come up with, you're going to have a chauffeur and a bodyguard."

Wagner reluctantly accepted her companion's offer, knowing that arguing with him made no sense.

The car journey was enjoyable, and deep down, Diana was thankful that Sebastian had insisted on taking her to the hotel. The night was darker than usual, and the rain had left many streams and puddles of water that were hard to avoid walking. The temperature had dropped noticeably, something she could feel from the cold air seeping through the windows of the BMW that Vettel was driving.

"Thanks for bringing me, Seb," the girl said from the passenger seat. "I have to admit you were right. It would have taken me much longer if I had walked."

The blonde didn't say anything. Instead, he turned on the radio, and a soft melody, the first chords of Viva la Vida by Coldplay, began to resonate throughout the vehicle. Diana, who declared herself an absolute fan of the band, just started humming the song quietly, feeling embarrassed about her own voice.

The driver, glancing at the girl but keeping his eyes on the road, couldn't help but be moved by the scene he was witnessing. He didn't know Wagner well, but he knew she was a girl worth getting to know, and over time, they would become good friends.

"Do you like this song?" Sebastian asked Diana.

The girl just nodded and said it was one of her favorites. Vettel, on the other hand, turned up the volume of the song, which was now at the chorus.

"Come on, sing!" Seb encouraged her. "No need to be shy. It's just you and me."

Diana began to let herself be carried away by the confidence that Sebastian had inspired in her and started singing softly, letting the music fill her. Gradually, her singing voice became louder and more confident, leaving her shyness behind.

"See? I told you, you have an incredible voice!" Sebastian affirmed, utterly captivated by the girl's voice.

Blondie blushed at her companion's comment, but she continued singing enthusiastically. Soon enough, Seb joined the impromptu concert, which, along with the sound of rain hitting the metal roof, mixed with the music and their laughter, created an atmosphere they had never experienced before. They had only known each other for a few months, but at that moment, they felt like they had known each other their whole lives.

The car finally stopped in front of the hotel entrance. Quickly, they were greeted by a valet to whom Sebastian handed over the keys and a tip, which was greatly appreciated. Before Diana could get out of the vehicle, the driver rushed to go and open her door, a gesture that surprised the girl quite a bit. She knew about Vettel's flirtatious side, but the romantic side, not so much.

"Well, thanks for bringing me, Seb. It's time for me to go to sleep because, in case you forgot, I have to be well-rested to see you win your first race."

The German laughed at the clarification, although a bit sad to have to say goodbye to Diana already.

"None of that," he shook his head, "I want to make sure my Cinderella gets safely to her quarters."

The young woman nodded, and both started walking toward the hotel entrance. Throughout the walk to Wagner's room, silence settled between them, and neither seemed to want to break it. They hadn't spent the whole day together, but the hours they had shared had been incredible, and now neither wanted to say goodbye to the other.

As soon as they reached room 374, both knew that the farewell was imminent. Diana, who refused to accept that, opened the door and let the boy in, who accepted without any hesitation.

"Hey, Seb, about yesterday..."

Sebastian felt embarrassed. He knew he shouldn't have left her hanging, but the call lasted longer than expected, no matter how much he insisted that he already had plans with someone.

"Don't worry, Di," Vettel interrupted. "It's entirely my fault, and I apologize. An old friend called me, and I lost track of time."

Wagner took off her shoes and sat on her bed while continuing to listen to the blonde. Maybe it affected him that she had stood him up, but in the end, being so absent-minded, the same would have happened to her if she had gotten caught up in a conversation with her father and her sister.

"What's your friend's name?," Diana wanted to know.

"Hanna."

"Well, Hanna is a lucky girl," the blonde said candidly, ignoring the discomfort the guy was showing. "I bet we all would all like to have a friend like you: you can drive a car at around 300 kilometers per hour, you endure the cold perfectly, and you know more than one language, I wish I could!"

Sebastian laughed, although the guilt of hiding Hanna's true identity was eating at him. He wanted to be honest with Diana, and at the same time, he wanted to continue respecting his girlfriend's wish that no one knew about them, for now.

"But didn't you know more than one language?," Seb wanted to know.

"Yes: German, English, Spanish, and, if you consider it a language, Catalan."

"You're a catch, and I'm tremendously grateful to have you on my team, Di," Vettel asserted. "Fiori and everyone else may be jerks to you, but rest assured that next year, when I move to Red Bull, I'll fight to have you come with me," Diana looked at him in amazement. "No kidding, okay? I've talked to Britta and we've set in my pre-contract that one of the requirements is your transfer next year, with me. I have to talk to Horner about it," he declared, "but I know he'll be more than happy to agree."

Diana paled at that. Sometimes she forgot that her path in the next season was a bit uncertain, but she tried not to think about it and ruin moments like the one she was experiencing now.

She didn't know if she should ask, but Wagner decided to take the risk:

"Would you like to stay here, with me, for a while? We can keep talking or watch something on TV, but if you're too tired I understand if you want to go back to your hotel."

"Are you sure of what you're saying, Diana Wagner?"

"Absolutely, Sebastian Vettel."

Both young people spent almost until the early hours of the morning talking mainly about the race the next day, exchanging some strategies that, undoubtedly, couldn't be taken into account due to Diana's position as an intern. Seb, who had discovered that his new friend was more than just a pretty face in the first days of her arrival, realized that she knew more than she seemed, and many of her ideas were a thousand times better than Alex's.

They continued chatting until, around one thirty in the morning, exhaustion made Sebastian fall asleep on Diana's bed, who followed suit shortly after.

Maybe Hanna Prater would never find out that, the night before Sebastian's first victory, he spent it with the love of his life. His true love. They didn't do anything beyond talking, but they did get to know each other a little more, and maybe they began to develop feelings for each other. Although it was still early to know for sure.

However, there is a very famous saying that is often said, and that both young people in that hotel room had overlooked: never say never.

#formula 1 #sebastian vettel #sv5 #f1 #formula one #sebastian vettel x reader #formula 1 x reader #vettel #toro rosso #sebastian vettel x oc #sebastian vettel x female oc #sebastian vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel fanfiction #sebastian vettel x you #formula 1 fanfic #formula 1 fanfiction #diana vettel #diana wagner #history #history sebastian vettel #f1 fanfic #f1 fanfiction #f1 fic

[the1975attheirverybest]

TEN YEARS

A/N: Since it's looking like we won't be getting a livestream of the Leeds show tonight, and since I have a crazy few days coming up starting tomorrow, I wanted to post a little something to keep y'all happy while I get my schedule together and to also celebrate ST and last night! short, sweet, no plot, just vibes.

Warnings: none, except maybe typos (i have no clue where my glasses are)

----

She could hear her heartbeat in her ears despite the chattering crowds all around her. "Excuse me- could I just" mumbling apologies as she squeezed past the masses of giddy, sweaty, emotional, and excited fans. She could blame the ones who were struggling to keep from crying, or the ones who were immediately recounting the events they'd just witnessed onstage for fear of their memories eroding as the night came to a close, or maybe to make sure that what they'd experienced was actually real, that other people saw it too. In fact, she felt the same way and would've wanted to stick around and take it all in, if it weren't for her insatiable desire to lay her hands on Matty as soon as humanly possible.

She felt the butterflies flutter in her stomach, her anticipation and impatience spurred on by the glimpses and fragments of conversation that reached her ears from people around her.

"He looked so good in that leather jacket-" someone behind her had observed.

"I'm glad he took it off though. Cuz, arms? hello!"

somewhere from the center of the crowd, an overstimulated, antsy woman yelled out,

"but can we talk about Ross's hair?! I love him."

"I mean, I knew they weren't going to play antichrist, cuz Matty is evil, but at least give us fallingforyou?"

"bro, no matter what he does, you're never happy. he can't win at this point."

"ten years! it's been ten years! 2014 me, scrolling black and white tumblr would lose her shit if he could see this."

the smile that had plastered across her face grew wider with every comment she overheard. Though the walk to the backstage area wasn't long earlier in the day, when she'd wandered around, watching the backline tech and the crew set things up, right now, it felt miles away. Finally, too impatient to do things responsibly, she jumped the safety barrier and landed on the other side. giggling to herself as she sprinted to find the boys.

Her airy giggles broke into a fit of laughter when she spotted the four of them, dress in all black, huddled into a corner, whispering and laughing like children. Matty turned around at the clomping of her footsteps, a grin on his face.

"Babe-" was all he'd managed to say before she'd jumped into his arms with the full force of her body, laughing uncontrollably into his ear as she panted, breathless.

Matty's arms wrapped around her waist, picking her up, off the floor, and spinning around in circles, giggling until they were both dizzy.

"You- you did it!" was the first thing she could think to say, still out of breath and heaving, she pressed her lips to his, clumsily crashing into him. Her feet unsteady, and her head still dizzy, she chuckled when their teeth collided.

Remnants of Matty's aftershave still clung to his shirt. She could taste the cigarettes he'd smoked onstage and the drink he'd sipped on. She buried her face into him for a moment, leaning her body against his as she came down from the adrenalin high, then, with her feet firmly on the ground, she turned to face the boys.

"Congratulations! how're we feeling?"

chatter broke out again as they interrupted each other, answering her questions, describing the view from the stage, George boasting that his drum riser was the best spot up there, and Matty, restless as ever, re-enacting his moves.

"Ross, I, um, have some news." she looked up into his eyes, a gentle hand pressed on top of his. "Two people were injured, five lost consciousness. Your hair killed the entire front row." Ross's initial concern gave way to an innocent laugh, his head tilted upwards, his pearlescent smile drawing a dimple on his cheek.

"He knows, he knows." Adam patted Ross's back prompting Matty to reach over and pull the hair tie out of ross's hair. "glorious lions mane. He does it for the ladies."

***

She couldn't help but smile against the soft fabric of Matty's hoodie, clinging to him harder and letting her body sway along with his as he danced to the Killer's song from the side of the stage.

"Sorry, I'll calm down." Matty whispered down to her.

"No, no! Please don't. I love it when you like the music."

Hw wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her body against his and moving them both to the rhythm of the music.

"Matty? You happy?" she looked up at his eyes and saw his answer before he even spoke.

"So happy."

"Good. I mean, you looked like you were having fun up there."

"'course I was. I mean, we used to come here as kids-"

George laid a hand on his shoulder squeezing it lightly, "oh, here it comes." playfully rolling his eyes.

"same old story." Ross mumbled.

"oh about how he came to Reading instead of picking up exam results?" Adam giggled.

Matty laughed, telling them to fuck off, before looking back down at her. "Yeah, I'm happy."

"And you get to do it all again tomorrow." she planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I know. How lucky am I?"

#matty healy #matty healy one shot #matty healy fanfiction #matty healy fanfic #matty healy x y/n #matty healy x reader #matty healy x you

[lilacliquors]

pairing: billy butcher x reader

sweet or spicy: spicy

word count: 975

prompt: [MUFFLE]: sender puts their hand over receiver's mouth to keep them quiet - billy butcher x reader

notes: here's day four! thanks for all the love on yesterday's smoke fluff piece, i had such a nice time writing that one &lt;3

it was supposed to be a simple infiltration. you and butcher were supposed to go in, get intel, get out. that was all mallory wanted from you, and yet, you couldn’t accomplish something so small. you just had to go and look so incredibly irresistible, you just had to attract the attention of several supes, let them whisk you away, chat you up … you were enjoying the attention, it wasn’t hard to deny. you’d never been the center of it before, but if there was anyone with a jealous streak to rival the essence of envy itself, it was billy butcher. he was damn near close to shattering the champagne flute in his hand as he saw you laughing at something someone had said to you. he could feel the vein in his forehead pop, his jaw clenched, and that was enough for him. you had no right to be enjoying yourself with anyone but him. and this wasn’t even supposed to be a fun time. dropping his glass off on a waiter’s empty tray, he made his way to you, grabbing your arm gently, though it was clear in his eyes he meant business.

“sorry, need to borrow them for a brief spell,” he said, and the way his eyes narrowed, you could tell he was practically begging for a challenge. when no one stopped him, he nodded with a humorless smile and tugged you away. he didn’t stop marching with you until you reached a secluded office. he pushed you inside and followed, shutting the door behind him.

“the fuck do you think you’re doing?” he snapped.

“sweet talking a few dipshits. what does it look like?” you asked, rolling your eyes.

“looks like you’re whoring yourself out to people who aren’t me. and we can’t have that, now can we?” he asked, his voice dangerously low.

“what’re you gonna do about it?” you asked, your hands settling on your hips. you two glared at one another, and he grabbed you again, hardly giving you time to react. he pressed you up against the desk, face down, and he hiked the skirt of your dress up.

“‘m gonna show you why you shouldn’t be fucking pulling these stunts. actions have consequences,” he growled, and you heard the buckle of his belt come undone. you shivered as his hand dipped between your legs, under your underwear, to tease your already slick folds.

“would you look at that … someone’s enjoying this. or maybe it’s from all those cunts out there? guess we’ll never know,” he murmured, his voice thick with lust. you heard his pants drop, and the groan that came from him could only mean that his hand hand wrapped around his aching cock. you felt his fingers continue to toy with you, and you let out a whimper. your hands gripped the edges of the desk as the head of his cock teased your folds. his free hand grabbed your hip as he pushed into you, and you mewled. he hadn’t prepped you like he normally did, so the initial entry felt tighter than usual, but it was clear he didn’t care at the moment.

