#GIANT BEAST AND TINY GUY

[quatregats]

Absolutely obsessed with this picture my friend just sent me that she took of me and her cat

[ily-cheetah]

little friend 🦍🚚‼️🫶🫶

[satans-knitwear]

THE BESTIES ARE COMING TO VISIT ME THIS WEEKEND!!!!!

[taegularities]

colour me in: seven | jjk (m)

Summary: At first, it's an argument that causes the unwanted, childish distance between Jungkook and you. And then… open blazers and a lip ring.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: est. rel.; fluff, smut ➳ warnings: an argument, cute couple-y things but also they're dorks n cringe sometimes, seven jk (incl the promo pics, laundromat hoodie bf koo, and drenched in the rain koo!!), fighting over food, they're a bit mean to each other, but they adore each other too, brief mention of a rough childhood, sexual tension, taeun being everything, kissing, dumb jokes, period and pms mention!!, a photoshoot!, subtle hints to the future of the main story :'); explicit sexual content: ahh.. making out, dirty talk, oral (f. & m. receiving), brief spanking, face-fcking, light choking, sweet and rough sex, dom jk, big dick jk, whipped simp jk, petnames, multiple orgasms, sex on the couch n on the floor? :'), he loves her a$$ and tiddies, multiple positions, cockwarming!!, mention of aftercare... the ending lol :D ➳ word count: 25k lmfaoo it's oneshot sized yall 😁 ➳ a/n: hi!! welcome back!! this is part of my series colour me in, but you can read it as a standalone-oneshot!! tysm for supporting me and encouraging me, guys, it means so so much. this is also unbeta'd, so pls go easy on me LOL. and since this was a piece of worrrrk.. come and talk to me about it, it makes my day fr fr <33 ➳ listen to: seven by jungkook | full collaborative playlist 🤍

SERIES MASTERPOST | TAGLIST MASTERLIST | WIPs

In hindsight, your argument was blissfully domestic after all. In hindsight, maybe even comedic.

You’ve seen these things on TV and read about them in novels; didn’t experience them growing up because your parents didn’t really fight over such harmless matters. They never needed to lift a finger in their ultramodern kitchen, filled with up-to-the-minute equipment to fill their table.

But Jungkook and you don’t rely on such luxuries. You do things for yourself. So, such a couple-y, casual life leads to couple-y, casual arguments. Requires it. Fighting is healthy; entangles two souls some more.

Which is exactly where you are now. Exactly what you’ve become: A true unit. Quarrelling over trivial, everyday things.

Just to end up folded in half, holding onto the very last of your sanity, biting back more inappropriate screams.

In regards of making up, you’re perhaps not that casual. Because he’s a relentless, brutal beast.

Wrecking you right where everything began.

Monday

The end of the day begins with a giant hole in the middle of your thoughts.

Your previously whirring brain tossed away all thoughts of advertisements and seasonal launches, vacant and dark until your senses shut down everything that wasn’t vital to survival.

Like the lights of the evening as your car passed the streetlamps. The tired faces on the pedestrian zone, the odd wrinkles in your skirt, or the scent wafting from the kitchen when you step out of your heels.

Your mind operates on reflexes and automatic movements; the ball of your palm rubs against your eyelid, realising too late that you’re probably smearing your eyeliner.

A sense of reality only truly returns when you hear a familiar voice call out your name, muffled through the walls between you.

You exit the bedroom with fingers scratching the nape of your neck, tiny steps floating over the floor and past the living room. On the coffee table, you register one or two dishes. Rice, too. Smells so good, but…

As you reach him in the kitchen, you halt at the threshold, eyes scurrying to the few pots and ladles in the sink. He’s diligent and fast; cleans up when dinner simmers. Minimal work left after the meal.

For a moment, you take in the cleanliness of the kitchen, and when your eyes move up to the man himself, you beam.

He’s wearing an apron – baby blue with little flowers and rainbows imprinted on it. His mom bequeathed him with one of her old ones, and he’s been boasting about it ever since.

You saw one with astronauts, moons and telescopes once; you might purchase it for him at some point, not least of all because it includes all the things the two of you love.

A tattooed hand pushes back his mane, messy and pointing in all directions the way it does after his showers. His fingers card through the fine tresses two more times before he turns towards you — an immediate smile, similar to yours, spreads across his face.

The tiny little dimples over the corners of his mouth distract you for a second until you see his hand at waist level, beckoning you into the kitchen and a greeting, sweet embrace.

Compared to the cold outside, his oversized, full-sleeve, white shirt offers a familiar warmth. He always smells the same, musky and fresh; not like cherry blossoms at all, but he reminds you of their softness.

Mixed with the scent of tonight’s meal, you inhale it all, wrapping your arms around him as your eyes close in exhaustion. If he wasn’t swaying you in his hold, you’d probably fall asleep, right there against his chest.

A kiss to your temple, and he asks, “Hungry?”

You’re not sure. You cuddle into the apron and whatever’s visible of his shirt, and mumble against him, “Not too much… to be honest, I was gonna shower and sleep.”

“Oh?” he wonders immediately, traces of disappointment in his voice. “But I made this for you.”

You smile again. “You did?”

“Yeah.”

“We’ll eat, don’t you worry.” You take a deep breath, and then lift your head off his chest without letting go. “In all honesty. I saw the food outside and thought you had it delivered.”

“So you were gonna waste something you thought was restaurant food?”

You laugh. You’re sure you could see his rosy pout even if you weren’t looking straight at him.

“No. It just looks very good… I would’ve heated it up tomorrow. But since yours was a one-person-effort,” you pat his back in pride, watching as strands of his bangs fall back into his eyes, “we shall eat.”

“And it comes from the heart, too.”

“Right. It comes from the heart, too.”

You rub his back once, soon backing away. There isn’t much to do for you anymore, but you still grab a couple napkins, chopsticks and spoons as he carries some water into the living room.

The couch feels soft, true Heaven, when you sink into it. Your heartbeat slows down, your mind at ease; when you tilt your head, your neck cracks.

But clinking your glasses of water with someone who cherishes you enough to step back and forth in a kitchen for hours… It's a comfort that’s incredibly close to a peaceful night’s sleep.

And it’s worth the effort, too. Despite the conversation and your complaints about work, you can’t help but compliment dinner every other moment. Possibly another endearing habit you picked up from him.

But you slow down when fatigue returns bit by bit, your eye twitching when you feel a well-known tickling in it.

You’re careful of potential spices when you lift your thumb and rub your eye with the back of it, fighting the itch. For a moment, you stop chewing, and Jungkook only lifts his gaze to you when the movement against your eye continues, circling motions.

“Hey,” he says, grasping your wrist, pulling it down slowly, “that’s bad for the cornea.”

“Yeah, I mean. It’s not like my cornea's been nice to me, either.”

You resume chewing, swallowing the mushy remnants of the rice. Your attention falls back to the bowl of food, and your chopsticks aimlessly poke around for a second before he asks, “Why? You okay?”

“Mhm,” you say, nodding gently. “It’s just,” you point to your eyes, chopsticks dangerously close to your face, “that eye thing. It might be an infection or something. It’s so bad today that it’s hurting my head.”

You’ve complained about the issue a couple times — back when it was just an itch, you assumed it was the dusty town, perhaps even sleep deprivation. But the itch has transformed into a relentless pain, moving up your temples and across your forehead.

“Again, yeah?” Jungkook asks, following with a tender gesture of tucking your hair back. The pad of his thumb brushes over your eyebrow. “I’ll massage your head before we go to sleep.”

You sigh in relief, tired eyelids shutting briefly as you claim, “You’re the fucking best, you know?”

“Yeah.” He delivers a nonchalant, drama-esque shrug of his shoulder. Unmistakable smirk. “I guess I do know.”

The giggles from when you started dating still remain. You remember annoying the hell out of your friends back then, high school butterflies visible through your stomachs and in your bright grins.

Jungkook’s ears would redden, a smile even in your eyes. You can imagine how irritating the honeymoon phase felt to them — not that the two of you ever snapped out of it.

Even now, you’re drowning in it.

Well, until you’re not.

Because the moment he slings his arm around you, leaning back, his plate and bowl empty, you move forwards. Place your own dishes onto the table, cuddling further into him.

Only, he seems to interpret it differently.

“Aren’t you eating anymore?”

Not the message you intended to deliver. But perhaps… he’s not wrong after all.

Because…

While the evening ended on a gentle note, much needed, you’re done with today by now. Craving a warm bed, strong arms around you. A sweet, soft sleep.

And the meal is worth a thousand culinary stars, but your appetite keeps dwindling, and hadn’t he put so much effort and affection into all this, you would’ve probably headed straight to bed.

So you answer truthfully, “I can’t eat more…”

“Hmm.” He briefly points to your portion. “You just ate half of it.”

Brief silence. It must’ve gotten late, because among the quieter traffic on the main road afar, you hear a couple nightlife bugs chirping, too.

You look between the bowl and him slowly, blinking, unsure what to say. The arm around your shoulder doesn’t match his tone, so it feels a little awkward now.

You mutter, “I’m sorry.”

Because should you force yourself to scarf all of this down now, you probably won’t be able to sleep.

But Jungkook’s hums and insecure voice are making you feel bad — you know he doesn’t mean to. It’s the puppy-doe nature, a combination of forlorn, soft eyes and pouty words.

“Ah… It’ll go bad by tomorrow, but…” he starts, but you cut in—

“Fridge?”

An immediate shake of his head, a click of his tongue. “Not with that one. I mean, we could, but it’s gonna be all dry and unpalatable in the morning, y’know?”

You don’t fully have a right to be annoyed. Neither of you does. But the day’s been irksome, work a mess, paper sheets flying around — on top of that, you finished your blister pack of birth control last Friday.

The period, probably approaching tomorrow and meddling with your busy schedule, is already putting you in a sour mood.

So the current lack of a solution doesn’t help your drooping eyelids and still partly tumultuous mind.

You push yourself forward on the couch, sighing before you suggest, “Okay. Then I’ll eat.”

“Woah,” he immediately voices, dropping his arm. He attempts to pull the bowl out of your reach, but you grip it tight, swallowing a small bite of rice. “I’m not forcing you to.”

“Yeah, but still.”

Another sigh of frustration falls out of you, your full stomach crying, but you pull the bowl to you, another bite ready between your chopsticks. But a moment later, Jungkook pushes your hand down again, every rice corn falling back to its prior place, fortunately never leaving the bowl.

Unbelieving, you shoot an aghast glare at him, to which he responds, “Don’t force it. Seriously.”

A rice corn still sticks to your lower lip, and you pull it in with the tip of your tongue. You place the warm meal back onto the table, half turning to Jungkook, voicing an irritated, “Dude!”

“You don’t have to,” he assures, but he looks clearly offended. Looks away, rubs his thigh, eyeing every object on the table before he adds quieter than before, “You know… That’s happened a couple times in the last few weeks.”

“…What did?”

“I’d cook for you and you wouldn’t finish it.”

“Babe… The last few weeks have been tiring.”

“I know,” his voice grows higher at the end of the syllable, but then calms again after a sigh. “But we refrigerated a lot of stuff, some of which I shared with Joon or Tae the next day. Or threw away.”

“Nah.” The ridiculing smirk you respond with isn’t intentional. You drop it right away, but still shake your head in disbelief, defending, “You know I eat up most of the time, especially when you cook. Just today, I can’t do more than this, okay?”

He gulps. Two fingers scratch his ear, eyes once again skimming over empty plates or remnant-filled bowls. He drops his digits back to his thighs, rubbing once more, and then puffs out a breath between rounded lips before he comes to a stand.

And then, all he does is nod; shooting a simple, “Alright.”

His tone is stern. You recognise the expression — his eyes still big, but different now. Usually filled with warm sparkles, they look pissed now. Not because of his dropping lids or the missing crinkles.

Jungkook doesn’t need to move a lot of muscles to look angry; the lack of the glimmer is just enough. 

His lips are shut, not parted as they usually are when he focuses on something like his art or cooking or cleaning up. He’s exhaling and inhaling deeply through his nose, hands working on the dishes, but the fall and rise of his chest…

“You’re mad,” you conclude.

He looks back at you, the corners of his mouth never moving. His tone remains flat as he tries to convince you, “No. All good.”

Straightening his back, he attempts to walk away, hiding away in the kitchen until you’ve fallen asleep. He and you don’t argue too much — the little, couple-y, casual fights aren’t quite fights at all.

But they do end with a short distance until one is ready to approach the other and communicate again. A good strategy to cool your minds. You wouldn’t wanna discuss such a thing right away.

This time, however, you don’t want him to leave.

You pull him back again, holding onto the cotton shirt, and he protests with a loud call of your name and furrowed eyebrows as you insist, “No, you are mad.”

Your hand pushes against the couch, your body lifting, and you look him in the eye with a frustrated crease between your eyebrows. “Kook, I just am not capable of finishing it right now. You’re making a bigger deal out of it than you sho—”

“Yeah. Okay,” he interrupts, feigning acceptance and understanding, “it’s fine.” You scoff; sometimes, he’s truly as moody as you. “Things are different here, it’s fine.”

…What?

The sentence nearly comes out as a whisper as he finally starts walking away, and you only register it when he’s halfway out of the room. He balances the dishes in both hands, and you follow him to the kitchen.

Ask, “What’s different? Where’s here?”

“I work, too, you know? I get tired, too.”

“Jungkook,” you try again, slamming the hand against the counter; the sound’s muffled by a bright green cleaning cloth. “What are you talking about, things are different here?”

“Just.” He doesn’t seem to wanna talk. Carefully, he places the empty stuff in the wash basin, working on finding containers to dump the leftovers in them. “I get tired from working in the city, too, but I guess I grew up differently.”

…Huh.

You wait.

Let him collect his thoughts until he tells you, “In the countryside, you work for food, so you get used to finishing dinner. I know people around here rely on supermarkets, and honestly, I do, too,” his shoulders rise as he shovels the tofu dish into a box, “and I guess that’s why it makes sense why it’s easier for you to leave leftovers.”

Wow. Some statements in this world you live in are genuinely unfair.

You understood each of his words and lectures perfectly, but you still voice a little, “Huh?”

“Nothing.”

“You’re not being serious.”

“Maybe.”

You blink. Then blink a couple times more. Observe as he closes the boxes and puts them in the fridge with a sigh. And you feel bad, you swear, you do. But that unnecessary turn of events…

“So what, you mean we don’t work for our food, right?” you counter, a hand on your waist. “We might do less physical labour, so that must mean we don’t appreciate what we get, yeah?”

Damn. And what if there’s more to that? What if—

“Or do you think it’s because I’ve always had enough money to not worry?”

Okay. Perhaps a long shot. He didn’t say it, but what if that’s exactly what his thought process was, too?

Your inner panic, invisible on the outside, grows when he doesn’t answer, lips firmly locked as if they didn’t just spew some crisp bullshit. You fold your arms, sucking air through your nose, and then demand, “Apologise.”

And when his eyes lift to yours, you freeze. God, they’re deadly. And his ingenuine laugh even more so as he throws back, “No, you apologise. Especially for assuming things I neither said nor thought of.”

“You were rude. I’m asking you nicely to take it back.”

“As nicely as I cooked for you. World’s in balance again, I guess!”

He throws his hands up, staring at you until he’s passed you by, eyes rolling. His nonchalant, idle movements rile you up more, and you can’t help but participate further in that odd exchange.

“You douchebag,” you call out, shutting the bedroom door as you reach inside, “I’m not a snob. I’d always finish my stuff, you can even ask the cook in my old house. He loved me because I wasn’t a picky eat—”

“Listen,” he interjects again, “I know. It's fine. I’ll sleep,” he points to the bed, “because this tired me out. Just drop it.”

“So you can drop it as you please?”

“Nah, just asking you to rest,” the first word comes out louder than he anticipated, his shrug vexed and vexing. He clears his throat. “And I’m sure you’re tired of this, too.”

You groan.

“And if I want to—”

“It’ll just escalat—”

“Dude, I—”

And once more, he showcases his annoyance when he glares at you from the other side of the bed, shutting you up, blanket already lifted. You anticipate another rude remark, a way of justification or to blurt something he doesn’t mean.

But despite his recent idiocy, you don’t deem him an asshole. Not to you, at least. Which proves right as he takes a breather, one knee hitting the mattress as he finally states—

“Let’s sleep over it, okay?”

The tone still isn’t as peaceful as it could be; you know it’s a tactic to dodge a fight. You might not be on your best domestic side tomorrow yet. But his question is final and his gaze even stricter.

So you reluctantly sigh, eyes still fiery as you breathe, “Fine.”

But it’s not fine. And the turbulent week ahead, filled with chaos for you and peak comedy to others, might just be about to prove it to you.

Tuesday

You chew on your bites until the taste turns bland.

Still distracted from last night’s exchange, you barely register the tart spicy quality of your dinner; a shame because this restaurant is your favourite place to frequent with friends.

Today, you’re toying with your cutlery, catching a glimpse of your grim reflection in the spoon every now and then. Whenever Jungkook’s elbow touches yours, your heart skips a bit, bleeding as much as your eyes want to water.

With how he’s smiling at your friends, appetite never faltering, you could burst into tears — because somewhere inside, you miss him despite the constant proximity.

Perhaps he does, too.

Because you notice when he drifts closer on purpose, casually putting his hand over yours. Seemingly lost in conversations, he rubs his thumb against the soft back of your hand; but when you look at him, you can’t muster a smile just yet.

It’s your ego, your stubbornness. Pieces of you want to stay pissed. You keep your cool, but try to avert your eyes whenever possible.

And when you, obstinate as last night, pull your hand from under his, you register the defeated sigh.

But instead of starting a new topic, he retracts his fingers, putting his arm on his table as he busies his other digits with his meal. When you dare a glance, the pretty curves of his blooming lips tug upwards, listening to Taehyung’s story.

Either hiding the discomfort between you or not feeling it.

Odd, because he’s your constant centre of attention.

“Yeah, I mean. Every job is stressful, you know? But it’s wholesome, too,” Taehyung narrates. You blink the silent pining away, and focus. “Like, one of my patients is an elderly man, a lot weaker than his wife. And she always comes with him, every single time.”

“She just waits for him the entire time?” Jungkook asks.

Next to Taehyung, Eun nods; she’s probably heard the story before.

“I mean, she entertains us, is more like it,” Taehyung explains. “He’s been getting geriatric physiotherapy to regain some strength, so he needs all the motivation he can get. And those two are such… dorks. They bicker all the time.”

You smile. Reminds you of when Jungkook and you first met. Persistent, pointless rivalry.

Perhaps Eun hasn’t heard all of this after all. Because as she cuts her dinner, she asks before stuffing her mouth with a bite, “How so?”

“Like. She’ll tell him to not be a baby and take that last step during gait training.”

From your right, Jungkook’s laugh reverberates like a melody from above, sickeningly sweet and amused. “Sounds like me and you at the gym, doesn’t it?”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, flicking away stray hair with his forefinger, “Yeah, only because you can lift weights that’d break my arms.”

Another chuckle from the side. Even you smile a little.

Your man is strong, alright — and you’ve always admired it, experienced it a couple dozen times.

You’ve yet to see him work out at a proper gym; the home workout sessions barely count.

Ugh. The violent heartbeat beneath your chest picks up on pace again, and you take a deep breath to calm it just a little.

“Anyway,” Taehyung continues, “then she’ll tease him how the neighbour downstairs has much more flexible legs than he does and he’ll argue how she should’ve married him… and then she tells him that she would’ve if she didn’t love his old ass so much.”

When you giggle, covering your chewing mouth behind your hand, he adds, “I swear! It’s the most standard old couple banter if I’ve ever seen one. Thought that stuff only happens on TV.”

Eun, still busy with the remnants of her meal, doesn’t look up but asks, “So they joke around like that? They don’t get mad at each other or anything?”

“They act like they do. Not a sliver of jealousy or anger in them, though. Insane… and adorable. I guess when you’re married long enough, that’s how relationships turn out. And they should, too, you know?”

Hmm…

You side-eye Jungkook for just a moment, but don’t say anything.

You don’t know what’s written in your future. No clue whether he’s a permanent presence in it, a firm part of your fate or not; you strongly hope for an eternity.

You want to picture him and you grey and old. Wrinkled hands, adorned with blue veins holding each other. Weak smiles and crinkles around his eyes, hidden behind glasses, ever-present.

If he’s your future, you hope to laugh about such fights one day. Hope to let people wonder whether you’re actually furious with each other, veiling unbridled affection behind snarky remarks.

Just… right now, you can’t laugh about it just yet. You still feel oddly offended by his words last night, and it doesn’t help when tonight seems to drift towards a similar ending.

Because as you ask for the bill at the end, Jungkook still pays. You don’t think about it too hard, letting him do, staying seated to finish your drinks.

But your exhaustion reaches a new, entirely unnecessary peak when he starts cracking his fingers. On any other day, you’d put a hand over his, reminding him not to and move on.

Today, you’re in a bad mood, and your demands come out accordingly piqued.

“Stop it.”

“Hm?” he voices, looking at you, the warm light of the restaurant reflecting in his dark brown eyes.

“This,” you point to his fingers, “stop that.”

“Why?”

“Because you know it makes me cringe. A bit annoying.”

Eun, still unaware of the tension between him and you, shrugs her shoulders, “I know that irks a lot of people, but I don’t think it’s that bad.”

“Because you do it, too,” Taehyung complains; she mocks him with a sly smirk and a quiet, Yeah, yeah. He adds, “I can’t stand it, either.”

You lift an open palm towards him, nodding, “So you understand.”

“I’ve seen you do it, too,” Eun argues with a light push against his shoulder, “multiple times!”

“But not as often as you. You start and do not stop.”

You immediately agree, “He’s just like that, too!”

