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darkficsyouneveraskedfor · 2 months ago

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Besotted 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as noncon/dubcon, virginity loss, age gap, and possible untagged elements. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: your new neighbour brings intrigue and a bit of danger.

Characters: ex-con!Bucky Barnes

Note: Saturday is fat tiddies day. I'm sorry.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me.

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Please do not just put ‘more’. I will block you.

I love you all immensely. Take care. 💖

"Wow, uh, I'd say that's a lot but it's really not much," you snort at Angelique as she comes out of your bathroom in a tiny string bikini. The leopard print is loud on the tiny triangles barely concealing her tits and a few other parts.

"Not all of us are nuns like you," she retorts and sticks out her tongue.

"I'm not a nun," you roll your eyes.

You're not exactly modest yourself. You like your booty shorts and your cropped tops. And when you're lazy enough, you can be caught walking around in your purple track pants that read sex bomb across the ass. Not exactly classy, but fun.

"Right, right, sure," she scoffs.

"That's a low blow," you hiss.

"Well, it's the truth. What's that now? Twenty-two and you're as pure as the blessed Mother Mary."

"You're a fucking bitch," you sneer.

"I am," she grins and shakes her tits. "But the guys love it."

"You are so dumb," you scowl.

"Try a smile, babe, and maybe someone will want to get it in."

"Wow, did you just come over here to be awful?"

"No, I came over to have fun. Loosen up, have some vodka." She insists.

"Oh, no, I get it, you came to drink my booze," you accuse.

"Look, it's hot enough out that I don't need you breathing down my neck. You invited me over," she snips.

"Regretfully," you tweak your brow.

"Boo, get you're fucking swimsuit on. I'm dying." She crosses her arms and drags her feet across the floor. She grabs her drink; some strawberry kiwi juice and too much vodka.

"Why don't you go start?" You ask. "Better than pouting over your drinking problem."

"Cuntttttt," she growls the last consonant. "Oh, you are the worst."

"Isn't that why you love me?" You blow her a kiss and skip into your bedroom.

You better keep up with her so you can put up with her. Vodka and orange juice should do the trick. A little less sickly sweet. You pull out your bikini. The sides of the bottoms are silver hoops and there's another between the bra cups. It's not exactly a nun's habit, is it? Especially with your tits.

As you come out, you tuck in your left boob, the bigger one. Angelique swirls around her glass before emptying it. It's barely noon.

"You know, you'll probably be drunk before you even get a tan," you chirp.

"Probably," she shrugs and spins. "Come on, I'm bored."

You huff and stomp around her. You pour yourself some vodka then find the carton of orange juice in your fridge. Hm, only enough for one drink. Nice of her to bring mixer for both of you. You dump it in with the vodka and head for the door.

You grab your sunglasses before you step out into the sunlight. It's blazing hot. You slurp back the orange juice laced with alcohol and look around. You don't have much but it's yours. Somewhat. The sunburnt grass and cracked walkway. That's really the dream home.

You put down your drink on the folding table under the mailbox and grab the kiddy pool leaning against the siding. Angelique makes no effort to help. You don't expect her too.

You drag it over onto the lawn and go around to unwind the hose. You unwind it and haul it back with you, tugging out the kinks until it reaches the pool. You'd do this all in the backyard but there's too many ant hills.

You hold the hose and spray it into the plastic pool. As you do, you notice the peculiar dark shape in the next lot; a motorcycle. There's boxes on the other side of the duplex porch. Huh, they must've found a new tenant.

Angelique pops open a bottle of tanning lotion and generously applies it over her arms and chest. She's shining as she smears it over her sandy skin. You'll put on some actual SPF when you get a minute.

You wiggle the hose as you grow bored of filling the pool. Your mind wanders. She always has to say something. Always has to embarrass you. Never lets you forget every time you struck out. Well, you're just a little awkward. Maybe you should stop giving a fuck. Like her.

"Oh, summer feels so good," she struts over with her drink and steps into the pool.

She sits and shivers so her pert tits jiggle. A top like that would do nothing but go missing under your chest. As she reclines and basks in the sunlight, you sigh.

"Gee, Ang, thanks for all your help."

"No problem, girly." She smirks and bends her leg, swaying it as you notice the neighbours across the street gawking. The two pot-bellied men who meet up to gripe on their lawn chair. Ew.

You drop the hose in and go back to the porch. You dip inside for your bottle of sunscreen and come back out. You work at rubbing it in. You'll wait a bit before you get in so it doesn't wash off. It's no Hawaiian coast but that small dented pool is your only relief from the summer heat.

Angelique swishes her second drink in the glass. You don't think she'd help with your back. She's in her own little bubble. As usual.

You hear the snap of the door behind the wooden crisscross that blocks the other half of the porch. You glance over at the shadow that passes by. The unit's been empty almost since you got there. No tenant stayed longer than a month.

The man tramps down his stairs and to the motorcycle leaning on its kickstand. He digs around in the saddle bags then turns. As he does, you catch his eye and give a half-smile. You wave weakly as he keeps going. Oh.

You blink and look at Angelique. She's completely unaware; of your new neighbour or her audience. Two teen boys pass by in a not so subtle detour from their side of the street. You grimace but they're not looking at you.

You turn the bottle in your hands. That man. He's kinda handsome, if he is a bit older. His long hair is a mix of fading brown and grey. His beard is seasoned with silver and his blue eyes shine boldly. And his jawline. That's to die for.

Why had you been so hung up on boys your own age?

The thought make you cringe. Are you serious? Angelique is right. You're too desperate.

“Anj,” you approach the pool.

“If you’re not offering to refill my drink, I don’t want to hear it.” Her eyes are closed behind the dark lenses.

“Why are we friends again?” You mutter.

She just giggles and finishes her drink. Nope. If she wants more, she can get it. You spin away and catch sight of that man again.

Your new neighbour grabs a box from the stack on the front porch. You step up to the property line and smile. He doesn’t notice you as he disappears inside.

There’s not much. The boxes are dusty, marked with the logos of the local storage facility, and his motorcycle is the only other thing there. He must’ve had the stuff dropped off.

He emerges again and you wave, “uh, excuse me? Hi. Neighbour?”

He pauses and his shoulders tense. He faces you slowly. His left arm is covered in ink. The patterns are intricate. His other arm is marked with scars.

You introduce yourself as you sidle up the property line. He stares.

“It’s nice to meet you.” You say. He still doesn’t answer. “What’s your name?”

He looks up then back at you. “Bucky,” he grits out. His voice is sexy.

“Oh, Bucky? That’s cute,” you say. “Say, neighbour, can I ask a favour? I’ll bring you a casserole for your trouble.”

He considers you, “don’t gotta do that.” He crosses his arms. His biceps bulge and so do your eyes. He is built.

“Oh, but I wouldn’t mind, it’s just...” you peek over your shoulder at Angelique as she lazes in the water. The sun beats down on you hotly and sweat beads on your nape. You look at Bucky. “I can’t reach my back.” You show the bottle of sunscreen and smile sheepishly. “Could I get a hand?”

He grumbles and tilts his head. He looks you up and down.

“I really don’t wanna burn. It’s so hot out.” You plead.

Reluctantly he unfolds his arms and comes down the porch steps. He approaches and his chest decompresses visibly as he exhales. He extends his palm to you. You press the bottle into it.

“Thanks!” You let go and shimmy then turn your back to him.

There’s a moment before the lid clicks. He still doesn’t speak. You hear the lotion squirt and brace yourself. He smears it, barely touching you. As the lotion only slides over your skin, he sighs. He shifts and rubs it in more firmly. You push back against his strength, arching your back just slightly.

Your heart races. His hesitance is disappointing. You know you’re not ugly. The reasons you got for your many rejections were that you didn’t want a one-night stand or you insisted on protection. It’s not too much to ask for. You really don’t think it’s your looks.

“All done,” he says.

The lid snaps shut loudly.

You face him, your bikini top stretching dangerous as your chest bounces. His eyes flick down briefly. You nearly laugh. It’s a nice reassurance.

“Thanks, Bucky,” you smile.

He grumbles again and hands you back the bottle. Your cheeks are on fire. He’s so hot. He’s got that definition that makes you all fuzzy. You bet he knows exactly what to do.

“So if you need anything, I’m just next door,” you point to your side of the duplex. “Oh, and I don’t mind noise. At all.”

He nods. You wring your hands around the bottle.

“But you know, if you do, I can be quiet,” you say, realising the double meaning only as your words hang between you.

His brows rise and he dips his chin again. He turns and stalks away. He’s busy. You’re bothering him. You’ll try again when he’s not unpacking.

Your eyes linger on his bike. That might be good place to start. It’s all harmless. You’re being a good neighbour.

You go to your own side of the porch and put the bottle on the top step. You go to the pool and poke Angelique with your toe. “Move over.”

She snorts but gives you room. You get in, arms around the edge, feet up on the other. She giggles.

“What?”

“He’s a bit... ancient,” she flips her sunglasses up and gives you a pointed look.

“Whatever,” you shrug.

“Even so... he’s in good shape,” she sits up slight, flattening her hands against the bottom of the pool. “Hmmm... maybe you might have a chance with the old man.”

“You’re such a bitch,” you growl.

“No, really. Do you think you do?” She asks.

You furrow your brow and search her face, “why?”

“Oh, it could be fun. How about a bet?”

“A bet?”

“Sure, you know, we’re going down to the beach. Got that old house by the shore and there’s only so many spots. You could have one if you can reel him in. No virgins on vacation,” she taunts.

“Fuck, I hate you,” you sneer.

“You love me and I know for a fact, you don’t have a chance of seeing the beach if you don’t come so...”

You take a breath and peer over as your neighbour swings the door open once more. He’s entirely undistracted as he lifts another box. Your stomach swims with nerves. You can flirt; it’s that next thing you never got the hang over. But so far, he’s not even flirting.

“Guaranteed?” You arch a brow in her direction.

“Promise. It’ll give you something to talk about.” She cranes to watch, “you better hope his dick still works.”

#bucky barnes #dark bucky barnes #dark!bucky barnes #bucky barnes x reader #besotted #series #fic #dark fic #dark!fic #mcu #marvel #au #captain america #winter soldier #avengers

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fictionalsweethearts · 2 months ago

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ENDURE, TAKE, OWN | SEVIKA X READER | ARCANE

Synopsis: As you take control of your pleasure, Sevika reveals memories that still hurt.

Contains: hurt/comfort, soft!sevika, confessions, kissing, strap-on, vulnerability.

This a sequel of this fic, in case you wanna check it out. Enjoy!

"Huh, I don't remember..." Sevika said. "It happened ages ago."

"Are you calling yourself an elder right now?" you teased her, standing behind her, running your hand through her black strands. "How old were you?"

"Uhm... I dunno, seventeen?"

"Seventeen and sneaking girls into your room?"

"It didn't happen in my bedroom, doll." Sevika grinned just a bit, as if the emotion of the moment had suddenly seized her again, just as it had twenty-three years ago. "It happened in a warehouse where I used to work."

Sevika seemed to go over the events in her mind, she could still smell the alcohol and the aged wood, the girl's perfume, the taste of tobacco. Just the memory made her happy somehow, the expectation and the amazement she felt within those four walls was liberating, as she found herself in some sort of awakening.

"You see… I was still pretty lost when I was seventeen, I made a lot of bad decisions, I met people I shouldn't have hung out with," she explained. "The arguments with my old man were a daily thing, I was kicked out of the house many times. I don't regret it, though."

A gentle breeze blew through the window, and by then you were already running a brush through Sevika's locks. Seeing her with her hair down softened her features in a way you hadn't expected.

"I started working in a warehouse for the Barral Twelve company."

"Wasn't it the owner of that company who…?"

"Who killed himself in the main square? Yes, that same one. Those were different times, people were more… showy." Sevika sighed. "I worked double shifts, just to keep a roof over my head and not come back home with my tail between my legs, like my father expected. I used to steal things from the warehouse, mostly booze. It was more fun to work drunk."

"You drove the company into bankrupt then." you joked.

"Probably." Sevika chuckled, followed by a soft hum as you brushed her hair. "What are you doing?"

"You always wear that boring half ponytail, I thought… I'd change your look. For tonight."

"Just don't make me look like a schoolgirl."

"I won't." you smiled, starting to divide her hair into three sections. "I'm listening."

And Sevika continued.

"There was this girl I worked with, Nina," the woman continued, settling back in her chair as you did her hair. "She was older, I think. Twenty? I don't remember, but I do remember that we would sneak into the back rooms to smoke and drink whatever was on the shelves."