“keep it quiet, don’t need anyone knowing what’s going on in here,” he whispered. he was kind enough to let you adjust to the feeling before he pulled out a bit and began to set a steady pace. gasps left your lips and he thrust into you, his grip bruising as his hips met yours over and over. you were doing a decent job of keeping quiet, until his other hand dropped back between your legs, and his fingertips brushed your clit. a shaky gasp left your lips, followed by whimpers and whines as he let his thumb trace over the sensitive nub, up and down and up and down. you swallowed and nearly groaned, your head bowing as his continued to pound into you. the desk moved along the ground, creaking under the weight of you both, and you felt his arm wrap around your middle to pull you up. he had you pinned against this chest as he fucked into you, and your noises were growing louder and louder. 

“what did i just say?” he grunted in your ear. when you didn’t answer, he slammed his hips into yours, and his hand left your cunt to cover your mouth, muffling your moans. it stayed there as his pace turned brutal, and all you could do was cling to him, your nails scratching his arms.

“that’s it. can’t keep it down, i’ll have to manhandle you. and i know how much you love it, huh?” he panted. you nodded, your eyes rolling back as the muscles in your stomach tensed. your cries were muffled by his hand, and your body shook as your orgasm suddenly rocked your everything. your legs practically gave out, but he kept you upright, clearly not finished with you. he continued to fuck into you through your orgasm, and your oversensitive cries were muted music to his ears. his thrusts grew sloppier over time, with one last powerful thrust, he spilled into you, burying his face against your neck as he groaned. it was a miracle he could keep you both upright, but he managed, and he took a moment to admire the way you looked: fucked out and weak in his arms.

“let that be a lesson to you, hm? not just anyone gets to sweet talk you,” he murmured, pulling his hand away from your mouth. you simply nodded, and he lowered you back down against the desk as he pulled out, making you mewl quietly, which earned you a sharp smack to the ass.

“you just don’t listen, do you?” he asked, and you whined quietly.

“sorry, sorry,” you murmured, and he chuckled.

“oh, you will be …”

#billy butcher x reader #billy butcher smut #billy butcher #billy butcher sweet and spicy special #lilacliquors

[alphabetboyluvr]

throttle - jjk | six

one/ two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight / nine / ten / eleven

warnings - heavy on the angst, we finally learn jungkook's true motives, we learn about what happened to his mother, mentions of death, written before we knew jk's birth time so (1) inaccurate saturn placement, general smut, titty sucking, unprotected sex, very intense breeding thoughts from jk, it's angsty!! he dnf :( sad :(, hair dye, showering, fingering, jungkook's time runs out </3

throttle has 3 defined acts - this is the end of act 1

word count - 20k

minors dni // posted to wp late 2021 // series masterlist

It's warm when you wake.

Daylight pours in through the curtains, of which neither of you bothered to close last night, and it rudely intrudes on the intimacy you've fostered together - yet when the man beside you begins to stir, small squeaks signalling that he's now awake too, you don't seem to mind all that much.

His hair is tousled like the waves of Busan's shoreline, lapping against the sand, adding a soundtrack to the sound of his breathing. You love it when he looks like this; serene and secure in the sanctuary of your company.

Last night's tête-à-tête is a distant memory, chalked up to a misunderstanding between the minds of two lovers who aren't yet aligned, but are getting pretty close to it. Rome wasn't built in a day, and nor was any love worth withstanding the test of time.

You're still learning about one another. Prior to last night, you knew nothing of Jungkook's romantic past, and while part of you is smug to have your initial assumptions about him proven right, it also makes your chest feel all heavy, too. Melancholic, almost, but you think it sounds far too poetic.

When you're met with his drowsy morning gaze - all puffy and unable to open in the way his eyes typically do - you can't imagine anyone ever wanting to hurt him. The thought of his eyes turning black when he looks at you, instead of their usual deep chocolate brown, has the chime in your stomach ringing like an alarm bell. You never want that. Ever.

He yawns, and says good morning to you with a smile that seems almost surprised to still see you in the sheets with him. He pulls you a little closer, nestles his nose to the crown of your head and inhales. He'll never get sick of that scent. Sick of you.

You're like gasoline spilt in the forecourts before a spring shower. It'll wrangle with the puddles of rain, which will pour and pour and pour - but still, it'll remain. An iridescent rainbow that refuses to fade.

You'll never wash away, he thinks. Forevermore; eternal.

He knows, just like you predicted, that he'll think of you whenever he passes gasoline puddles. Five, ten, twenty years from now. It won't matter how distant the memory of your laughter becomes, nor if he even remembers the colour of your skin as it blushes after a few too many drinks.

What he will remember is how your hair always smelt like gasoline.

It's a gateway drug to everything you are. One sniff; he's hooked.

Though he doesn't wish for death often, he hopes that when he does go, it'll be in his car. Hopes that an oil slick on a wet road will be the reason why. He'll smile as he thinks of you for one final time.

You'll get your vengeance, love.

But why waste time thinking of the inevitable future, when he could just revel in the present?

He's the first to suggest sleeping in, staying together, for a little bit longer.

"I'll call my dad, see if we can switch to this afternoon instead. You cool to run your errands in the afternoon? I'll take you to that place I wanna show you this morning. Then you're free to do as you please with your day."

A nod grants permission for him to set about altering his plans, and you watch him with curious intrigue as he opens up his contacts and heads straight for his father. You don't even have your father's number, anymore.

It's oddly comforting to hear Jungkook on the phone with his dad. The call is short, more formalities than anything, but you can hear his father's voice vibrate through the speaker.

You're integrated into Jungkook's life, now, you think. You're a part of family affairs, his plans, without even so much as a second thought given.

'Thank you' seems like a strange thing to say, but you consider it.

His openness with you is rancid. So sweet, so sickly; enough sugar to rot even the most frigid of hearts.

It makes you wanna tell him everything; who your father is, and how you can't call him anymore. You think Jungkook would understand, or at least he'd try to - and that would be the most meaningful thing a man has done for you in quite some time (though you're sure Yoongi would disagree, and cite one of the many things he's done for you that have gone unnoticed).

The words you want to say to Jungkook are lost in the feather down quilt, expert seams flawlessly keeping the pair of you pristine. It's like a shield, in a way. The world can't hurt you when you're beneath it. The needlework is exquisite, the finest cotton - Egyptian, you assume, but know better than to ask.

Not because you don't want to know, but because Jungkook hates itches he can't scratch.

He wouldn't have a clue of the sheets origins, but you're almost positive he would ask the reception staff for clarification later that morning, just to be able to give you an answer.

You don't want to trouble his mind with such trivial things. Especially not if it's working as hard as yours seems to be right now. You're counting every thread - two, four, six, eight - just as a way to distract yourself from him.

He's playing with your hair, and asking about your dreams - you didn't have any - and it's getting pretty overwhelming just how much of your brain you seem to be willing to share with him.

Sixteen, thirty-two, sixty-four; you're asking about his, too, and he doesn't hesitate to answer.

He's talking shit about a praying mantis that stalked him as he slept, and reaches for his phone so that you can google what it means together. He doesn't hide his screen, doesn't clear his notifications, doesn't check what he was last searching for to spare himself from embarrassment.

Not that it matters, but he'd been checking to see if Lotte World was open. It's endearing, the way he seems to want to experience life with you. Comforting. Snug.

You lose count of the threads, and you don't care to start again.

"Positive and negative," Jungkook muses over his dream as he scrolls, holding his phone up in front of you both.

His arm is looped around the back of your neck, and you're busy watching the tendons of his wrist flex beneath his skin as his thumb flicks up and down the screen.

There are Seven Natural Wonders of the World, but you think the adjudicators must have gotten it wrong.

They clearly hadn't met Jeon Jungkook.

He's brighter than the Northern Lights; gets you higher than the peak of Mount Everest. More breathtaking than the Grand Canyon, more fire in his heart than Paricutin. Gets you wetter than Victoria Falls, but that's not really what constitutes him as being one of the greatest natural wonders of the world (though it surely helps). He rivals the Great Barrier Reef, and Guanabara Bay; expansive, a facilitator of life, new beginnings.

But the Great Barrier Reef is dying, and Guanabara Bay is the product of erosion. Everest is a death trap, the Grand Canyon too, and Paricutin forced hundreds from their homes. Droughts around Victoria Falls are threatening its very existence, and soon, what once was could be no more.

The only wonder worthy of comparison to Jeon Jungkook is Aurora Borealis. They burn brighter than before, making their way through their eleven-year cycle undisturbed, undimmed. They're magic in the mundane, and so is he.

He hums, unaware of how you're romanticising him to be far more than what he is, and it sounds like he's frowning. You reach over, thoughts absent, and take his phone to continue reading for him.

"To dream of a praying mantis could mean many things," you recite mindlessly. "Firstly, it could indicate that you need to remain calm and assess situations before you dive right in. Be patient. Alternatively, it could indicate that you are preying on others. Have you been calculated recently? Devious? Perhaps reflection is due. There are positive indications associated with the insect, though. A baby praying mantis suggests a bright, wise future ahead. To dream of being attacked by a praying mantis suggests that you are faced with a test that you are strong enough to pass."

You ignore all the bad, because of course you do, pass him back his phone and say, "see? Nothing to worry about."

He locks his phone, and lets it drop down onto the bed. The hushed clunk of it hitting your sheets is drowned out by his voice, all dulcet and dreamy in your ear.

"Wasn't worried, baby. Got you here with me." His lips press against your temple. "I got you."

Hook, line and sinker. Yeah, he's got you good.

But within half an hour he's got you coming undone; got you mewling his name, got you gripping his neck as he fucks himself into you like he always does so well. He's got you where he wants you, got you in missionary 'cause of that one time you lied and said it was your favourite, got your nipples in his mouth 'cause there ain't no way he can have you naked and not indulge himself just a little bit.

Jungkook has you. Has his way with you.

But you have him, too; have him whispering how gorgeous you sound, how much he loves the way you feel.

You have him coming undone.

Perhaps, neither of you 'have' nor 'has' the other.

Perhaps, you aren't commodities to be owned.

If anyone was to own you, though, you think you'd quite like it to be him. You think he'd keep you forever. He once said he would, so it's not like it's a foolish thing to daydream about.

And so you do just that as he weaves through traffic in the hustle and bustle of Busan. You think he's mad for choosing to drive instead of just getting the subway, but Busan is spread out so far that it would have taken a handful of changes to get to where he's taking you.

He's still not told you where you're going. Even when you ask for a dress code, he simply says, "as you are, baby. You're perfect."

He calls you baby a lot lately.

It used to just be when you were naked, but he calls you baby when you're all wrapped up now, too. When he puts his hand on the small of your back, to guide you in whichever direction he wants, and when he pulls your hand to rest on the gear stick beneath his, it's 'baby' that he hums.

In fact, he calls you baby so much that CC has taken a backseat.

The radio drones through the speakers, neither of you connecting to the aux. It's all very grown-up, you think, listening to the traffic news, and whatever is currently charting. It doesn't hit in the same way that your playlists do, but it reminds you of driving to the coast with your parents as a kid. The memories are fond - cherished by you - and it's how you like to think of your family.

Or at least it is, until the disk jockey segues into the morning news. There's the usual mindless garbage, celebrity gossip, upcoming festivals and community events - and then there's politics.

"The Mayor of Daegu Metropoli-" is as far as the broadcaster gets before you change the station. Jungkook doesn't react initially. In fact, it takes him a few seconds to reply, and when he does, it's inconspicuous.

"Not into politics?"

"Not into politics."

You're sharp as you deliver the lie, and Jungkook can feel the blade of your tongue slice his heart. He's deserving of it, admittedly, but you aren't aware of that. Not yet.

He switches the radio back. "I am."

You want to be sick, but you put it down to the fact that Jungkook drives a little faster than he really should do, and that breakfast had been substituted for sex. "You are?"

"Uh-huh."

Silence resume as you listen to the broadcaster. It's an innocent report about cities linking for eco-initiatives. Apparently, Daddy dearest will be visiting Busan just as you're leaving. It's an odd thought. You've taken pride in not keeping tabs, and yet here you are, wondering if you'll pass his car on Monday morning as you leave the city and he enters it. Unlikely.

A possibility, but unlikely.

When you pull your hand back to your lap from beneath his, Jungkook lets you. It's a call for attention. You want to see what he does. Want him to pull it back, want him to question why you've pulled it away - but he doesn't.

Instead, he talks.

"I hate politics," he admits. There's a sternness to his face. An honesty. "I can't name you a single politician who actually seems to care about the communities they represent. They're bastards," his voice quietens. "The lot of 'em."

Only then does he reach for your hand, again. He's the one searching for comfort, now.

There's something about the way Jungkook doesn't look at you, but grips your hand far tighter than he had done before, that has you concerned. It's unlike him.

"I agree," you tell him. "S'why I don't care for it."

He nods, pulling his bottom lip beneath his teeth, as if he's trying to stop a secret from coming out.

