#i feel like not many people look close enough at the wick movies to see the true love between john and helen | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

1kook · 4 years

Text

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

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

Oh, you loved this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.”

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

4K notes · View notes

physicalturian · 3 years

Text

[18+] Deranged Love - Hanma Shuji x F!Reader - Part 1

[Probably contains spoilers from the anime and the manga] [She/Her pronouns used for the reader, no physical description; Everyone is +18]

Words: 9403

Archive of our own

Warnings : Explicit! / Blood / Injuries / Guns / Bruises / Choking / Blood / Graphic depiction of violence / Killing / Murder / Crying / Trauma /

Summary : Wrong place, wrong guy. Wrong in so many fucking ways it only made the attraction more sick and twisted...Yet I wanted more of him and would end up doing anything for him, with him.

If you feel like I should add more warnings, send me a dm or and ask, I'd rather be safe than sorry

- - -

Routine.

This would be how I would describe my way of life, a routine. I liked it like that, it was safe, comfortable and I was sure of what would happen. Far from me the idea of only doing the same things over and over again, I would sometimes go out with my friends or see a movie—doing things on a whim was not off the table. But I liked knowing what I was signing up for. Surprises, however, never were a thing I enjoyed—seeing my friends in my house when all I wanted was to relax after work was something dreadful and annoying to no end. I would pull through and be a good host, nonetheless, making sure everything was enjoyable, but I would be drained by the end of their stay.

Perhaps that need for reassurance, for a safety net, was the reason why I never truly took an artistic path or even considered any artistic career. It was too free, too unpredictable, too risky. Never could I have imagined myself doing such a thing; those who did were in my eyes the boldest and I admired them greatly for following their dream, but I was not bold, I preferred the solace of a job I knew would always bring me money. A simple 9 to 5 job was fulfilling enough for me; for some it was not, but I enjoyed it. It was something I could do and found relaxing to do, even when there was more rush. It just made sense to me.

There was not much thrill in this job. The people were nice enough; the clients were a bit bitter from time to time, depending on whether the job we had done was in their favor or not. Some of my colleagues would tell me crazy stories about some firms they had worked on or with and I would have a hard time believing it, but perhaps it was because different departments would deal with different types of clients. I had simple people: homeowners, tax payers, easy stuff. I liked it.

Now, even if I was keen on this routine that I had of going to my job, using the same transports, the same paths, headphones in to ignore the people around, I knew when following that same path would bring me trouble. I knew when to break that routine even just a little bit.

Tonight was one of those rare occasions. As I walked back home from work after having had to stay one more hour to help my colleague Darren fix his mistake—I made sure to tell him he owed me for helping him this late—I saw a group of men surrounding someone on the street. With one glance around, the entire street was empty except for those seven men and their victim. The usually crowded place was completely deserted and as I wondered how it could have happened, I noticed bikes at the end of the road blocking any possible traffic. It did not take a genius to know this was something far above me, there was no way I would interfere with that. Turning around, I made sure my steps were less heavy, less determined and started walking back. I did not have time to think I was going to get out of there safely when I heard, “Miss! Call the police-“. A thud sound, followed by a pained moan reached my ear.

When I dared look over my shoulder, I saw the man on his knees, blood pouring from his nose. I recognized him, he was a creepy older man that would sometimes stay longer on the train to look at younger women. Glancing at the other people around him, I kept my face as neutral as possible. Should I call the police? The outfits they wore all had the same sigil on them, the same pattern, and since they did not look like high schoolers I hardly believed those were school uniforms. Which led to the conclusion that they were the ones the news talked about a lot. The city was filled with gangs fighting over territory, not hesitating one bit to kill anyone who would cross them. I was sure of myself, assertive, yes… but I did not possess a savior complex. Seeing that man on the floor made me realize how wrong the system was, but I could not risk taking part in the situation and helping him. There were too many and clearly a lot scarier and stronger than I was. Looking away, I kept walking and heard them laugh, “That’s the right thing to do missy, he deserved it-“ “I said I was going to pay as soon as I got the money!” The victim interrupted; he was speaking very fast, but the fist smashing his jaw was faster to tell him to shut up. “It ain’t about that, you know it!”

Playing my music again, louder this time, I walked away and let them deal with everything, taking a different route than the one I would usually take. It’s alright to not have helped, you wouldn’t have made a difference… But he deserved it… I can still call the police… A turmoil inside my head started as I kept walking. After a few minutes, I grabbed my phone and dialed the police department’s number; they picked up quite fast, asking me what the emergency was. “There are gang members beating up a man in-“ “I’m sorry ma’am we can’t help with that, have a nice evening.” And just like that, the person on the other end of the phone hung up. Looking at my phone incredulously, I called again, all while taking a turn and walking by a warehouse, “Hello, you must have misunderstood me earlier—it is not a joke, there are gang members in the-“ This time, I was not interrupted by the person on the phone but by my arms being grabbed suddenly.

My heartbeat picked up, I suddenly felt sick and my head started spinning. When things like this happened, we’d always think it only happened to others, so when I realized it was happening to me, I did not feel well. Blood drained from my face, from my entire body. It all happened so fast: one moment I was walking past the warehouse, then suddenly my phone hit the ground and I joined it when I was thrown on it with force. My cheekbone took all the damage as someone pressed the side of my face onto the wet ground and made sure to put weight on my back to stop me from moving. I was shivering in fear already, but that fear only grew when my hair was pushed out of the way by a bloody hand, its knuckles painted red and brown from fresh and drying blood. The action did not feel one bit intimate, it was scary, intimidating. With the pressure on my back, I was pressed against the hard floor and could barely breathe, but in a situation like this I knew better than to talk.

I knew that. Yes.

So why did I talk? Why were my nerves acting up in moments like these?

“I am sure you got the wrong person—I’m just an accountant-“ A gun was now pressed against my cheek, I took it as a sign to shut up and did so. The man on my back twisted the gun a few times against my cheek, making me open my mouth from the weird movements against my teeth, like someone forcing a dog to open its jaws to get food out of it. “Aren’t we noisy? Tonight wasn’t the right night to feel heroic, girl.” The man asked as he tucked a strand of hair behind my ear. I closed my eyes in discomfort, my breath hitching. Laughing sadistically, he continued talking, this time his tone lowered, “Rats shouldn’t snoop in businesses that aren’t theirs.” I felt the weight shift on my back, then heard him ask someone, “Keep beating him up, I’ll take care of her then we’ll continue having our fun,” His voice was stern but I still heard some tones of him being carefree, he was enjoying this. He then addressed someone else, “Sounds good to you?” The answer consisted of muffled cries, attempts at screams that were cut off by hits then a gun cocking. With a sigh, the man on me pulled the gun away from my face and tutted the man who was bound on his knees.

I felt the weight leave my back but did not dare move, I stayed right where I was. Steps on the humid ground were heard, getting away from me but clearly approaching the man who I assumed was being tortured. The gun fired soon after, startling me as I tensed up and closed my eyes a few seconds before opening them again. The crazy man that put me on the ground laughed loudly, “Come on, it’s just the thigh, you can still walk for now, yeah?” He had said. Turning my head to look at them, I saw the older man on his knees, hands tied behind his back and suit bloody. His tie was undone, and he had wounds all over his face and chest. “I said you can walk, yeah?” Recognizing the voice, I could put a face to my aggressor as I watched him remove his glove before grabbing the victim by his arm and making him stand up, only to force him to wobble a bit. “See! I am being nice! Talk and it’s all over, come on.” He cooed in something that could be seen as sweet if it wasn’t happening in a warehouse with violent people and a man bleeding on the ground.

“I told you! I don’t know anything I-“ The man with the long earring in his left ear did not think twice before punching the office worker in the face with enough force. I believe I heard his nose crack. I caught a glimpse of the tattoos adorning his hands but could not decipher, from how far I was, what was written on them. The crazy man laughed after the punch, “Wrong answer! Haha, you have one last chance, ok?” He said, leaning over so that his face was at the same level as the other man’s. From my place on the ground, I could only see the wicked smile on his face, and it made me feel uneasy. The tall violent man was clearly crazy, having such a man roaming the city did not seem safe at all and it scared me to think of what else was happening in the shadows. “Alright, alright, please Reaper-“ The man he called Reaper gripped his chin tight and chuckled, “Straight to point, I don’t have time to waste on vermin like you, you’re no fun.” He said as a matter of fact, as if they both believed this. His face had turned serious so quickly that I feared the moment I felt like I could escape, he would change his mind in half a second.

The bleeding man nodded quickly, tears streaming down his cheeks, “It’s Silas&Sons—That’s the name of the firm that discovered something was off-'' While I was left in shock at the mention of the firm I worked at, the Reaper grinned and brought the gun to the man’s forehead, “Wasn’t hard, was it?” the man tried to tell him not to shoot, adding that the violent one had promised he would stop. The latter shook his head, “I said it’ll all be over! Listen carefully next time,” He said the last part like a parent berating their child then winked and pressed the trigger, killing the man in less than a second as his body hit the ground, blood spattering behind him. The man with black and blond hair looked at the body on the ground and chuckled to himself, “There won’t be a next time, but you get the jest.” He huffed with a wave of his hand before handing back the gun he had been given earlier. Turning around, his eyes locked on mine. I widened my eyes in pure terror and turned my face to be in the position he had left me in; I was aware he had seen me, but I was hoping he would not mention it.

The other people that were in the room had gone silent and were probably all looking at me, the woman lying on the floor, shaking, dreading for her life. The odds of me coming out of this unscathed seemed to be decreasing the more I observed what was happening around me. A stinging pain reached my scalp making me hiss, as someone lifted my head from the ground to make me look at them. While turning my head their way, I saw two men sitting on a crate, one with two braids that were long enough to go down to his ribcage while the other had shorter purple hair and glasses. Boredom adorned both their features alongside blood stains on their outfits, and yet they were nonchalant about it. I saw a man leaning behind another crate but barely managed to catch a glimpse of his tattoo that the man called Reaper snapped his fingers in front of me. “Here, I’m your tormentor, not them, yeah?” He grinned. Meeting his gaze again, I forced myself to keep my mouth shut and kept my eyes on him.

“You’re being courageous, not even crying yet! You’re a fun one, gotta love it.” He said happily, his hand patting the cheek that had taken most of the damage when he slammed me on the ground. I flinched when I saw his hand approach my face then winced at the rough touch against the bruising skin. “What will I do with you little rat? Eavesdropping ain’t nice, tattling ain’t it either.” The latter was said in a more serious tone as his expression turned somber, any humor that dripped from his words a moment ago was completely gone and he was now looking at me with caution. “Get up, come on.” I did not have a choice, the grip in my hair did not slacken and I had to follow his movement to avoid most of the pain. My clothes were dirty and damp from the humid ground; I felt my legs shake as I got to my feet and hissed at the pain when he yanked my hair for me to follow him quicker.

Pushing me forward, he threw me against the crate where the two other men were sitting. Hitting my shoulder against the wooden item, I swore under my breath and was about to fall to my knees again when the man with the long braids wrapped his legs around my neck and somewhat choked me. Caught off guard, I gripped his shins tight and tried to break free, but his hold only tightened. I heard him mock me while he dug his heels deeper in my biceps from the position he was in, “Stop moving and it’ll stop hurting, fuck you’re stupid.” He sighed with disdain, bringing me closer towards him but it only pressed my neck against the wood. Gritting my teeth, I stopped trying to get him to let go and let my arms fall to my side, when I felt the choke weaken and took a large intake of breath while focusing my eyes anywhere but on the man in front of me.

The manic laughter I had now heard many times in those few minutes I was on the floor reached my ears again, “I can see you wanna live, what are you willing to do to stay alive?” He asked in a light tone. It was a real question, but I did not want to do anything. I wanted to punch them and make a run for it, but they had guns and strength, none of which I could match in any way. I kept my mouth shut again.

The Reaper chuckled again, “I don’t know if you keeping your pretty mouth shut is a curse or a blessing-“ he stopped himself and slapped my now undamaged cheek with as much force as he could, making me yelp at the pain. I kept my face turned the direction his hand had turned it, but he gripped my chin forcefully and made me look at him. His expression had turned almost sour as he stared right into my eyes, “Fucking answer the question, what are you willing to do?” he spat, his face only breaths away from mine. Keeping a frown on, I uttered, “I wasn’t calling on you, there were people blocking another road-“ His mouth contorted into a smile once again as he pushed my face against the crate before letting go as he threw his hands in the air, and turned around on himself once, “She speaks! God it’s so entertaining to see you’re—Still. Not. Crying.” He gritted through his teeth the last three words before leaning over once again, his face very close to mine just like before.

“You’re telling me it’s a coincidence then?” He asked in a playful tone, clearly mocking me.

Fuck I wanted to make a run for it and get away from here. My heart was trying to beat out of my chest the longer I spent time here, the only thought running through my mind was: I am going to die here. How else would I end up? He had killed a man that had told him what he wanted to know, so no matter what I said he would kill me, right? Stammering a bit, I nodded the best I could with legs still around my neck, “Yes, I hadn’t seen you were here, I-“

“You’re funny! I’ll give you that! God you’re-“ He pulled back and made a rapid movement of his arms approaching me, as if putting me on display, “You’re fun! Ran, let her go.” The first part was said in excitement, the latter in the utmost seriousness. The moment he had spoken those words, the man let go of my neck and I was about to stumble when the Reaper grabbed me by the shoulders. He was tall, strangely tall, way above average, and it only added to all the traits that already made him scary. My whole body tensed, I thought this was it. He glared at me for a few moments before speaking to one of his friends, his gaze never leaving mine, “What do we know?”

An unknown voice reached my ear, it was close, so it must have been the other man on the crate, “Seems like a civilian, said she was an accountant. She also seemed surprised when the vermin said Silas&Son.” That perked the Reaper’s interest.

“Oh, so the little girl knows things. Have they sent you?” He asked, forcing me to look up by gripping my chin once more. He did not care the amount of strength he used, he couldn’t care less if I was uncomfortable, to him I was just a puppet that he could throw around and play with. Clearly he was right since I moved along and did not fight back. If I did, I would die, I was sure of it. “I was walking home from work—I saw my usual path was blocked and people were ganging up against a man so I-“ “You ran? The rat isn’t one for conflict, eh?” He patted my head and smiled almost reassuringly before letting go of me, making sure I fell on the floor. “Then? Make this quick, this ain’t the time for a bedtime story.”

“I called the police so that they could check—they said it was none of their business so I tried again and you-“ Fuck I was stuttering, the stress was too much and once I had fallen on my back, he was a lot more intimidating. He could just pull out his gun and shoot me, I could not get up with how I was shaking.

“You tried to do the right thing, right?” He asked, his back now turned to me. I could not gauge his emotion, so I replied sincerely, “Yes, it was all that I could do-“

Suddenly he turned around and pointed a gun at me, grinning, “Wrong! You could have helped the poor, poor man on the street, yeah? But you didn’t, why?” I did not reply right away, so he waved the gun around before crouching right in front of me and taking a good look at me. “They were too many-“ “That never stops a hero, does it? It’s all about charisma, determination, letting your body act faster than your brain, no?” He asked rhetorically, but while I waited for him to continue he sighed and looked down, his gun dropping lower as his arm fell limp. He started mumbling to himself a moment, using the gun to scratch his hair. Perhaps it was not the most adequate time to do so, but I looked at his outfit and saw he was wearing suit pants and a white business shirt. Quite the outfit for a murderer, but he had made sure to pull his sleeves up to not stain it. He was right in doing so since all the blood from earlier was on his black gloves and his forearms.

“Tell me, rat,” He slowly looked up and gave me a wicked smile, “Are you a hero?” He brought the gun to my forehead and all I did was close my eyes in fear. A sob escaped my lips as I tried to back away, but I was only met with the wooden crate, accidentally bumping my head against the shoes of one of the men sitting on it. “Do you believe there is good in this world? That it deserves to be saved? Hm? Would you die for this pathetic excuse of a world?” He pressed the gun even more against my skin. I heard the click as he disengaged the safety and tried to close my eyes even more than how I had already shut them, but found it impossible. My entire body was shaking, there was no helping the sobs escaping my mouth even by covering it.

