#3) this man has never been inside an uber in his LIFE | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sapphic-gardn · 1 year ago

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Dancing With The Devil

dbf!joel miller x f!reader

Summary: Your dad’s best friend, Joel Miller runs into you at a bar on the night of Halloween. He’s a gentleman and takes you home.

Warnings (18+ mdni): age gap (not specified), drinking/alcohol, intoxication, swearing, pet names (darlin’, sweetheart, angel, baby, babygirl, etc.), f!masturbation, oral f!receiving, fingering, oral m!receiving, unprotected p in v (pls dont do this irl), creampie, dirty talk, joel calls reader a slut literally just once, if im forgetting anything pls let me know!!

Word count: 4.9k

a/n: Hi!!! I’ve been working on this one shot for awhile—I really hope it is everything and more for you guys! I am posting this in place of Willow pt. 3 due to a bit of writer’s block but trust it will be posted soon!! As always, please let me know what you think. I love you so much.

Also thank you to @gracieheartspedro for helping and encouraging me on this one. I can’t even begin to thank you enough, my love.

—

Halloween is your favorite holiday. For one night out of the year, you get to be anything you want, unashamedly. It’s an escape from reality, a dip into another life. And confidence comes easily when you’re pretending. You scan over your costume in the reflection of the floor length mirror in front of you—a too-tight red dress adorns your curves, black fishnets hug your thighs, and bright red stilettos accentuate your figure.

“C’mon! We gotta get to the club before the line gets too long,” your best friend appears behind you and places the headband with devil horns in your hair, “There. Perfectly slutty.” She rests her head on your shoulder and admires your costume in the mirror. She is dressed as your opposite, an angel.

“Stop panicking! The uber is still five minutes away, Pheebs.” Phoebe’s a worrier, and is never ever late anywhere, so the fact that you two are leaving fifteen minutes later than you originally planned, has her buzzing with anticipation.

While Phoebe paces back and forth at the foot of your bed, you dig through your makeup bag for your favorite red lipstick. You slightly over line your cupids bow and blend the color with your finger. You lean back and study yourself for a minute, you look hot. Phoebe interrupts your thoughts when she starts yelling about the Uber driver’s arrival. With a tug of your arm, both of you are trampling out of your apartment door in your six-inch heels on wobbly legs.

The club is suffocating. In your drunken state, the strobing lights and the bodies grinding up against you make it so much worse. Phoebe is dancing with some guy dressed as a vampire, she looks extremely unimpressed so you decide to take it as your chance to leave. You pull Phoebe away from the handsy man and shoot him an apologetic smile—you’re not sorry at all.

You feel like you’ve been resuscitated when you step out into the cool autumn air outside.

“Thank god you rescued me from Dracula. Guy was about to get his fake blood all over my white dress.” You and Phoebe share a laugh and lean against the brick wall behind you. The alcohol seems to hit you harder once removed from the chaos inside of the club. You scan the buildings lining the street in front of you and a bar name captures your attention. It’s the bar where your dad frequents with his buddies after work, one of his buddies being a painfully gorgeous dilf, Joel Miller. You know for a fact your dad won’t be there because your mom dragged him to some Halloween work party she wouldn’t stop talking about over the phone yesterday.

An idea pops into your brain and you can’t shake it, so you point to the bar across the street and tug at Phoebe’s hand, “Let’s go there! It’s probably less crowded and I’m not ready to call it a night,” you give your friend your best puppy dog eyes, and she begrudgingly gives in with a roll of her eyes and an okay, fine.

The dive bar smells of stale smoke and spilled beer. Random sports games are televised on multiple screens against the far wall and a jukebox sits in the corner playing a classic rock song from the 80s. It has character, you think to yourself. It’s a breath of fresh air compared to the marble top bars and sparkling chandeliers that decorated the club you just left. You and Phoebe definitely stand out from the crowd of middle-aged men loitering around the place. It feels a bit intimidating getting checked out by pervy old men as you strut to the bar, but it’s too late to turn back now. Plus, you are looking for a certain someone.

You scan the hefty crowd and search for the man with familiar brown curls and a scruffy beard. You double check every table and bar top with no luck, he is definitely not here. With a disappointed sigh, you chug your vodka cran and tell Phoebe you’re ready to head out.

Just before you get up to leave, you hear your name being called by a husky voice behind you. You would know that voice anywhere. You turn around, and there he is in all his glory. A tight, navy blue t-shirt hugs his chest and his biceps are about to tear the seams. He greets you with a half smile.

“Mr. Miller! What’re you doing here?” You act surprised, at least you try your best to act surprised with the alcohol running through your veins.

“Sarah’s out trick or treatin’ with some friends, got tired ‘a givin out candy, decided on gettin’ a beer to pass the time.” He scratches the back of his neck and looks at you sheepishly, “uh, I think I should be askin’ you what you’re doin’ here. You tend to hang at a bar with a buncha old farts?”

You giggle, “Not necessarily, no. Pheebs and I were just having a nightcap after clubbing. Oh! How rude of me. Phoebe, this is Joel. Joel, this is Phoebe, my best friend.” You gesture between the two of them and give Phoebe’s shoulder a light squeeze while her and Joel share a quick handshake.

“Nice to meet you, Phoebe. Well, I should let you girls go on your way. I’ll see ya around, then.” As you bid your farewells to Joel and start to walk forward, you nearly fall flat on your face. Maybe you were more drunk than you thought. “Woah there, easy, darlin’.” Joel grabs you by the hips to steady you before you trip over your own two feet.

“‘M sorry, Mr. Miller. I think I drank a little too much. I’ll be okay, we’re gonna order an Uber anyway.” Your hand lays flat against his chest and you bashfully look at him through your eyelashes. You’re so close to him, you can smell his cologne. Pine? Maybe a hint of sandalwood. You can see the specks of gray hidden in his beard and the crease between his eyebrows. He is so beautiful, you just keep repeating that to yourself over and over as you study his face. He is also too old for you and your dad’s best friend, you remind yourself.

“Nonsense. I’ll give you girls a ride home, your old man would kill me if I let ya walk outta here barely able to stand up on your own.” Joel keeps a hand firmly planted on your upper back as Phoebe leads the way to the exit.

Joel’s truck is an old Chevy with a single bench. You’re sandwiched between Joel and Phoebe. Phoebe’s head is resting against the window as she drifts in and out of sleep, but you are wide awake and laser focused on your thigh brushing Joel’s. Electricity shoots through you with each bump in the road, pushing you and Joel closer together. The music on the radio plays at a low volume, so low you can hear the way Joel breathes. The way his breath hitches in the slightest every time you two touch unintentionally.

You’re giving Joel the directions to Phoebe’s place, which is difficult considering you’re drunk and everything is mush in your brain. But by some miracle, Joel finds Phoebe’s apartment building, and you walk her to the front door, hugging her goodbye.

When you get back in the truck, you return to the spot on the bench right next to Joel.

“Y’could move over now, if that’s more comfortable for ya, darlin’,” you hum in acknowledgment at Joel’s suggestion.

“Mmm. Don’ wanna. ‘S comfy, you’re so warm,” you’re definitely playing up your drunkenness but it doesn’t hurt if it means you get to be a little closer to Joel. You nuzzle your head against his muscular shoulder and sigh in contentment as you feel yourself getting sleepy.

Joel chuckles, a deep laugh that vibrates through his chest straight to your temple, “Alright, sweetheart, whatever makes ya happy,” he then lifts him arm and stretches it across the back of the seat, letting you cradle into his side. You soak in the moment, relishing in the way the lights whir past you along with the houses lining either side of you. The way Joel’s breathing is steady but his heart rate is just as fast as yours. You can smell his detergent on his shirt and you can feel the way his muscles tense and relax with each turn he makes with the wheel. You could probably do this for hours, just driving down random streets, the radio quietly playing being the only sound in the confines of the car. But, all good things must come to an end, such as pulling into your apartment complex’s parking lot and untangling yourself from Joel’s warm body.

No words are exchanged on the way to the lobby, or the elevator, or even walking down your hallway, just a silent reassurance by Joel’s hand on the small of your back—a message—I want to make sure you’re okay. When you get to your door, you purposely fumble with the keys and wobble on your heels. Your plan works out perfectly.

“Here, lemme get the door. I’ll walk ya to bed and get you a cup of water once we’re inside.” Bingo.

Joel swings the door open and you stumble past the threshold, immediately kicking off your stilettos. His hand finds its way to the small of your back again, gently leading you to your kitchen. You plop down on a chair and watch Joel search the cabinets for a glass. You are more than capable of telling him where they are, but you like watching the way his biceps stretch the fabric of his shirt every time he reaches to pull open a cabinet door. Once he finds a glass, he fills it with the tap and saunters over to you.

“Here ya go, angel. Gotta get you hydrated.” Joel holds the glass out to you, and you guzzle it in a few gulps, “Thirsty girl, ain’t ya? Feelin’ any better?”

“Mhm. Much better. You make it better,” a close lipped, content smile paints your features as you set the glass down on the table and get up from your seat. Now chest to chest with Joel, you place a hand on his chest and look up at him. With the heels now discarded, he towers over you. You note how his pupils dilate a bit when your eyes meet.

“Let’s get you to bed, sweetheart,” Joel feels his chest tightening with each second your hand lingers on his sternum. He wants nothing more than to close the distance between you two and lose himself in the feeling of your lips intermingling. But he knows you’re off limits, you’re his best friend’s daughter and too many years his junior. So he locks those thoughts somewhere in the depths of his brain and grabs your hand to lead you to your bedroom—just so he can make sure you’re okay, at least that’s what he tells himself.

Joel enters your bedroom first, absorbing the intimate space you call your own. Old vinyl records line your shelves and plants sit on your windowsill, overgrown and cascading to the oak flooring, a book sits on your nightstand with a pair of glasses sitting atop the cover. He scans your walls and notes the art you’ve chosen to decorate with, modern paintings of silhouetted bodies intertwined. Your desk is littered with pencils and journals, one is open to a sketch of a tree. It smells like you, vanilla and jasmine, he feels himself getting intoxicated each time he inhales. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees you moving around, you’re fumbling with your dresser, digging through the drawer trying to find something.

“Jus’ sit down, darlin’, what’re you lookin’ for?” Joel gently moves you aside and guides you to sit on the edge of the bed.

“I’m just looking for one of my big sleep shirts. It’s an old Texas Longhorns shirt. You can’t miss it, it’s probably at the bottom of the drawer somewhere.”

“Alright, angel. I’ll find it for ya.” Joel has his back turned to you as he rummages through the balled up shirts in your drawer. You take this moment as your cue to make a move. You slowly start sliding your thin straps down your shoulders, careful to not expose your chest just yet. “Found it!” Joel seems elated that he found the shirt you so desperately wanted, it’s endearing. When he returns his attention to you, the piece of clothing falls from his hands to the floor beneath him. You are leisurely pulling your dress down over the curve of your breasts, maintaining eye contact as you do so.

“Can you help me get this dress off, Joel? Please?” You feign innocence and gaze at him with doe eyes. Joel is looking anywhere but you, clearly fighting his inner voice telling him what’s happening is wrong.

“I think you can do that yourself, honey. I don’ want your daddy t’kill me,” Joel stares at the ceiling, cursing whatever higher power there is for putting him in this situation. He feels you step closer to him, the tension palpable in the air shared between the two of you.

With your dress pulled just below your breasts, you take both hands and gently pull Joel’s head down to look at you, “Joel, I know you want this just as bad as I do. We’re both adults. I won’t kiss and tell, c’mon.” Your hands trail from his jaw to his neck, to his collarbones. Joel sighs, his face contorted into a look of contemplation.

“I-I can’t, darlin’. I want to, trust me, I really want to,” Joel engulfs both of your hands in his own and presses them to his heart. He is searching your eyes, for some sign of reluctance, but all he can find is pure lust.

Your hands travel south, skimming his clothed abdomen, over his soft belly, until your fingers hitch on his waistband, his words contradicting the growing bulge in his jeans. You run your nails side to side under the band of his boxers, making him visibly shudder. Then you lean in while standing on your tiptoes, and you gently place an open-mouthed kiss on his neck.

Joel grunts at that. All reason leaving him the moment your plush lips touch his bare skin, “Fuck it,” Joel grabs you by the jaw and kisses you hard. It’s electric, the kiss knocking you into stone-cold sobriety. With his other hand, he grabs you by the waist and starts leading you backwards to the edge of the bed.

When the back of your knees hit the mattress, you pull Joel down with you onto the white duvet. Joel breaks the kiss to admire your exposed chest, “Fuuuuck, baby, you’re so beautiful.” Joel takes one of your tits in his mouth, swirling his tongue around the sensitive nub, while his hand pinches and plays with your other nipple. He removes his mouth from your tit with a loud pop, moving to the other one with the same treatment.

“F-fuck, Joel, need more, please,” you’re whining and writhing beneath him. It feels so good but you need his hands in your lower region now or you might explode. Joel peels off the rest of your dress, leaving you in small spandex shorts over your fishnet stockings. With one swift motion, Joel discards the tight shorts onto the floor.

Joel can barely form a thought as he looks at the sight before him, “No panties, baby?” Your pussy is bare beneath your stockings, making Joel salivate at the obscene vision.

“Please, Joel, please. Need you so bad. Wanted this for s-so long, I touch myself thinking about you,” you are on the verge of tears, aching to be touched where you need it most, but Joel is just gawking, taking pride in how he makes you squirm. Joel stands from the bed, leaving you confused and visibly more upset, “W-what are you doing?”

“Show me, baby.” Joel has a smug smirk on his face as he watches you grasp what he’s implying.

“Wha-what?” You are baffled, you are mostly naked, sprawled out on your bed for Joel to take you however he pleases and he’s asking to watch you touch yourself?

“Show me how I make you feel good, angel. Wanna see your pretty little fingers fuck that tight pussy.” The brashness of Joel’s words make you audibly moan. Instead of taking the black fishnets off, you start to rub yourself through the holes over your clit. You never break eye contact with Joel, gathering the slick between your folds and pushing a single finger in, using the heel of your hand to stimulate your clit.

Your eyes rake over Joel’s chest, his shirt taut against his burly stature. With just a few thrusts of your fingers, you’re close, it’s the fastest you’ve ever approached an orgasm, but Joel palming himself through his jeans while he watches you get off is unbelievably hot.

The coil in your lower belly snaps and your eyes roll back, you’re chanting Joel’s name like a prayer as you fuck yourself through your climax.

Joel groans and quickly approaches you on the bed, capturing you in a deep, passionate kiss before pulling back, “That was so hot, baby, nearly had me cummin’ in my damn jeans. I gotta taste you.” Joel trails kisses down your sternum, to your abdomen, to your mound, and stops just before your most sensitive area. He looks at you for approval, you furiously nod your head, eager for whatever he has in store for you. Next thing you know, he is ripping the fabric of your stockings that covers your pussy with no effort at all.

“Look at that pretty pussy, all for me. It’s mine,” the hunger in Joel’s eyes is unlike anything you’ve ever seen before, all-consuming and animalistic.

“All yours, Joel. Fuck! All y-yours,” you tug at his hair, grounding yourself with the soft feel of his brown curls just to confirm that you aren’t dreaming.

He starts with a long stripe along your folds, gently prodding his tongue into your entrance. You’re still so sensitive, your thighs are shaking as he holds them down over his broad shoulders. He’s sucking and slurping you, twirling his tongue over your sensitive nub every so often. He’s taking his time, learning what pleasures you most, experimenting with different techniques. He is memorizing the way your pussy feels throbbing against his tongue, how you subtly grind your hips onto his nose to chase your high. You taste so sweet, like nectar dripping from a ripe peach, he could lick and suck and fuck you with his tongue all night.

Joel is relentless, eating you in earnest, he removes his hand from the grasp on your thigh and brings two thick fingers to your mouth. You obey his command, taking both fingers in your mouth, hollowing your cheeks and using your tongue to lubricate them, the taste of Joel blanketing your taste buds. Joel removes his fingers from your mouth and places them at your entrance, sliding in one digit with ease and fucking you slowly before adding a second. He is knuckles deep in your pussy and his fingers are much bigger than yours, stretching you with a delicious burn.

“Baby, you’re so fuckin’ tight, fuuuck,” Joel comes up for air, never letting up the pace of his fingers entering and leaving you.

The rough callouses on his fingers provide a whole new sensation. It’s overwhelming in the best way possible. Every ridge a foreign sensation that has you reeling. He suddenly crooks his fingers to hit the spongey spot in your pussy, sending you to cloud nine. He knows just the right places to focus his fingers that have you bucking your hips up. When he returns to sucking your clit, you feel yourself teetering on the edge of your second orgasm.

“You’re so close, baby, I can feel it. Let go f’me,” your body obeys Joel’s words and you unravel before him, letting your whimpers and moans roar through the four-walls surrounding you. Joel slurps up every drop of your nectar like a man starving. You push his head away at the full-body feeling of overstimulation.

“Oh my god, Joel. Holy fuck. I need to suck your cock, please,” Joel gets up from the bed and you sit at the edge, immediately reaching out to undo his belt. He helps you undress him, tossing his shirt, jeans and boxers aside with the pile of your clothes laying on the floor. His cock springs to attention, his tip weeping and red. He’s big, much bigger than anyone you’ve been with before.

The shock must be present on your face when Joel takes your chin between his thumb and forefinger and tilts your head up to meet his eyes, “Don’ worry baby, we’ll make it fit,” he glides his thumb over your plump lower lip then leans in for a gentle kiss, a silent gesture of reassurance.

Your nimble fingers find his shaft, the skin feels silky beneath your touch, your fingers barely touching as they wrap around the girth of him. You gather the precum leaking from his tip and spread it along the length of him. You pool your saliva and hold eye contact with Joel as you let a thick string of spit dribble from your lips to the tip of his cock. You spread it slowly up and down the length of his dick.

He throws his head back and hisses, “Shiiiit, that’s it, good girl. Get my cock nice and wet for that pretty little mouth of yours. Open up,” at Joel’s request, you part your lips and flick your tongue over his slit before wrapping your lips around the fat tip.

Joel grabs a fistful of your hair at the nape of your neck and gently guides his dick further into your mouth until he hits the back of your throat. You release your hand from the rest of his shaft and brace yourself on his muscular thighs as he slowly starts to fuck your throat. You are breathing through your nose, trying to swallow him further with each thrust.

You peer up at Joel through wet eyelashes, admiring the look of sheer bliss on his face. His other hand is lightly pressing the base of your throat, feeling his cock go in and out.

With one swift thrust of his hips, he holds his cock in place down your throat. You are gagging, tears streaming down your face from the pressure and your red lipstick is smeared everywhere but your lips. You can’t help but touch yourself listening to Joel’s grunts and heavy breathing.

“This turn you on, babygirl? You like your throat getting stuffed with this big cock? Hm?” Joel releases you from his grip to let you answer. A string of spit and precum connect your lips to the tip of Joel’s cock. You are gasping for air, holding yourself upright with one hand on Joel’s thigh, and still rubbing your clit with the other.

You can barely form a coherent sentence, “Y-yes, I l-love it, J-Joel, s-so h-hot,” Joel chuckles, pulling you up by the armpits and meeting you halfway in a sloppy kiss, all teeth and tongue. He guides you to lay back on the bed, hovering over you, holding himself up on his forearms.

“Baby, you got a condom somewhere ‘round here?” Joel starts to reach for your bedside table, you grab his wrist to stop him.

“No, Joel, wanna feel you,” you guide his hand to your breast and place a kiss on his jawline.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, darlin’.”

Joel fists his cock and brings it to your clit, lightly tapping the bundle of nerves, making you moan. He drags the tip through your folds, gathering your slick before slowly inserting the head of his cock into your entrance. Your face contorts with pleasure and pain, he’s barely in and you feel the stretch.

“You okay, baby?” Joel cradles your face with his large calloused hand and searches your eyes, a look of concern washed over his features.

“Yes, yes. Keep going, please,” you plead with Joel. Joel nods his head and places a soft kiss to the tip of your nose. He goes slow, you can feel every ridge and vein of his dick as he sinks into you further. The massive stretch of his girth burns so good.

When he bottoms out, you can feel him in your guts. You’re so full of him, so consumed by him in every way. He stills, letting you adjust to the size of him. The burning you feel quickly fades and you’re left craving more.

“Move, baby. Please, Joel…move,” Joel starts with shallow thrusts, examining your expression with each movement. He loves the way you catch your bottom lip between your teeth to contain your moans. He basks in the way your sweat mingles with his, a way of marking you as his own. His primal instinct takes over and he pulls out completely before plunging into you hard. Your pussy is squeezing his cock with each deep thrust.

The mixture of sex and Joel’s musk fills the air, you’re so close to him, you can see a drop of sweat forming at his hairline. His curls stick to his forehead and his lips are red and puffy. His mouth hangs open as he watches where your bodies meet, his shoulder muscles are flexing each time he fucks into you. Just the picture of him before you can send you into oblivion.

Joel brings his thumb to your clit and starts rubbing it in small circles. Your eyes roll back, you feel the white hot fire burning in your lower belly.

“Nuh uh, babygirl. Look at me when you cum. Wanna see those pretty eyes,” Joel’s words shoot straight to your core, and when you meet his gaze, you completely lose it. Your climax hits you like a truck, it completely consumes you, sending you to another dimension.

You can’t contain the noises that emerge from you, it’s a string of incoherent curses and Joel, Joel, Joel, Joel. As you come down from your high, everything is blurry, except for Joel. He looks so fucked out, watching you expose yourself to him in the most vulnerable of ways.

Joel suddenly pulls out, scoops you up and tosses you down onto your belly, “Get on your hands and knees f’me, baby,” you scramble onto all fours and arch your back, looking over your shoulder at Joel. “Jus’ like that, fuuuck, fuckin’ perfect little slut for me, ain’t ya?” Joel calling you a slut makes your pussy clench around nothing. With no energy left to spare, you just moan in response.

He thrusts into you with no warning, making you yelp. At this angle, he feels impossibly deeper, the tip kissing your cervix each time he shoves you full of his cock. Joel’s grip is bruising on your hips, sure to leave marks that will fade to purple by the morning. His pace is frantic, sending your body into overdrive. Every one of your nerve endings feels like they’ve been lit on fire, the overstimulation sending you into a fucked out daze.

Joel grabs you by the hair and yanks you up into a vertical position, his hand snakes around your throat while his other arm is secured at your waist. You can feel his coarse stubble on the shell of your ear, his lips whispering filthy words that make your pussy pulse around him. The room is spinning, your only hold on reality is the feeling of Joel surrounding you in his strong embrace.

Joel’s fingers find your overstimulated clit, he’s pinching and rubbing, making you wriggle in his tight grip.

“One more for me, you can do it, baby. Can you be my good girl?”

“I-I c-can’t,” your pleas fall on deaf ears, Joel doesn’t let up in the slightest.

“Yes, you can, baby. You’re alright, I gotcha. One more, that’s all I need,” you just nod in response, letting yourself feel every sensation lighting you on fire.

Joel’s lips find your pulse point, he begins sucking and biting, then licking and soothing each mark. You feel him everywhere and it’s too much. Your whole body tenses as your fourth orgasm of the night takes over your body. Joel has to hold you upright as your body convulses and your vision goes white.

As you feel your climax nearing an end, Joel’s thrusts become sloppier and start to falter.

“I’m gonna cum, baby. Where d’ya want me?”

“Inside, please, Joel. ‘M on the pill. Want you to fill me up,” at the sound of those words falling from your lips like sweet honey, Joel stills inside of you, whimpering and moaning in your ear. You feel the thick ropes of cum coat your walls and drip down the inside of your thigh.

Joel pulls out with a hiss, the action leaving you feeling incredibly empty. He falls onto his side on the bed, taking you with him. You turn in his arms to face him, admiring how peaceful he looks.

You relish in this moment, noting the way your bodies are intertwined. The sound of Joel’s heartbeat rings in your ears and settles in your memory. You mindlessly draw hearts on Joel’s chest with your pointer finger. He stares at you through hooded eyes, on the verge of sleep.

“What are you thinkin’ about, beautiful girl?” Joel kisses your forehead, you feel him smile against your skin.

You giggle, giddiness consumes you, “Jus’ thinkin’ about how you just ruined every other guy for me,” it’s a true statement, but you aren’t disappointed in the slightest. This is all you want, now and forever.

“I ain’t lettin’ any other guy come near you again. You’re mine now, sweet girl.” Joel pulls you closer against his chest and kisses the top of your head, inhaling your scent, basking in it.

A toothy smile creeps onto your face, “I’m yours, Joel.”

—

a/n: if you made it this far—hi! thank you!!! this is my first time ever writing smut so please be kind :,) sending you so many hugs and kisses <3

taglist (i just used my taglist for willow im sorry if you didn’t want to be tagged):

@ramblers-lets-get-ramblin @alejaa-a @cool-iguana @littleshadow17 @planet-marz1 @alyhull @joeldjarin @lizzyervs @joeldjarin @casa-boiardi @loveisacowboyyy @thegrlwholivedd @ashleymsnodgrass @ilovepedro @dilfspitdrinker @bastardmandennis @breakfastatjoels @gracieheartspedro @chaotic-mystery

#dbf!joel #joel miller #joel miller smut #joel miller fic #dbf!joel miller smut #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x you #joel x reader #joel miller apologist #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x female reader #joel tlou #dbf!joel miller

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shybluebirdninja · 18 days ago

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FADED DAYS: PART 7 (THE FINAL)

Summary: In a bleak world where Logan has lost his purpose, an unexpected connection with his nurse brings a spark of humanity back into his fading life as an Uber driver.

Pairing : Uber-Driver!Logan Howlett x Nurse!Fem-reader

Genre : Heavy Angst

(Part 1) (Part 2) (Part 3) (Part 4) (Part 5) (Part 6) (Part 7: The Final)

The hospital room is dim, the steady beeping of the heart monitor filling the silence. You sit by Logan’s bedside, the pale morning light casting long shadows across the floor. The air feels heavy, thick with the weight of what’s coming.

Logan’s eyes flutter open, his breath shallow and labored. He looks older than you’ve ever seen him, his once-powerful body now frail and weak. The sight of him like this tugs at something deep inside you—a feeling of helplessness you can’t shake.

“Hey,” you say softly, trying to keep your voice steady. “You’re awake.”

He turns his head towards you, his brow furrowed in confusion. It takes him a moment to recognize you, but when he does, a faint smile tugs at the corner of his lips.

“You’re still here?” His voice is raspy, barely above a whisper.

“Of course I am,” you reply, squeezing his hand gently. “I told you I’m not going anywhere.”

Logan chuckles weakly, the sound more of a wheeze than a laugh. “Stubborn... just like me.”

You smile, though it feels hollow. You can see how much pain he’s in, the way his body is betraying him. It’s not fair, you think—not after everything he’s been through. Not after all the times he’s fought, survived, lived through unimaginable pain. But this? This slow, cruel decay? It feels like the universe’s last, twisted joke.

“You should... go,” Logan says after a moment, his voice barely audible. “Ain’t no point in... watching this.”

“No,” you say firmly, blinking back the tears that threaten to spill. “I’m staying right here.”

He sighs, his eyelids drooping as exhaustion pulls him down again. “Always were a stubborn one.”

For a long time, neither of you speaks. You just sit there, holding his hand, listening to the rhythmic beeping of the machines, the soft hiss of the oxygen tank. Logan’s breaths come slower, more strained, and every second that passes feels like it’s slipping away too fast.

“Logan,” you say quietly, breaking the silence. “I... I don’t want you to go.”

His eyes flicker open again, and he turns to look at you. There’s something different in his gaze now—something softer, more vulnerable. The barriers he’s spent a lifetime building are finally, irrevocably down.

“Everyone goes, kid,” he says, his voice hoarse. “It’s just... my turn.”

A lump forms in your throat, and you can’t stop the tears from spilling now. “But it’s not fair.”