"So your first time happened in a warehouse?"

"Romantic, isn't it?" Sevika shrugged. "I'd kissed girls before, it was fun, but I was interested in what else she could offer."

You started braiding her hair, so delicately that Sevika felt a tickle on her scalp. "I remember taking off that ashen shirt of hers, she wasn't wearing a bra. I tried to suck on her nipples, she liked it…"

Sevika paused to review the events. "It must have happened during the break, we were in a hurry. I wasn't ashamed, rather curious cause I always liked her, she was pretty. Just maybe too much of a junkie for my taste."

"Junkie?"

"The white-nosed ones."

"Geez."

"Indeed." she agreed. "I remember her pushing me up against the wall, shoving her hands into my pants, and the rest happened in a minute or two. She covered my mouth when I came."

"And that was it?"

"First times are just that," Sevika said simply. "They're awkward, fleeting… even borning sometimes."

And that doesn't mean they were worth forgetting, they were steps to step on in an endless staircase of learning and mistakes. Sevika didn't see the first encounters as a problem, but rather as a time to identify what her body had to offer. After that encounter, she wasn't afraid to seek contact with girls in clubs, roommates, neighbors, waitresses or brothel workers. She was trying out the sexual diversity of Zaun, from shy women to shameless ones who enjoyed a slap in the middle of oral or a hand placed on their throat. Sevika accepted everything, in order to learn, in order to feel in control of what her body provoked in others. And she loved to own that power.

"Did you see her again?" you asked then, undoing the braid when you saw that it had become crooked. Not that Sevika was complaining, the feeling of your hands in her hair was delightful.

"No, she died. Overdose."

"Shit."

"Over time you learn to read people better, Nina had been seeing that coming for a long time."

Sevika had learned not to get attached to people whose lives hung in the balance. Death lurks around every corner in Zaun, in the form of drugs, crime and incidents, so seeing her peers succumb to one seemed more of a probability than an isolated case. Many times it was she who was dancing with death, dedicating herself to gangs from an early age, playing with substances that she herself did not know how to handle or exposing herself to Zaunian gases that competed to ruin her lungs with the cigarettes that she smoked day and night. Sevika's body remained firm as a rock, rooted to the land that saw her birth and her greatest tool to carry out a cause that gave her no respite.

Until the cause itself snatched one of her arms.

"I've never dared to ask you," you said after a moment of silence, your fingers gently braiding her hair. By then Sevika couldn't stop sighing.

"About?"

"The arm."

This time Sevika didn't sigh, but instead let out a subtle grunt.

"What do you wanna know?"

"About the experience… if you want to talk about it."

"I'd rather not." she admitted, noticing the way you flinched. "It's not a fairytale, doll. Losing a limb it's something you never quite understand."

"I know I couldn't fully understand it myself." you assured, now hesitant. "I'm sorry, I'm prying."

"What you wanna hear? The pain? The months it took me to get used to a life without an arm?"

You pulled your hands away from her hair, thinking you pushed the subject too far. Only for Sevika to sigh for the thousandth time and draw your hands into her hair again. "Alright... My arm was severely burned after a hex blast. It was completely unsalvageable from shoulder to hand."

And the rest of the story flowed so easily from her lips, that Sevika thought she had been waiting for someone to ask her so she could let out all the intrinsic thoughts she had been holding back since that incident seven years ago. "I still have the scapula and the clavicle, so inserting a prosthesis was possible. The first few days were hard to say the least, the phantom pains kept bothering me in the mornings and the pain in my neck didn't let up."

"Neck pain?"

"The weight of the prosthesis. This thing isn't light."

"I can imagine…"

"I never thought you could mourn a part of your body." Her expression darkened, the subject was as thorny as always. She soon felt the itch for a cigarette, something to somatize the emotions that were surging. She reached for the package on the coffee table. "You mind?"

"Course not." You assured, leaning down to light the cigarette between her lips. Sevika explained some details between smoke clouds, she certainly didn't allow herself to suffer from the accident as much as she would have liked. If the cause took her arm, she would continue with it until it took from her another or her life. Her priorities were ans still are different and to this day she believes that the loss of her arm was collateral damage.

"That doesn't make it any easier, Sev…" you whispered, wrapping your arms around her neck.

"It makes it more bearable," Sevika said. "Life down here is not about making it easier, but more bearable. I have learned to endure and soon enough my missing arm turned into an inconvenience only."

You processed her words in silence. Sevika seemed a woman so resigned to her place in the world that whatever she had to sacrifice for the cause was not a motive for sorrow, but rather for resilience. She believed in the power of overcoming situations, in moving forward and leaving behind what was necessary, and in the meantime, allowing herself fleeting moments of pleasure between gambling and women. Just to keep endure and give her tired soul a brief break.

"Have you realized you act just like a soldier?" You said then, making Sevika chuckle.

"Fuck off." You leaned down to kiss the blue scars on her cheek and neck, softening her frown. "Did you finish my hair, pretty girl?"

"Yeah, you look so pretty."

"Don't use that word on me."

But as soon as she looked at the mirror you brought her, the word no longer sounded so strange. You had made her hair into a loose braid, able to soften her features to the point that Sevika saw for a moment that seventeen-year-old girl, smoking inside the warehouse and willing to do anything to bring dignity to the land in which she lived.

She kept such thoughts to herself, of course, but you felt it in her gray gaze. She liked it. "Enough talking," she said then, stubbing out her cigarette in the ashtray. "Let's save the mushiness for bed."

-◊-

You felt confident that night, shame no longer tied you down, nor did fear. You felt in control of your own skin and capable of transmitting such courage to Sevika. From the first kiss she was willing to be the one explored on this occasion, and you were grateful for her willingness to allow it. Sevika put her metal hand behind her head, the flesh one caressing your cheek as you spread kisses over her chest and abdomen, descending with tortuous slowness but giving her a view worthy of admiration. You were focused on each kiss, each touch, your thumbs embedded in Sevika's hips, massaging in circles before moving her legs apart, placing a kiss on her inner thigh.

"You have such pretty skin." you whispered.

"Flattering me now?"

"Stating the truth."

Having Sevika naked in front of you was not an opportunity to waste. She didn't usually strip completely, there was something about her that kept her on guard, you didn't know what yet. You thought it was her constant state of alert, she learned to never let her guard down. But today her tan skin was visible and within your reach and you couldn't help but shower it with kisses.

Sevika frowned, meaning she was liking what you were doing. By now you had explored the expanse of her skin and your lips were resting on her breasts. You sucked on her dark nipple, your other hand squeezing the other and you heard her sigh. Sevika followed your every move intently, her hand cupping the back of your neck to signal you to continue, and you caught her hint, taking your hand betwen her legs and rubbing gently, you felt a pang of pride by sensing how wet she was.

"To think that you barely dared to grab my ass before," the woman grinned. "You've improved."

You looked at her, leaning down to give her a kiss on the lips before spreading more on her cheek and the path of scars down to her neck. They were blue, Sevika hadn't used shimmer that night, in fact, you've seen her sober more frequently these days.

"As far as you allow me, Vika." you purred.

"Go downstairs, then." Sevika whispered, cupping your cheek as her eyes lit up. "I know you want it."

You felt a pang of anticipation stir in your gut, it was what you were aiming for and luckily Sevika read your mind before you asked her. You nodded, giving her another kiss before tracing your path from her chin to her pubis again, your breath brushing her pussy with a subtle tickle.

You scattered kisses around, patiently. If Sevika had taught you anything, it was not to rush. Her fingers tangled in your hair with a certain affection, she bent one of her legs as you moved them apart, allowing you better access. "Slow… as slow as you want, doll."

With the pad of your tongue, you spread a long lick from the entrance to the bud, drawing a subtle moan from Sevika's lips and giving you that dose of approval you were looking for. With the tip you traced circles, exploring the folds gently and then sucking on the hood, enjoying the musky taste.

"Just like that, pretty girl." Sevika whispered.

"You taste so good…" you moaned, lying on your stomach as you pulled her legs over your shoulders.

"Getting comfy, are we?"

"I deserve it, don't you think?"

Sevika smiled. "Yeah... you do."

You reveled in the sensations of her, the thought of pleasing her alone, it pleased you. There was something about Sevika’s physicality that drove you crazy. Maybe it was the subtle moans or the way her hips moved against your mouth, or the way her fingers tangled in your locks and asked for more. She wasn’t afraid to give instructions; slower, faster, smooth your tongue, yes so good, oh fuck… higher, suck there, ah shit. And you followed each one of them, committed to her pleasure as much as she was committed to yours.

"Feasting on me, don't you?" she said, followed by a loud hiss. "Look where teaching you got me, I should have done it a long time ago."

And you reached out your hand to trace circles on her abdomen, her muscles tightening under your palm as Sevika moaned, gritting her teeth as if your touch was painful, and it was so slow that it actually hurt. She reached for your hand, bringing it to her tit and you squeezed. “Keep it like that…” she panted.

Sevika wasn't loud when it came to cumming, she was as measured as always, she usually swallowed her moans or smothered them in a growl, followed by a long sigh as her whole body relaxed. If only you could take the weight off her shoulders that she's been carrying for as long as she can remember, if only you could make her feel as good as she does now all the time.

You placed one last kiss on her pussy, tracing an upward path back to her lips and kissing her with so much affection that it was mistaken for devotion; the truth is that you felt both for her. Sevika cupped the back of your neck, caressing it while her other hand brushed a lock of hair out of your eyes. "You've done very well," she whispered against your mouth.

With one look you knew it was time for what you feared and anticipated equally. Your eyes landed on the strap next to the bed and you nodded. "Nervous?"

"A bit."

"We've already practiced, you'll take to it just fine."

You stepped back, letting Sevika leave the bed. You could feel your heart racing, watching her put on the piece calmly, almost solemnly. How many times has she done the same thing with other women? How many times has she repeated this same ritual? Her past intrigued you as much as it made you sick with jealousy.

Sitting back on your heels, you clutched the fabric of your slip dress, suddenly believing yourself to be just as incapable as the first time. Your breathing became shallow, your muscles tensing as you waited for the typical pain you knew and hated, retreating down that path of shame. Until you felt a kiss on your shoulder.

"Don't go there, I know what you're thinking," Sevika whispered, settling behind you as she spread kisses across your exposed skin. Her hands played with the valleys of your hips and waist, you felt the caress of her breath on your nape.

"It will hurt."

"No, it won't." she insisted. "I won't let it hurt."

"Sev."

"Shh..." Sevika slipped her hands under your slip dress, tracing from your hips to your abdomen, inviting you to let go of your traitorous thoughts. She didn't like to see you hesitate, not when she'd seen you succeed before. Fear would get you nowhere, never. She carefully pulled the dress off, leaving you naked before an accusatory mirror in front of the bed. That mirror spared no one, it showed you what you wanted to see, and now you saw a woman too ashamed of herself for her own good, and behind you, a ruthless woman who seemed to have the world in the palm of her hand.

If only you could take from the world what Sevika claims without flinching.

You sighed, parting your legs once Sevika brought her fingers to your core and rubbed carefully. The cold metal of her other hand squeezed one of your breasts and you closed your eyes. You would like to give yourself into her arms and forget the sorrows of your flesh and your conscience for once, just once.

"Do you want to try from behind?"

"I'd like to see your face."

"Alright." she nodded, slowly turning you around, your back meeting the soft sheets underneath as Sevika gave you another kiss.

The strap-on extension wasn't too long, you felt the weight of the piece on your abdomen as Sevika kissed you, and you carefully tested the phallus with your hand. Sevika then brought it against your entrance and you flinched.

"Vika."

"Just grinding, doll, easy…" she whispered, rubbing the tip against you. "I've applied lub, it won't hurt."

And the truth was, you were soaking yourself.

You clung to her back nervously, hearing her pant against your ear as she applied pressure to your entrance, briefly, with no intention other than to soften your ill-used muscles. You had to breathe, you had to breathe, it's what you learned and it's what allowed you to take Sevika the last time you came on her fingers.

You counted to three, feeling the tip push through, you counted to fifteen and you had taken half of it, you counted to twenty-five and let out a whimper.

"Should I stop?"

"No." you begged. "Keep going."

Breath, breath, breath. Endure, learn to endure.

"Doll." whispered Sevika. "You're trembling."

"Just keep going." you insisted.

Be nice, endure.

And you closed your eyes as you felt the contact of her hips against yours, Sevika buried inside you completely. Only then did you allow yourself to cry.

