#like they know each other so well and they’d do anything for each other

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

Pairing: billionaire CEO!Jeon Jungkook x Secretory!Reader Genre: Dark Romance, Mystery, Thriller Word Count: 19k Trigger warning: This chapter contains morally grey characters, toxic characters, dark romance, trauma, violence, mentions of murder, death, and conspiracy. Reader discretion is advised. Summary: Jungkook is the enigmatic CEO of a major conglomerate with a haunting secret—he can hear everyone’s thoughts. But when Y/N becomes his new personal secretary, she’s the only person whose thoughts remain silent to him. Intrigued and unsettled, Jungkook is drawn to the mystery she presents, not realizing that their connection will unravel secrets neither of them are prepared to face. a/n: This story is entirely a work of fiction and is the sole property of @kookiewithluv. The characters, events, and scenarios depicted are products of the imagination and are not intended to represent or reflect real-life situations, nor do I wish for anything portrayed here to occur in reality. I kindly ask that my work not be copied, translated, or reposted as your own on this or any other platform, including YouTube. Please respect the effort and originality behind this piece. Thank you for your understanding and support. a/n: So, I finally posted. Yeah, I know, shock of the century, right? You were probably out here cursing my name like, 'Where the heck have you been?' Well, I guess I just decided not to post this time. Don’t ask me why, I don’t even know. But hey, I’m sorry for that. I know, I say sorry a lot, it’s like my default setting at this point. But I swear, I’m really going to try and post more. I promise. Maybe. Also, a super huge shoutout and a massive thank you to my absolute favorite person @closer-to-jungkook. She beta-read this mess for me, and gave me so many amazing insights, but guess what? I didn’t do a single thing with them because, you know, I’m a failure like that. So, yeah, basically I let her down as my beta reader. Sorry, girl. But next time, I swear, I’ll actually listen and make you proud... unless I forget, again, in which case... whoops. Anyway, love you guys, and I’ll try not to disappear again... maybe.

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

You shifted uncomfortably in your chair, your hands gripping the edges of the table, knuckles white as you tried to appear composed. But your patience was wearing thin. He was overreacting, making a mountain out of nothing. Sure, you’d made a mistake—who hadn’t?—but this? This was ridiculous. What was his deal with the room’s capacity? Why on earth was he so bothered about having more than four people in a room? Seriously, what kind of control freak rule was that? You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to suppress the urge to roll your eyes. Was he scared of crowds or something? Honestly, with his attitude, he should be. If he kept ticking people off like this, one day, someone might snap—and if there were enough people, they’d form a mob. The thought almost made you snort, but you swallowed it down, biting your cheek. It was a silly theory, but it was better than trying to untangle the nonsense of his rules.

The meeting dragged on. Time seemed to crawl as if the clock itself was protesting against the sheer monotony of the discussion. It hadn’t been long since it started, but to you, it already felt like you’d been trapped in this room for days. You lost count of the times his gaze—no, his glare—scorched into you. Each glance filled with condescension that felt like a slap across the face.

He glared at you again. His soft, doe-like eyes narrowed, dark and piercing, with a keenness that made you shrink back slightly. His jaw tightened, the muscle jumping under his skin as he ground his teeth. You flinched instinctively, your body betraying you with a subtle jerk, as if bracing for impact, suddenly aware of how small you felt under his scrutiny. Your hands clenched in your lap, fingers feeling like they might snap, as you tried to focus anywhere else.

You quickly averted your gaze, your eyes darting around the room, desperate for an escape.  Your eyes landed on Taehyung. He leaned back casually in his chair, one arm draped casually over the backrest, his long fingers drumming against the table in a slow, lazy rhythm. As soon as he felt your gaze, his lips curled into a subtle smirk. He raised his brows and blinked at you—once, deliberately.

You felt your face heat, and not from embarrassment, but frustration. God, all these men are insane. You clenched your fists tighter, nails digging into your palms to calm yourself.  You swore they all had some kind of mental dysfunction. Jungkook with his silent rage, Taehyung with his infuriating charm—maybe Jimin was the only sane one in this room besides you.

You sighed, shifting in your seat again, your foot tapping nervously against the floor. Mental health courses exist for a reason, you thought bitterly, your gaze flickering between Jungkook’s scowl and Taehyung’s irritating grin. Maybe they should sign up for all of them.

 As your thoughts spiralled, you dared a glance at him… again. Only to catch the faintest twitch of his brow—precise, calculated. It wasn’t just anger in his expression; it was something darker, something… personal? And it scared you, even if you’d never admit it.

The moment you had been dreading finally came. The meeting was over.

Chairs screeched against the floor as everyone pushed back from the table. The sound grated on your nerves, but you rose from your seat anyway, hands trembling, legs wobbling as though they might give out beneath you.

 Your breath hitched, shallow and fast, a knot tightening in the pit of your stomach. Your heart pounded against your ribs, a viscous thud that made your chest ache.  Was this fear? Anxiety? You couldn’t tell anymore, but it clawed at you, gnawing at your insides like a predator circling its prey. You clenched your fists at your sides, trying to calm yourself, but the uneasy tremor in your chest refused to fade.

You risked another glance at him, keeping your gaze low, peeking through your lashes, a fleeting, nervous look that you immediately regretted.  His gaze locked onto you, soft yet paradoxically so sharp and firm, as if he could see right through you. The weight of his stare felt like a physical force pressing against your temple. You quickly looked away but it was too late.

 Your throat tightening as your heart slammed against your ribs. But it didn’t matter—his eyes stayed on you, burning holes into the side of your head like he could feel every breath you took.

There was something in the way he looked at you—a mix of curiosity and disdain that made your skin crawl, like you were an unsolved puzzle he hated having to deal with. It was as though he were studying you, dissecting you piece by piece. He looked at you like he couldn’t stand the thought of breathing the same air as you, as if being in the same room as you was a personal insult he couldn’t forgive. The corner of his mouth twitched, but not in kindness. A cold, predatory smirk curled his lips, one that made your blood run cold.

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

And then he smiled. Cold, shrill, and entirely without warmth. A smile that dripped with obnoxiousness and delight, as though he was basking in your unease, feeding off it like it gave him some twisted satisfaction.

 You weren’t sure what scared you more—the venom in his gaze or the fact that you couldn’t look away, no matter how much you wanted to.

"Jungkook," Seokjin’s voice cut through the fragile silence like a gentle breeze, calm and soothing.

Jungkook’s head snapped toward Seokjin, and in an instant, everything about him changed.

 His shoulders, tense and rigid moments ago, relaxed, and his piercing glare melted away, replaced by something soft—gentle, even. His lips curved into a smile, one so sweet and genuine it left you completely dumfounded. You blinked, your mouth falling open in shock.

What the hell?

Your eyes widened,  as you stared at him, disbelief etched across your face.  How... how is this possible? This was the same man who had spent the entire meeting glaring daggers at you, exuding nothing but cold enmity. How could someone so rude, heartless, and obnoxiously infuriating smile like that? It didn’t make sense. It felt like a trick, some cruel joke the universe was playing on you. But there it was—his smile, warm and dazzling, as if he hadn’t spent the past hour glaring at you like you were dirt beneath his shoe.  And now? Now he looked like a painting come to life—a vision of warmth and beauty that shouldn’t belong to someone so cruel.

Your heart skipped a beat as you noticed the faint crinkle at the corners of his eyes, the way his smile softened his entire face. For a brief, fleeting moment, you found yourself mesmerized. A small, traitorous voice whispered in the back of your mind, He’s stunning. Beautiful. Perfect. And he was. That smile made him look like something out of a dream, his dark orbs soft and almost shy under the fluorescent light. He was cute too, you realized, in that infuriating way that made you want to scream. And hot? God, no one could dare bring up the concept of hotness without mentioning him.

How can someone so horrible look this… beautiful? The whisper in the back of your mind grew louder. This man is the definition of beauty.

Your cheeks flushed at the thought, and you shook your head quickly, breaking free from whatever spell he’d cast. No. Absolutely not. Don’t go there. You shook your head slightly, muttering a quiet mantra in your head. No, no, no. He’s an idiot. A rude, wicked bastard. Stop it. This is the same guy who’s made your day a living hell. Remember that. But it was hard to ignore the way your heart raced, or the strange flutter in your chest.

Jungkook didn’t respond to Jin right away. Instead, he moved. His long strides carried him around the table, each step smooth and deliberate, like he had all the time in the world. He stopped beside Jin, his posture instantly relaxed as Seokjin patted his shoulder in a way that felt natural, familiar.

Jin began to speak again, his lips parting as if to offer some kind of reassurance, but Jungkook cut him off before he could finish.

“Hyung! Let’s go to my office,” Jungkook said, his voice low and soft, almost tender. “We’ll talk there?” His voice was softer than you’d heard it, polite and calm. It was so different from the cold, harsh tone he had threw your way.

You blinked, staring at the two of them as your jaw threatened to hit the floor again. This can’t be real. Him? Soft? It was like watching a lion purr—a sight so contradictory it didn’t feel real. His tone was polite, his demeanour respectful—words you would never have associated with the man five minutes ago

Your eyes darted back and forth between the two of them, struggling to make sense of what you were seeing. Jungkook, the same man who had made your day a living hell, now stood before Seokjin like an obedient younger brother. It was unsettling, to say the least.

He wasn’t just polite—he was soft. Gentle, even.

You couldn’t stop staring. The way he tilted his head slightly when he spoke to Jin, the way his hands relaxed at his sides, no longer tense or clenched. It was so different from the version of him you knew, it almost felt like you were looking at a completely different person.

Your fingers twitched at your side, itching to pinch yourself. Maybe you were dreaming. Or hallucinating. Because the Jungkook you knew? He didn’t do soft. And yet, here he was, proving you wrong with every breath. The man who had made it his mission to make you feel two inches tall was suddenly soft and sweet with Seokjin? It didn’t make sense.

But the warmth in his expression lingered, and for reasons you couldn’t explain, it made your chest tighten. He was more than what you’d seen so far… wasn’t he?

Jin’s face lit up with a bright smile as he nodded at Jungkook. Turning away, he gave Namjoon and Taehyung a light nudge to follow him.

Namjoon responded with a quick nod, a broad grin spreading across his face as he moved to join them.

Taehyung, however, didn’t move. Instead, he slumped further into his chair, crossing his arms loosely and leaning back with a loud, exaggerated sigh. His lips pressed into a pout as he stared at the ceiling like the very idea of moving was a personal offense. It was no secret that Jeon Enterprises and Kim Enterprises were very close; both companies worked hand in hand. Even Jungkook, Jimin, and Taehyung went to the same school and college together. Their entire childhood and teenage years were spent together, and they were still together. All three of them were always in the news, and always together too. Jungkook knew Taehyung like the back of his hand along with his antics.

Namjoon glanced over, eyebrows furrowing in that “here we go again” way of his as he caught sight of Taehyung’s antics. “Seriously?” he asked, his tone half amused, half exasperated. His hands found their way to his hips, as he watched Taehyung flap his arms against the chair’s armrests.

Taehyung raised his hand in the air, palm out, as if announcing something grand. “No!”  he exclaimed, dragging the word out as he slowly pushed himself up from his seat, slowly, deliberately, making it as dramatic as possible before turning to Seokjin. “I won’t, hyung. I refuse.”

Seokjin didn’t react right away. He merely tilted his head, his eyes narrowing ever so slightly, making it clear he wasn’t impressed. His lips pressed into a thin line as he let out a quiet sigh, shaking his head. The slight twitch at the corner of his mouth suggested he was trying very hard not to roll his eyes. His gaze shifted to Namjoon, wordlessly asking, Is this brat for real?

Namjoon only shrugged, an almost conspiratorial grin spreading across his face, as if he found the whole thing more entertaining than annoying. . They both turned their attention back to Taehyung, who didn’t care—if anything, their reactions only fueled his theatrics.  "NO," Taehyung declared, his voice firm, though his lips twitched with the hint of a smile.

