#i can’t think of any tws or warnings for this drawing but please let me know I’d you need something tagging!!! | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

koosbabygrl · 2 years ago

Text

|Ringmaster|• seokjin

Summary • Lured in by the sights and sounds of the most famous circus in town, events take a strange turn once you become part of the show. Genre • Dark yandere||Explicit||Smut - REPOST Pairing • Seokjin x reader TW • Non-con sexual intercourse, kidnapping, manipulation, drugging, bondage, sadistic jin, tickling kink, subtle urophilia, agalmatophilia, perversion, vomit, explicit sexual content, choking, unprotected sex, disassociation, DARK YANDERE, use of needle/drugs, controlling, non-con use of sex toy, non-con touching, non-con roleplay, obsessiveness, physical fight, mentions of trauma and mental health struggles. Word count • 10.2 k

•This is DARK yandere. Please do not read if these things trigger you. I do not condone or support these acts. My writing is purely fictional and does not truly represent any member.

please don’t copy, steal, plagiarize, re-post, or otherwise use without permission

The air smelled of stale popcorn, the sights and sounds bringing back a nostalgia you vaguely recollect from when you were younger. You can’t think back on the last time you went to such an event, as deluded as it was. Everything was designed to draw you in, trick you, manipulate and deceive you--yet the ambience of the grounds still drew people in. The main event was up ahead and you felt silly getting excited over something you’ve seen countless times through personal experience and television. As juvenile as it was, you couldn’t help but turn back to your friend with an excited smile.

“So they say this ringmaster is hot. He can be my ringmaster any day,” she comments smugly.

“Oh, shut up!” you tease, smacking your coworker on the arm. She made the offer to bring you to the circus after having received free tickets from a raffle she won at work. “We are here to see the ‘freak show’, not make eyes at the ringmaster.”

“Whatever. You know there is no such thing as a ‘freak’ anyway. Most of these people wear makeup and prosthetics to make them look unique. If you ask me, it’s quite offensive.”

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. It’s just funny how I get so excited just from the lights and the music. Does that make me weird?”

Your friend simply smiles and shoves you lightly into the tent. There were more people present than you expected and finding a seat was proving to be a problem. By some miraculous chance you spot exactly two seats right near the front row.

“Look, there’s some. Let’s hurry.”

Finally sitting, you take a moment to absorb your surroundings. Children and adults alike are eagerly waiting, the brilliant joy on their faces making you feel less like an oddball. It made sense to feel this way. Though not many people enjoyed the circus, something about the whole style of it incited curiosity. Before you could remove your jacket, the lights began to dim and the music faded. The spotlights dangling from the tent began their infamous swirling as the drums announcing the introduction of the ringmaster began their furious beat. With a sharp tug, the curtains on the left side of the ring opened swiftly, revealing a brightly colored podium with nothing but a black top hat neatly set on top of it.

The audience gasps when the main director was nowhere to be seen, joined by the floodlights that chaotically search around revealing nothing but an empty ring. “That wasn’t expected,” mocks your coworker, but you were way too caught up in the search wondering where the man of the hour had disappeared to.

“Stop ruining this. You’re such a party pooper.”

As your skeptical friend chuckles, your eyes return to the darkness surrounding the stage doing your best to adjust from the bright lights that rove around. And then, without a warning, a soft brush over the shell of your ear makes you turn in suspense.

“Shhh,” comes the sound over the mic, the owner of it still unknown. The audience stills and listens, already intoxicated by the entire show. “If you looked a little closer, you’d see I’m...right...over…here,” As he harshly whispers his last word, you jolt in response, totally confused and unsure about what was happening. Within seconds, the voice near you disappears leaving you a quivering mess.

“What the hell was…”

A sudden click of the lights brings darkness over the ring once again and for a few seconds all that could be heard were the whispers of wonder from the crowd. Then suddenly every single light comes back on revealing the entire ring floor and the mysterious master everyone was looking for.

“Come one! Come all to the greatest, most unique, highly coveted and amazing grand circus you’ll ever see. My name is Jin and I’ll be your ringmaster this evening.”

With a bow, he hops off his podium and swings back behind the curtains effectively triggering the next event to follow.

You watched him the entire night wondering how he managed to get so close to you without you even realizing. He was obviously very good at his job, and from the looks of it, your friend wasn’t lying about his attractiveness. The way he carried himself as he introduced each show, light on his feet, broad shoulders and a smile that could swoon the strongest heart, was quite astounding. You were a bit embarrassed to admit it, but you wouldn’t mind him cracking the whip over your…

“Earth to, ____. Did you hear anything I said?”

“Oh, sorry...no.”

“I told you he was hot. I’ll be back, just gonna grab a drink. Want anything?”

“No thank you.”

As soon as she walks off, you continue to focus on the man commanding the stage. He had an amazingly gorgeous purple jacket that shimmered in the light. It was obvious that every bead and stone sewn into it was done with great care. His black high boots compliment his long legs that are covered by black tights leaving nothing to the imagination. You wonder if maybe he was wearing a cup, the size definitely above average, but this certainly wasn’t a sports game.

Somewhere along the line he exchanged the whip in favor of a cane, and once again your mind began to wander into dangerous territory. The show was amazing to say the least and when it was all set and done, you were a little disappointed. Not wanting to end the night just yet, you find yourself staying behind as the crowd begins to leave.

“Hey, you coming? The bus should be here in twenty minutes.”

“No, you go ahead. I’m just gonna sit here for a minute and take it all in.”

“Oh really? You’ve got money for a cab? You’re a big baller now?”

She was being silly you knew, but it wasn’t a lie. You both chose to take the bus since you didn’t want to park downtown where everyone and their mother would be. Not to mention the ridiculous prices for parking in one of the event lots. As for the money, you weren’t exactly making what you were hoping, and still recovering from paying your mother’s medical expenses, you were trying to be as conservative as possible. Tonight, however, you needed a moment for you, and a few extra bucks weren’t going to matter in the long run.

“Very funny. It’s fine. I’ll be fine. You go on. I’m not looking forward to going over my report tonight, so let me have this.” You gesture a plea and she gives in easily.

“Yeah, yeah. Just watch your back. They might just recruit you to be a part of the freak show.”

“Ha, ha...very funny.” You mock her and wave your hand dismissively. She walks off leaving you alone, the sudden silence filling the room making you feel uncomfortable. It took you a few minutes, but you managed to stand up with a sigh. It was time for you to go. Hoping to catch the fried dough stand before it closes, you pick up your pace a little, your exit just a few feet away.

“Leaving so soon?”

A familiar voice stops you, though now it was less amplified without the microphone. You turn hoping to catch him this time, happy that you were quicker than before.

“Yeah. I’m not exactly a part of the show, though, I think I might fit in with the clowns.”

“Cute and witty. I was right.”

His compliment successfully catches your attention. “You were right?”

“Yes. When I saw you earlier tonight I knew you were unique...special.”

If it were any other man talking to you this way you would have turned and walked away, but the glimmer in his eyes and his flirting tone intrigue you. His looks were also quite captivating. Up close like this, you could see his pretty lips and perfect face. He had broader shoulders than what you remember, but the padding in his jacket made him look even wider.

“Ha, thanks. I’m hardly special. I really enjoyed your show tonight. If anything was special, it was that. I’d forgotten how much I love being captured by the wonder of it all.”

“It’s my pleasure. I’ve dedicated much time to perfecting it all. I’m very particular about how things should look and sound. It’s a hobby.”

“Well, I admire it. Anyway, I should get going if I’m going to finish looking over my report. Once again, thank you.”

“Wait.”

You stand still as Jin walks forward and stands before you. He eyes you quietly and then removes his jacket carefully placing it down on one of the seats. “Please don’t go. I rarely get to speak with one of my guests, and you are particularly beautiful if I do say so myself. Pardon my boldness but, would you like to come again tomorrow night? I can guarantee you the perfect seat with no distraction from the audience. Perhaps you could be part of the show?”

Never before had you been seduced by a man with such polite manners, and even less so, a man that was in charge of a circus. It was quite comical, but the look on his face meant he was very serious about his proposal. It was a strange way to ask someone on a date, but you felt flattered nonetheless. It’s not like you’ve been approached by a ringmaster before.

“Oh, wow. You really don’t have to. I mean...what would I even do? I’ve never done anything in front of an audience before.”

“You don’t have to do much of anything. You can sit in my private booth. It has plenty of curtains to conceal you and then when I call you out, you simply walk down the ramp over there and hold my top hat while I perform a magic trick.”

His explanation seemed easy enough and even though you felt nervous, it was a little hard to say no when he was smiling so beautifully at you.

“Yeah, sure--why not. This would certainly be a stress reliever. Okay, yeah. I’ll be here.”

“Great!”

The next night came quicker than you expected and not wanting to seem like a weirdo, you didn't mention to your coworker that you were going to go back to the very place you both mocked the day before. You didn’t want to admit it, but you felt shy, and knowing that the sexiest man you’ve ever seen was waiting for you made it even more difficult to control your breathing.

The crowd was already building, the atmosphere reminding you of the night before, except this time you would be a willing participant. A little bit confused about where exactly you should be going, your worries were quickly put to rest when a circus member came up to you.

“Hello, you must be our guest for tonight. Jin asked me to take you to his personal seating. Please follow me.”

As the member led you toward the location, you realized you hadn’t even told Jin your name the night before. You found it weird of him not to ask, but then again, the circumstances had been kinda weird.

As soon as you arrive you know it. The tent is beautiful, ornately designed with pretty gems and rhinestones--satin ribbons that were colored completely different than what a circus would be. The curtains were thick and behind them you could vaguely hear Jin’s voice booming during the show. Apparently it already began and you start to worry you may have arrived too late.

“Where do I go? What should I do?”

“Just enter here. Jin will do the rest.”

As vague as it sounded, you simply did as you were asked. Opening the curtains, you walk into a small room noticing the lovely chandelier hanging from the center, and the pink roses in vases on almost every surface. It was like a dreamland. Curious, you walk toward the curtain where you hear Jin’s voice the loudest. Though you want to take a longer look around the pretty space that surrounds you, the temptation to carefully pull back the fabric is too great. The first thing you see is the back of Jin’s form. You are drawn in by his voice and the way he commands the show. With a wave of his wrist, the lights go off and gasps are heard all around.

“Come to me, now.”

You know the command is for you, so you quickly make your way to him as best as you can. The only light guiding you were the tiny string lights on the floor. His hand finds you first and pulls you close enough for only you to hear his words.

“Take off your clothes and put this on.”

Your eyes open wide in shock and for a moment you weren’t sure if you’d heard him correctly. “Take off my clothes?”

“Yes, quickly now. The lights will be on shortly.”

Not wanting the entire whole of the audience to see you naked, and knowing that it was already dark so there was no possibility of him seeing you in your underwear, you do as he says. The fabric he hands you feels slightly heavy but soft. It was clearly a cloak of some kind. Wrapping it around your shoulders, you work to tie the ribbon at your neck, but the feel of a pair of hands at your waist is not something you were expecting.

“Wha--”

“Hush. I’m just helping you be quicker. We have five seconds.”

You could feel his fingers buttoning the front with practiced skill, and just as the lights came on, you slid your arms out of the side openings and stood in awe when the audience came back into view. It was a strange feeling standing there, the shadows cast by the floodlights making it hard for you to distinguish their faces. You felt the vomit begin to build in your throat, but Jin’s hand came to settle on your back, soft circular motions helping ease the sensation.

“Ladies and Gentlemen! Boys and Girls! Tonight I have a lovely assistant to help me with my next trick. Please help me welcome…”

He turns then to glance at you and you blank. What in the hell was he getting at? Suddenly it hits you. Your name...he needed your name. “_____, my name is _____.”

“There you have it folks. Let’s give her a round of applause. Now, please pay close attention because I’m about to do what has never been attempted before. I will make this lovely lady disappear before your very eyes.”

You blink suddenly, panicking and unsure of what was taking place. He never told you about this part. He only mentioned a hat trick. What exactly were you supposed to do in front of all these people? You knew about magic tricks and how a lot of optical illusion was used, but you never practiced anything like this before. You swallow back your fears and try to go along with it. He was the greatest showman you’ve seen, so you simply put your trust in the fact that he knew what he was doing. His movements were hypnotizing, the audience’s attention drowning in the lights and sounds all around. You feel dizzy and it becomes hard to focus on anything he says. Your nerves are on edge and then without warning, a blanket of darkness surrounds you. Your feet lose stability, you feel yourself fall down and then land on a soft surface. What sounds like a trap door shuts above you and then there is silence. Without waiting, you remove the cloth sack that had somehow fallen on you and blow the hair out of your face.

Wherever you were, it was scary. There was barely any visual, just a low glow of light emitting from the corner. You crawl forward attempting to situate yourself and figure out where exactly you were, but metal bars are the first thing your fingers meet. It’s almost impossible to stand, so you hunch over walking the perimeter you were in realizing you were not in just any room. You were inside of a cage and it was no bigger than the size of a small bathroom. You can't make out much, so you use your hands as a guide to touch along every surface hoping that maybe there was a door you were supposed to exit from, but when you finally find it, a padlock prevents such a thing.

You didn’t want to jump to any conclusions or even panic because this must be part of the show and you were sure Jin or someone would come any minute to let you out. As you wait seated in the corner with your knees pulled up to your chest, the sounds above ring on and you can’t help getting more and more tired as you sit in the darkness waiting. It was the only thing you could do since you’d already convinced yourself that maybe they needed to end the show before they could come to you--they all had to be busy doing some part of the show, right?

It was way later, how long you weren’t sure, that a noise at the cage jolts you awake. “Hello! Oh thank God. I’ve been waiting for so lon--”

Jin was at the door, his presence looming due to the shadows that cast off his body and face. “Hey, you did so good, ____. Your name is really pretty. Come.”

He gestures with his hand and for some reason you hesitate a little. This had all gotten to be a bit too much and you had a bone to pick with him for leaving you in that cage for so long. When you reach the door, he puts out his hand and you grab it even though your anger was starting to build by the obvious lack of remorse from him.

“Jin, I don’t appreciate what you did. You changed the whole show and didn’t even warn me. And then...you left me alone in this cage for what seemed like hours. I want to go home.”

While you rant and walk ahead of Jin, you come to the realization that you don’t even know where you are going. This lower level is so dark and Jin’s presence behind you isn’t exactly comforting. He hasn’t said much and you start to feel incredibly uncomfortable by this whole situation.

“But you already are home.”

“Wha--”

You didn’t get the chance to spin around and look at him. The next thing you knew you were struggling in his grip, a cloth over your mouth, and then darkness.

With a dry mouth and sore neck, you rouse to consciousness slowly. As your body begins to awaken, you start to move around, unconsciously stretching your limbs, only to come to the realization that you can’t move your hands. “Wha--”

It doesn’t take long for you to realize you are tied down by your hands and feet. Your head is killing you and you feel like your throat is on fire, but none of that matters--you need to get out of wherever you are.

You begin to scream hoping that someone will hear you. Even though it hurts, you scream and scream, your tears suddenly making themselves present. In a moment of exhaustion, you bow your head to rest when the sound of a door opening sets your nerves on edge.

“My, my...what a loud, pretty mouth you have. I was hoping you’d make this easier. I didn’t use the needle this time. Your pretty skin is too precious to puncture, but I can see you’re not very grateful for my mercy.”

For a second you think you’re hallucinating. The words that are coming out of his mouth seem unreal, and if he weren’t standing right in front of you in his physical form, you would indeed believe you were dreaming. “What do you mean needle--w-what are you saying? What is this?”

“Hush, darling. You’re only going to make your headache worse and strain your throat. I rather like your voice. I was hoping to make you a talking doll. You wouldn’t want me to sew your lips together would you?”

That shut you right up. If there was ever a level of crazy in your opinion, Jin had surpassed it. Suddenly it all made sense, the robe, the blanket, the cage...this had all been planned. You instantly regret ever coming to the show and even thinking you could trust him. The man before you was a psychopath and now you were stuck. You can’t believe that he actually kidnapped you in front of an entire crowd and yet no one was the wiser.

“Good. See how good you are? I actually knew it the moment I saw you sitting up front at my show. I had to go see you right away. You did feel me, didn’t you? I was so close. God, you smelled like heaven. You have the perfect skin and hair...and when you smile...your teeth...ugh...I just love when I don’t have to do reconstruction on teeth. It’s always messier than it needs to be. OH! Before I forget, I have a dress for you.”

“What the fuck! Let me go...please...please let me go!” Whatever he was planning, you didn’t want to be a part of it. The more he spoke, the more you felt your skin crawl. You’ve only ever heard of fucked up shit like this in movies and to be honest you preferred to die instead of doing whatever the fuck it was he wanted to do.

“Hey...I asked you to be quiet.” He comes close when he speaks the word, the remaining rush of air coming from his lips blowing over your face. You want to gag, his nearness enough to make you nauseous. You turn your head away not wanting to look at him- but you can’t keep from crying. This whole thing felt like some sort of twisted joke. Biting your lip, you nod in agreement and it was enough for him to move away from you.

“Good girl. You may want to know that I like to dress up my dolls. It’s my favorite hobby. I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable. I will need to remove your bra and panties and that will cause me to see your...privates. That’s okay, right? I mean, I would never touch you unless you wanted. I always leave it up to my dolls. After all, I need you to be smiley and happy. It’s been a long while since I’ve found another to be mine. My last doll...well...she wasn’t very good to me. After all I did for her--she was so ungrateful. It doesn’t matter now. She’s not around anymore. You have all my attention. So...where should we start?”

He walks forward and you flinch. You couldn’t help it. It was futile to try and hide it knowing that you were already as good as dead. Your chest heaves with the cries you can’t subdue, and there was nothing you could do to stop him since your arms and legs were tied.

“I usually use a knife to start--it helps me get the clothes off faster, but I’ve been a little sloppy at times and ended up ruining my perfect baby’s skin. I’m going to use these scissors instead. You ready?”

As he began to cut away at your clothes, you shut your mind down and pretended none of this was happening, that you weren’t really tied down in some lunatic's basement being stripped of your clothes and dignity. The faster you breathe, the more lightheaded you become. It didn’t take long for you to pass out.

“Aww, what a pity. I would have liked for you to see how pretty your clothes are. Oh well.”

As you lay unconscious, Jin cut away at your clothes. He took his time, eyes roaming over your body as if it were art in a museum. His fingers itch to touch, but he was a gentleman. He swiftly removes your boring clothes and then begins dressing you with the hand made clothes he had pre-made for you. It only took him one look to know exactly what would fit you. The baby pink cloth he chose was perfect against your skin. He knew it would be. There was no need for underwear, not when he could see the peak of your nipples showing through the transparent cloth so perfectly. You really were something to behold. Satisfied with his work, he pulls out his makeup kit and goes to work. This was his favorite part. Everything about you was more than he could ask for. The more he stares at you, and the more makeup he applies, the harder it is for him not to sneak a taste. Tenderly he bends down to kiss your lips and when you sigh he feels his heart constrict.

“So fucking perfect, darling. I’m so sorry, but I couldn’t resist.”

When everything is done, he gets up with a satisfied smile and leaves the room. He knew you’d need to rest before you put on his best show.

Once again you awoke to unfamiliar surroundings and your limbs bound. You were thirstier than you remember and the darkness all around you made you want to sleep more, but you couldn’t. There had to be a way to get out. You begin to struggle against the binds praying that maybe Jin wasn’t so good at tying, but a bright light suddenly pops on beaming right on you. You could barely see anything, the power of the bulb making your headache come back full force. The sound of clapping makes its way to you, and it was obvious it was a recording. What was definitely not a recording was the sound of Jin’s voice over the speakers in the room.

“Gentleman and gentleman!” he giggles. “Tonight we have a special show for you, yes only you because there’s only one of me!” Again he laughs. “Let’s give it up for ____, the prettiest doll you ever did see.”

Again the recorded clapping sounds all around you along with cheers, yet you know there was only one person in the room. Suddenly your arms start to get pulled up, along with your legs. You were being lifted up against your will and though you wanted to fight it, the height you were being taken to seems pretty far from the floor.

From somewhere in the darkness, Jin’s clapping and jeering has you searching. At this point you were beyond exhausted and you weren’t even sure how many hours you’d been trapped. You also felt so unlike yourself. Your body felt heavy and your head was spinning.

“Lovely! Look how pretty you are. Why don’t you give us a turn.”

The ropes holding you rotate your body and then drop your arms a bit forward so that you are bent forward with your hips elevated higher. They begin to tug your limps back and forth making it seem like you are dancing and every tug and pull only makes you feel sicker. Unable to hold back, you vomit all over the floor below you.

“Oh no! OH NO! This won’t do. My darling.”

You feel yourself getting lowered down softly until you’re settled in the pool of your own vomit. The next thing you feel are Jin’s hands lifting you up and carrying you off somewhere. Water droplets fall over your head and you realize you’ve been carried to a shower. It feels amazing and even though Jin removed your clothes, you didn’t care. Even when he begins cleaning your body and shampooing your hair, you just sit on the tiled floor letting him do it. You don’t register how he too was naked and that he was sporting an erection.

He carries you out of the bathroom all wrapped in a towel and sits you on a vanity chair. He brushes your hair and puts lotion over your skin, not once uttering a single word. When he’s all finished, he carries you to his bed and tucks you in. He knew the injection he gave you while you were passed out was too much, but he didn’t want you to wake up while he was still styling you for his show. He should’ve known when it took you much longer than the others to wake up. It was stupid of him to put you through it when you were such a fragile and soft baby. He caresses your face and hair as he lay next to you naked. You were both naked because let’s face it, he was greedy like that. He watches your eyelashes flutter and wonders what in the world you might be dreaming. Hopefully by the morning everything would be better.

Feeling like you’d been hit by a brick wall, you could barely move your arms, the soreness running from your neck down to the tips of your fingers. Your legs hurt as well and your stomach made an unpleasant sound. What the hell was happening? You try to turn but a vice-like grip over your waist keeps you in place. Slowly you turn your head to find that Jin is asleep and is holding you tight. As quietly as you can, you start to remove his hand and slide out of his grip. You make it a few steps before Jin’s voice startles you.

“Where do you think you’re going?”

He spoke sleepily, not even making a move to grab you. It was like he knew you couldn’t go anywhere. That didn’t stop you from trying. Not looking back at him, you scan the room for anything that could help you make an escape. You spot the brush from last night and grab it quickly turning to fight him and then realize how stupid you were being. What could you possibly do with a brush?

This gets Jin’s attention. He sits up, the blanket laying over his hips revealing his upper body and abs. His hair was a shaggy mess and lips swollen from sleep. Were it another time or another Jin, you might say he looked good enough to eat, but this was not a normal man. He was a killer, with weird kinks you didn’t even want to think about. Whatever it was he was doing with you had made him your number one enemy, and there was no way you could see him in any sexual way.

“Come here, darling. What do you plan to do with that brush, hm? Why don’t you come back to bed. You must be so hungry after that wonderful display you put on last night. I must say, the floodlights left little to the imagination with the way your sheer clothes revealed….everything. It’s too bad you got sick. That was my fault. Come to bed, silly. Breakfast should be here any minute.”

His words remind you of the hunger you had suppressed and suddenly your belly starts to rumble. Even though it was tempting, you don’t move. Who knows what else he has up his sleeve.

When Jin senses your hesitance, his annoyance wells up. “I said come here, darling. Don’t make me come get you.”

Your body begins to shake, out of fear or hunger--you’re not sure. When he moves a leg off the bed, you quickly scurry to your side and sit down slowly eyeing him the entire time with the brush in your hand as your defense.

“Good girl. Now, give me the brush. You’ll need your hands for eating.”

“I don’t wan--”

“Brush. Now.”

You hand it hesitantly and then watch as he gets up off the bed and walks to the vanity, placing it down gently. It was so disgusting to see that somehow this little game he was playing was turning him on. He was partially aroused, and remembering your nakedness, you cover up quickly feeling sick to your stomach.

“Darling. I hate to have to do this but, you haven’t proven to me that you’re trustworthy. I already told you about the others and yet you want to test me. I really like you a lot. In fact, probably more than the others. I’ve never laid next to my other girls. You’re the first. That’s why it hurts me to have to tie you up again.”

“NO! Please. I-- I promise you don’t have to. I won’t--I mean..Please...don’t do that I won’t be bad again…”

Opening the drawer in front of him Jin grabs the ropes he used for his extracurricular activities and walks over to you. He hated that his body was making it obvious how much he liked you when he wanted to hold the power over you, but you had control over him--strangely. When he gets to your side of the bed, you are clearly ready to put up a fight and he wasn’t in the mood for it. His hand shoots out to your neck and tightens leaving you in shock.

“Don’t make me hurt you, ____. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. And after last night, with you getting sick from the injection, I wouldn’t want to force you another way. Remember, I’m a gentleman. Now be a good darling and give me your hands. If you’re worried about eating. I’ll feed you.”

You feel his thumb squeeze tighter and though your own hands grip against his in an attempt to escape, he is much stronger. Feeling yourself grow weak, you let your hands fall and give in to his will. Placing them in front of you, Jin quickly ties you up and locks you in place.

“There. You always look so lovely with ropes. This is why I consider you my prettiest doll. I’ve never seen anyone look as good as you do in the clothes I’ve made. It’s like you were made for them. With the ropes on and the makeup...the outfit...gahh…”

His hand slams against the headboard beside your head and he squeezes his thighs together, his free hand pressing down against the erection that’s been annoying him for hours. “Fuck! Do you see what you do to me? You’re my perfect doll. Can’t you see that? You were made for me. I can’t wait to put you in the next outfit I have for you. It comes with ribbons for your pigtails and---”

A knock at the door stops his discourse. He grabs a nearby robe and answers the door. When the food enters the room you almost want to cry. The smell is amazing and for a moment you forget everything else.

“Hungry, darling?”

This time you don’t hold back, nodding desperately wanting him to bring you the food immediately. You’re not sure how many days have gone by with the lack of windows and clocks in this prison you were in. You've been in and out of consciousness so many times, and honestly, your hunger was starting to be the most important thing right now.

“I didn’t know what you would like so I took the liberty of ordering everything. I have a wonderful staff here. They’re paid for their work and their silence. It’s quite amazing actually. I can focus on my career and my hobbies. So, how about some fruit?”

Whatever Jin was saying was not registering. Your eyes were focused on the food and nothing else. When Jin brought up a piece of fruit to your mouth, you took it eagerly, not caring if the juice dripped over your chin. He continued to feed you more and more, occasionally slipping a finger into your mouth hoping your tongue would lick over it. The more he fed you, the harder he got, the robe now rubbing over the tip of his length as he fidgeted in his seat.

“There, what a good darling you are. Feeling better?”

“Water please.”

Jin did not linger, quickly grabbing the glass of water and bringing it to your lips. When you begin to chug he tries to keep up with your demand, but his hand slips and he wets your entire neck and chest. “Shit, I’m sorry, doll. Let me.”

He removes the wet blanket that shields you and you jerk forward not wanting for him to see you, but it was too late. You were nude once again, and this time, Jin makes no attempt to hide the lust in his eyes.

“I don’t think I can wait any longer. I have your new outfit here...in this closet. I won’t put you in my stage room for this because I want this to be...for me...between us--intimate.”

You couldn’t help but to cry again, the sick and twisted games he was playing too much for you to handle. “No...please don’t make me do that. Jin, please let me go. I’ve done everything you’ve asked. I won’t tell anyone I promise. I’ll do anything...I--”

His hand over your mouth silences you. “___. You really like to run your mouth too much and...it’s driving me crazy. Your begging is so pretty, but please shut up. I know what’ll change your mind. Wait here.”

He seems way too happy when he runs to search in the drawer. You start tugging harshly against the ropes not caring that it was pulling against your skin and making it bleed. You’re so focused on it that when Jin comes up and tugs your legs down, you yelp in shock.

“DARLING! Stop or else it’s going to hurt.”

When you look down you see him holding a small object unfamiliar to you. He puts it into his mouth and pulls it out with a smile, satisfied with how his spit coats the surface. Another item calls your attention--lube? While he holds your legs down with one arm and half his body, his other hand works to lube the object and then he spreads your legs. You begin to fidget unsure of what he intends to do.

“LISTEN TO ME!”

His booming voice makes you stop instantly, the viciousness behind it making it clear you should give him your full attention.

“Okay good. Keep your legs still...you don't want that again do you?” He gestures to the needle on the dresser and you freeze.

“I see we speak the same language. Now, because I would never touch a lady without her permission, I’m going to need you to do something for me. Push this inside of you.”

Your mouth drops open the moment you realize what he is asking you to do. He is holding some sort of toy and for whatever sick reason he wants you to put it inside of yourself. Not wanting him to drug you again and even less for him to do it himself, you grab it and slide it in, your tears trailing over your cheeks the entire time.

Jin sits back and watches you, amazed at how much more compliant you’ve become. He was glad because he really did favor you above the others. As soon as it disappears inside of you, he grabs his phone and turns the dial to the lowest setting. Immediately you buck up and he smirks. “Good. Now let’s get you dressed.”

His outfit for you is sweet and simple. It wasn’t a typical doll outfit since it was more lace than cotton. He manages to include ribbons tied at your elbow and knees. The material is so revealing it looks like it belongs in a stripclub. There is an opening at your cunt allowing access to anyone wanting it--mainly him. He manages to tie your hair into pigtails and paint marionette markings on all your joints. The entire process takes him a few hours. While he works on you he plays with the controls on his phone increasing the vibrations inside of you slowly. As much as you try to hold back, a few orgasms rack your body.

When he finishes getting you ready, he stands back admiring his work. Out of all his previous babies, you were the most gorgeous. “You’re perfect, ___. This outfit was made for you. I am confident you’re going to put on an amazing show. This time we will be in here so there is no need to feel nervous. My eyes will be on you and nowhere else. Let’s set you up.”

