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skazoo · 10 months

Text

still do.

↳ choi jongho x f!reader

he couldn't stop loving you, even if he tried. and he did try for some time. it just didn't work.

length. 3.7k

genre. exes (and friends) to lovers, fluff, crack and a sprinkle of inevitable angst (i'm sorry).

warnings/tags. language, mention of death, mention of illness of a loved one, implied depression, .

networks. @kflixnet k-labels

notes. hello with another "this was supposed to be just teeth rotting fluff but somehow turned a little depressing and angsty on its own, i swear i didn't touch anything" do we see a pattern here? bc i do. i offer this lil jongho fic after sm time of absolutely nothing but i've finished my exams literally the other day, (DURING PRIDE MONTH!?!?? unacceptable) hope you like it!!

i'm desperate for feedback and i love comments with your opinion!

(cross-posted on ao3 only)

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it’s a well-known fact —to your friend group, to the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, to the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at— that choi jongho not only likes you but he’s irremediably and unequivocally in love with you.

and that is still not right because jongho doesn’t just love you, no, that would be too obvious, too easy. he still loves you.

if he goes back enough in his memories, jongho could say he’s always loved you.

he’s never been one to believe in love at first sight so when wooyoung drunkenly introduced the two of you at his birthday party, and he found himself unable to breathe let alone speak a coherent sentence to you, he immediately panicked. was he having a heart attack? a stroke? he was healthy, an athlete! how could this be happening to him!? he even made his own doctor hate him with all the panicked questions he asked the poor man on the phone but apparently, all he needed to relatively calm down was wooyoung’s loud laugh as he told him that he simply had a crush on you.

did he have a crush on you?

you, with your beautiful smile and melodic laugh and sparkling eyes and– okay, yeah. he did have a crush on you but who wouldn’t!?

strong argument indeed, he thought.

that fateful night was only the start of a happiness he didn’t know he was able to experience.

you became friends, then best friends, then something more and then you were kissing, sleeping, and cuddling in bed together, going on cute little dates, and showing more PDA jongho ever imagined doing.

he thought you were happy with him. navigating life with the same confused curiosity all young adults seem to innately possess.

then something happened that he couldn’t have ever predicted. and not because he wasn’t paying attention to you or because he was slacking off with his boyfriend duties, no. it came as a complete shock to everyone —you included, in a sense— because the signs just weren’t there.

out of the blue, without notice, you broke up with him. after a year and for reasons that are still beyond his comprehension.

questions thundered into his mind asking why you had come to the heartbreaking decision, why you had sent him a ‘we need to talk’ text at 2am in the morning, and why he’d later found you at the front door of his apartment with tear-stained cheeks and puffy eyes, soft whimpers vaguely sounding like ‘sorry’ and ‘it’s not your fault’.

if he thinks back to that night, jongho gets chills from how scared he was; holding your body to his chest, not knowing what to do or what to say, not knowing who hurt you or why you were hurting.

when he thinks back to that night —something he finds himself doing more often than his heart can take— jongho clearly remembers the silent promise he repeated in his head at least a thousand times after you went back to your apartment. a promise he’s set on keeping.

and it’s for that very promise that he now sits in the crowded cafe downtown, drinking an overrated caramel macchiato and hiding behind a book he has no interest in.

at least it’s what he tells himself. that he came to the same coffee shop you told him you’d be meeting your date at because that’s what friends do. he tells himself he’s wearing a mask and sunglasses inside because he can and will love you platonically if that’s what you need or want. jongho tells himself a lot of things and he hopes he’s strong enough to believe in them in a way that will make them reality sooner or later.

but it’s not like two booths away from him you’re faring any better.

are people outside your friend group really this boring and uninteresting? have men always been this arrogant and full of themselves? was your current ex-boyfriend the exception that proves the incredibly unfair rule?

when you met jongho you knew you were lucky. hot college athlete with sarcasm to match yours and a badly concealed heart of pure gold? you knew you hit the jackpot. but you weren’t ready to realize that he really was one in a million men that actually put in the effort to go beyond the bare minimum.

why is it, though?

the question threatens to break loose all the pent-up frustration this date is generously providing you with and you opt to ignore it and hide it in the back of your mind for another occasion. one that includes cheap wine, pizza, and an equally bewildered yunjin sitting on your couch with funny socks and mouth full.

for now, you only limit yourself to throwing a fake smile at the obnoxious man sitting in front of you who’s spent the entirety of this heinous date talking exclusively about himself and his crypto-currency business.

he’s finishing what you think is a long rant about the stock market when he moves to get up.

you think you’re finally seeing the light at the end of the tunnel but he just lets out an annoying chuckle and looks at you with his small and pig-like patronizing eyes. “don’t worry, love. i’m not leaving you i’m just going to ‘powder my nose’, how you girlies say.” he winks and you resist the urge to gag at how… slimy he looks and feels.

as soon as he’s out of sight you let yourself slump on the small table, groaning a bit as you do so.

what were you even thinking? you tell yourself that today is going to be a well-suffered lesson for your future self: no dates with people that quote elon musk as if he’s some kind of greek philosopher.

your hands reach for the phone in your bag on their own. the last message you received was a sarcastic ‘have fun’ from wooyoung in the group chat but other than that everything is quiet, seemingly wanting to punish you for going against your friends’ advice to bail on the guy as soon as you saw him treat the barista like shit.

under the group chat, jongho’s name glares at you.

you would be lying if you said out loud that this date didn’t have the sole purpose of distracting you from the claustrophobic guilt you’re feeling lately.

jongho had never really cried in front of you but you swear if you could you’d erase the image of his damp eyes looking at you with confusion on that ugly night. and if you have to be honest you’d erase the encouraging but strained smiles he gives you now that you’re back at being friends too, because they don’t do anything but make you feel a shittier person than you already think you are. but maybe you deserve it. maybe this is finally going to be the occasion in which you understand that your actions have consequences.

your fingers work quicker than your brain can catch up, and before you realize it, you open again the conversation with jongho that ended before you went out and start typing.

> you: wyd?

> jjong: you’re on a date

> jjong: focus

> you: what is this an exam?

> you: nevermind this was a bad idea…

> jjong: texting me or the date?

> you: shut up

> you: the date

> jjong: aw i’m sorry i could have told you that like,, an hour ago

> jjong: oh wait

> jjong: i did!

another groan leaves your lips, only this time laced with a small chuckle at his antics. you mark the message as seen and throw your phone back into the bag.

you hope other people can't see how much you miss him.

while you’re too focused on burning holes in the bathroom door from how hard you’re staring at it, dreading the moment it will open to reveal your current problem, in the loud noise of the cafe you don’t hear the heavy stomps of someone approaching you from behind.

only when you feel two warm hands plant themselves on your shoulders and you hear a familiar voice muttering to itself something that sounds like ‘found you’, you’re forced out of your angry trance state and you’re asked to quickly choose between either your fight or flight instincts. you throw a blind punch and the person creeping up on you folds into two.

but that’s on him because who creeps on someone sitting alone at a table and touches them without making themselves known? what happened to ‘hello, what a coincidence to see you here’? what happened to manners?

you snap your head to the figure behind you and you let your panic subside but your annoyance rises.

“how– what are you doing here!?” your words come out in a hiss that makes the old couple sitting in the booth behind you turn around and look at you with judgy eyes but that doesn’t affect jongho in the slightest.

“saving you? duh.”

“who asked you that?!”

“what– Y/N, you texted me even before you met the guy, may i add. and the message said: ‘please end my suffering.’ in my book that’s a cry for help!”

he’s right but you let out an affronted huff anyway. arms crossed and lips in a pout you know is childish. “whatever.”

you feel him staring at you with a raised eyebrow and a smug smirk that you, oh so badly want to wipe off his face.

“what?” you spat. your tone more embarrassed than you’d like to let on.

“what, what?”

“what the fuck are you smiling for?”

he throws his arms in the air exasperatedly. “am i not allowed to be happy now?”

“of course you are, it’s just… you being happy,” you air-quote to punctuate your suspicions on his current joyous disposition. “usually means wooyoung fell or someone got hurt.”

he laughs. “do you think so lowly of me, Y/N?”

“shut up.” the napkin you’ve been fidgeting with because of the irrational panic rising in your guts is now messily crumpled on the table and you groan at the whole situation. head in your hands and eyes closed. you’re so bad at this.

what happened to moving on? what happened to leaving jongho alone because he doesn’t deserve someone treating him like shit? you broke up with him supposedly to save him, but, not even three months in, and now that your mind is clearer you think it’s okay to want him back? to feel full again every time you talk about the things you did together and bask in the silence that follows with a warm knowing smile? you think it’s good to let your eyes wander to his face when you know he’s not looking, falling in love all over again? to feel your face involuntary stretch into a smile every time you spot him waiting for you outside work?

whatever your fucking problem is, you’re scared that you’ll come to find out its only solution is the person you fought so hard to push away. because what if you managed to scare away the last source of happiness you had? it’s selfish, you know, but it’s also the only thing you can think about as he looms over you; body so dangerously close to yours that you can catch the flowery perfume he always wears.

you think he’s speaking to you because his big hand is outstretched in your direction and his eyes are looking at you expectantly, with a veiled urgency.

“sorry, what?”

“i said get up and let’s go.”

“go where exactly?”

he rolls his eyes and you keep to yourself the striking resemblance he has with a spoiled child right at this moment.

“c’mon, we’re living this tinder nightmare here.”

“oh, are we?” you ask equal parts amused and curious of where this little skit of his is going.

when his deadpan expression doesn’t shift into one of his gummy smiles at your slightly annoying antics you know something impulsive and possibly embarrassing is about to happen and you know you will be the only person who will have any sort of unnecessary remorse out of the two of you.

your hands fly to your parted mouth and you hiss at him again. “are you serious!?”

he smiles.

“jongho, no.”

jongho yes, the mischievous look he throws you seems to proudly announce.

he checks the toilet door one last time before gently grabbing your arm and not-so-gently yanking you out of the booth. a surprised squeal leaves your mouth but not a word of protest is heard from you.

“oh my god, i’m really doing this.”

his eyes are set on the door and he speaks without looking at you. “doing what?”

“leaving someone like that while they’re in the bathroom! that’s so… i don’t know jjong, that’s so rude!”

you see his shoulder shake and you know if he were to face you right now you’d see one of his shit-eating grins. what you can’t imagine is the softness in his eyes as you call him with your nickname for him. he missed it. he misses you. painfully, completely, constantly.

his wide strides are followed by your frantic steps as he maneuvers the two of you out of the door and into the busy downtown street.

“so what? do you wanna go back in there and risk being bored to death by a guy that’s not even a quarter of what you deserve?”

“wha– no! i just–”

“then why should you feel sorry for that sad excuse of a date, uh? like, really, he took you to the most overrated place he could think of, Y/N. he didn’t even know you don’t like coffee!”

you chuckle at the frown of deep offense that blooms on his face. his lips in an affronted pout. “but that’s what the date is for, jjong. he couldn’t have possibly known.”

he stops in his tracks when he’s far away enough from the crowd in line waiting to be granted entrance to the place you just left.

“i do, though.” an imperceptible strain to his voice as his eyes search yours in a way that’s almost desperate. “i know you don’t like coffee and that you like to sleep on the right side of the bed and that you just have to sing that ridiculous song to tie your shoes because otherwise, for some inexplicable reason i still have to understand, you can’t.”

has the world around you stopped? your ears are ringing from the deafening silence and you feel like everyone around you has stopped breathing and is waiting for you to say something to the boy in front of you who stares you down in determined distress.

“i know you, Y/N.”

you know he deserves an explanation. him more than anyone in your life. him more than yourself, even. jongho with his proverbial patience that let you cry and consoled you the whole night even after you’d told him you were breaking up with him. jongho that didn’t push or torment you with questions the days after. jongho who accepted —maybe in pure and raw self-preservation— to go back to being just friends, with tears in his eyes and a smile on his lips because that’s what you’d told him you needed at that moment. his kindness that, more often than not, you’re convinced you don’t deserve.

“i know.” you close on yourself, your arms coming to hug you tight so that he can’t see the cracks that constantly try to spread over your skin. “i know you do.” an imperceptible whisper that threatens to drown in the buzz of the busy city around you.

“then why?” his eyes are pleading and his voice is quiet when he speaks again.

“i know i should give you time and i know you’ll tell me one day but please–” he gulps down a lump that you know he’s had for at least three months. one of worry, confusion, and guilt. one you know you gave him.

“–please, give me something. anything.”

silence.

“Y/N, please say someth–”

“my mother was sick, jongho. she still is.” the line you’ve dreaded crossing for so long is no longer a line. the wall that’s been standing in between you and everyone else now has a hole in it.

“i was out of my mind just from the news of her condition, i– i wasn’t well mentally and physically just from that and i saw time slip through my fingers, felt every single second like a punch to the guts. i threw away all the clocks in my mother’s house, i started sleeping on the floor outside her bedroom, i– the week i told you i was busy with deadlines, we were still together, remember?” he nods, small but it’s there.

“i spent those days obsessing over something that was not yet real. my brother had to slip me sleeping pills to let me close my eyes for even a second.” your voice cracks because the guilt you get from just looking at jongho always has to be added to the guilt you feel when seonghwa kindly asks you how you’re doing lately.

“i-i was a mess just from that and i didn’t want you to be with me when what i was scared of was going to finally become a reality. i didn’t want you to see me like that because i didn’t think it was what you deserved. and you may be unable to understand and yell at me that it had to be your choice and not mine but i still don’t think that what i did was wrong, i’m sorry.”

the apology floats in the air between you. it’s not articulate or rich but it’s the only one you can get out at the moment.

“my psychologist says– he says i’m doing better now. we agree that the worst is over but there’s this… unknown that hangs over my head and every second that passes i don’t know if this guillotine will cut my head off or miss me by a hair.”

he just looks at you with that unreadable expression that scares you.

“i didn’t– i don’t want to go back to when the worst wasn’t over and i’m scared that if i give myself back to you i will take you down with me one way or the other.”

you don’t know what you expect him to say or do after you just vomited everything you’re constantly trying to keep hidden, on him, but his loud silence is starting to feel too heavy, unsettling.

he doesn’t feel present, his eyes unfocused and unblinking.

he shakes his head as if to wake up from a trance and looks at you with eyes too full of love. no pity in them and you want to thank him for it.

