#now i just need to get to a different country and catch two planes

[isbergillustration]

Heading home from embassytown

#they will permit me to leave the country but only after making me feel appropriately like an irresponsible citizen #i am so fucking tired. watching sexy gunviolence to stay awake. and because its the only thing i have downloaded #now i just need to get to a different country and catch two planes #i have not slept #i am too old to sleep on a friends broken couch successfully it seems #despite the embassy employee who didn't know whether to give me the form for over eighteens or under eighteens #sir i appreciate it's hard but im in my thirties #um. my art #and mostly ramblings good god this man gts hit by a lot of cars

[cowgurrrl]

Thinking about Joel holding your hand the whole time and staying right by your side during and after the delivery, nervous to meet his son, but it all goes away as soon as Sammy finally arrives. Thinking about him holding his son in his arms for the first time and falling in love with him instantly, so emotional and proud, completely showering you and your baby boy with love🧸

Newborn dad Joel Miller, I could kiss you.

Brooklyn Baby

Pairing: rockstar!joel miller x actress!reader

Summary: You and Joel welcome your son [2.2k]

Warnings: pregnancy, labor and delivery (NOTHING GRAPHIC), pre-parental panic, Joel literally being the best, talks of Anna and Angela

You go into labor a month early. In New York City. Thousands of miles away from your OBGYN, who knows your birth plan backward and forward. You were there for press, and Joel went with you because there was no way he was going to let you travel alone across the country thirty-six weeks pregnant. You'd been having sporadic contractions for a few months, but the doctors told you it was Braxton-Hicks, and they were nothing to worry about. So, when you started having contractions in the middle of the day, you didn't think anything of it, except when they got less sporadic and even became predictable. Ten minutes apart for about two hours. You were at work most of the day, so Joel didn't see you having to take pauses or deep breaths in the middle of interviews, the pain knocking the wind out of you and distracting you. When you get back to the hotel, though, it's an entirely different story.

You're trying not to freak him out. If he freaks out, you'll freak out, and you're barely hanging on by a thread with the constant pain and the worry that you won't make it home. So, a little selfishly, you hide how you check the time when the pressure in your abdomen returns. You have time. You're fine. But Joel has eagle eyes and picks up on your pain the second he catches you wincing.

"What's wrong?" He asks, a gentle hand landing on your back as you sit there with your hands on your belly. You shake your head and take a deep breath.

"It's nothing."

"Is something hurting? Should we go to the hospital to get checked out? Did something happen at work?" He asks quickly. You swear you can hear the moment his brain makes the connection. "Are you having contractions?"

"No, I'm not due for another month. It's just Braxton-Hicks." You say as the contraction ends, letting you relax into your chair for a moment.

"How far apart are they?"

"I'm not timing them," you say, but he sees right through you. He knows you have three different contraction timer apps on your phone, and you've been religiously counting your contractions, even the false ones. "Right now? About ten minutes."

"Honey, I think we need to go to the hospital."

"No, it's fine. I'm not due for another month, and we're in New York. I can't be in labor right now. Our doctor isn't here, and we have nothing ready for him, so I can't be in labor."

"I don't know if he cares about any of that right now."

"Well, I do, and I'm his mother, so it's fine," Joel says your name sympathetically, but you shake your head, tears pricking in your eyes. "I'm fine. It's fine. I'm not in labor. They're Braxton-Hicks," Joel wordlessly grabs your hand and runs his thumb over your knuckles, and it's enough to make you break down. You squeeze his hand and wipe your tears on your shirt sleeve. "This isn't how I wanted it to happen."

"I know, and I'm sorry. If I could get you back to LA without you havin' our son on a plane, I would, but he's comin'," he kisses your hand. "He probably knows he's got the world's best mama waitin' on him and got impatient."

"Oh, is that your conclusion?" You ask, smiling through tears, and he hums.

"This isn't ideal. I know it's not, but you know your birth plan, and New York's got some of the best doctors in the world. You'll be safe and taken care of, and we're gonna have the cutest baby ever, and it's gonna be okay." He says, and you cry a little harder at how sweet he's being.

"We don't have any clothes for him."

"We'll go get some."

"The girls. They said they wanted to be here. We need to call them and-"

"And I will get them on the first flight out here, okay? Little guy's probably gonna take some time. I'll make sure they get here before he does." He says easily, and you sigh.

"Promise?" You ask, and he nods.

"Promise."

"Okay," you say quietly, sending Joel into a mad dash to get you out of the hotel. He gathers all your things as you sit and watch him, another contraction creeping up on you. In his few minutes, he calls Sarah and Ellie, Tommy, and an Uber. You get to the hospital in record time.

The second you're there, a nurse checks your dilation and confirms you're in labor. They agree to keep you because you don't have time to fly home, and they immediately hook you up to three different machines, tracking the baby's heartbeat, your heartbeat, and contractions simultaneously. Sarah and Ellie confirm they're on their way to the airport and should be getting into the city in a few hours. "Tell her to hold him in!" Ellie shouts over the phone, making you laugh.

As your labor progresses and the contractions get closer together, Joel holds your hand, rubs your back, and holds your hair back when the pain gets to be too much, and you throw up. He asks the nurses questions, ensuring you both understand what's going on and hums your favorite songs as you hold onto him, swaying beside your hospital bed. He's the perfect partner, and you chalk it up to his being here before.

"Tell me about the day Sarah was born." You mumble as he rubs your back, and he chuckles.

"It was the end of July, hot as hell, and Angela called me from her house to tell me she was havin' contractions. She didn't have a car, and I had my beat-up old truck that should've never had a baby in it, so I took her to the hospital. I was so fuckin' scared. I didn't know what was gonna happen or what to do, but I did my best to be there for her," his voice is a little nostalgic, and you smile as you imagine an early twenty-something version of Joel nervously pacing the delivery room. "But, then, she was there, and she was cryin', and I remember all my fear goin' out the window the second I saw her. She was the most beautiful thing I'd ever seen, and I knew I'd do anything for her."

"From that first moment?" You ask, and he hums.

"From that first moment," he confirms. "Angela didn't wanna hold her at first, so I did. She was so small and fragile, and I swear, she reached for me, and that was it. I knew I was meant to be her dad." He says, sniffling at the memory, and you smile. You push down your disbelief at Angela, not wanting to hold her own newborn, as you look up at him and melt at the look in his eyes.

"Do you feel more prepared this time around?"

"Fuck no," he says, and you both laugh. "I'm still just as scared, but I have you, and the girls are on their way, and we have the most perfect little boy comin' soon. So, I know it'll be okay." You smile and fight the urge to ask what he knows about the day Ellie was born. You never found out exactly what killed Anna, but you're not sure if finding out while you're in labor is the best move. You let it go as another contraction takes over your body, and your grip on Joel's arms tighten.

It takes another hour to give in and get an epidural finally, the pain becoming too much as you progress, and you're able to get some sleep once the pain medication floods your system. When you wake up, Sarah and Ellie are whispering with their dad, your pre-packed hospital bag next to them, and you burst into tears. You wrap your arms around your daughters and thank them for making it and bringing stuff for the baby. At this point, you've been in labor for almost eighteen hours and are ready to be done, even with the epidural.

As you lay on your side, holding Joel's hand, as Sarah perches on the edge of your bed, rubbing your back, he smiles. "D'you remember the first time we came to New York?" He asks, and you nod.

"Of course I do," you smile.

"What did you guys do when you were here?" Sarah asks. You tell her about your walk through Central Park, showing Joel your old apartment and how you talked the entire time. You conveniently leave out the details of what happened the night before because you figure that's the last thing the girls want to know about their dad, but the memory still makes you blush.

"'S when I realized I was fallin' in love with you," Joel admits, and your eyes fill with tears again— stupid hormones.

"It is?"

"Of course. How could I not when you were tellin' me all the little facts and things you remembered?" He says, and you start crying again. It's a perfectly sweet moment, and in any other moment, you might not have cried as much as you did, but you can't help it.

However, there's less time for sweet moments once your water breaks. After that, the world devolves into chaos as the pain intensifies, and you can't stop the curses and groans from falling from your lips. Joel stays close, wiping your forehead with a cool rag and letting you squeeze the life out of his hand as contractions come and go. Ellie and Sarah consistently praise you as the hours go by and don't leave your side for anything. After another ten hours of labor, the doctor finally returns to help you push.

You're exhausted and hungry, and all you want is to be done. You want your son to be here. Joel lifts your water bottle to your lips to take a sip as the girls stand on the other side of you, Sarah with a hand on your arm as Ellie holds your hand. You push for thirty minutes, which is longer than you ever thought you'd have to push, and once the contraction ends, you lean back into the flat hospital pillow and cry.

"I can't do this. I'm so tired." You sob, shaking your head. Joel pushes your sweaty hair out of your face and kisses your temple.

"Yes, you can. You're doing so good. You're almost done."

"I'm so tired." You repeat like if you say it enough times, someone will snap their fingers, and you'll suddenly be holding your baby.

"I know you are. You're almost there. Just a few more big pushes, and he'll be here, okay? You're so fuckin' strong. I love you so much." Another contraction stops you from being able to respond to Joel. You give it the rest of your energy, two more pushes, and then the world goes silent. Either that or you deafened yourself trying to get him out. Then, without any warning, a shrill cry cuts through the air, and your son is placed on your chest for the first time. You rest your hand on his back and gently kiss his head.

"You're okay. We're okay. I'm right here, baby boy. It's okay," you tell him as you take a big breath. You look at Joel and see tears falling from his eyes as he stares at you. "It's okay." You say, reaching for Joel and pulling him to you. He kisses you before kissing your son's forehead and crying some more.

"You did so good. You're so strong. I love you." He says, a jumble of emotions playing out across his face— pride, excitement, joy, and only a little bit of fear about this tiny new person that just joined your family. Sarah and Ellie cry and kiss your head, too, as a nurse takes the baby to get weighed and cleaned up.

It's dark when all the doctors and nurses leave you with the little boy who gave you enough excitement for a lifetime. He's perfectly healthy despite being so small. His legs are long and skinny, and his fingers grasp anything within reach. He's strong. He has Joel and Sarah's nose, wide and straight and all identical. But, your eyes and lips match. He has a lot of hair, so much so that it sticks out of his little blue hat. You watch Joel hold him on his bare chest, a little hand grazing his tattoos every time he moves, and you smile.

"Does he have a name yet?" Ellie asks from her place next to you in your hospital bed, and you raise your eyebrows at Joel.

"You wanna tell 'em?" You ask.

"It's yours to tell, Mama." He says, and you smile as you turn to look at Sarah and Ellie.

"His name is Samuel James Miller, but I think we're gonna call him Sam."

"Sam," Sarah repeats, trying the name on her tongue, and she smiles. "It's perfect."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." She nods, and you feel like your heart could burst. There, as you watch your daughters take in their brother for the first time, your family feels whole and perfect. It feels like nothing could ever top this moment. It doesn't feel like you're filling in any missing spot in your heart, but it does feel like it grew in size.

Besides, how could anything ever be missing when you've had all three of them for so long?

#one for the money two for the show #rockstar!joel miller #dad!joel miller #tlou au #the last of us au

[rubyarrows]

The Liaison Pt1

As a liaison between branches of NCIS, YN DiNozzo floated between the different regions of the country when they were in need of the services and expertise that she provided. As she stepped off the plane at LAX, she couldn’t help but feel excited to be back in Los Angeles. It had felt like forever since she had been back in the city. But what made it hard was it had been that long since she had gotten to see her boyfriend, Marty. Deeks and the DiNozzo girl have been in a long-distance relationship for about a year now and only a select few people knew, that included her older brother, Tony. 

As YNN made her way through the bustling airport, she couldn’t help but feel as if something big was going to happen during her time here. She didn’t know much about the assignment Vance had sent her on, he was very vague about the details. He believed that YN’s unique skills were what the LA team needed to catch Sebastian Beaumont who had managed to elude them for months. 

Once outside the airport, she spotted her blonde headed boyfriend standing there waiting for her with a wide grin planted on his face. The girl couldn’t hold back from running over to him with a smile lighting up her face as she did so.  

“My god, Marty,” she said, her voice filled with affection as she stood there in his arms as he held her tightly to him. “I’ve missed you so damn much. The phone calls, texts, and video chats are all great but just not enough.” 

“I’ve miss you just as much, babe, so I know the feeling.” Deeks replied, his voice warmed her soul as his word flooded her ears. “But we can’t get into the mushy parts just yet. We’ve got work to do. Time to spread your magic on it, Babygirl.” 

The YHC haired girl nodded, reluctantly pulling away from her boyfriend’s embrace. She knew he was right. She was here to get the job done and Director Vance was counting on her to do so. There was work to be done and YN was more than ready to dive in. 

Callen and Sam sat at their desks at the NCIS Los Angeles office, reviewing the latest information they were able to collect on Beaumont, a former Navy service member that had gone rogue after killing a couple of his former platoon members in a deadly act of betrayal. They had gotten no closer to catching this guy now than they were a month ago. It seemed like Beaumont was always one step ahead of them no matter their move. 

The two of them both turned when they heard the office doors open wide and in walked Deeks with YN not far behind. The smiles that grew on their faces grew wider with every step the pair took towards them. 

“Well, as I live and breathe,” G said as he stood from his seat. “YN DiNozzo, otherwise known as the girl who never learned to pick up the phone.” 

YNN giggled slightly as she walked up to the blue-eyed man. “Now G, we both know that isn’t true. You just don’t answer when I do call. That’s why I always end up calling Sam.” She states as she gave him a hug then moved over to hug Agent Hanna next.  

