#implied fight written out makeup ???

[chryblossomjjk]

the weekend | jjk

⇢ PAIRING: dilf!jk x babysitter reader

⇢ RATING/GENRE: m/18+ | fwb, sm*t, angst

⇢ WC: 13.8k

⇢ WARNINGS: alright boyz strap in bc it's a doozy lmao, protected s*x, multiple org*sms (m & f), or*l s*x (m receiving), face f*ck, f*ngering, rough s*x, face slapping, sp*nking, exh*bitionism, sir k*nk, t*tty f*ck, t*tty sucking (duh), body piercings (n*pples), age gap (reader is 23 and jk is like 30), infid*lity (reader is the other woman), ch*king, overst*mulation, sp*tting, man handling, finger s*cking, d*m jk, brief mentions of past add*ction, implied passing of a bby (mainly subtext w no details given), maybe unrequited love, maybe not (EVIL CACKLE), some dark thoughts discussed (nothing too graphic or detailed), fighting n yelling n crying yikes, all of these characters are v flawed (except for yul duh), cute bby moments!!, oc is v immature n naive n contradicts herself a lot, she maybe has a thing for older guys bc of that, some bl*od (just a scrape on the knee but ik bl*od can be triggering), this relationship is extremely toxic and not meant to be desired!!!, one homage to trixie mattel lmao

⇢ SUMMARY: every weekend, you give jungkook a little taste of something he’s missing monday through friday.

⇢ NOTES: so after months and months of planning this fic (i literally posted the teaser in JANUARY UM??), it's finally here. i think this is my fav thing i've written thus far and i worked v hard on this! would love to know ur thoughts, feedback is always appreciated!! ty @/taegularities for betaing!! (for whatever reason, this fic refuses to show up in tags n it sucks n nothing i do fixes it so i shall leave it be lol)

You can't tell what’s louder—the crunch of dewy, end-of-summer grass pricking the soft skin of your thighs like angry thorns, or the cracking of bones as your body thumps to the ground from your bedroom window. 

“Ah-” the whine is quickly stifled by a sharp hiss as you remember your dad’s sleeping figure is just behind the wall next to you. “Ouch,” you whimper, praying that the crash hasn’t reached his watchful ears. Carefully, you climb to your feet, brushing the dirt off your bare legs. You spot a fresh crimson scrape on your knee.

Fucking great. 

Finally, after days of longing and waiting, the weekend has arrived. Today, in particular, is a fantastic day. You were trying to look sexy, and blood isn't exactly the sexiest accessory. Bringing your wrist up to your nose, you inhale the candy-scented liquid you had doused yourself in before leaving. 

Perfume still in check, thank fuck.

Goosebumps form on your skin as you take long, dutiful strides, cool night mist gliding through the thin material of your long silk shirt. You’ve committed this path to memory—out the window, usually in a more graceful manner, through the neighbor’s yard, and then straight down the sidewalk to the black Mercedes Benz waiting for you at the end of the road. 

If you hadn’t done this a million and one times already, you might’ve missed the vehicle, so dark that it blends into the night seamlessly. You can’t help but wonder if that’s his goal entirely. 

Still, the excitement of it all makes you walk a little faster. 

“Hey, Jungkook,” you smile as you slide into his black leather passenger seat, leaning over the center console to give his cheek a gentle peck. Maybe you’ve overstepped a boundary and muddied the lines in the sand of your… relationship, but you can’t help yourself. Seeing Jungkook was always a treat, one you looked forward to every Friday night for the past five months.

“Hi,” he says impassively, eyes darting over your figure. A loose strand of hair dangles in front of his eyes, teasing you. “You’re wearing makeup?”

“Oh, um…” You’re at a loss for words; surprised he noticed such a slight change in your appearance. Although his perceptiveness was something you noted shortly after you began working for him, you can’t help but feel flustered. “Yeah, I… wanted to look nice tonight. Totally busted my ass climbing out the window,” you laugh.

“Did you get hurt?” His straight brows furrow slightly, silver piercing reflecting the moonlight. 

“Just a scratch.” You lift your leg to show him the red mark on your knee. “Didn’t break anything, though, so that’s a plus.”

Wordlessly, Jungkook reaches over, popping open the glove compartment before you and pulling out the first aid kit he keeps there for emergencies. The scent of clean linen wafts over you from his daily cologne. His scent. Only his. You try your best to subdue the possessive smirk forming. “You should be more careful.”

“I’m okay.”

“Be more careful,” he commands, peering up at you with an icy gaze. “Got it?”

Whether it’s the seven-year age gap between the two of you or the tone of his voice, you know better than to argue. “Yes,” you wince as he rubs Neosporin onto the open wound. “Besides, I wouldn’t have gotten hurt if my dad wasn’t so… overprotective.”

“Well,” he continues, sticking a pink Baby Shark bandaid to your skin before putting the box back, “as a father, I understand.”

“Yul is two, though,” you laugh, “I’m in my twenties.”

“Being in your early twenties hardly makes you an adult,” he mutters. "Besides, it doesn't matter. The need to protect your children always stays the same.”

“Poor Bunny,” you pout jokingly as you click your seatbelt on. “She’s going to be just like me when she’s older. Sneaking out of a window to see a boy because her daddy is a big grizzly bear.”

The comment has his nose twitching in irritation. “I’m done with this conversation, __.”

You freeze. Have you struck a nerve?

“Jungkook, I’m sorry,” you peep. “I didn’t mean to-”

“Stop.” His voice is flat, but your heart thumps. “It’s fine.”

All the excitement you feel suddenly morphs into an uncomfortable ache as you slump into your seat. It’s different than it was last weekend, positioned much closer to the dashboard than you would ever put it. There’s a claustrophobic sting in your chest as you realize someone else has been in this very spot. 

You know they have, and you know who. 

The deafening sound of the bulky silver band on his finger, tapping against the steering wheel as he begins driving to the hotel you frequent, is a sick reminder.

You swear there’s even a musky floral scent lingering in the air. Deeper and more mature than yours. It could be paranoia, or guilt, making you imagine things. Still, you hope your perfume finds its way into every fiber of his leather seats. 

“How was your day?” Jungkook asks, interrupting any rational thought or doubt, luring you back into the vicious cycle. 

“A bit stressful,” you sigh. “I applied for school today.”

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, pretty sure I messed up on the financial aid paperwork, though. It was super confusing; I didn’t understand any of it.”

“You should’ve brought it over. I could’ve helped you.” 

Jungkook does have a master’s degree in finance. He could’ve been your Rosetta Stone, helping you decipher convoluted questions about taxes and deductions. However, you weren’t sure how he would’ve reacted to you pulling out your laptop post-sex, asking for assistance on something completely unrelated to your normal routine. “That’s not the type of thing we usually do when we’re together,” you shrug, “you know?”

Your response has him shifting in his spot, pierced bottom lip curling inwards like the words made him queasy. He was the one who encouraged you to go back to school in the first place. “I wouldn’t have minded,” Jungkook mumbles before quickly redirecting the dialogue, something he does whenever he’s frustrated or uncomfortable. “So, what’s the special occasion?” 

“Huh?” 

“What’s got you all dolled up?”

Oh, right. That special occasion. The one you’ve been anticipating since you were made aware of its existence. 

“Happy three years sober!” You announce with a cheesy smile, throwing your arms up eagerly. 

“Ah,” he huffs in recognition. His eyes are fixed on the road, but there’s the tiniest hint of a smirk on his face. Success. It takes everything in you not to physically rejoice. “I’m surprised you remembered.”

“What do you mean?” You ask with a pout. “How could I forget?”

“I don’t know.” Just like that, the flicker of happiness wisps away like a flame in the wind as his expression turns emotionless and stoic again. “It’s not really a big deal.”

You frown. Must he always be so… cold? 

‘It’s okay to smile; you deserve it,’ is what you want to tell him. It's not your place, though. You opt for: “It’s a huge deal, Jungkook,” instead. Reaching over, you gently tuck the stray strand of hair behind his decorated ear. 

A somber aura hangs around him like a dark, dreary rain cloud, and in moments like this, when it’s so visible, you just… need to touch him.

It’s stupid to think that you’re the special one; that you’ll be the girl to turn the rain into a rainbow and save him from himself, but you can’t refrain from trying. 

“Did you celebrate?”

He shakes his head. “Went to work.” 

You can tell from his outfit—a sleek black blazer resting neatly on top of an even darker button-up and tie. His long hair is slicked back, but gravity, and his ten-hour long shift took their toll, making the strands hang slack, short undercut peaking through. He looks so incredibly sexy. Maybe, you can comfort him in the only way you know how…

“Well, there’s still time.” You point to the clock on his touchscreen stereo: 11:12 p.m. You throw your hair over your shoulder before slowly undoing the top two buttons of your shirt, revealing the skimpy black lingerie set you splurged on just for tonight. Just for him. “We can celebrate…”

“Yeah?” His cheek bubbles, tongue poking at the inside of his mouth, eyebrow jumping at your suggestion. “How so?”

You bite your lip, contemplating your next move. Hastily, you unbuckle your seatbelt and lean over the center console. It’s reckless, but so is being with a man like Jungkook. When you finally get to have him the way you want, you’re incapable of rationality. 

One night of him isn’t enough. What kind of tease is that? You need at least six more to be satisfied…

“__,” he warns, arching his head away from your sneaky lips.  “Put your seatbelt on. Wait until we get to the hotel.”

“Where’s the fun in that, though?” You pout, cupping his cheek in your hand and batting your eyelashes innocently. Jungkook doesn’t take the bait, giving the desolate road ahead his unwavering attention. Despite his nonchalant demeanor, you can tell you’re getting to him. Below you, his slacks tighten around his thick, tensed thighs. He’s playing right into your hands. Needily, you tongue the little silver hoops dangling from his ear. 

“If I have to pull over, you’re in trouble.”

“Maybe I-”

A hushed ‘fuck’ cuts you off as the car comes to a screeching halt. Jungkook slams on the brakes, coming too close to the slower vehicle in front of you for comfort. Luckily, his dad reflexes kick in. His strong hand grips your waist tightly, preventing you from barreling forward. You brace yourself by clutching his shoulders, and when the adrenaline rush fades, you finally look at him. His nostrils are flared, and his jaw is clenched painfully tight. He’s pissed. 

You know you should apologize, or be a little shaken up, but the blinking of the turn signal as he pulls to the side of the dark highway has your mouth watering. This is just what you wanted. 

Jungkook sighs in frustration, tilting his head back against the headrest. The movement is counterintuitive, exposing the inked canvas of his neck that you’re desperate to paint red and purple. 

A hand fists your tangled hair, pulling you off with a harsh yank before you have the chance to sink your teeth in. The silver ring on his finger digs into your scalp like a knife. “Do not fucking mark me.”

The feeling of the frigid metal is agonizing. Not physically—his grip loosens immediately after the initial tug—but emotionally. You know why he doesn’t want you to mark him. Any evidence of you, other than your weekly babysitting duties, would unravel the entire life he’s built for himself. 

Jungkook is an intelligent man, though. You don’t have to tell him that it’s all a façade, and everything’s already been undone. 

“I’m sorry.” Your voice comes out frail and shaky. “I just want you.”

And like some cruel joke, his phone rings. 

The contact image would typically make you swoon. It’s a picture of him and his daughter from her first birthday party; her sticky, strawberry ice cream covered hands holding his cheeks as he stares at her with scrunched eyes and a big smile. You think that picture is the only time you’ve ever seen him genuinely happy.

The bold, white font at the top of the screen makes you sick to your stomach. 

‘Wife.’

Jungkook releases your hair and places a finger over his mouth, signaling you to shut up,  before answering. 

“Yes, Seulgi?”

“Your daughter would like to speak to you.” 

Her voice makes you want to curl into yourself. Whenever you talk to Seulgi regarding Yul, you’re able to compartmentalize and detach that part of yourself from this one. The one that’s sleeping with her husband. Hearing her in this compromised setting makes you feel absolutely repulsive. 

After some rustling and tiny sniffles, Yul answers. “Da-” She only manages a syllable before breaking into a cry-induced coughing fit. You cringe, poor Bunny. “Daddy!”

“What’s wrong with my baby?”

You don’t mean to giggle, especially when the little girl you’ve grown to love so much is clearly distressed, but the intimidating, grumpy, tattooed businessman beside you, talking in full-on pout, tickles your brain just right.

“I don’t wanna sleep alone!” Yul screeches in the most anguished, high-pitched tone.

“Bunny…” With the way his hands scrub down his face, you can tell the tears on the other end are physically affecting him. “Take a deep breath, please.”

There’s a shaky inhale, and a sad whine of an exhale as she tries to steady her respirations.

“Thank you, good job,” he affirms. “Yul, daddy is…” Dark pupils flicker over to you, his face scowled to match. He eyes you like you’re an annoying stain on his leather seat. A dirty little secret that’s keeping him from his daughter. The gesture sends a dagger through your chest. Usually, Jungkook tells his wife he’s working overtime, but he can’t bring himself to lie to his only daughter. “Busy.”

“B-B-But.” The wails have simmered down to a blubber. “Scared.”

“You have mommy, though, don’t you?” He counters exasperatedly, cogs turning at maximum speed to conjure up a solution. “And Ruru?”

Yul is a persistent girl. You’ve seen the two-and-a-half-year-old deadpan Jungkook with a ‘you can have them, then,’ when he tried to convince her that vegetables were delicious and totally not an abomination to tastebuds. “Jeon Ruru is scared, too.”

After a few months of dedication and trust building, Yul finally initiated you into her inner circle of squishmallows, all of which shared the surname, Jeon, followed by whatever random title her baby brain bestowed them. Jeon Ruru, a glass of strawberry milk, was her favorite. You coo in remembrance. 

“What about Ado?” Jungkook suggests, exhausting all his options.

“Ado?” She peeps curiously, and you can almost see her doe eyes scanning the room for her runner-up, an avocado squishmallow you gifted her. “Ado’s sleepin’.”

“Can you go get him?”

There’s a long pause of contemplation before the pitter-patter of tiny feet on wood fills the speakers. “Jeon Ado!” She calls out, voice becoming distant as she runs to her bedroom, “daddy wantsa’ talk to you!” You make out a quiet ‘I’ll tuck you in’ when Seulgi helps her to bed. “Okay,” Yul huffs, breathless from her scurry down the long corridor, “he’s here.”

“Jeon Ado.” You rarely see this side of him, and it takes all of your strength to suppress the smile that’s creeping up. “Can you keep Yul safe while I’m away?” He even leans forward a bit, turning his ear towards the speaker as if he’s actually waiting for the stuffed avocado to answer, subconsciously playing along with his daughter despite being miles apart. The scene puts your overwhelmingly sweet perfume to shame. “Uh, Yul, he said yes. So can you sleep in your big girl bed tonight?”

Reluctantly, Yul grumbles in agreement.

“Alright baby, goodnight. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” 

Again, she answers with a little grunt and a yawn.

“I love you.”

“Love youuu!” She extends the vowel for emphasis.

“I love you more.”

There’s a beat of silence before the sleepy girl simply responds ‘yep,’ not even attempting to argue. He glances at you, this time with a wholesome smile, eyes warm with burning stars. It’s moments like this that keep you hooked, you think. Like always, the feeling is short-lived. When Seulgi mumbles a sweet goodnight to her daughter, their daughter, you’re reminded that you shouldn’t even be observing this domestic interaction. 

“You know,” the man begins, turning his attention to his wife, “if you had given her a warm bottle, she would’ve gone down without a hitch.” 

“Jungkook, she’s too old for a bottle.” And just like that, the fire between them ignites. You’ve never actually witnessed the pair fighting, only felt the uncomfortable heat between them in passing. “And she’s too old to be co-sleeping. She never had an issue sleeping alone beforehand.”

“Alright,” he asserts, “if Yul’s okay, then we’re done here.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little unfair?” Despite his warning, she continues. “Getting her used to sleeping with you and then not being here?”

There were many things about having a daughter that Jungkook wasn’t prepared for.

It’s not that he didn’t do his research, and Yul certainly wasn’t an accident. He had wanted her more than anything. Especially after the… 

Incident.

A baby-sized hole was left in Jungkook’s chest. Every day, it grew bigger and bigger until, eventually, that bitter emptiness would’ve swallowed him alive. 

Jungkook needed Yul. 

Still, there were certain things that parenting books and videos hadn’t warned him about, like the worry in his stomach whenever his daughter refuses her lunch, or the ache in his heart when he drops her off at daycare and she watches him leave through the window with a sad wave and tears rolling down her cheeks as if he’s just abandoned her forever. As if he or his wife aren’t going to pick her up in a mere four hours like they do every Tuesday and Thursday. His readings haven’t prepared him for the even stronger ache that consumes his entire body whenever he leaves for work too early and comes home too late, with barely any time to spend with his favorite person in the world.  

Before Yul was even born, Jungkook and Seulgi had decided that co-sleeping was out of the question. Their room was for them, and he stood firm on that principle for a while. However, as time passed, their room became Seulgi’s, and the empty bedroom downstairs became his. 

Jungkook couldn’t stand that room. 

One night, after a particularly grueling shift, Jungkook trudges up the stairs for a late shower. Without finance talk or Yul’s babbles, he’s left to his own thoughts. Usually, under the scalding water, he wondered how his life turned out this way, or more so, why? This time, Jungkook wonders if there is even a reason to keep going at all.

He catches his reflection while brushing his teeth. His eyes are dark, cold, distant. Those same eyes belong to his daughter, but all he sees when looking into hers is love, innocence, and everything good in life. 

Maybe, just maybe, there’s hope for him. 

Taking a detour to Yul’s room, Jungkook does his best to quietly tip-toe around squishmallows and discarded markers. Underneath the pink blanket is a little ball of fluffy black hair. She’s got her thumb in her mouth—a bad habit he and Seulgi had been trying to nip in the bud—with her chubby cheeks squished against her pillow. There were few things he hated more than waking her up, especially when she was sleeping so peacefully, but for whatever reason, he couldn’t stop himself. 

Tiny, confused cries fill the room as Jungkook scoops her up. 

“Shh,” he hushes, smoothing his palm over her onesie-clad back. “It’s just me.”

“Da- ddy?” Immediately, she relaxes at the familiar sound of his voice, words slurred as she rubs the sleep out of her eyes with a little fist before peering up at him with big marble eyes. 

“How was daycare, Bunny?” 

“Scared,” she whimpers, slumping into his chest for comfort. “Scaredy cat.”

“Scaredy cat?” Jungkook repeats, trying to make sense of the phrase. “Who’s a scaredy cat?”

“Jeon Yul.” 

Typically, Jungkook finds it adorable when Yul refers to herself in the third person. The way she says it this time makes him frown. “Jeon Yul is not a scaredy cat. Jeon Yul is a baby, that’s all.” Realizing that she’d probably heard the unfavorable title at daycare, his chest tightens. With a heavy sigh, he rests his chin on top of her round head, swaying back and forth. Her hair smells like green apples from her baby soap. “Why were you scared, sweetheart?”

“No color…” 

On his lunch break, Seulgi informed him that she was picking Yul up early. In an attempt to encourage her to engage with other children, the teacher took away Yul’s crayons, sending her into a full-blown tantrum. Jungkook knew his daughter well, a spitting image of him in every capacity. The crayons weren’t the problem; it was that crippling shyness that made her afraid of socializing with nearly anyone other than you and her parents.

Her back ripples with tiny hiccups as she recounts the events. Jungkook decides it’s best to change the subject, not wanting to upset his two-year-old anymore—especially this late at night. 

“Guess what?”

Yul grunts an inquisitive noise.

“Daddy got you Baby Shark coloring books.”

Her wispy bedhead bounces as she glances side to side, inspecting her room for any sign of new Pinkfong merchandise. Jungkook was genuinely amazed at her ability to keep track of it all, considering how much he and his wife loved to spoil her rotten. However, the word ‘rotten’ doesn’t even come close to describing his baby. “Where?”

“In my car,” he laughs, slicking her choppy bangs out of her eyes. “We’ll color tomorrow., okay?”

“I like Baby Shark,” Yul says, completely ignoring his question. The teeniest, tiniest, most precious yawn slips out, two little front teeth on full display before her lips smack together sleepily. Truly living up to her nickname.

“I know you do.” He’s still rocking her gently, buying some time before she falls back into sleep’s arms and out of his. “I missed you so much today.” 

“Why?”

As of late, ‘why’ seems to be Yul’s favorite word. 

Why is the sky blue?

Why do vegetables taste yucky?

Why is daddy’s nose so big?

He’d be lying if he said that last, brutally honest question hadn’t caught him off guard when she first uttered it on his hip at the grocery store. 

“Because I love you.” It’s the most effortless sentence he’s ever spoken. The most natural feeling he’s ever felt.

“Why?” 

