#I actually have another fic in my notes app that I wrote last month | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

9tzuyu · 3 years ago

Text

stay.

note: normally i try not to get too personal with authors notes, but #lolz feeling a little silly and goofy ig

i really debated posting this because all it is - is a huge vent/dump fic. i don't expect anyone to read this or for it to really go anywhere and that's fine with me. i'm actually a little embarrassed? i guess you could say? i don't know. a lot of issues are coming up revolving around my ed so i just had to get it out.

+ i do promise to try and work on requests and lighter stuff. i still cant afford a new computer so im doing everything from my phone. it'll take some time, i'm sorry about that. i'll try my best to get requests out as soon as i can.

warnings: talks about anorexia/eating disorders. if you decide to read this i strongly advise you to take a moment beforehand because i do go pretty in depth at some points. i dont want to trigger anyone or anything, so the warning is here.

**please note that this is heavy thought based at first before it moves onto dialogue.

**and remember this is just a vent/comfort fic i originally wrote for myself, so if it’s not as good as any of my other fics you guys like i’m sorry.

ALSO SORRY TO KILL THE HALLOWEEN SPIRIT HELP

++ please be safe tonight

ty moli for proofreading i love u <3

it was impossible to understand why such an awful thing could be glamorized

you were only ten when you first stumbled across the sites. sacred rules could be found plastered all over the home pages in cute fonts to distract from how twisted the demands were. lists of diets and calorie counting apps were always linked on the side, along with pages full of videos pertaining to weight loss.

even at a young age, you knew it was obviously all wrong, that the people running these blogs had to be sick themselves. but that didn’t stop you from continuing your exploration of the community. once you started you couldn’t stop.

by the time you were twelve, you counted on laxatives and self-induced vomiting to ease your insecurities. it worked for a while, but then it wasn’t enough. you had to do more, be better than the person you were a few months prior.

at thirteen, you joined group chats and ran your own little blog tied to those who could relate. the praise for losing weight easily became your biggest motivator. because if you were the smallest, you were the best. within a few years, you’d been perfectly trained into thinking that less was good, and that becoming more was the worst thing you could ever be.

you were taught that losing hair and bruises on your skin were the things you wanted. if you didn’t have those, then you were hopeless, not enough. others in the community told you to look up to those cliche, horribly written characters with eating disorders. no matter how many stereotypes and stigmas they gave off, those characters would always be praised some way or another. you weren’t shocked to say that reading winter girls did you no favors at all.

the next few years were on and off between misery and glimpses of happiness. it was never ending. nonetheless, you ignored what every therapist told you and remained firm on the belief that your body was different from the rest. your body wouldn’t go too far like the others because you were strong. you’d come so far already, why would you stop now?

you denied your diagnosis of anorexia because nothing was wrong. you weren’t in a hospital bed dying of heart failure. why were you supposed to believe what you were doing wasn’t right when nothing serious has gone wrong? that was your point, although you knew somewhere in your mind it wasn’t normal to cry over a turkey sandwich or panic at the thought of even smelling food.

so you stayed true to your routine of hiding food, packing on layers of concealer, and lying straight through your teeth when asked if you’d stuck to your meal plan.

it never lasted long though because despite your best efforts, your body would eventually give away the truth on its own. weigh-ins became impossible to trick, your extra small clothes hung two sizes too big over your body. anyone with eyes could see that you’d been less than truthful the entire time.

as you got older, you found that some years were better than others. your body could be healthy and you found yourself genuinely enjoying those around you. friends and family said you were more fun to be around. during those times they didn’t have to worry so much, they could laugh at lame jokes you’d tell without thinking it might be the last one they’d ever hear.

during those years, your eating disorder was much more quiet. you were able to eat food and not feel as guilty as you would when you were sick. the thoughts were always there; they were just more manageable than before.

but somewhere in your twenties, you found yourself still stuck in the cycle introduced to you at the tender age of ten. you were old enough now to know and believe what you were doing was wrong, but the fear of facing and fighting back against your eating disorder was too scary of a thought for you to handle.

you knew now that when you were younger people brainwashed you into believing smaller was better. they took the lighter side of eating disorders and turned them into goals you’d want to reach.

the people you’d met on pro-anorexia websites romanticized the fuck out of the disease, leading you to believe you’d be beautiful and envied by others as long as you had a gap between your thighs and size zero pants around your waist. you thought someone would’ve wanted you as long as you were frail and dainty (two words commonly misused to describe someone who was actually weak and dying).

it was a mystery to you at sixteen why you were so miserable when you were promised happiness and self-confidence. girls didn’t envy you like you’d been told they would. instead they’d stare at you, weirded out by how freakishly skinny you were. your name was constantly in people’s mouths at school, everyone wondering why you’d ever want to look like that.

friendships didn’t last long either. you wore people out with your constant need to skip out last minute on plans that had been scheduled for over a week. things didn’t make your case any better when you’d snap at your friends for wanting to get something to eat because they were hungry. a few small, petty arguments too many, and they’d be on their way as far from you as they could go.

you’d never felt more alone in your life when even your longest friends started to grow tired of your behavior.

why couldn’t they think about how tired you were of it? you are with yourself 24/7 after all.

those in charge of the sites forgot to mention all the extremes you’d learn to go to when it came to avoiding or getting rid of food. it was more than just sneaking dinner into your dog's mouth. for you, it was hiding sacks of vomit in your closet, throwing them in a large plastic bag the night before trash day. for you it was throwing up in your friend's front yard while they ran inside for a few minutes to get something. for you it was hitting yourself in the stomach for over an hour hoping to replace hunger pain with physical pain against your body.

no one ever mentioned the insane beliefs that tagged along with anorexia. like the ones you had where you thought fast food water had calories in it because it was surrounded by the smell of food, or thinking that shampoo and advil had hidden calories in them that would somehow leak into your body.

you knew how stupid and irrational everything sounded, but those beliefs were so ingrained in your mind it was hard to challenge them.

another unmentioned concern no one cared to bring up was the fact that you’d eventually have to tell people new in your life what you’d struggled with. you told natasha awhile before you started dating her and she didn’t run off or stray away from you. you were grateful for that, but it didn’t make things very much easier for you.

if things were bad, then date nights rarely ever consisted of going out for food. this hardly ever bothered natasha too much, but you could see the occasional falter in her eyes when you told her you’d rather do something else. she’d love to take you out hold your hand as you walked to the ice cream shop after you’d eaten dinner. she’d love to enjoy a glass of wine or two at a nice restaurant with a four course meal, but you couldn’t always give her that.

there had been a few dates ruined by your eating disorder. the worst of which came just a few short months after you’d told her about your issue.

the fair was in town and natasha was over the moon about the idea of taking you with her. you weren’t in the best mindset that particular day though. the thought of being around fried, greasy food was enough to make your stomach churn, but you saw how happy she was and didn’t want to ruin her the surprise she had for you.

half way through the night you had a panic attack, cutting the date short. words couldn’t even begin to describe how guilty you felt. natasha drove you back to hers, silence filling the air after you apologized profusely. she spent the night watching over you, making sure you didn’t do anything because she knew how angry you were with yourself.

dates like those came few and far between, especially through the years you weren’t struggling as badly.

you couldn’t say the same for now though.

you tapped your feet against the tile flooring as you sat in the lobby of your doctor's office. natasha sat next to you, hand clasped tightly over yours. she was worried. beyond worried, really.

like many times before in the previous years, you’d managed to hide your relapse quite well from others. the only reason natasha knew now was because you’d passed out on the job. you’d woken up in the hospital to her setting a glass of water on the table next to your bed.

you argued about it for three days before finally agreeing to go to the doctor.

truth be told, natasha was probably more worried about it than you were. the only thing occupying your mind was the fear of having to gain weight again, but also the chance that you might lose natasha if you didn’t get it together this time.

you weren’t a kid anymore. you knew very well she had the right to leave if she wanted to. you also knew the bind you were putting her in. if she left, natasha would run the risk of worsening your situation and in a month's time she might not ever see you again. but if she stayed, then she’d only be screwing herself over by destroying her own mental health.

neither one of those options were ones you liked.

“y/n?”

you looked up to see a nurse standing in the doorway of the lobby. natasha gripped your hand as you stood up and you nodded for her as an okay to follow you. stepping on the scale was the worst part, especially since the nurse had no idea of your current situation and decided to allow you to look at the number in front of you. natasha was about to say something, but you’d already seen what the scale said, anyway.

she did, however, grimace at the sight of how skinny your arm was when you took off your jacket for a blood pressure check. just like the rest of your body it was too thin.

“temperature and weight are low-”

you are slowly dying, was the translation.

“-but your blood pressure is just above where it should be.” she left the room after jotting down the reason for your visit, telling you that your doctor would be in shortly.

you spent the next fifteen minutes waiting in an uncomfortable silence, watching as natasha fiddled with the ring on her index finger.

“it’ll be okay, nat.”

“we’ll see what the doctor says.”

“i’m sorry.” she sighed, running her fingers through her hair. “i know you are.”

her reply didn’t help the matter, only making you feel more guilty by the second. guilt you didn’t have room to feel when you were the one doing this to yourself.

a light knock on the door made noise and your doctor walked in, a smile on her face like the previous times you’d been in her office.

“hello dr. hill.”

“y/n,” she greeted.

the doctor flicked through your files on her computer before she addressed you herself.

“want to tell me in your own words what happened?”

you shrugged, “hit another relapse. passed out at work. argued with my girlfriend over whether or not i should be here.”

she hummed, taking your hands in her own, examining how blue your fingernails had turned. “a lot less pink from the last time i saw you.”

her stethoscope met your spine, and you inhaled, exhaling as she moved it around the back of your body.

“lungs sound fine.” you waited patiently until she finished listening to your chest. “your heartbeat isn’t where i’d like it to be, but seeing as you’re a little over twenty pounds underweight, it’s exactly where i’d expect it to be.”

dr. hill paused, jotting down a few notes on her clipboard. “i strongly recommend hospitalization.” deal breaker. you shook your head instantly, instantly regretting making the appointment.

natasha swallowed back a sob full of anger and frustration. “why not?”

“i just can’t, alright? it’s not even that bad.” you mumbled.

dr. hill stepped out into the hallway, giving you and natasha space to talk.

“did you not hear her? jesus christ it’s like talking to a brick wall with you.” she paced around the room, emotions too high for her to think properly before speaking.

“well then leave, natasha. i don’t care anymore.”

“i don’t want to! that’s the last thing i ever want to do to you. but god, why can’t you just fucking eat?”

she couldn’t stop the words from slipping from her mouth. her heart broke when she saw the look on your face.

“and why can’t you understand it’s not always about that?” you whispered to the ground.

“i know. i’m sorry, i didn’t mean to say that. but please, we can do this together. i’ll there every step of the way, you just have to want it for yourself.” she pleaded, eyes watery with tear tracks tracing the edge of her jaw.

“i just want to go home. can we just go home, please?”

. . .

the smell of natasha’s dinner aired throughout the kitchen. you watched as she filled her plate with a variety of things. it looked good — good enough to eat — you couldn’t lie about that.

natasha hadn’t spoken a word to you since the appointment earlier in the day, too upset to even think about it.

you were conflicted about everything.

literally everything.

but seeing natasha sitting alone, face propped up resting against her arm, flipped something inside of you.

you could almost hear her voice telling you to try, just try, that’s all she wanted from you. the both of you knew you’d end up dead if you didn’t. and you didn’t really want that, no matter how many times you wished it would happen.

so you went to grab your own plate, filling as much as you thought you were comfortable with and sat next to nat. this was the first time you’d done this in months.

you inhaled, but made no move to take a bite.

your thoughts had never been this loud before. it was bickering back and forth, nonstop.

you wont be good anymore if you eat that.

– yes i will.

you’re disgusting.

– i’m just hungry.

it’ll go away.

– i just want to eat. it’s just food. nothing more.

you know you can’t do that. you’re bad, horrible, the worst person in the world. so be good.

“damnit!” you slammed your fork down, startling natasha.

breathe.

“you’ve got this.” natasha’s soft voice came from beside you and her hand clasped into yours. “how’s this? i can talk about something, anything you’d like to take your mind off of this.”

you cleared your throat with a small nod, “it’s almost halloween.”

“it is. do you want to do anything this year?”

“can we dress up and give away candy to the kids? and can we stay up and watch horror movies?” natasha giggled, “we sure can.”

she noticed how your fork began to circle around the food, pushing and shoving it around.

“can you take another bite?”

no.

don’t.

the metal hit your tongue, food leaving the fork and into your mouth.

“do you have any ideas as to what you would like to dress up as?”

“mmm. well i think we should definitely go as edward and bella from twilight.” you replied sarcastically.

“i love you, but there’s no way in hell you’ll get me to dress up as a sparkly vampire.”

her thumb rubbed the top of your knuckles. “another bite please. you’re almost there.”

your lip trembled and you could feel the lump in your throat start to form. you felt so stupid and humiliated that natasha had to do this for you.

with a shaky breath, you exhaled, pushing yourself once more.

“i think we should go as gay ken and barbie.” your lip twitched into a smile. “and who would you be?”

“well ken of course,” she confirmed.

“what it i wanted to be ken?”

“and what if i wanted to just wear a cat's ear headband with a black turtleneck and pants and call it a costume?”

“if you want to, we can.” the redhead smiled, shaking her head. “we can be anything your little heart desires. now, one last bite?”

and one last bite it was.

you liked that natasha didn’t clap and cheer when you finished your plate. too many times you’d been told “i’m so, so proud of you!” or “i can’t believe you actually finished!”, it was annoying. those types of things always made you feel like a child who couldn’t do anything to begin with.

instead, natasha went with a gentle “i knew you could do it” and went to put the dish in the sink. it felt nice to have someone really believe in you.