I felt a gentle hand push my hand away and opened my eyes in confusion, only to see that the man who was holding a gun against me was grinning, “Answer the question.” He turned the gun horizontally and rested his arm on his knee as he placed his head on his free hand, completely relaxed. Getting lost in thoughts, I stared emptily at him while he started counting down, “Three…” Am I a hero? How would one describe a Hero? None of the mythological heroes could define me, none of those famous franchises either. “Two, think faster.” What answer did he want? Should I give him what he wants, or should I just be honest? “One-“

“I’m not a hero, I didn’t call right away because he deserved it, I-“ Taking a deep breath, I tried to take a hold of myself and calm down the best I could. “He harassed people, no one ever did anything about it-“

“See! Wasn’t hard, was it? Good girl,” He patted my head before moving the gun under my chin and raising it with the end of the gun, his finger never leaving the trigger, “You’re also a bad person then, you’re like us, right? Some people do deserve to die!”

Shuddering, I took a shaky breath and inhaled, “I’m nothing like you-“ “If he died it’s because ye didn’t act quick enough, don’t you agree?” He inquired with a pleading look, the mockery never leaving his tone. “I don’t, no.” My words were followed by the gun leaving my person as the man stood up quickly and barked out a laugh before asking his friends if they had heard that, they only grumbled in reply. He tucked the gun in the back of his pants and I quickly let my head down in fear I had triggered him somehow, frightened it was the straw that broke the camel’s back. “I like you, accountant woman. I just wanna see one thing to know what I should do with you—well two, but I’ll start slow.” Bringing his arm behind his back, I tensed again but then felt the gun hit my ankle as he threw it at me.

“Shoot me,” He ordered as he crouched in front of me, his arms crossed over his knees while grinning broadly. “I killed a guy, right? I am bad, killing me should make you a hero.” His little speech was stupid, it only started a vicious cycle of death with no end. Killing a killer that killed one person? It’d make me a killer that killed one person, and so on. But he brought his hand to mine and wrapped my fingers around the handle of the gun before pressing it against his forehead. “Here, you can’t miss from this close, show me you got guts! Come on, do it.” That grin turned into something scary, manic, he was getting off on the thrill. But my hands were shaking, I had never held a gun before, never intended to, but tonight was nothing if not exceptional. When I tried to put my arm down, he grabbed my elbow and kept it up, “It’s you or me, come on, make this fun for both of us-“ “I’m not shooting you in the head! You’re insane-“

Hearing my words well, he barked a laugh then guided the gun to his heart, one of the men behind me sighed and told him to hurry up, but the Reaper only shushed him. “Here, then? Sounds better?” Nothing was right in his head; I couldn’t understand what he was doing. No matter how hard I tried, I did not know the point he was making, but taking all this time to think about it made me lose the position of power he had given me. Forcing my hand to let go of the gun, he took it and, at the speed of light, put it in my mouth, making a sob escape it as he did so. “That’s a missed opportunity, too bad.” He shrugged then as I saw him press the trigger. I closed my eyes, my hands gripping my thighs so tight, it must have left some marks under the fabric of my pants.

The click of the trigger echoed, and I felt myself jump on the spot at how loud the bang was—so this is it? That thought crossed my mind rapidly, but was shoved aside by the loud ringing in my ears. I then heard footsteps echoing around the warehouse. The gun was no longer in my mouth, there were no bullets, it was a blank; I felt my stomach churn and opened my eyes in panic before pushing my tormentor away. I was surprised when he let me do so, but it was better for him. Slamming my hands down, I was on the floor as I emptied my stomach on the concrete. Chuckles reached my ears along with the whispers of a few words, “Can’t even stomach a bit of gun play.” “Should have killed her, blood stench leaves easier than vomit.” The latter comment made one of them laugh.

When I was done, I thought for a second that death was quick, most of the time. And when it wasn’t, you expected it, you weren’t filled with stress. Hence why no one ever spoke of post-mortem vomit. It made me laugh only for a second until I was pushed back on my ass when the man with the earring pressed his foot against my chest, making me wince. “Your name, what is it?” he asked seriously.

Feeling some sort of confidence build up, I looked up at him and leaned over, using the hem of his pants to wipe my mouth, but did not answer. The seriousness on his face turned into the look of someone who had been challenged; he snapped his fingers, then I heard someone say my name, my birthdate and my birthplace. Looking at the person who kept reading out loud, I saw the man with a tiger tattoo on his neck approach before tossing my wallet at me. I did not know when they had found the time to pickpocket me, but they managed to. My cheeks were burning up from the sickness, the stress and the embarrassment this entire situation brought but I still tried to keep my head high, for what it was worth. Bringing my hands to my face, I only now felt the tears that had rolled down my cheeks.

“Okay little tattletale, I think I’ll let you go for now-“ “Are you not going to kill me? Isn’t this what you do?” I asked in a weak voice, not even attempting to get up after all the time you had been mishandled. Both the man with the earring and the tattooed one were standing in front of me. The former reached out for my hand to help me get up, I did not take it, so he sighed loudly and bent over to grab my bicep and forcefully get me up. “We only kill snitches and annoying fucks, are you one of those?” I was about to tell him no when he leaned over suddenly and pressed his index against my lips to shut me up. Startled, I tried to step back but he held the back of my head with his free hand and beamed, “No, you’re not. You’re gonna be useful, you’re just the right amount of malleable,” The finger that had left my mouth moved to tuck a strand of hair behind my ear, I shivered in disgust, “I can see it in your eyes that you’ll be a fun one to work with.”

I tried to pull away from him, but his hand gripped my hair tight and kept me in place, stopping me from leaning back when he approached closer, “Since you’re not a hero, we’ll make you a villain then—I mean, it’s not going to be hard considering your stance on killing.” He grimaced at that before turning it into a full laugh and letting go of me.

“Rindou, take her back to her place-“ “I’m not doing that, I got plans with Ran. Send the tiger boy, we’re done for tonight.” The one with purple hair and glasses said as he hopped off the crate, followed by the other man on it. It made the Reaper’s face turn sour as he gripped the one who had just spoken and tightened his hold on his shoulder, “I don’t do escorting, that’s your job.” He gritted through his teeth.

Seeing the tension, I put my wallet back in my bag and cleared my throat, “I’ll—I can walk home on my own, by now they must be gone-“ All of them looked at me with a threatening gaze, I felt like a deer caught in headlights. The man with the braids started walking off, Ran was his name I believe, along with the man with the tattoo on the neck, while the two others stayed right there and glared at me. When I took a step back, taking their silence for permission, the Reaper wrapped his arm around my shoulders and held me close to him, “Right, I’ll do it tonight. Just because she’s a fun one-“ “I can walk home alone, it’s no problem,” I tried to push him away, my hands were shaky and had a few scraps. Without the constant manhandling, not that I missed it, I could feel the dampness of my clothes and how cold it was getting.

Looking down at me without any expression on his face, the Reaper turned us around and waved everyone goodbye, his arm never leaving my shoulders. “We both know that’s not true, if we let you walk home alone you might get beaten up by—how did you put it? ‘Gang members’, yeah, that was what you said on the phone.” He hummed, shoving his free hand in his pocket as he guided us outside. I felt uneasy in his hold, I felt like he was walking me towards my execution. I did not want to lead him to my house, but what choice did I have? He would find it sooner or later; at least that’s what he said, but I did not know how much truth there was to it. In my eyes, it was but a small group of violent men that had killed someone.

“In the end you did get beaten up by a gang member, but it could’ve been worse.” He said lightheartedly as he stopped in front of a car. When I paused my steps and still did not look at him, simply waiting for his next move, I felt him grab my chin and turn my head towards him. My breath hitched in fear as I met his golden eyes. He seemed a bit bored now, but I couldn't care less how he felt, I wanted to bolt away from his touch. “You should disinfect that, and you’ll definitely bruise, but you probably have makeup or something to hide that.” He shrugged.

When he leaned over again, I brought my hands in front of me and closed my eyes to stop him from touching me, but I only heard him huffing a laugh next to my ear as he opened the door of the passenger seat. “Get in, I’ll drop you off.” Looking up at him, I blinked a few times then glanced at the inside of the car. I don’t know what I was expecting, something dirty, bloody, disgusting perhaps. But instead, it was perfectly clean, not a speck of dirt in sight. It looked like an expensive car, but perhaps it was just very clean, I did not know. Still unsure, I hesitantly got inside and was about to close the door but felt a certain strength holding it back. The man was leaning on the door and bent over to peek his head inside the car, thinking he needed something. I pressed myself more against the seat to let him grab what he wanted, but his hand reached for the belt and fastened it for me.

“Wouldn’t want you to escape—ah, I mean, safety first.” He said mockingly before winking and slamming the door shut. My hands found their way to the belt and held it tight as I watched him walk around the car. His steps were too big for me to make a run for it, he would catch up on me in no time, I was stuck with him. As he entered the vehicle and fastened his own seatbelt, he pointed at the glove box and handed me his gloves, “Put them back and hand me a wipe, tattletale.”

His craziness was a lot more toned down, for a second I wondered how many faces this man had. The one I was seeing right now was intimidating from how put together he seemed, the other one was scary from how unexpected his actions were. “Why aren’t you killing me?” I asked without looking at him, focused on pushing the gun out of the way inside the glove box and grabbing the little pack of wipes. Giving it to him, his brow was quirked, “Because you’re a good girl,” He grinned, wiping his hands as he continued, “No one would ever suspect you’re working with the likes of a gang. You’re gonna be useful and that’s all that matters, you should be thankful I didn’t kill you. I hate people who eavesdrop.” He said, as he shoved the wipe in the door compartment.

“I didn’t eavesdrop.” I muttered, looking outside the window when he started the car. The laugh that erupted out of nowhere scared me, making me tense again, I dared to look his way and saw his manic smile again. “So, you’re an accountant, pretty boring. You should be thrilled I chose you.” He said in a mix of pride and humor before increasing the volume of the music then drumming his fingers on the wheel. Thinking about his words some more, I glanced his way and lowered the volume, catching his attention as he looked me dead in the eyes. “What if I don’t want to work with you?” I asked, measuring my tone to not piss him off, it did not take a genius to understand this man was unstable and that I needed to tread lightly around him.

Even with as much care as I put in my voice, his reaction was sudden when he turned the wheel and stopped the car on the side of the road. Passing cars honked in annoyance but the man did not care one bit while I had slammed my hand on the dashboard to stop my head from hitting it. Insulting him under my breath, I looked up and saw he had placed his arms on the wheel, his left cheek resting on his forearm. “Then leave. Get out right now, nothing’s stopping you.”

“What’s stopping me is that you’ll kill me, or you’ll run me over, multiple times,” I could see the smile on his face was spreading, but he did not move. The condescendence in his lack of reaction, of action, annoyed me but at the same time frightened me, was he going to slam my head against the window? Against the dashboard? I did not know, but I continued, stammering this time from how nervous I was becoming, “My life is on the fucking line, that’s what’s holding me back.” I spat. My eyes had never left his, even as his smile turned into a grin and his slender fingers gripped the wheel tighter.

When he did not look away, I did. At the same time, I turned on the seat and fully looked ahead instead of facing him. A silence set for a moment then I heard the car start and the man sighed, content, “You’re smart to stay, you’re only alive because I can use you. If you had left, I’d have shot you and left you on the side of the road to die.” He said in a light tone. The words he had spoken had the same effect of a bullet; my guts took a hit without being truly hit. I did not have a choice at all, I was stuck working for a man I did not know without even knowing what I had to do.

His hand rose and I closed my eyes, flinching slightly, “Type in your address, tattletale.” With the little confidence that remained, I lifted my shaky hand and typed it in while telling him that I had a name. Then added, “You should use it. Maybe there is a name I can call you by?” I was not asking for his ID, nor anything specific, if he had a codename in his stupid gang or something like that I would go with it, but calling him Reaper in my head sounded idiotic. “Sorry doll, I think nark or snitch suits you a lot more.” He hummed a moment, throwing me a glance from the corner of his eyes as his hands moved on the wheel absent-mindedly. Huffing in annoyance, I placed my elbow against the window and rested my chin against my fist, thinking he was done. After all, why should I care what he called me? I should simply call him an asshole if he was so keen on calling me a snitch. Or perhaps I should live up to the title and do exactly that, tell the police.

A hand wrapped around my wrist and pulled me out of my daydream with my head bumped against the window. Wincing in pain, I heard the man laugh loudly while being focused on the road, “That’s deserved for not paying attention.” He said through laughter. “Pay attention to what? The road? I’m not the one driving-“ “To me, you should keep your guard up, snitch. Who knows what I could do.” He said with a deadpan expression. Without looking at me, he brought his hand to tuck my hair out of the way, then glanced at me and smirked. His touch was light, almost gentle. It allowed me to get a proper look at his tattoo, but I could not focus on it at all, I only tensed up before feeling him grip my throat and bring me closer to him. I made a choking sound and complied to avoid as much pain as possible, “You can call me Hanma, as long as you don’t scream it from every fucking rooftop.”

I could feel tears welling up in my eyes. This night was not going as planned at all and every time I found any respite, it would be ruined, and the man would turn violent again. I could not let my guard down, I knew it but when he would just stay put, I could not help myself but think he was done. Clearly he wasn’t. His hold lessened a bit, so I took the opportunity to claw his hand away and pull myself back, my own hand around my throat in protection. “They called you the Reaper.” I croaked, wanting him to talk more so that I wouldn’t have to.

“They did, yeah.” He shrugged.

That was it. He did not add anything else. The matter was closed. When I asked him why they did that, he pulled the car on the side of the road again, startling me in the process. With how on edge I was, I did not realize where we were and thought he would be mad again, but instead he looked over my shoulder and nodded, “That’s you, get out.” He told me as his left arm rested on the wheel while the right one was on the back of the seat, casually leaning on it while looking at me. Looking behind me, I saw my house and felt some hope at finally being able to get home and yet… I did not leave right away and instead prodded, “The news talks about your gang, how many people did you kill?” His eyes traveled from my head to my hands then up to my head again, the arrogance never leaving his face as he leaned back against the car door and waved a hand dismissively, “Take a guess, I think it should be fun.”

I was about to give him a number when he leaned forward quickly, his face right in front of mine as he whispered, “Don’t forget those in comas or those at the hospital, they might not be dead, but they might as well be,” He chuckled happily then approached even closer, his lips right next to my ear, “They’re only alive because I said they could be, like you are. One wrong move and,” leaning back quickly, he clapped his hands, “Bang, dead.” He said dead meaning those in the hospital, but I fully understood he was threatening me, I was not an idiot.

Taking this as my cue to go, I unbuckled my seatbelt and when I was about to open the door, I heard the mechanism of the car locking it. Turning around to look at Hanma, I wordlessly asked if he needed anything else. His hand reached out towards me, “Your phone.”

“I didn’t record this or anything, I was not on a call with the police either, I-“ snatching it from my hand while I was rambling, Hanma tried to unlock it but instead was met with a locked screen. Hesitantly, I took it from his hand, mine being a lot shakier than his seeing how steady his were and unlocked it before giving it back to him. A minute passed and he handed the phone back to me, “We’ll be in contact. Things are gonna change for you, doll. Hope you’re ready for what’s coming.”

He was an unusual character, he was confusing, violent, and surely insane. All of those things added up in my mind, making me accidentally let it slip, “How can one be ready with you? Crazy man…” I said it all under my breath and huffed the last part as I pushed the door open. I let out a sigh when the door opened easily, part of me even thanked the man for not keeping me in any longer but I was still on my toes, certain he would say something else as I left the car, but he did not.

