#and when those people aren’t on the same side i close my eyes and pretend it’s not happening cause i need the vibes more haha

[anxiously-kk]

you know sometimes i watch this show because i love to analyze gameplay and strategize on what would be good moves for everyone to make and just like work my brain. and sometimes i watch this show cause my anxiety is horrendous and i just wanna see cuties be silly little jelly beans and maybe they are bad at the game and maybe they aren’t all on the same side but idc cause i’m just like really zen and calm ok

[abigailywrites]

arrival. [din djarin x reader]

part one of indebted.

ao3 / ko-fi rating: t word count: 2.3k warnings: none

Whispers follow you the moment you arrive on Nevarro, trailing Greef Karga like a toy on a string. You haven’t been there a full day when he pulls you into a cantina, gives you a holopad, and says, “Take notes.” And off he goes, about his business. Now and then, he’ll look over his shoulder to make sure you’re keeping up. When he’s satisfied, he looks away, and you become a shadow again. That’s when you become more aware of the whispers than ever. 

“Karga’s new errand girl…” You hear from some distant corner, but it’s difficult to hear much else over the cantina’s traffic. “...pretty sure he... only here to… doubt she… Karga will have to… The Mandalorian won’t be…”

Mandalorian? The unfamiliar word hits your ear like a bullet to the brain. That’s not much, admittedly. In such a crowded space, you’re sure to hear words you don’t know from languages you can't even name; but something about this word grabs your attention and sits heavy in your stomach.

Nevermind that. Karga’s interviewing a potential new Guild member, and you’re taking notes. But you haven’t written anything down in five minutes, and Karga notices. He’s called your name twice now without an answer. You jump the third time, and Karga sighs. “If you’re not gonna take notes, could you at least make yourself useful and get us some drinks from the bar?”

With a nod, you rise from your seat and walk to the bar, pretending to ignore the stares that follow you. You get it. Karga goes off-planet for two weeks and comes back with some nervous-looking girl and no explanation for her. People are curious. Still, you can’t help but feel on edge. Especially when you notice how many people don’t bother to hide the fact that they’re staring. Especially when you notice how many times the words “errand girl” and “Mandalorian” pop up side-by-side in snippets of all the different conversations. 

After the drinks are ordered, a man with a gleam in his eye slides uncomfortably close to you. “You’re Karga’s errand girl, yes?” It’s the same voice that discussed you earlier. He’s got an accent you can’t place, and a crooked smile like he has no interest in being friends.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye, but keep quiet. You aren’t interested in being friends, either.

“You know he’s hiring you for the Mandalorian?” the man presses when you don’t answer. “He’ll probably make you fuck Mando to get him in a good mood. Get him to take more pucks.”

Cringing, you turn fully away from the man, giving him the back of your head to talk to.

The man wheezes out a laugh. “Good luck! You’re pretty, but not pretty enough to change Mando’s mind, I think. You’ll freeze him out like that, anyway. Hell, maybe you’ll freeze each other out! Hard to fuck someone when you can’t see their face.”

The drinks you ordered are placed on the counter, and you whisk them away before you can hear another word. There’s a sick feeling settling deep in your chest. Settling in right next to the new word… “Mandalorian.” Karga has made the particularities of your arrangement abundantly mysterious, but he wouldn’t stoop that low. Or you think he wouldn’t, but you can’t be sure. He seemed safer than the man you were almost stuck with. But safer doesn’t necessarily mean safe.

The notion chews you up until the cantina is all but empty, and Karga is reviewing your work. It’s the only time you’ve had all day to ask questions, and you jump at the chance. “Who’s the Mandalorian?”

Karga looks up from the holopad with a furrowed brow and looks back down as he answers. “Mando’s my best hunter. Why?”

“I dunno,” you answer with a shrug. “I just get the impression that… That I’m supposed to know who he is.” And you’d had that feeling before the confrontation at the bar. The second you heard the word Mandalorian, it jumped at you like it was supposed to be important to you. It’s one of those gut feelings that you get every once in a while that you know you’re supposed to listen to.

“Well, it’s inevitable. He’s bound to show up again sometime soon to collect some new pucks.” Karga hands the holopad back to you. “Good work for the first day, but tomorrow should be even better. There’s a lot of room for improvement.” 

You look between Karga and the holopad. “And did I…?”

“Did you what?” Karga asks. “Earn your daily percentage? Oh, sure.”

Good. It might not be much, but .02% off of your outstanding debt every day you work for Karga is a vital step in the long crawl to independence. But knowing you earned your keep for the day opens up your mind to different concerns. “So,” you continue. “When am I gonna meet this Mandalorian?”

“You’re not going to,” he says. “Whenever he decides to show up, you keep quiet. I don’t need you making him even more irritable than usual. I’ve already had a hard enough time with him lately as it is.”

You let out a small sigh of relief. So, it’s not what people think. “What do you mean?” you press.

“You two would clash,” Karga answers. “Trust me when I say that it’s in your best interests to say as little to him as possible.”

That still doesn’t serve as a description. It doesn't explain why you can't see his face or why people seem to think that you’re somehow… intended for him. It doesn’t explain why you have a gut feeling about him. But Karga shuts off the holopad and changes the subject.

“Alright,” he says as the lights in the Cantina go off. “Come on. I’ll show you where you’re staying.” 

Your room is a small one near the kitchen at the back of Karga’s house. Only a small but serviceable cot stands in the room positioned under a window with plain linen curtains. Of course, none of it belongs to you. The only things that truly belong to you are the clothes on your back, and eventually, those won’t belong to you either.

It’s fine. It’s just another person holding your debt while you work to pay it off, that’s all. People have bought your debt before, and the same people have sold it. Nothing changes for you except the place you live, the work you do, and the person holding the documents.

You drag a hand down your face, settle on the cot, and try to forget about it for the night. One day down. Twenty years to go.

The next day, Karga takes you back to the cantina bright and early. Something about a client that’s picky about having meetings at the break of dawn. But once you’re there, it’s full throttle. Hunters and clients alike pour in one after the other, not to mention those who are there for the drinks. The cantina seems louder than it did yesterday, and it doesn’t help when clients are yelling for Guild rates being too high and hunters are yelling about not having enough clients.

You collapse onto the booth next to Karga after dealing with a hunter who didn’t deliver on a bounty with a very specific deadline and bury your aching head in the palms of your hands.

“It gets worse,” Karga promises you, sounding as exhausted as you feel. “But I’m only expecting one more hunter today. You’ll be fine.”

It’s then that the door slides open, and you pick up your head from your hands.

“Speak of the devil,” Karga mumbles to you.

Hunters have been in and out all day. Nothing at all should be striking about one more in the neverending stream. But there’s something different about this one. Something about the way he walks. He’s not cocky. Plenty of Karga’s hunters are cocky. It’s something else. It’s how sure his stride is. Like he knows the specific way he’d take out every single person in the room. Like he knows he wouldn’t even have to think about it. And he certainly doesn’t need to tell anyone. They know without being told.  

He walks directly to Karga. Doesn’t stop. Doesn’t even hesitate. When he approaches the table, even Karga seems like a small man in comparison, and that’s when you notice that the cantina has quieted considerably. And that’s when you know. This is the Mandalorian. 

“Who’s she?” a voice comes from the helmet, deep and vibrating. A perfect match to the intimidating figure before you. The sound of it rattles you so much that it takes a moment before you even consider that he’s talking about you.

“My new secretary,” Karga explains. “She’s all right, Mando. Sit down. We’ll talk business.”

“I don’t talk business with outsiders,” Mando counters, shifting his beskar helmet to look more fully at you.

You’re walking the thin line between fear and captivation. You should be looking to Karga for your instructions, but you can’t rip your wide eyes off of the Mandalorian. There’s no way you’re going to try to stare him down. You wouldn’t dare. But you wouldn’t dare look away either.

“Come on, Mando,” Karga tries after a moment. “How am I supposed to keep track of all the pucks I send out if I don’t have someone to keep a record of them? Besides, she’s contractually obligated to follow my commands. If I tell her that everything stays in these four walls, it does. Now, come on. I haven’t got all day.”

It’s a split-second of hesitation as he considers you. And you can feel him consider you, sizing you up, deciding how dependable you are. He has nothing to go off of except your looks, which are not the best they’ve ever been. “Pretty. Not pretty enough to change Mando’s mind.” The split-second passes, and the judgment is made. He’s turning and walking away without a word.

“Mando, wait!” Karga calls after him. “There you go again with the theatrics!”

The Mandalorian barely looks over his shoulder to acknowledge him.

Karga nudges you. “Wait outside. This shouldn’t take long.” 

With a nod, you stand and make your way to the front door. On the way, you pass the Mandalorian and try not to notice how tall he is or how his stare follows you out the door. It’s the same stare that you’ve gotten from everyone else. New girl. No explanation. But at the same time, it’s so, so different. You can’t put your finger on it. You just know. Maybe if you could see his eyes, you’d understand. 

Once you're outside, you take a deep breath like your head has been underwater for an hour and you just resurfaced. Too much noise in that cantina, you decide. That’s why you’re so dizzy right now. Too much noise, and too many notes. You should be relieved to have a break.

But through the window, you can catch glimpses of the Mandalorian as he talks to Karga. It’s not a sense of relief you feel. You’re insulted. What right does he think he has to throw you out? But Karga agreed to it, so maybe it’s him you should be insulted by. Or maybe, as a servant, you don’t have a right to be insulted by anything at all.

So, if you aren’t insulted, what are you?

It’s only a few minutes before Mando walks out of the Cantina. He spares you a glance before turning his back to you and walking away. Only a glance, but it’s enough. You know what you are now. You are fascinated by what terrifies you.    

Once Mando fades into the crowds of the street, you return to the booth where Karga sits.

“That was the Mandalorian?” you ask. You don’t need to ask. You’re already sure.

“Yes,” Karga answers. “And he’s even more pedantic than usual like I was afraid of.”

You fold your arms over your chest like you’re trying to protect yourself. “I didn’t even say anything.”

“No, no,” Karga agrees, waving your words away. “No, you did fine. Mando doesn’t like me changing his routine on him. He’s very big on rituals. You know how Mandalorians are. I think even just your presence bothered him somehow.”

You choose not to bring up the fact that you have no idea how Mandalorians are. Instead, you ask, “Did he take a puck?”

“I gave him four options, and now I’m giving him time to consider which two he wants. I wish he’d take more than two sometimes. He’s the best hunter we’ve got, and if he took even one more there would be much fewer days like this for you and me.” 

The concept of fewer hectic days sounds nice. “Well, couldn’t someone, I don’t know… Convince him?”

"How would you convince him?" Karga asks, rolling his eyes.

You shrug. "I don't know," you admit. "I'd think of something. If I had an incentive to, of course." You give him a pointed glance.

Karga laughs. “You're more conniving than you let on,” he says. “Sure. If you can convince Mando to change his mind, I’ll take five percent off of your debt. How does that sound to you?”

You nearly choke. How does it sound? It sounds like a whole year off of your sentence. “Deal,” you answer. To be completely honest, you’re not thinking about it beyond the potential payoff.

“You’re out of your mind, girl,” Karga sighs. “No one changes Mando’s mind. Not even Mando changes Mando’s mind.”

Maybe not. But you have to try. There’s so little in your life you can control. If you could maybe change just this one thing, the days won’t seem so long. Two days down. Twenty years to go.

[lupinsversion]

𝐀𝐥𝐞𝐤𝐬𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐌𝐨𝐫𝐨𝐳𝐨𝐯𝐚 - 𝐃𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐜 𝐄𝐱𝐢𝐭

• summary: when reader leaves suddenly, leaving aleksander wanting her more

• contains: aleksander morozova x fem reader, temptation, thoughts of sexual themes

• word count: 1.7k

masterlist || requests

As the days passed and Y/N settled into life at the Little Palace, she found herself thinking about the Darkling more than she'd care to admit. It was the little things that stirred her interest - the way he carried himself with an air of confidence and power, the way his dark eyes seemed to always be watching her, the way he spoke to her with a mix of command and subtle charm. Despite her best efforts to keep her mind off him, she couldn’t ignore the growing attraction she felt towards him.

He too found himself drawn to her, intrigued by her resilience and her refusal to be intimidated by him. He found her boldness refreshing, a welcome change from the usual obedience and submission he was used to. His eyes followed her across the room, admiring her slim figure and her determined expression. He often found himself wondering what she was thinking, what was hiding behind those defiant eyes.

As time went on, the tension between them grew, the air thick with unspoken attraction. The Darkling found excuses to be around her, requesting her presence at meetings and asking for her opinions on different matters. She, meanwhile, tried to act indifferent, pretending not to notice the way his gaze lingered on her or the subtle touches he allowed himself to give her.

One evening, after a long day of training, Aleksander caught her alone in the Little Palace courtyard. She was sitting on a bench, staring up at the starry sky, lost in her thoughts. As he approached, he couldn’t help but admire the way the moonlight lit her up, giving her an almost ethereal glow.

"Y/N.” He said, his voice soft and low, his footsteps nearly silent on the cobblestone path. She looked up as he said her name, a hint of surprise in her eyes at his presence. He came to a stop in front of her, standing with his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze fixed on her face.

“General Kirigan.” She greeted, remaining in the same position minus the fact that she was now looking at him. Her hands remained on her lap.

He chuckled at the formality of her greeting, noticing the slight stiffness in her demeanor. He took a step closer, his towering figure casting a dark shadow over her in the dim light. "Still so formal.” He said, a hint of amusement in his voice. "You know you can call me Aleksander when we’re alone, right?"

“I prefer the former.” She shrugged.

He smirked, her stubbornness only making her more endearing to him. He took another step closer, closing the distance between them even more, until he was standing mere inches in front of her. He tilted his head to the side, studying her face in the dim light, his gaze almost predatory.

"You’re a difficult one, aren’t you?" He said, his voice a low purr. "Most people would bow and scrape at my feet, desperate to please me. But not you. You refuse to bend, refuse to obey. It’s infuriating and yet… I find myself drawn to it."

Her lips quirked into the faintest smile, finding amusement at his words. “I always am one to do as I prefer, not what is expected.” She admitted as her face trailed back towards the sky.

He chuckled softly, the sound sending a shiver down her spine. He shifted even closer, towering over her, his figure blocking out the night sky completely. He reached out and gently grabbed her chin, tilting her head up so her eyes met his. His eyes, as dark as the night sky above, bore into hers, a mix of desire and hunger in his gaze.

"That's what makes you so interesting," he murmured, his voice low and dangerous. "And so… maddening."

“Yet, you’re here.” She pointed out casually, letting her chin rest in his hand, around his rough fingers.

His grip on her chin tightened ever so slightly, his fingers pressing into her skin possessively. His head dipped lower, bringing his face closer to hers. “Yes, I am," he said, his voice a low growl. "And you’re still here, aren’t you? Sitting here, challenging me with your stubborn demeanor and your fierce independence."

Another shrug came from her. “I guess I haven’t found my dramatic exit yet.”

He chuckled, the sound sending a wave of heat through her body. He allowed his thumb to ghost over her lips. “You will never leave me, little star," he said, his voice low and possessive. "I’ll make sure of that."

She pressed her lips against the pad of his finger, as if kissing it, leaving them resting there softly.