“Because,” his eye roll is disconnected from his growing smile, “you’re so cute!” If they weren’t enclosed by the four pink walls of Yul’s bedroom, Jungkook would be embarrassed at the squeakiness of his usual monotone voice. Leaning down, Jungkook blows a raspberry against her doughy cheek, a tried and true method of making her laugh. “Do you want to sleep in my room?”

It’s against his better judgment and the ground rules he had agreed to, but he just… really needs to spend time with her tonight. The small nod against his chest seals the deal. Before he gets to the door, Yul stops him with an exaggerated gasp.

“Daddy, Ruru!”

“Ruru?” 

She grunts, frustrated at her father’s confusion, frantically pointing at her partner in crime, the strawberry milk squishmallow lying neatly underneath her comforter. Just how she left it.

“Yul,” Jungkook starts, taking a few steps backward and bending at the waist, allowing her to take the oversized stuffie into her arms. “Isn’t this Mimi?” As far as Jungkook knows, the pink milk carton with a face had always been Mimi; a name Yul had dubbed it since he brought it home a couple months back.

“Ruru,” she states affirmatively. 

And ever since then, Yul’s been a co-sleeper. 

Jungkook prided himself on knowing his daughter like the back of his tattooed hand. Whether it’s a sixth sense, some innate father’s instinct that the parenting videos mentioned, or his own attention to detail, he could read her like a book. However, sharing a bed with the tiny human taught him something he had been blissfully unaware of:

Yul sleeps wild. 

More often than not, Jungkook was awoken by a tiny foot kicking his back, or by his own reflexes as he was somehow pushed to the very corner of the bed by his twenty-pound baby. There were even a few times when a harsh tug on his hair acted as an alarm clock. When he turned around to confront the culprit, however, she was fast asleep, arm slung over one of the many squishmallows that had worked their way into his room. 

Having her with him was worth all bald spots and bruises, though. It’s bad, he knows it, and night by night, Yul becomes more attached. Getting her acclimated to daycare had been hell, to say the least. He knows co-sleeping has possibly made her more reluctant to socialize than she already was. 

Still, Jungkook can’t help but wonder who’s more dependent on the other. When he thinks about it, undoubtedly, the answer is him. Because as long as he wakes up to a little foot in his back, a fist in his hair, and the smell of green apple baby soap, he has a reason to keep going. 

“Don’t you think she deserves better?”

Her sharp words swipe through the air like a blade. Even you feel the cut, cautiously eyeing Jungkook. You can’t read his expression, but something about it makes you rub a comforting hand over his shoulder. He doesn’t react to your touch at all.

There’s a sullen pause before he finally answers. “I think Yul deserves everything.”

“Right… Goodnight, Jungkook.” She hangs up before he has the chance to respond. Seulgi always struck you as a level-headed person, albeit a bit aloof, but never unfair or cruel. You assume she’s just being spiteful, because anyone who knows Jungkook would never question his dedication to his daughter. That ugly, bitter, jealous side of you thinks maybe she just doesn’t know him the way you do. 

“Are you okay?” You whisper as if approaching a wounded animal, ready to attack. 

“On Fridays,” he starts, eyes shamefully dropping to his fidgeting hands. “Yul spends the day with my parents.”

His incessant need to defend his parenting makes your heart ache. “Hey, I-”

“She’s usually asleep by the time I leave work.” 

“Kook,” you interrupt his rambling. “You don’t have to explain; I understand... I think you’re an amazing father.”

Lifting his head, Jungkook looks you directly in the eyes. His are glassy and gentle now, but the fingers that hook into your lace bra, right between the cups, are rough and abrasive. “C’mere,” he gruffs, pulling you over the center console until you’re uncomfortably sandwiched between his solid chest and the steering wheel. There’s no effort to make room for you; he doesn’t slide his seat back. He doesn’t compromise any of his space for you. You accept it, steadying yourself on his shoulders with a grunt. 

Sometimes, you question what your presence in his life truly is. Are you an escape or a punching bag? Are you merely something he can sink his nails and teeth into when angry? Something he can break without consequence? The sound of thread ripping and buttons popping fills the car as he slides the silk off your shoulders, letting the delicate material fall to the floor without a care in the world.

“You wore this for me?” A fingertip lightly traces the petite swell of your breasts, barely bulging over the frilly black cups of your push-up. The sensation sets your skin ablaze.

“Mhm,” you confirm, “I wanted today to be special.”

“You care about me?” Moonlight cuts through the dewy window, beaming against the side of his face, highlighting the taut pull in his features. His question seems genuine, but the answer is obvious, isn’t it? Simply being here with him makes the entire foundation of your soul, all of your morals and beliefs, crumble to pieces. Against your better judgment, you’re still here. 

Yearning. Trying. Fighting.

You swipe a thumb over his thick brows, trying to ease the angry crinkle that’s become a permanent fixture on his beautiful face. You comb through his hair. It’s a little knotted, a little crunchy from old gel. 

The answer should be obvious, but you don’t think Jungkook could internalize love if it was right in front of him.

“I care about you,” you say truthfully, “a lot.”

The stars in his eyes gleam for a moment, glowing bright and vibrant, before they’re engulfed by the suffocating blackness of his pupils. 

“You poor thing,” Jungkook tuts, trailing his fingers up your neck before grasping your jaw with a single hand. The baby fat of your cheeks mushes together from the force. “You're gonna let me do whatever I want to you, aren't you?”

The tone of his voice has your heart fluttering and your stomach churning with thick hot desire. Gripping his wrist with both hands, you moan out a ‘yes,’ unconsciously grinding down onto his slack-covered bulge. He’s barely touched you yet and your cunt is leaking, making a mess of your itty bitty thong and his work suit. 

“Right, of course.” With the same hand holding you, Jungkook taps his index finger against your glossy pout, “open.” Just barely parting your lips, you let the thick digit slide between them. Immediately, he presses down against your tongue, trying to coax a gag out of you. “What if I want to fuck this pretty little mouth until you cry? How does that sound? Would you like that?”

Inhaling deeply, you nod. That sounds absolutely perfect.

“I don’t know if you can handle it, though,” he lulls, retracting his finger before plunging it back in, all the up to his inked knuckle. You squint in defiance. He’s teasing, but you can’t fight the tinge of anger in your chest. If there’s one thing you can do, it’s suck a mean dick. Looking him directly in the eyes, you swirl your tongue against his palm with ease, not choking once. You feel his cock twitch against the supple flesh of your inner thigh. 

Unamused by your antics, Jungkook yanks his hand back angrily, making a string of saliva drip down your chin. Maybe a full face of makeup wasn’t the best idea. “Get in the backseat,” he orders huskily, wiping the damp skin on his blazer. Biting back a smirk, you climb off his lap and wriggle over the center console. You situate yourself on the cool leather, laying down and assuming face-fuck position. 

The yellow glow of headlights swims across the ceiling as a passing car drifts down the misty highway. This is the first time in five months that you and Jungkook are out in the open, blissfully oblivious to the possibility of getting caught. It’s childish, but you hope someone sees. For a moment in time—in a wandering eye’s glimpse of reality—you’re his and he's yours.

“Couldn’t wait until we got to the hotel, huh?” Jungkook huffs when he opens the door. Giddily, you lean your head back over the edge of the seat, coming face to face with the tent in his pants. His hands frantically work to unbuckle his belt, desperate to bury himself inside of you. His favorite escape. “Well, since you want to act like a fucking whore-” his pants fall to his knees with a clang when he unbuttons them, “-I’ll treat you like one.”

“Please,” you whimper, noting the wet spot on his gray Calvin Kleins. Reaching up, you lightly drag your nails across it, teasingly pinching the head of his cock before he tugs his boxers down. A big greedy smile spreads across your face as his semi springs out. 

The sight makes your lips part. It’s so pretty. Something about how the moonlight catches the glowy pink tip, peeking out from under his foreskin. The light accentuates every ridge and vein on his girthy shaft. So yummy it has you drooling-

Jungkook’s right. You’re a complete and utter whore.

“Is this what you wanted?” He peers down at you over his prominent nose, one hand clutching the roof of his Mercedes. The other wraps around his thick shaft, giving it a few languid pumps, getting himself fully erect for you. Teasingly, he taps the head against your plump lips. Unable to resist, you press a sweet peck and a kitten lick to his silky frenulum. “Uh-uh,” he chuckles, raising his delicious cock just beyond your reach. “You know better than that. Ask for permission.”

“Wanna suck it,” you pout, squirming impatiently. “Please?”

Suddenly, his heavy cock slaps your cheek with a wet thud.

“Please, what?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl.” The praise is contradicted by another light smack to your face, this time with an open palm. Taking the hint, you open your mouth wide, tongue sticking out in anticipation. Jungkook watches you intently with furrowed brows and a slack jaw as he feeds you the first few inches. As soon as the salty flavor of his arousal hits your tastebuds, you moan obnoxiously, back arching off the leather beneath you. 

He starts slowly, using your breathing to guide his movements—pausing on the exhales and giving you a bit more on the inhales. He does this until the entirety of his length is shoved down your warm, wet mouth. 

The hem of his black dress shirt flows over you, obstructing his view. He places it between his teeth with an annoyed groan, wanting to watch the swell in your neck as you swallow him like a snake. “You take it so well,” he grunts over the material, “the best I’ve ever had.”

Tears clinging to your lashes finally lose grip, trickling down your skin until they get lost in the thick, dark swoops of your dangling hair. For once, you mean something more to him than she does. It’s insignificant and shameful, but at least it's something.

“Are you okay, __?” Jungkook asks, sensing the shift as your soul splays before him like your half-naked body. Stepping back, he gives you some reprieve.

With red eyes and drool bubbling at the corners of your lips, you moan out an implied ‘yes.’ His confession has you on cloud nine.

“Do you remember the sign?”

Again, you hum. 

“Can you show me?”

Lazily, you tap his outer thigh three times, a hard ‘stop’ symbol you had agreed upon months ago while hanging off the edge of a hotel bed, preparing for Jungkook to fuck your mouth for the very first time. 

“Good girl,” he says before rutting his entire length into you again. He’s so deep that the soft skin of his scrotum nudges against the tip of your nose, and the dense patch of trimmed hair on his pubic bone tickles your chin. Reaching down, Jungkook grips your neck, reveling in the feeling of it stretching against his palm as he moves in and out steadily. 

Eventually, he hunches over, hands wandering down and holding your temples for better leverage. Despite the harsh digs of his hips, his delicate fingers brush away a few strands of hair stuck to your damp cheeks. The sweet gesture makes you whimper around him in pure ecstasy, moving your head to meet his thrusts for extra stimulation, circling your flat tongue around the base. 

The whistles of the midnight breeze and the murmur of passing cars fade, and all you hear is Jungkook. The melodic, venomous praises pouring out of him poison your mind with optimism. He takes one last plunge, so powerful it sends you sliding back against the seat. To steady yourself, you grip his legs, attempting to ease your triggered gag reflex. He holds you there, cock stuffed to the brim as he slams a hand against the black steel of his car, shirt falling from his teeth as he moans ardently. You gasp when he finally pulls out, leaking tip still connected to you by a bridge of spit and precum.

“Why-” Cough. “Why did you stop?” 

Your question is met with only the sound of rustling fabric and the chime of his hanging belt buckle as he removes his suit jacket and throws it into the passenger seat. Grabbing you by the band of your lingerie, Jungkook hauls your frame closer.

He snaps your taut bra strap against your shoulder with a single finger. “Take this off.”

“O-Okay,” you stutter, still trying to catch your breath as you sit up at the waist and unclip your bra. A shiver runs down your spine as the cool night air licks your exposed chest. This time when you lie down, you’re positioned under his spread legs. He stands over you with such authority and dominance. The underside view of his hard cock looks absolutely menacing. 

“These,” Jungkook’s large palms grab at your tits, jiggling them, “I wanna fuck ‘em.”

“There isn’t anything for you to fuck,” you giggle. 

After years of insecurity, and crying over vengeful comments from dumb boys you had broken things off with, you finally came to terms with your appearance. Your tits are small, and that’s okay. Plus, the cute little nipple piercings you had gotten a while back were definitely a confidence booster. There wasn’t an ounce of self-hatred in your comment.

Jungkook doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Shut up.” With a huff, he steps back and hunches, reaching down to deliver a harsh swat to your cheek. It was a little rougher than usual, and you wince upon impact. Instantly, he soothes the skin with a gentle pet. “Your tits are… perfect.”

Perfect? Your cheeks and aching pussy heat up at the compliment.

Squeezing your chest, Jungkook brushes his thumbs over your pebbled nipples. He pays extra attention to the silver barbells, decorated with little sparkly peaches at the ends. “These are new,” he notes, tugging on the jewelry. You let out a breathy moan, legs clenching together, inner thighs embarrassingly wet. “Sheesh,” he laughs, “someone’s sensitive.”

“Yeah… keep going.”

“I like them. They’re cute on you.”

Throughout your acquaintances, Jungkook was rarely this vocal. Maybe some praise sprinkled in here and there, but seldom anything substantial. Tonight, however, he’s been dishing out sweet talk like candy. You can’t pinpoint precisely what, but something’s changed.

Whatever it is, it fills you with awful, wishful hope.

Jungkook shuffles closer, teasing the teat of your pierced bud with his sticky tip. The dreamy sensation has your eyes rolling back into your skull. A glob of spit drops between the valley of your breasts before he spreads the wetness over your skin with his shaft. He has to use a death grip to force your tits into a soft plushness, perfect for him to slot himself into. Again, you feel that fucking ring embedding itself into your skin like a nasty tick. 

Cautiously, he guides his pulsing cock between your constrained breasts. A beautiful symphony of groans lulls out as he throws his head back in pleasure, long locks dancing along his clammy neck. 

“You like that?” You hum, taunting him. “Tell me how it feels.”

It takes him a minute to collect his thoughts, eyes trained on your tits pillowing around him, focusing on the dewy sheen of your nipples and chest as his oozing cock spills onto your skin. “It feels-” his hips stutter, “-so fucking good.”

The way his teeth snarl around the hushed curse makes you smile, eyes closing as you relish in his pleasure. Maybe you’re too horny, or perhaps the blood rushing to your head from being upside down for so long is making you crazy, but you wish you could live in this moment forever. Wallowing in the darkness, frozen in time with him. Yeah, you think, that would be wonderful.

“You can touch yourself,” he comments, spotting your clenched legs, desperate for some pressure. 

“S’okay,” you mumble, reaching around to caress his balls. His thighs tremble a bit against your arms. “Just wanna make you feel good.”

“Can you-” he grunts, stomach clenching as he begins to feel that familiar pooling in the base of his thick shaft. “Hold them for me. I’ll take care of you after, just- let me cum.”

Obliging, you replace his hands with your own, squishing your tits together for him. The visual of you lying under him, complacent and willing, sends him spiraling. A guttural roar echoes throughout the empty road as he speeds up. “Tighter,” he orders; you listen. The saliva and precum are beginning to rub off, making the friction of his chaotic thrusts sting your skin. He notices, letting another string of spit fall from his mouth onto your flesh. “Be good and take it. I’m almost there.”

By now, Jungkook should know you’d endure any pain to be with him. 

The darkest parts of your brain tell you he’s well aware of that fact. 

After a few more humps and lulled words of encouragement, he’s bursting at the seams. Just before he blows, Jungkook steps back, tight fist jerking himself frantically as he spills his seed onto your chest. Your eyes dart from his angry cock to his fucked out expressions. The moonlight shines behind him like a glowing aura as he finishes with a scrunched nose and his tongue between his teeth. He looks angelic. You moan under him, flinching when a stray spurt lands on your chin. 

Fucked out and dazed, he laughs softly, running a hand through his hair as his chest heaves. Collecting the liquid with his finger, he brings it to your giggling lips. The taste makes you hum as you lazily begin rubbing his cum all over your tits. 

“Really?” He asks with a raised eyebrow. “You’re already starting?”

“Starting what?” You pout, batting your lashes at him and circling your nipple lightly with the tip of your nail, trying your best to look oblivious and innocent. Well, as innocent as you possibly can while literally covered in sperm. 

“Don’t play dumb. You know what you’re doing.”

See, in many ways, Jungkook is different from any other guy you’ve been with prior. For one, you didn’t meet via horny messages on Tinder at 1 a.m. For two, he’s older, meaning he’s much more intelligent and much more experienced. After years and years of honing in on his craft, he just knows how to fuck. Jungkook is one of the rare few penis-havers in the world who can orgasm back to back; no refractory period necessary. Truly a hidden gem. 

To put it simply, the man is a fucking faucet—one that you can turn off and on whenever you want. 

As if on cue, Jungkook twirls his inked finger, indicating for you to turn around. The other hand squeezes his cock just below the crown to cut off circulation, keeping himself erect. With that, your white converses are planted flat onto the sparse grass as you bend over the back seat, leaning your weight on your elbows. 

It's like whiplash when Jungkook's aggressive persona drops, and he's running his hands all over your body. Up your thighs, over your back, down your arms. He blooms petal-soft kisses on your bare shoulder before whispering in your ear. “Can I go in like this? Or do you need some foreplay?”

“This is fine,” you murmur, jarred by his sudden tenderness. “Perfect, actually.” 

With a hushed ‘alright,’ Jungkook reaches over you to rummage through the pocket of his discarded blazer. A heavy sigh escapes your lips as he pulls out a square foil packet. Condoms were an unwavering constant in your weekend escapades. Jungkook always wears condoms. Normally, that would be a great thing; however, in this situation, it’s like a stab to the heart…

Because if he’s adamant about using protection with you, then that means he’s still sleeping with her, doesn’t it? And it’s not like you can even ask or scold him about it. She’s his wife, after all. You’re the outsider. 

Jungkook hooks his thumb into your panties and pulls them aside. Your glistening folds are on full display, waiting to get pounded mercilessly right on the side of the road. He shoves three digits into your mouth, letting your drool on them a bit before pressing them to your wet cunt. Opening your folds with his index and ring fingers, he lightly dips the middle inside you. He collects some arousal and spreads it to your clit in feathery flicking motions. You cry out, feeling the shocks of a blossoming orgasm. 

“Already dripping, I see.” You can practically hear his cocky, satisfied grin as he stands straight and rolls the condom down his length. “Always so sensitive.”

“Mhm,” you nod frantically, “I always get like this with you.”

“I know you do.” Pulling a cheek to the side, Jungkook cards his sheathed tip through your entrance, making sure to nudge under your clitoral hood with every swipe. Lewd wet sounds ring in your ears as he tortures your hole relentlessly. 

“Kook,” you huff, reaching back to dig your manicured, almond-shaped nails into his skin. “Just put it in!”

Suddenly, Jungkook slams your torso onto the leather. In one swift motion, he’s catching your wrists, pinning them both to your lower back with a single hand. 

“I’ll give you what you want just-” releasing the back of your neck, he spanks you so hard you recoil, “be patient.”

Despite his words, you wait no longer than a minute before he’s guiding his dreamy member right where you want it. Jungkook always gives in quickly. How could he not when you’re ass up, face down, and practically begging? As he sinks into you, and you feel that familiar burn from the initial stretch, your eyes roll back, mouth opening around a silent scream. 

Usually, Jungkook likes to overwhelm you with his entire length all at once. There’s some hesitation this time as he slides in only halfway before stopping. Too much hesitation for your liking. You’re confident he’s testing you. Your assumption is verified when he speaks in that annoying, condescending voice.

“If you want it so bad, come get it.”

“You’re so,” breaking free from his grasp, you press your palms into the seat and lift yourself up with a grumble, “infuriating.”

He hums halfheartedly, head dropping to watch you work yourself onto him. Only a single stroke in, and he can already see you coating him in a shiny, milky dew. “So fucking wet…”

“Can’t help it,” you peep, taking him to the hilt and circling your hips, trying to savor the feeling. You’re no stranger to his cock; how good it makes you feel. You spend every Friday night bathing in that pleasure, forgoing parties and hangouts with your best friends for a romp in the five-star hotel sheets with Jungkook. Still, you squeeze your eyes shut, trying to commit his touch to memory. Perhaps, despite your denial, you recognize that this is temporary. Deep down, you know that someday, all you’ll have left of him is a tragic echo. “I love the way you make me feel.”

“Me too,” he gasps, guiding your movements as his fingers dig into your hips. Clearly interpreting your admission differently than you had meant it. “Your pussy’s like heaven.” 

High on praise and drunk on the sounds you’re coaxing out of him, you whine, dragging your cunt up every inch of his throbbing length before slamming back. Hopefully, the dense forest behind you is enough to insulate the pornographic wails ripping through you. Even if someone somewhere hears, you can’t bring yourself to give a damn. Not when heady pleasure and adrenaline course through your veins like blood. 