He somehow managed to tie you to the high posts on the frame of his bed effectively getting you to stand. Everything happened so fast and with the distraction of the looming needle sitting on the dresser and the vibrating toy inside of you, Jin was able to get you to do exactly as he wished. You were splayed out, arms and legs open like a starfish, looking like a lamb ready for the slaughter. His low chuckle made you nauseous, but after your previous display, you didn’t want his hands on you anymore. The way he stood off in the corner of the room sitting back on his velvet chaise brewed a hatred within you that you never experienced before. If this fucker wanted a show, that’s exactly what you would do, but…

Another vibration forces your body to shudder. You can’t close your legs to stave off the stimulation nor can you pull it out. You can see part of your reflection to the right of you in the mirror on the dresser and it’s beyond degrading. The tiny pink string hanging out of you nauseates you, the foreign and unwelcome object making your head spin. If only you could pull it out and focus on that damned needle.

“Look at you. It’s cute--the way you act like you don’t want this. Your body tells me differently, baby. Look at your pretty nipples…so hard and sensitive. Does it hurt you when the lace rubs over them? You want to cum again, don’t you?”

When he goes to turn up the vibrator once again, you scream out. You can’t help it, the overstimulation is too much to bear and if he continues on like this you might pass out from exhaustion. “NO! NO...please no more. I c-can do--I can do it without the toy. P-please take it out. Let me s-show you.”

Your request captures Jin’s interest. Could it be that you were going to do a show for him all on your own? All his other disobedient girls needed motivation and never offered such a gift. He was tempted.

“Is that so? I kind of like you like this all whimpery and messy. Your thighs are so shiny from all the arousal you’re leaking, baby. Don’t you like how good I am to you?”

“I doo, I dooo, b-but...I can be better. I can be a good girl. Let me try. Please.” You hope he takes the bait because frankly, you had no other option. This was going to be the only opportunity as far as you could tell. There was no guarantee he’d let you be with him alone like this again, nor that he’d have a needle full of god knows what to knock you out. You wait and watch the decision playing over his features until another buzz shocks you into another orgasm.

Jin snickers as he watches your body convulse and then fall forward. The only thing sustaining you are the ropes he tied like a professional. It’s pretty amazing how good he’s gotten. The first few girls had successfully gotten free, but they never made it past the main hall. Pathetic little bitches. You, however, were tied up like a perfect little treat, unable to escape and drooling from the amount of orgasms he’s gifted your body. For a moment he enjoys the show, until a drop of blood lands on his sheets.

“Princess!” His voice shocks him, the worry laced within it unlike anything he’s ever felt before. He hops up and over to you, checking every inch of your body. When he finally reaches your face, he sees you’ve bitten your bottom lip hard--probably to keep from screaming out your pleasure. You were such a spirited and stubborn little thing.

“Okay, fine. I never do this, so consider yourself lucky. I’ll let you show me what you can. You need to hydrate first.”

Jin unties you and sets you on the bed where you sit in agony. The temptation to pull out the toy is still there, but now that you were free, you didn’t want to push your luck. He comes back with water and lets you drink. You’re thirstier than you realize, and almost want to sigh in pleasure at the feeling of flowing down your throat.

“There’s a good girl. So, tell me, did you still want this toy inside or not?”’

You almost spit out the water with how fast you answer him, “NO!”

“Have it your way,” Jin chuckles.

You hope he’s giving you the chance to remove it, but you should have known better. Kneeling before you, he opens your legs, letting his fingers slide softly up your thighs. When he reaches your center, he spreads your lips open and wraps the cord over his middle finger and pulls slowly.

The action causes your legs to shake, but you suppress it by pressing down on your knees with your palms. Jins stares up at you taking his sweet time removing the distressing device.

“There.” The popping sound it makes as he pulls it out is embarrassing, and as soon as he’s clear of your legs, you snap them closed and exhale.

Jin stands back and admires your flushed skin, the sweat on your brow, and the wetness coating the vibrator purchased especially for you. It was a pity you didn’t want to play with it anymore. He had so many wonderful plans for it, but at the moment he was more intrigued by whatever show you promised him. He stands back and leans against the dresser, the very same holding the syringe you so desperately want to reach.

Not wasting anymore time, and battling against complete and utter exhaustion, you stand to your feet and put on your best face. Using the frilly attire to your advantage, you run your hand up your thighs, over your belly and over your breasts. You sway your hips side to side slowly, a seductive dance you hope will ensnare him. His eyes are glued to you already, the attention making you feel strangely powerful. Sliding your hands back behind your neck, you feather your hair over your arms and bring one back over your face and onto your lips. Making sure to lock eyes with him, you notice his flicker to your lips where your fingers are currently playing with your tongue, fingertips running gently over it and slowly entering your mouth.

“Enough!” Jin growls, his patience having run its course.

It looks like he’s about to move away from the very place you need him to be and before you can walk over to pin him, he storms towards you. A hand comes to your throat and the force of it forces your feet backward. The edge of the bed meets your calves and now completely out of control, Jin takes over and lifts you onto the bed. There is nothing you can do, not when his hands are rushing to remove every inch of your clothing. He rips at the frilly material as if it were paper and pins your hands above your head with one of his own. He doesn’t bother to take off his robe, his cock already peeking through the opening on the front.

At this point you’re beyond exhausted, the idea of even escaping slowly slipping away. He drags one of his hands up your body, fingernails slowly trailing over your skin and belly. He moves them around lightly, the pads brushing over your flesh in featherlight strokes creating a tickling sensation you can barely endure. You want to cry out, beg him to stop, but your voice is completely gone. You almost start giggling, the soft strokes over your skin assaulting your most sensitive parts. You squeeze your thighs together, the tickling beginning to stir your bladder.

“You think you can go on teasing me like this, princess? I think I’ve been patient enough, don’t you think? How dare you be so fucking sexy? None of my other girls were as perfect as you. I’m sorry for what I’m about to do, but I can’t wait any longer. You do want me, right?”

You close your eyes already knowing what’s coming. His warm breath over your face steals your breath away and you just lay there defeated. You’d fought him all day and there was no fight left in you. He takes your lack of response as permission, and the moment he enters you, he almost cries out in euphoria.

There is no doubt about his size. He’s big and thick. He doesn’t push in aggressively, but takes his time, almost like he wants to enjoy every single second. He kisses over your neck and chin as if the tenderness would make this situation any better. The truth was, you didn’t want him and you didn’t want this. At first you were attracted to him, but now knowing what a crazy animal he is, you have no desire to be near him whatsoever.

With his own hands, he adjusts your body and hips, securing your legs over his waist in order to press himself deeper. Slowly he rolls his hips and settles himself to the hilt. The feeling overwhelms him, the sensation of finally filling you making him dizzy. He doesn’t take advantage of you, no, that wasn’t his style. You obviously wanted him, otherwise why would you have cum so many times, why would you be soaked and dripping just for him right now? You showed him as much when you did your dirty little dance for him. He had to let you know that your little display was unacceptable and that none of his dolls were allowed to be filthy sluts. This was just his way of teaching you that no one else was allowed to enjoy or even delight in the temptation that is you. You’d learn really quickly what it meant to be his, or else.

Though you try to fight the feeling of pleasure slowly rising, it’s next to near impossible. Your body is already extremely sensitive and he knows this, using your momentarily vulnerability to his advantage. He knows exactly what he’s doing. His fingers tug at your nipples, teeth nip over your skin, and fingers stroke over your clit perfectly. Surprisingly he’s more gentle than you expect. Your traitorous body begins to accept the touch, your skin already prickling and orgasm on the verge of assaulting you.

“That’s it my pretty darling. I always knew you’d give yourself to me like this. Are you going to cum all over my dick--make me the happiest man on this earth? I’ve been waiting for so long. Show me how sorry you are for being such a dirty whore.”

His words press upon your neck leaving a permanent mark on you, solidifying his possession. You want to say no--scream at him to get off of you and die, but his fingers work faster, and before you know it, you’re screaming out your orgasm instead. It’s incredibly potent, the last few hours of edging and teasing only serving to shatter you entirely. Before you can come back down to earth, his thrusts become sloppy and desperate, and within seconds, he emptying himself completely, and dropping down to the side of you heaving and huffing.

“Fuck!” He doesn’t remember the last time he came so hard, and the other girls most certainly never got him so worked up. You were more than he ever dreamed he’d have. There was no way he would let you go.

It only takes you a moment to catch your breath before the realization of time slowing down hits you. If not now, then when? While Jin lays back catching his breath, you jolt up off the bed running to the dresser. As soon as the needle is in your hand, you turn to attack and find that he’s already made it halfway off the mattress--one leg on the bed and the other on the floor.

“___, my love. What do you think you’re doing?”

The sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard and the fear coursing through you makes you feel slightly weak. You fight the desire to fall to the ground in a pathetic heap, now focused on the adrenaline driving you.

“Fuck you! I won’t be your little puppet anymore you sick fuck!”

You pace carefully, keeping your back close to the exit hoping the door isn’t locked. Jin continues moving off the bed, careful not to make any sudden movements. Your body is on high alert, anything he does or says your complete focus.

“Don’t you fucking move! Don’t you dare. I’m leaving. Let me the fuck out!”

For some reason Jin knows you mean every word, and not wanting you to hurt yourself, he complies, pressing the button by his bedside table. You hear the bolts unlock, the sound music to your ears. You begin to cry knowing the possibility of escape is so close. Your chest rocks with the heaves you can barely contain. You walk backwards, careful not to trip. When your hand comes in contact with the doorknob, you twist it open, needle still in hand and pointed at Jin.

Temporarily distracted with your freedom, you miss it when Jin runs forward to grab you. You scream and fall to the ground with him. Clawing at whatever you can, you press your fingers into his eyes, skin, and face. You don’t know where the needle has gone, the entire scuffle causing it to fall from your hand. Although Jin is strong, at the moment your will to live is stronger. You can feel him struggling to control you and when he tries to pin you down, you almost break down at the possibility of defeat, but the flash of the drug you need to knock this demon down catches your eyes. You reach out successfully grabbing it. It only takes a moment, but you manage to free a bit of your arms and jab the needle right into his neck. Pressing the plunger down, you inject him full of the drug he used on you not days ago. You hope it’ll have the same effect on him as it did you--leave him sick and so out of it he can’t even move.

Jin feels the moment it penetrates his skin and reaches for it with weak hands. Pulling it out, he works to focus his eyes, the surprise written all over his face. “How could you?”

He freezes and then drops right on top of your body heavily. The weight is too much, but with the little strength you have left, you push him off of you, exhaling feebly. There is no doubt of how much you wish to remain on the floor resting, the entire day’s events rendering you a pathetic excuse of a woman, but there is no time for it. Attempting to right yourself, you stand to your feet, eyes never leaving the lifeless body on the floor. You don’t think he’s dead, or at least you don't know, but there was no time to dwell on any of that. You make it to the door you managed to open earlier and walk out into a dimly lit hall. There is no way of knowing what time it is, but based on the food you got earlier, you would say it had to be mid afternoon.

As quiet as a mouse you tiptoe down the long path and end up at a bend that leads you to a large room. The windows seem to be darkened by thick curtains so it makes it hard for you to see where you are going. It’s not like you remember seeing any of this when the entire time you’ve been his captive he had you drugged. Grabbing a throw you see laying over the couch, you wrap it over your body as best as you can. Using your instincts, you walk toward an area you hope might have an exit, and with luck on your side you find an elevator. You call for it, fear curdling in your belly. If someone were to find you now you’d be unable to fight them off. The ding of it’s arrival stops your heart, and when the doors open, you release the breath you were holding, happy that it’s empty.

You choose the first floor and end up coming upon a large kitchen. The silence is eerie and it feels as if someone will pop out on you at any moment. Walking a little further you find a large door and what appears to be your salvation. You unlock the door and turn the knob not expecting the loud sound of a blaring alarm. You don’t wait to see who will show up now that your absence was announced.

You run out into the light of the day, the brightness from the sun above blinding you. None of this stops you, however. You walk into the yard realizing that this part of the house looked completely normal, almost like it was just a normal home in a suburban community. Your body gives you one last boost enabling you to run and unlock the wooden fence at the end of the opening. Just as you walk out you hear someone calling your name, but it was too late. You don’t bother turning back, certain that one of Jin’s staff probably realized you escaped. With freedom literally within your grasp, you manage to walk a few steps before hearing several gasps and then children before falling to the ground with a hard thud.

Sitting at your desk, you watch the cursor mindlessly, your thoughts straying to a memory you’ve been working hard to forget. In a few hours you’d be meeting with your therapist, someone who’s been able to get you through the past four years of life. You can’t help but feel small, especially on a day like today--the anniversary of when it all went down.

“____, you okay?”

You turn to your left to find your friend Taehyung who somehow managed to creep his way into your heart. His sweet demeanor and soft exterior made you think of him as a teddy bear, and that is exactly what he was when he knew you needed a hug.

“Yea. I’m good.” You smile at him to assure him, but the truth is, he had no idea. None of your co-workers did. After everything that happened, it took you a year to even begin a new life. You were so afraid to socialize, and meeting new people had your red flags waving every single time. With time, you slowly learned to let some people in and enter society once again.

The day you escaped, you barely made it a few steps out of Jin’s backyard before collapsing in front of a family who was having a barbecue outside of their garage. They immediately called the police and within hours Jin had been arrested and all of his properties and assets seized. As you lay in the hospital recovering, the district attorney took down the entire circus and interrogated every single person employed by Jin. Most of the workers were clueless, while a handful knew exactly what had been taking place for the last seven years in his godforsaken circus. You were not the first victim, but you had been the last. Although the authorities made it clear to you that your nightmare would be locked up for good, there was always that paranoia deep within--the one that made you look over your shoulder more than normal people, and lock every single door at night. You never opened your windows and you most certainly never went out alone.

“Okay good. Jimin and I were wondering if you wanted to go out with us tonight. He got some tickets to a show.”

It was cute how they always invited you knowing you were a loner, but it always felt like you were always the third wheel. “No, it’s okay. You take your lover to the show without me. I’ll be in the way.”

“Stop that, silly. You’re never in the way. Besides, Jimin got all these free tickets to the traveling circus and we have to get rid of them. Do you know anyone else that might want to come?”

You freeze, chest now constricted and heartbeat racing. It couldn’t be, Jin was put away, his circus was shut down...there was no way he was back…

“What did you s-say…”

#seokjin smut #bts smut #seokjin oneshot #jin smut #jin fic #seokjin fic #bts fanfic #bts fanfiction #seokjin fanfiction #yandere bts #bts yandere #seokjin x reader #seokjin x you #bts fic #bts imagines #seokjin yandere #kim seokjin

815 notes · View notes

saintlike78 · 4 years ago

Text

Flinch [Poly Marauders]

A/N: I’ve been reading a lot of poly Marauders fics and I got inspired to write my own. It’s very different than what I’m used to, and I give 100% credit to @randomoutsiders for the inspiration; please go read their work, it’s so good!

Also, this fic tackles some trauma about domestic abuse, so if this is a trigger PLEASE DO NOT READ. If you are ever abused in a relationship, please remember it’s never your fault and there are so many ways to get help.

International woman’s house crisis hotline (770-413-5557). https://internationalwomenshouse.org/get-help

Pairing: Poly! Marauders X fem!reader

Words: 3.1k

Summary: poly Marauders. You aren’t a stranger to being spanked, but Sirius tries to slap you without talking it through first, him not knowing it brings back past trauma. You’re shocked, but the boys take it as you liking it, so you power through. But the next day you flinch under normal setting, alerting the boys to something being wrong.

Warnings: TW! Mention of past abuse!, NSFW 16+, vaginal sex, oral (male receiving), polyamorous relationship, spanking, face-slapping, mention of subsbace, Dom!Remus, Dom!Sirius, Soft-dom!James, Sub!reader, degradation, praise, mention of cum, unprotected sex (wrap it before you tap it).

NSFW starts just below the cut!

Tears were streaming down your face as you tried to take Sirius’ cock as far down your throat as possible. Your arms and legs were shaking with the effort of keeping yourself up on all fours, as Remus pounded into you from behind. James was sitting beside you stroking your back and fisting at his own cock trying to reach his own high by watching you get destroyed by his two boyfriends.

Remus landed a firm slap on your ass making you jolt forwards, making you gag around Sirius.

“Such a little cockslut, can’t even take my cock without gagging” Sirius taunts, making you whine around him.

That’s when Sirius decides to try something none of the boys had tried before, he landed a slap across your face, a sharp sting on your cheek, and a red mark starting to form. Your mind was fuzzy, but panic set in and distant memories made their way to the front of your mind.

Right as Sirius had slapped you, your walls clenched around Remus and your eyes widened with panic, but Sirius took this as a look of surprise and assumed you liked it and he was pulled deeper into that thought when Remus spoke “I think she liked that Pads, she’s squeezing me like a vice,” he landed another slap on your ass, “isn’t that right bunny?”

Your mind was so fuzzy with both pleasure and panic you couldn’t do anything but whimper around Sirius.

“Fuck, princess take it” Sirius groaned as he started to twitch in your mouth, his cum filling your mouth, which you swallowed dutifully.

Sirius moved aside and let James stand in front of you and slowly put his own member inside your mouth. He let out a low groan at the feeling of your warm mouth around him and he wasted no time as he started to fuck into your mouth.

Behind you, Remus was rutting faster into you, growing close to his own release.

James was stroking your hair, being the softest of the three doms and keeping you grounded.

Sirius snaked his hand underneath you and found your swollen clit and started drawing fast circles on it, making you moan loudly around James’ cock.

“There you go, cum for us,” Sirius said as he applied more pressure to the swollen nub.

Your whole body shook as you came, your arms almost failing you.

The feeling and sight of you cumming made Remus moan loudly and spill his seed into you. James reaching his own high seconds after. Both boys slowly pumped into you, riding out theirs and your high, and slowly pulled out. As soon as they were out, you collapsed on the bed, your legs twitching slightly as you tried to catch your breath.

James chuckled softly and got up from the bed to grab a washcloth to clean you up.

“Such a good girl, you did amazing for us,” Remus said as he slowly rubbed your back to calm you down. The fuzz in your brain slowly disappearing as James came back and started to clean you, trying to be as quick as possible to not make you uncomfortable because of the sensitivity.

As James was cleaning you, Sirius had gotten up and fetched the four of you some clothes to wear, and helped you put it on.

As the fuzz had completely lifted from your brain, it was replaced with slight panic again, you knew the boys wouldn’t hurt you, but what if they wanted to. You hadn’t discussed with them that they couldn’t slap or hit you, but you didn’t know you had to. The thoughts were swarming around your mind, but you tried to keep calm and collect yourself, you didn’t want them to be mad at you.

“Okay princess, do you want to sleep in my bed tonight?” Sirius asked, opening his arms for you.

“No,” you said way too fast, but quickly added, “I mean, it’s Jamie’s turn.”

Sirius let his arms drop and frowned, “fine, but then you owe me tomorrow night and the next time we nap,” he said.

You nodded and turned to crawl into James’ bed, but were interrupted by Remus clearing his throat.

“Aren’t you going to give us a goodnight kiss, bunny?” He asked with a lifted brow.

You quickly made your way over to the scarred boy and stood on your toes to reach his lips. “I’m sorry,” you whispered, “goodnight.”

Remus kissed you back and wrapped his arms around you, giving your body a squeeze.

“That’s okay, bunny... are you still a little fuzzy? Because we can’t go to bed yet if you are,” he asked, wanting to make sure you were completely back before you went to sleep.

You just shook your head, “I’m fine, I’m here.”

Remus nodded and let you go to Sirius.

Sirius leaned down and gave you a long kiss, you tried to reciprocate, but you stood awkwardly as the raven-haired boy kissed you.

“Goodnight, love you,” you said quietly and quickly.

“Love you too, princess,” Sirius said but was slightly confused as to why you seemed so off.

You quickly made your way back to James, who was now lying under his blanket waiting for you.

As you got under the covers you snuggled close to him and he draped his arm over your waist.

“Goodnight, darling,” James whispered.

“Goodnight, Jamsie,” you whispered back, your voice almost nonexistent due to fatigue.

————————————

You made your way towards the common room after your last class of the day. You had woken up that morning still a bit weird in the head, the panicked state not quite leaving because of you being constantly afraid. You knew that they wouldn’t hurt you, of course, you knew that... but that’s what you thought about him as well, but you had been wrong before.

The last class of the day you had had without any of your boyfriends, so you were now making your way back on your own.

You walked through the portrait hole and made your way up the stairs towards the dorms. Normally you would be heading towards the boy’s dorms, your room basically being with your three boys, but tonight you decided to head towards your own dorm.

Your dorm room was empty, and you were grateful for the opportunity to be alone for a while. You decided to skip dinner and instead opting to grabbing a book and reading it whilst lounging on your bed.

You were so engrossed in your book you hadn’t noticed the time and suddenly the door opened, making you look up from your book for the first time in what felt like forever.

Lily and Marlene walked through the door but following them were the three boys you had avoided (not intentionally).

“Hi,” you said, your voice small.

“Hi bunny, why weren’t you at dinner and why are you in here?” Remus asked, the three boys making their way over to you and sitting beside you on the bed.

“I was reading and forgot about the time, I wasn’t really hungry,” you said as you started to fiddle with your fingers.

“Okay, you know we don’t like it when you don’t eat, but it’s fine... let’s just go to our room,” Sirius said. You couldn’t make out the tone of his voice and it made you nervous, so you just nodded and got off of the bed.

You said bye and goodnight to the girls and followed the boys to their dorm.

You stood in the middle of the room and your heart jumped a little when the door closed.

You started to fiddle with your hands again, a nervous habit of yours.

Sirius stood in front of you with a concerned frown, but you mistook it as an angry frown and dipped your head in submission.

“Princess, you know not to fiddle, and please look me in the eyes when I’m speaking to you, it’s rude not to,” Sirius said.

You lifted your head and looked at his face, you then looked between him and the two boys sitting on Remus’ bed, both looking at the situation unfold.

“I’m sorry,” you said, your voice small.

Sirius just shook his head and lifted his hand to run it through his hair, but you didn’t get to see his hand reach his hair before panic surged through your body, and your flinched, turning your head to the side and closing your eyes waiting for the impact.

You whimpered and a quiet “no” left your mouth.

Both Remus and James stood from the bed, both completely taken aback by what just happened.

Sirius’ hand halted and he dropped it again, his heart dropping to the floor watching your figure crumble in front of him.

You backed away a little, eyes still closed. You had forgotten that you weren’t allowed to flinch remembering it would only be worse when you did.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you repeated, your whole body trembling.

The three boys looked at each other, none of them knowing how to approach this, not wanting to frighten you more than they had.

Sirius was the first to do anything as the guilt took over and controlled his actions before his brain could tell him to stop.

He took a step towards you and wrapped his arms around you, making you jump again and let out a frightened gasp.

“I’m so sorry baby, I wasn’t going to do anything, I would never, please, I’m so sorry,” Sirius spoke, panic clear in his voice.

You collapsed against him, tears streaming down your face as you sobbed into his chest.

Remus and James quickly made their way over to you and wrapped their arms around both you and Sirius, holding you up.

You just kept mumbling almost silent ‘I’m sorries’.

“Shhh shhh, don’t be sorry, what happened bunny?” Remus asked, slowly caressing your back in hopes of calming you down, but you couldn’t answer him just yet.

After a while, your sobs slowly died down and the only sounds to be heard were your soft sniffles.

You lifted your head slowly and looked into Sirius’ eyes, his eyes already staring at your face trying to decipher what had happened.

You didn’t know what to say, the panic you felt before slowly evaporating, instead, you wrapped your arms around Sirius’ waist and squeezed him.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered.

“Stop apologizing, my love, you have nothing to apologize for,” Sirius said quietly, still afraid that he would frighten you again.

“Can we sit down?” You asked, your legs starting to ache from trying to keep yourself up, even if most of your weight was being carried by your three boys.

“Of course, baby,” James answered, and they led you to Remus’ bed where you all sat. Remus sat with his back against the headboard and led you to sit between his legs with your back to his chest. James took a seat beside you with his body turned towards you and took one of your hands. Lastly, Sirius sat crossed-legged in front of you and took your other hand and intertwined your fingers with his, to both comfort you, but also himself as guilt still surged through him.

You caressed Sirius’ hand with your thumb and squeezed his hand, knowing that you scared him with your reaction.

“You don’t have to tell us anything you don’t want to, but we want to listen if you do want to tell us. We just want to help you and we’re not at all angry, we love you and just want you to feel safe with us, we never want you to be scared of us,” Remus started, his arms making their way around your middle to feel as close to you as possible and show you that he’s there.

You let out a long breath, trying to calm down because you did trust your boys and you wanted them to know that they did nothing wrong.

“So,” you started and cursed yourself for the shakiness of your voice, “you know that before I was with you three, I was with Thomas, you know before he moved to America?”

The three boys nodded but didn’t say anything, waiting for you to continue.

“Well.. uhm... we were together for a while, as you know, but he had slight issues with anger,” you continued, your breath still shaking and your voice breaking a couple of times.

Sirius, who was no stranger to people with anger issues, already had an inkling about where you were going. He could feel the anger start to fill his body but tried to keep his cool as you continued.

“He used to... h.h..hit me and he didn’t like it when I would flinch because he said he wouldn’t hurt me, b..but...” you were trying your hardest to get through your story, but your voice was breaking and fresh tears were weighing down your eyes.

“... he did, a lot and I know you guys never would, but it’s just always in the back of my mind.”

Sirius, James, and Remus were all shocked, they had all been friends with Thomas, not good friends, but friendly.

James was speechless, Remus's eyes filled with tears. Sirius was silently fuming with anger over anyone ever laying a hand on you and that’s when he realized he himself did, albeit during sex, but he still did. The anger was quickly replaced with guilt and sadness and all your weird behavior, especially towards him,

now made sense.

Before he had a chance to say anything the tears spilled from his eyes, catching the attention of yourself, James, and Remus.

“I’m so sorry, I would never have done it if I had known, I was so stupid, I should have talked to you about it first,” Sirius cried.

“No, you couldn’t have known! It was my fault for not telling you tha..” you tried to tell Sirius, but you were swiftly interrupted by the man himself. He grabbed your face in his hands and looked you in the eyes, “it was not your fault, never was, it was my fault for not asking you if it was alright before I did it and not even realizing that you weren’t enjoying it,” Sirius stated, making sure that his point came across.

You just nodded and leaned your head further into his touch, making Sirius’ heart skip a beat and he let out a shaky breath of relief.

“Thank you so much for telling us, our darling girl,” James said, stroking your cheek with his free hand.

Remus grabbed your waist and lifted you up, so you were situated on his lap, your side towards him. He kissed your temple and proceeded to say, “please tell us if we ever do anything to make you the least bit uncomfortable and we will stop immediately, we never want to hurt you or make you feel like you can’t talk to us or tell us when something is wrong.”

Sirius continued on from Remus, “we love you so much beautiful girl and again I’m so sorry for scaring you and laying a hand on you.”

“I forgive you; I know you didn’t do it with vicious intent, you only thought I would enjoy it and you couldn’t have known that I wouldn’t. I love you all so much, I’m so happy to have you all in my life,” you said as you leaned your head on Remus’ shoulder, your eyes growing heavy as fatigue took over your body because of all the emotions you felt in such a small amount of time.

“We’re the lucky ones, and lucky for you, you’re stuck with us forever,” James said with a huge grin, causing you all to let out a laugh, knowing that what he said was true. You couldn’t imagine yourself being with anyone else.

“You want to go to sleep, Bunny?” Remus asked, stroking your hair slowly, lulling you into a sleepy state, causing you to yawn.

“Mmhm,” you let out a sound of agreement.

“Okay let’s get ready for bed then,” James said as he got up to look for a shirt of theirs you could wear to sleep.

After having Remus help you get ready for bed and returning from the bathroom back into the room you stopped in the middle of the room, having to choose who to cuddle with that night.

Sirius didn’t want to push you, in your somewhat fragile state, but still very much in need of your comfort and reassurement.

You timidly made your way towards where Sirius was sitting shirtless on his bed and stood between his open legs, his hands instinctively finding placement on your hips.

“Can I sleep with you tonight?” You asked, not knowing why you had gone all shy.

“Of course, you can, our sweet girl, you don’t ever have to ask,” Sirius said and gave your hips a squeeze. His stomach leaping with excitement and relief.

You leaned down and kissed his forehead and left his grasp to kiss both Remus and James goodnight.

Sirius was waiting for you to finish before making his own way over to the two boys to also say his goodnights.

“Don’t worry Sirius, she’s not mad or scared, she was just shocked,” Remus Whispered for only Sirius to hear before he made his way back to the bed where you were waiting for him.

Sirius got under the covers first and opened them so you could slip in.

You laid facing Sirius, his arms around you holding you as close to his body as possible, legs intertwined, one of your hands resting on his chest and the other resting on his cheek.

“I love you so much, I can’t even explain it. If I ever see that horrible excuse for a man I will hex him into oblivion,” Sirius whispered, the first part sweetly, but his whisper got more aggressive as the sentence progressed.

His statement made you giggle; you knew he was being serious (pun intended) and you felt your heart swell with love at how safe you felt with them.

“I love you; I hope we never do see him, but I know I can always count on you, I feel so safe with you.”

Sirius’ eyes filled with tears (again) at your words, it was all he ever wanted.

He gave your body a squeeze and pulled you even closer if that was even possible, and you buried your face in the crook of his neck breathing in his masculine scent.

