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colormepurplex2 · 3 months ago

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Golden Cufflinks | JJK

▻ Golden Cufflinks ↳ Alpha!Jungkook x Omega!f.Reader ⤜ Best Friend's Fiance, Strangers to True Mates ⤜ A/B/O AU | angst, smut, fluff ⤜ Rating: MA ⤜ WC: 11,742 ⤜ Summary: You’ve never given much thought to finding your true mate, firmly believing it’s something that will happen when it happens. But, when you do find him—thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks—it very well could ruin everything. They say not all’s fair in love and war; you just hadn’t expected your best friend’s wedding to be the battleground. ⚠️ Crass language, talk of designation hierarchy, mild talk of misogynistic practices of the past, confessions of cheating(not by main pairing), anger/arguments, kissing, dick sucking, mild cum intrigue, maybe mild breeding kink if you squint, unprotected v. sex, knotting, lots of slick and cum

Written for @hisunshiine as part of the 2nd Quarter 2023 @bangtanwritershq Awards Season! A/N: Congratualtions, Vanessa. You deserve all the kudos for a job well done during the 2nd Quarter 2023, I hope you enjoy the story!

A special thank you to @downbad4yoongi, @lo1k-diamonds, @moonleeai for the amazing beta services!

Can also be found on: Ao3 | Wattpad

Nerves flutter in your belly as you gather your belongings from the plastic bin at the end of the rolling conveyor belt on the other side of security. As you walk away, your phone buzzes in your pocket, and you have to juggle your purse and jacket to retrieve it.

You feel bad for making Hayun, your best friend for as long as you can remember, wait for a response, but you desperately just want to find your gate and have a seat first. Once you find it and settle in at a chair by the big windows looking out on the tarmac, you thumb to her contact.

“If I didn’t love you so much, I’d probably hate you right now for making me wait so long for a response,” Hayun sasses before her voice softens, “Hello, I love you.”

“Love you, too, girl,” you say, unable to help the smile that tilts your lips up. “Sorry, I’ve been MIA for the last few hours. Things have been hectic. I misplaced my passport this morning, but I finally found it under the bed and then missed the hotel shuttle. I had to call a rideshare, but of course, it took them forever to get through airport traffic, and ugh…” you trail off with a sigh. “I’m sitting down for the first time since I woke up this morning.”

Which was approximately four hours ago at this point. Your flight is set to take off less than an hour from now, so you imagine boarding might start soon. You’re not exaggerating when you say it’s been hectic. It was bad enough waking up at 3 AM, but you’re a chronic planner and stickler for time, so missing your flight was the absolute last thing you wanted to happen.

“Oh, babe, that sucks. I’m glad it’s all worked out, though. I really can’t wait to see you!”

The conversation passes quickly, easing your heart and mind as you catch up on the last twenty-four hours. You haven’t seen Hayun in a handful of years. Her career took her to the other side of the world, and yours kept you where you both grew up. The last time you saw her was through a haze of tears at this very airport when she boarded a plane destined for Seoul, South Korea, where she was adopted from at just two years old.

Visiting each other was always something you both talked about. But, as with most things, life just happens, and eventually, you find yourself making that visit you always talked about for reasons you never considered before—like your best friend tying the knot with a guy you’ve never met.

Sure, you’ve seen pictures of him and have heard him talk in the background of most of the phone calls you’ve exchanged with Hayun over the last few years. But, it was never on your friendship bingo card that the next time you’d find yourself seeing your best friend, it would be her at her wedding.

“I gotta go. They’re about to start boarding.”

“I’ll see you when you land. Can’t wait!”

Hayun disconnects the call, and you gather your belongings to prepare to line up in the boarding queue. It will be a long flight, but seeing Hayun again after so long apart will be worth it.

You fiddle with the bracelet on your left wrist, twisting and pinching at the silver moon charm dangling from the thin chain. Hayun has a matching one. They were presents from your parents on the day you were both recognized with your designations; she was thirteen, and you were fifteen.

The dynamics of Alphas and Omegas have long since changed from what it once was. Legend has it that once upon a time, an Alpha and an Omega were closer to their wolf-kin than how the world is now. Thanks to evolution and science, the only things remaining from that time are the more basic bodily functions—scents, knots, and slick, to sum it up.

The crescent charm on your wrist symbolizes your designation—Omega. But being an Omega doesn’t hold much meaning for you. You don’t feel all that special, and it’s not like you’re rare or any more or less capable than the next person. As it stands, you can see at least a dozen other moons jangling from bracelets, waiting to board the same plane you are.

There are also necklaces, tattoos, and other ways to display a designation scattered around the waiting area. The how of it is mostly regional, sometimes generational. The Beta standing behind you in the queue has a teardrop earring dangling from their left ear, and if it weren’t for the pheromone blockers you took this morning, you might be able to smell their unique scent.

You also have your own smell, a scent that is just you. You’ve been told it’s a sweet, citrusy bouquet like lemonade on a hot summer afternoon. However, also thanks to the blockers, it remains suppressed to the point someone would have to make you bleed or press their nose so firmly against your throat it hurts to smell it.

There really is only one thing that a lot of people are envious of when it comes to an Omega’s designation, and that is that they supposedly have an Alpha true mate out there somewhere that will call to their baser nature. It’s such a rare phenomenon these days that it might as well be part of the legends of old, too.

The bottom line is that no one cares about subgenders anymore; it doesn't matter whether your charm is the Omega crescent, the teardrop of a Beta, or the triskelion denoting an Alpha. In fact, you’re pretty sure you could ask the Beta for their earring and offer them your charm bracelet and no one would bat an eye over it.

Though you’d never do that, considering the chain around your wrist isn’t technically yours. The night after you presented as Omega, when you snuck away with Hayun to lay on a blanket under the stars and moon that was so like the charm hanging from your twin bracelets, you giggled as you exchanged them. Her tiny fingers trembled against your wrist as she secured her silver chain around it. You did the same with your own around hers a second later.

It was that night that you both swore always to be friends. No matter what happened in life or where either of you ended up, you would always remain true to one another. So far, your friendship has been unfailing, a constant thread of comfort and light for you both. No matter how long it’s been, the charm still smells faintly of your best friend—a perk of the charms themselves, holding a token essence of their owners. Hers holds a soft lilac and jasmine scent that you’ve always thought complimented your own citrus notes.

The flight attendant scanning boarding passes beckoning you forward breaks you out of your internal reflections. With a full heart and giddy anticipation curling in your belly, you find your seat and settle in.

It’s a long flight, longer than most flights you’ve taken. But when you finally walk off the plane, make it through customs and immigration, and finally empty into the arrivals terminal of the Incheon Airport, you feel immediate relief, and the hours spent in the air don’t seem so bad.

“Hey, over here!” a familiar voice calls out, catching your attention.

You spin on your heel, confusion setting in for just a moment before it’s replaced by another wave of relief and a little of something warmer. Taehyung, Hayun’s adopted brother, swamps you in a giant bear hug that quite literally sweeps you off of your feet.

“Wow, hey. This is a surprise. What are you doing here? Where’s Hayun?”

Taehyung scrunches up his face, letting out a small scoff. “It’s a good surprise, I hope. Something came up, and she had to meet with the wedding planner and caterer at the last minute. She called me and asked if I could pick you up.”

“Oh, okay. Yeah,” you confirm with a smile. “Good surprise.”

It’s no secret that you’ve always been fond of Taehyung. As a baby, you were toddling around with him long before his family adopted Hayun. She ended up being the sister you never knew you needed, even if you were a few years older.

When she moved to Seoul for work, Taehyung ended up being the physical representation that took her place. He flew out a week before you to help her with planning and will stay for a few weeks after you’ve already headed back home. They may have had their differences over the years, but their sibling bond is stronger than petty arguments and rivalries.

“Ready to get on the road? It’s a long drive.”

Hours later, with the rolling countryside and farms dotting the horizon, you discover the fiasco inside your backpack. The bottle of pheromone blockers you packed this morning somehow got shuffled to the bottom of your bag and popped open. The once-powder-filled capsules litter the bottom of your bag, broken open. Pale blue powder coats your things, the mild flower smell of the medicine lingering in the air.

“Fucking hell,” you groan. “Any chance there’s a clinic somewhere between here and where we’re going?”

“Unfortunately, no.” He frowns, drumming his fingers lightly on the steering wheel, making the triskelion signet ring on his index finger glitter in the mid-day sun. “We’d probably have to turn around and head nearly three hours back to get anywhere near a clinic with blockers. I'm told most people don’t use them anymore these days here. Maybe another one of the wedding party might have some you could borrow if you really need them. But, honestly, I don’t see anyone minding if you don’t use them.”

“Most people here don’t use them anymore?”

“Well, yeah, with the progression of equality and things like that. They’re so great here, way more progressive than back home. It’s very common for Omegas to go off of blockers or never even begin them. Laws have been implemented to punish Alphas who can’t control themselves. The responsibility of remaining safe shouldn’t be solely set on the shoulders of the Omega population.”

Talk like that has only recently become popular back home. You’ve heard the speeches and followed the media and the sources, but you suppose after nearly half of your life taking blockers, it just comes naturally to continue to do so.

“Hm, yeah, okay. I guess it’s no big deal, really. As long as you’re sure people won’t mind?”

Taehyung sniffs the air, his nose twitching. “I think you smell great, but just in case not everyone does, if someone says something, then I’ll personally drive all the way back to the city and pick you up some,” Taehyung promises, giving you one of his swoon-worthy smiles.

The crush you once upon a time had on Taehyung threatens to spark anew at the sight of his charming, boxy grin—a grin you would have once done anything to pull from him. But now, it just fills you with warmth and a homey comfort.

You give him a smile of your own. “Deal.”

“Hayun!”

Her squeal of delight when she turns around and catches sight of you echoes through the open space of the dimly lit bar of the bed and breakfast where the wedding is taking place.

It’s a cozy space with rich dark wood accents and royal blue velvet upholstery. Brass gas lamps and light fixtures give the entire lounge an upscale and chic atmosphere that you know is right up Hayun’s alley.

The few hours you had between checking in at the bed and breakfast and meeting Hayun for her very small—just you and one other person—bachelorette party were spent familiarizing yourself with the grounds.

The ceremony will take place in one of the lavish gardens, and the reception will follow in one of the grand dining halls. For a bed and breakfast, it’s far fancier than any you’ve ever been to. It definitely does not have the mom-and-pop feel that you typically associate with the term ‘B&B’.

“You’re here!” she shrills, throwing her arms around your neck.

Her petite form fits just like it always has against yours. Thick black hair, shorter than the last time you saw it, curls around the rounded lines of her cheeks, and her brown eyes are bright and glisten with happy tears. With her bubbly personality and small, wispy frame, she's always reminded you of a fairy.

You sigh, taking a deep breath and savoring your best friend's soft, floral scent. Thanks to the bracelet tinkling around her wrist, it holds the smallest undercurrent of your sweet citrus. Clearly, she’s not taking blockers; the scents are heavy and delightful. “I’ve missed you so much.”

Hayun sucks in a deep breath that mirrors yours. “Wow, babe, you smell good! Finally gone off the blockers, huh?”

“Uh, kind of,” you chuckle, untangling yourself from her arms. “I brought some, but they broke open in my bag at some point.” You shrug. “Tae said it shouldn’t be that big of a deal.”

“Oh, it’s not. Absolutely not,” Hayun agrees, grinning broadly. “I’ve been off them for years and haven’t had a single issue. Come on, let’s have a drink and catch up!”

You settle in at a table, and it’s not long before Eunseo, Hayun’s other guest, joins you. You’ve heard a lot about Eunseo. Much the same way Taehyung took the place of Hayun for you, Eunseo took your place for Hayun. You half expect to feel some sort of friendship jealousy upon meeting Eunseo for the first time, but it doesn’t come. If anything, you’re immediately fond of the young woman.

The evening carries on, Hayun and Eunseo regaling you with tales from working together and their various adventures around Seoul. Eunseo shows genuine interest in your life back home, seeming eager to hear stories of Hayun’s childhood. She shows a particular interest in Taehyung, asking you in no certain terms more than you think is appropriate to share.

“But you’ve seen it, right?” Eunseo asks. Her elbows rest on the table, and her chin is nestled on her clasped hands, her eyes wide and glassy from the countless glasses of wine she’s had. “I bet it’s huge. Am I right?”

“Ugh,” Hayun groans. “Can we not talk about my brother’s dick. Please.” She makes a gagging sound before slurping down the rest of her cocktail and flagging down a passing waiter for another.

You try to wave off the waiter, but he’s turned toward the bar before you can get his attention. If Hayun has much more to drink, you’re not sure she’ll be able to walk down the aisle tomorrow unassisted.

“I’m just curious. It’s a harmless question,” Eunseo pouts. “Ignore her. Tell me. I just have to know.”

You swirl the straw around in your glass of water before giving Eunseo what you hope is a conspiratorial look. “Well—”

“What?! Ew. Are you really about to answer her? Please, dear god, do not tell me you have seen my brother’s penis. If you’ve seen it—fuck, I might actually puke.”

As much as you probably shouldn’t, you laugh, which earns further protests and obscene noises from Hayun.

“Before you interrupted me, I was going to say that maybe Eunseo should ask him herself.”

Hayun howls a protest, sloshing her new cocktail onto the table as she gesticulates a crude hand gesture in your direction. “Do not. I repeat, do not do that, Eunseo!”

The conversation peters off, Hayun losing herself in another cocktail while Eunseo stares dreamily up at the ceiling.

“I think—hiccup—it's bedtime,” Eunseo slurs.

As if right on cue, a familiar face peeks through the entrance to the lounge. You wave Taehyung down, and he comes jogging across the space to your table. His shirt is rumpled with the top few buttons undone, but his eyes are clear, and you know he’ll be a perfect gentleman.

“Are you sure?” you ask him, pitching your voice low.

“I got this, don’t worry. We finished up a few hours ago anyway.”

Taehyung gives you a warm, private smile before turning to Eunseo. “Hey there, beautiful. Let’s get you on to bed, okay?”

“Where’s my savior?” Hayun asks, frowning after her brother escorting Eunseo from the lounge and back through the front lobby.

“Right here,” you tell her, sliding out of your chair and coming around to her side of the table. “Come on, let’s go.”

It takes you more than twice as long as it usually would to get to Hayun’s room. She leans against the wall in the hall as you dig through her pockets in search of her room key. Once you find it tucked between a few stray bills and her ID, you usher her into the room and deposit her onto the bed.

Her fiance has a room on the other side of the grounds, but after the ceremony, they will both be moving into one of the couple’s suites for the night before jet-setting off to Jeju Island for their week-long honeymoon.

“Am I doing the right thing?”

Hayun’s question catches you off guard. You throw a confused look at her over your shoulder as you rummage through her suitcase in search of something for her to sleep in.

“What?”

She sighs as she rolls over, letting her head hang off the edge of the bed so she can look at you upside down. “Marrying Jungkook. It’s a mistake…so why am I doing it?”

“Hayun…what are you talking about? Jungkook is perfect for you. You guys have been dating for five years, and you told me you’ve never been happier. Where’s the mistake in that?”

