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starmapz · 3 months ago

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what you know - ch6: intoxicated || r. sukuna

❦ ryomen sukuna x f!reader [college au] [ongoing series]

❝ you've heard his reputation and you've seen first-hand the way he's late to class if he even bothers to show up. paired with him for the most important project of the year, you choose to give him the benefit of the doubt- but maybe that's more than he deserves when your perfect grades depend on him, or maybe there's more to the aloof and irritable sukuna than meets the eye. ❞

❦ cw ; mdni, 18+ only. contains explicit sexual themes and content. use of alcohol. use of cannabis. use of nicotine/cigarettes. angst. hurt/no comfort. hurt/comfort. implied injury. family trauma. mutual pining. smut. slow burn. anxiety. panic (attacks). mentions of difficulty eating. vomit. tags will be updated as series continues.

❦ additional tags ; college parties and themes. sukuna ooc warning as this is a realistic take on modern sukuna. reader is fairly preppy and implied to be smaller than sukuna, but he's 6"11.

❦ words ; 12.7k.

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Brushing the snow from his jacket, Sukuna flips his hood down and runs a hand through his disheveled hair. He’d gotten up early enough to work out before taking the kids to school, but in usual fashion, his overly-excitable little brother had been such a handful that Sukuna didn’t get a chance to finish getting ready. He opted for a shower and just threw on the first set of clothes he could find.

He blows a breath out through his nose, scanning the lunch hall. He hasn’t exactly worked out what the hell he’s planning on saying to you after last night, but a promise is a promise and he swore to join you for lunch. He’s failed you enough times.

He trudges up to your usual table with his hands in his pockets, his usual aloof expression plastered across his features, though it twists to confusion as he realizes you aren’t there.

Haibara’s the first to notice him as he pauses a small distance behind your blonde friend. Kento, Sukuna thinks?

“Hey, Sukuna!”

He grunts in reply, before inquiring about your whereabouts.

Shoko and Kento exchange a glance that Sukuna recognizes as cautionary. “She’s sick,” Shoko’s eyes twitch as she narrows her gaze on him suspiciously. “She is sick, right Sukuna?”

Although he doesn’t mind Shoko, he doesn’t like what she’s insinuating, even if she is right. Clenching his fists in his coat pockets, he scowls at her with a tense jaw. “How the hell should I know?”

Shoko’s gaze lingers a moment longer before she sighs, giving in. “She said she was studying at home today. She doesn’t want anyone getting sick before finals,” Shoko explains, swinging her fork around as she speaks.

“That’s nice of her,” Sukuna comments, shooting a pointed glance at Kento who won’t stop glaring at him, which only serves to piss him off further.

With a final nod of acknowledgement intended primarily for Shoko and Haibara, Sukuna turns on his heel and heads back out into the snow. He loathes the strange sensation lingering in the back of his mind that he’s retreating from Shoko and Kento’s scrutiny like a dog with its tail between its legs, but what other option does he have? He’s not about to fight with them. Pushing the thought to the back of his mind, he heads towards the library with the intention of sending you an email.

Once isolated in the cold again, he lets out a sigh as his breath billows into the freezing winter air. Contritefully, he watches as snowflakes fall slowly and dissolve on the sleeve of his coat.

Fuck.

Shoko had every right to drag him through the mud the way she had, he knows she’s right. You’re not sick. He would have believed it if you were still watching over his sick little brother, but that hasn’t been the case for a while. You’re avoiding him. Without classes, you chose to stay home and avoid the possibility of running into Sukuna.

Lightly kicking a rock as he steps through the snow, the burly man pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. He should be studying in the small amount of spare time he has. He should take extra shifts. He should go Christmas shopping for his brothers. He should meal prep. He should be doing anything other than skulking around campus thinking about the things going wrong in his life.

The worst part? Aside from one very large and glaring issue, you’re the source of all of his problems. Well, no, that’s not fair to you. You just happen to be at the center of all of them, but if he’s honest with himself, he knows there’s more to it than that.

You may be the source of all of his problems, but Sukuna is the cause of each and every one of them.

Taking a step towards the rock he kicked earlier, he sends it flying into the brick of the library with a satisfying thunk before ducking into the building.

Settling quietly in the corner of the library, Sukuna pulls out his laptop and opens his email, doing his best not to think too hard about what he’s typing.

[email protected] - Friday, 12:11 PM heard youre sick. you okay?

After hitting send, he leans over the table, running his hands over his face to mentally reset himself before diving into his studies.

To Sukuna’s relief, you do reply to his email just over an hour into his studies. He knows he fucked up, but at least you’re still acknowledging him this time.

[email protected] - Friday, 1:34 PM Yeah, sorry. I forgot to tell you.

He frowns at the sight of your email. It’s an awfully dry response in comparison to your usual bright demeanor. His fingers rest idly over his keyboard as he contemplates his reply.

[email protected] - Friday, 1:38 PM right. need anything

[email protected] - Friday, 1:38 PM ?

[email protected] - Friday, 1:59 PM I’m not going to ask you for soup, Sukuna.

Okay, so you’re at least a little bit mad at him. He slumps back in his chair, staring at the ceiling.

He could bring you soup.

He could. He remembers you liking the bowl from the cafe he took you to.

He clenches his hand into a fist while biting down hard enough on his lip to draw blood. What the fuck is he thinking? Finals are next week, he’s hardly studied, he has to pick up his brothers in an hour and he has work all weekend.

He doesn’t have time to chase after his frayed connection to you.

His eyes trail across the speckled library ceiling. There’s a water stain just to the left of where he sits. He remembers thinking those sorts of marks were coffee when he was a kid. In retrospect, that makes no sense.

Hell, it makes about as much sense as Sukuna’s obsession with you as of late. He doesn’t have the time, nor the mental capacity to be sitting here stewing over an email that he could be reading too much into.

Leaning forward over the table with a huff, his fingers run across the keys on his laptop as he formulates a reply that’s painfully him.

[email protected] - Friday, 2:09 PM feel better

It doesn’t shock him that you don’t reply this time.

–

For the better part of the week, a feeling of unease seems to follow Sukuna like a fly he can’t seem to swat away. Even through finals, he finds himself wanting nothing more than to slam his head against his desk in hopes that thoughts of his fuck up might finally leave.

Yet the taste of you always remains on his tongue.

Bittersweet, like the sweetest memory tainted with the reminder that it never should have happened.

It was a mistake.

Throwing his hood up over his head, he leaves the school with one thing in mind.

Your fratboy friend is throwing his end of finals party tonight and Sukuna has every intention to drink to forget. To forget about the lawsuit, to forget about the ways he’s failed his little brothers, and most importantly: to forget about you.

He knows the feeling won’t last forever, but shit, it’ll be worth the way that he pleaded with Choso’s friend’s mother to take Yuji for the night too for a sleepover.

He just needs to escape for the night. He can worry about mentally resetting himself tomorrow morning when he wakes up with a killer hangover on some disgusting couch in Gojo’s ridiculous and over-decorated house.

Until then, he’ll continue on with his day as usual, picking up his brothers from school and cooking something to eat.

“Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“What?”

“- Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna Kuna-”

“Brat! What do you want?” He shoots a look of irritation at his little brother as the youngest Itadori bounds up to him with some sort of craft in his hand.

Sukuna sets his spatula down, leaning down to get a better view of the beaded creation in Yuji’s hand. There’s a yellow lizard dappled in black spots proudly seated atop his outstretched hand as though he’s a mad scientist showing off his greatest creation.

“It’s a lizard.”

“It’s a gecko,” the little boy proudly corrects him.

Sukuna’s nose wrinkles in exasperation. “Same thing.”

“No. They’re not.” This, of course, launches into a five minute explanation of the difference between lizards and geckos, which Sukuna hums along to as he rises back to his full height to continue cooking dinner.

“- so geckos are lizards but they’re not the same as lizards,” Yuji finishes his explanation, tugging at his older brother’s hoodie to hold out his gecko again. “This one’s a leopard gecko.”

“Didn’t know you liked lizards so much, Yu.” Sukuna’s tone is mild, a calm expression plastered on his face. Yuji’s interests change by the day, the only constant seeming to be pokemon and sports, though he’s gone from basketball to tennis to hockey over the course of the last year. Not that Sukuna can afford his interest in hockey, and cautiously pushed him back towards basketball.

Turns out when you’re five, all you need is for your cool older brother to install a basketball net on the back of your door and lift you up to do a slam dunk to be enthralled with the sport again. Sukuna thanks god for that.

“I love lizards!” He beams.

Sukuna hums, a rare smile pulling at his lips. “It’s a nice bead gecko.”

“Leopard gecko. Thanks Kuna! Guess who showed us how to make them?”

The corner of his lip twitches as he stares down at the spotted bead lizard. There’s no shock when Yuji says your name. The shock comes from the dreadful feeling that sits like a stone in the base of his stomach at just the sound of your name.

Fuck, he needs a drink.

“Can I show her?”

“No, Yu.”

“Please?”

“No-”

“Please? Pleeeeeeeaaaaaase?”

This has been a repeating situation practically all week. Yuji seemed to want to show every little thing to you and won’t relent until Sukuna sends an email. He would demand to know what you replied each and every time, and while there’s a part of Sukuna that’s grateful it gave him an excuse to reach out and hold onto your tense relationship, it equally caused him to relive his guilty conscience.

Sukuna sighs, giving in to the relentless pleading of his youngest brother.

“Fine. Let me finish dinner.”

With a cheer, Yuji runs off excitedly to inform Choso to prepare his best lizard to send a photo.

Sukuna’s shoulders rise and fall heavily as he lets out a breath. He stares down at the pan in front of him, the sizzling of gnocchi and tomato sauce offering little distraction from his wandering thoughts.

It seemed no matter what he did, you were so ingrained in his life that he couldn’t escape you.

To say that’s what he wanted in the first place would be a lie. No, he never wanted to escape. He still doesn’t. He just wants things to go back to the way they were before he let his dick do all the thinking and kissed you.

If he wanted to escape, he wouldn’t have searched for you in the crowds during finals. He wouldn’t have frustratedly tossed his textbook on his desk with a thump that made Choso jump and come check on him. Your words echoed in his mind as he feigned a smirk and sent the boy away.

He’s worried about you.

Choso’s too smart for his age. He should be playing games with his friends, begging to see a PG-13 rated movie, anything but worrying about his own guardian.

The pop of tomato sauce brings him back to the present, and he hisses at the feeling of the boiling liquid hitting his forearm. He sets the spatula aside, shutting off the stove and wiping the sauce off with his thumb, popping it into his mouth with a pop!

He needs to get his shit together.

He calls the kids into the dining area for dinner, and before long he’s sitting in front of his laptop, the screen pointed at his brothers, waiting for Choso and Yuji to position themselves in front of the camera with big smiles. In Yuji’s hand is the leopard gecko that he figures you must have told him about, proudly displayed with a toothy smile. Choso’s lizard is a dark purple with a white stripe, his smile more reserved but his eyes shine just as bright.

Sukuna snaps the photo, pulling his laptop back towards him. Yuji clambers onto Sukuna’s lap, met with a grunt and a mildly irritated “enough, Yu.” Choso peers at the laptop screen quietly, watching as Sukuna opens his email chain with you. The last few emails between you both are almost the same as this one, typing out that the kids wanted to show you their lizards.

Your replies to his brothers’ antics have been more positive than your replies to him. He wonders if you knew they were constantly asking about your responses or if the rift between you was healing, but he assumes the former. You’re good with his brothers. They adore you, and you seem to feel the same towards them.

“Tell her my new favorite lizard is um-” Yuji pauses to think, pulling Sukuna back to the present. It seems he’s lost in thought a lot lately. “A frilled lizard!”

“Mm.” He glances at Choso, urging the young boy to choose one as well.

“I like… iguanas.”

Sukuna nods, typing out the boys’ message to you before hitting send. “There. Now go get ready for your sleepover.”

He lets out a sigh as his brothers restlessly go bursting out the door back to their rooms to pack a bag, ensuring they bring just about every unnecessary toy and game and no toothbrush or toothpaste to be found. Exhausted from his finals, he drags himself along after them, packing jackets, gloves, extra socks and toiletries in their stead with a lazy scolding to be more careful.

He’s beyond burnt out and while he usually resents the mother of Choso’s friend for her obviously pitious comments towards Sukuna’s situation, for once he’s glad for her sympathy. If it means he gets just one full night to himself where he can fuck off and forget about all his problems, then he’ll take it. He’ll run with it and he won’t look back.

Once he’s loaded their backpacks into the lady’s car and provided his neighbor’s number in case of emergencies, he finds himself slumping back in his bed in relief. Despite his solace, the silence carries with it an eerie sense of foreboding. He doesn’t think he’s been alone in the comfort of his own home in almost three years now, and it should be a freeing feeling, yet he’s filled with trepidation in place of relaxation.

“Fuck this,” he mutters, dragging his hands down his face. He’s never been early to a party before but fuck it, he needs to dull the sharp edges of worry and doubt with alcohol. Grabbing his keys, he opens his locked bedside table drawer, violently shoving aside ripped legal papers to grab a few blunts and a shooter of Jack Daniels. His hand hovers over a small bottle of Everclear, but he opts to keep it for a later date, certain he’ll need the hard liquor another time.

Shutting and locking the drawer, he languidly begins getting ready, moving at a sluggish pace as he runs gel through his hair in order to get it spiked just how he prefers. He grabs a Danzig shirt, the sleeves chopped at the sides with arm holes deep enough that anyone could get a peek at his abs and chest. Topping it off with a black denim long sleeve and a pair of gray joggers, he rolls his sleeves up to his elbows and throws on some cologne.

He pauses before heading out the door, his laptop seeming to loom over him like a ghost, begging him to check his email.

[email protected] - Friday, 7:51 PM Yuji!! Choso!! Those both look amazing!! You’re both so creative, it looks like it runs in the family :) Iguanas and frilled lizards are great choices. Maybe if you can steal your big brother’s laptop for a bit, you can find a bead frog tutorial. My favorite is the desert rain frog! They kind of remind me of your brother. ;)

It reminds you of him? A frog?

A quick google search has him scowling at his screen, an equally grumpy looking frog staring back at him.

Stupid. It’s stupid. He shouldn’t have looked.

Shutting the search window, his eyes train once more on your message to his brothers. Despite the fact that he wrote the email, you still seem to be upset with him, choosing to answer as though his brothers wrote it. At least you still teased him about looking like a frog.

Even if it’s stupid. It’s a stupid frog.

Slamming his laptop shut, he tosses his coat on, pockets his broken lighter in the side that isn’t singed, and makes his way out the door towards campus and Gojo’s frat house.

The weather has warmed up significantly over the past week to the point where he can’t see his breath anymore, although the ground is still coated in a thick layer of snow. Pulling out a blunt from his pocket between two deft fingers, he sets it between his lips, lighting the end and inhaling deeply.

Among the many poor decisions Sukuna has made throughout his life, he didn’t mind adding tonight to his list if it meant drinking to forget and smoking to feel calm.

Although he’s earlier than most of the crowd, the music is already pumping loudly through speakers, bass booming through the ground beneath his feet as he makes his way up the porch stairs. He doesn’t recognize the frat boy letting people in, but one disinterested glare from Sukuna is all it takes for him to step aside. After all, who wouldn’t recognize Sukuna?

Swapping his lighter to his joggers’ pocket, he tosses his jacket over a coat rack and heads further into the house in search of something hard to get him buzzed as soon as possible. He blows smoke over the heads of most of the crowd, one of the perks of being nearly seven feet tall, as he heads towards the back of the house where he knows he’ll find the kitchen.

The further he moves from the makeshift dance floor in the front living area, the more reasonable the music volume becomes. College students chatter amongst each other, speaking loudly over the pumping bass, when a familiar voice grabs his attention.

“You made it!”

“Hey, buddy.”

“Well, well, look who decided to show his face.”

Sharp crimson irises flit between Uraume and Atsuya, who greet him casually, landing lastly on none other than Toji Zenin. Always at odds with Sukuna with a shit-eating grin as he pushes the pink-haired man’s buttons just a little bit too far.

“Uraume. Atsuya. Toji.”

It’s a miracle he still considers Toji a friend. Well, maybe an acquaintance. He certainly won’t bring Toji into the fray that is his life any time soon.

And Atsuya, well… The Kusakabe family is known for wealth, so Sukuna likes to keep him at arms’ length as well. Still, he enjoys his company. Uraume is easily his closest friend and he won’t deny that seeing them seems to ease his tension, even if only a little bit.

“So, finally decided we’re worth your time again? Or did you mess shit up with your girl?” Toji barks out a laugh, as though anything he’s saying is humorous.

“She ain’t my girl,” Sukuna growls, making a point of blowing smoke towards him.

“Dunno, you two seemed pretty close at lunch last week.” The scar on the corner of his lip stretches as he grins, taking a sip of whatever concoction is in his solo cup.

“Fuck off, Zenin,” Sukuna grumbles with a roll of his eyes. Toji should consider himself lucky he isn’t about to be at the center of Sukuna’s anger, saved only by the cannabis circling Sukuna’s system and dulling his thoughts, his anger, his mind. With a huff, Sukuna heads towards the kitchen to grab a drink.

“I see he still enjoys getting on your nerves,” Uraume observes, falling into step with him.

“Mm. Dunno how ya tolerate that asshole so much,” he comments, coming to a stop in the kitchen where he stubs out his blunt in an ashtray and opens the first bottle of rum he can find, pouring himself a rum and coke.

That is, if you can consider something that’s sixty percent rum a ‘rum and coke’.

“Me too, please,” Uraume requests. Sukuna hums, pouring a much more reasonable split of alcohol for them. “You can complain as much as you would like about Toji, but I know you two used to be close. Even if he can be a pain, I can tell you aren’t as bothered as you wish for him to believe.”

It’s true. Back in high school, the two were inseparable. Toji didn’t even mind when Sukuna’s father asked the two to take young Choso along to a basketball court or movie, so long as it was appropriate. Their issues came when Sukuna’s father passed away in their first year of college and he refused to speak with his best friend about it, choosing instead to take on mountains of stress on his own. As usual, Sukuna was the cause of his own problems.

Moving out of the dorms and finding a place for his two kid brothers to stay with him, that was a whole other challenge. Learning to change diapers, figuring out a schedule that worked both for the kids’ school and his education, that was what nearly dragged Sukuna to an early grave when he got horribly sick.

That’s where Uraume stepped in, helping to alleviate some of his classwork by taking on additional project work for him. They always expected something in return, but that’s just the way Sukuna preferred to make deals. They helped him get into the swing of taking care of two young kids.

Somewhere along that path, he came to the realization that they’d also had a big piece in both his and Choso’s recovery from grief. Sukuna had grown angry and Choso hardly spoke a word. Although still irritable, Sukuna is generally more reasonable nowadays and although still quiet, Choso is more talkative than he has been in a long time.

In particular with you. He knows Choso adores you, although he’s not as loud as Yuji is about it. Yuji may as well scream it from the tops of buildings.

Taking an unreasonably large sip of his drink, he wills away thoughts of you, replacing what he gulped down with more rum.

Uraume’s brow raises. “Difficult day?”

“Somethin’ like that,” he grumbles, alcohol and cannabis running through his veins and sending his mind into a haze so that he just might be able to handle Toji. “How’ve you been?”

“I’m relieved finals are over,” Uraume takes a sip of their drink with a small smile. “And it’s good to see you around again.”

“I saw you two days ago,” Sukuna points out, arching a brow.

They hum. “Yes, but Toji has a point. You’ve been spending more time with your project partner than us, which is unusual for you.”

He sighs. “Shit, guess I have.”

“Don’t misunderstand me, Sukuna. I know you’re busy, and I can see she means a lot to you, but-”

“She’s just a project partner.”

Uraume purses their lips as they side-eye him. “... Right. Remind me, when did your project end?”

Sukuna’s jaw clenches, shooting them a sharp look.

“As I was saying, I can see that she means a lot to you, so I don’t mind. I do wish you would get a new phone as I do miss texting, but our friendship won’t change.” They shoot him a reassuring smile, one that Sukuna lowers his defenses at the sight of.

“However Toji and Atsuya aren’t aware of your situation, which makes it appear as though you’re spending all of your time with her.” Uraume takes a sip of their drink, carding a hand through their snowy locks.

“Mm.” Sukuna runs his tongue over his lower lip as they approach the couch that Toji’s splayed himself over, manspreading with a bottle of beer held in one fist. He recognizes Toji’s cousin Naoya Zenin on the other end of the couch, surprised the two can even stand to be within five feet of one another. Toji may be an asshole, but somewhere buried beneath all that muscle is a fairly genuine person. Naoya, on the other hand, is the kind of person Sukuna wouldn’t mind socking in the face once or twice.

“So,” Toji starts, that infuriating grin returning. “Tell us ‘bout your girl.”

Sukuna chooses to stand between Atsuya and Uraume, his two friends who are decidedly less irritating. It’s a wonder him and Toji were ever close to begin with, though Sukuna supposes he was a lot different back when they hung out more.

The world had changed Sukuna, hardened him into a shell of what he once was.

“I told you, Zenin,” Sukuna hisses, “she’s not my girl.”

Toji scoffs, a wide grin across his face. “Yeah right. Ya got fuckin’ heart-eyes for her. Holdin’ her hand in the lunch hall n’ shit.”

Sukuna downs more of his rum, relishing in the burn as it slides down his throat. “We were studying, shithead. I owe her a favor, that’s all.”

“Yeah? You gonna bring her home n’ cuddle all cute-like?” The raven-headed man teases.

Atsuya sighs at Sukuna’s side, chewing idly on a toothpick. “Can you two shut up?” He grumbles, knuckles white as he grips his beer bottle tighter at the grating sound of their argument. “Giving me a damn headache.”

“C’mon Atsuya, I know ya saw it too,” Toji eggs both men on.

“Toji, enough,” Uraume scolds.

“Nah, I know Atsuya saw it.”

A muscle ticks in Sukuna’s jaw, his teeth grinding as he does what he can to push his frustrations aside. Turns out a full solo cup and blunt aren’t enough to dull Sukuna’s senses to the point where he can tolerate this conversation.

He’s supposed to be forgetting, yet here Toji is pushing the thought of you back in his face, infuriating him.

He downs the rest of his rum in two gulps, staring at the empty cup with a scowl, completely dazed as he tunes out the sound of his friends.

Heart-eyes. As-fucking-if. He scoffs to himself at the thought, staring back over the heads of the crowd towards the kitchen. He needs something harder after all. He should have brought the Everclear.

His relationship with you is similar to that of him and Uraume, he’s sure of it. It doesn’t go beyond that.

So why is he drinking to forget you?

Finally pulled from his thoughts, he turns on his heel to get something harder when he realizes where the conversation has turned in his absence.

Naoya questioningly tilts his head at Toji, a sleazy grin on his face as your name leaves his lips. Sukuna’s lip instinctively curls in disgust at the sound of your name leaving his lips. That’s not where it belongs, and Sukuna doesn’t dare imagine a world where this asshole so much as looks at you, because he thinks it just might give him an aneurysm.

Hell, he thinks an aneurysm would be kinder than the thought of Naoya Zenin ever looking your way.

“She’s fuckin’ hot, she’d look sexy as hell under-” Naoya’s gaze seems to search the crowd for you, a predatory gleam in his eyes. Toji interrupts with a distasteful snarl, but it’s Sukuna’s words that seem to cut the crowd, red hot rage boiling in his chest.

“Don’t you dare fucking finish that sentence,” Sukuna barks, his tone low as he takes a step towards the vile excuse for a human being.

Naoya hardly seems phased by Sukuna’s outburst, although the throng of the crowd has dimmed in the face of Sukuna’s fury. “Aw, is she claimed, Sukuna? Is she your little playth-”

Sukuna barrels forward, not offering Naoya the time of day to speak.

Naoya’s eyes widen as Sukuna’s fist raises, barely managing to cower out of the way in time as Sukuna’s knuckles narrowly miss the blonde’s face and collide with the back of the couch. His eyes swirl with a ferocity that his friends haven’t seen before as they all leap towards him. Atsuya and Toji grab either of his arms and with a harsh pull from Toji, Sukuna stumbles backwards. They’re lucky he’s tipsy and not as stable as usual.

“Woah buddy, I’m all for teaching him a lesson, but let’s not start shit right now.” Atsuya speaks from a place of reason, but Sukuna knows he simply doesn’t want their group to get thrown out by Gojo.

… Again.

At least last time, it was Toji who started shit with Naoya.

Sukuna’s teeth are gritted as his friends hold him back. Naoya’s face has twisted from barely disguised fear into a satisfied smirk. “Did I touch a nerve, big guy?”

Sukuna lunges forward, stumbling back into the wall behind him as Toji pulls him back harshly. He grunts as his back collides with the wall, venom dripping from each syllable as he speaks in a dangerous tone. “If I hear you talkin’ about anyone like that again, I won’t hesitate to throw you through the nearest fucking wall.” Sukuna stares down at his knuckles that collided with the wooden back of the couch. They’re not bleeding, but they’ll bruise.

Naoya opens his mouth to retort, but his words die in his throat when Sukuna pushes off the wall, standing at his full height. Naoya’s tall, but Sukuna makes everyone look short. His usual smug expression falls as he chooses the cowardly option and slips away with an irritated grumble. The crowd that had gathered to watch the spat slowly begins to return to their conversations again, not daring to shoot a glance at the monstrous man spitting threats at the back of the room.

Sukuna huffs, flexing his hand as he moves past his friends to head back towards the kitchen, shoving his way through the crowd. He’s tipsy, but fuck, it’s not enough.

His brothers, his friends, even Naoya, why does everything constantly lead back to you? It’s like you’re some sort of succubus with your claws buried deep within the recesses of his mind that he can’t escape. Yet even as he spins the cap off of a bottle of Jack, he realizes it's his resentment of the way you’re so deeply ingrained in his life that’s causing him to think such a thing.

