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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

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

Oh, you loved this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.”

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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uwuwriting · 4 years

Text

Midoriya, Todoroki and Mirio waking up with kisses

Request: May I request best boys Todo, Mirio and Deku waking up with kithes. They’re all grown up and maybe the kithes aren’t coming only from the reader......okay I may want them to have kids and be all cute. - anonymous

Um excuse me who gave you the right to make this cute request? I have weak resolve and um ->this<- close to writing another dad fic. I LOVE TODOROKI SO MUCH I SWEAR I COULD DIE! Sorry for the small break I took yall but I’m back and better than ever *that's an overstatement bc my allergies decided to ruin my summer*. Hope you like it. Love ya. 💖💖💖

rules

warnings: characters are aged up, todoroki and mirio are dads, deku is a dad to be, fluff till your very soul

Midoriya Izuku

-Izuku is a very busy hero.

-Being the number one in Japan and running his own hero agency is very tiring.

-He loves spending time with you and really tries to make it up to you whenever he is called into an emergency.

-Now, Izuku as an expecting dad is a whole other issue.

-He doesn’t spend as much time at his agency, deciding to take his paperwork home and do it while you’re in his line of vision.

-Being such an important and strong hero puts both you and your child in danger so he prefers being in a one mile radius.

-Helicopter dad 99% of the time.

-There are however, times when he has to go to the agency or on patrols.

-And there are times when he has to answer to an emergency.

-This was one of those times.

-He was chilling on the couch while you basically slept on him, on hand massaging your lower back and one rubbing soft circles on your belly feeling the baby kick once in a while.

-He loves feeling them kick.

-They always do when he touches your belly.

-You told him that they already love him, “reacting to their daddy’s touch is a sign of pure affection”.

-Now many things happened at once.

-They gave a rather powerful kick, waking you up with a whine while his phone started ringing on the coffee table.

-He had to leave and you almost had to kick him out the door since he didn’t want to leave.

- “But why do I have to go???? I wanna stay with my babies!”

- “MIDORIYA IZUKU!”

-He came home really late that night and collapsed on the bed, wrapping you in his arms nuzzling into your hair before drifting off to sleep.

-It was one of those rare mornings when you woke up first, from a kick...again.

-You expected Izuku to be already awake but nope, he was snoozing.

-You really cherished these moments.

-You never truly got to see him really relax anymore, both with hero work and his constant worry for the baby he always had that wrinkle in between his brows.

-Even asleep.

-Last night’s fight must have taken a lot out of him.

-Getting restless you decided to nuzzle into his neck, leaving feather light on his shoulder, neck and jaw.

-He didn’t even stir.

-Trailing up his jaw you left a kiss on each cheek and two on his nose before cupping his face and peppering his forehead.

-The last kiss was on his lips, feeling him kiss back as he finally woke up.

- “Mmm good morning.”

-You just kissed his nose again making him scrunch it up.

-Placing his hands on your sides, his thumbs rubbed your belly as his lips followed their own trail along your face.

-You giggled as he explored your face letting out small whines every time he kissed a rather ticklish spot.

-He finally reached your lips giving you a long kiss and bringing you flush to his chest.

- “I wish I could wake up like this every morning.”

-Just then your kid decided it was a good time to sucker punch you in the liver, giving their father their own little good morning.

-Izuku chuckled at your groan and leaned down pecking your stomach.

- “Good morning to you too little one.”

Bonus

- “I think I might be having a kidney failure.”

- “Y/N come on don’t be dramatic.”

- “You want me to kick you in the balls?”

- “No.....”

- “Good now less talking more kisses.”

Todoroki Shouto

-Shouto having a day off is a blessing.

-Your daughters are angels whenever their dad is home wanting to let him relax.

-When I say that the twins are daddy’s girls I mean it.

-It’s not only about them getting what they want it’s also about loving their dad unconditionally.

-They don’t see him as the easy parent who will let them go on with their shenanigans unbothered.

-They just see him less and really miss him so they usually do their best to give him a relaxed and happy afternoon or day off.

-So when he told you that he was taking the week off you guys were so excited.

-Your girls even though they were like three stayed calm and collected, dawning their dad’s infamous poker face when he came home that night, playing quietly on the living room floor.

-The night was really quiet.

-You knew that the girls were excited and were bubbling with energy, they talked your ear off when you broke the news to them but they also wanted their dad to relax.

-Really you could never truly understand them.

-They were the most considerate toddlers you have ever met.

-Since they know that their parent’s jobs are hard, since you are both in the hero business, they always restrained themselves.

-The toddlers Fuyumi or Natsuo described while the babysat, the constantly arguing and bickering twins, were a far cry from what you saw at home.

-Sure they had their slip ups but they were generally well behaved.

-The did crawl onto their dad’s lap though at the end of the night, snuggling into his relative sides and snoozing off almost immediately.

-The next morning you woke up first.

-Todoroki was sleeping almost on you, his arms around your waist as his head was buried into your neck.

-He looked really tired last night, poor baby must have been exhausted.

-You moved some of his hair from his eye tracing the red skin of his scar with your fingertip.

-Long into your relationship he had told you that he felt self conscious about his scar.

- “Not many people will find this attractive, I-I think you could do much better than this.”

-From that day on you had made it your mission to make sure he knew you loved him, scar and all.

-Leaving a few kisses on his forehead you raised his head slightly bringing your lips to the scarred tissue of his eye as you left feather light kisses on the red skin.

-When his grip on your waist tightened you let his head rest back on your chest and whispered a soft I love you.

-That’s when you heard the pitter patter of little feet on the marble floor of your home.

-Whispers could be heard from outside your door and only caught the words ‘breakfast’ and ‘you’re stupid’, before your bedroom door opened ever so slightly.

-Two heads of fluffy hair, one snow white and one fiery red, walked in and made their way to your bed.

-You stifled your laughter as one of your three year olds tripped over one of Shouto’s shoes grabbing onto her sister for support.

-You could feel the glare the white haired girl gave to her twin without having to see it.

-They made their way to your side of the bed, locking eyes with you and waddling to you as quietly as possible.

-They both gave you a few kisses before looking at their dad who was completely oblivious to all this.

-You motioned to them to go around the bed and climb on from his side.

-The twins nodded and before you knew it the two of them were looming over Shouto.

-You kinda expected them to plop down on him and give him a heart attack but you melted when your girls just laid their heads on their dad’s back.

-Shouto stirred at the extra weight but he didn’t wake up.

-After like ten minutes of your snuggling, the twins got restless and started their master plan of waking their father up.

-One of them settled fully on his back while the other moved some of his hair from his eyes, like you had done previously.

-Then the assault began.

-Soft kisses on his forehead, cheeks, under his eye, on his nose.

-Really anywhere they could reach.

-Soon enough Shouto woke up a smile adorning his features as he slowly wiggled out of your arms, placing the twins between the two of you.

-He rested his chin on your white haired daughter and brought an arm over both of them reaching for your hand on the other side.

- “Good morning snowflakes.”

- “Good morning daddy.”

-He made all of you snuggle with him for half an hour before scooping his girls into his arms and walking out the door to make breakfast.

-One of his top mornings no doubt.

Bonus

- “We tried to make breakfast.”

- “But Ren burned the toast.”

- “And you froze the juice.”

- “My little girls are not the best cooks huh?”

-*incoherent mumbling*

Mirio Togota

-To say that Mirio is busy is an understatement.

-Being the owner of a large hero agency and doing his own hero work on the side even though he no longer has his quirk really takes a toll on him.

-Having a four year old son didn’t make things easier.

-He wanted to be there for his child like his father was there for him.

-He hits him really hard when he comes home one night and he finds his son sleeping on the living room couch clearing waiting for him to come home.

-Until recently the two of them had a ritual before they went to bed.

-Your son said that it scared the nightmares away.

-But a handful of paperwork had fallen into Mirio’s hands forcing him to stay longer at the agency, missing his son’s bedtime by two hours.

-It was the first night that you ad let him wait for Mirio knowing how ever since their small ritual stopped happening , nightmares had been keeping the little boy awake.

-But alas sleep had won him over and now he was being carried to bed by his dad.

-Mirio almost had a breakdown later saying that he was a horrible father.

-You had to calm him down by giving him some examples of him being an amazing dad before luring him to bed.

-Later that night your son woke up from a nightmare, trembling and crying out for his parents.

-He spent the night in your bed, Mirio placing him in the middle bringing him flush to his chest.

-He calmed down rather quickly and was asleep in no time, you two following suit soon after.

-The next morning you woke up to small kisses on your forehead as chubby hands held your cheeks.

-It was the cutest thing you had ever seen.

-Big blue eyes looked back at you as you opened your eyes, a small twinkle in them.

-You brought him into a hug, rubbing his back softly as your other hand reached out to grab Mirio’s under the sheets.

-After a mini cuddle session with mini Mirio you motioned to big Mirio and winked at your son.

-Slowly getting up you straddled his hips as you placed your son gently on his chest.

-He let out a low grunt but only placed a hand on your hip turning his head to the side.

-Then you dove in.

-You left small kisses on his jaw, cheeks and lips while your son hugged him really really tightly.

-Your kiss attack continued until Mirio’s giggles bounced off the walls, his arms shooting up to wrap around your back, trapping both of you in his embrace.

-It was his turn to attack you both with kisses, not holding back at all.

-Really your plan kinda back fired.

-When you finally got up almost an hour later, Mirio had that proud smile on his face.

- “Maybe I’m not that bad of a dad after all.”

-You just kissed him again a little more passionate now that you were out of your son’s sight.

Bonus

- “W-when did you come down? I didn’t hear you coming down the stairs.”

- “He has your quirk you dummy!”

- “Don’t call dad a dummy!”

- “Go put some pants on you shrimp!”

TAG TEAM AY:

@iwaqchan @the-arcana-fan-fic @angelwritings @axerrri @reinyrei

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stiltonbasket · 3 years

Note

For the renouncement verse I’d love to see a continuation of the one with Xichen and Lan Qiren, with pregnant-with-a-girl wwx being gently coerced to be lazy for once in his life by, apparently, the entire lan clan

(author’s note: double prompt this time! and please please reblog if you can, since that’s how we get prompts for future chapters!)

Anon 2: helloooo for the renouncement verse, do you have anything during wei ying's pregnancy, like lwj fretting over wwx bc i feel that wwx would still do crazy experiments even whille he's pregnant?

Wei Wuxian is not particularly good at sitting still.

In fact, everyone who knew him at Lotus Pier when he was a child—and everyone he met at the Cloud Recesses, too—knows that he prefers scaling little cliffs and swimming and climbing trees to resting, even under a physician’s orders; and that never really changed until the last four years of his first life, which were riddled with barely-hidden illness after the loss of his golden core.

But his resurrection returned him to full health, and full strength, so that even the strange fits of nausea that began soon after his wedding (which Wei Wuxian naturally blamed on the bland cuisine of his married home) turned out to be a baby instead of some weird kind of mountain plague. Lan Zhan hasn’t been worrying any less since they found out about the little one, of course—if anything, he seems to be worrying more—but the point is that Wei Wuxian is well into his fourth month, which means that his sensitive stomach is back to normal again, along with his dislike for staying in bed.

And since Wei Wuxian is only with child instead of actually sick, why would he stay in bed when he could be up and causing trouble? He wouldn’t, and he won’t, which is why he cheerfully disregards all of Lan Xichen’s warnings about rest and spends the fifth day after the healers give them the news experimenting in the jishi.

With fire talismans.

And smokescreens.