The sound Hayun makes is akin to something a wounded animal might make. She flops, flailing her arms and legs like a child throwing a fit.

“That’s the thing, though! I’m happy, but I don’t love him. Oh god,” she cries. “I don’t love him.”

“Hey, hey now.” You abandon the search for sleeping clothes and crawl across the floor until you’re kneeling beside the bed. Smoothing your hand across her forehead, you ask, “Where is all this coming from?”

“He thinks I’m his true mate,” she whispers. The tears leaking from her eyes slide up her face, wetting the edges of her eyebrows before sliding over her forehead and disappearing into her hair. “But I know he’s not mine.”

“Wh—wait, what?” You push up from the floor and move onto the bed, gathering your best friend’s head into your lap so she’s no longer hanging upside down off the side of the bed.

She hiccups a sob, lips trembling as she explains, “He says I’m his true mate, that he knows because of my scent. But he doesn’t smell special to me…how is that possible?”

“Hayun, I don’t—”

“I cheated on him,” she whimpers in confession, cutting off what were going to be your soothing words of affirmation. They sour on your tongue, refusing to be released now.

Your stomach churns at her admittance. “You what?”

“You have every right to judge me. I’m a terrible person. But, when he told me I was his true mate…I panicked. I had to be sure I wasn’t broken, that me not finding his scent special wasn’t just something wrong with me.” Hayun blinks rapidly, trying to clear the tears as they begin to come in earnest. She clutches at the front of her shirt, hand fisting over her heart. “So, I slept with two Alphas that I work with to see if it was any different. I had to be sure. I had to know.”

“Hayun, I-I-I don’t…I’m not—”

“I’m such a fucking mess,” she sobs, curling in on you and pressing her face against your stomach. “I don’t deserve him. I only said yes to marrying him because I don’t want to be alone forever. I can’t be like you. I need someone.”

Her words sting, causing you to flinch involuntarily. You watch as she falls apart in your lap, ultimately giving in to her grief. It’s on the tip of your tongue to call her out on her childish behavior, to set the record straight about your own love life, and to leave her to her wallowing. But…the shaking of her shoulders and soft whines from her remind you so much of a younger and more fragile Hayun—the Hayun of your shared childhoods.

“Shh, it’s okay. It’s going to be okay.” No matter how you might feel about her actions and the hurtful words she’s spilled, you hate to see your best friend so distraught and broken. “Hey, look at me.”

You wait until her watery eyes peel away from your shirt and meet yours. “Tell me you hate me; it’s okay.”

“Hayun, I don’t hate you. I could never hate you. You made…a mistake, that’s all. You were trying to figure things out. But…Hayun, you…you have to tell him.”

She frowns up at you, her expression sobering. “Tell him?”

“He’s about to marry you, Hayun. That’s a big freaking deal…you have to tell him tomorrow morning before anything else happens.”

The laugh that bubbles from her lips is anything but humorous. “I-I can’t do that! He’ll hate me. He’ll call the wedding off!” She shoves out of your lap and stares at you like you’ve lost your mind.

“If Jungkook truly loves you and says you’re his true mate, I don’t see that happening. But, he deserves to know. You have to know that. Either you tell him now, or he finds out years from now, and then it’ll be so much worse,” you try to reason with her.

“He doesn’t have to know!” she whisper-yells, her tears turning from sad to angry in an instant.

You shake your head, unable to believe what you’re hearing from her. “This isn’t right, Hayun. You can’t go into a marriage with someone with secrets like that!”

“It’s not like it’ll happen again. I’m not going to cheat on him while we’re married. Please,” she begs, her face once more softening into saddened anguish. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“He deserves to know, Hayun,” you whisper, remembering your own keen sting of betrayal from many years ago. There is a reason you don’t date much. “You say it won’t happen again?” you ask, trying to buy yourself some time to process everything Hayun just told you.

Her silence is deafening, and you think she’s about to not answer you the way you hope, but, finally, she murmurs, “No. Never. I swear it.”

“Okay. Okay, good. But, he still needs to know.”

Just because you’ve never actually met Jungkook, it doesn’t mean you don’t care for him. He’s the one who puts a smile on Hayun’s face when you can’t. He’s the reason she’s as happy as she is…or has been? Now, you’re not so sure. But, what you are certain about is that Hayun is far too drunk right now to know up from down and is just having a moment of raw vulnerability.

“Are you going to tell him?” she asks, voice a hoarse whisper.

You chew your bottom lip for a moment before slowly shaking your head. Thinking about it, even if you didn’t care for Jungkook, he still deserves to know on pure principle. “No. I won’t tell him.” She lets out a soft sigh of relief, which has you tacking on, “Because it’s not my place to tell him, it’s yours.”

“Yeah,” she mumbles. “Okay.” She doesn’t say anything more beyond that, falling into a listless stupor, all of her energy sapped from the quick argument and endless cocktails from the bar.

After you wrestle her out of her clothes and put on a long nightgown, she tucks easily into bed. You leave a glass of water on the bedside table for her, then exit the room and head to your own.

A pang of uncertainty refuses to quell in the pit of your stomach. You toss and turn most of the night, falling into a fitful sleep just before the sun begins to kiss the horizon. It’s going to be a long day…a battle of wills you never saw coming.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook

Today is the big day, and Jungkook couldn’t be happier. Nothing could possibly bring him down from the high he’s feeling. Not even the fact that he is unable to find the cufflinks that were passed down to him by his father.

“Did you check the pockets of all your pants?” Jimin, Jungkook’s best friend, asks from where he’s lounging in one of the chairs on the other side of Jungkook’s hotel room.

“Yes,” he mutters, dumping his entire suitcase onto the bed to rifle through it once again. “I remember putting them with the pile of Hayun’s—oh fuck.”

“That’s great,” Taehyung sighs. “So my sister probably has them.” He checks his watch. “We don’t really have time to go on a scavenger hunt through her room. Jimin and I are supposed to meet the photographer to get started on some of the bride and groomsmen shots.”

Jungkook purses his lips and rakes his hands through his hair as he thinks of a solution. “I’d go look myself, but what if I run into Hayun between here and there? She specifically requested that we not see each other until the ceremony.”

Taehyung hums lightly. “I think I have an idea. The other girls don’t meet for pictures until after we’re done. So…yeah…okay…done,” he murmurs, tapping away at his phone screen. “If they’re in Hayun’s things, they’ll be delivered to you soon.”

“Thanks, Taehyung, you’re a lifesaver.”

Minutes later, Jungkook finds himself alone, Taehyung and Jimin having gone to meet with the photographer. Somewhere out there, beyond the confines of his room, his fiancee is probably smiling and laughing as she poses in front of the camera. If only Jungkook could see through walls. He’d give anything for even just a little glimpse of his bride-to-be.

When Jungkook first met Hayun almost six years ago, he nearly tripped over his own feet trying to track her scent. The meeting he was heading for was instantly forgotten, replaced by a visceral need to discover the source of that titillating aroma that had his hindbrain firing on all cylinders.

Never before had Jungkook experienced something so…primal. It was both alarming and utterly fascinating. Amongst the harsh scents of car exhaust and the warm notes of roasted coffee, Jungkook wove his way through the crowd on the sidewalk to the doors of a little cafe; Hayun was inside, ordering a matcha tea to-go, and the rest was history.

Jungkook sighs, forcing himself to stop daydreaming and fiddling with his shirt's empty cuffs and focus on putting together the rest of his suit.

The scent hits Jungkook a moment before the sound of a soft knock reaches his ears. He’s standing in the ensuite bathroom, mid-skin care routine. Wiping his wet fingers off onto a towel, he draws in a deep breath to confirm the aroma wafting to him from beyond the door of his room.

A roguish smirk quirks up one side of his mouth as he exits the bathroom and moves across the room. Unable to help himself, he opens the door. “Hayun,” he chuckles, fingers wrapping around the doorknob, “I thought we agreed that you…you are not Hayun.” The words tumble from his suddenly numb lips, rasping past his too-dry tongue.

“Umm, no. Not Hayun, sorry. You’re Jungkook?”

The woman standing before him is clearly not his fiancee. The woman’s purple gown is familiar, Jungkook knowing it’s what Hayun chose for her attending party. You’re a friend of Hayun, clearly, yet you smell exactly like Hayun…if Hayun smelled like Hayun times a thousand. The fragrance slams into his olfactory system, and the edges of his vision grow blurry a moment before he shakes his head and steadies himself with a hand on the doorjamb.

“Yeah,” he whispers, voice raspy with his suddenly dry throat. Revelations pounding him right between the eyes, washing through his body and keying right into his most basic of instincts.

Jungkook watches as your nostrils flare, and he knows it’s in that moment that you register his cedar and lavadin scent; the scent that marks him for what—who—he is.

“Jungkook,” you repeat his name, and he wants to howl with delight at how it sounds coming from your lips. “No. You can’t…it’s not—” your voice cuts off a second before you drop the small, black leather box you were holding and turn, disappearing in a flash of violet tulle and silk.

🥀🥀🥀

“Stop! Wait, please!” The shout of your name follows you down the hall, but you’re too focused on getting as far away from him and the feelings threatening to overwhelm you as you can.

“No, no, no,” you chant under your breath as you move as swiftly as the slippered feet will allow you to go without tripping yourself up.

It’s clearly not fast enough. It only takes a few frantic beats of your heart before a firm grip on your elbow draws you to a stumbling halt. The touch is electric, and your skin flushes with goosebumps at the heated contact.

“Don’t run,” Jungkook pants. “Please.”

You wretch your arm from his grip and whirl on him, a sharp remark ready on the tip of your tongue. Only, it dies there, never to be uttered, as your heart thumps violently in response to the look on his face—pure anguish.

Your voice is thread-thin as you finally manage to get words out, “This can’t be happening.”

Jungkook’s brow twitches, his lips tucked between his teeth. His emotions are stark on his face, and the conflict is raw and bare to you. Clearly, he’s warring the same as you, maybe even more so.

“Why do you smell like Hayun?” he asks, his voice soft in contrast to the raging storm you see in his eyes. “Why do you smell more like my true mate than she even does? Is this some wicked, cruel prank?”

You shake your head, intentionally drawing a breath through your mouth in hopes of saving your nose from another assault of his perfect scent. But, instead, his flavor laces over your tongue and slides down your throat to sit like a knot in your belly. You might as well have licked a stripe up his neck for all the good that did.

“I-I don’t know,” you choke out, trying to keep the pool of saliva under your tongue from dripping down your chin.

Jungkook steps closer to you, leading with his nose. He sniffs the air around you and something must not sit well with what he discovers because he rears back and bares his teeth. “Of course,” he mutters as his eyes drop to your left wrist.

Your eyes track his movement as he scoops up your wrist in a loose grip, and you realize it’s the bracelet there that has his attention. Everything clicks into place, and you feel like the faintest breeze could sweep you away with how lightheaded you’re feeling at this moment.

“We traded,” you whisper as if speaking low enough means the admission won’t utterly destroy the world as you know it.

“She’s not my true mate,” he states, voice as low as yours, fevered and quiet. “You are.”

Those words punch you in the chest, nearly taking you to your knees. If it weren’t for the hold Jungkook has on your wrist, you’re sure you’d be in a heap on the floor. As it is, he catches his other arm around your waist as you sway on the spot.

“Y-you shouldn’t.” Your protest is stilted, the words feeling robotic and unnatural as you gingerly press a hand against the arm that’s angled around your ribs. It was your intention to push his touch away, but the most you accomplish is flexing your fingers against the smooth cotton covering his thick bicep.

Somehow, you find yourself back in the room you had fled from just a few minutes ago. Jungkook settled you on the bed and is now pressing a chilled water bottle into your hands.

He kneels before you, headless of putting wrinkles in his black dress slacks. He’s wearing a thin white undershirt, his starched white button-up undone over it. The cuffs of the sleeves flop as he brings his hands into his lap and picks at the edges of his thumbnails.

Your eyes rove the room, catching on the black leather box still sitting on the floor by the door where you dropped it. Inside the box is nestled a pair of golden cufflinks—a pair you now understand have been passed down through the generations of Jeon men.

Absently, you press your thumb to your phone, unlocking it to reveal the text message that has irrevocably changed your life forever.

If you had known Taehyung’s text message requesting help would have led you to where you are right now, you’d probably have ignored it.

Yet, at the same time, if you had, you’d probably have had this revelation with Jungkook in the middle of the ceremony, and it would have caused all sorts of untoward chaos. No, it’s far better that it’s happening now instead of later. Maybe you can get ahead of this and fix it somehow. Though…

“Hey? You okay?” Jungkook interrupts your thoughts. “Fuck, that’s a stupid question. Sorry.”

“Huh? Oh. Umm…yeah. I don’t—what do we do now?” You turn your phone over, finger ghosting over the power button to lock the screen once more.

Jungkook sighs, and you can’t help watching the rise and fall of his shoulders, framing the swell of his defined chest with the action. He’s an exquisite specimen of masculinity, and even if it weren’t for the musky notes of his scent that mark him as your true mate, you’d find him devastatingly attractive.

“We need to tell Hayun. I c-can’t…I can’t marry her. Not when I’ve found—” he cuts off, wincing as his voice breaks. “I should go and find her. Now, before this can go any further. I’m sorry. I’ll, uh, I’ll find you later, okay?”

“Wait,” you call after him. He stops halfway to the door and glances back at you over his shoulder. “Shouldn’t we tell her together?”

Jungkook chews the inside of his cheek a moment, his eyes flicking over your face as he thinks through your suggestion. Slowly, he nods. “Yeah, maybe that’s for the best.”

There is palpable tension between you and Jungkook as you follow behind him out of the main building. He texted Jimin, knowing he’d be the most reliable with his phone on him, asking where the photos were currently taking place.

It only took a few minutes for Jimin to respond that they were almost finished but were currently capturing some group shots on the walking path by the lake on the backside of the property.

You’re vaguely aware of where the lake is located, having given the map of the grounds that was posted on the backside of your room’s door a cursory look the day you arrived. It’s a relatively short distance, yet it feels like miles with the weight of pure dread sitting firmly on your shoulders.

At least it’s not a feeling you’re experiencing alone. Jungkook is right there with you, and you can clearly see the unease in the stiff way his body moves. The tips of his fingers twitch back in your direction every few steps like he’s fighting off the urge to slip them between your own.

The first person you catch sight of is Yoona, the photographer. She’s squatting in the grass, her large DSLR camera held up to her face, as she captures candid moments of Hayun, Taehyung, and Jimin repositioning themselves along the lake's edge.

Your heart squeezes hard at how beautiful Hayun is in her form-fitting silk ivory, off-the-shoulder wedding gown, the lacy bell sleeves fluttering around her hands. Her head is thrown back, the peel of her carefree laughter carrying to you and further crumbling your soul into a million pieces. You ache, not just for the desire to draw closer to your true mate, but for the inevitable aftermath of what is about to happen.

Taehyung is the first to notice you and Jungkook. The smile on his face slowly disappears, replaced by a concerned frown. Hayun catches his expression and follows his line of sight. Her gaze sears into you, and you feel like you might combust into a cloud of ash at any second with the irritation contained in her pretty brown eyes.