To which Jungkook interjects, his voice still calm; but you still hear the growing aggravation in his voice when he starts, “Honestly, I—”

“He actually has a couple habits that are just—”

You blow a raspberry.

Your interruption triggers Jungkook. And your words, admittedly not quite the sweetest, don’t sit well with him, either, because a moment later, he’s leaning forwards again. Looking at you directly before he continues his irritating bone-cracking.

You grit your teeth and repeat, “Stop that.”

“What?” he shoots back. You flinch. “A habit you despise so much, yeah? I don’t get the same intense reaction when I do something nice for you.”

So untrue.

Fucking hell. He’s talking about yesterday again.

You exhale through your nose, possibly resembling a bull ready to attack; Taehyung and Eun shrink in front of you, grimacing at each other. You’d laugh if it wasn’t you trapped in that exasperating back and forth of exchanges.

“Oops,” Eun whispers, yet overshadowed by your words as you defend, “That’s not true.”

“Maybe,” Jungkook says, shrugging a shoulder with an outrageous smirk, “but you never get that angry when I crack them at home.”

“I just don’t say it.”

“Oh? What else do you not say, hm?”

Taehyung dares an attempt, “Guys.”

But you’re too heated, a little stupid, very ridiculous as you spit, “Like, how irritating it is that you smack your lips every other second.”

Jungkook puffs out a breath. Looks to the side, straight into Eun’s direction who sinks a little more. He curls his lower lip in, running his tongue over it, jaw clenched and sharp. If you weren’t so focused on your temper, you’d find it scorching hot.

In a harmless little fight, you’d keep annoying him until he lost it eventually, mounting you and shutting you up in the very tempting Jungkook-esque way he knows.

But not here, not right now.

Instead, he fucks you up further as he sneers, “Right.”

“Or,” you continue, “that you don’t clean up your working space after painting.”

“What?” He furrows his thick eyebrows, ignoring Taehyung’s call of Jungkook’s name. “I mean. You have all your documents scattered on the desk. I might need it, too, y’know?”

“Why don’t you say it then?” you ask, tilting your head with one cocked eyebrow of yours.

“‘Cause I wanna let you work? ‘Cause it’s important for me that you’re able to focus?” He looks away again, tutting; his shoulder moves with his deriding laugh as he mumbles, “The fuck, really.”

Somewhere inside, you feel bad. You know his words are true. But you can’t tell him yet; so you just glare at him.

As silence finally falls upon you, Eun moves towards the table again, glancing between the two of you as she wonders, “What’s wrong with you guys?”

Everything.

“Nothing,” you say.

“…You wanna go?”

You wait. Jungkook doesn’t answer. Looks to the ground. When you don’t respond either, his eyes lift to yours, still big but not as enthusiastic as usual. Intimidating even.

You stay still, so he only voices, “Uh-huh.”

And the couple, enduring your awkward moment, lets you go gladly. You pack up, finishing your drink, and when you leave your table, you notice just how many people were staring at you.

Still are.

You really embarrassed yourself in front of a crowd, huh?

As the daughter of rich parents, owning a huge ass clothing brand, this isn’t something you should’ve done. But you pray and hope that you won’t wake up to a headline, or that journalists won’t interpret your little feud as a reason to break up or some nonsense like that.

Trouble in Heaven, they’d call it. Predictable little cockroaches.

You trudge past the customers with a deep breath in; Jungkook doesn’t seem to care much, because he walks ahead, hands in the pockets of his linen cotton slacks. Doesn’t look around.

Only bids Taehyung and Eun goodbye; tells you to buckle up when the two of you get in your car; curses once or twice when he misses the green light by a second.

And when you’re at home, sighing as the night approaches its end, you shake your head. Unbelievable whatever transpired back at that place. And you thought you were warming up to each other again.

Guess it’s your fault this time.

Which is why you hum when he calls your name, watching you put on your nightwear; bed ready while you still need to take off your makeup.

His question baffles you; more so with the slightly irate tone.

“Will you still give me a good night’s kiss or?”

You roll your eyes. Don’t say anything; grab your skincare products before you get to work.

He sighs once more; you see the shake of his head before you disappear into the bathroom, hear him say, “Whatever.”

But when you come out with a light rosy scent on your skin and jump under your blanket, you still shift towards his slowly drifting body. His arm under his head, eyes closed, lower lip pouting that you target carefully and—

Press the lightest kiss against.

Immediately, you turn around. Imitate his position.

He doesn’t reach out to you as he usually does, pulling you into his arms. But you still feel the petal-soft brush of tender fingers against your arm before the touch retracts again — and eventually, you fall asleep.

WEDNESDAY

The only reason Jungkook accompanied you to the laundromat is because your clothes gathered into a huge mountain. Neglecting your responsibilities at home, you brought two bags, and he insisted on helping you out.

It's late afternoon. Work tired you out, dinner is still pending; you don’t want to be here. And the place is empty; a yawning void. Just you, alone with your tank-top and grey-blue zip up hoodie clad, messy-haired boyfriend.

The retro plastic laundromat seats tired him out, so he’s standing at the far back. His eyes follow the tossing and turning of the clothes in the washing machine, and sometimes, they trail back to you.

And you — you’re sitting in a corner, arms folded, still uncertain whether you should wait for an apology or opt for one yourself.

The distance is childish. You’re way more mature than that.

But your fight is childish, too, and you guess sometimes, even healthy couples fall back into kindergarten routines.

Once the clothes are done and dry, the journey back home approaching, he helps you out. Tramps to you, mutters a little, “Gimme. I’ll take this.”

The bag strap drags his hoodie off his shoulder a little, revealing the flowery tattoo. He doesn’t fix it; lost in thoughts and silent until home. As if he wants to say something, but doesn’t.

In the apartment, he asks, “Dinner or takeout?”

And you, learning and indisputably craving his affection in any shape or form, answer, “We can make dinner.”

“I’ll do it. Get some rest.”

You sigh in relief. There’s solace in your gratitude — today was arduous, much like the preceding days of this week. You bide your time until he’s done, and then help him set the table and clean the kitchen.

The evening passes without any hostility, but ends without many gestures of fondness, too.

THURSDAY

“You don’t need to come, too. I bet you’ve other stuff to do.”

Jungkook adjusts to your steps. He snatched a jacket way too insufficient for the frosty weather, but he won’t hurry if you don’t. Doesn’t stray from your side.

So you walk faster. Then he does, too.

He rubs his nose, shrugs a shoulder and responds, “I’ve nothing much to do today, really.”

“Yeah, but,” you pull at the sleeves of his jacket, urging him to rush through the wind, “you’ll get bored. And I’m a big girl.”

“I know that. But it’ll be fine. Wanna make sure you’re okay, too.”

He nudges your elbow. You can’t pinpoint whether he’s daring an attempt to set things right or is genuinely concerned. Or both. In some way, the tension between you lingers, and you can’t shake off the awkward feeling just yet.

So you only nod, holding off an answer for a moment. Staring ahead, you listen to the soft sounds of the city, blinded by headlights soon passing you by. A bit longer and the first snow will fall.

The consoling feeling of winter days draws closer, feels warm despite the frigid wind. Hot chocolatesque. There’s just something about wool shawls and warm jackets and old, animated Christmas movies.

One thing you miss about living in your parents’ big, fancy house in your very old neighbourhood is the chimney. The soft yellow and orange of the crackling fire, melting the cold over your skin.

Sometimes you’d sit on the fleecy white carpet, protected by a thick, warm turtleneck sweater, watching the dancing flames.

You wonder again — if Jungkook and you are truly written in the stars as one, will you move into a bigger place one day? Save money and expand the comfort of the current apartment, investing in even more soothing walls with a couple little additions.

Not the lush, exaggerated luxury you grew up with. Not necessarily anything snobby.

But casual, domestic things, like a fire side you can sit in front of, drinking tea, slow dancing and giggling in the dark. Lit by the chimney fire; familiarity.

You sigh.

“It’s been long since I went to the dentist, too,” Jungkook then says, and you hum. That’s sudden.

“You should go then.”

“Yeah,” he says, eyes darting from your face to your hands. You unintentionally bury them in the pockets of your jacket the moment he reaches out for you; and when he understands that you didn’t notice, he curls his fingers into fists. “Maybe I can get an appointment now? Do they take walk-ins?”

You furrow your eyebrows. “I don’t know.” Then, upon realisation, you laugh a little and say, “I’m not going to the dentist.”

“What?”

“What?” You stare back with eyes as big as his. “Optometrist, Koo.”

His raised eyelids are nothing new. He’s attentive when it comes to you; recognises, notices and remembers every little thing. But you guess he truly has been tired, too.

And you feel bad for not considering it as much as he considered it. The reason he cooked for you in the first place, right?

You press your lips into a line, stare down to a puddle on the ground; an aftermath of the rain.

“Oh,” he makes, “why did I think we were going to— Sorry. My bad.”

In actuality, you did wonder if he knew. He didn’t ask questions when you told him you were leaving; simply announced he was going with. You were pulling socks over your ankles as his rushing form scurried across the room.

You guessed he’d figured it out. But the fact that he was ready to accompany you without a certain clue where you were heading makes you a little giddy.

Clearing your throat, you clarify, “No worries. It’s about that pain in my eyes. Remember?”

You wouldn’t be mad if he didn’t. Preceding your fight by perhaps a couple minutes, you don’t think the tiny statement still holds any relevance to him anymore.

Right?

Wrong.

“Yeah,” he answers, “yeah, of course. You thought it was an infection.”

“Mhm,” you hum, ignoring the butterfly wing slamming against your insides, “I’m so sure it’s an infection.” You click your tongue. “Itch first, and now it gives me migraines.”

“Yeah, you told me… But. It’s nothing serious, I just know.”

You look at his sculpted side profile.

You know him. Jungkook doesn’t actually know, of course — that’s not why he’s saying that he does.

But because hope is better than pure uncertainty; and he likes trying to manifest. He believes in little miracles like this. Knocks on wood a lot, tries not to voice potential disasters in case they might actually roll around.

So you take the reassurance. Walk to the clinic in silence. Attempt more small talk in the waiting room until they drench your corneas in those odd, blinding eye drops, dilating your pupils.

The brief, quick tests follow; the assistant is young and gentle, and you try your best to be a good patient. She seems to enjoy your temporarily formal behaviour, perfected in the years you grew to be a reputable heir.

You drop it once you’re in the waiting room again, awaiting the final consultation and results.

Jungkook is a restless companion. No matter how irritating, you’re used to the constant swaying and the movements of his legs. One might think he is anxious for you, eyes locking on the head doc’s office door every now and then.

Yet, he wonders, “Are you nervous?”

“Nervous?” you repeat, breathing out a tiny, amused laugh. “Nah. He’s really nice. And it’s just some eye stuff.”

“Well, eyes are important.”

The words come out quickly, but the last syllable dies gradually.

You smile.

Jungkook sometimes reminisces about a time when he’d hide from relatives or eat lunch at the back of class back in elementary school. He tires out the term introvertness, and you repeatedly retort with a certain ambivertness.

At times, he’s loud, flirty, annoying and confident — gives you a hard time believing that he ever averted a girl’s gaze or hid behind his cousins.

But then… there are moments when you see it.

Like now.

The puffy cheeks, the youthful pout, the big, big eyes flashing to the ground. Unsure what to say, unsure what you’re thinking of him.

Until he gulps, keeping his voice quiet and low as he continues, “Have you ever had a private optometrist?”

Huh. Not a question you expected. You guess starting the week with a discussion about wealth makes him think of such things these days.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting in your seat. You can still not see him clearly; his features are blurry, and you squint. “When I was younger. Big, bright places and top notch equipment.”

“Why did you stop?”

“I mean… It's not like usually used equipment, like here, is any worse than theirs. Also, same reason as why I went to a public college. Normalcy, I guess.”

“Odd.”

“…Why?”

“Because,” he draws a sharp breath, staring ahead. “Despite all the normalcy, you’re as extraordinary as can get. Money or not.”

A heartbeat passes. Among the sounds of the quiet chatter around you and the ads in the TV at lowest volume, your breath mingles with the hushed noises like a whisper.

His slowly blinking eyes are genuine, your reflection in his dark brown orbs clear. White dots sparkle like constellations in the sky, bright and plenty. It’s nice that they remind you of the sentimentality in his heart after every single serious or dumb, big or small fight.

For a moment, you keep looking. Your fingers twitch, urging to reach out, but as they start moving off your knee, you hear a call of your name.

Jungkook leans back, clearing his throat, smiles at you as you get to your feet and meet the doctor’s stare, kindly gesturing inside the examination room.

A couple more tests, a friendly conversation, more orders from his side before he gives you a diagnosis and a prescription. 

And when you head out, Jungkook’s still sitting right where you left him. One leg restless again, leaning forwards, arms on his thighs and hands intertwined. His head is hanging between his shoulders; even from afar, you see his lashes move, eyes slowly blinking.

You can’t quite explain it, but you love this point of view — when you can see his parted lips, the lower one pillowy, partly hidden behind his button nose. Cheeks round. You truly do love this watching-from-above-angle.

Even though it clearly suggests he’s bored out of his mind. Beyond done with this place, but still here, waiting for you.

You clutch the strap of your bag again, sighing, and then move towards him with light steps. The back of your fingers reaches out then, brushing against his temple a tiny moment before he detects your shoes and looks up.

“Oh. That was fast,” he says; his eyes are drooping. He had a long morning in the attic. “What did he say?”

He gets off the seat, moving his stiff neck and cracking it a little, hand flashing up to his shoulder. You explain, “I need eye drops. Two to three times a day.”

“Ah. Then we could get them right now.”

You nod, allowing a little smile, telling him as you head out, “My eyes are okay, though. Somehow, my vision has improved, too.”

Jungkook’s lips form an excited Oh, but when he sees your expression, he says, “But you seem bummed about it.”

Ah. Well.

You feel ungrateful thinking that way, but…

“In some way?” you admit. “I’d rather have an infection that can be fixed with antibiotics and won’t come back so easily instead of… you know. Having to constantly rely on eye drops. It just sounds so permanent.”

Another deep sigh; you’re exhausted as well. “And I’ll have to remember to use them.”

“Hmm,” he voices, holding the door open for you. He zips his jacket close as you step out; an immediate breath cloud forming when he exhales. “Set an alarm, yeah?”

“Yeah. Just knowing myself…”

“I’ll remind you then.”

The suggestion is immediate, albeit accompanied by a seemingly nonchalant shrug of his shoulder; jacket’s sleeves adorably pulled over his hands.

“Once in the morning. You set an alarm for lunch and then I remind you again when you take your birth control pill at night. Yeah?”

The bitter feeling of the fight vanishes a little; you try to ignore the residual awkwardness, apologies probably still due. But right now, your conversation follows a different path, so you settle on a soft, little, “Thank you, Kook.”

He always does that. Remind you of your meds.

Your vitamins, your pills, that one nose spray hydrating your nose flora to prevent your mucosa from drying out or whatever your ENT doc told you. He did last night, too.

He always does — even if it means forgetting about his own responsibilities.

You blink a couple times, rubbing your eyelids before you admit, “Still hurts. Can barely see… and the streetlamps are so bright?”

“Lemme look.”

He stops in his tracks and you follow; his hand catches your wrist, pulling your fingers away from your eyes, and you turn to him slowly. You’re still attempting to clear your vision, so he orders, “Stop blinking.”

And once you do, he moves in. Takes your face in his already warm hands, staring, squinting, humming. He looks focused, and you raise your eyebrows, waiting for a conclusion until he finally mutters, “Damn.”

“What?”

He seems impressed. Looks a bit longer. You repeat, “What? Are they red? Swollen or something?”

“Nah,” he lets your face go, already stepping back as if dodging your proximity. “But,” he starts; you stare like a puppy, only breaking when he adds, “they’re pretty as fuck.”

Your playful punch rises as if on instinct.

One part of your relationship that never changed was your bicker, starting with annoyance and morphing into frisky, flirty remarks. You consider it the foundation of what makes the two of you a unit.

You grit your teeth, but can’t bite back the smile.

“Dude,” you scold, and he covers his arm instinctively, evading the punch looming over him.

But you don’t deliver it after all, dropping your hand, shaking your head instead. You say, “If you hadn’t helped me survive today, I’d—”

You steer towards him, attempting another scare, and he plays along with a flinch just before he starts laughing again. Hums and nods emphasise his words when he agrees, “You survived like a true champ. A big girl, you said, right?”

“Sure am.”

“Mhm. …My big girl?”

“Gross. Shut up.”

The atmosphere will stay odd for a while. That’s okay, you guess. At least it allows for a bit of amusement, hard to hide as you smile a little, bite your lip.

You lower your head, veiling your beam behind your hair, but you know he sees. Matches your smile — perhaps even a bit brighter than your own.

FRIDAY

The fast approaching weekend usually eases a week’s tension. But considering the mounting workload you tackled today and the endless Saturday you’ll be dealing with very soon, your muscles don’t relax just yet.

Imprisoned behind the bars of work, your thoughts circle around the schedule for tomorrow. In that sense, you come home late and can’t quite bother with the stress that spread throughout the first half of the week.

Jungkook already scarfed down tonight’s dinner, comfortably laying in bed and balancing the laptop on his stomach. From the sound of it, he’s watching videos of various genres.

Sitting on the living room couch and indulging in a short story for just a bit, you hear the enthusiastic voices of chefs rattling down recipes every now and then. It’s a hobby of his, but you can’t help but feel bad.

He studies those YouTube videos to improve his cooking skills, and you, ungratefully, leave the rest of his effort in the goddamn fridge. You sigh.

If you had the energy and will to talk it out, you’d do it now. You couldn’t all day.

He was still asleep when you left, and after work, you went to a brief dinner with a coworker to dash through details for tomorrow. Looking at the plan, you hope for at least a sliver of fun amidst the photoshoot chaos.

When you returned home, Jungkook was gaming right where you’re sitting now. You showered, only to find him back in the bedroom, with his eyes glued to said laptop. And now, as you approach the bed to end the night, he walks past you with falling eyelids.

He rubs them with the back of his tattooed hand, a tired pout on his face contradicting the seemingly badass image that the ink usually gives him. Hard shell, soft core and all.

“Be right ba—,” Jungkook’s hazy voice informs, last syllable broken by a yawn. “Go to bed, okay?”

His palm moves across your upper arm as he passes you by, and you nod, steering towards the inviting, warm mattress. Its surface melts with your body when you drop. God, you’re exhausted; can barely think.

You don’t think it’ll take you particularly long to drift away; and just when your consciousness slips, you feel an arm around you.

A soft hug, enveloping you. He drops his face to yours, lips gently pressing against your cheek for a moment before he adjusts the blanket over the two of you.

A current of warmth courses through your veins, and you draw a deep, long breath of affection when he cuddles into you. He must be thinking you’re asleep but slowly falling out of dreams, because he pulls you in and rubs your arm.

An effective tactic he usually wields to help you fall asleep. 

He puts a leg gently over yours, his body so close to yours that you feel bits of the combustion of your heart.

Because…

Despite your stupid feud, you’re kind of happy that he’s joined you under the thin blanket, pressing more featherlight kisses against your scalp. Sighs against it.

And you can’t withhold the smile when he brushes over your clothed tummy and whispers, “My feisty little girl.” 

SATURDAY

You remember to unclench your jaw.

The stress hardens your muscles. Your limbs are stiff, eyes unblinking until they dry out. Fingers wrapped around your phone, you hold the device firmly, shutting out the telling vibrations of notifications.

This cannot be.

There are a hundred fires burning around you. Erupted chaos causes panic, and in the middle of it are you, clueless and vexed beyond measure.

It’s one thing cancelling a shoot a couple days before it takes place — and another thing to call sick at the very last moment. You didn’t think the model would ditch you like this… but now that he has, you can’t figure out how to replace the missing piece of the shoot.

Your troubled co-workers call out a dozen names, but you don’t say a word, gazing around with a crease between your eyebrows.

This whole thing needs to be out in the open by Friday, and the photographers and editors need time. So, postponing this to Monday and the release of the ads to another weekend won’t work, right?

No.

You’re at the headquarters of this brand. And you’re one of the organisers of this shoot and project. Every single shop will need to postpone if you do.

Unprofessional. Goes against the schedule.

The complaints are still on full blast when you see a calm movement from the corner of your eye. You move your head to the left, peeking through the glass door, and on the other side awaits—

A wide-eyed man, staring inside, observing the tumult like he’s stepped into the jungle. He’s wearing a white shirt, tucked into jeans, long bangs hanging into his eyes and enhancing the sweet gaze so wonderfully.

Pieces of your stress melts — but you still can’t figure out why he’s standing there.

You walk to the door automatically, throwing a tiny smile when he detects you among the staff. A big hand waves in tiny, and you open to let him in.

“Hey,” you greet, pushing back to where you stood before. He follows. “What are you doing here?”

As you come to a stand, he puts a hand on your waist lightly, drawing close to press a kiss to your temple. Then, he responds, “Picking you up?”

“Wh—”

Oh. Shit.

You were going to go out and celebrate the end of the stressful week. He’d suggested it last weekend because he already knew how hectic today would be.

Ughhhh.

You’re terrible.

Jungkook realises your forgetfulness the moment your expression changes into a guilty one. His curious, innocent look drops with his eyebrows, and he sighs when you say, “I’m sorry, Kook.”

When he stares down at his shoes, you feel a wave of shame; the noise around you fades for just a second as he half sullenly, half disappointedly asks, “Really?”

“I swear… It’s not my fault.”

It’s not an excuse; not a lie.

He looks disheartened; knowing him, stupid argument or not, he was probably looking forward to this. Fuck, you feel bad.

Despite his obvious drop in mood, he doesn’t say anything much. Instead, he nods and assures, “It’s fine. What happened?”