And a great many other things that horrify Lan Zhan past the point of speech when he comes crashing into the workshop, and get Wei Wuxian bundled right back into bed with Xiao-Yu keeping watch to ensure that he remains there.

(He also set the jishi’s chimney on fire, which was probably why his husband broke the door down instead of lifting the locking talisman, now that he thinks about it.)

“You cannot take such risks,” Lan Zhan says hoarsely, cradling Wei Wuxian’s flushed face in his hands and pressing their brows together. “Wei Ying, xingan, anything could have happened if you had breathed in the smoke, or if you grew lightheaded while the door was locked, you—my darling, please, please leave such dangerous things for after the baby is born. It is not safe for either of you.”

“It was only a little fire,” Wei Wuxian protests, before Lan Zhan leans in and presses a fervent kiss to his lips. “And I had purification talismans in the room to keep the air clean, anyway. I’m fine.”

“Suppose they had failed?” his husband counters, tracing the curve of his cheek with a finger that shakes so much that Wei Wuxian nearly bursts into tears at the sight of it. “Suppose the fire spread from the hearth, and you could not put it out in time? What would I have done then, Wei Ying, with my heart’s beloved and my child in danger?”

“Well, I suppose...”

“No more experiments,” Lan Zhan tells him. “At least none that you cannot safely perform in the jingshi with Xiao-Yu and myself close by. Please, sweetheart.”

Wei Wuxian promises to stay out of his workroom, since he still hasn’t quite worked out how to say no to Lan Zhan yet; but he does refuse to keep off his feet, because that suggestion comes from Lan Xichen instead of Lan Zhan.

“Find something safe for me to do, then!” he complains. “I’m not an invalid, Xichen-ge! In fact, I feel stronger than ever. I’m going to go swimming tomorrow, just wait—”

“You will do no such thing!” Lan Xichen cries, horrified. “Suppose you catch cold? It is nearly winter, a fever of the lungs this late in the year could kill you!”

And then he tells Lan Zhan, the traitor, and gets Wei Wuxian banned from entering any body of water except for Zewu-jun’s hot spring until the baby arrives. He isn’t even supposed to bathe there without supervision, because the warm water might make him dizzy enough to drown without someone there to watch him even if it does wash the tension out of his back and shoulders.

Even Lan Qiren seems to be determined to keep both Wei Wuxian and the little one in the best of health, which he discovers when he stalks over to his uncle-in-law’s house in the sixth month to tell him that Lan Zhan and Lan Xichen are being tyrants.

“I’m not allowed to mess around in the jishi anymore,” Wei Wuxian grouses, counting on his fingers as Lan Qiren sighs and fills up his plate with braised pork and plenty of healthy greens, seasoned strongly enough that even Wei Wuxian wouldn’t mind eating a full serving of them. “I’m not allowed to go swimming—” and here Lan Qiren pours him a cup of sweet soymilk and pushes the dish of warm potatoes closer to Wei Wuxian’s side of the table— “and I can’t even teach anymore, since I lost my balance and sprained my wrist in the lanshi just one time!”

“You are heavier than you used to be,” the older man observes. “If you had not caught yourself in time, the fall could have seriously hurt you, let alone the baby.”

Wei Wuxian lays his head down on the table—as well as he can, that is, with the baby in the way—and groans. “I know,” he says, aggrieved. “It’s not that I want to put us in danger, but I’m so bored, and I have to be useful somehow.”

Lan Qiren freezes with a cup of tea halfway to his lips. “Useful?”

“I’m the Chief Cultivator’s husband, xiansheng. I can’t just sit around doing nothing,” Wei Wuxian huffs. “If I can’t work on my talismans, and I can’t teach, and Zewu-jun won’t let me do any of the sect work because he’s afraid I’ll get tired, what can I do?”

The teacup thumps back onto the table with a sharp clattering sound. “Wei Ying. Nephew, that is enough. I will hear no more of this.”

Wei Wuxian lifts his head in surprise. “Ah?”

“You are not here to be useful,” Lan Qiren says severely. “We are your family, and this is your home, and you may do whatever you please in it. Have you been so poorly treated here that you must sit here before me, scarcely three months from your confinement, and fret about doing nothing when you ought to be resting and preparing for the child’s arrival? Because I will have words with Wangji if so, make no mistake, and—”

“Lan-xiansheng, no!” Wei Wuxian cries. “That’s not what I mean, it’s just…”

He has the rest of the denial on the tip of his tongue, but a tear rolls down his nose and plops onto the steaming lotus roots before he can say anything.

It hardly makes sense to him at first, because he truly does love tinkering with spells and talismans in his workshop, making cultivation as accessible to people without golden cores as he can, and he loves teaching the baby disciples and going on night-hunts with his own faithful little flock of juniors; but his body has made its exhaustion very clear in the past several weeks, and sometimes all he wants to do is curl up in Lan Zhan’s arms and sleep the day away with his childrens’ voices keeping him company from the next room.

And Lan Zhan wants him to rest and let him dote on him more than anything, so why does Wei Wuxian keep fighting it?

“It’s not his fault,” he murmurs, dimly aware that the plate of hot-and-sour potatoes looks suspiciously damp. “It’s just… me, I guess.”

“Eat your food,” Lan Qiren tells him, sounding suspiciously gentle as he puts a sweet bean cake into Wei Wuxian’s bowl. “And make sure you finish your tea, I put strengthening herbs in it.”

His uncle-in-law comes back to the jingshi with him after lunch, along with Lan Xichen, and the three of them have a very long talk with Lan Zhan while Sizhui and Jingyi babysit Xiao-Yu; Lan Xichen and Lan Qiren offer him and Lan Zhan advice, and Lan Zhan pulls Wei Wuxian into his lap and comforts him without bothering about the impropriety of it, until he can finally nod off to sleep when the two of them are alone again.

“I’m really not a bother to you, Lan Zhan?” he whispers, tucking his face against his husband’s chest and listening to his heartbeat. “You don’t—mind, that I can’t do very much with this baby?”

“No, never,” Lan Zhan chokes. “Wei Ying, why didn’t you just tell me you were feeling this way? You cannot imagine how much I want—how I need—”

“Need what?”

“Let me look after you, sweetheart,” his husband pleads. “Let me look after you both. Give me the privilege of satisfying my beloved’s every wish, and soothing your fears when your heart is heavy, and keeping you and our little one well. Please, xingan?”

(Upon further reflection, perhaps it is a good thing that he never learned to say no to Lan Zhan, after all.)

#wangxian #mo dao zu shi #the untamed #renouncement verse #my fic #wangxian arranged marriage au

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revasserium · 4 years

Note

Can I have 34 with Sugawara? thank you

hq!!reqs temporarily: closed ; all other reqs: open

send me a number a character and i’ll write you a drabble ;

34. insomnia: the owner’s instructions suga ; 1,659 words

a/n: suga, the type of stay up at night bc of an existential crisis.

the truth is – everything ends. it’s one of those fundamental, incontestable truths, a silver thread in the very fabric of reality, a cornerstone fact upon which the world was built, precarious and everlasting: everything ends. everything. and maybe it’s pointless to let the encroaching shadow of existential dread keep him up at night, but sugawara koushi is just that kind of person. he lies awake thinking about the probable heat death of the universe, and the fact that try as he might, nothing he does, nothing truly, really, actually means anything.

he flips onto his side, sighs, tugs his phone from beneath his pillow and flicks open the screen. the time glares at him – a jarring 4:33am. he groans and buries his face in his pillow.

shit.

and he has morning practice tomorrow.

double shit.

he peers at this phone again. 4:34am.

he opens up his messages and scrolls through his history with you, grinning at all the stupid memes you send each other. his eyes pause on your last message to him – night, love you. sleep tight.

he’d responded in kind, except exclusively with emojis that perhaps trailed into the questionable territory of being suggestive. but i mean. eggplants are perfectly innocent vegetables, aren’t they?

his fingers hover over the keys.

why the fuck not. she’s probably asleep anyway.

can’t sleep. miss you. wish u were here.

he hits send, and almost closes out the app when the signature three dots appear at the bottom of his scene and he freezes. why the hell are you awake?

it seems that you shared his sentiments rather exactly, as your message appears with a little bloop.

why the hell are you awake?

he crinkles his nose, fingers already flying.

said i couldn’t sleep. :( u never read my texts properly.

a moment later, his phone buzzes and he sees your caller id flare up over his screen. he grins, tapping the green answer button.

“i do too read your messages.”

he laughs, the sound just a tad strange in the echo of darkness.

“fine, fine, yeah you do. i was just teasing.”

“when are you not.”

“fair.”

quiet. the moonlight bleeds slivers between his curtains, the light slicing his room into bits – he raises a hand, staring at his bisected palm with a light frown.

“are you thinking about the end of the world again?”

your voice startles him, even across the line, he can hear the way you must be raising your eyebrows, that teasing smile he loves so much twisting your lips. you sound exasperated. and rightly so. he’s exasperated with himself too.

“may…be?”

“hm. figured.”

he lets his hand fall back onto the bed, rolls onto his back to stare at the ceiling.

“what do you think happens after we all die?”

he hears you shift in your bed as well, and a moment later, you sigh.

“the universe world keeps on spinning. nothing much changes.”

“right, but like… isn’t it weird to think that all this has existed before us, and it’ll continue to exist after? like. what are we, even?”

you laugh, the sound making his stomach flutter.

“cosmic fallout.”

“wow,” suga rolls his eyes before remembering you can’t see him. though he’s sure you can hear it in his voice. you’ve known each other for way too long. longer than he cares to try and remember. maybe that’s what it’s like to not worry – to trust something enough not to question it. to not have to question it.

“that’s not depressing at all.”

you hum, “well. it is. but it’s not like anything we can do will change that. so why lose sleep over it? it’s got no sway on how your life will be.”

“right, but it’s just… strange – isn’t it? like. how did we even end up here? with like… phones and computers and internet and – and relationships.”

you’re laughing again, and he closes his eyes. one of these days, he thinks he’ll tape it, the way you laugh, and maybe loop it so it can be the backing track to his entire existence. maybe that’ll give it some meaning, at least –

he wishes you were there. so he curls up onto his side again and cradles the phone to his ear.

“i miss you.”

“i know. i miss you too.”

“you should come over.”

“koushi. it’s 4am.”

“almost 5.”

“has anyone told you you’re terrible at convincing people to do things?”

and this time, he laughs, lets the sound shake through him like the first ray of daylight on a rising sun – warm and sharp and hopeful.

“once or twice.”

another silence. suga thinks he can almost hear the sound of the world turning, it’s so quiet. and then, your voice cuts through the invariable darkness.

“by accident.”

“huh?” he blinks, unsure of if the line cut off.

“that’s how we all ended up here, a massive, cosmic series of accidents. everything happened just so, all the stars that have ever lived or died – they all did it in just the way they had to for us to somehow end up here, and be able to hold hands and stay up late at night worrying about death and the end of all time.”

“one hell of an accident,” suga mumbles, crinkling his nose. a wave of tiredness washes over him. he wants to tell you to keep on talking. maybe he’ll record that too, just you talking about something, anything, everything. maybe that’s the cure to insomnia – just you and your voice, lulling him to sleep every night.

he wonders if that’s weird, and decides that well, he’s your boyfriend, he can be a little bit weird with this kinda stuff.

“still, pretty amazing right? all that happened so you could accidentally confess to me during homeroom.”

suga squawks.