“Mhmm, see, even she knows what’s up.” Sam said as he wrapped his arms around her tightly. “So, what’s brought our girl back to the west coast? By your attire you’re not here to enjoy the beach.” 

“Got that bathing suit in my bag though, so the beach is on the check list.” the YHC haired girl replied with another giggle which made all the guys laugh. “But, no, not here just for the beach, unfortunately enough. Vance sent me, hoping I could help y’all find this Sebastian Beaumont character. He said I had a knack for finding those that don’t wish to be found.” 

“Miss DiNozzo, I hope you’re ready for this one. You might have met your match.” Came the voice of Henrietta Lange from behind agents Callen and Hanna. A smile that matched everyone else’s plastered on her face. “Though I do believe your skills cannot be topped, Lieutenant Beaumont is a master hider.” 

“If it’s a game of hide and go seek he wants to play then I’m always down to be the seeker.” YN walks over to the woman who had helped her a great deal when she had first started out in NCIS, leaning down and giving her a hug as well. “It’s been too long, Hetty.”  

“I agree, Miss DiNozzo. Last time we spoke you were heading an operation in the middle of Dubai, I believe.” Hetty said as she returned the favor. 

Once YNN had stood up straight once more, she shrugged playfully, “It was Cairo, but who’s keeping track anyway?” 

“I think Deeks is, actually.” said the voice of Agent Kensi Blye for on top of the stair heading towards Ops. “Keeps a little map going under his keyboard and marks all the places you’ve been to. It’s kind of cute actually.” she says as she walked down the stairs and straight to her best friend to give her a hug. 

“I do not.” Marty speaks up for the first time since they arrived at HQ. Kensi and YNN both looked back at him with complete disbelief in their eyes. “Okay, maybe I do but, in my defense, I'm living vicariously through you at the moment.” He defended as he points to himself. “It's hard not to when you’ve been to France, Jordan, Egypt, and Bolivia just this year alone. The girl travels and I live for the stories she tells.” 

YN nodded at his statement. “I believe it.” She said with a smile knowing that her boyfriend was doing much more than just living through her stories. YNN knew the real reason he kept track of her, it was the same reason Tony did. They wanted to know where she was just in case, she was the one that needed to be tracked instead of the one doing the tracking. But she would never say anything to anyone else.  

“But I’m here now and ready to roll.” YN claps her hands together and raises her eyebrows. “So, lead the way?” With that, Callen and Sam lead the way up to ops to begin debriefing her into all they know on Lieutenant Sebastian Beaumont. 

#ruby arrows #ruby arrows imagines #ncis #ncis la #ncis x reader #ncis imagine #ncis fanfiction #ncis la x reader #ncis la imagine #ncis la imagines #ncis la fanfiction #marty deeks #marty deeks x reader #marty deeks imagine #marty deeks imagines #marty deeks fanfiction

[little-svt]

GENDERNEUTRAL | FLUFF | VALENTINE’S DAY

Wc: 1.6k+

Taglist: @pastel-princess-please @kiki-woo @fishsquishh

To You

Xu Minghao rarely thought about Valentine’s Day until the day of when gifts, sweets and chocolates from staff, a few friends and occasionally his mother would pour in to be abandoned due to his diet or his general indifference to sweets. Sometimes if the gift was pretty or useful, he’d find a place to display it, otherwise, they’d be forgotten in a closet somewhere or regifted to someone he felt could make better use of it than he would.

He’d never really worried about giving gifts or doing anything special for Valentine's Day that didn’t involve work. Even outside of work, he was surrounded by dudes who were receiving the same sweets and gifts treatment that he was.

With no lover, Valentine’s Day was just another day. But with you, Valentine's Day may as well have been every day. You were the only person he cared to show his undying love and affection for. The only person who he’d go out of his way to gift you your favorite treats and things he knew you needed. He’d find no more satisfaction in anything other than spending his time attached to you and caring for his clumsy, little baby.

Unfortunately, he hadn’t even had time to think about Valentine’s Day this year, his work taking him on a plane, overseas, and on a completely different schedule than you. He’d wanted things to be different now that he had you, but he was ashamed to say, just like last year and the years before, he hadn’t even noticed the day rapidly approaching until the night before. During his performance, heavily panting through the end of a song, it hit him like a truck when he saw a sign with pink and red glitter lettering.

‘The8 Be My Valentine?’

He’d noticed his stage name as his eyes scanned the crowd in front of him as he walked off to the side, finishing his part. It wasn’t the vast amounts of local tourist food he’d been eating making him sick, but the fact that he had no plans, no gifts, no idea what he was going to do.

The moment Seventeen we’re off stage for the night, getting ready to leave, he debated asking any of the members for help, but he had to pick carefully. Half of them were practically dunces when it came to romance and the rest would potentially laugh in his face. Though they meant well, no malice intended, it was unproductive.

Soonyoung? No. Mingyu? Probably not. Vernon? Definitely not.

“Jihoon Hyung?”, Minghao whispered, pained embarrassment on his face as he offered a bottle of water to the older member, his desperate plea.

Prying himself from Soonyoung, directing him to Dokyeom and the others, Jihoon followed Minghao to a corner, out of eavesdropping distance.

“Yea? Are you okay?”, he cracked open the water, giving the younger some space to speak.

“Do you know what tomorrow is?”, Minghao sighed and out his back against the wall.

“Yes.”, Jihoon thought for a moment before rubbing at his temples,”You didn’t.”

“What can I do? Do you have some old love song? What should I buy? How should I buy it? Hyung we aren’t even in the same country. What am I thinking?”, Minghao groaned, rubbing his face with his eyes toward the ceiling.

“I’ve never seen you this worked up.”, Jihoon almost laughed at his dongsaeng's suffering and desperation, it was kind of his own fault, but he thought better of it, “let me make some calls. You at least know what they like, at least that much, right?”

“Yes! I’m not that bad of a boyfriend!”

“Gasp-“, Jun covered his mouth dramatically, halting in his spot as he approached the two, “What did you do?! Did you… this will break Y/n’s heart!”

“What?! It’s not that bad! Hyung, tell him it’s not that bad.”, Minghao was spiraling.

“What’s not that bad?“, Jun giggled, having no idea what the two had been chatting about in the first place.

“Ge…I hate you.”, catching on Minghao grabbed his bag and his phone and shooed the playful kitty away so he could confirm his plans with Jihoon.

“Hi, Bāobèi.”, Minghao spoke softly, once you adjusted your position in bed and your phone camera to your liking. Both of you were barefaced, fresh out of the shower. He’d stayed up late, first with Jihoon making plans, and late enough to where you’d be getting ready for bed and he could FaceTime you with no interruptions.

“Hi.”, you sighed blithely, just happy to see his face and hear his voice when there were no other people watching, just for you, to you.

“How was your day?”, he asked, contented as he listened to you speak about trivial things.

He liked to listen to you talk. When he had to he could talk to no end but it was nice being the observer, the listener. Especially when the one he was watching was so cute. He could sit there forever only nodding and interjecting when it felt right. But eventually, you began to yawn, your tone growing tired and your eyes feeling heavy.

“Tired already?”, he questioned, sitting up and checking the time. Just a little longer and you could go off to sleep peacefully, but not yet, “Why don’t you talk with me a little more? I missed you. Did you catch a live stream when we performed?”

“Of course I did. I’d never miss a show, even if I have to lock myself in my office bathroom.”, you giggled, “your stylists have quite the talent for making me flustered.”

“Oh, is that so? Well, the entire time I was thinking about how I’d rather be home with my Bāobèi in my arms and your (plushie name) in yours while we watch some movie we’ve seen a thousand times and count down the clock to midnight so I can be the first to tell you how much I love you and ask you to be my Valentine.”

“Don’t lie.”, you could feel yourself almost buckling. This man had a way with words when he wanted to, one would fall for it every time, “You love performing.”

“You’re right.”, he chuckled softly, “But that does sound much better than being here in this hotel room alone, though FaceTiming does have its charms.”

Finally, what he was waiting for. Your head snapped left first in surprise then confusion as you heard your doorbell buzz from across your apartment.

“Hold on… someone’s at the door. I’m gonna check the doorcam.”, you step off your bed, holding the phone to your chest as you crossed the house.

“Be careful~”, he sang, knowing there was nothing to worry about even at this late hour.

Being as quiet as possible, you tiptoed to the screen on the wall next to the door, a man leaving down the hall. Confused, you cracked the door to see delivery bags and packages on the floor behind it.

“MINGHAO! Was this you? There’s so much. Gah.. you really-”, complaining, you abandoned your phone on the counter inside so you could free up both hands and bring everything inside.

Once everything was safe on your kitchen counter, your front door secured once again, you couldn’t help but notice the peeps of pinks and reds through the bags, only remembering your phone when Minghao softly giggled to himself.

“It’s not funny. What are you thinking?”, you caught your breath, your cheeks red either from being flustered or the strenuous activity of carrying all the bags inside.

“Open everything. I wanna see.”, he grinned, shuffling sounds being carried by your speaker as he sat up in bed.

Setting your phone on your counter so he could see, you moved to the obvious bag first, shooting him odd looks that were quickly swept away by your blush once you’d fully revealed the bright bouquet of roses, the suspects of red and pink from before. Smiling as he watched, Minghao directed you to open the rest, insisting he watched. Amongst the items he’d ordered for you were a card, a frog plush, your favorite takeout, and a tray of assorted Valentine themed candies and gummies.

“Oh! Open that one!”

Quirking your eyebrow at the plain white box in front of you, you opened it and pulled out the cube inside, a heart directly on the front.

“Plug it in and turn it on”, he giggled, his phone coming closer to his face as he tapped on his screen.

Immediately after following his directions, the heart began to spin, startled you yelp and stepped away. Feeling a bit childish, especially after hearing him laugh, you grumbled and took the lid off, revealing a message.

‘Happy Valentine’s Day, Bāobèi. - Bàba’

“Hao..”, you pouted, picking up your phone.

“What’s that?”, he questioned.

“Bàba..”, you corrected yourself, your heart melting as you played with the edge of the box.

Minghao was more of a words guys, sometimes a cuddles guy, but never had he gone so over the top for you.

“This is too much.”, you forced a pout, your smile hiding behind it, though unsuccessfully.

“It is a bit much isn’t it? If only I could have delivered it myself.”, he sighed, suddenly the feeling of your absence aching in his chest, “Now, don’t think too much of me. I forgot it was Valentine’s Day.”

“Hao!”, you scolded, suppressing your laughter because, “Of course you did.”

“I know, I know. Are you going to keep calling me that name or can I talk with my Bāobèi before i pass out for the night”

Remembering it was late for him, you swallowed your pride and let yourself drown in this display of his affection.

“Thank you, Bàba”, you whispered, hugging your new froggy friend to your chest, a perfect Bàba replacement when he was away from home

“Anything for you, Bāobèi”

🧸Endnote: let’s ignore that red, white a black day are the main thing in SK and how it’s not like this at all 🤪 I had a lot of ideas for Valentine’s Day but this one ended up being the one that came to life. We all need some Hao hours. ~ 🐶🐰🍓

🧸Masterlist🧸

#littlesvt 🐶🐰🍓 admin #sfw agere #svt fluff #svt imagines #agere community #svt agere #svt fic #xu minghao #the8 #the8 soft hours #the8 x you #minghao x reader #minghao fluff #svt minghao #caregiver!minghao #cg!the8 #cg!svt #sfw seventeen #seventeen headcanons #svt drabbles #seventeen fic #minghao soft hours #sfw littlespace #age regression #Valentine’s Day

[aphfanficwriters]

Monthly Members' Fics — Jan 2024

In the year of a dragon by mossy_man (China/Russia, Russia/Spain) “I neglected your needs,” Yao sighs and scuttles closer and there is a slice of persimmon at Ivan’s lips. The gel slides over his lower lip and he catches it with his tongue. “Forgive me, Vanya. Blinded by my own bitterness, I was a poor host and a poor giver.”

Euphoria by Delgumo (Canada/Russia) Matthew enjoys a drunken quickie with a somewhat strange gentleman.

Before The Reyse (Part One) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 1 - Soulmate tattoo/childhood promise. Tolys could smell the ocean from where he waited... It was just before the raiding season would begin in full and his brother was late.

Before The Reyse (Part Two) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 7 - Not for you/mistaken identity It was their usual meeting spot before each of the raiding seasons, midsummer and midwinter. He could smell the ocean from here, bitter and churning from the autumn storms… Tolys was late.

The Hunt (Part One) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia, implied Prussia/Russia) Day 2 - Omegaverse/hunting party All Russia had been summoned to the call to chase the French from their lands, and the winter in all its fury had come with them… Next to his brothers stood the interloper.

The Hunt (Part Two) by proosh (Lithuania/Prussia) Day 4 - Gifts/trophies They fell upon the stragglers at the frozen gully… Tolys didn’t get a chance to have a good look at them before the killing started.

Better than Gold by Jestemburakiem (Lithuania/Prussia, past Lithuania/Russia) Written for day four of Lietpru week The Story of Lithuania during the most pivotal moments of the modern history of his country: The 1992 Summer Olympic Men's Basketball Tournament. Prussia takes notice of this.

Макдоналдс by Delgumo (America/Russia) Russia and America host the grand opening of the first McDonald's in Russia.

So pour the champagne by mossy_man (Prussia/Russia) Some would love a house with white fence, a dozen or so of kids and a dog. Not Gilbert. Gilbert is perfectly fine as he is.