Grabbing my bag, I shuffled away from the car that still hadn’t moved and kept glancing over my shoulders until I reached the door where I struggled to put the key in the keyhole. At each failed attempt my frustration grew, the swears flooded out of my mouth easily and soon it turned into a stupid crying of frustration. “Fuck this, fucking shit-“ when the key finally fit, I hurried inside and locked the door behind me again but this time with the sliding lock, knowing full well I would struggle again too much to lock my door with the key seeing how tensed I still was.

The darkness of my home was what welcomed me. It was awful, it was cold and above everything it felt oppressive—my face was heating up, I was suffocating, my clothes were burning my skin, but I was also shaking. Fanning my face, I made my way to the bathroom with heavy steps, my breath was quickening, was it breathing or heaving? I needed to calm down, I needed to ground myself but I did not know how, this never happened but I felt like I was dying. I could not breathe, my lungs hurt at each intake of breath. “Fuck, fuck, shit, calm down“ I panted while taking off my clothes, I needed to take everything off, I wanted to burn them, it was filthy, disgusting and smelled wretched.

As I took off my top, I caught a whiff of the stench of the warehouse and let out a sob but did not let it stop me even if I could not breathe. I removed the rest of my clothes and knelt by the bath, leaning over to turn the shower on but did not wait for it to be warm to step inside and let it pour all over my dirtied body. The coldness made me take a deep breath that seemed to have helped with the panic attack I was having, but it did not help the crying, so I let it all out while I was washing up. What have I gotten myself into? What happens next? What am I supposed to do now? Is he going to ask me to kill someone? Am I going to have to use a gun? I didn’t want to do any of those, I only walked by something I had nothing to do with and—letting out a scream of frustration, I sat down in the bath and let the water rain on me. I ran my hands through my wet hair and placed my elbows on my knees, grunting again, “I don’t do gangs… I do numbers, I don’t have time to murder people…” I mumbled.

Letting my own words sink in, I let out a chuckle at first and focused my gaze on the wall in front of me then laughed again, shortly. I don’t have time to murder people, yeah… “Because if you had time you would?” I asked myself jokingly as I stood up, laughing again. Shaking my head, I shut the shower off and got out, almost slipping on the water that had splattered around the bath. I hadn’t taken time to put a towel on the floor or prepare anything, fortunately I managed to balance myself and took one from the closet. Once I was dry, I wrapped my robe around my form and stopped in front of the mirror, taking a proper look at the damage I had taken.

The scratch on my cheekbone was bruised, there was another bruise on my neck that I could probably hide with a turtleneck, the season allowed it, and if not with a turtleneck then a scarf would do the trick. Disrobing myself just to take a look at the rest of it, I had some bruises on my arms where I was grabbed to be moved roughly, without counting the pain on my ass but no one would see that. Passing my tongue over my teeth, I was glad as I still had all of them, but my jaw hurt, “Did I bite the inside of my cheek? At what moment could-“ A flashback of when the man slapped me with full force appeared in my mind, fueling me with a bad feeling of uneasiness as I put back my robe. “Bastard…” I huffed before opening the door of my bathroom and stepping inside the dark room again. Talking to myself, I continued, “Nothing’s stopping me from telling the police, who does he think he is? I could very well call them, yeah…” I paused in my steps and scoffed dryly, “Not that they’d listen.”

The news was always talking about the gangs in the city, telling us that the police were working on stopping them, but no one knew the people that were supposed to defend and help were a bunch of sellouts, bribed out idiots. The system we had put our trust in had decided to fuck us over and to leave us to ourselves, it was because of them that I was in this situation. It’s not like it had been hard to stumble upon one of their gang meetings. They might claim discretion, but if anyone could find them, it was anything but. “Who am I kidding? I am fucked,” I barked a laugh and turned on the light, “Guess I am a gang member-“ I stopped dead in my tracks when I saw the man my thoughts were plagued with, sitting on my couch, his legs crossed with one ankle over a knee. “Not exactly, you still need to prove yourself. But I love the enthusiasm!” He said while placing an arm on the back of the couch and looking at me with a satisfied smile, not even fully facing me, only to look right ahead once he was done talking.

Usually, one would say don’t turn your back on your enemy, but he was the predator here, he had nothing to fear, I was the one shaking in my metaphorical boots. Deciding to not be useless, I was about to shuffle to the kitchen discretely when I saw him beckon me closer by bending his index finger. Thinking I could play it off as not having seen it, I took one step towards the kitchen when I heard him click his tongue over his teeth, “I said, come here.” Stopping dead in my tracks, I did not speak, and silently opened my bag to pull out my phone and start recording. His hand gripped the back of the couch and I heard him chuckle mockingly, “Ran said you were stupid, but we both know you’re not, now come.” Putting the phone properly on the furniture, I followed his order and walked up to him to stand right in front of him, my arms crossed over my chest to close my bathrobe up to my neck.

“How the fuck did you get in?” I spat. He was not driving, which meant he could not throw me out of a speeding car. He was not surrounded by other maniacs either, and if he had a gun and decided to shoot me, I would have proof of it. There was a semblance of safety, even amidst the fact that the man had broken in without caring. It led me to have some confidence.

The man grinned and leaned over, his elbows resting on his knees. His demeanor was one of a man in control, he knew he could do anything to me because I would bend, he said it himself, I was malleable. But not for lack of will, simply by fear. And if he kept bending me this much, I would not last long, I would break. As long as I feared him, he had the upper hand… but I was not feeling fearless yet. With a low chuckle, he simply said, “Broke in with pliers,” then showed me the pair of pliers lying on the couch. I glanced at my door and saw the chain of my lock was broken as he had said, but that loss of attention directed to him annoyed him. Snapping his fingers, he brought my attention back to him, “Here, you should make a double of your key-“ “I’m not doing that. First, you’ll pay me back for breaking my lock, then if you want to meet up for whatever you got planned for me, you pick a spot but not-“

My breath hitched when Hanma rapidly stood up, his form towering mine as he looked down at me with his hair falling randomly on his forehead. “We got a lotta confidence suddenly, don’t we? Go ahead, finish your sentence, I’m listening.” He cooed in a condescending tone, his face approaching mine as he hovered slightly over me. Looking up at him, I looked down to his chest feeling my confidence wane slightly. When I tried to step back, not liking how close he was to me, he placed his hand on my shoulder to stop me. “Come on partner, let it all out, you seem to have a lot on your mind. Keeping it all bottled up ain’t gonna end up well. We should get along if we’re gonna work together, yeah?” He said in a fake listening attitude, we both knew he didn’t care but I was riled up and clenched my fists.

“I don’t want you in my house, you’re a piece of shit. I don’t want to get along, I want you to fuck off—Get out.” I managed to say everything without stuttering, but his grip tightened on my shoulder, making me tense up even if it was not painfully tight. Simply knowing that nothing was holding him back, not his mind, nor his ethics, nothing. His mood was the turning point of his actions, which means one change of emotion could make him go feral and hit me, it scared me. Hissing mockingly, he tilted my chin up to make me look at him, a smirk adorning his face, “Make me leave then, do something about it.” Grabbing both my shoulders, he pushed me back slightly then spread his arms wide, a huge smile on his face, “Go ahead, I won’t do anything—it’s free hits,” He taunted. When I did not move, he pointed at his face and licked his lips like an animal looking at its next meal.

“Do it, show me your guts, little rat! I hit you right? I put a gun to your head, that must be so annoying, right?” Biting the inside of my cheek, I could feel my frustration building up inside me again. He had done all those things, and no regret was written on his face, none. He had killed a man, broken inside my house, manhandled me and hit me. He had mocked me, humiliated me, mistreated me and while it all happened in a short time span, I already felt strongly about him. Reminding myself all that, I hadn’t realized the hit that flew from my person until it landed on his jaw, my fist feeling like it had hit a wall. His face turned to the side by the end of the action.

Using the heel of his hand to wipe the blood that dripped from his mouth, he looked at me with hooded eyes and grinned, his teeth colored red, “That’s hot, but ye shouldn’t have done that.”

[Part 2]

#tokyo revengers #hanma shuji #hanma x reader #hanma shuji x reader #fanfiction #writing #writers #physicalturian AO3 #physicalturian #deranged love #archive of our own #tokyo revengers hanma #tokyo revengers x reader

168 notes · View notes

mimi-cee-hq · 3 years

Text

Wildfires - Atsumu x f!reader

Summary: You're burned from last year's rumours, now fearing any hint of smoke. Yet you can't help, but fall for the childhood friend who's a balm to your wounds.

Genres, tropes, etc: angst with a satisfying and happy ending, angst to fluff, hurt/ comfort, exs to lovers (but not the usual kind), secret dating, drama and romance, but it's still somehow cute because that's just how I write lol

Warnings: false rumours about cheating and an illicit relationship, so it still technically mentions those things.

Words: 1.9k

Author's Notes: Hi Lia (@chimielie)! I'm your ☀️ anon. 🥰 You suggested exs to lovers and hurt/comfort for this prompt and it still technically is those things, but it's probably not what you expected.

If anyone is new to my blog and doesn't want to read angst, here's a cute fluff Atsumu x reader instead. :)

This fic is for the Heatwave Fic Exchange (@heatwave2021). Thank you for hosting this!

~*~*~

"I hadn't realized you two were still together."

Not even the overworked fan's whirring can drown out the strained silence that follows.

"We're not."

The air is dry and sweat forms on your brow. With the sun beating down, it's the perfect combination for a wildfire.

Atsumu's chin sits on his fist as he avoids your gaze. Lowering your eyes, you stare at the wooden table.

"Did he still care?" you ask yourself.

~*~*~

Plaid skirts sway as two students peek into their new classroom, attempting to be discreet. You hear their whispers from a distance, waiting in front of your own classroom.

"Look! We get Kinjou-sensei this year!" one exclaims.

"Are you serious?" the other asks after letting out a gasp. "I don't know if that's a good thing or not. I might end up staring at his face all day."

"Maybe it'll help you pay attention," her friend snickers.

You clench your jaw as heat rises in your body. They're able to indulge in frivolous remarks, ignorant of how you're left scarred from one fleeting gesture, a tiny piece of kindling that ignited into uncontrollable flames.

Cool hands cover your ears from behind you. Your jaw relaxes and the tension dissipates from your shoulders. You turn around to see Atsumu wearing a scowl on his lips. Sighing as you cross your arms, you ask, "Atsumu, what are you doing?"

"Well if only there was a way to make 'em shut up," he replies with a sharp tone.

You lean away from him and swat his hands back. "You're too close," you tell him.

"Alright!" he says, holding his hands up in surrender. "I'll go!"

As he walks away, he crosses his thumb and index finger behind his back, forming a little heart. You smirk at his hidden gesture to you.

"I love you too, Atsumu," you silently tell him as a smile graces your lips. However, it vanishes like the mist in the sun when yet another person calls after him, someone he doesn't know.

You skirt around the other students, avoiding their path, and rush to your desk. There are too many dry leaves around; a single spark can burst everything into flames.

Why does everyone have to know Atsumu?

~*~*~

"I wish you could've been my partner for the project," you say.

Atsumu pours a glass of water and places it on the table in front of you. "You ended up with that new girl, right?" he mentions and you reply with a nod. "She should be safe to work with."

You're startled once again when you hear the chimes from the front door. A rattan room divider obstructs your view of it, but you hunch down anyway as you finally pick up your spoon.

Atsumu sits across from you, sharing something about his team. His eyes dim when he realizes you haven't been listening.

"This isn't working," he tells you. "I thought this restaurant would be better because people can't see us from here." He runs his fingers in his hair, a sign he's frustrated.

"I– I forgot people can still hear us," you say in a low voice.

Atsumu sighs. "Let's just watch a movie at my house," he says. "Osamu already knows anyway."

"You know we can't," you protest. "Not when Hana and Haku drop by so often. They're going to realize we're together."

"But how are we supposed to have any fun when you're so scared?"

"I–" You lower your gaze, eyes unfocused towards your untouched bowl of rice. "Sorry, Atsumu."

"It's not your fault," he reminds you yet again. This exchange has become all too familiar. "Maybe we should finally tell Hana and Haku what happened to you."

"And have them find out the guy in the rumours is their beloved brother?" You cross your arms over your chest and rub your hand on your sleeve. "I still want to be comfortable around them, Atsumu. Ignorance is bliss right?"

His mouth twists before a groan escapes from it. He slouches in his seat and stares at the food in front of you, which remains the way the waitress left it.

"Let's take the train to Tokyo next time," he mutters. "Nobody'll know us there."

Your eyes grow before looking up at Atsumu. "What?" you slowly enunciate just above a whisper. "Don't you know how expensive that is?"

He presses his lips together before sharing his next suggestion. "I know where 'Samu's secret stash of money is…"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No, we're not stealing from him to go on a date, Atsumu."

"Alright," he says, lowering his eyes and dropping his shoulders.

Seeing his expression, you offer another idea. "How about Osaka?" It's only one city away.

Atsumu's eyes light up, excited at the chance of finally getting to enjoy some time with you. Although your smile doesn't quite reach your eyes, you hope leaving the vicinity of last year's wildfires would be enough, for Atsumu's sake and yours.

~*~*~

Your heart beats faster and your throat becomes dry. You weren't getting enough air.

"You're okay," you tell yourself. "She's not talking about you."

"Seriously! That happened at my old school," your project partner snickers as she recounts her story to you. "They even got the kiss on camera too! I felt so bad for her, but it's her own fault for cheating on him."

You begin to feel dizzy, catching a whiff of smoke from another victim's fire. Her words add fuel to a fire that cannot be stopped. Wildfires burn and burn, and are never satisfied until they run out of kindling.

"Oh! I've been meaning to ask. Are you dating Atsumu? The two of you seem really close!"

Your throat struggles to take control, attempting to keep your stomach down; it doesn't want to burn either.

They'll say you're cheating on Kinjou-sensei.

The tongue is a powerful weapon, causing destruction by those who are both untrained and ignorant as well as the truly malicious.

Your knees buckle as you pant for air, your grip weak on the knob. You need to get out.

Atsumu's figure is before you and you relax as he catches you. You never would have imagined that this guy would be your fleeting oasis.

~*~*~

"Let's break up," you tell Atsumu.

You both knew this was coming, yet a bucket of icy water chilled to the bone regardless of whether or not it was expected. Speaking those words aloud shocked you back into reality.

You hesitated dating each other in the first place, but you couldn't help but caress his strong hands when he admitted his feelings for you. Growing up together in your group of five, he was by your side from snotty noses to acne breakouts.

You didn't expect to fall for the hot-head of your bunch when rumours of you dating Kinjou-sensei spread. Atsumu attempted to extinguish every flame he spotted, witnessing your anguish each time you got burned.

"Maybe we can still do this," you say, contradicting your previous words.

"And what? Have ya pass out again every time someone asks about us?" Atsumu protests. He lowers his eyes as he clutches your hand. "Do ya know how worried I was about ya?"

Your heart flutters for a moment before you remind yourself that you can't keep him, the boy who has been by your side for so long.

"Aghhhhh! This is so stupid!!! Why are we suffering because of this made up crap?! 'Kinjou-sensei' had put a bandaid on me a thousand times more than he did t' ya! But nobody gives a crap about that!"

"I'm sorry Atsumu."

"Why the heck are ya sorry?!" he says, raising his voice.

"I– If I was just strong enough... If I could withstand their stupid words"–your lip trembles–"maybe I wouldn't have to choose between you and having some peace."

There's another silence between the two of you. Your fingers are loosely intertwined together, barely holding the fragile string between the two of you, as if it were a wick that would combust and disappear in a split second.

"Maybe we should just run away," Atsumu mumbles aloud.

"What?"

"Ya know, transfer schools. Or even drop out if we need ta."

"Atsumu! You can't! We can't! You have volleyball! And I... this is the only school that gave me a scholarship."

"Agh! Why is this so frustrating?!"

"I'm sorry."

"Stop apologizing, ya idiot! Ya did nothing wrong!" He presses and rubs his forehead with the heel of his palm. "I just… I wish I could do more for ya." His arm drops at his side. "I wish I didn't feel so useless."