You’re not a succubus, you’re more like a fairy. Soft, sweet, and kind.

Sukuna pauses his motions, staring down at the bottle. His fingers drum lightly on the stem of the glass as something akin to distress stirs deep within him. He grips the bottle with white knuckles, his throat tight. Before he has time to consider what it is that you mean to him, Toji comes jogging over.

“Hey, everythin’ alright, man?”

The look on his face reminds Sukuna of a time long past. Of late nights at barely-lit skateparks as Sukuna learned the ropes of graffiti. Of long afternoons chatting as they passed a basketball back and forth in the late afternoon sun. It wasn’t so long ago but it feels like a lifetime after the battering Sukuna’s last few years have caused him.

“Why the hell is he even invited?” The pink-haired brute gruffs rather than offering a reply to Toji.

No, he’s not okay.

“Everyone’s invited, Ryo.”

Sukuna shoots him a glare. Everyone’s gotta have a nickname for him, don’t they? He sighs heavily, letting out a long breath before downing several gulps of Jack straight from the bottle. Just once, he wishes he was a lightweight.

He just wants his mind to go blank. He wants the racing thoughts to stop.

“Woah, let’s pace ourselves, yeah?” Toji reaches out to grab the bottle with a grimace, eyeing his long-time friend as he sets the Jack down and pours them both much more reasonable looking ratios of rum to coke. “Alright, so I guess you’re not okay. That’s fine,” he mumbles as he passes Sukuna a cup. “Let’s jus’ go have some drinks, forget about my cousin, yeah?”

With a barely veiled huff, Sukuna pushes off the counter as he follows after Toji.

Sitting alongside Toji and Uraume, a haze begins to settle over his mind that finally leaves him more comfortable. His anger dissipates and he eases more casually into conversation with his friends, something he’s needed more than ever before.

Finally, even if only for a night, he can forget.

–

“Shoko, this goes so low,” you whisper as though saying it any louder might proclaim it to the entire world.

“Yeah, that’s the point,” she retorts, grinning at you in the mirror.

“But it’s winter,” you whine, staring in the mirror at the black dress that, admittedly, does hug your curves just right, but god you feel exposed. It’s also not your usual style, and you know exactly what Shoko’s doing and why.

Ever since you mentioned being sick, she’s been on your ass about what Sukuna did, regardless of how adamant you are that he did nothing.

It’s a lie and you haven’t fooled a soul.

Sukuna did hurt you.

Again.

This time, though, there’s a certain trepidation that sits alongside the pang of hurt. Like you’re not quite sure that you’re allowed to feel hurt, so you hide it behind a smile and a lie that Sukuna did nothing wrong.

No amount of stewing over what happened in Sukuna’s bedroom has given you any answers. You’re stuck somewhere in between feeling guilty for ever expecting anything romantic from him and feeling hurt that his best attempt to reach out was a sad ‘feel better’.

Hours of wondering if all you are to him is another warm body in his bed, even though the rational part of you knows it doesn’t make sense when no one knows his reality except you. Hours of wondering if he feels anything towards you at all or if he simply doesn’t care.

Yet your mind clung to one thing, one thin string that seemed to tie to an impossible ideal. Still, you couldn’t push the thought away.

If you really mean nothing to Sukuna, why is he acting weird? Why won’t he reach out properly, hiding behind his brothers? Why hasn’t he completely pushed you away?

If you were nothing more than a babysitter, he wouldn’t bother reaching out, right?

But if you were nothing more than a warm body to him, why hasn’t he pushed you away?

Shoko scoffs, the sound grounding you to the present. “Girl, you know Gojo will let us use his closet for our jackets. That’s your worst excuse yet.” She rolls her eyes, tossing your winter coat at you. “No more complaining, we’re going.”

You cast one more glance at the frilly black dress that barely reaches your knees and follow after Shoko.

The air is warmer than you expect, making your argument even less valid the moment you’re outside. You don’t bother to refute Shoko’s triumphant teasing, even as she mentions all the people you’ll surely attract in that dress.

Your stomach stirs uneasily at the thought.

As the staple at Gojo’s parties that you two are, the frat boy at the entrance shoots you both a kind grin as he lets you through. Why they bother with a bouncer at a party everyone on campus received an invite for is beyond you, but you return the smile regardless.

The thrum of music and thick scent of liquor, weed, and perspiration suffocates your senses as you enter the house. It’s familiar, and you know exactly where Gojo and Geto will be tucked away. Nanami and Haibara headed home practically the moment finals ended.

Making your way past the kitchen and grabbing a cooler, you slip past a game of beer pong and peer out the patio to the backyard. Sure enough, the snow’s been cleared and a massive fire pit is raging in the corner. Geto and Gojo are sitting around the fire alongside a few other frat members you recognize and some women very obviously vying for a place on one of their arms.

“My two favorite ladies!” Satoru calls out as you carefully make your way over the packed snow, trying desperately not to slip in your heels. You wrap your arms around yourself, thankful for the raging fire as you and Shoko take your seats between Satoru and Suguru.

“Why do you wanna sit outside?” You mumble, holding your hands out to the fire.

Suguru chuckles beside you. “I tried to convince him otherwise, but he wouldn’t have it.”

“It’s warm tonight!” The snowy-haired man insists with an overdramatic pout.

“Just because it’s not freezing doesn’t make it warm, dumbass,” Shoko rolls her eyes, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. She offers them to the group, though only Suguru takes one. She leans over you to light it for him, smoke billowing in the air around you.

With a drink in your hand and your friends at your side, conversation comes easily and you all keep close to the fire, stoking it often to keep a steady flame. Eventually, the mix of the flame and the alcohol warms you up and with toasty cheeks, you’re staring at the fire with a steady buzz.

“How do you think your finals went?” Suguru inquires, leaning back in his camping chair.

“Killed it,” you reply confidently, eyes glazed with the thrill of vodka. “I even think I nailed history,” you proudly tell him, straightening your posture with a gleam in your eyes.

“Mmm, would a particular history major have to do with that?” He asks, a teasing lilt to his smooth voice. Your proud stance falters, your cheeks heating up further as you can only offer him a shy smile, too inebriated to defend yourself as your stomach jumps at the mere thought of him. Suguru chuckles. “I see. I’m just teasing, I won’t push like Shoko does.”

“Hey! I’m a great friend,” she narrows her eyes in a playful scowl, though Suguru just grins.

After the busy last month of the semester, not to mention finals, you’re relieved to share warm moments like these with your friends, reveling in the jokes and laughter filling the air around you.

Being able to indulge in partying is a relief too. Although Satoru does it every second or third day, you can’t partake in the same luxuries and still expect to pass. Life isn’t quite as kind to you as it seems to be for the blue-eyed campus royalty. Between your studies and looking after Choso and Yuji, you’ve had your time well-occupied for the past month.

That’s not even beginning to mention the resumes you’ve been editing for some quick cash, on top of your own.

Not that it’ll be enough extra cash to get you home for Christmas. You know your parents tried, but they’re already doing their best to pay for your apartment and day-to-day expenses. At the end of the day, you can’t sacrifice any of your savings for a trip home, as much as you would like to.

You just have to hold onto the fact that you’ll see them once you start working. Most of your friends will go home for Christmas, but that’s okay. Nanami even offered to pay your way home and have you join him and Haibara, but that just didn’t seem fair, as much as you wanted to take him up on his offer.

You’ll enjoy your time video chatting and maybe take some time to visit Satoru and Suguru’s families, who’ve kindly invited you along.

“Deep in thought?”

“Hm?”

Suguru smiles, amused. “Distracted, are we?”

Your cheeks heat up, embarrassed. “Sorry. What were you saying?” You offer him a kind smile.

“I was offering another drink, would you like me to grab you something?” He taps your empty can.

“Oh! Actually, I’ll come with you I think.”

Suguru hums, leading the way back towards Satoru’s kitchen with a much wider gait than your own. “What are you having?”

“Just whatever cooler is fine,” you shrug as he leans down into the fridge. He pulls out a couple of coolers to give you options, returning to the fridge with the can you choose not to take.

Your eyes scan the crowd from the kitchen with a mirthful, albeit dazed expression that falters when you come face-to-face with the one person who’s been a constant in your thoughts for the past week.

He’s hard to miss, towering over the crowd with a head of pink hair and sharp tattoos decorating his features. Your heart pounds in your chest at the mere sight of him. Clearly a week away from him has done your heart no favors.

Sukuna looks good. You’re so accustomed to seeing him exhausted in deep blue coveralls or a big hoodie with wet, disheveled hair and a frown that seeing him with a relaxed smirk, his hair pushed back out of his face and a chain sat around his neck, he looks handsome.

You bite your lip, tearing your gaze away from him to turn back to Suguru. A knowing smirk has found its way onto Suguru’s face and he chuckles. “Go talk to him.”

Of course, he doesn’t know about the strange fissure sitting soundly between you and Sukuna, but you appreciate his encouragement nonetheless. Even if his tone is teasing, he does have a much more genuine way of handling things than Satoru would have.

For a moment, you do consider Suguru’s encouragement, turning back to Sukuna in the corner of the house, but your heart drops as the crowd shifts.

Standing in front of Sukuna is a tall woman with long, blonde hair. You recognize her from the Volleyball team, she’s gorgeous and Sukuna’s leaning down, his lips close to her ear as he blatantly flirts with her. His eyes are lidded and tinged in red, likely both drunk and high, and he chuckles along to something the blonde says.

Blinking a couple of times, you feel your heart sinking, green with envy. You appreciate Suguru’s encouragement, but maybe you should resign yourself to a world where your feelings remain unrequited and you’re just friends with Sukuna. That is, if he even still wants to be around you. He’s so difficult and hard to read and that’s not to mention the fact he hasn’t even attempted to talk about the heated kiss-

Sukuna’s eyes flicker upwards, meeting yours and stopping. His lidded expression falters, lips pursed. His brow furrows as the woman tugs on his shirt to get his attention and pull him closer, his gaze flickering between her and you.

You tear your gaze from him, turning back to Suguru. With a light touch to his bicep to get his attention as he pours himself something, you force a smile. “I think I’m gonna go find a quiet corner to get some air,” you tell him, slinking away before he can protest. With one final glance back at Sukuna, who’s returned his attention to the blonde, you slip into the crowd.

Pushing through sweaty bodies, the bass and crowd seems to box you in. Your heart is racing too fast, your mind too buzzed, your world too hazy to be trying to handle this many people.

Finding the stairs brings with it a sense of relief, no longer suffocated by the loud music and overwhelming smell of liquor. On the top floor, several of the rooms are shut, telltale signs of couples finding makeshift privacy and you don’t dare peek into any of them. You head straight for Satoru’s room, knowing well that it’ll be locked, and knowing equally well that you have the digital code to get in.

2-3-7-8.

B-E-S-T.

Cocky as ever.

Slipping inside, you shut the door behind you and take a breath as the ringing in your ears gradually begins to mute. Taking a seat on the edge of Gojo’s bed, you let out a long breath. You’ve spent hours on end in this exact spot, watching Satoru and Suguru compete in Super Smash Bros long after you and Shoko had been knocked out.

It doesn’t usually feel so lonely.

Pulling out your phone from within your bra, the only place you could store it, you find yourself doom-scrolling whatever social media has new content. It’s a poor effort to return to the happy state you’d found yourself in only a few minutes ago, and unsurprisingly it doesn’t return.

You’re not sure how long you sit in that spot, but with nothing left to scroll, you get to your feet and pad slowly towards the window, staring out towards the balcony that overlooks the backyard. Flipping the lock, you step out into the chill air, but it hardly seems to touch you, protected by the warmth of liquor in your veins.

You should probably get a coat given that the alcohol won’t really protect you and you’re not close enough to the fire to bask in its heat, but you don’t think you care enough. Not if it means seeing the one person whose presence suffocates you. The crowd is one thing, but Sukuna seems to outweigh every single one of them with just one glance. He crowds your world in a way a group of sweaty unknown college students can’t.

You wonder if maybe you had found him earlier in the night, if maybe you would have had the courage to ask about the kiss. Liquid courage maybe, but courage nonetheless.

You wonder if he would have told you it meant nothing and to move on from him. You wonder if he would have told you to fuck off. If you’re nothing to him.

Yet somehow those don’t seem to scratch the surface of the complicated canyon of emotions that holds you both at arms’ length. Each possibility is too simple.

With a sigh, you cross your arms over the balcony, letting the cold metal raise goosebumps along your skin as you rest your chin on them. Down below, your friends seem like they’re having a good time. Shoko’s attention is on another brunette you recognize from your history class while Satoru and Suguru joke alongside some other frat members.

You long to be a part of that, but you know you would be feigning a smile if you returned.

You shouldn’t be this drunk and this jealous when Sukuna isn’t yours and never has been. Hell, he hasn’t even spoken to you in-person since the kiss.

Maybe you’re this jealous because you’re this drunk.

“Need a jacket?”

You startle at the sound of Sukuna’s voice, a mix of dread, uncertainty, and jealousy raging in your system.

“You scared me,” you murmur, standing upright. Great, just who you want to see.

Sukuna hums. “My bad.” Shutting the balcony door behind him, he takes a couple of steps forward until he’s next to you, though he keeps an uneasy distance between you.

The drop-off between you is so evident it’s almost as though it’s real and physically repelling you from one another. Sukuna shuffles, the silence unbearable to his inebriated mind as he blurts out the first thing that comes to mind.

“I didn’t fuck her.”

You sigh, rolling your eyes as the shed in the corner of the yard suddenly becomes of great interest. “Don’t say it like that…” you mumble, wrapping your arms around yourself.

“I didn’t have sex with ‘er.”

You sigh again. The phrasing wasn’t really the point behind your words, but he’s either too drunk, too high, or too focused on the way you took a step away from him to notice. “It’s none of my business, Sukuna.”

He doesn’t know what to say to fix this. You’re talking to him, and that’s a start, but he’s way too far gone to soundly come up with an apology that makes sense, so his mouth just starts running.

“My apartment’s overrun with lizards.”

Even upset, you crack a smile. It’s hard not to at the thought of his little brothers absolutely littering his place in little bead lizards, all because you showed them the trick to the feet.

“The lil’ brat lectured me on the difference between lizards n’ geckos,” he pauses, a noticeable slur to his drunken speech. “Still think they’re pretty much th’same.”

“They’re a species and a subspecies,” you reply monotonously.

Sukuna doesn’t like your tone, devoid of any emotion. He shuffles slightly towards you. You look hot, but Sukuna knows better now than to blindly follow his desires, even in his completely intoxicated state. “Jus’ because you added ‘sub’ t’the word doesn’ make ‘em different.”

You let out a long sigh. “Are we not gonna talk about it, Sukuna?” You wrap your arms tighter around yourself as you turn to face him.

He straightens, pinned in place by your conflicted scowl. Your eyes are glazed, you’re drunk too, and you seem more upset than your emails lead him to believe. Maybe it’s just the alcohol clouding his ability to grasp your expressions.

“‘M sorry.”

“You’re sorry?” You echo his apology, a brow quirked.

“Yeah. It was a mistake.”

That hits you like a slap in the face and you purse your lips, staring at the ground as you take one, two steps back from him, with the intention of heading back inside. No, with the intention of going home.

“Fuck, no, no. Wait.” Sukuna’s jaw hangs ajar as he follows your stride, walking two steps towards you. His tongue runs across his lower lip as he hesitates, brushing a hand through his hair. “That’s not what I meant.”

Your throat is tight as you fight back tears. You can’t help but wish you weren’t drunk while having this conversation, then maybe the tears wouldn’t be so quick.

“I-” Sukuna fights with himself, “- I was thinkin’ with the wrong head.”

Right. So he’s doubling down on it being a mistake. You nod slowly, turning away with a sharp intake of breath.

“Wait, shit. Wait. ‘M sorry, I’m way too fuckin’ drunk n’ high n’ shit to be doin’ this right now,” he scrambles with his words, taking another step after you. You stop again, giving him another chance to explain himself. You’ve always been too kind and patient with him.

Grappling with the thoughts running through his mind, he shuts his eyes for a moment with a deeply furrowed brow, red eyes dilating as the light of Gojo’s bedroom behind you illuminates your silhouette. Your dress suits you and frames your curves so well that it’s driving him insane, jumbling his thoughts even further. These thoughts are what got him into this situation to begin with.

“There was so much shit goin’ on n’ I wasn’t thinkin’ straight,” he slurs, red eyes flickering between yours. He can see the hurt in your eyes and he’s far too inebriated to even begin thinking about why it is that you’re so hurt he would refer to the kiss as a mistake. That’s a can of worms he can’t possibly begin to wrap his brain around in this state. “I was jus’... I dunno. I was chasin’ somethin’ I shoudn-” he pauses as his words slur, “- I shouldn’t have.”

You let out a scoff of disbelief. It doesn’t matter how many different ways he words it, at the end of the day it’s clear as mud. It was a mistake. His excuse, though? That’s just pitiful and insulting.

“Do you think I don’t have a lot going on? Do you think that somehow my problems aren’t worth as much just because I don’t have two jobs and kids?” Your words are sharp, and they take a moment to sink in.

“No. Fuck. I jus-” He pauses again, knuckles white as he balls his hands into fists at his sides, his jaw clenching in frustration. He could use a dictionary right about now. Maybe just a whole damn linguist. Hell, he needs someone to read his mind because everything is coming out jumbled and it’s pissing him the fuck off, when all he really wants to say is, “Fuck, I jus’… don’t wan’ the kids to lose ya.” He swallows hard. “I don’t wanna lose ya.”

Your shoulders fall, your defenses crumbling. What? “What?”

Now that he has your attention again, he turns back to the balcony, hunching over it. The cool metal railing lulls his heated skin. Soothes the burning anger with his own inability to process a single thought. Maybe drinking to forget wasn’t his brightest idea.

He says your name quietly. It sounds foreign, vulnerable, when it falls from his lips that way. “I’m losin’ the kids.”

You take a step towards him, tilting your head to get a better view of his face. His expression is solemn, but you’re not sure you understand where he’s going with this. They seemed pretty fond of him when you saw them last week. Choso surely wouldn’t be expressing his worries to you if he didn’t love Sukuna.

“What do you mean?”

“Their fuckin’ mother slapped me with court orders. She’s takin’ ‘em.”

Your blood runs cold, eyes widening. The legal documents. You’d always assumed it was some foolish run-in Sukuna must have had with someone with a bit too much power or money, but never once had you stopped to consider that it could be something like this.

“No, what? You’re gonna fight for them, aren’t you?” You ask, voice strained.

“The hell ‘m I supposed to do?” He barks, turning to face you with a snarl. The look on his face isn’t one of anger, however. It’s distress. “Pull money outta my ass to pay f’r a lawyer?”

You frown. “Maybe you can find a pro-bono attorney?”

Sukuna’s too drunk for this. “Free? That’s free, right?”

You nod.

“The fuck’s a shitty free attorney gonna do? Convince the court that the older brother with two jobs, school, n’ tattoos c’n take better care of two brats than the person who birthed ‘em?”

“Sukuna, come on-”

He doesn’t stop there. “No court’s stupid enough to say no when she pushed ‘em out-”

“Eugh, don’t say that.”

“- that’s not even mentionin’ the fact that she practically shits cash with how much she’s got-”

“Sukuna! Okay, I get it.” You set a hand on his bicep, grounding him as he stares at it. Your touch is searing. He’s not sure if it’s because of the cold, his anger, or something else entirely. He’s not in the state of mind to think about it. His chest heaves as your steady voice speaks so softly to him that it does manage to calm him, even if only a bit. “How much water have you had tonight?”

He huffs. “None.”

“That… makes sense,” you chuckle lightly, shooting him a tired smile. “Why don’t we start there?”

Had one of his friends asked a half hour ago, he would have rolled his eyes and downed the Jack Daniels in his pocket. After his beyond frustrating last few minutes where he couldn’t seem to get a single word out, it doesn’t sound nearly as bad.

“Fine,” he agrees, following after you as you turn to lead the way back to Gojo’s room, only to pause at the door.

“You didn’t lock the door behind you, did you?”

“What? No.” He peers over you, wrinkling his nose at the sight of a couple tangled in one another on Gojo’s bed.

You can only pray he didn’t notice you and Sukuna up on the balcony at all, he’d kill you if he knew what was going on.

“How convenient,” Sukuna deadpans, wrapping an arm around your shoulders as he shields you from the couple with his body, ducking through the room as quickly as possible and shutting the door behind him. His grip on your shoulder doesn’t relent as he keeps you close to his body while heading down the stairs, through the crowd and towards the kitchen, shielding you from the sweaty dance floor.

You scramble to keep up with him, needing to move at almost double your walking pace just to keep up with him as he drags you along. Your cheeks are burning and whether that’s from the alcohol or his touch, you’re not sure.

Once you’re in the kitchen, he loosens his grip on your shoulder and watches silently as you move around the cabinets and fridges, filling a glass of water for him.

He hums in acknowledgement, leaning back against the counter. You hop up on the marble beside him, watching as he slowly sips on the water, staring down at the liquid that vibrates with the thump of the bass.

“So,” you begin, pulling his attention back to you. “You don’t wanna lose me, huh?”

Sukuna’s sharp eyes narrow into a glare, but it dissipates as he realizes you aren’t teasing. You’re lucky he’s drunk, because there’s no other circumstance where you would get such a direct answer from him. “No.”

“Is that why you didn’t reach out to talk about it?”

He returns his gaze to the water in his hand, rippling in the glass. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know what t’ say. I overstepped boundaries.”

You sigh, glad he’s found a more eloquent way of putting how he really feels rather than just labelling the whole thing as ‘a mistake’. You wish he started with that, but obviously drunk, high, and in a panic to keep you from walking away, his words failed him. You can accept that he doesn’t see you romantically but values your friendship.

“It’s okay, Sukuna. We… both… overstepped boundaries,” you offer with a smile that doesn’t quite reach your eyes. It’s clear that what Sukuna needs right now is a friend, someone to support him and look out for him when he needs it most. You’ll be that for him, even if it means leaving your feelings for him at the door.

His eyes narrow again as he looks at you, irises flickering between your pupils as though he’s trying to make sense of something, but he lets it go to down some water, turning to the sink to refill his glass.

You don’t bring up the kids with people flooding the kitchen around you, keeping the conversation casual. Sukuna points out his friends in the corner at one point, telling you he’ll introduce you when Toji’s not drunk because apparently ‘he’s a prick’. You recognize Uraume’s name from a while ago when they had watched the kids so that Sukuna could be there to get your grade for your project. Sukuna tells you that he thinks you’ll get along well.

It’s gradual, but his speech eventually stops slurring and he joins you on the counter, though his head and shoulder hit the cabinet behind him and he hardly fits.

“Wait- that was today?”

“Mhm. I probably woulda been kicked out if Toji and Atsuya didn’t hold me back.” He flashes you his knuckles that are, as he expected, beginning to bruise.

“Something tells me you say that from experience,” you giggle.

“Somethin’ like that. Last time, it was Toji’s fault, though,” he shrugs, downing more water. You’re both now just comfortably buzzed and Sukuna doesn’t seem nearly as tense as when you were up on the balcony.

“Sounds like I should be glad I’ve never met this Naoya guy.”

“Tch. If you even see that slimebag look at you, head the other way. Guy’s a walking red flag.”

“Noted.” You kick your feet, staring down at your black heels dangling from them. “Oh, by the way, have you ever tried that diner near your place?”

“What diner?” He’s staring down at your feet as well, watching the movement as they gently sway.

“The one like a block over from your apartment, with the blue and pink logo?”

Sukuna stifles a laugh, but it still bubbles up in his chest and he snorts. “That’s a fuckin’ strip club, princess.”

“No it isn’t!” You insist with certainty.

“It’s literally called Strip Joint.” He points out with a smug grin.

“Kuna. They make chicken strips. It’s a joke, they’re a chicken strip joint.”

His lips part in disbelief as he tilts his head to look at you. “You’re kidding.”

“I’m dead serious,” you giggle. “How did you not know?”

“What do you mean ‘how did I not know’? How did you know?” He waves his hand out in the air like it isn’t quite as obvious as it seems. He’s got a point, it absolutely looks the part of a strip club with a dark outside and bright neon sign, but that only makes you laugh harder.

“You know what, now that I think about it, I actually think I know that because Satoru took us there for his birthday and thought it was a strip club,” you ponder the time you first visited, but can’t place if that was your first visit for sure.

“See!” He’s grinning, his cheeks dusted in a shade of red that suits him, just as well as his smirk does. Another one of those rare moments where you think you’re seeing the real Sukuna, even in the midst of everything bogging him down. It’s a good look on him, one that sends your heart soaring. “I’m sure the frat boy loved that.”

“You know, he wasn’t as upset as you would think he’d be,” you giggle, shaking your head.

Sukuna hums, glancing around momentarily. “Can’t believe I live right next to a chicken finger place and the boys don’t know. They’d love that shit.”

Your heart falls, but you do what you can to mask it at the mention of his little brothers. “Let’s check it out.”

“We can do that sometime,” he agrees, yawning.

“No, I mean why don’t we go now?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “You wanna take my drunk and high ass to a chicken finger shop?”

“I think that makes it funnier, honestly,” you grin, hopping down off the counter. Sukuna contemplates your request for a moment, before dropping down to his feet with a thump.

“Fine,” he huffs, shoving his hands into his jogger pockets as he follows after you. You both pull your jackets from the front coat rack and closet and step back out into the cold. Considerably less drunk than last time you were outside, it’s markedly colder.

Thank god Sukuna’s apartment isn’t too far from campus, unlike yours. You’d had every intention of crashing at Shoko’s overnight, so you’d likely just head back to her place when the night ends if you can get a hold of her.

Heels probably weren’t your greatest call with all the snow, but you manage to keep yourself from slipping by walking slower. It’s a snail’s pace for Sukuna, but as much as he grumbles and gripes about it, he’ll be more than okay.