1001 Ways To Die — Chapter 7: Dying Days 2 by NashTea (Fishandnear) (Germay/Japan) Another impromptu session between Kiku and Ludwig partaking in their favourite activity, this time, it's a little different for Kiku.

Joy in Punishment by Delgumo (Canada/Russia) [no summary]

Little lamb by mossy_man (Mongolia/Russia) “Mongolia is like the sun,” he says. His big hands map Mongolia's face. “Lie down, for I am going to fuck you.”

we begin again by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) After Kiku finds a bunch of old photos, he and Arthur go through them, causing old feelings to resurface.

because it's you, I'm fine by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) Arthur is training to be an idol in Japan, which (obviously) requires him to learn Japanese. But it's a struggle… he keeps failing at the same points, over and over again. He feels so hopeless that he decides to skip class, go for a walk, and decide if it was even worth it—because at this rate, it will take years before he comes even close to debuting...

a scene without you by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) Two years ago, Arthur graduated and went back to London. Kiku lost all contact with him a month before he boarded the plane, when in an odd little café, they decided that a long-distance relationship wouldn't work for them and that breaking up would be for the best. Now that these two years have passed, Kiku knows that that was not true. He sits in that same café, at that same table, and wishes there was a way to turn back time…

my heaven by hopeless_nostalgia (England/Japan) “You know… If you want to, we can still have a wedding,” Kiku suggested. “That might not be a bad idea,” Arthur chuckled weakly. “Maybe we should.”

#axis powers hetalia #hetalia world stars #hetalia #aph fanfiction #hws fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #hetalia writers' association #post: monthly fic round-up #january 2024

[kithcrafts]

Now for something completely different. Below the cut is a bit of ADHD poetry I mostly wrote a few years ago, found in my documents folder recently, still liked it, and gave an editing pass. There's a cut because of the format: it's a single sentence composed of more than two thousand (>2000) (2K+) words. Tumblr has compelled me to break it into several text blocks due to some character limit, but it's meant to be continuous.

If you like this sort of nonsense and want to see more, let me know!

Blueberry Muffins

Neither do I recall what compelled me to purchase an extra large blueberry bran muffin (now deceased) from that one little store on the southwest corner of the Center Square where, sitting in the slightly grimy window I would sometimes see a tiny and exceedingly creepy porcelain doll with bright, too-real eyes that seemed to follow you down the road long after you passed the place itself and that had you looking over your shoulder to see if the doll might somehow be back there with some sharp object stolen from the bakery in a fit of kleptomaniacal murderous intent, that object chosen for the particular way the light dripped in silvery darts from the steel blade and trickle glittering down the streets like liquid violence made solid and dangerous by the hellish forges beneath the land of Quilt where the flaming flamingo people carry strange luminous orbs that some rumors say hold their most precious memories but others claim are just another kind of weird folksy decoration with no real purpose except to establish the sort of communal identity that the Quiltish people so desperately needed after the last Textile War almost destroyed the entire country with those new Bass Drop weapons that came tumbling out of the bellies of the dreaded Duvetian planes,

plummeting thousands of feet through the smog-choked air before landing with a certain kind of thud that could vaporize any liquid water that happened to be close enough to get caught in the destructive radius determined by the size and volume of the device's "Drop Drivers", so called by the scientists who had the dubious privilege of naming the work that they never intended to be weaponized, of course, because no scientist ever wants to be responsible for a government gaining new destructive capabilities that they will invariably abuse by turning their shiny new weapons against some poor hapless group of people just because they have some philosophical disagreement or a piece of land they want or don't want or whatever motivates the enormous barely-conscious entities we carefully build out of the bones of ones that came before them and the ideals of the people whose descendants will eventually discover that the great machine created by their hallowed ancestors is now chewing them up wholesale and spitting out mindless corporate zombies with no creativity that operate not on rational thought or ingenuity or even instinct but only by playing back the pre-recorded programs that they have been carefully steeped in their entire lives like some perfect cup of tea (but horrible) but who will nevertheless eventually rise up to destroy that great machine, tearing its pieces cog from axle, mechanism from housing, and spring from escapement only to pack all those pieces up in neatly labeled little boxes and hide the boxes away in a cave somewhere on the west coast near the cliffs that catch the waves thrown by the uncaring ocean in the kind of weather where being out on the water is likely to result in the deaths of anybody unfortunate enough to have that sort of thing for a job since they couldn't get a safer job further inland like programming or data entry because all of those jobs were taken by the factory workers after the factories shut down when, after far too many generations had been exploited to exploit them, the mines finally dried up leaving only dust and cracked lives blowing in the wind like the leaves of the trees in the northern forest late in the fall after the colors have faded and the air has gone from pleasantly crisp to almost-painfully chill and dry enough that the moon and stars begin to stand out stark against the black sky like the bones left lying in the sun by the sanguine vultures that fly lazily though the sky day by day waiting for the sign of the flamboyant turquoise snail frog to appear writ in the sands of the place where the ruddy desert meets the golden beach to create an orange gradient like the one on the underside of the peach sitting in your grandmother's window because it wasn't ripe when she bought it and she thinks that putting it in the window well help even though so far it only seems to have attracted the fruit flies that plague every house from time to time regardless of whether or not there were any actually in the house before the fruit (that wasn't quite ripe anyway) came in on the backs of their riding sausages to conquer the sunbeams just so the cat is slightly less comfortable in the living room that is always just slightly cooler than she likes (owing to her tropical ancestry) so that she can never quite feel contented except when the sun spills onto the floor in splotches and shards stained to Technicolor brilliance by the glass of the window that was made to commemorate some long-forgotten event in the history of the old town where you grew up but can never go back to because of the entirely too personal way the people there treat you even though (and perhaps because) most of them haven't seen you since the day you graduated high school and left that place behind you - maybe forever - in the hopes of finding out who you are deep down inside where the squishy bits of your feelings (your hopes,

dreams, and fears) are keeping a constant vigil near that one closed door in the corner where the light has been burnt out for such a very long time and that now even the spiders have given up living in the borders between the light and the shadows, on those invisible lines where the dust motes wink in and out of visibility making you wonder briefly if it's really safe to breathe this obviously-polluted air if there's that much dust in it before you realize that you've been breathing it the whole time so it must be at least safe enough that you can live on it, unlike the sweet phosphorescent breezes that flow through the land of dreams whose effervescent vapors might draw you in with their spicy fragrances like fresh baked pineapple and piperine orange juice and trap you forever, not quite drowning you beneath the flowing waves of blue and yellow grasses on the hills behind the castle with those glistening banners whose threads come from the mysterious threadworm caverns beneath the lake on top of the mountain on the horizon to the west beyond the city of Baa'urg with the buildings whose roofs are tiled with a strange glittering stone that reflects the sun in three different colors depending on the angle of the light, and with the roads paved with a stone so black that light falls endlessly into it, warming it up so that even in the deepest part of the coldest winters the people never have to shovel the snow that instead simply melts away starting at any tiny bare spot of that wondrous road (which the people complain about so much in the summer) that happens to catch the light of the sun as it rises above the mountainous horizon bringing with it the strange music of the bird people whose fluting and trilling songs send cinnamon scented sounds along ancient and ancestral aerial avenues swirling and twisting the minds of some who hear them (or taste them with their ears, as it were) away from the subtle and carefully crafted dangers of their workaday working days and toward thoughts from wherein the mind swims swiftly among the stars and between the protons and becomes more vulnerable to other, even more insidious attacks from the many sources of psychic trauma that inhabit those worlds where such things prey on the innocent and unwary denizens who dare to wander out of their iridescent glass-domed cities and between the crystal spikes that in those places stand instead of the trees on other,

more verdant worlds, and that shine with their strange internal glows that seem so bright to look at but still somehow fail to illuminate even the nearest of the shadowed divots wherein dwell the mind eaters who lay in wait with their slime-covered tentacles so like those of the intelligent squishbeasts that inhabit the deeps of so many oceans on worlds lucky enough to have such life-giving expanses of water glistening on their surfaces instead of just barren rock or deep gas wells bubbling their own sort of life-giving poisons into the thick noxious atmospheres of those places, reminding many who see them of certain industrial processes that used to exist on their own worlds before their ancestors, recently or long ago, began to understand the interconnected nature of their environments and, often after much denial followed by eco-wars waged by the last of the great corporate governments those cultures would produce, finally took steps to correct only to find that much of the damage that had been done was irreversible (or would take many generations to repair) and that the only viable solution left was to scatter themselves to the stars (worlds like theirs being scarce enough that there were none close by) and take their chances in their smallish black-tipped ships where they would spend dozens of generations without contact from any other sentient lifeforms until they no longer resembled or even remembered their planet-bound progenitors or even those who had left on other ships, some of which had been destroyed and others captured when their particular shard of the unfortunate species-fracture encountered by chance a more hostile species among the endless voids of the universe, while a very lucky few found new worlds that would service their organic needs well enough to make a home with its own set of wonders and dangers, and yet others abandoned their organic bodies entirely choosing to become fully artificial so that over the years they could not only preserve and repair themselves better but improve on the technologies that now sustained and produced their minds in new and terrifying and amazing ways that eventually led to lifeforms entirely unlike any others the universe had ever produced before or ever would again despite its vast and undeterminable span, nor did the flowers in the grasses of that place produce any scent but instead bloomed in a most amazing array of colors and took advantage of the wind by changing their stems to vibrate with each passing breeze, producing sounds all up and down the frequency spectrum that sounded like a pleasant humming in a zephyr, but during a storm could sometimes take on a more banshee-like quality that the people told cautionary stories about to their children who, after many generations, learned to selectively breed new flowers that made specific notes that were more pleasing to listen to which gave rise to several new forms of music but caused the flies that the flowers had been depending on to pollinate to be much less effective leading to population crashes throughout that particular part of the food web until the flies (and two species of finch) were extinct and the flower came to rely exclusively on artificial pollination provided by the people who had changed the flowers in the first place because they could not bear to lose the "Music of the Buds" that had caused their culture to cohere into a post-technological utopia before ultimately dying out from uncorrectable genetic defects originally promoted by exposure to the pollen of those very same flowers and a dose of irony that could kill off an entire colony of elephants in just a bit more time than it takes for a leaf to fall to the ground from the lowest branch of the big tree on top of the hill next to the pond where those ducks played as the sun glinted off the water in diamond lancets toward the back wall of the shop next to the one that had that tiny doll that actually just wanted to be friends but was driven mad by being surrounded all day by those terrible blueberry muffins.

#poetry #adhd poetry #long post

[beeanddoddi]

saturday the 6th of january

11:02am (local time)

so after literally no sleep since like yesterday morning and a night squeezed between two cracks from two single beds pushed together, in a room that was too cold, with horribly painful leg cramps that lasted all morning, you could say that I'm a little bit grumpy. I'm exhausted. as much as I've loved being overseas and exploring-- in fact I've had the time of my life-- I'm tired and done and I want to go home to my cat and my bed and my dog and my best friends. that's the thing about traveling, you're bound to feel homesick when home is so comforting. safe to say I'm am thoroughly homesick.

anyway we woke up at 2:30am to leave our hotel at 3am to depart on our domestic flight at 6am to land in Ho Chi Minh at about 8-8:30am to the board another flight (this time international) where they won't transfer our luggage for us and we have to go through all the boarder security in the 2 hours before our flight home.... THEN we have a 4 hour drive home.... yeahh I'm looking at being awake for over 30hours... (I don't sleep well on planes). so yes I'm irritable and grumpy. man I hate airports.

on a different note, the city was so different at 3am. so quiet, so eerie.... it was very strange. also the smog lay over the city in a thick cloud like the clouds of fog we get at home in winter.... it's crazy.

after a very smooth and on time flight from Hanoi to Ho Chi Minh we arrived only an hour and half before boarding for our next flight to home.... that should be enough time if we had done all the international transfer stuff in Hanoi and not at the other end. we got to the international terminal and it was PACKED... like there was no way we're were getting our luggage in the gate on time nevermind get through the longest line of immigration I have ever seen.... finally we got up to check our luggage in and guess what?! My dad's and my visas expired because of some stupid glitch in the system and so they couldn't check us on until we went to security and paid the stupid fucking fine for their mistake! omg I was furious and terrified... so me and my dad walked off to get things straightened out -- we'd overstayed our visa that was just facts and there was nothing we could do but pay the fine and try and catch this flight. dad had to go all the way back and out of the terminal to get cash to pay this fine and our gate was closing for our luggage... we weren't getting on that flight. plan B was for mum and my little sister (who's visa's were fine) to catch this flight and me and dad to find another one home when all this was sorted. but with some very angry looks they got their stupid money and put our bags on as "last bags" (I'm not sure they'll make their way home if I'm honest...) and fast passed us through immigration and security. now I'm already furious about this but I'm even more furious because there were dozens of other families and travelers that took the same connecting flight and are on this flight home and almost all of us were running late because of their horrible horrible planning! ahh it's so frustrating and I feel like I need to punch someone and it might have to be the immigration guards which might make me more of a criminal than I already am.

even though all this is just absolute bull shit and I'm incredibly angry at the flights and staff and immigration and my own government for stuffing this up, overstaying your visa often means you're not allowed to go back to that country... me and my dad may never be allowed back into Vietnam because of a stupid mistake.... and as a traveller and already having been her once and still needing to explore more.... not being allowed back just breaks my heart... I'm a traveller who's not free to go where she'd like to explore. what a deviating end to a wonderful trip....

so a couple hundred dollars poorer, having become an international criminal, maybe having lost our luggage, running on maybe 2 hours of sleep in the last 32 hours, rage and an absolutely shattered heart and probably leaving this beautiful country for the very last time... I'm going home.

bye bye Vietnam, thanks for having me.