You wouldn't mind if one did. You'd quite like to know his secrets - even the deep, dark, scary ones. Especially those ones, actually. His jaw rocks gently, the pillow of his lip being massaged by his teeth, eyes hard on the horizon line.

"Probably should have given you a little warning as to where we're going," he eventually divulges, pouting his lips and letting air squeak through them as he inhales a breath.

Your lift your brows and furrow them slightly. "Why's that?"

The question is answered as soon as he flicks his indicator on. You look to the sign above the highway, and that's when you realise you're going off the beaten track. There's only one destination listed on the reflective sheet of metal: a marine life conservation hub.

Something tells you that you're not headed towards the marine life conservation hub.

Something - or someone- by the name of Jeon Jungkook, and the way as soon as his indicator is flicked off, his hand is holding yours oh-so-tightly, again.

Your eyes follow the trajectory of the road, and the small row of parking spaces covered in fine gravel. You're partway up a short mountain, and you know exactly why you're here.

Mounds of earth rest neat and uniform on the mountainsides, clustered together, decades of tradition lacing the soil. There's a small path that stretches to the upper elevation, where a set of mounds lie perfectly still, small statues and floral arrangements decorating them in the most beautiful of ways.

You know hillsides like these. It's been a while since you last visited one, but the memories of places like this tend to haunt people.

He doesn't reply to your earlier question. He doesn't need to. You already know exactly where you are.

His name escapes your lips, voice quiet, but pacifying. You rub his thumb with yours, which only makes him squeeze your small hand even tighter.

He's silent, but he's hoping you know that he's sorry.

Sorry for a whole host of things. Too many to list. This - taking you to a fucking graveyard unannounced and non-consenting - is what he's currently apologising for in the guise of silent squeezes.

"Your mum?" You ask, as he pulls into a space on the gravel parking lot.

He's only mentioned her once, and the fact that she would have been 'rolling in her grave' at the thought of him being rude to you. You'd clocked it at the time, but had never dared ask since. Figured that when he was ready, he would tell you. Seems like he might just be ready.

Jungkook nods, and when he looks at you, he seems younger. Eyes wider, searching for refuge; finding it in you.

"Mum."

When he makes no attempt to move, seemingly a little frozen in place, it's you who starts to squeeze his hand right back. "You wanna go see her?"

And again, he nods. There's a bottle of soju in the back from one of his many GS25 trips, so you reach for it, knowing that there was no way the pair of you could visit somewhere of such importance without an offering of some kind. He whispers a thank you, as if you've done something of value. It's just soju, and it's his, regardless. You wish you would have known. You'd have insisted on picking up banchan, or something more substantial.

There's reluctance as he leads the pair of you, second-guessing his every step. It's important that he shows you this part of him, although, when he thinks about it, he's sure he could have just explained it. Over a coffee, or on a walk by the river. He didn't need to be so dramatic about it all. The past has happened, and he lives with the consequences.

But that's this thing - the past has happened, and Jungkook is still living with the weight of it like it was just yesterday. The consequences of it rule his daily life. He needs to show you, because simply telling you wouldn't have been justice enough.

His mother's grave is well-kept. Tended to. The flowers - large, white, and glorious, though you're not sure what kind - are wilting slightly, but are fresh enough to put the dead foliage of the winter mountain to shame. The mound above her is small, so you think that perhaps she was, too.

You just can't help yourself, can you? Another assumption made.

Your thoughts are cut short as he reaches for the bottle of soju from your hands, and nods towards the small ceramic dish that's been collecting rainwater. Supplies are low - the winter is incredibly dry, and had it not been for a storm that blew in a few days ago, it would be empty.

"Can you?" he asks, but doesn't finish. You let go of the soju bottle which is now secure in his hands, and head towards the direction of his nod, to rinse off the flat stone ready for offerings - though a cap full of soju doesn't feel like enough.

He walks further ahead, while you tend to the service stone, pouring soju into the bottle cap, and tossing it in the woodland as an offering to the mountain God; a thank you for watching over his mother. It's been too long since he last visited. Things have just gotten so busy, and he's under so much pressure. He can't think straight, let alone do anything that makes any sense and - oh God, the weight of it all - it's all just too much. He can't handle it. Refuses to. If he could scream right, he would - but nothing comes out.

His lungs are heavy in his chest, heart pounding. He doesn't know why he gets like this. He thinks it's the guilt; the fact that his mother would hate what he's become. She didn't raise him to be like this. Vengeance wasn't part of her vocabulary. She was kind, and she was considerate, and she cared so deeply about him.

In a lot of ways, you remind him of her. The acknowledgement of this only serves to make him feel worse.

When he finally turns to face you again, you're waiting by her grave, watching him with curiosity. You've been to many graves, but only ever those of your own family members. Never somebody else's. Traditions vary, and you don't wanna do anything that he wouldn't appreciate.

It had always been the same in your family; the eldest men bowed first, down through to the youngest, and the women watched on. The respect of women wasn't worth anything, you see.

As Jungkook comes to stand beside you, he takes your hand, positioning you directly next to him.

"Will you do it with me?" he asks so timidly that it almost doesn't sound like him. "Please?"

You're hesitant. It's a big ask, not because it's a difficult task, but because you know the first bows are always reserved for those closest to the deceased.

"I never normally do it alone," he adds, noticing your reluctance. "I'm normally with my brother. I just... I don't want to do it alone. I'm no good at shi-" he cuts himself off, not wanting to curse. "I'm no good at stuff like this."

It's a request you can't refuse. You follow his lead, getting to your knees, torso folding to the earth as a sign of utmost respect. He holds his bow for longer than you expect, but you match it second for second. He rises and repeats. You follow suit.

You think it's important that you don't overstep boundaries, not in a place so sacred to the boy beside you, so you let him take the lead. Not once do you move before him, but when he resumes to a seated position, you turn your body to face down the mountain.

It's not tradition, not really, but it feels like the best way to honour his mother; to provide her time with her son, but still offer support should he need it.

"I'm not doing recitals," Jungkook says tenderly, a pain in his chest pinching and soothing when he sees what you've done. "You don't have to face that way."

But you shake your head.

"I do," you reply with so much kindness in your voice that Jungkook thinks it's a wonder he hasn't melted and become at one with the earth, too. "Just pretend like I'm not here."

He wants to laugh at such an instruction. How the hell could he be expected to ignore you, when the way he feels about you burns brighter than the North Star whenever you're close by.

Instead, he just tells you that you're dumb, and sits beside you, facing his mother's grave. You hear him unscrew the cap of the bottle, metal cracking just how it always does upon its first few opens, followed by a small glug.

You twist your head, and catch him pouring soju into the bottle cap, before he places it in front of his mother. He nods towards her, as if she could actually see him once more, then brings his arms to hug around his knees, pulled tight to his chest. The bottle is still in his hand, so he takes a swig. There's a faint grimace as he swallows it back, and then he passes the bottle over his shoulder to you.

It's kindly received, and his actions are mirrored by you once more, a shot finding its home in your throat. The soju is lukewarm, the heat of his clammy hands altering the temperature.

The bottle is passed back and forth, Jungkook silent as he tries to muster the courage to speak up. There's so much he wishes he could say, but so little that feels safe to divulge. It's not until the bottle is halfway done that he seems to have the strength.

"It's been four years," Jungkook eventually says. You stay silent, the words you want to say threading through your lips like cotton through a needle, keeping your mouth shut. Nothing that could be said would make any of this any better for him. "Doesn't get any easier."

Instead, you lean your head on his shoulder. You're still looking down the mountain, and he's facing up towards the peak. His head rests against yours, and there's comfort to be found in his posture. The support he feels from you goes beyond that of physical.

"It was a long time coming, so we had time to prepare," he adds.

He brought you here because he wanted to share this part of himself with you, so he knows he needs to make the effort to actually speak up. Nothing cryptic. No half-truths.

"How can you prepare a kid for that, though? 'Hey Kook, mum's really sick'," he imitates the voice of his older brother. "'Probably won't make it through the winter'. She did, though. Make it through winter, that is. The hospital couldn't figure out what was wrong with her for the life of them. First, they said it was a pancreatic thing, then decided it was liver. Kidneys, bladder - you name it, they tried to pinpoint it as that. Round and round in fucking circles. So much time wasted. Years. I was 14 when she first got sick. 19 when she passed."

He lifts his head from yours and hugs his legs tighter into his chest. He hates this mountain. It's like he's got hayfever, even in winter, as his eyes start to warm a little. Realistically, he knows that it's perfectly apt to cry in such a place, but he doesn't want to. Doesn't want his mum to think he's upset. Doesn't want you to think it, either.

Deep down - although really not that far down when he comes to think of it - he's still just that scared boy, knowing he's going to lose the person he loves the most in the world. Funny, how history likes to repeat itself, even if in a slightly different hue. The colours of grief are always the same.

"She ended up getting referred to a specialist in Daegu," he sighs, knowing that he's about to divulge far more than he should.

He's thought about this alot. Thought about what he'd say to you before he knew you - like, really knew you - and how he'd deliver the lines with such venom your throat would swell and you'd choke on the faux pars of your family, just like his mother had.

But none of this was your fault. You were still just a kid, like he was, when all of this transpired.

You had no jurisdiction over budget cuts or the shift patterns of overworked hospital staff. You weren't the one syphoning money out of the public health sector, and you weren't the one who followed orders to treat common symptoms with the same cheap medicine, regardless of the fact it could have been wrong for the patients.

You weren't the one who decided that those who benefitted from the specialist centre were expendable. You weren't the one who cauterised their funding. You weren't the one who ignored the pleas and cries for help from the families of those suffering.

You weren't the negligent medical staff who mistreated Jungkook's mother, and you weren't the man in charge of the budget who decided that her life didn't matter anymore.

But your father was.

And so Jungkook has thought about this moment a lot. He's thought about how he'd tell you that you deserved to lose just as much as he had. He's thought about how he wouldn't feel a damn thing except for satisfaction when your father got his just deserts.

Now that the time has come, however, all he can do is shrug.

"They were great. The staff at the centre in Daegu, I mean. Really fucking great. Genuinely wanted to help - but you know Daegu," is all he could really muster. "They don't have the money for shit like that. And nor did we."

Daegu's local government did, however, have the funds for a fucking waterpark installation, which opened three weeks after the clinic was shut down indefinitely. "We sacrifice the good of the few, for the good of the many," your father had once told you, and it makes you just as sick now as it did back then.

"Anyways," he tries to downplay it, as if the memories don't haunt him. "Funding got cut. Mum got sicker. It was..." he struggles to find the words to articulate just what he went through. "Dad was always a hard ass, yanno? Do your homework, go to school, you wanna end up with a shitty job? Drop out like me! That kind of stuff. It's only 'cause he wanted what was best for us, he just.... didn't really have a nurturing bone in his body. Just how he was built, I guess." He pauses. Gathers his thoughts. Shrugs. "Mum... Mum was soft. Do you need help with your homework? How's school? You can be whatever you want to be. Didn't have a clue what I wanted to be, just knew I wanted to be like her. Seeing her get sick..."

He stops talking. There's a heaviness that looms over him like a cloud blocking the sun in the height of summer. It's stuffy and claustrophobic, yet there's nothing that can be done to ease it.

"The specialist centre treated her for as long as they could, ran as many tests as they could afford, but-" He cuts himself off. "Well, I mean, we're at her grave, aren't we? Doesn't take a genius to work it out."

He doesn't mean to be so scathing with his tone, the words delivered with a snarl typically reserved for his boxing opponents (or Namjoon when he takes the lead in a drag race), it's just that he doesn't know how to articulate himself. Not when it comes to this topic. He's never shared it with anyone before. Never thought he would.

And especially not with you.

There are parts he leaves out. Just little tidbits. Anecdotes, like the way he spent the night his mother died just driving and driving and driving, only coming to a stop when his tank had exhausted the very last drop of gas - at which point he just sat, grief-stricken, cheeks wet until sunrise.

He didn't speak to anyone for weeks. Didn't do anything except fill his tank up, get out of town, and occasionally train at the club. The force of his fists against another person never helped, though. Even beating the shit out of Taehyung didn't lift his spirits.

How he quite ended up in his current predicament is a little more complicated.

It started the same as any other night he'd crawl through the streets, red tail lights leaving a trail that evaporated into nothingness, thanks to the winter fog. Eventually, he ended up in Daegu. It was a common occurrence.

The shadows seemed darker in Daegu; sinners glowing red in the haze of smog and winter frost. It felt like home in a way. Somewhere to hide when he no doubt sold his soul to the Devil.

Sometimes, he'd drive in circles around the affluent streets, just hoping, praying, to see the Mayor out for an evening stroll. Of course, it would be an accident when he put his foot to the floor, full throttle, wheels turning in the Mayor's direction. A freak mishap. A car fault.

And if he were to suffer the same fate as Jungkook's mother? Oh, well what a fucking shame that would have been.

He never did see the Mayor, though. Of course he didn't.

But he did, however, spot Kang's. The light had still been on, drawing him in like a moth to a flame. He knew Kang's, thanks to his club in back in Busan, and he wanted to fight. Wanted to pummel any fucker who voted the Mayor into power. Wanted to break their nose; have them swallowing their teeth.