“What’s going on?” Hayun exclaims, throwing her hands up in a frustrated manner as she stalks towards you and Jungkook. “It’s not time for your photos yet,” she tells you before her eyes swing to Jungkook. “What happened to not seeing me before the wedding? That was your rule!”

“Hayun, we need to talk.”

“Talk about wh—” she cuts off, her question turning into a gasp. Your wide eyes flick to you. “You told him?”

“What? No!”

Your protest rings out at the same time that Jungkook says, “She’s my true mate.”

A breeze kicks up, sweeping from behind you and tossing errant strands of hair across Hayun’s forehead. You’d give anything for the power to pluck the wind from the air, shove it back…keep it from showering her with yours and Jungkook’s combined scents—a blatant confirmation echoing the words Jungkook just let loose.

Hayun stiffens. Her jaw goes rigid, and her face pales as her nostrils flare. It’s a moment that will be forever written across the band of your friendship. Betrayal flashes through her eyes before morphing into something akin to somber resignation.

“Hayun,” Jungkook begins. “I don’t—we didn’t…I’m sorry. What do we do?” He spreads his hands out in front of himself in a helpless manner.

By this time, Jimin and Taehyung have come up from behind Hayun, faces wary as they take in the scene with growing clarity. You look to Taehyung, hoping he can see the silent plea in your eyes.

“Explain,” Hayun says simply. Despite how collected she seems, you can see the subtle tremble in her hands and the way the muscles in her neck continue to flex and strain as she clenches and grinds her teeth.

Jungkook launches into recounting the events that brought you to his room and broke the proverbial dam. “We—we had no idea. I swear this is the first time we’ve ever met, and gods, the bracelets…” Jungkook trails off, a pained sound rumbling from his chest.

“Is this a joke?” Taehyung asks accusingly, and it’s like a barb to your heart.

“We wouldn’t do that.” Your croaked statement draws Hayun’s attention.

Hayun sniffles, her chin jerking a little higher into the air. “My nose tells me one thing, but my heart tells me another. Did you know about this last night? Is that why you pushed so hard for me to tell him?” The last part is whispered, meant only for you, which hurts even more.

“Hayun, no! You know that’s impossible. I couldn’t have known.”

“Tell me what?” Jungkook asks, having heard despite her whisper, his eyes swiveling between you and Hayun.

You shake your head at him, not wanting to throw further fuel on the fire. “Hayun, please, believe me.”

A pregnant moment full of thick tension passes before it fizzles, and Hayun shakes her head, not in a dismissive fashion but in gentle acceptance. “I believe you,” she tells you. “I guess…I guess there won’t be a wedding in four hours unless you two want…” She trails off, a bittersweet smile tugging at her cherry red painted lips.

Jungkook blanches, wide eyes landing on you. “What? Us? No. I mean, sorry…but—”

Hayun holds up her hand, quelling Jungkook’s flustered response. “I was teasing, Koo, trying to lighten the mood. Um,” she pauses, absently twisting the diamond engagement ring around her finger before slowly slipping it off and closing a fist around it. “Can we talk, though? There’s something I needed to tell you today anyway.”

“Okay,” Jungkook says wearily.

“Tae, do you mind…?” Hayun asks, not even having to fill in the blanks. Her brother instantly steps into his role as protector and savior.

“Don’t worry about anything. I’ll make some phone calls,” Taehyung assures her before grabbing Jimin’s arm and starting back down the walking path.

“I’ll just—” you thumb over your shoulder in the direction Tae and Jimin just disappeared in “—be in my room.”

“Wait,” Hayun calls, pulling your retreat up short. “Come here.” She opens her arms, her hands opening and closing in grabby motions. “Please.”

A sob cracks from your throat as you throw yourself at her, wrapping your arms around her neck. “I’m so sorry, Hayun. I’m so sorry.”

“Hush. None of that. This isn’t anything we could have predicted or stopped from happening. If anything, maybe this is life’s way of getting back at me for what I did to him,” she whispers in your ear. “This is how it’s meant to be.”

Hayun smoothes a hand over your back and releases you. She steps back, using the back of a finger to lift the tears from your cheeks, and gives you a watery smile.

You’re not sure you can speak without completely losing yourself, so you just give her a tight nod and continue back on your way down the path. A part of you wants to hear what she has to say to Jungkook, to be there to soothe any hurts or aches…which is a startling realization that you’d not just tend to Hayun but to Jungkook, too. That internal, visceral part of you yearns to turn on your heel and…protect what’s yours.

It’s an odd revelation to think of Jungkook as yours. Well, yours unless either of you reject the bond. Though, that thought makes your stomach pitch and roil. You have to trail a hand along the wall in the hall leading to your room to keep yourself from curling over your abdomen at just the idea.

Once back in your room, you’re unsure what to do with yourself, so you absently start to gather your belongings and pack them up. Every few minutes, you find yourself pausing to stare at the door, ears pricking at the slightest sound from beyond it.

You’re not sure what you’re expecting. Whether it’s Hayun coming to your room so the two of you can cry together or Jungkook coming to claim y—uh, you shove that thought aside quickly because now is not the time. At. All.

The time for the wedding comes and passes without a single knock on your door nor a text or call on your phone. You’re tempted to go looking. For what, you’re not entirely sure—an answer, maybe, some sort of direction on what you should do now.

Finally, after hours of sitting in silence with just your thoughts for company, a soft knock sounds at your door. The long hem of your dress nearly trips you up in your haste to make it to the door. It swings open, and for some reason, your stomach drops, the flutter of disappointment heavy and unexpected.

“Hey, beautiful,” Taehyung says, his voice soft and full of emotion. “Mind if I come in?”

His necktie is loose, and the top button of his dress shirt is undone. There is a tension in his eyes that wasn’t there earlier. It makes your chest ache.

“Sure,” you say, stepping back and letting him into your room.

Taehyung sighs, perches on the end of your bed, and props his elbows on his knees. His chin rests on an upturned fist, his other hand dangling between his legs, clutching his phone.

He opens his mouth, a single word the only thing coming out, “So.”

“So,” you parrot.

“Hayun wants me to take her home…alone. I’m not sure what all she and Jungkook talked about, but I think they’re at least amicable in agreeing that it would be best if he gave her a few days at home alone before they start the process of separating their lives.” You’re not sure if the bitter tinge in your chest is hurt because Hayun isn’t the one telling you this or because now you have to find your own way to the airport. As if reading your thoughts, Taehyung continues, “I can be back in two days, maybe sooner, depending on traffic. Perhaps they’ll let you extend your stay. If not, I can talk to Jimin—”

“No, Tae, it’s okay. I’ll figure something out. Don’t worry about me. Just take care of Hayun, make sure she’s okay...as okay as she can be, at least. Fuck.” The last word comes out choked, and you gnash your teeth on the inside of your cheek to keep from letting the angry tears out. You have no right to be angry. Hell, you’re not even sure why you’re angry. It just seems like the easiest emotion to feel right now, the only one that doesn’t leave you feeling like your world is slowly imploding.

“Hey,” Taehyung says, bringing one of his big hands up to cup the side of your face. His thumb prods at the swell of your cheek, causing you to release the tension in your jaw. “Hayun isn’t the only one I’m worried about here.”

“I’m fine—I will be fine,” you amend. “I promise. I think I’m just feeling overwhelmed. I’m mad at myself for ruining Hayun’s big day. I can’t believe this is happening at all. This…this just doesn’t happen. This is the kind of shit you read about in books, it’s not supposed to be real life.”

And there it is, you surmise—the truth of the matter. None of what’s happened makes sense. It honestly belongs on the pages of a book or in a movie script, not in your real life. It still feels surreal. If it weren’t for the subtle, lingering ache you instinctively know is associated with finding your true mate but not allowing yourself to fully accept it, you’d think this was all some elaborate party trick or impractical joke.

Taehyung smiles at you, but the unease in his eyes can’t be masked that easily. “I’m not sure what to say or what to do. You’re right. This isn’t a situation I think anyone was prepared for or ever thought possible, actually. But, here we are…and we have to face it the best way we can.” He pauses for a moment, looking thoughtful. “I'll tell you what: I’ll text Jimin—he’s a good guy, I think you’ll enjoy his company—and ask him to meet you in the lounge. Have a few drinks, wind down, and try to relax as best you can.”

“Sure,” you say lamely, trying to muster up at least a little bit of enthusiasm.

“That’s my girl.” Taehyung offers you another smile, this one not so tense. “Here, I have something for you.” He fishes into his pant pocket and produces a familiar thin silver chain, a tiny crescent moon dangling near one end.

The sight has your spine straightening. “Right, of course.” You quickly thumb open the clasp on the bracelet around your wrist, letting it fall from your skin for the first time since you put it on when Hayun gave it to you all those years ago. It never felt right to take it off…not until now.

Taehyung helps you swap the bracelet with the one in his hand. The metal feels cold against your skin and you immediately miss the subtle fragrance of Hayun’s scent clinging to your wrist. Though, you suppose that’s what has gotten you both into this mess to begin with. Taehyung explains in soft words how Jungkook explained to Hayun about the scent mix-up with the bracelets—such a silly, seemingly insignificant thing…the catalyst to spark such a colossal moment.

“I’m going to get on the road with Hayun, but I’ll call you as soon as we get to her place and check in on you, okay?”

Sitting at the bar with Jungkook’s best friend seemed like a good idea when Taehyung first presented it to you. But, at the time, you weren’t connecting the dots that Jimin was Jungkook’s best friend. He was just Jimin, the guy that just so happened also to be part of the wedding party that you had met in passing briefly, but he seemed like a good enough person. Now, however, you feel all the awkward tension radiating right between your shoulder blades, emphasized by the silence lingering between the two of you.

You traded in your lilac dress for jeans and a light silk blouse, canvas slip-ons in place of your slippers, yet no matter how comfortable you know your clothing is, you can’t shake the prickling discomfort eating away at the back of your neck.

“Want another?” Jimin asks, nodding to your mostly watered-down rum and coke. It’s barely late afternoon, and as much as Taehyung’s suggestion of a drink sounded like just what you needed, you’ve found yourself not in the mood to drink after all.

“Um, nah. I’m okay, thanks.”

“Cool. Okay. I’ll be right back.” Jimin drums his fingers on the tabletop and pops his lips before giving you a slight head nod and pushing up from his chair.

You watch as he saunters to the long bar, his crescent moon tattoo on the nape of his neck peeking out from the top of his collar, and props his elbows onto the shiny top. His smile is flirty and casual as the bartender, a beautiful woman with long, inky tresses and fiery red lipstick, sidles up in front of him.

They’re too far away for you to hear their conversation, but her tinkling laughter carries across the space, and you know it might be a while before Jimin returns to your table.

Which you’re okay with. Considering you know you’re not exactly pleasant company right now, you don’t blame him one bit. You glance down at your phone, once again reading the last text message Hayun sent you not too long ago.

Eunseo stopped by the lounge around the same time Jimin showed up. If her smile and lingering hug were any indicator, she clearly had a thing for him. She gave you a small wave goodbye before giving Jimin another hug and heading out. Apparently, she was going to follow Taehyung and Hayun back to Hayun and Jungkook’s place to help Hayun with whatever she needed over the next few days.

Does it hurt that your best friend is relying on someone else, her new best friend? Yes. Do you also understand why? Also, yes, but that doesn’t make the sting hurt any less.

You’re just about to give up and retreat back to your room, which the front desk still hasn’t given you a definitive answer about whether or not your stay can be extended while you wait for Tae, when a shadow falls across your table a second before.

“Do you mind if I sit?” Jungkook asks in a low voice.

He fidgets, threading and unthreading his fingers together while he waits for your answer. The suit he had half on earlier is gone, and in its place is a dark pair of jeans, the knees worn fashionably, and an oversized white graphic t-shirt. Black sneakers peek out from the rounded bottoms of his pant legs.

You clear your throat, forcing your eyes away from his and instead on the glass sitting in a puddle of condensation on the table before you. “Oh, I—uh, I was actually about to go. You’re welcome to the table, though. Jimin was—” You cut off, realizing Jimin is no longer in the lounge at all. “Well, he was here,” you add with a frown.

Jungkook scratches a hand across the back of his neck and gives you a hesitant smile. “Yeah, he texted me. He went…well, that doesn’t matter. Could we, um…can we talk?”

“Yes.” The response is out of your mouth before he even finishes asking. “Please, I think I’d like that,” you say, nodding toward the open seat across from you.

A shaky breath rattles from Jungkook as he eases into the empty seat. “Have you talked to Hayun at all?” he asks after a moment’s hesitation.

“A text message, but that’s all. I’m not sure she wants to talk to me right now.” Needing something to do with your hands, you trace a finger along the edge of the water pooled around the bottom of your glass and use your other to poke more drops on the side of your cup, making them race down to join the growing puddle.

Jungkook nods, his lips pursing thoughtfully. “She told me what happened last night. Her confession.” That draws your attention back to him, and you wait, fingers still on the glass, intent on hearing what he says next. “I thought I’d be angrier finding out the woman I’ve been with for years—the woman I was hours away from marrying—had cheated on me…but I’m not. For the life of me, I’m not mad at her…even though I know I should be.”

“How do you feel?”

Maybe it’s none of your business, but you have to ask.

Blowing out a breath, Jungkook slides one of his hands across the table and, giving you plenty of time to protest or pull away, slowly slides his fingers between yours, effectively joining his hand with yours. It’s the first time hand-holding has felt so intimate yet wholly innocent.

“Relieved, I think,” he finally says. “Grateful, maybe? Hayun was hurt. As she has every right to be, but she said she also felt relief, too. I think, as much as she said she loved me, she was still holding back even in the end.” With a rueful shake of his head, he tacks on, “We were just a disaster waiting to happen, held together only by the thin chain of a bracelet. We would have shattered eventually.”

Jungkook’s eyes drop to where your fingers are entwined with his, trailing up to your wrist to land on the object he just spoke of.

“I’m relieved, too,” you whisper. Your eyes meet his as he glances up, and you’re instantly captivated.

This is the first time you’ve allowed yourself to really study Jungkook. His hair is tousled like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. You suppose he probably had been and wonder if that’s one of his nervous ticks.

The bow of his lips is prominent and draws your eyes. Your gaze lingers on his lips, making small mental notes at everything you see, like the tiny beauty mark under his bottom lip. His straight nose leads you to his expressive eyes, so dark and full of secrets you want to be privy to.

To say Jungkook is handsome would be a gross understatement. You’re not sure if it’s the fact he’s your true mate or just simply a gorgeous being, but he is pleasing to the eyes, that’s for sure.

You mentally kick yourself for thinking such thoughts about your best friend’s almost-husband after everything that has just happened. It’s not in good taste to entertain these thoughts so soon, right? True mate or not.

Yet, you can’t shove those thoughts away completely.

“Where did you go just now?” Jungkook asks, tilting his head and studying you intently.

Not wanting to explain yourself and the thoughts you were just having, you choose to ask him a question instead. “So, what now?”

You’re thankful Jungkook doesn’t push you to answer. He shifts in his seat and withdraws his fingers from between yours.