Logan lets out a breath, his hand squeezing yours weakly. “It never was.”

You take a deep, shaky breath, trying to hold yourself together. But it’s hard—so damn hard—watching the man who seemed indestructible slowly fade away in front of you.

“Remember what I told you,” he murmurs, his voice barely a whisper now.

You nod, your heart aching. “I remember.”

Logan closes his eyes again, his breathing ragged. His hand is still in yours, but it’s grown weaker. The tremors that once wracked his body are gone, replaced by a stillness that scares you more than anything.

“I’ll miss you,” you whisper, the words catching in your throat. “Even if you’re a grumpy old bastard.”

A faint, almost imperceptible smile crosses his face. “Yeah... me too.”

There’s a long pause, the quiet stretching out between you like an eternity. Logan’s breaths are shallow now, and you know—deep down—you’re at the end.

But you don’t feel ready. You’re not sure you’ll ever be ready.

“Hey,” you say, your voice cracking. “Logan...?”

His hand goes slack in yours.

The beeping of the heart monitor slows, each beat dragging out longer and longer until it finally stops. The sound that follows is a flat, unwavering tone that seems to echo in your chest.

And then, silence.

You sit there for a moment, frozen, unable to move. The reality of what’s happened hasn’t fully sunk in yet. Logan—grumpy, stubborn, impossible Logan—is gone.

The tears come hard and fast, and you don’t bother trying to stop them. You bury your face in your hands, your shoulders shaking with the force of your sobs. It’s not just the loss of Logan—it’s everything. His pain, his loneliness, the fact that no matter how much you cared, you couldn’t save him from this.

It’s later when the nurse comes in, a solemn expression on her face. She doesn’t say anything—just gently touches your shoulder and nods toward the door. You know what she’s asking without words.

But before you leave, you lean over Logan one last time, your heart heavy with grief.

“Goodbye, Logan,” you whisper softly. “You weren’t alone. Not in the end.”

You stand and walk away, leaving the room, leaving him behind. The door clicks shut behind you, and with it, an era ends. But somewhere deep down, you know that Logan—fierce, broken, brave Logan—found some peace in those final moments. That, somehow, he didn’t leave this world alone. And that’s enough.

(THE END)

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space-heat3r · 2 years ago

Note

Do you mind if I ask your top 10 favorite characters (can be male or female) from all of the media that you loved (can be anime/manga, books, movies or tv series)? And why do you love them? Sorry if you've answered this question before.....Thanks....

Thank you for the ask!

In all the media I've loved? That's a hard oneee. I don't think I could put it in any particular order buuut:

Liu Qingge (SVSSS) -

I am enamored with this man for some reason. He's so so so pretty and I love his character. Fiercely loyal and like a personal uber driver to SQQ. He's such a sweetheart even if he doesn't show it and I love every single scene he's in. In the years that SQQ was "dead", I really liked how he stopped at nothing to try and retrieve his body from Luo Binghe so that he could have a proper burial (even if he was unsuccessful) and the way he returns SQQ's fans whenever he loses them. He just wants to protect the ones he cares about and I want to give him a big big hug.

2. Hua Cheng (TGCF) -

I truly love his dedication and pure infatuation with Xie Lian, as well as the fact that this man is FINE. His character has so much depth and his willingness to do anything for XL is so beautiful. His 800 years of commitment and the way he is willing to give his everything to XL AGH he's so amazing.

Also. He's SMOKIN. Like scalding. Like HOT DAMN.

3. Hajime Hinata/Izuru Kamukura (Danganronpa) -

Since these guys are technically the same person, I'm just gonna count them as one.

Hajime is my favorite protagonist of the Danganronpa games and I love that at first you think he's a pretty basic dude, like "Oh yeah there's not much to write home about him." But then you see his sassy quips and his slight tsundere personality which just adds to him, and then you learn about his backstory and his entire character as a whole changes for you. His need to be accepted, his insecurity and deep longing for approval in which he takes drastic measures in order to try and accept himself. He agreed to be lobotomized not knowing that him as a whole was just going to disappear. Enter Izuru Kamukura. Who honestly I just think is really cool and there's not a lot I have to say about him tbh. Like even though he's kind of a completely different person, parts of Hajime still make their way through to who he is.

4. Nagito Komaeda (Danganronpa) -

I find him to be one of the best written antagonists in Danganronpa, his intentions always somewhat insane but when you learn about the meanings behind them, he's always calculated and intentional. Also, due to his terminal illness that he somehow outlasts due to his luck, he struggles in social settings, which I think adds to the depth of his character and how he sees things. He really doesn't think much of himself and yet manages to have a superiority complex over people he deems "lesser" than him (which then changes after the events of the Dr3 anime). Also I just think he's pretty goofy haha. He's pretty kooky and I like him a normal amount (lie).

5. Kurapika Kurta (HunterxHunter)

He is SO PRETTY. I really love a good revenge plot and I enjoyed his character a lot. I thought his powers were really interesting even though they took years off of his life :(

(Also I want his earrings)

6. Zhuzhi-Lang (SVSSS) -

I think he deserves so much love and I just want to give him the biggest warmest hug. He deserves so much. He's so loyal and willing to do anything for those who have been kind to him and made him feel like a person rather than a monster.

7. Lan Wangji (MDZS)

His pure LONGING and adoration for WWX are just so precious. He seems all aloof and chaste and pure but on the inside he's a lovesick and pining mess. I can never get over the scene where he hears WWX's confession and you can just see how this is all he's ever wanted and finally, finally, he can be with the one he loves with all of his being.

8. Chiaki Nanami (Danganronpa) -

Chiaki is so sweet and kind and truly cares so much about her friends. She gave up her life believing in them and knowing that a brighter future awaits them. She's so loving and knows that she may not be with them, but she will forever live on in the hearts and memories of the ones dearest to her.

Also: Gamer.

9. Shen Qiao (Thousand Autumns)

Shen Qiao is just so benevolent and good-hearted, he really just deserves the best things and yet draws the short-end of the stick continuously. He's such a sweetheart and such a beauty, I love himmm.

10. Miles Edgeworth (Ace Attorney) -

Honestly I just really enjoyed his character and his interactions with Phoenix. He is so gay.

#Ok this took me a long long time #I had to think for a WHILE #Ask #Long post #Svsss #tgcf #mdzs #danganronpa #thousand autumns #qian qiu #Hunterxhunter #hxh #sdr2 #Ace attorney #I really wanted to add Wei Wuxian but my list of loves is too long #Actually Ball Monokuma is my number one sorry guys

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number1mingyustan · 2 years ago

Text

Away From Us (10:38PM) ✹

fwb!au, yeonjun x fem!reader

Genre: Angst, Smut, Friends With Benefits Au

Warnings: mentions of sex (no smut), cursing, yelling, mild violence, toxic ass relationship, mentions of cheating, mentions of alcohol

Summary: Yeonjun doesn’t believe your claims of being over him, and deep down inside neither do you.

Word Count: 1.7k

(a/n: genuinely so sorry it took me so long to post this, i’m gonna try to update every weekend. and this will be a part 3 for this)

It’s been about a month since you’ve last seen Yeonjun. It wasn’t uncommon for the two of you to go this long without contact.

Your relationship operated in a cycle. Him and Ara would fight, he would get upset and come to you. Aside from that, he really only came to you (or had you come to him rather) when he was bored or simply felt like it.

However, he stayed on your mind constantly. Every time he crossed your mind, you felt a swell in your chest. Your heart tightens with discomfort. You’re not going back to him.

The moment you closed the door to his apartment after your last encounter you were unable to hold back your tears. You sobbed, walking the walk of shame back to your car before locking the doors. You screamed, you cried, but most importantly you’d made up your mind about him.

After a little bit of a tantrum you were left with a clear head. You were going to cut him off. No more late night texts or calls, no more one sided love, no more him.

Funnily enough, it’s 10:38 pm and Yeonjun is bored. Zara’s out of town for some girl’s weekend and he’s got some time to himself. Oddly enough, the call doesn’t go through when he tries to call you.

He tries it again.

Nothing.

That’s weird, you always answer the phone.

What’s truly odd to him is the fact that the call isn’t even going through. Maybe she just forgot to charge it.

He knows you’re home right now, and he truly considers going over to your place. Granted, he’s bored horny and his girlfriend is out of town. However, actively seeking you has never been a thing for Yeonjun.

Actively pursuing a woman at that. They always sort of came to him naturally, he loved it. Watching girls just like you come back every single time because they couldn’t get enough of him. Isn’t it every mans’s dream?

Sure, there were those few times he drunkenly ended up at your apartment because you were on his mind and he gave the uber your address. But actively chasing after a woman, Choi Yeonjun would never.

Besides, the only reason he wound up at your place those few times was because he wanted to hook up and not have to deal with Ara for the night. You’d never had the heart to kick him out, allowing him to spend the night.

And when he did, you always an advil and water next to the side he slept on and made breakfast. He’d be out of your hair immediately after he ate, nonetheless he was living the life. Free meal, warm bed, no nagging from Ara, and incredible sex? He just might have to show up drunk to your place more often.

Matter of fact, he thinks he’ll do it sober.

A loud knock on your door startles you, completely shifting your attention from the Netflix show playing in front of you. You climb off your bed, adjusting your oversized hoodie before making your way to the door.

You raise onto your tippy toes to look through the peephole only to see… Yeonjun? Your throat goes dry and you swear your heart momentarily stops beating.

You figure he must be drunk again , and decide in your mind that’s you’ll just call and uber for him and send him off.

You unlock the door, opening it halfway. His tall figure looks down at you with a smirk as he leans against your door frame.

You stare back at him blankly. Your heart is racing in your chest. It’s only been two weeks since you’ve seen him, why is this so hard for you?

“Hi baby,” he smirks. “I missed you.”

Your stomach twists uncomfortably at the sound of his words.

“What are you doing here?” you ask.

“Just told you I missed you,” he says, entering your apartment without invitation.

He closes the door behind him. You look at him dumbfounded. He chuckles. “What? Didn’t miss me?” he jokes.

“Have you been drinking?” you question, ignoring his.

“Nah,” he tells you truthfully. You don’t let it show, but his response takes you by surprise. He actually came to see you? And while sober?

“Yeonjun,” you say sternly. “Why are you here?”

There’s a moment of silence. Now it’s his turn to look at you dumbfounded. He’s not used to seeing you like this. You feel a breeze through the room, causing goosebumps to form on your skin.

“Ara’s out of town on some dumb girl’s trip for the weekend. Tried calling you but your phone’s dead, Figured I’d come over and have our fun while she’s away,” He breaks the silence.

His eyes scan your body, surely taking note of the fact that you’re only wearing a hoodie right now. Your thighs are exposed, he doubts your wearing any shorts under there. Just a pair of panties, maybe even the whole silk ones he loves so much.

He takes a step closer to you, causing your back to hit the wall. His face is inches away from yours. His plump lips ghost over yours, his hooded eyes filled with lust. He licks his lips before holding you by your waist.

He leans in to kiss you, but you stop him. You place a hand on his chest, lightly nudging him back. “I think you should go.”

What? Yeonjun lets out an airy laugh. “Are you trying to play hard to get or something? Don’t mind if you wanna switch it up.”

There’s no way you’re being serious right now. You always come back to him. You’ve been sleeping together for months, there was no way you wanted to end things.

You look up at him. “Yeonjun, go home.”

Upon eye contact, the air in the room grows thick. He searches your face for any sign of doubt. You were always so easy to read, which sends shivers up his spine because in this moment he knows you’re dead serious.

What the hell has gotten into you?

“Are you serious right now?” he asks out of disbelief. “I’m telling you we have the whole weekend to ourselves and you’re telling me to leave?”

“I have plans this weekend anyway,” you lie.

“Baby I know you’re not busy tonight,” he scoffs. “Besides there’s no way I couldn’t known since your phone is dead.”

You cut him off. “My phone’s not dead, I blocked your number.”

A beat.

The room goes quiet. He stares at you blankly. Yeonjun isn’t used to you being like this, he’s never experienced anything remotely similar. Someone rejecting him? You rejecting him? It was unheard of.

Surely after a month you would need him. You always needed him. That’s how the relationship worked. He came to you when he wanted you because he knew you always needed him. You loved him. You were supposed to always be there when he wanted you.

Yeonjun didn’t like this ‘new you’ one bit. So he did want he always did when things went wrong and he didn’t have control, he got angry.

He frowns. “You fucking blocked me?”

He grabs your wrists, gripping them tightly so you can’t push him away again. “Let go of me!”

“You fucking bitch,” he snaps.

You wriggle in his unwaivering grasp, tears prickling the corners of your eyes. “Yeonjun stop! You’re hurting me!”

“You think you can just cut me off? You fucking slut! What you’re done opening your legs and ruining relationships? You really are pathetic Y/n.”

You’re unable to hold back, the hot tears stream down your face as you weakly attempt to get out of his grasp. “Let go!” you sob. “You’re hurting me.”

He finally obliges, releasing his grip. You move quickly, jerking your arms back and removing yourself from the wall. You’re still crying, softly running your fingers along your wrists to soothe the pain.

“G-Get out!” You sob.

He scoffs again. “Gladly.”

Yeonjun walks out your apartment just as quickly as he walked in. He walks out with his head held high, but truthfully there’s a gut wrenching tug at his heart. It’s almost like he can hear every thump of the blood pumping into his heart. It feels heavy, like it suddenly weighs a ton and someone has ripped it from out of his chest. He swears he can feel it constricting, tighter and tighter until the point it just… breaks.

Why was it so hard for him to see you cry? Why did his hands feel so dirty after he touched you. He just willingly walked out of your life, why the fuck does he even care?

Meanwhile you’re a sobbing mess, curled up on your kitchen floor. You don’t even realize all the emotions you’ve had bottled up over the past month until now. You’re crying so hard, it’s difficult to breathe. You gasp for air, trying your absolute best to calm down.

——————-

It’s hard to sleep that night. For Yeonjun at least. Granted, you cried yourself to sleep, but at least you’d managed to get to a point where you could rest.

The same couldn’t be said for Yeonjun.

He tossed and he turned all night. When on his side, he stared at the empty spot on the bed next to him. The sheets no longer provided him any warmth, the air felt frigid.

The idea of wanting Ara back in bed never crossed his mind, rather he thought about you. It wasn’t until this moment that it dawned on him. You’d never slept in his bed.

Sure you’d done unspeakable things with him there, but he’s never experienced sleeping next to you. Watching as your breath rises and falls

He finds himself smiling at the thought. Do you snore? Do you sleep on your back or your side? Left Side? Right side? Definitely not your stomach. Maybe you mumble in your sleep, or cuddle even. Yeah, you’re probably the type to cuddle in your sleep.

He groans, mentally agonizing. Why does he even care? He’s been with the same girl nearly three years and these thoughts never did so much as cross his mind.

His head falls back into the pillow with a soft thud. The only thing Choi Yeonjun knew in this moment was that he fucked up and was completely and utterly screwed.

_______________________________________________

I never said anything about an official tag list, but it took me a while to actually upload this so I’m tagging everyone who asked for a pt 2!

@jisootears - @lyluvsgyu - @alienqbrain - @sbhkst - @dimguin - @x-veex - @heeseungsshoulders - @junieshohoho

#txt fanfic #txt #choi yeonjun #yeonjun #kpop #txt yeonjun

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1kook · 4 years ago

Text

disney+ & bust

this is part of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb. It’s not. It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. warnings; arguments, feelings of insecurity, bit of asshole jk, smut in the forms of degradation, dumbification, choking, fingering, spit kink, self punishment, unprotected but [ passionate ] sex, jk losing his cool, return of mean jk, he is actually an emotional mess in this one wtf miscellaneous; ANGST, anniversaries, the L word😳, app developer kook, rip ‘pretty girl’ </3, we all become phineas and ferb stans word count; 13k !!

notes; me: *writes couple who’s whole arc is being silly* y’all: MAKE THEM SUFFER GIVE US ANGST!! u ask I deliver so now we all suffer 😐 ngl it was hard writing this fic n u might notice there’s some parts that seem weird n that’s bc this was TWO fics w diff wording but I ended up mixing them bc I’m insane. still had a lot of fun! felt like I challenged myself!! not proofread bc when I say we suffer we SUFFER

please let me know what you think!!! a simple ask goes a long way <3

previous part: kissanime & foreplay

Approximately one week after The Bullet Bestie’s rise to prominence, Jungkook grows annoyed with it as his weirdly competitive nature rears its ugly head the more and more orgasms that little vibrator coaxes out of you. It turns on a weird switch in him, something slightly stuck up and snooty that he’ll never admit to out loud but is there nonetheless. By the following Friday, The Bullet Bestie is nestled deep in your garbage can and Jungkook’s back to pleasuring you with his tongue and fingers alone.

He had those moments in him, the ones where he liked to think he was better than any and everyone else, and occasionally they manifested against inanimate objects like a bullet vibrator.

Despite his polite and generally soft exterior, you catch glimpses of that cocky spirit more than anyone else. Over the past year, you’ve come to realize that Jungkook’s personality was like a coin that had been left out in the sun too long. He had this sweet and reserved nature you saw most times, a kindhearted boyfriend who adored you almost as much as you adored him. He was your angel whom you knew had a heart of gold, even if you were slowly bringing out his more childish tendencies. You knew him like the back of your hand, knew what his mom’s favorite color was and how he liked to stack the plates in his cabinet according to size and make. It was a side that was rusted from years of being out in the sun, basking in its adoring warmth, and you loved every inch about it.

And still, there was this other side to him you rarely saw. This cocky asshole who hid beneath the soft smiles and careful hands, making his appearance only through sly smirks and a tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. He was a braggart, a man who knew his greatness yielded for no one and wanted that fact shoved down everyone’s faces. This Jungkook, this other side that never saw the light of day, was like the Hyde to his Jekyll. An unexpected, almost mean side to him that only dared make his appearance when his exhilaration was at an all-time high. Like when he was fucking you into another dimension, or kicking your ass in Mario Kart, or like now, when he was receiving an award at an annual tech ceremony.

On the eve of your one year anniversary, Jungkook’s company invites him to an awards ceremony for other web and app developers like him. It’s a grand event, filled with all the biggest nerds in the developing industry here to present the baby nerds with awards. Jungkook lies somewhere in the middle of the spectrum, both a seasoned player and a rookie all at once. He spends the night tolling you around in a floor-length gown and fangirling over all the “legends” in the room.

You know next to none of these people and none of their accomplishments but still pretend you respect them to hell and back. By the end of the main dinner, you’re sympathizing with Barbie’s ever-smiling features because your cheeks feel sore.

Towards the end of the night, Jungkook wins that random award— okay, who were you fooling? He wins the Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award, recognizing him for all the hard work you’ve seen him put in this past year. It’s probably the highest recognition he can receive at this point in his career. It was an esteemed award that was bestowed upon only the most innovative developer of the year among tech companies, something Jungkook had briefly mentioned he always wanted. It’s basically the equivalent of placing first place in his field, but given Jungkook’s competitive industry and his young age, you think it’s like telling all these old Facebook lords to suck his big fat cock. (But that was your job when you got home.)

He gives a short little thank you speech, promising to work hard and own up to this title. The people around you are swooning, obviously endeared with his soft puppy dog features and melodic voice. They don’t know him like you do, don’t know that uppity twist to his grin like you do. It doesn’t slip off his face even when he steps down off the stage, arms wide open as he comes barreling towards you. Even with you in his arms, the congratulations that are thrown from every direction ring loudly in his ears and swell that ego of his.

The night goes like that for the most part, Jungkook’s acquaintances approaching him every few minutes to rain down their praises. He goes a little crazy at the open bar after a while, shoving the gold trophy into your arms as his beloved work seniors whisk him off for drinks. You don’t mind because you resigned yourself to a night of playing Jungkook’s perfectly perfect partner anyway, watching him politely mingling with his coworkers. Despite his earlier success, you know he won’t brag about it verbally. No, he’ll wait until the two of you get home—your place or his—and remind you how amazing he is with a quick snap of his hips.

As you said, he’ll never boast aloud.

However, that doesn’t mean you won’t.

“That’s my boyfriend,” you explain to the seventh person that greets you that night, excitedly pointing to where said boyfriend was slowly losing all sense of self by the bar. You don’t know anyone here beside Jungkook, and you’re pretty sure no one in their hammered minds is going to remember who you are anyway, so a little gloating never hurt anyone. “He won the ‘I’m Better Than Everyone Else’ award tonight,” you emphasize to the tipsy woman beside you who only laughs at your exaggeration. You assume she’s like you, accompanying one of the many developers here, because as soon as you finish boasting about Jungkook she moves to brag about someone too.

Truth be told, you spend the whole night re-analyzing the Zootopia movie you saw on Disney+ the other night in your head. So if the little fox fellow didn’t control himself would the city have fallen to ruins? Why was the useless sheep girl so evil and bitter? Why was there an unreal amount of romantic tension between the fox and the rabbit? Whatever, you’ll have to rewatch it some other night, and with your new Disney+ account, you could watch it anywhere you wanted to.

Now, you had never bothered to purchase a Disney+ subscription or even tried to swindle Jungkook for his password before. As far as you know, Disney+ was filled with old tv shows from your childhood, sitcoms that made you laugh when you were ten. There’s nothing wrong with that, but personally, you were a firm believer that that which was perfect should not be touched once finished; in other words, you were utterly terrified you’d rewatch an old episode of The Wizards of Waverly Place, only to find out the same joke you’ve been regurgitating for the past ten years doesn’t actually go that way.

However, the harsh reality was that Disney+ was good for a few things. Ugh, you hate when giant corporations provide decent services. Aside from Zootopia, you’ve watched about every animated media on there as well, all of which you replay in your mind as Jungkook has the time of his life with these nerds, knocking back champagne glass after champagne glass.

Anyway, the night ends a little past midnight, and Jungkook who is buzzed on alcohol and high on exhilaration ends up calling an Uber for the two of you. Your apartment— the new one he had not only helped you hunt for but also helped you move into, greatly cutting the cost of movers out with those glistening biceps and thick thighs —is still going through her rebellious phase where the potted plants are trying to take over, courtesy of Kim Namjoon. So for now, there’s a potted plant in an awkward corner that both of you stub your toe against on your way to your bedroom.

You’re thinking Jungkook is going to go to town tonight, given the fact he’s on Cloud 9 and has had his ego stroked by a bunch of dudes for the past couple hours. Maybe you guys can try out the hot role-playing scenario you saw on GirlsWay a few weeks ago, or the handcuffs you impulsively bought from Amazon one Monday night. Or maybe, and this one really makes you flutter, he’ll let you fully take the reins for once.

All those lewd fantasies end up being for naught because just as you shimmy out of your gown (with the help of his hands, of course) and turn to climb him like a tree, he’s on the other side of the room getting your makeup remover out for you. And also talking. A lot. And way more than usual.

“Did you see him, babe?” he sighs, dare you to say, dreamily, handing you the cotton pads as he begins pulling a million pins out of your hair. Slowly and with a lot of confusion, you pull your fake lashes off and begin cleaning your face. “He was amazing.”

“Uh-huh,” you say, having absolutely no idea who ‘he’ is or why Jungkook is so in love with him and not you at this very moment. “But so were you,” you add. Perfect. Stroke his ego and then stroke his cock.

Jungkook sputters at your praise. He’s carefully placing your hairpins on your thigh, cheeks flaming red every time he leans over you. “Was I?” he murmurs, voice sweet in that cute little way it always gets when he’s downed one too many shots of whiskey, enough to be buzzed but not enough to be wasted.

You turn and the pins clatter to the floor and across the bedsheets. “Yes,” you confirm, ignoring his sad huff at the mess you’ve made. Instead, you grab him by the collar of that pink button-up he taunted you with all night. “You were fucking incredible and I think incredible men deserve to have their dick sucked.”

Jungkook laughs at your vulgar statement, holding you gently by the hips as you climb into his lap. “Is that so?” The soft, shy persona is gone now, replaced by the gentle stirring beneath his dress pants. You nod hurriedly, plopping down on his lap and running your hands through his styled hair.

“Yes,” you confirm, kissing the corner of his mouth. “Luckily for you, I know this nymphomaniac who would gladly gobble up your cock at your every command.”

He snorts just as you push him into his back, nose adorably scrunched up. “First of all, you know I hate that word,” he chuckles, finally gracing you with a sweet peck that only makes you want him to fuck you into the fifth dimension. “Secondly, please don’t ever say you’ll gobble my cock up ever again.”

Something inside of you squeals with excitement as he rolls the two of you over, firm body pressing down on yours. “Oh, baby,” you groan, lazily throwing a leg over his hip. Jungkook grins and then decides to entertain you for a few minutes with a sloppy kiss.

You say a few minutes because just as things are heating up, he pulls away. He smiles apologetically. “As much as I’d love to be here with you, I actually have an early morning tomorrow.”

You frown at the sudden change in events. “Huh? They’re gonna make you work the morning after a Gatsby party?” you gasp, sitting up as he gets off of you. With every step he takes away from the bed your heart breaks a little more. “They can’t do that— that’s illegal!”

From the doorway he levels you with a comically raised brow. “No, it’s not.”

You scamper after him down the hall, watch the muscles in his back flex as he pulls his suit jacket on. “You can’t work on our anniversary— that’s illegal!” you offer instead.

He stops at your front door, feet squeezed back into his shoes. “Baby, it’s not,” he rolls his eyes, leaning down to peck your forehead. “It was either I work in the morning or work at night,” he explains, giving your messy hair a soothing caress. He’s looking at you with those eyes, the ones that make your heart lodge itself into your throat and make life a tightrope experience. There’s a devastatingly lovesick part of you that wants this moment, this kind face, to be engraved into your mind for the rest of your life. You want this to be the first and last thought you have and nothing else: just Jungkook’s adoring gaze on you for the rest of time.

The moment ends too soon when he flutters one last peck against your lips. “I’ll be done in the afternoon, okay?”

You pout. “Okay, your place?” you huff, making sure to get one last octopus squeeze around his waist. He nods. “Promise you won’t be late?”

The corners of his gaze soften. “You know I won’t,” he smiles, leaning down to bump your noses together playfully. “Can’t stay away from my pretty girl too long. Besides, I have a gift for you tomorrow.”

It’s with that sentiment and a hammering heart that you let him go. With Jungkook gone, there’s really nothing for you to do now. You took the next two days off in preparation for your anniversary sex, so you don’t have to head to sleep early like usual.

With nothing else planned, you decide on rewatching that Zootopia movie that had plagued you all night, ready to dissect every plot hole to hell and back. You don’t think Jungkook’s seen this movie yet so you add it to your long list of animated movies you’re forcing him to watch.

Part of you is actually really surprised Jungkook left. Well, kinda sorta, very, but not really. Jungkook was a good boy, that much was obvious. He took his job seriously, and if his job wanted him to come in at the asscrack of dawn, then he’d come in before the sun even rose. He was a goody-two-shoes, but even so, you were occasionally able to bring out that darker side in him.

Jungkook working, like actually working in an office setting, was pretty rare though. The dude had a chill job that let him stay home most of the time, and essentially clock in whenever he wanted. Every now and then you were able to convince him to stay, tucking him beneath your body or the covers, depending on the night, and refusing to let him go the morning after.

Once he had eaten you out until the wee hours of the day, ravenous between your thighs, and then went to work the next morning like he hadn’t broken you. Another time you had persuaded him into watching every season of the 2017 DuckTales reboot through the night. When the alarm had rung in the middle of the season finale, he had simply gotten into your shower and gone off to work.

So maybe you were a little confident in your skills, and Jungkook slipping between your fingers tonight was a huge bummer. But there was no use crying over spilled milk, you tell yourself, flinging your bra off somewhere in the corner as you snuggle back into your sheets. You’re ready to tear this Zootopia movie apart, scene by scene.

Even though your apartment is a little cold, you’re comforted by the fact Jungkook will be here to keep you warm all day tomorrow.