“c’mon, we can get ahead on our horror movie watching a little early.”

natasha went to grab your hand, leading you into the livingroom and onto the couch. you tensed when her arm wrapped around your body.

gross. disgusting. she shouldn’t touch you.

“hey, where’d you go just now?”

“hm? nowhere. i’m here.” she knew you were lying, but decided not to push.

natasha’s hand moved from your side up to your head, scrunching her fingers together to scrape her nails against your scalp.

not good. tainted. dirty. wrong.

“what movie would you like to watch?” she clicked the remote and scrolled through a series of horror movies.

ruined.

“bride of chucky?” when she didn’t receive a reply she pressed play anyway, knowing it was one of your favorites.

natasha tried her best to keep you as distracted as possible. she went from letting you play with her hair and rings to asking questions about the movie, despite already knowing the answers.

“we should go as chucky and tiffany. don’t you think? i’ve already got the red hair.”

why would you do that?

“yeah, that’d be fun.” your voice cracked, causing natasha’s previous hand movements to come to a halt.

“is there anything i can do to help you right now?”

“i just don’t want to be here right now.” natasha’s eyes widened, and you quickly went to clarify what you meant. “no- no- not like that! not like that at all. i just… i don’t know, i feel stupid.”

“why?”

“we have a bathroom. i just ate.” not a second later and natasha put the pieces together.

“oh.”

you nodded, “it’s stu-”

“it’s not stupid. it’s triggering.”

natasha moved to get off the couch, disappearing out of your sight. you didn’t have the energy to try and see what she was doing, so you stayed put.

“let’s go for a drive. i know a spot you might like. it’s quiet, away from the city. we can just talk or listen to music. we could also just sit in silence if you want, i don’t mind. whatever it takes until you feel ready to come back.”

you didn’t bother trying to tell her that she didn’t have to do this because she wouldn’t listen anyway. natasha’s stubbornness was honestly one of the few things that’s saved you.

“nirvana? stevie nicks? what are you in the mood for?” natasha asked you softly, thumb tapping her screen as she scrolled through her spotify playlists.

“will you play kurt’s version of the man who sold the world, please?”

“of course. and you know you’re always welcome to change the song. i put it on shuffle though.”

the ride there was more relaxing than you thought it would be. your mind and body were too focused on the lyrics of the song and fiddling with natasha’s free hand. the thoughts were still there, just not as loud as before.

soon enough, you and natasha both laid flat against the back of her car staring up at the moon. it was still. no noise could be heard apart from the sound of crickets a few feet away.

you had room to think, room to breathe.

you thought about what some of your friends were doing right now. you’d seen pictures on instagram of them representing their college, a couple of party posts, and the occasional travel selfie.

those were all the things you wanted to do, but couldn’t. it was easy to let yourself feel jealous. sure, you were more than grateful to have natasha, but there’s nothing fun about being in a relationship with someone so self-destructive. there was no doubt natasha loved you, but it’s hard to love someone who doesn’t want to be loved; or at least acts like they don’t.

so the choice was once again up to you. what was more important? spending days wasting away over something you’ll never reach? or living a new life, one that could be exciting, outside of your eating disorder?

“what’s on your mind?” natasha questioned, turning her head to the side to get a better view of your face. your cheeks were more hallow than she remembered and it made her stomach turn.

you hummed, “i was so caught up in my own pain i didn’t realize how much i was hurting everyone else around me. this race to be perfect; look where it got me.”

natasha didn’t know what the right thing to say was. your statement wasn’t necessarily wrong, so she couldn’t argue against it.

“i used to tell myself that my eating disorder never took anything from me. everyone always had something, whether it be a sport, or theater, or dance. i didn’t have that. and then i realized that’s exactly what my eating disorder took away from me. i haven’t done anything in the past decade except go through the motion. every day up until now i’ve lived to obey my eating disorder.”

there was pause, another inhale and another exhale.

“you could say i have someone; my family or friends, but after awhile they get tired. they stop trying and asking. they stop caring. a few years down the road and now i have a strained relationship with everyone i used to be close with. i guess it made it easier to accept what would inevitably happen to me.”

you turned to face her, a shaky breath leaving your mouth. “i don’t want to die, nat.”

the redhead had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying. she couldn’t imagine a life without you, she didn’t want to imagine it.

“had i known when i was a kid that this would be my life i would’ve never continued on like this.”

“you still have time, you can still get better.” she reasoned.

“i know, it’s just hard.”

“you’re in the fight for your life, it won’t ever be easy.” natasha affirmed. “but i know you can do this.”

“we’ll see.”

. . .

*gasp* an eating disorder fic that doesn’t revolve around the fear of getting fat? v tired of that stereotype pleek not everyone with an ed is like that.

#natasha romanoff x reader #natasha romanov x reader #black widow x reader #natasha x reader #tw: eating disorder

118 notes · View notes

gentil-minou · 3 years ago

Text

2021 Creator Self-Love Extravaganza!

Tagged by @randowwriter (This is actually really sweet and exactly what I needed so thank you for tagging me <3)

Rules: It’s time to love yourselves! Choose your 5 favorite works (fics, art, edits, etc.) you’ve created this year and link them below to reflect on the amazing things you’ve brought into the world in 2021. If you don’t have five published works, that’s fine! Include ideas/drafts/whatever you like that you’ve worked on/thought about, and talk a little about them instead! Remember, this is all about self-love and positive enthusiasm, so fuck the rules if you need to. Have fun, and tag as many fellow creators as you like so they can share the love! <3

This is actually kinda hard cause I only wrote 7 fics (or started anyways) but I am kinda excited to go through them. I only started writing again back in November and when I think about the progress I made in just two months, I'm filled with all sorts of joy and excitement

Batter Up, Buttercup - PRPR post Glaciator 2, WIP

I still can't believe this fic gave me the courage to write and share my insane ideas. I started with a few scenes that I just couldn't get out of my head so I tapped into my notes app and then it grew from there. I'm so excited to continue this fic because I get to play with some of my fave tropes and explore things I've always wanted to read about, and yeah, I'm super excited.

Soft Like Sunshine - Anxious Marinette fic, during Ephemeral (WIP)

Literally a labor of love that causes me great pain yet tremendous joy when writing. I will put it down for weeks and think of it as trash but at the same time, it feels the most me, you know? I genuinely think I out part of myself into this fic and it helped me explore my own anxieties. I'm still kind of bummed about how it hasn't done as well as my other fics, but I think I'm reaching a point where if it doesn't that's okay. It's a hard fic to read, almost as hard as it was to write, but I'm glad I got to explore a different writing style about a topic I love. I'm on the home stretch now, getting the climax done and I'm excited to share it with everyone! The comments I have gotten tell me a few people resonate with it, and that's all I wanted.

Fool Me Twice, Shame on YOU - Ephemeral Reveal (Oneshot)

Another Epheral fic! I gotta thank the anon who suggested Chat thinking it was all an elaborate plot by Mothman. I still can't believe I wrote it all in one sitting, but it was so much fun to write! I was smiling the whole time! I still reread it sometimes and laugh at what I wrote, it was just so fun! It was also the fic that made me realize I'm supposed to like reading what I write. So yeah, an extra special place in my heart.

Sentiadrien Theory as a Narrative for Trauma Healing - Meta

Am I including a meta? Yes, yes I am. I'm so incredibly proud of this meta. For one, it was the first time I had been able to discuss my ideas of psychology in ML. For another, it actually helped people!!!!! I still can't believe I was able to provide comfort to folks who struggled with this theory, and for that I'm so incredibly excited and grateful, especially to the folks at the gamma squad because I wrote it out for them first and they all showered me with praise. I'm glad I was able to provide some comfort for people, it's all I ever want to do.

Blanc Out - WIP, not published

For the last one, I bring up an idea I've been thinking about since the summer. It's a Chat Blanc AU. As Adrien finds himself getting closer and more in love with Marinette, he finds himself getting grey hair too. He starts to lose time, periods where he blacks out and all the while his hair begins to turn snow white as he deals with his confusing feelings for Marinette. Meanwhile, Marinette gets a nightly visitor, in the form of her chaton....but something is different about him...

I'm sooooooo excited about this fic. I'd been thinking about it for AGES and now I'm actually in the planning stages. It's a long long way away from getting posted, but this is partially the reason why I've been practicing and trying new styles. I want to improve to a place where that fic is something I can be excited to share. I also get to write about my favorite concept in ML and it's just ahhhhhh I can't wait!

Again, thanks for the tag!!!

Tagging: @sketchy-panda @thesquipproject @sparklylovegiver @coccinelle-et-chaton @dandelionrumpancake @ladyofthenoodle @karkalicious769 @alexseanchai @galahadwilder @cardcq @inimoo

and honestly, anyone else who is looking for some positivity (I consider your original works part of this ;) )!!!! This gave me loads and now I'm gonna go and write more of SLS :)

#dsfdlkfdhsjf idk if the tags are working we will see #this was fun thank you <3 #bushy writing #tag game #miraculous ladybug #ml s4

12 notes · View notes

purselover2 · 4 years ago

Text

Title: Heart Watch

Chapter One

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Heart condition, medical condition, pregnancy issues, angst

Let me know if you want tagged.

A/N: This fic goes along with my others where the reader has a heart condition. They are:

Part One: Heart Revelation

https://purselover2.tumblr.com/post/640745865074638848/thank-you-everyone-for-the-love

Part Two: Heart Meds 101

https://purselover2.tumblr.com/post/640444840661991424/title-heart-meds-101-pairing-bucky-barnes-x

Heart Watch

“So y/n, how have you been feeling? Any issues with your heart or any episodes?” Doctor Cho asked.

“Feeling good. No issues at all. Actually feeling pretty good.” You reply. You knew these checkups were necessary but you always dreaded them. Worried that they might find something else or that a test would come back abnormal.

“Sweet, that’s good to hear. Well the blood work came back good and your heart sounds strong. This is one of the best exams you’ve had. Any idea what’s different this time around?” She joked knowing exactly what the difference was.

“Don’t know doc, might have something to do a certain super soldier who won’t stop reminding me every day, twice a day to take my meds.” You said. Ever since you’d told Bucky about your heart condition, he’d taken it upon himself to learn everything he could about the conditions. He’d already learned all about your medications and researched the signs to look for in case you had another episode. He reminded you of your meds every 12 hours either in person or via text. If wasn’t able to text, he’d have Friday contact you. It was sweet, you knew it was, but sometimes you felt smothered.

“Sounds romantic. He cares.” She replies.

“He just better be glad he’s cute.” You get up and start getting dressed. “So doc, I wanted to ask you something. What do you think about me having a baby?” You couldn’t look at her. You knew the answer but asked anyway.

“I think you better be joking. Y/n, you know that’s not a good idea. You know that birthing a baby would be extremely hard on your heart and potential fatal. I want you to put that notion out of your mind. There are other options to be a mother.” She explained.

“I know. I just wanted to check and see if anything had changed. You know modern medicine and advances and all.” You said trying to hide the disappointment.

“Hey, its okay. When the time comes that you want a baby we’ll figure it out.” She patted you on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you to get dressed and I’ll see you at the party tonight?”

“I’ll be there. Thanks.” You tried your best to smile and not show the pain in your heart. Not a physical pain, but the pain of knowing you’d never have a baby of your own. You and Bucky hadn’t talked about kids but you knew he loved him and figured that at some point the topic would come up.

Later that night you were getting ready for Morgan’s birthday party. You had been looking forward to it all week. Morgan was adorable and she adored you. You both loved Barbies and fashion and you had at last one pretend fashion show a month when you watched her so Tony and Pepper could go out.

“Hey baby.” Bucky called from the living room. He had just gotten back from a mission.

“In the bedroom!” You answered.

“Oh my god baby are you a sight for sore eyes.” He entered the room and came over and kissed you. “I’d give you a proper hello and hug but I need a shower in a bad way. Give me a few and I’ll be ready and we’ll go to the party together okay?”

“Sounds good. I’ll finish getting ready and make sure all her presents are ready.” You said as you grabbed your most confortable heels. Morgan was expecting everyone to come dressed like they were in a fashion show, so you weren’t going to disappoint. You heard the shower turn on and decided you’d help Bucky out and lay out his clothes for the party. Once that was done, you made your way into the living room and gathered up all the presents and put them into a stack so that Bucky could carry them.

Bucky entered the room and you smiled. “Well hello there handsome.”

“Well hello there gorgeous.” He made his way over to you. “How about giving me a proper hello now?”

Making your way into his arms, you wrapped your arms around his neck and kissed him.

“How did your appointment go today?” He asked holding you tight.

“Good. My labs were all good, my heart sounded really good. She actually said that this was the best visit I’d had, maybe in forever.” You answered.

“Baby! Thats wonderful.” He pulled your face up for another kiss. “That makes me so happy. I was worried, but this is great.”

“Yeah, no getting the big head but she thinks maybe that I’m taking my meds on a regular basis, could have something to do with it.” You smile.

“Oh yeah?” Bucky couldn’t keep the smile off his face. “Speaking of which, I have a present for you.”

“I love presents!” You exclaimed.

“I know my girl does. I had Tony and Bruce help me make something special just for you.” Reaching into his backpack on the couch he pulled out a square box and handed it to you.

Taking the box, you sit down on the couch and open the lid. Inside is a watch. Not just any watch, this watch looked dressy, but also like it had AI behind it.

