#especially because it took months upon MONTHS to get this fucking appointment

[leathfaic]

Ghost and Soap tattoo headcanons because the brain worms demand it right now!

In my mind at least Ghost has a lot more tattoos than just his sleeve, it's just not common knowledge because until he gets together with Soap no one ever really sees him undressed except maybe for medical staff.

The sleeve was the beginning but he's adding to them whenever leave allows, on his chest and back, on his legs and his other arms and even his hands. Ghost is also the kind of guy that is very stoic while getting tattoos, the pain doesn't really bother him, he's been through so much worse, but he's not the guy who's chatting with the artist either. He just sits through it. Similarly afterwards he's pretty disciplined about the aftercare required. Sun rarely is an issue with the way he dresses and he plans his leave times around the appointments so he can take it easy for a while.

When the inevitable itching starts he just glares at the spot, never actually touching it, but he gets fucking irritated for a few days.

And while he's not the best at taking care of himself in many aspects of his life I can actually see him take good care of his tattoos in the long run, because I imagine him getting them to cover up scars, especially those left by Roba and his men. It's his way of reclaiming his body. The motive itself often isn't as important as the fact that he chose to have it put at that spot. The meaning isn't in the design either it's in the fact that it was his decision to wear it, unlike the scars that were forced upon him.

And then there's Soap, he's only got the one tattoo that we know, at least when he meets Ghost.

Its faded from sunlight exposure and because he never took proper care of it while it healed, even caught himself scratching it once or twice when the itching started. Its always exposed and he rarely thinks of putting sunscreen on, so naturally the tattoo has a hard time and the colour fades quick.

So at some point Ghost asks him if he wants it touched up. He's making an appointment with the artist he trusts anyways and he'd be happy to bring him along. Ghost knows that for Soap his tattoo does have meaning, that he's fucking proud to have made it into the SAS and that he got kinda sad comparing the crisp lines of Ghost's tattoos to his own.

Soap ends up agreeing although he's wary since he can't see it go better than it did last time. But if anything the fact that Ghost is allowing him to come along for this is such a huge sign of trust that he just can't refuse it.

And Ghost's tattoo artist is going to have to recover for a moment because Soap is so fucking chatty compared to Ghost, the pain is kinda exciting to him so he talks more and more and the artist hears more words out of Ghost in response to Johnny than he ever did before. Would wonder if it was the same man if they weren't literally continuing work on a tattoo they had started.

Once they are both done Ghost makes sure Soap takes proper care of the new ink. Threatens to tie him to the bed if he starts scratching at night (something Soap finds entirely too exciting). Shares his care products with him and makes him wrap it up for the first weeks and months. Is always at hand with some sun screen, at least for the arm, even when they are in the middle of nowhere. It's worth the trouble to squeeze some sun screen in his pack when he gets to see Johnny so happy about how good his tattoo looks again.

And once he sees how a properly taken care of piece will look Soap wants more. Ends up accompanying Ghost to the studio whenever he goes.

He's creative, most of what ends up on him is based on his own sketches, always with meaning behind it for him. The next thing he gets is a certain skull based on a specific mask that he wears close to his heart (making Ghost go through emotions he wasn't aware he was capable of having). He also helps Ghost with giving some of his ideas form often redrawing endless variations to make sure Simon doesn't just pick one that seems okay and fitting for its purpose but one he really likes to look at too. Poor man almost loses it when he sees one of his sketches inked on Ghost for the first time and its a good thing they are on leave because he's not gonna let him out of their bed any time soon. Purely to protect the new ink from the sun of course.

[ramp-it-up]

Anything and Everything

Pairing: Chris Evans x Reader

Warnings: 18+ Only, Minors DNI. RPF  Read at your own risk.

SMUT, Angst, long distance relationship issues, doting husband, massages, employer/employee relationship, the notion of cheating, talk of happy endings, cursing, graphic sex, a sweet surprise, and Princess behavior. 😉———————

As soon as you ended the sexy Facetime call with your husband, you burst into tears. It was common lately, with him being gone for over a month and under the circumstances, but he never knew.

Until he decided to call you right back because he missed you so much.

You tried to keep it together when you answered the call, but he knew you better than that.

“Hey, Princess. Are you crying?”

He sounded so earnest that you couldn’t hide it any more. You were snuffling and unable to control the sobs shaking your body. 

It tore him apart not being able to be there to comfort and hold you. Although he had some idea, he asked anyway.

“What’s wrong babe?”

You let out all of your words.

“I, I, I  just miss you so much. It’s so hard with you gone and not being here to talk to and hold me and run out to get me food and, and I don’t want electronic sex or a vibrator or my fingers or a dildo. I want your mouth and your hands and your dick.”

You took a second to breathe. “And I know I have that silicone replica of you but it's cold and not warm and alive and I just want you and your warm arms and your huge chest and your beating heart and a forehead kiss...”

You cried harder thinking of how much of a cry-baby you sounded.  You didn’t normally do this, but the separation was getting to be too much.

You sobbed while he tried to calm you down. He would give you the world to make you happy. Once you were able to listen, he spoke in soothing tones. 

��Listen Princess, I’m going to arrange something to make you feel better. I know you’ve been missing me…”

You were smiling by the time you got off the phone, your man always able to make you feel better.

Two days later, a huge box with the massage table arrived at the house. Workers came to set up one of the spare rooms for a spa/wellness room, and you were not allowed to see it until the appointed day.  

You did clock them bringing in the massage table, a counter/workspace/storage, a ton of essential oils and supplies, and an upscale extra wide sofa with lots of pillows. 

You were excited and distracted from your lonliness, and you couldn’t wait to see it.  

You talked about your in-home massage appointment excitedly every time you spoke with your husband.  He beamed to know that he was able to bring the spark of happiness back to your voice.

“This is going to be good for you, try this massage therapist out, we might keep them on staff indefinitely.”

You lit up again.  “You mean, I can have my own live-in massage therapist?” You smirked.  “What did I do to deserve this?”

Your husband grinned back at you through the camera and proceeded to tell you everything that made you Queen in his eyes.

-------

Almost a week later, you entered the dimly lit room, ensconced in your fluffy terry cloth robe. There was soft music playing.

The soft green tones of the paint and the bamboo floor looked amazing.  You took off your slippers and realized that the floor was heated.  You grinned wide. 

The massage table was set up and waiting as you took in the room and noticed all the details. There was a soft knock at the door and you spoke.

“Come in.”  You didn’t know why, but you were full of anticipation. 

The massage therapist came in and your eyes locked for a second. There was a sudden electricity in the room, but then he averted his eyes and stood beside the table, eyes forward, back straight, almost at attention.

You gave him the once over, he was tall, broad shouldered, very well built, and extremely handsome. 

His dark hair and beard were well manicured and his large hands clasped behind him. That allowed you to see his lean form, his flat stomach and the large hump in his pants. 

You raised your eyebrow. This man was packing. You smirked. You couldn’t see his eyes, as they were downcast, so you went and stood in front of him.  

You realized that his blue scrubs matched his eyes and you smiled as he gazed down at you.

His perfect pink lips parted and you gazed at them a moment too long. There was a hint of a smile, and then it vanished. You stepped back.

You took him in from his broad, muscular shoulders, to his wide chest and his slim waist and hips.

He shifted and brought his hands to rest in front of him, and you walked around him and got a glimpse of his ass. There were no flaws.

“What is your name?”

“Robert, ma’am.”  

His curt reply came with just a glance at you, and you proceeded toward the counter, setting down your iced lemon water.

Your husband knew what you liked. And he delivered. Today would be just what you needed to relax.  

You started to untie your robe, still facing the counter, and when you started shrugging out of your robe, Robert cleared his throat.  You stopped and looked at him over your exposed shoulder.

His eyes were on you, but he raised his hand toward the table. 

“I will step out for a moment to allow you to disrobe and get situated. Start off face down. Please cover yourself with the sheet and I’ll be back in.’

You nodded your head at him.  And smiled. He was quite handsome.

He closed the door and you fully stepped out of your robe, hanging it on the hook on the back of the door, then you situated yourself on the table, placing the sheet over you, covering your back and leaving your arms out. You put your face into the headrest and relaxed.  

Robert came back in, and you heard him going to the counter, opening doors and moving things around.

“Is the table a suitable temperature, ma’am?”

The heated table had been a nice surprise when you lay down. Another plus for hubby.

“Yes, it’s heavenly, thank you Robert.” You smiled and snuggled into the cushioned table.

He moved back to the counter, and then came and placed his hands under the headrest so that you could inhale the scent of a spicy oil on his hands.

“Peppermint oil, ma’am. Your husband wants you to be sure that you can breathe well.” 

You smirked into the cushion.

“Does he now?”

“Yes ma’am. Those were his instructions.”

You detected no humor, no sarcasm in his voice, just a matter-of-fact tone.  You inhaled deeply, staring at his thick fingers through the headrest, wiggling at the thrill you got between your legs. 

You knew very well why your husband wanted your nasal passages to be clear. You couldn’t wait for him to control your breathing with his hand or his cock again.

He moved away again and then came back, placing his hands on your shoulders and pressed a little, as if getting you used to his touch.

His hands were warm, and strong, but gentle. His fingers trailed softly, but firmly up your neck, stopping just below your hairline to your hair, which was piled on top of your hair in a very messy bun.

“Can I touch your hair, ma’am? Scalp massage.”

You nodded, smiling at him asking permission. “Yes, that’s fine.”

He threaded his fingers into your dense curls and into your scalp and started massaging, drawing a long shuddering breath from you. Your bun was coming loose, but you didn’t care.  It was so fucking relaxing.

The peppermint oil on his fingers made your scalp tingle and your back arch just a tiny bit.  If Robert noticed, he didn’t say anything.

“Your hair is beautiful, ma’am.”  His voice made you shudder and your nipples peaked.  

“Thank you.” Your voice was barely audible.  

Robert removed your hair tie, and smoothed your hair forward above you.

You thought of how often your husband insisted on your hair being loose during love making, and you obliged.

He loved to grab it, especially when he hit it from the back. You loved when he did that. And you loved him. You’d missed his touch.

“Do you mind if I sit, ma’am?”

“Oh no, I’m sure standing on your feet all day must be exhausting.”

Robert didn’t reply, he just grabbed the rolling stool nearby and sat at your head, rolling his legs under the headrest.  You could see the muscular thighs in his scrubs when you opened your eyes halfway.

Upon opening them further, you could clearly make out Robert’s dick print.  He was well endowed, and the tip of his member was deliciously thick. He wasn’t wearing underwear.

Now this was a development. You licked your lips and a drop of your saliva landed on his pants, right next to his dick print.  He stopped massaging your scalp for a second.

“Ummmm, sorry.  Lying face down is kind of awkward.”  You giggled as he cleared his throat.

You sighed as Robert finished up the scalp massage and went to get some more oil.

“Sweet almond oil, ma’am. Your favorite?”

You couldn’t stop smiling.  Your husband had thought of everything.

“Yes.”

He began to work on your shoulders while still standing at your head, and he bent over you as his hands traveled down your back. HIs fingers grazed the sides of your breasts, causing goosebumps to rise on your skin.

He moved nearer you, as he stretched his arms to reach the top of your sheet covered ass, long fingers almost cupping it, making you squirm a little. 

“Sorry ma’am.  Are you uncomfortable?’

He straightened up and there was something in his tone that you heard, but that you didn’t care to decipher at the moment.

“No, no. I’m good.” 

And you hummed softly in your throat, wiggling your ass a little. That was always the signal for your husband to slap it. And if he were here, he would have. You’d missed that for the past 5 weeks he’d been away working.

Robert ran his hands slowly down your back again and this time grabbed lightly with his fingers as they retreated, gently pulling your ass cheeks apart.

The sound of your slick was evident, and a little embarrassing.  This man had made you wet.

He did it again, and if you didn’t know any better, it was to hear that sound again. You were trying to compose yourself when something hard nudged you in the head.

It couldn’t be. You lifted your head a little bit and came face to face with Robert’s blue scrub covered hard on. You smirked at it and licked your lips.

“It’s okay ma’am. Just relax.”

“Are you uncomfortable, Robert?”  

You echoed his question from earlier. You twisted your neck and looked up at him. Damn, he looked good gazing down at you.

“I’m good, ma’am. Let’s continue. Your husband is insistent that we finish.”

“Hmmmmmm.” You pursed your lips and put your head back in the headrest as he moved around to the side of you.

He massaged your shoulders and pressed down either side of your spine to your hips, stopping there and adjusting the sheet over your ass. He shook it out, lifting it high enough that he might have gotten a glimpse if he had been paying attention.  

But he was a professional, right?

He continued smoothing his hands down your legs, stopping at your feet and squeezing. 

“What kind of pressure, ma’am?”  He was awaiting further instruction.

“I like it hard and deep.” 

There was a noticeable pause, and Robert cleared his throat. You smiled down at the floor. 

“Deep tissue massages are everything.  Can you accommodate that Robert?”

He quickly replied. “Of course, ma’am.”  He situated the sheet so that your right foot was out. “Your husband told me to give you anything and everything you wanted.”

“Oh?”

He started massaging your foot, hitting all the pressure points with just the right way.

“Ohhhhhhhh! That feels good.”

He just hummed a response.  You relaxed even more, reveling in the human touch on your body that you had missed for so long.  He worked on both feet and calves, and you were almost putty on the table.

His hands moved up to your thighs, kneading and squeezing your muscles firmly.  He inched his way up your thighs to your ass, his fingers moving near your cunt.  He got oh so close to your lips, but never crossed the line. You were beginning to feel some kind of way.

“Do you talk, Robert?”

“If you need me too, ma’am. What do you want to talk about?”

“Do your clients ever…. ask you to do things…” 

“You mean, switch pressures? Use hot stones?….” 

If you knew him better, you would say he was intentionally misunderstanding.

You cleared your throat. ”I mean, do you ever give… happy endings?”

Another pause. “Ah.”  He continued up and down your legs with long, firm strokes.

“I’ve never had a client I would risk it all for.”  He never stopped moving his fingers up and down your legs, fingers almost giving you pleasure. “Until…”

“Until…?”

He cleared his throat again. “What did you want to talk about ma’am?”

He was intentionally evading.  You put the pieces together and you came to a conclusion.

You raised your hips a little and arched your back. Your ass was in position for him to easily go further if he wanted, and you knew he could see the outline of it under the sheet. Your man said it was the most gorgeous ass he’d ever seen.

Robert coughed to cover a moan. At least that’s what you imagined. 

“I need you to go further, Robert. Take off the sheet please.”

“Ma’am?”  He didn’t sound confused.  He was asking for confirmation.

“I need a deep tissue internal massage, Robert.”

The prospect of having this gorgeous man do things to you was making you soaked. 

“I’m already lubricated, you won’t need any more oil. I’m soaked actually.”

This time he didn’t cover his moan, he just pulled the sheet off and let it slide to the floor.

“Y-you’re beautiful Ma’am.  But what would your husband say?”

You turned your head around to witness Robert staring at your exposed cunt, his hands inches away from feeling all your glory.  He was licking his lips.  Then, his blue eyes met your brown ones. You arched your back some more and his eyes were drawn back to your most private places.

“Didn’t he tell you to give me anything and everything I wanted?”  

He moved his fingers a millimeter, and then looked back into your eyes. 

“Do your job, Robert.” 

You tried to keep the bitchiness out of your voice, but it was hard.  You wondered if he was still hard.

Robert looked back at it and moved his hands up, one thumb gently grazing the slick on the lips down there, pushing the viscous liquid around your fat pussy.  

He teased you, looking between what his thumb was doing and your face, as your eyes were halfway closed and your mouth was open, panting for your life.  He pushed in a little deeper inside you, not entering you fully, but just enough so your lips swallowed his thumb.  

He rubbed around the entrance to your cunt while holding your hips back with his other hand on your ass cheek.  You were trying to throw it back on his hand. It had been so fucking long since someone else had touched you.

He pulled his thumb out suddenly and tasted it, putting it in his mouth and sucking like a baby.  HIs eyes closed for a second, shook his head and then his eyes blazed at you.

“You taste so good ma’am.” 

He moved his hands back up to your apex and you expected him to put his fingers inside you again, but you yelped when he pulled you back and your ass met his face.

“Robert! Oh my! Oh shit. Yes!”

Robert was going to town. He licked his thick, wide tongue up your folds from your clit to your ass and back down again, swirling at each end.

“Fuck!” 

Robert had you impaled on his face while his strong hands gripped your thighs. He hummed, causing an electric shock to jolt up your spine.  You cried out again.

Then he started slurping your juices, and sucking your clit, stretching it out from between your lips with his own.  He slurped it between his lips and the sound was obscene enough to make you get there quickly.

He started humming again when you started to quiver, and he worked his head back and forth, taking your clit with him. He worked it up and down, back and forth until the coil of pressure in your belly contracted and snapped, delivering your juices to this man’s face.

Your orgasm was hard and relatively fast.  He smiled, watching you spasm when he pulled back. 

“Look at that delicious cream.  Your husband is a lucky man, Ma’am.”

He held you open so he could watch your arousal and cum drip down your folds. You watched it drip down his beard. You twitched at the sight. 

He shook his head again, grabbing a towel from the counter, wiping his face and washing his hands in the sink. You thought you saw a smile.

You were unable to speak for a minute.  He came around to your side and gazed down at you, smile gone, placing his hand on your shoulder and looking deep into your eyes.

“Are you ok, ma’am?”  You nodded yes, and then he made a turning motion with his hand.  “Turn onto your back.”

You obeyed, not thinking too hard about what was happening. You were beneath him, exposed. Watching him. You noticed that he was indeed still hard, and even bigger than you’d peeped earlier. You reached for him and he moved away.

“I’m here to serve you, ma’am.”

You put your hand back down to your side and moved your head to watch him go get the bottle of almond oil and come back to your side.

He raised the bottle above your breastbone and began to pour a thin drizzle down your body, ending with him dripping it slowly and methodically on your clit.  You were still sensitive, and the stimulation made you throb anew.

He finally stopped and used both hands to smooth the oil into your skin, his left hand stroking it into your chest and spreading it to your breasts, grabbing your fullness and pulling your nipples through his fingers firmly, but gently, making you wet all over again.  Your breasts were very sensitive.

“You are so, so beautiful ma’am. “ 

He leaned down and used his tongue on your nipples, swirling and lightly biting. When he started suckling, your pussy clenched, and as if sensing that, he then used his middle finger flat on your stomach and smoothed the oil downward toward your pussy, parting your still throbbing lips again.

He played with you lengthwise, the sloshing sound of your wetness simultaneously embarrassing and erotic. You were at the brink immediately, especially when he pushed his finger inside you and curled it.

“Ohhhh.  Feels so fucking good Robert.”

At that, he inserted another finger, and then another, until your cunt was stuffed full of his thick fingers and you were stretching out nicely around them. You were not disguising your moans or your desire for him. 

You didn’t know exactly what you wanted, but you wanted what he was giving. He worked you toward your next orgasm swiftly, squeezing and flicking your slippery tits, looking up and down your body appreciatively.

You turned your head toward his crotch, which was situated near your head. You looked up at him. He met your gaze. He knew what you wanted. You now held him captive to your wants.

“Anything and everything Robert. Stuff your cock in my mouth while I cum.”

His reserve snapped at your comment and he couldn’t help but groan. He kept fingering your cunt while he quickly undid his scrub pants with his other hand and pulled them down so his cock could spring free. You managed to catch it before it slapped his stomach and you tugged him toward you, your mouth wide open.

You quickly licked your lips as he pushed it toward you, and you gladly accepted the wide organ, his girth almost causing you to split your lip around him.  His movements at your clit turned into circles as he pushed deeper into your throat.

“Now, just relax ma’am. I know it’s a lot.” 

He smirked down at you as you relaxed your throat and tried to breathe around him.  That peppermint oil really helped open your nasal passages, but you still spluttered as he filled your throat, and saliva and tears wet your face. You knew your throat would be sore later.

He pulled out and you choked and gasped for air for a bit before he tapped his dick on your mouth and you opened up again.

Your face was a mess but still beautiful. He didn’t push as deep this time, allowing you the space to swirl your tongue around his fat tip and down the vein underside of his cock.

The circles he was drawing on your clit were more insistent now, and you came yet again, moaning around his cock, sending vibrations up his back this time. He threw his head back and moaned, all the while managing to keep you from running from this orgasm with his hand.  

“Fuck!  Ma’am. You’re very good at that. Too good.”

He pulsed a little into your mouth before he pulled out, making your mouth pop off of his thick head loudly. You whined because you wanted him to come down your throat.

“You wanted everything, ma’am?”  

You caught his meaning as he moved around toward the foot of the table. He took his pants all the way off and stripped off his shirt. Your eyes took in his tattooed torso as he stroked his cock, knowing full well that you were watching him. Damn, he was so beautiful.

Then, he stood at the end of the table, rubbing up your legs to the apex of your thighs, which he pulled down so that your ass was almost hanging down off the table. He took himself in hand again and swiped his cock up and down your cunt, teasing as you whined for him.

“Each and every part of you is so beautiful ma’am.”

He stopped at your hole and pushed just the tip in and then pulled it back out, making you mad.  

“Nnnnnnhhh.”  You keened.  

“I want to wreck this beautiful pussy, ma’am. Want to feel you squeeze my dick until I paint your walls white with my seed. It will look so beautiful. We look so good together, see.”

You leaned up on your elbows so that you could observe. 

“Take it, it’s yours…”

You were open-mouthed panting, and although you didn’t think you could get any wetter, you were.

“But what would your husband say?”  He was smirking at you now.

“Anything. Everything.”

He pushed back into you, a little more this time, and you thought he would bottom out, so you threw your head back in ecstasy, but he pulled back again, causing you to snap your head up and glare at him.

“Please, it’s been so long for me.”  

Robert was panting now.  “Me too.”

Your eyes found his as he pushed inside you, this time moving slowly toward his goal.  

“You promise?” 

He felt so good stretching you out.  No fingers, no dildo, nothing could compare to him.

His hips stuttered as he stuffed you full.

“I’ve only had my hand for over a month. Nothing, no one comes close to this.”  He opened his mouth and outright panted, jaw slacked and eyes glazed.

He looked down at where you were joined together. 

“It really is magnificent.” He gasped at the sensations of you. Liquid satin. “Fuck, you aways feel so fucking good wrapped around me.”

He pushed both thighs up to your face and he started fucking you hard. You pussy was pulling him in deeper.

“I was planning on flipping you over, fuck… and… and hitting it from behind...shit!”

You started palming your own breasts and pulling your nipples while moaning wantonly. It was the best erotic movie he’d ever seen.

“Gat damnit…”

He puffed, watching what you were doing. His hips were getting off-rhythm and he shook his head to clear it. 

“But I just had to bend you in half and fuck the shit out of you.” He groaned, completely lost in the sauce. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

He reached up, licked his thumb and moved it to your clit, hitting impossibly deeper with each thrust.

“Cum for me one more time Princess.”

It had been so long since you heard that command in person.  You let go with abandon.

“Fuck! Yes Mr.Evans!”  You came again, gushing all over him. 

“Yes, baby, yessssss.”

Chris looked down and licked his lips.  “I’ve been wanting to feel this for forever.” He pulsed and came and mingled his liquid with yours.

He released your thighs and massaged them as he stared down at you, smiling as you came back to earth.

You looked at him. “Hi.”

“Hi.”  He winked and leaned over to give you a good kiss.  

“Welcome home, Baby.” You beamed up into his eyes.

“What a welcome….”

He grunted as he pulled out of you and you watched as he grabbed a towel and turned on the hot water, soaking some in the basin while taking one and cleaning himself up.  

Then, he grabbed his scrub pants, put them back on and brought a warm towel to clean you up gingerly. There was only love in his eyes as he completed the most intimate of acts. 

When he was done, he picked you up bridal style and moved you over to the sofa, arranging the pillows to cradle you as he crawled between your legs again. He sighed deeply, finally home.

You held him as he laid his head on your breasts, playing with his hair.  

“I missed you so much.”  You were so happy that your husband was finally home. 

“Mmmmm. You know I missed you too.”  He looked up at you, blue eyes large.  “Are you ok?  I didn’t hurt you did I?” 

He looked down at your body, and placed his large hand on your abdomen, beaming down at it. 

“How are you? How’s the little one? You look gorgeous. I can tell your body is changing already.” 

It was the same thing he asked every day over the phone, but in person, it hit different. The felt a lump in your throat.

“We’re great.  I can’t feel the baby yet, so I’m glad you’re home before I do.”

You were so afraid Chris was going to miss the major milestones of your pregnancy, but so far he’d only missed some faint morning sickness and you sleeping all the time.

You were nine weeks pregnant. You and Chris found out that you were four weeks along right before he left to film in Romania.  That set you off on an over-emotional rollercoaster that he tried to staunch from 5,000 miles away.

“You’re gonna have to pry me off of you until after the baby comes, and probably every day after that.” Chris looked at you like you were the most precious thing in the world. And you were. “Wherever you go, I go, and vice versa.”

You started to cry, because you loved this man so much. Or maybe it was because of hormones.  Chris lovingly kissed your tears away.

“I love my present, this room, the decor, the oils.  And especially my massage therapist. I might have to bring Robert on staff permanently at the Evans household. He’s fine as hell…” 

Your tears had turned to a sultry look. He chuckled at your mood swing.

“I almost broke character so many times, from the first time I looked in your eyes, to when I saw your ass under that sheet, and when I finally touched you.”  

Chris took a deep breath and kissed your collarbone, then laughed. 

“I can’t believe you drooled on my pants. That was a great test of my acting skills.”

You laughed with him.  “Well, you got skills, baby. You’re a great actor. It was a great experience. Say, did you ever do adult film?”  

Chris raised his eyebrows at you.  “The only ‘adult films’ that I’ve ever done are in a google drive that only you have the password to...”

“Don’t forget IG, when…” Chris started tickling you to get you to shut up.

After a few minutes of laughing and talking and getting reacquainted, your eyes started getting heavy. The excitement of your reunion, combined with great sex, and first trimester pregnancy, was about to do you in.

Chris picked you up and carried you down the hall to your master suite.  You loved that he was so much bigger than you. 

You snuggled his neck and started playfully biting him. His little moans and the slight swelling of his dick against your thigh as he carried you told you he wasn’t playing.

“Don’t start anything you can’t finish right now, Mrs. Evans. I can tell you’re tired.”  He lay you on the bed and you got under the covers, warm and happy. 

“What do you want right now? Food? Sleep?.....Anything else?”

He stood at the side of the bed, blue scrubs slung low on his hips, hair messed up. His blue eyes were blazing, his abs on point and the trail of soft dark hair on his stomach was pointing to happiness. 

You watched him as he subtly flexed for you. You realized that you were getting moist again. And judging from his smile, Chris realized it as well. 

You bit your lip and looked him up and down.

“I want all of that.” 

You pointed to him, circling your finger around his form.

“Everything.”

You giggled as Chris moved to give you whatever you wanted.

————————-

Tell me anything and everything about this! Let me know in the comments or reblogs!

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[babyboibucky]

Project V: Pierced

Pairing: College!Bucky x Fem!Reader

Summary: Bucky convinces you to get matching nipple piercings.

Word Count: 1.9k

Warnings: Smut, unprotected sex, mention of oral, piercing pain lmfao, these two being dumbasses as usual

A/N: Maaaaaaaan, seeing Seb with them piercings really hyped me up to write shit lmfao

Project V Masterlist ||  MAIN MASTERLIST

“Let’s get matching something.”

Bucky proposed as he lounged on your bed, his notes against his chest. You just got out of the shower, a towel wrapped around your chest with water droplets dripping from your neck down to your cleavage. You saw how Bucky’s eyes followed the droplets until it disappeared into your towel.

“Matching what?” You asked and started applying lotion all over your body.

Bucky’s ears turned red as he watched your hands slide up from your calf up to your thighs, the hem of your towel riding up a bit to expose your skin beneath. You snapped your fingers right in his face and made a face, “My eyes are up here, why the fuck are you so horny all the time?” you complained.

“You’re in a fucking towel and I can literally see your pussy from here. Of course I’m gonna feel horny!” he defended. “Anyway, matching something. What do you think?” Bucky asked again, turning to his side as he watched you continue with your post-shower routine.

You shrugged, “How about bracelets? Rings?” you suggested as you slipped on your underwear.

“Too basic.” Bucky said.

“Matching tats?” you asked and then gasped when an idea struck you. “Get a tattoo of my pussy and I’ll have your dick inked on my butt cheek.”

Bucky deadpanned at you, “Are you for real?” he asked. “Also, I don’t want matching tattoos. It’s too common. And Steve and Sam got matching tattoos. We gotta stand out ‘cause we’re not just regular best friends.” he explained, finally sitting up on your bed.

You were now clad in a loose shirt and skipped on the shorts. Turning around to face Bucky, you placed your hands on your hips. “You’re just jealous that Steve decided to get matching tats with Sam and not you.” you teased and sat down next Bucky on your bed.

Bucky rolled his eyes, “Whatever.” he dismissed and thought about what else the both of you can get.

You were combing your hair when Bucky found himself staring at your tits, noticing your pebbled nipples straining through the thin fabric of your shirt.

And then had a eureka moment.

“Let’s get our nips pierced!”

-

“Can I still back out?” you asked, tugging Bucky’s hand as the both of you entered the tattoo parlor.

You refused to get your nipples pierced, you clearly remembered shooting that idea down as soon as Bucky suggested it. But Bucky, Bucky, Bucky...he had a way with his words and his tongue that made you cry out yes to his suggestion.

Fucking Bucky and his talent at cunnilingus. If that man tried to convince you to help him hide a dead body by eating you out, you would’ve started digging a grave as soon as he was done with you.

He was that good at it.

“Pussy.” Bucky teased.

“Using ‘pussy’ as an insult doesn’t make any sense because this pussy can take a pounding. You should know that better than anyone.” you spat back with a scowl.

Bucky frowned at you, “Okay, fine. I take that back. But no one’s backing out. C’mon, we’d be the coolest BFFs in town with these piercings.” he insisted.

You were about to retort back but was immediately cut off when a guy called both your names, confirming the appointment that was made a week ago. Bucky took your hand and pulled you with him further into the parlor, leaving you with no choice but to give in.

“Alright, so nipple piercings huh?” the guy asked. “Are we gonna do both...or?”

You raised your hand, “What’s the aftercare like?” you went straight to the point.

“Oh well, just don’t touch it for as long as you can. It takes about 6 months to a full year for it to completely heal. Wear a cotton bra or skip on it if possible. Try not to tug at the piercings so when doing the nasty, try not to include the nipples.” he explained so casually.

You turned to Bucky, “When doing the nasty, try not to include the nipples. You sure about this, Buck?” you asked, knowing how much Bucky loved playing with your tits during sex.

Bucky swallowed, “For how long should we avoid the nipple play?” he asked shamelessly.

“Couple of months to a full year.”

“Fuck!” Bucky hissed, ignoring how the piercer burst out laughing at his disappointment.

“So what? We still gonna do this or?” you asked.

Bucky pondered for a couple of seconds before letting out a sigh, “I really want us to be the coolest BFFs out there.”

-

The both of you decided to show off the piercings back at the dorm, wanting it to be a moment of surprise. The Uber ride was quiet for some reason, tension thick in the air.

“You screamed like a bitch back there.” you said, finally breaking the silence.

Bucky looked offended when he snapped his head towards you, “My pain tolerance is low, okay?” he excused. “And it really did hurt. At least I didn’t whimper like a whore.” he said.

It was true though, you did whimper like a whore getting fucked by three dicks all at once. You always thought you tolerated pain pretty well, getting a Brazilian was a regular thing for you and it never made you flinch. Nipple piercings though? Jesus fucking christ, you couldn’t even explain how much it fucking hurt.

You laughed sarcastically at Bucky’s rebuttal, “Better than screaming as if you were being pegged with no prep.”

As soon as you arrived at Bucky’s dorm, he scrambled to lock the door in hopes of Steve not coming home any time soon. He’d already seen you wearing Bucky’s boxers, he doesn’t need to see the both of you showing off your newly pierced nipples at each other.

“Okay. You ready?” Bucky asked as he stood in front of you.

“On three.” you said before starting off the countdown.

As soon as the countdown was over, Bucky reached for his shirt from behind, removing it at the same time you removed yours, followed by the thin bralette you wore underneath.

“Oh my god, we actually did it.” you snorted, looking closely at the ball closure ring that Bucky went for.

“Shit, I didn’t know you got straight barbells on yours.” Bucky asked, his eyes glued on your slightly red nipples. “Fuck, your tits look so good with piercings.” he grunted breathlessly.

You licked your lips and groaned at the confession you were about to make, “Look, I’m gonna be honest. I’m so fucking turned on right now.”

Bucky groaned, “Me too. Jesus, I thought I was gay because I got an erection when the dude pierced my first nipple. I mean, he was pretty handsome too.”

“I’m sure we can fuck but we just have to avoid the nips so just hit me from the back.” you said and quickly shimmied off your pants together with your panties.

Bucky rushed to remove his and went over to his bed, kneeling behind as you positioned yourself on all fours. You got so wet at the thought of Bucky’s nipples having piercings that you didn’t need that much foreplay to get ready. Bucky slid his fingers along your folds, gathering more wetness from your entrance before smearing it.

“Fuck, just get on with it!” you moaned and gripped the bedsheets tightly.

Bucky jerked his cock a couple of times before finally sliding easily into your cunt. He choked on his moan at the feeling of your velvety walls clenching around his hard cock. He had been hard too on the way home, no wonder there was tension in that Uber ride.

“Go fast and hard, I’m not gonna last.” you urged, pushing your ass back to meet Bucky’s thrusts.

Placing a hand on your neck and the other on your waist, Bucky fucked you the way you wanted. Thank goodness you started taking pills because Bucky didn’t have the patience to even put a condom on. He felt like he was going to nut as soon as his eyes landed on your pierced nipples, so perky and still swollen.

“Oh shit, fuck. I’m so fucking horny.” Bucky said, his jaw tensing as he watched your ass bounce every time he slammed back inside of you.

A couple more thrusts and your entire body trembled, a soft moan slipping past your lips when you came hard. Even without being touched, your nipples felt sensitive because of the piercings, the sensation only adding to your pleasure when you reached your orgasm.

“Shit, fuck. I gotta see those tits bounce. I can’t cum without seeing them.” Bucky said and pulled out to gently turn you around.

Now on your back with your legs spread open, Bucky slipped inside and continued to fuck you. His hands gripped the pillow beneath your head for leverage as he jackhammered you onto the bed, your hands finding purchase on his broad shoulders as you felt another orgasm approach you.

You lifted your head up to meet Bucky’s lips in a kiss, moaning into his mouth when you felt the tip of his cock kiss your cervix. Your vision blacked out momentarily when you came for the second time. Just as when you regained your senses, Bucky got lost in his own orgasm that he completely forgot about the piercings. He grabbed your left breast and pinched your nipple, your scream joining his loud moan when he came.

“Fucking hell, Bucky!” you cried out, the pain too much to bear that you also didn’t notice that your hand clawed at Bucky’s right pec with your middle finger getting caught in his piercing, accidentally ripping it out in the process.

“Motherfucker!”

-

“What the hell happened? Are you both okay?!” Steve worriedly asked as soon as he arrived at the ER of a nearby hospital.

Upon getting Bucky’s voicemail about rushing to the hospital, Steve panicked and went there as soon as he could. He had been Bucky’s emergency contact for a long time now and he was used to receiving calls from police stations due to how often Bucky got himself in trouble, especially when drunk. But Bucky calling, sounding like he was in immense pain, telling him that he needed to go to the hospital?

It was the first time it ever happened so it was understandable for Steve to panic like a husband who got a call informing him that his wife was going into labor.

You and Bucky exchanged glances, faces red from embarrassment before nodding.

“We’re good.” you curtly responded, scratching your neck.

“What happened?” Steve asked again, brows furrowing as he looked at you and Bucky alternately.

You nudged Bucky’s ribs with your elbow, widening your eyes at him as you urged him to do the explaining.

“We uh...werippedouteachothersnipplepiercings.” he murmured to himself.

Steve frowned, “I didn’t catch a word that you said.”

“We ripped out each other’s piercings by accident.” you repeated, clearly and slowly this time.

“Did your earlobes get ripped off or what?” Steve asked, taking a closer look at both your ears.

Confusion washed over his face when he noticed that your ear piercings were still intact and that Bucky didn’t even have his ears pierced. Steve straightened up and crossed his arms over his chest, looking at the both of you like a reprimanding father.

“What did the two of you do this time?”

A nurse stepped into the scene and offered Steve a kind smile before turning to you and Bucky, handing over a prescription.

“Make sure to follow the instructions when applying the ointment and both your nipples should heal properly.” she explained before walking out.

“Nipples?!” Steve gasped out.

Bucky sighed but shrugged in response, “At least we’re the coolest BFFs out there with matching nipple piercings.”

-

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[bloody-bee-tea]

Tattoo

Jiang Cheng decides to get his first tattoo the night he resolves to move out.

There has been a huge fight—yet again—where his father was more concerned with talking about Wei Wuxian, who wasn’t even part of this fight, and where his mother listed every single inadequacy Jiang Cheng apparently had.

And it’s enough.

He’s tired of feeling like shit in his own home and he’s tired of being made to feel like shit and he wants a change.

Which is going to start with him getting a tattoo.

His parents hate tattoos—one of the few things they can agree upon—and Jiang Cheng feels a little thrill going down his back just thinking about getting one.

But soon thinking about it turns into actively imagining, then into planning, and all of a sudden he finds himself in front of a tattoo studio.

Jiang Cheng doesn’t go in that first day; he simply can’t bring himself to. But then he spends another evening in the icy company of his parents, who are no longer speaking to him in the misguided attempt to make him apologize and Jiang Cheng decides that this is it.

He’ll get that tattoo and then he’ll get out of here.

Jiang Cheng goes back to the tattoo studio the next day, and this time he also enters. It’s not at all what he expected to look like, but he scolds himself for even thinking that. Clearly his parents and all their prejudices are way too prevalent in his life if he expected dirty corners and suspicious people everywhere.

What he sees are clean counters, tasteful pics of tattoos and not much else.

Until the most beautiful human being Jiang Cheng has ever seen steps out of a room.

“Hi, there,” the man says and Jiang Cheng does not swoon on the spot. “Do you have an appointment?”

Jiang Cheng slightly shakes his head to clear it and then he squares up.

“No, I don’t. I’d like to make one, though.”

“Alright. Sit for a moment,” the man says, pointing at a couch and then vanishing again.

Jiang Cheng does sit down, unbearably nervous now that he made that very first step and he wrings his hands in his lap. He’s so lost in his own head that he doesn’t even notice when the guy comes back.

“First time?” the guy asks as he puts a glass of water down in front of Jiang Cheng, who nods and gratefully takes the glass to take a sip.

“Yeah. That obvious?” he asks with a small smile and the guy shrugs.

“You get an eye for it, after a while. Nie Mingjue,” he then introduces himself and Jiang Cheng puts the glass back down so that he doesn’t notice how much his hands shake.

“Jiang Cheng.”

“Alright, Jiang Cheng, what do you want?” Nie Mingjue asks, a sketchbook making an appearance and Jiang Cheng swallows heavily.

“Just something small,” Jiang Cheng whispers. “Something I can hide away.”

At that Nie Mingjue pauses.