His eyes darkened as she pressed her lips against his finger. A shiver of desire ran down his spine, his body suddenly yearning for more of her touch. His gaze flicked to her lips, still resting against his skin, his throat going dry. “Teasing me, are you?" He asked, his voice a rasp. "Be careful now."

Her lips slowly parted, her eyes never leaving his. Her tongue slowly slipped out between the pink skin, tracing over his finger.

A low growl rumbled in the his chest as her tongue traced over his finger, the sensation shooting sparks of desire through him. His grip on her chin tightened, his eyes darkening with lust.

"You’re playing a dangerous game, little star.” He warned, his voice a low, rough whisper. "I can only take so much."

If she was listening, he didn’t know, as she only acted as if his words were never spoken. She leaned forward only an inch, taking his thumb into her mouth, closing her lips around it.

He sucked in a sharp breath as she took his thumb into her mouth, her lips closing around it. A jolt of pleasure shot through him, his body reacting involuntarily to her touch. He let out a low, guttural sound, his eyes fixed on her plump lips wrapped around his finger. “Y/N.” He growled, his voice a low rumble. "You’re asking for trouble."

Her cheeks hollowed slightly as she gave his thumb a soft suck, her eyes remaining locked on his and her hands remained on her lap.

His grip on her chin was bruising as he struggled to keep himself in control. The sight of her lips wrapped around his finger, the sensation of her tongue and the suction of her mouth was sending waves of pleasure through him. He was teetering on the edge of losing control, his restraint fraying with each passing second.

"You have no idea what you’re doing to me, do you?" He rasped, his voice thick with desire.

She smirked the moment she pulled away with a quiet popping sound. “We never did get to why you are out here…”

The loss of her touch was almost painful, the absence of her lips on his skin leaving a cold emptiness. It took him a moment to collect himself, his mind hazy with desire.

"Why am I out here?" He repeated, trying to recall his reason for being in the courtyard in the first place. He had completely lost track of time and space, his mind consumed by her and the way she had just teased him.

He shook his head, trying to clear his thoughts. "I was looking for you," he admitted, his voice still thick with lust.

“I guess you’ve succeeded then, but… why?”

He took a step back, trying to put some distance between them, to regain control over himself. He ran a hand through his hair, his gaze roaming over her face, still flushed and heated.

"I don’t know.” He said, his voice a rough whisper. "I just… needed to see you. To be near you."

A small smile formed on her lips, almost teasingly. “Regretting that decision now?”

Aleksander chuckled, the sound strained and raw. "Oh, you’re enjoying this, are you?" He said, his voice a mix of annoyance and amusement. "Watching me lose my composure like this."

He took another step closer to her, his eyes dark and intense. "But don’t think for a second I won’t get revenge for this, little star." He leaned down, bringing his lips close to her ear, his breath hot against her skin. "I’ll make you pay for this tease."

She motioned towards her hands, that have not moved once. “Tease? I’ve kept my hands to myself tonight, General Kirigan. Been a good little girl.” Her tone was mocking; mocking him.

He chuckled darkly at her defiant tone, his eyes narrowing. "A good little girl, are you?" he repeated, his voice dripping with mock sweetness.

He leaned in even closer, his body almost pressed against hers. "You may have kept your hands to yourself, but you've been tormenting me with your mouth, little star." His gaze flicked down to her lips, and his hand moved to her hip, pulling her up and closer to him.

“Hmm.” She hummed almost absentmindedly as she got to her feet. “I think it’s time to call it a night, sir.” She gave no reaction to being close to him, remaining stoic throughout the whole encounter.

His grip on her hip tightened, his fingers digging into her flesh. He didn’t want to let her go just yet, not when he was this worked up and on edge.

"Calling it a night, are we?" He said, his voice a low growl. "And what makes you think I want you to go back to your room just yet, little star?"

“It’s what I call a dramatic exit.” She winked, slowly removing his hands from her hips. “I think it’s time I’ve used it…” She started walking away backwards. “Do have a good night, and wonderful dreams.”

He watched her walk away, a mixture of frustration and irritation in his eyes. The sight of her walking away from him, so casually and calmly after she had just drove him to the edge of insanity, made his blood boil.

"Little star.” He called out, his voice a low warning. "You’ll pay for this, you know that, don’t you?"

She gave no response but a smile before turning and disappearing into the darkness of the night.

© lupinsversion 2024

[fiction-box]

To End Where You Started

GN!Reader x Dimitri

This is a response to a request for a GN!Reader who was childhood friends with Dimitri before switching sides once it came time for the war. This one took me much longer to write because I wanted to better establish the circumstances of the work. Hopefully, you love it all the more! If you like this, there is another I wrote for the same prompt with Felix on my page!

Requests are open. The story will continue under the cut.

You’ve always valued human life. 

So when you saw Dimitri in the Holy Mausoleum, his mind lost and his lance bloody, you weren't sure what to do next.

It seemed no one knew what to do next. Felix was standing in front of Annette, glaring daggers at the blond. Mercedes slowly shifted toward her friend as Sylvain and Ingrid exchanged worried yet knowing looks. Dedue stepped forward, though he had no words. Even the professor seemed to be at a loss.

Dimitri, however, just began laughing again and shouting nonsense.

“No one will rest until Edelgard and the rest of the Empire force are burning in hell.”

“Your Highness-”

“Did I stutter, Dedue? Or perhaps you are considering turning your back on me now?”

 “Snap out of it, Boar!” Felix growled. “We’re not going to-”

“Then leave! If you no longer see me as your leader, why not go join her?’

Silence.

You could only watch as Dimitri’s eyes scanned the faces of your allies, daring your friends to take a step in either direction. No one spoke, but there was a palpable tension in everyone’s body. In the way that Mercedes and Annette clung to each other, in the way that Felix kept his hand by his sword, Dedue kept silent and steady, and Professor Byleth did not intervene. In the way that Sylvain grit his teeth, Ashe pursed his lips, and Ingrid practically strangled the pole of her lance.

In the way that you stepped forward, quiet yet resolute.

“I won’t be treated like this.”

Dimitri scowled, “You’re a soldier, aren’t you? You signed up for this the moment you joined the Blue Lion house.”

“I signed up to fight in the hopes of protecting Faerghus and its people! I signed up to honor my family and keep the ones I love safe!” you shouted over him before bringing your voice back down. “There is no honor in this.”

“And you would not serve your future king? Where is your honor in running away?”

“I would not bow to those corrupted by their emotions! No one who would act in such a manner ought to represent Faerghus!”

“Then go to her! Run off and join the scum of the earth that march under that woman’s name!” he spat. “But mark my words, when we do meet again, I shall meet you with the fate of a traitor. There will be no mercy even should you beg for it. Do not expect remorse from any of us when your head, too, rolls upon the dirt.”

You did not allow your face to betray any emotion at all. You would show no sign of anything, despite the way his words cut through you. How could someone you practically exalted, someone you had become so close to over the past several months, turn around and talk to you like this.

Maybe your friends weren’t strong enough to stand up for themselves. Maybe they had too much to lose; people to protect and family to remain with. Ideals, relations, and possessions that could only be secure if they sided with Dimitri. A few had said as such, declaring their belief in Dimitri as their future king.

You loved them dearly, but there wasn’t a single one among them that you would allow yourself to be treated this way for. Especially not now, when none cared to stand up for you.

Finally, you clenched your teeth. If that was how he really felt, and if your friends were letting him speak for them, then that truly was the end of it.

“Maybe I will go. Edelgard would at least pretend to care whether I live or die, and the Black Eagles are actually bold enough to stand up for what they believe.”

Spinning on your heel, you left the Mausoleum alone. 

In truth, you had no intention of joining the empire. At least not at first. Once you arrived back home, you informed your parents of the prince’s delusion. They seemed to be proud of your decision, and as proof of their support, chose to become a neutral faction in the war. 

The amount of prestige and connections that came with that sacrifice…you were torn between being moved and remorseful. While it was true that your family had not lost too much power, as crest wielding houses tended not to do, there was still a great sacrifice made in keeping you safe from the Kingdom’s demands.

That was not the only change, however. It turns out that news travels fast when the family of a veritable noble house defects from their allies. People were stopping by left and right, bargaining troop stations, land usage, resource management, and all the other things that would keep your mother and father busy. You chose to focus on defending your land, though it did not consist of much work while both the Alliance and the Empire found it so valuable.

Needless to say, you were more than curious the day your mother called you into one of the drawing rooms to meet with one of her guests.

“Mother, what is this about? You know I prefer not to attend these sorts of things.”

“Oh, I know very well, darling. This one is a bit different, though. Someone has requested to confer with you directly, and I would have been in a bit of a tight spot to say no.”

“What do you mean?”

“It is no secret that we have been both opening up to and prospering from negotiations from several sides of this war. There have been enticing offers to nullify our neutrality and pledge allegiance here or there. You know this.”

“Oh,” you were beginning to catch on. “So then someone must have made an offer that you liked?”

“Just…promise me you’ll keep an open mind.”

“Of course.” 

With an odd tension about you, you braced yourself for whatever would be found in that room. Your mother was not usually one to be so cryptic. A quiet sigh left your lips as you turned around.

The doors opened in front of you.

“Ah, I see you made your way here without much trouble.”

…what?

“Lady Edelgard? What are you-...Shouldn’t you be heading the war effort somewhere?”

What was this, really?

Remembering yourself, you lowered yourself in greeting, “Forgive me, your Imperial Majesty.”

You rose, trying to process the image in front of you. The Emperor of Adrestia sat poised on the sofa with a cup of tea your mother had no doubt been the one to offer. At her side stood Hubert, dutiful as he was so often described.

Soundlessly, she set down her cup, “Everything I do is for the future. For this war to end. I took notice that you were not among your former classmates’ ranks and grew curious. Needless to say, I did not need to look far to find you.”

“It was not my intention to run and hide,” you stated, taking a seat on the couch across from Edelgard.

“I never meant to imply as such,” she began. “On the contrary, I believe you still have a place in this war. If you left for the reasons I believe you did, that is.”

The conversation that followed consisted of platitudes and ideals; the type of which you both seemed to agree upon. You found your own ideas of the values of talent and human life to be eerily similar. It was decidedly reassuring that she had come to you directly, so that you could see them reflected in the leader of the Empire firsthand.

In time, you would join the Empire’s ranks under a woman named Cornelia while your house remained neutral. It would not have been in the best interests for a house so distant from the Empire to declare fealty, after all.

~~~~~~~

Several years later, you would be uncertain of your decision.

After everything you had witnessed Edelgard do up to this point, you weren’t so sure she viewed your ideals in the same light. Crest beasts, experiments, secret treaties, and deals made in the dark of night…you couldn’t get behind it, but your family had already made its decision.

Even so…

I agreed to fight for the empire, you reminded yourself, not for this woman.

Right now, you were being assigned to defend the Kingdom’s capital in an effort led by Cornelia. Ironically, the sorceress seemed to be the epitome of everything you stood against, yet here you were as her ally.

How far you had come from home.

She had positioned you between a pair of horrifying machines; two technological terrors known as viskam.

How low you must have come from your initial meeting with the Emperor.

You watched as your previous house leader’s army dispersed. Some soldiers veered left, others went right, but Dimitri’s main force charged up the middle, directly at you and the mechs Cornelia had placed.

Watching diligently, you noted how the Kingdom soldiers would take on multiple of Cornelia’s fighters while Dimitri would sneak past.

Well, as sneaky as someone with a bright fur cape and a target on his back could be.

A thought came to mind with every step forward he took. It came slowly, not sudden in the slightest, but sure.

If I were to kill Dimitri, all of this would end.

It was true, you knew. You were unsure how you felt about it, though you deduced that part of that uncertainty came from your past friendship with the prince. But had he truly reverted from the monster you left in the Holy Mausoleum?

There was only one way to find out, you supposed. You would face your past friend head-on. If he turned out to be the same man you saw that day, you would not hesitate to kill him. Anything to end this war.

Just as he made his way to the staircase, you walked forward, blocking off the top.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

Dimitri’s eyes went wide, but you didn’t buy it. He had a clear view of you positioned just below Cornelia since the moment he walked into her sight.

So what, then? Were you to believe his surprise came from the idea that you were actually trying to stop him? You’d be lying if you said that wasn’t the slightest bit insulting.

“It’s you…but why-”

You threw a dagger at him, which whiffed as he sidestepped, “That’s all I get? It’s you? After all those years, not to mention the amalgamation of everything you said and did once the Flame Emperor unmasked herself, you cannot even say my name?”

His eyes softened as though hurt, “I didn’t think I had the privilege, anymore.”

“Then fight me! You have always given yourself the privilege to take the lives of others,” another dagger, this one closer to hitting its mark before Dimitri barely moved out of the way, “Do not let mine be any different.”

“I’m sorry,” he approached you, climbing the stairs, “I understand why you left, but know now that I do not wish to hurt you. Just step aside so-”

“And then what? Let you kill Cornelia? Condemn thousands of others in some future conquest?”

What were you doing? This version of Dimitri was worlds apart from the boy you left in the Holy Mausoleum.

So why were you still fighting him?

A loud noise disrupted your thoughts. You turned to face it, noting that Dimitri paused, as well. Farther away, Cornelia let out a dark cackle.

“Wonderful job getting the poor princeling right where I need him. Your death will not be in vain.”

You did not allow yourself to fully process her words as a bright light shot out of the viskam that had made that awful noise, earlier. With the future king just paces away, you could guess where it was going to land.

But Dimitri had turned to face Cornelia.

It appeared you had a choice to make.

“Don’t resist,” you closed the distance between yourself and the Kingdom's rightful heir. He had grown since your last encounter; holding this grudge could only do more harm than good.

Maybe that meant you would not survive this, but in that moment, what was your life next to his?

So, in the second before he could react and before the viskam struck, you pushed Dimitri down the stairs.

And it was when the world went from bright white to pitch black that you knew your death would not be in vain.

~~~~

“A…ing…rk?”

“We…bre…ag?”

“I bel…sh…wake up in…!”

Everything ached, and you couldn’t move. It would probably hurt if you tried, anyway.

At least you could feel something, right? At least you were alive. Though if you had to go through life like this, then perhaps you were better off dead.

But then a cooling sensation began to make itself known throughout your body. It was strongest in your head, torso, and legs, though you could feel it spreading and connecting in your arms and neck.

Tentatively, you allowed your eyes to open.

“Oh, thank goodness! Mercie, we did it!” Annette beamed from her position at your head.

Felix scoffed, “About time.”

“How do you feel? Are you alright?”

“I can’t feel my legs,” you managed, surprised at the strength of your own voice, “and…I cannot move.”

Scanning the area with your eyes, you realized you hadn’t been moved, either. You were still lying on the floor by the stairs; exactly where you remember being struck down.

“Is Cornelia…?”

“Dead,” Felix confirmed.

“And I remember pushing his Highness down the stairs. It was the best I could do with my own strength…” you had known you weren’t strong enough to normally push him far enough out of the way nor to pull him far enough before he instinctively resisted, ”but he isn’t hurt too badly, is he?”

“Oh goodness, no! Annie told me she saw the whole thing. Apparently, Dimitri caught himself rather quickly.” Mercedes reassured you.

Annette frowned, “I’ve never had to spend this much time on an injury, and certainly not while working with others. I’m surprised it’s taking this long.”

“I’m surprised you’re alive.”

