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honey-tongued-devil · 2 years

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⤝Writober - Week ⤞

[NdA]

Okay, small change! In order to not create excessive spam, I decided to manage the writober in a more orderly way. On ao3 I will post the stories day by day, then report them in a single post the whole week on Tumblr!

Day 1: Silco x f!reader Day 2: Ekko x f!reader, Day 3: Jayce x gn!reader, Day 4: Viktor x gn!reader, Day 5: Marcus x gn!reader, Day 6: Vander x gn!reader Day 7: Sevika x gn!reader

▶Writober Day 1 “This is the sign you’ve been looking for” [Silco]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", fem reader ↠TW: SFW, implied violence, implied romantic relationship ↠Character/s: fem reader, Silco, Sevika, Finn, chem barons ↠wc: 1.1k

The devil smiles, ruthless, letting the lips marked by time and hate barely uncover the chipped teeth.

You remain motionless, impassive, while the chem barons swallow loudly to that unexpected and out-of-place reaction from the man: Sevika quickly looks at you moving her gaze only, taking advantage of their distraction to check on you, and you don’t know exactly if she fears that you can do something inappropriate or if she’s simply uncomfortable since she usually acts alone, but you try to don’t give it too much importance. You know you have to be docile.

"So I wonder, why do you insist on wasting my time?" Silco places his palms on the table surface, leaning slightly forward, letting his voice warm as a caress and sharp as a blade reach everyone in a clear way, in a veiled threat.

His two-tone eyes scrutinize one by one the faces of the twelve present sitting at the table, with the security and superiority worthy of a king without a crown, aware that in that haughty room of power-hungry cowards no one will dare answer.

Yet, despite the tension has saturated the air, you cannot help but feel on the skin the icy and judgemental gaze of some who sits at the table; someone who despite the drastic situation finds time to wonder about who you are: they probably think they’re gonna get out of that room alive, which is why they’re mentally preparing to take you as an hostage or as a blackmail source.

And it’s a probability that you took into account when you agreed to be an accomplice in that meeting, certain that if you really are a weakness for Zaun’s Kingpin then presenting yourself to them meant being the face of the conviction.

No one speaks, only the man sitting at the head of the table on the opposite side of the room seems to exempt himself from the air of fear that the mere presence of Silco brings to the room: he plays carelessly with a lighter, turning it between his fingers, following it with his eyes, covering and uncovering the flame with its golden lid.

If hubris had a face, its irises would be green and its skin covered with ink.

"You know, the girl behind you is really pretty, Silco." His voice breaks the silence like a bolt from the blue, making your heart jump in your chest. Insolent. Self-centered. Devoid of common sense. You’re pretty sure that the one who just opened his mouth is Finn.

"Yet, she seems rather delicate to be a henchman. Is she your collaborator? Your secretary? Or maybe..." He goes on, his voice takes on a mocking note, slightly sharper as if he had to hold a laugh.

Sevika stiffens while the man involved seems not to be disturbed by his arrogance, nor by the transparent provocation. Rather, he straightens his back and raises an arm, inviting you to approach with a gesture of his hand.

"Oh, I see. Are you interested in her?"

"I can’t believe how a sick old man like you has so many pretty faces around"

You get closer to Silco, the sense of nausea grows more and more.

You wouldn’t know exactly if it’s the anxiety, the awareness of how slimy every single rat in that room is, or the absolutely disgusting way the raven-haired man looks at you, but you decide not to investigate more.

Silco puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it imperceptibly as if to reassure you that that pitiful show is about to come to an end.

And you will never admit it aloud but it’s not describable in words how attractive is the way he doesn’t waver even to so stupid but objective provocations: it’s not the wrinkles around the eyes nor the scarring that disfigures the face to make him feel at fault; he certainly knows there are younger and more attractive people out there than an old man who’s irretrievably disfigured, but that’s not his problem.

Probably Finn himself knows that it’s useless to try to attack the physical appearance of a man who grew up in the Sump, but you’re almost sure that he intends to use something so irrelevant to make him not only feel insecure but even humiliated.

And God alone is a witness to how pathetic he is as he shrugs lightly as if his foolish words had to trigger who knows what reaction.

Silco lets go of your shoulder and lightly runs two fingers along your spine and Finn makes his gaze dart towards a woman sitting on his right.

This is the sign you’ve been looking for.

You were warned by Sevika that at the table sat the one who wanted to betray the Kingpin, but there was no certainty if Iscariot was alone or in league with someone. For that reason, as a total outsider, you were asked to attend that meeting that was requested with a little too much urgency.

Your rule, as a hunter, wasn’t only to find out who would betray him, but also with them who, in search of power, would turn their back on the man.

You approach the man with the golden jaw and drop a bag on the table that, when it hits the wood, lets out gold coins.

He looks up perplexed, first at you, then at Silco.

"What does it mean"

"That’s 30 gold coins." You try not to let out any emotion as you speak, and it’s almost ridiculous how your heart does somersaults in your chest when you notice it out of the corner of your eye in Silco’s small grin.

Finn snaps to his feet and slams his hands on the table, stupid and embarrassing exactly as he were described to you: the moment he’s unable to understand something he screams and wiggles like an toddler.

He screams words that you ignore, intent on accomplishing your only task. With one hand you reach for his face to turn it towards you, and before he can grab your wrist to break contact you leave him a quick kiss; then, you place a nail in front of the woman, looking into her eyes without hiding the sadistic vein that accompanies your action.

You have exactly fourteen seconds to get back behind Silco, fourteen seconds before the ruckus breaks out and that room, that until a few moments before was shrouded in silence, turns into hell on earth.

Some understand your signal and get up, others blink their eyes in confusion, others still turn looking for an escape or shelter, while Silco offers you a hand, closing your fingers between his and the palm, leaving a light kiss on the knuckles in a gesture that finally breaks the mask of coldness and tears you a smile.

"You did so good" is just a whisper, but you can’t help but giggle as you squeeze yourself between your shoulders as you leave the door behind.

The devil smiles, ruthless, letting the lips marked by time and hate barely uncover the chipped teeth.

If hubris had a face, its irises would be green and its skin covered with ink.

"Yet, she seems rather delicate to be a henchman. Is she your collaborator? Your secretary? Or maybe..." He goes on, his voice takes on a mocking note, slightly sharper as if he had to hold a laugh.

"Oh, I see. Are you interested in her?"

"I can’t believe how a sick old man like you has so many pretty faces around"

You get closer to Silco, the sense of nausea grows more and more.

Silco puts a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it imperceptibly as if to reassure you that that pitiful show is about to come to an end.

And God alone is a witness to how pathetic he is as he shrugs lightly as if his foolish words had to trigger who knows what reaction.

Silco lets go of your shoulder and lightly runs two fingers along your spine and Finn makes his gaze dart towards a woman sitting on his right.

This is the sign you’ve been looking for.

Your rule, as a hunter, wasn’t only to find out who would betray him, but also with them who, in search of power, would turn their back on the man.

You approach the man with the golden jaw and drop a bag on the table that, when it hits the wood, lets out gold coins.

He looks up perplexed, first at you, then at Silco.

"What does it mean"

"You did so good" is just a whisper, but you can’t help but giggle as you squeeze yourself between your shoulders as you leave the door behind.

▶Writober Day 2 “We wanted to be the sky” [Ekko]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", fem reader ↠TW: SFW, kinda fluff, romantic, a bit angst ↠Character/s: fem reader,Ekko, Scar ↠wc: 1.1k

Your eyes struggle to stay open, sleep makes eyelids heavy, and staying awake is suddenly the most difficult task in the world. It was undoubtedly a heavy week: there were toxic spills in the Sump, a couple of raids by the enforces in the Entresol, and even three firelights seriously injured which you had to rescue. I mean, you giggle between you and you, you’ve definitely earned a little rest.

You feel Ekko’s strong arms pick you up and make you do a little hop so he can grab you better, more firmly, and it’s absurd how all the noises are muffled except for his heartbeat: the boy’s heart is wriggling in his chest like a dragonfly in a cage, it seems ready to break his ribs to get out, you can almost feel it hit against your cheek, furious.

You know how much he loves to carry you in his arms like that, he does it often, and every single time he adds that remark that never fails to make you laugh: "I train for the day I marry you".

You hide your face against his chest, squeezing what little you can to gather a minimum of heat while the temperatures of the underground city suddenly drop. You can’t even imagine how cold he’s since he even took off his coat to wrap you with it. God, you always believed that being born in that sewer of the underground city was a curse before knowing him.

But to this day, if you had to choose between seeing the sun every day or having to crawl in the Sump for the rest of your life, you would always choose the dirty air of your native land if it meant being with him, with the firelights, with your people.

"We’re almost there, hold still." his voice is broken, perhaps from the wind that slams in his face, so strong that his eyes are filled with tears.

"Are you going to marry me?" you speak softly, your voice is feeble but you know he hears it because he squeezes you even more to himself in response, nodding with his eyes tightened. You giggle, but you have to stop immediately when you feel a shooting pain in the belly.

But you’re kinda used to it, it’s quite inevitable for the place you live: you’re all full of bruises and scars, it always hurts everywhere for how many times you fall from overboard, buildings, or roll on the ground during fights and training. You just have to follow the procedure, breathe slowly to get the pain over, and he keeps running as much as possible.

"I’ll marry you now, I swear."

And you find yourself wringing your lips slightly in a smile, closing your eyes, and squeezing even closer to him.

"We get to the lair and I’ll marry you, and I'm gonna carry you in my arms..." his voice stops, and you don’t quite understand the verse that follows, maybe he slammed? A muffled sigh, before he keeps talking "...like a princess, and I’ll show everyone how beautiful my wife is." his wife. You may already be getting used to it.

"Say it again..."

"My wife"

"Once again..."

"My wife. My wife. My wife" his wife.

"I like how it sounds. From today I’ll officially be your wife. And you… you’ll be my husband."

Your neck hurts, as so does your head, and the cold is always sharper, but opening your eyes you begin to recognize the ‘sky’ above your head, now close to that place you call home. You can’t believe it, who knows if he was serious. You wonder if once you get there he really is going to marry you, I mean, it was an odd way to propose, but his voice didn’t sound like a joking person's.

But when you finally get there, instead of smiling, he screams at the top of his lungs.

Scream so loud and desperate you get goosebumps.

He asks for help, yelling so much that he loses his voice. He falls to his knees, but you don’t get hurt, no, even blinded by despair his first thought goes to you, he covers you with his body as if he wanted to protect you from everything. And he cries.

He’s so happy to finally marry you that he cries as his life depends on it.

You don’t really understand what people are saying, and in all honesty, you find it hard to distinguish their faces because of sleep; someone pushes Ekko away and you try to get up but the limbs don’t respond, probably numb from the cold. Damn, and to think that this morning you were even sweating!

"It’s all right, hold on" Scar whispers caressing your face, someone rips your shirt off, and you feel warm water soaking your chest in an unexpectedly relaxing sensation. Thinking becomes more and more difficult, everything turns, everything is confused, but you trust them. It must be a strange custom of firelights, you think. Some kind of preparation for the bride.

"you know..." your voice is hoarse, the taste that reminds you of iron is getting stronger and stronger in your throat, and it’s disgusting. "Ekko and I are getting married."

Scar grits his teeth, probably he wanted to hear it from his best friend, but you need to say it out loud to feel it more real.

"We are getting married, and he promised me..." your chest hurts "that he will carry me all over the lair, to show everyone how beautiful his wife is." Just laugh, your head spins.

"When we were younger we wanted to be the sky. I know, it doesn’t seem to make sense, but the sky was huge, it was beautiful, it was boundless. And we wanted to be like that. We ran to Piltover to look at the clouds. But as I got older, I realized that if the sky equals freedom, my sky is here. I don’t have to climb the rooftops to reach it." You smile weakly at Scar, sleep is becoming really unbearable but you’re embarrassed to admit that despite how excited you are your eyes are struggling to stay open. You are tired, your eyes are tired, your voice is tired.

You just want to sleep.

"I can’t believe it" you see them moving their mouths, they seem to talk but you can’t hear any sound, just annoying static noise. You don’t even know if you’re just thinking or talking out loud at this point. "We’re getting married. We’re finally getting married".

Your eyes close.

And everything fades black.

▶Writober Day 3 “I can't explain and I won't even try” [Jayce]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", gn reader(no pronouns used) ↠TW: SFW, fluff, romantic,domestic, babygirl Jayce ↠Character/s: gn reader, Jayce Talis ↠wc: about 1 k

Working for the Kirammans has its pros and cons, no doubt.

Sure, you come home late, maybe drenched to the bone, but it pays well -and Tobias is such a sweetheart, he feels guilty when you finish your shift too late, so he always makes sure to give you some delicacies and often he offers to give you a ride home.

And your home, in turn, has its undeniable charm: it isn’t too excessive but it’s warm enough to allow you to breathe a sigh of relief when you enter. When outside it is particularly dark and cold, the main rooms are scattered with candles: a couple on the fireplace, at least five in the bathroom, three more in the kitchen… and the first to come back from their shift usually turn on both the heating and a stove, ready to boil milk for a cappuccino or a hot chocolate.

You get out of the car quickly and greet the man with your hand, he smiles in response and waits for you to enter the gate before starting the car and leaving. You know it’s an automatic gesture, probably dictated by fatherly instinct, but every single time it makes you feel an unexplained warm feeling in your chest, like safety.

But now you have no time for sentimentality, no, you’re finally at home. You can finally relax.

The last drops of rain, you think, then you’ll finally be warm.

The last drops of rain, you think as you press your finger on the doorbell.

The last drops of rain, you think when the latch snaps.

But when the door opens, you understand that that desire is as far as you can imagine: Jayce looks at you, seriously, the gray shirt he usually wears when he is at home is scorched, the soot dirty on his face and arms, in one hand he holds what appears to be the corpse of a cloth. You stare at him, and he looks back, in prolonged eye contact.

"I can’t explain and I don’t even try."

You nod. Excellent argument, no doubt.