“What now?” Seokjin asked finally, his voice calm, dangerously calm, but the words that tumbled out were tight. It wasn’t loud, but it didn’t need to be—it was the kind of calm that warned you not to push your luck. His piercing eyes bored into Taehyung, sharp and calculating, a reminder that behind the soft features was a mind you didn’t want to cross.  The sharp edge to it made you flinch, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.

The tension in the room shifted as even Taehyung hesitated for a second, his hand dropping to his side as he shifted under Jin’s obdurate stare. But within minutes he was back to his usual self.

You stood in the corner, half-forgotten, watching the scene unfold as if you were invisible. For a moment, it felt like you were intruding on a private family argument. They were so lost in their little world that none of them seemed to notice you lingering.  The ridiculousness of the scene was almost enough to make you forget the tension lingering in the air. Almost.

Seokjin’s calm demeanour held stable as he waited for Taehyung’s next move, the silence stretching just long enough to make even you hold your breath.

But Taehyung, being Taehyung, jabbed his finger in Jungkook's direction without even sparing him a glance. “He didn’t invite me! Just you, hyung. Just you,” he said, voice laced with mock hurt. Namjoon sighed deeply, running a hand through his hair as he shook his head, but a soft smile tugged at his lips. How could he stay mad? Taehyung was his little brother, and no matter how ridiculous the stunt, even when they bordered on absurd, he couldn’t help but find it endearing.

Taehyung’s arms crossed over his chest, his pout deepening as he stuck his bottom lip out, eyes narrowing as he watched Seokjin expectantly.

“An invitation? Really? You want an invitation?” Seokjin asked, his voice flat and deadpan, like he couldn’t believe he was even entertaining this ridiculous request. “What is this, a wedding? You want calligraphy and wax seals?”

Taehyung’s pout deepened, his gaze shifting dramatically to the side as he huffed. "Please would do," His voice a mix of childish demand and mock offense, his eyes flicking to Seokjin for any sign of approval.

 “A proper invite,” he huffed. “With manners. A simple please.”

Jimin couldn’t hold back his laugh, it came out bright and loud, like he’d just heard the funniest joke. "What?!" he snorted, stepping forward with an amused glint in his eyes.

 His laughter only grew as he straightened, wiping a fake tear from his eye before stepping toward Taehyung. “From Jungkook? Oh, Tae, you’re delusional.” he said, his voice a mockingly sweet coo.

Taehyung’s brow twitched, and he shoved Jimin away, glaring at him. “Don’t call me delusional,” he snapped. “And stop laughing. It’s not that funny.”

Jimin, still laughing, straightened up and threw an arm around Taehyung’s shoulders. “Oh, but it is, Tae-Tae,” he teased, dragging out the nickname with enough sugar to cause cavities.

Taehyung immediately shoved him off. “Don’t call me that!” he barked, though his glare wavered when Jimin stumbled backward, his laughter echoing in the room.

“Let’s be real,” Jimin said, wiping a fake tear from his eye. “Jungkook saying please? You’ve got better odds of him baking us cupcakes with love letters on top.”

Seokjin watched the entire scene unfold with a quiet sigh, his arms falling to his sides as he shook his head. “Bloody idiots,” he muttered under his breath, though his eyes betrayed the fondness he felt for them all.

Jungkook, who had been leaning against the wall with the air of someone far too cool to care, quirked an eyebrow. He didn’t say anything—he didn’t need to. The faint smirk on his lips said it all: “Not happening.”

“See?” Jimin said, gesturing toward Jungkook with a wide grin, as if the smirk was proof enough of what he’d been saying.

Taehyung huffed, rolling his eyes as he glared at Jungkook. "He’s insufferable." he muttered, his voice flat but dripping with monotony. He threw the words out with the kind of disinterest that only Taehyung could manage, as though even arguing was beneath him.

“Always has been,” Jimin agreed cheerfully, giving Taehyung a playful pat on the shoulder.

“You want an invite?” Seokjin deadpanned, cutting through the noise like a knife. “Fine. Jungkook, invite him.”

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

The room fell silent for a beat before Jimin broke into another fit of laughter. “I told you!” he howled, practically doubling over again. “That guy would rather eat his shoe than say the p-word.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Taehyung muttered, though the corner of his mouth twitched.

Jimin grinned, his eyes sparkling mischievously. “What’s the matter, Tae? Expecting something special from him? Maybe a song, a serenade, flowers—”

“Shut up,” Taehyung snapped, his face turning red as he swatted at Jimin His glare faltering just enough to reveal a flicker of amusement behind his annoyed facade.

Namjoon, trying to keep it together, clamped a hand over his mouth, his shoulders shaking slightly with suppressed laughter. Seokjin did the same, clearing his throat to hide the grin threatening to break free. You couldn’t hold back either, a soft laugh slipping from your lips. The sound of it made everyone snap their heads in your direction, and you immediately went still.

“Oh, for the love of—” Taehyung groaned, standing up abruptly, the chair scraping loudly as he shoved it back. “This is ridiculous. Forget it. I’m not playing this game.”

“You’re still mad, aren’t you?” Jimin pressed, a laugh already escaping as he took a step back, clearly enjoying pushing Taehyung’s buttons.

“Like I care!” Taehyung shot back, his hands gesturing wildly before he turned on his heel. He glared at Jungkook one last time. “Who’d want to spend time with a jerk like him anyway?”

You couldn’t help but agree, nodding your head. It was truly, genuinely, sincerely, honestly the most truthful statement you'd heard all day. Even Jungkook chuckled at Taehyung's behaviour, and your gaze snapped back to Jungkook. You stared at him in disbelief; you never thought you'd see this man smiling. Yet here he was, standing in all his glory, proving you wrong.  Jungkook? Laughing? Relaxed? It was like spotting a unicorn in the wild. For the first time, he didn’t look like the insufferable boss you were growing to despise. He looked...earth-shatteringly handsome. You cursed under your breath, clenching your fists to keep from staring too long.

It made you feel like your brain was short-circuiting. Here was this asshole of a man, acting like he was above it all, and yet… he was smiling. It made him look almost… normal.

Why was he so ridiculously handsome? He was a jerk, a complete ass, yet... there was something about him. He was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

He was a jerk, but otherwise, he was perfect boyfriend material, especially with those tattoos. You'd seen them in magazines, but you wouldn't mind seeing them in real life.

You shook your head abruptly, as if physically trying to dislodge the thought. Nope. Absolutely not. Stop it.

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

Because no matter how annoyingly perfect he looked in that moment—relaxed, smirking, and effortlessly magnetic—you knew better. He wasn’t your type. Not even close. You were way too smart to fall for someone as much of a piece of shit as he was.

As soon as your eyes met Jungkook’s, your heart dropped into your stomach.  Your legs wobbled, the ground beneath you suddenly felt unstable. You felt like the world had stopped.  The only thing keeping you upright was the edge of the table you leaned against, gripping it so tightly your knuckles turned white. It was like he had forgotten you were even there, but now that he remembered... you were in trouble.

Your thoughts were a mess, a rush of panic flooding your veins. Please, don't fire me. Please don't fire me, you repeated over and over in your mind. His stare made you feel like a sheep waiting to be devoured by a wolf—helpless and small.

Jungkook opened his mouth to speak, but before he could, Jimin’s voice cut through, loud but tensed. "Why are you still standing here?" he asked, his eyes darting nervously between you and Jungkook. "I'm sure you have work to do."

You nodded quickly, too quickly, your head bobbing furiously in agreement.

“What work, Jimin?” Jungkook snapped, his voice low and brimming with frustration. “She’s fired,” he declared, sending a shiver down your spine. His words felt like a physical blow, the weight of them crushing your chest. You could barely hear the rest of his sentence as panic drowned out everything else—I've had enough of her…

What to do now?

Cry, a voice whispered in the back of your head.

Jimin, however, wasn’t having any of it. “Enough, Jungkook!” he shot back, his voice hard and commanding. The sharpness in Jimin’s words was like a shield between you and Jungkook’s anger. You could see the way Jungkook’s expression shifted—he was still seething, but Jimin left no room for argument.

“She isn’t fired, and it’s final,” Jimin said. You could see the muscles in his jaw twitching as he tried to control his temper.

Jungkook opened his mouth to retort, but Jimin cut him off with a simple wave of his hand, motioning for you to leave. You didn’t need to be told twice. You bolted from the conference room, not even daring to look back. You weren’t sure whether to be more terrified of Jungkook or grateful to Jimin. You knew you’d messed up—it was your fault—but Jimin had chosen to take your side, and you couldn’t understand why.

You sprinted down the hall toward the elevator. Your hands trembled as you jabbed—no, banged—the elevator button for the 26th floor. The wait felt agonizingly long.

When the elevator finally dinged open, you stumbled out, half-running to your desk. Collapsing into your chair, you let out a shaky breath and buried your face in your arms on the desk. Your head fell onto your desk with a loud thud.

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

You took a deep, steadying breath and pushed yourself upright, gripping the edge of your desk to ground yourself. This isn’t the time to wallow, you thought, brushing your hair back from your face with trembling fingers. You couldn’t afford to crumble now.

You can’t mess up again, you reminded yourself, wiping a hand over your face. Jimin might’ve saved you today, but luck won’t always be there neither… he. Luck was fleeting. It wasn’t something you trusted. Not with your history. You let out a dry laugh under your breath—luck and you were like oil and water. You were the ultimate symbol of bad luck, and that delightfully beautiful director of Jeon Enterprises had simply taken pity on you. Yes, it wasn’t luck. It was Jimin’s mercy, and you couldn’t count on it happening twice. Especially not when your boss—the arrogant bastard himself—was likely already sharpening his knives for round two.

The thought of Jungkook—his dark, piercing gaze—still lingered in your mind, but you forced yourself to focus. He was a devil, no doubt, and you... you were just the unlucky fool who happened to cross his path.

You couldn't afford to mess up again. Play it safe, you told yourself. Do your job right and keep your head down. You couldn’t give him another reason to unleash his wrath.

Your eyes fell to the stack of files in front of you, and a sinking feeling hit you hard in the stomach. The pile seemed to grow taller with each breath you took. The next meeting was only thirty minutes away

You glanced at the files scattered across your desk. Focus, you reminded yourself, slapping your cheeks lightly to snap out of it. The next meeting was in thirty minutes, and you didn’t have the luxury of time to curse your misfortune or that insufferable man.

Your eyes darted over the papers, frustration bubbling up as you began sifting through them. The previous secretary—whoever they were—had left behind a tangled mess. A spectacularly awful mess.

 How was this even possible?

You could almost feel your blood pressure rise as you examined the glaring errors.  The deadlines were completely out of sync with the client’s expectations, the budget allocations were so far off it was laughable, and one section even referenced an entirely different project altogether. If this wasn’t fixed in time for the meeting, it would be a complete disaster, and you were the one who’d have to face the consequences.

“This is a joke,” you muttered. You grabbed a pen, tapping it furiously against the table as your brain raced to come up with a plan.

Half an hour. That’s all you had to fix this disaster before you had to present it to a room full of people, including him.

"Fuck you! Whoever you are." you muttered under your breath, pushing your sleeves up, ignoring the beads of sweat forming on your forehead. Get it together, you scolded yourself. “This isn’t rocket science.” Your voice cracked slightly as you muttered the words aloud, as if hearing them would calm the storm raging inside you.

You grabbed the laptop, pulling up emails and client notes to cross-check the project details. The keyboard clacked furiously under your hands. Your brows furrowed in concentration, your lips pressed into a tight line. You clicked open the soft copy of the file, eyes scanning the screen quickly.

You stole a glance at the clock, and your heart nearly stopped. Twenty minutes left. Fuck.

The dull throb behind your temples was growing each passing minute, but you didn’t have the luxury to slow down. Tears? Not an option. You didn’t have time for that. Not when your whole career was teetering on the edge of disaster.

Get through the day without Jungkook turning you into his next verbal target.