"Hey, baby." she whispered, caressing your cheek. "No, not like that."

It was as soon as a couple of tears rolled down your cheeks that your muscles relaxed and you took her completely. You held on, just like you promised yourself. Sevika kissed your wet cheeks, moving her hips just a little, noticing how your lips parted and you gasped. "Does it hurt?"

"No." you whispered.

The truth is that you felt full, the pressure present but less and less invasive. Sevika began to move slowly, her hips brushing against yours, your walls adjusting to the phallus as you moaned subtly. It was a dynamic of breathing, questions and moans in response. Do you like it like this? Slower? You're doing so well, keep going like that, doll, I knew you would. And soon your hands wandered over her back, over her locks, over her chest, delighting in the extension of her skin, in her warmth, in her hardness. You were so present that your mind had fallen silent.

"Yes… please…" you gasped. "There, there."

"God, you're so pretty."

You felt like you owned something you thought was not yours, a pleasure that was rightfully yours but that you were afraid to claim. You thanked her for letting you have it back, for giving you back the ability to claim it.

"Thank you." You whispered once Sevika stopped to give you a break, cradling you against her chest and leaving a kiss on your temple. She was breaking down walls with you herself, which was both exciting and terrifying.

Sevika laid back on the bed, watching you straddle her lap with such confidence that she smiled. Her hand rested on your hip, you rose up on your knees as you guided the phallus to your entrance. But you stopped.

"Can I take it off?" you asked suddenly, and Sevika didn't know what you were talking about until you pointed at her arm.

"Why?" she asked.

"I've never seen you without it…"

The flicker of terror that crossed her gaze as you unbuckled the strap holding the base of the prosthesis took you by surprise for a moment. You never considered that Sevika's confidence depended so much on that piece, and allowing you to take it off was her way of telling you that she trusted you. And you felt honored.

"Just keep any comment to yourself." she grunted, as you slolwy disarmed the prosthesis.

Being vulnerable was one of Sevika's limits, until she found such affection and comfort in your gaze that she melted before you. You removed the arm, placing it on the table next to the bed, followed by the base and uncovering a stump that Sevika hid with her hand.

"Sev." you mumbled.

"Don't... don't touch it." she spat, her defenses went back up and you didn't argue with it.

"I won't." you stated, leaving a kiss on her cheek.

Sevika laid back down and you took her inside you again, letting out a sweet, controlled gasp. The sensation was different and unexplored, so you began to move your hips slowly. Sevika reached for one of your breasts, you looked at her with your lips parted and sucked between your teeth, taking it to place a kiss on her knuckles.

"You look good down there." you purred.

"You've discovered something tonight." she agreed.

Your breaths lengthened, your mouth no longer holding back moans, you wanted to be heard, by her, by everyone. You leaned in to kiss Sevika and continued, you felt in control and you loved it. By then the reflection in the mirror was not accusatory but revealing, you looked agitated, pleased, whole and present. Your reflection looked back at you.

"Fuck." you moaned as Sevika rubbed her thumb against your bud. "You always know when to touch me."

"Keep moving…" Sevika growled.

You nodded, your eyes focused on Sevika's gaze, on her dark lips, on the gap between her teeth, on her furrowed eyebrows and her blue scars. You wanted to cover her face with kisses. You pulled on her arm, making her sit up, capturing her lips in a panting kiss. You took it upon yourself to touch your clit, you cared more about having her close. "I feel so good." you confessed.

"I can see it." whispered Sevika between kisses.

"I love you." you blurted out, Not as a secret, but as a confession that you openly wanted her to hear. You didn't want to keep anything to yourself.

Sevika responded with a kiss, letting you ride out your orgasm which came out in whimper, falling onto her chest as your body surrendered to the torrent of oxytocin that flowed into you. Suddenly everything was silent, everything was okay, there was no evil in the world, just pure love, just Sevika, just you.

"My braid came undone," Sevika whispered after a long silence.

"I'll braid it again."

You looked at her with full eyes, Sevika seemed to be reading something in you that remained a mystery. Your eyes landed on her stump and she wanted to hide. "I've never seen you as naked as right now." you said, laying a kiss there.

And judging by the way Sevika's body relaxed, you knew she agreed with you.

-◊-

taglist: @bibi4exe @verseandchapterr

#arcane fanfic #arcane #arcane s2 #arcane sevika #arcane smut #sevika arcane #sevika x reader #sevika x y/n #sevika x you #sevika #sevika my love #sevika smut

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newdawnfadesout · 4 months ago

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Blur Book Links

Links to epubs/pdfs of Blur books and some related Britpop ones:

Blur: 3862 Days - Stuart Maconie

The best Blur book, it comprehensively covers their history up until 1999. I've heard there is a newer edition that goes a little bit further but I've not managed to find that.

Bit of a Blur - Alex James

Alex's first autobiography and own account of the bands history, plus a lot of bars, booze and cocaine.

All Cheeses Great and Small - Alex James

Barely mentions Blur tbh, it's mostly focused on his life as a farmer. Unless you really like his writing I wouldn't bother with this one.

Verse, Chorus, Monster - Graham Coxon

Graham's recent autobiography. It covers quite a lot of Blur's early history, then obviously skips the parts he doesn't want to remember so much. There's a lot of side bits about his art and learning guitar techniques.

The Life of Blur - Martin Power

This one covers Blur up until about 2013. He didn't interview any of them directly, but spoke to people who knew them and took a lot from archives and historical interviews. I learned some new things, pretty decent.

Black Book: The Live History of Blur - Drew Athans

This is an interesting book that reviews live recordings of a large chunk of the bands history up til 2009. The 2nd edition print version goes up to 2012. I find it really interesting from a research point of view, and you can find most of the recordings discussed on the Blur Archive Project

Damon Albarn: Blur, Gorillaz and Other Fables - Martin Roach

This is obviously Damon focused so covers his side projects as well as Blur. Some of it is a rehash of what can be found elsewhere, but still had some unique bits.

The Last Party: Britpop, Blair and the Demise of English Rock - John Harris

This encompasses many bands around the Britpop scene but obviously Blur feature quite heavily. Gives you lots of useful contextual info

Just For One Day: Adventures in Britpop - Louise Wener

Louise from Sleeper's autobiography, it only briefly mentions Blur but I'm including it because it's quite a nice little easy read with lots of vignettes from someone in the middle of Britpop.

#blur #damon albarn #graham coxon #alex james #dave rowntree #britpop #sleeper

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boozedancing · 9 months ago

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Guinness Showdown: Extra Stout vs. Draught Stout

Today’s video features a @GuinnessIreland Showdown! It’s Draught #Stout vs. Extra Stout. Click the link to hear all about it.

We’re no strangers to Guinness Stout. We go way way back with this beer and consider it a definite go-to. That being said, we’ve never done a side by side comparison of two slightly different versions, so for today’s video, we’re trying the Guinness Draught Stout and Guinness Extra Stout. Here’s a bit more information about each Guinness Stout variation: Guinness Draught Stout: Guinness Draught…

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#A Tasting at the Murder Table #Booze Dancing TV #Dranks #Guinness #Review #Reviews #Video #YouTube

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jungkoode · 29 days ago

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死 KKANGPAE | #08 死

† chai †

"Sweetness doesn’t have a place in Jeon’s life, or at least it didn’t, until now. Because he’s been craving vanilla and cardamom and… chai? Hoseok is as annoying as always, and the fact that you may be at tonight’s celebration is… something he doesn’t quite know how to process."

next | index

⚔ chapter details ⚔

word count: 6.3k

rating: mature

content: snippet into jeon’s head, jeon’s POV, jeon being emo, sad vibes, insomnia, mental health issues, pills, suicide jokes, j-hope being a good friend and also a good doctor, celebrations, booze, female friendships, moon being surprisingly good at mixing drinks

☠ author's note ☠

I can literally HEAR all your "I can fix him" screams from here and honestly? SAME. I, too, want to fix the emotionally constipated sniper who probably sleeps with his combat boots on (￣ω￣)

Here's the thing—I started this whole endeavor thinking I'd stick strictly to the protagonist's POV. Very tunnel vision, very "we only know what she knows" vibes. But then Jeon's broody ass started living rent-free in my head and I was like... fuck, I want to show what's happening in that disaster brain of his too???

I'm sure you know the feeling. When reading, you just NEED to know what the hell is going on behind those cold eyes and that jaw that could cut glass. But it gets tricky, especially when you're trying to do this whole slow reveal thing without dumping too much info at once.

And trust me, the character of Jeon is like a cocktail made by a bartender who's having an existential crisis—way too many conflicting ingredients, definitely going to give you a hangover, but you're still going to drink it because you hate yourself. Or love pain. Or both.

So I decided to include snippets of his POV sometimes. It feels necessary—some conversations need to happen when our protagonist isn't there, and some emotional baggage needs unpacking for you readers to understand what's actually going on (like back in chapter 2 when we got that glimpse into his head).

Now, I'd love to ask for your opinion on this whole POV-switching business, but let's be real—this story is pretty much gonna be completed by the time you're reading this author's note. So... I'm just gonna trust my chaotic writer instincts on this one.

And if you don't like getting glimpses into Jeon's beautiful disaster of a mind? Well... you're gonna like it today anyway (•̀ᴗ•́)━☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

⚔ socials ⚔

read on ao3

read on wattpad

tumblr/twitter: @jungkoode

⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎

Jungkook doesn't do sweets. Never has.

His world operates in darker shades, tactical operations and precise calculations. Sweetness belongs to a different universe—one of bright colors and soft edges that he left behind long ago.

Sometimes a piece of candy appears in his pocket, usually after a meeting with JM who keeps bowls of them everywhere. He'll unwrap it absently, the crinkle of plastic echoing in his quiet office. Let it dissolve on his tongue while reviewing mission reports. The initial sweetness isn't unpleasant, stirring something old and forgotten in his chest.

But it never lasts.

The sugar becomes too much, coating his mouth like an unwelcome invasion.

Cloying.

Suffocating.

He usually tosses the rest, wondering why he even bothered.

Lately though, something's changed.

He finds himself reaching for vanilla cookies in the cafeteria. Ordering cardamom tea instead of his usual black coffee. Small impulses he can't explain, like his body's searching for something his mind hasn't caught up to yet.

And now?

Now the clock reads 4:16 AM.

It's yet another night of minimal sleep—three and a half hours if he's being generous. The neon numbers mock him from his bedside table, surrounded by an array of pills that could probably tranquilize an elephant.

All prescribed by J-Hope.

All increasingly useless.

Benzos. Narcotics. Nothing touches the corners of his insomnia anymore.

He's been fighting with his sheets for the past hour, tangled evidence of another failed attempt at rest. The black covers pool around his feet like spilled ink. His bedroom surrounds him in familiar darkness—walls painted to absorb light rather than reflect it, matching the void that lives behind his ribs.

The king-sized bed stretches out like empty territory, conquered by nothing but restless thoughts and the occasional phantom of memory. His room is a fortress built of clean lines and minimal decoration, a cell of his own design where even the shadows know better than to dance.

But lately, even this usually comforting solitude feels... different. Like something's missing. Something warm and sweet that he can't quite name.

Jungkook steps into the cold, the floor a shock against his bare feet. The shadows stretch across his bedroom, making the space feel hollow and vast at 4 AM. His movements are silent—years of training making even his insomnia graceful.

The lounge area of his wing feels abandoned. Empty sofas and tables wait like props on a stage, missing their usual cast of lieutenants and strategists. During the day, this space buzzes with mission plans and tactical discussions. Now it's just him and the quiet.

He closes the door to his wing, crossing into the neutral territory of the entrance hall. It's the DMZ between his domain and V's—a thought that makes his head hurt. Even at this hour, he can feel the shift in energy.

V's presence lingers here like a bad taste.

The access card feels heavy in his hand. A small piece of tech that reminds him of his rank, his responsibilities. AD's security system responds with a soft beep, elevator doors sliding open on silent tracks. He steps in, presses the button for the common area. It's not his usual haunt—too exposed, too public—but lately he's been drawn there.

The descent gives him time to think. His mind drifts between fragments of nightmares and that strange, persistent craving for sweetness. It's been haunting him for weeks now, this urge for vanilla and cardamom.

For chai and spices.

Maybe his brain is trying to balance out the bitterness that fills his days, or maybe he's finally losing it.

The elevator announces his arrival with a quiet ding. The corridor stretches before him, dark and empty. Somewhere down there is the snack area, and maybe, if he's lucky, a moment of peace.