Your tears drip down your face. Could they be counted any more? If only you didn't fear getting caught dating Atsumu, terrified that last year's fires would morph into a raging beast. But another wildfire would not only destroy you but also the man you loved. If only your sores healed by now, you could have shown off your boyfriend, disregarding any of the flames.

If only you were fireproof.

But you weren't and now you're forced to loosen your grip on Atsumu, the balm to your wounds, and let him fall out of your hands.

~*~*~

"I hadn't realized you two were still together."

Not even the overworked fan's whirring can drown out the strained silence that follows.

"We're not."

It was three years since you talked to Atsumu, four since rumours first raged through the school. The two of you went through cycles of getting back together and breaking up again every time you learned that fear was still crippling you. Cutting off contact was the less painful option.

Years later, you're at a friend's cottage and Atsumu comes along without knowing you're here as well. Now that high school has come and gone, the smoke has dissipated and the fires have finished their course. You can finally breathe.

But does Atsumu still want you?

To anyone else, Atsumu is bored out of his mind, resting his chin on his fist. Nobody sees his thumb and finger forming a tiny heart.

Your heart flutters and you blink back tears. You attempt to hold back your growing grin, but you have no reason to hide it anymore.

You wrap your arms around him, almost causing him to topple off of his chair, Atsumu letting out a yelp. "What the heck are ya doing?"

You can finally release your feelings for him, openly and freely. The dam opens and waters rush to engulf him before you settle into his embrace.

"I love you too Atsumu," you tell him without a care in the world.

Osamu tells you he changed when you cut off contact. He desired to be a man, not wanting to feel so powerless, and poured himself into things he could do. It paid off.

"Did ya want to go somewhere together? I could even take ya all the way t' Rome if ya want."

The two of you hold each others' hands as the ocean's edge cools your feet. You lean against his shoulder, cherishing the moment that at one point seemed like an inaccessible dream.

You give him a peck on the cheek and smile. "Tokyo seems like a nice place for a date for now."

~*~*~

I hope you enjoyed this fic. :) (And I hope you liked it Lia!!) I guess I can be poetic if I try. lol. I had a whole commentary written out for this fic, but I decided against posting it here and making my author's notes as long as the fic itself. 😂

If you enjoyed this fic, I don't really have any similar pieces of writing at the moment. The only one that's similar is the hurt/comfort Kunimi WIP I've put off writing for so long because I didn't think I could pull off this type of fic. (And also because I think only one person will read it.) The theme in that one is pity/pride because pitiful is Kunimi's most hated word.

Anyway, if you want to see my usual style of writing, I have a cute tooth-rotting fluff Atsumu x reader one-shot. I currently also have an ongoing fake dating chaptered Suna fic, which is probably my best planned fic with the hints and foreshadowing and a nice mix of humour, fluff and shoujo-type angst. :)

I also have a Google form for my taglist if anyone is interested.

#miya atsumu x reader #atsumu x reader #atsumu angst #atsumu fluff #haikyuu x reader #haikyuu angst #haikyuu fluff #miya atsumu #haikyuu!!#haikyuu #atsumu fanfic #miya atsumu fanfiction #haikyuu fanfiction #hihqnetwork #animehorizons #angelwalker’s virtues #atsumu scenarios

253 notes · View notes

latte-fairytaekwoon · 4 years

Text

𝐀𝐭𝐞𝐞𝐳: 𝐃𝐨𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐈𝐭 𝐈𝐧 𝐏𝐮𝐛𝐥𝐢𝐜 (𝐑𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝)

Warnings: NSFW content. Read at your own discretion.

❥𝓚𝓲𝓶 𝓗𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓳𝓸𝓸𝓷𝓰

Although he had performed on the stage many times already, something about this particular stage made Hongjoong feel more confident, bold and even sexier than usual. Hearing the fans cheer wildly stirred something in him. You noticed it too when he caught your gaze in the crowd, his eyes giving you a lustful stare and his signature cocky smirk.

Walking down the hallway on their way to congratulate them on another perfect performance, you gasped when you felt an arm pull you inside one of the supply closets. You knew it was Hongjoong because you could smell his cologne and you've felt those soft lips on yours many times to recognize them. You were left breathless by all his tongue movements inside your mouth while his hands fumbled with the zipper of your jeans.

"I'm sorry baby. I just really need to be inside you now."

You didn't protest, having also been aroused by his performance. You simply turned around and stuck your ass to him, wiggling it slightly to put on a little show for him.

"Impatient now are we darling?"

You shrieked softly when a smack landed on your ass followed by the intrusion of his cock inside your hole.

"Oh-oh my God-" You bit your lip to quiet down your moans, not wanting either of you to get caught.

Hongjoong, however, had other plans. Chuckling lowly, he began a rough and fast pace, nails digging into the soft flesh of your ass cheeks.

"Go ahead and say my name babygirl. Let them all know who's fucking you this good."

Pulling your hair back, he let out a growl as his hot breath hovered along the nape of your neck.

"Say. My. Name."

❥𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓴 𝓢𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝔀𝓪

While the other boys are hollering or bickering as the scary movie played at a rather loud volume, you were currently biting down on the blanket that was covering both you and Seonghwa who were laying on the floor. Even though you had your back facing him, you knew he was smirking right at you. His fingers moved from holding your waist to rubbing at your exposed clit as he had inconspicuously pulled off your shorts before.

"Stay quiet baby or they'll notice." He whispered in your ear, his teeth gently grazing at the shell of it.

You couldn't help the whimper that escaped your lips when you felt him ease himself inside you, bottoming out and staying still for a few moments. You relaxed and payed attention to the movie. Perhaps your boyfriend simply wanted to cockwarm you, an activity you both enjoyed doing. But as soon as you forgot he was inside, he reminded you of his presence as he began slithering in and out of you. Turning your head to say something, he silenced you with a kiss.

"Told you to stay quiet baby or the boys will see what a dirty slut you are for my cock." He teased you, slamming harder in you.

Pulling your shirt sleeve down, Seonghwa began placing wet kisses across your shoulder, tongue dragging up to the crook of your neck.

"But maybe that's what you want. Want us to get caught so they can watch me fuck you good. Let them see what a cockslut you are."

You couldn't help but clench tightly around your boyfriend's length, covering your face, using a jump scare as an excuse to drown out the half scream you made as you came on your boyfriend's cock, feeling extremely flustered given the circumstances. Seonghwa wasn't through with you yet, as his hand traveled up to grope your breast under your shirt.

"Still have an hour left of the movie, let's see how many times I can make you cum."

❥𝓙𝓮𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓾𝓷𝓱𝓸

You had been teasing Yunho to no end and he knew it. He knew when you decided to come keep him company as he practiced the choreography you had ulterior motives.

"Come on Yuyu....you're working too hard. Maybe you should let me help you out a bit." You purred at his neck, your voice like silk as you placed kisses alone his Adam's apple, which you felt move when he swallowed hard as your hands began to roam down his chest.

Grabbing both of your wrists, Yunho looked at you with a warning glance.

"Stop right now Missy, your fantasy of me fucking you in public isn't happening."

Poking your nose, he shifted away from you and pressed play once more, leaving you there with a huge frown and arms crossed over your chest. Yunho tried to focus back on the dance but when he glanced at you through the mirror he stopped dead in his tracks as he watched you slide your hand inside your pants, no doubt about to finger yourself. Taking off his cap and slamming it on the floor, Yunho marched over towards you and pulled you up from the floor.

"Did I give you permission to touch yourself?" He glared at you.

Before you even knew it, you were pressed against one of the mirrors, pants down to your ankles as Yunho's hips snapped against yours at a rapid and brutal pace, his hand occasionally coming down to spank your ass.

"Don't you dare hide your face. Look at yourself."

You moaned when he pulled your hair up, forcing you to watch as he fucked you from behind.

"Look at what a dirty slut you are. Look at what people will see if they find me here fucking you dumb. This what you wanted? Well now you got my little slut. "

❥𝓚𝓪𝓷𝓰 𝓨𝓮𝓸𝓼𝓪𝓷𝓰

Yeosang couldn't keep his eyes peeled off your body, loving the way the bikini looked on you. Catching sight of his wandering gaze, you decided to take advantage of the fact it was late and no guest was probably going to come down to the pool area anymore.

"Sangie." You spoke out in a sing song tone.

Yeosang couldn't hide the shock in his face as your hand emerged from the water, holding up your swimsuit bottoms before tossing it over his head, making it land on a nearby chair. You giggled at his flustered state as you swam over to him, pushing him back until he was seated on one of the stairs near the shallow part of the pool.

"God you're driving me insane." Yeosang groaned when you stripped him of his shorts.

As you began to align yourself on his entrance, Yeosang's hands pulled at your bikini top, freeing your breasts so he could watch them bounce as you rode him underwater.

"You look so pretty like this-fuck!" He hummed out.

Both of you completely forgot about the danger of someone seeing you both in such an intimate act. You were simply too lost in the erotic feeling of having sex in the water. Soon enough, Yeosang's hands gripped your waist, bucking his hips up at you as he decided you had your fun and it was time for him to take control.

"Ok....my turn."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓢𝓪𝓷

San looked over at the camera filming both of you guys, flashing the audience a wicked smile. Although the top part of his face was covered, the viewers could clearly distinguish the sadistic and unholy glint in his eyes.

"Look kitten, our fans are enjoying this just as much as you are."

Gently kneading your ass, San then harshly smacked that piece of skin which was already burning red from all the previous times he had slammed his hand on it.

"Such a pretty kitten, taking my cock so well."

San wasn't going to lie, he's so happy you brought up the idea of making an OnlyFans account. He was so addicted to the feeling of having people watch as he fucked you like he could.

"Come on kitten, lift your pretty face up- that's it. Show the audience how much you're enjoying this."

Your mouth was agape, heavy pants and whimpers spilling out your throat as San continued to pound at you from behind.

"She's close I can feel it. My cute little kitten just needs a little push. Like so."

Snaking his hand in between your legs, his fingers began to work on your clit, sending you into a shivering and stuttering mess as your orgasm took over you, your liquids gushing out in between your legs and onto the sheets underneath you. San let out a grunt of accomplishment as his juices ended up mixing with your own.

"And that.....is how you get a kitten to squirt."

❥𝓢𝓸𝓷𝓰 𝓜𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓲

You couldn't help the tiny squeal that escaped your lips when Mingi's mouth suckled cutely along your clit, tongue sloppily dragging across your folds as he slurped up all of your juices.

"Mingi." You giggled as you ran a hand through his hair, head falling back against the picnic blanket underneath both of your bodies.

Emerging from under the dress you had worn for your outing, he sat down and pulled you on top of his lap, hand making a fast work of his zipper to free himself enough to pull out his leaking dick.

"Fuck, you're so tight love." He moaned out, sinking you into his length.

Running a hand through your hair, his hands began to slowly lift you up before sinking you back onto him, wanting to take his time as he stared at your face with such a loving intensity. The sun radiated a beam onto your figure, making you look absolutely ethereal against the flowers surrounding you both.

"You have no idea how beautiful you look right love."

You looked around shyly, afraid of anyone witnessing the sinful act you were currently doing. Sensing your fear, Mingi cupped your chin and pulled you into a kiss.

"It's ok babygirl. I picked this place for a reason. No one comes in this area."

Smirking, he pushed you onto your back, as he wrapped your legs around his waist.

"I can take all my sweet time with you."

❥𝓙𝓾𝓷𝓰 𝓦𝓸𝓸𝔂𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓰

To say Wooyoung and you were a little bit past tipsy was an understatement. But hey, you all came down to the club to have a good time, besides Seonghwa and Hongjoong would end up being the responsible adults that made sure no one got lost and brought you all home safely. Wooyoung was currently sitting down, watching you dance in the crowd with Mingi and San nearby you.

His eyes kept staring shamelessly at your ass and legs. They looked absolutely amazing in that short dress you were wearing. Every time you glanced over, he'd send you a wink or a kiss. Unfortunately for both of you, some stranger also noticed you and thought it'd be a good idea to come close to you and put his hands on your hips. Immediately sprinting from his seat, Wooyoung marched over and pushed the guy off you.

"Hey! Hands off of what's not yours! See this? This all belongs to me."

Patting your ass, he stormed off as he dragged you with him to the men's bathroom.

"Wait! Woo-"

Slamming you up against the wall, his hands began hiking your dress up before pushing your panties to the side so he could bury his fingers in them.

"You're mine. All mine." He hissed as he bit down against the skin of your neck.

"Am I going to have to fuck you in here to make people see that?"

You didn't think he was serious until your legs were wrapped around his waist, his hands holding them up as he rammed his cock inside you, making a whimpering and nearly screeching mess of you.

"Yeah, just like that baby. Let them all hear you."

❥𝓒𝓱𝓸𝓲 𝓙𝓸𝓷𝓰𝓱𝓸

You snuggled inside the warmth of the blankets, your body tired from having hiked the mountainous trail for nearly 3 hours. All the other members were probably already fast asleep, some already dozing off during your campfire session with s'mores. Just as you closed your eyes, you felt Jongho starts poking his hands across your legs, lingering too close on your inner thighs. You slapped his hand away when he began pulling your sleeping shorts down.

"Jongho." You whisper yelled at him.

He merely chuckled as began pulling them back down once more.

"What?"

"We're not about to do it out in the woods just because you're horny." You stated.

You tried to squirm away from him but his arms trapped you from moving. You involuntary bit your lip when you felt him rolled his bulge against your naked ass.

"Come on baby, I've been having a problem since we started the campfire....please?"

When he began kissing at your shoulder as his hands cupped your breasts, you became putty.

"Beside.....I saw the way you were eyeing me as I gathered wood. You couldn't keep your eyes off my arms."

You gasped when he suddenly flipped you on your back, hoisting your legs over his shoulders as he slid his now exposed member along your slit.

"Come on baby, don't you want my thick cock stretching you nice and good?"

You let out a whine and immediately shook your head in an affirmative manner. He pushed into you in one go, angling his hips so you'd be feeling his tip rub against your g-spot.

"Be as loud as you can babygirl, let my Hyungs hear you as I murder this pussy."

Gifs not mine. Credit goes to their respective owners

#ateez #ateez reactions #ateez imagines #ateez scenarios #ateez smut #ateez fluff #ateez hongjoong #ateez seonghwa #ateez yunho #ateez yeosang #ateez san #ateez mingi #ateez wooyoung #ateez jongho

802 notes · View notes

primlydialanguish · 2 years

Note

What infuriates you about the whole Descendants verse? From the books to the characters?

What infuriates me? I want to say it won't be a long list, but we'll see how long winded I get. And before I start, I'll say that this list is in no particular order and varies in silliness and seriousness, and there might be things I forget to mention.

1. Queen Leah is awful and she never faces it well enough. She never really faces proper accountability for the way she treated Mal, Audrey, the other VKs or her part in the system.

2. Most of the royals not facing accountability for what happened to the Isle kids.

3. Mal tells Uma "Unless you want to deal with me and the VKs" during 'It's Goin' Down,' which, to me, always implied that the VKs were Mal and her gang. And then VK is used as a general term for all the Isle kids. It's strange.

4. Harry is always treated like he's no good. In every book, in every movie. Even in D3 when they had the opportunity to expand on his character, they made conscious choices to not do that.

5. The forced heteronormativity.

6. The fact that Mal and Evie are always paired off and Carlos and Jay are more background. I understand that these are girl power movies, and girls being friends with girls is important, but at the same time, Mal and Jay are so much more alike and compatible. I'm not even saying they should be best friends instead of Mal and Evie, but I feel like the Core4 should be more connected to each other. But they literally say in Space Between 'it'll always be you and me.' I love found family tropes, and all four of them should be family.

7. Everyone acting fine and happy when Ben publicly declares himself in love with Mal while he was still dating Audrey, and then those same people acting like they have problems with Ben declaring himself in love with Uma after Mal broke up with him.

8. Coronation. Okay so Fairy Godmother says Family Day is on Sunday, and then Mal tells Maleficent Coronation is on Friday, but then on Family Day, on Sunday, Ben says that 'after tomorrow, everything will be fine,' and Mal says, "I'm really looking forward to tomorrow." So Coronation happens on Monday. Why did Mal say it was on Friday? It gets me every time.