Of course, seeing a jumped up kid - who, as Namjoon put it, looked 'fresh out of nappies' - with a vendetta against the most powerful man in the city had the older boys amused. Truth be told, they laughed in his fucking face. Told him he was in the wrong place, 'cause there ain't no way any of them would be caught dead voting for that pompous fucking twat.

Jungkook learnt a lot that night; learnt that he wasn't alone in his fight, and that other people had lost unfathomable amounts of their lives, their livelihoods, and their loved ones, as a result of your father, and his wasteful, inhumane policies.

Though not a single one of those boys shared the same story, they all shared the same callous, complacent antagonist.

And they all wanted vengeance.

That wasn't the only thing he learnt that night, mind you. It was also the evening he learnt your name.

It'd be romantic, if the situation had been... well, anything but what it was, really.

He learnt who you were, what you meant to the Mayor, and just how you could be the winning ticket for their vengeance lottery. A plan was devised over a few too many Soju's, and before he knew it, he was playing the long game. They wouldn't initiate the plan for years. Sleeping dogs had to lie, dust had to settle.

There was another election; your father reinstated to his position. Only after then did you stop making public appearances with him, and the rest of your family. You didn't seem to be part of the in-crowd anymore. Didn't really matter to the boys. All that mattered was that you had fewer eyes on you, now. You faded into obscurity; Jungkook into obsession.

See, he's like you in a lot of ways. He makes assumptions, too. Had this whole idea of who you would be mapped out in his head. Pin by pin, you realigned his red string; tied it around his pinky and linked it with yours.

"Dad isn't who he used to be," Jungkook finally admits. His Mother's suffering may have ended with her passing, but his Father's seemed to only begin as hers ended. She passed a baton, Jungkook thinks, and his Dad is still running the race. "Doesn't really talk all that much. Loves to fucking gamble, though. All of her life insurance is gone. Half of my salary goes to the loan sharks that he owes from a bad spot he got himself in a few months ago. S'why I needed to come, had to check that everything was okay and that he hadn't got himself into too much trouble. Nasty fuckers, sharks are."

"How bad is it?" You ask, knowing that sharks are more like parasites. "The sharks, I mean."

"Um," he pauses, and shrugs. There's no way you'll be able to understand what it's like being in financial difficulty. Not a fucking chance. "Pretty bad. They were hounding him to the point where he just locked himself up in the house, wouldn't answer the door for weeks. My brother's just had a kid, he can't afford to help, so I'm stuck footing the bill for the interest Dad's having to pay. 'Bout half my salary. I'm gonna be paying them off till I'm six feet under. Bastards raise the interest whenever they fucking feel like it. I'll never be able to pay it all back, not all of it, and Dad's too fucking out of it to get himself a proper job. Whole situation is fucked."

That's a tiny little lie. Should everything go to plan, he'll have the money he needs to pay the sharks off within a week or two.

Should everything go to plan.

See, this isn't about vengence. Not now. Not anymore. This about surviving the sharks - but Jungkook has blood on his hands, and it makes him so much more tempting.

When you lean your head on his shoulder, comforting and reassuring all in one gesture, he swallows back a sob.

He's sharing all this because he wants - no, needs - you to understand why he made the choices that he did before he knew you. He needs you to know that the guy who is going to fuck you over next week isn't the guy who's been, well, just fucking you for the past couple of months.

He rests his head on yours, hair interlinking, silky and smooth, as if you're one.

The way that he feels about you oozes from him like the blood of a fresh wound; red and hot, sticky and sickening. Yet he knows that he'll never let the wound heal. He'll pick at it like it's a scab, because he'll never want to lose the feeling that the potential of a happy ever after with you gives him.

His body relaxes a little, spine curving, posture sloped. There's no need to remain poised; no need to be anything other than the imperfect version of himself that you seem to like so much.

"I'm so sorry that this happened to you," you whisper, eyes closing to hide the foot of the mountain you're sitting on. It feels so wrong you being here. Feels like you're intruding; encroaching. Perhaps you're the parasite.

The weight that's lifted from Jungkooks shoulders presses itself against your sternum. It cracks your ribs and impales the snapped bones into your heart. It's quite aggresive, you think, for a secret.

They say a problem shared is a problem halved, so if this is only a mere fifty percent of the pain that he's endured, you don't even want to imagine his reality. Now is not a time for pitying yourself, or lamenting the fact that it was your father who ruined Jungkook's life by proxy. You're sure it wasn't your father's intention, but you also know that he wouldn't have cared had he known the impact that his choices would have.

So much is left unsaid. Nothing you can do nor say will erase the hurt caused by the man who provided for you. A private education, wanting for nothing, your heart's desires fulfilled all came at a cost. Jungkook is just one of the many receipts; ripped at the edges, ink faded, paper creased in such a fashion that it can never be undone.

The guilt will weigh on you for eternity.

There's a part of you that wants to tell him. Wants him to know who you are, where you come from, how you ended up here - but you're convinced as soon as he knows, he'll wash his hands of you. Especially now. It feels kinder to just stay silent.

And so you do. You let him process his grief, and follow his lead when he decides that enough time has been spent by his mother's side. There's little chatter as you make your way down the hillside, his hand outstretched whenever you come to a rocky patch, just in case. It seems he doesn't want you to fall.

He also doesn't mind the silence. In fact, he quite likes it. He knows you're probably uncomfortable. Burial sites aren't exactly on the itinerary list of many romantic getaways, and he's not deluding himself about your actual reason for staying silent.

You make assumptions. He knows this, and wonders if you just assume he knows who you are.

But if he tells you - for definite - that he knows, and that it's okay, and that it doesn't change a single thing about the way he feels for you, it'll be game over.

For him, for you, for God knows who else.

By keeping you in the dark, he thinks he's keeping you safe until he can figure a plan that really will ensure your safety.

The drive to the nearest subway station is silent, too. You lie about your errands, and tell him that catching a subway would be easiest, simply for the fact it is closer to you than any of the bus stops.

You just want to be out of the car.

It's not that you don't want to be with him; it's that you do. It feels wrong to lie to him, deceiving him.

Opposites attract, or so they say, but they're wrong. You're birds of a feather, apples that have fallen from the same tree, left to rot in the height of a Daegu summer.

Your day is spent without him, and yet you're utterly consumed. He's in every shop window, his laugh rattling in the exhaust pipe of every shitty car that drives past. There's no escaping Jeon Jungkook. He's not the kind of guy you can just forget.

In fact, you're so consumed by him that all you want to do is head back to your hotel and lay in wait for his return. You don't know when that will be, and refuse to text him when he's spending much needed time with those closest to him, but the idea is so tempting that you find yourself sprawled on the sheets for hours regardless.

Your day is wasted, but you think that days without him are wasted, anyway.

It's nearly seven by the time he gets home. There's a hum as a keycard is tapped outside your door, the metal of the lock grating against itself to bid the intruder of your heart a welcome entry. Your eyes move to the door, because of course they do. Watching the man you... enjoy spending time with come 'home' to you is something that you never realised you would enjoy so much.

You wonder if it's the highlight of his days, too.

The location never matters, for it's in his eyes that your find your home - though 'home' looks a little different when his eyes are all puffy and bloodshot, his dark irises acting like a curtain. The window is covered. He's hiding his soul from you.

Hard to notice, though, when his cheeks are wet, and you mistake that as his biggest vulnerability.

"Hey," you whisper, legs unfolding as you stand and walk towards him. The door shuts by itself, Jungkook not caring for it. He doesn't even toss his bag down; just kind of stands there. Sniffs. Shakes his head, goes to speak, but chokes on his words and how big they feel in his throat. "It's okay, it's okay," you reassure, a hand on his cheek, the other on his collarbone. "You're safe. What's up?"

He leans into your touch, jaw tense, eyes resting shut. It's been a long time coming, and he knows it. Wonders how the fuck he hasn't already broken. He wasn't made for shit like this; for lies and deceit, especially not when it's someone that he really cares for the will suffer the consequences of his actions.

All he wants, all ever seems to want, is to be in the shower with you. Doesn't even care about stripping bare. Wants to be saturated with the promise of purity; in the way he feels for you, how you feel for him, and how your life could be together.

There's nothing inherently sexual about his desire, though he knows he wouldn't be able to resist to the eroticism of having you naked and wet - it's just not his intention. He simply wants to be close to you. Wants to care for you. Wants to wash your hair and rinse you off; ease the burdens of everyday life.

He forgets that water isn't strong enough to cleanse him of his sins. It will run black, always, because of what he's done; what he will do. Like ink bleeding from his tattoos, he'll still be left with scratch marks of the choices he's made; scars in the place of his missteps.

No answer is given to your question. Instead, he sobs a little harder. Hugs you, now. Drops his bag to the floor and holds you so tight he's afraid you might break.

He'd rather this, though.

Rather his affections for you be the breaking point, and not his sheer cowardice that will no doubt shatter your perception of him.

Your arms wrap around his neck, feet strained to the very tips of your toes, your hand in his hair. You've never been good with those who cry; never known how to comfort. It's not your fault. Just how you were raised. Nannys and au pairs were all well and good, but they never had a mother's touch. Your scrapes and scratches got bandaids and banana milk, but never any kisses better.

There's a curious softness to the way your hold Jungkook. There always has been. You've never really understood it; the need you feel to nurture him. Perhaps part of you always knew - could always tell - that the loss of his mother had been more profound than he could articulate.

You don't want to mother him. It's not your job. Maternal instincts aren't your thing - but the way you care for Jungkook is so pure, so unadulterated, that you find yourself wanting to ease him of all his pains.

And so even though it's not your job, you'll kiss his wounds better, just so that someone does. You'll fulfil his needs. Be everything he needs. Why would he ever want for another when he could simply just have you?

Your lips press against his temple, willing him to heal. Whatever's wrong is clearly bottled up inside, and a small part of you hopes that your lips could draw the venom from within. It's fruitless.

"Tell me what you need," you say softly. You're not a mind reader. Life would be much simpler if you were."What do you need?"

He thinks it's a stupid fucking question. Doesn't understand how you can be so oblivious to it all; but also doesn't realise how much of an impeccable liar he is. It's a learned trait. He wasn't born to be like this.

He was born to be soft, to be gentle, just like you. Under the bravado of your sarcasm and vulgar language, you're nothing more than a heart in search of its place. More fool you for thinking his ribcage would be a fitting dwelling for it.

And so Jungkook tries a little softness back.

"Need you," he finishes his sentence with a slight hiccup, his irregular breathing throwing everything out of whack. "Need to know you'll stay."

It's cruel, the way he makes you promise the idea of forevermore, when he knows full well that come next week, that heart of yours? The one sitting comfortably in his chest beside his own? Yeah, come next week it will be in his hands, blood coating his fingers as they dig into the muscle and tear it apart.

How beautifully unaware, you are.

"As long as you need," you whisper back. "I'll stay for as long as you need me, Kook. You don't need to ask. You know you don't."

And that's the kicker.

It's what has him in such a sorry fucking state.

Your hairband around his wrist, and the scrunchie on his gearstick, had been the catalyst to his tears; you're his demise.

There's a dusty footprint on the dash, right by the passenger seat glove compartment. It's yours, small and insubstantial, from the drive back from the beach the day before. Anyone else and he'd had tapped their legs, made them put their feet down.

In fact, he did with you, too. He'd tapped your leg, and was met with refusal, so instead he had just wrapped his hand around your ankle, and kept it there until he need to change gear down from fifth. He knocked it straight into third, and as soon as he was off the clutch, his hand eased off the stick and wrapped around your ankle once more.

It's gonna be you, it's gonna be you, it's gonna be you.

When he's cold and alone in the weeks to come, it's gonna be you he thinks of at night.

When he spills a couple drops of gas onto his clothes at the pump, it's gonna be you he thinks of when the scent of it makes him feel all lightheaded and nauseous.

When he gets into the ring at Kang's and is perishing just to feel a little rush, it's gonna be you that he thinks of.

It's gonna be you.

Far sooner than you realised, and for far longer than he can even imagine.

"Shit," he hisses, pulling away from you and heading towards the window. His back hunches as he leans on the ledge with one hand, pinching the bridge of his nose with the other. He sniffs back the evidence of his upset and shakes his head. "Sorry. Just been a long day. That's all."

You perch on the side of the bed, understanding that space is needed. You're not good with comfort, but you are good with recognising the needs of others, at least.

"No bother," you shrug, not that he sees it. "We don't have to talk about it."

"Nothing to talk about," he says as he turns to face you. His features are all red and puffy, the friction of sleeves against his cheeks tarnishing them in flecks of crimson. A weak smile is plastered on his lips, and he knows it's not convincing. "I'm good."

And so you pretend that you are convinced, for the simple fact that he wants you to be. "I know. Was just saying. If you did wanna talk, you could. If not? We can do something else."

Jungkook's mind jumps to fucking away the upset. Seems like a good distraction.

But he also knows that if he fucks you right now, he'll cry. He won't mean to, but he'll feel the way you pulse around him, and he'll start thinking about your heart, and then his nose will be nestled in your hair, and he'll be thinking about all that he stands to lose, and then he'll break the fuck down; buried in your pussy, suffocated by the adoration he feels for you. It's a grave he's dug himself.