He moves towards the corridor. Posters and artwork splash color across the cream walls—a jarring contrast to his stark quarters. He never quite understood the need for decoration, but the members insist on making the space "lived in." Whatever that means.

After 3 minutes, the common lounge sprawls before him, so different from his wing's militant precision. Here, rank means little. Divisions blur. The high ceiling should make the space feel cold, but somehow it doesn't. Maybe it's the worn leather sofas or the gaming consoles scattered about like abandoned toys.

The air smells of polish and something unknown yet weirdly tranquil—comfort, maybe.

He pushes that thought away.

Vending machines hum quietly in the snack area. Behind the glass, rows of sweets beckon. His eyes linger on a vanilla protein bar, then drift to some cardamom cookies. The craving hits again, piercing and mercilessly insistent.

But he's not alone.

AD slouches in a puff chair, bathed in the blue light of his game screen. His face twisted in its usual scowl, fingers jabbing at buttons with unnecessary force.

The sight stirs something in Jungkook's chest—regret, maybe.

Or guilt.

Both emotions he'd rather not examine.

Their eyes meet. The air grows heavy. Unspoken words. Shared trauma.

The gaming console beeps softly. AD's character dies on screen. The silence that follows feels like an accusation.

Jungkook notes the way AD's blonde hair glints in the dim light as his eyes snap to Jungkook. His fingers still on the controller, body shifting into something more guarded, more alert.

Jungkook feels his muscles tense automatically. The late-night sugar craving fades to background noise as AD's frosty stare pins him in place.

Like a fucking needle cutting into skin.

His hand hovers over the door handle, and he can't decide whether to stay or retreat. There's too much history here, too many buried regrets—and AD's presence brings it all rushing back—memories Jungkook would rather keep locked away with his other nightmares.

He immediately clocks the way AD's face contorts—sharp and bitter—and it makes Jungkook's chest tighten with familiar remorse.

The younger man has never quite forgiven him.

Probably never will.

Just as Jungkook decides to leave, to return to the safety of his isolation, AD's voice slices through the silence.

"No need for you to scurry off." The words barely mask the hostility underneath. "Was about to leave anyway."

Jungkook forces his shoulders to relax, though his jaw remains tight. Their paths cross rarely these days, and when they do, it's always like this—loaded silences and measured distance.

AD sets the controller down. Sharp. Angry. His movements are stiff as he rises, radiating enmity in waves that fill the common room. The scent of fresh lemons—AD's signature—grows stronger as he approaches.

But Jungkook doesn't move.

Doesn't flinch.

He deserves this, after all. This anger, this hostility, this remorse that reminds him of betrayals he can never make right.

The collision comes swift and deliberate—AD's shoulder slamming into his with force. The impact jolts through Jungkook's body, but the physical pain is nothing compared to the guilt that floods his system. His throat tightens with dusty apologies he knows AD would never accept.

He watches him stride away, the blonde's back rigid with years of accumulated anger. The sound of his footsteps fades down the corridor, leaving Jungkook alone with the quiet hum of the vending machines and his own thoughts.

There was a time when AD looked up to him, when their dynamic was different—better. Now all that remains is this bitter aftermath, this chasm Jungkook carved with his own choices. The memory of who they used to be makes the present cut deeper.

The gaming console's screen still glows, enhancing AD's absence in the empty chair he left behind. The 'GAME OVER' message blinks mockingly. Jungkook's fingers twitch, remembering late nights spent teaching AD new gaming strategies, back when trust wasn't such a foreign concept between them.

He should feel angry at the shoulder check; at the constant hostility that feels like a reprimand.

But all he feels is hollow.

Empty.

Because how can he blame AD for hating him when he did this? When he destroyed something irreplaceable with decisions he can never take back?

He can't help but stare down the empty corridor where AD disappeared, the bitter taste of their encounter lingering longer than he'd like. His craving for sweetness feels almost desperate now—a childish attempt to wash away the guilt that gnaws at his chest.

His throat tightens. He swallows hard, trying to maintain the aloofness expected of Kkangpae's deadliest sniper.

But it's hard, when AD's hostility has cracked something open inside him, letting old memories seep through like poison.

The vending machines hum quietly, offering a welcome distraction. He scans the selection without really seeing it, until—

Croissants.

Something shifts in his stomach at the sight of those packaged pastries. They're nothing like the fresh ones from the cafeteria, the ones you always grab during breakfast. Not that he's been watching. It's just that you're always there when he is, picking up one of those flaky pastries along with your coffee.

He's noticed, despite himself, how early you arrive to snag them before they run out. Same time as him, though his early mornings are spent running from nightmares rather than hunting down breakfast.

The memory of your routine feels oddly grounding after his encounter with AD. It's something simple, predictable.

Unlike the mess of guilt and regret that follows him through these halls at night.

It's a strange comfort, this knowledge of your habits.

One he doesn't understand.

One he probably doesn't deserve.

The scent of fresh lemons still lingers in the air, like a ghost of bridges burned and trust fractured. But as Jungkook stares at those artificially-made croissants, he finds himself thinking of chai tea instead.

He tears his gaze away, scanning other options until he spots a nutty protein bar. Practical. Sensible. The kind of choice the Chief of Tactical Assassinations should make.

He jabs at the keypad hastily, and then, the machine whirs and drops his selection with a dull thud.

The wrapper crinkles in his grip as he retrieves it. Such a simple thing—choosing a late-night snack. No one gets hurt. No trust gets broken. No consequences ripple through the gang's hierarchy.

Just him and a protein bar at 4 AM.

The common room feels different now that AD's gone. Quieter. Jungkook lets himself breathe, really breathe, for what feels like the first time since AD's shoulder slammed into his.

He should feel worse, probably. Should let the weight of past betrayals and broken friendships crush him like they usually do. But something about this moment—this stupid protein bar in his hand, the quiet of the room, the lingering thought of croissants and early mornings—makes everything feel a bit lighter.

His lips almost twitch into what could be a smile. It's weird, this tiny bubble of something in his chest. Almost like contentment. He doesn't examine it too closely, afraid it might shatter.

The corridors don't feel as suffocating as he makes his way back to his wing. The shadows seem less interested in reminding him of his sins.

For now, in this small hour between night and dawn, he allows himself this moment of peace.

He probably doesn't deserve it. But for once, he takes it anyway.

Jungkook stares at his lunch without really seeing it.

The cafeteria bustles around him, but he's carved out his own bubble of silence at the far end of a long table. It's better this way—no small talk, no pretending to care about division gossip.

His chopsticks push a piece of fish back and forth across his plate. The encounter with AD keeps replaying in his mind, each memory tasting bitter like the coffee he's been nursing for the past hour. Some wounds, he's learning, don't heal with time. They just scab over, waiting to be picked open again.

And then, a tray clatters across from him.

J-Hope drops into the seat, his white medical coat slightly rumpled from what's probably been a busy morning in the infirmary. The doctor's eyes scan Jungkook's face with scrutiny, his mouth pulling into that familiar worried frown.

"You look like shit," J-Hope announces, ever the picture of bedside manner. "Two hours of sleep? Maybe less?"

Jungkook shrugs, still focused on mutilating his fish. "Don't count anymore."

"Those new meds I gave you—" J-Hope starts, unwrapping his sandwich with more force than necessary. "You're actually taking them, right?"

"They don't work." The words come out flat. "Nothing does."

"Jesus christ," J-Hope mumbles through a bite of sandwich. "Have you tried, I don't know, taking them before you spend six hours staring at your ceiling? Maybe with some tea?"

The concern in J-Hope's voice makes something twist in Jungkook's chest.

He doesn't deserve this—the worry, the care, any of it.

Not after everything.

But J-Hope is one of the few people who still treats him like a person rather than a cautionary tale, so he tries to sound less dismissive when he responds.

"I don't need a lesson on how to take pills. They just don't work for me."

The doctor sets his sandwich down, eyebrows pulling together. A bit of lettuce falls out. "Look, I know you've built up tolerance, but we need to find something that works. You can't keep going like this."

"I'm fine." He's not, but he doesn't truly care. "Function better on less sleep anyway. More efficient."

"That's bullshit and you know it." J-Hope's voice rises slightly, anger seeping through. "You think I can't see what this is doing to you? The mood swings? The isolation? This isn't healthy, Jungkook."

Jungkook flinches at the use of his real name. "I don't need a lecture. I'm handling it."

"Oh yeah, real healthy coping strategy." J-Hope's scoff holds more concern than mockery. "Just pretend everything's fine while you run yourself into the ground."

Exhaustion weighs heavy on Jungkook's bones. Three hours of sleep and memories of AD's hostility from last night make his tongue looser than usual. "Maybe you should prescribe me your finest benzos. Let me wash them down with vodka. That ought to do the trick."

The slam of J-Hope's palm against the table makes the silverware jump. Several heads turn their way, but Jungkook can't bring himself to care.

"If you want to kill yourself," J-Hope's voice is deadly quiet, trembling with rage, "don't you dare make it my prescription."

The cafeteria suddenly feels too small, too crowded. J-Hope's worry tastes bitter in the back of Jungkook's throat, mixing with guilt he doesn't have the energy to process. He shouldn't have said that—shouldn't have joked about something so dark. But three hours of sleep and a lifetime of regrets make it hard to care about much of anything anymore.

Silence stretches between them. Jungkook stares at his mangled fish, not really eating anymore. He knows what's coming—J-Hope never could leave well enough alone.

The doctor's voice softens, trying a different approach. "Have you considered meditation? Or maybe some calming music? I know a sleep therapist who—"

"I don't need a damn therapist." Jungkook's tongue plays with his lip ring, a nervous habit he can't shake.

The metal tastes bitter, or maybe that's just the exhaustion talking.

Because J-Hope is wrong. Therapy won't fix this. Pills won't fix this. Nothing can erase what happened, what he let happen. Some stains don't wash out, no matter how hard you scrub.

"Look, Jungkook." J-Hope uses his real name again, and his throat constricts uncontrollably. "Ever since what happened with—"

"Don't." The word comes out sharp enough to cut.

J-Hope holds his gaze, unflinching. "You can't keep punishing yourself forever."

"I'm not discussing this." His voice turns to steel, matching the cold weight that's made a home in his chest.

Another sigh from J-Hope as he leans back. "Fine. But you know where to find me when you're ready to actually try and fix this."

Jungkook's jaw clenches so hard it hurts, a muscle jumping under his skin. But he stays quiet. What's the point of arguing when J-Hope doesn't understand?

Some things aren't meant to be fixed.

Some people don't deserve to be.

Jungkook pushes his half-eaten lunch away with a tired sigh. He can feel it coming—the same conversation they have every year.

"So," J-Hope starts, right on cue. "Making an appearance tonight or pulling your usual disappearing act?" He peers at Jungkook over his coffee mug, eyes too knowing for comfort.

"Haven't decided." The words come out clipped, because he feels already exhausted by the mere thought of socializing.

"You should come." J-Hope takes a careful sip. "Might help to interact with actual humans instead of just your rifle for a change."

"I interact plenty." It sounds defensive even to his own ears.

"Glaring at people from across the room doesn't count as interaction." J-Hope's voice is dry as desert sand. "Neither does grunting one-word responses."

Jungkook's tongue finds his lip ring, playing with it absently. "It's just a casual thing. Not mandatory."

"Right, just our leader's rise to power celebration. Totally insignificant." The doctor's sarcasm could cut glass. "Definitely not something a Council member should show face at."

"RM himself said it's not formal."

"Maybe not officially. But you know what it means to everyone else. Especially the newer ones—shows them what we're about, what matters to us."

Newer ones. The words make him hold his breath. He thinks of Yunjin's bright enthusiasm, of your sharp wit. Of how you'll probably be there tonight.

The thought doesn't help him decide whether he wants to go more, or run faster in the opposite direction.

"You seem perfectly capable of handling traditions without me."

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook." The doctor's frustration bleeds through. "This isn't about tradition. It's about you actually being part of the team for once. Don't you ever get tired of the whole lone wolf act?"

Something bitter rises in Jungkook's throat. His tongue presses against his cheek—a habit from childhood he never quite shook.

Silence. He takes a slow breath, measuring his words.

"I'll think about showing up."

It's not a yes, but J-Hope takes what he can get. The doctor's shoulders relax slightly as he leans back, apparently satisfied with even this crumb of compliance.

"Got patients waiting," J-Hope says, collecting his things. The coffee mug scrapes against the tray. "Try to sleep before tonight, yeah?"