“Felix!”

“What? You and I both saw that thing,” he turned from Annette back to you. “If you had sustained any other injuries before getting hit by that thing, you’d have been dead on the spot.”

Annette and Felix continued their banter as you shut your eyes and listened. Finally, you began to feel your body coming back to life; stronger and back into your control.

“Okay, I think that should do it! How does that feel?”

Annette waited another moment for your response before calling your name in confusion.

“Oops,” Mercedes giggled, “I think the magic might have lulled them to sleep. We did go a little overboard, I suppose.”

“Is everything alright?”

The group turned, looking up at the new voice that joined them.

“Prince Dimitri! Yes, everything is fine. They should be all better upon awakening.”

“Ah, that’s good. I am sorry to have left you all here for so long. Sylvain, Ingrid, and myself were working on reconciling with the remaining soldiers.”

Felix raised a brow, “Then where are they?”

“Once the issue of alliances was out of the way, Ingrid told me they could handle the rest,” Dimitri directed his eyes down to you. “Sylvain…said it might be best if I came to check on them.”

The swordsman’s expression didn’t change, “Well that doesn’t make any sense. There’s already three of us-! Hey!”

Dimitri balked as he watched Annette get up and drag Felix with her. Mercedes followed close behind, smiling back at him. 

“Let us know if they need any more help!” 

“Y-Yes of course…” he stammered, confused.

“Of course what?”

Shocked to hear your voice, the Blue Lion’s leader dropped his gaze unto where you had been resting on the floor, “Ah! You’re awake!”

You made a small noise, blinking against the light of the sun as you began to sit up.

“Mercedes told me to fetch her if you were having any issues. Are you alright?”

Methodically, you tested each of your limbs, “Yes…Yes, I think so.”

“Good,” he sighed, and you swore you saw him relax the slightest bit.

The ensuing silence was uncomfortable, to say the least.

“Forgive me for this. I know you’ve just recovered, but I’d like to thank you for saving my life.”

“You're welcome,” you said, “but why are you apologizing for that?”

He maintained eye contact with you, “Because I would also like to ask you why you did that.”

At first, you didn’t really have a response. The more you thought about it though, the more clear everything felt in your head. There was really only one answer.

“I just did what I thought was right.”

“But I was terrible to you!” Dimitri didn’t hesitate, “I said horrible things to you, and I treated you like…”

“Like I was worthless?”

It was as though all the words left Dimitri's mouth. After another moment of silence, he finally averted his gaze, “I do not deserve your forgiveness.”

“No, you really don’t, do you?”

…no reaction. So he was telling the truth.

“But, if you were to apologize, I might forgive you.”

He looked to you slowly, a look of timid surprise written on the blond’s face, “Surely, it would take more than that…”

“It should not take more than that if you are genuine,” you painted your face with a small frown, in conflict with yourself, “You’re not the same person you were 5 years ago, Dimitri. I am not about to make a habit of forgiving people just because some time has passed, but I know that many more people can be helped if we clear the air right now.”

“Right,” he swallowed, extending his hand down to you. “In that case, know that I am truly sorry for the way I treated you, both within the Holy Mausoleum and the several days before. I also apologize for the effect it has had upon both you and your family, though it seems you have found a way to make the most of your situation.”

You laughed a bit at that, accepting his offer to help you to your feet, “I suppose you could say that.”

Now it was the prince’s turn to frown, “I am being serious. This will not happen again. I promise to respect and honor both you and all that you do for the Blue Lions.” He paused, suddenly unsure, “If…you do choose to come back, that is.”

Turning away to hide the small blush that appeared at his phrasing, you looked at the stairwell, “It would be thoughtless not to join, seeing how I almost died for you.”

At the feeling of his hands on your arms, you turned back to him, surprised.

“You must promise to never do that again. Do you understand me?”

“I…you know I could never promise that. You’re too important.”

“Swear it anyway,” he pleaded. 

How uncharacteristic, you wondered.

“Really, Dimitri-”

“I don’t care if it’s a lie,” he let go of you, taking a step back while never wavering his gaze, “Just…”

He seemed to have run out of words, and all the two of you could do was stare at each other. Eventually, you broke first with a sigh. You couldn’t bear to maintain eye contact knowing you could never rely on your words alone to determine your future. Regardless, you spoke.

“...I…promise…that will not happen again.”

A grimace appeared on Dimitri’s face out of the corner of your eye, but the two of you spoke no more after that. Wordlessly, you left to go find Mercedes and the others. Where Dimitri went in the moments following, you had no clue, but the conversation would stay in your mind throughout the rest of the war.

Only time would tell if your promise was kept.

[nkirukaj]

vVv is for Voe (17)

Pairing: RadioBeau

Warnings: Swearing; Mentions of Mass Murder

Genre: Humor! Angst!

Word Count: 1.6K

<Chapter 16

17. Vaughn

She arrived at the Hotel earlier than usual and opened the door slowly, wondering who would be on the other side of it. Unfortunately, luck was not on her side, for it was the exact person she was and wasn’t looking forward to seeing. Alastor. He seemed shocked to see her again, but his smile never faltered. She walked in with her head high and her spine straight.

“Hmm, look who came crawling back,” his tone dripped with condescension

“Is that how you say hello?” she asked, her voice monotonous

“What do you want?”

She closes the door behind her “I’m here for my room,”

“Isn’t your room at the V Tower right next to Vox?”

She shakes her head “Obviously not,”

He rolls his eyes and goes back down to reading 

She squints “That’s it? No snarky comment?”

“Aren’t you going up to your room?”

She inhaled deeply “Fine,” and walked right past him and up the room, on the stairs, she turned back around, facing him “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,” 

“Mhmm,” he replied turning the page “What are you so sorry for, you got everything you wanted,”

Voe shakes her head “No, I didn’t but that doesn’t matter anymore,”

“Really? And why not?”

“I’m one of those that hurt people. And I don’t wanna be anymore,”

Alastor doesn’t respond momentarily, only placing the book down “So I guess the fun’s over?”

Voe laughs a little. “I didn’t have any fun. Except for going at it with you,”

“Aw, I am quite honored,” he stands and turns to her, hands behind his back “So what’s next for Voe the Beau?”

Voe grinned “Same thing that got me here, revenge,” she turned and made her way up the stairs

Alastor pretends to shiver “I’m excited,”

Voe knew she had to do this, but that didn’t change how much she dreaded it. She was never good at apologizing when she was alive because she just didn’t do them, but if she was going to make this turn into a different kind of person, then she knew she had to start here. She knocked on Angel’s door and waited for a response. She examined all the pictures on the doors; they were of his friends. She was surprised to find a picture of her up there. She tilted her head, wondering where he would have gotten that picture from. How were these men getting these pictures of her? What was more surprising was that she would still be up there after the way she had treated him. She was examining the picture when Angel Dust opened the door.

“What?” he sounds annoyed when he speaks

Voe rocks back and forth on the balls on her feet “Hi,” she responds

“Bye,” he mocks her tone and goes to close the door

She puts her hand out, stopping it “I wanted to say something!”

“Oh, you gonna tell me to lick your feet too?”

“No! Gosh, that would be gross. I wanted to say that I’m sorry!”

“Okay,” he reopens the door

She takes a breath “I’m so sorry for the way I treated you. And I hope that I can keep being your friend,” she smiles a little. “I guess you still consider me one,” she gestures toward the picture

He checks the door “Oh, I forgot to take that down,” he says with a straight face

“Angel, please. I’m begging you to forgive me,” she looks around to make sure no one is around “I will get on my knees if you want me to,” she whispers

“Is that what you think I want? For you to get your knees and suck my dick?”

She shakes her head “I-I didn’t even say that,”

Angel sighs and rubs his forehead “Look, I know you think this is right. Is that what you think? That this is right? But you need to show me that you’re sorry,”

Voe looks around “Okay, how?”

“I don’t know, damn. Shit, I don’t know,”

“Well, what do you want to see?”

He shrugs and waves his arms around “I don’t know, quit working for the Vees I guess?”

She nods and rubs her hands together “Already done,” 

“Okay?? Well, I don’t fuckin’ know. Just like, give me a fuckin’ minute,”

“Okay,” she stands there staring at him

“Good night!”

“It’s the middle of the day,”

“Oh uh..”

Voe squints at him “Are you high right now?”

“That’s none of your business!” he slams the door in her face

Voe smiled to herself; he still hadn’t taken down the picture.

She sat on her bed and glanced at her purse, unsure if she should. This was part of what got her here, no? She was a changed woman, or at least trying to be, but they reached out to her, and they called her name. She yanks the purse over to her and pulls out the files. Velvette, Valentino, and Vaughn. She would start with Velvette. She opened the file and began to read.

Velvette Armstrong

She was born on December 12, 1970. She has a mom, a dad, and three younger siblings. She grew up in Manchester and attended a private high school where she was bullied and teased for being short and dark-skinned. 

She died on 9/11 while filming a video for MySpace, trying to prove herself to her friends that she could make it to New York. She was responsible for around 30 deaths, internet-related, due to ruining people’s lives and reputations online and goading them to commit suicide. This is interesting because the internet was still fairly new around that time. She poisoned the partners of about 15 of her exes and framed people for theft while playing the victim.

She adores attention, is easily flattered, lets her guard down when complimented, and takes immense pride in her appearance. The most embarrassing thing to ever happen to her was making a video without makeup and getting roasted into oblivion.  

Voe laughed at the picture in the file. She had acne, fried hair, and nerdy glasses. It must have been before her transformation into a mini MySpace star. She picked up the next folder.

Valentino Alvarez

Born February 16, 1952, he had a mom and a deadbeat father. Grew up in Puerto Rico, dropped out of high and became a prostitute to put money on the table. When he came of age, he traveled to California and became a high-class prostitute until he came across his sugar daddy, Ernesto. He’s had the highest standards ever since. 

He was responsible for around 70 deaths, due to gang-related activities, shootouts/ drive-by’s, and whatnot, as well as knowingly passing STIs to unsuspecting victims. The most embarrassed he’s ever been was being whipped butt naked in front of an audience for disobeying his sugar daddy. 

He hates being talked down to, and risen against. He wants to feel powerful, and like he doesn’t need anyone else. He wants everyone to need him. 

Voe would never admit it to anyone but herself, but she bit her lip at Valentino’s photo. He was a sexy-looking man! She shakes her head to refocus herself enough to read the last file. 

Vaughn Anderson

So this was Vox’s real name. ‘Vaughn’. She stared at the photo before reading the rest. He looked like an average white guy—pale skin, black hair, thin lips, with blue power-hungry eyes. Born on April 6, 1900, Vaughn grew up in an affluent northern family in Newton. Spoiled and coddled by his parents, he grew up quite full of himself. He was a bully and a little tyrant in school, eventually becoming a cult leader in his mid-30s.

Voe pulled the file away from her eyes as she did a double take and read that a second time. He was a cult leader. And not just a harmless cult, one of them that performed ritualistic sacrifices on babies. Babies that Vaughn had helped conceive. He had fathered about 90 children, only 30 making it past infancy and only about 5 of them making it to adulthood. These children were conceived with teenage girls and sometimes his own daughters. There were a variety of reasons why many of them did not survive, some had genetic mutations, some grew sick, and some were straight-up poisoned.

So Vox had been a rapist this whole time, she thought before she kept reading.

He kept his followers in the dark about his affluent life. He had them live in tents on the outside ground while he lived in a house that he often disappeared to when he grew tired of the outside world. He copied the Jonestown massacre in 1949 (not really, thought, because this happened first) when he poisoned the food of all of his followers, as he had grown weary of leading them. He died in 1950 when one of his hidden and surviving concubines followed him to his home and confronted him about all the lies that he told them about the detriments of being a part of “modern society,” especially for women. They fought, and she got him to the ground, throwing his brand-new television onto his head and killing him. She was never caught.

Voe looked up from the folder, putting it to the side. Not only was Vox just a bad dude, he was practically a supervillain. She pondered where those souls ended up because, with a little bit of luck, she knew exactly what she was going to do.

Chapter 18>

[bizarrebaby]

Sylvian Weave | Pt. 3

Pairing: Gale/Tav Ao3 Link Summary: Astarion is in the mix and he's stirring it up as usual Warnings: again. Fear & Hunger material heehee

“So, where did you learn your skills with the blade? I’ll readily admit I was never so attuned to the physical arts— most people inclined to magic aren’t— so I find it quite impressive that you can hold your own with either,” Gale says in a jovial, complimentary tone. 

No better time than looting one’s enemies to engage in a bit of bonding.  Gale spies Astarion from the corner of his view, rolling his eyes at what he perceives as a blatant attempt at sucking up to Tav. 

Truly, though, it was a little terrifying when Tav used a sword near the end of the day, as this often meant she had little remaining mental fortitude to speak of. 

“Swords? Oh, uhm… From an old boyfriend. Boyfriends, actually. And a girlfriend. Wait— those aren’t…..” she withdraws to think on it further for a few seconds, tapping her blade in the dirt as she considers her next words. “Party members! That’s a better term. I learned it from my old party members,” she said with a shrug and a smile as if her response hadn’t caused more questions than it had provided answers to. She sheathes her sword, beginning to walk on, their combat diversion at an end. Astarion quickens his pace a bit to catch up with her, walking at her side. 

“Tav, you dog,” he teases, a pretend scandalized tone coloring his words, “Just how many paramours did you have at once within your last group? I certainly hope you don’t intend to attempt the same maneuver with our little band of murderers,” he says with a playful smirk. Gale hurriedly put away the scroll he’d picked from a fallen foe, coming to walk abreast with the two of them. 

“I wouldn’t say ‘paramours’ is exactly accurate… There was a degree of love involved, with some more than others, but it was complicated. And highly circumstantial. With the way things are here, I doubt the same could happen. But never say never, I guess!”

“So you…. Wouldn’t say your preference is to take more than one lover at a time, then?” Gale supposes gently, casually, hoping that his own fragility isn’t plain on his voice. But it certainly is— to Astarion, at least. The wizard fusses with tucking his hair out of the way like a schoolgirl. 

“Why do you ask, Gale? Afraid of a little more-than-friendly competition?” The vampire goads. Gale almost breathes a sigh of relief when Tav more or less ignores Astarion’s ribbing. 

“No, it’s certainly not my preference. I’m not against the idea— I just don’t think it’s for me. I’d like to give my attentions to one person, and vice versa. I don’t think I really have the social fortitude to handle having more than one true love…” Gale stares at her intently at her mention of true love. Could it be that she had the same desires as him when it came to looking for companionship? The look in his eyes is sickening to Astarion, that much is for certain.

“Darling, you were telling me about that Sylvian the other night– shouldn’t a devotee to the god of sex be a little more giving with their affections? Not to mention all those parties you spoke of with those masks,” he smiles like a devil– No offense to Wyll, of course– as Gale’s face pales at his words.

“I told you I only did that once! And it was only with– you know what? You’re not tricking me into telling this story again,” she humphs, turning away with her nose up. Astarion laughs heartily, throwing his head back, tossing his alabaster curls with a delicate touch to the chest.

“Oh please, darling, I’m begging you to tell it again. If only to see the look on the wizard’s face.”

Gale closes his eyes for just a moment to collect himself. He remembers the way she held his shoulders when she whispered in his ears. The thrumming in his ears as his heart filled to burst with singing blood. The ambrosia– the ichor that Mystra once denied him. He feels divine. He straightens himself out.