He pouts as he shakes his head, bottom lip protruding as if he doesn't give a fuck what you do. "Not fussed. What do you wanna do?"

You hold out your hand to encourage him to walk towards you, and he does it without a second thought. He kicks his shoes off by the foot of the bed and takes your hand, climbing onto the mattress with you.

"Not fussed, either," you hum all rather pleasantly, pushing a few strands of his hair back and out of his face. The blonde is growing out, and there's a warm band where the toner has faded. It doesn't look bad, but you also know there's nothing better than fresh hair to boost a mood. It's your classic hot girl in crisis mood. He might not be a girl, but he's hot as fuck, and seems to be in a crisis, so maybe it could help. "Why don't we dye your hair?"

There's a grin on his lips, his brows lifting as he pushes your hair behind your ear, too. "Dye my hair? You saying you hate it?"

"God, you're so dramatic," you laugh - and that's the exact reason why he's so bloody dramatic. He loves to hear you laugh.

"You do hate it?!" he cries, feigning pain. "You think I look like shit?"

"The shittiest," you confirm, though the way you're smiling at him says otherwise. If your smile was anything to go by, he'd think you love his hair.

He'd be right.

But maybe it just went with the territory; a byproduct of loving him for everything he is.

The thought of you loving him flashes in his mind like a weather warning: Storms ahead. Take cover.

It's replaced by mindless banter; you telling him how ugly you think he is, and him pretending like his feelings are hurt. There's a tussle between the pair of you, just for an excuse to be touching one another. It's inevitable that you end up on top of him, holding his hands above his head to stop him from tickling at your sides. He lets you take this role of dominance, even though he could overpower you if he really wanted to.

He wants you in charge; wants you calling the shots.

"Let's dye my hair," he agrees and seals the deal with a kiss. "You gotta do it too, though. Yin to my yang."

"Matching hair?" You raise a brow as your hair hangs delicately around your face, tickling at his.

"Matching hair," he nods, because fuck it. He's never gonna get to do the couple shit with you. Never gonna get you a matching pair of sneakers, never gonna switch the sim card ports in your phones. If this is his only chance, he's gonna take it. "You'll do mine, I'll do yours."

It's a fair trade. One you can't argue with - and so you simply smile. "Alright, fuck it. I'm in."

────────────

"Forgotten something?" you hum, as Jungkook makes a u-turn on your way out of the city. You're not really surprised, nor concerned about his change in direction. You trust him. Wherever he goes, you'll follow.

The blue of Busan's endless harbour darts past you, teasing you, mocking the freedom you think you have. You're shackled, cuffed to the armrest, a prisoner of the way your heart beats a little faster, a little harder, whenever you're inside his Pony. It never eases. It's just like that chime in your stomach, which only gets louder with every rev of his engine.

You're sad to leave the city. Had never cared much for Busan before. You care for him, though, and that's what makes the difference.

"No," he says with a small smile, one that he's trying to hide. There's excitement in his gaze, celestial entities sparking in his midnight eyes.

"Hotel's a little further up," you add.

"I know," he smiles again, simple and pure. You're a bad listener, he realises. Stubborn. Believe your own assumptions, even when presented with contradictory evidence. It's a flaw, yet he can't help but find it endearing. "We're not going there."

He glances over towards you and catches the way your face changes as you recognise the road you're heading down.

He loves that little thing you do with your brows; the way they furrow for just a second as you try to figure out what's happening. It's a common occurrence, brief confusion, and it only ever flashes over your features for a moment or so, but it's undeniably one of his favourite expressions of yours.

You're holding it now, brows still pushed together as a grin rests on your lips in disbelief. He flicks his indicator, and it's all but confirmed: you're heading towards your bucket list hotel, the one you've dreamt about for years but never fancied booking alone.

It's been mentioned between you once, maybe twice - and he remembered. Maybe it's the bare minimum. Maybe it isn't as much of a big deal as you think it is - but your heart swells like proofing dough in a baking tin, waiting for heat to transform it into its final form. Soft and warm, it'd be everything he needs to survive.

And yet the only thing you can articulate is, "fuck off."

He takes it all in good humour though, because he knows you, and he understands that you're overwhelmed with an abundance of delight. It trickles from every part of you, your happiness infecting him like some sort of disease. A glorious cause of death he thinks it would be, to perish from your pleasure.

"Can't," he grins. "The booking is under my name. You need me here, Little Miss Clutch Control."

The change in his tone from factual to flirty has you all hot and bothered. You didn't expect such a lame term of endearment to get you feeling like this, but something about hearing it in full glory really gets to you.

The car pulls to a stop, but neither of you get out. You continue talking, bantering, existing next to one another. You're prolonging it, the anticipation that makes your hands all clammy, feet tingly. He's the one to break from the cautious climate between the pair of you, when he says, "if you go check us in, I can bring our bags."

They say that you should never meet your idols; that the disappointment of them being just like any other human breaks the infatuation.

The same can be said for a hotel.

You've dreamt about this moment for so long. The room is gorgeous - not quite the top floor, but close enough - and it looks exactly how you always imagined it. White marble coats the floor, the walls, the ceiling, too. It's grand and demure, but it's cold. The bed is flush to the floor, and there's little else to look at other than the view which pours in. It's blue. Cerulean. Sky and sea, with nothing in between.

It's everything you expected, and everything you wanted.

But what you want isn't always what you need.

You find yourself missing the old hotel. Just a little bit. You miss the intimacy you felt in the previous room with Jungkook; the warmth, the limerence you shared. It's hardly surprising. That room saw your fledgling romance crash and burn, but it's also where you patched each other up and promised not to let it happen again. A lot was learnt beneath those sheets. On top of them, too.

Still, every inch of you - your face, your body, your posture - is draped in delight. You're radiant.

The hotel really doesn't matter. It's the effort that he's gone to which has you so enamoured. It's more than you think you deserve.

But most of all? You can't believe that he actually cares so much about your desires, your dreams, your wants, that he tries to turn them into realities.

"Gone to a lot of effort for 'just a friend from Daegu,'" you simper into his lips as he joins you by the window, watching a ship seep across the ocean.

He smiles. Pecks you once. Twice. Holds it a little longer. Withdraws. "My best fuckin' friend," he growls, a little frustrated with the way he knows you're gonna be using that against him for months (if you make it that far, that is). Pinkies beneath your jaw, thumbs on your cheeks, he kisses you again. "Stop saying shit like that, C."

"Or what?"

"Or," he laughs tenderly against your lips. "I'll be left with no choice but to show how much your... 'friendship' really means to me."

The worst part of it all is that Jungkook actually believes it. He really does think you're his best friend.

It's a shame. He always thought that once he found his best friend, then that would be it. He'd settle for life. Loyal like a dog, is Jungkook, yet he'd always anticipated his mating habits being like those of a wolf. After all, what's a soul mate if not your best friend?

Big, big shame.

For now, though, his focus is on the present. There's a future outside of these four walls, and he'd love for you to be it.

And so he behaves in such a way that he convinces himself you could be. You; his, eternal. No sharing. No take backs. In this shit together for life.

Comfort comes in the form of his smile, and the way he makes you feel so secure in yourself. He laughs at all your jokes, reciprocates humour that matches your own. Tells you tales of childhood, and has you thinking maybe one day you could have little terrors of your own. You ask him what he'd call his kids - and proceed to tell him that his hypothetical son, 'Manta Ray', would 100% hate him. He asks you what you'd call yours. You list your girls names. They're pretty. Standard. Nothing remarkable. For a son? You look at him, lashes low, smile saccharine, and simply say, "Manta Ray."

It's that statement which has Jungkook determined to fuck you raw tonight; fill you up, toy with the idea of what it could be like to get you pregnant. It's far too soon for any of that, but the thought of it gets his balls all tight, cock twitching in his sweats. He thinks about the way your body could change; all shapely and swollen because of the semen he's fucked into you. He thinks about your tits, and it's when he thinks about tasting your fucking milk that he knows he has to stop. He's way too far ahead of himself, all horny and engorged, wetness seeping from his tip.

It's inevitable that you'll end up naked at some point.

But it's not just because he's like a dog on heat, right now.

See, your dream of staying in this specific hotel comes in two parts.

The first is sweet; innocent pleasure found in the harbour view.

The second is far less innocent. It's still about the view, but more so about how much you wanna get railed in front of it.

Jungkook wises up to this pretty quickly, without complaint.

It's impossible not to - primarily because he's reclined on the bed, legs spread, cock hard as he strokes his thick shaft, watching you strip for him by the time night has fallen.

He takes in the sight of you under the silver moon; ethereal in the way she beams on you. The curves of your body are accentuated by the shadows, his lips desperate to devour every inch of your skin.

You're made for the moonlight, he thinks, made to be more than just a being of the sun.

He's always thought he belonged to the night, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe he belongs to you.

It's not long before he's taking in the rest of you in; your scent, the way you sound, the tremor of your sternum as you laugh while he dapples kisses down your body.

You're celestial, laid bare, your soul for the taking. His lips are tender against your skin, as if he knows he could steal it. Keep it forever.

He's trying not to. He doesn't want to keep you, not like that, and not forever. He wants you to find happiness after him - but selfishly, he never wants anyone else to hear your laughter, not when it's coated in syrup, sweet enough to devour.

It's all very conflicting.

He can't wrap his head around it.

Can't make sense of any of it - but he can wrap his lips around your swollen pussy, tongue teasing as his fingers find their home inside you. He can make you forget the world, and that's exactly why you'll never be able to forget him.

His name is lodged in your throat as you come undone for him; a block of ice that melts with the heat of his limerence as he kisses through your post-climax comedown.

Body heavy on top of yours, his cock digs into your thigh as he ruts a little, unable to stop himself. He tries to hold back, but your tongue is in his mouth, hands are in his hair, and you're moaning.

The sound of your desire vibrates against his lips; has him shifting his hips until the tip of his cock is kissing your soaked entrance.

You tell him that you want him. Need him.

He shakes his head, and smiles, though he doesn't find much happiness in the admittance that comes with the gesture. "I'm no good for you, CC."

"Bit late for that, don't you think?"

His lips press into your throat; travel down to the hollow of your collarbone, skirt the tops of your breasts, and then he kisses right where he thinks your heart might be.

"You're so good for me," he whispers, lips brushing against the skin of your bare chest. You're more than he's ever deserved; more than he'll likely ever experience again. There's a fear - a very valid one - that this could be the last time. Part of him doesn't want it to happen. It will all feel so final, he thinks. Alternatively, perhaps it would give him closure - but what about you?

He's trying to do right by you, but it's so gut-wrenchingly difficult when all he wants is to give you what you want, instead.

He's slow as his hips begin to pulse, pushing ever so gently against your entrance before he retracts. He repeats this; once, twice, three times. Asks if you're ready. Waits for your nod. Feels his heart ache when you do. Sinks into you, slowly. Sheaths himself within your walls. Whines as he hits your cervix, balls ghosting your perky little ass as he does so.

Full capacity, you're stuffed with his cock, and yet he pushes just a little deeper to hear the way you gasp.

It won't take long to have him unloading himself into you. Doesn't even thinks he needs to fuck you. Your throbbing walls could milk him, even if he stays entirely still on top of you. He knows he'd make you so filthy, cunt throbbing, plugged with his fingers because he wouldn't want any of his creamy load to escape your pussy.

He knows exactly how he'd fuck you, how he'd position you afterwards, how he'd keep you reaching Nirvana again, and again, and again, just to increase the chance of fertilisation.

Jungkook is losing his fucking mind.

He's always been thankful for your birth control, because he loves to fuck you raw, but he hates it now. Wishes your body would just let you mother his future children. Doesn't give a fuck about anything else.

You're it.

He thinks you're fucking it.

His lips wrap around your nipple, mainly to stop himself from saying things he can't take back. Doesn't imagine you'll react too well to him growling about how much he wants to see your belly all round, tits engorged and leaky, body destroyed (though he'd argue it was beautiful) thanks to his insatiable cock and need to keep your pussy as his.

His mouth is warm; wet and gentle but firm with its movements. He's doing it with intent. You know why. You know what he's thinking about, cause you're thinking about it, too; how you're built for him to ruin in the most beautiful of ways, and how it's only fair he should reap the rewards.

"I know, baby," you husk, fingers stroking his hair as he groans against your soft chest. There'll never be another him. Ever. "It's cause we're good for each other."

There's something going on with him. He's always fucked you well, fucked you right. This is more than that, you think.

You aren't an idiot - but as vulnerable as he may seem, now doesn't feel like the right time to ask. You've dated men in the past who grew irate when sex would be interrupted by matters of the heart, and you've been conditioned to not 'ruin the moment.'

Jungkook wishes you would. Wishes you'd tell him to stop, tell him that he shouldn't do this, tell him that you don't want him - but you do, you do, you do.

There's movement; your hips working against his own, your hot walls milking his length.

He knows he shouldn't let himself indulge in such a ludicrous fantasy. You'll never get the picket fence. Never get the rose garden. Never take the kids to basketball practise on a Sunday, and fuck in the car as soon as you get a moment of peace together.