 The mistakes were too obvious to miss, too dangerous to ignore. If the client saw these errors, it wasn’t just your job on the line—it was Jeon Enterprises' reputation. And that would mean your boss, Jungkook, would tear you apart, slowly and painfully.

 what have you done to deserve this.

Your fingers slammed against the keyboard as you raced through the sections. The section referencing the wrong project? Gone, replaced with the right one. The mismatched deadlines? Adjusted. The budget allocations that didn’t even make sense? Rewritten, recalculated, and double-checked.

You needed to print the corrected version. Your hands trembled as you stared at the screen, unsure of where to even begin this process. This wasn’t just a small mistake anymore—it felt like the whole day was falling apart in real time. You stared at the screen with mounting dread. Print. Where?

You slapped the print button, watching as the computer confirmed that it was printing, but your brain was far from settled. Printer? Where’s the damn printer? Your heart pounded as you stood, snatching up your blazer and dashing out of your office.

The hallway felt endless as you looked down the corridor. You felt a wave of frustration, the kind you’d never experienced before. You could have screamed, a sound that would shake the walls, but you couldn’t. Instead, you forced a deep breath through your nose and tried to calm yourself.

Finally, you spotted the printer at the end of the hall—right by the breakroom, its small glowing light blinking. It should have been a simple solution, but when you saw the machine, all you felt was pure, hot rage. Why is it always this difficult?

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

Because of course, it jammed halfway through. Your fingers gripped the edge of the counter as you leaned down, yanking at the paper slot with all your might. The printer groaned, then jammed, and you let out an angry sound that came out as a strangled groan.

“Come on, you stupid thing—work!” you hissed, muttering curses that seemed to make you feel worse. Stupid thing!

You slammed the print button again, your fingers stabbing at the machine. Finally, the printer whirred, clicked, and then began its slow, steady rhythm. You let out a shaky breath, pressing your hand against your forehead to steady the dizziness threatening the edges of your focus.

Finally, the documents started coming out. You grabbed them. You ran your hands over the pages, smoothing them down compulsively as though that would make them more trustworthy. You clutched it like it was your lifeline. Not perfect, but it'll have to do. Once back in your cabin, you shoved the papers into a folder, your chest still tight.

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

 You could barely breathe as you walked out of your office, your feet moving almost on autopilot. In no time, you found yourself standing in front of Jungkook’s office.

You knocked. Once. Twice. And then… you waited.

 You closed your eyes briefly, took a steadying breath. You bit your lip, and raised your hand to knock thrice.

"Come in!" Jungkook’s voice rang out, gruff and loud, cutting through the air. You hesitated for a second before pushing the door open, and every head in the room snapped toward you. You stepped inside, your heart racing as you greeted them with a polite but fake smile, trying your best to keep it together. Only Jimin smiled back. The others... they just stared, like you were some strange creature. Jin and Namjoon looked shocked—why? What was going on? And then there was Taehyung, his eyes wide with what could only be described as disbelief.

Jimin spoke first, his voice light and effortless, and you couldn't help but thank your lucky stars—or maybe it was just Jimin being Jimin. “You need something?”

You gave a short nod and turned to face Jungkook. His eyes narrowed, his arms crossing over his chest, his whole posture screaming annoyance.  His jaw was clenched so tight it seemed like he might snap any second. You swallowed hard, trying not to show how much his stare rattled you.

"Yeah. I was merely here to remind Mr. Jeon that the meeting starts in… like ten—no, seven minutes now," you managed to say, your voice wavering just a little as you spoke. Your hands were clenched at your sides, and you forced yourself not to fidget.

You stole a quick glance around the room. Jin and Namjoon had gone back to their own conversations, but Taehyung was still staring at you, mouth slightly open like he couldn't believe you were standing there. Jungkook still hadn’t said anything, his eyes still boring into you.

"Thank you," Jimin said, his smile soft and genuine. "He’ll be there."

You nodded once, trying not to let your relief show too much. You gave a quick, polite bow of your head, then turned, making your way to the door, your steps hurried but controlled. As you left the room, you couldn’t help but think—Jimin was an angel, working for a devil. You weren’t sure what you would’ve done without him today.

As you walked out of his cabin, you caught the faintest sound of Taehyung’s voice drifting behind you.

“Damn, dude! She’s something. She must be… to get you this worked up. Wow! I loved it.”

You didn’t linger to hear the rest, though. It was like your feet were moving faster than your brain, the urgency propelling you back to your cabin. You sprinted to your desk, your hands shaking as you skimmed through the pages one final time. You stapled them together. You had to present this with confidence, one mistake and Jungkook would tear you apart.

Five minutes left.

“You’ve got this. Just fake it. Fake it all the way.”

Your heels clicked sharply against the marble floors as you made your way to the conference room. Your grip on the file tightened, your knuckles white. When you reached the door. With a firm push, you stepped inside.

Walking to the table, you laid down the stack of updated project files, replacing the older copies. Once every seat had the corrected file, you finally slid into your chair. The leather seat creaked softly as you sank into it, and you folded your hands tightly in your lap to steady them. You darted a glance at the door, waiting for everyone's but specially Jungkook’s inevitable arrival. You flipped through the files for what felt like the hundredth time. The numbers blurred slightly before your eyes, but you forced yourself to focus.

The sharp sound of the door opening made your head snap up. Jungkook walked in with the same air of authority that always seemed to announce his presence before he even spoke. His eyes locked onto you, narrowing instantly, and his jaw clenched so tight you swore you heard his teeth grind.

You stifled a sigh, biting the inside of your cheek to keep your face neutral. What now? You wondered bitterly, resisting the urge to roll your eyes. Jungkook didn’t just dislike you—he hated you—like, deep, unrelenting hatred. For what reason? Who knew. And frankly, you didn’t care.  If you could, you would’ve told him to take his reasons, his anger, and his goddamn temper tantrums and shove them up his perfectly tailored ass, but you knew that wouldn’t help you keep your job.

He moved around the room with precision, as he made his way to his seat. His attention was fixed on you, like you were some annoying fly he wanted to swat. You straightened in your chair. He dropped into his chair with an air of casual authority and grace of someone far too confident for their own good.

For a moment, your traitorous thoughts drifted. He was handsome—annoyingly so. Sharp jawline, paradoxically piercing boba eyes, and a frame that looked like it was carved by a sculptor. But his attitude? That was enough to ruin the whole package. If only his personality matched his looks. If only he wasn’t such a pompous, insufferable jerk. Instead of charm, he had an ego the size of the goddamn building. If he had even an ounce of kindness or respect to him, he would’ve been perfect. But no, instead he walked with the kind of arrogance that could suffocate a room, his back rigid and his posture as stiff as the stick lodged firmly up his ass.

You shook the thought from your head. He wasn’t worth your time.

The door opened again, and this time it was the clients. Jungkook stood, but just barely.

He simply stood halfway and gave a curt nod that was so half-hearted you wondered if it hurt his pride to be polite. God forbid Mr. Perfect lower himself to basic manners. His expression didn’t change—stoic and unbothered—while yours shifted into a polite mask. Maybe you were expecting too much. Maybe you were the problem. You slid your chair closer to the table and sat down next to him. You offered the clients a small smile, hoping to compensate for Jungkook’s complete lack of warmth.

But his eyes. God, his eyes. They didn’t stray far from you.

You placed the documents in front of him. You kept your gaze fixed on the table, careful not to meet his boba eyes. “Here! Mr. Jeon,” you whispered, your voice as even and professional as you could manage. The last thing you wanted was to give him even an inch to criticize you.

Before you could pull your hand back, his fingers closed around the file. His hand was warm—too warm—and for just a moment, your cold, dainty fingers brushed against his. The warmth of his hand lingered on yours, and you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away. Your body felt paralyzed, shocked, maybe even mesmerized by the sensation.  You couldn’t pull away—not because you didn’t want to, but because you physically couldn’t.

Jungkook’s hand retreated first, leaving your fingers tingling. You leaned back in your chair, clearing your throat as heat crept up your neck. You turned your attention to the clients, offering a polite smile. They exchanged a few glances, their expressions unreadable.

Why are they looking at me like that?

Before you could figure it out, Jungkook’s voice cut through the silence, quiet and low. "Why are you making that face?"

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

He didn’t look at you, his gaze fixed on the papers in front of him as he leaned back in his seat. His voice was soft, like a whisper, but it hit you like a punch to the gut.

“You look like you’re constipating,” he said, his tone casual, smooth, utterly calm—and utterly cruel and casual, as though commenting on the weather.

Your face fell. What did he just say? Your mouth fell open slightly in horror, heat rushing to your face. He did not just say that. You glared at the side of his face, imagining all the ways you could strangle him with the tie he wore so smugly. Murder was illegal, but maybe, just maybe, you could make an exception.

 Ignore him. He’s not worth it or… should you just strangle him? Oh, you wanted to strangle him. No, you needed to strangle him. Who even says that? You huffed, straightening in your seat and glaring at the file in front of you.

Jungkook flipped open the folder, his sharp eyes scanning the documents.

And then it happened—a faint smirk tugged at the corner of his lips, so subtle you almost missed it. “Let’s begin,” he said smoothly, finally turning his attention to the clients. But just before he did, his gaze flicked to you, brief but searing.

The meeting began.

The meeting dragged on. Your hand ached from jotting down notes, your fingers stiff as they moved across the page. All you could think about was how Jungkook managed to handle these clients—their demands were endless, their standards sky-high. Jungkook, somehow, handled their lofty standards with an ease that almost infuriated you. How could someone so insufferable be so damn good at this? You, however, were drained. Mentally, physically, emotionally. All you wanted was to go home, curl up, and forget this entire ordeal. But the clients showed no signs of slowing, so neither could you. You scribbled furiously, keeping up with the endless stream of requests and comments, your hand cramping around the pen. Every now and then, you stole glances at the clock, silently begging for it all to end.

Finally, after what felt like hours, the meeting came to an end.

 The clients rose, shaking Jungkook’s hand with smiles that didn’t quite reach their eyes. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Jeon,” one of them said, their tone oozing professionalism. Then their gaze flicked to you, offering a curt nod—no words, no acknowledgment of your work. You swallowed the frustration bubbling up in your chest and nodded back, forcing a tight-lipped smile. Typical. You bit the inside of your cheek, swallowing the bitter taste of resentment as they exited the room. Well, women in corporate field.

The door clicked shut, leaving you alone with Jungkook. Your mind was hyper-aware of his presence.

He was leaning back, the picture of ease, his chair swinging slightly from left to right. His left leg rested over his right, one arm draped casually across the armrest. He didn’t speak, didn’t make a sound, but the intensity of his stare was enough. You didn’t dare look up. Not after what had happened earlier. Not after what he said earlier.

You stole a glance, his tie had loosened slightly, the top button of his shirt undone. When he did that? He looked like he owned the entire world, and the infuriating thing was—he probably did.

You remembered what you thought while applying for this job: How hard could it be to work for him?

You’d found out the hard way, within mere hours.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t just hard to work for—he was impossible. A devil in designer suits. A man who had no mercy and no patience, especially not for someone like you. Your first day had made that abundantly clear in the worst way possible.

Jeon Jungkook wasn’t someone to take lightly. He was a storm you hadn’t prepared for, and it was already threatening to swallow you whole.

You pushed the glass door open, ready to step out, but then you heard it—his voice, loud and clear.

"Pebble!"

You froze. Slowly, you turned around, almost colliding with the door in the process. His eyes locked onto yours, and a subtle smirk tugged at the corner of his lips. It wasn’t the friendly kind—it was something else. Something that made you feel both irritated and, disturbingly, giddy.

"What?" you muttered, your voice low and unsure. You weren't able to understand why you gripped it ever so tightly.

He stood from his chair, rising with an ease that felt effortless, his hands casually buried in his pockets. His movements were smooth, deliberate, as if he had all the time in the world to examine you. He was far too good-looking for your sanity, far too composed, far too everything.