#travel #travel blog #traveling #travelling #daily blog #adventure #my thoughts #thoughts #homesick #going home #travel weary #airports #cities #visa #international borders #immigration #i hate airports #goodbye Vietnam #my heart is breaking #heartbroken #anger #the government is shit #vietnam trip 2023-2024

[jeeliean]

you're on your own, kid

I’m leaving home soon.

            Sometimes it doesn’t feel real. How I’ve blinked and just like that, 17 years of my life have gone by. 17 years with the same people, in the same town, within the same schools. I firmly believe we all carry some part of each other in our own lives. I can remember some habits influenced by childhood friends I haven’t seen in a decade. How I picked up hobbies based on faces I can piece together in my memories, but also finding that their names have been lodged far behind in the back of my brain. That’s how it is when you live in a small town. People come and go, but in this case, they always reappear – maybe at the food court, in the arcade, anywhere, really. Every time we cross paths, there’s always got to be something different that they haven’t updated you about. But there would be no need for that anymore… You two drifted apart years ago. But you still greet them with that fond, familiar smile and mumble your hellos before promptly going your separate ways. Two months later, the same thing would happen again. Same pattern, same hellos, and goodbyes.

            I’m leaving all of that, and it both excites me and yet leaves me with a looming feeling of silent dread. For a person who loves trying new things and getting out of her comfort zone, living in a foreign country where you don’t speak their language is something I’m totally game for. Living like the locals, adapting to a new lifestyle, it’s always been something far-off in my dreams. Now I’ll be finally living it. But then there come the nightmares – nightmares that creep up on you when you’re finally able to have a good night’s sleep, and then completely ruin the rest of the night for you because you got woken up at three in the morning. Being alone sucks, even for an introvert. Maybe that’s because back home, you knew you were never going to be truly alone. You have family, people who know you, people who’d reach out if anything ever happened. But over there? Absolutely nothing. No one. Maybe your parents would watch over you for a bit, but then what? They’d hop on a plane back to the place you suddenly miss, the place you always took for granted because it was all you ever knew.

            “I’ll deal with it.” I quietly muttered to my parents from the back seat of the car as they were discussing how I’d cope, alone, in a terrifyingly new environment. I’ll deal with it. That sentence rolls around and around in my head like some sort of mantra as I look out the window and etch every single building, tree, and road sign in my mind. I burn the pattern of the car seat leather to memory, but even as I’m recalling all of this, I struggle to remember what song was playing on the radio that evening. It was some rock music from the ‘90s, maybe. But I can’t afford to forget anything. I don’t want to forget anything.

            It’s just four months, I’m being dramatic, I tell myself when the sudden pang of homesickness hits me in my bed (even though I haven’t even left yet).  I begin to wonder if the other kids who left home, packed up and left, felt the same way too; before they went away. Were they scared? Slightly anxious? Or not bothered at all? The people who had carefully stowed away their identity, their life, in two suitcases, and got on a plane to not come back for the next four to twelve months? Do they look back? Did their parents help with their overhead luggage as they boarded the plane with them, or did they drop them off at the security line? Did their friends come to send them off? Did they give their pets extra attention before that day because they won’t know why their owner suddenly got up and left?

            Questions like this keep swirling in my mind as I carefully cross off the days leading up to my departure. In the meantime, planning which courses I’m about to take, researching professors, and catching up on required reading take up most of my waking hours. But that feeling when you know you’re going to leave soon will always be quietly taunting you in the back of your mind, and it gets louder when you shut off the light to go to sleep.

#student #writers #trying not to cry #internationalstudents

[we-are-so-close]

Omg I’m so glad I didn’t miss your event!!!

Congratulations on your Milestone!!!!!🎉🎉🎉

I’m choosing Chocolate Ganache Tart for Tendou!

Song: Open Arms by Journey

Five years is a long time for some, and the blink of an eye for others. For you, it felt like an eternity. Five years ago, Tendou Satori walked out of your life despite your desperate pleas for him to stay. It was something he had to do, and if you didn’t support him in his dreams then maybe the two of you weren’t supposed to be together. That’s what he said. The last thing he said to you before picking up his bags and getting on a plane to Paris. Five years ago you should have picked up your bags too and gotten on that plane with him. 

But here you are now, in Paris, going into every chocolate shop in the city. It was silly, you think to yourself, that you might find him in one of these shops. If he hasn’t relocated to another city or country, then surely he’s married by now. Married to someone who supports his dreams and aspirations…someone that should have been you. You shake the thought from your mind as you entered a shop that had glorious truffles and pastries on display in the window. It appeared to resemble the other shops you had already been to, but something about this place seemed different. 

As you approached the lady at the counter, you couldn’t help but notice she gave you an odd look. She could probably tell that you weren’t from the area. You had heard that the French had a bit of disdain for tourists.  Again, you tried to shake the thought from your head. In your best French, you asked her if a man named Tendou Satori worked here. She raised an eyebrow and asked you to wait one moment. She walked to the kitchen door and shouted something in French that you weren’t able to translate fast enough. When there was no response from the kitchen, she came back to you and told you “no”. She asked if you were going to order anything, and like the last sixteen chocolate shops you’d been to, you ordered something out of politeness. 

The bell on the door was louder as you walked out of the store and you began to feel that your journey was a lost cause. The heaviness in your heart was just as bad as when he left five years ago. You sighed deeply as you clutched your bag a little tighter and began to make your way up the street to the next shop. You heard the bell clang loudly and footsteps approaching fast. Had you left something in the store? You turned around and immediately you were wrapped in the all too familiar embrace of Tendou. 

“S-Satori?”

“You’re here. I never thought I would see you here.” The excitement in his voice was palpable. “Come back to my place! We can catch up! Where are you staying? Let’s get your stuff and head home. I need to know everything.” He pulled away, his hands now holding yours. He stared at you in awe. “You look exactly as I remember you,” he said before he hugged you again. 

Later that night, you were in his apartment, listening to him rant and rave about his time in Paris. Your heart was still heavy, even though you were happy in the moment. 

“How’s life back home?” He finally asked you. 

“It hasn’t been the same without you,” you muster a smile. “How’s life here in Paris? Everything you ever dreamed of, I hope.”

“Well, not exactly,” he stated a little sheepishly. “These past five years have been an eternity. When I envisioned my dream here, there’s a big part that’s been missing.”

The room filled with silence for the first time since the two of you reunited. He was waiting for you to say something, and you were waiting for him. Both of you knew what you wanted to say, but were afraid it might not mean anything to the other. 

“I shouldn’t have left you like that,” Tendou finally spoke up. “We should have talked about it more. I should have given you more reassurance that this was the right move.”

“I’m sorry, Satori. I just…panicked. It was a big change. And you know I would never stop you from achieving your dreams.”

“But, you’re here now. And this time, I’m not going to just walk away. Stay. Please. I can show you that this is where you belong. Here, with me. You’re what I’ve been missing. My work is great, but you make this life fulfilling.”

This time, there were no doubts in your mind. The heaviness on your heart softened for the first time in years. Laying next to him, it’s like you picked up right where you left off. Your hearts were in sync again, and they would remain that way for the rest of your lives.

#ash's friendsgiving event #friend: missalienqueen #tendou #also...i want you to know that he had a picture of you at the counter #that way if you ever came into the shop the person at the counter would know that you were important to him #so when the lady saw you were in she shouted to tendou that the woman from the picture is here are you here or not #he didn't answer because he was trying to collect his thoughts #never in a million years did he think you would find him and his shop #but you did and he was not going to let you go

[rhyolight]

The day starts at 7 am. Not ideal. I wanted to sleep but unfortunately I had to drag myself away from the comforts of the modern world for Fiji.

When going to Fiji, you’ll get two very different experiences. If you go to the main island, it will be quite comfortable and rest assured the world will revolve around you. You will spend all your money in a resort and on food that is mediocre at best. And when you get back you’ll realize that it was exactly the same as every other resort you’ve ever been to. Not my thing. We opted for Savusavu. (is it the name of the island or the town? I have no clue so I’ll leave it to the imagination) Technically we’re in a resort but it’s a tiny little thing, and we’re not really in it. (also I have asked and Savusavu is the town, Vinua Lavu is the island) but now back to the beginning.

The morning was full of lying on the floor dramatically wailing about how I would miss my pets. The pets were not impressed. And eventually we dragged ourselves out the door and off to San Francisco we went.

But Rhyo, isn’t your airport international? Well yes, if you want to go to Mexico. Aka the airport wanted to call itself international so they will take you to the nearest country and nowhere else.

While on the drive we listened to “getting stoned with savages,” and while I would highly recommend this book let’s just say that the author’s description of Fijian centipedes was not appealing in the slightest. Oh well we decided. We may die by centipedes but let’s not think about it.

We arrived at the airport. Now one thing you need to know about me is that I hate airports. And the San Francisco airport is huge. We got lost quite a few times. Also it’s called SFO for some reason. What does the O stand for? Oranges? Opossums? Obscenely large and confusing airports that leave you wishing you were not there? I have no answers.

However we did make it to the terminal, where apparently I got eyed up by a young man who my mom thinks was a teenager. I did not notice as I was busy going through my favorite creepypasta blogs, which probably would have been a dealbreaker for this hopeful young man who was desperately trying to catch my eye. Though if I’m being honest I’m not sure if the airport is the place you expect to get hit on. My hair, although washed yesterday was decidedly greasy. I was wearing paint stained shorts and no makeup but apparently I was quite a catch.

We also had quite a few characters boarding the plane, including a few small children who were not having it and a very annoyed pair of teenagers. “She keeps bitching at me!!” One cried to her friends dad. “Make her shut up I want to strangle her.” The poor father seemed to be regretting his decision to bring his daughter and her friend along. I hope he’s doing alright. And when we got off they announced that someone had to stay behind and they had a picture of someone that they kept checking to make sure he hadn’t gotten off. No clue what he did but it was interesting at the least.

Luckily I was able to sleep on the plane. If not I probably would have committed murder by now. Oh and did I mention our flight was delayed by an hour? And that we had to catch a connecting flight in Nadi? Yeah that may have gotten a bit stressful. We may have been waiting to get our passports stamped, not even through customs, by the time we were supposed to board our plane.

“Do we have to grab our luggage?” I asked.

“No,” my mom said, “They should put it on the plane for us.”

“Any passengers going from Nadi to Savusavu please collect your luggage and clear security before boarding the plane,” the announcement lady said.

Great. Luckily it was a very small plane, as in we were a third of the passengers so they waited.

I also have to say that everyone was very nice. Unlike the thrift store lady who thinks I’m some sort of criminal. You know who you are.

We arrived at the airport in Savusavu, which is really just a shed next to an airstrip. And so we trudged along with our suitcases through the muddy parking lot to the car rental guy. He was very nice, but he did not really seem to speak English.

“So do we take the car without you?”

“Yah!” He nodded enthusiastically.

We stared at each other, unsure.

“Do we take you with us?”

“Yah!” He nods again.

But he entered the drivers seat so I guess we took him with us. Now one thing you need to know about Fijians is that the drive fast and don’t really stay in their lane. You kind of just drive wherever you want until you see another car. People also cross wherever they feel like it, so it’s kind of like an obstacle course except you're playing with everyone’s lives. But we make it to the rental place to drop off the guy and work out the nitty gritty details of the contract.

“Now don’t go off road,” the rental guy says, “remember, you signed a contract saying you wouldn’t.”

And we agreed. We had no intention of going off the paved road. But Fiji had other plans. Partway through town the road kind of just… turns into a dirt path.

“Oops,”

we said, realizing that we’d only had the car for 5 minutes and had already broken the rules. Though if I’m being honest I don’t know what they expected. The roads here look like they were built by a young child who gave up halfway through.

When we made it to the resort, they told us they would show us the way up the hill to our cabin. We started to get in the car, but were stopped. The guy explained that we had to take out all the suitcases or we wouldn’t make it up the hill. Did I mention that our rental car rides ridiculously low and also has absolutely zero tread on the tires? It’s no surprise the weight of the suitcases would be enough to stop it. And so we remove our suitcases and pile them into the van.

The “road” is a rocky dirt path that is less than pleasant to drive. And don’t even get me started on the driveway. The house was adorable though, and so after getting settled in we decided to go to town.

It was crowded. Town closes up on Sunday so everyone had to do their shopping. Going through the grocery store was like wading through mud, if mud was human shaped and pushed shopping cats. It was a nightmare and I hope to never go back. Except as I wrote this my brother has stated his desire for more cookies so it seems that my dreams will be crushed. I also got a very enthusiastic

“Bula!”

From a construction worker. And to this I ask why. But alas I never actually asked so I cannot provide any insight.

We wanted to get dinner at the resort.

“Sorry, you have to tell us your coming and order by at least 4.”

The lady said. Oh well. But we did find a place to eat and our dinner ended with me throwing up in the bushes. My body was very enthusiastic about getting rid of the spit if accidentally swallowed.

“Time for bed.”

We all agreed. It had been a long day and a nice sleep sounded like heaven.

Steve had other plans. For those of you unaware Steve was the giant spider hanging into my ceiling. “

Oh don’t worry it’s just a crab. It was blow up here by a cyclone.”

My beloved father lied in his attempts to console me. However, I have not attended many years of school for nothing and was able to call bullshit.