“will you cease and desist? god – you’re just as bad as daichi and noya! they made fun of me for months – months! can you believe it? my own fucking teammates.”

your laughter washes over him, soothing his fraying nerves even as he huffs and tries to be angry with you. but it’s impossible – it’s been impossible for a long while now, and he wonders why he still tries.

maybe it’s because he’s so in love.

“but – whatever happens after we’re all gone,” you say, your voice soft and steady and full of a tenderness so striking it makes his chest squeeze, “at least we had this while we were here, right? at least by some strange conspiracy of the universe, we met each other. and – and fell in love. and… it doesn’t really matter if it doesn’t last forever. cause i’ll remember it happened. and you will too.”

you take a breath that sounds like the meeting of truth and tragedy, or perhaps the two finding out that they were always one and the same.

suga holds his own breath, forgets for a moment that he even has lungs.

“and… i think that’s enough. for me.”

he lets the breath go, his body curling into itself as he lets his eyes fall shut, his heartbeat thrumming to the sound of your breaths.

“wow,” he says again. though, it carries none of its former irony.

and, after a beat.

“you’re a sap.”

and this time, you’re the one sighing.

“i’m hanging up.”

“wait! not yet – c’mon, you know i didn’t mean it.” he’s laughing again. he does that a lot with you.

“fine, but only until you fall asleep.”

he smiles, a pleasant warmth already spreading through his limbs, making heavy his eyelids.

“i’m already getting sleepy.”

“good.”

quiet, once more. the moonlight falling across his room seems to spell out eternity, and it’s moments like this when suga wonders what it’d be like to live forever. not in the sense that he wants to live for a million years, but that he’d like to live in this moment for long than – well, this moment lasts.

he wants to stretch out the seconds like taffy between his fingers, relish in the sound of your voice, your laughter, in the smell of your hair after you’ve just washed it, the way you kiss him, on the lips, on the cheek, over his eyelids till they see in nothing but daydreams.

“hey,” he says, whispers into the phone like a secret.

“hm?” your voice answers back.

“i think i love you.”

you pause, and for a moment, just a moment, he thinks he can taste that unattainable forever. he wants to live inside that moment. for as long as he can.

“i think i love you too.”

and, even though they’re words you often say to each other, repeated so many times they might lose their meaning – there’s something about the time – the hours caught between morning and night, something about the foreverness of those precious few moments, that makes those words – that specific sequence of letters and sounds, mean so much more than they usually do.

suga realizes that this is also truth – a kind that he’s always neglected to think about. the truth of beginnings, and middles, and the eternities that live passed the endings.

because there are certain forevers that live outside the realm of time and space, forevers that are contained within their own special fragments of realities – his and yours, for instance.

and just for now, for this one moment – love is not an ever-ending thing.

and the truth is, no matter how dark and dreary the eventual end of the world might be, at least he had this. at least he met you. and at least, he’s known the taste of falling in love. and that’s something.

isn’t it?

–

taglist: @thewaterlily @dorkyama @undertheseabass @miyulovestowrite @writing-in-monotone @lceiji @vventure @writeiolite

(pls let me know if you’d like to be added to the list! or if you’d like to be removed! u__u)

#haikyuuwritersnet #sugawara koushi #sugawara koushi x reader #sugawara x reader #haikyuu scenarios #floofy floof floof #haicuties #suga inspires a lot of very interesting writing for me #i just think he's such an interesting character #and my obvious bias is showing again oof #anyway its my first time doing a taglist! lmao idk if im doing it right but!#i think about this alot too but its not like existential DREAd to me #i think about it like -- well if nothing means anything might as well do what u want and live ur best life anyway #if none of it matters then YOU get to decide what matters and thats a vERY great power to have

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stylesgalaxy · 5 years

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mastermind; chapter 6

turns out some of you actually enjoy this fic!! i didn't think anyone really liked it so here's chapter 6! ngl i kinda forgot about this bc i was working on something else, but i'm here now :)

***

"You didn't call," Harry says when I stumble home a few hours later. I was trying to be quiet but clearly it didn't work because Harry hears me and quietly slips out of Julia's room.

"I didn't need you," I respond. Which was true, I didn't. Zayn got an Uber and dropped me off here before going home himself.

"Your friend drop you off? He was drunk, Aria, you could have—"

"Relax he called an Uber," I say, taking my shoes off and hanging my jacket on the coat rack. "Zayn's not stupid."

"That was Zayn?" he says, appalled. "Hold on, I knew the name was familiar and he looks familiar... He's not the one who Julia..."

He trails off awkwardly.

"Yeah, he went home with Julia after a party in freshman year," I say rubbing my eyes. I was going to say "fucked" but I thought it was too insensitive considering he's in love with Julia. I sigh heavily when I remember being so hopeful that Julia would like Zayn long enough for me gather the courage to talk to Harry. But the universe was cruel, and I was too late.

Harry nods and I'm left wondering if he ever thinks about that night. Thinks about whether he saw Julia at the party they were both at, or thinks about how another guy went home with his future girlfriend, or thinks about the girl he made out with blindfolded. He obviously doesn't know it's me. But he never gave any indication on whether or not he even remembered kissing me.

Well, of course he wouldn't. We were acquainted through Julia, his girlfriend, he's not allowed to talk about those things. Just like how Julia didn't talk about how good Zayn was in front of Harry.

Harry remains silent so I start walking towards my room.

"I'm sorry," he says just as I pass him. "I shouldn't have interrupted you... o-or talked to you the way I did."

"Good," I deadpan. "You should be."

This makes his softened expression fall, and confusion spread.

"Aria, I was just looking out for you--"

"Harry, are you really going to defend your actions after you apologized for behaving that way? And besides, I don't need you to look out for me."

"Everyone needs someone to look out for them," he says quietly.

"Maybe," I answer, not trying to get deep or philosophical with him right now, "but you embarrassed me in front of Zayn and made me feel like a child."

"I thought he was—!"

"Whatever you thought was wrong," I counter, frustrated. "I'm an adult, I can take care of myself. Me and you, we're friends, Harry. That's all we are. Save this type of reaction for your girlfriend."

His eyebrows pinch and I am mortified by what I say.

"Goodnight," I squeak and all but run to my room, nearly slamming the door.

Could you not have made it anymore obvious, Aria?!

What the fuck was wrong with me?

---

The next day I wake up around noon. Normally I'd spend this day of relaxation watching something with Julia, but since Harry is here, I don't want to. I slip into the bathroom unnoticed and take a shower. I hope that if it's long enough Harry will realize that I'm awake and leave.

I dry off in the bathroom and change into fresh clothes before wrapping a towel around my hair. Upon leaving the bathroom, I find out Harry did not take the hint and he was still here.

He's sitting on the couch with his arm around Julia, fixated on the television in front of him. He's eyes snap to mine when he sees me exit the bathroom and he gets up and gathers his things. Julia watches him pack his things with a sad frown on her face.

"Must you leave so early? We're almost done season six," she says with puppy eyes. Seriously, how does she not get tired of always sitting on the same couch watching the same shows with him?

"Sorry, love, but I have to see my father," he kisses her forehead. He turns around and pins me with his gaze just before I can escape to my room. "Aria? Can you walk me out?"

I want to roll my eyes at him. He's closer to the door! Julia looks between us curiously.

"It's only a few steps, Harry, I'm sure you'll manage to find the door," I say, opening my door.

"Aria, please."

I sigh and look at Julia first. She's watching me questioningly as if to say, what's up with him? I give her a look back that says, I'll explain later.

Only then did I look at Harry's pleading expression and walk over to the door with him. I hand him his jacket and he says quietly, "I just want to make sure everything is okay between us."

The bitter and petty part of me wants to respond with, There is no 'us'. But I shut her up because last night's response kept me up.

"I really am sorry about how I acted," he continues with pleading eyes. "You're right. You're an adult and I shouldn't tell you what to do. Just please forgive me, I don't want you to go back to ignoring me. I promise I won't do it again."

My heart clenches at his words. He really likes being my friend?

"Of course, Harry, it's okay," I say softly. He looks relieved but his smile is still a little tense. To ease the mood, I say, "You're not gonna get rid of me that easily. I'll remain an annoying thorn at your side."

He chuckles.

"Are you sure I'm not the thorn?" he says.

"You are, actually, I was just trying to be nice. But thanks for realizing what you truly are," I chirp. I open the door for him and he steps out waving at me.

I'm almost about to shut it when Julia yells, "Bye, Harry!"

Harry quickly comes back, says goodbye to her too, then leaves.

"So what was that all about?" Julia sits up immediately after I lock the door.

I relay what happened last night at the party to her, deciding to keep out the conversation we had when I arrived.

"So he just wanted to make sure we were cool, and I told him we are."

Julia nods, "That's good."

I go to the kitchen to grab something to eat when she says, "Hey, you know what we should do? We should go shopping!"

---

Since Julia and I are at the mall, I make her do her Christmas shopping. She already knew what to get her mom--a Valentino bag--but I force her to look for something for her father too. It would make him happy that she thought about him. Julia whines and complains, but eventually we settle on a flask set and a fancy Montblanc pen for him. I leave her to look for a gift for Harry while I go to shop for my family.

In the cheaper side of the mall, I shop for my parents and my little brother. I go inside Barnes & Noble and buy a bunch of cute homey things I know my mom likes. My dad loves board games so I pick one up for him along with a puzzle. I get two books for my brother because I wish he read more, but I also sneak in a video game from another shop, because I want him to like his gift. My bags are getting heavy, but I'd really rather not come back another day since the mall will only get busier closer to Christmas, so I look for gifts for my friends too. Niall and Louis are easy, they'll like anything. I get a fancy jewelry box for Julia with fancy scented candles and fancy bath bombs that she likes.

I leave Harry last. This will be the first time I get him a gift from myself and I want to make it special since he bought that leather sketchbook for me but it was hard because I'd already gone over my budget. So, I get him a Gordon Ramsay cookbook, a trivia game, and chocolates. It's not until I go to Starbucks where Julia and I were supposed to meet, that I see a set of six reusable cups with cute sayings like "Live in the Wow" or "Be About Love". This was perfect. Smiling, I purchase it and add it to my bags.

I sit at a table with my bags around me and wait for Julia to show. She arrives, with way less bags because she was only shopping for three people. And her gifts were small but expensive. She joins me at the table and I ask her what she got for Harry.

"Socks," she says, pulling out a pair Christmas socks. I look at her, somewhat annoyed.

"That's it?!"

"And chocolate!" she says quickly, pulling out a Lindt chocolate bar.

"Julia!" I chastise.

"What?"

"He's your boyfriend! You can't get him socks and chocolate!"

"I know," she whines, "but I looked and looked and I didn't know what else to get him!"

I sigh heavily and pin Julia with a glare.

"Let's go," I huff finally, "I'll help you find something for him but you're carrying half my bags."

She grabs my bags with great eager and sets out of Starbucks.

---

"Oh my God, you know what we should do now?" Julia says once we're done shopping. I'm about to roll my eyes because I can't imagine doing anything else except lying down or eating. "We should go to that Italian restaurant! The one I said I'd take you to for getting Harry a gift!"

That grabs my attention.

"Okay but where will we put our bags? We can't take them with us there's too many," I say.

"It's okay, I'll call Liam. He can take them to our place and drop us off, he wouldn't mind," she assures and pulls out her phone, searching for his number. "Hey, Liam? Yeah, yeah everything's okay! I was just wondering if you're busy right now? No? Well it's just that Aria and I have been shopping all day and we have so many bags, but we're really hungry and want to go for dinner, and--" she pauses for a moment. "Thank you so so so much! Okay... yeah... great, see you soon!"

She ends the call and smirks at me.