You squeeze your eyes hard, filling your lungs with air until they almost burst into your chest. You put a hand on your temple, trying to assess how serious the situation in the house can be: it’s like a game between you and you, if you think about the worst possible scenarios you almost automatically will think 'I thought worse' when you actually see the disaster.

"So, what happened this time?" you sigh, closing the door behind you, and before the boy can talk, you clean a speck of soot from under his eye and take advantage of the situation to leave him a quick kiss, accompanied by a 'good evening anyway'.

"I was studying and..." the boy just gestures and shrugs.

"You got distracted?" he snorts in response, addressing his classic pout.

The living room isn’t that bad at the end of the day, just a little bit of soot on the curtains, some residue of burnt sheets on the ground, and fragments of what you imagine were glass vials on the tables and chairs.

You get the broom in the closet, and in the meantime give the boy instructions to open the windows and remove the curtains. In a few moments the air in the house becomes breathable again, but at the same time so cold to give you goosebumps: it doesn’t happen too often, but it is also not so rare that the carpets get dirty, the tablecloth burns, the walls blacken a little or the paintings fall off. You just got used to it, without getting angry or annoyed too much.

The carpets are taken to the laundry, the tablecloth is mended, the stains on the walls are cleaned, the paintings hung again and the windows reopened to make the room liveable again. You take a quick look out of the corner of your eye at Jayce, who’s obviously in a very bad mood, and you can’t help it but giggle.

"Oh, c'mon big boy. Nothing happened. Now let’s fix the living room and then take a nice warm bath" You approach him and put your hands on his chest, slowly sliding under the shirt. He whispers something incomprehensible about how he’s not angry at all, how he’s just annoyed by how a stupid distraction caused the accident this time and not an experiment, how he’s mortified because it’s cold and he knows it’s late and you’re tired, and so, so much more bullshits.

"I’m not angry, Jayce"

"I know, but I also know that-"

"Jayce"

"I know… but…"

"Let’s do this now: while I close the windows and change the tablecloth you go and prepare the hot water and towels. We deserved that. Okay?"

He nods but his expression doesn’t change, obviously consumed by guilt.

"Oh Jayce! Just one more thing!" he turns to look at you, putting his hand against the door frame.

"I love you."

He gasps loudly, opening his eyes wide, bites his lower lip embarrassed while his cheeks are get a bit hotter, and squeezes between his shoulders like a child who, on Christmas morning, doesn’t know how to react to the gift he was waiting for from a lifetime, even though you repeat those words every single day.

"I love you too"

And you giggle as you watch his mood suddenly improve, as he can’t help but smile as he goes back and forth between rooms.

▶Writober Day 4 “This is where the magic happens” [Viktor]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", gn reader ↠TW: SFW, fluff, implied romanticism, during the timeskip ↠Character/s: gn reader, Viktor ↠wc: 550 words

"Are you sure this is a good idea?" You stare at the guy in front of you, busy fiddling with a heavy brass padlock. He doesn’t respond immediately, intent on nibbling on the inside of the cheek concentrated: he slides his fingers on the metal surface rhythmically to understand the arrangement of the small weights inside the lock, in a gesture so natural that you’re almost ashamed when you feel the blood rising to your face.

"Absolutely..." a firm wrist movement. "...not."

Click.

The padlock opens with a small snap and the guy turns to look at you, the satisfied smile of those who haven't feared for a moment to fail in his intent. Viktor quickly stows the trinkets in a metal box -probably an old candy container- and opens the door of the workshop, turning a little friendly bow. You hesitate a few moments before stepping in, the dark room is illuminated only at some points by dim blue lights, such as clumsily fireflies hidden behind furniture and machinery of dubious nature.

The heavy door closes behind you and, in an almost mechanical gesture, the boy heads towards one of the light sources, lifting a rough, blue, small sphere that beats between the tapered fingers as if it was alive.

"This is where the magic happens."

He sticks the gem in a small hole covered with circuits and the whole room lights up with a strong, blue light. Immediately you feel the skin hit by a static feeling, the hair of the arms go straight and your hair, suddenly light, follows your movements with slowness. Viktor chuckles with a hand in his pocket, noddin at you when finally his hand meets the object he was looking for.

“Heads or tails?” He shows you a silver coin, then he flips it in the air, enjoying your expression the moment you realize it won’t come back in his hand.

"Is... isn’t there gravity?"

"It is not correct, gravity is still present. But it acts with such a meager force that it doesn’t affect bodies." He can’t help but smile, proud of that little workshop that for a year has turned into his second home. One by one he takes his fingers off the handle of the cane, giving himself a small push to rise in the air, with the nonchalance of those who have already done it a thousand times and another thousand will do it again.

"Aren’t you coming?"

"How?"

"Jump. Just jump."

And you do it. Your stomach tightens, your clothes lag behind your movements, your body suddenly seems to be swallowed by the void, and even if you try to move you can’t really do anything, soon finding yourself spinning without any dignity or control. The boy approaches and offers you a hand, holding onto a tube with the other one.

"This is embarrassing"

"It just takes some practice, c’mon. Hold onto me." And suddenly you feel like a child, desperately holding with both hands on Viktor’s arms, terrified that if he leaves you, you’ll get hurt.

But he doesn’t leave you. Instead, he puts his hands on your hips, and closes his eyes, enjoying the almost total absence of weight. You’re light. You’re alone.

Isolated from everything and everyone, in that small laboratory where magic is consumed.

▶Writober Day 5 “Sinners” [Marcus]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", gn reader ↠TW: Slightly NSFW, "dancer"!reader, slightly degradation kink, spit kink, Last drop? Brothel? Who knows ↠Character/s: gn reader, Marcus ↠wc: 578 words

The glass sprints in a single fluid movement through the entire counter, dressing with the colored lights of the room before finishing its short run in the gloved hand of the policeman, who, without any hesitation or delay, brings it to his lips.

The music is so loud that the bass resonates in the diaphragm and makes the liquids vibrate rhythmically in the bottles carefully arranged behind the counter, as in a collective and hypnotic dance able to overcome the fourth dimension. Everything in that place seems to transcend the human as if someone had managed to scratch a slice of hell inside a closed building.

The moans and sighs accompany the notes, coming from every corner of the room, where shameless lustful don’t deprive themselves of a macabre dance, hungry for the body and soul of each other. On the stage and the counter several figures move ambiguous and sensual, without any gender and race, as if they lived only for that moment, and you with them.

You make your hands run on your skin uncovered, the lips hatched ready to give lascivious smiles to those sinners who despairing crowd at your feet, praying for one moment of your attention.

Keep your eyes glued to that of the man, intent on enjoying the only time when you, a dirty little animal of the underground city, can look down from above not only some piltover but even a public official. You kneel before him without stopping to dance, fluid as a snake, only to observe him better in those eyes so dark that they seem to swallow every single glimmer of light.

He sweats.

Swallows.

And you wonder if he feels dirty, if he feels like he’s in a cage, if he realizes that he’s just your prey.

And he, like a good obedient child, doesn't say a word. You grab his jaw between your thumb and pointer, slightly moving his face as you would with a precious gem, arching your back instinctively when he, instead of resisting, remains soft in your hands.

Docile, that man who the next morning would be ready to shoot a bullet directly between your eyes to keep his business clean, is now totally submissive to the touch of a mere prostitute.

You want to kill him.

At least threaten him, make him feel small, but you know you can’t.

You limit yourself to make a slight pressure on the just dug cheeks of the man to force him to open his mouth, then, with one hand, you lift his glass stealing a sip of his stupid and predictable gin.

Rich people have no taste nor imagination.

And when he raises his eyebrows confused, you recline your head, his lips a few millimeters from yours while you spit out the clear liquid in his mouth, rippling in a smile of pure pleasure when the man’s eyelids close slightly and his back stiffens.

Pathetic.

The red of the lights doesn’t stop you from clearly seeing the coins and bills that from time to time he slips at your feet, like a drug addict willing to do anything for a dose. And you, magnanimously, every time kneel down before him, letting him once touch a leg to worship your body, once feel your mouth so close to his skin that you can whisper against it every single sin you committed.

And he, second after second, falls more and more in the arms of a demon.

▶Writober Day 6 “If we ever stop talking send me a song” [Vander]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", gn reader ↠TW: SFW, angst, takes place during the time skip, I had to change a bit the prompt, the song is "our love" from Arcane ↠Character/s: gn reader, Vander, implied Mylo, Claggor, Jinx and Vi ↠wc: 605 words

“Ooh, like Sunday I'll pray our love will always stay pure… Ooh, while the world turns around, he holds me down for sure”

The voice mixes with the wind, the distant squeak of the gears of the elevator that connects Piltover to that place that has now taken the name of Zaun, the roar of the water of the port, the ticking of the rigid soles of the merchants who move back and forth while talking to each other, the noise of puddles that are hit by the feet of some bandit intent on diverting enforcers.

The underground city is breathing.

It seems almost intolerable in your eyes the audacity with which the city is getting back on its feet, as if time had continued to flow undaunted while, for you, the entire universe remained frozen at that night. Your voice cracks slightly, permeated with melancholy.

He promised you that he would always be there, that he would be your shield, that you would grow old together in that filthy world, making each other’s days less miserable. He promised you that you would work together at the inn, where you would dance every night as soon as the heavy door closed. He promised you that you would raise the children he picked up from the street together, like a real family. The same children he had brought with him as if he had not limited himself to death but had erased every single trace of his passage.

And the worst part is that you have no one to blame, not a single scapegoat to whom you can direct all your hatred, your malaise, your frustration. One part of your brain is angry with him, with the great Vander, the underground hound, who was so intent on saving everyone that he failed to save himself, while another part of you screams that you should have been with him that night, That you knew something was wrong, that maybe you couldn’t prevent it, but you could die there, in peace, next to your family.

The throat knot prevents you from finishing the song.

God, you’re so ungrateful.

You should just be happy that you’re still alive, that you’re okay, that they’re in a place that doesn’t smell like a sewer. But you’re selfish.

You miss them, you miss them in such a heartbreaking way that your heart seems to rip in two every single morning when you wake up in a bed suddenly too big, too empty.

You try to suffocate a cry, squeeze yourself between your own arms, squint with so much strength to see the residual image of that place even with your eyes closed, tighten your jaw feeling every single muscle in your neck in tension.

You can’t cry in front of him. He hates to see you cry.

It takes you a bit before trying to recompose, then you clear your voice with your eyelashes still damp, a deep breath, and start singing again with a stony tone your song, the one that you used to keep away from the jukebox because nobody, except you two, could play it.

"Do you remember, Vander? You said that to me. 'If we ever stop talking, I will sing you a song'. And every day..." the words die in your throat. You see your own reflection in the water at the foot of the statue: your eyes are reddened and dug, your lips are pale and chapped. Who knows if he’d be able to love you even now, even seeing you like this. "...every day for 251 days, I’ve come to sing you a song."

▶Writober Day 7 “Drunk enough to say I love you?” [Sevika]

↠English is not my first language ↠No use of "y/n", gn reader ↠TW: NSFW, implied prostitute!reader, ↠Character/s: gn reader, Sevika ↠wc: 658 words

The synthetic light filters through the fabric of the lamps, caressing with certain malice the furniture that decorates the room and, with it, your skin. It is a kind of ritual, the Mass on Saturday evening: every week the woman -a henchman of the most powerful man of Zaun- finishes her shift and religiously comes to the place of worship. She bows her head as soon as she comes in, out of respect, and kisses your knuckles modestly. It’s almost a prayer, she addresses you with the admiration with which you turn to a prominent figure, and thanks you when you accept her invitation.

Every week that amber-skinned woman turns to you, and even if she knows you’ll never deny her anything, -that you’re willing to serve her your body and soul on a silver platter if she asks,- she thanks you for your availability as if she didn’t expect it. You don’t understand if it’s some kind of game, a premise, an introduction that she doesn’t want to change, or if she really believes that one day you will say no to her, but it doesn’t matter. Not now.

Now there are no questions, the mass has begun.

You let your fingers run gently over the woman’s collarbones, in a rhythmic movement that occasionally varies in a slightly longer or shorter path, in a curious, intimate contact. She looks at you from time to time as you sit meekly on her thigh, leaning her chin to the back of your neck to rest a little and allowing a smile to surface on her lips only when she is sure you can’t notice it.

You are alone, two bodies abandoned to lust in a brothel room, accomplices the countless bottles of alcohol now abandoned empty on the floor, a gramophone that wearily continues to moan its notes, the night particularly suitable to be spent basking in melancholy and a few butts off in an ashtray, so full to sob grayish clouds whenever something moves in its vicinity.

You remain in silence almost religiously, the breaths still labored, and the smell of sex fills the air giving it a forbidden aroma, sometimes delicious.

Sevika reaches out to a bottle of Jack Daniel’s left on the bedside table and takes a deep sip before letting a much-suffered "shit" slip away.

"the head hurts" she adds. "I’m fucking drunk"

"How drunk?" you ask, looking at her with an amused look, gently caressing her face as you enjoy her reddened eyes.

"Too drunk" she replies with a face that makes you laugh. You lean forward to kiss her, and she, damned predator, immediately brings a hand to the base of your back, clutching at yourself, eager.

"drunk enough to say I love you?"

She stares at you for a few seconds which seems like an eternity, forbidden, and only after several moments the corners of her lips lift slightly. She kisses you this time, descending to your neck in a ravenous wake, letting the dark lips indulge on your skin, torturing it with the tip of her tongue and teeth. You cling to her, sinking your fingers into her scarred back, overcome by the sudden rush of adrenaline.

"Sevika" you call her name, eyes closed as the woman lays you on the bed, continuing that impetuous run along your body.

"Sevika" her name comes out like a lament as her black hair disappears between your legs. She keeps you by the thighs while calmly letting her tongue, moist and warm, impact your cold skin. She eats you with the grace of a nobleman at a banquet, taking all the time necessary to enjoy your taste thoroughly, to enjoy every inch of you.

And you don’t know exactly how much time she spends with her cheeks clenched between your knees, but when she finally lifts her head, her wet lips shine, making her as beautiful as ever.

"What do you think, does that count?"