“I don’t make tattoos that have to be hidden away,” he cautiously says, already closing the sketchbook again.

“Yeah, well, I’m not asking for your opinion here,” Jiang Cheng snaps back before he clenches his jaw and scrubs a hand over his face. “I apologize,” he tacks on, much  more quietly, as he gets up. “I’ll get out of your hair.”

“Wait,” Nie Mingjue says, sighing himself. “That was unprofessional of me. I just think—this is art, you know. Something you chose for yourself, something you should be proud of. That’s just usually how this goes. But if it’s private, then that’s perfectly fine. I didn’t mean to be an ass.”

Jiang Cheng slowly sinks back down into the couch at those words and Nie Mingjue opens his sketchbook again.

“Alright,” he slowly says. “I want three little dog paw prints on my hip.”

He didn’t give this too much thought, honestly, but it feels right. It’s been years since he had to give his dogs away for Wei Wuxian’s sake and while he’s not mad at Wei Wuxian for that, he does resent his parents for it.

They were just puppies. There was a chance for Wei Wuxian to get acquainted with dogs that didn’t mean him harm. They could have given them to someone close by, so that Jiang Cheng could have gone there to see them every now and then.

But they didn’t do any of these things and just took the only friends away from Jiang Cheng he had at that time.

He is still resentful about that.

“Like this?” Nie Mingjue asks and shows him the sketch he quickly did.

It’s really just those three paw prints, nothing fancy about it, and Jiang Cheng thinks it’s perfect.

“Yes,” he breathes out and he can’t wait for them to be on his skin.

“This will be quick and I have time now, if you want,” Nie Mingjue offers him and that makes Jiang Cheng freeze.

He did not expect this to happen so soon, but after a moment he finds that it’s the only thing he wants.

“Yes,” he decisively says and Nie Mingjue smiles at him.

Jiang Cheng did not need to know that he has dimples.

“Good,” he nods, before he falls into what Jiang Cheng suspects to be the customary first client talk.

Jiang Cheng does his best to listen and nod at the right moments, but he is distracted by Nie Mingjue and the way he talks and moves and sounds.

In the end Nie Mingjue still seems to be satisfied, because he leads Jiang Cheng towards one of the back rooms where he asks him to take his pants off.

Jiang Cheng freezes again because he did not quite make that connection yet, but of course he’d have to at least take of his pants for this. He sheds them quickly, not looking at Nie Mingjue and reminding himself that he must see this several times a day and that surely Jiang Cheng is nothing special.

He barely realizes that his hands are shaking.

“Are you okay?” Nie Mingjue lowly asks him, clearly picking up on Jiang Cheng’s nerves and Jiang Cheng doesn’t know what to answer him.

In the end, the truth comes spilling out.

“No,” he admits. “My parents are going to disown me for this, should they ever find out. I mean they are going to disown me either way once I move out, but—yeah,” he finishes awkwardly once he realizes that he’s rambling because Nie Mingjue absolutely did not sign up to hear about Jiang Cheng’s fucked up life.

“Are you safe at home?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng catches him quickly checking him over as if he’s looking for bruises.

“Physically yes,” Jiang Cheng gives back as his eyes start to burn. “Emotionally not so much,” he adds in a whisper, admitting to this for the first time out loud, and he sways into Nie Mingjue when he clasps his shoulder.

“But you’re taking steps,” he says and it’s not a question.

“I’m taking steps,” Jiang Cheng agrees and finally gets on the cot, ready to get this first rebellious step done.

“Good,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly still worried, but also satisfied and when he starts the tattoo gun they don’t talk much more.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng is struggling. He feels isolated and lonely and like his parents scathing silence is going to suffocate him one of these days, even after he moved out, and there’s only one thing Jiang Cheng can think of doing.

He finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s tattoo studio.

“Back so soon,” Nie Mingjue greets him with and Jiang Cheng realizes that it has only been three months since he got the paw prints.

It feels like so much longer, with everything that happened.

“Yeah,” Jiang Cheng awkwardly says and sinks down in the couch again. “I want something bigger.”

“Something you can’t hide,” Nie Mingjue replies, even as he sits down with his sketchbook. “How is that situation going?”

“I moved out. I’m not talking to my parents. But—” he trails off, unsure if he should really just unload all of his bullshit on this stranger.

“But there’s a lot of shit to unlearn and figure out for yourself, especially if this has been going on for a while,” Nie Mingjue says with an understanding nod and when Jiang Cheng stares at him, Nie Mingjue shrugs awkwardly.

“My brother has an interest in psychology and he loves using me as his sounding board. It only got worse when he took up some classes at university.”

“Ah, I see,” Jiang Cheng says and then sighs. “I’m deciding if it’s worth going to see someone,” he then admits lowly and cringes immediately afterwards. “I’m sorry, this is not what I’m here for and it’s absolutely not your job to listen to me.”

“Oh, you’d be surprised how many people see this as a therapy session,” Nie Mingjue gives back, and while Jiang Cheng would usually recoil at that, it doesn’t sound judging.

“But I’m here for this,” Jiang Cheng says and puts a slip of paper on the table.

He’s by no means an artist, but he has always enjoyed doodling and he’s perfectly capable of designing his own tattoo, especially when he gives it more than just a few days thought.

“That is bigger,” Nie Mingjue says with a raised eyebrow as he picks the paper up. “Much more difficult to hide.”

“No more hiding,” Jiang Cheng resolutely says. “I want it to curl around my arm, the head on the back of my hand.”

“Really big then. From shoulder to hand?”

“Yes.”

“Mh,” Nie Mingjue hums as he starts to sketch something.

When he turns the sketchbook to Jiang Cheng it’s still the snake and nothing fundamentally has changed, but it still looks better than the basic design Jiang Cheng came up with.

He itches with the need to get this on his arm.

“Yes,” he breathes out, reaching out to brush his hand over the sketch. “Please.”

“You’ll need an appointment for this one,” Nie Mingjue says as he gets up to schedule Jiang Cheng in.

It takes Nie Mingjue three sessions to get the snake done and Jiang Cheng loves it more than he thought possible.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng takes his time for the third tattoo. He takes his time to get used to living alone, takes his time to figure out if he really wants to go for a business degree and most importantly, he takes his time to get back together with his siblings.

They didn’t quite fall out when Jiang Cheng moved out, but he kept his distance for a while and now he doesn’t.

Now he welcomes them into his home and his new life and he sits Wei Wuxian down to have a real talk; one where he doesn’t allow Wei Wuxian to laugh everything away—either his own pain or Jiang Cheng’s—and afterwards they feel like family again.

Jiang Cheng briefly debates if he wants to do the same with his parents, but he finds that he couldn’t care less.

He can barely think about them without getting angry or nauseous or both and he figures it’s not worth it. Not now and maybe not ever.

So instead of wasting more thoughts on that Jiang Cheng finds himself back at Nie Mingjue’s studio.

“It does get quite addicting, doesn’t it?” Nie Mingjue asks him with a smirk when Jiang Cheng steps inside and Jiang Cheng shrugs.

“Especially when you finally figure your life out for yourself,” he gives back and he has to admit that for the first time he’s not nervous as he sits down on the couch.

He knows what he wants and he knows what to expect.

It leaves him time to appreciate Nie Mingjue, though, and that makes Jiang Cheng’s stomach flutter.

There are tattoos on Nie Mingjue as well; making their way down his arms and one peeking out of the collar of his shirt. Jiang Cheng finds that he wants to see all of them.

“Okay, hit me,” Nie Mingjue says as he sits down as well and Jiang Cheng gives him his sketch.

Three lotus pods for him and his siblings. Jiang Cheng does only have good memories of them picking lotus seeds, and especially of Jiang Yanli’s soup.

“Next you’re going to learn how to tattoo yourself and then I’ll be out of a job,” Nie Mingjue grumbles as he takes the sketch and Jiang Cheng smiles with pride.

He did put an awful lot of work into this.

“I want it on my calf,” he tells Nie Mingjue who nods.

“Easy enough, but you need an appointment.”

“Sure,” Jiang Cheng shrugs and his eyes drop to Nie Mingjue’s hands, which are still holding his sketch.

Honestly, Jiang Cheng did not expect his heart to beat faster at that, or the thought that Nie Mingjue will put his hands on Jiang Cheng’s skin soon enough but he’s not going to stop it either.

The pods don’t take much time at all once the appointment comes around, and soon enough Jiang Cheng is stepping out on the street with one tattoo more.

It feels like he’s reclaiming bits and pieces of himself with every tattoo that he gets and he honestly doesn’t want it to stop.

It’s only a little bit because he wants to continue seeing Nie Mingjue.

~*~*~

“You’re going to be a regular soon,” Nie Mingjue says with a smile when Jiang Cheng steps into the by now so familiar studio yet again and he frowns, affronted.

“It’s my fourth time. How much more do I have to come by to be considered a regular?”

“Well, the true regulars drop by just to say hello, too,” Nie Mingjue says, clearly trying for nonchalant but Jiang Cheng sees the tension in his shoulders.

“I’ll keep that in mind,” he says, but he still sits down on the couch. “But today I’m here for an appointment.”

“Do I even need to bring my sketchbook?” Nie Mingjue asks, clearly remembering that there was nothing for him to do the last time Jiang Cheng came by but Jiang Cheng nods.

“I just have an idea. I need you to draw it.”

“Oh, alright,” Nie Mingjue says, and is quick to retrieve the book before he sits down. “What do you want?”

“I want water, or waves, under my collarbone,” Jiang Cheng says and points at the spot.

It hasn’t been that long since he started to swim again, but he already knows that it will be a big part of his life from now on.

Jiang Cheng used to love it, until his parents made it into a competition between him and Wei Wuxian and pressured him to do better and better. Jiang Cheng stopped after one too many silver medals and he never picked it up again, too afraid of falling back into old habits, of feeling like shit for doing something just for fun, no matter how much he loved it.

But he picked swimming up again, and it turns out he’s still good and he still loves it. Even more now that he can just do it for fun and challenge himself if he feels like it.

And he wants a tattoo for it as well. It’s another piece of himself he reclaimed after all.

“Like so?” Nie Mingjue asks, showing Jiang Cheng the rough sketch.

It’s a little bit too stylized for Jiang Cheng’s taste and he tells Nie Mingjue so, who turns the page and starts again.

When he shows Jiang Cheng the new sketch, it looks more realistic and it’s exactly what Jiang Cheng wants.

“Yes,” he breathes out and smiles.

That one feels just as right as his other tattoos had.

“Water, huh?” Nie Mingjue asks, quite awkwardly Jiang Cheng thinks but he smiles at Nie Mingjue.

“I recently re-found my love for swimming,” he tells him. “It helps that my parents are not yelling at me to win a gold medal.”

“Did you use to? Win gold medals?”

“No. My brother did though, which both my parents used to rub in, in very different way. I stopped because they made me dread going into the water but now that I’m just doing it for fun,” he awkwardly trails off. “I still love it.”

“That’s good to hear,” Nie Mingjue tells him and Jiang Cheng is surprised when Nie Mingjue squeezes his shoulder. “I hope you don’t mind me saying this, but you do look better. Definitely happier than the first time you came in.”

It makes Jiang Cheng flush, because he didn’t know that it had been that bad or that Nie Mingjue had been paying attention to him.

“I am. Better. Still on the way with a lot of things, but definitely better,” Jiang Cheng gives back and he tries very hard not to think about the fact that he still doesn’t know what he wants to do with his future or if he wants to get a dog, despite Wei Wuxian’s fear, or if he’ll ever be man enough to ask Nie Mingjue out on a date.

But slow steps. First he gets this tattoo and then he can think about what comes after.

~*~*~

Jiang Cheng never gave much thought to his sexuality beyond the fact that it wouldn’t matter who he brings home; his parents were surely going to hate them, just because it was Jiang Cheng who introduced them.

He had looked at a few boys during school, but his mother had made it very clear that Jiang Cheng was going to get married to a business woman of her choosing, producing heirs for the company as soon as he could, and Jiang Cheng didn’t think much beyond that except ‘Fuck no’.

But now he has time to re-evaluate his sexuality and while he would probably label himself as bisexual at the moment he’s very definitely Nie Mingjue-sexual.

Not that he’s ever going to mention that to the man himself.

He’s standing in front of the tattoo studio yet again, even though he doesn’t have plans for a new tattoo yet. But Nie Mingjue had said regulars came by whenever, and Jiang Cheng wants to have that connection with Nie Mingjue.

He just can’t bring himself to make the first step.

So instead of going in, he walks up and down on the other side of the studio, berating himself that he just can’t bring himself to do it, but just as he is about to turn around and go home, Nie Mingjue steps out and walks straight up to him.

“Nervous?” Nie Mingjue asks with a teasing smile and Jiang Cheng deflates.

“I’m not quite sure how to make friends,” he admits and then wishes the ground would swallow him, because Nie Mingjue never said anything about being friends and it’s not quite what Jiang Cheng wants anyway.

“Usually you start talking to them,” Nie Mingjue says and steers Jiang Cheng towards a coffee shop.

“About what?” Jiang Cheng helplessly asks but he allows Nie Mingjue to lead the way.

“How was your day?” Nie Mingjue starts and Jiang Cheng finds that talking to Nie Mingjue over a cup of coffee is one of the easiest things he has done.

They start to do it weekly.

~*~*~

“Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue warmly greets him when Jiang Cheng steps into the studio again but he frowns when Jiang Cheng sits down on the couch. “You didn’t say anything about a new tattoo.”

It almost sounds accusing and Jiang Cheng helplessly shrugs.

“I woke up with the burning need to get one, so here I am.”

“Ah, a true addict,” Nie Mingjue says with a shake of his head, but he does get his sketchbook and sits down with him. “What’s it gonna be this time?”

Jiang Cheng takes a moment to gather his thoughts, letting his eyes wander over the tattoos on Nie Mingjue’s arms and he wonders if he can ever bring himself to ask to see them up close. To learn the story behind them.

“I want a lotus flower in the middle of my back,” Jiang Cheng finally says and it’s just because he still has his eyes on Nie Mingjue’s arms that he sees him jerk at his words.

“Between your shoulder blades?” Nie Mingjue asks to clarify and Jiang Cheng nods, finally looking up.

“Yes. And I want it in colour, too.”

It is the family crest and Jiang Cheng was torn about that for a long time, but it’s still his family and it’s still such a big part of himself that he needs to reclaim. Especially since his father does still want him as the head of the company and Jiang Cheng decided to do it.

“Oh, dear gods,” Nie Mingjue mumbles and Jiang Cheng frowns, torn out of his thoughts.

“Something wrong with that?” he wants to know but Nie Mingjue is quick to shake his head.

“No, not at all,” he says, busying himself with his pencil.

They fall into an uneasy silence and Jiang Cheng wonders what he did wrong to make Nie Mingjue respond like this, but before he can come up with a plausible explanation, Nie Mingjue gives him the sketchbook.

“Fuck,” Jiang Cheng breathes out. “It’s gorgeous.”

He didn’t dare imagine the design too much, because he wanted Nie Mingjue to create it, but Jiang Cheng did not imagine this.

“Yeah?” Nie Mingjue asks and Jiang Cheng frowns when he hears his voice crack.

“Yes! When can we do it?” he asks, suddenly eager to get it done as quickly as possible.

“I have time today, if you’re really sure,” Nie Mingjue gives back and Jiang Cheng practically beams at him, which clearly is answer enough.

“Alright, get ready then,” Nie Mingjue says with a nod of his head towards the same back room they always use and Jiang Cheng eagerly makes his way over there.

He’s just taking off his shirt when he hears Nie Mingjue come back in, mostly because he hears the muttered “Fuck”.

“Mingjue?” Jiang Cheng asks, turning around, his shirt still around his arms. “Is something wrong?”

“Wanyin, you can’t do that to me,” Nie Mingjue breathes out, his eyes trailing over first his tattoos that Nie Mingjue himself put there and then towards his shoulders and back.

“Do what?” Jiang Cheng asks, honestly confused, but there’s something in Nie Mingjue’s gaze that makes him go hot all over.

“You can’t let me mark you up all the time and then not go on a date with me,” Nie Mingjue says, finally meeting Jiang Cheng’s eyes and it takes Jiang Cheng a moment to smile at him.

But once he starts, he can’t stop.

“Well, you’d have to ask for me to say yes,” he tells Nie Mingjue, finally taking his shirt off. “Why now, though?”

“Now,” Nie Mingjue huffs out and steps close, dropping a quick kiss to Jiang Cheng’s head, catching him completely off guard with that. “As if I didn’t want to ask you since that first time you came into my studio.”

Jiang Cheng can’t hide his blush, he’s sure of that, but when Nie Mingjue’s gaze goes soft, he finds that he doesn’t mind.

“Okay, but why now?” he asks again, though he couldn’t be happier despite the fact that Nie Mingjue still didn’t ask him out.

“You look happier, more grounded,” Nie Mingjue tells him. “And honestly, I’m only human. There’s only so much self-control I have, especially if you’ll allow me to mark up that masterpiece of a back.”

“I swim a lot,” Jiang Cheng says, smug as anything, because Nie Mingjue looks like he could bench press Jiang Cheng if he really wanted to and to hear that he likes how Jiang Cheng looks, that’s quite the ego boost.

“I see,” Nie Mingjue says, though he sounds strangled. “Go on a date with me, Wanyin,” Nie Mingjue then says, and Jiang Cheng likes the fact that it’s not even really a question.

“Weekly dates are not enough for you?” he teases Nie Mingjue, absolutely delighted by how this is going and he enjoys seeing Nie Mingjue flounder for a bit.

“You owe me at least twelve kisses then,” Nie Mingjue finally says, sounding absolutely indignant and Jiang Cheng chuckles.

“You only want one kiss per date? That’s quite disappointing, really,” Jiang Cheng says with a smile and Nie Mingjue rolls his eyes.

“We’re working our way up, once it’s officially a date and not just coffee. But you can owe me all the kisses you want.”

“I think I like that,” Jiang Cheng happily says and leans in to get started on repaying his debt right that instant.

It leaves Jiang Cheng breathless when they part and he’s strangely relieved to see that Nie Mingjue is not doing that much better himself.

“Your hand will be steady enough for this, right?” Jiang Cheng can’t help but to ask, because he wants that tattoo now and he would be disappointed if Nie Mingjue said no.

“I’m a professional,” Nie Mingjue huffs out, even as he gently cups Jiang Cheng’s cheek in his hand. “I managed to keep a steady hand all the other times, too, didn’t I?”

“That you did,” Jiang Cheng gives back and nuzzles into the hand.

They lose themselves a little bit in each other for a while, but eventually Nie Mingjue does get to prove that he has a steady hand, despite the circumstances.

Once the lotus flower on Jiang Cheng’s back is done, they go on their first official dinner date.

~*~*~

On their one year anniversary, Jiang Cheng gets Nie Mingjue to tattoo a green band around his right arm and Nie Mingjue manages to make it look like it’s shining from the inside.

Jiang Cheng catches Nie Mingjue wiping away a tear once he’s done and he would tease him for it, but since Jiang Cheng cried when Nie Mingjue revealed that the frog over his heart was for Jiang Cheng, he fears he has no leg to stand on.

Paw Prints Snake, expect imagine this spanning down the whole arm Lotus Pods Water, under Jiang Cheng's collarbone Lotus Flower, except it's in the middle of Jiang Cheng's back Green Band, there's no real pic for this, but imagine this ring as a tattoo around Jiang Cheng's forearm, because Mingjue's name is made up out of the characters for 'bright, shining' and 'jade ring' if google didn't lie to me

Link to my ko-fi on the sidebar!

[aquilaofarkham]

title: the little death rating: T+ word count: 2,409 summary: Two years after his fight with Death, Trevor’s injuries start catching up to him while Alucard realizes that humans are more fragile than he thought. 

For @trevorsmellmont ❤️  Thank you so much for commissioning me!

READ HERE

There’s a sharp pain pooling beneath his right arm, coursing through his ribcage. Trevor ignores it just as he’s ignored all the other aches, jabs, and stings over the past two years. Two years of building something better, something sustainable to last far longer than its young, admittedly green founders. Countless days, weeks, and months erecting homes, gardens, and pens for those dumb gentle animals who think the entire townscape is their personal pasture. Not another mistake of allowing them to wander aimlessly straight into the castle. As if heifers need to learn how to craft medicine or conduct what’s being referred to as “electricity”.

The work will never be finished. Even on days like this when the sun burns hotter than any circle in hell. A few drops of warm salt-ridden sweat crawl past Trevor’s pressed lips and into his dry mouth. Pain and thick heat were never enough to stop him before—he tells himself this, barely certain of his own supportive thoughts (a new concept taking root in his mind). Take it slow, don’t push yourself, idiot. This cabin made from the earth will get built eventually. Another family will receive their forever home to fill with lots of babies. Old wounds beg to differ as Trevor’s arms begin to weaken, each movement slower than the last, struggling to keep up with Greta’s superior pace. She’s always known her way around a mallet.

Another bead of sweat gets caught in Trevor’s lashes, sparing his eyes from temporary discomfort. Though it wouldn’t have mattered as they’re already past any sort of respite. He looks for distraction but can only see the blurred shapes coming from a huddle of bodies, despite being a short distance from them. He knows it’s only Sypha and Alucard with the village children, which gives Trevor some relief.

There’s more comfort to be felt when he remembers that one of those little monsters is his own, nestled in Sypha’s lap then placed in Alucard’s gentle arms. She has a name far too long for any toddler to pronounce—Elizabeta Belnades Tepes Belmont—so what rolls off her developing tongue instead is simply “Liza”. She’s innocent now but once she leaves this little man-made paradise and ventures into a harsher world, she will take more after her mother and father. Grabbing whatever life offers with both fists, clawing and biting her way through every obstacle until her teeth are reddened with bloody meat. For the time being, they relish Liza’s soft cheeks, wispy hair, and the way she throws herself at whichever adult happens to be in her nearest vicinity. The other children are helping her socialize by playing games and embracing frivolity; a tactic Trevor remembers from his own upbringing, though with less games and even less frivolity. 

“Think you can handle one or two more?”

Greta’s voice manages to cut through Trevor’s mental fog. Funny how she asks if he can “think” about anything especially at this suffocating moment. She must have noticed the way his lips curl into a happy doped up grin while observing his family and couldn’t help but inquire. As any close, loved and valued friend would.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

“What’s wrong with looking a bit further into the future? Now that we all have one.” 

“Looking is one thing, but seriously suggesting is something else completely. My… performance in certain areas isn’t as up to snuff as it used to be.”

As Trevor says this, things deteriorate and get a bit fuzzier from his eyesight down to his chest. Out of focus. Painful. He keeps talking, keeps ignoring the inevitable. Always ignoring what his own body screams for.

Greta wrinkles her nose at his statement. “There are children present, Belmont.”

“What? I’m referring to the house. I barely managed to get one wall up while you’re already on the fucking roof.”

“So dramatic. You three really do deserve each other. And you’re still young.”

“On the outside, maybe.”

She laughs at his lie, misinterpreting it as another piece of mild self-deprecatory banter he might never be able to live without. Greta says something else, perhaps her own personal jest to counter his, but Trevor cannot hear. Breath grows heavier, forcing out a raspy “it’s fine. It’s just my chest”. Barely able to tell if Greta actually said anything about his sudden condition. Or rather, not so sudden. No, this has been building over quite some time now. His muscles and bones screaming, begging for relief or death, and end to everything—whichever comes first. Feelings that only worsened over the years.

Trevor loses control over his legs, now practically boneless. The collision between his head and the ground is nothing compared to the inner war over his heart. Whether it will finally succumb. Greta immediately calls for help—he thinks without confidence, once again. Trevor can still hear voices, but not their exact words. Not Sypha when she demands to know what happened. Not Alucard when he begs for him to stay conscious. Not even Liza as she cries for her papa.

Then all the chaos in the world fades into slow darkness.

--

Alucard stands outside the closed bedchamber door, contemplating how often he’s touched Trevor’s body. Lithe fingertips have memorized every crevice, scar, soft and rough spots alike. Not just as a lover with wandering hands underneath blankets in the dead of night. Or a friend who holds him steady on both feet when he needs it. But as this family’s self-appointed physician. 

Perhaps the prince of two worlds took after his father after all. “Polymath” is what Alucard used to describe Dracula and the very same word others have referred to him as, mostly in the realm of medicine. He knows more than anyone, little offence given towards the herb dispensers and leech farmers (only to be polite for his own townsfolk). Thus, through the anxieties and trembling hands, Alucard gave Trevor his diagnosis: heat exhaustion along with a muscle somewhere in his chest that decided to go rogue and strain itself.

The son of Tepes, the only local doctor worth trusting, and arguably the co-leader of their little prospering hamlet paces across the hall like Trevor did the day Liza was born. He’s on the other side of that closed door, resting. Bedridden from heat exhaustion and a fucking pulled muscle. It bothers Alucard. This shouldn’t have happened to someone who stood up to the personification of Death and pissed in his eye. A stupidly common and easily treatable inconvenience to the human body shouldn’t be the end of a fucking Belmont.

It shouldn’t—unless Trevor’s scars have anything to say about it. The ones on the inside and outside. Inside, unseen, and untreatable. There’s a harsh revelation to be found there; one which the prince has been purposefully avoiding up to this moment. Alucard can try as he wants, use the tools left behind by his father and mother as though it were their final death wish, but he might never tend to what pains Trevor on the inside. He’s a Belmont, undeniably so, but Belmonts are human despite the many recurring signs pointing to the contrary. Then there’s Sypha with her magic, but she’s human as well. Greta and Liza are still human. Humans are more susceptible to dying easy, little deaths even when they follow world-saving victories.

Where does this leave Alucard? Thoughts spiral down, down towards darker places the longer he nervously hovers outside the bedroom. He’s been known to awkwardly stumble into deflection, insisting he’s only half human whenever certain someones bring up this topic of necessary conversation. Meaning he might as well not be human at all. Not when the bodies of those he loves change so rapidly while his remains petrified. It’s only been two years, filled to the brim with countless hours he wouldn’t ever want to trade for the entire world. But the thought of one night as they nestle themselves into bed and Alucard touches either Trevor or Sypha’s chest only to feel an anomaly within their hearts. The earliest sign that time and age will eventually betray them as it does for all mortals—it could be the one thing to break him.

Alucard stops himself at the opportune moment, right before he starts thinking about his mother and father. Did Dracula ever contemplate Lisa’s mortality? Was the decision to never turn her easy or the hardest thing he forced upon his unstable, immortal conscience? Arms crossed over his chest like a protective cage, fingernails digging into the fabric of his shirt until it hurts, Alucard swallows a bitter glob of spit and reaches for the doorknob. Sypha will have to accept the fact that he couldn’t wait for her. He quietly thanks her for the lessons she taught him. If he needs to talk about something—truly talk, no sarcastic wit or banter, just the raw emotions—Alucard no longer hesitates. He won’t, not as he enters the room and immediately sees Trevor still in bed, not quite altogether there. At least he can manage a decent smile and wave of his hand.

“Evening.”

“How does your chest feel?”

“Still a bit tight, but I’ve been taking deep breaths like the doctor ordered.”

The amount of strain heard in Trevor’s voice worries Alucard. Hopefully the Belmont has learned something from the recent past, so he won’t be stupid and suggest anything having to do with leaving bed or getting back to work.

 “I think I should get up.”

“I think that’s a poor decision.”

“Are you saying that as my physician or because you’re letting that pretty little blonde head of yours get too worked up?”

No. Yes. Both? If only Trevor didn’t look up at him with those glassy eyes (can he still see him?) the colour of stained glass windows erected in cathedrals he felt so unwelcome inside. If only that smile, somehow both soft and shit-eating, wasn’t in place of a more serious expression. Then maybe Alucard could voice his concerns without being accused of acting overbearing—an accusation grounded in solid evidence but he’s not ready to admit that yet. Not out loud.

“Normal, healthy adults do not become bedridden after pulling a small muscle in their chest.”

“Belmonts aren’t normal… or healthy in my case.”

Alucard’s brow furrows. “I want to think you’re healthy—” I need to. “—that you’ll live long enough to see the children of this village have little ones of their own. Liza included.”

“God’s sake, she’s only two years old. You and Greta, always talking about looking one step too far into the future. Let her be a child before adulthood rears its ugly maw.”

“Try not to change the subject.”

Trevor lifts his head off the indent pressed into his sweat drenched pillow. “Alright. Fine. I feel much better. I won’t push myself and give my heart some more time to recover.”

No response coupled with broken eye contact; sure signs of Alucard’s reluctance to accept his rather weak assurance. The Belmont has no other choice.

“Come here. Sit.”

Another moment’s hesitation before Alucard complies. Feeling his weight upon the mattress, Trevor blindly reaches for his wrist until calloused fingers grip cool, unblemished skin.

“Now lie down. No, no. Not like that. Place your head right here.” He pats his chest and with a fleeting amount of guidance, Alucard’s cheek fits perfectly between his breasts. Two hands smooth over the dhampir’s curves before one before one rests on his silk smooth head and the other against the small of his back. Alucard lied about one thing: his own body can change in small yet noticeable ways. Without the need to fight for the lives of others, whether today or tomorrow, sharp edges turn softer. Trevor and Sypha have finally let themselves breathe as well, let go, and enjoy all of life’s pleasures.

“Hear that?” He asks Alucard.

“... It’s slow.”

“Slow and strong like it should be.”

Alucard wishes he could bottle up that heartbeat or place it in a box. Preferably a music box to listen to its soothing melody long after its original body and soul are both eventually gone from this world. Who knows? It might make things hurt a little bit less like when he redrew his parent’s portrait or built a much larger nursery where his own used to be. Not a lot, but Alucard could possibly live with just “a little”.

“Speaking of Greta…” The baritone of Trevor’s voice sends deep vibrations through his broad chest, tickling Alucard’s cheek. “She said something about more children.”

“More orphans joining us?”

“No, even though I know how much you love those damn orphans. She asked if we could handle one or two more.”

“What did you say?”

“I implied that she was taking after Sypha’s influence by being wonderfully insane.”

Alucard chuckles in agreement. That sounds like Greta. “You never know. It might be good for Liza if she has a younger sibling.”

With the sound of Sypha’s well timed arrival, he’s mercifully saved from Trevor’s lengthy speech about how patience is apparently a virtue and tirades about his “performance” or lack thereof. Greta reveals herself shortly afterwards with a still crying Liza in tow. So many bodies gathered around one inebriated individual, here for him and him alone. Trevor’s consoled yet exasperated expression directed at Greta in particular says “isn’t there someone more important you could be helping right now?”

Sypha is the first to voice her gratitude after fussing over her exhausting loved one. “I will never be able to thank you enough, Alucard.”

“I think the bed did most of the heavy lifting, love.”

Trevor is given an affectionate, somewhat caring glare in response but his focus is demanded elsewhere once he suddenly notices Liza jumping onto the bed. She snuggles herself between him and Alucard, wetting their shirts with her tears.

“Easy there, you little monster. Papa’s still a bit tender.” Not that she can understand or care.

There’s an aura of relief felt amongst everyone in the room—less with Alucard who smiles bittersweetly. It’s a truth he knew he had to acknowledge before it tore his heart open. Trevor and Sypha will die one day and he will have to bury them. He’ll bury Greta, he might even bury Liza. Not today thank all the gods, or tomorrow, not for the next few decades if fate is kind enough. 

But the day will come. And it will be Alucard’s own little death.

[slytherinnbitch]

Day 26: Accident

when harry woke up in a hospital bed for the millionth time, his first thought was hermione is going to kill me. and it was true because hermione had threatened to do exactly that if he landed himself in the hospital yet again. 

but when he finally opened his eyes, there’s no red or bushy brown hair in sight. just the pale blond one which belonged to the prat he hated the most. Draco Fucking Malfoy. and for some reason he looked relieved to see Harry. that couldn’t possibly be right. because draco hated harry with passion and he would have been happy if he died-

“Merlin, Harry, gave me a right scare. can’t you play one game without getting injured or is that too fucking much for you?” draco asked, and while the words and the tone of his voice were in perfect contradiction; one thing was clear. Malfoy was concerned about Harry. but that was something he would focus upon on some another moment when his mind wasn’t full of some half a billion questions. starting with what in merlin’s name was malfoy doing here?

“Malfoy, what the fuck are you doing here? he asked, annoyance clear in his voice. and because he couldn’t help himself he asked the other question which was burning a hole in his brain, “what game are you talking about?”

as far as harry was concerned, he had last played in hogwarts, although he did still participate in some of the impromptu Weasley weekly sunday matches but he doesn’t think Draco knew about that. harry’s words seemed to stop malfoy in his tracks. he frowned at harry, then he stared into his eyes for a long time before harry looked away. 

“uhm, okay. Ha-Potter, could you tell me what year this is?” malfoy asked, did he really think harry to be so dumbheaded that he would forget the year. 

“malfoy, do you really be asking me that? don’t you have better work to do? or did your small brain forget the date?” harry scoffed. malfoy was undetered, he asked harry the same question again, as if he hadn’t even heard harry’s words.

“ugh, you’re so annoying. its January 2001, unless i was unconsious for more than two weeks, then it would be february 2001.” harry replied, and the fuck was he alone? that too with malfoy to keep him company. he was about to ask just that when malfoy said-

“i’ll contact hermione and ron. just- sit here and try not to break anything or get out of bed.”

“and who would you be to comand me that?” harry challenged, like seriously what right did the poncy git have?

“as your appointed healer, if nothing else.” malfoy replied before leaving his private hospital room. 

.

"okay so it's 2011 and I have somehow forgotten ten years of my life. So what's up with me right now then? Senior Auror? Please don't tell me I went for Minister!" Harry tried to joke, it wouldn't do good to panic now afterall. "and however did I end up here? Malfoy mentioned something of a game?"

Ron and Hermione share a look. Harry always hated when they did that, especially after they got together.

"and why did you both allow Malfoy to be my healer? What were you both even thinking?" he added because he can't help but feel slightly betrayed by his friends. Malfoy entered at that exact moment, nosy git that he is, can't let people have some privacy.

"so does he know then? Doesn't look like it," Malfoy claimed, and Harry wanted to strangle him because he was aware that the he was him.

"harry was just asking about his job, and ... other prospects of life." Ron said, looking back and forth between Harry and Malfoy.

"well, I would be going really blunt now because reg would be wanting answers soon." Malfoy motioned his hands around as if whatever he said made sense and who was this reg person even?

even if Malfoy had appeared confident just a moment ago, he took a deep breath before he started, looking determinant, "you're a professional quidditch player. You resigned from the aurors about nine years ago and have been persued by various teams, and have changed teams twice. You now are the main seeker for Puddlemere United. You got hit pretty hard by a bulger before losing consciousness. And then here we are two days later. Does that answer your questions?" Malfoy asked calmy, it's a lot to take in. Well, Harry never fancied being a Auror all that much after defeating that noseless bastard so it's a good decision on his part. He wondered how he came to the decision.

But more importantly, he still had plenty questions let, "who are you? I know your name, malfoy. I am curious to your status in my life." Harry asked and by the look on Hermione and Ron's face and pain reflecting on Malfoy's, he wondered what was so wrong about it.

"Harry, I must have forgotten to tell you. I'm the Minister now. And Ron became head auror just six months back! don't you think that's incredible?" Hermione asked but Harry knew when a topic was being changed pretty well.

"it's no use stopping the inevitable, Mione. He would know eventually and I rather face it myself firsthand. Would be the best route for my heart, you know?" Malfoy said sadly. As if he had something to be sad about, Harry scoffed mentally at that. And what ths fuck? Mione? Not only was Malfoy on first name basis but he also called his best friend by their nicknames? What had the world turned to?

"We are married, Potter. And no, I haven't used any illegal or inauthentic means to achieve it. We have been together for the almost nine years now. And married for the past six." Malfoy said in one breath and what the actual motherfucking fuck?

"Yeah, right. So what's the real shit?" Harry snorted because malfoy might have a humor but this was so fucking far from the truth that it was downright ridiculous.

"Draco is telling the truth, Harry. You both are married." Ron said, and are these people alright? Harry was getting worried.

"what did he do to the two of you as well? What kind of potion did you use? Or is it a spell? Tell me, Malfoy. How have you been doing it for what did you say? Nine years, yeah?" Harry sneered. Malfoy's face shattered, as it should. He had been caught afterall.

"Draco..." Hermione started but Malfoy quickly put up his hand.

"I can't, not right now. It's fine, Mione. Don't worry about me." Malfoy said with a broken voice. Harry had never seen Malfoy showing this kind of emotion publicly before, but Harry didn't care.

"oh, and if we are actually married. I would like a divorce, immediately if possible. You can take whatever you want from my vaults if you want, if money is what you have been after. Reckon you wouldn't need much, what with your family fortune but I guess some people are never satisfied." Harry taunted because that's what he knew best, even if Malfoy looked like he was on the verge of crying.

"are you sure you want that? You won't regret it when you get your memories back?" Malfoy asked slowly.

"oh, absolutely. I think my actual self would be actually thankful. And please do this as soon as possible." Harry requested, although his tone showed anything but.

"very well, Potter. If that's what you wish for, then that's what you get. Don't say I didn't warn you," Malfoy said one last time. Harry just snorted at that.

Ron looked torn between shocked and upset and Hermione was actually crying. She started protesting but Draco just shook his head and smiled at her.

"I always knew this dream would break, mione. I'll be fine. I have reg." Draco sighed before he came to stnd directly infront of Harry.

"break the bonds then, the certificate would already be produced after we do that. I'll contact the advocate right after." Draco put forward his hand and Harry hesitated for a bit before putting their hands together. The touch was familiar, the skin soft and tender. Harry didn't even dwell on that for more than a second.

Malfoy spoke a foreign language, although Harry did catch a few Latin words in there as well. He didn't really care, but when Malfoy finally extracted his hand. Harry gasped loudly, his heart felt lighter and there was a whole comfortable weight on his shoulders that was gone. He didn't like that feeling even one bit.

Malfoy silently wiped the tears in his eyes, as if that was insignificant. He stared at Harry for a long time, to the point that Harry started feeling uncomfortable.

"well, goodbye Potter." Draco said atlast and Harry just lifted an eyebrow and sneered at him. He gave a sad smile to Harry's bestfriends as well. Then, malfoy actually hugged both of them, together.

When they pulled apart, he said, "don't worry, you both. He is not my Harry anyway. I'll be fine." Malfoy didn't look fine and even Harry could tell that.

"what about reg?" Hermione asked. Seriously, who was this reg?

"I'll be taking him with me. Or since ha-potter is the one who is leaving. Reg would be staying with me."

Draco then smiled, Harry didn't like that look one bit, he looked at Harry through his red eyes and said, "i must have forgotten to mention but I'll make sure Regulus stays with me. What with you being unable to even remember him. I'm sure I would have no problem at all. And don't even try otherwise. Consequences would be deadly." Harry shivered at the words but still, didn't understand who Regulus was. The only Regulus he knew was Sirius's brother and he was long dead.

"Potter, Regulus is, Regulus Malfoy-Potter is our son. Or I should say my son." malfoy closed his eyes and took a deep breath, "and don't even try contacting him by anymeans before- no even after you have gained your memory back. Because trust me it will, and it won't be pretty. I don't want my child to go through anything that would cause him trauma, and trust me when your own dad can't remember you, that's going to fuck up anyone's mind real bad, especially for a one and half year old." Malfoy spat out.