Just when you’re about to collapse, arms giving out underneath you, Jungkook grabs you by the neck and holds you flush against his toned chest. “Don’t you run,” he chuckles. The low baritone rumble goes straight to your clit. His warm breath gusts over your skin, contrasting the chilly night air. “Don’t give up on me.”

He’s pounding into you now, choking you tighter than he ever has, but he pecks you so delicately. Lips barely ghosting over the shell of your ear. So gentle and tender. As tears stream down your cheeks for the second time tonight, you can’t help but feel there’s a hidden meaning behind his words.

“What’s wrong?” He smirks, tilting your face, wanting you to look him in the eye as you fall apart. The visual nearly makes you combust. His stringy hair is sticking to his cheeks, flushed from exertion. Even the tattoos littering the expanse of his neck are splotched pink and red. Twisting in his hold, you grab a fistful of his damp waves, fingers tickling his short undercut. “What do you want, baby?”

“Cum…”

“You wanna cum?”

“Please, please, please.” Weak whimpers punch out of you in tandem with his brutal thrusts.

“What do you say?”

“Please, sir?”

“Good girl,” he rewards you with a smack to your sensitive clit, “you can cum. I’ve got you.”

And with his permission, you’re cumming. Your legs shake violently as you’re overcome with blinding, electric gratification. If it wasn’t for Jungkook’s strong arms supporting you, you would’ve toppled face-first into the seat. He fucks you through the height of your orgasm; hips never ceasing, even when everything becomes so intense and sensitive that your body instinctively tries to push him away. He watches your face intently, reading your expressions to ensure he’s milked every last drop of your orgasm before he lets you fall onto the leather.

Even in your hazy state, you catch the breathy string of curses, a telltale sign of his own impending orgasm. “Fuck!” He groans, removing the condom to paint your ass and lower back in hot, white ropes. 

It’s funny, really. 

He refuses to cum with you or inside you, something so intimate and special, but he has no qualms cumming on you. It’s almost like he’s marking you, burning himself into your flesh. Consuming a piece of you every time your bodies come together as one. 

And all the while, his mind is somewhere else as his body swallows you alive. 

“Look at you,” Jungkook laughs, smoothing a palm up and down your spine, rubbing his semen into your skin the same way you had earlier. “I’ve made a mess out of you.” 

That’s true in more ways than one…

Lost in post-nut clarity, your brain barely registers Jungkook maneuvering you both into the car. Closing the door behind him, he moves you onto his lap, your back pressed against his sweaty button-up. Peering down, you see his slacks and boxers still around his ankles, black dress shoes poking out underneath. You’re in only a thong and sneakers, and your makeup is definitely melted. The two of you must look like the biggest sluts ever.

“What’s so funny?” Jungkook mutters, noticing your delirious giggles. 

“Oh, nothing,” you hum, leaning into him. Habitually, he wraps both of his inked arms around your middle. You despise how incredibly natural and serendipitous it feels, almost like you’re meant to be in them.

God __, get your head out of the clouds and return to Earth. 

Life isn’t a romance novel, and you’re not a child anymore. You shouldn’t see the world as quartz-colored and magical. The man is seven years older than you. He has a wife and child. Logistically, it could never, ever work…

But if soulmates exist as they do in the books, you wish on every falling star that Jungkook is yours.

“What are you thinking about?” You coo softly, turning your head to stare into the abyss of his infinite eyes.

Like a moth drawn to a flame, he can’t resist lowering his sinful hand to your most private area, cupping your sex unabashedly. “I want more.”

“You always want more.” 

“So do you,” he laughs, pointing out the way you grind into his touch. Nuzzling into your shoulder, he nips your skin and then soothes his tongue over it like an insincere apology. “Just one more time, okay?”

You nod, head leaning back on his shoulder as you succumb to his skilled fingers, rubbing your clit in tight circles. Jungkook pauses in contemplation before popping his glistening fingers into his mouth. When the taste hits his tongue, his face contorts. He even moans dreamily like you’re the most delicious dessert he’s experienced. The scene has your own brows furrowing, lips parting at just how hot and bothered he’s got you. 

Sensually, he trails the wet pads down, ghosting over a nipple, teasing you on their treacherous journey to your waiting core. He slides them in your wet cunt seamlessly, curling right into your g-spot. They move in a dip and wave that drives you wild, a wet suction noise sounding in the enclosed space. Turned on by your purrs and mewls, Jungkook subtly ruts against you, his plumping cock sliding between your cheeks.

“You’re already close, aren’t you?” He tuts patronizingly. “Gonna cum around my fingers, sweetheart?”

“No…”

“No?”

“Wanna cum with you…”

He stops, realizing what you’re alluding to, before pulling his fingers out and tapping your clit gently. “There’s another condom in my pocket. Can you hand it to me?”

“We don’t need it.”

“Yes, we do. Don’t be foolish.”

“... I’m on the pill,” you suggest hesitantly. Once again, you’re nothing but stupid and irresponsible when it comes to Jungkook. You just want to be with him, that’s all. 

“__,” he starts, voice shadowed with sternness, “give me the condom.”

Realizing he won’t budge, you do as he asks and fish it from his blazer, watching idly as he goes through all the steps—stroking himself to full mass, rolling on a barrier, and then positioning you between his spread legs as he guides you down onto his length with a hand on your hip. 

Cyclical. 

Like clockwork, your jaw drops, eyes screwing shut as you let him invade your space and infiltrate your mind. You don’t believe the two of you have ever tried this position before, but it feels so fucking good. His cock is so deep you can feel it in your fucking stomach. It’s obvious from his groaning and the aggressive spank he gives you that the unexplored angle is affecting him too. 

Outside, light rain begins chiming against the steel roof of his car as you take the first shallow rise of your hips. 

Scratch everything you’ve said about this not being a romance novel.

Distracted by the calming sound, you thoroughly miscalculate how much space you have in his sleek Mercedes Benz and bonk your head on the ceiling.

“Ow,” you wince with an embarrassed giggle.

Hissing at the impact, Jungkook clutches your head, massaging the area gently. “Are you okay?” His voice is muffled, and you can tell he’s trying his best not to laugh. 

“It’s not funny!” You shout playfully, slapping his knee. 

“No, it’s not. I’m sorry.” Chuckling, he moves your hair and places a gentle kiss between your shoulder blades. “You’re cute, that's all.”

Cute? You swoon. 

“Alright baby, keep going. Don’t stop,” Jungkook orders, the heel of his calloused palms pushing at your ass, encouraging you to bounce on his needy cock. A fucked-out sigh escapes him, head falling back for a split second before it jerks back up again, not wanting to miss the view of your perky cheeks rippling as they collide with his solid pelvis. “This position is so sexy.” Overwhelmed, he doesn’t know where to put his hands. He chokes you for a moment, plays with your tits, swats them, grabs your hips, and then finally settles on your clit, flicking it like a light switch.

“Jungkook!” You wail, knees knocking together as you brace yourself. Men you’ve dated in the past struggled to get you off. Sure, they made you feel good, but they couldn’t quite bring you to the edge. It only ever took Jungkook a matter of minutes to have you whimpering and shaking, begging for release. “I can’t take so much! I can’t!”

Ignoring your pleas, Jungkook pilots your right arm around his shoulder, sending you flush against his frame once more. Dipping his head, he sucks the closest nipple into his mouth. Caught off guard, you’re so overstimulated that your hips come to a grinding halt.

“Move,” he commands with his lips sealed around your piercing, sending dizzying vibrations to your sensitive bud. 

“I can’t,” you whimper, back arching off his chest as you try to calm all five tingling senses. 

“Yes, you can.” 

“No…”

Jeon Jungkook was never one to take no for an answer. 

Scooting further down the seat, his large hands clasp behind your knees. He lifts your legs until the heels of your white sneakers are on either side of the driver’s headrest. In this new position, he’s able to pound up into you freely, relentlessly beating into clenching walls. Hitting every single delicious spot inside of you. “Jungkook, please!”

“Please, what?” Honestly, you have no clue what you’re begging for. All you know is that his mushroom tip rigorously stimulating your g-spot is going to have you gushing at any moment. His guttural, sensual groaning does nothing to slow your approaching orgasm. “You want more?” 

As if you weren’t already gasping for air, Jungkook raises your legs to your head, knees locked onto his inner elbows. His fingers intertwine behind your neck, thumbs pressing into the base of your throat as he folds you in half. 

A full fucking nelson. 

“Watch me fuck it.” With a stern grip, he forces your gaze to his thick shaft, sliding in and out of your sopping cunt. Your vision is watery, but you can clearly see just how turned on you are, creamy juices coating his entire shaft. “Open it, baby. Watch what I do to you.” 

Reaching both hands under your thighs, you spread your lips, getting a better look at him completely destroying you.

“Isn’t it so pretty?” Jungkook grunts, speech slurred as his arousal lulls him into a delirious, catatonic state. “Tell me what you see, baby.”

“So pretty, Kook.” You’re simply playing into his dirty talk, but the sight of your bodies connecting, becoming one, is profoundly gorgeous. “So wet…”

“Yeah? Who’s pussy is this?”

“Yours.”

That sends him into a frenzy, thrusts becoming so punctuated and violent that his cock accidentally slips out. 

“Put it back in, put it back in!” You chant, frantically shoving his length into you. The yelp you chortle out is accompanied by the sound of your hand smacking against the foggy car window as your climax engulfs you. “I love it!”

“I love yo-”

He quickly cuts himself off, but everything stops when the sentence fragment hits the air. 

Is your brain playing sick, twisted jokes on you… or was he really just about to say he loved you?

Before you can even process what’s happening, your biological responses take over, sending through the most earth-shattering, world-bending, mind-boggling orgasm you’ve ever had. Everything goes blank. Your eyes cloud with splotches and stars. Your ears ring with static and white noise, blurring the sound of Jungkook cumming underneath you, and the pouring rain outside, splashing against concrete. 

This time, he doesn’t pull out, just works through both of your orgasms with gentle ruts and vulnerable whimpers.

After you’ve both calmed down and your heaves have diminished to a slow, even pattern, he pulls out, crumpling the used condom into a loose napkin he found in the center console. Still on his lap and in his arms, you watch intently as Jungkook leans his head back, eyes closing as he inhales deeply. To you, he looks almost… peaceful. 

The moon trickles in through the thin streams on the window, reflecting on his face like stained glass—something that was once so clear and pure now jaded with somber shades of blue. Sad, but still beautiful, you think. 

Delicately, you trace a finger over the black ink decorating his skin. You sit silently for a while, basking in the comfortable aura, simply enjoying one another’s company, before you finally speak.

“Why this?” You peep, pointing to the dainty letters at the base of his neck.

“It’s my daughter’s name.” He counters playfully, the faintest hint of a smile on his pierced lips.

“Well, duh, I know that,” you roll your eyes with a giggle, “but why here?”

“Yul is like air to me.” 

Humming in contemplation, you continue your journey over the endless swirls and loops. During sex, the first three buttons of his shirt popped open, exposing the canvas of his chest. You feel a thick, dark cloud loom over you when you reach a certain tattoo, the one that’s plagued your mind ever since you first saw it. 

Another name is engraved right above his heart in the same delicate font as Yul’s:

Seol. 

“Yul, please. Enough.” If Jungkook had a dollar for every time he's said that in the last twenty-two minutes, he’d be nearly as rich as his boss, sitting directly in front of him on a very important Zoom call. “Daddy is working.”

Jumping at the sudden inflection of his voice, the little girl on his lap pulls her tiny hand away. For the most part, Yul was well-behaved. However, working from home proved to be an obstacle that he and his clingy toddler have yet to overcome. 

She’s interrupted his meeting three times already. First, cutting off his proposal with the Baby Shark theme song, blaring from her Pinkfong tablet that he’d forgotten to mute. Second, peeking above his desk with her space buns and doe eyes to show his colleagues the latest addition to her squishmallow collection. The last straw was when she squeezed his nose. 

With watery eyes and warbled lips, Yul blinks at Jungkook, heartbroken and confused as to why he didn’t make that funny noise she loves so much. Quickly, her gaze averts to her chunky legs, swinging aimlessly as she attempts to hold back the tears.

“Excuse me for a moment,” Jungkook sighs, tacking on an apology before turning his screen off. “Bunny,” he lifts her chin with his index finger, another palm flat on her protruding tummy, “please, don’t cry. You’re not in trouble. Daddy just-”

The ring of a doorbell interrupts him.

“__?” Jungkook questions, baby at his hip as he stands in the doorway before you. “What are you doing here?”

You gulp. You weren’t expecting to see him.

Usually, you spoke to Seulgi. You’ve only ever seen Jungkook in passing, sparing quick greetings before he’s out the door. It worked in your favor, really, because for whatever reason, you felt extremely awkward around him.

Almost like that gross nervousness you get when you’re around someone you find so incredibly attractive it makes you uncomfortable…

Maybe it’s because he’s covered in tattoos and piercings. Maybe it’s because he’s a dad. Your group of fellow horny twenty-something-year-old friends have told you mythical stories and fantasies about older men. Freshly turned thirty-year-old men. Men like Jungkook. Dilfs. Something about that potent dad nut… Like, you know it works. 

It’s inappropriate; you know it is. You’ve always tried your best to ignore the feral thoughts.

Today seems to be putting your mental strength to the test because Jungkook is dressed in baggy gray sweats, long dark hair slicked back into a ponytail. A few loose strands dangle devilishly in front of his eyes, taunting you.

“I-It’s 10… I’m supposed to be babysitting.”

“I’m working from home today. My wife didn’t tell you?”

With wide eyes and hot cheeks, you shake your head. “I’m sorry for bothering you,” you stutter, stepping back and preparing to make a mad dash to your hand-me-down Honda Civic. “I’ll just… be on my way then.” 

“Actually.” An icy grip on your wrist stops you. “I could use some help. This one-” he nods his head towards Yul, stuck to him like velcro, “-is being a bit needy today.” 

One look at her turns your flustered gape into a smile. The past month with her has been more difficult than you’d imagined. Yul was incredibly sweet and intuitive, but unbearably shy. Building a relationship with the girl was challenging, but you were determined to overcome it. “No way,” you frown animatedly, tickling her leg with the tip of your finger, “Yul would never.”

A giggle or two had been the goal. Instead, she buries her face into her father’s shoulder.

“Don’t take it personally,” Jungkook orders, noticing the defeated slump in your shoulders. “She’s always like this with new people.”

Seulgi had warned you that Yul would take a while to come around. Hopefully, it’ll happen organically. But for now, a little gift or two wouldn’t hurt your efforts, you supposed last night while running errands. Reaching into your purse, you pull out a bottle of non-toxic, baby-friendly nail polish. “Yul, look what I have!”

“Wow,” Jungkook plays along, gently nudging her head out of his neck. “Bunny, look!”

He calls her Bunny? 

You’re in for it now. 

Plump fingers wrap around the plastic, taking it out of your own with an awe-stricken stare. She holds it up right in front of Jungkook’s nose. “Pink.”

“Mhm, that’s right,” he confirms, pecking her temple. “Now, Daddy has to get back to work. Can you stay with __ for a bit?”

She looks at him, then at you, then at him again, then back at you, and finally, landing on the nail polish, giving her father a reluctant nod. You knew it would come in handy. Despite her agreeance, Yul still stretches the neck of his shirt with her tiny fists as she’s transferred into your arms. 

Somehow, you managed to survive that painfully awkward encounter…

Only to be thrown into another one immediately after. 

See, you’ve always known Yul was a daddy’s girl. On good days, the toddler would grab you by the hand and guide you around the house, giving you a tour of everything that belonged to her father. His shoes at the door. His coat on the hook. Even taking you into the bathroom to show you his shampoo bottle. But that fact was never more apparent than now, as Yul stands in the middle of the living room on the verge of tears.

“Daddy?”

“He’s working, sweetheart. Remember?” You coo on your knees in front of her. You’re quick to redirect her. “I like your shoes.”

The sniffles stop as she glances down at her white sneakers. “Mine…” she takes a hesitant step back, mistaking your compliment as an attempt to swindle her out of them. 

“That’s right,” you laugh, “they’re so pretty, just like you.”

She blinks at you for a moment, and then begins stomping her little foot: heel first. When she’s finally able to kick off her left shoe, she bends all the way over, pressing her palms flat against the hardwood floor. It’s the most uncoordinated way you’ve ever seen anyone pick something up. 

Without warning, Yul throws the shoe across the room. Well, that had been her intention, you assume. She had cocked her arm back too far and released too early, making it land behind her. 

Oh no, she hates you. 

With an excited grunt and a bounce, Yul points to the sneaker—its clear sole sparkling pink and purple.

“Oh,” you sigh in relief. “They light up?” 

“Yesh.” Plopping right onto her butt, she takes the other one off, repeating the process. “Like this!” Her arms stretch out and she clenches her two little front teeth, executing the most stellar charade of a light you’ve ever seen. 

It’s a small breakthrough, but you’ll take it. 

Then you paint her nails, just like you said you would. She’s as patient as a toddler could be, but her tiny toe keeps curling under the tickle of the brush, making pink polish bleed outside of the lines. 

“My goodness,” you groan, admiring the messy, albeit adorable, result. “You’re so cute! Wait until your dad sees you.” 

Yul shrieks wildly, smacking both hands over her mouth as she hobbles to her feet. You watch with confused giggles as the milk-drunk baby stumbles down the corridor. You figure out where she's going too late. 

Yul stands on her tippy toes, jumping to click open the door to Jungkook’s office with a loud creak. 

“Yul!” You whisper-shout. “Don’t-”

“Daddy!” She calls, stepping a single foot into the room, showing off the fresh paint job. “So cute!” 

Literally, your only job today was to keep Yul preoccupied while Jungkook worked, and you failed. Your breath catches in your throat, awaiting his response. 

“So pretty,” he gasps, “now go play, baby. I’m almost done.” 

A relieved exhale flies past your lips. 

Something you’ve picked up on from years of babysitting is that little girls aren’t allowed to compliment themselves. They’re always told it’s rude or conceited. Jungkook does neither, and you find that so refreshing. 

“Close the door, please,” he orders before she runs away, “gently.” Yul does her very best to shut the door quietly and then sprints back to you. 

The next few hours go smoothly. You discovered that the green-hating toddler has an affinity for avocados after giving her a bite of your toast. “Mmm!” She had hummed, looking at you with wide eyes. With a full belly and squishmallow in hand, Yul went out like a light for her afternoon nap, giving you time to catch up on some reading. 

“How was she?” You didn’t even hear him come out of his office, so the deep voice makes you jump, eyes tracking the sound. He’s leaning against a kitchen counter, one tattooed hand stuffed in his pocket and the other wrapped around a water bottle. It’s a thick one too, and his fingers still touch. 

“Better,” you cough, “she’s sleeping now.”

He hums halfheartedly, dark irises boring into you as he takes a sip. Without Yul to soften the edges, Jungkook is… intimidating, to say the least. “What are you reading?”

“The Catcher in the Rye…” you peep, quickly closing it. “I know, it’s kinda lame.”

“No, not lame at all. Anyone who thinks that is lying to themselves… or is just being a contrarian.” He leans his elbows against the dark granite island, fingers crossing as he stares at you. You’re sitting idle across the room, but his presence looms over you. He has this way of making you feel like he’s in your head, listening to everything you’re thinking. 

You pray he’s not. If he is, you'll definitely be fired. 

“I can’t tell which one you are yet.”

You can’t tell if he’s joking or not, but the ‘yet’ makes you come clean, shifting in your spot on the leather couch. “... Both.”

“Right,” he smirks, tongue fiddling with his lip ring, almost like he’s taunting you. “That’s one of my favorite books, actually. I relate to it in many ways.”

Your fingers dance across the red cover, concealing hundreds of pages of isolation, emptiness, and the heavy dread of passing time. What an awful thing to relate to. Sometimes, when you get too engrossed in the text, glimmers of yourself bleed within the lines too. 

“You’re an English major, right?”

“Oh, um, I’m not in school at the moment… I just read for fun.”

“Well, you have an Associate’s degree.” Him knowing that information about you makes you think he asked the previous question with the intention of baiting you into this conversation. “Why not get your Bachelor’s?”

“I don’t know. It’s… complicated.” 

Why is he interrogating you? What does he want? For you to confess that the fear of becoming a full-fledged adult makes you not want to go back to college? 

“Life is complicated. You’d be ridiculous to not go back.” The audacity should make you mad, but he speaks with so much authority that you’re dumbfounded. His head tilts, eyes squinting as they shift to the ceiling, debating something. His tongue clicks when he finally makes his decision. “Follow me; I have something I want to show you.” 

With the curl of two thick fingers, Jungkook calls you to follow him down the hallway. You blink for a moment, gushing at the suggestive motion of his hand. Shaking your head at the evil, intrusive thought, you rise to your feet. 

Just like a child, you have to skip to catch up to his long strides. Your gaze trails along white walls; there are pictures of him and Yul, Yul and Seulgi, but not a single one of them all together. 