“ba– Y/N why didn’t you tell me?”

the simple question throws you off.

why did you do the things you did?

why does anyone do things?

you want to cry and tell him that not everything has an explanation. not a logical one anyways.

“i don’t know, okay! i wasn’t sure how you felt! god, i didn’t know how i felt and–”

“how could i have ever felt!? we were together for more than a year, Y/N. i loved you. i still do.”

“w-what?”

he lets out a chuckle that is not mocking or mean or condescending, not one you would’ve expected from anyone else. it’s kind and soft and a little bit amused, much to your irritation. “do you find it surprising?”

you open your mouth to say something but he beats you to it.

“i am in love with you, have been since the moment i saw you at that stupid party and when you told me you had to break up with me i just– Y/N, i couldn’t let you go or stop loving you, even if i tried. and believe me, i did try for some time, but it just didn’t work.”

with tears clouding your vision you’re surprised you manage to find the time or strength to tease him. “you tried?”

and apparently, it is those two words that make him break out of the containment chamber he’s forcing himself to be trapped in. he smashes through the protective glass in true jongho fashion. a well-placed punch and the chains that kept him away from you thinking that’s what you needed, dissolve into thin air as he closes the distance, messily rushing to you and caging you in a desperate hug that steals the air from your lungs.

you feel his hands claw at the back of your shirt and it’s the heartbreaking and deep affection that allows you to accept that you’re not difficult and you will not be. not to him, not to the people that love you.

he buries his nose in your hair, breathing you in like he wants to absorb you forever, then everything that happens next goes naturally, smoothly, following a line that was always supposed to be the one and only.

it fits perfectly. when you kiss and it's like the universe, your friend group, the employees of the cafè on the way to your apartment, the old lady that sells flowers at the corner of the big building you work at, knew it was meant to be.

you both stand with your eyes closed, embracing each other.

he wants to be a person who deserves you and whom you deserve. jongho loves you and he wants to be there, picking up your pieces, putting you together like a puzzle, taking his time.

you sniff, looking up at him with what you hope looks like a soft expression and not some sort of a pained smile. “hi.”

“hey.” he smiles back, thumbs caressing away stray tears.

“you know that i saw you sitting there the second i stepped foot into the coffee shop.

“you did not.”

“you were reading the book upside-down.”

he blushes but his arms tightens around you.

“i was not.”

#jongho x reader #choi jongho x reader #ateez x reader #k-labels #kflixnet #jongho #choi jongho #ateez jongho #ateez x you #ateez #ateez fic #ateez fluff

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paradisecas · 2 years

Text

i think i’m gonna lose my mind

@midamoulweek day 6: alternate universe

i didnt finish this one bc it doesnt wanna cooperate with me but here’s some bits that will probably stay the same if (WHEN) i get this shit to work

“What about the microwave? Does that do anything to Michael?”

“No,” Michael says at the same time that Ghoul says “Yes!”

Turns out, whenever the microwave is used, Michael… glows. And hums. And vibrates a little.

“Sometimes, if he’s distracted, he starts to spin,” Ghoul says. “It’s fucking hilarious.”

Adam cannot see through the tears streaming down his face. Kate is once again reaching for her phone to call an ambulance.

“I hate you both,” Michael says when Adam turns it on again. It’s hard to take him seriously when his eyes are like two little headlights.

Adam hasn’t laughed so hard in years.

Michael stomps away, but the humming stays audible, and Adam might fall over and die for real this time. Would it be the microwave—holy shit, michaelwave—that killed him? Would he glow too?

God. This ghost thing might not be so bad.

—

The ghost thing is bad.

Michael isn’t outwardly cruel, but he does linger in the shadows only to step out when Adam is approaching. There’s another near miss with the stairs, and Kate scolds empty air for a solid minute.

Before Adam talked to them that first time, Ghoul had apparently forgotten that his detachable head could be used as more than something to fiddle with, because now, Adam is finding it everywhere.

Kate is upstairs getting ready for a farewell dinner with the friends she’s made in the two months she’s been taking care of Adam. Adam is hungry. Hoping for leftovers that he can just microwave—with the added bonus of Michael glowing and humming and vibrating until Adam is in stitches again—he checks the fridge.

This is all very normal

The fridge, however, is not normal.

“Boo!” Ghoul’s head shouts from beside the milk, grinning wide with those bloody teeth on full display.

Adam screeches and slams the door shut. That heart attack is coming any day now.

Kate thunders down the stairs, skidding into the kitchen with half straightened hair and brandishing a hairbrush. “What is it?!”

Adam takes a moment to calm his breathing before yelling out, “Michael! Come get Ghoul’s head out of my damn fridge!”

“Oh.” Kate relaxes. “Baby, you scared me!”

“He scared me!” Adam cries. “Jesus Christ.”

“Don’t blaspheme,” Michael scolds when he walks in.

“Since when do you care about blasphemy?”

“Since you started using the microwave just to torment me,” Michael says. He pulls Ghoul’s head from the fridge and flicks his nose. “I don’t care what you get up to but I don’t actually want to go around fetching your head every time you feel like being ridiculous.”

“You totally will though,” Ghoul says, looking far more smug than a loose head should ever be.

God.

Adam’s gonna be finding that goddamn head for the rest of his life.

—

“I was worried about leaving you with the ghosts but it seems—it seems like maybe you could be friends one day,” Kate says.

What about Adam’s constant screaming from being jump-scared at every corner points to friendship? “I guess,” he says instead of refuting her. “It’s like having pets who try to scare me to death and who I can’t touch and don’t have to do anything for and also they can talk.”

“Are you scared of them?”

“Not unless they’re being scary on purpose,” he shrugs. It’s not fun to find a head in his shower or a Michael in his closet, but it’s not like they can actually hurt him. Plus, he’s realized that it’s uncomfortable for them to pass through him, which he has begun using to his advantage. This is just… his new normal. He might as well accept it.

Kate nods. Her suitcases are already in her car. They’re only delaying the inevitable now; she’ll drive the hour and a half back to Windom, and Adam will finally be left alone in his house.

Well. Sort of alone.

He’s been ready for her to leave; she has her own life and her own job that needs her back, and he really does want the full house-owning experience, but that doesn’t stop him from getting choked up when he hugs her goodbye.

“I didn’t cry,” he tells Ghoul later. “I’m not a baby.”

“You totally are,” Ghoul laughs, “but at least you have a mom to get all weepy on. I never even knew my mom.”

“I never knew mine either,” Michael says.

“Who asked you?” Ghoul shoots back, but it’s lacking some of the heat he usually uses with Michael. “Anyway, before he died, my dad told us about her. He said she was great.” He’s resting his chin on his palms, and he starts twisting his head absentmindedly. Maybe it’s a reflex, like bouncing his leg? Adam has to look away before he gets queasy.

“If it’s any consolation, my dad’s a piece of shit.”

“Oh, so we all have daddy issues out the wazoo then,” Ghoul says.

“I don’t have daddy issues.”

“Michael, your dad killed you,” Adam says

“Well, yes, but other than that.”

“Let the man live in denial,” Ghoul sighs. He drops his hands in his lap and Adam relaxes, but only a little—his head is on crooked. “Dude thinks his dad was god.”

“I don’t think he was god. I just think he was a great father.”

“Michael, he killed you,” Adam says again.

“Yes, you keep saying that. It was one time and I truly don’t think it was on purpose.”

“You don’t think—after he wanted you to fight your brother to the death? What if you had died then?”

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

Adam flops backward onto the couch, sprawling across every cushion. “You weren’t planning on dying.”

“No. I knew I was going to win. Until—”

“Until the molotov cocktail thing, I remember.”

These are supposed to be his friends?

“I wasn’t planning on dying either,” Ghoul is saying.

“I wish you hadn’t died.”

“Aw, Michael! I didn’t know you could be so sweet!”

“I mean I wish you hadn't died here. Then, I wouldn’t be stuck with you.”

“I wish neither of you had died here,” Adam tells the ceiling.

“I wish you had died here,” Ghoul sighs wistfully. “Then I could bite you.”

“Yeah, I’m leaving.”

“No wait! I just remembered I have a question I wanted to ask you.”

Adam can’t imagine what Ghoul wants from him. He’s afraid to hear it.

“Can you use the knife again? I want sharp teeth.”

He’s no less afraid.

“I’m not using the bloody machete just so you can torment Michael.”

Michael places a hand over his heart like he’s genuinely touched. Really, it’s not for him. Adam just doesn’t want to go around using a murder weapon in his everyday life.

“Pleeeaaaassseee—”

“It is staying under my bed, and that’s final. Unless I wash off the blood, then it’s staying in the shed.”

Ghoul shrieks and pushes himself through the coffee table until he’s mere inches from Adam’s face. “That’s me! You can’t wash me away!”

“That is in no way how that works,” Michael says.

“Does it say that in the ghost rule book you presumably have stashed somewhere?” Ghoul snaps.

“My microwave—”

“Your michaelwave,” Adam amends wearily, because why not?

“My microwave has been cleaned multiple times. You’ll be fine if he washes off the blood.”

“But your michaelwave doesn’t have you in it! That blood is my—my blood! Adam, if you wash it off I’ll—”

“You’ll leave your head in the toilet so I keel over dead next time I use the bathroom, I get it,” Adam finishes. “I won’t clean the damn machete. Whatever.”

“But you’ll still use it, right?”

Adam pulls himself off the couch and starts climbing the stairs.

“Adam, you’ll still use it, right?”

He slams his door shut behind him, and pretends that it will keep them out.

#midamoulweek #midamoul #cw gore #kinda #okay it is still friday so i am going strong #i wanted to mke michaelwve work and then i thought michaelwave was stupid and then i wanted to make it work #this is fine #does this mke sense on its own. i dont care actually #i took some inspirtion from bbc ghosts #and its hard to translate that brand of silliness into writing #and i also got really hung up on how adm would be able to afford a house on his own even tho we can just suspend our disbelief and pretend #a resident could do that even w student debt nd whtnot #okay im going to bed goodbye #mine #my writing #oky last thing i know ghoul didnt get his head chopped off im p sure it was just bashed in but also chuck didnt kill michael via microwave #in canon so.

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frogsndogs · 1 year

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What a Night for a Knight!

Scooby Doo has meant a lot to me over the years and I always wanted to write my own version. And Scooby Doo is popular now so here it is! (Also, I decided to race bend the cast, making Daphne black, Shaggy (okay, I originally said that I was going to make him Latino, but I recently found out that his original actor Casey Kasem was Lebanese, and I've decided to make him Lebanese in his honor.) and Velma Indian bc I liked that idea. Fred is still white, though. I am also not going to take race-bending lightly. I am going to strive to incorporate ideas from different culture's into the gang's lives and have it be a part of them, not just write them with a different skin tone.)

_____________

The world was cold. The world was cold and dark and terrifying. But Shaggy wasn’t quite ready to think about that. It was much easier to focus on the movie that Scooby had made him watch.

“I can’t believe that you had to see Star: Dog Ranger of the North Woods twice!” Shaggy laughed, with no malice.

“Yeah!” Scooby laughed. Then he turned to Shaggy. “You okay, Raggy?”

“Still don’t think I’m ready to talk about it, Scoob.” Shaggy sighed.

Scooby nodded and nuzzled his friend. In turn he reached out and scratched at Scoob’s ears. The two laughed.

Then they heard a rustling from the bushes. Shaggy was froze, Scooby tensing up.

The dog growled at the bush, hoping to scare off whatever horrible monster was in it before it realized how scared its prey really was. It seemed to have worked, because the oh so horrifying monster in the bush hopped out and delightfully ribbitted at the two.

And Shaggy breathed out a sigh of relief. The danger had passed, (not that it had really been there in the first place but…) for them. Because Scooby, as sensible as he was, was still a dog. And a loud thunderous bark was the only warning the poor frog had before it was being chased through the bushes by a Great Dane, who was being chased by an exasperated Shaggy.

But the chase was cut short though, when Scooby lost the frog and skidded to a stop, Shaggy tripping over him, falling headfirst into the dirt. Shaggy pushed himself up off the ground, about to tease the dog when he noticed a pickup truck parked a little ways away.

“What the—?”

He started over to it, thinking maybe they had a flat or needed some help. He couldn’t quite see the driver, it was late and dark and the person inside was hidden comfortably in shadow.

“Like, is everything ok?”

“Raggy, I don’t think—“

That’s when the figure in the car began to move. But not the movement of a person getting out of a car, or starting awake, not the sound of the fabric of a shirt rubbing on the fabric of the carseat. The movement of a statue being shaken about, the sound of creaking metal upon creaking metal. Shaggy took a terrified step back, and then—

Then the head fell off. And Shaggy screamed.

____________

“Thanks a lot Velma.” Fred said as he slid out of the booth. “These study sessions have been great!”

Velma grabbed her bag. “Yeah, I think this test is gonna go okay.”

“Don’t jinx it.” Fred said quickly.

“Do you really believe in that?” Velma asked.

“Sure! I mean with all the weird stuff in town, something’s gotta be real, right?”

She looked like she was about to respond, when a scream pierced the night air. Loud, and hurt and scared. The two exchanged a single glance before taking off in the direction of the sound.

__________

Daphne walked briskly to the bus stop, her phone by her ear, imitating a conversation. She knew what she was doing was dangerous, she knew that she was being stupid, but she just couldn’t take it anymore.

What was supposed to have been a calm evening with her sisters had turned to a full on argument about what Daphne was going to do with her life. Maybe that was what was wrong with this town, Daphne thought.

Doctors considered who Daphne was going to marry as “important”, but the shockingly high rates of people run off the road from a “ghost truck” was just considered “old news”. When Daphne was going to finally get a boyfriend was interesting to a motorist, but the rumours about a giant worm eating racers was “unimportant” because “it’s not bothering me. Ever hear of live and let live?” Daphne grit her teeth just thinking about the injustice of it all.

That’s when she heard the scream. She started, and stared off into the night. Then she ran towards the scream. Someone was in danger, and Daphne would be damned if she ignored that like the rest of her family did.

__________

Daphne got there first. ‘There’ being the scene of a blue beat-up pick-up truck, with what looked like a decapitated man in the front seat, a shaggy-looking, lanky teen holding a knight’s helmet, face as pale as a ghost, and the biggest dog she had ever seen staring at her, looking like he was about to bark.

