#because i needed a break from.... wait for it....

[teliphone]

Limerence

Summary: Your relationship with Jaeyi is far from normal. It’s toxic, suffocating and obsessive. Students around you stay away from you to avoid trouble with Jaeyi. A new student enters which stirs things a little. Maybe she could be your escape? Or maybe it leads you to sink deeper into Jaeyi’s trap. 

Warning(s): Smut, Jealousy, Obessesion, Slapping, Chains, Fingering, Overstimulation

Word Count: 3.5k

-

Yoo Jaeyi and you walk down the halls next to each other… or rather you’re trying to keep up with her. Her hand tightly wraps around yours, pulling you to match speed with her. You let out a small grunt of pain at how hard she’s gripping. She stares forward, ignoring everyone. You spare one glance to the side. Students mumble with each other as they stare at you. They quickly look away when you make eye contact with them. It’s quite sad, you have soon realized. No one dared try to talk to you ever since you got into a relationship with her. All your friends have left you without any reason. You’re constantly stuck with Jaeyi and it's starting to drive you crazy. The only space she allows you is by letting you sit alone at your desk. She sits a few rows behind you, so she can watch every movement you make. 

Jaeyi drags you into her science lab. The little mice run around in their cages. It creeps you out. You never understood how she could easily test on those innocent mice. You pull back from her grip slightly. She narrows her eyes and finally turns around to look at you. You drop your shoulders in annoyance. You aggressively jerk your hands away before crossing your arms. 

“What are you doing?” You fum. She breaks into a smile as she straightens her back. 

“I want to spend time with you,” She chirps. You roll your eyes and let out a laugh of disbelief. 

“I’ve been with you all day. Can’t I just spend some time somewhere else?” You huff. She turns around and walks deeper into the lab. She opens one of the cages and picks up a small mouse. She completely ignored you. You can feel your frustration building up. You hate when she blatantly ignores you. 

“I am leaving,” You mumble before walking towards the door. You didn’t wait for her response. You knew she was going to find you anyway. No matter how far you try to hide and escape from her, she always seems to find a way to get you. It scares and baffles you. But what scares you the most is if she leaves you. She has removed everyone in your life… all you have left is her. You need her. You pause at the door handle.

“I’ll… text you,” You hesitate before exiting. Jaeyi secretly smirks as she lifts the mice to her face. 

“Cute,” She mumbles directing it to you.  

-

Class today is different. You stare at the new student, Seulgi, standing in front of the class. She looks innocent and lost. Your eyes scan down to see her fidgeting with the ends of her uniform. Your lips broke into a small smile. You wonder if she could survive in this toxic school. She makes eye contact with you and you smile at her—a small one with no further meaning. You didn’t pay much attention to her after that. Returning to working on your homework. Suddenly you feel a presence beside you. 

“...Can I sit here?” She softly asks. Her doe eyes are cute. The students in the room mumble against themselves. Your seat is usually empty. No one wanted to disturb your studying and gave you space. But truthfully it's because they don’t want to get in between you and Jaeyi. They fear what she could do to them. 

“Yes,” You finally answer. You didn’t care what Jaeyi would think. You've had enough of her controlling your life. You can hear a couple of students softly gasping and mumbling. Seulgi smiles and takes a seat. You stare at her a little bit before looking down at your textbook. Jaeyi quietly analyzes the scene before her. Her facade doesn’t break. In fact, she smiles. It gets her excited. She finds you cute for trying to break her rules and not knowing what it will cause you. 

-

It’s a few minutes after break and you walk back to class. You slide the doors of the classroom open to find it empty. You return earlier than the others. You make your way to your desk til a phone notification catches your attention. You scan the room to make sure you aren’t mistaken. You locate the noises coming from Jaeyi’s desk. You look around to make sure no one is around. Her phone buzzes against her desk a few more times. You couldn’t help but find it interesting that she would leave her phone. With curious eyes, you go to look at her texts. 

‘Please delete the video’

‘I apologized!’

‘I’ll do anything you want!’

Your eyes widen in confusion. What video is this person talking about that they desperately want Jaeyi to delete it? Is she blackmailing someone? Before your thoughts can continue, the door slides open. You quickly glance away from her phone. Jaeyi stands at the door staring back at you. There is an unreadable look on her face. She smiles, but her eyes are emotionless. You slightly gulp and avert your stare. You walk to your desk and act like you weren’t caught red-handed. Jaeyi slowly walks past you while staring at you. You feel your heart racing. She takes a seat on her desk and lifts her phone. Her eyes swiftly read the text messages. She glances up from her phone to stare at you with heavy-lidded eyes. 

She knows you saw it. 

She slides off her desk. You hear her footsteps coming closer from behind. You unconsciously straighten your back. Your awareness heightens. She places her hand on top of your shoulders and grips. Your breathing hicks. She leans her body down til her lips touch your ears.

“Don’t tell anyone,” She whispers softly. You secretly clench your fist underneath the desk. She smirks and tilts her head to look at your face. You quickly stand up to get away from her. Her presence is too suffocating. The sweet scent of her perfume is enough to make your brain numb. Your action causes her to widen her eyes and step backward. You tug the green uniform closer to your body before glaring at her. You fascinate her without even trying. From behind, you can hear the sounds of more students entering the room. They all freely talk amongst themselves happily.

“I don’t care what you do as long as it doesn’t involve me,” You speak in a low tone. Little did you know, it does involve you. Everything Jaeyi does involves you whether you like it or not. Her lips slowly turn into a small smirk. You didn’t wait for her response and turned your body around. Right at that moment, a student accidentally bumps into you. The drink in her hand falls onto the white of your shirt. You can feel the cold liquid seep into the cloth. She gasps and immediately starts apologizing. You are stunned for a moment before forcing a small smile. 

“It’s okay,”

“No no, I will pay for you,” She splutters. She starts running her hands over your shirt to try and clean it. Her face expresses such stress and embarrassment. Her movement causes the liquid to spread, making your shirt translucent. You softly grab onto her wrist to stop her. 

“I said it’s okay,” You repeat. She stops moving and stares at you with pitiful eyes. Her poor heart feels like it’s escaping her chest. She nervously looks over to see Jaeyi staring at her with a blank expression. You let go of her hand and start walking to the door. You expect Jaeyi to follow you, but she doesn’t. You secretly feel sad and disappointed about it. 

You enter the bathroom and slowly take off your uniform. This leaves you with just a bra on. You plop the white shirt into the sink and switch on the water. You quietly listen and watch the water drench your shirt. You tilt your head to look at the ceiling and let out a deep sigh. What a hassle. You didn’t have an extra pair of shirts meaning you would have to wear this wet shirt back to class. You reach down into the sink and start scrubbing the material. After a few minutes of scrubbing, you lift the shirt to examine it. Water drips at the edges. Good enough. You wring the shirt til it's somewhat dry and put it back on. The coldness makes you shiver. You just have to suffer through til the end of class. 

You take a seat, slightly shivering. The air feels so cold against the wetness of your shirt. It feels uncomfortable having to be in a class like this. You avoid the stares of other students as you take out your textbooks. Among the students, one is particularly more interested. Jaeyi can't stop staring at you as you try to pay attention to your homework. Her eyes slowly examine your back. She sees the wet damp on your back and tilts her head. The wetness has made your shirt slightly translucent. Your bra is so visible, it's almost humorous to her. She can’t help but think it’s like you want her to see it. She starts to smirk and shift against her seat. You’re so exposed, yet you don’t even realize it. You lean forward to straighten your back. Her eyes dilate at the full view of your back. She nibbles her bottom lip as she starts to fantasize about you, specifically your bra. 

She imagines herself running her fingers down your spine to tease you. She traps you between her body and your desk. You would blush so cutely as she leans her face close to yours. It drives her crazy how reactive you are. 

“Stop it,” You glare at her, slightly pushing against her shoulders. She pushes you to sit on your desk. She quickly slides her body between your legs. She smirks and brings her hands to the front of your wet white button-up. 

“Stop?” She hums as she starts to unbutton the first button. By the third button, she can see your bra peeking out. You shyly look away while biting your lips. She slowly finishes off the last button and quickly tugs your shirt aside to expose your front to her. Finally, after seeing your bra through the shirt, she can see it fully. The cold air touches your bare skin. Your cheeks start to burn bright red. Her eyelids become heavy with lust. She brings her hands up to cup your boobs. Her thumb harshly rubs against your nub. Your breathing hicks. You shut your eyes to save yourself from making more noise. Her two thumbs grind against your sensitive nub while groping the soft plush. She repeats the action over and over til your boobs start to become red from her touches. You tilt your head back and let out a soft moan. She smiles at your reaction and rewards you by kissing your neck. You try to clench your thighs together, but her waist stops you. Your lower stomach feels funny. Suddenly you couldn't handle her touch anymore. It’s making your brain turn into mush. You grip onto her wrist causing her to stop. She leans back and widens her eyes in surprise. Your breathing shakes as you glare up at her. Her eyes were black like the void, unreadable. 

“Do you want me to stop?” She asks softly. 

“...Yes,” You breathe out. You didn’t understand why you said yes. The feeling was too much… but it was also so good. She pauses, deep in thought before her eyes quickly shift. 

“Okay,” She simply responds. She removes herself from your body, leaving you breathless on your desk. Your front is still completely exposed. She smiles at the redness on your chest. As you try to collect your thoughts, you hear a camera click. You quickly glare up to see her snapping a picture on her phone. A picture of your touched boobs. She smiles brightly and slides her phone back into her pocket. 

Jaeyi clenches her thighs underneath her desk. She couldn’t believe that just imagining about you caused her to feel turned on. She grips her pencil and smiles. Laughing at herself for being so needy. It’s silly to her. She forces herself to look away from your innocent body and back to her textbooks. This little game you’re playing is just the beginning. 

Seulgi begins to notice how see-through your shirt is. Her eyes widen, and she swiftly takes off her jacket, gently placing it over you for cover. You turn to meet her gaze, and she offers a soft smile before shifting her focus back to her homework. With a smirk, you touch the hem of her jacket, hoping Jaeyi noticed the gesture. She surely did. Though her expression stays neutral, her grip on the pencil tightens, turning her knuckles pale. 

-

Jaeyi’s room is dark and cold as she slams you against her wall. She traps you between her hands. You grunt in pain at the impact. You could tell your shoulders are going to be bruised again. You glare up at her eyes in hatred. Her eyes dilate and you can see the pure jealousy in her eyes. Her tongue brushes the inside of her cheeks. Thoughts swirl inside her head. You couldn’t help but let out a laugh. She’s so jealous. So easy.

“You’re laughing?” Her voice low. You playfully move your eyes from her lips to her eyes while you poke her lower stomach. Your fingers slowly drag up to grip her collar. You tilt your head and lean closer to her face. Her eyebrows lift in amusement. 

“You don’t control me,” You whisper. Her eyes darken as she smirks. You shove her back and attempt to walk away. She quickly grabs your wrist and spins you around. You fight against her, but she is surprisingly strong. Her hands naturally wrap around the back of your neck, forcing you to look at her. Your eyes feel like sharp knives while hers look warm. 

“I’m going to prove to you I do,” She hisses. She presses her lips against yours softly. You try to move away, but the hand behind your neck locks you. Her tongue brushes against your closed mouth. Her fingers gently rub your neck. While she kisses you, she pushes you onto her bed. She quickly grabs your hands and pins them above your head. Her knee secretly slots between your legs causing you to moan. With your mouth open, she can deepen the kiss. 

“Kiss me,” She begs. You try to squeeze your legs together, but her legs block you. You jerk your body, trying to get away from the source. You can feel yourself getting turned on. She leans away from the kiss in frustration. Her eyes are lidded and lustful. Your chest moves up and down fast. She dips her mouth down to your neck to lick and suck. You accidentally let out a soft moan. She smiles and bites down on your skin. She pulls away again to look at your eyes. 

“Your moans are sweet,” She hums. Her voice is so soft and seductive. You feel your heart skip a beat. 

“Fuck you,” You cuss, feeling your cheeks turn red. She smiles and dips down to your ears. Her breathing tickles you. 

“Stop fighting me,” She mumbles. She sticks out her tongue and licks the outer shell of your ears. You twitch against her body, squeezing your eyes shut. She knew every spot to get you hotter. With a quick movement, she unclasps three buttons from your shirt to reveal your bra. She licks her lips and squeezes her legs together. She’s been turned on since earlier. 

“You teased me all day,” She whispers. She lets go of your wrists and places both hands on your boobs. You lay submissively, not trying to move away and she smiles. She starts pressing her fingers into the softness of your chest. Her eyes glued onto them like she’s addicted. Your nipple hardens and exposes themselves on the surface of the bra. Her eyes flicker up to watch your reaction as she brushes her thumbs against them. Your head tilts back a little and hum a soft moan. Her tongue drags down to the middle of your chest. Her hand continues to squeeze your boobs aggressively. You bring your hands down to her lower neck. You gently gesture her head to look back up. 

“Kiss me,” You blush. She lets out a giggle and moves her body up to capture your lips again. You feverishly move your lips against hers. Her lips feel so soft and plump. You feel like you're floating. She tilts her head, bumping her nose against yours. She keeps the pace to match your needy ones. Her brain turns into a mess when you slightly bite her bottom. She pulls away from the kiss, her chest moving up and down. Her fingers move to unclasp the rest of your buttons. She helps you get out of your green school uniform. She starts taking off hers as well but leaves on her black bra and panties. 

You bring a hand up to cover your red cheeks. You feel embarrassed being the only fully naked one. It makes you feel so vulnerable before her. Just how she wanted. She wants to show how much power she has over you. She moves to the side to grab something out of her bed drawers. Your heart starts to hammer against your chest when you realize what she’s holding. There between her hands is a small silver collar with a small chain. She returns between your thighs and gestures for you to sit up. You obey and she clasps the collar around your neck. She tugs the chains for fun causing you to jerk forward. She pecks your lips. 

“Turn around,” She smiles. Your response is too slow making her tug the chains again. You grunt and it clicks into your head to start moving. You turn your body til you're on all fours, your bottom facing her. You gulp nervously because you can no longer see her. Suddenly you feel a hard slap on your bottom causing you to cry out. Her eyes darken and she smiles sinisterly. 

“You know you’re not supposed to talk to anyone but me right?” She reminds you before slapping again. You bite your lower lip to stop yourself from crying out. 

“I am just protecting you,” She whispers. She tugs the chains harshly making your head tilt back. You choke against the collar, tears starting to form. 

“Say you’re sorry,” She demands. She slaps you again and smiles when she sees your ass turning red. 

“S-sorry!” You cry. She places her cold hands gently against your bruised bottom. She rubs them a little then runs her fingers down to your slit. She rubs your core and chuckles. You’re shamefully wet. It’s like she didn’t have to do much for you to turn into a dirty mess for her. She rubs your juice around your clit. You moan and jerk your body. She continues to circle your clit til she can feel your juices spilling from your core. 

“Please,” You beg, jerking your hips to chase her fingers. She smirks and tilts her head. 

“Yes?” She purrs. 

“...Please put it in,” You blush. 

“Anything for you,” She hums before shoving two fingers into your core. You gasp at the sudden feeling of getting full. You squeeze your eyes shut and grip onto the bed sheets. Your eyebrows furrow in pleasure. She moves her fingers in and out slowly, watching closely at how your hips jerk against her. She feels more turned on and bites her lips. She lets you ride her fingers for a moment. Listening closely to your quiet moans. But you’re moaning too quietly for her. She tugs the chains hard causing you to tilt your head back. It chokes you. She starts moving her hands fast, abusing your walls. You cry out loudly. 

“You react so well,” She mumbles to herself. The sounds of your wet core against her fingers become embarrassingly loud. You moan so sweetly it sounds like a melody in her ears. 

“I’m going to come,” You choke. She moves her fingers faster and tugs the chains harder. You feel so sinister in this position. It makes you roll your eyes back and moan. Her two fingers slide easily against your wet gummy walls. After a few more strong thrusts, you come onto her fingers. You let out a loud high pitch moan. Your silk runs down her knuckles and she chuckles. She lets go of the chain and slows down her movement to let you catch your breath. She pulls out her wet fingers and rubs your clit. Your body shakes and jerks from overstimulation. Just when you thought it was over, you felt her fingers thrust into your core again. 

“I am going to make you come over and over til you turn dumb,” She snickers, slamming her fingers knuckles deep. You cry out and jerk your body away from her, but the chains limit you from moving away. You claw at the collar, but find it useless as your body bounces at each of her thrusts.

“I want to numb your mind til all you think about is me.” 

[amphibianauthor]

This! I was also very very lucky to have similar parenting circumstances. I was raised with parents who treated me as a mini-adult that could be explained choices. I will say one of the requirements for this type of parenting style is to understand that your child might be smarter than you in some areas or ask questions you feel like you should know and you don't. And you should be okay telling your child that you don't know something. That your own ego will be okay if you feel stupid.

Let me explain.

As a child, it was an established rule in my house that no questions are bad questions and my parents would ALWAYS answer questions as accurately (but age appropriate) as possible.* Questions were encouraged. If my parents couldn't answer a question right away they'd say something like "I'll answer once we finish x."

Questions were never a thing to be demonized in my house. Whenever I had questions/feelings, I always felt like I could go to my parents for advice or feedback without judgement. No matter the feelings we were allowed to question everything--from the rules they made, the reasoning behind said rules, why my parents were feeling a certain way, why grandparents might act specific ways, why I was being treated a certain way, I could question it and get an honest, truthful answer back. No passive aggressiveness ever either, No question was ever stupid in their eyes, genuinely. (There are too many teachers who say that exact quote and then give kids judgmental looks for asking things or being like 'well if you were paying attention to xyz')

Now, eventually your kid will ask you questions that might get under your skin or make you feel inferior because you feel like you don't know the answers. The trick is to be excited for them. That they are questioning the world and knowing things that interest them. (We don't get mad at a scientist for being smart in their expertise, those scientists were kids once!)

Like the other responses in this thread, by encouraging questions, I never felt like I was being interrogated when I made a bad choice (I personally didn't make many) because I could explain the reasoning behind it and talk about the reasoning why I chose that action, and what natural consequences might be waiting for me.

Another technique my parents employed was the voluntary 5 minute timeout. Anyone in my family at any moment when they felt upset or angry could announce that they needed a 5 minute break and then go get space to cool down.** (Yes even my parents did this at times, taking a 5 minute break) It was a respected thing, if you asked for space you got it. Sometimes the person would rejoin before the 5 minutes were up having cooled down, but after the 5 minutes people were allowed to check up on you and talk things through if things were wrong.

I can't tell you how useful it is to have an instant timeout button. It allows both parties the ability to recenter back to logic/reasoning if emotions run too high, and feel like you are never backed into a corner emotionally. You always have an out. You are praised/respected for understanding that your emotions might run high. Even with my anxiety I am not scared to ask for a break if I need it because it was modeled for me as a child.

Another one of my parents tricks: Using "I feel" statements. My mom pushed this especially, but the difference between 'you never do x!' (accusing, assuming things about the other person) and 'I feel like you never do x!' (communicating while showing your POV, gives the other person a chance to respond, overall less harsh) is a game changer. It focuses on empathizing with the person (letting them know your feelings and hopefully getting them to understand how you are seeing the world.)

*yes, all questions. I once asked my mom if 5 y/o me would have asked where baby's came from what she would tell me and she said she would literally did the 👉 👌 gesture with explanation of which sex had what body parts. I apparently never asked at that young though

**When I was really young, my parents would do the timeout thing as a 'hey, we see the rollercoaster of emotions is high, why don't you take a 5 minute break for space' and they would keep me in the same room but give me more space/or separate room with many checkups on me.

I am exceptionally lucky in that my parents never hit me, grounded me, confiscated my things, banned me from my hobbies or threatened any of these actions to make me behave as a kid. as an adult it has made me realise how very very long a road most people have to traverse before they can take a statement like 'no rule that must be enforced by threat is legitimate' seriously.

[rcvcgers]

Rotten Apples, pt. 2

part one

pairing: caleb x non!mc reader

synopsis: you run into a familiar face at work.

word count: 4.9k words

warnings: extreme loathing, kinda funny, kinda sad, a good mix of everything! a hint of foreplay! not proofread!

author's note: thank you for all the love on part one! here's part two! should there be a part three? also, enjoy a pic of caleb i grabbed from the game today!

taglist <3 : @kebarney @pinkismyfavcolor @romils @erisnxxi @rik0shii @reni502 @spacehopper27 @llamabois @likesvader @pandoras-rabbit @princessfruit @lukassafespace @jexizia

Caleb couldn’t say how long he’s been standing outside your door for. Had it been an hour? Three? Maybe it’s only been thirty minutes…time truly flies by when he’s with his love.

It doesn’t matter, though. Caleb would stand guard outside your door if it meant that you were safe.

Safe and alone inside your apartment…no other specimen in there to protect you.

Caleb wouldn’t let them come in if they came. He’d use his evol to shove them towards the side stairwell. He’d shove them down and watch as their bodies crumbled together, bones breaking, finding their screams of pain and agony satisfying.

It would all be worth it because you’re safe. All because of his much needed protection.

You’re his.

His to protect. His to look after. His to care for. His to love.

He glances to the side and notices that Skyhaven’s clouds have slightly parted. A smile spreads across his face, the man sneaking towards the hallway window, looking out at the morning sky. The weather is still undoubtedly gloomy, but the slight sight of sun is sign enough for him that you two are meant to be.

Caleb prances down the hallway, stopping by your door one last time. He slowly inhales, his eyes feeling heavy, and flattens his palm against it.