“I think we start with…” he trails off, a playful smile tugging up the side of his mouth as he holds the hand he pulled back in the air in front of you in offering. “Hi, I’m Jungkook.”

For the first time in what feels like forever, you smile. A laugh escapes you, and you instantly feel a thousand times lighter with that simple action.

As you take his hand back into yours, allowing yourself to truly savor the feel of his skin against yours, you realize that no matter what happens with Hayun or the fact that you live thousands of miles apart from Jungkook…everything is going to be okay and maybe you wouldn’t have ignored Taehyung’s text after all.

🥀🥀🥀

Jungkook, 3 months later

The flight was long but worth it. Jungkook stretches as he climbs out of the Uber he took from the airport. You would have picked him up. In fact, you are supposed to pick him up…just, not until next week. He decided to surprise you by coming early. He hopes you don’t mind.

Time seemed to drag to a near stand-still following that fateful day at the bed and breakfast where he was so sure he’d be joining his life with Hayun’s officially. No one could have anticipated what actually went down that day. But, in the end, he and Hayun parted ways on pleasant terms, and it’s actually thanks to her that he’s here right now, a week early.

Jungkook was worried that with everything that happened, yours and Hayun’s friendship might suffer. But, surprisingly—and thankfully—you guys have been getting on great. Hayun has been looking at work prospects in Thailand but, from what you’ve told Jungkook, is planning to visit you and Taehyung for Christmas.

It’s been three months, and not a day has gone by that Jungkook hasn’t talked to you in some capacity. From the moment he offered to be your ride to the airport, and you agreed, he’s thought about nothing other than getting on a plane and following you. The draw to you is just that strong.

You’ve expressed similar feelings, already having planned a return trip to Seoul next month. Neither Jungkook nor you have really talked about what the future holds or how to even begin to navigate it. But Jungkook hopes that during the week he is here, you can both begin to figure that out.

Giddiness makes his tattooed fingers shake as he reaches out and grasps the brass knocker on your door. He gives it a rap against the thick wood and waits. Jungkook counts the breaths as his anticipation rises. It’s only three and a half exhales before he hears the soft pad of your feet on the other side of the door.

Jungkook can imagine you pressing up onto your tip toes in order to peer through the peephole. He’d pay money to be able to see the look on your face when you see it’s him. Not being able to see your face doesn’t take away from the dopamine rush he gets when the sound of your surprised squeal sounds through the door.

“Jungkook!” Your shout is followed by the frantic sound of you disengaging the locks on your door before you swing it open and launch yourself at him. “What the fuck are you doing here? Oh, my gods! Why didn’t you tell me? You’re here!”

It feels good to laugh, but it feels even better to have you in his arms finally. The brief embrace he shared with you at the airport when he dropped you off was not enough and is what drove him to try and come sooner than planned.

Jungkook savors the warmth of your soft body pressed against his, your arms tight around his neck. Running one of his hands up your spine, he clasps the back of your neck and uses his hold there to angle your head away from his neck so he can look you in the face.

“Surprise,” he whispers. “I couldn’t wait any longer.”

You sigh dreamily, your eyes fluttering closed for a second like you’re savoring the feeling of being in his arms. “Pleasant surprise,” you murmur with a smile on your face.

Jungkook can’t help himself. He wants so badly to know if your smile tastes as good as he thinks it will. The press of his lips against yours causes you to melt against him, a throaty sound escaping around the intrusion of his tongue as he works it between your lips.

“Your taste,” he groans, forcing his mouth away from yours before the allure of you can drive him completely mad. Who is he kidding? He’s already there. “I need more.”

🥀🥀🥀

Those words do something to you.

I need more.

They echo the thoughts you’ve been harboring for the last three months. You’ve ached with those words, desperately willing yourself to be patient and let it happen when it’s meant to happen.

But, fuck, it feels so good to have him in your arms, to have his mouth brushing against yours. He tastes divine, a warm sweetness that compliments the musk of his scent that is slowly wrapping itself around you.

“Take me. Take it all,” you urge, completely baring yourself to him, body, mind, and soul. “I’m yours.”

It’s a frenzy, the frantic discarding of clothing. Your fingers work to free him of his jeans while also helping him with the criss-cross straps of your lounging romper. You don’t care that you’re still standing by your front door, bared down to your underwear. The only thing you’re focusing on now is how Jungkook holds you at arm's length and drinks you in from head to toe.

“You…are…everything.” The way he whispers those words crawls under your skin, rooting itself deep in your being. You feel sexy…desired, and unbelievably empty—your body clenches, the ache deep between your thighs. You’ve never been so turned on from just taking your clothes off before, from whispered words and a heated look.

Jungkook allows you to undress him as slow or as fast as you want. You try to take your time and savor every inch of skin you expose. But, you can barely contain yourself when you get to his jeans, shoving them unceremoniously down his thighs with your eyes locked on the many planes and angles of his toned chest and stomach.

Your fingers ghost over his skin, eliciting goosebumps in their wake as you explore the smooth and lush expanse of his shoulders and down his arms. Without needing to say anything more, he gathers you into his arms and covers your mouth with his once more.

It’s a miracle you make it to your bedroom. But, seeing Jungkook sprawled out on your bed is a sight you’ll never forget, with his lowered lids and bottom lip caught between his teeth. You want to taste every inch of him, from the tips of his ears down to the defined muscles of his calves.

Now, though, your gaze focuses on the front of his tented boxer briefs. The dark grey material has darkened even further, where you can see the distinct outline of the head of his cock. Saliva pools in your mouth.

You crawl on the bed, knees slotting between his, your hands on either side of his hips. With your eyes locked on his, you lean down and mouth gently at the wetness. You moan at the flavor of him, your tongue peeking out to seek more.

“Fuck,” you curse. “You taste so good.”

Jungkook lets out a quick breath. “You can’t say shit like that, baby girl. You’re going to make me lose it.” He flicks his eyes up to the ceiling, his lips moving like he’s sending up a silent prayer, before looking back down at you. “You have maybe three seconds before I can’t hold back any longer and tear that ass up.”

You chuckle softly, pouting out your lips in a faux sullen manner. “Yes, sir.”

That earns a growl from Jungkook that has heat racing down your spine as you hook your fingers into the band of his Calvin Klein’s and pull them down. He lifts his hips, helping you free him from their confines.

His cock stands so pretty before you, the full heft bobbing against his belly, smearing a pearl of precum against his golden skin. You dive in, licking at the sticky mess before taking the tip between your lips and lavishing your tongue over his slit.

Jungkook fists the sheets, a litany of curses falling from his lips. “Please,” he chokes.

You keep your eyes locked on his as you inch your way down his length, your jaw forcing itself wider to accommodate as much of him as you can. The blunt head of his cock presses against the back of your throat. You take a steadying breath in through your nose before forcing yourself a little further until your throat constricts around him and you have to pull back.

The second your mouth leaves his cock, saliva stringing from your lips to his tip, Jungkook grabs you and hauls you up over him. You laugh, loving the heat emanating from his body as yours covers his.

“What are you doing?” you gasp.

His strong hands land on your hips and tangle in the band of your panties. “I need these off. Please. I need you. I want to feel you…be inside you.”

You want that, too, you realize, your body already primed and begging for it. The sweet, fragrant notes of your arousal saturate the air, mixing with Jungkook’s to paint a picture of hedonism and wanton desires.

The rest of your clothes come off, your bra and panties are tossed to the side, leaving you utterly bare to him. Your inner thighs slide like velvet over his hips as you move your body against his until you can feel the press of the head of his cock against your entrance.

You wrap a hand around his base, angling him perfectly. It’s a slow descent into madness, the lowering of your body onto his. His eyes bore into yours, pouring out everything that has been building to this moment, this pinnacle that will forever throttle you onto a different path for your future—with him. You can feel every perfect inch slide along your walls as they adjust and welcome him. It’s like sliding home; he is the perfect fit for your body, filling you completely.

The pace you set, at first, is languid. An easy rise and fall of your hips as you both learn the body of the other. Jungkook’s hands mold around your breasts, his thumbs caressing over the pert points of your nipples.

“You feel so good,” you tell him, emphasizing your words with a generous roll of your hips. “So much better than I imagined.”

“You imagined it often?” he asks, a teasing tone to his words.

With the amount of teasing photos and videos you’ve shared with each other over the last few weeks, he knows you have. You can tell he’s just giving you a hard time. That’s fine, because you can…

Jungkook throws his head back as you arch yours, letting his cock hit that special place inside that has you both seeing stars. “Fuck!” His hands drop to your hips, landing with a satisfying smack. His grip tightens, dimpling the supple flesh around his fingers. “Can I knot you?” he asks with a breathless moan. You’ve never taken an alpha’s knot. The idea has your body pulsing around his, flooding slick onto his pelvis as you continue to roll your hips. “Fuck, baby girl, do you like that idea? You want to take my knot like a good girl?”

You can’t even form a coherent thought, much less answer him. The only thing that comes out of your mouth is a panting keen, your chin jerking up and down as you frantically nod your want.

Jungkook braces his feet against the mattress and uses his grip on your hips as leverage to thrust upward, sending you forward onto your hands. He’s relentless, pounding into you from below to the point your eyes roll back, and you have to squeeze them shut. Tiny pinpricks of light burst behind your lids as your body coils tighter than ever before.

You cry out as he sends you over the edge, your body careening into an unfathomable abyss of pleasure. The sounds coming from around his cock as it pounds into you are slick and obscene, debauched yet wholly satisfying.

“Alpha, need your knot,” you mewl, your lips finding the triskelion tattoo over Jungkook’s left pec muscle. You nibble at it, your teeth sinking softly into the skin.

“Oh, baby, fuck…fuck…Fuuuckkk!” Jungkook shouts, the sound turning into a guttural snarl as his body goes primal.

He seats himself completely inside of you with one final, deliberate thrust, and then you can feel the swell of his knot capture within you. It hurts, your pleasure turning into a moment of pain and panic. You squirm, trying to lift your hips from his, but the clasp of his hands on your body won’t let you go far. You whine, “J-Jungkook.”

“I know, baby girl, I know. Relax. Let your body do what it needs to do.”

It’s like those words unlock some inner Omega part of your brain, and suddenly you feel your body rush with endorphins and dopamine as it accepts the thick jets of his cum now flooding in. Like administering a drug, it’s such a fast transition that you feel lightheaded and giddy, sheepish and almost silly over your moment of panic.

“Gods, that feels so…good.” You wiggle in his arms, gasping as his knot pulls tight. You want more, need more of that feeling…need more of his cum. “More, Alpha, please.”

Jungkook pants, a tired smile on his face. You can feel it when his cock pulses inside you, dribbling even more liquid heat into your body in answer to your plea. “That’s my pretty girl,” Jungkook coos, brushing a hand across your forehead. “You’re so beautiful taking my knot, full of my cum.” He curses softly, reverently, and another gush of heat fills your body. “I’m going to take such good care of you. I swear it.”

You fall into a half-sleep, content and sated as you are. There are no worries about the future, nor the past. You are happy…all thanks to a pair of golden cufflinks.

◅ Back to Main Master List ©️ 2024-11-05 ColorMePurplex2

#jungkook x reader #bts jungkook #jungkook abo #alpha jungkook #omega reader #alpha jungkook x omega reader #jungkook fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook smut #bangtanwritershq

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dont-read-this-im-dead · 1 month ago

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Reasons I love The Cross My Heart Job:

Nate being so angry, he actively chooses not to drink.

Hardison's spur-of-the-moment grift as a trans man, then getting mad at airport security for looking at him funny.

Eliot kicking the kidnapper over and over until he knocks him unconscious.

Sophie offering Nate a drink.

Parker stealing the snow globe just because.

Eliot finding the most obnoxious rich man in the airport to steal a credit card from.

And of course, "God killed you. I just made sure it took."

#the cross my heart job #leverage #nate ford #sophie devereaux #parker #eliot spencer #alec hardison

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sitepathos · 3 months ago

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From Gold to Mold

Chapter 9: The Harassment

His children are already waiting for him the moment he and Alfred walk in the door, no doubt aware of everything that’s happened concerning him and their brother.

As expected, his reunion with you had been posted on the internet and every major news outlet has been talking about it ever since, especially the Gotham Gazette and the Daily Planet. Fuel was added to the fire this morning when he met you at the airport after Lex dropped you off and tried to get to agree to talk to him, you yelled so hard that the entire airport stopped to watch you tear into him, only stoping when security stepped in.

He ignored all the stares as he watched your plane take off for Nevada, far away from your family and home. And he was greeted by a crowd of reporters when he returned to Gotham, all of them flashing their cameras and shouting questions over one another.

He did his best to hide his hurt when many of them asked why were you not present for any of the family functions or galas over the past twelve years.

He wanted to say he was protecting you from the limelight; that you had just lost your mother and the last thing you needed was to be bombarded by those parasites who feed on misery to turn a quick buck, but of all the lies he’s forced himself to say, that would be one lie he couldn’t force out of his mouth, opting instead to vomit everything he has in his guts.

Because he knows the truth: he neglected you. No amount of beating around the bush could eve change the fact that he’s never had a genuine conversation with you. From the moment you arrived at his home, you were ignored because he was too busy wallowing in his own suffering that he couldn’t see you were suffering, too.

Plus, there was no doubt in his mind that if he did say that, it would get back to you and you’d be more than glad to set the record straight.

“That video of you and Y/N’s already gone viral,” Tim says, not looking up from his phone. “It had over a million views in just ten minutes. Now, it’s nearing a billion.”

He suppresses a sigh. Of course a video of playboy billionaire Bruce Wayne getting his ass handed to him by his previously unknown firstborn biological son would go viral.

“I could scrub it, if you want,” Tim adds.

If anyone could absolutely scrub a video from the internet and condemn it to the void, Tim absolutely could. But, as much as he wants that video of you tearing into him gone forever, the memory of it would live on in his memory for the rest of his life; the hatred and pain in your eyes haunts him every time he closes his eyes.

Also, at this rate, there’s no closing this Pandora’s Box. The world knows you’re his son and that he obviously wronged you. People aren’t going to forget that anytime soon.

Since last night, he’s monitored the Gould Games Pixtagraph page and before his reunion with him, you were sitting at following of a couple tens of thousands, but after last night, your following jumped up to several millions, your studio is tagged in countless reposts of that damn video, and so many people are asking you to explain your relationship with him.

So far, you’ve yet to say anything about your time living with them. On one hand, he’s glad you haven’t responded as it gives them time to do damage control and plan their next move concerning you, but on the other hand, he’s hurt because you don’t deem him worth your time to badmouth him on the internet.

“It’s fine, Tim,” he responds, ruffling his son’s hair as he walks towards the living room, Alfred and his children following behind.

The moment he walks in, his eyes immediately go to the family portrait sitting on the wall above the mantle, a family portrait that doesn’t include you. Before he got his head out of his ass, every time he looked at the painting, it filled him with pride and a sense that despite all his failings, he had done the best he could for his children and created a family that he’s proud of.