“Its beautiful.” You looked up at Bucky and he sits down next to you.

“It monitors your heart rate and transmits the data back to the app on your phone. It will also take an EKG and do all your other vitals. And it might also remind you to take your medicine.” He laughed at the last part.

You were touched you really were, he cared so much for you. You pulled him over to you and kissed him. “I love it. Thank you for always making sure I’m okay and taken care of.” You knew that an Apple Watch would have done the same thing, but you figured this was an Apple Watch on steroids.

“You’re welcome baby. Gotta make sure my best girl stays healthy.” He took the watch and placed it on your arm. “There. Oh here’s the other one.” He hands you a second box.

“Another watch?” You asked wondering why there were two.

“Yeah.”

“Why do I need two?” You opened the box to find the same exact watch just with a different band.

“Well you’ll have to have one to wear while the other is charging.” Bucky explained.

“Baby, it won’t take the long for it to charge. A few minutes without the watch won’t hurt anything.” You explained.

“I know, but with two we won’t have to worry about what if something happens in those few minutes.”

“You mean, you won’t have to worry.” You laughed.

Bucky started to pout and you felt bad about teasing him. “I’m sorry baby. It’s so thoughtful of you. Thank you. I promise to always have one of them on.” You kissed him.

“Thank you baby. Now let’s go spoil Miss Morgan with all these presents.” He stood and picked up the packages and you opened the door.

You both made your way down the hallway not knowing that tonight would be the start of the hardest and most difficult time of your relationship.

#bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky fanfic #bucky x reader #bucky barnes fanfiction

50 notes · View notes

1kook · 5 years ago

Text

late fee

jeon jeongguk x (f) reader

summary: “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.” tags: f2l, flirty kook, jk’s obsession w/captain underpants, he’s a fuckboy but he’s a soft fuckboy dont get it twisted, campus boy crush jk(yes again), jk abuses the FuCK out of pet names, miss koo1aid actually writes some PLOT warnings: much flirting, nsfw bc of a lot of heavy petting, pussy eatin’, a lil dirty talk, very s l i g h t coochie sniffing, BUT!!! protected sex :) wc: 10.3k

i wrote another fic (applause) and the entire thing is based off my belief that jungkook 10000% would enjoy captain underpants books. not proofread bc i am a hermit and speak to exactly 0 ppl on here, que dios los bendiga

“Helloooo, sexy librarian,” Jeongguk says the moment he steps through the door, lopsided grin adorning his features as he swaggers over to obnoxiously lean against your desk. You can’t even pretend you didn’t see him, his presence so blaringly consuming, and evident in the way some dorky high schoolers glance over to gawk at him.

“What book are you checking out today, Jeon?” You muse instead, leaving your desk chair to head over to the stack of new books that needed to be stamped. As you turn, Jeongguk whistles at the sight, and you don’t even have it in you anymore to retort back the same way you would when he first started bugging you. “Also, are you aware that your copy of Captain Underpants and the Perilous Plot of Professor Poopypants is due tomorrow? It’s a dollar for every day it’s late—”

“You needn’t worry longer, baby,” Jeongguk interrupts, and the loud smack of a hardcover against the desk catches your attention. There lies Jeongguk’s Captain Underpants book, alongside the paperback copy of Beloved that has definitely seen better days.

You furrow your brows. “When did you check out this one?” You question, checking the spine to make sure the book belongs to your library. Much to your surprise, there’s no barcode on the side, and no stamp on the inside.

Your question goes unanswered as Jeongguk jumps into a full-length novella recapture of the hot frat party he’d been to last weekend, and how the Zeta Theta Psi guys knew how to party. That Jimin fellow that Jeongguk frequently mentions had apparently snorted a line of coke off their friend Seokjin’s broad shoulders just to prove his friend had godly proportions. It’s weird, but Jeongguk says it’s because you have to ride for your bros. You try to act uninterested, but Jeongguk’s a funny guy, really, and you can only hide so many chuckles with the sound of a stamp.

He’s in the middle of trying to cover up of one of his frequent trysts after accidentally exposing himself—”Don’t get it twisted, baby, I just took her upstairs to call her friend.”—when Namjoon comes out of the back room looking for you. He barely glances at your guest, before handing you a list of overdue books.

“Would you mind calling these people?” He asks, voice soft, just as everything else was about Namjoon. “They’re all a week past.”

“Yikes,” you say, eyes scanning over the list. Surprisingly, Jeongguk is still there, hovering over you as if waiting for you to dismiss him. “Do you mind, Jeon?” You say, channeling your best customer service voice. As much as Namjoon was wary of him, he still considered Jeongguk a patron in your establishment and hated to see him treated poorly, no matter how many library rules Jeongguk broke.

“Of course,” he sighs, and you miss the hostile glare he throws Namjoon when you whirl around for a highlighter. “I’ll see you later, sweetheart,” he says when you turn back around, stretching ana rm in your direction.

Half of you knows exactly what he’ll do, but the other half of you, the one trying desperately to act like his advances have no effect on you, have you placing your palm in his. You’re not super surprised when he tugs your hand upward, pecking your knuckles with a flirty wink. “Adios, Juliet,” he smirks.

“Wrong language,” you inform him, rolling your eyes nonchalantly even though your heart is beating one hundred miles per second. Jeongguk cackles, loud as all hell in the silent library, before making his exit.

It’s silent for all of twenty seconds before Namjoon jumps right into it. “So are you seeing him, or…” he interrogates, trying to act like he’s hardly interested, but you’ve known and worked alongside Namjoon long enough to know he’s secretly the community gossip.

You ignore him, choosing to jam the buttons on the phone instead.

The weird thing about Jeongguk, was that, although he was notoriously known amongst the undergraduates (and even some graduates, because he just had it like that, you suppose) as one of the biggest fuckboys, he was different. Not to sound like every teen romcom you’d ever scanned, but he genuinely was. For starters, he’d fuck your brains out and then make you his best friend the morning after. He definitely had a very peculiar, and backwards, way of doing the whole one night stand thing.

All this you’ve gathered from your friends, who, at one point have had some sort of encounter with Jeongguk. Dahyun’s was last spring at a club event, when he’d oh so smoothly flirted with her for a solid hour before realizing she didn’t swing that way. Which is how they become close friends, which is how, by association, Jeongguk set his sights on you.

Your introduction to Jeongguk wasn’t anything out of the ordinary; he’d been tagging along behind Dahyun like a lost puppy, begging her for some class notes, and had subsequently followed her all the way to your favorite meeting place. From then, he’d dropped his petulant, childish act and put on his macho face, chest puffed and eyes hooded as he devoured your very presence.

The next time you see him, it’s at a frat party where some guy had been harping on you go upstairs with him. Another weird thing about Jeongguk, he hated when other fuckboys didn’t utilize their brains. You assume it’s because it gives the fuckboy community a bad rep as a whole, but Jeongguk hated when guys were overbearing. So he’d taken the initiative to snatch you away from that fellow, guiding you all the way back to Dahyun and friends just to make sure you were alright. Somewhere along the way, you’d informed him you worked at the local library—”The one that does bingo on Tuesdays?” “That’s for senior citizens only, why do you know that?”—and he’d never left you alone again.

This time, he spots you in the dining hall.

“You come here often, dollface?” He says the moment he slides up beside you, instantly zeroing in on the burrito wrap on your plate. Like the little immature baby he is, his hand immediately snakes out to touch the precariously wrapped white tortilla holding the deliciousness inside, and you have to physically slap the offender away. He jumps, bumping into a girl standing in line behind him, not that particularly cares. “So, it’s fuck Jeongguk hours, huh?” He huffs, adorning his face with that uppity glare he mastered from watching Mean Girls on repeat a few months ago.

“Your plate is stacked, but you wanna grab the one thing on mine,” you point out, and his lips curl into a smile at your response. “By the way, your book is past due.”

At this he gasps, all real, no Regina George effects added. “You’re lying,” he chokes, switching his plate to his other hand, and you nearly jump when the muffin balancing dangerously on top shifts. He tugs his phone out of the pocket of his sweats, scanning through his remind app until he sees that his book is overdue by three days. He groans, staring at the ceiling in shame.

You nod, breezing over his inner meltdown. “Was wondering when we were gonna get the wedgie winner, or whatever its called, back.”

He scoffs, giving you an unimpressed glare. “Wrath of the Wicked Wedgie Woman,” he corrects, looking so disappointed that you don’t have these bizarre titles memorized. “For such a pretty librarian, you sure are ignorant to these literary masterpieces.”

This makes you cackle, and your cheeks flush when at least three people turn to stare at your outburst. “You aren’t seriously calling these Captain Underpants books masterpieces,” you snort. Jeongguk shrugs, and you begin to wonder if he really is as airheaded as the characters he admires. “Jeon,” you try to reason, giving him a pleading look, because arguing the credibility of kids novels in line for lunch simply does not seem real. You must have been warped into another dimension where all pretty boys are as dumb as the movies make them out to seem.

“Listen,” he says, smiling when you grow desperate for him to prove you wrong. “I’ve read a lot of good books, but nothing tops a hypnotized superhero principal fighting crime in his underwear.”

You sigh, paying for your meal, and then, surprisingly, waiting for him to pay for his. You tell yourself it’s because you want to finish this conversation, but part of you just genuinely enjoys being in Jeongguk’s presence. Gag.

“I saw you with Beloved last week,” you carry on the second he’s done giving flirty eyes to the middle-aged cashier. “Now that’s a masterpiece.”

He nods in agreement. “But, baby,” he purrs, and the sudden switch from weird, 12 year-old literary enthusiast to grown as hell, suave bastard has you jolting a step that you try to play off by pretending to look at something on the ground. “How else will you remember my face?”

You blank. “What the hell are you talking about.”

Jeongguk gives you a pointed look. “Sweetheart, you wouldn’t remember a damn thing about me if I did what every other stuck-up bastard did trying to pick up chicks at the library.” You tilt your head in confusion. Jeongguk sighs. “If I went in every rainy Friday and checked out a Tale of Two Cities, or Oliver Twist, or some other Charles Dickens shit, you wouldn’t glance my way.”

“Do people still read Dickens?” You say instead, glossing over the fact that apparently Jeongguk’s visits were apparently blatant attempts to flirt with girls. Finally, you find a suitable spot at a long, dinner table so you don’t have to sit completely alone with Jeongguk.

“You know damn well better than I do that that those wannabe sophisticated books have waitlists.” He shoves half a pizza slice into his mouth, and you hate how your eyes immediately laser in on the strong movements of his jaw. “My point is,” he says through a greasy mouthful. “Captain Underpants isn’t glorified by all the tryhards, so when I pick those books, you’re unknowingly more interested in me.”

You cradle your burrito in your palms, rolling his words around your head for a bit. Jeongguk doesn’t particularly seem like he’s awaiting an answer, munching through the mountain of food on his plate as you revel in your thoughts.

It’s right when you go to take your first bite that you finally come to a conclusion. “But have you ever considered I’m interested in you because I think you’re funny?”

Silence. Jeongguk stares at you through his fringe, pizza slice slowly going limp in his hold as he absorbs your words. Before you know it, his ears flush red. He splutters. “I-You think I’m funny?” He asks, cheeks slowly growing rosy as well, and his lips quirk in a cute way to the side, as if he’s trying desperately to hide his excitement.

You nod, because it’s true, why would you lie? “Duh. You come in every week and just talk about your day, Jeongguk,” you say, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world. “I think you’re very interesting and entertaining without trying.”

“Thanks,” he mutters, and for the first time, you’re thrown off by how adorable this man looks, lips pressed tight to contain a smile from your compliments.

Realization hits you all at once, but you’ve long since trained in the fluid art of avoiding your emotions.

“There’s a party tonight,” Dahyun announces from her desk, not even bothering to glance at you when you return from the showers. You hum, not really that interested in whatever is going on this fine Thursday evening. You plop down at your own desk, starting your skincare routine.

Dahyun lets you relax in the soothing motions of self care for all of three seconds before she adds, “Jeongguk wanted to know if you’re coming.”

You press down too hard on the pump of your moisturizer, sending a large glomp onto the tips of your fingers. “That’s nice,” you say, trying to play it off, but you doubt Dahyun hadn’t heard the little spaz you had, or that she couldn’t sense the way your body immediately lit aflame at the mention of him and you in the same sentence.

She turns in her seat, and you catch sight of her in your mirror. You avert your eyes right away, because Dahyun had many talents, and her best one was reading your mind with a single gaze. You maintain an aura of unbothered and uninterested, finishing with the rest of your skincare.

Just when you think you’re safe, Dahyun pounces.

“Y’know,” she says, and you can hear the grin in her voice. “He hasn’t slept with anyone in almost a month. In fuckboy time, that’s the equivalent of two years.”

You roll your eyes, putting away your products before trying to busy yourself with anything else. “He probably has, but with people who know how to keep their mouths shut.”

Faintly, you hear Dahyun’s chair scrape against the carpet, and then suddenly she has you in a headlock. “Admit you like Jeongguk or I will throw your toothbrush into the toilet on the third floor.”

You choke, grappling her arms in an attempt to pry her off. “No,” you huff, switching tactics to tangle a hand in her silver locks. “Why would I confess to something that isn’t true?”

She shrieks when you give a sharp tug, sending her careening sideways against the foot of your bed, but not without taking you with her. “You are lying to yourself and to the entire librarian community, you sick fuck.”

You snort. “The fuck does Namjoon have to do with this?”

“He told me Jeongguk’s been bringing you Starbucks.”