He’ll be seeing you soon.

The Colonel exits your apartment building, his phone attached to the side of his face. His voice is cheery and if you were to hear it, you’d think that his face would be all smiles and joy. It isn’t, though, and is instead a stoic expression.

“Hey, buddy. Remember that favor you owe me? Well, it’s time to cash in. I need you to get me information on someone. Yeah, yeah, I’ll send her name over to you now. Great! Thanks!” He hangs up and settles into a spot across the street.

People pass in front of him, his back pressed against the outside wall of a convenience store. Caleb barely pays attention to other woman who pause to get another look at him. He doesn’t have time to entertain their fantasies. He’d prefer to cater to your wants and needs. You deserve it after all your years of being apart.

Caleb tilts his head up and finds your window. His sick smile returns to his face, waiting for you to appear.

Except, he doesn’t know that you don’t peer out the window in the morning. Instead, you stay in bed for as long as you can, face and body covered by your sheets and obnoxious amount of blankets. 

Your arm sticks out, slicing through the chilly morning air.

Shit. You think to yourself. Did the heater not kick in?

Your toes feel inexplicably cold despite being buried under a behemoth of blankets. Slowly sitting up in bed, your tired eyes look around your dark room before they float to the butterfly that hangs from your window. You love how the orange and blue hues grace the floor, softly turning the cold environment into something warm and welcoming.

It reminds you of home and most importantly, it reminds you of him.

You can’t help but laugh, slapping your forehead as you slip out of bed. Last night was a trip and a half!

Your date with George was so bad that you actually hallucinated Caleb being alive. Ha! It’s laughable, really, and you can’t even fathom who was there to witness your crazed haze. You definitely sounded like a crazy person, probably looking like the other blacked out people on the street who struggled to get home.

“Poor guy,” you say aloud, filling in your apartment’s silence, “I hope we never run into each other again.”

Oh, the irony.

You slowly get ready for your day. You take a quick shower, already running late, and stumble into your closet with your toothbrush hanging from your lips. You snatch a clean uniform jacket from the hangers, sliding it over your white blouse. You tuck your shirt into your black pencil skirt and make for sure there are no wrinkles in the fabric.

You hesitate, staring at yourself in the mirror. 

Who are you trying to impress, anyways? It’s not like you’re going to find your Prince Charming at work.

Finally ready for your day, feeling rejuvenated and having shaken off your hysterics from the previous night, you step out of your apartment. You chew on a last minute attempt at making toast. The bread is dry instead of being lathered with butter, a complete oversight on your part.

You don’t even have time to stop for a coffee for a boost of energy. How the hell are you going to get through the day?

The rain stopped but the clouds still hang low in the sky. You’re used to the gloomy days, you actually welcome them with open arms. Too much sun reminds you of home and all of the misfortune you went through and, well, Linkon has a Wanderer problem that you want to avoid. Skyhaven still has them but it’s significantly less. You have the Fleet to thank for that.

And you definitely don’t have to thank a certain hunter who always seems to be at the scene of the worst attacks. As long as she stays away, you can live in peace knowing that if a Wanderer were to show up, she wouldn’t be the one to save you.

Your job as a translator stresses you out. Your boss, Darryl, is a weird, perverted dick that abuses his power. Whenever you don’t accept his daily flirts or go to HR about his behavior, you’re rewarded with horrible assignments that take years off of your life because you’re surrounded by men who are exactly like Darryl. You swear that you’ve seen a gray hair or two sprout from your head.

Being a translator under Darryl is a soul sucking job. You’ve applied to different departments in the Deepspace Aviation Administration, but Darryl has decided that you’re only good enough for translating documents and transcripts.

Your dream is to be a live translator, one that sat in a hidden room during negotiations and meetings between presidents and generals. Hell, you’d be fine with translating between the generals’ secretaries! It’s a thrill that you’ll unfortunately never be able to experience.

A big fuck you to Darryl.

You step through the shiny and clean doors of the Deepspace Aviation Administration. The building is eerily tall, shooting further into the atmosphere. You’ve managed to stay within the clouds, though, barely able to move past the fifteenth floor. Your security clearance is less than desirable, but it hasn’t stopped you from inching your way to the top.

You hope to see the secret levels soon enough but sincerely doubt it.

You smile at Abel and Remy, who work the entrance of the building, manning the security clearance that you pass through every weekday. You place your bag down on the conveyor belt, scanning your I.D. card in the little pad before stepping through the metal detector.

“Good morning you two,” you greet them with a familiar smile.

“Morning!” Remy chimes with a smile. He hands you your bag and nudges Abel’s side. He barely looks up, waving, before sinking his head back into the computer. “He slept like shit. Don’t mind him.”

“It’s all good,” you shrug, slinging your bag over your shoulder. Just as you are about to step away, Abel’s head shoots up.

“Stay here. You were flagged.” Abel waves his hand in the air. Two nicely dressed soldiers approach you, guns slung on their sides. Your eyes widen, looking around for any kind of sign that this is a prank that Remy and Abel were pulling on you.

When the soldiers approach you and take your arm, a weight forms on your shoulders. 

It’s not a prank. It’s very fucking real.

Terror rips through your body. Your eyes widen as the masked soldiers stare down at you, their eyes dark and unwelcoming.

“Ma’am. Follow us,” one of the soldiers barks at you. You nod, ready to comply, but are unable to move your feet. You try to move your leg but it doesn’t budge. You awkwardly laugh to yourself, looking down at the unresponsive limb.

Move, dammit! You internally scream, cheeks heating up. 

Remy gives your back a gentle tap, nudging you forward. You stumble over your feet, pushing through the gap between the soldiers.

They track you from behind and occasionally bark a direction for you to take. They guide you towards the elevator that is reserved for higher ranking officials and officers. Your gulp, heart pounding in your chest. Your ears begin to ring, heating up as nausea overtakes your body. You close your eyes and grip the railing in the elevator, clinging to the cold metal for some kind of relief.

Where did it all go wrong?

Did you translate something wrong? Is it your fault that a world war is about to erupt? You knew you should have told Darryl to not give you assignments on the language you’re weakest at! He should have given it to Miranda!

Your foot rapidly taps against the elevator floor. Each ding from a new floor heightens your anxiety, body shivering at the thought of what could happen to you.

Ding.

Goodbye cruel world!

Ding.

It was nice knowing you all!

Ding.

Don’t forget about me! Use my death as an example on what not to do!

You have heard many stories of what happened to translators that interpreted a word incorrectly. They simply disappeared off the face of the earth and were never heard from again. Or they ended up teaching languages at a community college far away from Skyhaven and the Fleet.

You’d rather disappear off the face of the earth than succumb to that fate.

The elevator doors slide open. You look up from the floor, surprised to see a normal looking work environment. One of the soldiers place their hand on your back, pushing your forward. You move with his hand, not particularly enjoying his touch. You shoot him a glare, crossing your arms over your chest.

“I’ll take her from here.”

You freeze. Goosebumps spread across your skin and chills run down your spine. You focus on the wall in front of you, a figure sliding in front of your vision. Your eyes are met with a black uniform, the typical red, white, and blue accents that the Fleet uniforms have.

Your eyes float up, taking in the figure before you. Purple eyes stare down at you, your haze focusing on the golden spot that lays on the bottom of his iris. The nausea you once felt disappears but is quickly replaced with an even worse feeling of complete and utter dread.

“Caleb?” His name rolls off your tongue like butter, melting the ice that surrounds your heart.

So last night was not a dream. Caleb was the one to save you from George, not some random stranger who was there at the time. It was your ex-childhood best friend.

A semblance of a smile flashes across his face before his gaze sharpens. He looks you up and down, hands behind his back. Your gaze drops, taking him in his entirety.

Fuck…he looks great in his uniform.

“Long time no see,” he quips, stoic expression remaining on his face. “Follow me.” Without missing a beat, he turns on his heel and begins to walk away. You look around, blinking as if it’ll snap you out of the dream you’re clearly inside of.

When you don’t follow, Caleb walks back. His fingers curl around your wrist, his touch shocking your body to life. You fumble over your words, random sounds fleeing from your lips, as Caleb guides you away from invasive eyes.

His hair is still short but is just shaggy enough to remain charming and add to his looks. Your squint your eyes, noticing a few light scars on the right side of his body. They creep up his neck from under his wrinkle-free uniform. Caleb opens a door and you step inside, swallowing whatever confusion you had left in your mouth, and turn to him.

“Caleb?” Your voice is breathy. Caleb’s eyes fix themselves on you, the man leaning against the closed door with his arms crossed over his chest. “You’re…what?”

“Take your time,” he chuckles. Your breath gets caught in your throat. His chuckle makes you want to jump for joy. “We are on a time crunch though, pipsqueak—”

“Don’t call me that,” you interrupt him, hissing as your instincts take over.

Any positive feeling you felt towards him in the past five minutes has vanished. You glare and cross your arms over your chest.

How dare Caleb call you that? That was always her nickname, alongside other ridiculous pet names that always made you gag whenever you looked back in your memories.

You made for certain that you’ll never be his pipsqueak.

You groan, rolling your eyes, and turn away from him. To him, it feels like you just drove a knife into his heart. He stares at the back of your head, his gaze falling for a brief moment, noticing the curve of your ass, before circling in front of you.

“I won’t call you that…noted,” he breathlessly chuckles. Once you tilt your chin up to show your glare, his chuckle gets caught in his throat. He covers it with a cough, suddenly feeling nervous around you.

Caleb has never felt this way with you before. In the past, everything was so easy! It was smooth sailing with you, low maintenance. He knew that you didn’t need the constant validation from him whereas she always needed it.

Maybe that’s been his foolish mistake all along. He should have paid more attention to you instead of her.

Is this what loathing feels like? Complete and utter contempt towards someone? Caleb hasn’t experienced this kind of negative feeling before, at least, not with her.

He had always felt so alive whenever she looked his way. Her beauty and innocence was so captivating. He adored playing the hero she needed.

Where was your hero? Who was there to call you pipsqueak or any other cheesy nickname? God, he’s been a fucking idiot.

“Is there…a nickname you’d like me to call you? For old time’s sake?” Caleb’s question earns him an angered scoff from you.

“You can call me by my name, thanks,” You look at him, eyes flickering down to his exposed neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His gloved hand reaches for the collar of his shirt, wanting to loosen his restrictive tie, but falls. When your eyes meet again, his shoulders tense before relaxing.

Is he…is he nervous?

“Tell me, Colonel,” you begin. Caleb’s head perks up and he looks at you, hanging onto every word that comes from your lips. “Why am I here?”

“I heard you’re the best translator we have,” Caleb’s compliment makes you raise your eyebrow, “I only want the best. I need you to translate something for me.”

“Sure, I can do that. Not like I have much of a choice, right?” Your half-joke earns a loud laugh from Caleb. You raise an eyebrow at him.

Really? You think to yourself. That’s what made you laugh?

“I forgot how funny you are,” Caleb comments. He pokes your nose and your face scrunches up, watching as he turns on his heel, opening up the door. You stare at his back and the memories of him from your childhood come pouring in.

You sit alone on a bench. You watch as Caleb stands in line with her at an ice cream stand. You watch them with close and steady eyes, your gaze transfixed on how she plays with his fingers. They laugh and lean into each other, undoubtedly whispering secrets that only they can know to one another.

It pained you, yes, to always be pushed to the sideline. You got used to it with time. You didn’t notice it the first year of knowing them. You were all careless and innocent children. Of course there was no malcontent with their actions!

However, the constant repetition of being left out only to be covered with half-asses apologies and sorries became very old really quick.

And it definitely felt like a stab in the back when you hear their mingled laughter through your open window. You’d catch your self sitting by the window, sighing to yourself as they played knight and princess in Josephine’s backyard.

Whenever you played with them, she always made you the monstrous dragon that held her captive. Caleb had to the the one to kill you. You had to watch from the ground, covered in dirt and dust, as he brought her into his arms, swinging her around.

Her thrilled shrieks and giggles were like poison to your soul.

You were only eight.

With thicker skin and a heart beginning to protect itself with a shield of ice, you braved the final days of your friendship with them. When it grew to be too much, you left.

It was the best decision you could have made, right?

It felt so easy to leave, even as they excluded you from the ice cream line. What’s funny is that they forgot to get you your sweet treat, meaning that you had to eventually stand in the line by yourself while they relaxed on the bench.

You were always left with sticky fingers while he cleaned hers, calling her by that stupid fucking nickname while he wiped away the melted ice cream from her fingertips. They were clean and pristine while yours were left with sticky residue and bits of napkin that lingered behind.

You were almost always determined to ditch them after moments like these. You laid in bed, holding your favorite plushie to your chest, when a small pebble hit your window. You walked over, pushing the glass open, as you poked your head outside.

Caleb stood on the ground below. He smiled up at you and held up a small plastic bag. You watched as he climbed up the side of your house with ease, using the vines to reach your window.

The anger slowly left your body the closer he got to you. He’d poke his head instead and you plucked the plastic bag from his mouth, revealing a small metal butterfly you had saw in town earlier that day.

“I got it just for you,” he said, resting his elbows on the windowsill. You watched him with wide eyes, your ice heart melting from his actions and words. “A token of my appreciation.”

Maybe sticking around for a little longer isn’t a bad idea, you thought to yourself.

You always loved butterflies after that day.

“You coming?” Caleb asks, head tilted to the side.

Looking around, you realize where you are and shake away the bittersweet memories from your childhood. You let out a ragged breath. Your lungs burn and your vision blurs.

His purple orbs memorized every detail of your face. When he noticed the small amount of tears in your eyes, he reached forward, wanting to catch them before they had the chance to fall. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” You slap his hand away and push past him, entering the main room.

As you walk, you realize that what’s left between you two has expired.

The apple of his eye is not you. You were a Granny Smith while she was a Honeycrisp.

You were perpetually sour and she was always refreshing. Everyone always lavished in her presence while you faded into the background. You were left out in the sun while she was carried inside and taken care of.

It’s no wonder why you’re rotten to the core. 

Daggers of pain stabbed into his sides, slipping between his ribs, leaving him breathless. His perfect demeanor finally reveled a crack, head lunched over. He follows you into the hallway, planting himself at your side.

Clearly, there is something wrong with you. Not in a way like there is with him, you know, having failed his psych evaluation, but something that is deeply rooted in your core. He wants to rip your chest open and to pull your heart out. He wants the slowly pull away the thorns that pierce your heart and kiss the wounds. He desperately wants to mend your internal wounds and hold you until you fall asleep in his arms.

“Where’s the file?” You ask him, the tears now gone from your eyes. A slow and ragged breath leaves his mouth, unable to look away from your remarkable face. You snap your fingers in his face, irritation blossoming inside your chest.

“Oh, right,” Caleb recovers. He lays his hand on your lower back. Warmth seeps through the thin fabric of your blouse. Despite the anger you felt a minute ago, you can feel your body relax under his touch. You can tell that he notices it too when his cocky smile returns to his face. You tear your gaze away from his, heat tingling your ears from embarrassment.

He leans down to whisper something in your ear but you turn your head away, not wanting to hear anything else from him. Thankfully, he catches on and straightens his posture.

The office is foreign to you. Many hallways lead in different directions. People in uniforms turn left and right, catching you off guard as Caleb pulls you out just in time before you collide with them. They barely look up from the papers in their hands or leave their conversation to say sorry or apologize.

Caleb swiftly guides you through the floor. The two of you weave and bob through the organized chaos. People stop and salute Caleb as he passes by. He nods in their direction, his charming smiling disappearing as he puts his Colonel mask back on.

He opens a door and reveals an almost empty interrogation room. There’s no two way mirror nor are there the usual cameras in the corner. At least, that’s what you’ve seen on your favorite television show. You step inside, flinching when the door slams closed, the faint click of a lock making goosebumps form all over your skin.

“No need to be nervous, Caleb says, sitting down into one of the chairs at the metal table. He spreads his legs open, making himself comfortable. He looks up at you, gesturing to the chair in front of him. You hesitate, having to force your eyes to look away from his legs, and sit in the chair beside him.

The table only has a few items. Caleb takes off his hat, placing it near the edge. He plucks off his gloves, taking his time since you’re watching him, and set them on top of his hat. In the center sits a neat stack of papers with a few pens and pencils on top. Beside that is an audio recorder with an attached set of earbuds.

“You know how to be discreet, right?” Caleb asks. You sneak a glance at him, throwing a bit of side eye, before picking up the audio recorder.

Ha. Do you know to be discreet…how do you think I got through high school? I was discreet with my hatred of your beloved pipsqueak

“I’ll manage,” you cooly respond.

You already know the drill.

You put on the headphones, you write down whatever it is the people on the other side are talking about, and you hand your work over to Darryl.

Except…Darryl isn’t here. Caleb is.

And you aren’t at your usual workstation using your computer to type. You’re actually writing these words down. What kind of mission is this?

“Then you know that you’ll be working directly under me for the assignment,” Caleb leans closer to you. You pay no attention to it.

“Will I?” You play coy and look at him, batting your eyelashes at him.

Caleb has to picture Josephine naked to stop the tent from forming in his pants.

“Yes…” his word comes out as a whisper.

“May I know any background on it? You know, for translation sake.” You can feel him slowly draw you in.

Those purple eyes that you quickly get lost in. The way his fragrant cologne smells. The way his canine tooth flashes whenever he smiles.

And that fucking uniform. Fuck me. You think.

“It’s classified,” he breathes back, your faces mere inches from each other. Caleb is so thankful that there are no cameras inside. If this keeps going the way he wants, he’ll have you bent over with your panties in your mouth to keep you quiet.

“Shame,” you quickly quip back. You tear yourself away from Caleb, leaving him hanging in the tension you two created. You grab the earbuds and slide them inside your ears. The first piece of paper is placed in front of you and you opt for the pen, knowing you never make mistakes.

Caleb watches you with close eyes. Your hand moves at a furious pace, swiftly scribbling down the words from the audio file.

He sits up in his chair, resting his elbow on the table beside him, placing his chin on his raised palm. The Colonel’s eyes close and he slowly inhales. That sweet yet spicy scent of apples and cinnamon fill his nostrils. He slowly exhales, hoping that your perfume lingers on his uniform long after you leave.

His eyes open when he hears you switch to a new paper. You slide him the filled one, you fingers grazing against each other, before you continue to write like you have a gun to your head.

Caleb chuckles to himself. He leans to the right. With the slight movement, he’s able to get a better look at your face.

Your brows are pushed together, no more space between the two. The skin below your bottom lip is sucked in, slowly moving back and forth. Are you…eating yourself? Your eyes flit to him for a brief second. Your face relaxes before it immediately returns to its focused state.

You are so beautiful. Even when you focus on the assignment at hand, Caleb can see the dedication you have for the things you love.

He hopes that soon, he’ll be number one on the list of things you care about. Caleb can brag about it to his already minuscule group of friends, showing off the future photos and selfies you’ll take together. He’ll be able to say that you’re his and nobody else’s.

If someone like George were to come in the way of that, well, he’ll deal with them and lock you away so you don’t have to witness it.

“What are you looking at?” You question, not even looking up from the paper. You slide it to him, drawing your hand away before he can touch your delicate skin, to feel just how soft it is even if it was for a fraction of a second.

“Are you doing anything tonight?” His question surprises the both of you. It slipped from his thoughts before he could stop it from escaping. Caleb’s face remains stoic. On the inside, though, he’s screaming at himself for coming off as too strong.

Your pen scratches to the side, destroying the perfect lines you’ve made from transcribed words. The tip of the pen pierces the paper. Black ink pools around the sharp metal tip. Your fingertips turn white from how tight you grip the pen.

Caleb reaches over you, his muscular arm passing in front of your gaze, trapping you in your chair. He grabs the audio recorder, the device looking minuscule compared to how large his hands are. Veins are prominent in his hand, leading up his wrist before disappearing under the fabric of his uniform jacket.

Your gaze starts from the tips of his fingers, gently dragging past his exposed skin and up his dark material of his uniform, sliding up his shoulder, hovering on the bare skin of his neck. The audio recording in your ear pauses. Caleb retracts his arm, hooking his finger under your chin. He eases your eyes the rest of the way up to his.

Your breath hitches. Lips barely parted, your cheeks flush from his touch and how close he is to you. His lips are mere inches from yours.

All it takes is one…gentle…push…

“I asked if you were doing anything tonight,” the raspiness in his voice makes your lower stomach purr. Your eyes fall to his lips. You gnaw the inside of your cheek, slowly leaning closer to him.

“Are you asking me as Caleb? Or as my Colonel?” You whisper.

“Which one will you say yes to dinner with?”

“Hmm…” you quietly hum. You reach out, fingers curling around his uniform’s tie. You give it a firm tug. A low groan emits from Caleb’s throat. You smirk. “Neither.”

Caleb matches your smirk. His hand snakes up your arm. His long, slender fingers wrap around the entirety of your hand. He overpowers your grip and the tie falls free from your hold. He brings your knuckles to his lips. He plants a firm kiss to them, his eyes locked onto yours.

“I’ll pick you up at seven.”

You push away from the table. Cheeks red, unable to breathe, you step away from him and to the interrogation room door. You tug on the cold door handle, the metal immediately warming due to you body heat. The lock clicks and you shove the heavy hunk of metal forward, escaping into the public eye of the office.

[babyboywilson]

sitting on the couch, hands interlocked, with a mostly empty box of valentine’s chocolates balanced on cas’ thigh, dean squeezed cas’ hand softly.