Sirius’ soft breathing and steady heartbeat lulled you to sleep, and you knew you always would be safe with not only him, but all three of your boys.

#marauders #poly marauders #marauders smut #marauders fluff #marauders angst #remus lupin smut #sirius black smut #james potter smut #marauders x you #marauders x reader

4K notes · View notes

seijorhi · 4 years ago

Text

To the Wolves

my (first) entry for the Deal With the Devil collab, because i couldn’t resist writing for Yakuza Getou <33

Getou Suguru x Female Reader

TW Extremely dubious consent, coercion, manipulation, threats, implied murder, smut, nsfw

“No. I- I won’t.”

Sitting comfortably on the old, worn couch in your cramped little apartment, Getou raises a single eyebrow, “Oh? Is that so?”

His voice is perfectly pleasant, the smile on his face a touch amused, but you’re not so naive as to believe that the question is anything but a generous offer for you to rethink your reply. A smart person would take it – since the day you’d first arrived home to find him waiting for you, Getou hadn’t so much as laid a finger on you. He had no need for guns or knives, never shouted or bullied you, his reputation more than enough to cow you into submission before he’d even opened his mouth.

Of course, once he had, the simple threats to your friends and family’s lives had made certain that you were more than amenable to his request.

A mutually beneficial arrangement, he’d called it, as if there hadn’t been tears silently streaming down your face, your whole body stiff with fear.

But that was the world he came from. Violence and ruthlessness, cruelty masquerading as kindness.

By all accounts, someone like you – a lowly admin assistant living a very boring, mundane life – should never have crossed paths with a man like Getou. The irony, of course, being that it was precisely because of your job that he’d been drawn to you in the first place.

“I-I said no,” you stammer. “I’m not doing it.”

Getou sighs, long, pale fingers idly fixing the cuff of his left sleeve. “I had no idea the lives of your loved ones meant so little to you.”

“Please, I-” you break off, biting your lip as your hands curl into useless fists at your side, “I can’t. Anything else, I’ll do anything, I swear it, just… please.”

Men like Getou aren’t the type to be swayed by pretty words or tearful pleas, but there’s an unmistakable glimmer of interest that flickers in his eyes at the offer. Casually, he leans forward, resting his chin on the palm of his hand and regarding you with a smirk. “So you’ll bring me the list of witnesses then?”

The barely audible hitch in your breath is enough to make him chuckle.

“No? How about those surveillance tapes, hm?” Smoothly, he rises to his feet and makes his way towards you. “Careful, little one, first rule of negotiation is knowing when you have something to bargain with. Don’t promise me what you can’t give.”

“Getou–”

He raises a hand and you quickly fall silent. There’s only inches between you two now, Getou’s taller, broader frame looming over yours. He could kill you like this, you realise with panic – reach out and wrap his hands around your throat and snap your pretty little neck before you could so much as scream. The tailored line of his jacket hides the gun he has holstered at his side, but Getou knows you're aware of its presence, have been since the very first time he’d broken into your home and threatened you.

It’d take him only moments to draw the sidearm, even less for him to pull the trigger.

The walls of your apartment are thin, would your neighbours come if they heard gunfire? Would you, for that matter, if your roles were reversed?

Yet Getou makes no move for his gun, instead reaching for your chin, tilting it up with two curled fingers until you meet his gaze, “You understand, don’t you, that I make one phone call and that charming sister of yours and her fiance meet a very tragic, very untimely end?”

He pauses, waiting until you jerk a quick nod of assent before continuing. “You love them. There’s nothing wrong with that, nothing wrong with prioritising the ones you love over everybody else.” His voice is gentle, but the words make you shake, dread rising from the pit of your stomach as the pad of his thumb grazes over your bottom lip.

You don’t know if you’re supposed to say something to that, but even as you try, you can’t summon the words. The by now familiar scent of his cologne tickles your nose and invades your throat, the warmth of his touch burning through your veins. Your own heart hammers like a drumbeat in your chest, every cell in your body screaming danger, but you don’t run, you don’t even flinch.

Getou smiles kindly, and perhaps if you hadn’t seen first hand the aftermath of his handiwork you might be tempted to believe it. His spare hand reaches into his jacket, but instead of the gun you’re expecting, he pulls out his phone, the screen flickering to life with a swipe of his finger. “So tell me, before I make a call you and I both know you don’t want me to make, why you’ve suddenly decided that their lives aren’t worth your compliance?”

Nanami. Your boss’s face flashes to your mind, the odd, fleeting glances he’d sent your way over the past few weeks when he’d thought you weren’t paying attention. Your stomach erupts with butterflies, your cheeks unwittingly warming, but you just shake your head, “If I give you those files, you’ll kill them. You’ll hurt them.”

“Maybe,” he hums, “maybe not. It’s no less than those monkeys deserve, don’t you think?” He spits the word like it’s venom, the twitch in his jaw the only chink in his otherwise effortless composure. “You’re protecting them, even now.”

You make no attempt to defend yourself, terrified of saying the wrong thing and setting him off, but Getou seems entirely unfazed, laughing coldly at your stricken expression.

“Your boss, the one with the perpetual stick up his ass; Nanami,” potent disdain drips from his tone at the name, “Always so morally righteous, sitting up on his high horse. You think he cares for you, that he’ll protect you when all of this comes out? And it will come out eventually,” he says, his smirk widening at the sudden pallor in your face. “At some point there’ll be one too many unfortunate coincidences, and the higher ups will realise that they have a mole in their ranks. Fingers will be pointed of course, but eventually even those idiots will figure it out.”

A knot tightens inside of your chest at his words, constricting until it feels like you can’t breathe. You’re shaking your head, eyes filling with tears, “N-no–”

“Oh, little one,” Getou murmurs, dark eyes drinking in every ounce of your distress. “Surely you realised that they have security cameras covering every inch of your floor? There was no reason to look before, but once they do…” he trails off, letting go of your chin in favour of brushing the back of his knuckles along your cheek. “They’ll throw you to the wolves.”

His voice is soft and cruel, belied by the gentleness of his touch, but it does nothing to quell the rising sense of dread inside of you. You want to believe it’s a lie, another threat meant to scare you into submission, but some deeper part of you recognises the truth in his words.

Nanami, who’d told you once that there was innocence and there was guilt and very little in between. Nanami, whose office you’d bugged, whose trial only weeks ago you’d all but derailed with a few misplaced documents. You think back to the late nights shared in his office, bowls of ramen and case files scattered across the desk between you. You think of the rare smiles, his oddly dry sense of humour, the pleasant fluttering in your heart–

“You’ll rot in prison long before I do, and there is not a soul among that insipid bunch that would lift a finger to stop that from happening to you.”

A soft, strangled noise leaves your lips as you fight not to sob, and Getou sighs, the corners of his lips twitching downwards in contrived sympathy. “Say the word and I’ll walk away tonight. I’ll still have to kill your sister – I am a man of my word, you understand – but I promise it’ll be the last you see of me.”

He slides his phone back into the breast pocket of his jacket, taking your face in both of his hands as tears spill down long lashes. “And when they come for you, you can tell them I threatened you, show them what little proof you have – if you have any at all. Maybe it’ll even make a difference,” he says. “But I doubt it.”

Every word is like a knife, slicing away at the raw, bleeding, vulnerable parts of you.

“Please…” It’s weak and desperate, your voice cracked and broken. You don’t even know what you’re begging for anymore; your sister’s life, for Getou’s mercy, or maybe just for him to stop saying such awful things. He must take pity on you though, because he sighs once more, his right thumb sweeping across your wet cheek to brush away silvery tear tracks.

“I’m not a complete monster, you know. I protect what’s mine.”

And in one breath, everything screeches to a standstill and a trickle of very real fear creeps down your spine. There’s no mistaking his implication, not when he’s holding your face like that, his eyes dark and simmering with an intensity that makes your stomach flip.

“W-what?”

Getou closes the gap between you two, a startled noise leaving your lips as his hips press flush up against you. “Don’t play stupid, sweet thing,” he murmurs, and it sounds like a warning, “It doesn’t suit you.”

One hand slips to your neck, the other curling almost possessively around your waist. There’s no room for you to move, to back away or free yourself. For a moment, neither of you speak, the heavy silence deafening between you.

Does he notice the way your pulse races under his fingertips as they circle your throat, how you’re shaking like a leaf beneath him? Does he want you afraid? A scared little bunny rabbit cowering from the gaping maw of the big, bad wolf?

Judging from the bulge of his semi-hard cock pressing into the soft flesh of your belly, he’s not entirely unaffected, and for the first time it’s not Getou’s gun or his threats that you’re most afraid of.

It’s the selfish, twisted want that glitters and glints in those pitiless depths. You’ve never felt so entirely at somebody else’s mercy as you do with Getou now, staring you down like he wants to lay you bare, claim you again and again for all the world to see. And you don’t understand. There’s a thousand and one questions running through your mind, your insides twisted up into knots.

You know what it is he’s asking of you – though asking feels like a generous word when he can so easily just take – but none of this makes sense, not when he was threatening your family’s lives only minutes ago.

As if he can sense the turmoil and confusion raging through you, he leans down, his lips ghosting over the outer shell of your ear. “Tell me to stop, and I’ll walk away right now.”

I am a man of my word.

His earlier statement rings through your head as you search his face for any sign of deception – you find none. But walking away means your sister dies. It means you’re left on your own to fend off the wolves when they find out what you’ve done.

Nanami might believe you. He might even defend you, but you’ve worked in the Prosecutor’s office long enough to know that duress isn’t the bulletproof defence people think it is, and for tangling with the likes of him…

You were screwed the moment he showed up in your living room, this- this is just the coup de grâce. The final damnation.

“Why me?”

Getou doesn’t answer, but when he draws you into a kiss, his lips moving torturously slow against yours, there’s an edge of… something there, lying hidden just beneath the surface. And it terrifies you, more than his words and his promises ever could.

But when your back’s to the wall, what choice do you really have?

It feels like defeat when he takes you by the hand and leads you into your bedroom, ignoring the uncertain glance you cast over your shoulder towards the living room. You don’t want any of this, but you can pretend that it’s just… business if he fucks you out there.

Not in the bed you sleep in.

It’d be easier, you think, if it was cold and impersonal. If you cried and it stung and the only sounds in the room were flesh hitting flesh, ragged breathing and an occasional rough grunt.

There’s nothing impersonal about the way he watches you strip out of your clothes at his command. His own join yours on the floor without much ceremony – his gun pointedly set just within reach atop your nightstand.

The first time you’d laid eyes on Getou Suguru, it was two months into your new job; a photograph pinned to a thick, heavy file Nanami had dropped on your desk. A surveillance picture, you’d gathered, snapped as the man was exiting some neon lit club downtown. And you remembered the smug smirk he’d had, staring directly down the lens of the camera like it was a challenge, but that wasn’t what had struck you most.

It was the flutter of interest that’d shot through your veins the moment before common sense kicked in. Tall and fit, with long, dark hair swept up in the wind, a sharp jaw and a handsome face, you remember thinking he was probably the most attractive man you’d ever seen.

Now, standing naked before you, bright, colourful tattoos inked across his torso, accentuating the muscles that rise and fall with every measured breath, you can’t bear to look. It’s easier just to stare at the wooden floorboards, the corner of the shagged rug you’d bought at a thrift store when you first moved in. Easier to pretend Getou isn’t pulling you closer once more, pressing searing, open mouthed kisses along your neck, murmuring words that are lost to you entirely as his hands wander. You can feel it now, the heat of his body as he cages you in, his cock, thick and heavy and flushed nudging insistently up against your stomach.

You expect him to shove you to your knees, to force his cock down your throat in some archaic show of dominance before he claims your cunt, but he doesn’t.

“I want you to touch yourself for me,” he whispers into your ear, teeth catching lightly on the sensitive lobe as you shiver. “Like you do when I’m not here, those pretty legs spread, fucking yourself on your fingers…”

The comment feels too familiar to be entirely offhanded, striking a chord of panic somewhere deep inside of you–

But it doesn’t make a difference. It doesn’t matter now.

You allow him to kiss you again before climbing onto the mattress. Like a good girl, you fall back onto the pillows, let your legs ease apart, wrapping your lips around two fingers and sucking for a brief moment before gliding your hand down between your thighs.

His breath hitches, a soft curse sounding when saliva slicked digits spread your folds, the tip of your middle finger brushing lightly against your clit as you stroke your pussy. Your nipples harden and peak under the cool night air and you use your free hand to palm at your breast, pinching and teasing at the sensitive bud while one finger slips into the warmth of your cunt.

The mattress dips, Getou climbing onto the bed, settling himself back on his knees, your spread legs either side of him.

“Beautiful,” he breathes.

Your heart stutters, movements jerking as you brace for him to interfere, to touch you, but aside from nudging your thighs further apart to get a better view of your glistening cunt, he seems content simply to sit back and watch, his own hand lazily stroking at his cock.

Trying in vain to block him out, you squeeze your eyes shut and focus on the way your fingers feel between your legs, the pleasure–

(Not the shame, don’t think about that, don’t think about Getou watching you debase yourself for his enjoyment)

–that pools in your core as you rub the shining pearl of your clit. It’s a familiar dance, a routine you’d normally help along with a glass of wine and a few faithful toys, but you don’t exactly have that luxury here.

And even with the rigid tension in your shoulders, the unwanted presence of a man you’re terrified of impossible to ignore, you can’t help the quiet moan that slips past your lips, the way your hips stutter, grinding against the heel of your palm as your fingers hit that sweet, delightful spot inside of you.

Getou tenses at the sound, the last, fragile thread of his composure snapping–

He strikes fast. One moment you’re biting down on your bottom lip, your index and middle fingers knuckle deep in your dripping pussy, the next he’s braced atop you, one hand locked around your wrist, the other propping himself up. And as your eyes fly open with a startled cry, his lips crash against your once more – desperate and ravenous, his tongue forcing its way into your mouth to taste you.

And you don’t fight it when he pulls your hand from your pussy and drags it to his crotch, his fingers entwining with yours as he wraps them around his heavy, throbbing cock and moans. It’s humiliating, the way he thrusts into your hand, tightening his grip so you’re forced to feel every shivery twitch of his dick while he sucks eagerly on your tongue.

This is the choice you’d made, the deal you struck. It’s too late to back out now, and even if you tried to…

“I want you,” he pants, his lips glistening with saliva, an almost manic look in those dark, pretty eyes, “to ride me.”

… you’re not so sure Getou would let you.

So you allow yourself to be manhandled, lifted and situated across his lap like a doll. Hands braced on his tattooed chest, you lift your hips just enough for him to guide his cock to your slick entrance before slowly sinking down onto his length.

Every inch hurts.

It doesn’t make it any less painful, the way Getou soothes you, his thumbs stroking gently at your waist as you whine and mewl, feeling every ridge and vein of his cock as he stuffs you full.

“Fuck– good girl, taking me so well,” he purrs.

You’re not sure if it’s shame, pleasure, or some sense of twisted pride at the praise that has your pussy clenching, fire racing through your veins when Getou experimentally rocks his hips upwards. And if your cheeks weren’t already burning, the lewd moan that escapes you when the head of his cock hits your g-spot would certainly do the trick.

Ever observant, he wastes no time capitalising on your slip, lifting you up just to drive you back down onto his length at the perfect angle. You shudder around him, keening out a cry that has him groaning in pleasure.

There’s no illusion of control here between you two.

You might be the one on top, but Getou’s grip’s too tight, guiding every roll of your hips against his, his own rising in time to fuck his cock deeper into your warm, velvety cunt. And somewhere distantly you recognise that this could be a thousand times worse. How easily he could change the narrative in a heartbeat, flip you over, force your face into the pillows and fuck you like a dog until you’re gasping for air. He could use you, hurt you, probably kill you without ever needing to touch the gun he’d left on your nightstand – and you wouldn’t have a hope in hell of stopping him.

But he doesn’t. Lying back against your pillows, dark hair falling from his half up-do, cheeks flushed from exertion, Getou’s attention is wholly fixed on you - on your face, eyes screwed shut, bottom lip caught between your teeth as he hits somewhere deep inside of you that has you seeing stars, on your tits, the way they bounce every time you sink back down onto his cock.

His eyes are hooded, dark and intense, searching for every hint of pleasure he’s drawn from you. You gasp his name, fingers digging into his chest, your cunt fluttering so deliciously around him – and he loses that last little bit of his self control.

He jerks upright, one arm wrapping around your waist to anchor you to him as he braces himself with the other, and before you can so much as gasp his mouth is at your tits, hot tongue laving at soft, supple skin there.

“Suguru,” he growls, hips snapping feverishly against yours.

“Suguru,” you parrot, head lolling back as heat coils tighter in your core.

You’ll worry about the consequences later, when he pulls you boneless and sated into his arms and you feel his heart thumping at your back as he kisses you and tells you to sleep. When tomorrow you arrive at work and Nanami stares a beat too long as the love bites scattered across your throat, no doubt wondering why you won’t so much as look at him.

For now, you settle for pulling him closer, gasping as you chase that quaking, blissful end.

#yandere jujutsu kaisen #yandere getou suguru #yandere getou #yandere getou suguru x reader #yandere getou x reader #yandere jjk #tw: dubcon #tw: coercion #tw: threats #tw: implied murder #yandere #deal with the devil collab

1K notes · View notes

hansolmates · 4 years ago

Text

here comes the bride, all dressed in pride

summary; You and your cousin Doyeon have had beef with each other since the sandbox. When she plucks the last straw, you decide to end your long-simmering fight by claiming that you and her ex—Jeon Jungkook, are now boyfriend and girlfriend pairing; jungkook x reader (f) genre/warnings; fake dating!au, fluff, crack, mentions of cheating, lang, alcohol, mc eats meat, tw sexual harassment, toxic family, dick talk, making out, if u have that one family member that pulls bs on you constantly this is it, this fic is for all the people who have a huge ass family who wont leave them alone w.c; 17.3k a/n: my second fic for gcn’s 23 birthday project! the fact that wedding szn zoomed by us like that... and so bc im sad that so many weddings had to be postponed this fic was born! a huge thank u to vivi @eerieedits / @chillingtae for creating this BEAUTIFUL fic banner and separator pls check vivi out to make your fics all purty

prompts used: “You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?” and “I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

if you enjoyed this pls consider giving a like and a share💕💕

Doyeon likes to call Jungkook, “the one who got away.”

You like to call Doyeon, “the one who drove him away.”

In secret, of course. In fact, the only person who knows how much you loathe Doyeon and her behavior is your father. And all your co-workers. And your boss. And your boss’ ex-husband.

And Jeon Jungkook, but of course you haven’t seen the man in two years and back then he was far too polite to address his concerns of your hatred of his then-girlfriend.

Okay, so everyone and their mother knows how much you don’t like your cousin. Kim Doyeon and you have had beef since the sandbox, and for whatever reason is always out to one-up you. A strange competitive nature in everything, academics, family, and even boys. The sick, twisted part of you has come to enjoy it. While you’re not a fighter as devout as Doyeon is, you have your own callous tendencies farmed from the seeds Doyeon has planted in your brain. She gives you a comment? You can’t help but throw one back. Since you’re a painfully mature soul you don’t have any mortal enemies as far as you know, Doyeon is the perfect amount of hot water to keep you on your toes.

“I’m really sorry that you couldn’t be a bridesmaid,” Doyeon cooes next to you, swirling her champagne glass with a too-jutted pout, “but if I did there’d be an odd number of pairings and you’re a little too old to be walking as a bridesmaid, am I right?”

Your nails. Are digging. Through your dress. Alas, you’re in public and you have class. Doyeon smiles at you with all teeth, reminding you of the Beldam from Coraline. Aside from that she looks absolutely stunning in that Lirika Matoshi strawberry dress that has her Instagram aching with likes and love from her baseless followers.

“I don’t know,” you reply lightly, leaning back in your seat, “I mean, if Yoojung and Rena can be bridesmaids and they’re three years older than me, wouldn’t I make the cut? It’s okay to be honest and say you just didn’t want me in the bridal party.”

Doyeon laughs, slaps your thigh like you told her the most hilarious joke in the world. Anyone passing by would think you’re best friends. You laugh too, incredulous at the amount of power she thinks she holds.

“Nice party,” you tack on, surveying the room. It’s filled with pastels and beiges, bright and airy. It’s Parisian themed, and while you’re not a fan of theming cultures, you can’t deny that you’re loving the infinite supply of macarons.

“Oh, yes. This is just a taste of the real wedding,” she laces her fingers together, as if she thinks she’s living an Elizibethean love story, “speaking of, you put on your RSVP that you’re bringing a plus one. Am I allowed to know who’s the unlucky date?”

“As if you care.”

“I care if you’re bringing Jimin. That tiny thing nearly gave Aunt Lillian a heart attack when he gave a striptease at Yoongi’s graduation party.”

You smirk softly at the bold memory. That was the plan.

Doyeon sighs dramatically, crossing her legs and popping out a cherry red heel. She plays with the back on the balls of her feet, letting the little pearly rhinestones glisten in the candlelight, “I should really commend you, cousin,” she drawls, “I mean, how kind of you to be so charitable and give your dopey friends a chance to have fun. After all, I’m sure it is difficult for someone like you to find a date.”

It’s no surprise as to how you end up with a date at any family formal gathering. You say you bring a plus one, and then between Jimin, Taehyung and Hoseok. The three of them draw straws as to who gets to gorge on free alcohol and food for that night.

“Difficult?” you arch a brow, “I get plenty of dates.”

Doyeon giggles. She must be feeling extra vindictive today, high on her impending marriage and the taste of bubbly champagne. “By taking turns with those three? You gotta be kidding me,” she snorts, tipping back her crystal, “please y/n. Don’t get so defensive because I’m getting married first. Your time will come. That is, if you stop dicking around with your friends.”

Normally you’d smother any attempt at Doyeon to call out your friends, but now she’s just done that and insulted your ability to get some, and you are livid.

“Actually,” you quip sharply, “I’ve been dating someone. It’s been a couple months, actually.”

“Oh?” Doyeon’s genuinely interested, face falling slightly, “you’ve never mentioned anyone, I don’t see anyone on your social media.”

“Yeah well,” you feign sympathy, pressing your lips together and tilting your head accordingly, “I’ve had to keep it private for a couple of reasons.”

“What, is he ugly or something?” she chuckles, “but really, who’s the person who has the misfortune of being in a committed relationship with you?”

Maybe it’s because Doyeon’s right, the both of you are too old. The two of you have been running around each other for years, with no end in sight. Maybe, the words that linger on the tip of your tongue will be the final nail in the coffin.

“Jeon Jungkook,” you state proudly, clear as day. “Jungkook and I have been dating for three months.”

And you pick up the vanilla macaron that sits innocently on your plate, ravishing it up like it contained all the tension in your table. Between you and Doyeon’s bubble, you could hear a pin drop.

“Jungkook?” her smile is concrete-solid, “my Jungkook?”

“My Jungkook,” you correct, giving her a puppy-eyed look, “I’m really sorry I never told you. I mean, is there ever a right time to tell your cousin they’re dating their ex-boyfriend?” you laugh, either to lighten the mood or because you love the way Doyeon pinches her face, you don’t know.

“How did you two even meet?”

“We reconnected through Seokjin. You know how the two of them play Starcraft together, I just ended up joining the call and he was so funny and nice. We just sorta… felt it.” Doyeon nods like a slow bobblehead, still comprehending in her pea-sized brain, “I just hope it isn’t too awkward. I know it’s been awhile but, if you really don’t want Jungkook to come I can always take Hoseok or something.”

“No, it’s fine,” Doyeon says a little too quickly, masking on her picture-perfect smile. “I’m with Namjoon now, and I’m totally happy. Water under the bridge, it’ll be totally fine.”

“Really?” your eyes practically sparkle, thankful for the amount of glitter and highlighter you’ve dumped on your face today, “I really appreciate it, Yeonie.”

And she quickly downs her champagne glass, and gets up from her seat. It’s haunting, the way she gets up, pink tulle billowing around her ankles. “I have to attend to the other guests,” she says.

“Of course,” you raise your glass.

“But, be careful,” she gives you a little smile, one filled with a last-ditch attempt at a jab, “Jungkook, he’s a little hard to deal with.”

“Oh don’t worry. I know how to deal with Jungkook’s hardness,” you wink, and Doyeon’s face falls like a ton of bricks.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“I know,” you shrug loftily, “that’s what I meant, though.”

And you don’t bother watching Doyeon stomp off the metaphorical stage, double fisting two new glasses of champagne from an awaiting butler as she finds some other poor guest to pick on. Now, the matter of securing your date. Conveniently so, the most important man in the room is walking your way, and you manage to snag his tie just as he passes your table.

“Ow—ow! I’m choking!” Seokjin grabs, nearly throwing his tall body onto your lap, hands grappling to release the tension on his neck. “Leave me alone, woman! I just wanted to get some chicken tenders!”

“Jin,” you say sweetly, opening his blazer to retrieve his phone, “I need Jeon’s number, now.”

“Jungkook?” your favorite cousin pales, eyes widening as you take out your phone of your own, copying down the digits, “what did you do?”

“Don’t ask questions.”

Seokjin says your name again, firmer. “You’re playing with fire.”

“It’ll be fine, it’s the last time,” you quell, already knowing how much Seokjin hates being in the middle of your fights. Once you’ve secured the phone number, you place Seokjin’s phone back into his pocket, patting his breast. “Thank you. You know you’re my favorite cousin, you know that?”

He grumbles a “damn right I am” before stomping away, resuming his race for his chicken tenders.

You: hey jeon it’s y/n. I see you’re doing great, i saw on instagram that you released your first app w/yoongi! Totally amazing, been playing for weeks, really upset that i can’t get past the flaming frog boss :((

You: Feel free to ignore this, i won’t blame you if you do. Im at doyeon’s rehearsal dinner, and she basically snubbed my friends and said i couldn’t get some prime dick even though im?? Me??? Anyway, im tired of her shit so im gonna throw it back at her, one last time before she ties the knot. I told her you and i have been dating, and im bringing you as my date to her wedding. Really sorry, the demons took over my brain and made the worst and best comeback of my life. So… if you’re up for being the hottest couple on the floor in three weeks and showing how madly in love we are, please text me back? Or not. You might think this family is crazy and i accept partial responsibility.

You: I’ll buy u every meal for every practice date we have if u agree.💕💕💕

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: thanks, i appreciate that. To defeat the frog boss, go back to the coconut cave and find the garnet garter. It absorbs his fire and u can easily defeat froggo w any level 15 weapon

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: and as for the real reason u texted me. Im in. let’s get pork belly tomorrow.

Two years ago, you were surprised that Doyeon could manage to snag a man as fine as Jeon Jungkook. Also unsurprised, because Doyeon is gorgeous and could snag any man she wanted, and has snagged every man she wanted.

Jungkook was different though. He had an air of innocence to him. He loved her, a little too much to be safe. Your heart would betray you every time you would find him at a family gathering, making her plate and counting the calories she so meticulously measured. How can someone so sweet be with someone like Doyeon?

Your heart ached for Jungkook when they broke up a year later. From what you heard, Doyeon was Jungkook’s first serious girlfriend. And then you wanted to rip your heart out a week later when you caught Doyeon smooching with her favorite graduate professor Kim Namjoon, wanting to erase any possibility you’d have at love. At that time, you never wanted to feel the pain you imagined Jungkook was going through.

“Y/n! Over here!” you’re a little taken aback at how much has not changed in Jungkook. His eyes still sparkle like fresh dew, his smile is still pearly white and infectious. He’s even early, snagging a table at his favorite barbeque place and waiting for you as if he is the one organizing your first date.

At the same time, there’s so much that’s changed about him. He’s confident, even going so far as to walk over to you and slip your jacket and purse in his grasp like a gentleman. He leads you by putting a hand lightly at the small of your back, making you feel impossibly small in comparison to his Dorito-shaped body, broad shoulders and a deliciously trim waist.

“How was the walk over?”

“Not too bad,” the conversation is casual, easy. You wipe the sweat off your forehead with a napkin. “Could use a little exercise now and again. I did eat a whole tray of macarons at that rehearsal dinner.”

Jungkook laughs from his belly, causing you to smile. “Nonsense. You look great, by the way,” you don’t mind it, actually, you enjoy it when his eyes rake over your body. After all, he’s now your boyfriend and he needs to get familiar with all the important bits. He leans his arms forward, bracing him against the wooden table so his face is closer to yours.

“You’re not doing too bad yourself,” your eyes gloss over the veins and intricate tattoos that paint his muscled upper half. Your smile morphs into a smirk, letting him know you’re enjoying the view just as well as he is.

And as soon as the tension sparks, it ends just as fast when your waiter comes up to light your grill.

“So,” Jungkook wastes no time in decorating your stove, making sure to add all the appropriate aromatics and infusions to season your lunch, “do you know why Doyeon and I broke up?”

“Cheated on you with Namjoon, I assume,” you keep your eyes trained on the darkening meat.

Jungkook slips a piece of meat in his mouth. Any expression of pain (whether it be from Doyeon or the barely cooked meat) doesn’t reveal itself as he stops to take a sip of water. “Who else knows?”

“Just me and Seokjin. The family loved you too much and Doyeon made up some sob story about how you two were going different life paths.”

He chuckles to himself, taking great care in flipping the meat. “I really was a fool in love, wasn’t I?”

“It… was mildly cute.”

“Tell me the truth, you have no reason not to.”

“Okay, you made me want to vomit rainbows and glitter every time I saw you.”

The two of you laugh, faces crinkling shamelessly as the two of you busy yourselves with setting up the table. Most of the food is done and the aroma of fresh onions wafts around your grill. As you place chopsticks on his side of the table, you think about all the times Jungkook made it abundantly clear how much he loved Doyeon: the love letters tucked into her purse, 100 day anniversaries, even just a simple Americano for her in the morning.