The teen dropped the helmet. “Like, I— I—, it wasn’t—.”

To make matters even worse two more teens came barreling through the bushes. Daphne vaguely recognized them, they must have gone to Crystal Cove High.

The four teens (and the shockingly huge Great Dane) stared at each other for a moment, frozen like a tableau vivant. Then the blond kid broke the silence.

“We heard a scream.”

The lanky teen, glanced between the others, and the van before shaking out a sentence. He told them of how he and his dog had been out for a walk and they saw the car. He said he thought it might need help, like with a flat tire or something, but when he came close… the teen whimpered slightly and gestured to the knight’s helmet on the ground.

The blond one, pulled out his phone. “I’m calling the police.”

If it was possible the teen looked even more terrified.

“Fred!” The orange clad girl beside him hissed. “Call the police? Who will do what exactly? Blame it on a ghost? Call it a cold case before they even get here? Arrest him?” She gestured to the lanky teen, who gulped fearfully.

“No one’s getting arrested.” Daphne said firmly.

She walked over to the truck and picked up the helmet, examining it. “I wonder who this creepy hunk of tin belongs to.”

“The name on the crate says, Jameson Hyde White; Professor of Archeology, London, England.” The blond teen - Fred - read off the wooden crate on the back of the truck.

“Hey, what’s this?” The other girl picked a piece of paper off the road. “It’s a delivery label that says ‘deliver to the Crystal Cove museum’! Someone must have been driving this thing over there.”

“But then, like, what happened to the driver?” The lanky teen asked.

The four looked at each other, uncertainly.

__________

They ended up putting the suit of armour back in it’s box and driving it to the museum themselves. The keys were still in the car and Fred had his license, so he drove, the girls by his side and the other teen and his dog choosing to sit with the suit. They had made introductions on the way. The girl with her hair dyed a bright red was Daphne Blake, the lanky teen called himself Shaggy, (no last name forthcoming) and the dog was Scoobert Doobert Doo - Scooby Doo for short.

Fred had seen Daphne around school a little bit - he was pretty sure she was in some of Velma’s advanced classes and on a lot of the sports teams (from what he heard from Gary and Ethan.) He thinks that he may have heard Principal Quinlan mention her once?

Shaggy and Scooby on the other hand, were complete mysteries. Fred could swear on his ascot that he had never seen the two in his whole life in Crystal Cove and they didn’t look like tourists… Also what kind of tourists visit during fall?

He pushed the thoughts out of his mind. They had arrived.

The museum was dark, Fred really should have been expecting that. There was probably no one there.

“What now?” He turned to Velma.

“There’s still a car in the lot.” She pointed, “Someone must still be here.”

She opened the door and slid out, followed by Daphne. Shaggy and Scooby exited from the back and joined up with the girls. Fred got out last, casting a glance at the crate that held the knight. Nothing happened. Fred turned away, and ran to catch up with the others.

__________

Velma was right. There was still someone there. The museum curator, Mr. Wickles, along with the night guard and the janitor who helped Shaggy and Daphne carry the crate inside.

“Oh dear, oh dear.” Mr. Wickles said fretfully. “I suppose I should thank you for finding the Black Knight, but with Professor Hyde White’s mysterious disappearance and all, I wish you hadn’t.”

“Like, why’s that?” The teen - Shaggy - asked fearfully.

“Because of the legend.” He said dramatically.

“Legend?” Fred asked.

“Yes. The black knight is supposed to come alive when the moon is full.” The man told them.

(Velma thought he was laying it on a little thick.)

“Wait a minute. Isn’t the moon full tonight?” Fred gasped as Mr. Wickles walked away.

“Oh come on Fred, you don’t really believe this magic nonsense do you? There is no such thing as the supernatural.” Velma told him.

“Don’t you want to stick around a little though? Just to see if the legend is real?”

Velma would give her glasses to do that. But she needed to be sensible.

“It’s past closing hours. I don’t think Mr. Wickles is gonna want any more trouble.”

“Alright.” Fred sighed.

He turned to Daphne, “You wanna come with us to the bus stop? I can give you a ride back home from there if you want?”

Her eyes flickered to Velma. She tried to give what was supposed to be a comforting smile. “You’re driving me back too, right Fred?”

“Of course!”

“Okay, yeah, thanks.” Daphne nodded, walking towards them. The she paused and turned around.

“Shaggy, Scooby, you wanna come too?”

There was no one there.

__________

“Okay, so like, first off Mr. Wicks or whatever his name is, is like, a liar.” Shaggy told Scooby. “There was like, no magic in that hunk of tin.”

“Uh-huh.” Scooby nodded. He hadn’t felt anything from the suit either.

“But, there is like, something with this place. It’s not just me, right?” Shaggy turned to his friend.

“Nuh-uh.” Scoob shook his head.

“Great. So let’s like, find out what it is, make sure it’s not hurting anyone and then like, get out of here.” Shaggy glanced about.

Scooby paused. “But what about them?”

“Hm?” Shaggy turned around. “Like, the other kids? I mean, they’re great and all for helping us, but they don’t have magic. I can’t just like, drag them into this. I know it’s scary, I’m terrified, but like, if anyone catches wind of magic from here they might come looking. And I think it would be best if we kept a low profile for now. Okay Scoob?”

Scooby hesitated. Then he nodded. “Okay, Raggy.”

They walked a little further when Shaggy stopped abruptly.

“Hey, get a load of this.” Shaggy pointed to an empty space on the wall, surrounded by not-empty spaces. “Shouldn’t there be, like, a painting here or something?”

“Uh, Raggy?”

“Yeah?”

Shaggy turned around. Face to face with the black knight.

__________

“Where’d they go?” Fred asked, moving down a hallway.

“Maybe they left without us?” Daphne suggested.

“Maybe.” Velma hummed. “Or maybe there’s something more to this than meets the eye. What were those two really doing with that suit of armour?”

Daphne frowned. “They seemed pretty scared.”

“They were laying it on a little thick if you ask me.” Fred nodded.

“How can a dog “lay it on”?” Daphne demanded. “If I approached someone in a car to ask if they needed help and their head fell off and then it turned out that it wasn’t a person, but a suit of armour in the front seat of a pickup truck, then I’d probably be pretty creeped out too!”

“Then why would they just disappear?” Velma asked.

“Maybe because they had places to be? They didn’t want to hang around a creepy museum for any longer than they had too? They wanted to get as far away from that tin hunk as possible?”

“She got a point.” Fred agreed.

“She’s got a lot more than one.” Daphne retorted.

Velma frowned. “But—“

The three turned their attention to the sound of footsteps - running footsteps - and the teen and his dog materialized from the shadows.

“Like, gangway!” Shaggy called out.

“Wha-?“

Velma didn’t finish her sentence. Because from behind them, the Black Knight emerged. Sword in hand, it swung at Shaggy, and would have probably taken his head off if he hadn’t ducked. Fred didn’t hesitate to move as he grabbed a sword from another display on Rome or Camelot or something and swung at the Knight like he was trying to hit a fly.

And Fred was many things - but a swordsman was not one of them. But it was one of the things the Knight was. Which was why, when it raised its sword, ready to bring it down on Fred’s head, Velma’s legs locked and her breath hitched.

The sword was coming down, down, down, and Fred was right there, still, frozen, - then suddenly he wasn’t. A brown blur of fur tackled him out of the way and the Knight’s sword cracked the tile floor instead of her classmate’s skull. Scooby stood in front of Fred, teeth bared, growling at the Knight. But Velma could see he was shaking.

Daphne came at it from behind, grabbing onto it’s neck, trying to take it’s helmet off. Shaggy wrapped his arms around its legs sending the three tumbling down in a tangle of limbs. The thing in the suit let out a roar of rage.

That’s when Velma realized that they were standing under a “New Exhibit” Banner.

“Fred!” She cried and pointed to the banner.

His eyes sparked and he understood, rushing to one rope. Velma grabbed the other end of it and in a swift pull, the banner came down. Daphne and Shaggy removed themselves from the fray and the five of them ran.

__________

They stopped by the entrance to catch their breath. They were all panting and a little bruised, and scared out of their minds. Or at least Daphne was.

“Is everyone okay?” Fred asked. He was still holding a sword.

“Like, yeah.” Shaggy stuttered.

“I’m okay.” Velma nodded.

Scooby huffed in a way Daphne assumed was a ‘yes’.

“Minor scraped and bruises, but nothing serious.” Daphne told him. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, same here. Minor scrapes and bruises.” He reached over and pet Scooby on his head. “Probably would have had a lot worse though if it weren’t for Scooby here. Thanks buddy.”

Scooby’s tail went wild, and he stood up on his hind legs to lick Fred’s face. Fred laughed, scratching the dog behind his ears.

“Yeah, thanks.” Daphne said turning to the others. “Both of you.”

“Like, don’t mention it.”

“It was nothing.”

“But seriously. What the fuck was that?” Velma demanded.

“You think the legend is real?” Fred asked.

“No.” Shaggy said quickly.

They all turned to him.

“I mean, like, if - if it was really alive, wouldn’t it have like, attacked us when he brought it here?” Shaggy asked.

“You’ve got a point.” Velma nodded. “But then what was that thing?”

“Like, maybe it’s got something to do with that missing painting Scoob and I saw.” Shaggy mused.

“Missing painting?”

“Yeah.” Shaggy nodded, he started toward one hallway and motioned for them to follow. “Like, this way.”

Their footsteps echoed on the floor, their breathing was one of the few noises in the museum. Shaggy kept his hand on Scoob’s head, Fred kept readjusting his grip on the sword and Velma was hugging her self so hard Daphne wondered if she was hindering her blood circulation. But it wasn’t like Daphne wasn’t shaking either, or jumping at every small noise even if it was just her own footsteps.

“What?” Shaggy stopped, in front of a painting. “Like, I could have sworn…”

“It’s okay.” Fred told him. “It’s dark, we’re stressed…”

“Hey!” Velma gasped. “Is that.. blood?”

Daphne walked over and kneeled down. She shook her head. “It’s just paint,” she reassured her.

Scooby started down the hallway, and Daphne noticed that there was a whole trail of paint leading down the hall. Scooby stopped and looked back, almost like he was waiting for them to follow.

__________

Fred felt the sword in his hands. It was sort of comforting, made him feel like he wasn’t totally defenceless. Like he could still protect the others. He was the one who drove them to the museum, maybe if he had just suggested that they wait until the next day. Maybe the Knight wouldn’t have almost decapitated Shaggy. Maybe he wouldn’t have been frozen, staring at a silver blade, watching it come down on him.

Fred scratched at Scooby’s head, a ‘thank you’ for literally saving his life. The dog licked his hand in response.

Scooby stopped in front of a sarcophagus.

“The trail ends here.” Daphne frowned.

“Like, what now?” Shaggy gulped.

“Haven’t you ever seen a true crime documentary?” Velma asked.

She stepped forwards and opened the sarcophagus.

“A secret room!” She grinned triumphantly.

The room was messier than Fred’s. Papers and paint and supplies scattered every which way, barely any floor peeking through. And in the middle…

“Look at that!” Fred pointed. “Two paintings, exactly alike.”

“Not exactly…” Daphne frowned. “It looks like someone’s making a forgery of the painting…”

“And then like, replacing it so they can take the other one.” Shaggy finished.

“And no doubt a history professor would notice the difference.” Fred nodded.

“So he had to be taken out of the equation.” Velma added grimly.

“Now can we call the police?” Fred asked.

“Let’s go.” Daphne turned on her heel, then she gasped.

“What’s wrong?” Fred looked and… oh no.

The Black Knight.

__________

Scooby was quick, throwing a can of paint in the Knight’s face as they rushed out of the secret room. Fred, Daphne and Velma raced down one hallway while Shaggy and Scoob went down another. Part of Shaggy wanted the Knight to follow him and leave the others alone, the other part was terrified of that possibility. Okay, maybe that was a lie. All parts of him were terrified.

He took a deep breath and tried to summon something from inside him. He knew it was there, nestled safely under all the food and the fear that was kept within him. Because, even if the Knight was just some crook in a suit, Shaggy could use some real magic right now.

But nothing came out.

And the clanking footsteps were coming closer.

“C’mon Scoob.” Shaggy and Scooby took off, meeting up with the others as they entered the “Relics Room.”

The others jumped in an old tank, while he and Scoob hid in the seats of a plane. Shaggy didn’t dare to look as he heard the Knight enter the room. Scooby whined quietly.

“Hey, it’s gonna be okay buddy.” Shaggy lied, reaching a hand out to comfort his friend.

Scooby’s tail began to wag at that, which caused two things.

The Knight to notice them and walk over to the plane

The plane to turn on and start moving

The Knight yelled and started to run, the plane coming quickly after him. Its wings were ripped off as they left the “Relics Room” and Shaggy screamed for the second time that night. His heart was practically beating out of his chest, he couldn’t remember being more scared.

When Shaggy gained the courage to unfurl a little, he looked up to see that the plane was on a collision course. With the Black Knight. Surrounded by Easter Island heads, he had nowhere to run. No way to avoid the plane (if it could be called that anymore with the wings being ripped off and all) as it rammed into him.

Shaggy gripped his head, as the other’s ran over.

“Here,” Daphne offered him her hand as Fred helped Scooby get out of the plane.

Velma meanwhile was standing over by the crook. “Now let’s see who this Knight really is.”

She removed the helmet and lo, and behold, it was the curator: Mr. Wickles.

__________

Scooby watched as the man called “Sheriff Stone” handcuffed the Knight-not-Knight.

“Not bad.” He said. “I gotta hand it to you kids. This time. But next time leave the mystery solving to the adults.”

“Maybe if the adults actually solved crime we wouldn’t have to.” Velma muttered.

“What was that missy?”

“Nothing!” Velma smiled innocently.

The humans continued the conversation when Scooby noticed something, lying a little ways away. A shoe. He frowned, going to pick it up, when he noticed that the exhibit it was lying in front of only had one shoe. Pieces began to click together in his mind. The shoe, the paintings, the Professor.

He barked, - because he knew he shouldn’t talk in front of all these non-magic people - and the others came running. The Sheriff removed the cloak and mask to reveal -

“Professor Hyde White!”