4 years.

they’d been married 4 years.

dean didn’t even think he’d be able to manage 4 months in an actual relationship without pushing the other person away or running the other direction as quick as he could because commitment wasn’t his thing. but here cas was 4 years later. still sitting by dean’s side. still wearing the ring dean had slid onto his ring finger in front of their family. still loving dean more and more every day.

cas had showered dean with valentine’s and wedding anniversary gifts throughout the day. but dean was holding onto his gift for cas. waiting for the right moment to give it to him. they were sat watching an old western movie-one of dean’s favorites- but dean wasn’t paying attention. he was reflecting on their marriage. how they’d ended up here. how they were still married after 4 years.

there were good days and bad days. days where dean couldn’t stand looking at cas’ face and he stormed out the room and blasted his music as loud as it would go. days where cas would sleep on the couch because he refused to touch dean if dean was going to act like a dick. but the one thing they never did was walk out. they never left. they went as far as a couple rooms apart and that was it. they needed the reassurance that even when they were seething with rage, they could still find their way back to each other. they could still see each other and know they were there. because that fear that seeped in was undeniable. the fear clawed it’s way up dean’s throat - seeing cas dragged away by black ooze with no way for dean to save him. the despair cas felt of being completely alone with nothing but emptiness surrounding him and no way back to dean.

but there were good days too. and god, were they good. the way cas would surprise dean by cooking dean dinner on a random tuesday after dean had been out in the garage working on the impala for hours. dean stopping to get cas flowers on his way home from the grocery store just to see the fond smile on cas’ face. the absolutely tender way cas made love to him, so soft and gentle it tore dean’s heart apart and put it back together again brighter than ever. how cas would be walking down the hall with a basket of laundry and dean would snag the basket from his hands, press cas back against the wall, and make out with him until there were stars in cas’ eyes just because the angel was walking around in dean’s old sweatshirt and the sight was so good dean wanted to meld their souls together by kissing cas breathless.

it was worth it. the good and the bad. it was worth it all to have this beautiful angel by his side.

his husband.

cas squeezed dean’s hand back, breaking dean from his thoughts.

“what are you thinking about?” cas asked, dragging his thumb softly across the back of dean’s hand.

dean dragged his eyes away from the tv and over to cas. he hadn’t been watching anyway. he’d been too busy thinking about cas. “you,” he said simply.

“i’m right here,” cas said gently. the same way he always did when dean got lost in thought. that soft look was back on cas’ face again. the look of sheer adoration the angel got when he allowed dean to see and feel the love cas had for him.

finally, dean had found the right moment. with his free hand, he reached out and opened the drawer of the coffee table, pulling out a wooden box. a box he’d spent weeks carving himself in the garage. “happy valentine’s day,” dean said, placing the box into cas’ hand.

cas looked down at the box, then up to dean, and back down to the box. “that’s… there’s… where did you find a box with enochian on it?”

shaking his head, dean shifted cas’ fingers to trace over the enochian carved into the lid of the box. “i didn’t.”

cas’ eyebrows scrunched downwards in confusion, until he’d traced the last letter with his fingertip. ‘cas winchester.’

“you made this?”

dean nodded softly. “enochian is a bitch of a language to learn,” he said with a huff. guiding cas’ hand, he opened the box, revealing a carved wooden ring cushioned in the center of the box.

cas’ eyes filled with tears as he stroked his thumb over the ring. recognition dawned over his face a moment later as he translated the enochian. “that’s… our vows. you engraved our vows in enochian?”

all dean could do was nod. his throat suddenly felt thick with unshed tears and words seemed to fail him. slowly, cas slipped the ring from the box and slid it onto his ring finger above the gold band that dean had placed there 4 years ago. on their wedding day, dean had brought cas’ hand to his lips and kissed his finger where the ring sat. and he found himself copying the motion now; guiding cas’ hand up to his lips and placing a soft lingering kiss against the wooden ring on cas’ finger.

the look in cas’ eyes as he locked gazes with dean was so lovestruck that dean glanced away. too much love. too much devotion. it made dean feel like he was breaking apart; shattering into pieces in cas’ hands.

“dean,” cas murmured, reaching out and stroking his hand across dean’s jaw; tilting his head until cas could rest their foreheads together.

taking a deep breath and closing his eyes, dean whispered in enochian, “I love you, cas. happy anniversary.”

when their lips met in kiss, dean felt cas’ grace spark between them; healing dean and intertwining their love until it became one. “I love you, too.”

[winterbirb]

Many tags pointing out that this happens in Europe as well (and lbr, American farming 200 years ago had nothing to do with being "ethnically native" so this post wasn't limited to America in the first place). The European models seem to all be carryovers of serfdom.

I fear that, much like the ripple effects of a millenia of the British monarchy starting as a foreign colonizing institution that maintained its power through defining their foreign-ness as superior+giving them the right to rule*, history did not start 400 years ago and things actually suck because of much older reasons

*this statement needs polished. Badly.

On the same topic, so so so many entrenched USAmerican conceptions of what property is comes from European philosophy, and this philosophy and discussion was directly connected to the whole serfdom situation. I'm not a scholar in this subject so I can't break it down much further but...

Ah wait and I just remembered the American concept of farming specifically is probably related to the 'yeoman farmer' thing, something which was directly tied to colonization (small independent farmers were getting their land from somewhere and someone), and the attitudes around colonization are, of course, directly a result of the European attitudes toward property and Commons vs "owned" land.

But after a few generations these small farmers ended up being promoted as the Moral Heart etc etc and this is where we get into them being considered "ethnically/culturally indigenous" by Old Standards—basically, they were descended from integrated white Europeans, probably some flavor of inoffensive Protestant—

Wait, I wonder if the stereotype also came from the influence of Germanic Protestantism that put a lot of cultural focus on unassuming clothes, little decoration, and keeping your head down and working hard. All without as much Fucking Crazy as the Anglicans (who got kicked out of England for being Fucking Crazy) because they were more just serfs who really didn't want to be serfs.

Anyway the Great Depression + Dust Bowl happened and all the cutesy protestant farmers in Middle America got Kentucky Fried Fucked and Big Farma bought up a bunch of land.

The end.

It is so disingenuous when supermarkets have "grown by: Farmer X" on their packaging because it's like, I'll be looking at a pack of strawberries grown by farmer x and he'll actually be the managing director of a fruit farm that employs 2,000 people as pickers!

[herrmannhalsteadproduction]

You Had Me at...

He didn't know why he was even still awake.

No, that was a lie.

He knew exactly why, but he also knew it was stupid and silly and completely outside the realm of possibility. He just hadn't been able to help himself.

He'd stayed up and watched the clock, waited as the minutes ticked by until it was officially Valentine's Day, and held his breath...

And then nothing.

He'd huffed out a laugh, telling himself he was more embarrassed than disappointed because honestly, what had he expected?

Evan to show up at the door to declare his love? To want to get back together?

To want him?

That wasn't Tommy's life. That was fantasy. The stuff of romcoms, not the real world.

Reality was getting into his ratty pajama pants and an ancient, worn-soft LAFD t-shirt (that still had a B and a U and a half-peeled Y on the back) and accepting the fact that he was once again alone for this stupid, fake holiday...that he absolutely loved.

Sighing, he made his way out to the kitchen and dug around in his freezer until he found the pint of cookie dough ice cream that Evan had left there and Tommy had been avoiding for the past three months. What was the point of leaving it? Evan was never coming back. It wasn't like he'd be there to get mad at Tommy for eating it and why let it go to waste?

He stood there, staring at the ice cream.

His therapist would have plenty to say about him struggling to let himself have things, but that was a problem for Tuesday Tommy.

...screw it.

He was eating the ice cream.

Tommy snatched the container out of the freezer and set it down on the counter, ignoring its accusing stare as he grabbed a spoon out of the drawer.

"This is for the best," he muttered. "I'm putting us both out of our misery, okay? We can't wait forever. He's never coming back."

He tapped the spoon against the lid, frowning when a faint knock sounded back.

"What the fu-"

The knock again, louder this time and clearly coming from the front door.

Tommy set the spoon down beside the ice cream, grabbed his phone, and crept down the hallway toward the door. He was still debating calling 911 when he caught sight of a familiar silhouette through the window and his heart stopped.

He'd know those curls anywhere.

Evan startled, hand still raised when Tommy whipped open the door.

"Shit," he said, eyes going wide. "I mean, not sh-not that, I just...I wasn't expecting you to answer so quickly and I'm still kind of working on what I'm going to say..."

"...did you want me to close the door and give you a minute?" Tommy asked after another weighted beat passed between them. He'd stand back in the hallway for as long as it took. As long as Evan needed.

"No!" Evan jolted forward, hand flexing like he was ready to catch it - as if Tommy would willingly close a door between them ever again. "I..."

Tommy waited, drinking in the sight of Evan as he fidgeted on the front porch. He itched to tug the lip free that he was chewing on, but he was equally afraid to touch him.

He didn't think he could bear it if this turned out to be a dream.

"I watched them all," Evan blurted out suddenly. He rubbed at the back of his neck, cheeks going red. "All of the movies I could remember from your shelves. T-the romance ones? And then Maddie recommended some more."

Tommy didn't know what to make of that. "Why-"

"Because everyone said I wasn't allowed to bake anymore," Evan said, as though that was a sentence that would clear things up. "But I had to do something, right? To stop myself from calling you every second that I was awake."

Wait, what?

"And I figured, if I couldn't stop thinking about you, then at least, I could maybe get inside your head and try to understand where we went wrong - where I went wrong," Evan barreled on like he wasn't completely upending Tommy's brain. "I watched them all and in every single one, ever single one, the couple has a fight and b-breaks up because, well, for all kinds of reasons, but it was because they were always missing what was right in front of them."

Evan took a deep, steadying breath, bracing himself on the doorframe. "I said a lot of stuff that night, but I missed saying the most important thing of all. I felt it, felt it so much it felt too big to say, but that was a mistake." He looked up, meeting Tommy's gaze with bright eyes.

"I love you, Tommy. I love you. I'm sorry I did everything backwards and managed to leap ahead all at the same time." Evan shook his head, blinking back tears as Tommy fought to hold back his own.

"I'm sorry I ever made you doubt that what I feel for you is real," he said "The most real and right thing I think I've ever felt in my life and I don't want to lose you. The last few months have been...I felt like I was missing a part of myself. Like my heart has been out there in the world without me and I've hated every minute of it."

"Please," Evan said, searching Tommy's face, hope threaded through every letter. "I know we have a lot we need to talk about, but can we - can we try again?"

Tommy took a shaky breath, still half-convinced he was about to wake up and have all of this ripped away from him.

"Please say something," Evan whispered, his shaky plea finally snapping Tommy into action.

He reached out to cup Evan's cheek, stroking a thumb against his skin as he leaned in. "You had me at 'shit'," Tommy said, a helpless smile twitching at the corners of his lips.

Evan's mouth dropped open as Tommy's words sank in. Relief warred against an extreme pout as he poked at Tommy's chest. "Did you seriously just Jerry Maguire me? I can't even-"

The rest of his protest was cut off when Tommy yanked him inside the house for a searing kiss, kicking the door shut behind them.

"I love you too," Tommy murmured against Evan's lips as he pressed him into the wall. He tried to get the apology he'd been agonizing over for the last three months out between kisses. "I'm sorry I ran. I got scared and stupid and I want this. Want you. Want everything."

Evan groaned, grabbing at him as he gave back as good as he got, kissing every part of Tommy he could reach without letting him move an inch out of his arms.

"Stay," Tommy gasped when they finally broke apart for air. "Please stay and just sleep beside me and we can talk properly in the morning?" He wasn't prepared to let Evan out of his sight any time soon.

"Try and get rid of me," Evan said with a little laugh as he rested his forehead against Tommy's. They kissed once more, softly, knowing they had time now. Letting out a happy sigh, Evan dropped a tiny peck on the end of Tommy's nose before releasing him and moving toward the kitchen.

Tommy went to lock the door, freezing when Evan let out a garbled noise of outrage.

"Is this my ice cream?"

Biting back a grin, Tommy headed toward Evan and his continuing grumbles...

And let his grin actually spread when he rounded the corner to find Evan standing there, holding out a second spoon.

[writeriguess]

Can you write a katsuki x female reader where he's jealous because he realises Kiri has a crush on you. Reader doesn't know about katsuki's feelings.

Burning Red

Katsuki wasn’t the type to get jealous. At least, that’s what he told himself. He was confident, strong, the best in everything he did—so why the hell would he care about something as stupid as feelings?

But then there was you.

You, with that infuriatingly bright smile, your dumb jokes that weren’t even that funny but still made his lips twitch, the way you always stood next to him during training even though he pretended not to care. You’d been in his life long enough that he got used to having you around, used to the way his heart stuttered in his chest whenever you ruffled his hair and called him "Bakugou" in that casual, teasing way.

What he wasn’t used to was Kirishima looking at you like that.

At first, he ignored it. Convinced himself he was imagining things. Kirishima was just friendly, that’s all. He treated everyone with that same kind of warmth. But then Katsuki noticed the way Kirishima’s eyes softened around you. How he always made sure you had a seat next to him during lunch, how he conveniently showed up whenever you needed help with your hero studies, and how his hand hovered near yours like he was just waiting for the right moment to grab it.

That’s when it hit him. Like a sucker punch straight to the gut.

Kirishima had a crush on you.

And that realization sent Katsuki spiraling into something he refused to name.

—

The breaking point came on a normal Friday after training. You and Kirishima were sitting on the common room couch, laughing over something on your phone. Katsuki was in the kitchen, pretending to get water but really just watching the two of you from the corner of his eye.

Kirishima was way too close.

His arm was slung over the back of the couch, his knee barely an inch from yours. Katsuki watched the way Kirishima grinned at you, how you nudged him with your elbow, playfully rolling your eyes. And then—you laughed. That real, unguarded laugh, the one that made your whole face light up.

Something ugly twisted in Katsuki’s chest.

Before he even realized what he was doing, he was moving. Striding across the room with sharp, purposeful steps.

“Oi, shitty hair,” he snapped.

Kirishima blinked up at him. “Huh?”

Katsuki crossed his arms, standing right in front of the couch like an immovable wall. “Aren’t you late for training?”

Kirishima tilted his head. “No? We just finished—”

“You sure?” Katsuki cut him off, his voice low, almost a growl.

There was a pause. Kirishima glanced at him, then at you, and then back at Katsuki. A flicker of understanding passed over his expression.

“Oh. Uh—yeah, I should go. Forgot about something,” Kirishima said, scratching the back of his head as he stood up. He shot you a small smile before heading toward the dorms.

You watched him go, then turned to Katsuki with narrowed eyes. “Okay, what the hell was that?”

“What was what?” He refused to meet your gaze, stuffing his hands into his pockets.

“You just chased Kirishima away like some territorial guard dog,” you huffed, crossing your arms. “You jealous or something?”

The words were meant as a joke, lighthearted and teasing, but Katsuki froze.

For a split second, he was completely still. No sharp retort, no scoff or insult. Just… silent.

Your breath caught.

Then, before you could process it, he scoffed—too harsh, too forced. “Tch. As if.”

But you saw it. The way his jaw clenched. The way his fingers twitched at his sides. The way the tips of his ears were turning red.

You had no idea what to do with that.

[hwaslayer]

wildfire (cs) | thirteen.

—spotify playlist | series masterlist

—summary: assistant professor in bioengineering, incredibly attractive, lonely and divorced; that’s how most people describe san. but despite the events that have happened in his life, san has a lot going for himself. he’s a successful, sought out professor due to his brilliant contributions to science at just an early age of 32. he worked hard to get where he was now; head deep into his research, his publications, building his lab and creating a name for himself. everything was good and smooth sailing— until it wasn’t. because when he meets you, a bioengineering grad student interested in rotating in his lab, he finds himself ready to risk all the blood, sweat and tears he put in throughout the years just to keep you close— his need for you spiraling out of control like a wildfire.

—pairing: asst. professor!choi san x grad student!f. reader

—genre: (18+ - minors dni) strangers to lovers, grad school au | fluff, angst, smut

—word count: 7k

—chapter content/warnings: cussing, we catch a lil moment with belle 🙄, crying .. lots of crying, just lots of hurt and heartache, more misunderstandings, we see a bit of parents from both sides - esp san's dynamic with his father, flashback scene with smut: oral (f. receiving), 🤠, praises, lots of sweet kisses and tender moments, some nipple play, soft and slow smut!!

—a/n: fic announcement soon!

If the texts yesterday afternoon weren't nerve-wracking enough, it was the downtime in between the texts and seeing San that had you ready to curl up in a ball out of anxiety; fetal position, rocking back and forth as an attempt to rid the feeling. San hadn't texted much after deciding the two of you should talk the following day, and you never questioned why he couldn't just see you the same night he had told you he needed to talk. 

you: 😞 you didn't even look my way when you walked back into the office and i haven't heard from you all day.

you: i hate how all my papers and presentations are due this week. plus ppl have been weird, idk. i just wanna cuddle 😭

san: i'm sorry. it's just been a day.

you: that's never stopped you before... ☹️ what's wrong, san?

san: we should talk, baby.

you: oh.. okay. so let's talk tonight? i just need to finish up a few things, and i'm halfway done on most of my papers and presentations. i think they can wait a bit.

san: no, you should finish up. i've got a ton of things to catch up on so tonight won't work. can we do this tomorrow? i'll come pick you up once we're both done in the lab.

you: are you sure?

san: mhm. i'm sorry again, it really just has been kinda all over the place today.

you: it's fine, san. as long as you can promise me we're okay?

san: we will be. i'll talk to you tomorrow, okay? try to take breaks and rest well.

You accepted it, even if it felt excruciating and painfully long.

These things never turn out well, and you knew your case wasn't gonna be an exception. You were afraid for it, you were nervous and you were wondering what San might do to try and lessen the blow of whatever was coming.

He wouldn't hurt you, right?

He meant it when he said you two would be okay, right?

Even if he tried to be as reassuring, everything about it felt off and cryptic. None of it felt like sunshine and rainbows, none of it felt like the San you felt in love with. None of it felt like the giddy excitement, the comfort, the safety you had come to know and love. 

You hated automatically assuming the worse, but nothing was preventing you from doing so— not even San.

Today was actually pretty uneventful, nonetheless. Despite the wait and silence from San, you felt like you managed to get by in one piece. It still felt like everyone was looking at you; like they had all known your deepest, darkest secrets. Like they had been following your every move, especially while you were with San. It still felt awful, but you had learned how to push aside because people could talk and assume— but they would never know the true story.

And who knows? Even if you tried to explain yourself, they wouldn't get it.

You didn't really owe that explanation to anyone, you think.

The only other weird part about your day was when you had tried to help Belle earlier since you had some downtime and she brushed you off completely. She had been avoiding you, and it was pretty obvious she was letting the talk get to her head. She didn't maintain eye contact with you, she didn't acknowledge you, and she didn't talk to you the way that she used to.

—FLASHBACK

You walk into the lab, passing by a few of your labmates with a tiny, toothless smile etched on your lips. There was no Sunwoo around, but there was Belle; yet, she still hadn't turned to acknowledge your presence. You had gotten through your to-do list for Sunwoo's project, leaving you with extra time to spare today. You hadn't been able to dedicate a lot of your support to Belle lately due to all those technical issues you needed to troubleshoot for your project with Sunwoo, and you figured this would be a good time to make up for it.

Unless she had other plans.

"Hey Belle!" You come to her desk, pulling the courage from deep down within you to approach her first. She looks up at you, a brow cocked up before returning her attention to her laptop. "I have some time to help—"

"No thanks, I'm good." She doesn't look at you. "Just so you know, I don't really need extra help anymore. I've got everything figured out already."

"Oh, okay." You step away from her desk, fiddling with your fingers while you stand there looking dumb. "Are you sure?" She pauses her typing before finally looking back up at you with her brows knit tightly together. 

"I just said it, didn't I?"

"I-I'm sorry, I just wanted to make sure since I had the time and I haven't been able to help you out as much cause of Sunwoo's project."

"Why don't you go and use your extra time with Professor Choi since you've been doing that anyway?" She gives you a look that settles in the pit of your stomach. You don't say anything to her, even as she shuts her laptop close and stands— brushing past you to get to one of the behavior rooms. You feel a bit hurt, and your other labmates aren't even paying attention to the whole thing; or, maybe they are, and they just don't wanna say anything to dig deeper into the wound. 

So, you turn on your heel with your head down, returning to your desk to continue your data analysis in silence.

—END

You try to tell yourself that it doesn't really matter— that you didn't need anyone's reassurance or validation. It hurt despite not being super close to Belle, but you knew she thought of you in a different light now and that wasn't really fair. You could see how it'd look problematic on the surface, but you thought she knew you better than that.

Guess it's also your fault for assuming.

When it's time for San to pick you up at your usual pick-up spot, you grab your keys and head out— still not having changed out of your outfit for the day. You try to take slow steps to not seem too eager, but you can't help it when you see San parked in his usual spot. This time though, he isn't watching for you in the rear view mirror. 

"Hey." You swing the door open and slide in. San gives you a small smile, followed by a:

"Hey." He watches as you dip forward to kiss him on the lips like you always do, and he surprisingly takes it. You were getting ready for the rejection or some kind of pull back; but, to San's own knowledge, he did it because he knew it'd be the last time he could savor it.

"You okay? Were you able to finish everything you needed to?"

"Uh, yeah. Think so." He says with a subtle chuckle before driving off. 

"Are we going to your house?"

"Thought we could sit at the view and talk, if that's okay with you?" You slowly nod, keeping your eyes trained on San as he drives.