Jungkook makes a noncommittal sound, already drifting into thoughts of empty corridors and quiet corners where he won't have to pretend to be social. Where he won't have to see AD's hatred or V's cruel smile. Where he won't have to watch you move through the crowd, chai-scented and d̶i̶s̶t̶r̶a̶c̶t̶i̶n̶g̶ irrelevant.

J-Hope's footsteps fade into the cafeteria buzz, leaving Jungkook alone with his cold coffee and colder thoughts.

Another conversation that changes nothing, fixes nothing.

Just like everything else in his life.

"What?"

The word tumbles out of your mouth before you can stop it.

Smooth, real smooth.

Chaewon snorts, eyes crinkling. "Right, keep forgetting you're still a baby gang member. Tonight's the whole 'RM took over this shitshow' party."

You frown, because seriously? Four months in and you're just now hearing about this? Some Seduction Division recruit you are.

"It's not a big deal," Chaewon adds, probably seeing the confusion on your face. "RM didn't even start it. We just got drunk on the first anniversary and now it's a thing."

Eunchae pops her head between you and Chaewon, her light brown hair tickling your cheek. "Plus, you know. Give gang members an excuse to drink and we'll run with it."

You lean back against the couch, letting your head fall back softly.

Great.

Another Kkangpae tradition you and Yunjin missed the memo on. At this rate, you'll still be the clueless newbies when you're both grey and wrinkled.

"So what, we just show up and get wasted?" you ask, trying to sound casual. Like you're not low-key freaking out about what to wear or how to act around the higher-ups when they're three sheets to the wind.

Chaewon shrugs, picking at her nails. "Pretty much. Some people get all fancy, others come in sweatpants. It's not like RM gives a shit either way."

A flash of bubblegum pink catches your eye. Yunjin shuffles in, hair wrapped in a towel and dripping onto her shoulders. Perfect timing, as always.

"Did someone say alcohol?" She plops down on the sofa arm, water droplets flying everywhere. "Because I'm not playing nurse again tonight."

"That was one time!" Eunchae's voice pitches up in defense. "And that mark needed me to drink!"

Kazuha snorts. "You could've said no."

"To free drinks?" Eunchae spins around, hand on her chest like she's been mortally wounded. "In this economy?"

"She's got a point," Sakura drawls from her sprawl across the couch. Her long legs dangle over the armrest, taking up way too much space.

Yunjin tugs at her towel, rolling her eyes. "Well, don't come crying to me when you're hugging the toilet later."

You can't help but laugh. These idiots are really your team now. "I take it parties get pretty wild around here?"

"Oh honey." Kazuha's lips twitch. "There's a reason strip poker got banned."

"I'm sorry, what?" Your eyes go wide. Because what.

"It was brief but iconic." Eunchae grins, nudging your shoulder. "Sakura tried to slide across a table."

"And I would've made it!" Sakura calls out, not even bothering to lift her head. "That loose board was sabotage, I swear."

"Sure, blame the table." Eunchae turns to you with a conspiratorial wink. "Just wait till you see what happens when someone breaks out the tequila."

You raise an eyebrow, already mentally noting which Council members to avoid when the drinks start flowing.

"Thanks for the warning. I'll stay away from any furniture surfing attempts."

Your teammates' laughter fills the room, and something warm blooms in your chest. It's weird how these chaotic idiots have become your f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶y̶ friends in just four months.

Chaewon leans back, crossing her legs. "Tonight's pretty chill though. Eat, drink, try not to pass out in a bush somewhere."

"Now that's what I'm talking about." Eunchae bounces in her seat like an overexcited golden retriever.

"Open field, 8 PM." Chaewon's voice shifts into what you've dubbed her 'mom tone.' "We're doing BBQ, and there'll be enough booze to knock out a small army. Wear whatever, but bundle up—it gets cold as balls out there."

"That's two hours from now!" Eunchae flops dramatically across the couch. "Two whole hours. I'm starving now."

"Is food literally all you think about?" Kazuha rolls her eyes, but there's fondness in her tone.

"I could think about other things." Eunchae wiggles her eyebrows. "But food's never disappointed me like men do."

You snort at that. She's not wrong. In your four months here, you've learned (mostly from Yunjin's gossip) that Kkangpae men are like a box of chocolates—mostly bitter, occasionally nutty, and always complicated.

The girls dissolve into giggles again, and you find yourself joining in. Maybe it's the promise of alcohol, or maybe it's just the way these dorks make even a deadly criminal organization feel weirdly homey, but you're actually looking forward to tonight.

God help you.

It's 8:10 PM when you finally head out. You went with comfy over fancy—oversized grey hoodie over a white turtleneck, because fuck freezing to death. The thermal lining is probably the best purchase you've made since joining Kkangpae. That, and these loose jeans that actually have functional pockets.

A flash of pink appears in your peripheral vision before Yunjin loops her arm through yours, practically vibrating with enthusiasm.

"Aren't you excited?" She bounces on her toes like a kid with a sugar rush. "I heard these parties are insane!"

You can't help but laugh. Her enthusiasm is s̶w̶e̶e̶t̶ infectious. But the elevator dings before you can respond, doors sliding open to reveal—oh.

V lounges inside, arm draped over JM's shoulders like the Finance Chief is his personal armrest. JM seems unbothered, wearing that patient smile he gets when dealing with V's... everything. His salmon-colored hair looks soft under the elevator lights.

"Ladiessssss!" V draws out the word like he's auditioning for Parseltongue lessons. He shifts to make room, though his arm stays firmly around JM. "Coming to party with us common folk?"

"Free food's free food." You shrug, stepping in beside Yunjin who's still clinging to your arm.

She giggles at your response, squeezing your arm tighter. You catch JM's eye and nod—proper respect for a Council member and all that. He returns it with a warm smile that makes his eyes crinkle behind his round glasses.

The elevator feels smaller with four people, especially when one of them is V taking up space like it's his job. But hey, at least it's not AD. Or worse, J̶e̶o̶n̶ certain other Council members.

"Evening, JM." You smile at him, because it's hard not to. His aura always feels like a warm blanket—the complete opposite of V's chaotic energy.

"Good evening." JM's voice is soft, gentle. "I hope the night finds you well."

"What is this, fucking Shakespeare?" V waves his hand dismissively. "Save the fancy talk for business hours. Tonight's for getting wasted and making bad decisions. Luckily we will be free of certain judgemental stares."

"V." JM's warning comes with a poorly hidden smile.

"What? Just saying what everyone thinks." V grins, all teeth. "Not my fault someone walks around like they've got a steel rod up their ass."

"Pretty sure that's just the natural reaction to dealing with you for years." The words slip out before you can stop them.

"Wow. Wow." V pretends you've stabbed him in the chest. "Already picking sides? And here I thought we were gonna be besties."

You roll your eyes. "Not picking sides. Just speaking from personal experience."

"Brief experience," he corrects, wagging a finger at you. "You haven't seen all my charms yet. I grow on people, like mold."

"That's... not the selling point you think it is."

Finally the metallic doors open to the ground floor. Through the glass gates, you can see the open field where everyone's gathering. The sky's already dark, stars peeking through like tiny paint droplets.

Here goes nothing.

The field buzzes with activity, gang members scattered around like the stars peppered across the night sky. A bonfire crackles in the middle, throwing warm light over everyone's faces. The smell of BBQ makes your stomach growl—you haven't eaten since lunch.

RM's white hair catches the firelight, making him look almost ethereal. It's weird seeing him like this, gesturing animatedly as he talks. The fearsome leader of Kkangpae, actually laughing. Who knew?

Moon hovers by the drinks, playing bartender—although still maintaining his usual polite efficiency. Though tonight his smile seems more genuine, less 'I'm being nice because I'm your superior' and more 'want another beer?'

Jessi and Chaewon huddle together near the fire, probably plotting world domination or sharing gossip. The flames dance in Jessi's red hair while Chaewon leans in close, looking more relaxed than you've ever seen her during training.

V drags JM toward the grill, still attached to him like a very loud, very clingy octopus. "Make way for the master chefs!" he hollers, making JM shake his head with fond exasperation.

Your eyes scan the crowd before you can stop yourself. Looking for broad shoulders in black leather, for silver piercings catching firelight. For that scent of pine and wood that's become way too f̶a̶m̶i̶l̶i̶a̶r̶ noticeable lately.

But Jeon isn't here.

You feel something waver in your chest—disappointment maybe, or just hunger.

Yeah, definitely hunger.

You push the thought away and focus on the party. There's food and alcohol and your friends are here. That's what matters.

Yunjin tugs you toward the bonfire, and god, the warmth feels good after the castle's perpetual AC chill. It's weird seeing everyone so relaxed—like someone hit pause on all the gang politics and murder plots for one night.

You sink onto a log bench, letting the fire chase away the evening cold. The flames bathe everyone in soft gold, making even the most hardened killers look almost n̶i̶c̶e̶ normal for once.

J-Hope appears through the crowd like a ghost in his white medical coat, looking like he's about to collapse. The bags under his eyes have bags of their own, but he's still got that manic energy that keeps him running on fumes and spite.

He drops onto the bench nearby with a groan that sounds like his soul trying to escape. The scent of sandalwood follows him, mixing with woodsmoke.

"Rough day?" you ask, eyeing his very out-of-place doctor getup.

His laugh comes out more like a wheeze. "You could say that." He waves vaguely at his coat. "Didn't exactly get a wardrobe change break."

Yunjin giggles beside you, still clutching your arm like a pink-haired koala.

Your eyes scan the crowd again, definitely not looking for anyone s̶p̶e̶c̶i̶f̶i̶c̶ particular. "Where's the rest of the Council?"

"Well," J-Hope snorts, "AD's busy losing at League of Legends. Says he'll grace us with his presence when he's done raging at his screen."

"And Jeon?" The question slips out. Smooth.

J-Hope answers your question with a nod toward the field entrance. Your eyes follow and—oh.

Jeon strides in with Takama, both of them loaded down with enough meat to feed a small country. The firelight catches on his silver piercings, and fuck, he shouldn't look this good just carrying groceries. Your heart does that stupid little skip thing it's been doing lately whenever he's around.

But it's like... something's different about him tonight. The usual ice-prince vibe is dialed down a notch, replaced by something almost... approachable.

Unapproachably approachable.

Takama actually has him engaged in conversation—a miracle in itself. His shaved head immediately grabs your attention as he says something that makes Jeon relax slightly.

They drop the meat by the grill, and you notice how Jeon's eyes sweep across the crowd. It's quick, casual, but you catch it anyway. There's something searching in his gaze, like he's looking for... well. Probably just checking the perimeter or whatever security shit he does.

You turn back to J-Hope, trying to ignore the warmth in your cheeks. "Even party night comes with duties, huh?"

"That's Kkangpae for you." J-Hope's voice carries a touch of dry humor. "We don't do proper days off here."

He's right. Even now, surrounded by laughter and firelight and the promise of good food, you're all still playing your parts. Though watching Jeon handle those heavy bags like they're nothing makes you think some roles aren't so bad to watch.

Get it together.

You sink deeper into the bench, letting the bonfire's warmth seep into your bones. The sound of laughter and sizzling meat hovers around you; everyone's guard lowered just a fraction under the stars.

Takama then leads Jeon toward the fire, some members sprawled out on the grass around them like lazy cats. The deputy's eyes find yours, his smile genuine—a rare sight in your line of work.

"Ankle doing better?" he asks, and you're touched he remembers.

"All healed up, thanks." You return his smile, because Takama's one of the few higher-ups who actually seems to give a shit about the recruits.

Jeon just nods at you, dark eyes meeting yours for a split second before sliding away. You're starting to notice is his thing—minimal effort, maximum impact. Your skin prickles despite the fire's heat.

The conversation naturally flows around you, mission stories and inside jokes mixing seamlessly even between different divisions. You half-listen, too aware of Jeon's presence at the edge of the group. He pulls out his cigarettes with those r̶i̶d̶i̶c̶u̶l̶o̶u̶s̶l̶y̶ ̶n̶i̶c̶e̶ steady hands, placing one between his pierced lips in a way that makes your mouth go dry.

But before he can light up, J-Hope shoots him a look that could freeze hell. Some silent doctor-patient communication passes between them, and Jeon clicks his tongue, shoving the cigarette back in its pack. Frustration flashes across his face before he quickly shoves it down.

But you catch yourself studying him—the way his fingers fidget with the lighter he can't use, how his jaw clenches when he's annoyed. Little details that paint a picture of the man behind the cold exterior.