“I am not sleeping in there.”

I declared.

“He’s harmless!” My parents tried, although they didn’t want to sleep with Steve when I offered to trace rooms. And so we had to get him down.

The only problem is that the ceiling is very high and the longest thing we had was a fork. So we decided that my brother would stand on my bed and throw a towel at Steve until he decided to come down. And come down he did, only to disappear.

“Well he’s off the ceiling, so it’s fine.”

My mother declared after our attempts to find him failed. To which I replied,

“I’m sleeping on the couch.”

And sleep on the couch I did as Steve was never found. We did discover Steven Jr. in my parents room though. Great. So the house is infested with spiders. Wonderful. Exactly what I wanted.

I had decided that my room was cursed due to Steve’s disappearing act, the many giant wasps waiting at my window to come in and kill me in my sleep, and the creepy bathroom sink that loudly glugs at random times. Though a stern look will usually shut it up.

It even comes with an outdoor shower, massage included! And by massage I mean the floor is made of pebbles so it kind of feels like stepping on rounded legos. However it had a lovely private feel until I realized that we were only part way up the hill. Meaning that anyone on top of the hill could watch me staring in horror at the many, many wasp nests hanging above my shower. I decided that I’d take the hilltop perverts instead.

Oh, but wasps, spiders, and hilltop perverts aren’t the only thing you need to worry about. You know how sometimes when you’re falling asleep you get the feeling that something is crawling on you but when you check there’s nothing there? Well that happened to my mom, except when she reached into her nightgown she grabbed onto something wiggling. And so in her overtired stupor she fling it out and into her bed instead of out of it. It was a gecko, but in the darkness she did not know that, and so my poor father was awoken to deal with the mystery beast.

And later I woke him again to turn off the light. Ok so this sounds dramatic but I’d turned the light off and no one was going in that room so it really had no business being on. To make matters worse, my family is denying turning it on, but if it happens again my dad can rest assured that he will be woken, because although I can call bullshit on his lies about crabs that are actually spiders, I have decided that I am incapable of turning off a light. Although if there were any hidden murders they did nog make themselves known and we drifted off into the land of dreams, glad that the day was over.

#fiji #fijiislands #travel #travel with me #travel writing #travel woes #travel world #world #writing #my writing #this is so so funny #at least I think so #funny #funny stuff #funny post

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[absentia-if]

What are some of your other ideas? I always love when people share their ideas even when they’re not going to do anything with them.

I’ll share them below the cut for people who aren’t interested (I apologize in advance for my horrible ideas)…

There are eight below the cut.

Divided We Fall: You play as the President of the United States only child; wherein you’ve been receiving threats and are sent to a different country (one of my own design). As you try to figure out what you’re supposed to do now with your life. Especially when said madman follows you to said country. (ROs range from the heir of the country to your bodyguard.)

Caught In Between: You died. However, instead of going to Heaven or Hell, you’re sent to a place commonly referred to as Purgatory. Where you’re given the opportunity to go back in time— one year exactly before your death— as you try to figure out what happened that night. The only catch? The closer you get to the date the more you start to forget its significance. Will you find out if it was truly an accident that killed you? Or something so much darker? (The ROs range from someone you thought hated you to your manager.)

Life After Death: More of a Greek/Roman mythology type story; where you play as a fallen warrior/scholar/diplomat that finds themselves within the realm of the Underworld. However, your soul is widely sought after by all the Gods. You need to figure out where you belong and where you wish to be. (The ROs range from Hades to an Amazonian Warrior.)

A Thousand Years: It’s your final year of college and all you want to do is pass. Of course, not everything goes your way when a whole slew of new students enter your sleepy little town. With a few faces that have appeared in your dreams— and sometimes your nightmares— before. You just hope that the voice that whispers to you doesn’t turn out to be real either. (The ROs range from a bitter vampire to an adoring werewolf.)

Divinity Falling: You’re one of the Eight Guardians (beings chosen to look after the mortal realm); deemed as Life. Everything is going smoothly within your home but a succession of events causes you to get cast to the mortal plane. Wherein you’re trapped within a mortal body— without your body or any way to get back home until they return— and you have many things you need to get used to because of it. Fortunately, you’re not alone for too long as help soon arrives in a variety of forms. (The ROs range from Death to a fairly confused human.)

Swan Song: Based off of The Swan Princess; you play as an heir to a beautiful country that has been missing for over ten years. Trapped in a curse that causes you to be imprisoned in the form of a swan until moonlight touches the waters of your lake. Will you ever find true love that will break the curse? Or will you forever be trapped within your feathery form? (The ROs range from another heir of a different country to your childhood best friend.)

Duplicity: Based off of the show Chuck. You’re nothing special; you live with your older brother and his girlfriend in the beautiful city of Santa Barbara, California. You have a dead-end job— that you share with your childhood best friend— that you’re way too qualified for… your life wasn’t truly going anywhere. That is until you get an email from your old rival from college; wherein your life changes forever as it’s filled with government secrets (otherwise known as the Intersect). Launching you, along with your two new handlers and best friend, into a life you never expected for yourself. (ROs range from your CIA Handler to your rival that changed your life.)

Notorious: You’re an FBI Agent on the hunt for one of the most elusive art thieves in the world. Only your job takes you in a different direction as you end up teaming up with said criminal to catch an even bigger one; a criminal that you wouldn’t be able to catch without them. Your partner— when they finally catch up with you— is going to have choice words for you. It’s all in the name of justice though… right? (The ROs range from your partner to one of the two criminals.)

#absentia #other story ideas #anonymous #asks #ask #i have many thoughts throughout the day #and they get put into my notebook

[tteokggukk]

summer heat → jjk

–pairing: twin!jungkook x reader

–genre: fluff, mature (? but no smut), drabble, a minor attempt at humor, best friend’s twin brother type of thing

–words: 2.9k

–warnings: explicit language, sexual tension, tiny bit of humiliation, a hint of jungkook and reader having some sort of “history” if u squint hard enough

–summary: in an attempt to calm you down and prevent your mood from swinging due to the blazing heat, your best friend decides to go out and buy you some ice cream. you’re shocked, however, when he quickly returns and looks different, making you see him in an entirely new light and leaving you trying to resist the urge to give in to your raging hormones and just jump on him.

–a/n: i was thinking of this scenario in the shower but didn’t have the brain power to turn it into a full length story so i might just add this to a pile of drabbles that i may or may not develop heh + ive been in my jungkook feels too lately sigh + also this is unedited 

permanent taglist: @100percent-dum-dum  @mochisjoon​ @boraength @rageyoudamnednerd​ 

It was a scorching hot summer’s day. Sweat was beginning to trickle down your temples and your shirt was getting stuck to your skin, causing an irking feeling of discomfort. Looking around, you quickly grabbed an empty long folder from your best friend’s messy desk and began fanning yourself to cool down. The two of you were just there, sitting in his room in a not-so-comfortable silence.

You were currently plopped down onto a chair with your legs resting on the desk in front of you, too lazy to come up with ideas to kill your boredom.

It was a tradition for your family to travel every summer and visit a new country you hadn’t been to, but this year you had to pass the plane tickets and sight-seeing due to your best friend, Junghan, asking begging you to help him out with a month-long film project. You didn’t have the heart to decline, so you told your parents you’d stay behind and help him out which resulted in you having to stay over at Junghan’s place for the rest of the summer.

You had to admit though, a small part of you felt disinclined to stay because the project sounded like it would’ve been a tedious workload, but working with your best friend was so much more fun than you’d imagined and even the project itself turned out to be enjoyable. So far, your summer break has been spent filming and hanging out with Junghan—though hanging out usually meant staying in his room and watching romcoms all day while crying over fictional characters, ranting about how you two would never meet such perfect men in real life. It was great.

Until the air conditioner broke down.

You glanced over at Junghan, who seemed to be just as spiritless as you were while he sat in front of a fan, eyes looking empty and distant.

“I told you the air conditioner needed to be fixed,” You sighed and looked up at the ceiling, completely missing the harsh glare he sent you.

“I said I was gonna get it fixed,” He replies and turns back to the fan, his voice quieting down a little, “But the number for repair wouldn’t answer.”

“Right,” You muttered absent-mindedly, eyes staring at the ceiling while your mind was too busy trying to come up with suggestions to beat the heat, “We could go to the pool?”

“Closed,” Junghan grunts, “The mall?”

“As if we’d both drive in this state,” You rolled your eyes as you tried to get your shirt to stop sticking to your skin. Junghan glances over at you when he hears you grumbling, one of the many cues that you were beginning to feel peevish. Deciding that it was pointless to keep tugging on your shirt, you opt to take it off instead.

“You don’t mind do you?” You asked before completely removing your shirt, only leaving you in your bralette. Though you knew he never did because of the countless times he’s helped you change and pick out different outfits, you always asked out of politeness. Additionally, his zero interest in women made you feel much safer and comfortable enough to undress around him.

“I really don’t care,” He says and stands up. You hear him rumbling for a moment while you were neatly folding your shirt, and seconds later you recognize the jingling sound of keys.

“Where are you going?” You asked.

“The nearby grocery. You’re about to get grumpy and I am not going to listen to a rambling bitch for the rest of the day,” He says, rubbing his temples as he makes his way to the door.

“So you’re just gonna leave me here?” You asked, too exhausted to even glance at him. He probably wasn’t, you only asked for the dramatic effect.

“No, dumbass. I’m just gonna go and buy ice cream. See you in a bit.”

And with that Junghan leaves and closes the door shut. Only a few minutes later after the sound of the engine had gone did you decide to exert a little effort and move over to his previous spot to sit in front of the fan, the air immediately cooling your skin. You sighed in relief and grabbed a few tissues to wipe your temples dry before grabbing your phone and texting Junghan to buy some lemonade, followed by a second text telling him you’d pay him back once he returned.

You were surprised to hear, not even ten minutes later, that the car was already back and pulling up in the driveway. It couldn’t have been Junghan’s parents as they were out working, and it was only you and Junghan around—not like you two had many friends who would come and visit. Instead of rationalizing with yourself on how Junghan came back home in supersonic speed, you decide to drop it and wait for him to come up back to his room.

Someone knocks on the door, causing your brows to furrow in confusion. Since when did Junghan knock?

“Come... in?” You answer, though it came out more as a question. Your head turns at the sound of the door opening, and your eyes widen at seeing Junghan standing by the doorframe.

Looking oddly different.

“Dude,” You stood up from your place and stared him up and down, “Is that what you were really wearing when you went out?”

His eyebrows raise in shock and you catch his eyes taking a quick glimpse from your chest before quickly looking back at the perplexed look on your face, a small smirk forming on lips. You decide to ignore it.

“What a warm ‘welcome home’,” he chuckles.

“You didn’t answer me,” you replied, still oblivious to the difference in his tone.

He was wearing an all-black ensemble—a black cap, a black leather jacket, black pants that outlined his toned thighs (how have you never noticed?), and some chunky black boots—a huge contrast to his normally colorful and baggy clothing. You were genuinely curious because you hadn’t noticed what he looked like before he left the house as you were too tired and lazy to even look up and say goodbye.

“Uh, yeah. This is what I was wearing?” He narrows one of his eyes, looking confused, “Why?”

“I don’t know… since when did you wear all black?”

“Since way back then? I don’t know,” He replies, and you now noticed how his voice was unusually low. Junghan steps inside and averts his eyes from you, looking around in his room before scrimmaging through drawers as if in search for something.

“What are you looking for?” You asked, folding your arms and following him around.

“A charger,” He replies, and a chill runs down your spine at the sound of his voice. You thought maybe you’d detect how he was just trying to change his manner of speaking, but it was effortlessly low; like he wasn’t faking it or anything. It was weird because Junghan normally sounded a little more high pitched. 

“What charger?”

“A laptop charger, mine broke,” He continues searching and not once does he meet your eyes.

“Oh okay, let me help you then,” You begin to look around and help him search, “Though I don’t know what it looks like, I’ll let you know if I see a charger.”

He looks up at you and smiles, but you don’t catch him watching you as you were already busy searching, “Thanks.”

The two of you continue searching in silence, though occasionally you’d look up and glance at Junghan. What exactly was he doing? Was this for his film? Is he supposed to be in character? This new look and manner of talking that he somehow adopted after a quick trip to the grocery store did things to you. Every time he grunted in annoyance after a failed search, something in your stomach would twist and you found yourself suddenly feeling drawn, or maybe even more than drawn, to your best friend. Your gay best friend.

You shook your head to get rid of those thoughts.

Only a few minutes later did you find something that looked like a charger hiding underneath a pile of unfolded clothes before presenting it to Junghan, “Is it this?”

“Yes! Exactly that,” He jumps up from crouching over one of the drawers at the bedside and walks over to you, “Thank you.”

“Yeah, sure. I don’t know why you took such a long time searching for something in your room, though,” You rolled your eyes.

“My room?” He smiles, voice a little deeper but with a hint of amusement.

God, you could just jump on him right now.

“Yeah?” You knit your brows, “And stop doing that!”

“Stop doing what?” He asks, sitting down on the edge of the bed so he was looking up at you. He leans back a bit a folds his arms, a smile still tugging on the corner of his mouth.

Maybe it was the summer heat doing things to your head and making you think about all these things that you never thought you’d ever want to do with your gay best friend, but he seemed so in character it was actually beginning to bother you. What store did he go to exactly? And where the hell is the ice cream?

“That! What’s up with your voice? And your outfit? You look so different, it’s weird,” You folded your arms as if to mirror him.