 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

What was this? Why were you feeling so fragile in front of him? You didn’t have time to figure it out because, in three long strides, he was standing in front of you, so close that the scent of his cologne wrapped around you.  His eyes were still on you, as if he were studying you—no, devouring you with just a glance. You wanted to look away, but you couldn’t. And that, right there, made you even more furious.

Is this guy stupid? you wondered. What was the point of staring like that? It felt intrusive, unnerving, yet somehow, you couldn’t tear your own gaze away.

 Staring, in your book, was the hallmark of cheap behaviour, reserved for people with no manners or boundaries. But he somehow pulled it off, with that smirk and those features and that way he seemed to have everything in the world under control. As if his ridiculous good looks gave him a free pass.

"Coffee. In my office."

"Huh?" was all you could manage, your voice barely above a whisper, still unsure of what was happening.

He tsked, shaking his head like you were hopeless. “You heard me. Black. No sugar. Ms…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing slightly.

Your eyes widened in realization. He didn’t know your name. Or worse—he hadn’t even tried to know it until now. Your throat tightened, and you opened your mouth, about to respond, but before a single word could leave your lips, he finished with,

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

You stood there, staring, stunned, unable to believe what just happened.

He was the most disrespectful, irritating, unbearable person you had ever met.

The anger built up in you until you couldn’t stand still anymore. You stomped your foot hard against the ground.

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

With a resigned sigh, you turned toward the elevator, dragging your feet. At least you now knew where the coffee machine was—down at the far end of the floor. Great. More walking. You hadn’t even done this much cardio in the past year, let alone in a single day. No wonder all the women here looked so fit—they practically lived on their feet.

When you reached the elevator, you noticed him—Jungkook—already stepping into it. Your pace slowed instinctively. No way were you getting in that elevator with him, even for a single second. He wouldn’t stop the elevator for you anyway—he was too much of a jerk to care.

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

Before you could change direction, you heard the sound of the doors closing and sliding back open.

Oh, hell no. Your body tensed. You didn't want to step in there with him, but you didn’t have a choice. You dragged your feet reluctantly. The annoyance in his eyes deepened, and a muscle in his jaw twitched, like he was already regretting his decision to wait for you.

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. You stepped inside, muttering curses in your head, and the doors slid shut with a soft ding.

 You didn’t dare move, didn’t dare look at him, but you could feel his gaze lingering on you, like he was trying to figure you out or, worse, punish you for existing.

Maybe he was pissed.

And you? You couldn’t decide if you hated him more in this moment or if you just wanted to get out of this damn elevator as quickly as possible.

“I thought you had work here,” he said, his tone casual.

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

He shook his head, as if you were already the most frustrating thing he’d encountered that day.

“Do you know anything else besides ‘huh?’”

You opened your mouth to retort, but he didn’t wait. “I said, I thought you had work here.”

“What work?” you snapped. His eyes flared. But the bastard smirked, like he’d been expecting this reaction.

“What meeting do we have next, Pebble?” His voice was smooth, almost playful.

Your stomach dropped. Pebble. He had just said it again. But. You froze. His words lingered in your mind like a bad omen, but all that filled your head was white noise. The name of the company… where was it? Shit.

He chuckled, the sound low and smooth, just to make sure you knew how badly you’d messed up. “You need to collect some files from marketing and sales team. You forgot.”

The damn files. I forgot? You swallowed hard, glancing around the elevator as if the walls could give you an answer.

“What are you trying to do—break the glass and jump into the sales and marketing floor?” he said, his tone as bored as his expression. His words felt cruel, but you knew there was a bite of truth to them.

You shook your head, cheeks heating as you mentally berated yourself. You could feel the heat creeping up your neck, embarrassed and annoyed. More walking. That’s all you could think about now.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook stepped out first. He glanced up at you, raising an eyebrow, and for a split second, you thought—just maybe—he might say something remotely decent. But no, that was far too much to hope for. His lips curled into that damn smirk as he turned away and said, “Coffee. On my desk. In five minutes.”

Before you could even respond, he turned around and walked away.

You stepped out of the elevator, its door closing behind you. You let out a frustrated exhale. . God, I hate him. You made your way to the coffee machine. You prepared the coffee just like he’d ordered, and even the smell made your stomach churn. The bitterness of it matched the bitterness radiating from him.  No wonder he was always so damn miserable. A person who drank this much bitter coffee could only have a bitter heart.

You walked down the hall to his office. The door was slightly ajar, and you knocked softly, holding the cup in your hands.

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

You pushed the door open and stepped inside, placing the coffee on his desk. He was sitting at his desk, back straight, his sharp features focused on his laptop. The desk was neat, pristine, every paper and pen in its place, a stark contrast to the chaos on your desk.

“Here, Mr. Jeon,” you said, your voice tight with forced politeness.

He didn’t even look at you. Instead, he grabbed the cup, bringing it to his lips like it was the most important thing in the world. His eyes fluttered closed as he took the first sip, and you watched in disbelief as he sighed deeply, as though he’d just tasted heaven.

“Good,” he muttered, but it wasn’t directed at you—it was all about the coffee. Your stomach turned at the absurdity of it. He didn’t even acknowledge the fact that you’d stood there, prepared it, and handed it to him.

“Send Jimin in my office. Now, leave,” he demanded, his voice flat, as if he were speaking to a wall, not a person.

 Every inch of you wanted to pull his hair out, to throw something across his perfectly organized desk. Instead, you nodded stiffly.

“Sure, Mr. Jeon,” you said, forcing the words past your clenched teeth before turning on your heel and leaving.

Once outside, the first thing you did was head straight for Jimin, who was at his desk, buried in papers. His workspace was cluttered with post-its, notes, and scribbles. His eyes lifted when you approached, and though his face showed signs of being busy, his greeting was polite as ever.

“What brings you here, Ms. …,” he began, with a soft smile.

“Mr. Jeon wants you in his office,” you replied, keeping it brief. You didn't have the energy to engage in any more small talk.

"Why?" Jimin asked, as he stood up, closing the file in his hands and sliding his blazer on with a sharp tug. You just shrugged. Jimin gave a small nod.

“Alright,” he said, adjusting his blazer. His tone indicated he didn’t mind being interrupted. “I’ll head in there.” You watched as he walked toward the hallway.

You followed your own path toward the marketing department first. You handed over the files, your hands sore from too much writing, before heading toward the sales department. The constant movement was starting to wear you down, but you couldn’t let it show. You did the same at the sales department, before finally making your way back to your office, your feet aching more than ever. This is going to be a long day, you thought, pressing a hand to your lower back as you settled into your chair.

Before you could catch a break, the clock ticked, signaling that it was time for the next meeting. You picked yourself up again, shoulders sore and heavy, and made your way back toward Jungkook’s office.

You knocked on the door before stepping in, your hand pressing into the wood with slightly trembling fingers. This time Jimin was in there with him, seated on the couch. He looked agitated—hands running through his hair as he exchanged words with Jungkook.

You hesitated at the threshold. You didn’t want to intrude on their conversation. You quickly turned on your heel, shaking your head as you backed out. These guys were insane.

You closed the door behind you with a gentle push and let out a shaky exhale. Your hands gripped your notebook tightly as you walked back toward the hallway.

The next meetings were a blur. For reasons you couldn’t quite explain, you found yourself relieved when Jungkook skipped every other meeting for the day. He didn't show up, and Jimin took over. The clients didn’t seem to mind the change, and in fact, it made things easier. Jimin’s presence was soothing.  His voice was soft, his smile was kind. He spoke in careful sentences, his calm composure like a reassuring presence. Working with him was smoother, quieter—lovelier, even. He made the chaos of the day seem more manageable, and you found yourself wishing you found yourself wishing you could work for Jimin, just him.

But you quickly shut that thought down. That wasn’t possible, not when you were stuck in this job, tied to Jungkook. No matter how much you hated it, you had to stick around. It was unviable to leave, even though every part of you screamed for the chance to escape. You have to stick around him.

As the last meeting came to an end, you gathered the files and followed Jimin out of the conference room. He took the files from your hands. You were thankful for his help, but the lingering feeling of being under the spotlight didn’t fade. You hated the attention, and of course, everyone would stare. Having the director of the company himself helping you with your work was far too big of a deal. The eyes of all the female employees had burned into you as you walked out. You couldn’t shake the sense of discomfort, and it only worsened as you stepped into the elevator with Jimin.

"Mr. Park, you really don’t have to do this," you said, offering a shy smile as the elevator doors slid shut behind you.

Jimin, however, seemed unfazed. He gave a lazy smile, his voice light as he answered. "Oh, I’m not doing it for you." Jimin leaned casually against the wall, eyes scanning the floor numbers as they lit up.

You blinked, confused, your brows knitting together. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

He turned his head, flashing you a mischievous grin. "It’s more for me, really."

Your frown deepened. "For you?" You couldn’t hide your confusion, but Jimin just chuckled, clearly entertained by your reaction.

"You see," he began, shifting slightly to face you fully. His eyes sparkled with a playful yet sincere gleam. "I come from old money. I just can't stand the idea of a woman doing something like that when I’m around. Makes me feel like I’m failing somewhere. I’ve got this fragile ego, you know?" His voice was light, teasing, but his smile softened as he continued. "It just feels better to help out. Plus, it’s... good manners."

"Yeah?" You asked, tilting your head slightly, your eyebrows furrowing as you tried to make sense of his words. The slight smirk tugging at his lips told you he knew you were lost but didn’t care enough to explain. Instead, he only shrugged nonchalantly, his expression  so casual it almost felt dismissive.

Before you could respond further, the elevator dinged softly, and the doors slid open. Jimin stepped out first. You followed behind as you adjusted your grip on the files. He led the way to your cabin, his presence drawing a few curious glances from colleagues. You felt those stares prickling at your back again, but Jimin seemed entirely unbothered. He walked you to your cabin, while you struggled to keep up with his pace. When he finally reached your desk, he placed the stack of five thick files down with practiced ease, brushing invisible dust off his hands like it was no big deal.

"All set. Anything else you need before I head out?" he asked, his voice light as he straightened his blazer.

Thanks again, Mr. Park," you said, shaking your head.

Jimin gave a small nod in return, stepping back. Just as he turned to leave, he glanced over his shoulder. "Take care, pretty," he said, his tone casual, yet the words felt deliberate.

Your hands froze mid-motion as your head snapped up, eyes widening in surprise. Heat rushed to your face, and you felt the unmistakable blush spreading across your cheeks like wildfire. You stared at the empty doorway where Jimin had disappeared, his words echoing in your mind.

"What the hell," you muttered under your breath. Forcing yourself to focus, you picked up the files, flipping through the pages with renewed determination. It was time to finish up for the day, but not before ensuring everything was in order for tomorrow. Your fingers worked quickly, your eyes scanning schedules and notes, the lingering warmth on your cheeks refusing to fade completely.

When you finally finished your work, you grabbed the file Jungkook had instructed you to complete and headed to his office. As you approached, you noticed the door slightly ajar. Through the small gap, you could see Jimin sitting in one of the chairs in front of Jungkook’s desk. Jungkook, on the other hand, sat with his brows furrowed in a way that seemed permanently etched into his face. It was a wonder Jimin didn’t crack under the weight of his perpetual grimace. If he wasn’t so ridiculously good-looking, you were certain his demeanour would’ve been a massive letdown.

"Are you even human?" Jimin's voice rose, his tone laced with disbelief as he leaned forward, his palms slapping against the desk with a dull thud. His lips pressed tightly together. His words seemed to hit like a quiet plea, but Jungkook didn’t seem to care. His eyes stayed glued to his file as he flipped the pages.

"I am dying over here. I am that tired and you are one of the reasons behind it. Don’t you dare ignore me, Jeon Jungkook!" Jimin continued, his voice a mixture of disbelief and frustration. His words grew louder as he leaned back in his chair, throwing his hands up in the air, as if trying to physically puncture Jungkook’s indifference.