“While I always endeavor to deliver nothing but the finest of entertainment to our traveling companions, I think you should save that story for later tonight. For when we talk at my tent, after dinner? I’ll provide the wine, you can provide the riveting tales of your exploits in faraway lands.” He quickens his pace just a tad to go on ahead before he completely loses all that bravado he was able to build. 

Karlach waves at him from the tree she found herself under. She was still so unable to get over just how bright and beautiful the surface could be after all that time down in the pits. She smiles, wide as  ever.

“I heard you back there, wizard. Getting some tonight, aren’t you?”

[elfandomdelpandicornioyeldorito]

Chapter 6. The ghosts of guilt

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Valentina Rivera (OC)

Word count: 1035

Trigger Warning: Angst, alcohol, grief

Disclaimer: I don’t own any Marvel character, only the Original characters are mine. English is not my mother tongue.

General Masterlist - Willow Series Masterlist

Gifts and pictures aren’t mine

Dust, that is all in her mind, close her eyes for sleep? Dust, having a dream? Dust, an anxiety attack? Triggered by dust. She kept dreaming the same thing all over again, herself in that control room, suddenly losing contact with half of the people in the battlefield, watching the other people in it become dust, and when she came out, there was a light cloud of dust that was people, that was the signal of defeat. 

It's been two months, but everything kept feeling like yesterday.

Her aunt Gloria planned a girls day, at her home in Long Island, the few adult girls of the family that make it and some survivor friends of her, in a whole day of alcohol, food and "spa". 

"I found vodka, Rum and Wine" her cousin Diana sits at her side, with the company of her two "now widowed" cousins Rosa and Michelle.

The four of them were hiding in an old closet of the guest room.

"I claim the wine" Val takes the bottle, opens it and starts drinking from it.

That was her daily routine, wake up, smile, pretends everything is fine and drink all the liquor she could find, she knows her drinking state was ending that week when Miguel force her to go to a psychiatrist and a therapist 

"Why did this have happened?" asks Rosa, with the Rum in her hand "I mean, I understand we were fully sons of bitches with the environment, but this is awful, why do I have to lose my husband? What can I say to my kids?"

"At least he “died” and not left with another family with a much younger wife in Portugal"

"Val is right"

"Cheers" Val and Diana do a drunk high five

**

Steve calls Valentina’s brother to dinner. The old capsicle was worried about her, somehow he felt the pain she was feeling but she was close to speaking with him, or whoever was a superhero.

"She is a mess, man. I have seen my sister being a mess but this time… she drinks herself to sleep"

"There is something I can do for her?"

"Yeah" Miguel looks at his empty cup of coffee" Stop trying to push her, she needs time, I understand that you are doing this for good, but she needs space. She feels guilty"

"Is not her fault"

"She knows it, but somehow, when someone leaves because dies or something, she feels it is all her fault" they both made a pause, that Miguel used as an advantage to look at his phone" You know what? Yes, you can help me with something"

Miguel drives to his aunt Gloria's house in Long Island with Steve. Someone as skinny and definitely not sporty as him, the task that his aunt Gloria was asking to do, was now difficult.

The scene is quite sad, her sister was on the floor, literally rolling on the carpet laughing hard at the shenanigans of Rosa and Michelle, trying to fight, and Diana, well, she was in the bed, jumping, cheering at her cousins. All of them in a really sad drunken state, evading reality.

"Yeah, I’m pretty sure this is more than alcohol" Miguel took his phone, opened the camera app and took some pictures of it, Valentina needed to see herself.

"Is just alcohol, nada mas mira el tiradero de botellas que se tienen"

Miguel sighs, putting his phone in his pants pocket.

"Took Valentina, I would try to stop those locas"

Steve nods, and walks to Val, taking her and putting her over his shoulder.

"HEY! IS THE DORITO POPSICLE!" all the four drunken girls explode in laughter at Val’s comment" Wait, what are you… WAIT!" The poor girl tried to hold herself from the door frame, but it was useless, and Steve finally can take her out of the house.

It was around 5pm when Valentina was out of her drunken state, under Miguel’s order, Steve took her to her family restaurant, Las Tres Damas. Also the older sibling made a very clear order of keeping the little sister away from the alcohol and made her eat nuts and greasy food that can be found there, and that worked well.

"Where is Migue?" Steve take seat at her side and hand her a bottle of electrolytes

"I don’t know, he told me something about working in a different time zone"

"Shit, yeah… He is probably in my apartment" she opens the bottle and takes a few long sips" I owe you an apology, Steve. All that happened is nobody faults, you tried the best you could, all of you tried… we all… It just happened, I guess it has to be that way"

Steve gave her a sympathetic smile, everyone was feeling guilty, Avenger member or not. Silence establishes there for a brief moment, while both of them watch the empty restaurant.

"You know? This place was always full of people"

"Being honest, is the first time I heard of this place"

"The idea came from my aunt Gloria when uncle Jorge left in duty, he missed so much of his children, nieces and nephews, then my mom jumped in the idea, she gained money by cooking for rich people when she got divorced, and mi grandma Rita jumped later, her first job in America was in a kitchen. Those ladies brought together their ideas and created Las Tres Damas, a place in which veterans could see their kids perform on a lazy night, even if it was an old thing, a family place to reunite; a safe place for everyone that needed that kind of place"

"What a shame that I missed that all this years, sounds like a nice place to be"

"Maybe, one day when the family feels ready, this place will open again. I’ll be sure to keep the best place for you and Nat. And whoever superhero that would want to come."

"That would be nice"

"Steve, I need a favor… Would you teach me how to fight? Like… for real, training me"

His first thoughts were related to a really bad drunk joke, but Valentina kept her straight face, she was talking seriously about it.

Tags: @pinkpondofasgard @invisibleanonymousmonsters @dance-dreamer @americasmarauders

[museumgiftshoperaser]

Paint the Devil on the Wall

80s New York City art scene AU, Coming November 7th!

My Steddie Big Bang project has a posting date! The first of five chapters will be uploaded to AO3 on November 7th! I can't wait to share this story that I've been working on since January. It's the longest I've ever worked on a fic and also the longest in terms of length. We'll probably be clocking in at around 60k and it will be rated E. The fic will be accompanied by art from @melonalemonade and @dreaminginpencil which I could not be happier about! I've seen a little sneak peak of one of the pieces and it's so insanely gorgeous, you're gonna love it so so much <333 Below is a little excerpt from the intro...

***

The first artwork Eddie ever falls in love with is a piece of graffiti on the dumpster behind the church. He’s ten, maybe eleven and his mother pushes him across the parking lot on Sunday morning. They’re running late and pretending not to be, but the Indiana sun soaks sweat through his mother’s nicest blouse. A telltale sign of rushing and cheap polyester. 

Would you look at that, she tuts anyway, like judging other people will guard her from nasty looks from the right side of the picket fence. Her yellowed nails hook into his shoulders. I bet it’s those Peterson boys again. 

So Eddie looks. 

It’s a corner of town he’s seen a hundred times, but just like that it’s new again. Angry blue and black lines swoop across the metal into bold letters spelling out SOON. Loud like advertising, enticing like early morning cartoons. Messy, but on purpose.

His mother must see the crease between his brows, maybe the longing in his eyes because she adds you don’t draw on things that aren’t yours, baby.

Inside, with his knees on the hardwood and his eyes closed, those bright letters light up the inside of his eyelids like a promise. Soon. He doesn’t know what, or where or how, but he thinks it’s coming. 

Later that night he scratches the same swooping letters into his bedside table with a ballpoint and a vision. Pushes so hard the plywood dents in the shape of his marks and learns how good it feels. How a room can be a canvas. How he gets to pick the colors.

His stepdad smacks him over the head for it when his mother finds out so he figures nothing in his bedroom is really his. But maybe he knew that already. 

It’s a decade later now, and Hawkins, Indiana is over seven hundred miles away. He doesn’t believe in God anymore, maybe never did, and he no longer believes in Art. But he believes in Soon like nobody’s business. Gets the word tattooed over his wrist his first week in New York and never looks back. The money. The boys and the white, chalky lines across every black surface he can find. Everything. Soon.

It’s coming.

All of which is to say that this is not a love story.  At least, not yet.

(If you have any questions you can always send me an ask, I've been absolutely DYING to talk about this story since January) (And also thanks so much to all the moderators who've been running this big bang!)

[dreamingsushi]

Marry Me! - Overall Review

So I watched this because I loved the Webtoon it is based on so much and I seriously have no regrets about this life choice. I’ll try to be concise, but there’s a lot that I liked about this drama.

Plot

The story is about Akiyasu Shin and Sawamoto Himari who agrees to some sort of a contract marriage based on a new law implemented to protect people unemployed. Slowly, they navigate through this relationship to figure out what they want from it and what way it should evolve to.

It’s a very soft and wholesome story, with the growth of both characters being super important. Every side story just brings a new element to help them navigate the different challenges of married life. All of it is just beautiful and satisfying. They don’t leave any plot hole. Even though their mutual feelings gradually grows, I wouldn’t say it solely focuses on their love, but mostly on how to become a good partner to each other, how to be considerate of each other’s needs without assuming stuff. And it’s a lot about personal growth, Shin being a very emotionless person and Himari being extremely introverted and solely living for the sake others instead of her own happiness.

In this story, the characters make mistakes, questionable choices, but it all feels so natural, not forced for the plot. Because they keep learning throughout the process. Sometimes, even in the wrong, they remain stubborn because they’re willing to give it all to protect what’s dear to them. And while they’re growing, evolving, they still remain mostly the same, which was refreshing. They’re not doing a complete 180, they’re just trying their best and it hits so close to home when you think about what real life is.

I loved how even though the story was going on very naturally, they still integrated some of the quirkyness that is very specific to Japanese dramas. It felt also just like a reference to the fact that this was a comic to begin with.

Story wise, maybe I’m biased because I loved the Webtoon so much, it’s a 10/10. It followed the original plot perfectly, with some cut scenes, but that’s alright, because the important parts were still there and it worked wonders.

Acting

For those who don’t know me or haven’t read any of my reviews previously, I’m not a Japanese speaker, hence I don’t consider myself fully apt to judge the acting. So please consider this as the opinion of someone who understands some basics of Japanese but is far from being able to communicate in that language.

I was pleased with the acting. It simple, yet meaningful. Especially from the two leads. You could see the way they changed. Also they’re both characters that aren’t that expressive on their deep emotions, but as they grew closer to each other, you could notice the tenderness in their eyes, even before their actions would speak of it.

The quirkyness was super well integrated too, it didn’t feel exaggerated, even though it was exaggeration. I really enjoyed that too.

Overall, this gets a 9/10, because nothing’s perfect and there were moments I was less convinced but still! Very good job!

Aesthetic

I loved the visuals of the drama. It felt super... normal. You know, everything felt like a real home, instead of a made up one with accessories to make pretend. At first I felt Himari’s home felt so crowded and I don’t know, but it slowly grew on me. I especially enjoyed the fact that appart from the house and the office, there wasn’t many location, so we were always in a constant surrounding and when out of it, it was bringing growth to the characters. I liked the simplicity. The only point that should be a little improved is the lighting, in Himari’s home, it was quite dark quite often.

I also enjoyed the soundtrack. It wasn’t very important, but it still was complementary of the scenes and the drama, I especially thought the ending was quite cute.

Overall, it visually get a nice 8/10 for me!

Should you watch this drama?

I absolutely recommend this drama. It’s soft and sweet, without being annoying and overly cheesy. The story albeit somewhat nonsensical with the whole NEET protection law, is still very relatable. The characters are not annoying. The rythm of the story is well paced. The episodes are short, but efficient. Seriously, there’s close to nothing bad to this drama. I feel it would be a waste not to enjoy it, so go ahead and put that on your to watch list.

List of full recaps

All / 1 / 2 / 3 / 4 / 5 / 6 / 7 / 8 / 9 / 10

[messers-moony]

King and Queen | S.B

Paring: Sirius Black X Fem!Potter!Reader, James Potter X Fem!Twin!Reader

Summary: James goes through a lot during his time at Hogwarts but his sister is always by his side.

Inspiration: Click

A/N: If this comes off insensitive to anyone please let me know and I will remove this.

James Potter was a handful. From the minute he was born, he had this gleam in his hazel eyes that raged and burned with trouble. His twin, Y/n Potter, was almost the opposite. The soft smile that laid on her features and the glitter of calamity in her eyes. Euphemia and Fleamont were in for a lot the minute their twins were born. 

Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder is most comparative to having a web browser up with one too many tabs. James had always been unable to focus and was naturally messy. Truth be told, he thought it was normal, just as everyone else did. It wasn’t until his second year at Hogwarts did he realize something was genuinely wrong with him. 

Remus told him that he had this muggle thing called “dyslexia,” which was a difficulty in interpreting words, letters, and other symbols. However, it never affected his overall intelligence because everyone knew that Remus Lupin was indeed and wholly brilliant. It got James wondering, did his inability to focus, be organized, and hyperactivity have a deeper meaning?

His twin - Y/n - was quite the opposite. She made quick friends with Remus, Sirius, and Peter, who were close friends of her twin. Y/n was top of their class, creating a friendly competition with Remus, but she was always able to focus. Often she would hyper-focus, which would leave her working for over five hours at a time without realizing it. In those times, James would have to snap her out of it. 

Over the summer, James expressed his concerns to his parents. He was talking about how this could be a real issue he’s facing using Remus’ dyslexia as an example. Eventually, they gave in, letting James go to a muggle doctor. James had to fill out a questionnaire that would come back with his results in one week. That week was probably the longest week of his life. Nonetheless, his test results had come back positive. 

Fleamont and Euphemia would be lying if they were surprised. After hearing about the disorder, it was almost the definition of their eldest son. Fortunately for James, the muggles had come up with a cure - no, not a cure - dammit, what was it again?

Impede the symptoms! That’s what those muggle pills do. James was required to take two pills a day, one in the morning and once at night. Y/n was in charge of making sure he did so because - more times than he’d like to admit - he would forget everything if it wasn’t for Y/n. 

In third year, James was as energetic as ever while getting on the Hogwarts Express, “Aren’t you excited, Y/n?!”

She chuckled, “Yes, but Merlin, you don’t need to literally jump with joy.”

“But I’m excited!”

“I know that.”

They made their way to the compartment that held Remus, who was reading a book. James sat in front of him while Y/n took her seat beside Remus, “‘Ello Remus.”

“Hey, Potter pair.”

Y/n sighed, and James groaned, “That nickname needs to go away.”

“I quite like it.” Remus stated smugly, “Suits you both.”

“What’s that suppose to mean?” Y/n accused falsely, “It means that wherever one of you are, the other isn’t that far behind.” Remus replied. 

James had zoned out already, and Y/n snapped in his face, “Take your pills?” 

“Forgot.” James muttered guiltily, “Oh Godric.” She whispered. 

“Pills?”

“James went to a muggle doctor this summer.”

Remus quirked an eyebrow, “Did you now?”

“Got diagnosed with ADHD.” James informed, and Remus looked amiss, “Attention Deficit Hyperactive Disorder.”

“Ah, I’ve heard of that.” Remus said, and James smiled sheepishly, “I feel kinda odd, like out of place.”

“Why?”