Jogging up to the door, you pull it open with a shiver and thank every god you can think of that it’s open at one in the morning.

Just as you had said, it’s a diner that specialises in chicken strips, classically decorated in reds to go with the otherwise grayscale diner colors. Off to one side lies a row of red leather booths, while there’s a faded red counter with patches of bare oak where forearms and plates have worn the color from the wood. The lights are dim, with one at the back of the diner flickering softly.

The restaurant is empty aside from one employee and an older man drinking coffee at the counter before her.

“Have a seat wherever, dears.” The kind old employee smiles softly at you, gesturing to the booths. You return her smile, leading Sukuna to a booth in the center of the diner, a couple away from the flickering light.

Sukuna shuffles into the booth, shrugging off his coat and leaning against his bent elbow. He yawns, grunting in thanks when the employee leaves menus before you. He doesn’t look as disinterested as usual, but tired hardly cuts the dark circles lining his eyes.

You peruse the menu for a moment, glancing up at Sukuna. His eyes are skimming the menu, his fingers drumming lightly on the white table lined in metallic silver.

“What do you think you’re gonna get?”

Sukuna’s brow arches. “Chicken.”

“Alright, smartass,” you giggle. “I’m thinking of having ice cream.”

Sukuna’s gaze narrows. “You complained about it being cold the whole way here.”

“Yeah, but doesn’t that sound good?”

“Chicken sounds good,” he mumbles.

“You’re just high.”

“You’re just drunk,” he counters, a smirk pulling at the corners of his lips. He shuts the menu after a moment, setting it at the side of the table to get the waitress’ attention. The kind woman rounds the bar and pulls out a small notepad and pen.

“What can I get you?”

“I’ll have the six piece meal,” Sukuna starts, holding his hand out for you to go next.

“I’ll have the chocolate ice cream.”

“You were serious?” Disbelief drips from Sukuna’s tone as he shoots you a look like you’ve gone mad before the waitress can even confirm your orders. You kick his shin lightly under the table and he shuts his mouth with a grimace, muttering a ‘thanks’ when the waitress confirms your orders and heads back to the bar. “You were serious?” He repeats once she’s gone.

“Of course! Doesn’t that sound good?”

“Not really,” he chuckles, still leaning against his palm.

“Well, I think it sounds great.”

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever the princess wants, she gets.”

You grin at him as your stomach flutters at the nickname, following his gaze outside. The street lamps cast an eerie yellow light over the otherwise still roads, your fresh footprints the only sign of life out there. No cars pass by the side road at such early hours of the morning, the hustle and bustle of city life momentarily paused as most people settle in the warmth of their homes for rest.

“What are you gonna do, Sukuna?”

He yawns, wiping tears from his eyes. “‘Bout what?”

“The kids.”

“Mm.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. It’s a bit short for him and he has to slump down for any amount of back support. “Dunno. Not sure I can do much.”

“What about the pro-bono idea?”

“Maybe,” he hums, a little more level-headed as you inquire this time around. “I don’t think some free attorney off the streets is gonna do many favors against whatever expensive asshole their mom’s payin’ for, though.”

“Maybe, but you never know. It’s better than self-defense,” you shrug.

“Unless I find Daredevil on the streets, I get the feelin’ it won’t really matter.” The defeat hanging around him like a spectre seems to weigh heavily on him as he stares out the window.

“You can’t just give up.”

He throws his hands up in frustration, though he’s too tired to back it up with words. He supposes you can take that however you’d like, he’s not about to fight with you about this, not when this lawsuit almost cost your friendship all because his dumbass step-mother chose to deliver the legal papers at the most inconvenient time.

“They need you, Kuna. Where’s their mom been all this time, anyway?” Your brow furrows at the thought. Why does Sukuna have his brothers if their mom’s still around?

“Dunno. Overseas or some shit. She took a high-paying position and our dad refused to move us with her. When he passed, I tried to get a hold of anyone on her side of the family. Not a single word. Even the lawyers couldn’t reach any of ‘em.” He shrugs, reaching up to scratch his jaw as his gaze remains fixed out the window.

“Huh. What about your mom?”

Either Sukuna’s feeling kind today, or he’s too tired to fight your nosiness. Whatever it is, he shrugs again in reply. “Dunno about her either. I was an accident. My dad was nineteen when they had me, she signed me away the moment I was born.”

You suppose his statement from the other night about his father ‘knowing how to pick them’ makes more sense with this context. It seemed neither woman had done any of his sons any favors.

“I’m sorry, Sukuna.” “It’s whatever,” he mutters through a yawn.

“Hey, what about the law students or professors?”

He tilts his head, leaning over the table on both of his forearms. “What about them?”

“Have you spoken to them?”

“No. I dunno any of ‘em and I’m not about to get anyone involved.”

“Don’t you think it’s worth it? For Yuji and Choso?”

Sukuna parts his lips to reply, pausing momentarily when your ice cream and his chicken arrive. You both quietly thank the waitress before he continues. “‘Course, but I’m not gettin’ my hopes up.”

You frown, spooning some ice cream into your mouth. After your first bite, you chew on your lip in thought. “Would you consider talking to a law student? I know you would need to tell them what’s going on and that isn’t what you want, but…” You trail off, not really sure there’s a sound ‘but’ behind your insistence on helping him.

He sighs, finishing a chicken strip in only a couple of bites. “You think it’s worth it?”

You nod, swallowing another bite of ice cream. “I just know if I were in your position, I would be trying everything. I couldn’t possibly let go of them.”

Sukuna’s heart twists and he runs a hand through his hair. There it is again, that uncomfortable sensation of being outside of his own body as panic grips him. It’s the same feeling from when you mentioned him being their hero. It’s like you’ve dropped something on him that he doesn’t quite know how to handle.

He stares down at his plates, a muscle in his jaw ticking.

“Sukuna?”

“I’m fine,” he mumbles, strained. He subconsciously slides his foot out until he finds yours, as though he’s seeking your presence for comfort again like the night spent in his room. You set your spoon down, watching as he shuts his eyes and takes a deep breath.

You open your mouth to voice your concern, but he interrupts before you can.

“You know one? A law student?”

You chew on your lip briefly, taking in his distant expression. As though being high, buzzed on alcohol, tired, and mildly hungover isn’t all enough for one person, now he also hardly seems present.

“I don’t, but one of Kento’s friends is in the program.”

“Great,” Sukuna mutters, rolling his eyes as he jabs his chicken a little bit too harshly in plum sauce. “My biggest fan.” You knock his foot beside you, which seems to bring him back to the present somewhat.

“You know, I think if you explain to him what’s going on, he might not be so cold to you.”

The pink-haired man makes a show out of his disdain for including Kento with a dramatic groan. “If it makes it easier with the law student, then sure, but,” he pauses, shooting you a glance, “I choose what I share.”

You pick up your spoon again, shoveling more ice cream into your mouth. “I wouldn’t share any of your secrets. Kento doesn’t know about your brothers.”

He doesn’t doubt that’s true, otherwise he thinks he may have garnered just a little bit more sympathy from the blonde. He’s fairly sure the only reason he’s still just barely on Shoko’s good side is the fact that she knows he’s taking care of two snot-nosed brats.

He mutters out a barely audible thanks before focusing on his food. Even as he eats, he’s running out of steam, just barely managing to stay awake as comfortable silence hangs between you. It’s a stark contrast from a few hours ago, the rift patched and stitched with a nice little bow to top it all off and for that he’s beyond grateful.

“Do you wanna try some?” You hold out your spoon as he sets his plate aside, wiped clean.

He reaches out, taking the spoon and popping it in his mouth. “That’s pretty good. I thought it was just Breyers or some shit.”

You shake your head, staring down at the couple of remaining scoops. “I think it’s made in-house.”

He hums in agreement, leaning over the table with a yawn and you get the feeling it’s time to go home. Waving the waitress over, you request the bills with a polite smile.

“Together or separate?” She inquires with a kind smile in return.

“Together.”

“Separate.”

“Together,” Sukuna doubles down, pulling out his wallet.

“Are you sure?”

He scoffs at the question. “You got one ice cream, I think I’ll manage.”

Giving in, you nod at the waitress.

“Thank you, Kuna.”

“Mm,” he hums as he pulls out his credit card, paying quickly before sliding out of the booth and throwing his coat on. You follow suit, thanking the waitress and heading back out into the cold.

“You promise you’re okay with me reaching out to Kento about this? It probably won’t be until after Christmas, he’s back in our hometown with family,” you explain.

“It’s fine. Worth a shot, right?”

You smile at his willingness to work with you. He’s shown you an awful lot of vulnerability all night, and you appreciate his honesty, even if there’s still a pang of disappointment that your feelings for him aren’t mutual.

“You need me to walk you back to the frat house?”

Your nose wrinkles at the thought. You really don’t want to stay there if you don’t have to, and your buzz has completely faded. You have no desire to return to the party, which you would need to do if you wanted to crash with Shoko. “That’s alright, I think I’ll head home.”

Sukuna rolls his shoulders backwards, fighting a yawn. “Uber? Busses aren’t running this late.”

“Yeah, I’ll get one now.”

“I’m comin’ with you.”

“Sukuna, you’ve been yawning for the better part of the last two hours. You look like you’re ready to pass out,” you point out, reaching forward to poke him in a similar fashion to back when you first met his brothers and teasingly shoved him to prove a point.

Marginally more awake than your first encounter with his brothers, Sukuna grabs your wrist before you can poke him. “Nice try, princess. It’s two in the morning, I just wanna make sure you make it home. I’ll walk back after.”

Your heart should not be soaring like it is right now given the fact that he openly admitted to you that he overstepped boundaries, but you can’t help the way it races. “Okay,” you smile meekly, waiting alongside him for the car you hailed to pull up.

The ride is an odd one as Sukuna struggles to stay awake while the driver recounts his night, but his presence is comforting in what would otherwise be an awkward ride.

Arriving back at your apartment, you open the app and add a secondary destination, keying in Sukuna’s apartment. He sluggishly goes to get out but you dash around the car as best as you can in your heels to block him.

“Thanks for getting me home, now I’m getting you home.”

He’s too drained to start something with you for being too kind when he could just walk home, returning to his seat with resignation and a mildly contemptful expression.

“Thanks,” he grumbles, though he’s internally much more grateful than he’d have you believe.

“Text- uh- email me when you get home.”

He blows air from his nose, amused. “Yeah. Night, princess.”

“Goodnight, Kuna.”

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❦ a/n ; i hope you guys enjoyed the chicken strip conversation as much as i did, maybe i'm just tired but i though it was toooo cute something about writing sukuna fumbling through his day-to-day life is so enjoyable, this poor poor man. i love him sm 😭 as always, thank you for reading and a huge shoutout to each and every one of you who's interacted with my posts, you guys seriously make my day and are a big part of the reason i'm having so much fun sharing this story with you all. thank you all <33

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hoseoksluna · 1 month ago

Text

SCHEME | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook finds it hard to give you what you desire, but when he finally does, he discovers that your scheme is greater than he anticipated.

word count: 9.5k

pin: strategy

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, gaslighting, smoking, parental abuse and neglect, daddy issues, mommy issues, spanking, usage of belt, scars, dissociation, guilt, ptsd, raw sexual intercourse, oral sex (f. receiving), male masturbation, fingering, squirting, obsession, restraint, slow burn, praise kink, pet names, cum eating.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna’s note: here’s a LONG chapter two of strategy. i worked hard on this, actually i was absolutely obsessed with this and i couldn’t stop writing. reblogs, comments and asks are very appreciated. i hope you enjoy this, my babies. posting a day early just for you bc i can’t wait for you to read this. i love you. MWAH.

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The rain perseveres and the rain emboldens, assisting with its severity by murmuring to his ear the subtleties of the next move. The move that is his own, second in line, despite being incited by your sinful, sinful forcefulness. But now, now as he has you in this position and the torrent of the rain stands by to watch, Jungkook slowly begins to perceive that you did good.

Your selfish strategy backfired.

Not only because the discipline that awaits you will help you. Help alleviate you of your poor little bothersome horniness and carve you into the little innocent girl he met at the library, fixated on the world of her books and not forcefully pushing her way in into the realm of his passion.

All in all, and most importantly, it shall project his love for you by diffusing your bubble butt with its rough, stingy and rosy kisses, leaving behind the imprint of his lips in the form of welts—the little puffed up slits of skin he longs to cum on as he ponders it, like the slits of the garters you’re always wearing, but somehow you’re not wearing right now.

That has to change, and he will. He will be the pillar in obtaining everything he desires and no force will stop him. The two halves of his persona have amalgamated in completeness, creating a man that simply no longer cares about anything. The morals and the reasons that used to hold him back lost their powerful presence to such an extent that there hasn’t even been left a trace in its wake. No memory, no keepsake to bring up their reminiscence. All has dispersed into nothingness, just like his cigarette in front of your apartment building.

It reminds him that he’s kept his headlights on under the duress of your scheme, but it’s no problem. He won’t be long; he’ll be finished with you just as quickly as he was finished with his sweet instrument of death. You’ll be wet, wilting, burning away to your origin just like it. And Jungkook can’t wait. He can’t wait to turn your scheme into his. Time beats against him and it leads his hands to fist your wrists together behind your back, propping them on your tailbone, and he doesn’t hold back. Not anymore. Not ever again.

For the first time in his fucked up life, he feels as though the time, the cosmos and someone up beyond them, who has the ultimate power, are not against him but for him, warranting this moment, deeming it good. There’s mercifulness in it all that he senses and as much as it supports him, it softens him and mollifies him to a degree that draws out his tears.

Maybe he is a good person, worthy of love and worthy of the fleeting feeling of goodness and peace.

Jungkook’s vision blurs as he watches your squished face on the plush of the couch. He skims the leather of the belt down the supple bareness of your butt and doesn’t blink. Interest and perhaps curiosity cast a certain pinkish light that twinkles across your features like the stars that are too hasty to wait until the evening goes to sleep and the night enters, and it moves his heart, prods it with endearment and a question. Have you never gotten spanked before? He retraces his movement, beginning all over again, and the prodding gains intensity when your mouth parts with a soft breath of comfort.

You have no idea what awaits you. Jungkook wonders if you’ll like it just as much.

Without a moment to spare, he flings down the belt on the flesh he teased. And he finds that the pinkish tones root from your heart. They surge, with a violent verve, to your mien that wrinkles and tenses at the reverberating sting, deepening their hue ever so wonderfully. The prodding cuts deep and even deeper when the eyes that stared at nothing in particular flick up to his as if needing some kind of compassion and empathy, and he would give it to you, of course he would, had this been a game of playful love between you and him, and had it not been a scheme, stemming from the core of your selfishness and stubbornness.

Instead, Jungkook spanks you again. Harder this time.

The breath you let out is louder, accompanied by the tiniest mewl that he dislikes. He wants your sweet mewls to echo across these walls and not be so soundless, but the night is young and he’s secure in the confidence that rushes in his veins. As a matter of fact, he dwells on the feeling that brews in him—and it’s nothing like the pomegranate tea you so wrongfully drank out of his niceness, carefulness and suppression. The feeling is the richest, the floweriest and the silkiest drink of rum he ever swallowed, the kind he imagined his father downed before he struck him across his face because he had looked at him wrong. Wrong place, wrong time; wrong child, wrong soul. Jungkook can almost hear the way the elder man cursed his soul, deeming it stained, unsalvageable and sinful, and he would get lost in the potent resoundings of his memories, had you not wrapped your little fingers across the crook between his thumb and his forefinger. It weakens him, faintly, nearly worsens him, but the small touch of your neediness and delicate keenness makes him think that if he couldn’t save himself as a child, he can save you.

He’s going to make you better because he can. Because he’s there. Because he loves you. No one ever did that for him; no one had the time, no one had the eyes to see to begin with.

He spanks you again, but suddenly it’s him who feels the pain. As if the string that bound him to you tightened enough that it coiled him unfathomably deeper into you. Perhaps there’s no beginning and end to him alone—perhaps the end is somewhere in the garden within you, and the bunny of his love sniffles its nose, overcome with it all. Numbness pours over him like the rain perfumed him just a moment ago, and he needs to snap out of it, he needs to wake up, he needs to be present—

His hands, controlled by the time and the cosmos, fondle the ache that must be swirling around your flesh with the lip of the leather, following its expanding, round motions. You didn’t make a sound, or at least he missed it. He deems it a regretful shame, and that’s why when he strikes again, he pours a little more roughness into it just to coax it out, just to focus better. He needs to hear it, needs it to envelop around his cock, and this time, you cry out. Your spine twitches like a seesaw, reacting to the pain that continues coursing across your butt, and when he turns his head to the flesh, he sees that it’s scarlet, bumpy and vibrating with the echoes of the pain.

Of the abuse.

How many times did he spank you? Was he not present at all? Was he not aware? Was he not—

The belt falls to the carpet and Jungkook, too, falls.

The time, the cosmos, the someone. They all stood by to watch him lose himself in the principle of having the right kind of power, the one that matters the most. There was no control, no stable wall. The rum that runs down his throat is no longer silky but bitter, pangs of guilt constricting it until he can’t inhale a single morsel of air. And for that very reason, he allows himself to be carried away by the softness he never let out before.

His hand lands on your abused butt that quivers under his touch until your knees give away and the bottom half of your body plops down onto the couch. The same hand lifts you back up and keeps you in place, keeps your frailness in their hold.

His mind spins in a tornado of self-deprecating thoughts and shards of a broken mirror that reflect the face of his father.

His eyes exude tears that he can only forbid you from seeing, and not forbid from flowing.

His mouth draws close to the place between your legs, where his apology can take effect, but not before they form the words he’s never spoken out before.

“I’m sorry.”

The letters sound as strange to his ears as they do to yours. He wanted this, he wanted to discipline you, but his fatherliness disappeared under the layer of his own father: under the layer of his trauma. He didn’t see this coming. Nothing went according to his feverish calculations and he feels so bad that the guilt itself is a disaster.

Disaster collapsing over this world; the rain halts, silence closing over the streets of Seoul.

Your red skin is hot to the touch and Jungkook fades away into the little boy version of him, who placed his hand on the hot, red cheek of his own weeping mother. The little boy who discovered, for the first time, the feeling of a skin not his own, marred by something that he also had experienced. It connected him to his mother, the bond growing roots that expand over those any other mothers and sons have, but his mother, despite the greatness of her love, never had the strength to reciprocate anymore.

Jungkook needs to know if you've become her in the same way he’s become his father.

The warm wetness of his tears spurting down his cheeks feels right as he draws near and smears them between the private skin between your sensitive flesh. He lets out a hard breath, the sensation of his tears perhaps washing away the sin he committed consuming him whole, and as he wraps his lips around your little clit, there’s purity in it that he never expected to come across.

Your noises flow out. The more he takes your bud into his mouth, the more those tiny mewls he loves so much transform into full moans, those of angels. You grip him harder, pushing your butt into his face, mimicking the dance of waves he always longed to see. Perceiving that you’re liking the motions of his mouth, he allows himself to enjoy it, seizing your little clit with more enthusiasm and power, his tongue joining in and inciting your dance to quicken.

And then, his name descends into the stream of your noises, and he’s done for.

His attention topples to his straining cock, your enjoyment making the sin and the evil dissolve under its vivacity until there’s nothing but it sailing through the atmosphere. His tears are forgotten, replaced by the essence of your pleasure as he licks you all over, unable to swallow it whole due to its overwhelming amount. His wrongdoing dissipates and instead his rightdoing dominates, fixing everything he caused. Your delight and your saccharine taste makes him a better man, or at least he thinks so, and he desires for your orgasm to transform him into someone who won’t make the same mistake.

He no longer wants to be the amalgamation of the yin and yang, the grayness that magnetically pulled his hand to his belt, that stringed the thoughts and the will to discipline you.

He yearns to be a man, devoid of any resemblance to his father. A well, brimming with love.

He hasn’t felt the touch of the sun and the rainwater in years, having been dried up with nothing to give. But now as he drinks you, he hopes that changes. He hopes your essence fills him up to the brim so that this never happens again.

And because of that, Jungkook puts a little more pressure into the flicking motion of his tongue upon your clit, which has become more swollen the more he sucked it. And ultimately, he dips into the obsession of this determination.

He turns you around, not hearing the way you hushedly cry out in pain as your sensitive butt collides harshly with the plush of your couch. His hatred for his life and his tendencies deafens his ears, the effervescence of its silence piercing through his eardrum. He kneels at the couch and, leaning over your small body, he does the first right act of his entire life.

He connects his lips to yours. And the well inside him begins to grow with vines of flowers that mirror the same rosiness that spreads across your face. The petals must have the same softness as your lips, too, and Jungkook deepens the kiss, whimpering into it because he feels the breath of life as you inhale against him. Perhaps you’re overwhelmed just the same, confused and bewildered by the twist of events, by the scarring of his hands, and he regrets it.

He regrets the person he is.

You prove him right, casting a light upon him that is too kind, too humane. Not something he deserves after the way he hurt you.

“Why did you spank me?” you ask between the short interlude of heads turning and lips smacking, closing over each other all over again as if they fit together with utmost perfection—a place of home within that interlock.

Jungkook loses all oxygen in his lungs and all words in his mouth. They come, however, by some miracle, through his features. His brows and mouth curl downwards and he lets you feel it, lets you attach the vocabulary to them by laying his face against you—just for a moment before your eyes see. Your dark, dark eyes that have so much gentleness in them.

He’s not sure he’s deserving of it. Not after what he’s done to you.

“Let me make you come,” he whispers, placing one final chaste kiss against your puffy lips, the chastest he’s capable of. “That’s what you want, isn’t it? And it’s what you deserve.”

It’s surreal, the sudden words that streamed out. And how right they feel, how pure, how precious. A ball of energy vibrates in the middle of his chest, all rabid and ardent. He curves into a little boy who wants to please his parent as he reaches down to your lap, but you stop him by grabbing his shoulder.

“What I want for you to tell me is the reason why you spanked me,” you demand, raking your fingers through the hair at the back of his head, your thumb tracing circles on the place upon his cheek right beside his ear, and time stops.

That is precisely the way his mother would touch him.

The cosmos lean down and stack themselves upon his shoulders. If he were Atlas, he’d be strong enough to carry it. Perhaps even stand and show off his grand ability to withstand it all. But he’s not Atlas. As much as he’s condemned by life, by some other power that doesn’t like him, he’s not a Titan. He’s not a man by any chance either.

He’s a lost boy. A wandering boy who very often fails at everything he does— and who now needs to explain his foolish failure.

His eyes wet. His arms on either side of you quiver under all that pressure, but he holds those tears back. The little strength he has left consoles him in a way, helps him formulate the words of the language he thinks is so foreign to him.

Truth.

“You made me give you something I wasn’t ready to give you yet,” he mutters, the fervor of his tears heightening, threatening to escape. It courses through his veins, stabilizes his arms and the back of his neck and Jungkook uses its strength to gaze at you. To gaze at your reaction. To drink from it and use it to refresh the empty well in him.

But the question wrung across your face merely tightens his heart, and he remains depleted. Through and through. vacant.

Though something unknown in him, possibly summoned up by the agile bunny in him, stretches out his arm and makes it so he touches your puzzlement. His thumb brushes across your cheek, still so prettily reddened by his creation. Travels all the way to your mouth that he kissed so hungrily, and pines to do it all over again. Hell, spend the entire night bruising it—no, not bruising it, making love to it until it’s all he knows, until it’s all he consists of. Your mouth, your words, your intellect. And as you speak into his hand, all he can think about is how he’s nothing without you, and, curiously, his cock strains harder in his pants. Sweat sticks to his skin like a second layer.

“Give me what?” you demand further. A spark of fire winks at him in your eyes, inviting him in, inviting him to fold himself in all entirety inside you. And he wants to, he yearns to, there’s nothing left for him to do than to be completely devoted to you, to curl in your lap like a son in a mother’s lap and be shepherded, be made right, be disciplined.

And because of that yearning, he offers the rest of the truth in all its dimmed glory.

“Me,” he reveals, letting out a humorless chuckle. All of his nerves swarm in a tight bundle somewhere in him, and he feels the need to smoke. So much so that he doesn’t ask if he can and does it anyway because he fears that if he doesn’t, his nerves will swallow him whole. Straightening up and rummaging in his pocket, he pulls the slender death instrument and pops it into his mouth, lighting it up. And as his mouth is shrouded in the warm light and he inhales the nicotine, your bare foot lifts and drifts down his lower abdomen, halting at his groin. He exhales the smoke, dipping his head to study your actions, and he discovers that you’ve pressed your foot right against his imprint.

And it’s half the size of his cock.

“Give me some of it.”

At first, he guesses you’re talking about his dick, but when he sees the two of your fingers hovering in the air in the shape of ‘V’, it’s clear to him that you want to take a puff of his cigarette. He blushes at that, realizing that he’s never shared a cigarette with someone he loved before, and the nerves that swarmed his chest descend to his stomach. Some would call them butterflies, but the inside of his body is too dark for them. Moths… moths are the winged creatures you awakened from their eternal slumber.

And they attack his stomach when he sinks the cigarette between your lips, brazenly and purposefully ignoring your suspended hand because he wants to feed you something of his own. And the fact it isn’t something so positive and sugary feels rewarding for some reason.

It adds to the overall mollification. He’d also feel at peace if he didn’t love you so much.

You envelop your lips around the yellow butt of the cigarette and begin to suck. A lungful of death—what a good girl. He doesn’t want to admit that the spanking worked because the thought alone causes a prickling ache in his heart. But as you exhale out the smoke just like him, he comprehends that he sobered up from absolutely everything.

This is him, bare and raw. And he doesn’t know what he’s capable of. The smoke closes around his face and he breathes in, as if for the first time in his life. He wonders who he’ll become once he stuffs your drooling pussy with his cock, but he’s sure that person will be one of goodness.

Some sort of goodness he’d never achieve to become on his own.