"Okay. You're scaring me, Sannie." He shakes his head. 

"Please don't be."

"Then why couldn't we just talk about this like normal at your place?"

"Y/N, you trust me, right?" He quickly looks at you as he comes across a red light. You silently nod, just in time for him to drive off and continue onto the destination. "Okay, so trust me." He's still being so cryptic and distant that you don't even know how to respond. You quietly sit back in your chair and watch the surroundings pass you by, trying to settle the queasiness you feel building in your stomach.

These things never go well, and your case doesn't seem to be a one-off.

San continues to remain silent as he drives the rest of the way to the view, the music softly filling in as background noise that's enough to distract you. When he pulls into the small empty side lot and parks his car, he lets out a sigh and sits back.

"How was your day today?" He asks softly, still avoiding contact with you.

"It was okay, I guess. Better than yesterday."

"That's good."

"San." You adjust your position so you're looking directly at him, body facing him. "What is it that you wanted to talk about?"

"I don't know where to start."

"You have to start somewhere." He sighs again. "You know, whatever it is, you can tell me. We can figure this out together." You raise your hand to cup his cheek, almost somewhat of a gesture to force him to look at you. And for a minute, you feel him relax under your touch. You can tell he wants to turn and kiss the palm of your hand like he usually does, but he doesn't. "Sannie—"

"We should stop this." Your mouth slightly drops even though you don't know what to say. Your eyes widen, your touch turns cold. You retreat your hand while you let the response sink, San still keeping his gaze out of the window because he truly can't dare to look at you right now.

He'll fold.

He'll forget all about this and risk everything for the both of you.

He shouldn't.

"W-what?"

"We need to stop this, Y/N." He finally looks at you and his gaze feels like an icebox. Everything feels so cold and distant, even if it's supposed to be a front; it's working, and it's fucking you up completely.

"All of a sudden? I-I thought we were fine, what happened? What did I do wrong?" He shakes his head.

"Nothing. It's not anything you did, I'm just trying to be realistic here."

"Realistic? I thought you didn't care about the outside noise?"

"We're only prolonging the inevitable, don't you get it? Everything is going to come crashing down on us whether we like it or not. No matter how hard I try to stop it, this is what it'll eventually come to." You don't really understand where he's coming from or what he's getting at, but it's too late— you feel the tears steadily streaming down your cheeks.

Then, you're sobbing into your hands and you feel pathetic. But San feels terrible, he hates this. He doesn't wanna do this but he's conflicted between right and wrong, between being selfish and letting you go. "San, why?"

"Y/N, please hear me out on this, okay?" He's barely able to answer.

"Why? You ask him again. You cry in his passenger's seat, wiping it away with your sweater sleeves. "You said I could trust you, a-and that you wouldn't hurt me because you didn't care about anyone else."

"I need you to understand that I'm doing this because I care about you."

"But, I love you." San shakes his head as tears streak his own cheeks.

"We're being too selfish." He looks at you. "I am. I'm being too selfish and I don't need this to ruin things for you more. I need to put you first—"

"Why do you get to decide what that looks like for me, San?" He doesn't respond. "So, you don't want this?" He lets out a shaky sigh. "Us?"

"That's far from how I feel and you know it."

"Why can't you just say it back? Why can't we just let this be? I don't care—" You tug on his arm and he grips your hand before shaking his head.

"Because this is already hard as it is. Y/N, listen to me." He pleads, cupping your cheeks. He finally looks deep into your eyes, his thumb gently caressing the surface. The life in his eyes are gone. The glow, the stars. Now, his eyes are dull. They're holding back. They don't show you anything. "We should stop. We need to. Namjoon and the dean are discussing your future at the school, and I need you to keep going in this program. I need you to keep going forward even if that means I can't be right there with you every step of the way. You deserve to be here and you deserve to finish this until the very end. You've worked so hard to get here, and I refuse to let them lose out on you simply because of me."

"This makes no sense to me. Why do we have to do this? We can just be more careful and plan better. We can just—"

"I'm trying to protect you." 

"Protect me? From Namjoon and the dean? Or are you trying to protect yourself?"

"I don't give a damn about me, Y/N!" He's a little angrier with this response but you know it isn't directed towards you. It's towards Namjoon. The dean. Yunho and Iseul. This whole fucked up situation. "I'm always gonna put you first. It's always been about you and it'll always be about you." You cry a bit harder at his answer, unsure of what to make of this entire thing. You don't know if San really means this or if he is just trying to protect you. You don't know what to do, you don't know if you should keep trusting him the same way. 

You don't know if you can, and that's probably because you're blinded by all the overwhelming emotions you're feeling right now.

The both of you sit in this thick silence, your cries now filling the space while San tries to muster up the last bit of his energy to try and make you feel better— to get you to understand this better.

It's not that he wants to, he has to.

"I don't—" He swallows thickly. "I don't wanna do this but I have to. You have to understand." He says at a whisper, more tears streaming down his red-stained cheeks. "You have to understand, baby. Please." He begs. "I don't want them to do anything to you and I don't wanna jeopardize your future. Just listen to me. We have to do this." He leans forward to cup your cheeks and wipe your tears away with his thumb.

"No, we don't." You almost whine, but all San can do is shake his head and sit back in his seat.

"I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you, but I have to do what's best for you." His voice shakes. "I really am so sorry, sweetheart." He answers lowly, wiping his remaining tears before retreating back into his shell and showing off his cold demeanor for the remainder of his time with you. "I should get you back."

"I should've never trusted you. I should've known this was all too good to be true. You didn't care." You cry, repeating all this nonsense to try and get him to hurt the same way as you somehow. Because he'll never understand. Everything had led up to this and you were still unprepared for this. Even though you knew you'd be here at some point, nothing would have ever prepared you for the way your heart drops to your stomach; the way you feel nothing but thunder and rain.

Blue and grey.

He does, though.

In fact, he's probably hurting the most because he had to pull the trigger and let you go.

He hates it. He fucking hates it. 

He's trying to drown out the rest until he gets you back to your building because he can't take it. He can't take hearing you cry anymore, he can't take hearing you say these awful things because you're angry at the moment. He hopes that you'll see where he's coming from eventually because all he's ever wanted to do was protect you and keep you safe.

All he's ever done was care about you, and you only.

All he's ever felt was love for you, and you only. You showed him what love was like again and he'll never take that for granted.

This was him showing you love. He needed to put you first.

"I care about you more than anything. I'm trying to do what's best—"

"Without involving me? Deciding for me? Yeah." You wipe away at your cheeks once more before unbuckling your seatbelt. "Whatever San, save it." You tell him before swinging the door open and stepping out. "You were just trying to protect me. I get it."

"Baby, don't be like that. Please don't make this harder than it already is. I would never intentionally hurt you. You know this." He tries to reach for your hand, but you move it away.

"You don't get to call me that anymore." You roll your eyes. "Anyway, goodluck, San." Is all you say before slamming his door shut and storming off. You begin to cry to yourself again, feeling sorry for yourself and stupid. You know deep down that San was only trying to do the right thing and that he was trying to protect you. But, right now, you're angry, you're sad, you're upset. You feel empty and betrayed and you just need to feel this out in order to let it pass.

This too shall pass.

When you head upstairs, you quickly pack up a few things, along with your laptop and other school-related necessities before locking up and heading to your car. You feel a migraine coming on, which definitely means you should take it easy and stay behind; but, all you can think about is getting to your mom and being away from school for a few days.

Nothing's better than a mother's love and comfort, even though you aren't entirely sure how she's gonna react to this, how she'll feel about San.

In the end, you don't hate him. 

You can't.

You could never.

—FLASHBACK

"That was a good girl's date, wasn't it? We got massages, our nails done. Now we're eating a banana split under this nice weather." Your mom chuckles. "You need to come home more often."

"I know, I know." You scoop up a good helping of the banana split, internally conflicted on when is a good time to let your mom know about what's been going on. She would probably be surprised and scared for you, but your mom had a good way of choosing her words. She had a good way of being there for you but making her concerns known without pointing fingers or putting any blame on your actions.

"How has school been? Your friends?"

"They've been good. We've all been busy with our labs."

"Jiung's been good? You think you guys are all gonna stay in the labs you're currently rotating in?"

"He's good, yeah. And I think so, they all seem to be enjoying it."

"How about you?" You poke at the banana before scooping another helping. Your mom can already tell there's something else on your mind, but she's gonna let you take the floor and open up about it when you're ready.

Which is now. 

You just don't know if she's ready.

"Uh, yeah. It's been good!" You give her a small smile. "I'm still deciding on my route, but it's been good." Pause. "There's actually something else I've been meaning to tell you."

"Okay, try me!" She chuckles. "What is it?"

"I've been seeing someone."

"Oh?" She laughs. "Well, isn't that great?! I mean, you never needed a man, okay. But, as long as they make you happy and add value to your life. I just want you happy." She laughs. "Who is he, where did you meet? Tell me everything!" You sigh and take a deep breath before starting.

"We met at school. In the lab. Because.. he's my rotation professor." You give her a look, afraid of what she'll say. She stops mid-bite and almost chokes, setting her spoon down before looking at you with knitted brows.

"Your.. what?! Y/N—"

"Mom, please. Just hear me out before you start assuming and saying things. He didn't abuse his power, I didn't throw myself on him, okay? It just happened." You immediately say and look at her with puppy eyes. "We just happened. We grew feelings for each other and just clicked really well. We've been keeping things lowkey."

"But, Y/N. Honey, I say this sincerely. What if people find out? Not that I want them to, but they will." You shrug.

"I don't know, we'll figure it out."

"H-how old is he?"

"32."

"Oh, okay. He's young."

"And handsome." You rest your chin on the palm of your hand and smile. "His name is San. Choi San. He's pretty popular in the bioengineering and neuroscience world."

"That's good." Your mom is slightly shutting down and you know it's because her thoughts are traveling at 100mph and she doesn't know what to think or do.

Or say.

"Mom, I'm sorry. I know you're worried but I'll be fine, okay? I promise. It'll all be fine." You add to break the silence and reach for her hand.

"I just don't want him to hurt you and then you lose everything you've worked so hard for over him."

"I just don't know where this is gonna take us. Things feel too overwhelming. Like.. I just don't want any talk getting into his head about us."

"It could really ruin things for the both of you, Y/N. Please be smart about your actions. Don't throw everything away because of him. That's all I ask. Just by the looks of it, I know he makes you happy and you're riding cloud nine, but you need to remember who comes first— yourself."

"I know. I hear you. I don't mean to cause any unnecessary worry or anything."

"No, you're not. Lovey, I'm your mom, I'm always gonna worry regardless. But, I trust you enough to make the right decisions and to take care of yourself. I know you'll be smart and I know you won't be completely reckless. I'm not gonna lie, this— this isn't a 'conventional' relationship and I'm not sure how I feel about it yet." She sighs and looks at you with a hint of concern in her eyes. "I'm trying hard to see this from your side, not from my side, and I think it'll take me time to get used to. In the end, I just don't want you to get hurt. I don't want people to think bad about you, and I don't want you to lose everything you've worked so hard for."

"I know, but it's all okay. I promise." You promise her, but you don't even know if you believe the promise yourself. "You can trust him." She doesn't say much, and you can tell she's trying her hardest to swallow her true emotions.

"Just becareful."

—END

San picks up the phone to call Namjoon, hands slightly trembling. He's still sitting in his car, still sitting in the same spot because it's his turn to cry and let out all his feelings. He hits the steering wheel before running a hand through his hair, second-guessing all his decisions.

Why did it have to come down to all of this? Did he really have to? How long before he folds and comes back to you?

Before he says fuck this all together and chases after you?

He keeps trying to remind himself that he needs to protect you and let this blow over. He keeps trying to remind himself that it'll all be worth it and you both will find your way back to each other again.

In time.

"San."

"It's over with." Is all he is able to say before Namjoon lets out a small sigh on the other end.

"I'm sorry, San. Look, just give this time—" Quite frankly, he doesn't wanna hear it anymore. Not today, not tomorrow, not for awhile.

"It's fine." He cute him off. "You don't have to say it. Just please make sure nothing happens to her."

"You got my word. I'll figure this out. Don't worry." San ends the call before he's digging his head into his hands and cries.

And cries.

And cries.

Because now his days are going to blend back to the black and white filter he used to have on. He'll never experience that warmth, those colors, without you around.

He'll never witness where the sea meets the sky, when the sun sinks below the horizon. When dawn meets dusk. 

His days will be monotone and dull, lifeless and cold. Gloomy. Days he had prayed to get past and never return to.

But, he's here again.

And somehow, this pain feels worse this time around than the first time.

—FLASHBACK

San sighs when he pulls up to his parents' house, aggressively shifting the gear to park before taking a moment to himself. He wasn't happy when his father left him a voicemail, scolding him for the rumors going around about him dating his student. He was quick to call him names and demand him to make things right before his name could be tainted in the industry. San isn't gonna lie, he's always looked up to his father. Things changed when San started making a name for himself in the academic industry, creating some kind of competitive tension between the two. Well, San never felt that way. His dad strongly did though, for whatever reason.

He never understood it. It's whatever.

What San wasn't having was the fact that his father kept calling you a little girl who only wanted to use him to work her way in and up.

He slams the door to his car, adjusting his hat and his jacket before tapping the code into the keypad on the front door.

"San, is that you?" He hears his mom's sweet voice call out to him. He smiles softly when she comes into view in the hallway, opening her arms for a hug. "Please don't mind your father, you know how he is. He's just concerned." She gives the back of his neck a reassuring massage.

"Mm, yeah. I can feel the concern especially when he starts calling me out my name."

"San." His mom gives him a look before his dad looks up from the paper he's reading on the couch, forehead crinkling when he sees his son walk in.

"Why are you here?"

"Hi to you, too." San says while his mom steps in the middle.

"Honey." She turns to his father.

"So, what was up with that voicemail?" 

"Why don't you tell us what's been going on with you and your so-called girlfriend? Do you even care about yourself or what this could do to your career? You're so careless—"

"So what if I'm careless! You don't even know her so you don't have a right to do that!"

"Are you actually that stupid, San? Do you know how damaging this could be for you, for us?"

"What does this have to do with you?!" San's voice raises. 

"It has everything to do with us! Everyone thinks you either forced that girl into a relationship or she threw herself on you and you stupidly took the bait!"

"Even if I said it wasn't like that, you wouldn't listen anyway!"

"Are you serious about her?"

"What makes you think I'm not? We're two grown adults who are capable of making our own decisions and knew the consequences from the very beginning."

"And you think she'll stay? Someone that young and who is just getting started with her life, basically. You think she'll stay and be there for you when times get rough?"

"Absolutely." His dad scoffs.

"Is that so? Wishful thinking. You couldn't even keep Iseul and now you're downgrading to a st—"

"Hey!" San's mom cuts off his father's statement. "That is enough from you. Don't finish that sentence."

"You have no idea what Iseul put me through!" San's tone is louder to match his father's energy. "I found somebody who genuinely and truly cares about me and who I am. That isn't enough for you? Just because she's a student, but a grown adult at that?! You can't even be happy for a second? You still find a way to be on Iseul's side even though she cheated with my bestfriend!"

"Maybe it's time you realized you pushed Iseul away. That was your own doing. And this girl? Don't come to me and make me tell you 'I told you so' when she leaves after she's gotten everything she needs from you." San's dad is fuming in front of him. "How could you be so sure things will be smooth sailing with her, hm? What makes you think this can work?"

"This is fucking bullshit, I'm not explaining myself to you. If you don't wanna be happy for me and support me, then so be it."

—END

San thinks maybe his dad was right; maybe this wasn't meant to be, and was just supposed to be another fleeting moment, another lesson.

Even though deep down, he knows it's far from it.

As he sits in his home office, he scrolls through old pictures of you and him together— you, pictures you've sent him. He feels the rush of sadness hit him like bricks, his chest almost physically hurting from the ache. He has this sudden urge to text you and call you, tell you how much he misses you.

But, he stops himself.

What if you stopped caring? What if you were so mad at him that you hated him?

He couldn't bear with it.

If only he knew how much you cried and yearned for him every night, if only he knew how much your head hurt while you laid on your mom's lap while she ran her hands through your hair— gently cooing you and shushing you to help you get some sleep.

If only he knew.

"Mom, I'm sorry." You cry and cry, laying your head on her lap as you let everything out. "You were right, I messed everything up. This was all so stupid. I'm so stupid."

"Don't say that." She shushes you and tries to coo you. "Don't ever say that again." She looks at you. "What happened?" You gather the strength to tell her everything that's been going on. How deep your relationship went with San and how well he took care of you. How you weren't always the most careful but the only reason why things blew up was because of Hae-jin, Iseul and Yunho. How Iseul and Yunho just keep trying to get in between, how Jiung even went to Professor Kim about all of this.

How San broke this off claiming he wanted to protect you and put you first.

How utterly sad and betrayed you feel.

"I'm just so tired of feeling this way. I hate how alone I feel. I hate how much I miss him. I hate how this unfolded the way it did."

"I'm so sorry, honey. You need to let things be for now, okay? I know that's not what you wanna hear, but you need to. Especially for school and yourself."

"Why does anyone care? Why does it matter?"

"People have nothing better to do, and I'm sorry it had to be those two and Jiung."

"I'm so tired, mom. When will this pass? What did I do wrong? Why did he leave so quickly?"

"Lovey. You did nothing wrong. It wasn't you at all, and it wasn't San either. The circumstances are just tough. You didn't know it would play out this way and I'm sure he has his reasons."

"What if he's just using that as an excuse? What if he really doesn't want this anymore?"

"If he really cared about you, why would he lie, Y/N? I'm sure he was doing his best to protect you both, especially you. I know it hurts right now, hun. But, maybe this is for the best." You don't wanna hear it even though your mom might be right.

Maybe this is for the best. Maybe this was just telling you this could never work between you two.

No matter how hard you both tried.

San's urge to text or call doesn't lessen as the next few days go by, especially when he notices he hasn't seen any trace of you. He'll usually see you walking towards the biology building for Yunho's class or making your way to the dining hall with the girls.

If San hadn't overheard Sunwoo telling his lab mates that you were sick, he would've gone crazy.

It still doesn't help that you're feeling unwell and he can't do anything about it.

"Sunwoo." San pokes his head out of his door, causing Sunwoo to lift his head from his laptop and shift his attention towards him. "Can you meet really quickly?"

"Yeah, sure thing. Be right over!"

"Thanks." San heads back to his desk and lets out a breath, waiting for Sunwoo to come. It takes him less than 5 minutes to finally make his way into the office, rubbing his hands down his jeans. "Hey." San looks up at him. "Thanks for coming in on short notice."

"No prob! What's up, Professor Choi?"

"I wanted to talk to you really quickly because I wanted you to hear it from me directly. Starting next week, we'll be losing Y/N's support. She'll be heading to Professor Kim's lab."

"O-oh. Okay. Damn." Sunwoo ticks his head to the side. "Professor Kim with the steal." San chuckles a bit.

"Yeah." San can't even hide his sadness when he looks down at the papers beneath his hands that Sunwoo catches on and he feels bad. He still doesn't know the details and he never will, but if it's one thing he can gather right now, it's the fact that the room feels cold and empty.

It's the fact that San literally has to force himself to smile and deliver this news like all is okay and no big deal— when in fact, it fucking is.

Sunwoo feels so bad.

"So, I know she's out sick right now, but will I still get to see her before she goes? I wanna talk to her to wrap things up, too."

"When she returns, we'll make sure she has time to close loose ends with you and gather her things."

"Hm." Sunwoo nods slowly. "Okay."

"I'm sorry this came up so suddenly, but I had to make a few changes around here. We all thought she'd be a better fit with Professor Kim." 

"I see. She's super smart and incredibly great at what she does, I know she'll do well in whatever she does and wherever she goes." San nods.

"Yeah, she will." He sighs. "There's another rotation student that I might bring in next quarter that might be a good fit to work with you, too. His name is Baehyuk."

"Cool. Down to meet whenever the time is right."

"Thanks, Sunwoo."

"No, thank you for always giving me some help and pushing me forward." San gives him a small smile. "Everything will work out."

"Yeah." Is all he could say in response. Because he hopes it will. 

Right now, it seems like a far reach.

All San wants to do is love you, rather than hiding just how deeply in love he was with you.

—FLASHBACK

"Here, baby." He turns to hand you a plate with a smile on his face. "Think you can help me dry the last of these dishes and put 'em up?"

"Course, chef." He chuckles, watching as you tip-toe with nothing but his shirt on to reach over and place the dry dishes into the proper cabinet. You follow suit with the last three dishes, setting the towel aside while San wipes away the water droplets around the sink. "We did it, babe! All clean."

"Sure did." He laughs, caging you in against the counter to kiss you sweetly. "Thank you, baby."

"You're welcome." You giggle. "Thank you for making dinner."

"As long as you enjoyed." You nod.

"What do you wanna do for the rest of the evening?"

"Mm, we can watch a movie and fall asleep here on the couch without any worry."

"That's fun." You smile.

"Or, we can do other things that I have in mind." He brushes the hair away from your face while you wrap your arms around his neck.

"Ooh." You reply in a sing-song tone. "Care to indulge?"

"Absolutely." He says just as he swiftly carries you and wraps your legs around him. You squeal as he walks over to the couch and gently plops you down onto the soft cushions, wasting no time to attach his lips to every inch of skin he can. He slowly hovers over you, hands roaming up your shirt and tugging material along with it as he continues to move upward— exposing your cute pink panties from beneath. He sinks to his knees and pries your legs open after fixing your position to the edge of the couch. "Let me make you feel good, love."