After they freed the Professor, the man thanked them profusely.

“Especially you.” He said as he scratched at Scooby’s ears.

“Yeah, good job Scooby!”

“Way to go!”

“You did it buddy!”

Scooby “woofed” excitedly and looked at Shaggy. He could tell he was thinking the same thing. Maybe they should stick around for a little bit.

“Hey, uh, Professor. Are you gonna need this sword back or…?” Fred asked sheepishly.

“Keep it.” The man waved him off. “As a thank you for solving the mystery.”

“This’ll be something to see.” Velma laughed.

#scooby doo #scooby gang #scooby doo rewrite #fred jones #daphne blake #velma dinkley #shaggy rogers

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payidaresque · 1 year

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I HAVE SO MUCH TO SAY ABOUT THIS SCENE UHSDUHDSHDSUDSUIDS. bc despite all the angst (thanks eda), and the whole situation, which didn’t look good at all, this scene is so painfully bittersweet and so important to them both as characters AND as a couple. So, it’s gonna be a loooootta letters, so if you want to read the entire post — go ahead click that read more button

This scene is so important for SO MAY REASONS. Now, we all know that Aziz is a very, very proud man, in fact, Aziz is so proud that at some point this quality of his could be easily mistaken for arrogance (and it’s not entirely untrue tbh), and for that exact reason he walked away when d*lruba refused him (pretty harshly both times i must say) looking like THIS

she hurt his pride not once but twice, not only that, but that felt like she betrayed him for the 2nd time, and for someone like him, that is almost the same as death (which is confirmed by everything that happened later after that in ep 6). after he opened up PUBLICLY IN FRONT OF THE ENTIRE TOWN and then walked out humiliated by everyone. And while i love Aziz with all my heart and beyond, that is the behavior of an offended teenager saying “you don’t want me? fine, i don’t need you anymore either”, which he had every reason to be

And what do we have in this scene?

He is angry. He is hurt. Because lying is almost the same as betrayal for him (which kinda makes him arrogant bc Aziz darling, i love you but no one is obligated to live up to the expectations you have in your head, no matter how high or low you set them to be)

And he is also furious because he told Efnan repeatedly to stay away from P*erre because that man is dangerous and does ABSOLUTELY NOTHING without setting a price for it. But he’s also scared bc the thought of something bad (or something truly HORRIBLE, something that can’t be undone) happening to Efnan makes him — the man who’s afraid of almost nothing, not even openly dare the active government, or getting to jail for the rest of his life, or die, all of these things he’d do for Efnan and his country, btw — absolutely PARALYZED WITH HORROR. And he’s not used to being this scared, oh hell no. He doesn’t like to be scared, which makes him even more angrier. But when Efnan starts talking, he’s not turning away, he’s not trying to hide from the outside world like a baby, no matter how harsh it is being to him, like he did here

This time, he’s not hiding from the truth, no matter how ugly and painful it may be — he embraces it and whatever consequences that come with it, faces it like an adult

He’s not turning away. Instead, he LISTENS TO HER, looking right in her face, catching every word Efnan has to say the entire time she’s is speaking, because he knows that actually, his life depends on it. And while he looks at her, he sees that going to that man caused Efnan the same pain and horror as it caused him, and while he’s in pain, seeing that she’s also in pain tortures, that is one of the reasons he’s not saying anything — he just can’t. it’s too painful. And if you look closely, you can see that he’s barely breathing the whole time Efnan’s talking. That is why when this happens next

He gets all tense and you can SEE the horror in his eyes THE SECOND she says it out loud. it’s a slight move, a slight change of his expression, but it’s very noticeable. But it’s Aziz, “proud” is his middle name, and he’s still angry, so he keeps standing still, afraid to move bc he’s afraid to do something that would destroy them for good

and when she tries to leave, the realization strikes him like a thunder — if Efnan walks out that door, he’ll loose her forever

So he stops her. He stops her bc he knows — she’s just as hurt and scared as he is, and she didn’t need to say a single word to let him know that she needs him. That she needs some sign that they are safe, that they’re not over, that other people couldn’t break them with their plots and schemes, that the bond between them is forever. He knows everything she feels just by the look on her face, and he gives her what she needs. And it’s not a hug, or a word of consolation, or something even more trivial like “i forgive you” — no, It’s this. Because the only thing Efnan needs, the only person she ever needed, was Aziz. In every possible sense. And it was the only right thing to do

Now that is the whole point of this scene really and the reason why it's so important. The old Aziz? He wouldn’t even listen to Efnan. He’d walk out that atelier himself and never looked back. But Aziz with Efnan? He learned things, he grew up. Such as there’s more important things in life than pride, that there’s no ultimatums when it comes to love, true love, that you have to actually trust the person you love, believe in them. He overstepped his pride because Aziz knows that Efnan is more important to him than anything in this world, more important than his own life. Not to jump for conclusions so quickly without knowing the whole story. Like a real man would do, And that shows exactly how much Aziz has changed. He knows Efnan, he trusts her, he adores her, he loves her. Being without her is the same as being dead for him

That is why he says exactly those words. He will never let her go, because without her everything is meaningless, and losing her would be the same as losing himself, and he was lost long enough already, that is, until he found Efnan. In fact, he’s afraid to lose her more than he’s — or was — ever afraid of the actual death. It was never as scary as the thought that he wouldn’t have Efnan in his life

And he needs her just as much as she needs him. He needs to feel her close, to feel her love, to touch it. And him covering her with kisses so eagerly is his way of saying “you are my whole life, and i’d rather die than let anyone hurt you. I love you”. Aziz knows that Efnan loves him just as much as he loves her, and despite being angry and scared, he knows that she did what she did to save him, and more importantly, he knows that if he were in her place, he’d do exactly the same. And that’s also the reason why i think that Aziz never loved D*lruba, not consciously anyway, and it was more of a teenager infatuation, and i know Aziz is not a teenager, i mean mentally. Because only when a person truly loves someone, he can put this person before his own feelings and needs when it's needs to be done. And they both know that no matter what happens, no matter how many ppl try to tear them apart going forward, their love can survive anything, and Aziz belongs to Efnan, and Efnan belongs to him, and that is something no one can nor will ever change

#aziz #aziz x efnan #meta #period drama #sjdiojdsjdsidojjisdisd i feel so inspired for whatever reason today help #write me if you want some meta on a particular scene #i have so much to say shdihsdhsdihsd #THERE'S A REASON I USE IT AS MY SIDEBAR GIF OK????#I LOVE THAT SCENE #im so very not normal about them jesus christ

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taemmin · 3 years

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seeing poems abt spring and summer and whatnot from the poetry blogs i follow after coming home looking like a drenched rat after being caught in a storm is my villain story

#summer..... spring........ when.#my head HURTS i was scared for my life bc of all the thunder

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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

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

Oh, you loved this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.”

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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realcube · 3 years

Text

comforting you during a thunderstorm ⛈

summary: you’re not much of a scaredy-cat but you do have an immense fear of thunder storms which you didn’t tell him about. so this is how he comforts you

characters: saiki k, bokuto, suna

tw// thunderstorms, hurt/comfort

thanks to anon for the wholesome request 🥺 this reminds me of ohshc & i love it so much 💞

Kusuo Saiki

he just popped downstairs to bid farewell to his mother before she headed out to buy groceries, leaving you and him home alone

he didn’t even notice the thunderstorm, until his mom mentioned it

‘oh, i have to walk to the bus-stop in this horrible weather. is there anyway you could make it stop, ku?’

as much as he wanted to say ‘yes, but i cba. cope.’ he just blurted out a ‘no.’ before heading back up to his room

he didn’t think you were scared of anything tbh

i mean you killed a cockroach for him one time so you were basically a fearless god, in his eyes

so imagine his surprise when he walked into his room and..you were gone

he was confused for a moment until he heard faint sobs and whimpers from inside his closet

he slid the door open to reveal you cowering in the corner with your knees pulled up to your chest and your face buried between them, sniffing and only moving when you had to use your hand to wipe away the tears that poured from your eyes and threatened to stain your leggings

‘i go for a minute and this is what happens-- are you crying?’

that was when you realised that saiki had entered the room once again and when you looked up, you saw his tall, daunting figure looking down at you - the glow from the lightening behind him not doing any favours as it just made him look even more unnerving

‘i don’t cry. i’m just.. excreting my eye juices. it clears your skin-- ah!’ you tried to explain but you were cut of by another boom of thunder rattle through the house

‘you’re lying.’

yeah, you knew he was a psychic so you weren’t really sure why you thought you’d be able to get the lie passed him

also, due to his psychic abilities and common sense, he figured that the thunder/lightening was the reason for your distress

saiki sighed, not really sure if he should do what he was about to but upon seeing how frightened you were and the nervous series of continuous thoughts rushing through your head...he just had to

you heard another noise which sounded rather different from thunder but it startled you none the less

you looked up at your boyfriend for comfort, only to notice that he was gone

then, you caught a glimpse of something unusual from the window

you approached it hesitantly and peered outside to see the cluster of storm clouds being swept aside like dust by some unknown force, to reveal the bright blue sky that was hiding behind it

you were in awe and although the masses probably thought this was the work of god or the wind, it didn’t take long for you to figure out that it was your psychic boyfriend who was behind it all

‘it’s gone now.’ his voice tickled your ears from behind and to say it gave you the fright of your life was an understatement

you jumped, alarmed at first but once you turned around for your eyes to meet his, you couldn’t help but feel a wave of relief wash over you

‘oh, yes. thank you, saiki!’ you chirped, throwing your arms around him and pulling him into a tight embrace

he was a bit taken back at first but it didn’t take long for him to melt into your touch and hug back, cradling your head and patting it bc i hc that is how he hugs/cuddles

(he just wants you to feel safe with him 🥺 even though he is an OP psychic who could probably kill you if he’s not careful)

anyway, saiki will ensure that you never experience another thunderstorm for as long as you live

Kōtarō Bokuto

you already know that the first thing bokuto is going to do when he sees you cry and cuddle up next to you and cry too so you don’t feel embarrassed

but like when he comes back from the kitchen and heating the pizza he was about to eat, then he noticed you curled up under a blanket on the couch, shivering and whimpering..he drops the pizza

like he is so shocked

he didn’t want to believe that you were crying tbh

but as your bf it was his duty to comfort you

bc you always comfort him so well when he feels down and he wants to do the same for you!!

anyway, the first thing he does is join you under the blanket and cry with you for a bit

but his fake wails are so bad that you can’t help but laugh FVHIDBFA

once he notices that he’d cheered you up slightly, he’ll inquire, ‘are you scared of thunder?’

you nodded slightly, gently leaning your head on his strong shoulder, ‘a bit.’

bokuto bent his arm to pat and rub your head reassuringly, ‘but you’re so fearless, (y/n)! remember that time you went bungee jumping and even I was too afraid to do it?!’

you simply shrugged, tensing as you heard the thunder rumble through the living room

‘but anyway,’ bokuto hummed, placing a gentle kiss on your temple, ‘is there anything i can do to make you feel better?’

you shrugged once again, ‘maybe just stay with me for a bit longer, please.’

your wish was his command ✨

now there is no way he’s leaving your side until the storm passes

whether that takes a few minutes or the whole night

he’s not going to leave you even to eat the pizza he had dropped on the living room floor

and he hold you close against his chest so you know that he’s not going going anywhere

also, he started talking not only instinctively but also to drown out the sound of the thunder and redirect your attention onto him

‘and then kuroo was all like SUPRISE!! and i was all like THANKS, MAN BUT IT’S NOT EVEN MY BIRTHDAY and then kuroo was like I KNOW!! god, he knows me so well.’

‘hey, (y/n) - we should dress up for halloween his year! kuroo and his girlfriend are doing a couples costume so i think we should do one too and out-shine them! i was thinkin’ fred and daphne except you can be fred.’

‘i was looking on five minute crafts of food the other day - don’t ask why - and some of the desserts were lookin’ kinda tasty tbh. i’ll send you the link so we can make ‘em sometime.’

‘why did you comment ‘i’ll give you my first born child in exchange for you to crush my skull with your thicc, juicy, scrumptious thighs 🤤😳’ under my instagram pic? and why does it have 1k likes?’

needless to say, you can’t be sad for too when you’re around bokuto lmao

Rintarō Suna

RAIEVABTG DON’T EVEN LIE HE’D JUST BE LIKE ‘cover your ears den lmao’

ok ok so you’re on facetime with him and thunder blares through your room - it’s so loud that even he can hear it through the phone - and you jump, immediately pulling your blankets over yourself

he was hitting his vape then he pulled away to look at his phone again and you were gone (bc you had brought your phone under the covers with you and obvs it was dark)

he could also hear your little whimpers even though you tried you best to hide them by slapping your hand over your mouth

‘doll, where’d ya go?’ he inquired, concern laced in his voice. he opened his drawer to toss his vape away but he did not avert his eyes from the screen just in case something happened

‘i’m still here. just under the covers.’ you spoke, doing your best to hide how shaky your voice was

‘why?’ he puffed, allowing the vapor to leak from his mouth and escape out to his surrounding - which was his bedroom

‘oh, no reason.’

suna knew you were lying, it wasn’t hard to tell, ‘well, if that’s the case, can you come out from the cover, doll? i wanna see your face.’

‘-no.’ you immediately replied, letting out a feeble sigh as you realised that lying wasn’t going to get you anywhere. ‘i’m just a bit afraid of the thunder, that’s all.’

suna cocked his head to the side, ‘thunder? never heard that one before.’ he said, mentally cursing himself out just as he said that since it came out a lot harsher than he intended, ‘erm, why don’t you try putting your headphones on?’ he suggested in a soft voice, trying to make up for the uncalled-for comment he made

you hummed in agreement, wondering why you didn’t think of that

momentarily tossing your duvet aside, you rushed to your desk where you black headphones were laying, you picked them up and dashed back towards your bed as if someone was chasing you, diving onto it, pulling the cover back over your head and plugging the headphones into your phone before pulling them over your ears

‘this helps a bit. thanks, suna.’

suna’s eyes widened as he slumped back against his headboard, ‘suna? what happened to babe?’