The notion brings up the taste of your essence in his mind and he hungers for you again. Saliva gathers in his mouth, nearly overspills, and he wipes at his mouth briefly before he takes the last puff and exhales the smoke into your mouth. A short, devastatingly short kiss that you moan into, and moan again when he asks you an erotic question.

“Do you think you can finish it without coughing as I eat you out?”

He doesn’t know if you’re a regular smoker or if it’s your first time. Right now, the details don't matter. The night is long enough for that conversation. Jungkook lets the cigarette hang from your mouth as he straightens, his sin and cigarette smoke coated hands drifting down your parted thighs. He knows just the thing that will cleanse them without a doubt.

“You don’t know me at all,” you say, jutting out your chin to the side to suck on the cigarette you’re holding with your fingers. It provokes him and, internally, he fights the possibility of you being right. He knows where you live, he knows your routine. Your mornings, afternoons and nights. Your favorite food, the fact you like to read, how truly smart you are. He knows enough. And it baffles him that he’s never seen you smoke. Not even when you were out with your friends. “Try to make me come before I finish this.”

You part your legs. Switch the cigarette to your other hand and flick the ash into the nearby half-empty glass of water. His cock twitches at the challenge, but an anger, unlike the one he experienced prior the moment he sobered up, flares in his chest. Like a small star up in the heavens, it burns lightly.

He doesn’t waste time.

Jungkook lifts your hips, pulling a surprised breath out of your throat. The white vapor gyrates around your face and Jungkook can’t take his eyes off of it as he sticks out his tongue and circles your clit with its tip. A sense of achievement and pride clutches him when you roll your eyes back, and your mouth begins to open wider, only to close in a fight, resembling his, when he sucks hard. In spite of it, you give your moans freedom and essentially, you do the same for him.

He dips to your hole because he can’t stall any longer. Whimpers at your dulcet taste, fluttering his eyes shut, though never entirely. He can’t lose sight of you. Lapping at the source, he makes sure to stimulate your clit by rubbing his nose in it. The smacking of his lips and tongue against your dripping flesh, his desperate noises, they all overlap with your own now high-pitched moans and squeaky breaths. You begin to buck your hips and Jungkook listens to your body, immersing his tongue into your heat, encouraging you to keep going and fuck yourself on him like that with little hums of agreement. And the validation—it leads you to lose yourself in the rapid current of the pleasure and forget about the challenge.

But Jungkook didn’t forget. If there’s one thing about him that’s stable and safe against other influences, it’s his ability to never forget.

“Smoke,” he orders, narrowing his eyes. He spits on your pussy before he sinks his tongue back inside, his mind spinning. He uses one of his hands to replace his nose on your clit, and he strums it with all the strength and speed he’s possessed with. Obsessed, utterly obsessed with the idea of not winning, but winning you over. Impressing you.

It’s important to him. And through that, he realizes the origin of his anger. The kaleidoscope of it all tells him that he was more bothered by your lack of belief in him than the principle of the challenge itself.

No one believes in him. Not his parents, not Taehyung… and not you.

Jungkook reaches his hand down to your breast and through the wrinkly, soft fabric he pinches your nipple before he begins to fondle it with side to side motion, bringing out your orgasm as if it were an animal he was calling out.

And your body listens.

Convulsing in his hold, it submits to him through the waves of the pleasure he’s giving you. Jungkook doesn’t stop his actions, continuing them relentlessly as you ride it out. Your eyes are shut tight, your mouth letting out the most saccharine mewls, secret and private. And he lets it be that way. He could pull his mouth away and ruin your orgasm by ordering you to keep your eyes on him, but he doesn’t. The beauty of your orgasm is held in a higher regard for him, and so is the fact that once you come out of that rising wave, you’ll recognize that you shouldn’t have underestimated him.

The ash on your cigarette is a high tower, unsmoked.

Seeing that your pleasure has died out and overstimulation has taken place, he withdraws his tongue and grabs your waist with both of his hands. Waits until you open your eyes in order to kiss your clit in the form of a settlement. Slowly, he lays your body down, careful not to hurt your butt, and he leans over and takes his cigarette back—only to expertly flick off the ash without making a mess and sink it back to your mouth for the final puff. He holds it for you, a sign of his dominance over you, and he no longer can perceive whether its foundation is of his fatherliness or just masculine instincts. And he doesn’t want to know anymore. He doesn’t want to see, to think. A great blanket of sadness swathes him feignedly snugly, emotional exhaustion seeping into his every nerve ending.

He wants to be alone at this moment. Sleep it off. Wake up next week.

“Come here.”

He’s flinging the cigarette into the glass of water when your fingers sneak upon your favorite place of his body—his ribs. They fist his shirt, tempt him back into your alluring presence, and he’s so tender at this very moment that he lets you. He lets you push him against you and he lets you kiss him in the way that you’re skilled at, plunging your tongue into his mouth, setting him on fire. The well in him has never seen the rain and the sunlight, but the fire? It wants nothing but your fire, the heat and the sting of the burn. And he fears the bunny of his love will wander off into its deep darkness and never be found again.

He pulls away, but you don’t let him, gripping his hair.

“I want you,” you whisper, digging your eyes into his, entrancing him and entrapping him because by those words you change everything.

The strategy is erased. The bow of the scheme lowers its arrow down. It no longer matters to whom it backfires because it ceases to exist in this minute. All because of your honesty, portrayed by your innocent words.

What would have happened if you used them at the beginning of this night? Would you have ended up with red welts or hickeys across your butt?

Jungkook’s heart hammers. Lightness falls upon his shoulders and he rolls them back, relaxing the muscles at last. He detects a sliver of kindness in this all, one that has the power to change this trajectory, and it propels him to nod his head, brush your hair back, and kiss your cheek.

Tenderness. Innocence. No sign of mischief.

“You want me?” he flirts subduedly, skimming his lips upon the corner of your mouth up across your cheek to your nose, which he kisses, too. “You want this cock to stretch you out? Make you feel good like my tongue, hm?”

He’s stunned by the ease to his words, how natural this feels. As if he hadn’t hurt you at all, as if you hadn’t seduced him and made a wreck out of him. As if his trauma hadn’t resurfaced, the one he had buried so deep within the well that it withered into crumbs. What power you have, to erase and to change.

To soften.

He kisses your wet chin, smeared by your essence that dripped from his own. Dips down to your neck, waiting for your response, for your consent. Imagines you’re too dumbfounded by getting what you wanted for so long at last, and right now at this very second, he’s happy for you.

Happy to be the giver, the provider.

Happy to tease you.

“I’m not fucking you until you use your words,” he whispers against the column of your neck, his tongue slipping out and grazing across the sensitive skin as he kisses you there. The smacking sound he makes arouses him to a point of madness almost, but he holds it back just for a little while. “And until you say please, baby girl.”

You gasp at the pet name and it pleases him so much that he lopsidedly smiles and drags that expression of positivity against your skin until he ends up facing you. The tendril of joy that curls around the moths in his stomach fuels his smile to transform into a full grin and he finds himself having withdrawals of the feeling of your skin. Jungkook grabs your face and he watches the mischief die out from your eyes—like a candlelight melting into darkness. And there truthfulness and the raw reality come up for air.

“Did you spank me because I didn’t use my words?” you probe, and he’s thankful for the question, for the face of this moment as he deems it valuable and significant. The calmness he receives from it settles over the bunny, preventing him from observing the fire fading out. Instead, he focuses on stargazing at you.

“Yes,” he agrees, fulfillment clenching his heart. “You showed me your tits through the window when anyone passing or driving by could see, instead of telling me like the good girl I know you are.”

You curl your lips behind your teeth, contemplating his words. Your eyes follow your hands as they glide across his arms up to his shoulders, and Jungkook shivers. Hopes you don’t notice. Would be too embarrassing, considering the unnamed role he’s stepped into.

“I tried to tell you,” you say, concentrating on the speck of fluff somewhere on his shirt. “You know that I did, but you kept your distance. You stopped talking to me, too, you know.”

Your sentence makes the reason behind your flashing click in his brain, and he pushes away the previous deception of your sinfulness. Jungkook swims through the myriad of his thoughts, filtering out the lies of the mischief and gathering the truth that glistens and glimmers in his hands.

“You shouldn’t flash private parts of your body just to get a guy to talk to you,” he scolds gently, squeezing your face for a millisecond to prove the gravity of his discipline—and there it is, the right kind of discipline he sought. It wasn’t supposed to be the spanking, it was supposed to be this. “You’re a beautiful, smart girl. You don’t need to do that. You don’t need to do shit.”

The light in your eyes that appears blinds him and lingers, despite your following words.

“But you just said I should’ve used my words.”

“Yes,” he breathes out immediately, dripping with desperation, his brows knitting. “You should’ve used them or you could’ve waited like I told you to because I was gonna come back to you. I was gonna come back to you and give you this cock, give you what you wanted.”

Your hands slide down to his forearms, hanging onto them, and your eyes gain a glossy film. Your brows twist, and Jungkook can vividly see you understand his point and comprehend his reprimand.

“So you’re saying that if I came down and asked you to fuck me, you would’ve done it?”

He doesn’t have to ponder your question for long because the answer tumbles down onto him like a feather of wisdom. He was roaming in a bad place of idleness and apathy, but it was you who got him up from his table, led him with invisible hands into the shower and then into his car. It was you, and if you had asked him that question, the fight would surely be present, but if you insisted, if you said please—he knows he wouldn’t be able to say no to you.

Even if he didn’t enjoy it as much.

“If you said please, I would’ve thrown you over my shoulder and fucked you until all you knew was me,” Jungkook says, and he means it. The same hand that gripped your face sneaks down between your legs in one swift, hurried motion and his middle finger slips into your heat with utmost ease due to how wet you are. But there, on purpose, all of his rapidness stops. His digit slides to the first knuckle and remains there. Your walls swallow him and Jungkook gulps with a certain kind of difficulty, feeling faint. If you squeeze around his shaft like this, he’s not too sure if he’ll survive. “Your pussy would know only me and no one else, you got that?”

You tighten even more around his finger, fluttering—and the rest of you flutters, too, underneath him. Your body writhes, willing him to give you more, but he won’t. Not until you learn to use your words.

“You’re not getting the rest of my fingers until you talk to me,” he settles, propping his elbow above your head, maneuvering his weight onto one side, his painful hard-on resting against your hip bone. “It’s all up to you, baby.”

You whimper, stalling your fidgeting, and Jungkook senses your strong will to relax taking effect. And for that, he kisses your forehead. You fist his shirt at his stomach and he wonders if you can feel the kicks of his moths against your hand. Your pelvis tilts, but he knows it’s just your natural instinct, and he lets it pass.

He trusts you, even when you ask him another challenging question.

“Will you spank me if I don’t?”

His heart pounds, scaring the moths, but he takes a deep breath, rubbing his nose in your hair before he pierces his gaze into your eyes, making sure you know he means his words when he says: “No, I won’t. That was a mistake.”

“You promise?”

“I promise.”

And like you tilted your pelvis, you tilt your chin and seize his bottom lip, kissing him with such tenderness that he moans and nearly gives you the entirety of his finger. It takes all of his willpower not to do so, concentrating instead on the sealing of the promise as he allows you to kiss him on your own terms. Soft pecks handled by the turning of heads with interludes in between, tasting each other while the time and the cosmos hold their breaths. How beautiful this is and how delicate, the act of not ripping each other’s clothes off but taking your shared time, standing in the way of the laws of this life.

“Okay,” you whisper against his lips, and Jungkook grasps that you’ve been gathering courage all this time for a reason he longs to know. “Fuck me, please.”

He hums in pleasure, pressing a rewarding kiss against your lips that lasts for only a second—interrupted by the force of his pleased grin. The fulfillment he feels grows, merging into a high-leveled gratification that buzzes throughout his whole body. He tries to kiss you again but fails, awkwardness seeping through that makes you daintily giggle. And once he hears his own, an oasis of serenity and sentimentality, perfumed by the sweetest tea of pomegranate leaves, transpires in his chest.

“Good girl,” he praises, adding another finger, his vocal cords strained by his emotions. “Where do you want me? Tell me where.”

Your breath hardens, wafting across his features, but you’re not shy, you’re not timid to tell him where you need him: “In my pussy, please.”

His cheeks ache from his smile, but he can’t stop. He’s fucked, he loves you, and it completely massacres him. “That’s it. You learn so well.”

Jungkook pulls out his fingers to his first knuckles, dropping his gaze to them just to see how much you coated them. Your essence glistens in the dimmed light and drips down his palm. Wanting you to see as well, he pulls them out entirely and shows you. The droplets plummet to your chest and you bite your lip, blushing, your eyes running all across his hand. Over and over again.

“You’re so prettily wet,” he rasps, closing his lips over your cheek, and he doesn’t need you to respond to his comment before he plunges them back in and begins to fuck you with such a speed that you scream out, grabbing his forearm and sinking your nails into it.

That doesn’t stop him either. The need to make you come for being such a good girl after that winter of emotional pain ferally takes control of him and he douses himself in its tide.

He pistons his fingers into you, curling them at the front wall. Thumbing your clit, you roll your eyes back, your chest heaving and gasping for air. Your little nipples perk up for him against the fabric of your night dress, and the sight is so dazzling that he doesn’t blink as he watches you. He can’t wait to have you all bare for him—to see you in your full glory, your flesh bouncing and under his command. His cock leaks at that thought and his animalistic instincts take a hold of him, fucking you faster with his fingers until your whole body shakes—just like he wanted, and until your whole body comes for him.

The fountain of your pleasure soaks you first before it soaks him, and Jungkook thinks it’s exactly what you deserved. You yelp, but the sound of horror soon turns into a sound of elation as you begin to sputter into a fit of giggles. One he consumes by kissing you nastily, all tongues and spit, while he massages your clit, taking you to the finish line until you can’t anymore.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you moan into his mouth, barely able to kiss him back as the daze and dizziness of your orgasm seizes you, and Jungkook hums in response, knowing—knowing all about how you feel.

He grabs your waist and throws you onto your bed a few feet away. Your studio is a small place, fitting all necessities into one room, and by some sixth sense he knows where you store your collection of knee socks and lingerie. He turns around, rummaging in your dresser, and the ones he likes the most just fall into his hand, as if asking for him. A fine black cotton with no endearment, beautiful in all its simplicity. He places it on the bed, his hands quick to grapple the hem of your nightdress and haul it over your head, making your breasts bounce from the impact. His cock cries at the sight and lowly he growls, immediately busying his hands with the fabric of your knee socks in order not to delve deep into your bosom. He untangles it from its rolled-up stacking, bunches it up in his hands and one by one, he drags them up your legs, kissing your wet thigh each time he finishes, smoothing down the band.

And then he undresses. Pops open the button of his jeans, slides down his zipper, giving you a full show of his manhood through his boxers, drenched because of you. You ogle him with a parted mouth, drool building in the corners of your mouth, and Jungkook finds it so endearing that he shoots you a grin before he sneaks his hand inside his boxers and shows his raging, reddened cock to you.

“Is this what you wanted?” he asks, gently, slowly sweeping his hand up and down on the shaft, letting out little staccatos of ragged breaths as he finally senses some kind of pleasure in the longest hour of his life. His precum freely drips down, making it uncomplicated, and you look as though you are utterly transfixed.

Your eyes nearly go cross, gaping at his length.

“Fuck, the veins,” you comment, swallowing thickly and jutting out your tongue to wet your dry, ruined lips. “Yes, please. I want it so bad.”

And then you begin to scurry to your knees, but Jungkook doesn’t allow that to happen. You’re not sucking his dick—you’re getting fucked, and he tells you that, shifting you back down onto the mattress, using the same hand placement that he did at the start of this evening. Except the feeling of your bare, supple and soft tits drives him off his head, and he has to stop stroking his cock because if he continued, he would’ve pumped ropes and ropes of his cum to hang off those pretty, pretty nipples.

He groans, internally, considering this a torment and nothing else, but it’s better than the mental anguish he experienced. He’s present in the reality and he cherishes it so much that he wants to give back to you by fucking you into oblivion.

What a twist of events.

“I’m fucking you raw, you hear me?” he announces, taking his position and yanking you down until his ball sack collides most wonderfully with your sopping pussy. He sucks in a breath, his entire manhood so sensitive and on the brink of such a profound climax that he’s not sure how he’ll last once he’s inside you. He exchanges a look with you and discovers that you’ve been touched by it just the same. Your eyes, star-filled, widen and soon lower at the impact. “I can’t have anything separating you from me. I want to feel you. Through and through. You understand?”

You can only nod your head, your muscles so tense that it seems as though you’re not breathing at all, and that worries him. He’s aware that being on the cusp of receiving what you wanted for so long is more than thrilling, but he needs you to be relaxed. He needs this to be normal for you because nothing will ever be the same after he discovers the waters of your femininity. There won’t be a day your pussy won’t get stuffed full.

Jungkook caresses your cheek with his knuckles, frowning. “Breathe. I’m gonna go slow, I promise. Do you trust me?”

A nebula of tears clouds your eyes within the speed of light, your chin quivering. Your words come just as quickly, butchering his heart.

“Jungkook, this is my first time.”

The night spring air moves gently through the room. A swallow sings to the effulgent orbs strewn across the darkened heavens, interrupting the silence. His phone, inside the pocket of his jeans somewhere on your floor, vibrates unendingly.

The sly, intentional touches in his car. The confessions of what you were doing under your blanket after the date ended. Your wet panties after he expressed the past version of his fatherliness towards you. The pressed-up tits against your window after a too-long of a pause. Was this the thing you were trying to tell him? That you were a virgin, yearning to be touched for the first time?

That you chose him to be the first one?

Is that why you never relented? Has he become your obsession as much as you have become his?

Jungkook begins to chuckle, and the sound is magnified into a full laughter that heartily pulsates in his chest. You are a little vixen, and a cute one. Older than a cub, younger than the full-grown animal. Just learning how to hunt, attuned to her urges and instincts. And you learn so well.

He’d been caught, but now he’s been physically strapped. To you, and to your little perversions.

Jungkook makes it so you feel his delight from it by kissing you deeply. And he makes it so you feel his shaft by gliding it back and forth across your feminine flesh, stimulating your clit and stealing your attention from the cold side of your emotions. Stealing it in every respect by moving his mouth to your eyelids while they’re still closed and lost in the dream of the kiss and by kissing the tears that gathered underneath them.

“I’m gonna take care of you,” he whispers against your eyelashes and you mewl, ever so beautifully, calmness catching up to you. “Have I never tried to tell you that before, hm?”

You mewl again in response, too vulnerable to speak, and Jungkook wishes to bite you for that. You grab his neck and pull him flush against you, needing him, needing to find comfort in him, and he doesn’t hesitate to give you just that.

He contemplates this moment. You… a virgin, a small animal, pure just for him, purer than he thought. Overbrimming with your horniness enough to do anything to get rid of it in a way that works. He sighs against your ear, sensing another gush of arousal coursing through him, vivifying his body in otherworldly measures.

“You’re a little pet, aren’t you?” he purrs rhetorically, peppering kisses all over your ear and the spot on your neck beneath it that causes you to pant against him. “Was I the first one to ever eat your pussy? Hm?”

He feels you answering him long before you use your words—you shake your head, clinging to him tighter. “No. I’ve had my pussy eaten before.”

His arousal burns. “By who?”

You turn over the leaf, and Jungkook takes a note of that.

“I think I’m ready. You can put it inside me.”

His arousal burns brighter, shifting his hand to grab himself and line himself at your entrance. “Put what?”

You groan in frustration, coaxing a chuckle out of him, but he doesn’t let up. He repeats the question, teasing the fuck out of you for his own personal pleasure while focusing his tip on your clit, and you writhe your hips and within the worst of your vexation, you give him your answer.

“Your dick.”

He laughs, but the sound is cut off as soon as your flowery walls constrict around his mushroom head. You and him simultaneously whimper in such a desperate manner that the moths inside his abdomen quiver. You swallow the most sensitive part of him as if he didn’t stretch you out with his fingers at all, making it hard for him to breathe. His brain malfunctions, the blasting of the pleasure throughout the pathways of his veins too much to handle. He pulls out, flicks his eyes up to you in order to study your reaction, and all your face muscles are strained, flexing in a scowl that he doesn’t like.

He can’t have this.

He can’t be swimming in the grandest pleasure he ever got a taste of while you’re drowning in discomfort. And at the same time, he can’t have your expectations ruined. It’s not fair. You wanted this, you looked forward to this, and he wants you to experience how good this is, live out your fantasies that cost him everything. You just have to be patient, and he tells you that.

“This is going to take a few tries,” he says, cradling your cheek. “You have to be patient. You’re not used to me yet. It’s gonna feel good just like you imagined, but you have to push through. I’m here with you.”

You cry out, your liquid emotions rushing through again, but never escaping. “You’re really big. I don’t think I can do it.”

He smiles at that and doesn’t pry away the selfish satisfaction he gets from that. Jungkook stashes it in the well, a line of perspiration forming on his forehead.

“This dick—” He grins, knowing this word now belongs to you. “Was made for you to take, so it doesn’t matter what you think. You’re gonna take it. I believe in you.”

You hide in the crook of his neck, but Jungkook decides there’s not gonna be any hiding anymore. He sits up, dominates the time by fisting your wrists and preventing you from hiding your face. His cock drools on your pelvic bone and he still doesn’t believe how he could’ve gone so long like this at this point. He presses your wrists down right on the mess he made and reaches his thumb to the side, circling your clit. And as he relaxes your muscles by that, he spits on his fingers, lubricates his tip and sheathes himself inside you, earning a gasp from you that adds to his satisfaction.

“Jungkook,” you call out, a hint of panic in your voice, but Jungkook shakes his head. Pushes even deeper. Puts a little more pressure into the circles on your clit for a second before he lifts his thumb, spits on the pearl, and continues. “Oh–oh my—”

“Let me handle it, let me handle you. I know what to do. Trust me, yeah?” Jungkook growls, letting out hard, little breaths through his gritted teeth as he tries with great difficulty not to move. “Relax your muscles for me. Look at me.”

You flick your doe eyes at him. So big, so round, so terrified. His little pet, listening so well, experiencing something so huge for the first time. He lets you in on his thoughts, translating them word for word, helping you relax your muscles to accommodate for him. The term of endearment does something to you, and he sings it to you, switching his hand and rubbing your clit, lifting the one holding your wrists and kissing your flaccid fingers.

“How does that feel, huh? Me rubbing your little clit and stretching you out, hm?”

He pushes a little more in, feeling you open more for him, and it signals him to take this to another level. Jungkook begins to make little moves forwards and backwards, delirious from the fact that he’s so close to breaking your hymen and owning your virginity.

And the movements help. Your eyes flutter, your pleasure finally taking shape. “Oh, my god. This is it?”

He chuckles and he speeds up, daring to fuck you deeper and your eyes widen at that, your chest quickening, unable to handle it all. But you will.

“Yes, baby. This is it. You did it,” he murmurs, pinning your hands above your head and leaning down again, stealing a wet kiss. “It’s finally here. What you’ve been wanting all this time is yours now. You better enjoy it.”

And with that, he buries himself all the way to the hilt with one hard thrust and begins to fuck you like you deserve. The meeting of your mound and his makes him growl out loud and he watches the glistening in and out motion as if it were the last thing he ever got to see. And he longs to focus better.

“Keep your hands up and don’t move them,” Jungkook commands and lets go of your wrists, grazing his palms down your chest, groping your full tits at last and he lingers there for a second. You squeeze around him when he pinches your nipples with his thumbs and the knuckles of his forefingers, a river of small moans pouring from your mouth. He draws his cock out halfway and rubs your nipples as he draws back inside with a certain gentleness like he promised, light-headed and drunk on it all. And then he allows them to rub against his flat fingers on their own once he quickens his pace and your tits bounce in a freed flux—and this is where your features scrunch up in the same manner that his do.

One soul. He amalgamates into you, and he doesn’t know whether that’s a good thing or worse than the grayness he was a victim of earlier.

He doesn’t have time to think, your pussy renders him of any logic and of any coherent thought. And the same thing must be happening in your headspace as well because you can’t keep your eyes open. You swim away from him, and he doesn’t like that.

“Look at me while I’m fucking you.”

You choke out some version of an agreement, popping your eyes open and boring them into his. He continues on with his travel, sliding his hands down to your waist that he grabs and uses as a leverage to ultimately give you his best.

He fucks you mercilessly, with a few gaps of gentleness in between because he’s a man of his word. Your pussy squelches around him, driving his heart out of his chest right into yours, and he can’t help but to bend down and take your nipple into his mouth, warming up the spot for that dark flesh. But he doesn’t expect you to come as he does so, and he’s so proud of you that he could die at this moment.

“Yes, that’s it, baby. Just like that. Come for me.”

You convulse, your hands losing control as they need to grab onto something and they grab onto his hair, pulling at the strands. Your moans, wrapped around his name, echo around the walls of the room, sailing out into the spring air outside through the open window, and he stalls his own orgasm, induced by the almost irresistible fluttering of your walls. He swirls his tongue around your nipple, sucking it into his mouth, taking you to that finish like that he’s proved he’s able to always take you to. And when your convulsing settles, he pulls out, straddles you and strokes his cock in your face. It takes merely a second for him to come and the ropes of his manly essence land on your lips, your neck, your clavicles and your tits. The orgasm is an adrenaline rush that launches him out of his body and into the dark matter of time and the cosmos. He shows them who’s the man in the house of his own body, and the chapter of his emotional anguish is finished.

Nothing will ever torment him again because he’s evaporated into you.

Coming down, he pants while looking down at you. Your starry eyes are lidded and absolutely exhausted, but the spark is still there, a fix that will never be broken. He can see that he’s impressed you, and when he checks his cock, he realizes he’s still hard and throbbing, glistening and bloodied. How could he not after all that restraint and all that hinderance. His balls are still heavy, asking to let out more, and it all depends on you if that’s happening.