"Yes please, Sannie. Please." You beg, watching as San slides down your panties and tosses them aside. His hands caress your thighs, giving them a good squeeze while laying open-mouth kisses along the surface. You continue to watch him, biting on your lip when he hovers over where you need him at most. He licks a stripe up your folds, causing your head to cock back against the cushion. He begins to gently kiss and suck at your heat— a satisfying, breathy moan leaving your lips as you let San relish being in between your thighs. He laps away at your clit, tonguing down your pussy as if he had been deprived of you for years.

You love/hate how good he is at this. "Babe—" You moan loudly, hips now working on their own terms against his mouth. He subtly nods as he continues to suck and lap away at your heat, tongue keeping you wet and filthy; just the way he likes it. "God, right there—" You whine, hips rolling upward and grinding against his mouth, his tongue. 

You used to be so shy.

Now, you're not afraid to tell him what you want and he fucking loves it. "Oh—San— gonna—" Your statement comes out broken as you continue to work against his mouth, orgasm crashing down like a harsh wave against the shore. You grip his hair, body twitching as San continues to latch on and groan against your pussy; incredibly hard while watching the way your body surrenders all. "Fuck." You whisper, still twitching due to the aftershocks from your first orgasm of the night. 

"That's my girl." He's back to kissing your thighs, hands gently rubbing up and down your leg as a way to soothe you. 

"Need you." You tug him by the shirt to plant a messy kiss against his lips— shirt soon to be discarded on the floor, along with his sweats.

Now you're on his lap, slowly riding his cock just the way he likes it— the couch's throw blanket resting against the small of your back and draped along San's lap.

It's his favorite position after all.

"Mm— just like that, baby." He whispers against your lips as you continue to ride him slowly on the couch. "Just like that." He repeats. "You're my good girl, right? Just mine?" He asks lowly and you nod, letting out a sweet moan as he pinches your nipple and watches your head tilt back in pleasure. "Oh, fuck— just like that." His head rests back against the couch, feeling your walls brush against him and drag against his rock hard cock. "All mine."

"Mm'fuck, Sannie." You keep your head back, intense pleasure bubbling at the pit of your stomach. You take him slowly, deeply; his cock hitting all the right spots every time you do a 'lil tug and pull— hips carefully rolling against him. 

"So fucking sexy." He groans. "God, you're everything." His lips drag against your skin, tongue swirling around your perky nipples as your hands tug on the ends of his soft, black hair. "Everything to me." He whispers as if your skin could hold all of the universe's secrets. The blanket is barely keeping up with your movements. San's hand comes up along the base of your neck, bringing you back down to envelope your lips with his. 

The kiss is full of hunger.

The kiss is slow and steady.

The kiss is messy.

You break the kiss first, body slowly crumbling in his grip when you feel your high approaching quick. You moan loudly, breath ragged as you pant; hips slightly picking up the pace to push yourself further and further until you reach the edge.

"Oh—" San matches your moans. "That's it, sweetheart. Cum for me." He praises you, voice deep— tone sending vibrations all the way down to your core. "Give it to me. Wanna feel you cum all over this dick, angel." Hearing San talk the way he's talking is enough to make your coil snap. He continues to coo you as you come undone on his lap; stuttering in your movements and trembling in his grip. He places his hands on your hips, fingers digging deep into the flesh while he fucks up into you— reaching his high shortly after you with a loud groan and hiss. "Fuck, that was so good, baby." You giggle, forehead against his while his hands gently caress and your back. You leave a tender kiss against his plump lips, and he chases with a few repeated kisses before bringing you down with him on the couch. The both of you lay underneath the throw blanket, now properly covering most of your bodies while San holds you from behind. He has his propped up by an arm while you both watch the show on TV, but San finds his thoughts wandering elsewhere at some point. He begins to look around the house and notices how different it feels since you've been around.

Good different.

A space that used to he so grey, so lifeless; now has remnants of you everywhere.

Your polaroids.

Pictures of you and San in frames.

Your little stuffed animal keychains and rings thrown onto the kitchen island, or the room. Or even his desk in the office.

Your little post-it notes. Your favorite chips and snacks littered around the pantry.

You were there everywhere he turned, and he finds it's one of his biggest blessings.

Especially when you lay here on the couch with him, completely not minding the idea San proposed of just falling asleep on the couch together while sorting through movies.

You agreed so quickly and so happily.

No matter how big or small, most ideas just seemed silly in his last relationship.

But, now he has you— someone who is happy to just be with him and spend time with him. No matter how big or small the idea, the plans.

San loves you.

And he'll never take it for granted.

—END

—read 13.5 here

—taglist: @asjkdk @interweab @woojirang @svintsandghosts @cheolliehugs @persphonesorchid @mxnsxngie @jycas @cowboydk @vcutparis @chngbnwf @struggling101 @sanhwalvr @angelqueendom @barbielibra @brown88 @choisansplushie @yunhoswrldddd @hyukssunflower @vickykazuya @lucid-galaxys-world @jaytheatiny @pommelex @thechaotictheoryy @vixensss @santineez @nopension @domfikeluva @in-somnias-world @my-atiny-kookie-rkive @mountiiny @naoristerling @onmymymyway @thecutiepieme @wyrated

[amynchan]

"Another one."

The file is slapped on my desk, courtesy of Jack's hand. I do my best not to sigh, but some endeavors are honestly just doomed to fail.

"New recruit or job transfer?" I know I'll see the answer in the file, but if Jack's gonna be like that, then I can be like this. I don't even open the file.

"New recruit, asshole." Wow. Someone's in a bad mood. Wonder what crawled up his ass. Okay, fine, I open up the file this time.

Oh.

Oh...

You know, years and years ago, this might have been considered a conflict of interest. When there were enough people around, working jobs, that the work could be moved from an involved or easily affected party to an uninvolved one.

Maybe there was a reason for that.

"Hey, if you need to take a lunch break—"

"Don't. Just— just don't."

Well... what else can I do? I swallow up my words, nod, and look at the beaming face of Jack's niece again. Seventeen. Sweet girl. Her grades, like everyone else's, meet standards that might have been actually necessary so many years ago. Technology's moved forward. Life has moved forward. Humanity, as a whole, has evolved out of needing so many jobs that most of today's problems are manufactured. Enough to make people think about them but not enough to cause lasting damage to... well, anything if they aren't taken care of. And the people who skim the jobs we've given them? Nothing really happens. We make the fake problems go away one way or another, and nobody and nothing gets hurt in the process. No real loss.

It's busywork is all I'm saying. People like Sarah get to do busywork. The really exceptional people get hired here. Doing this. Keeping the world running on one side and keeping the population controlled on the other.

"All she wants to do is make a difference in the world." Jack doesn't have anyone else who can do this job for him. I don't think he'd want to, either. Once you know about how the world works, there's not really a way to unknow.

Well...

No need to tempt fate with thoughts like those. I go through Sarah's file.

"There's gotta be something else she likes." And there's lots in here. She's got friends. A robust social life. There are a few ambitions, but we can make some scenarios to fit and satisfy those.

But that's not the problem, and Jack knows it. I know it.

"How am I supposed to face her?" he asks. "She's going to come to family dinners, all smiles, talking about how much better the world is because of her and her coworkers and her friends. How much good she's doing for the world. How she's going to make it better for the rest of us, just wait and see. She's going to barrel headfirst into making humanity a utopia again!"

I'm smart enough to keep my mouth shut. Jack and I both know what utopia can do to people.

When Jack yells, I'm not surprised. His brother was never like Sarah. His sister in law was never like Sarah. As far as I know, nobody in his family has been like Sarah. Sweet. Determined. Good-hearted.

All determination and heart. None of the skill sets or natural talents we need in order to make her fantasy come true.

It would make a lot of sense to make Sarah a politician. Protected. Safe. Somewhere her ambitions can at least feel fed and her dreams feel real, at least.

Enough to make her feel proud. Worthy. Dignified. In this world where corruption is nipped in the bud and no one ever gets shot or goes hungry, a politician's job is easy, and the problems they deal with are minor.

But I know it would also be also enough to drive Jack insane. Meeting with his niece throughout the years, watching her be so proud of achievements that are real to her and hollow to everyone who knows. Hollow to him. It's a special kind of hell we live in.

One hell of a utopia.

In the end, Sarah will become a small business owner. We'll lay down the trail for her to run something that runs along the lines of 20th century ethical practices. She'll have her pick of products, and she'll run the operation in the best way she knows how. We can lay down breadcrumbs of opportunities and support the infrastructure and the product line from where we sit. She'll live a perfectly respectable life in her ethical and lovely shop for as long as she wants until she wants a transfer.

Maybe she'll be a politician then. Who the hell knows.

Not me, and not Jack, by the look of it. I look at him, and he glares back.

Yeah. Okay.

Jack slaps another file on my desk. This time, I just take it. There are some days where turnabout just isn't fair play.

In the near future, 85% of all jobs have been automated, and everyone's basic needs are met for free. You work for a secret organization that creates fake busywork jobs for the majority who aren't qualified for the few real jobs left, but need perceived meaningful labor to stay sane.

[woso-dreamzzz]

Javelin

Ona Batlle x Reader

Summary: You and Ona are each other's homes

The first time you met Ona, she kicked you in the face with a football.

In revenge, you threw it straight back at her and she accidentally lost a tooth from the impact.

You'd been best friends ever since then and your parents could barely keep the pair of you separated.

And as with all things like that, a relationship was naturally the next step.

Fumbles in the back rooms of the family home, making out in your room during family reunions, a kiss after Ona scores in an important match.

And all of those soft, teenage fumbles transformed into something much more beautiful.

You'd followed her to Manchester when she left Spain.

It had taken a lot, uprooting your whole life and moving to a different country whose language you hadn't paid much attention to in school.

Ona helped though.

Ona always helped.

That had always been the case.

Ona helped you and you helped her.

Your training never really went as long as hers. You weren't away from home as often as Ona was. Throwing a javelin wasn't quite as physically draining as football was so you were able to cook dinner and clean up and go to almost all of her matches to support her.

"That smells good."

Arms close around your waist gently and a head rests between your shoulder blades.

"Taste," You say, bringing a spoon up to Ona's lips straight from the pot," Good? Too salty? Not salty enough?"

"Perfect," Ona says," Perfect like always. You spoil me."

"You deserve to be spoiled."

Ona giggles a little, a soft kiss being pressed against your neck as she moves away. "I'll grab the plates."

You make a home in Manchester together before Barcelona come knocking and you're more than willing to return to Spain again.

You get another coaching team. You train in the heat.

You and Ona discuss a dog but nothing has come of it just yet. You bask in each other's company. You return to family reunions and seeing Ona's family on the weekend right until the summer.

The run up to the Olympics is brutal.

You're both tired and drained but it's a dream to represent Spain on a stage like that, to show people around the world just what you can do.

People watch events that they don't usually watch and if you can even convert one person into a javelin fan then it'll be an Olympics well spent.

You have your goals for this Olympics and Ona has hers.

And you hate seeing that her goals will be left unfinished.

"Hey..." You say gently as she approaches you at the barrier," I'm sorry."

You can see her putting on a brave face. You know it's fake.

You lean over and gently draw her closer.

Spain hadn't made it to the final. They'd lost the bronze medal.

Ona had lost the bronze medal.

Your own gold medal for javelin feels like a weight in your bag, heavy and you wish you could throw it in the river so Ona wouldn't be able to see it.

But you know that she knows you won it.

She'd sent a very long rambling text before setting up an accompanying phone call where she declared her love for you and told you how proud she was and how she couldn't wait to see your medal.

Now though, you don't want her to see it.

You don't want her to see it because you know she'll be reminded of what she's just lost and you can't do that to her.

You won't do that to her.

You refuse to do that to her.

So you hold Ona against you now as she rests her head in your shoulder and you play with the soft baby hairs that rest on the back of her neck.

"We've got a break now," You whisper to her, voice quiet and soft and everything she needs to hear right now," We'll go somewhere hot. With a beach. We'll relax and have some fun before the season starts again. Relax and reset."

"I wanted to win you a medal," Ona chokes out against your skin," I know you've already got one but-But I wanted to get you another one."

"I don't need another one," You assure her," I've got you. That's enough for me."

[beuxwhoyouare]

Dressing Room Score

All the couples wanted the day off for Valentine’s Day but I took those shifts so quickly because hello it’s free money! I took the apparel section because it’s the easiest place to get a peak at the dressing rooms. I’m not a perv I swear, but I can’t help myself. I always kept one vital of bodysuit serum on me. All the eye candy going into the dressing rooms was like a buffet of options. Men, women, pets! Shit I don’t discriminate I love trying on another persons experience to see how they live.

We were getting a weird crowd today since all the couples were out and about. The store was filled with miscellaneous randos so I went through most of my day thinking I struck out. As I locked in refolding some destroyed sections of t-shirts, a customer came up to me asking for help locating more of a certain item I absent mindedly answered looking at what was in his hand before looking up. My words stopping in their tracks as I saw his face.

He was so adorable and dorky looking in his face but the outfit he already had on told a different story. Leaving little to the imagination, it inferred he was going on a date or going out but I didn’t want to inquire too much. I like my mouth mindlessly answer his inquiries as I kept looking back to ogle at his outfit.

Eventually he asked to use the dressing rooms and I knew this was basically my chance. We walked slowly to the rooms and as he walked into the tiny space I quickly pulled the syringe out, stabbing him in the neck behind his back. The mirrors lining the room couldve saved him but he was oblivious of his surroundings.

He began turning into a suit hollowing out into a mound that looked like skin colored liquid latex. I quickly pushed him into the dressing room with me to avoid spectators. As I latched the door, I turned around to see the process completed. I knew I was operating on limited time and quickly pulled his skin on. I love putting on a new body that’s stacked with muscles that I’m not. It’s like you feel bloated, but in a good way because it goes straight to your muscles and any other places you differ in size…if you get what I mean. He was clearly a grower because I didn’t feel anything crazy there though.

I looked through his wallet to figure out a name and basic details. Okay, Reese is the name 5’9” is the height okay there’s the address. Wait the best part! I whipped back upright standing and smiling towards my new phone.

I decided to save the rest of the excitement for privacy gathered my new belongings and headed to the address on my ID. I fumbled through several keys before eventually finding the right one as I pushed my way into a very nice but neutral looking apartment. It definitely gave upper class gay which is what I always pretended to be so this would be easy to embody.

I quickly began stripping as I hastily searched for the closest full body mirror. I wanted to see the goods from every single angle. I ripped the belt holding up my very fitted pants, dropping them down to my ankles and I just gasped at what I could see.

Reese was had the type of body I was always afraid to have. He’s so conventionally attractive that while I wore him I felt like I couldn’t control myself. I needed to push it to the limit and see what I can do.

I headed down to the gym matching the sign in tag on Reese’s keys and just pretended to be there for a good workout. I mean I did go for a workout just not that kind.

I had a hard time breaking a sweat, which only intrigued me more but I headed to the locker room to take pics. I was just so obsessed with his juicy chest. Thankfully this was the better strategy because I kept getting passing glances until someone finally took initiative and approached me.

The man was such a daddy, something I could’ve only hoped to previously attract before. He nearly demanded I come with him after he got dressed and who would be to not oblige? I got in his big truck and we made our way to his home. I don’t know how I deluded myself into thinking I’d be the dominant one in this situation but the second the house door closed behind me. The burly daddy manhandled me and pushed me onto his bed. Gentle and slow was only a dream I could’ve hoped for because that man whipped his beer can out immediately and shoved his way in.

Don’t get me wrong he was BIG but that was the moment I learned what Reese did well. He was a power bottom. There was no moment of pain, me and my new hole took it like a champ. The in and out of his aggressive pace was matched by my new muscle memory eagerness to accept it.

He attacked my muscular backside as I finally began to break a sweat. Loud moans escaped my mouth. I couldn’t control it like an animalistic cry. As I thought I was reaching my limit I came on myself as he kept going. That would become a recurring theme.

Every day I’d show up to the gym and act like the slutty himbo I wanted to be. Ending up at a different home, condo, apartment every night putting my new orifices to work.

[currentfandomkick]

Adding on for Danny’s support rats.

They are usually in hoodie pockets, or the hood of his hoodie. He does have one on his shoulder (who varies).

As Phantom his rats get caught up in his transformation and the first time he was horrified he killed them.

Frostbite and other IR doctors confirm he packbonded to them on both sides to the liminal rats that they can shift forms. In shifted form they are functionally blob ghosts.

Phantom is open about his service blobs and said blobs are PISSED when questioned about being with Their Ghost. Let the blobs be legit more dangerous than Phantom when defending their obsession (Phantom’s health) and have that be a ‘wait a minute, why do you, a ghost, need support blobs?’ And be a domino for a lot of the Fenton Research on Ghosts and how ghosts interact with one another and the living.

Notably the usually peaceful blobs only going after whoever questions their presence with phantom… who does admit they are his support animals and it’s rude to ask what they’re for. Especially given how many mortals are team End Ghosts.

Let Wes be the one reporting this live and be annoyed Phantom will do interviews with him. But not regular media outlets as ‘you don’t give off the vibes of bleeds, leads. So lower live dissection chances!’

And if seeing phantom with his support animals and Cujo forces a lot of Amity to starting making ‘disabled dead teen is protecting our city from other ghosts. The fuck?’ Well.

Someone gently asks Phantom why he does? Ina Live with Wes? ‘Oh, uh. Very personal but the closest thing i have to a grave is what they’re using to here. So it’s sort of like constantly having chest bursters and then they go around wrecking things and hurting people because they don’t take earth etiquette classes or slept through them. So fight until they get it—which some do! Johnny and Kitty don’t break shit anymore unless someone else starts it, and Ember agreed to can the mind control as she is better than that and will prove it—and if that fails i just play with the Fenton Tech until i get something to stop then and drop them off close enough to their homes. Except for the wanderers. They get to choose where in the realms i send them and go about from there.’

Now the public in Amity is finding out that Phantom is stuck with the Fenton Portal having disturbed his grave.

People jokingly ask him if he has an obsession and he just shrugs. “I only woke up with the portal, and a lot of ghosts don’t settle on something for centuries if they’re tied to a place. Portal ghosts are like, stuck until portal is destroyed or something? Clocky said my job is to handle the balance between the EverChange and ChoosenFrozen realms but like, we don’t get obsessions until after portal stops being a portal. So eh?”

And danny’s support blobs? Recorded in history as his ‘attendants’ and occasional aides in battle.

So

When the JL summon him and Phantom has rats? Well it is his first summon and his rats decided to stay in ‘mortal’ form to better explore… and do threat checks to Their Big Sick Rat Friend and triggers.

Pluto is ready to bite Flash for the insult to Their Presence with Big Sick Rat Friend.

Danny just hums. “Ya know, you’re the ones calling a dead disabled kid here, against my will. Not the other way around.”

That got more than a few members to wince.

“So asking clocky and frostbite about this later… once i track them down. So, what do you want?”

Diana stepped forward. “We called for someone able to contain the entity that took over the watch tower, if not defeat it.”

Danny hummed, toying with the thermos at his hip. “If i do, can you get your lawyers to look at overturning the Anto-Ecto Acts?”

Danny has a group of rats he rescued from a lab, they follow him everywhere even as Phantom, the group of five become Danny's emotional support Mischief and service animals, his folks even help make service vests for them when they're out and about. The rats have space themed names and alert for different things.

Astro alerts when Danny's about to have a panic attack

Pluto alerts when Danny's heart goes wonky besides ghost stuff

Cosmo alerts before Danny has a seizure so he can alert the others around him

Hailey alerts for pain flares

Orion alerts for tremors

Danny's portal accident messed up his nervous system bad enough that he needs his service animals or someone with him that recognizes when he's about to have a flare up or a seizure.

Well, one day, Danny gets summoned by the league, and his support mischief is on his shoulders. Flash immediately asks what's with the rodents, and Danny responds with "Kinda rude to ask someone about their service animals." Batman could already feel the headache that would be the HR service animal refresher course. First, though, they had a big threat to deal with

Ooh, this idea is very interesting. Danny having a support/service animal but in the form of rats has a nice symbolism. Their names and jobs are also really cute :3

[akimoroll]

bluff

nagumo yoichi x afab!reader — 3k wc — ao3

c/w: smut. porn with some plot. semi-public sex. rivals w/ benefits. jcc nagumo (if you’re uncomfy with that pls step away from the vehicle) mdni.

a/n: was having second thoughts about posting this because im super insecure with writing porn but here we are. happy hearts day to the 4 ppl who like my shit. and to @angstigone, it’s you, it’s you, it’s all for you 🌷

Sakamoto Taro and Akao Rion. These two were the ones you wanted to be as strong as. But Nagumo came into the picture and out of the three, he seemed the most approachable and you’re not the nicest with asking favors either.

“Me? Train…you?” asked Nagumo, head tilted to the side.

“Yes. I need it to happen as soon as possible.” You answered way too quickly and way too plainly.

“What’s in it for me?”

“I don’t know. What do you want?”

That was the question that started it all. A bet made between just the two of you. Whoever scores higher in class activities for the week would get the upper hand and have their way with the loser. Nagumo lets you win without fail while he decides on what he wants out of it. He plays along because it’s fun while he gives you the satisfaction that you’re winning against him.

You took advantage of this because it meant you could improve yet there are times you wished he’d take you seriously. He seemed too carefree all the time and it bothered you. It bothered you so much that your competitiveness grew into you wanting to rival him instead of his other two friends.

These games went on and on, far longer than you both remember. You were getting better at it. However, it was becoming repetitive.