‘thanks, babe.’ you corrected yourself with a giggle

now that suna’s voice was the most prominent sound in your ears, the thunder seemed to fade into satisfying background noise

you couldn’t get over the random flashes of lightening though, those always made you yelp - and he noticed this

‘i really wish you were here right now.’ you mused, hugging your pillow to your chest to imitate what you’d to if he was here with you, ‘i’d give you all my kisses.’

‘bet.’ was the last thing you heard before he hung up on you

you were quite bummed at first but then you registered that he was probably on his way over :))

and he was!

you heard a few loud knocks on your door followed by a monotone mutter ‘let me in, i’m freezing my tits off out here.’

ofc you let him in and after you led him to your bedroom, he immediately pinned you to your bed, ‘you know what i’m here for.’

‘huh?’

he was confused for a moment but then he noticed that you still had the headphones on

he snickered, momentarily pulling one of the earpads away from your ear to say, ‘kisses.’

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whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst · 3 years

Text

Texts from The Lost Tomb, part 3

I didn’t mean for this to stray into angst but like the lack of updates with Li Cu in LTR?? I had to do it to em.

Wushanju Crew Chat, 11:05pm

Li Cu: what’s up losers I’m outside

Li Cu: someone come on and open the damn door

Wang Meng: Language:(

Li Cu: fine, someone come on and open the damn door please

Snake Eyes Chat, 7:00am

Wu Xie: hey are you awake? Sorry I missed you coming in:) was finishing up some work. How was the end of your first semester? Did that geology paper go well? Did the food budget work out or do you need some extra money next semester?

Li Cu: yeah about your work

Li Cu: heard a little rumor

Li Cu: about you going through some stuff during ur recent trip

Li Cu: some stuff you maybe forgot to mention

Li Cu: and you told me we gotta check in with stuff, so this is me checking in, okay

Wu Xie: oh? What stuff?

Li Cu: idk just like

Li Cu: THE STUFF WITH YOU ALMOST FUCKING DYING FOR FUCKING MONTHS AND THE WAREHOUSE SHIT AND ERJING AND PEOPLE HURT YOU AND WHAT THE FUCK IS A THUNDER CITY AND NOONE FUCKING CALLED ME ABT THOSE PARTS ONCE

Wu Xie: oh. That stuff.

Li Cu: yeah asshat I’m in the kitchen whenever you’re ready to explain your fucking bullshit. Also you’re out of milk wtf how am I supposed to make breakfast here

Main Chat, 11:14am

Wu Xie: okay so it’s possible I fucked up a little bit.

Wang Pangzi: THERES JUST SO MUCH YOU COULD BE REFERRING TO I DONT KNOW WHERE TO START

Zhang Qiling: What’s wrong?

Honorary Wu Chat, 11:30am

Wang Pangzi: KID IM SO SORRY THAT PUNK IS A TRAINWRECK BUT YOU KNEW THAT

Wang Meng: Welcome home, Li Cu <3 not much has changed, ultimately.

Wang Pangzi: IT DIDNT EVEN OCCUR TO ME THAT HE WOULDNT TELL YOU EVERYTHING ABOUT IT ONCE THE REST OF US FIGURED IT OUT

WAIT HOW DID YOU FIND OUT

Li Cu: it’s okay. not your fault, uncle. Doesn’t matter how I found out. Wait wait hold on what do you mean “the rest of us figured it out” who figured it out

Wang Pangzi: SAY HELLO LIU SANG

Liu Sang: …hello.

Wang Pangzi: SAY MORE THAN THAT.

Liu Sang: uh…so you’re Wu Xie’s protégé, huh?

Li Cu: oh well howdy there homewrecker

Liu Sang: Excuse me??

Zhang Qiling: I think someone on the roof is calling me and I should go find out.

Wang Meng: I would also very much like to be removed from this conversation.

Wang Pangzi: AHAHAHAHA KIDDO IVE MISSED YOU

Li Cu: all I’m saying is aren’t you the little creep who’s obsessed with Xiao Ge

Liu Sang: ???

Zhang Qiling: Li Cu is referring to a brief period of irrational thought on Wu Xie’s part, where he mistakenly believed you to be a threat to our relationship.

Liu Sang: what do you mean a threat??

Wang Pangzi: WHAT DO YOU MEAN TIANZHEN HAD “A BRIEF PERIOD OF IRRATIONAL THOUGHT”

YOUVE MET YOUR HUSBAND RIGHT

Wang Meng: can you please take me off this chat.

Liu Sang: Wait, so Wu Xie told you about me, but…reading between the lines, he didn’t mention the cancer or anything bad that happened? Oh yikes.

Li Cu: don’t change the subject “Liu Sang”

if that is your real name

Like yeah you’re right abt it but still

just saying

heard you got good ears but I’ve got snake powers

kinda

so like no more funny business okay you superhearing harlot

Wang Meng: LANGUAGE, LI CU. IN THIS HOUSE WE SHOW GOOD MANNERS.

Wang Pangzi: LMAO OH DO WE NOW

Zhang Qiling: Li Cu, this is all unnecessary and childish. Please apologize.

Li Cu: you say that now bruh but apparently you weren’t complaining when he was all “idol this” and “idol that”

oh and hey Wang Meng while we’re here can I show you my business class grade report later bc Wu Xie is all “what matters is that you learned and enjoyed the experience” blah blah all eat pray love you know how he gets and I want to actually discuss areas to improve so that when I take over this joint I do better than Wu Xie? Tho that shouldnt be hard lol

Wang Meng: hurtful but accurate. I’ll bring my best red pen:)

Liu Sang: oh my god. I’m too jetlagged to keep up with any of this.

Wang Pangzi: BEST. DAY. EVER. IM SCREENSHOTTING THIS FOR HEI XIAZI.

Not A Homewrecker Chat, 11:52am

Liu Sang: Okay, we started off on the wrong foot.

Li Cu: I agree let’s start over

Start with how your little prank game almost got ppl killed

Liu Sang: And I seriously regret that. But we moved past that.

Wow, he seriously skipped over so much bullshit but didn’t skimp on mine, huh.

Li Cu: AHA so you ADMIT IT

Liu Sang: I’d like to think I’ve grown since then. That I’ve come to see Xiao Ge as a person and mentor, rather than an idol. I count Pangzi and Wu Xie as my close friends. I’m going to be staying here with them right now, I hope you can be okay with that.

Li Cu: see in my head you were going to be a lot less mature about it and I had a bunch of great follow-up insults planned

Liu Sang: I figured. I’d like us to be friends, though. Or at least not enemies.

Li Cu: okay but only bc you don’t know me yet so you won’t judge too much for this and I need to get this out to somebody I’ve been thinking about it for hours and my friends are still in finals and I’m stressing a little bit maybe

Liu Sang: ?

Li Cu: I yelled at dad

*Wu Xie sorry autocorrect

Liu Sang: …uh huh.

Li Cu: I yelled at him earlier. for keeping all that stuff from me. He started crying

Liu Sang: Wu Xie has been pretty emotional since we got back. Not necessarily your fault.

Li Cu: I made him cry right there at the kitchen sink and it felt like maybe the worst thing I’ve ever done

Snake venom and stabbings, no tears

Me saying I wouldn’t have gone to his funeral, all tears

Which I know was shitty to say but I was really mad

Liu Sang: If it’s any consolation, I think Wu Xie can understand the concept of being led by his emotions to make bad decisions…better than most people.

Li Cu: Xiao Ge came in then and looked weird

Like weirder than usual

Like he didn’t know which of us to be more mad at

Liu Sang: A common problem for the iron triangle, I understand.

Li Cu: I just ran out I didn’t have words right then and I feel stupid

but whenever they come back from their walk I’m gonna say sorry and stuff bc i could’ve come home to his funeral and I’m mad about it but also like. I could have come home to his funeral. I can get mean when I’m in a freakout mood. It’s not like I was scared or anything at all I don’t get scared really anymore ever but just like. Freaked out.

Liu Sang: He’s probably going to say sorry, too.

Li Cu: sorry I called you a homewrecker. Didn’t mean to slut-shame either

Liu Sang: I admit that after the initial shock, it was pretty funny. Super hearing harlot, it should be on my business card;)

Li Cu: this situation with Wu Xie is weird but kinda good ya know. And I have these freakouts sometimes that something maybe bad could happen to this situation. So consider this a shovel talk. But like, also not a shovel talk at the same time.

also I appreciate you saving his life and whatnot

Liu Sang: Noted. Now. Coffee?

Li Cu: sounds sick.

Be in the kitchen in 10. You can pick out what we watch for the household tv show tonight. no way is Wu Xie choosing some dry documentary about gravestone rubbings again. Pangzi just watches real housewives reruns and Xiao Ge won’t watch tv after he caught the last half hour of A Walk To Remember. Also i need my phone now to send some $ to Hei Xiazi since I owe him for…providing some intel

Liu Sang: Not even surprised.

#whomst #ultimate note #the lost tomb #wu xie #dmbj #pingxie

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whump-town · 3 years

Text

The Fever That Burns

I don't want to hear a word-- this wasn't even my idea. This is all @genevievedarcygranger fault. I am a slave to the muse.

Hold on, keep hands and feet inside the vehicle at all times and brace for impact bc you're not gonna like this

No real warnings yet, I think but it's not going to be pretty

Part One:

When Emily Prentiss got the signal from Clyde Easter that she had the green light on getting Declan out of that house and away from Ian Doyle, she never looked back. Creating demons like that, leaving behind a past with men who hold grudges, means that she knew she would be haunted for the rest of her natural life. Her body and her mind will not recover but Declan will. He was a child, he deserved a world that he could not obtain anywhere near his father. She knew that the moment she took Declan, she could never go back. Forever from here on out, she would have to outrun that decision. She has to outrun Ian.

She could feel him closing in. The flowers-- the fucking flowers-- and that feeling in the depth of her gut. She knows he’s here and she didn’t run.

After Foyet, Hotch got sick. A fever that consumed his every thought with these twisted ideas about security while it ravished his healing body of what little energy he could spare. She’d seen it herself, the bloodshot aggravation that Derek threw words like “hypervigilance” and “social isolation” at. Before, she had seen Derek and Hotch go at it but not as much as what that fever caused them to say. The way that they looked at one another, wolves snarling at throats and she never knew which one she could put her back to. Which one to call down.

In the end, hypervigilance won out. Derek was right but he was too insistent, too hurt for her to take him too seriously at first. Then she’d had to work through the tangle of locks on Hotch’s front door, the only control he could formulate in his fever. He never took them down. When Jack came home-- more importantly, when Haley didn’t-- it took every bit of charisma and conviction she could give to convince him he didn’t more. Nothing would happen.

The monsters of the past are dead and they survived.

Nothing is going to happen.

At two in the morning, on the Saturday Hotch had spent the month promising Jack he’d take him to the aquarium, her monster comes knocking. The locks don’t matter-- a fever put them up and a fever brought them down. Ian Doyle stands in the living room of Aaron Hotchner’s apartment, two feet from the carpeted spot Derek Morgan spent an entire day ripping up, and he calls out for the man he knows is somewhere. For the man, and the boy, he can take away from Emily Prentiss the way she took his boy. There is no planning, intelligence breeds paranoia. The fever in Ian Doyle burns bright, strong. He will not be talked down.

The guns in their hands waver. Standing in only his boxers and a dirty white t-shirt, Aaron Hotchner’s hand tremors beyond his control. The sleep is still taking over his body and mind, his muscle haven’t woken enough to control themselves. To stifle the pains of the scars Foyet caused him but he’s there, he’s ready.

“Lower your weapon, Hotchner,” Ian drawls. He’s high as a kite, ready to die by the hands of the oaf in front of him or to take the boy as he plans. Either way… “I’d hate to see that boy of yours come out here. You already killed a man in front of him, how many more do you think it will take before he realizes you’re just like me?”

Hotch scowls, “I don’t even know who you are.”

Ian frowns, blinking for a moment as he takes in the man before him. “I know who you are,” Ian says. He knows everything about Aaron Hotchner. Pulled medical records, smirked into the fine lines of the abuse in his childhood spelled out in broken arms and countless contusions. He’s watched him with Emily, seen how close they are. She cares about him and with that thought Ian Doyle knows what he wants to do. He wants to take everything from her just as she took everything from him.

The gunfire shocks Jack awake, his little heart thundering in his chest as he recognizes the noise. It’s not the first time he’s woken with it but this marks the only time it was real. The only time that it had been a gunshot and not the product of an altogether far too lifelike feeling nightmare. Jack throws the comforter off his body, tearing out of his room with no more than the stuffed bear closest to him. He’s headed for his father’s room, feet carrying him blindly when he hits the living room.

He knows his father’s friends. The men and women he’s grown to call his aunts and uncles and he’d recognize them easily. He spends weekend nights with Uncle Dave on the occasional Saturday being pampered with blueberry waffles and toys. Uncle Derek and Aunt Penny take him to the park, always remembering the sunscreen. Sometimes Uncle Derek gives him his cool sunglasses and Jack feels like he runs so much faster with them on. Aunt JJ and Uncle Will have Henry, his very best friend but he’s also a baby so Jack has to be careful when they play. Aunt Emily comes over all the time and lets him watch Finding Nemo as many times as he wants.

Whoever this man is, Jack does not know him.

“Daddy?”

Ian looks up, leaving the sight of Hotch on the floor without a second thought. His gun still aimed at the downed man’s head. “Jack,” Ian recognizes with a smile. “You’re smaller than I thought.”

Jack can’t tear his eyes away from his father. He’s laid out on the floor, white t-shirt turning red as the blood on his chest expands rapidly down his sides. He doesn’t respond to either of the times Jack calls for him, no more than blinking heavily and making wet, choked sounds as blood pools out of his mouth. It scares Jack. His father is… he’s never lost. Not even with Foyet, Hotch saved Jack. He never burns pancakes and lets Jack get by only eating half the green beans on his plate. He never gets hurt.

“Will you come with me?” Ian asks, stepping into Jack’s line of sight and squatting down in front of the boy. Watching as his eyes move from Hotch and glue to Ian, allowing the man to get close to him. “I’d like it if you came with me, Jack. I think we can have some fun, you and I.”

Jack nods but glances away, “but--” His eyes wander back to his father, those choked sounds getting louder but Hotch doesn’t move. His chest starting to still but his eyes on them, watching Ian talk to Jack but unable to do a thing.