“Dunno, just, why can't I be normal?”

“You are normal, James.” Y/n reassured, “And anyone who says differently obviously doesn’t care about you.”

The compartment door slammed open, “Who doesn’t care about who?”

Remus snorted, “Ever the dramatics, huh, mate?”

“‘Course.” Sirius flopped down beside James, “It comes with my charm and devilishly good looks.”

“Ah, yes.” Y/n said, chuckling, “Don’t you see how I’m swooning for you?”

The back of her palm was against her forehead, “Come off it.” James swatted at her and then elbowed Sirius, “Better not make my sister swoon.”

Sirius chuckled and shrugged, “Can’t help it. I’m just that irresistible.”

The four of them laughed at Sirius’ dramatics and continued talking about the new term. Remus and Y/n were talking about books they couldn’t wait to read. Remus was even kind enough to gift her some muggle books he bought over the summer holiday. Sirius and James bickered about what pranks to do this year, along with which ones were better. 

Third-year was fun. It was a year of flooding corridors, turning Slytherin robes red and blasting music in the common room after a Gryffindor victory. James was a brilliant Quidditch Chaser, and Y/n was a fantastic Seeker. Nothing was quite like the Potter pair. Something about them was just unforgettable. 

Maybe that’s why Sirius was so fond of her. Something about the Potters made people around them smile on the hardest of days. They made sure that every moment was a night to remember. Every memory was worth reliving. So adventurous, so reckless, yet so kind and loving. 

By the time fifth year rolled around, Sirius Orion Black had fallen off a cliff into a lake called love. Sirius completely submerged himself in love for Y/n Potter. The younger twin by just 20 minutes, but something about her was so divine. Was it her silk and glittering h/c hair? No - maybe it was her gleaming e/c eyes. Perhaps it was for her strive for adventure and extreme kindness. 

Nonetheless, Sirius fell hard.

And who better to tell than James Potter himself?

Causally - as usual - Sirius opened the door to the Marauders dorm. It was empty aside from the brunet boy with glasses on the bridge of his nose. His hazel eyes were focused on a textbook - Potions textbook - maybe it was to impress Lily. Sirius couldn’t care less, so he pulled the chair out in front of the desk and sat before James. 

“Mate, I need your help.”

“Running from Filch?”

“No. Something- Something worse.”

“Something worse?” The textbook shut loudly.

Sirius nodded, “Way worse.”

“Alright then, come into my office.” James teased, and Sirius grinned. 

It was silent, “I’m in love with your sister.”

James sputtered, “Excuse me?”

“I’m in love with Y/n.”

“No, no.” James waved his hand horizontally, ���I heard you.”

“Then what else would you like me to say?” Sirius asked. 

“Literally anything else.”

“Sorry, mate.” Sirius muttered, “I- I really didn’t mean to.”

James chuckled and wiped his hand across his face, “I suppose you can’t really stop love, huh?”

“You really can’t.” Sirius agreed, “I tried. I promise I tried.”

“It’s not that big of a deal late.” James assured, and Sirius looked at him with wide eyes, “I trust you just-“

“Just?”

“I’m worried about her.” James completed, “I- I worry about her every night.”

Sirius softened, “It’s like you with Regulus-“ James continued before Sirius could interject, “And don’t pretend. Your silencing charms are bloody terrible.”

“I know you still care for Regulus, you worry about him every night, and I do the same for Y/n, except my silencing charms are better.” James teased sightly, “I trust you, Sirius. You’re the brother I never got but always wanted. You know, the brother I can play Quidditch with, rough around with, the brother who’s just as sneaky and mischievous as I.”

“But Y/n is still my blood. She's my twin, my best friend, my partner in crime. She was the mind behind my pranks before Remus.” James elaborated and then smirked, “Remus and Y/n make a great team, ya’ know?”

“They are quite brilliant.”

“Anyway, what I’m trying to say is, take care of her?” James looked like the eleven-year-old boy again, “Don’t make her a fling and don’t make this temporary.”

“Y/n is a strong woman, and she isn’t for weak men. I’ll be honest,” James chuckled, “She doesn’t need a man. She doesn’t even really need me. I need her more than she needs me. Regardless, take care of her. She deserves a man worthy of her. Someone that’ll get her ice cream at 4 a.m. because she’s craving it. Someone that’ll go on sporadic trips with her. Someone that’ll understand that after a hard day, all she wants is a book and coffee.”

Sirius was appalled; he’d never seen James look so passionate, “Growing up, mum always told me to be a gentleman. I know it may not seem like it sometimes, but she always raised me as one. To hold a door for them, push and push in their chairs for them, give them my jacket even if I’ll freeze.” 

“Those kinda things. Dad said I should practice on Y/n, and I did. From then, Y/n always got treated like a queen, and she deserves no less. I won't lie, my parents treat me like a king too, and I don’t want any less either.” James explained, “Be the king that’s worthy of my sister.”

“That’s all I ask of you.”

Sirius nodded, “I’d be honored to serve her as my queen.”

“And if you show her no less, she’ll spit you out like chewing gum.”

He shuttered, “I hate how accurate that phrase is.”

James laughed, “I know her more than you think.”

By sixth year they were dating. Sirius would be lying if he wasn’t eternally shitting himself when Y/n said yes to going to Hogsmeade with him, alone, as a date. In fact, James almost wanted to throw him a party for finally not being a little bitch and asking out his sister. This party consisted of a bottle of firewhiskey and chocolate because that’s all that was in the boy's dormitory. But a party nonetheless. 

When Lily rejected James for the last time before graduation, he was utterly heartbroken. He’d spent and dedicated seven years of his life to this gorgeous woman. Despite all his efforts and all his charms, she still wasn’t interested. James tried. He really tried. He wanted Lily so bad. His heart broke when she said her final words of goodbye.

“I’m sorry, Potter. Maybe in another life, just not this one.”

Tears had ebbed at the corner of his eyes as he made his way back into the castle from the Black Lake. In the common room, where he felt like he had just got dowsed in water. James made his way to the girl's dormitory. His hand curled into a fist and knocked lightly on the wooden door. Shuffling was heard from the other side, and the door finally opened, revealing his sister. 

Without warning, James crashed into her arms, forcing his nose in the crook of her neck, “Woah.”

“Are you okay, James?”

His body shook with sobs as he shook his head no, “It’s okay. Let’s go lay down, okay?”

Gently she led him to her bed. He curled up beneath the navy blue comforter and placed his head on the silk pillow sheets. If he tried hard enough, he could forget the way Lily’s hair smelt today or the way her green eyes glistened in the sun. Now engulfed in his sister's scent, trying to remove every feeling for Lily possible, he dug his nose deeper into the comforter. 

Y/n sat beside him, her back to the headboard, and ran her fingers through James’ already untied hair, “What's got you so worked up?”

“It’s done.”

“What’s done?”

“L- Lily and I.” James choked, “She- She really doesn’t want me.”

A new wave of tears overcame him, and Y/n continued to try and soothe him, “Well, she’s a tosser.”

James narrowed his eyes, “James, you know I love her. She's my best friend, but if she can’t see what’s right in front of her, then she’s an idiot.”

“Can I- Can I stay here tonight?” He asked hesitantly.

“You sure you don’t want me to stay at your dorm?” Y/n questioned, “Because you know who sleeps here.”

“Will you stay with me?”

“Till the end.”

After a couple of minutes, Y/n and James made their way down the steps to the boy's side. They walked up more steps and finally made it to the boy's dormitory. James collapsed on his bed in the left corner of the room, and Sirius perked up at seeing his girlfriend enter the room. 

“Whatcha doin’ here, love?”

“Staying with my brother.”

Sirius nodded and stood up to hug her, gently pecking her forehead, “If you guys need anything, let me know, ‘kay?”

“Thanks, Siri.” 

Gently Y/n pulled back the maroon curtain and sat down beside him again. James reached for her hand and intertwined their fingers. Something they used to do as kids. When a thunderstorm would go by, James would always seek sanctuary in his sister's comfort. 

He fell asleep that night, knowing he was safe, loved, and knew that someone cared about him. Even if Lily didn’t love him, at least someone else did. He had his boys, and he had his sister. Right now, that’s all he needed beside him: Screw Lily and her idiot decision skills. Y/n was right; she was a complete tosser. 

When Hogwarts was over, James and Y/n got a flat together. Sirius, Remus, and Peter got one only a floor above. Realistically this wasn’t the plan. James always planned to buy a house with Lily, but he was still healing, and after everything going on, it was vital for him to hold his sister close to him.

Euphemia and Fleamont barely lived to see their children graduate. Not too long afterward had died due to the horrid dragon pocks. It devastated both twins and Sirius. While Sirius wasn’t their true child, he very well could’ve. Euphemia noticed Sirius’s lingering stares on Y/n and the loopy smile that graced his features.

She was the one who got Sirius to man up. She was the one who gave him advice. She was the one who told him what books were her favorite, which chocolate she liked the best, her favorite quills. Euphemia was one of the main components in getting Sirius to date her daughter, and when it finally happened, the parents couldn’t have been happier.

James’ ADHD still remained even in his adulthood, making regular everyday tasks much harder and twice as long. Most of the time, the pills were able to help him complete those tasks. But sometimes, when Y/n wasn’t there to remind him, he would miss his days. When Y/n got home from work, she had barely taken off her shoes to see the apartment spotless.

It was a pleasant surprise, but James was never really one to clean, not that she really minded, but the apartment didn’t have a speck of dust on it. Hesitantly she put her keys on the island along with her bag.

“James!”

“Yes, Y/n?”

He appeared in the kitchen where Y/n was, “Um, did you clean the apartment?”

“Yes, I did!” James nodded enthusiastically.

Y/n sighed and gave her brother a sweet smile, “What did you not do today?”

“So, you know how you told me to go to the pharmacy?”

“Mhm.” Y/n nodded, “Indeed I do.”

“Well, they were out of my meds.” James informed, “I have to wait a week.”

“Oh, Merlin.”

“On the bright side!” James was already causing her a headache, “It’s gonna be a fantastic week! I’ve got so many things planned for us! We’re gonna go-“

James continued to ramble as Y/n grabbed her keys, bag and slipped back on her shoes, “I’m going to Sirius’!”

“Thought you were my sister.” James faked pouting, and Y/n smiled, “I love you, but you’re crazy.”

“I love you too!” He yelled as she closed the door.

[xiaq]

CHAPTER 4 IS UP ON AO3

“Do they all just seem impossibly young to you?” Potter says after several minutes of silence.

He’s looking at the dance floor, eyes dark and fathomless.

Draco follows his gaze to the colour-spangled, undulant crowd: a tide of bodies moving with the pulse of music—heads thrown back, teeth white in the black light, skin slick with sweat. Couples lean against the walls and each other, hands spanning backs, mouths to ears, lips to throats. The dance floor is a study in unrestraint. 

Draco can feel the bass in his lungs.

On another night he might actually enjoy it. Tonight, it hurts.

He sips his drink and lets the rim rest against his bottom lip, tongue against teeth and teeth against glass. He exhales.

“Perhaps we’re just old before our time,” Draco says. He feels ancient, most days, like he’s lived a lifetime already. “Children aren’t supposed to go to war, after all.”

“And yet they keep ending up there,” Potter murmurs. He tips his drink, finishing the last of the liquid, and breaks an ice cube between his teeth. “The papers keep talking about healing and returning to normal, but I don’t think—do you ever feel like maybe you’ll never be normal again? That there’s no coming back from the things we’ve seen.The things we’ve done.”

For a moment, Draco is plagued with indecision. Because he doesn’t want to answer honestly, not here, not to Potter. But then he’s been trying to stop taking the coward’s way out in difficult situations, and there’s no time like the present.

“Sometimes it feels wrong,” Draco says slowly. “To enjoy things. Just simple things. Like eating the first biscuit in a new package or sliding under the duvet on a newly made bed—listening to music in the car. Because there are so many people who won’t ever enjoy those simple things again. And I was, at least partially, responsible for some of their deaths. I think I may live the rest of my life trying and failing to repent for my sins.”

Potter doesn’t attempt to gentle Draco’s self-loathing.

He does, perhaps, do something even worse, though.

“Sometimes I dream about the people I indirectly killed,” Potter says. “During the war, but also the trials afterward. So many people went to Azkaban to die.”

Draco sets down his glass.

“It was easier when I could pretend they were bad people,” he continues, seemingly oblivious to the fact that Draco is struggling to breathe.

“Weren’t they?” Draco manages.

“Some, yes. But what about the ones like you? Like your mother. Except they didn’t have the money to buy mercy. ”

Draco closes his eyes but it doesn’t make the words go away.

“Coerced or not,” Draco says, opening them again, “when it was time to choose sides, they chose the wrong one.”

Potter laughs: a sharp and terrible thing. 

“Forgive me if autonomy makes a big fucking difference in my judgement of good and evil.”

Draco looks away, attention caught again by the dancing bodies around them, moving with abandon to the throbbing music. For a moment, he is intensely, viscerally, jealous.

“They’re not like us,” Draco says, more to himself than Potter. And then, realizing he’s said it out loud, scrambles to clarify what he means by “us”—because he and Potter aren’t the same. Their experiences are not equitable and he doesn’t mean to imply they are—he wouldn’t try to place their trauma in the same genre. He can’t seem to formulate the words, though.

“No,” Potter agrees, meeting his eyes. “They’re not like us.” 

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[cjsinkythoughts]

Suits, Dresses, and Heels

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 4000

Warnings: !FATWS SPOILERS!, Cursing, More Mentions of PTSD, Gun Violence, Slight Mentions of Drinking, Club Dancing (You’re all gonna hate me for that part, but I’m not sorry)

A/N: Here’s Part 4.2 - The Second Part to Episode 3 - as requested. This is a little more scene-by-scene, but there are some off-screen moments. I’ll be posting Part 4.3 (which will have the rest of the episode) later tonight.

There’s a bit more information on Reader, but not as much as the last chapter. Sharon comes in during this part, so you get to see her and Reader’s relationship.

Also, I have mixed feelings about Zemo at this point. Not in the story, the Reader’s not a fan as you learned previously, but for me personally, he’s surprised me a couple times by coming back and helping.

Anyways! Thank you so much for reading! This isn’t beta’d so excuse any mistakes! Check out my other parts before you read! Thank you again! Stay tuned, loves!

FATWS MASTERLIST

cjsinkythoughts MASTERLIST

!SPOILERS UNDER CUT!

The dress was far too tight for your liking, and showed way too much skin. Not that you didn’t like being a tease every once in a while, but for this mission, you’d rather have more cover and movement.

You had to admit though; Zemo had nice taste. The dress fit deliciously - which made you wonder how he got your size. The color and cut was devastatingly flattering. Plus, he let you do your own makeup.

Being the only female, you were in a separate area of the jet getting ready. Once you were done, you made sure to knock, even though you’d walked in on Sam changing too many times to count while on the run and had seen Bucky answer the door in nothing but a towel. It was mainly for Zemo’s sake, just a warning that you were walking in whether or not they were ready.

“Damn, girl! You clean up nice!”

You rolled your eyes at Sam, painted lips quirking up as you studied him, shooting him a wink. “You should try a mirror, Sammy.” You turned to Bucky to find him staring wide-eyed and slack-jawed at you. “What do you think, Buck?”