All men do is lie.

Despite his promise to come home early the next day, Jungkook ends up lying. The meeting he had been in all morning— the same one that had stopped you from getting bent like a pretzel the night before —drags on well past noon. Then, Kim Namjoon, AKA Jungkook’s favorite senpai in the entire world, catches wind of Jungkook’s success last night and absolutely has to take him out to lunch to celebrate.

You scoff, glaring down at your phone and the impulsive messages you’d sent out an hour ago when Jungkook had first texted you telling you he would be late.

You whirl around to stomp off in the direction of his living room, where all of yours and Jungkook’s favorite foods were growing colder by the minute. You had spent the longest time carefully laying them out, making sure the fried chicken was closer than the pizza but not closer than the breadsticks. Truthfully it’s a nightmare. There are about eight stomach aches worth of food sitting on his coffee table, the greasy stench makes you gag and will certainly stick to your hair for weeks, but none of that mattered because it was all for your beau.

Your very late beau who was making you grow more and more agitated with each minute that passed. Ugh! How inconsiderate of him to test your patience on a day like this. You didn’t want to be upset with him, but this was your first, real milestone as a couple with him. You had wanted to spend the whole day cuddled up, maybe finally tell him how much he really meant to you— definitely not waking up alone with eyeliner crusted eyes and an aching heart.

Deciding you’re being a little too dramatic, you head into the bedroom to calm down. This was fine, you tell yourself, carefully laying out the damn near harlotrous lingerie you had yet to put on. Jungkook would come over soon and everything would be A-okay.

Except for the part it’s actually F-not okay because soon it’s nearing sunset and the food has gone cold so you’ve stocked it into the fridge, and the pretty sheer bra has a wonky wire that’s two seconds away from piercing through your heart, but that doesn’t even matter because Jungkook being late for your all-day anniversary celebration has already ripped it to shreds anyway.

You plop down on the couch in defeat, impulsively opening up the Disney+ app to cry through another episode of Phineas and Ferb. You’ve abandoned the satin robe that came with the lingerie in favor of donning a big t-shirt that smells like him and makes your heart hurt even more. The setting sun paints the living room in muted oranges, the chirping of birds outside the soundtrack to your lonely day.

You end up watching some other cartoon on Disney+, avoiding the Marvel section because you had promised Jungkook he could be there when you lost your Marvel virginity. Well, at least one of you was good at keeping promises, you think bitterly. For a second, you think about randomly watching one of the infamous MCU films out of order just to spite him. But then you think of that soft puppy gaze and how disappointed he’d be in you.

Whatever! It wouldn’t ever match up to the way you felt now.

Anyway, you circle back. When you’re five episodes into Phineas and Ferb you hear the doorknob rattle.

You sit up just as the door swings open, visible from your spot on the couch. He meets your gaze almost immediately, big doe eyes caught in the act. What act? You’re not really sure. In fact, you don’t even know what you’re looking at when he walks in because he’s drowning in shopping bags. His lips twist into a grin. “Honey, I’m home,” he says playfully.

You don’t laugh.

Jungkook frowns, dumping all his bags down at the entrance before waddling over towards you. “Hey, what’s wrong?” he asks, coming to stand before you and cupping your face in his hands. He’s towering over you, so tall and gorgeous but for the first time, you’re not dazed by his beauty.

“Kook, you said you’d be back hours ago,” you say slowly, avoiding his gaze. You try to keep the frustration out of your voice, but you’ve had hours to dwell on it now, and those annoying cartoon characters, though charming at first, had only served to multiply your annoyance.

Jungkook blinks, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. “I mean… yeah. But I got you presents?” he beams, glancing back at the mountainous pile he made by the door. You look over too. There are some luxury bags squeezed in between other shops you like, the occasional jewelers' logo on the side.

You stand with a sigh, sauntering off into the kitchen with him on your tail. “I don’t want presents,” you mumble, reaching to pour yourself a glass of water. You’re briefly aware of how childish you must seem. Jungkook hovers behind you.

“What? Yes, you do,” he says. “You had an entire wishlist on my Amazon of things you wanted.” It’s his turn to level you with an unreadable expression, slowly crossing his arms over his chest.

Your frown only deepens as you turn to match his stance against the counter. While it may be true that you did indeed have an entire list of impulsive items on his Amazon, that didn’t necessarily mean you wanted them all. Sometimes you just wanted to stare longingly at a pair of satin gloves without actually buying them. You don’t know how to explain this much to him. “They’re not…” you stop with another deep breath. “Forget it. Thank you for the presents.”

Now it’s Jungkook’s turn to question you. “What,” he says in an unimpressed tone, padding over to you before you can escape back into the living room to watch the entire princess movie collection on Disney+. “No, tell me what’s wrong.”

For some reason, that’s exactly what you don’t want to hear. “Jungkook,” you say flatly, narrowing your eyes at him. “You come home six hours after you said you would without telling me why, and normally I wouldn’t care, but today was supposed to be a special day for us.”

Jungkook reels at your bluntness. “Babe, I was out getting stuff for you. I know it’s our anniversary— that’s why I wanted to treat you,” he responds, oddly condescendingly like you’re a child who doesn’t understand what exactly he was doing.

You brush his hands away from your shoulders. “Yeah,” you huff. “Now I know that. But I spent all day waiting for you,” you stress, chest puffing as you grow more and more agitated by his inability to understand you. God, can he let you go now? At least a bunch of animated, geometrically drawn cartoons won’t question you like this and make you feel as childish as he was.

When he doesn’t say anything else you stomp back into the living room, snatching up your phone from its forgotten spot against the couch. “I’m going to bed.”

At that Jungkook seems to kickstart back to life. “What? ___, it’s barely six,” he says as he follows after you into your bedroom. You ignore him, shuffling beneath the covers. In all actuality, you’re going to bed to mope and watch more animated family shows, maybe cry under the guise of the plot just being so sad. Jungkook sits beside you just as you click back on to finish off your episode. “Baby, I don’t get it,” he sighs. “You’re always talking about how much you want this or that, and I go out and get you it all but now you’re mad?”

You bite down on your lip, eyes lasered in on the pictures moving before you. “Jungkook, just forget it.”

“No,” he says, more sternly than he’s ever been with you before. “If there’s a problem, tell me.” There’s a heavy pause, and then he says, “don’t make me waste my time guessing what’s wrong, okay?”

“Waste your time?” you scoff, sitting up with pinched brows that you find match his. “I’m not trying to waste anyone’s time— in fact, that’s hot coming from you, Jungkook.”

He rolls his eyes. “What are you even saying? You’re mad because I took a little long getting presents, for you, might I add,” he huffs, plopping down on the edge of the mattress beside your knee. “You’re always saying you want this and that, but you can’t handle me going out to get those things? Do you hear how weird you sound?”

You whip the covers off of you. “Me talking about things doesn’t always mean I want them,” you defend.

Jungkook snorts. “Yes, it does,” he says. “Anytime you ramble about stuff for minutes like a little kid it’s because you want me to buy it for you.”

You blink. “Like a little kid?” you repeat, stunned by his comparison. Granted, you always knew you were the more childish of the two, but you never thought that would equate Jungkook thinking of you as a child. Something red and nasty flares in your chest. “Well sorry,” you spit, crossing your arms over your chest defensively, “sorry we all can’t be perfectly mature golden boys who would never see the light of day if I constantly wasn’t dragging them out.” You know it’s a somewhat low blow, especially because Jungkook’s told you before how his introverted tendencies were a sensitive issue growing up, but you can’t help it.

Jungkook groans, dropping his head into his hands. “Baby, don’t do this now,” he warns, digging the heels of his palms into his eyes. “Stop acting like this.”

“Like how?” you spit, “like a kid?” Jungkook says nothing, leveling you with a blank stare from the corner of his eye. You roll your eyes, phone falling off your lap. Another episode of Phineas and Ferb had started, the corny opening tune filling the space between the two of you. “At least now I know what you think of me,” you mutter over the guitar riff.

“Oh my god,” Jungkook blurts, sitting up wildly. “Of course I’m gonna think of you as a stupid little kid, look at you,” he seethes, gesturing at the phone beside you. You flinch. “All you do is watch kids shows and whine whenever I wanna watch anything normal adults watch. You complain every single day about the most normal things, like your job? Why should I fucking care that you’re working a dead-end office job in a field you didn’t even study for— that’s not my problem, __!” he snaps, eyes narrowed into little slits. “I just won an award last night,” he says suddenly, voice back to its regular volume. “I’m at the height of my career and I’m only going up, but I can’t even enjoy that because I have to come home and cater to you,” he finishes, a loud scoff punctuating the final word.

You had never imagined Jungkook finally bragging about himself would be at your expense.

A beat of silence passes, the angry glint in his eyes quickly fading away the longer you don’t say anything. You sniff once, turning your head idly to the side where Phineas and Ferb is still blaring loudly from your phone speaker. Picking up the device, you throw it across the room where it hits his closet door with a terrifying bang the breaks the silence.

The sound snaps Jungkook out of whatever shock he’d been in. “Baby…” he says slowly, carefully, like you’re a caged animal that’s just escaped the zoo.

“I’m going home,” you say, also a little too calmly. You saunter over towards his closet where your shattered phone screen glares up at you as you yank a pair of sweats off a hanger. Jungkook is still frozen on the edge of the bed, watching you with wide eyes as you move about the room.

It’s when you’re in the hallway leading downstairs that Jungkook finally snaps out of his daze, scampering behind you as you descend the stairs. “Baby,” he rushes out, loudly bounding down after you, “___, wait,” he gasps, catching you by the kitchen counter collecting your keys. “I-I didn't mean that,” he rushes out, eyes wide and frantic as they flicker over your expression. “I don’t think that—I don’t, baby, please, just… let me explain, please.”

“Jungkook, let go of me,” you respond, shaking your wrist in an attempt to release yourself. He’s not even holding you tightly— he never would—but the sound of your heart pounding in your ears makes your movements jerky and erratic. “I wanna go home.”

“No,” he chokes, cornering you against the counter. “No, baby, please just listen to me, I-I—“

“You what, Jungkook?” you snap, placing a hand on his chest and forcefully pushing him away. He lets you, stepping back with a wobbly bottom lip. “You need to tell me how you’re too good for me? How much I hold you down because I wasn’t lucky enough to get a job like yours straight out of college?” He says nothing, swallowing roughly as you jab a finger into his chest. “Well let me tell you something,” you snarl, chest heaving, “I may be childish and a huge complainer, but I’m not stupid enough to let someone walk all over me like this.”

With that, you make your great escape. Truthfully, you don’t want him to see the tears in your eyes as you yank his door open, stomping down his steps and in the direction of the nearest bus stop. The door opens right after you tug it shut, painting your shadow across the sidewalk. There’s the scrambled sound of house slippers against the concrete that follows you down. “Go the fuck back inside,” you snap without missing a beat.

Sensing your obvious anger, he pauses before he can reach you. “Text me when you get home?” he calls out quietly.

“No,” you respond.

You would never admit to anyone that you spend the entire night eating a tub of mint chocolate ice cream. It’s disgusting and makes you gag, but it’s the only one you have in your apartment. And of course, it was brought over by none other than Jeon Jungkook himself a few days ago. Even when you’re trying to comfort yourself over how mean he was, on your anniversary night no less, you’re plagued by thoughts of him everywhere.

As much as you want to brush his words off, put on that cool girl exterior you’ve maintained since high school, there’s something different about this situation. You guess it’s impossible to brush off such hateful words when they come from someone you love and adore so much.

Were you too childish? You had always believed that side of you was what made your relationship with Jungkook so perfect. The two of you meshed well because of your differences, like yin and yang. So how had he been able to so easily deconstruct every inch of that balance in a matter of a few seconds? Was this perfect reality all in your head this whole time?

You want to tell yourself it was just a heat of the moment outburst from Jungkook, give him the benefit of the doubt because he’s never snapped at you like this before. Of course you’ve fought a couple of times in the past year, but neither of you had ever stooped as low as you did yesterday. Furthermore, the insecure part of your brain says he obviously felt this somewhere in his heart to bring it up at all. What he had said to you wasn’t something someone could make up on the spot.

You don’t text him when you get home, partly to spite him, but mainly because you had left your phone at his place anyway. You know he tried calling you last night because the call log is synced up to your laptop. He called on and off for about thirty minutes before he probably found your phone in his room. Whatever, he can mope in his regret for all you care

—is what you wanna say, but the longer he goes without showing himself to you the more your insecurities and hurt fester. Was this it? Was this the end of what was probably the best year of your life? It’s too painful to think about, to even consider the possibility that Jungkook might have gained a new insight last night and decided, hey, maybe this is for the best after all.

You drown yourself in an ungodly amount of sugar for breakfast, your laptop blaring yet another episode of Phineas and Ferb on the dining table. Muscle memory has you making Jungkook’s favorite pancakes before you can stop yourself, and by the time you do realize, you’ve resigned yourself to the blueberry smell anyway.

There’s a pounding on your door a little past noon, so hard and rough, that you almost think it’s the police finally coming to catch you for all your years of illegally pirating Phineas and Ferb.

It’s not.

It’s just a really drunk boyfriend wailing for your forgiveness at the door. You open the door with a fright, jumping back when he slumps forward and almost crashes face-first into the floor. “You didn’t call,” Jungkook cries, leaning a little too much of his weight onto you when you reach out to steady him.

The thundering of your heart slows upon registering it’s him. “Kook?” you frown, nose pinched at the ungodly stench of alcohol wafting off his clothes. “Have you been drinking?” you ask even though the answer is staring you right in the face (and in the nose).

He groans, staggering deeper into your arms. You blindly push the door shut behind him, resigning yourself to this new situation while your pancakes grow cold in the other room. “Baaaby,” he slurs, letting you guide him into the living space. He’s unceremoniously dumped onto the couch, half-opened eyes gazing up at you. “Let me,” a hiccup, “explain.”

You won’t lie. There’s a very obvious sense of discomfort sitting in your chest, torn between two paths that you don’t wish to choose between. His skin is warm and flushed like he’s just walked all the way here in this morning sun. You step over to the window that faces down onto the street below. There’s no sign of his car; you would have killed him if he ever tried to drive in this state.

“Did you walk here?” you ask instead, deciding there’s no need for one singular path, not when you can walk straight down the middle, both cleaning him and grilling him at the same time.

Jungkook’s response is delayed, head lolling from side to side as you help him out of his sweater. His skin is sweaty beneath, scorching to the touch. “Uh-huh,” he groans. Jesus, you sort of assumed but him confirming it really set things into perspective.

By no means did you and Jungkook live on opposite ends of the earth. On a good day, a drive from your place to his took about ten minutes. But walking? Easily an hour. Had he walked all the way from his place, drunk on top of that?

You brush his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering shut at your touch. His lips are pouty yet chapped, dehydrated from the sun and the alcohol he reeks of. “Sit up for me,” you instruct, scampering off to your room for chapstick and water.

“Anything for you,” Jungkook wheezes, throat probably dryer than a desert. When you return, he’s two seconds from face planting into the coffee table and breaking that pretty face of his. You catch him with a hand on his shoulder, keeping him balanced. “Tell me what to do,” he chokes out, voice hoarse.

“Just need you to drink some water,” you say, pressing a cup against his lips. He drinks it, but a drop still dribbles down his chin.

“No,” he groans, catching your wrist in his hand when you reach up to apply some chapstick on him. “Tell me what to do,” he stresses, “to fix this. Fix us.”

His words make you pause, the tube of chapstick hovering over his plush lips. “You don’t have to do anything,” you respond quietly, trying to finish the application so you can pull away.

Jungkook doesn’t let you go. You try to look away, but there’s something about him that looks off. Maybe it’s the raw skin under his eyes, red and swollen. Or the sad droop to those same eyes that hold you captive. Or maybe it’s the subtle tremble in his hands, the fingers that hold tightly to your wrist, not to keep you there but to ground himself. “I don’t wanna lose you,” he rasps out, shakily bringing your hand to his mouth, where he presses one airy kiss to your knuckles. “Tell me ho-how to fix this and I’ll do it,” he pleads, a vulnerable look in his eyes.

Unable to withstand the sheer amount of agony on his expression, you look away. “___, please,” he chokes out, stumbling off the couch in his drunk and desperate haze until he’s kneeling in front of you. “I can’t… I can’t,” he sniffles, tears clouding those pretty eyes you’ve come to love so much. “I don’t know who I am without you.”

You clench your jaw. “You’re Jeon Jungkook,” you murmur, slipping your hand out of his hold to run through his hair. It’s knotted and a little too greasy, two things Jungkook would usually never allow. “This year’s Platinum Mobile Standard of Excellence Award recipient,” you remind him, trailing your thumb across his cheekbone when he turns to look up at you with those big Bambi eyes. “Sweet and shy, but you love being rowdy with your friends. You love movies and TV and organizing your shirts according to fabric type. You work harder than anyone I know and never complain. You date me, even though I’m a huge child,” you smile sadly.

“No!” he jumps, turning that frantic stare back into you. “Y-You’re not— it’s not,” he stammers, words still slurring together. “I’m a liar,” he cries, resting his forehead on your knees. His shoulders shake. “I don’t deserve you,” he weeps quietly. You place a hand on his shoulder. “Y-Y-You make my life so much better, ___, so colorful and fun. I-I wish I knew you in high school,” he admits, “maybe I wouldn’t have been so emotionally constipated now.”

“You’re not,” you reassure him softly.

He disagrees. “You bring out the best,” he hiccups, “the best in me.” Your heart skips in your chest. “I-I love you, you know that?”

You sputter, eyes wide at his sudden confession. “I… love you so much, y’know? I think about you ev-every night, ___,” he rambles, eyes dreamily gazing off into some miscellaneous spot on the wall behind you. “I can’t get you out of my head. Like you're a song, o-on repeat but it’s not annoying because it’s my favorite song, and I could listen to it for the rest of my life, y’know? My favorite song, I know all the words b-because it’s all I think about! I love... My love… I love you so much.”

“Kook,” you rush out, cheeks flaming as you try to pull him away from where he’s slumped over your legs. His passionate speech has you abuzz, body tingling everywhere until you feel overwhelmed, head spinning like you’re on a rollercoaster. “Let’s get you to bed.”

He nods sleepily, seemingly coming down from whatever alcohol induced rampage has allowed him to walk for an hour straight in this searing heat just to confess to you. “Y-You don’t have to say it back,” he continues to stutter as you guide him through the living room on wobbly legs. “I just-I just— can I?” he babbles. “Can I love you, ___?”

You pass through the kitchen space, where whatever you were watching on Disney+ is blaring loudly. It distracts Jungkook for about two seconds before his attention returns to you. When you don’t answer, he presses on. “Is that okay?” he asks, whirling around to face you, catching your shoulders in his hands. He towers over you by the entrance to your bedroom, dark curls tickling your forehead. His eyes are dark and glazed over, both in tears and an emotion so raw and unfiltered it squeezes around your chest until you can’t breathe. “Is it okay for me to love you?” he murmurs softly, knocking his nose against yours.

Your cheeks blaze. “Yes, th-that’s fine, Kook,” you blubber, placing a hand over his chest, where his heart is also hammering away. “Just need you to go rest now, okay?”

He nods sleepily, nudging your nose with his one last time, like a soft almost-kiss, before letting you push him into the room. “Yes, yes,” he breathes, his body finally crashing from his adrenaline spike. He flops down onto the bed unceremoniously, dark waves fanning across your pillows. You try to wiggle him out of his shirt, but it only gets about halfway up his chest before he blindly reaches for the covers. His legs stick out awkwardly, clad in the sweatpants you’ve come to associate with him.

When he’s all swaddled up in your blanket he finally goes limp, tiny snores leaving his lips as he dozes away from reality. You sigh, pressing a palm to his forehead. He’s still warm and clammy, but at this point, there’s nothing you can do but wait for him to sober up.

With a final kiss to his forehead, you leave the room, closing the door behind you before sliding against the wooden surface. There’s a trapped bird in your chest, wildly flapping its wings in an effort to get out, and it’s all stupid Jungkook’s fault in the next room. Stupid Jungkook who demolished and remodeled your heart all in less than twenty-four hours. It doesn’t calm down, even when you rush off into the kitchen for a glass of water, or when you try to immerse yourself in some other show on Disney+. It stays beating against your ribs and your chest until you’re forcing yourself to sit down on the couch and process.

He wakes up a little before dinner. You hear him from the living room, where you’re flicking through the options on Disney+ for the nth time that day. You’ve seen the first fifteen minutes of about twenty different series and movies by now, always growing antsy and abandoning them early on. The only reason you know he’s awake is because the shower turns on for a few minutes, and then his bare feet are heard padding across the hallway back into your room.

By the time he resurfaces in the living room, you’ve resigned yourself to just more Phineas and Ferb, nonchalantly watching the silly cartoon. (Except you’re anything but nonchalant, and your heartbeat rings in your ears.)

Jungkook hovers by the door, clad in a pair of shorts he’s left here before, and a t-shirt you stole from him. “Hey,” he says quietly, lingering by the doorframe. You nod back in response. “Can I watch with you?” Again, another nod.

Slinking over to the couch, he’s rather careful as he sits down, leaving a few inches of space between the two of you. You don’t even think he can see the screen of your laptop until he murmurs, “he’s my favorite character,” when Perry the Platypus appears on the screen.

You hum. “Thought you didn’t like these kids shows?” you ask. You don’t mean it to sound as petty and backhanded as it comes out, but that’s really no one's fault but his own.

Jungkook’s breathing tightens beside you. “No,” he admits, “I don’t. Only watch them because I know you like them.” You contemplate pausing the episode and engaging in a real conversation with him, but at this point, you’re very tired from the events of the last day. Jungkook doesn’t press either, just shuffles more comfortably beside you.

You get about five minutes in, quiet chuckles shared between the two of you, before he strikes. “I’m sorry about yesterday,” he says, so hushed you almost don’t hear it. His hand is resting in the space between you, pinky brushing against yours. “About… being late. And the presents.”

You inspire slowly. “That wasn't even the problem, silly,” you brush off. From your peripheral, you see Jungkook’s slow nod. “I didn’t want any presents,” you mention, “I just wanted you.” You look away from the screen immediately after, pretending like the spot on the ceiling is actually really interesting.

The two of you fall into silence, the animated characters on your screen rapidly chattering away. “Oh,” Jungkook says after a moment.

You roll your eyes. They’re moist but you don’t want him to see. “Yeah, oh,” you parrot back softly, relaxing into the couch again. “Did you eat the food I left out?”

Jungkook shuffles beside you, the soft lull of the speakers soon being cut as he reaches over to pause Phineas and Ferb. A couple of seconds pass and then he’s leaning into you, head resting on your shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he apologizes again, placing a palm over the hand he had been teasing for the past few minutes. “I thought I knew what I was doing but I was wrong.”

His voice is so soft and sincere, it makes your chest ache. You try to burrow your face against your opposite shoulder, try to hide the stray tear that escapes out of the corner of your eye. “It’s fine,” you brush off, voice choked off and hoarse.

Jungkook leans up, pecks your cheek so tenderly it makes you go mushy. “No, it’s not fine. I acted like a know-it-all and said something way out of line,” he murmurs, raising his head to look at you. His hand feels warm over yours. It’s the touch you craved all day and yesterday, the warm feel of his body against yours. You’re embarrassed at how easily you melt into it. “You’re the best thing that has happened to me in a long time,” he tells you, holding your hand close to his chest. “I had no right to say those things to you.”

You sniffle, resting your head against his shoulder now. His heart beats loud enough for you to hear. “Was it true?” you mumble. “Do you really think of me like that?”

He shakes his head, his soft breaths fanning across your forehead. “No, never,” he answers. “I think you’re incredible. My brain was just trying to justify my dumb anger.”

You nod, even if you don’t believe it just yet. But that was a conversation for later, you suppose, sometime in the future when you aren’t on the verge of tears and threatening to crumble apart at the simplest word that leaves his mouth.

“I should have come home like you wanted, thought about my words before saying them,” he says, snuggling closer to you. “I’m sorry.”

“Stop,” you sniffle, covering your face with your free hand as he presses a kiss to the vein that runs over the back of the hand he’s holding captive. “Now it just sounds like I'm just being inconsiderate of your gifts and a crybaby.”

Jungkook kisses your temple softly, gently. “Don’t think about the gifts,” he says. “Just tell me what you wanted to do, doll.”

His voice calms you, has you like putty in his arms. “Watch movies,” you mumble, toying with a thread on your couch cushion. “Be with you.”

He hums. “Then we’ll do that,” he says, reaching for your laptop again. The screen nearly blinds you when it flickers back to life before you, Jungkook’s low breaths against your ear making it near impossible for you to process the titles on the screen. “You liked Disney+?”

Belatedly, you nod. “I like the animated movies,” you admit quietly, the anxieties of before slowly melting away, even more so when he slides his arm around you, pulling you close against his chest.

Unlike other times where he’ll critique the hell out of such childish films, Jungkook says nothing as he starts up the Zootopia movie instead, the same one you had wanted to show him before, right from the beginning. “That bunny looks like you,” you murmur when Judy Hopps first appears on the screen.

Jungkook snorts. “You say that about every cartoon bunny.”

You turn your head to glance at him over your shoulder. He meets your gaze with a small smile you return. “It’s because you’re so cute,” you say softly, lips twisting playfully when his cheeks grow scarlet.

He knocks his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering shut. “Not cute, just lucky,” he chuckles. “Lucky enough to have you.” Your heart turns over in your chest, threatening to burst out of your rib cage at his words. You try to turn in his arms. Before you can say the words that have been sitting on the tip of your tongue for months now, he’s beating you to it once again. “I love you,” he confesses in a hushed whisper, no alcoholic influence.

Something inside of you blossoms, eyes wide as he chastely kisses you. He pulls away without you ever reacting, too caught up in surprise to kiss him back properly. He stays close, curls tickling your forehead as he leans over you. “You don’t have to say it back, I just wanted you to know. I love you,” he says again, long lashes blinking down at you. “So much. It makes me feel like a stupid teenager again, going to the mall to buy a gift for my crush.” He laughs sheepishly, reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “Is that okay?” he asks quietly, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

It mirrors the confession he’d given you that morning, those slurred words and teary eyes. It had been difficult to pinpoint the legitimacy of it before, the meaning scrambled by his hazy mind. But with him staring at you like this now, like you single-handedly plucked the stars from the sky to put them in those sparkly eyes of his, it makes something inside you ache.

Still, you choke on your own spit. “I-Is it okay for you to love me?” you sputter incredulously, realizing the oddity of the same question he’d thrown at you earlier. But now, you’re both sober and you can really tear apart that sentence. Jungkook nods a little too seriously for your liking. “Are you crazy?” He blinks in confusion, brows pulling together as you slowly but surely lose the last bits of your sanity. “You’re an idiot, Jeon Jungkook,” you huff, “a stupidly handsome, rich, walking dream, idiot who goes out with stupid girls like me.”

“Not stupid,” he murmurs, closing in on you again as he finally understands the truth behind your masked insults. He smells minty and like his favorite body wash of yours.

“No,” you deny. “You’re actually, like, insane. You have a bachelor pad, make enough money to sustain an entire litter of kittens, look and talk like every teenage girl’s dream boyfriend— but you mess it all up by dating evil, conniving hoes like me who lose their shit over Disney cartoons.” He says nothing, watching you with an amused grin as you talk over yourself, basically regurgitating his statement from yesterday except it kinda seems plausible now that you’re over it. “It’s stupid. No, you’re stupid. No— I’m stupid.”

Jungkook chuckles, kissing the corner of your mouth gently. “Done?” he says, a dimple appearing on his cheek. You could kiss it away, but you need him to know the amount of stupidity in this room was astronomically high. “You’re not stupid, baby,” he says. You level him with a look. “Well. You have your moments.”