"I thought he was your father's personal assistant not yours," I comment.

"He is, but he told me that if I ever need anything to not hesitate to call him. He's really nice. I'm gonna tell my father. Hopefully Liam can get a raise."

---

Liam drops us off at the restaurant and then drives away with Julia's key to take our bags home. I watch him driving away and wonder if this is what it's like to be rich. Huh.

My mood is instantly brightened when our server places our food in front of us. Julia whips out her phone to take a Boomerang of our pizzas, I stick my tongue out when the camera reaches me. She puts that on her Instragram story and I guess she was really feeling the love for me because she asks to take a proper photo. She pushes her chair to sit beside me and asks our server to take a photo.

I shrug one shoulder and smile sweetly at the camera, while Julia rests her arm at the back of my chair and leans her head closer to mine.

"Adorable, fucking adorable," Julia says after she takes her phone back, typing away. I get a notification that Julia tagged me in a photo, but ignore it for now. I have more important things to focus on, like my pizza which I take a slice out of before shoving it into my mouth. Julia looks up right then and howls with laughter, snapping another photo.

"Julia, no!" I try to say but my mouth is full.

"You look so funny!"

"Don't post that one, okay?"

She promises she won't and we eat the rest of our dinner laughing and talking about random things.

---

"Hey," I say to Julia when the episode of Friends that we were watching ends.

"Hmm," she replies, looking up from her phone.

"I kinda... I kinda wanna try makeup," I hesitate. I'd seen a lot of girls with perfect makeup on their face and it made me want to give it a go. And today, at the mall I went inside Sephora and wanted to buy everything. Sephora was just a fancier, prettier art store.

"Oh my God!" Julia hollers. "Come, I'll teach you everything."

She drags me into her room and sits me in front of her vanity. I'm a little overwhelmed by all the products she throws at me, but I get the basics: primer, foundation, concealer, setting powder, brows, mascara. She says that the primer and foundation I use are the most important part, and then hands me some good ones to keep.

"You're about my colour," she says, dabbing some on my face to check. "You're a little darker, that's okay you can use bronzer to even it out."

Bronzer, blush, and highlighter: they were good but not always necessary, she says. She applies eyeshadow to my eyelids and then swipes a thin line of eyeliner over it. I curl my own lashes and apply mascara. My eyes instantly stand out so much more.

"Wow, this colour really enhances your eyes," Julia says. "I wouldn't even wear foundation if I was you, you have nice skin. Do your eyes, though, they make you look like a bad bitch."

I smirk and we start experimenting with lipstick, giggling and dabbing some on each other's faces.

"Okay, now I have to show you how to wash it off," Julia says half an hour later.

"What, you mean I can't just use water and soap?" I ask feeling stupid.

"No, silly, not all soap will wash off makeup. You'll be scrubbing at your skin harshly then breaking out." We go to the bathroom where she pulls out her makeup remover, gently wiping the makeup away from my face. "There, all clean."

"Thanks," I smile.

"Here, I'll give you the products I don't use that you can experiment with. I'll give you some brushes too, and I'll show you how to clean them."

Putting on makeup sounds like it's includes a lot of cleaning that I didn't anticipate. I take the items she gives and watch how she washes brushes and sets them upright to dry. I've never had to deal with germs when it came to art supplies, but it makes sense why you have to with makeup supplies.

I call it a night after I put away the makeup. Getting in bed, I start scrolling through my phone. I open my Instragram notifications and see the cute picture Julia posted of us with the caption: My ride or die, love you @aria_collins.

Smiling at my phone, I double tap the picture. I comment, love you too bitch <3 before scrolling through the other comments. Some are from her other friends, that I don't know that well, and one is from her mom. My heart jolts when I see Harry commented on it too.

harrystyles: Cute

It was just one word.

Cute.

But it made butterflies erupt inside me. I shake my head at myself.

He was talking about his girlfriend, stupid.

Nonetheless, I fall asleep with a smile on my face.

---

The sound of my door opening wakes me up. I was never a heavy sleeper like Julia.

"Aria?" Julia whispers in the dark. I hum back in response. I'm awake now, might as well see what's up. "You're awake?" she says hopefully. I check the time and see I've only been asleep for half an hour.

"Yeah, what's up?" I turn fully towards Julia who looks wide awake, she hasn't even changed into her pyjamas yet.

"I really, really want to take a bath but Harry won't stop texting me," she says coming to lay down on my bed beside me.

"So tell him to shut up," I deadpan, letting my eyes shut in fatigue.

"I can't... he's like talking about serious things. And it's stressing me out and we had such a long day, I just want to take a bath and sleep. Can you just talk to him for a bit? It's way past his bedtime, I'm sure he'll fall asleep soon."

I want to ask her why she doesn't think I want to sleep, and why it makes sense to wake me up so I can talk to her boyfriend while she relaxes.

I grab her phone to see what he's even saying. Maybe I can tell her how to respond to end the conversation. But Julia takes this as me giving my consent and kisses my forehead before running out. I roll my eye before blinking to focus on the texts but they don't make sense so I scroll up to about half an hour ago, where he seems to be asking her a lot about her day. I skip through the parts where they talk about shopping and the restaurant we went to until I get to the serious part.

You're not busy are you? he wrote.

no, what's up? Julia responded.

I'm just a bit frustrated.

oh no baby, what's wrong?

So you know how I went to see my father today? It didn't really end well...

what happened?

He has a girlfriend

He wanted me to meet her because apparently they're "serious"

they've only been dating for four months

Not to mention, I'm JUST finding out? Four months later?

oh shit

Sorry, I know I'm just dumping all this on you. I tried to forget about it but it's been a few hours and I'm still kind of mad, to be honest.

Babe?

I curse Julia for leaving him like this. Stumbling out of bed, I hurriedly knock on bathroom door.

"Julia!" I call.

"What?" she responds.

"This is serious stuff!"

"I know, that's why I was so freaked out."

"I can't pretend to be you! That's-thats... wrong."

"Well I can't get out now, I just applied this mask, it needs at least thirty more minutes to set! Fuck."

"Why would you leave him like this! He clearly needs someone to talk to, how can you even think about relaxing and taking a bath?"

"I'm sorry! But I freaked out and panicked so I came to you!"

"Well now he's panicking."

"I'm sorry, Aria, please don't yell at me, I don't know what to do in situations like this. He's never told me anything about his father before!"

I sigh deeply. That makes it worse!

"I'll talk to him, but you have to get out as soon as you can!"

"I will."

I go back to my room and sit on my bed. Harry hasn't sent anymore texts after that last one. I try to come up with something quick to excuse her absence.

hey sorry, aria nearly burnt the kitchen down i had to help her

I send the text with a terrible feeling growing in my chest.

Oh okay, that's ok. I thought you fell asleep.

I shake my head and glare at Julia through the wall for making me do this. I don't want to pretend to be Julia like this to Harry. I know I told Julia a lot of what to say or do in this relationship, but those were things I hoped she'd learn from.

Fuck that, right now Harry needs someone to talk to, and the he thinks the person he turned to abandoned him.

no, i wouldn't fall asleep on you, I continue.

why are you mad that your father has a girlfriend?

I dont know... I guess I'm just mad that he would even consider marrying someone else after my mother

My heart breaks a little for him.

but it's been a few years since your mother died

don't you think your father deserves to move on?

I guess. five years just seemed a little too soon

you can't decide how much time someone else needs to mourn and move on. that's up to them

you're right, but that doesn't mean he should have told me this late

Doesn't he care at all what I think?

he probably knew you wouldn't take it well. maybe that's why he waited until your exams were over

You're making it sound like he cares for me. he doesn't.

he does, harry. he's your father. of course he cares for you.

My father isn't like yours, Julia. He doesn't just call me up out of the blue and shower me with gifts to show his love. The only interaction i've had with him in months was the money he's been depositing in my account.

My heart aches for him. His father doesn't talk to him? I never knew that. Harry is always so positive and keen on keeping everyone happy that I never once thought he might have issues like this.

my father was the same. he didn't talk to me, only sent me money for months.

do you want to know what changed?

what

one day he wanted to have dinner with me and update me on his life, and ask about mine

after that, i visited him regularly even though i didn't really want to

and now we're actually getting somewhere in our relationship

He doesn't respond for a few minutes.

does that situation sound a little familiar?

I send the text hoping to get a text back from him. I dread that I may have overstepped and said too much.

You're right.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean to undermine anything you're going through

it's alright, you didn't :)

i just don't want you to look at this negatively. i know you don't like him, or the fact that he's getting married

but you have to try to make the best out of it, right?

When did you get so wise?

I have the smartest girlfriend in the world

I nearly choke on my spit. I'm an awful, awful person. I hate this, I hate doing this.

Before I can type out another response, he says:

Thank you for letting me talk to you. I really needed to hear this

Sorry if I kept you up, love

You should go sleep now :)

it's okay, you didnt :)

text me if you ever need to talk again

I love you.

I stand up. Marching to the bathroom, I'm about to pound on the door when Julia opens it.

"There," I fume and shove her phone at her. "Now you need to get your shit together, and be a better girlfriend," I say. Julia nods, tears welling up in her eyes. "Get some sleep, I'm going back to bed."

*** Please let me know your thoughts!

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#harry styles #harry styles fic #harry styles fanfiction #mastermind

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bee-kathony · 5 years

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McTavish & Beauchamp | Ch. 23 “Forgive & Forget”

a/n: thank you everyone who has read this story and loved it and thank you boo @julesbeauchamp for my amazing new moodboard (tumblr you suck bc my last one was great too)

Masterlist Here

April 1747

Two weeks later, Jamie left to find his father.

He kissed me goodbye on a cloudy early morning and my hand clutched his shirt, desperate to keep him with me, to keep him safe.

“Please be careful,” I sighed and pressed my forehead against his. “For me, for our little one.”

“I will, Sassenach. I dinna expect trouble.”

“There always seems to be trouble lurking around you though eh?” I smiled but it didn’t last — I was too concerned about him.

Jamie pulled me close, resting his chin on top of my head, “I’ll be fine, mo nighean donn. The ride is three days there and three days back. Colum has sent a letter ahead and I should be able to get him out.”

“But you don’t know what kind of condition he may be in,” I moved my head to look up at him. “What if he’s ill or hurt. After all, he’s been in the prison for nearly eight years.”

“I dinna ken, Sassenach,” Jamie smoothed my curls back from my face. “But I’ll try and be quick about it so I can bring him back to ye for ye to heal.”

“Let’s pray he won’t need healing.”

“Aye,” Jamie kissed me, his hands cupping my cheeks. “Ye be safe as well, Claire. Ye and the bairn — I dinna want ye exerting yerself too much while I’m away.”

“I’m barely three months pregnant Jamie,” I chuckled and slid my hand over my tiny bump. “I’ll be just fine here. Although with Laoghaire running around the castle, I’m not too sure…” I mused.

“Ye be nice,” Jamie squinted his eyes.

“I’ll play nice if she does,” I crossed my arms over my chest.

Jamie laughed and kissed my forehead. “Ah, Christ, Claire. I dinna want to leave ye here alone. I wish I could bring ye wi’ me, but I canna risk it.”

Pulling his hands around my waist, I pressed my head under his chin, “Just hurry back, solider.”

“I’ll be back. Wi’ my father.”

With a final kiss, he left me and climbed astride his horse and grabbed the reigns of the other horse, Jacque that would be his father’s.

Ever since he left, I hadn’t been able to focus. There wasn’t much for me to do at Castle Leoch except to heal a few bumps and scraps that happened throughout the day. Thirty-seven hours. That’s how long Jamie had been away from me. And I was counting every one until he returned.