You look around again. From afar, you see a coworker approach. She looks hopeful and you take the crumbs, but you still explain, “Everything should be done by now. We got most of the pictures, but… one of the guys bailed on us.”

“Shit, really? What now?”

You shrug your shoulders, once again racking your brain for a solution. People here are counting on you, but it’s not you who brings the very first somewhat reasonable suggestion of today.

Only somewhat reasonable, though.

Because the coworker approaching ogles at Jungkook like a pirate at a treasure, pupils big and wondering as she suddenly says, “Hold. Did you come up with that?”

You blink.

Then ask, “What?”

“You called him here?”

“What?” you repeat, a confused, little parrott.

She rolls her eyes, “He,” she points at Jungkook with a thumb, “is not allowed in here. Usually. So I assumed you called him as a replacement.” She tilts her head. “And he’s freaking perfect!”

Per—

What? No, no, no. That’s absolutely nothing you planned or permitted.

“No?” Instinctively, you take a step to the side, right in front of his broad shoulders as if to protect him from harm. You argue, “He’s not a model. He’s an artist.”

From behind, you hear, “I’m just an artist.”

“Yeah, but,” she throws back, “you’re art, too. I won’t lie.”

Another step back until your back almost touches his chest. His fingertips graze your hip, as a warning before you stumble over his feet. You can imagine the subtle rosy dust on his cheek; he’s fond of compliments.

As everyone is, you suppose. But. 

“Hey, careful,” you tell her, disguising it as a joke, but feeling the lightest burn in your stomach when he laughs at her words.

She raises her pretty lips to a prettier smile, nodding in reassurance as she promises, “Yes, I know he’s taken.”

Another quiet chuckle from behind you, and you cock an eyebrow before he changes the topic and admits, “Seriously, I’m not a model at all and barely know what these things are like…”

To which she waves off his concerns and explains, “Oh, you just need to look good. We’d put some make up and clothes on you, a few pics and we’re done.”

Sounds easy enough. A bit like an insult to actual models, kind of putting those to shame who ran across stages for years to study, internalise and perfect their movements.

But you don’t correct her because you’re desperate, too. And right now, this sounds the easiest.

Still, he murmurs, “I’m not sure.”

“I understand if not,” she says. Her tone changes, fragments of frustration in it. “It’s just that we’re running out of options.”

Once more, you play out the upcoming week mentally. Postponing the last shoot. Postponing the release. Postponing the seasonal launch.

None of this is your fault, but you’d still be the one to get all the wary looks.

As if on cue, Jungkook squeezes your hip, and you look at him with worry painted across your face. You know he sees it immediately, but he still asks, “Is it that bad?”

You nibble at your lip, putting a hand over his as you say, “Yeah. We do need someone.”

“Is that allowed? Can I just replace a guy?”

“I’m technically the boss here, so you’d just need my permission,” you take a breath and then click your tongue, “I mean, usually we’d just reschedule, but we don’t have the time and those shoots already take hours. And in your case, we’d do all the paperwork, contract stuff later.”

“Would it help you?”

He’s considerate. Even in a stressful moment like this, the gentle tone, the deep care makes you weak. The answer’s already clear, but you still tell him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to. Again, it… might take up to two hours or so.”

“But it’d help you, babe, wouldn’t it? Unless you don’t want me to. Then I won’t.”

You don’t have a single problem with this; in fact, you’d be happy to put him in front of a camera. His genuine thoughtfulness liquefies you — you’re a puddle at this point.

“Oh, I… Jungko—”

Juri intrudes, “I’m sorry,” carefully, she inches closer, nodding over her shoulder, “Just wanna say that we have a lot of designers in our team. They do logos and make the posters and all. Maybe, if they saw you — because the country already knows you as her artistic man from newspapers — they could teach you some digital art stuff.”

“I…” Jungkook starts. He’s probably thinking the same — which he confirms when he adds, “I’m not sure how me modelling for you might relate to artistic stuff. But I already know a lot about digital art.”

Yeah, exactly. Of course he does; what else did he wade through college for throughout these years?

“But,” she lifts a finger, infinite force in one word already, “have you ever tried expensive equipment and all?”

Oh oh. You feel bad.

Is that the group of society you represent? Maybe you guys are a little pretentious after all, dealing and seducing with money.

But he either doesn’t notice or doesn’t dare to challenge her when he steps next to you and says, “I can do it, but not for that digital art offer.” He puts a hand on your back, rubbing lightly and briefly, “For her.”

You fold your arms under your chest; less to show dominance, but more to press against the butterflies. There’s a type of nausea falling in love elicits, deep in your stomach where everything appears so surreal and beautiful that it makes you oddly sick.

The first time your pupils took on their heart shape was the first moment Jungkook practised that effect on you; made you realise what inevitable emotions he was pulling you into.

That effect has not faltered; your guts still twist.

At least, for a couple minutes.

Because the second your coworker-vultures attack him and drag him to the back room, something changes. Nervousness, you guess. You know the clothes that are awaiting him, but stepping out of makeup and into the spotlight leaves you gasping for air.

From afar, he’s leering at you.

Wearing a snow white shirt, tucked into his pants, priorly tousled hair still messy but styled in curls. Yes, you might know your collection — but you didn’t think it’d fit him like second skin.

Why did you doubt it, though? Jungkook could wear a trash bag and still compete against Adonis.

For a moment, he stands still, entangling his fingers, looking around. Then, he’s smiling in uncertainty, awkwardly putting his hands on his tiny waist, waiting for directions.

Juri tip-toes towards you, as if you’re filming a scene in a drama. She pulls the clipboard to her chest, one digit pointing to your struggling man before she says, “He’s adorable.”

You nod. “I wonder how he’ll do.”

“Well, yeah,” she murmurs, half distracted; but then she averts her eyes from him, looking from your nervous lips up to your furrowed eyebrows before she assures, “Worst case scenario, we’ll postpone. End of story. At least we tried.”

“Hmm… Well, let’s hope it won’t be that case.”

Which, you soon realise, it certainly isn’t.

A couple professional suggestions by the director and Jungkook gets into position. The initial movements of his hands and body are a little strange and awkward, and you can’t help but want to pull him from this chaos and wrap him in a fuzzy blanket.

But the seemingly feigned adorable stance soon shifts into something unexpectedly dangerous when he raises his chin. Thumbs in the pockets of his jeans, he relaxes his body, lips suddenly forming a tempting, slight pout.

He doesn’t usually look like that…

“Wow,” you whisper, faintly registering Juri’s fascinated nod from the side.

This is still a harmless pose, you think; one the director dared him to do. But you’re surprised by the sudden confidence, the way Jungkook doesn’t fumble or stutter or question anything.

Some of his softness shines through the moment the photographer gives a thumbs up, a tattooed hand cracking the fingers of the others. Doe eyes back, he leans forwards as if he could peek at the pictures like that, asking cautiously, “That okay?”

He looks different. Why does he look different?

“That was great! Perfect start. I promise the rest is just as easy,” the team encourages him, asking him to monitor the pictures they just took.

Jungkook walks to the strangers in slow steps, chest behind the tight, white top heaving once. On his way, he looks up to you instinctively, throwing the same thumbs up at you with a questioning gaze.

And you, still baffled, smile.

Watch as he converses with the people, his grin wide when he likes what he sees — an instant confidence boost, though you still see the nervousness in his stance. Where was any of it when they clicked the photos?

As if a demon possessed him for just a minute. Dual and dangerous.

Then again, he’s not very different in your daily life. A celestial soul on some days, catering to your every whim, never letting your feet touch the ground.

And a beast on others, inhaling your sounds like a starving incubus, never heaving your body off the mattress.

The duality doesn’t disappear with this very first outfit.

When some music starts playing and they tell him to move freely, filming the sequences for the ads, your eyeballs nearly fall out of your eyes. And you finally realise why he looks so different now.

Because the moment his thumb touches his lower lip, mimicking a wiping motion (much like he does after kissing you sometimes), you see the silver-plated jewellery glimmering from all the way from the set.

Lip ring.

Whose idea…

“What did you do back there?” you ask, near-panicking, your heart dropping into your panties.

Juri flinches, asking, “What?”

“Is that a lip ring? You gave him a—”

You puff out a breath; it’s immensely difficult to be mad at him like this. He’s been looking…

“Shouldn’t we have?” her tiny voice asks; her body shrinks a little.

“I mean. I just. It wasn’t planned.”

“Yeah, but look how amazing he looks.”

You’re seeing it, alright.

The subtle touches, the light tugging at his shirt. Movements just right. He looks all serious, like a beast, hotter than motherfucking hell. Transports your saliva into your windpipe with each look he sports.

Until you actually feel yourself choking and gagging once he leaves and comes back for the next shoot twenty minutes later.

Because why on Earth did they omit the shirt under the grey blazer?

You’re close to dashing to costume and makeup, confronting them to ask why they chose to toy with your sanity like this. Because… the lip ring is still there. His hair is suddenly slicked back. Fingers adorned with rings.

And he looks so goddamn good.

Maybe it’s your fault. You told them you trusted them, and that they were supposed to do as they pleased. And they are… they so are.

All of him, like a strong magnet, pulls you in, but you keep your feet firmly on your spot, cementing yourself in place. There’s something incredibly attractive about the way he presents himself — new, talented.

You’re fidgety, a sexually frustrated observer when he touches his jacket, pulling it open just a little. The inked hand is veiny; you see it from here, too. The light gesture allows glimpses of his chest.

Small, perked, brown nipples. Lines and ripples of his abs firm. Ending in his V-line, hidden behind the peeking underwear and blue, baggy jeans.

Heavy chains are already menacing when he shuts his eyelids and parts his lips. Worse when he leans forwards, hazy eyes staring into the camera as if he’s about to devour the camerawoman.

Jeon Jungkook is a hazardous danger to society. The world will want him — and he’ll only want you.

Fuck.

You’re drooling. Drowning in your own puddle. Crossing your legs.

And when they tell him to sit, ordering to open the button of his jeans and push it down his hips just a bit, the little yous in your brain wreak havoc.

A fire starts in the organised office of your mind, red sirens blaring, and you look at Juri as you ask, “Why is he naked?! Why’s the blazer off his shoulder?!!”

“Because,” she defends, hiding behind the clipboard; it’s not her fault. That’s what the other model would’ve done, too. “Underwear ads!”

You’re aware. You just didn’t think it’d be Jungkook ending up in this position. Perhaps you didn’t think it through; didn’t know what it’d do to you.

But his effect pools in your lower stomach; so intense, you might cry.

“What the fuck,” you mumble when he takes the jacket off, sitting up and improvising all of a sudden. A hand covers his mouth, the blazer thrown over his shoulder. “What’s the point of holding it? He’s not even wearing it.”

“Because,” she starts again, “we’re focusing on the underwear.” Where’s the focus on the underwear? You can barely see it. Are people plotting against you? “It’s okay.” She pats your shoulder. “No one’s gonna touch him, love.”

You bite your lip. You know.

You aren’t distressed because you’re mad. But because knowing that everybody will crave him and nobody will get him turns you on more.

The fact that you’re the only one he’ll look at with those starry eyes; with the hunger in his gaze. The only one he’ll press into your bed, lips close to your ears, whispering endearments and filthy, little promises.

This man wants you, and you can barely handle that truth.

New thoughts and ideas form in your mind, too wild and desperate to be occurring right in this moment. So you mentally whoosh them away, holding on for the rest of the neverending shoot until a round of genuine applause sounds around the big set.

God. Okay. Hours of torture later, and he’s done.

A shy bow. No. This monster might convince anyone else, but you know he’s not as innocent as he gives himself.

He jogs over to you, says quietly enough for only you to hear, “Don’t tell them, but that was great.” You can imagine. He backs away, looks down to his defined abs, “I need to change. And then we can head home, they said.”

You blink, perplexed and still out of words. Which he struggles to interpret, looking over his shoulder and then back to you. Unsure, he adds, “Unless you need to wrap things up.”

When a random shout echoes through the room, you awake, inhaling deeply before you tell him, “No, I. I mean, yeah, we’ll wrap things up, but that shouldn’t take too long. Should be mostly done when you are.”

He nods. Waves, and then steers towards the others, shaking hands and exchanging smiles. Short convos. Then, to the back room. 

You’re too out of your mind and tired to chat much with staff. You go through the next steps, talk about waiting for the editor to be done with the photos, list the leftover things on your to-do list before the winter launch.

And that’s it. You meet Jungkook at the exit to the hallway, relieved when the end of the day approaches. On your way back home, you converse lightly, though he stops when you yawn one too many times.

He lets you rest as you pass shops and traffic lights, and holds your hand when you get off the vehicle. Drags you up the stairs; the climb is arduous. And then allows you to get ready for your slumber in peace.

The second the back of your head collides with the cold pillow, your eyes drop shut. The world spins behind your tired eyelids, adjusting to the darkness and the silence.

A sigh of relief pushes out of your mouth; a profound sense of tranquillity calms your lit nerves. Jungkook, next to you, seems just as exhausted because the yawn as soon as he slips under the covers is long and tear-inducing.

He’s blinking away the dampness of fatigue when you look over to him; you haven’t talked much since you arrived home, but Jungkook uses the moment to say, “I had a lot more fun than I expected to have.”

You’re so incredibly thankful for his last-minute rescue. But you can’t help but think of the muscles and expressions an hour prior. The seductive gaze, the lip accessory, the ring-clad fingers.

Perhaps it’s because of the time of the month, but you feel vexed by how affected you feel.

You control your tone, though the word still sounds monotone when you say, “Good.”

Catching upon it immediately, he shifts slowly, sniffling and head propping up on his hand before he asks, “Did you not like it?”

“Oh no, I mean,” you start, “you were amazing. I just didn’t know they’d send you out naked for the world to see. Thought the plan was to close a couple buttons.”

“The stylists told me. I think it was a spontaneous change because—”

You glance at him when he hesitates. A sly smile spreads across his features, just a little guilty yet amused as he watches your curiosity grow.

“What?” you ask.

“Nevermind.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“It’s nothing!” he exclaims. “We just thought it’d look cool. I thought you’d like it, too, actually.”

You did. That’s the issue. You liked it enough for it to burn into your mind, and now you can’t shake the image anymore.

No matter how many times you’ve seen him butt naked, buried inside you without a gap between your skin — something about his confidence and eyes stirred an unknown level of desire in you.

But you can’t tell him. Because the thing you want won’t be possible right now. You keep your thoughts veiled.

Instead, you unleash your annoyance because God, you hate him for being so hot.

“Right,” is all you say.

“Hey, don’t worry. Even if they ask, I’m not doing this again.”

“Might make you famous, though,” you mumble.

He snorts, fingers sneaking to your tummy, “So what? That’s not my profession. I didn’t study to become a model. Will work on my actual efforts.”

“Okay.”

The single word forces a sigh out of him, and he shakes his head, tapping his fingers against your stomach as he whispers your name thrice. Like he’s scolding you.

And then, “Are you jealous?”

“No,” you spit without hesitation, “of whom?”

You’re not. And you know that just for the moment, he won’t believe you. Which is fine. You’ll tell him the truth once your period’s over for the month.

“Of people who might see me and like what they see.”

Okay. Jerk.

At this point, he is doing it on purpose. You see it in the cocky smile and the jesting tone and the way his fingertips draw circles over your shirt, itching to sneak underneath the fabric.

You know him.

He’s so annoying.

“No,” you repeat.

“You sure? Huh?” Fuck, not that sulky voice. You close your eyes, but he raises your chin, making your head move. “Look at me, angel.”

“Hmm?”

“You said no, but you do look a little fiery,” he tells you. Yeah, if he knew that the real reason doesn’t lie in envy or whatever the world thinks of him. “What? My girl is jealous of people I won’t even perceive?”

No.

But she does feel the tickling, flattering lust pooling in her lower stomach, Jeon, thank you very much.

“Jungkook,” you start, although breathier when he moves closer, towards your neck. “Don’t be annoying.”

Which triggers a slightly mocking tone; he tuts before he says, “Baby bails on our date today. Will fight me in a restaurant. And then I’m annoying?”

Your answer is immediate and as shameless as can be.

“Yes.”

And it makes him laugh. Hot and sudden against your skin, his breath makes you shiver more than the relentless cold outside ever could.

“Not gonna lie,” he begins, “that brat behaviour isn’t too terrible.”

“Shut the fuck up, you just—”

He just what? You don’t know. Your sentence floats between you when his nose raises your chin, freeing the path to your neck before he’s nuzzling it slowly.

You feel goosebumps at the back of your neck, hair standing up, tingles across your body where you didn’t deem them possible. Under the blanket, your legs shift, and he hurries to move one of his between yours.

Hand still on your shirt, he places a barely-there, soft kiss to your neck; his fine tresses tickle your face and you crumble.

You have long forgotten your unfinished sentence, but he hasn’t. Asks, “What?”

You bury your nails into his arm, intrigued by the little hiss followed by a subtle laugh. Growing in volume when you say, “I kinda hate you right now.”

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, stretching the second word, “I hate you, too. Absolutely loathe you.”

You silence. Hold onto him when he French kisses between your neck and shoulder. And then breathe, “Then go away.”

“Mhh. Maybe I should.”

“Maybe…”

And then, out of the blue, his teeth dig into your neck like a gentle vampire, stopping immediately when you wince desperately. A hot tongue soothes the bite, a strong hand pushing you down by your shoulder again when your body lifts off the bed just a bit.

He keeps you in place, moving to your jaw. And when you whimper in lust and want, navigating his leg closer to your core, he curses, “Fucking hell, babe.”

Then, he’s inhaling, fingers wandering from your shoulder to your wrist as lips finally clash.

His body moves half onto yours, slowly gauging your reaction to the kiss as if he���s still expecting the burst of cumulated emotions. But when you give into his gesture, granting him your tongue, his face moves further against yours.

Undecided fingers let your wrist go, getting ahold of a patch of your hair. You hold his arms again until you wrap yours around him, fingers on the nape of his neck as you pull him in.

You tilt your heads in unison, deepening the kiss, drinking him up. Let him open your lips with his, keeping them like that, tips of your tongues playing with each other.

His touch drops to your waist and down to your pyjamas, pushing them down a little, grazing your panties. But then, his teasing palm floats up again and settles over one of your tits, squeezing once and drawing a telling moan out of you.

No bra.

He loves your little habits. You live through them casually, never noticing how badly they empty his mind.

Seems your head is blanking just as much at his touches; because you look delirious, lost, breathing in and out heavily. Jungkook basks in the expression, pushing a hand to your neck.

And only when he presses in gently, trapping you in place, do you seem to wake.

Eyes shoot open, and you inhale deeply, as if saved from drowning; remember every bit of today. The lines of his abs. The lip ring. The jewellery on his fingers.

You could ask for him to go on, to wreck you thoroughly. But of all arguments stopping you from doing so, there’s one damn reason that asks to prevent the mess.

Fucking period. Would create a literal bloody chaos. And you’re exhausted.

The thing is — if you asked him, you know he’d give it to you.

He’s reckless and careless. But you can’t risk the state of your sheets and the state of your mind. You have more work to do tomorrow; also, if you continued now, you’d be tired and immobile tomorrow, you know — and you need to be awake for this.

Fully in your senses.

Ugh. Fuck.

And the last damn day of the red waterfall, too. Thinking about it, perhaps that’s the reason for your agitation this week.

In hindsight, you know you’re never bitchy like that — he didn’t give you the nickname of an angel for nothing, right? Fuck PMS. Fuck mood swings.

Your poor boy, enduring the wrath of it.

But maybe you need to act pissed just a bit longer because—

“What?” he asks.

It’s not the time. So you stop him, pushing him away lightly. Shake your head, calling forth a crease between your eyebrows, turning away just a bit.

He falls back, once again keeping his upper body up by his arm. Inquires, “I— are you still mad?”

Truthfully, you answer flatly, “I’m on my period.”

“So?” he answers, laughing until he sees your lips, pressed into a serious line. “I’m not scared of some blood.”

You knew it. He’d give in if you told him to.

But what you want can’t be received during this time of the month. What you want requires unhinged chaos, carelessness, breathlessness. Craze of many minutes, hours.

You want more than a short, cautious session that asks you to peek at the sheets and the towel you’d get every now and then. You want to fucking lose yourself in hi—

“Let’s not,” you answer, your tone nonchalant, “Just. Let’s go to sleep, alright?”

He murmurs your name, trying again; but when you turn on your belly, giving a last sign to end the night, you hear him groan quietly.

You grimace when his head falls onto the pillow with an angry thump, movements under the blanket agitated as he scolds, “My God. Alright. You wanna be pissed for an entire week, then be pissed. I can’t do more than that.”

Oof.

If he only knew. And something in you tells you that he will very soon.

SUNDAY

Too lazy to work through the preparation process in the kitchen, Jungkook and you quietly decide to spend lunch outside.

The café nearby is a place you’ve wanted to visit for quite some time now. And despite the flaky, dry sandwiches they served, you’re glad time passed quickly, the awkward conversations between you coming to an end.

When you return from the bathroom, the sky above looks grey. Desolate. The weather forecast predicted a surprisingly pleasant late fall day, but the approaching rain is obvious. Which, you anticipated more than the weather forecast did, really.

That’s why an umbrella is leaning against the leg of the table, and you grab it as you watch Jungkook fumble with his wallet, stuffing it into his back pocket.

He gulps down the last sip of his Matcha Latte, dimples above the corner of his lips as he smacks the taste away. Then, he gets to his feet, asks, “Ready to go?”

Absent-mindedly, you nod, glancing to the sky and then back to him again. He looks sweet and domestic; but you can’t quite take him seriously. Not necessarily because of the fight anymore.

It’s been far too many days to still dwell.

But because of the damn lip ring, the open jacket, the gelled back hair. His destructive expressions. Like he could devour you whole.