Now? That portrait is a constant reminder of how much he’s failed you. He can remember the day he had the portrait commissioned (a few months after Damian moved in with them and when Bruce was sure he wouldn’t attack the artist), he had fought all morning to have his kids dressed in their formal clothing and to behave before the artist arrived. Hell, he can remember the artist asking if this was everyone, he had said all members of the family were here.

While they were downstairs, having a family portrait made, you were alone and upstairs in a room not fit for any human to stay in.

How many times had you looked at this portrait and thought it was proof you weren’t a part of this family and no one even remembered you.

He wants to take it down right now and burn it, but that won’t get rid of his guilt. Nothing will change the fact that he had commissioned this portrait and you were left out, that he cared so little about you back then that you didn’t even cross his mind when he was corralling everyone to the living room the day it was made.

Fuck, he just wants to tear out his own heart just thinking about what you must’ve thought of them over the years.

Well, as soon as you come home, he’ll have that same artist paint a new portrait; one with all of them surrounding you and looking at you with nothing but love in their gazes.

“Based on the video, last night didn’t go well,” Jason asks with a hint of sarcasm, but Bruce hears the hurt and guilt in his voice.

He opens his mouth to respond, but closes it, unable to trust himself not to break down, the last thing his family needs.

He knows that his behavior was unacceptable and that he has no right to ask you to leave a place you clearly love to come back to the house that caused you so much pain and sadness over the years.

But now that he knows his mistakes, all he wants is for you to come home so he can shower you in the love he should’ve shown you. To make you a part of his family as is your birthright. To show you off to Gotham’s elite in massive galas at the manor and revel in the looks of envy when they realize they can look all they want, but they’ll never get the privilege of speaking or courting you. To display you for the entire world to behold and watch as your family heaps their undying love upon you.

But in order for any of that to happen, they need to find a way to get you speaking to them, something that may prove to be more difficult than crime fighting.

“Master Bruce,” Alfred says, breaking home out of his stupor. “If I may make a suggestion?” Bruce nods, eager to hear the butler’s wise words. “Maybe send one of the children to talk to Master Y/N? I had a feeling that the young man still held animosity towards you, but I never thought he would lash out the way he did last night.”

As much as he hates to admit it, Alfred’s right. You hate him, last night proved that, and you have every right to.

“But who isn’t gonna piss him off,” Steph chimes in, all eyes on her now. “I mean, we all did what Bruce did. What’s saying he won’t do to us what he did to Bruce?”

It seems with each passing day, he feels more and more like a pathetic excuse of a man. It’s one thing for you to be mad at him (god knows he deserves it and he’s definitely not the easiest person to get along with), but for you to hold that same hatred for your siblings as you do him? His family’s falling apart at the seams and he’s powerless to stop it.

His parents are probably so disappointed in him right now.

“I’ll go,” Damian announces. “I’m his blood-brother. No doubt he’ll be more receptive to me than the rest of you.”

“You’re the last person who should go,” Jason mutters. “Let me go. I’ll bring him back.”

He knows Jason will most likely bring you back home by your ankles and as much as he’s tempted to bring you home, forcing your return isn’t the proper way to start the healing process. He’s confident that they could handle any difficulties you gave them, but he wants to keep kidnapping last resort.

“Let me go,” Dick begs. “If there’s anyone who knows how to talk to people in this family, it’s me.”

Unfortunately, Dick’s the only one in this family who knows how to have genuine heart-to-heart talks with anyone, specifically members of their family. As much as he wants to fly over to Nevada and bear his heart out to you, he knows that he’s the last person you want to talk to and him repeatedly approaching you would only make things worse for them.

Also, you need him, but Gotham also needs Batman; bar the usual Arkham escape and petty criminal activity, things have been quiet since Joker’s death, but if he’s gone too long, the city’s criminal element will become more active.

And he needs to make Gotham safe for you when you return home.

“Alright, Dick,” he sighs. “Go. Bring your brother back. Take the jet.”

Dick cheers and his other children roar in outrage, but Bruce leaves them to settle their disagreement themselves.

“How was it, Master Bruce,” Alfred asks as the butler follows him to the Batcave. “To see Master Y/N again after so long?”

“I can’t believe how much he’s changed,” he responds as he walks down the stone staircase.

It’s true, when you stepped on stage to accept your award, he was shocked to see how much you’ve grown; if he tries hard enough, he can vaguely recall what you looked like when you first moved in: a scrawny little boy who looked like hell.

Of course you did back then, you just lost your mother and had been dragged away from your home and everything you’d ever known to live with a man you’d never met before in a city you probably never heard of, so it would make sense. All you wanted back then was your father to hug you and tell you everything would be ok and that you weren’t alone.

But he was too selfish to give you what you needed back then. He deemed his own grief greater than yours, the city’s needs greater than yours. And if it wasn’t bad enough he neglected you, he had to go and replace with you with your siblings.

And if he tries harder, he can recall what you looked like when you were fifteen, which was not long after Damian moved in with them. He can remember an incident involving you, Damian, and some sort of pen. Sure, it was stupid for you to fight Damian over some stupid little pen, but he should’ve listened to you back then. He knew Damian hated you on sight because he felt like you were a threat to the legacy Ra’s and Talia spent years putting in his mind; he should’ve stepped in back then because you had no idea how to defend yourself while Damian was trained by an assassin who’s lived for centuries, but he gave Damian the benefit of the doubt, leaving his younger son to grow out of his assassin upbringing.

The last thing he remembers about that incident was him demanding the pen for Damian and you telling him no. Back then, he was angry at you for defying him, but now, he admires that you did. Even though you were shorter than him and weaker than him, you stood your ground.

As much as you probably hate to hear it, you’re just like him.

And last night, he saw you as a successful, confident young man. He couldn’t believe his eyes when he saw just how much you’d grown (and how he wasn’t a part of your life).

And when you gave that speech?

He’s not ashamed to admit it brought a tear to his eye.

He knows he wronged you, but to know you view your time with him and your siblings hit him like a freight train. And to add insult to injury, the entire world now knows you hate him; hate him enough to lash out at him in public.

His head throbs a bit when he thinks at the amount of damage control he’s gonna have to do to avoid raising too much attention when you come home.

“He’s changed so much,” he sighs as he sits in front of the Batcomputer, his fingers typing away at the keys. “There’s so much I wasn’t there for.”

“Yes, Master Y/N has certainly grown into a fine young man,” Alfred responds. “He takes after his mother.”

That statement makes him pause. You share none of his features, nearly everything coming from your mother; the only thing tying you to him is DNA and his mother’s eyes. As if it wasn’t bad enough you don’t share his last name (he’ll have to look into that when you come home), but if he didn’t know better, he’d never know you were his son.

It also didn’t make him better that Alfred was the one to practically be your father. God knows Alfred raised not only him, but his children, but to know that the wise old butler stepped up to the position he failed to only makes the pit of guilt he’s in even deeper.

He can spend the rest of his life making it up to you and he’ll never even scratch the surface of his transgressions.

As expected, Tim spent the last day gathering every piece of information about you, from your report cards from Goodsprings Elementary to your tax records while you were working during your time in Gotham (and while he’s glad you got out there and found a job you loved, it pained him to know that you had to work while he had more than enough money to give you like he gives your siblings).

He pulls up your medical records (for dozens of doctor’s appointments he wasn’t there for) and sees the last one you had was just before your eighteenth birthday (a major event he didn’t even think of) and according to it, you were in perfect health.

He leans forward as he speed reads it before comparing it to all your other appointments.

“Something unusual, Master Bruce?”

“His medical records,” he answers as he pulls up your records from the day you were born. “I’m looking for any abnormality.”

“Like what?”

“The Meta Gene.”

“What,” Alfred exclaims. “Why would you assume he has the Meta Gene?”

“Last night, when he pushed me. There’s no way he should’ve been able to punch me the way he did. I’m taller and have more weight than he does.”

“That doesn’t necessarily prove anything, Master Bruce.”

He looks Alfred in the eye. “I could tell there was something unusual with his strength, Alfred. And I could tell he was holding back.”

The poor butler looks defeated and Bruce resumes his research.

He’s made his stance on Metas in Gotham known to all: none are allowed to enter and Gotham will be protected only by human strength, determination, and intelligence.

But if you do have the gene, it doesn’t change anything, you’re still his son and your proper place is here, with him, Alfred, and your siblings. He’ll just have to prepare the Cave to hold you.

“There’s no sign of the gene in any of his records, but regular equipment isn’t as thorough as the equipment we have in the cave. We’ll need a fresh sample.”

“That may be easier said than done, Master Bruce. Your son doesn’t even want to give you the time of day, I highly doubt he’ll give you a blood sample. Perhaps you could obtain one from his doctor?”

“Not an option. Look.” He pulls up your last medical record. “The last time he saw a doctor was his eighteenth birthday. There’s no sign of him at any doctor’s office in the last four years.”

“No doctor’s appointments in the last four years? I’m going to have a word with him when he returns.” He gives Bruce a look. “Looks like he did inherit something from you, after all.”

As much as he wishes to know there’s something concrete you got from him, he really hopes it’s not his lack of self care. Of course, there’s plenty of him he hopes you don’t inherit from him, but not taking care of yourself is at the top of the list.

Well, second on his list. His inability to properly care for his family would be on top.

“Hopefully Dick will make some progress.”

To say Dick is both excited and nervous is a gross understatement.

Don’t get him wrong, he’s ecstatic to see you, his baby bird, but he’s so worried about how you’ll react to him.

He knows he wasn’t the best big brother (actually, he wasn’t a brother to you at all), but he knows he screwed up and he wants to make it up to you!

In fact, if you want, the two of you can hang out in Vegas (although someone innocent like you shouldn’t be in a filthy place like that), eating at some of best restaurants there, taking in a few shows, and if you insist, he’ll go with you to a casino (that he’ll choose) and play a few games. After that, the two of you can book a room in the best hotel in Vegas (hopefully you’ll be ok with cuddling with your big brother) and in the morning, you’ll come back to Gotham with him.

He takes in your house as he walks up the driveway. He’s happy to know your grew up in a nice house and your mom provided for you (not many of his siblings had the same luxury) and he loves that he’s getting to see your house with his own eyes, but come on, baby bird, this house is too small for someone like you!

You’re a growing boy and you need something bigger! He knows you make videos games (he played your game and gave it a good review), so you need a place to work, and everyone knows the manor has more rooms than they know what to do with. And do you even have enough space to walk around in your room?

His heart aches when he thinks of that pathetic excuse of a room you were forced to sleep in back at the manor. To know his baby bird was sleeping in a room the size of a walk-in closet while he was practicing his gymnast moves in his room—

“That’s in the past,” he tells himself. “It’s not like that anymore.”

It’s true, Bruce had Alfred get the empty bedroom next to his ready for you, complete with a bed large enough for four people (he can’t wait to have sleepovers with you), a solid oak desk perfect for you to play and work on the new computer they got you, and filled with plushies, posters, and figures from all the video games they know you’re into.

And if there’s something missing from it, he’ll be more than happy to run out and buy it for you!

And if it wasn’t bad enough that the house was too small for you, you lived all alone on the edge of this small town. Come on, baby bird, you need your siblings to keep you company! You must be so lonely living in this house by yourself and no neighbors around.

The family’s already made plans to hang out with you: Bruce has already planned a whole gala for you, Dick plans on taking you to arcades and movie theatres, Jason’s read all your mom’s books and wants to talk about each of them with you, Tim’s called dibs on any and all video game activities with you, Babs wants to bring you to the library and hang out with her and maybe go out for coffee, Steph and Cass want to take you shopping and out to eat at all their favorite restaurants, and Damian has demanded that you go on walks with him every night after dinner and allow him to paint you.

He knows you’ve set up a good life here in your old hometown and he’s so proud of you for going out and making your mark on the world, but you need to come home. You’ll probably be sad on having to leave your childhood home, but your family misses you and the world’s too dangerous for someone like you to be on your own.

You have your family, so you don’t need to work when they can take care of you! And if you want to, you can come down here once or twice a year and check on the place (with one of them accompanying you, of course).

He knocks on your door with his usual playful knock he uses on his other siblings’ doors and waits. When he doesn’t hear any footsteps from the other side, he does it again.

“Y/N,” he calls out. “It’s me.”

He knows you’re home, your car’s in the driveway (Bruce owes you a better car, that one isn’t fit for you) and your phone’s GPS signal is clearly inside.

“Y/N,” he calls out even louder. “I know you’re in there!”

Finally, after forever, the door opens, revealing you; you open the door just enough to stick your head out. He’s blown away by how much you’ve grown; of course he saw the video (you really need to learn violence doesn’t solve anything, baby bird), but it doesn’t compare to seeing you in person. You’ve grown up from that teen boy into a fine looking young man, even if you look like you want to set him on fire right now.

“What the hell are you doing here,” you growl, taking the wind out of his sails just a little bit.

“Is it weird a big brother wants to see his little brother,” he says, flashing you his trademark wide grin.

“You’re not my brother and I don’t want you here.”

Ok, now that definitely took the wind out of his sails completely.

“Of course we’re brothers,” he responds, letting out an awkward chuckle. “I know I didn’t do a good job at it, but—”

“We’re not brothers, Dick,” you interject. “You were there for everyone else, but not me. You never viewed me as a priority.”

“That’s not true—“

“Yes it is, Dick! You didn’t say anything to me when we first met, you constantly went out of your way to hang out with Tim and the others and left me out of the fun every time, and when Damian attacked me with a fucking sword, you took his side and told me to let it go! And you have the nerve to call yourself my brother? Where do you get the fucking audacity?”

Alright, you have a few points. He should’ve included you when he hung out with the others. And yes, Damian had a rough upbringing, but that didn’t give him the right to take his sword and hurt you like that.

“I know, I know, I screwed up. I wasn’t there for you when you needed me. But I know I did you wrong, we all did, but we want to make it up to you. To bring you back home and show you the love we should’ve showed you from the beginning.”

“But I am home, Dick. Gotham was never my home and I didn’t lose twelve years of my life in that damn mansion in a city of the damned just to go back to it, surrounded by people I hate.”

Hate. That one word pierces his heart like a spear. He knows they’re probably not you favorite people in the world, but to know you hate them…

It hurts.

“Baby bird, you don’t mean—“

“Mean it? I absolutely do. You people ignored me for years, treated me like I was just a nuisance, that I obviously didn’t belong in your perfect home and your perfect family. You clearly didn’t want me there and I felt the same.”

“But we—“

“I don’t care how you feel. You obviously remembered me, probably thanks to something Alfred did, and feel guilty over how you treated me and that guilt is making you think I owe you a second chance. That’s why you’re here, Dick. To being me back to Gotham because he knows he can’t emotionally manipulate me.”

Each word you speak cuts him to his core. To know how much low you see them makes him want to cry.

You’re just saying this because they hurt you.

That’s right, they hurt you and now you want to hurt them. He gets it, baby bird. If this is what it takes to get you back home, you can berate him all you want.

But, he needs to get you back home, first. So, as much as he hates to use it, he’ll have to use his ace card. You might be scared when he tells you, but he’ll be with you as long as it takes and answer any questions you have.

“Look, I know it doesn’t justify everything we did, but there’s a reason why we were always not around. It’s because—“

“You’re Nightwing. Is that what you were going to say?”