“Moments?” you repeat, standing up in a hurry that has him flopping down beside you. Your laptop is lost somewhere on the cushions, the voices faded as they grow farther away. “I am so stupid. I called Namjoon a whore for taking you out for lunch!” you cry. “I am the stupidest person in the world.”

Jungkook cackles, standing up beside you. “Yes, yes, you’re my stupid girl,” he teases, tapping the pout on your lips playfully. “So stupid she slanders herself instead of just telling me she loves me too.” He bumps your noses together, dark eyes staring at you almost daringly after his claim.

You fold soon enough. “I love you,” you mumble, “even if I’m too stupid to say it.”

He rewards your confession with a kiss, pulling you into his arms soon after. He sighs, almost wistfully. “Whatever shall I do with my very stupid girl?”

After exactly three minutes of feeling safe and loved in his arms, he abandons the living room in favor of leading you back to your room, where he pushes you down against your mattress. You cling to him, leaving him positioned over you at an angle. His chest presses against yours, arm curled around the back of your head. “Gotta get up, baby,” he laughs.

You shake your head, caging him in your arms. “Nuh-uh,” you murmur, legs wiggling when he places a hand on your hip.

Jungkook chuckles, pressing a kiss against the side of your ear. “Your movie is still playing in the other room,” he reminds you, thumb drawing soothing circles on your hip. You don’t release him, his mindless touch only encouraging you to keep him close. “Babe?”

You say nothing, relishing in the comfort of Jungkook’s presence. His hair smells good and feels even softer against the side of your face. The cotton shirt he found is crumpled beneath your fists, dark blue pattern wrinkling. Finally coming to terms with his new home, Jungkook eventually relaxes into your hold with a sigh.

“Alright,” he hums, patting your hip as he repositions himself more comfortably. “I get it. My pretty girl must’ve missed me, huh?” You nod, soaking in every detail about him in this moment. Jungkook shifts, the hand on your hip suddenly falling over your thigh instead. “Or should I say my stupid girl?” he purrs, hand slipping between your thighs. “My stupid, little girl?”

A gasp catches in your throat when he runs his fingers over the front of your panties. Your legs kick out wildly at the sudden touch, toes curling at the hands you dreamt about all day and night. “Oh,” you pant, each brush of his fingers feeling better than the last.

“What?” he says, mouthing against the side of your neck. His tongue feels warm, but the trails of saliva he leaves have you shivering. “Too dumb to speak?” he scoffs, biting down against a particular spot on your neck. You whimper, unsure if it’s because of his hands or his mouth.

“N-No,” you try to sneer back, fingernails digging into his skin through his shirt. His hands are getting braver now, the pad of his pointer finger dancing over your engorged clit. The sheer material of your panties certainly doesn’t help, each touch feeling like it’s being magnified three times over. And if it felt this good with underwear, you can’t even begin to imagine how it’d feel without.

You don’t have to ponder for long, because soon after Jungkook is slipping his hand beneath your waistband, touching your sensitive pussy head-on. “Kook.”

He uses your momentary vulnerability to ease himself from your hold, finally recoiling enough to smother your mouth with his. You moan in surprise, thighs quivering as he gets to work circling your hardened bud sans your panties. Jungkook isn’t the least bit kind as he kisses you ruthlessly, likes he’s trying to compensate for something with his movements. When he finally pulls away it’s with an obnoxious pop and cherry red lips. He huffs, glancing down to see where he’s got his fingers pleasuring you.

Your thighs are squirming back and forth, closing around his hand every few seconds. Jungkook snorts. “Huh, look at that,” he mutters, trailing down until his fingers are gliding over your quickly sopping folds. “Stupid girl is good for something.”

Your cheeks burn. “Kook, I’m not—“

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed glare. “Not what? Not stupid? But I could’ve sworn you just spent the last few minutes saying you were,” he drones meanly, landing one light slap against your cunt that makes your hips buck.

You bite down a whimper. “I was just…” you trail off, eyes rolling back when he teases one finger against your opening.

“Kidding?” he supplies. “Well, I wasn’t.” Your heart stutters in your chest, eyes growing wide as he finally pushes himself off of you, propping himself up with an elbow beside your head. His gaze is dark and unrecognizable. “I think you’re so fucking stupid, doll,” he sneers. “And what are you gonna do about it?”

You should have seen this moment coming, the manifestation of that shiny side of the coin finally reaching its full potential.

While Jungkook wasn’t exactly shy about his interests, he certainly wasn’t tripping over himself to tell you every new kinky thing he wanted to try. You sort of guessed he had some interest in this sort of play a few weeks ago when you watched the Barbie movie at his place. A lot of that night had branded itself into your three am wet dreams, but there was one particular moment that stood out to you. That was you, on your knees, with him condescendingly patting your head. Or just last week, you vaguely remember the term slipping through his lips as he pleasured you with The Bullet Bestie.

The thing about Jungkook was that, until last night, he would have never admitted, or so much as even thought, that he was better than you. That was fine because you would say it enough for the both of you anyway. Did you think Jungkook was amazing, an absolute diamond among these measly rocks? Absolutely. (Were you slightly biased because you were his girlfriend? Skip.) However, you also had this insane evil villain complex that made you want to brag about everything you possibly could, especially if that meant bragging about your boyfriend.

Realistically speaking, he was better than you, that much you could look past yesterday’s anger to admit, and not even in a stuck-up, conceited way; he had a really good job, an architecturally amazing house, and a hot girlfriend. Meanwhile, you had a mediocre job, an okay apartment, and an insanely sexy Calvin Klein boyfriend, half of which he had pointed out yesterday. Regardless of how powerful that third factor was, he still outnumbered you three to one.

Sue you, Jungkook was amazing. Anyone could see that! Except, maybe, himself.

And if the only time Jungkook would openly brag about his greatness or establish how much better than you he was, was in a post-fight, sex-induced setting, then you were more than happy to be his punching bag. So long as it was on your terms, and not as a result of his weirdly bottled up feelings.

(Yeah, you would have a long talk about that tomorrow.)

But for now, you pout up at him, clamping your thighs shut purposefully. “You’re stupid too,” you defend, “stupid and mean.”

Something in his expression changes. Suddenly, he’s moving at superhuman speed as he snatches his hand out from where you had previously trapped him between your legs, yanking you up by the front of your shirt. “Mean?” he mocks. “Isn’t that what you always wanted?” You shiver, fingers wrapping around the wrist that holds your sweater. “Wanted me to be mean and push you around like a little rag doll?”

Jungkook looks at you for another two seconds, before he’s slowly pulling away from you, leaning back on his knees. His tongue is pressing against the inside of his cheek, jaw tightening from the movement. “Baby,” he says so quietly it instills a prickle of fear in you, tainted with delicious excitement.

“Yeah?” you whisper, sitting up tentatively as you watch him, He was a bit frightening, like a wild animal about to devour you whole.

Jungkook rolls his neck, the joints in his spine cracking as he begins tugging off his shirt. You salivate at the sight, too focused on the sinewy muscles of his body to catch the dark gaze he levels your way. He throws it off to the side, his sleeve of tattoos that wraps around his bicep and begins to crawl down his chest wonderfully unobstructed now. “Eyes up here,” he says and you quickly meet his gaze. He leans forward, muscled arms coming to cage you against the headboard. “Stupid little sluts don’t have the room to make such comments,” he rasps out, unamused expression adorning his normally soft features. “Don’t you think so?”

“I-I don’t know,” you stammer, leaning away as he comes closer and closer, eventually just turning your head to the side to avoid that emotionless look. It’s the wrong move, and Jungkook lets you know as much by forcefully digging his fingers into your cheeks and turning your face back around to meet his gaze.

A hand grabs beneath your knee, tugging harshly until you’re flopping down onto your back with a squeal. You settle with his knee pressed hotly against your core. Jungkook stays towering over you. “Dumb little girls who make me watch cartoons,” he spits, tracing a hand over your chest, molding your breasts beneath his hands roughly enough to make you gasp. “And watch little animal movies on Disney+. Aren’t they just so stupid?”

“So stupid,” you concede, subtly shifting your hips for some desperately needed friction. Jungkook snorts, finally granting you your wish with one rough slide of his thigh against your core.

“I agree,” he says, and surprises you with a hand around your throat as he leans in to properly grind his thigh into you. “All they’re good for is being dumb little sluts with good pussy,” he murmurs darkly, thumb pressing into the side of your neck forcefully. “Sometimes, they don’t even do anything,” Jungkook continues, his other hand on your hip hauling you higher up his thigh. You mewl, soaked panties rubbing roughly against your folds. You miss the soft swirl of his thumb, the gentle prod of his fingers. Even so, you can’t deny this change in Jungkook is doing something to you, riling up a part of you that you hadn’t known existed. Maybe it’s the horniness from yesterday that was left unfulfilled, the one year anniversary sex that was put on pause. “Just lay there and take it, too fucked out and dumb to say anything.”

His fingers loosen for the briefest of seconds and you gasp for breath. “That’s terrible,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into his thigh, so close to his swollen cock.

Jungkook chuckles without an ounce of humor, pressing your foreheads together as he helps grind you to completion. “Isn’t it? I think that stupid little girl is cute though.”

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, vision spotting as he tightens his hand back around your throat. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you moan, stomach tight from all the stimulation.

Jungkook hums, slowing you down with a tight grip on your waist. “Hm, what are you sorry for?” he croons, pink lips pulling into an evil smile. “You said you weren’t that stupid girl, __.”

You shake your head, trying to roll your hips up again but he’s holding you too tightly now, rendering you immobile beneath him. “I am,” you choke out shamefully, grabbing at the hand on your hip in a feeble attempt to remove it. “I am a stupid little girl.”

Jungkook smirks, leaning down to slot his mouth over yours. “That’s right,” he murmurs, “nothing but a dumb little slut.”

You shiver, opening your mouth when he slides his tongue against your bottom lip. He’s not the slightest bit nice, and more messy than usual. He pulls away with a bite to your lower lip, meeting your trembling gaze with that same unrecognizable glint in his eyes. “Come on, dummy, keep up,” he snarks before devouring you again. You try to, you really do, but he’s moving like an animal today, despite his slow and drunken movements from that morning. So you end up with his saliva dripping down your throat, clinging to the corners of your lips as he begins slowly grinding you against his thigh again. He flashes you a wicked smile, pearly teeth on display for you as he glances down at your messy appearance.

“Are you gonna touch me?” you ask, lower lip trembling at the thought after your desperate rutting. Jungkook purses his lips together in thought.

“Mmm,” he hums. “Don’t know yet.”

You whine. “Jungkook, please,” you whimper, wrapping your legs around his waist. “I need you.”

Jungkook chuckles, running his hand up your waist and taking your shirt with him. He slips his fingers beneath your bra, pushing the wire over your chest as he mouths at your neck. “Cute,” he says. “Can’t do it yourself?”

You tremble, chest arching into him as he rolls your nipple between his fingers. “I-I can,” you gasp. “Just feels better with you.”

Jungkook follows your statement with a nip against your skin, tongue soothing over it right after. “Why? Because I do everything better than you? Even make you cum better than you?”

Your cheeks heat up at his blatant ego rearing its head, hands carding through the hair at the nape of his neck. You say nothing, and that only eggs Jungkook on. “Come onnn,” he teases, finally, finally rolling his hips down onto your core. You squeak, head falling back against the pillows as you’re granted the one thing you’d been chasing. “Say it.”

“Say what?” you ask, voice wobbly as he continues to slowly rut against you, the front of his shorts pressing against the soaked crotch area of your panties. “Oh, oh, Jungkook,” you whine.

Suddenly he bites down harshly, teeth digging painfully into your skin. You yelp in surprise, pussy throbbing at the pain that shoots throughout your body. Jungkook pulls away and doesn’t bother soothing over it as he leans up to capture your jaw this time. “Say you’re a stupid little slut who can’t do anything without me,” he purrs, kisses too soft for the words he says.

Your mind blanks, torn between the humiliating phrase he wants you to say and properly checking him in his place. In the end, it’s with a twisted need to please him that you’re repeating the words back to him. “I-I’m a stupid slut,” you whimper, fingers digging into his shoulder blades as he continues pushing you right along the edge. The rope pulled tightly in your core is slowly being pulled apart, threads hanging on for dear life. “Can’t... can't do anything without...”

“Without who?” he asks, reaching down and untying the front of his shorts. “Can’t do anything without who, baby?”

“Without you, without you,” you cry, bucking your hips up against his, the combined movements of both your bodies making you shake like a leaf. “Ah, K-Kook,” you wail, hips stuttering as your orgasm finally swallows you up. Your panties quickly grow wet and icky from your own arousal that pools between your thighs. Jungkook lets you writhe beneath him as you chase your high, mouth sucking a pretty blossom against your jaw.

You know better than to expect the night to end here, especially after seeing the glint that had been in his eyes as he watched you unravel.

He leans close, let’s his nose brush against yours as you catch your breath. “So perfect for me,” he groans, slotting his lips against yours. You can barely keep up with him, languidly going along with his hot tongue. “Perfect, perfect girl,” he murmurs, a stark change from the less than friendly adjectives he used just moments before. “Tell me you love me?” he says softly.

You nod, mind fuzzy as you wrap your arms around his neck. “Love you,” you exhale, letting your fingers knot in his hair. Your proclamation does something to him, makes him grind the front of his cotton shorts hard against you. For someone that was often rough and brutal with you in bed, he sure was sensitive to the mushiest of things.

“Don’t deserve you,” he huffs, hot breath fanning across your skin. He switches gears fairly quickly. “Tell me you hate me,” he begs hoarsely, rutting against your soiled panties. “Tell me I’m a piece of shit and you could do better without me,” he pleads, voice too airy to be another one of his usual sex-induced thoughts.

You shake your head, pressing a kiss to his cheek as he rolls his hips. “It’s not true,” you whisper, “I love you more than you’ll ever understand.”

Jungkook groans, suddenly winding back and tearing your ruined panties down your legs. You gasp in surprise, letting him haul you about in his blind, self-inflicted rage. “Stupid, stupid,” he huffs, though at this point you can’t tell who it’s directed at. With your underwear out of the way, he wastes no time plunging his fingers back into your cunt, bypassing the tight ring of muscle around it without any of his usual care. “You should hate me,” he snarls, lips pressed against your ear.

You moan, back arching at the sudden pleasure that blossoms between your thighs. “I-I don’t,” you gasp, toes curling.

Jungkook groans, the sound traveling down your spine and straight into your pussy. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, slipping an arm around you to pull you so close until you can’t breathe, chests lined up together. His skin is warm to the touch, scorching almost. “Fuck,” he groans, curling his fingers inside of you. You whimper and moan, incapable of staying still beneath him as he tortures you with a thumb to your clit. “Tell me you hate me,” he seethes again.

Despite the fog that’s settled over your mind, you still manage a resolute shake of your head. “N-no,” you cry, digging your nails into his back. They run dark red lines over his skin, making him hiss at the sting.

Whatever punishment he’s trying to put himself through is falling through with your refusal to admit such a thing. It aggravates him even more, your adamant stance on loving him so, and he’s retracting his fingers before you can cum again. “Please,” he chokes, face tucked into your neck. He’s sloppy with his movements; as he pulls his shorts down and kicks them away, he nearly suffocates you with his weight. “I don’t deserve you, ___, please.”

“I love you,” you whimper for lack of explanation. Jungkook leans back, that same madman gaze in his glossy eyes. He’s looking at you in disbelief almost, pouty lips puckered and swollen. Your hands slip from around him, falling on either side of your head.

Like a cobra he strikes, collecting your wrists in one hand he pins above your head. The sudden movement has him leaning in close, lips brushing over yours. His lashes are coated in a wetness he refuses to acknowledge, looking at you like you drive him insane. “If you ever try to leave me,” he whispers, jerky breath fanning over your skin, “I’ll lose my mind.”

He loves you so much it aches.

“I won’t,” you whimper, feeling your own eyes well up with an emotion that consumes every inch of your being. “I’ll never leave you, you stupid, stupid boy.”

A faint smile crosses his features at your words, lips quirking to the side. You relish in it for all of two seconds before he’s ramming his cock into you, your sensitive walls spawning around him. You sob loudly, eyes rolling back into your head. Your legs instinctively hook themselves around his waist, digging into the base of his spine as he rolls his hips into you.

You feel full and complete like he belongs there in this moment and every moment after this. It makes your heart constrict painfully. Jungkook’s soft groans follow your more unraveled noises, the vulgar slapping of skin on skin the underlying melody to it all. “Ffffuck,” he spits, greedily swallowing your moans up. You whine, arms bucking in an effort to hold him close. But he’s determined in his act of restraining you, long fingers tightening around your wrists until they hurt. “I warned you, didn’t I?” he huffs, snapping his hips into you.

Your walls clench around his hard cock, the drag as he exits sending shivers throughout your body. Jungkook’s body towers over you, glistening in sweat as he nails you into your mattress. “Remember what I said?” he asks, voice but a shuddery exhale. You shake your head numbly, overwhelmed by the rough drag across your walls. “All those months ago, when you first came over,” he adds. The hand on your hip abandons its post to cup you beneath the jaw, palm pressing sinfully against your throat enough to block the tiniest of airflow. “I’ll fuck you and keep you forever,” he murmurs, voice deeper than the pits of hell. He licks a fat stripe over your cheek like you’re nothing but a sweet for him to devour. “Do you remember that, pretty girl?”

You nod jerkily, hips arching up into him when he thrusts into you again. It’s a memory that replays in your mind every so often, your first night with the man you had planned to humiliate over a mere misunderstanding, now your boyfriend of one year. “Want that,” you gasp, tears blurring your vision when he begins picking up the pace. “Wanna be y-your pretty girl forever.”

Jungkook groans, kissing the corner of your mouth. His thighs are some magnificent beings, keeping his pace consistent even as he loses himself in his overwhelming need to kiss you. “Always,” he manages, soft lips pressed against yours. “I won’t ever let you leave.”

A shriek tears itself from your lips as he picks up that harsh piston, releasing your jaw to hold both wrists above your head. It makes his curls dangle in front of his eyes, covering that beautiful dark gaze. It makes his thin little necklace swing back and forth too, though it’s too small to actually touch your face. The rhythmic swing has you hypnotized, just like everything else about Jungkook.

With the length of his hair, you’re left staring at his lips, pulled taut between his pearly white teeth. The word from before sits heavy in your chest, begs to drip from the tip of your tongue. But he’s moving too fast and too hard, scrambling your thoughts until all you can think about is the cock plunging into your heat. His name falls from your mouth like mindless blubber instead, arms thrashing as your second orgasm swallows you up. It sends you crashing, body spasming as the sheer euphoria waves over you slowly and then all at once.

“Perfect,” he grunts, leaning down to slot his mouth against yours, “my perfect girl.” Your cum makes the sound of his hips erotic, the loud squelching following your panting. Still sensitive from your high, your body unconsciously tightens around him, keeps his cock from fully leaving. It brings a soft whine out of Jungkook, one he tries to muffle against the side of your face.

“Inside,” you whimper, even though your body feels like jelly beneath him. “Cum inside, Kook, please,” you beg.

It only takes a few more thrusts into your leaking hole for him to finally reach paradise, hips stuttering when that first shot of pleasure hits him. “Fuck, fuck,” he growls, wildly snapping his hips into your achy cunt. You moan, feeling just about brainless at the overstimulation. His cum leaves you full, almost makes your belly bulge from it. When he’s done he doesn’t bother pulling away, simply slumping into your limp form. His cock, though quickly softening, serves as a plug for the cum threatening to spill out of you.

There’s a muted noise coming from the other room, the faint sound of the mail slipping through your letterbox, the quiet chattering of the street outside. And of course, the loud blaring of your laptop playing the Phineas and Ferb theme song. Jungkook registers it at about the same time as you, a soft chuckle leaving his lips.

He pushes off of you soon after, leaning on his palms over you. He’s got that molten look on his eyes, the heat of a thousand suns burning behind those irises as he looks at you. Like he can’t get enough, even though he’s just about taken everything there is to take. “Love you,” he murmurs quietly.

A drop of sweat rolls over his forehead, clinging to the end of his eyebrow. You reach up and brush it away, let your hand trail down his face to cup his cheek. Immediately he leans into the touch, eyes falling half shut. “Love you more,” you respond.

“Impossible,” he scoffs.

Soon after you’re both stumbling out of bed, clothes haphazardly shrugged back on as you drift through the living room. There’s a thin, hot pink package sitting at the door, just having slipped through the letterbox; the stark Sexuality Unleashed logo is printed on the visible side, so you have to wonder what Doyeon could have possibly ordered this time that could be so thin. The laptop is awkwardly sandwiched next to a throw pillow, barely open a crack. Jungkook retrieves it, sets it on his lap as you scamper over to the couch.

“More Phineas and Ferb?” he asks quietly. He hates it, you know he does. And still, he wants to watch it with you.

You nod. “Please.”

He isn’t so concerned with the plot as you, clicking some random episode to start. You snuggle into his side, quietly singing along to the opening. After a moment, Jungkook speaks again. “Phineas and Flirt?” he offers cheekily.

You roll your eyes. “That might’ve been your worst one yet,” you sigh, trying to drown out his indignant huff by focusing on the screen.

“I don’t exactly see you coming up with these,” he points out, obviously feeling wronged.

Without missing a beat you say, “Disney+ and bust.”

epilogue

commercial break one ; the resolution

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pascalpanic · 4 years ago

Text

Drunk Words (Frankie Catfish Morales x f!Reader)

Drunk Words / Sober Thoughts part one of two

Summary: Frankie’s drunk off his ass and needs a ride home. PART ONE of a two part Frankie fic

W/C: 2.7k+

Warnings: language, copious amounts of alcohol, Frankie is absolutely shitfaced

A/N: THANK U TO MY BABE @sanchosammy for this idea!!! I love it so much I fuckin LOVE my baby frankie

As you roll over in bed, you groan. You’ve been up for about 20 minutes now, unable to return to the blissful sleep that had been enveloping you before. The time on your watch now reads 3:07. You frown and grab your phone, lying on your side. The light is bright enough to make you squint, and you smile at the text thread you’ve received from Frankie tonight.

The man brings nothing but happiness to your life. You really do love Frankie, not just platonically. You want to hold his big and strong hands, want to lift up his ball cap and kiss him on the forehead, want to fluff the hat hair he always gets from that Standard Oil cap. More than anything, you want to softly kiss that little patch in his beard. It’s just existing there, perfectly clean even when he’s almost at a full beard. His tough fingers scratch it and you giggle, looking away when he asks what’s so funny. Nothing, Fish, you immediately reply. Fishie, if you’re feeling a little more flirtatious.

Frankie might be feeling the same, you’ve noticed lately. He’s a little more touchy with you. He hugs you longer than the other men, makes you dance with him when a good song comes on. He lets it happen when you steal his ball cap and wear it, where he’d scold and smack any of the other men for it. He lends you his flannel when you’re cold, wrapping it gingerly around your shoulders.

It’s been a long time that you’ve been friends now. Just recently, you’ve come to appreciate him differently. The way he hugs you warms your heart still, but it makes your heart race and your hands sweat. It makes you want to lift your face from where it rests in his neck and kiss him softly, your fingers working into that little bald patch on his jaw.

Even now, as he’s clearly drunk, you adore him. How can you not?

Frankie 🚁: attachment: one image

You open the photo and laugh. It’s a blurry selfie of Frankie, an arm draped over Santiago’s shoulders. The two men make faces like they’re going to bite the other, and it makes you chuckle aloud. You can see his fluffy curls peeking out from beneath the cap, and you desperately want to play with them. The image is blurry, showing that it must’ve been moving while he took it.

Frankie 🚁: missing u tonight, Santiago says he doesn’t like me when you’re not around

Frankie 🚁: holy fuck their new beer is really good, you gotta try it soon

Frankie 🚁: lol I fuckin love the nachos here

Frankie 🚁: snati is so annoying, pls get him away from me

Frankie 🚁: u r probably sleep sorry :((((

Frankie 🚁: can we got o a zoo soon?? I wanna see animals 🦫🐈🐕‍🦺🦡

You laugh out loud at the words, at Frankie’s terrible typing. He must be shitfaced. He’s hilarious when he’s drunk.

The last text was only four minutes ago.

Me: Alright, Fishie. Stop drinking and eat something. No more beer.

Frankie 🚁: ha I’m drinking that Coffey shit… Kalua?? isk but it’s so gooood

Your phone rings, filling the screen with your profile picture of Frankie. It’s a photo of him smiling, his dimple evident. Your cheek is pressed to his, grinning just as wide. God, he’s so fucking cute. You love him so much.

You take a second and stare at the photo before pressing the answer button and putting it on speaker. “Hey, Fish.”

“Hey,” he laughs, dragging the word out long and slow. “S’a shame you weren’t here, Will’s been buying all night.” His words are slurred and woozy. You can hear the roar of the bar behind him.

“Ah, so that’s why you’re shitfaced,” you laugh into the phone.

“Precisely,” he slurs, a smile clear in his voice. “I can’t drive.”

“I’m glad you realize that. What do you want me to do about that? I can have an Uber coming your way in ten minutes.”

“Will you pick me up?” He asks, his voice like a child’s. “Fuckin’ Ubers cost money, ‘n I just wanna see your pretty face.”

“Frankie,” you warn but feel your body warm at the notion.

“You got a cute little nose,” he laughs. “Just wanna boop it. Can I boop it? Just go… boop, boop boop. Right on the nose.”

You sigh. “Fine. I’ll be there in twenty minutes. You’re so fucking lucky I think you’re cute.”

“Thank you,” he practically sings. “See you then. Mwah.”

You throw on a hoodie and walk to your car, not caring to cover up your patterned flannel shorts that you sleep in. Your hair is messy, you don’t have makeup on, you don’t really give a shit. It’s Frankie.

Once you reach the bar, you shoot him a text, and the four men stumble outside. “Yo!” Benny calls and rushes over to you. It’s clear his normal balance has left his body for the night, his body a little wobbly. He’s an excited drunk. He slams on your window until you lower it. “Hey, you missed out on a good time,” he grins. His words blur together too.

Frankie follows behind him, an arm thrown across him. He’s still got a little balance. “Missed you so much, cariño. Santi’s being an ass.”

You look up at Will. “These fuckers need a ride too?” He’s the responsible one of the men, even when intoxicated.

He shakes his head. “Got an Uber coming. They’re staying at my place tonight.”

Frankie puts a hand on the car to steady himself. “Knew you’d come. Pretty girl always comes through for me, even at 3 A.M., thank you,” he slurs happily, his eyes half open.

Santiago leans against your car. “Hey gorgeous. We missed you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you roll your eyes. “Get the grizzly bear in the car.”

Frankie laughs at the words. “Ooh, I like that. Big and fluffy but murderous.”

“I’m about to get murderous if you don’t get in the car right now, Francisco Morales.”

“Oh, snap!”

“Shit, man.”

Benny gives a whistle. The men all make noises in commentary and laugh, Will opening the door. Frankie flops down inside. Benny ensures that all of his limbs have made it in and shuts the door. “Don’t party too hard with him tonight,” Santiago calls and you roll your eyes.

The two of you drive off and out of the bar parking lot.

“Hey, Fish,” you say, snapping your fingers in front of his face. “Buckle up. I’m not getting in trouble for your dumb ass.”

“You always do, though,” he mumbles and tilts his head to look at you. “You’re so good to me.”

“I’m a fucking saint,” you sigh sarcastically. “Seriously, buckle up. If you can’t do it yourself, we’re going to the ER for alcohol poisoning.”

“No,” he whines and pouts at you. “Just wanna be close to you. Wanna just…” he trails off and rests his head against your shoulder. “Mm. There. Your skin is so soft.”

“That’s my hoodie, Frankie.”

He takes a deep breath in through his nose, the scent clicking in his addled brain. “No, that’s my hoodie.”