Her reveal has you halting in your tracks, cheeks flushing at being exposed. “That gossiping fuck,” you seethe, finally loosening your grip on your friend. Somehow, you’ve ended up sprawled on the floor of her side of the room, nestled into the stupidly fluffy carpet she thrifted. She rolls onto her belly, propping herself up on her elbows to narrow her eyes at you.

“So it’s true,” she sighs. You shrug. “Well,” she claps her hands together. “Shimmy into that sexy dress from Windsor, we’re going out.”

You groan, rolling over in metaphorical agony. “Dude, I just washed my face. No way in hell, I’m putting on makeup now.” She considers your point for negative three seconds.

“The Glow Kit is in my bottom left drawer,” she announces right as she exits the room with her towel and shower essentials in hand.

The Glow Kit is in fact in Dahyun’s drawer, which is a little suspicious considering it’s the same one you thought you lost three months ago. Nonetheless, it never lets you down, and by the time you’re done with your makeup, you’re looking like a shimmering, little succubus in the hot dress from Windsor.

Normally, you and your self-esteem were rivals; never on the same page, always bickering, sworn enemies from birth. But right now, as you admire yourself in the closet mirror, you can’t help but marvel at how good you look in the slightly loose dress.

“Damn,” Dahyun says as soon as she returns, all fluffy in her towel. “You will fuck tonight, or else.”

“Hey, baby,” Jeongguk smiles at you the moment you walk in, hooded eyes raking over your body in an agonizingly slow manner. Dahyun chooses then to do her party trick—disappearing without a word.

“Hi…” you respond, voice meek in this party setting. There’s more people than you anticipated, which is weird because it’s a Thursday and surely some of these people have morning classes. You can’t comment, though, because you’re here knowing damn well you have an eight am tomorrow.

The music is blasting, so loud you can feel the bass shaking the floor, sending jolts up from your toes to your head with every beat. There’s people in every crevice of this household, some even taking refuge on the staircase leading up to the bedrooms. Someone brushes by you, and you instinctively step closer to the wall to avoid being in the way. You should have known Jeongguk would follow.

He ducks down to shout into your ear. “Wasn’t sure if you were coming tonight,” he tells you, right as one of his friends rushes by, thrusting a cup into his hand that Jeongguk doesn’t even stop to question. He takes a sip, then offers you some.

“Dahyun didn’t wanna come alone,” you lie, tentatively sipping from his cup only to realize it’s worse than any alcohol here: it’s Sprite. Jeongguk seems amused by your subtle disgust, immediately taking the cup back. You send out a light prayer for his stomach and his skin. “Aren’t you supposed to be out pulling hoes or something?” You say, trying to go for teasing and playful but missing by a mile.

Jeongguk grins. “Why would I do that when the only girl I want is right here,” he motions, and then does that cliche move where he places a hand by the wall behind you. The worst thing is, even though Jeongguk seems intent on pulling every cheesy act known to mankind, your heart actually races.

“Shut up,” you laugh, “you just like that I don’t charge you the late fees on your books.”

At this, Jeongguk genuinely smiles, nose scrunching up as he gazes at you. “False,” he argues, and then leans forward, same stupid dopey smile on his face. “I love a woman who snorts milk out of her nose.”

“Jeon!” You shriek, smacking his arm as embarrassment washes over you. “You said you would forget about that!”

Jeongguk cackles, all boyish and rough like he does when he’s around Hoseok for too long. Somehow, knowing you’re the cause of that charming laughter has your annoyance fading away, a soft smile crawling onto your features.

“I hate you,” you say instead, looking up and meeting his gaze dead on for the first time that night.

Jeongguk smirks. “Do you now?” He throws back, then takes a step forward. Your shoulder touches the wall when you take a tentative step back. You give a half-assed shrug, entranced by the playfulness that lurks behind his eyes. He gives you an exaggerated pout. “That sucks, because I,” he steps closer again, and this time he’s looking down at you over the bridge of his nose, “really like you.”

“I…” you trail off, too hypnotized by the pink tongue that swipes across his lips as he gazes at you. There is no hesitation on his face.

When you don’t say anything for another moment, Jeongguk ducks down. His nose bumps against yours, his breath warm as it fans across your face. “Y’know, I’d treat you so right,” he suddenly says, and your panties immediately turn into Niagara Falls at the newfound deepness of his voice. You feel lightheaded from his close proximity and promising words. “Could make you feel so good, baby, if you just let me.”

You shiver, nearly jumping out of your skin when a hand snakes its way around your waist, tugging you forward gently. Not overbearingly, because you know the last thing Jeongguk would ever do was want to make you uncomfortable. He pulls you close enough that it ends up being you who steps completely into his embrace. Your trembling hands find their place on his shoulders, and Jeongguk has never looked more content.

“You... only want sex,” you softly accuse, and the only reason your quiet voice doesn’t get lost in the noise is because of how close the two of you are.

Jeongguk bites his lip at your words, and you wonder if part of him is surprised that you’d so openly say such a thing. “Not with you,” he says eventually. “Wanna hold you like this forever, ___. And if that leads to you cumming on my tongue every now and then, well,” he smiles, “all fine by me.”

“Jeon,” you scold, scared that someone might have heard him.

“What?” He grins, pressing impossibly closer. His lip gives the slightest pucker, and you find yourself unconsciously leaning closer, the hand around your waist tightening. “I want you, baby.”

You can’t hide the lovestruck expression on your face as you look between his mouth and his eyes, and you wonder if he’s being honest.

Right as you’re about to throw all your doubts out the window and kiss him, you’re bombarded with the sound of obnoxious air horns from a DJ who obviously knows shit about, well, DJ-ing.

You jump at the sudden sound, bumping your head against the wall behind you. Jeongguk’s eyes widen. “Oh shit, are you okay?” He fusses, all traces of that suave, heartthrob replaced with a fretful Jeon.

“I’m fine,” you say, though you’re not because you’re absolutely dying right now. From the fact you almost gave into Jeongguk but also the embarrassment of hitting your head. “I-I need to find Dahyun,” you announce, and give Jeongguk no time to process that before you’re bolting into the crowded house like you just broke something.

jeon tell me you got home safe jeon please

You pause in the middle of removing your makeup, one eyelash on to symbolize the mess you are right now. Dahyun is humming some tune as she does the same, the both of you clad in your pajamas and fuzzy socks. Carefully, you pick up your phone.

you im home! me and the girls ubered home lol you sorry i didnt get to say goodbye :(

jeon dont worry abt it babe jeon just happy to know ur ok

“You better be texting Jeongguk, since you failed to complete the one job you had tonight,” Dahyun calls and you curse. You whirl around to face her, and she snorts at your one eyelash.

“Be honest,” you say. “If you were the campus crush who could get coochie every time he breathed, would you leave all that for me?”

Dahyun freezes. “Well, not when you’re only wearing one eyelash.” You groan, flopping into your seat uncomfortably. “Babe,” Dahyun sighs, as if sensing the gravity of your dilemma. “You’re hot! Everyone knows this except you.”

“But am I?” You whine. “Am I attractive or do you just feel obligated to say that because you’re my friend, be honest.”

“Oh my god,” she huffs, climbing into her bed, phone in hand. She doesn’t even bother looking your way when she’s all settled in. “You have this weird idea that Jeongguk is some intangible idol, as if you haven’t seen the dude deepthroat an entire bratwurst at the diversity fair. If anything, you’re the dream girl on campus, you stupid bitch.”

“The only true thing I heard is me being a stupid bitch,” you mope, and Dahyun throws a pillow at your face. You take this attack as initiative to finally take off your other lash, finishing your cleansing and moisturizing (for the second time) routine.

“Listen,” she says, setting her phone down to stare you dead in the eye. Her voice is devoid of any emotion. “If it makes you feel better, he wrote JK + __ on our group handout last week.”

You don’t sleep that night.

The last person you’re expecting to see at this secluded cafe on a Saturday morning was Jeon Jeongguk, yet here he was in all his delicious morning glory. By morning glory, you mean the soft, sleepy eyes that stare at you from across the table, voice so deep and husky.

“Why are you here if you just woke up?” You interrogate, settling into the empty seat in front of him. Carefully, you begin pulling things out of your bag, trying your best to not look away too long. This sight was rare, Jeongguk usually being at an energy level of about eighty seven at all times. To see him so tired and sluggish was unheard of.

He gestures over to where Taehyung is in the middle of what looks like a job interview. “Moral support,” Jeongguk informs you. You nod in understanding, before returning your gaze to the sleepy angel in front of you.

He’s ridiculously tired, eyes dropping shut every time you so much as pause for a second. He seems apologetic too, murmuring I’m sorry I’m sorry whenever his eyes flutter shut. Your heart was going haywire at the sight. “Jeon,” you say softly, and get one, soft hum in response. “I think you should go home, Taehyung seems fine.”

He shakes his head. “Needs me,” he murmurs, trying desperately to snap his eyes back open to no avail. Eventually, you make the call, packing your things up way earlier than usual. You haul Jeongguk out of his seat, him sleepily trailing after you as you drag him out of the shop. He sleeps on the short bus ride back to campus, and even almost sleeps on the elevator up to his dorm.

“In we go,” you announce, unlocking his door before nudging him inside. His roommate is nowhere to be found, oddly enough given the early hour. Jeongguk stumbles inside, plopping down on his bed right away. “Sleep.”

He lets out a high pitched whine the moment you turn to leave. “Come cuddle,” he huffs, face pressed against his pillow. His hair’s haloed around him, pout smushed against the cushion as he stares at you.

“You need to sleep,” you point out.

He rolls onto his back, patting the mattress beside him. “Wanna feel you,” he says. Your cheeks flush red. As if realizing the meaning behind his words, sleepy little Jeongguk takes the initiative to push you further. “Pressed against my body,” he drawls, his deep chuckle resonating throughout your body. “C’mon, baby, too scared to be in bed with me?”

You scoff, though your cheeks are warm. “You wouldn’t do anything anyway, you’re half asleep.”

Jeongguk shrugs, lips quirking to the side as he motions to his side again. “So? Can tell you like it slow anyway,” he grunts, before sitting up and shuffling to the edge of the bed and assuming a sitting position. Without warning, he catches your wrist in his hand and tugs you between his spread thighs.

He’s more awake than he’s been all morning, and part of you is happy but the other is anxious. God, was this boy dangerous.

“You’re half asleep, Jeon,” you say, trying to diffuse the sudden sexual tension. Jeongguk smiles up at you.

“Cmon, baby,” he exhales, and one fluid tug has you plopping onto his thigh. You startle at the sudden change, grabbing onto his shoulders for support. All he does is laugh some more, nuzzling his face against your neck as your heart goes into panic mode. “Bet I could get in so deep,” he murmurs, breath tickling your neck and you feel your legs turn to jelly.

“G-Gguk,” you try to warn, but it ends up sounding more like a plea. For what, you’re not entirely sure.

A sudden kiss to the junction of your neck and shoulder has your spirit ascending into another plane. Jeongguk smiles at your pliant body. “Look at you,” he continues, kissing down your neck until your body is physically quivering. “So sensitive. No one ever touched you like this before, doll?”

You shake your head no, and nearly jump out of your own skin when a hand clasps onto the inside of your thigh. “Jeon, we shouldn’t…” you choke out, even though your traitorous hand clamps down on his and pushes it closer to where you need him most.

“We shouldn’t?” He teases, and then cups your sex.

You transcend.

Jeongguk laughs, airy chuckles fanning across your jaw. “Then stop,” he tells you, the both of you watching as your hips unconsciously grind into his palm. Even when you tell yourself you need to stop, your body feels heavenly being touched by him, so you physically can’t.

“I can’t,” you reiterate, and muffle a moan against the side of his face when he presses a finger down on where he knows your clit is hiding. The thin leggings you’d worn did nothing to spare you.

“God, you’re so fucking sexy,” he sighs, watching you work yourself on his hand. He traces his index finger over the seam of your leggings, where your folds meet and you moan again. “You gonna let me finish you off, princess? Gonna let me finger your tight little pussy until you cry? But I bet you’d make the prettiest noises if I licked you down there. Or are you gonna cum in your panties like this?”

All the different ideas he stuffs into your brain are overwhelming, especially when the only thing you really want is to be stuffed with his fingers and cock. “J-Just do it,” you beg.

“Do what?” He plays, watching the way your face contorted with every brush against your mound.

“Whatever you want,” you cry, biting down on your fist to stop any more noises from spilling out.

Jeongguk smiles, pressing a kiss to the corner of your mouth. Such a simple gesture, but it has your stomach somersaulting. God, you needed this. You were practically sobbing for his dick, which was embarrassing in itself, but actually getting dicked down sort of cancelled it out. PEMDAS or whatever.

Just as his hand creeps to the hem of your leggings, there’s a rattle of the doorknob, and you jump. The cloud of lust that had engulfed you two fades away and you’re suddenly aware of the jingling of a key outside.

“What the fuck,” Jeongguk whisper-shouts, looking absolutely scandalized that his roommate is coming home at this moment of all moments.

“Should I hide?” You whisper back, never having been in such a situation before. Jeongguk looks at you like you’re stupid.

“Just,” he sighs, standing up. He ruffles his hair anxiously. “Just… act natural.”

You sit perfectly still. “Not like a Sim!!”

“Captain Underpants and the Invasion of the Incredibly Naughty Cafeteria Ladies from Outer Space (and the Subsequent Assault of the Equally Evil Lunchroom Zombie Nerds),” you read, gasping for breath by the end of it. Jeongguk beams at you. “You’ve got to be kidding.”

“Nope,” Jeongguk says, leaning over the counter and watching as you scan his book under his name. “I’ll let you know how it is.”