“Is that why you never hung out with us?”

“No,” you reply lightly, “Doyeon made it clear that I shouldn’t talk to you.”

Jungkook frowns, “You really don’t like each other, do you.”

You shrug, “Just always been like that,” you quirk a smile when Jungkook places the freshly cooked meat on top of your rice before serving himself.

“So what’s the plan?”

“We go to the wedding, make out a little, get Doyeon boiling. Even if she’s not interested in you, she’d still be upset knowing we are together.”

“And why is that?”

“Because it’s me,” you grin into your glass, staring at a water-stained Jungkook through the blue tinted glass. “And all you have to do, is enjoy your night and look pretty.”

His eyes crinkle, chopsticks pressing between his lips. “You think I look pretty?”

With a roll of eyes you don’t respond, preferring to dig your chopsticks in your rice. No need to inflate Jungkook’s ego too soon.

Pinning the main theme of your hangout to the side, the both of you dig into your meal. You throw conversation back and forth like pebbles, grains of sand that build and build until you’re caught up with each other’s lives. It feels so strange to admit it’s been two years since you’ve spoken to the man, and all of a sudden the once luscious meat feels dry in your mouth.

“Jeon,” you put your chopsticks down, “are you sure you want to do this with me? I mean, I know it’s all my fault and I dragged you into it. Don’t feel obligated to agree to this.”

“I’m a hundred-percent sure,” he doesn’t stop eating, shoving two spoonfuls of rice in his mouth. His cheeks puff up considerably, and your eyes trail down to his neck as he swallows, “I wouldn’t be here if I didn’t wanna.”

“Right,” you don’t need a big explanation or a personal confession from Jungkook, just his consent. “Partners, Jeon?” you hold up your glass.

“Partners,” he agrees easily. The smile on his face disarms you, a full-fledged grin decked with pearly whites. Clicking his glass to yours he adds, “And it’s Jungkook, babe.”

Oh, this is going to be interesting.

Seokjin thinks the two of you are the most boring fake-couple.

His eyes dart back and forth between your spot on the couch and his desk, where Jungkook is currently seated. Seokjin is hovered over Jungkook, who’s typing and clicking furiously over his PC game. You’re on your phone, feet pulled up to the coffee table while some old Netflix movie plays in the background. To top it all off both of you didn’t even try to dress like it’s daytime, nearly matching in sweatpants and an oversized hoodie. It doesn’t look like a couple coming to visit Seokin, it looks like Jungkook is playing video games with Seokjin while his cousin hangs around like she owns the place.

“Shouldn’t you guys like, I don’t know, go on dates or something?” Seokjin feels like he’s talking to the air. “Maybe get to know each other before the big day?”

Pulling your phone down to your lap and Jungkook taking off his headphones, the two of you shrug at each other, “No, we’re good.” Jungkook says.

“We know enough,” you agree cooly, “Jungkook likes Valorant.”

“I do like Valorant.”

“He likes pork belly.”

“I do like pork belly.”

“He’s ripped as hell.”

“I am ripped as hell.”

“Okay but have you guys kissed yet?” Seokjin interjects, probably compensating for the nonchalance in the room with his own brand of freaking out. You two only see each other when you’re hanging out at Seokjin’s apartment, and while he’s happy that you two aren’t doing the whole 9-yards and creating an elaborate scheme, the both of you are almost too relaxed. His anxiety is spiking.

“Yes,” Jungkook answers, “at the barbeque place we went to.”

“It was nice," you tack on, "Jin, we got this. Don't worry."

"How can I not worry when you're trying to upset our cousin on her wedding day?" he's sweating in his fully air-conditioned apartment. “I get that she’s the devil’s spawn and everything, but she’s still a human being.”

“In second grade she pushed me on the treadmill because I was going too slow. I got caught on the roller and got a bald spot for two months.”

“Okay yes one bad example—”

“And in senior year she accused me of plagiarizing her essay just because we chose the same topic. I almost didn’t get into college!” Seokjin sighs, crossing his arms. All valid points, and arguing with you isn’t a route he wants to take. “Jin, the point is that she’s constantly pushing my buttons. I’ve always been the bigger person and now that I’m old and confident I just want one jab.”

“That’s valid,” Jungkook pipes up, pressing the spacebar a few times, “I want a jab too, she cheated on me.”

“See? It’s a mutual decision.”

Seokjin asks, “Why aren’t you more worried about this?”

"Because Doyeon isn't going to chew me out on her wedding day," you checked your aunt's seating chart last week and you are far, far away from the bridal table. "We're just going to show off a little bit. Get drunk, eat some bomb steak. Break up in three months or less.”

"You don't have to just convince Doyeon, it's your entire family! Not to mention you also have to go to the bachelor party!"

"Oh I almost forgot," you reach under the couch for your laptop, "Jungkook, in two weekends from now we're flying to Las Vegas for the bachelor party and wedding. I'll buy your ticket now."

"Thanks, babe!” Jungkook sends a cheeky grin to Seokjin, who is unimpressed. “See? I remember to call her babe.”

“Alright, get out of my house,” Seokjin tugs Jungkook away from his computer, causing the younger man to swivel around in his plush gaming chair.

Jungkook frowns at the monitor, “But I’m still bronze one. I’m aiming for silver one by this weekend.”

“Don’t care. As much as I don’t like this plan, I’m not letting you two slip-up.” Seokjin pulls out his phone, revealing Doyeon’s Instagram story, “Doyeon and Namjoon are at the mall buying swimsuits for Vegas. Go to the mall and ‘accidentally’ run into them.”

You sit up straight, tilting your head to the side. “That’s not a bad idea, actually,” you bound over to grab your jacket, giving Seokjin a big fat kiss on his cheek, “Thanks Jinnie, do you know you’re—”

“I’m your favorite cousin. Yeah whatever, bye.” He waves you off, plopping in his own chair so he can enjoy his games in peace.

“I’m driving,” Jungkook declares, swiping your keys from Seokjin’s opal dish.

“Oh, hell no,” you jump on your tippy toes to reach Jungkook’s grasp on your keys, but he’s so freakishly tall there’s no way you can reach. “I drive my car!”

“I’ve always wanted to drive your car back then,” Jungkook cooes, leaning in so your noses touch. “C’mon, you can trust me.”

“You two are gross already,” Seokjin admonishes from the other side of the room, “see, it’s working!”

Poking his cheek so he gives you some space, you whip your head to hide the flush that burns on your cheeks. “Fine, but if you crash you’re buying me a new one.”

“They’re over there,” you hiss between the racks, shuffling between the plastic hangers to point to Doyeon and Namjoon at the women’s section of the store. They look disgustingly adorable together, with Doyeon pointedly telling Namjoon which swimsuit suits his stature better while Namjoon nods along and goes with whatever she says. You crouch down lower, fearing Namjoon’s tall frame would catch you. “Now we just gotta act all couple-y and they’ll notice us. Or maybe we can walk over to them? What do you wanna do?”

“Do you think we should get matching swimsuits?” Jungkook pays no mind to your sleuthing, holding up a red pair of swim trunks to his thighs, “we could pretend to be sexy lifeguards.”

You tilt your head away from the pair, only because Jungkook has been genuinely interested in this store since you’ve arrived. Putting a hand under your chin, you scrutinize the dark red cutoff shorts. “They’re cute,” you nod appreciatively, “It’ll make your thighs look thick.”

Jungkook’s grip on his hanger lowers, and he regards you with dark eyes. “You think my thighs look thick?” he asks, leaning in and putting one hand on the curve of your waist. His fingers dance on the surface of bare skin between your top and jeans, and while you’ve agreed beforehand that you two could touch each other wherever in public, it still surprises you when gooseflesh rises to the surface.

“Easy there, tiger,” you chuckle, putting a hand on his chest to stop his sudden bout of flirting. “I’m just stating the facts, we get it. You lift.”

“You’re so cute when you try to put your guard up,” he’s brushing noses with you now, and you feel the plastic of the hanger crumple pathetically between you two as the gap closes further. “But you can’t hide from me.”

And just as his lips move to press against yours, a shrill “Jungkook!” echoes throughout the large store.

You nearly flop over the boardshorts rack if not for Jungkook’s arms secured around your waist. Oh right, you think dumbly, this is all for show. Doyeon and Namjoon are right in front of you, purchases already made and looking at you two in curiosity. Well, Namjoon is definitely curious, because you know for a fact that Doyeon speaks very little of you to him and you’ve only conversed with him a handful of times. Doyeon on the other hand, looks a little stiff in the grin.

“Hello to you too,” you remark to Doyeon, who’s barely acknowledged you. You reach over to squeeze Namjoon’s arm, “Hi Joonie,” you crinkle your eyes, and you fight back a squeal when he smiles back with dimples. Doyeon has such a cute fiancé, and if you’re keeping score he’s way too good for her.

Doyeon’s eyes glaze over to where you’ve touched Namjoon, and she links her arms with his. “What a coincidence, you two are buying swimsuits where we’re buying swimsuits.”

“Well, there’s only one mall in this town and we’re going on the same trip in two weeks,” you reply blandly, and you feel Jungkook pinch your side. “Oh, Namjoon. Have you met my boyfriend Jungkook?”

“Can’t say that I have,” Namjoon reaches over to clasp Jungkook’s hand, “nice to meet you, man.”

While Namjoon and Jungkook exchange small talk, you pointedly ignore the waves of negativity Doyeon sends your way in favor of observing the two large men. Namjoon just said it was nice to meet him, therefore he has no clue who Jungkook is. Interesting, considering Doyeon two-timed in favor of Namjoon. It gets you a little antsy, and you wonder if Namjoon is faking this whole interaction or if Doyeon is hiding something.

“Baby,” Jungkook rests a hand on your shoulder, regarding you with concern, “you spaced out there, are you okay?”

“She’s like that, Jungkookie,” Jungkook gently presses your shoulders down, blocking your view of Doyeon as she regards your not-boyfriend as Jungkookie. “My cousin’s a bit of an airhead,” her tone is sweet and jesting, the backhanded jab going right above Namjoon’s head.

“I’m just hungry,” you say, forcing a tight-lipped smile.

“Well, that’s perfect,” Namjoon clasps his hands together, “Yeonie and I were just about to go grab some dinner. Why don’t you join us?”

Doyeon and you both reply immediately, “That really isn’t necessary—”

“Nonsense,” you don’t even have the heart to be upset at Namjoon because he looks so damn genuine, “It’s been two years and I haven’t even bought you a meal, y/n. After all, we’re going to be family at the end of the month.”

“Right,” you answer reluctantly.

“We’re gonna make reservations at the Cheesecake Factory,” he pulls out his phone, ready to make a call, “but you and Jungkook can finish shopping, okay? The wait will be a little long but by the time you’re done our table should be ready.”

You and Jungkook wave off Doyeon and Namjoon as they make their way to the restaurant. Your hand is caught in the air by Jungkook, who regards you with worry in his eyes. “I wasn’t kidding when I said you looked spaced out,” he says, “tell me what you were really thinking.”

Subconsciously, you squeeze his palm for comfort. “I don’t know, it just feels weird knowing Namjoon doesn’t seem to know you at all. Normally Doyeon loves to talk shit about her exes.”

Jungkook scoffs easily, “I mean, if she’s marrying the guy I’m sure she doesn’t want to let him know the details of how they ended up together.”

“True,” you decide to let it go, and follow Jungkook to the register to pay for his swim trunks.

“So,” the little ‘ding’ of the register opens up the money box, and Jungkook quickly hands the clerk his cash, “we’re having dinner with them after this?”

“Only if you want to.”

“We need to, right?” Jungkook thanks the clerk, holding the bag in one hand and threading his fingers through yours as you head out the store.

“Well, do you want to?” you ask again. Jungkook stops the two of you on the sidewalk. It isn’t a fast stop, but a slow down that makes his walk a little more thicker, more deliberate as he trudges you down the lane. You move in front of him, clutching your hands between his. “Are you okay? You barely even acknowledged Doyeon.”

“I’m fine,” you flinch at his harsh tone, and he immediately moves to remedy it by squeezing your hand back. “I’m sorry. It’s just been awhile and I’m definitely over her but,” he bows his head, feeling embarrassed, “she hurt me, you know?”

Going into this is definitely one of the more selfish plans you’ve put your mind to. Your heart pangs thinking about what must be going through everytime he sees her. If he’s reminded about all the good times they shared, or how much he’s over thought every single conversation he’s had with her up until this point.

“Of course,” you completely understand, knowing from the beginning that this whole mess would end up with some dicey feelings someway or another. “I’m just thankful you chose to stick by me. And we can talk about it if you’re comfortable,” both of you being victims of Doyeon’s brand of torture, you hope the two of you can at least be friends after all of this is over, “we don’t have to go have dinner with them.”

“But, Namjoon got us a table—”

“Namjoon will be fine. We can always have dinner with him another time,” you smile softly, “what matters is that you’re okay.”

His gaze melts, and you feel his grip loosen in your hold. He regards you with weak eyes, betraying the confidence he held himself to moments before. “Thanks, y/n,” he says, “I really appreciate that.”

“Anytime,” you reply honestly. “We can go to Cheesecake and order to-go. I can make some excuse about how my stomach hurts and that we should do a raincheck.”

“Sounds good.”

“Do you wanna eat at one of our places or eat at the park or something?” you’re already pulling up your phone, checking out the menu. “We could invite Jin too.”

“The park sounds nice,” neither of you acknowledge the fact that you’re not inviting Seokjin, and for some reason that’s okay.

“Yeah,” you agree simply, “the weather’s beautiful.”

Under any normal circumstances, you would’ve been friends with someone like Jeon Jungkook, easily. A little part of you wishes that you could’ve met Jungkook first, but Doyeon has better connections than you and always had a good crowd around despite her inner motivations. No awkward exchange happens when you suggest to Jungkook to eat together. Even though you’re not technically dating, the two of you know that eating together is better than eating alone.

And you have to admit Jungkook’s great company. The two of you drive to a reserve nearby, overlooking a tiny lake. Instead of a fancy Italian tablecloth the two of you move your car seats down and set a spare picnic blanket in the trunk. Instead of a candlelit dinner the two of you find some emergency electric tealights in the glove compartment, lighting it up between you two as you dig into your to-go boxes.

You’re a little envious that so much time has passed by. You could’ve been a little sneakier and made a better effort to communicate with Jungkook when you saw him regularly at family parties, and maybe you two would have a better friendship today. Nevertheless, the two of you mesh like peanut butter and jelly, exchanging conversation that has your cheeks sore from smiling too hard.

By the time you get to dessert, the moon is out and the stars are floating above your heads. The two of you are at war, fighting with your forks over the last strawberry in your cheesecake slice. After some careful stabbing Jungkook manages to nab it with his fork.

He almost puts it in his mouth, but instead swipes up some whipped cream to press the last strawberry to your lips.

“I think it’s working,” Jungkook says randomly as you chew the sweet fruit, “you could see it on Doyeon’s face today. She’s unsettled.”

“Yeah,” you agree, lying down on the lavender gingham picnic blanket.

“Do you know why she fights with you all the time?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since the dawn of time.”

“I think I know why.” Jungkook looks down at you with his large doe eyes, licking innocently on a spoon of whipped cream.

“Pray tell.”

“She’s jealous of you.”

“No,” you disagree easily, “she’s jealous that I have you.”

“Bzzt! Wrong,” Jungkook puts his empty container in your makeshift trash can, falling beside you and knitting his hands under his head. You have a little window on the roof of your car, so both of you are able to stare at the navy sky, “she’s always been jealous of you. Think about it. The two of you have similar lifestyles: same career path, confidence, taste, education. But even after all of that? People still like you more.”

You scoff, hands immediately reaching to fiddle with the frayed corner of fabric next to your fingers. “I don’t think so.”

“I’ve met all of Doyeon’s friends,” he informs you, “they’re weird. Like yeah, they care about each other on the surface level. But they’re nothing of substance. They’re not like your friends.”

“Please, Doyeon has everything she could ever want,” you don’t know what kind of complex you have supporting Doyeon’s life, but something deep and insecure wants to separate you two as far away from each other as possible. “Like… she’s Malibu Barbie and I’m Polly Pocket.”

Jungkook turns to face you, resting his head between his palm and leaning on his elbow. “Do you not think you’re beautiful?”

“Yeah, but compared to Doyeon—”

“You’ve always been beautiful to me, don’t you know that?”

You choke on your saliva, feeling small and skittish at the implication behind his words. It’s been two years. You’ve only been friends for two weeks. How can he possibly say that?

“I uh, saw you once,” Jungkook coughs, and you watch the way his pale cheeks unmatch the moon and instead flit to a crimson hue, “we were at some party and you were wearing this really cute black dress with a white bow in the middle. Doesn’t even matter what party because it was random, y’know? I was gonna go talk to you but Doyeon got to me first and well, the rest is history.” He breaks eye contact with you, unable to handle it.

You remember that party, vaguely. It was random, some sort of poetry slam in a shady part of town. Doyeon and you didn’t even go with each other, you were with Taehyung and she just happened to stumble in there from another nearby party. You didn’t even know Jungkook was there that night, or how you were a hair's breadth away from meeting him before Doyeon.

“Don’t ever think you’re lesser than her just because out of all the people she chose to pick on, she chose you. It’s why she never lets you get to know her boyfriends. She’s threatened by you because you’re just as special,” something low sparks in your chest at his words, “and now that you’ve finally decided to stoop to her level and fight back with a taste of her own medicine, she doesn’t know what to do.”

Feeling like your body is on a beach and you’re sinking in sand, you soften over your picnic blanket, mulling it over. “Did I make the right choice? Stooping down to her level.” Your voice is quiet, comparable to the chirping birds and buzzing gnats outside.

“We won’t know until after the wedding,” Jungkook answers honestly, “but I do know I’m sticking with you until the end. We’re friends now, got that? You have no excuse to ignore me anymore.”

You don’t want to ignore Jungkook, never in a million years. Now you know that you are envious of Doyeon, for having an opportunity to love and care for an amazing person like him. So in a sudden bout of emotion, you roll over to straddle Jungkook’s waist.

He’s shocked, hands flying to your waist to make sure you don’t wobble off. But you’re determined, and lean down to press your lips against his. He tastes like cheesecake and strawberries, the taste melding with your own as you relish in the feeling of his soft lips against yours. You melt a little when he squeaks, breaking into a soft moan as he reciprocates the gesture. He’s warm and large and he makes you feel safe. Once your brain returns to your body, you break for air. You only pull back a few centimeters, and there’s no way for you to get off because Jungkook has locked you in place.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly.

“Don’t know,” you’re whispering against his lips, unable to pull away, “just felt like we needed a little more practice.”

He blinks, before relaxing in a silly smile. “I agree,” he says simply, dipping you on your back so he can be on top the second time around.

“We’re in Vegas, baby!”

Every single terrible comedy movie set in Las Vegas has brought you to this very moment. You’ve always wanted to say that line. Dumping your luggage next to Jungkook’s, you flop on the nearest mattress. Thank goodness you only wore leggings and a t-shirt on the flight, it’s the optimal sleeping outfit after a long day. Feeling something hard and plastic dig into your brain, you hold up the culprit and squeal excitedly. “Look, Kook!” you wave the crinkly confection in your hands, “they put mints on the pillows!”

Despite your room being a square with two queen beds, the hotel does not skimp on quality. The decor is ornate, the white and gold trim on the doorknobs and metal appliances shimmering beautifully. The beds feel like clouds, as you try to imagine what a cloud could possibly feel like, this is it.

Jungkook immediately follows suit, ripping off his outer clothes until he’s left in his undershirt and boxers, flopping next to you on the mattress. He immediately opens his mouth when you shoot a mint, catching it easily. “I feel like we’re in a deleted scene of Crazy Rich Asians,” he says, letting the hard mint clink around his teeth, “is this the part where you tell me your family comes from old money and I’m gonna be your sugar baby?”

“Don’t be so hopeful,” you narrow your eyes, booping his button nose with your finger.

“I’m just saying, the first class flight threw me off.”

You giggle, slapping his chest, “No. If that was true, we wouldn’t be sharing a room with my cousin. Sorry you have to share the bed with me, I got the hotel with Jin and he doesn’t want to sleep with you.”

“S’okay,” Jungkook replies softly, leaning closer to make grabby hands at you, “you’re softer.”

Tentatively, you scooch over so you can lean on Jungkook’s chest. You two have a little time before Doyeon and Namjoon’s combined bachelor and bachelorette party. The past two weeks have been nice—scratch that, the past two weeks with Jungkook have been wonderful. You never cared to measure how much time passed before meeting him, but now that you’ve begun fake-dating, time is the only thing you regard. You’re already beginning to miss him, knowing that in a week, this whole arrangement will be over.

Well, not exactly over. Jungkook says you’ll remain friends after this, but you don’t really want that. You want more, and it scares you to think he may not feel the same.

But right now you’re snuggling like an old couple, sleeping comfortably between pillow-like sheets and minty breath. Your pretend boyfriend, now your pretend boyfriend with benefits, looks soft and huggable and you want to bottle up this moment forever. You say benefits because, well, the cuddling is an added bonus. Practice practice practice, Jungkook sing songs the words you used that one night under the stars, excuses to seal his lips to your lips. You’ll never argue with that. So when Jungkook’s hand tightens around your waist and pulls you closer, you relent.

One second, you’re closing your eyes and the next, you’re waking up to Seokin’s wide eyes staring back at you.

“Eep, you creepo!” you shriek, scrambling away from him. That’s when you realize Jungkook’s missing from bed, the scent of his laundry detergent lingering between the eggshell Egyptian cotton.

“Jungkook’s in the shower,” Seokjin immediately reads your mind, pulling away so he can unpack his luggage. “My flight just got in two hours ago, you both were out like a light when I arrived.”

“Ugh, I’m really not ready to party.”

“Doyeon just texted the family group chat. She reserved the rooftop, the party starts in an hour,” he talks mindlessly, rifling through his stuff. Seokjin is fiddling with his clothes, despite the fact that you know Seokjin prepares his outfits days in advance so he doesn’t have to choose. He looks concerned, pulling out a flamingo pink boardshort and setting it down on his mattress. Finally he says, “I’m worried about you.”

“Why?”

“Because. It’s clear that you’re starting to fall for Jungkook.”

The words strike you straight in the place you’re trying to avoid. You’ve been living in a fantasy these past two weeks, thinly veiled by the whole reason you two are together in the first place. Doyeon’s wedding is just around the corner, and what then?

“I’m not saying that he doesn’t feel anything for you either,” that gets your heart skipping a beat, and you secretly hold a hand to your chest under the blankets, “but do you really want to start off a relationship like this? A relationship all messy and morally objective because it’s built on revenge?”

“Don’t worry about me,” the words easily fall from your lips, “I can take care of this.”

“I hate it when you say that,” the words are curt and harsh against Seokjin’s plush lips, “I’m allowed to worry about you, y/n. You know why? Because, because you’re my favorite cousin too,” he bites his lip, walking over so he sits on your side of the bed. “So don’t tell me what I can and can’t worry about. I want you to be happy, I want you to stop holding in this anger you have for Doyeon and move on.”

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, leaning over to press your cheek against Seokjin’s shoulder. “You’re right.”

“For the first time in a long time, you’ve finally decided to lean on someone,” and both of you know who that someone is. “I don’t want you to lose him over some petty family issue. You should tell him how you feel.”

“I will,” you wrap your arms around your cousin’s slim waist in a silent thanks.

“Am I interrupting a tender family moment?”

The two of you pull away to stare at Jungkook, leaning against the doorframe that leads to the bathroom. He’s in a plain white t-shirt and the red board shorts that you bought at the mall, cutting off mid-thigh and revealing the bulky muscle underneath. You were right, the shorts do make his thighs look thick.

Seokjin groans exaggeratedly. “Yes, yes you did.”

Jungkook immediately goes to replace Seokjin’s spot, and some stray droplets fall fresh from the shower due to his slicked-back hair. “Do you wanna get ready? First party’s soon.”

“Not really,” you admit, “you’re gonna meet the family all over again.”

“Second time’s the charm,” he winked, “I’ve already met your parents and everything. Not feeling nervous at all.”

“Oh, really?”

“Really,” and the facade cools down a little, “well, maybe a little nervous for your Aunt Lillian. Her stares give me the heebie-jeebies.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you from Aunt Lillian.”

“God the two of you get worse every day,” Seokjin has magically changed into his shorts, tucking himself into the bed, “don’t wake me up until we pre-game.”

Doyeon and Namjoon don’t skimp on the festivities, although in taste the ideas are Doyeon’s in its entirety. It’s lavish and colorful, with a beautiful infinity pool in the middle decorated with lavender and pink headlights. There’s a buffet table overflowing with tasty food. There’s petal pink champagne overflowing from fountains, decorated with fresh strawberries bobbing around the fizzy drink.

“I don’t know,” Namjoon and Jungkook have been talking for well over an hour, and it’s clear how well they mesh together. Heck, you’ve accepted that Jungkook may like Namjoon more than he likes you. Jungkook’s eyes sparkle as Namjoon discusses the various genres of rap and hip-hop music, explaining the potency of mature themes in a young community, “but I will say music is like another language, knows no boundaries when it comes to sending their messages to others.”

You fight the urge to chuckle when Jungkook sighs dreamily at the music theory professor. “Wow, that’s so deep.”

Getting up from your cabana, you nudge Seokjin, who’s currently flirting it up with one of Doyeon’s bridesmaids. “Hey, wanna get a drink?” you ask, throwing your wrap on the cushions to reveal your strappy red bikini.

“And chicken tenders,” Seokjin presses a kiss to the bridesmaid’s cheek, bidding her goodbye as he follows you out of the shaded area.

“Do you two lovebirds want anything?” you stare pointedly at Namjoon and Jungkook. While Namjoon’s eyes stay in contact with you, you can’t help but smile a little more when Jungkook has a hard time keeping his gaze in one place.

“I think we’re fine,” Namjoon answers for both of them, swirling his beer bottle. “I’ll meet you two at the bar once I’m done.”

“Sure thing,” Seokjin puts a hand on your back to lead you to one of the open bars. As much as you like being in a handsome hotel with money to burn, nothing beats the fact that your entire family is here to celebrate. The elders have corroborated two cabanas for poker and other games, while your younger cousins are playing ping pong and air hockey on the other side.

“Namjoon sure is a dreamboat,” Seokjin bemoans, handing you an electric orange drink. You take a sip of it, and bug out when you realize it tastes nothing like alcohol. You’re definitely in for a night. “Like I can hear him wax music thingamajib any day.”

“I thought you were into that bridesmaid.”

“A mere diversion,” he sighs, leaning his tanned arms against the bar, “can’t ignore the deep voice Namjoon has, it’s intoxicating.”

“I’m sure Jungkook would agree,” you egg on.

“What are you two talking about?” you straighten up when the man of the hour shows up at the bar, absolutely glowing under the sunset. He orders a round for the three of you, and you immediately chug your own drink to get to the next one.

“Talking about how you’re stealing Jungkook away from me,” you joke, accepting another fruity drink from Namjoon. Damn, this stuff tastes like candy.

“Oh, never,” Namjoon replies brightly, waving the thought away, “do you see the way he looks at you? Hopelessly in love.”

Maybe it’s the copious amounts of alcohol, but you feel your stomach flip-flop at the thought of love. You’ve always known what love felt like, the warmth of Namjoon’s cheeks whenever he sees Doyeon, when your mom takes care of you when you’re sick, when Seokjin makes sure you’re not emotionally constipated 24/7. But the thought of Jungkook and you in love? It’s a feeling you secretly yearn for.

“Right? It’s disgusting,” Seokjin groans with an eye roll, “like, Jungkook wasn’t like that with Doyeon at all when they were together.”

The slip up has the three of you choking on your own thoughts, staring at each other like the three have just been told you’re on a prank show. But it is no prank, and you look at Seokjin who’s absolutely horrified.

“Oh shit,” he squeaks, looking at Namjoon guiltily, “did I say something I shouldn’t have said?”

“I don’t know,” Namjoon replies coolly, “did you?”

The ominous response gets you going, and you quickly place a hand on Namjoon’s arm, placating him. “They dated, yes. But it was only for a short time and we’ve sorted everything out. Nothing for you to worry about.”

“Oh,” Namjoon quirks his head, and regards you two with pursed lips. “I’m not one of those guys who freak out over other people’s exes. I’m just surprised that I’ve only heard this now,” Namjoon takes a slow sip of his drink, and despite your drink also being cold and refreshing, you’re absolutely sweating.

“Well, I’m sure Doyeon didn’t want to worry you.”

At the mention of his future wife, he beams. “You’re right, she’s considerate like that,” and the conversation ends just like that. He holds up his drink to the two of you, and you and Seokjin do the same. With a sharp clink he leaves you two to mull, happily conversing with the next round of guests he needs to entertain for the week.

“That guy is too nice for his own good,” you shake your head, asking the bartender for your third drink within ten minutes.

Seokjin leans over you and warbles, “So you’re telling me that Namjoon has no idea that Doyeon cheated on Jungkook in order to date him?” he’s sweating just like you are, following suit to your actions and asking to make his drink a double.

“I don’t know,” you bite your lip, your teeth worrying the dark skin, “I’ve been thinking about it for a while though. I just don’t want to get involved, you know?”

“But this is different!”

“But Doyeon’s family!”

“And all of a sudden you care about Doyeon’s feelings?” Seokjin gripes back, “it’s not about Doyeon, it’s about the both of them. And if we know something that Namjoon doesn’t, wouldn’t it be in our best interests to warn him before he seals a marriage deal that costs him over a zillion dollars?” he gestures to the extravagant wedding party.