He’s right, you realize. You grabbed a random sweatshirt and pulled it on before leaving. You’re the one who’s always cold at gatherings, leaving Frankie to share one of his many layers with you. You smile a bit. “It’s comfy.”

“I like it better on you. I really like you in my clothes, you know that? Wear them way better than I can. You just look so cute and so little.”

“Frankie, I’m 5’9,” you refute and glare down at him, where he looks up at you with puppy-dog mocha-colored eyes.

“Just look so small in ‘em. I’m like 6’0, you know that.”

“I do know that, Francisco. You remind us all the time,” you laugh, removing his ball cap and tossing it into his lap. “Still shorter than Benny. Get that hat off and I think you’re shorter than Santi.”

“I’m taller than him,” Frankie whines at the reminder. “How come Benny’s the baby and he’s so tall? He’s like a fuckin’ giraffe up there, can never see his stupid face,” he pouts.

“He’s too tall for comfortable hugs,” you nod in agreement. “And Santi is too short. And Will is too fucking awkward,” you laugh. You purposely leave out the bit about how perfect hugs from Frankie are, how much you dream about them and crave them.

His dark brows furrow as he looks up at you with glazed eyes. “Wha’bout me?”

The car stops for a moment as a light in front of you turns red. You smile down at him and push his messy curls from his forehead. “I like hugging you. You’re comfy.”

“Ha, grizzly bear hugs,” he slurs. “Y’should call me that more often. I like it when you call me things the boys don’t. Makes me feel tingly,” he laughs, lovestruck as he looks up at you.

“Tingly?”

“Yeah, like when they put the meds in before they steal your teeth.”

“Steal your teeth?” You laugh loudly, toying with one of the curls. “Do you mean get a tooth removed?”

“Same thing. I don’t like it when they do it then. I like it when you call me stuff though. Fishie makes me laugh and feel happy.”

“Oh yeah?” God, he’s so fucking precious. He looks at you like a puppy stares at their owner, pure and unadulterated love radiating from them. “I’ll need to call you Fishie more often then.”

It’s quiet for a while. Frankie’s head still rests against your shoulder. He can feel all of the tiny muscles move as you steer and navigate the car. He likes the way they move, making his drunken head even more floaty. After a few moments, he shifts to lean against the car door, just watching you.

The music drifting from the radio is soft and quiet. You almost think Frankie’s fallen asleep, since he’s so quiet, but you look over and see him gazing over at you. “Penny for your thoughts, Fish.”

You’re expecting something stupid. Frankie is quite the philosopher when he’s drunk, always asking odd rhetorical questions. ‘Is a muffin an unfrosted cupcake?’ has always been a favorite of his. He’s never quite made up his mind about it, waxing poetic about the difference in the two baked goods.

He always says something stupid, but this time, his sober thoughts become his drunken words. “You’re the most absolute prettiest woman I’ve ever seen,” he smiles at you, those pink lips curled into a soft smile. It shows off his dimple, and you want to scream from how cute he looks. One of his big hands reaches over and cups your face.

“You’re drunk,” you shake your head, looking back at the road. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, I mean yeah. Kinda drunk and really stupid, ha, but I mean it. You’re so fuckin’ pretty, cariño.” The backs of his fingers trace across the side of your face, resting on the side of your neck now.

You look down at yourself, still skeptical. “No, I know what you’re gonna say,” he pouts, beating you to the punch. “You’re in your pajamas and your hair is all messy ‘n whatever, but you’re so pretty. Your face is so cute. I love your nose. Just wanna…” he leans over and makes good on his promise for earlier. “Boop,” he coos as he pokes the tip of your nose, smiling wide. “You’re so cute. The guys make fun’a me because I never shut up about it.”

“Oh really?” you ask, raising an eyebrow and laughing.

“Yeah. Santi says I’m in love with you,” he murmurs, sitting back against the car window.

You gulp as you force yourself to grip the steering wheel harder, staring at the white dashes separating the two-lane road. “Yeah? What do you have to say on the matter?”

“I’m kinda thinkin’ he might be right.” His voice is small and quiet.

You shake your head again, eyes watering from the honesty. There’s no way he can think that. He’s shitfaced. He doesn’t mean it, there’s no way. He’s never been more than a friend, done anything to indicate romance.

Or… maybe he has, you reflect. He pays for your drinks most nights. He’ll order something you want and share it with you. He’s always a little touchier than he is with the boys. “You don’t mean that,” you say quietly, swallowing hard.

Whatever common sense he has left tells him to be quiet, so he does. He sits there silently for the rest of the drive, the tension palpable between the two of you. When you finally reach his house and park, you hold your breath. You don’t know what to do, what to say, but you can’t just let him go inside without saying anything. He sits up a little straighter as he realizes he’s come to a stop.

You bite your lip and look over at him. “I should help you inside.”

He nods and you turn off the car, putting the key in the pocket of your hoodie. You get out and walk to Frankie’s side, opening his door. He reaches his arms out to you and you chuckle a little. He looks like a helpless little child.

“Alright, grizzly bear,” you grunt as he swings his feet out and you help lift him to his feet. His arms cling to you tight until he’s standing up.

“Thanks,” he murmurs and wraps an arm around your shoulder when he’s upright.

“Don’t thank me yet,” you chuckle.

Using you as a crutch, he walks alongside you and into his house. He fumbles with the key until you open it for him, then lock it behind you. He leads the way to his room, opening the door and sighing as he sees his bed.

“Not yet,” you say as he tries to get to the bed. “Come on.” You pull his flannel off, leaving him in the t-shirt underneath. “Okay, go on.” He flops down onto his bed with a happy noise. Once he’s down, you unlace his boots and pull them off, then his socks.

Standing at his side, you undo his belt. “Woah,” he laughs. “‘M way too drunk for that, pretty girl. Kinda wanna though.”

“Shut the fuck up, Fish,” you laugh and thread it through the loops, tossing it aside. “I’m getting your clothes off so you can sleep.”

“Oh,” he sighs, giggling drunkenly as you pull his pants off. “Kinda feels like we’re gonna fuck.”

“Maybe another time,” you tease and pull the covers over him. Pushing his curls from his face, you softly kiss his cheek. “Call me when you’re sober, okay?”

He frowns and grabs the hand on his face with both of his rough palms. “Don’t leave me,” he pouts.

“Frankie,” you sigh and look at your watch. “It’s 3:35 in the goddamn morning.”

“Then stay the night,” he begs. “You said you like hugging me. I want you to hug me all night long,” he sighs, kissing your fingertips. You smile softly. It’s a good offer, you have to admit. He makes it even harder to say no. “I won’t be able to sleep if you’re not here when I wake up.”

“Lots of things can happen while you’re asleep, Fishie. I can-”

“Mm, Fishie,” he says with a smile, his eyes fluttering closed. “Come snuggle with me, pretty girl.”

You sigh as you look at the man. It’s not like you haven’t spent time pressed into his side, watching a sports game or a movie. You and Frankie are affectionate friends. He looks so warm and inviting, his body radiating heat. “Fine,” you give in. “Only because I’m cold.”

“Not ‘cause you like me too?” he asks and rolls over, leaving room for you.

“We can discuss that when you’re sober.” The spot he laid is warm and cozy, his body heat making it perfect for you. You slide under the covers next to him and he wraps his arms around you, pulling you into his chest.

Frankie presses a sloppy kiss to your head, smiling. You can hear his slow and steady heartbeat. “G’night cariño,” he mumbles, lips still buried in your hair.

“Goodnight, Frankie,” you whisper.

He falls asleep almost instantly, and you’re close behind him. You’ve never been more at peace than when you fall asleep in Frankie Morales’s arms.

read part two: SOBER THOUGHTS

taglist:

@remmysbounty @mishasminion360 @softly-sad @blo0dangel @binarydanvvers @sleep-tight1 @apascalrascal @randomness501 @spideysimpossiblegirl @notabotiswear @pedro-pastel @sanchosammy @lv7867

#frankie catfish morales x reader #frankie catfish morales headcanons #frankie morales headcanons #frankie morales x reader #frankie morales #frankie catfish morales #catfish morales x reader #catfish morales #pedro pascal #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal x reader

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spiltscribbles · 3 years ago

Note

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

FROM THIS LIST | Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face.

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk.

It’s a decade and a half later— as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least, to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly, searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand.

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice.

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors.

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even.

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital.

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin.

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?”

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped.

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

~Buy Me A Coffee

#WOLFSTAR #REMUS LUPIN #SIRIUS BLACK #SIRIUSXREMUS #REMUSXSIRIUS #WOLFSTAR FLUFF #THE HARRY POTTER SERIES #MARAUDERS #HARRY POTTER SERIES #ILU Victoria!!!#also to anyone side eyeing the buy me a coffee plz do not judge me #i am so searing embarrassed about it #rip #just it's there i guess #calls;jalksdgjaeowifjsadlkgh #look away from me #!!!#lmfao #spilt ink

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remember-to-be-gentle · 4 years ago

Text

This one may be long...

Subject: BNHA, Dabi aka Touya Todoroki + Enji Todorki, Fuyumi Todoroki, Natuso Todoroki, and a little Shouto if you squint

Title: House Party Bully 3 (NSFW, fem reader)

Trigger Warning: Non con, pregnancy, bisexual, lactation, obsession, possessive behavior, bullying, stalking, blackmail, crying

Still shaking from Enji's "inspection," Touya whisked you out of the house and pushed you into his car. You could barely process what was happening when he tore off away from the house. The overpowering smell of weed grounded you, forcing you into reality. The very same reality where you'd just been split open by your bully's father's cock because you were pregnant. You glanced over at Touya who was staring straight ahead at the road, the car going a little too fast and his his knuckles white from their grip on the steering wheel.

Just what had Enji said to force Touya into inviting you over? Granted a man like Enji must have kept his family on a tight leash, a leash tight enough to keep a record of how much weed Touya smoked and when.

The silence in the car was broken when Touya said, "Do you think he hurt the baby?" His voice was tight as his grip on the steering wheel.

Of all the things to focus on with what just happened in his house and his priority wasn't even you. You snorted and turned away from him. Of course he only cared about the unborn fetus inside you. To him and his family you were simply a liability for their reputation and a walking womb that needed to be fed. "Fuck off. I want to go home."

He grunted.

With a new wave of fear slowly coiling in your stomach, you realized Touya was in fact taking you home. He knew where you lived. He'd known where you lived all along. How many opportunities had he had to make your life hell outside of school? How many times had he driven here and parked where he could watch you as he struggled with the desire to burst your tiny bubble of peace?

He parked in front of your house and waited for you to exit the car before he made for your front door. He let himself inside with a snide, "You really gotta learn to lock the door."

Slowly, you followed, legs still shaking as you made your way inside. "How long have you known where I live?"

Touya was in your kitchen, helping himself to the Chex Mix you kept on the counter. "It wasn't hard. Just did some reverse image searching and compared them to Google Maps. Plus you didn't hide your location on SnapChat. By the way, don't accept friend requests from strangers or people who're friends with people who hate you."

Hot anger sizzled on your skin. "I didn't ask how," you said from the door way, "I asked when."

That got him stop. "Does it matter? You've always been mine." He shoved a handful of pretzels into his mouth. "You're mine to fuck with when I please." He swallowed. "Or fuck when I please."

"I don't belong to you," you snarled. How dare he. He'd done enough damage to your life: destroying your reputation at school, invading the only peace you had, raping you at his party and then knocking you up before he let his dad have a turn. Fuck him. You didn't belong to anyone and especially not him.

Touya laughed. A genuine, deep, terrible laugh. He made his way across the room, heavy shoes creating a steady beat of thunder as he towered over you. A slender finger poked into your stomach, right where Enji had pointed before, the nail sharp as it pressed into your skin. "We may not have had anything physical keeping us together before," he spat, "but now we do. With my kid growing in your belly, no one can deny you're mine. Not when he's growing. Not when he's teething on your tits. And especially when he introduces himself with my name."

You pushed him away. "Get away from me. Get out of my apartment."

Touya stared at you for a moment, then walked back into the kitchen and scribbled his number on your calendar. "Call me when you want your car back. Or when you miss me. Whichever comes first." And with that, he bumped his shoulder into you and got back into his car. That sinking feeling of fear returned as you realized your car was still at his house and you'd have to deal with his family alone.

*******************************************************

The next morning you dressed for school. It had been a long, tiring debate the night before if you should even go back. So much had happened in just a few weeks and you'd done your best to keep your head down and listen to the lectures, but now you were pregnant and without your car. You could always call Touya and have him bring it, but then you'd give in to what he wanted: you forced to rely on him, tying yourself further to his whims - marking you as his.

Instead you'd opted to summon an Uber, go to your classes and get home with no time in between to so much as look at the library. You steeled yourself and stepped outside only to see the car that almost hit you outside the Todoroki mansion sitting idly with the engine running.

Enji sat behind the wheel, cartoonishly large in comparison to the vehicle. When he saw you, he leaned over and opened the door. "Get in, I'm driving you to school."

And just how would that look with you showing up to school with your bully's father and the most feared professor on campus? Rumors would already be spreading about your absence and odd behavior. The moment someone guessed you were pregnant, and you started to show, any hope for a normal college life would be over with no hope of recovery. "No. Thanks."

You turned and pulled your phone out for the Uber, but then Enji said, "Your scholarship relies on you being a model student, doesn't it?"

You froze.

"An academic advisor isn't going to be too keen on letting you keep that money when you've been knocked up by a campus lowlife, even if his father is a respected member of the faculty." He patted the passenger seat. "And while I can't fix the fact that you're losing that scholarship, I can pay your tuition and medical bills. Delivering and raising a baby isn't cheap. So get in the car before you walk away with nothing."

He was right. Of course he was fucking right. This was Enji Todoroki, the man who has his entire family turning a blind eye to his debaucherous acts. He wasn't going to let you go even if you died, not when his grandkid was growing inside you. With as much of your dignity you could gather, you climbed into the car and let Enji drive you to campus.

"After your last class," he said, "come to my office. You have an appointment." When you didn't respond he added, "For the baby." He had said he'd be footing the medical bills. Did that mean Enji was going to be there for everything? The pap smear, birth, and recovery? You shivered. Touya knew his father was going to be overprotective and manipulative. He knew his overbearing nature would have you crawling back to him, back to an overbearing man you were at least familiar with.

When Enji parked at the school, you hopped out and started walking toward your first class. “Thanks for the ride.” You tried to put as much distance between you and him as possible, but Enji was large and fast. He caught up to you easily, keeping silent stride and never leaving your side. That remained true for the rest of the day. Between classes you caught his eye, and when he didn’t have a class to teach, he followed you or worked on his computer outside your classroom, just within eyesight.

Rumors were already beginning to start, you could feel it, people glancing at you and Enji. They probably thought you were either sleeping with him or you’d grievenced him in some way. Hopefully they’d assume the latter. You'd rather people think you'd gotten caught for cheating than you tried to sleep your way to better grades.

This behavior continued for days. A week almost passed before you realized you hadn’t seen Touya. No bullying, only stares from your classmates and teachers, which was almost worse. You knew what to expect from Touya, you could blow him off and tell him to fuck off, and if he got too into it, sometimes your classmates would tell him to fuck off, too. But now you didn’t know what they were thinking, how they were judging you. You were alone except for Enji’s heavy gaze and now really did consider that you may be missing him.

After your last class, you knew better than to fight Enji on him taking you home, your car was still at his house after all, and he was stronger and faster. You climbed into his car and stared at the window, waiting to see the neighboring apartments and familiar street signs. They never came. Instead you recognized another set of houses, the same ones you’d parked in front of the night of the party. “Wait,” you said, “this isn’t the way to my apartment.”

“No, its not.” Enji agreed. “Its not proper for the future mother of my son’s child to be living alone in a run down apartment. You’ll be living, or at least spending most of your time, with us from now on.” Before you could protest, he tapped a heavy finger on a piece of paper that sat on the dashboard. You picked it up and nearly cried. It was a copy of your lease with an approved early termination of contract. “Don’t worry about moving your things,” he said, “The boys and I will handle it.”

A tear slid down your cheek. They’d taken your life from you.

You jumped when you felt a finger run across your cheek, wiping away the tear. “If you don’t want to share a room with Touya, that’s fine. There’s plenty of rooms in the house.”

*******************************************************

As your stomach grew, so did Enji's overprotectiveness and Touya's absence. He hadn't even updated his insta since the party. You almost admitted you missed him. You could brush off Touya's rude remarks about how fat you were getting. You couldn't brush off Enji's furnace of a hand as it felt up your swelling stomach. With your insta DMs taunting you with that swollen blue send button. All it would take for help was to press it. But pressing it would mean admitting that you needed him. It was almost tempting. Almost.

Enji did make you move into the mansion, which you thought meant spending every waking moment with Touya, but he was rarely there. Even when he was, he would only play Mario-kart with his friends or ignore you completely. Despite his possessive behavior, he was sticking to his guns about making you call him first.

Your room was thankfully away from Touya's, sandwiched between his younger siblings, Fuyumi and Natsuo. They were all incredibly kind, volunteering to bring you food and anything else you need. They even helped you start to put your things away as it was becoming harder to move with your growing stomach. Although you couldn't help noticing they seemed to eye you up when your back was turned.

And then Rei and Enji announced they'd be going out of town for the weekend. You thought this would be a relief, not having to deal with Enji's overprotectiveness for three days and Touya still being mostly MIA, but you quickly understood that no one in this house could be trusted.

"Is there anything we can get you?" Fuyumi asked, seated at your desk with Natsuo leaning beside her.

At this point, you were about four months into your pregnancy. Your stomach wasn't enormous, but it was getting hard to move around. Fuyumi volunteered to buy you maternity clothing and Natsuo often brought you food, which was usually fast food, but still appreciated. You'd grown comfortable with asking these two for things you needed. "I'm okay," you said, "I just need to get some pads. Hopefully I can get them from the store tomorrow." Your car was still here, after all, and despite being in the mansion, you hadn't managed to find your keys. Touya or Enji had to have them.

Natsuo twitched. "Pads?" Having not know him for that long, you weren't sure what that meant quite yet. You'd seen it only s few times when your pregnancy was mentioned.

Regardless, you blushed. Speaking about the changes your body was going through with your future, unwanted, in-laws wasn't a comfortable topic of conversation. "I don't have a proper bra to absorb all the milk," you confessed.

Fuyumi seemed like she was trying not to look at you. "You're lactating?" Or rather, you realized, she was trying not to look at your chest.

Hesitantly you answered, "Yeah."

Silence in the room settled heavy as a boulder. Natsuo's adam's apple bobbed. "H-how much?" His voice was tight.

You did not like this line of questioning. "Does it matter?"

Fuyumi glanced at Natsuo who nodded. Together, they moved at once, flanking your sides with the efficacy of lions. "Don't scream," Fuyumi said and then she yanked your shirt up. Just as you'd said, the front of your bra was dark with milk.

Natsuo was fast to pull a tit free, groaning at the sight of your puffy and swollen areolas. He ran the cold pad of his thumb over your nipple, making you squirm. "Fuck," he groaned, "I've waited too long for this."

Fuyumi did the same, her fingers just as cold. "You think you have? I'm older than you, remember?"

"What are you doing?!" You demanded. You tried to get away but they easily pinned you against your new bed, your back to the mattress and tits up for their viewing pleasure. The swollen part of your stomach didn't help either.

Slowly, Fuyumi explained, "Mom always let us have some of her milk when she was lactating but had to stop awhile ago because of some medication." She pinched you nipple and watched you bite down the moan that threatened to escape. Your breasts felt swollen all the time now that you were making milk. It both hurt and felt far too good to massage them yourself, milk often squirting out if you pressed too hard. With both of them hanging over you like, you knew the milk would flow easily and that would only encourage them more.

Natsuo picked up where his sister left off, "So we've been waiting for someone to give us a new supply. And you're it." He gave a tentative lick to your nipple, watching the skin stretch and swell until it stood erect and ready to suck. "I'll have to thank Touya for bringing you to us."

With that, both Fuyumi and Natsuo latched onto your nipples. Their hot mouths were voracious, starved. Fuyumi lapped and suckled while Natsuo used his teeth and pulled.

Your body reacted naturally as if they were the child still growing inside you. You could feel your teats leaking, all too happy to give up what they'd produced for hungry mouths. Gasps left your throat between the begging for them to stop and pleasure. Your core was becoming hot, liquid, as if it were melting.

You tried to push them off, but the siblings held firm, suckling back and forth until you were dizzy.

Natsuo suddenly pulled off, gasping for air as clear fluid dripped down his chin. "Fuck, I can't take this anymore." He got off the bed and spread your legs, roughly shoving your skirt up and pulling your panties aside to feel the slick that had gathered. He whistled, low and impressed. “Dad said you’d be easy, but I didn’t think you’d get so wet from us just sucking on your tits.”

“Don’t,” you begged, trying to push him and Fuyumi off you, but Natsuo was just like his big brother: stronger than you and bigger than you. He pulled his cock free and slid it inside you. He wasn’t as big as Touya or his father, but he was long and pushed in and in and in until you thought your swollen womb had been pushed into your lungs. “Shit,” he groaned, “you’re fucking tight. How did either of them even fit in here?”

Fuyumi didn’t speculate, continuing to suckle on your breast, occasionally using her hand to stimulate the milk glands.

Natsuo didn’t wait for you to adjust, sliding himself in and out at a steady pace that had you whimpering. In this sad, pathetic moment, you could admit it. You could admit that you missed Touya and wished he was here to protect you from his feral siblings as they had their way with you. Your phone was just on the nightstand, too, if you could roll over, you’d be able to call him. You needed him. The thought tasted like bile and booze.

Tears welled up in your eyes, but Natuso didn’t seem to notice or care, groaning at the sloppy sounds your cunt made as he fucked you. Fuyumi did notice and pulled off your teat. “Hey,” she said, “you’re okay.” She kissed your cheek, but kept one hand on your breast. “There’s no need to cry, we’re just trying to get to know you before the baby comes.” A kiss along your jaw, another one lower, where she sucked and bit at the skin. All you could think was Touya wouldn’t be happy if that bruised.

And then the door opened.

Hope exploded in your gut like an unwanted orgasm, every muscle in your body tensing, ready to explode off the bed and into your savior’s arms. For the first time in your life you hoped it was Touya coming, hoped it would be the shaggy mess of dyed-black hair and those cruel cerulean eyes that would demand to know what’s happening before he pulled you away to his room. You could handle his mocking but not his siblings. You wanted it to be Touya so much it hurt.

And it wasn’t.

The youngest Todoroki poked his head in, heterochromic eyes blinking slowly at the sight in front of him. His pale skin turned red, anger coloring his features as his eyebrows narrowed. For a moment you thought he’d defend you, but you knew better, you knew these siblings were fucked up and selfish. With Natuso buried deep inside you and Fuyumi still trying to get milk from your breast, you weren’t surprised at all when Shouto said, “You guys got started without me?”

Fuyumi and Natsuo scrambled to come up with an excuse, both their movements stopping as their attention shifted to focus on their little brother. The shot you needed. You ignored Natuso’s cock inside you and made for your phone, swiping it off the nightstand and quickly hitting the contact for A MAN WHO SHOULD NOT BE CALLED.

“Shit.” Both Fuyumi and Natuso swore.

They both tried to wrestle your phone away, but it was too late. Less than two rings and Touya’s voice flooded the room, “What’s going on?”

You were so relieved you almost started sobbing. “Help me!”

Fuyumi managed to grab your phone. Her face broke into an uneasy smile, fear making her pale into a sickly green “Everything’s fine, Touya-nii! We’re just playing a game and she’s a sore loser, right Natsu?”

“Right,” Natuso’s voice was shaking, “right, Fuyu.”

Heavy silence filled the room. They’d been exposed for their actual intentions. “I’m on my way. And I better not see any of you near her again.” Touya’s voice was a growl, deep, barely holding back his rage.

Shouto blinked, his color returning to normal. “You guys drank all the milk, didn’t you?”

Both Natsuo and Fuyumi looked horrified. Their little brother's own selfishness played against them.

Fuyumi and Natsuo scrambled out of the room, dragging Shouto with them.

You laid on the bed, a soreness washing over your body. Your violated cunt, your swollen breasts, your skin where Fuyumi kissed, and goosebumps from the cold. You didn’t have the energy to fix your clothes or even look at Touya when he entered the room. You didn’t look at him, but you could feel his heat and his anger. He didn’t say anything, though. He just fixed your clothes and wrapped an arm around you, pulling you to your feet before he brought you to his room.

The familiar smells of body odor, weed, and Touya enveloped you and you understood that no matter how much you didn’t want this, this was your safe space now.

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boldlyanxious · 3 years ago

Text

Tenuous Trust

Jasonette July prompts 6: trust

References to Birds of Prey

Mentions of torture and murder

Canon-typical and not graphic

Possibly still disturbing

This is absolutely not what I was writing when I started. The idea was very different but it is what happened so it's what I offer

Not a typical meet cute Monday

My masterlist

Red Hood rushed down the hall away from the confrontation in the lobby. He had planned to sneak in and disrupt the meeting but that was no longer necessary. Things were going bad all on their own. Sionis was trying to find new contacts to deal with but recent interruptions in his business made an already turbulent arrangement turn volatile. Hood kept on down the hall looking for any other things he could tamper with in case they resolved their differences without guns.

He saw a woman step out of one of the former offices before the warehouse had been abandoned. He wasn’t sure who she was but she had been seen with Sionis or Zsasz a few times, but she usually never left their side so she would likely have information about their operation. He moved over to her quickly and pushed her back into the room, possibly more roughly than was necessary but for this it was likely better if she was a bit on edge.

She looked startled at him pushing her around but her eyes dropped down when she realized who he was. She said nothing. She waited for instructions, flinching a little when he reached out for her again.

“You are coming with me. Do you have anything of yours here that you need?”

She shook her head instead of responding, still looking down.

“Quickly out that window and hold on tight.”

She didn’t move. Well, she did but it was to back away and look around for an escape route. He grabbed her by the arm and pushed her a little to get her walking. Shouts were starting to echo down the hall. He expected bullets would be heard next.

“You are going to have to trust me. You have no reason to, but it is your only option.”

He pushed her until she had to either climb out the window or pull out of his grip. The decision became easier for her when the first gun fired followed immediately by several others. She climbed out the window and he followed. She was holding on to the side, looking very nervous about the possibility of a 3 story fall but he pulled her to him when he cleared the window.

Red Hood swung away from the building and landed on a low roof. He pulled her behind him, holding her hand to force her to keep up. They crossed several other roofs and he never saw anyone else nearby so he circled back around and found a vehicle to use. She was hesitating again when it came time for her to get in the car. She didn’t want to go back but she was not very thrilled about going with him.

“I meant what I said. You have to trust me. You have no other choice.”

She stared at him for one more moment before climbing into the car and putting on a seatbelt. They were silent as they drove through Gotham. He could feel the nervousness rolling off her but there was very little he could do about it. He did the one thing he could think of to ease her mind when he pulled off the road and into the drive thru at a Bat burger. It was a little thing. He was hungry. She probably was too, and it was an easy way for her to be more certain he wasn’t planning to just kill her.

He took her to his personal safehouse rather than the base. He didn’t want her spooked by the militia or all the guns and activity. Very few actually knew where the safehouse was. He didn't trust many to know where he slept, but he had a feeling that she could be trusted with the information.

He set the food at the table inside and the scene felt very domestic as they sat across from each other at his small table. It was better light in here so he was able to get a good look at her as she finished her food. She ate slowly and made no sudden movements. Her entire persona was meek, but it felt forced. He finished before her and pushed his back against the chair back as he stretched himself out. He stood and threw his paper wrappers in the trash and pulled out 2 beers from the fridge, offering one to her.

“So who are you?” he asked. “You don’t really seem like a career criminal.”

“I'm not, or I wasn't."

"Very vague explanation."

"I had dreams and plans before. I had a business and had just gotten an incredible contract. I went out with friends to celebrate.”