Until it wasn’t.

Lately, when he pins you down—on the floor, against the wall, or wherever, and his taunts hidden beneath layers of:

“Ah, that was close! Getting stronger now, aren't you?”

“You’re making it harder for me these days.”

“Relaaax… You left yourself wide open with that temper of yours.”

—begin rolling out of his mouth, it sends tingles all over your body, making it harder to ignore the way he affects you. And when you do the same and put your whole body weight on him, you’d notice the slight flush on his cheeks, ignoring and thinking they’re just from exertion.

Until he wasn’t trying to hide it anymore. So you asked, “What’s that fucking face all about?”

And he cluelessly countered, “Huh? What face?”

“That face you keep doing! You’re blushing like some…” you trailed off, trying to find the right words before you hesitantly continued, “…virgin.”

And you swore you saw something shift with his smile yet it was gone before you could catch it. He shrugged, “Well, yeah, it’s because I am.”

“Pfft, yeah right. No shit.” you said after an eye roll. But when he wasn’t biting back, you had to do a double take, asking, “Wait, really?”

And sometimes being driven and nosy is not the best combo. Because just like always, Nagumo went along when you had suggested another idea. You were curious to see how he reacts to you. How pathetic he can become under your touch. Wipe the smugness off his face. Watch him break character as he succumbs at the mercy of using just your hands, just your mouth, or simply the sweet nothings you’d whisper into his ear.

It was initially intended as a silly joke when you asked if he wanted to try something yet here you are, in too deep, flown too close. You had some sort of control for once and the thrill had you addicted.

Him lying about his chastity crossed your mind but who cares at this point. After all, he’s such a pretty face. Prettier when he smiles. Prettiest when he cries.

Neither of you showed any hint of disapproval towards it so it became one of your routine interactions. Every single time you leave him behind in that dark and cramped utility room, you act as if nothing happened. He does the same, if anything, he does it better. Another unspoken contest added on top of an existing one.

It’s better that way, you think.

All of this is nothing more than just a bet anyway.

With Valentine’s day around the corner, Nagumo thinks about the piles and piles of chocolate boxes he’s once again going to receive. Enough for him to walk around the JCC like he’s some kind of celebrity. He’s aware that you never cared for such things. Still… He wanted to know. What’s the harm in asking?

“W-What are you up to on Valentines?” Nagumo stammers around his question, a dazed smile lingers on his lips as you take him throat deep.

Wiping your mouth with your hand and stroking his dick with the other, you ponder before speaking, “And you’re asking me because…?”

“I heard—” he gasps with a shaky exhale as you begin pressing circles over his tip with your thumb. Struggling to maintain control in the face of your touch, he continues, “you’re finally making chocolates for me this year.”

Looking up at him, you chuckle softly, “Must be your other bitch.”

“Shh, quiet down, someone might hear you’re jealous.” He attempts a coy grin before gasping once more, eyes rolling at the back of his head as you drag the length of his dick on your tongue before slowly pushing into your mouth once again.

Just for you to stop and coo at him, pouting, “Aw~ He thinks he’s so funny.”

“I am funny. You look like you’re having lots of fun right now.”

“So much fun that I’m your secret… And you can’t tell a fucking soul. Keep it up.”

“You’re cruel.”

“I think it’s quite romantic.”

He snorted, “You’re sick and you’re mean. I have feelings you know…”

“For me?” You giggle before continuing, “Or you want me to give you something to cry about?”

Nagumo suppresses a chuckle as he closes his mouth like an imaginary zipper, tilting his head back as he tries to stop himself from blowing his load right then and there (yet fails miserably) with the image of your face at the forefront of his mind.

Nagumo’s done playing with his food.

Days before Valentines, you found yourself in a pinch. He didn’t let you win the bet this time. He scored higher than you in everything with ease and precision. An overkill to say the least. You’re well aware how he easily lets you win each time. It has always been one-sided. But the sudden change threw you off and had you feeling a mix of dread and anticipation for what’s about to come.

You’re pissed, flustered, with trembling fingers hidden inside clenched fists. Thinking, he’s going to have his way with you for the first time since this stupid bet started.

He smirks as he towers behind you while your mind races on all the possibilities on how he’s gonna strip you, bend you over, throw you around like a rag doll, have fistfuls of your hair as he fucks the living shit out of you. Maybe get his payback for all the teasing and edging you subjected him to, how you had him wrapped around your fingers behind closed doors.

Or so you thought.

In the confined space that you and him usually share secret meetings with, Nagumo has his chest pressed against your back as he fucks you softly. He covers you with his warmth. The room grows humid with him repeatedly sighing against your skin, his face hidden in the crook of your neck. There’s fondness in his touch with the way he has his hands all over you, like they had always belonged there.

There’s no rushing. He treats you with gentleness, like you’re the most precious little thing he’s ever laid his hands on. His voice slurs at the mentions of your name, breath feverishly hot against your neck. With his dick all wet and snug inside you, he makes you forget everything. The bet. The thoughts you had when you first walked in. Or whatever the fuck this one-sided rivalry was all about.

He’s got you thinking of him and him only.

As he parts your trembling legs wider, Nagumo reaches for a hand in between, whispering how wet you are, how good you make him feel. His long slender fingers pressing circles over your clit, making you whimper with his dick thrusting in and out of you. His movements ever so slow as you shudder under him.

He notices your hand slowly anchoring onto something. And one thing about Nagumo is he doesn’t like it when you cling onto something that isn’t him. He’d rather you claw at him, have fistfuls of his locks in your grasp, dig your fingers into his skin and have it painted blue and black, maybe draw a bit of blood like you always do.

So he lays you gently on a flat surface, that way he can have all your attention. He teases your folds before thrusting all the way in and then all the way out, again and again, coating his entire length with your wetness. He cradles the back of your head with his hands like a pillow to make it less uncomfortable for you, but more so to keep your eyes straying away from him. Your bodies mold into each other, keeping himself close to you as much as he possibly can, as if you’d escape if he clings a little less.

Finding yourselves face to face—just how he likes it—he inhales every soft sigh that escapes your lips, his voice breaking like stained glass every time he bottoms out with your pussy creaming around the base of his dick. He’s truly blushing now that he’s so completely lost in you, mesmerized by the fluttering of your lashes and the hazy look in your eyes as he thrusts deep inside you.

Nagumo could cum just by looking at you.

As a distraction, he thinks of something else to make the moment last longer, make it worthwhile. But then he remembers he’s never kissed you before. He thought about it maybe once or twice, doesn’t really matter since you never asked. You never initiated. Hell, you don’t even let him touch you. Not like this. Not when you see it as him one upping you. It had been enough for him that you’d let him watch you please yourself sometimes, telling him you’re being nice.

This is much more intimate than the acts you’ve shared thus far. And right now, you’re simply holding your end of the deal. Nothing more.

Yet you just had to shift it all one-eighty and go diving into his mind, whispering, “Yoichi, how come you never kiss me?”

He murmurs, “Thought you’d never ask.” and wastes no time, pressing his moist lips onto yours, deepening it as he feels you do the same. With all lips and tongue, your moans melt into his mouth. It’s all he could think about, your softness, the way you move your head to kiss him more, your sweaty palms cradling his face. He’s been denying himself of it this entire time and now it’s all he wants to do.

With his mind completely consumed by you and your pussy full of him, Nagumo finds himself hurtling so incredibly close to the edge. He picks up his pace, the pleasure slowly becoming unbearable for him with your moans turning into sweet sobs. Your pussy feels mind-numbingly good to him, clamping, squeezing around his dick like you’re milking him.

He leaves you wanting more as he pulls out. With brows knitted and mouth slightly parted, he pants softly as he strokes his dick so fucking wet from your dripping cunt. His chest heaves deeply, skin glistening with his sweat mixed with yours. You watch him cum all over your belly as he makes a face that you grew familiar with, yet now it feels all too different, and a part of you wishes he should’ve cum inside you.

Nagumo wonders why he waited so long to do this. It feels better than anything he’s done. So much better now that he’s doing it with you. The urge to kiss you once more overcomes him. And so he lets it. He makes his way down your neck, tracing your collarbone, circling in on your tits, taking his sweet time, staying there for a good while. He laps your nipples with his tongue, his thumbs drawing circles as he squeezes both in his palms.

He then finds his way to your arms. A kiss for every bruise and scar you had developed from training with him, he thinks they’re beautiful, clouding over the line between an apology and confession. He goes lower, his tongue sloppily swirls around your fingers and palms calloused from being so hard on yourself. Nagumo smirks as he meets your gaze, sealing it with wet kisses on the back of your hands like the gentleman he believes he is.

He goes lower and lower onto your belly, licking, tasting his own self off your skin. He leaves moist prints from your hips onto your thighs, kissing the back of your legs, sucking, biting gently down to your heels and toes. He kisses all over your body, leaving evidence of himself—digging in on every fucking inch of you. What a sight…he thinks, as you writhed under him.

Lifting your hips with your thighs over his shoulders, Nagumo swallows thick before dragging his tongue over your pussy. You’re dripping… making a mess, creaming all over his mouth. He draws faint circles as he toys with your clit, and when you buck your hips for more as your body shivers, he can’t help but meet your gaze and grin a little.

He squeezes the flesh of your thighs when you reach for his hair partially hiding his eyes, gripping them tight, pushing his face more desperately into your soaked cunt. Tingles run down his spine as you cry out his name in pleasure. You have him worked up once more, taking all his strength to fight the urge to fuck you again.

Nagumo holds you by the curve of your waist, keeping you in place as you arch your back once again. He’s drinking you, your juices trickling from the side of his mouth. You taste sweeter now when you say you’re close as you keep grinding your hips.

Having you fall apart for him is all he wants to see, all he wants to hear, all he wants to feel.

And he’s going to take you there.

So good, he murmurs an octave lower, encouraging you to fuck yourself into his mouth. A couple more rolls of your hips, a few more flicks of his tongue, you finally snap. And it feels so so good for Nagumo to make you cum, putting his mouth to good use and having you worked up in an entirely different way. You’re so pretty like this—breathlessly gasping curses alongside his name with your pussy melting onto his tongue.

He could do this for hours. Eat you out just to kill time. But he needs to be patient again, for now.

Replacing his mouth with a hand, he thumbs your clit while he continues to fuck knuckles deep inside you, curving and thrusting in slow paces. A wordless whine is all you could do as a protest, but he doesn’t stop. He leans closer to you, his kisses demanding and sloppy, showing how good you taste. Hazy brown eyes staring you down, he murmurs against your lips, “You alright? Enjoying yourself?”

A breathy “Shut up.” is all you could manage. Not sure if you’re simply fucked out, dazed, awkward, angry… or all of the above. His touch leaves you and you want it back more than you care to admit. He comes back and wipes you down, and then helps you with your clothes. He doesn’t say a word other than making sure if you’re okay. Everything feels normal and abnormal at the same time, making you momentarily forget how icky and unromantic the place was.

Nagumo may have done things to you that only lovers do.

And like a flip on a switch, he’s back to his usual self. His carefree innocent smile appears like nothing happened. So you try to play it cool as well, chuckling, “You’re still… D’you wanna go for round two?”

“Nah, it’s fine.” He slips into his shirt and pants, dusting it with his palms before meeting your gaze, smiling, “It’s almost lights out. Come on.”

“Oh, right.” You nod, he opens the door and you both go your separate ways like usual.

First time you lost the bet.

First time Nagumo shows you what a true win feels like.

February 14 is here and after strolling around the bustling academy, pushing a cart full of sweets he received from his admirers in different departments, Nagumo and Sakamoto settle in the cafeteria, still drawing a steady stream of girls eager to give what they had prepared for them.

Across the room, you’re sauntering towards where Nagumo is, empty handed. And as you reach his pile of gifts, you grab one and plop down on his lap sideways before looking at him with a coy grin.

Nagumo watched the whole thing, his awe hidden behind a clueless smile as you slam the box less forcefully than you wanted to on the table. After prying it open, you select a piece, holding it between your fingers an inch closer to his lips. You pause to speak, “You know, I heard we’re a thing now.”

Nagumo blinks. “Ohhh? Says who?” He rests his cheek on his hand while he holds your waist with the other, his deep brown eyes now filled with amusement gazing up at you.

You feed him a piece, and then another, not giving him a chance to chew. And another one, until he has a mouthful of chocolate made by some girl who doesn’t matter right now. After looking around, you let your bloodlust seep out a little as you wipe the corners of his lips, just to spread it more messily. Leaning closer, softly, you finally answer, “Says me.”

Good fold, he thinks.

You see, the thing about Nagumo is he wants. He may not know exactly what it is all the time, but what he wants is what he gets. And right now, you’re exactly where it’s at.

[kxtsukixoxo]

hi! if you'd be up to it i'd love to suggest “don't move until I say you can” with shinsou for your event? i'd love it if you made him soft too<3

authors note - tried to make him as soft as i could, i’m so used to writing about aggressive rough handling men 💔

here’s the valentine’s day event, there’s still prompts available!! ⊹. warnings - nsfw content

your poor poor roommate, the man hadn’t been touched by a woman before and it showed, such a shame too, he was breathtakingly attractive, you were determined to be the first to have a piece of him, but you were absolutely shocked that not a single woman had even kissed him to say the least. 

“i was never interested in all that i guess” shinsou rubbed the back of his neck, trying to hide his crimson dusted face from your view, the two of you were currently lounging on his bed, 

your date ditched you on valentine’s day, and your roommate, well…he had no date. 

what were you expecting? the man’s never felt romantically interested in anyone before, why would he of all people have a date. so when you came home, with tears streaked across your face, shinsou was right there. he helped you get out of the dress you’d chosen, took your heels off, and offered you to hangout with him in his room. 

“so you’re telling me…not a SINGLE woman has found you attractive, EVER” you gasped as he plaited tiny braids into your hair, you figured he knew how to do this because of his little sister eri, the two of you would babysit her every weekend, while their dad took a well deserved break.

“hey i didn’t say that..” shinsou paused, thinking carefully about what he said after that “they just…never went THAT far with me” he added much needed emphasis to ‘that’ 

“soooo” 

“so…?” 

“you wouldn’t mind me sucking you off then?” 

shinsou stopped in his tracks, fiddling with the braid in your hand, sure he’d fantasized about his pretty little roommate who’d walk around in nothing but a t-shirt during early mornings, wondering what it felt like to wake up next to you, skin-to-skin. 

this had to be a sick prank. 

“(y/n) stop fooling around.” 

“i’m serious shin” you turned your head, to look at him, he looked flustered, cheeks flushed like a teenage boy. “don’t worry, i’ll help you hm?” you placed your hand ontop of his. 

now that we have the backstory of your current situation out of the way, let’s dive into the situation shall we? 

you shouldn’t have underestimated your virgin roommate, just because he was a virgin you expected him to know absolutely nothing, didn’t you? 

you were wrong. 

if anything, shinsou had to be the freakiest man you ever hooked up with to exist. “get on all fours, don’t move until i say you can” he tapped your cheek, supportively as his trousers fell to the floor, your body weight supported by your elbows as you watched him, waiting for his next move. 

“can i…” he stared shyly, “can i throatfuck you?” he looked away hesitant of your response, you giggled as you nodded, giving him the go ahead, “i’ll be gentle, i promise” he caressed your cheek lovingly, he was such a sweetheart, oh you were fooled, so fooled, you really believed the soft exterior of this man, didn’t have a filth-rotting brain.  

shinsou placed his tip against your the bottom bed of your soft pillowy lips, pre-cum leaking out, he twitched violently as he slid into your mouth, starting at a slow pace. you looked up at him, trying to adjust to his size, and he didn’t think it was possible for him to be harder than he already is, but the way you looked up at him, he felt his dick grow tenfold. “fuck-“ shinsou huffed out as he grabbed your hair, fisting it with one hand, shinsou’s eyes fluttered lazily as he gazed at you through heavy lidded eyes, watching you take him all the way down your throat,

“faster-“.   you gagged on his cock, he could barely make it what you were saying, “are you sure-“ giving up on speaking, you nodded your head swiftly, that’s all that shinsou needed. he pistoned into your mouth, as he stretched your throat out, pulling onto your hair, your hand trailed down to your clit, shinsou chuckled “you like this huh?” he tapped your cock stuffed cheek,

“awww look at my pretty girl, rubbing her clit all hot and bothered for me hm?” his chest rose up and down with deep heavy breaths as he lifted your mouth of his dick with a heavy pop leaving your mouth, “get on the floor.” 

you stared up at him as you got onto your knees, shinsou wrapped his hand around his cock, stroking it quickly “where do you want it baby?” 

“mouth-“ 

“want me to cum in your mouth baby?” 

“mhmmm” you nodded, trying to figure out where to place your hands in the amidst of it all. 

shinsou slapped your face with his cock, before lining it with your mouth, once again. you scooted closer towards him, desperate for him to fuck your mouth, til all you could do was swallow his load. “desperate aren’t ya?” shinsou chuckled, grabbing your hair and pushing your face onto his cock, your mouth open wide, mewling as he fucked your throat, “fuck m’ gonna cum” 

you absentmindedly grinded onto his foot, “look at you baby, atta girl” needing any sort of friction your hand glided towards your clit, rubbing it in need of any sort of relief from the ache between your thighs 

tears filled your eyes, as you moaned in approval 

“you’re doing so good for me baby” shinsou muttered as he bottomed out, into you 

your hand still rubbing your clit, you fucked yourself through your own orgasm as shinsou pulled out of your mouth and caressed your cheek, 

“let me know when you want me to repay you for this sweets” 

[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - loves me, loves me not (part one)

warnings ; alcohol consumption, rich asshole!jk and girlboss!reader, not any crazy warnings yet just wait till part 2 lovers

request ; linked here.

prompt ; in which two childhood best friends fake a relationship for the public eye, but after one rule-breaking kiss, neither of them can pretend anymore.

note ; WELLLLLL i may have turned this into a two part series. im a sucker for rich dudes what can i say?? 😩 also you need to listen to LES by childish gambino while reading. its a vibe

The first time you met Jeon Jungkook, you were just a child—an heir to immense wealth, brought to the event by your parents as a gateway to what your future would look like. Jungkook, all wide eyes and restless energy, sat in the corner, utterly bored as everyone’s parents spoke in hushed, businesslike tones. Then you arrived, small in stature but brimming with confidence, your sharp eyes scanning the room as though you owned it already at the mere age of 11.

"Who are you?" Jungkook had asked in a childish tone, completely unimpressed.

You lifted your chin, your voice unwavering. "Your worst nightmare if you get in my way."

He had smirked, intrigued. No one ever spoke to him like that.

From that day forward, you were inseparable. Your families had long been bound by business—partners in an empire spanning luxury hotels, high fashion, and global investments. Your parents met at Harvard University in America, and flew back home to Korea to build an empire. They met Jungkook’s parents at a gala while they were pregnant with you, his mother pregnant with him, and they built a dynasty with their names attached since then. Privilege had shaped you both, but you had forged vastly different paths within its gilded cage.

Jungkook leaned into his arrogance, aware that the world bent easily to his will. Charismatic, cocky, effortlessly charming, he rarely had to try too hard. People either feared him or adored him.

You, on the other hand, refused to be defined by your wealth. Ambitious and relentless, you were determined to carve out your own legacy, not simply inherit one. Where Jungkook was reckless, you were disciplined. Where he smirked, you rolled your eyes. Your friendship had always been a battlefield of wit and will, a relentless push and pull that neither of you could resist.

But despite the teasing, the taunts, the fiery clashes, there was one unshakable truth: you always had each other’s backs.

Now, as adults, your worlds are more entwined than ever. Your names dominate the same headlines, your presence expected at the same glittering galas. And somewhere along the way, something between you has shifted. Jungkook, ever the rich asshole, lingers a little too close these days, his gaze heavier, unreadable. And you—you hate the way your pulse betrays you when he does.

Neither of you speaks of it.

Not yet.

Your life is a carefully constructed empire of ambition. You are relentless, a force in boardrooms and high-rise offices, your name more than just an inheritance but a brand in its own right. Your days are filled with power moves, sharp words, and negotiations that leave men twice your age scrambling to keep up. You’ve worked tirelessly to be more than just a daughter of wealth—you are a woman who commands it.

Jungkook lives as though the world is his playground. He floats through life effortlessly, draped in luxury, his days blending into a haze of fast cars, designer watches, and champagne-soaked nights. He spends frivolously, moving through clubs and women with the same ease he always has, never needing to work because his name alone carries weight.

He mocks your long work hours; you roll your eyes at his recklessness. He drags you to parties when you’ve spent too much time behind a desk, and you remind him of responsibilities he’d rather ignore. Somehow, in the chaos of it all, you find balance in each other.

Your phone buzzes on your desk, the name flashing across the screen making you groan.

“Mom, I’m in the middle of something," you say, pinching the bridge of your nose.

“Aigo, do you even know what’s happening? Have you seen the news?" your mother’s voice is sharp, frustration laced in every syllable. "Jungkook!—he’s done it again. Another scandal, another mess, and guess who’s getting dragged into it? Our family! Do you know how bad this looks for your father’s business?"

You exhale, glancing out the floor-to-ceiling windows of your office. Seoul stretches out before you, endless and glittering, but right now, all you can focus on is the impending headache forming behind your eyes.

"What did he do this time?" you ask, already bracing yourself.

"Pictures! At some club, with some idol—I think her name is Jennie! He’s so careless! Your father’s investors are already whispering. They’re asking if our family is associated with such recklessness. This is not just about Jungkook anymore, this is about our entire name. You need to do something. Talk to him. Fix this."