You roll your eyes, writing down the return date on a piece of paper you stuff inside. “Please do, I’m absolutely dying to read this book.”

You hand the book over to Jeongguk, and try to ignore the way he stares at you for a second too long. Namjoon chooses this exact moment to take his lunch break, sauntering off whistling the the Angry Birds tune.

Right before Jeongguk can jump into an interrogation, the door swings open and Jisoo from your sociology elective saunters in, carrying the same mountain of books you had checked out for her two weeks ago.

“___, hi!” She exclaims right away. She, too, was infected with the same bimbo disease as Jeongguk, the one where they both had no concept of being quiet in a library.

“Hi,” you greet back, immediately standing to take the books from her. “Did you actually read through all of these?” You ask, trying to make polite small talk. You’re not particularly close to her, but it’d be rude to act like you didn’t know her.

She laughs at your comment. “Oh god, no. I just open random pages and reference them for essays,” she admits.

You try to make more small talk with her as you scan through her books, but the girl literally almost hit the material limit, which is fifty books, so you soon become consumed in scanning the barcode, briefly flipping through the book for any damage, and then repeating it all over. You’re not surprised when she drifts away, and you’re mentally cursing Namjoon for going on break now of all times.

It’s about ten minutes later when you’re all done, the computer’s library system going haywire on you, the same way it had when she first checked out all these books. You look away from the screen, standing to face Jisoo, only to find she’s drifted to the other end of the welcome desk, where a certain someone had gone to while you served her.

Oh.

You’re not anticipating the wave of jealousy that hits you watching gorgeous, smart Jisoo talk to Jeongguk. She matches him perfectly, both so beautiful it hurts. It’s when she says something to him that you snap out of it. “When can I come over again?” Soft enough that you wouldn’t have heard if you hadn’t been paying attention.

Jeongguk’s toying with a bookmark stand, but you still see the quirk of his lips on his face when she says that.

All you can do is watch from the sidelines, so close yet somehow miles away as he says something back to her that gets drowned out by the thundering of your heart. You suppose it’s only natural for a guy like Jeongguk to flirt with girls, and he’d never said he only, exclusively wanted you. Really, you shouldn’t be as surprised.

But you are.

You’re surprised and, dare you say it, discouraged by the scene. He’d been so eager to finally win you over the other night, so much so that he made you feel special with every word he uttered and every look he gave you. You’d almost believed in his sincerity, but seeing him so easily converse with Jisoo about whatever past they have, served as a cold reminder that you and Jeongguk believe in two completely different relationship styles.

So you sit back down, gnawing on your lip as you try to do other duties, clicking around uselessly on your computer until eventually, Jisoo wanders back.

“Am I all set?” She smiles, and you can’t even find it in you to dislike her. You plaster on your best customer service smile, nodding and handing her back her library card. She thanks you three times over for the hassle, before waving goodbye to you and Jeongguk.

When the door falls shut behind her, you immediately drop the facade, though Jeongguk doesn’t seem to notice. “Whew. She left a lot of work for you,” he laughs, eyeing the big stack beside you. You don’t even bother responding, as, at that moment, Namjoon returns from his lunch break.

(How convenient! You swear this fucker had a sixth sense for knowing when work was about to become hard.)

“Joon, I’m taking my break now,” you announce, and Namjoon stares at you like a deer in headlights, the last bite of a sandwich raised to his mouth.

“Uh,” he says, 140 IQ and all. He glances behind you at Jeongguk, who also is confused as all hell. “Okay, then.”

“___?” Jeongguk questions. You stalk off, pushing the gate away from the desk before bursting into the employee break room right across from it.

You cry the moment you get home, and Dahyun jumps ten feet out of her bed in shock. Her girlfriend, Momo, is sitting on the floor painting her toes. “Oh no,” she cries, sweet and understanding in all the ways Dahyun wasn’t. “My poor baby, what’s wrong?” She asks, waddling over in the my-nail-polish-hasn’t-dried-yet way to hug you.

“He was flirting with another girl,” you sob, dropping your bag by the door as Momo continues fawning over you, wiping your face with tissues. Dahyun gets out of bed, cracks her fingers, and promptly announces:

“I’m gonna kill him.”

Initially, you would have let her. But after a while you manage to calm down, loud Kim Kardashian sobs fading into tiny hiccups as the two of them coddle you. You tell them all about what terrible, good for nothing Jeongguk did, and in true female solidarity, they vow to kick his ass for you. Eventually, you settle on not whooping his ass, just cutting any romantic notions with him off to avoid further heartbreak. After all, you were kinda friends before you had your little crush revelation.

It’s later in the night when you announce you maybe got 2% over him, which the girls count as an absolute win, but then Jeongguk texts you and they groan at the way you jump for your phone.

jeon hey can we talk ? jeon did I do something wrong today? jeon felt like u were mad at me lol, and then u took a really long break and I had to leave for class so I didn’t even get to see u again jeon just wanna know if everything is ok

You read through the messages a couple times, and wonder if he’s being serious and didn’t see anything sus with his actions, or if he’s just toying with your emotions. Momo tugs Dahyun away to give you some sort of privacy, and then you’re left alone in your thoughts.

you everything’s fine ! you I just wasn’t feeling well lol

He responds right away.

jeon please don’t lie to me ___ jeon I know what you’re probably thinking and I just want to say it’s not like that

For some reason, him saying he knows you enough to know your thoughts irritates you. He obviously didn’t know shit about you if he was out here making you look like a clown. Your fingers type before you can even think.

you lmao you thats funny

jeon ?

you you most def do not know what I’m thinking so please just take my word when I say I felt sick

jeon lmao. what do you mean...

you you barely know ME besides the fact I work @ the library and dorm w Dahyun. don't say u know what I’m thinking, bc that would imply you know me on a closer level which you don’t

jeon ok seriously what's up with you? jeon im trying to make sure ur okay but ur just being difficult as fuck

you I’m not being difficult I’m just being real

jeon ur not tho, ur being defensive for no reason at all

you so? we’re barely friends and we barely know each other, how I feel is none of ur business

jeon lmfaoooo, so now we’re barely friends?

you thats what I said didnt I

You set your phone aside when you don’t immediately see the texting dots appear, assuming your dry response is probably enough to ward Jeongguk off. Your face feels warm, and you’re not sure if it’s from frustration or anger, but you guess it’s both. You’re not sure what set you off, the fact Jeongguk wants to act like he knows you, as if he wasn’t just chasing after you for some pussy, or the fact he wanted to act like some all-knowing being when it came to your feelings.

Eitherway, you’re extremely heated, grinding your teeth together when five minutes pass and he hasn’t texted you back. As if sensing the tension, Momo and Dahyun abruptly announce that they’re going to the ice cream place down the street, offering to bring something back to which you decline.

They leave, the heavy door slamming shut behind them. You get exactly two seconds of peace and quiet before your phone starts going off like crazy, all from Jeongguk.

jeon you’re starting to piss me off jeon drop the attitude baby. jeon bc I can be just as mean as u jeon and I won’t hesitate to make you cry

You blink. Every ounce of your body that had been consumed with an unknown anger slowly fades away as you stare wide eyed at Jeongguk’s messages. This was nothing like the Jeongguk you knew; he was soft and playful. He never raised his voice at you, and he’d never been anything less than a sweetheart.

you I don’t have an attitude

Is your feeble reply, too scared to reply to any other part of his message because you truly had no experience with this Jeongguk.

jeon so then put your big girl pants on and tell me what’s wrong jeon enough w this other shit

You sigh, snuggling into your covers as you absentmindedly tap the back of your phone.

you nothing is wrong

He doesn’t reply for a couple minutes again, but Dahyun sends you a text letting you know her and Momo decided to go to an event on the other side of campus, and telling you not to wait up. You reply back a simple ok right as Jeongguk responds.

jeon ok. so let me tell you what’s wrong then jeon you’re mad bc I was speaking to Jisoo today and she asked abt coming over jeon she comes over all the time jeon bc she is my roommates girlfriend

Your mind goes blank.

How embarrassing to have your mind read word for word, even more so when apparently, your worries weren’t even plausible. God. Instantly you feel stupid, replaying today’s entire scene and trying desperately to find something to catch Jeongguk in a lie. But other than asking that one question, there had been no other interesting talk between the two.

Your phone pings again, and you scramble to type a response, only to freeze at the words on the screen

jeon what blows me is that i don’t even owe u shit especially not an explanation jeon u don’t give 2 flying fucks about me. U just like the attention I give u and watching me make a fool of myself for u jeon I bend over backwards chasing after you, trying to get you to notice me, but you’ve done nothing to show me u feel the same jeon but you’re the one allowed to get mad when I speak to other girls? like u said “ that’s funny ”

Oh, no. Immediately your heart comes crashing down, and your fingers tremble as you watch Jeongguk slip away right before your eyes.

you Jeongguk you it’s not like that please you I like you so much, it’s just hard for me to

jeon to what? Get over your stupid stereotype of me?? jeon lmfao. Yeah that must be sooo hard jeon it’s whatever tho bc I had one of u too jeon my dream girl

This is not what you expected when he said he’d make you cry.

“Honey, you just have to talk to him,” Momo says the next morning, pressing a cucumber slice onto your eyes. You flinch at the initial iciness, but then relax when she brushes your hair out of your face. You’d gone to sleep a wreck, crying and sobbing as you thought desperately on how to win Jeongguk back, but everything he had said was true.

You’d done nothing but reject him since the beginning, had only just begun treating him as a friend, yet you instantly placed the blame on him at the first signs of trouble. God, he was right. You’d been selfish this entire time, and now he wasn’t responding to your messages anymore.

Dahyun nods from her cocoon at the foot of your bed. “I’m sure it’ll be easier in person, text convos are always weird,” she tries to comfort you. “But keep those slices on, those bags under your eyes are no joke.”

Momo smacks her calf. “Be nice! She’s going through a crisis.”

Right as you’re about to pay for your meal and sprint back to hide in your dorm, you spot a coconut head of hair facing the windows in the far corner of the dining hall. Fuck. Faintly, you can hear Dahyun’s voice shouting for you to stop being a pussy and go talk to him. You pause by the exit, one leg in one leg out, before saying fuck it. If worse comes to worse, you transfer schools and live with heartbreak and three cats for the rest of your life.

“I-Is someone sitting here?” You say before you can chicken out, and mentally curse yourself for stuttering. Oh, the social horror.

Jeongguk visibly jumps at your voice, wide doe eyes staring at you as if he expected to never see you again. After all, it’s been a week since your little fight, three days since you last tried texting him. He shakes his head, turning his attention back to his plate, but not before tugging the hoodie of his sweater over his head in a classic self defensive tactic.

You slide into the seat, staring at the plate of food like you’ve never seen it in your life, never mind the fact you picked it out less than fifteen minutes ago. You accidentally scrape your fork against the bottom, and the both of you cringe.

Jeongguk clears his throat, hands clasped together between his thighs as he stares out the window. “Don’t you have work?” He asks, voice raspy.

You shake your head. “I took the week off,” you confess, hoping he doesn’t press for more, because then you’d have to tell him your reasoning was due to heartache.

“Oh. That’s nice,” he says, and then you fall into a pit of awkward silence.

You push the food around on your plate, hoping he’ll say something, anything to save the two of you. In the end, he stays silent, sleepily glancing out the windows.

When you look closer, though, Jeongguk doesn’t look much hot than you. He’s got the same bags as you under his eyes, and his hair looks messier than his usual messy style. The fact he’s wearing his blue crocs out in public only confirms your theory.

After a solid five minutes of silence, even your hungry stomach managing to stay quiet, you decide enough is enough.

You shift ever so slightly, until you’re somewhat facing him and clear your throat; Jeongguk barely spares you a glance. “The Preposterous Plight of the Purple Potty People,” you blurt. Jeongguk blinks, face slowly morphing into one of confusion. Your cheeks feel hot under his gaze, having missed his brown eyes in the past week. “It’s your favorite one,” you announce. “Of the Captain Underpants books.”

After a moment, Jeongguk snorts, turning his attention away from you. “You’re not gonna win me over with that,” he says curtly, and your heart tightens at his emotionless tone of voice.

But you’ve done your research, and you’re not letting it go to waste. “You like George more than Harold because you think he contributes more. You love the characterization of Mr. Krupp the most, but you hate his theme song. You think the cover art could use some work, but you enjoy the overall art style. You hated the movie adaptation because Kevin Hart was in it,” you list, recalling every bit of information you’ve ever heard Jeongguk share about the stupid novels.

There’s a small quirk in the corner of Jeongguk’s lips, but it’s not the one you’re aiming for, so you switch tactics. “You hate the smell of bananas because you don’t think it should have a smell. You can’t put your left sock on first, because it’s bad luck to you. Your mom still washes your sheets for you. You know the lyrics to the original Dragon Ball series in three languages. You like wearing rings because it makes you feel like a pimp. You hate when Hoseok calls you the baby, because, according to you, you bench press his weight times two.”

“And a half,” he softly corrects, gazing at his hands, cheeks slightly tinged with red. You bite your lip, tentatively reaching a hand out to place on his arm. He looks at you right away, doe eyes so vulnerable and scared, like nothing you’ve ever seen before.

“I said we barely knew each other, but that was a lie,” you chuckle humorlessly, suddenly feeling your eyes tear up just remembering the conversation. “I know so much about you because I love listening to you talk. I love hearing your voice, and watching you wrestle with your friends, and fight with Dahyun. But I never tell you,” you bite your lip, blinking your eyes to backtrack the tears.