Not that you're paying special attention or anything.

Moon's got a nice little bar setup going by the drinks station. You could use something to take the edge off this weird night. So you stand up, already missing the bonfire's warmth whilst stretching your arms above your head.

"Getting drinks," you tell Yunjin, who's deep in conversation with some other recruits. "Want anything?"

Her eyes light up. "Beer, please!"

You glance at Takama, still chatting with his boss. "Beer run. You in?"

"That'd be great, thanks." His smile is genuinely warm.

You look at the doctor—J-Hope's been quiet, watching everything with those too-observant eyes—and ask him too.

"Can I grab you something?"

"I don't drink." His tone is light but final. Like a door closing.

You nod, not pushing it. Your eyes drift to Jeon last, catching him staring into the flames like they hold all life's answers. He meets your gaze for a second, and you'd swear something unreadable flickering across his face before he looks away.

"Whisky on the rocks," he mutters, barely audible over the crackling fire.

You bite back a smile. Of course he drinks whisky. Probably the expensive kind too, the pretentious a̶s̶s̶h̶o̶l̶e̶ guy.

Moon's showing off his bartending skills to an impressed crowd when you approach. Time to see if the Deputy Commander makes drinks as precisely as he runs operations.

His back is turned to you as you approach, mixing something that probably has enough alcohol to knock out a horse. But he moves confidently, like he's done this a thousand times before.

When he finally finishes serving another member, you step up. His serious bartender face melts into something more welcoming.

"What can I get you?" He wipes his hands on a towel, all proper and polite as usual.

"Vodka lemonade for me," you say. "Plus whisky on the rocks and two beers for the others."

He nods, already reaching for bottles. "Coming right up."

You watch him work, impressed despite yourself. "Where'd you learn all this fancy mixing stuff?"

"Been around a while," he chuckles, measuring vodka into a shaker. "It's useful—nothing settles gang politics like a good drink."

"You're really good at this," you say, leaning against the counter. "Like, seriously good."

His hands pause for a split second. A small smile tugs at his lips.

"Thanks. It's an old passion. Actually wanted to open my own bar once—somewhere quiet, away from all..." He gestures vaguely at the chaos around you.

"That's... not what I expected." You watch him pour whisky over ice with perfect precision.

"Life's funny that way." He slices a lemon expertly. "We all had different plans before this. Different dreams. But here we are."

Something in his voice makes you pause—because yeah, it's so easy to forget sometimes that everyone here has a story, a before. Even Moon, with his perfect posture and formal suits, had different dreams once.

The thought sits heavy in your chest as he lines up your drinks. You wonder what dreams everyone else gave up to end up here, in a criminal organization's makeshift bar under the stars.

"What about you?" Moon asks, stirring your drink now. "Got any derailed dreams?"

You consider the question, because it feels surreal to be having this kind of talk with the Deputy Commander—usually conversations here stick to missions and murder plots.

"Pretty sure we all left something behind when we joined." The words come out slower than intended. "Different paths all leading to the same fucked up destination, right?"

Moon hands you the drinks, and his expression is softer. "That's gang life for you. Trade in your old self, get a new family and some trauma in return."

"Any regrets?"

He gets this far-away look, like he's seeing something beyond the makeshift bar. Then he shakes his head.

"Made my choice. Even the darkest paths have their bright spots."

You take the drinks, mentally filing away this unexpectedly deep conversation with Kkangpae's second-in-command. Who knew he had a philosophical side under all that formality?

"Thanks for the drinks. And the..." You gesture vaguely with your chin, since your hands are full. "This whole thing."

His smile actually reaches his eyes this time. "Anytime. Now go before those drinks get warm."

"You joining us later?"

"Once dinner's ready." He's already turning to help another member.

You nod, somehow managing to stuff the beer cans in your hoodie pocket while balancing two glasses. The bonfire calls you back, its warmth promising more interesting conversations ahead.

Though probably none as surprising as this one.

next | index

🔪 taglist 🔪

@cannotalwaysbenight @livingformintyoongi @itstoastsworld @redcherrykook @somehowukook @stutixmaru @chloepiccoliniii @kimnamjoonmiddletoe @rpwprpwprpwprw @jimineepaboya @annyeongbitch7 @mar-lo-pap

no reposts, translations, or adaptations

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judesmoonbeauty · 4 months ago

Note

Can you give the context of BLE chap 25? Pleasee

Hi anon, of course! - MDNI

Longish post

25 BLE starts the morning after Kate and Jude sleep together. While Jude is still sleeping, Kate wraps a sheet around herself and explores his room because she's never been inside of it. As she's looking at all the books on his bookshelf, she doesn't realize that he's come up behind her. He hugs her from behind and calls her out for sneaking around his room.

He says it's fine though because he'll just do something in exchange for it, so he slides his hand down her waist before he rips off her sheet. He pinches her nipple with one hand and then slips a finger inside her with his other hand. He teases her verbally, and then Kate asks him if they're now a couple which surprises Jude.

He says she should know without him saying it, and she argues that some things can't be understood without words. Jude never says 'I love you' to her. Instead, he grabs her by the chin and kisses her with force, and marks a snarky comment that she turned red when she was kissed by a man who isn't her lover (he's implying he is her boyfie), and she says, "then we are a couple." Kate is satisfied with that because she never expected normal words of love from Jude.

Before she can kiss him, he pulls his finger out and says he's got a business meeting that morning. Kate, who is is now wet and horny, asks about the continuation. Jude laughs and tells her to finish off herself, and that's what she gets for cheating him. She asks if he's upset that she consulted Victor and the other Crown members instead of him, about staying at Crown. He says she can think what she wants to think and then leaves......

Darius asks Nica if Jude would be a good fit for their family, and Nica is like...uhhhh, no.

Jude also gives Victor heaps of paperwork and contracts to sign as his punishment for going behind his back to help Kate remain at Crown. Still, he thinks Jude is as vindictive and adorable as ever. Ellis says that up until now, Jude has never once been happy, but since it seems to Ellis that he's at his peak happiness, so he asks Victor if he thinks it's okay to kill Jude now. Victor laughs and says that he can kill him later. Ellis is disappointed, but agrees and then he tells Victor he's going to deliver something to Kate.

However, Kate is not at Crown because she is under cover as a new recruit for a criminal group that's been causing a ruckus lately, and who now have been using Raven Co's products for nefarious purposes. Jude isn't having that.

Kate is in a luxurious room filled with men, booze and smoke. Her part of the mission was to go undercover and steal confidential information, which she already has, so now she's just waiting for Jude's arrival to start his revenge as her signal to leave. But, a thug comes in and says that Jude's been captured, which surprises Kate.

Flash back to a few days before prior to the mission when Jude and Kate are reviewing the operation details, (in which Kate narrates that after they became a couple, Jude often randomly touches Kate, but it's also a regular occurrence that he does before each mission.)

So, we have a very touchy-feely boyfriend.

Any way, Kate repeats the plan to Jude. She'll be undercover for three days, and then he will show up at 8:00 pm on the third day. He asks if she remembers her promise she made to him, and she reiterates that she promises she won't die. Jude says that when it's all over he's going to make love to her until she's hoarse, but her improv skills suck so....

Kate denies that statement, and says that she can too improvise and adapt in any situation. Jude smiles and says he looks forward to it.

Back to the present, Kate realizes that Jude got caught on purpose because he wants to see what she can do. This both annoys her that he'd do something like that to his girlfriend, and excites her because that means that Jude has complete trust in her abilities and he recognizes her. So, she calls out to her boss that she'll take care of Jude Jazza.

When she walks into the room where he's being held in handcuffs, the group is cheering for her to kill him gloriously, and she says to just leave it to her. Kate notices that although Jude looks beaten, his amethyst eyes are twinkling with a smile. She walks up to him and straddles his lap, points her gun at him and asks how she should kill him. The two quietly talk to each other as the people around them jeer for his death, and Kate suggests a bullet to the brain.

Jude says that's fine, but if that happens then she won't get her treat later on. Kate retorts that without her his life would be boring, and Jude admits that while may be true, he's going ruin her life for the rest of her life until they're in hell together. He'll never let her go. Kate says that's fine, they can suffer until they die, together.

His cuffed hands are hugging her waist, and before you know it he's got the cuffs removed, and Kate shoots her gun, and the both of them laugh and smile together as they bring down the criminal group, in his cycle of hatred and revenge.

Let's keep making unfulfilled promises to each other. -So long as I can dream the same dream as you.

The last two lines that finish the chapter are rough translations.

#💌 anon #jude jazza #ikevil jude #jude asks #c's corner

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jjmcquade-misc · 18 days ago

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How Obama Transformed the U.S. Intelligence System into an Untouchable Force

The sprawling U.S. intelligence apparatus wasn’t Barack Obama’s invention, it emerged in the wake of 9/11 under George W. Bush, who laid the groundwork with the Patriot Act and a retooled security state. But Obama didn’t just inherit this system; he refined it, expanded it, and entrenched it so deeply into the fabric of American governance that it became nearly impossible for anyone, even a president, to rein it in. His tenure marked a pivotal shift, normalizing a decentralized, privatized, and largely unaccountable intelligence leviathan. Here’s how it unfolded.

The story begins in the early 2000s, when the Bush administration responded to the September 11 attacks with sweeping surveillance powers and a new security architecture. The Patriot Act of 2001 granted agencies like the NSA and FBI unprecedented authority to monitor communications, often sidestepping traditional oversight. By the time Obama took office in 2009, this framework was already in place, but it was still raw, controversial, and subject to scrutiny. Obama’s task wasn’t to build it from scratch; it was to polish it, protect it, and make it permanent.

One of his earliest moves came in 2011, when he signed a renewal of the Patriot Act with a Democratic-controlled Congress. Rather than scaling back Bush-era policies, he leaned into them, signaling that the post-9/11 security state wasn’t a temporary overreach but a new baseline. That same year, he authorized the drone strike that killed Anwar al-Awlaki, a U.S. citizen, without judicial review—a decision rooted in a secretive “Disposition Matrix,” a kill-list system driven by CIA intelligence and insulated from external oversight. Over his presidency, Obama would greenlight over 500 drone strikes, far surpassing Bush’s tally, establishing a precedent for extrajudicial action that relied heavily on intelligence feeds.

Surveillance took a leap forward under Executive Order 12333, which Obama expanded to allow warrantless collection and sharing of raw signals intelligence (SIGINT) across federal agencies. What had once been concentrated in the NSA and FBI now seeped into every corner of the government, from the Department of Homeland Security to the Treasury. This decentralization diluted accountability, as data flowed freely between departments with little public scrutiny.

The 2013 Snowden leaks threw a spotlight on this system. Edward Snowden, a contractor for Booz Allen Hamilton working with the NSA, exposed illegal mass surveillance programs like PRISM and bulk metadata collection, revealing how deeply the government had tapped into private tech giants, Google, Facebook, Microsoft, Apple. Obama’s response was telling: he defended the programs, prosecuted whistleblowers like Snowden, and declined to hold the architects accountable. PRISM became a blueprint for a public-private surveillance partnership, unregulated by Congress, immune to FOIA requests, and beyond democratic reach. Meanwhile, the reliance on contractors like Booz Allen ballooned, by the end of his tenure, 70–80% of the intelligence budget flowed through private firms, funneling billions into an opaque ecosystem.

Obama also shielded the intelligence community from legal consequences. In 2014, the Senate’s Torture Report laid bare CIA abuses, black sites, waterboarding, and even spying on the Senate investigators themselves. Yet Obama refused to prosecute, famously urging the nation to “look forward, not backward.” This stance didn’t just protect individuals; it cemented a culture of impunity, signaling that the intelligence apparatus operated above the law.

Beyond surveillance and legal protections, Obama supercharged the bureaucracy. The Office of the Director of National Intelligence (ODNI), created under Bush, gained sweeping coordination powers under his watch, but rather than centralizing control, it added layers of insulation between the president and field operations. He also empowered hybrid units like Joint Special Operations Command (JSOC) and CIA task forces, which blended military and intelligence functions. These shadowy outfits operated in dozens of countries with lethal authority, secretive chains of command, and minimal oversight from Congress or even their own headquarters.

By 2017, as his presidency wound down, Obama made a final play: he authorized a rule change allowing the NSA to share raw, unfiltered data with 16 other intelligence agencies, stripping away privacy safeguards. This move ensured that the system he’d built could hum along without presidential intervention, its reach embedded in local “fusion centers,” secret courts, and corporate data pipelines.