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hsmtmtsnet · 10 months

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HSMTMTS CAST Q&A with J-14

J-14: What are you most excited for fans to see this season? DARA RENEE: I am most excited for the supporters to see Kourtney’s journey through senior year! Not only has her fashion sense skyrocketed, but her stage presence and comedy is on another level! FRANKIE A. RODRIGUEZ: We got some OGs from the High School Musical universe! Seeing them all together is really exciting. SOFIA WYLIE: The new characters, the returning original cast members and the new musical performances! JULIA LESTER: We really go back to our roots this season with all of the friends that return. I think every season just gets more meta as the show goes on, and this season does, for sure. It's like we have broken the metaverse!

J-14: How do you think your character has changed most since season one?

DR: Kourtney Greene has changed drastically throughout the seasons. From starting on the sidelines, to now stepping into the spotlight has been such an extraordinary experience! Seeing Kourtney inspire others by owning her power has warmed my heart and soul to the highest degree! FAR: When we first met Carlos, he was more comfortable being an assistant to Miss Jenn and blending into the sidelines. Over the course of the last few seasons he's really stepped into his star power. SW: I think Gina has changed tremendously from season one to season four! She definitely entered East High with a very strong, powerful and competitive energy. Now, I think she's able to be more vulnerable and show the softer sides of herself. JL: I think the biggest change was Ashlyn's queer storyline that develops during season three. And, as a queer person myself, once you have your coming out moment, the world opens up for you. So, I'm really excited for people to see where she is in season four, and how she's coming back off of this incredible summer camp experience where she learned so much about herself.

J-14: We're so sad to say goodbye to these characters! What will you miss most about being a part of this show? DR: I'lI miss being able to hang out with the cast and crew every day. They truly have become family and I'm so grateful to know such extraordinary people. Also, being a theater kid, I'll miss putting on some of my favorite shows, because that was truly a dream come true! FAR: The people! We have so many amazing people who help bring the show to life - both on screen and off. I'll miss going to work every day and laughing with some of the funniest people I've ever met. SW: I've met some of my closest and most cherished friends in this cast. Getting to see them every day was such a privilege that I know will be looked back upon so fondly. I also have loved exploring the character of Gina and I'll miss her a lot. JL: Truly, behind the scenes, they're my favorite people in the world and we have the most incredible time together. I will definitely miss working with them a lot.

J-14: If you had to pick one musical number that was the most meanIngful to you out of all four seasons, which one would it be and why? DR: It's actually a three-way tie! "Born To Be Brave" was the first song that I ever sang for the show, and the lyrics have stuck with me to this day. I also got to sing it with one of my favorite queens, Olivia Rodrigo. "Here I Come" was my first-ever original song that I wrote for the show - it talks about my experience with anxiety and being a perfectionist. Number three is a song that has not been heard yet from season four, but has motivated me to jump into new waters and explore new adventures! FAR: "Born To Be Brave" from season one really stands out to me. I really loved everything about that moment: The message, the story and how it all came together. SW: Getting to perform "Were All in This Together" in season one was a "pinch me" moment, for sure. Oh, and I know this is two, but I loved getting to perform "A Different Way to Dance" with Corbin Bleu. The whole time we were filming l just wanted to cry tears of pure joy. JL: "Be Our Guest." Ashlyn as Belle was such a huge thing for her and such a huge thing for me. Also, "1-2-3" from season two.Getting to be in a girl group with Dara and Sofia was, like, top five best moments of my whole life.

J-14: If all the characters returned one day for a 10-year high school reunion, where do you think yours would be in life? DR: Kourtney would most definitely be highly influential and very successful! She would have a few businesses up her sleeve, plus a reality show or two, and maybe a lil’ boo thang ... if that could fit into her schedule! FAR: Carlos will most likely be in a one-man show on Broadway that he wrote, directed and choreographed. SW: I think Gina would either be the CEO of a huge corporation, a movie star, or a touring choreographer! She has so many passions and she's so ambitious. I think she could do anything she wanted. JL: I definitely know where Ashlyn wants to be - she wants to be on Broadway. I see her in, like, a beautiful queer relationship. And hopefully, starring in her favorite show, maybe being Belle in the revival of Beauty and the Beast!

#dara renee #frankie rodriguez #sofia wylie #julia lester #s4 press #hsmtmts

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lazylogic · 1 year

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TL;DR: I’ve let my online art presence and the internet as a whole become so weighty to me that I’m constantly having a meltdown over how the internet has changed and how I present myself online, so I’m cutting myself off from being an artist on the internet, because it seems like the only healthy option for me right now.

I think I need to stop posting online entirely. As drastic and melodramatic as that sounds, I’m spending time on an internet that I hate, wishing for an internet that no longer exists. I’ve repeatedly ~taken breaks from social media to try and detox~, and it does help in the short term, but eventually I just fall back into my “existential art crisis” and become anxious, stressed, and frustrated again, hating myself and hating every choice I’ve made up to this point. I’m happy when I draw at my own pace, but I’m quickly overwhelmed by the “I’m not posting enough so people won’t like me anymore” anxiety I get.

I know I’m like, the only one who feels this way, the only one who cares this much and takes art this seriously that I’ve let it crush me so much. For some reason my art and my ability to draw is so deeply ingrained in my identity and sense of self, and it’s become so monumentally important to me that it’s worn me down this much. But I know I’m not the only artist online who feels pressure to perform every day, who compares themself to others, who feels burnt out every month, and who is constantly fighting with the evolving technology and society that seems to be consistently designed to screw us. I know many have been able to adapt, and have done it smoothly, and I commend them and am incredibly happy for them. I’m proud to have happy and well-adjusted art peers! I can’t do that. I want to put in the effort to adapt, I have to many ideas to share and stories to tell, but I’m just…spent. Every time I try, it takes up all of my very limited energy, and I’m back to hibernation mode again. I am tired. I’m too small, sensitive and self-conscious to simply keep trucking along. My fragility makes every effort so painful. I really cannot do this anymore.

Posting my art online used to be fun. I loved connecting with people over fan art, OCs, gushing with other artists about each other’s creations, and getting love and support from people who found enjoyment in it. I used to get kind asks on Tumblr just complimenting my art or encouraging me when I posted a vent piece. Tumblr especially used to be my chill place. Most of those people, along with that happy and peaceful environment, are gone now. Old Tumblr is dead, old DeviantArt is gone, I feel detached from FA more than I ever have. Everything feels scattered and divided, and people are so jaded, which I really can’t blame anyone for. No matter where I go, I don’t feel like I belong anywhere anymore, and I don’t really want to be anywhere, either. I feel like I don’t even fit in with my own demographic, no matter what I try. I can’t emphasize enough that I’m trying to post for and enjoy an internet and online community that no longer exists. It’s my own fault for living in the past. Everything is far too fleeting now, engagement is king and constant streams of new content, as well as outrage, equals that. Everyone else seems to be able to change so readily with it, and I’m still stuck figuring things out from five years ago. I can’t seem to recognize or understand anyone anymore, either. I can’t keep up, and I don’t want to try to anymore.

I think what I wanted the most for my art was for it to resonate with people. It’s always been my favorite thing to do for fun, and it always made me so happy knowing my art made someone’s day better, even if it was just Hattie being silly or cute fan art. The idea that I could make someone breathe easier because I drew something soft and comforting is incredibly meaningful to me. But my art was always a powerful emotional outlet for me, too. I know my vent art would often dip into edgy territory, especially in my teenage years, and I withdrew from drawing vent art as a whole because I became too self-aware of it and I felt too exposed. But it was real, and it came from a real place and real emotions, and that’s still important to me. I feel emotions very strongly. I wanted to say something and be understood. And I guess that’s what I still want? To be understood, like anyone else would want, I guess.

I don’t even know what I want out of posting online anymore, or why I bother to check it. Every bit of engagement I get feels more empty than rewarding, and that discrepancy keeps growing. I hate it, because I know it’s because my brain has been trained to want more. I hate that I need more and more validation that people care about me via my art, because it used to be purely mine. And I want so much for it to just be mine again. It’s really felt like I’ve been drawing for everyone else for such a long time, and I guess that’s also my own fault. I feel trapped here. I really don’t enjoy drawing anymore, and I never get the urge to like I used to, and I cannot express how much that absolutely guts me. I always say social media is what ruined it for me, but I know that my participation in social media was my own choice, so I know I actually ruined it for myself.

I have a lot of work to do. I need to just get better as a person, fix my mental health, gain any semblance of self-worth so that I’m not breaking down every week over my value as an artist being synonymous with my value as a person (before you wonder, I am working with mental health professionals regularly now). I know I complain a LOT about the internet and how it’s changed, but I need to make it very clear that I don’t meant to put the blame solely on all of that for my mental state. I recognize that I just have a lot of issues and I make things harder for myself all the time. I’m chronically living in the past and unhappy with the present, and that’s 100% a me problem. This is the only move I can think of that will allow me to actually focus on getting my shit together; removing the option of being an online artist altogether. I can’t cheat and peek at Twitter and slowly make my way back after three weeks. While I’m at it, I will probably stop posting everywhere else too (not that I was really posting much anyway). I don’t want to say I’m leaving forever but I will say that I want no more expectations, I’m not gonna be posting anymore, basically until further notice. I have to figure my shit out for real. I’m not sure if this will even work, it might just make things worse for me. But I’m just at a loss and I feel like I need to do something. I don’t know if my absence from online art posting will cause me to miraculously enjoy drawing again and a year from now I’ll have a massive backlog to show everyone, I’ll be fixed and happy…I don’t know. I just know this isn’t for me, not right now.

I feel guilty doing this, because I have people who have been following me and supporting me for well over a decade, and I think you guys deserve better than this. It’s a big part of my motivation for doing this to begin with - I’m kind of ashamed to show myself to these awesome people every day, I feel like I owe everyone more than just my gratitude, but I haven’t been able to deliver consistent art or content in years. I feel like I'm letting so many people down every day, and ultimately I feel the same about leaving. But I need to get better first. I think about everyone all the time and feel so lucky and so stupid. I know it’s dramatic, but to everyone, thank you, and I’m sorry.

For anybody going, “it’s not that deep,” I’ve heard that plenty. This post isn’t for you.

I’m not completely disappearing from the internet. If you want to get into contact with me, you can add me on Discord at RealaChao#7312. I will still accept commissions privately for now, so just reach out to me (I’ll update my commissions Carrd site if I decide to close them). I won’t necessarily be deleting my accounts, but I will be logging out of everything at least and disabling notifications, so please don’t message me on Twitter, Instagram, Tumblr, or anywhere else expecting a reply. You can also email me at [email protected]. Lastly, my main focus these days has been my Neocities, so you’re welcome to check that out (though it's largely a draft right now). It’s not going to be an art site, though, at least not only art. It’s gonna be my quiet home.

I also posted this here. Genuinely, thanks for everything.

#txt #look! lazy is making a big dramatic post again #relentlessly pokes fun at my verbosity #if you do add me: please please be patient with me #socializing is hard #i love you guys <3 #yes i made a brand new discord account for this because i wanna keep my main one private

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ghirahimbo · 1 year

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#9 for BBN?

Tagging @just-another-tokyo-ghoul-fan because they asked the same one :)

9: Were there any alternate versions of this fic?

Ugh. So many.

My problem (and part of the reason some updates took so long) is that I do come up with a lot of ideas while writing, and sometimes the best way to judge the merit of an idea is just to write it out? Sometimes it feels like I'm only publishing about 50% of what I actually write, because the rest gets discarded... but (spoilers for the last chapter of BBN under the cut):

- There's a discarded version that didn't include Sheik at all. Impa took Link through the ruins of Kakariko herself (which incidentally involved Link riding a horse, which was... something 🤣), then betrayed him at the Gate by handing him over to Zelda. That version was rough, actually—rereading it a couple weeks ago, I'd forgotten that Impa actually gagged Link the moment he went through to keep him from rescinding the limiting orders on Ghirahim she'd forced him to make :/ In the end, I didn't like how it distanced Zelda from the story and gave her a sort of manipulative puppetmaster persona, and I thought she'd rather get a look at the situation herself before doing anything so drastic. I started wondering what she might do to disguise her presence... and Sheik happened :)

- I think I've mentioned before that Zelda was present to various degrees during the second-to-last chapter while Ghirahim was busy reenacting A Whole New World, but in the end I removed her almost entirely. That part of the story was really more about Link and Ghirahim, and in that instance she was getting in the way :')

- There are SEVERAL versions of the last chapter floating in my Google docs, including one (much shorter) version where the sword didn't break at all, and one where the sword shattered and Zelda wasn't able to fix it entirely. Only Ghirahim’s diamond was restored, which brought Ghirahim back, but left them in the position of needing to reforge his sword.

There were elements of the second scenario that I liked? I kind of liked the idea that Ghirahim could theoretically have a hand in determining the final shape of his sword that way, and I liked how it forced him to grapple with his value as an individual outside of his utility as a sword. Link was just as happy in that version, by the way, because obviously he cared more about getting Ghirahim back... but something about that ending didn't really feel satisfying to me? In the end, I liked the idea that the flames had forged him for his own use too much, and given that the flames were already changing the sword to be "more like himself than he'd ever thought possible," I didnt want to mess with the ongoing theme of divine affirmation of the self :') I also liked how Ghirahim having two swords let him actually enjoy the fact that he was made for himself and not as an accessory to anyone else, while also allowing him to share that part of himself if he chose... so that's why it ended the way it did.

- lmao ALSO I had Link basically collapsing a few steps out of the portal at first as a way to fit the Groose scene in while he was half asleep, but THEN I would have had to write Link waking up. And I have had to write Link waking up SO many times over the course of this fic that I just couldn't bring myself to do it again... hence the insomnia XD which led to actually my favorite scene in the whole chapter where Link asks for help sleeping, so hooray!

#blind but now #lmao sorry for the essay XD #i've just had all these Ruminations in my head for the past month with nobody to really share it with #so #ask meme

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lulupen2023 · 1 year

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Jessica Jones/Kilgrave fic 1/2

Summary:

Jessica makes an important discovery that leads her to make a decision that could drastically change things, perhaps for the better? Setting: Somewhere in 2x10 'AKA Pork chop', but knowing 2x11 'AKA Three lives and counting' is enough to understand what's going on.