9. King Beast. I hate King Beast.

10. Belle. I hate Belle.

11. Fairy Godmother being okay with closing the barrier forever in D3 and being okay with Adam and Belle pressuring Mal into it.

12. Lady Tremaine redemption. She was awful in D2, but in D3 they tried to fix her. ???

13. The passage of time. So let's have a conversation about this. D1, Mal and the others are 16, except for Carlos, who is canonically 15. They'd be entering their junior year in high-school. D2 takes place in the spring of their junior year. We know this because Mal says "A few months ago, I was stealing candy from babies." Dizzy gets an invitation for the current academic year at Auradon Prep. We'll just pretend that that's the upcoming academic year, but even then, D3 happens in the summer, we all know that. But they want us to think that all that happens a full year later. That Mal and the others have graduated. Yeah, in the Descendants 3 'Welcome to Auradon Activity and Sticker Book,' they say that Mal, Jay, and Evie have graduated. Nope. Uh-uh, no way.

14. The costuming in D3. Like, Evie's main outfit is not blue at all, and her silhouette has always been very ornamental, like extra. But it isn't very extra at all in D3, and it's not blue, and I'm so sad about it.

15. The people I want to interact with each other never do. I know this is a thing that happens when you have too many characters and limited time, so it's not a critique so much as a personal thing, but it still gets to me.

So that's mostly it, I think. I didn't touch on Wicked World, because I feel like the list would be 1.5 times bigger. But that's off the top of my head, I think I covered it all, though. Thanks for the ask, I always have fun with things like this!

#descendants #disney descendants

13 notes · View notes

ptergwen · 4 years

Text

play the game

w/c: 2.2k

summary: an interview question catches you off guard

a/n: this is kinda random but i wanted to write something just fun n cute with actress!reader so this is what we got enjoy everyoneee

“ooh, these are always fun,” tom murmurs to you. he pushes a bucket of questions to the middle of the table. you turn it towards yourself with a furrowed eyebrow.

you’re at buzzfeed promoting the next spider-man. it’s just you and tom for this one. zendaya and jacob are doing their own interview in the room next to yours. you’re usually paired with the two of them, but tom joins your group sometimes. you find yourself much more intimidated by him than the camera whenever he does. not because he scares you. you’ve actually become close friends over filming.

it’s because you never know what he’s going to say. tom is a flirty guy by nature, and he’ll play it up even more if he has an audience. he loves to give them a good laugh. spark a few rumors maybe, only to get people talking about the movie. the idea itself isn’t half bad. the effect it has on you is what you worry about.

you’ve had a pretty big crush on him that started the same time your friendship did. in your defense, how could you get to know him and not fall? he’s one of the most genuine people on earth, he calls you cute british pet names, he makes you laugh on set during a stressful take. he’s just so charming. he charmed you, after all.

so much as a wink at you and your cheeks would be burning. the last thing you need is for the whole world to see that. it’s bad enough he would, too. you’re hoping he keeps the playfulness at minimum for your interview. with you being the only person he has to bounce off of this time, you’re not sure he will.

“i feel like the fans always ask better questions than interviewers,” tom jokes and takes a slip of paper out of the bucket. he reads it to himself with a snort. “what does it say?” you peek over his shoulder. he folds it again before you can see. a smirk pulls at his lips. “you’ll find out.” “you’re not even supposed to look at them yet,” you huff, reaching to grab the paper. tom drops it back into the bucket.

looking off to the side, he breathes a laugh out of his nose. he’s so annoying about keeping secrets. you push at his shoulder with a smug smile. “can you ever just, like, behave?” “around you? no, i can’t,” tom teases, the hint of a smirk still on his face. this is exactly what you were dreading. what’s worse is you haven’t even started the interview. thank god the cameraman gets your attention.

“all ready. you two start whenever you want.” he gives you a thumbs up from behind the camera. tom scoots closer to you in his chair. his knee is touching yours. it’s such a childish thing to care about, but your heart speeds up. “thanks, man. i think we’re good.” he glances at you to make sure. “yeah?” “yeah, we can start.” your voice is higher than usual, which only happens when you’re nervous. you clear your throat.

the little light on the camera turns red. that means you’re recording. tom beams into it, sounding cheery as ever when he introduces himself. “hey everyone, i’m tom holland.” he holds out a hand to present you. you can’t help but smile at his antics. “i’m y/n y/l/n. we’re gonna be answering some questions you guys sent in.”

“there are a few prompts in here, too,” tom adds, eyes meeting yours for a second. “we have to act them out. let’s get into it.” you raise your eyebrows at the camera. spinning the bucket in his hands, he holds it out to you. “ladies first.” “when he has manners,” you deadpan, getting a giggle out of tom. his stupid adorable laugh that gives you butterflies. holding back a smile, you pull out a paper slip.

“tell us about gwen stacy and peter’s relationship in the movie,” you read off and push the paper to the other end of the table. “i mean, it’s not a relationship. it’s a new friendship,” you explain. tom nods in agreement. “yeah. peter is still after mj in this film.” squinting into the camera, you try to think of a description that won’t spoil you being spider-gwen.

tom digs into the bucket for the next question, but keeps his eyes on you. you hold up a finger when you get it. “my gwen is with spider-man more than peter. that’s all i’m gonna say.” “nice. very smooth,” he teases and unfolds the paper. “how hard was it to do all your stunts?” you shoot him a knowing look. there were a few the two of you had to do together.

they weren’t anything major because you’re not trained like tom is. a lot of the time, you only watched him do insane flips and leaps before simply entering the scene. he’d come back to your trailer after and complain about how sore he was while laying his head on your shoulder or some other part of your body. stunt days were exhausting.

“you know, i’ll be honest. they were awful.” tom shakes his head with wide eyes. you let out a quiet laugh. “not because they were bad or anything. the stunts look amazing. but, they really hurt.” he tosses the piece of paper at the one you just answered to create a pile. “the amount of ice you had to put on your body,” you giggle to him, tom joining in your laughter. he sighs. “i raided the freezer in your trailer every day.”

grinning at the memories, you reach into the bucket for your next question. you’re still smiling when you read it. “this one’s a prompt. it says to do an impression of each other.” tom eagerly sits up in his chair. his leg brushes yours again in the process. you catch your lip between your teeth. “easy. i’ll go first.” he hasn’t started, but you roll your eyes.

“we’ll all be watching a movie and she’s like,” he switches to his american girl accent before continuing. “isn’t that guy so hot? he’s literally so hot, guys. how do you not see it?” your mouth dropped open, you bump his knee under the table. “oh my god, what?” “and it’s always the most basic looking person, too,” he goes on, pressing his lips together in shame for you. you make the same face.

“someone sounds a little jealous.” “it’s not me,” tom scoffs, still playfully making fun of you. you narrow your eyes at him. “ok, my turn.” he’s biting back a smile while you get yourself ready. “ello, love,” you start in an exaggerated british accent. he closes his eyes in defeat. “i love golf. i’m like an old man, innit? i fu-“ you put a hand over your mouth in the same way he does. “i forgot i can’t swear.” tom claps slowly for you.

“bravo, y/n. you didn’t miss a thing, love.” he emphasizes the last word. there goes one of his infamous pet names. he’s just repeating what you said, but it still makes your heart clench. your favorite is when he calls you darling. it sounds so perfect falling from his lips. that being said, you wouldn’t have been able to control your reaction if he called you it right now.

you shrug your shoulder and give him a cheesy grin. “i know i didn’t.” “right, next question.” tom grabs the bucket back from you with a pretend glare. he gasps before reading it out loud. “who’s your favorite cast mate? that’s wicked!” you move your head forward dramatically. “that’s not fair!”

tom drums his fingers on the table. “jeez, you guys are ruthless. i’ll say y/n because she’s right next to me.” you don’t miss a beat. “um, i’m saying zendaya.” you nod at the camera, tom pouting. “love you, z.” “i should change my answer to jacob, then,” he mutters childishly. exhaling, you pull out the next question. there are only two left after this.

“or maybe marisa,” tom keeps throwing names out. “are you done yet?” you ask like you’re his mom. he is acting like a kid, to be fair. “no.” “will you be done if i say you’re my favorite?” he perks up. “yes.” looking him in the eyes, you put your free hand on his arm. “tom, you’re my favorite cast mate.” “thank you.” his sarcastic tone matches yours. he tilts your chin up with the tips of his fingers. “my love.”

you’re quick to turn your head before you let yourself lean into his touch. you’d never recover. for one thing, you’ll think about it too much. another, it would give tom something to tease you about.

pretending to be disgusted, you unfold the paper. your expression relaxes when you look over the question. it’s kind of sweet. “what was your favorite scene to film together?” “all of them,” tom answers right away. “that’s a cheat answer,” you laugh out. he shrugs and looks down at the question. “i’m being serious. i really loved working with you.” his eyes meet yours. “every second of it.”

he’s being genuine. it’s probably to make up for tormenting you this entire interview. all you know is, the fans will definitely start talking. you find it nice either way. “aw, tom,” you coo, him nodding his head. “what was yours?” you’ve never thought about it. you shared so many special memories while making the movie. but, there is one that sticks out to you.

“our last scene. it was a really, like, emotional day because we were wrapping.” tom already knows what you’re going to say next. his lips curl into a smile. “i cried before we started shooting it, so he kept hugging me and said i’d ruin my makeup.” you rest your head on his shoulder for a few seconds, returning the smile. his arm slings around your waist.

“yeah, i felt so bad. your crying face just breaks my heart,” tom tells you with a head shake. you lift yourself off of him and wiggle your eyebrows. “that’s what every actor wants to hear.” “you’re ridiculous. do the last question.” he taps the bucket twice. he’s still holding your waist. “isn’t it your turn?” “it’s the one i read earlier. you read it now.” eyebrows knitted together, you pick out the slip. it’s a prompt.

this has to be a joke. no one in their right mind would have you do this on camera. what kind of interview would this be? blinking a few times, you hold it closer to your face. “it... it says to kiss each other.” you crumple the piece of paper up, face still scrunched in confusion. buzzfeed probably decided to mess with you two. “are we actually supposed to?”

“yep. a fan sent it in,” the cameraman interjects. you look at tom in a panic. he was all smiley about this earlier. now, he’s taking it seriously. “why would we...” you’re too flustered to finish your sentence. tom squeezes your waist. “it’s what the people want. i want it, too.” you can feel your stomach drop. “would’ve said something if i didn’t. do you?”

of course you do. for the past year or so, you’ve been craving to taste that mint chapstick he’s constantly applying. you can’t believe it’s finally going to happen in front of millions of people. technically eight people right now, but the whole world eventually. you’re afraid he’s only going through with it for the movie promotion. for a good thumbnail.

“are you only doing this for promo?” you whisper so the camera doesn’t pick it up. you need his real answer. “never. the promo just gives me an excuse.” his eyes dart from yours to your lips. he inches his face closer. you gulp. “can i kiss you?” he asks lowly. “mhm,” you hum, eyes fluttering shut.

his lips brush yours before he closes his eyes. he kisses you softly, his other arm wrapping around you. your hands go to his shoulders when you kiss back. it’s everything you’ve been needing, been dreaming of for so long now. he tastes even better than you expected. tom breaks the kiss first. a grin instantly spreads across his face. “we’ll continue this later,” he says only to you.

your lips and whole body feel tingly. you give him a goofy smile in return, looking at the camera over your shoulder. “thanks to whoever sent that one in. thank you so much.” you laugh in disbelief. tom turns and faces forward. “i think this is a good place to wrap things up,” he chuckles. “thanks for watching! we hope you enjoyed!” you wave. tom points at the camera. “see us again in theaters next week, if you did.”

the camera clicks off, and everyone else in the room starts chatting. you can’t imagine the headlines that are going to come out about you two. at the same time, you don’t care. you’re too happy. you move your arms up to wind around his neck. tom sighs in content. “i like you, too. in case you couldn’t tell.” he never stops finding ways to shock you. “how did you know i like you?” you groan.

“from one actor to another, you’re not good at hiding it.”

#tom holland #tom holland fluff #tom holland imagine #tom holland smut #peter parker fluff #peter parker smut #marvel #peter parker imagine

965 notes · View notes

scarletwinterxx · 3 years

Text

End to Start pt. 3 - Jaehyun AU

Hello lovelies! this part took awhile to write but she’s here, i hope you like it! I enjoy reading your feedbacks😊🤍

For my other works you can check them out here, and for my other story series’ you can check them out here.

taglist: @the-universe-in-you-jjh @undevotedfangirl @dumplingley @halbae

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2020 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

PREV || NEXT

“But like how rich is he?”

“Rich enough to buy this building three four times over” you mumbled, not really paying much attention to Jungwoo and more on the cake you’re trying to decorate

“And you broke up with him? Wah noona” you looked over at him with a glare, signaling him to shut up.

It was the day after the gala, you were supposed to take the day off but you’d rather keep yourself busy than overthink at home. Thus why you’re here now at the cafe with a very nosy Jungwoo beside you with his 100 questions after finding out you dated the Jung Jaehyun.

“I’m three seconds away from kicking you out of this store permanently”

“That’s the third time I heard that, this month” he smiled at you, walking back to the kitchen to grab the other pastries to be displayed. It’s still pretty early and it’s the weekend so you don’t expect that many people right now.

“So is he the guy you dated when you were in college?”

“Yes”

“You didn’t say he owned a big company”

“Are we playing 20 questions right now? Go serve the customers” you pushed him to the side when you heard the bell right, going back to what you were doing and letting Jungwoo deal with it.

“Goodmorning, what can I get you today?”

“Two iced americano please”

Hold up, you know that voice. You don’t even have to look up to see who it was, “Is that all? Would you like to try some of our cakes and pastries? It’s good to pair with the coffee” Jungwoo said, still clueless about who he’s currently talking to

“Is that green tea with pistachio? I’ll take a slice of that” it just so happens it was the cake you were currently setting up.

“Sure thing, is that all?” After taking his order, the guy walked to a vacant table.

“Noona, should I set you up with that guy? He was looking at you, plus he looks handsome and rich”

“Jungwoo”

“Mhm?”

“Shut up”

You were preparing the order when the bell rang again, “Goodmorning, welcome to the cafe” Jungwoo greeted happily.

“Oh, looks like he’s with someone” that made you halt for a second but quickly shaking it away. Passing the tray over to Jungwoo, “Here, go serve this and please stop being nosy”.

Jaehyun wanted to visit the cafe for some time now, but he didn’t want it to seem like he’s stalking you. He already knew you know how to bake, your cookies were his favorite. You used to bake those for him after exams as a way to cheer him up.

He didn’t know the first time he’ll be visiting here is when he’s about to break-up with his current ‘girlfriend’, with you standing only a few meters away. But after last night’s gala, Chungha called him suddenly asking if they could talk.

“Here’s your order, is there anything else I could get you?” Jungwoo asked him and Chunga but the girl just shook her head with a smile, “Really? green tea cake? Your taste is so weird sometimes” she chuckled at the sight of cake on the table

“It’s one of the more unique flavors, we also have a chocolate one. It’s our bestseller” Jungwoo added, “Maybe later, thanks”

After Jungwoo walked away, the two were left alone to talk.

“Go on, just say it”

“You don’t have to act all tough all the time you know”

His eyes landing on hers, as if he was telling her to just get on with it. “We had a good run” she chuckled, “What will your parents say when the word gets out?” Jaehyun asked. He might seem like a cold guy but he does still have some empathy left in him,

“I’ll deal with it. Happiness comes at a price, it just took me this long to realize I’m willing to pay for it no matter what the cost. Maybe you should too”

Jaehyun can’t help but look over at you, you were having a conversation with the guy that took his order and was laughing at something he said. Jaehyun’s gaze made Chungha look over at the side too, in that moment she knew

“So that’s her?”