“And you’re right, I made you do all the work and I’m sorry, but I’m just so scared, Jeongguk,” you admit, voice cracking on his name. Your press a hand over your mouth, trying to collect yourself. Suddenly, a soft hand gently pats your thigh, and you find yourself reaching down to tangle your fingers together. “You can have anyone, Jeongguk, and you obviously know this,” you sigh. “I’m scared that I won’t be enough for you.”

“Hey, it’s alright,” Jeongguk says, voice soft in the way you’ve missed so much. His hand, shaky and unsure, reaches up to brush a tear from the corner of your eye. “Look at me,” he commands, and you do. “I think we’re both stupid, because I feel like I’ve never been enough for you,” he confesses with a chuckle you try to replicate through sniffles.

Suddenly, he’s close, forehead pressed to yours. “And maybe it’s true,” he says. “You won’t be enough for me, and I’ve never been enough for you.” Your heart aches at his words. “But that’s okay,” he assures, squeezing your thigh between his fingers. “We don't have to be right now, but we can try.”

You nod, clamping down a sob. “God, I hate how optimistic you are,” you laugh, and he smiles, cupping your face in his hands.

“And I hate watching you cry,” he says, fingers wiping your cheeks. Before you can say what you’re thinking, he’s snatching the words right out of you, “yes, I know I said what I said, and I felt like such a dick typing it, I made Jimin flick my forehead right after.”

You giggle, and he beams that dreamy smile at you again. “I’m gonna kiss you now,” he announces, and your heart thunders in your chest faster than the wings of a hummingbird.

And he does.

“I don’t know, I think Kevin Hart sounds great in this,” you mention, and you feel the hard scoff Jeongguk lets out from your position cradled on his chest. “It’s not the worst thing in the world,” you defend.

“You’re sick,” he says, then pauses the Captain Underpants movie to engage in your third debate of the evening. You’re barely fifteen minutes in. “You think that weirdo did George justice? How? In what world?”

“Babe, it’s just a voice actor,” you placate. “No one died because Mr. Hart voiced him.”

Jeongguk splutters. “Mr. Hart—you don’t know this man! And something did die! My hopes for a sequel!”

You shush him, pressing your index finger to his lips. “Enough complaints, Rotten Tomatoes. We won’t even finish at this rate.”

Jeongguk hits play, grumbling under his breath.

Just as you’d predicted, you don’t even make it to the halfway mark before Jeongguk’s got you on your back, plush lips working yours until they’re bruised, tongue halfway down your throat. “The mov—“ you mumble.

“Fuck Mr. Hart,” Jeongguk says, kissing down your jaw like he can’t allow himself to miss a single spot. When he reaches the collar of your shirt, he wastes no time tugging it off of you. You whine, instinctively covering your chest. “Don’t be shy,” he chuckles, “here, look-,” he tugs his sweatshirt over his head, and you’re met with the strong muscles of his abdomen and pecs, “-twins.”

You roll your eyes. “Just kiss me, Mr. Jeon,” you tease, wrapping your hands around him to bring him closer. He chokes, and mumbles something about saving that for another time.

Before you know it, he’s kissing between your thighs, soft lips producing the most erotic sounds with every smooch he gives. “Can I take these off?” he asks, one lone finger creeping beneath the hem of your panties, right where your hip is. You nod, biting your lower lip hard the moment he begins sliding them down. His hands are soft as they glide over your legs, and when he finally tugs them away from your ankles, he wastes no time nudging your legs open for him.

“Don’t just look at it,” you whine, jabbing his ribs with your foot. Jeongguk grins.

“Sorry I stare, you’re just so pretty,” he smiles, and you muffle an annoyed groan into your palms. “Gonna eat you out now,” he announces, finally, and you uncover your face to watch the way he lowers his mouth onto your throbbing pussy, pink tongue coming out to lick at your clit.

The first press of the wet muscle has your toes curling, back arched. You’d been craving this for the longest, and just as you’d expect, it’s better than any fantasy. “Right there,” you moan, reaching down to tangle a hand in Jeongguk’s wavy hair, the other fisting the pillow beneath your head.

Jeongguk absorbs all your tiny reactions, toying with your clit just how you like it. He rolls his tongue around it, making sure every part has been in his mouth at least once. When he suctions his lips around it and moans like this was getting him off, your body melts. “Fuck,” you cry out, your thighs quivering around his head. Part of you wants to slam them shut, hide from his tongue and all its devious ministrations. But the other part has never felt so good in your entire life.

When Jeongguk decides he’s pampered your swollen clit enough, he gives it one final kiss, wet and slippery. “Good?” He smiles up at you, lips slick with your juices. You nod, probably already looking fucked out. He smirks at your response, and your heart backflips in your chest, when he reaches up to knot your fingers together.

He kisses your knuckle and you whine. “How many fingers do you want?” He asks, and you blurt out the first number you can think of.

“Eight,” you choke, and immediately flush in embarrassment afterwards.

Jeongguk laughs, dropping his head to your thigh in a fit of giggles. He looks absolutely ethereal there, soft brown hair sprawled across your skin like an angel. “Smaller numbers, baby, please,” he chuckles. You shrug, so he decides for you. “How about I just use my tongue instead?” You think you might love him.

He settles back down, lips pressing against your mound one final time, before he’s diving in. You mewl right away, body becoming one with the mattress beneath you at the first brush of his tongue.

“Oh, Jeongguk,” you gasp, hands burying themselves in his scalp again. He hums in response, and the sound has every nerve in your body lighting up. His tongue prods against your folds, slowly licking his way deeper and deeper into your cunt.

The worst comes when he sighs against your pussy, literally sighs, like he’s so blessed to be there. “You’re s-so good at this,” you cry out, trembling fingers twisting his hair so tightly that you manage to pull him off just an inch. He pinches your thigh in warning, before stuffing his tongue into you again, absolutely plunging into the depths of your hole.

Just when you think he couldn’t possibly outdo this, he jolts up suddenly, nose brushing against your clit. His eyes go wide for the slightest second, as if he really hadn’t planned that, before flickering at you.

To your utter embarrassment, he takes one long whiff, eyes rolling to the back of his head in pleasure.

He pulls away from your dripping hole. “You smell so fucking good,” he informs you, spreading a fiery blush across your cheeks.

“Thanks?” You say, and he grins, shuffling onto his knees all of a sudden. You mope the loss of his tongue on your pussy, but forget about it the second he reaches for his desk and returns with a condom.

He tears the foil packet open with gentle hands, eyes weirdly zeroed in on that only. You nudge his hip, and when he meets your gaze, he instantly averts it. Like he’s suddenly shy.

Oh he was gonna be the death of you.

You tug his boxers down and get to revel in more of those bashful glances, but you soon forget about that when he grips his rock hard member in one hand, jacking it to its full potential. “Ready?” He says, one hand gripping your hip, the other his cock. You nod, and then shift up onto your elbows to watch him sink into you.

You can barely keep your eyes open, the second the tip of his cock brushes against you your eyes roll back into your head. You moan, letting yourself flop back against the mattress, chest heaving with each inch he sinks in. “Fuck, you’re big,” you cry, biting down on your fist.

Jeongguk chuckles. “Yeah?” He grunts, and then stills as he waits for you to catch your breath. He gives you exactly four seconds before he’s thrusting the remainder of the way in.

Your back arches off the bed, a high-pitched moan ripping itself out of your throat. “Jeon!”

“Relax, relax,” he croons, releasing your hip to lean over you, peppering your face in kisses. You’re heaving for air, so overwhelmed with emotions. “You’re doing so good for me, doll,” he comforts, kissing every inch of you until you regain your wits. “So wet and warm for me, you have no idea how bad I wanna just ram my cock into your tight, little pussy.”

You huff, heart still skipping by the time you grow familiar with the sheer size of his dick inside of you. When you’ve finally come back down to earth, eyes fluttering at Jeongguk, he gives you one affirmative nod before he begins really fucking you.

He starts carefully, like he’s afraid he’ll break you with one push. You’re thankful that he’s at least somewhat aware of his own bear strength, but you’d prefer if he picked up the pace. Before you can file a complaint, he’s hiking your thigh up onto the crease of his elbow, and ramming himself into you.

“Could already hear some smart ass comment coming,” he groans, snapping his hips into you with a newfound intensity. You moan, trying desperately to reciprocate some movements back.

“Wasn’t gonna say anything,” you gasp, fingernails digging into the skin of his shoulders, scratching lone lines down his back. Jeongguk snorts, pushing in, and then grinding your pelvises together deliciously.

He rolls his eyes, then chooses that exact moment to capture your lips in his. You groan softly, body boneless beneath him at the gentle way he kisses you, like his entire life depends on this single kiss.

When he finally releases your lips, he’s huffing against your mouth, hips having not stopped a single time. You know he’s tired and so riled up; you’d felt the brush of his half-hard member from the moment you first laid down to watch the movie.

But Jeongguk was a gentleman, through and through. You’d felt the brush of his cock, and heard the thundering of his heart, but he hadn’t pushed you further a single time. He basked in your presence, waiting until you crept your hand beneath his shirt to finally pounce.

“I’m close,” you tell him, reaching down to toy with your clit. Jeongguk had treated it like the finest treasure earlier, but now your gentle caresses feel mediocre compared to the way he’d touched it. Jeongguk nods, the tips of his wavy hair sticking to his forehead and the back of his neck. You abandon your quest to finish yourself off and focus on brushing his hair away from his face. “You’re so good to me,” you moan, lightly picking the corner of his mouth. “Don’t deserve you.”

He rams his cock into you, the arm not holding up your thigh weakening, until he’s leaning on his forearm over you. “Don’t say that,” he chokes out, and you wonder if his orgasm is as close as yours.

A particular brush of his cock against your cervix has you seeing stars, thighs clenching around him. “Just a little bit—more,” you beg, body writhing beneath him, pushing yourself up to meet his thrusts.

“So perfect,” he praises, kissing along your jaw. “Come for me, baby.”

You nod, but not before cupping his face in your hands, and pressing a sweet kiss to his lips. He makes a soft little sound of surprise, smile pressed against your mouth, and the heat in your abdomen finally explodes. You disassociate for all of one second, consumed in a wave of bliss never before heard of, his pistoning thrusts working you through it.

You nearly cry from how good it feels, throwing an arm around his neck to pull him closer. You’re babbling like an idiot, saying shit you won’t remember later. What you do recall is the chuckles Jeongguk had muffled against your neck, hips never faltering as he chased his own high.

He finds it a few beats later, the muscles of his back suddenly going rigid. He moans your name, somehow making it sound like it’s the best song in the world, before his hips begin stuttering in their mission. He eventually goes slack, slumped over you without completely crushing you beneath the weight of his muscles.

By the time you’ve fully recovered, he’s sliding out of you. Right as you go to speak, he stuffs two fingers into your sensitive cunt. “Jeon!” You wail, reaching down to push him away before you come again.

He snickers. “What? It’d be a waste to let it out,” he says, letting go when he’s decided he’s done his job, popping the digits into his mouth. You groan, trying to quell the excitement that builds in your chest from watching him suck your cum off his fingers.

“You’re the worst,” you sigh, snatching his t-shirt off the edge of the bed to tug over your bare form. Jeongguk tugs his underwear back on, retrieving yours from where he’d flung them across the room. When you’re settled into the blankets again, you’re not expecting the laptop to return as well. You raise a questioning eyebrow.

Jeongguk shrugs, nestling into your chest. “Hit play, this is when Professor Poopy Pants begins attacking the city.”

#kpopwonderlandtag #ksmutclub #jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jjk♡#jeongguk #jeon jeongguk #jeon jungkook #mine

6K notes · View notes

goose-books · 3 years ago

Text

& while i am posting things today. some more maxwriting, specifically two mini-fanfictions for yves. @yvesdot ’s WIP the one and only universe of kay rainier (would recommend! arguments to lovers! he/him wlw! interdimensional (?) shenanigans!) one of which also features an OC i've mentioned a few times on this blog but done historically very little with.

it’s occurred to me in my moment of posting that neither of these pieces have titles. oh well.

THE FIRST ONE

you ought to send yves. some bingo prompts. anyway, i sent them kay + daemons, and then immediately realized i had ideas and thoughts about that, too. so i wrote my own version. unlike theirs, this is vaguely set in the HDM universe, which is funny because i haven’t read HDM and learned everything i know from waya vivji, a single war and peace fanfiction, and also wikipedia just before i wrote it. the notable context here is that daemons are usually the “opposite sex” of their humans, and if i got that wrong do not tell me because i am embarrassed.

Kay is a precocious child; she is twelve years old when her daemon settles. Chesire is a sleek dark mahogany, a ferruginous hawk with a wickedly curved beak and eyes that glitter like beads. He is also male. This, for the Rainiers, is not done; even the absent Ariel, despite his eccentricities, had a properly gendered daemon. It unsettles Kay in a way she will not place for many years; still, as soon as she registers her disappointment (for it must be disappointment, surely; nothing more), she’s awash in guilt.

“How lovely,” she tells him, stroking his glossy new feathers, keeping her voice low less to keep out her father and more because it is only polite. Cheshire bobs his head and flutters his wings and seems, very slightly, to preen. He must be able to sense her uncertainty, the subdued flatness to her voice, but he is a Rainier as well; the polite thing is to ignore it, and he does.

“How curious,” Father says, stroking Fauntleroy’s velvet ears.

“Not unheard of,” the dormouse says from her seat in his breast pocket. Constantine inclines his head slightly; he does not deign to offer more.