He feels his heart stop and his blood go cold at your words.

What?

“What?”

“That you’re Nightwing. That’s what you were about to say, right?”

A moment passes as he processes your words. Once again, the wind is taken out of his sails, but this time, it feels like you just sucker punched him in the gut to do so.

You know their secret? For how long?

“How—“

“Wow, you must really think I’m that fucking stupid to not notice that. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but none of you are as subtle as you think you are. I lived there for twelve years and you really think I didn’t notice you all in costume, see your gear left strewn across the house, and hear you talking about criminals when I was right behind you?”

“I never thought you were stupid,” he defends himself.

Really, he never thought you were stupid! He saw your school records, you were a great student (struggled in math a bit, but that’s on him, he really should’ve been there to help you). But he just thought you just missed it with you sleeping on the far side of the manor.

“I also saw you guys celebrating each night when you came home. You know, with large banquets, movies, and take out. Looks like you guys had a lot of fun.”

Another gut punch. To know you saw them having so much fun that you weren’t invited to hurt him and made him want to take you into his arms and take your pain and loneliness away.

“Also, it’s not rocket science; Bruce Wayne gets a new kid every time Batman gets a new sidekick, Batman is clearly using equipment that costs a pretty penny and not many people in Gotham could foot the bill, and Jason Todd rises from the dead not long after Red Hood showed up. Honestly, the fact that no one else in Gotham has figured it out is astounding.”

Once again, a moment passes as he processes your words, his mouth agape and eyes as wide as saucers. He looks around quickly and is relieved to know there’s no camera recording this interaction, so there’s one less thing to worry about.

“Well,” he finally stutters out. “You know what we were up to. So, you know we were always busy and didn’t have one of free time.”

It hurts that he’s saying that you were less important than going out at night and punching criminals, but he’s drowning and he’s reaching for anything to keep himself afloat.

“But all of you made time for each other. I saw you make plenty of time to be there for the others, but never me.”

He really wants the ground to open up and swallow him whole. This conversation is one of the most painful things he’s ever done in his entire life. To know you stood in the background and saw him being there for everyone else…

“Well, maybe if you had done something else to get our attention,” he spits out, saying the first thing that comes to mind to keep this conversation going.

“And what should I have done,” you spit out, your eyes little more than slits and filled with hate.

“Maybe you should’ve become like us,” he mutters, his voice sounding pathetic even to him.

“What’d you just say,” you say, your tone a deadly silence.

He says nothing, realizing his mistake. You had a normal childhood with your mom, with no training whatsoever that would be useful in a vigilante situation. Plus, you’re innocent, you don’t belong on Gotham’s harsh streets; you belong at the manor with Alfred, eating cookies and drinking hot chocolate.

“I said ‘what’d you just say,’” you yell, making him jump a bit. “Say it again.”

Even though he’s taller than you (thank god), you look absolutely terrifying right now. You’re obviously pissed and repeating his stupid mistake is just going to make you angrier.

“I told you to say that again,” you yell as you open the door wide open and shove him back, making him step onto the grass as you step outside. “Now be a good little circus freak and do as I say!”

The insult is another sucker punch. It’s not the first time he’s been called that, he’s always countered it by showing off his acrobatic skills and silencing the sneers, but that obviously won’t work here.

“I said maybe you should’ve become a vigilante—“

He’s cut off by a slap to the face. When his vision clears, he sees your expression is a mix of anger and sadness, making him feel even worse about himself.

“How dare you,” you hiss, tears beginning to flow from your eyes. “So, I had to waste my life fighting Arkham’s inmates to be worthy of your love? I had to prove myself worthy of affection?”

“No,” he quickly retorts, ignoring the pain in his jaw from the slap. “I’m sorry, I—“

“Fuck you, Dick! Fuck you and fuck that dysfunctional mess you call a family! I hope you all get eaten by Killer Croc next time he breaks out!”

And with that, you storm back in your house and slam the door shut, leaving him to stare at the door, alone with his thoughts.

Shit. He came here to make you more receptive to them and all he did was make things worse. Now you’ll never come home.

And worse, he made you cry, something else he’ll never be able to forgive himself for.

“Well, I’ve done all I can,” he mutters to himself. “Guess I need to phone B and tell him what happened.”

He moves his leg to start walking back when pain surges from his ankle and when he looks down, he notices a vine covered in thick thorns wrapped around his ankle, a small line of blood on the vegetation. He must’ve got caught in it when you shoved him back and didn’t notice it.

He bends down and untangles his leg, taking care not to cut himself on the vine’s thorns.

Really, baby bird, this is why you need to come home. You don’t know how to take care of yourself, let alone a house.

When Dick told everyone what happened, Jason was genuinely surprised. When he first met you, he thought you were some little squirt that had no idea what the real world was like (of course, at that time, he was still pissed at Bruce and still riding high on Pit Madness, so he didn’t bother to spare you a passing glance).

When he learned that you lost your mom in a tragic accident and were forced to move to Gotham, where you were basically ignored and forgotten about for years…

Well, it’s not often he feels guilty about something, but this is definitely one of those times.

All those times when he yelled at Bruce for replacing him with Tim when he was doing the same thing…

Fuck, despite his best efforts, he became the old man, after all.

He was too busy being angry at the world and focusing on his own pain that he couldn’t see you were suffering.

And he knows your pain all too well, kid.

Losing your mother? Been there.

Being treated like shit? Oh yeah.

Have your life turned upside down because of Bruce? Oh, he’s president of the club.

If he had just pulled his head out of his own ass, he would’ve seen you were in pain like him. For fuck’s sake, Bruce didn’t even acknowledge your birthday or get you anything for Christmas while he was downstairs getting a limited edition copy of Pride and Prejudice and opening birthday cards with checks and gift cards.

The thought of you sitting upstairs in that fucking pitiful excuse of a room during your birthday (which is also the day of your mom’s death, ain’t that a bitch). Shit, he just wants to go back to Gotham, kick Bruce’s ass and then his own. Hell, he can remember flashing you his Pit Eyes after meeting you and you’re a damn civilian, for fuck’s sake!

Seriously, he knows he’s fucked in the head, but is he really that fucked up?

Maybe he should finally listen to Alfred and book a session with that therapist he recommended.

Well, he’ll do that when he brings you back home. After Dickhead not only failed to bring you back, but made things worse than before (they were all amazed when he told them you knew their secret, but of course Bruce stated drafting new rules about wearing their suits and handling their gear in the house to prevent someone outside the family from making the same discovery), Bruce finally green light the use of force and sent Jason.

He looks up at your house: a nice, simple thing in a small town where everyone probably knows your name.

While the others said it wasn’t for you, he actually thought what living there would be like. According to Alfred, you lived a great life there with your mother, complete with your own room and a nice tv perfect for eating cereal while watching Saturday morning cartoons.

He imagines doing that with you, him reading Jane Austen while you watch whatever silly little cartoon you like.

Yeah, shocking, but he wants to make up his shitty behavior towards you. Hell, he went ahead and bought everything your mom wrote and started reading and making notes. Now, he’ll never forsake Austen, but your mom is definitely a close second on his list of favorite authors.

She had a thing for the Age of Sails, apparently, since the books always took place on boats. She was also a romantic because she always ended her books with the two main characters falling in love, be it a noble woman and a pirate captain or the son of a major trade company and the commander of his naval escort.

Maybe your mom had some unpublished manuscript lying around and you’ll let him read it. He has plans to discuss her books with you, hopefully you know enough about her to answer them, but all he wants is to spend time with you.

Of course, first you have to come home. Whether you come along willingly or he has to drag you depends on his conversation goes with you.

“Sorry, kid,” he mutters to himself as he walks up to your door and knocks.

You want nothing to do with them. He gets it, trust him, he really does. It wasn’t that long ago he wanted to be as far from Gotham and Bruce just like you. Unfortunately, when you’re a part of this family, you’re in it for life; when it has its hooks in you, you can’t get them out.

Hopefully your transition won’t be too painful. He’ll try to keep the others (mainly Dick) from hitting you too much with their guilt-driven affections.

“What the hell are you doing here,” a voice calls out from behind him.

He turns around to see you with a brown paper bag in your hand and if he squints hard enough, he can see some restaurant’s name on the bag.

That’s right, Goodsprings is a small town where everything’s within walking distance, so it would make sense why you got take out while your car’s in the driveway.

“Look, kid, before we go any further, I just want to say that I’m sorry.”

“I don’t care,” you respond. “Go away.”

“Look, I know where you’re coming from. Really, I do. When I came back, I was pissed at Bruce and wanted nothing to do with him.”

“And yet, here you are, a part of that disgusting family and doing his bidding.”

That perpetually angry part of him wanted to say something that would only make things worse, but he manages to put a lid on that. If there’s anyone who deserves to lash out at him it’s you.

He’ll take whatever insult you have if it helps make you feel better.

“We all know we fucked up and we want you back. Just come home, Y/N. If you know who I am, then you know I’m more than happy to do things the hard way.”

“So you’ll use force to get your way. Wish I could say I’m surprised, but I’m not. You can pretend to be the well-read intellectual all you want, but you’ll always be Crime Alley trash who knows nothing but violence.”

Ok, that hurt. And that lid is starting to get harder to keep on.

He knows he’ll always be a man who uses his fists more than his words or head (those kinds of people never last long in the Alley), but he’s really tried to be more than that. He had to toughen up in order to survive back in the Alley, always hiding his love for literature and showing an attitude to the world, but when Bruce adopted him and he was able to become more than that little brat (despite all the cons living with a bastard who dressed like a bat entails).

“Too bad your mom wasn’t the type of junkie who sells her kid for her next hit. Would’ve saved the both of us a ton of trouble.”

Alright, so you know a lot of their dirty laundry. Shit. He already knew this probably wouldn’t end well, but this is going off the rails faster than he thought.

“Kid, I know you’re pissed at us and you have that right. Trust me, I’ve been pissed at Bruce for years, but you need really to come back—“

“And stop trying to relate to me, you asshat. You say you know how I feel about them, but you don’t. You came back determined to kill Batman and show him how you’re better than him, but you were also crying like a little bitch and begging Daddy to love you.”

You laugh at him mockingly while he’s starting to shake in anger, taking deep breaths to temper his rage.

“Daddy, Daddy, kiss me, kiss me,” you mock. Then your face goes back to pissed as you walk closer to him and look him straight in the eye. “You’re pathetic. Just like that whore, junkie of a mom. And your drunk of a dad.”

That’s when he loses it, despite his best efforts, and takes a swing at you. Oh well, he’s already in hot water with you, adding something else isn’t going to do much damage. At least it’ll be easy to drag you back to Gotham while you’re knocked out.

You drop the bag and catch his fist, stopping it no problem.

“How,” he starts to say before you twist his fist and he lets out a yell in pain.

“Jason Todd lashing out when faced with reality,” you say as you twist even more, bringing him to his knees. “How predictable.”

With your left hand (the bag still in your hand), you grab him by the chin and force him to look at you and when he does, he’s genuinely scared at the joy he can see reflected in them.

You’re taking pleasure in this; seeing him on his knees and at your mercy.

“Before I forget, I owe you for the black eye you gave me when we first met. Unlike your mother, mine taught me to always make good on my debts.”

Before he can do or say anything, you punch him squarely in the right eye, letting go of him so he’s knocked back by the force of the punch. He lands on the hard pavement and lays there with his right eye throbbing from the punch, already swelling up.

“Stay away from me, Jason. Next time, I won’t be so merciful.”

And with that, you step over him, unlock your door, and slam it shut, the sound of it being locked audible from his side.

“Shit,” he hisses, sitting up and touching his eye, wincing when it throbs in pain.

How the hell did you do that? You’re way smaller than him and you obviously don’t hit the gym, so how did you manage to catch his fist and counter him? And how did you manage to punch him hard enough to really hurt? Seriously, he’s taken a few shots from Bane and that punch was definitely on that level.

“B’s gonna love hearing this,” he mutters to himself as he gets up.

He walks back to the rental car he parked at your curb only to discover all four tires were punctured.

“Shit,” he yells, crouching to get a good look at the damage.

Something small and sharp punctured each tire and from what he could tell, it looks like something pierced the tire and snaked around it, making more holes.

He looks back at your house, but realizes there’s no way you could’ve done it. He didn’t see anything on you that could’ve done this. And no one else passed by while you were ripping him a new one.

So how the hell did this happen.

“Fuck,” he whines, realizing standing around isn’t going to do anything and pulls out his phone to call a tow truck.

Tim’s been curious about things he doesn’t understand all his life. It’s true, if he saw something that he couldn’t explain, he studied it, asked questions, and observed it until he finally understood it.

To say he’s curious about you is a gross understatement.

He’s ashamed to admit when he first met you, he thought he had you figured out. From what news he was able to see, you were the product of a one-night stand between Bruce Wayne and Maria Gould, a moderately successfully writer, and after she was killed by a drunk driver leaving a casino after a night of drinking and losing money, you were moved to Gotham to live with Bruce.

And when he met you, he saw nothing under that story. You grew up in a normal house with a loving mother (truth be told, he was a little jealous about that back then), not a traveling circus like Dick or in the heart of a slum like Jason, nor did you possess any notable talent like gymnastics or brute strength, and you certainly didn’t belong on the front lines, defending Gotham from crime.

You were average, nothing more, nothing less. End of story.

Well, he’s ashamed that he thought that way. You’re his younger brother, damn it, you shouldn’t have to possess anything to make him worthy of his attention. And he of all people knows what it’s like to be ignored by your family, so he should’ve talked to you and treated you like a brother, not do what his parents did to him and completely forget you exist.

But he’s here to make amends, apologize to you, and bring you back home.

Also, as much as he hates to admit it, but he’s completely obsessed with you now. He’s analyzed everything he could find on you and he’s incredibly curious how you went from getting mostly Bs and a few Cs to getting all As? Or how did you go about making your game when all you had was that sad Coding Games For Dummies to go on (he would’ve loved to teach you to code)?

And of course, there’s how you managed to push Bruce and block Jason’s punch and give him a black eye. Both of them are easily the strongest out of everyone in the family, so how someone like you managed to take them down is nothing short of astounding (and concerning).

In fact, if he fails like Dick and Jason, he wants to at least find a way of obtaining a blood sample. The last time you had blood drawn was on your eighteenth birthday, none of it showing you even have the Meta Gene, but until he performs the test and sees the results himself, he’s keeping all options open.

“Hello, Y/N,” he greets you as he sits in your booth at the Pearl’s Diner, a restaurant you routinely frequent.

You look up from your meal and your expression shifts in disgust.

“Are you fucking kidding me,” you spit, slamming your utensils down on the table. “Are you people really stalking me? It’s been everyday with you people!”

It’s true, Dick visited you two days ago, Jason was yesterday, and today is his turn to bring you back to the fold. He’s really hoping he succeeds, because Steph and Cass are next, and Damian is last (he demanded to come and was pissed when Bruce sent him instead).

“Come on, Y/N, I just want to talk to you. Is that too much to ask for?”