He wonders how you’re feeling right now, and he brushes the cum drop off your lips and feeds it to you. You latch onto his hand, eager to taste it, and he grins. Will never tire of your appetite for the new. Your tongue rounds across his finger inside your mouth, making his cock twitch and he touches it more to calm it down than to satisfy it.

“How was that?” he asks, genuinely curious, despite the fact your mouth is busy. Something about it impassions him all over again and he’d better stop. He withdraws his finger, all wet from your adorable saliva, and waits for your answer. Quirks a brow, even.

“The orgasm feels the same as when I make myself come,” you say, and he’s disappointed to hear that, that it’s the first thing you say after all he’d been through. His brows lower down and he places his fists on either side of you, his face at level with yours.

“Is that all you have to say?”

You blink slowly at him, and Jungkook thinks that perhaps you’re too tired and floored to be having this conversation with him. But your response causes that certain anger to brood in his gut.

“Your cum tastes good.”

He scoffs, caught off guard. Dismayed. He expected you to be more vocal about what he’s done for you, especially after what had been the cost of it all, but it seems as though that you just used him to silence your curiosity.

Do you not love him? Did you not want him to be the one to take your virginity?

Swinging his leg over, he gets off of you and stares at you. You’re looking down at your body, searching for the drops of his cum he left behind just to eat them. Your soft, supple flesh. The knee socks. The marks he left behind—on your nipple from all the sucking, the harsh ghosts of the kisses on your neck and on your lips, the welts and redness on your butt. He might have taken your virginity and envisioned owning it, but when he looks down at his hands, he finds them empty.

Your virginity is still yours and his phone, somewhere, rings.

BACK to masterlist

#divider by d-oie #bangtanwhq #jungkook x oc #jungkook x you #jungkook smut #bts smut #bts imagine #jungkook imagine #jeon jungkook #bts scenarios #jungkook scenarios #kpop smut #jungkook fic #jungkook series #jungkook x reader #jungkook x yn #jungkook angst

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dyingswanpavlova · 28 days ago

Text

Sunshine Of Your Love

Part 1

Pairing: Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader

Warnings: Dead Dove: Do Not Eat, Age Gap (Reader is in her early to mid-twenties, Sang-woo is in his mid to late-forties), I will mention warnings in each chapter, but I think in this one there are none so far.

Author's note: I'm still working on Chapter 21 of Your girl, but it might take me a little while to figure it out. Until then, this crossed my mind, based on this request. I love you, guys. 🤍

Divider by @saradika-graphics

"Sunshine Of Your Love" - Cho Sang-woo x Gi-hun's daughter!Reader Masterlist

Cho Sang-woo never considered himself a good person, but there are some lines he isn't willing to cross. He wouldn't ever corrupt someone as trusting and loving as you are. And yet, his feelings for you are getting more and more...complicated.

Cho Sang-woo was many things – a traitor, a liar, sometimes even a coward. But a sleazeball was not one of them.

So, he found himself more than a little troubled, the first time that weird feeling welled up in his chest. Looking back, he had always been a good friend to Seong Gi-hun. During the days of their childhood and their teenage years, he was an honest friend, who more often than not pulled him out of all sorts of complications. He didn’t mind it. He didn’t throw it in his face, either. That’s just not what friends do.

Things went rather smoothly for him, also. He was the darling child after all. Going to university wasn’t exactly something everyone from his neighborhood had managed. But he, he had done it. He finished his studies and he became someone.

What never changed though, was his firm politeness. He respected everyone. His elders, his mother, his old friend Gi-hun.

It didn’t matter how jealous he got of him at times. Not everyone was sought out for a happy family life. He knew that now.

Whenever he watched Gi-hun interact with his wife, every time he met them somewhere or he visited them for a nice, relaxed dinner, he found himself staring. And dreaming.

What could have been?

The way his wife would lightly scold him or nudge him, laugh at his jokes even though they weren’t anything close to funny. The way he got to cradle his little daughter in his arms.

They were fairly young when they had their first and only child. A beautiful little girl, with sparkling eyes and lips twisted in either mischief or kindness. There was no in-between.

The visits, however, became less and less frequent by the time he turned twenty-five. He was close to finishing his studies and his friend, anyhow, seemed caught in his own world. He didn’t need him, right? He had his own perfection created around him, a vision of tranquility and peace.

Until the divorce came.

Sang-woo wasn’t exactly happy about it. It was more a quiet kind of relief. And whenever he caught himself having that feeling, he immediately felt awful afterwards. Like he was the world’s greatest scum. Which he, kind of, was. He knew that. He admitted it to himself. And he hated himself, just the same.

Of course he was there for Gi-hun. He squeezed his shoulder and assured him, he’d get them back. He’d lend him money every so often. Gi-hun even spent quite some time crashing on his couch, before eventually he moved back in with his mother.

Anything to stop the guilt. Anything.

He loved his friend. And he hated himself, because he reveled in his misery.

What kind of friend would do that?

These thoughts were the first of the kind that showed him that he wasn’t really a good person.

There were things he did. He tried to donate money whenever he could, he took care of his mother and overall everything of which he thought a decent man should do.

But it wasn’t enough, was it?

Years passed, almost two decades even, but his guilt stayed firmly in place. With every mean, bad, deranged thought he had, he felt worse. Something was wrong with him. It had to be. He was a man in his prime, he was successful, he wasn’t bad-looking – So, why was he still alone?

He was charming. Every woman he met blinked at him with the same look, mercilessly flirting with him. He could tell when they did, when they swung their hips and smiled over something not quite funny he said.

So, what exactly was stopping him from ever flirting back?

There had been a few embarrassing attempts of course. Returning a smile, a lingering touch. Nothing ever felt right to him, though.

He had relations, physically so. Every now and then and whenever he felt like it. But there wasn’t much to say about that. He didn’t speak with these women, because they all had the same thing in mind. Nothing deep, nothing real, nothing complicated.

It was enough to keep him satisfied for a while. But at some point into his career – the point when everything went to shit, most likely – he wanted more. The release he found did nothing to feed his soul, the encounters not more than a mere exchange of spit and sweat.

It didn’t feel right. He wanted someone to laugh at his jokes. To dab his chin with a napkin, when he was entirely oblivious to the sauce on it and kept making a fool of himself. He wanted them to lean on him, to trust him. He wanted to take care of them. Make someone smile.

Make someone whole.

And for them to make him whole again.

It wasn’t until nineteen years after he finished his studies that he had this chilling encounter. It had been a long day at work, doing God-knows-what, because he was slowly losing count. His life was spiraling upside down and every day he made decisions which might not only cost him his career, but maybe even his life. His integrity was as good as gone.

He wanted nothing more than to see his mother. Something about being close to her, made him feel grounded. She was his conscience in a way. Whenever he felt like he was the worst human alive, she had this way of making him feel like he wasn’t. The kindness in her eyes didn’t vanish, not for him, not for anyone else. The way she spoke of him with such fondness and pride made him equally sad as it made him feel hopeful.

Maybe there was something good to him. Something useful, something kind.

He made his way through the light drizzle. The clouds had made a way of being thick and unyielding, matching his state of mind quite well. He didn’t mind the darkness, he didn’t even mind the cold. He simply pushed his hands deeper into his pockets and hid his face deep in the collar of his coat.

The streets were nearly empty, there wasn’t much going on. Most people preferred warmth and security. He, for one, felt safe in the shadows. Sometimes he felt like he was no more than a shadow himself. It was an odd thought to have, but it summed his entire being up quite well. No one really looked twice at him – at least not, when they didn’t think they could get some gain out of him. But what could he possibly give anyone?

He was polite, yes. Kind, so it seemed. But his mind was a dark place, tormented by years of guilt-ridden thoughts and loneliness.

His head perked up when, instead of only his mother’s humming and her polite squabble, he heard laughter. Hearty, melodic laughter. Was that his mother?

His mother had always been a rather lovely person to be around. He hadn’t ever met anyone who didn’t immediately adore her quick wit and warm smile. She was everything that he wasn’t.

But still, when he saw the silhouette of someone else beside her behind the counter, babbling out silly jokes, he paused for a moment. His mother worked alone, it had always been like this. She was as diligent as anyone could be, especially for her age. He felt relieved though, maybe she had finally taken his words to heart and hired someone to help her out. Not always. Just a few hours every week.

He approached her little shop with slow, measured steps and a slow smile formed on his face.

“Eomma?”

The elderly woman stilled in her movement, though her chest still heaved in heavy amusement and she had a hard time catching her breath. She spun around and her eyes lit up in affection and warmth.

“Sang-woo-ya, adeul.” She circled the counter within seconds and hugged him in a way that knocked the air out of his lungs. He gently wrapped his arms around her and his smile widened a fraction.

“Mother.” He murmured. “Forgive me. It’s been a while.”

She pulled back and shot him a look that was half teasing, half scolding. “Quite a while!” She then gave his shoulder a gentle nudge and turned to the other person behind the counter.

“Aga-ya, I’m sure you must remember my son.”

He followed her gaze and then suddenly…

You.

His eyes widened impossibly behind his glasses, when he caught sight of you. You were no longer the cheeky little brat he had gifted kilograms of sweets. This was impossible. It was untrue.

He recognized your features – your eyes and the way they shone with a little twinkle of mischief, but there was something else, something far bigger.

Warmth. Kindness.

The warmth radiating off of you was nearly enough to make him stare. You were beautiful, but that was no surprise. It had been years since he had last seen you, but even then he knew, you’d be quite the sight once you grew up. And that you had.

He had never, never looked at you with anything but something akin to fatherly admiration – and the small amount of guilt and jealousy that always lingered in his mind, because he desired what Gi-hun had. A family. A purpose. A life.

Even in that moment he didn’t have any lewd thoughts, God forbid. You were just beautiful.

Painfully much so.

“My God-“

“Samchon!”

The way you rushed forward and hugged him like a storm cloud was almost enough to knock him over. He couldn’t help but laugh, as he wrapped his arms around you and held you just as tightly. The sweet scent of shampoo and perfume filled his nostrils, combined with the faint hint of fish of course. He didn’t mind the fish. He never had.

“What on Earth?” He murmured. “Why aren’t you in the U.S.?”

When you pulled back and looked up at him with those shiny eyes and that wide grin, he felt something odd in his chest. Something fiercely protective.

“I was.” You responded in the sweetest voice. “My mother and step-father are still there. Didn’t Appa tell you? I’m going to SNU.”

His eyes widened even more and he needed a moment to understand the meaning behind your words. “But weren’t you going to Columbia?”

The softness in your smile nearly made him melt. “That’s just not where I belong.”

He stared at you for a moment longer, completely dumbfounded, when his mother’s voice brought him back to reality.

“I know you just came, but I’m sure there’s a storm coming up. Would you take her home?”

He didn’t hesitate to nod. “Of course. But what about you?”

She shook her head. “I need to finish a few things.”

Sang-woo frowned and tilted his head to the side. “No one’s buying anything when there’s a storm outside anyway.”

She tilted her chin up, almost challengingly. “Am I the parent or you?”

That made a fond smile cross his lips. “At least call me when you’re done. I’ll take you home.”

She returned the smile and kissed his cheek. “Go, go! And you – take this for your father and grandmother.”

When his mother handed you a bag with likely fish inside and you took it from her with a grateful nod, he was suddenly reminded that you were still there, still clinging to his one arm like a trusting child.

He watched as you gave his mother a kiss on the cheek and the way she watched you with a fondness which was normally spared for only him – and probably the grandchildren she’d most likely never have.

You slipped into your coat and grasped an umbrella from under the counter. He took it from you and opened it, covering you both with ease.

“Where’d you park?” You called out against the growing storm.

“Just down there.” He pointed to the parking lot. His car was the only one there left. He felt a pang of worry for his mother, but he knew how stubborn she was. He trusted her to call him at least.

You clung to him tightly, troubled to hide yourself away under the umbrella, while the small bag with fish swung around in the wind.

He shot you a concerned glance and made sure to take up as little space as possible. Half his face was getting soaked by the rain, but he didn’t mind, as long as it meant you wouldn’t catch a cold. A few moments later you thankfully got to his car. He unlocked it and held the door open for you, watching as you slid inside with little grace. You were shaking like a leaf and he made quick progress, closing the umbrella and swinging himself behind the steering wheel. He quickly turned the engine on and put the heater on high.

“What a plague.” You murmured as you held your hands up against the warmth.

He regarded you with a warm smile, before he pulled off his glasses and tried to wipe them clean.

You looked up and your face twisted in a mixture of surprise and concern. “You’re wet.”

That made him laugh. “Well, yes.”

Your smirk was contagious. “Don’t be such a smarty-pants, will you?”

“Smarty-pants? Did you learn that in New York?” He raised his brows and shot you a mock-scolding look. The way your smile softened made his heart soften as well. “I still can’t believe you’re back. So, you’re staying with your father?”

When you nodded, he released a soft sigh.

“What, he didn’t tell you?”

He regarded you with a soft look, before he put his glasses back on. “Not, because he wouldn’t care. We just…I haven’t spoken to him in a while.”

A look of concern crossed your face, while you watched him pull out of the parking lot. “But you’re still friends?”

“Yes, darling girl. We’re still friends.”

With a soft sigh, you sank back against the seat and grasped the bag in your hands softly.

“So, SNU.” He kept his gaze firmly locked onto the street. He barely even saw anything through the heavy rain. “What caused that? You always said Columbia is your dream.”

“I thought it was. But the States are…different.” You looked at his profile while you spoke in a softer tone. “The people are different. Their values and beliefs. I just felt like I was losing myself there. My roots. I barely even speak Korean anymore.”

He smirked almost imperceptibly. “Yes, I can hear that.”

You laughed at that. “Everyone always says you’re such a sweetheart, but I can see the menace in you.”

He smiled at your confidence. He had always admired it. Even as a little girl, you had been no less than a Sheriff, demanding respect.

“You didn’t change much.”

You shrugged. “I got older.”

He nearly rolled his eyes, but decided against it. Instead he kept his tone casual and polite. How could he banter with you, when he just now saw you again? “How old are you now? Like twenty-three?”

You nodded. “On the dot.”

He shot you a soft smile. “So, how have you been?”

“Exhausted, mostly. It’s a…demanding country. And you?”

You had never been shy. He loved that.

“Demanding?”

You nodded. “But isn’t every country?”

He shrugged and kept his eyes focused on the street, trying to see something through the haze of rain and darkness. He adjusted his slippery glasses every now and then, before he quickly brought both hands back to the steering wheel. “You’re too clever for your own good.”

“Does that surprise you?”

His brows shot up and he couldn’t hold back a huff of laughter. “You’re insufferable. You were always a brat, but it got far worse, now that you’re Miss America.”

You smiled a gentle smile. “I really missed you.”

You said it with such ease. With such trust. It made his heart ache. Here he was, withholding money and committing all kinds of crimes, while you looked at him with nothing short of warmth in your eyes. He didn’t hesitate to touch your hand, a brief and natural brush of your hands. It didn’t make him feel anything else but…home.

“I missed you, too. Your father was going insane without you.”

He heard the wistful sorrow in your voice when you sighed. “I hope you took good care of him.”

That made his brows rise in surprise and something else. Something softer. “Well, I…” But before he could come up with a response, you continued.

“He’s sillier than ever before.” You spoke with painful love and admiration in your quiet, smiling voice. “But I can see that he’s sad. Heartbroken even. I…I didn’t mean to hurt him like that.”

His forehead creased into a frown and he took his gaze off the street in front of you, to regard you with a careful look. “It wasn’t your choice to leave. He knows that. He knows that you would have stayed if you could have. But you were just a child.”

You nodded. “But still. He needed me. And I wasn’t there.”

He slowly returned his gaze to the road. “You needed him just as much.” He murmured.

After a long, heavy silence, you cleared your throat and glanced at him with the same, soft smile that so-often grazed your lips. “I’ve been talking about myself all the time. What about you? My father said your business has been going greater than ever. Is that true?”

A tight knot formed in his stomach as he tried to think of a response. Lying to you felt like an impossible deed. Not because you would have seen through it, but because you were simply so trusting – and he didn’t want to take advantage of that. You viewed him as nothing but good, as you did everyone…when he was so incredibly far from it.

“Ups and downs here and there, but all in all it’s a steady bet.” He murmured.

“I’m glad.” After a beat, you added: “And how have you been aside from that?”

He exhaled slowly through his nose, thinking about it. The last time someone asked how he was and actually meant it, was so long it the past, it might as well have been a dream.

“I’m good. I’m good, darling girl. Thank you.”

The way your brows crinkled showed your concern and how you saw through his weak lie. But you couldn’t just quite accuse him of lying, right?

“I’m glad.” You said again, softer this time, all the while you never took your eyes off him. “You deserve to be happy.”

The words were so simple and yet they made him feel as though someone had just kicked him right in the chest. His grip tightened ever so slightly on the steering wheel. “You’re always so kind.” He said quietly. “Too kind.”

You frowned in response. “There’s a thing such as too kind?”

He smiled and shot you a soft look, relaxing his grip again. You were so stubborn, so willful, so much trouble at times and yet –

You were good. Undeniable. An undying truth. You were good.

Too good for him or anyone else for that matter. Even too good for your own father. The protectiveness he felt didn’t come quiet and gentle, it was an angry force that dragged him into the abyss of his own thoughts.

He had made so many mistakes in his life. But maybe he could make up for some of them if only he helped you to keep your light.

Without a word, he pulled into the parking lot and killed the engine. He then turned to you with a soft, thoughtful look.

“Do you still like that one band so much?”

Your eyes lit up. “Arctic Monkeys? Oh, yes. I even saw them live at one point.”

His expression softened. He then reached out a hand and fumbled for something in the glove compartment of his car.

“Ah. Here it is.” He pulled out the CD cover and handed it to you. “I bought this for you. The songs are probably too old for your liking now, but well.”

Your fingers closed around the sleeve with a hesitation that was most uncommon in you. Your gaze fixed on the dark grey cover of the band you had adored for what was most of your life.

“You had this in here all this time?” You asked quietly, your eyes lighting up in a way that made his breath catch in his throat. Where did all this warmth come from? And how was it so contagious?

He smiled and shrugged. “It’s not that big of a deal. It was supposed to be a gift for your departure, but I didn’t make it in time.”

But your expression didn’t waver. Your gaze flicked from him to the cover and back, your eyes wide in wonder. Just as though no one had ever done anything comparable for you.

That was impossible. Everyone loved you. You were everyone’s sunshine. So, why did this seem like such a great gesture to you?

He observed you quietly, trying to gauge your reaction.

After a moment, a smile tugged at your lips, warm and bright.

“Thank you, Samchon. That means… so much to me.”

He returned the smile.

“Come on. I should get you inside. I bet your father is getting worried already.”

Before he could open the door though, you lunged at him like you had before, wrapping your arms around his neck and tilting your head, resting your cheek on his shoulder. He was caught off-guard for a moment, but he quickly caught himself and wrapped his arms around you again. It felt natural to him. It was natural.

And still it felt as though something had changed, but he couldn’t quite put a finger on it.

After what felt like half a minute, you finally pulled back, the same warm smile on your face and the CD cover pressed against your chest tightly.

“I will think of you when I listen to this.”

It was such a simple thing to say, an innocent phrase like every word that left your mouth.

And yet, it made him feel a certain way – his chest tightened and his fingers curled into a fist, as though he was stopping himself from saying something awkward, as he so often did, when he didn’t keep track.

You wouldn’t mind though.

You never did.

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morganaawriterr · 1 month ago

Text

Five;

SYNOPSIS ➺ In a marriage born out of convenience and plagued by bitterness, You and Sunghoon find yourselves trapped in a cycle of cold indifference and unspoken resentment. Your quiet strength and tender care begin to reach the heart Sunghoon has so carefully guarded. Slowly, walls built from years of hurt and mistrust start to crumble, revealing a shared loneliness neither had acknowledged. With every tentative step toward connection, your hearts yearn for a closeness you’ve long denied yourself selves, leaving both to wonder if you can build something real from the ashes of your forced bond.

NAVIGATION ➺ Intro - 01 - 02 - 03 - 04 - 05

PAIRING ➺ fem!reader X husband!Park Sunghoon

GENRE ➺ Arranged Marriage trope; Slow Burn; Angst; Fluff; Smut (kinda)

WARNINGS ➺ Cursing, mention of pills (some are drugs); abuse; mentions of blood; sexual content; injuries; heavy themes; juicy tension ;)

MUSIC ➺ Listen to 'nevertheless ost' and 'the trunk ost'!!

DISCLAIMER ➺ This story is fiction, and it does not reflect real life in any way. This story is heavily inspired by the kdrama 'The Trunk' on Netflix but with a special twist!

WORDS ➺ 6k

AUTHOR'S NOTE ➺ YALL I CAN'T BELIEVE THIS RIGHT NOW! The last chapter is here after 5 weeks and I'm literally crying as I'm typing this. I never thought this story would get this much attention, I just wanted to have fun and post it. But you guys have been incredible to me, leaving nice asks, and complimenting the story... i can't express how grateful I am for each and every one of you! I hope you like this last chapter, it has a little bit of everything! Sadness, fights, sexy time, and fluffy moments too. Again, thank you so so so much for this love <3 Keep supporting me and I will work harder to bring more creative stories like this! (Get ready to get your heart broken ;))

On that same night, Sunghoon didn't stop touching you for one second, as if he had to make up for the lost time. He was all over you, holding your waist as you walked back to the car while laughing like teenagers, and keeping his hand wrapped around yours while he drove home. His fingers never left yours, not even when he needed to shift gears. You walked into your home, and Sunghoon immediately got down on one knee and undid your high heels, being careful not to hurt you. His hands lingered on your heels after he was done, and he lowered his face to place romantic kisses along your legs, eyes permanently fixed on yours.

In the midst of giggles and the intense heat engulfing your body, you pushed him away, unable to calm your frantic heart as he gazed at you with his pleading eyes. With a mischievous smile, you ran ahead of him, darting toward your bedroom. When he finally caught you, Sunghoon gave you a long, lingering kiss before going to his own bedroom to shower. After you both finished, the usual routine of hanging out in the living room continued, except Sunghoon was feeling a little more brave this time.

When you sat in front of him, dressed in your usual bedtime clothes, Sunghoon’s curious fingers traced invisible patterns on your thighs. As the faint sounds of the TV echoed through the tranquil living room, your husband's lips never left yours, eager and desperate for your kiss. You tasted dangerously addicting, and he mourned not kissing you earlier.

The next two weeks passed by inexplicably fast. Sunghoon was busy with work and had to stop coming home for lunch, but despite that, he always tried to come home early to eat dinner with you. You could tell he was home when his arms wrapped around your waist and his head rested on your shoulder while you were making food. When he noticed you were done, he’d turn you around and press his lips to yours, savoring every second of it.

Though it's a new side of him, you love his clinginess. Sunghoon’s constant need to touch you and be near you reassures you of his feelings, bringing you comfort and safety. You've been touchier with him too, though more subtly. Your hands lingered on his while he spoke, and you pressed your body against his at every chance you got, occasionally rubbing your ass against his pelvis to tease him.

Aside from the teasing and the near-daily make-out sessions when you were supposed to be watching the basketball match, Sunghoon never made any intimate moves on you. Though your desire for him grows stronger each day, you let him take his time, letting him decide how far he wants to go each time.

Today is Friday, and Sunghoon came home at the same time as usual. You ate slowly while talking about his day. The company has been a mess ever since his father went to the hospital, so he has to keep an eye on everything. You listen carefully to all his frustrations, his raspy voice making goosebumps appear on your skin. He could talk for hours, and you would sit in silence, listening. That's how much you love his voice.

After eating and helping with the dishes, you both parted ways to have a quick shower and change into comfy clothes, the living room waiting for you. Moments after you stepped out of the foggy bathroom, you realized how dark the weather had suddenly turned, with heavy black clouds painting the sky. Your eyes then shifted to Sunghoon, who was lying down on the sofa, taking up all the space.

“Where am I supposed to sit, Mr. Giant?” you joked while stepping inside the enormous room, the soft sound of your slippers making Sunghoon lift his head and pat the spot right under his head.

“I'm not that big,” he complained as you stepped closer, a smile tugging at the corners of your lips.

“Sunghoon, your feet are dangling off the edge of the couch,” you said, arching an eyebrow but cracking a smile at his cute expression.

Your husband didn't say anything else; he simply closed his eyes and shook his head. Then he shifted to give you space to sit down so he could lay his head on your thighs. The smell of your sweet body wash enveloped him, and he let out a satisfied breath, loving the comfort it always brought him. Your hands reached for the remote to turn on the TV, but Sunghoon didn't let you; he slid it further away from you.

“What are you doing?” you ask, arching an eyebrow.

“I want to talk,” Hoon says in a low voice, his tender brown eyes staring into yours intensely. You nod and smile down at him, your hand sneaking into his hair to caress the soft black strands. “There's something I haven't told you about Jiwon,” he starts, his eyes scanning your face.

“You don't have to, baby,” you respond sweetly. Sunghoon felt his heart skip a beat at the cute nickname, still not used to it.

“I know… but I want to tell you.”

“Then go ahead; I'm all ears.” You offered him another caring smile, hoping to ease the nervousness so evident on his face.

“There was something she did that finally gave me the courage to leave her.” He pauses, trying to steady his breathing. “She installed hidden cameras all over my dad’s old house. She said it was to keep an eye on me, to make sure I didn't bring anyone home or do anything to provoke her. They were everywhere except in my dad’s office and the shared bathroom. My dad was quiet the whole time she abused me, but when he found out about the cameras, he kicked both of us out of the house.”

Your mouth opens in surprise, but no words come out. A lump seems to form in your throat, making it impossible to speak. Your hands tremble as they continue to caress Sunghoon’s hair, an electric pain burning deep in your chest like wildfire.