Of course. It always comes down to you.

You rub your temples, suppressing the urge to let out a frustrated groan. "I’ll handle it."

"You better, because if this continues, even his name won’t be enough to protect him."

The call ends, and you stare at your phone for a long moment before tossing it onto your desk. Of course he’s made another mess. And of course, it’s up to you to clean it up.

With a resigned sigh, you grab your coat and reach for your car keys. If Jungkook thought he was getting out of this unscathed, he was in for a rude awakening.

For the longest time, you had put up with Jungkook’s antics as his designated best friend and life consultant, but as time stretches, you grow less and less fond of his wrongdoings. You spend most of your time locked in your office, and the amount of time you’re spending driving over to his home in Korea’s elite neighborhood, you would rather be signing the acquisition paperwork you needed to finalize.

You step into Jungkook’s penthouse, and the stench of alcohol and cigarette smoke greets you before you even lay eyes on the disaster. The place is a warzone—empty liquor bottles and glasses scattered across the marble countertops, designer jackets thrown carelessly over furniture, and a faint bass still pulsing from the sound system like the remnants of last night refuse to die.

And there he is—lounging on his massive couch like he owns the world, dressed in an effortlessly expensive sweatshirt and sweatpants, one arm draped over the backrest, the other holding his phone as he scrolls mindlessly.

He barely looks up when you walk in. "Took you long enough."

You let out a sharp breath, tossing your coat onto a chair. "Are you serious, Jungkook? Have you even looked outside? Do you have any idea what kind of mess you’ve made this time?"

He finally lifts his gaze, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. "Good morning to you too."

"Don’t start with me." You cross your arms, eyes burning into him. "Do you even realize how bad this is? My mother just called me, livid, because apparently your little scandal is making investors nervous. They’re pulling back. The media is tearing you apart. And for some reason, I’m the one who has to deal with it. Again."

Jungkook exhales, slow and lazy, setting his phone down. "God, you’re dramatic." He pats the empty space next to him. "Come sit. Have a drink. Relax."

You stare at him, incredulous. "Relax? That’s your plan? Just ignore everything and hope it goes away?"

"Pretty much. It usually does."

You scoff, running a hand through your hair. "You’re impossible."

"And yet, here you are."

You narrow your eyes. "Because someone has to keep you from completely ruining yourself."

Jungkook tilts his head, watching you carefully. "See, that’s what I love about you. You always come running, no matter how much you complain about it."

You roll your eyes. "Don’t flatter yourself. I’m here because my family’s name is tied to yours, and I’m not about to let you drag us down with you."

"Right. Of course. It’s all about business with you, isn’t it?" He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "You’ve spent so much time building your empire, making a name for yourself, proving to the world that you’re more than just some rich heiress. But at the end of the day, you’re still here, cleaning up after me. Doesn’t that tell you something?"

You exhale sharply, refusing to let his words get to you. "Yeah. It tells me you’re an overgrown man-child who refuses to take responsibility for anything."

He chuckles, low and amused. "You say that, but you’d miss me if I changed."

"Try me."

Jungkook grins, leaning back against the couch. "Alright. I’ll handle it."

You raise a brow. "Oh, really? And how exactly do you plan to do that?"

"I’ll make a few calls, talk to my PR team, smooth things over. Maybe even issue a statement if I’m feeling generous."

You cross your arms, unimpressed. "You should’ve done that the second this scandal broke."

"You’re right," he says easily. "But then I wouldn’t have gotten to see you storm in here all pissed off. It’s kind of hot."

You throw a pillow at him. "Grow up."

He catches it effortlessly, laughter dancing in his eyes. "Where’s the fun in that?"

You shake your head, exasperated, but you don’t leave. And he doesn’t ask you to. Because this is how it always goes—you, trying to fix him. Him, making it impossible.

And neither of you willing to walk away.

The next day, you savor the rare luxury of a slow morning. The scent of fresh coffee fills your apartment as you stretch on your couch, sinking into the plush cushions. Weekends like this—where you aren’t running between meetings, negotiating deals, or cleaning up someone else’s mess—are rare. And after last night, you desperately needed this.

After you had made Jungkook swear up and down he would draft the most pleasant, professional PR statement, he, as he always does, poured you your favorite glass of red wine and let you spill about your workday. You had told him all about your new intern who messed up the documents that had taken 30 hours of negotiation, and how you’re pretty sure your coworkers are hooking up. And he listened, like he always does, shit-eating grin on his face as he continues to pour your wine whenever it gets dangerously low.

Your temples still throb slightly, a dull reminder of the whiskey Jungkook had so easily convinced you to drink after you finished your wine. And because dealing with him always leaves you wound up, you’d treated yourself to a massage in the wee hours of the morning, determined to indulge in the quiet.

Then, your phone rings, the shrill sound of it causing you to groan.

You sigh heavily, reaching for it on the coffee table. "Mom? What is it now?"

"Turn on the news. Now."

Your heart drops at the urgency in her voice. Fumbling for the remote, you flip to the news channel, and the moment the screen comes to life, your stomach twists.

Jungkook’s face is everywhere. Headlines flashing across the screen—speculation, outrage, blurred photos of whatever he’s done this time. You don’t even need to hear the words to know it’s bad.

Panic surges through you. You hang up on your mother halfway through her sentence and start calling him, your fingers shaking slightly as you press his contact. One ring. Two. Three. Voicemail.

"Come on, Jungkook. Pick up."

You try again. And again. Nothing.

A text notification pops up. For a brief second, relief floods through you—until you see the sender.

Jungkook’s mother.

Can you come over?

Your stomach knots. Jungkook’s mother has always been like another mother to you—warm, elegant, endlessly patient despite the chaos her son brings. If she’s reaching out to you instead of handling this herself, then whatever’s happening is worse than you thought. And she never calls for you unless she believes you’re the only one who can get through to him.

You don’t hesitate.

Grabbing your coat, you head for the door, your heart pounding in your chest.

You drive too fast.

Your hands grip the wheel tightly, heart pounding against your ribs as you weave through traffic, nearly running a red light in your haste. The image of Jungkook’s face on the news, the guilt in his eyes frozen in that grainy picture—it makes something inside you burn.

By the time you reach his family’s estate, your tires screech slightly as you pull up. You barely register the grand entrance, the pristine gardens, the luxury that usually stands as a symbol of power. All you see is the group waiting for you in the foyer.

Your mother. Your father. Jungkook’s mother, her eyes tired yet warm as always. His father, expression tense with disappointment.

And then there’s Jungkook.

Sitting on one of the plush chairs, hands clasped between his knees, head bowed slightly. He looks guilty as hell. Like a kid who’s just been caught doing something unforgivable. Like that time when he ripped your Barbie’s heads off and your mother dragged him by his shirt to the corner.

His father is the first to speak. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you even understand the damage you’ve done?"

"Again," your mother adds, exasperated. "Every time we think you’ll finally grow up—"

"I know," Jungkook mumbles. "I screwed up."

His mother sighs, shaking her head before turning to you. "Thank you for coming so quickly. I know it’s always you cleaning up his mess, and I don’t take that for granted."

She steps closer, placing a gentle hand on your arm. "You represent us all so well. More than he ever does. I don’t know what we’d do without you."

You swallow hard. You want to yell at Jungkook, to demand what the hell he was thinking, to let out the frustration you’ve been holding in since the moment you saw the news. But something about the way he sits there, quiet and chastised, makes you hold back.

Because for once, he already looks like he’s paying the price.

You’re still standing there, heart pounding, when Jungkook’s mother finally clears her throat. The tension in the room is thick, each person waiting for the inevitable lecture to continue, but instead, she smooths her hands over her skirt and speaks.

“I have an idea.”

Jungkook’s head snaps up. “That’s never a good thing.”

You fold your arms. “I already hate it.”

His mother ignores both of you. “What if the two of you started dating?”

Silence. A thick, deafening silence.

Then—

“WHAT?”

You and Jungkook both blurt it out at the exact same time, turning to each other in absolute disbelief.

Jungkook’s brows shoot up. “That has to be a joke.”

You let out a sharp laugh. “It’s a terrible joke.”

His mother shakes her head. “I’m serious.”

You take a step back, hands raised as if you need to physically push the idea away. “Absolutely not.”

Your mother sighs dramatically. “Don’t be so hasty—”

“I don’t date,” you interrupt. “Especially not him.”

Jungkook scoffs. “Excuse me?”

You turn to him, deadpan. “You heard me.”

He places a hand over his chest, mock-offended. “Okay, rude. Like I’d want to date you either.”

You narrow your eyes. “Perfect. Glad we’re on the same page.”

“Children, please,” your mother interjects. “Just listen for a second.”

Jungkook’s mother steps forward, her expression earnest. “Listen. Jungkook’s reputation is in shambles right now. The media sees him as reckless, irresponsible, a scandal waiting to happen. But you…” She gestures to you. “You’re respected, hardworking, an absolute force in the business world. People admire you.”

Your mother nods. “If the two of you were together, it would shift public perception. Instead of reckless playboy Jungkook, they’d see a man who’s maturing, stabilizing, taking things seriously. And for you, it would solidify your position even more. People love a power couple.”

Jungkook crosses his arms, skeptical. “So what? You want us to parade around, hold hands, pretend to be in love?”

“Exactly,” his mother says without hesitation.

You shake your head. “No way.”

Jungkook makes a face. “Yeah, no thanks.”

Both of your mothers exchange glances before speaking at the same time—

“Please.”

You exhale sharply. “You’re asking me to fake date Jungkook. Do you know how insane that sounds?”

Jungkook gestures at himself. “Do you know how exhausting that sounds?”

Your mother gives you a pleading look. “Sweetheart, you’ve been handling things for him anyway. This would just be a more… official way of doing it.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I can fix his PR without pretending to be in love with him.”

Jungkook grins. “See? She can fix me without dating me.”

Your mother glares. “You are not helping.”

His mother steps in again, softer this time. “Look, I know it’s a big ask. But it would be temporary. A few months at most. Long enough to change the narrative, help him get back on track. And you know the press would eat it up.”

You glance at Jungkook, who looks just as unconvinced as you feel. “And if we say no?”

Your mother sighs. “Then we keep dealing with scandals. Investors will keep pulling out. The media will keep spinning stories, and eventually, it won’t just affect Jungkook—it’ll affect all of us.”

Your stomach twists. You hate this. Hate that it makes sense. Hate that there’s already a part of you weighing the pros and cons.

Jungkook groans, dragging a hand down his face. “This is ridiculous.”

Your mother’s voice is gentle but firm. “Just think about it.”

You exhale, crossing your arms. "Okay, but what’s in it for me?"

Your mother doesn’t miss a beat. "You hate when suitors reach out to you. If you’re ‘dating’ Jungkook, you’ll be off the market. No more annoying proposals, no more distractions. You can focus entirely on your work."

You pause. That… is actually a good point. Your business demands your full attention, and the last thing you need is your parents trying to push you into a real relationship.

Jungkook narrows his eyes at you, as if waiting for you to explode again. But instead, you shrug and say, "Fine. I’ll do it. But only for three months. After that, he’s on his own."

Jungkook’s mouth falls open. "Wait, what? That’s it? You’re just agreeing?"

His mother beams. "Oh, thank you, sweetheart! This means so much."

Jungkook throws his hands up. "Do I not get a say in this?!"

"No," the entire room answers at once.

His mother and yours immediately start making calls, talking excitedly about drafting contracts and managing the media. Within minutes, they’ve disappeared into another room, their voices blending into a flurry of planning.

Now, you’re alone with Jungkook. Which would be completely and totally fine, however, you just agreed to fake date him, so words aren’t tumbling out of your mouth as easily as you liked.

He groans, rubbing his temples. "This is insane."

You tilt your head. "Oh, it’s about to get even better."

He looks at you warily. "What does that mean?"

You pull out your phone, open your notes app, and start typing. "If we’re doing this, I’m setting my own rules."

He lets out a long sigh. "Of course you are."

"Rule one: No kissing."

Jungkook scoffs. "Duh."

"Rule two: No touching unless we’re in public. I don’t need you getting any ideas."

He smirks. "Oh please, like I’d even want to."

You ignore him, typing away. "Rule three: Two dates per month, in beautiful, expensive places. We need to sell this relationship properly."

Jungkook sighs. "Fine."

"And finally, a press conference. You need to publicly fix your wrongdoings."

He throws his head back. "You sound like my mom. No, worse—you sound like a business consultant."

You laugh, shoving your phone back into your pocket. "Shut up, idiot. This is the best deal you’re ever going to get."

He groans again but ultimately leans back in surrender. "Three months. Then I’m free."

You nod. "Three months."

Neither of you says it, but you both feel it—the weight of something shifting, something neither of you are quite ready to name. You push that feeling to the back of your brain, somewhere so far you’re certain it’s long gone, and just smile at him. It’s three months.

Over the next week, the media explodes with news of your relationship. Headline after headline announces the unexpected pairing, complete with curated photographs and speculative articles. Your parents do not play when it comes to PR—within minutes of signing their carefully spun contract, the story is everywhere.

Your coworkers congratulate you, some with genuine excitement, others with teasing smirks since you’re never seen dating. You take it all in stride, smiling through it, brushing off questions with ease.

And now, it’s the day of the press conference. The one you had to repeatedly beg Jungkook to do despite it being part of both yours and your parents’ contract.

Dressed impeccably, you make your way to Jungkook’s dressing room, pushing open the door to find him seated in front of a mirror, his hands loosely clasped in his lap. His usual cocky demeanor is absent, replaced by a quiet tension in his shoulders.

“You look like you’re about to throw up,” you comment, leaning against the doorframe.

Jungkook glances at you through the mirror, exhaling a small laugh. “Is it that obvious?”

“A little,” you admit, stepping closer. “It’s just a press conference. You’ve done a hundred of these.”

“Yeah, but never like this.” He rolls his shoulders, glancing at the neatly tailored suit he’s wearing. “My dad’s investors are going to be watching every move I make.”

You tilt your head, considering him. It’s rare to see him anything less than completely self-assured.

“You’ll be fine,” you say, voice steady. “You know what to say, and I’ll be right there. Just stick to the plan.”

Jungkook finally looks up at you, his dark eyes meeting yours in the mirror. There’s something in his gaze—something softer, something vulnerable.

“You always know what to say,” he murmurs, and for a brief second, the gratitude in his voice takes your breath away.

Your heart stutters, but you snap yourself out of it before it shows. You clear your throat, stepping back. “Of course. Someone has to keep you from embarrassing yourself.”

He smirks then, some of his usual arrogance returning. “Guess I’m lucky it’s you.”

You roll your eyes but can’t quite fight the small smile tugging at your lips. “Come on, let’s get this over with.”

Jungkook exhales once more, steadies himself, then stands, ready to face the cameras with you by his side.

The press conference is a battlefield—an unforgiving sea of flashing cameras, rapid-fire questions, and the sharp scrutiny of investors who smell blood in the water.

Jungkook sits beside his father, posture straight but just a little too rigid. You stand behind him, arms crossed, observing the way his fingers tap impatiently against his suit pants, the subtle clench of his jaw each time a question cuts too deep. He’s keeping his composure, answering with as much confidence as he can muster, but you can see it—the way pressure wraps around him like a noose, tightening with every expectation placed upon him.

And you hate it.

“Mr. Jeon,” an older investor speaks up, adjusting his glasses. “Given your past recklessness, how do you plan to ensure that your future actions don’t reflect poorly on your family’s legacy?”

Jungkook leans forward, his voice smooth but tense. “I understand the concerns—”

Another voice cuts him off. “Do you? Because the headlines say otherwise. Your name has been a liability, and the market confidence in your family’s company has wavered because of it.”

Jungkook swallows, opens his mouth, but you don’t wait for him to respond.

Before you can second-guess yourself, you step forward, your hand reaching for his.

The moment your fingers slip into his, he stills. The weight of the room shifts, every eye snapping to you as you take the mic from the table in front of him. There’s a pause—a collective breath held as the reporters adjust their focus. You meet their curiosity with a calm, unwavering gaze.

“With all due respect,” you begin, your voice smooth and firm, “Jungkook’s past actions do not define his future. The point of this press conference is to address concerns, not dwell on mistakes that have already been acknowledged. The Jeon family has taken the necessary steps to ensure that confidence in their legacy remains strong, and our partnership is just one of those measures. If you have questions regarding our future strategies, we’d be happy to answer them. But if you’re here only to scrutinize, then you might want to consider redirecting your energy into productive discussions.”

The room, once thick with chaos, begins to settle. There’s a beat of silence, then hushed murmurs of reluctant approval. Some of the more aggressive investors exchange glances, but no one immediately fires back. You feel Jungkook’s stare on you the entire time, his fingers still laced with yours, warm and steady.

“As for the future,” you continue, “Jungkook and I will be working closely together to ensure that not only is his reputation rebuilt, but that he continues to contribute meaningfully to his family’s business and the industries they lead.”

A reporter clears his throat. “So, you truly believe in him?”

Your lips quirk, eyes flickering to Jungkook for the briefest second. “I wouldn’t be standing here if I didn’t.”

As the final question dies down, you release the mic onto the table. The silence that follows is thick, charged. You turn slightly—just enough to see the look in Jungkook’s eyes, something caught between awe and something else you don’t dare name.

Then, his fingers tighten around yours.

A silent thank you. A quiet moment, just the two of you in a room full of people.

Your heart stumbles. Stupid heart. He is your best friend. Don’t be weird.

His father clears his throat and stands, taking over the conversation, thanking the press for attending. The tension dissipates, the pressure eases, and just like that, the worst is over.

Jungkook exhales next to you, his grip on your hand lingering for a second longer before he finally lets go.

But the warmth stays.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The restaurant is one of the finest in Seoul, all dark wood interiors and golden chandeliers casting a warm glow over the entrance. Outside, the cameras flash like fireworks, capturing every moment as you step out of the sleek black car Jungkook had insisted on driving tonight. It’s date night, first one slated in your made-up contract. Despite it being fake, you had somehow found yourself standing in your closet for a few hours, picking out your finest, doing your hair… like it was real.

You had told yourself it’s just for appearances.

He steps around to open your car door, an easy smirk tugging at his lips. “Damn,” he murmurs, eyes dragging over your figure appreciatively. “You look hot.”

You roll your eyes, smoothing your dress as you rise to your full height. “Rule number two,” you remind him coolly. “No touching unless in public.”

Jungkook shrugs, shoving his hands into his pockets. “I wasn’t touching,” he points out. “Just stating the obvious.”

You arch a brow. “Let’s just get through this without you embarrassing me.”

“Embarrass you?” He gasps dramatically, pressing a hand to his chest. “I am a delight to be around.”

Before you can respond, the flash of cameras reminds you why you’re here. With a practiced smile, you slip your hand into the crook of his arm, feeling the warmth of his skin through the expensive fabric of his button-down. He glances down at you, expression unreadable, before leading you toward the entrance.

Inside, the restaurant is quieter, the soft murmur of conversation replacing the chaos outside. A waiter leads you to a private table near the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the city skyline. The view is breathtaking, but you hardly have time to appreciate it before Jungkook pulls out your chair for you.

“You’re really laying it on thick tonight,” you murmur as you sit, eyeing him suspiciously.

He winks as he takes his seat across from you. “Gotta make it believable, right?”

You hum in response, unfolding your napkin and placing it on your lap. The waiter returns with a bottle of wine, and Jungkook gestures for him to pour. You watch as he swirls the deep red liquid in his glass before taking a slow sip, his eyes never leaving yours. There’s something in his gaze, something unreadable yet heavy, and for a moment, you forget to breathe.

“So,” he says, leaning back against his chair. “Tell me, how does it feel to be off the market?”

You scoff, taking a sip of your own wine. “Relieved, honestly. I can finally focus on work without my mother trying to set me up with every chaebol heir in Korea.”

Jungkook smirks. “Ah, so I’m just a glorified shield. Good to know.”

“You’re not just a shield,” you say sweetly. “You’re also a PR nightmare that I have to clean up.”

He chuckles, shaking his head. “Remind me again why I agreed to this?”

“You didn’t,” you remind him. “Everyone just told you to shut up.”

His laughter is soft, genuine this time. “Right. How could I forget?”

For a moment, there’s silence. The city lights flicker outside, the candle between you casting shadows across his sharp features. He’s beautiful like this—relaxed, unguarded, just Jungkook. And it terrifies you how easy it is to forget that this is all pretend.

“Are you nervous?” you ask suddenly, breaking the silence.

He tilts his head. “About what?”

“The rest of this,” you say, gesturing vaguely. “The fake dating. The public scrutiny. Keeping up the act.”

Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his dark hair. “No,” he admits. “Not with you.”

Your breath catches, but you force yourself to laugh, shaking your head. “That’s because I’m doing all the work.”

“Maybe.” He grins. “Or maybe you just make it easy.”

You don’t know what to say to that, so you take another sip of wine, willing your heart to stay steady.

This is just pretend. Just another job to handle. So why does it feel like the lines are already starting to blur?

The night stretches on, filled with laughter, stolen glances, and far more wine than you intended to drink. The candle between you flickers, casting golden light over Jungkook’s features, softening the sharp lines of his jaw and the teasing smirk that never quite leaves his lips.

“You know,” Jungkook muses, swirling the last of his wine in his glass. “I think this might be the best date I’ve ever been on.”

You snort, setting your empty glass down. “That’s because it’s not real.”

He leans in, resting his chin on his palm. “Or maybe I just have terrible taste in dates.”

You shake your head, laughing. “That sounds more accurate.”