“Yes,” you instantly respond. “Why are you even here in the first place, shouldn’t you be stalking Mr. Wayne from the shadows?”

He hides his wince from you, but your words definitely hurt him.

Yes, he stalked Bruce, but there was nothing nefarious about it! He was fascinated by Batman and Robin and just wanted to know more!

“Look, I know you’re angry at us and you have every right to. We should’ve done better and there’s no excuse we can give that will ever erase the damage done to you.”

“Glad to know you understand that,” you say that with a raised eyebrow. “Now go away.”

“You know I wouldn’t be here just to say that. I’m here to bring you back home.”

“Gotham isn’t my home,” you growl through grit teeth. “How many times do I have to say that? I’m never going back to that city of the damned and I’m sure as hell never stepping foot in that fucking manor.”

On one hand, he gets why you feel about Gotham, it’s a city that’s taken much from its people, it’s constantly dark and gloomy, and its atmosphere is constantly oppressive and intimidating. But on the other, he’s a born and raised Gothamite (no matter how much Jason says otherwise due to his upbringing) and he’s Red Robin, so he has a strong pride for his home. But, he’s willing to let it slide since he knows you had happy memories of Goodsprings and every memory you have of Gotham is negative (something he hopes to correct).

“I know why you feel that way, but no matter what you say or how you feel, Bruce’s DNA makes up half of yours. Like it or not, he’s your father and we’re your family. We realize we screwed up and we want you back.”

“You’re wrong, he’s not my father, he’s a sperm donor.” He winces at how you view Bruce. “Hell, my Momma probably took pity on him and gave him the best night he’ll ever have. If I could, I’d suck out all the Wayne DNA and give it back to him. I want nothing to do with him and I sure as hell don’t want anything to do with you.”

Alright, this isn’t going well (as he anticipated), so he needs to switch gears and get a blood sample. If Bruce is right and you have the Meta Gene, knowing your powers will go a long way. After they (he) studies every last molecule of your DNA and they find ways to counter your abilities, they’ll be able to bring you back home.

Sure, you’ll be angry (probably more than now), but in time, you’ll realize this was for the best; that you belonged with them and while you have the last name Gould, you’re a Wayne and your rightful place is the manor. Hell, he’s helping Bruce draft a story to tell the media why you moved back to the manor and plans for your gala, which will be the biggest event Gotham will ever see, complete with endless buffets, the finest music, and the city’s biggest movers and shakers.

But in order for any of that to happen, he needs a blood sample. He glances down at the ring on his finger, which houses a hidden needle that will pierce your skin without you even feeling it and your blood will be housed in a small vial housed within the ring. He has a blood analyzer in his car, so he won’t have to wait to get to the manor in order to run the tests, he can do it once he leaves and read the results on the jet ride home.

“Y/N,” he starts, reaching out to your hand, thankful you’re wearing a t-shirt. “Please, come home.”

Almost there.

“Alfred misses you.”

Just a little more…

Then, you grab his wrist, halting him and squeezing it, making him wince in pain.

“Why are you so eager to make me go back to Gotham,” you hiss, yanking his arm, causing him to jerk across the table. “Let me guess, now that I’m gone, everyone’s ignoring you? They’re treating you like your parents treated you?”

So Jason was right, you know all their secrets. Specifically, his issues with his parents and how he felt about their lack of affection towards him. Shit.

“Did it feel nice, Tim, ignoring me and pretending I didn’t exist? Jack and Janet made you feel like shit for years and now you had the opportunity to do the same to someone else.”

He tries to flip his wrist to try to slide the ring across any exposed skin so he can take a blood sample, but you have a vice-like grip on it and he can’t move it any; all he can do is look you in your hate-filled eyes.

“Do you ever think they knew something was wrong with you? That’s why they wanted nothing to do with you? Despite their best efforts, you came out so fucked up not even your own mother could love you. How pathetic.”

He tries to break free, but your hand doesn’t budge at all. Hell, he’s using his Red Robin strength and it’s not budging at all. Seriously, what are you?

“I’m telling you this right now, Tim, stay away from me. All of you. I didn’t lose twelve years in Gotham and spend the last four years creating my dream life just have you lot fuck it up.” You squeeze to the point it feels like you’ll snap his wrist off and he bites his tongue to resist yelling out in pain. “If you guys keep coming near me, you won’t live long enough to regret it.”

And with that, you throw him back into his booth, his wrist throbbing from the pain, and get up, walk to the waitress behind the counter up front to pay for your meal (which is unfinished), and leave.

He looks down at his wrist to see it’s definitely bruised.

Well, things just got more interesting.

Damian shouldn’t be surprised the there’s failed. Especially Drake, that misfit proves his inferiority at every turn and makes his poor breeding apparent.

Honestly, Father really should’ve let him go instead of Greyson. You’re his blood brother (granted, you come from a different mother than him, but Father’s DNA is what matters) and out of everyone in their family, he’s the only one besides Father capable of reaching you. The original plan was for Brown and Cain to come and bring you home, but a major Arkham breakout changed that.

Well, technically, Father said Brown and Cain were to come to you after all the inmates were returned to Arkham, but he used the breakout as a cover and took the jet to fly to Nevada. Father will no doubt complain about his actions, but he’ll no doubt forget about his actions when he returns with you in tow.

Of course, he knows his transgressions against you. He remembers drawing his sword and drawing blood, he remembers the countless insults he spat at you and your mother, and he remembers sending his pets to hunt you for sport.

When he met you, he was honestly surprised when Pennyworth said you were Father’s firstborn, something not even Mother and Grandfather were aware of because they told him he was to be Bruce’s only blood son. After learning of your existence, he immediately became concerned about his role as heir to the Wayne legacy; after all, tradition states that everything of true value passes to the firstborn son and seeing you put his position as heir to the Bat at risk.

And then he lashed out, drawing blood and cursing you and your mother, who he now regrets calling a whore because he now knows she didn’t intentionally share his bed, it was just the result of two adults making an idiotic mistake.

His time in the League gave him unrivaled perception and he could tell at a glance that you possessed no training whatsoever, nor did you possess any skill useful to fulfilling Father’s mission of combating Gotham’s criminals. You were raised in an average house and lived an average, unremarkable life.

You were no threat to him and knew nothing of what the family was really doing at night.

He knew that, but he felt the need to assert his place in the family’s hierarchy and remind you that you were beneath all of them, even beneath Drake (of course he knows better, no one could be beneath Drake and you belong with him, underneath Father).

He spent the next few years going out of his way to make your life miserable, insulting you every chance he got, cruelly reminding you that your mother was dead, using his pets to chase you throughout the manor, and abusing Greyson’s favoritism for him to deflect any accountability when you tried to defend yourself.

Back then, he didn’t see the value in having a biological connection to anyone because he viewed it as a danger to his position as heir to the Bat. Besides, he had more than enough “siblings” due to Father’s need to adopt every orphan that crosses his path.

Now that he’s grown some surrounded by Father, Pennyworth, and the rest of his family (even Drake), he knows the value in having you by his side. To have someone he’s bound to by blood is to have a connection with another that can’t be beaten by any other and he knows that he was a fool to spurn that gift.

He intends to make up for his transgressions by being the best brother imaginable; Greyson has shown him how a brother is supposed to be and he knows he can improve upon those methods to be better than Greyson. While Father plans on being the one to greet you every morning, he intends on being by your side, involving you in everything he does (except at night when he’s Robin; even if you have the Meta Gene, you have no place surrounded by the filth of Gotham), including painting, where he has plans on painting a portrait of you and him and hang it in your room.

Of course, there’s still the matter of bringing you back home. While he knows that you most likely despise him the most, nothing will hinge the fact that you and him are brothers. There has to be some rational part of you that will be receptive to his words.

He approaches you from behind while you’re crouched at your mother’s grave, talking to it as if it was her. He looks over you to see her tombstone:

Maria Gould

May Her Sails Point Towards Heaven

The tombstone is between two clusters of red lilies that seem to have been planted there, most likely by you if he had to guess.

As he nears you, you slowly turn around and face him, your expression of mourning shifting to a look of disgust and hatred (an expression that unnerves him slightly).

“What fresh hell is this,” you spit out, standing to your full height (you must’ve inherited your height from your mother because he’s slightly taller than you). “It wasn’t enough that your father had to come and ruin my big night, now you have to come and desecrate my Momma’s grave?”

“Brother, I—“

Before he can say another word, you close the distance between the two of you and wrap your hand around his throat, silencing him.

“You have no right calling me that! After you made my life a living hell!”

He brings his hands up to your arm and tries to break your hold, but unsurprisingly, he can’t. When Drake told them about your grip on his wrist, he attributed it to his natural weakness, but there may be some truth to the theory of you being a meta.

“After what you did, I should snap your neck. Wouldn’t that be a bitch, to die by the hand of someone you deemed to be of ‘ill breeding?’”

He regrets ever calling your breeding into question (something only reserved for Drake); he wants to say he takes it back and he deeply regrets it, but right now, he’s struggling to breath.

Just then, you toss him aside, he coughs as he quickly fills his lungs with air.

“You’re lucky we’re at my Momma’s grave, or I’d kill you.”

You spit at his feet to show your disgust for him before storming off to your nearby car. He watches as you drive off before looking down at the ring on his finger, the same kind Drake hoped to get a blood sample from you; he takes it off and looks on the inside to see the vial filled with your life essence.

“Once again, Drake, I have demonstrated why I deserve the Wayne name and you don’t.”

He pockets the ring and makes his way to the rental car. He had hoped to convince you to return to the manor, but he was content to extracting a blood sample to answer some questions they have about you.

You might know their secrets, but they’ll soon level the playing field and when they do, they can bring you home.

And when they do, he’ll be the brother you deserve.

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#from gold to mold #yandere batfamily #male reader #batfamily #batfamily x male reader #yandere barbara gordon #yandere cassandra cain #yandere bruce wayne #yandere damian wayne #yandere dick grayson #yandere batfam #yandere dc #yandere jason todd #yandere tim drake #yandere stephanie brown #yandere alfred pennyworth #dc x male reader #batman

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daphwritesworld · 3 months ago

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#23 A. Russo— all to you.

content: face sitting(A receiving), thigh riding (r receiving), scissoring, lots of kissing lol, fingering (r receiving), kinda public sex(only for a short flashback), lovey-dovey type shit, top!Alessia, bottom!reader

warnings: bathroom sex in a flashback, Alessia humping your face should get its own warning so there you go, hitting your knee like an idiot, talks of marriage, Alessia in a "kiss the cook" apron lol

synopsis: After spending two months away in The States with your family– you’re finally flying back home to England. To your Alessia.

word count: 4.6k

!! MINORS DNI!! 18+ CONTENT

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The sunrise bleeding in through the cracked blinds is what you notice first. The little beams of light interrupt the first real night of sleep you’ve gotten in the past two months. You’ve been away visiting your family. Two months usually wouldn’t have been that bad…if you were in the same time zone. keyword: ‘if.’

Going back to the States wasn’t bad— you love it back home. Being so close to your family, old friends, old stomping grounds, the completely different scenery, and the nostalgic restaurants all hold a special place in your heart. You’d of course enjoyed yourself on the trip, but nothing can compare to the longing of wanting to be back in Alessia’s arms. The days spent away were counted down in matching pocket calendars– one for you and the other for your girlfriend. Little notes of encouragement, inside jokes, and love poured out onto each date you’d be separated. You both decided to write them for each other and switch at the airport before you boarded your flight, promising not to look until the next day to check a box off.

The day you came back to her finally arrived yesterday. She’d waited at the airport with her family, a cheesy sign with your name written on it and balloons attached. As soon as they saw you it was screams and hollers. Alessia moving so fast you felt her before you even had time to lift your head to their greeting. You let out a small yelp as she hoisted you into the air, her arms wrapping around your waist to keep you secured against her. Your hands cupped her cheeks and you leaned down to place a soft kiss on her lips, pulling away after a couple of seconds— much to your girlfriend’s dismay. She pouts at you before trying to chase after your lips again, this time being met with your hand and a whispered shout, “Alessia Russo, I am not letting you shove your tongue down my throat with your family 15 feet away!”

She rolled her eyes at that, setting your feet back on the ground before latching her arms back around you. Pulling you closer to her as a small smile broke out across her lips, “Oh, but you’ll let me finger you in the bathroom at Christmas, is that it?”

Your cheeks heat up instantly at the mention of the memory. Alessia had invited you over for Christmas with her family three years ago (when you two were “just friends”). You’d been left all alone in England since your flight was canceled due to bad weather, nowhere else but your empty apartment to go. And she couldn’t let such a pretty girl stay alone on such a joyful holiday, so she called her mom and made sure there was a plate set at the table long before she’d even convinced you to come that night. You’d both been dancing around each other for months: flirting, nicknames, and basically eye fucking at practice, but so so oblivious to the other’s intentions. But two glasses of Advocaat and some hanging mistletoe is all it takes for her to get you in the bathroom of her childhood home. One hand covered your mouth as the other fucked three fingers into your pussy, while the sounds of Christmas music and living room chatter drowned out to the both of you in your own world.

Before you can reprimand her with more than a soft whack to the shoulder, her brothers are running over to wrap you in a hug and telling their sister to stop “hogging the favorite.” her parents wrapped you up in a hug, too. Telling you how miserable and grumpy Alessia had been since you’d left.

“I-I was not!”

You just smiled at the sounds of her siblings and her arguing as you all walked your way out. So happy to finally be back where you belong. Your real home– right here with your Alessia. You felt her hand slip into yours as you approached the doors. You said your goodbyes and promised to visit soon before she was leading you off to the car. The entire ride home was spent telling her all about your months spent back in The States. The phone calls when one of you would stay up late or wake up super early just to speak for an hour or less didn’t do enough justice. Her hand rested on your thigh the entire way, rubbing circles and little patterns into your skin as you spoke. She could listen to you all day, just happy to finally hear your voice in person and not through a speaker or her headphones. They could never pick up the true essence of your laugh or the crinkle in your nose when you do.

Now in the comfort of your own bed, your hands search out across the sheets on instinct— a frown gracing your features as you feel the cold bed beneath your fingertips. You crack your eyes open, blinking a few times as they adjust to the daylight. You stretch your arms out as you sit up, the cold breeze through the house lighting goosebumps across your skin. You shiver as you hop off the bed, reaching down for Alessia’s oversized shirt that was thrown to the floor the previous night. The memories come flooding back in flashes as you slip it over your head. Your freshly hardened nipples sensitive to the material as it brushes against them.

You barely had time to get through the front door before she had you pressed up against it. The way her lips were glued to your sweet spots, her hands gripping every part of you they touched, and how you two stumbled up the stairs because you wouldn’t pull away from making out on the way to your bedroom. The candles lit around the space, the pink and white rose petals sprinkled across the duvet, and the way she kissed her way down your whole body as she tore your panties off with a loud rip. She never was very patient...especially when it comes to your pussy.

You flash back to the present as the smell of bacon hints in your nose. Your feet move and your stomach rumbles as you quietly make your way downstairs. Seeing Alessia in her “kiss the cook” apron, making a tray of food for you. It almost has you sneaking back up into bed so she could surprise you, but the growling monster in your stomach wins as you slowly come up behind her, wrapping your arms around the taller girl.