From chapter I:

* "Albert, but ... what happens?" Louise cackled, frightened, clutching her husband by the arm. "I ... I don't know ..." the man muttered, standing in front of her, with a protective attitude, before turning to that intruder. "Who are you? How did you get in here? Go away, now! " he hissed, his tone cold. "Oh come on, you all saw how I got in here and it surely wasn't using the door!" Jessica shrugged. "I come from the future and you must believe me, because it is as true as I can do this!" And as she said it, she grabbed a steel stool that was nearby, squeezing it in her hands as if it was a ball of paper. “Albert! I'm afraid!" moaned the woman of science. "I’m not." said the kid, who rarely spoke during the experiments. “Good, Kevin, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm here to save you. " Jessica smiled at him, [...]. *

Disclaimer: I do not write for profit and I do not own anything or any of the characters, even the ideas this time started from a brilliant prompt of Ecate EFP (together with other prompts of the Challenge 'Blossom By Blossom', which however I will mention at the end of the story, because it would spoil too much

Setting: Somewhere in episode 2x10 'AKA Pork chop', so it would help more to know the second season, but if at least you know the wonderful 2x11 'AKA Three lives and counting' you can understand what is going on

Not betaed: please forgive my not so perfect English, I always try so hard ^^'

This story partecipates to this challenge: #BLOSSOM BY BLOSSOM - THE SPRING BEGINS! @Non solo Sherlock - gruppo eventi multifandom FB

Chapter I: Subway train to take or lose

Jessica had finally reached an agreement. Her mother's confessions in exchange for Dr. Malus' freedom This would have allowed the woman not to be transferred to the RAFT. No more isolation. No more alienating life. Jessica could have continued to see her mother during prison visits. She would have maintained a bond, no matter how feeble it was, a bond, nonetheless. She wasn't going to lose her.

Jessica no longer intended to lose other people. The last one had hurt her too much. Of course, when he was alive he had turned the girl's life into real hell, but now that he was dead ... maybe it was even worse. At least the first time, when she believed that the impact with that bus had killed him, she continued to perceive his presence, to be distressed, she saw him, heard him speak to her, sometimes even felt his physical touch; as if it wasn't over yet, as if she knew deep down that there were still some unresolved issues. On the other hand, Jessica hadn't suffered from those ailments for months now: not a nightmare that made her wake up with palpitations and a cold sweat in the middle of the night, not even the slightest visual or auditory hallucination, not a semblance of purple around her . An issue resolved forever, with her own hands.

To the outside eye it might seem that Jessica was healed, that she was fine. Jessica was not feeling well at all, least of all since she had unwittingly created a reputation as a 'Vigilante' around her. She still remembered that woman who had hired her not so much to investigate her unfaithful companion but ... to kill him. Did people really think that about her? That night at the docks had drastically changed her life and Jessica was no longer so sure it had changed for the better.

Suddenly she thought of one of those silly cheesy films, Stirling had insisted on watching it with her, he had always been the most romantic of the two. Stirling, another clear example of how nice guys were never her match. She could not even explain why her memory had evoked such a distant story, albeit very important, perhaps for the content of that memory.

In that film it was highlighted how a simple different detail, such as taking the subway train in time or losing it and waiting for the next one, could make a difference.

Jessica had often wondered over the last few months about her 'subway train' to take or lose: and if during her 'reformatting of Killgrave' plan she had believed fully in him, had given him a chance, had helped him if not to to become a hero at least to stop being a threat to others? What if they never met? He wouldn't have been obsessed with her and avoided those death trails to get to her.

What if that night at the docks, she had just knocked him out, put a muzzle on him to keep him from talking, had him isolated in the RAFT? Had killing him really been the only solution? To say it with an adjective so dear to him, the most inevitable?

Jessica was almost glad she arrived at the Paradise Suite because those thoughts were haunting her.

A firm kick and the door swung open easily, making Karl Malus jump.

"Jessica, but how?" he asked bewildered, attempting a burst of speed to escape through the open door.

Seconds later the detective's hand was tightening firmly on his throat, keeping him suspended in midair.

“I don't think running away is a good idea. And to answer your question, my mother is a great talker, ”she replied, setting him back on the ground for him to breathe.

"Alisa? Where is she? Is she fine? I… I have to go to her… ” he replied, rubbing his neck. "She is where she always should have been, from the day you turned her into a fucking monster, like you did with me!" the detective growled, exasperated.

"You don’t understand!" the scientist yelled at her. Again lifted from the ground, this time to be slammed against the wall.

"Don't you dare tell me what the fuck I understand and what I don't!" she hissed. “I love Alisa and she loves me. We ... got married, right here. " he confessed to her.

This time it was the shock that made her loosen her grip, but she quickly regained her usual coolness.

"She was legally dead, I guess that wasn’t official," she replied, in an attempt to downplay it.

“It was, for us. Our feelings are real. " "Speaking of real, take off your glasses, fix yourself and stand against the wall so I can take pictures for the fake passport I'll give you to get you out of the country." "I'm not leaving Alisa." “You will do what I say, which is what she wants, too. If it was up to me, I'd break your bones, but she wants you safe. You will leave for South America and we will never hear of you again. " she explained, starting to take pictures of him. "It shouldn't have been like this," muttered the scientist. “Jessica, I should have kept you with us. We could have known each other better, I could have been a very good father to you. "

Jessica decided she had enough pics, which is why she didn't hesitate to punch him, immediately leaving a bruise under his left eye. "I had a father and you are not even worthy of saying that word!" She barked. "It would be enough for me to go back in time and do everything differently this time..." Dr. Malus reflected, only he did it aloud. "What are you babbling about?" “The IGH… Upgrading soldiers is not their only interest. Imagine facing the Second World War, if not the First, with today's technologies .. we would have won over the enemy in an instant! " "I will not stay a minute longer to listen to the ravings of a madman!" she looked at him disdainfully as she was about to leave. "Torchwood!" Dr. Malus suddenly said. "What is Torchwood?" she frowned. “A secret British organization, with technologies not typical of this planet. The IGH found a device in one of their lairs some time ago. They suspect that it allows time travels, but they are still studying it, they don't really know what the contraindications might be… ”he confessed, capturing the girl's full attention.

"Where is this device?" she urged him to speak, tugging at him.

“The old IIGH laboratory. It looks abandoned, but it's just a farce. There is a secret passage that leads to the real laboratory, the underground one, which is watched over. "

"Tell me exactly where it is and I'll take care of the rest." Jessica demanded.

It was almost ironic. She had done everything to escape the control of that unscrupulous persuader and now she found herself entangled in one of the worst mental traps that could exist, from which she felt she could not escape. Not if that trap was showing her exactly what she wanted.

A very risky plan was making its way into her mind. She felt she had to risk it all. Karl Malus decided to tell her everything.

"You'll see, Jessica, when you bring me that device, I'll find a way to understand how it works and you, Alisa and I will have the life we deserved." Dr Malus began to daydream.

"Shut up! It's because of your sick idea of a fucking happy family that I want that device. Indeed, there's something you can do for me before I bring your passport back. After all, for a scientist with your knowledge, I imagine it is a piece of cake to create something that contrasts a neurodegenerative disease in a child of seven to eight years, with a life expectancy of perhaps no more than two years. " Now it was Dr. Malus who looked at her without understanding. "So, is there anything you can do?" she insisted, getting impatient. "Uh well, I could ... I could create a vaccine that increases the immune defenses, without affecting the nervous system ... something to inject into the bone marrow of the spine ..." the scientist began his reasoning. “Well, let me find it for when I bring you your passport. Then I'll move on to the next stage. " -------------------------------------------

Dr. Karl Malus did not disappoint her expectations and two days later, even if Oscar had not yet completed the passport, she had returned to him, finding what was requested. She kept that precious vial with the vaccine in a small airtight case, while she moved with ease in the secret laboratory of the IGH, knocking anyone who walked in front of her with ease. Not because they weren't worthy opponents, but because Jessica was too determined. By now she had arrived at the room of her interest, lifting the heavy dome that protected the precious device: a bracelet with a very futuristic look.

A new horde of soldiers rushed at her. They were surrounding her and they were all armed, ready to fire. "Jessica Jones, get out of there now or we'll open fire!" one of them said, perhaps the boss.

The identity of the super heroine was certainly no mystery to them. Heedless of their threats, she tore the device out of its holder by wearing it on her right wrist. Now it was the soldiers who felt threatened and not one of them had dared to shoot. The risk of hitting the device was too high and the consequences too unknown. "Interesting toy, do we want to see how it works?" Jessica said, perfectly at ease. “Don't touch it! W-we - we have been studying it for m-months, we must first understand the components, which technologies it responds to, if there are any contraindications… ” said one of the scientists who was there, panicked.

"There is only one way to find out: try!" she sneered contemptuously, opening the front panel. She closed her eyes, visualized a precise date in her mind, a date she still had in her memory, when Killgrave had shown her that video in her old home.

October 31, 1985. If she recalled correctly, the last fateful injection that had infected him with that virus took place in the early afternoon, she focused in her mind to be there for lunchtime. She closed the faceplate with a lightning snap, wished with all her heart that it would work ... and it did. The IGH saw her vanish in a flash.

Jessica floated in an abstract and hazy space, beautiful and terrifying at the same time. Was she really time traveling?

She was unable to establish whether it had lasted a few seconds, a few minutes or a few hours, she only realized that the journey was over, when with a glow as intense as it was instantaneous she appeared in that laboratory she had seen in the video stored in that flash drive.

And that child with the cables connected to the neurons, stared at her in silence from the glass, with his mouth open, so surprised that he dropped to the ground part of the constructions he was composing. "Albert, but ... what happens?" Louise cackled, frightened, clutching her husband by the arm. "I ... I don't know ..." the man muttered, standing in front of her, with a protective attitude, before turning to that intruder.

"Who are you? How did you get in here? Go away, now! " he hissed, his tone cold.

"Oh come on, you all saw how I got in here and it surely wasn't using the door!" Jessica shrugged. "I come from the future and you must believe me, because it is as true as I can do this!"

And as she said it, she grabbed a steel stool that was nearby, squeezing it in her hands as if it was a ball of paper. “Albert! I'm afraid!" moaned the woman of science. "I’m not." said the kid, who rarely spoke during the experiments.

“Good, Kevin, you don't have to be afraid of me. I'm here to save you. " Jessica smiled at him, speaking to him with a sweetness that she had never had towards him.

"You know my name?" He asked, even more amazed. "I know everything about you," she nodded, then turned back to his parents. "About all of you. I know what you want to do. The intent is noble, but the method is wrong. You have no idea of the trouble you are about to cause, but I am here to prevent it. " She explained to them, opening the briefcase.

"Do you want to kill us?" Louise asked, alarmed, sure she was about to draw a gun, but was dumbfounded when she realized it was a vial.

"But what ..." "If you want to heal Kevin, you have to give him this, through the bone marrow." She informed them, handing Albert the cure.

"But ... it will be a very painful injection ..." the man of science muttered, perplexed.

"Because cerebral spinal fluid extractions are a health walk, right?" the detective shrewdly countered.

"But y-you ... ho-how do you know?" Louise stammered. “I told you, didn't I? I am from the future. I know everything. And I know what will happen if you don't do as I told you. " Jessica insisted.

"Mom, Dad ... am I sick?" Kevin asked in a small voice.

Moreover, no one had ever explained anything to him, he did not understand the reason for those experiments. He just obeyed because that was what good children did. Jessica walked over to the glass, placing her hand on it.

“Yes, little Kevin, you have a bad, ugly disease, but I am here to help you. I know that you are a strong and courageous child and you will fight right? "

Kevin tore the cables out of his head, to get up and run towards the glass, resting his hand where she had put it.

"Yes, girl from the future, I will fight the bad and ugly disease!" He promised her, determined.

Jessica smiled at him again, before turning to his parents with a nod of assent.

Albert got the special syringe, poured out the vial and walked into Kevin's room, who was looking at the needle in terror, then turned his gaze to Jessica.

“Kevin, I'm not going to lie to you. This thing will hurt you, very bad, but it will only do you a lot of good afterwards. Do you trust me?"

The child nodded weakly with his head, while his father made him bend over the table and his mother also joined to hold him still. "Come on, my son, everything will be fine." She whispered, before Albert applied pressure and the needle entered.

It was slow, heartbreaking, and Kevin screamed the whole time before he passed out.

Jessica entered the room too.

"It's normal. He could remain unconscious for hours, the scientist who designed this vaccine informed me of this possibility. You have to believe me, you did the right thing. " She congratulated as Louise picked up her little son. “Take him to his room, he needs a lot of rest. I will stay with you as long as necessary to ascertain the results." she stated.

Jessica kept her word. It took Kevin all day to recover and just as Louise was one step away from accusing Jessica of putting her son into a coma, he opened his eyes again.

"Kevin, sweetheart!" His mother rejoiced, just as the father also seemed more serene.

"Girl from the future, you stayed!" He greeted her, with an expression of joy, proving that his brain functions had not been affected.

"Yes, little Kevin, I will stay until you are fully recovered." She stroked his hand and he wasted no time and squeezed it, while with the other he held his throat.

"I'm thirsty." He said, coughing a little.

"I know, my son, it's a consequence of the injection you had, but I can't get you to drink fluids until tomorrow morning." His father explained. “But I want some water. Right away!" he whimpered. "Bring me some water!"

“Kevin, really, you can't, it's for your own good. If you scream it's only worse, because you are more thirsty. " Jessica reassured him, speaking to him quietly. "In the morning you can drink all the water you want, a matter of a few hours that will pass sooner than you think."

"She’s right, Kevin." Albert approved. “As a good guy, try to sleep so you won't think about thirst. You still need a lot of rest. " He advised him and the boy yawned, feeling his eyelids get heavier, until he fell asleep within minutes.

Jessica followed Louise and Albert out of the room.

"Wonderful." commented the detective.

"Excuse me? My son is dying of thirst and you find it wonderful? " Louise snapped.

"You don't understand, it's wonderful that he commanded something and you didn't please him."