When the Neighborly enters the house the jackal stalks at his heel, ears pricked at attention, wet black nose gleaming, mouth crooked open in a canine grin. With it comes a distinct smell — not unpleasant so much as it is unbalancing, an earthy scent, filling the foyer as its claws click on the floor. Like his clothes, it is black, head to toe. They aren’t usually. Kay wonders if it’s coincidence, if perhaps he dyes its fur so it will match.

She thinks of it as such — it — because to be frank she is not sure what to make of Atlas, and what to assume about his daemon. During the customary introductions, Cheshire perches atop Kay’s shoulder, and Fauntleroy emerges from her pocket to whisk up to Father’s collar and cling to the fabric to study the Neighborly. He can’t stay quite still. His hands twitch at his sides. He shifts his weight. The jackal paces maddening circles around the room, eyeing the dark walls and the fine wooden furniture, too dignified to lower its head and sniff but not too good to cast judgment without speaking. Every time it passes Kay in its slow inexorable orbit, Cheshire’s claws tighten on her coat.

“It’s a pleasure, Atlas,” Constantine says stiffly, extending a hand to shake with an expression that suggests he’d rather have it removed.

Atlas shakes, grinning easily, a looseness to his motions, and then he tilts his head and says, “Anubis.” In a moment the jackal’s at his side, curling around the backs of his legs to turn its wet smile on Kay’s father. It’s too large; that’s what she decides. How does he take it anywhere? Why hasn’t it learned to behave? Unless this is his goal: to part rooms, to announce his presence as soon as he steps through the threshold.

“Anubis,” she says, the first time she and Atlas are alone. “Like the god?” Atlas and Anubis; it is the sort of half-joke she can appreciate.

Anubis looks up at its name. Atlas looks at it. “I don’t know,” he says. “It was my sister’s idea.” He looks to Cheshire, who has settled near Kay’s inkwell to reorganize her pens. “And this is…”

“Cheshire.”

“Cheshire,” Atlas repeats, piercing glinting as his eyebrow quirks.

“When I was younger, I thought he would be a cat.”

“I thought she’d be a crow. Probably better this way. Crows are poser birds.” Anubis snorts at that, a sound both doggish and human.

“She is… she, then,” Kay says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Apparently that’s weird.” Atlas leans back in Kay’s chair until the front legs leave the ground.

“Is it,” Kay says.

Atlas’s eyes flit around her face, like he knows what she’s asking; his smirk doesn’t lessen. “Well, women have male daemons, right? Ask Cheshire.”

Kay and Cheshire look at each other. Cheshire fluffs his feathers and says, “This is dull.”

Kay is less certain. She does not smile at Atlas, but some of the edge has smoothed from her voice. “I should like to watch you explain it to my father.”

“If he could take it,” Atlas says. “What’s the mouse’s fucking name again?”

Cheshire steps back and forth, feathers ruffling, until Kay sets a hand out to still him, gentle, comforting. “Fauntleroy.”

“Christ,” Atlas says. “Bless you.” When he catches Kay stiffening, he relents a little, letting the chair clatter back to the floor. “Fits the vibe, I guess.”

“As yours fits you,” says Kay, making it as uncomplimentary as she can.

“Guess my soul’s black,” Atlas says cheerily. He balls up a piece of paper and tosses it to Anubis, who, flopped across the floor, doesn’t move. “Not the weirdest thing about us.”

“Well,” Kay says, “I think it would be rather unfair for me to talk about oddities,” and she takes a small victory in the look they share: not friendship, not fondness, but something like an understanding, reached in the quiet moment before Cheshire hands her another pen and she resumes her work.

THE SECOND ONE

this one’s a bit older but i never posted it until now, at yves.’s urging! i think i was doing... camp nano last year? or something. and couldn’t think of what to write. or maybe i couldn’t focus on my project because i was thinking about my other project, the butch4butch hamlet retelling i still haven’t written. to which yves. said, “write kay x your lesbian hamlet character,” to which i said, “you don’t think i will, but i will,” and i did. so really this is yvesmax crossover fic.

It is annoying, Holden’s habit of dropping by whenever she likes. This can probably be attributed to the fact that Holden, herself, is annoying. Kay can only adjust the items on her desk (pens, mainly) so many times; she is caught up in an aggravating state of waiting but also not waiting, and she does not care for that.

Just as she thinks so, there’s a knock at the front door.

Holden doesn’t ring the doorbell anymore. She did that the first time and Kay came down the stairs a few seconds too late to find Father staring at the creature in his front hall, looking like he didn’t know whether he should be put out or concerned. “I think the earrings got him,” Holden said later, on Kay’s bed, tapping the crosses hanging inverted from her ears. Kay’s opinion was that it was all of her, from the messy post-buzz hair to the propensity for suits to the Doc Martens to the way Holden leans on any available surface.

She opens the door and Holden is leaning against the doorframe. Which looks a little more awkward coupled with whatever she’s carrying under her arm.

“Hi,” she says.

Kay blinks slowly.

“It is late,” she says, spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs. Behind her, she hears the quiet click of Holden closing the door. The grandfather clock in the front hall is ticking toward eleven.

“I never get over how weird this place is.” When she glances back, Holden is peering into the nearest glass cabinet. “Like a little dollhouse.”

“Thank you,” Kay says stiffly. She cannot decide whether she is irritable.

“And this is coming from someone whose parents were devoted to taxidermy.” Holden follows her up the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of her suit jacket, looking entirely too comfortable here, and Kay decides that she is irritable after all.

“I do not know what you suppose your business is here,” she says. “Especially as it is almost an hour past ten.”

Holden shrugs.

“Do not shrug at me.”

Holden opens her mouth as if to speak, then casts a glance behind her. There’s no one in the darkened hallway; Father is in his office. Still, Holden waits for Kay to shut her bedroom door.

“I know I’m late,” she says, slouching back against it. “Sorry. I lost track of time in the bookstore.”

Kay blinks. “You are late to see me because you went to the bookstore,” she intones.

She says nothing as Holden withdraws the books from under her arm and extends them. “I really wanted to find Carmilla for you,” she says. “Like, the oldest print version I could find.”

It certainly looks old. Kay purses her lips. “I own Carmilla.”

“I know. But, like… it’s vintage.” Holden attempts one-handed jazz hands. “I have a sentence in my notes app from six months ago that just says carmilla but like the old edition.” She shuffles the stack of books. “And then I sat down for — look, I swear I was trying to be timely about it. Trying to be punctual.” She pops the P. “But time isn’t real and I read two chapters of Pride and Prejudice and I don’t know if you own that but it feels like the kind of thing you’d find sexy.” Her smile glitters. “And then — I know The Catcher in the Rye isn’t your thing. But I wrote in this one, so.”

Kay reaches out, very carefully, to take the books. She does own Pride and Prejudice, actually, but she still feels a pang. She flips through The Catcher in the Rye and is met with scrawls of black-ink handwriting, filling up the margins and underlining passages.

“Thank you,” she says, very softly, and moves to set the books on her desk. “You didn’t have to… get me anything.”

“I like knowing that my parents’ money is fueling homosexual agendas,” Holden says pleasantly. When Kay turns around, Holden catches her hand and steps in closer, showing her teeth in a smile. “But I’ll try to be on time from now on.”

“As you should,” Kay says, pulling Holden a few inches closer.

Holden raises a hand to caress Kay’s cheek. “That said,” she says in a low voice, “now that I’ve — what did you say. Now that I’ve fulfilled my business here, I can think of a few things we could do. Unless it’s too late.”

Against her will, Kay smiles.

“I suppose we can extend your stay a little longer,” she says, and their lips meet.

#max.txt #max actually writes #yves tag #love h tag #holden hemlock #apparently i only write kaypov. i'll admit atlas's pov intimidates me a little bit.#but i do maintain my choice of holden/kay versus holden/atlas because holden and atlas are like... the same. doubles #well not really doubles but like... i think the furthest they would get would be holden asking atlas to swap clothing items.#in a nonsexual very literal way.#anyway! enjoy.

8 notes · View notes

rein-ette · 3 years ago

Note

Howdy howdy! A question for you: what your favourite thing that you've written, and why?

First thing that comes to mind is The Dark World is Not Far From Us. It was the first piece of fictional writing I ever posted for anyone besides my closest friends to see only a few short months ago, and it touches on a time period very close to my heart as well. It's not my best writing, technically speaking, but it was one of the those scenes that was so vivid in my mind I just had to write it down, and WWII happened to be a unique time frame for engport as well that I had never seen anyone discuss in much detail. I was in the middle of some exam hell back then too, so I can't even remember how I wrote it -- but I'm pretty happy with the result.

More recently my fraport fic Ständchen is, I think, another one that's moving up the personal favourites ranking. I honestly don't know if I'm judging these by the writing quality or if I just liked the content, but I literally cried listening to the actual musical piece Ständchen played on the cello and thinking about Francis -- it just felt so perfect for his character, capturing his voice in a way words never can. That fic began from a single paragraph I jotted down frantically in the notes app on my phone on one evening walk, and its still one of my most memorable:

As he placed another dish on the growing pile beside him and pulled a saucepan under the scalding water, he reflected on how Francis had become noticeably quieter after the war. There were moments in meetings, even parties, where Gabriel would catch his Francis staring off into the middle distance, a nameless emotion in those timeless blue eyes. Of course, Gabriel had long known that Francis had at least one serious side to match each of his glowing smiles, though even this, Gabriel felt, he had figured out rather too late. The problem was that, even as a child, reading Francis was like trying to see through an Arctic glacier to the sea floor below. As Francis aged, the ice only got thicker and the ocean deeper. He remembered Arthur had once compared Francis’s personality to Daedalus’s Labyrinth — fathomless and ever-changing, with a will of its own that even it’s creator couldn’t quite control. It was this lack of control over his own mind, Arthur said, that drove Francis to pursue mastery over his expressions and body, the logic being that if he could not understand his own heart, at the very least no one else would be able to, either.

Speaking of small sections I've liked, here's another containing what I believe to be the best line I've written to date (the last one):

[Marcus] had taken his brother's tunic, and then his hand, and pulled him away from their mother. Pulled him through the dusty years that followed, when they scraped an existence from what they could scavenge and grow and beg for to whet their hunger. Pulled him away from their home, then, when the Roman soldiers had finally come to collect them, pulled the both of them away from their land and all the way to the Imperial City.

Had taken his hand as they stood again before Rome. Not the buildings, but the being whom they called the Eternal One.

Had taken his hand, even in the gladiator pit.

The beasts had not terrified Marcus as much as the flutter of his brother's pulse in his palm.

This is from the second chapter of iacta alea est, which is currently on hiatus because I can't really get the frain chapter right.

Other than Hetalia, I've written some snippets of original fiction before, but they weren't much good. I also wrote a considerable amount of poetry, especially when I was having a tough go of it a couple years back, but that was also more a form of therapy than writing for writing. In digging for this ask I realized I actually lost a good chunk of those switching to my new laptop, which is both a shame and a...relief? In the sense that perhaps I can finally move on from those terrible emotions that forced me to write back then. Here's one that I could find that seemed 'aight (if you're into that sort of thing):

#it's reining again #ask #rainbowfruitpastilles #thanks for the ask!#unlike you two I feel like I had fun with this unexpectedly #i have a lot of favourite lines but not that many favourite works they're all aight to me #my goal is always to hit that one line that just so right you shiver when you read it #as for the poems most of them I can’t post without like ten trigger warnings #that’s the kinda shit I was in back then 🥲

7 notes · View notes

paradigmsofbrittaperry · 4 years ago

Note

⭐⭐⭐

I’m gonna talk about if I bleed, you’ll be the last to know because a) it’s one of my favorite self-written works and b) @withatalentforsquaddrill requested that I talk about it!!

two things right off the bat: 1) I wrote this the week that I listened to Cruel Summer by Taylor Swift for the first time and became so obsessed with it that I listened to it probably close to 40 times over the span of a few days and 2) I got the idea to write it as I turned off my light and was laying down to go to sleep. usually when I get ideas that late, I pick up my phone, type something out in my notes app, and get to sleep. but something compelled me that night to get back up and sit down at my computer and write until I was done (probably the fact that it was a weekend and I could afford to stay up late lmao).

I usually write in past tense, but this was one of my first experiments with present tense. I also experimented with a sort of flashback/flash-forward narrative to fill out the details of the summer after their freshman year. I was able to cram pretty much all of my favorite jeffbritta headcanons into one passage describing the events of the summer, which I’ll put right here:

Sometimes, they go out to the little rundown bar a few blocks away and sing karaoke for a crowd that doesn’t have any idea who they are. Some evenings are spent with boxes of Chinese takeout and a made-for-TV edit of a blockbuster from several years ago, one that Britta can complain about and Jeff can defend for the sole purpose of arguing with her. And, on extremely rare occasion, they’ll stumble out of a bar long after the official last call, fingers laced together as they walk down the street towards a park that Jeff only knows about because a woman he dogsat for once wanted him to take her dogs there. Sometimes, he rambles about how he could see himself bringing his kids to a park like that someday. Sometimes, Britta clings to his arm and looks up at his face in the orange glow of the street lamps and thinks that someday, she might be able to say that she loves him.

a big part of my motivation to write this fic came from the fact that I still find what Jeff did at the Transfer Dance to be shitty. ik this has been talked to death over the years, but at that point, Jeff and Britta were good friends and he shouldn’t have let her face that kind of humiliation alone (insert rant about how he instead went to kiss a teenager that was emotionally vulnerable since she’d just gotten out of a serious long term relationship). I usually prefer the concept of him knowing that Britta is trying to piss off Michelle and giving a sarcastic, over-the-top confession of love to get them both out of the cafeteria, but in this case, I wanted to play with the idea of him earnestly choosing her while remaining emotionally reserved and closed off. I don’t think that Jeff and Britta are people who can honestly plainly say how they feel in most cases, so I also wanted to highlight the ways they say “I love you” without actually having to say it, my favorite example being from this passage:

“Looks like all we have left is Earl Grey,” he says, sighing as he pulls out two bags and moves to heat water up in the kettle that she’d bought for him. This summer had turned him into a tea drinker. Maybe it was because he’d become accustomed to the taste of it being on Britta’s lips. Maybe it was his way of telling her that he loved her without having to make his mouth form the words.