“But we don’t even have any proof that’s the case,” you frown, “Doyeon could have changed—a little, not a lot—since meeting Namjoon, maybe she thinks it’s best to reveal as little as possible.”

Seokjin wonders what kind of family he has. One as chaotic as his takes a lot to stomach, and Seokjin likes to pride himself in his strong appetite. “Fine, let’s just keep a close eye on both of them this week. And if anything remotely fishy happens, we strike.”

“Deal.”

You return to the cabana alone, with a plate of fries for both you and Jungkook. Jungkook is also alone, laying on the lounge chair with his eyes closed. It gives you a chance to ogle your fake-boyfriend a little bit, reveling in the sight of his toned body.

Setting down your plate with a sharp rap of the glass, Jungkook opens one eye. “Hey,” he smiles, drinking in your muted expression, “you okay?”

Damn Jungkook for being able to read you so well. “I think so. It’s nothing, really.”

“Well, will you tell me if it’s something?”

“Yeah, I will.”

“So, I do have something to tell you though.” Jungkook sits up, regarding you wearily. “Can you… stand in front of me?” Confused, you shove a fry in your mouth and walk up to him as directed, your back blocking the entrance as you stand in front of him. “Okay, come closer. Now bend down,” you bend your back 90 degrees, and he presses a hand to your shoulder to stop you, “no, no. With your breasts out, just a little—there! Arch your back. Like you’re doing the Sorority Squat.”

“Excuse me—”

“The music isn’t even that loud,” he mutters to himself, “no one would need to push their boobs in my face to hear me.”

“Jungkook, is someone pressing boobs to your face?”

“Why,” he breaks into a playful grin, “jealous?”

“Not if it’s Aunt Lillian.”

“Unfortunately it wasn’t,” he twiddles with the drawstrings of his shorts. “It was Doyeon.”

Doyeon? She didn’t walk by your cabana all day. Heck, she barely greeted you when you arrived with Jungkook. But when Jungkook’s alone is when she decides to pounce? And with what motive?

“I don’t know,” he’s rambling to himself, “maybe I’m overthinking it. It was only half a second.”

“Jungkook, I have something to tell you,” you say instead, panic in your features.

“Is it something urgent?”

“Well, no but—”

“Then tell me when we get back to the room,” Jungkook easily pulls you onto his lap, and you instantly heat up when you feel your bare butt press against Jungkook’s golden thighs. “Like you said, we’re in Vegas. Let’s have fun while we can.”

“Okay,” you tuck your head between his neck and collarbone, reaching to press a kiss to his smooth jawline.

Relaxing against the plush lounge chair Jungkook feeds you fries while talking about the things he wants to do this week. It’s his first time in Vegas and he wants to make the most of it. He wants to visit all the buffets he sees on Buzzfeed compilations, relax at the pool, maybe catch a show. The thought of spending all week with him and your family is nice, and suddenly you don’t feel so awkward sitting on his lap, and eventually he pulls you between his thighs so you can lay on his chest.

“And between you and me,” he fake whispers against the shell of your ear, as if he’s telling you the biggest secret, “we’re the hottest couple here.”

The next three days leading up to the wedding are relatively uninteresting.

Uninteresting in the best way possible. On Monday you and Jungkook spend time with your little cousins, taking them to The Adventuredome, one of the resort's indoor theme parks. On Tuesday you and Jungkook go shopping at the outlet malls with your parents, blowing hundreds of dollars on cheap Levis that have your luggage bursting with a new wardrobe. In between all of that Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon joins you two in your buffet journey, hitting up the top spots and filling your tummies to the brim with delicious food.

On Wednesday, Jungkook brandishes two gold-foiled tickets in front of you, waving them around like a fan. With one finger, he pushes away your Pokémon battle, “I got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” he announces proudly, “waited in line for an hour.”

You gape, scrambling off of your bed and throwing your Nintendo Switch to the side. “Jungkook,” you marvel, “these are so expensive. How’d you manage to get a show for tonight?”

He shrugs, “Looked around.”

“You’ve been impulse buying a lot this week,” you tease, “like really, you don’t need three pairs of the same ripped jeans.”

“This wasn’t an impulse buy,” he says, “I’ve been looking around for shows. Just managed to pick them up today, so go get dressed for our date.”

Did Jungkook just call it a date? Giddy with excitement you throw the covers off, running into the bathroom to get ready. What a surprise, you didn’t think Jungkook would be into spontaneous things like this.

Seokjin left the bathroom open, so when you walk in the room it is steamy and warm. Your dear cousin is still in the shower, probably waiting for his conditioner to pass three minutes of set-in time.

“What are you getting ready for?” Seokjin asks over the rain shower.

“Kook got us tickets to Cirque du Soleil,” you chirp happily, looking through your skin care products.

“I wanna come!”

“Nope! Jungkook called it a date.”

“Oh, a date,” Seokjin drawls, putting his head under the water to rinse his hair clean. “Well then, should I vacate the room for tonight?”

“What, no!” you’ve closed the door, so thankfully Jungkook can’t hear you talking about him. “We’re not doing anything. We’re just two friends who are fake-dating going on a date.”

“Sounds like a real date, though,” Seokjin wraps a towel around himself to cover all his important bits before getting out of the shower, bumping elbows with you so he can brush his teeth. “Either way, I’ll be gone tonight. It’s my turn to watch the baby cousins. Don’t have too much fun while I'm in their room watching Despicable Me for the millionth time.”

“We’ll be sure to stop by with some pizza or something,” you tease, a little wiggle in your hips when you vacate the bathroom.

By the time you and Jungkook are ready, you two are dressed impeccably. Jungkook is wearing one of the ripped black jeans he bought on Tuesday, combined with a white button up and black blazer. A classic outfit with a little bit of Jungkook-themed flair. And to Jungkook’s surprise, you’re wearing the dress that he first saw you in, all those years ago. You’ve gained a little weight since college, but you still fill out the little black dress beautifully, the little white bow in the middle adding a simple yet adorable touch. It took a little sleuthing and searching through your old college clothes, but you were determined to find it when Jungkook reminded you how much you love the design.

Clearly from the way Jungkook is currently gaping at you like a bloated fish, he loves it too.

The show is beautiful and colorful, leaving you speechless and in tears by the end of it. Jungkook lets you hold his hand the entire time, feeling a bout of anxiety anytime the acrobats fall gracefully despite the large height.

Overall, it was a wonderful show, paired with your equally enamouring date. It’s getting harder and harder to distinguish what’s fake and what’s real in your heart, and throughout the night you’re sorely reminded that you should tell Jungkook how you feel.

But by the time you get to the room your parents are calling you, asking to get their suit and dresses out of the car so hotel service can do a last minute press and dry clean.

“I’ll be back,” you say to Jungkook, “I need to go get their clothes out of the car. They’re always so forgetful.”

“Want me to come?” he offers, hand shying away from inserting the keycard in.

“No, I’ll only be fifteen minutes, tops.”

“So I guess this is this the part where I get a goodnight kiss?” he asks cheekily, leaning on his heels so his tall frame reaches yours. You don’t hesitate to give a short peck to his pretty pink lips. He pouts at the brevity, “that was too quick.”

“Go inside,” you insist, “the sooner you get ready for bed the sooner I can get ready for bed.”

“Then more kisses?”

“Then more kisses.”

Jungkook breaks into an all-teeth smile, unable to control himself when he dips down and steals a longer, more lingering kiss to your lips. “I had a great time tonight,” he says, mimicking every single teenage rom-com protagonist who’s deeply in love with the popular jock. “Don’t take too long, okay?”

You nod, pushing him inside, “C’mon, if you stopped talking I’d be back by now!”

Once the door closes shut, you let yourself do a little dance in the hallway, wiggling your butt and giving yourself a mini-celebration. You quickly text your group chat that you just came back from the Cirque show.

Jimin: what, a date with your fake date?

Hobi: jeon jungcock? 👀👀

Jimin: whaaaaaattttt. U’ve gotta have sat in his lap at least. 3 times since you’ve started this ting

Hobi: i’ve heard things in college…

Taehyung: u are all gross and i hate u

Taehyung: but so am i bc im very curious

Just as you’re about to send a heated reply, the elevator dings, revealing a pissed off Doyeon. She’s bare-faced, in a fluffy lilac bath robe and matching puff ball slippers. You slip in right beside her, making sure there’s a comfortable amount of space between you two.

“You’re going to the parking garage too?” you ask, eyes lingering on the lit button.

“Yeah,” she’s looking at her phone, a few stray hairs from her mahogany bun falling onto her forehead, “Aunt Lillian left her medication in the car. I don’t know why she has to send me, I’m busy getting married.”

“My parents left their formal clothes in the car,” you shrug, “you know, my parents and Aunt Lillian share the same brain cell. Gotta help them out once in a while.”

The icy silence in the elevator is probably the calmest you and Doyeon have been since you’ve announced your relationship status with Jungkook. You fight the sigh, opting to take out your phone and open some unread messages.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: hurry up, the bed’s cold without u

You: lool, why do u look constipated

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: because i am, hurry up. Im bringing ur switch to the toilet and playing on your profile

You: JEON WAIT YAMPERS AT 5HP GO TO THE POKEMON CENTER U HEATHEN

You tilt your head a centimeter, feeling Doyeon breathing down your neck like Puff the Magic Dragon. You look at her with wide eyes. Her long, slender neck manages to snake its way next to your head, “Can I help you?” you ask amusedly, clutching your phone to your chest.

“Are you two really together?” she asks, batting her lashes. All this week she’s left you alone, and you’ve been wondering when she’s going to make herself known. It’s a little self-absorbed you have to admit, but ever since Namjoon’s ignorance to Doyeon’s previous relationship, you’ve been on edge.

“Of course we are,” you spit back, “I love him.”

And you must be very convincing, because Doyeon’s gaze falters just a fraction. You glare at her, staking your claim. Ever since Jungkook told you the reason Doyeon hates you is because she’s jealous, you’ve started to feel a bit of sympathy for her. Doyeon is beautiful and smart, she has no reason to feel this way. But the brain holds fickle thoughts sometimes, bringing darkness to the mind.

“He loved me first,” she bites back, lifting her chin.

“And why do you care?” you laugh tonelessly. The elevator dings open, and you’re met with the open air and concrete of the parking garage. “He may have loved you first, but he’ll love me last.”

You leave the elevator first, a little pep in your step as you make your way to the rental car to gather your parent’s things. While the words you uttered are white in nature and may not hold any sort of weight to them, it manages to bring Doyeon to her knees, absolutely quaking in the elevator.

You’re tasting revenge, and it’s sweet.

“Okay, you need to leave,” Seokjin pulls away the shot glass from your lips, “I didn’t spend days planning the itinerary for you to mess it up. Bridal party in Doyeon’s suite and the groom’s party in Namjoon’s parents suite.”

“That’s dumb,” you chastise, crossing your arms, “we’re all meeting at the same club at 10. Why can’t we pre-party together?”

“Because it’s tradition!”

“Screw tradition,” you stumble on your heels as you purse your lips at Jungkook, “Kook, when we get married I don’t wanna do a whole boy-and-girl party. We’re equals, right?”

“Of course, baby,” he cooes, being careful not to smudge your makeup when he presses his lips to the crown of your head. “But for the sake of Seokjin’s sanity, you should probably go to Doyeon’s. It’ll only be an hour or two.”

You gasp exaggeratedly at the blatant betrayal. He only grins cheekily in response, dipping down to press a wet kiss to your cheek. “Fine,” you cross your arms, snatching back your drink from Seokjin’s grasp to knock it down.

Leaving the bachelor pre-party pains you considerably. They’re having such a good time joking around the suite, telling each other fun stories and relaxing in chairs as they watch TV. This is your kind of crowd, not to mention that you can peacefully check out Jungkook’s ass in those tight dress pants without any crazy club lights distorting your vision.

From past family party experience you already have a feeling what’s coming for you in the ladies’ suite.

Loud music pours from Doyeon’s suite, and it’s completely unlocked. The bridal party is raving, ten seconds away from being completely drunk and immobile. The lights are being manually shut on and off like some sort of cheap rager, and you have to tell Yoojung to tone it down before you get a seizure.

The stench of acidic drinks and the tang of alcoholic air is palpable, and instead of a shot you opt for a glass of peach champagne to slow you down.

As you walk deeper into the suite, you notice a crowd forming by the balcony. Tapping your cousin Nari on the shoulder, you regard her with a hug and kiss. “What’s going on over there?” you ask, heels not helping you see any better.

Nari’s all blushy and pink, hiccuping as she gestures to the balcony. “Her maid of honor got Doyeon a very special gift!”

Managing to weave through the women blocking your view, you fight the urge to gag when you have a clear view of the scene in front of you.

You really don’t understand the purpose of bachelor and bachelorette parties. “One night to be single all over again!” they all say, even though they’re not actually single? Like why does the couple suddenly get one night of forgiveness when you’ve already spent years being in a committed relationship?

Why is it okay that Doyeon’s dry humping a stripper on the balcony? Her white silk dress is ruched dangerously high, soon close to flashing her family. Aunties and friends and the like are cheering her on, and she flips her head perfectly to all the phones shoved in their faces, making sure to get the perfect angle.

Fighting the urge to roll your eyes, you turn back in the hopes that your other family members would be willing to have a good old-fashioned tip back with you.

You squeal when your hands accidentally land on a bare, oiled chest. You look up, mortified at the large man covered in black harnesses. “Hey babe, I’m Wonho,” he says, faking a sultry gaze as he looks at you up and down, “you’re part of the bridal party too? Wanna dance?”

Feeling naked, you push past him, careful not to get anything on your dress. Wonho? Wonno.

Jungkook loves your family.

(Except Doyeon.)

As much as he told you not to worry about him, and he’ll be completely fine when he meets your family, he couldn’t help be a little wary on the flight over. After all, it’s been two years and he didn’t know how things would be different.

Chaoticism and all, your family is a thing to be cherished. Even though Yoongi has been on mood swings that make Jungkook question his sanity from time to time, and Seokjin is secretly breathing down Jungkook’s back every time he so glances at you, he thinks things are right where they should be.

But despite all that they regarded him with familiarity, hugged and kissed him like old friends, something is different. They’ve turned over a new page for him. They don’t bring up Doyeon. They ask about his family, his job, his life in the city. They ask about how you and Jungkook met, and how happy they are for you. How happy they are for him.

Oh, how he wishes everything could be different. In another world, you two would already be together.

He wasn’t lying back at the cabana when he said you two are the hottest couple at the resort, including the bridal party (but don’t tell Namjoon). You look absolutely stunning in your sparkly red dress, accentuating all the right parts and lighting up the whole room.

When he finds you in the club you’re sitting down with your Aunties, keeping the elders company while the younger ones are flagging down the bartenders. He thinks it’s cute, how well you fit in between them, coddling you like you’re still a child in their eyes.

“Dear, your boyfriend is here!” your one Aunt yells over the loud EDM.

You lift your head up quickly, giving him the prettiest smile. Your teeth glow purple under the neon lights, and he fights the urge to laugh when he holds out a hand. “Mind if I steal her from you?”

“Of course, she’s gotta live a little!”

You pout, a little wobbly but nevertheless still in the right mind as you shuffle out of the booth to meet his awaiting arms. “Hey handsome,” your voice is thick and sweet-smelling, “come here often?”

“Only when my girlfriend does,” he replies cheekily, hands immediately coming to your butt to smooth out your dress. He shys a bit when your Aunties hoot and holler at his public display of affection, but all he wants to do was pull the hem down a little bit. No way is he going to let anyone get a flash of your goods.

“Let’s dance!” you take your hand in his, leading him to a comfortable corner of the dance floor.

Clubs aren’t really your scene, aligning with Jungkook’s sentiments towards the loud generic music and terrible smell. But you’re in Vegas, and he feels that it’s all part of the package to experience the nightlife at least once. He puts his hands on your waist and you giggle like you’re in prom, hands coming to rest on the collar of his button down.

“Hey,” he says with a lopsided smirk, “wanna make out?”

“Sure,” he notices that you don’t even check if anyone’s seeing, and it makes his heart flutter when you don’t hesitate to get on your tiptoes to meet him halfway.

He’s always hoped for a moment like this, a moment where the room stops spinning and both your minds click into place. It’s almost comical, how he distinctly notes that the music fades once his lips touch yours. The kiss is hot, yet intimate. Even though he makes excuses to kiss you all the time because of practice, it goes to show that you two definitely never needed it. Your tiny hands grip the collar of his button down, bringing you two impossibly close despite the hot air. His larger hands grip at the strings that hold your measly dress together, grappling at any excuse to get to your soft skin. The two of you are a natural when it comes to each other’s intimacy.

The two of you pull away, mesmerized. You haven’t kissed like that before. He melts under your stare, his thumb reaching to nick off any lip gloss that’s moved in the process.

Seokjin comes down the floor to haul you both by the shoulders, “C’mon lovebirds, they’re taking wedding shots!”

The two of you follow your cousin to the crowd of people that is your family, already with their own drinks in hand. Doyeon and Namjoon are sitting atop the bar, making a very loud toast that consisted of a quick “thank you!” and “we love you!” before downing their drinks with their arms linked together. The room is thrumming with excitement for tomorrow’s festivities, and surprisingly, you and Jungkook included. He tucks himself in your body like a puzzle piece, hugging you from behind while he watches Namjoon’s eyes sparkle with love under the neons.

The nightclub gets a little blurry after that, with the copious amounts of alcohol and shameless actions from your family and friends. By the time it’s twelve Jungkook notices you swaying at a rate that you can’t handle. He knows your limits and knows when you have to urge to pee every five minutes, it’s time to go. With a chaste kiss you leave him at the bar, deciding to make a pitstop to the bathroom before telling Jungkook you want to head up.

You’re locked in a stall when you hear Yoojung’s voice.

“Ugh,” she groans, voice echoing through the tiny room. “Jungkook is so sexy. Do you see the way he’s dancing out there? He’s a literal babe magnet, I can’t believe he ended up with someone like y/n.”

You don’t move a muscle, pressing your ear against the door that hides you. The silly slander isn’t news to you, Doyeon has been feeding her friends all sorts of bullcrap so they wouldn’t bother talking to you.

“Yeah, Jungkook’s a real treat but he dated Doyeon first. Sounds like she’s into sloppy seconds,” Elly replies, another bridesmaid you’ve met in passing. “But I don’t know, they do look happy together.”

“Please, I’m sure Jungkook’s just using her so he can get one more chance at Doyeon before she ties the knot,” you bristle, the thought of Jungkook still having feelings for Doyeon makes your heart thud painfully against your chest, “like, what a downgrade. Namjoon and Doyeon do not deserve this drama. If Jungkook ever liked Doyeon at all, he wouldn’t have come. Period.”

You slam the door open, causing Elly to squeal and Yoojung’s YSL lipstick to fall onto the sink. You’re the epitome of relaxation, walking towards the sink to wash your hands. The bridesmaids simply stare at you, unable to formulate a comeback. When you finally dry your hands, you say your next words.

“Jungkook is here because he loves me,” an act act act. This is all an act. You shouldn’t be this offended because you know it’s all false. “And you’re wrong. It’s not Jungkook that doesn’t deserve Doyeon. Jungkook was too good for Doyeon.”

And you slam your heels against the tile, stilettos pounding to the beat of the music. Your exit is full of anger and frustration as you ignore the burn in your step and the ache in your heart, flagging the first bartender you see to get you a double.

Shot for shot, that anger soon melts into guilt as Yoojung’s words sink in. The thought of Jungkook using you to get to Doyeon is terrible, you can barely stomach the thought. But that’s exactly what you’re doing, right? You’re using Jungkook to get back at Doyeon.

Why did you even want to get back at Doyeon anymore? Why do you have to prove anything to her? If she just continues to push you around, isn’t that more on her than it is on you?

Jungkook soon finds you after you’ve nursed a few drinks, leaning unceremoniously against a barstool. His eyes widen at your state, and he immediately sheds his jacket to wrap it around your waist.

“Why did you drink so much?” he chastises, “it’s the night before the wedding.”

“Jungkookie,” you warble, clutching your stomach, “I don’t feel so good.”

He sighs, bending down. “Get on my back. Make sure the jacket covers you up, okay?”

He doesn’t even grunt when you put all your weight on him, feeling like a ragdoll as he hoists you up. You wrap your arms around his shoulders, letting him carry you to your room. Most of the older family already went upstairs to sleep, so none of your cousins could care less when they see you get hauled away by Jungkook.

You inhale, he smells like sweat and cologne. “I like putting my head between your neck,” you babble, and you feel Jungkook chuckle through his chest, “you smell so nice there. It’s the bestset! Comfiest place ever, ‘specially when m’sleepy.”

“Are you sleepy now, baby?” You love how smooth the petname falls from his lips.

“I will be when we get upstairs,” you reply, happy to see the elevator is empty. “I’m just all up in my head.”

“Is that why you were drinking so much? You said you were gonna stop earlier.”

“Yeah, but,” you shamefully tuck your head in his shoulder, “I was frustrated.”

“Frustrated? At who?” concern laces his tone as he struggles to hold you with one hand and fumble for his key in the other. You tighten your legs around his slim waist until the door clicks open, and he immediately walks over to your bed to plop you down. “Babe, are you crying?” he finally has a good look at your face, horrified to see the streaks of tears mixed with mascara running down your face.

“I wa-was jealous,” you confess tearily, clutching your face in your hands, “some girls in the bathroom were calling you sexy and that you were only here so you could try to win over Doyeon. I know it sounds ridiculous and you would never do that but. The thought of you getting back with her makes me so jealous and I hate it! I’m starting to feel so guilty about this, all of this. I put all of this on ourselves and I’m ruining it.”

“Ruining what? You’re not making any sense.” Jungkook places a hand on your knee, crouching down so he can look up at you.

“I’m ruining us,” you gush despondently, “I’m ruining any potential of us before we even start.”

Jungkook freezes, hand clutching your knee like a lifeline. The potential of you two together? You’ve thought of that? Jungkook didn’t drink much tonight, so his mind is definitely running on all cogs.

Coming to a conclusion, he rubs slow, soothing circles on your knee, his other hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your face. “You’re not ruining anything,” he declares firmly, “that’s impossible. I may have agreed to fake-date you because of Doyeon, but I stayed because of you.”

His heart aches seeing you so upset, and he decides to take initiative to get you out of your clothing and ready for bed. You don’t have any words, opting to let Jungkook take care of you as you try to calm yourself down. He finds a spare t-shirt, a long one so you’ll be comfortable. He doesn’t bat an eye when he unzips your dress, in favor of balling up the shirt and getting you clothed as fast as possible. He rifles through the bathroom to find your makeup wipes, and he’s gentle when he scrubs up the once pretty makeup you spent half an hour doing. Barefaced and fresh, you look sleepy and ready to crash.

But before Jungkook can tuck you in, you clutch his arm.

“Jungkook,” you murmur sleepily, “I think I lo—”

“I know, baby,” he doesn’t want a confession like this, and he’s sure you wouldn’t want it either. You still look a little green and you’re not sober, so he makes the executive decision to pin these feelings for later. “I’m not trying to invalidate you, I promise. I want you to tell me this, all of this in the morning. We’ll talk then.”

“Okay,” you melt in the sheets, pulling the blankets up to your chest. When you see Jungkook move away from the bed, you jolt, “Where are you going?”

Jungkook smiles, reaching over to tuck you back in, “I left my blazer in Namjoon’s room. I’ll be right back, okay?”

He walks out of your room as quietly as he can, making sure to close the door slowly. Once it’s sealed shut, he leaps up, giving himself a silent cheer as he bounds down the hall. You like him back!

The smile on his face is tired but full of fervor as he makes his way to Namjoon and Doyeon’s suite. He doesn’t even care that he probably has to talk to Doyeon to get his jacket back, thoughts filled with the excitement of his requited feelings and going back to his room to cuddle up with you.

He doesn’t even have to knock when the large double doors swing open. Dumbfounded, he looks down at Doyeon, wearing a tiny black nightie and dangling his jacket with one finger. It’s an outfit that leaves nothing to the imagination, and he feels his neck heat up at the feeling he’s encroaching on an intimate moment.

“You left this,” she says slowly, a tiny smirk on her lips.

“Uh, thanks,” he says, making sure not to touch her when he grabs his blazer.

In her other hand she holds up her room’s designated ice bucket. “Could you also get me some ice, please? Namjoon’s fast asleep and I really don’t want to walk out all… exposed.”

He swallows his sigh, knowing it’s going to take significantly longer to get back to you when Doyeon drawls like this. “Of course,” he replies tersely, “after all, you are the bride.”

“Thanks, Jungkookie.”

He makes quick work of getting Doyeon the ice, pumping his long legs down the hall. The ice room is cold and cramped, barely enough for his tall frame to fit in. He jabs the container in the holder, pressing the button ten times per second to get as much ice out as possible.

As soon as he turns around with the ice, he drops the whole bucket.

Like glass, it shatters onto the ground, hundreds of little clear pebbles skimming across the floor like marbles. Doyeon’s pushing Jungkook against the ice machine, freshly manicured hands splayed across his chest. Her body is flush against his, making sure that he feels all of her with her thin silk gown.

“What the fuck, Doyeon get off of me!” a little part of him hopes she’ll come to her senses on her own so he doesn’t have to put his hands on her.

“C’mon, Kookie,” her voice is a sickly candy sweet, her eyes wide with hunger as she takes in his form, “just one more night, you and me. Like old times. One more night before I tie the knot.”

“You’re crazy,” he balks, running his hand through his hair, “this is sexual harassment, do you know that?”

“You don’t mean that, Kookie,” Doyeon dips a red-tipped nail down his chest, “why settle for someone like y/n when I’m right here?”

He grabs her wrists, firm. She winces at the contact, but doesn’t say anything when Jungkook delivers her a scary glare. It gets her quiet, fearful of this version of Jungkook. Doyeon’s never seen Jungkook like this before, so unwilling to bend at her whim and emanating all his power against her.

“Why settle for your cousin?” he whispers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, “because, I love her.”

Her lip curls in disgust, nails digging into the palm of his hand. “But you loved me first.”

“And I’ll love her last,” he spits pack, letting go of her. His anger splits for a brief second, regarding Doyeon with sorrow, “this is low, even for you.”

Jungkook pushes past the ice, wobbling out of the ice room. He doesn’t look back, he just knows that he needs you right now. He needs to tell you everything, figure out a plan to cancel the wedding or something.

But when he crashes inside the room, you’re dead asleep. He can’t find the courage to wake up Seokjin as well, who returned and is sleeping in his club outfit. He groans, feeling useless as he stares at the two of you, ignorant of what just conspired ten minutes ago.

And Namjoon, what is he going to tell Namjoon? Poor guy doesn’t deserve any of this.

Walking up to your side of the bed, he tucks your loose hair behind your ear. You look so peaceful now, so beautiful.

It’s just going to have to wait until the morning.

The morning of the wedding, you wake up alone.

The first thought that runs through your head is that Jungkook has rejected you. The little, insecure bug that will never go away in your brain fills you with rash thoughts. He’s on a flight half way back home and he regrets this whole week.

But after that exaggeration, you notice two aspirin and a bottle of water on your nightstand, along with your phone that’s fully charged.

You pull up the screen to check the dozens of messages that flood your app.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: morning babe, im sorry i had to leave early. Namjoon showed up at our door freaking out that his suit is the wrong fit and shade. Now im running around vegas trying to find a replacement that doesn’t look like an elvis presley extra

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: but i didn’t forget what you said last night, i promise! Just go get ready and i’ll meet u at the chapel outside the resort.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: i also have something to say to you

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: wow i didn’t realize how ominous that sounds. Dw, everything will be fine

When someone tells you something will be fine, it’s a universal agreement that no, things will not be fine.

So you get dressed, and put on your makeup mindlessly. You don’t really know what to make of Jungkook’s cryptic message, but you decide to leave those thoughts in the back of your mind as you go to the other rooms to help your family get ready.

Seokjin is busy tying the ring bearer’s tie, looking handsome with his slicked back hair and polished grey suit. “Morning, cousin,” he sing-songs, “you look beautiful today!”

You smooth out your dress, a cascading silver number with starry sparkles. You feel like you’re living out your magical girl fantasies, wrapped up in layers of tulle and a sparkly sweetheart bodice.

“Right back at you. Say, you didn’t see Jungkook this morning, did you?”

“No, but I heard he’s with Namjoon hunting for a new suit. Why?”

“Nothing,” you lean against the guest table, “he just said something really ominous over text.”

“I will never get a peaceful day so long as I’m in this family,” he says this directly to the ring bearer, a toddler who’s obviously confused at his uncle’s weird sayings.

Your phone beeps conveniently, displaying Jungkook’s name.

Jeon Jung-boo-thang: just got his suit. We’ll be there in fifteen. Meet me at the garden behind the chapel, please. It’s urgent

Now you’re just worried. So you tell Seokjin your sentiments, and that he should have his phone on hand in case you needed him. With a confused nod, you leave him to go down to the garden.

The groomsmen and bridesmaids are already at the chapel taking pictures. Only the wedding party is really allowed at this time, but you manage your way through the gardens virtually undetected. Jungkook’s already waiting for you, hiding under a white gazebo overlooking the hotel’s fountain.

He looks gorgeous in his all black pinstripe suit, hair pushed back and pants fitted perfectly around his waist and thighs. When he sees you he gets up, full of skittish energy. You note that his hair isn’t even styled, only washed and curling slightly at the ends, as if he’s in a rush.

“W-wow,” he marvels when you rush up to him, “you look gorgeous.”