"Yeah, sure, as if a seven-year-old boy could command me!" Albert grumbled. “Why were you so worried about it? Do you want to tell us once and for all who you are and why you helped us? " "You are right. I owe you some explanations. I'll tell you everything, as long as it remains a secret between you and me. Little Kevin will never have to know. " she made a decision and only went on when she saw Albert and Louise nodding. "My name is Jessica and this is my story." (End I)

#jessica jones #fanfiction #fanfic #kevin thompson #time travel #fix it fanfiction #second season #emotional hurt/comfort #romance #some introspection #reference to sliding doors #rescue

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myfanfic-urfantrash · 2 years

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Warm Noodles

Summary: Nothing more nothing less, just an ear to hear their troubles and a nice bowl of Ramen to fill their stomachs.

Characters: Naruto, Teuchi, GN!Reader(as Teuchi's kid)

A/N: I'm just writing whatever honestly. A Naruto reincarnation story where the reader just lives an average life. Also as they are Teuchi's kid the reader takes Ayame's place.

Under read more because long.

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Of all things things I've expected to happen when I passed...this wasn't it.

I've read the stories multiple times. Ordinary people just like me dying tragically and being sent off and reincarnated into another world. Worlds that in our home world are just stories, games, movies that we either loved to bits or had vague knowledge of.

I've read these multiple times during my life to escape my reality, to feel like I could make a change or a difference in a world I know goes straight down hill. To give those characters I loved so much the endings or growth they deserved but couldn't have because their fate was already planned from the start.

But actually having it happen to myself is just wild. And suuuuper weird.

I didn't get hit by a truck, nor did I die violently, but I'm here. Maybe I passed in my sleep? Calmly and quietly.

I suppose I should be grateful for that, I don't like pain. But again I don't exactly like whatever world I've ended up either.

For me unlike other stories I've read, I didn't become fully conscious until I was around twenty years old. It was on a muggy summer day and we had just finished up the lunch rush.

Standing about prepping bowls for noodles to serve in the next hour, I looked up greeted the next customer, a boy clad in orange our regular.

Now it wasn't dramatic or shocking it was just like, 'Oh hey, it's Naruto!'

'...Oh.'

Just 'Oh.'

Nothing grand, no freaked out of my mind 'OH IT'S NARUTO-' just, 'Oh.' Like this was just an everyday thing. And when you think about it, it is.

He comes to Ichiraku's practically everyday, conscious or not I've been desensitized to his, as well as every other ninja that comes here, presence. So of course I'm not shocked.

He does look at me a little funny but it's more so because I take a little too long to take his order than instant suspicion of me. It's easy to brush it off and make a comment about the heat bothering me a bit which my Dad, Teuchi, hears loud and clear.

Like the absolutely wonderful man that he is, hands me a waterbottle and tells me to take my break early while he handles Naruto's order.

I don't resist and exit the small stand to sit behind it, grateful for the shade and water. Taking out my hand towel, something I vaguely remember my Dad telling me to always have just incase, I wipe my forehead and neck.

Guess the heat was really getting to me if I was sweating this much. Kinda gross honestly.

I take a few sips of the water before putting it up to my neck, the light chill is a blessing in this heat and I close my eyes content. My mind begins to wander, trying to remember what I know of this life as Teuchi's kid.

I remember that it's just the two of us since mother passed sometime before the Nine Tails attack and he's worked hard to give me a stable life. I took up helping him at the shop because I've grown up with noodles all my life even if he said I could do anything I wanted.

He's...out of all the fathers I could have ended up with, Teuchi's honestly one of the best based on my memory. Well besides Shibi at least.

Sure as a civilian, I don't exactly have much power or wealth to my name but with what I know about this world, about their lives... I lucked out.

I'm only slightly disappointed about my lack of ninja skills and cool jutsus and what not. I would have liked to try tree climbing or water walking honestly but I'll live.

And live I will.

It might be selfish, knowing what I know about this world and not changing a thing. But who said whatever change I make has to be drastic? I don't need to expose every dark secret the Village has, I don't need to join the Akatsuki and help Itachi, I don't need to become Hokage or whatever.

I can just live my life and just be a friend they can lean on. Nothing more nothing less, just an ear to hear their troubles and a nice bowl of Ramen to fill their stomachs.

I down the rest of my waterbottle and head back inside feeling much better. My Dad gives me a questioning look and a thumbs up which I nod and return making him smile in relief. Just a few more customers and we can take our full lunch break together.

I watch Naruto talk animated to my Dad about his dreams and I smile. While I may have some fear and anxieties about future events I know it'll turn out alright. So I'll stay here and lend an ear and a bowl of Ramen to fill them up.

#naruto fic #naruto fanfic #gender neutral reader #I got bored and I thought 'you read many issekai etc fics but rarely any are about just being adverage civilians...' so here we are

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snonkerdoodledreams · 1 month

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something that happened at a library that made me really uncomfortable

Tw: mentions of child abuse, self harm, nosy people

A few days ago I was discussing something with a friend. This was in the library and there was another friend there.

Let's call my friend Nattie and this other friend Dana.

Basically me and Nattie were sitting together on one side of the table and Dana was sitting on the other side. Nattie doesn't like Dana because they have a tendency to diss other people and look at things they weren't specifically invited to look at. I didn't have any such compunctions against Dana other than the fact that I'm pretty sure they lied about their skill level to get into the orchestra.

A little background about me--I'm extremely hesitant about sharing certain things with my friends (like the reality of the abuse I'm going through, my presence on Tumblr/my fanfiction writing [because that could get back to my mother really quick]) because I shared some of them once and my abusive found the text messages while going through my phone and my sane parent and I had to come up with a whole bunch of excuses really quick. It had to do with my self-harm incident a few months ago.

I had written a Planes fanfic earlier that day which I wasn't planning on sharing with anyone, rather opting for getting home, proofreading, and then publishing. I was putting the final touches on it in the library when Nattie leaned over to see what I was doing. Cut to the worst cover up in history as I attempt to open multiple tabs that are Incognito (because I was working on the fic in Incognito mode) before realizing that Incognito looks sketchy and then attempting to open tabs in my normal account which somehow opens up to the Planes movie and trying in vain to open a window in my school account so that it would look normal. Oh, and during all of this, Dana comes over and tries looking over my shoulder at what is going on. I'm nearly cussing and Nattie is dying of laughter, while Dana (it didn't seem like this to me at the time, but since she did what she did this is what I'll say) seems to be silently judging me. Finally Nattie reaches over and closes my laptop. Dana goes and sits back where they were.

Nattie knew that I was writing something and since I was helping Nattie with the story that they were writing (original), they wanted to see mine.

So I relented, and opened another tab in my browser, typing into the search bar that this was the way we would talk about It because I wasn't really comfortable talking out loud because Dana was there. Nattie understood and typed out some funny things, which led to the both of us typing roasts and stuff out to each other in the search bar.

Remember, this Is all to keep Dana and the rest of the people in the library from knowing what we're talking about. This is the part that nettles me the most--Dana literally comes around and tries to look at what we're typing. I don't remember what happened next because I might have closed the computer or told Dana that this was private. Either way Dana goes to talk to another one of our friends, Rory. Nattie reads the rest of the fic and complains (verbally) about my purple prose and teases me about writing Planes smut (which I didn't do!...yet).

But the thing I am literally absolutely hung up on is what changed my perception and if I'm being honest respect for Dana drastically. Listen, I get it--I'm the kind of person that likes to look at things and gets a little nosy while doing it--Im a serial accidental eavesdropper. But still. I would've thought that even from an outsiders POV it would be obvious that it was private. I mean, why the fuck else would we be typing out messages to each other rather than speaking out loud? I'm just confused as to why Dana tried to come and look over our shoulders at what we were doing--it was clear that it was not for them to see. It just bothers me a lot, especially since I'm already really uncomfortable sharing this stuff and Nattie was the only person I felt comfortable sharing it with.

#tw child abuse mention #tw self harm mention #nosy people #rant

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rec-diary · 7 months

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About time I watched this.

And oh lord, how beautiful it was.

About Time is one of those movies that does not try to be anything more or less than what it exactly is.

Plain. Simple. Nice.

Boring?

No, because while we have time travel, this is not that kind of a time travel story. And while we have love, this is not that kind of a love story either.

This is a story about making the most of your time by finding pleasure in the mundane, the everyday. The things you and I take for granted, only to miss sorely when they have gone.

The male and female leads get married quickly, and we move to the essence of this movie - family connections, and how precious the time you have with your loved ones is. This idea is brought out in Tim’s character development, in how he changes his purpose for traveling back in time as he moves through time. From finding a partner for himself to trying to keep his family together.

It’s also full of the little things, The dad’s Olympic commentary. Tim doing the same with his daughter. Mary walking down the aisle to Tim’s song of choice, which she doesn’t care for, but does it anyways for him, who she cares for deeply. Tim and Roger’s friendship. Strolling along the beach with your father. Kit Kat being overly affectionate.

I was mostly smiling throughout this enjoyable experience (so much that my face hurt, mind you), except for the part when my hyper-imaginative brain theorized there’d be some drastic alteration from all the time traveling that he wouldn’t be able to undo and he’d die a broken, old man, full of regrets and hate for life.

Which begs the question: is it the tailoring of moments to suit the other person that make them perfect, or does the perfection of moments arise from the inherent awkwardness of human interactions? Because both make for fond memories. After their technical ‘first time’, while Tim thinks it could have been better, Mary thought it was lovely, even though it had been clumsy. But she clearly has a better time when Tim redoes it.

So if one could travel back in time but only to the extent of affecting the choices that shape one’s life, would one do it? Would you redo the little moments that defined experiences so that everything fit in this neat little portrait of life you’ve painted for yourself?

"We're all traveling through time together, every day of our lives. All we can do is do our best to relish this remarkable ride."

Every little moment is connected, and changes ripple across timelines. Saving Kit Kat results in Tim’s daughter never being born, but more importantly, it means true change has to come from within.

A tiny nitpick would be that females in the family don’t get the time travel gene. While I understand it’s not supposed to make sense in the sci-fi way, it’s rather unfair to the girls. Wait, is it the presence of a penis that makes one time travel? It would have been hilarious if they traveled through time by imagining where they wanted to go while holding their dicks.

Anyways, I digress.

There’s something a bit iffy though.

In the timeline where Tim helps with the play, he does not meet with Mary organically. He forces their meet-cute and uses information that he should not know but does from the time hopping to get their spark going. While we see how Tim and Mary complement each other remarkably well as the movie goes on, time travel or not, the way he doctored their first meeting to be perfect gives us this slightly tantalizing conclusion: that you really can make someone fall in love with you with enough data of the right kind.

Now how to splice some time travel genes in us, Narcissus?

#movie #romance #comedy

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dalleyan · 2 years

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Elfwine Chronicles (new LoTR stories, Second Thoughts posted, 7-16-22)

A rude comment drives a wedge between Prince Elfwine of Rohan and Princess Dariel of Gondor. Can the damage be undone? (7 chapter story. Angst and fluff.)

Second Thoughts

Chapter 5

The midday meal proved very similar to the previous evening’s supper. Dariel and Elfwine avoided each other, clearly miserable at doing so. Eldarion glanced between the two of them, wondering what had changed so drastically since this morning. Well, maybe he could get them back on course. “Elfwine, what do you say to showing us around Rohan tomorrow? Would your father allow an escort to accompany us on an outing?”

Elfwine looked up at him and shrugged. “I am sure he would. Is there something in particular you want to see or just to get out and ride some?”

“You know this country better than me. Surely you have favorite places we could see. And perhaps we could even visit Helm’s Deep if it is not too far. I have heard much about the place.”

Elfwine started to nod agreement when Eldarion turned to his sister and asked, “Will you join us Dariel? There isn’t much for you to do around here. It should be interesting.”

Dariel blushed, then stammered, “Yes, I would enjoy it. If Elfwine does not mind me coming along with you.”

“Why should he mind?” Eldarion asked, looking at the other boy.

“I have no objection, though I am not sure we want to go to Helm’s Deep if Dariel accompanies us. I fear the ride would be too long and taxing on her.”

Dariel blushed more deeply and focused attention on helping her younger sister sitting next to her. Clearly he considered her a poor rider and felt her presence would be a hindrance to them.

“Do not be fooled. Dariel can cope quite well with adversity when she needs to, though she may regret it the next day!” Eldarion teased.

Dariel glared at him, but Elfwine was already answering, “Then I will arrange it with Father and have cook prepare food to take along.”

Despite the planned excursion, Dariel and Elfwine still avoided one another the rest of the day. Lothiriel realized Dariel probably had no idea how to prepare for the ride, so she spent the evening adjusting one of her old riding outfits that would work better than the clothes Dariel had with her, and making sure she knew what to take along.

Shortly after breakfast the next morning, the trio headed to the stables. Their escort, led by Eothain, was already saddled and waiting. Quickly Elfwine and Eldarion saddled their horses, then Eldarion moved to aid his sister with her horse while Elfwine packed the things they were taking along. Soon they were mounted and the party made its way to the city gates and across the plains.

They had been riding for some time, and Dariel noticed that Elfwine kept glancing at her curiously. She wondered what had his attention, and finally he enlightened her. “Where did you get that outfit? It looks like one my mother has.”

She laughed, realizing why he was giving her such strange looks. “It should – it is one of hers adjusted to fit me. She thought it would work better for this outing than the things I had.”

He nodded. “You should find it more comfortable than what you wore coming to Rohan.” He stopped, thinking his comment might be rude, but she didn’t seem to notice.

“It is. And I was grateful for her assistance.”

Elfwine let out his breath in relief. It would be very nice if he could get through this day without saying something stupid to her.

continue reading on AO3:

https://archiveofourown.org/works/40031700/chapters/101069037

#Elfwine #Lord of the Rings #LOTR #Elfwine Chronicles #Dariel #Eldarion #Eothain #Eomer #Aragorn

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1kook · 3 years

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crunchyroll & rail

the 10th installment of my netflix & chill series !