Harry could still hear some words ringing in his mind. Child? He had a child? He was a dad? He had to-

"Your rings, Potter." Malfoy out forward his hand, Harry frowned at it.

Malfoy finally gestured at his left hand and he say it, a solid but thin band of gold with small diamonds encrusted. It looked perfect. Just what Harry would have wanted for himself. Did he choose the ring himself then? Not detered, he slid the ring out of his finger. It was with some struggle but it came out atlast. But malfoy was still standing with his hand open.

"what now?" Harry asked, irritatedly.

"the family ring." Malfoy coldly stated. Oh, he then noticed the Malfoy family ring on his tiny finger of his right hand. He practically threw that into Malfoy's hands. Who wanted to be even near that thing?

Malfoy's hand pulled into a tight fist and Harry noticed that he still had a wedding band. So of course, Harry asked, "what about the ones you are wearing?"

"what about them?" Malfoy inquired and Hermione asked at the same time Hermione cried out, "harry, can you please not?"

Harry ignored her and lifted his eyebrows at malfoy again, "well if you take away the ones I had. It's only fair, I get those back."

Malfoy's eyes flashed angrily before the icy facade was back on, "i didn't want dissolve the marriage. I have no obligation to return the rings. And even if I did, I won't. My Harry gave them to me afterall." Malfoy said coldly, but his voice broke at the end.

"and the child-"

"nothing of it. Regulus is my son and he'll be known as such from now on. I would like to see you try otherwise." Malfoy basically growled. Then he gave one mock salute to Harry and turned his back to them and strode out of the room.

The three of them sat in silence for thirty more seconds before Hermione got up, mumbled something about Draco and left the room hurriedly. Ron took off soon after.

He patted Harry on his shoulder and said, "mate that wasn't good. You're going to regret it." Ron had said it with such conviction that it had Harry frowning for several minutes.

In the empty hospital room, with no one but himself to provide company, he felt a strange sensation of dread creep up. He looked down on his ring finger and the slightly lighter skin tone seemed to taunt him.

Harry felt extremely lost, again.

Day 25: Battle || Day 27: Babysitting

Part 2

[hansolmates]

the proposal (m)

banner done by the ammmahhzzing @eerieedits​

summary; Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. pairing; editor!Jungkook x assistant!reader (f) genre/warnings; the proposal!au, fake marriage au, enemies to friends(!!!), friends to lovers, bouts of flangst, dry humping, slight blood but not too bad, lang, alcohol, poor jjk discovers he has the ability to feel emotion, poor y/n is in the middle as always w.c; 20.1k of endless banter and koo hiding his romantic side a/n; yeah, it’s almost summer. But i think we need a lil holiday magic in our lives! I rewatched the proposal this weekend and whipped this up. Why is koo so gosh darn easy to write? This is my longest fic since i wrote maze runner back in 2014!! i rec this extension to get fully immersed in 2pov! Enjoy and pls tell me if there’s any errors im too poopied to proofread it again drabbles; 01

“When I hired you, you basically signed a contract that said you’d do anything for me.” 

“Yeah, Jeon. I did. That meant like, getting you coffee or working late hours—normal work stipulations,” you can feel the hair on your scalp growing thinner, “not commit fucking fraud!” 

Your boss looks moreso frustrated than you are, but you cease to care. Jeon Jungkook has been nothing but a thorn in your side since your employment at Big Hit Publishing two years ago. Being a budding author who wanted to graduate from online sites and freelancing, you accepted the job as the editor-in-chief’s assistant in the hopes of getting your first book published. 

However, your dreams of being an editor are quickly dissipating, especially when Jungkook corners you this afternoon and announces that he may have left America during the time his work visa was still processing. He may have to give over his editor-in-chief position because there’s no way he can get a work visa processed in time. As a result of this information, he may have told his supervisors that you seduced him on a late night one year ago, and you two fell in love and have been secretly engaged ever since. 

Because y’know, your citizenship to this country is an asset to the company. 

“We didn’t have to go to Norway to PR Emma Watson’s autobio,” you huff, fingers going pale from how hard you were gripping your iPad. Jungkook is an esteemed workaholic, and you have no idea where it stems from. You remember that trip to Oslo, Jungkook insisting that you and him both go to make sure everything goes smoothly.

“You weren’t complaining when we went to that restaurant with the open bar.” he runs a hand through his coiffed hair, making the pomade untack from its style. “You got so drunk that Emma held you while you cried about global warming.” 

Wholly unamused, you frown. “Jungkook, can you please take this seriously?”

“I’m taking this seriously, you’re not the one who’s about to be deported in two weeks!” Jungkook hisses, face dangerously close to yours. Not that anyone would know what he’s saying, but you can tell from his defenses that he genuinely is nervous. 

“You wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew your Visa!” 

“I wouldn’t be deported if you had just set an earlier appointment to renew my Visa!” 

At least twenty pairs of eyes are watching your confrontation, probably making their own conclusions as to what you two were fighting about again. Curse this office for having full-walled windows, you often feel like an ant in a plastic farm. Your work relationship is an anomaly to the rest of the staff. Before you started working at Big Hit, Jungkook’s assistants did not last long. Within the first week of working, you understood why. 

Jungkook whirls around his desk, glaring at the glass doors as he puts himself between the staff and you. “If you don’t marry me,” he says lowly, close enough for his hot breath to fan your face, coupled with his fresh-scented cologne. It annoys you how good he smells. “You’ll also be replaced because they want to give the my position to fuckin’ Karen of all people,” you fight the twitch of your lips. The only thing you two mutually agreed upon is the hatred of his co-editor, Karen. “All of the late nights we’ve worked together, the gallons of coffees you consumed, putting up with my shit, your dreams of becoming an author,” his eyes flicker to the way the grip in your iPad trembles, “will go down the drain and turn to shit. Whether you like it or not, we’re in this together.” 

Pretending to be unfazed, you bat your lashes, “So are you saying, you need me?” 

“For fuck’s sake—”

“Ah-ah, Jungkook. I’m not going to ask you to get on one knee, but you should at least tell me how much you need me.” 

You assume with great confidence that the only reason you’re kept on Jungkook’s payroll is because you’re not afraid to stand up to Jungkook’s bullshit. He looks positively disgusted at the mere thought of paying you an iota of a compliment. You’d say on average, you get half a compliment a month from Jungkook. You say half because he’ll compliment you, then downplay it with whatever flaw he can fabricate to get under your skin. 

He loosens his lavender paisley tie, annoyed. “Fine. I need you. I need you because you’re the only one who knows me well enough to be my wife. You’re the only woman I’ve had full conversations with in two years and knows all my dietary restrictions, favorite books, foods, and hobbies. By process of elimination, you are my best candidate.” 

“Romantic,” you roll your eyes, “I guess I do,” you push him away with a finger to his chest, “but I want a raise. And after we finish Sorn and Mark’s project, I want you to read my novel.” 

“Done and done.” 

“Well Jeon, I guess you’ve wifed me up with your ways of seduction.” you muse sardonically, feeling more upset for yourself than anything. 

“Fantastic,” he sighs, finally throwing his tie across the desk and plopping in his armchair. “Cancel the call with Janet, call PR about Irene Kim’s interview on Ellen, and order me a medium rare steak from J.J. Bittings with a side of brussels.” 

“Right,” you mutter under your breath as you pull up your checklist, as if you didn’t just give away your life to the Devil incarnate. 

Jungkook’s back is already facing you, focusing on his computer displaying two new manuscripts. “Oh, and on your way to J’s don’t forget to pick up your ring at Saks.”

“Bitch, you’re asking me to pick up my fake wedding ring?” 

Unbothered, he shrugs. You see the planes of his shoulders stretch beneath the blazer, because he’s deemed this conversation long over and he has work to do. “Yeah, but it’s real diamonds.” 

You’ve been seeing red for days. 

While the rock on your ring finger is indeed beautiful because Jungkook has impeccable taste, it drags you down and arouses the elephant in the room everytime you show up for work. 

You get enough stares on the daily, and you were just getting used to the looks of pity and sympathy for working under Jungkook, but now there are only snickers and playful winks as you trudge down the cubicles every morning. Everyday feels like the runway at a shitshow, and you are the headliner. 

Taehyung clapped you none-too-hard on the back when you showed up to work the next morning, congratulating you on the engagement. “Can’t believe you’re fuckin’ the big boss!” 

The rest of the staff poke their eyes out of their cubicles like Digletts, and you shush them, using your hand to make them sink down. 

Coffee is spilling down your shirt thanks to him, and you reach for tissues in his cubicle. “Can you not say it like that, please?” 

“Oh, come on. I heard from the supervisors Jungkook went on about how you seduced him late at night and took charge,” Taehyung wiggles his eyebrows approvingly, and you fight the urge to not throw up your coffee in his face. “How do you keep it so professional? Or do you save all that pent-up energy for after hours?” 

“You disgust me,” you grimace, stepping out of his cubicle and immediately regret wasting your five-minute break conversing with the typist.

Striding back into Jungkook’s office, he doesn’t hesitate to rattle off the next items on today’s agenda. He barely looks at you when you stride in, too focused on whatever corrections he’s slashing in red ink. 

“Did you get Taemin’s second draft?” 

“No, and I told him that if he can’t get me the draft by tonight he won’t get a publishing deadline and the number of copies published will be decreased by a third.” 

“And Taehyung’s author agreed to our stipulations?” 

“Of course, she’d be dead not to.”  you mutter, “she’s a nineteen year old Influencer, what would she know?” 

“Exactly, that’s why we milk it out as long as we can.” Jungkook throws the first draft in a large, intimidating pile, mixing in with all the others like a needle in a haystack. “Which is why it’s important we snag dinner with her this weekend, we can really—”

“What, this weekend?” your sense of equilibrium cracks, and you walk forward to put his hands on his desk. “I took this coming week off for Christmas. I’ve planned this for months.” 

“I know.”

“I can’t just cancel my flight! I saved up for that!”

“And?” Jungkook brushes off your fury like a piece of lint, “I’m Korean. Christmas is a fake holiday for me.” 

“You can’t just tell me I can’t go home to my family, it’s the fucking holidays!” 

“Why not, I’ve done it before. Remember on Valentine’s day when I told you the only date you have is a date with Kwon Boa’s publicist? Or on Secretaries Day when I argued that you don’t feel appreciated by society anyway and therefore why bother taking one extra day off? Or during Easter when your family screamed in my office on speakerphone that you should quit—”

“Okay,” no need to be reminded of how much you’ve wasted your life for this man, “but this is different. I’ve already bought plane tickets and this holiday is special. It’s a whole family reunion in the Poconos and we’ve reserved over five houses to fit all of us! I can’t just ditch!” 

“But I need you!” he replied just as hotly, in a tone that reminded you so many times of how tethered you are by this man. Two years have gone by, and the only thing that kept those strings together is the constant ache in getting your first novel published. “With all the marriage stuff and stupid extentions we had to make on these writers there’s no way we can get everything done before winter ends!” 

“You’ve done it before, why can’t you just ask Taehyung to assist—”

“Trouble in paradise?” 

A chill travels up your spine, and you and Jungkook exchange panicked eye contact. A tiny, pretty blonde lady struts in the room like it's hers, plopping a fruit basket atop Jungkook’s manuscripts. 

“If by paradise you mean our relationship, then no.” Jungkook’s the first to recover, meeting you at your side and stretching an arm around your waist. “I’d say work-wise things are getting a little rough, but nothing we can’t handle. We’re a team, after all.” 

“I just wanted to stop by as I was in the neighborhood,” the woman says, making herself comfortable in a leather seat reserved for guests. “Congratulations again on your engagement.” 

You tack on a smile, squeezing Jungkook’s arm a little too hard, but it’s enough to make the lady in front of you smile back. “What brings you here, Taeyeon?” 

Kim Taeyeon is Jungkook’s immigration liaison, AKA the person responsible for making sure you’re not breaking the law. She’s a pretty thing, with eyes sharp but a smile that’s soft and deceiving. 

“It’s just a shame you two have to rush a civil wedding,” Taeyeon sighs, looking at the window overlooking the city. 

“Ah, it takes some of the planning stress off my back, really.” you force a laugh, tugging Jungkook to sit on the couch opposite her. “At least one thing is done. The thought of planning a whole wedding with over two-hundred people is so stressful.” 

You weren’t really going to have a white wedding with Jungkook (however you may have entertained the thought, which is reflected in your Google search history) but you had to keep up the ruse that you were. A civil wedding in two weeks, then a quickie divorce a year later. 

“I know! My wedding was a real mess let me tell you, straight out of a movie!” Taeyeon is certainly the type of person to make you feel at ease, so at ease that it’s simple for you to melt your front. “But besides the point, are you two doing anything special for the holidays?” 

“Ah, well I bought a flight to meet my family in the Poconos,” you start, trying not to succumb to your nervous habit of wringing your fingers. You grab Jungkook’s hand as a reprieve. 

“And you’re not going?” Taeyeon’s gaze snaps, yes snaps, to Jungkook. 

You try to step in, realizing your flaw. “We’ve just been so swamped with work, all the immigration stuff and with these book delays Jungkook suggested he stay behind—” 

“But we’ve decided to prioritize our personal life and enjoy Christmas with our family,” Jungkook swoops in, threading his fingers between yours. He flashes Taeyeon a smile, and from the way his face lights up and his nose crinkles, you could’ve mistaken it to be genuine. “I’ve never experienced a big family Christmas, y’know. I’ve missed snowboarding too, I used to do it a lot in highschool.” 

“Oh, that’s just so sweet!” Taeyeon cooes, clasping her hands together. “Do send some pictures when you come back!” 

“Of course,” Jungkook stands up and attempts to leave Taeyeon out. You follow in tow, She obliges easily, mentioning something about just wanting to check in and she also has work to do. 

“Also,” Taeyeon’s head flickers to the people sitting outside Jungkook’s office. “You should manage those workers out there,” she looks at you, sympathetic. “Apparently, they didn’t peg you as the type of person to sleep their way to the top. And that’s just what I heard from walking down the hall once!” she laughs, tinkling brighter than a windchime, but you just tighten the grip on Jungkook’s palm. “Such a childish assumption. Things can be much more complicated.” 

She tips a “happy holidays” off her shoulder, and you both are smiling like the loving couple you are. As soon as the elevator doors close and Taeyeon is really gone, Jungkook moves to let go of your hand, but you hold him in your grasp. 

“She’s onto us,” you snap, tugging him closer to you so your co-workers wouldn’t read your lips. 

“Don’t you think I know that?” he bites back. He looks offendingly at the fruit basket adorning his desk. 

“What if we get caught, Jungkook?” you start to spiral, feeling your deepest fears crawl to the forefront of your brain. You’ve done extensive Google research on commiting fraud, and if you do get caught, Jungkook will never be able to come back to this country and you’ll have a fine of up to $250,000. Your boss doesn’t pay you nearly enough to get by with that kind of debt. “We’ll ruin this company, and our lives, and any hope of being published or credible.” 

“Hey, relax,” Jungkook whispers in your ear, the tone oddly comforting. He pulls you into his arms, and you barely have a chance to recover when he squeezes you extra tight around your waist. Jungkook only ever hugs you when doing PR, and even then it’s an awkward half-hug. Hell, he never hugged you on your birthday. “This is what we’re gonna do. We’re gonna book my flight to the Poconos, bring some manuscripts so we can work remotely, and no one will ever know.” 

You sigh into his arms, nodding tiredly. It feels nice to be hugged like this. His arms are strong and warm, and you feel small and protected. It’s been a while since you’ve felt like that. Maybe Jungkook did have a heart under all that muscle. 

“I’m putting up a good show, aren’t I?” he says, and you feel your heart drop just a little. Disappointed, but not surprised. 

From your view facing the cubicles, you see at least half the employees comically bugged with  heart eyes at you, enamored by your fake relationship. 

“Do not stretch your long-ass legs on this plane, Jeon,” you nudge your smaller leg away from your section of leg room, “Jesus, we’re flying economy!” 

It scares you how little you fought against Jungkook joining you for the winter holiday. It is the logical decision after all, Taeyeon is on your trail about your sudden engagement and you both needed to keep up the ruse. That includes going on family vacations. Also, the fact that Jungkook works through Christmas because he doesn’t celebrate it does make you feel a little bad. You can’t remember the last time the man took a vacation. 

The man in question barely moves at your weak attempt, and stretches his leg even further across your seat. “Sorry, babe,” he says, fishing around his seat for the included blanket. 

“It’s fine, Kookie.” You reply sweetly, and decide to kick off your shoes to drape a leg over Jungkook’s thighs, “you’re like a portable footrest!” 

He looks absolutely insulted at your objectification, but smartly decides to choose his battles and lets you keep your position. Tucking himself in with a scratchy blanket he waves you off, “Whatever, just wake me up when we arrive.” 

“What, no.” you pull up your iPad, shoving the note entry in his face. “I know everything about you, and yet you know nothing about me. I made this easy on you and just wrote everything down. You just have to read it.” 

“Seriously? I’ve known you for over two years, I’m sure I know enough about you.” 

“Really, then how do I like my coffee?” 

“Uh… hot?” 

You give him a look and he knows. With a sigh he grabs the iPad from your hands. Within seconds he’s giving you another dirty look, as if he’s skimming a conspiracy novel. 

“You know all this random shit about me?” Jungkook asks, scrolling down as to what feels like your life story. 

“Yes, because unlike you, I listen when you talk.” 

“Fine. What’s my favorite type of weather?” 

“A warm and sunny day, which correlates to your favorite kind of date which is walking along the beach at sunset. Cliché much?” 

“Okay, rude. Who’s my favorite artist?” 

“You like a little bit of everything, but since seventh grade you’ve been pining for IU. In the office, you like to sing along to Lauv and Hozier.” 

“Favorite movie?” 

“The Marvel Series. But you really like 5 Centimeters Per Second, you like the romance.” 

“And how do you know my favorite anime movie is 5 Centimeters Per Second? I’m pretty sure I’ve never told you that.” 

“Jeon, when we were promoting Momo Hirai’s self-help book at Anime Expo you were gone for two and a half hours at 1:50 sharp.” your boss’ Adam’s apple bobs and he swallows thickly at your admonition. “And low and behold, you gave yourself thirty minutes’ time to line up early because when I checked the schedule Makoto Shinkai had a panel on ‘The Otaku’s Perspective on Romantic—”

“Alright alright, I get it.” Jungkook slumps in his seat, as comfy as it can get with your legs draped around him and a seat at the far end of the plane. You know he’s trying to hide a blush, and you feel proud for making him a little flustered. “You’re lucky I’m a fast reader.” 

The plane ride goes relatively fast, with Jungkook asking quick questions about your family and other random things. It’s like playing a game of 20 Questions, instead it’s the final boss battle with 200 questions and if he doesn’t get them all right, the penalty is deportation. 

When you land, you’re both stiff and glazed over. Once you exit the terminal, Jungkook ditches you for the bathroom and says he’ll meet you at the luggage pickup. You give yourself a few moments, gearing yourself up for the long week ahead of you. At the luggage pickup, you see a tall man watch the revolving conveyor belt with interest. Either that, or he’s zoning out. 

“Joonie!” you cry, nearly dropping your phone upon seeing your big brother. He’s dressed comfortably in a grey sweat ensemble, as if he rolled out of bed and came straight to the airport. 

A bright grin takes over his face, and he doesn’t hesitate to smush your body against his. Under his tall frame you sway, your toes barely swiping the ground. “You’re alive!” he cheers, pulling back and holding your shoulders to get a real look at you. “I can see you’ve gained a little weight, eyes are a little dark, but I’m glad the Devil let you go. I still can’t forgive him for making you skip out on Jin’s wedding.” 

You don’t appreciate the way that Namjoon picks and prods at your exhaustion, but you know he means well. While he does not know your boss by face and name, he had enough artilerary from the billions of phone calls to learn about the Devil and the havoc he’s wreaked upon your life.

When you don’t respond he gets the cue that you do not want to talk about work this week, and he smacks his lips together. “But nothing a little R&R can’t fix! The ski resort nearby has a really nice outdoor jacuzzi and we could set an appointment for facials if you’d like. Or we could do absolutely nothing and turn into baked potatoes and watch movies until our eyes burn up.” 

“Both would be great,” you smile softly, catching two familiar suitcases make their rounds on your flight’s conveyor belt. You grab your pink luggage with one hand, and Jungkook’s black chrome one with your other. 

“So, where’s the new beau?” Namjoon rocks back and forth on his heels, hoping to get a glimpse of the mystery boy you mentioned you’d be bringing as of two days ago. 

“He really had to go to the bathroom,” you squint your eyes to make out the newcomers exiting the dropoff area. “Oh, there he is. Kook!” 

Like a goddamn model, he struts in your field of vision like nobody’s business. Unlike you who stayed in your apartment all day before leaving, Jungkook decided to spend a few hours at Big Hit in the morning to tie up most of the loose ends before your trip. He’s talking to what you assume to be is a client, noting the way his brow furrows as he clutches his phone with a tight hold. He’s changed out of his tie and leather oxfords, but he’s dressed crisply in a dark button up and blazer ensemble, still wholly overdressed for a family reunion. 

Namjoon starts behind you, “He looks...” 

“Handsome?” you goad, elbowing him, “Charismatic? Undeniable presence?” 

“Hard.” 

You don’t know what to make of that adjective, and you subtly shrink further in your jacket as you mull over the implications of his word choice. 

Jungkook steps up to the two of you, ending his call. His eyes float between you and your brother, and he manages to put two and two together. “Hey man,” Jungkook gives a practiced smile, extending a hand. “I’m Jungkook, I’ve heard lots of things about you.” 

“Good things, I hope.” Namjoon chuckles, returning the handshake. “I’ve heard absolutely nothing about you, though. Can’t wait to get to know you this week.” 

“Looking forward to it,” Jungkook takes his luggage and Namjoon grabs yours, leading you two out to his minivan. While Namjoon is preoccupied with getting the car started, Jungkook looks at you as if he’s already regretting making the trip down. “This girl has two braincells to her name. I just got off the phone with Sorn’s publicist.” 

“What trouble can an influencer do?” you reply in disbelief. 

“Exactly, influencing is the trouble,” he pinches the bridge of his nose, “she did some mukbang and now she’s in the hospital for food poisoning.” 

“Ah, don’t get too worked up,” you help him lug your suitcases in the trunk. You spot Namjoon subtly eyeing you two from the rear mirror. Pressing a thumb between his brows, you make work to melt away the 11-shaped stress lines on his forehead. “Let’s just send her a Lush gift basket and she’ll be fine.” 

You ignore the way Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you longer than needed, running over to your seat at shotgun. 

The inside of his car smells like bergamot and lemon, and the sweet, vulnerable side of you wants to cry over how much you’ve missed your brother’s scent. It’s been way too long. 

Once you’re all safely in the car and driving Namjoon says, “So, are you going to hide the engagement ring or give the family a collective heart attack?” 

You tense, hands automatically floating to the teardrop diamond weighing heavily on your ring finger. The story that you two contrived about your relationship isn’t too complicated, but complex enough that it seems convincing. Instead of being your boss, Jungkook is your Literary Agent who gives you referrals to new and upcoming authors. You working closely together and bonding over the stresses of the publishing world, have kept a secret relationship under wraps for over a year to avoid any unprofessionalism or favoritism. 

“I was thinking about that the whole ride, actually,” you twirl the metal back and forth, watching it gleam in the light. “Mom and dad know, but I don’t wanna lie to the rest of my family. They’ll freak out because it’s the first time they’re meeting Kook and we’re already engaged. It’s just a location thing, y’know. You guys don’t live in the city so we’ve never had a chance to really talk it out.” 

Namjoon snorts, “Or, because your boss never gives you a break.” 

If Jungkook finds any offense, he doesn’t show it. Putting what should be a comforting hand on your shoulder, he says from the back seat, “I already told you babe, do what makes you comfortable. But I don’t want to lie to your parents early on, you don’t wanna make the situation any more complicated.” 

In other words, you better tell them about our engagement because Taeyeon could be hiding in the bushes waiting to catch us. 

“Smart man,” Namjoon says shortly, but you can’t tell whether it’s a compliment or not. 

“Yeah,” you exhale, turning to smile stiffly at Jungkook, “no use hiding the inevitable, right?” 

The next couple hours are overwhelming. There’s a party right when you walk in your winter villa, your parents throwing you a reunion party (not for your family, but for you specifically because you’ve been MIA since Big Hit) with the house filled to the brim with family members. Within seconds your favorite cousin checks out the rock on your finger and screams that you’re engaged. 

Everyone must be so high off the fact that you’ve made it to a family event that they’re elated you have a life outside of work. Jungkook is treated like a prince, charming the hell out of all your aunties and baby cousins. 

“Oh, pumpkin!” your auntie squeals, linking arms with you while you’re trying to eat your dinner, “I just hugged your fiancé, and he has abs! Lucky you!” 

“Auntie,” you hiss playfully, “you hugged him that tight?” 

“He’s part of the family, isn’t he?” 

“Right,” you force a smile, downing your glass of champagne. The bubbles burn your throat pleasantly. 

“Babe, can you come here for a second?” Jungkook manages to swim his way through the throng in the living room, holding out a hand for you, “your mom said that our room is ready, care to lead the way?” 

His smile, as pretty as you can care to admit, renders your aunt speechless, and she lets him whisk you away to a long hallway that leads to a set of bedrooms. Jungkook lets go of your hand as soon as you're alone, letting his palm run along the pictures that decorate your hallway. 

He stops at a picture of you and Namjoon as kids, faces tanned and lips cherry red from your twin popsicles melting on your hands. “Wow,” Jungkook pretends to be alarmed, “I didn’t know you used to be cute, what happened?” 

“Shut up,” you smack his hand away, walking ahead of him. 

“I thought you guys reserved a bunch of houses, why does the furniture look worn and there’s pictures of you everywhere?” 

“Our extended family has reserved houses, but this is actually my family’s vacation home. I used to go here every winter and summer break,” you reach a bedroom in the corner of the hall, smiling at your wooden name tag hanging on the front, “this is my old room.” 

It certainly doesn’t have that youthful charm it once had, but there are still bits of your childhood scattering the room. There’s ticket stubs and photobooth strips tacked to a corkboard near your desk. Books that you would reread cover to cover are organized proudly on your shelf, worn for wear. 

Jungkook groans in relief, plopping his body down on your freshly made bed. “Your family’s really clingy.” he sighs, throwing an arm over his eyes. 

You turn to give him a snappy answer, but it dies in your throat when you see what he’s laying on. The familiar family quilt sinks under Jungkook’s weight, mocking you. You shriek, throwing your arms over to lug his body to the other side of the bed. Bundling up the quilt in your arms, you glare at a very appalled Jungkook. 

“The hell is wrong with you, woman!” he cries, not loud enough to escape the room, but enough to have your body vibrate in annoyance. 

“Jeon, they put the fucking baby blanket in my room,” you mutter more to yourself than him, folding it under your arms. 

The blanket is comfy in your grasp and you’re sure it’s clean, but the fact that you weren’t actually married and in love made its appearance a whole lot worse. 

“So?” his eyes are wide in confusion, “my mom still has my baby blanket too, I’m not gonna shoot anyone because of it.” 

“It’s not my baby blanket,” you admonish, “it’s the baby maker blanket. A weird family tradition when someone gets engaged.”

“Which means?” 

“They’re expecting us to fuck and have children.” 

The thought of procreating and starting a family with you must’ve caused all the champagne to return to his throat, and he looks a little pale. “I think I’m gonna be sick.” he lies back down on your mattress, and you leave him be so you can chuck the blanket back in your parents’ room. 

You’re barely out the door when a young man is waiting out in the hallway for you, poised to knock. “Hey, baby girl.” they throw you an easy lopsided grin, opening their arms to you. 

In your haste, you slam your bedroom door a little too loudly. “Yoongi!” You let yourself sink into his waiting arms, reveling in the familiar embrace you missed so much. Yoongi is Namjoon’s best friend and work buddy, not to mention the man you’ve had a crush on since you were able to walk. While you can safely say at this moment there is nothing serious going on, a small part of you always wishes there could be. 

His voice husks in your ear, “Why are we hugging in between the baby blanket?” 

“Oh!” you brush past him, opening the door to your parents’ room and flinging the offending item as far into their room as possible. “Sorry, Jungkook and I were a little freaked out when we saw it. We’re definitely not thinking about children right now.” 

“Jungkook,” he hums, and your smile falters just a tad when you see the way Yoongi tips his head down in thought, “It was quite the news. Congrats though.” 

You want to say what you’re supposed to say, that yes, you should be happy. But the selfish part of you does not want this exchange between you and Yoongi to be happening. When you get your quickie divorce in a year, the small, hopeful part of you hopes you and Yoongi could be something. 

Before you have a chance to fabricate a response, strong hands encircle your waist, and you feel Jungkook’s chin digging into your shoulder. 

“Thanks, man,” Jungkook’s voice rumbles, “we really appreciate it.” 

Yoongi gives a nod, muttering something about catching up later before he walks back to the party. 

It’s then that Jungkook’s weight feels impossibly heavy on your shoulders. “You know, you’ve been doing a really shitty job of being my wife-to-be ever since we landed,” Jungkook whispers, feather soft lips dusting across the shell of your ear. It’s an act so intimate you can imagine your family passing down the hallway could be mistaking you two for speaking unthinkable acts. A toddler cousin spots you two and giggles, babbling something to your uncle about how you’re hugging. “You did so well when we were with Taeyeon and Big Hit.” 

“It’s not the same when I’m lying to my family,” you turn to face him, equally simmering. “These are people that actually love and care for me, unlike you.” 

“At least I care about what’s most important,” he grits back, “our jobs, our futures. Is that not enough for you to keep it in your pants?” 

“Excuse me? You don’t even know him!” 

“I don’t have to know him because I’m holding you right now and you’re practically sweating through your cardigan.” he grimaces, digging his chin further into your collarbone, literally trying to get under your skin. “Your face looks like a cherry tomato.” 

You turn your head to bite back, your noses touching. The staring contest seems to last for days. Unlike Jungkook who doesn't know how to register basic human emotion, you still have hopes for a life after this. Before you have a chance to answer, your favorite cousin enters the hallway, oblivious to your concerns. Jimin’s red all over, passing you two flutes of blush champagne. “Hurry up, we’re making speeches!” 

Champagne is overflowing like Niagara, and you and Jungkook are the reason for it as you’re thrusted into the living room. Your weird uncle is in the middle of a long-winded speech about his fishing business and how dreams are made from ‘bait and a dream’. You make eye contact with him, and he gestures wildly to you and Jungkook. 

The crowd proceeds to go wild, echoes of speech! Speech! Reverberating throughout your living room. You and Jungkook share uneasy smiles, unsure of where to go with this show. 

Deciding it’s your family by blood, you start first. “Honestly, when I moved to New York I wasn’t expecting to feel so lonely,” you clutch your flute with both hands, swirling your drink absentmindedly. You then turn to Jungkook, giving him a tender smile which he returns back just as fondly. “Until I met Jungkook. I’m really happy that I get to share this week with the people I love the most, so let's drink to family!” 

Jungkook lifts his glass, “Thank you for the warm welcome, I can’t wait to spend time with all of you. This is my first Christmas with a large, loving family. Cheers to that!” 

The room erupts in cheers, allowing themselves to clink glasses and chase down their respective drinks. Even the little ones crowding the kiddie table in the back are enjoying their apple juice while making silly faces at the new couple. 

Jungkook weaves his arm between yours, and you get the signal to do a couples’ drink. He eyes you with mischief, as if to say we did it. After you two take your drink, Jimin’s the first to drunkenly yell, “Ohmygod just kiss already!” 

“Kiss kiss kiss!” 

“This is going on my story so make it good!” 

“Kiss him before I do!” 

“Oh my god,” you groan, throwing your forehead on Jungkook’s chest. Your family really is something else. 

As if the chants can’t get any louder, it’s hard to focus on anything but Jungkook’s presence. Jungkook lifts your chin up, murmuring, “Let’s give the people what they want.” and he presses his lips to yours. 

It’s awkward at first. Why wouldn’t it be, you’re making out with your boss, in front of your family, pretending to be engaged. But Jungkook doesn’t let up, parting your lips slightly to deepen the kiss. As much as you want to make up how terrible and disgusting kissing Jungkook is, it really isn’t. His lips are soft and he tastes like the peach champagne, and his grip on your waist is strong and warm. 

He leaves you breathless when you pull away, a smirk on his lips for a brief moment before he turns shyly to your family who are probably foaming at the mouth now. 

Maybe it’s the champagne coursing through your veins, but why does it suddenly feel so hot in the middle of winter? 

The first day back starts off wholly uneventful, with Jungkook working on some manuscripts and you preparing dinner with Jimin. Most of your family is on the resort hitting the slopes, so you’re quite thankful for the reprieve since the party was so overwhelming. The blonde is all smiles as he bumps the oven closed with his leg, letting your lasagna bake to perfection. 

“I’ve missed you so much,” Jimin rests his head on your shoulder, “it’s definitely not the same when we’re adults. Frankly, it sucks balls.” 

“Big balls,” you agree, gnawing on a leftover baguette from last night. 

“Speaking of big balls,” Jimin wiggles his brows as you attempt to move farther from him.

“Please don’t say it.” 

“C’mon! Just tell me if the sex is good!” 

“No!” you cry, flicking your crumbs at him. 

“I will open this oven,” his hands are already on the handle, “and your dish will undercook.” 

“Don’t you dare!” he opens the oven a tad, and you slam your hand down. “Fine! The sex is fantastic, happy?” 

“Ewh, no!” The storm door swings open, revealing Namjoon, Yoongi, and Lisa, Namjoon’s lady friend. “I didn’t need to hear that, thanks.” 

Your face looks absolutely pained as you watch the two older men walk in. They were the last people you’d ever want to share about your sex life too, even if it is fake. You can only bear to look properly at Lisa as they kick off their boots and shake the snow off their heads. Lisa pokes her tongue in her cheek, looking at you with a wild look in her eyes. “I’ve heard so much about your current drama. Can’t wait to hear the 411 from you, though.” 

Yoongi looks unfazed, then again you never really know what’s going on in his head. “You guys wanna go to a movie tonight?” Yoongi asks, grabbing a slice of the baguette and dipping it in a dish of olive oil. “I think the one that’s showing is based on a book your company published.”

“Is it ‘Rotten Love’?” 

“That’s the one.” 

Pushing yourself off the counter, you nod eagerly. “I’ll go tell Jungkook to get ready. We can eat dinner real quick and then go right after,” you grab a bottle of water from the fridge, “Joonie, set up the table please.” 

Jungkook doesn’t notice you walk in, and you can hear the faint sound of Muse blasting from his Airpods. He’s on your floor, doing pushups while reading a transcript under him. This time he’s using your iPad, every few seconds taking a thumb to scroll down. Sweating through his shirt, you can see the beads running along his silver reading glasses. It’s completely contradictory, your muscle bunny of a boss getting in his reps while psychoanalyzing a potential novel, but somehow it works with him. 

“Maniac,” you mutter, bending down to place the cool water bottle on his cheek. He stops abruptly, like you’ve pressed the pause button on his seemingly robotic arms. Seriously, you can’t fathom how he manages to do both. You swipe the iPad under his body in place of a white towel, which he accepts gratefully. This isn’t the first time you’ve had to snap him out of it, sometimes you’d catch him at the company gym nearing 10PM, reading on the treadmill. 

“What time is it?” he asks, fluting the water bottle down his throat. 

Ignoring the way his neck glistens in sweat, you say, “It’s almost seven. C’mon, we’re gonna eat dinner and watch a movie. You’ve cooped yourself up in this room all day, time to interact with the world.” 

“What movie?” 

“The book we published in 2018, ‘Rotten Love’? They made it into a movie,” and you can’t help the wry grin that takes over your face when you say your next words, “guess who directed it.” 

He sighs, rubbing the towel over his damp hair. The normally styled strands fall limply at his forehead. “I don’t remember, I shifted over that project to PR. Any director’s fine, but please please please don’t let it be—”

“Jung Hoseok!”

“Son of a bitch, we gotta go.” And it’s the first time in a while you see a genuine smile graze his features, one not laced with you and your marriage. It’s an old pastime for you both to get picky over Jung’s work. “I swear, he better not put his scenes all over the place like last time, I got whiplash.” 

After a quick dinner you all pile into Namjoon’s minivan, making your way to the theatre. The drive is fast, and before you know it you’re waiting in line to get inside. It seems that the PR between the film studio and Big Hit did a good job assisting, because there’s a sizable line despite being half an hour early. 

“So honey,” Lisa leans into you, squishing you further into Jungkook’s shoulder. “Did you like, help out with the publishing of this novel? To be honest I don’t even know what your job is,” Lisa admits with a shrug, “you’re not a glorified coffee girl, are you?” 

“No,” her mixed enthusiasm never fails to stump you, “Ah, but I really didn’t do much in the production of ‘Rotten Love’,” you reply easily, relaxing into Jungkook as he moves to drape an arm around your shoulder. “I just told my boss to sign some documents n’stuff. It’s really nothing—”

“Babe, are you kidding? You ran the whole freakin’ project!” and you’re in shock, because for the first time in the history of ever, Jeon Jungkook is paying you a real compliment. “It was her first assignment when she got hired as the big boss’ assistant. A lot of people in the office doubted her,” he squeezes your shoulder, “but not for one second did I doubt her, you could see how hard she worked to make it perfect. I heard the boss was really impressed, too.” 

You remember that period of time. Jungkook made you dive headfirst into the publishing for ‘Rotten Love’, letting you sink or swim in his decision for keeping you employed. After a full month of meetings, negotiations, and debating whether you should have caffeine IV’ed in your body to save time on eating, you got Jungkook’s evaluation. You remember the stoicism in Jungkook��s frame as he surmised your work, throwing you a flippant “it’s decent” before sending you off to do more work. 

Relief flooded your system after those two simple words, because that meant you had a chance and you could keep your job. But this? If what he’s saying is true, you’re on Cloud 9. 

“Awh, thanks Kook.” you squeeze his arm, letting your fingers trail down to lace your fingers with his. 

Lisa’s face is all scrunched, and she doesn’t hesitate to stretch over you to smush Jungkook’s cheek between her two fingers. Her blue nails dig into his soft skin. “I like him, honey. Keep him, he’s so cute.” 

She leaves you alone after that, skipping over to bother Namjoon about buying an extra bucket of popcorn. 

“At first I was nervous having you near my family for a week,” you say brightly, rubbing a thumb over his hand, “but I kinda like seeing you try so hard to not rip other people’s heads off.” 

He puffs out his cheeks in an attempt to soothe the stinging. “Could be worse, I could be engaged to Karen.” 

With that you laugh, loud enough to turn heads and have Jimin and Lisa send you adoring looks. Jungkook sends you a nervous smile, the one that he’d always send you during team meetings when he was unsure of how to respond to something. Instead of giving him a smart answer, you get on your tiptoes to pat his reddened cheek. “But she’s right, you are kinda cute when you wanna be.” 

Instead of replying, he squeezes your hand tighter to lead you inside. 

Everything is smooth sailing after that. You, Jimin and Yoongi are saving the seats while Jungkook, Lisa and Namjoon are getting the refreshments. Jimin is prattling on about a new job interview and you’re listening attentively, while Yoongi shoots off advice every time Jimin says he’s nervous. 