Ian places the gun against the side of Jack’s face, moving his head with light pressure back to him. “Never mind him,” Ian says. “Come with me, Jack.”

Jack nods because he isn’t sure what else to do. He goes with Ian, allowing the man to pick him up in his arms. Jack watches his father as Ian carries him away, confused by the tears streaming down his father’s face.

“Say goodbye to daddy.”

Jack waves and asks, “is he gonna be okay?”

Ian nods, shutting the front door behind them. “Don’t worry about him, Jack. It’s just you and I, now.” He smiles at the boy in his arms, “tell me, how much do you know about you Aunt Emily?”

Taking Declan away from Ian Doyle was a decision that Emily Prentiss promised herself she would never have to be guilty over. That boy deserved so much better than what he had with them and she hadn’t hesitated to put what little she had on the line to guarantee he got the chance at a normal life. Nothing she had was ever worth anything. Lauren Reynolds was just a shell and losing her was easy enough. No place had ever felt like home so moving on-demand hadn’t even crossed her mind as a con, if a place got boring she could just leave. Emily Prentiss had never had anything to lose, not a family or a life. She was, effectively, no one. A ghost. She had nothing to lose and everything to gain.

Then they came.

The light she had only ever heard about reaching her darkness. She’d pulled away, afraid of what would happen when they saw her ink-black history, and noticed she always had more questions than answers. That she couldn’t smile like Reid and talk about where she came from as if her past was somehow behind her. How Morgan went dancing for the stress relief but she needed a mindless fuck, someone to forget. She found herself gaining traction, finally claiming worth. In the picture Will took at Henry’s birth, throwing up bunny ears behind Hotch’s head. Picking Garcia and Reid up at one of their conventions and hearing about a variety of far too new nerdy things for her to understand. Listening to JJ complain about living with a man and Morgan teasing her about past haircut disasters. Leaning on Hotch’s shoulder as the bourbon takes over, hearing Dave go one and on about his second divorce and Hotch humming occasionally so he feels heard. Realizing just how much she trusts them. All of them.

They give her something to lose and the first rule when outrunning the past-- never have anything worth taking.

“Alright, alright--” Emily stretches long and slow, her phone still wedged under her chin. She can hardly discern the information coming in through the other line. The thoughts in her mind are sticky, webbing of the past gumming up the cogs until she’s not entirely sure what’s being said. “Can you say that again?” she asks, stretching out to her left to feel that familiar pull on her ribs. The movement is nice without a bra on and she’s not sure if it’s JJ or Hotch on the other line but she doesn’t want to put on a bra and it’s tempting to just hang up and play dead. Emily who? She can’t come to the phone right now. You’ll have to call back lat--

“Hotch is in the hospital.”

Oh. All that stretching is for nothing, she can feel the ball of weight forming at the back of her neck. Pressing into her vertebrae, hurting from just holding her head up. “What happened?” Her fingers work into the groove, the chill of her skin shocking her, but the pressure she applies is futile. She imagines a thousand answers to that question but none of them are enough to prepare her for the real answer.

JJ clears her throat, her tears thickening her voice. “Shot,” comes her simple response and Emily is naive enough to consider that’s the end of it. He was shot. They’re going to have to hunt down another serial killer with a grudge but they’ve learned their lesson this time, right? Foyet taught them lessons about themselves that they needed to learn the hard way and they can beat it this time. Hotch will be fine and-- “And Jack’s gone.”

And Jack’s gone.

#criminal minds #criminal minds fanfiction #aaron hotchner #emily prentiss #ian doyle #jack hotchner

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beelzebubisbestwaifu · 4 years

Note

Okay, so can I request for Belphegor and Beelzebub being soft yanderes? Like I love those bois so much- Also I wanted to ask, how do you have any tips for someone that's planing to start to write?

Can do bby.

Personally I didn’t really get seriously into writing until I started my creepypasta blog (like 2-3 years ago) and before then I didn’t do too much writing. But the best tips I have are:

Write what you love to read! It really helps with motivation to write.

Read read read read read read read. It helps with finding the right words and descriptions for your own writing. It also helps with developing the kinds of writing styles you enjoy.

If you can’t FEEL yourself in the scene while reading it then try re-writing or heavily editing. If you cant feel it your audience wont either.

Time often helps with writers block. Take a moment, make something to drink, and then sit down to look over your work. I’ve sometimes had to delete works I’ve spent ages on bc I realized I was forcing a concept that didn’t work at all.

Change the font/color/highlight of what you’re writing. Your brain often overlooks errors it sees a million times so by tricking it into thinking you’re reading something new you’re tricking it to actually proofread.

Good luck!!

Sharing is Caring

Beelzebub x reader x Belphegor - Soft!Yandere: Some smutty stuff but mostly fluffy stuff.

“Isn’t it kinda weird you guys share everything?” I hum, carefully sorting a comically huge pile of socks. The room smells of fast food and laundry detergent, perfectly matching the stupid amount of clothes needing to be folded.

“Yeah but we don’t mind,” Belphie hums, sorting his shirts from his brother’s, “We’ve been sharing everything since we were angels, after all.” I nod, setting a lonesome sock into the single pringle pile. Beel carefully folds some pants, his stoneset features unmoving as he sorts.

“Even lovers?” My eyes squint as I giggle at my own joke. The intent of course being to cause Beel to react in any way shape or form. The serious second youngest looks up, his tone smooth and calm.

“Why? Are you applying?” I honestly can’t tell if he’s being serious and that makes my blush even worse.

“What??” stammering, I search for a matching purple sock to go with the one in my hand, “I was just joking, guys...” Belphie lets out a lazy little snicker, stringing a shirt onto a hanger. Embarrassment blossoms in my chest like an overexcited squirrel in a pillowcase. Being around demons should teach me to not be so sensitive. After all, it’s not like they’d actually genuinely want to be with me in that way, right? I’m human??

“How cute,” Belphegor mumbles, one eye peeking out from his mop of messy bluish hair. I huff, glaring down at the socks like I’m about to avenge my family and complete my sock-based revenge anime arc. Having finished with the pants, Beel comes over and plops down by my side to assist in the sock avalanche.

“C’mon now Belphie,” Beelzebub huffs, delicately folding together two socks and tossing them into his own little pile, “Teasing them isn’t nice. They were kind enough to assist with our little laundry issue, after all.” How grateful can one be for a muscular demon who eats an ungodly amount? He is right, though. After Mammon’s little “get rich quick” scheme messed up and basically wrecked all of Beel and Belph’s clothes, nobody was willing to actually help them with the cleaning. Mammon is still suffering in Lucifer’s room listening to the lecture, Leviathan hid in his room, Asmo is off being Asmo, and Satan....was actually fairly helpful in collecting the soiled clothes. I couldn’t leave my boys to deal with this nonsense alone, I just can’t be that cruel.

“I understand, Beel,” The sloth avatar nods, moving from shirts to dress clothes, “But you must admit, it is cute when (y/n) gets all flustered.” I cannot bring myself to look up and acknowledge what Beel’s reaction is, but judging by the pleased hum it wasn’t something I agree with. “Hey, that reminds me,” Belphegor’s sly little tone strikes a chord deep in my lungs, the feeling of a love unconfessed I suppose, “Do you have anything you’re going to do when you get back to the human world?” The question actually kinda melts my resolve a little, shoulders drooping as I focus on the task at hand. At first going home seemed like such an excitable event, but now I kinda don’t want to leave.

“Well,” I sigh, “I’m probably going to enjoy some non-strange human foods. No offence but it’s odd being in a culture where you can just buy some brains at the supermarket.” Beel nods in understanding, the food in Devildom is quite bizarre when placed beside human food. “Then I’m probably going to cuddle up and sleep in my own bed. There’s nothing quite like the mattress at home yknow? Even if it kinda sucks. It’s just nice because it’s yours and it smells familiar.” Belphie gives a shy smile, watching me with his one looming eye. “Then maybe I’ll get around to the stuff I’d been putting off for so long.”

“Oh?” The sleepy youngest hums, sitting down next to Beel and I to take a break, “What do you mean by that?” I hum, letting my guard down and focusing on the socks.

“I was kinda putting it off,” I admit, blush creeping onto my cheeks, “But I think I’m gonna hop back into the dating game. I never really took it seriously, but being around immortal demons kinda puts the perspective on the shortness of human life.” at this point my companions have stopped sorting and are staring at me like I’ve murdered someone. “I was approached by an old friend of mine, someone I had once had feelings for, and asked on a date. And I think I’m gonna say yes. Could lead into something amazing for all I know.” I grin at the twins. “You never know unless you take the leap!” The boys stare, serious expressions painted onto their, in my opinion, perfect faces.

“Huh,” Beel hums, “I guess you’ve got quite the to-do list. But I think your advice is sound. Sometimes in life you need to take the leap.” Belphie grins up at his brother, the two sharing a warm glance before Belphie clears his throat.

“(y/n), you must be exhausted,” He hums, “You should go take a nap. Beel and I can finish up here.”

“Are you guys sure?”

“Positive.” Beel gives me one of his patented too-adorable-for-words-closed-eyes-smiles and I nod, standing up and giving my favorite set of twins a wave goodbye before leaving.

The hallways are silent as could be, the chaos surely taking place in one of the boys’ various rooms within the house. But despite the eerie calm over everything, my chest remains warm and full. Helping the twins out always puts me in a ridiculously good mood. A sleepy, slightly peckish mood though. I walk off and grab a cookie from the kitchen before slipping into the serene blue-hued room I’ve come to call home.

I know I’ll miss this bed. I’ll miss the mattress and the smell of the pillow. Even now as I wake up from my nap I still find joy in it’s warmth. The way the covers wrap around me so tightly, the way the warmth creeps up my neck, the way the pillow’s heartbeat pounds in my ear...

“hMm?” I grumble, opening my eye in utter confusion. Of course my pillow doesn’t have a heartbeat. It also doesn’t have arms and also doesn’t smell like fast food and laundry detergent.

“Shhh,” whispers a voice from right by my ear, “let’s not cause a ruckus, cute little snugglebug.” Belphegor’s chest shakes from his contained chuckle as he holds me closer.

“Your hair smells so good, (y/n),” Beel hums, burying his nose in my hair and humming, “Like a snack.” The weightlifting demon keeps me pinned between him and his younger smaller twin with one arm.

“G-Guys?” I whisper, squirming and letting out soft little noises of struggle, “What’s going on?”

“We’re taking a leap,” Belphie chuckles, “Taking advantage of things we’ve been putting off, so to speak...And I would stop squirming if I were you.” Of course, being a human being with an ounce of common sense, I begin to squirm harder between them.

That is until I hear Beelzebub let out a deep rumbling groan.

It’s at that point that I realize I have one leg wrapped around the gluttonous demon’s hip, a hot bulging something being pressed into my crotch through the fabric of the large male’s sweatpants.

“Warned ya,” Belphegor hums, pressing something into my already sensitive being from behind. The sloth avatar lets out a pleased hum, peppering my neck in kisses as I squirm.

“(y/n),” Beelzebub pants, gripping my hip in his large hand, “Please...You’re making it so hard to be composed.” I squeak as Belphie nips at the nape of my neck, my hands wringing Beel’s shirt as I wiggle.

“Why are you...doing this?” my voice is barely more than a whisper as I feel the throbbing half-arousal of my handsome demons press up close to me.

“Simple,” Belph coos, snuggling up closer somehow, “We want you to be ours. At first we didn’t think you’d choose a demon we couldn’t dispose of....but when you mentioned a human we became rather...concerned.”

“We don’t want to hurt anyone you love in the human world, (y/n),” Beel’s sweet voice adds in.

“Yes yes! How could we make you cry? The thought alone kills us, (y/n). The only tears should be from happiness.”

“happiness caused by us of course.”

“of course!”

My silence is so thick I’ve almost forgotten how to speak.

“So you don’t care that I’m human?...” An offended gasp comes from Belphie’s lips, a small bite being delivered to my earlobe soon after.

“How could you say that?” his voice is laced with offense as Beel nuzzles my head, “We love you for who you are, dear (y/n). We love YOU.” a soft squeak exits my lips as Beel moves back a bit to cup my chin and stare deep into my eyes. Normally I’d be scared of prolonged intense eye contact with a demon but this? This is saddening. Beel’s deep purple eyes are laced with concern and heartbreak, as though I’d already rejected them.

“You don’t have to accept our feelings,” Beel whispers, his voice a mere rumble like thunder in the distance, “We just want you to know we have them an-” his sentence, while touching, is cut off by my lips on his. Pained warmth consumes my core as I try to pour out my feelings in a kiss to the lovable giant. Beel’s hand comes up to caress the back of my head. Belphegor gasps softly in surprise as I press my butt into his hips, hoping to express some sort of positive feeling to the youngest brother.

“I think they accept,” Belphie purrs, nuzzling between my shoulder blades and grinding up against me. I blush, feeling Beelzebub grip me tighter and push himself closer towards me, his tongue lapping at my lips hungrily. Excited sparks of joy and arousal rocket through my body as I realize my deepest hopes were coming true: that my beloved demons love me back...

And they’re willing to share.

#obey me #obey me x reader #swd #shall we date #beelzebub x reader x belphegor #belphegor x reader #beelzebub x reader #beelzebub swd #beelzebub obey me #belphegor obey me #belphegor swd #Yandere #soft yandere #obey me yandere #yandere obey me

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morkofday · 3 years

Note

for the character ask...OUR FAV BOY LIU SANG

(*´∇｀*)/💖

i had to come answer this one bc!! my son!!!! aaaaaaahhhh!!!!!! so thank you sob now i can talk about my second sour grape boy,,, wait. ok well, hissy kitten ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ spot the difference (you can’t)

give me a character

(placing this one under a cut too bc oh boy. i have things to say about liu sang)

How I feel about this character

Good lord. I feel so many ways about Liu Sang. He is absolutely amazing but he also just drives me insane every day. No other character has ever given me such headaches, he must be proud. Finally someone suffers as much as him (because I bet those ears cause him a permanent migraine). I feel sorry for him. I’ll take this pain gladly if it helps him in any way.