Jungkook doesn’t stay angry for a long time, you’ve noticed. He always tells you how his temper used to be worse as a teenager, but how he’s learned to control himself.

Agonies of childhood, relationships and friendships taught him patience. And you notice. You truly notice.

Because he hands you your purse sweetly, immediately stretching his palm towards you. A slight smile spreads across his face, and you respond with a weak one of yours. Take his hand and let him lead you home.

You’ll walk the short distance; it shouldn’t take longer than seven or eight minutes.

And as you approach home, the hand holding yours mimics the motions of the one gripping the umbrella — he brings both arms into swing, somewhat euphoric but casual when he says, “The food was so dry there.”

It’s odd, talking to him like that after several days again. But you nod slowly, and agree, “I know. But at least we know where not to go anymore.”

“Yeah. But I mean, great beverages.”

“The milkshake, too.”

He tugs you a little closer, elbows soon touching, “I still think you should’ve gotten something warmer. You get a cold fast,” he looks up with squinted eyes, “and it’s already chilly today.”

You squeeze his hand as a thank you; Jungkook cares for you in little, subtle ways, and you’d lie if you said you didn’t think of it every now and then. You answer, “I feel fine, though.”

“Okay. Hope that stays.”

His palm, soft in yours, shifts until he’s intertwining his fingers with yours, attempting a stronger grip. You lift your eyes from the ground to his face for a second, meeting a gentle smile, and feel more pieces of your heart split.

They wander through your body, along your arm and straight into his chest, merging with his own organ. If you could, you’d push him against one of the unlit lamp posts, parted lips opting for his, breathing into his mouth.

He infested your thoughts and stuck with you, no way to escape the moment you first fell for him. And somehow, he managed to keep this effect intact, digging deeper into your mind and making himself home every damn second of the day.

The desire you’ve been feeling doesn’t just stem from lip rings and talent behind the camera. But you also keep realising that you’re truly this man’s, and that this man is truly yours.

A hard truth to fathom when you’re the subject of interest to one unique Jeon Jungkook.

But you want all of him. Want him over you, around you, taking all of what no other guy will ever be allowed to touch. Want him to show you once again where you belong and that you’re in this for as long as his affection is aligned with yours.

Fuck. Home is too far away.

So you look away from him. Which he interprets in an entirely wrong way.

“Are you still mad at me?” he asks, an inquiry out of nowhere that has your eyebrows kissing.

“No,” you answer.

“You barely talk to me. And,” he halts to wipe away a raindrop. Guess the clouds are gathering. “And I miss you.”

Your ribs might break. He keeps doing this to you.

“I’m not mad, Kook. Was just PMS-ing before,” you try again, adding a nickname for good measure.

“You sure?”

Jungkook is a free-spirited soul, careless to a healthy degree most of the time. There are only a few things that break his composure; familial insecurities, shitty pasts — and then there’s you.

Topping his list of priorities, you’re the only aspect in his current life that pushes him into spirals of overthinking.

And right now, he’s in the middle one, requiring a thousand reassurances. You want to answer. You really do.

But the distraction from above proves too strong the second you open your mouth. In the middle of your walk, the clouds explode, roaring for a moment before a downpour suddenly showers onto you.

The raindrops are thick, the bursting clouds aggressive.

Instinctively, Jungkook opens the umbrella, hastily working on it, and once under it, your steps pick up on pace. You wrap an arm around your body, closing the jacket, hooking your other arm with his and pushing the two of you forward.

“Shit,” you say; you look up, but can barely see anything. Only hear the thunder.

The wind grows colder, grazing the skin of your face incessantly. Despite the umbrella, the merciless rain wets your cheeks, singular drops flying towards you. Jungkook’s hair covers his face, and he shakes them off his eyes.

You gasp when a literal newspaper flies past you.

“Come on,” you encourage, already shivering. “We can talk about it at home, okay?”

But surprisingly, incredibly lost in his own head, he doesn’t give in. He adjusts to your pace, holding the umbrella in a strong grip, sighs and argues, “We can talk about it anytime.”

“Not now.”

“But—”

“Kook, right now’s not the time for this.”

Holy shit.

This man is a phenomenon. And you wish he wasn’t serious, but you know that he is. A full-on simp-y fool, no matter what.

“You’ve avoided me all week,” he yells over the sounds of the rain, sniffling, looking at the storm ahead, “we won’t die. It’s just rain.”

“It’s a thunderstorm, you idiot!” you exclaim back, moving straight forward and past running passengers. You should be home soon. “And in a minute we won’t be able to see shit.”

Jungkook must be made of cement. Broad shoulders, a well-trained body and willpower seem to combat the storm when he suddenly halts in his steps.

Immediately, you grab the umbrella, keeping it from nearly flying away; and when you remain the only presence under it, you ogle back. Watch him stand there in his red-white jacket, getting soaked by Mother Nature.

What the fuck.

You rush back, grabbing his wrist, pulling him forward as much as you can as you reprimand, “What the hell are you doing? Come on.”

“You’ll talk to me if I do?”

“Jungkook, we’ll die here, I—”

You flinch and gasp when another strong wind blows, once and for all ripping the umbrella off your hand and making it fly a couple feet from you. You watch it break through the fog of rain, mouth wide open with a dozen curses on your tongue.

“Fuck,” you exclaim, gritting your teeth, “I will. Just please, okay?!”

He’s so annoying. The way he looks at you, breathing hard, white shirt drenched and sticking to his body. You tug at his arm, forcing him to run when you do.

It takes you two entire minutes, wordless as you wish them to be, to reach his street and apartment. You tremble in the hallways, rushing up the stairs, and eventually take a seconds-long breath when you step into the flat.

It’s cold. So cold — and you had your jacket protecting your shirt. Your jeans and hair are soaked, your socks a sponge, soaked in a couple millilitres of water.

But it’s relieving when you take the jacket and your jeans off, pulling out the oversized, wrinkled shirt from under your pants, covering half your thighs. Jungkook slips out of his boots and rushes for a towel, approaching your heaving form at the door to dry your hair.

You quiver for a couple more minutes, fearing an approaching cold after all. But once settled on the couch, indulging in the comfort of thick joggers and a fresh cotton shirt, you sigh.

The silence still holding on only breaks when you drop your head back on the couch. A warm hand sneaks to your cheek, and when you open your eyes, he asks, “Are you okay?”

“Warming up…” You lean into the touch, though still irritated by his behaviour before. “Thought it’d rain, but that was a surprise.”

“Yeah.” A pause. And then, “Was a little romantic, too.”

Unbelievable.

You roll your eyes at him, head tilting, tongue prodding against the inside of his cheek. Perhaps he’s joking. The goofy smile suggests that he is.

“Was it, yeah? You just—”

You click your tongue. Think back to him nearly offering his soul to Zeus just a couple minutes ago. Standing in the heavy rain as if he was the lead character in The Notebook.

“Don’t be mad now. I’m kidding,” he says. His voice isn’t as soft anymore; frustrated when he tries again, “Talk to me. What’s the problem?”

“Seriously? I told you there’s nothing.”

“Nah, cut that bullshit. You haven’t talked to me or properly touched me all week. I’m trying my fucking best.”

“I know. This isn’t what it’s about,” you defend, shaking your head, getting to your feet, “but about that insane little stunt out there.”

And the fact that he’s been driving you crazy. The week’s distress mixed with whatever he made you feel yesterday; today’s insanity further adding to it.

When he doesn’t speak, you sigh, waving it off, and opt to walk away. But all in vain.

You make it two steps away from the couch before he flashes up, too; filmesque, you gasp at the strong grip around your elbow, getting a tiny second to process the situation before he’s twirled you around.

He probably didn’t intend it, but you nearly clash against him, stupidly losing your balance and stumbling over his and your own feet. You put a hand to your temples, fearing the worst — what if you fall and clash against the corner of your glass table?

But no. In slow motion, he keeps you in his firm hold, preventing the fall, but still letting you gently drop onto the fluffy, white carpet. Your investment. You’re happy about it now because it caught you the way the wooden floor wouldn’t.

Your movements towards the grounds are slow — or at least that’s what they feel like. But when he appears above you, pinning your wrists to the carpet hard, he’s breathless; and you think that maybe the fall didn’t happen as slowly after all.

“Okay,” he says through gritted teeth. From down here, his jaw looks as sharp as a ship’s deck, the Adam’s apple bobbing when he challenges, “You’re gonna fucking tell me what’s going on.”

Oh. He’s mad.

His eyes are burning, jaw flexed. Defined chest rising in anger.

There’s nothing going on. At least nothing that warrants another fight.

But you don’t tell him that just yet. Instead, all your perplexed mind and tongue manage is, “What?”

“I forgave you. We were both shitty that day, you know? But I still did forgive you, and you’re still being like that.” His knuckles must be paling, because his grip is iron hard. “Why?”

“I—”

“I’ll apologise if that’s what you want. I did, actually. I’m sorry, okay? There. But this is just,” fingers squeeze your wrists, and you hiss, “ridiculous.”

Your following grimace, lips twitching, eyes squinting, go through to him immediately. The hold doesn’t hurt or bother you too much, but the leg between your knees does. Jungkook wouldn’t wound you; he knows his limits.

But perhaps he thinks he’s going overboard when he loosens his fingers, pressing his palms against your skin, rubbing to soothe the missing pain.

He doesn’t quite move away, though, still stubborn when you assure once again, “I’m not mad at you anymore.”

“So you keep saying.”

“I’m not,” you tell him, heart racing at the proximity. You close your legs around his knee, irritated by the barrier. “I promise.”

He doesn’t give your gesture much attention just yet; doesn’t know that his body over yours is exactly what you’ve been craving. But he does understand the sincerity in your voice. Finally.

When he moves closer, pupils melting to fluid gems, you let out an intentional, teeny tiny moan that you’re sure he confuses for a relieved sigh. He moves his palms onto the carpet, caging you in; you keep your wrists where they are, but dig your nails into your skin.

You want to kiss him so badly. You miss him so much.

“Then tell me what’s wrong, angel,” he demands again, quieter and softer this time.

“I don’t know.”

With the fury evaporating bit by bit, his eyes look bigger and rounder again. The desperation of the week gathers in them and his expression, shooting all the way down to his tongue; and when he whispers to you next, your heart collapses, “Please?”

He’s sweet… so utterly oblivious to your true thoughts.

But you couldn’t feel more embarrassed about the pictures you’ve been painting and the words ghosting in that mind of yours. He’d do all of it, no questions asked. But… fuck.

“This is so dumb,” you answer, fingertips dragging down the carpet and then up to his waist, “like… you’ll laugh.”

The touch encourages him. His arms are shaking now, holding him up in this position for too long, and the wandering fingers along his sides and chest must weaken him like his lines affect you.

“That’s a good thing,” he answers, closer than ever when he balances his weight on his arms now, forearms touching the carpet. “I’d rather laugh than fight.”

But the closeness remains for mere seconds before he pulls back again, sitting up with a groan. Hands on his thighs, he lets himself fall on bended knees. He watches your still helpless body on the floor until you work on getting off the carpet, letting him pull you up when he offers a hand.

You ruffle through your hair, legs folding. Your pout is more directed towards yourself than anyone else; you totally realise you didn’t need to confuse him the way you did. Stupid period.

“Listen, I just…” you start, scraping your scalp.

His knees bump against your legs when he drifts closer; there’s something about the two of you sitting on your living room carpet like this.

“It’s just that I want to be able to walk tomorrow.”

And that’s it. That’s literally it.

He halts. His hand was moving up, probably to touch your face, your hair, anything soft to ease the mood. But he cancels the tender gesture, fingers falling back to his knee when he absorbs your words.

Silences with cocked eyebrows. Processes the way you lick your lips and look away, tugging at his wide shirt. And then, once he’s understood, he tsks. Chuckles.

And you, immediately on guard, push lightly against his shoulder, unsurprised when he doesn’t buckle, and defend, “Told you you’d laugh!”

“No, but,” he says, sweet crinkles around his eyes, head tilting and bunny teeth giving way to the prettiest smile in existence, “what are you talking about, hm?”

He knows. If only his feigned innocence was as sweet as his grin, too.

Still, you opt to clarify, “That thing you did yesterday.”

“What thing?”

Ugh.

“The whole modelling thing!” you exclaim, raising your hands. His beam reaches up to his eyes; his occasional giggles are killing you. “Stop. Do you have any clue what you looked like?”

He has the audacity to shrug. “They let me see the pics on their cameras. They’ll come out well.”

“Well? Dude, you looked…”

“What?”

“Dangerous. Like you could eat me up.”

Eat me up might be accurate. It’s the description floating through your little mind since yesterday.

“Ah,” he says, nodding smugly. You know he’s about to tease you. Because— “You specifically, yeah? I was just doing what they told me to.”

“What, is me specifically wrong? Anyone else you’d wanna eat up or—”

“You’re really fixating on that, huh?” Jungkook snickers. His tongue pokes the inside of his right cheek in a brief pause, and then he adds, “You’ve got a point. Didn’t think it’d affect you, though.”

Slowly, but surely, he seems to grasp his own power over you. You think he’s reminiscing about yesterday’s chaos and confidence; maybe even viewing it all from your point of view.

Because his smirk, albeit subtle, is sly when he asks, “What was it like?”

“I…” You click your tongue. “You’ll take me apart if I tell you.”

“Why so?”

“Because.” A beat of silence. You swallow to wet your throat. Then. “I’d ask you to.”

“Ah…” Another understanding nod, as though you’re lecturing him on NASA’s rocket science and he’s finally grasping its meaning. “Yeah?”

“I saw you from afar,” you point into a direction arbitrarily, as if he’s still several feet from you and not mere inches, “and I wanted to,” you inhale when a finger reaches out, straight to a vein in your neck, gentle, exploring, “let you do anything with me that you wanted to.”

“Ohh.” His palm covers your neck, as if he’s coddling you. But you know what that touch will morph into, so you sneak closer to him, lean forwards. “Anything?”

“Anything.”

“…Right.”

His thumb moves up and rubs under your jaw, then up your face and to your lower lip. The touch is soft and careful, as though gauging your reaction and searching for permission.

Your shaky, little exhale is nearly unnoticeable, but you know he catches it, and you know he already sees the consent in your eyes. But he still doesn’t lean in. Moves his eyes across your face, to his hand, to your neck and then all the way back to your gaze.

And then, contrasting the loving movements and affectionate gesture, he smiles. Mischief spreads in his stare, and his fingers retreat to the back of your neck, pulling you closer by a miniscule inch.

“So that’s what it was all this time? You’re on your knees for me, is that it?”

“Babe…” You look down, daring a joke. “Quite literally.”

You shuffle in your spot when he laughs quietly, hooking your fingers into the neckline of his shirt. You emphasise, “I mean it. Just… If you must know? I would’ve been okay with handing you all the control, okay? All of it.”

You’re aware you’re acting as though he doesn’t wreck your shit every other time, too. In fact, that’s probably how the two of you started out.

His absolute craze at the frat party, drunk. College nights when you’d confront him about your bullshit — weak excuses to make him press you against his dorm walls. A hand clapped over your mouth, your ass out, dick buried inside until you felt him in your guts—

You’ve always been at his mercy — but you want him to split you in half this time.

“You would’ve?” he repeats. “And now? Still want that?”

You look down again. There’s no shyness in that movement, no averting his beastly eyes — your focus lies elsewhere because you have a theory. Which proves true.

The swelling under his joggers, right there between his legs wasn’t there before.

So you gather your voice, and say, “…Yes.”

“Hmm. Why didn’t you tell me?” His fingernails dig lightly into your skin, and right in the middle of the tension, he pouts for a little moment. “I genuinely thought you were still pissed.”

“I was on my period…” You shrug your shoulders. “It was also late. I was so tired, and—”

He waits.

“I knew that you’d do it if I asked for it.”

“I would’ve.” What’s worse? The confirmation or the tickling breath against your cheek? When did he get so close? “I still would. If you want me to.”

“I just said yes,” you tug at the shirt, eliciting an amused grin as the tips of your noses collide, “you’ll keep asking and,” your heart beats at a million miles a minute, “just not kiss me, is that it?”

Your provocation proves effective just the right amount.

Because he opens his mouth, seemingly snarling — you can’t tell for sure, since his lips clash against yours within half a moment. Determined as his hand immediately flashes to the small of your back, supporting you before you fall backwards on the carpet.

And then he kisses you like a man starved. Like he’s run out of saliva, dehydrated. Seeks your tongue, tastes like earthy Matcha Latte and something you can’t quite define — something that’s so uniquely him.

Your kiss muffles his tiny sound, a mixture of a sigh and a moan, body impatient as he tries to push closer to you, though separated by your clashing knees. You understand — you, too, would let him smother you under his weight if you could.

So you pull your folded legs apart, shifting until they surround him and attempting to straddle him. But he’s plotting something else: his fingers hold your jaw, keeping you in place, and the hot, wet kiss breaks when he pulls away.

You catch a brief glimpse of glistening lips before he moves to trail down your body, leaning in to teeth at your shirt, pushing it off your shoulder and kissing your skin for a fleeting second. And when the shirt shifts back into position, his other hand works on your tits.

Grabs your shirt at its hem, lifting it over your mounds until they’re free, nipples perked, home to him. In a haze, the tip of his tongue touches the right nub, and you shiver.

More so when he whispers, “Am so hard for you, I’ll fucking combust.”

For you.

You’ll repent for how badly you want him in your mouth.

You caress his thigh, sneaking up until you reach the swelling under the fabric. You feel it immediately, firm as a rock, big and fat, so sensitive that he hisses once you touch it.

“No,” he commands, the word barely a breath, “no, no. Don’t or I’ll come like this.”

He says it against your neck. Warm and tickling. You feel goosebumps arise, your reactions slow, but your heart fast. His fingers engulf your wrist, leading your palm to his cheek; you feel the smileless dimple under your thumb when he darts out his tongue to wet his lips.

Then, you close your eyes; the pecks against your neck are exhilarating. The moving touch, down to your tits and then back up to your jaw is one of his favourite games; you move your hips against the carpet, soaked panties sticking against your pussy.

“You’re…” you start, fingers in his fluffy hair as he bites your nipple. You moan, your words shaky, “You’re— more into this today.”

“I mean… after everything you just said to me?” He chuckles, moving up, taking your chin between his thumb and forefinger. His mouth brushes yours.

“And I missed her.” Free hand between your thighs, he taps just over your clit; your lips part. “Too crude to say I can’t wait for her to swallow my cock?”

Well. Fuck.

If it wasn’t him, you’d cringe. But it is him, and the truth is that you’re dying for him to press himself onto you. To wrap himself around you, to wrap yourself around him.

You want him to cut you in half, want to be his little toy until you can barely stand.

“Maybe,” you tell him, “but I promise that she wants it, too.”

That’s it, that’s it.

It’s when teeth meet again, the kiss messy, your arms around his neck. He holds you by your waist, pulling you off the floor a little, readjusting his position, so you can climb onto him.

You tilt your head as far as you can, taking him in, drooling, lips and tongue moving wildly to taste all of him. His digits wander from your back to your ass, pushing between your cheeks and pressing against your clenching hole.

The gesture is short lived, but enough for you to rub against him. The urge to rip your panties and part your folds over his girth is profuse; to dampen his length and empty his balls just like this.

But he clenches his jaw, groaning. Halts your movement with a strong grip before pulling at your hair without breaking the kiss. You move your fingers up and down his arm, and then dash it upwards to bury them in his locks, too.

Only, instead of reaching his mane, your hand hits the glass table on your left; you grunt into the kiss and then move away to exclaim, “Ah, fuck.”

Jungkook must’ve heard the sound because he catches on right away, laughing. Gently, he pushes you off his lap, gets back on his knees and then up. He pulls you with him as he says, “Alright. Get on the couch before you hurt yourself.”

“Couch?”

You’re surprised; not the bed this time, is it?

Then again — Jungkook isn’t necessarily picky when it comes to this; cue flashback to bathroom adventures.

So you still listen. Wobbly legs drag you to the sofa, plumping onto it as you watch him follow. The bulge is huge, hotter than hellfire when he palms it and lets go again.

“Too damn lazy to get to the bedroom,” he declares before dropping back on his knees.

You thought he’d climb over you, push you back across the length of the couch. But instead, he seems satisfied with your helpless position, pushing back the carpet and table some to take a seat right in front of you.

You admire his patience — the outline of his cock presses against its confines. Does it not hurt? His expression doesn’t reveal any discomfort as he adjusts against the hard floor; the carpet barely provides any relief.

But the discomfort doesn’t redirect his focus, his touch heading towards you, urging you to remove your joggers at turtle’s pace. He throws them over his shoulder and onto the table, one leg of them dangling off of it.

Left in your panties, you watch his hands curl under your knees, freeing his way to where you want to ache. Lifts your legs, places them on his shoulders carefully, amused and delighted when your bent limbs drag him closer to your cunt.

His tenacious tongue peeks between his teeth, and he fondles your thighs before he reaches the hem of your panties. They bug him — separate your heat from his mouth; in this moment, a crime to him.

“Help me here real quick,” he whispers, and you raise your ass, letting him drag the underwear off of you.

It sticks to your pussy for a second, obscenely flooded with your gradually building arousal. You think he sees, because he halts for a second, eyes flitting up to you before he says, “I think this’ll be fun.”

“You promise?”

“Have I ever lied to you?”

Well…

You shrug your shoulders, but smile tellingly, eliciting a smirk that decorates his gorgeous face, closing in bit by bit. The cool air evaporates the nearer he draws, replaced by his hot breath.

And then… just to test…

He darts out his tongue, the sharp tip of it tickling your clit. Your reaction, much desired, stirs a new type of appetite in him. Because your chin trembles just once, just for a moment. Lashes flutter, and his heart skips a beat.