"Huh?" Jungkook’s voice was flat, almost absent, as he gave Jimin just a single glance, his eyes flickering for a mere millisecond before he turned back to the file in his hands. He gave a distracted nod, not sparing Jimin much more attention.

Jimin’s jaw dropped slightly, his annoyance reaching a boiling point. "Seriously!" he exclaimed. His fingers curled into loose fists as he leaned back, pacing a step before planting his hands on his hips. "You made me handle all your meetings and deal with my own workload. I’ve been running around like a headless chicken while you sit here, all cozy with your stupid papers! Do you not have any regard—"

"You're right," Jungkook said, his voice steady and matter-of-fact, cutting off Jimin’s rambling mid-sentence. He slowly closed the file in front of him and placed it neatly to the side. This time, he leaned back in his chair, his posture loosening slightly as he crossed his arms over his chest. His dark, boba eyes locked on Jimin’s. "I am sorry, hyung. You're always picking up the slack for me. I don't say it enough, but… I’m really grateful. I couldn’t do this without you."

Jimin froze for a moment, his brow furrowing as he eyed Jungkook suspiciously. His eyes narrowed, and he tilted his head, studying Jungkook as if he had just grown a second head. "Oh? What’s wrong with you?" he asked, dragging the words out slowly. He leaned forward in his chair, elbows digging into the edge of Jungkook's desk. "Show me your head. You punk, I’m sure you hit it somewhere."

Jimin shot up from his seat and lunged across the desk with inflated urgency, his hand reaching for Jungkook's head like a concerned but overly dramatic mother.

"Jimin-shi!" Jungkook exclaimed, his voice rising in protest as he swatted at Jimin’s hands. He grabbed Jimin’s wrists, prying them away from his head. His brows knitted together as he leaned back further in his chair, out of reach, glaring at Jimin. "I swear, I’ll kill you."

"There you are," Jimin said, a grin spreading across his face as he let out a sigh. He flopped back into his chair, dramatically wiping his brow as if the ordeal had been exhausting. "I was worried for nothing. Glad to see the real  grumpy, homicidal self's still here."

Before they could exchange any more words, you finally stepped forward, your knuckles rapping lightly on the doorframe.

Knock, knock.

The sound broke through, causing both their heads to snap in your direction.

For a moment, you felt rooted to the spot, like a deer caught in headlights. You tightened your grip on the file in your hands, suddenly hyper-aware of how out of place you felt. Clearing your throat, you finally stepped inside. "Sorry to interrupt," you said.

Jimin’s lips curved into a faint smile, and he tilted his head, gesturing toward the file. "It’s fine. Come in. Looks like someone’s got work to do, unlike us," he teased, his tone light.

You tried your best to force a smile onto your face—a polite, controlled, and friendly expression—but as your eyes met his. Your throat felt like it had closed up, your voice thin and wobbly. Why did he make you so nervous? Yes, he was intimidating. Yes, you’d dealt with difficult bosses before. But there was something about him—something that felt wrong, a shrill, intense warning in the back of your mind, like a distant alarm telling you danger was near.

Your heels clicked softly against the floor as you passed Jimin’s chair. He was sitting casually, his hands clasped behind his head, completely at ease as he looked over at you. You stopped beside Jungkook's desk, just behind where Jimin was sitting. "Mr. Jeon, I just finished the tasks you assigned." Your voice was soft but steady as you extended the file toward him. You forced yourself to meet his gaze, though it felt like staring into the eye of the devil. "Here’s the file. I’m leaving now, so I was wondering if there’s anything else you need before I go?"

Jungkook didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, slowly and precisely. His sharp gaze scanned your face, lingering on your forced smile before sliding down to the file you’d placed on his desk. A smirk curled at the corners of his lips, and his eyes—soft and doe-like at first glance—betrayed a sharp, predatory glint. "Actually," he drawled, his voice carried an edge that made your pulse quicken. He gestured lazily toward the towering stack of files on the far corner of his desk. "I do need something."

Your eyes widened as they darted to the stack, a silent gasp catching in your throat. The files seemed endless. You swallowed hard, glancing back at him, but his expression was unreadable. You couldn’t decide if you were more nervous or outright afraid of what was coming next. "See those files?" he continued, tilting his head slightly, his tone casual as if he were commenting on the weather. "I need them reviewed and sorted by tomorrow."

And you just stood there for a moment, trying to figure out whether you had a choice, or if you were already drowning. Tomorrow? That was impossible. You turned back to Jungkook, hoping to find some hint that he was joking, but his expression was calm and unyielding, like carved stone.

"I…" you began, but your voice faltered.

"Something wrong?" Jungkook asked, tilting his head slightly as if daring you to argue.

It was your first day, and you couldn’t understand what went wrong. You’d always thought Jungkook was handsome, admired him from the glossy pages of magazines and the distant buzz of news. You'd been excited, so excited to work for the most wanted bachelor in the continent. But now? Now, it wasn’t going as planned.

Too much work. Too much. How could anyone be expected to handle this much work? You thought you could handle challenges, but this? This felt impossible. This was ridiculous. He was ridiculous. You’d probably have to sell your soul to some demon and even then, it still wouldn’t feel enough. You couldn’t do this. You shouldn’t have to do this. But the thought of giving up? That wasn’t even an option. You wanted to scream. No. You didn't want to scream you wanted to kick him where the sun doesn't shine.

"To-tomorrow," you stammered, barely able to believe the words coming out of your mouth. You were close to snapping, but something in his gaze made you hesitate.

"Impossible?" Jungkook interrupted, his voice a low, smooth. His eyes locked on yours, the warmth in them replaced with ice. "I’m not interested in hearing any excuses. You need to understand where and for who you’re working. Workload is a usual thing here. You either do it or resign. It’s up to you. Nobody’s begging you to stay."

The words were harsh. There was no softness to them, no room for debate, no compromise. He wanted you to know that you had no power here. His small, smug smile confirmed it—a clear taunt, a game to him, and you could feel it deep in your bones. He wasn’t just being cold. No, he enjoyed this. He was tormenting you, and you knew it. He was such a sadistic being.

"Understood," you said, the words coming out of your mouth with a firmness that surprised even you.

You turned your back to him and grabbed the stack of files from where they were carelessly left. The moment you lifted them, you knew this was going to be hell. It was heavy—too heavy—far heavier than you’d expected. Your arms shook as you struggled to balance them. You almost stumbled under the sheer force of it, but you steadied yourself.

You bit your lip, fighting back the urge to ask Jimin for help. You glanced toward him, only to find that he and Jungkook were locked in a silent staring match, their gazes locked like two wolves sizing each other up.  Jimin looked like he was about to explode. You couldn’t drag him into this. He already looked like he was walking a thin line, and you didn’t want to add to the fire. Besides, Jimin looked angry enough already.

So, you started walking.

You struggled your way out of his office. Your legs wobbled under the weight, and you nearly stumbled into the doorframe as you tried to maintain your balance. You wanted to scream. You hated him. You hated everything about this. Him. His smug smile. His icy tone. His ridiculous expectations. In truth, you’d never felt this much resentment toward anyone. Not even your previous bosses had managed to push you this far. But Jungkook? He was something else entirely. A walking nightmare wrapped in a handsome package, and you were stuck in it.

The moment you stepped into your office, you slammed the door behind you. You were done. You were going home. You couldn’t wait to get out of here. You grabbed your bag and purse. You cursed under your breath, knowing you couldn’t leave without grabbing those files too. There was no way you were going to spend another minute in that sterile, over-designed office. You adjusted the files again, and with a final shake of your head, you stepped out of your office. Your feet moved on autopilot as you walked toward the elevators. You didn’t look back. There wasn’t any point.

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

The first day had been hell, all thanks to your devilish boss.

Jungkook and Jimin stepped out of Jungkook’s office. Jimin shot a sharp glare at Jungkook, his brow furrowed, lips pressed into a thin line. Jungkook, on the other hand, wore a smug, teasing smile that danced at the corners of his mouth. He could feel Jimin’s annoyance and found it far too satisfying to ignore.

"Jiminshi," Jungkook said casually, but Jimin didn’t even give him a second glance, his jaw clenched as he exhaled sharply.

“Shut up,” Jimin snapped back without hesitation, the heat in his voice enough to make Jungkook pause for a second. It almost made him laugh, but he quickly held it back, the corners of his mouth twitching.

"Come on, Jimin. We’re already late. And Jin hyung will be mad if we get even more late," Jungkook added, his tone light but carrying an edge of urgency. His smile was easy and easygoing, the kind that always got under Jimin’s skin, and this time, it did the trick. Jimin let out a slow, exasperated breath, his shoulders slumping slightly as he let his irritation simmer down. He nodded once, fingers gripping his phone a little too tightly. His hand flexed as he tucked it back into his pocket, his gaze fixed forward as they walked towards the elevator side by side.

Jungkook pushed the button to call the elevator, and Jimin stood next to him, arms crossed, still giving off that frustrated vibe. But Jungkook could see the edges of his irritation slowly dulling. Even if Jimin was pissed, he wouldn’t stay mad for long. Jimin was always the wise one, and he knew that getting upset over Jungkook's antics wouldn’t help anything. Jin had invited them for dinner tonight, and they both knew this wasn’t just another casual evening. Jimin had told Jin about you—how Jungkook couldn’t hear your thoughts, which still felt weird and foreign to him. It was strange, unsettling in a way, and Jin had wanted to discuss it. He’d called them both over, saying he needed to talk. Jungkook was curious about what Jin had in mind. It wasn’t every day that Jin invited them over, especially not without a reason.

The elevator doors opened, and Jungkook gestured for Jimin to enter first. Jimin grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. Jungkook stepped in behind him, and the two of them stood in silence. He was looking forward to the evening, not only to talk things out but also to meet Jin's wife. She was a kind and sweet woman. If it wasn't for Taehyung, they would have never met her. Jin had been married for years, but he rarely invited anyone over, keeping his personal life guarded. Jungkook and Jimin always looked forward to her company. Jin, on the other hand, was borderline obsessed with her. It was impossible not to notice the way he adored her. They all had to be on their best behavior when she was around, though—Jin’s protective streak was well known.

The elevator doors closed with a quiet swoosh. They descended in silence, the air feeling heavier as their thoughts swirled. Both knew this night would give them more answers, but they weren’t sure what kind of questions would arise afterward.

Jungkook and Jimin soon stepped into the reception area. The receptionist was seated at her desk, typing quickly, and her head lifted the moment she saw them. She offered a polite smile as they approached.

"Good evening, Mr. Jeon, Mr. Park," she greeted warmly. Jungkook didn’t even spare her a glance. His eyes stayed ahead as he strode past her. He could hear her thoughts—granted, not every single word, but enough. Disgusting. Intrusive. He had no shame in admitting it. He didn’t feel the need to entertain it, so he ignored her completely.

Jimin, however, was different. His easy smile came naturally as he gave her a small, polite nod. His body language was relaxed, his movements smooth as he walked beside Jungkook toward the parking lot. His gaze was neutral, a simple act of kindness that contrasted sharply with Jungkook's indifference.

They reached the parking lot, and Jimin climbed into his car, his fingers gripping the steering wheel a little tighter than usual. He had originally planned on making Jungkook drive, but the irritation bubbling in him from earlier—the way Jungkook had acted with you—made him rethink. He was annoyed, not just because of what happened, but because Jungkook’s behavior had crossed a line. It wasn’t professionalism; it was just unnecessary rudeness. Pure and simple. Jimin had half a mind to lecture him, but instead, he started the engine, the sound of it roaring to life filling the air.

But Jungkook didn’t get in his own car. His eyes weren’t on Jimin, nor were they on the road. They were locked on something—or rather, someone.

You.

You were standing by your car, your arms crossed tightly over your chest, your head bowed slightly. Your shoulders looked tense, rigid, the way they always did when you were tired. You were clearly trying to calm yourself, but your lips were moving. You were speaking to yourself, or maybe the wind, but Jungkook could see it—your face contorted into something that looked like frustration, like rage.