“Weird, huh?” He asks and looks at his clothing before looking back at you.

“Not in a bad way. It looks good, it’s just not you,” You squirmed slightly before shaking your head to snap out of it, “I don’t know what store you went to that made you look like this—and congrats I guess, if you’re trying to switch up your fashion, but you completely missed the ice cream, so good luck trying to handle this rambling bitch.”

He laughs at the words “rambling bitch” and oh god that is not what his laughter sounded like before. When did the sound of his laugh sound so deep and sultry? You subconsciously sucked on and bit your lip at the sound of his laughter, trying your best not to visibly drool in front of him. He catches your subtle action and his brow raises at the sight.

“Despite all the things you said, you think this looks good?” A playful smile rests on his face and your heart beats erratically at his expression.

“Y-yeah, I don’t know,” You mumbled. He shifts on the edge of the bed to move closer to you.

“And because there’s no ice cream, you’re going to turn into some rambling…” He reaches his hand out, the back of his fingers feeling the skin on your exposed waist before resting his hand on your back to pull you in closer.

“…person?” he continues, brows raised and eyes staring intently at yours, not using the vulgar word you had just used to describe yourself (or the word he had just called you before he left to go to the store).

“I...um, we’ll see,” you replied, and he only chuckles deeply. Your voice had transformed into a murmuring mess and it annoyed you, but you couldn’t really do anything about it, right now he reminded you so much of—

“I think you look good too, you know. Maybe I did miss you a lot more than I thought I did,” he whispers, pulling you in even more so you were now standing between his thighs.

Missed you? After an eight minute trip to the grocery store?

You didn’t question it. Your mind was blanking out, malfunctioning, even. Here was your best friend, your gay best friend (as you had to keep reminding yourself), placing his hands on your bare skin in a way that you knew wasn’t going to turn out to be so innocent. Right now you were extremely attracted and possibly even turned on by whatever the fuck he was doing, all you could do to save yourself was blame it on the heat. Was this absolutely weird? Hell yes. Did you want to stop him? Fuck no.

Were you now completely devoid of all reason and logic?

Definitely.

Softly, he tugs on your arm and pulls you into him so you were now sitting on his lap with your hand resting on his chest. One of his hands was still attached to your waist, the other was resting itself on the bed, gripping on a blanket.

Chills run down your spine for the second time now as his mouth moves closer to your ear, “Lucky for you I know the perfect way to handle rambling bitches.”

Your breath hitches for a moment and Junghan moves back to face you, his lips grazing your cheeks a little before you meet each other’s gaze. The summer heat was definitely nothing compared to this, but you didn’t mind. Your faces were only mere centimeters apart now and you could’ve sworn he was beginning to lean in by the look in his eyes, which were now fixated on your lips.

Seriously, you could just grab him by the collar right now and speed things up. He’s the one who pulled you in first, anyway, you just wanted to get things going. Though you haven’t exactly a clue as to where this would end, you wished he would hurry up a little to find out.

But for some strange reason, your senses were enveloped with the distinct smell of a signature fragrance that you knew did not belong to Junghan and it snapped you out of your thoughts. The scent was strong enough to flash some memories back in your mind, making you frown. Did he use this perfume on purpose? Or was your mind just playing tricks on you? In a flash, you could suddenly think straight and you couldn’t help it, the moral side of your brain had turned far stronger than your currently raging hormones (thank goodness). Something was definitely off.

“But, Junghan… aren’t you… gay?” You asked, your voice trailing off a little.

His eyes widen and he pulls back from you. He stares at you for a few seconds before it hits him, and he starts erupting in laughter. You narrowed your eyes at him and got off his lap, moving over to the side and sitting beside him instead.

“Junghan?” He stresses on the name. You’re staring at him blankly now, like you knew he was just messing with you. His laughter eventually dies down and he places a hand on your thigh, though it seemed much more innocent now, “I’m so sorry, ____, you’ve got the wrong person.”

With one hand, he quickly grabs the blanket off the bed. The back of his other free hand endearingly caresses your jaw, and you notice how he lingers for a while as he moves a bit lower down to your neck—before wrapping the fabric around you and covering your whole torso with it. Your face immediately turns pink as you clutched onto the blanket to further cover yourself, feeling slightly humiliated, though you were still confused.

“Wrong person? What do you mean?”

“I was wondering why you had no shirt on, I thought that was just a regular thing for you now. But it’s probably cause you’re more comfortable around my brother, huh?”

“Your brother…?”

“Has it really been that long?” He chuckles, and instantly your mind began connecting the pieces together. Could it actually be him? You haven’t seen him in years, and no one even bothered telling you he was coming back today. No way, surely this was Junghan playing a joke on you.

“I’m not Junghan. I’m his twin brother, Jungkook. Remember?”

You hastily stood up in defense, still clutching the blanket close to your chest, “Shut the fuck up, Junghan. No one said anything about Jungkook coming back today!”

Junghan Jungkook only laughs and stands up, the melodious sound filling the room, followed by the sound of footsteps approaching the wide open bedroom door. 

“What a shame, but it was a surprise. I didn’t tell anyone I was coming home today,” He folds his arms, “And if I am Junghan, then who is that?” He points at the doorframe and true enough, Junghan was standing there holding grocery bags in his arms wearing his usual oversized colorful jacket and khaki colored pants.

You and Junghan both looked at each other with mouths dropped down to the floor before you looked back at Jungkook, who had the same smirk tugged on his lips, clearly amused at the whole situation.

Jungkook bends forward and leans in to your face, his voice in a lower tone but still audible enough for his brother to hear, “Probably shouldn’t take your top off so leisurely around the house anymore, huh?” He grins and winks at you, causing you wince and force an awkward smile, internally cursing yourself at everything that just happened.

“Anyways, I should probably rest up in my room. See you around,” Jungkook flashes you a smile before placing a chaste kiss on your (now dry, because your body had frozen up) forehead before walking away from you, taking the charger and dangling it in his other hand. He taps his confused looking brother on the shoulder before turning his head back to take one last look at you before walking out, leaving you and Junghan staring at each other in shock.

Junghan walks in slowly and sets the bags of grocery on the floor, shutting the door behind him.

“What the fuck just happened?” He asks you, eyes wide in anticipation.

Your mind replays everything that had happened between you two. Was Jungkook really just about to kiss you minutes before? Heart racing, you clutch on your chest from underneath the blanket he had covered you with. No way was Jungkook back. No way is he back and looking even more attractive than he did the last time you saw him. Not when you had just gotten over your small crush on him a couple of years ago.

The heat returns to your body, but it mainly pools on your cheeks. You look back at your best friend, but no words of explanation come up. 

“Believe me, I’m asking myself the same thing.”

↣ all rights reserved © 2021 tteokggukk. please do not repost. translations/modifications are not allowed.

#bts #jungkook #jeon jungkook #jjk #bts jk #jungkook x reader #bts oneshot #bts fanfic #bts scenarios #bts smut #jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #jungkook imagines #bts fluff #bangtan smut #kim namjoon #kim seokjin #min yoongi #jung hoseok #park jimin #kim taehyung #bts au #bts x reader #bts x you #jjk smut #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jjk x reader #jjk fluff

[warmblanketwhump]

flight plan

disclaimer: this takes place in pre-you-know-what times - if you’re actually sick, do not do what B does here. alright, on to the suffering :)

Back when B booked their flight, the 4 am boarding time and 2 layovers seemed like a great exchange for saving a few hundred dollars while flying across the country. But now, with a head that feels like it was stuffed with cotton, a gate change that forced their leadened body to trek across the entire airport, and an additional 3-hour delay before their final 4-hour flight, they were beginning to question their penny-pinching ways.

In a nearby terminal, a fussy infant screamed, and it took everything for B not to scream back at them: I hate it here too! Their nerves were frayed, their whole body ached to the bone, and their head felt like it was in a vise grip.

It hadn’t felt this bad this morning - heck, they wouldn’t have left if they’d felt this bad - but the changing cabin pressure and constant temperature shifts from hot, stuffy terminals to icy planes were wreaking havoc on their poor, rapidly sickening body. They’d been up for 18 hours. And now, they had no choice but to ride it out and power through the last leg. They hug the paper cup of tea they’d grabbed at a nearby cafe close to their chest, trying to hold back their frustrated tears.

They just wanted to be home.

B shifts on the hard terminal seat as they wrap up a third agonizing hour of waiting, willing the passengers ahead of them to board more quickly so they could just get home to A, who they’d been missing all week. But the miserable minutes ticked by, and B kept having to blow their tender nose with their precious (and dangerously dwindling) travel pack of tissues. As they massage their aching sinuses, B feels a tap on their shoulder. Turning, they recognize a fellow passenger from their previous flight extending another full pack their way.

“Here. You need these more than I do.” They extend the gift, and B gratefully accepts. The stranger nods, and heads back to their luggage to wait out the boarding process.

After what feels like an hour, B’s group is finally able to board the flight. From their boarding pass, they knew they’d be stuck in the middle seat, but their heart lifts a bit when they see their Kleenex-wielding savior in the aisle seat next to theirs, who waves and gives them a small smile as they let them through. On the window seat side, a sour-looking individual scans them up and down, raising an eyebrow when B coughs roughly in their elbow.

“Sorry…” B sniffles. The sour-faced person rolls their eyes and turns their attention to the window, and B shrinks in their seat, embarrassed.

“Just want to be home, right?” Their aisle friend smiles sympathetically, and B nods weakly. “I know the feeling. Name’s C.”

B introduces themselves, and the two make amicable small talk during the pre-flight checklist, finding out that they both called their destination city home. As the plane takes flight, B winces - the pressure change makes their head ache, and their sinuses feel like they’re going to explode, along with their ears. The dry air of the plane irritates their chapped nose, and they close their eyes and grip the armrest till their knuckles bleach, trying to breathe through the pain and praying it doesn't get worse.

It gets worse. On top of their pounding head and runny nose, B discovers like all the other planes, this one's an icebox. Once they reach cruising altitude, B apologetically shuffles by C to head to the bathroom, hoping that by some chance it’s warmer in there. In the dim light, B’s stares at their haggard reflection – their feverish eyes are glazed and watery, their raw nose is bright red, and their peaked face is wan and drawn, coated with a sheen of sweat. Hopefully A would still recognize them, they thought humorlessly.

The bathroom is just as frigid, and B’s stuck with a stream of lukewarm water that barely heats their cold hands. Back in their seat, the throbbing headache continues to build behind their eyes, and their throat desperately cries out for something to drink.

As if they could hear their thoughts, C leans over and pulls a small bottle of water from their personal bag. “The flight attendants came by with drinks while you were up - figured you could at least use some water.” B gratefully accepts and murmurs their thanks, and the cool water feels like heaven as they gulp it down.

After, B pulls the paper-thin flight blanket up to their chin - at this point, they didn’t care what the travel magazines said about how dirty they were. But it’s no use. The cold plane air sinks into their aching bones, and their body shivers to make up the difference. They close their eyes and wriggle around in the seat, trying to find a comfortable position that still allows them to curl up and get warm while exhaling as few germs as possible – and if there's any mercy at all, to fall unconscious for the next 3 and a half hours.

“Will you stop?” The window passenger glares at them. “It’s bad enough you brought your germs on here. But now you can’t even sit still?” Tears pricked at B's eyes - being sick always made them more sensitive - but before they can squeak out an apology, C leaps to their aid.

"Lay off," C snaps. "Can't you see they don't feel good?" The other passenger huffs indignantly, and presses closer to the wall of the plane. C's eyes don't leave them, and they stretch their hand out tentatively toward B. "May I?"

B nods, letting their eyes close, and C gently lays a cool hand across their forehead, clicking their tongue at the heat. "Well, I've definitely flown with healthier seatmates than you." B tries to laugh, but a cough seizes their lungs, and they double over to try and contain it as best they can as C gently rubs between their shoulder blades. When they finally catch their breath, they rest their head on their knees, exhausted from the exertion. From their prone position, B checks their watch. 3 hours and 26 minutes to go.

I'm going to die.

Slowly, B sits up and stiffly straightens their blanket with as little movement as possible. A draft floods their section of the plane, and B longingly eyes C’s unopened blanket tucked in the seat pocket, trying to quiet the incessant chatter of their teeth.

“You cold?” C frowns.

“Freezing,” they whimper through clenched teeth. “And I hurt all over and I just want to go home and I miss A and I’m so tired.” They didn’t mean to break down, but two twin tears slip from their eyes as they try to stop their lip from quivering.

C’s quiet for a moment, then stands to rustle around in the overhead compartment, and returns with a small bundle.

“Lean back,” C gently commands, and A obeys and closes their eyes. They’re immediately draped in warmth, and open their eyes to see a thick, fleece-lined jacket being tucked over them, along with a soft travel blanket over their legs. They try to protest, but C shushes them.

“Being sick is already miserable without being stuck in a tin can in the sky. Besides, these flight blankets suck." C gives B's shoulder a reassuring squeeze, and B nearly melts at the touch.

“And look, if you don’t want to, it’s fine - you don’t know me - but you can use my shoulder if you want to try and catch some sleep.”

In any other moment B would be mortified, but they're so spent that they just nod weakly and surrender to the offer of comfort. C pulls their unused blanket out and folds it into a sort of pillow, clicking the armrest down between them, and B collapses onto them in a boneless heap. Sleep tugs at the edge of their vision, but there's one lingering question on their mind.

"C? Why....why are you helping me? You've been nothing but kind and you don't even know me."