As he inhales, but never exhales, you question, “What?”

“Nothing,” he assures, blowing against your sex, “just. So very pretty.”

You look down at him. His shoulders look broader from here. Muscular, hair dark and silky. His lips are colourful, handsome, nose ready to bury in your pelvis. If he thinks you’re pretty, then he’s the definition of true aesthetic.

Slowly, you reach for his hair, brushing through it before you bring his head closer to you, hinting at the obvious, and say, “And you.”

“Not like you, though…”

He waits, allowing the both of you a moment of preparation.

And then… he’s kissing your pussy. Lightly at first, up and down, a hand on your inner thigh that moves closer and closer to your folds.

He sighs once before a digit parts your nether lips sticking together, and then licks a stripe between them. You whine quietly; his eyes close. He’s beautiful like this; in a minute, he’ll look at you again, mouth swollen, and you’ll wish for his touch to last and last and last…

“Please,” you only whisper, but he doesn’t answer.

Instead, his sweet kisses turn into something more. Way more wetness, way more tongue. And before you know it, he’s splitting your legs wider, pushing in to start devouring you.

Your moans are intoxicating. They’re sudden, but not surprising, voiced against the ceiling when your head falls back. The heels of your feet dig into his back, pushing him closer when his knees are already touching the couch.

The movements of his mouth are warm, a waterfall. He eats you out until he’s slurping, drenching you further. He’ll slide in effortlessly, you already know. Will bury every single inch of himself inside you, fill you up for the rest of the day.

And your high — it builds up embarrassingly fast. Perhaps because it’s been a while; or maybe because it’s Jeon Jungkook you’re dealing with. Either way, your lower stomach aches, the knot pressing against your guts.

“Kookie,” you murmur, yet again left without an answer.

He knows not to break his focus this time; knows that you’re close, recognises it in your grip around the patch of his hair. Hears it in your desperate whimpers, louder by the second. Words more unintelligible now.

Your thigh is twitching every now and then, quivering, and he takes it as a sign to keep sucking and swirling. Then flicks his wet muscle over your engorged clit, adding to your exclaims when his nimble fingers glide into you swiftly.

Too swiftly. Two of them are barely enough; and he adds a third. Your cheeks heat up, body sliding down — partly because you’re dying inside, partly because he’s pulling you towards him.

Jungkook knows how to navigate your body, how to direct you towards a rationality-breaking explosion. And he does. He does with the plethora of lustful licks, softly circling around your clit. His nose presses against it every time he shifts downwards, tasting you thoroughly.

“I’m almost—” you voice, and he hums, vibrations torture.

It’s a game to him that he’s skilled at; he understands his moves, and he never loses. Neither today as he clamps his hand onto your waist, fingers pumping in and out of you, curling and digging, massaging your favourite spot.

They turn and twist, two fingers of his free hand settling around your clit and raising it for better access.

It takes probably half a minute longer… and then… then…

Your voice grows in pitch, nearly illegal for a Sunday afternoon, but music to his ears. So genuine and sweet. Corners of your eyes glistening. He holds your legs apart as you start begging, but all he truly makes out is the eager repetition of his name.

He wishes your shirt didn’t cover your upper body; wishes he could see the heaving of your chest, the perked nipples, the sweat on your clavicles.

But for now, this is enough.

The way he sees waves of pleasure wash over you, eyes rolled back, not looking at him anymore. Your lips are dry, your tongue probably, too, and he wants to kiss it wet again.

You moan and wince and keen, body restless. The tug of his hair becomes more prominent and palpable, but the sensation makes him smile. You’re probably barely noticing, too.

That is, until your hold and breathing finally calm down. You keep riding the wave, your head turning in odd circle-ish shapes. He kisses your pussy, helping you through it, only stopping when you open your eyes.

“Well, that was…” he says, lips as swollen as you anticipated, shimmering, “a good start.”

“Every single time,” you begin, panting, shaking your head. You watch him as he gets on his feet, moving in to your mouth. “Every single time I think it can’t get better, and then I remember it’s just the fucking beginning.”

He shifts to you slowly, grazing your lips, and declares with a soft smile, “More to come, I promise. Gonna have so much fun with you.”

“Do your worst—”

One more kiss. Shorter this time, but you recognise the familiar, lingering taste immediately. Neutral, not too bad. Fills you with pride, because he never fails to guarantee that he loves it.

But you can’t wallow in it because he retreats quickly, impatient hands freeing his golden body from his clothes. The shirt falls somewhere next to the carpet, his own joggers soon discarded, landing on top of yours and sliding to the ground together.

He’s a menace when he climbs onto the couch, knees digging in and creating a shift on each side of your body. His bulge, still hidden behind his boxers, floats in front of your face; from this close, you see the droplet of precum darken a spot of the light purple cotton.

“Next stage?” he wonders above you, stroking your hair gently, as if he’s not about to explore the back of your throat. “Want or do I rather not?”

“What do you mean with not?” Your breathing is heavy as you lift your palm and engulf the imprint of his dick. He flinches, hips moving back a bit before they come back. “Get this shit off.”

He chuckles. Brings his hand to your cheek, thumb caressing it and voice clear when he says, “You’re so cute. Being demanding and all.”

But he still listens. Gets off the couch, slides his underwear off, leaves you gaping.

Gaping at the hooked and girthy tower. Gaping at how the slit on top of his head glimmers. Gaping at the moles along the stiff length, staring at the thick veins, at the full, firm balls.

“Tongue out,” he orders; you do.

The ink-free hand pushes his dick down to you, tapping it against your tongue as you open up wide. He feels heavy, hot, the skin smooth. Your head moves forward to swallow more, but he pulls back.

Strokes himself for a couple seconds, thumb spreading the precum over his head. You drool. Watch attentively, as though you’re learning — until he eventually guides it back to you and positions it into your still gaping mouth.

Enters it slowly. Slightly salty. Then says, “Breathe. And don’t overthink it too much.”

Huh.

Well. Damn.

Because…

At times, you do worry about your expressions; about your tears when you gag around him, the coughing fits you get in the middle of it all. So that’s a surprise. Attentive. 

But your mind is blank today anyway; so you nod, moving to lick the underside of the tip, and he laughs, mumbling, “Alright. Have it, babe.”

And you do.

Slowly at first, cautious as you twirl your tongue around him. You don’t notice much discomfort just yet, thankful that he’s easing you into this. A third of his length buried inside, you close your lips around him and hollow your cheeks.

Which is probably when the invisible threads holding him back finally break.

“Okay,” he says, “you got this.”

His knees move in, more inches intruding. His fingers drift to the back of your head, and you dig yours in his brawny thighs. He grows harder in your mouth, impossibly bigger the more you drag your lips along his member.

How gratifying. You’ve craved this for hours and days. What was your argument about again?

Your head drops further back when he shoves himself inside, more and more as time passes. You imitate his prior advances — hum and close your eyes. Bring a hand to the base of his cock, pumping all that you won’t be choking around.

When you gaze up at him to analyse his reactions, he leaves your mind vacant. Because his head is raised, like yours, jawline edged and acute. Mouth open until he meets your eyes.

You hope he’s seeing something just as lascivious and mind-numbing from his perspective. Maybe messy hair, laying against the softness of your shirt. Or a cock appearing out of and disappearing behind pretty lips.

Slowly blinking eyes that shut just as slowly again, and a tongue that falls out and licks along a vein whenever your head moves to the side. Allowing you a couple deep breaths.

He must be perceiving it all, too.

Because a moment later, he gnarls, like a wild animal, and states, “This won’t do—”

—Before putting both hands under your ears, holding your head and…

Ramming his cock into your mouth.

You gasp around him, taken aback and delighted at once. Feel the effect between your legs, hoping to not defile the couch too much.

Head still thrown back, falling further, you already feel the ache in the back of your neck. Your attempts of holding onto the couch prove futile because there is nothing to hold onto, armrests too far away; so you return to his thighs.

But he keeps your body steady, held at the spot between his legs. Your head is a different story: it bounces back and forth, the exhales through your nose frantic as he pounds into your throat before he slows down again.

“Good, gooood,” he drags out, observing the glistening veins as he draws back to his tip and then moves in again. “Doing very, very well. Looks so gorgeous, baby.”

You don’t know what he’s talking about — about you, his cock, the position. Everything? 

He keeps up the gentler pace, allowing you a break. Allowing himself the pleasure of this very image. Pretty lips surrounding a pretty dick.

And perhaps your desperate, little moans, accompanied by rapid blinking, set a fuse loose in his brain.

Because a moment later, Jungkook dares a step further — cock already stuffing your entire mouth, he pushes in more. The fat monstrosity reaches far, your gag reflex not as much at bay anymore as before.

The view seems to spur him on, though, and you can imagine why. If you were him, you’d probably enjoy the drooling mess under him, too. Salivating all over his dick, you feel the gross drop of your spit land on your clavicle, throat constricting as he thrusts in.

And just when you’re about to tap his thighs — very reluctantly, too — to catch your breath, he pulls back, fingers immediately digging into your cheeks to straighten your neck and head. You cough, eyes teary, your breathing quick and uncontrolled.

Like a toy, he moves your head to the left, to the right, a sly smirk playing around his lips until he moves down to you, back arched. Amidst your panting, he presses a brief kiss to your mouth, slippery against the dampness.

And then he says, as casually as he shouldn’t, “You’d look so beautiful in leashes.”

“…What?”

But he ignores your mumbled inquiry, instead thumbing at your lower lip. His dark eyes flit from one facial feature to another, pink lip caught between his teeth. The firm chest rises dangerously when he breathes in.

“Should I come in your mouth?” he asks as if you’d ever say no; as if you don’t know that he’s asking because he won’t. “Huh? Shoot it all the way down your throat?”

“Do it, fucking coward.”

…And just like that, he moves back.

tumblr is cruel and the 1k block limit in the new editor won't let me post the entire thing at once lol so here's the rest in a reblog!!! <3

[facts-i-just-made-up]

Elden Ring DLC Bosses Revealed!

From Software has released a guide to all the bosses of the upcoming Elden Ring DLC, Shadow of the Erdtree! Here are the ten great monsters you'll fight in the Shadow Lands:

Messmer The Impaler

Messmer is the third triplet with Malenia and Miquella, banished to the shadow lands because for liking snakes and impaling people. Mostly for impaling people, but the snakes didn't help.

The Burning Colossus

A big heap of flaming bodies used as a weapon of war in the rival kingdom of Nausicuu, this massive beast has to be scaled and slain because that's what you do with colossi in games.

Albinauric Orphan Tear

The missing link between mimics and albinaurics, this monster throws his "husk" at the player like a boomerang. The first boss of the DLC, it guards the cave that leads to the Shadow Tree.

Godskin Brigade

The Gloam-Eyed Queen is guarded by an army of her progeny, the godskins. They bear her most fearsome weapon, the Incantation of Ganqskwa-Darengi, which makes them act unpredictably and never need to stop to let the player get in a single stab or arrow.

Godlion Dancer, Firstborn of the Gods

The murdered soul of Godwyn, son of Godfrey and brother to Godrick, Godrranq's lover. This guy has God written all over him. He also has 30 legs so he's good at dancing.

Birdmaster Tonguay, Slayer of Literally Everyone

Ever wonder who tied all those knives to all the bird feet? Ever wonder why there are so few people in the Lands Between? Meet Tonguay, murderer of all those people at the claws of his bird-knives.

Ribbitus, Priestess of the Frog Cult

Elden Ring's new gimmick boss can only be defeated by jumping from platform to tiny platform to poison the flies she likes to eat. She randomly kills the player without warning or opportunity to recover. She sings to you in French the whole time.

Metalgiir, Armored Gandamu

An occult robot constructed by Robot-Master Iji Jr., Metalgiir demands an entirely different kind of gameplay that doesn't fit or scale to anything else in the game, yet is not optional so you have to learn to beat him or you get nothing.

Ouchlord Vivaldi

Just... Don't fight this guy, he clearly has enough problems going on.

Daniel R. Clarksen

Little is known of Daniel Clarksen or why the Tarnished must fight him. He seems like a decent guy, but he probably like turns into a giant demon thing with boobs. These games have lots of those.

[yanderecookierunkingdom]

Six becomes Five

Prev | Next

Contains spoilers for Episode 2 of Beast Yeast!

By the time you arrived back to the group, who were all struggling to process still the whiplash of the past half hour, the changes to the Silver Kingdom already began.

"The Faerie Cookies.." You whispered in horror, gently setting Pure Vanilla Cookie down as you finally shrunk down to your normal size. However, your old outfit stayed. "Shadow Milk Cookie.."

"Reader Cookie, you're one of the old heroes?" White Lily Cookie was the one to speak everything on everyone's mind, looking at you with confusion.

You lowered your head, shameful. "I am, yes. I'm sorry I never told any of you."

"Did you.. not want to come here?" Pure Vanilla Cookied asked, his voice softer than usual. "Is this why you were so hesitant..?"

You hesitated before nodding. "It was. But.. I knew that I couldn't let you guys go here alone."

Elder Faeire Cookie narrowed his eyes the smallest bit. "That is why you seemed so familiar. You've done a good job at hiding who you once were."

"My days as Sparkling Joy Cookie are over," you declared.

"But it has a nice ring.." Gingerbrave muttered as the group began forward.

As you began traversing through the now twisted kingdom, the inhabitants of the Silver Kingdom now jesters and clowns. Doing tricks, and seemingly not noticing anyone. Silverbell Cookie was particularly distraught, but Mercurial Knight Cookie made sure to help him stay focused.

It wasn't long, however, until Pure Vanils Cookie stumbled and placed a hand to his head. "Ah..!!!"

"Pure Vanilla Cookie?!" Your attention snapped to him in and instant, and the group halted. Your hands gently grasped his shoulders.

"Pure Vanilla Cookie... Are you alright...?!" White Lily Cookie gasped.

"I'm... alright.." He assured the both of you, leaning heavily against you. "Just a bit dazed, that's all.."

You hardly believed him, not with how his Soul Jam was pulsing. You eyed it warily, but decided not to say anything for the moment.

"If you're sure." You placed a hand to his back in comfort. He smiled gratefully.

"Well then, let's see.." A familiar voice chortled, and your jam ran cold. "I said hello to Pure Vanilla Cookie... That's one."

"Some Faeries... Two. Some teeny-tiny Cookies... Three."

Your scepter reformed in your hand, and you placed your arm in front of Pure Vanilla Cookie in a protective gesture. The rest of the group all quickly entered defensive positions.

"What's the next number? Six?" You could hear the grin in Shadow Milk Cookie's voice. "Oh! He he he! Seems like there's a special someone missing!"

"NO! Where is he? Where did he go? Aww, I was sure he'd be the first one to greet me when I'm free!"

You hardly paid attention to what was being said next, not even the outburst of Shadow Milk Cookie. You were too focused on figuring out just what your former friend's plan was. He had done something to Pure Vanilla, and you had no doubt about it. He always had an affinity for plays too.

It hit you like a train.

"He's going to put on a play." You spoke, and just as you realized, a giant stage appeared.

"Huh?! A giant stage?!" Gingerbrave gasped.

"What is he planning...?!" White Lily Cookie narrowed her eyes.

"Now...! Once upon a time, there were six amazing Cookies! Truly brilliant!"

Puppets of the Five Beasts and you popped up. While the Five Beasts were silhouettes, yours was completely colored in, with many details.

What stood out was the large and beautiful wings on your back, almost like a butterfly's. Your hair was long and sparkling, trailing off into mist at the ends. Your expression was full of joy, a wide smile on your face. A silver crown was drawn atop on your head, ordained with small gems, the colors of the other Beasts. Around your neck hung your petal-esque Soul Jam, sparkles surrounding it.

"However, there was one Cookie who was truly radiant and loving like no other! Sparkling Joy Cookie!"

The other puppets disappeared as your sole one remained. Rays resembling sunbeams danced around you, as did your puppet danced around.

"Sparkling Joy Cookie was perfect in every way! They loved and they loved like no other, bringing joy to the little common Cookies of the world."

"However.. this love wasn't without its price, no no!"

Your puppet flew down and then came back up. It showed you on your knees, weeping. A large, grand, and quiet frankly scary puppet of a Witch appeared, her hands hovering over you.

"The Witches saw this kindness, and when the other five brilliant Cookies began to have their fun, they turned Sparkling Joy Cookie AGAINST THEIR TRUE LOVED ONES!!"

The outburst only made Gingerbrave's group flinch back, and you had a horrified look on your face.

"Ahem.. Apologies for that! Now, where were we.. Ah, yes!"

The puppets flipped, and their side profiles faced the audience now.

"Sparkling Joy Cookie was very resistant to the Witches' manipulation at first! 'No!' They cried. 'I won't! They've done nothing wrong. They're pure still!' But.."

The puppets changed, showing the Witch covering the puppet's eyes with her hands. "Sparkling Joy Cookie was only so strong.. and they fell to the whim of their creators.. aiding in the capture of their friends.."

You softened a bit, hearing how.. somber Shadow Milk Cookie was. As if he was truly saddened.

"And soon after, a tree was planted, and a foolish king rose to power.."

The stage vanished, as did the audience, and your group pressed forward.

"Reader Cookie, was what he said true?" Silverbell Cookie asked, his voice soft as he shot away some advancing puppets.

"Partly." You narrowed your eyes. "I was friends with them, once upon a time. I did help the Witches imprison them, but.. it was of my own will."

A new stage appeared, and a new puppet appeared, called the Fool-King. It wasn't hard to see how that was meant to represent. You tuned out that part until Gingerbrave asked Pure Vanilla if he was alright.

At his insistence that he was fine, White Lily Cookie shook her head. "Tell us... What did Shadow Milk Cookie tell you earlier...?"

With that, Pure Vanilla Cookie began to appear more frazzled. "He.. disguised himself as the Light of Truth. And spoke to me from the Dark Side of the Moon..."

You froze at that, your heart practically stilling. Shadow Milk Cookie.. could reach Pure Vanilla Cookie. He could try and lie to him.

Don't tell me you're just going to let that happen?

The familiar sound of your voice, if not a little more mature, tsked at you.

Some compassion you are, letting him suffer. Share me with him!

"Wh.. you can't be serious!" You whispered softly, your eyes wide. "That's too dangerous. What if Shadow Milk Cookie tries to corrupt us?"

I'm stronger than that, and so are you. Share me with him.

You bit your bottom lip, and Pure Vanilla Cookie rested a hand on your shoulder. "Reader Cookie?" He asked. "Are you alright-?"

He cut himself off when you spun to look at him and gently grabbed his hands. Your Soul Jam pulsed and a magic whipped out, forming a large bubble around the entire group.

"Huh?! Reader Cookie?!" Wizard Cookie clutched his staff.

Elder Faeire Cookie looked shocked. "This magic.."

You exhaled softly, and you resumed your old appearance once more. However, your wings were now visible, spread wide and grand.

"I have an idea on how to help you," you spoke, voice soft. "My only question is.. do you-"

"Yes." Pure Vanilla Cookie spoke, his voice soft and full of admiration. You blushed intensely. "I trust you, Reader Cookie."

You nodded and closed your eyes. You leaned forward and pressed your forehead against his. "Then stay calm.. and open your heart to me."

Familiar magic, radiant and ever-changing in color, began to swirl around you two. Your Soul Jam was glowing particularly bright. Your wings gently glistened in the light, and your hair grew to the length it once was.

A familiar light form from the magic. It zipped and swirled around, your laughter coming from it.

Oh, what love! What compassion!

With what sounded like a joyful laugh, it zipped over to the duo, spun around them, and then shot towards Pure Vanilla Cookie's Soul Jam.

The magic died down, and you let out an exhale. Then, you began to laugh softly. "That.. that worked! I didn't think it would..!"

"What was that?!" Wizard Cookie shouted, and you blushed sheepishly.

"I'm sure you saw that light.. that was the Light of Compassion in its purest form." You explained. Your form slowly began to shift back to the regular one you used. "It insisted that I share it with Pure Vanilla Cookie."

Said Cookie spared a glance at his Soul Jam, and there was a small petal pattern in the middle.

White Lily Cookie couldn't help a small smile. "It did mention something about love.."

"HAHA WHAT?" You laughed nervously. The barrier around the group fell, and you immediately rushed forward. "C'MON GUYS, LET'S GO GET SHADOW MILK COOKIE!"

Small bits of laughter came from the group, and Pure Vanilla Cookie felt a little lighter as he followed.

Well, hello there! What joy and love you hold in your heart..

The sound of your voice, yet more mature, echoed through his mind. Yet, as if like second nature, Pure Vanilla Cookie knew that it was the Light of Compassion.

Whenever that Shadow Milk Cookie comes back, trying to trick you, focus on me or Sparkling Joy Cookie, Pure Vanilla Cookie. We won't let him lead you astray!

"What you said.." He whispered softly. "About love. Did you mean it?"

Of course. It sounded almost amused. I do believe that you're the only one Sparkling Joy Cookie would show the full extent of their power to.

Pure Vanilla Cookie couldn't help but feel honored.

But, of course, that didn't last long.

Especially not when Elder Faeire Cookie was struck down.

taglist: @snail-noodle @average-crk-enjoyer @looking4userthatworks @ori-stole-the-cheese-again @sqiddgie @justalittledumb @ax0lotly @ihatemyselffromthestart-blog

CLIFFHANGERRR!!

[that-one-anime-writer]

G/t Story Starters ❤️

1. “OW- You know us tinies are very fragile!”

2. “Wait- you want me to call you little one?”

3. “Eat you?!! Are you kidding me? God I hate those giant stereotypes…”

4. “WHEEEEE- Catch me!!!!”

5. “I’m sorry- I didn’t see you there little guy.”