“She had cameras in our bedroom, living room, kitchen, and bathroom. And she watched it all day like a movie on her phone.” Your eyes scan the room, avoiding Sunghoon's gaze to stop the tears from falling, frustration building with every passing second.

Just when you thought she couldn't get any worse, your husband confesses something even more unsettling.

“I found out because one day she forgot to lock her phone when she went to the bathroom. I passed by the kitchen and noticed something strange on her screen. Turns out, she was watching me work in my office.”

An uncomfortable silence fills the room; the sound of the harsh rain hitting the window with no mercy turns loud and uncanny. You want to say something, but no words seem enough to express what you're feeling. This man has been so mistreated all his life; no wonder he was cold and distant at the beginning. The tall walls he built around his heart were only to protect himself further.

With a melancholic frown, your fingers hover over his handsome face, tracing his features slowly. Your fingertips tap his delicate moles and his lush lips. You need him to understand what you feel through your actions because words would never be as intimate or precise.

With your caring touch on his face, Sunghoon closes his eyes and relaxes against you, his breathing slowly returning to normal. The rain falls mercilessly from the sky, heavy gray clouds painting the atmosphere in dark hues.

Silent tears start to stream down your cheeks, while your gaze remains fixed on the large window, watching the storm unravel before your eyes. Your knuckles turn white as you tightly grip your navy-colored pajama shirt, trying your best not to make a sound.

Sunghoon remains with a peaceful expression against your thighs. As your gaze wanders to him, you close your eyes, trying to ease the ache in your heart as his last secret echoes in your mind.

Your husband shifts lightly beneath you, drawing your attention. You open your eyes only to find him gazing up at you with twinkling eyes. His caring gaze travels across your face as if trying to understand why tears brim in your eyes. Your hands slowly reach for his head again, your fingers softly caressing his scalp.

“Why are you crying?” Sunghoon asked kindly, his deep brown eyes fixed on the warm tears that ran down your face.

As he reached out to wipe them away with his fingers, you smiled faintly and shifted your gaze to your hands.

“The way you’ve been treated by the people who were supposed to take care of you—it’s just so fucking unfair,” you murmured anxiously, unable to contain your feelings anymore. Sunghoon tilted his head slightly, caught off guard by your words. It was the first time he had heard you curse.

The two of you sat in silence for several moments, gazing into each other’s eyes as the rain outside began to ease, much like the storm in your heart. Your hand remained in your husband’s hair as his gaze lingered on you.

Sunghoon found himself lost in your gorgeous eyes, framed perfectly by long, elegant lashes. His thoughts drifted to all the times you had cared for him without his notice. He remembered the confusion he felt when you invited him to sit beside you on the sofa, telling him he didn’t have to speak—just stay.

“I really want to kiss you right now,” he confessed in a low voice, interrupting the stillness that had settled and changing the subject.

Your eyes widened, and your cheeks flushed, caught completely off guard by his words. You suppressed a laugh, glancing away as anticipation fluttered in your chest.

“Sunghoon...” you whispered breathlessly, weakened by his seductive ways.

Your hand trembled slightly as you pulled it away from his dark locks. Your eyes wandered across the large living room, avoiding his gaze. The way Sunghoon’s eyes stared into yours today felt slightly different from usual; his iris seemed darker, and it made your stomach turn in anticipation of his next move.

Sunghoon suddenly sat up and moved beside you, his broad shoulders casting a shadow over you. His dark eyes searched your face and found that your cheeks had turned red, and a timid smile grew on your lips. He loved the way you melted into him so fast.

Slowly, he reached for your face, gently tilting your chin upward. His heart pounded as your pleading gaze locked with his.

“Can I kiss you, Y/N?” Sunghoon asked, his voice soft yet firm.

You couldn't hide it anymore. You wanted him as much as he wanted you. So, with your eyes closed and you're breathing unsteady, you responded:

“Yes, please, Hoon.”

Your husband didn’t waste any more time; he had already lost too much. He leaned in and pressed his lips to yours in a much-desired kiss. Butterflies spread across your chest and stomach as you felt the soothing touch of his lips. Your hands instinctively traveled to his shoulders, your fingers curling and tugging at his hair, driving Sunghoon to the brink of madness.

Besides being an amazing cook and wife, you were also amazing at kissing. Your lips molded against his as if they were made for him. Sunghoon felt like he was losing his mind when you pulled away to catch your breath, your timid eyes meeting his as you tried to steady yourself. Your lips glistened under the faint light of the tall lamp near the couch.

Sunghoon was certain you were the most beautiful woman he had ever laid eyes on. Your sweet love won him over like a child deprived of sugar.

A sudden wave of boldness hit you. Your small, naughty hands went to rest on your husband’s legs, causing his face to quickly turn toward you. He arched his eyebrow and stared at you:

“Can you kiss me again?” you asked in a hesitant voice, craving the addictive warmth of his mouth once more.

A crack of thunder echoed through the room, filling the silence left by your words. Who was he to deny an angel with such need and love in her voice?

Once again, his right hand reached for your chin as he leaned in. Within seconds, his plump lips were on yours again. Sunghoon tilted his body toward you, wrapping a secure arm around your waist and pulling you flush against his chest so you could settle on his lap. The position wasn't new to you, but the way his grip felt desperate caused a surprised moan to escape your lips. Sunghoon seized the moment to slide his tongue into your mouth, initiating a playful yet passionate battle with yours.

Your body was no longer just warm; it was hot, melting under Sunghoon’s hungry lips and tight grip. He seemed to notice, as a sly smirk formed against your mouth while you kissed. Feeling your chest call for oxygen, you pulled away, completely out of breath.

You meticulously studied Sunghoon’s face before meeting his eyes, ensuring he was comfortable with what had just happened. He looked proud and satisfied. Eventually, the arms around your waist were gone, and he traded them for something else. His large hands held onto your waist, fingers dipping into the plush skin.

“I don't want to stop.” Sunghoon whispered against your lips, his breath fanning over your wet edges. He turned his head to the side slightly to kiss the corner of your mouth, eyes locked on yours, waiting for an answer.

“Then don't.” You responded securely, letting your head fall backward so he could access your neck freely.

Sunghoon smirked at your bold words and lowered his head to your slender neck, his lips warm as they came into contact with the skin. Goosebumps appeared on your flesh as he smoothed it, the feeling of need growing unbearably inside you, making your core throb. Your breathing became heavy, your chest rising and falling rapidly as he started to nibble at your skin, leaving faint bite marks with his attractive fangs.

Then you felt his hands disappear inside your baggy shirt. His curious fingers meet your lower back, and then he slides his hands upwards, feeling your smooth skin. He expected to feel a barrier where your bra should be, but he was only met with flesh. You bite your lip when you feel the tips of his fingers sneak a light touch just below the curve of your breast, testingly.

“You're not wearing anything underneath...” Sunghoon whispers more to himself in disbelief. He lifts his head from your neck just to take a look at your face. You slowly open your eyes and find his dark brown iris staring into your soul.

Your lips smirk at him, and then your hand finds his. Under your shirt, you guide them towards your breast and leave them there. Your heart is beating so fast you are sure Sunghoon could feel it. Completely drunk in love and aroused, he chases after your lips again, needing to feel your moan against his lips.

Sunghoon’s hand expertly massages your breasts as his mouth distracts you with an intense, hungry kiss, teeth occasionally grazing, but it doesn't matter. Your shirt rises as his eager hands sneak inside your shirt further, fingers expertly pulling at your sensitive nipples. Unable to focus on his lips, you pull away, letting your edges part as low moans escape.

“Let's go to my bedroom.” You whisper out of breath, opening your eyes to look at Sunghoon, but he just pulls his shirt over his head and smiles.

“But I want to do it… here.” He smirks, now reaching for your shirt to take it off too. As the cloth is thrown away from sight, Sunghoon slowly lays you flat against the couch cushions.

You opened your mouth to articulate something back, like how he needed to be careful to not stain the sofa, but your words were stolen from your mouth when you felt your husband’s burning lips wrap around your abused nipples. Unlike his usual clean and collected self, Sunghoon wasn't afraid to be dirty; saliva dripped from his mouth as he messily sucked your skin, his own moans being muffed by your breasts.

As he shifts the other boob, your back arches, and a loud moan of his name leaves your lips, your hips gaining a life of their own and starting to grind against his. The feeling of the evident tent in his pants makes you wetter, your impatience growing from frustration.

Sunghoon’s head leaves your chest for a few seconds so he can stare into your fucked-out face, all flushed and warm. You look so pretty and so needy for him. With his eyes still fixated on yours, his mouth slowly lowers into your flesh, smooching your lower stomach with open kisses, just above where you needed him the most.

The morning after feels like a dream—hazy and cozy. You wake up to the soft clarity filling the room, the sunlight streaming through the window, and wrapping your safe space in warmth. You yawn lazily and push yourself up on your elbows, your eyes lingering on Sunghoon as he sleeps.

His face is peaceful, his lips slightly pouted, and his chest rises and falls with each steady breath. With a content sigh, you rest your head back on the pillow, memories of the night before playing behind your eyes like scenes from a romantic movie.

Sunghoon had a strong grip on your body, possessive even, contradicting his eyes that were full of peaceful passion. His fingers dipped into your skin so harshly that you had marks from his nails on your waist and thighs. If you closed your eyes, you could still hear his needy moans, so desperate and hungry for you. For a reserved man, he sure wasn't as reserved when it came to pleasure. You would never guess he was this dirty, this starved, and eager. The way he licked his fingers after making you cum on them made your head spin.

“Good morning, princess,” Sunghoon says unexpectedly, his tender eyes searching for yours, interrupting your impure thoughts.

“Good morning, Hoon. Did you sleep well?” you ask with a smile, turning to your side to glance at him.

“Of course I did; I was with you,” he says with a smirk on his lips.

You giggle at his flirtation and let your body be pulled against his, craving the warmth of his skin. Sunghoon grins and kisses your scalp, his arms holding you tightly against him. Your head rests on his chest, listening to the calm rhythm of his heartbeat. A comfortable silence fills the space, and you slowly begin to doze off in his embrace, the safety it brings making you feel sleepy.

But a sudden ringing jolts you awake. You glance up at your husband, but he doesn’t move an inch.

“I’m not going to answer that,” Sunghoon assures you, eyes still closed. You smile at his words, but an unsettling feeling stirs inside you.

“Maybe you should,” you reply, your heart suddenly racing from the discomfort.

Hoon notices the shift in your mood and gives you a worried look.

He slowly sits up on the mattress, reaching for his noisy phone. You follow his movements and sit up, adjusting yourself comfortably. His shirt rises as you settle, and his cologne lingers, still present despite last night’s activities.

You watch his face turn pale as he reads the caller ID. When you lean in to check for yourself, a knot forms in your throat, your skin prickling with rage.

“Yes, Jiwon, what’s wrong?” Sunghoon asks, his voice uneasy as he picks up the phone. “What? Now?” He pulls the phone away from his ear for a few seconds, staring at the screen. “Sure… I just woke up. Yeah. Give me ten minutes.” And with that, he hangs up.

You watch his face meticulously, waiting for an explanation, but Sunghoon remains silent. His eyes are wide in shock, not quite believing what’s happening.

“What’s wrong?” you ask, concerned.

“She’s here,” he says, his gaze shifting to yours. “And she said she brought lunch to eat with us…”

“What?”

“Yeah, I don’t understand either. But she’s already at the door.”

The warmth in your room suddenly feels suffocating, causing your chest to feel heavy. This whole situation is bizarre, and it leaves you with an uneasy feeling. Without another word, Sunghoon gets up from the messy bed, gathers his scattered clothes from the floor, and kisses your lips briefly.

“I’ll meet you downstairs. Take the time you need,” he says tenderly, his hand cupping your jaw.

You nod and wait for him to leave the room before letting out a long breath that’s been trapped inside your chest. You don’t know what she wants or why she’s here, but it doesn’t feel right. From everything you know about her, it’s clear she’s not looking for friendship or forgiveness.

You take your time getting dressed, your mind spinning with different scenarios of what she might want from you.

With a deep inhale, you close the wooden door behind you and slowly walk down the spiral staircase, your footsteps echoing in the enormous house. As you approach the bottom of the stairs, you can already see her—a fake smile plastered on her plastic face as she sets the plates down on the table. Not knowing what to do or say, your eyes search for Sunghoon, hoping he can help.

“Jiwon, this is YN, my wife. I don’t think you’ve officially met,” he introduces you, wrapping an arm around your waist possessively.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” Jiwon says in an overly dramatic voice, making your skin tense up.

But you don’t respond. Instead, you stroll to the fridge, grab a water bottle, and place it on the table. She watches your every move, her gaze tracking your body. Sunghoon finishes opening all the food she brought and sits down at the table, his arms tense from the uncomfortable situation.

You walk around the table to sit in front of Sunghoon, just like you always do, but Jiwon suddenly pulls the chair toward her and sits down.

“This is my seat,” she says with a vile smirk, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear as she locks eyes with you.

Despite the anger boiling inside you, you smile at her and take a deep breath, sitting next to Sunghoon instead. Your husband watches the entire exchange, his gaze fixed on you. He’s trying very hard to be nice to Jiwon, but if she continues disrespecting you, he won’t just stand by and watch.

Sunghoon reaches for your hand under the table, trying to ease the tension in both of you. Your eyes meet, and he gives you a small smile.

“So, how are you, hubby? I haven’t talked to you in months,” Jiwon queries, popping a piece of gimbap into her mouth. Her perfectly manicured nails reflected the warm sunlight streaming through the window.

“I’m great,” he replies simply, bringing a spoonful of rice to his mouth.

“Tell me more! How’s it living in a fake marriage?” Jiwon says intently, her eyes locked on yours, another plastic grin spreading across her face.

“It’s been great. YN’s a great wife. She cooks well, fucks well…” Sunghoon responds bitterly, trying to provoke her. But all that appears on her face is another fake grin.

Jiwon opens her mouth to say something but seems to hesitate, as if searching for the right words. She reaches for the water bottle and pours herself a glass, taking her time as if she were in her own home. You turn your head to the side and take a deep breath. You’re not sure how long you can stand having her in your house, acting like she owns it.

The sun shines brightly outside, casting light on the massive windows and making the house feel airy and dreamlike. As your gaze drifts around the kitchen, you wish this was all just a bad dream.

“How’s Sunghoon’s mom, YN?” Jiwon asks out of nowhere, her lips pouting as she twirls the water inside her cup.

“How would I know?” you ask, confused, not understanding where she’s going with this.

“Oh, I just thought you’d know, since you were with her a few weeks ago.”

Sunghoon turns to you when he hears her words, a confused expression crossing his face. You feel your cheeks flush under his gaze, your body betraying you.

“I—”

“Don’t try to deny it, pretty. Tell Sunghoon how close you are to his mom. He deserves to know,” Jiwon spits out, a mocking tone in her voice.

Your eyes return to Sunghoon, and you watch him slowly set down his chopsticks. His eyes are almost closed, his brows furrowed as he gives you a fierce look. Your hands start to sweat as you realize you’ve been caught.

Your eyes shift to Sunghoon, and you watch as he slowly sets down his chopsticks. His eyes are almost closed, his brows furrowed, shooting you a fierce look. Your hands start to sweat as you realize you've been discovered.

“Sunghoon, I meant to tell you this under different circumstances…” you start, your hands nervously fidgeting as you speak. “I’ve known your mother since I was a child.”

“What?”

“Remember when I told you I was alone when Ni-ki died? Well… I wasn’t exactly alone… Your mom was there with me; she was the one who stayed by my side…”

Sunghoon opens his mouth, but quickly closes it. His eyes dart to Jiwon, looking for any sign that you’re lying.

“Tell him why you were chosen to marry him,” Jiwon adds, her eyes locked with Sunghoon, trying to convince him that you’re serious.

“Sunghoon, let me explain—”

You begin, but he quickly interrupts you, anxiety taking control of his body.

“What is she talking about, YN?” Sunghoon asks, his voice faltering. His heart begins to race as you remain silent, confirming whatever point Jiwon was trying to make.

You take a deep breath and begin speaking.

“Your mom was best friends with mine when I was younger. When my mom was hurtful to me, your mom took care of me. When Ni-ki died, she was the only shoulder I had to cry on. She helped me through the grief, and when she found out about Ni-ki’s debt, you were freshly out of the relationship with Jiwon. To make sure you would still get the company, she asked me to marry you.”

You watch as tears start to form in Sunghoon’s eyes while you explain yourself, his beautiful brown eyes turning glassy right in front of you. Inside, he feels betrayed. How could you hide this from him? After everything he’s told you, after everything you’ve been through together?

Your hands reach out for his, but your husband pulls away, not wanting to touch you.

“Sunghoon, please…” you plead, your chest burning as you watch him turn his face, avoiding you.

Just when you think it can’t get worse, Jiwon smiles devilishly and speaks again, proving she has more than one card up her sleeve.

“Oh, while we’re at it! How’s your blonde stylist friend doing? Tell him his father isn’t as good as he used to be, and that I caught him stalking me.”

Your face turns pale, your hands go cold with sweat, and you close your eyes. This can’t be happening, you tell yourself. Sunghoon turns to face you again, his face as pale as yours.

“What—what are you talking about?” he asks Jiwon, eyes fixed on you.

“She made her father’s friend follow me because she was so, so, so curious about me!” she adds, her voice dripping with mockery, a smirk creeping back onto her lips.

“Wait, no. That’s not why I did it!” you say, irritated, standing up and pushing your chair back with force. You point a finger at her face as you look at Sunghoon, trying to explain yourself.

“No, I wanted to find out who was giving you all those drugs. So a friend of mine asked his dad to follow her and find out if it was her. And it was!” Your eyes harden as you speak. “She wasn’t just giving you sleeping pills, Sunghoon. They were real drugs. She has a friend who sells them to her.”

Sunghoon feels like his head is going to explode; this is too much information at once. He stands up and gently pulls your hand away from her face, then sits back down, narrowing his eyes.

“Let me see if I understand… You had someone following her?” your husband questions, then turns his face to Jiwon. “And you were giving me drugs this whole time?”

The hot air inside the kitchen feels like poison, and every breath he takes burns his lungs. So, you’ve been lying to him and following his ex, treating him like some kind of puppet you were playing with. And Jiwon, in addition to abusing him, gave him drugs?

Sunghoon wanted to be angry at Jiwon and shout at her, but he knew it would be in vain. She wasn't going to change or stop being an awful person. He also wanted to ignore everything he’d just discovered about what you did, but he felt backstabbed. As he gazes into your apologetic eyes, he can see that you’re genuinely sorry and that you never meant to hurt him. But he couldn’t help but feel ill; his heart was shattering with each passing second.

“I’m sorry I never told you any of this, but I was afraid it would scare you away.” You try to explain, tiny tears falling down your warm cheeks and dripping onto your legs, staining the denim of your pants.

Before Sunghoon could say anything, Jiwon spoke again, revealing her third card. She was practically glowing with joy that her plan was unfolding just as she’d intended.

“Aw, this is cute and all, but Sunghoon has something to tell you too!” Jiwon mocks from the other side of the table.

She stands up and circles the table, her high heels clicking mercilessly against the floor. Then she stands right by Sunghoon’s side. Jiwon takes a quick glance at Sunghoon and then smiles at you, raising her eyebrows to show you that she’s been planning this all along. You don’t even know how she found out about all of this, but you hate that she’s right.

“Come on, hubby. Tell her the truth about your marriage contract.”

You tilt your head in confusion, your hand reaching up to wipe the tears from your cheeks. Your eyes find your husband’s face, and you notice his cheeks and ears have turned dark red. You desperately try to make eye contact, but he avoids you.

A discomfiting feeling starts to spread through your body, and your breath quickens in the heavy silence.

“YN, there’s something I need to tell you—” Sunghoon starts, his voice hesitant.

“Ah, shit, you're so fucking slow!” Jiwon interrupts. “What this idiot is trying to say is that in that contract you signed, there were small letters stating that as soon as his dad passes away, he’s divorcing you and not leaving a single penny.”

Tears form in your eyes again, blurring your vision. You try to get up from your seat, but your legs feel like jelly, and you fall back into the chair. Your heart feels like it’s going to burst out of your chest, and a burning sensation rises in your throat.

“Hoon,” you call with a shaky voice.

No, that can't be true. Sunghoon would never do that to you.

The silence that settles in the sun-filled kitchen proves to you how real it all really is. Your husband turns his head away and rubs his eyes, avoiding you. You don’t know what to say or do anymore. The harsh truth leaves a sour taste in your mouth.

Slowly, you get up from your chair and walk out of the kitchen; your footsteps were the only sound echoing through the large house. But before you reach the stairs, you turn around to face Jiwon, who’s right behind you. You step toward her, your eyes locked into hers, your blood boiling under your skin.

“I hope you're happy. You’ve finally done what you wanted. He’s all yours.” Your words echo through the house, your voice stern yet quiet. Jiwon only laughs in your face, her unnatural grin making you want to puke.

“Wait, YN, let me explain—” Sunghoon finally snaps out of his trance and walks toward you. He reaches out for you, but this time you’re the one who pulls away.

“I can't talk to you right now,” you say in a low voice, tears welling in your eyes as you look at Sunghoon. “Not while she’s here.”

Those were your last words before you went upstairs to your bedroom, leaving behind Sunghoon and that evil woman who could never seem to leave him. Deep down, you wanted to go back and kiss Sunghoon in front of her, show her he’s no longer hers, but you couldn’t even look at him anymore—not after what you’d just uncovered.

Back in the kitchen, Sunghoon stands still and quiet, trying to figure out what to do with Jiwon. His head is a mess, and though he wants to run after you, he knows he has to deal with Jiwon first. She’s sitting at the table, comfortably eating the dessert she brought. As he watches her eat, he decides to finally put an end to all of this.

“Get out of my house and take that disgusting food with you,” Sunghoon says harshly, shoving all the leftover food into a plastic bag, not caring if it spills out of the containers.

“Sunghoon, hubby, she’s not good for you. She lied.” Jiwon spits out, irritated.

“Don’t call me that ever again!” he warns, pointing a finger at her. “I’m going to tell the police about what you did to me—all the domestic abuse, the cameras, the drugs. Since YN has proof of the drugs, at least I can get you thrown in jail.”

Sunghoon looks different in Jiwon’s eyes; he’s now confident and secure in himself, and she hates it. She liked him quiet and obedient, like a stupid puppy.

“But Sunghoon, she—”

“GET THE FUCK OUT OF MY HOUSE!” he yells, the hairs on his arms standing up as anger spreads across his body. He can’t stand Jiwon anymore.

He should have known she wasn’t coming here to apologize, unlike what he’d hoped for.

Jiwon grabs the plastic bag and her designer bag quickly, slightly fearful of Sunghoon’s newfound confidence. He doesn’t even spare a glance at her as she leaves, knowing full well that if he did, he would break down in tears. After all, he was still the same hurt man from all those years ago.

Jiwon leaves the house feeling proud of herself, despite Sunghoon not taking her back like she intended to; at least she ruined whatever the two of you had going on. And that was all that mattered to her.

A few minutes pass before Sunghoon finally regains his strength. This chaotic moment has drained all the energy from him. Slowly, he walks upstairs, the heavy atmosphere in the house pulling him back, making it harder to reach your bedroom door.

When he finally reaches it, his hand prepares to knock, but he realizes it’s already open. He steps inside quietly, gently pushing the door open as he enters. The scene in front of him makes him question if he’s seeing things. You’re packing your clothes into travel bags, your quiet sobs echoing in the chilly bedroom.

“Wait, princess, please—” Sunghoon begs as he steps closer to you. His hand reaches for your wrist, trying to stop you from packing.

“Sunghoon, we were never good to each other. We could never be. This—” you gesture. “This is all fake. This marriage isn’t real. None of it is real.”

“No. We are real; what I feel for you is real.” Sunghoon insists, pushing your bags away and forcing you to look at him. “I made that rule back then because I hated you. But I love you now. I want to be with you. Please don’t leave.”

You can’t stop the tears that roll down your cheeks, his voice full of pain shooting through your heart.

“You never told me about that. If we never got along, you would have just left me. Like I’m a toy you don’t need anymore.” You express between sobs, your head starting to throb with a heavy headache.

“That would never happen because I love you. I’ve changed the contract, okay? I changed it weeks ago, even before we went out before we even got involved physically.” Sunghoon explains, reaching for his phone, which was forgotten in his back pocket.

He taps on the screen a few times and shows you a new document. Your eyes scan it briefly, and you realize he’s telling the truth. But it doesn’t feel enough.

“I lied to you, Sunghoon.” You remind him, turning your head to the side to take a deep breath and calm your racing heart.

“I don’t care.” He responds immediately after you finish speaking. “It’s not that big of a deal. I’ve thought about it. It would have been way worse if my mom hadn’t chosen you. She chose you for a reason, YN.” Sunghoon explains as his hands reach for your jaw, turning your head so you can face him.

“She chose me because I had a debt to pay, Sunghoon.” You respond coldly, stepping away from him to resume packing your bags.

“I forgive you; please don’t go,” Sunghoon begs as salty tears start falling from his coffee-colored eyes.

He kneels on the floor and wraps his arms around your legs, trying to stop you from leaving. Your hand covers your mouth to hide a sob, the act further breaking your heart. You gradually kneel in front of him, taking his hot face in your cold hands.

“I need space… I need to think about all of this. I need to think about what I feel.” You explain slowly, gazing into your husband’s melancholic eyes. “And it needs to be away from you.”

Sunghoon’s warm tears run under your fingers, wetting your hand along with his cheeks. As your own tears glide down your face, you try to show him a faint smile. Your soul feels like it’s being squeezed out of its life—a physical pain that burns in your chest. You place a long kiss on his salty lips, then stand up, grab your things, and walk out of the room.

Weeks have passed since you last saw Sunghoon. You sit alone in your small kitchen, the little apartment you found feeling crowded and suffocating. You stare down at the steamy bowl of soup on the table, unable to take a single spoonful. The room feels dark as heavy clouds hide the faint sunlight outside, and you find it funny how similar it is to what you’re feeling.