++++++

“Mistress Claire?”

My hands were occupied with a needle and yarn while my mind was occupied with thoughts of Jamie and I didn’t notice that someone was calling my name.

“Mistress Claire, are ye alright?”

“What?” I turned my head towards the kitchen entrance to see Laoghaire MacKenzie, her hands folded neatly in front of her. She didn’t appear to have aged at all and when I met her eye, she took a tentative step back.

“Laoghaire,” I sighed and put down my needles. “What do you want?”

“I came to say hello.”

“Hello,” I replied shortly.

She just stood there, eyes stuck firmly on the ground.

“What else Laoghaire? You might as well spit it out.”

“I came to apologize,” she said softly and then met my eye once again.

“Apologize?”

“Aye, Mistress,” she said now louder and took a few more steps to come closer to me. Laoghaire had been the one who accused me of witchcraft and had tried to have me burnt at the stake. Thankfully I had escaped with the help of Jamie and had forgiven Laoghaire in my heart. Or so I thought.

“Go on,” I replied and crossed my arms protectively over my belly. I saw her eyes drift down and thought I saw a spark of jealously, but perhaps it was my imagination.

“I’m sorry for what I did to ye. Tryin’ to have ye kilt, I shouldna have done so,” she bowed her head and she truly did appear to be sorry for her actions.

“I forgive you,” I said and her head shot back up to my face. “But you must understand that Jamie is my husband. We have two children together and I am carrying another.” Rising to my feet, I walked forward to stand in front of her. “I love him and he loves me, do you know this now?”

She nodded solemnly, “Aye, I ken.”

“I don’t want to hate you Laoghaire but you make it awfully hard not to,” I laughed and her eyes widened and then softened at once.

“I ken that too,” she laughed. “I didna make it easy on the both of ye. If ye would pass my apology on to Jamie as well…?”

“You can tell him yourself when he returns, but he’ll be arriving with his father so it might have to wait a few days.”

“His Da?” Laoghaire asked, obviously shocked. “I kent he was dead years ago.”

“He’s alive,” I offered her this information purely because I needed to discuss it with someone and she was my best option as she was standing right in front of me. “Colum told him where to find him and that’s where Jamie’s gone.”

“I’ll no believe it til I see it wi’ my own eyes,” Laoghaire said and I agreed with her on that. I had been quite nervous that this whole thing was some scheming plot of Colum’s and feared for Jamie’s life. But there was no one at Wentworth that could do harm to Jamie and Jamie was no longer a wanted man — there was no reason for worry, but it didn’t stop me.

“Ye said ye have two children?” Laoghaire asked a moment later when I didn’t answer her. Lately I had bouts where I would stare off into the distance, only to be brought out of it by another person talking directly to me.

“Yes,” I smiled at the thought of them. “Faith is three years old and William will be two in July.”

“I bet they’re bonny,” Laoghaire smiled. “And stubborn. My grannie tells me about how Jamie was as stubborn as a mule when he first came to Leoch. I only kent him from far away, but he did get into trouble.”

I smiled and thought that perhaps Laoghaire wasn’t so terrible after all. Although I would never fully trust her because she did try to have me killed, but there was nothing wrong with trying to be civil.

“They do get their stubbornness from both me and Jamie,” I laughed. “And I expect this one will follow suit,” my hand slid over my stomach and Laoghaire’s gaze drifted to it once again.

“I hope to be a mam one day.”

Something overcame me, perhaps pity and so I took her hand and squeezed it, “You will. Once you find the right man who loves you as much as you love them. You’re still young and have time to find a husband.”

Her cheeks blushed and her ears turned pink. There was definitely something she was keeping from me.

“Have you already found someone?” I inquired and by the increasing color of her cheeks, the answer had to be yes.

“His name is Simon MacKimmie,” she admitted. “He lives in Balriggin and comes to Leoch often. I think I’ve caught his eye, but I’m no sure.”

“Have you spoken with this Simon?”

“No,” she shook her head. “I dinna ken what to say.”

Hoping I wasn’t talking nonsense, I offered her some advice. “Just talk to him how you would to talk to Jamie.”

“But Jamie never talked wi’ me much,” she fidgeted with her hands. “He was always too busy to speak wi’ me, I barely got a word in.”

“Well then talk with Simon how you would want to talk with Jamie. If this young lad is taken with you then he’ll keep up the conversation.”

“Aye,” she smiled and squeezed my hand. “The next time I see him, I’ll approach him. Thank ye, Claire. For being kind when ye have every reason no to.”

“You’re welcome,” I nodded. “Maybe next time, you’ll not accuse me of being a witch?”

With red cheeks, she nodded and I gave her hand a pat and release it. “Well thank you for coming to say something Laoghaire, it was kind of you.”

“Thank ye again, Mistress.” She stood there awkwardly and then her arms wrapped briefly around me and then she was left, heading in the direction of the main room. That was not exactly how I imagined my conversation with Laoghaire would go, but I was pleased it was pleasant.

++++++

Another two days passed and as I climbed up the stairs to Colum’s bedchamber, I thought of Jamie and whether or not he had successfully gotten his father out of Fort William. With luck, they would be ready to head back soon.

With a gentle knock on his door, I briefly waited before going in. Colum was lying there as he had before when we first arrived. His skin pale and he seemed to have aged overnight — his condition was worsening.

In my own time, there would have been medicines that would have helped immensely with the pain and surgeries that could have alleviated the friction his bones were feeling. But there was nothing I could do here save give him doses of laudanum.

“Mistress Fraser,” he said softly as I took the chair next to his bed.

“Master MacKenzie,” I bowed my head and then reached for his hand, pressing my fingers against his wrist to check his pulse — it was weak. “How are you feeling?”

“Everythin’ hurts, lass,” he gave me a weak smile.

“I can give you some opium, that will be a bit stronger,” I said and started to get up to go towards my small medical box I had brought but his grip on my arm tightened.

“No. I dinna want opium.”

“But it will help with the pain —“

“I need somethin’ stronger,” he urged.

“The only thing stronger than opium would be cyanide and that would surely kill you, Colum.” Once the words left my mouth, I understood what he wanted. He wanted to die. Instead of slowly rotting away in excruciating pain, he wanted to be the one to determine his own fate.

“Isn’t it a mortal sin to take one’s own life?” I leaned in close to him and saw the desperation in his eyes as well as the pain.

“I dinna care,” he smirked. “I’ll confess my sins to a priest before I take the cyanide, but I canna go on like this.”

“If I give you the vial, you must make sure it is what you want. There is no turning back once it’s in your bloodstream,” I said plainly.

Colum released his tight grip on my arm and nodded. “Tis what I want lass, I’ve lived wi’ this pain nearly my entire life. I want to be the one to choose how I go.”

“How very… noble of you.”

I rose to go to my medicine box and found it. A small vial of cyanide. Taken in this large a does would kill someone within hours. As I returned to the bedside, I briefly hesitated, wondering what this would do to my own soul, but in the end I handed him the vial.

“You must not tell anyone, Claire.”

“Even Jamie?” I said but knew that I would ultimately tell him because he was my husband and this was his kinsmen.

“I ken ye two dinna keep secrets,” he said what I was thinking.

“I��ll be sorry to see you go,” I smiled and then took his hand. I wondered where his wife and son were — I hadn’t seen them since we had arrived and hoped he would say his final goodbyes to them.

“I shoulda treated ye wi’ the same kindness ye treated me.”

“There’s no going back now is there?” I laughed and patted his hand, smoothing my fingers over his rough ones.

“I willna take it until I see Jamie again,” he said softly. “And his father. I need to make my peace wi’ him as well.”

Nodding, I squeezed his hand. “Hopefully they’ll return near the end of the week and you can do just that.”

Colum drifted off to sleep a moment later and I carefully released his hand and slipped out of the room.

When I returned to my own room later that evening, I found a rolled up piece of parchment addressed to me sitting on my bed. It was in Jamie’s handwriting.

I tore it open as quickly as I could and read his words. My heart leapt at seeing his messy scrawl and was comforted knowing that this piece of parchment made me feel close to him in someway.

Sassenach,

I found my Da. He is weak but no wounded. I’m writing because he needs to regain his strength before we return to Leoch and I didna want ye to worry. I hope this reaches ye before I return. Tha gaol agam ort.

Jamie Fraser

He found his father. I breathe a sigh of relief and sank down onto the bed, exhausted from the constant state of worrying. With Jamie’s letter in my hand, I drifted off to sleep, praying for his safe return.

#mctavish and beauchamp #jamie x claire #outlander fanfic #mclairefras #jamie fraser #claire fraser #chapter 23 #forgive and forget

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missnmikaelson-main · 5 years

Text

Tabula Rasa: Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I do not own The Vampire Diaries, The Originals or any related media.

Summary: 20.65 centuries… 206.5 decades… 2065 years… 24,780 months… 107,380 weeks… 18,089,400 hours… 1,085,364,000 minutes. It was a long time, so why had it passed in the blink of an eye? One minute she watched her husband die, the next she was lying on something very soft surrounded by strangers.

Warnings: Some chapters will be rated M. These chapters will have warnings at the beginning.

57 BC

Sixteen years was a standard age when most women married.

Just like all of those that came before her she was directed through the pre-wedding rituals. Amara and her mother had accompanied her to the temple of Artemis where she had left toys in dedication to the goddess.

She had winced when Amara had cut her hair. The locks that had once reached the small of her back were cut around her shoulders. She had dedicated the locks of hair to Aphrodite to signify her transition from childhood into adulthood.

She could have sworn Amara looked a little jealous while assisting her with the nuptial bath on the day of her wedding.

She whispered fervently to Amara as her sister walked alongside the chariot.

“Is no one going to tell me who I am marrying?” Her eyes flashed above the veil.

“We thought about it,” Amara smiled and whispered. Her voice just made it over the singing of their neighbors, “and I told mother I would tell you.”

Her eyes widened as she stared at her mirror image. “Why haven’t you?” She was literally on her way to her husband’s house; surely Amara should have said something by now.

“I thought it would be more fun to watch you figure it out,” Amara shrugged. Her lips had twisted into a playful smirk. “Come now, sister,” she nodded ahead to the path, “you must know where this chariot is headed by now. There is only one villa left.”

Amara saw the moment the knowledge entered her sister’s eyes.

“Did you really think father would consent to a marriage with anyone else?” Amara teased. “He knew you’d merely demand a divorce after a certain amount of time.”

“Why did you look so surprised?” Elias’ eyes glittered with amusement when she sat beside him later that night; really it was the next morning.

Their guests had all left after hours of feasting and toasting. The newlyweds had been kept apart for the majority of the evening. Only there in the early hours of the morning were they truly alone.

“What do you mean?” She tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. Her eyes widened when she caught the knowing smirk on his face. “Did you know?”

“Did I know what?” He caught her hand when she pointed a finger at him.

“You knew we were to marry and you didn’t say a word,” she gasped in mock outrage.

Elias lifted her hand to his lips and kissed her wrist. He saw the shiver race down her spine.

“I did know,” he laid a trail of soft kisses along the sensitive skin of her arm, “but I was under the impression your sister was meant to tell you.”

There was something about the way he said it. Something about the laughter in his voice that had her rolling her eyes and poking his chest.

“You told Amara not to tell me,” she accused lightly.

“I resent that assumption,” he caught her other hand and kissed her shoulder.

“I don’t hear you denying it,” she tilted her head to give him unrestricted access to her throat. Her voice was little more than a murmur.