“no no no! I was gonna surprise you with breakfast in bed,” she whines with a pout on her lips as she turns around to face you. Her hands resting on your hips as yours go to wrap around her neck, pulling her down for a morning kiss.

“There, that fixed your face!” you say as you pat her cheek before stealing a piece of bacon from behind her on the counter.

“I’m serious, Amore mio! I wanted to treat you today after being away for so long.”

“You still can though, Baby,” you say as she sits you up on the counter beside her as she cooks. “Don’t gotta get your knickers in a twist,” the awful British accent leaves your lips with a giggle as you swing your foot to hit her on the butt.

She puts her spatula down to bring her fingertips to your sides, tickling you relentlessly as you squirm around laughing loudly. The tears welling up in your eyes a clear sign of not being able to escape her assault, “Okay! Okay! St-Stop! I’m sorry, Less– I’m sorry!”

She pulls you into her chest, arms wrapping around your middle and stepping between your knees. The big smile on her face never falters as she just rests her forehead against yours, taking this intimate moment in and soaking it up for all it’s worth. Her eyes are scanning across your face, and you wish in times like these you could read her pretty mind. Just wanting a glimpse into what’s behind those crystal blue eyes that enchant you every time they gaze into yours.

“How’d you manage to get even more gorgeous whilst away?” It’s barely above a whisper when she says it, her hands coming up to lightly trace over your face. Her fingers run across your cheeks, lips, and jaw. It’s all too much for you at the moment, so overwhelmed with love for her. So you lean forward and place your lips on hers, and it takes both of your breaths away. It’s different than the ones you shared last night. There’s no urgency in your movements and no harshness behind them. Her tongue slides into your mouth when you gasp from the way she lightly nips at your bottom lip, still moving at a slow pace. The smell of burning food breaks you back into reality a bit, trying to pull away as she chases your lips closely.

“The food, Alessia,” you manage to get the words out between kisses, never fully able to get her lips off of yours completely.

She groans out into your mouth before backing away, turning off the stove eye, and moving the pan to rest on a cold one. She doesn’t even say anything before she brings a hand behind your neck to pull your mouth back onto hers. The fire in your belly is roaring, begging for her touch and to touch her.

“Mmm, upstairs,” It’s not a question when you say it. She supports your middle with her arms before hoisting you off the counter, your legs wrapping around her waist on instinct as she carries you to your destination.

When she reaches the bed there’s no throwing you down, and clawing your clothes off. She’s connecting your lips as she slowly lays you down on the sheets, following your body with her own. A hand comes up to caress the back of your neck as she deepens the kiss. Your knees spread for her body to align with yours like a puzzle piece, fitting together perfectly and in rhythm with one another. The hand behind your neck starts slipping around front, keeping a loose hold on your neck as she pulls back just enough so you can both breathe for a second.

“Please fuck me, Baby,” it comes out airy and breathless as your chest rises and falls rapidly.

“No.”

You feel like your world’s crashing down. No? Did she tell you…No? Like as in N-O.. no?

“I’m not gonna fuck you,” she says it while holding your face in her hands. You think she’s being cruel, punishing you for a stupid joke accent, or the fact you woke up early and spoiled her surprise for you. Pulling you back into a mind-reeling kiss, and desperately searching for a reason she’d tease you and wind you up like this just to leave you high and dry.

“I’m gonna make love to you,” your eyes snap up to her. Mind quieting and drowning out all your worries and complaints. Your breath hitches as she says it and you swear your heart swells up twice its size. “Let me show you how much I missed you, Amore mio.”

You’re nodding your head as a quiet moan rolls off your tongue at her words, connecting your lips once again as her hands start rubbing up your sides. They slip under your (really her) shirt draped over you, the only thing separating her from your naked body. Goosebumps rise behind in the path of her hands, your skin feeling electric from her touch. She moves down your body as she gets up on her knees, untying her apron and throwing it somewhere into the room. She’s lifting your shirt as she peels it off your body. Her lips leave kisses in the journey up as your flesh is being revealed. She nips a little harder on your soft spots, leaving behind love bites in her wake. Little reminders of where she’d been and how her love poured out of her and onto your skin. When the shirt is being brought over your head and blocking your view, she brings one of your nipples into her mouth. Your hands go to the back of her head to bring her closer to your chest, arching into her mouth. The pleasure only multiplies when she laughs around your bud, pulling back as you whine out from the feeling.

“Move your hands for a second, Love. Lemme get this off you,” there are kisses left on your boobs as she says it. Taking your hands into hers as she places them beside your head, and leans down slowly to almost connect your lips. But she just hovers over them for a second, breathing in the same air as each other. She pulls back with a smirk when you try to push yourself up, and then she slips the shirt over your head, throwing it back to its home on the floor of your bedroom.

Her lips are on your collarbone as she slips a knee between your legs, resting against your naked pussy. Wet kisses are tracing back down to your other nipple this time. The warmth of her mouth around it is intoxicating, your tits extra sensitive since they’d been neglected for so long. She looks up at your face once she notices your body has a mind of its own, grinding up against her thigh as sinful sounds flow from your mouth. Another laugh rips through her, and to both of your surprise, it sends you into an orgasm. Not a super hard or intense one, but still enough to have your eyes closing and your legs trying to close around hers.

Alessia looks down and groans loudly at the sight. Your creamy cunt making a mess on her sweatpants, some white cum streaking the grey fabric along with the giant wet stain taking up a majority of her thigh.

She’s entranced by the sight, jumping when she feels your hands on her neck. You’re pulling her into a searing kiss as her hand comes up to play with your messy pussy. “No, Less. Wanna make you feel good, too. Please baby,” you break the kiss as your hand stops hers.

“How do you want me then?”

“Wanna taste you, please.”

So she hops off the bed and strips herself naked, but you don’t expect her to push you back down as she climbs up onto your body. Usually, she’d just guide your head with a hand in your hair against her cunt, but not today. Oh no. Today she’s resting her knees beside your head as she massages your scalp for a second.

“Ready, Love?”

“Hurry up and sit on my fucking face!”

She laughs out a cackle a that, a true hearty laugh. Then she’s sinking down onto your awaiting mouth, resting her weight down onto your face. You swear you could die right now between her legs, and they’d find you with a smile on your face. The taste of her sets off a primal moan to take over you, your eyes rolling back as she grinds down onto your tongue. Alessia always makes the prettiest noises while getting fucked, you could spend hours pleasuring her body and you’d cum just from the sounds she makes alone. Her hands find your hair as yours find her thighs, both squeezing and holding on for dear life as she speeds up her movements. The beds starting to squeak, reminiscent of how she knocked the headboard into the wall last night and left a small indention.

Your hands move up from her thighs to her tits, rolling her nipples between your fingers as her clit starts humping repeatedly into your nose. Every one of your senses is overwhelmed with just “Alessia” as you take your tongue and start fucking her with it, drunk off the idea of getting her to cum like this. The view is breathtaking above you; Alessia with her head thrown back, back arching as your hands work magic on her chest, and her toned stomach flexing with every roll of her hips above you.

It’s then when you moan again into her pussy that she’s cumming in your mouth, letting the nastiest words roll off her tongue, “La mia piccola troia, swallow it all! Take what I give you Carino mio.”

Wanting to please her, you make sure to suck up every drop that comes out of her. Your tongue slips out of her to clean up, an extra flick to her clit as you finish. She’s pulling away after that, flopping onto the bed beside you trying to catch her breath. One arm pulls you onto her chest, placing a kiss on your hairline as she rubs your bare back. “You did so good for me, Love. Made me feel so fucking good. Better than anyone ever has .”

You lift your head at that, a blush on your cheeks from her words. “Yeah?”

“Yeah, Baby,” It’s let out with a smile gracing her lips and a twinkle in her eye. She’s throwing her head to the side with a loud sigh after a moment, “Fuck you’re so pretty! I can never get enough of you, you know”

You sit up at this, straddling her lap as you swing a leg over her. Taking both of her hands into yours as you interlock them, and bringing them up for a tender kiss to her knuckles. “You’re prettier, Lessie. A worldwide splendida ragazza.” you were praying you didn’t butcher the pronunciation, having spent those two months away studying Italian every night.

You see tears welling up in her eyes and you instantly frown, opening your mouth to apologize for upsetting her. “I’m sorry, Less. I thought I could learn it-” but you’re cut off by her soft lips on yours. All the emotions and pent-up frustrations from missing each other poured into this one shared kiss.

“Ti amo, Amore mio bellissimos.” She says it right against your lips, a few of her tears running down between your lips. The saltiness only adds to the passion of the lip lock. “Ti amo tanto,” you reply to her. As you’re lifting one of her legs and slipping one of yours beneath it, you drop your cunt against hers. Both of you let out a moan at the sudden contact. Alessia’s hands find your hips as she starts guiding your movements, controlling your body because she knows it better than you do. Your fingers couldn’t make you cum while you were away, nothing could. Because she has ruined you for anybody else, your pleasure is only loyal to her now. “Look at us, Amore mio. Look how messy we make each other. How much we love and miss each other.”

You look between you, the way both of your thighs are covered in slick. Your puffy clits bump together with every roll of your hips. You feel too far away from her, even though you’re so close. So your hands reach out and pull her closer, lips finding one another again. They’re red, swollen, and sore at this point, but neither of you cares. Too lost in each other to even register the slight pain.

Your legs start getting tired as your orgasm approaches, slowing down as the pain of that at least catches up with you. Alessia notices and pulls away from your lips, “Wrap your arms around me, Love.” And you do it without question, no idea why she wants you to, but trusting her completely anyway.

Within seconds you’re squealing as she flips you two over on the mattress, blonde hair cascading down to frame her face perfectly. You swear with the sunlight shining in she looks like a proper angel, a halo surrounding her head in the morning daze. Her hands lift and situate your body exactly how she wants it. She’s got her hips slamming back into yours in no time, the sound of skin slapping and the words of praise passing between the two of you fills up the room. Your arms are around her neck pulling her down to be chest to chest with you, just wanting her to suffocate you honestly. If you could crawl into her skin you would, but alas this is the closest you’ll ever get. You swear you can feel your hearts beat in synch like this, the thumping of your them so loud in your chests it’s making your body tingle. Her hands find your hips, rubbing circles into them as a way to ground you. Her lips leave kisses up the side of your neck, stopping to nip at your jaw.

“Cum for me, Love.” her lips trail down to your ear, letting out a groan as she tugs on your earlobe with her teeth, “La moglie futura mia.”

Finally understanding the term of endearment is what does it for you. You’d heard her call you that a million times and never thought of it, having slipped your mind with all the other nicknames she gives you. Your legs start shaking and your grip on her neck tightens, making sure she stays pressed against you the whole time. “My Future Wife,” replays in your head over and over as the pleasure from your orgasm wrecks through your body. Screams of “Te Amo!” “I love you” and “Less” all come out mixed as the wires in your brain start crossing the two languages and the girl who speaks them.

You can’t stop the butterflies from exploding in your tummy as you realize she said that to you for the first time at her family’s Christmas all those years ago. That’s how she’d introduced you to them as they welcomed you both in the door, a big grin on her face. “This is, (y/n). La moglie future mia.” Now all the hugs and promises to return each year as you two were leaving make a little more sense.

She doesn’t stop her hips, chasing her own high as she feels it approaching. “Come on,” she rubs her hands on your forearms gently, “Let me see your pretty face when I cum, Darlin.” You whine a little at the thought of her pulling away, but nonetheless let her guide your arms away. She reconnects your hands together and lays them above you, eyes focusing on the way your mouths open and panting for her. The sweat dripping down your brow and all the small details in your face show off the way she’s making you feel. All of it’s rolling in her stomach, the pit of fire growing by the second.

“Cum for me,” it’s breathless as you say it, her eyes instantly finding yours. “La moglie futura mia,” it’s a sentiment that you’re only now able to return. The weight of the words and the fact you spoke them back to her is overwhelming. Her hips stutter into yours, and her eyes shut as she crashes her lips back down onto yours. Moaning into your mouth as her orgasm washes over her, rolling in waves as she slows her pace to a stop.

For a while you’re both just lying there, her head on your chest and your fingers playing in her hair. The sounds of you both trying to regain a normal breathing pattern is slowly trying to lull you to sleep. So at peace in the comfortable silence and the safety of having Alessia in your arms– exactly where she should be. She lifts her head up, trailing some kisses down before resting her chin on your stomach. “Can I bring your tray of food to you in bed now?”

It’s all really a blur till then for you. Your body is so so tired, your eyes getting heavier as the minutes tick by. You’re almost fully asleep by the time she comes back, only responding to her in grunts and hums. She chuckles at you as she moves your body to sit up against the headboard, propping a pillow behind you for extra comfort.

“Alright, at least eat your toast or drink some juice. Your body needs some energy after that,” It’s soft when she says it. Her lips press feather-light kisses to your face as your eyes start to crack open. She’s got that damn apron on again and you shake your head at that, a laugh bubbling out of your lips. Your Alessia– butt naked except for her “Kiss The Cook” apron wrapped around her body. The tray placed over your legs takes your attention next. Despite being sleepy you are super hungry, even more than when you first ventured downstairs to steal a piece of bacon. You shake your head in agreement before reaching towards your plate, but your fingers hit something velvety on the edge of the tray stopping you. You focus your eyes a bit, squinting till the sun adjusts for your sight, and that’s when you see it. The small blue box is set right before your plate. Your heart rate picks up and you look over at Alessia with a confused look on your face.

“Open it, Caro.” She says it with so much endearment you can’t help but smile.

When you open it up it’s a beautiful ring. A gold band adorned with the gemstone of your birth month. Your eyes widen at the gesture, tears filling them before you turn to face your girlfriend. She’s wiping them away with her fingers, reaching down to take your hands into hers.

“Marry me, (y/n). It doesn’t have to be now, in a year, or even five. Just promise me that you’ll be la mogile futura mia.”

“Of course, I’ll marry you, Less!” You’re gasping and jumping up– right before your knees hit the tray you forgot about and you’re letting out a cry of pain from the commotion. Your hands come up to hide your face, a blush deepening as embarrassment sets in. “Shit! That seriously fucking hurt!”

You’re only met with a laugh and her hands pulling yours away from your face. You look back at her when you feel the ring being slipped onto your finger, her eyes never leaving yours as she does so. “Looks like you’re inheriting the Russo family clumsiness already, Love.”

She takes a second to move the tray of food off of the bed before returning. Her lips come down, kissing your knees where they’d been hurt as she rubs soothing shapes into your calves. Once she’s satisfied with her work she moves back up and throws her body on top of yours, wrapping your limbs around each other as the reality starts to set in: You’re engaged to be married.

“I can’t believe we’re gonna be a family, Less!” it’s a whispered shout– the excitement doubling as you bring your hand towards your face to get another look at your ring. But before you can tell her how beautiful the ring is, she’s cupping your face and pulling it closer to hers. Her eyes render you speechless, looking into yours like the galaxy is hidden inside them. “We’ve been a family for a while now, Vita mia. I’m only just now growing the nerve to make it official.”

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