Now that you think about it, any affection you’ve ever seen in the household was reserved for Yul and Yul only. Seems like trouble in paradise…

You shouldn’t speculate.

The heavy wooden door creaks as Jungkook holds it open for you. You’re not sure what you expected his room to look like, but it certainly wasn’t this. The rest of the house is pretty modern, consisting of sleek blacks, whites, and woods. Countertops designed with icy swirled marble. Everything has this cold, impersonal vibe, but this room is the total opposite. The walls are baby blue, decorated top to bottom with dreamy clouds. You spot a chubby yellow star peeking out from underneath one of them, adorned with a hand-painted smiley face. On his nightstand, there’s a pastel purple foldable record player. Standing behind it is a single vinyl: Beautiful Boy by John Lennon. 

“Since you like to read,” Jungkook coughs, turning your attention to a sleek bookcase, stuffed to the brim with hundreds of titles you’ve never even heard of. “I figured you’d appreciate my collection.”

“Yeah, it’s…” The words trail off as you step forward. On a whim, your finger extends, tracing the delicate spine of a well-loved book. A low chuckle brings you back to reality; you peep, cheeks heating up in embarrassment as you yank your hand away. “It’s… really cool.”

“You can borrow something if you’d like. Does anything catch your eye?” Plopping down onto the computer chair, Jungkook rummages through his desk drawer and pulls out a tiny black case. You didn’t even know he wore glasses, and when he nudges them comfily onto the bridge of his nose, you nearly melt. As if he could get any more attractive.

“N-No,” you stutter as he wheels closer. Even though you’re towering over him, you still feel so small in his presence. You pray to God he can’t sense how incredibly nervous he makes you. “Not really.” 

“You wear your heart on your sleeve, you know,” he hums, low and sly. “Do I make you nervous?”

“No!” You peep in shock. Is the man a fucking mindreader? 

“Right.” Jungkook peers over the rim of his lenses, dark eyes glimmering in the whimsical glow of the room. “So __, what do you want to be?”

“A teacher,” you say, playing with your fingers.

“My wife wanted to be a teacher, too.” He shoots you the softest, gentlest smile. “She ended up doing business instead.” 

“Why?” You ask, gnawing on your bottom lip. You don’t mean to pry, but this is the first time you’ve ever actually talked to him in a meaningful way. Something about him intrigues you, like a puzzle you’re determined to find all the pieces to. 

“Ah, well,” he sighs, inked fingers scratching at the back of his neck. “We figured it’d be best for our family if we both pursued more lucrative career paths. I switched my major from English to finance.” You light up at the confession, the similarity putting you at ease. “I’m sorry if I was abrasive earlier,” he frowns, “I settled down young and had to sacrifice a lot, so I encourage you to go for something that fulfills you.” With his elbows on his knees, he leans closer to you. “I think you’d be a fantastic teacher. You take care of my daughter well.”

“Thank you,” you peep, cheeks heating up at the compliment. “I mean… you didn’t have Yul that young.” He tried to comfort you, so it’s only fair you do the same, right? “I think your late twenties are a great time to have children.”

Almost immediately, his face drops, eyes glazing over with something so raw. So… longing. You’ve never seen anything like it before. The corners of his nose twitch before he composes himself. “Yeah, I suppose they are.” His pink tongue toys with his lip ring, swiftly changing the subject. “You seem surprised.” 

“I guess I just wasn’t expecting all this.” 

“Expecting what?” 

“I don’t know,” you laugh clumsily, “books.” You mentally curse yourself as soon as the answer comes out. Really, __? Books? 

“What?” He starts, raising a brow at you. “You thought I couldn’t read?”

Thankfully, Jungkook takes your comment playfully. 

“Maybe,” you respond in the same lighthearted manner, feeling a bit more comfortable in his presence, “I also didn’t expect your room to look like a little boy’s room.”

All of the cheerfulness in the air evaporates as Jungkook glares at you with a clenched jaw and flared nostrils. Cleary irate. You’ve triggered a landmine.

“Jungkook, I’m-”

“Stop talking.” He raises a hand, cutting you off before you finish the sentence. Turning his back to you, he wheels over to his desk. “You can leave. You’re done for the day.” 

Looking back, you know why he was so upset that day. You had put the puzzle pieces together a while ago. You’re unsure of the details, and asking for them feels wrong. Silence feels wrong, too, though. Until now, you’ve never dared to speak up. 

You have no idea how to navigate something of this magnitude, but you just want him to know that you’re here. That you’re trying.

Cautiously, with your hand still on the tattoo, you whisper: “He must’ve been so beautiful, Jungkook…”

The thumb that had been drawing soft shapes into your side comes to an eerie pause as he freezes under you. When you look at him, your heart shatters. His chin is caved in with little dents, eyes glazed over with so much emotion. You’ve never seen a human being look so broken.

“Get off me.”

You frown at the shift in his demeanor. “Why?”

Remaining tight-lipped, Jungkook physically removes you from his lap, dumping you onto the seat next to him.

“Why can’t we ever talk about anything serious?”

He remains quiet as he slides his underwear up, not sparing you a single glance. When he speaks, his tone is painfully detached. “Like what?”

“Like what you said,” you answer curtly. 

“I didn’t say anything.”

“You were about to.”

Shaking his head with a cynical chuckle, he begins buttoning his pants, pretending you don’t exist. Like you’re not right beside him, falling to pieces. 

Your eyes dart to the ceiling, lashes fluttering rapidly as you mull over what to say next. You guess now would be an appropriate time to ask him what you’ve wanted for weeks. Blinking does nothing to combat your unshed tears when you realize that his answer has the potential to destroy everything you’ve been dreaming about. Everything you’ve hoped for. “When are you going to leave her?”

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I’m not being ridiculous, Jungkook!” Shaking your head furiously, you feel the first hints of anger in your chest, tears threatening to spill at any moment. “I’m not! I see the way you look at me!”

“What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Huh?” Finally, he’s paying attention to you, just not in the way you hoped. His face is beet red as he leans closer. “Don’t tell me you actually thought we were going to end up together, __. Seriously? You’re my babysitter! You’re seven years younger than me! This isn’t some fucking fairytale; it’s life! There’s no such thing as happily-ever-afters—grow up and stop acting like a damn child!”

“No, Jungkook,” you croak, fully sobbing as you push an angry finger into his chest. “You’re the one who’s acting childish! I may not be the most mature person, but at least I know how to accept love!”

“So let’s say I divorce my wife, then what? Huh?” He seethes. “I get partial custody? I only see Yul on weekends? Every other week? She grows up in a broken home? I refuse to ruin my daughter’s life like that.”

You take a shaky breath, eyes shifting to the car floor, the air fresher on his mirror, the window. Anywhere but him. The way Jungkook explains your make-believe future together is nothing how you envisioned it. Maybe he’s right. Maybe he’s just a fucking asshole. Neither thought process eases the pain.

“But you’re okay with ruining mine?”

For a moment, his features soften, and you see a glimmer of guilt wash over him. It fizzles out just as fast as it came. “You’re being dramatic.” Jungkook steps outside, tucking his shirt into his pants. “Get dressed.” 

With jittery hands and blurry eyes, you grab your discarded lace bra, the one you had bought just for tonight, and slide it on your shoulders. When you pick your shirt up, you see that it’s ripped and tattered. Completely destroyed. 

“Here,” Jungkook mumbles, tossing you his blazer as he watches you in the rearview. 

Once you’re dressed, you awkwardly slide into the passenger seat. The scent of his cologne makes your head pound and your stomach flip. 

“I want to go home.”

His lips part, preparing to persuade you otherwise. The hotel room he booked is ready and waiting, just as it is every Friday. He decides against it, simply murmuring an ‘okay’ before putting the keys in the ignition and starting the engine. 

“Do you want to get something to eat before I drop you off?” 

You just want your dad. 

“I just want to go home.”

Other than the whoosh of splashing puddles and your soft sniffles, the ride to your house is painfully silent. Leaning your head against the window, you watch the moon. For miles and miles, it never changes. It’s stagnant, frozen in time, surrounded by nothing but endless blackness. 

“Stop crying! I can’t stand it anymore!” Jungkook shouts, hitting the steering wheel with his open palm, finally growing uncomfortable from your non-stop tears. The sudden outburst makes you flinch. Sighing heavily, he pinches the bridge of his nose. “I’m sorry for yelling at you. Just… stop crying, please.”

You sink further into your seat, curling your lips into your mouth to suppress a sob.

“I’m not worth your tears, __.”

You feel nothing but relief when he finally turns onto your street, stopping all the way at the end, concealed by the night and the shadows of overhanging trees. 

“Am I picking you up next Friday?” He asks just before you leave. 

With raw cheeks and a scowl, you slam the door in his face. 

Your feet are so heavy that the sidewalk sinks under you like quicksand. No matter how many steps you take, the comfort of your house seems out of reach. Too far gone. Confusion weighs on your shoulders. You should feel proud, empowered even, but that voice in the back of your mind smothers any sense of relief. 

Deep down, you know this isn’t going to be the last weekend you spend with Jungkook. 

© chryblossomjjk 2022 [do not copy, translate or repost]

[yenqa]

acts of service with enha!

❥・ genre ⇢ written, fluff, some r still in school some arent warnings ⇢ one swear word, reader is implied female, i think thats it (lmk)? pairing ⇢ ot7!enha x reader (separate) wc ⇢ 425

hope yall enjoy <33

heeseung - is always happy to help.

like for example, if he knows you’re tired/had a long day. he literally does it without you saying anything.  you ask him to help with the dishes? the gloves are already on. you asked him to rub your back? suddenly he's a masseur, and you know he never complains ever for you.

jay - gets you ready for events.

he gets so excited when you have a work event because he gets to dress you up!! he picks your outfit for you (if he can go, you guys will match, obvi), he helps style your hair, makes sure you're feeling well, and obviously drives you there! he’ll never admit it, but he loves dressing you up like a cute little doll (in a healthy way).

 

jake - does some of your assignments for you.

the second he notices you’re having trouble with the amount of assignments you have, he’s ready with a textbook in his hand. sometimes you’re so focused on the textbook you don’t even notice him typing away on your essay. even after you beg him to stop because you feel bad, he continues to type like a fucking mad man until he’s finished.

 

sunghoon - doing your skincare

when you come home late, he’s always in your shared bed, waiting for you to fall asleep together. but when he notices your slow movements and slumped steps, obviously he’s going to help you take off all your makeup and wash your face (even if you have to guide him).

 

sunoo - styling your hair for you

whenever you’re about to go out, you have to ask him to style it for you. other than the fact that he’s really good at doing all styles, he also likes playing with your hair since he finds it comforting (so it’s a win win for the both of you guys). but make sure you both don’t get too distracted and stay home!

 

jungwon - always cleans for you.

let's say you cooked dinner like ONCE, the second you’re done eating, he goes into waiter mode. your plates are picked up, the table is wiped, and the dishes are washed. but as much as you try to fight to help, he never gives in (but maybe, just maybe, he’ll let you thank him with some kisses).

 

niki - asks how he can help.

niki wants to be as helpful as possible, but he doesn’t know how. so he his solution is to just ask, and he’ll do it. even if it’s just getting you a glass of water or helping you study, he’ll do it in a heartbeat (even if he jokingly complains).

taglist @jwnghyuns @ja4hyvn @trsrina @redm4ri @badmuni @yeokii @enhastolemyheart @softpia @s00buwu @ox1-lovesick

yenqa © please do not copy, steal or translate.

[thejakeformerlyknownasprince]

What if: the animorphs were trans

I think I've written most of them as trans before, but I could also see each of them having a different experience with trans-ness.

Jake: Would just not bother to start performing femininity? Like, he'd mean to get around to it some time, but then he'd be at puberty and still wouldn't have bothered. And it's just so much easier being a boy. It requires less mental effort. His brain just defaults to boy-ness, and anyway he's bored of this subject already and wants to get back to fighting yeerks now.

Rachel: Is not only the girliest girl ever to girl, but has read all the feminist theory. She has clear opinions on her name, her clothes, her earrings, her hormones, her makeup, her hair... This is a girl who gets gender euphoria from spending up to an hour crafting her look each morning, and will never be caught with lipstick that doesn't color-coordinate with her blouse. There are a lot of TERFs in her town who keep ending up mauled by grizzly bears, but that's not Rachel's problem. She hears it was some other grizzly doing all that.

Tobias: Arguably he's already genderqueer and/or trans in canon, but he'd be the polar opposite of Rachel when it comes to talking about gender. He just is a boy, okay? Except when he's not. And that's just how it is. His gender is hawk. And sometimes it's hork-bajir. And sometimes it's andalite. And sometimes it's human. And if you ask follow-up questions he's going to disappear up a tree and never interact with humanity again.

Cassie: She's happy in her own body. Overalls are comfortable, dresses are fun, and anyone who can't figure out her pronouns at a glance isn't her problem. Okay, that one guy (#14) who called her a "boy" deserved to get kicked in the face, which is why she kicked him in the face. But everyone else trying to figure out her gender has their own problems, and she's not here to solve them.

Ax: Again, arguably not-cis in canon (his human body is implied to be intersex) but he'd be gung-ho about his gender just like Rachel. Andailte masculinity doesn't line up with human masculinity (e.g. Elfangor's comment about how Real Boys don't like STEM), so it'd be a lot of Ax Doing Boy Things in a way that doesn't make sense to Americans. But if gardening or sharpening his tail or refusing to learn math is what Ax is feeling, his friends aren't likely to question it.

Marco: ???? TBH I'm stumped. He both pulls genderfuckery (having long hair, being a clothes horse, going in drag in #51) and obsesses over being masculine enough. Him being the resident bicultural bisexual probably has something to do with it, but...??? Other fandalites, send help.

[nekrosdolly]

bₑₐᵤₜy ₛcₕₒₒₗ ₋ ₙ.ₛₚₐᵣdₐ

calling nero girlish leads to a devastating self-discovery. what can you do but help?

a/n; fun fact i've been working on this for two months and three days... also the most down bad thing i've ever written. enjoy!

cw; sub!nero, dom!reader, afab!reader, feminization, a bit of manhandling (reader is written to be on the stronger side), small impact play, spit kink, biting, referring to dicks as clits and assholes as cunts/pussies, nipple play, anal fingering (n! receives), pegging, clothed reader, doggystyle, implied multiple rounds. 5.444k words!

You’ve been staring at Nero for at least half a minute now. He’s not returning your gaze but it’s definitely affecting him, as he’s shifting in his seat across from you quite a bit. The two of you are waiting for Dante, Lady, and Trish to finish gearing up for the mission you’re embarking on- something big, Dante says, but with the lot of you it’d be maybe a few hours max. If the two of you weren’t mutually interested in one another both in friendship and in a more-than-friends way, the staring would’ve bothered him. 

“You know,” you lean forward in the uncomfortable chair bolted to the ground across from the ratty couch Nero’s manspreading on, “you have kind of girlish lips.”

Nero furrows his eyebrows, his eyes finally meeting yours. Something clicks inside of him that he chooses to ignore despite the blossoming pink tint on his cheeks. Maybe you just have that effect on him, or maybe it’s something else.

“No, I don’t. They’re just lips.” He says as he rubs his cheek, his eyes breaking away from yours.

“Whatever.” You shrug. The rest of the team enters shortly, Nico included, and you’re on your way. 

While you busy yourself with menial conversation amongst the group, Nero cannot get his mind off of what you just said. Girlish lips? He doesn’t have girlish lips, does he? No, not at all. But god, if that doesn’t do something for him… It does. Especially coming from you. You’re not the face of masculinity or femininity by any means, but he likes the fact that you find him a bit girly. A bit of heat stirs in his gut, something brand new, and it’s good. Almost too good to ignore- but he’s on a mission and he needs to focus if he wants to make it out with minimal injuries.

He shakes the thought away (or tries to) when Nico brake-checks everyone and nearly sends everything in the old van flying.

“Here!” She chimes with a lit cigarette dangling from her fingers.

Five hours later.

The mission lasted longer than any of you had anticipated. Five hours of grueling slaughter brought upon by you and your comrades- aside from Nico, who relaxed in her van and watched from the sidelines. Nero’s mind was preoccupied on the way back, replaying the fight in his head to see if he could’ve done something different. You were slumped against Dante, who kept one arm on the back of the couch so you could rest comfortably as he read his porno mag.

He didn’t catch himself thinking about it until he was undressed later that night. He had already removed most of his clothing before he sat on the edge of his bed, only in his boxers. The moment kept replaying, you calling his lips girlish. Something about that felt right. Girlish. Maybe you’d treat him like a girl, too. Thinking about it made his dick twitch and his chest feel warm. His face heats up the way it did in the van as his thoughts run wild. Being told to wear a dress for you, putting on makeup, and making him truly look like a girl- (edits starting now) he groans into his hands, calloused heels of his palm pressing his eyes shut.

“This is so not what I needed right now,” he mumbles, sucking in a breath as he wills his boner away. Embarrassed, he lies down and pulls the covers overtop him. Sleep does not come easy.

The next day.

Within your close knit circle, compliments are sparse. Dante claps people on the back as a “good job,” and maybe Nico will toss them a thumbs up, but that's it. Nero’s used to it- the silent reassurance from everyone- except you. 

“You did really good, Nero,” the two of you are fresh from another mission, sore and covered in muck. The tips of Nero’s ears turn red, though it could be mistaken for the blood of slain demons. Deep down, he knows he did well. He doesn't need reassurance, verbal or otherwise, but it feels nice. The words send a little shiver down his spine.

“Uh, thanks. You too, I guess,” he says, shrugging his blue jacket off to leave by the door. He'll come back later to toss it in the wash. In a stretch, he lifts his arms over his head to hopefully ease the impending ache that'll settle in his muscles within minutes. With his shirt being as short as it is, his midriff is exposed to you for a short second.

Your eyes slightly widen, zeroing in on his waist. How in the world is it so… feminine? Girlish? Cute? Grabbable? He's not even looking as he keeps stretching, oblivious to your wandering, hungry gaze. 

“Dude, I'm jealous. Your waist is like, tiny. You sure you're not a girl under all that?” He knows you're teasing, he really does, but good heavens. It hasn't been a full day since the last incident, you may as well be trying to kill him.

Stormy eyes shoot open in shock and he lowers his arms to his sides nearly immediately. He tugs his shirt down more, as if that would help, and looks away.

“You're so weird, you know that? Do you want me to be a girl or something?” He scoffs as he crosses his arms over his chest. You chuckle to yourself, satisfied with his reaction.

Shrugging, “Maybe I do. You'd be a pretty cute girl, Nero.”

The white-haired man grumbles something as he walks off in the direction of the HQ bathrooms in hopes of a very, very cold shower. It's not his fault that your teasing gets him bricked. Of course, you notice nothing different, given that Nero’s always been quick to fluster.

In the bathroom, he splashes ice cold water on his face and rubs it into his skin. Some dirt and blood washes away with the water, but that wasn't his intention. He'll have to shower when he gets home, as Dante’s shower is conveniently broken, but the last thing he wants to endure is a car ride home with half an erection and plenty of fuel to give him a full one. His blood is roaring in his ears, lewd thoughts invading his head like the plague. Hunched over the sink, his hands grip the ceramic edges like a vice.

You, with a tube of lipstick in hand that is very clearly not your shade but his. You, with a mascara wand in hand telling him to hold still or he'll mess it up. You, handing him a white sundress and equally white lacy panties. You, telling him to put them on and be a good girl- doesn't he want to look pretty?

Nero wants it all. He wants it so bad; to be your doll, your plaything to humiliate and use however you want. But would you? God, he hopes so.

Minutes have gone by. He shuts the sink off and looks in the mirror- still grimy, but not gross. Blood splotches mat his hair in some sections, but at least some stuff on his face is gone. He looks normal aside from the massive blush covering his cheeks, but that could be chalked up to exerting himself.

“Nero?” You knock on the shoddy door to the even shoddier bathroom, “you alright? It's been like ten minutes, man.”

The sound of your voice brings him back to reality- has it really been ten minutes? He looks at himself once again in the dirty mirror, a searing feeling of embarrassment settling in his shoulders. Another splash of cold water to his face before he shuts off the sink and exits. You step back as he does, looking up at him with concern. “Fine, thanks. Just tired. It was a long mission, y’know?” He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes, lest he get even the slightest bit hard. At this point, it’s a problem. Without another word from either of you, he heads upstairs.

Do you find it odd? Yeah, but you don’t say anything. After all, he did say he was tired. He probably just needs to get some rest. Settling on one of the couches in the lobby, you decide that you do, too.

Two days later, Devil May Cry, the Fortuna branch

Nero is glad that he lives so far away from Red Grave City. It’s a few hours’ drive both ways and it’s a pain to put up with Nico’s horrible driving. As much as he complains, he’d rather not be the one driving. The distance also makes it easier for him to not think about you as much. 