You regret walking away that day, now that your mind is clear. You wish you had thought more about it and not left Sunghoon behind so casually. But you're not perfect, and life hasn’t been easy for you either. So when you found out about the contract and when she told Sunghoon about what you did, you felt a mix of shame and betrayal.

You’ve always found it easier to leave than to talk things out.

The days pass by tediously slowly as you stare at your phone, hoping he will text you. You don’t even care if it’s just to curse you out; you just need him to be stronger than you for once. Without realizing, your eyes become glossy, your heart aching in your chest, missing Sunghoon’s safe embrace.

But it’s too late now.

You force your tired body up from the table and walk to the window in your small living room, admiring the rain that has started to fall. Your tired eyes carefully watch the water droplets paint the road, bringing you some comfort.

That’s when you notice a familiar face running toward your building, using a bouquet to try to shield himself from the rain. As the man gets closer, you realize who it is, and your heart jumps at the sight of him. How did he find you?

That was the sign you asked for. Without thinking twice, you sprint across your apartment and close the door behind you. Your legs feel like jelly as you step toward the hall of the building, tears already welling in your eyes from the memories of his familiar scent.

When you reach the outside, he is standing in the middle of the deserted road, confused. Sunghoon thought it was a mirage; maybe his head was playing tricks on him, but as soon as you wrap your arms around him, he knows it’s real.

The rain falls harder now, the drops heavy and cold, but you couldn’t care less. Sunghoon lets go of the bouquet to wrap his arms around your waist, his head nuzzling against your hair, your sweet perfume filling his senses.

He could die right now, happy in your arms.

“I couldn’t bear it anymore,” Sunghoon breaks the silence, squeezing you tightly as if you were going to dissolve in the rain.

“I’m sorry, Sunghoon. I’m so sorry.” You cry out, your knees almost giving way as you finally look at your husband’s face.

Guilt hits you like a truck, robbing you of your breath when you notice the dark bags under his precious eyes, his face visibly slimmer and paler.

The truth is, he has barely slept these weeks, missing your warmth against him at night. He regrets trusting Jiwon that day and not telling her to leave them alone instead. Sunghoon also regrets how easily he let you go. He should have pulled you into his arms and assured you that everything was going to be alright. But in the end, he’s human, just like you, and the thought of pressuring you into staying wasn’t the most appealing.

“I love you. I’m so sorry.” You insist, tears falling freely from your eyes.

You're thankful it’s raining, so he doesn’t realize how much you’re crying. Your hands reach for his face, cupping his jaw. You can’t believe he found you. He came after you, despite you breaking his heart.

“I love you,” Sunghoon says with a sad smile, his eyes hypnotized by yours. “I’m here, and I won’t let you go anywhere ever again.”

You smile as you rest your forehead against his, the rain soaking you both completely. “I love you too, Sunghoon. I won’t ever leave again. I promise.” You whisper against his quivering lips.

Sunghoon wastes no more time and chases after your lips, needing to feel them against his. Your lips are warm despite the cold water droplets, and Sunghoon giggles when he feels them. All of his worries fade away. The kiss is long and passionate, his velvety lips molding with yours slowly, savoring your taste that he missed terribly.

Under the freezing rain, Sunghoon is sure that all he ever needs in his life is to have you by his side, to feel your sweet love. He doesn't need the money, the company, or even food to eat. You’re all he wishes for, and he won’t ever let you leave again, no matter what happens.

Taglist: @grandlightcandy @seokseokjinkim @strxwbloody @enhasunghoonishot @contyynishimura @heewanrik @ranwonbin @leanderexists @lovelyyf @youngheejay @crimson-reaper576 @rikifever @mrsjjongstby @laurradoesloveu @babyboomysweetie @mintchocos-things @nxzz-skz @saphiranishimurashan @ikeupups @yangjungwonnie @xiiaobaoo @itsuen @laylasbunbunny @mellowgalaxystrawberry @firstclassjaylee @questionsdearreader @greeyjre @en-doll @riqomi @lovingvoidgoatee @mitmit01 @miuwonis @aureliaaaa555 @han-to-my-minho @heeweenie @vixensss @ro-diares @hoonvinx @immelissaaa @jiryunn @quilevyt @vrusha01 @kkamismom12 @skzenhalove @theothernads @moonpri @nicoleparadas @fightqueen @heesunghooney @starl0ver4 @jooniesbears-blog @k1arar3 @riri-lvs-food @kolawnk @mitmit01 @dummyf @tender-is-the-moon @dksfml @tobiosbbyghorl @loveydoveyez @beomieeeeeeeeeeees @hhyvsstuff @moondooll @enchantedtomeetyou @desistay @filmofhybe

If you wanna be added or removed from the taglist just comment below!

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shantechni · 2 months ago

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Some of my observations about Link Click: Yingdu Chapter

⚠️Spoilers for S1, S2, & Yingdu Chapter, but mostly the Yingdu Chapter⚠️

Now that the final episode has aired and finished with a bang, I can properly start another observation and theory post without the threat of immediately being proven wrong💀As per usual, feel free to correct me on anything and add your own info should I not include it.

A post-Bridon interview between director Li Haoling and Hui Xiao Hui revealed that Xia Fei held onto the cat ears hat the whole time and returned it to Cheng Xiaoshi and Lu Guang.

That same interview also had the director hinting at the possibility of Liu Xiao having more than one power, along with the fact that Liu Xiao has planned everything early on and that S3 will reveal his motives.

Considering Li Haoling's comment about the three ways someone could inherit powers (1: genetics, 2: passed through death, and 3: killing to steal), this could mean Liu Xiao has either received a power by having it passed to him from someone on their death bed, killed someone for their power, or is genuinely adopted, chat did y'all manifest this—

One major reveal from the interview was the confirmation of Lu Guang having looped through one timeline, not branching off and jumping to new timelines as many (including myself) grew to believe. A.k.a., there are no parallel universes or multiple timelines. I went over this in the notes, but imagine overwriting a cassette tape or hitting the reset button on a device.

Though there are still a number of discrepancies this fact fails to explain or clear up, Shao Yuanyuan telling Cheng Xiaoshi to not concern himself with investigating her and his father lends credence to him not knowing where they are or when they're coming back in S1.

The person Vein speaks to over the phone certainly isn't Liu Xiao, namely because Liu Xiao spends half of the episode playing faux Tetris on his phone, but also because Vein strictly uses English while on the phone with this mystery person. Perhaps he was in contact with someone associated with Yingdu's Chinese Chamber of Commerce (Vein is the leader after all), or simply an unknown figure that he has ties with and was informed by that person that Wang Qing has possession of the notebook.

Late addition: the show speaks for itself, but Vein needed Wang Qing's student ID, along with any other bits of information Lu Guang and Cheng Xiaoshi discovered about her, to track her down with the help of whoever he remained in contact with.

Another late addition: It's been confirmed in the interview that Vein wants Cheng Weimin's book for himself, just like Liu Xiao.

Wang Qing's power involves faking death, something that's been hinted at by her student ID number translating to "fake death ability user."

The information of Wang Qing's classmates has been blurred out, but it's all unique text and some of it can even be made out. The pages for Amy and Blair (the girls that bullied Wang Qing) appear briefly, and though Amy's information is harder to make out, Blair's is somewhat discernable.

The kid that used his power during the test also appears, but the most that can be made out from his page is a middle initial. It should also be noted that Wang Qing had the most absences among the students we saw pages for, and that Cheng Weimin wrote, "Intervention needed," on her page.

We finally know the fates of Cheng Xiaoshi's parents. While Cheng Weimin is certainly dead from the fire at Bahati (confirmed by the ISBN number of the Sonnet Shakespeare book), Shao Yuanyuan is still alive somewhere.

Shao Yuanyuan's use of possession through a photo confirms that Cheng Xiaoshi received his ability through genetics. While we don't know if she is the original holder of the power or if she gained the power from Cheng Weimin after he died, it's clear Cheng Xiaoshi gained his power from either of his parents.

Li Haoling confirmed that death results in the passing of one's power, meaning there's a chance Lu Guang can still possess someone through a photo they took. But while it certainly appears that Lu Guang possessed Wang Qing and used her fake death power on Vein, it doesn't explain how he could've possessed her without having a photo she'd taken in that very moment (Shao Yuanyuan received the photo she took of Cheng Xiaoshi and possesed her that way). Edit two days later: a new video of an interview had Liu Haoling confirming that Lu Guang did not possess Wang Qing

One user on Twitter pointed out a detail on Liu Xiao's phone: the date on his phone is not the current date in Yingdu (June 2019). They also stated, "This is the evening, probably around 5 pm, which would be the same time as 00:05 September 13 in China."

While the above point could be an error, it should be noted that a box of text appeared during Bilibili's and seemingly only Bilibili's version of the episode: "Three years later, after the Li twins case." This whole thread is interesting actually, give it a go.

Speaking of errors, Li Haoling stated that Cheng Xiaoshi's eyes being yellow as he and Lu Guang run from Vivian's situation in EP1 was an animation error. The entire season, particularly the earlier episodes, are riddled with errors like these, most likely due to the schedule changes (this season was originally set to premiere in April of 2025 at the latest but was rushed to Dec of 2024).

On the topic of dates, Lu Guang came to the reset timeline on April 11th and passes the 12 hour mark once the clock hits 5:32AM (meaning he possibly and originally met Cheng Xiaoshi four days prior to the guy's birthday).

Vein interestingly uses darts on Cheng Xiaoshi and Wang Qing rather than real bullets as he's done in the EP1 opener. It's also unknown if he's aware of powers, let alone that Shao Yuanyuan was in control of Wang Qing as they fought.

This is another late additon, but a fan on Twitter compiled a full timeline of S1, S2 and Yingdu, also heavily detailing a lot of the inconsistencies that's been plaguing the fandom in a concise manner.

It's implied that Wang Qing needs a person's real name in order to use her fake death power on them, though it's unclear how she knows Vein's real name.

For once we ended the season without a death, though we have no idea what happened to Xia Fei and his former colleague Jack, who were both reported to have recently gone missing after we cut back to Lu Guang in present day China.

CHENG XIAOSHI GOT THAT DUMPHY

Vein's real name is Xiao Weiying

Back to the book with the eye (the same book Cheng Weimin had in his desk), it's being heavily speculated that the book contains either classified information on the students of Bahati (particularly the ones with powers), or something deeper. Either way, Shao Yuanyuan's statement about the fire being started on purpose supports the idea of someone starting the fire in the hopes of grabbing the book while Cheng Weimin leaves it behind or dies.

The idea of it holding information on the students' powers, or simply being a catalogue of all of the powers Cheng Weimin has crossed paths with, seems likely with Liu Xiao potentially being another seeker of the notebook.

Liu Xiao was the one seen unzipping Vein's body bag in the post credits scene.

Qiao Ling asks why Cheng Xiaoshi changed the studio's name from "Hero Photo Studio" to "Time Photo Studio," and while he gives his indirect answer of being connected through time, we can infer that changing the name is his way of keeping his promise with his mother after leaving Bridon. To make things clearer, a flashback in S1E10 confirms that the name of the studio hadn't changed while Cheng Xiaoshi and Qiao Ling were renovating (which is also when Qiao Ling first meets Lu Guang).

Lu Guang hasn't blushed once in the Yingdu Chapter, but Cheng Xiaoshi has (which makes for a grand total of two blushes from Cheng Xiaoshi and a stagnant five for Lu Guang).

Li Haoling stated in the interview that Cheng Xiaoshi will die in 2022.

When asked if Xia Fei was a survivor of the Bahati fire, Li Haoling dodged the question.

Soon after the fire at Bahati took place, Shao Yuanyuan tasked Wang Qing with allowing her to speak with her son through her someday. Since Wang Qing was still a student and in the hospital at the time, this means she's remained in contact with Shao Yuanyuan for 10 years.

Li Haoling commented during the interview that Lu Guang doesn't know about Vein having come back to life.

He also stated that Shao Yuanyuan would have interactions with Lu Guang in S3.

Actually, here's a full thread of translations for the interview, and a slight summarization of what was said.

The artwork Bilibili released to commemorate the series reaching 700 million followers on their site has this message in the tweet: "The game between "Hunter" and "Mastermind" continues, turning over the cards in the mystery and throwing the final chip." We can infer from past context clues that Liu Xiao is the hunter and Lu Guang is the mastermind.

Cheng Xiaoshi volunteered to play the flower fairy in the third grade despite the role calling for a girl (among other embarrassing stories Shao Yuanyuan told to make Cheng Xiaoshi believe it's her in Wang Qing, she's quite the charcter).

Shao Yuanyuan's speech about saving Cheng Weimin implies she's on a similar journey as Lu Guang (they're both desperately trying to save someone they're close to by resetting the timeline).

Wang Qing goes by the alias "Chris" for her psychiatry business, though it's unknown if her business is still continuing after she disappeared with Cheng Weimin's book.

Considering Shao Yuanyuan's lines when she finds Cheng Weimin in the fire, she was likely not meant to be there at the time, and possibly confused Cheng Weimin. That would explain how blasé he appeared to be about leaving Cheng Xiaoshi in China, if we're to believe that Shao Yuanyuan would usually be in China with their kid while he's in Bridon at the language school.

Cheng Xiaoshi changed the background of his conversation with Xia Fei to a picture he took with him during their modeling gig.

Aight, my well has run dry, and once again I'm certain I'm forgetting something (definitely forgot to go more in depth with the two pieces of artwork that dropped around EP6's premiere), but I hope this is satisfactory in some regards. Again, correct me or add anything I may have missed, time for me to hunker down for the long 2+ year wait until S3 arrives😭

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deus-ex-mona · 3 months ago

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youtube

wdym christmas is next week?????

#wasnt yesterday just november??? hello????????#im still writing ‘nov’ in my dates by mistake lmao wdym we’ll be in a new year 2 weeks from now #but aaaaa… christmas huh~~~~~~ it’s that time of year when i have to come up with excuses to skip the family gathering again #i havent gone since. like. 2019(?) and i like to keep it that way #b u t~ if i can skip the gathering i’ll finally get back to idol sengen~~~~ maybe~~~~~~~#vol 5 has been out since f o r e v e r i really ought to get at least the asuna pov chapters done before the year ends (pipe dream)#wait no i’ll get the asuna povs done before next cny. yeah. that’ll give me an extra month!!!!!!!!!!!!!#but hmmmmmmmmmm… once im done with vol 5 (in a million years) i gotta polish up my mona novel tl too… man.#maybe i’ll make a mona tl masterpost after all that~~~~ minus the honeypre event tls bc that’s a whole other ‘verse lol #but i really wanna do mona’s honeypre main story too… it gives context as to how she landed the event gig (that led to her getting scouted)#…should my ny’s resolution to be to finish all possible mona tls that have yet to be done maybe…?#…nah im just gonna make it ‘learn to ride a bike’ for the 15th year in a row. giggity #a n y w a y s merry early christmas from my workplace ig? the ‘mas luncheon from a couple days back sure gifted every other person something #that they didnt ask for (read: food poisoning). the fact that it took out over half my department still gets me thoughhhhhhh #(i wasnt affected though~~~~ ((didnt eat anything)) i did lose my 1h break for the day though… what a waste.)#ok that’s enough of being annoying for one day~~~~ see y’all tomorrow (maybe) if hw decides to drop an announcement or sth #which would prolly be either their comi.ket lineup or chizuchan manga vol 2’s cover but hey—)

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soaps-mohawk · 1 year ago

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Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 16: Big Brown Eyes

Summary: Things have returned to normal, or at least they seem to have. Nothing can ever go your way, though, can it?

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Word Count: 7925 words

Warnings: NSFW, 18+, smut, unprotected sex, p in v sex, oral sex, face sitting, grinding, spanking (it's like once and not even on the ass), Kyle is definitely a munch, Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, reader is a little shit, angst, PTSD, nightmares, trauma, mommy issues, family issues, language, the author's bias showing just a tad.

A/N: Have you ever cried while writing smut? I have. Had two mental breakdowns during the course of this chapter, the worst of the two during the smut scene. Sobbing while writing the reader getting her back blown out? That's a new one for me. But, I did it. I finished Chapter 16 this week. I'm feeling significantly better than I was, at least physically. Giving it to you a day early because I feel bad about not posting last week. The events of this chapter pick up pretty much where the previous one left off. Timeline wise, this chapter is spread over roughly a week-ish. And special thanks to the battle rattle anon for inspiring part of this chapter 🫶

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

(This is my all time favorite gif of him I swear I stare at it way too much)

You’re clawing at the door frame, desperately clinging to the last thing you can hold on to, the last shred of your life as you know it. You fight the hands pulling at your arms, threatening to pull you away from the comfort, the warmth, the safety of your home, of your pack.

Your mothers grief-stricken sobs reach your ears, her cries of desperation as they rip you from her, your father’s hate filled gaze directed at you over her shoulder as he holds her back. She loves all her children, but you were always her favorite. The bond between you two was always the strongest.

Now you know why.

The arms rip you from the doorframe seconds before the door slams closed. It’s like a gavel strike declaring your fate, cutting you off from everything you knew. You’re pulled back from the door, from the house that had become your safe space, from the pack inside.

They’re not your pack anymore. The thought is like a sharp knife, severing the lifelong bond in your mind. You’re not a part of them anymore. You’re alone in this world, cut off from what you knew, and it’s all your fault.

If only you could have presented as an alpha, like you were supposed to.

You’re sobbing, breaths coming in choking gasps. Your chest feels tight, your body tense and aching as you fight against the constricting hold around you.

“Easy, easy.” A deep voice murmurs in your ear, your senses beginning to return. “Yer alright, kitten.”

Your breaths continue to come in shaky gasps as you start to recognize your surroundings. You’re in Johnny’s room still. His arms are wrapped tight around you, your own pinned against your chest. You had fallen asleep before you even realized it, exhausted after your night with Johnny.

“Ye were havin’ a nightmare.” He says, projecting his natural beta scent in an attempt to get you to relax.

You squeeze your eyes shut, letting the scent start to numb your brain. The tears continue to slide down your cheeks, but slowly your breathing begins to normalize. Johnny begins to loosen his hold around you, not letting you go, but enough that you don’t feel like you’re being constricted anymore.

“Si gets them too.” Johnny continues, speaking quietly. His breath is warm as it fans your ear, reminding you that you’re awake now, and your nightmare is behind you. “Woken up tae elbows and fists in my face many times.”

You keep your eyes closed, taking in deep breaths as Johnny lays with you in silence, his fingers gently stroking your arms. You hadn’t meant to fall asleep. You hadn’t meant to have a nightmare. Not in front of them. You knew it would happen eventually, but you had hoped you could avoid it as long as possible.

You don’t want to reveal your weakness, your pain, your inner struggle to them. They have enough of their own, they don’t need to know how broken you are too.

You lay there, slowly calming your breaths and the slight tremble in your limbs as you wait for Johnny to begin questioning you. He’ll want to know, he’ll want to hear what it is that’s plaguing your mind. You’ll have to tell him, you’ll have to explain everything and then he’ll want to know more. He’ll want to unearth the brokenness and the pain that you’ve buried so deeply like an archaeologist looking for the secrets of an ancient civilization.

You don’t want to reveal it, you want to bury it again, lock it back in the recesses of your mind where it can’t hurt you. You want to compress it back down until you feel safe again without the threat of the past hanging over your head.

Johnny continues to relax his hold around you as you begin to calm down again, the tears finally slowing to a stop. You take deep breaths, trying to match Johnny’s even breathing behind you. You wait for it, the inevitable question, the prodding, the digging. He’ll want answers, he’ll want to know what plagues your mind, how much it’s been happening, why you haven’t said anything.

You’re not sure how much time passes as you lay there, counting breaths. It’s silent in the room, in the barracks. Even outside it’s quiet, as if the world is holding its breath, waiting patiently for the shoe to drop, for the truth to get revealed.

You can't wait any longer. The tension is too thick, the thought of waiting for the question to break the silence is too much. You'll rip the bandaid before he can try and force it from you. “I don't-”

“Ye don't have tae tell me.” He cuts you off before you can even start, the words slicing through yours, stopping you from spilling your darkest, innermost thoughts. “We all have them sometimes. No shame in that.” He tightens his grip on you for a moment, pulling you closer against his chest. “Simon doesn't even tell me all of his. Thinks he might scare me off, or somethin'. I'm no’ gonnae force ye to tell me anythin’ if ye don’ want to.”

You're taken aback by his words. You suppose they all have to be plagued by nightmares of their own, with the kinds of things they have to see when they're in the field. Ghost had told you a bit about the nightmares that haunt him, and that had only been one tragedy, one mission. You suddenly feel silly. The kinds of things you’re afraid of, the nightmares that terrify your mind suddenly seem inconsequential to the things they must dream about at night.

You wiggle in Johnny’s arms until you’re facing him, his eyes half closed as he stares down at you. You shift forward, pressing your face against his bare chest. His head tucks so his chin rests against the top of your head as he holds you, his breathing slowing just slightly as he drifts back to sleep. You don’t sleep, laying there awake as you listen to the slow, rhythmic beating of Johnny’s heart.

He’s snoring quietly, breath fanning across your hair as he sleeps peacefully. You let your fingers trail over his skin as you wait for his early alarm that will signal the end of your quiet moments of bliss, snapping you both back into your realities. You trace the scars lining his skin, all of them with their own stories, just like John’s.

He makes a garbled, snorting noise as your fingers brush over his ribs, his entire body twitching. His hand moves, his fingers wrapping around your wrist. “Tickles.” He murmurs, lifting your arm so it’s draped around his neck. He's asleep almost immediately, as if he hadn't woken at all from your tickling.

You continue to lay there as he sleeps, your mind drifting between sleep and your racing thoughts until Johnny’s alarm goes off. He groans, reaching across you to turn it off. He lays still, breath still fanning over the top of your head. For a moment you’re worried he’s fallen asleep again, but eventually he moves, rolling on top of you.

He presses his face against your neck, letting out a quiet groan. He’s heavy, but a solid weight above you. It’s comforting, the weight of him like a blanket keeping you safe. He presses gentle kisses against your neck, his fingers trailing across your shoulder before brushing over your mark. You let out a whine, arching against him.

“Screamin’ Jesus.” He curses, getting hard against your thigh.

“Don’t you have to go work out?” You ask as he begins to grind against you.

“Would rather stay here with you.” He growls against your throat.

“Won’t you get in trouble?” You gasp, bucking up against him.

“Worth it.” He grunts, kicking the sheets off the end of the bed.

“Someone missed the morning workout.” Kyle says as you and Johnny sit down at the table for breakfast. You’re the last ones there, despite Johnny skipping his early morning workout.

You take your normal spot between Kyle and John, sitting gingerly on the hard bench. There’s still a distinct ache between your thighs from Johnny’s enthusiasm and intense stamina last night and this morning.

“Aye, don’t worry. I still got a good workout in.” Johnny says cheekily, winking across the table at you.

You’re afraid you may combust as the other three pairs of eyes at the table look at you. It’s no secret what you were doing last night, or this morning. Johnny, as in most aspects of his life, is loud in bed. Kyle had known you were going to, and so had Simon, but you find your gaze turning to John as your face warms.

You’re not quite sure what you’re expecting as you look at him. It’s not like he had forbidden you from pursuing relationships with the others, or even shown any distaste at the idea. You were open to love the other members of the pack, just as they did one another, just as he did.

His face is stoic as he stares at you, before it begins to lighten, a gleam shining in his eyes. “Did he take good care of you?” He asks, the corner of his lips twitching.

You swallow thickly, your face getting warmer as you nod. “Yeah.”

“Good.” John grins. “ Then I suppose I can forgive him for sleeping in this morning, so long as it doesn’t become a habit.” He casts his glance across the table.

“I’m a bad influence.” You say, spooning porridge into your mouth.

“Certainly worth the trouble, though.” Johnny says, wiggling his eyebrows at you. “Especially when you do that thing with your tongue-”

Johnny’s words are cut off with a pained yelp as Ghost kicks him under the table. “Don’t go spilling all her tricks.” He grumbles, eyeing the tables around you.

You think your face might be permanently warm at the thought of anyone nearby hearing the topic of your conversation. Of course they know, but hearing about it was something entirely different.

Kyle walks you back to the barracks after breakfast, your hand in his, fingers laced together. His thumb rubs the back of your hand absentmindedly, shoulders brushing as you walk. Neither of you say anything, but you don’t have to. Unlike Johnny, Kyle is happy to exist in silence. They’re so very different, despite both being betas.

Your brothers had often joked about betas being boring, and how glad they were that neither of your parents were betas. You’d disagree now, after spending some time around betas. They’re just as complex as alphas and omegas, in their own ways.

Boring was the last thing you’d describe Johnny as last night.

Kyle holds the door for you as you enter the barracks, following you down the hall. You stop in front of your door, your hand pausing on the knob as Kyle leans in close to you.

His chest presses against your back, breath fanning your ear as he speaks. “Can’t wait to find out about this trick you do with your tongue.”

Your face warms again, your heart thudding in your chest as you turn to look up at him, tongue darting out to wet your lips. “You could find out right now.”

Kyle’s lips lift in a smirk as he leans in closer, trapping you against the door. “I’d love to, but I don’t think the Captain would be quite so forgiving if I skipped out on this training.”

You stare up at him, lost in his big brown eyes. “Soon?”

He smirks, leaning down to kiss you. “Of course. Just say the word.”

He leaves you there with your heart thudding in your chest, your stomach churning in excitement. You’d be more than willing to go that extra step with Kyle right at this very moment, but the subtle ache between your thighs thanks to Johnny is a good reminder why you should wait. You want to enjoy your time with Kyle.

You know it will be worth the wait.

“How have you been?”

You shrug, sinking back into the plush chair. It’s warm in the office, a stark contrast to the cold downpour outside. “Fine.” You answer, running your hands over your jeans. “Tired.”