But well. As simply as with Jiang Cheng, I do love Liu Sang. I shouldn’t really be surprised (at this point) that I fell in love with him but back when I was watching Reboot, he hit me like a truck. Which,,, he probably drove that truck himself, judging from the way he was handling the car chase with Jiang Zisuan. Just ruthlessly drove me over. I never stood a chance, not in front of that arrogance and stubbornness and enormous puppy eyes.

And with all of himself, good and bad, he makes me feel so many things. One of those, probably the strongest one, is protectiveness. He needs someone to protect him from himself because he has a nasty self-destruction streak going. Boy has not known love since he was born. He has gone through way too much to try handle it alone. I can’t even remember how old he is supposed to be in Reboot (maybe 29?), but that is way too many years of fighting a battle he was never supposed to win. But he pulled through. Cynical and prickly and absolutely terrified of any human contact but he fucking pulled through. I want to fight some battles for him now. He deserves to rest. He deserves some peace and quiet and unconditional care. I want to tell him that he doesn’t deserve all the pain he’s going through, all the pain he himself is putting his body through because he thinks he can only be used as a punching bag. I want to tell him he deserves friends. I want to tell him that it’s okay to trust people again. I want to... just protect him. And maybe this is why – because of all this fragile mess I’ve discovered from inside of him while trying to figure out who he is – I struggle so much with writing him. I feel like I’m bringing up things no one is supposed to see. I feel like I’m pulling out words from him like teeth. But at the same time, I know he’s desperate to tell these things.

So I struggle because I love him. Willingly. But oh boy does he annoy me sometimes, under all that protectiveness and fondness I have for him.

All the people I ship romantically with this character

I am quite sure at this point that I don’t really ship Liu Sang with anyone. No one clicks with him in my head so well that I could feel myself slipping into the proper shipping territory. But I haven’t minded any of the ships I’ve seen for him, not Pingxiesang (which makes me super soft) or him with Kanjian (which is so sweet) or even @kholran’s pool noodle Risang (which is very interesting and I will read your fic, friend, when I am out of my Pingxie pit! I just need to feed these beasts first). I am mostly just very intrigued by all these ships people come up with because it really plays to my wish to just explore his dynamic with every other character that is available for him.

But to put it simply: Not one perfect match exists for him yet in my head. Let’s give boy some time to figure out freindships first.

My non-romantic OTP for this character

Well, this one I love because! This is what he is all about for me, somehow. So I will mention three: Xiaoge, Bai Haotian, and Pangzi.

First, like I already mentioned in my Xiaoge answer, I adore Liu Sang’s dynamic with his ouxiang. They are both so damn awkward. I feel like I’m following a train wreck happening in slow motion any time I see them interact but instead of death and flames and screeching metal, it’s. surprisingly soft and sweet? They are both very tentative when it comes to people so they somehow get each other? Even if Liu Sang is a mess when it comes to Xiaoge which I totally get because I have once in my life met a person I consider a celebrity and who I look up to a lot and I was just shaking. And giggling. And acting dumbly. So I don’t blame Liu Sang for any of that; I’m actually quite proud that he’s keeping his cool so well and despite the rough start, manages to be a huge asset to his ouxiang. I am so happy that he gets to have this budding friendship with Xiaoge because they both need it.

Then! Bai Haotian. I’ve been thinking about them a lot lately and the more I rewatch some of their scenes together, the more I notice that they really develop a bond during Reboot. They are in a very similar position: brought in because of their idols, young, sometimes overlooked, struggling, and usually falling behind. And oh, definitely in need of some saving and with tragic backstories. They could be such amazing friends, and I think they come to trust and care for each other during their trip to Thunder City. Bai Haotian is so caring by nature and then Liu Sang is just right there. And Bai Haotian is so lowkey about her care; she doesn’t push if people don’t want her to, which works so well for Liu Sang. She’s there when needed. She doesn’t ask too much. She knows how it feels to look up to one of the members of the Iron Triangle and then curl your own life around them. (She also knows how it feels to have a crush on that same member and then notice that crush will never lead you anywhere, though I guess Bai Haotian comes to realize that during their trip instead of years before but well, details.) She doesn’t judge Liu Sang and somehow Liu Sang comes to rely on her a lot.

And last but not least (never the least!): Pangzi. God I adore these two to bits. Their banter is just *chef’s kiss* and when I look at them, all I can think about is a big dog trying to pat a hissing kitten with its paw. Which then turns to the kitten play fighting the dog’s big paw. And then getting tired. And falling asleep. While the huge dog just curls its body around the kitten to keep it warm, and maybe the kitten swats at the dog slightly for show but actually it enjoys it. Because it’s nice and soft and very warm. So yes, I love it how Pangzi and Liu Sang start off as enemies but come to care for each other. I cry about the peanut scene every day. Yes please adopt this poor stray kitten, he deserves a loving home ;; Give him food and a blanket and maybe he will hiss a little less (Pangzi also gives great hugs and Liu Sang deserves a dozen. For starters.)

My unpopular opinion about this character

Once again I am at a loss with this. I don’t really know what this fandom thinks about Liu Sang? I feel like our tiny Liu Sang hyping corner here on tumblr is very much unified with the opinions. We all love him a lot and want the best for him, case closed. So maybe I’ll just talk about my hypersensitivity headcanon for him? Let me do that for fun haha

So, I know he’s sensitive to sounds. Understandable, with his skills. And I feel bad for him for that because it must be horrible at times (we get introduced to him through him vomiting because he can’t handle a train station with all the noise, christ) but I also somehow relate to that. I get sensitive to sounds sometimes too. A simple click of my mouse can be annoying at times. I require absolute silence quite often, and this intensifies if my emotions are on the negative side. So, somehow I’m taking things from that. Touch hurts when he’s feeling bad about himself. Noises annoy him when he’s angry or scared. Lights look too bright or he feels like he can’t focus his gaze when he’s sad or panicking. Smells and tastes are intensified when he’s stressed. I dunno, just simple little things. Him feeling through his senses. Him just generally being sensitive with his feelings because this world is a demanding place and pushes you into feeling things. And I feel like a lot about him is already tied to his hearing so why not his feelings too? I’ve read so many nice takes on him which somehow support this so I feel like this just fits right in.

One thing I wish would happen / had happened with this character in canon

Liu Sang joins the final celebration!! Him just disappearing doesn’t make sense at all!!!! Let him get hugs!!! Let him be happy!!!! Oh my god. I was so mad about that and still am because no way did he just leave and not join his new friends for this final evening!!! Dammit. No matter how much he feels like he doesn’t belong and like he’s just “a hired talent” among them, he’s not that dull!! He got those damn peanuts and some hugs and shoulder pats from people, he was there saving the day, he managed to create bonds!!! And god, knowing Wu Xie, he would never allow Liu Sang to think that lowly of himself!!!! He would be there to offer Liu Sang the world if he wants it!! Gaaaahhhh

So yeah, give Liu Sang his moment with his new family or I am throwing something, for fuck’s sakes

thank you again for sending me these asks ♥ i’ll answer the rest during these next few days! you’re amazing!!

#i would give him my right arm #or my lungs #if he asked #so here take my blabberings #also gonna tag this as #liu sang #bc i know ppl out there love him #and we like to see each other blabber lol

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ethospathoslogan · 4 years

Text

there will come a poet: chapter eight, the youngest son (a vampire sanders sides fanfiction)

A/N: goD i've been so excited for this chapter but if you’ve seen my posts, you've probably picked up on the fact that writing this was A Lot!! bc i had to write it in like less than three days. bc i wrote 80% of a different chapter, thinking it was going to be This chapter, and then had the realization that virgil's flashback chapter has to be now!!! so i had to flip the order of two chapters and Oh Boy i really didn't think i was gonna get this done

summary: Once upon a time, a fourth son was born, and that was only the beginning.

ships: N/A for this chapter (but overall moxiety and side logince)

WC: 4,116

TWs: anxiety/panic attacks, angst with a side of angst, this chapter could’ve been titled “a series of unfortunate coincidences”

read on ao3

masterlist

spotify playlist

taglist: @iwillsithereandtrytocontribute , @glitchybina , @ab-artist , @daring-elm , @crazydemigod666

-----------------------------------------------

Once upon a time, a new life came into the world at the cost of a grave sacrifice, and the sky opened up to cry for the life it had lost. The earth mourned for the gentle footsteps of a pure soul, and thus the ground was uprooted. Castle walls longed for the quiet song that would trail through their halls in the morning, and thus the windows darkened.

And, most of all, this youngest son was looked at with adoring fear, for how could a life so precious come at such a high price?

How could a blessed capital city be cursed with such a bad omen?

So it was foretold and so it remained, destruction came with Prince Virgil Anguine, fourth son to King Livius and the late Queen Aurelia Anguine, and thus it would end with him.

But to keep a bad omen contained, especially one as guarded and revered as a prince, one must approach each situation with caution, attuned to every spike of anxiety and bad feeling that crossed the little prince’s mind, and be ready to act accordingly.

Once upon a time, a fourth son was born, and that was only the beginning.

Virgil was five, and it was raining very hard. So hard that, when he placed his hand to his window, the glass was chilled to the touch. So hard that, even when he squinted, all the shapes down below were blurry.

So hard that, when it thundered and the entire castle shook, it felt like the world was ending, and Virgil couldn’t help but let out a yelp as he fell back onto his hands, his rug soft to the touch but not enough to still the shaking that coursed through his body.

Once upon a time, Virgil came into the world at the cost of a grave sacrifice, and the sky opened up to cry for the life it had lost.

And, as the sky cried right before his very eyes, sobbing from the heavens, Virgil wondered who would be lost next.

And then he winced at the twisting in his stomach.

As he clenched and unclenched his fists, staring down at the rug, he tried to remember where everyone else was, even tried to imagine them and what they were doing. He had to imagine good things. If he imagined good things, then the rain would go away and good things could happen.

He couldn’t imagine bad things. It would only rain even harder, and Virgil didn’t want the sky to cry any more. He didn’t want more people to be hurt.

So, he thought about his dad, and how he was in a meeting. It was probably boring, Janus never seemed to think they were any fun when he was allowed to go to them, but his dad was doing good things. His dad was keeping the kingdom safe, because that was his job. He kept the bad things from happening so that the people of their home would only think of good things.

And he thought about Remus and Roman. If he listened hard enough, he could hear the two of them laughing down the hall. They were probably playing with their wooden swords, or maybe they were playing pretend. When Roman and Remus played pretend, there was always a happy ending. The good people always won.

And he thought about Janus.

Janus, who was outside. Janus, who told Virgil that he would go to the library for him because he knew Virgil really wanted a new book but was too scared that it was going to rain (and it did). Janus, who was still outside, even though the library wasn’t far. Even Virgil was allowed to walk to the library when he went outside. But Janus was still gone, and Janus went outside for Virgil, and it was raining outside and no one knew what could be happening to Janus because no word has been sent back and Janus could be in trouble or hurt or-

Virgil screamed as a clap of thunder boomed through the room, as sheets of rain threw themselves into his window. He scrambled to his feet, his eyes burning, almost tripping as he sprinted out of his bedroom and skidded into the hallway.

Another flash of lightning struck and, for just a moment, Virgil couldn’t see anything but the blinding light.

And, when his eyes finally cleared, he was crouched on the ground—his knees burning with rug burn from where he fell—and his hands were shoved over his ears and gripping into his hair.

Another flash and, for just a moment, it felt like the castle was collapsing.

Virgil squeezed his eyes shut tight and waited.

And screamed when hands suddenly gripped his arms.

“No! Stop!” He clamored back on his hands, slipping onto his elbows and, when he looked up, Remus and Roman, wearing the same scared looks, stared down at him.

Roman, who had his hands outstretched, watched as Remus crouched in front of him.

“Vi?” Remus asked quietly. “What’s wrong?”

Virgil shook his head, scrubbing at the tears on his face. His bottom lip trembling, he whispered, “I- I- I need Janus.”

Roman knelt down next to Remus. “He’s at the liber- the library .”

And he kept shaking his head, his face twisting. “N-No! He needs- he needs to be here!”

“Why?” Remus asked, crawling a little closer to him. “Are you okay?”

Virgil sucked in a shaking breath that hurt his chest, and reached out to him.

When Remus pulled him into a tight hug, Roman crawled closer, too. “You’re okay, Virgil,” he whispered. “Janus will be home soon! And then we can all play.”

Virgil let out a sob into Remus’s chest and shook his head. “I’m scared,” he managed. “I feel bad.”

“Why are you scared?” Remus asked.

“Is it the rain?” Roman added.

He tensed, hugging Remus tighter. “What if Janus is- is in trouble?”

Remus leaned away from him, frowning. “If Janus is in-”

When another crack of thunder sounded through the castle, Virgil was already on his feet, stumbling over himself to get down the stairs. If he could just look out the window, if he could just try to see Janus-

“Virgil, wait!” Remus called after him, his fast falling footsteps only made louder by Roman’s.

Virgil, his heart in his throat, couldn’t find his words.

“What’s wrong with Janus?” Roman was saying, and Virgil couldn’t tell if it was just a question or a confirmation.

He didn’t want to know, and he didn’t want anything to be wrong with Janus, but he needed to know. He felt wrong, he felt bad, and maybe that meant that-

When he finally skidded into the parlor, he clamored to the windows. Climbing up on the benches, his hands were shaking as he pressed them to the window, as he tried to see through the unceasing storm.

“Virgil!” Roman whispered. “Dad’s in a meeting! We can’t play down here!”

“I’m not playing” He knew that he was being too loud, that he was supposed to be very quiet, but- “I want to find him!”

“Janus is okay!” Remus assured, holding his hands out to Virgil. “I promise! We can-”

“No!” Virgil shouted, sharply turning back to the window. “Don’t lie! We- we have to find him! We-”

Virgil was cut off as a large door was shoved open from down the hall, and he watched as Remus and Roman turned identical wide-eyed looks towards the sounds of footsteps stomping their way towards them.

Virgil, already trembling from the fear of what was happening outside , clenched his fists tightly and tugged them to his chest.

Royal Mage Advisor Cyrus was the one to poke his head around the corner, and his eyes widened on the three brothers.

“What are you three doing?” He asked, tone firm, as he crossed his arms. “Your father is in a very important meeting right now, and he cannot afford to be-”

“Where’s Janus?” Virgil shouted.