SUMMARY Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. WARNINGS smut in the forms of making out, jk nipple play, some 69 action, cunnilingus, blowjobs, brief choking, jk trying his best to listen to oc but he doesn’t rlly :/, fingering, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, unprotected fuckin raw, its romantic but when is it not… MISC fluffy and domestic <3, weekend getaway <3, the Big Question, shy jk, sailor moon supremacy, jk makes this big elaborate speech about the sun and moon, mentions of 240p YouTube quality, RATING m (18+) WC 8.7k

NOTE (!) the smut in this chapter is relatively short ! I was more concerned with writing this monumental step in their relationship, so sorry to all the lads who come here specifically for the p0rn but today we focus on the l0ve <333 anyway nc 10!!!!! Can u fuckin believe….

Jungkook mentions it at the dinner table one night. You’re not eating— well, you are not eating; Jungkook has been stocking up on his protein intake like a madman —but finishing up some work you had brought home. Your back aches, your eyes burn. The mere sound of his soft voice has all those feel-good endorphins shooting through your nervous system like a shot of adrenaline. “We should take a trip,” he says, fork clattering against his plate to signify the end of his feast.

Your fingers tap across your keyboard, eyes flickering between an Excel sheet and the report you’re typing out. It takes you a moment to respond, a delayed, “huh,” that even Jungkook doesn’t find convincing.

In the background, you’re listening to what has to be one of the worst voiceovers of the original Sailor Moon series in a language you don’t even understand. But you know the series like the back of your hand, know what exactly is happening even if you don’t understand what they’re saying, because you’ve watched it only about a million times. It’s mostly just there for background purposes anyway, some white noise to try and replicate the noisy soundtrack of your office.

To make matters worse—complicated?—, you had been too lazy to get onto your usual pirating sites and had settled for the five minute, five part, 240p clips of Sailor Moon on YouTube (you know the ones), and Jungkook has to wait until Episode 74: Part ⅖ ends before you grace him with a proper response. “Where do you wanna go, baby?” you ask, giving your eyes a break from the data as you move to scour YouTube for Episode 74: Part 3/5.

He’s stretching back now, arms wound up above his head. His hair— god, his hair —is an ashy color now, a faded version of its golden ancestor from a few months ago. Soon, he’s planning on going back to brown, claims he’s getting too old to be dying his hair, whatever that means. For now, you watch his inked fingers run through his scalp; he looks delectable. Maybe you’re hungrier than you initially thought. Or at least thirstier. “A cabin,” he suggests, and he offers this little half shrug that would otherwise seem normal had you not been well-versed in the art of Jungkook Body Language. His front teeth nibble at his lip, eyes laser focused on his empty plate. Even now, he still gets nervous asking you out. That thought alone makes your ego soar as high as an airplane. “Just something small.”

Usually, “something small” with Jungkook ends up being something big and, in most cases, something expensive. Which you’re totally not opposed to— you’re at the point in your relationship where you don’t even bother trying to dissuade Jungkook from showering you with gifts. It’s one of his many, many, many, many forms of loving you and, well, he knows you like the back of his hand. He rarely misses.

Lo and behold, it is a grander affair than a simple cabin. “Well, it’s more like a resort,” he confesses, reaching across the table for your hand. Immediately, his thumb finds itself rubbing over the simple band of your promise ring. “Just wanna do something nice for you. I know you’ve been tired lately,” he adds on, voice a quiet murmur that nearly gets lost under the intensity of the pout that appears whenever he becomes even the slightest bit bashful.

You smile, the fondness in your heart skyrocketing to impossible heights when he lifts your hand to press those pretty petal lips against your knuckles. “Well, just let me know when,” you tell Jungkook. “So I can request time off from work.”

Episode 74: Part 3/5 starts playing after an ad, and you’d pause it for the sake of preserving this moment with Jungkook, but it’s hidden under so many tabs on your laptop that you lose it the second you leave the tab. Jungkook’s head tilts to the side, sending his ashy locks cascading beautifully. “You know that show is on Crunchyroll,” Jungkook says, seemingly moving past his bout of shyness now. “And you have the password.”

“Do I,” you murmur, but he’s lost you once more, your true talent of typing with one hand showing itself as you return to your Excel sheet, the other still firmly squeezed in his grasp. Jungkook releases soon enough anyway, cleans up the table quickly, and disappears off into the kitchen. He sings when he washes the dishes, likes to pretend he’s a terrible singer even though you’ve told him countless times he could easily take X Factor by storm. (And you know exactly what it takes to wow those judges— you spent the entire last month psychotically watching multiple X Factor seasons from multiple different countries, nearly considered joining the damn audition yourself.) The horribly dubbed Sailor Moon is yelling now, shrieking really, and Jungkook calls from the kitchen, “don’t forget to take your contacts out, sweetheart.”

It’s domestic and it's nerve-wracking.

You want Jungkook, that much is a fact. Aristotle and Socrates and that other guy could debate the philosophical intricacies of the world, turn this dimension in on itself until it was a scrambled mess of emotion and thought, but the one thing they could never change, could never even question, is your love for your boyfriend. You want Jungkook badly, but more importantly, you want Jungkook forever.

And you’re sure Jungkook probably, maybe, hopefully feels that way too. But the way you feel is… slightly concerning to say the least. For starters, you’re convinced your love for Jungkook was meant to be, and that’s saying a lot coming from you. You’re not one for cheesy, soulmate tales— that was more Jungkook’s thing —but the more you think about it, the more you become convinced that you and Jungkook were destined to meet. Like the planets aligned one year, the stars conferred, a tectonic plate somewhere in California shifted; whatever it may have been, something happened somewhere that led to the birth of this beautiful romance of yours.

Lately, being with Jungkook has this inexplicably fiery feeling blossoming in your chest, these waves of emotion that sometimes have you fantasizing about the weirdest of scenarios with him. Like yelling at him for not taking the garbage out on time, or bumping into each other as you make dinner in the kitchen, or buying a new rug together.

(Most drastically, the other day, you had a dream where you were pregnant and Jungkook was there and there was a house and a dog and an annoyingly friendly neighbor and this god-awful tile in the bathroom.)

Long story short, you’ve been fantasizing about a forever with Jungkook. The concerning part is the timing; was this too early? You’re nearly halfway through your second year with Jungkook now, and you know most people date for many, many years before the mere thought of union even occurs to them. In another life, maybe you were the same, would have held off until the very last moment. But with Jungkook things just feel right (at least for you), like there wasn’t going to be anyone else after him. And you sincerely hoped there wouldn’t be.

You slump back into your seat, eyes fluttering shut. Too many thoughts swirl around your mind, and the screech of the Sailor Moon voiceover on screen certainly doesn’t help. How you managed to spiral that far down your thoughts in the span of one 240p, five minute clip of a larger episode amazes even you. To add onto your worries, the clip abruptly ends and Episode 74: Part ⅘ is nowhere in sight, a fact that draws a frustrated moan out of the already sensitive you.

Luckily, Jungkook eventually returns, standing closely behind you. His presence is enormous, the room suddenly overflowing with a shit ton of those feel-good endorphins all over again, except this time they reach an all-time high when he leans over and quietly shuts your laptop. “Come sleep,” he says softly, and it’s a pleasant mixture of his genuinely caring voice and that horndog purr of his that lures you into bed. And it’s that same voice that croons softly into your ear, fingers nestled between your folds until you’re orgasming yourself into a deep slumber.

Much to no one’s surprise, the cabin turns out to be quite the luxurious lodging; two floors of dark oak everywhere you turn, a stunning stone fireplace in the bedroom, and a truly breathtaking view of the resort’s snowy hill (read: front row seats to watch all the snowboarders and skiers wipe out in the snow). Jungkook had splurged quite the pretty penny on it, so you make a point to clap it up for him when he first opens the door to your temporary home for the weekend.

The main bedroom is beyond words. It’s got an attached balcony (that you doubt you’ll be using in this chilly weather), and a wooden canopy bed that makes you feel like a royal (that you will certainly be using). It’s separated into two areas, the bed space and a tiny entertainment area on the other side of the room. Perhaps the best thing about the room— and the cabin itself —is the huge, smart TV mounted above said stone fireplace and the fact it allows the phone mirroring option in lieu of not having any streaming sites. And as is with every and anything to do with televisions, Jungkook is the most excited of the two of you. “Baby, look,” he beams, pointing excitedly at whatever he’s got mirrored onto the television this time. Knowing him, it’s probably another documentary.

You had the forethought to finish your work before the trip, spent two days in the office going absolutely ham on this month’s final reports until your department head promptly sent you home to finish the rest there. You had given yourself a fright upon entering the bathroom that night, the state of your under eyes so severe, you feared it was sufficient cause for a national emergency. Similarly, Jungkook had done the same with his work, cooped himself up in his study until he was free from the shackles of capitalism for the weekend. All this to say you’ve missed him these past few days.

But even though you’re sorely malnourished in the affection department and craving a good kiss or two, you wouldn’t dare interrupt one of Jungkook’s little nerdy, tech-induced fanboy moments. They’re cute, in their own geeky way, providing some insight to a mellower side of your boyfriend who looks on with childlike wonder; Jungkook’s eyes always get so big when he talks about nerdy stuff. You get to work hanging up the silk shirt he packed for tomorrow night’s fancy dinner at the resort, listening to some British narrator’s detailed description of the functionally extinct Northern white rhinos living under 24-hour surveillance in Kenya.

(Jungkook’s really into nature documentaries again, had spent a few nights sniffling as he watched that one Koko the gorilla film.)

The original plan was to head to the nearest store and whip up something small to eat at the cabin. But Jungkook is a little tired from the long drive, slumps down into the couch in front of the now lit fireplace like a limbless blob as he tunes into his documentary. His nose is a little red from the outside chill. It’s so cute. He’s so cute. You love him so much, you fear you’ll accidentally squeeze his cheeks to death. It’s a thought that occurs more times than you’d like.

According to the pamphlet on the nightstand, the resort has its own room-service to order from. Normally you would do that, but not this time; you had gotten into a bit of a squabble with the man at the front desk after he had tried to withhold Jungkook’s reservation for arriving two minutes past your check-in time, called each other all sorts of names before he backed down and gave you your room key. So you’re still a little salty, to say the least. Instead, you settle in for some pizza in front of the huge TV, calling up the nearest place to order some of Jungkook’s and your favorites.

You plop down beside him, instinctively cuddling closer when he wraps an arm around your shoulders. “So,” you start, flipping through the rest of the resort’s introductory pamphlet. There’s a loud roar on screen. In all honesty, you didn’t even know what Northern white rhinos sounded like until then, and you probably never would have if not for the man beside you. “What are you in the mood for tonight, sweet boy?”

You’re not sure if it’s the fatigue or the overall relaxed vibes he’d been exuding since the moment you entered the cabin, but Jungkook is weirdly cooperative today. “Whatever you want,” he responds, head on your shoulder. He even places the remote in your hands, gives your enclosed fist a gentle tap as if he’s just handed you the secret to eternal youth. In other words, it’s a rare sight to behold. “This is your trip, pretty girl.”

You appreciate the sentiment, but feel the need to clear the air, tucking your feet up onto the couch as you snuggle closer. “Our trip,” you clarify, and snatch the remote anyway before he changes his mind.

Jungkook releases a quiet huff of laughter, head rolling back against the couch cushions to display his thick, juicy neck that definitely doesn’t awaken any vampiric tendencies in you. “We can even watch some anime if you want,” he murmurs, casually throwing an arm around your shoulders in a way that would have made any teenage girl in the early 2000s squeal with excitement. It’s one of those barely there touches, but the way he holds you makes you feel so safe and warm and loved. So loved and in love. “The ones on Crunchyroll, though.”

For the sake of preserving these good vibes (and your ears [and Jungkook’s sanity]), you navigate to the Crunchyroll app on your phone, quickly finding your latest obsession and mirroring it onto the big television before Jungkook can react. “Sailor Moon?” he asks with a tone that implies a feigned interest, mostly out of respect for you; he’s, sadly, still not the big dorky anime fan you had hoped to convert him into.

“In the name of the moon, I’ll punish you,” you recite dutifully, snatching up the throw blanket on the end of the couch. It’s barely big enough to cover the both of you, has Jungkook’s outstretched legs and your booty subject to the chilly air. Who cares, Jungkook is a furnace anyway.

He snorts. “Punish me,” he mumbles, as if he doesn’t believe it. His snarky comment wins him a playful pinch against his doughy cheek, not that he particularly defends himself against it anyway, eyes fluttering shut as you tug at the pale skin.

“Don’t fuck with the moon, Jungkook,” you warn him, snuggling closely against his side as your favorite opening song begins filtering through the speakers of the television before you. It’s infinitely better than the 240p YouTube clips you had subjected yourself to the entire last week, the graphics scarily clear.

“Right, of course,” Jungkook says, but a hint of amusement seems to curl around the sound anyway. Nevertheless, he lets it go, cuddles into your side as you pour your full focus into watching yet another group of ragtag teenagers with supernatural abilities kick some ass.

You can tell Jungkook isn’t really into it, and you’re torn between just snuggling him into a well deserved nap or taping his eyelids open so he can become a fan of this show with you.

The loving, caring, adoring side of you says Jungkook deserves the entire world and more (the more in question preferably being a fluffy blanket and a nap). He worked hard this week, just like you, and on top of that he was the one who planned this entire weekend getaway for the two of you to enjoy. You want him to rest up.

The obnoxiously in love girlfriend-slash-best friend in you says Jungkook is sorely missing out on one of the greatest shows on planet Earth and that naps are for the weak.

Your jumbled thoughts are interrupted by a loud sound on the television, a yelp from Ms. Sailor Moon herself that has you jolting up in surprise. Jungkook welcomes you deeper into his embrace, chuckles at your little fright. “Scared?” he teases in that low voice that makes you feel like you’re going crazy, really. So crazy and irrational, and the only thing that stops you from bombarding him with an unexpected outpouring of love is that hard and sharp thing that pokes your side when you get too close to him. It’s not Jungkook, sadly, but something in the front pocket of his hoodie instead.