6. “LET GO OF ME YOU FOUL BEAST-“

7. “When I said pick me up from work- THIS IS NOT WHAT I MEANT-“

8. “I pray you have car insurance because uh… I might’ve sorta stepped on your car…. Heh…”

9. “Why are you dressed as a chess piece- I told you- human chess is dangerous!”

10. “No don’t cut me a smaller slice! I want the same portion you have!”

[idesofrevolution]

Horizons II: Numbers

READ CHAPTER ONE HERE

I looked at Omarion with my lupine grin, my sweet lookin' stolen face twisted and devilish. Couldn’t stop myself from snatching the blunt right out of his fingers mid puff and bringing it to my lips. Here’s the thing, bro; yeah, I was 6'3 and fit as fuck, not gonna lie. But Omarion was another beast entirely. The guy was almost 7'0 and lean like the good runner he was. You had to have someone get in and out of a place like a jackrabbit? Omarion's your boy. Those size 17 stompers he's got somehow are quick and quiet, especially when he kicks my ass on the basketball court. I let out a big fuckin' cloud in his face, winkin' as I hand the smokin' cigarello back to him.

"So, 'white boy'..." Omarion chuckled under his breath, still all kinds of fucked up about his Colombian parcero stretchin' out this gringo's bod. "You got a dude for me or what? Fuckin' hogs be runnin' me all over town." I looked down at my feet, racking this dude's memories for the name of that little sidepiece that he dumps his load into every Saturday night. I pushed down the growing rage I felt as Aidan's face continued to appear in my head- I didn't have a bit of guilt squeezin' into this fucker knowing what he did to that kid. I had even less guilt about what I was about to do to that tiny lil bitch as his name finally popped into my brain.

"Orlando. Orlando Avellaneda." Omarion raised his eyebrow at me as I looked at him with my big blue eyes. I kinda loved the way it fucked with him. "He's over off Frederick Street. He's this dude's little fuck toy. Bruh, it's wild. This guy is a full on fuckin' racist, but he's got a thing for the Cuban boys." Omarion took a big drag from the lit cigarello, puffin' out a couple of rings before smiling.

"Beggars can't be choosers, bro. But you ain't stickin' that monster inside me, even if I'm in 'your' side ho." I punched that tatted up tower in the arm, laughin' at his seriousness.

"You good, man. I promise I won't drill ya. Can't promise you won't wanna, though." I pawed at my bulge playfully as he grimaced in disgust.

"Boy if you don't stop playin'. Get in the fuckin' car." He stomped his giant AF1 on the blunt, struttin' over to the far corner of the warehouse. I followed behind, and behind the back pillar sat a fresh as fuck Jeep. Omarion hopped in the driver's seat, and the engine roared to life. Fuck I missed that sound. Nothin' like a roarin' engine, speedin' down the highway, dodgin' screamin' pigs and bitch ass Nissans to get away. I hopped in, wondering if I'd ever get to feel that rush again. I think back to Aidan, that innocent little face of his... was I really condemned to being some nine to fiver, rotting away in a cubicle. I couldn't ditch the dude, that would fuck him up beyond fixin'. But this beast can't be fuckin' caged man.

"Haul ass outta here, bro. Gotta get back before he gets suspicious." Omarion rolled his eyes, slammin' that cinder block foot onto the gas and plowing through the wood planks on the warehouse door, and out of the port. I looked down at Chase's phone, pullin' up his texts. I scrolled through bullshit after bullshit from his lame ass bank job- put a pin in that for later. Finally, I found the little shit. Orlando's name popped up midway down, the horny fuck puttin' a peach emoji right on his contact. I hit call and put my finger to my lips, Omarion snickering as I did.

"Uh... Chase? Did you forget your wallet again?" His voice was shrill and irritating, nothin' like Aidan. You could hear the brattiness with every word.

"I'm comin' over. Get that ass ready." He was quiet on the other side of the line, givin' me a mini heart attack thinkin' I'd fucked up and freaked him out. At least until I heard his breaths under the static.

"Mmmm playin' bad boy tonight are we? Your houseboy not giving you what you need?" I felt my teeth grind, who the fuck was this little cocksucker to talk about him that way... I took a deep breath, Omarion still raisin' his eyebrows at my huffin' and puffin'.

"Yeah, I'm feelin' nasty tonight. I'm gonna stretch that mouth as wide as it'll go." Little did he know.

"Door's unlocked, lemme give you what he can't. See you soon, baby." He hung up, and I tossed Chase's phone onto the center console of the car. Wouldn't be needing it for much longer, anyway. Omarion had his eyes plastered on the road, clearly biting his tongue. Honestly, I get it. I ate pussy like it was a fuckin' banquet, so did he. I didn't understand why I got so fuckin' enfadado at any slight against that blonde twink either. As much as I got under this gringo's skin, he'd gotten under mine too.

"So. You into this boy, ain't you?" I whipped my head to scowl at him.

"I'm not into him. I'm just playin' the game, bro." He chuckled under his breath, shakin' his head.

“Sure, bruh. Last I checked you were on track for a hundred bitches in one year. Eyes on the prize, brother!” He turned, laughin’ his stupid ass off, but not one laugh came outta me. That shit didn’t escape him, he noticed right away. That smile faded quick before we sat the rest of the ride in silence, he didn’t even put on Kendrick like he usually did. This shit was gettin' complicated. As we pulled up to his bougie ass townhouse, I heard the lil' ping comin' out of my phone, seeing a missed call and text from Aidan. Omarion opened the door, stepping out onto the street, turnin' to stare at me. "C'mon bro, we don't have time for this shit."

"Bruh, gimme a fuckin' second!" I swiped down, seeing the message from Aidan:

Aidan: Did you get stuck in traffic? I hope the ice cream doesn't melt...

I smiled, that boy ain't even mad. I don't get people worryin' about where I'm at, what I'm doin', who I'm with... I opened the camera, snapping a picture givin' him those 'Imma fuck the shit outta you' eyes.

Chase: yeah, babe- got stuck by the bridge. ice cream is fucked, gonna get you a nice n creamy one. i know u like that.

He replied with that naughty lil' devil emoji. Mmmm... I bet he'd be on his knees the minute I walked in that door. I felt my rod stirrin' in my jock, drippin' my juices out this gringo's swollen cock. This guy really got me goin'... but fuck. I wasn't a fuckin' cocksucker.

"Put that fuckin' phone down. We gotta fuckin' go, bro!" I nodded at Omarion, seein' just how pissed he was gettin' standing there. Tossin' that phone in the backseat, I got out the car and walked up to his door. Tappin' the doorbell, that thirsty lil fuck came runnin' down the stairs, whipping that door open quicker than I expected. The skinny lil twig stared up at me, clearly confused why Chase was as sexy as I made him overnight and why this 7'0 shirtless ebony giant is lookin' at him that way. The kid was a pipsqueak. Fresh outta college, ‘applying for dental school’ apparently. Typical dick cravin’ lil’ fa… gay boy.

"Whoa... Chase?" The lil bitch looked me up and down, I snickered as I saw his dicklet go full mast as I crossed my inked arms.

"The one and only, baby." I winked at him, watchin' his face flush red as an apple, before throwin' my arm around my bro. "This is Omarion. I think he's in need of a little.. stress relief." My man was gropin' at that jackhammer of his and that monster grew at just a single touch, snakin' down his sweatpants like the anaconda it is. I smirked, watchin' drool start to stream down Orlando's smooth chin.

"Yeeh... Yeah that sounds... good... But, when did you get tat..." I couldn't help but laugh as Omarion gripped him by the fuckin' cheeks, pushing him back into the living room. I shut the door behind us, smugly turning the deadbolt before slowly pullin' down my sweats. I turned around, grippin' my musky, sticky jock and my jaw nearly fuckin' dropped. Omarion had already dropped trou, his big ass Nikes and sweats chucked over the back end of the couch, and both Orlando and I completely fixated on that huge ass screwdriver stickin' straight outta his curly pubes. Fuck, maybe I hadn't really looked before when we double teamed the last few girls- too busy with my cock down her throat, but holy fuckin' shit bruh. Thick as a beercan, veins runnin' down that footlong like rivers, and his mushroom head pokin' the little twink right in the nose.

"Yo, you down for the spit?" Omarion snickered as he pried Orlando's thin lips open, hockin' a thick wad of spit into his mouth. Man, when I tell you I was in the fuckin' position in three seconds flat-the twink's feet over my shoulders, his grey shorts pulled to the side with that puckery hole just beggin' for my cock. Omarion threw up his fist, our tatted knucks colliding like the green light we both knew it was. "Alright lil' bitch, open wide." Orlando, the obedient little sub, could barely open that mouth any bigger than he already did before my bro had thrust that footer straight down his throat, blowin' out a hoot of pleasure as his head slowly fell back. My mind flashed back to Aidan back at the apartment, probably checkin' his phone to see if I was on my way back...

"Bro..." Man... I couldn't get him out of my head. I had a tight hole pressed against my steamy bulge and all I could think about was... "BRO!" I shook my head, lookin' up at my bro straight up face fuckin' Orando's gaggin' face. "Wake the fuck up, bruh. Hurry it up and stick it in already!" It's a means to an end, I tell myself. I pull down my jock, my cock already standin' alert, drippin' with my pre and some of last night's load still caught under the hood. I felt my old self for a sec- my brows gettin' low, my teeth barin', that animal snarl... Well, his hole will be a nice lil' cleaner for me. I smirked, pressin' that musky head against his beggin' pucker, and with a deep fuckin' groan, slowly let my slimy rod slip into his guts. "That's my fuckin' boy. Come on!" Omarion picked up his pace, leanin' over the fucker and holdin' onto the couch beneath him, grinnin' from ear to ear. Man, when I say I love tag teamin' with my boy, I FUCKIN' LOVE IT. The guy just turns up the heat, bruh, and that shit just gets me goin'.

I let my long ass tongue flop out my mouth, smilin' and pantin' as I start plowin' that twink ass. Orlando was moanin' and chirpin' like the thirsty lil slut he is, gettin' pegged from both sides by two professional fuckers. Sweat drippin' down my forehead, Omarion and I just look at eachother, smirkin' at the sounds of his sweaty balls slappin' against the twink's face, and my groin against his bony lil' ass.

"Fuckin' take this dick, lil' pussy. Yeah suck it." Omarion slapped Orlando's cheek, the little pervert whining as he's spitroasted. As the lil' fucker's eyes closed in lust, my boy looked me dead in the eye, and I knew exactly what it meant. Omarion slowly stepped back, his dick slowly pulling out of the twink's throat. I lean in over his panting face, my scowl growin' crazed as I rammed his ass.

"Woohoo, bro. You really shoulda got your own breeder, pendejo. This one's taken." His eyes squinted in confusion as I pulled out of his lil' pucker, and Omarion made his move, stickin' that massive mitt into his open mouth, pullin' his lips wider and wider- his head stretchin' and distorting as he tugged, before bringin' his size 17 dog up and shovin' it down Orlando's pre-stretched throat. That wet squelch rang out as his neck bulged around the shape of that smelly fuckin' boat slidin' down into his chest.

Lemme just break this down for you. Slippin' into someone, that's one thing. Feels fuckin' great, gets you off, the sounds and smells and the texture... yeah it's hot. But watchin' your bro squeezin' into some bitchass... that's a whole different fuckin' level, bruh. Seein' him plop his ass on the back of the couch, slippin' his other foot down the twink's gurglin' throat, lettin' himself just slide down into Orlando's bod lubed with his own sweat. I couldn't help myself, bro. I grabbed my musky cock, slowly pumpin' it as I watched his calves slurp down into the lil' fucker. This is karma, bitch. I bet he loved the feelin' of his thick ass thighs stretchin' his head like a rubber mask, or the smell of his round sweaty ass as he sits down right on top of his nose. Wanna know how I know? Those whimpers turned into moans real fuckin' quick. He turned and looked at me jackin' away, goonin' at the insane sight.

"Bruh, c'mon! I get your bod is gettin' you horny but help me in and we can get the fuck outta here!" Fuck, he was right. Bein' inside Chase had my brain doin' a buncha fuck shit, as much as I'd changed him- I think he was changin' me too... I blinked, runnin over to the squirming pipsqueak and holding him down, watchin' as Omarion kept sinkin' himself deeper and deeper inside of him. His toes bulged out beneath the pale skin, slidin' down his smooth legs, his skinny calves, and with a buncha grunts n' squeezin' from Omarion, his gigantic feet suctioned into Orlando's immediately bloating them into my boy's veiny, funky size 17s.

Omarion goes to a whole 'nother level when he's gettin' into you. Those eyes got wild, grinnin' like the Joker as he pinched the twink's waist, and stretched the legs tight over his own. Slowly, Orlando's legs swelled and suctioned over my boy's his tight calves and basketball-trained quads bulging out of this kid's skin. His curly brown hairs sprouting out of the pale legs, before quickly tanning with his mocha body inside.

"Lemme just... Unf!" He shoved his hands into the gapin' maw, slinkin' down to his semi hard dick, deflated after his fake lust had faded away. I watched as his snake slid into Orlando's, stretchin' it wide before those kiwi balls of his slurped into his new droopy sac. The man was gigglin' like a fuckin' lunatico, his ass now inflating the bony rear into two watermelons below his skinny waist. His arms found their way into the twink's shoulders; like slippin' on a pair of overalls, all he needed to do was shrug, and the rubbery skin slurped over his torso and chest. A couple of his tatts slowly rose to the surface: barbed wire from his time in the pen, and two snakes circlin' around eachother- a tribute to our partnership for the past decade. His arms slid down into their new gloved home, the skin creaking and groaning as the big ol' mitts swelled into their new fingers n' palms.

"Aight bro, thanks for the ride!" We bumped our knuckles, as he took Orlando's orgasmic face, pulling it over the back of his head and letting it snap right over his own. Squeaks, creaks, and squelches echoed in the room as he tugged on the mask atop his head: Orlando's lips growin' thick, his nose flattenin', the sharp stubble poppin' out his sharp jaw... Fuck... Why was I thinkin' that way...

My bro opened his new eyes, the twink's pretty boy face now twisted into a gruff ass snarl. Reachin' over to his sweatpants, he pulled out the blunt he'd rolled in the car, stickin' it between his lips and lighting it. Seein' a lil' cockslut turn into a fuckin' giant ass man, blowin' his thick clouds was such a fuckin' trip.

"Orlando, huh? Bruh, this guy was a fuckin' tightass motherfucker." Hearin' that high pitched voice gravelly n' low... that shit got my stomach in knots. "This shit never gets old, man. Trippy as fuck every time." He took another puff before handin' that good shit over to me, snickering at my hard on I'd tried to slip back into my jock. As I took a hit, that motherfucker started leanin' over and pokin' it! "Yeah, man. I see what you mean when ya slip into a cocksucker. Certain things just look... different through these eyes."

I couldn't say for sure man, but I think I felt my cheeks get red from his touch. Even through this twunk's face I could see Omarion's fuckin' smirk on his lips, feel that fucker's grip in his hands, smell that musk flowin' from out his skin. It was Omarion through and through, and fuck was it crazy to see those lil things comin' from Orlando's body. I smacked that chucklin' dick's hand off my rod, playin' it off as best I could.

"Yeah, you fuckin' wish this dick was up your thirsty ass." He huffed under his breath, jumpin' off the bed and over to the bag he'd dropped by the door to get into a more fittin' look.

"Shit, bruh. He's got some spunk in these balls. Just gimme some pussy and... UNH... UNH... UNH..." He hip thrust forward, grinnin' as he slipped on his tank. I couldn't watch him too long, 'cuz as much as I wanted to deny it, I wanted to see him fuckin' some tight hole in this bod. He looked good.

"Heh, you gonna find some good cumdump in that pretty boy." I walked over, handin' him the joint before slippin' on my sweatpants. I felt him lookin' at me, didn't have to even turn around.

"So... what's the plan, bro? Back to 'your' place, regroup, and get movin'?" I stopped for a second, realizing that while I shoulda been thinkin about the escape plan, I wasn't. Every moment that day my head shoulda been in the game, like it was every other time I hid in some perra. But it wasn't. The whole time, all I was thinkin' was how long it'd take to get back to Aidan.

"Uh, yeah. We should get goin'." I turned around, lookin' at him slippin those big funky dogs into his AF1's, tossin' the empty bag over his shoulder.

“Well, let’s dip.” Omarion strut out the door as if he owned the place. Well, I guess he did, heh. He’s always been a pro at this shit. Bro is a fuckin’ chameleon. When he’s in you, nobody would do so much as a double take. He’s got your memories on lock. He’s got your interests on lock. He’s got your voice, your walk, your smile… By the time he hops out, he’s got ‘em thinkin’ you just had a phase or some shit like that.

See, when we’re inside you, you’re seein’ everything we’re seein’, feelin’ how we feel, thinkin’ how we think… Sometimes when we ditch your skin, you wake up a bit different than you used to be. I mean, we’re doin’ you a favor. You get a fuckin’ sick ass sex god wearin’ and stretchin’ your body out, you’re gonna walk away with a bit of our swagger in you, bruh. Chase was a slow learner with that, bitchin’ and moanin’ 24/7, but nothin’ more than a whisper way back there pretendin’ like he hates my big ass schlong swingin’ between his legs. But Omarion, he has a fuckin’ queue of bros beggin’ him to squeeze back in ‘em. He does somethin’ different, bro. I don’t know how to explain it. I didn’t then, on that drive that night after stoppin’ at some shitty cornerstore to swipe some ice cream for Aidan, I just sorta stared at him. Didn’t say much, just vibed to some Curren$y as he weaved through fuckin’ slow ass cars; but I had to ask.

“So how the fuck 're you so good at this shit, man?” He turned to me, raisin’ his eyebrow. “Like you get in him like it’s nothin’, and it’s like he’s always been this way. No one bats a fuckin’ eye.” Omarion rolled his eyes, turnin’ back to the road.

“You get way too into it, bruh.” His voice was low and cold.

“The fuck? What’s that supposed to mean?” I knew exactly what he meant. But in the back of my head, I needed to hear him say it.

“When I go into hidin’, I’m not out there keepin’ up their relationships. I’m not callin’ their moms. I don’t give a fuck about goin’ into work. I get in, get the fuck outta town, and get out. No strings, no bullshit.” His eyes were fixed on the road, I knew he’d been meanin’ to say this for a while. “But you, bro? You out there makin’ sure the rent is paid. You out there makin’ excuses for where they’re goin’. You tellin’ their professors you goin’ to a funeral so you gotta take some time off of class. You get involved, bruh. You always do.” He finally looked at me, not mad or anything, but he was serious. “This time I got a feelin’ you in too deep.”

“I’m am not.” I did my best to be all, ‘I don’t give a fuck’ about the clock. But Omarion knows me too damn well. He saw right through that shit.

“We stopped for ice cream for your butt buddy, bro.” We sat in silence for an uncomfortably long time. Felt like fuckin’ ages, but he finally summed it up. “You gotta ditch this dude. We stayin’ the night and you either ditch the boyfriend or ditch the bod. Get a new dude and leave this shit in the dust. We got a job to do. Don’t forget that.”

Took forty minutes to get back to the apartment. Bruh, I was sweatin' bullets. I didn't know how Omarion would vibe with Aidan, what kind of excuse I was gonna have to come up with. I looked down at the plastic bag and the half melted chocolate ice cream inside. No, the bodega didn't have fuckin' pistachio. Yes, I asked. Omarion stood next to me in the elevator, flexin' and snappin' pics to send the boss.

"Aight, we're friends. We saw eachother at the corner store. You're comin' back to smoke and chill. Got it?" Omarion huffed, slippin' his bod's phone back into his sweats.

"Yeah, we good. But tomorrow mornin', we dippin' right?" I couldn't even look at him. I just nodded. "Bruh, we're gettin' the fuck outta here, ditchin' these bitches and gettin' back to the boss. That's the fuckin' plan. Don't get all horny for this dude, you ain't stayin."

"I'm not fuckin' horny for him, bro!" The elevator doors opened, and we walked up to the door. Just as I was fuckin' with the keys, I heard the door unlock and watched as the door swung open. He stood on the other side, lookin' irritated as fuck. Aidan stood there with his arms crossed, flingin' knives out his eyes.

“Just headed to get ice cream, huh?” I stuttered, couldn’t get a single word out. He looked so disappointed, man. “Two nights, Chase? Two nights you come home hours late, doing who knows what kind of shit all night!” He was pissed, and let me tell you somethin’. No one fuckin’ talks to me like that. You raise your voice, I raise my fuckin’ fist. Talk to me like I’m some bitch and you’ll be hangin’ by your balls from the ceiling. So, why couldn’t I say anything? I stood there like a fuckin’ tool, stutterin’ and all ‘uhhh… ummm… you know…’ If he were any other bro comin’ at me like that I’d have laid his ass out on the tile floor. But not a fuckin’ word would leave my lips. I just couldn’t, man. Thank fuckin’ Christ for Omarion, savin’ the day with a quick one.

“Hey, I’m Orlando. I’m friends with Chase.” He stuck his hand out, smiling at Aidan with that charmer grin of his. “I saw this dumbass beggin’ the guy at the counter for some pistachio ice cream and was like 'yo, it’s my boy!” Aidan looked at him all skeptical, just starin’ at his hand. Turnin’ to me, all I did was nod like a fuckin’ dumbass, handing him the bag of ice cream. I was gettin’ nervous, but after a second or two he cracked a smile and shook his hand. I let out a sigh of relief. As Omarion did what he did best, playin’ it on the down low and makin’ him feel all comfortable.