Cyrus gaped at Virgil, shocked by his sudden outburst. “He- Prince Janus has gone to the city’s library with one of the servants. For a book you requested, yes?”

When Virgil’s bottom lip trembled, Cyrus looked even more taken back, and Remus quickly jumped in with, “Virgil’s scared!”

“Scared?” Cyrus questioned, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why- why are you scared?”

Virgil tugged at the sleeves of his shirt, balling and releasing them in his hands over and over again. He took a deep breath but winced as it got caught in his throat.

“Well?” Cyrus pressed, now shooting a panicked look back down the hall. “Come now, Prince Virgil, out with it! Why are you-”

And then, Royal Mage Advisor Cyrus cut himself off as, from out behind him, their father stepped into the parlor.

“King Livius-” Cyrus turned to their father with a forced smile “-Ah, apologies for the interruption! It seems your sons are just- just-”

“Boys,” their father said, looking between the three of them, “Is something the matter?”

“Virgil’s scared!” Roman rushed out.

“And can’t find Janus!” Remus added.

When his father’s eyes finally looked to Virgil, Virgil bit his bottom lip and stared up at him. “I- I feel bad.”

His father’s eyebrows furrowed. “Bad?”

Virgil nodded, twisting his hands.

Their father and Cyrus shared a look before, turning back to him, his father continued with, “Is it something bad with Janus?”

Virgil’s eyes blurred with sudden tears and his breathing hitched as he nodded.

“Okay,” their father simply said. Nodding, he quickly turned to Cryus, whispering something to him. Virgil nervously watched as Cyrus nodded and then retreated back down the hall.

He clamped his hands in front of his mouth, his breath shaking in his lungs, and Remus rushed to his side, quickly followed by Roman.

Remus reached his hands up to Virgil. “It’s okay, Virgil,” he said softly as he helped Virgil down from the bench. “We’re gonna find him!”

Virgil clutched his brother’s hands, his eyes darting between both twins. “But- But-!”

“Virgil.”

Virgil snapped his mouth shut and looked up, finding his father’s dark eyes staring back down at him. His expression, calmly blank despite the chaos around him, remained that way as he kneeled down in front of Virgil and rested a hand on his shoulder.

“Thank you for warning us.”

And then, a small smile.

Virgil, unable to hold himself back, dove into his father’s arms. Wrapping his arms tightly around his father’s neck, he released a shaking breath and, after a hesitation, his father wrapped an arm around him.

“I- I don’t want anything bad to happen to- to-”

All heads then whipped to the front double-doors as they blew open and, with the rain, Janus came running in, followed closely by one of the castle’s workers. Both soaked to the bone with their cloaks pulled high up over their heads, they looked up only to find shocked looks on everyone’s faces.

And then, without hesitation, Virgil threw himself into Janus, squeezing tightly around his waist.

“You’re home!” Virgil cried, looking up at Janus as, behind them, the worker profusely apologized to their father. “I- I’m sorry, Jan! I- and you- I was-”

Janus, staring down at Virgil with brown eyes full of confusion, hesitantly hugged him back. “I’m… home?” he said slowly, and then looked up from Virgil to the twins. “What’s… going on?”

“You were gone for a really long time!” Roman exclaimed, running up to Janus’s side.

Remus, running to the other, added, “And- And Virgil was scared that something happened!”

Janus frowned and accepted the dry cloak handed to him, exchanging it for the wet. “Oh.”

“But-” And all the brothers turned to look at their father as he stepped up to his sons “-I am glad to see that you’re alright, Janus. We were about to send out a search party.” Then, for just a moment, his eyes flicked to Virgil. “Better to be safe than sorry, yes?”

“Oh,” Janus repeated, still seemingly in shock by the sudden attention. He then cleared his throat, nodding. “But- uh, yes, I think.” He cautiously looked between the rest of his family. “Thank you… for the concern.”

When the adrenalin of the situation began to fade, their father returned to his meeting, and the twins ran back upstairs, already laughing again about the game they were playing.

Virgil, staying right next to Janus, tightly held his hand as he tried to calm his breathing.

“Virgil,” Janus said quietly, walking forward and taking Virgil with him. “I’m okay.”

“I- I was so scared!” He sniffed, rubbing at his eyes with his free hand.

“I know, I know.” Janus nodded and pulled Virgil closer to him. “But it was just a little rain. We tried to wait out the storm but… I guess I knew you would worry.”

Virgil frowned, looking down. “I was scared,” he repeated, his voice barely over a whisper. “I felt bad.”

“I know,” Janus said again and, stopping before the staircase, he turned to Virgil and kneeled down before him. “But… don’t believe what people say about you, okay? All that-” His eyes then quickly darted around and, with a smirk, he whispered, “Crap about you being-... scared.”

Virgil giggled at the curse word but, still, his smile fell. “But- but everyone says-”

“I know what everyone says,” Janus interrupted. “But… Vi, you’re not bad or scary or- or anything! You’re my brother, and I love you, okay? You’re very good.”

Virgil pouted and looked down, scuffing his foot against the floor.

“Hey-” And Virgil looked back up at Janus to find him holding out his pinkie, a small smile on his face “-Would I lie to you?”

Virgil, smiling, shook his head and locked pinkies with Janus.

“There you go! And, here-” Janus, grinning, then reached into his bag and took out a small book, handing it to Virgil “-The last copy they had. Sorry it’s a little wet.”

Virgil beamed and took the book, hugging it to his chest. “Thank you, Jan!”

“Don’t mention it.” Janus ruffled Virgil’s hair and Virgil, giggling, smacked his hand away. “Come on, do you want to go play? We can see what the twins are doing.”

And Virgil, grinning, ran up the stairs after Janus.

And, in three days, when Janus would wake up delirious with a fever and heavy cough, barely strong enough to move from his bed, Virgil would wonder why he lied.

Virgil was fourteen, and he wished the thunder didn’t scare him as much as it did.

Or maybe, if he really thought about it, it wasn’t the thunder. It was the gnawing tension in his chest, the flutter in his stomach. It was the way his hands shook, even when he pressed them together or balled them into fists. It was the way his breathing shuddered painfully in his lungs, the way his eyes never stopped burning, the way he felt like he was dying.

And, most of all, it was the way he felt like he was just waiting for something bad to happen. For the sky to start falling, for the world to come down, for something to get into the castle.

It was the waiting, the painful waiting, that hurt the most.

Virgil, with his back pressed up against his door, curled himself tighter as another crack of thunder rattled his room. He pressed his forehead to his knees, hoping that the pressure would silence the ringing in his ears and, when it persisted, he hugged his legs tighter to his chest.

And couldn't help but let out a whimper at the quiet knocking on the door behind him. When he stayed silent, unable to find the words in his throat, he heard a voice whisper from the other side, "Virgil?"

Virgil froze. He waited to hear if Remus would say anything else and, when he didn't, Virgil clumsily scrambled away from his door and, with a shaking hand, pulled it open.

Remus, first looking straight ahead, looked down at Virgil, kneeling on the ground with a trembling lip, and frowned. Not saying anything, he stepped in and quietly shut the door behind him.

Then, kneeling down in front of Virgil, he held out his hands.

Virgil, without hesitation, took them and held on tightly.

"You're scared." Remus's voice held no question. It was matter of fact, a statement. Common knowledge, even: Virgil's anxiety was at its peak when it rained.

So, he nodded and ducked his head against his chest as the tears finally began to flow.

"I am right here," Remus continued, and Virgil held on tighter. "Roman is sleeping. So is Janus, and dad. We're all here, and we're all okay."

Virgil shook his head, sucking in a sharp breath.

"I'm telling you, V," Remus assured. "We're okay."

"We don't know that," Virgil choked out. "Any- anything can happen!"

"But we're here now. In your room," Remus said. "Everything is safe here."

Virgil pulled his hands back, rubbing at his eyes. "You don't understand."

"Maybe." Remus shrugged. "But I know what it feels like to be treated like you're bad. Dangerous. A curse."

Virgil winced.

After all, everyone knew what they said about twins.

"Some people think I'm meant to hurt Roman," Remus continued. "That I'm going to. I… I don't want to."

Virgil stared at Remus, and so badly wanted to believe him.

But it would be impossible to ignore the shifting dynamics between the twins.

Maybe Remus saw that doubt in Virgil's eyes, because he sighed and said, "We fight but… we're brothers. Family. We will always have each other's back."

"Why are you telling me this?" Virgil whispered.

In the darkness, Remus gave a small smile. "Because we're your brothers. Your family. None of us believe you're a- a bad omen."

Virgil frowned. "Not believing doesn't mean untrue."

" I don't think you're bad."

Virgil's mouth suddenly twisted and he bit out, "Is that supposed to make me feel better? We've been dealt the shittiest cards, so I'm just supposed to take your word?"

Remus frowned and Virgil, feeling his heart plummet to greater depths, couldn't help but choke out a sob as he ducked his head back down.

"I- I'm sorry!"

"It's okay, Virgil," Remus reassured. "I can take it."

"I just-" Virgil shook his head "-I don't want to hurt any of you!"

"And you're not!" Virgil looked up at Remus to find an intense look in his eyes. "Virgil, you're our family . We all love you! We know you're not gonna hurt us."

Virgil's bottom lip quivered as he clenched his fists.

"And family sticks together," Remus continued, smiling. "And you're not harmful or- or a bad omen.” When Virgil sighed and looked down again, Remus poked his knee. “Take it from me, you're not the bad guy the legends say you are."

And then, within the week, when Remus would make Roman cry, Virgil would wonder how much he really meant what he said.

Virgil was twenty-three, and he wasn’t sleeping.

He hadn’t slept in a long time, or maybe that was just the exhaustion talking.

Or the bad, twisting, nauseating feeling in his gut.

That feeling never left, though. It was a constant; it was ever-churning.

It was ever-foreboding. Ever warning. Forever, and ever, and ever.

Virgil couldn’t remember the last time he knew peace.

He chalked it up to the exhaustion.

After all, he barely slept anymore. At least, not for the past couple nights. Especially not the past couple nights. He couldn’t help but feel… off. Terribly off. More off than usual. And, when he felt off (felt anxious, felt on-edge, felt bad), he couldn’t sleep.

He chalked it up to the fact that, early this morning, their father and Janus left in a carriage for the Hartt Kingdom.

He had been awake when they had left, able to watch their carriage grow smaller and smaller from his window, and he was still awake when they returned.

Both their departure and return had been met with little ceremony, even with Janus’s coronation being the next evening.

Virgil wasn’t surprised. Janus hadn’t been in a celebrating mood for a long while now. Thinking back, it was hard to remember when Janus wasn’t toeing the line between tearing his hair out and alarming indifference.

And Roman was preoccupied. He always was, now. Always looking for something better. Or something that would make him feel better, but Virgil was always too anxious to mention it. Roman wasn’t… Roman when he was angry.

And Remus… Virgil liked to think that Remus was still in his corner. But ever since the blow-out… Remus has been different, and has been for years. He wasn’t around as much and, when he was, it was like all he wanted to do was dig himself deeper and deeper under people’s skin.

Virgil’s skin crawled.

He chalked it up to the exhaustion.

A door opened and slammed and, from the direction, Virgil could tell that it was Roman’s. Quick footsteps hurried away.

A couple moments passed. Another door opened and slammed. More footsteps shuffling away.

He heard Roman’s voice, his words muffled. Just barely, he could hear Janus calling up to him.

And then he could hear Roman and Janus arguing. And, eventually, Roman’s door opened and slammed shut once again.

Virgil, after another couple moments, finally pushed himself up from where he had been laying in his bed.

The clock chimed that it was two o’clock in the afternoon.

He dragged his feet on the way to the door, his body seemingly growing heavier and heavier with each step.

He poked his head out.

Nothing.

He carefully, quietly, stepped out and, rounding the corner towards the staircase, he caught Janus on his way up.

“Janus.”

Janus jumped and whipped his head towards Virgil.

“Oh, Virgil,” Janus said, relaxing his posture as best he could. “Hello.”

“You and Roman were fighting.”

Janus deflated. “Is it ever any different?”

“No.”

The two were silent.

Virgil wondered when things became so off-balance.

“I have a bad feeling about today.”

Janus sighed, shaking his head. “Virgil, I… I can’t right now.”

“There’s nothing you can do,” Virgil pressed. “I have a bad feeling about today.”

Janus’s eye twitched, almost as if Virgil had struck a nerve.

His stomach twisted.

“Virgil, it’ll be fine,” Janus finally said, his words short and tone clipped. “We know what we’re doing.”

Virgil nodded.

He didn’t believe Janus, but the look in his eyes warned Virgil to stay away.

So, instead, he waited.

And, that night, the world truly did burn.

Virgil had become so used to a heart that pounded quick and fast against his ribcage, that to have one that didn’t beat at all was almost more unsettling.

But everything was unsettling now.

That happened when you were dead. Undead. The living dead.

Virgil, every time he passed by a mirror, thought he looked like a corpse.

Really though, he didn’t know what to think anymore.

Perhaps that happened when you had a hopeless eternity in front of you.

Whatever hope Virgil had in Remus helping him keep normalcy (whatever normalcy even was, anymore) was thrown out the window when he waltzed back into the castle, his jagged teeth bloodied in a savage grin. It made Virgil want to vomit, or cry, or bang his fists against Remus’s chest and beg for his brother back.

He couldn’t, so he just looked away.

Roman hasn’t come out of his room for three days now. Said that he couldn’t be seen anymore, not like that.

If it wasn’t for the occasional shuffling behind Roman’s door, Virgil would’ve forgotten he was in there.

And Janus… Janus put a patch over his injured eye, gloved his hands, and steeled himself. Locked himself up like the lock he put on the throne room doors. Walled himself off just like their fallen kingdom.

Virgil felt like he watched the rise and fall of a king that never got his crown.

In the dining room, the clock ticked.

It was the only reminder that time was passing, and would continue to.

And, as Virgil looked out the window at the wall of thorn and vine that had grown around the kingdom, he knew that no one would ever pass through it. Would never be able to pass through it.

It was just the four of them.

Forever.

At another time, Virgil would have had a bad feeling about this.

But, as he just stared out the window, he let himself settle into a numbness that he had never known before.

And he watched as it began to rain.

#sanders sides #thomas sanders #virgil sanders #moxiety #ts virgil #stuff i write #vampire au 2.0

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