He observed you. His body was suddenly heavy, his thoughts distracted. You looked like you wanted to set the entire parking lot on fire. From the way your hands tightened into fists by your sides, Jungkook could tell you were seething, clearly ready to explode. He couldn’t hear your thoughts, couldn’t read your mind like he could with everyone else, but it didn’t matter. Your expression was enough. You were cursing him out, he was sure of it.

It felt wrong to stare, but he couldn’t stop himself. It was like an itch buried beneath his skin. His entire body ached to know what you were saying, but you were like a closed book—impossible to read. It irritated him. That feeling of helplessness, the itch he couldn’t scratch. He hated not knowing exactly what you were thinking, hated that he couldn’t tap into the storm swirling behind those eyes. You looked like you wanted to strangle him, and the idea actually made him chuckle darkly to himself.

As much as he hated to admit it, there was something oddly magnetic about you. You looked so exhausted, so ready to shatter, your emotions playing across your face like an open book he couldn’t read. And that drove him insane. He wanted to know all of you. Every thought. Every word. Every secret. But he couldn’t. And it pissed him off.

His chest tightened as he studied you, his mind working in circles. Even though you looked like you were about to explode with frustration, there was a strange sense of calm that settled over him. Paradoxically, your anger—your confusion—was like a balm to his restless thoughts. His hands twitched at his sides.

And you, completely unaware of his gaze, kept muttering, your words too quiet for him to catch. The cold wind swayed your hair, and Jungkook wondered if you had any idea what you were doing to him. He hated that he cared. And yet, he couldn’t stop himself from wanting to know.

He shifted his weight, a part of him wanting to walk away, but another part of him... couldn’t. He hated how curious he was about you. You were a puzzle he couldn’t solve, and that was something Jungkook couldn’t stand.

You suddenly turned your head, catching Jungkook’s eyes locked on you. Jungkook’s breath hitched. The shock of being caught sent a wave of heat through his chest. His eyes widened in alarm. Shit.

He knew. He knew you caught him. His face twisted into a mix of panic and frustration, and before he could overthink it, he whipped his head around, his heart pounding. He didn’t wait. He didn’t hesitate. He bolted into his car, yanked the door open, and slammed it shut behind him. Without looking back, the engine roared to life as he slammed his foot on the accelerator, his knuckles white around the steering wheel. He sped out of the parking lot, his focus darting between the road and his rearview mirror, where you were barely visible in the distance.

But before he could even breathe a sigh of relief, the heavens opened up. Rain poured down in sheets, soaking everything in an instant.

And then—he cursed.

He hated the rain. It always made him feel fragile, exposed, as though the world was pressing in on him in a way he couldn’t control. The sound of it pounding on the roof, the windshield, and the pavement—it was overwhelming, and it irritated him that he couldn’t understand why. It was stupid.

He glanced at the road, but Jimin’s car was nowhere to be seen. Of course, Jimin was probably already halfway there, and here he was, alone and soaked in this awful weather. His head was a mess, and his frustration felt tenfold. Great. He groaned, slamming his palm against the steering wheel. Perfect. The rain made it harder to see, the windshield wipers swishing furiously, but still, everything was blurry. Most people would’ve slowed down, maybe even pulled over. But Jungkook wasn’t like most people. So, he didn’t. His foot pressed harder against the gas, not caring about the storm that made the road slippery and hard to see.

Then, Jungkook’s eyes caught sight of Jimin’s car parked outside a convenience store, headlights flickering through the rain. He let out a soft, amused chuckle, shaking his head.

Typical Jimin.

Jimin was probably picking up some random snacks or an odd gift for Jin and his wife. The thought made him grin—what could you possibly find at a convenience store that would be good enough for dinner with Jin and his wife? Not much, he figured. But Jimin would always find a way to make things interesting. There was no way Jimin would have time to get something nice, and even if he did, Jin wouldn’t care. Namjoon wouldn’t even be there; he was off with his girlfriend. It was the kind of casual thing Jimin would do, and Jungkook was sure Taehyung along with Eunji (Namjoon's girlfriend's daughter) would tease him mercilessly about whatever he picked up. He could already imagine the scene: Jimin sulking, pretending to be annoyed, but secretly enjoying the attention. He spotted Jimin emerging from the door, an awkward bag in his hands, and he wondered what he had found.

But it wasn’t enough to make him stop. He didn’t want to be stuck in the rain any longer, so he pressed on, the road slick with water. The roads were empty. His headlights swept through the downpour, and the sound of his engine roared louder, mixing with the patter of the rain. The world felt gray and cold, and for a moment, he wondered if anyone else was even out here. His eyes darted, blinked twice, then three times in quick succession. A sharp flash of light broke through the downpour—streetlights, or headlights—too fast, too sudden. He squinted, trying to make sense of it, but his vision was useless against the storm.

Something’s coming.

Before he could react, he felt it. A sharp, sudden jolt as his car lost control. His hand gripped the wheel harder, his muscles tensed. He tried desperately to turn the steering wheel, left, right—anything to steady the car—but it felt as though the wheels had no grip at all. His breathing came out in short, sharp bursts.

And then it hit.

The sound was deafening—metal groaning, glass shattering. Jungkook’s body was thrown against the seat as the car twirled. He barely registered the impact before the airbag exploded in his face with a loud whoosh, his head slamming into it with force. His vision blurred, and the pain came, biting and sudden. His chest felt tight, his breaths shallow. The car spun—once, twice, thrice. His hands trembled against the steering wheel, and his head throbbed painfully. His heart felt as though it would pound out of his chest.

For a moment, everything went silent. He could feel his body shaking. His head swam, dizziness clouding his vision. His pulse raced as the rush of adrenaline hit, but then, fear—a feeling he rarely ever felt—took over. It wasn’t supposed to be like this. He wasn't supposed to feel like this. Not after Mr. Park took him in. Not after Jimin became his family. He wasn’t supposed to feel this vulnerable. But now, the sensation was loud and personal, crawling up to his heart, through his arms, and into his bones.

Jungkook's world spun around him, the blur of the rain and the crash fading into nothingness. Suddenly, time seemed to stop. The sound of the storm, the screeching tires, everything disappeared. He wasn’t in his car anymore. He wasn’t even on the road. No, he was somewhere else entirely. Somewhere warm.

He was seven again.

The leather seats were soft, comforting, and the scent of his mother’s perfume lingered in the air. The only sound was the soft hum of the engine, a calm contrast to the chaos he had just left behind. He glanced around. His father was driving, hands steady on the wheel, wearing his familiar cheeky smile. His mother sat beside him, head against the window, her gaze distant but peaceful. Jungkook shifted uncomfortably in the back seat, squeezed between the seatbelt and the door. His arms were crossed tightly, shoulders hunched in frustration, as he kept his head down to avoid their attention.

“Hun, how long until we get there?” his mother’s voice broke the calm, soft and uncertain, reaching his father’s ears. She turned her head toward him with a small smile, her face lit faintly by the dashboard glow.

Mr. Jeon turned toward her, a subtle smile tugging at his lips. He shot her a cheery look, his eyes soft with affection as he answered. “Quite,” was all he said, but there was a warmth in his voice that made her smile.

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

Jungkook was sitting in the backseat, his little arms crossed tightly over his chest, his puffy cheeks flushed red. His head was turned toward the window, a frown tugging at his lips.

"What happened, Jung?" His father asked gently, voice full of care.

Jungkook’s gaze flickered up to meet his father's eyes, but he didn’t speak. Jungkook just huffed, his lip curling slightly, trying to hold back more tears. His arms tightened around himself, his small body so tense it seemed like he was trying to disappear into the seat. His eyes welled up again, and he sniffled, looking away.

“He don’t want to go.” Mrs. Jeon whispered softly, her voice light but firm, as though she’d been trying to ease the situation for some time. She shifted in her seat, her hands lightly brushing her white Chanel dress.

"I know that," Mr. Jeon said with a soft chuckle, his eyes flicking back to Jungkook. "But why?" he asked, genuinely curious.

Mrs. Jeon shrugged her shoulders, turning toward her husband with a helpless smile, her eyes glinting faintly with understanding. “You know how shy he is,” she whispered to him, just loud enough for him to hear but not Jungkook. Her voice was soft and wrapped in familiarity, like a gentle assurance.

Mr. Jeon chuckled softly, nodding in understanding. He then turned his attention back to Jungkook, his smile wide and encouraging. “But Taehyung will be there, too. Don’t you want to play with your hyung?” he teased, wiggling his brows playfully as he spoke.

Jungkook’s expression twisted with irritation. He pouted even more, his arms folding tighter across his chest. “No,” he snapped, his voice a little louder than before. “No, Taehyungie.” He refused to even look at his father, turning his head toward the window. His little hands balled into fists at his sides as he sat there.

Mr. Jeon froze for a moment at Jungkook’s sudden outburst. His eyes widened briefly as he glanced back at his son in the rearview mirror, but he let it go. He wasn’t angry—he never was with his son—but the outburst was unexpected. Jungkook wasn’t one to open up easily, and Mr. Jeon understood that. It wasn’t that Jungkook disliked Taehyung; he just couldn’t handle him. Taehyung was too much—too loud, too dramatic, too confident for Jungkook’s liking. His endless antics and unshakable charm always rubbed Jungkook the wrong way. It was easier for Jungkook to retreat into his shell than to deal with someone like Taehyung. Jungkook preferred the quiet, the safety of his own thoughts, while Taehyung was none of those things.

“Park uncle and his son are coming too. You wanted to meet Park uncle’s son?” Mr. Jeon tried again, his voice light and filled with gentle encouragement. He glanced back briefly, his brow furrowed slightly. He wanted Jungkook to at least be excited.

They were heading toward the Kim mansion for a grand party. A formal event with a lot of people, glittering dresses, and chatter. The kind of place where smiles felt like currency and charm was the language. It was important because their families shared good relationships with the Kim's. It was a social obligation.

But Jungkook didn’t bite. His gaze fixed on the rain streaking down the window. He pressed his cheek harder against the cold glass, the coolness against his skin doing little to ease the rising frustration in his chest. He wasn’t interested. His father’s words barely registered in his mind. The whole idea of going to a big event, the crowded space, the noise—it all just felt overwhelming.

“No,” Jungkook muttered, his voice tight, almost as if he were trying to seal off any further conversation. He could feel his father’s eyes on him, but he didn’t care. He didn't want to go. Not to meet Park Uncle’s son. Not to that party. Not anywhere. He wanted to stay home. He hated people. All of them. Parties. Crowds. They made his skin crawl. Even though Park uncle was always kind and brought him chocolate, even though he was gentle and easy to talk to, it didn’t matter. Meeting his son was a thought that felt like a chore.

Mr. Jeon’s face softened with a small, exasperated sigh. He turned his head, catching his wife’s eye for a brief moment. Mrs. Jeon gently tapped his arm, urging him to stop pushing Jungkook. But Mr. Jeon didn’t listen. He could see his son’s discomfort and it worried him. He wasn’t going to let it slide this time.

“Son, listen,” he began, trying again with more patience, his voice firm but not unkind. “You should—”

But his words were cut short by the sudden screech of tires and a blinding flash of headlights, too bright, too fast. Then—boom. Something slammed into their car, a deafening crash that shook everything around him. The impact tore through them, sending the car off the road. The world spun wildly, glass shattered, metal twisted, and screams filled the air. His head smacked against the seatbelt, his shoulders pulled hard by the force as the car twisted and turned like a broken toy. His arms flailed, his hands gripping at anything they could find, but there was nothing.

Finally, the car came to a violent stop and everything felt eerily quiet. The sound of the engine sputtering, the hiss of rain, and the faint, dull ringing in his ears filled his senses. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear his vision, but his head spun. The air was thick with the metallic scent of blood. His chest was tight, his breath shallow. Through his blurred vision, he saw it—them. Blood streaked his vision, dark and warm as it trickled into his eyes from a gash on his forehead. His breath came in short, broken pants. He couldn’t see clearly—everything felt distorted, red, and wrong.  His mother was there. Her body was twisted, crumpled, unnatural, and there was so much blood. Everywhere but specially beneath her.