Well, that’s only half-true. He thinks about you more than he should. The only thing the distance helps with is avoiding you. Of course, that doesn’t stop his imagination running wild at the randomest of times- including while doing household chores. It’s a gamble- his thoughts range from pure domesticity to borderline porn.

When his thoughts take over this time, he’s doing the dishes. There’s not much, but it’s enough to warrant his attention. One would assume that touching dirty dishes and day-old food would ward off any semblance of lust-driven daydreams, right? Unfortunately, that’s not the case today.

He’s mid-washing a plate, his sleeves rolled up so only his forearm is wet. His metal arm is covered with a dish glove, lest the water screw with the wires and give him a nice, heart-stopping zap. The sponge in his hand is sudsy, lazily scrubbing at the leftover food on the plate as his mind wanders to you. At first, it’s innocent. Cooking together, thinking about what you’d want to eat for dinner after a long mission, or even just a long day in general. How would your lips feel on his cheek, your arms around him as the two of you get ready for bed?

Maybe your hands would slip under his shirt, your eyes meeting his as you rub his waist. Words of filth disguised as sweet nothings to get his blood flowing south, inciting a dizzying shiver down his spine. Your hands slipping into his panties that you picked out for him earlier that day with a smile, telling him that they’d look so pretty on him- that maybe, if he wore them all day while doing errands you’d reward him later on. Your voice in his ear, calling him a good girl, telling him how cute he is all flustered and wet in his panties.

His thoughts fester, the plate slipping from his hands. Only the sound of it clattering against the bottom of the (thankfully) shallow sink rouses him.

Well. That, and the door opening. There are only two people with a key, Nico and-

And you. What a wonderful time to have a hard-on.

“Hey, I tried calling you, but I think your landline’s down,” you say, barging into his kitchen without a care in the world. Nero keeps himself pressed against the kitchen sink for his own dignity’s sake as he looks at you, feigning irritation. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you to knock?” He scoffs, picking up the plate he’d been washing and giving it a good rinse. “You clearly don’t care whether or not I do, seeing as I have a key,” you grin, crossing your arms as you lean against the archway between the living room and kitchen. Maybe you let your eyes wander a little- a domesticated Nero is a rare sight, one you enjoy very much. He’s got these tight fitting black boxers on that really do his ass justice and baggy a longsleeve shirt with the sleeves rolled up that almost gives him this cutesy appearance.

“Yeah, whatever. What did you need?” He moves on to the next dirty dish after placing the clean one on the drying rack. His voice is a bit snippy, and he’s a little tense. The fact that he can feel your eyes on him doesn’t help, and if anything, makes his boxers just that much tighter.

“Dante wants us on a new job he got from this new client. Some guy named V, though I dunno much about him,” you shrug.

“He couldn’t tell me himself?”

“Nah. I don’t think he really likes coming here, anyway. Something about Fortuna gives him the creeps, he said. Probably ‘cause they used to worship his dad ‘nd shit.” Nero scoffs at that and shuts off the sink, flicking his non-prosthetic hand to get the water off, then frees his devil breaker of its rubber confinement. 

“Nice ass, by the way,” you add, smirking at him. Nero turns to face you with his cheeks tinted pink and a soft scowl on his face. Facing you was a mistake because his erection from earlier has not died. You don’t notice it immediately, much to his relief, because he knows you’re not that much of a pervert.

“You’re so weird,” he huffs.

“Not my fault you look like a girl.” You retort. Nero’s cock twitches hard, his already warm face heating up more. He really, really should’ve put on pants this morning.

Unfortunately (or fortunately) for him, the movement, as subtle as it may be, catches your eye through your peripherals. On instinct, your eyes dart towards the source and widen immediately.

“...Are you hard? Did I do that?” You point to yourself. Nero huffs and tugs the hem of his shirt down to cover his now raging erection, the dull throb making it hard for him to come up with any kind of retort.

“Wh- no! I-I mean, yes- I’m hard, but it’s not because of you!” He looks away from you, even as you step closer to him until you’re an arm’s width away. It’s too much too quick, because what can he say to make this all better? Nothing. There’s nothing he can say or do to make this situation go over smoothly. “So… You don’t want me to help out? I mean, it’s pretty obvious you need some, right?” You reach up and grab his jaw, your thumb swiping over his bottom lip. A dry spell hits his mouth, his pupils dilating as he tries to swallow. The poor quarter-devil’s heart races in his chest, that feeling from earlier returning. 

Nero opens his mouth to speak but you’re quick to press down on his tongue with your thumb. A sly grin spreads on your lips, knowing you’ve got him dead set on this. Now, he could overpower you at any given point- he’s part devil- but he finds that he doesn’t want to. You lean in closer, your face just a few inches from his.

“You like being called a girl?” Smooth and low, your voice has him in a trance. The hunger in your eyes makes his knees weak, saliva coating your thumb as it remains on his tongue. Hesitantly, he nods.

“Yeah, I thought so,” you mutter, your free hand finding a home on his waist. “You wanna be fucked like a girl too, don’t you?”

Another hesitant nod, his eyelids fluttering from the embarrassment of the entire situation. In truth, he only started experimenting with himself after he and Kyrie broke up. It’s not that Kyrie kept him from experimenting with stuff like that, because they tried plenty when they were in bed, but something about it felt wrong.

With you? It couldn’t feel more right, not as you remove your thumb from his mouth to smear his lips with his own saliva. “Don’t you know how gross that is, Nero?” Your voice holds a teasing lilt that makes his stomach flutter. While he does feel ashamed, he’s way too into this to care. His cock is crying in the confines of his boxers, the fabric tighter than ever. “I’m sorry,” he mumbles, meek with humiliation.

“No, you’re not. In fact, I bet you want to be dressed up like some doll, then get railed just like the slut you are.” Nero squeezes his eyes shut. The tips of his ears are red, possibly even some of his chest, too. As humiliating as this is, he likes it a lot. Your words make his knees weak, his tummy’s warm and he may as well be sweating from how hot he is. Again, he nods.

“Please,” he forces himself to look at you, half-lidded eyes and all. “Please, just give me what I want.” A satisfied look crosses your face at the sound of his desperation, his poor excuse for begging.

“Oh, believe me, I will,” your hand slides from his waist to the very prominent bulge, amused at how it kicks against your hand and the way Nero’s breathing picks up.

“But not now. I mean I’ll get you off no problem, but your fantasy needs a few things that aren’t at my disposal, nor are they at yours.”

The disappointed noise that leaves Nero’s mouth is almost uncharacteristic. 

“Uh, yeah. You’re right, I guess.” He grumbles quietly, his eyes downcast like a kicked puppy.

“Think you can wait? I’ll come back, I promise.” He nods reluctantly. He’ll be as patient as he needs to be. With a kiss to his cheek, an unspoken promise you’ll return, you leave him in his kitchen with his boner still very much alive. Embarrassed, defeated, and aroused, he walks to the living room couch and plops down on it. 

Two hours later.

Barging in again, you toss a hefty plastic bag on top of a sleeping Nero, forcing him to wake up from the weight hitting his stomach. “Hey, what the hell?” He glares at you through sleep-addled eyes and sits up on his elbows.

“Look in the bag, sleeping beauty.” You lean against his front door, the metal surface cooling your back. 

Nero does as he’s told, rummaging through the bag’s contents like a curious puppy. The first item he pulls out is a white skirt that’s very, very short. Scarlet engulfs his cheeks within seconds. When you said later, he thought you meant tomorrow, not later today. He continues to pull items from the bag, his blush spreading like wildfire. The next item is a crop top, also white, frilly underwear and an equally cute bra to match, before he finally pulls out what must be the largest light blue dildo he’s ever seen accompanied by a harness.

“Put it on,” you smile, “go make yourself pretty for me. Take this, too.” You toss him your makeup bag, which he catches with the devil breaker.

With a hard swallow, Nero places everything back into the plastic bag and disappears into his bedroom, clutching the bag’s flimsy handles with an iron grip. The moment the door closes, he’s in a rush to take his clothes off. He nearly rips his shirt trying to get it off, same thing with his boxers. He really sucks at being patient.

It feels natural, to a degree, putting everything on. It’s clear you want him to look like an angel or some kind of bride, all white and pure. How ironic. The panties don’t quite cover his cock and the shirt you chose makes his pecs look more akin to boobs, but he looks… cute. If not a little silly, what with all the ruffles, cute. Now, the makeup is what confuses him the most aside from the fastening mechanism of the bra you chose.

He knows what lipstick is. He knows what mascara is, and eyeliner. Kyrie wore those sometimes. But the rest of the stuff is greek to him.

The white-haired man is still staring down at the contents of your makeup bag when you walk in, strap-on fully assembled in one hand. He looks up at you with a shy smile, red cheeks and all. You toss the light blue toy onto his bed as you walk up to him, your gaze nothing short of predatory.

“Hey, pretty girl. Havin’ some trouble?” His dilemma is clear enough, but he nods anyway.

“What color would look good on me?” Pale blues travel to the selection of lipsticks you have, fingers rummaging through the variety of tubes. Perhaps he’s too overwhelmed at the moment. Your warm hand settles on waist, his gaze flickering to your face.

“Why don’t we skip the makeup for now, hm? I’d hate to make you wait any longer, angel.”

Nero’s throat runs dry as he nods, expecting you to be a little gentle with him but oh, how he was wrong. He doesn’t expect you to push him onto his mattress like he was some kind of slut, nor does he expect you to get on top of him as quickly as you do. Your hands are so rough as you grope his chest, a soft whine leaving his lips when you lean down to bite one of his pecs. 

“Cute tits, dolly,” your thumbs rub his clothed nipples and he’s really glad he’s sensitive everywhere right now, otherwise he’d feel kind of stupid. He can’t bring himself to meet your eyes again, shy as a virgin during her first time, as he mewls quietly.

“I just can’t believe that you’re into this kind of thing,” you snap his bra strap against his skin, making him flinch, “What a fucking slut…”

“M’not a slut,” he mumbles, cock weeping into the lacy material of his panties as he looks away from you.

“Don’t be dumb,” you grab his jaw and force him too look at you, his pupils blown wide. Fingers card into his hair and give it a soft tug, making him whine again. Everything you do makes his cock harder, his mind fuzzier, and his blush darker. Slotting a knee between his legs, you force his legs to part wider before you press it against his panty-clad hard-on. It’s a cute sight, him gasping and squirming in a pathetic attempt to escape the stimulation.

A sharp slap to his thigh makes him still, a mumbled “sorry” sounding from his lips. You let go of his jaw in favor of slipping under his thighs, guiding them around your waist as you lean down to kiss him. His eyes flutter shut, as do yours when your lips meet in a much gentler kiss than he anticipated. That doesn’t last long, because two seconds in and you’re biting his lower lip to make him gasp, allowing you to lick into his mouth without protest. His hips buck at the taste of you, hesitantly wrapping his arms around your neck. You pin his hips to the bed, thumbs kneading what little fat he has there.

He’s dizzy when you break the kiss, panting with your spit glossing his lips and your eyes locked to one another’s. Your thumb hooks in the corner of his mouth and pulls down, forcing his mouth open. As if reading your mind, he sticks his tongue out. A thick glob of spit leaves your lips and lands flat on his tongue. He moans, his cock pulsing hard in his jeans. When your thumb unhooks from his mouth, he swallows. “Good girl, angel.” Your voice resembles a low purr in his ear, his body on fire. If you praise him again, he might cum in his panties. He’s entirely sure that his skirt is damp with how much he’s leaking. Your hand slips down, down, down until you’re pushing his shirt up and palming over his erection, making him melt into the mattress. “My pretty girl is so wet,” you hum, thumbing over his weeping slit. He whimpers, his hips bucking hard. This time, you let it slide because he’s too damn cute when he’s under you to care. Using his precum as makeshift lube, you rub his frenulum, watching as his eyes light up with pleasure and his back makes a pretty arch, whining pathetically in the back of his throat. His silver brows pinch, his eyes torn between watching your hand and your face. “Right there, huh, princess?” 

“F-Fuck, yes, th-there,” he nods eagerly, his stomach tensing when you rub that spot faster. His dick twitches and throbs, his shaky breathing accelerating. You don’t let up, no matter how squirmy he gets. “Sensitive little thing, aren’t you? Who knew that rubbing your clit would get you like this.” Sultry words coming from you, his legs tightening around your waist. “C-Cum, wanna cum,” he mewls out, “pleasepleaseplease.” The rest of his cock feels neglected but he can’t bring himself to care, not when you wrap your hand around the tip and circle your palm on his sensitive head. Especially not when you use your free hand to pull down the neckline of his shirt to lick one of his pebbled nipples. The moment you wrap your lips around it and suck, he cums with the most pathetic noise imaginable. Hot seed sticks to your palm and spills down his softening cock.

“Mm,” you pull off his nipple with a soft pop, “that didn’t take long at all.” The sound of fabric tearing fills the air as you rip the lace material down the side seams.

“Why’d you do that?” Nero props himself up on his elbows, watching as you discard the now-useless lace. You shrug, slipping out from between Nero’s legs to grab the bottle of lubricant you know he has stashed in his nightstand. “Felt like it. What, you never had your panties ripped off before?” The drawer of his side table has too many things in it. Still, you fish out the black bottle of lube and toss it onto the bed beside him. “Obviously not.” You reach for the strap on lying cold and alone. Nero pulls his skirt down to cover himself and closes his legs, though it’s pointless.

“Keep up the attitude, angel. See where it gets you.” 

“...Whatever,” Nero grumbles, a new surge of arousal filling him as he watches you fasten the strapon to your pelvis. It’s a little unfair that you’re still fully clothed, but he’ll take what he can get. When you climb onto the bed again, you grab him by the hips and flip him over, his body weight that of a feather in your hands. With one hand, you prop his hips up as the other presses his face down into the mattress.

“Hey!” He yips, looking back at you with feigned annoyance. You roll your eyes as you push his skirt up for the second time tonight and give his ass a sharp slap, making him whine.

“Don’t be a brat. We’re just getting to the good part,” you grab the bottle of lube and uncap it, pouring a hefty amount on your fingers. Anticipation bubbles in Nero’s chest, his hands fisting the sheets. A shudder leaves him upon feeling your fingers coat the rim of his hole, applying gentle pressure just to tease. You push your index finger in slowly, forcing a hiss from his throat. It’s an odd feeling, the intrusion, but one he can get used to.

Besides, he’s seen those videos of cute guys getting pegged and they cum their brains out every time. He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t jealous of both parties.

His walls slowly adjust as you move your finger in a gentle rhythm, waiting until you hear his breathing grow heavy to add another. A moan gets stuck in his throat, his brows pinched together as his eyes flutter shut. “You alright down there, angel? You’re awfully quiet.” You hum, using your free hand to knead one of his pert cheeks.

“F-Fine- M’fine,” his voice is a little strained and breathy. The pads of your middle and index finger brush against his prostate and his legs twitch, a soft moan leaving him. As subtly as he can (not at all,) he rocks his hips back onto your fingers to get more shocking, dizzying pleasure. Once you decide he’s loose enough, you withdraw your fingers and bring them to your silicon cock, adding a solid drizzle of lube along the shaft. A soft schlick noise sounds when you give the translucent silicon toy a few pumps to ensure it’s sufficiently lubricated.

Before Nero has time to complain, the tip is already pressing against his fluttering entrance. His fists clench in the sheets as you slowly press into him. Pink lips fall open as the stretch does him in, trying his best to stay still for you. “Good girl,” you murmur in his ear, “such a good girl, taking my cock so well.”

The white-haired man has never felt so full in his life, nor horny or outright dumb. He whines when you bottom out completely, your nails digging into his hips to keep him from running away.

“W-Why is it so big,” he looks back at you, his own cock dripping pre-cum again. His question is left unanswered as you pull out halfway only to thrust meanly back in. A strangled moan leaves his lips, his back falling into a natural arch. “Tell me, angel,” you keep a slow yet hard pace, each thrust bullying your fake cock impossibly deeper into his greedy hole, “has anyone ever fucked this cute cunt before?”

His brain processes the words but every time he opens his mouth, nothing but noises of pleasure come out. He shakes his head “no,” with a whimper.

“Aww, really? So you’re a virgin? Explains how tight your pussy is.”

Nero hasn’t been a virgin since he was nineteen, but for you, he’ll be anything you want. His volume increases the moment you bully your cock against his prostate, a sweet cry falling from his lips. His body feels hot every time the fat head presses it, his body relaxing into the bed. Lewd slaps and wet noises fill the air alongside his sweet noises of pleasure.

“Fuck m-me,” he gasps, his cock pulsing between his legs as it’s ignored, “y-your cock feels so good i-in my pussy.”

“I know, angel. Your cunt’s squeezing me so tight- if I knew you wanted me this much, I would’ve fucked her sooner.” You reach around to grope his chest, your other hand pulling him back on your faux dick with every thrust. Poor Nero doesn’t know what to do with himself but let you use him, as if you were the one getting pleasure from this. It’s obvious he needs more despite his noises, judging by the way he’s still able to think without interruption. He’s really gone when you accelerate your thrusts and keep the roughness, all but turning into a puddle atop his bedsheets. The coil in his stomach twists and tightens, his orgasm fast approaching.

“Yeah, there we go,” you murmur, your words adding fuel to the fire that is his impending release, “that’s my sweet girl.”

“M’gonna cum,” he whimpers, “I-I wanna- please, i-it hurts,” he reaches between his legs, whining when you slap his hand away. “Why didn’t you say something, pretty girl? I’ve got you, angel, just be a doll and let me take care of you.” Your slick fist wraps around his cock, stroking him in time with your thrusts and Nero just can’t handle it anymore. His orgasm catches him off guard, thick ropes of cum shooting out of his pink cockhead and onto the sheets below you two with a cry of your name.

You’re kind, so you take your hand away and slow to a stop, panting softly.

“You alright?” Nero takes a second to respond, humming a second later as he catches his breath. His thighs feel weak and shaky. “Good,” you pull out and settle on the bed beside him, your back resting against the wooden headboard. Under the impression that you’re done toying with him, he lets his eyes close. They shoot open when you grab him by the waist and hoist him onto your lap, thick blue dildo pressing against his gaping hole again. “C’mon, little girl- I can’t do all the work around here, y’know.”

The next day.

Dante calls Nero’s landline for what feels like the fifth time in a row.

“Damn, that punk,” he sighs, slamming the telephone down on its receiver. You’re not answering your phone either, but he knows better than to expect you to answer. He’s about to dial Nero’s number for a sixth time when the doors to Devil May Cry open and in walks you alongside a limping Nero. The red devil opens his mouth, but-

“Don’t ask,” Nero groans, making his way over to one of the couches and lying on his stomach. You’re quite proud of your work, even if it’s at Nero’s expense. Dante will find out eventually, and you cannot wait.

divider creds to @benkeibear!!

[rigberts]

If Demon Slayer had an early 2000s 4kidz dub...

All beheadings are edited out and the explanation is now that their magic swords teleport demons to jail

Tanjirou and Nezuko have an appalachian southern accent, and are implied to be orphans, but their family is completely edited out to meet censorship guidelines

Zenitsu was received poorly by test audiences, so now he is a character with no dialogue except courage the cowardly dog-style whimpers

However, when he does fight, he gives lengthy monologues to enemies in John Green’s voice, the running joke is that no one actually sees him fight

The shinazugawa brothers have heavy boston accents

Mitsuri is inexplicably a southern belle

Inosuke is voiced by chris sabat

Rengoku is now “the american one” even though it is implied the show already takes place in america, and he speaks extremely loudly about how much he loves hamburgers and fried chicken, even though it is still very obvious he’s eating a beef bento

Obanai constantly makes snake puns

Shinobus dialogue becomes weirdly flirtatious, but only in a way kids wouldn’t be able to understand

Kanao is now introduced as the most beautiful girl at demon slayer training academy, and described as extremely popular. Tanjirou is written as having a crush on her despite her being out of his league

Tengen now has a lisp and is heavily coded as gay, while his wives are now his hair stylist, makeup artist, and costume designer. Black shirts have been edited onto them under their dresses to cover their cleavage

The red light district is now the performing arts district, daki is now a britney spears-esque diva

Giyuu is the same, only with 50% more jokes about him having no friends.

Muichiro is now inexplicably a girl and referred to by female pronouns

Several throwaway lines imply that the series takes place in the early 2000s, not the taisho era

Everyone has an English name, Tanjirou is Thomas, Nezuko is Nina, Zenitsu is Greg, etc.

The opening is replaced by an English rap song explaining the characters' backstories and primary personality traits

The series is called "Demon Sword" in reference to the original japanese title "The Demon-Slaying Sword". However, by removing the reference to killing in the title, several audiences were confused, thinking the story was about a sword that was also a demon.