On the contrary, you think he should indulge in these little dreams - but there's hesitation, and it confuses you. All of his movements stop. His forehead rests against yours. He's inside you, still, but not how he was.

"You wanna stop?" You ask with a voice so tender that Jungkook just wants to melt into you. His lips find yours, pressure controlled, restrained.

One hand is supporting his body above you, the other holds the underside of your jaw. There's no further discussion, just mewls; groans of want, need, desire. Your legs wrap around his thighs, encouraging him to follow through on the pleasure that the hardness of his cock is promising.

He could do it. Make you his. Fill your sweet little cunt up so well like he always does. Have your back arching, body at his disposal. It'd be so easy.

Or at least, it would be if he wasn't getting soft.

It's not you. Fuck. God, no. Nothing to do with you. He's just so inside his head over everything - the way he feels, the fact he knows you arent built to last - that he's finding it hard to focus. That family he thought of? The happy one he could have with you? It'll never exist.

Jungkook can't think straight, let alone keep his prick straight.

You can feel that his cock isn't as firm as it was, but you think maybe it's just a blip. Maybe Jungkook trying to make himself last longer? You're not really sure of the mechanics involved in that, but it seems plausible.

You move your hips to give him a little encouragement, your pussy stroking against his shaft ever so gently. You're wet - so fucking wet - for him, and it gets him even more wound up.

Why is his body not responding in the way he wants it to? Why won't his head just let him fuck you like he wants to fuck you? Unfair, he thinks, so unfair.

You don't mind the fact he's not rock hard. He's only human. It's natural for things to not always go right, and it's not like he'd be the first boy you've ever known to have performance issues. It happens to everyone at some point or another - yourself included.

"What do you want me to do?" You offer, because you think it will help; think that by showing you don't mind helping out, it will make him feel more comfortable.

But he knows you've noticed and it's fucking mortifying. This never happens to him.

Then again, he's never fucked a girl he likes as much as he likes you. Naive of him to think he could trust his body not to betray his mind at such an important moment. Only fitting, really, considering that it's his mind that will betray his heart when it matters most.

It's a cycle, and Jungkook's struggling to get to grips with the pedals. He'll fall off, crash and burn, if he's not careful.

"Shit," he hisses as he bridles his hips and pulls himself away from you. His back meets the mattress with so much force that your body shakes, cold and alone without the weight of him on top of you. He lies next to you, staring at the ceiling, cock limp, jaw tense. So fucking embarrassing. "Dunno what's wrong with me."

You tell him that it's normal, nothing unusual, and that you don't care - but it's not normal. Not for him, and especially not when it comes to you. He's been a walking boner since the moment he met you. Hard as a steel pole for weeks. In fact, if anything, he's barely soft these days.

"Just give me a moment," he says, though he doesn't move. He's trying to focus.

He breathes, in and out, slowly, his eyes glued to the ceiling, tattooed hand draped across his sternum. In, and out. He remains flaccid, cock resting shamefully against the top of his thigh.

This is, he thinks, hands down the most mortifying experience of his adult life.

You don't give a shit, but he's so uptight; lips pressed shut, eyes hard, as he seems to look anywhere but your direction. It gets you feeling all insecure. You didn't think you were the problem at first, but now it's starting to feel like you are.

The awkwardness is uncomfortable, and the fact that you're naked is even more so.

You're both on top of the quilt, so you can't even hide. Instead, you have to reach down the bed for the closest piece of discarded clothing - Jungkook's flannel shirt.

It's about now that he wants to die. Not like a brutal, slow death (the kind that he knows he deserves). He just wants to be zapped like a fly with an electric bat. The kind you see Ajummas with during the summer, wafting them around in the air, tasing everything they come into contact with.

He rubs his palm across his face, and when he's done, his hand comes to rest over his pathetic cock. The worst part of it all is the minuscule trail of precum that has oozed from the tip of his cock and onto his thigh, tangled in his leg hairs.

He could have fucked you. Could have fucked you so well.

But instead, he's watching you get dressed - although he isn't even doing that. He can't even bring himself to look at you.

He had asked for a moment, so you decide to give him just that. You head towards the bathroom unannounced, and Jungkook wants to tell you to stay, but he can't get any words out.

Door locked, closed, metal threaded through a loop, you're alone - and you fucking hate it. You're embarrassed and ashamed and confused. Your acceptance of his performance issue was genuine, but it doesn't stop it from hurting. You think his desire is dwindling, and you don't know what you'll do if it burns out completely.

You breathe. Take a second to reset yourself. Everything is fine. Everything is okay. Jungkook is just having issues. It's not me, it's not me, it's not me, you tell yourself, though you don't really believe it, and then you head back towards the bedroom.

When you return, Jungkook's got his underwear on.

He's sat with his back to you, facing the sea view, legs crossed, knees raised for his chin to rest upon. There's a crease in his stomach, his posture pathetic and feeble.

You'd never tell him, because you know that he trains so hard at the boxing club, but you sort of like it when torso creases like this. It makes him seem human. Soft; his hard exterior subdued, just for you.

The bed shifts as you walk across it and plonk yourself down beside him, mirroring the way he sits. There's a tugging in your chest, like your heart is clawing against your ribs, begging to be let out so it can go and sit beside Jungkooks. You tell it no, that it has to stay put.

But then he inhales a sharp breath through his nose, and you can hear he's torn himself up over what just happened. Your head rests on his shoulder, and your heart pacifies. His bottom lip is beneath his front teeth, the pressure so great that it feels as if he could burst through the skin. He doesn't ease up.

Silence remains. You can hear the waves crashing through the double glazing, and you wonder why you find such peace in something so hostile. The sea could kill you without a care in the world, and yet you'd let it, if meant your final moments were as peaceful as this.

"I'm sorry, CC," Jungkook eventually whispers. His voice shakes, and your lips press a gentle kiss onto his shoulder.

"You don't have to be."

Oh, but I do, babe. You'll never know how sorry I am.

You continue, knowing Jungkook won't clarify any of his misgivings. "C'mon," your head knocks back. "Let's sleep. Check out is early."

And so he settles into the sheets with you. Doesn't really say much. Just spends an eternity looking at you. Such a sight to behold; a work of art framed by the sea view.

That's the thing about works of art: you can see all their imperfections up close.

You've an eyelash that sticks out straight, while the rest of them curl. There's a small scar just below your ear from a childhood accident. He must have pressed a thousand kisses against that spot and never realised before.

He's never paid much notice to your piercings - lobes, double; helix, single - but he notices now that the stud in your cartilage has a stone in it. Opal, he thinks, but isn't sure. He wonders why you chose that one. Doesn't think you chose it just because it's pretty. You put too much weight on intangible things like fate and karma to have not chosen something specific.

You'd had a field day when you found out he was a Virgo, but he didn't have a clue what you meant when you said, "Saturn in your seventh house? Curious."

He was even more confused when you apologised for the fact you have Mars in your seventh. At the time he'd made some juvenile joke about sticking his seven in Uranus, but he wishes he'd listened more carefully, now.

It was the first time you'd shown belief in something other than the power of peach teas to remedy a bad mood, and it was significant. Not to him, admittedly, but to you. In turn, it made it important to him.

There's very little he actually can say about you - concrete things, like your childhood hangout area downtown, or the career path you had dreamt about. He knows how you laugh, what kind of humour gets you, but not what makes you sad. Doesn't know how you grieve.

How much of you does he really know? Or has he just been infatuated with the idea of you?

After all, you're everything he was hardwired to hate. Perhaps he's fooled himself. Maybe the wool he's been pulling over your eyes is over his, too.

He's the one who's been knitting, though. The crochet is a product of his own making. He's only got himself to blame.

But of course, neither of you are to blame. Not really. This was never meant to be more than what it is. You're just a friend from Daegu, after all.

It doesn't feel like that, no, but for all intents and purposes, that's what you are. You aren't his girlfriend. He's never asked for more, and nor have you. Keeping things simple has only served to make everything so much more complicated.

"Hey," he whispers quietly, just to get your attention. He's embarrassed, and it shows in the way he's nibbling down on his lip, but he doesn't want to be. Deep down, he knows that there's no shame to be found in what happened, and yet he can't help but think maybe you like him a little less, now.

Maybe that would be good. Maybe you should like him less. Actually, he's certain that you should.

But he doesn't want that. The idea of you looking at him with anything less than utter adoration has his stomach in knots. He's so used to it now; the way your pupils widen, lashes flutter. It's juvenile, and he knows it doesn't mean as much as he thinks it does, but he's convinced that your eyes don't lie.

He and you both are nothing but spinners of yarn; the tellers of tall tales, romancers of wrong-doings. Rumplestiltskins' of sorts, spinning gold where there once was straw.

You murmur a noise, but your eyes are still shut. It isn't enough for him. Needs to be greeted with your eyes; to be welcomed home. And so, he tries again, thumb stroking your cheek, the side of his head nestling into his pillow as he shuffles in a little closer. "CC?"

A delicate breath huffs from your nose as you smile, curiously smitten with how tender his voice sounds. Part of you is tempted to feign sleep a little longer just to have him addressing you like that again, but you find your eyes open - and once you're looking at him, it's borderline impossible to stop.

"Morning," you smile, even though the moon is still peering in, checking in on the lovers she's nurtured to a point of no return.

"Morning," he smiles back. The clock on the wall behind you read 2:24am. "Missed you."

"Been right here," you counter, as if the chime in your stomach isn't ringing like Jungkook's phone always seems to do whenever he's getting lost in you. His thumb strokes at your cheek again, then pushes your hair behind your ear. He wants to see all of you. Every inch of your skin, every fleck of colour in your iris, every strand of hair; wants it all. The hollow of your collarbones, the slope of your shoulders, the curve of your chest beneath his flannel shirt. All. Of. It.

"Too far away," he pouts.

"Too far?"

"Too far," he doubles down, still stroking hair behind your ear just because he can. Your head nestles into the pillow as you figure out what he's after. 'You' is the simple answer, but what exactly he wants from you is unclear.

"I can be closer," you whisper.

All he does is nod. He doesn't want to ask for what he wants, fearful of repeating his earlier mistakes - and to be honest, he doesn't really want to fuck, anyway.

But Jungkook hasn't fucked you in a long time. Sure, he's been sleeping with you - having sex with you - but he can't qualify it as fucking. It's too brash. Too careless. Inaccurate.

The way he fucks himself into you lately is deliberate; a facilitator of the way he feels. And he's not gonna call it what it is, because the term makes him uncomfortable, but it's undeniable.

Jungkook fucks you like he loves you. Kisses you like it will be his last, touches you like it's still the first. He's tentative. Tepid. Tactful.

More than anything, though? He's absolutely fucking terrified.

The fear doesn't leave; not when your body grinds against his, not when you end up on top of him, not when he's kissing you like he means it, stroking your skin as if you bruise like a peach. It never dilutes. Never ceases.

He can be rough, if he wants to be - but he doesn't.

He wants softness, with you, always.

And he'll only have himself to blame when he loses it all.

────────────

There are 38 boxes of hair dye facing Jungkook, and he thinks they all look the same. 

You had been in Daegu for less than a minute when you reminded him to swing by an Olive Young to pick up some hair dye - and how could he ever refuse any of your requests?

It's so simple making you happy. A peach tea from a drive-thru on the way home, no complaints when you change what's playing through the aux after 20 seconds because you get bored, the way his hand squeezes your knee at red lights. Making you happy is the easiest thing in the whole wide world - but of course it would be.

There's no hardship that comes with your happiness. Everything Jungkook does is second nature, as if he's been doing it his whole life, and not just a few months.

"See, this one is ashy," you say, and he pretends as if he understands. It's been twenty minutes now, and no conclusion has been reached. You thought it would be easy, an in and out job, but Jungkook is full of surprises. It's not like you mind though. Learning his ways - how he behaves when no one else is watching - is a luxury that very few are able to indulge in.

He catches your gaze occasionally, and the way you marvel at him without even realising it. It makes him smile. Make him blush. Has him scared you're gonna start noticing his imperfections.

You won't - and even if you do, you'll file them under 'endearing habits' or 'cute quirks'. He's nothing short of perfection as far as  you're concerned.

Foam or serum? Powder or liquid? He didn't remember it ever being this hard before.

But of course, it wasn't. He wasn't actually the one who had dyed his hair blonde. Namjoon's sister had; a trick to foster intimacy with him when he wouldn't reciprocate her longing gazes after casual fucks.

He hadn't told you that, obviously. Didn't have a death wish - but he did remember that, for a short period of time, her attempt at faking closeness seemed to have worked.

It was a moment of madness for Jungkook, one too many sojus and he'd been seduced; a couple more and all of his clothes were on Naejeon's bedroom floor. He did as he always had done with her; took her from behind, spanked her ass when he was done and offered to drive her home after the alcohol had worn off - but he'd been foolish and gone back to hers that evening. While he was still a little bit worse for wear, he'd agreed to let her do his hair. He thought it'd be fun. She thought that maybe he'd realise there was more between the pair of them than just a good time after dark.

It wasn't long, and it wasn't love, but Naejeon had him reassessing whether or not it was just fucking, through the simple means of hydrogen peroxide coated strands of hair.