C's quiet for a moment. "Last year, I tried to do the same thing you're doing – power through an 8-hour flight home with a blossoming case of pneumonia. Cough, chills, headache, the works. About 2 hours in, I was about ready to jump out of the plane." They chuckle lightly, but B hears the wistful note in their voice. "It was absolutely miserable, and all I wanted was someone to hold my hand and tell me it’d be okay.”

C turns to look at B. "But nobody did. Not a single soul. So I vowed that if ever I found myself in a position someday to help somebody home, I’d do it.”

The words are so achingly comforting and desperately sad, so soft and generous and B feels like they should say something, affirm that yes, helping a random sick passenger was damn close to sainthood. But instead, sleep wins over, and they nestle closer to C as they tumble into a soft, dreamless sleep.

it feels like they’re asleep for minutes, but when C nudges them gently, they realize that they’re descending. They’re home.

The wheels skid on the runway, and the journey off the plane is a blur of sound and color and too-bright lights. B is only vaguely aware of C’s arm around their waist, guiding them through the crowd and to the baggage claim area. They must have told C which suitcase is theirs, because they blink twice and it magically appears at their feet.

“C’mon now, B. Almost there.” C gently guides them forward, and B wills themselves to power through the final few minutes.

“Do you see A anywhere?” C asks, squinting through the crowd of people. B can barely focus their eyes, and they’re losing hope, when all of a sudden - they see them. A. Holding a small paper sign with B’s name and a stuffed animal with a small red heart in their arms, waving wildly. They’re beaming, but the smile falls from their face as they see what condition B’s in.

“B - what happened? Are you okay?” B can barely whisper A’s name, and A pulls them into a hug, gently whispering reassurances, that they’re home and safe.

“Bit of a rough flight, but B hung in there,” C smiles, passing B’s suitcase to A. “They’re not feeling too hot, but I think they’ll make it.”

Suddenly, B releases A and stumbles back to C, throwing their arms around them. C’s thrown off balance by the strength of the hug, but manage to compose themselves and pat them gently on the back.

“Thank you,” B whispers. “So much.”

C blushes. “It was nothing. Just don’t forget to pay it forward.”

B squeezes tighter. “You deserved help. You still do.” C says nothing, just swallows tightly, and B feels C’s arms tighten ever so briefly around their waist.

A rush of dizziness floods B, and C gently guides them back to A’s waiting arms, before handing A a scrap of paper. “Listen, it’s none of my business - but can you give me a call in a couple days, just so I know they’re feeling better?”

A takes the scrap and smiles. “Absolutely. It’s the least I can do to thank you for keeping old B from falling apart in public.” B grunts indignantly, almost asleep again, and A strokes their hair and smiles.

They make it back to the car, and A manages to maneuver a limp B into the passenger seat, tucking them in and cranking the heat on their side. B blinks their eyes open and smiles guilelessly. “Go home now?”

A smiles and presses a soft kiss to their forehead. “Yes, love. We’re going home now.”

#fever whump #sickfic #whump prompt #hurt comfort #caretaking #whump on a plane #PLANE WHUMP EVERYONE #FINALLY #this really took a turn I was not expecting when I set out to write this #BUT ITS DONE #also there is most certainly space for a part 2 👀

[achillieus]

let you down. (sebastian stan x reader)

summary: it's a universal truth but it's worth repeating; feelings eat us raw. or just an actor and a girl falling in and out of love over the course of three months.

(this was inspired by sebastian's visit to greece for his movie, monday, and is based on that, so that means in the story we’re in 2018. also i have this posted on ao3 too but while i’m writing the last parts i thought of posting it here too)

pairing: sebastian stan x reader

warnings: alcohol, sexual references, implied depression, sebastian desperately needs to hug the reader, infidelity, it's kinda slowburn because i love the yearning, this part is full of angst and built up tension,

part: 3/6

(other parts)   (masterlist)

Being Sebastian Stan is not a simple thing. Some days it makes him feel like he is only a porcelain face on screen. Nothing more than photographs and rumors. He had once told an interviewer he was scared people would never know the real Sebastian. What he meant was that he was worried he’d wake up one day and the real him would be vanished.

The world would have eaten him alive.

Walking you home, in empty streets in a small country makes it all easier. His mind is clear of dazzling thoughts and his heart is not racing up. He can smile and no one will be there to take a picture of him.

Somehow that makes him smile more.

And when he does, it feels like Christmas. And you are certain there will come a day where you’ll be so close to oblivion and unable to remember what mint tastes like or what your favorite color is, but you’ll still have the turned up corners of his mouth painted in your head.

He stops walking. You look at him confused. He’s fidgeting with his fingers.

“Back at the party,” he takes a long breath as if trying to slow down his heartbeat, “You were talking with that tall guy.”

He sounds terrified. You don’t understand why. He thinks it’s better that way.

“Yeah I was.” There’s a flicker of surprise in your voice.

“Do you know him well?” You realize you have stopped in front of a pharmacy, the halogen light above you, turning your skin a sick green color.

“I know he’s an actor.” You take a step, finding the courage to walk away from him. “He’s kinda famous here.”

You can hear him move close behind you.

“Do you want me to ask Argyris if he’s single?”

There’s mockery in his voice. It makes you feel intoxicated. It’s your turn to stop walking. Your gaze falls on his face and Sebastian can feel his eyes sting but he keeps them open; wide and pale blue.

Almost green, under this light.

“No.”

“Oh don’t be sh-“

“No, I mean it. I would never date a famous guy.”

“Why?” A hasted breath escapes his trembling lips. And for a moment you think of kissing him right there; in the middle of the street, but you never do.

His world moves too fast for people like us.

That’s what you want to yell back at him, but then you remember;

The evening Sebastian fell asleep in your couch, he was more than a famous guy. He was clutching on your pillow like a kid and he was humming to himself like your father used to.

And he smiled as he fell asleep.

There is no argument left in you. He’s just a boy.

“I’m scared.” Your words slowly suffocate him. He feels the weight of your heart pulling him down.

He nods.

/

The next two days pass in a blur. You can hear him laugh with people as they walk up the stairs to Argyris’ flat. You’re not used to him not stopping at your door. It makes your cheeks red and your eyes filled with salty tears.

You haven’t realized until now, but you’ve become dependent on his presence.

So when you open your eyes at 4am with your phone buzzing with an Instagram message, you bite your cheeks.

Are you awake?

You stare at the screen to make sure you read it all correct, until it turns black and then lights up once again.

Why are you scared?

You don’t have to be scared with me.

I’m trying. You want to answer. Help me. You want to answer. Please.

You put your phone away until the words turn blurry.

/

He’s back at your door the following night. He’s wearing a white tank top and his rings. He must have just finished shooting.

You keep staring at each other, both tongue-tied with the words you’ll never say. He looks worried and desperate. You look tired and desperate. Taylor Swift is playing in the background.

“No more AC/DC?” He laughs and your eyes smile.

“Do you want to talk?” He asks.

You shake your head like you’re at war with yourself.

“Do you want to just stay here?” Your voice is too silent but it’s almost deafening him.

Sebastian thinks that he wants tons of things. He wants to hold you. And he wants to touch you. Everywhere. And he wants to know why there’s sorrow surrounding you. And he wants to take it all away.

And he wants you.

But he knows that he can’t tell you that. These words are too heavy for you to carry on your shoulders. At least for now.

“I’ll stay.” He says with a breath.

You give him an almost smile and all you can feel is gratitude.

/

You lay in your bed together. You’ve slept with other guys in that bed before. And it’s been nude and sloppy and brutal. But this is different. This is intimacy in its purest form. You’re both fully clothed but you both feel naked. And so close. So close.

All Sebastian can hear is the sound of your breathing and every bone inside him is breaking. He is afraid he’s turning paralyzed.

And then you move your body and bring your forehead next to his. Sebastian inhales deeply. You smell of faded vanilla body cream.

You look at him and you know then you can get used to that. You bury your fingers in the hem of his shirt. You want him to come closer. He knows.

“I’ll stay love,” his voice is steady and sincere “Anytime.”

He calls you love because there’s nothing else to call you. He calls you love because you both need him too.

“I don’t think that’s possible.” Sebastian thinks you’re always too sensible. It’s something you keep between the hollows of your body. “But it’s okay.”

His hand is in your hair. It soothes you.

“What happened? What broke you?” he whispers.

You don’t know what to say. You don’t know how everything started. It's hard to remember but there is one image in the back of your eyes that crawls through your skin and makes you shiver. You try to ignore it.

“I don’t know.” He turns his gaze at you but you look at the cold ceiling. It’s so much easier this way.

He doesn’t answer. He just draws circles in the back of your palm and places his lips against the scalp of your head. And while you’ve never been much of a science person, you’re certain this is how a nuclear attack emerges.

/

When the sun rises and you wake up, he’s not there. Earth moves slowly as the cold sheets press against your skin.

It’s early, there is a soft breeze coming in from your open window. A man is bickering with this wife across the street.

You can hear her call him a liar.

I’ll stay love.

You can hear him yell his apologies.

Anytime.

Why do people lie? Why do we lie?

You don’t try to search for him. You take a shower and drink some chocolate milk. You pay attention to the silence in the room. You almost forget your heart is still beating.

/

You bump into Argyris’ girlfriend while taking out the garbage. You like her a lot. She’s strong and pretty and smart. You wonder sometimes, how exactly that feels.

You pray she doesn’t mention him. It doesn’t work.

“He must be flying right now.” Suddenly you feel as if there is something rotten inside your chest. It makes you want to graze your skin and throw away everything that's inside.

You look at her slightly confused.

“He’s flying to Toronto; he has to attend a festival there.” She smiles. You’ve noticed she always smiles.

You just nod and step out of the building. Her voice stops you.

“He’s coming back in some days.”

“I don’t care.” Now she laughs.

“There’s no need to lie.” You take a sharp breath. “He cares too.”

You want to believe her words but they seem like choke chains.

You throw your garbage away.

You keep your rotten chest.

/

Sebastian sits back at his seat and orders a hundred and one drinks. The airplane is chasing the sun. He’s chasing his thoughts. Neither will ever catch up.

He used to like travelling. Airports, suitcases and foreign hotel rooms made him feel free. Now they make him feel the opposite.

The material on his seat is rugged. He wants to go back to your soft sheets. He can’t.

And then he imagines a place and a time where he could just kiss you without any possible consequences. He imagines a place where you could rest your bodies together for a long time without worries weighing you down. He imagines a place where he gets what he wants. A place where that thing between you two is more than enough.

The sun blinds him. He closes the small window and then his eyes.

Being Sebastian Stan is not a simple thing.

Some days he can’t take it.

/

You’re sitting on the floor and it’s almost 9 in the morning. You’ve calculated the time difference and it’s 2 in the morning where he is. That sounds wrong. Almost scary.

He left three days ago but he’s everywhere. There are photos of him wearing stupid floral shirts and posing in a sophisticated way. And there’s Nicole Kidman next to him.

God. I’ve become infatuated with a man who plays in movies with Nicole Kidman and Robert Downey Jr.

That’s what you think and you know you’re doomed.

You expect him to send you a message or a picture at first, but he doesn’t. You wonder if your time together was only a blurry puzzle of disconnected memories that somehow fits in his past.

He’ll simply forget all of it.

You try not to think about him but then you meet Argyris in the lobby and you have to bite the inside of your mouth so his name doesn’t jump out from your lips.

You go to bed early that day. You hold onto your pillow and you count the hours that separate you.

(13 hours with a plane)

(25 days with a boat)

You count and you fall asleep.

And you fall in love.

/

It’s not uncommon to rain in Toronto. But today rain feels heavier on Sebastian’s skin. He remembers the day he met you; it was hot and the sun made the window glass look like it was about to melt. That memory is the cause of his shivering.

Once upon a time he was in love. He was in love with a girl who had ethereal written all over her body. He was in love with a girl who was destined for divinity.

But those were the old days; they are dead and gone now. Your skin glistening under the Athenian sun changed it all.

It’s not easy to feel this way. The sky understands so it opens up and pours down on his dark hair. He presses his eyes closed with his fingers. And he tries to imagine a version of himself that doesn’t think about you that often.

He can’t.

Not even when he has a deity as his girlfriend.

/

The next time you see him, his hair is a little longer and much messier than you remember. And you have to devour all the sense that’s left inside you as not to touch it with your bare hand.

He has a cigarette in his fingers and a dark jacket thrown around his shoulders and everyone’s asking him about the festival. You just sit on the corner of your neighbor’s flat and listen to laughter and glasses clicking against each other. And you smile.

Smile; because he’s here.

And then he notices you and you’re pretty sure his eyes linger on your face a little longer than it's normal for humans. And his gaze is so brilliantly blank and loony that you don’t know how to respond. And then he starts to cough. And he never looks at you for the rest of the night.

You want to believe it’s better this way.

But it makes you so angry; you want to clench your teeth hard.

/

It goes like this; you don’t exchange any words for the next two days and it feels like your lips will start to bleed.

And you don’t know but his head feels like battlefield.

“When do you know you can’t stop it?” He asks Argyris. He feels ashamed.

“When you don’t want to stop it.”

He grabs the beer can and drinks his confusion away. He hopes alcohol will send his thoughts to sleep but instead it sends him to your door.

He rests his head against the wooden material. He can hear water running down and he can hear you humming a song.

And the foreign words make no sense to him but somehow they sound like lyrical poetry.

He waits for the water to stop and then he knocks.

/

Your hair is wet and sticks to your blue shirt. Your eyes grow wide when you see him standing there.

“I thought you’d never come at my door again.”

He looks at the floor.