“No” he cleared his throat before drinking his coffee, “You know you can’t lie that good, not to me atleast. Or her it looks like. Word of advice though, if she’s worth it just do it”

You were doing your best to ignore the two people on the far side of your cafe, Jaehyun and the girl looked like they were having a very serious conversation. When the girl stood up you immediately busied yourself again, then someone was standing infront of the counter on the other side.

“I heard the chocolate cake is the best seller here” she said, her voice gentle and sweet. She seems like a lovely lady.

“Yea, and the chocolate chip cookies too. Would you like to try it?” you asked her with a smile of your own

“I’ll take both to go” you packed the treats yourself, passing it over to her as she hand you her payment

“Green tea cake, sounds different” she chuckled, looking at the cake with a single slice missing “Oh yea, I just like trying out flavors here and there”

“What are you talking about? You always make that, if you want to try something new, you can order that. We always have extra” Jungwoo butted in, “Will keep that in mind, my friend loves that flavor”

“Oh, friend” Jungwoo said then looking over at you, “Thanks by the way” the lady said then walked out the door.

“Friend” Jungwoo repeated with a wicked grin on

“Stop”

“But this is your chance at finally landing someone! Jihyo may be bad at setting you up maybe I can”

“No-”

“Let’s just try, see he’s walking over here”

“I said-” “Uh can I have this cake to go, please? I’ll also get the rest of it” Jaehyun said looking back and forth between you and Jungwoo

“Sure, would that be all?” you asked as if you didn’t know him

“Uhm so my boss here-” you elbowed him on the stomach, trying to stop him from continuing. “I’m here! Sorry I’m a bit late, class finished later than I thought” Sungchan announced as he enter the shop, making the three of you look over at the tall boy

“Oh, hyung what are you doing here?” he asked Jaehyun when he spotted him, “You two know each other?” Jungwoo asked from beside you

Then it clicked, you almost wanted to slap yourself. How can you be so stupid, you’re not sure.

“You’re related, how come I never put that together” you looked back and forth between the two

“You two know each other?” Sungchan asked back, “Something like that” Jaehyun mumbled. That made Jungwoo look over at you then Jaehyun then at you again, “Oh, Jung Sungchan. then you must be-”

After that stressful encounter, you chose to just call it an early day and leave the boys at the cafe. Jaehyun didn’t say much afterwards, just waited for his order then left with a few words said to his younger brother.

Add that to the list of things you were thinking about. After the gala yesterday, after seeing Jaehyun’s mom again you can’t help but overthink about things again. A big part of you itching to do what you’ve always been meaning to do, something you wish you never did.

Unable to stop yourself, you opened the door of your closet and rummaged through until you find the box stashed inside. Stuffing it in your bag before shruging your coat on, took your keys and drove off.

You've only been at their place once, that was the first and last time.

It’s what you see in movies, the typical huge mansion rich people have in movies. The Jungs were no exception, their home looked like something straight out of a magazine. Until now you feel like you shouldn’t be here.

Parking your car on the driveway, you walked towards the front door. Knocking twice and wait for someone to open the door, when it did it was just the person you wanted to see,

“Can we talk?”

Jaehyun didn’t expect the turn of events this day had, after finding out his youngest sibling works part time at your cafe ofcourse he had to know more. Telling Sungchan he’ll wait until his shift is over to drive him home.

“You didn’t tell me you work at the cafe”

“Why? would you stop me just like mom?” the younger one asked, he knew what his brother meant. With their mother there’s almost little to no room for freedom, their lives were planned out for them. As kids they were told what they should be when they grow up, expectations they had to meet, things they needed to accomplish.

“No, it’s close to my office. You could’ve just worked for me” he answered, the older brother tone gone

“Then what’s the point? Like I said, I wanted to atleast see the world on my own before mom and dad stops me. Or atleast until college” Sungchan mumbles

“If you don’t want to study the course mom and dad are making you study just tell me, I’ll help you”

“Why? They’ll just get mad at you too”

“Then they can be both mad at us, don’t make the same stupid mistakes I did. Don’t take too long to decide that this isn’t the life you don’t want to live. Just... just be you. If they won’t have that, then you’ll have me” he sincerely said, meaning every word he just said.

He wished he had someone to say that to him back then, in a way he did. You told him that.

Even if the world is against him, he’ll have your hand to hold on to.

“So, how did you know Y/N noona?”

“We went to same college” he answered, keeping it brief. After that Sungchan didn’t ask anymore questions. When they finally arrived at their home, there’s an unfamiliar car on the driveway. Assuming that it was one of their parent’s visitor,

“Are you staying the night?” Sungchan ask as they walk towards the house, “No, just came to talk to mom about something”

“Okay, well see you later” the two brothers went their own ways, Sungchan skipping up the stairs to his room while Jaehyun walk around the house looking for his mom.

What he didn’t expect was to see who she was talking to, they were at the foyer, sitting at opposite sides of the table.

“Even when I didn’t have anything to my name, I never touched a cent in that envelope. I’m ashamed I even took in the first place, that was my mistake. And I’m still paying for it until now, you got what you wanted. Jaehyun hates me”

You were talking about him with his mother?

What envelop were you talking about?

“Then why did you take it?”

“Because it was the only way you’ll stop, I thought if I took the money and disappeared you would atleast spare him, you’d let him live the way he wants to. I don’t care if he’s angry at me, he has every right to be” you answered, no sign of intimidation or fear in your voice.

But he does hear the pain, and he hated it.

“Your son is worth more than whatever you give me, that money is bitter reminder of my lowest point. But even then, I’d rather starve and have no roof over my head than spend a single cent you gave me. It’s up to you if you tell him what you did, I think we’re way past the point of going back anyways. He can’t even stand being in the same room as me. One way or another, you got what you wanted. All I want is my peace, I don’t want that with me anymore, I don’t want to keep that in the corner of my closet like the monster I’m too scared to face”

Jaehyun was trying to take all of your words in, struggling to process the truth he just accidently uncovered.

All those years he thought you left him because you didn’t love him was in fact not what really happened, His mother, surprisingly but not really, manipulated his life yet again.

“All of the money is still in there, I haven’t touched that since then. I was just waiting for the day I could finally give it back to you. I’m pretty sure you don’t need it, but neither do I” you said your final words then rose from your seat.

When you turned around to leave the place you didn’t expect to see the person standing by the door, a gasp leaving Mrs. Jung’s mouth

“Jaehyun” she said but his gaze was on you

You didn’t have to ask him, you already knew he heard it. How much? probably enough judging by the look on his face.

You looked at him with same intense stare, trying to say your apologies without saying anything at all. It feels like there’s this weight lifted off of you after you gave the envelope containing the money back to his mom. Like this time you can look him in the eyes without thinking about the money stashed away in your closet.

There are still questions floating in his mind, you could tell. But Jaehyun didn’t look as troubled as he should be, even with the overwhelming amount of questions in his head he knew this time it would be okay. You were the only answer he needed.

199 notes · View notes

my-soul-sings · 3 years

Text

kiss the girl: ch 5

Fandom: Tears of Themis Characters: Artem x Reader

Summary: Armed with a trusty book, Artem Wing attempts to win the woman of his dreams.

ch 1 | ch 2 | ch 2 extra (ft. marius) | ch 3 | ch 4 | ch 5

***

“Surprise him with flowers.”

It all began one morning, when you went to Artem’s office to look for a case file, and stumbled across a certain incriminating book that was hiding in his drawer.

The title said it all: “The Psychology of Love”. The contents of the book were even more damning—flipping it open took you naturally to the page where a plain black bookmark had been inserted, and you found yourself reading a chapter about practical tips for wooing a woman.

As you read the book, you’d periodically look over your shoulder every now and then in case Artem arrived and caught you red-handed (although you were technically only going through his drawer because you were looking for a case file that he had told you to find in his office).

You immediately recognised the practical pointers as the things Artem had been putting into practice lately. The flowers, the compliments, the dinner… What you’d initially thought was odd behaviour on his part suddenly all made sense, and it basically confirmed your suspicions that perhaps your boss did have feelings for you, and that yours weren’t one-sided like you had thought after all.

The revelation had your cheeks warming and your lips spreading into a huge grin. All that had to be done now was for both of you to confess and then you’d officially start dating, just as you had hoped for a while now.

The next question then was how to go about doing it. You considered asking him about the book directly, but that wouldn’t be any fun at all. Sure, you might get a laugh out of seeing Artem’s ears turn red and his words coming out in a timid stutter, but you wanted to be more creative with this.

And as you scanned through the book, a brilliant plan began to formulate in your mind. One that had your smile turning from gleeful, innocent and warm, to something a little more wicked. Just a little.

With all that Artem had been doing for you lately, naturally, it was only right that you returned the favour.

***

Artem’s morning routine hasn’t changed much as far as he can remember. In the mornings, he makes breakfast, a cup of coffee, then drives to work and enters the office building. He’ll greet his colleagues who are already all set up in the office and doing their work or rushing some prep work before going to court, and then settle down in his room to check his emails.

It’s not a particularly exciting routine, but Artem has gotten used to his life as a working adult; more routines, less surprises and spontaneity.

That’s why Artem isn’t used to being surprised, or having to figure out at 10am why his colleagues keep staring at him or greeting him with vaguely suspicious smiles on their faces. With every step he takes through the office he can feel their eyes on him, like visitors eyeing an animal in a zoo exhibit.

Artem wonders if it’s something about his appearance, but he’s wearing the same thing he usually does, and he has combed his hair like always. Besides, he also subtly checked to make sure his zipper wasn’t down when he first noticed his colleagues acting strange, so that can’t be it either.

His mind runs through the many possibilities for his colleagues’ strange behaviours, but can’t think of a reasonable explanation.

Thankfully, he doesn't need to think for long. He finds that explanation placed conspicuously in the centre of his desk, which is usually left clean and neat when he leaves the office for the night.

Artem is so stunned he doesn’t even realise that someone has knocked on his door until he feels a tap on his shoulder and hears a stifled laugh coming from his left.

“Everyone’s been going crazy since the flowers came. Did you send a bouquet of roses to yourself?” Celestine asks between giggles. Artem doesn’t blame her—the sight is quite incriminating. He can’t think of anyone who would send him flowers when there is no occasion to celebrate anything. Not to mention, roses? That’s quite the choice of flowers for someone who is single…

“Did you do this?” Artem asks, turning to her, although even he thinks the accusation is absurd.

“Me? Of course not. Do you know how expensive flowers are? I’d only spend it on my darling—”

“Enough,” he interrupts her, pinching the bridge of his nose and releasing a vexed sigh. First things first, he needs to do something about the flowers before more people see and start gossiping about him.

“You don’t look so happy for someone who just received flowers,” Celestine says, watching as he places his things down on his chair and desk before moving to inspect the gift. He’s eyeing it about as warily as one might a ticking bomb.

“Is it a secret admirer? Or— Don’t tell me, you’ve been making moves on someone else?”

“Of course not,” he hushes her, casting a wary glance towards the window of his office, in case they’re overheard by mistake. She’s not at her desk, and the anxious beating of his heart calms down slightly when he realises she probably hasn’t arrived in the office yet. That gives him some time to dispose of the evidence.

Turning to Celestine, he says in a low voice, “Don’t be so loud. I don’t want her to get the wrong idea.”

Celestine rolls her eyes, folding her arms. “She already saw the flowers.”

“What?” Alarmed, he looks out the window again, but there’s no one at her desk.

“She just dropped her things off on her chair and rushed to the restroom,” Celestine explains in a dismissive tone that does nothing to quell Artem’s concerns.

She’s seen the flowers. She’s going to think that he’s been flirting with someone else, or that he sent flowers to himself. Either way, it doesn’t look good.

“You look like you’ve just seen a ghost,” Celestine remarks, scrutinising his expression. He supposes he does. How else should he look? Festive, now that he might have lost his chance at wooing the woman he’s had a crush on for so long?

“Get a grip, Artem. First things first, who are the flowers from?”

Right, right. He should confirm that first. There’s a small card sticking out from the side of the bouquet, and he fishes it out, reading it while keeping it out of view from the curious eyes of Celestine. She immediately fires off protests in response, but he’s taller than her and is able to keep it out of her reach by extending his arm all the way up.

I wasn’t sure what flowers you’d like, so I went with roses, because… well. You should be able to guess why. I’ll see you soon.

It’s a message straight out of a horror movie. Artem doesn’t want to see this person. He doesn’t want anyone to see him with this person, for that matter. He would be ruined beyond repair.

Unfortunately, the card isn’t signed. Not on the front or back, and there’s no other card to be found in the bouquet. So now, he has to deal with a mystery admirer who seems to know where he works or lives. Maybe both.

He briefly contemplates getting a personal protection order but immediately dismisses the thought; there’s no way. It seems his only option left is to wait for this secret admirer (or prankster; he still has his doubts) to track him down.

“Hey! I wanted to read that!” Celestine grumbles when the note is crushed in Artem’s fist and stuffed into his pocket.

“Read something else. You just told me yesterday that you’re drowning in work.”

Not sure where else he can put the bouquet, he decides to put it on the floor, in a corner of his room so it’s less conspicuous to anyone who passes by.

“From how you’re still panicking, I’m guessing the flowers weren’t from her after all?” Celestine asks, clicking her tongue.

“You thought they were from her?”

“Yeah. She saw the flowers in your office this morning and walked away looking quite happy.”

“Oh.” That’s strange, he thought she would be mad. But if she’s happy, that can mean only one of two things: either the flowers were from her, or she’s happy thinking that he has a partner now.

It looks like he’ll be playing a tedious guessing game for the rest of the day and the next couple of sleepless nights.

“I could ask her if you want?” Celestine offers, being helpful for the first time since entering his office.

“That won’t be necessary. I’ll handle it,” he replies, clearing his throat and sitting down. He’s wasted enough time on this—he’ll worry about it after work.

Celestine takes that as her cue to leave, and this time, she graciously doesn’t leave a mocking remark behind when she closes the door.

continue reading on AO3 (see replies to this post)

#artem wing #tears of themis #artem wing fanfiction #tears of themis artem #tears of themis fanfiction #tears of themis fanfic #artem fanfiction #artem fanfic #kiss the girl #my writing #sorry folks i'm linking to AO3 because this chapter is fairly long and im too lazy to copy+paste and comb through the text to #manually add italics #so pls read it on ao3 i will love u hehe

61 notes · View notes

jamilelucato · 3 years

Text

About him [Fred Weasley]

Pairing: Fred Weasleyx reader (Slytherin but brief mention)

Summary: [y/n] and Fred have always been friends because of their similarities, but after focusing on their differences they ended up missing each other a lot.

A/N: really slow burn except for the fact that I speed it up lol (gif is very much the ice cream shop scene)

Warnings: brief mention of p*rn but it's just for a joke really; and sadness at the very end, much much sadness

harry potter masterlist!

[y/n] and Fred Weasley were classmates, and, even though they were from different houses (she was a Slytherin, he was a Gryffindor), they generally ended up in the same circles because they had a lot of friends and common and were purebloods.

They had lots of things in common, but they never really thought much of it or talked about it. Their pureblood families were seen with wicked eyes by the others because they were friendly towards muggles and muggles-borns, and curiously [y/n]'s mother worked in the same department as Fred's dad.

Fred silently understood [y/n], and she sympathized with him as well. But that was as far as their friendship went. They joked with each other and worked well together when assigned — except they were never alone or were clingy towards one another.

Therefore, it was no surprise (nor new) that Fred sat next to her, at the almost end of a party at Ravenclaw. Both had a drink in hand and were laughing at their friends' jokes. Suddenly, the big group divided itself into pairs that were talking together, and [y/n] saw herself in a position to make conversation with Fred.

"Where's George?" she politely asked him while sipping her cup.

He looked down at her — even sitting, it was clear he was taller.

"Honestly," his eyes were smiling, "I have no idea."

She half-smiled, half laughed, which was her usual reaction when speaking to Fred. He had a humorous way of expressing himself even when it was not funny.

"Aren't you worried?"

"With George? No," Fred chocked; with a raised brow. "He'll manage. Wherever he is."