And for some reason, part of your brain is stuck all of a sudden, rewinding the last two and a half years like a broken cassette tape that had the tape reel hastily stuffed back inside by a toddler. It’s choppy to say the least, and it certainly doesn’t help when Jungkook calls your name softly, tenderly. “__,” he murmurs. It’s a little weird; it’s not often he says your name, mostly referring to you with one of the many pet names from that part of his vocabulary that focuses exclusively on terms of endearment. Your heart skips a beat.

Now, if anyone were to ask, it’s approximately around this time that you begin to spiral. The pink curve of his bottom lip is just too close, the mole on his nose too prominent. Paired with the obnoxious tittering of Usagi on screen, you can feel your thoughts begin to overlap, bumping into each other within the realm of your brain until all that comes out are the messiest of messy thoughts.

They go like this:

Most episodes of any anime run for approximately thirty minutes. Take out the commercial breaks, the opening and ending credits, and it becomes something closer to twenty. Twenty minutes per episode, filled with plot and gags and tears and whatever else necessary to make you feel something, anything really.

“What’s in your pocket?” you ask tentatively.

In contrast, it takes approximately two seconds for Jungkook’s lips to quirk up— first the right side, always the right side —and his eyes to crinkle. Two seconds for him to smile, a sweet expression that reminds you of Netflix and college and quiet laughter and tattoos and silly YouTube videos and cookies and cell phones and job applications and blond hair; two seconds to make you feel everything all at once.

“There’s nothing,” he says, but his cheeks are pink, and it’s not from the cold anymore. His smile is so big it makes your own cheeks ache just looking at it. You can’t even hear the television anymore. Never mind the fact you really like Sailor Moon, or that you really want to pay attention to every little detail; the moment becomes Jungkook and his big smile and his red cheeks and the tiny box he produces from within his pocket. “It was supposed to be for tomorrow,” he admits, unwrapping his arm from around you.

It’s a little funny, somehow, because his hands are covered in ink, in tiny doodles and intricate pieces of swirls and words that ooze this aura of strength and toughness. But they tremble when he opens it, as unsteady as a wispy dandelion on a windy day, fumbling with the box. And when you look closely, he’s been biting at the skin along his thumb again, that nervous habit you’ve been trying forever to help him overcome.

Someone is saying something on screen, something important to the plot. The volume is loud, but not as loud as your heart. Not as loud as Jungkook’s quiet murmur when he speaks again. “Will you marry me?” he asks softly, looks at you with flushed cheeks and big eyes and his heart on his sleeve.

The answer has always been the same, hasn’t changed since the first time he planted the seed in your mind. Still, it catches in your throat, nearly loses out to a surprised and emotional sob that you barely manage to bite down. You had just been speaking, had just been ready to deliver a whole spiel on the importance of him watching Sailor Moon with you. But when you try now, it’s raspy and dry, as if you haven’t used your voice in years. “I— yes,” you exhale, surprised by the lonely tear that trails down your cheek. You go to wipe it away, but Jungkook beats you with a gentle hand cupping your cheek.

His smile is wobbly, patches of red blossoming across his face that eventually consume his entire appearance as he leans his forehead against yours. Only then do you realize he’s crying, and you laugh out of reflex. “You’re crying,” you say, and Jungkook snorts.

“You cried first,” he sniffles, smiling. “You made me cry.”

He looks like a wreck, but, like, a hot wreck. An engaged, hot wreck who’s eyes flicker back to the TV to remind you to pause your anime, always so considerate. You do, hastily smashing buttons on the remote before remembering it’s controlled by your phone, hands flying back and forth as your nerves actively work to retire themselves after Jungkook’s proposal. “Easy there,” he soothes, eventually catching your hand in his, drawing it up for a kiss against your knuckles.

The ring fits perfectly, snuggly. Vaguely, a memory drifts through your thoughts of Jungkook and Doyeon on a rampant mission to reorganize your jewelry box a few months ago, but it disappears as quickly as it came. You’re taken by the ring, a simple band with a pretty diamond on top. It’s a good mixture of you and him; flashy yet mild.

“You love me,” you marvel, a revelation you’ve had the honor of experiencing time and time again with Jungkook. Still, it never fails to render you speechless. He hums.

“I do,” he says, taking your hand in his. “It’s the easiest thing for me. Like breathing, or existing. I think I was made to love you.” And normally, you’d be the first one to correct him. Jungkook was made for so much more, a fact he’s proven time and time again with his abilities and the sheer size of his heart. He was your golden boy, could do anything he set his mind to. Always amazing you, always making you fall in love all over again.

But now, with the weight of his words sitting heavy in the air, you find yourself incapable of negating the fact, instead sniffling at the meaning.

Pleased with your silence, Jungkook places another chaste kiss against your ring. “I love you, __,” he confesses, voice nearly a whisper. Your entire body feels as if it is doused in gasoline, lit aflame over and over again. Your heart threatens your rib cage, pounds away with the strength of a world renowned boxer. Jungkook’s hands curl around your wrists carefully. “I used to think we were like the moon and the sun,” he admits, “that you were my sun and I was your moon. In love but always separated by those thin veils of the sunrise and the sunset.” He pauses, nuzzling sweetly against your palm once more before gently guiding them down between the two of you. “But that really sucks— saying goodbye to you every night? I hate that, __. I hate watching you leave, I hate watching you run off in the mornings or halfway through the day, having to drive back and forth from your place to mine. I hate having to be away from you when all I wanna do is hold you. I— I want to be by your side,” he rambles, eyes nervously meeting yours. They’re still glassy, dark lashes framing his chocolate irises wonderfully. “Forever.”

Your heartbeat stutters, the simple word looping itself in your mind like that night in his dining room all over again, all the fantasies of having a forever with Jungkook bubbling to the surface. Jungkook pushes on. “You are my sun,” he says softly, mostly to himself. “But… I don’t wanna be the moon anymore. Being the moon means, eventually, I’ll have to say goodbye. In the night or in the morning, it always comes to an end. And I don't want there to be an end with you,” he insists, clutching your hand tightly. “I wanna be another star, the closest one to you. The one who gets to be with you forever. I wanna be by you and shine with you and—“

“Explode into a gazillion little fragments of cosmic dust with me,” you offer, and Jungkook nods along eagerly, too amped up on his speech to bother scolding you for your playful comment.

“Yes, I want to— to—“ The words catch in his throat. So much emotion from the man you once thought was the dictionary definition of calm and collected. “To—“

“Marry me,” you fill in, and Jungkook practically blows a fuse from how emotionally fired up he’s become, exclaiming a resolute, “yes!” that leaves you stupidly grinning back at him.

His outburst leaves him with flushed cheeks. “I do,” he reiterates in a softer tone, averting his gaze from you as if embarrassed by his cheesy outpouring of emotion. Usually, it’s the other way around; you make all the corny declarations of love and Jungkook laughs along suavely. It feels nice to have the tables turned.

There’s so much to say, but the words all fade away when Jungkook shyly looks at you again. You settle on tackling him back onto the couch cushions, taking his surprised little yelp in stride as you suffocate him in your embrace. “Save those words for the big day, superstar,” you giggle, peppering his red face with tiny kisses that make him scrunch up cutely. “I can’t wait to blow up into one huge supernova with you.”

Beneath you, Jungkook groans. “I’m sorry,” he huffs, voice muffled against your shoulder. Begrudgingly, his arms come up to envelope you, pulling you closer until the blanket scrunches up uncomfortably between you two. “That must’ve sounded so lame.”

Leaning back so you’re not completely squishing him, you carefully push his silvery hair away from his forehead. “Don’t be,” you assure him, placing one chaste peck against his pouty lips. “I thought it was cute. I didn’t know you were into astrology.”

A sigh. “Astronomy,” he corrects, “astrology has to do with zodiac signs and placements.”

You run your thumbs over his cheeks, collecting any of the drying tears that paint his face. “Oh, like how you’re a Virgo and I’m a“—

The TV remote you had lost somewhere along the way is suddenly rematerialized beneath your knee, sends the speakers blaring to life with a deafening screech that has both you and Jungkook leaping up like two frightened cats. “You always do this,” he laughs, that loud boyish sound that makes you feel like you’re sitting on a cloud. He watches you with a gentle smile as you hurriedly shut off the television, the remote haphazardly tossed somewhere behind you afterwards. You return to his embrace, wrap your arms around his waist and snuggle into his warmth. His heart thumps a steady rhythm beneath your ear.

“You’re gonna be stuck with me forever,” you warn him, clutching at the fabric of his shirt like he’ll suddenly disintegrate before your eyes.

Above you, Jungkook hums, placing a kiss against the crown of your head. “I look forward to it,” he responds, pulling you impossibly closer, until you can feel the wrinkles in his shirt imprinting themselves against your cheek. He’s back to being that suave bastard again, and you find yourself wishing you had milked those big crocodile tears out of him for just a little bit longer.

Fingers gently press against the muscles in your nape, push themselves in deeply until you can feel all the tension seeping out, turning you into a limbless blob over Jungkook. “Jeez,” you sigh, eyes fluttering shut. “And you wanted to wait until tomorrow.”

He huffs out a laugh. “I just thought you’d rather get engaged at a fancy restaurant with a pretty dress,” he defends, and you can hear the grin on his face. “For the photos.”

“Fair point,” you concede, eventually pushing yourself up so you’re not entirely squishing your boyfriend beneath you. Jungkook is already looking at you when you lift your head, has got this funny double-chin from this angle that makes his normally sharp jawline disappear. You find yourself tapping a finger against his chin, on the chocolate chip mole that hides itself beneath his plump bottom lip. “If anything, just propose to me again tomorrow at the restaurant.”

It wins you an eye-roll. “I’m not gonna propose to you again tomorrow,” he laughs, doesn’t even push you away when you become annoying and start tapping your fingers against all his beauty marks like you’re playing Whack-a-Mole.

“Booo,” you frown, but let it go soon enough, foregoing your little game to press your lips against his. “Then I better make this a night to remember,” you murmur, tilting your head to the side.

Your hands dip into his luscious locks, fingernails tracing thin lines along his scalp that are certain to send tingles down his spine. As predicted, Jungkook releases a quiet groan soon after, a sound that’s muffled against your own lips. He’s pliant tonight, but not in a way that would elude fatigue. Pliant in a way that suggests he wants you to take the reins tonight, exhaling softly against you as he parts his lips.

“Let me take care of you,” you hum, the hand that had been mindlessly hovering along his cheek drifting down to caress the side of his neck. Jungkook nods, his irises swimming in lust. You smile at his silent compliance, give his throat a light squeeze that makes his breathing hitch in surprise.

He’s always at his prettiest when he’s beneath you like this, limbs moving in slow motion as you guide him along. You can already feel the beginnings of his arousal stirring beneath the front of his sweats, his cock slowly making its presence known against your thigh. You press your lips against his once more, making sure to make it rougher than the first kiss. Your tongue is met with little resistance, slips past his lips and dips into the hot cave of his mouth where Jungkook releases another trembling breath.

Two hands come up behind you, trail themselves over your back and down to your ass, where he gives the two globes a tight squeeze. It draws a whimper out of you, one that Jungkook greedily swallows up. His tongue rubs up along yours, the wet muscle daringly pushing back against yours. His rebelliousness is only quelled with another press of your fingertips around his throat.

“Slow down,” you tell him. The first roll of your hips against him is slow, cruel in that you cut the motion short just as Jungkook begins to push back. A bratty huff escapes him, swollen pink lips pushing out into that endearing pout you love so much. It makes you grin, releasing the grip around his throat to carefully brush a stray strand of hair away from his eyes.

It’s a gesture that works to soften Jungkook as well, the petulant look on his face melting away as you trail your pointer finger along his cheekbone. It’s replaced with a more tender one, dark lashes blinking up at you slowly. “Open,” you command upon reaching his mouth, finger pressing down against his pink lower lip. Jungkook obeys, opening his mouth until you can see his pink tongue and the dark abyss that leads down his throat. Your finger pushes itself in, and Jungkook certainly doesn’t try to resist. His lips suction around the digit fairly quickly, tight enough to keep you there but loose enough for you to slowly draw your finger in and out, each short plunge pressing down against his tongue.

It’s a rather short affair, one that comes to an end when he accidentally bucks up against you, pressing his hardened member against your core. You retract your finger. “Can you,” he tries, but his cheeks are stained red and he refuses to meet your gaze. “Just…”

You intercept him with a chaste peck, maneuvering your legs until your knees are firmly pressed into the couch cushions beneath him, his thin waist trapped in between. When you sit up, you feel drunk on power and the way Jungkook looks up at you certainly doesn’t help. “Can I sit on your face?”

He chokes. “I— sure, please,” he blurts out. His gaze follows you as you slip off of him, quickly discarding your pants and top on the floor. One pat against his thigh has him hurrying to shimmy out of his clothes, his sweatpants caught around his ankles.

“You’re excited,” you laugh, stripping him of his bottoms when the frustration takes him over.

Jungkook scoffs. “Well, yeah,” he mumbles, tugging his shirt off with one smooth motion. The ink around his bicep is as dark as ever, contrasts wonderfully against his warm face. “My fiancée is gonna sit on my face.”

The title makes you preen, quickly finding your place on his lap once more. With your clothing out of the way, Jungkook really does become a furnace. Every inch of his body is hot to the touch, soft too. “Fiancée,” you giggle, hands on his chest. They slide down, fingers playfully nudging his brown nipples. Jungkook flinches at the touch. “Gonna sit on my fiancé’s face,” you parrot back, delicately pinching one nipple between your fingers. A moan spills from his lips, his cock pushing against your thigh once more.

It’s the reminder you need, pushing back dutifully against him as you continue to toy with his chest. He’d look pretty with piercings, you find yourself thinking, watching on in fascination at the way his pert nipples stand at attention. Beneath you, Jungkook begins to grow desperate, his hands finding their place on your waist to encourage you to grind down against him once more.

Jungkook swears up and down that he’s not particularly sensitive about having his nipples touched. But when you’ve got him like this, sinfully laid out before you, you can easily confirm that his claims are nothing but lies. He loves having his nipples touched, squirms beneath you impatiently with each playful tug and twist you bestow upon them.