“Mom…” he whispered, his voice broken, a thin, desperate sound. His lips trembled, his head shaking as though he could will it away, but the horror wouldn’t leave. His small hands gripped at his seatbelt again, his fingers sticky, his face soaked with rain and fear. All he knew was that his mother was hurt, she was bleeding and wasn't moving.  No, no, no… His chest ached, a desperate pain that he couldn’t understand.

His eyes shifted to his father, still breathing, but barely. His father’s chest rose weakly, blood dripping from a gash on his forehead, and Jungkook’s heart twisted in his chest. “Dada…” His voice cracked, the sound barely more than a whimper as he reached out for his father, his small hands pressing against the seat. The fear was suffocating, but the pain of seeing his father so helpless, so close to slipping away, was worse. His body shook uncontrollably, his tiny frame trying to fight the overwhelming terror that threatened to swallow him whole.

The silence felt unbearable. Everything around him felt like a blur, yet every detail was all real and painstrikingly cruel. His hands trembled, his body shaking, his chest aching as he waited—desperately—for some kind of answer. But before his father could respond, figures emerged from the darkness dressed in black uniforms that glistened faintly under the rain. Their presence felt wrong, but the night itself was nothing if wasn't sinful. Jungkook’s head spun, his ears ringing painfully. The sound was distorted, every word like a distant, broken whisper. But the fragments came through, jagged and broken.

“And, it’s done... Wasn't much. Let him suffer.”

Jungkook visibly flinched at their words, his heart hammering against his ribcage. His ears rang painfully, making it hard to hear, but the fragments reached him like poison.

“He denied boss, after all.”

"Hmm, all he needed was that file. Black orchid project's file."

 "Yeah, stupid motherfucker." They turned to leave, but then one of them paused, looking back at Mr. Jeon’s bloody form, a sinister smile creeping across his face. “You know, since you’re dying anyways, let me tell you something… we found her. We got the first kid from the Black Orchid project. And with her, we’ll get them all. And with you dead, who will stop us.”

Their laughter was cruel and hollow, echoing in the stillness like nails scraping across the floor. Jungkook’s chest tightened, and his stomach churned, bile rising in his throat as they disappeared into the rain. The words haunted him, swirling in his mind, but before he could process them, another sound broke through—the sound of his father’s breath.

Mr. Jeon’s body shifted, his chest rising and falling in labored, shallow breaths. His tear-streaked face twisted with pain as his eyes met Jungkook’s, the weight of everything crashing down in those last, fleeting moments. “Jungkook…” His voice was raw, barely a whisper, but it carried so much guilt that it felt like it could suffocate him. “I’m so sorry, my boy… this… this is all because of me.”

“Dada…” His voice was cracked, shaky, the fear rising in his chest like a storm. His hand reached out instinctively, trembling, but it fell short, his small fingers grazing the air instead of his father’s skin.

Just as Jungkook’s vision began to blur, another sound broke through the haze—the screech of tires and the distant sound of shoes splashing through the rain. Relief flickered faintly in his chest. Someone was coming. But his blurry gaze couldn’t make out who it was.

A pair of feet appeared before him, followed by the frantic sound of someone running, slipping in the rain as they skidded to a halt next to the wreckage.

 It was Mr. Park, panting, his face pale with shock as he took in the horror before him.

Mr. Park dropped to his knees beside the wreckage, his hands trembling as they hovered over the twisted metal, unable to focus on anything but the devastation before him. His breath hitched in his chest as his gaze fell on Mrs. Jeon’s crumpled, lifeless form, and the tears welled up instantly, blurring his vision. He opened his mouth, but no words came out. All he could manage was a broken, “Oh, my... How… what?” His gaze settled on Jungkook’s mother, crumpled and lifeless in the front seat, and his breath hitched. His hands gripped the cold, wet metal of the car, his entire body shaking as he fought the overwhelming wave of fear and sorrow threatening to drown him.

“Hang on! I’ll get you both out, I promise!” His voice cracked as he spoke, his hands fumbling against the seatbelt, desperate to pull them free.

But Mr. Jeon, with great effort, shook his head. His face was pale, slick with sweat, and blood dripped from the corner of his mouth. His voice came out hoarse, barely more than a whisper, but the words cut through the chaos. “No... no... listen to me.” He coughed, his body convulsing from the effort, and blood spattered onto his chest. “I... I won’t be able to make it out of here. Take Jungkook... get him out... and raise him. There’s no one else I trust more than you, Park. You’re like a brother to me. Please... take care of him... like he’s your own.”

Mr. Park’s eyes filled with tears, and he squeezed them shut for a moment, trying to push back the wave of grief threatening to drown him. His chest tightened, and his voice cracked as he fought to keep it steady. “I will. I promise. But don’t say that, we can still—”

“No…” Mr. Jeon’s voice was barely a whisper now, weak and distant, almost drowned out by the rain. The faintest of smiles tugged at the corner of his lips, but it quickly disappeared as he coughed, blood staining his mouth. “It’s too late for me… just save him. Please.”

Mr. Park’s hand trembled as it hovered over Mr. Jeon’s, and he nodded, his lips trembling. He wasn’t ready to accept this, but he knew there was no choice. “I’ll take him,” he whispered. “I’ll take him, I promise.”

With trembling hands, Mr. Park unbuckled Jungkook, his heart breaking at the sight of the boy’s tear-streaked face, pale and bloodied. The tiny body was limp in his arms, and he fought to hold back his own tears, knowing it wouldn’t help. Jungkook’s head lolled against his shoulder, eyes barely open, blinking with confusion and fear, but he couldn’t speak, couldn’t move.

“I’ve got you,” Mr. Park whispered, his voice rough with emotion, his arms tightening around Jungkook as he lifted him from the wreckage. The boy’s head rested against his chest, the faintest stir of breath against his skin. “It’s going to be okay,” he said, though he knew nothing about this could ever be okay. If anything, he himself didn't trusted his words. They felt hollow.

“I’ll be back to get you. And I’ll get you out too, just hang there,” he said, his voice final, desperate, and certain. His hands trembled as he cradled Jungkook against his chest, his gaze flickering back toward Mr. Jeon, whose eyes were barely open. Mr. Park wasn't sure if he was even capable enough to fulfil that promise but at moment it was all he could offer, it was all he had left.

Mr. Jeon’s eyes fluttered, a faint nod the only response he could manage. His body had grown so still, but the tear streaked face, the way his lips trembled, said everything. He knew it was a promise that wouldn’t be kept—but he nodded anyway, and the last bit of hope faded in the silence of the wreckage. With one final glance, Mr. Park turned, his arms cradling Jungkook against him, as he ran toward safety, the boy’s limp body a stark contrast to the life and pain surrounding them. The rain continued to pour, and with each step, it felt like the world was slipping further away.

Jungkook’s eyes fluttered weakly as he was carried to Mr. Park’s car. His small body felt light and cold against the older man’s chest. Inside the vehicle, Jimin sat in the backseat, his wide eyes staring at the scene before him. His small hands gripped the edge of his seat tightly, his knuckles pale in the dim glow of the headlights. When Mr. Park placed Jungkook beside him, Jimin’s shock melted into an visible concern. His little face was a mix of worry and gentleness as he shifted closer, his small body trembling slightly. Without hesitation, he wrapped his tiny arms around Jungkook, pulling him into a hug. The warmth of Jimin’s embrace was so soft, so comforting, but it felt like it wasn’t enough.

“Don’t cry… it’s okay, don’t cry,” Jimin whispered, his voice cracking slightly as he pulled Jungkook closer. Jungkook’s eyes burned, but he couldn’t bring himself to speak. His throat was tight, his chest hollow with loss. The last thing he felt before the world around him went black was Jimin’s arms, holding him tight, and the warmth of a friendship that now felt fragile, like a thread ready to snap.

Meanwhile, Mr. Park’s hands were shaking, his desperation choking his every movement as he turned back to the wreck. His heart pounded in his chest as he sprinted toward the flames, but he didn’t make it. Before he could even reach the wreckage, the explosion erupted in a violent wave, the flames licking at the sky as they consumed the car. The explosion rocked the ground beneath him, the heat so intense it scorched his skin, and the rain didn’t do a thing to stop the inferno. The sound of the blast echoed in his chest, and for a moment, Mr. Park stood frozen, his body trembling from the shock, the image of his closest friend burning into his mind.  His breath caught in his throat, his heart twisted painfully, but he couldn’t move. He watched as the fire consumed everything—everything he had hoped to save. The rain poured harder, but it was useless against the inferno.

And just like that, Jungkook lost everything in one brutal, cruel instant. His mind hung on that moment, the crackling fire and the unyielding rain swallowing it all. The sound of the explosion still rang in his ears as he was pulled from the memory. Another sharp, blinding flash of light cut through his closed eyelids, yanking him out of his haze. His head throbbed painfully, the beat of his pulse a steady rhythm that seemed to match the aching in his skull.

A car screeched to a halt in front of him, the sound cutting through the fog in his mind like a blade. For a moment, he thought it was Jimin. But that couldn’t be right—Jimin was way behind him, far away from this mess, in a safe place. How could he have gotten ahead so fast? Jungkook’s thoughts came fast and fragmented. His breaths came quicker, his hands trembling harder as his body tensed with uncertainty.

What was happening? Was it Jimin? Was it someone else? His mind felt fractured, his body unable to respond. His body felt paralysed, useless.

The driver stepped out into the downpour, his black uniform drenched in seconds, but he moved forward with an unsettling calm. The sight of the uniform—it was like a switch had been flipped inside Jungkook. But his thoughts were too scattered, too foggy, to make sense of it. The closer the man got, the louder the buzz in Jungkook’s head grew, like lightening sissling through his skull. It was unbearable. His hands flew to his temples, fingers digging in desperately, but the pain only intensified. A low, broken groan escaped his throat.

Without warning, a loud, brutal crash shattered the silence. The man had smashed the car window. The sound tore through his body like a physical blow, breaking his fragile focus. His eyes flew open just as he felt the sting of broken glass. The shards flying like tiny stars of pain that bit into his skin. Before Jungkook could even flinch, a rough hand wrapped around his collar and yanked him from the seat. He was dragged out into the downpour, the cold, icy rain slamming into his face, washing away the blood. The cold slapped against his skin like a thousand tiny knives, but he was too weak to react. His limbs were heavy, his body numb, as if it wasn’t even his own. He couldn’t fight back. The man dragged him across the slick road like he weighed nothing, and with a brutal toss, he was slammed onto the wet pavement. His body hit the ground with a sickening thud, and the cold, muddy water instantly soaked through his clothes, seeping into his bones.

He forced himself to push up or at least he tired. His hands trembled, weak and brittle, but he couldn’t hold himself. His body gave out, and he collapsed back into the mud with a helpless, wet sound. His face turned upward, the rain blurring his vision, every droplet a sharp needle that dug into his skin. His chest heaved, his breaths coming in shallow bursts, but the pain in his skull, his limbs, and his chest refused to go away. Jungkook tried again, his body shaking harder this time. His head swayed from side to side as he struggled, but the rain felt endless, each droplet pounding into him, each one deeper, colder, meaner. His heartbeat was an erratic drumbeat in his chest, thudding against his ribs like it might give out at any moment. His vision remained a hazy blur—everything was grey, wet, and cold, and the pounding in his skull grew stronger with every heartbeat.

Jungkook’s eyes fought to stay open, his vision blurring more with each passing second, but the shape of the man in front of him became clearer. The man in the black uniform loomed over him, a dark, shifting figure that blurred in the rain. His face was a shadow, but the smirk on his lips was cruel and clear.