"Probably with a girl," [y/n] said with a calm tone that surprised Fred.

He knew he and his twin had a reputation (perhaps even Dumbledore did), but he didn't expect little miss [y/n] to mention that with such naturality. He didn't know why it bothered him; was it because he hoped to preserve his image of a good boy or because it was her?

"Wait, what about you?" she asked, realizing he didn't say anything about George. "Where's your girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend," corrected Fred in a huff. "We broke up last week."

[y/n] took a long while to stare at him, analyzing his features — the more she looked, the more concerned Fred got.

She didn't know about the news regarding Fred and Angelina, but she was nowhere near worried.

"Well, by the end of next week, you two will be together again," she shrugged, looking back at her drink.

"Not at all," Fred denied, moving his face.

"Come on, Fred," [y/n] lowered her hands, "you guys never last too much apart; at this point, it's almost annoying."

He stared at her, more shocked than before.

"You guys are always breaking up," she pointed out, this time with a sweeter tone, scared she was offending him.

"True," granted Fred, "but this time is for real."

"You said that last time," remembered [y/n], unable to hold her smile at the end of her sentence and making Fred smile too.

There was a pause before Fred decided to defend his point.

"I don't..." he swallowed. "Angie and I... we both know the relationship isn't going anywhere."

"Wow," [y/n] was surprised. They always talked about Fred's break-ups but never before had he said something like that. "You're serious."

Fred ignored her comment.

"George and I want to do something big, you know? And I need to be real about it, so might as well be serious about everything else."

[y/n] considered his comment. She knew it was his dream to open the joke shop. She also knew his parents were not very okay with that.

Another thing they had in common, she supposed. Her parents didn't support her dream of being an actress either. They were okay with her pursuing a career in the muggle world, but they did not want it to be acting.

"It's a good plan, you know, " she said, finally. "Just... don't lose your charm."

"Don't lose my charm, you say?" Fred smirked, getting closer to her, their legs touching each other in the small blue sofa of Ravenclaw.

"Not that charm," she said through her teeth, shoving him with her shoulder. But even when she hated him using his smirk with her, she ended up smiling. "I meant your drollery."

"Oh," he leaned back, the smirk fading. "I suppose that if Snape wasn't able to erase my joy, nothing can."

He was right, of course.

"And you, huh?" Fred asked, noticing that if he remained in silence, the conversation would die. "How's the porn acting career going?"

She pushed him again with her free hand this time, and he laughed it off. She was sure it hurt, though, because he remained to brush up and down his arm.

"I don't want to be a porn star, you creep," [y/n] hissed, but she wasn't that angry with his comment as she was leading him into thinking. "And I suppose it's going as slow as it can go when you are only sixteen and lives in your school."

"And have unsupporting parents," added Fred, tilting his head, feeling very clever with his suggestion. Until he looked at her and saw she was frozen. "Sorry, I didn't m...."

"You're right," she sighed, gulping her drink until she drank it all. Then, startling Fred, she started laughing, but it was nowhere near a desperate laugh as he expected. "Gosh, I just want to be over with school."

"Shocking enough, me too," agreed Fred, entering her cheerful mood with a smile of himself.

Two Years Later...

She avoided going to the Diagon Alley for various reasons, but the most important was to dodge encountering old classmates. But the Wizarding World was at the brink of war, and [y/n]'s mom insisted that her daughter should go out and buy everything they could need in case they had to go into hiding.

After hours of shopping, she left her parents at one of the stores and walked all by herself to the ice cream place, where she hoped to have a minute to sit down and breathe.

She was contemplating the busy streets, filled with workers and other wizards, all with the same desperate look her mom had on her face. She had noticed when Fred and George walked in the shop, but she hoped her well-placed table would be enough to hide her.

It wasn't.

"Oh, [y/n]!" shouted Fred, after taking the ice cream he chose with the attendant. He stepped in her direction, the expression in his face pure joy.

They had bumped into each other after school, but they always had other places to go and be, which left them with a chance only to say hi. But, seeing her, calmly, sitting with her ice cream, Fred thought it was the perfect chance to catch up with his long time friend.

"How are you?" he asked, smiling.

Noticing she had no escape, she pointed to the remaining empty chair at her table for him to sit and finally answered.

"Oh, you know," she shrugged. "Every day's crazier than the one before, and we never know how tomorrow is gonna be, so..." she dredged. "But I heard your shop is outstanding itself — congrats, Fred."

Fred only blushed because he didn't have time to comment on her praise since George appeared next to them, with his ice cream in his hands.

"Hi, [y/n]," he smiled, but his expression and tone were nowhere near the joy in Fred's.

"How are you, George?" she asked politely, noticing that she was braver to do small talk with George than Fred.

"Fine as one can be knowing Voldy's out there," answered the twin, his voice tone so standardized, it showed how many times had he answered that. "You do believe in his return, right?" he asked; suddenly, he remembered she used to be a Slytherin.

[y/n] pretended not to care when George suggested so easily otherwise, even though Fred, in front of her, seemed close to slapping his twin. She was used to other people's prejudice.

"Oh, I do," she said. "I'm with parents buying supplies, really but, right now, I just ran away from them."

"They're getting on your nerves?" asked Fred, quickly remembering their time in school when [y/n]'s mom used to send her letters almost every day.

[y/n] took in Fred's friendly and joking smile. She didn't realize she missed the twins. Missed Fred.

"My mom knows how to stress someone," [y/n] let out.

"Probably learned with ours," commented George, sighing playfully. Then he turned to his twin, "Fred, we gotta go; we can't leave Verity alone for too long."

Fred pressed his eyes shut with enormous force — he knew his twin was correct, but he didn't want to leave.

"Go ahead, George, I'll catch up," Fred said finally, avoiding [y/n]'s eyes, scared it would reveal that she did not want him there.

They were friends or at least used to be, and after school, they just lost touch. [y/n] pushed herself away from all her friends on purpose, and Fred didn't think he could be an exception. Besides, she spent most of her time in the muggle world, pursuing her career — which was no secret to the gossip of wizardly London that she was failing. She had yet to get any parts in any movies or plays, and the most prestigious families were saying all horrible things about her.

His own mother was one of the gossipers spreading rumours, but every time she said anything near Fred, he would jump at her, shutting her up.

"So..." she started saying and scratched her throat. "How's your family?" she asked finally. "I bet your mom doesn't complain about the joke shop anymore."

He smiled. It could be awkward between them sometimes, but it was pretty easy to fall into a comfortable flow.

"She doesn't, you're right," he laughed with his nose, pausing to take his ice cream. "And Ron is always asking us for money now."

"As he would," [y/n] smiled, remembering tenderly of the lovely Weasley family.

"And you? How's the career going?" he almost joked as he used to do, mentioning she was a porn star, but now that the rumours said she basically had no career, he was scared she had run to that option as her last resort. And who was he to judge?

"You mean acting?" she asked and puffed, playing with her ice cream. "I've given up on it not so long after I left Hogwarts."

"You're kidding."

"Nope," she sighed. "I tried, sure, 'cause I'm not that coward, but.. it was clear it wouldn't turn out to be anything. I'm always the weirdo at auditions, always saying something wrong... I thought watching tons of muggle movies would leave me as a great performer of the muggles' grimaces, but it sure didn't. Or simply just wasn't enough."

"I can't believe you quit," he said. "You craved it so much back at school."

"That's cause I didn't know what it really was like back at school," she sighed again. "They don't want me not even backstage."

"That can't be true!" Fred looked — and it probably was the first time [y/n] had seen him like that — a mix of angry and exasperation.

"Don't let it get over your head, Fred," she avoided his eyes. "I don't."

He stared at her, for a moment just the two of them and the silence.

"Besides, I'm working with my dad at his muggle bookshop," she shrugged. "You should stop by anytime. if there's someone that can make you read a book, and like it, it's my dad."

Fred still wanted to talk about [y/n]'s acting career but he understood the subject could still be sensitive to her.

"I doubt that," Fred let himself smile again.

They spent more minutes talking, picking up in all the subjects they could and then reliving old memories until Fred remembered he had to go back to work.

He got up, saying his goodbyes, while [y/n] stood there, her ice cream already eaten.

"See you, Fred," she said, her tone clear of her sadness.

Fred only took two steps before turning back at her. He pressed his hands in his pants pockets — a million feelings going to his head, most of them telling him to give up.

But he remembered how much he wanted to do that since Hogwarts, and with her, and only with her, he simply never gathered enough courage.

And that wasn't fair.

[y/n] deserved a chance with him as much as any girl. He deserved a chance with her as much as any guy.

"[y/n]," he swallowed, nervous as her eyes met his, "would you by any chance like to go out with me?"

"I'd love to!" she said, not even remembering she ever wanted to go out with him, but now feeling like that was all she ever craved.

Two Days Later...

The night had been exciting. Spending hours before a mirror, hoping for the best look had paid off, [y/n] noticed because Fred Weasley couldn't stop staring at her with big eyes.

They managed to talk a bit about everything, always having something new to add to their conversation. Even when they remained in silence, it wasn't bad. It was anxious but great.

And then he insisted on dropping her off, which only made her more nervous. She wanted to kiss him and she hoped so badly he enjoyed his night as much as she had so he would want to kiss her too.

At Hogwarts, she could not deny it, it had occurred to her kissing Fred. However, it was always when she was too drunk to manage a congruent thought or when her friends asked who of their friends she could kiss. But the fact is: they never did.

A corner of her mind wondered if she ever really did have a window with him back then, but school memories were all a blur in her mind. It seemed obvious now that she and Fred could match, but back then, not so much.

Fred was thinking the same. He liked her. He always did.

They knew each other before Hogwarts, and even if at first (she being a Slytherin and all) they were apart, their friendship rose so easily on their second year and managed to stay firm until the very end.

He remembered wanting to kiss her but it was never as bad as he wanted now, when he had her hand in his, and she was blushing simply because they were standing side to side.

And when he finally did, finally allowed his lips to touch hers — heavens — he could have died right then. It felt right. It felt good.

Fred had kissed many times before, but none felt as close to perfection as this time.

He pulled her in softly by her cheek, letting his lips simply brush against hers and she gasped, opening her mouth, desperate for more.

Then his hands were everywhere, and [y/n] was not reserved herself. She pulled forward, holding grasp of his hair, and it was unclear to determine who would let go first.

Perhaps never let go was a good solution. They both thought so.

One Year Later...

Fred Weasley lied before her, forever moveless.

She could not believe it.

She reached for his cold hands and squeezed, hoping her touch would be enough to reverse what was irreversible.

On both of her sides, there was a Weasley crying, desperate as much as her.

But the only one feeling as hollow as her, the only one that could compete as her sadness was George. No words were able to comfort.

Not right there, not at the burial ceremony, not at her empty apartment above the joke shop.

Everything reminded her of him.

They had been together for only a year, but he was her best friend before that. Somehow, when she played different scenarios in her head, she felt like she could have suffered more if they had stayed just as friends.

It was the latest memories the ones that hurt the most. She knew they were in danger when the war began, but both were not going anywhere, and Fred had hope.

Every night in hiding he would hold her against his bare chest and whisper that they were going to be okay. Sometimes he even joked she would get out of it with a movie deal about the Wizarding War.

[y/n] and George helped each other out of their worst moments, creating a friendship tighter than they had before. But, eventually, she knew that without Fred she did not belong in the joke shop building.

At Fleur's and Bill's wedding, Fred had made her promise she would try the film industry once again.

"You know," he said, whispering in her year while they slow danced, "your dad says you like to write. Perhaps you should write a script."

"Perhaps," she smiled. "But about what should the movie script be?"

"About me, of course," he joked.

How she wished he was there with her.

Walking in to deliver her first script.

About them.

About her.

About him.

#fred weasley #fred and george #fred weasley x reader #fred and goerge weasley #harry potter #harry potter fanfiction #george weasley #george weasley x reader #james phelps #weasley twins #draco malfoy

208 notes · View notes

someonestolemyshoes · 3 years

Text

Summer Wine

This is my gift fic for the Levihan University servers Christmas in July event! My giftee was the wonderful _myunet on twitter and instagram - I went with the summer holidays theme, and we all know I’m a sucker for childhood friends, so... I hope you enjoy :)

“This is a stupid idea.”

Levi trailed helplessly behind Hange as she shimmied along the crack of an alley between two barns, a narrow shortcut from the main yard to the back field that kept them out of view of the main house. She held a bottle of wine in one hand, cool from the fridge, condensation beading as the chill glass met the stuffy summer heat. It was getting late, the ghost of a moon and a smattering of stars decorating a purple sky overhead, while the horizon bled deep pink where the sun dipped below the skyline.

The set of the sun did little to temper the heat. The air was muggy and stagnant, heavy on his skin as Levi broke out at the end of the alleyway and trotted to catch up with Hange's longer strides. She twisted quickly to look at him, walking backwards past the lamb shed to shoot him a wicked smile, wiggling the bottle.

"It'll be fun!" She said brightly. "And it's not stupid if it's fun."

She turned before he had time to argue, dancing on her toes to keep her footing as they crossed onto the field. The grass had been clipped short and left to dry in the sun, and in the still, quiet night the crunch of it underfoot was deafening. Hange hummed absently as she picked her way over to the haystack, swinging the bottle at her side.

They were out of sight of the house, here, but Levi still felt a little uneasy. Hange's parents weren't strict, but this might just push the boundaries of their tolerance—clambering around the farm yard in the growing dark was bad enough, nevermind doing it with a belly full of wine they were both too young and too dumb to drink. But the day had been unbearably hot, and the wine was cool, and Hange's summer holiday had been filled with too much work, early mornings and busy days and not enough time to relax and enjoy a few weeks of academic freedom, and she'd watched one too many movies with underage drinking and maybe she'd felt envious, maybe she'd felt inspired. She'd texted Levi asking if he wanted to do something fun, and Levi had agreed without asking too many questions, and now here they are.

Hange was toeing her shoes off at the base of the silage stack. 'So we don't put holes in the plastic,' she'd told him, years and years ago, when they were almost too small to clamber up even one bale. She hoisted herself up with ease now, and Levi did the same, following her path up each layer of round, wrapped bales. The plastic stuck to the soles of Hange's bare feet ahead of him, tacking and squeaking as she climbed. The sun had shifted from the field hours ago, but the black wrapping was still warm beneath his palms, and the hay smell was overpowering, woody and still fresh. It will change, as the year goes on and the cut grass ferments into something sweeter, richer, more earthy, but the bales were freshly gathered, the summer still young.

Hange plopped down right in the middle of the top of the pile, sinking into the cleft between two bales. She wriggled to adjust until she was comfortable, dipped in a shallow V with her back against one bale and her legs against the other. She patted the space beside her, grinning, and Levi settled into it.

The air shifted some, this high up. The breeze was light and bare, but it felt refreshing after the oppressive stillness they'd endured all day. Hange unscrewed the lid from the bottle and took a tentative sniff. She winced.

"Smells awful," she said. And then she took a sip.

Hange's face screwed up the moment the drink hit her tongue, eyes squeezing shut and lips pursing as she struggled to swallow it. She shook her head, shuddering, and held out the bottle. "Your turn."

Levi eyed it warily. Hange nudged it against his chest. "C'mon, it's not so bad."

Levi raised a brow at her. "You look like you drank piss."

"It's fine," she said, and to prove her point she took another, bigger sip. She stifled her reaction, but Levi could see the way her throat bobbed reflexively, swallowing air, and the way her eyes watered behind her glasses. Levi rolled his eyes at her.

"Convincing," he said. Hange nudged him with the bottle again, and again, and again, until he grabbed it, if only to stop her incessant poking.

"I think this counts as peer pressure," Levi said, taking the bottle from her grip. Hange grinned widely.

"Absolutely. Drink."

Levi didn't dare smell it. He eyed the pale liquid warily for a moment, then sucked in a breath and pulled the bottle to his lips, tipping it back.