His hand cradled her neck as he left a burning line along her throat and jaw. Hovering over her parted lips he grinned before standing up.

“What…” She exhaled and blinked at him.

He took her hand and pulled her to her feet.

“I want to show you something,” he walked backwards and held her hands.

“You want to show me something right now?” She tilted her head and laughed because of course he had something to show her.

That was the way with Elias. He was a terrible tease really; he loved to torment her until her body hummed with anticipation. They had often met beneath the pomegranate tree, or more often in the field of grasses where they had first seen each other; the protective charms around the terrain meant that Amara couldn’t find them with magic. Of course it also meant that she couldn’t sense Amara and as a result her sister had caught them a few times rolling around in the grasses half clothed.

“Yes,” he lifted her wrists and placed a kiss to each palm.

“Elias…?” She giggled when he circled behind her and covered her eyes with his hand.

“It’s a surprise,” he chuckled and brushed his lips over her ear.

She was grateful for the flat terrain. She was even more grateful when his hand guided her as they stepped outside onto the cool grass.

“Where are you taking me?” She couldn’t stop the laugh when she stumbled and he righted her with a hand on her waist. She shivered when his palm flattened over her stomach.

“Nowhere,” he smirked and pressed her abdomen backwards so she was flush against his front, “we’re just outside the villa.”

“I figured,” she snickered, “I am barefoot you know.”

“Yes,” he drawled, “and we both know how familiar you are with the feeling of grass beneath your body.”

“Not beneath my entire body,” she sighed.

“Well,” he ran his lips over her shoulder, “your sister is unlikely to interrupt us tonight. It might be time to acquaint yourself with the grass.”

“Am I going to get to see it,” she lifted her hand to his wrist, “or only feel it?”

Elias laughed and guided her forwards twenty paces before lifting his hand.

She gasped and lifted her hand to her mouth. Her eyes grew round as she examined the various flowers in the pre-dawn hours.

Chewing her lip to temper her smile she stepped out of his arms and ran her fingers over the plants in the garden: asters, daisies, lilies, chamomile, clover, myrtle, and many more including a few that she didn’t immediately recognize.

“What is all of this?” She took his hand when he came up behind her.

“Your garden of course,” he squeezed her hand and spun her slowly.

There was a low bench and a table in the centre of everything that she hadn’t seen before.

“I love it,” her mouth tipped up in a grin when she turned back to face him and cupped his cheek.

“I love you,” he dipped down to kiss her softly.

Her toes curled against the cool ground. By the time the sunrise illuminated the luscious garden they were both very familiar with the feeling of soft grass against their skin.

56 BC

Years passed as the couple fell more in love by the day. It was nearly three years to the day of their marriage when the whispers reached them.

It was Amara who brought it up to her sister.

“They are saying you’re barren,” she watched her sister grinding herbs in the garden.

“What?” She lifted her gaze from the mortar. “Who is saying that?”

“People,” Amara shrugged.

She took that to mean Qetsiyah. Amara had been her handmaid since before her sister’s marriage and the two had become friends of a sort.

“If you are,” Amara continued and twirled a red leaf between her fingers, “Qetsiyah knows of a way to counteract it.”

“I am not barren,” she rolled her eyes, “and I know what herbs to use as well.” She wiped some sweat from her brow and sat beside her sister on the bench. “Elias and I discussed it when we were first married and decided to wait a few years before having children.”

“You’ve done it to yourself?” Amara leaned forward and gasped.

“I’ve done nothing,” she held up a hand, “I just used acacia and honey to ensure we didn’t conceive until we were ready; you know that most woman who die in childbirth are below eighteen.”

Amara nodded her head slowly. She had long ago learned to bow to her twin’s superior knowledge of magic and herbs. Amara had never shown any interest in the subject in spite of her sister’s insistence that she would do beautifully if only she were to try.

Amara’s head snapped up a second later.

“You ‘used acacia and honey’?” Amara arched an eyebrow. “Does that mean you will welcome a child soon?”

“It means we are ready to welcome a child soon,” she nudged her sister’s shoulder, “stop staring at me like that. I am not with child yet.”

Amara nodded and watched her sister return to her earlier task.

“What are you making?”

“It’s for privacy,” she said, “these herbs placed in strategic places will keep conversations private.”

“How private?” Amara stood and fingered the red flower in her hands.

“If I were to place this in my chamber and seal the door,” she set down the pestle and poured the contents into a leather bag, “you would not be able to hear a conversation inside even if your ear were pressed to the wood.”

“And what does this do?” Amara lifted the leaf in her hand.

“That one,” she plucked the blossom from her sister’s fingers, “is the key ingredient to immortality… but only when combined with the right herbs.”

“You know the secret of immortality?” Amara tilted her head and blinked slowly when her sister nodded. “There are many that would kill for that.”

“I know,” she smiled softly.

“Are you ever going to create it?” Amara helped tidy the table.

“No,” she shook her head, “I have no desire to live forever.”

“You’ll willingly die knowing you could have lived on?”

“Yes,” she dropped the herb onto the ground. “I fully believe that my life will be beautiful. Death brings peace with it, and pain is the cost of living.” From the corner of her eye she saw her husband in the villa. “Like love, it’s how we know we are alive.”

Amara followed her gaze. “I should think that if I ever found a love like that I would want to treasure it forever and never let it go.”

57 BC

She jumped and covered her shriek with her hand. Her heart pounded in her chest as she leveled the beautiful woman with a stare.

“Qetsiyah,” she gasped and covered her fluttering heart, “you startled me.”

“I do apologize,” Qetsiyah smiled sweetly, “that was not my intention.”

“Really,” she couldn’t stop the eye roll, “you didn’t intend to frighten me by sneaking into my garden in the dead of night?”

Qetsiyah shook her head and ran her fingers over the long table.

She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was about to be asked for something. Qetsiyah’s eyes held a guarded question.

“Did you know your sister and I are friends?” Qetsiyah wandered across the grass.

“I was aware of that.”

“She is more than my handmaid,” Qetsiyah continued. “A few moons back she and I drank a little too much wine and she told me she knew the witch who understood the secret of immortality.”

She paled when Qetsiyah’s dark eyes landed on her after plucking the red herb.

“That’s a secret I won’t share,” she swallowed. “It’s a dangerous secret to know.”

“Could you be persuaded to create the spell then?” Qetsiyah held up the leaf Amara had described to her. It seemed unremarkable to her, but her handmaid’s sister had always had an affinity with that which grew from the earth. “I am in love and I want to live forever with him.” She continued before a protest could be made. “I can understand your own refusal but I am choosing this. I would create the spell myself but you already know it; you could save me years of toil by telling me or you could make it for me.”

She hesitated when the herb was placed in her hand.

“There is a price,” she ran her finger over the red leaves, “there is always a price for such things. Yes, you would live forever, but would cease to age, be unable to have children, and you would no longer be a witch.”

She had thought the last would be enough for Qetsiyah to change her mind and leave, but the other woman surprised her by smiling brightly.

“What is such loss in the face of true love? I would gladly pay that price for an eternity with him.”

She took a deep breath and lifted her eyes from the herb in her hand. She had promised herself she would never share the secret with anyone; it would live and die with her. Slowly, almost reluctantly she nodded her assent.

Qetsiyah grinned and wrapped her arms tightly around her slim body.

“Thank you,” Qetsiyah released her and stepped back, “when will it be ready?”

“I’ll need some time,” she closed her hand over the herb. “Come back on the full moon and it will be prepared along with a cure to turn you human again.”

“I won’t need that,” Qetsiyah shook her head.

“I’ll make it anyway,” she promised, “on the chance one day you might change your mind.”

Tags: @rissyrapp20 @elejah-wonderland @elejahforever @eternityunicorn @morsmornte @fandomrulesall

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moonchildhcs · 5 years

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parkjin hcs!

high school au! uwu

okay all of yall are different ages with woojin, chan, minho, and changbin in their last year, the 00 line in their middle year, and jeongin in his first year (with u and persi)

yall are taking,,, drum roll please,,,

art 1 !

listen. these mad lads went straight for their music and dance which is FINE but mandatory one year of art so yall are in a class together! strange,,, but that is the class all eleven of yall share and its,, fairly chaotic

well, mostly because of the crackheads (you, felix, minho, and jisung) who congregated in the back corner and get kicked out three times a week for their antics but like. the rest of yall are chillin and are good diligent students !

well,

for the most part

see the thing is,,

you get your stuff done all the time !! in fact youre probably among the first to turn their stuff in !! like WOWZA ur fast

but, that, is, because, u, want, maximum, time, to, daydream, about,,,,

HYUNJIN

you never really interact with him because hes an uppcerclassman and hes got his friend group and stuff and ur best buds with the Crackheads ! but like. hes so CUTE and SOFT and TALENTED like truly... an ideal boyfie

and your friends make fun of you ALL THE TIME ! like.. you finished your work and youre goofing off with the mad lads in the corner and then jisung will nudge you and go “oOoOoO he glanced in our direction i wonder what that could mean”

and ur like. we are. so loud. the loudest ppl in the class. hes probably a lil annoyed but on the inside ur like “WEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOOWEEWOO” like ur having an internal meltdown bc dance god visual god just looked in your direction

but then the teacher comes by and ur head goes down a wee bit and you add some finishing touches to ur project as the teacher bags on the rest of the Crackhead Squad for goofing off in class and theyre asked to step outside and take a breather and once they think they can behave they can return to class

which MEANS they aint comin back

so you take this opportunity of Tranquility to do your fave activity ...

daydream abt ur crush and stare at the back of his head wistfully ! and its real cute and wholesome and stuff and like

when he turns to ask woojin about something for the project you see the lil mole under his eye and the sunlight catches his soft hair just right and ur just losing it because hes SO SOFT like bitch what the absolute fuck !! why did god pop off so hard making him

and then... It Happens

youre gazing at him, lost in space as you daydream about holding his hand and going on ice cream dates, he turns around to ask woojin something again and as he does so Yall Make Eye Contact and you FREAK

not externally but internally youre literally on fire and you dont know what to do

so out of instinct you do a quick peace sign and he gives you a little smile and then goes to do what he intended to do (ask woojin how the hell ur supposed to paint this)

and youre LOSING IT like not only did he acknowledge you but HE SMILED AT YOU!! HOLY SHIT !! BITCH WHAT THE FUCK OH MY GOD

youre lowkey hyperventilating but its fine because class ends and its your last period so you pack up your bags and head out to walk home with lix, jisung, and minho!! and theyre like wiggling their eyebrows at you and you KNOW theyll tease you but. you need to share this interaction.

and lemme tell you THEY LOSE IT TOO!!! bc hyunjin is a Shy Lad there is no way he caught you looking at him and let it pass !! he had to like you theres no way he didnt NOT like you yknow??? it is Out Of His Character he usually ignores that stuff

and ur like haha no guys its not that deep !! but internally ur freaking out Because Oh MY God What If It Is That Deep so you decide,, to hatch a plan to confess

and the thing is,,, IT IS THAT DEEP

hyunjin is lowkey losing it because. he usually Minds His Own Business and he knows hes popular among people for being cute but ur just. so funny and cute and wholesome and oh wow is his heart beating a lil fast?