His mouth snapped shut and he cleared his throat, eyes exploring the dips and curves your body. “You…” He blinked once. Twice. His tongue darted out to wet his lips, his intense eyes making you heat up, before he shook his head. “You look good.” He rushed out, before spinning on his heel shoving past Sam who was snickering.

“Where’s Zemo?” You noticed he wasn’t in the main area of the plane when you walked in.

“Rearranging our ride once we get there.”

You huffed, fixing your hair. “Oh God. We’re really doing this.”

“Yup.”

“Okay.” You looked down at yourself before looking up at the boys. “Something’s gonna go wrong, isn’t it?”

“Absolutely.”

“No doubt.”

Giving a slight groan at their simultaneous answers, you nodded. “Let’s try not to screw up too badly, boys, alright? I at least want to live long enough to see Peter graduate.”

Sam rolled his eyes with a scoff. “That kid’s a punk.”

“You’re a punk.” You shot back.

Bucky raised his hand. “I second that punk thing.”

“For which one?”

“Both of them.”

You chuckled as Sam gaped at Bucky, who shrugged innocently. The former assassin tilted his head in your direction to shoot you a grin and a wink, making you laugh more. Shaking your head, you go to make a joke when Zemo walked in.

“It’s time. We’re landing now.”

And just like that, the teasing atmosphere dissipated, leaving you anxious and regretful.

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

You walked by Bucky, arm linked with his metal one, listening as Zemo told Sam about his “character” he was to play.

“He’s a known womanizer - always has a gorgeous lady on his arm.” Zemo gestured towards you. “It’s the only way they’d let in a woman.”

“Aren’t we going to see a woman?” You questioned, gently patting Bucky’s metallic bicep when his hold on you tightened.

“Which makes it more imperative that you don’t act threatening. Women don’t make the same mistake men do; they don’t underestimate other women.”

You nodded. He had a point there. Bucky faced you, a frown on those pretty lips. “I don’t like this.” He mumbled.

“You think I do?” You whispered back. “With you being him again? Even if it’s just pretend? And need I remind you whose idea this was?”

“I know, I know. Just…” He sighed. “Promise me you won’t get hurt on purpose.”

Your forehead creased. “Why would I-?”

“To protect people. You always do. And I get it, I do. It’s why you started this in the first place, but…save yourself first, this time, okay?”

“Buck-”

“Promise me.”

It wasn’t often you could see the fear in his eyes, hear it in his voice, but you could then. Unable to do anything else you nodded, a soft, “okay” falling from your lips. He nodded back, pressing a kiss to your head, before letting you go as a car approached.

Bucky helped you in - the heels you were wearing were no joke - before sliding in himself, Sam getting in on the other side of you. “And you two can’t be…” Zemo gestured to the two of you as the car started moving, eyeing your still connected hands. “Doing that.”

“This isn’t my first theater production.” You snapped at him. “We’ll be fine.”

He raised his hands in surrender, turning back to look out the windshield. Once you arrived, you gave Bucky’s hand one last squeeze, before accepting Sam’s hand to get out on his side, linking your arm with his like you were doing with Bucky earlier.

“I finally get to see one of your performances, baby.” Sam grinned at you.

You smirked back. “Best seats in the house, too, Smiling Tiger.” He groaned at your jest, nudging you playfully with his elbow as you giggled.

“This way.” Zemo cut in, jerking his head in the direction you’d be going. You took a breath, steeling yourself, before the three of you nodded at each other and followed his lead.

You found the fellas reactions amusing, their heads turning to study and scan everything they could see. You were more subtle in the way you analyzed your surroundings, feeling a bit more at home in this situation than, say, fighting super soldiers on top of semi trucks.

Your jaw tightened, as did your grip on Sam’s arm, when Zemo started speaking Russian, the four of you pushing through a crowded bar. Sam ran his fingers over your arms, giving your hand a little squeeze, silently reassuring you.

It was a bit obvious Sam hadn’t done much undercover work, put he stayed in character and you were impressed. Especially when the bartender started cutting up the snake, which you had to look away for because if there was one thing you couldn’t do…it was snakes. You nearly gagged when Sam reluctantly downed the drink. 

Bucky eyed you, lips pursed in a way you recognized as him trying to hold in a smile. That made you feel a little better, hiding your own smile by turning into the crook of Sam’s neck. “Not. Funny.” He growled through clenched teeth, lips not moving.

“Kinda is.”

He grumbled under his breath, before the two of you tuned into the conversation between Zemo and a thug that came up, learning about the apparent power broker of Madripoor, which you a bit of from your time undercover there.

Sam held you tightly when Zemo turned to Bucky, knowing what was about to happen.

You didn’t like it. You didn’t like how easily aggressive he became. You didn’t like the little smirk Zemo gave as Bucky attacked. You didn’t like the cellphones being pointed in his direction. You didn’t like it.

“Didn’t take much for him to fall back into form.” You gave Zemo a warning glare, a shaky breath leaving you.

He’d been doing so well. At least, for someone who had been through what he had. Especially considering it’d only been a few months since he’d been pardoned - half a year since everyone came back. You knew bringing Zemo on board had been a bad idea, but-

A squeeze to your hand pulled you out of your thoughts. You let out an inaudible sigh of relief as Zemo allowed Bucky to let the man he was choking go.

“Selby will see you now.”

One step down. You hoped that would be the hardest part, but you knew it most definitely wouldn’t be.

“You good?”

Bucky sniffed, giving you two a curt nod, before following Zemo. You bit your lip. “That wasn’t really an answer, was it?”

Sam shook his head. “No. No it wasn’t.”

Selby wasn’t exactly what you were expecting, but you’d come to expect that. You stayed on Sam’s arm, giving the guards coy smiles and playing with the fake nails you had on in faux-boredom.

When she purred at the man besides you, you and Bucky glanced at each other, with you resisting the urge to scrunch up your nose. “And who is this gorgeous creature?”

Your eyes snapped back to Selby, giving her a slightly bashful smile. “Celeste Addams. Pleasure.”

“Trust me, dear. The pleasure is all mine.” Alright, you thought as she scanned you with a smirk. She was swinging for both teams. You could work with that. “What’s the offer?” She looked back to Zemo.

Zemo gave her the offer - information about the super soldier serum for the Winter Soldier and the code words to control him. Your blood boiled as Zemo touched Bucky, fingers grabbing his chin. You swore, once this whole thing was over, you would kick Zemo’s ass. You should make a list, just to keep track of all the things he’d done, and no doubt would do, to piss you off. That way he’d know why exactly you were beating his ass.

A name came up, Dr. Wilfred Nagel, along with the knowledge that the super soldier serum was, in fact, in Madripoor. You and Sam met eyes. Second step down.

But before they could get anything else, Sam’s phone buzzed. You ducked your head, closing your eyes, mumbling “fuck” when you saw it was Sarah. Sam’s responses just made you inwardly cringe even more.

“The bank, yeah. We laundered so much mo-” He chuckled nervously. “Yeah. They’ll come around.”

Is he fucking serious? For the love of God, Sammy…

And then she called him Sam. Next thing you knew, Selby was shot and you, Bucky, and Sam were taking out a guard each, you growling at the fact that you couldn’t use your legs because the dress was too damn tight.

You had no choice but to trust Zemo’s lead, but word traveled very quickly here, and less than a minute after walking outside, you were getting shot at.

“C’mon!” Bucky grabbed your arm, pulling you besides him.

“Can you not right now?!”

“I can’t run in these heels!”

You glared at Sam, the killer six inchers on your feet feeling like hell. “Hell no! You did not just say that in front of me!”

“You started it!” You scowled at him, following Bucky into an alley, only to duck as shots rang out. Chest heaving, you looked around for the source of the bullets that killed the men chasing you.  Your “guardian angel” as Zemo put it.

She soon appeared in all her stunning, blonde badass glory. “Sharon?”

Sam quickly explained the situation, trying to get her not to shoot Zemo who she had a gun pointed at.

“I stole Steve’s shield, remember? I also took the wings for your ass,” she pointed the gun at Sam, then Bucky, “so that you could save his ass, from his ass.” And the gun was back on Zemo. She shot you a smile. “And your ass is looking beautiful as always.”

You grinned back. “Thanks. You’re not looking too bad yourself.”

As she spoke, your lips turned down. You had tried calling her after Germany, but it always went to voicemail. First thing you did when you got back was try to get everyone pardoned, but it was a process. And then you found out about Wanda and ever since…

Sharon was your first real friend. She was only a couple years younger than you and had been one of your first partners during your time with SHIELD. And the fact that she’d been on the run for years now, even with the Blip, her family not having seen or talked to her since…that was exactly why you couldn’t take a break. She was family and you found there was nothing more important than family. But when she needed you, you were out searching for someone who didn’t want to be found.

How were you supposed to choose between two sisters? How could you cope with the fact that you chose the wrong one?

“Sharon, we need your help.” She laughed at Bucky’s statement. “Please,”

She glanced at you and you nodded. “I’d appreciate it, Share.”

She gave a sigh before nodding. “This isn’t over. I have a place in High Town. You should be safe there for a while.”

She turned and started walking, and you were about to follow, when you remembered something.

Spinning around, your fist connected with Zemo’s cheek, Sam and Bucky shouting in surprise while the man stumbled back. “Don’t you fucking dare touch him like that ever again, or I will break every bone in your body.” You threatened, your expression twisting into a scowl as you grab his hand and bend it awkwardly. He grunted but didn’t move, knowing one wrong turn would break his wrist. “Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal.” He ground out.

You pushed a little more, making him wince, before letting go and rounding back to Sharon, who was smirking at you. “Let’s get moving.”

“Yes, ma’am.” She jerked her head back over her shoulder to where a car was waiting, leading them over.

You quickly followed after her with Bucky on your heels and Sam dragging Zemo along. Speaking of heels, as soon as you got in the car - getting shotgun for the first time ever at Sharon’s insistence - you prodded the stupid shoes off your feet.

“Nice kicks.”

“Yeah.” You scoffed. “Unless you’re trying to kick.”

“Did you rip the dress?”

“I was tempted to.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll get you in something more comfortable. And you’ll look just as good. Not that you wouldn’t look good in literally anything.”

You chuckled, giving her a look. “Let’s not test that theory.”

She smiled back, nodding. “Fine. I’ll let you pick something out.”

Sam huffed, crossing his arms best he could, being squished with the two other fully grown men in the back seat. “Women.”

The two of you exchanged looks, rolling your eyes at the three pouting guys. “Men.”

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

“I’m gonna go check on the boys. But I’ll be right back.”

You nodded, looking through her closet. No dresses. And absolutely no heels. Flats, if you had to, but you’d definitely prefer sneakers right now. You decided on shorts and an off-the-shoulder blouse, grateful for the looser clothing.

“They’re idiots.”

You laughed and looked over at the door as Sharon entered. “Yeah. I know.”

“Cute.” She commented on your outfit, sitting on her bed. “They explained the situation. Sam said if I help, he’d clear my name-”

“Sharon.” You sighed, biting your lip. “I tried. I really did. I-”

She shook her head, smiling at you reassuringly. “No, I know. It’s why I’m not mad at you. Sorry I didn’t call back. How’ve you been?”

You shrugged. “Fine, I guess.”

“Even with the whole ‘Cap is back’ thing.”

“Walker’s the government’s pet. He’s not Captain America. He’s not…”

“Steve?”

Looking up at her from the ground, you nodded. “Yeah.”

“Do you miss him?”

You smirked, wagging your eyebrows at her. “Do you?”

She rolled her eyes, tossing a pillow at you. “It’s kinda weird now, isn’t it?”

“Maybe a little. But I can’t blame you. Have you seen him shirtless? Good God.”

Sharon laughed, shaking her head as you joined her on the bed. “How come it’s always you getting wrapped up in these things?”

“I have no clue.” You chuckled, crossing your legs underneath you. “First I’m answering a phone call from Bucky at five in the morning and next thing I know, I’m being kicked off of semi trucks, breaking criminals out of prisons and running in six inch heels.”

“You answer Bucky’s calls at five in the morning?”

You gave her a look. “Sharon-”

“No, no. Hey. That’s cool. Some girls like bad boys, some like jocks, others like nerds. You like super soldiers from the 40’s. Everyone’s got a thing.”

A playful shove turned into a pillow fight, which turned into a sparring session, during which you pin her on her back. “You’re getting better.” You complimented, getting up.

She glared at you, taking your outstretched hand and letting you pull her up. “I guess that’s why you’re an Avenger.”

“That’s still weird to say.”

“Why? You’ve been an Avenger since, what? Ultron?”

You nodded, straightening your clothes. “Officially, anyways.”

“Right. Because you were there for the Battle of Manhattan as the secret seventh superhero.”

“Yeah…I miss it. The anonymity. I’m pretty sure I’m one half the Senators’ speed dials.”

Sharon frowned, brows pinching together. “What about the other half of the OG? Where are they?”

“Thor’s in space, Bruce is MIA - which I can’t really blame him for - and Clint’s retired with his family.”

“You think he’s gonna stay retired?”

You shrugged. “I hope he does. He’s been trying to retire for years. He deserves it. Knowing him, though…probably not.”

Sharon crossed her arms, nodding at you. “So that leaves you.”

“Yes it does.”

“Do you ever think of taking a break?”

You gave a half-sigh, half-groan, making her smirk in amusement. “It’s…come up a lot recently. I dunno. I think I’m burning out, anyways.”

“What makes you say that? I was watching you guys with Selby. You’re still one of the best I’ve ever seen.”

“I-I’ve been having…problems.”

Her eyes narrowed, her hands setting on her hips like a mother about to scold her child. “What kind of problems?”

“Just flashbacks. Of different things. It happens at random times. Certain triggers; something someone says or does, or something I smell or hear.”

“PTSD?”

“Something like that.”

“Has it affected you in the field?” Hesitating to answer was answer enough and she nodded. “Then…maybe it’s time you do start considering retiring.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “At 36? There’s no way.”

“C’mon. It’s not too late for you to settle down. Go one a few dates. Meet someone. Maybe have a couple kids-”

“Woah, woah. Slow your roll.” Your features scrunched up in incredulity. “Pump your breaks. No one said anything about marriage or kids.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m just saying…think about it. I heard even Bucky’s been on a few dates.”

It was your turn to narrow your eyes at her, hearing the suggestive tone in her voice and seeing the eyebrow raise. “Yeah. He has. A few. I told him to. Told him it might be good for him to, I dunno, get back out there.

“Or, you could just…go out there with him.”

“Not you too! Have you been talking to Sam?”

“Is it Steve? Is that what’s stopping you? Because you know he’d just want you to be hap-” She stopped as he phone vibrated, grabbing it and reading the text. “Company’s arriving.” She pointed a finger at you. “You got very very lucky. This conversation isn’t over. I’m not dropping this.”

You bit your cheek and nodded. “Alright, mom. Can we go party now?”

She breathed out a laugh and nodded. “Yeah. Let’s go party.”

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

“Hey, gorgeous! There you are!”

You smirked at the boys as they met you near the top of the stairs, eyeing Sam and Bucky appreciatively. Damn, could Sam pull off a turtleneck. And Bucky in black and skinny jeans? Sharon sure had good taste. “Today’s the day for attractive outfits, huh, gentlemen?”

“I’ll say.” Bucky hummed, glancing at your own outfit. “You look beautiful, doll.”