You drop the handful of silver tulle, letting it fall to the floor. “Jungkook,” you clasp his hand in both of his, guilt flooding your eyes. You’ve been thinking about this all morning, and you need to cut to the chase. Jungkook tries to open his mouth but you silence him with a finger on his lips. “I can’t—I can’t do this. I know this sounds really stupid and you probably don’t want anything to do with me after this, but I shouldn’t have made this elaborate scheme,” you bite your lip, feeling even more antsy as Jungkook squirms in his grip. He however, is trying very hard to focus with his eyes, confused at your sudden confession. “I like you, Jungkook. I don’t want to parade you around like a revenge plot anymore, it isn’t fair and it’s wrong in so many ways—”

“That’s great,” he says simply, brown eyes swirling with thoughts, “um, ditto. But—”

“Wow,” you frown, “I pour my heart out to you and this is what I get?”

“It’s great that you want to be selfless right now,” Jungkook takes your hand, firm and tight, “but without this elaborate scheme, we wouldn’t be saving asses like we are right now.”

“What are you talking about?” You thought Jungkook rushed you down here so you could talk about each other’s feelings before the wedding.

“Doyeon just threw herself on me last night. I got her ice and she took that as an invitation to seduce me like an episode of Sex and the City. Namjoon needs to divorce her, like yesterday.”

Your face then morphs into something dark and ugly, and you fling your whole confession out the window. The thought of Doyeon going as far as throwing herself on Jungkook as a last ditch attempt to get back at you, has you seeing blood red. “What? Why didn’t you tell me this sooner!”

“You were asleep!” he shoots back, putting his hands on your shoulders. He rubs warm strokes up and down your bare arms, “please relax. You’re shaking.”

“And why didn’t you tell Namjoon when you were driving around all morning?”

“I tried to!” he retorts, hands swinging in the air. You huff when his hands land back on your shoulders, preventing you from running to the chapel to extract Doyeon out yourself, “but he just kept talking shit about how much he loves Doyeon and he can’t imagine being together with anyone but her and I felt so bad! I’m sorry I chickened out. I really don’t wanna be the one to break Namjoon’s heart. I’m just the plus one!”

You pinch your brows, mulling it over. “Fuck it, let’s crash a wedding,” you declare, “where’s Namjoon and how can we get him alone?”

Jungkook exhales, a hand carding up to loosen his thin silver tie. “He’s taking pictures with the groomsmen right now. It’s gonna be awhile before we get a chance to talk.”

“Fuck,” you curse, sitting down on the white bench. Jungkook presses soothing circles on your back. “We have no choice, we have to get to him before the ceremony starts.”

“You’ll have to get through me, first.”

Doyeon’s not even in her wedding dress when she strides up to the two of you. She’s in ballet flats with her hair and makeup done, but the only thing she’s wearing is the thin underdress of her actual ball gown, a simple silk negligee that reaches her ankles. You don’t even know how she’s managed to escape the bridal party, especially without her dress.

Feeling protective, you step in front of Jungkook. “Before you say anything,” you murmur, “I’m not ruining your wedding, and I never wanted to. You’re ruining it because of your mistakes.”

“Oh, boo-hoo,” Doyeon rolls her eyes, playing with her nails, “I didn’t even do anything wrong, everyone knows that on the bachelorette’s night she can do whatever she wants. Namjoon could’ve fucked whoever too if he wasn’t so faithful.”

“Namjoon is ten times the partner you are and would never do that,” You’re seeing red, unable to comprehend the complete garbage spilling from Doyeon’s lips. “You touched my boyfriend without his consent, and I will never forgive you for that,” your voice is scarlet, angry and thin.

“It’s not like he isn’t used to it, I—”

“NO!” the sound that comes out of your mouth has all three of you flinching, and you’re thankful the gazebo is far enough so that the rest of the wedding party is oblivious to your actions. “You’re not allowed to justify yourself anymore, Doyeon. What you did was fucked up, what you’ve done to all of us is fucked up!” You realize now that you didn’t need to get back at Doyeon with a fake date, what you needed was this. You needed a reprieve, a chance to lay down your law. “Jungkook was right all along. You are jealous. You’re jealous and selfish and have no shame. You think you own whatever you set your eyes on, but you’re wrong. We’re not objects, we’re people.”

You walk up to Doyeon, eye to eye. You jab a hand at her chest, pushing her back slightly. You soak up your cousin’s expression, and you watch as Doyeon’s eyes pop out in surprise at your act of boldness. “So you have a choice here. You can either swallow your pride and leave Namjoon at the aisle quietly and save whatever dignity you have left. Take your pathetic ass on the next flight back home and pack up your apartment. Or, we can start a big scene at your ceremony,” you probably look manic, filled with freshly injected power, “I know Seokin’s always wanted to yell ‘I object!’ at a wedding.”

“You have no proof,” Doyeon glares right back, taking a step closer to you. Your noses are practically touching, but you dig your heels in the white-stained wood, puffing up your chest and standing your ground.

“Doesn’t matter,” you bite back, “what matters is that Namjoon will doubt you. Namjoon knows we’d never do anything to sabotage a wedding without a valid reason. Even if you do get married tonight, we have Jungkook’s word and proof of a relationship that overlaps with his. I find this option to be far worse because it’s prolonging the inevitable,” you shrug, “I hope you two didn’t sign a prenup.”

Hot, angry tears mess up her meticulously done makeup. Black rivers carve through her porcelain skin, showing the feelings that have been dormant since been hidden under a facade. Doyeon’s eyes dart back and forth between the two of you. She’s practically vibrating in combined fear and rage, seeing blurry images and memories and regrets of what could’ve been if not for her self-absorption. And finally, your cousin comes to a decision.

“I hate you,” she emphasizes each word with the most concentrated of venoms in her tone. WIth one last look at the two of you, she stomps away. Instead of going to the direction of the chapel however, she takes the shortcut back to the hotel.

Her grave words are unsurprising, but nevertheless disappointing. A thinly veiled smile grazes your lips, sadder than ever as you watch your cousin go. “And I pity you.”

As soon as she’s gone Jungkook doesn’t hesitate to scoop you up, hugging you tightly as you fight the urge to cry again. “Oh babe, that was really hot. The way you stood your ground? That was amazing!” Jungkook takes out his silver pocket square to wipe the stray tears that threaten to ruin your makeup. “You’re so strong, don’t you know that? You did it and I’m so proud of you.”

As much as you want to revel in the affection, go back and bed and fall asleep until noon, you can’t. Grasping Jungkook by the hand, you tug him to the chapel. “C’mon,” you say, “we have to corner Namjoon.”

The groomsmen photos are done by the time you get there. Thankfully, the to-be-groom doesn’t look too occupied. His eyes widen upon seeing you two stumble from the garden of all places.

“Oh, y/n. Jungkook,” Namjoon tilts his head curiously at how winded you two look, equally flushed and out of breath. From your state, Namjoon muses that it must've taken a lot of effort to finally get to the groom unattended, save for a few random family members he’s making small talk with, “The wedding isn’t for another hour but I must say, you two look radiant together. Doyeon always thought you’d end up an old spinster-catlady, but I always told her that you’re too beautiful to be single for long,” he pauses to send the aforementioned man a wink, “Jungkook’s a lucky guy. What were you two doing back there?”

“Uh, things?” Jungkook scratches the back of his head, not wanting to reiterate the fiasco between Doyeon moments before.

Namjoon smirks at the ebony-haired man, “Couple things?”

You can’t take this needless small talk anymore. With a teary groan, you throw yourself at Namjoon. You hug him tight, and you don’t even care when you feel a slosh of his water bottle sprinkle your hairstyle.

“Joonie,” you bemoan, “please, please don’t leave me. You’re the best not-cousin ever. I know it’ll be a pain to face Doyeon after today but you’re a strong independent man and when you’re ready Jin is single and ready to mingle—ow! Jungkook! Did you just pinch my ass?”

“Do you really think setting him up with the next cousin is the best idea right now?”

“I figured a little humor would lighten the blow,” you sulk.

“I’m sorry what—what blow?” Namjoon frowns, pushing you away from him. “Y/n, have you been crying?”

The tears resurface at that moment, like a kettle on overboil. Namjoon’s face is knitted together, unable to grasp at any conclusion. Namjoon feels something grave is upon the sky as he tenderly brushes away your tears with his thumbs before releasing you. Instantly Jungkook pulls you to his chest, patting you soothingly. As much as you two do not want to be the bearer of bad news, the time is now.

“Namjoon,” Jungkook says, finding the strength that was previously stuck in his throat, “we have to tell you something.”

Needless to say, Las Vegas is very forgiving when it comes to last minute wedding cancellations.

The whole wedding party, both Namjoon and yours, collectively feels like a whole ice bucket has been dumped upon your families. You would like to say that the whole issue was handled mess free, but that would be a bald-faced lie.

There was screaming, crying, hysterical laughter from all sides. Doyeon’s parents were of course furious, embarrassed, unable to calm down a hysterical Doyeon as they haul her on the next flight home. You have a feeling they won’t be showing up to family events anytime soon.

Namjoon’s family leaves quietly, frustrated, but classy. After all, they know at the back of their heads they dodged a bullet. Everyone leaves except Namjoon however, who isn’t quite ready to go back to his and Doyeon’s apartment. Namjoon invites Seokjin and some other close cousins to stay in his suite until their flight tomorrow afternoon, wanting to be surrounded by close friends and (almost) family.

As for your family, they decide to find the silver lining. While the chapel was able to cancel the wedding, the reception wasn’t as easy to sway. At the very last second, your grandparents decided to make use of the reception and renew their Golden Anniversary vows instead. The ceremony will be a quick, sweet affair. At this very moment, your cousin Yoongi is getting officiated online.

And for you? You’re in the place where you’ve wanted to remain all week. A fluffy hotel bed wrapped up with your not-boyfriend.

Or?

Would a not-boyfriend be snuggling against your chest like you’re the softest teddy bear in the toy shop? Would a not-boyfriend be hooking your leg atop his lap, forcing you to latch onto him so his hands can roam freely against your soft thighs?

“We have to get ready for the wedding,” you whine against his hold, to no avail when he only holds you tighter.

“But your grandparents are already married,” Jungkook whines right back, nuzzling his nose in your head. “This is like an afterparty fifty years later.”

“I wanna get dressed,” you insist, pushing yourself up, “and we still need to talk.”

Without Seokjin staying with you, the hotel room feels much bigger and freer for the two of you. Your clothes are scattered on the floor, uncaring of any wrinkles or smears that would get on the delicate fabric.

All that matters is that Jungkook is still here with you. Doyeon’s wedding is called off, but he’s still lying in bed with you. You want to burn this image to memory, and keep it forever. Jungkook laying in only his white undershirt and boxers, looking at you dreamily as if he’s still in nap-mode. Hair that was previously windswept and exposing his forehead is now out of place, fluffy and sticking out in all directions. His cheeks are flushed with coral-colored warmth, and a little puffy because you two have been sleeping most of the afternoon.

“Right, talk,” he repeats, letting you hand him his black button up so he can clothe himself.

You throw off your shirt somewhere behind you, not wanting to face him as you walk to the full-length mirror. “So, I think my feelings for you are pretty clear and out in the open…”

“Same, I think I made it pretty clear as well.”

“What? You turn around, looking at where he’s still half-covered in bed. “You did not. I distinctly remember almost confessing my love to you last night. And then this morning, only for you to cut me off and say ‘that’s great’.”

“Oh,” he stares at the white sheets that cover his lower half. “I guess I didn’t then.”

You smile wryly, turning back to face the mirror so you can slip into your dress that’s been pooled around your ankles like a silver halo. “Maybe you thought it in your mind and forgot to tell me.”

That seems about right. Jungkook has a tendency to be a little too passionate for his own good, windswept in thoughts and feelings until they consume him. He hops out of bed, walking only in his dress shirt and socks as he makes his way to the mirror. “Then let me do all the talking,” he says softly against your neck, hands on your hips.

You shiver when you feel the cold silver of the zipper whirr up your body, Jungkook’s large hands splaying across your back to smooth out the waistline.

“You of all people would know that being with Doyeon is a trip,” he chuckles into the crook of your neck, “I thought that was what love felt like. Being codependent, jumping through hurdles, trying so hard to please someone who can’t be pleased.”

Jungkook’s hands wrap around your waist, hugging you tightly. He squeezes you and holds you like the most precious thing in the entire world. Through the mirror, you two are quite a pair.

“But with you, I never knew love could be like this, feel like this.”

“So… are you saying you love me?” you fight the urge to bounce around in his grip, the biggest smile on your face.

“You really just want me to say ‘I love you’ and be done with it, huh?”

Within seconds he’s pulling you from behind, whirling you around to the edge of the bed. He manages to flouce up your skirts to billow around his lap, sitting you down on his bare thighs.

“You look like a cupcake, all sprawled up like this,” Jungkook says cutely, peppering kisses in a trail from your chest all the way to your lips. “You look like a huge, silvery cupcake and I love you. It’s so easy to love you.”

Maybe it was kismet that Jungkook didn’t get to you first all those years ago. Maybe the right time is right here, right now.

“I love you, too,” you say happily, dipping down to press a long, passionate kiss to his lips. He tastes like love and a happy future. When you pull away, you encapsulate his face in both your palms, regarding him like the sun and stars. “But you know, if we date you’ll never get away from my crazy family.”

Jungkook snorts, pressing his forehead to yours, “And miss Yoongi re-marrying off your grandparents tonight, the next year of Seokjin and Namjoon running circles around each other, and a lifetime of happiness?” his hands snake under your dress, finding purchase in your soft skin, “not a chance.”

#jungkook x reader #gcn23 #goldenclosetnet #btsghostie #kwritersworldnet #jungkook fic #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #bts fic #bts fanfic #bts fluff #bts angst

3K notes · View notes

fishstyx · 4 years ago

Text

featuring. college au!gojo satoru x fem!reader x geto suguru

wc. 9.2k

genre. dark/taboo, smut, angst

tw. 18+ nsfw, non/dubcon, toxic/abusive relationships, manipulation, victim blaming, dry humping, penetration, masturbation, irresponsible practice of bdsm, hair pulling, mild exhibitionism, size kink (both 6’3”, gojo can lift you), implied corruption kink, degradation, creampie, intoxication/alcohol, incel behavior, misogyny, dacryphilia

synopsis.

“Parading around as my personal fucktoy get you that excited?” he starts with a smirk, wide eyes drinking up your sharp inhale as if it were his own, inspiring pinpricks of heat to rise to your cheeks.

He hooks the hem of your skirt with his thumbs when he’s met with silence, pulls you from the doorframe just far away that he can release the elastic with a snap, silent snigger on his lips when it elicits a small sound of surprise from you. You nod in response, frantic bob of your head drawing a low growl from his chest and a “that’s right, I know what’s best for my pet,” as he lifts you off your feet and carries you to the bedroom.

notes. title inspo: love the way you lie (eminem, rihanna). you’re dating gojo, a charming, manipulative, self-entitled bastard. geto is, of course, his best friend, written as an aloof, self-righteous, bitter incel. please stay safe, read all the warnings, and enjoy. this is the most personal fic i have to offer. it draws from not-so-savory past relationships... i hope it remains the only testament to them. <3

links. broken toys. (sequel)

You were stunned into silence when he first suggested it.

And how couldn’t you be? Any sane person would, or at least should, have recoiled at the proposition. Isn’t that right?

But he makes it seem so harmless, so innocent, somehow. Like it’s no big deal, far from uncharacteristic for either of you—just a walk around campus, nothing new there. He tells you this like you’re overreacting, slow on the uptake, taking far too long to reach a final decision. The rational part of your mind says it’s out of the option. But the irrational part is louder, all-consuming, domineering.

The irrational part says, out of all your options, it’s the only viable one.

“Come on, babygirl. What’s the harm of trying it out once?”

It’s always this way, always has been. He takes your hands in his with a dramatic swell, the sparkle in his eyes big and bright and gleaming, and you bite back the urge to pull away. You would break your gaze if you could, if he didn’t look so determined, if that twinkling blue galaxy wasn’t sweltering with hope and adoration. But you can’t, and he does, and it just about swallows you whole.

The fact of the matter is, Gojo Satoru wants to take you out on a leash today.

Never mind today; he wanted this yesterday, the day before that, and the day before that, never one to shy away from his desires as you deliberated the entire time. By now he’s asked you to do this one, single thing for him far more times than you can count—initially playing it off as a joke, slowly feeling you out, gradually seeing how far he could push and pull until you explicitly told him no.

Except it’s never just one, single thing with him, and you—with the way you dance around the topic, hoping to give him the illusion that you might give in, or perhaps yourself the illusion of control—you never say no.

A simple line of defense, yes. Even you agree with that. But its execution? Around Gojo, it seems anything but.

Geto would beg to differ.

Geto.

The only other person privy to your latest concerns. The only other person you can bear knowing. And he’d be disappointed if only he could see you now.

Who are you kidding? He’s already disappointed.

A vague outline was all you gave him. A vague outline, you knew, not-so-deep down in your heart, was all you dare tell him—or anyone at all, really.

Because, sure, you’ve adopted a rather experimental lifestyle around Gojo, but that was supposed to be private. Reserved for behind closed doors, you thought, until now.

You were right in that the brooding brunette didn’t need every last grueling detail of Gojo’s newest request. He’s his best friend; he’s seen you at every single step of your whirlwind relationship together. The fervid beginnings, when the two of you couldn’t be physically separated, let alone in different rooms from each other. The ups and the downs, each one more intense than the last, each one blowing up in your faces before you ran back into each other’s arms and kissed and made up. You knew that much.

What you didn’t foresee, however, even as you recounted your latest grievance to him, was that nothing you were saying was new. To Geto it was regurgitated rhetoric, distorted and distressed, yesterday’s news—whereas you saw it as a unique conquest, a new hurdle to overcome.

“It almost amazes me how you can come up with so many new ways to say the same old thing,” he said, slanted eyes dull with apathy as they panned away from yours. “Almost.”

You could only choke on your words in response.

What Geto told you next is now a hushed murmur in the back of your head. It reverberates against your skull, pinballing against the walls of all that empty space and showing no signs of slowing down. It tells you to just say the magic word and it’ll be over, every last bit of Gojo’s borderline demands, washing away all of that white noise if only you’d breathe some life into it. That one word, the one that plagues your mind night and day, it begins to materialize upon your lips, poised and ready to spring into action, flexing on the tip of your tongue as if it were a wind-up toy.

Just say it already.

Just say no.

But you’re always holding your tongue around the both of them, together or alone, whether on the bony roof of your mouth or its flexible, fleshy floor, biting your words back for an eternity and more. Perhaps you were only faking yourself out, simply going through—no, barely feinting at the motions so you can come back to this chapter of your life and say that you tried. The moment passes, the pause your boyfriend gave at the sight of your mouth ajar long over, his words beginning to bleed into your reality once more.

And he’s saying, “I bought such a cute collar for you, too,” voice rising and falling with lovelorn disappointment. You can’t help but wince at his gentle timbre, all too painfully aware that such a small investment is far from the root of Gojo’s displeasure. You can hear it in his tone, too, how his carefree singsong runs steely as his thoughts begin to wander, settling on a resigned indifference.

So you wander, too. Tear your eyes from his in search of something, anything that might lend a reason to divert your gaze. Your fingers encircle white leather before you realize it, turning the thin strip over in absentminded idle, silver o-ring jingling in place. The metallic clank doesn’t go unnoticed.

“You should at least try it on before I return it, don’t you think?”

And you can’t find it in your heart to disagree, stiff choker tightening around your neck as he fumbles with the clasp. You trace the sanded edges before latching a finger—two fingers—beneath the leather material.

Perfect.

Perfectly irritating. Irritatingly perfect. It sits in the center of your neck without slipping, just snug enough that you can still breathe easy, comfortable and almost disturbingly so.

“Well?”

White lashes flutter idly as he considers your reflection as if studying it. And with the hint of a smile behind you, large hands on your waist in the mirror’s image, you start to think for the first time that the collar really is a pretty number, and a shame and a waste to throw away.

Because he looks so pleased now, creased cheeks and crinkled eyelids as he smooths his palms over your hips, like maybe you’re the prettiest thing he’s ever held. Because instead of the pouting you’ve come to expect, the declarations that you’re “no fun,” or that you’re “overreacting,” or that you need to “relax” you’ve come to accept, he simply brushes your hair to the side and rests his cheek against yours, warm breath just about tickling your chin.

It begs the question.

“Will you love me more if I do this for you?”

And it sends his eyes into a frenzied state, hungry void for pupils swallowing crystal irises with unabating greed, all frisky lashes and overeager ridges.

Ideally, he’d take your hands in his, tell you that that wasn’t his intention at all and beg for your forgiveness. Ideally, he’d hold you close, say that he loves you no matter what and promise to never push you this far again. You know all of these self-evident truths and more, yet you still can’t stop your heart from skipping a beat when he tells you, voice hushed in awe, triumph washing over you in spite of yourself:

“Of course I will.”

It’s different when you actually go through with it.

You try not to regret your decision immediately when you’re chained to Gojo’s hand in public, dog leash swinging in the wind as you round the campus loop. What a waste of a beautiful day for you to be hanging your head low, tips of your ears burning with shame. You don’t even believe that you’ve agreed to this yourself as you search the faces ahead of you for a trace of anyone you might know, pushing down the urge to cross your fingers behind your back.

But Gojo himself? He loves the lingering stares to tiny little pieces, practically basks in the attention as he pushes his sunglasses back so they rest above his hairline. Airy tufts of white spill over the tinted lenses, billowy strands coming to rest upon his forehead. When you think of it as your gorgeous boyfriend showing you off, it makes it all a little more bearable, has you standing up a little straighter. But your heart nearly stops every time you think you recognize the passerby, and eventually you dread the sight of absolutely anyone in the distance, for fear they will finally be a person who knows and calls you by name.

Gojo takes quick notice, realizes you hardly want to take another step in this undignified manner, and thinks to himself that there must be a better way to go about the arrangement.

His solution is to turn your walk of shame into a crawl of shame.

“On your fours,” he says, delighted when you actually crouch to the pavement, thankful for an excuse to hide your face. He ruffles your hair and slaps your hand away when you try to pull your skirt down, enamored by the way it rides up and reveals the lacy material below. You suppose it’s a trade-off you’ll just have to take, and in a confession that gets caught up your throat, you don’t wholly mind it: the pairs of eyes you can feel burning through you, though real or imagined you can’t be entirely sure. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were Gojo. It makes you wonder if anyone wishes they were you.

In the corner of your eye, you think you see someone sneaking a picture, but you don’t dare lift your head for a closer look. Instead you track the ground for rubble, hoping you’ll get away without scraping your knees, shaky line for a pair of lips as micro cuts come to crisscross your legs.

The rest of the walk is spent with you crawling the ground, light breeze tickling your backside, every part of you flaunted as if you’re Gojo’s most prized possession. You had better be, you think to yourself as you circle back to his building, and luckily enough, he’s about to make good on that expectation.

Maybe it’s the collar around your neck, or maybe it’s the surge of relief you get from returning, but by the time you meet the first glass door, you’re aching for whatever Gojo’s planned next.

He’s moving on predatory instinct the second you’ve set foot in his apartment, flushed lips curling around your own as soon as he pulls you up from all fours. A hollow knock sounds behind you as your heels strike the door, lower lip traced with a wet warmth until you’re gracious enough to grant him full access. He easily cages you with his entire frame, pressing that cute pink muscle in your mouth flat before writhing his own to the rhythm of his heartbeat, booming and ricocheting and alive.

It’s not nearly enough for either of you, of course, his hands beginning to roam all over your pliable form, all over his property, skirting along your outline and creeping closer still to the innermost curves of your contour cutout. Flitting fingers brush against your navel, dancing lower as you suck your tummy in by reflex, stopping right before the tingling bundle of nerves that just might explode as soon as he touches them.

But he takes pause instead, presses his forehead flush against yours, jewel colored eyes waiting on you with intent. You swear they can see right through you, even sheathed behind a cluster of wild white lashes, gauge everything there is to know about you faster than you can say “blue.” The moment freezes over, two bodies still and unmoving until you suddenly remember your need for air, gasping when you realize you’ve been holding your breath.

Your body bounces back from the force with which he tosses you into the mattress, giggles erupting from your throat when he climbs atop of you, tugging at your leash. A thin stripe of saliva trails up and down the column of your neck, laving intermittently over the leather that encases your flesh. A coppery taste, of earth and salt and smoke, dances on his tongue as his front teeth sink into the stretch of your collarbone, nipping and sucking at the delicate flesh. You sink into the bed as you ease into his touch, but he doesn’t give you much time to get comfortable.

“Touch yourself, then,” he says, “if you like to be watched that much.”

It almost sounds like a suggestion, especially with the way in which he uses the lightest touch to brush the stray hairs from your forehead, but you know better than that. Your fingers fly to the wet patch on your panties, thin material almost see-through with your slick, working the fiber flat against dampened skin. An echo of a chuckle reverberates throughout the room as he watches you, undoubtedly pleased by the way in which the fabric clings to your already dripping folds.

Large hands have your legs spread wide open by the time you’ve traced the outline of your clit, your little show put on full display for him. They stay pressed against your thighs as you venture loose, round motions around your sensitive nub. Too timid. You tighten the circles into a coiled spiral, mustering the courage to go harder, faster, the friction of cotton against delicate skin drawing small mewls and sputters out of your trembling form. The delayed relief is sweet, your arousal crying into the pads of your fingers as you pick up the speed. The image burns itself into his brain, watchful eye unfaltering as you play yourself to your heart’s content.

The very air itself seems to buzz as you hold the other end of his gaze, thick fingers running along your sides as you start to roll your hips into the palm of your hand. He’s bent over you with the twitch of his pants, too worked up to remain a bystander any longer as he blows and sucks up your neck. The open-mouthed kisses only hasten the buildup, sensation shotgunning down your body from the surface of your nape.

But the coil in your core knots itself far too early for your taste, and you reel your hand back right before you can realize your peak. You opt to drag a lone finger down your slit instead, afraid that with too much pressure, you’ll come undone before Gojo has the chance to get his fill.

Too late, too slow; he takes notice of your negligence immediately, eyes darkening at the pitiful way your hand skitters with abashment. He pulls away from the crook of your neck to get a good look at your dwindling handiwork, smirking to himself when you shrink in response.

“Having a little trouble there?”

His voice is deceptively singsong as he takes your sluggish hand in his, guiding your knuckles back to that aching button that has you arching your back and curling your toes. He repeats the motion, half a mind to force an orgasm out of you right then and there when suddenly, a whimper—yours—sends his eyes darting back towards your own.

“No, not like this,” you say with strained breath, and he quirks an eyebrow in response, working your fingers into the fabric despite the interruption. “I want more, I need…” your voice trails off, a sorry attempt at stalling.

“Need what?” he asks as he catches on, shit-eating grin somehow audible without you even looking. You don’t know how he does it, how he locks his desires up as you squirm underneath him, waiting ever so innocently for a proper response.

“Need, need you,” you say under your breath, and he cocks an eyebrow, a clear sign of an underwhelming response.

“Oh? I couldn’t quite catch that, princess.”

As if.

“I need you inside of me. Please, claim this filthy cunt,” you whine, determined to play, determined to win. Your hips buck into your interlaced fingers, searching desperately for the one word that’ll send him over the edge and finding it as the leather accessory rides up your neck—as if to remind you of its existence—“Master.”

And it does, it sends a jolt of heat to his groin, has him kicking his pants off and pinning your wrists into the sheets. It’s got him surging with primal need, tugging the pathetic mess of your soaked panties to the side with limitless hunger.

Because even though he’s drawn many names from your lips before, they’ve always been ones he’s insisted on, ones he’s downright pestered you about. Even the simplest “Satoru” was, admittedly, a struggle to pry out of you the very first time you got tangled in his sheets; you shielded your eyes then, cheeks burning and voice low as you whispered it in his ear. And look at you now, sprawled out beneath him as you edge yourself with a hand steeped in your own concoction, begging for his cock with that delicious nickname of your own admission, and it rings throughout his head like an addictive melody.

Master.

You can hardly recognize the noises he fucks out of you for the remainder of the night. He showers you with an unsavory slew of awful names, phrases you’ve never even heard aloud before, tells you that you’re his “freaky cocksleeve” and a “bitch in heat” as he jerks your leash without warning. And that’s exactly what you are, twitching for him like an animal as he screws you senseless, the most guttural of responses rising from your throat as he asks:

“Who do you belong to?”

And of course you respond, between labored pants, “You, master,” muscles taut as you fight for air, fingernails scrambling for purchase on his back but finding absolutely none.

It’s not until you’re entangled in a breathless mass that he pulls your head into his lap, strokes your cheeks and coos that you’ve been a good fucking girl, a thick mixture of his seed seeping from your gaping hole.

Morning always comes when you least expect it, sneaking up on you and peeking through the blinds before you’re ready to get going.

Gojo’s still passed out cold when you creep out of bed, only the most languid of movements used to pry yourself out of the mattress as your arms and legs ache for need of rest. The dull pain humbles you, delayed post-nut clarity finally hitting as you rub into your bleary eyes.

It feels like you’ve been struck by a train.

Your gait is but a tiptoe as you stalk towards his dresser, trembling hands slowly rummaging for something, anything that can provide you some cover. Your classes are starting soon, and whether his are, too, or whether he’s simply skipping out today, you know better than to rouse him from his toil-induced slumber.

It’s nearly inaudible, the sound of the door closing behind you, clank of metal but a whisper as the soles of your shoes kiss up carpeted floor. You’ve left it unlocked, just the way your boyfriend likes it, a small assembly of what you hope he’ll recognize as breakfast perched upon the kitchen table—the last traces of your visit left behind in a neat and tidy little package.