As much as he lamented the time he had spent with her towards the end of their arrangement, for a while she had been good for him. He'd become kinder, more gentle, and it seemed you were the one who reaped the rewards.

"And ashy is..." he carries his words on, as if the answer is on the tip of his tongue, but you know him well enough now to know that they're not. He's overwhelmed by the choices, simultaneously wishing he could pick without a care in the world, but also worrying about making the wrong decision.

"Bad."

"-Bad, yeah, that's what I was gonna say," he bullshits, but you don't mind the white lies all that much. He goes to say something, then cuts himself short. "And why is it bad again?"

It's the fourth time you've explained colour theory to him. "It's bad because you need a warm tone over the blonde, otherwise it will go green."

"I like green," he speaks with a small pout, not realising the green his hair will go isn't the same green as the trees in May. It will be murky, and grotty, like the streets in April rain.

"So do I," you smile. "But not for my hair. How about this one?"

His eyes follow your hand to one of the thousand boxes: a deep crimson red. It's not a shade he was expecting, nor one that he thinks will work on your hair. You know it won't, so you add "we can just bleach a little bit first. Like the underneath layer, or something."

His head tilts, a dimple forming as he tries to imagine what it will look like. You can see he isn't sure, and that he feels a little hesitant. He wants to do this. Wants to reinvent himself with you - an artist fixing up an old oil painting, filling in the cracks, restoring it to its former glory - but he's scared that what's done cannot be undone.

Ironic, really, that it's his hair that he's scared of. Consequences have meant little to him as of late, and yet here he is all pouty, huffing through his nose a little bit because the poor baby can't decide.

It makes you laugh how childish he can be. He just needs a little push you think; a helping hand.

"You trust me?"

The question is asked so flippantly that it would seem unfathomable for the trust between the pair of you to be broken. Flirtatious in your tone, he knows this is all just fun to you. Maybe he should loosen up. Maybe it should be fun for him, too.

Yes is the answer to your question - not that he'll give it to you. Words are dangerous. They can be used against him.

"I think you're mad," he tells you, but there's a smile that he just can't hide. It rests on his lips, crooked and glorious; sun breaking through a storm. It's yours, you think. Mine, all mine. "Get the bleach, you little fucker."

"See," you grin back, all big and pleased, and Jungkook thinks he'll never be able to smile without you. "You do."

You do as you're told; grab the bleach, get in line. Jungkook stands behind you, kisses your hair, tells you he likes it enough as it is, but that he's excited to do this with you. And then he's whispering some bullshit about how he wants kombucha, but the one he likes is sold out, as per usual.

When you go to pay, his card is already in the machine. It's on him. Everything during your trip has been. There's something charming about it; chivalrous. You've never needed a man with a white horse, but you got yourself a boy with a red Pony regardless.

Scarlet in colour, his car screamed danger when you first met him, but as you ride in the passenger seat, feet on the dash, hand beneath his on the gear stick, you feel safe. There's a world out there around you and yet none of it can penetrate the metal body. You like to think it's bulletproof.

It's an old car. A heap of shit, if you will, especially by today's highway standards. You had made a point to pay your respects a little longer at the road safety shrine at Haedong Yeonggungsa when you visited in Busan. 

A bullet would tear through it - but how lovely it is to pretend that you could be invincible together.

You ask if he fancies doing his hair at your place.

It's the first time you've ever offered.

You asked if he trusted you earlier that evening, and now you're the one showing him that you trust him.

This is bad. Really bad, in fact. In too deep; six feet under. He's sinking, buried in the way that he feels for you, but thinks that it's just his guilty conscience that's tickling at his tummy.

Your apartment isn't too dissimilar from his; a little one-room, cheap and drab, but brightened by your personality. There are photos on the walls, pictures with friends, postcards of art, memories of times you barely remember, now. Your bed is sort of hidden, a shelving unit separating it from the rest of the room. The first thing he notices about it is how many pillows you have. Plushies, too. He looks bewildered, but you simply shrug and smile. "Never take me to an arcade."

Your statement only serves to make that an insatiable desire of his. He's obsessed with the idea of you in front of the machines, neon lights glowing in your eyes, lips parted as you aim for yet another ridiculous plushy.

In fact, it's all he wants to do now, go to an arcade with you. Considers saying fuck it to the hair dye, and heading downtown instead.

But you usher him into the bathroom, and say, "c'mon, buddy. I gotta bleach mine first before we can put colour on."

Perched on the closed lid of your toilet seat, Jungkook watches on in awe as you get to work on your hair. The way you called him buddy plays on loop in his head. He thinks it's a joke because of the fact he told Taehyung you were just a friend, and he'd be right to consider that. He realises, rather quickly, that he doesn't ever want to be just a friend to you. Impossible, he thinks.

Mindless chatter takes hold as you paint bleach onto your hair. It's only on the underneath layer, and it washes out to be the most god-awful orange, but it's fine. All you need is a base for the colourful dye to stick to.

You've done this before, he assumes, but doesn't like that he's picked up that trait of yours - so instead, he asks about it.

"Shoulda seen me in high school," you smile. "Rebellion was my middle name."

It's said in jest, but Jungkook wonders just how true that is. You're the black sheep of a family you're pretending doesn't exist.

"Did it win?" He teases. "The rebellion?"

He likes the idea of your defiance being nurtured at an early age. You've always had fight in you, or so it would seem. It's something he finds attractive, the way there's bite behind your bark, and yet he appears to have you tamed.

You don't look at him as you smile, putting on a pair of latex gloves and reaching for the tub of crimson dye. The plastic container fits into your palm like it was made to be there. This new identity? The one that matches Jungkooks? Made for you.

Painting the dye onto your hair without much care, you shrug. Consider telling him about your family. Stop yourself at the last minute.

"Rebellions endure," you tell him, all matter of a factly and as if you know what you're talking about. You don't. You're a sham. Wouldn't know rebellion if it bit you in the ass. Stupidly, you think that disowning your family counts as an act of rebellion - but you did it all so quietly that no one even noticed. Rebellion would have been publicly denouncing them - also would have saved Jungkook a whole lot of hassle, that's for sure. "There's no winning. Just perseverance."

He doesn't agree. Thinks that life is a rotating door of winning and losing; a turnstile in the subway that will let anyone through given they can pay for the fare. That's what life boils down to for Jungkook; who has money, and who can spend that money.

The ones with the wallets always win.

Give it a week, and his wallet will be fat enough to run with the big boys - and yet he's never felt less powerful in his whole entire god damn life. He's watched girlfriends fuck about with his friends, his family disintegrate, his mother die. You - and your stupid fucking smile, the way your eyes always land on his lips before they meet his eyes, the smell of your gasoline tainted hair - trump it all.

He's a loser in this game, whether he 'wins' or not.

There's no winning without you.

There's a clamminess to his palms, a beating in his chest that goes a mile a minute, far too fast for a healthy heart. You're a comedown short of a cocaine upper, and Jungkook knows that his addiction has grown out of hand. Cold turkey is going to leave him in tatters, but he can't seem to ween himself of your body, your touch, the way your pinky loops with his. He knows what this is. Knows that the way he feels is far too much for what you are.

You catch him looking, his stare stern, and hard, and it has you smiling. He looks so serious - angry, almost - but you know he isn't. He's just thinking. Contemplating. He does it when he eats, too, and he's never angry when his belly is full. When you smile, the furrowing of his brows eases, and he begins to smile, too.

"What?" He questions, his eyes so fond that you can't believe you get the luxury of a man like him looking at you like that. Lucky bitch, you think. Luckiest in the whole wide world.

"Nothin'," you grin back, and he rolls his eyes. He looks so pretty, a strand of hair hanging over his forehead as you wait for the dye to process. His will be brighter than yours - just the tips of his hair where the bleach once was, but you think he'll look so pretty with a little colour against his honey skin.

He won't be able to hide the way he's paired with you. You've always scoffed at the couples who walk down the street in matching shoes, matching clothes. You think it's cringe. Vomit inducing. Gross.

But you're also so smitten that your lips are constantly curved into a smile, eyes fond as you look at him. You're absolutely infatuated.

So is he, but chooses to downplay it. Has a smirk on his lips as if he isn't obsessed with every little thing you do. "This is so dumb. Can't believe we're doing this."

"You suggested it!" You protest.

So hot, he thinks as you whine. He just wants to have his way with you, right then and there on the spot. Feels like he can never be close enough to you.

"So? Didn't think you'd agree," he smiles as he sinks his lips onto yours and forget all above the fact he's supposed to be careful.

Within half an hour, he's spraying you in the face with the showerhead, when he should be rinsing your hair instead. He laughs when you squeal, not caring for the fact you're both still fully clothed. A kiss is gifted and received, then given back, water from the shower hitting you both.

You're both in black, so the running red dye doesn't matter, despite the grout in your tiles turning pink.

"This doesn't seem like the most efficient way to rinse out hair," you husk against his lips, but he ignores you. Presses your back to the wall, and supports his body with a palm on either side of your head. The shower is clamped beneath one of his hands as the head sprays directly onto the wall, but he doesn't care.

"Yeah you're right," he agrees, his showerless hand cupping one of your breasts and squeezing it through the fabric of your soaked shirt. "Would be far easier if you weren't wearing this."

You laugh now, 'cause he's just so bloody predictable. A one-track mind, but you're glad he's thinking like this again. He's so much more himself when he isn't in his head over things.

His shut down yesterday has scared you; left you thinking that maybe he didn't want you anymore. The way his lips are on your neck, rough, teeth present, not caring about the crimson water running down your throat, suggests otherwise.

"You're a menace, Jeon Jungkook," you whisper, voice airy and light as it dances around the room, weaving between the droplets of water that pitter-patter on the ground. A menace; a maverick. Both could be true. When you look at him and see the way the dye is dripping down his skin, too, you think 'masterpiece' may be more apt.

He holds the showerhead over himself, letting the water run faster, more freely. The red feels never-ending, as if he'll be forever tainted by the colour of your love.

He then does the same to you, deliberately aiming straight for your face just to fuck with you. He loves how cute you sound when you squeak, body instantly shifting to defend itself.

"No, no, no," he koos, pulling the shower away and hugging you close just so that you don't retaliate against him. 

The way his clothes stick to his skin is uncomfortable, but you love the way his muscles feel beneath the drenched cotton. His chest is strong, arms even more so. Needless to say, he's obsessed with the way you look too: his shirt over your shoulders, water collecting in the fabric and forcing it to stick to the contours of your curves.

Reaching for the taps, he knocks the temperature down a little bit. 

"I'm sorry, baby," he whispers, pressing a kiss into the side of your head. The shower pours onto your feet, but you can feel it travel up your legs. There's a shift in your position as Jungkook says 'You should lift my shirt a little bit."

You feign naivety. Pretend like you don't know what he's going to do. "Like this?"

It's inched just a little further up, resting just above the lace trim of your underwear. You're a tease; Jungkook your favourite victim.

He nods. Swallows. Rests his lips ajar as he struggles to breathe. "Just like that, C."

The heady nature of the steam fogging up the bathroom fails to hide the fact he looks nervous; intent on succeeding where he had failed the night before. He watches as your lips part, brows furrowing. 

The way your chest heaves isn't lost on him, but he finds himself lost in you, and the way you look at him when he begins to hit just the right spot with the steady stream of water. You grip onto his arms, rising to the tip of your toes. A moan husks in your throat, and he smiles.

Crown of your head to the tiles, you let your head tip back, eyes closing. Your showerhead isn't something you often indulge in for pleasure by yourself, favouring your hands or a toy instead - but there's something so deeply erotic about the way he's watching your body respond to the water that he's controlling.

Occasionally he'll dip his hand down to your clit, not wanting the showerhead to take all the responsibility for what Jungkook knows will be his favourite part of the day. It's noticeable, the way a little extra moan will escape your lips whenever he uses his fingers. It's ego-boosting. Cock-swelling.

Your nails begin to dig in deeper to his muscles, no doubt leaving a print on his skin. Your whines, sultry and slow, take dominance over the running water which has been soundtracking your build-up.

"That's it," he keens, finally slipping his middle finger into you. He curls it, and the way you silently gasp has him smirking. He's still got a firm grip on the shower, his wrist moving in small circles to make sure he hits all the right places. "You gonna come for me, C?"

You're not there yet. Just a little further. A little more. A little - oh, fuck -deeper. You wanna tell him yes, yes you will, but all you can do is nod. Your eyes are shut, too embarrassed to look at him when you know you're going to finish in record time. The way you moan is sinful, and it only gets worse when you feel his tongue circle one of your nipples through the soaked shirt. He sucks, and lets it go with a pop.

"Keep-" you try and speak, but it's lost to the pleasure that's running down your spine.

He laughs. "Keep what?"

The question is answered by the way his lips wrap around your other nipple in place of a question mark. His tongue works at the swollen bud through the shirt, massaging it just enough to have your hips grinding against the pressure of the water, riding on his finger.

It's when he adds a second finger that things really start to become out of your control. Nothing you're saying makes any coherent sense. His replies are simple hums that vibrate against your chest as he sucks on it.