“You look very dashing yourself, Barnes.” You grin, pulling at the lapels of his black blazer and fixing the collar. You smoothed your hand down the front of his shirt, looking up at him with an eyebrow raised when he caught your wrist, keeping your palm over his heart.

He clenched his jaw, taking a breath, before letting it out, almost dejectedly, and letting your hand go. “Um,” He cleared his throat, hand falling down by his side. “Did, uh, did Sharon say anything more about these friends of hers to you?”

“Nope.” You shook your head. “Just told me to enjoy the party.”

“I guess we should go enjoy the party, then.” Sam nodded towards the stairs, where the music was floating up, her guests already pouring in.

You made your way downstairs, looking around the room. Sharon sure did know how to throw one, that’s for sure.

People were pushed together, dancing to the beat of the music, drinking, with colored lights flashing every which way. Bucky’s hand found yours almost instantly, and you smiled at him. “C’mon.”

“What?” His eyes were wide as you dragged him towards the groups of people dancing. 

“Dance with me.”

He shook his head violently. “I-I can’t.”

“I thought you used to be a dancer?”

“Used to. And I was a swing-dancer. Not…” He gestured around to the people bobbing up and down, moving their bodies with each other.

You waved dismissively, pulling him closer. “All you need to do is feel the beat. I’m sure you can do that, can’t you, Mr. Tough and Scary Assassin?”

He licked his lips, looking around nervously. You brought his hands to your hips, making his eyes snap back to yours, your own arms winding around his neck. You started moving rhythmically, nodding your head to the music, smiling up at him and giggling at the adorable concentration on his face.

“You, uh, you go to parties like this a lot?”

“I specialized in undercover operations, remember? I practically lived at these places for some of them.” He licked his lips, his grasp on your hips tightening. “Loosen up a little.” You laughed, catching his jaw between your fingers and making him look at you instead of the crowd surrounding him. You scratched at the scruff, speaking softly, but loud enough for him to hear. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and, slowly, a bit hesitant, started moving his body with yours, relaxing his tense muscles the longer you two danced.

“Nice hit, by the way. With Zemo earlier.”

You shrugged, turning in his arms, biting your lip when he pulled you closer, your back to his chest. “I didn’t like the way he grabbed you. It was unnecessary. I was thinking of making a list, actually.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.” Your arms wound around his neck again, your head falling back to his shoulder. “Of things he’s done so far that warrant’s me beating his ass once this is done.”

He chuckled, warm breath tickling your cheek, thumbs tracing circles on the bare skin just above the waistline of your shorts. Your own fingers had found home in his hair holding his head where it was, his lips centimeters away from your ear. “Share it with Sam. I’m sure he has a few things to add.”

Your breath hitched as his metal fingers danced along your bare navel, arm tightening around your waist. “I’m sure he does…I thought you said you can’t dance.”

“I guess I just needed to warm up. I’m a bit rusty after eighty years.”

“Don’t seem that rusty to me.” You breathed out, turning your head to look at him. His tongue ran across his lips again, his eyes glancing to your own.

“Hey, guys!” The world and your situation came crashing down on you, the music you didn’t realize you’d been tuning out, along with the crowd’s boisterous laughter and cheers, rushed back to yours ears. The little bubble with just you and Bucky shattered. You both stepped away from each other; you cleared your throat and pushed down the heat that had nothing to do with the hundred bodies in the one room, while Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, the tips of his ears red with no help from the colored lights. Both of you were panting lightly, avoiding eye contact with the other three staring knowingly at you. Sharon nodded her head, gesturing behind her. “I found him.”

Sam nudged Bucky - who was staring at you, his jaw ticking and his throat tightening as he swallowed thickly - before jabbing his thumb in Sharon’s direction. “Here we go.”

You nodded, eyeing Bucky with a small smile. “Here we go, Buckaroo.”

[sophsicle]

POST THE SCENE PLEASEE( obviously only if you want to)

Okie dokie, idk how actually interesting this will be, but this was Reg and Snape emotional bonding take one (the 1st paragraph is in the final draft and then it's all cut stuff, just so there's some context): tw homophobic language

Regulus lets the awkward silence linger for a moment longer before he starts tidying up the mess they’ve made. They’re starting with a single batch, and if that turns out as planned they’ll figure out how to mass produce the stuff. It’s a delicate science, potions, making large quantities of something requires more thought than simply doubling the recipe.

Snape huffs behind him. “I’ve never understood why potions’ labs are always in basements and dungeons. Places without windows. It gets so fucking hot.”

Regulus turns around just in time to catch Snape pulling off his black jumper, which, in all honesty, is so full of holes it can’t really be providing that much heat. Snape has his back to Regulus, and when he yanks the jumper over his head his shirt pulls up, revealing a series of neat scars along his spine. About the thickness of a belt.

Regulus feels himself stiffen. He isn’t sure if it’s the hangover or withdrawal, but by the time Snape turns around again he still hasn’t managed to get his expression under control. Snape’s eyes narrow in on Regulus’s face immediately, and then, as if realizing what must have happened, he goes pale.

Paler than usual.

Neither of the boys seem to know what to say, the pair locked in some kind of weird staring contest. As if sensing the tension Boo walks slowly to Regulus’s side, pressing close enough that Regulus can feel all the good that makes him up. Easing his nerves.

Eventually Snape looks away, seemingly angry and embarrassed at the same time. “I’d rather we not talk about this.”

“Get into a fight with someone?”

“Are you deaf Black?”

“Not that I’m aware of. Those don’t look like magical wounds.”

“Yes, very clever,” Snape walks towards the shelves on the other side of the room, senselessly moving things around like that will make Regulus shut up. If only it were that easy.

“You got into a physical fight with someone?”

Snape doesn’t respond, just continues to muddle about, movements jerky and agitated.

“You don’t really strike me as the fighting type. Except when it came to—“ James.

At that slip-up Snape does turn around, sneering, lips curled over his teeth. “No, not since him. You know, I never could figure out what went on between the pair of you. Though clearly he lost interest,” Snape gives him a withering look. “Not that you really could have expected more, being what you are.”

Regulus’s jaw clicks as he clenches his teeth. “What I am?” he asks flatly.

There is a triumphant vindictiveness in Snape’s eyes. “Poof.”

It doesn’t hurt. Never really has. Except when it was coming out of Sirius’s mouth.

“Oh yeah,” Regulus says dryly, “because being heterosexual has worked out so well for you.”

Snape’s expression sours, impressive, considering it was already pretty sour to begin with. He doesn’t appear to have a comeback.

“But those scars aren’t James’s handiwork,” if his voice tightens when he says James’s name he pretends not to notice. “So who was it then?” because fuck Snape if he thinks he deserves respect. Or privacy. Or consideration. From Regulus of all people.

Snape keeps glaring, and Regulus is fairly certain he’s going to tell him to fuck off, which is why he’s surprised when Snape says; “My father hates magic.”

It makes so little sense to Regulus that all he can do is stare at the other boy. Taking far too long to fully process what’s just been said. “Your father hates magic,” he repeats slowly. “Your father.”

Snape looks about ready to murder someone, probably Regulus, though he’s not making eye contact with him at the moment. Regulus flounders for a minute, probing his brain for what to say next, what exactly to do with this information.

“You didn’t heal them?” he says dumbly, because they aren’t cursed, so he could have. Could have made them disappear. Snape’s expression falters, like he’s ashamed of that fact.

“My mum,” Regulus goes on, sure he’ll regret this. “She used to check,” that causes Snape’s eyes to come back to his. “Make sure they were still there. Something about consequences or toughening up, I don’t know. I was always crying too much to pay attention.”

Snape is looking at him—looking not glaring, which is new—but it still takes a painfully long time before he speaks. The words coming out of him like pulling teeth.

“Using magic would just make him worse. So I…I let them scar. Easier.”

“Isn’t your father a Wizard?”

Snape lets out a derisive snort. “Only technically.”

Another silence falls between them and honestly Regulus doesn’t know what possesses him to keep speaking but despite his better judgement words tumble out of his mouth. “Sirius, when he got back from Hogwarts, used to heal himself just to spite her. To show her he wasn’t afraid.”

“Moron,” Snape mutters.

Regulus shrugs. “Bit, yeah. Though you’re not much different,” ah, the glaring is back. “You could have fought him. If he was as bad at magic as you say, you could have overpowered him easily.”

“Fuck you.”

“I’m just saying, my mother and father are two of the most powerful wizards I know, we didn’t really stand a chance, but you, you could have fought. But you didn’t. Why? To prove to him that you could take it? That you weren’t afraid?”

“It wasn’t about him,” Snape snarls.

Ah.

His mum then.

“If I fought him he just—“ clenched teeth. It’s clear that Snape hates this. Hates every minute of it. “He would just take it out on her.”

Well, maybe Severus Snape does have a heart after all. A tiny one. But still.

“See that,” Regulus goes on, hating the jealousy boiling in his gut. “That is a very Sirius thing to do.”

“I am nothing like your pathetic brother,” Snape practically spits on the floor.

Regulus doesn’t bother arguing. “Suit yourself.”

Snape is clearly seething with resentment and Regulus feels a little bad but honestly he fucking deserved it. To be cut open. To be made vulnerable.

Regulus leans back against the table behind him and lets out a humourless laugh, causing Snape to arch his brow.

“Who would have thought,” Regulus says sardonically, “that you and I would have something in common?”

Snape does not seem overly pleased by this. “Yes,” he says, with some degree of disgust. “Who would have thought.”

[ladyartemesia]

Since I'm in love with your writings and your taste in reading too. I know that your favorite is Brother's best friend or Best friend's brother, I would like for you to recommend me some of them please ❤️❤️🙏

꧁Brother’s Best Friend꧂

Clandestine by @junghelioseok is fantastic. Jeon Jungkook is the best friend of the reader’s slightly younger brother. He’s sexy and charismatic and DEFINITELY knows what he wants. The growth of his (clandestine) connection with the reader is utterly delicious. This one made me laugh and swoon.

Guarded by @xjoonchildx is basically legendary in my book. The lady in this story is not only Hoseok’s best friend’s sister—she is also his BOSS’s sister and by boss I mean mafia. This is the first installment in Ana’s amazing Rap Line Mafia Universe and it delivers on every level. Hoseok is tasked with protecting the boss’s sister after she is being threatened by sinister forces unknown and sparks fly.

Plums and Melons by @winetae is THAT FIC. The fic I just daydream about sometimes. It’s a fic about two people caught hard in eachother’s gravity. It’s so sexy and cerebral and the main characters are so hot. Jimin is just a guy trying to live his life, but whatever is brewing between him and his best friend’s sister is driving him insane. He wants to be a good guy, but she just isn’t playing fair.

Are You Sure? by @cutechim is such a swoon-worthy and touching piece of wonderful. I tell you I was MOVED. This is beautiful and emotional and EXTREMELY satisfying. Taehyung’s best friend has a sister who he has always secretly adored. When she comes to him and asks for some intimate experience, he isn’t strong enough to say no—not when she’s everything he ever wanted.

Drivers License and Detour by @gyukult is sweet and tender and just a fantastic coming of age story. The reader has been in love with her brother’s best friend, Park Jimin, for almost all of her youth... but what is going on in his head?It’s a tender story that really warms the heart. AND I am happy there is more coming. I would read about these two all day. She published the second part and oh my gosh it’s so incredibly perfect I could scream. This was just such a beautiful journey every step of the way.

Milestone by @1kook is probably one of the first brother’s best friend BTS fics I read and it is amazing. I adore it so much. Because Jungkook is your brother’s best friend he is there for every milestone in your life. But you’ve both grown up now and neither of you are kids anymore. It’s hot. Like really hot. Dialogue and set up are so sharp and fast paced I really loved every second.

Young God by @njssi is scorching hot smut with complicated feelings and warm revelations. You think it’s going somewhere and then it goes somewhere else and honestly it is so awesome the whole time. Jungkook was always your brother’s sweet little friend, but he’s returned determined to show you that he is all grown up.

Tease by @caiuscassiuss floored me. I loved it so much! I spent the whole story just squealing happily about everything. This story has it all. It’s scorching hot. It’s enemies-to-lovers. It’s Taehyung. Jungkook’s sister and Kim Taehyung do not get along AT all—so she decides to bring him to his knees by making him desperate for her. It’s a wild and completely awesome ride.

Wasabi by @ironicarmy is a classic. Hobi is a bad boy that Namjoon vehemently refuses to let near his precious baby sister. But love is too strong a force and soon Hobi and the clever object of his desire decide that some things are worth fighting for. It’s a really sweet story of facing challenges and relying on the people you love. Warm and fuzzy feelings abound, but it’s also super hot.

Forbidden by @btssmutgalore is a masterwork blueprint for this trope. Hobi is a carefree player who falls brutally for Taehyung’s sister. They two of them eventually give in to a VERY steamy series of secret encounters and feelings get very involved. This is hot, suspenseful, and emotionally satisfying. Excellent characterizations as well.

Prohibido by @personasintro is an office AU with a twist. Namjoon is not only her brother’s best friend, he is also her boss and the two of them have incredible chemistry. Watching them pretend that they’re not insanely attracted to each other is so endearing and hot. Reader is convinced her feelings are one-sided. It’s lovely and fun. Definitely a slow burn, but worth it.

Strawberry Kisses by @kimnjss is a fic that I devoured in one sitting and then re-read again immediately. Jeon Jungkook is a player who matches with a girl on a dating app and has no idea she is the sister of his revered mentor and close friend, Min Yoongi. I laughed. I cried. I GASPED OUT LOUD a bunch. It was a whole thing. This is a hybrid social media/written AU and it’s pretty much perfect.

Tempestuous by @ppersonna is so special to me because it was written at the very beginning of my friendship with Lindy. She was looking for requests and I was quick to request my favorite trope. Lindy is bae now and this fic she wrote is marvelous. You are forced to spend the weekend in the same house with your sexy arch-rival Taehyung who just so happens to be your brother’s best friend. Naturally snarky hotness ensues.

Off Limits @floralseokjin is basically a famous entry when it comes to this trope. It’s a Jin fic and Miss Jordan writes EXQUISITE Jin characterizations. There is a hint of mistaken (or unknown) identity in this one which makes it even more fun. Sparks fly between you and a devilishly charming Kim Seokjin at a party. You don’t find out until later who he really is—and why he’s off limits.

And finally I’ll recommend my own Brother’s Best Friend fic All I Want for Christmas is You featuring a charming Taehyung who falls for Jimin’s sister. Jimin basically blackmails his best friend into escorting his sister to several holiday galas. Tae and Jimin’s sister have never gotten along, but they soon discover (through multiple pranks and mishaps) that love (and desire) are out of their control.

Not Your Fairytale by @yeojaa is incredibly sweet and tender. Erin really does emotion so well and her Yoongi characterization is honestly so nuanced and brilliant. This story is about a girl who had her heart broken and instead of canceling the cake tasting she scheduled with her philandering ex-fiancé, she wrangles the tsundere best friend of her brother to pretend to be him.

Brother’s Best Friend by @bts-hyperfixation is a short and sweet moment between two people who have been fighting their attraction for each other. It is so hot and delicious I tell you. You’re in trouble and the person you call is probably the person you shouldn’t—but you aren’t the only one willing to take a risk tonight.