“I shouldn’t.”

He sounds defeated; defeated by his own self. And you can smell the flammable liquid on his breath. And you can see that he has his nails pressed against his palm. You take his hand in yours and he closes his eyes. You caress the little cuts with your fingers. There are no scars but the skin is still red and painted with fear. You understand and it makes you feel dirty and obscene.

You look thoughtful for a moment and then you decide you can’t go on like this. It will split your souls.

“How’s Canada?” His eyes fill with surprise and he laughs. It gives you pride.

“Never been?”

He takes a step inside your place and his eyes fall on the empty bottle of pills at the kitchen table.

He doesn’t say a word about it.

You love him for that.

“I’ve never been anywhere.” Your cheeks are flushed with a soft raspberry color.

Sebastian realizes then that he wants to show you the entire world. Every corner of it. He wants to hold your hand as you walk beneath the Corsican stars. And he wants to memorize the Northern lights with you by his side. And he wants to see you laugh as he falls off his surf board in New Zealand. And he wants every cliché thing there is to do.

His heart stretches at the thought of it.

“Canada is beautiful in its own way.” He looks out of your window.

You wonder if he’s trying to find some more constellations in the sky, but then he turns around and walks towards you.

“I’ve been there a lot of times.”

Of course you have, you think.

He brushes a strand of hair behind your ears. It’s still damp and cold.

“Have you been to a lot of places?” He smiles and nods.

And then you can sense it; the sharp feeling of heartbreak crawling under your skin. You try to ignore it.

“I used to be grateful I travel all the time.”

You place your hand on his chest. The beating makes you calm.

“You’re not grateful anymore?”

He rubs his palm over his face.

“I am,” he inhales “But sometimes I just want to stay where I am.”

Yeah, I know.

He leaves an hour later, still drunk.

Still in love.

/

On Sunday, he takes you out for dinner. You tell him you don’t like dates. He promises it’s not a date.

You know you’re both lying.

He orders some red wine and he drinks as he watches you eat. It all feels natural to him. Somewhere at the back of his head though, there’s still some rationality left, that makes him think, this can’t be wrong, when it feels so natural.

He doesn’t drink any more.

/

You’re playing with the maraschino cherry on your dessert when his phone rings and your world comes crashing down.

You don’t intend to but you see the caller ID.

Love.

He had called you love one night.

He feels too guilty to look at you so he grabs the device and gets out of the place.

You want to throw the ice cream on the floor.

And then you want to hit the wall; with your head. But you can’t. So you just bite down at the cherry and wait for him to come back.

And when he does, things are different.

He doesn’t to try to make jokes and you don’t laugh. His eyes are everywhere but on you and your hand stays away from his.

You tell him you’re done with dessert so you can leave.

He has never felt more relieved.

/

Your pace is fast, but he catches up. You can’t outrun him.

His breath quickens as he comes closer. It’s almost innocent and childlike, the look he gives you.

“I’m sorry.” He whispers and it makes you laugh. You laugh and you shake your head and it’s not enough.

“Why?” He can taste the bitterness all over you. “This wasn’t date. So why are you sorry?”

You keep walking and his breath keeps echoing in your ears. You find the entrance of your building.

You’ve seen the place a hundred times but only now you notice how old it looks. It makes you disgusted. It makes you want to vomit.

It starts with him saying he doesn’t want to hurt anyone.

And then you rest your body at the soiled wall, trying to remind yourself you’ve had your heart broken before. And your eyes are not dry anymore. And you can taste salt in your lips. And he comes closer and he holds you.

You swear you see tears in his cheeks too, but he’s too fast to wipe them away.

“Have you ever done anything only to regret it a second later?”

You’re not certain which one of you asks but you can hear your bones breaking as you throw your head around and he arches his back.

His hands touch the dried tears on your face and it stings like sewing needles. And his lips touch yours. And for a brief moment you feel like you’re stealing from life.

And he can taste all of you; raw.

And it feels like fists that punch him.

And when you pull away you both have already regretted everything.

“Now you have something to be sorry for.”

You wonder if perhaps a broken dignity is better than a broken heart.

/

i really appreciate feedback, it motivates me tons and also tell me if you’d like to be tagged :)

tagging: @lharrietg @awkward117 @dannaloureen @broccoligf @cutestfangirlvevo @caitdaniels @arymb @buckybarnesishot310 @roguesthetic @itsaliceheree @sara-1705 @dorothea-hwldr @freshfreakoaftrash​ @drinkfantasy

#sebastian stan #sebastian stan x reader #sebastian stan x you #sebastian stan imagine #bucky barnes #monday the movie #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes x reader #letyoudown

[egcdeath]

hook, line, and sinker

summary: steve was never meant to be anything more to you than a check, a basic mission. but somewhere along the way, things had veered from that.

pairing: steve rogers x spy!reader

word count: 1.9k

warnings: angst, bad decisions, betrayal, unhappy ending

author's note: it has been a minute since i've posted a fic! i hope you enjoy :)

you can find my masterlist and taglist here

Despite the different rooms you found yourself in, the harsh morning sun was always the first thing you saw in the morning. Its bright rays would peek through the room’s shades and land right onto your face, intruding on some of the more vulnerable moments of your life.

When you finally angled your face away from the beaming star, your tired eyes fell upon the man next to you. The man you should’ve never taken things this far with. A man on the run, who you were sent after.

You sighed softly as you became a bit more conscious, and a now slightly more awake Steve threw a large arm around you, pulling you impossibly closer to him.

“Don’t get up yet,” he mumbled softly against your ear. You nodded and relaxed further into the slightly stiff motel mattress, mentally snapshotting and framing this moment in time. Yet another to add in the five month scrapbook of your time with Steve. Time that you recognized was quickly running out.

You allowed yourself to close your eyes once more, to listen to Steve’s soft breaths as he inhaled the scent of you. It made your heart hurt knowing that within the next week you would no longer get to be in those arms. Knowing that you would have to wake up alone in a new apartment in a new country and wait for a new mission while the news on the television droned on about the nomadic Captain America being flushed out of hiding. That Steve was no more to you than a mission. That it was your fault that you had fallen so hard and so fast.

So you treasured it while you had it. Hummed contently as Steve massaged your side before peppering little kisses against your neck. Tried to absorb the stubborn tear that threatened to fall down your face at any moment.

“We have to leave today,” he whispered against your ear, sending goosebumps up your arm. “Natasha wants to meet you.”

Your eyes shot open and your brows momentarily furrowed, something you quickly attempted to play off with a wide smile. There was no way that she wouldn’t recognize who you were— despite being declared ‘dead’ years ago, you were one of the more esteemed spies in your community. What that also meant is that you had even less time with Steve than you’d expected.

“When are we leaving? Am I gonna have to get used to another time zone?”

“Probably a few. Nat’s already with Sam, but we heard there’s something weird going on in Scotland with Wanda and Vision.”

“Should I really be getting involved with this then? It sounds like some pretty intense Avenger business if the parts of the team you still communicate with are getting together. I can just stay here ‘till you guys are ready to come back.”

Steve gave you an ‘are you serious?’ look before breaking into soft laughter, “are you serious?” You nodded wordlessly in response. “Oh, you’re serious. I promise that you’ll be fine.”

“Well, things better not get weird,” you giggled right along with him, reaching out and grabbing Steve’s face so that you could look into his eyes. You took another mental picture of him. You just hoped it wouldn’t have to be the last.

——

After you prepared yourself for the long car ride ahead of you, you slipped your second burner phone out of the hidden pocket of your suitcase, you were met with several missed messages by the man who sent you on the mission in the first place.

What is the wait?

I was referred to you for a reason

Have you even found him yet?

I’m not paying for you to sit around and go to brunch all day.

Do I need to send more money for a plane ticket or something??

No, I’ve got it. He’ll be in custody by tonight.

He better be. Or else you won’t be around to see tomorrow.

You swallowed thickly. You wouldn’t be dealing with this in the first place if you weren’t so irresponsible. And if word got out that you were falling in love with your targets, your reputation would be in shambles. You should’ve known from the start that this could never end well.

Steve stepped back into the bedroom area, a goofy smile on his face at the sight of you sprawled out on your back on top of the dingy motel bed. “You ready?” he asked, sounding chipper. You assumed he was ecstatic that you were finally going to be able to meet his friends, which made your heart hurt even more.

For a moment you considered the possibility of not going through with it. Of going along with Steve, work, prestige, and that hefty bounty be damned. You would still be living life on the run, but you’d have Steve, and everyone else on his side on your side too. You’d have some semblance of a family, and maybe someday you’d have a real family and someone to grow old with.

You chastised yourself for getting soft before sitting up, “I’m ready.”

——

You weren’t ready.

You knew you had to move quickly, the sun was going down, and you’d made a promise that needed to be fulfilled, or god knew what would happen to you.

You reached for the volume dial on the radio portion of the car, and turned down the song that Steve was currently humming along to.

“We should probably get off on the next exit that has a gas station,” you prompted, “the tank’s getting pretty low.”

Steve’s eyes flicked down to the dashboard and he nodded in agreement, “you’re right. Good catch.”

Steve pulled the car off and drove you to the nearest gas station, humming pleasantly along to the music once again. Your stomach was twisting and untwisting knots with every foot you got closer to the station, knowing exactly what you would have to do once you arrived.

Somehow, this was the most nerve wracking moment of your career. Not infiltrating secret government operations, not pulling the trigger on a mark, not even seeing the message from Tony Stark asking for you to find a way to bring Steve in.

You hurried into the main building of the station, making up an excuse on the spot to go inside. You made your way into a bathroom stall, and slipped the phone you hid away earlier out of the extra pocket in your pants.

Your hands shook as you dialed the first two numbers. You took one last deep breath as your finger hovered over the final number. You had one last chance to change your mind, to go back out to the car like nothing had happened because nothing had happened. You would drive a little longer before staying in another shitty hotel, and think about how you made the right decision as you curled up next to Steve’s warm body.

But you couldn’t. You were given this mission, and you needed to complete it.

You pressed the last nine, immediately connecting with an emergency service operator. You gave them the tip that you had seen Steve Rogers pumping gas into a black Honda Civic, and provided them with your location. With every word, your voice trembled a little more. You were grateful for your proximity to a toilet, as the lump inside of your throat threatened to force the contents of your stomach up with every passing moment.

You hung up the phone and looked at yourself in the mirror for a moment. You could barely recognize yourself now, and you weren’t sure if that was from the flagrant betrayal of your partner, or the undermining of your own personal rules for the past five months of your life.

After reflecting on what you’d done for a few minutes, you made your way back to the car. You sat down in the passenger seat, lip trembling as you thought about Steve, and the fact that you’d laid a trap for someone you had such strong feelings for.

Steve sat down just a few minutes later, a smile on his face, and snacks from the gas station in his arms. As he passed you a water bottle, he couldn’t help but notice the tears slipping down your face.

“Hey, what‘s wrong? Are you alright?” he asked, dropping the rest of the items on his lap and leaning over the middle console to console you.

You began to full-on sob now, each tremble of your body filled with regret. “I’m sorry, Steve. I am so sorry,” you repeated.

“No, no, you’re okay. What���s wrong?” he asked, frowning as he wiped your tears away with his thumb.

“I- I had no other choice,” you wailed, “I’m sorry.”

His brows creased and he pulled away from you, betrayal evident in his features, “oh.”

You swallowed hard and shook your head.

“So this was the plan all along?” he questioned. Your lack of response seemed to answer the question for him. “Was any of this real?”

“All of it was, Steve,” you all but whimpered out.

He sighed deeply and leaned his head against the headrest, eyes squeezed shut. He seemed to be searching for the words, but couldn’t quite put together what he truly wanted to say. It was silent in the car for a moment, aside from your quiet sniffles.

“I loved you,” he finally said, hurt evident in his delivery. The admission shook you to your core. You almost couldn’t believe that the first time you were hearing it was after you had put him into such a terrible situation. After you turned in someone that you cared about for your own gain.

“I know,” you looked away from Steve in shame, the look of hurt on his face now permanently imprinted in your mind.

The sound of sirens began to fill the air. Not too long after, you noticed the unmissable blue and red of emergency vehicles approaching your own. It was time.

You unlocked your door and exited without another word. You refused to look back to the car, keeping your head down and your eyes squeezed shut, knowing that if you had to see Steve being taken away, you might never get over the permanent sick feeling you were currently in the midst of.

You walked right inside of the building, stopping in front of an aisle of chargers and finally looking back at the mess that you had made.

“What’s going on out there?” the clerk asked from behind the counter, peeking out the large glass windows.

“I don’t know,” you feigned ignorance and casually shrugged, ignoring the fact that the sight of about a dozen police and SWAT vehicles was tearing you up inside. What were they going to do to him?

You turned away from the scene once again, pretending to browse through the low quality electronics next to you. You heard some yelling, a bit of a struggle, then it was all over.

The coast was clear. Your mission was over.

You left the store without purchasing anything. You moved sluggishly as you got back inside of the now abandoned vehicle.

You started the car once again. This time without the radio playing overplayed pop songs, and without Steve happily humming along. You stared blankly ahead of you, feeling numb above anything else. Steve's words resonated in your mind, bouncing around in your head as you attempted to make sense of what you just did.

Guilt was beginning to creep up on you in a way that you’d never experienced before. You immediately felt haunted by the ghosts of your memories with Steve. Of every entry in your mental scrapbook, of the final image of the hurt on Steve’s face as he confessed his true feelings for you. Of all, you were left with one terrifying thought.

You loved him too.

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