Red Hood kept watching and waited for her to finish but that seemed to be all of the story he was going to get out of her without more questions.

“How did that lead you to working for Sionis?”

“My friends and I didn’t know the area well. I had just moved here. But we found club Roman listed and that is where we went.”

“That is a well known cover for his business.”

“That is more clear to me now, but I didn’t know it at the time. It was purported to have a great singer and a dance show. That part was true.”

“Gonna need more of how you got involved with Sionis, Sweetheart.”

“Don’t call me that,” she said vehemently.

He was taken aback and raised his hands in a surrender motion. She appeared to be working on calming her breathing, eyes wide in terror. But she took a deep breath and continued.

“My friends and I all piled into an uber to get home. We checked the driver and everything was correct. He was very polite and dropped them off first. My place was only a little further away but I never made it home. He was working for Sionis and brought me to see him. He told me I worked for him now. He wanted my new contract as a way to do his business and work against the other company.”

“How long ago was this?”

“I signed the Wayne contract in March.”

“And you have been working for him since?”

“I guess so. I don’t really think of it that way though.”

“You don't think of it that way? Is there a more eloquent way to say you are working for a mob boss?”

"You know a lot about his organization. You are familiar with Mr Zsasz?" Hood nodded without interrupting her. "He is covered in scars. It's very off putting before you know the reason. Then it is horrifying. He kills people, and for each person he kills he makes a mark."

"So you did what they said or he would kill you?"

"I tried to resist or escape at first. But Mr Zsasz had driven my friends home. He didn't only threaten me." She took a shaky breath. "Nor was I the only person they tried to convince to work with Black Mask. There was another man, he was brought in with his wife and daughter. They made me watch--"

Hood followed her out of the room when she suddenly stopped talking and bolted out of the room. He stood by the bathroom door for several minutes until she finished and then ran the water for several minutes cleaning herself up. When she came back out he offered a water. He said he didn't have ginger ale or crackers but he could make toast. She shook her head but took the water from him. Then she continued telling her story.

"The threats were always there. Usually they would just smack me around a bit if I didn't want to do something or possibly if they were bored. They would threaten my friends or tell me they had given up trying to find me." She wiped away tears. "If I gave in too quickly after a beating Mr Zsasz would show me his scars. He has a spot picked out for me. Once told me he wanted me to fight them because he wanted to fill my spot. He dragged me up by my hair and made me kiss it."

"He did what?" Red Hood could barely contain his anger. The whole story was making him irrationally angry.

"It wasn't about me, or anything like that. He wasn't interested in anything but torment and he was very good at that. He did it for the bit if blood that transferred from my bloody lip to the spot. He says he couldn't wait for his own blood to show in my spot." Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added. "He always called me Sweetheart because I didn't like it and he refused to use my name. Everyone did. I wasn't even a person to them."

"What is your name?"

"Marinette," she said quietly.

"Marinette, you are safe now. I'm not going to hurt you."

"Last time I tried to escape he said there was nowhere to run. He would find me no matter what and make his mark."

He paused for a moment, thinking. He knew the best option but he didn't really want to use it. But it was the best option for Marinette.

"I can't protect you." Her face fell at that. "What I mean is I'm dismantling the entire organization. I can't keep you safe but I know of people who can. Do you trust me?"

"You said I have to trust you."

"But you would actually have to rely on the trust for this. You would have to trust that you will be safe with the people I take you to."

"It doesn't seem like there is another option."

"Getting you out of town with a new identity could work. But you may always be on the run. This life you have would never be yours again."

"Okay. I will trust you."

They left after that. He took her across many rooftops and around town. He seemed to be waiting for something but Marinette didn't know what until someone else landed. It was Batman, a known enemy of Red Hood and Black Mask. Marinette really hoped there wasn't going to be a fight.

"Took you long enough, old man."

"It was clear you were trying to draw me out. I wasn't going to jump into a trap."

"You are known for holding back, whether the situation calls for it or not. I'm proposing a temporary truce."

"How temporary is this truce?"

"One hour."

"That is very temporary. You clearly need me out of your plans right now. That sounds like the worst time for me to agree to a truce."

"I'm not making any moves. I need help or she does." He stood aside so Batman could see Marinette. "She was taken by Black Mask after securing a contract with Wayne Enterprises. Your connection to Bruce Wayne and Wayne Enterprises is well known."

He watched Bruce under the mask. His Batman mask slipped off his facial features while the cowl stayed firm. He knew Bruce was looking at his helmet and seeing Jason. He thought he was finally reaching the boy and Red Hood had no interest in correcting the misconception now. He would still complete his plan.

Black Mask had just become a higher priority and surprisingly he wanted to keep Marinette safe. He also had plans for Zsasz. He wanted to take him out personally. He shocked himself by reaching up to Marinette's chin and tilting it. She looked up at him as if he could tell their eyes were meeting even thought he had his helmet on. His thumb brushed against her jaw briefly before he dropped his hand.

"Keep her safe," he said without looking back at Batman. He couldn't stand to see Bruce looking at Jason again right now. He flipped off the roof and away before anyone else says anything but he crept back to a higher vantage point to watch as Batman took Marinette with him. She would be fine now.

Taglist

#jasonette july 2021 #maribat #jasonette #jasonette july #meet cute monday #boldlyanxious

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honeysidesarchived · 3 years ago

Text

WHERE THERE IS NO TEMPTATION, THERE IS NO GLORY.

⊱ a santino d'antonio / oc short-fic

euphemia volpe has never wanted for very much; a safe place to sleep, a soft place to land. to love someone, and be loved back. she has all of those things now, but it's most unfortunate for her that she has fallen in love with a man who will never be satisfied with what he's got.

pt. i: contact is crisis

words: 3.3k

warnings: language, some depictions of a relationship that is not entirely healthy, extensive use of my very basic knowledge of italian (padded with google translate, thank you google!), and an unfortunate amount of endearments and pet names. this does not deviate from john wick chapter 2's canon ending, so please bear in mind this will contain major character death.

rating: m for mature language ??? probably closer to t, but will change later on.

notes: as some of you may know, this has been (unfortunately) sitting on my drive since i first watched john wick chapter two almost a year ago--maybe over a year! i can't remember. all i remember was seeing santino and going "SOMEONE has got to kiss that man". so you know, here i am. this short-fic (only a few, short parts) will take place over the span of the events of john wick chapter 2. yes i built some tiny amount of lore for the camorra. yes i had the opportunity to write a fix-it fic and did not. no i am not taking criticism at this time !

special uber big thank you to my beta and my wifey @starcrier who read this a year ago and when i casually said, "hey, so what if i posted this" told me to do it. also @faithchel, who through the occasional sly prompt slid in from ask games (i see you) has been a true angel while i sort through this, and equally as encouraging!

and of course thank you to you all, who read this. i know this is not the usual content you followed me for but i appreciate you all the same. <3

“I cannot believe that I will marry a man so stupid.”

Euphemia is practically frothing at the mouth, she’s so mad; she storms into the chic New York loft, tossing her purse onto the nearby counter, her heels clipping against the polished floor decisively. It’s late; the silk slip of a dress draped across her body brushes the floor in a sweeping train, and she balances herself on the counter with one hand while she steps out of the stilettos with the assistance of the other.

“Euphie, luce della mia vita,” Santino says, striding in after her and completely at ease. He is, infuriatingly, as he always is; perfectly composed, his dark curls in place and his suit immaculate. Euphemia eyes him through the mirror of her vanity as he sidles up behind her. “We’re not married yet, princesa, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“Luce della mia vita,” Euphemia drawls mockingly. She drips the words in honey on the way out of her mouth, sliding a dainty, glittering bracelet from her wrist and dropping it on the counter. “You sound like a fucking idiot, Santi.”

His gaze darkens, but his voice is still silky when he says, “Watch your tone, cara mia.”

“What for?” Euphemia thinks she wouldn’t be able to watch her tone even if she wanted to; not anymore, not with this hanging over her head. She turns to stare at her fiancé, pressing her index finger to his chest. “You’re going to get killed by Baba Yaga anyway. No point in behaving myself, is there? Idiota.”

“Euphemia.”

“You leave John Wick alone, Santino,” she bites out. “You don’t ask for a thing from him. Of him. About him. I don’t want John Wick near my life.”

Santino grabs her wrist, the hand with the engagement ring sitting on it—snatches it out of the air like a cobra striking, grips it with hands that usually are much kinder.

“Everything that you have now is a gift from me,” he warns her, voice pitched low. “You like your nice engagement ring? Your nice dresses? This nice loft we live in?”

His fingers grip, nearly bruising; these are the only times that he doesn’t handle her with care, that his elegant fingers don’t splay against her skin reverently—when she’s pissed him off.

“I’ve given it all to you, all of these things, this life that you like having and don’t want John Wick near, so I would suggest watching your tone for that.”

There is a brief moment where Euphemia thinks she might finally, right now, resort to the violence of slapping Santino in the face. The threat is not lost on her; it’s Santino’s favorite thing to do when he’s angry. And for her to commit an act of violence against her fiancé would be unthinkable almost every other time, in any other situation. Euphie would not have considered it in the least, but there are times—on occasion—where she thinks for a second that she doesn’t recognize him; that he’s become some amalgam of all of the men who have grabbed her too hard or told her she owes them. Men who have used her meanly.

And Santino has divulged his plan to push John Wick for a favor.

So, yes: she thinks she might, but then her hand is moving of her own volition, sliding the engagement ring off of her finger and stuffing it into his jacket pocket, the more pacifist choice than what her mind is screaming for her to do.

“You have never had nothing, Santi,” she says, biting out the words, “so allow me to enlighten you; I have had nothing before you, and I will be just fine having nothing again.”

His eyes narrow, gemlike slits that sit heavy on her. She yanks her wrist of his grip and says, “And it is a good thing we are not married, si? A divorce would have been so messy.”

“Euphie,” Santino says in a sigh that lacks venom, as though he weren’t just threatening to take everything from her, as though she were the hysterical one, “don’t fuss.”

Don’t fuss, he says, because Santino has only ever had women before that bend themselves over backwards until they break for him; don’t fuss, he says, because he likes and maybe loves her, she thinks, but he doesn’t like or love when she talks back. Santino has always had someone to wait on him, to serve him, and Euphemia has never seen his parents together but she would that his only vision of marriage is that of a subservient, dutiful, loving wife.

“Oh, but my darling,” she coos, very undutiful and decidedly not subservient, “I wouldn’t want you to have to worry about all of the nice things you give me. You can enjoy them all yourself, for the brief time before Baba Yaga kills you for asking him to do a job he does not want to do, when he has announced his retirement.”

It’s a terrible way to feed the monster inside of her. That monster is a pusher, a puller, the kind that picked and chipped away at Santino until he lost that shred of his manicured control and gave her something, anything she could work with. It was impossible to love a man who was so buttoned up there was nowhere for her to put her love.

His expression tightens in the way that she recognizes as his controlled fury; bottling it, merchandising it, saving it for later. Santino is not incapable of killing his sister himself, but for some reason—a reason that Euphemia is sure is only known to him—he won’t. Some stupid shit about blood and family, probably.

“Take the ring back.” Santino’s voice is smooth, belying the danger lurking just beneath. He fishes the engagement ring out of the pocket of his suit jacket, where she’d dropped it, and picks up her hand again; this time, his fingers don’t grip with bruising force, but cradle. Euphemia thinks she might have pushed him, then, right to the line, because his eerie calm is unsettling as his fingers meticulously slide the engagement ring back into place.

He says, “There, you see? This is where your engagement ring belongs and will stay. Here, on your hand. Just like this is where you belong and will stay—here, with me.” His hand comes up to her face; she turns away, and he catches her chin and forces her to look back at him.

“You know I will get you anything you want,” Santino murmurs, “but you have to ask.”

Nicely, is the implied word. A good fiancé, a good wife, wouldn’t storm out of the car after he mentions John Wick in passing, ripping through the loft, calling him names. She knows all of this and she thinks, then maybe I’m not a good anything.

But she can tell when she’s pushed Santino’s buttons just enough—enough to make a point, and not enough to incur his wrath. Not entirely.

“Please, Santi,” she says, her voice still hard but softer than it was before, and already Santi is shaking his head so she plunges on recklessly, “do not cash in John Wick’s debt to you. Ascoltami, I know you—I know you will do something to put yourself and John Wick on opposite sides of the playing field.”

Santino’s gaze is sharp and clear. He drops his hand from her face, shrugging, and says, “So what? I will be playing chess, and John Wick will be playing checkers. You worry too much, Euphie.”

“What you mean to say is that I think before I act.”

He shrugs, and threads his fingers through her hair, reaching up with the other to brush loose strands of it from her eyes. He rumbles pleasantly, “Don’t you trust me?”

Euphemia grits her teeth. Her hands come up to grip his wrists, watching him with a prickle of dread in her chest. “Don’t you trust me, Santi?”

Santi’s gaze darkens. Like that, he drops his hands from her, tucking them into the pockets of his slacks as he turns and wanders further into the bedroom, taking all of his warmth with him and leaving Euphie to marinate in the cold glow of the vanity’s lights.

“You can say no,” she says after him, frustrated. “You don’t have to keep an air of mystery about it.”

“What do I do then, tesora?” Santino demands, turning to look at her from the foot of the bed where stands. “Kill her myself? You know I can’t. You know that you cannot ask me to do that.” A pause, and then, with an added air of entitlement: “And Wick owes me.”

There are complicated feelings wrapped up in the whole of it, she knows; Santino, who wants what his sister was given, but cannot bring himself to end her. Euphemia, who only wants Santino, who doesn’t care if he has a seat at the High Table or if he’s a sister-killer or not, who only wants him to look at her longingly like he did when they first met, just for forever instead of a brief moment in time.

And both of them, intrinsically linked, because Santino isn’t wrong when he says that he’s given her everything she has now and Euphemia isn’t wrong when she says she would be okay with nothing again.

She doesn’t ask it of him; he is right, that she can’t, that she wouldn’t. Gianna has only ever been kind to her, at least face to face, and if Santi’s sister had any reservations about Euphemia, then Euphie would find herself in a completely different situation. Not engaged to the only other heir to the D’Antonio empire, that was for certain.

Instead, then, she says, “I cannot ask you to do it, you’re right. I cannot ask you to do it, and I cannot keep you, and I cannot throw you away, Santino. I was less tired when I had nothing.”

She turns away and walks herself into the bathroom, fingers trembling as she undoes the delicate zipper of the gold dress, letting it pool at the floor in a whisper of fabric. The engagement ring sits heavy on her hand. It’s beautiful—and just what she wants, and also the thing that she fears the most, because she doesn’t know what it means to Santino and only what it means to her.

“Euphie.”

His voice comes from the doorway of the bathroom. She turns on the hot water in the tub, a beautiful porcelain clawfoot that she picked herself. It was one of the first things that Santino gifted to her, the first essence of her in the loft that is now almost entirely half-and-half the two of their tastes.

Euphemia doesn’t say anything, because she doesn’t know what to say, so she ties up her hair and shimmies out of the last of her clothes. She can feel his eyes on her, waiting for her to flower into submission and turn around and beg, oh, please Santino, forgive me, but he should know better because she has never and will never do that for him.

“Cara mia.”

“Do not.” Euphemia’s voice wobbles. She slides into the bathtub before it’s full, the water stinging her skin where it touches. “I can’t stand to hear your voice saying sweet things to me when you are willingly walking yourself into your grave.”

“You are being a little dramatic.” He makes his way over to her, kneeling down beside the porcelain tub, ghosting his fingers over her forehead and then the bridge of her nose, fluttering in a way that treasures her and causes her grief all at once. “Just one job, Euphie. That’s all I’m going to ask of him. And then it’s done, and you won’t have to be worried about the Boogeyman.” The pads of his fingers dip into the hot water and then skim along the slope of her collarbone, raising goosebumps on her skin. “And John Wick, whose lifelong peace you are very concerned about, can go back to his dog and his car.”

Euphemia thinks, it’s never just that, with you, because she knows Santino—she knows he’s hungry, has always been hungry, a boy magicked into a man’s skin all hurt and needing and starved, unable to inhibit himself properly. No self-preservation telling him when to stop, never telling him when enough is enough. Not really.

I see you, though, she thought, her gaze flickering over Santino’s face to trace the handsome lines of his expression. She would have never agreed to marry a man before she saw him without his face off; without knowing the monster underneath.

But while she knows this, and she sees Santino D’Antonio for what he really is, she is an idiot and a fool and loves a man sick with the magic of his own perceived destiny, a destiny he believes he is owed, so she says softly, “Promise me, Santi.”

“On my life,” Santino replies with that boyish charm she knows so well. He speaks as though he is not going to leave her in the morning to visit Baba Yaga, as though she doesn’t fear he won’t ever come back. “Now give me a kiss, princesa.”

“I mean it, Santino—”

“I do, too.” He cocks his head to the side. “I won’t ask twice.”

Euphemia acquiesces; not because she fears what he’ll do if he does feel he has to ask twice—because he does hate that—but because as much as she says she would be happy to have nothing again, she is content to bask in the something that she has now, while she has it.

She kisses the corner of his mouth. He slides his damp fingers into the hair at the nape of her neck and says, “Do you love me?”

“Of course.” Her voice feels rough with an emotion she doesn’t want any of. “Of course, Santi, that’s why I—”

“All I need is a yes or no, my little fox, not an essay.”

Her eyes narrow. She turns her face from him; he shifts his position at the end she’s leaned against, dragging his hands along her shoulders to ease the tension in her muscles. Her body reacts instinctively to him. She is a long cry from the girl scamming rich men out of their wallets and time, but there are some things she is still weak to; touch, the acknowledgment that she has a body, that she is real, to be reassured that she is alive.

Santino is so very good at that. He leans over the end of the tub and kisses her cheek, fingers working into the knots of her shoulders.

I am so afraid, she thinks, her eyelashes fluttering shut. I am so afraid that I will never see old age on you.

“Tesora.” His voice is a lull. Pulling her back in, pushing her back under, reminding her that to relinquish herself to someone is a luxury she does not want to go without anymore. To let someone else take control, to not have to worry about making decisions all the time; this is something that she always wants.

“Yes,” Euphie says, “of course I love you, Santi.”

She can feel his smile against her cheek.

“Good girl.”

━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Tell me your favorite words.”

It’s both early and late; the clock’s cool blue numbers are keeping her awake; Santi’s hand slides along the curve of her hip admiringly above the silk of her nightdress, and his nose brushes the bump at the base of her neck. Euphemia shifts. When she does, the edge of her engagement ring catches on the silky pillowcase, but she doesn’t care—it will always do that, because Santi won’t pick another and Euphie won’t ask him to.

Goosebumps prickle along her skin with the air conditioning, cranked as high as she likes, whispers across it when her shoulder slides out from underneath the comforter. She rolls over to look at him. It’s unsurprising that he’s still awake, and he doesn’t look surprised to see she’s awake, either.

“My favorite words?” she prompts. Santino brings his hand to her face, his thumb dragging absently along her lower lip.

“Si,” he replies. “You are always reading. You can speak a few languages. You must have favorite words, no?”

His request does bring a smile to her face, tired as it is. They may have spent the rest of their waking evening wandering around each other like wounded dogs, wary and licking their wounds, but they are here now, together, in their bed.

Euphie says, “It is late, Santi.”

“And I cannot sleep.” He brushes his nose along her jawline. “But perhaps the soothing voice of my one greatest love will lull me.”

She laughs. Her hand finds his, their fingers interlacing, woven together. He pulls back from her and kisses the engagement ring, but he is waiting. He means it.

“Tendresse,” Euphemia says, the word rolling soft out of her mouth from misuse. Santino quirks a brow expectantly and kisses the pulse point of her wrist. “Tenderness.”

He nods sagely. Against the soft skin of the inside of her wrist, he murmurs, “You are a most tender creature, Euphemia D’Antonio.”

Her fingers slide out of his, running along the slope of his cheekbones and then the bridge of his nose. “That is Euphemia Volpe. If you’ll recall, we’re yet to be married.”

Santino leans in, captures her fingertips playfully with his teeth, and then kisses her palm with a warm, rich chuckle that sends pleasant heat spiraling down her spine. “You will never forget that I was fool enough to say that to you, will you?” he asks. “Tell me another.”

His eyes are just as warm as his voice, and twice as earnest. In these moments, Santino is the most charming; boyish and quick-witted, unburdened by the elements of the world, by his own desires. He thinks of nothing except them. Euphemia feels like she’s in her own little world with him, in their bedroom at three in the morning, while the air conditioner whirrs and ticks and he asks her something so unimportant, like what her favorite words are.

And then, Santino leans in and kisses her cheek, the corner of her mouth, and the underside of her jaw to prompt her.

“Amore,” she murmurs, feeling like the breath has been sucked out of her lungs by his longing. His tenderness.

“Oh,” Santino says, against her temple, “I know that one.”

When his stubble tickles her neck, she squirms, shifting away from him so hat she can take a breath; but he chases her, leans in and captures her in his arms so that he can nose the hair by her ear and kiss there.

“Euphie, my gorgeous girl,” he says in the way that wrenches her heart; drenched and drowned in adoration. “Perfetto e tutto mio.”

Santino wraps his arms around her and pulls her to his chest, his fingers tracing constellations on her back where the night dress slips away from her shoulder blades. Sweet Santi, covetous Santi; she is his greatest art piece, his favorite collector’s item, and in these moments she has never felt more treasured. There is something equal parts safe and selfish in wanting someone to treasure you.

“Say it for me, Euphie. You know I love when you do.”

She buries her face into his neck. Her eyes burn. He will go to Baba Yaga tomorrow, and she will have to pretend not to know, or it will wreck her. Euphie considers ways to keep him in bed in the morning; delay him, make him forget about John Wick and this glory that he is chasing forever.

“Sono tuo,” she murmurs. Tears sting at the corners of her eyes If he feels them against his skin, Santino makes no indication than to card his fingers through her hair. “Always, Santi.”

Always, always, always yours.

#john wick fic #santino d'antonio x oc #santino d'antonio / oc #spilled ink #c: euphemia volpe #c: santino d'antonio #i have nothing to say for myself except thanks and ily all <3 #scheduled post #x: senza tentazioni senza onore

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atalho-s · 3 years ago

Text

Sweet Sugar

2 | Oh this town it's so electric

pairing: tom holland x reader

warnings: swear words, underage drinking (not much tho, nothing descritive and nothing like “Skins” lmao), suggestive scenes in some chapters, not smut!! but minors be aware. Fluff/angst/drama/ Y/n and Tom being stupid teenagers with feelings.

words: 2.5 k

a/n: english it’s not my first language, sorry for any mistake!

Summary: Y/n has always been Harrison’s and Tom’s best friend. Since childhood they’ve always been close, but what happens if after a break up with her first boyfriend, she starts to feel something more about Tom?

PART 2! If you want to read Part 1 click here

Don’t forget to check out the playlist by @petesrparker created for the series! here

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

It was almost 7pm on Saturday and I was almost ready to go meet Tom before we went to the party. I had put on a stylish shirt along with a skirt (a little shorter than i usually wore) and a sandal with a medium heel. After finishing doing my outline, I take the bag with the gift and went down the stairs.

The day before I had found something in the mall, a chain with an amber stone as a pendant. The attendant of the store had told me it meant protection and calm, which I thought was perfect to give to Tom as a way to show that I was there to comfort him whenever he needed it.

As soon as I went downstairs my mother was already waiting for me to fill me with accessories (she always complained that I didn't "dress up" properly).

- You look beautiful! - She said putting a bracelet on my wrist and two rings on my fingers.

- Aw, thanks mom!- I said giving a kiss on her cheek. - I have to go, because I'm almost late, I don't know what time I'll be back, probably before midnight.

-Okay, If you need anything calls us and we'll go get you. - She said and I nodded waving to my father who was in the living room. - Give my birthday wishes to Thomas and a hi to Haz for me and take this pie to Nikki. - She handed me a bag with a pot as we walked down the stairs from the front door.

- Okay, bye mom! - I said and waved down the street.

After walking for less than 10 minutes I was in front of Tom's house, took a deep breath, went up the stairs to the entrance and knocked on the door. I heard some screams to open the door from the inside and a "messy hair" Harry wearing striped pajamas answered me.

- It's Y/n! - He yelled to the side. - Come in. - He said as he gave me space and gave me a kiss on the cheek.

- Are you ready to sleep? - I said pointing to his pajamas. - Actually it's time to children to be in bed, you're right. - and Harry stuck out his tongue.

- So funny. Since we're not old enough to go to the party with you guys, me, Sam and Paddy are going to play video games and watch movies, you know, boys night. - He said as if celebrating, putting a fist up.

- Got it. In fact, what I really wanted was to be with you guys watching movies, much better than a party. - I said as we arrived in the kitchen, where Nikki and Sam were preparing cookies.

- I doubt it, I can't wait to go out and have fun at night. Harry said and I shrugged.

- What can I do? I'm a old lady... - I laughed and greeted Nikki and Sam with a hug.

- I wish my children like to stay in home like you. -Nikki spoke as she took the cookie shape out of the oven.

- Well Nikki, I've already tried to get them on the right path, but they're too rebellious.- I said and Harry and Sam giggled. - My mother sent you apple pie. - I put the bag on the counter.

- Yay, your moms apple pie is delicious!- Sam said opening the bag and taking a fork to taste.

- Teenagers....I don't know what I do with these pests anymore.- Nikki said putting her hand on her hip and watching Harry and Sam fight to eat the pie.

- Did I hear pie?- Paddy came into the kitchen greeting me with our handshake, which I taught him since he was practically a baby, Paddy and I had our little bond, I was his defender when the older brothers made fun of him.

He stole Sam's fork and ran off as he and Harry ran after him screaming.

-Oh God…I don't deserve this.- Nikki laughed. - Honey, Tom is there in his room getting ready, if you want to go upstairs.

- Okay, I'll hurry him.- I said and she agreed, laughing. - By the way, you look amazing! I loved your outfit.

- Thank you Nikki! - I thanked going towards the stairs.

Once I got to the top I walked until I reached the end of the hallway where Tom's room was, knocking on the door.

- Tommy? Can I come in? - I asked and heard a "come in!" from the inside.

I opened the door and saw Tom in front of the mirror finishing his hair. He wore a basic white T-shirt and black jeans, along with a black all star with white laces. He looks beautiful, which made me miss a few heartbeats for a moment.

- Did you like it? - He asked turning to me and opening his arms looking at himself and then at me again.

- Perfect! I loved the all star- I said and he smiled.

- You not looking bad yourself either... New skirt? - He said looking me up and down making me feel my cheeks burning.

- It's old, but I've never used it, I left it for special dates.

- I felt honored now- he said and I laughed.

-Hey happy brithday! - I approached and hugged him feeling his delicious and intoxicating perfume. - Best wishes, I hope all your dreams come true. - I said still hugging him tight and closing my eyes feeling him kiss my cheek when we let go.

- Thank you mate, you and Haz are one of the best thinga in my life. - He said and I smiled seeing him smile back, and what a smile... Damn y/n! Stop thinking things that shouldn't be thought!!

-I have a present for you!-I said, delivering my bag in his hands.

- Yay!! - He got excited sitting on the bed to open it like a child on Christmas Day. -Wow!- he said taking the chain out of the box. - It's beautiful... Thank you so much darling, I love it! - and obviously I blushed even more with the pet name. Tom called all the women closest to him darling or love, which was normal, but whenever he said to me, for some reason, I felt a warm feeling in my heart...

- You're welcome Tommy, it's an amber stone to bring you protection and patience.

- Perfect, everything I need - he looked at me - I'll use it right now! It even matched my outifit- he said putting the chain around his neck and winking at me right after.

- I liked it, it looks amazing. - I said looking at him and he hugged me from the side.

- Hey, we have to go if we don't want to be late.- he said getting up and giving me his hand to get up too.