Yoongi looks past Jimin to give you that gummy smile that always made your chest ache. “Chim, remember when she applied to work at Jamba Juice?” 

“Oh my god,” Jimin giggles, clutching your arm. “When you had to do a trial run in front of the manager? You forgot to put the lid on the blender and you sprayed the staff with green juice?” 

“The stains took forever to get out,” you pouted. “And I didn’t appreciate the snaps you saved of me. I got nervous because you were recording me!” 

“Am I hearing some juicy details about your childhood?” Jungkook appears, passing a huge tub of buttery popcorn to Yoongi. 

“Emphasis on juice,” Yoongi says tartly, popping a handful of kernels in his mouth. 

“Yes, do you wanna see a picture of your fiancé covered in green juice? She wore a low-cut shirt that day so it got deep, man.” Jimin says, using his hands to gesture obscenely to his own chest. 

You’re mortified, and you push down Jimin’s phone and cover whatever receipts he has on you. “Jimin, I’d like to stay engaged, if you don’t mind?” 

Your not-so-favorite cousin cackles in response, telling Jungkook that they’ll talk later. 

“Here,” Jungkook cooly hands you a King-Sized KitKat. 

“Awh,” you marvel, immediately opening the wrapper, “you actually read my notes and found out what my favorite candy was?” 

He scoffs, dark bangs blowing up. “Who doesn’t like KitKats?” but you’re giving him the look, and he sighs, “C’mon babe, just gimmie a break.” 

“Ha-ha,” but you break off a piece anyway, lifting it to Jungkook’s lips. It’s then that the theatre starts to dim, and the telltale signs of the movie begin. “Ready to rip Jung Hoseok to shreds?” 

“Always.” 

Barely fifteen minutes pass and Jungkook is spreading his legs. You’re about to kick him before he leans in to whisper, “They made Renee too dull,” he sighs in disappointment, as if he sincerely had high hopes they’d bring the novel to justice. “I mean, I get it, in the novel she’s supposed to be a plain Jane. But she isn’t grey.” 

“Right?” you lean into Jungkook, throwing your legs over his thighs like you’re back at the airport. This isn’t out of intimacy, you think to yourself, you just need to be close enough to Jungkook so you don’t disturb the other patrons with your talking. “She’s either a bad actress or they messed up her character. I really got upset when I read this part, but it’s kinda bland on the screen.” 

As much as you love Jimin, you know he’s not going to get your over-criticality over the media. Yoongi and Namjoon are on the other end of the row, but they wouldn’t be too pleased having you gab over the movie because you’re too much of an aficionado. Jungkook is the only one who can tête-à-tête, or in this case, Kit-a-Kat with you. 

You sigh into his shoulder, inhaling his clean scent. “Let’s pray Jung didn’t completely butcher the chapter where Kenzo reflects on his penniless journey.” 

“I’ll leave the theatre right then and there if that happens, care to join me?” 

“Already out the door, bossman.” 

Jungkook looks away from the screen briefly, reaching forward to take an obnoxiously big bite of the KitKat in your hand. You stifle a giggle, and before you can soak up his cheeky grin he’s already looking back at the movie. 

You wonder what Jungkook is like outside of work, if he has that side to him. A little part of you wishes that this playfulness he’s exuding is real. Not to your fake marriage, but a playfulness he can execute to a person that he really likes. Two days out of the office and you’re starting to see that Jungkook has the capabilities to enjoy life, however simple it may be. 

The movie is finished in a blur, and you and Jungkook are still bickering over the intricacies of the film compared to the novel. The night air is cold and burns your cheeks, reminding you exactly how late you’ve been out.

“Well, I thought the romance was so boring!” Lisa blurted, wanting an in. Her lime green ski jacket glares in your vision, and you move away from her immediately. “No one cheated on each other, there was no drama, or evil best friend!” 

“Whoa there,” and you see the little fire in Jungkook’s eyes, one you’ve learned early on to stay away from when you spent hours in his office debating over manuscripts and plotlines. He stares down at Lisa, really stares down. “You think every romance needs some sort of internalized conflict for it to be good? Why can’t they just grow and learn from the external conflict together? It’s literally useless for them to break up over and over just—”

And that’s your cue to walk ahead of them, because while you did agree with Jungkook, you’ve heard this debate one too many times. Ever the closet-romantic at heart. You hope Lisa doesn’t lose her patience and punch him out. 

“Hey,” you feel a hand pat your hair, and you look up at Yoongi. He looks absolutely fluffy in his long puffy jacket, and he matches your steps with his. “Do I look ugly tonight, or something? I feel like we barely exchanged two sentences with each other.” 

“What, never!” you chastise, “you always look good, Yoongi. And we have the whole week to catch up, remember?”

“Really, then why don’t we go out in two days to pick out a tree for your house? Joon and I are planning on going.” 

“I would love to go pick a tree!” you exclaim, “the last time we got a tree together was when your brother had to lift.” 

“Great,” and he pats your head again, but this time his hand lingers to finger the ringlets of your hair. “It’ll be just like old times, baby girl. I’ll pick you up at 9.” 

Unbeknownst to the both of you, Jungkook’s argument ended minutes ago and he’s mulling over a new type of internal conflict. 

“Owie, ow, ow—fuck you! Ow!” 

“Well if you just hold still,” Jungkook grimaces, taking his turns with both hands to simultaneously wipe the injury with a cloth and then pressing the affected area with an ice bag. 

“Buh ih hurths!” your voice is muffled by the cloth, stained red with freshly bloomed blood. 

The ski lodge started off great. You enjoyed a fabulous beligan waffle breakfast courtesy of Jimin’s parents, and then made the trek to the slopes. You’ve been here dozens of times, so you didn’t feel an inclination to gravitate to any of the fancy schmancy sports. You were fine playing shuffleboard inside, but your inner youth complained that it’s the holidays and you should be getting out more.

Jimin and Jungkook (who claimed he hasn't snowboarded since he was 16 yet he’s doing tricks like a goddamn Olympian) were shredding on the slopes while Namjoon and Lisa were skiing on a smaller hill. You and Yoongi watched safely from the lift, riding it like a kiddie attraction. You must’ve taken the lift at least ten times, complaining about how you’re both too lazy to function and you could really use a hot chocolate and a fireplace. 

After the fifteenth time on the lift, legs numb, you stumble over with heavy boots to where Lisa and Namjoon were waiting for Jimin and Jungkook. They wanted to walk around more and see if they could try a more difficult slope. 

While you were waiting, you had to admit that Jungkook did kind of cool all decked out in his gear. A competitive, playful smile was easily reflected in his gaze despite his helmet and goggles. 

That slight admiration is knocked right off your feet when Jungkook speeds by way too close for comfort and you’re in his path. Jimin had already slowed next to your friends and family, looking at you in anticipated horror.

It’s far too late, and despite the fact that Jungkook manages to pull your body to his while you wipe out, your face crashes into his helmet and you taste metal. 

Mildly disoriented from the impact, Jungkook’s muffled string of curses nurse you back to a decent consciousness as he tries to carry you to the lodge.

“Holy shit, I got that on camera!” Jimin cries, gesturing to the Go-Pro nestled in his helmet. 

So now you’re in pain and it’s all Jungkook’s fault. Your bottom lip is split, and the burn on your face won’t go away. 

You watch as Jungkook dotes on you, his bangs pushed up everywhere due to his grey goggles haphazardly being propped upon his forehead. His pink tongue sticks out as he concentrates on not getting blood on your sweater. It’s just you and him that are stuck around in the lodge after you got pummeled, standing by the fire while everyone else continues on with the fun. 

“Why were you over there anyway, in the middle of the slope?” he scolds. 

“It was the slow down zone, Jeon. You were the only one not slowing down, you speed demon.” 

“Sorry,” he says gruffly, pressing a little too hard with the ice and you wince. He lets up and presses the cloth to your lips to soak up the moisture.

“Did you say something?” 

“I said, I’m sorry.” 

You sigh dramatically, “I wish I had a camera to save that shitty excuse of an apology.” 

“Speaking of cameras,” he shucks his phone out of his pocket, handing it to you. “Jimin uploaded the video.” 

That man, you don’t know where he has the means to quickly upload and edit things, but if it’s for the ‘Gram, it’s worth it to Jimin. You open Instagram and immediately click on @chimmyboi’s story, immediately wincing as the first few seconds reveal the brunt of the impact. He should really put a disclaimer before uploading content. 

The tumble between you and Jungkook doesn’t look so bad, but it’s when you get up does it look gnarly. Your chin is dribbling in red liquid, and Jungkook’s throwing off his helmet and goggles in a panic. 

He makes a half-assed snowball where you’re lying on the ground, pressing it against your mouth. With his other hand he pulls you into a sitting position, not caring that you’re staining his clothes as he hauls you on his body. 

“Ohmygod,” you splutter, trying not to move your lips, “I look like I got decked with a hockey puck.” 

“It wasn’t that bad, don’t be a baby.” Jungkook sees the piecing glare you give him, and he sighs. “Okay, it looked pretty bad. I was a little worried back there, but now the bleeding pretty much stopped and holy shit—stop smiling! You���re making it open up further!” 

“You were worried?” 

“Shut up.” 

The ice bag is watery and not doing much anymore, but Jungkook still insists to cool your face down. You lift a hand to his cold ones, attempting to take the bag and cloth from his grasp. 

“You should go board with Jimin and the rest of them. I can take care of this.” 

“It’s fine,” he reasons, reaching for the ice bag but you hold on tighter. 

“C’mon, I know the only thing you were looking forward to this entire trip was going snowboarding. I’m a big girl, I can be alone for an hour or two.” 

Jungkook locks his jaw, gnawing at his cheek as he mulls on his decision. “Wouldn’t I look like a bad partner if I leave you?”

“Nah, this has happened before. Almost always someone gets injured on the trip. Last time something like this happened I was eight and I got five stitches on my leg. This is nothing. You’re fine.” 

“But still.” 

“Fine, you wanna make it up to me?” 

You scan the room for any ideas, and it settles on a trio of girls huddled by the register of the built-in café. They’re pretty snow bunnies, decked out in sweater dresses and fur lined boots. They remind you a little of The Powerpuff Girls, all in pastels and attached to the hip. Their gaze has taken hostage in Jungkook’s frame, blatantly ignoring the fact that majority of his attention is directed towards you. You wonder why you haven’t noticed them sooner, because now the staring is getting borderline discomforting. 

Slipping off his goggles with your free hand, you gesture subtly to the girls. “They think you’re hot. Go flirt with them a little and get me a free drink, I’m sure they’ll pay for you.” 

He doesn’t understand the correlation, “Why would I do that?” 

You shrug, separating the strands of hair that stick to his forehead. “Lisa and Namjoon do it all the time when they go clubbing. They compete and pretend they’re single for like two hours, and then they keep a tally of how many people offer to buy them a drink.” 

“That is completely different, but I’m open to trying it when we get back to the city.” he acknowledged briefly, getting up from his crouching position. “I got a better idea.” 

Puzzled, you watch him saunter over to the register. Like bees to the honey, the girls follow Jungkook with their eyes, watching him exaggeratedly mull over the menu. 

He spares the slightest of head inclinations to the drooling trio, “Hello ladies.” The smile is not flirtatious, but kind. 

You suppress a giggle, burying your chin in your scarf as you watch the whole interaction. You don’t even know why you asked Jungkook if he would flirt with those girls, as he kept most of his dates private over the years. You picture a college-aged Jungkook getting his daily breakfast on his way to class, ignoring the way his presence attracts heads. 

The barista hands Jungkook a tray filled with a plastic cup of ice, and a cup filled with something hot, and a chocolate croissant. He grabs a straw from a tray, stabbing it in the hot drink’s lid. 

“Excuse me,” one of the girls coquettishly puts her hands behind her back, puffing her chest out as she leans over Jungkook’s order. “The regular croissants actually taste better in my opinion.” 

“Well my wife’s had a hard day, so I think she deserves something sweet.” 

He doesn’t even turn around as he makes a beeline to where you’re seated on a loveseat, carefully placing the tray on the coffee table. 

“Your better idea was making them jealous?” you ask, unsure of his intentions. 

He shrugs, “College-Jungkook always wanted to show off his girlfriend like that, so indulge me for a second, alright?”

Rolling your eyes you reply, “My life is about indulging you. Don’t forget the trips I’ve made to the grocery store when your personal fridge was out of banana—”

“I thought I said we don’t speak of those hard times,” he cuts you off, “ever.”  

You stop him from filling up your ice bag with the ice he brought. “C’mon Jeon, you’re burning daylight out there. I got this. You’ve stalled enough, go have fun in the snow with Jimin, you adrenaline junkie.” 

He scrunches his nose, but relents when you throw him his jacket and goggles. Before he pulls on his gloves, he cups your face with both hands to pull you in a kiss. His hands are cold from the ice, gluing you in place in fear of him kissing you too hard. But it’s barely that, a brushing of lips so tender as he takes extra care with your open lip. 

“Is this also a self-indulgent request?” you pucker, “who knew there was a hormonal teenager under that editor-in-chief’s body.” 

His eyes flicker to the audience in the back, and you don’t need to look behind you to note that they’re glaring daggers in your head. It’s like you’re straight out of a rom-com. 

“You’re leaving me to the bunnies,” you say teasingly. 

“Then hurry up and get better so you can join us,” he taunts, “or else you can’t help me bury Jimin in the snow.” 

It’s a tempting offer that makes you down your drink so you can enjoy the rest of your day. 

Light seeps through your windows, rays kissing your eyelashes and willing them to open. You groan, hand splaying out to wake up Jungkook. When you find his space empty and cool, you sit up and search for your fake-fiancé. 

He’s on the floor, smack in the middle of his morning workout. Your iPad is under his body, and somehow he’s managed to find a setting where the document scrolls for him automatically. He’s not wearing his Airpods, so you rasp, “Jeon, you’re crazy. I get the morning workout, but you don’t have to look over any more transcripts. I think you’ve read enough for this week.” 

“It helps me ignore the burn,” he says shortly, and you see the ripples of his back flex with every push-up. “And I wouldn’t have to do so much reading if my assistant would just do her job.” 

“I already told you, I’m not working during my vacation.” you throw off the sheets, padding to your closet. “I’m going to pick the tree today. You should go to the mall with my mom and Jimin to pick out some new ornaments.” 

“What?” he gets up, and you ignore the perfect view of tight muscles decorating his abs. Exactly how long was he awake for to have sweat clinging to his shirt? You’re going to short-circuit and it’s barely 8:30. “But I wanna go help pick out the tree.” 

“You don’t have to do that, Joon and Yoongi got it.” 

“Yoongi, really? You think he can carry a tree?” 

“This isn’t a pissing contest, Jeon.” you settle on a burgundy Patagonia jacket and grey leggings. “Besides, Yoongi and I are just friends.”

“You sure about that, baby girl?” 

You whip around to poke at his chest, and you ignore how smug he looks. “Do not test me, Jeon. Like you said, I’m with you every step of the way in this marriage. I’m not going to jeopardize that over some childhood crush.” 

“Wow, your life is really turning into a Wattpad entry,” he admonishes, “fake-fiancé still pining over his older brother’s best friend, really high-qual stuff.” 

“I’m serious.” you grit, “I took a week off so I can get away from you and that was ruined, so I would like a little bit of space today.” 

And that gets Jungkook to back away. His face deflates a little, and you feel a little guilty for making him upset, but you stab that thought down and convince yourself that he deserves it. It’s not like he cares about you, he just wants to show off to the boys.

“Fine,” he turns around to put on a fresh shirt, and you almost notice the pout marrying his face. “You could’ve just told me you wanted space. I’m getting kind of tired of you too, you know.” 

He flops on the bed and you huff in reply, quickly throwing on your attire inside your closet while he watches a YouTube video. You check your phone, and at 8:59 a knock is at your door. Jungkook doesn’t bother to get up to answer, and you open the door to see a sleepy Yoongi with a paper cup in his hand. 

“An English breakfast with two sugars and a dash of milk, baby girl.” 

You mask your wince at the pet name. It hadn’t bothered you when you were young, but its starting to feel coddling now that Jungkook is making you hyper-aware of the attention. “Perfect,” you faux-beam, the hot beverage warm your fingers. 

“I’ll just warm up the car and—”

“Babeeeeee,”  the deepest, sexiest voice echoes from your bed and out in the hallway. He sounds absolutely tempting, and needy. You freeze at the way your boss can so easily pretend he’s exhausted and wanting you, “come back to bedddddd. I’m not done with you yet.” 

Yoongi’s ears are red, “Aaand, I’ll let you finish whatever business you have.” 

The older man bolts out of there, and you snap your head back to look at an innocent Jungkook. He tilts his head at your bout of anger. 

“You know, I have half a mind to fling this tea down your shirt.” 

“What?” he looks at you like a child caught with a hand in the cookie jar. “He can’t be the only one who can call you baby.” 

Honestly, you didn’t mean to lash out on Jungkook like that. You did need to put up a face as you were each other's significant others, but it doesn’t mean you have to be together all the time. To top it all off you’ve been feeling weird as of late, and you can only attribute these terrible feelings to a certain brunet who’s been sleeping in your bed. 

But you pin these feelings for another time, because you need to enjoy what little quality time you have with your brother. 

“Hey, whaddya think of this one?” It's just you and Namjoon picking the tree, and Yoongi’s sitting in the cabin keeping warm. He said to call him once you’ve decided, since it is your house. 

“Hm, it’s fine.” you shrug, inhaling the pine. “Maybe a little too tall.” 

Namjoon nods, and you follow him to the next row of greenery. He’s been pensive this whole time, and you have a feeling he’s hiding something. Surrounded by pine and the fresh winter air he says, “Hey, I just wanna say sorry.” 

“Why, did you like that tree over there? I don’t mind it, we can go back!” 

“What, no? I’m sorry for being weird around Jungkook.” 

“Huh?” sure, you noticed the weird language and terseness he gave Jungkook initially, but you chalked it out as big brother issues. 

You two continue to walk around the forest aimlessly, not really tree hunting. 

“I was just upset that the engagement was so sudden,” Namjoon starts, and you feel the guilt start to set camp in your stomach. “And I don’t know, at first he just didn’t seem like your type? I always thought you wanted to date someone gentle, someone you could hold and depend on. He looked so serious, and maybe a little immature.”

“He is a little immature,” you agree softly, digging your boots in the snow, “but I don’t love him any less because of it. We’re growing together.” Shit, why was that so easy for you to say? 

“Figured,” and Namjoon stops to place a hand on your shoulder, “I see the way he looks at you, and you can’t fake love like that.” 

Namjoon’s admonition is so convincing that you almost convince yourself that it is something. 

Something is bothering Jungkook, and he doesn’t know why. 

It’s not the billions of charges he made on his credit card for new ornaments, because it simultaneously inflated his ego and impressed your mom. 

It’s not the way Jimin hangs onto his every word and doesn’t let up, because it is refreshing to have your cousin find a genuine interest in him. 

Jungkook, Jimin and your mom have been taking laps around the mall for the past hour. They’ve floated around here and there, picking out whatever catches their eye for the tree. 

Jimin’s in the middle of explaining the Jamba Juice story when a glimmering window display catches his eye. 

“Hun, have you not bought her a present yet?” your mom says over his shoulder. 

“No,” he exhales, embarrassed that he just admitted he didn’t think of getting you anything in front of your mom. “She doesn’t ask for anything, really.” Besides her book published, a raise, and a potential promotion as editor, but they didn’t need to know that much. 

“Good thing you’re with the right people!” Jimin cheers, ushering him into the jewelry store. 

Funny enough, he knows exactly what to get you. Once he points it out, Jimin and your mom “ooh” and “aah” respectively, agreeing that what he chose was perfect. If you had asked Jungkook a week ago what kind of jewlery you like, he’d give you a dumb look and say “something shiny.” But that’s what’s bothering him. He just walked right into the store, saw what was right, and everything just clicked. 

Jungkook pins that thought for later, because once their shopping is done they’re back at your villa, arranging the ornaments and detangling the lights that have been holed up in the closet for eleven months. 

Jimin and he are sitting on the living room floor, stabbing thread through popcorn. He really only saw this craft in the movies, and the small part of him is amazed that you and your family go through the hard work to make your holidays so warm. 

Your mom appears from her bedroom, clutching something in her hand. She sits in front of Jungkook, a huge smile on her face. 

“Before you say anything,” and it strikes him how similar you are to your mother. There’s that tone he always receives before he gets new news, or the way you’re eager to share something that will make him happy. “I don’t want you to think this is a luxurious gift or anything. But I realized that you don’t have a wedding band so I went through my old cases and found this.” 

She opens her palm slowly, revealing a simple black band. 

Jungkook’s lips part to form words, but his vocal cords betray him. At first glance, this ring could’ve been mistaken for one of Jimin’s plentiful rings adorning his fingers. Upon closer inspection however, Jungkook notes that this band is thinner and more worn. The metal looks strong and old, the slight scratches and faded color revealing that it was a well-loved piece of jewelry. 

Your mom is offering Jungkook a wedding band. 

“If you don’t like it, that’s okay!” your mom says quickly, nerves radiating because of Jungkook’s silence. “It was my grandfather’s. Don’t feel as if you have to accept it. It’s not a wedding band persay, but I think it matches and it looks about your size and we didn’t get you a Christmas gift so—”

“It’s perfect.” Jungkook tells her firmly, sending him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, I guess we kind of rushed the engagement so I didn’t think of getting a band of my own.” 

Your mother is grateful, dropping the ring in Jungkook’s awaiting palm. “I think my daughter should be the one who puts it on you, don’t you think?” 

“Right,” he echoes, and he just stares at the ring in his hand, feeling weird in his chest. He can’t remember the last time someone put this much thought in getting him something this significant. He can’t accept this ring, but he can’t refuse it either. “I could never find something with this much value from a little shop in New York, so thank you.” 

“Oh, and while we’re on the topic of New York,” Jimin puts down his completed popcorn wreath, “y/n said she already put in her off days for Easter, so you should too. It’ll be at my place this year, and I live by an indoor skydiving zone. She mentioned you’re an adrenaline junkie.” 

“She also mentioned that your birthday’s in September.” your mom pops in, “We were thinking we could take Friday off and stop by for the weekend. I’ve always wanted to see Hamilton!” 

Jungkook knows they’re trying to cheer him up. They’re trying to make him feel part of the family, feel wanted. But he can’t remember the last time he’s felt wanted unless it’s for a book deal or a business exchange. It’s been so long since he’s felt this warm, and he didn’t realize how much he yearned for it until he proposed to you.

“Hey man,” Jimin puts an arm around his trembling shoulders, “are you alright?” 

“Fine,” he’s crying, and doing a shit job at hiding the tears. “It’s alright, I just,” he can’t even find the strength to get up and walk away from this. Is it pathetic that he’s breaking down in the comfort of your cousin and mom, starved for affection? “I just, I miss my family. It’s just the four of us, but they’re all the way in Korea and it’s been awhile since I’ve really celebrated anything with them. They visit sometimes but it’s not the same, y’know? And work is so stressful but I’m not in a position to say that. And your family is just so, so nice and it makes me miss them even more. You’re all so lucky to support each other like this.” 

Jimin and your mom sandwich him like an Oreo. It’s almost funny, how two smaller humans are comforting this big human and not the other way around. “Poor baby, it’s your family too.” 

Pathetic. It’s pathetic how much he wishes to have a family like yours, but he can’t have that. 

“Can we please not tell y/n about this?” Jungkook wishes, leaning his head on your mom’s. “She’s going through a lot right now with work and stuff, I’d rather just talk to her about this after the holidays, if that’s okay.” 

“It’s quite alright, sweetheart,” your mom runs a hand through his hair, and his eyes automatically flutter closed, “just remember, your feelings matter too, okay?” 

You and Jungkook slip into bed at the same time, murmuring half-hearted “how was your days” and brief descriptions of your outings. It’s a little awkward considering the morning’s events, but not unbearable. 

“The tree smells really nice,” Jungkook tries, looking up from his phone. 

“Yeah, makes the whole room smell like Christmas.” 

“Yeah.”

“Did you have a good time shopping, find anything good?” 

“Yeah.”

“That’s nice.” 

[11:29] Jimin: hey, you know my room’s right next to yours right? 

[11:29] Jimin: we share a goddamn wall and im NOT hearing shit

[11:29] Jimin: are you putting that baby blanket to good use ;)

[11:30] You: YOU”REE DISGUSTING are we even family!!!!  Can i disown a first cousin?? 

[11:30] Jimin: i’m just sayin.. U said it was fantastic

You throw your phone away, letting it slide off to the mattress and onto the baby blanket. Yes, the baby blanket is unfortunately here to stay. Over the course of three days, the quilt is like a ball in a tennis match between you and your mother. You’ve given up and just kept it on the floor. 

“I have a question,” you say aloud, motioning to your bed partner. 

“Shoot.” 

“Was it true when you said I was the only girl you knew well enough to be your wife?”

“Of course, that’s why we’re here.” 

“I’m just wondering, because I really thought you could pick any girl in the office to be yours.” you stuff your hands under the covers, playing with your ring. “I mean, you’re kinda-sorta handsome. You could’ve picked someone just as pretty and they would have studied your whole life story for you.” 

Jungkook's phone falls in his lap, and he looks at you like you’ve lost a couple brain cells. “Normally, I would eat up the fact that you admitted I was attractive. But do you realize you’re just as beautiful, if not more?” 

What? 

“I know it’s unprofessional, but how professional can we get when we’re married, but you’re the whole package, y/n.” and he says it with such fervor, you can’t formulate a response. “I wouldn’t have wanted anyone else. No one else can take my shit and throw it right back in my face, or debate with me for hours on end about a novel’s direction. Only you can do that.” 

“I’m sorry,” you shake your head, “thanks, you’re right. I’m just clouded, and stressed. And Jimin’s being an ass and it’s really bothering me.” 

His chocolate eyes flicker in the darkness of your bedroom, making note of your phone on the floor. “What’d he say?” 

“It’s stupid, he said that he thinks it’s weird he hasn’t heard us bang all week,” you force a laugh, “it’s my fault though, he wouldn’t get off my back so I gave up and told him the sex was fantastic.” 

“Are you worried he’s unconvinced?” 

“A little, maybe? I don’t know.” you’re wrinkling your bedsheets now, turning the cotton into putty as your sweaty palms wring at the edge. 

“I don’t mind giving him a show.” Jungkook blurts, and you instinctively pull the covers closer to your chest, even though you’re fully clothed. 

“What, like fake moan into the wall?” 

“There are things you can do over the clothes,” he says matter-of-factly, pulling the sheet of his bedside down slightly. “And you just said you’re stressed. I’d be a bad fiancé to not let you relieve some of that tension.” 

Jungkook opens his arms and gestures for you to get on his lap. Your body is hot all over, and you can’t tell if it’s because you’re horrified or aroused. Maybe a little of both. 

“Are you kidding—you’re my boss!” 

“And we’re consenting adults!” he narrows his eyes at you, “don’t say you’ve never thought about it before.”

And the sick, twisted part of you has, a lot. There’s something about a man in a tailored suit and owning up to its power that’s really attractive. Not to mention all those times they’d be traveling for work, stumbling for a quick McDonald's bite at 12AM and he’d be dressed casually in tight black jeans and combat boots. The energy really kept you on your toes. 

“Wow, I really hate late-night talks. All the secrets come out, don’t they?” 

“If it makes you feel better, your ass looks great in pencil skirts,” you turn to him with flared eyes, “what? I’m just trying to let you know I mayhaps find you attractive.” 

“Mayhaps you should stop talking before I regret this.” 

His eyebrows lift and disappear from his bangs, the hair freshly dried and fluffy from his late night shower. He then pats his lap with a little blasé as if to say “hop on”, and you ignore the way how good the seat looks, his boxer briefs doing nothing to hide his unmentionables. 

Trying to fight alongside your last drop of dignity, you take your time. 

“C’mon y/n, don’t make it weird.” 

“It’s been weird, Jeon! Jimin’s next door!” you hiss, backing away slightly, “Give me some time, I can’t just hump my boss!” 

“You’re not humping your boss.” Jungkook has the audacity to grin, the expression looking absolutely sinful in the moonlight. “Think of it as your lover wanting to make you feel good.” 

The bridge between love and hatred is a fine, fine line stemmed by passion. 

Careful, you lift your blankets up and slip out of them, moving to sit up. It’s ridiculous, tiptoeing around your bed to avoid any sudden creaks in the aged wood of your mahogany headboard. 

“We’re out to prove to your family we fuck on the reg,” Jungkook snips, “you can make noise.” 

Within seconds, he’s hauling you on his lap. You squeak in surprise, feeling the thin material of his boxers seep through your thin silk shorts. You wriggle around, monitoring Jungkook’s expression. He does not allude too much, but you take note of the way Jungkook secures you with his hands between the swells of your thighs. 

“I’m not a rollercoaster, stop adjusting like you’re gonna buckle up.” 

Jungkook’s dry humor lightens the mood considerably, and you can’t help but smile timidly at his attempt to make you feel at ease. He lets you take your time, and you never imagined someone so demanding in the office can be so… kind in bed. 

You dip forward to kiss his lips once, twice. He looks needy, but lets you set the pace. You appreciate that. You’re salivating at his willingness to make you feel good, and you whimper as he nibbles on a sensitive spot on your neck. 

You need more. Sensing your urgency when you jerk his chin up, he muffles your sounds with a harsh kiss, taking care to moan deeply into your mouth. The heat is luxurious on this winter night, burgundy kisses exchanged between the sheets like secrets. His tongue slips between your teeth, tasting every inch of you and exploring you like the deepest texts. 

He pulls away slightly, and you’re drowning in his gaze. “Am I still just kinda-sorta handsome now?” he nips at your neck, sucking on a spot between your jaw. 

“N-no,” and you pull him up by the chin, taking in his messy hair and glazed eyes, “you’re fucking sexy,” and you tug your mouth to his once more. 

You don’t even realize that you’re rolling your hips until Jungkook breaks the kiss in favor of grabbing your hips, making sure your core is nestled perfectly between his hardening length. It doesn’t take long for the both of you to get wet, and the silk glides easily between your thighs like butter.

“That’s it, baby girl,” he encourages, one hand reaching up to cup your breast, “use me, make  yourself feel good.” 

“Please, don’t call me that,” you whine against his mouth, trying to keep the mood in, “Babe is fine, but baby girl makes me feel like a little kid and I’m not a little kid.”

“You damn right,” and he lifts his hips to meet yours in a sharp thrust, and you gasp hotly into his mouth. It’s too late to muffle your moans, not when you’re drenched with two pathetic pieces of fabric stopping the both of you. “You’re a gorgeous, intelligent, strong, amazing woman.” 

With every compliment, he does all the work, thrusting with each adjective like he’s blessing poetry into your body. 

“J-Jungkook,” the name is muffled against his shoulder, too fuzzed in ecstasy to be embarrassed by the drool coating his tank top. His hair tickles your shoulder as he nips at your clothed breasts, swirling around your nipple. “I-I, m’gonna come,” 

“You’re almost there huh?” and he slips a hand between you two to find that sweet spot, swirling designs between your shorts. “Fuck, you’re so wet.”

And you’re shaking, collapsing into his embrace as he rides out your high. He cradles one hand in your hair as you rub furiously against his other, chasing your pleasure like a starved animal. 

“K-Kook,” you murmur into his neck, finding the strength to roll your hips one more time to check. “You’re still hard, do you want me to help?”

“No.” he’s forthright, and as tired as you are, you force yourself to pick your head up. Sweat lines his brow and his face is flushed, but he’s already helping you off and handing you a tissue from the nightstand. 

“What?” you’re hurt, and don’t want to admit why. 

“Don’t feel like you need to,” he grunts into your forehead, dipping a chaste kiss right in the center. “Just let me do something nice to you for once.” 

As much as you want to, you don’t complain as he tucks you in. You don’t complain when you see a wet stain on his Kirby boxer briefs. You don’t answer back when he checks his phone one more time and pulls you in to press a kiss to your cheek. It’s 12:31. 

“Merry Christmas,” he murmurs into your skin, and turns over so his back faces you. 

Christmas is a loud and eager affair. The entirety of your family piles into your house while still in pajamas, aunts and uncles from other villas running in with their children with their newly opened toys and gadgets. There’s a buffet style breakfast piled on the kitchen island, and you’re all eating in the living room while watching holiday movies. 

Jungkook melds right in, unsurprisingly. He has your baby cousin Dante in his lap, teaching him how to use the controls of his new Nintendo Switch. 

Despite only meeting Jungkook a few days ago, you notice that some of your family have taken the liberty of giving him small presents. You spot a simple silver chain around his wrist, courtesy of Jimin, and a fluffy grey scarf wrapped around his neck, courtesy of your aunt’s impeccable knitting club. 

“He fits right in, doesn’t he?” 

Yoongi hands you your usual cup of tea, and you accept it gratefully. You’re sitting right next to the tree, and you notice that some of the ornaments are miniature books. You absentmindedly run your fingers over the carved wood, especially on the ones that are your favorite titles. 

“Yeah,” you hate to admit, so you whisper it into your mug. But Yoongi can hear, he always does. “I didn’t think it would be this easy.” 

“Easy to love him, or easy to fit into this family?” 

You splutter into your mug, and Yoongi does the right thing by patting your back. It feels a little bit like he’s burping a baby, but otherwise, it soothes your lungs. 

“I am happy for you, you know.” he says, knocking knees with you. “It might not seem like it now, but I truly am.” 

Deciding not to dwell on his subversive confession, you thank him for the tea and excuse yourself. Dante seems like he’s got the hang of MarioKart, so you tug Jungkook by the hand and lead him back into your bedroom. 

“I got you a present, but I didn’t feel like making a scene about it,” you pull out a pink gift bag, tufts of white tissue paper sticking out. “Also, it’s kinda cheap and it was a last minute thing, so don’t have any high expectations.” 

“Gee, you’re really making me feel deserving of this gift,” but he takes his time in unraveling the bag anyway. 

He pulls out a shiny onyx black mug, rolling it between his hands. On one side it’s engraved in gold cursive “World’s Best Boss” but on the other side it’s engraved, “World’s Best Husband”. 

“Subtle,” he grins, pulling you into a hug. He gets that it’s a gag gift, but because it’s from you, it's a lot more meaningful. You could’ve easily delved into his bank accounts and see what he buys for himself, but you decided to take the more personal route. 

“Thanks,” he murmurs into your hair. And to really throw you off he says, “For my gift, I’ve decided to publish your novel.” 

You shove him away as if you’ve been stung, and you barely have the voice to ask, “Are you serious, you’ve read my novel? I didn’t even send you the first draft!” 

“We share the same Google Drive, it was easy to find. If you had noticed, it’s the only thing I’ve been reading this week,” he shrugs as if it’s nothing, but he’s in actuality giving you your lifelong dream. “You deserve it, really. I’m sorry if you felt like it wasn’t ready to be read. But it was wonderful, you’re a real wordsmith.” 

“I’m not upset,” you can’t be, not when he smells so good and he’s trying to hug you all over again. “How many copies?”

“10,000.”

“20,000.”

“15,000, and I’ll even give you permission to dedicate your novel to me.” he raises his brows irreverently. 

You scoff at his arrogance, but you don’t admit to confessing that along with professors and your family, you would be dedicating it to him. “Well my gift feels like absolute shit,” you deadpan, “can I have a do-over tomorrow? We can go to the mall or something.”

“You’ve done enough for me,” he disagrees, breaking away from you to place the mug on your desk. “Agreeing to my farfetched proposal, letting me into your home. I think that’s an amazing gift.” 

“You’ve been way too nice,” you look at him wearily, noting the rosiness in his cheeks. 

“You say that like it’s not possible!” 

“Who knows? Maybe the Christmas spirit has performed a miracle, who am I to judge?” and you can’t get enough of the man, running into his heart one more time. Pressing your ear to his chest you sing, “Well, in the Poconos they say, that Jeon Jungkook’s heart grew three sizes that day.” 

It may have not grown three sizes, but if the living room wasn’t so loud, maybe you could’ve heard his heart beating three times as fast. 

The calm after the storm is your favorite part of Christmas. Most of your extended family has left to mull in their own homes, leaving your family to laze around until it’s just you and Jungkook that are awake. 

Jim Carrey’s version of How the Grinch Stole Christmas is playing on Netflix, arguably the only superior rendition of the children's book. The tree is still glowing by the fireplace, soft white lights trickling in the darkened room. 

Earlier in the night, you and Jungkook had cuddled up in the middle of the couch under a blanket, and were too lazy to move even when the entirety of your family vacated. Either of you could’ve easily shoved each other off and went to bed, but here you are, making offhand comments over hot cocoa. Each second that passes by, you’re more aware of how well you two sink between the fabric like you’re meant to do this. The domesticity terrifies you, but you don’t dare to point it out. 

“How does his face do that?” Jungkook turns to you, contorting his face into funny expressions. It’s a poor attempt at the green creature on the screen, but it makes your mouth twitch and you fight the urge to giggle. “It’s like he’s made of rubber.” 

“He has a sense of humor, unlike some people.” 

“Very funny,” he says, turning away to take a sip of his cooca. 

Sinking further into the couch, you unconsciously latch onto him more, savoring his body heat. “Can I confess something?”  

“What’s up?” 

“A week ago, I loathed you. I used to have recurring dreams about you getting run over by a Wonderbread truck. And I was driving the truck.” 

“Wow, that makes me feel so much better.” 

“No really, if I had the opportunity to watch you get hit by a cab, I would’ve paid for it.” 

“If it were possible for me to file for divorce at this very second, now would be time. You are a walking red flag.” 

“Okay, but!” you shush him with a finger to your lips, and he goes cross-eyed at the touch. “After seeing your stellar performance this week and an impeccable display of human emotion. I think after all of this, we could be friends.” 

“Fwends?” he says through your finger, mouth smushed. “Why whuh we?” 

Instead of lifting your finger right away, you swipe at his cherry lips, getting rid of the marshmallow sticking to the corners. 

“Because we get along.” you say simply.

“Because we’re supposed to be getting married.” 

“No! We’ve always gotten along! We’ve just been too up our asses to notice!” you sit up, appalled. “Here’s my theory, a change of setting has suddenly spurred on your character development—”

“—y’know I really don’t appreciate your use of literary jargon, it’s really pretentious—”

“—because without your external conflict, you have a chance to let loose and enjoy your life for once!” 

Jungkook frowns, adjusting his frame so he slightly hovers you. He’s pretty like this, dressed in fluffy black pajamas and his face soft. His eyes absorb the Christmas fairy lights, and you notice for the first time in two years that there are no longer purple bags under his eyes. 

“I don’t know,” he murmurs, voice so small you wonder if he’s worried to crush the moment. “Friends are hard.” 

You shake your head vehemently, “Friends are easy, keeping them is the hard part.”

He doesn’t know why he’s being so weird about this. You’ve worked for him for over two years, you know him as well as you know your skincare routine, down to the last detail. 

“Jeon, don’t think too hard about this,” you try to get him to lighten up, the intense look in his eyes throwing you in for a loop. It makes the little hamster wheel in your head spin rapidly, and you wonder if you’re really crossing a line. “Jimin said you had a really good time yesterday, I was almost jealous I couldn’t come shopping with you.” 

He cracks a smile at that, “Yeah, Jimin and I shared a moment,” and he leans down to the shell of your ear, “and he said he really enjoyed our moment last night.” 