The outcome was staggering. By the time Obama left office, the intelligence network spanned 17 agencies, leaned heavily on unaccountable contractors, and fused with private tech infrastructure. It wasn’t just bigger, it was untouchable, legalized through executive loopholes and shielded from reform. Obama became the first president to weave intelligence into every layer of government, from foreign policy to law enforcement, but in doing so, he relinquished control. The republic did too. No future leader would easily dismantle this machine, not because it was too strong, but because it had become too diffuse, too ingrained, too essential to the modern state. Obama's Intelligence Policy

#obama #democrats #nsa #surveillance #Snowden #cia #republicans #donald trump #jd vance #robert kennedy jr #tulsi gabbard #maga #joe biden

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guksvault · 4 months ago

Text

HOUSE OF BALLOONS | JJK

07- SIDEWALKS

synopsis: fleeing the pressure and pretense of your elite life, you stumble into the seductive chaos of the House of Balloons. there, Jungkook waits— ready to make you question everything you thought you knew

w/c: 4.7k

warnings: another party! w Val!, chims <3, get to know Val a lil, jk is such a bad liar!, smut, titty lovin’ (ofc), unprotected sex (WRAP IT UPPP), jk likes to swap cum ok, sue me, lots of peach soju, merry-go-rounds, some more gossip girl, reader is feeling bold!, aftercare :), lots of rule breaking!

!minorsdni! | masterlist

Jungkook has never found much joy in weekdays. He’s always hated how slow they feel, how the days blur together into an endless wait for the weekend.

Patience has never been his strong suit; it’s always been one of his biggest flaws. His mom used to scold him as a kid whenever he ran into the kitchen every five minutes, asking if dinner was ready yet.

Not much has changed. Now, Jimin’s dad scolds him every time he pulls his phone from his pocket, checking the time as he counts down the minutes until his shift ends.

In reality, Jungkook didn’t mind spending his evenings at Chim’s. He actually quite enjoyed it—the smell of grilling meat, the low hum of patrons’ conversations as he wiped down the table beside them, even the occasional tap on the back of his head from Jimin’s father when he got caught checking his phone. It reminded him of his mother.

With only an hour and a half left of his shift, the restaurant was quiet. A few scattered customers—mostly drunk old men leaving their office jobs, stopping by to grab their first real meal of the day, accompanied by a bottle or three of soju.

But every time they walked in, there was an off feeling that settled at the bottom of Jungkook’s stomach. The way they drank themselves sick and stumbled out, only to return home to wives and children who deserved more—it made something sour twist inside him.

He never wanted that to be him. Had made a promise to himself that he would never let his future children see him like that. He knew all too well how important a good father figure was, how much he’d longed for that himself when his own father left, choosing booze over the love Jungkook had always offered.

He hated his father. A coward. Blamed him for his mother’s death, for taking away his childhood and forcing him to grow up too quickly. Blamed him for everything, and maybe that was fair.

“Two pretty girls waiting for you to take their order, Jungkook,” Jimin’s father said, his voice calm as he tossed Jungkook’s apron over his head.

Jungkook blinked, shaking off the remnants of his father’s memory, pushing the resentment and bitterness back into the recesses of his mind. He made his way towards the back of the restaurant, where Valerie was waving at him, her giggles filling the air.

“Leaving a strongly worded review about the extremely inattentive staff tonight.” Valerie teased, her smile mischievous.

“Fuck off, Val, or I’ll have you banned for another three months.” Jungkook snarked, a small laugh escaping as he tied his apron behind his back and made his way toward the booth.

Valerie had just finished a three-month ban from Chim’s. Jimin’s father had told her that if she smashed another shot glass, she’d be out for the night. But that had been before the soju bottle incident—when she drunkenly smashed it on another party’s grill and knocked over his tip jar during her off-key, show-stopping performance of ‘Rock Your Body’. She’d been in timeout for three painful months after that.

It wasn’t until Jungkook stood at the end of the booth that he realised you were the one dining with Valerie tonight. He watched as you laughed, Valerie going on about Jimin’s father not appreciating how fabulous her performance had been.

“Be glad you weren’t here for it. Sonically, very rotten,” Jungkook said, his tone dry.

You looked up at Jungkook as Valerie swatted his arm, telling him to “fuck off.” The brown apron tied at his waist only emphasized how small it really was. His sleeves were rolled up to his forearms, revealing the ink etched into his skin, and his hair was pulled back into a small ponytail, shorter strands framing his face.

“Two bottles of peach soju and a seafood pancake,” Valerie beamed, “Taking her to her first street rager.”

Jungkook’s face scrunched slightly at the mention of the street party, was one of his items on his long list of ‘things I hate with an extreme passion.’

He had enjoyed them some time ago, always going with the boys and having a blast. That was until he’d accidentally hooked up with one of the hosts’ girlfriends, which had led to a brawl.

After retrieving the order, Jungkook slid into the booth. There was barely anyone left now, and he was feeling thirsty for some of that peach soju.

He watched as you and Valerie laughed and talked over the meal, though it seemed like you both had forgotten about it the moment the second bottle of soju was cracked open. Half the time, he had no idea what you guys were even talking about, convinced that girls spoke an entirely different language.

“Surprised you’re not spending your Wednesday night having dinner with the Mayor or some shit,” Jungkook spoke up, his fingers fidgeting with the lid of the half-empty soju bottle.

You snorted lightly. “That’s Tuesday nights.”

“You know the fucking Mayor?” Valerie choked out.

“I was being sarcastic, you fucking idiot,” Jungkook groaned.

You rolled your eyes and laughed as Valerie pinched Jungkook’s nipple and twisted it, threatening to staple his balls to his forehead if he called her an idiot again.

“Why don’t your parents marry you off to someone like him? A mayor is far sexier than a hotel manager,” Valerie chirped, her tone light and teasing.

You stiffened, the mention of your parents and marriage sending an uncomfortable pang through your chest. “Firstly, ew. They’re all like a hundred years old. Secondly, I’m not marrying a hotel manager. Not marrying anyone,” you added, forcing a laugh, but it came out half-hearted, the words tasting bitter in your mouth.

Jungkook hadn’t expected Valerie to know about your parents’ plans to marry you off into some loveless arrangement, but it only confirmed how close the two of you had grown.

As Valerie kept talking, Jungkook watched you closely, noticing the way your posture shifted uncomfortably. He saw the slight tension in your shoulders, the way your laughter sounded flat and strained. Your hand reached for the soju again, as if keeping your shot glass full could drown out the weight of the conversation.

“He’s cute though, the guy you showed me. At least they don’t want you marrying someone who looks like a melted mug,” Valerie rambled on, unaware of the discomfort that had crept in between her words.

“Or they could just let her marry someone she actually loves?” Jungkook almost hissed, irritation creeping into his voice. He thought Valerie had rocks for a brain—always talking but never saying anything worth listening to.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like her. In fact, he’d found her quite alluring when they’d first met. She was pretty, carried herself with the kind of confidence most people only dreamt of. But, holy shit, she was a yapper—far too dramatic for his taste.

Jungkook’s comment caught both you and Valerie off guard. He was sitting on the opposite side of the booth, next to Valerie, eyes locked with yours. You could feel the heat of his gaze before his lips curled into a smirk.

“Tell ‘em to go fuck themselves,” he said, downing his shot like it was nothing.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips, a quiet sense of relief washing over you. Jungkook had helped put an end to the conversation, and in that moment, it felt like someone finally understood. Someone around you had finally agreed—your parents were batshit crazy.

Valerie watched the exchange between you two, her eyes narrowing as she saw the small smile you shared with Jungkook. She wasn’t used to seeing him defend anyone, let alone sound defensive on someone else’s behalf.

“Anyways, should we make our way?” Valerie shifts in her seat, sliding out of the booth with a quick fluid movement.

Valerie makes a quick stop to the bathroom before the walk to the party, and you follow Jungkook to the register, tapping your card against the reader to pay.

Jungkook watches as your fingers slide your card back into your wallet, noticing how your eyes avoid his—darting around the restaurant, anywhere but meeting his gaze.

“Take these. Don’t trust no fuckers drinks over there,” Jungkook mutters, sliding two unopened bottles of Soju across the counter toward you.

You glance down at the bottles and then back up at him, a smirk tugging at your lips. “All part of the fun, no?”

“Don’t fuck with me, D.D. Bunch of weirdo’s over there, take it.”

You take the bottles, offer a small thank you and give a small wave as Valerie returns and pretty much drags you out of the restaurant.

✩₊˚.⋆☾⋆⁺₊✧

The street party wasn’t exactly what you’d imagined. Unlike the House of Balloons, where people came together, here everyone seemed to isolate themselves in their own little groups, clinging to familiar faces. The music blared from a cheap speaker, instead of the hands of a pretty little DJ spinning his own decks. No red lights casting a moody glow over the crowd, just a few dim streetlights flickering above.

You’d already witnessed three fights, two projectile vomits, and one missing Valerie—all within the span of an hour and a half.

Sitting on the curb, you sipped from the bottle of Soju Jungkook had given you, the other bottle tucked into the crook of your arm, your gaze wandering over the chaos around you.

You found yourself caught in a meaningless conversation with a group of strangers who had joined you on the curb, when one of the girls in their group dramatically declared she had to know where your shoes were from—or she would die.

“You came alone?” Minho, the guy sitting to your left, asked, his voice genuinely curious.

You shook your head softly, taking a sip from the soju bottle to mask your frustration. “Was with a friend, she saw someone and ran off for a bit.” Your voice slightly bitter at the mention of Valerie ditching you.

“Ah! That’s the guy I was telling you about! Woosung!”

You looked at Valerie with a hint of confusion, trying to rack your brain for any memory of this guy.

“You know, the guy I’ve been ‘seeeeing’? Gonna go say hi, don’t go far.” She said, practically bouncing as she ran off toward him.

Five minutes later, you got a text from her: Going to his place. Don’t wait for me!

“Ah, you can hang with us until she comes back, then?” Minho flirted, tapping his beer cup against your Soju bottle.

Honestly, you were ready to go home. Valerie ditching you at this crappy street party to hook up with some guy had killed any remaining party mood you had.

“You wanna come back to ours? We’re having drinks at a place a few streets down. Could be fun.” He smirked, his finger playing with the silver bracelet around your wrist.

“Stopping by Chim’s first for food. Shitty place, but decent food.” He added.

You pulled your arm back slightly irritated. “Chim’s isn’t shitty.” You took another swig of your Soju.

You replied with a shrug, debating if knocking his beer out of his hands for shit talking your friend's restaurant was rude or not.

“Come on, everything’s shitty around here,” he smirked, “but sure, come with us and maybe I’ll change my mind.”

Minho wasn’t taking no for an answer. He shoved his beer cup toward you, the foam sloshing slightly.

“Taste good, have some.”

“Not really a beer girl.”

He scoffed, the sound covered by a forced laugh, before nudging the cup against your hand again. “Just a little.”

At this point, you’d come to the conclusion that knocking his beer out of his hands wouldn’t be enough—he needed to wear it. You opened your hands, ready to take the cup from him, but then you felt a knee press into your back.

You snap your head to look behind you, ready to tell whatever drunk idiot couldn’t watch their fucking steps, but stopped short when you looked up. Standing there was a familiar tattooed, doe-eyed boy.

“There you are. Been looking for you.” Jungkook’s voice was low, and he pressed his lips together in a small tight smile.

Your previous look of disgust at Minho had been replaced with confusion, and you tilted your head slightly, narrowing your eyes to make sure you weren’t imagining things.

“C’mon” Jungkook took a few steps back, cocking his head toward the street, silently inviting you to follow.

It was a no-brainer. No need for goodbyes, no hesitations. You stood up, grabbed your bottle, and walked toward him.

"Told you not to drink anything but the Soju, your ears painted on or some shit, D.D?"

You hold up both bottles of Soju-one almost empty, the other still sealed. "Didn't drink anything else, thanks though, Dad."

"Don't call me that, I've fucked you and your tits. I'll have to really consider regretting it if I find out you have a daddy kink." Jungkook fake gagged out.

You swat at Jungkook's arm, making him stumble on his own feet.

"Where the fuck's Valerie?"

You shrug slightly, "Hopefully getting her own tits fucked, ran into some guy she knows."

"Valerie ain't got tits to fuck." Jungkook deadpanned.

You laugh-not at Valerie's lack of tits, but at how casually Jungkook drops lines like that.