- Right. - I said, following him out of the room and down the stairs behind him.

- Mom? We're already going! - he yelled, taking the keys from the counter and Nicki appeared approaching.

- You two are rocking huh? Both look beautiful! My baby is already so grown... - she said squeezing one of Tom's cheeks making me laugh and he rolled his eyes.

- Mom...

- Okay, go ahead, and don't drink! Especially you young man - she said pointing at Tom with her intimidating finger. - And don't come back too late.

- Okay mom. I'm responsible.

- Yeah... I'm just more relieved, because the Y/n goes too, she's the only sane one of this "impossible trio." - and I made a face of "proud of myself", puffing out my chest.

-Ha-ha, yeah sure...- Tom replied and I hit his arm causing him to rub it pretending he was in pain.

- I'm the oldest and most responsible, Nikki is absolutely right. - I said and Nikki laughed.

- You said like you're very old, but it's only some months... - He start saying and I raised my hand ready to hit him again, making him shrink with fear. - Okay, okay... Now let's go, because we're already too late. - Tom said opening the door letting me through and we waved to Nikki.

We took an uber and arrived in 20 minutes in front of the party. It was a really nice house, Tom’s friend welcome us on the front door and lead us to the backward, into what appeared to be a small wood structure with a big window at the front, but when Tom and I walked in after passing the door, the place was a lot bigger than it looked. It had a lot tables around like a big saloon even with a dance floor and seemed to be very cozy. When we walked in you could hear an indie song playing in the background, which I really liked as it's one of my favorite styles. Passing through the door we already saw some familiar people seated, including Haz.

- Finally! The birthday boy arrived!- Tuwaine, one of the boys' friends, who eventually became mine too, stood up greeting Tom with a hug.

- Thanks mate.- Tom said returning the hug and greeting the rest of the people who were at the table and I went after him greeting them too.

- Good to see you here Y/n! I know you're not a big fan of parties.- Tuwaine said as I sat between him and Haz.

- Well, it’s what we do for friends, right? - I laugh looking at Tom who was talking to some friends from the school.

An hour passed and everyone was drinking and talking happily. Tom sat at the end of the long table a little away from where I was with Haz and Tuwaine, so the 3 of us were talking nonsense and joking together.

Until a group of 4 girls arrived together, one of them I could recognize as being Gracie, a girl from the school, I didn't know her very well, we were classmates, we did math together, but we never talked. And another face I knew well: Meghan. A girl who do theater with the boys and who was everyone's crush. Tom and Haz were always talking about her, but I had never talked to her for a long time, just the times I would meet the boys at the theater, we would say hello and goodbye and that was it. The only thing I knew was that Tom was in love with her since he was a child.

Obviously that made me a little jealous, which was ridiculous, because I didn't even know her very well and even though I felt something different for Tom for the past few months, it wasn't right for me to be jealous, he was my friend, that's all.

The girls approached the table and Tom got up to greet them.

-I'm glad you came!-I heard him say as he kissed Meghan's cheek and hugged the others. I could see Gracie looking in Haz's direction and look away quickly, which made me raise a curious eyebrow.

They sat down and I saw Meghan walking to the bar with Tom as they chatted excitedly. I looked away picking up my glass with a drink I didn't even know what it was anymore, taking a sip. I heard someone approaching and when I looked up I saw Gracie.

- Hi Haz! Good to see you. - She said and I saw Haz turn a little red.

- Good to see you too Gracie!- he said greeting her across the table.

- Do you guys know each other?- I asked looking from one to the other.

- Yes we did English together. - Haz said.

- You are Y/n aren't you? Do we do math together? - Gracie asked.

- Yes we do! Do you know Meghan too?

- Yes, she is a childhood friend of mine, as she said she was coming on Tom's birthday and didn't want to come alone me, Beverly and Paige came to accompany her.

- Got it, do you want to sit with us? - I said pointing to the chair in front of us.

- I wish, but the girls are already asking me to sit with them, we haven't seen each other for a while, you know, don't you want to go sit with us instead? - She said pointing to the other table where the other 3 girls were looking at her, calling her.

- It's a good idea. - Haz said and looked at me and Tuwaine who agreed, getting up.

So Gracie went in the front with Tuwaine behind her and me and Haz got a little further back, where I poked him.

- Why didn't you tell me you had a crush? - I asked like a whisper so that only he could hear me.

- It's not a crush... She's just a nice girl from my class, that's all. - he replied.

- Haz I know you.- I said and he rolled his eyes giggling.

We arrived at the table and stayed there talking and getting to know each other. The girls were really nice and cool, which I ended up getting along really well with them, especially Gracie, which was funny because we did a class together and we never even said hello to each other. In the meantime, Tom and Meghan had already returned from the bar with their drinks, where Meghan ended up finding a way to sit next to Tom at the other table, which I thought was a little weird, but I ignored it.

After a few minutes Tom approached our table.

- Hey guys, we’re going to the dance floor, do you guys want to?- he asked leaning between my chair and Haz.

Everyone ended up agreeing, getting up and following him to the dance floor, where Meghan and a few others at the other table were already dancing. The song Juicebox by The strokes starts playing, and everyone sang loudly. I was a little behind as I hated dancing, but I also joined in the singing, because Strokes was one of my favorite bands.

Soon after, the song Glockenspiel song by D.I.D started to play. We got even more excited and started jumping singing. I saw Haz approach Gracie, which made me smile, they looked cute together. So, I looked around and realized that I was in a corner alone, Tuwaine had already left for the middle of the floor super excited and the other girls were on the other side, talking to Marcos and Julian. I kept looking until I found Tom and Meghan, they were dancing very close and talking talking into each other's ears, laughing.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

I lowered my eyes finding the ground very interesting for a moment, but I couldn't stand it and looked up again.

(Oh this town, it's so electric Since I got the feeling I can't shut down)

Which I regretted, because now they were kissing passionately.

(We are a mess, we are failures and we love it)

I felt my stomach starts to hurt, and my eyes fill with tears. Why did I feel this way? It was ridiculous and immature. Tom had already hooked up with other girls in front of me, why was it different now? Not understanding my feelings, the only thing I did was run away, I went outiside and went to the front of the house, leaving.

Maybe it was the drink? But I sat on a low wall and lowered my head to my knees and started to cry.

❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁ ❁

#tom holland #tom holland fanfic #tom holland imagine #tom holland x reader #tom holland x y/n #tom holland x you #tom holland friends to lovers #tom holland angst #tom holland fluff #tom holland series

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perhapsthanatos · 4 years ago

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10:32 pm with yuta ♡

nct’s yuta x fem!reader (got inspired by a dream of mine & found the idea really cute)

alternate title: be the james dean to my audrey hepburn

genre: fluff. a pinch of angst. non idol au. badboy!yuta au.

word count: 1400~

playlist: chinatown by wild nothing, lover’s rock by tv girl & work this time by king gizzard and the lizard wizard.

warnings: featuring johnny (not a warning though). smoking cigarettes. cursing. lowercase intended. not proofread.

a/n: hi i was supposed to post a vampire!haechan fic but i really wasnt happy w it in general :( the plot or overall idea of the fic was really good, but i just felt as if i didnt do it justice so here we are :( but ngl, i kind of like this concept more? maybe bc i can see it more vividly? idk, i feel like my writings r getting repetitive & its getting on my nerves lmaoo this is getting long im sorry do u guys even read this part anyway? i would also like to apologize abt the amount of projecting im doing lmao ive been having some rough days & i love my sister but hate being compared to her so often so this is a way for me to rant abt it ig? also so sorry its coming out a little later bc i woke up late today (& procrastinated for the rest of it so here i am posting really late at night) & decided to go to the convenience store to get ice cream (& a ton of other bad shit pls dont do this its rlly unhealthy) for breakfast bc i can :) any who, enjoy lovelies <3

“oh my, y/n! you’ve grown up so well! just like your sister!”

“oh! i’m sorry i’ve almost mistaken you for your sister! y/n is your name, correct?”

“y/n, darling, you are looking so dashing! you really do resemble your sister, don’t you?”

“ah, you must be y/n! i’ve heard all about you and your sister from your father!”

you swear that your reddening cheeks are threatening to fall off any moment now from all the fake smiling. the hundreds of superficial compliments, the insincere flattery and the need for these people to constantly compare you to your godforsaken sister makes you feel even weaker than you are. it gets harder and harder to keep up with a big persona that isn’t at all you. as lucky as you are to live such a lavish lifestyle, you can’t help but hate how your family has to be so perfect. you hate how you have never fit in with them, even if you are so good at faking it. you hate how you have always been stuck in your sister’s shadow, constantly haunted with the reminder that you yourself aren’t good enough. you hate how you now have to entertain the rich and brainless guests at your parent’s gala because she’s gone for some stupid prodigy competition and everyone is only talking about her in front of your face. so what if she’s better the better sister? you still have the right to earn respect, right?

you’re exhausted from all the small talk. your facade gets more brittle by the second under all the pressure. your body feels as if it's gonna give out due to your brain shutting down after all that interacting. you try to keep on going with the night as it unravels itself by being the perfectly poised poster child, trying to make your parents proud. but alive yet almost completely devoid, you decide enough was enough. what if you left right now? no one would notice, would they?

after pulling up your phone discreetly to send a few text messages, you pass through lots of people dressed in gold and finery in a way that wouldn’t have you noticed right away. keep your head down and don’t you dare make eye contact with anyone. nearing the end of the room, grabbing the first glass of whatever alcohol you see and downing it in one gulp, you start walking away as quickly as possible from the ballroom. “ignorant privileged fucks,” you angrily whisper to no one in particular, setting the now empty glass on whatever surface and begin to head to the main exit where no one could spot you running away.

“and what do you think you’re doing here, miss?”

a voice interrupts you, looking up you see that it is your father’s head butler; johnny. he is dressed in a simple black suit that makes him appear taller than he is. his long brown hair is slicked back and his bowtie seems brand new. you have known the man since he started working in your household less than ten years back. you were a reckless child, often trying to find ways to sneak out, finding a way to escape from this life and he sympathized with you. after all, he could barely imagine living your life, never catching a break for yourself and always pretending to be someone you weren’t. he often helped planning when you would sneak out into the night, scheduling things like what time you should leave and what time you should be back, more specifically a time when no one would notice. he would take care of your form of transportation and have your location on at all times, just to be extra safe. as much as he wants you to have fun and have a bit of freedom, he still worries that something might happen to you. because of all this, you two have grown to have a very strong bond. you could confidently say that he is most definitely a parental figure in your life since your parents (and even your sister) are often overseas for work.

“what do you think i’m doing? you think i wanna be in a room with those half-baked bipeds? fuck no!”

“i know, i was just joking. you looked like you were about to explode in there, i wish i could help.” he laughs, pulling out his phone preparing what you might need. “so what will it be for today? the driver? we just need to pay him to keep his mouth shut. a taxi? it’s cheaper than paying the driver, but you still need to pay… not like that’s a problem for you though. maybe an uber would be good enough—“

“actually, i got myself covered. thanks.”

his jaw slightly drops and his eyebrows furrow. he looks straight at you in shock. “what do you mean you got yourself covered?”

you look down at your feet, a nervous habit. “i got myself a ride, you don’t need to help me. i’ll be back as soon as dawn comes.”

he raises his eyebrow. “who’s your ride?”

“doesn’t matter,” you glance down at your phone seeing a notification and wave a goodbye, leaving rather suddenly. “i gotta go, i’ll text you when you need to open the gates!”

“y/n! wait! who’s your ride— and she’s gone.” johnny sighs, watching as you run towards the front gates, tossing your stiletto heels away on the grass while you’re at it. he heads back inside, silently hoping you’ll be fine.

knocking the window of the old black mustang parked outside behind the big bushes, the driver rolls down his window and sends the most charming smile.

yuta in his black beanie, long blonde hair, worn out doc martens, signature leather jacket and black skinny jeans. it almost makes you laugh on how he wears the same thing almost everyday but still manages to look so good.

he is most notable for having a big bad boy reputation and you knew that he was the breath of fresh air you needed in your life. a person who can understand having the pressure of having to be or to fulfill your persona. a person you can completely be yourself around. a person who is full of warmth no matter how cold he may seem on the outside.

“get in, princess.”

and that was all you needed. you tiredly walked to the other door and sat yourself in the car. rolling his window back up, he looks at you. you are wearing a simple yet stunning black dress along with silver jewelry adorned on your neck and wrists. your makeup is perfectly done but still struggles to hide the fog in your eyes. he has the sudden urge to clear them away. he softens at the sight of you. no one is perfect, but he finds you being perfect enough without ever having to dress up.

“where to?” he asks as gently as he could. he knows that you are most vulnerable during these moments and that it is hard to finally break down your walls after a day full of stress, so he doesn’t pry immediately. all he wants to do is to keep you here, safe and away from your burdens and for you to stay comfortable with him, even if it couldn't be for long. but is that too selfish of him to ask? he hates how you hate your life and it is taking every bone in his body to not run away with you. but who is he to tell you what to do or what to change anyway? all he can do for now is try to find a way to make you genuinely smile.

“take me anywhere,” you whisper to the latter. “i just want to be as far from myself and my life as possible. miles away or the nearest convenience store, just take the long way home before dawn.”

you look down at the cup holders, spotting an open cigarette box. you tug one out of the nineteen and light it with the lighter you kept in your pocket. you lean back and close your eyes. he only admires as you bring the cigarette to your lips, exhaling a cloud of smoke afterwards. letting the radio play quietly, he starts the car and begins to drive away from the mansion. he can’t help but wonder how you (an elegant daughter) and him (a bad boy) are millions of worlds apart, but more similar than you think.

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queen-haq · 3 years ago

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Fic: A Woman Scorned - Part 7

Pairing: Billy Russo x Reader

Rating: R for language and light smut.

Words: ~2200 words.

Summary: You’ve been sleeping with Billy Russo for a few months now. Knowing his aversion to emotional commitments, you’re satisfied with your clandestine arrangement until you catch him having dinner with Dinah Madani one night. Then it finally dawns on you. It’s not that he doesn’t want to commit, he just doesn’t want to commit to *you*.

Billy may think he knows you, but he has no idea what he’s just lost...

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6

Chapter 7

You should have asked Billy to stop. The logical part of you knew fucking him in some dirty alleyway was wrong. You deserved better than this, even if he didn’t think so, but when his mouth was on yours and ravaging you, and you were filled with so much anger that you wanted to scream – well, it dulled the sane part of you. Your body was desperate for release and you simply gave into your baser instincts.

You ripped his leather jacket off while he did the same with your coat. You bit his bottom lip so hard you tasted blood in your mouth as he braced you uncomfortably against the jagged wall. There was nothing remotely tender or loving about this moment as he pulled your underwear down and hiked up your skirt to your waist. Knee propped against the wall, he balanced you atop his leg. You rubbed yourself on his thigh, groaning at the arousing feel of his rough jeans on your pussy. The moans you cried out were swallowed by his demanding mouth, his fingers bruising your hips as he held you steady.

You quickly unzipped his jeans, pulling his cock out, pumping him quickly before he forcibly removed your hand from his. His fingers slipped inside your mouth and you licked them with your tongue, your teeth nipping his skin. You were so wet already, grinding down on him, but he took his fingers from your mouth and reached down to stroke your pussy, getting you ready for him. You gasped when he penetrated you slowly, taking his time so you felt every inch of him impale you. Your body shuddered, quivering under the intensity of his gaze as he watched you take him in. Then he began to thrust, jostling your body hard against him. Clinging to him, you bit his shoulder hard each time.

You missed him, the feel of his hands all over you when he was excited, the weight of his body pressing down on you when he was inside you, how loud and wild he was when he was fucking you.

Eyes closed, you lolled your head back against the wall and moaned loudly as he brushed your clit. The combination of his cock and fingers drove you crazy, you were lost in a haze of ecstasy when Billy lifted you higher. You winced with pain as your back scraped against the wall but he didn’t notice, focused on maneuvering your leg around his waist so he can go in deeper.

Pain and pleasure rocked through your body. You could feel yourself getting close, so close, when he suddenly gripped your chin.

“Hey, hey, look at me.” His voice was tender, gentle, eyes shining bright. “Look at me, Y/N.”

His beautiful brown eyes were glazed with need, mouth slightly open. He peered up at you, his nose crinkled, with the most amazed expression on his face. Struck by an intense wave of affection, you caressed his beard and leaned forward to lick his bottom lip. A warm, wicked smile marked his lips before he pulled your lip with his teeth, playing with you.

Hips undulating in unison, his fingers working you, you hit your orgasm within seconds and the world exploded.

As waves of pleasure surged through you, you rode them out, blissful and semi-aware of Billy still thrusting in you as he sucked the corner of your neck. He groaned loudly, his body shaking, when he finally came inside you.

Time stood still. Your body felt boneless, your mind soaring.

You were limp in his arms, probably heavy as hell, but he somehow managed to still hold you up, breath ragged at first but slowly returning to normal. He grasped the back of your head with one hand while cradling your face with the other, angling up to graze your forehead, your eyebrows, dropping gentle kisses on the top of your closed eyelids. You murmured contentedly, enjoying this unexpected moment of tenderness from him.

Then you heard voices approaching and your eyes flew open. The reality of where you were hit you like a ton of bricks. Immediately you untangled yourself from Billy’s arms, pushing him away, and started righting your clothes.

Your thighs felt wet, slick with his cum. You dug through your pockets for Kleenex, something you could use to clean yourself but there wasn’t any. But Billy was prepared, of course he was. His eyes glued to your face, he retrieved tissue from his jacket pocket and started wiping your thighs. “I can do it!” you snapped, grabbing it from him. When you felt somewhat presentable again, you started walking away.

“Where are you going?” he demanded.

You pulled out your phone to request an Uber but he snapped it from your hand. “What are you doing? Give me my phone back!”

“I’ll take you home.”

“I’ll get home myself. I don’t need anything from you!”

“Just shut up and follow me to my car.”

The last thing you wanted was to spend more time with him but he was holding your phone hostage. You followed him grudgingly, careful to keep your distance. The car was parked nearby and upon approaching the vehicle, he held the passenger side door open for you. You knew better than to assume the chivalrous gesture was meant for you specifically. It was a thing he always did, as part of the charming image he cultivated, but whereas he usually wore a smile when he held the door open, right now he simply looked furious. You slid in; he slammed the door shut. As you buckled your seat belt, you grimaced. The same spot on your back that had scraped against the wall was now rubbing against the seat and the friction from the contact was almost painful.

The car ride home was filled with tension. You felt his eyes on you every so often but you refused to acknowledge him, not when your mind was reeling with hurt and anger. How could you be so stupid? You were supposed to move on from him, instead you fucked him in some alleyway next to a crowded restaurant. Worse yet, there was a chance your boss may have spotted you. You may have potentially risked your career for a guy who wouldn’t even go out with you.

Over the past year, researching him as you had, you’d come to realize he needed the finer things in life. His car, his penthouse, the clothes he wore, they were all a status symbol for him. He needed them to feel like he’d accomplished something, probably to separate himself from the kid who grew up in foster homes and had nothing. Women, obviously, played into that equation as well. Women like Dinah Madani, beautiful, powerful, accomplished, they looked great in his arms and made him feel good about himself – but you were not in the same category of women as Dinah and he treated you accordingly. She was good enough to take to the gala, to be the date he wined and dined. You were the woman he fucked in secret. Well, not exactly a secret because he fucked you on the street like you were trash. Somehow you didn’t think Dinah Madani would ever get the two-bit whore treatment from Billy.

Rage hit you again, and you scooted as far from him as possible. The movement caused the sore spot on your back to hit the chair again and you winced.

“You okay?” he asked.

You were starting to panic, taking count of everything that had gone wrong in the past hour. The man who tried to kill you was out on bail. Roger found out you had shared embarrassing info with a competitor, which may have potentially jeopardized your job. You just fucked someone without protection, someone who was known for sleeping around.

Suddenly you couldn’t breathe, everything was weighing down on you. Shit. Shit. Shit.

You hunched over, clutching your temples, staring down at the floormat. You were struggling to breathe, your chest felt constricted.

You felt Billy rub your back, murmuring some nonsense to you, but you ignored him, instead closing your eyes to take a few deep breaths. You inhaled slowly, exhaled slowly. You did it for several minutes. Soon the panic subsided and a familiar numbness took over. Your mind was clear again.

So, yeah, you were in deep shit at the moment, but it was nothing compared to what you’d gone through in the past. You were able to get out of your family’s clutches, that meant you could get through anything. You just had to be calm and formulate a plan.

Okay. Out of everything that had gone wrong, the easiest thing to fix was an unwanted pregnancy. You’d go down to the pharmacy and get Plan B. That way you didn’t have to worry about being knocked up. And then you’d make an appointment next week with the clinic to get checked out. Even though Billy was usually very careful about using a condom – except today – you had no idea how many other women he was sleeping with and you didn’t want to risk catching anything from him.

Two things down, two more things to go.

First thing when you got home, you’d call Roger. You’d reassure him that telling Billy about Adam Preston was a one-time thing and you weren’t in the habit of divulging confidential information to a competitor. You were shook up yesterday, you weren’t in your right mind, and that had resulted in a terrible error in judgement. It was never going to happen again. And Roger valued you, he appreciated all the work you did, he wouldn’t hold something so silly over you. And if he saw you fucking Billy? You cringed at the thought, but there was no point in inviting trouble. If he did catch you red-handed, well, you’d cross that bridge when you came to it. “There’s a pharmacy at the end of my street,” you said to Billy, without looking at him. “You can drop me off there.”

“What’s wrong? Are you hurt?”

Adam Preston was the biggest problem you had to overcome. You’d already started looking into his family, trying to find dirt that you could use as leverage against them in case you needed to. But you remembered the look in Adam’s eyes when he’d been ready to kill you. He was unhinged and held you responsible for everything wrong in his life. There was a very good chance he couldn’t be reasoned with or blackmailed, but you were not going to spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder in fear. No, never again. You’d spent your entire childhood that way, always wondering what inconsequential thing would set your father off. You were not going to live through that again. So, fuck Adam Preston. If he couldn’t be controlled, then he’d have to be eliminated. Simple as that. And you knew exactly who to turn to for that.

“Give me my phone,” you said to Billy, finally turning to look at him.

Dividing his attention between the road ahead and you, he shot you a confused glance. “I’ve been talking to you for the last ten minutes. Have you heard a single thing I’ve said?”

“No.” You held out your hand. “My phone, Billy.”

“Why do you need to go to a pharmacy?” He cast her a quick glance. “Did I hurt you?”

“I don’t want to get knocked up by you. So I’m going to the pharmacy to get that taken care of. Does that answer your question?”

You noted the way his jaw clenched, but you reminded yourself not to care. You were done with Billy. You were done with feeling like shit. The first time he made you feel worthless, you could console yourself with the fact it hadn’t been your fault. Before you caught him with Dinah, you didn’t know he viewed you. Every time since then, however, was a conscious choice on your part to engage with him which meant you were solely responsible for how pathetic you felt right now. He was selfish, callous, and treated you like shit, and yet you still fucked him. That was something you had to hold yourself accountable to.

Parking his car a few feet away from the pharmacy doors, he turned off his car. His face was dark, his voice terse. “I didn’t force you to fuck me back there, babe. You wanted it as much as I did.”

You met his solemn stare. “You’re right. I did. I fucked you even though you make me feel worthless. There’s only been one other person who’s made me feel that ugly and I cut them out a long time ago - but not you, you I fuck.” A bitter laugh escaped you. “I told you about the Adam thing and what did you do? You went and threw it in my boss’s face so you can brag about Anvil. He could fire me tomorrow and I wouldn’t have any recourse because I’m the one who divulged confidential information. But you feeling smug and superior is obviously more important than me keeping my job.” You looked away from him, staring out the window. “You keep hurting me, and I just let you. For what? Because I have feelings for you? Because some part of me might love you? That’s not a good enough reason.” You shook your head. “I fought like hell to make something of myself, to be safe and happy. I’m not going to let these stupid feelings ruin all that. You will not destroy me.” You felt calm, at peace with your decision. “Give me my phone.”

Your fingers made physical contact when he handed you your phone. His potent stare was affixed on you, angry, volatile, filled with emotion, but you ignored his gaze and snatched the phone away from him.

You opened the door and exited the car, heading to the pharmacy. There was a line at the counter and you took the opportunity to block Billy’s number on your phone.

It was odd. Revealing your weaknesses to Billy, making yourself vulnerable – any of those would have made you hyperventilate before. You weren’t in the habit of giving people ammunition to use against you, but you suspected it was the only way to get rid of Billy permanently. And, strangely, telling him how you felt in the car was freeing. Because, ultimately, it didn’t matter what he thought, the only thing that mattered was you. And you were ready to move on.

Part 8

A/N - As always, thank you for being such a wonderful, generous audience and all the likes, reblogs, comments, asks, and messages you’ve left me. Trust me when I say, I’m committed to finish this story because of you :)

If you’d like to be added/removed from the tag list, please let me know.

Tag List

@yourfavoritefruitybitch @voyevoda-thejoy @adreamemporium @queenmalhinewahine @gubleryum @galaxyjane @xceafh @maralisa124 @tomhollandisabae @daybleedsintonightfa11 @lil-baby-nor @all-art-is-quite-useless @tanyaherondale @nashibirne @dour-trash @thetallassgirl @athenamikaelson @agent-jbarnes @primadonnasdream @aleksanderwh0r3 @elisemockingbird @nihilismworld @archisur @nemesis729 @lysawayne @kaqua @ladyblablabla @lemasonda @advictedtohim @24-martie @tarkanelima-blog @shinebrightlikeafanbase @krystal-clear1 @damalseer @dontjinx-it @darkishx @wanderlusting-about-life @thatguppienamedbae @happypepperdog @bat-revival @sassygirl25 @consulting--heroes @the-celestial-kitsune @mackaywhore @ablxssm @competitive-dust @red-head011 @exo-1204 @sunsetenigma @millieb-3199 @chatnain @licensedcheek @tinkertailor1212 @vertesalope @safetyhtom @acourtofglassandroses @eliwinchester-barnes @finnismyoriginalsin @weallhaveadestiny @beananacake @beauty-and-the-beast97 @smurfelle @fire-treasure-iii @charly-0 @kestrafagnor @pigwidgeonxo @damagelove @allegra-writes @pensandthings @jad3djay

#billy russo x reader #billy russo #the punisher #billy russo imagine #a woman scorned

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postmodernmulticoloredcloak · 4 years ago

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And now I’ve watched episode 3 of Walker because of reasons. (You guys asked, that’s reasons.) #2

If you guys haven’t seen part 1, go see it immediately. Because of reasons. This time, reasons is Slutty Glitter Cowboy Stripper. No, it’s not a joke.

Yeah, I’m not sure what’s happening either.

I can’t believe they’re airing cowboy strippers in Supernatural’s air slot and Dean Winchester isn’t there. I think this is why they had to kill Dean, because otherwise he would have ripped through the CW’s show layout and appeared in Walker sponteneously, instantly adopting Walker’s entire family and friends as his own and single-handedly implementing the depolicement of the state of Texas, with Castiel rolling his eyes at him in the background while he murders ICE agents at the US-Mexican border.

*slides the CW a twenty euro bill* so I have an idea for season 2 of Walker

Anyway, there’s this lady Walker and Ramirez are doing a stakeout on, a woman called Torreto who is presumably part of some criminal organization since they’re doing a stakeout on her, and who’s bisexual given she was being entertained by a lady and a guy at a strip club. Which is like, fine, not problematic at all, alright.

So the stripper straddles her and is like ~wanna come with me in the back, and she’s like ~maybe another time, and he’s like ~torreto i saw cops outside you probably wanna come to the back with me, and she’s like ~mmm yeah that sounds like a good idea. We were rooting for you, slutty glitter cowboy stripper! We were all rooting for you! Or not.

Meanwhile, Walker has horrible car manners.