“Nice to meet you, Orlando. Sorry about the blow up. But your ‘bro’ over there knows what I’m talkin’ about, right?” I could tell he was still annoyed, but Omarion’s magic tongue had taken his tone down. He waved us in, lettin’ Omarion through but holdin’ his arm in front of me before I could even walk through the door. He got in close, and I felt his arms slowly slide around my waist. I saw under that sweet lil’ smile a whole lotta sadness. I really fuckin’ hurt the guy. His lips quickly planted on mine, my eyes closed and all I wanted to do was to at least make the guy feel like this piece of shit I was piloting would do the right thing for once. When our lips parted, he leaned into my ear and whispered. “Please, Chase. Don’t do it again.”

He turned around, walkin’ to the kitchen to get some bowls. I shut the door behind us, and couldn’t avoid Omarion’s fuckin’ death stare. All of that just proved his point. I was in deep, too fuckin’ deep. But seein’ him again in that moment, the big blue eyes and that sweet smile… I was havin’ second thoughts about the plan.

---

Alright, folks! This is going to be the last entry of Horizons posted to Tumblr, the rest of this piece is gonna be exclusively on Blogspot and GSS. I know that may disappoint some of y'all, but here's why. Tumblr isn't the greatest place for longform multichapter stories, and Horizons is turning into something a lot bigger than just two or three posts on here. Each of these chapters are turning into 5k+ words and it's just not ideal for this platform. GSS allows for multiple chapters under a uniform series, which helps tremendously with continuity. I invite y'all to come check out Horizons on GSS, and I'll be sure to link it whenever a new chapter is added. As of right now, I have solid plot framework for 4 chapters of it, with it being very open to having several more afterward. I'll continue to have one-offs on Tumblr, so don't think I'm ditchin' y'all. I'm still here and I ain't going nowhere. :)

[aryxchse]

hello!

i see ur requests are open so i have one (potentially) if ur willing to write it!!

yk how we get some glimpses into a dark percy jackson in the HoO series when he’s protecting annabeth… what if we got some of that for jason grace? potentially like the reader, she’s threatened by a minor god or monster or anything, so jason kinda goes unhinged? maybe like, he takes the air out of the opposing party’s lungs or anything else kinda unhinged?

i hope any of this makes sense lol thank uuuuu

🫶🫶🫶

dangerous storms / jason grace x female! reader.

a / n : I WAS THINKING THE EXACT SAME THING BECAUSE WHY THIS MAN HASN'T BEND SOMEONES OXYGEN ALREADY???

warnings : jason grace's angry self, airbending type of shit, cursing, DANGEROUS JASON I REPEAT DANGEROUS JASON!!

jason grace was a calm man.

he was rational, he would think before he act and he never made a move with his feelings. call it him being roman, or his father being literally the king of the gods, or maybe him growing up with a wolf raising him. jason grace was always the type to show his powers through strategic thinking.

well, everyone has boundries right?

he had a thin line in between destroying one thing or everything when it camed to you. if you're fine, then no one has to fear for anything. if you're okay, safe and healthy, no one has to panic.

but if it's the other way, than everyone should pray. even the non-believers. because jason grace can be scary and intimidating when he wants to. and he's so damn good at it.

things weren't supposed to go this way. you weren't supposed to get kidnapped by some giant. the plan wasn't this way, then why, why we're you in danger?

jason stopped being rational. his brain only said 'why, why, why' for like, an hour now. jason wasn't thinking straight. jason wasn't thinking.

"jason, we're gonna save her," piper tried to charmspeak him, but it didn't worked. the girl who put gaia back in sleep, couldn't calm down the son of jupiter.

percy jackson, who was feared by most monsters, demigods and even gods, was afraid how jason acted at the moment. but he didn't judged, he knew he would act the exact same way if something happened to annabeth. which, he did.

he was the only one who would go down with him if he asked. boundries we're boundries, and percy knew that very well.

"jason, we can make a plan." piper tried again. she was trying from the moment they got you. but it wasn't working and she started to get anxious.

"yeah, man. she's strong, she could be on her way back here even-" leo tried his best too. he couldn't recognise his best friend right now. he should've been like percy, who wasn't judging jason's madness and ready to go down with him. but he couldn't—it was like leo meeting jason for the first time, again.

"i already have a fucking plan." jason snapped, but he was quiet. which, it didn't help with the gang's fear. "and you guys are not involved."

"you sure?" percy asked, putting a hand on his shoulder. "my hands been itchy these days, and riptide is no better."

jason wanted to smile, but his situation didn't allowed. instead, he softened his gaze, just a bit. "thanks, but i'll handle it myself. it's my war now."

percy nodded, giving a look at the team. 'if someone wants to stop him, they have to go through me.'

"go get em', tiger." he joked. and jason flied away, not answering.

‎ ⚡️

you would fight for your life if you weren't hanging up by the chains on your wrists. your feet we're dangling in the air, and arms hurting from carrying all your weight. the sick giants put some fancy greek dress on you, making your hair prettier while you were unconscious.

the giant fucking fell in love with you, and it certainly did not liked jason.

jason. we're was he? what happened to him?

well, you we're about to find out.

"oh dear," the ugly beast purred, his big hands finding your tiny body. you disgusted, squirming under his touch to get away. but it was no use.

"you'll be all mine once i make the potion." he rambled, drool on his chin that showed you how hungry he was for you.

"in your fucking dreams." you spat, eyes shooting daggers. you we're jason's girl, and your own person, most importantly. "i'm already taken."

the giant growled, mixing the sound with his sick laugh. "that jupiter boy? he got nothing compared to me sweetheart!" he yelled and his voice echoed through the big cave. where we're you, even? "he has to kill me to get you!"

"be careful what you wish for." the sound made you melt instantly. how was he able to find you? well, you didn't cared to be honest. he was here.

jason's eyes we're nothing like before. it was like his own eyes had their storms and thunders. one part of you we're amazed, while the other got scared. you knew he wouldn't even touch you if it ever hurt you, but you we're scared for him. not from him. for him doing something he'll regret for the rest of his life in order to protect you.

but, jason seemed to not give a damn.

"you tiny little demigod! you have no chance against me, you don't even have a god next to you to kill me!" he yelled, leaving you dangling in the air again. you wanted to call jason's name, but your voice muffled through the lightning.

"i don't fucking need a god," jason hissed, taking position. "i'll send you tartarus myself."

it all happened quickly. jason was so fast, unlike the big giant trying to capture and kill him. he was like a lightning himself, moving in light speed. there was a blonde thing moving, and you couldn't understand if it was his hair or sword. also there was little lightning sparkles that helped you figure him better.

then, the next thing you knew, jason was on top of the beast's face. he quickly called a lightning before stabbing his sword into the giants eye. it growled, but didn't falled.

"this is what you take for hurting my girl. my loved ones." jason said, his free hand going up in the air. you thought he was gonna make the giant eat some lightning, but it didn't go that way.

"remember my name in tartarus," he flied up again, taking a large air with him. the beast suddenly started to choke, holding it's neck desperately. "and make sure your friends does too."

it was the last thing giant heard before falling down, his oxygen flying in the air and dissapearing. jason immediatly flied towards you, cutting your chainst and holding you by the waist before you fall.

"jason," you breathed out, crying. you couldn't believe what you just have witnesses, but you figured it was the best to not mention. you we're happy that you we're safe now, in his arms.

"baby," he panted, hugging you so tight. you guys slowly landed on the ground, jason still clinging on you. "thank gods you're alive."

"i got scared," you admitted. normally, you would rather die than admit someone you're scare. but it was your jason, who could you tell if you're not gonna tell him? "he was gonna- jason, he was gonna make me one of them."

"shh baby it's okay," he cupped your face, his own tears matching you. but he had a smile, a smile that appeared once you we're in his arms. "i'm here. no one's touching you ever again okay? i'm here." he gently wiped your tears away, kissing you after.

you relaxed the moment your lips met, but it wasn't very long until you both heard footsteps again. jason quickly picked you up in bridal style, flying away from the little crack of the cave.

later that day, you both layed together in his quarters at argo ii. everyone decided that they shouldn't ask questions, like they didn't asked percy and annabeth after they got back from the tartarus.

even coach hedge let you snuggle eachother, because he saw how hurt jason was. he needed you for his own sake, to stay sane.

jason was the child of storm after all, he knew how to be scary when he wanted to. he kept it all inside when you we're near and safe. but if something slightly happened to you, he knew how to show them real power.

[denofbloodandlove]

First Timer

Mandi looked at the store like some giant looming beast that she had to battle, never had she been to a sex shop and for good reason. The moment she even thought about sex her face flamed with heat, she was technically embarrassed.  Not because of the act of sex, but because of what she enjoyed watching.  Being only 21 and still a stupid virgin she had, one night, fell down a rabbit hole of aliens, tentacles, and ovipositors.  They only person in the whole world that knew was her best friend JJ, who was as gay and happy as a bag of sunshine and rainbows but also the biggest slut that Mandi knew.   He was the reason they were here at a place called OtherWorlds, a boutique for the weird and unusual.  But according to the website that JJ found, totally normal for people like her.  People who enjoyed the idea of monsters, suckers and knots filling up their bodies. JJ had wanted Mandi to be herself so, like a great best friend searched the world wide web and found this little nugget.  Forced her in the car and drove the three hours it took to show up.   “For fucks sake Mandi, walk in, it’s a sex shop not a fucking scorpion.  Which, by the by, I think they have dildos that resemble the tail.  Lets go!” JJ pushed Mandi over the curb and straight at the door.  The tiny bell jingled as the door opened and Mandi stood frozen at the sight.  JJ however ran right in and began looking. “Come on Mandi! It’s time you experiment!” He giggled as he held up a huge wiggly horse cock.  Covering her face with her hands, Mandi shuffled her way towards JJ.  “Would you stop that!” She whispered as JJ started to flick his wrist, making the soft cock go round in circles.  “I think I need one of these for me girlie!  Man this would feel great shoved in my ass!.” JJ exclaimed as a worker made their over with a grin on her face.   “First time huh?  We can always tell, either too shy or too excited. How can I help you guys? Looking for anything in particular?”   Mandi began to shake her head, but JJ being who he was cut her off.  “Yes, she needs tentacles.  Ovipositors with the eggs that come with.  A medium to large probably since she is……unused shall I say.”  “Oh gods above JJ, really?! Tell everyone that I’ve never had sex why don’t you, jeez.” Mandi buried her face in her hands as JJ laughed, but the woman just smiled and took hold of Mandi.  “I have the perfect stuff, come on.  Most people come in here like this, first timers, shy because of what they like but its no biggie.”  As Mandi followed the lady she looked on the walls.  Dildos of massive sizes were displayed, some had giant heads with long thin bodies while some were reversed, had a slender head but a massive shaft. Some were so large it looked like it would split her in half.  Gulping down what she knew was excitement she kept walking.  How could she be excited about her feeling like she would be getting cut in two?  Another section housed more horse cocks, small ones, medium, massive ones that looked like when fully inserted it could reach her throat.  Near the horse cocks, were wolves.  These too were in various sizes but they had knots as the bases.  Some had multiple knots throughout the shaft, going from regular at the head, knot, shaft, bigger knot, shaft, and even bigger knot.  Wouldn’t a person get stuck on that?   How would her cunt feel so stretched out that she would literally be stuck on a cock. Mandi felt sweat trickle down her back at the thought.   “You know I can tell what you’re thinking buy the looks on your face, you don’t hide your facial expressions well.  My name is Nimmie, and yes the wolf cocks do feel amazing stuck inside of you.  Too big to slide out but to big to push further in.  Your pussy trapped on an immovable object, trust me, its worth it. Worth the pain. The dragon cocks are much the same without the knots.”  Nimmie pointed towards a display case that housed a pleothra of muticolored dildos.  Some were short and fat while others had what looked like scales in different layers to add a whole new feeling as it pushed against the walls of a pussy or ass. “But these are what you’re after. Yes?” Mandi looked over her shoulder as Nimmie pointed to a blue/black wall.  Her mouth popped open as she saw so many different kinds of tentacle dildos. S-curved that ended in a point, short stubby ones that had a bulbous head, each one had different sized suckers on it, mimicking a real octopus.   “But, I think your friend mentioned ovis, you’re more interested in the eggs and the feeling of them inside you, right?  I’ve used one, fuck it was the best orgasm I’ve ever had.  But that was our old stock we got some brand new ones no one has ever tried.  They look amazing.  Here.” Nimmie reached down and under a self, pulling out what looked like long slender tube with a short flat head on top.  It was a dark mossy green that faded into yellow at the tip.  Reading the package her eyes widened at the size.  Nearly nine inches in length  and at the widest nearly two inches at the base.  But what intrigued her more was the carton that was attached to the underside of the plastic container that held the cock.  “Its eggs! Look! Turn in over, each one is in their own cum, to give you that real effect.  So what you do, theres twelve by the way.  So what you do is you have to place the cock on the floor and through the opening at the tip of the cock, you just insert the eggs, push them all down and have your fun. As you fuck it, see the little button, you push that and the didlo will start to undulate and push the eggs into you, all that cum and eggs filling your cunt up.  When you’re done, pop off and push the eggs out, and repeat as many times as you want.  The cum, its some kind of new material that doesn’t wash away, like an egg sack thing. I dunno, but I can’t wait to try it myself..” Mandi turned the package over looking it over and listening to Nimmie talk about it.  Fuck, but she was wet just imagining it.  She had watched a porn with this woman who had something similar. The eggs had fallen out of her swollen cunt, falling to the ground in pleasurable ‘plops’.  She wondered if they would sound the same falling out of her.  And could she take all twelve at once? Mandi ran her hands over the eggs, thinking about where she could place it and fuck it. That was the moment JJ ran up to her, his arms filled with lube and cocks.  “Get me outta here girlie before I go broke.  You found something?” Nodding her head, she hid the ovi behind her and together they walked to the register.   ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ “I know you got that egg thing girlie, call me after and tell me ALL about it! I for one am going shove these beautiful things up my ass.”  JJ kissed Mandi on each cheek and left her standing at her door with the black bag in her hand.  Excitement rode her.  Mandi could feel her slick cunt, needy and ready to take in her first dildo.  The apex of her thighs felt heavy with need yet hollow.  It was like a low ache, one that was almost painful right behind her entrance.  She could almost feel her own heartbeat in her pussy, each thump of her heart knocking at her tight entrance.  Placing her phone down, she hit record and then began to undress.  Throwing off her clothes, she knelt on the floor and positioned herself so she could watch her body take in the cock.  Once everything was lined up correctly, she opened the plastic package with trembling fingers.  The cock itself was soft and malleable, but at the thick base she could feel beads that would rotate upwards, she figured those were how the eggs would get pushed up and into her pussy.  Next she opened the eggs.  Sighing, Mandi reverently grabbed the first one.  Nimmie was right, it felt as if the egg was encased in the same slime like substance a chicken egg was surrounded by.  The clear like slime wiggled between her fingers as it slipped from her grip into palm after palm, her hands rotating to constantly catch it.  Biting her bottom lip, Mandi held it to her face and it roll against her cheek.  It felt so warm, almost as if the crate it was in kept them a certain temperature. Before she could think better of it, Mandi popped it into her mouth.  The gel like casing rolled on her tongue and nearly down her throat.  But the taste.  It was like an aphrodisiac straight to her pussy.  Juices flowed and coated her thighs as she leaned her head back and moaned, rolling the egg on her tongue and nearly down her throat. Gagging she coughed the egg up and into her hand.  She’d definitely  have to practice more on how to hold that in her mouth, maybe with the cock fucking her throat too.  Mandi fingered the cocks opening and watched as the egg slide down and into the tube where the other 11 quickly followed.   Taking a deep breath, Mandi ran her fingers through her swollen pussy, her clit was so enlarged it hurt, her fingers rubbed hard on her clit, eliciting a long low moan from her throat, then she squatted over the cock.  Her back was against a wall and with wide eyes she watched herself slowly get impaled on the camera of her phone.   Her tight pussy pushed against the head of the cock, opening her pushing against her maiden head.  She watched in fascination as her cunt spread, allowing a foreign object to be inserted, thankfully the cock wasn’t giant at the tip, but she could feel the resistance of her flesh, pushing back, not wanting anything to push past her barrier.  Her thighs burned as she lifted herself up slightly then fell back down a second time. This round pushed hard the cock breaking though and she let out a painful moan as the cock stretched her new flesh, up and down she moves, deeper and deeper her squats came as she fucked herself down nearly to the two inch base. Her pussy ached, burned as it stretched and tears welled in her eyes. It was too big!   But she thought about those wolf cocks and getting stuck, widening her stance Mandi leaned back and placed her hands on the floor and moved her hips.  Her pussy made sucking sounds as the cock moved in and out, deeper until she screamed in pain, fuck she wanted to get stuck, wanted this foreign cock with its eggs to seal her pussy as the eggs pumped into her.     Tears gathered in her eyes as she moved her legs farther out, her knees hit the floor with a sharp thud and she sat, forcing her pussy to sit down all the way on the cock.  Looking into her phone, she could see the skin stretched, her cunt swollen and red, her clit hard and ready for the slightest of touches to send her over the edge.  Taking a deep breath, Mandi lifted one leg and felt her way around the base, finding that button Nimmie talked about.  Pushing it down, the beads that sat at the base of the cock began to vibrate, rotate around and up.  Her cunt tightened its grip and her body jerked as she rotated her hips.  Fuck she could feel the eggs rising with the undulations of the beads.

“Fuck. Fuck, Fuck!” Mandi panted as her hand left the floor and slapped at her swollen clit in tandem.  She felt the first egg explode from the cock and straight into her, she could feel it right against her cervix, followed by another, then another.  Her hand slapped harder at her clit and as she moved she looked down at her flat belly, she watched as her skin moved, pushed out by the eggs filling her.

Her orgasm took root and she flung her head back and screamed.  Pressure like never before built low in her belly as she came.  Her hand never stopped slapping and rubbing her clit until it was too much and she lifted off the cock, her pussy releasing all her cum and juices in one great spasm.  She watched in awe as she squirted, the eggs falling out of her one by one with a wet slimy pop. One after another she watched as she forced her pussy to push the remaining eggs out, each one slowly falling to the floor.  Her pussy pulsed and her body trembled with aftershocks of the best fucking orgasm ever!

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“I’m telling you JJ I think I lost one! I have eleven eggs nit twelve! What happens if one is still inside me? What am I going to do? Go to the doctor and say hey doc by the way I fucked an alien dong, had its fake eggs shoved inside of me and now I lost one.  Can you look in my cunt and tell me what you see?”

JJ just laughed, “It probably rolled under something so stop freaking out! But look we need to go back to that store, cause girl I done used all that lube and those dildos! I’m so gaped I could fit my fist in there!” Shaking her head, she finished her conversation with JJ, thinking that he was probably right.  The eggs had come out at first so fast that she lost one.  Had to be.

That night Mandi lay curled on her side, her thoughts on sleep, her mind drifting off into nothingness, she felt a soft, wet squelch come from between her thighs.  Moaning in her sleep, her body thrashed about, wetness soaked her pussy and sheets as her legs spread by some unseen force.  Through her sleep, pain had her eyes flip open and she screamed as e cunt stretched.  Her knees bent and she rose on her elbows as she looked down her body.  One long thick tentacle slide from her cunt.  It was the same hues as the dildo, it slid from her pussy and onto her thigh, the rings of the suction cups molding to her flesh. Scrambling away, her body spasmed as the tentacle stayed stuck inside of her womb, the one long tentacle slithered off her thigh and moved up, the tip pushing through the slit of her wet core. The pointed tip flicked her clit hard enough to shock Mandi into pure pleasure.

“Ohmagod its real.  Oh fuuuck its real.” Her voice went from a high-pitched scared cadence to a low, pleasurable moan.  This is what she had fantasized about the first time she watched that damn porn.  Her fantasy becoming a reality.  The alien inside of her wiggled growing thicker, spreading her sunt much like the dildo did, stretching her to the point of pain, sealing tight.  The tip of the tentacle slide back and forth on her clit, the suction cups moving languidly over her clit, sucking and releasing each time with each suction cup.  The thick base shoved deep in her began to slither in and out, fucking her until she could no longer stand it, her orgasm tore through her body.  Her body bowed off the bed, every muscle seized in pleasure and her cum flowed from her pussy in great rushes around the tentacle. Her breathing labored she lifted her head to watch the tentacle move and slither back into her cunt, her lower belly becoming slightly pooched out where it rested in her womb.  

Would the other eleven eggs be the same? If they stayed in her would they hatch too?  How many could she keep inside of her at once?  She wanted to fond out.  Would it be like that porn?  A tentacle for every hole? Her mouth, ass and pussy all having one at the same time? Her pussy pulsed as her cum leaked from her open slit.  There was only one way to find out.  Jumping out of bed, she found the ovipositor, and began to pop the remaining eggs into the cock.  Her belly wiggled in anticipation as she positioned her phone once more, then sank low on the cock, hoping that the other eleven eggs would too take root inside of her womb.  

[nekohime19]

Mini Mac # 45 : Lil guy's giant

Monkeys courting. Babies being devils. Sanzang being kidnapped. A normal day.

Wukong didn't like the place they reached. Bramble Ridge, as it was called, was full of mist and odd whispers. The forest was veiled by an aura of deceit that pricked his skin. Nonetheless, Sanzang was tired, and everyone was looking forward to resting. As such, they decided to stop here.

“What are you even afraid of, Monkey? There are no traces of humans, let alone beasts here.” Snorted Bajie, as always eager to mock his elder brother.

“Aren't you being a bit over-precautious?” Tentatively asked Wujing. It was no secret that since Wukong confessed to Macaque, he became even more protective, if it was possible, of his tiny family. Wukong huffed, well as long as he was here, even if the forest was haunted, he could deal with it.

The great sage looked down at his heart-pocket, Macaque and the cubs were resting there, protecting themselves from the cold mist, curled together in a cute pile of fluffiness.

“We stopped?” Asked Macaque. Both cubs peeked from their dad's belly and looked up with wide curious eyes. Wukong cooed at his family.