I wove Cruel Summer lyrics through this whole thing because I have brain worms and I really can’t stress how much I listened to that song within an extremely short amount of time. and overall, I’m really happy with how this fic’s story matches up with that of the song’s, especially considering that this is only 1.5k words long. the vibe I get from the song is that it’s about a summer romance that one thinks is doomed from the start, but has the potential to blossom into something less destructive if given proper care and attention. I feel like I approach Jeff and Britta’s relationship from that angle in most of my work; that they shouldn’t work together, and really don’t work together until they both have overcome enough of their issues to commit to one another in at least some capacity. I’ve felt like Cruel Summer is Their Song ever since I heard it and at the end of the day, this was really just an attempt to capture why I feel that way within a fic. I’ve maintained affection for this work over the five months since I posted it (christ it’s been that long?? time can’t be real anymore) and historically, it’s rare that I still like my work that long after I post it. hopefully it means that I’ve been improving over the past year and will not be as embarrassed of my past work as I typically have been, but it could also mean that the power of Taylor Swift cancels out the embarrassment that I would usually feel.

#ty for the ask!!#bri speaks #ask box #writing tag

5 notes · View notes

comeoncomeout41 · 4 years ago

Text

I just watched the Elf episode of The Holiday Movies That Made Us on Netflix after remembering that I started writing an Elf supercorp AU for Christmas in 2018 (don’t judge me) and found my old notes app first draft so Merry Christmas and Happy Hanukkah! MAYBE I’ll finish it this year... (she said as a lying liar who lies.)

*The fic in which Kara’s pod crash landed at the North Pole, 13 years later her adopted elf mother Eliza and her elf sister Alex tell her about her cousin Kal now Clark Kent and she decides to go to Metropolis to meet the only other person like her. She meets Lena “naughty list” Luthor. And Clark and Lois are Jewish.

🔥🎄🎄🎄🧝‍♀️🤦🏻‍♀️

Some elves are born to work in Santa’s workshop. Kara Zor-El, however, was not born an elf or even from this earth for that matter.

When her pod crash landed at the North Pole thirteen years ago, she had no memory of a lost planet, no recollection of a cousin she was sent to protect who had already grown up to become Superman, and no idea how to be an alien living with elves. Santa was perturbed as to what to do with a skittish teenaged alien who cringed at the sound of tiny hammers building toys.

The elf doctor, Eliza Danvers, having a daughter around Kara’s age, naturally stepped in to help raise her, teach her elf culture, and attempt to control her powers. There were several mishaps of course.

Kara’s eyes lit up the first time she saw a Christmas tree. Literally. The green pine was burned to a crisp with her heat vision. But she quickly uprooted another tree from outside the elf village and helped Alex redecorate the new tree. And spent several hours carefully placing the new lights and ornaments, after breaking several of the glowing strings of light and the ornate red and blue colored bulbs. When Alex had trouble reaching the top of the tree, Kara swooped her up under her arms to help her place the star on the tree. And she managed to only break one of Alex’s ribs in the process.

After years of being at the North Pole, Kara was actually a wonderful toy maker once she learned to control her strength. When other elves managed to meet their five hundred toy quotas, Kara would have five thousand toys completed. The workshop wouldn’t need any teddy bears for another century, but finding storage for all of the toys Kara built was becoming difficult.

So from there, Kara’s primary job became Elf Master of Letters. She spends several hours each day answering letters for Santa as Santa’s tight schedule and the millions of letters he received each year became too much for the old bearded man. And although she always needed a little proofreading as the different Earth languages were sometimes difficult and much different than her native alien tongue, she enjoyed writing and speaking to children all over the world, bringing them the joy of Christmas.

Alex read over the letter Kara had just finished typing. Her younger but much bigger sister looked to her with a twinkle in her eyes and waited patiently. When Kara saw the red ink marked all over Kara’s letter she cooed and gasped, “That red is so pretty Alex. I know Raymond in Denver will love it! He told me red was his favorite color. I wanted to tell him that’s Santa’s favorite color too! But I didn’t want to give all of the big man’s secrets away, you know?”

Alex sighed and rested her hand on her sister’s shoulder, “Kara, these are your typos. Look here.”

Alex pointed to the last line, “Beleiving isn’t singing. Singing is beleiving.”

“He asked if he could see what the North Pole looks like. I set him straight. Believing isn’t singing. Singing is believing. That was in that one Santa Claus movie you had me watch, which I know isn’t historically accurate or based on true events, but I still,”

“Kara, remember your English spellings. I before e except after c? And it’s seeing not singing.

“Except in some cases like neighbor and weigh. And I just thought! It’s a play on words because ‘the best way to spread Christmas cheer, is singing loud for all to hear!’”

Alex smiled at her then, “You’ll get the hang of it.“

“Yeah, okay so I can’t spell that great, but the writing was good right?” Kara looked hopeful.

Alex shoved her shoulder, “You know you have more Christmas spirit than any other elf. Now come on and fix these typos, so we can go drink hot chocolate with Mom.”

That night when Kara had gone to bed, belly full of twelve drumsticks, eleven pickled peppers, ten cups of hot chocolate, nine hams glazed, eight glasses of milk, seven strudel pastries, six white chocolate goose eggs, five onion rings, four carrot cakes, three French bagels, two turtle chocolates, and a chocolate pecan pie, she curled up on her elf sized bed. Eliza had knit a fourth blanket onto her elf quilt the previous month when her toes started peeking out at the bottom. Alex had tucked her in tonight, making certain she was snug as a bug in a rug in the tiny bed, wishing sweet dreams of sugarplums dancing in her head.

She was content, happy, home and tomorrow would be her thirteenth birthday at the North Pole. What more could her life possibly be, what could be more rewarding than being apart of the magic that brought Christmas to children all over the world? And still Kara thought of that world and all of the little lights that wrote those letters to Santa, the gleaming eyes of all who opened presents on Christmas morning, and she wondered if any of them were like her. If they could hear the faintest sounds of snow falling or reach up and touch the clouds. If they could roast chestnuts with their eyes or see through all those pretty presents wrapped neatly under the tree. If the people of this world could believe that Santa would come every year to bring them gifts, then she had to believe that somewhere out there, there was someone else who was just like her.

That night Kara dreamed of a beautiful red sunset and little baby boy named Kal. It all felt so real, seeing him jet across the sky in a similar pod to the one Kara had found in an abandoned workshop years ago, knowing it must have been how she found her home. She wrote a letter to Santa as soon as she woke up, asking him to find a home for Kal for Christmas.

_____

Kara had been in trouble a bit, always an accident, because really how was it her fault if Blitzen couldn’t keep up with her? He could have flown faster if he hadn’t eaten all of that maple syrup and maybe then he wouldn’t have been left behind! She carried him back the whole way anyway! After she found him three days later in the Swiss Alps.

But this time when she was called to Santa’s office and Eliza and Alex sat patiently waiting for the charges from the big boss, Kara didn’t know why she was here at all, or rather, now she was on the floor with wood debris around her rear because the little chair was a lot lower than she had anticipated. That was the tenth one this month.

Santa cleared his throat and rubbed his white bearded chin, “I read your letter, and I spoke to your mom and sister. I think they have something they’d like to tell you.”

Kara widened her eyes and looked to her mom, “Are we going to adopt Kal? Like you adopted me? Please say we can Eliza. I promise I’ll teach him myself how to control his powers, and I can build him a crib myself. I’ll even chop down the tree for the wood and we can,”

Eliza cupped Kara’s face and kissed her forehead, a tear prickling at the corner of her eye, “Do you remember Kal now sweetie? Do you remember Krypton?”

Kara blew out her breath in bewilderment, “Krypton? What’s that? Is that where I’m from? Is it in Canada? I’ve always felt I was probably a Canadian because I don’t get cold at the North Pole, and I make the best maple syrup every year during the elf Christmas party.”

Santa nodded, “Its true, you really do.”

Alex gasped, “you know you’re not an elf?”

Kara chewed at her fingernails, “Well I’m not, am I? I’m bigger than all of you and I can lift a Christmas tree over my head like it’s mistletoe and fly with reindeer and all sorts of stuff. I’ve known for awhile I’m not from here, but this is still my home. You two are still my family.”

Alex held back all her unshed tears, “But you have other family out there, and we can’t keep you from knowing about Kal anymore.”

So that day Kara cried when Santa showed her the picture of Kal, or Clark Kent as he was called on Earth, glasses askew and a beautiful woman on his arm. Clark without the glasses bearing what she was told was her family crest, the House of El, taking up the mantle of Earth’s greatest hero, Superman. She had crafted thousands of figurines of her only living blood relative, and yet she hadn’t the faintest idea that she had been sent to protect him for all of these years. He had grown up, not alone at least. He was raised in Kansas on a farm, and now he lived in Metropolis with his wife Lois Lane and their son Jonathan Kent.

“Does he even know I exist?”

_____

Kara changed into her best elf attire and her bright red boots that Eliza had made her for Christmas, letting her open one present before she left. Today was the day that she would fly to Metropolis and meet her cousin for the first time. She couldn’t wait, but the dread at leaving Alex and Eliza settled deep in the pit of her stomach. And all of the letters to Santa she still wanted to respond to sat neatly at her desk in her room.

She was leaving behind her entire life at the North Pole. She told herself she wasn’t losing her home, but it still felt like it. Santa’s workshop, Eliza and Alex, it was all she had ever known or could remember. Would it be the same when she came back? Would her room still smell like a gingerbread house and would her stocking still hang by their chimney with care? Would Kal come with her or would she split her time between Kal and Alex and Eliza like some children who get double presents when their parents divorce?

Alex knocked on her door and waltzed in, “Hey Kara, mom made you something to take to Kal. There’s a winter storm over Greenland, you should probably get going soon.”

Kara wiped the tears from her eyes and her sister rushed to hug her. She had to bend down a little and lift Alex off the ground, but no way was she leaving without giving her sister a proper hug.

“I’m going to miss you and mom so much, Alex. I’ve never been away from home for more than a few hours, how am I going to make it to Christmas without you both? Will you even still want me back?”

Alex nuzzled closer, “You better come back because I don’t want to imagine this place without you. Who’s going to lift the fridge so mom can sweep under it hmm? Who’s going to change all of the light bulbs in the workshop when they blow out? Who’s going to drink hot chocolate with me and watch Hallmark movies in July?”

Kara laughed, shaking her head and deposited Alex on the floor, “I thought you hated the Hallmark channel.”

Alex simply rolled her eyes, “But I love spending time with my sister, and I love you, you big sap. I swore I wasn’t going to cry.”

Feeling slightly better Kara shoves her sister’s shoulder, a little too hard and catches her before she falls, “I love you too, dork. Don’t open the present I got you until you get back, pinky swear?”

Alex locks pinkies with Kara and kisses her thumb, “I’ll miss you. Please be safe. No breaking the sound barrier, watch out for pigeons because there’s a lot in Metropolis or so I’ve read. And when you see Kal remember to call him Clark Kent.”

“Got it, and don’t eat anything I don’t buy myself or anything not given to me by Clark, Lois, or Jonathan because there’s a high chance it’s not candy.”

Kara hugged Eliza for thirty minutes after that, and then Alex for another ten minutes before waving goodbye to Santa and all of the elves at his workshop. Metropolis wasn’t so far for her to fly, and she’d be home in no time.

She coasted through the peppermint sparkled glaciers, touched the northern lights, sailed through the skies above the Arctic Ocean, grazed the top of the Daily Planet, and landed atop the small two bedroom apartment building on the rent controlled side of town. Inside the windows of the corner apartment on the top floor, Kara saw Kal with his family, lighting candles, looking happy and calm. She decided to wait until morning to meet Kal, Clark, alone.

She listened into the city around her, all of the heartbeats like a million tiny hammers beating together, all except one. Kara flew the city, pinpointing the sound, admiring all of the lights on all the trees in all of the buildings and all the shining multicolored bulbs lining the streets. And it was there, in the tallest tower of the tallest building, one light shone through the wall to wall window, a small desk lamp in the large office. At the desk a woman with jet black hair and skin as white and fair as snow sat, typing away at her computer, nibbling on the pen in her mouth. She strained her long elegant neck, and stretched her arms above her head before getting back to work.

Kara glanced below the balcony to the street corner, finding what she knew the young woman needed. She floated down to the alley and walked into a coffee shop, took some time figuring out how to pay for a cup of coffee with the paper and coin money that Santa had given her before she left. Smiled and thanked the cashier for helping her, put one of the bills in his tip jar (it was a hundred.) She quickly flew into the woman’s office, left the coffee on her desk, and flew out of sight, feeling a little like Santa herself in the moment.

The woman grabbed the coffee absentmindedly and sipped, not expecting it to be so hot Kara sees her fanning her mouth and frantically searching the room with her eyes. When she turns to peer out her balcony, Kara sees her face, hard jaw line, soft endearing green eyes. She smiles as the woman screams and locks her balcony door as the windows go pitch black.

#supercorp #elf au

15 notes · View notes