By the time you step outside, the cool night air rushes against your flushed skin. The restaurant’s glow spills onto the sidewalk, illuminating the swarm of photographers waiting beyond the bushes. Their cameras are relentless, flashing like lightning, their voices blending into an indecipherable chorus of questions and shouts.

Jungkook places a hand on the small of your back, guiding you forward. “Smile, sweetheart,” he murmurs, amusement laced in his tone. “Wouldn’t want them thinking we’re miserable.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, pasting on a practiced, elegant smile. The wine makes everything feel lighter—your steps, your head, the way your body angles toward Jungkook without thought.

And then, what only happens in your worst nightmares occurs.

The heel of your shoe catches on the uneven pavement, and suddenly the world tilts. Your breath catches as gravity pulls you forward, but before you can even process the impending disaster, Jungkook moves.

Strong hands catch you instantly, arms firm around your waist as he steadies you. Your hands instinctively grasp his biceps, feeling the solid strength beneath his top. Your heart hammers against your ribs, your breath uneven as you look up at him.

His face is closer than it should be, eyes gleaming beneath the city lights. His hold is steady, unwavering. And then, just as your lips part to say something, he speaks first.

“I got you,” he murmurs, voice low, intimate.

Before you can react, before your brain can catch up with your racing heart, he leans in and presses a kiss to your cheek.

The world erupts around you.

Cameras go wild, shutters clicking furiously, flashes exploding in bursts of white. The reporters shout louder, their excitement palpable.

But all you can focus on is the warmth lingering where his lips met your skin, the way your fingers curl against his sleeves, the dizzying rush in your veins.

You force out a breath, steadying yourself as he pulls back, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. “You good?”

No. Absolutely not.

But you school your features into something resembling composure, letting out a small laugh as you step back. “Fine. Just… watch where I step next time.”

He chuckles, throwing an arm around your shoulders as he leads you toward the waiting car. “Don’t worry, sweetheart. I’ll always catch you.”

And the worst part is—you believe him.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Seoul’s crisp autumn air carries the scent of street food and something sweet as you and Jungkook weave through the bustling shopping district. The city is alive with energy, neon signs flashing above you, the distant sound of buskers playing love songs on the corner. It’s another date—one that doesn’t even need to happen, but somehow, these outings have become routine.

It’s not weird, you tell yourself. You’re best friends. You’ve always been best friends. So what if your heart skips when he sends you a text about meeting up? So what if these dates are starting to feel more like… dates?

Inside a boutique, you browse the racks, fingers skimming over designer fabrics. Jungkook is beside you, hands stuffed into the pockets of his coat, watching with mild interest as you hold up a sleek black dress against yourself.

“You should try it on,” he says.

You smirk. “Trying to live vicariously through me, Jeon?”

He grins. “Maybe. Gotta make sure my girlfriend looks good.”

You roll your eyes at the title, but before you can retort, a stranger approaches. He’s well-dressed, confident, and flashing you a practiced smile.

“Hey,” the guy says smoothly. “I don’t usually do this, but I saw you from across the store and had to come over.”

Jungkook’s posture shifts immediately. His casual stance turns rigid, his eyes narrowing slightly as he watches the guy extend his hand to you.

“I’m Minho,” the stranger continues, “and I’d love to take you out sometime.”

Before you can respond, a strong arm snakes around your waist, pulling you firmly against Jungkook’s side. His body heat seeps into you, and the scent of his cologne—clean, warm, familiar—wraps around your senses.

“She’s taken,” Jungkook says smoothly, his voice dropping an octave. He punctuates the statement by running his hand down your arm, fingers tracing your wrist before lacing them with yours.

Minho blinks, clearly taken aback. His eyes dart between you and Jungkook. “Oh. I didn’t realize—”

“You realize now,” Jungkook cuts in, tilting his head with a smirk. “Thanks for stopping by, though.”

Minho offers a stiff nod before turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd. The moment he’s gone, you exhale, only to realize you’re still wrapped in Jungkook’s hold. His hand lingers on your waist, his fingers still intertwined with yours.

Your heart is racing.

Jungkook must notice, because when he looks down at you, amusement flickers in his gaze. “Why do you look like you just ran a marathon?”

You glare at him, attempting to extract yourself, but he tightens his grip just slightly. His thumb strokes over the back of your hand, deliberate, teasing.

“Shut up,” you mutter, feeling heat creep up your neck.

His smirk widens. “Are you flustered?”

“No.”

“You are.” His voice is low, teasing, laced with something that makes your stomach flip. “Was it the touching?”

You scoff, shoving him away. “Please. Like you could ever have that effect on me.”

He lets you go with a chuckle, but there’s something in his eyes—something smug, something knowing.

And maybe, just maybe, he already knows the answer.

He must know the answer, or some kind of cheat code, because when you go to check out for your dress, he doesn’t even let you try and pull out your wallet, only lightly nudges you to move over so he can shove his AMEX into the card reader. And it’s not like you don’t have money — in fact, you like to think you have more than him — but the gesture leaves your mouth dry.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

Two months into the dating contract, and everything is going suspiciously well. You’re thinking any moment now, Ashton Kutcher is going to pop out and say Punk’d! and kill your entire family. The public adores you both, the headlines are filled with nothing but praise, and your parents practically beam every time they see you together. It’s almost too perfect. Almost.

This particular night, you’re seated at an upscale restaurant with Jungkook and both sets of parents, cameras flashing outside as photographers eagerly capture your entrance. The restaurant is dimly lit, the clinking of fine china and low murmurs of the elite forming the perfect background to your evening.

You’re in the middle of explaining your latest business venture when Jungkook, ever the dedicated “boyfriend,” picks up the bottle of expensive wine and tilts it over your glass, filling it with practiced ease.

“Wow, so gentlemanly,” you murmur dryly, watching as he sets the bottle down.

He smirks, leaning in slightly. “I do what I can for my beloved girlfriend.”

Your father chuckles approvingly while Jungkook’s mother clasps her hands together. “You two really do look good together.”

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat. He lifts your hand from your lap, intertwining his fingers with yours as he looks at you with a sickeningly sweet gaze. “We are good together, aren’t we, jagi?”

Your fingers twitch in his grasp. You resist the urge to kick him under the table.

“Of course,” you say, voice smooth but laced with warning. “The best fake relationship I’ve ever been in.”

His parents don’t catch the sarcasm, but Jungkook does. He grins. “That’s because I’m the best fake boyfriend. So attentive, so charming…” His thumb strokes the back of your hand absently, and you swear your pulse betrays you for a split second.

Your mother, entirely oblivious to the silent battle, leans forward. “Sweetheart, tell them about that project you’re working on.”

Right. Business. Focus.

You clear your throat, ignoring the warmth seeping into your skin where Jungkook still holds you. “Yes, so I’ve been developing a new expansion for—”

“Isn’t she amazing?” Jungkook interrupts, turning to your parents with a proud expression. “I mean, I always knew she was brilliant, but the way she balances everything? Truly inspiring.”

Your jaw nearly drops. This man is laying it on thick tonight. You give him a sharp look, but he just winks at you. Your brain screams at you to get a grip.

His father nods approvingly. “It’s good to see you supporting her, Jungkook.”

“Oh, I support her in everything.” His voice drops just enough that only you can hear the playful lilt in it. “Even her very, very convincing eye rolls.”

You take a sip of your wine, masking the flustered feeling creeping up your spine.

Jungkook leans in slightly, dropping his voice again. “Careful, jagiya. You almost look like you’re enjoying this.”

You grip your glass tighter. Stupid heart. Don’t be weird.

Then, as if testing your limits, his fingers trail down your spine, slow and deliberate, until they rest at the small of your back. You nearly choke on your wine. His touch is light, teasing—just enough to send a shiver racing through you. He draws slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your dress, an absentminded motion that feels anything but casual.

You stiffen, willing yourself to focus on the conversation still happening around you, but the warmth of his hand lingers like an ember threatening to catch fire. Your skin tingles under his touch, and it’s infuriating, the way your body betrays you with the slightest brush of his fingers.

Your mother is still talking, oblivious to your inner turmoil, but Jungkook’s eyes flicker to yours, dark amusement dancing behind them. He knows exactly what he’s doing.

You clear your throat, sitting up straighter. “Anyway, as I was saying—”

Jungkook’s hand presses a little more firmly against your back, the heat of his palm spreading, anchoring you there. His fingers trace an idle path lower, and your breath catches.

You snap your head toward him, eyes narrowing in warning. He only raises a brow, all innocence, as if he’s not systematically unraveling your nerves one touch at a time.

“You okay?” he asks, feigning concern, his thumb brushing the base of your spine now.

No. You are not okay. You are dangerously close to forgetting that this—this entire thing—is fake.

You inhale sharply, forcing a tight smile. “Perfectly fine.”

Jungkook leans in just a fraction closer, enough that only you can hear the smirk in his voice. “Good. Because I’d hate to think my affectionate boyfriend duties are making you nervous.”

Dinner stretches late into the night, laughter spilling over wine glasses as the weight of expectations dissolves into the warm glow of expensive liquor. The restaurant hums with the kind of luxury only the elite can afford—crystal chandeliers, soft jazz, and the murmur of power woven into every conversation. Your parents, Jungkook’s parents, even Jungkook himself, are all in high spirits, a perfect picture of unity for the watching world.

By the time you all step out into the cool Seoul night, the paparazzi are still lurking, cameras flashing like fireflies. Jungkook’s hand rests lightly on your lower back, guiding you toward the waiting car with a confidence that makes your skin prickle. It’s an easy, natural touch—one that should mean nothing after years of friendship. And yet, it lingers, setting off something restless in your chest.

You slip into the sleek black car, Jungkook right beside you. The partition is up, the driver waiting for direction. You clear your throat, forcing yourself to look anywhere but at the man beside you.

“Take Jungkook home,” you instruct, your voice cool, professional. Like this is just another business meeting wrapping up.

Jungkook turns to you, a slow, almost lazy smirk stretching across his lips. “What, you’re not coming?” His voice is all silk and mischief, laced with the kind of teasing that has always been second nature between you. “I thought we were having fun.”

“We were,” you say, adjusting the hem of your dress as if that will steady you. “Now the night is over.”

He leans back against the seat, stretching his legs out, watching you with amusement. “You used to come over all the time. We’d stay up, watch bad movies, make fun of my dad’s ridiculous wine collection.”

“That was before.” You say. Before he started slipping a hand around your waist in public. Before his touch on your skin made you overthink. Before you found yourself watching him a second too long, your heart reacting to things it never should.

“Before what?” He leans in slightly, smirking. “Before you became hopelessly in love with me?”

You scoff. “Before this whole PR stunt. And keep dreaming. Plus, I have work in the morning,”

It’s not a lie, but it’s not the truth either.

Jungkook hums as if considering that answer, his eyes never leaving yours. The car slips into the quiet streets, city lights painting fleeting shadows across his face. His fingers drum idly against the seat between you before, ever so lightly, they drift onto your thigh.

It’s barely a touch, the kind of accidental brush that could be ignored if it weren’t for the heat it leaves behind. A slow, featherlight ghosting of his fingertips, just enough pressure to make you hyper-aware of every inch of space between you—which is suddenly not enough.

Your breath hitches.

His smirk deepens, the way it always does when he knows he’s getting under your skin.

His hand moves, fingers ghosting along the hem of your dress, just above your knee. It’s light, teasing, but it sends a shiver down your spine. “I think you’re avoiding me,” he murmurs.

You tilt your head, challenging. “I think you’re imagining things.”

His smirk deepens. “Am I?” His fingers trace slow, lazy patterns on your thigh now, his touch barely there.

You exhale sharply, ignoring the way your pulse jumps. “Jungkook, I swear—”

“You swear what?” His voice is low, his eyes flicking between yours and your lips. He’s enjoying this too much. “You’ll throw me out of the car?”

You slump back in your seat. No use in arguing with him.

“What’s wrong?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing. “You seem… tense.”

You swallow down the heat crawling up your spine and shoot him a glare. “You’re drunk.”

He tilts his head, pretending to think. “Maybe a little.”

“Then get out of my car.”

Jungkook chuckles, slow and deep, before finally pulling his hand away. “Alright, alright. No need to kick me out like I’m some one-night stand.”

“You’re right,” you say, feigning thoughtfulness. “They probably get more affection.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. You wound me.”

The car rolls to a stop in front of his building. The chauffeur gets out, opening the door for him, but Jungkook doesn’t move immediately. Instead, he turns to you one last time, studying you with something unreadable in his gaze.

“Goodnight, princess,” he murmurs, and there’s something almost too genuine beneath the teasing. Something that sends a shiver up your spine.

Before you can respond, he’s gone, stepping into the night with that lazy, confident stride, leaving you alone with nothing but the lingering warmth on your thigh and a heart that’s suddenly beating too fast.

Little do you know, Jungkook’s heart is doing the exact same thing.

As the car pulls away, you press your fingers to your temples. Stupid wine. Stupid Jungkook. And most of all, stupid heart.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

The gala is extravagant, even by your family’s standards. Crystal chandeliers drip from the ceiling, the soft hum of a string quartet weaving through the air as waiters in crisp black-and-white attire glide through the room, offering champagne on silver trays. It’s the kind of event you’ve attended a hundred times before—ornate, controlled, a display of power and influence disguised as philanthropy.

And yet, tonight feels different.

Maybe it’s the way Jungkook keeps his hand on the small of your back, a silent reassurance as he leans in to whisper snarky comments about the other guests, making you laugh behind your champagne glass. Or, maybe it’s the way he introduces you to business partners with a smooth, easy confidence, the words "my girlfriend" slipping from his lips so effortlessly it makes your stomach turn.

“Ah, so this is the woman who finally tamed you,” one older gentleman chuckles, clapping Jungkook on the shoulder.

Jungkook grins, turning his head to you with an expression so natural, so fond, it takes you off guard. "Tamed is a strong word. She just likes bossing me around."

You roll your eyes, forcing yourself to play along. "Someone has to keep him in line."

Their laughter blends into the room, and for a moment, you let yourself bask in the warmth of it. The way his parents watch you both with quiet approval, your mother beaming with pride, your father nodding in satisfaction. It’s everything they wanted from this arrangement. Everything they envisioned when they convinced you to go along with it.

Then why does it feel like something more?

“You okay?” Jungkook murmurs, his voice low enough for only you to hear as he guides you away from the crowd, his hand never leaving you. “You look… spaced out.”

You blink, shaking yourself out of your thoughts. “Yeah, just thinking.”

“Dangerous.”

You scoff, nudging him with your elbow, but he just chuckles, pulling you a fraction closer. The warmth of his palm through the fabric of your dress makes your pulse skip.

Two weeks. That’s all that’s left of this.

You should be relieved. This was always temporary. A contract. A performance. But the idea of it ending—of losing this version of him, of losing this version of yourself—makes your chest tighten.

Jungkook doesn’t seem to notice your inner turmoil. Or if he does, he doesn’t say anything. Instead, he watches you with a lazy smile, twirling a loose strand of your hair around his finger.

“You know, for someone who claims to hate public displays of affection, you sure don’t mind it now,” you tease, raising an eyebrow at his constant touches.

His lips curl into a smirk. "Can you blame me? You look hot tonight."

Your breath hitches, but you mask it with a roll of your eyes. "Jungkook."

“What? I’m just saying. If this is all coming to an end, I might as well enjoy it.”

The way he says it—so offhand, so unserious—stings more than it should. Because it is ending. And while he seems perfectly fine with that, you’re the one struggling to keep your emotions in check.

You force a laugh, tilting your head at him. "Don’t get too comfortable. Two more weeks and you’re back to being just my pain-in-the-ass best friend."

Jungkook hums, but there’s something unreadable in his gaze. Something that makes your stomach twist.

“Yeah,” he says softly, his thumb grazing your spine absentmindedly. “Two more weeks.”

And for the first time since this whole thing started, you wonder if you’re the only one dreading the end.

Stupid, stupid heart.

｡･:*:･ﾟ★,｡･:*:･ﾟ☆

masterlist + request

[cyber333angel]

LOGAN HOWLETT X SWEETHEART!READER <33

a/n : belloo there is use of vibrator, daddy kink, subby!reader and logan is kind of a bully!! enjoy

you were waiting all day for logan to come home, he had texted you earlier that he had something special he was bringing for you and you just couldn’t wait to see it. he’d always got you little things here and there when he came home from work, y’know, kind of like a little apology present for coming home all bloody and with a body full of almost healed wounds to clean up all the time. you loved them nonetheless, they were always thoughtful, sweet and got you excited every time.

by 9pm you were sitting on the couch with a pretty, sheer sleep dress on, the kind you knew made logan weak in the knees, eating a little sweet treat on your wait for him. moments later you hear keys jingling in the door meaning logan was home at last, you got up quickly almost making yourself dizzy from the speed as you dashed to the door. immediately in the arms of the man you had been waiting for, “logan! im glad your home, missed you..” a vibrating chuckle flows through him as logan places a gentle hand on your back, kneading it softly as he tilts his head down to kiss your cheek. “missed you too sweetheart.” he croaks, kitten shaped hair tickling at your neck.

backing his head up a bit to look at you, logan takes his calloused thumb to roll over the edge of your chin and observe you with his sweet smile. all you could do is gaze at him hazily and lean in for a kiss and taste his lips, breathing into him with your eyes shut as logan sucks at the fat of your lip. you indulge his taste like you hadn’t seen him in ages as the two of your break off the kiss with a faint string of spit connecting you two. finally coming to realize the warm feeling of the older man’s hand grabbing on your ass and the other resting on your head. “taste so sweet.” raspy voice only adding to your excitement. he takes his coat off to hang it in the closet of the apartment, he’s surprisingly clean today, no blood or bandages over his shirt. and logan notices the puzzled look in your eyes, “i didn’t rough anyone up today bub, that’s why im all clean. no need to worry your pretty little head about that today.”

watching him close the closet door you nod, “that’s good, got all pretty for you today..” trailing off and looking for some way to ask him about the present he got for you without really asking. tall figure walking towards you with a grin while reaching out his arms, head perked to the sides as you fall into his touch again. “yeah pretty girl? all this for me, sheesh what’d I do in my past life? hm?” he continues making you giggle with all the compliments as you sway side to side together, kissing each others necks. “always for you logan you know that, wanted to look nice for whatever you said you got me earlier.”

you felt greedy to ask him about the present even though he had been home for less than 10 minutes, but you were just so curious about what it could be. “what I say earlier huh? you know better than that bub, speak up.” you do know better, know better than to be shy about what you really want when it comes to logan, especially when he uses that stern tone. you breath out what you want to say with fidgeting fingers, “I didn’t want to bother you when you got home lo’ but I wanted to know what you got me because im curious and-“ blabbering on and on about something that logan could care less about, you could never bother him no matter what you talked about, he could listen to your for hours. “yeah? it’s okay, got it right here for you..” calming you down with a hand rubbing up and down your arm, reaching the other one into his jean pocket.

he pulls out a white bead that’s about as big as a quarter with a long string attached to it, and what seems like a remote as well. you didn’t really know what it was because this wasn’t the usual kind of presents that logan got you, the usual presents being sweets, pretty clothes or a couple of days where he wouldn’t work just to spend time with you. so you ask, “what’s this logan?” poking and prodding at the object in his hand. with a smile and a kiss to the forehead logan puts the object back in his pocket as he holds your head, “why don’t you go into the bedroom and ill show exactly what it is huh sweetheart?” with a innocent nod you stroll down the hall into your shared room.

next thing you know your on the bed shaking, lingerie pushed up your hips for easy access as your nestled into logans lap with your arms holding his shoulders. both of your foreheads pressed together as you cry for him. “look at you baby, daddy making you feel good huh?” and all you can do is nod your head against his with closed eyes, moans leaving your mouth as a substitute for the “yes!” that you want so badly to scream out. you gasp when you feel the vibration start to get more intense, trying everything to crumble yourself into ball and handle all the pleasure. “see you know better than that bub, know I wanna hear that pretty voice.”

you sniff up the tears you have and nod your head to apologize, “ms-sorry lo’ I won’t do it anymore..” the smirk he flashed you only encourages you to be good and listen to him more, breathing hard when logan rubs his calloused fingers over your sensitive clit and place kisses all over your neck. “atta girl, almost there for me you can do it.” the feeling of the vibrator deep in your cunt hitting all the right spots was so stimulating, with logan running circles around your bud only made it much more unbearable. “o-okay I can’t..! take anymore-” at this point you could barely finish your sentences, and it wasn’t like it hurt or anything, god no, it felt way to good for you to just sit there and take it. you felt on the edge of cumming in your reach but it kept slipping away, logan always bringing you back. “just breath baby you know what to do, m’right here your all good..”

“mm’gonna cum logan..” you really were trying to keep your focus but he wasn’t letting up, you struggled to even have your eyes open to look at him. you felt wobbly on the bed as you held him for balance, legs shaking against logans hand cupped on your sensitive cunt. “you like that huh sweetheart? it’s okay cum for me, know daddys so proud of you..” with him cooing at you so sweetly how could you not come undone just from how cheerful he is for you?

you fall into his neck with a cry, scratching at his sweater covered back, and your pussy spasming all over the white bullet deep inside your sopping walls. “aw atta girl, shh that’s it bub did so good.. you like it when daddy brings home things like this huh?” you didn’t know why logan would be questioning you at a time like this when the vibrator was still inside you, “logan! you have to t-take it out now!” the older man chuckles at you like it’s funny while he pulls out the bullet, “sorry baby, let’s get you cleaned up yeah?”