“Oh my god!” you grab a nearby throw pillow, chucking the rough fabric in his face. 

He breaks into a laugh, but not the wine and dine chuckles that he’d have between terse negotiations for work. It’s a full out giggle, like he’s proud to have riled you up enough to break your resolve. Who knew your angry face could be so cute? 

“I guess if we’ve crossed a line, might as well make it all the way to the end,” Jungkook says easily, running a hand through his chocolate tresses. 

You and Jungkook are leaving the day after tomorrow. Most of your stuff is packed and ready to go, and you’re currently spending the rest of your night at a sit-down dinner with your immediate family plus Jimin. 

It’s peaceful, you muse. Jungkook even offered to help cook. Back at Big Hit not once did he ever bring leftovers from home, always insisting you order something for him during work. Kimchi fried rice is a simple dish, but Jungkook had taken great care in making sure it was cooked properly and adjusted to your family’s tastes. 

Your parents are glowing and enjoying their time with the whole family, a rarity that grows more valuable with age. The meal soothes you like a balm, reminding you of old conversations that had you spew milk out of your nose or Namjoon accidentally spilling beans on your lap. 

“Oh, you should also clear your schedule for the first week of September,” Jimin says absentmindedly, shoving another mouthful of fried rice. “Besides Easter, Jungkook says we can celebrate his birthday and visit for the weekend.” 

“Seriously,” Namjoon balks, sitting up straight as he regards you in disbelief. “You’re sure your Devil of a boss will enjoy you out of his chains for two vacations, god forbid you take the holidays off again.” 

The grip on your fork tightens, but you steel yourself. Honestly, you were wondering why it took Namjoon this long to let it all out. He was always vehemently against your job, as he was the person who got the brunt of your vents when you were stressed. Probably for the sake of Christmas he let it go, but now that it’s over, the topic’s fair game. 

“Oh, c’mon Joonie,” your mother frowns, “not at the table.” 

“He isn’t that bad, Joon.” you reason, completely ignoring Jungkook as you stare straight at your brother. “He means well—”

“Means well?” Namjoon barks a laugh, as if it’s the most laudable thing. “Sis, you cried everyday for a straight month after you were hired.” he places his hands on the table, regarding you carefully, “I had to personally call your doctor in New York to get you sleeping pills, and not to mention that two weeks ago, you were crying again because you were worried he forgot your vacation and would make you work! Don’t tell me he ‘means well’ when I’ve been busy picking up the pieces!” 

At this point, you’re livid. Jungkook’s right here, and while you can’t go ahead and out the fact that he is your boss, you can still have his back. 

They don’t know that you’ve picked the pieces back up, reinforced yourself to create a better version of the person you once were. 

“He does mean well,” you cry, matching your brother’s red tone to a T. “He’s just stressed and genuinely cares about the company. I choose to work long hours because he takes his time in making sure the work we publish is worthwhile, and I support that. He’s hard on me because he knows I have potential. He’s going to make sure I succeed.” 

Namjoon looks at you like you’ve grown two heads. “You’re seriously defending your shitty boss?” 

Jimin puts a hand over Namjoon’s in an attempt to placate him, but he shoves it away.

“Honestly,” Namjoon spits venom, “how can you possibly stand to be around someone who makes your life so miserable?” 

Your meal has gone cold, and your fists clutch desperately at your jeans. The breath is robbed from your lungs, and you can’t look at anyone for fear of them regarding you with guilt. You know since the day you got hired that your family wasn’t exactly enthused at your boss’ level of expectation and work output. But they don’t know the industry, and they don’t even really know Jungkook past the surface level. . 

But you know in their eyes, they’re right. Their daughter left their comfy home to pursue her lifelong dream, only for it to be broken in a matter of weeks. It’s natural to feel protective, and while you’re resilient and were able to get it together as of late, it wasn’t enough for them to understand. As someone who loves you, it’s obvious they’d want to blame your boss, blame Jungkook for your suffering. 

You imagine your father would ask Namjoon to step outside, or your parents would make Jimin pull you and Jungkook out. Neither of those things happen.

A warm, large hand is placed on top of yours. You look towards Jungkook, face unreadable as he squeezes your thigh. 

“Namjoon’s right.” Jungkook utters, pressing his lips together. “You deserve to be treated with respect. The boss has never appreciated the hard work you do, at least not out loud. You’re too good for him.”

“Jungkook,” you gape, putting your other hand over his. 

He pulls away at your touch, glancing at the clock. “This dinner was wonderful,” he says gently, looking apologetic to your parents. “Excuse me, but I promised to call my parents at this time.” 

The excuse is completely half-assed, but no one says anything as he leaves, walking out the door without a coat. The table is terse, with your parents attempting to coax out dessert while Jimin clears the dinner table. You refuse to look at Namjoon, who has no idea why you’re so upset. You wait five minutes before you mumble about getting Jungkook a jacket. 

However, when you open the door he isn’t sitting on the porch. He’s all the way up the street, too far for you to be heard with a yell, and walking farther into town. The black hoodie falls to your side, disappointed. 

Jungkook does in fact, call his parents. Your mother suggested it when she gave him the ring, thinking it would ease his homesickness if he made a better effort to communicate his feelings. 

And so he spends over an hour huddled in a cafe, talking about nothing and everything with his mom and dad. He tells them about the little novelties he’s experienced this week, like making popcorn strings and picking out themed Christmas ornaments. He tells him how he promises to book a flight back to Korea as soon as his work visa goes through. While he doesn’t mention the proposal, he mentions you. He prattles on and on about how strong and beautiful you are, and how you’ve crept up on him and made him realize how awful of a person he was. 

His mom prattles excitedly through the line, saying that women make you realize how much better you can be for them, but she doesn’t know the half of it. 

Jungkook sat there in your dining room, Namjoon boldly telling you off about how miserable he’s made you. 

And yet still, you defended him in ways he never imagined. Your relationship has always been mutual, and prickly at best. You balanced each other out, but he knows he doesn’t deserve you. When he first hired you, he rendered you indispensable like all the other assistants that couldn’t handle it. You’d break eventually. 

And you did break. But you picked up the pieces and put yourself back together, and you didn’t resent him for it. He hated that. How can you trust someone who’s hurt you so much? 

He can’t let you go through with this marriage. You’re wrong. You don’t need him to be successful. 

[11:09] You: mom unlocked the door for you. Jimin and i went out for drinks so idk when ill be back

[11:09] You: please don’t be mad at me

Silly girl, why would he ever be mad at you? 

His plan is simple, Sneak into your villa, grab his luggage, and try to book the earliest flight back to New York. Then, he can come clean to Taeyeon and spend the year in Korea while they work out his visa issues. He’ll quietly pack his things and clear out the office before Monday.  Hopefully by the time he makes it to Busan, he can forgive himself. He’s going to regret missing your expression when you get to hold the first physical copy of your novel. 

This plan proves difficult when he sees Namjoon waiting outside for him, sitting on his luggage and reading a book. His long legs are splayed across the porch, and he doesn’t spare Jungkook a glance.

“Knew something was off,” the older man doesn’t look up from his novel, “found the mug on her desk, bossman.” 

Muttering a curse under his breath Jungkook opens his arms, “Are you gonna beat me up now?” 

“What? No, I’m a lover, not a fighter.” Jungkook scoffs, and watches Namjoon roll his luggage to the back of the van. “And out of the kindness of my heart, I’ll save you the Lyft fare and drive you to the airport.” 

Is he that predictable? He flinches at the sudden jet of the ignition, and he takes heavy, snow-laden steps to the passenger seat. Once buckled in, Namjoon tosses the book in his lap. “Some light reading for the drive.” 

If Namjoon wasn’t the driver, he wouldn’t hesitate to chuck the book at his big, intelligent head. Instead, he glowers, clutching the book tightly. It’s only when they round the corner to a house brightly decorated with lights, does he see what novel Namjoon’s plucked. 

A Mutually-Assured Attachment. Jungkook tosses the book back and forth between his palms, noting the soft cover is so worn it could melt apart in his lap. It feels tended and loved from years of use. 

It’s Jungkook’s first novel, and you had a copy. One of the first editions, if he remembers the cover art correctly. Granted, he thought you had some of his books purely because of your job, but not one from your childhood. Frankly he thought this should have never been published, but he was nineteen and that in itself was a large feat. 

He carefully peels the pages, and takes out his phone to shine the flashlight mode. At the very front, blood red ink is scratched next to the title: “this is THE most pretentious title i’ve read in my life! Don’t disappoint me jeon!!” 

Your handwriting’s all over the place. He sees graphite, gel, and glitter pens mark the margins, as if you’ve come back each time to write something new. The annotations vary, from “this part sucks” to “shit, that’s good i should do that”. You draw little pictures of the objects he’s contrived, from the little brass locket one character cherishes to the facial expressions you imagine they hold. 

And at the very end, your handwriting sits neat and bold on the inside cover: I can do better than him. 

Jungkook chuckles to himself, turning off the light. You’re always right. 

Namjoon senses the younger one is done, and he clears his throat. “I really really don’t understand what she sees in you.” 

“I don’t understand either,” Jungkook agrees easily, his finger tracing your handwriting. He muses that you were always out to get him, even if you didn’t know it. 

Namjoon masks his surprise by clearing his throat. “But I’d rather seek to understand than live the rest of my life having my sister resent me. I don’t really know what you two are going through, but if she trusts you with her life, I’ll try. Emphasis on try.” 

“I don’t deserve your trust.” 

“You damn right you don’t,” succumbing to his impulses Namjoon makes a sharp turn, and Jungkook holds his stomach together before it flies out the window.  

You come home to find your room cold and barren. All of Jungkook’s things are gone, except your Christmas mug. 

You at least thought Jungkook would spare you a goodbye before he ditched you. You hoped you’d at least consider each other friends who provide explanations after all of this. 

Lifting the mug off the desk, you hear a little clink in the glass, the chime unfamiliar. Hurriedly, you pour out its contents. A heavy, tungsten black ring lands in your palm. You clench the metal between your fingers, hugging it to your chest. 

Mind made up, you dash out to the hallway, nearly bumping into your cousin. At the same time you and Jimin blurt, “We need to go to the airport.” 

Apparently Namjoon warned Jimin that something fishy’s going on. Namjoon didn’t know what, but he had the inkling that Jungkook was hiding something. Once Jimin received the text to meet them at the airport, he flung you in his sedan and floored it. Flushed with adrenaline, Jimin is speeding with a fervor you’ve never experienced. 

“Can you please, take the edge off and tell me what the hell is going on?” 

Just like how Jungkook didn’t want Big Hit to go down the drain, you didn’t want this week to be in vain. You can’t wait a year for Jungkook to come back, and you didn’t want to publish your first novel without him by your side. 

“Long version or short version?” 

“The in-the-middle version. I don’t think I have the brain capacity to absorb all your drama right now but I really need some answers.” 

“O-kay. Basically, Jungkook isn’t a Literary Agent. He’s my god-awful boss. Or was awful, I don’t know. Jungkook left the country before his work visa was fully processed. That’s a breach, so he needs to live in Korea for a year to come back. But he can’t run Big Hit remotely, so he proposed to marry me to attain citizenship.”

Your head whips to the dashboard and you cry out, barely stopping the impact with your hands.  

“Sorry, sorry!” Jimin’s eyes are focused on the red light, absolutely terrified. “Bitch, you’re committing fraud with your boss! You could go to jail, that’s like, the hottest love story ever!” 

“But he’s going back to Korea because now he suddenly realized he can forge basic human connection.” you mutter, “so no, we’re not going to jail because he’s decided to do the right thing.” 

“So what you’re saying is, Jungkook has achieved self-actualization and decided to peacefully move to Korea and sacrifice the company for you.” Jimin is carving his free hand in the air, gesturing wildly. “Don’t you see! He really likes you.”

“Yeah, so now we need to go to the airport and tell his dumbass this isn’t the time to be selfless.” 

Once you find a spot you’re rushing out of the car, weaving between carts and people to find the correct terminal. This airport is much smaller than JFK, so it’s easy for you to navigate and get past the TSA. It also helps that Jin’s wife is an attendant. 

“He chose the 1:45 flight in Terminal 31A,” Mijoo chirps from her tablet, leading you in the right direction. She’s dressed impeccably, the odds and ends of this airport glued together by her impeccable organization. She points to the clock, which glares a digital 1:18AM. “You have time.” 

“Thank you Mijoo,” you exhale gratefully, “and I’m so so sorry I skipped your wedding!” 

“This is the 300th time you’ve said it,” Mijoo rolls her eyes, pushing you and Jimin forward, “But I’ll make sure not to miss your wedding.” 

You’re sweating from your down jacket, and you can’t believe it’s really all come down to this. The one person you’ve spent the last two years of your life doting on, and you didn’t want to stop. You wanted him not just for the publication of your novel, but because you needed him. 

Jungkook’s sitting in the waiting area of Terminal 31A, looking wholly inconspicuous as he reads a book and has his hood propped up. 

Fists balled, you stride forward only to have Jimin tug you back. “What?” 

Jimin pulls off your thick coat, making haste to wipe the sweat off your brow with his sleeves and flatten your messy hair. “What?” he tilts his head to the side, “you need to look good before the big confrontation. I’m recording this for archival purposes. Do you have any lip balm by any chance? You look chapped.” 

You slap his hands away, but those grubby fingers just come back with a vengeance. “My life is just a big show to you, isn’t it?”

“Living vicariously all day, every day.” 

While Jimin parts your bangs, the intercom cuts through the air. 

“The 1:45 flight to John F. Kennedy International airport will now commence boarding. Please line up according to the ticket class.” 

Jimin smiles at you, squeezing your shoulders and gestures for you to go. To your horror, Jungkook is first in line. Panic bubbles to your throat.

“Jeon Jungkook!” you cry, voice echoing throughout the terminal. “If you so much breathe in the direction of that plane I will call Mark Lee right this second and tell him the book series is off!” 

Like a deer in the headlights, Jungkook heeds to your voice immediately. In his stupor you jog forward to snatch his wrist and pull him out of line. You don’t let go until you’re away from the long line, and Jungkook tugs his wrist away. 

“Don’t you dare call him,” Jungkook looks serious, as if you didn’t drive all the way to stop him from making the biggest mistake of his life. “I will never forgive you if you terminate Mark Lee’s contract.” 

“And I won’t forgive you if you get on that plane.” 

Pain flashes in his eyes, and he shakes his head. “I need to. I can’t let us—let you go through with this. You and your family deserve better.” 

“What? Jungkook, I agreed to this just as much as you did.” 

“No, you didn’t.” he’s adamant, and steps back with every step you take forward. “As your boss I threatened you, held it over your head like an ultimatum. I’ve hurt you,” his voice cracks, looking at you desperately, “why would you want to be stuck with me when I’ve made your life miserable?” 

“If I really wanted to leave, I would’ve done it a long time ago.” You reason, “Do you really want to leave the company behind? To fucking Karen?” 

“Of course I don’t!” Jungkook exclaims, “but it isn’t worth hurting you, hurting your family and everyone that loves you.” 

“And what about you? You’ll be hurt when you leave,” and you step forward, so close that your chests are touching. You take hold of his hands, clutching them between your small ones. “Don’t go, stay with me in New York. We’ll both work hard and try to not run each other to the ground. Let’s be better together.” 

You’re practically begging, biting your lip raw and hoping Jungkook understands how good this change is for the both of you. 

Jungkook is conflicted, looking back and forth between the airline boarding for JFK and your watery eyes. He hates seeing you like this. He can’t imagine you, the strongest woman he’s ever met, crying because of him. Namjoon’s voice echoes in his mind and he tries to smash it to the edge of his memory. But as always, you’re right. 

He replaces your grip with his own, and gets down on one knee. 

Jungkook says your name like it's the sweetest of songs. You’ve never seen him so terrified. “y/n, I didn’t do it right the first time, so let me try again. Please, marry me. Marry me because I want to date you. I want to take you out and give you what you deserve, what we deserve. I want to do better for myself, do better for you. I’ve realized you’re the only person that makes me feel like I’m simultaneously on fire and on thin ice,” he pulls out a velvet box from his pocket, revealing a thin band with interlocking black and clear diamond studs. It’s a pretty little thing, with a groove in the center so it stacks perfectly with your engagement ring. “This was supposed to be your Christmas present, but I chickened out at the last second,” he says sheepishly, tucking his head in. “But if you let me put this ring on your finger, I promise to be your home away from home.”  

With a sob you fall to your knees, throwing yourself onto Jungkook. A small “oof” escapes his lips, and he struggles to hold your waist so you both don’t topple over. “Yes, yes, yes!” you cry, pulling away to cup his face with both hands, pulling him into a sweet kiss. 

Jungkook’s smile takes up his entire face, and he eagerly pecks your lips one more time before ripping the ring from its holder and stacking it on top of your engagement ring. The teardrop diamond is nestled perfectly between the thinner band’s V. “Pretty,” he says, pressing his forehead to yours. 

“Wait,” you pull out the black ring that you found in your room, holding it to his face. “I’m assuming this is yours?” 

“Yeah,” he replies, “your mother said it was your great grandfather’s. It’s not an engagement ring, but it’s the thought that counts.” 

“It matches,” you hum, placing his simpler band in his ring finger. Once it’s on, you take a deep breath. “Shit, we’re really doing this?” 

Jungkook pulls you to stand, wiping the happy tears from your cheek. “We are, we’re a team, remember? We’ve crossed the line and we gotta finish it.” 

And he picks you up, the workouts definitely paying off as he spins you around like you’re the leads in La-La Land, drunk off the happy chemicals firing in your brain. Jimin whoops and hollers, along with all the other patrons in the vicinity of the airport terminal. 

Your real-fiancé puts you down, the both of you now hyperconscious of the stares people give you. Other people have filmed the proposal as well, completely smitten by your confessions. 

“Jungkook,” you giggle into his shoulder, “you were right. Our story is straight out of a Wattpad entry.” 

“Down to the super cheesy in-public airport proposal?” he chimes, pressing his forehead to yours. “Couldn’t have asked for a better love story.” 

“I can’t wait to fall in love with you,” you whisper, quiet enough for his ears only, “for real, this time.” 

“Not that it’s a challenge,” he teases softly, “but I’m already halfway there.” 

some months later.

“Like the new office, boss lady?” your new assistant (yes, you have an assistant!) asks kindly, his bubbly presence uplifting you immediately. He leads you to the window box, filled with tiny plants. “I figured you like succulents, because you have no time to water them and they’re prickly like you.” 

“Very funny, Seungkwan.” you chide good-naturedly, picking up a succulent with a yellow flower in the middle. “But thank you, your interior design skills are outmatched. I can’t wait to work with you.” 

“Me too, your social commentary you published on the literary industry? And you managed to lace it all up in an inconspicuous fantasy novel?” Seungkwan boasts, “I applied for this position right then and there.” 

“Thanks Seungkwan, why don’t you take your lunch and we’ll meet back at one to discuss our plans for next week.” 

“Sounds good, do you want me to pick you up something?” 

“I’m good, I’m meeting with the bossman.” 

Seungkwan gives you that look, his lips jutting out in a suggestive manner that almost makes you burst into giggles. Your assistant decides not to bother you until after you’ve eaten, and bids you goodbye. 

Just when you get a moment of peace, a handsome face pokes his way inside. “Hello editor,” Jungkook knocks on your door for the sake of attention, but you’re already dragging him into the office and shutting the door tight. “Like your new office?” 

“Love it,” you moan, gesturing to Seungkwan’s light filtering curtains. They’re not dark, rather a tasteful sea green, but they’re opaque enough to stop wandering eyes from peeking into your space. Your personal space was a qualm that immediately needed to be mended after your experience in Jungkook’s office. “A lot more private than your office.” 

“A little part of me hates how much you deserve this promotion,” he sits on your desk, and doesn’t hesitate to pull you between his legs, letting you lean into his chest, “but I do love the added privacy.” 

You fiddle with the buttons of his navy collar, his strong thighs trap you between him, “Why, miss me already?” 

He shrugs, “Taehyung doesn’t look as good as you do in a pencil skirt.” 

You laugh, brushing the strands of hair that fall from his coiff. “No one looks as good as I do in a pencil skirt.” A firm grip confirms that, two strong hands cupping your backside. “Mr. Jeon!” you gasp playfully, pushing him away slightly to pinch his cheeky grin. “Can we save this for later? I’m hungry, but we can always continue this for dessert.” 

He groans in your neck, “Love the sound of that, Mrs. Jeon.” 

bonus.

“FUUUCCCKKKKKK YEEAAHHHHH!” Park Jimin’s voice bounces off the walls of Taeyeon’s office, his face taking up the entire screen of his desktop as the camera shifts harshly between him and you and Jungkook at the airport. “My cousin’s not going to jail! WOO!” 

Taeyeon pauses the YouTube video at a particularly unflattering screencap: Jimin’s nostrils are flaring wildly and he looks fairly high mid-scream. 

A low whistle escapes Jungkook’s lips, “Wow. That video’s viral,” he looks to you appreciatively, “if Jimin kicks off his YouTube career, you think we can milk a memoir outta him?” 

“Potentially,” you reply nonchalantly, playing with your rings. 

“So,” Taeyeon’s voice is icy, slashing between your casual conversation, “you’re getting married, for real this time?” 

“Yep,” Jungkook pops. 

“Alright,” and from her desk she pulls out an ungodly stack of documents, one that mirrors your own back at the office. “Jungkook, you’ll stay with me. y/n, you’ll go to Vernon’s office and he’ll give you the same spiel. We’ll interview you privately with the same questions. A hair out of place and you’re in trouble. You sure you want to go through with this?” 

You and Jungkook exchange looks, betting your own company that you got this in the bag. 

“Hit us with your best shot.” 

[weirdmageddon]

my rheumatologist has done more for me towards getting a POTS diagnosis than my cardiologist thats kinda sad bro

i came in to the cardiologist the other day (finally after waiting MONTHS) hoping for a tilt table test to see how my heart rate and blood pressure react to orthostasis in a controlled setting. the doctor didnt actually do a thing to test me for it in-office, i was just told to schedule an echo (which is fine), holster (alright) and stress test (why). but i was also prescribed eastern medicine as a treatment....“superbrain yoga”? like i dont want to seem closeminded because she is an indian doctor and there are some things that western medicine hasn’t caught on to but i realy wish i was told why it is supposed to work. like i want to know physiologically how and why it supposedly works. get technical and mechanical with me bro i have le autism, thats my language if you wanna really convince me. if it’s about toning up the muscles in my legs to squeeze the blood into my core upon standing why dont i just do squats? why do i have to do all this really specific stuff like hold my tongue at the roof of my mouth and face east, crossing my arms (right arm must go over left) and maneuver my hands in a certain way to grab my earlobes while doing those squats? is that merely a concentration sort of thing to make your brain focus? if so, why not just let me know what the purpose to these specific movements are (and what does focusing my brain have to do with treating POTS symptoms anyway)?? i’m not a spiritual person so the spiritual aspects of it do nothing for me. but at least i wasn’t given intensive aerobic exercise because i cant do that lol. i was just prescribed core strength training with planks and crunches (fine with me) and “superbrain yoga” (the specifics still confuse me but i’m doing it anyway)

but i didnt even get a tilt table test while i was there, i asked about it and she said “we stopped doing tilt table tests a while ago” and i was like ????????? thats like the gold standard to test for POTS my guy. based on just my symptoms she said i had dysautonomia and i asked “what about POTS?” and she said “it could be” and i was like ? could be? bro you didnt even test for it?

the whole visit just felt really vague and dismissive to my issues (yet again). fucking even my rheumatologist said before this visit to the cardiologist that i “probably have POTS”

so when i left the cardiologist the other day i wrote this up because i was very upset, felt dismissed, and took matters into my own hands to show what kind of medical concepts i’m capable of comprehending and the kind of language i want doctors to talk to me about my conditions in. and today i read it to my rheumatologist during today’s appointment:

the cardiologist says i have dysautonomia, “caused by dysfunction of the small blood vessels”. in the clinic, the nurse measured my laying vs standing blood pressure (which increased rather than decreased) but they didn’t do my heart rate there for some reason. but on my own i’ve measured my heart rate to jump above 30 bpm within 10 minutes of standing, so with all the symptoms lining up exactly with what’s expected of POTS (heart rate increase greater than 30 bpm within 10 minutes of standing, no drop in blood pressure, lightheadedness, brain fog, palpitations, prolonged fatigue, heat intolerance, excessive sweating etc), i’m convinced that the type of dysautonomia i specifically have is POTS, not just the umbrella term “dysautonomia”, and the specific brand of POTS i have is the neuropathic POTS subtype which is thought to be caused by sympathetic denervation (partial autonomic neuropathy) in the lower extremities. this causes the blood vessels in my legs not to constrict as they should when standing, which in turn causes blood to pool in the legs and not return to the heart, causing the heart to have to source its blood supply from elsewhere in the meantime to compensate (with an overall lower venous return), driving up the heart rate and causing lightheadedness. my blood tests also showed i am also very slightly anemic by 0.1 point below the normal range (11.6 g/dL) the resulting denervation hypersensitivity from the sympathetic denervation what is thought to cause erythromelalgia—which i express all the hallmark symptoms of as well in my feet (redness, increased skin temperature, burning sensation (feels like walking on a hot pool deck), cold to touch and bluish purple when not actively flaring, flaring occurs at night, symptoms worsen with exposure to heat and exercise (including walking on feet while flaring) and are relieved with cooling and elevation). i have no response to the cold unlike with what is seen in raynauds. i actually consider cold exposure my savior; the heat is my worst enemy, it makes me feel faint and lightheaded dysautonomia-wise and it makes my feet flare up rheumatologically.

“Several previous investigations have provided clues that patients with the postural tachycardia syndrome have peripheral autonomic dysfunction. Streeten et al. found that patients with orthostatic tachycardia had excessive venous pooling in the legs while standing and suggested that denervation of the legs was a mechanism of the syndrome. This hypothesis was supported by the finding of hypersensitivity to infusion of norepinephrine into the veins of the foot, despite high plasma catecholamine concentrations. [...] These stimuli increased norepinephrine spillover in the arms of both the patients with the postural tachycardia syndrome and the normal subjects, with similar increases in the two groups, but failed to increase norepinephrine spillover in the legs of the patients. [...] The reduced clearance of norepinephrine in the legs, without a similar reduction in the arms, may result from impairment of norepinephrine-reuptake mechanisms due to isolated damage to nerve terminals in the legs. [...] CONCLUSIONS: The neuropathic postural tachycardia syndrome results from partial sympathetic denervation, especially in the legs.” — (https://www.nejm.org/doi/full/10.1056/NEJM200010053431404)

“The laser Doppler flowmetry signal after sympathetic stimulation of reflexes mediated through the central nervous system, was significantly diminished in patients with erythromelalgia as compared with healthy controls. [...] Vasoconstrictor responses involving central sympathetic reflexes were attenuated in erythromelalgia. Local neurogenic vasoconstrictor regulation, vasodilator response to local heating and hyperemic response to ischemia were maintained. [...] The finding of reduced skin perfusion before provocation is in accordance with the clinical observations that many erythromelalgia patients exhibit cold acral skin between attacks. [...] These results indicate that postganglionic sympathetic dysfunction and denervation hypersensitivity may play a pathogenetic role in primary erythromelalgia.” — (https://linkinghub.elsevier.com/retrieve/pii/S0022-202X(15)41629-X)

“Denervation hypersensitivity is a phenomenon peculiar to smooth muscle innervated by the general visceral efferent system. Following denervation there is increased sensitivity of the muscle to neurotransmitters. This is evident in smooth muscle innervated by sympathetic neurons when the postganglionic axon is affected. Such denervated muscle shows hypersensitivity to the application of epinephrine or to circulating epinephrine released during excitement.” — (https://www.sciencedirect.com/science/article/pii/B9780721605616500198)

although my rheumatologist is in no position to give me a POTS diagnosis she very much agreed with the connections i made and said she thinks i am right on the mark with my conditions. she told me im a real academic patient and even that i’d be well suited for going into medicine lol. not only is it refreshing to have a doctor that doesn’t disregard their patient’s knowledge, but it’s good to see what i’ve learned about nerves from my biopsych classes (and in my own time for funsies) paying off in ways concerning my health. my mom who is a nurse also agrees that neuropathic POTS and erythromelalgia are what i have.

anyway the POTS symptoms have been a massive thing for me since puberty and the erythromelalgia developed a year or so after my POTS symptoms started. but i’ve always had freezing cold clammy hands and feet since i was a young child, they just hadn’t started changing colors and flaring until after i hit puberty. i’m not sure what destroyed the sympathetic nerve fibers in my legs (as most POTS happens in teenagers due to some viral illness but i’ve never had that?), i was also just tested for a bunch of autoimmune factors and disorders and my results came back negative. maybe it’s just a genetic factor, who knows, probably something caused by a hormone’s cascading effect gone awry at some point. it seems a lot of autistic afab people have POTS or some other type of dysautonomia for some reason and i’m curious as to why.

anyway i’m really stuck in a liminal space because i have no official diagnosis beyond “dysautonomia” but i’ve been sure of what it is for like over a year and it keeps getting clearer and clearer that i was right all along

[lubdubsworld]

Falling for you ( Falling from grace) Jungkook x OC

Rated : 18 +

Warning : . Fuck buddies? Or rather enemies that have sex. They just really hate each other but also can’t keep their hands off each other.

Chapter 1   Chapter 2    Chapter 3   Chapter 4   Chapter 5

Chapter 6

“Are you sure you want to head back to work today, Areum? Hoseok told me that he would give you the rest of the week off if you like... That bruise on your face is looking pretty nasty.” My sister commented mildly, her eyes worried as she watched me dab concealer on the mottled purpling skin on my jaw.

“I need to finish a couple of reports by the weekend. And Namjoon oppa told me he wanted me to be there when we viewed the CCTV footage later today. It’s going to help getting that bastard fired.” I flinched at how bad this side of my face looked. 

The bastard. 

“He’s not fired yet?” My sister made a noise of outrage.

“Of course he is. There’s a restraining order against him. But formally he needs to be terminated and Namjoon wants to do it in a way that it goes on his record permanently. Especially considering he’s already out on bond.” I wrinkled my nose. 

There wasn’t much chance of Junho going to prison over this but I definitely did not want him within fifty feet of me, ever again. 

“Jungkook’s busy with his practice is it? I haven’t heard from him...” My sister prompted and I nodded.

“His big match is coming up on Sunday. That's like four days away ...he’s probably cooped up in that gym of his.” 

“I know... Seokjin works out there too... its a great place...how come you’re never there?”

I frowned .

“He actually has me blacklisted. I’m not allowed inside the establishment. ” I muttered. 

My sister’s eyes widened.

“What? Why?”

I shrugged. The memory was a good one and worth reliving. In fact i relived it quite often when I was particularly horny with only my own hands for relief. 

“I seduced him against his favorite punching bag once and he had to get rid of it because the cum stains wouldn’t come off. He’s a petty jerk.” I grinned at my sister enjoying the way her eyes went wide as saucers. .

She stared at me slack jawed. And then she shook her head in disbelief. 

“You talk about him this way but you always look like you're half way in love with him. I don’t know what is going on in your head when it comes to Jungkook.”

I laughed.

“I love him. Of course I do.... I’m pretty sure he cares about me too, “ I remembered how warm and content I’d felt when he’d held me, how the police officer had immediately concluded he was my boyfriend, simply from the concern radiating off him, “  But, I’m not going to push for anything. I like how we are ...now.”

“Friends with benefits.?”

“I prefer the term enemies who fuck” I winked and she groaned. 

“Whatever you say. But remember, you’re going to have to DTR at some point and I hope you don’t get a shock if he isn’t on the same page. “ 

“Unlikely. Now go distract mom so I can slip out of the back door.” 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“That looks pretty fucking bad.” Hoseok winced when he saw me and I groaned.

“Don’t remind me. I ran into Namjoon on the way up and he swelled like a bullfrog. Is Jungkook in today?” I asked him brightly.

Hoseok frowned.

“you guys are awfully chummy these days ....Need I remind you about the clause on interpersonal relationships in the office?” 

I flushed.

“We’re...not....I mean. We’re friends. “

“I thought the term was enemies who fuck.” Hoseok said thoughtfully and I jumped.

“What-?”

“Jungkook told me, you little brat. I asked him why he went over to the police station and broke Junho’s fucking jaw and he spilled...”

My own jaw came unhinged.

“ He what?!”

 “He posted the bond money for the bastard himself to get him out and then apparently punched him hard enough to land him in the hospital.”

“Oh my God...is he in trouble?” 

Hoseok sighed.

“Of course not... Mr. Jeon had it taken care off at once but I knew something was up . He’s too old to play knight in shining armor , unless there was something between you guys...” 

I sighed.

“We’re in a purely physical relationship yes with of course a splattering of affection for each other. But nothing that deserves a label or close scrutiny from the HR dept. Please Hobi oppa, just let me be. “ I fluttered my lashes and he rolled his eyes. 

“Just as long as you know that Jeon Jungkook is a chaebol. He’s not going to make a honest woman out of you.” Hoseok gave me a pointed look and I wondered if I really did wear my heart on my sleeve. 

Apparently, everyone could sense that my feelings for Jungkook ran deeper than just lust and I wasn’t sure if it was a good thing. 

“Anyway, yo answer you question, yes. He’s in his office right now.”

I made to turn away but Hoseok grabbed my wrist.

“You have thirty five memos to answer and seventeen appointments to schedule. Your desk is this way, I suggest you head in that direction.” His eyes glinted in a way that told me he was incredibly serious. 

I pouted.

Fine... I’d wait for lunch to go meet Jungkook.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook had a secretary of his own , the smitten Miss Lee and she gave me an angelic smile, telling me that Jungkook was out to meet someone in the marketing department. If there was anything important, I could leave it with her.

Declining the offer and thanking her, I made my way to the fireescape and the back stairwell. One of the doors opened to the emergency exit in Jungkook’s office and it took me a little bit of running around but I managed to locate it easily enough. 

Jungkook had left the door open and less than ten minutes later , I was in his office, staring around in mild awe. 

Weirdly enough, I’d never been here. before, mostly because Jungkook himself wasn’t in here all that much. But there was no mistaking that he actually did take his work seriously . I peered around the expensive drawing Tablet and the three or so monitor screens , the stylus tossed about. 

It was probably a huge breach of his privacy but I couldn’t help but click on the mouse, watching his monitor come alive. 

I blinked in disbelief when I realized what I was staring at. 

“Oh my  fuck...”  I

I felt my face flood with heat as I stared at the screen. 

It was a drawing of me. 

I was completely naked , reclining against what looked like a thick white fur rug , with countless plush cushions scattered all around me. The snow white fur set off the golden glow of my skin and I noticed the attention to detail, the tiny mole in the corner of my hip, the small half moon scar on the edge of my collar bone and of course an impressive collection of hickeys on my neck and my inner thighs. 

I looked the way I usually did when I was mouthing off at him, a little angry and rebellious, my eyes blazing with a challenge and my lips parted in annoyance . I had one hand resting right between my legs, two fingers pressed against the labia while the other two disappeared into me. The other hand lay on my breast, fingers tweaking one hard nipple . 

I turned away quickly, breathing harshly as I realized that Jungkook had literally drawn an incredibly accurate drawing of me masturbating , purely from memory.

Not entirely sure if i should be angry at this or not, I tried to clear the hazy cloud of arousal that was beginning to settle all over me. I wasn’t angry. 

I was just ridiculously turned on. 

And incredibly curious if he had other pics of me. 

I whirled back around to the computer and then nearly jumped out of my skin when I realized that Jungkook was leaning against the doorway, watching me with an amused smile on his face. 

“Oh, fuck...” I clutched at my heart which felt like it was going to give out. 

“Pretty sure your desk isn’t here, Areum. Are you lost?” He drawled, stepping away from the door and stalking over to me. 

I stepped back quickly, the action purely instinctive. 

“Did you punch Junho?” I asked sharply.

Jungkook gave me a small smile.

“That is a very mild way to put it yes. He’s gonna be eating through a straw for a couple of months , yes.”

I glared at him. 

“What if you got arrested.” I folded my arms.

He laughed.

“Baby, come on. fucker had it coming. Anyway enough about that loser. Why are you hovering near my desk. Corporate espionage is generally frowned upon baby... Am i gonna have to spank you, you naughty girl?” He waggled his eyebrows. 

I rolled my eyes before walking up to his desk and turning the screen around to show the lewd artwork . 

“how long have you been drawing me like that?” I pointed at the screen and Jungkook looked surprised. 

Surprised but not particularly bothered. 

“Ah... i love that one... Did you see the way I only drew four of your fingers between your legs baby, your thumb is supposed to be rubbing on your clit.... I was working on it when I got called away earlier....” He looked apologetic. 

I felt like I had turned the exact shade of the marron carpet under my foot. 

“Jungkook how long have you been drawing me naked...” I snapped. 

“ Oh... probably the first time you let me see you naked.” He said nodding lightly and I stared at him.

“How come I’ve never heard of this?” I hissed and he gave me a grin. 

“Because it’s for my own personal...use.” He grinned. 

I glared at him.

“How many....?” I demanded.

Jungkook shrugged.

“50...? 60? Definitely at least fifty.” He said casually. 

I stared at him.

“I wanna see them.” I said sharply. Jungkook sighed, like I was being a pain , which was so unfair it made me want to scream. 

“Areum, I-” 

“Jungkook?” A soft voice called from the outer office and I frowned when Jungkook startled. 

“Oh, hey... Sana..... Come in.” His voice had shifted into something mild and pleasant and I felt my hackles rise. 

“Oh..hello... Areum ssi...” The girl gave me a confused smile and I resisted the urge to fold my hands and demand what she was doing there. Instead , I moved away from behind Jungkook’s desk, grabbing a file. 

“Good afternoon Sana ssi.” I smiled.

“I’m sorry, I missed lunch, Sana.... I wanted to give you this. “ Jungkook pulled out a small envelope from his jacket, smiling an absolutely angelic smile at her. 

Sana looked suitably enthralled, her eyes trained greedily on his perfect face as she took the envelope.

“Oh.. are these--?”

“Tickets to my match on Sunday yes...” He smiled. “ I’m hoping you’ll be there.” 

I felt my lungs expand as I took a deep breath to calm myself down. The urge to screech like a banshee was increasing by the second. 

“Oh, I’ll be there for sure. I’ll be cheering you on from the front row, Jungkook !!” She all but bounced on her feet, looking positively giddy with excitement as she bowed to both of us and literally floated away. 

I waited till she was fully gone before turning on him. 

“There better be another envelope in there with my name on it.” I gritted out. 

Jungkook grinned wide at that, eyes dancing with mirth. 

“In my jacket? Not really. But there’s something much better in my pants with your name on it. Want me to whip it out for you baby?? “

He grabbed the edge of his belt buckle, tugging the leather out of the hoops and I glared at him. 

“You are out of your mind if you think I’m going to be okay with you letting everyone watch you fight but  me. That is just unfair and uncalled for.” I snapped. 

Jungkook was still tugging on his belt, but he paused to give me a look.

“What’s in it for me?” He said softly. 

I frowned.

“What?”

“I’m not going to enter a deal without an equitable pay off....Its obvious that you’re really turned on by the thought of watching me fight . So unless you give me something I’m thirsty for.... I’m not going to indulge you,” He said casually. 

I laughed in disbelief. 