The thing that tips you over the edge is his third finger. The sounds you're making are lewd, and filthy, reserved only for him.

"The way you take me, baby," he grits against you, amazed by everything you are. "God, you take my fingers so well, don't you?"

"Kook-" you try, but are cut off with his lips against yours. His tongue is in your mouth, your hands in his hair, heart pressed against yours - and then you're unable to think, let alone kiss back. Your moans melt into his mouth, onto his tongue, and he devours every single one of them.

"Shit," he moans right back. "Yeah. Fuck my hand like that. Like that, CC. Coming all over my fingers aren't you?" His teeth graze your neck. "Filthy fucking slut."

The hands that are in his hair drop to his throat, and squeeze. His eyes are on yours as you ride out your high, but it's a warning you're giving him. He knows this. He likes it.

"Not like that one?" He teases, jaw hanging slack in a crooked kind of fashion that makes him look like he's from an 80's movie. You shudder a little, the ends of your orgasm still washing over you.

On the contrary; there's nothing you'd enjoy more than being bent over his leg and having him call you nasty little names while he leaves handprints on your ass. You're just fucking with him. Know that he'll take the graze of your nails as an indication you wanna fight. And you do. Just in such a way that you end up fucking, too.

You're still shaking as he withdraws his fingers. He looks at them, how they're coated in your juices, and debates who should get the honour of licking them clean. His eyes are on yours as he licks a stripe up his index finger.

"Fucking hell," he husks, lips wet from your mess. No one's ever tasted as good as you before. He doesn't think anyone else will ever compare.

He was gonna be strong about this; gonna take a sample and then give you the rest - but he just can't help himself. He sucks on his fingers - index, middle, then fourth - one at a time, before all three are in his mouth.

If you were breathless before, then you think you might have stopped breathing altogether, now.

He stares at you. Sucks. Withdraws, but only a little. Pushes his fingers further into his mouth. Closes his eyes. Groans. Moans. Grunts. Begins to withdraw. Opens his eyes. Releases his fingers with a kiss at the tips.

His eyes look down your body, then up to your eyes. "Where were we again? Ready to shampoo?"

The visual of him sucking on his fingers plays on repeat in your head. You need to see it again.

It's almost embarrassing how paper-thin you are when you shake your head, and say, "rinse and repeat. Gotta do that again."

He raises a brow. "Which part, C?"

There's a playful nature to him, pleased and protected in how easy he finds it to get you coming undone. He feels safe, now. There's security to be found in your eyes; a sanctuary, a dwelling, a hearth. Somewhere to curl up on the cold nights. A place to congregate. Someplace to call home.

You'd give him a key, if you had one. Put it on a chain around his neck. Maybe you'll just match your door code to his, instead. Cute couple things. The kind of shit that makes you roll your eyes and gag a little.

Ironic, really, when you think about it, as you wash the remainder of the dye from his hair. He reciprocates, but you don't think he's done it properly. It's only now that you pull his shirt off your body and let it fall to the bathroom floor with a loud slap. He sits on the closed lid of your toilet, still fully clothed, drenched, ruby red hair framing him perfectly. 

It suits him, even now, before it's styled pristine in that rugged kind of way he manages to perfect so effortlessly. He watches as you run the water through your hair, and you're surprised when you glance in the mirror to find him looking at your face. You thought his eyes would be elsewhere. 

In all honesty, they had been - you just caught him at a good moment.

Smiles are exchanged between the pair of you without your consent. Funny, how everything with him is involuntary, but in the best possible way. You don't have to think about happiness, it just comes.

"You look like a mermaid," he tells you, cheeks dimpled and bright. You cast your eyes to your legs - which are very much legs and not a tail - and give him a questioning look. "The hair," he clarifies. "I mean the hair. Bet you'd look fit as fuck with a tail though."

"My lord," you groan, tilting your head back in jest. "I'm dating a dude who's into fish?"

"Dating, eh?" Jungkook's ears grow red and hot, but he hides them well.

He wouldn't mind it if you were dating. Would quite like it actually.

You ignore him for a moment, caught out in the admittance of how you view the relationship between the pair of you. You don't feel embarrassed as such, you just didn't want to be the one to elevate the status of what you are.

"Not anymore," you say. "I prefer men who like girls with feet."

"I'd let you give me a foot job any day of the week," he protests almost too quickly. You reach over to knock the tap off, so Jungkook reaches behind himself to pull the towel down from the rail. He stands as it falls, opening it up for you to wrap around your body.

Gestures like this are normal for Jungkook; thoughtless thoughtfulness. You notice it often, and you always say thank you, but he just shrugs. He doesn't see it as a gesture. He's doing what he wants to do, and what he wants is for you to feel comfortable. He wants to ease your burdens.

Perhaps it's guilt. The knowledge that he's about to be the biggest burden you've ever encountered.

Or perhaps it's the language he speaks when words aren't enough.

Perhaps, just maybe, he's in lo-

The moment is cut short when Jungkook's phone begins to ring in the kitchen. You usher him out, tell him to get it, and head to your bed. Flopping down, still wrapped in your towel, you listen in to the conversation - "Jin? Yeah. Yeah. Back in Daegu. Tonight?" - and notice the way his posture changes. His back grows tighter. Voice becomes agitated. He's whispering, but is seething. You sit up, eyes trained on him.

He glances over to you, brows hard, eyes narrow. He looks away. Looks back again. Looks like he might fucking cry.

"No Jin, tonight is a bad idea. It just is, alright! No- Fucking hell, would you listen to me alright? Jin, she- No! No."

He looks at you again, eyes wider than the full moon peering in through the kitchen window. Divine feminity washes over him and berates him for his choices - but you mistake it for the sheen of a good man.

It's guilt that glitters in his eyes when he looks at you. He thinks you're gorgeous, but knows you must be a little bit stupid, too. 

How the fuck did you let him in this far? Why didn't you see right through his facade? Why didn't you just cut him off? 

God, he adores your brain - is absolutely enamoured with it - but fucking hell.

A beautiful fool is what you are, and to play a fool is to lose.

He wishes you never agreed to go on that fucking date. He only asked in the first place because he couldn't bring himself to let you get hurt, but it's gonna be so much worse now. Infinitely more destructive. Physical pain you'd have gotten over. Maybe even forgiven.

But this?

Jungkook's standing on dynamite. If he even takes one step toward you he'll catch the tripwire that will strike a match on the wick, and everything will be in fucking tatters.

It already is.

And all the while, you're reaching into your wardrobe to find him a pair of sweats big enough for him.

"I don't care what Joon says!" He hisses into the phone as you finally find the pair of sweats you had in mind. They're far too big for you, but hopefully they'll do the trick for him. "How far am I? From Kangs? 'Bout half an hour."

You close your wardrobe and look at him, head tilted, brows pinched together. He's barely a five-minute drive from Kangs. Ten tops. You figure he must just want more time with you before his boys steal him away.

"Jin?" He says into the phone, but is met with what must be a response he doesn't like. "Jin? The fuck man! Just listen to me! Please! Plea- fuck."

His words are interrupted by the crack of his phone hitting the steel sink basin in your kitchen. Shoulders hunched, he rests his palms against the counter, his breathing accentuated by the way his back is moving.

You're not scared, but you are cautious. You know he boxes. Know he has the potential to lose his temper.

If only you knew how well he's controlling his emotions in this moment. He should be given an award. A medal. A plaque. Jeon Jungkook, Container of Emotions, 2022.

Or perhaps 'Liar of the Year' would be more apt.

"You good?" You asked, edging towards the kitchen, sweats in hand. "Here, change into these. You'll catch a cold, otherwise. I'll put the heating on tonight."

Jungkook shakes his head. Stays silent. Sniffs. Is cold when he finally growls, "no, you won't."

"It's fine," you promise. Your heating bill is never that expensive. "I don't mind."

"C-" He begins, but cuts himself off.

When he turns to face you, his eyes are black. Just like they are in your nightmares. You always thought you'd die if he ever looked at you like this. The way your skin crawls has you thinking you might.

"What?" you speak so quietly that Jungkook wants to set himself alight on the gas stove top behind him.

He closes his eyes. Hangs his head in shame.

"You trust me, right?"

Something about his tone, his demeanour, has you frozen.  Your kitchen light is off, bathroom too, and there are shadows on his face that obscure his intentions. 'No' echoes in your head, but you can't bring yourself to speak it into existence. 5 minutes ago, it would have been an unequivocal, unwavering 'yes.'

He tries again. Eyes wide. Still focused on the floor. Petrified. You mistake them for being honest. 

"Tell me you trust me, C."

"I-" you choke on your words, heart lodged in your throat. He refuses to look at you. Heat gathers on your lash line, and it confuses you. He confuses you. You don't understand what he's asking of you. He's in your home. You invited him here. Is that not proof enough?

"C," he demands an answer. His eyes are on you now, finally looking in your direction. They're black, and they look right through your skin, as if he's watching the way your heart beats beneath your ribcage. You find yourself cowering into a shadow of the woman you are, and it's just another thing he adds to the list of reasons to hate himself.

You're meek and pathetic when you nod in response and say, "of course I do. Why would you even ask that?"

He's never seen you timid. Never seen the way you used to be before you left your family and became a human in your own right. There's something deeply unsettling about the way he's managed to revoke you to this version of yourself, and he knows this just as much as you do. 

He sniffs back a sob. Turns away from you. Rakes his fingers through his damp hair, and turns to face you again. Jungkook is struggling to survive inside the vessel of his which has been taken over by a fucking monster.

"Yoongi," he speaks quickly, not wanting to waste time. "Your co-worker, right?"

You nod. Say nothing.

"He lives around the corner, right?"

There's no reason for Jungkook to know that. No feasible reason at all. You can feel your pulse. You're panicking. Why does he know that?

"Take the fire exit and go to his, okay?" He says. "And fucking stay there until you hear from me, alright? Don't leave his place. Stay with him."

He expects you to nod. Expects the pathetic demeanour that's masking who you really are to agree with him. Yes, Sir. No, Sir, Three bags full, Sir.

But you stopped letting men tell you what to do a long fucking time ago. You don't take orders from any man - and you especially don't take orders from boys.

You stand straighter. Taller. Raise your chin, and look at him through your nose. For a second, you almost forgot who you were.

"What the fuck is going on, Jungkook?"

The question is stern. Sterile. 

Fuck.

He's so taken aback by the way you address him that he feels winded. Cannot breathe. Will die.

"You said you trust me-"

"Yeah, and you'd never given me reason not to trust you before now, but what the fuck is this?" You gesture between the pair of you. "You say jump, I say how fucking high? Nah, fuck that, Kook. What's going on?"

He paces, pushing a tense hand through his damp hair, before rubbing his face with his palm. The red runs through his fingers like a warning sign. Danger. You better run, too.

"C, you just gotta trust me-"

"Trust?"

You laugh now. At him. Trust? When he's behaving like the sketchiest dude you ever met? You think the fuck not.

"I don't trust you," you spit, and rightly so - although you know you're being reactive. You should be calmer. Evaluating the situation, considering why he's asking this of you - but you've seen red, and it clouds your better judgement. "It's earned, not owed. Either you tell me what's going on, or you get the fuck out of my house."

"C-"

"Do not try and reason with me, Jungkook," you assert. "You tell me, or you go."

And that's when he realises. 

That's when he knows there's no coming back from this.

"I can't," he whispers, the crack in his voice so painfully tortured. "I can't do either of those, C."

"You're gonna have to."

"C-"

"Kook."

"Plea-"

No, you think. You told him not to try and reason with you. What does he think he'll achieve? You'll magically say yes?

Incorrect.

"Get out."

"I can't."

"I'll even open the door myself, if I really have to."

"C-"

"You've got thirty seconds."

"C-"

"Twenty."

"You gotta just-"

"Ten."

"You're not even giving me a second!"

"Five-"

"Fine."

"Four."

"You want the fucking truth?" He shouts.

"Three," you smile. Yes. I do.

"You really want the truth so fucking bad, do you?"

Oh, you big fucking baby, you taunt internally. Men. Always too good to be fucking true. Always have to do something to go and fuck it all up. 

You toy with the possible answers of what the truth could be. Fucking someone else? The other woman planning on showing up for a fight? Maybe the mother to a child of his, or something like that. He seems to be good at running from his responsibilities, so it would make sense.

"Two."

He pauses. 

And then he thinks fuck it.

You want the truth? You'll fucking get it.

"I know who your family are, C. Know all your dirty little secrets. Everything. And I also know that if you don't shut the fuck up and listen to me, you're gonna get real fucking hurt tonight. That's why you have to trust me. You have to get out of here. Something bad is gonna happen thanks to the past you keep trying to hide, so I need you to trust me. I don't want you to get hurt."

Bull. Shit.

This might all make sense to you one day. 

But for now, all you can focus on is the audacity that the man in front of you has.

You reach over to your front door, and open it wide. His time is up. 

"I don't fucking trust you. Now get out of my apartment before I call the police and have you arrested for breaching the peace. Clock struck one, Cinders. Time to flee before I find out who the fuck you really are."

He looks at you, helpless and confused. This isn't what he had expected. Not in the slightest.

"C-"

"One. Now fucking leave."

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