You've noticed this about him before-his ability to speak his mind without hesitation. It's something you envy. You wish you could say exactly what was on your mind, whether with Minho or your parents.

You and Jungkook continued walking, engaging in small conversation here and there—He would point out little spots he and the boys would hang out, or point out a tree he had climbed as a kid and fell off. Nothing important, but it felt like Jungkook was opening up to you slightly.

You had both strolled into a shitty park, a few houses down from the House Of Balloons, you had demanded to go, told Jungkook that it felt illegal to not take advantage of the kid free space.

You were both sat on a slightly rusted Merry-Go-Round, sharing the bottle of Soju. It was quiet, the only sound being when the rare car would pass by, or drunk delinquents would pass by.

“Why were you even there? Thought you said you weren’t a fan.”

Jungkook’s eyes flickered toward yours as he leaned against one of the rusted metal poles. “I’m not. It’s a shit hole. Just passed by on my way home.” His nose twitched slightly, his gaze dropping to the bottle of Soju between you.

Liar. Liar. Liar.

He had actually walked all the way home, stood in front of his door for a solid 40 seconds, and then turned right back around, heading toward the street party. Told himself it was because he was bored, that he’d make you pay for the Soju—nothing more. Definitely not because he wanted to see if you were having a good time.

Is glad he did now, as soon as he got there and spotted you he saw you with a bunch of rando’s. Knew that as soon as he couldn’t see Valerie by your side, she had fucked you over.

“It’s fuckin’ cold. Home. Let’s go.” Jungkook stood up, jumping off the Merry-Go-Round with an exaggerated stretch. He watched you get to your feet, then couldn’t resist—pushed the metal bar as you stepped off. His laugh echoed through the empty park as you lost your balance and squealed when the thing spun beneath you.

You look up at Jungkook, "You fucking asshole!", You manage to jump off, lunging at Jungkook as he runs away.

He lets you chase him down the street to the House Of Balloons, calls you a 'slow fucker', tells you that you run like a little bitch.

Jungkook’s hand presses lightly against your lower back, guiding you through the house without a word.

“Just go to my room, you can call a ride or some shit. Everyone should be asleep, don’t wanna wake ‘em,” he whispered.

You stepped into his room, the familiar scent of chamomile washing over you—a soft reminder of the last time you were here, on your knees. After rummaging through his dresser, he tossed a black shirt toward you without meeting your eyes.

“Here.”

Catching it and tossing it aside with a casual shrug. “Don’t need it. Ride won’t take long.”

Jungkook rolled his eyes, his expression giving away exactly what you both knew—that you weren’t going anywhere anytime soon.

He quietly slipped out of the room, heading downstairs to grab a couple of bottles of Soju. When he returned, he was half-surprised to find you standing by the desk, draping your clothes over the chair, already wearing his shirt.

He flops down onto his bed, discarding his own shirt and throwing it onto the floor. Grabbing his TV remote and opening the bottle of Soju with his teeth.

"Gossip girl?" He offers as he lets the lid drop from his teeth into his lap.

You move yourself beside Jungkook, lean your back against the headboard and hum softly in response. Both of your eyes are locked onto the screen, silently passing the bottle back and forth between each other.

Jungkook's mind, however, was a mess. This wasn't how he did things. Never had been. He had rules-strict ones: Fuck, cum and get the fuck out. Which he is now, shitting all over. He had invited you in, pretty much asked you to stay and is letting you watch Gossip Girl with him.

And then there was the other rule. The one he had never, ever broken before: never fuck the same girl twice. But with you, everything was starting to blur-he hadn't exactly fucked you twice, had he? He'd fucked you, and then, well... he'd fucked your tits. But now, everything about it felt... fuzzy. His thoughts were blurring together, his rules, his actions. The lines were getting hazy, and he couldn't quite tell where he ended and where you began.

He was watching you from the corner of his eye, how your neck bobbed slightly as you swallowed the Soju, how your legs were bare under his shirt, the way it rode up your thighs as you sat next to him.

"You gonna take the bottle or keep drooling all over your bed at my legs?"

"Fuck up, D.D." Jungkook took the bottle from your hands, his fingers brushing against yours slightly, sending a warmth that shoots from his fingers brushing tips, right to his cock.

He shifted slightly, downed the remainder of the Soju and placed the now empty bottle on his nightstand.

"Should I call a ride or you gonna fuck me?"

Jungkook's eyes shot to yours, hadn't expected that—Fuck, he also hadn't expected it to make his cock firm.

His eyes darted back and forth from your eyes to your lips, fuck, fuck, fuck. Fuck it. His hand moved before he could stop it, reaching out to grip your jaw, pulling you toward him. And then, his lips crashed against yours, desperate and full of need. His thoughts spiraled, and all he could focus on was the heat of your mouth, the way you tasted.

Messy. Hot. Intoxicating. His hands grabbing the sides of your waist as you shifted to straddle his lap. You kissed your way down his neck, a trail of warm, soft kisses.

"Fuck, D.D." His hands roamed over you, squeezing your tits roughly, sliding down your sides before finding your ass, grabbing and pulling you closer. A low groan escaped his lips as your hips started to roll over him, the friction driving him wild. "Want you, fuck— need you."

Your hips continue to slowly roll over Jungkook's hardening cock, the fabric between you both causing friction. You pull your head away from Jungkook's neck, your palms running down his chest slowly.

"No one's stopping you," you murmur.

Jungkook's hand grabs your jaw again, pulling you in for another heated kiss. He pulls away after a moment, his eyes scanning his bedside drawer for a condom. He hisses out a frustrated ‘Fuck!’ when he realizes he's out.

"Shit, I canrun down to the convenience store? Or see if one of the boys has one?"

You look at him with a raised brow, your hands slowly trailing lower. "You clean?" you ask softly, your touch sending a shiver down his spine.

"Fuck D.D, yeah 'course I'm fuckin' clean." His own hand moving up under his shirt that covers your body, right to your chest, slips his hand under your bra and grabs a handful of your breast.

"You sure?"

"You callin' me a slut?"

"Yes."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, takes your nipple between his two fingers and rolls it slightly. "Haven't fucked someone raw in like a year, tested last week. Clean."

"Give me anything, and I'll get a hit out on you." Your hands hook underneath the hem of Jungkook's shirt that’s hanging loosely over your body, pulling it over your head and onto the floor.

Jungkook lets out a soft groan of approval, his hands immediately coming behind you to unclasp your bra and throwing it to join the shirts on the floor.

"Fuck." His mouth moves to your nipple, wasting no time to swirl his tongue around the hardened bud, grazing his teeth against it softly.

Your head rolls back, your hips beginning to roll over his again. When you look down and see Jungkook's round eyes looking up at you as he sucks on your nipple, you think you simply might pass away.

You lift your hips slightly and let Jungkook push his pants down and kick them off. You watch as Jungkook's hand pumps his cock a few times, his other hand resting against your hip slowly guides you down.

You press your core to the tip of Jungkook's cock, his hand still at the base of his cock moves slightly to rub it over your folds a few times.

He watches as your lower lip gets caught between your teeth, how your hand holds onto his wrist that's holding your waist. Watches you slowly begin to lower yourself down his cock. Each inch entering you earning a soft whine from your pretty lips.

"Fuck D, so fuckin' tight." Jungkook hisses through his teeth, his hands moving to your tits, squeezing them roughly as you sink down to the base of his cock.

Your eyes flicker up to Jungkook, your hips beginning to roll over his cock. He looks at you, his pouty lips resting ajar, his eyebrows pressing together each time your hips roll.

Jungkook's hands wrap around your waist, holding your back as he moves his legs to lay you down against the mattress, He settles onto his knees, grabbing your knees and spreading your legs apart.

He lets a drop of spit fall from his lips down to your clit, pressing his thumb against it and rubbing small delicate circles over your clit.

"Fuck. Like that, fuck-" Your hips angle upwards, grinding up onto his cock as his thumb presses against your clit.

"Yeah- Fuck yourself D.D. Just like that, so fuckin' hot."

Your hips roll in synchronicity with Jungkook's finger rolling over your clit. Jungkook's hips snap forward, needs to feel your walls contorting around his cock. He lets himself press himself fully into your cunt, slowly sliding out and slamming back into you.

His pace quickens, "Look at me D, watch me fuck this pussy." His own eyes lock onto your half lidded eyes, your lips parted for the endless moans that beg to escape.

His hips continue to fuck into you, only quickening when he feels your walls tighten even more and your finger comes to your clit to help your orgasm wash over you.

"Don't stop- gonna cum Kook, fuck."

Kook. Jungkook thinks he's gonna cum from hearing that alone. Only makes his hips fuck into you harder, his hand coming to squeeze your tit, "Gonna cum on these, yeah? Gonna be a good girl and let me cum on these?"

Its over. Jungkook's filthy mouth is enough for your fingers to quicken as they circle your clit. The feeling of Jungkook's hips slamming into you filling the room with lewd sounds, is all it takes for you to be creaming over his cock.

Your walls pulsate around his cock as your head falls against the mattress and your back arches as your orgasm takes over you, your moans growing desperate as Jungkook's hips don't falter in pace, the over stimulation making your legs shake slightly.

"Fuck, so fuckin' pretty. You're so fuckin pretty, you know that D.D? Could watch you cum forever."

Your hand comes to cover your face, only to be slapped away by Jungkook's, "Don't hide, need to see that pretty fuckin' face while I cum, hm?”

As your fingers wrap around Jungkook's hand that's holding your thigh open, your nails dig in slightly, gonna cum again if he keeps going.

"Cum for me, cum on my tits Kook, in my mouth. Wanna taste you."

Jungkook groans out, his hips stammer into you a few more times before sliding out of you and standing by the edge of the bed, "Up, knees. Gonna cum."

You're on your knees, hands pushing your tits together, Jungkook's hand comes to grab your hair and pull slightly to inch your head to look up at him, his other hand jerking the fuck out of his cock as his moans fill the room. He had wanted to fuck your tits again, but as he looks down at you, your eyes slightly glassy, hair messy and your lips resting ajar, he doesnt have it in him. Is cumming.

You feel Jungkook push your head slightly, opening your mouth as Jungkook presses his tip against your tongue, letting spurts of hot cum shoot onto your tongue, let’s his cock move to your lips, your chin, down to your tits. Wants you messy.

He leans down slightly and rests his forehead onto yours as he lets the high if his orgasm settle, "Fuck, D.D. Don't know what I'm gonna do 'bout you."

Jungkook is quick to grab the pack of wet wipes from his bedside table to clean you up. Doesn’t really want to, would be happy to leave you like this, thinks you look devine covered in his seed.

He sits beside you on the bed, taking the view of you holding your cum-covered tits, lets out a small grunt of appreciation, wants to reach into his drawer for his disposable camera and be able to see you like this whenever he pleases.

He brings his head closer to your chest, replaces one of your hands with his own and squeezes your breast softly, runs his finger over your nipple. When he hears the small whimper escape your mouth, he swears it's the most intoxicating sound he's ever heard.

He lowers his head, brings his tongue to your nipple and licks slowly before taking it into his mouth. He looks up at you, see’s you looking back down at him, doesn’t want to stop, knows he should. He releases your nipple with a small pop and drags his tongue up your breast, coating his own tongue in a layer of his own cum.

He brings his free hand to the back of your neck, brings his lips to yours and swirls his cum coated tongue with yours. Heavy breaths, soft grunts exchanged into eachothers mouths.

He sits back upright, brings the wipe to your chest and begins to slowly clean the mess painting your chest. It’s quiet, no need for conversation.

He stands up and heads towards the trash can beside his door, throwing the used wipes inside. As he grabs the shirt he had given you earlier, he tosses it your way, “Go, shower. Use the white towel, it’s softer.”

You head to the bathroom, letting the warm water wash away the sins off your body, you don’t take too long, its late, know Jungkook also needs a shower.

You return back into Jungkooks room, taking a seat back on the bed, Jungkook throws you a quick glance as he gets ready to shower, “Don’t fuckin’ go anywhere, alright?”

Jungkook returns a short while later, his hair still damp, pushed back, wearing nothing but a pair of white boxers.

"You can stay," he says, nonchalantly as he climbs into his bed.

"Can also leave," you reply with a dry tone.

"Yeah, could stay though," Jungkook smirks, eyes glancing toward you as he settles back into the bed. One leg tucked under the covers, the other bent at the knee, nudging against yours.

You meet his gaze, noticing how his eyes, usually so narrow and guarded, are rounded now.

"Only staying for Gossip Girl."

"Only offering for another orgasm."

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