[wheels-of-despair]

Could you please add a warning to your last billy hargrove fic that it contains cheating?

It has been brought to my attention that the Billy Hargrove x Reader blurb "Can You Feel It?" should contain more content warnings. Please accept my sincere apologies for this error, and be advised that interested parties may want to read the following detailed summary of the content before reading the blurb itself.

Can You Feel It Warnings: reader hating Billy Hargrove, reader hating Billy Hargrove's hair, reader hating Billy Hargrove's earring, reader hating Billy Hargrove's car, reader referring to someone as a skank, reference to a party thrown by Tommy Hagan, reference to Billy Hargrove confessing his love for reader, reader thinking about fucking up Billy Hargrove's car, use of curse words in warnings, and also in the work itself, reader crying, reader being angry, reference to a fight with Billy Hargrove in the Hawkins High parking lot in Hawkins Indiana, staff of Hawkins High threatening to call parents about aforementioned fight, mentions of death, specifically: Billy Hargrove being dead to reader, Billy Hargrove winking, derogatory term for female with loose morals, reader thinking murderous thoughts, interruption by an original character named Ashley M., references to underage drinking, references to an unsupervised keg party, 80s hair, Cyndi Lauper makeup, reader hiding revealing clothes from guardians, inappropriate term for footwear, boy drool, arriving late to a party, using a poor innocent boy of the author's own creation, forgetting aforementioned boy's name and giving him a new one, touching without explicit consent, reader being dragged, possibility of walking in on teenagers committing tomfoolery,

improper use of restroom facilities, bad kissing, reader touching a penis through pants that she notes is "comically small", reader uses unkind term for young athlete, boy being used stops mid-make-out to hang up his jacket like a good boy whose name reader forgot, reader's neck being mauled, reader's breasts being grabbed by someone she doesn't care about in an amateur and unpleasant way, reader possibly attempting to strangle boy with his own shirt, reader deciding she'd rather have untalented boy groping her ass rather than her tits, use of the words ass and tits in place of buttocks and breasts in both fics and warnings, reader being declared "hot", reader rolling eyes, reader being bored, reader anticipating the arrival of Billy Hargrove, reader expecting Billy Hargrove to be angry, Billy Hargrove kicking a bathroom door open, Billy Hargrove leaving a dent in Ashley M's bathroom wall, reader calling Billy Hargrove a fucking moron in her head, reader moving a boy's body without his consent, reader obviously using boy to make Billy Hargrove jealous, Billy Hargrove looking ready to kill, reader's neck being slurped on, reader scratches her nails down boy's back just like the lyrics in the header state, references to Alanis Morissette songs, references to Alanis Morissette's "You Oughta Know", references to 90s hits by female artists, references to songs about rough breakups, references to angry girl music, fanfiction inspired by song, fanfiction written for a tumblr event, fanfiction written for a valentine's day event, reader insert fanfiction, a boy in pain, boy scratched with fingernails, references to Billy Hargrove liking his back scratched, implied kink, reader scares useless boy away with scratching, Billy Hargrove grabbing boy by scruff of neck, Billy Hargrove bouncing boy's face off of wall, Billy Hargrove shoving boy to floor, Billy Hargrove slamming a door, Billy Hargrove locking a door, Billy Hargrove's hand on reader's throat, reader's head being smacked against a mirror, fire blazing in Billy Hargrove's eyes, reader revealing that she actually loves Billy Hargrove, references to Billy Hargrove being moody and difficult and snarky and a liar and a cheater, references to Billy Hargrove breaking your heart, reader longing for Billy Hargrove to love her, aggressively making out with Billy Hargrove in Ashley M's bathroom, body buzzing when being touched by Billy Hargrove, reference to Billy Hargrove having massive hands, reader moaning into Billy Hargrove's mouth,

Billy Hargrove squeezing reader's breasts in a pleasant way, reader willingly opening legs for Billy Hargrove, reader wearing barely-there panties, Billy Hargrove inserting his finger into reader's vagina, (reader gets to pick which one), references to reader's vagina being in a state of arousal, use of the word douchebag as an insult, use of the words limp-dicked dumbass, implying that boy bleeding in hallway is too dumb and/or inexperienced to operate a calculator, Billy Hargrove snorting in amusement, reader admitting she did this for Billy Hargrove, reader calling Billy Hargrove an asshole, Billy Hargrove smirking, reader hooking her leg around Billy Hargrove to pull him closer, Billy Hargrove grabbing reader's ass, Billy Hargrove physically moving reader without her explicit written consent, use of 'member' as a term for boy parts, use of 'heat' as a term for girl parts, reader claiming that Billy Hargrove assaults her mouth, reader clinging to Billy Hargrove, reader very close to getting off from friction caused by Billy Hargrove's jeans, Billy Hargrove taunting reader, Billy Hargrove jerking his hips, reader refusing to beg for the dick she so desperately needs, reader trying to grind her hips against Billy Hargrove, Billy Hargrove holding reader still, reader biting Billy Hargrove's neck, Billy Hargrove slapping reader's ass, reader and Billy Hargrove glaring at each other frequently, Billy Hargrove unbuckling his belt, Billy Hargrove unzipping his pants, vague terms for penis in vagina sex, Billy Hargrove thrusting hard and fast, Billy Hargrove making you look at him, Billy Hargrove wanting to watch reader's face when his penis hits that one spot found inside reader's vagina that makes reader's eyes slide out of focus, reader and Billy Hargrove having a simultaneous orgasm on the bathroom sink at Ashley M's house, sex between high school students, sex in a bathroom, sex in a bathroom at a party, sex in a bathroom at a party at Ashley M's house, Billy Hargrove's head resting on reader's shoulder, reader claiming that no one can make her fall apart like Billy Hargrove does, reader wanting to tell Billy Hargrove that she loves him, reader fearing that Billy Hargrove will acknowledge that he knows and leave her again anyway, reader admitting that she does not actually hate Billy Hargrove as was stated in the opening sentence of the fic in question

Words in the Blurb: 1438 Words in the Warnings: 980

[hexalianrebel-blackfeathers]

Panda’s Collection

Welcome to a list of all the things I made with my own brain. Well, my favorite ones at least. Once again, exceptions have been made. It’s mostly character chaos; fantasy, some romance. Just stuff I like. >w< I will never say no to questions about OCs, so please don’t be shy.

(Sorted by Post Date; Old to New)

2016

Ticklish Ivories—Technically not the first time I’ve posted OC tickles, with the whole novel and everything, but this was the first one here. I adore the idea of musical tickles.

[Original]

Musical Tickles and Spooky Magic

Word Count: 2,935

Nights in Copper Heights; an Excerpt—This is technically a lie, since I never actually wrote this scene before I posted it here. But it’s a tickle scene; I had to get it out of my head. >w<

Reconciling Through Tickles. A Little Bondage.

Word Count: 2,950

Nights in Copper Heights—Since I’m here, actually, I might as well include this link. I wrote Nights in Copper Heights essentially as a parody of the Twilight series. I never really bothered watching the entire Twilight series, mind you, but I still kinda like the concepts here and ideas that I had. I had written those chapters back in 2016 or 2017, but I didn’t realize you could backdate things in Ao3 yet. >-< If I do go back, I’ll be rewriting it again…

[Ao3 Exclusive!]

Vampires, Werewolves, and the Humans Caught Up In Their Turf War

Current Word Count: 19,138

Satan’s True Weakness—The story I originally had for these guys was called Why I Remarried God, another idea I think is pretty interesting in concept, but might slip better into an anthology than a whole book. Nowadays, they’re slotted into my current universe as Ethereals.

Insubordinate Tickles and Immortals Disguised as Humans

Word Count: 1,567

Kissing Colors—I’m tempted to think I have completion anxiety. Jacob’s Ladder was a story about a pretty tsundere high schooler realizing he might not be entirely straight. It got a bit intense. Or it would have if I finished it.

Makeup and Tickly Kisses. Puppy Love

Word Count: 1,631

Laughter—Short and simple. Pretty cute, I think.

Movie Night Tickle Attacks

Word Count: 607

A Fairy and a Vampire have an Argument—Set in the Copper Heights era. I don’t think these two would have appeared in the book, but I love making characters, okay? >w<

Tummy Tickles in a Tree. Minor Sads

Word Count: 1,291

Never Tell—Remember when those video games about accessing the Dark Web were all over Youtube? This is from that. I love writing dialogue.

[Ao3]

A Little Spicy, I Guess? Barely. Talk About Tickles and Implied Danger

Current Word Count: 1,346

~~~~~~~

            2018

Tabletop—This one is still my favorite non-novel thing, and I refuse to shut up about it.

[Ao3]

Dungeons & Dragons, But with Tickles.

Current Word Count: 5,612

The Power of Laughter (2011)—The first time I ever actually mentioned my novel here was around this time. This is the universe I’ve been working on reviving lately, as I’ve probably mentioned way too much. This is my favorite thing. Ever. It’s my baby. >w< This version specifically is technically the third draft of the book. Tabletop is technically part of this universe. One day, you might find out why~

[Ao3]

Kids Get Magic Powers to Fight Tickle Monsters. Espionage, Casual Murder, and 30 Chapters of Nonsense Written By a Thirteen-Year-Old.

Word Count: 56,887

~~~~~~~~

2020

The Lighthouse Keepers—A glimpse into Panda’s horror brain, and the land of Esker itself. Part of an Anthology I had in mind

[Ao3 Exclusive!]

Magic, Violence, Unknown Cryptids, and Death

Word Count: 1,849

Whisker Wizards: The Elegy of the Ashen Bastard—The first “episode” of the Whisker Wizards series. They all follow fluffy animal friends and magical crises.

[Ao3 Exclusive!]

Magic, Violence, and a Hero’s Journey

Current Word Count: 1,291

The Magic Man’s Face—A sort of rewrite I tried to start of an older story: “Andrew Taylor is in Love”. It was from an anthology of romance and slice of life stories a younger Panda wanted to write.

[Ao3 Exclusive!]

Stage Magic, Pining, and Love at First Sight

Current Word Count: 851

~~~~~~~~~~~

2021

The Facility—First time introducing you guys to Trevor Bansel outside of his setting. His role changes a lot in-universe, but he’s always been around; one of my favorite characters to play with.

A Tickle Monster Getting Tickled For Misbehaving

Word Count: 1,460

~~~~~~~~~~~~

2023

Panda’s Tree—I’ve always kind of been an idea factory. As we all know by now, execution is a different category altogether. >-<

A List of Panda’s Current Plans for Novels, Stories, and Whatnot.

[mrfengi]

It's a worn phrase, but there's a lot going on here. A cosplay / makeup / fashion vlogger has dressed up as a sexy version of Patrick Bateman from American Psycho, the 2000 film about white male anxiety, misogyny violence and capitalism. This film likely came out around when they were born or before. They're lip-synching lyrics from The Real Slim Shady by Eminem, also released in 2000. His persona fluctuated between parody and genuine expressions of male anxiety and violence. His vocal track has been remixed with Lone Digger by Caravan Palace, from 2015. They're a French electro swing band with a female lead. It's a simple tune about dancing though "Leave that old record spinning" is a nod to the band's retro style. Lone Digger samples a 1947 field recording by Alan Lomax of “Rosie” a prison work song by inmates of the Mississippi State Penitentiary. Sampling of black music by white artists, particularly Lomax's recordings, is controversial as not only is the work of the oppressed profiting artists in the oppressor group, but sampling obscures the history. Which is interesting given the Eminem lyric in the clip is about the white rapper killing his black mentor, who was key to his being accepted by other rappers at all.

Then there's how lip-syncing connects to queer / drag culture, especially given the gender swapped character. [As the performer's sexual identity is unknown, this may not be appropriation. Let's give them the benefit of the doubt.]

Plus there's the layers of the "You Like Huey Lewis And The News?" scene being referenced.

When Bateman says "It's Hip To Be Square" reflects "a far more bitter, cynical sense of humor" than Elvis Costello, that seems like Mary Harron making a direct argument. "Square" is satire: it recognizes his race, class, age, gender, sexual orientation, habits, etc. is the dominant culture that takes hipness from the marginalized and ruins it. "It don't look like a lot of fun / But don't you try to fight it / An idea whose time has come" implies square becomes hip due to oppression. Six years into Reagan, "It's Hip To Be Square" is as ironic as Devo's 1981 "Beautiful World" (which has video that relies on ironic juxtaposition of archival footage).

But Harron then has Patrick Bateman miss the point, saying it's "about the pleasures of conformity and the importance of trends". This fits how Bateman shifts between awareness and denial. It's also how satire is received: even if people get the intended meaning they may unironically engage the surface. Consider the Reagan campaign's misuse of Born in the USA or the initial censorious reaction to the 1991 American Psycho novel or the issue of sincere misogyny is in Eminem's work.

Getting back to the video - how much intent informs this 14 second clip? The maker has watched the scene, but have they thought about every source used? Do they think about how a satire written by a gay man 33 years ago then adapted by a lesbian 24 years ago might be obscured by the sexy halloween costume trope? Do they know the 14 seconds of music has links going back 77 years?

This of the moment clip seethes with nostalgia. Is the feeling of time compression a symptom of the possible end of civilization or the age and sense of mortality of the person writing this post?

At this point you may look down at the floor and see it's covered by printouts of Notes On Camp. You barely have time to wonder why before I bring the ax down.

[mezmer]

One change I would make to the Rose of Versailles story (ridiculous idea) would be

for Oscar to realize what womanhood CAN be after her life of struggling with gender. Here she is in some moments wishing to be a genuine man so she does not feel the pining of desire and perhaps lust (this is a comic for young japanese girls in the 70s but it is obviously implied) Although!!! Oscar never pines for dresses and despises them. So you see a bit of that strength, that confidence that a truly fully realized woman would know. Instead of wanting to engage in consumerist sexualized feminine games, she constantly hones in on how destitute her life is, with love constantly escaping her grasp. She notices she is being fawned after ... But also she is seen as cold by the same characters.. Even though her heart is filled with fire that she can't let out. Because she doesn't know how. This contradiction plagues her and steals her joy, but she relates that loss of open romance to the fact she isn't a fully realized woman per se. Her father raised her to be a man and she constantly steps back and forth between enjoying her enhanced position in a misogynistic society but also feeling miserably doomed to a life of loneliness. Why is it she can't throw herself in the arms of somebody she loves, man or woman? You have a bit of internalized virtue obsession that in some panels involved a bit of homophobia on Oscar's part. She is ridden with a dark purity that only steals from her.

So, the change: Come her ending involving Andre,(no blatant spoilers for those interested in this magnificent masterpiece) -- she has some sort of epiphany about womanhood, but it only involves the realization of what love can be: being somebody's wife. There isn't much of a perception, at least outwardly expressed by Oscar, in this story that she feels and knows the unique experience of womanhood as being that of ... Well maybe I shouldn't go into the inherent experience of womanhood on here lol. It's getting too controversial if I delve into that. I just wish her realization at least wasn't ALL about giving herself to a man after a life of fighting the desire to do so. Oh hey, I am truly a woman, so I can go out and make love finally?... I wish there was more and she'd have taken pride in it, in a different way. The author being a feminist kind of stinks when you read the story under that impression, but the story was indeed written when Riyoko was very young. That was a chance for Riyoko to set a precedent in a story that was massively popular in Japan by the time it was completed. Still all over the world it remains popular but not as much in the states. That being said, it was considered a romantic historical fiction. Oscar would have just been so much stronger of a character if she finished off by showing the readers what a woman really can be despite the ball and chain of 18th century France holding women down. . . Is anyone understanding? She was so close. She wasn't wearing dresses and makeup and she wasn't giving herself to BELONG to a man; the ingredients were all there to create an unprecedented feminist statement. I'm not gonna tag this as Rose of Versailles cuz all the little weirdo fans are gonna come after me for "misgendering" Oscar (a woman..)

Im just releasing my thoughts into the air as I often do here! My Safe Space

[academicallygroves]

This is the "Bejeweled" music video with so many Easter Eggs! I will highlight major ones that connect to this queer time focused project and to her rerecording albums or Eras Tour. This is in effort to build evidence and highlight moments where Easter Eggs in Midnights bring us back to, or tease us for future, albums of Taylor's past (present and future), specifically Speak Now (Taylor's Version) which as we now know was the next rerecorded album to be released. This video also references feelings, experiences, or criticisms she's had thrown at her in the media through Easter Eggs of her album 1989.

Swift released this music video (mv) on October 25th, 2022. This just ~happened~ (not) to be the 12th anniversary of her Speak Now, her 3rd studio album and only album that is entirely self-written.

One of her songs from Speak Now, "Enchanted", can be heard in the background of the opening scene. The evil stepmother, played by Laura Dern, says "speak not tired, tacky wench, clean"

Relationships & marriage are a frequent topic in Midnights as the media has always been hypercritical of Taylor's boyfriends (re: "Blank Space" in 1989). In this mv, the stepmother implies that a proposal is all women should aspire for along with a comment about the prince "tiring of [Swift] quickly". This is a moment that Swift touches on frequently, including in her song "Shake it Off" from 1989 as the media has always made comments about Swift's boyfriends and implied that she can't hold onto one.

The elevator has 13 floors (Swift's favorite number) and it opens on floor 3, colored purple, the same shade as Speak Now and it was her 3rd album. Outside this frame below, the 13th floor, colored purple, can be seen after the 12th floor, colored midnight blue. Implying the 13th album will be Speak Now (Taylor's Version).

Taylor walks into a room with floating jewels and puts on a necklace and bracelet with colors coordinating to her albums. The lyric "I can reclaim the land" plays right after she dons each of her albums, which she's in the process of reclaiming via rerecordings.

Taylor re-enters the elevator and we see it opens up on a bright blue floor color. She walks in to greet Dita Von Teese, both Dita and Taylor are styled in hair and makeup that is reminiscent of Taylor's 1989 era and specifically her song "Wildest Dreams" mv. An Easter Egg implying 1989 will release after Speak Now.

Towards the end of the mv, Swift has claimed her right to the castle and walks onto a balcony wearing and styled in outfit and hair that remind us of "Love Story" from Fearless and we can hear a trumpet heavy version of "Long Live" from Speak Now where in it she references "long live the walls we crashed through/how the kingdom lights shined just for me and you" as a lament to her losing her future in music, her career, and her voice (more on that in other posts). As the camera zooms out to see the entire castle, we see three dragons landing on towers and flying around it. A reference to "Long Live" lyrics "I had the time of my life fighting dragons with you".

[adamwatchesmovies]

Cinderella 3D (2012)

While I didn't enjoy this film, that doesn't mean you won't. No matter what I say, the people involved in this project did it: they actually made a movie. That's something to be applauded. With that established...

There have to be worse renditions of the Cinderella fairytale than Cinderella 3D. Theoretically anyway. This is an ugly, confused, badly written “modern adaptation” that completely misses the point of the classic story.

In an anthropomorphic version of the Wild West, Felicity City is ruled by the wicked Felicity (voiced by Yolande Moreau), who pampers her two daughters while forcing Cinderella (voiced by Alexandra Lamy) to do grunt work. When a Russian Prince (voiced by Antoine de Caunes) comes to visit, Cinderella disguises herself to attend the ball in his honour. Before she can reveal her identity to him, the prince’s mother (voiced by Isabelle Nanty) is kidnapped by the pirate Barbazul (voiced by Philippe Peythieu). The Prince heads to her rescue, unaware that his guide is the same woman he fell in love with.

Immediately, the visuals put you off. It isn’t merely that the characters are random animals; it’s that the models are ugly and their movements don’t look right. The credits imply they were all created via motion capture. Clearly, the animators hadn't yet mastered the technology. Everyone is weightless, and whenever characters interact - like in a bar room brawl - contact between them barely registers. I’m assuming the Prince was made into a dog, Cinderella into a deer, and her fairy godmother into a stereotypical “Native American”… bear(?) because there was no way the studio could master human faces. They can barely make Felicity look like a cat. It’s weird to see random animals in the same family (the Prince’s mother is some kind of bird) and then things get more complicated when “normal” animals are introduced. You barely have time to think about it before the pirate ship shows up in the middle of the desert. Was this story written via Madlibs?

For the first quarter, this is little more than a lame re-telling of a story we’re familiar with, except with a few changes here and there to make it nonsensical. This Cinderella can ride an ostrich no problem. She beats up anyone who crosses her and talks sass at every opportunity. How is her stepmother keeping her prisoner? Why doesn’t she just leave? How can Felicity rule the town when she’s just some random overweight cat? Why do they bother to throw a “ball” for the Prince when only a half-dozen women who can attend? How come the Prince doesn't recognize Cinderella outside of her magical outfit? With or without the makeup and fancy dress… she’s the only deer we ever see! Then, there’s the unintentional creepiness of this movie’s substitute for the glass slipper. In this rendition, Cinderella loses a tooth when she’s punched in the face during a fight. Is the Prince going to try fitting this molar into everyone’s gum gaps? Gross.