YES IT IS !! and hes like u know what?? heck it ILL CONFESS and hope she likes me and this wasnt a coincidence hhhh

so. yall are hatching your plans to confess

hyunjin goes to persi, resident Secret Holder for the laid ease, and reveals that you like nice bright flowers !! like roses, sunflowers, orchids!!! and that you really like pretzels and chocolate almonds uwu

and you go to seungmin and jeongin, who reveal that hyunjin loves forget-me-nots! and he has an affinity for strawb milk and the golden oreos!!!

the thing is,, yall are kinda cliche. like,,, shoujo manga kinda cliche. so if it isnt obvious already yall are hatching THE SAME CONFESSION PLAN HHHHH YALL ARE SO C U T E

so yall draft letters upon letters, spilling your hearts out in its contents !

hyunjins letter is pure white, smelling a bit like his cologne ! it has no marks on it or anything

your letter is light pink and smells like your perfume! its closed with a red heart sticker uwu

yall slip a little note onto each others desk asking to meet each other on the rooftop and ur both like FUCK I HOPE THEY COME EARLY SO I CAN REJECT THEM BEFORE THE PERSON I ACTUALLY LIKE COMES

because,, since yall dont interact much yall dont recognize the others handwriting sgfgfdghf literally dumb bitch hours

anyways yall both SPRINT to that rooftop after school but you were nervous so you got a pep talk from ur friends, the lads, before going up

so once again, yall dont realize. that you have. the same plan.

so hyunjin is waiting there all nervous HOPING youll come first and not whoever else planned on confessing

and youre sprinting up the stairs, hoping whoever planned on confessing wasnt there yet but hyunjin is so that you can confess

and as you burst through the door, pink letter in hand, your eyes zoom to the letter in hyunjins hands and ur like. Oh. Oh Dear.

and hyunjin looks at you, then the letter in ur hands like. Oh. Oh Dear.

so you two shyly exchange letters, faces burning red as you read through the confession

and the thing is at one point in your letter you mention how it would be a dream to even hold is hand so he just. this absolute cheeseball. he hold your hand and goes “i guess dreams come true!” and you LOSE IT because oh my god hes such a NERD !!!! but now hes your nerd :^)

so yall go to the park afterwards and split your snacks between the two of you, monching and talking until the stars are twinkling and you guys realize FUCK THERES HOMEWORK

so you go home to do your hw! and yall put the flowers in a cute vase, right next to your beds :^) as a reminder ! (though hyunjin presses some of them with the help of his mom so he can preserve them forever oopsies_

and when yall walk onto school the next day hand in hand, hyunjins friends are like “NICE” but also super shocked bc HYUNJIN?? DATING???

but then your friends. your mad lads. absolutely fucking LOSE IT they are hooting and hollering and you are like Oh My God I Am So Sorry and hyunjin just. does a lil smirk and kisses ur cheek and u are sent into SHOCK and your friends are in cardiac arrest because holy fucking SHIT

and you two are literally the school’s it couple like initially some people were hostile because they wanted to date hyunjin !! but after a while they accepted it and grew to love the both of yall together, from your wholesome interactions to slight crackheadedness

its just so CUTE he always brings you like a rose or smth every day and ur like “this must be expensive” and hes like ! “for you, nothing is expensive” and ur like “ur so cheesy” and hes like “only for you bb :^)”

also now your side of the class has merged with hyunjin and his friends now joining yall crackheads and its cute uwu

#parkjin

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nadiineross · 6 years

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Chlodine with kids!!!!!! Maybe Nadine’s little siblings I can imagine her having a huge family. Or Chloe having a secret son or daughter from her more wild days and Nadine not finding out for like years and being like !!!

imma do nadines family bc my thoughts on chlodine + kids are Complicated and also someone else wrote a fic abt chloe w/ a secret kid im waiting on an update !!! lots of e•mo•tions

this got rly long

Chloe Frazer is, without a doubt, an only child. Nadine had never assumed anything else and would’ve been very surprised if she learned otherwise, but as it stands, this is not the case.

Nadine, on the other hand, has four siblings. She’s the oldest, having the responsibility of inheriting Shoreline and bearing the brunt of her father’s expectations. He wasn’t a bad father, all things considered. Sure, he had his faults like everyone does, but he never neglected her nor did he seek to pressure Nadine into a future with Shoreline. That was all on her and, upon realizing this, he had only tried to push her into it further, to support her.

In the end, it didn’t really pan out, huh?

No one in her family blamed her for the loss of Shoreline. In fact, they had all tried to pitch in when Nadine had truly hit rock bottom and did their best to make her feel better. The incessant phone calls and hugging, she accepted. Their money? She did not.

Now, two years after the fact, she finds that she’s much happier, lighter, in her new career path and her family seems to agree.

“Nadine!” her brother, Junior, hollers the moment she steps through the door. “You look great!”

He’s the second child, only two years younger than her at 30, and the one she is the closest to because of it.

She barely manages a greeting before she’s engulfed in a tight bear hug. Quickly, another weight is wrapped around her back and one of her legs is ensnared by a pair of smaller arms. Like moths to a light, her family.

The compulsory family reunion in their old family home in South Africa is something Nadine secretly looks forward to, though she would never say that aloud, lest she wants to be razzed to death by her siblings.

After Junior comes Mia, who turned 29 only last week (Nadine had flowers delivered and mailed her a beautiful bracelet she’d found snooping through old Greek ruins), and finally Grace, 24.

As it turns out, it’s Grace that barreled into her first. Behind her, her mother fusses with her hair and around her leg is Junior’s 6-year-old son, Blessing.

“Ma,” Nadine croaks out around a mouthful of Grace’s hair. “Leave me alone, I’m going to the barber next week.”

Her mother does not leave her alone. “You don’t call for three weeks and this is the first thing you say to me?”

Grace lets go, snickering at Nadine’s apprehension. Nadine glares.

After Junior and Mia get their turns hugging her, she ducks away from her mother’s grabbing, muttering a quick “love you!”, and scoops Blessing up into her arms. He instantly shrieks with glee, trying to claw up her arms and settle on her shoulders.

Junior’s wife, Vivienne, a plump Filipina with enough wit to beat Grace in an argument, presses a brief kiss to Nadine’s cheek as she passes by.

“Don’t mess with Auntie’s hair, boy,” she says, sternly. “Grandma will make you do the dishes.”

Blessing giggles, clearly unaware of what’s going on. Nadine rolls her eyes. “All right, all right. Where’s Rose?”

“She’s at a friend’s birthday party. It’s a sleepover. Apparently turning 10 is a really, really big deal.”

“2 months until you have to throw that party for her,” Nadine says with a laugh.

“Ugh, don’t remind me.”

It’s then that Mia cuts in, only pausing to poke Blessing on the nose, and stands directly in front of Nadine just to annoy her. “Viv, I need pregnancy advice. Is it normal having to pee this much? I hate it. This is why I didn’t drink enough water when I was in high school.”

Well, that’s her cue. She elbows Mia sharply in the back before hurrying into the kitchen where her mother and Junior are to avoid retaliation.

They’re preparing to set the table, so she makes to hand Blessing off to Junior except he does an impressive job of wrapping himself around her back like a sloth on a branch. Junior bellows out a laugh.

“He likes you more than me.”

Nadine pulls a face. “Ma likes you more than me, so it evens out.”

Nadine’s mother thwacks her over the head. “I don’t play favourites.” Grace whisks by, picking up the plates as she does. Her mother follows after her with the rest of the plates. “Never mind, Grace is my favourite.”

Junior makes an indignant sound from the back of his throat.

“Can—Can you take a picture?” Nadine asks, gently removing Blessing’s entire hand from her face. “I’d like to show my— Chloe.”

“Sure,” Junior says, raising an eyebrow. “Your Chloe?”

“Shut up,” she huffs.

Blessing chooses this exact moment to sling himself over her shoulder, making her yelp and grab onto his arms to steady him. He laughs, waving his fists in the air like he has won something.

Chloe will love that picture.

“Eish, what are you feeding him?”

Junior tucks his phone away and grins a boyish grin. “Love.” Nadine wrinkles her nose. “Viv learned how to make some kind of pasta and he’s obsessed with it. We have leftovers still in our fridge.”

He stops disjointedly, in a way that makes it clear he expects a reaction from Nadine.

She frowns. “Okay?”

“Where’s Chloe?”

“Australia, with her mum. She flies in on Sunday.”

Junior hums and pushes a salt shaker with a single finger, looking too nonchalant to actually be nonchalant. “You and Chloe are welcome to come over for pasta, if you want and if you’re still around next weekend.”

Nadine, jaded from years of being the oldest sibling, is instantly wary, narrowing her eyes at him. “What’s the catch?”

“There is no catch.”

“Liar.”

Junior huffs, plucking Blessing out of her arms and setting him onto the island. “Seriously. No catch.”

“Okay,” she says slowly, cautiously, “We’ll come over for dinner next Friday?”

“Great! Show up at 6:00.” He claps his hands together. “Reheat the pasta and have a glass of wine, on me. Rose needs help with math homework and Blessing likes to watch Kim Possible, we have DVDs. Bedtimes at 8:30; Blessing usually passes out earlier. We’ll be back midnight at the latest.”

“You said there was no catch!”

“Does spending time with your beloved niece and nephew really count as a ‘catch’?” he asks, snooty, with air quotes to top it all off.

Nadine sighs. “Yes, but we’ll be there.”

She loves family reunions, really. Especially the fact that it’s only compulsory once a year, barring Hanukkah.

Chloe has met her siblings and her mother before. Not during the family reunion due to unfortunate timing, but on separate occasions over the year and a half they’ve been working together. She has never met Rose or Blessing.

Junior and Viv like her enough to have a group chat with her (one that Nadine has tried to join, but had been ruthlessly denied entry by her partner after a sharp cackle), so she’s not surprised that the first thing Chloe says to her after catapulting herself into Nadine’s arms at the airport is: “Heard I’m a babysitter. Try not to crush on me, china.”

Nadine had laughed into her neck at that, made a quip about how she smelled like an aeroplane.

Now, they’re on Junior’s porch, seeing the happy couple off on their date night.

“What are your intentions with Viv?” Chloe jokes, nudging Junior with a conspiratorial wink. Viv snorts.

“Curfew’s eleven,” Nadine calls after them.

“They grow up so fast.”

“Ja.” Nadine smiles then, leaning against the door so Chloe can pass through first. “Ready?”

“To eat good food, drink, and watch 2 kids for a couple of hours? Not that hard, is it?”

Nadine bends to take off her shoes, about to reply with something smart, but Blessing comes pounding down the hallway, blowing right past Chloe and taking an impressive leap onto Nadine’s back. He snakes his arms around her neck and wiggles his legs until she stands.

Nadine gives Chloe a look.

“All right, maybe I misjudged.” Chloe leans closer in, curious, face startlingly close to Nadine’s. “Hey, I’m Chloe. You’re Blessing, right?”

Blessing squints, puckers his lips, then gives one decisive nod, chin digging into Nadine’s shoulder. “This is Auntie.”

Chloe’s face dissolves into an endeared beam. “I know her!”

Nadine tries very hard not to flush out of pure adoration. She’s not sure if it works because Chloe doesn’t mention it.

“Where’s your sister, B?”

“Here,” Rose says, skidding down the hallway in her socks. “Who’re you?”

Chloe holds out a hand which Rose takes and shakes enthusiastically. “Chloe. I work with your Auntie.”

When she turns, Nadine furrows her eyebrows, hands tightening imperceptibly under Blessing’s legs. She tilts her head when Nadine brushes by, suddenly feeling bereft.

Before Nadine can disappear into a room, Chloe stops her with a hand on her stomach.

“Don’t tell, but I think she has a crush on me,” Chloe stage whispers to Rose. “I told her not to.”

Rose’s eyes grow wider. “Do you like her back?”

Chloe stands then, smiling at Nadine brilliantly. “I do.”