“Oh?” Dr. Keller raises an eyebrow at you. “Have you not been sleeping well?”

“I’m...having a hard time falling asleep.” You say. It’s not entirely a lie, but it’s not the whole truth.

“Why do you think that is?” She asks, writing something down.

Your palms begin to sweat. You hadn’t planned on going into too much detail about this with her, but you knew she’d likely notice and remark on your tired appearance. “Been thinking too much.”

“About what?” She probes, staring at you.

You know you don’t have to tell her anything. What you share is up to you. Yet, you can feel the words bubbling up, threatening to spill over before you can stop them. “My family.” You say, releasing some steam from the boiling pot inside you. Tears burn your eyes, threatening to fall as you continue. “Especially my mom. I miss her a lot sometimes.”

“You had a close bond with her.” Dr. Keller says. It’s not a question.

You nod. “The closest out of all of my siblings.” You snuffle, wiping the tear trailing down your cheek. “Makes sense why.”

“Sometimes we have traits or behaviors that show before we present that hint at our possible status. Having a stronger bond with one parent over another, especially in mixed status packs, can signal what one might present as.” Dr. Keller says. “Were you the first omega to present in your pack?”

You nod. “Yeah. My older brothers were alphas, and I don’t know about my younger siblings.”

“That could all contribute to a strong bond with your mother.” Dr. Keller leans back in her seat. “I’m assuming you haven’t had any contact with them since the institute.”

“Not since I was taken from home. The institute didn’t support keeping those connections with previous packs and...I don’t think they would have reached out anyway.” You say, picking at the fabric of your pants.

“What makes you say that?” Dr. Keller asks.

You pause, not sure you want to open that bag of worms. If anyone is safe enough to do it with, you know it’s going to be Dr. Keller. She won’t judge you, she won’t think you weak or silly for having such thoughts, such fears. She doesn’t care how broken you are. You’re not part of her pack. She’s an outsider, a doctor above all.

“Well, they did send me to the institute, didn’t they?” You finally say.

Dr. Keller hums, staring at you for a moment before she drops her gaze to her notebook, writing something down. “I suppose you have a point there. Hypothetically, if you were given the chance to, would you want to talk to them again? It’s not uncommon for omegas to seek out their previous packs and families after they leave the institute.”

Your stomach twists at her question. Even if it is only hypothetical, you had existed for years in the institute thinking you’d never get to see or hear from your family again. They were behind you, lost to you. They wouldn’t accept your attempts to reach out to them, even if you knew where they were. Even after leaving the institute, you knew the chances of seeing them again or even just hearing from them was almost none. You have a new pack now, your old one doesn’t matter.

That’s just the life of an omega.

Would you want to? In this hypothetical world where this question exists as a potential option, would they even answer if you called? Would they accept an invitation to see you again, if they were given the chance? Could your father feel regret after all of these years for what he did to you?

“I...” You frown, tears pricking your eyes again. “I don’t know.”

“That’s okay.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s a complex situation. If you ever wanted to, though, I’m sure they could make it happen.”

Your gaze snaps to hers, the shock at her words clearly written on your face. Of course they probably could. It was their job to hunt down hard to find people, and with the CIA at their backs, you’re certain they could track down your family easily. Would they do it for you, if you asked? Would they allow you to have that connection with your old pack while still being part of theirs?

“Most people keep some form of contact with their family, even after they move on to their own pack.” Dr. Keller says. “It’s not unusual, even among omegas. Just something to think about.”

“Do you still talk to your family?” You ask her, partly out of curiosity.

“I do.” She smiles. “I talk to my parents pretty regularly, and my older brother occasionally. He’s involved in this world too. He was in the Army originally, but now he does whatever it is he does.”

You’re surprised by her answer. Not so much that she still talks to her family, but that she’s familiar with this world. It makes sense, how easily she existed in it, beyond just being a professional. “Do you think it had something to do with you being chosen for this position?” You ask.

“Most likely.” She grins. “Laswell probably wanted someone who is at least a little familiar with this world, but also someone she knew would work well with you.”

“I think she made the right choice.” You say. It’s the truth. You like Dr. Keller. You trust her. You’ve grown comfortable in her presence and you look forward to your appointments with her. It almost makes you feel bad for withholding the truth from her.

“Good. I think so too.” She says. “So, did anything exciting happen this week?”

You chew on your lip nervously, your hands disappearing into your sleeves as your face warms a bit. “Johnny and I...had our first time together.”

“Oh?” Her eyebrows raise. “And that’s something you wanted?”

You nod. “Yeah. I’d like to get close to all of them, well, as close as Ghost will let me get.” You bite your lip again. “Ghost...gave me some pointers on how to handle Johnny. It worked. He...let me take control. I liked it.”

“Nothing wrong with that.” Dr. Keller says. “I think it’s great that you’ve discovered this about yourself. I know omegas are so used to being controlled in society. I think it’s great that you’ve found a place where perhaps you can take a little control back.”

She’s not wrong. Your entire life has been dictated for you, controlled by someone else. The baton of control was just continually passed from your father, to the institute, to the CIA, and now to John. Though John has granted you the most freedom of everyone that’s held control over you, there’s still requirements for obedience and submission to him. You’ll never be your own person. That’s just the way society works, and you’ve come to accept that.

Yet, you’ve never felt quite so powerful as you did in bed with Johnny, when you’d gripped him by the mohawk like Ghost had instructed you to. When you saw the change in his eyes as you took over, controlling him, telling him what to do. You liked it, exerting control over someone else for a change. He just let you do it. It still sends a thrill down your spine at the thought of the possibilities, the things you can do now that you’ve discovered this part of yourself. You’d never show it in public, but behind closed doors...

The book was right. Perhaps omegas can be powerful.

“What are we doing?” You ask, staring up at John as he straps a tactical vest onto your body.

“We’re doing an exercise, and you’re going to help us.” He answers, double checking the vest before putting a helmet on your head. “Think of it as hide and seek mixed with tag.” He finishes strapping the helmet to your head, taking a step back. “How does it feel?”

“Heavy.” You feel weighed down with the vest and the helmet.

“You’ll get used to it.” He says with a smile, guiding you towards the door of the warehouse.

It’s dark inside, nearly pitch black except for the light coming in from the open door. There’s fake walls set up in front of you, with space just in the middle like a sort of hallway that disappears into the darkness.

“Your job is to get from this side of the warehouse, to the other without getting caught.” John says. “No weapons, just you trying to evade us and get to the other side while we try and catch you,” John lowers the goggles on the top of the helmet, the world coming alive in shades of green around you. “And night vision goggles. Be smart about it. Understood?”

You nod, looking around with the goggles, trying to adapt to using them. “Yes, sir.”

“Good. You have a thirty second head start. Use it wisely.”

He leaves the warehouse, closing the door behind him. You’re left in complete darkness, with no sound but a fan running somewhere, probably to dampen any sounds that might echo. You stand there for a moment, trying not to breathe too heavily, as it might echo in the warehouse. You stare at the door behind you for a second before you begin to move forward, the adrenaline starting to pump. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they catch you. Are they working together or individually? What kind of strategy will they use? What strategy will you use?

You begin to pick up speed, running until you reach the end of the first hallway. It splits off in both directions, and you hesitate for a moment. Be smart about it. You don’t have many advantages in this situation. They’ve done this before, both in training and probably in the field as well. They’re highly skilled soldiers, trained to hunt down people in all sorts of environments, sometimes with nothing more than their scent.

Scent.

Of course.

You take off down the right hallway, following it as it twists and turns like a maze. A giant maze. There’s so many hallways, so many places to run, but not many to hide. That’s not the point, though. You have to get to the other side of the warehouse before they do. You have to track your way through this maze without getting caught by four special operations soldiers.

Simple enough.

You pause at a corner, undoing your vest so you can slip your sweatshirt off. You’re just putting your vest back on when the door opens, bathing the ceiling with light for a moment. It’s started. They’re inside. You can’t hear anything over the hum of the fan, and that’s almost more terrifying to you than if you had been able to hear them. The adrenaline is pumping now as you toss your sweatshirt in the corner before quickly backtracking and heading a different direction.

You try to keep your breathing quiet as you weave through the maze, doubling back and touching the walls every so often to try and leave your scent behind and confuse them. You take deep breaths through your nose as you go, trying to catch any whiff of them, any sign that you might have crossed their path or be getting close to them. They’ll reach the same area of the maze as you’re in eventually, sooner rather than later. You need to start pressing forward. You’re not just evading them, you have to reach the other side before they catch you.

You slip around a corner, pressing up against the wall as something moves behind you. You hold your breath, quiet footsteps passing by your position. Your hands are shaking from the adrenaline, the instinctual fear of being hunted rising in you. You take a couple of quiet deep breaths, slipping your shoes off to grab your socks before slipping them back on. You peek around the corner, finding nothing.

You toss one of your socks in the corner before doubling back, pausing as you cross one of their scents. Johnny. You recognize the citrusy tang in the air. Christ, you’ve never heard him be that quiet before. You continue on, your heart racing in your chest as you carefully weave around corners, slipping through hallways. They’re close to you now. They could be around any corner.

You pause as you cross the scent of leather and musk, something prickling in the back of your mind. It’s a fresh scent. You pause for a moment, looking in the direction he went before slipping around the corner. You still have your other sock clutched in your hand, knuckles white as you grip it tightly.

You should be nearing the end. The warehouse isn’t that big, even with all the doubling back and dodging you’ve been doing. You toss your other sock in a corner haphazardly as you decide to stop doubling back and go for the exit. You have to try and get ahead of them, as well as find your way through the maze to the exit door.

Simple enough.

Except, you have no idea which direction the exit is, or which direction you’re heading. You could be going backwards for all you know. You weave through the halls, around the corners, focusing on finding the end of the maze.

In your concentration you fail to notice the scent, weaving through the halls mindlessly as you attempt to reach the end of the maze. You pay for it as the sound of boots on the concrete floor rushes up behind you. You let out a startled shriek of surprise as your feet leave the floor, your body ragdolling over someone’s shoulder.

“Got her!” He yells out, weaving around a couple corners before light floods the warehouse, making you wince.

Your squint as your feet hit the ground again, the night vision goggles lifted from your face. Your nose crinkles as you stare up at Kyle’s smug face, his lips pulled up in a smirk.

“No fair.” You pout. “I was so close!”

“You were, but you got sloppy at the end there.” He says, undoing the strap of your helmet to help you take it off. You’re sweaty underneath it, hair sticking to your forehead. You’re glad you ditched your sweatshirt now.

“Not bad.” John says, exiting the warehouse, Ghost and Johnny following. “Nice strategy.” He says, tossing your sweatshirt to you.

You shrug, hugging it to your chest. “Had to think fast with what I had on hand.”

“Running around with no socks on too.” Ghost says, holding up your socks.

“Left you a little present. You can keep them if you want.” You smirk.

“Don’t want your nasty socks.” He grumbles, tossing them to you.

“That was fun.” You say, grinning up at them. “Like being hunted.” You don’t miss the quiet rumble in John’s chest at your words, his eyes darkening just a bit. “Can someone help me out of this now though,” You say, reaching for the velcro straps on the vest. “It’s squishing my boobs.”

The TV is playing some show, but you're not really paying attention. You haven't been, not for a while now. Your adrenaline had still been pumping a bit after your participation in the exercise earlier, putting you on edge the rest of the day. It had been a bit thrilling, the idea of being hunted like that. You can understand now how omegas enjoy being hunted, beyond just the inevitable end.

The thought of that being how the exercise ended, all four of them at once, out where anyone could see you...your skin begins to prickle as heat blossoms in your veins. Kyle would get to take you first because he won, he caught you so easily. Would John go second, or would he allow the other members of his pack to go first? Ghost would be rough, taking you from behind, hands bruising on your hips. Your teeth sink into your lip as you imagine him over you, a position you often found yourself in during your training with him. He's just so big, so strong. They all are.

You won't be able to control yourself during training if you keep going down that thought path.

John would be gentle, piecing you back together after the others have had their way with you. He'd take care of you, like a good alpha, dragging one more orgasm out of you after you think you can't anymore.

You let out a shaky breath, trying to calm your scent. You're stinking up the rec room with your fantasies. You turn your head to look at the TV, trying to focus on what's happening on the screen in an effort to distract yourself.

It doesn't work, the subtle dampness between your thighs ever present on your mind. You have half a mind to get up and seek out Kyle, but like a miracle he appears in the doorway of the rec room. You see his nostrils flare, the lift of his shoulders as he inhales. He can smell your arousal, the spike in the sweetness of your scent. You have no doubt about that. He doesn't say anything, though, instead he approaches the couch silently, kneeling at the end.

He settles himself on top of you, resting his head on your chest. He lets out a breath as he settles, keeping some of his weight off of you, but he's still pressed against you like a weighted blanket. You fight the urge to shift beneath him, to press your hips up against him, to seek any ounce of relief for the warmth between your thighs.

You're not sure he's watching the TV either as he lays there, relaxed over you. Your fingers trail patterns across his back, gliding over his soft shirt. He's in blue today, one of your favorite colors on him. He looks good in anything, the perks of being pretty, but blue is one of your favorite colors on him.

It's silent between you for a while, Kyle relaxed above you while you fight to relax beneath him. If he’s affected at all by your scent, he hides it well. You have half a mind to ask him to take pity on you, to slip his hand beneath your sweatpants and ease the ache between your thighs. He had said whenever you wanted it. All you have to do is ask.

You shift slightly beneath him, lifting your hand to his head. “Kyle?” You ask, gently trailing your fingers over his scalp. He'd gotten his hair buzzed recently, the curly strands shorter than normal.

He hums in response, the sound rumbling through your body from where his head rests on your chest. When you don't reply right away he lifts his head, blinking up at you with those big brown eyes.

“Kiss me?” You ask.

Your heart starts to race as he pulls himself closer to you, his body dragging against yours. His eyes dart to your lips before they look back into yours for a moment. He leans down, slipping his arms underneath your back as he closes the gap between you. His lips are soft against yours, his kisses gentle and controlled as he holds you like you might break in his grasp.

“Kyle?” You murmur against his lips, your arms wrapping around his neck.

He hums again in response, pulling away just slightly to stare down at you.

“‘M not gonna break.” You say, dragging your nails over his scalp again. “Kiss me like you mean it.”

His lips twitch in a smirk before he leans down, pressing his lips hard against yours. It’s a searing kiss that nearly steals your breath away. His tongue prods at your lips, and you part them to allow him in. He tastes like the tea he had been drinking after dinner, rich and earthy with a hint of sweetness from the sugar he added. You moan softly into his mouth as his tongue flicks against your own, your thighs squeezing around his waist at the thought of that tongue between your legs.

He smirks against your lips as if he knows exactly what you’re thinking, his body shifting over yours so he can press one of his thighs between your legs. You move instinctively, your hips grinding against his thigh. Finally you're getting some friction, some relief from the ache.

“Fuck.” He breathes, pulling you tighter against his chest. “That’s it.” He groans, pressing his thigh harder against your grinding hips. “Gonna cum on my thigh, just like that?” He nips at your jaw, trailing kisses down the line towards your neck. “Haven’t even touched you yet.”

You try to muffle your moans as you continue to grind against his thigh, the friction on your clit pushing you closer and closer to the edge. “Kyle?” You gasp out, gripping the back of his shirt. “Gonna fuck me on the rec room couch?”

He lifts his head from your neck, staring down at you for a moment. “Fuck, you’re right. Your room or mine?”

“Yours.” You say, hanging on for dear life as he scoops you up off the couch, wrapping your legs around his waist.

He walks you to his room, carrying you the entire way. He kicks the door shut, beelining for his bed. He drops you down on the mattress, your body bouncing as he hastily peels his shirt off, revealing an expanse of smooth skin marked here and there by scars. You immediately reach out, trailing your fingers over his skin. It’s just as soft as it looks, your fingers trailing the lines of his muscles.

His hand flattens over yours as it reaches his chest, pressing it into his warm skin as he leans down, kissing you again. His hands slip under your thighs, lifting you and switching your positions so he’s seated on the bed, and you’re in his lap.

“Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you are?” He says, looking up at you.

“I think it’s been mentioned before.” You say with a shrug, smiling down at him.

“It’s the truth.” He says, slipping his hands under your shirt. “Deserve to hear it all the time.”

“Bunch of handsome men complimenting me constantly?” You say, lifting your arms over your head so he can remove your shirt. “Can’t complain about that.”

“Luckiest men in the world.” He says, smoothing his hands across your back as he presses his face into your throat. “Pretty little omega.”

You shiver as his teeth nip at your skin, his thumbs brushing the undersides of your breasts. You arch against his chest, pressing yourself closer. There’s a bulge in his pants, a shiver of pride running through you at the thought that you did that to him. You elicited such a reaction from him.

“I never properly thanked you.” You say, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“For what?” He asks, staring up at you curiously.

“For taking such good care of me during my heat. Couldn’t have been easy, seeing me like that, knowing you couldn’t even touch me.” You grind your hips against his, his teeth sinking into his lip as you grind against his bulge. “Tell me, how many times did you touch yourself while thinking about me?”

“Too many to count, love.” He groans, leaning his forehead against yours. “Sounded so sweet, getting ruined by our alpha.”

“Been so patient, waiting for this.” You gasp, still rocking in his lap, the wetness between your thighs intensifying from the friction. “Tell me how you want me.”

“Sit on my face.” He growls, pushing you off his lap so he can lay down on the bed.

You shove your pants and underwear down your legs, fighting the urge to be bashful. Kyle has already seen you at your most vulnerable, been up close and personal with your most private parts. Yet, it feels different like this. More intimate, and less of a necessity.

You take his hand as he offers it, letting him guide you to kneel over his face. You grip the headboard as you hover over him, his hands settling on your hips.

“Wait-” You say, before he can pull you down onto his face. “What if I suffocate you?”

“Then I’ll die a happy man.” He says, tugging you down onto his mouth.

You let out a gasp as his tongue drags through your folds, already soaked from his teasing. His tongue flicks across your clit, eliciting a quiet moan from your lips. Your hips jerk when his mouth closes around your clit, suckling at it with a lewd smack of his lips.

“Fuck!” You gasp, grinding your hips against his face as he continues to tease your clit, drawing patterns on it with his tongue.

You’re close already, your legs trembling around his head. He holds you steady, keeping you still above him as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking on it harshly. Your knees attempt to squeeze around his head as you cum, soaking his face with a cry. He continues to lap at your folds, licking up every last bit of your release before he finally lets you move off his face.

You drop to the side, staring down at him as you try to catch your breath. He licks his lips, his face shiny with your juices. He reaches a hand over, tangling his fingers in your hair as he pulls your face down to his, kissing you. You moan at the taste of yourself on his tongue and lips, already starting to get wet again.

Kyle wraps his arms around you, flipping you onto your back under him. He hovers over you, the bulge in his pants very visible, even from this position.

“Sweet little omega.” He says, nipping at your lips. “So fucking perfect.”

“Kyle,” You gasp, pulling him down into a kiss. “Need you.”

“I got you.” He soothes you, pressing another kiss to your lips before he sits back on his knees between your legs, staring down at you. He drags his fingers through your folds, still just as slick as they had been before your orgasm. “So fucking wet.” He groans, hastily undoing his belt and pants, kicking them off the end of the bed.

You stare at him in awe, his cock just as beautiful as he is. Long and thick, curved just slightly. You can’t help but ogle him as he wraps a hand around the base, squeezing it. He’s hard, raging hard, the tip leaking precum already. He really has been so patient, waiting for this. You almost feel bad making him wait so long, but he had agreed to be patient, if only to keep Johnny from making everyone’s lives miserable with his pouting if he didn’t get to go first.

It’s only fair that you let Johnny go first too, considering Kyle will likely be the one you spend the most time with. It’s only natural, thanks to your bond with John. Kyle’s your beta, just as much as John is your alpha. You’d like Johnny to be your beta too, but you know without that bond with Ghost, it’ll never feel quite the same as it does with Kyle. Regardless, you’ll continue to treat Johnny as if he was your beta.

“What’s going on in that head of yours?” Kyle asks, watching you as you get lost in thought.

You truly do it at the worst possible times.

You lift your gaze to his, staring into those big brown eyes. “Just waiting on you to hurry up and fuck me.”

You let out a yelp as Kyle’s hand smacks your inner thigh, the sound cracking through the room.

“Don’t get cheeky now.” He warns, rubbing the spot on your skin that’s quickly turning warm from his smack. “Just making sure you’re alright.”

“Fine.” You say, spreading your legs further for him. “Be better if you finally fucked me.”

Your laugh is broken by a moan as he drags his head through your folds, his hand falling to grip your waist.

“That needy for me, huh?” He asks, teasingly pressing the tip of his cock into you before pulling back.

“Just worried you might not make it since you’ve waited so long.” You gasp, trying to move your hips to take him deeper into you, but he pins you with the hand on your hip.

“Careful what you wish for.” He says, the warning clear in his tone. You handled Johnny just fine, you can certainly handle Kyle.

You hope.

He finally takes pity on you, sinking his cock deeper into you. You moan at the stretch, flopping back on the bed as you try to relax around him. He rolls his hips in short thrusts, sinking deeper and deeper as you open up to him. You reach for him as he sinks even further into you, his body folding over yours. You wrap your arms around his neck, staring up at him as he seats himself completely inside you, hips pressed flush against yours.

“Hi.” You breathe, getting lost in his soft gaze.

“Hi, love.” He grins down at you, fingers brushing your cheeks as he leans on his elbows above you. “Doing alright?”

You nod, squeezing around him. “Yeah. Feels good.”

“Good.” He says, leaning down to kiss you. “Been waiting so long for this. Feels better than I imagined.”

You let out a quiet whine, clenching around him again. The thought of him imagining this, trying to picture what you’d look like, what you’d feel like while he waited patiently for his turn has your body burning hot. You shift your hips below him, causing him to move inside you.

“Kyle?” You breathe, shifting again. “Please move.”

“I got you, love.” He smiles down at you, pulling his hips back before slowly pressing forward again.

Your head falls back as he moves, keeping his pace slow and languid. Heat burns through your veins, your very nerve endings alive as he slowly rolls his hips into you. Something thrums in the back of your mind, the mark on your shoulder almost tingling as you stare up at him, your fingers trailing over the mark on his shoulder, a mirror of the one on your own. A shudder runs through him as your fingers brush the scar, his lips parting in a low groan. You clench around him at the sight of such unbridled pleasure on his face, pulling him closer against your body.

He drags your pleasure out as he makes love to you, slow and passionate and deliberate with every movement. You know you won’t last much longer, the sensations beginning to overwhelm you.

“I’m close.” You breathe into Kyle’s ear, pressing kisses across his neck. “Don’t stop.”

“Gonna cum for me?” He groans, keeping his thrusts steady. “Gonna let me see that beautiful face as you come undone for me?”

Your back arches as you cum, pushed over the edge by his words. Your nails bite into his shoulders, but he offers no complaint as he continues to roll his hips into yours, working you through your orgasm as he chases his own. His pace picks up slightly as he gets closer and closer to the edge, your eyes on his face, wanting to watch him now.

“Your turn.” You breathe, still trying to catch your breath from your orgasm as you clench around him.

His head tilts back, lips parted in a deep moan as his hips jerk. His cock twitches inside you, his thrusts getting sloppy as he cums. You trail your hands over his back, sinking your teeth into your lip as you watch his face morph into complete bliss. You’ve never seen anything quite so beautiful.

He collapses on top of you, just managing to keep his weight off of you thanks to his elbows planted on the bed beside your head. You continue to rub his back, fingers tracing the smooth, sweat slicked skin, only pausing to trace the scars that you find. Kyle presses soft kisses to your face, slowly trailing lower across your jaw and neck. He presses a kiss to your mark, a shudder running through you. He lets out a groan as you clench around him, shifting so he’s face to face with you again.

“Give me a minute.” He says, slipping out of you as he presses a kiss to your lips.

“Tired already?” You ask cheekily.

“No,” He says, kissing you again before slowly sliding down your body. “Just need a minute to catch my breath. Besides,” He settles between your thighs, pressing them open so he’s face to face with your pussy. “I’ve got a mess to clean up.”

You stand outside the door of John’s office, brows pulled into a frown. You have a feeling you already know what he’s going to say, yet your mind keeps reeling, coming up with the most fantastical ideas as to why you were summoned to his office in the middle of the day. It’s weird that he’s in his office in the middle of the day. Usually they’d be off training, but he’d pulled them all into a meeting this morning after breakfast, one that had gone into your usual lunch time, and then they hadn’t gone to train after you finally got to eat.

“Come in.”

Your hand pauses on the handle as you hesitate, almost as if you could prevent what’s going to happen by just not going in. It’s a ridiculous thought. Avoiding this will only likely get you into trouble.

You step into the office, the air inside different from any of the other times you’ve been in his office. John’s face looks grim and focused behind his desk, and it’s not hard to tell you’re not facing John right now, you’re facing Captain Price.

You take the seat across from him at his desk when he motions to it, trying to fight the tears threatening to brim in your eyes as you stare at him. You won’t cry. You knew this was going to happen eventually. You knew going in what was going to inevitably happen. You had been well prepared for this part of your new reality, yet you don’t want to acknowledge it now that you’re staring it in the face.

“I know you’ve likely already figured out what’s going on.” He says, his voice gruff and deeper than normal.

You can see it in his face. He’s fighting his own battle with having to tell you. You hadn’t expected it, to see him struggle with it. He knew it as well as you did. He knew it better than you did, and yet, you can see the turmoil behind that focused gaze.

He lets out a sigh as he continues, hands closing into fists on his desk, his tone almost apologetic. The words sting despite the fact you had known they were coming, despite the fact you had expected them when you walked into the office. “This morning we had a debrief for a new assignment. We’ll be leaving tonight. All four of us.”

NEXT ->

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