Once Cinderella and the Prince head out of town after the pirates, Cinderella 3D becomes a completely different movie - one you’ve seen a million times. It’s dull as a tumbleweed blowing across the landscape and despite the picture’s best efforts, none of it is ever funny or exciting. Over the 81-minute running time, at least a thousand shots are fired and not a single one hits. We never get any explanation for the displaced pirate ship and it’s as if the movie doesn’t realize how out of place it is, particularly when Barbazul disciplines his crewmen by throwing them overboard. It’s little more than an inconvenience… until the conclusion when the whole desert suddenly transforms into quicksand. The movie doesn’t care. I don’t care either - as long as it ends.

Evidently, this abomination would’ve played in theaters and in 3D upon its initial release. They might as well have robbed you at gunpoint. It would’ve been faster and less traumatic. Cinderella 3D is horrible; a film made for children that will have them wishing they were mopping floors or doing laundry instead. As a Western, it fails. As an adaptation of Cinderella, it’s even worse. (English dub, March 12, 2021)

[katnissmellarkkk]

peeta getting upset at katniss for wanting to hunt when they know it’s freezing & about to rain, but she goes anyway bc she’s katniss and stubborn. She comes back soaked and freezing, but peeta doesn’t do the whole “i told you so” thing and just takes good care of her 🥺

Hi, anon bestie!!!! I have been thinking of this prompt for so long, I’m so sorry it took so long to fulfill. I admit, not only have I been having writer’s block but also I haven’t really felt like a good writer lately. Buttttttt I got this done and written and I hope you like it!!!! Thank you for requesting!! And thank you to everyone who reads this, reblogs it, what have you. Thank you for all the continued support you show me, it’s really the motivation as to why I’m able to even still write when I struggle.

Anywaysss. I hope anyone who read this has a good time and God bless you all. 💙💗🤍😘

-

I sneak up the stairs as soon as the front door slips shut, my footfalls effortlessly silent as not to tip off my husband of my return quite yet.

On a typical day I’d have bounded into the kitchen and probably bombarded him, since my return home from hunting is routinely the first interaction we share in the day. More often than not, Peeta is still in deep sleep, burrowed securely beneath our warm sheets, when I leave right after sunrise to hunt in the woods.

But not today. No, today isn’t our typical morning and today I really don’t want to greet him hello.

And something tells me even if I tried, the reception would be icy. At best.

Peeta grants me the title for holding grudges after fights — and admittedly, I might do that on occasion — but he doesn’t seem to realize just how guilty he is of the same exact crime.

And I’ve never told him. I’ve never once thrown in his face that he can hold onto anger just as tightly and just as stubbornly as I can. And I probably never will, no matter how furious I get with him at times.

Because it’s a quality he inherited directly from his mother. And it’s not one he’s proud of, I already know.

In any case, greeting him hello would be absolutely pointless, because after our fight this morning — the fight that he started himself, asking me not to hunt, asking me not to walk to town and trade at the Hob today. And getting blatantly irritated when I refused — I know Peeta’s not going to be welcoming me home with open arms.

I love him. I’ve loved him openly, wholly, without doubts or fears or reservations for more than five years now. And me and him both know I loved him even before that too. But no love is going to make me waltz into the kitchen, drenched to the bone and shivering violently, and admit he might have been right earlier.

Apparently he now believes those stupid weather reports, just like Haymitch and Delly and Thom. Apparently the freakish people that actually get paid to talk about the weather claimed yesterday that this morning here in Twelve would consist of a variety of atrocities. Namely thunder and lightning and hail and strong, freezing winds, to be exactly.

A really immature, petty part of me wants to make a point in letting my husband know that there was no lightning whatsoever.

But everything else the stupid weather person claimed was absolutely true and as I enter the bathroom, I realize with an appropriate amount of horror that I cannot feel my hands or my legs.

I cup my palms over my mouth and blow hard, trying to bring some feeling back into my chilled appendages. The action proves unsuccessful though, only further fueling my body’s intense stress production.

After all, if I lose my hands from frostbite, I can’t hold my bow, I can’t shoot my arrows and I definitely cannot hunt anymore.

The thought passes through my mind in such a quick and jumbled way that I know I’m not thinking rationally — by any stretch of the imagination — but a pit digs itself in my stomach just the same. The idea of losing my ability to hunt, one of the only things that truly brings me peace on days I feel rocked and terrified, one of the only acts that I know without a doubt can help me and my loved ones survive even if the world were to head back to starvation and poverty again, the last connection I have to my father, causes my throat to clog up painfully.

Evidently it also causes me to completely lose touch with my surroundings because, without prior warning, I feel a large, warm hand splay across my upper back.

I flinch at the contact, realizing a beat too late that it’s my husband who’s finally found me. Standing drenched and frenzied, holed up in the bathroom.

For a split second, I expect to see anger or annoyance or even a smug smile when I raise my dime colored eyes to meet his cornflower ones. But I don’t. I don’t see anything of the sort.

Instead all I see is Peeta standing over me, attentive and warm and concerned. His touch is soft and his gaze is all gentleness. “Katniss,” he breathes quietly, one of his hands ringing out my sopping wet braid. “What’re you doing?”

Unable to form the words on my lips at first, I hold up my shaking hands just as another shiver runs down my spine. I don’t know what I’m trying to convey but his eyes flicker with comprehension and he quickly brings my palms to mouth, blowing hot air on them furiously.

“Thank you,” I whisper as he touches my coat, running the material between his fingers lightly.

“This coat wasn’t made for this kind of weather,” he states and I don’t argue. Four months ago the time came to pack my father’s hunting jacket away with mementoes I still hold onto of Prim. The jacket was becoming too worn and torn and I feared the day would come when it was dwindled down to nothing but tears, loose threads and holes.

But when Peeta suggested I order a new coat from the Capitol, where they sold and shipped fancy and expensive winter outerwear, lined with fur and fluff, I resisted. I even rejected the idea of digging out a jacket Cinna made me long ago, having come to a point where all I want is to savor the things the ones I lost left behind and not use and abuse them.

But it’s quite clear now that the crocheted coat I made myself didn’t hold up to the wind and storm the same way the heat-insulated Capitol fabric would have. It’s blatantly obvious that Peeta was right and I was wrong, and if this were reversed I can’t say I wouldn’t be petty enough to say “I told you so”.

But Peeta doesn’t push the issue anymore and for that I’m glad. My teeth chatter and I feel the tip of my nose stinging and all I want to do is crawl into bed and lay there until I can feel all my limbs again but it would appear Peeta has other plans for me.

He pulls my coat all the way off, laying it aside on the bathroom counter and tugs me closer to him, his hands already at my shirt’s hem. “Raise your arms, honey,” he commands in a soft voice. I do as he asks and he pulls my drenched shirt off, tossing it with my waterlogged coat. He then gently brings me into the circle of his arms, rubbing my back, a clear attempt to warm up my bare skin. One that is met with little success.

“Do you want to take a shower?” He whispers, expertly undoing my braid as he speaks.

I nod, my entire face still numb from the biting temperature outside. I let him guide me over to the bathtub, watching as he adjusts the knobs and proceeds to rid me of the rest of my frigid clothes.

I don’t speak again until he’s helping me under the cascade of water, still fully dressed himself, standing on the bath mat outside the shower. “Join me,” I murmur, an almost plead as the hot water spills down my back, effectively warming the skin on my back and legs, ridding it of all goose flesh.

Peeta gives me a sardonic glance. “I already planned on it.” And within a minute, he’s completely discarded his clothes into a pile right on top of mine.

As soon as he’s inside the shower, as soon as he pulls the curtain closed, I immediately wrap my arms around his waist, burrowing my face into his chest. My cheek rests against his heart, where I can hear the beat perfectly, where I always rest my head.

I may have been holding onto my irritation when I first arrived home, but if Peeta has decided to let it go, then — for once — I will too. My anger was more defensiveness anyway.

Peeta doesn’t say a word, he doesn’t mention the fight or even mention the fact that I’m still shivering, but twines his strong arms around me instead and plants a gentle kiss on the top of my head.

And suddenly I can’t move on without mentioning it. “I’m sorry I didn’t just stay home today,” I say hesitantly, trying to very carefully break the ice. “You were right. Even if you were listening to those Capitol weathermen.”

He chuckles, shaking his head as his arms tighten protectively around me. He moves us closer to the waterfall, running a hand through my hair, ensuring it is saturated in warmth. “I just worry sometimes,” he admits after a beat. “About your lack of spleen.”

I lean my head back from his embrace to peer up at him and give a quizzical look. “My lack of spleen?”

His hand cups my cheek as the shower water pours over both our faces, spilling down into the space between us, getting trapped between our chests. The hot water feels good, so much better than I even anticipated when he asked, but I don’t comment on it now. Instead I wait for him to elaborate. “You have a weaker immune system. You know.” He waits for my face to light up with recognition but instead all he gets is a blank, impatient stare. “You know. Because the doctors took your spleen out when you got shot in Two? Your immune system is now weaker, so I worry about you sometimes,” he admits. “The same thing that gives me a cold could give you pneumonia. Or worse.” He waits for me to reply, to say almost anything but I take a moment to catch up.

I blink three times consecutively before finally answering. “I knew that,” I say but there’s an almost comical defensive edge to my tone now. “I knew that, Peeta.”

And of course, my husband clocks it immediately. “No, you didn’t,” he asserts and his voice suddenly recedes in age about ten years. As does his childish smirk.

“Yes, I did. I just forgot,” I insist, but we both know by this point I’m an awful liar. Unless my life depends on it, I can’t act at all.

And sometimes even then I still fall short.

“Okay, sweetheart,” he retorts, still with the same cocky smile playing on his lips and I make a face at him before bursting out laughing. “I love you, Katniss,” he softly proclaims with that glint in his eye that I know well. The one that tells me, wordlessly, that he adores me. That even on days when I feel like scum of the Earth, he openly reveres and cherishes me for just being who I am.

And then he surprises me by adding one last thing on the end of his statement. “I’m sorry for being bossy earlier. For trying to tell you what not to do.”

I nod, as if I’m extremely serious about my next words. “Yeah, it’s better if you leave the being bossy to me.” I’m rewarded with a smile and a kiss to the forehead but suddenly I want more.

And apparently so does he. I tip my head back to indicate I want a real kiss at the same time Peeta is leaning in to plant one. Before I can even make the request he’s pressing his lips to mine in a slow, tender motion, his arms still supporting my body as steam filters throughout the room.

I cradle his face in my hands, deepening the kiss, silently willing him not to break the connection just yet. He holds out until he has to pull away for air and then, without warning, lifts me straight up into his arms, pressing my back into the shower wall.

“Peeta,” I murmur huskily as his mouth moves down my throat, suckling on my weakest spot where my neck meets my shoulder.

“Yeah?” He mumbles absently as his hands roam up and down my body, causing my head to spin and another shiver to run down my back for an entirely different reason.

“I love you too,” I say, my hands both tangled up in his now wet hair. “I love you so much.”

-

[viscerax]

(hey love your work) i was wondering could you write something for poly vance x robin x girly!reader (heels, makeup etc) and their being harassed by an ex because the ex is jealous of their new relationship?

She's ours

(fem!reader)

I feel I need to preface this with a Tw for assault, not SA specifically, although if you squint it could be that. If SA/implied SA makes you uncomfortable, be careful reading this

"Leave me alone, dickwad. I told you. It's fucking over! Its been over for 3 months. Stop calling, stop coming over, and definitely stop harassing my friends!" You shouted and slammed the phone down, ending the conversation with your ex.

It was sad, really. He cheated on you, and he still wanted you back? It made you laugh, really. What didn't make you laugh, however, was the constant phone calls, which sprouted into him going around and getting into fights with your "friends" over it.

Robin and Vance had both been targeted by your ex, Robin first, and then Vance the next day. You figured this out, because you had been the one to patch them up. Robin refused to tell you who had gotten him hurt, Vance however, struggled to keep his mouth shut about it.

"I swear to fucking christ on the cross, Y/n. If I see that motherfucker one more time, I'm going to pound his brains into the pavement outside of school. That shit will leave a red fucking stain." Vance seethed as you wrapped a bandage over his knuckles.

"Vance, if he bothers you again, just come tell me. I'll take care of it." You gave him a smile, kissing his cheek as you scooted off the edge of Vance's bathroom sink, patting down your skirt a bit.. You turned to face the mirror, smiling as you adjusted your hair before quickly whipping around to Vance again, placing a kiss on his nose, your lip gloss leaving a small bit of glitter on his nose.

The next day, you begrudgingly had made your way through school. Vance offered to take you out that day to skip, ride around in his brand new car, but you declined. Why? Because if you didn't show up, that would make it look like you were avoiding that punk son of a bitch you once called your boyfriend. And everyone needed to know that Y/n L/n, despite the frilly dresses and hair bows and makeup, was not the bitch to mess with.

You were reapplying lip gloss in the bathroom that always almost seemed unoccupied. It seemed like Vance and Robin had claimed that bathroom, and no one ever really went in out of fear of what might happen to them if they do.

You heard the door swing open, but didn't bother looking. From the heavy footsteps, you figured it was Vance. "Oh, hey V-"

You were cut off by a slap to the face, your lip gloss flying out of your hand and landing on the floor. A rough hand grabbed your shoulder and you were whipped around, face to face with your ex.

"You bitch! Your little gaurd dog boyfriends busted up my fucking face!" He growled, grabbing your ponytail and yanking it harshly. "You think you're hot fucking shit. But you're nothing without those pathetic asshole losers by your side. Not so confident now that they're not here, are you?" He smirked, a hand grabbing your cheek. You glared at him, hatred burning in your eyes. "I know you want me back, Y/n. Its written all over fucking little face."

You spit directly in his face, using the momentary distraction to lift your knee up harshly, hitting him in the stomach. He winced and backed up, to which you quickly kicked him in the stomach, the heel of your shoe adding more impact. "You wish. Im happier then ever because of Vance and Robin. They've given me so much more then you ever could." You walked up to him, punching him square in the face. He backed up and hit his back against the bathroom stall door, wincing.

The bathroom door swung open, and Vance and Robin both rushed in, ready to kick some ass.

You looked up, a warm smile spreading across your face when you looked at them. "Hey loves, I was just uhm-" you glanced over to your ex, who was just frozen as he looked between you and the two boys. "-finishing up here. I think we're done here. Right?" You turned to face your ex, a smirk plastered across your face as blood ran down his face. He simply nodded and practically skimpered out of the bathroom.

"And if you ever try touching her again, we'll all beat the shit out of you. She's fucking ours." Vance shouted as your ex pushed the door open.

You smiled and happily walked over to Vance and Robin, wrapping them in a tight hug and placing a kiss on the boys lips.

"I didn't know you could fight like that, sweetheart. We thought we were going to have to beat the shit out of him again." Robin smirked and tucked a loose strand of your hair behind your ear.

"He's a bitch. The man can't fight for shit. He gave up as soon as I landed the first blow." You chuckled and walked over to your lipstick on the floor, which was now broken and spilled. "What a shame. This was my favorite color." You huffed and picked it up, throwing the broken tube in the trash and wiping the excess off of the floor.

"Don't worry princess, I'll have my mom get you some from the makeup store. Its right across the street from her work." Vance huffed as he helped you wipe off the mess from the floor, using a fresh paper towel to wipe the smeared lipstick from your cheek.

"You don't have to do that hun. I really hate to bother your mom." You sighed, tilting your head so that Vance could rub the lipstick off better.

"Its no bother. She doesn't mind. You know my mom loves you." Vance chuckled and threw the paper towel in the trash bin.

"Thank you, love." You smiled and grabbed his hand, placing a kiss on the top of his hand, leaving a red lipstick stain. You did the same with Robins and the three of you walked back out into the school halls together.

[dameronology]

break my heart, i'll break your mouth (eddie munson)

a.k.a the one where jason carver is your boyfriend but eddie munson is the one you love (based on the song kitchen light by xana. pls listen to it i cannot stress how fucking good she is)

warnings: language, drinking, smoking weed, cheating, mentions of a fight and one line that implies smut

ok anyways enjoy ok bye

jazz xx

Eddie Munson knew it was never good when you called him past 3AM. 

He was up in seconds, large hands reaching for the phone on the wall before it could wake his uncle. Soft words muttered down the line - I’ll be there in ten minutes, stay there, please don’t move, don’t go anywhere - and he was out the door, jeans halfway around his ankles and a leather jacket over his bare torso. The gravelly Hawkins roads were usually empty gone midnight; Eddie didn’t want to think about how many speed limits he broke to get to you in the time he’d promised. His license already had enough points on it. 

It was rare that Eddie would do this for just anyone - going out at night, losing sleep, keeping his foot to the floor and piling through gas. You weren’t just anyone. He didn’t know what you were but you were…important. To some degree. A very high degree, actually. 

You’d known each other in high school. Barely, but you didn’t actually talk until almost two years after graduation when you’d gotten beaten and bloody after a fight at a house party. Eddie had only gone for business purposes that night but the moment he dragged you into Steve Harrington’s expensive fucking bathroom to clear you up, he found another purpose for being there. You probably wouldn’t have said as much to him if you weren’t drunk; wouldn’t have told him that your boyfriend was the bane of your life, or that his flirting with other girls was what made you throw the first punch. Eddie had written in his number on your hand that night and driven you home - call me in the morning and let me know you’re okay, he’d said. There was no ulterior motive. No intention other than genuinely wanting to look out for you.

And really, he hadn’t stopped looking out for you since. At first, you just called him to hang out: he was refreshing in a way. Light and airy, funny and kind, but with an edge to him that made every one of his words worth hanging onto. It was only once you started truly opening up to each other and finding an unlikely friendship that it became a slippery slope. Three months in, after getting high as fuck, you’d slept together for the first time. Five months in, and you were hooked on one another. Seven…eight…and now nine. Nine months in and Eddie was driving out at three in the goddamn morning to pick you up because your boyfriend had fucked you over again.

Cheating was bad. He knew that. You knew that. Eddie had never wanted to be that guy but god you were worth every second. It was a complicated situation; he tried to understand that as much as he could. Jason Carver was the son of your dad’s best friend and business partner - you’d grown up next door to each other and your lives were so deeply intertwined that it was hard to back out. Not intertwined in the way you and Eddie were, but intertwined in a messy way.

Messy. That barely scratched the surface.

Eddie saw you on the side of the road as soon as he pulled up outside the address. You were perched on the pavement, legs crossed in front of you. His headlights caught the tears in your eyes and smeared makeup. He gave you a soft smile and a wave, brown eyes following as you circled around the van to the passenger side and pulled open the door.

“Hey, come here.”

A long pair of arms found their way around your waist, pulling you flush against Eddie’s chest. He kept one hand on your back and the other cupping the back of your head. You stayed like that for a moment, trying to calm your breath and ground yourself after a rough fucking night. There were no more tears; you didn’t have the energy for that. 

“Thank you,” you murmured into his shoulder. “I just - it all got too much, you know? And I just wanted to get out. I’m sorry for calling so late-”

“- it’s the bare minimum,” he firmly cut you off. “I’m not gonna leave you crying on the street at three in the morning. Maybe only for a second to beat the shit outta Jason Carver-”

“- Eddie,” you pleaded; a moment later, you put a hand on his thigh and gave it a light squeeze. “I’ll deal with it, I promise.”

He gave you a sideways glance, dark eyes full of doubt. Eddie gave you a little shrug and turned on the engine. The fact you were wearing your boyfriend’s varsity jacket broke him inside a little. Had that prick seriously not upgraded his wardrobe since you left Hawkins High?”

“Here,” Eddie leant across and grabbed a strewn denim jacket from the backseat. “Wear this one. Not that piece of shit.”

You gave him a small smile. “Thanks, Eds.”

“You look better in that,” he returned your smile with a small wink. “C’mon, let’s get you home.”

“Actually…” you stopped, trailing off for a minute. “D’you think I could crash at yours?”

Eddie nodded. “Always.”

“Thank you.”

The drive back to the trailer park was pretty quiet. Purple Rain was playing quietly in the background - you’d never known Eddie to like Prince, but you didn’t say anything - and about halfway through, rain started to gently patter down on the ceiling. At that point, he reached across to take your hand, holding it in the air and gently waving it about as he softly sang along. 

“I never wanted to be your weekend lover,” he stupidly hummed. “C’mon, you know the lyrics!” 

“Eddie,” you grumbled. 

“Come onnn!”

“Fine!” you groaned. “I only ever wanted to be some kind of friend-”

“- baby, I could never steal you from another -”

“- it’s such a shame our friendship had to end.”

The song ended just as you rolled up outside the trailer. 