This time, Nadine’s certain she’s blushing and judging by how Chloe’s started to leer at her, she must look redder than usual.

Before Rose can ask any more questions, Nadine hikes Blessing higher up and moves towards the end of the hallway.

“C’mon, Rose. Let’s watch some TV while Chloe heats dinner up,” she says, jerking her head towards the kitchen door for Chloe. “Your dad said you need help with math?”

Rose lets out a very loud and long groan at that.

After Nadine is directed to the collection of Kim Possible DVDs and sets it up, she sends Rose off to grab her homework. Then, she pries Blessing away from his Barbies and props him against one hip.

Chloe’s humming a tune and opening random drawers when Nadine finds her in the kitchen. She’s got an apron hanging from her neck, even though she’s literally just popping something into the microwave and opening a bottle.

Blessing reaches for the counter, so she sets him down. “Chloe, I’m hungry!”

Chloe spins and catches Nadine’s eye briefly. “Yes, yes,” she says, “give me a minute, love. Impatience runs in the family, I guess.”

Nadine chuckles, crossing the distance and tugging the loose ends of the apron. “You’re one to talk.”

“Oh, hush.” She leans back a little, into Nadine’s warmth.

She turns after a beat, corners of her mouth tipped up, and catches Nadine’s mouth in a kiss. It’s nice, for about two seconds, then Blessing starts drawing out an “eww” and smacking his palms on the table.

Chloe pulls away, eyes still half-lidded. “I was gonna say they were adorable, but…”

Nadine huffs a laugh and narrows her eyes at Blessing. “What are you complaining about?”

“Rose does that when mama kisses daddy,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Hm,” she says, “keep doing that, champ.”

Chloe barks out a laugh, lightly slapping Nadine’s arm. Nadine grabs her wrists, kissing her chastely before pulling away completely.

“The forks are behind you.”

“Thanks,” Chloe says, not moving and hauling her back in. Nadine looks unimpressed.

Blessing groans again.

“What does the apron say, soldier?” KISS THE COOK. That’s probably Junior’s. She grimaces at it with great disdain. “So?”

In response, Nadine untangles herself from Chloe and places Blessing into his usual spot at her hip.

“Ah, figures.”

Rose is waiting in the living room when they all return, pasta in hand; one bowl each for the kids and a big plate for Chloe and Nadine to share. Fewer dishes to do this way. Plus, Nadine only has one hand to spare, the other keeping Blessing from wriggling onto the floor.

After setting the bowls down, Chloe presses play on the first episode and puts the volume lower so Rose can concentrate.

Poised over the couch, Nadine cranes her neck to watch Blessing tuck his face into her back, holding on stubbornly.

”Off! Off, off, off.” After a moment, he grabs tighter onto her shoulders. “No?”

Blessing shakes his head. “No.”

“You asked for it.” She grabs onto his legs for safety and starts to hop in place—once, twice, three times. Blessing squeals in her ear. On the fourth time, she drops into a squat, so that his legs are on the couch and scrapes him off her back. “Time for dinner, B.”

He pouts, eyes wide. “Aw, boo.” It takes her a hot second to resist that. Atrocious.

She pushes the lime green bowl and matching plastic fork into his hands. “If you want to grow taller than your sister, you gotta eat up.”

When she looks over to Chloe, she’s on the floor next to Rose with her homework out on the coffee table some ways away from the couch. She’s watching Nadine, jaw cupped in her palm, with a soft look.

Nadine, self-conscious, looks away and scoots closer to Rose’s other side. “What?”

“Nothing,” Chloe says after a beat, bending closer to look at Rose’s paper. Almost immediately after, she touches Rose’s hand before she can write something down and quietly points out her mistake.

They get through two episodes in relative peace before Blessing decides that he’s done with his dinner and bonks the bottom of the bowl lightly on Nadine’s head. Chloe stifles a laugh at Nadine’s exaggerated outrage.

She takes the bowl from Blessing, towering over him as he giggles madly into a pillow.

“This is my shield,” he declares.

Nadine crosses her arms. “That’s not fair. I don’t have a sword.”

“Victory!”

Chloe doesn’t try hiding her delight this time.

It’s only another Kim Possible episode later that Blessing calms down enough to sit still on the couch. Nadine scrapes his leftovers onto their shared plate.

Rose has picked her entire bowl clean and has been sipping at a glass of milk Chloe had gotten for her when Nadine had been busy entertaining Blessing. When Nadine offers her a second serving, she just shakes her head, brows furrowed at the question on her paper.

Finally, she turns her attention to Chloe who is, funnily enough, engrossed with the Kim Possible episode playing.

She jerks her head up when Nadine places her hand on her back, startled.

“Go eat on the couch, I’ll watch Rose.” She promptly shoves the plate into Chloe’s hands and plops down onto the ground, leaving no room for argument.

“Last one,” Rose says, tapping her pencil on the table.

Nadine leans over her arm to look at the paper. “Do you need any help?”

“Nope,” she replies, popping the p. She scribbles something down, then crosses it out. “Auntie?”

“Ja?”

“I think Chloe likes you,” she whispers, glancing back at Chloe who’s using Blessing’s head as an armrest while he squirms under her, mouth open in his best attempt at a roar.

Nadine tries not to smile, turning back to Rose. She fails. “You mean like-like?”

Rose puts her pencil down and scowls at her. “I’m not 8. I can say love.”

“You’re 9.”

Rose scoffs, pointedly going back to her homework.

Nadine feels nervous all of a sudden, and bizarrely, embarrassed. She’s 32, Chloe 35, and they have yet to say the L-word. Not that she can presume to know how Chloe feels, but she knows how she feels.

They’ve been officially together just over a year now. The months before it, they had spent sleeping with each other sporadically when they met up for a job. Back then, Nadine knew how she felt too. Her feelings hadn’t been quite as deep as they were now — maybe fondness. She felt that whatever they had, if they both allowed it, would last and for a very long time.

A year, they’ve lasted so far. She knows all the little things now. Chloe’s morning routine, her weird figures of speech, which side she sleeps on. She knows the important things and the unimportant things that Nadine cherishes equally to the former.

They have lasted and strengthened, taking Nadine’s feelings lightyears past simple fondness. She wonders sometimes, considering the trajectory, if she can find the words to describe it if her feelings stretched past love. For now, that word will do.

She loves Chloe, this she has known for months. Chloe certainly likes her in a way that extends past the shallow.

She drags a hand down her forehead. It’s one thing to think it, another to confront it head-on, but Nadine Ross has never been a coward. Cautious, yes, but not cowardly.

She puts her chin on the table, watching the top of Rose’s pencil wave in the air as she writes.

“I like Chloe too,” Nadine says, voice low because if Chloe overheard, she would never hear the end of it.

Rose finishes what she’s written with a flourish, then copies Nadine, putting her chin on the table. “Only like?”

“More than,” Nadine replies, pausing to gather her courage. Then, scandalously: “Love.”

“Ooh, Auntie,” Rose teases, mocking, in a whiny tone that you’d expect from a pre-teen boy sneering “cooties!”

“I thought you were mature,” says Nadine, reaching out to poke Rose’s cheek.

Rose turns her nose up. “I’m only 9.”

Nadine laughs. Rose is so obviously Junior and Viv’s child, she can’t help the sudden urge to hug her.

She gets away with swinging Rose into the air and carrying her over her shoulder, running twice around the room as she laughs and lets Nadine do this without complaint. Afterwards, they collapse onto the couch where Chloe’s got Blessing in her lap, the both of them watching the screen intently.

Rose gets comfortable, settled between Chloe and Nadine, while Nadine tries to sneak pictures of them all together.

She gets away with two before Chloe cuts away from Ron Stoppable in his tree house and looks directly at the camera. She gives Nadine a winning grin, tightening her arms around Blessing’s middle.

By 8:30, Blessing’s dozing off on Chloe’s sternum, snoring lightly. Similarly, Rose is nodding off against Nadine’s arm.

Sharing a look, they both get up, carrying a Ross in their arms. Nadine shushes Rose when she jolts awake, instinctively rocking on the balls of her feet in an attempt to get Rose to fall back asleep.

They go up the stairs to another hallway, Nadine leading Chloe to a door that has the letter R painted on it in baby blue. She sets Rose down in her bed, pulling the blanket over her shoulders and turning the A/C off in case it gets colder at night.

“The night light,” Chloe whispers. Nadine flips it on before ushering Chloe out, towards the door with B painted in mauve.

Chloe does the motions: tucking Blessing in, checking the A/C, and finding the night light.

Nadine leans against the doorframe, waiting for her to finish with the curtains. It’s weird, seeing Chloe like this. Not in a bad way, no. Nadine finds that she can watch Chloe do this for hours, fascinated.

There’s a warmth blossoming in her chest, the kind she feels when she’s come home for the first time in a while for Hanukkah and her family is gathered around the room, closer together because it’s cold outside.

Nadine is not entirely sure what she’s supposed to do with this.

In the end, Chloe finishes up and interrupts her introspection, shooing her away so she can close the door. As is natural by now, Chloe grabs her hand and gives it a pull towards the stairs. Nadine grips back before she can drop her hand away.

They don’t speak until they’re back in the living room, Kim Possible still playing on low volume. They won’t leave until Junior and Viv get back, in case the kids wake up again.

Out of nowhere, Chloe makes a thoughtful noise after easing onto the couch with a sigh.

Nadine examines her face, eyebrows hiking up when Chloe’s eyes flick to meet hers and discovers that they are arrestingly determined.

She uses her free hand to pull Nadine in for a languid kiss. It’s fairly innocent for them, so Nadine’s unsurprised when Chloe settles back into the couch after they part, focused on the TV.

“Liefie,” she says, waiting for Chloe to look over. “I think I like the babysitter.”

Chloe chuckles, pressing into Nadine’s side. “That’s convenient. I think I like the babysitter, too.”

It’s quiet then. Nadine’s content like this.

They get through three and a half episodes of Kim Possible before Chloe makes a really undignified noise at something that happens on screen and Nadine has to hide a laugh behind a cough. Chloe catches it and scowls at her.

“Hey now, Ross, that wasn’t—”

“Calm down, I won’t tell anyone that you’re a die hard Kim Possible fan.”

Chloe harrumphs, sprawling onto Nadine more so that she’s half on top of her.

Nadine winds her arm around Chloe’s waist and turns so her nose brushes Chloe’s cheek.

“Liefie,” she says again.

“Mhm,” Chloe replies distractedly.

“I love you.”

Chloe stiffens, and in quick succession, relaxes, tenses, and relaxes again.

She turns her head, swaying back so she can see Nadine’s face properly. Then, she smiles, eyes wrinkled at the corners and all, and says, “I love you too.”

Nadine can’t help but kiss her. This one is longer, more earnest.

And Chloe pulls away, sucking in a breath. “We should pick this up when we go back to the apartment.”

“Self-control? For once?” Nadine says against her jaw.

“I want to watch my favourite show: Kim Possible,” Chloe replies, voice light with mirth. “You’re just here for the commercial breaks.”

“It’s a DVD.”

Chloe blindly pats her face, mhms absentmindedly, and accepts a kiss to her cheek.

Nadine loves her for it.

#chlodine #chlodinefics #yall wanna validate me w some comments? i read all ur tags lmao #anyway! SHUT_UPPPPPPPP.jpg i LOVE them . me writing this: god i wish i died #anyway i hav that chloe on death bed prompt to get to but its 12am so maybe tomorrow #anonymous #ask

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rgedgwe · 3 years

Text

The Zamboni word mark

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

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