“There is literally nothing I’ve denied you in bed , you're crazy to even suggest -”

“I haven’t fucked your ass yet.” He said casually. 

I could feel myself turning red.

“No.” I hissed. “ Absolutely not.”

“Why the hell not?” He frowned.

“Because it fucking hurts. I’m not going through that again.” I snapped. 

Jungkook groaned like he was in actual pain. 

“Baby, its hardly my fault you’ve never slept with a real man before me, is it? Why should I deprived the pleasure of fucking your ass just because those buffoons didn’t know how to do it right?” Jungkook’s voice was dangerously close to a whine and I resisted the urge to throw something at him. 

“I don’t fucking care...its a no. So drop it. ” 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. 

“Fine. I’ll drop it. For now.” He muttered and then made a big show of thinking, “ alright fine. How about you let me tie you up.”

I stared at him.

“You literally do that every time we have sex.” I pointed out. 

“And I get to use my toy box.” 

I blinked.

“Your toy box.” I said , confused. He grinned mischievously. 

“You know the one...Big mahogany box  underneath my bed. The first time I showed you, you kind of screamed and called me a monster?” He grinned wide.

i had a brief flashback of an assortment of whips, floggers and gags. 

I shuddered. 

Nope. 

This wasn’t working. 

“How about this.... Either you get me those tickets or you don’t get to fuck me. At all.” I smirked.

Jungkook hummed.

“Why would you punish yourself like that love?” He drawled. “ You can’t live without my dick, the sooner you accept that the easier life is going to get for you.” 

The audacity of this bitch. 

I walked right past him , ready to stalk out,  but his hand shot out, gripping my elbow and pulling me into his embrace.

I struggled against his hold, but he brought both arms around my waist, flexing his muscles so I could feel just how futile it would be to try and break free. 

“Come on baby, walking out in the middle of negotiations...that’s just really poor etiquette. Think of the poor hostage....” He pouted , doe eyes wide and I nearly caved. He had no fucking business being sexy  and  cute. 

I laughed in disbelief.

“Hostage??....are you talking about your fucking ego....?” I stared right up at him , tilting my face when he moved to kiss me. His lips latched on to my jaw instead, tongue licking the skin there gently as he hummed . 

“No...I’m talking about my dick.” He grabbed both my elbows, swinging me around like I weighed nothing, one arm holding me in place as he pressed up against my back, hips rolling so I could feel the hardness of his dick right against the swell of my ass. “ Dude’’s feeling pretty darn trapped right now. Poor thing just wants to get inside you and ruin you baby, why you making it so hard for him...?” 

I elbowed him sharply, vindicated when the sharp edge of it caught something hard and fleshy. Jungkook grunted in discomfort but didn’t let go of me. 

“My little hellcat. “ He bit down on the juncture between my neck and shoulder, “You know why my dick is hard?”

“To match your cold unfeeling heart?” I snapped and he moaned in mock hurt. 

“Not fair baby...I have the kindest heart... Soft heart, hard dick....That’s literally my entire persona.” Jungkook nuzzled my neck .  

I fought the urge to laugh . 

“So why then? Because I’m within ten feet of you? Isn’t that all it takes usually?” I muttered, wincing a bit when his teeth sank in a little deeper.

Jungkook let out a soft chuckle.

“Normally I’d agree but today... I’m so fucking hard because you looked like you wanted to claw Sana’s face off when I gave her those tickets....” 

I flushed.

“Well, I just don’t think I should be the only one not allowed to see you fight.” 

“Or maybe you just hate the idea of any one else getting to touch my dick...because like I said...it’s got your name on it right baby?” Jungkook laughed against my ear and I blushed . 

“I still think its rude that you don’t let me come to your matches.” I grumbled. 

“And why do you think that is, baby? Why do you think I’m so adamant about you not being anywhere near me when I have something important to do...”

I didn’t reply, eyes fluttering shut when he suckled on the skin near my neck. 

“Its because I’ll probably lose..” He growled into my ear, “ Don’t wanna get knocked out in the first round because I was too busy staring at your pretty, pretty face and delicious fucking body... My only distraction, my  favorite  distraction.”

  I felt myself melt like an ice cream cone in the fucking sun. 

“Oh, fuck you....you honey-tongued son of a bitch...” I choked out, unable to fight the wide grin that was taking over my face. 

Jungkook chuckled in victory, hugging me tighter.

“So tell me.... Can I tie you up tonight? Get some of my favorite toys...Want to play in your sandbox....” He leered and I laughed despite myself. How could this man make the most innocent of phrases sound so fucking sexy.... 

“Only if you let me pick the toys.”

Jungkook let go of me and gently turned me around. He was frowning deeply. 

“Babe you don’t even know what their called.” He complained.

“But I can gauge how much damage they’ll do and that’s more important to me.” I pointed out. 

Jungkook gave me a thoughtful smile.

“Hmm....fine... But I get to offer the choices. “ He said softly. 

I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Okay, in that case you need to let me see every single drawing you’ve made of me... right now.” I smiled.

Jungkook grinned, already grabbing my wrist and tugging me back to his desk.

“Deal...but I’m gonna need you to sit on my cock and keep it warm while I show them to you..... okay?” 

I glared at him but he was already moving to the wide , comfortable chair behind the desk. He sat on the chair, manspreading and unbuckling himself before wriggling the slacks down past his waist and tugging his boxers down. 

I watched him reach in to pull out his hard cock ,  pumping the hard length of it a couple of times before smiling at me expectantly. 

“Horny bastard.” I muttered under my breath, before letting him maneuver me into his lap, fingers slipping up my skirt and tugging my panties aside , before lining himself up against my center. 

“Ready baby?” He kissed my cheeks fondly and I nodded lowly. He pressed a couple of fingers against my slit, dipping in just enough to make sure I was wet enough. I wasn’t dry per se, but it still stung a bit when he drove himself in with one swift stroke. 

“Oh, fuck...” I groaned when he entered me , the rock hard length of him cleaving my insides and making my tongue go dry. I clenched down on him, thighs beginning to tremble already. I gripped the edge of the table in front of me. 

“Maybe I should call Sana in now.? Huh baby...that’ll show her who this dick belongs to, right , angel?” He whispered against my ear and I moaned, a gush of arousal staining my thighs at his words., Jungkook laughed knowingly, wrapping an arm around my waist to keep me still before rolling his hips gently and settling inside me. 

“So baby, which ones do we start with.... Solo shots? ones with me....? There’s one of me fucking your pretty pink hole, maybe that’ll change your mind about letting me take you in the back...”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Author’s Note : I’m stopping here because the next chapter is just like 5k of porn and I wanted it to be a standalone chapter. 

Comments are love , Feedback is really appreciated. Send me your thoughts, ideas or even just scream about how hot Jungkook is....anything works. 

taglist : @veronawrites @aamxxrii  @brooky95

@apollukee

@ladyartemesia

@yoongisdragon

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~ if you guys wanna be on the taglist just lemme know...

[thran-duils]

My Perfect Pet

Title: My Perfect Pet Summary: Fem!Reader x Dark!Boss Tony Stark. Reader disobeys Mr. Stark’s order to work in his office and learns her lesson for disobeying when he tells her to do something. Words: 2,303 Warnings (for the fic in entirety): Dom/sub, fingering, shameless smut, boss/employee relationship, punishment, office sex Author’s Note: I had a dream, alright? I got distracted from the other fics because of it.

Masterpost (mobile)

You walked into one of the old filing rooms where one of the old assistants was already working to scan old documents in. A whole archive had been discovered recently and they needed all of the papers uploaded onto the Stark database.

Aeisha looked up when you walked in and cocked an eyebrow. “Oh, I thought Abby was going to be down here with me.”

“She really wanted to be around and in Mr. Stark’s office.”

When you had arrived this morning, the head security told you where you were supposed to be. Mr. Stark gave orders at the beginning of the day where all of you were supposed to be and he had wanted you assisting him today. But Abby had complained to you, pouting. You figured it was not a big deal and told her you would take her job down in the filing room instead. She had been ecstatic.

The other girl snorted and said, “Of course she does. She’s been trying to get him to fuck her for months.”

You stammered, “W-what?”

“He has his favorites. She wants to be one of them.” She held up her phone, the newest version, and smirked, “He gives good gifts to keep us away from HR. Not that I would ever consider that.”

“You… have sex with him?”

Aeisha shrugged, “When he wants. It’s not often. In between the ladies at his parties and some other girls in the building, there’s time in between.” She saw the look on your face and gave a hearty laugh. “He’s good in bed. Don’t worry. When I said I wouldn’t consider going to HR, I mean it. That man knows how to work my pussy.”

‘That’s not what I’m worried about,” you muttered, opening one of the boxes. ‘I didn’t know I was gonna have to potentially fuck my boss if he ever gets a wild hair. Wasn’t in the job description. Sure, he’s extremely attractive – sexy – but, Jesus. That’s asking for issues if you ever wanna be in a relationship with someone and he’s still expecting it. Maybe I should be thanking Abby for taking his office today.”

Aeisha closed the scanner and shot you a curious look. “Wait… did you clear that switch with him?”

You shook your head and she rose her eyebrows, looking concerned.

“What?”’ you asked worriedly. “I didn’t think it would be a big deal. We are both gonna do the same thing no matter where we are at.”

“He wanted to see you in there, Y/N. He’s very specific about his instructions.”

Your stomach did a flip flop and you asked worriedly, “Am I going to get in trouble?”

Aeisha shrugged, “Who knows? If he hasn’t sent Abby back down here in the next twenty minutes, maybe it’ll just slide.”

You did not want to lose this job; it was well paying, especially for NYC.

“I guess I’ll just… go up there if she gets put back down here,” you said slowly, thumbing through the files.

You picked some of the papers up and asked Aeisha where she was filing the paperwork before going to your own scanner. You kept tensing whenever you heard someone walk by, thinking it was Abby coming down to fetch you and make you go upstairs where Mr. Stark wanted to see you. It was customary for you to wear pencil line skirts and low-cut shirts with heels, something that had been encouraged by the hiring manager. And you learned quickly it was just the norm with all of the assistants. Thankfully, you had already had a good enough collection started with going out wear that was easily masked as office wear. Such as the bodycon dress you were wearing today, the long zipper up the back that you had had to have your roommate help you with. But now you wondered if maybe you should cut back on it a little bit, knowing what you did now.

Shaking your head, you pushed the thoughts of your mind, focusing on your work.

<><><>

It was almost 9:00pm when you were walking back from the filing room. You told your immediate supervisor that you would take a few more hours today to be able to get off early tomorrow for your appointment tomorrow afternoon a few weeks ago.

You stopped though outside Mr. Stark’s office, hearing noises coming from within. You furrowed your brow confused considering how late it was. You put your hand on the door, your ear coming closer. Someone yelped loudly inside and you threw the door open in alarm, thinking someone was getting hurt.

Upon seeing Mr. Stark being straddled by a naked woman and another kissing him beside them on the couch, you almost vomited in embarrassment.

“I’m so sorry, Mr. Stark. I thought—goodnight!” you stammered, closing the door clumsily and rushing off.

<><><>

You were not surprised in the slightest when you arrived the next morning that Mr. Stark wanted you in his office. Reluctantly, you walked to the door and knocked. He called from inside and you took a deep breath, your heart hammering. All you could see was them on the couch last night and feel your mortification that had kept you up half the night.

He was working off to the side of his desk with a hologram table, his back to you. He was wearing a three-piece suit as usual, sans the jacket, all black.

You did not know what to say – if you should say anything too – so you just stood there awkwardly until he sensed the awkwardness too and turned around. You did not miss the slight smirk that graced his lips at the sight of you.

“Mhm, Y/N. Good morning,” he greeted you, closing the hologram and turning around to stride back to his desk.

“Good morning, Mr. Stark,” you managed to say.

He sat on the edge of the desk, running his eyes over you. You had chosen a mid-thigh dress, still showing leg but the top was long sleeved, no cleavage.

You blurted becoming uncomfortable with the silence, “I really am sorry.”

“For?” he questioned.

That caught you off guard and you stammered, “U-uh. Last night?”

“Oh, that,” Tony chuckled. “I didn’t know anyone was still on the floor. Quite a surprise to see you. Did throw the vibe off a bit, took me out of my element, really.” He cleared his throat and said, “As a matter of fact, thank you for apologizing because the sex really wasn’t as great as it was going to be if I hadn’t of seen you. Because it just reminded me of earlier in the day when I was expecting to see you when I came in the morning and I was severely annoyed when it wasn’t you. So, I was just a little irked during the whole threesome.”

He snickered seeing you at loss for words. “Well, I figure you can make it up to me. We can break in the couch. Just you and me.”

A strangled noise left your throat. “What?”

“Did I stammer? You disobeyed what I asked yesterday. I was gonna let it slide and give you a chance to make it right next time – aka this morning when I requested you again to be in here. I like my assistants in the building to follow directions specifically how I ask them. But then, you came in and interrupted when I was about to plow two of the hottest models on the market right now and threw off my vibe.”

That sounded so ridiculous, you said before you could stop yourself, “You still had sex with them.”

His eyes crinkled with his dangerous smile. “That’s cheeky. You are very determined to get me even more riled up, aren’t you? I didn’t mark you as bratty. Everyone’s got their surprises though...”

He stood up from the desk and you fought to stand your ground, your hands still folded in front of you. His eyes were searching hungrily, eyeing you up like a piece of meat.

“You’re definitely not a top rider like Vivian or Aeisha. They love sitting in my lap… reverse cowgirl…” Heat came to your cheeks as he ran his eyes over you again, lingering on your legs. A wicked smirk came to his face as he met your gaze again. “No. That’s not you. Not at all. You’re a perfect candidate for training.”

Training…?

“In fact, we can have your first lesson now. Lock the door.”

“Mr. Stark—”

He sat on the couch and said, “Do you remember me just saying that I like my assistants to listen? And follow directions just as they’re told? This is your chance to do that. So, impress me, sweetheart. Or leave the building and don’t come back. I’ll have someone mail your check or direct deposit. Whatever the hell you have set up.”

You stared at him in bewilderment, and he was staring back, a hard look in his eyes. He was not messing around. Swallowing sharply, you turned on your heel and went to the door, sliding the lock into place. You turned around, your heart thumping.

“Take your dress off. Put this blindfold on,” he ordered, reaching for the piece of cloth on the table. You had failed to notice it sitting there before; he had already had this on his mind before you had come in apparently. “And get over my knee.”

Mortified, you took a step back towards the door and his eyes flashed at the movement.

“What’s it gonna be, sweetheart?”

You had a choice, really you did. You could find other work, but you did not want to. Sucking down a deep breath, you walked over towards him. He reached forward again and grabbed a small remote, clicking it. The large TV turned on at the end of the office and he turned on a random show, turning the volume up.

Your dress fell to your ankles and you stepped out of it. There was a fire sparked seeing the way he was looking at you, drinking you in. But it made you extremely nervous too; what if this went sideways and you lost the job anyway?

The blindfold was waiting on his thigh and you reached for it, putting it on and laid across his lap. You could feel his length through his dress pants, causing heat to come to your core already as well. You squirmed with the anticipation.

He smacked your ass hard and you gasped loudly with the sting. His hand caressed at your ass, squeezing. “Look at that nice jiggle you had just there. You’re gonna tell me you’re sorry when this is all done and take this like an obedient girl. Right?”

“Right.”

“’Right, sir’,” Tony corrected you.

“Right, sir,” you squeaked in repeat back to him.

He hummed in approval before he smacked you again, harder this time. He yanked your underwear down and ordered you to kick them off. He helped getting them around your heels and you felt him toss them. His hand was back on your ass, squeezing and admiring. Another smack landed and then another, drawing a low groan from you.

Tony’s fingers delved past your wet folds, running up and down your sex. A finger slipped in as his thumb massaged your clit, causing you to pant in need.

“Look at you, you little wanton harlot,” Tony husked, adding another finger.

He pulled his hand away and laid another hard smack across your cheeks, leaving wetness from you.

“Spread your legs,” he ordered.

You did what he told you and you squealed when he slapped your pussy, instinctively clenching and driving your hips forward.

“Keep them open!”

Hesitantly, you did what he said, and you cried out softly when he smacked your pussy again, repeatedly. The contact was reverberating, stimulating. He was driving you insane, loving the contact on your clit from each hit. You heard him spit and his other hand came to rub at your tight ring, wet from his spit, while the other found your nub again, circling faster now. He was working you too well, it was too much pressure. You did not want to come all over him, and you clenched again, trying to stop him from touching you.

He laid a rough smack across your ass and growled, “I told you to keep your legs open!”

Whimpering, you opened your legs again to him and he praised, “Good girl. Now, are you, sorry, pet?” You nodded and he squeezed at your nub causing you to whine sharply. “Tell me!”

“I’m sorry, sir!”

“Mhm, you’re a fast learner. Such a good girl. But what are you sorry for?” he asked, his fingers picking up speed.

“Not listening to you! For interrupting you!” you panted, gripping at the couch fabric.

“Yeah, that was really naughty of you,” Tony agreed, his knuckles brushing your sex as he hit your g spot. “Very naughty.” Your breath was quick and short, and he cooed, “Sweetheart, do you need to come?”

“Yes, sir! Please!” you begged, embarrassed simultaneously how easily you had come unraveled. How easy it was for you to fall into this role.

Tony hit your spot again and you moaned pathetically. “You can let go. Come for me.”

You cried out, shaking, coming undone around his fingers. His other hand came to your throat, holding tight as he continued to stroke you, slower now as you shook with your release. He squeezed in slightly and that only added a cherry on top to your orgasm.

Empty of him, you heard him salaciously sucking on his fingers, his other hand still flexing gently on your throat, and he hummed in approval again. “I think with some more lessons, you can shape up to my perfect pet.”

~~~

Forever tags: @coconutqueen21 @undecidedsworld

[365days365movies]

March 21, 2021: Orlando (1992)

Tilda Swinton...confuses me.

Like, in a good way. Because Tilda may be the most versatile actor working today. I mean, look at the goddamn filmography, and you’ll see what I’ve mean. I’ve seen Tilda Swinton in a lot, surprisingly, and I don’t think anything I’ve seen was bad. For example, I am an ARDENT defender in the portrayal of the Ancient One in the MCU.

I understand the controversy here, but I actually think this is excellent casting. Especially considering...being comic book-accurate would NOT have been a good idea with this role, if we’re trying to AVOID controversy. But Tilda Swinton FUCKING KILLED IT in this role, and I will always be happy for this choice.

Let’s see, there’s Jadis in the Narnia films, as shown at the top, there’s Snowpiercer, as Mason (an amazing character, and an acting job that Swinton disappears into), Moonrise Kingdom as Social Services, The Grand Budapest Hotel as Madame D., and Gabriel in Constantine. Which is a good segue to the next talking point...

Gabriel is pointedly androgynous, and honestly, Tilda Swinton kind of is as well. You may have noticed that I haven’t used any pronouns in referencing to Tilda Swinton, entirely out of respect. Gonna be a little hard to keep up with, so I’ll be using she/her from here on out, only because those are the pronouns that Swinton’s most recently promoted for herself. She’s also referred to herself as queer of some variety, as well as being famously gender non-conforming.

Which is fitting, given that a lot of that public image began with today’s movie, one of her first big roles. I’ll be revisiting Swinton in the independent movie scene in a couple of months, but this may be a good introduction. Instead of spoiling anything off the bat, I’m gonna jump right in. And so, I present: Orlando. SPOILERS AHEAD!!!

Recap (1/2)

We begin with a young man named, well, Orlando (Tilda Swinton), a young man with a feminine appearance and a good upbringing. His name means power land and property, but all he really wants is company. He writes and rests by a tree in the day, but falls asleep by mistake. When he wakes up, he runs back to where he’s meant to be, with a tribute to Queen Elizabeth I (Quentin Crisp) playing in the background. And that’s a REAL song, by the way, actually sung in the 1600s for Elizabeth! Very neat.

A title screen flashes, reading “1600: Death”, and we see where Orlando is meant to be. He speaks poetry for the Queen and her court, but is interrupted by the aged queen, who asks whether or not his poem is appropriate for her presence, as the poem is about youth, and Queen Elizabeth is not that. Orlando’s father (John Bott), who is serving as host to Elizabeth, intervenes on his behalf. However, it doesn’t seem to matter to the Queen, as she invites Orlando back to England to serve as her “favourite”. He accepts, and soon lives alongside the Queen. She quickly promises Orlando much land and property, for him and his heirs, but on one condition: that he does not fade, wither, or grow old. 

The same wish cannot be applied to Elizabeth herself, nor to his father, as both grow old and die soon afterwards. Fast forward 10 years, and it’s a cold winter in England. Visiting Orlando’s vast estate is a woman from Russia, named Sasha (Charlotte Valandrey), and Orlando quickly falls for her. This is to the dismay of Euphrosne (Anna Healy), his fiancée? I’m not sure, to be honest, but they’re definitely involved, and she’s definitely upset.

However, this is also a scandal for everybody else as well, not just because Orlando’s already engaged, but also because Sasha is Russian, during a particularly poor economic period for the country. Euphrosne angrily throws his ring back at him, and Orlando speaks directly to the audience, telling us that a man must follow his heart. The two go to his private cottage, and they start to make out, when Orlando suddenly comes down with intense melancholy.

Because this is such great happiness that he feels, but this happiness too will one day end. Which is, like, the most emo-shit I’ve ever heard, but I’m kinda here for it. And yet, that happiness does indeed end, when Sasha is forced to return to Russia, despite Orlando’s pleading for her to stay. He asks her to meet him at London Bridge, so that they may elope together.

Later, Orlando happens upon a performance of Othello, noting to us that it’s a terrific play. This is as the death of Othello is being played out, so that’s probably foreshadowing, right? Anyway, Orlando leads two horses through the thick fog, waiting for Sasha to arrive and come away with him. But as a storm sets in, there is no sign of Sasha. And Orlando stands there in the rain. Said rain, though, soon becomes ice, underneath his feet, floating away down the river, along with his hopes of a happy future with Sasha. The treachery of women, according to Orlando.

Over the next week, Orlando languishes in his bed, asleep for the entire time. Increasingly more servants are brought up to try and rouse him, only for him to remain asleep, no matter what they do. But then, he wakes up, noting that he can only conjure three words to describe women, none of them worth explaining.

Forty years later, and the title screen cries “Poetry”! And Orlando looks exactly the same. Guess he really took that whole “don’t grow old” thing from Elizabeth to heart, huh? He speaks to a poet, Nick Greene (Heathcote Williams), and gushes about his poetry, which is a pursuit that he loves greatly. But Nick is...well, Nick is kind of a dick, to be honest. Orlando wants only to share his love and his poetry with him, but Nick’s only in it for the money. Not a true artist, and he mocks Orlando’s poetry, which he reads only after Orlando offers him money. And then, he writes a poem mocking Orlando further, which angers Orlando...but doesn’t stop the money flowing to Nick.

Orlando moves onto his next pursuit, in 1700, in the next section: Politics. Now over 100 years old, Orlando becomes an ambassador to the Ottoman Empire, and travels to Constantinople. There, he receives a somewhat rough and awkward greeting, which Orlando is not helping with. They share some Turkish coffee, Orlando has trouble drinking that Turkish coffee, they drink a LOT of Turkish coffee, and they toast to multiple things, including the “beauty of women, and the joys of love.” Orlando pauses at this, and reveals that he is still suffering quite a bit of heartbreak. His Turkish friend, the Khan (Lothaire Bluteau), bonds with him about this.

After 10 years, Orlando has fully retreated into life as a Turkish man. This is interrupted by a British emissary, sent to bring him news of a new appointment and power from the Queen. However, something goes wrong when the Khan arrives and takes Orlando hostage. The city is under attack, and the Khan asks Orlando if he will help against their enemies. Orlando agrees, and gives them arms, and heads to help himself at the walls. There, he witnesses a man dying, and it shakes him greatly. And just like before, he sleeps it off for seven days. And then...she wakes up.

YUP. WHAT.

Yeah, um, Orlando is now a woman. Like she says: “Same person, just a different sex.” Which is a very interesting premise, not gonna lie. Looks like Orlando now has to live life as a woman, which is going to be...difficult in 1700s Turkey. Or England. Or anywhere. Or any time.

Still, Orlando approaches this new life with aplomb, and without really any needed caution. Parading in some awesome dresses, she greets fellow nobility as the lady Orlando. However, the emissary from earlier, Archduke Harry (John Wood), begins to recognize her as similar to the lord Orlando.

In speaking with a group of poets, however, Orlando learns EXACTLY what men think of women in this society, and it’s not even a little bit good. She leaves, enraged and embarrassed. Harry also speaks with her, assuming that she was a woman all along. However, Orlando’s in EVEN MORE shit, as she’s quickly served with papers that are an attempt to take away all of her property and titles, because Lord Orlando is legally dead, and Lady Orlando is a woman, which one of them says is basically the same thing. FUCKIN’ YIKES, BRUV.

Ah, but Harry tries to help by proposing to her ON THE FUCKIN’ SPOT. He believed that Orlando was perfect as both genders, and is happy to do it. However, Orlando understandably refuses, and after Harry tells her that she will die as a spinster, alone and dispossessed, she runs into a nearby hedge maze. And while in the hedge maze, time passes, and her outfit changes to match the period accordingly.

Forward 140 years now! The year is 1850, and a new chapter begins: Sex.

And as she runs from the maze, she runs into who else...but Shelmerdine (Billy Zane), a man who...Shelmerdine? SHELMERDINE? What fuckin’ witch cursed his entirely family line to have THAT name? That’s the kind of family that was named AFTER a bridge, not the other way around! WHAT KINDA NAME IS FUCKIN’ SHELMERDINE?

Well, I’ve looked it up now, and it is apparently a real name. So, if any Shelmerdines are reading this...I mean, I’m sorry, but also, FUCKIN’ SHELMERDINE? OK, back to Shelmerdine. He’s twisted his ankle falling off his horse, and Orlando is now taking care of him. She reveals, in the process, that she’s about to lose everything. The reasons for that aren’t quite said, but Shelmerdine offers a place at his side, back to the great free land of America.

After having a conversation about the roles of men and women in the world (which is interesting given the context of the film in general), the two fulfill the chapter’s imperative. And we never see the act, but we do get some interesting angles and hand-holding. But the next morning, this post-coital reverie is interrupted by the lawyers from the Queen. The lawsuits have been settled, and Orlando has been legally declared a woman, meaning that unless she has a son, all of her possessions will be lost.

Shelmerdine (I swear, every time I say that name, a fairy gets chlamydia) leaves as well, with the southwest wind. As he heads back to America to fight for freedom, Orlando stands in the rain, facing an uncertain future, and broken fully by the politics of the time period.

And then...the sound of planes overhead. Looks like a new time period once again, heading into the periods of World Wars, and Orlando is now...heavily pregnant. OH. FUCK. Welcome to the next chapter: Birth.

We jump past the period of World War II, and to the 1990s! Orlando is presenting a book to a publisher, and he believes that the book will sell. With her young daughter in tow, she finally goes back to her old mansion, now finally able to go back after losing it 100 years prior. The narration from the beginning repeats, recontextualized for Orlando’s new life. She is over 400 years old, and finally, FINALLY...she is happy.

And that’s Orlando! I think I loved it. Real talk, this was a fascinating movie, and I’m into it. I’m very much into it. I’m sure there’s more to be gleaned from this film, but I’m glad I watched it regardless. More in the Review, though! See you there!

[ruewrites]

bestie can we get some solodeus angst

The Next Step

AO3

WBT

Ship: Solomon/Asmo

Word Count: 3081

Warnings: None

A/N: Hey Anon! So I struggled with this request for a bit. So I decided to write a little oneshot for WBT. I hope you like it and I hope this may be what you had in mind for some angst (with a happy ending)!

“So do you wanna do something this week? We could go check out that movie  we thought might be bad. Frankenzilla’s Aquatic Monstrocity Two?” he tried to make his voice sound as tempting as possible. The semester was coming to a close  and Asmo missed his boyfriend. It felt like he hadn’t seen him outside of the one class they had together and even then their only greeting was a quick kiss before running to the next place. 

Sure they had coffee trips still, but both of them were too exhausted to usually say much and then classes interrupted any other time they might have. 

Solomon sighed on the other end of the line. The soft tapping of his keyboard reached Asmo on the other end of the line. Was it another application or course work this time? Perhaps he was responding to another email from the staff at one of the schools he applied to. There were many options, and each one twisted a knot in his stomach.

“I can’t tonight. I’m overloaded right now. You know, assignments destined to kill me and all. If not the assignments, the applications.” Despite the chuckle tinting his voice, Asmo could hear how tired Solomon was.  He could practically picture the piles of empty or lukewarm coffee cups surrounding him. It was a familiar sight, and one that Asmo would often see when trying to coax him to bed to relax and get some sleep. That was another thing Asmo had been missing: cuddling. The way Solomon’s arms would wrap around his waist, or when Asmo would commandeer Solomon’s chest as his own personal pillow. 

Quality time was something Asmo desperately needed, especially before the next step came… And graduation was rapidly approaching.

“Well, we don’t have to see the movie!” Asmo’s voice was coming out quickly, and he hated it.

“Asmo-”

“We can go walk in the park-”

“I really ca-”

“Or we could go to our favorite cafe! The one off campus. Wouldn't it be-”

“Asmodeus.” 

Asmo’s words died on his tongue. Solomon snapped at him. Solomon never snapped at him. Not once in the entire year they’d been together as a couple. When they were younger maybe, but not in their more recent history. It made Asmo sick to his stomach.

 A small whimper left his throat and his fingers gripped his phone a little tighter. 

“Fuck,” Asmo swore he heard Solomon slump back onto the couch, “Asmo, I’m sorry. I’m really sorry. Asmodeus I-”

“It’s fine,” Asmo was fighting back tears, “It’s fine really-”

“No. No it’s not I shouldn’t talk to you like that, sleep deprived or not. I know you Asmodeus, I know it’s not just fine,” Solomon finally let exhaustion overtake him, his voice was dripping with it, “And I really am sorry, I can’t hang out right now. I want to, I really really do. Honest.”

“It’s fine,” the words came out softer this time before silence stretched over the line. 

Solomon was the first one to break it, “I love you and I miss you.”

“I love you too.” Asmo was just barely keeping himself together, and he had no doubt that Solomon knew this. Solomon knew him too well.

“I’ll make it up to you as soon as I can. I promise. I love you, so very much Asmodeus. Goodnight, I’ll see you in class tomorrow if I’m still alive.”

Asmo didn’t even crack a smile at Solomon’s attempt at a joke when he heard the familiar click signaling the end of their call.

They were seniors. They didn’t have much left. What was the next step?

At the news that Mammon could pull some strings to get Asmo some sort of job in the fashion world, he’d been elated. He’d talked about it days upon days on ends with Solomon, and Solomon had been so happy for him. Meanwhile Solomon had been pacing back and forth, waiting for some sort of response from a master’s program. He’d said he’d be happy getting into any school, lucky even, but Asmo knew him. Solomon had his favorite, his ambitious Solomon aimed for the stars and Asmo had no doubt in his mind that he’d end up right where he wanted to be.

But that scared him.

It made him feel terrible. He should be supportive of and happy for Solomon, yet something was holding him back. At this rate, they would only have the summer together, and that wasn’t enough time. The summer would fly by before Asmo knew it and then he’d maybe have to help Solomon move into some fancy dorm somewhere far away from him and his love. 

At one point he’d been excited about the next step in his life, but now graduation just seemed like a looming storm overhead.

His mind was wandering and he couldn’t stop it.

He’d had breakups over less. Expecting Solomon to stay with him after they graduated was selfish, and yet he dared to hope for it. The best he could hope for was that Solomon asked for a break. Was it any better? No. But at least Asmo would have the illusion of hope. People broke up with Asmo over him deciding to dress down or for being too clingy. Then again, he knew he’d dated shallow people in the past and Solomon wasn’t shallow.

But it was still selfish for him to want what he did.

But a part of him didn’t care.

Asmo wasn’t stupid. He knew Solomon was the best he’d ever had. He was attentive, remembered when Asmo said little things, made him feel good in more ways than one, and was nothing short of wonderful. There was no way Asmo was going to let himself lose him and yet-

“He’s going to break up with me.”

“You don’t know that.”

One of the cats of the cafe rubbed against his side. Perhaps she could feel his sorrow. Asmo had just finished sobbing in his room before texting Satan. His pillow had become completely damp with tears and his eyes were red and puffy and looked as if they were made out of glass. Satan could keep his thoughts level and talk Asmo out of whatever negativity currently plagued his thoughts.

“But he hasn’t been spending time with me! Our normal hang out times have been completely run over!” Asmo sniffled, half-heartedly bringing his tea closer to his lips, “This is how breaking up normally starts.”

Satan shook his head, “You really think he went to all that work to get with you only to break up with you? Didn’t he get a tattoo to represent your relationship or something like that when the two of you had barely been dating for a month?”

“Three months. He wanted to get it a month in, but it took me three months to the day of our anniversary to finish the sketch.” Asmo’s fingertips lightly traced the rim of the cup, eyes fixed on his reflection inside. He’d wanted that tattoo to be perfect. So many scrapped ideas had flown around in his head before he was finally happy with one, that and he’d been nervous about Solomon getting a tattoo dedicated to them. They’d gone to every appointment together. Asmo said he wanted to make sure the art was good, what he meant was that he wanted to make sure Solomon didn’t change his mind. 

Had it really all been for nothing?

Suddenly his phone buzzed.

💖Honey Dearest💖: Hey

💖Honey Dearest💖: Look I feel really bad

💖Honey Dearest💖: And I’m very sorry

💖Honey Dearest💖: Incredibly sorry

💖Honey Dearest💖: You deserve so much Asmo, and my time for you has been taken up by other things

💖Honey Dearest💖: But I’ll have free time this weekend and I can make reservations for us

💖Honey Dearest💖: I need to talk to you about something

💖Honey Dearest💖: Something that’s been on my mind

Asmo’s heart stopped. With shaking hands he shot up, startling the poor kitty next to him. He shoved his phone into Satan’s face, “See? See??? He wants to talk so he can let me down easy! Oh I’m going to lose him!”

“Asmo hush. You’re startling the cats,” Satan’s brow furrowed as he looked over the text messages, “He’s not saying anything about breaking up with you. It actually seems like he’s putting effort in to see you.”

“You don’t know that! I’ve been here before. I know this isn’t good I- I-”

Oh he was the definition of a mess right now.

“And you don’t know that he’s going to break up with you. You’re not the only one who’s  dated people Asmo,” Satan pushed the phone back into his hands and went to pick the forgotten, luckily unspilled, cup up. “Send him a text and at least hear him out. I think you're reading too much into this.” 

Asmo had drowned Satan out. He vaguely saw him go behind the counter to start remaking his drink again, but other than that Asmo didn’t process a thing. 

Keeping Solomon was his main goal. He needed to figure out how to convince him that they were good for each other, that they could make this work. If he did leave him, Asmo knew that was it. He knew Solomon was the best he could get, and he wasn’t about to lose his chance at a happy future.

After texting Solomon an agreement to the meetup and deciding on a place, the rest of Asmo’s days leading up to the weekend were consumed with worry. In the end he’d made a list of reasons as to why they should stay together and how they could make everything work. If he was being honest with himself, he knew this list was more for him. He wanted to remember his reasons for when the time came. The last thing he wanted was to be left blubbering in public.

He’d made himself up nice. If Solomon was planning to break up with him, he wanted to assure he looked fine as hell and make him second guess the decision. It’d been a while since he’d done himself up this well, maybe he should do it more often. He used to do this all the time with partners because he wanted to make sure they loved him. But Solomon had loved him so matter what. He loved looking at Asmo first thing in the morning before he did himself up and when he was still in one of Solomon’s shirts. 

Asmo had never felt this comfortable in a relationship before. He’d never felt so safe before.

…

He was going to miss that so much…

The feeling of being safe.

Being wanted.

Being adored.

Despite his worries, the whistle that left Solomon’s lips sent a blush to his cheeks. 

“You really look nice.”

Solomon’s hair was slicked back the way Asmo liked it. Why did he also have to put effort into his appearance? Asmo felt even more anxious now, looking at him in the doorway. Solomon was the only one who’d ever made his heart flip like this. It had been impossible to calm himself all the way over  to the restaurant.

Solomon had always been good at picking up when something was off, and Asmo had to wonder what he was thinking. Then again, even though Asmo was being uncharacteristically quiet, Solomon seemed uncharacteristically chatty. Asmo knew he could get that way about things he enjoyed, but this wasn’t one of those moments. Instead Solomon was tripping over his words as he discussed… nothing really. The sinking feeling in his stomach continued as they took their food and left once again to a little secluded place in the park. Solomon has suggested it, he mentioned that it might be best if they could be alone for a bit.

It didn’t make Asmo feel better.

Eating didn’t really seem possible. Instead, Asmo was pushing the food around inside his box. He’d take a bite eventually, as soon as he was sure it’d go down alright. 

“I heard back from the program I applied to,” Solomon started, “I got in.”

“Oh? I’m so happy for you! Solomon that’s wonderful!” Asmo hoped his cheeriness didn’t sound forced.

Are you going to leave? 

“Yeah! It’s a huge relief. One less thing I have to worry about.” Solomon went silent now. The inches between them felt like miles to Asmo. He should feel happier for him. His boyfriend’s dreams were coming true, he knew Solomon had wanted this program more than anything. Why couldn’t he be happy for him?

The soft shutting of Solomon’s to go box brought Asmo’s attention back. Their shoulders brushed and Solomon kept the contact.

“I’m happy I can have this with you,” he murmured, “I know I haven’t been around much this half of the semester, and I do mean it when I say I’m sorry about that. You deserve only good things Asmodeus. You do.”

Asmo stiffened.

“The past year has been nothing but amazing, you’ve been nothing but amazing.”

He was tripping over his words. He’d heard this phrasing before.

“I mean every moment I’ve known you has been a pleasure, but having you close like this, it’s been… wonderful.”

Now. He should say it now. Say how he’d give up an easy in to his dream and follow Solomon wherever he went if it meant they could stay together. The past year had been a dream and Asmo wasn’t ready to wake up and let go yet. He’d go to the ends of the world for Solomon, he’d give up his life for him. The future seemed so blank without Solomon, and Asmo was scared to enter it without him.

“So, what do you say Asmodeus Morningstar? Do you want to take the next step together?” 

Wait.

What?

“Will you marry me?”

Asmo hadn’t realized his eyes were closed. Kneeling in front of him, with the most gorgeous ring Asmo had ever seen, was Solomon. He looked so hopeful yet nervous. There was only one thing Asmo knew, and that was that he wasn’t a pretty crier.

Through blurry eyes he watched as panic overtook his boyfriend as he scrambled to stand up, “Hey hey hey. It’s okay.  We don’t have to-”

Asmo wanted to say something more, wanted to say something profound and loving to Solomon. Instead what came out was unintelligible blubbering for his boyfriend to decipher.

“What do I mean by that?” Solomon asked, “Well I don’t want to force you to marry me. I just thought it would be nice to ask before graduation, and I know I haven’t been able to see you and-”

As Asmo wiped the tears from his eyes, Solomon took in a breath and slowly let it out, “I love you, and even if I couldn’t see you I’ve had a lot of time to think about this.”

Asmo wrapped his arms around Solomon’s neck as he sniffled, and for the first time since their last talk on the phone he found himself smiling. This isn’t what he thought their proposal would look like at all. “I’d like to get married.”

“You would?”

“Yes,” looking into Solomon’s eyes and Asmo almost choked on his words again, “Yes.”

Kissing Solomon had always been a heavenly experience, but Asmo couldn’t help but laugh as his fiance left his lips to cover every inch of his skin in love. Asmo also didn’t miss the way his hands shook when he put that ring on his finger. 

After all of his anxieties, this was definitely a breath of fresh air.

Although, he wouldn’t be telling Satan about how right he’d been.

***

“You suuuuure we can’t get a house?”

“Asmo we won’t be living there forever, we can rent out an apartment and then go house shopping.”

“Mmh, I still like the idea of having a house.”

Asmo sat in between his fiance’s legs, Solomon’s chin resting on his shoulder as the two of them looked over their options. There were a few nice places between Solomon’s grad school and where Asmo would have to drive for his new employer. He’d made sure Mammon knew where the school was so he had a radius to look at. Luckily, Mammon seemed to know a guy. 

This whole situation had been lucky. Asmo wanted to follow Solomon so badly, talking on the phone or video chatting simply just wouldn’t be enough! Solomon’s only condition had been if Asmo could also pursue his dreams as well. No way was he going to let him  not take an opportunity if something was offered to him! 

But it worked out, it always did. It always would one way or another.

“One day we’ll get a nice house, make it all our own,” Solomon mouthed against his neck, “As soon as we get married.”

Giggles left Asmo’s mouth as Solomon’s mouthing turned into tiny butterfly kisses, “I’d like that. But now that you mention it, we never got to celebrate our engagement did we?” 

Solomon paused and looked up at Asmo with a quirked brow. “Celebrate?” his arms tightened around Asmo’s waist, “What did you have in mind?”

Oh Asmo loved that wicked smirk.

“I wanna ceeelebraaate,” he giggled, leaning further into Solomon’s chest.

“I heard you, but that doesn’t tell me what you want.”

Asmo was about to go further when Simeon cleared his throat. He stared at the couple from the archway leading to the kitchen, “Mindful. Someone will be arriving home soon. Don’t make me banish you from the living room.”

“Ah, sorry Simeon, don’t worry, we’ll be mindful.”

“You better, I already have to think about looking for a new roommate because of  you.”

The tone between them was playful, they’d become relatively good friends since Solomon started living there from what Asmo could see. 

“I’m sure I could help,” Asmo chirped, “Maybe one of my brothers or someone else we know might be interested.”

“Thank you Asmodeus, I appreciate that. Now behave, both of you.”

When Simeon disappeared, Solomon leaned close to Asmo’s ear, “We’ll celebrate as soon as we move into the new apartment.”

“Oooh I like that! I guess that means we should pick one out then yes?”

“Oh my smart fiance is very incredibly right.”

Solomon leaned in for a kiss and Asmo gladly obliged. 

While the future was still uncertain to a point, they had each other, and they’d be taking their next steps together.

[shesawriter39049]

|PRETTY PLEASE| M|

SMUT/ LIGHT ANGST

Pairing: Taehyung X Reader ( A lil Joonie at the end)

Song reference: Dua Lipa-Pretty Please

About- Tae fucks you on top of your receptionist desk before you fire her…

Or- Tae’s feeling a little needy...and somewhat low key, self continuous about you possibly hiring a new production assistant..AKA...Jungkook. It seems as though Mr. Kim takes pride in being the youngest within the office! It seems as though your baby boy just needs a little..reassurance....

Warnings: Soft dom OC, Service top Tae, Baby/baby boy/praise kink/ over-stimulation/ cum play/cum as lube(using someone elses cum as lube to be exact) Fingering, Semi public sex, unprotected sex/ dirty talk, biting/marking kink/minimal prep, oral(F receiving), Finger sucking, (Joon is mentioned a couple times during sex but not physically present) he dose however come in after it’s over and shares a kiss with Tae at the end BTW (I feel like I’m missing some...but theirs nothing like off the wall in this one)

Note- This one shot  is a part of my OT7 Poly AU called 7 deep! Part 1 will be linked below! Short version of the overall plot: Your Married to Namjoon, however you’re both in a open relationship and run a very successful Adult Entertainment company called “Onyx” with your 5 college lovers AKA BTS Minus Kookie! There is a lil backstory sprinkled in because without it the dynamic would not really make sense....

Tae is her executive assistant upon other things BTW... 

Theres a HUGE praise kink and a lot of dirty talk here...he’s her baby..point blank...

Joonie’s lost and jsut wants everybody happy

WC: 7K

Onyx Entertainment 7:09 AM

~~~~

“Y/n’’ Taehyung comes over slowly, voice still full of sleep. sitting even lower, and huskier than usual..almost a whisper actually. Positioning himself right behind you, hips flush against the swell of your ass, snaking his arms, around your waist. Hands trailing slowly up your stomach, allowing his fingers to roam your body freely until one of his hands is flush around the front of your neck. Applying just enough pressure to trigger a slight chill to course up your spine, as the stark contrast from the array of metals he has dancing along his delicate fingers brushes against your skin. However, your so used to the position, especially where Taehyung is concerned it doesn’t stifle you the way it used to, somehow your still able to function….