Eddie was hot on your heels as you crept up the stairs - it was a set routine by now. Shoes off before you got to the gravel, door shut softly as possible behind you, straight through to the bedroom and-

-nope, not tonight. Partially because it was too dark to find the way, but mostly because your lips were on Eddie’s as soon as you reached the kitchen. You’d been thinking about him all night; every time your boyfriend kissed you, touched you, hell, every time he even fucking looked at you. Going to that party hadn’t even been your plan in the first place; you were going to ditch, call Eddie and just hang out. It was at Carver’s insistence that you went out and got dressed up. You way preferred it here, when it was just you and Eddie. Nothing else in the world - and no one else - existed when you were alone in these four walls. That was how you liked it. 

Eddie didn’t push you away when you kissed him; he’d been pining for you all night just as much as you had been for him. Sat here in the living room, a half-written song scrawled out in front of him as he wallowed in pity at the thought of Jason Carver kissing you like this. That was a laughable thought - no one kissed you the way Eddie did. He had a way of doing it, with gentle hands and lips, giving as they were taking, enough to make you buckle at the knees. There were a million reasons why you hadn’t walked away yet, and a million more why you didn’t want to, but the way he lingered on your mind and your lips even hours after he’d left was up there in the top ten. 

Large hands grabbing your hips, he gently lifted you up onto the kitchen counter. Eddie stopped then, forehead pressed to yours and chest heaving as he caught his breath. You peered up at him through your curled lashes, eyes now completely dry - they were creased at the side with a smile, in fact. This was how it was meant to be. 

“You’re gorgeous,” Eddie murmured. “You know that, right?”

“Tell me one more time and I might believe you.”

A low groan escaped his mouth. His hands still lingered on you, softly ghosting up and down your arms, fingers trailing over the crumpled material of the denim jacket. It was moments like this where you truly felt like you were his. Smiling up at him, one of his favourite jackets hanging off your torso, eyes wide with glee as you prodded and poked at one another with stupid jokes. Eddie knew for a fact that you were never like this with your boyfriend. The man had the sense of humour of a brick. 

“You’re gorgeous…and annoying, and you’re insane, and I can’t get my head around you half the time,” Eddie continued, pressing a kiss to each part of your face as he paused between every word. “But I…”

I love you. And I wish you would dump your fucking boyfriend. 

“You what?”

I wish you were mine. 

“I’m glad we met,” he finished. 

Eddie thought back to the night a lot; the sight of you, perched on the edge of a bathtub with a bloody nose. You didn’t shut up for a good ten minutes as you ranted on about Jason, or about the other girl, or about how much you hated these fucking parties. He’d listened intently the entire time, occasionally making a shit joke. You hadn’t left his mind since.

“Me too,” you smiled. 

“Jason doesn’t deserve you,” he murmured, hands coming to rest on your cheeks. “I’m not saying I do - I just mean…he’s always been a dick. Maybe he had a reason to be like that to me in high school but you’re so much better than him.”

You were golden. Bright and sparky like a summer’s day, forever giving and not asking for anything in return. You didn’t need looking after but you certainly deserved someone who had your back. Someone who would treat you like a fucking goddess; someone who would be with you against the world. 

Someone like Eddie. 

A few days passed and that conversation fell to the back of your mind. 

It was a routine by that point: Jason would call and you would forgive him. Eddie would feel his heartbreak for the millionth time and force a smile. I’m glad you worked things out, sweetheart. He’d say it with his whole fucking chest, like the one tiny bit of thread that held his sanity together wasn’t about to snap. 

He was pretty certain you were the love of his life. Maybe that was a grandiose statement to make at the ripe age of twenty-three, but he couldn’t possibly fathom meeting anyone like you again. Moving on just wasn’t an option anymore. And he could say quite confidently, with each of his hands up to every deity there was, that he had tried. He had tried with everything he had in this godforsaken human world to forget about you but some things just weren’t possible. Then again, there were a lot of things that weren’t possible at one point. Everyone had said there would never be humans on the moon, and yet he remembered vividly watching that happen as a kid. 

Still, Eddie was pretty sure that human beings would colonise fucking Mars before he got over you. 

It would have been easier to cope if you didn’t linger on his mind constantly. If he didn’t lay in bed for hours thinking of you, the window wide open as the rain lashed down, hoping the water would wash you away from his mind. No such hope. Your legacy prevailed. 

This whole thing had started out as some dumb, scandalous affair. And now Eddie wasn’t sure he could live without you. Life sure did find a fucking way, huh?

It was a cold Tuesday night the next time he saw you again. The last place Eddie expected you to be was a sports bar but it made sense when he saw you with Jason, athlete extraordinaire. He had an arm around your waist and a Coors Light in the other. If the guy hadn’t seemed despicable before, he sure did now. Coors Light? Disgusting. Absolutely shameful. 

Eddie near enough froze when your eyes met - and then all over again when he saw what jacket you were wearing. Baggy, denim, hung off your frame in a way in which he was only slightly obsessed. In front of your boyfriend too? That made his heart skip a beat. 

You gave him a small smile, not breaking his gaze as he walked to the bar. Even before Eddie reached the bar, you knew what he was going to order: a double Jamesons, on the rocks, with a splash of coke. It brought your mind back to all your drunken kisses; when the sweet taste of whiskey had lingered on his lips and you could taste it on your own. That was your favourite flavour now: whiskey and excitement.

And do you know what Jason Carver tasted like? Coors Light and the promised impending doom of a boring suburban life. 

You felt looked after when you were with Eddie. Every time you drank at his favourite bar downtown - far away from anyone who could ever see you - he’d always kept a hand on the small of your back. If anyone looked at you the wrong way, he would know about it. Then he would get you home safe, kiss you goodnight and hold you in his arms till morning came. Worlds away from your actual boyfriend, who nine-out-of-ten-times a week, would ditch you for his own friends. 

They were stood between you now. Eddie on the left of the bar, Jason and his crones in the middle, and then you perched on the right. You should have been there with him. On the other side, just the two of you, getting your whiskey and cokes and making fucking jokes about the stupid jocks beside you. Instead, they acted as a wall. A reminder that you could never be together. 

“You see that chick over there, that’s fucking Joanna from our senior English class,” Jason was drawling on to one of his friends. He raised his hand to point to her. “Look at the size of her t-”

The motion caused the pint of beer in front of you to spill; right off the bar and all down your jacket. You let out a squeak and jumped back, eyes wide with shock as the cold lager soaked through your clothes.

“For fuck’s sake, Jason!” you snapped. “When I said you should multitask I didn’t mean spilling your beer down me and objectifying women at the same time-”

“- calm down!” he cut you off. “Look, it’s just beer, babe! It’s not gonna stain…where did you even get this stupid jacket anyways?”

You took a step back, arms dropping to your side as you stared at him in defeat. Everyone in the bar was staring at you now, including Eddie. You could feel his brown eyes on you - probably anticipating your next move. This was the first time your worlds had come so close to colliding and you didn’t know what to do. 

“It’s not stupid,” you murmured. “I’m just…I’m gonna go home, Jason.”

“We said we’d hang out tonight-”

“- I don’t care,” you cut him off. “I’m done.”

“You’re done?”

“Yeah. I’m done,” you shrugged. 

Leaning down to pick up the toppled glass, you calmly placed it on the counter and dusted yourself off. Jason Carver was officially the thing of the past.

That brings us to your present. 

You grabbed Eddie’s hand as you left the bar, dragging him with you out the door. He didn’t fight; he just grabbed his drink and followed suit, brain barely keeping up with the events of the last two minutes. It felt like a fever dream. 

It was raining outside. Rather violently. 

“You…” Eddie trailed off as he stumbled behind you, barely even caring that his hair was instantly getting wet. “You just dumped Jason Carver in front of everyone-”

“- he insulted your jacket,” you said. “It’s not stupid. You’re not stupid either but I think I might be.”

He gave you a little smile, hands hooking around your elbows and pulling you closer to him. Eddie’s hair was practically drenched now, curls washed out by the rain, droplets running down his face and hanging onto his eyelashes. He was beautiful. 

“Why might that be?’

“Maybe because I’ve been telling myself for like six months now that I’m not in love with you?” you suggested. “This is so dumb, oh my god. It’s like a fucking rom-com-”

You were cut off by Eddie’s lips on yours. It was a deep kiss - more passionate than any you’d shared before. His hands gripped your hips tightly, holding you closer to him. You couldn’t get any closer, not when you were chest-to-chest, arms tangled and teeth clashing together as you made out in the rain like two giddy fucking teenagers. It didn’t matter either that people could see you. You were done caring. There was nothing to hide. 

“I love you,” he said. “You’re my best friend and I love you and I don't care that I've had to wait six months to hear to you say it back. I would wait a million fucking years for you."

"Eddie," you murmured. "That was almost poetic."

He let out a laugh, thumb moving to wipe a few rain drops off your cheeks.

"Can we please just be together now?" he asked.

"Yeah," you smiled. "I'd like that."

tags: @adamgetawaydriver @megmeg-chan @karasong @eddington-munson

[luxestarkey]

him - rafe cameron

synopsis: typical best friends to lovers trope

a/n: after reading a million imagines on here i decided to write one myself. i’m extremely rusty on my writing and have admittedly never really written much fanfiction/imagines before so go easy on my but also give me feedback please!!

word count: 2.5k

warnings: cussing, underage drinking, sexual innuendos, implied smut

-

As you stared at your reflection in the mirror and slid your hands over your dress for what felt like the millionth time, all your mind could think of was what his reaction would be. Your thoughts were completely and utterly consumed with him.

Him.

Rafe fucking Cameron.

Although a significant portion of the Figure Eight teens were already closer than most kids their age, you two were practically joined at the hip. From dinner parties and fancy galas, to tee times and getting drunk together at the Club bar, Rafe Cameron had been by your side through it all. It was no surprise to anyone that the two were so close, both coming from two of the most influential families the Outer Banks had ever seen. And with that, came the responsibility of upholding a certain public appearance and standard.

Midsummer’s was undoubtedly the most anticipated event of the summer for those lucky enough to be part of the elite. Although you and Rafe grew up with a nearly identical childhood, your views on Kook traditions differed from his drastically. While he basked in the comfort his upbringing brought him and the notoriety his last name garnered, you tended to shy away from the fact that you were indeed, a Kook.

Similar to Kiara Carrera, you hated the way the rich assholes you were surrounded with cared about nothing but themselves. Don’t get it wrong though, you still loved the excuse to dress up almost weekly and buy whatever you wanted with your dad’s card, who wouldn’t? You just didn’t flash your money the same way or look down on those who weren’t fortunate enough to be born into a disgustingly rich family.

And despite the fact that half the island still had no running water or electricity, you had slipped into the lavender silk gown you purchased weeks prior and done your makeup expertly, all while he consumed your thoughts.

You were hopelessly and unabashedly in love with the arrogant asshole that you called your best friend.

“Y/N! We’re going to be late,” your mother shouted from the bottom of the stairs, bringing you out of your thoughts of the stupid blue-eyed boy.

“I’m coming!” You let your eyes linger on your reflection once more before grabbing your clutch and phone, taking a few deep breaths as you descended the stairs. Following your parents and brother to the car, you began mentally preparing yourself for the mindless and meaningless conversations you would have over the next few hours, pushing away any thoughts of the one person who was proving to be a major pain in your ass today.

-

“Can I get a mai tai please?” You smiled sweetly at the bartender, briefly flashing your fake ID to him before sitting on one of the barstools and scanning the room.

“Drinking already, Y/L/N?” You heard from behind you, rolling your eyes as you turned to face Topper and Kelce who already had drinks in their hands.

“Well I have to put up with you idiots all night, I definitely won’t be doing that sober, Thornton,” you remark, lightly pushing his chest as he leaned next to you.

He let out a fake gasp, hand clutching his chest as he met your eyes. “And here I was thinking we were the best of friends,” he said, shaking his head in disapproval.

“Don’t let Cameron hear you say that, pretty sure he would fight to the death over that one,” Kelce chuckled, shrugging innocently as you shot him a look. The bartender walked back over with your drink, smiling and thanking you as you handed him the cash in your hand and took the drink.

“Speaking of the devil,” Topper muttered, eyes focused on the Cameron family as they made their grand entrance, applause filling the space around you three as Ward and Rose made their way to talk to the patriarchs standing near the doors. Rafe’s eyes made their way around the deck, softening as he met your gaze, body physically relaxing. He quickly made his way to the bar and wasted no time in bringing you in for a hug.

“You have no idea how glad I am to see you,” he whispered so softly you almost didn’t hear him.

“You mean you didn’t have fun with Rose bitching at you for the last few hours?” you teased, letting a laugh fall from your lips as you craned your head up to look at him.

“If I heard one more word about how my damn bowtie wasn’t straight, I’m pretty sure I was going to fucking lose it.”

He released you from the hug, keeping an arm around your shoulder as he looked over your head and ordered a drink. “How bad were these two annoying you before I came to the rescue?” he asked and looked at Topper and Kelce with a raised brow. “Do I need to beat their asses for anything?”

“Not necessary, they were just being their normal and irritating selves,” you shrugged and instinctively leaned into his side, taking a sip from your drink as the two boys scoffed.

“Sorry that not all of us can be Rafe Cameron,” Topper chided and dodged a punch that Rafe aimed at his shoulder, a knowing smile on his lips as he looked at both of you.

Before you could reply, Rafe just chuckled and pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “Aw Top, I’m flattered that you want to be me.” He reached behind you to grab his drink off the bar top, finishing the glass in five gulps. “Alright, I gotta go make a few rounds before Ward kills me,” Rafe said before bringing you into his chest for another hug.

He ducked his head down to press a kiss against your cheek. “This dress looks stunning on you by the way,” he whispered softly, fingers lightly dragging against the silk.

He glanced back at the boys behind you before pointing an accusatory finger in their direction. “Don’t annoy my girl while I’m gone, I’ll kill you both,” he spoke sternly, giving them a look as he released you from his hold and made his way back across the Club to where his family resigned.

“Oh we would never annoy his girl,” Kelce mocked as Topper poked a finger into your side repeatedly, the two of them laughing as you blushed a deep crimson.

“Shut the hell up. He doesn’t mean it like that and you two know it,” you muttered softly, eyes watching Rafe’s retreating figure as you chewed on your bottom lip.

“All you would have to do is say the word and it would happen, Y/N. You already have that boy wrapped around your finger, I can promise you that.” Topper looked down at you as you nodded slightly, bringing your drink to your lips for a long sip. Although you had never blatantly admitted your feelings towards the taller boy, you knew Topper was more aware of your feelings than Rafe and Kelce combined.

A sense of warmth washed over you as you met Rafe’s eyes across the room before he sent a quick wink in your direction and turned back to his conversation.

With a quickening heartbeat and sweaty palms gripping onto your cold glass, you realized at that moment you were screwed. Absolutely, completely screwed.

-

Hours had passed by and the remaining patrons at the Club were working hard on getting drunk. Sandwiched at a table between Rafe and Kelce, you began to feel the weight of the alcohol you consumed. Resting your head on Rafe’s shoulder with eyelids threatening to close, he pressed a warm hand against your thigh and looked down at you. “Want me to drive you home?” He whispered gently, his thumb lightly brushing against your skin.

“Mm, no, I don’t wanna make you leave,” you spoke through a yawn, pulling his jacket that he had given you closer around yourself.

A low chuckle passed his lips as he shook his head, “Believe me, I’ve had my fill of people asking what I plan to do after dropping out of college. Let’s go, sweetheart.”

He stood up slowly, offering a hand to you and helping pull your chair back. “Alright guys, I’m taking her home. We still on for a round tomorrow?” he questioned as he looked at Topper and Kelce, mindlessly rubbing your back as you leaned against him.

Topper nodded as he glanced at your sleepy figure, a small smirk forming on his lips in his drunken haze. “Yup, tee time at nine sharp.”

“Sounds good, I’ll meet you guys then,” Rafe replied softly, grabbing your heels off the ground that you had abandoned earlier and making his way towards the door.

“Don’t keep him up too late Y/N!”

“Use protection!”

Without glancing back, Rafe shot a middle finger in the direction of his drunk friends as a smile crept its way onto his face. “I hate them.”

“They’re harmless, you know that,” you smiled sleepily as you looked up at him. “Besides, they’re jealous.”

“Jealous? Why would that be?” he asked, leading you across the parking lot with his hand pressed dangerously low on your back.

Shrugging slightly, you yawned as he opened his truck door for you and helped you step up inside. You gazed at him as you brushed some of the hair that had fallen into his eyes back. “Because you’re my favorite. They know it, and they hate it.”

As he bit the corner of his lip in an attempt to suppress a smile, he just nodded slightly. “Yeah, I know. You’re my favorite too,” he whispered gently, letting his eyes flicker down to your lips for a brief second before pulling away and shutting the passenger door. He made his way around the truck, climbing into the driver’s seat.

“Wanna stay over tonight?” he let his eyes flicker over to you as he made his way out of the Club parking lot and headed towards Tannyhill, assuming your answer would be yes before you got the chance to respond.

“Don’t wanna go home and you’re not the worst company, so I guess,” you remarked as you leaned against the window, giggling softly as he reached across the console to teasingly shove you.

No other words were spoken for the remainder of the ride, the low radio volume providing a comfortable silence between the two of you. You began to doze off, only waking up when you felt the car come to a stop outside the large house. Rafe was out of the truck and opening up your door before you even registered it.

“Come on sleepyhead,” he spoke quietly, tucking an arm under your knees as he lifted you out of the seat.

“I have legs, Rafe,” you muttered although you made no move to get down, instead cuddling closer to his body as he began to walk towards the front door.

He only shook his head, holding you tightly against him as he opened the door and began to climb the stairs up to his room. “Make sure you text your mom, you know she’ll flip her shit if you don’t let her know you’re safe,” he reminded you, leaning down to open his door and kicking it shut with his foot once he got you both past the threshold. He gently placed you on your feet, making his way to his dresser as you looked around the room you had been in a million times before.  

“Good with a shirt and boxers?” He turned to look at you, raising his eyebrows as you stared back at him, unaware of the thoughts running through your head.

As you turned to face him, a comforting feeling fell over your body. Maybe it was the alcohol still coursing through your veins or the sudden realization that you felt more comfortable in his home, in his room, in his presence, than you did anywhere else, but the words fell from your lips before you could stop them.

“I love you,” you whispered so gently, your voice barely registering with yourself.

Rafe’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion, nodding slightly as he chuckled. “I love you too, weirdo. Now stop looking at me like that and get your tipsy ass in the bed.” He tossed the clothes he pulled for you onto the foot of his bed, but you stayed rooted in the same spot. You knew it was now or never, whatever confidence you had at this moment would surely be gone by morning.

“No, Rafe, I…” you trailed off, shaking your head as you fiddled with the rings adorning your fingers. “I’m… I’m in love with you.”

He stopped his movements of unbuttoning his shirt, freezing for a few seconds before turning to look at you. “What did you just say?”

The newfound confidence was quickly fading from your body as he stared intently at you, his expression unreadable for the first time in forever. Quickly shaking your head, you began an attempt to salvage whatever might be left of the friendship you two had.

“I-I just mean that…” a huff escaped your lips as you averted your gaze from his. “I don’t know, maybe I’m just drunk or tired and saying random shit or-“ Your words were cut short as he reached you in three long stride, his hands cupping your face. A shiver ran through your body at the coolness of his signet ring on your cheek, his hands gentle as he lifted your head to meet his gaze.

“Did you mean it?” he asked softly. His voice quivered slightly, blue eyes staring at you with an intensity you had never seen in them before. Fearing that your words would fail you, you resigned to a simple head nod, preparing yourself for the rejection and the possibility of losing your best friend.

“Do you have any idea how long I’ve wanted to hear you say those words?”

What?

A smile formed on his lips at the look of confusion crossing your face. “Y/N Y/L/N, I have been in love with you since the day in ninth grade when you slapped Jessie Nelson for cheating on me.”

A slight laugh escaped you as you thought back on the memory, body relaxing slightly. “Yeah, well, she was a bitch. Don’t know why you ever dated her to begin with,” you stated with a shrug, your arms wrapping around his neck as he moved his hands to grip your waist.

“Say it again,” he muttered softly, forehead leaning against yours.

“I love you, Rafe Cameron.”

“I’m gonna kiss you now.”

“Please,” you murmured, fingers twirling in the hair at the base of his neck as he ducked his head down to yours. His lips moved softly against yours as he pressed your body close to his chest. His arms wrapped around your body, hugging you tightly against him and deepening the kiss as his tongue worked its way into your mouth. His fingers traveled up your back, pressing into your skin as he moved his lips to your jawline and began working his way down your neck.

And as he backed you towards the bed, fingers teasingly pulling at the thin straps of your dress, nothing else mattered. His lips, his smell, his touch, was all you could think about. Your mind, your heart, your body, were completely and utterly consumed by nothing other than him.