Also, he asks her how her parents were to her growing up, which is a question you normally ask to people you’re not close to when you want to do some small talk. For some reason she brings up a friend she had some ~crazy teen years~ with, called Garrison, which doesn’t make me think of angels in Supernatural, no, I am a normal person.

But then people start coming out of the strip club, but not Torreto. So they go in.

Torreto is not there, so Walker just stops the first person he sees and he’s literally like ~excuse me, do you know if there’s someone in the back. The visual is hilarious

“Excuse me, sir, have you seen my brother from another show, I suspect he might be here”

Give me a spinoff about this strip club.

Anyway, the guys answers, “No, why, you two interested?” to which they immediately answer “no!” at the same time, and share a look which makes me think we’re supposed to be like ~~ooh, talking in unison moment! or something...?

Meanwhile their truck gets stolen, and Walker yells that his bobblehead is in there. Cue disgruntled Jared face.

Oh man. We are at the title card. It’s less than 6 minutes. This will never end.

It was night, now it’s day, and Stella and August are walking around Austin. He’s mimicking David Attenborough, describing the teenagers around them as though he was doing a documentary about animals.

Two girls approach them, bringing up a party that’s taking place tomorrow. She says it’s not the best idea with her court date approaching. The girls are like, your dad can figure something out, he’s an elite ranger or something and also owes you for disappearing for a year. She’s like, he’s being kind of cool, I don’t want to ruin this, and the girls “call BS” because this is like “the best party of the year”.

Ruby, the girl August has been hanging out with, appears and August goes from “nah the party is not my thing” to “I’ll totally be there” in like 0.02 seconds.

I cannot overstate how much I am not interested in high schooler drama.

Meanwhile, at the Walker Seniors’ place, Walker’s parents are preparing the table for a family dinner. From their banter we can infer someone’s who ~is like family although he isn’t “blood”~ is coming for dinner and Grandpa Walker doesn’t like him at all and actually expects the guy to steal their china and bourbon. “It’s been years, could you please give him a chance?” Grandma Walker says, and he accepts, although she grabs the fancy bourbon from behind his back.

Meanwhile, at the police station, all the cops are having a briefing about Torreto, the woman at the strip club. She apparently steals weapons all over Texas and sells them over the border at triple the cost. Remember that Torreto escaped from Walker and Ramirez because she stole their truck while they were inside the strip club. Ramirez is worried she’ll already become the laughingstock of the precinct.

Uh. James plays security camera footage from outside the strip club. Walker and Ramirez’ truck was stolen by Torreto and the cowboy stripper himself.

Obviously the other cops laugh when Ramirez admits it was her truck.

James tells them to find Torreto, find the truck, and find out who the naked cowboy is.

I have a bad feeling about this.

Then Walker drives home, and as soon as he gets out of his car, you know how in the Supernatural pilot Dean gets into Sam’s apartment and wrestles him before revealing it’s him to ~test if his fighting skills are rusty and laughs when Sam realizes it’s him? Alright, now think intensely and guess how Walker’s like-a-brother best friend is introduced. Think intensely! It’s really difficult to guess!

Something something about violence and male intimacy except this is too ridiculous to, you know, write something serious about it.

“Oh, man!” the guy laughs, lying on the ground where Walker threw him. “The look on your face!”

“You son of a-”

“Oh, c’mon man, don’t talk bad of a mother I never knew.”

I’m facepalming soooo hard. This is the first thing we learn about him (well, after the fact that he definitely stole something from the Walkers’ house in the past), that he never knew his mother!

HOLY FUCKING SHIT

GUYS

I AM SO SORRY

I am faceblind I didn’t realize

THE GUY IS THE STRIPPER

I REPEAT

THE “DEAN BUT IN JARED PADALECKI’S MIND” CHARACTER IS THE SLUTTY GLITTER COWBOY STRIPPER

THIS IS NOT A DRILL

I SWEAR MY HANDS ARE COLD AND CLAMMY

I AM EXPERIENCING EMOTIONS NO WORDS EXIST IN THE ENGLISH LANGUAGE TO DESCRIBE

Oh my god guys. I am so sorry.

“You did your touchdown victory dance before you stole my partner’s truck!” Walker exclaims. “I should arrest you right here and right now!”

The guy acts like he has no idea what Walker is talking about, and says he’s in town to see his best pal.

Walker keeps accusing him, but then his mother appears, super thrilled to see him, and Walker lets is go.

They’re at dinner (NotDean brought wagyu steaks, which obviously means he does crime for a living) and Walker’s mother tells him to say grace, which he does in a semi-serious, semi-mocking way. Obviously NotDean does not believe in god, but he’s grateful for the people around him.

Stella calls him uncle, in case you missed that this is supposed to be a friend whom Walker loves likeabrother.

He talks about jobs he did here and there, and Walker and his brother tease him asking if he’s been to some prisons around the country. Stella doesn’t get the joke and NotDean explains it to her, adding, “now, from what I hear, I’m not the only outlaw in this family”. Grandpa Walker leaves the room.

NotDean asks Stella if she’s going to the bonfire (the party they were talking about earlier) and tells her that her mother started the thing when they were young. She didn’t know that. This is supposed to be a Meaningful moment.

Meanwhile the stolen truck is found... at Walker’s ranch. Gasp! What a shocking turn of events.

NotDean gives Stella advice on how to act in court to get on the judge’s good graces, “which means acting”. “Please don’t get legal advice from a criminal” walker’s brother Liam says. Is the gay brother also a NotDean of sorts, to be fair? Well, CriminalNotDean tells her to dress her best and cry. ActualbrotherNotDean tells her to use the correct legal arguments. Walker just stops them, quoting something Ramirez said earlier in the episode, “nobody benefits from the easy route”. Stella is like, what does that mean, which, mood, but Grandma Walker interrupts bringing in a plate of different hot chilis. Apparently they have a tradition of a competition. Which we don’t even see. Boo.

Ramirez finds the truck... right outside the Walkers’ house. Grandpa Walker, who’d gone outside, points a rifle to her and she explains what she’s doing there. They introduce themselves and she is like, sir why is the man who stole my truck inside your house? “Wife invited him to dinner.”

She’s like, I need to arrest him. But he’s like, I bet there’s not enough evidence to arrest him, or my son would have done it. Join me for steak and burbon in the bunkhouse! As one does. So they have wagyu and bourbon together, and she asks him what’s the guy’s story.

So NotDean and Walker grew up together, NotDean had a rough life, “my wife has a soft spot for strays, she can’t give up on him”. But Grandpa Walker doesn’t feel the same. He tells her that she cannot arrest him tonight, but it’s only a matter of time before the guy gives her enough rope. He adds that Walker has a blind spot for faces from the past, and needs someone to fix that.

Meanwhile dinner’s over and NotDean calls a uber. He and Walker arrange to meet the next day and hang out like old times. Eventually, Walker tells him that if he is involved in this case, he will have to take him down. “Theoretically, if you catch me.” They do a manly hug with manly pats, and the guy leaves. “Theoretically, go to hell,” Walker says after he’s left.

The next day, NotDean brings Walker to a storage in the middle of nowhere... full of cursed objects, no wait, wrong show. What’s inside the storage is the red Mustang. Walker is shocked that he hasn’t lost it in some bet - which apparently is how he got the car from Walker in the first place. Now NotDean says that, after everything Walker’s been through, he deserves a chance to win it back.

Glowy flashback of Walker and his wife in the car, right after the scene in the beginning of the episode. They bet it during poker night, decision of Emily, because Walker is “starting to get attached to her”. Emily teases him for calling the car a she, and Walker decides to call the car Stella.

They gave their daughter the name of a car they lost at poker.

Oh. She tells him she’s pregnant.

So, apparently, they had their first daughter when they were broke, to the point they had to try and get money at poker for a bigger place and baby things. That’s... kind of irresponsible.

Meamwhile, Ramirez goes to James to tell him about the thing, but James already figured NotDean was involved, because apparently stealing things and returning them is just something he does. “Why are you so calm about this?” she asks. He says because they cannot pin anything on him. Questioning him could scare the big crime lady. So he tells her to just keep an eye on him. “Walker, Torreto or Hoyt [NotDean]” she asks. “Yes” he answers.

Blah blah. I apologize, I’m being too detailed. I’m just bored by this. Ah, a butcher’s truck was stolen right after the strip club thing, guess where NotDean got the wagyu steaks.

Walker and NotDean go to the bar with the bartender who’s their friend, and NotDean flirts with her. They start playing poker, when Ramirez arrives, and has some banter with NotDean and spills some glitter on him that she found in the truck. He buys her a drink and she arrests him for trying to bribe a police officer. Walker is shocked.

At the precinct, he says they cannot prove he’s working with big crime lady. But she brings up he stole the wagyu steaks.

She calls him out for trying to be everyone’s friend even if they do something wrong, also with Stella.

She says she can hold NotDean for 24 hours, long enough to figure out the big crime lady’s plans. Common trope in cop shows. Arrest someone without proof, you have to release them after 24 hours, but the cop finds proof and bam, forgiven for arresting someone without proof.

I know you’re bored, I’m bored too.

Actually, nope, it goes differently and kind of worse. In the interrogation room, Ramirez offers NotDean a deal: he tells her where the big crime lady’s weapon deal is happening, and walks free. He points the location on a map and he compliments her. Walker is watching from the cameras and is shook.

Meanwhile the bonfire is happening, and Stella is there with her girl friends. So is August, breakdancing to impress girls. We don’t care.

Meanwhile, a lot of cops in serious cop gear surround the location NotDean pointed at. Nobody’s there, though.

What is there, is the red Mustang with the creepy bobblehead in it and a letter from NotDean that says he gives him the car back because it was always his wife’s.

Walker figures out where the deal is actually happening - the storage where the red Mustang was before.

Meanwhile, at the bonfire, August is drunk on booze he stole from Grandpa Walker and brought to the party. He asks Stella if she’s trying to drive their father away, breaking the law and all, he asks if she wants him to leave again. Then he throws up. She calls Walker but he obviously doesn’t answer. So she calls her uncle, who’s doing shopping with his partner or something. They’re buying cake? Doing cake testing for their wedding? Maybe.

Meanwhile, NotDean calls Grandma Walker to tell her he cannot go mushroom hunting with her tomorrow but needs to leave town, and he’s sorry to let her down again. She tells him that just because his family’s bad, doesn’t mean he is too. “You saved my boy, and I’ll never forget that” she says. Oooh, that’s so intriguing!, nobody says. They share a cute moment and then he hangs up, while the weapon deal goes down around him.

Uncle Liam and his partner pick up the kids, and Stella asks him if he’ll be in court with her tomorrow. He says he can’t, because it’s her father’s decision to make.

August turns up music and they all sing in the car. It’s funny how everyone’s got better chemistry with everyone else except with Walker. I know it’s, like, on purpose for plot reasons, but still, Walker’s interactions with everyone feel so stilted compared to anyone else. And it’s not the other characters are that compelling.

The police arrives at the location of the weapon deal, and NotDean gets arrested trying to steal the truck again. Ramirez gives a speech how that’s hard but it’s the right thing to do. Walker makes a comment about tough love, implying Stella needs to get that too.

The next day, they leave for Stella’s court thing on the red Mustang. It took Walker three episodes, but now they also have a cool classic car to show off! Yay! *eyeroll*

Meanwhile, Grandma Walker and Grandpa Walker have a conversation about their failing marriage or something.

Ramirez goes to the bar to apologize to the bartender for arresting NotDean. They have a drink together and if lesbians were watching this they’d start shipping them, but no lesbians are watching this. They’re wiser than me.

Stella got like a gazillion hours of community service and her license suspended. She’s upset, but since she has her license for one more day he teaches her how to drive the Mustang.

Wait. Americans don’t learn to drive normal cars when they get their license?? They only learn to drive cars with automatic gear?? What the hell??

They drive while August runs after the car to get over his hangover or something.

Would be a cute moment if the entire thing wasn’t so cheesy and weird.

Well. We know NotDean is a recurring role so we’ll see more of him. (Well, I’m not sure I will be there to watch, because this is boring af.)

This episode used all its interest coins in the strip club scene and then became dreadfully boring. I don’t even have some witty line to close this post.

This was a rollercoaster that went my brain go through a blender in the first six minutes or so and then killed the remaining braincells through boredom.

That’s it guys. What can I say. This is the CW’s Walker. Yee.

#marghe watches walker for some darned reason #cw's jared: legit texan

84 notes · View notes

justcourttee · 4 years ago

Note

If you take request how about Class, Bustier, Lila, Adrien salt! Lila had a cousin back in Italy who is a master in manipulations but contrary to Lila with her lies, he use his manipulation skills to help others and he REALLY despite Lila. Back when Marinette was in high school junior she got a pen pal from Italy and this pen pal is Lila's cousin, through their letters the two become friends and even stay in contact for years and Lila's cousin got a crush for Marinette. (part 1)

One day Lila's cousin goes to Paris to finally meet Marinette who is very happy to finally meet her pen pal. Later he learn that Lila is in the same class than her(he know that Lila goes to a school in France but didn't know it was the same school than Mari's)and is worried since he know Lila's antics. And when he learn about the bullying Mari is victim at school because of Lila's lies and he is like "OH HECK NO!". (Part 2)

He use his manipulation skills to protect Marinette and to take down Lila. Not even Adrien or Bustier's BS can stop him. Him and Mari become closer day by day and become a couple. After Lila is exposed for everything, even for being Hawkmoth's minion, and is arrested, the class try to confront Lila's cousin and to talk to Mari but Lila's cousin shut them down and give them a good big "the reason why you suck speech". BONUS: Lila's cousin join the miraculous team. (Part 3)

(I couldn’t figure out how to combine the three asks so I copy and paste them)

Ooo, I love a good salt fic. I hope this is kind of what you had in mind :) @sayuricorner

The PenPal

Marinette knew two things when the day started.

1, She was beyond ecstatic to finally meet her PenPal, Mateo, face to face 2, She was beyond worried that somehow, someway Lila Rossi would mess it up

Mateo had been assigned as her PenPal from Italy as a part of their foreign language class to help improve her Italian and his french. They only had to write back and forth until the semester ended, but as it came and went, she found herself intrigued by the Italian boy. Today was their three-year friendaversary and to mark the special occasion, Mateo was coming to Paris.

Marinette bounced on the balls of her feet outside her parent's bakery, her eyes darting up and down the street, trying to find anyone that could be heading in her direction. Pulling out her phone, she checked the time.

3:00p.m.

His plane landed at 2:15p.m. He said he was leaving the airport at 2:50p.m. The airport was approximately ten minutes from her parent's bakery. Any minute now he should be here.

“Marinette!” Sabine poked her head out of the bakery, her eyes landing on her daughter, a knowing smile plastered across her face.

“Marinette, I know your boyfriend will be here any minute, but you still need to get ready for your school dance tonight. It starts at 6 and you still haven’t decided if you want me to do your hair or not.”

“Maman,” she couldn’t help the whine that entered her voice. Her parents were literally the worst when it came to boys. “He’s not my boyfriend, he’s-”

“Just a friend. Yes, I’m well aware of the drill. Well, I’m just letting you know, if he’s not here in the next ten minutes, maybe you should come inside and let me get started.”

Marinette nodded before returning to her search of the streets.

“Did you lose someone signora?”

“Oh no, monsieur. I’m just looking for my Italian friend. He’s supposed to be coming in today, hey wait a moment-”

Her eyes widened slightly as she whipped her head around to come face to face with him.

“Mateo?”

“Pleased to finally meet you Marinette.”

Marinette’s face broke into a grin as she flung her arms around his neck. Pulling back, she brushed a few stray hairs out of her face, completely oblivious to the shade of red the boy’s face had turned.

“I can’t believe you’re actually here! Did you remember to pack a suit? I mean I had your dimensions and made you one just in case but I just can’t believe you’re here. How was your flight? How’d you get here? Taxi? Uber?”

Marinette bit her lip trying to stop the word vomit that was falling out of her mouth.

“I’m sorry. I’m just so excited to finally meet you.”

“It’s fine, really. I’m overwhelmed as well. I mean I knew you were beautiful, but seeing you in person?” Mateo reached down to pick up her hand, bringing it to his lips softly.

“Marinette? Oh! Well, hello.”

Mateo dropped her hand quickly, both of their faces flushed red. Sabine leaned against the doorframe, that same knowing look from before creeping onto her face much to Marinette’s distress.

“Maman, this is Mateo. Mateo this is my Maman.” Her voice was strained as she tried to beg Sabine not to embarrass her.

“It’s a pleasure to meet you signora.” Mateo smoothly lifted Sabine’s hand to his lips, placing a gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Oh, Italian! Well, young man, the pleasure is all mine. Now let’s get you kids inside, we have so much to do in such little time.”

Without thinking twice, Marinette grabbed Mateo’s hand, dragging the blushing boy behind her. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

“Don’t forget to call me when it’s over! I don’t want you kids walking home in the dark!”

Marinette waved as she pulled away, her eyes rolling at her mother’s invasive tactics.

“She does know we’re 17 right?”

Marinette shook her head before threading her arm through his.

“Don’t mind her, she can be overbearing and invasive, but it’s all with love. Especially with Papa away at the moment visiting his mother.”

“Oh I don’t mind, it’s best to get on your future in law's good side now. It’ll make things so much smoother in the future.”

He sent a wink in her direction earning him an elbow in the side and the most precious laughter he had ever heard.

“You’re such a flirt! C’mon, let’s get inside before you-know-who shows up.”

Mateo did in fact know who. Some girl that moved here while Marinette was 14 and had been making her life a living hell since. He couldn’t imagine what kind of person could hate a kind-hearted person like his friend, but he was determined to put an end to it tonight.

As soon as they entered the courtyard, Marinette was swept away by two intense-looking girls, both cutting him a glare in the process. Mateo soon found himself by the punch table, taking in the sights of the dance. He was just about to step away to look for Marinette when a loud crash caught his attention.

“How DARE you ruin Lila’s dress?”

Lila? No, God, it couldn’t be.

As Mateo stepped forward, his eyes landed on a small girl with dark hair and glasses, an empty cup in her hand, and much to his horror, his cousin Lila Rossi standing behind her, crocodile tears pouring down her face.

“Marinette would never! She doesn’t even know where Lila got that utterly ridiculous dress from.”

The intimidating blonde from before stood in between the girl with the glasses and his poor friend, now soaked from the punch poured on her head.

Just as Mateo took a step forward to intervene, a blonde boy and an older woman stepped in between the girls, pulling them apart before anything further ensured.

“Marinette, you have to be the bigger person here. I can’t have you starting fights with your classmates. You know Lila has a lying disease, you can’t get angry with what she might spread.”

The teacher placed a fake supportive arm over Marinette’s shoulder, handing her napkins to help soak up some of the punch.

“Yeah, Marinette. We know how she is, we just have to take the higher road.”

“Yeah, I’m sorry girl. I just get so angry sometimes cause I can never tell when you’re just acting out of jealousy or if it’s her disease flaring up.”

Mateo felt his anger rising as he watched the scene unfold in front of him. Lila had no disease, she was just a good liar. He watched as the two girls escorted Marinette toward what he assumed were the bathrooms, leaving Lila to fake cry in the arms of the blonde boy.

It was one thing to take down her bully while he was here for the week, but Lila Rossi was a different story. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Mateo sat up near the DJ, eyeing his first target. A small blonde girl and her goth friend. They looked easy enough to sway, not quite swarming Lila like the rest of the class, but not exactly rushing to Marinette’s defense either. Placing his phone against his ear, he walked toward them, a smirk plastered across his face.

“-I’m sorry Prince Ali. I know Lila promised to help you with your rounds at the Children’s Hospital tonight but she’s just too busy at this school dance. I understand your disappointment, I too am disappointed. Well, what can I say except that call me next time. I’ll be there friend.”

He slipped his phone into his back pocket letting out a long sigh. He turned to face the blonde, her interest piqued as her eyebrows furrowed.

“Were you just on the phone with Prince Ali? Talking about Lila Rossi? How do you know them?” “Me?” Mateo dramatically looked behind him before leaning into where the blonde stood, her hand intertwined with the girl beside her. “Can I trust you with a secret?”

She nodded carefully, her eyes darting left and right as if someone was watching her.

Mateo slipped his phone out again pretending to search for a particular picture before turning it in Rose’s direction. On the screen stood an edited picture of him with his arm thrown around Prince Ali’s shoulders in front of a hospital, both wearing grand smiles. He swiped to the right showing a less ecstatic picture of him and Lila posing together as children.

“I’m Lila’s cousin, Mateo Rossi. Prince Ali is my best friend and has been for the past three years. I introduced him to Lila last year and she made a whole bunch of empty promises to him, you know, with her disease and all. It’s really tearing him up because he knows with her star power, she could really help the poor children, but alas, she never shows.”

The blonde seemed to doubt him for a moment, but as she scrolled through a couple more carefully edited pictures, her face dropped into one of sadness and anger.

“I can’t believe Lila lied to me about helping Prince Ali! She only met him two years ago?”

Mateo nodded sadly as if he couldn’t believe it either.

“Didn’t Lila say she knew him when she first got here? That was like three years ago.” The goth girl had spoken for the first time. It was quiet and difficult to make out, but the blonde understood and it only seemed to fuel her rage.

“I can’t believe I fell for it!”

“Hey, it’s okay. We’ve all been there before, sometimes you just have to take the higher road.”

Mateo smirked as he walked away, leaving the words Marinette’s classmates told her all these years to sink in with the girls as he looked for his next target. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

The rest of the night continued on in the same manner. Mateo would listen in on group conversations, figure out what Lila had promised them, and moments later crush their dreams with a few carefully placed lies.

Pretty soon, all that was left was the girl with the glasses, the blonde boy, and Lila herself. Straightening his collar, Mateo shoved his hands in his pockets walking as calmly as he could to the group, his ever-present smirk widening at the sight of Lila’s panicked eyes.

As loudly as he could, Mateo shouted “Cousin!”, gaining the attention of everyone on the dance floor.

Lila seemed to pale quickly as she completed the embrace, her lips close to his ears as her panicked voice trembled.

“What are you doing Mateo?”

“Watch and learn.”

He pulled back, offering his hand to the girl with glasses who hesitantly reached out to shake it.

“Mateo Rossi, how are you doing tonight?”

“I’m fine.” The girl pulled back, her hesitancy and curiosity mixing.

“And you sir?” He reached his hand toward the blonde boy who gladly accepted it.

“Pretty great! I’m Adrien and this is Alya!”

Adrien and Alya. He should’ve guessed from Marinette’s letters that these two were the ones constantly egging on Lila, letting her get away with bullying his friend. His smirk faltered for a moment, but not a second later it was back in a more sinister way.

“Now Lila, I’ve heard you’ve been promising some people things you can’t deliver.”

“That’s- That’s not true. I always deliver.”

A murmur of doubt waved through the crowd behind him, building his confidence in his plan.

“Lila, please. I know your disease is worsening, but you’re really hurting some people here! You’ve got to stop.”

He placed his hand on her shoulder, a fake sincerity monopolizing his face. Her panicked eyes darted between him and the growing crowd behind him. She seemed like a caged animal, ready to pounce when there was an opening with no idea if it would help or hurt it.

“Mateo,” Adrien frowned as he placed a hand on his shoulder, trying to gently pull his arm from Lila’s. “You shouldn’t tear people down for their errors, it won’t put them on the right path.”

Mateo simply shrugged his hand off, not bothering to even glance at the boy.

“Neither will indulging their lying when it’s not only hurting your friend's feelings but their futures as well. What would’ve happened when she lied about getting Nathaniel in to meet a huge Magna artist to publish his comic doesn’t come true? Well, he already turned down other amazing opportunities so oh well, guess he’s never getting published.”

Another wave of agreement and anger washed over the crowd. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the only person who mattered, still in between the overprotective girls, all three smiling brightly in his direction.

“You can’t dO THIS!”

Lila pushed him as hard as he could, causing him to stumble backward. She was honestly making it too easy to play the concerned cousin card, it was making it hard for him not to burst out laughing.

“Lila, please. Your reign has to come to an end. I mean, you threatened your little designer friend that if she outed your lies, you would destroy her life!”

Alya’s mouth gaped as her eyes turned in horror to stare at Lila.

“You did what to Marinette?”

“No! You’re misunderstanding!” Lila’s panic seeped into her voice as she searched for a way out of the growing crowd.

“Mateo watch out!” Before he could turn to look, Marinette tackled him to the floor as a purple butterfly swooped over his head.

Screams echoed through the room as everyone backed up, trying to avoid the butterfly who made a straight beeline for Lila.

“About time Hawkmoth!” Lila jumped, her outstretched arm reaching for the flying butterfly. Just as her fingertips almost made contact, Adrien tackled her to the floor while the teacher from before trapped the butterfly in a small glass container.

The room was silent as everyone stared in horror at Lila.

“She just attempted to purposely be akumatized. She just called Hawkmoth by name, praising him for showing up!”

Alya zoomed in on her phone, her eyes tearing up as she ended the video, posting it straight to her blog.

“Alright kids, let’s just calm down,” the teacher tried to stop the panic from spreading but she didn’t even sound sure herself as she stared in a mixture of fear and pain at her student.

“I already called my dad, he’ll be on his way soon to arrest you, Lila!”

Cheers erupted from the room as they tried to rush forward, all apologizing in various different ways to Marinette. The two girls beside her did their best to hold them back but it was proving too much.

“Everybody back off!”

Surprisingly, everyone moved to the side, allowing a clear path for Mateo to make his way toward his friend.

“You all don’t deserve her forgiveness, not now, not ever.”

He reached back, intertwining his fingers with Marinette's as the crowd burst into anger. Alya and Adrien pushed their ways to the front, both of their eyes zeroing in on their hands.

“You don’t even know Marinette Mateo. She’s my best friend!”

Alya attempted a step forward but was stopped abruptly by what Mateo deemed as Marinette’s bodyguards.

“You haven’t been her best friend in years Alya, get over yourself. In fact, I’ve heard her gush on about this Italian kid more than I’ve heard her mention your name in the past three years.”

Marinette’s face flushed as she felt Mateo’s eyes searching her face for any denial.

“But-”

“But nothing. The Marinette I have grown to care for over the years wrote to me about you people. She tried to say you were redeemable, that you were under some fantasy spell and that one day you would wake up and come back to her, but you never did. If i hadn’t stepped in tonight, you all would have continued treating her like garbage.”

Marinette tightened her grip on his hand giving him the strength to continue.

“Marinette is kind, intelligent, courageous, and extremely talented. She has this bright personality that you just can’t help being drawn to. She did so much for you and your class, but you all overlooked it the instant something shiner came in. Alya, right? You do realize that Marinette got you your first interview with Ladybug? If she said that Lila didn’t know Ladybug, what other proof did you need?”

Alya stood there, her mouth gaping like a fish out of water.

“And you Adrien. Marinette took the fall with your father for the book you stole from him knowing that it could risk her chance in the fashion empire by pissing off Gabriel Agreste. She made sure that you could come back to school to be with all your so-called friends.”

Adrien’s face mimicked Alya’s as they tried to come up with a counter-argument, failing to do so. Mateo turned to face Marinette, his free hand rising up to cup her cheek.

“Do you want to leave this dance Marinette? You, your two bodyguards here and I could go grab some coffee if you’d like.”

Marinette nodded as if lost in a trance, seeing her penpal in a completely new light. The blonde raised two middle fingers to the class as the four of them headed toward the exit.

“Marinette wait!”

The group paused as Alya ran over, her face contorted in distress.

“Who is this guy Marinette?”

Mateo looked down, his eyes meeting hers as if silently coming to an agreement. They both broke into smiles as he brought their intertwined hands up to his lips.

“My boyfriend, Mateo Rossi.”

And without another word, the four left, basking in the victory that one night brought.

#marinette dupain cheng #miraculous ladybug #miraculous salt

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