Arching your back even deeper….however contrary to what he may want…that’s not really why your arching at the moment…..

“God,was it necessary for you to wear this dress today??!” Tae whispers, sounding almost pained at the revelation! Face nuzzled into the side of your ear, nipping at the gold hoop dangling from your lobe. “Y/nnnn” He’s needy…and whiny…very..not that your surprised though…

A low almost disinterested hum rings in the back of your throat as your fingers patter against the phone. ‘Yes baby?.”

”Stop, ignoring me” Pouts off his lips as he nips your ear even harder, a slight growl that sounds far too cute to be even remotely threatening leaving his throat!

A disgruntled...nah, an infuriated groan huffs off your chest upon seeing there’s 40,yes 40 voicemail’s.. stored on said phone. Well aware your busy, but not busy enough to have gotten 40 messages all in one night. A string of curses hush off your lips upon hearing the date and reasons behind the numerous calls that were clearly never returned.So ya know, there goes a good… shit, 10k down the drain in payroll over the past 4 in a half months she's worked here!

“Tae, add “Officially, fire Jordan’’ to my list of things to do today..please and fucking thank you…”

Slamming the headset against the desk phone hard enough to have to actually bounce off the receiver. Taehyung knows you like the back of his hand though, not even blinking as he damn near acts as if he’s spider man grabbing the phone before it completely falls off the desk. Within seconds he instantly brings his hands back to their initial position, caressing your frame against his own. Suddenly your curiosity gets the best of you so you welcome yourself to her desktop. Logging in to Outlook to check her work email. And what do you know, 120 unopened emails…. god why…WHY!?

“You have got to be fucking kidding..” Sighs off your lips in disbelief “What the actual fuck has she been doing this entire time!?” The question was rhetorical: you really didn’t wanna know, it took every ounce of self control not to search her browser….You’d probably pop a vessel if you logged on and found her history full of online shopping, Facebook, and UberEats! Body slouching into his almost as if all of the energy got sucked out of your body upon seeing the shitshow that is Jordan’s email!

“So wait, am I adding that to your schedule before or after your 7:30 AM appointment to fuck Taehyung Kim?” Brow quirked in genuine curiosity, as if he just asked you the day's weather forecast or something!.

Honestly? It took you a minute to even catch on because he said that shit with his entire chest, like, he meant that! Not even an ounce of amusement laced within his delivery….

A loud cackle ripped from your throat once you actually process what this man just said. Reclining your head against his shoulder, placing a lingering kiss along his cheek which he leaned into instantly. The grip he holds around both your waist and neck tightening once you start to rock your hips against him. Biting your lips,lashes fluttering in his direction, yanking the chain around his neck ever so slightly.

“Hmm….must have missed that when I skimmed my itinerary this morning…huh?” A sly smirk playing along your lips as you lock eyes with his.

“Mmm, minor but very important schedule alteration…weren’t you the one who taught me that you always have to be ready to adapt to any and every situation?”

A low hum rings in the back of your throat as you gently massage his freshly dyed scalp “I do recall saying something along those lines...” Ghosting your lips over the hinge of his jaw...blowing lightly.

Those electric blue locks you'd grown to love were now replaced by a color you haven't seen in lord knows when. Black, as simple as it may seem it just  compliments his caramelized complexion and dark brows perfectly. His hair is getting long all over now, and the older he gets the more comfortable he seems to be with letting his entire face be seen, hair parted messily down the middle in soft waves. It’s still kinda surreal watching him turn more, and more into a man as the years go on! Still remembering when he was walking around campus with his hella brassy box dyed blonde hair and Pacsun jeans....

Turning his head so his lips hovered over yours close enough that you could almost taste the Caramel ice capp on his tongue. Nosing along your face like a spoiled puppy silently begging for affection, chin tilted upwards just enough to let you know what he needed!

“We don’t have time baby boy you know this..” Leaning down to kiss the pout off is lips before it even appeared “You know were slammed and Yoongi has production getting in at-”

Taehyung leans in to capture your lips in another kiss, clearly less than intrigued by anything you had to say at the moment. This time a little deeper, moaning against your tongue as he breaches the seam of your lips. It’s hard and messy, Tae’s teeth accidentally clack against your own, your trying to speak but it keeps getting muffled against his lips! He’s shameless with his need, the way he’s licking his way around your mouth while he slowly grinds his hips into your ass tells you that. Nothing subtle about how hard his dick is straining against the leather of his pants…

He doesn't waste any time either,clawing his way up your thighs, hiking your dress up, around your waist, sliding his hand down to cup your pussy between his palm. Taehyung lets out a loud wanton moan, one that bounces off the brick walls around you once he feels how warm and wet you are. The blatant wet patch in the center of your panties, that his fingers are damn near stuck too!  You move your hand up to the side of his neck, taking a somewhat aggressive hold to try and get him to calm down enough for you to speak. Nails digging tiny crests into his skin, yet you don't stop because you know he fuckin loves it.

“No fuckin patience” Tugging his bottom lip between your teeth, far to fond of the man in front of you to have any bite laced within your delivery.

“You talkin about me or you?” A playful smirk plays along his tongue as you lean up to trail yours over his lips to ease the sting before sucking it into your mouth.

“What’s got you so distracted today hmm??” Head cocked to the side, feigned innocence’s playing along your tongue as you gaze back at him, taking in how blatantly fucked out he already looks.

A low whine rips from his lips as he forces himself to break apart just enough to actually speak properly! “Are you forgetting we came here together?” Brow arched knowingly, Taehyung drops his head, to lick, nip, suck, and kiss your neck, ripping a soft moan from your throat, reclining your neck to give him more room to work. Breath hot and heady against your skin as he noses up the side of your neck.   “And we have plenty of time,I already know you don’t need much right now….” Clasping his fingers around your heat even tiger “Baby, please”

Point being, Tae utilized his free access to the apartment that Namjoon and you share this morning after deciding he had no interest in driving himself to work. Which also means, he heard the two of you fucking in the shower, Joon and Hoseok had been in NY for a convention for the past week so lets just say it was long overdue. And actually…. correction, he wasn’t just chilling in your apartment, he was laying on your bed getting off to the two of you fucking in the shower. Still, this boy is insatiable and that wasn’t enough for him to be even remotely satisfied...

“Mmm…” You rock backwards, grinding against his length even harder, tilting your head back, taking the brunette’s ear between your teeth. Pulling hard enough to make him whine, body shuddering against your own, lips flush to his ear “Oh, so it’s my fault you invited yourself in and listened to us fuck in the shower?” Painting your lips down the side of his neck until you suck a mark into the juncture of his collarbone. Low enough that his shirt can cover it during business hours, though you know if he had it his way your marks would be plastered over the front column of his neck!

“My fault you’re already nice and hard and all you wanna do is fuck me until I come allll over your cock too?” His body goes completely pliant under your tongue, just like a cat being pulled by the nape of its neck. A faint whimper falls from his lips as he reaches up, hands getting tangled into your hair pressing down to keep you in place. “My fault your too horny to focus today?”

“Fuck today!” He scoffs around a moan “You’re always distracting, I always want you, god, since fuckin Econ, second period, you know this.” Damn, he’s taking this back to his freshman year of college!? “You already know what you do to me!” Mumbling against your jaw, kissing across it as best as he can at the current angle.

A pleased hymn rings in the back of your throat at the memory “My spoiled baby…” Breath fanning out warm against his skin “Always loved being marked up by me huh?” Taehyung is a resident switch, especially during his college days, yet for some reason where Yoongi and yourself are concerned this man becomes submissive as fuck. He’s always a pleaser, but it comes something serious where your concerned, his need to make you feel good almost overtaking his own need to climax!

Tilting your head to meet his hooded gaze head on “What’s got you all hard baby? Thinking about how easily you could just slide in?” Nothing accidentally about the low moan that slides off your tongue after every word. As you place your hand ontop of his. Gently rocking it back and forth against your clit “ How warm and wet I am? How messy it’ll be, feeling Joonies come dripping out of me as you fuck me?”

“Y/n! Just- fuck…”

‘Is that what you want Tae? You wanna fill me up and fuck me open with your big, thick ,cock?” Your staring him dead in the eye as these words purr off your tongue “Joonie came hard too, there's still so much leaking out right now, my panties have been saoked since I left the house..” Taehyung’s jaw tense as you slip a hand behind you, gripping his dick in your palm through his pants. He was always one to go commando so the rough texture flush against his length was really fucking him up right now. Eyes fluttering shut, “You know I’d still be nice and tight for you too..I’m always tight and warm around you aren't I baby??”

Taehyung didn't even have to open his eyes to know you had a smirk on your face, he could feel the smirk within your voice and he whined..loud. Dragging his bottom lip between his teeth before releasing another moan once you free him from your palm and start grinding your hips back against him.

You push back and he whines even louder this time, leaning down to nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck. “God, please, baby let me fuck-let your baby boy fuck you. Let me make you feel good…” You can feel his cock twitch behind you, and there's no denying it, you want it just as bad as he does.

You can tell he’s getting himself worked into a frenzy so you kiss him quite. Massaging your tongue against his cooing lightly at how quickly he just melts into you!

“Mmm, if I let you fuck me are you gonna be a god boy for me? Make me come all over your cock?” You know, you already know but you like riling him up….

“Fuck yes, I’ll fuck you so damn good…” Sinking his teeth into your pulse point, not even attempting to let up until he rips the neediest whine imaginable from your lips, knees damn near bucking in the process. Taking the skin between his teeth and sucking...hard..Tae wants to leave a mark..he appears to be feeling oddly possessive today…

“God, I can fuckin smell you now...fuck…” Taehyung’s grip on your hip tigtnes “Let me….fuck baby let me…”

“Jesus-Fu- Do you even know how good you sound when you beg?” A shaky breath signs off your lips and you can feel Tae Smiling against your skin..well aware he’s about to get what he wants.

“Yeah, I know, I know, I sound good,” Tae smirks around a moan . “I know I do, I know how much you fuckin love it too… Love seeing me all hard, and needy for you…..only you. Your the only one that gets me like this”

A fond smile plays along your lips as you stroke his nape..”My baby boy yeah?”

Taehyung just whines in response bucking his hips even harder, honestly you could tease him all day but there really isn't the time. “Yours, always yours” there’s a slight pout playing on his lips. Almost as if he’s trying to convince himself of that as well which is something you take a mental note of to bring up later!

“Yeah,” You moan, low and breath. “Yeah, come on...fuck me.”

“About damn time….” You can feel his lips curl into a smile that you can only imagine sparked something wicked! Because your baby boy is a spoiled brat at heart!

With one clean sweep he knocked every damn file off Jordan’s desk and flipped you onto your back. Hips shifting slightly so your legs are dangling off the edge, as he steps between them. Kneading your inner thighs beneath skilled nimble fingers as he loosely wraps them around his waist.

Once your situated you peer up at him, a playful smirk playing on your lips as your nails claw up his sides…. “You wanna make me feel good Tae?”

“I wanna fuckin ruin you, I always do...every time I look at you I just wanna give you every damn thing! However you want it….” Tae Moans….sliding your panties to the side a slight hiss ringing in the back of his throat as he claws up your thighs. Your still dripping, lips swollen, clit still sensitive to the touch.

You visibly shudder, gut twisting at the admission...as you take in his lust-filled hooded gaze.“Such a pretty pussy baby…” Long, delicate fingers trail up and down your clit gently. Leaning down to blow a trail up your lips just to make you squirm.

“Fuckkk” Back arching off the desk, not one to try and hide how affected you are. You know he gets off on praise. “You can, you already know you can do whatever you want to me….” You moan even louder as he works your clit a little quicker, adding more pressure.

“God, I still can’t get over the way you sound” Leaning down to kiss you, deep languid strokes of his tongue while he traces his fingers around your entrance….he knows damn well you don't need it but he can’t help himself. “I wanna put my fingers inside..feel how tight and wet you'll be around my cock…” Tae slurs around a moan as his tongue hits the roof of your mouth. Instead of responding you reach down, taking his wrist and guiding him straight in, until your both gasping against one another.

Inserting his middle and ring finger, making you pull back just enough to catch your breath, inhaling a sharp breath through your nose. He can feel Namjoon’s come just leaking out once his fingers slush through as he buries himself knuckle deep. “Fuck, Yn” Growls off his tongue, gaze instantly darkening

Nose scrunching into his face the deeper he works his digits into, your warm, tight and messy, so fucking messy! Curling his fingers upwards as if he’s trying to scoop his come forwards so he can push it all back in, “Such a messy pussy”

“Feel good baby?”You can feel him smiling into the kiss, and a deep groan rips from the back of your throat.

“You know I can handle more than that baby, come on….” Taehyung moans at the instructions pulling back to brace his forehead against yours gazing down at you through hooded lids. His arm starts to move a little harder, making you spread your legs on instinct, wrist shifting ever so slightly until your moaning louder, deeper..hips rocking up to meet his palm. Making sure it smacks against your clit head on every time he makes contact.

“Yeah, fuck. Like that, just like that”  Snaking your hands under his shirt to claw up his back, cooing at how hard he shutters at the contact “Angle u-fuck” A light giggle leaving your lips a stated smile on your face as he finds the spot before you even get it out. Twisting and angling his arm, fucking his fingers into you until he finds that ridget patch nuzzled between your heat, thighs tensing around his waist once he does and he just beams down at you…

He starts working his fingers faster, adding a third, spreading them ever so slightly as he pulls out so he can slide in with little to no resistance. Regardless of Joon fucking you this morning, you still always manage to snap right back in place. No matter how many times they’ve fucked you over the years, you always fit around Taehyung’s cock like a glove...always.

Tae is the youngest and he was also the least experienced when you all met, and by that I mean he was one of those college kids that didn't know any better, Simply because none of his prior partners ever took the time to..properly make their needs known...that is until he met you one Thursday night…

So you often found this strong sense of pride at the way he fucks you now...no instruction truly needed. He could get you off with his eyes closed at this point.  You just no he gets off on it...gets off on being your good boy, and he always is.

Your loud now, and Tae’s leaking so much precome into his pants it’s unreal. Rocking your hips even harder up and down, you can physically hear how wet you are, without a doubt leaking onto the desk! You already close, closer than you wanna be before is cocks splitting you in half.

“Fuck stop!”

The smirk that tugs along those lips was something lethal, gaze dark, a low hum ringing in the back of his throat as he raked over your form. How ragged your breath is...how hard your thighs are tensing around him…..

“Why?’ Head cocked to the side as he sticks his tongue out wetting those pouty lips of his. “Can’t handle coming 3 times today?” The arch in his brow is taunting and you can’t even lie, there's something really sexy about how confident he’s gotten over the years “ Don’t wanna come until I’m balls deep inside you” The question coming off more as a statement, gaze daring you to tell him anything different.

Your breath hitched, every vein in your body felt like it was on fire as he pulled you into a kiss. ,deep, rough and messy while you clench down around his fingers. Ripping every once of bravado he had to shreds...within seconds, once you trapped him between your heat, cock twitching on command.

“Now. Fuck me” You breath out, eyes locked with his as you slide his fingers free, lacing your tongue around the. Slow deliberate strokes, humming around the taste of both your and Namjoon’s arousal coating your tongue and Taehyung looks fucking wrecked! You allow him to slide in knuckle deep until he hits the back of your throat, and he can’t help but moan at how easily you take him.

“Come onnn Tae, fuck meee” A low whine hanging off your tongue as you guide his fingers back down your body hovering over your clit again…. “I need your cock baby”

“Fuck, yeah okay...I’ll fill you up baby” Stepping back just enough to unzip his pants and much to know ones surprise he’s rock hard, standing straight up, the tip painfully pink it almost looks as though you can physically see him throbbing. An obscene amount of Precum’s leaking down his shaft as he grazes his thumb over his slit. Hissing at the contact, Tae’s so hard it literally hurts at this point , balls tight against the base of his shaft.

Mouthwatering shamelessly at the sight as he grips his cock and smacks it along your clit a couple of times. Just to hear your juices slick all over the place, literally sounding as if he just splashed his palm in water!

He leans down and kisses your neck until you grab him by the hair to turn his cheek, to kiss him, deep and hard, making him taste Namjoon’s come on your tongue. You grind your hips forward letting his cock graze your clit until he's groaning low and desperate against your tongue. Hiking your legs up around his waist, digging his nails into the swell of your ass. Pressing your heels into the small of his back to pull his hips even closer!

“You sound so fucking good like this, so fuckin ready to fuck me huh baby?” Tae practically growls when he answers you, he technically responds “yes” first in Korean which is...rare, typically only happens when he’s overwhelmed and clearly…

“Yeah, yes, fuck I want it, need you baby please .” Grounding his hips even harder until he has your eyes rolling to the back of your head, fuck this boy is going to be the death of you. The pout on his lips is a stark contrast to how thick, and hard his cock is as it rubs against your clit…

Letting your fingers roam through his hair, landing on the back of his neck “Fuck me…”

He doesn't even bother lubing up his cock he doesn't need it , he just shifts his hips slightly to angle you upwards and slowly sinks his cock inside, breathing out deeply through flared nostrils as he does…

“Fuckkkk” Leaves both of your lips in unison once he breaches your entrance. Heat instantly pooling in the pit of your stomach as he starts to stretch you open. His eyes stay on yours the entire time, though hooded and unfocused they never waiver! Panting out hot and heavy against each others tongues, as you try to adjust to the stretch...

You can both not only hear but feel Namjoons come overflowing the deeper he gets! You can feel his arms starting to shake from how overwhelmed he is from all the pressure building around him.

Leaning up to whisper a combination of praise and absolute filth in your baby’s ear until your ripping the neediest moans and groans from his throat.

Dropping his head to leave a trail of open-mouthed kisses up the side of your neck, along his jaw, nipping at the diamond hoop in your ear.

There’s no edging his way in either,Taehyung is sliding all the way home. Not stopping until your filled to the brim. Continually whispering praise after praise into his ear which already has him throbbing on impact. Squeezing your ass even tighter, nosing up your cheek until you bring your lips flush to his, sliding in tongue first, need overtaking finesse at this point but neither of you cared!

He starts to move and you dig your nails into his ass, hard enough to make him groan even through the leather!

“Don’t, move yet….be a good boy for me, and stay still... “ He grunts and damn near has a temper tantrum but he obliged….”Stay still pretty, you can do that for me can’t you?”

Right as he's about to speak he finds himself choking around a moan as you purposely clench around him .

“Fuck, baby your pussy feels..Goddamn Yn” He almost sounds awed as if to say after all these years it’s kinda crazy that you still have this kinda affect on him! He lets out a low hum when you do it again, Taehyung is hot to the touch at this point “Fuck, tell me” his tone takes on an almost demanding tenor which only makes your toes curl against the sole of your Louboutins!

“Tell you what Tae?” Tone somewhat teasing until you take in the look of almost desperation within those big brown eyes of his, “That you're my baby? My good boy? The best boy?” Eyes fluttering shut briefly, a low hum ringing in the back of his throat “That your cook feels so fuckin good even when your not doing anything? Or how good you're being for me no matter how bad I know you wanna move.”

Fingers gently caressing the back of his neck “What do you wanna know baby?” In contrast to Tae’s your voice drops down to a whisper,nothing but fondness and affection dripping off your tongue. You can sense something’s wrong more than just him being horny. Yeah he had a praise kink but this feels different as if he NEEDS the validation outside of just sex. “Or…” reaching you to take a delicate, somewhat intimate hold on his jaw, temporarily shifting the mood. “Tell you how much I love you? Because I really fuckin do Tae…”  His breath hitches in his throat, you feel his cock twitch and his heart hammer against his chest at the admission “Soo much baby…”

“I love you” The words ramble off his tongue repeatedly almost as if he can’t stop...

Leaning down to nip at your bottom lip “Keeping my cock, nice and warm…..squeezing me soo good baby…” Leaning down to suck on the hinge of your jaw. “I just-I wanna make you come so bad, wanna fill you up with even more come until your just dripping with it. “ Tae’s voice dropped to an octave you haven't heard in lord known when, instantly reminding you that you created a fucking monster…..you know what he’s doing though. Since you won;t let him move he’s trying to get you worked up enough that you don’t have a choice.

This time when you clenched around him it was involuntary and so was the needy ass moan that ripped from your throat

His skin is flushed...eyes begging you to let him fuck you “You get me soo hard, I don't even understand how you could even expect, me to wanna go out and find someone else after I’ve been wrapped around you for so many years. Yn fuck-” Eyes rolling to the back of his head mid-sentence, the tighter you suck him in, he’s overwhelmed and just rambling at this point but you know what he’s referring too...

Meaning, even though you essentially operate as a closed triad as long as there’s open and honest lines commutation. The boys aren’t technically tied to Namjoon and yourself...yet outside of maybe a little drunken grind and make out session in the clubs...or something….at least over the past 2 years none of you have strayed...None of you have ever wanted too..more than content with what you have...

You reach up, placing your fingers in front of his mouth ‘Spit' ' He does with zero hesitation, as you bring your hand down to work your clit…The second you make contact you start pulsing around him even harder...and now Tae’s squirming on top of you. It’s becoming way too much he’s going to fuck around and come before he even gets to move

“Baby please, I can’t- I need-”

“Fuck me then!” Voice gently yet commanding

“Oh thank fuckk” Taehyung almost shouts as he thrust into you, hard and fast, almost knocking your head into the raised back of the desk! Snapping his hips forward with purpose, clearly well aware that the two of you don’t have much time.

He leans down to kiss every exposed piece of skin he can reach, your neck, shoulder, collarbone, before making his way up to your lips, sucking his tongue into your mouth. “Fuck, I can still taste you, both of you!” He kisses you through each thrust, hard, and opened mouth, panting out against your tongue, as you rake your nails down his back. Pulling out almost completely only to thrust in hard enough to have your thighs weakening. Practically dropping from his waist until he reaches under resecurring them in place.

“Yes, fuckk yess..” Each roll of his hips is sharp, precise, hitting every spot you need to have your eyes having a continuous meeting with the back of your head!

“Taeaahyung fu-” Pulling apart, drifting your eyes to where his cock is flushed, and sliding all the way out only to slam back in…Blurring the lines of where you start and he ends..."Look at how good your fucking me….always such a good boy for me yeah?”

Your winded...and your thighs are shaking, eyes heavy as all hell, but the moan that slips past his lips at the praise is more than worth it. You swear you feel his cock get even harder actually. You rock back, tensing your muscles around him, ripping a low groan of your name off his tongue before he actually responds.

“Yeah I’m good...so fuckin good for you baby!” You can feel his breath get lodged in his throat as he speaks, shifting your hips so they are raised a little higher. The moan that rips from your throat as you arch off the desk has him fucking into you even harder. Addicted to all the sinful sounds he knows he’s the only one responsible for right now...  “You take me so well, sound so fucking pretty for me…” Dragging his bottom lip along his teeth!

“Fuck me harder, I know you wanna...you know I can take it! Use me baby, fuck meeeee”

He groans, leaning down to pull you into a messy kiss as he pulls out and snaps forward making you almost scream, head pulling back in a stifled gasp as he picks up his pace, grounding his hips and steadying his rhythm. Brining your hand back down to work your clit, knowing your close, but you still need a little more.

“Fuck you look soo good getting yourself off like that….”

You let your eyes flutter open, a menacing smirk playing on your lips as you remove your hand from your clit. Sucking your fingers into your mouth as you fuck into him even harder. Lathering them with an unnecessary amount of spit, as if you weren't already dripping all over the place.

“You like watching me get myself off for you?” Bring one hand up to massage your nipples through the thin fabric of the dress while the other comes down to graze your clit. Locking your eyes with his as rub yourself, harder, faster, clearly with a purpose this time around. Eyes growing heavy as you moan out, rocking upwards to meet his thrust but never once breaking eye contact.

Tae, moans even louder at that, especially once you start fucking into him with the same amount of forces he's giving you “Yeah, baby fuck me...fuck me” Biting his lip, grunting and groaning through clenched teeth once he feels you start to tighten around his cock which has been throbbing this entire time!

Tae, braces your legs on either side of his shoulder, angling your hips even higher as they roll into you, deep and fast. The sound of skin slapping, Tae, grunting, and you moaning bouncing off every surface. Turning his head to the side to kiss at your ankles...teeth gently grazing along the strap of your heels, as he rolls his hips even deeper, head luling onto his shoulders.

You whine low and breathy as you click the backs of your heels together behind his head. Pressing the back of your thighs flush to his chest to bring him even closer. Those big, extremely sexy hands of his grip your waist, even tighter gripped your waist trying to pull you even closer. Ass flush with his hips at every stroke, the intoxicating feeling of the deep drag and stretch of his cock deep inside you had Tae’s toes curling against his Saint Laurent boots.

“God why do you look this fuckin hot!?” He actually sounds upset to be honest, and you can't help but laugh no matter how hard it is to breathe right now. Your thighs are practically vibrating on either side of his head.

“Fucking me open with your cock…like it was made for me...made to make me come-” Stopping mid-sentence not by choice just because fuck you couldn't breathe he was deep at this angle “Fuck and your gonna make me come too, keep fucking me Tae- just….fuck!”

“I was baby,fucking you just how you taught me…” He whimpers and moans even louder eyes fighting to stay open and maintain eye contact. Something about the way he said that “The way you taught me...” Was exactly what you needed to let go!

“Taeeee” you whine “I’m going to fuckin come harder.. Fuck please!!” Throwing your head back against the desk, knocking against what feels like a stapler but you can’t be bothered to care by how good he feels right now. Your gasping, breathless, and more importantly now your the one that sounds needy and there's nothing sexier than that to Taehyung.

Leaning up to grip him by the back of his neck and he leans into it. Basically folding you in half, he can feel how hard your starting to squeeze him, and he damn near chokes on his own words. “Yeah, yeah, just like that , come for me, come for your baby...”  

He gasping and whimpering right over you, jaw slack but not fully able to really kiss you back right now, so you decided to toy his bottom lip around your tongue. “Harder,harder” You instruct low and breathy tight into his mouth. “Fuckkk”

You clench your muscles around him as hard as you can, moaning loud and unfiltered until your coming, hard. Your spazzing and coming all over his cock and it’s actually almost pailful at this point.

“Yes, fuck baby ..your so good, soo perfect... ” You can feel that he needed this ,not just physically, just everything, about him in this moment screams how bad he needs this! There's no way he's coming no matter how close until you do, until you milk him through it!

You swear for a minute your heads spinning, fuzzy and lightheaded, ears burning as he rips you apart nerve by nerve...like he said...Just how you taught him! It takes a minute a good minute for you to pull you shit together and fuck if it dosent do wonders for you baby’s ego!

You whimper directly against his lips, gaze heavy, still completely fucked out “Such a good boy, you’re doing so good, come for me baby…” His thrust are becoming sporadic and out of rhythm because you don't stop stroking your clit, so your still spazzing around him, your still coming! You've always been one for over stimulation, I mean fuck you have 6 lovers for fucks sake how could you not. Your coming, moaning,painting and it’s ripping Tae’s orgasm straight from his body whether he was ready for it or not!

Taehyung cries and you can feel is cock twitch one more time before hes coming, snapping his hps forward, and stalling in place as you clench down around him! moaning louder and louder, “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

Tae collapses forward once he’s finished, so spent and you pull him closer, encouraging him to rest on top of you no matter how heavy he truly is.

“So good,” you whisper “Always such a good boy for me…”  He leans down, completely blissed eyes heavy, and kisses you slow...intimate...hands gently stoking up and down your thighs as the two of you breathe as one… realizing this isn't really the time or place for this but you need amount to fully come down!! “I love you…” Slurs off your tone completely spent, and you feel him smile against your lips.

“ I Love you” A moan starts on his tongue and ends on the top of yours as he slides out, you can feel the come leaking onto the desk. Before you can even process what’s happening you see Tae drop down to his knees...bracing your thighs on either side of his head. Scooping up as much of the overflow as he can pushing, his fingers in knuckle deep curling upwards in the process...Thighs threatening to clench around his head in over secretive as a low whine hisses from your lips!

“Oh my god” Fingers seamlessly found there place in his soft, slight damp locks, tugging on his scalp relentlessly as you rolled your hips into his tongue. Though you really should be running away from the sensation but fuck, you can;t help it! Low breathy whines and moans fell from your lips the harder he sucked your clit between his lips, moaning out as all of your arousal's coat his tongue. Your clit is still rock hard and your literally a second away from coming all over again...that is,,until he slides in 3 fingers deep and apparently where Taehyung is concerned you don’t even have a refraction time because...

“Tae-baby- fuckkkk”  Back coming to a complete arch as you came with a silent cry, you were panting so hard you almost felt like you were about to pass out. Taehyung’s tongue was still relentless, causing you to jerk and twitch away from him, trying to edge your way up the bed but it was no use..you were already crowning the headboard.

“Please, fuck - I can’t , I can’t …” Thankfully it seems as though he agreed, maybe it’s because your thighs wouldn’t stop spazzing and you soiled the spot right beneath your ass you were so wet! Kissing, licking, sucking a path from your clit, up your stomach, sliding your dress back into place, before his face was finally flush to yours. Sliding his tongue into your mouth without warning, kissing you deep and messy,letting you taste a combination of Tae, Joon and yourself thoroughly as you licked the excess coming from the corners of his lips causing you both to moan. Hands soothing up your trembling thighs trying to sooth you but it was no use..you were a mess!

Taehyung could feel them vibrating against his palm. Smiling smugly against your lips, clearly pleased with the sudden state your in . Locking your thighs around his waist, bracing his hands beneath for support because he can feel how pliant your entire body is beneath him.

“Wrap your arms around my neck” Whispered against your lips as he kissed you again while shifting off the desk, gripping your bag, and leading the two of you down the hall into your office. Voice sitting even husker now than it did initially....eyes still comptely blown out

Laying you gently on the leather chaise against the wall and you can’t help but smile up at him with nothing but fondness. Remembering those days when your baby boy was still lost in that fuck boy phase and thought after care was not kicking his partner out after! Now you watch as he slowly spreads your thighs apart. Cleaning you gently with a couple baby wipes kissing every inch of skin he touches in the process before doing the same to himself.Tucking his spent cock back into his leather pants with a slight hiss due to oversensitiveness…

“Thank you baby…” Taking his hand in your kissing along his knuckles “Fuck Tae, you were in a mood this morning...holyshit” An exhausted chuckle leaves your lips as you settle into the cushions, your thighs were literally still humming.

“Aye gotta make a lasting impression before you go meet my replacement right??” He tried to laugh it off, but not only did his “smile” not even remotely reach his eyes...you could hear light tremor laced within his delivery that he tried to mask by said laugh!

Brows scrunching to the middle of your face immediately because...WHAT!?

“Speaking of, you and Yoongi have that 2:30 interview with Jungkook. So you might wanna dip out and shower first, you just might still end up feeling kinda sticky, between me and Joonie there’s just..fuck..”

To be honest, everything kinda melted into a blur and it almost seemed as though you really weren’t listening because all you kept thinking about is him saying you were going to meet his “Replacement…”

“I mean even with a pantyl-”

“What?!” You honestly did not mean for your response to come out as snappy as it did but again… WHAT!?

“I said you might wanna-“

“That’s, what this was about?!” Brows furrowed in the center of your face in confusion more than anything because what the fuck Tae! “First off, he was your idea, but if he makes you uncomfortable for any reason we don’t have to interview him! You have to work with him too baby, I don't want-” You know your deliveries off so you find yourself reaching up to gently caress his jaw, which is a stark contrast to your tone at the moment!

“No, no” Flagging his hand in the air dismissively “ I want you to, he seems  like a good kid and like he knows his shit Yoongi needs..no he deserves that..he already does so much!” Nervously raking his hands down the nonexistent wrinkles on his black silk dress shirt. “I don’t know baby, ignore me I’m just being stupid …”

He gets up with a box of Clorox whips and sprays heading back to the lobby so you opt to follow, no matter how much your thighs are literally screaming at you the entire time! Well aware that the desk without a doubt needs to be toughly whipped down with the next half hour before production starts trickling in! Kicking up the air as well to get the humidity out of the atmosphere, thankfully space had an open enough floor plan that, the typical sex smell That may clog up a bedroom wasn’t as potent…

Without even sparing you a second glance he starts spraying down the desk, whipping the surface diligently, actually somewhat aggressively which let you know he felt a way about this. Nobody's jaw just twitches while they clean..he was annoyed…

“Ugh no.” Reaching out to grasp his wrist halting his movements, and now it was clear he was adverting your gaze, eyes locking on a fucking paperclip to his right… “ I will not ignore you and your feelings are valid, always, even if I don’t quite understand them.” Exchanging his wrist for his jaw, gripping it firm enough to firm him to make eye contact and there's nothing subtle about how glazed over they were…

“Baby…” Cooed off your lips as you stoked his face you watched his nose twitch as he tried desperately not to cry, so you leaned down... Placing a lingering yet innocent kiss along his lips. No ulterior motive just hoping it gave him some sort of comfort…. Feeling the way he just melted into you...yet the tension stayed evident within his body…”Talk to me Tae..please..:”

He didn’t pull away fully, resting his forehead flush to yours “I don’t know... I just-”

The two of you pull apart the minute you hear the faint ding of the elevator, eyes instantly scanning the camera to see it’s nobody but Joon. Starbucks, and Mcdonalds in hand, clumsily trying to type in the code so Taehyung decides to be the one to break apart and help him out. More so because he just really didn’t want to get into this right now….never has he been so thankful that Namjoon’s early! 

Heading for the door to help your husband lord knows how clumsy he is the last thing we need is coffee all over your freshly polished floors. Looking fine as ever....sometimes you really don’t understand how the fuck you go so damn lucky! Wind swept freshly dyed ice blonde locks, all black slacks and fitted blazer... 

He smiles down at Tae, who tilts his chin upward, silently asking, and Namjoon already knows...placing a kiss along his lips that started out innocent... Until he caught a taste of something lingering on Taehyung’s tongue, which rips a deep groan from the back of his throat. The second his tongue breaches the seam of his lips, his entire body freezes, feeling the almost violent manner in which the younger was shaking against his frame had Namjoon pulling back instantly...Searching your eyes for some sort of clarity as to why Tae looks like he’s about to cry. Or why he holding onto his blazer for dear life....

‘Baby??” Namjoon’s tone is tentative, scared...uneasy.and honestly, you aren't sure which one of you he’s addressing so you speak up.