Off Limits by @kaddiiction will break your heart and put it back together again. This one was recommended to me by a reader and I cannot thank them enough. It is fantastic. Jimin is a player but he crosses the line when he begins a liaison with his best friend’s sister. Still there is far more to this situation—and Jimin—than meets the eye.

꧁Best Friend’s Brother꧂

Orectic by @gimmesumsuga is one of my favorite fics of all time. It is a hybrid fic where the reader is a cat hybrid and Hoseok is the brother of her best friend who comes to stay with her while her bestie is away... It is so tender yet SO HOT. I’m telling you I cannot even keep count of how many times I have read it.

Theophany by @ilikemesometaetaes was a JOURNEY. It made me so emotional. Like the story centers around art a lot, but let me tell you, this fic IS art. Jimin is just the man of my whole dreams in this piece as the brother of a former best friend with an irresistible allure. It is a coming of age story with the most beautiful twist. AND THE LOVE SCENE—oh my gosh I screamed it was so good. This story is just so so good.

Run by @neonlights92 is Jungkook’s story in the mafia universe I am COMPLETELY OBSESSED WITH. You don’t have to read the whole series to understand it (BUT YOU SHOULD). This is best friend’s brother meets arranged marriage and honestly it’s fantastic. Jungkook doesn’t do love and affection and being forced into an arranged marriage with his sister’s friend who has always had a crush on him is just a blow to his freedom... or is she? GAH! This story—like all the stories in this universe—is superb.

The Magic to Happiness by @readyplayerhobi is a best friend’s brother meets teachers AU meets Hogwarts AU. Now... all of those are top tier tropes so finding them together is like winning the lottery. Hobi was once just a skinny kid who had obvious heart eyes for you (his sister’s best friend) but now he’s tall and confident and really attractive. The magic of this story is evident in every word of the sweet relationship that blooms between these two.

Problem with You by @monvante is so sweet and kind of hilarious. I giggled so much! Jungkook is your best friend’s brother and he is kind of too perfect and too handsome and he’s always around and you hate him and he hates you... Right? When you cross paths with the infuriating Jeon Jungkook at your best friend’s wedding, you discover that you may have been wrong about a great many things.

Show Me Yours and I’ll Show You Mine by @ktheist is so so SO fabulous. I was obsessed with this (now complete) series from the very first installment. You and Tae are besties who have know each other since you were little kids, but lately Tae’s older brother Jin has been lookin mighty fine. Just how far can you push him till he breaks. And if he breaks.... what then?

This list is BY NO MEANS exhaustive. I just used it to compile some of my FAVORITES in this particular trope.

➪ IF YOU HAVE ANY OTHER BROTHER’S BEST FRIEND FICS I SHOULD CHECK OUT PLEASE COMMENT (seriously please I love this trope so much) AND I WILL ADD THEM TO THIS LIST.

➪ Newer Additions are in PINK!

➪ Newest Additions are in BLUE

[sluttyten]

#25, #37 and #181 for Jungwoo or Jaehyun ❤️‍🔥

Jungwoo or Jaehyun + “shit, i forgot just how tight you are.” + meeting them at a house party and sneaking off to fuck them in the bathroom. + you being their best friend’s younger sibling.

When your brother Mark met his best friend, when he moved in with him, you thought for sure you’d cracked it and that your brother was gay and his best friend was his secret boyfriend. They were constantly together--going on trips, going out to dinner, going shopping together--so it wasn’t like it was a crazy leap in logic. But then one night, Mark was out of town, you needed a place to stay, so he told you to go stay at his place. 

Neither you or Jungwoo ever admitted to Mark the truth of that night. How you’d been sitting on the sofa with Jungwoo, venting to him, and when you’d mentioned in an offhand way how he was your brother’s boyfriend (like, obviously), Jungwoo paused and looked at you with the most adorably confused look on his face.

“I’m not his boyfriend. We’re honest to God just friends.” He holds his hand over his heart. “I’m into you, not Mark.”

In the space after those words, your entire worldview rearranged. You looked at Jungwoo, at the way he was looking at you, leaned towards you in comfortable casualness, and you realized that yeah, you could be into him too.

He fucked you right there on that sofa that night, and again in the shower the next morning, and before you left for the day, you made it clear to Jungwoo that sleeping with him meant nothing more than that you found him attractive too. You didn’t want your brother to know, and you didn’t plan to let it happen again. It had been perhaps a lapse in judgement to have sex with your brother’s best friend.

Weeks go by, and then months. You and Jungwoo are perfectly normal around each other, not letting that night interfere in any way. And then Mark throws a housewarming party when he and Jungwoo move out of their cramped apartment and start renting a house together with a few other friends. 

It’s the kind of housewarming that your other family members aren’t invited to. It feels more like a frat party than a housewarming.

There’s people everywhere. All over the lawn, filling every inch of the house you’d just helped your brother move his furniture into. You recognize a few of them as close friends of your brother that you’ve met before, but for the most part, you don’t know these people. You assume many of them are friends of the friends he’s moved in with, but you don’t even know any of those people other than Jungwoo.

So, you do your best to make new friends.

You meet a few lovely people before you finally meet Jaehyun. 

He seems nice, very friendly and handsome. You meet him over a tray of snacks you just know your brother sat out, and you start talking to him, small talk that quickly takes a turn when you both realize a mutual interest. That conversation carries you away from the snacks to standing outside, and once you’ve made it outside, you realize that someone’s set up a game of beer pong.

“Jae!” The guy at one end of the table calls as soon as he spots Jaehyun. “We need someone to play against!”

Jaehyun looks at you. “Want to be my partner?”

You hate the idea of leaving his side, knowing that if you do, some other girl that’s been eyeing him all night would quickly sweep in to try to fill your spot. 

So, it’s possibly one of the best decisions you’ve made yet that night to be his partner for beer pong because you win, and in the joy of victory, Jaehyun sweeps you into a hug and promises you that he owes you a prize. He quickly makes it clear that that prize is a fresh drink that’s not beer with a ball floating in it.

You could care less about getting another drink, but you go along with him as Jaehyun attempts to swim through the crowd of people that have gathered for this party now. You cling to his arm (his bare, well-chiseled biceps), and you never let your eyes leave the sight of his head (a backwards hat resting on his long black hair). 

When Jaehyun finds the way to the kitchen almost impossible to pass through due to it being a small room filled with alcohol and too many people trying to drink that alcohol, he sighs and stops, leaning against the wall and tugging you close to avoid you getting knocked into by the people passing behind you.

“Well, there goes my planned prize for you,” Jaehyun sighs, looking at you with this look that swells a hope inside you. “Guess I should treat you with something else.”

“I have an idea,” you venture, pressing forward a little more, letting your hand slide up his arm. “If you’re interested, you could be my prize, and I’ll be yours.”

“I’ll take that. Gladly.” Jaehyun’s gaze flicks between your eyes and your lips.

Before either of you can back down, decide that maybe you’re too buzzed to make a solid decision right now, you grab his hand and pull him away from the mass of people waiting to get inside the kitchen. You lead him upstairs, heading right for the bathroom you know is at the end of the hallway beside one of Mark’s housemate’s rooms.

You think you hear someone call your name downstairs, but over the music, it’s difficult to tell, and you refuse to let yourself be distracted away from Jaehyun.

You pull him inside the bathroom. Jaehyun closes the door behind him, and as soon as he’s turned to face you again, you all but launch yourself at him. 

Jaehyun’s teeth clack against yours. His warm fingers dig into your ass and thighs, and you clutch desperately at Jaehyun’s face, holding his mouth against yours in a bruising kiss as he stumbles deeper inside the bathroom with you. You feel the plasticky brush of the shower curtain, and then your back hits cool tile. 

Jaehyun has you against the shower wall, the scent of body wash filling your nose, and your moan echoes off the tile when Jaehyun slips his hand inside your panties. His fingers are expert, skilled at getting you off, toying with your clit and then he’s two fingers deep, rubbing your clit now as well as stimulating you from the inside. 

“Told you I’d give you a prize. You gonna cum for me, pretty girl? Gonna cum on my fingers?” Jaehyun kisses his words against your throat, and then he closes his lips around a sensitive spot and sucks.

Not that you want Jaehyun to know, but it’s been months since the last time you had sex, since the last time you orgasmed, so as the climax hits right now, your vision goes white, and your senses are overwhelmed on every side.

The volume in the room increases to a dull roar in your ears, and your fingers dig into Jaehyun’s shoulders, your body arching as he keeps going, pushing your orgasm to last longer and longer on his fingers. You moan his name softly between gasps, like an ecstatic prayer.

Your eyes flutter open, and you realize that the volume in the room isn’t just the buzz of pleasure and the pounding of your heartbeat anymore.

The dull roar of the party cuts out significantly when Jungwoo shuts the door behind him. Jaehyun’s head snaps up from where he’s been trying to leave his mark on your throat. Jungwoo clears his throat, “Don’t mind me, Jae, I just came up for a piss. But you should probably know that’s our housemate’s sister you’re fingering.”

Housemate? Jaehyun’s one of Mark’s new housemates? Shit, you drop your head back, in disbelief that you’ve done this again, fucking with your brother’s friend.

“Shit,” Jaehyun whispers quietly against your skin. “I thought you looked kinda familiar.”

“She has a thing for fucking her brother’s best friends.” Jungwoo turns his back on the pair of you, and you realize that he genuinely is using the toilet right now. Unbelievable. He couldn’t have just walked out to use one of the other two bathrooms in this house when he saw that this one was occupied?

“Jealous, Jungwoo?” You push lightly at Jaehyun’s shoulders until he steps back, freeing up enough space for you to straighten your clothes. “It’s not a good look on you.”

Jungwoo laughs. “Why would I be jealous? We had sex one night, and never spoke about it again.”

“Don’t pretend like you didn’t want it to happen again.” You walk up right behind him. “Do you think I haven’t caught you looking at me?”

Jungwoo turns to face you. “What about you looking at me? Have you not spent any lonely nights since then thinking of me? Remembering the way I touched you, how it felt when you fell apart for me?”

Jaehyun clears his throat. “I’m still standing right here, you know. If you’re gonna have this weird moment, at least let me leave.” He starts to step around you, to squeeze by both you and Jungwoo, but you reach out to touch his arm.

“Don’t go. I want you to stay. You’re the one I brought in here. Not Jungwoo.” You squeeze Jaehyun’s wrist. 

“Maybe you two just need to fuck it out of each other again,” Jaehyun recommends. “Don’t let me get in the way of that.”

You don’t let go of his wrist even when he tugs, instead you hold tighter. Something he said gave you an idea. “Don’t go. I don’t want you to be in the way, Jaehyun. What if, and either of you can say no, but what if we all got what we wanted?”

You know for a fact it would be the end of you if Mark ever learned that you’d had sex with not just one of his bestfriends, and not even just that you had sex with two of his best friends, but the fact that you had sex with two of them at the same time in the bathroom of the house he’s renting with said best friends, yeah, you would be over if he knew.

So you definitely don’t let risk letting him find out.

This time you lock the door. You don’t want anyone walking in when you’re leaning your elbows on the low countertop of the sink in that bathroom, blowing Jungwoo with your panties around your ankles while Jaehyun fucks you. You don’t want anyone to walk in when Jaehyun pulls you back up against his chest, when Jungwoo steps closer and edges his fingers in alongside Jaehyun’s cock.

Something about the coordinated way that they move with each other, the way neither voices a complaint as Jungwoo stretches your pussy around him and Jaehyun’s cocks, something about that strikes you as odd. Not premeditated necessarily, just practiced, like maybe they’ve fucked a girl together before.

If you thought your orgasm on just Jaehyun’s fingers after so long without sex was amazing, then the orgasm you experience on both of their cocks is world-ending. You feel yourself breaking apart at the edges, the pleasure going and going as they neither one stop when they feel you cumming around them. 

Jungwoo kisses you even when your head falls back against Jaehyun’s shoulder, tasting the pathetic whimpers and pleas of more that spill from your lips. Jaehyun snaps his hips forwards harder, driving himself closer and closer to his own orgasm. The feel of his cock pulsing inside you, shooting his load inside you, is enough to have you cumming again.

Jaehyun pulls out, but he stays right there beside you, his chest against your back, his arms around you, holding you up as Jungwoo keeps fucking you. You’re sensitive now, so sensitive and it hurts but it feels so good, and you keep clenching around Jungwoo. 

“Shit, baby,” Jungwoo hisses and groans. “I forgot just how tight you are. I’ve missed you. Fuck, I’ve missed this.”

You feel like a white hot star on the verge of collapse by the time that Jungwoo cums, his fingers twitching over your clit just to draw a final orgasm from you. This is all much more than you’ve felt in a long time, or possibly more than you’ve ever felt. 

Jaehyun supports you against his chest as Jungwoo steps back. Your legs feel useless when your feet touch the floor, and you have Jaehyun to thank for you not completely collapsing. He holds you, slowly leaning back against the wall and sinking even more slowly to the floor with you. You feel like you could never move again and be perfectly happy. 

“I’ve got her, she’s fine,” you hear Jaehyun say. “Go back out to the party. I can help her clean up, can get her to bed. Should I put her in Mark’s room?”

“No,” you murmur, “Put me in Jungwoo’s bed. Mark wouldn’t think that’s weird for me to be there.”

Jaehyun goes a little stiff at the idea of leaving you in another guy’s bed, but you hear the silent agreement between the two. They won’t talk about this outside of here. They won’t let this fuck up a friendship--either the one between them, or the one with Mark. Jaehyun will help you into Jungwoo’s bed tonight, but that doesn’t mean he won’t hope to have you in his on some other night.

And after Jungwoo leaves the bathroom, after you’ve regained some desire to get up off this bathroom floor,  you makeout with Jaehyun in the shower while you both clean up. You sneak out of the bathroom and down the hall to Jungwoo’s room beside your brother’s, and when you climb in between the covers and bury your face in the pillow that smells just like Jungwoo, Jaehyun slides in beside you.

“I really like you,” he tells you. “I know we’ve only known each other for a couple hours now, but I really like you.” 

“I like you a lot too,” you admit. You place a hand lightly on his cheek, drawing Jaehyun into a kiss. 

Jungwoo finds you like that a bit later when he comes to bed; you and Jaehyun asleep in each other’s arms in his bed, and his heart breaks a little knowing that this is something he could have had if he would’ve just fought a little harder a few months ago to make his feelings known to you. He should’ve made a move before tonight, sometime after that night you’d spent with him months ago. But he was scared of what your brother might think.

That’s why he’d come upstairs tonight. He’d seen you walking upstairs, and by the time Jungwoo navigated his way through the crowd and extricated himself from clinging hands trying to drag him in for a drink, he’d followed you upstairs only to find you getting fingered by Jaehyun.

He’s still standing there beside his own bed, looking at you two, when you stir. 

“Jungwoo?” You ask, stretching out a hand to him. “Come to bed.”

The feel of your palm sliding against his, lightly pulling him to join you, that is almost more exhilarating that what happened earlier in the evening. Because you might be cuddling with Jaehyun, but you clearly want him there too, and Jungwoo doesn’t entirely understand what any of this means, but if he can have this moment with you and a million more like it, he doesn’t think he really minds what it means to share you with Jaehyun. 

requests are now closed! Thank you to everyone that sent your requests/prompts in, I really enjoyed writing these drabbles!