Hange was right. It wasn't bad. It was fucking disgusting. The drink was cold and flat, but it fizzed strangely on his tongue and burned as it slid down his throat, settling hot and uneasy in his gut. The taste lingered unpleasantly, tart and acidic. His expression soured uncontrollably, and beside him, Hange let out a raucous laugh.

"Tastes like drinking piss," Levi said.

"It's vile," Hange agreed. Still, she took the bottle from him, and drank another mouthful down. "God, how does mum like this?"

Levi shrugged his shoulders. The strangest thing was, now that the burn had settled, his stomach felt pleasantly warm. The bitter taste had abated into something mild, sweeter and a little fruity on his tongue. He took the bottle from Hange and drank again.

Hange settled back against the bale and rubbed her hands over her face, pushing her glasses out of the way to grind her knuckles into her eyes. She looked worn, tired. Her cheeks and nose were pink and raw from exposure to the sun, and her exhaustion had bruised her eyes, leaving the skin puffy and purple.

She sighed heavily. "This summer sucks."

Levi lowered the bottle, but said nothing. He had grown used to spending almost every waking second of the summer holidays with Hange—when they were small, too small to play without supervision, Hange had passed the summer days with Levi and his mother while her family worked the farm, and then when they were older, free to exore, they'd filled their time with play on the farm, Levi dutifully trailing Hange wherever she went.

Hange had always been a lively, extroverted kid, a stark contrast to Levi's quiet, insular nature, and at times he had found her boundless energy overwhelming. Too touchy, too loud. Too much. But Hange never minded that he rarely spoke, that he shied away from people, quiet and brooding to mask his discomfort, and with time, Levi had grown used to her. They fell into an easy routine with each new summer, finding new ways to fill their time—but this year was the first since Hange's brother had moved away, and they were one hand short on the farm. Hange had helped in the past, odd jobs here and there throughout the year, but this summer was intensive, task after task from dawn until dusk, with barely a moment to breathe. Levi had hardly seen her for the last three weeks, and likely wouldn't see much of her at all until school started up again. It was weird, too quiet and too still without her.

She let out a frustrated sound and plucked the bottle from his hand, gulping from it, this time. She looked ridiculous, puckering her lips when she lowered the bottle. "I want a day off. We haven't had time to do anything."

"We're doing something now," Levi said. Hange laughed, low in her throat, and raised the bottle as though to taste his word, before she drank again. With the moon high and full, Levi could see the colour in her face, flushed pink from the alcohol, and her eyes were growing glasses behind her lenses. He wondered if she was feeling the drink as much as he was—his head was light, a little woozy, but his limbs felt weighty and graceless, fingers fumbling to take the bottle back from Hange, wrapping clumsily over her hand as he did, and has her skin always been this soft? Her hand felt impossibly smooth beneath his fingertips, and when she laughed again, her voice rang brighter than usual, chiming in his ears. The effect was strangely dizzying.

"We are," she said, after a time. "We are doing something now. It's nice. I've missed it—I've missed you."

Levi hummed in acknowledgement. Things like this, they didn't come easy to him; words of affection fell from Hange's lips so often, without pause or debate, as though it was the simplest thing in the world, while Levi stuttered and stumbled in his own head for too long before inevitably saying nothing. He had missed Hange, had felt a little lost without her, bored and restless at home. Saying as much was hard. Levi held out the bottle for her instead, and watched as she tipped her head back to drink it.

The alcohol made him feel weightless and floaty, absent, strange—so strange, but it wasn't a bad feeling. He watched the way Hange's lips pressed plump against the mouth of the bottle, the way strands of her hair had fallen from her messy ponytail, and curled loosely against her neck. An unfamiliar heat spread in his chest, his belly, his cheeks. He looked quickly away.

The bottle was a little over half empty when Hange set it to one side, reclining back against the curve of the bale and settling her hands on her stomach, staring up at the starry sky. They had so much space, up here, plenty of room to spread out, but Hange had moved until they were so close they were touching, pressed together at shoulder and hip and knee. Levi wasn't one for so much physical contact, but the wine made him warm and pleasantly heavy, and there was something nice about the way Hange felt against his side—comfortable, almost, but that isn't quite right, because comfortable would imply he was relaxed, and Levi didn't feel relaxed at all.

Touching Hange wasn't new to him. She was the most tactile person he knew, only content with her arm linked through his, her feet in his lap, her weight leaning on his side, some point of connection between them. She had been the same for as long as Levi could recall, and he had grown used to it. Sometimes, he even liked it.

But it never made him feel quite like he did now; restless, itching to press impossibly closer, to feel impossibly more.

"We could've done so much more though," Hange said. "We could've gone to the cinema—"

"—I already told you, I'm not watching the Shrek anniversary screening with you."

Hange dutifully ignore him. "Or the beach! We could've gone swimming in the sea, maybe, and—ooh, we could have had a 99, I haven't had one in ages."

"You'd shit your pants, stupid. You're lactose intolerant."

Again, Hange waved him off flippantly. "Ice cream is worth it. And maybe we could've camped some—remember when we used to camp in the front field?"

Levi hummed. "Never got any sleep. Too much sugar. Too many bugs."

Hange chuckled at his side.

"It was fun. Although, I think we might be a little too big for the tent now. It'd be a squeeze."

Levi thought about how close they were now, plastered to each other's sides as they stared up at the stars. It might not be so bad, cosy in the canvas of Hange's battered old tent, with a blanket to share and the leftover wine instead of fizzy drinks.

He had intended on keeping that thought quiet, store it somewhere private, but the wine loosed his tongue, and before he could think to stop himself, he said, "it would be nice."

Hange let out a long, rising hum beside him. "Yeah? Maybe I'll look for the tent tomorrow. We could tell scary stories like we used to, and you can pretend you're not frightened by the cows walking around in the next field."

Levi scowled up at the sky. "Just like old times," he said flatly. Hange snickered, digging her elbow into his ribs.

"So cute," she teased. "The only time you've ever been cuddly in your whole life, I bet."

"I was cold."

"It was like, twenty degrees."

Levi dug his elbow back at her. "Fuck off."

Hange squirmed at his side, wriggling away from his prodding. She laughed, breathless, and settled only when Levi stopped poking at her, sighing out a long breath.

"Remember when we tried stargazing?"

"Mm. You just made up your own shitty constellations."

"You believed me."

"I was nine, and stupid."

"Now you're sixteen and—" she cut herself off with a high squeal when Levi jabbed her side again, this time with his fingers, digging deep into the soft tissue beneath her ribs. He relented only when Hange begged him to, panting and strained, laughing loud and full.

Levi lay back to look up at the stars again. He could remember, vividly, the way Hange had pointed up at the distant sky, one long finger tracing nonexistent patterns in the stars. She'd had a lisp, then, still adjusting to her braces, words thick and clumsy when she said, 'See those stars there? There's a tail, and ears, and a big head with huuuuge teeth. That's Catticus Rex.'

Levi hadn't seen it. He had squinted with all his might, but the stars were just stars, random, disjointed. No Catticus Rex in sight. Still, he had said, 'yeah. Cool. What else?' And Hange had showed him Ursula ('like The Little Mermaid?' 'No, like a bear'), and The Big Duck, and one she called Jeffrey, and Levi had discerned nothing, but stupidly pretended all the same.

She was doing just the same now, though her arm was much longer, less weedy, muscle rippling under skin as she extended into his field of vision, drawing a shape in the air. Her voice was deeper than it was back then, and smoother. It sunk right into his chest as she spoke.

"That one is…..Hercules. See it?"

He didn't see it. He saw nothing more than flecks in the sky, swimming strangely in his addled vision.

"No."

Hange sighed, and dropped her arm. "Yeah. Me neither. Everything's moving too much."

Levi snorted. Hange talked on, naming constellations they should be able to see, but it's all purple sky and bright specks that blurred in and out of focus as he blinked, lids terribly heavy, and the way they shimmered made him feel a little nauseous. He rolled his head to the side to look at Hange instead, and—oh, she was close. So close, he could see the stars reflected in the dark of her eyes, and the way the wine had flushed her skin pink, the smattering of freckles over her nose. The breeze blew gently, and up this close Levi could see the way each individual hair on her head lifted and ruffled with it. He could see the length of her lashes and the shadows they cast on her cheeks when she blinked, long and slow; he could see the slope of her nose, her lips, caught in a stupid, absent smile as she stared up at the night sky. When did Hange get so pretty? It must have been a gradual development, but the last Levi could recall, she was a gangly pre-teen with stick limbs and a thin, rakish frame. She was still tall and still thin, but there were subtle curves at her hips that balanced out her broad shoulders, and the puppy fat on her face had disappeared, exposing the sharp line of her jaw and high, prominent cheekbones.

The heat in his chest can't be from the alcohol. They set the wine aside a while ago, so neither could he blame it for the restless energy bubbling under his skin, or the way his fingers twitched at his side, the urge to reach out and trace Hange's profile so sudden and his reflexes so sluggish and addled that his hand was already halfway in the air between them before he could think to stop it.

Hange's head lolled sideways to look at him. At some point, Levi must have shifted the impossible distance between them, for when Hange turned, their noses bumped together. Hange's fringe tickled his brow. He tasted the wine on her breath when she sighed out. His must taste the same, blowing hot over her lips, and her lips—

Levi never thought too much about kissing. He'd never had all that much interest, even now, as a teenager, when almost everyone around him seemed so charged, so eager to try all these new things they'd learned and discovered. Kissing sounded unpleasant, wet and messy and weird, and Levi had never once thought about kissing another person as much as he thought about kissing Hange now.

It must be the wine. That's what Levi told himself. The wine making his head a little fuzzy, his thoughts sluggish, bizarre, unfiltered. Hange was his friend, his best friend, and surely most people don't think about kissing their best friend. But his head was empty save for the way Hange's mouth looked, the way her breath felt on his skin.

Hange kissed him first. At least he thought she did—one moment they weren't kissing, and the next they were, and Levi hadn't meant to move but maybe he had anyway, maybe he had closed what little space was left and brushed his lips against hers, so soft, so light, he wondered if maybe he imagined it. He closed his eyes, head spinning, and Hange pressed her forehead clumsily against his own, resting there.

The world around them spun strangely in the darkness, time a fuzzy, frame thing, warping around them as Hange bumped her mouth to Levi's again and again, each time better and longer and more solid than the last.

And then the sky was a pale, watery blue, sunlight peeking over the distant horizon, as birds chirped loudly, screeching the new day. Levi swallowed, but his mouth was disgustingly dry, tongue like cotton behind his teeth. He blinked against the mild pounding in his head and shifted to ease the ache in his back, but something heavy laid over his chest and legs, pinning him.

Hange.

She lay at his side, contorted into the cleft of the bales, with one leg thrown over Levi's thigh and her arm sprawled across his abdomen. She snored softly in his ear.

Memories of the night rushed him; the picture of Hange under the moonlight, the blush of her face and the lilt of her laughter. The soft press of her lips against his. His face burned at the thought and he looked quickly away from her.

Trying not to disturb her, Levi shuffled, reaching to pull his phone out of the pocket of his shorts. 4:59am. He groaned, back seizing from the uncomfortable sleeping position, and Hange’s breath hitched and stuttered as she woke. She groaned, too, and turned to press her face into the bale, away from the glaring daylight.

“Time is it?” she asked, voice hoarse. Levi told her, and she let out a lamenting moan, rolling onto her back and wincing, unfurling her body and stretching her spine. She looked ridiculous, wrinkles on her cheek from the plastic wrapping and red welts on the bridge of her nose where her glasses had dug into the skin. “Shit. Mum might kill me.”

“Probably. You stole her wine and passed out in a field.”

“Can we count this as camping?” Hange said, laughing a little as she scrubbed at her face. Levi shrugged. He sat up, peeling himself away from the plastic and straightening out his wrinkled clothes.

They were quiet as they climbed down from the haystack. Hange hid the half empty bottle in the long grass by the wall, and led the way quietly towards the alleyway. Hange's quiet made him feel a little uneasy. He hadn’t drunk enough to forget what happened, and he doubted Hange had either, and he had hoped—expected, really—that Hange would be the one to bring it up, needle some kind of discussion out of him. He had relied on it. He couldn't mention it, not with his clumsy, crass tongue; he'd mess it up, say something biting, insulting, something that implied he hated it and that—well, that wasn't true at all.

They were almost at the end of the narrow alley when Hange stopped walking. She turned to him with a tired smile, shoulder-leaning the barn and folding her arms loosely over her chest. Levi shuffled his toe into the dry, crusted dirt. It was hard to look at her.

"I had fun," Hange said, after a short pause. Levi nodded. The air between them felt full, oddly charged, and Levi realised with a start that perhaps, for once, Hange was just as lost for words as he was. He cleared his throat.

"It wasn't bad," he said. Hange rolled her eyes, shaking her head.

"I suppose that's the best I'm gonna get, right?"

Levi swallowed. Hange scrutinised him for a time, eyes a little pinched as they scanned over his face. She made him feel terribly exposed, in times like this, when her gaze turned so analytical, picking apart every twitch of his brow or tick of his jaw. He stood, pinned, while she watched him, and then she nodded once, decisive, as though she had come to some conclusion.

She pushed her shoulder off the wall. Levi watched her step closer, her arms dropping to swing at her sides. Her eyes glinted behind her glasses and her face was set, determined, as she stopped with half a foot of space between them.

And then she bent forward, neck craning down to meet him. And she kissed him.

Levi stood frozen. Hange's lips felt dry and chapped, this time, and cooler with the fresh morning air, and there was a stiffness to her, an uncertainty that made her oddly unyielding. It was different to the kisses they'd shared last night; more reserved. Unsure.

She must have noticed Levi's matching posture, spine snapped straight and body held taut in surprise, for she pulled away quickly, straightening up and tilting her head a little to look at him.

"Sorry," she said. "Was that not okay?"

Maybe it shouldn't have been. The night before had been dreamlike, floaty and soft, timeless. He had melted so easily into kissing Hange then, all soft lips and warm breath and the tang of wine on his tongue. A stark contrast to this kiss.

Both made him stomach warm in the strangest way. Both made his heart rattle in his chest.

Both were good.

"It...wasn't bad," he said again. "Nice," he clarified when Hange's questioning gaze searched him once more. Her face broke into a smile, and Levi's cheeks heated.

"Yeah?"

Levi nodded. "Yeah. Your breath smells like arse though."

Hange threw her head back in a laugh that rang down the alleyway. Her eyes were bright when she looked back at him, narrowed by the swell of her cheeks as she smiled, and she leaned forward again. Levi was ready, this time, but Hange didn't kiss him—she opened her mouth wide, and blew hot air right over his nose.

Levi recoiled, and scowled over at her. Hange looked delighted with herself, cackling wickedly and skirting out of his reach when Levi made a grab for her, but the alley was narrow, and Levi was quicker, snagging the front of her shirt in his fist and yanking her back towards him and—

He had intended revenge. Pinching her, poking her, blowing right back because his own breath must smell just as bad, but it was all too easy, with the momentum, to haul her close and kiss her again.

It was incredible, how kissing Hange made him just as dizzy as the wine did.

She withdrew after a few lingering pecks, eyes bright and cheeks pleasantly flushed. "I really have to go."

Levi hummed. Hange seemed hesitant to leave, rocking from heel to toe and chewing on her lip, but then a noise sounded from the main house, the creak of hinges and the thud of a door closing, and she cursed quietly, grimacing.

"Wish me luck," she mumbled under her breath, and then, with one last quick wave, she took off towards the house. Levi watched until she rounded the corner before he skirted the front of the barn and ducked out of the yard, following the road for home.

He rubbed his fingers absently over his lips as he walked, and his cheeks pulled into a small, private smile.

The holidays so far had been boring, without Hange. Lonely. But, he thought, with the memory of Hange's kisses fresh in his mind, this summer didn't suck too badly after all.

#LevihanXmasinJuly #levihan #snk #my writing #I have never felt more stress in my life than I did this weekend trying to get this finished GHJKJHG #don't procrastinate kids!!

94 notes · View notes