“It seems as though Tae is feeling a type of way about us possibly hiring Jeon…” You're cautious of your tone, keeping it light, concerned but not accusatory because you really don’t know what’s going on honestly! Watching your husband’s brows furrow having no idea who the hell you’re referring to.. And it rips a snort from your lips and a wet chuckle form Tae’s as he gently whips his eyes...trying to catch the stray tears that have betrayed him and slipped out…

“The kid who just graduated from USC...the production major Yoongi and Yn are interviewing today...and it’s not that I feel a type of way I just..”

“Tae, your crying…” He almost sounds heartbroken even repeating the words and your stomach drops as you take in the two men you love to death. At a loss as to what has Taehyung so uneasy that he’s crying. And why it hindsight it seems now, felt the need to fuck you before your interview so you wouldn’t’ “Forget” him. How the fuck could you ever forget him!? He’s never been one to be insecure...ever!

“You don’t just cry for shits and giggles...baby....” Tae turns his head but the light catches the glaze in his eyes, and how hard his jaw twitches int he process..

“Aye” Namjoon’s tone just says “Look at me” not even leaving it up for debate and he dose...regardless of how bad he wan’t to doesn't even think about it. 

“ Just because you’re not listed under CEO dose not mean your opinions and concerns as far as who we bring into this company aren’t valid. You know this…before we had this big fancy building and all these employees it was just the 7 of us...don’t think we’d ever forget that” 

Eyes flickering around the room slightly, upon seeing the mess onto of the desk and he kinda puts two and two together… “What were you doin before I came in??” Voice low, tentative...comforting…bringing his gaze down to the cleaning supplies in hand.

“Ugh, cleaning the desk…” His voice breaks at the end, and he won’t even look at the two of you….”

“Kay, how about I finish cleaning the desk, and you go talk to Joon, and I’ll be in there in like 5 ...Okay?” Swaying over in his direction, taking the box of wipes, and spray from his hand before placing a kiss to the side of his head. Pulling back to do the same to your husband…whose eyes are desperately looking to yours for some form of directions that you, unfortunately, can’t give right now!

Taehyung just nodds, snuffling a couple more times as he fiddles nervously with the collection of rings dancing along his fingers. Many of which are gifts from his 6 favorite people at this point…..

Namjoon walks over and places the bags and tray of drinks on the glass table in the center of the room..wiggling his fingers in the younger’s direction.

“Come talk to me Tae, Tae..” 

That’s all she wrote for now, I feel like there's a lot of DOM Tae FF’s which I love, however when I look past “V” and meet the two in the middle I don’t get straight dom vibes..lol sorry not sorry..but either way it’s all for fun and I hope you all enjoyed. Part 1 is attached, it's Joon X OC with Tae coming in at the end…NOTE this is not only a Tae centered AU....

MASTERLIST

[quarantined-with-bucky]

Shopping

Bodyguard!Bucky x Reader

Request: Hi! May I ask for a hc or scenario in wich Bucky falls for the reader who has a "spoiled brat" stereotype...u know? Like a Regina George from Mean Girls type of attitude, Maybe the reader is the daughter of someone important who Bucky needs to protect idk I thought it could be quite fun, anyway...loved your writing so much in "Dichotomy" ❤

Words: ~ 4,500

Summary: Bucky’s paid to be your bodyguard and you’re, well, kind of a bitch.

Warnings: None! For once ;)

...

There is three things men want in life.

1.     They want to see if they can fuck you.

2.     They want to see if they can fuck you over.

3.     They want to get you out the fucking picture.

That was simply a fact of life. It was especially accurate in the world you grew up in: the world of powerful men, fast cars, vast mansions, and extravagant wardrobes. There was something about everyone’s cut-throat attitude that also seemed to drag along these luxuries. It was all about showing off: who had the most expensive car, whose house was bigger – whose wife was hotter.

This is the climate you grew up in: constant competition, envious friends, malicious enemies. There was a certain image you were expected to maintain, so you did exactly that. Not only did you have the weight of one day taking over your father’s company on your shoulders, you had the paparazzi stalking your every move. There wasn’t a single moment of peace in your life. You couldn’t go to the mall or the grocery store without at least one picture of you showing up on Daily Mail.

You’d grown up with it and, for the most part, you didn’t have to do things like that anyway. There was always someone to do those menial tasks for you.

Until you moved out of your parents’ house. You finally graduated college; a twenty-something kid finally ready to jump into the world on your own two feet. You were eagerly awaiting your move into your New York City apartment – a swanky two-bedroom on the top floor of a building in Soho.

Everything was going swimmingly well until you had an altercation with paparazzi. It was hard to navigate the narrow streets and sidewalks of the city, and as you were meeting your friend at a restaurant, you found it was a little too easy for the cameramen to push you around on the street. However, while you were thinking more along the lines of a restraining order against them, your father had other ideas.

“No way,” you interrupted, holding your hands up to your father. “That’s not happening.”

He raised his eyebrows at you. “It is happening. Unless you want this to happen again.” He tossed the stack of newspapers onto your dining table, the photo of you on the front page sliding across the table towards you. The title read “(Y/N) Falters – Will She Fumble Daddy’s Company?” You bit the inside of your cheek, the photo immortalized you trying to push past the group of people photographing your every step, the bright flashes causing you to hold your hands in front of your eyes. “This won’t be happening again.”

…

That’s how you met Bucky. At first, it was nice to have him around. He shook your hand once as he introduced himself. It was months before he even said anything else to you. He stood posted up in the doorway of every room you walked into. He wore a smart looking suit ever day, the top few buttons of his shirt undone to show off his tanned muscles underneath.

He walked you to restaurants, taking the lead, keeping the paparazzi at a far distance away from you. He followed you around shopping, carrying your Gucci, Dior, and Balenciaga bags to your car for you. God, it was a dream. What was even dreamier were his eyes. Before anyone approached you to speak with you, he stopped them, turning his head to look at you for your nod of approval before letting them past. And holy fuck those two seconds of fleeting eye contact made you absolutely melt. You almost started scheduling unnecessary appointments into your schedule just so he could face you again for confirmation. You stared back at him as seductively as possible, eyes half lidded, glossy, staring back at him and tilting your head in the slightest nod.

That was the only time he ever acknowledged you. That, and when he opened your car door for you. He never said much – if anything – at all. But his presence was so demanding: his shoulders were so broad, his chest constantly puffed out, his jaw clenched, and eyebrows narrowed in challenge. It took every bit of willpower not to jump his bones.

…

You had a certain mentality when it came to work. There was a certain image to be portrayed. You always dressed to the nines: a fitted suit, usually Balmain or Chanel, complete with gold jewelry and tall heels. Your makeup was done every day: a neutral pallet, something that unsuspecting peers would assume to be natural. Your hair was always perfectly in place: either cascading smoothly down your back or pinned neatly into a bun. Not only were you running the company, but you were also the face of the company.

You walked around with your head held high, shoulders back, and with determination in your step. People watched you as you walked down the hallway. Maybe some in admiration, others envy, even a few with desire. You always heard their whispers, though.  

Bucky walked in-toe with you always remaining a cool two steps behind you; you could feel his gaze burning into the back of his head. You entered your office, Bucky taking his usual post by the door. You plopped down in your large leather chair, preparing yourself for your meeting.

Your morning got progressively worse as the meetings progressed, people not cooperating, work not being done, no conflicts getting resolved. As you last meeting ended, and the particularly patronizing man left your office, you couldn’t hold back muttering a “fucking prick” as the door shut behind him.

Bucky pinched is lips together, holding back a smirk. You reclined in your chair, watching him regain his poise quickly, eyes not moving from the fixed position on the wall in front of him. “You know, James,” you spoke up, instantly getting his attention. “That was my last meeting today; you can sit, if you’d like.” You gestured to the seating area across the room.

He nodded in thanks, strutting across the room and sitting on the black couch in front of you. All you wanted was to join him on the couch. The things you could do to him on that couch – the things he could do to you on that couch. “You can call me Bucky,” he stated, reclining against the back, legs spreading open a tad bit.

You nodded stiffly and bit your bottom lip, unable to tear your eyes away from his splayed posture. “Bucky,” you whispered, testing his name on your tongue. And, damn, it tasted good.

You snapped yourself out of your fixation, pulling your laptop in front of you, pretending to work as you couldn’t get that image out of your head. The face that you could still see his propped-up figure over the top of your laptop screen; his eyes had not drifted from your person.

…

Your were temporarily blinded, gripping the back of Bucky’s jacket as he pushed through the crowd of people, shoving open the door to the lobby of your apartment. Calling the elevator, he watched as you smoothed down the ends of your hair, trying to rub the light spots out of your eyes as best you could without smudging mascara all over your face. He ushered you in once the doors opened, holding a hand lightly to your waist.

You dropped your back against the shiny elevator walls, crossing your arms over your chest and staring at the reflection on the wall in front of you. You looked tired, makeup wearing off under your eyes, purple circles under your eyes becoming prominent; a few flyaways framed your face, curling and unruly. The doors opened and you pushed your way through before Bucky. You shoved open the apartment door, throwing your purse on the table, viciously kicking of your heels. You heard Bucky shut the door softly and he paused before entering the kitchen behind you.

Today had been effectively one of the worst days of your life. Work was terrible: your day was run with meetings and disrespectful colleagues, bulldozing over all your ideas and suggestions; it rained during lunch, completely ruining the Coach heels you were wearing to attend the business luncheon; afterwards was much worse. You were highlighted in the issue of Forbes Magazine. You’d been waiting for this for months: you’d done multiple interviews, had photoshoots, the whole nine yards. You were excited for the world to see the underlying factors of what made you you; for them to finally recognize not only your past academic achievements, but also all you have accomplished thus far with the company, for them to see that you were capable – qualified – to run this company.

Boy were you hopeful.

You were met, in fact, with quite the opposite.

Waves upon waves of criticism washed upon you after the release. You were met with all kinds of backtalk: everything from you inheriting the company, to being accepted into college because of your dads’ money, to “stick to makeup, honey.” People began commenting on how they thought you walked all over people, how you rarely seemed friendly in the workplace, how you “used men.”

It couldn’t be more the opposite.

While you liked to maintain a certain image and always have a presentable appearance, despite any men or women that sought after you, you’d turned them downs. In fact, you’d never had a boyfriend – let alone any friends.

You worked hard to retain a respectable image. The problem with working and living in a dog-eat-dog world is the sacrifices you had to make to maintain such an image. You couldn’t simply allow people to walk all over you – achieving this took years. You had to speak up in times others would cower, use your voice when there was an issue other did not seem to care about. You had to walk with your head held high and your shoulders back.

Once you obtained dominance in the workplace, you had to conquer the world of love. It could make you gag. You wanted to intimidate the men that once patronized you. You wanted them to want you, fight over you, worship you. But you’d ever let them have you. Nobody could see you vulnerable, nobody could love you, touch you, blackmail you. That’s the way it had to be.

But you couldn’t always be so ruthless. Right now, you leaned against the counter, dropping your hands onto the cold marble surface. It was one of those days like today where everything got the best of you. Everyone tore you apart, you’d spent the last half of the day just reading tweets about yourself.

“She looks like such a bitch.”

“Would it kill her to smile? Not the kind of boss I’d want to work for.”

“My friend worked for her and said she has everyone else do her work for her.”

“Forbes, is this issue recognizing daddy’s money?”

Bucky placing a mug next to you pulled you out of your thoughts. You stared down at the steaming mug, Bucking suddenly speaking up: “maybe if you drank something, you’d feel better.”

You pushed past him, shoving him away from you as you headed to your bedroom. God, all you wanted was to be alone. Did he have to be here every second of the day? All you wanted was silence and he picks this one time to start babying you? You slammed the door shut, the sound echoing throughout the vast apartment. You stripped your nice clothes, opting for a shower and large t-shirt for bed.

Bucky sat in the living room, listening to you shuffle around your bedroom. He finally stood, ready to head home, when he heard the softest sound come from you bedroom. A sniffle. Followed by another.

He leaned against the doorframe, listening to the noises that he’d never heard from you before – hell, he never thought you were capable of that emotion. He weighed his options carefully: go inside and comfort you, it didn’t seem like you had a lot of close friends or even family that checked in on you, you must’ve felt so alone, and everyone attacking you definitely didn’t feel nice; he could leave and let you deal with this on you own – which is probably what you wanted, considering he knew how long it took you to create your façade. However, Bucky could see right through it – he could always see through it. No matter how intimidating and powerful you wanted yourself to be, he and everyone else knew that you were a spoilt brat trying to live up to daddy’s expectations, but only he knew that at your deepest core, you were a tired, lonely, sad little girl, wishing for just one day of invisibility, in which nobody knew who you were, nobody care about you – like you didn’t exist.

…

You and Bucky continued your usual routines from then on, nothing changed. He didn’t talk to you; you didn’t talk to him. He spent his time pushing people out of your way, and you went along pretending nobody existed.

It was two weeks after that when you spoke to him for the third time. You and Bucky were walking from the parking garage to your place. That’s when a masked man came out from behind you and grabbed a hold of your purse. You helped in surprise as he tried to run past you, one hand loosely gripping your Birkin. Before you could even turn to the direction he ran off in, Bucky’s hand hit him square in the jaw. You gasped, holding your hands up to your open mouth as Bucky knelt on top of the man, continuously hitting him and holding him down.

You saw a flash simmer as you saw Bucky’s hand move, holding the other man to the sidewalk. Metal? Did he have a prosthetic arm? When did that happen? And why didn’t you ever notice it before?

In the mixture of bystanders, paparazzi, and doormen, the police quickly pushed through. Bucky was relieved of his post as the man was taken away. The policeman escorted the two of you to the lobby, where he took the information and returned your purse to you.

Eventually, Bucky took you upstairs to your floor. “Are you okay,” he asked, following you through the door.

You nodded, turning around to face him – face his arm. You stared at it, the metal coils formed in the shape of  a perfect hand, winding upwards all the way up to where his shirt sleeve was pushed up past his elbow. It shimmered in the soft lighting, reflecting the moonlight that cascaded in through your windows. He held his hands behind his back, tilting his jaw upwards slightly as he stared you down. Your eyes flitted to his narrow ones; his eyebrows narrowed between pieces of dark hair that fell over his forehead. “Yeah,” you muttered. “Yes,” you clarified, clearing your throat.

“Do you need me to stay with you? Or are you fine for the night?”

You bit the inside of your cheek, shifting your weight from one foot to another. “Stay?” It came out more of a question than you expected.  He nodded, not moving any other muscle. You quickly thought of something to break the silence and pulled your phone from your bag. “Takeout?”

He cracked a smile, nodding again. “Sounds good.”

After calling it in, you shifted away to the kitchen as Bucky sat in the living room. You didn’t know what to do to fill the silence. You’d never talked to him. You fumbled around with a wine bottle, popping it open and taking a long pull straight from the bottle before heading towards Bucky with two glasses. Hopefully some liquid courage would kick in quickly. You poured him a glass, another for yourself, and sat beside him on the plush sofa.

It was quiet. It was awkward.

“Thank you for, y’know,” you murmured over the rim of your wine glass, eyes falling to the red liquid swirling in your glass.

“No problem, it’s my job,” he replied casually. “To protect you.” You nodded; lips pressed tight in a line. You looked around the room, trying to find anything to look at. Your gaze landed on the metal arm propped up on the side of the couch. “You wanna take a picture of it, doll?” He chuckles lightly, tapping his fingers on the fabric of the sofa.

“Oh!” You snapped out of your gaze, jumping slightly on the couch. “Sorry – I didn’t mean to stare, I just – just – ” you stuttered over your words, reaching out slightly towards him.

He smiled, genuinely smiled this time, tongue running over his bottom lip. “It’s okay, (Y/N) – ” your name sounded so good on his lips “ – you can touch it, if you want.” Touch it? Touch what? You nearly started salivating. Then he held his hand out to you, palm facing upwards, fingers outstretched. You held your hand out, brushing his metal palm with the tips of your fingers. He chuckled again, flipping your hand around and holding your own hand in his. He ran his metal fingers over the backs of your knuckles. It was cold, yet so much softer than you expected.

Your eyes flitted up to meet his blue ones, already staring back at you. He licked his lips and leaned ever so slightly towards you. Your breath hitched in the back of your throat as you stared at him with wide eyes and mouth agape. “See, that’s not so bad, right?” He whispered, gaze shifting from your eyes to your lips, tinged red from the wine.

You held your breath, leaning the rest of the way in, shutting your eyes.

Then you hit a brick wall.

A metal wall.

Your eyes snap open to see Bucky’s metal hand gripping your shoulder, holding you in place. “Look, (Y/N) – ” there he goes with your name, again “ – I didn’t mean to send any signals…” he trailed off, dropping his hand and pushing himself up to his feet. Signals? No, of course not. Just holding my hand, staring lustfully into my eyes, and looking at my lips. Not to mention licking his own. You almost rolled your eyes. “I’m sorry,” he sighed.

You did roll your eyes, standing with him. “It’s…” you trailed off. Save face. “Whatever.” You turned away, shuffling to the front door, pulling it open.

He left without another word, but not without stopping to look into your eyes – at least, he tried to, if it hadn’t been for you dropping your whole head, staring blankly at the floor. You slammed the door behind him, nearly nicking his back heel as he stepped into the corridor.

Well, that was perfectly embarrassing. The best way to end such a terrible day. Utter embarrassment. You didn’t know how you were supposed to face him tomorrow.

Sadness turned into anger as you threw his wine glass directly into the sink, watching as the glass shards flew across the countertops. Who did he think he was? That he could act like that and then throw it back in your face? His signals were perfectly clear. In fact, you were haunted by those signals all night.

By the touch of his skin.

By his blue eyes.

…

You didn’t sleep that night. Instead, spent your time getting ready all morning. Hair perfectly set down your back, eyes surrounded by sultry makeup, a ferocious looking contour. You put on your tallest heels, tightest dress, and shiniest jewelry.

You looked ravenous.

Bucky knocked on your front door, as he did every morning to take you to work. You slung your bag over your shoulder, took a deep breath, and swung open the door. You looked straight past him; eyes directed on the elevator doors in front of you. You walked directly past him, relying on him to shut the door behind you.

Your heart was racing, it took all of your willpower not to twitch or tap your foot as you waited for the elevator. You set your jaw and stood stonewalled.

That’s how the day went: you completely ignoring Bucky. Although you normally ignored Bucky, today you didn’t look at him, thank him when he opened the door for you, nothing. Not even sparing a glance as he stared at you from his position on the sofa in your office. There he sat, usually splayed out and legs open; you could feel him staring at you. All you wanted to do was run into the women’s bathroom and sit there all day – anywhere would be better than here with him.

That’s how the weekend went, too: you spent the first six days ignoring him. Today was Saturday and you wanted to go shopping. Not the normal shopping. Today was all about showing Bucky that if you wanted something, you got it.

Again sporting the skimpiest outfit you could manage, you dragged Bucky around shopping all day. By your fifth store, your feet were absolutely killing you from walking so far in these heels, but it was worth it to torture Bucky. He carried all of your bags – from your purse, to you shopping bags, to even your coat. And nothing pissed him off more than you waiting at the register, the person behind the counter ringing up your literal tens-of-thousands of dollars’ worth of clothes, shoes, and bags, clicking your tongue and holding your hand out for your wallet. You tapped your foot, continuing your light conversation with the employee, waiting for Bucky to drop the heavy wallet into your palm. Without a turn of your head or even a thank you, you finished the transaction, walking through the door immediately, leaving Bucky to take your purchases.

This is what he deserved after embarrassing you like that. Was he just so nice to see where you’d take it? Did he want you to try to kiss him, just so he could say no? Just so he could turn you down? To be the one guy you wanted – and never got? Maybe he was going to sell the story. He was just like any other guy – but then why wouldn’t he kiss you? And the thought replayed in your mind, as did that night’s events. You had no other choice but to continue shopping and dragging him around.

Oh, he was pissed.

A fucking bagman? That’s how you saw him? That night was probably the calmest he’d ever seen you. You seemed nervous, even. Nervous because of his arm? Yes, he would’ve loved nothing more than to have you in the palm of his hand – literally – he would’ve loved to kiss you, and touch you, and hold you. He couldn’t take advantage of you like that. Not in your most vulnerable moment. After the robbery, you mind must’ve been scrambled. He wasn’t sure if that was your way of thanking him. He wasn’t about to let you throw yourself on him – who knows how you would’ve felt the next day.

But that’s not how you saw it, and you weren’t about to let him explain.

And this show you were putting on for him? He wasn’t dumb; he would’ve had to be oblivious to not know you were showing off for him. These skimpy outfits and tight dresses, necklaces that ended just at the top of your cleavage, skirts that ended just at the curve of your ass – he loved every minute of it. But he wanted you ­­out of it at the same time.

You were treating him like shit, which he didn’t enjoy. He could’ve stopped by now: dropped all your shit and walked right out of the store. Instead, he clenched his jaw, bit his tongue, and followed you around the block, holding your bags; the only saving grace was getting to walk behind you and stare at your shaking ass all day.

…

You pushed the apartment door open, barely holding it open long enough for Bucky to slip through, carrying bags lined up his arms. You heard the crinkling of some of the paper bags as the door shut on him. He took one step in, letting the door fall shut, then dropped everything to the floor nicely.

“No,” you said, not looking up from your cell phone. You pointed a finer across the room. “Bedroom.”

A sharp laughed cracked through the silence. You almost flinched, starting at Bucky cackling loudly at you. “That’s not my job.”

You stared at him, narrowing your eyes in challenge. “Excuse me?”

He crossed his arms over his chest, shit-eating-grin unfaltering. “You heard me, princess.”

You didn’t move. Instead, you took a step backwards as he approached you. He walked towards you until you were backed up against the kitchen counter. You mimicked his arms, crossing them over your own chest, inadvertently pushing your cleavage up – which you noticed when you saw his eyes flit down for the tiniest second before returning to your own eyes, a tinge of pink lacing his cheeks – not that he cared. “Don’t fucking call me that,” you spat, tilting your chin up. You were not intimidated by him.

He got so close that your pelvises were nearly touching. He leaned down, dropping his hands to the countertop on either side of you, his lips barely grazing the shell of your ear as he bent closer. “What do you want me to call you, baby?”

God, you looked so real in that moment. Caught off guard, maybe. But your usual forced scowl was replaced by your surprised expression, eyebrows raised, mouth slightly ajar, tongue tucked right where your two plump lips meet. You were holding your breath, he could tell. He liked you like this, better. When you weren’t trying to be all hard and intimidating, when you didn’t know how to react – couldn’t deal with these emotions because just this once, they were real.

You stumbled over your words, mind suddenly not processing anything. His stubble rubbed ever so lightly over your jaw, his breath tickling your neck. You didn’t know how long you were standing there. It felt like forever since either of you said anything.

Suddenly, he pulled away – just like before. You released your breath, about to speak and then –

He grabbed your face in both hands (one warm to the touch, the other cold from the marble) and held you so that you eyes gazed up at him. His blue eyes looking back into yours, a smile pulling at one corner of his lips. He pulled your head upwards, leaning his own down, meeting in the middle in a soft, tender kiss. He shrugged, letting himself fully tilt into the kiss, hips touching each other’s; you swung your arms around his neck, pulling yourself up to him, chest pressing against his.

God, you could get used to this.

And all it took was a little shopping.

[imanativeofswlondondahling]

Being A Star (4)- Peter Parker x Stark!femReader

Count: 2071

Warnings: Language as Steve would say

Author’s Note: Here’s the next chapter! Let me know what you think or if you want to be added to the tag for future chapters!

Becoming A Stark || Chapter One Being A Stark|| Masterlist

Life finally feels normal again. At least as much as it can for missing five years in the middle of your life, having a new sister, and living in a new house. But your dad is home which is the biggest thing. Dr. Cho is talking about having to send him to a specialist to deal with the after effects on his arm, but for now she’s let him come home with the sling holding the dead weight of his arm. The marks freak Morgan out so Tony has been wearing a lot of flannels over his arm so she doesn’t have to see it. You’re not supposed to know, but you overheard your parents talking about how Dr. Cho thinks most of your dad’s arm will probably need to be cut off. She hadn’t done it in hopes of saving it, but her messages about your dad’s case with the specialist said there is little hope that the arm can be saved. Especially since it’s causing your dad pain, which you didn’t know. You try to imagine your dad without his arm, but it just doesn’t seem right.

A knock on your door pulls you from your thoughts. “Shouldn’t you be asleep kiddo? You’ve got the second first day of ninth grade tomorrow?” 

“In which I will be the only one starting the year since everyone else started last week.” You say with a roll of your eyes as Tony walks over to sit on the edge of your bed.

“Even so, you’re not one to stay up late on a school night unless you have homework and seeing as I know you already finished it…” He trails off. “Wanna talk about it?” You slide towards the left side of your bed to make room and Tony moves to sit next to you. His good arm wraps around your shoulder and you lean into the smell of him, cinnamon from his cologne and mint from his aftershave. The only scent missing was the smell of him being in the lab, but until he was cleared to work on things like his cars and other science projects, he was restricted from going into the garage.

“I, uh, heard you and Mom talking the other night.” You say softly. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, but you were going back to your room after using the bathroom and had heard them from the top of the stairs.

“Heard us? Talking about?” Tony asks, not following what you’re talking about.

“Your arm. How they might cut it off.”

“Ah.”

“How you’re in pain.” You mutter the words. 

“I wasn’t keeping that from you, if you’re up late feeling bad about overhearing it.” You look up at him. “Your mom and I were going to talk to you about it after meeting with the specialist. We didn’t want you to be worrying if you didn’t need to be.”

“I’m not up because I felt bad.” Your bottom lip slips between your teeth as you pull at some of the skin there. “I don’t like that you’re in pain.”

“I feel the same way when you hurt kiddo. But that’s what this appointment is about. They think the stones did something to the tissue and nerves. They think it’s basically corrosive. So by taking the arm away, it would hopefully stop the pain.” Your eyebrows fall together as you think about this.

“But how would that affect everything else?”

“Well, I will have to use a prosthetic. And I’ll have to relearn how to do some stuff. But if it gets rid of the pain it will be worth it. Maybe Bucky will teach me all about having a detachable arm.”

“That guy who was bad but now isn’t, that’s a friend of Steve’s?” You ask, having heard the name but never having met the guy.

“That’s the one. He was brainwashed for a little bit into being a bad guy. But he’s all better now. I wouldn’t risk myself being around him if he wasn’t. And he did help us fight Thanos.” He smiles at you. “I think that makes him a good guy.”

“Fuck Thanos.” You mutter.

“Summed up my feelings entirely.” Tony says as his hand rubs your shoulder slightly.

“How do you just jump back into life after being gone for five years?” You ask the other question that has been simmering in your mind for the past few days. “Like my life just stopped? How do I get that back?”

“You seem to be doing a good job at getting it back so far. Hanging out with Mom and Morgan and your favorite old man.” He teases.

“Dad, I’m serious.” You lean into him as you let the words leave your lips. “The past couple weeks have… they felt like they are a part of my new life. But by going back to school, I’m having to be old me all over again? How do I just slip back into that?”

“New life?”

“My old life didn’t include a little sister or waiting for my dad to come home from being injured. It was a whole different thing. I’m in a new house, I haven’t had to do anything that seems like things I would have done before I just poofed.” You didn’t want to admit it, but you had been avoiding Peter partially for that reason. Peter was pre Blip. Morgan was post Blip. How do you make them go together? 

“What things are you nervous about having to deal with?” 

“I…. I’m scared it will all go away again.” You admit. Every day when you wake up, you feel like crying that you’re still there. 

“Being scared is a normal reaction. We all get scared sometimes.”

“You’re Iron Man. You’re saying you get scared? You literally save the world.”

“I lost you. I lost half the universe. I wake up at night and think that you’re still gone. I’m scared I’ll wake up and this will all be a dream. There’s stuff from before the Blip that still causes me to have panic attacks. I get scared easily kiddo. I’m far from perfect at dealing with things.”

“And how do you deal with all of it?”

“I lean on Pepper. I hug you and Morgan as close as humanly possible. I tried therapy once, but should find a different doctor. I tinker. I focus on the things I can control.” 

“So I should just keep going even if I’m scared?” Tony nods slowly. 

“Is this fear why I haven’t seen a certain Spider-boy around?” You bite the inside of your cheek and don’t answer. “I may not like the idea of you dating people for selfish reasons, but I know he makes you happy. So maybe lean on him instead of pushing him away? Just a suggestion.”

“I…” You trail off, not knowing if you should voice the other thought going through your mind.

“You…?”

“Have you ever thought about how the world would look without you in it?”

“Sure, in a dark moment. Why do you ask?” Tony’s concerned but wants to see where you’re going with this.

“I left, and you guys just moved on. So what’s the point of slipping back into what I did pre Blip if everyone was fine without me?” You ask, not looking at your dad. You find you can’t meet his eyes after saying it.

“We continued living. But we didn’t move on.” Tony wishes he had two working arms so he could pull you into a tight hug and not let go. 

“You had a whole other kid while I was gone. How is that not moving on?”

“Morgan was on her way before you Blipped.” You look up at your dad with all the confusion you’re feeling painted across your features. “If the Blip had happened seven weeks later, you would have Blipped knowing that you had a sibling on the way. The last thing we wanted to do after losing you, was try to replace you. And Morgan could never replace you.” He pulls you in closer with his good arm. “I came back from being lost in space with Nebula, thinking I was going to have to tell you I lost your boyfriend. Then I took my first step off the ship and my eyes were searching for you and Pep- hoping I didn’t lose my family. But the moment I saw Pepper’s eyes, I knew it. She didn’t even have to say it. And when I knew you were gone, my whole world fell apart. It felt like my heart had been ripped out. I was sure my lungs were being crushed. I couldn’t breathe. I had a panic attack in front of the remaining Avengers because we lost, but more importantly I lost you, my kid. It took a week before I could even talk to anyone besides Pep. Nearly a month before I could manage to talk about anything Avenger related. It hurt too much. I broke the one promise I swore I wouldn’t. I swore I would keep you safe and I hadn’t done that. I was across the galaxy as you faded into dust. So I promise you Y/N, we never moved on. We just did what we could to make losing you not hurt so much. We were far from fine without you.”

“I didn’t know.” You whisper, not knowing how much pain your dad had gone through. “I’m sor-”

“Don’t you dare finish that sentence. You have nothing to be sorry for. If anyone should apologize, it should be me for not stopping the Blip from happening.”

“That’s not your fault though. You may be an Avenger, but the world doesn’t rest on your shoulders.” You pause before saying. “If I’m not allowed to apologize, then neither are you.”

“You’re making demands now?”

“Mmmhmm. You perfected time travel to bring me back. And you brought my boyfriend back, willingly nonetheless. So I say there’s nothing to apologize for. No apologizing.”

“Ok, no apologizing.” Tony leans against your head. Tony decides to bring up a more positive subject. “Morgan loves that you tell her actual bedtime stories.”

“Actual bedtime stories? What have you been telling her?”

“Once upon a time there was a Morguna who went to bed, the end.”

“That’s the worst story I’ve ever heard. No wonder she likes my stories better.” You shrug. “They’re not that special. Just stories I would have made up when I was her age.”

“Vivid imagination?” You nod.

“Still have one. It’s why I love reading. Imagining far off places and new things to see. It’s amazing.” You lean into your dad’s shoulder as you explain.

“Ever thought about writing your own?”

“Story?”

“Book.”

“I’ve… contemplated it before. But never actually given it a try. What if I have nothing to say?”

“You’ll never know if you don’t try.”

“Wow, it’s cuddle time and I wasn’t invited?” Pepper stands barefoot in your doorway.

“There’s still room.” You pat the bed on the other side of you. Pepper smiles and comes to sit down next to you.

“What are we contemplating instead of sleeping?”

“Dad’s trying to convince me I should try to write a book.”

“You could write a book that is solely Morgan’s bedtime stories and I know you would have at least one reader.” Pepper agrees. 

“That’s just made up… shit.” You shrug off your parents’ suggestions. “It’s not a real story.”

“It’s a real story to Morgan. The person who decides the story is worth it is the person who wants to read it. But if you want to do something completely different, that’s ok too. You have plenty of time to figure out what to do in life.” Pepper says. “But, it is getting late and you do have to get up early to drive into the city.”

“You were the ones that chose to move out of NYC proper. So really it’s your fault.” You joke.

“True, but either way, you need to get some sleep so you don’t fall asleep in class.” Tony kisses your cheek. Pepper stands up, but then leans over to give you one more hug and a kiss. “Get some sleep kiddo. Tomorrow is going to be fine.”

“Whatever you say Dad.” Tony pulls your quilt around you and tucks it in tight. “Love you.”

“Love you too sweetheart.”

“Love you kiddo.”

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strike wont let me tag

[sincerelyasomebody]

Pinky Promise || Oscar "Spooky" Diaz

(GIF Credit: @merakiaes)

A/N: I've had this idea in my head for a while. It will be a two-part imagine/story. Apologises for any grammatical errors found. Once again, don't hesitate to correct me on the Spanish translations. 

Pairing(s): Spooky x Reader 

Summary: Life can change in an instant.

Warnings: allusions to absent parents; death; options within pregnancy, angsty, fluff, language, unplanned pregnancy

Word Count: 1282

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ -

Becoming the accountant for a few businesses in Brentwood allowed (Y/N) to live above her means. A complete change from the two years out of (college/university) where she barely scraped by, even moving back in with her parents when she was unable to keep up with the rent at her apartment. Thankfully, she was able to bring herself out of that predicament. Those two years were stepping stones into the success she's experiencing now. 

She eventually branched out and took on being the accountant for Joe's Diner in Freeridge. Despite hearing negative things about the area, she couldn't help but admire the community. Their friendly faces, charismatic personalities and willingness to help one another without expecting anything in return reminded her of the small town her grandparents lived in.

When (Y/N) got the opportunity, she'd go back for a visit. Only with her family though. Going back by herself would be a bit too painful. 

Not only did she admire the community she fell in love with it… and with somebody. 

Oscar 'Spooky' Diaz. 

The pair met while (Y/N) was double checking the hours each employee wrote down on their timesheet. He sat in her booth and started up a conversation. Love at first sight wasn't something (Y/N) believed in, but she couldn't deny that they had instant chemistry. All it took was a date for the pair to become an official couple. 

(Y/N) couldn't have been happier. 

She was making good money, she had met somebody who "got" her and for all intents and purposes she was content. Completely satisfied with the way her life was going. 

And then a curveball was thrown. 

"... measuring about six weeks… discuss your options… a follow up..." 

(Y/N) remembered bits and pieces of her doctor's appointment. Going in for a simple check up resulted with the black and white picture in her hands. She was going to be a mother. Shaking her head she quickly tucked it into the pocket of her jacket and walked up the pathway of the Diaz household. She was surprised to see none of the usual Santos members hanging around outside, but figured they had more important matters. 

She was thankful though, as much as she liked the group she felt a sense of relief that they wouldn't be around to hear the news. 

"Está roto tu celular?" Oscar asked, as she walked through the door, when he received a head shake he continued, "then why haven't you been answering your phone?"

(Y/N) took a seat opposite him at the table, instead of answering his question she had one of her own. "Do you know what a wombat is?" 

"Why?" 

"Come on, just answer."

He scoffed, redirecting the conversation, "where were you?"

"I was busy." Was her response.

"Busy? That's all I get?" He glared, "for three days? No contact. Nothing. For three days!? I know you like your space (Y/N), but fuck! At least give me a heads up or something. Give me something. I'm dealing with shit from Cuchillos and 19th Street and all you can tell me is that you've been busy? To answer my calls?" He stood up, "fuck that!"

She watched as he began to pace between the kitchen and living room, "I'm sorry… but, uh – a wombat? Do you know –" 

"I don't give a fuck about a wombat, (Y/N)!" He yelled, walking back towards her, "after the second day of you not answering my calls and finding out that you used up a week of your sick leave I sent Sad Eyes and Oso by your place to check if anything had happened," he took a deep breath, "your car was parked in front and you weren't there. Only reason I stayed behind was in case you'd come here. You're here now and you can't even give me a straight answer." 

"A wombat is native to Australia and their poops are cubed," she blurted and giggled, "isn't that funny?"

"(Y/N)."

"Cubed poops, Osc. And, they –" 

"(Y/N)."

"– use it to mark their territory," she whipped out her phone and searched up an image of a wombat to show him, "see? Aren't they cute? Oh and let's look at the –" 

"(Y/N)!" 

She looked up at him, "yes?" 

Oscar huffed and moved towards the door, "you know what? Fuck it, get out. Spend another three days by yourself or whatever. I don't give a fuck anymore," he opened it up, "porque tenía mejores cosas que hacer con mi tiempo." 

(Y/N) knew she messed up. 

She didn't mean to downplay his feelings or dismiss his concerns. She just needed to build her way up to reveal the news. Now, she realised that it would've been easier to come out and say it. Rather than talk about one of the multitude of facts she had read recently. 

"I–I'm sorry, Oscar," she blinked back tears and reached into her jacket pocket, "whenever you called, I wanted to pick up. I really did, but I held back 'cause saying it over the phone wouldn't have been the right thing to do, you deserved to be told upfront." 

His eyebrows furrowed, "(Y/N)? What are you going on about?" 

She stood up, "I've been feeling unwell for a while. At first I thought it was nothing, especially since I decided to indulge in a (burger)." 

"You've told me that your body –" 

"I know… but, I just couldn't help myself, okay?" Pulling out the paper she held it in her hands, "anyway, I went and saw the doctors. I was given some news… and, I distanced myself 'cause I just needed time to think. I'm sorry that I never contacted you, I just needed to get myself together," she held it out to him, "I've gone over my options and… you can be there for them, we don't need to be together."

He walked towards her and took the paper out of her hands, unfolding the paper his eyebrows furrowed in confusion and then a look of realisation came upon him. (Y/N) took a step back as he stepped forward, she looked down at her feet until she felt his hands lift her chin. Her eyes connected with his. 

"You're pregnant." 

"I'm sorry." 

"No, (Y/N), don't ever apologise for this, okay? This is as much as me as it is you." He pecked her forehead, 

She took his hands away from her face, "like I said you don't need to be -" 

"Why wouldn't I want to be a part of this? Be a part of this family. My family." 

"You… still want me? No, wait – us?" 

Oscar wrapped his arms around her, "absolutely bonita!" he held her at arm's length, looking into her eyes, "we're in this together."  

"Really?" 

"Yeah, I'm not going anywhere, baby." He replied, easing her worries, "I'm gonna do better than what was done for me. This baby is gonna know who their dad is. And that no matter what, their dad's gonna be there for them." 

Not to be the bearer of bad news, she knew it had to be said, "what about Cuchillos and 19th Street?' 

"They'll be handled. You and our little blessing come first." 

(Y/N) gave a watery smile and placed his hands on her stomach. There wasn't a bump yet, it would probably pop out in a few months. Oscar bent down and placed his forehead against hers. The couple continued to embrace each other, enjoying the sense of peace that surrounded them. 

When they broke apart, he held her face in his hands again, "we're gonna be dope parents." 

- ♤ - ♡ - ◇ - ♧ - 

Spanish Translation(s): 

Está roto tu celular? - is your phone broken? 

Porque tenía mejores cosas que hacer con mi tiempo - because I've got better things to do with my time.

Bonita - beautiful