“Yeah, Ao Lie is making the fire.” Macaque nodded at that, he climbed out of Wukong's pocket, the great sage carefully took him and put him on the ground.

Once they were put down, Savage leaped off Macaque's arms and ran on all-four around the camp, her tiny paws were soon full of mud, same with her tiger skin kilt. She was faster and faster these days. Wukong was excited for when she would try to walk on her own two feet.

“Well, that will be a delight to wash.” Sighed Macaque as he watched her daughter roll around in the mud. Rumble was put down from Macaque's arms too. These days, Wukong and Macaque were trying to make him walk on his own. Rumble looked up at them with a pout, he didn't like to walk on muddy floors, especially when he could be cradled.

“Come on, bud. You can do it.” Encouraged Wukong with a nod. Rumble pouted harder, he looked up at the great sage with puppy dog eyes. He lifted his chubby arms and tried to reach for Wukong, looking cute.

“Mrrp.” Chittered Rumble. And because he knew his parents loved it he added some incomprehensible blabber “waaa.” Contrary to his sister, Rumble didn't blabber a lot, he only did it when he wanted something.

“Awww” Cooed Wukong, he was about to cave to his son's whims but Macaque stopped him.

“Wukong, can you search for food please?” Asked the black-furred monkey with a soft smile. Wukong fur fluffed up and he nodded frantically.

“O-of course! Anything you want!” Squeaked the great sage before scrambling to satisfy his mate's wishes. They were still in the early stages of their relationship where they wanted to do everything the other wished. It was especially the case with Wukong. He became overly clingy. Macaque was more one for words. He was too embarrassed to do this sort of thing in public. But he was whispering honeyed words to the other all night. It began with “You look great today” and before he knew it he found himself writing full stanzas for Wukong.

It's been one week since their confession, and they were both in the thrall of the honeymoon phase.

Macaque crouched down before his son and playfully flicked his snout. “Now you can't use your Pa to get out of this. Come on, blossom, just walk a little.” Rumble sneezed because of the flick and glared at his dad. He pouted harder but he knew his dad wasn't as weak-heated as his pa. The cub let out a grumpy “mrrp” and began to slowly walk on all four.

Macaque cooed at him “That's good! You did good. You need to exercise those lil paws of yours once in a while.” The black-furred monkey picked up his son after a few minutes of crawling and walking. Rumble was pouting, he wiped his tiny muddy paws on his dad's chest.

“Mm, I should have seen this coming.” Winced Macaque as he looked at the pawprints on his chest.

Wukong came back at this moment with a huge pile of fruits, as tall as a pinetree. Macaque sweatdropped, he didn't ask for this much.

“Here I got food!” Proudly chirped Wukong as he showed off his enormous pile. He wanted to impress Macaque!

“You idiot Monkey! What are we gonna do with that much fruit!” Groaned Bajie.

“Eat them, what else?” Huffed Wukong.

“Well at least we're gonna eat well.” Cheered Wujing, always the one seeing the positive.

“Oh, he got dragon fruit too! Nice.” Added Ao Lie with an approving nod.

“Courting monkeys are the worst.” Grumbled Bajie as he pinched his eyebrows.

“You only say that because you have no mate, Piglet.” Mocked the great sage with crossed arms.

“At least I did not pine for litteral centuries.” Sneered Bajie. Both monkey and pig glared at each other.

“Let's not fight!” Interrupted Sanzang, he was trying to reach the lil devil who climbed in his headdress. Recently, Savage decided she wanted to explore Sanzang's headdress. It was big and shiny, and how could she leave it unexplored? Macaque sighed, he could already imagine all the muddy pawprints on the monk's headdress.

“Excuse me, great sage?” All the pilgrims stopped and turned towards the newcomer. It was an old man with a plate of steamed cake. “I am a local Deity of this forest, I welcome you here. But I'm afraid the only thing I have to offer is this plate.”

Bajie reached for the steamed cake, eager to eat them, but he was stopped by Wukong who grabbed him by the scruff of his neck and dragged him back.

“A local Deity?” Wukong frowned and scrutinized the old man, his smell screamed demon. “Who do you think I am? Get out of here!” Wukong grabbed his staff and swung it at the old man.

The demon clicked his tongue and transformed into mist, blinding everyone. He whisked away Sanzang and left quickly. Once the mist disappeared the pilgrims looked around and realized their master wasn't here anymore.

“Master!? This demon!” Growled Wukong. Macaque squeezed Rumble tightly, he paled once he realized Savage was on Sanzang's headdress.

“Savage was with Sanzang!” Fretted the black-furred monkey, Wukong paled before tightly gripping his staff, his daughter was in danger.

Meanwhile, Sanzang was transported to a hall with numerous other persons who all pretended to be righteous. They began to talk about poetry and philosophy. “Well, I've seen weirder.” Muttered Sanzang.

The monk grabbed his headdress and picked Savage, the tiny monkey peeked from the monk's fingers and looked around with wonder. “You stay still, alright?” Fretted Sanzang. Savage chirped, excited, and began to pawe at the fingers holding her. She wanted to explore! “Oh boy.” Sweatdropped the monk.

Sanzang managed to gold the tiny cub for one minute. It was an achievement in itself. But then he blinked and she disappeared. The monk yelped and looked around, panicked. He smiled tightly at the man around him talking about poetry and looked for his niece. He found her on the head of someone called Apricot Immortal, a young woman with luminous starlike eyes. Sanzang nervously approached the woman, she beamed at him.

“This is a great day isn't it?” She purred with delight. Sanzang gulped, his eyes darted to Savage, who was pawing at the women's hair. Luckily, Savage was so tiny her paws felt like feathers hitting you.

“Yeah, the greatest of days.” Gulped the monk. The next minutes were one of the most embarrassing of his existence. Clearly the young woman was trying to seduce him, which was already awkward because of his buddhists belief, but he had to pretend to be receptive to get ahold of his niece.

“You know you have great eyes.” Praised Apricot Immortal.

“Thanks. They're natural?” Replied Sanzang. How did people even flirt these days? He pretended to chase a fly and tried to reach for Savage, but she skillfully avoided his fingers and remained on the woman's head. The monk was at the same time frustrated by his niece slipperiness and impressed by her agility.

“You know I've been so lonely in recent years.” Sighed Apricot Immortal. “I long for company.”

“Well, huh, I'm sure you'll find it. Someday who is not today.” Awkwardly replied the monk, he patted the woman's head and grabbed his niece before she could run away. Savage squeaked in frustration. The monk then bid his farewell and walked away, as stiff as a board. He didn't know where he was but he needed to get out of here.

All the other guests began to encircle him, and Sanzang clutched Savage harder, not letting her out of his sight. But before one demon could do something, the roof of the hall was ripped off and a giant monkey made of smoke and shadows peered down at them.

Sanzang paled. Well this has been a great life. Savage looked up at the giant and chirped in delight, she lifted her chubby arms and tried to reach for it.

Luckily, the giant turned out to be Macaque and the demons, who were in truth tree demons, were all dealt with.

“I didn't know you could do that.” Muttered Sanzang as he watched Macaque fret over his daughter. Squishing her cheeks and looking all over her. Wukong was fretting alongside him.

“It's a new thing.” Answered Macaque once he was sure his daughter was fine.

“You should have been there, Master. Wukong became all flustered when Macaque transformed.” Giggled Ao Lie.

“Ao Lie!” Squeaked Wukong with red cheeks.

The pilgrims snickered at their brother's embarrassment.

+ cut scenes

Macaque *worried dad mode* *become giant of shadows*

Wukong : ��, that's kinda hot

 

Sanzang *looking at the giant* : 😭 I'm dead

Savage *looking at the giant* : 😆 Dad!!

 

Rumble *refusing to walk* : I am a precious monkey and I refuse to be dirtied by mud 😤

Macaque : Come on, bud. For dad

Rumble :... I will do it, but only a little

Ch1 / Previous / Next

[bogleech]

What are your favourite dragon quest monsters across the entire series?

The first Dragon Quest Monsters game I've ever gotten to play wound up being the first one to leave out exactly the top three I looked forward to getting:

GIANTSLUG/MAULUSC: I'm pickier about slug and snail creatures than you maybe expect but I love the vapid drippy zombie face of the DQ slug. It perfectly captures the appeal of a slug as a monster, a mindless gooey thing that will just eat you without a care. And its classic color scheme is that of a Banana Slug!!

BELZEBUB: I am also picky about fly creatures; usually I want them to have the proboscis present in some way, and the correct number of wings (two). There's something I still love about the toothy mouth of Belzebub however, maybe the way it curls up between the eyes? It just does a good job capturing the feel of a fly's personality I guess.

DARKEYE/EYELASHER: eye creatures can also very easily feel a bit boring to me because I've just seen so, so many of them, but DQ's basic killer eyeball appeals to me a lot with its irregular fungus-like collection of tentacles. The little root branches on "top" are especially cool to me, and sometimes they're the bottom, because they represent where the eyeball attaches to either floors or ceilings! In a few games, they're even encountered as parasites inside bigger monsters!

I used to admire the guidebook to the first two DQ Monsters games as a kid but never had the games themselves, and never got around to any other DQ titles. I just spent my whole life waiting for just the right one where I'd finally get to assemble my three favorites, then finally this new one comes out and has to be the first time these three took a vacation :( But, Dark Prince was at least nice enough to include exactly my next three favorites in the franchise. I went over them already in my DQM Dark Prince post but some people will see this post first so I will have to reintroduce them:

DROHL: droopy flappy membranous mollusk guys, honestly horrible looking in a great way. In 3d games it turns out their helmetlike head spirals in the back like a snail shell! Apparently they're meant to be troll-like beings.

LUNATICK: just a blue fleshy sac thing with gooey antennae, a bunch of tentacles (most of them segmented like worms!) and a little eyeball, perfect, no criticisms, also reminds me of what Berserk considers an "Incubus:"

(Don't worry, Berserk Incubus aren't sex monsters but monsters that give you nightmares and feed on the fear)

TAILEATER/MAD MOLLUSK: I love how pathetic their front face looks, and the whole shape is so pleasantly reminiscent of an abyssal sea cucumber of some kind.

SKULLROO/GUAARDVARK: I didn't even realize this was one of my top favorites until getting it in Dark Prince. It's an unpleasant wrinkly fat aardvark kangaroo thing that just always carries a human skull around. Its profile says they collect them and the one they carry is their favorite! A lot of slightly lower favorites were also left out however, none of these are in Dark Prince but are very high up there to me:

PYURO: what is this thing? I don't know! Different games have categorized it as an insect or a plant. It's a furball with five eyes encircling a butterfly proboscis, two little legs and a big huge ring of flower petals behind it. Very xenobiology.

TONGUELLA: it's kinda like a dumpy, hairless sloth with an aardvark tail with a mushed-in dog face and a giant gross tongue. I guess I just like foul moist beasts. I wish this was a real mammal we had in the world, I bet it'd smell terrible. Feels like a perfect counterpart to Guaardvark.

SLURPERON: it's one tiny pitcher plant with a giant tongue and then it has cool reptilian eyes at the bottom end. So simple and so rad! A fun way to stylize a pitcher plant monster without ripping off Victreebel.

SICKLER: is a little tiny mantis in a robe, like the Tonberry from Final Fantasy but a mantis

RAGIN' CONTAGION: a newer one, a gooey vaporous cyclops ghost that represents disease. In its first appearance as a boss in the series the English localizers decided it should talk like Yosemite Sam. Sure why not!

So I like the new game and it gave me some new favorites like Skellyfish and new appreciation for some others, but oddly it only has my very middle all-time faves

[eriexplosion]

Here's How Shrimp Trooper Theory Can Still Win

This is as fringe as it gets folks.

I've done my very serious Tech lives essay now it's time for my actual wild theory. Plus @katara-stan-club wanted the shrimp trooper essay and I will take any opportunity to yammer. Please don't take this extremely seriously as it is just something that I'm spinning up for entertainment and is almost certainly not true. (Unless!)

So the opening to Confined is... Odd to me. I've mentioned this in a post before but just to recap, it is definitely the odd man out of the three season starters.

Season one of course we intro with Caleb, who then leads us directly to meet the batch and get our first character appearances, along with convenient introductions. A fun, action packed little scene before things immediately go to hell.

Season two we intro with the batch in the middle of a job, which gives us another fun action scene that shows us how much Omega has grown, as well as the current status of the batch itself.

Season three though? Season three starts us off with a ship going down in a lightning storm and all the stormtroopers inside assumed to be eaten by the giant monsters that lurk in Tantiss' jungles. (Going by Omega's tally marks later in the episode, we're about 20 days post plan 99.) Nothing to do with the batch at all, though we do get a glance at what's in the jungle, and a tiny bit more of Hemlock being a bastard of course.

Now, seemingly, this scene is the set up for episode three, when they make their escape and head for the downed ship.

Except it's completely unnecessary. When they get to the ship, it turns on but it's incapable of flight and the comms are still down and non functioning. The ship they end up taking and using to escape is the ship that came in pursuit of them. The plot would have gone down exactly the same if they had just picked a direction and fled without the downed ship. It's a complete red herring for how they ultimately end up escaping.

So why is it important enough to open the season on if the ship essentially functions as nothing more than a destination point?

Enter Shrimp Trooper Theory.

Going back to the stormtroopers. We have four of them inside the ship, the pilot and three others. We're going to be focusing on our boy on the far right of the second picture.

The pilot speaks before the ship goes down so we can confirm he's a rando. Our fellow in the middle speaks next, identifying himself as TK-343, another rando. The one on the far left talks about wild beasts proving himself, you guessed it, a third rando. But our boy on the far right doesn't talk at all through this whole scene, leaving his identity up in the air.

So we'll take a closer look at him and brighten the scene up a bit.

Now, seeing this guy hobble his way out of the ship, I thought that he looked somewhat familiar. Specifically.

That shitty ass posture. (Forgive the sloppiness of the edit I did this comparison once before and I am not remaking it)

We do not actually see the troopers all get eaten, we cut to the interior of Tantiss before it happens. Theoretically there is nothing stopping this shrimp shaped man from being Tech.

The timeline of shrimp trooper theory:

Tech falls from the rail car and manages to survive the landing but he's severely injured. He crawls away/gets scraped off the ground by Saw.

Roughly 3 weeks pass in which he is recovering and healing yet unable to comm out as, per episode 4 of season 3, Imperial planets monitor long range communications. But, he is able to gather information from the flights going in and out of Eriadu to determine which ones are being assigned to Hemlock's secretive lab. Once he is able to confirm this, he steals some stormtrooper armor and boards.

Ship goes down because gravity hates him in particular and he is almost eaten by a Beast.

Now stranded in the jungle on Tantiss, Tech finds his infiltration plan foiled by the fact that he is being continually hounded by even more Beasts.

Several months later, Batcher is released and for some reason goes straight for the wrecked ship. Somehow she survives out here, but we're not sure how - potentially she had help?

Tech IS the mystery clone X that we see but rather than being brainwashed he has finally managed to get inside Tantiss and yet again begins to Steal Clothing from others.

Crosshair and Omega immediately break out without him leaving him stranded in Tantiss where he presumably still is, attempting to avoid detection and continue to gather information that will aid in the eventual liberation of the other clones.

Is this unlikely? Yes! Is it overly complicated? Absolutely! Am I endlessly entertained by it anyway? You bet!

Benefits of Shrimp Trooper Theory include, but are not limited to:

A living, non brainwashed Tech! The most important feature one could have!

An extremely ridiculous Only In Star Wars series of events!

Retroactive explanation for why the ship going down was an important scene to start on.

Hemlock ruining his own life by not sending someone out to recover the team and just assuming they'd totally be taken care of by the wildlife.

More giant monsters than Wrecker could shake a stick at.

The possibility of Tech and Batcher offscreen shenanigans.

Tech thinking he's finally found Crosshair and making plans to retrieve him when, SURPRISE, OMEGA'S HERE TOO AND THEY'RE ESCAPING. RIGHT NOW.

Seriously just imagine the epic sigh Tech would let out as they flew away completely unaware of his presence. His life is a series of difficulties.

He can simply turn up with the coordinates to Tantiss because god knows how else they're going to manage to get them.

This is my conspiracy theory that I'm allowing myself to believe in as a treat. It will almost certainly not be what occurs but the thought of it makes me happy.

[a-twistedheartslonging]

Just had a thought.

So all animals behave differently with different creatures and whether they view it as threat or hunter or food or curiosity etc.

Which makes me wonder what sea creatures that don't really bother humans would bother Azul (octomer) or the Leech twins. I feel like merfolk would all have different worries depending on their form and area and abilities.

Sperm whales don't bother people and mostly just vibe but that's cause sperm whales eat giant squid and we're also super tiny so they're mostly just curious though dangerous still. However Azul is a rather large octoform entity. Is a sperm whale an octomer or squidmer's nightmare beast?

Do they all have to worry about lampreys? Or free swimming parasites like how we have to worry about ticks and certain seasons in certain areas? I wonder...

Hmmm well, the twins like to eat octopus much like regular eels and I think I remember them hinting at wanting to nom Azul. I think if it's a mer with a mer their mostly ok but a mer with the actual animal that eats the species he's related to and its one also capable of eating them then it's something they would have to worry about.

Of course, some of that depends on if mers do participate in cannibalism, which I've seen as dependent on. Or if not, then just taking bites out of others. Floyd is a bitey guy, I remember reading that bit about him trying to take bites out of those puppet guys in that one event.

They probably do have to deal with lampreys and parasites like us with ticks, fleas, and lice.

[factual-fantasy]

Heya Factual! Just saw the Pokemon post- and while obviously the art is amazing as always- it's even cooler seeing you do some on paper art! I've always just doodled on paper myself, so it's sweet seeing you making some art the ol'fashioned way- and despite you claiming to be rusty, it came out great regardless! I especially like that haunter- a haunter named Grimace is the best thing I've seen all week!

And Thanks a million for answering my last Ask regarding goombas despite your cold- and I greatly appreciated you letting us know how much you appreciate our Asks- even if I can get a bit long winded at times... And staying on the theme of Koopa Troop related questions, another thing I wonder is what place the hammer bros and their variants have in the main Mario AU?

I imagine if they were included, they would maintain their status as elite soldiers- but function more like their original cartoon interpretations rather than the modern ones- as its suggested the modern variants use power ups- and magic- which the average Koopa in the AU simply cannot do- so they'd probably just be unique sub species with perhaps specialized gear and training- but what do you imagine that would include? And would all the variants be included- such as fire, ice, boomerang, and sledge- or none at all?

Oh, and just a goofy little side question- you mentioned the quadrupedal, more animalistic Koopa breeds such as the Spineys and Buzzy Beetles would be kept and treated as pets by their more intelligent relatives- how do you think one would go about taking care of such a creature? Would they be more like dogs or cats? Would they perhaps still be used for battle like in the movie- where Bowser took advantage of the buzzy beetles great strength by mounting bullet bill blasters upon their shells? And, most importantly- would your AU perhaps include the long held fan head cannon that cross breeding of Spineys and Buzzy Beetles eventually lead to the creation of the most powerful, fire proof, spike bearing, and creatively named beast of all time- the Spike Top!?

(Pokemon post in question)

:DD Thank you so much! I'm glad that you like my traditional art! :}} The hardest part about it is trying to take a nice picture of the drawing with my phone- 😅

I'm also happy to hear that people like the name Grimace! I was inspired by the McDonalds guy- XDD

As for the hammer bros, you got a lot right. They can't use power ups so the fire and ice bros gotta go. I also don't intend for them to use magic so the hammer bros endless supply of hammers also has to go-

I pictured the hammer and boomerang bros being regular koopas that just happen to be big and brawny. They were probably selected based on their body type and given special training. The B-bros still have their usual boomerangs, but the H-bros would get one giant hammer. As opposed to a million tiny ones-

Their status is nowhere near blue shells. They're probably above standard koopas but below parakoopas. :0

As for the more "animal like" Koopa relatives.. I'm not sure what would go into taking care of them.. I assume a good diet, scrubbing their shells.. stuff like that? I also imagined them ranging in size. Some of the spiny breeds growing big enough to be used as cattle/worker/farm animals. :0 not so much dogs and cats- I pictured them being a bit grumpy and slow. Not really a great pet-

Also I don't know if mixing a Buzzy beetles with a spiny would make a spike top- at least in my au.. but I can see where the headcanon comes from!

Speaking of spike top, they could be the same as spinys. But perhaps they don't grow that big- These little cranky turtles that could be taken in as a pet. And perhaps some Koopa families have! Though most koopas aren't interested in adopting a grumpy spike top- 😅😅

Also thank you for the ask! Bringing stuff like this to my attention and really getting me to think my AU through more! :}}✨💞✨

[majoresca]

King's Knights & Royal Sorcerers

(I'm kind of thinking about working this into a fanfic, when I finish watching all the original material of course.)

You know what I think could have been cool for Sofia The First?

Since Cedric was a stereotypical "evil sorcerer" who redeemed himself.

Imagine if there was something just the opposite: a king's knight who becomes corrupted as the story goes on, going over to the evil side?

Since knights are always seen as good guys,as they battle and kill beasts, giants and dragons.

In a world where these creatures are peaceful, the knights' attacks would not be seen as heroic and necessary. But rather as cruel acts of excess force, when they are hunting these beings for sport.

If the royal sorcerer, who was disloyal, managed to regain his honor by proving himself worthy in saving the royal family.

What would happen to the king's knight, that after all these years, decided to betray the throne he had sworn to protect?

That, and because I wanted Cedric to have a feud with a knight, who keeps showing off how much more useful he is to the king than the royal sorcerer.

Which would definitely make Cedric very angry with him. To the point of wanting to take revenge on him, personally.

( Like that army of tiny soldiers we see in Cedric the Great.)