You duck down, pressing a kiss against his pectoral, just beside his nipple, and Jungkook’s entire body shivers. A few careful drags of your tongue against his warm skin only serve to string him along further, the prettiest whimper pulling itself from his lips when you finally envelope one of them in your mouth. “Wait,” he gasps, clawing at your clothing as if he both wants to push you off and push you closer. You grin, brandishing one mean nip at the sensitive nub.

Eventually, your incessant need to play with Jungkook’s chest is fulfilled. “Lay back,” you instruct, watching as he shuffles down flat on the cushions, silver hair tumbling away from his eyes. He’s so red, eyes hazy. Your panties are discarded, joining the ever growing pile of clothes on the floor.

Once upon a time, the idea of sitting on Jungkook’s face had terrified you, filled you with nightmares of crushing his windpipe or breaking his nose. For the most part, they’re pretty unrealistic fears, ones that can be easily shut down after one careful Google search on safe sexual practices. These days, it’s all too easy; in the mornings, especially, it’s become natural for him to guide you on top carefully, holding your hand as you whimper and sob over his face.

In the current moment, you find yourself stroking a hand down the side of his face, completely enamored with the huge puppy eyes he levels your way. Jungkook likes having your pussy in his face just as much as you do, loves making you feel good in any way he knows how. But there’s a separate matter at hand, one that stands at attention beneath his black boxers and successfully wins your attention.

Truthfully, there is no dilemma to ponder over; you want both to ride Jungkook’s face and suck him off. The solution?

“We’ve never done this before,” Jungkook mumbles in amazement, his voice slightly muffled from his position beneath you and slightly behind you. Still, his arms dutifully wrap around your thighs, guiding you closer to his mouth where his hot breath fans against your glistening folds. You rock back willingly, hands preoccupied with pushing his boxers down and away from his engorged cock.

“Really?” you ask, suddenly feeling overwhelmed with the cock before you and the tongue that gently laps at your folds. Jungkook makes a sound, something between a hum and whimper, his mouth slowly getting to work against your folds. “M- Maybe,” you stutter, all thought processes coming to a halt as you carefully take him in your hand.

His cock is hard and long, his tip an angry shade that weeps with precum. From this angle, you get to watch Jungkook’s huge thighs twitch at the sensation, the tattoo that marks up one of them doing little to hide the fact. Your hand squeezes him, watches in awe as another fat droplet oozes out of his tip. A moan tears itself from his throat, and it’s so goddamn sexy it nearly drives you insane.

It’s one particularly long lap of his tongue over your clit that sends you into action, back arching at the tingles that shoot down your spine. Wasting no more time, you guide Jungkook’s cock into your mouth, let your own tongue shower his mushroom tip in kitten licks that have him bucking upwards. He releases your clit with a lewd pop, hot breath fanning across your lips. “Fuck,” he gasps, voice harsh.

Admittedly, it’s more difficult than you thought it would be.

You’re not one to be easily overwhelmed (says you), but with Jungkook’s twitching cock in your mouth and his teasing tongue dipping into your entrance, it becomes hard to juggle your attention between the two. Even Jungkook, who is quite frankly the master of cunnilingus, seems torn between the two, his breathing shallow and quick against your folds.

With each slow descent around his cock, he shudders, thigh muscles tightening in anticipation. It causes a lull in the pace of his tongue, the generous kisses and licks against your folds subject to a somewhat uneven pace that, surprisingly, leaves you more on edge than you’d ever expected it to; right when you think he’s about to suck your clit into his mouth, you’re met with a harsh exhale instead, one that makes your lips flutter.

You’re both disappointed in yourselves for never having tried this mind-blowing position before, and equal parts understanding as to why you haven’t tried this position before— it’s a lot. His cock is halfway down your throat when it twitches, sends a gush of precum into your mouth that has your eyes rolling backwards, a whine slipping out around him. Jungkook appreciates the vibrations, letting it fuel him as he plunges his tongue into your hole. It’s a two way street, you realize, one that is constantly experiencing traffic.

“Baby,” you gasp, pulling off of his cock with a slick sound, hypnotized by the trail of saliva that connects your lips to his tip. Jungkook’s tongue prods along your slit, makes your eyesight go blurry when the tip of his nose brushes along you as well. The idea of his cute nose buried deep someplace it shouldn’t be has you grinding down on him. “We can— we should stop,” you stutter, your trembling hand reaching forward to grasp the base of his cock.

He’s slick with your saliva and his precum, and your hand makes a squelching sound upon contact. It must feel good, because Jungkook moans against your folds, his thighs unconsciously falling farther apart as you slowly jerk him off. You think you might’ve heard your name slip from his lips, but your mind is fuzzy, lost in your lust as Jungkook licks a sinful line from your hole to your clit, curling his tongue at the end. “J- Jungkook,” you cry, flinching away because it’s become too much, your toes curling as the beginnings of an orgasm threaten you.

Before that can happen, he relents, leaning back with a heavy exhale, his hands loosening their grip against your ass and plopping back down against the cushions. “Fuck,” he pants, his cock twitching in your hold. A lonely droplet of precum trails down the side, your knuckles coated in the glossy substance. Beneath you, Jungkook rubs one soothing palm against your hip.

You slink off before he can get any funny ideas, maneuver yourself around until you’re kneeling between his parted thighs, his fat cock standing at attention between the two of you. From here, he looks ravenous, and you begin to question who exactly is taking care of who. Jungkook looks like he’s a second away from pinning you down and swallowing you whole, a thought that makes your toes curl.

It’s with a cautiously horny hand that you reach for his cock again, holding him with both hands. Jungkook growls, head lolling backwards until all you can see is his neck and his chin, thick veins protruding along his skin. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment longer. “C’mere,” he purrs, hauling you up until you’re clumsily leaning over him, palms framing his face. A lone finger runs down your spine, its faint touch making you arch forward. “Sorry,” he says, securing an arm around your waist. “I know you wanted to take care of me, but…”

You roll your eyes, submitting yourself to his clutches as he masterfully rolls the two of you over. The couch is soft beneath your back, and Jungkook looks pretty from above too. “You just can’t sit still, can you?” you murmur playfully.

Jungkook’s forearms find their place beneath your thighs, the fold of the back of your knee perfectly slotted against his warm skin as he shuffles closer. “Maybe another time,” he laughs along sheepishly, his hard cock gliding over your slit, teasing your clit. You gulp, eyes scanning over his lean build as if it’s the first time. “Sorry,” he repeats, but he’s got this stupidly dopey grin on his face as he glances down at your pussy; he’s insane, he’s got to be, what man makes heart eyes at a pussy?

Your man, apparently. Grasping the base of his cock, Jungkook takes care to drag it along your folds collecting your wetness along his length, a deep shudder wracking his body through it all. “I knew you would do this to me,” he mutters, so low you nearly miss it under the thundering sound of your heartbeat.

“Huh,” you mumble, and you’d like to defend yourself and say you weren’t as cock-crazy as Jungkook was coochie-crazy, but that would be a lie. You’re staring at his cock as if it holds the secrets to the universe right now.

Jungkook juts his head to the side, a motion similar to the one he does when he’s trying to crack his neck. His tongue prods along his cheek, eyes laser-focused on the point where your two bodies meet. “From the moment you walked into my house,” he grunts mindlessly, finally lining himself up with your entrance. He chances a glance up, meets your gaze with a patient look, “all good?”

“All good,” you hurriedly reply, fingers finding their place against his broad shoulders. With the way he had prepared you earlier, mouthed along your clit and your folds until you were pleasantly aroused, the glide now is too easy. Tight, but easy, has the two of you releasing twin moans that echo off the wooden walls of the cabin.

Jungkook’s forehead is covered in a thin veil of sweat, one that glistens when the evening sunset pours in through the balcony doors, highlighting him in a golden light that makes you dizzy. The angry tip of his cock sinks into your walls, Jungkook’s ashy strands sticking to his forehead and his cheeks. For some reason, you find yourself reminiscing on the aforementioned moment Jungkook had spoken of. Of the soft sweater he’d worn that day and the dinner he had made, the blond tips on his chestnut hair and the way he’d clung onto every word you’d said.

It makes you tear up, and, after laughing at Jungkook early for crying, you quickly turn your face away.

Jungkook isn’t dumb. “What now,” he chuckles, though his breathing is labored, every inch of his cock that penetrates you further bringing with it another rush of adrenaline. At the hilt, you’re embarrassed to say there’s multiple tears streaming down your face, so you can’t even play it off as you usually do. “Crybaby,” Jungkook teases, but his voice is so soft and tender you don’t know what to do with yourself.

“Just move,” you bite out, shamefully covering your face with your hands. Jungkook leans over you, the movement pushing his dick deeper inside of you, your walls clenching around him. A kiss is placed over your knuckles, just shy of your engagement ring. Your chest lurches with a silent sob. “Jungkook,” you whimper, sinking further into the cushion, “please, just—“

“I got it,” he assures you, placing one final peck against your handmade (literally) shield. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he makes sure to whisper, “love you,” before unsheathing himself.

You shudder, your heart feeling so full, you fear it’ll burst. You both love and hate when he treats you like this, like an ice sculpture in the scorching heat that has him doing everything he can to keep you solid. His touch is soft, the roll of his hips too slow for your liking. You feel so small and vulnerable— too pampered. “Harder,” you beg, your voice an airy whine that has Jungkook chuckling above you.

He lives to please you, hiking your leg over his shoulder with a renewed vigor. His hands find themselves on your waist, forcefully pinning you down against the couch cushions as he sets upon fulfilling your latest request. The next series of thrusts are jerky, have you jostling in his grip as Jungkook pounds into you with an all new mindset. “Lemme see you,” he huffs, thumbs painfully digging into your skin. You tremble in his arms, heart swayed by the quiet plea in his voice. “Let me see your face, pretty girl.”

Reluctantly, you do, brandishing your tear-stricken face his way. Jungkook smiles, that stupidly handsome smile, his hips snapping into you roughly. “Fuck,” he moans, the expression never leaving his face, even when run your nails over his chest harshly. “You’re so pretty.”

You ignore him for the sake of your already weakened mental state, focusing instead on the brutal force of his hips, the way his cock stretches your walls out. Each push has you seeing stars, thighs quivering from the sensations that shoot up your spine and down your toes. “Oh,” you mewl, hands gripping his biceps as you lose yourself to him. Your eyes roll back, vision a mess of colors and nothingness all at once.

“Is this hard enough?” Jungkook husks out, and he sounds so close. His proximity is confirmed when his mouth slots against yours, his harsh breath mingling with your own as he continues to frantically buck into your inviting heat, each new round of thrusts leaving you weaker and weaker than before. “God,” Jungkook cries, the sound nearly lost beneath your own moans and whimpers. “Gonna k- keep you forever,” he spits, tongue slipping into your mouth.

He’s messier than usual, moves with unrefined movements unlike his normal self. You don’t care, you love him all the same. His sloppy kisses turn into desperate ones, matching the pace of his hips. “Kook,” you sob, arms wrapping themselves around his neck, pulling him close until his thrusts are reduced to a shallower depth.

“I’ve got you,” he croons, lips against your jawline. His cock presses in and you swear you feel it alongside every inch of your walls, a warmth blossoming in your stomach. He’s layering messy kisses down your face now, lips sucking dark marks any chance he gets.

True to his word, Jungkook indeed has you. His cock pistons in and out at an astonishing pace, each surge into your folds making you dizzy over and over again. It’s a feeling you fear you’ll never grow tired of, in fact, it’s a feeling you fear you’ll begin to crave even more in the future. The good thing is, that future will extend into forever.

You yank him towards you, swallow his low laughter with your lips. Jungkook doesn’t complain, lowering himself until he’s practically squishing you beneath his beefy body, cock ramming in and out despite all that. His tongue glides along yours, makes it his mission to muffle each of your cries.

It doesn’t take long for you to be fulfilled. Given the fact you had sucked him off like a lollipop whilst having him eat you out, you’re not entirely surprised. That and the emotions of tonight have you melting into him sooner than you’d like, his name falling from your lips as your thighs clamp down around his waist. Jungkook takes it in stride, slows the maddening pace of his hips to cradle you in his arms. You’re like jelly, practically flop back into the cushion when he slips an arm beneath you. “You’re so good for me,” Jungkook praises, lavishing your throat in tiny pecks as his orgasm circles around. “My pretty girl.”

“Love you,” you sigh, and your body feels numb, his intrusion but a small touch now that he’s tired you out once more, your walls tender and raw. Jungkook presses a smile against your throat and, moments later, releases inside of you.

Even minutes after the deed, the feeling refuses to return to your legs. He didn’t go that hard— well, you’re not entirely sure. The memories always become blurry toward the end of your escapades. Everything rushes back in waves, and for some reason, your first thought is, “where’s Sailor Moon?”

Your post-rump conversations have never been the most coherent, usually filled with pretty weird thoughts and ideas. Still, more grand things have happened tonight for you to be worried about a magical anime girl. Jungkook draws himself out of your core with a huff of laughter. “On the TV,” he answers, unfazed by the oddity of your question.

That’s how you know he’s a keeper.

It takes a while, but eventually Jungkook responds. “Avocado toast,” he says, though his answer is dripping with uncertainty. He’s naked as the day he was born, snuggled up beside you in bed. He’s propped up on one arm, looking down at you over the ample swell of his manly bosom. It takes everything in you to keep your hands off his chest.

“Correct,” you respond, “and what movie did we watch?”

Without missing a beat, “Transformers, the first one.”

You nod, glancing at the ceiling as you rack your brain for any other trivia questions to ask your fiancé. “The title of the playlist you made?”

A flush paints his cheeks. “Date Night playlist,” he answers through a pout, reprimanding you for bringing up such a memory with a flick to your forehead. You wince. “I was young and silly,” he defends.

You beam, cuddling into his side until he’s forced to lay back down. “Yeah, yeah,” you tease. “We’re only gonna get older from here,” you lament. You’d say it’s difficult to picture him with a gray head of hair, but his current silvery locks don’t leave much room for your imagination.

Jungkook pulls you close. A beat of silence passes, and then, “so who are we telling first?”

Definitely Namjoon.

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