Your eyes find Geto’s once you turn down the hallway, small black beads peering into yours before taking a lap around the block to assess the damage. He must not like what he sees, this tousled morning-after apparition, faint patches of indigo and violet creeping out from under your—no, Gojo’s—oversized sweatshirt, because it’s a solemn sigh that hits your ears next and not a “good morning” or even a simple “hey” that acknowledges you.

Because he knows your average person wouldn’t notice the marks, too sheltered by all that thick cotton riding up your neck, purposefully pulled up just far enough that you wouldn’t see them unless you were looking. He knows your average person couldn’t have the slightest idea how you really scratched up your knees, pointillistic constellations of reddish purple threatening, however empty that threat is, to inch up your thighs. He scoffs.

“What do you even see in him?”

The words cloud the air before he’s completely aware of them, surprising the both of you as they surface.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water: for starters he’s charming, engaging, lively and free-spirited. He’s beautiful and he adores you, you want to say, but even though you have all the correct phrases picked out, all strung together in the same time and place, they don’t seem to roll off your tongue quite right.

You seem so tired, forced laugh falling short where it should flutter out of your mouth, the usual cotton candy you spout crystallizing before it can materialize.

“I could ask the same of you.”

It traipses out of your mouth before you can give it permission, easing itself into the atmosphere before sinking like a stone. Truthfully you don’t care to hear an answer, if only to avoid giving your own. You usher yourself out, pushing yourself past the towering wall of a human and stalking down the nearest stairwell.

Gojo knows just how to toy with your pride. But Geto? Geto knows how to slash it down to shreds.

The silence is deafening.

Geto sighs once you’re out of earshot, turning his heel to continue his trajectory. If anything, he didn’t want to run into you today, either. He cringes at the small collection you’ve no doubt assembled yourself, of iced matcha and a granola bar, staring him in the face as he stalks into the apartment. For some reason it only feeds into his mounting dread, the rising unease of what he might find waiting for him in the bedroom.

So he raps the bedroom door with his knuckles instead of barging in like he normally does, hoping in vain that he can get its sole inhabitant to lumber out himself. But of course Gojo doesn’t make it easy, letting out an obnoxiously loud yawn before stretching his lanky limbs with an equally obnoxious groan.

“You said to swing by this morning,” Geto half-yells, half says to himself, already prepared to turn tail and leave. He’s honestly surprised when he gets a legible response instead of the hungover mumbles he’s grown used to.

“Oh, that? Come in, it’s unlocked,” Gojo calls out, each syllable punctuated with tardiness. So Geto braces himself, puffing his chest out before giving the doorknob a firm handshake, stepping deeper into the belly of the beast.

Geto was prepared to see many things when he walked through that door. Something like lipstick stains and flavored condoms, S&M paddles and ribbed dildos. Instead he’s met with something completely other, the evidence already cleared away. Whatever late-night exploits you enjoyed are long gone, not a trace left behind by now, privy only to a grown man slumped over the edge of his mattress, grabbing around under the bedframe.

“Ahh, got it!”

With sleepy eyes Gojo lifts his head and presents to Geto the chrome colored box he’s fished out. It’s small and compact and ridiculously outdated, a conspicuous red button jutting out of its interface. He holds it up to his friend’s face, and the device finally registers.

A voice recorder.

“What, they still make those things?”

Geto schools his features easily, wiping the shock off his face before it can even materialize. It’s not exactly a lie; he knows he shouldn’t be surprised at all that Gojo has kept such an antiquated device for the occasion.

“You act as if you’ve never seen one before.”

It’s a smirk that’s plastered all over their faces now, one that nearly matches the one across from the other, and knowingly so. The two burst into laughter at the ridiculousness of it all, Gojo slapping his knee and Geto clutching onto his sides. They’re not sure who starts it, but one of them high fives the other.

Girls like you are oh so naïve.

Your wish is granted for about a week total.

Gojo keeps his promise, of loving you more and loving you better, throughout the remaining weekdays.

He takes you out for brunch, picks you up after class, and best of all, doesn’t ask anything more of you, doesn’t ask for anything better.

He opts to shower you with gifts instead, of stuffed animals and chocolates and bite-sized amenities, insisting that you take them all, no strings attached. Your nightstand overflows with his presents, mismatched tokens that remind you of his affection even when you’re not together. And although neither of you explicitly verbalize it, it seems like his way of apologizing. Silently.

You whole-heartedly accept.

This is the Satoru I fell in love with, you think to yourself as he pets your head one sunlit afternoon, grogginess setting in after a particularly big meal. You nuzzle into his lap and relish in the soft filtered light, sprawled out on your side on the living room sofa. He has you gazing upwards at a tap of the shoulder, all softened eyes and unkempt locks of hair, the smell of sandalwood and fresh dry cleaning enveloping you entirely as he leans in for a faint forehead kiss.

“What’s up?” you half ask, half mumble, eyelids heavy with sleep.

“Just wanted to see my princess’s face,” he says, a fleeting grin on his rosy lips. A hollow thud sounds as you play-punch him in the chest, but you roll over from your side to look up at him anyway.

“You happy now?”

“Overjoyed.”

The two of you lock eyes, slivers of white hair undoing themselves from behind his ear as your breath syncs up slowly, gradually. He stares at you with such longing that you would think you weren’t laying right atop of him, and you struggle to hold your ground.

“Are you—”

“Yup.”

You groan, eyes overcome with on demand prickling. “No thank you,” you proclaim as you squeeze them shut, uninterested in indulging him a staring contest. Moments pass and your eyes stay closed, a tide of tiredness washing over you. You loosen up, head rolling back as you allow yourself to relax.

Big mistake. He takes it as an invitation for his hands to descend upon you, attacking your sides in an attempt to tickle, and you jerk away instantly.

“What the—Sato, cut it out!” You bat his arms away, one eye open as uproarious laughter fills your ears.

“If you’re gonna fall asleep then at least let me lay down too,” he says, drawing out the last word as he props your upper half up. He takes your place on the sofa before pulling you on top, and you huff as you fall into a pile.

“Jerk.”

“Your favorite jerk, though.”

Oh, he definitely feels it when you smile into his chest.

The weekend arrives without issue.

Wednesday night you’re watching the sunset over melon sodas.

Thursday night you’re falling asleep on Facetime.

Friday night you’re in the midst of downtown Tokyo, multicolored lights casting your faces in ethereal glow as you work against the hustle and bustle of regulars and tourists. Karaoke songs eat up the most of your visit, Gojo’s voice slowly going scratchy until the crowd finally works the nerve to drag him offstage. You spend the remaining time hopping restaurants, ordering exactly one dish at each location, slowly working your way through a full course meal. The waitress who serves you nothing more than a plate of gyoza gets an especially generous tip.

Dessert is by far his favorite dish: a deluxe parfait, served in a tall, American-style glass and filled to the brim with sorbet. You can still taste the fruit toppings, fresh and fragrant and honeyed on your tongues as you swap saliva in the back of his car. He cups your face with one hand and holds the small of your back with the other, pressing dangerously close against your body. When you finally have the chance to breathe, a thread of spit trails between your lips, in memory of your union. It glistens in the color of the muted city lights, persevering through the window tint in all of their electric might. A mischievous glint reaches his eyes, and all of a sudden he’s pulling you on top of his lap.

“We can get away with this much, can’t we, princess?”

And you oblige, patch of wetness already creeping through your panties as he starts to move, clothed cockhead grinding against the curve of your ass. He’s louder than usual, quivering groans crumbling as they reach your ears, his hips rolling in stuttering motions. You feel as if you’re aflame, pulsating with need, decadent sweetness enveloping your senses every time he pulls in for a kiss, every time he grazes you with his pubic bone. Your clit sings with praises as he pushes you down by the hips, whispering how good you’re being for him, how gorgeous you look in the dress he bought you, and you make a silent wish in the faint moonlight that the moment will never end.

But it seems that good things always meet their end, and come Saturday night, the monster rears its ugly head again.

Because on Saturday night, Gojo’s got you hanging on his arm, the two of you ascending concrete steps to the usual place. Same group of people, different game every week. The two of you are greeted with sweet sighs and boozy smiles, clink of bottles surrounding you as they prepare this week’s drinking game. Gojo’s a lightweight and Geto sticks to designated-driver duty, so it usually works out just fine.

Just not this week.

If Gojo was the sun, then Geto was the moon.

It always seemed to Geto that his best friend had everything in the world he could possibly need: looks, charisma, and status, all readily available to him without much effort of his own. And honestly? He loathed him for that.

As soon as the clock strikes midnight, Geto knows there’s absolutely no way he’s making it to the party. Instead he opts to spend Saturday night alone in the comfort, or perhaps the prison, of his own room.

Because the sun is a star that births brilliance, instilling vitality and inspiring vigor wherever it goes. Whereas the moon only picks up in the after hours, left to guide the lost and the wandering in the nighttime. He feels like he’s always scraping the bottom of the barrel, the pool of women he can choose from limited to the gaggle of bumbling stragglers who lament, still, the absence of the blinding sun. And for the past twenty or so years of his life, those bumbling stragglers have not so much as glanced back at him, too enchanted by the liveliness of day.

Worst of all is that softheaded people, scatterbrains just like you, they think they can fix Gojo, super-fucking-nova Gojo who burns it all up, destroying everything in his course of direction. Part of Geto thinks it’s absolutely deplorable, the way in which pea-brained whores throw themselves at him, hankering for his attention and jumping through all the hoops necessary to get just that. But part of Geto also wants to have his own stake in the fun, and Gojo—pretty boy, genetic-lottery winner Gojo knows this all too well.

The glint of the moonlight taunts Geto as it reflects off the silver-toned box in his hand, bold “STOP,” “REC,” and “PLAY” lettering practically chanting his name in the dim illumination. He was told that the handheld device was safer with him, well out of your reach in the confines of his single dorm, and he supposes that’s the truth, what with the lack of foot traffic in this cramped room that lacks of fresh air and sunlight.

It’d be doubly safer if he’d just tuck the abomination away, stick it deep in the corner of his sock drawer or perhaps somewhere underneath the bed frame, but he’s kept it well in sight ever since he first laid hands on it. He clutches it tightly as if it just might disappear when he lets go; chances like these are rare for him, to be so close in proximity to the wanton whines of someone he knows and sees almost daily. And if it’s anyone’s fault that you’re still fucking an immature bastard, a privileged manchild who gets pretty much everything he wants, it most certainly isn’t his own.

It’s just so exhilarating, to be able to cradle the cool metal in one hand, throbbing cock in the other, drawstring sweats already halfway down as he thumbs at his flushed, pink head. He’s kicking his pants off as he leans into bed, flat of his slicked-up fingers laving over the sopping tip that cries and weep for release. He’s already imagining it, the kinds of o-shaped faces you make with a leash dangling from your neck, bubbling with excitement and intoxication and jealousy at the mere thought. But he doesn’t start the audio yet, fumbling for his stash of lotion before moving to fist his cock in its entirety, twitching creature red with excitement as he jerks it up and down.

It feels so intimate to him, the fact that you’re so close yet so far away, musical mewls available on demand whenever he so pleases. He quickens the pace, palm of his hand practically flattening the vein on the underside of his cock as he starts to buck his hips into his tightening fingers. He’d just love to ram his dick down your throat one day, but for now he’ll have to make do with his hands.

He hits “PLAY” with bitter determination.

The very first sound of crumpling bedsheets has him curling into a full-body tingle. He’s close, so close he can almost taste it, but he keeps his concentration on the audio speaker, waiting for something, anything to heighten his arousal. He sucks in the cold air between his teeth, curses threatening to pour from his lips at how right, how wrong it all feels. The anticipation is short-lived, however, broken by the sound of Gojo’s voice, just barely recognizable in the speaker’s tinny, superficial quality.

“My, my,” the silver-haired deviant says, corners of his mouth undoubtedly upturned as he leans into the microphone.

“Just what do you think you’re doing, Geto?”

The voice recorder hits the floor at the sound of his own name, blood pressure rising as his arms and legs tense up in disbelief. His own orgasm slips away and out of reach in an instant, petering out in wretchedly slow motion as his stiff cock throbs with pitiful languor. He wants to laugh, he wants to cry, wants to curse the world for ever thinking you were actually within his reach, wants to chuck the accursed gadget across the room and watch it scatter across the floor in glittering smithereens. Or maybe he just wants to cradle his head and sink into the ground, face his back to the despicable device for the rest of the night as the cold seeps into his sides, but he’s not even sure where the damn thing skittered off to and his head is spinning and his eyelids clench shut and the world just grinds to a halt.

Gojo doesn’t take the news well.

Gojo doesn’t want to take it at all.

You’re chatting up the party’s host, a premed student in the same year as him, when you first notice him glancing at his phone.

“So how are things? Between you two, I mean,” Shoko asks as she follows your gaze.

“Couldn’t be better” is your absentminded answer, and she stifles a laugh—a perfect relationship with the Gojo Satoru? But you’re only half listening as she expresses her disbelief, eyes never quite leaving Gojo’s back as he shifts away from the mass of people and shuffles towards the windows, cell phone in balled-up hand.

The first call is inconspicuous enough—Geto has a habit of running late, after all. But when you excuse yourself to the bathroom and come back find to Gojo still holding the phone to his ear, half crouched with his lips screwed up in a pout, you know something’s off. Part of you doesn’t want to take your place beside him, but he pulls you down by the wrist, grip strong enough to leave dime-sized bruises.

They’re explaining the game of the night before you can ask him what’s up: a pitcher of beer will round the group of players, all sat in a circle on the carpeted floor, each and every one taking turns trying to steal the last drop. It’s a familiar setting, the music but a hum in the background as the participants buzz with idle chatter, but the person beside you feels alien somehow. The woolen material pills underneath your toes as you curl them into little balls, eyeing him with a sideways glance. You know better than to raise the issue when his foot’s tapping the floor with such force, rapid rhythm almost matching the incessant pace with which he thumbs at his phone. He’s calling Geto three, four, five times before changing tack, demanding an explanation through text.

Shallow breaths are all that fill your lungs as you keep as still as possible, trying your best to get a good read on the screen. If the slump in his shoulders is any indicator, you’re sure he’s seething at the words that light it up. But before you can make out a single phrase, he’s slamming the phone down with one hand, clenching the pitcher of freshly poured beer with the other.

His turn to take the first swig.

He ends up gulping until you’re sure he’s out of breath.

“Whoa there, Satoru,” the person next to him says when he sets the pitcher down, nearly emptied. “What the fuck was that?”

His wrist rises to wipe the corner of his mouth and he exhales sharply, as if his simple reply requires strenuous effort.

“DD bailed on us,” he announces, “fucking flake.”

“Maybe we should have you sober up, then,” someone else, likely Shoko, calls out from across the room.

The change in his demeanor is instant.

“Ah, we’ll make it back in one piece, won’t we?” Gojo’s glance darts sideways, playful lilt betraying the ice he has for eyes.

The room hushes, waiting for an answer, and you sit up straight when you realize who he’s asking. You quirk an eyebrow, amused. With his cheeks already flushed, what seems to be a pointed gaze unfocused and glassy, you can’t help but beg to differ. You know the answer he wants to hear with every bone in your body. But every fiber in your being knows the truth.

“Bullshit.”

The entire room erupts and it’s decided, against his will, that you’ll be spending the night.

Everything falls apart from there.

Shoko shows you to a guest room once the others begin to clear out, dark circles carved out by cool white fluorescents that cast shadows behind her puffy eye bags.

“Sorry it’s so small,” she says, gesturing at the lone mattress, creeping moonlight like a spotlight on its linen-lined surface.

“It’s everything we could ask for,” you say as Gojo falls into bed, sprawling out against the twin sized sheets. “Thanks for letting us crash.” She shoots him a tight lipped smile before placing a deft hand on your shoulder, brown locks cascading as she leans into your ear.

“Let me know if you need anything, okay?”

The night is long and never-ending.

Teeny tiny bits of skylight taunt you from above as Gojo proceeds to keep you awake well past twilight. He’s tossing and turning in the guest bed, kicking the blanket off the both of you with spiteful purpose, inviting in the cool night breeze. It nips you from your face to your toes, colder still even as he tightens his hold on you, and you decide to finally break the silence.

“You still mad about that one thing I said?”

He scoffs, huff of breath like a shot to your neck.

“You seriously have to ask?”

You tense up immediately, spine straightening flat against his chest as he continues, edge to his voice swelling as it looms behind you. “Honestly, who do you think you think you are? Always acting like you’re better than me.” Razor thin needles lodge themselves into your scalp as he pulls your hair back, your chin meeting chilled air as you offer up a whimper.

“It’s not like that.”

He only tightens his grip on your hair, pulling it back harder still.

“Think I need to remind you of your fucking place,” he mumbles as he presses into you, something stiff rocking against the fat of your thighs.

“Not here,” you breathe, eyes widening as you realize his intent, the alcohol in your system seeming to swirl in your head. He staggers his hips in response.

“Wasn’t a problem in the car.”

“Satoru, they might hear us,” you say, the steel in your voice cracking as his free arm snakes around your side, searching for the hem of your pants. “Mercy,” you try again, the familiar, agreed upon safe word sounding foreign and unfamiliar when it comes out but a croak. It hurtles from the shelter of your lips, forever lost as the strain in his pants only grows, breath going ragged as he ruts into your hips.

“Just let me have this.”

And he revels in the way in which he easily overpowers you, enamored in how his towering frame nearly swallows you whole. When a particularly loud groan—one you’re sure anyone in a neighboring room can overhear—escapes his lips, you blister with shame, burying your face in the pillow, limbs aching for need of sleep.

And then his breath hitches as he chases after fireworks and explosions, captivated by the way that you squirm in vain. His palms claim your hips as his own, cockhead grinding behind you, servicing himself with feverish concentration. He presses your side into the mattress, ass cheeks squeezing together like a homemade fleshlight, and you arch your back in a sorry attempt at evasion.

He groans in response, knees buckling together as he brushes up against the makeshift curve, and you stop struggling altogether. Your body buzzes from the touch, head swelling like a balloon, skin crawling from the jerky movements as you go limp as a ragdoll.

“God, you’re so good to me,” he says, praise anything but endearing when it hits your ears. It’s the same kind of acclaim he gave up just the night before, but it cheapens as he repeats it, banal phrase playing over and over in your head. He’s still humping your butt when he cums, shaky and delirious as he rides out the high, profanities rolling off his tongue until he’s shuddering himself to sleep. All is still once he’s blacked out from the stimulation, pitter patter of salted frustration the only movement left over as it soaks the pillowcase through and through.

You lay awake, caged by his toned muscle, trapped by his carbon curses, praying for sleep until the birds begin to chirp. They sing a song that they borrowed from the night, a harrowing lullaby that has you in a panic, slipping out of his grasp as you crawl out of bed.

By the crack of dawn you’ve tiptoed into a cab, belongings clutched tight to your chest, apartment complex shrinking in the distance, but it never seems to get further away.

Geto hasn’t breathed a word about the voice recorder.

Geto doesn’t want to think about it all.

He’s paying for it now with a barrage of daily phone calls from none other than Gojo himself, who dials him day and night and morning, no regard for moderation. Geto regards the fallout as both of their instant karma, still miffed by the prank he’d just fallen for, but unwilling to reveal his folly. He fills the role of trusty confidant nonetheless, his betrayal as M.I.A driver long forgotten. It’s a spectacle, the frenzy Gojo is bound in, and he might as well watch from a front row seat.

But he hasn’t made a full recovery yet, forever irked at the pretty privilege Gojo takes for granted, the privilege he downright hoards for himself, barking into the speaker when he feels his blood begin to boil.

“Seriously, what did you do this time?” He wants to tear his hair out at Gojo’s stupidity, his utter lack of tact, wants to pull out his front teeth and pulverize the dental tissue into a fine powder when he’s met with momentary silence.

It’s been a few days since you left the guest bedroom alone in the wee hours of morning, and Gojo hasn’t been able to get ahold of you since. You haven’t been answering his texts, his calls, Christ, he even tried your personal email, and now Geto finds himself shouldering the brunt of his correspondence, trying everything in his power to get him to calm the fuck down, albeit fruitlessly.

“Nothing we haven’t done before,” Gojo insists once he’s found his choice of words, spitting them out one by one, raking stiff fingers through colorless locks. “I got a little handsy, but it was seriously nothing.” Geto shakes his head and rubs his temples; nothing isn’t enough to make you walk out on him.

“If you’re telling the truth, then stop worrying already.” A stray section of his bangs fall forward, sweeping over his eye as he slumps over in his chair. “But if you’re lying—” he starts, cut off by the sound of chaste knocks, an unassuming 1-2-3 kissing up at his door before he can finish.

Saved by the mystery visitor.

If he didn’t know any better, he’d sigh relief, eager to break away from the droning and moaning of the spoiled brat on the other line. Instead he gives pause, as if weighing the cost of answering the door against the merit of staying put on the phone, moment’s hesitation only giving way to a guaranteed getaway.

“Hold on, I need to get this,” is all Geto says as he hangs up the phone, equal parts appreciative and skeptical of the person at his door. He isn’t exactly friendly with anyone on his floor, and few would show up here without asking first, so he peers through the peephole, curiosity getting the better of him.

And lo and behold, speak of the devil, it’s Gojo’s missing girlfriend, standing alone with her hands twisted together.

Amazing. You’re quite literally the very last person he wanted to see right now.

“Do you have any idea how worried he is?” Geto snaps when he answers the door. You have no idea what kind of mess he has on his hands. “Go and make up with your boyfriend already.” He moves to close the door but you react quickly, wedging yourself before the doorframe, eyes wide and pleading.

“I’m in trouble, so please...” You scramble for something half believable. “I can’t turn to anyone else.” He laughs in your face, eyebrows quirked with mirth at how genuine it almost sounds.

Almost.

“Don’t give me that.”

“No, I mean it,” you press on, unwilling to admit that anyone else who’d listen to your cries for help, from trusted family to doe-eyed friends, would undoubtedly have you in a beeline for the authorities. “You—you’re the only other person who can put up with Gojo.”

That gets him stopping in his tracks.

“Barely,” he scoffs, but the pressure on the door lets up. He hates that you have a point there. Hates that he can’t look away from Gojo and his silly antics and his daring ploys and especially hates that he has that in common with you. He wants to turn you away but you look so hopeful, ignoring the dulling pain of the door trying to crush your foot flat.

He bites the bullet.

“You know he’ll be pissed if he finds out you came to me first, right?” You screw your lips together when he cracks the door slightly.

“Well, he doesn’t really have the right at the moment,” you sniff, barging in when he lets go of the door completely.

The room is impossibly smaller than you ever imagined, in direct contrast to all the empty space in Gojo’s rental. It’s a wonder how all his necessities fit in the cramped shelves and tiny drawers, and you almost marvel at the scale of it until the sound of wood on vinyl tiling snaps you back to focus. A few stray articles of clothing are plucked from the ground and chucked to the corner before he’s pulling two chairs up, one for you and one for him. Once he’s sitting, you have his full, unadulterated attention.

Not that you know what to do with it.

It takes a while to find your voice, fiddling with your fingers as you try, unsuccessfully, to hold his gaze. There’s no clock but you swear you can hear the second hand ticking. The curtain’s closed but you’re sure you can feel the heat of the sun disappearing. You’re certain that it ebbs below the curve of the horizon as you watch, timidly, the tap of Geto’s wooden sandal. It remind you of the clack of Gojo’s dress boots, impatience slowly exceeding its carefully drawn bounds.

You time out a moment of silence.

And then another.

And then another, until Geto is staring you down expectantly, pinpricks for eyes. You take the hint.

“I said it.” You look down, fidgeting with your shirt. “I said no.”

His eyes soften immediately, struck by the raw edge of your voice, your inability to look him in the eye.

“And he didn’t respect that?”

“He touched me. When I asked him to stop.” The words have to force themselves out your throat, the little bit of courage you have all that keeps the walls from collapsing in completely. You take as deep of a breath as you can manage when the memory flickers through your mind, clear as yesterday. “He—he fucked me through his clothes.” Your head’s buried in your hands as you fold into yourself completely, rocking in place, and something rages inside of Geto.

“Wait, what?” Geto looks at you incredulously, disbelief scrawled all over his face, eyes narrowing when you keep your head down. “Through his clothes?”

You nod slowly, knowingly, and he feels as though the world is spinning all over again. The ground seems to shift beneath him as your face contorts in pain, saltwater already beading up along your lower lashes. That’s it? That’s what this entire circus is on about? He cards his hands through his hair as he tries to process it, shaking his head when you fail to respond. That’s all it takes for your whole body to quake, hard lumps bubbling up your throat at the bite of his words, breath stuttering irregularly as your windpipe starts to clench up.

And then you’re crying, body wracked with hiccups as you try to quell the chills crawling up your skin. Your chest heaves in a sorry attempt to keep up with the lurch of your lungs, sputtering as you try to suppress your voice.

“God, you’re all so fucking annoying.”

He watches you bubble over, feeling his own emotions swell as they hit a critical mass, stomach churning at the sight. You couldn’t manage a comeback if you wanted to, a blubbering mess as you try to wipe your eyes dry. The small bit of composure that’s kept him whole these past few days finally snaps when the tears trail down your hands, no end in sight in the onslaught of waterworks.

“I bet you wanted it,” he continues, unfazed by the fattening tears, fingertips digging into his thighs as he spots the yellowed bruises he jacks off to at night. He leers at the fading brown and imagines them overlaid with fresh, new marks, gleaming blush and fiery crimson. “I bet sluts like you don’t care what happens as long as they get dicked down in the end.” A quiet sob tumbles out of you and your cheeks tingle with hurt, like you’ve been backhanded once, then twice.

“It’s n-not like that,” you finally manage to say, gasping through choked noises as he creeps closer, cloaking you in shadow. He stares vacantly from his vantage point, as if looking at an ant on the tiles.

“Then why don’t you walk away for real?”

And that’s exactly what you should be doing right now, cornered by a large man in his dark, dingy room, but by the time you think to stand up he’s grabbing you by the wrists. He sends you barreling into the desk, spinning you around so your hands clutch the edge, chest pressing up against the surface. He pins an arm behind you with ease, kicking your legs wide open, and you flail the other in no particular direction.

“You secretly enjoy all of it, don’t you? You secretly get off on the idea of being raped by your boyfriend.” He sneers as you buckle underneath him, grazing his growing erection. “All worked up over a little dry humping? Get over yourself already. You females want to be hurt so bad.”

“Fuck you,” you manage between muffled sobs, chest feeling as if it’s about to break in half. “You’re j-just like Gojo.”

“Just like Gojo?” Geto echoes, free hand coming to snake between your thighs, voice catching as he speaks. “You’re sorely mistaken.”

You fall limp as he draws a single finger under your panties, tracing your hipbone as he muses. He imagines their contents, imagines how easy it would be to take you by force, sighing aloud at the prospect of doing it without.

“I can never be him.”

#gojo smut #geto smut #geto x reader #gojo x reader #jjk smut #tw. dark.#tw. noncon.#tw. dubcon.#tw. influence.#tw. toxic.#tw. penetration.#tw. showoff.#tw. size.#tw. degradation.#tw. corruption.#🍣.food #fishstyx.jjk

770 notes · View notes

etherealeeknow · 4 years ago

Text

touchy-feely

• rated m for mature

• pairing: best friend!minho x fem!reader

• wc: 1.523

• tw: groping, slight nipple play & edging, explicit language, fingering & oral (f receiving), - i think that’s all, please do tell me if you find more c:

• note: I FINALLY POSTED HELLO. this isn’t proofread so i’m sorry for any mistakes! i’ll get to it tomorrow (hopefully 😂) and i hope you’ll enjoy it! also, please kindly note that english isn’t my first language. therefore, i apologize for any mistakes.

—

“minho despises skinship, but with you it’s an exception.”

it was supposed to be the typical saturday afternoon for you and minho, but thanks to what jisung said earlier, you were now left on the couch, laying there with what if’s relentlessly running on your mind. you didn’t even hear when he called you from his kitchen that he had to come and poke your side, making you jump. “chill, y/n. do you want extra caramel or nah?” minho shrugged when you shook your head and put the bowl of popcorn on the table so he could lift your legs up, sit down, and place them on his lap. “uh, what are you doing?” you asked when the guy took back the bowl and rested it on top of your tummy as support. “uh, making myself comfy for the movie? duh?” he answered and pressed play.

when you asked him to sit on the other couch, he shot you the most questioning look ever. “you nuts, y/n? you want me to sit alone through this horror torture? of course you don’t. now shush. it’s starting. aaa~” minho didn’t even wait for you to open your mouth properly; he shoved the popcorn into your mouth and continued feeding himself in peace, eyes now glued to the screen despite his claim that horror movies weren’t his cup of tea. you shifted awkwardly on the couch, trying to immerse yourself in the movie, which you eventually managed to.

things went by as usual—since both of you preferred discussing over movies after they ended, the living room was filled with nothing but the eerie and daunting sound from the TV. your body was no longer tensed and you didn’t even realize minho had been feeding you popcorn from time to time. it was until the jump scare popped out that you became self conscious once more upon minho’s touch. though his eyes never left the screen, his free hand was gripping tightly on yours.

“don’t be silly, ji. he has always been like that.”

“he has always been like that, yes, but only to you.”

rethinking over your conversation with jisung made you shake your head and because of that, minho loosened his grip to caress your hand softly, and it only made your eyes grow bigger. “w- what are you doing?” you asked for the second time that day, voice barely audible. “protecting you from the ghosts,” he replied as he put the empty bowl on the table and laid beside you on the cramped couch with his chin resting on top of your head, hands wrapped around your shoulders. before you got to call him out again, another jump scare came and the sound made you flinch, but minho was quick to run his hand along your arm, rubbing it soothingly and his soft touch sent shivers down your spine. “y/n, are you co-” you cut him off by standing up. the sudden movement made you lightheaded, but minho’s hand found its way on yours once again as concern was written across his furrowed eyebrows.

“have you always been this... touchy-feely?” you asked; confidence level so low but you managed to maintain eye contact as you waited for his answer. it had always been difficult to read what was going on in minho’s head, but it never bothered you, at least not until this second. after what felt like a year, minho let go of your hand and faced the ground while running his fingers through his hair. “did jisung say something?” he asked, finally looking back at you and you could only nod, scared of what might happen next. “what did he say?” he asked again, this time while running the back of his hand through your bare thigh and you swore you could feel your liquid gushing out just from the faint touch. “t- that you’re only touchy when you’re with me.”

“and do you agree?” you had so many thoughts, so many questions, but you could only nod. everything felt hazy just from the way his thumb caressing your inner thigh. “and do you like it? if not, i can stop.” when minho retreated his hand, you were faster than lightning, holding onto it as if your life depended on it, and your own action made you blush. “b- but we’re best friends,” you said and he chuckled, poking the inside of his cheek with his tongue. “that’s not the question, love.” before minho got the chance to pull away again, you straddled his lap and could directly feel his growing bulge underneath you that made you even redder.

shaking your head, you told him, “please don’t stop.” although your voice came out in a whisper, minho could hear it loud and clear and he shot you a cocky smirk before leaning forward to meet your lips. your hands automatically found their way around his neck as he pulled you even closer by your waist and the two of you moaned in unison—both over the small amount of friction. the kiss deepened as no one wanted to give in, but minho was growing impatient, so he sneaked his hand into your hoodie, hiking your bra up to fondle your breast, pinching your nipple so he could hear you choking out your pretty little moans.

“off,” he commanded, breaking the kiss to take off his own sweater and sweatpants, dark eyes never leaving you. he quickly pull you towards him, hovering over you and began kissing you from your neck to your bare chest, then down to your belly, halting right above your undies. you shot him a pleading look, so desperate, yet your words wouldn’t come out. “i won’t stop if you don’t stop me,” he warned and you nodded almost right away. snorting, he added, “and i certainly won’t go further if you don’t say anything either. come on, what happened to the chatty y/n?” he teased, biting your undies to pull it down slowly until it reached your knees; the view made you roll your eyes back, shyness and eagerness all in one.

“minho, please,” you begged while facing the ceiling. “so i’m now a ceiling?” he mocked, a finger drawing circles on your outer labia and this time you sighed out loud in frustration. “for fuck sake, minho, ple-” you were cut off by your own moan when he rub your clitoris, spreading the wetness all over the place. the sensation of being pleasured by another person after months being untouched turned you on for the better, and for that person to be minho made everything far more exciting. you had lost count of how many times you had daydreamed for this to happen whenever he dropped by your apartment wearing nothing but a black sleeveless top after practicing or the way he came out of the shower, water dripping down his neck and veins popping out of his arm when he dried his hair with a towel.

just by having those flashbacks sent you over the edge and you managed to tell him you’re gonna reach your climax soon, which caused him to retreat his finger away and you grunted. “already? god, i barely touched you, y/n. are you that needy for me?” he chortled and you whined, no longer feeling embarrassed. the only thing in your mind was him. “i want you. i want you so bad, please,” you plead through your half lidded eyes, staring at him who was still below you. smirking, he shook his head in amusement and inserted one finger in you without warning, pulling it in and out of you right away before adding another; his lips came in contact with your aching core, his tongue playing its part, licking and sucking it.

you whimpered and spread your legs as wide as you could while bucking your hips, desperate for more. “fucking yes, just like that,” you said, followed with endless ah’s while your hand was squeezing your tits, the other gripping tightly on his hair; nothing turned him better than the way you pull them while he was eating you out, making you produce all of those juices for him to take while his own member was throbbing. your breaths were going shorter as the knot on your stomach began forming again. “minho, minho, minho, fuck!” you screamed as you pushed his face deeper into your pussy and the man did nothing but fastening his pace. “i’m cum-” it only took a few seconds for you to cry out, eyes closing blissfully while you shake and came all over his digits and his pretty face.

once you came back to your senses and the room was filled with only your raspy breathing, minho sit back and eyed you with the most heartwarming smile. “did you like it, love? did i make you feel good?” he asked and you nodded in response, throat too dry to utter a word. “i can’t hear you,” he said and you tried your best to mouth a “yes, minho.”

“such a good girl. now, on your knees. plus, it’s daddy for you from now on.”

#gen writes #lee know #lee know smut #lee know fic #lee know imagines #lee know scenarios #stray kids #stray kids smut #stray kids fic #stray kids scenarios #stray kids hard hours #stray kids hard thoughts #skz #skz fic #skz smut #skz imagines #skz scenarios

549 notes · View notes

glowingbadger · 3 years ago

Note

I didn’t know you did yandere. That’s revelation of the year and I’m hella thirsty for some sfw yandere, so how about yandere! Dimitri headcannons pre! time skip or post! I’m warning you, doing this ask will probably force me to come back and ask for the other headcannons between the time skip cause I’m greedy and your writing makes me happy. Hell, I may ask for a third set of headcannons for once he redeems himself post! time skip and is ascending the throne. What can I say, this is a hot girl summer and your writing is a tall glass of water.

I gotta admit, I haven't really considered SFW Yandere much in the past haha, but I'm willing to give it some thought! Just for reference for those interested, my general policy on Yandere is something I'm willing to do occasionally and at my own discretion, and of course I'll always tag and CW it heavily.

As one more note on this- I'm not gonna be writing anything pre-timeskip, as is my general policy for FE3H. I know you said SFW, but if it's self-shipping content at all, I don't write students.

But! All that said! Let's talk about Feral and Post-War/Less-Feral Yandere Dimitri~ Obviously, a big TW for this one if you aren't into Yandere characterization - please don't push yourself to read something that will make you uncomfy <3

Yandere!Dimitri x GN Reader

Early War, "Feral" Dimitri:

- Dimitri has spent so much time in suffocating, consuming darkness that realizing that he now has a chance to keep you safe- to preserve this one last speck of light in his life- rapidly develops into an obsession. There's hardly even a "confession" of feelings from him. Moreso, he just begins to hover near you at all times, his voice low and with a clear manic edge when he tells you, "I don't care what I must do, or what sins I must commit. I will keep you here. I will keep you alive. Even you yourself will not be spared punishment if you choose to endanger yourself or stray from my sight."

- You're absolutely not allowed on the battlefield, and after a fight, the first thing Dimitri does is come check on you where you're kept in your designated quarters. A handful of times, he's come back to you still covered in blood- his own and others'- caring little for his injuries in the face of his need to assure your safety. You'll likely have to either learn some basic healing yourself, or accompany him to the infirmary, as your presence is the only thing that soothes his wild bloodlust after a battle, and he doesn't even think to care for himself when he has you to focus on.

- Anyone who dares to insult or- goddess help them, harm you in any way- is dealt with swiftly and brutally. Dimitri doesn't care if he has to rip the poor bastard apart in front of you. No threat to his one last light can be tolerated. In fact, once or twice he'll specifically bring someone to you who he feels has mistreated you, and there's an almost ceremonial formality to his retribution, as he presents them to you and looks you in the eye while he breaks the target's arm behind their back like snapping a toothpick.

- His punishments when you refuse to behave for him are harsh and decisive as well. He's not above causing you physical harm or discomfort, but he doesn't prefer it, only resorting to such methods when you've done something he deems exceedingly transgressive, like getting too close to a battle, or neglecting to tell him when you go somewhere for the afternoon. For smaller infractions, like spending too much time with someone other than himself ("No one can be trusted- not with you. Not when your loss would be so grave.") or trying to challenge him regarding his methods, his punishments are more of imprisonment. He'll keep you barred in your room for a time- or his, if he feels you can't be trusted alone- perhaps even binding your wrists. "I could break you in an instant," he reminds you with a dangerous shadow across his gaze, "I choose to keep you safe. I decide that your heart still beats and you live to draw breath. Remember that."

Post-War King Dimitri:

- The main difference in behavior is that there's a veneer of calm around Dimitri's uniquely disturbed way of caring for you now. Generally, he handles you in a soft and gentlemanly fashion- but there's no mistake that the burning obsession that seized his mind long ago is still well and present. Nobles of all territories under Kingdom rule know that you are to be approached and addressed with the utmost care and respect, lest they face the wrath that still simmers deep within the King's heart.

- In fact, King Dimitri has brought offending nobles before you in the throne room to have them executed at your feet for their transgressions. With time, you may be able to convince Dimitri to at least allow you yourself to pass judgement before sentencing, but by then, the people of the Kingdom know to tread carefully in how they behave and speak to or about you.

- Your king dictates each and every aspect of your day to day life- where you go and when, and who is allowed to accompany you, how you're dressed, and what you eat. It seems like a sweet gesture to some that Dimitri quite likes feeding you by hand, but you recognize this as one more way for him to exercise control and maintain the peace of mind that it grants him. In general, your life together with the King is a comfortable one wherein you're provided any and everything you could desire- as long as you behave as your king demands.

- If you're good for him, Dimitri will be the picture of a gentleman towards you. But you know well by now that the feral beast still lurks in his past and in some dark corner of his mind, and that any threat to your safety, or indication that you may leave his life would certainly provoke him. Surely those who have been executed at his hand for dishonoring you know this well, as the last thing they see is the cold, righteous fury in his eye before his blade descends.

#yandere #dimitri alexandre blaiddyd #dimitri x reader #fire emblem #fire emblem three houses #feh #fe3h #fire emblem x reader #fire emblem imagines #fire emblem headcanons #tw yandere

243 notes · View notes

the-iceni-bitch · 4 years ago

Text

Fix You

Pairing: angsty!soft!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Words: 4173

Summary: Bucky has been working hard at getting over the trauma that came from being the Winter Soldier, and you do your best to help him through it. But a particularly painful memory almost breaks him.

Warnings: ANGST (I’m so sorry y’all), explicit language, explicit sexual content (oral sex (F receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex), soft!broken!Bucky, fluffy ending, TW: this fic contains implications of animal cruelty in a character’s past. It is extremely vague and non-specific but I will put a warning in the text itself if you still would like to read but this particular type of thing upsets you. Please be mindful of it my soft babies!! SMUT, 18+ ONLY!!!!

A/N: This is my entry to the Happy Hoelentine’s Day gift exchange hosted by the absolutely fabulous @chrissquares, @drabblewithfrannybarnes and @amythedvdhoarder. My giftee was @bucky-the-thigh-slayer happy v-day sweetie! 😘

Soo, apparently, I cannot just write a sprinkling of angst, I have to write cut your heart out of your chest and watch it beat in front of your face angst. This fic made me cry while writing it so if you are a big softie, you might want to skip this one. Don’t worry, I gave everyone a nice, fluffy, soft ending to soothe the pain!

Happy Hoelentine’s y’all! Check out my masterlist and join my taglist if you want!

dividers are made by the lovely @chrissquares

not my GIF

You weren’t sure what had initially roused you from sleep. Maybe it was the fact that you were used to Bucky’s frame being draped over you, smothering you with his body heat. Whatever had woken you at first, the sound of shattering glass snapped you from your dazed state immediately.

You flew out of the bed and ran towards the bathroom. The light was leaking from underneath the door and when you wrenched it open, you swore under your breath.

Bucky was seated on the floor by the tub, his head in his hands as sobs wracked his chest. The mirror over the sink was smashed, pieces of reflective glass scattered all over the counter and across the floor.

You ignored it, not even noticing as you cut the bottoms of your feet while making your way to him. You knelt beside him and drew him to you, tucking his head under your chin as you ran your hands over his back, trying to calm him down.

“I’m here, Buck.” You murmured as you pressed your lips to his hair. His breathing was coming in ragged gasps as he leaned into you, and you could tell he was still upset. “Do you want to talk about it, honey?”

He just shook his head as another sob ripped out of him, his fingers wrapping in your sleep shirt.

You knew this was all part of the process. Bucky had been working with Bruce and his psychiatrist for 6 months now on identifying and moving past his repressed memories, but damn if it didn’t break you heart every time a new one popped up. This one must have been especially painful, he hadn’t had a breakdown like this in months.

“Sweetie, I’m gonna call Bruce, ok?” He was still a mess, even with you there, and it made you worried.

“No, don’t leave me.” He looked up at you desperately as he leaned against your shoulder, his eyes a startling blue from his tears as he pleaded with you.

“Shit, Bucky.” God, you fucking hated seeing him like this. You felt so helpless. “I can call from here. FRIDAY? Let Banner know we need him, stat.”

“Will do, Y/N.” The AI chirped back at you.

You reached your arm to the sink and turned it on, running a washcloth under the warm water before bringing it back to rest against his forehead.

“Y/N? Bucky? It’s me, Bruce.” You heard Banner call from the front door.

“Yeah, we’re in the bathroom.” You called. Your shoulder was soaked with snot and tears as Bucky continued weeping against you.

“Jesus, what happened?” Bruce hissed when he found you, picking his was through the broken glass as he knelt to examine Bucky, opening his medical case.

“I dunno Bruce, I woke up and found him like this.” You did your best to straighten Bucky up as Bruce took his pulse before pulling back to assemble his otoscope.

“Ok, Barnes, I’m gonna give you a sedative, buddy.” Bruce murmured as he dug in his case again, bringing out a vial and syringe. “I called his doctor when I heard from you and she’s on her way, but she was in Chicago for a conference, so she won’t be in until later this morning. She gave me the ok to calm him down for now.”

You just nodded as you stroked Bucky’s hair, doing your best to distract him as Bruce wound the tourniquet around his arm before plunging in the needle. He released the band before pushing down the plunger, and you felt Bucky relax against you almost immediately.

“I hate this so much, Bruce. I just want to be able to do something for him.”

“You’re doing it, Y/N. I don’t think his recovery would be going so well if he didn’t have you.” He looked down at your feet and winced. “Let’s get you cleaned up.”

“What? Oh, fuck.” Now that Bucky wasn’t occupying your attention, the slices on your feet and knees were throbbing.

“I don’t think you need any stitches, but I’m gonna use some skin glue to keep these from opening up repeatedly.” He muttered, rinsing the cuts with a betadine solution before patting them dry with some gauze.

“Thanks Bruce. Can you help me get him back to the bed?” You asked as he finished his work, throwing a towel over the broken glass and shoving it out of the way.

“Sure.” You each put one of his arms over your shoulders and hauled him to his feet, shuffling awkwardly back to the bedroom. “Dr. Laurent should be here around 10, if you could get him to the med center around then?”

“Of course Bruce, thank you so much.”

He just waved you off as he left, closing the door gently behind him. You changed into a new t-shirt and climbed back into bed, curling yourself around Bucky as you tried to fall back asleep, failing miserably.

It had been two weeks since Bucky’s breakdown. His nightmares had gotten better, but you could tell he was still upset about things. He was barely talking to you, and he hadn’t initiated sex during that whole period. You could maybe coax some small talk out of him over meals, but you could tell he was avoiding talking to you about what he remembered. All you wanted to do was comfort him and he wasn’t letting you.

Dr. Laurent assured you that they were working through it, but that this particular memory was harder to move past. All you wanted to do was comfort him, but he wouldn’t let you close.

The two of you were sitting together in silence, you were going over some field reports with your feet resting in Bucky’s lap as he read some trash mystery novel that you would usually tease him about. Your phone rang from the coffee table and you stretched to pick it up, grinning when you saw it was your sister.

“Hey Frankie!” You said cheerily as you picked up. “What’s going on?”

Bucky smiled to himself sadly as he listened to you chat with your sister. He felt so guilty about what he was doing to you. You were amazing, and kind, but he was so worried that if he let you all the way in, you’d see what a monster he was and leave him.

“Oh my god, a puppy!?” You squealed, and Bucky felt all the blood drain from his face. “Send me all the pictures! We’ll have to come visit soon and meet him.”

Bucky stood up and walked towards the kitchen, getting himself a glass of water and drinking it down greedily.

“Hey, Frankie, can I call you back tomorrow? Great, love you!” You had picked up on Buck’s change in demeanor and followed after him. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing.” He muttered, filling his glass again and taking a sip.

You let out a deep sigh at his attempt to dodge. You knew you weren’t supposed to push him, but watching him withdraw from you like this was killing you.

“Bucky, please talk to me.” You pleaded, fighting the urge to go to him and wrap your arms around him, drawing all his pain into yourself as you held him tight.

He shook his head at you as he set his glass down on the counter, avoiding making eye contact. “I can’t.”

You took in a sharp breath at the crack in his voice and your resolve broke. You took three steps forward and pressed your body to his, wrapping your arms around his shoulders and bringin his forehead down to lean against yours.

“It’s ok, I’m not going anywhere.” You murmured, bringing up one hand to run through his hair, trying your best to soothe him as you watched tears leak from his eyes.

“Promise?”

“Fuck, of course I promise.” You murmured before pressing your lips softly to his. “Bucky, I’m not going to leave you. I love you.”

He buried his face in your neck and let out a deep sigh, inhaling your scent and letting the warm comfort of your body relax him. You kept stroking his back and hair, waiting for him to speak.

⚠️TRIGGER WARNING ⚠️

“When I first woke up,” He started after several minutes of silence, still not looking at you. “They would never let me outside. It was almost a year before I saw sunlight. They eventually let me out once they were sure the brainwashing had done its job, but only for a little while. There was…”

He choked on his words and you made soft soothing sounds against his cheek, doing your best to not hold your breath as he opened up to you, worried you were going to spook him like a baby deer.

“There was this tiny stray mutt I found on the compound one day. It was hiding in a little hole in the wall with an injured paw, scared of everything. I managed to sneak out some of my rations the next day for him, and did the same thing for the next week. He wouldn’t take the food from me directly, but I would leave it for him, and it would all be gone when I came back.

“It took a few weeks before he would take the food from my hand, and a couple more before he would let me pet him. Seeing that little guy was the best part of my day. The only break I had from the fighting and the torture. Sometimes he’d crawl into my lap and curl up, and those were the days I thought about making a run for it.” Bucky finally looked at you, giving you a sad smile as he pressed his forehead to yours again before screwing his eyes shut. “I named him Vladik.

“I don’t know why it took them so long to figure out he was there. The guards were supposed to be watching my every move. I wasn’t supposed to have anything for myself, no happiness or solace. And that was all he was. Just a harmless little friend. But the Soldat couldn’t have any friends.

“When the doctor in charge of my programming found out, he told me to bring him the dog, and he… he made me…”

⚠️END TRIGGER WARNING⚠️

He started sobbing before he could finish, and you felt tears running down your own cheeks as you held him tightly, the two of you sinking to the floor as Bucky wept in your arms. You curled yourself around him, wishing you could do something to just take all of that pain from him.

It was an hour before either of you moved. You were stiff from leaning against the counter for so long, but until Bucky started to straighten up, you didn’t even notice. He drew you up after him and you moaned as you unfolded yourself, your legs tingling as blood rushed back into them.

“I love you so much, Y/N.” He whispered against your hair with a heavy sigh, drawing you into another deep embrace. “Fuck, I’m exhausted.”

“I love you too, honey.” You murmured, pressing your lips to his forehead. “I’ll be right there.”

You left him to strip out of his clothes as you headed to the bathroom, locking the door behind you as you splashed cold water on your face, trying to keep yourself from having a meltdown.

You were so relieved he had finally opened up to you. But every fiber of your being just wanted to fix all of this, and the fact that you couldn’t was killing you. You choked back a sob as you bent over the sink, bile rising in your throat. It took you a few minutes to fully calm down, but you got your emotions under control with some deep breathing.

You splashed your face a few more times before heading back out to the bedroom. Bucky was still up, sitting on the edge of the bed as he waited for you. He gave you a small smile as you walked toward him, wrapping his arms around your middle and nuzzling his face against your stomach. You moaned as he started to lift your shirt, pressing his lips to your skin softly as his fingers traveled to brush against your breast, squeezing it gently.

He held you tightly and turned his body until you were laying on the bed underneath him. He crawled up your torso slowly until his face was hovering above yours. His vibranium palm cupped your cheek softly as he gazed into your eyes before bending to kiss you, his mouth needy against yours as he bit at your lips before pressing his tongue to yours, drawing a whine from your throat.

Bucky ran his hand down your throat before his fingers started working to unbutton your blouse. He made quick work of it and his mouth moved to your neck as he slid it down your shoulders. You gasped and moved your hands to wind in his hair as he unclasped your bra and wrapped his lips around your nipple, sucking softly and swirling his tongue around it until it was peaked and sensitive. Your cunt clenched around nothing as he moved to your other nipple, and you wrapped your legs around his waist as he continued to move down your body.

His tongue dipped into your navel as he worked at undoing your jeans, pulling them down your legs swiftly along with your panties before diving between your legs.

He had missed this. Those soft sounds of want you made were a panacea for his wounds, soothing his heart as he moved his lips over your sex, his tongue running through your folds as he lapped up your arousal. You arched into his mouth when he pressed against your clit, your hands digging into his hair as his hands gripped your thighs, keeping you spread open for him.

He moaned against you as you wriggled beneath him, your back arching and relaxing as he brought you closer to your release. You grip on his hair was bordering on painful as you tightened it, and he relished your loss of control as you fought to close your thighs around his head and press him even closer.

“Mmm, Bucky!” You moaned as he wrapped his lips around your clit, sucking softly. He finally released your legs and you wrapped them around his neck as he pushed two metal fingers into you, making you yelp.

He scissored his fingers inside you, stretching your canal as he drew obscene squelches from deep within you. He loved the feel of your pussy clenching and fluttering around him, trying to draw his fingers even deeper inside you as he edged you towards your climax.

When he curled them against that sweet, secret spot within you, you lost it. Your heels duck into his shoulders and your back arched you off the bed violently as you clamped down on his fingers. You screamed as your release flowed into his mouth, making him moan as it covered his chin. He licked his lips as he straightened above you, savoring the taste of you on his tongue. It tasted like home.

He gazed down at you lovingly as he removed his boxers, kicking them away before bending to kiss you deeply. Bucky kept his mouth on yours as he crawled onto the bed, tucking his knees under your thighs as he pressed one palm against the small of your back, drawing you up to straddle his lap.

“I love you so fucking much.” He whispered against your lips, running his fingertips through your hair before his tongue was invading your mouth, curling against and tangling with yours as he stole all the breath from your lungs. His metal hand curved over your ass as he ground his hips into you, running his cock through your slick folds. “I need to hear you say it, please doll.”

“God, Bucky. I love you.” You panted as he positioned himself at your entrance, making you whine as he breached you with just his tip. Your fingers dug into his shoulders as he pulled you onto him and you hissed through your teeth as you stretched around his length, relishing in the sting you felt each time he entered you.

“Never leave me.” He pleaded as his hips started moving, his thrusts slow and sensuous as he stared deeply into your eyes, watching your face contort with pleasure as you lost yourself in the feeling of being filled with him.

“Never.” You murmured as he buried his face against your neck. “Fuck, baby.”

Your head rolled back as he picked up the pace just barely, his pubic bone grinding against your clit with each thrust and bringing you close to your edge. He nuzzled himself between your breasts and mouthed against your soft slopes gently as you tightened one hand around the back of his neck.

One particularly forceful drive had you falling backwards with a gasp. You managed to catch yourself on one arm and you pressed your toes against the mattress on either side of his hips, doing your best to keep your balance as your pussy clenched around him.

“Fuck, right there.” You whispered, your nails digging into his neck.

He brushed his teeth against your nipple and you almost collapsed against the bed, but Bucky wrapped his arms around you and held you tightly to him as your body spasmed uncontrollably, quivering in his grasp as your pussy fluttered and your release seeped out of you, soaking both of your thighs.

“You feel so good doll.” He murmured against your chest as he kept fucking into you, still moving in rich, deep plunges that made it hard for you to breathe. “So tight and warm. I fucking lose myself in this pussy.”

All you could do was whine as you wrapped your legs around his waist and gripped his neck tightly. You took in a sharp breath when he suddenly lifted himself off his knees and pushed even deeper into you, his cock hitting a new spot inside you that had you seeing stars. He gripped his hands tightly at the small of your back as he ground against you.

He hit you at just the right spot and you came again, wrapping your arms around his neck and burying your face in his hair as your body vibrated against his. He inhaled your scent with a moan as he fell forward, catching himself on his vibranium hand before he collapsed on top of you.

You kept your body wrapped tightly around his as he held you in that position with one arm, carrying all of your weight as his hips started moving violently, slapping against the back of your thighs as soft wet sounds came from between the two of you. It only took a few thrusts before you were cumming again, screaming against Bucky’s neck as the coil in your stomach snapped, your muscles finally giving out as you rode the wave of your pleasure, your body rolling underneath him as you released his neck and he let you sink back onto the bed, your arms falling above your head and your feet coming to rest on either side of his knees.

Bucky kept one arm hooked under the small of your back, arching your body at a beautiful angle as his hips started to stutter, his cock twitching inside of you as he neared his own end.

“Gimme one more doll.” He whispered, mesmerized by the way your tits bounced with each thrust of his hips, and the way your face had that blissful, fucked out look as you bit your lip and screwed your eyes shut.

He ground his hips in a circle with his next thrust and smiled as your body tried to curl off the bed. You sobbed as you came, crying his name as your thighs squeezed his hips and your cunt milked his cock. He collapsed on top of you as he came right behind you, his spend shooting into harshly, painting your canal in thick white ropes as his hips stilled.

You held him to you tightly, refusing to let him go as the two of you drifted off to sleep. All you wanted was to rest with him inside you, and he needed to feel you around him, to let you know that you were his home, his haven against all the pain of his past. You smiled as you felt his breath grow deep with sleep, your hand resting on his back as your own slumber took you.

Bucky made a lot of progress over the next few weeks. Telling you had lifted a weight from his shoulders that he didn’t realize he was carrying. His sleep was still interrupted by nightmares occasionally, but every time he woke up to find you next to him was like a balm for his soul.

He was finally starting to feel truly happy, and that made you happy. Dr. Laurent had finally given the ok for him to start going on missions again, and that was great, but he really found fulfillment at home with you, and the best part of his day was when he walked through the front door to find you waiting for him.

You were excited for Valentine’s Day. It felt like the first holiday you could really enjoy as a couple as he had made so much progress. You were thankful that Steve had kept him occupied all day, giving you a chance to work on your present for him. He was out for a run in the rain right now as you put the final touches on the meal, reviewing the recipe a final time as you set the table, shrugging to yourself and lighting the candles.

You almost dropped your match when you heard him open the front door, cursing as you narrowly avoided setting the tablecloth on fire.

“In here baby!” You called as he came inside, shaking himself from the rain. “Happy Valentine’s Day!”

“Aww, doll, this looks… is that aspic?” He asked, one eyebrow cocked as he eyed the meal you had set out for him.

“Sure is!” You said with a grin as you eyed the brown, gelatinous entrée, doing your best to tamp down your nausea. “Steve said it was your favorite back in the day, so I decided to surprise you.”

“Steve?” He asked, a grin spreading over his face as he ran his fingers through his hair. “You asked Rogers what to get me for Valentine’s Day?”

You studied the look on his face and looked back at the meal, considering things.

“That motherfucker.” You said as he broke down, laughing hysterically. “I’m going to murder that giant.”

“I can’t believe you thought I would actually like this!” He said, tears streaming down his cheeks.

“I dunno, the 30s were a weird time!” You cursed yourself in your mind for being so gullible. “Well shit, I wasted a whole day. I’m ordering Chinese.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself doll, it’s the thought that counts.” He said, giving you a mock pout before wrapping his arms around you and kissing your hair. You yelped when you felt something move in his hoody.

“What the fuck, Barnes?” You screeched as his pocket squirmed, something inside it making a tiny squeaking sound.

“Uhh, don’t be mad.” He said sheepishly as he tucked his hand into his pocket and drew out a tiny, white kitten who was screaming bloody murder. “I found her in a ditch when I was on my run, and it didn’t seem like her mother was anywhere nearby. I didn’t want to just leave her out there.”

“Oh my fucking god, Bucky!” You reached out and he handed her to you. You wrapped your hands around her loosely and cradled her against her chest. “We need a heating pad.”

“What?” He asked confused for a second.

“She’s barely a week old honey, she can’t regulate her own body temperature, go get my heating pad from the bathroom.”

“So, we’re keeping her?” He asked, a grin spreading over his face as he rushed into the bathroom.

“Of course we’re keeping her Barnes.” You scoffed at him. “FRIDAY, we need kitten milk replacer as soon as possible, and specialty feeding bottles for newborns. And get a vet here too.”

“On it, Y/N. There’s a house call veterinarian that can be here in one hour, and the rest of your supplies should arrive within 30 minutes.”

“Thanks FRIDAY.” You were making soft cooing noises at the baby as Bucky came back into the room with the heating pad, and he practically groaned at the smile you gave him.

“Happy Valentine’s day, doll.” He murmured as he kissed your hair and wrapped one arm around you, handing you the heating pad.

“Happy Valentine’s day, Buck.” You whispered back at him. “What should we name her?”

“What do you think of Alpine?”

Tags!

@buckysnumberonegirl @slothspaghettiwrites @captain-asguard @starlightcrystalline @harrysthiccthighss @quxxnxfhxll @bonkywobble @chrisevanscardigan @chubbybuckydumpling @StanAllStarks @blackestpinkworld @fistmebuckyskywalker @wandering-spiritash h @khadineberry @shutupstevie @muzzyandbusy @slytheriin2002 02 @youthought-iwasa-nicegirl @isysen en @drabblewithfrannybarnes @stargazingfangirl18 @jack-skellingtons-stuff @chrissquares

821 notes · View notes