The man’s eyes gleamed with satisfaction as he watched Jungkook struggle beneath him, barely able to lift himself up on one elbow. His hand gripped the gun with a steady, deadly calm, and as he crouched down, water splashed from his chin, droplets falling onto Jungkook’s face. “Look at you,” he sneered, voice dripping with mockery, “pathetic. No high and mighty prince now, huh? Where’s your guard dog to save you?”

Jungkook’s chest heaved in ragged breaths, his heart hammering in his ribcage. He could feel the weight of his body dragging him further into the puddle, the cold seeping into his bones, but his muscles were too weak to fight back. His hand twitched, desperately trying to reach for something—anything—to push himself up, but it shook violently, unable to get any purchase. He gritted his teeth, eyes clouded with pain and dizziness, unable to respond, unable to do anything but lie there and take it.

“today was my lucky day, I guess,”  he laughed.

“You’ve been a thorn in our side for too long,” the man continued, his voice dropping lower as he straightened, standing taller. His form was solid and imposing, his boots kicking mud as he took a step back. The gun rose, glinting under the pale light of the streetlamps. The barrel was cold, steady, and pointed directly at Jungkook’s chest.

“Time to put you out of your misery, kid. Join mommy and daddy. I wager... You’ve been dying to.” A cold sweat broke out across Jungkook’s skin even in shrill rain, and for a brief moment, his breath caught in his throat. His eyes widened, flicking between the gun and the man’s mocking face, terror clawing at him from the inside. His chest tightened, his body frozen as the world spun around him, and he tried once more to move, to escape, but his legs were useless, as if the earth beneath him was swallowing him whole. All that remained was the sharp, unrelenting noise of the rain and the sickening sound of the man’s finger inching toward the trigger.

Jungkook’s body went rigid as the man’s words echoed in his mind. His heart thundered in his chest as the memories of his parents flooded him—their lifeless eyes, the blood staining the night, the terror that gripped him then and now. His hands, slick with cold rain, shook uncontrollably as he stared at the barrel of the gun. His throat constricted, but no words came out—only a choked sob that was lost in the downpour.

The man’s grin widened, cruel and savage, as he inched his finger toward the trigger. Jungkook could see the gleam in his eyes, the satisfaction of finally having the power to take everything from him. The laughter in his voice was sharp, like glass scraping against his skin, and with a slow, deliberate motion, he squeezed the trigger.

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

The gunshot shattered the night—louder than the storm, louder than the pounding in Jungkook's ears. For a brief, agonizing moment, the world seemed to stop. The rain paused in midair, hanging like frozen tears, the wind silenced as if holding its breath. Jungkook felt the world tilt beneath him, and his body instinctively braced for the impact that was supposed to come.

a/n: So, how’d you guys like it? Hate it? Loved it? I need the feedback, break me, but like... gently, okay? I’m fragile and I’ll cry, like, on the spot. But honestly, there might be some grammatical disasters in there. Why? Because I got sick and just didn’t have the energy to do much editing work on it. So yeah, don’t judge me too hard, I’m basically a walking disaster right now. Also, I really hope you still love Jungkook after reading this. Please don’t hate him. Show him some love. And, like, show me some too, because my ego is starving. Tell me how amazing it was (or, like, pretend it was) and boost my fragile little ego, okay? I need it. Love ya, guys!

[rocknrollsalad]

rating: gen cw: drinking/getting drunk, high society expectations, cranky steve and robin, period typical homophobia tags: no upside down au, rich kid steve au, steddie and Buckingham double date, chirstmas parties, Eddie learns whats in eggnog word count: 2412

-

written for the steddiemas prompt "eggnog" but it's a good week late, another victim of the plague I caught lol

“You better go collect your man,” Robin whispered, having appeared out of nowhere.

Steve hissed, “Stop calling him that.”

His eyes darted around the room, both to make sure he wasn’t heard. Robin was right, he hadn’t seen his boyfriend (who was definitely not his date tonight) in a while. Probably not a good sign.

“Well he is,” she scoffed.

“You are supposed to be my date, that’s the cover story. For you and for me. Doesn’t really work if you go around talking about how I really brought Eddie.”

It shut Robin up for a second, just long enough for Steve to enjoy the victory, before she said, “Tell your parents to stop being so uptight.”

Except the counter to that was the same as it always was. “And yours are so cool about it.”

Probably not the round and round Robin wanted when she walked up here on some high horse. One she had no business climbing on. She knew Steve was always a little extra stressed at these stupid dinner parties and that tonight was going to be worse. Instead of being supportive, it was almost like she was trying to sabotage things.

They could talk about it later. Right now, Steve apparently had to go find Eddie because there was no way Robin was saying that for fun. He was doing something. Probably making a run for it…which was smart. Steve could, at least, show him the best escape routes and let him know he didn’t take it personally.

Especially because it was a lot harder for Steve to make that run for it anymore. Ever since they’d brought him in from the kiddie room (which was actually the garage), his moves were tracked. Sure he wasn’t sharing one sad, toppingless pizza with a bunch of kids he didn’t know anymore but at what cost? At least the garage had video games…and no one talking about investments or how he should have gone to college.

Steve went off to find out what was going on with Eddie. Robin, in her endless helpfulness, decided to stay put and give no direction. It left Steve to go from room to room, asking everyone he could. No one had seen him. Something that was maybe a good thing? This meant he wasn’t standing on expensive furniture telling some amazing and elaborate story that would be wasted on these stuffy assholes.

Things got so desperate, Steve asked his mom if she’d seen Eddie. She always knew everything that was happening at these parties. Yet she hadn’t seen him. It seemed unlikely and a quick segue into tired reminders to not cause a scene. This one came with the bonus lecture of not ignoring his date because “no respectable woman is sidelined for a friend, dear.”

And nothing proved more that Steve’s mom didn’t see everything. Not only would he and Robin stick by each other through anything, she wasn’t even his actual date. Though, Steve did have to admit the only people in the world who believed they weren’t dating were them. Probably Chrissy and Eddie but sometimes Steve wasn’t so sure.

Moving on from his mom before he got roped into some mind-numbingly boring discussion, Steve ran into Chrissy. She was Eddie’s date who was really Robin’s date and had been folded into the group shenanigans. Which meant Steve was so ready to drag her into this quest. If he couldn’t have Robin, he could at least have help.

“We’ve lost your date,” Steve sighed, trying not to freak out yet.

“What do you mean?” she asked, instantly jumping to freaking out.

Steve linked their arms together and continued walking on, trying to think of where else he’d hide out. “Robin came up to me and told me to go collect my man. I thought he was doing something embarrassing but, like, I can’t find him. Do you think he’d leave?”

“No,” she cooed. “He’s been so worried about this night, there’s no way he’d leave you. He wouldn’t.”

Something that would have been so much more flattering if Steve had any fucking clue where the guy was.

“The garage!” Steve said, realizing the one place he hadn’t looked.

Chrissy didn’t say anything, just picked up her pace and they sped off toward the kiddie party. Of course. it was in the detached garage. Heaven forbid the kids breathed in the others, dad’s cars would lower in value at the mere thought.

So they barged through the door and onto the familiar path, still arm and arm, laser-focused on the only place it made sense for Eddie to be.

Before the door closed behind them, the soft exclamation of “Steve” was sung out and Chrissy and Steve both leaped into the grass, barely holding back screams as the voice startled them.

Steve easily moved Chrissy behind him as they both looked for the source of the voice, rather than some creepy old guy or party crasher, it was the exact person they were looking for. Both of them let out a matching, but quiet, exclamation for finding Eddie.

He was sat on a stone bench, leaning against the house, and smoking. Not only was he well hidden by shrubbery but Steve had expected to find him indoors. He needed that last glimmer of hope that Eddie was still at the party. And he hadn’t exactly left so that was…something?

“Hey man,” Eddie drawled out.

Steve’s eyes narrowed but he turned to make sure Chrissy was stable and had recovered from the little fright neither of them was going to speak about.

“We’ve been looking for you everywhere!” Chrissy said.

Resigning to her point, Steve nodded and went for the “what she said” shrug.

“I’ve been ri-ight here, baby.”

“He’s drunk,” Chrissy and Steve whispered to each other.

“Oh no!” Eddie cried out, dropping his head back. “Who told you?”

“I think you did, champ,” Chrissy laughed.

This probably wasn’t great. Steve went into panic mode immediately, ideas on what to do next sped through his mind followed by the consequences of each. A drunk Eddie was less likely to keep up the ruse, one he and Robin had organized so carefully.

It wasn’t time to come out, yet. Steve knew that time was rapidly approaching. Each and every day he had to lie about who he was with or what he was doing was another stab in the chest but at The Harrington Christmas Soiree? That was not the time. If they could just get into the new year, Steve would come clean, and probably get disowned, but at least it wouldn’t go down for “trying to steal the spotlight”.

Chrissy rubbed her hand between Steve’s shoulder blades. He had to be thinking awfully loudly right now. Where was Robin when he really needed her?

“I didn’t mean to,” Eddie pouted.

Steve watched Eddie pat around the bench and his own clothes, looking for his lighter. It was such a distinct move but it brought in this creeping feeling of normalcy with it. They’d done this before. Both drunk and sober.

As he had many times before, Steve reached into his pocket and got his lighter. Once he was close enough, he shielded the flame so Eddie could re-light his cigarette. Which he did with ease. The smoke billowed from Eddie and cleared both of their heads.

“How’s that work, though?” Steve asked. He then turned to Chrissy and leaned in a bit. “Could you go find Robin, remind her not to gloat, and maybe get a glass of water? In that order of importance.”

“She’s not going to gloat,” Chrissy said but it’s already an apology. They both know the truth. It’s part of Robin’s charm but it’s always extra annoying in moments like these.

“That’s the spirit, let's hope for Christmas miracles.”

They share a giggle that they’ve earned by being as close to Robin as they are and Chrissy disappeared back inside. Steve sat down next to Eddie and moved his hand so Steve could take a quick drag off the cigarette. He’s going to need it…or some of whatever Eddie had.

“Alright, what’s the story then?”

“Have you ever had eggnog,” Eddie asked. A question that feels wildly off topic but, again, he’s a little drunk so a coherent sentence is a great start.

“Yeah, it’s disgusting.”

“No-ooooooooo. No. Look, listen, I mean. It’s not. You’re wrong. Wayne makes it all the time,” Eddie leaned in closer, a hand cupped over his mouth as he whispered. “Every year.”

“Yeah, my parents do too. It’s nasty. The one in the punch bowl is the one you want.”

“Au contraire, that one has alcohol in it and I’m supposed to behave,” Eddie has his finger raised, wagging in the air like a cartoon teaching valuable life lessons.

“And so’s the eggnog.”

“Mmmmmm, no. I think I’d know that.”

“I…actually, yeah. I’d have thought you knew that too. Wait, so how– you know you’re drunk now, right?”

“Yeah but, ya know, we’re not telling Steve. He’s going to make me sleep on the couch for a whole week.”

“Sure,” Steve pressed his lips together and nodded. This was ridiculous and he kind of wished Eddie was just giving some rambunctious nerd speech. “But how’d you get drunk then?”

“Sabotage, obviously. The Harrington’s don’t want the heir to their throne with a commoner like me.”

“So they spiked your drink?”

“Totally.”

“Somehow complimentary you think they’d waste liquor on that,” Steve shrugged and he snatched Eddie’s pack of cigarettes to light one for himself.

“So it was Robin!”

“More believable actually. No, it was the eggnog.”

“There’s not alcohol in eggnog, Wayne wouldn’t give me it if there was.”

“Because you have to put it in, which my parents do.”

In a different situation, this would be funny. Steve might even find a way to laugh about it later but the guilt simmering in his chest for not teaching Eddie about which drinks had liquor is too strong to enjoy the laughable way his boyfriend accidentally got drunk.

All the solutions Steve had run through didn’t fit the situation anymore. They were likely both going to have to leave. Or worse, Eddie and Chrissy were and that’d ruin so many people’s nights.

Before he could think of a way to save everyone’s good time, Chrissy returned. Robin right behind her. Steve quickly stamped out the cigarette like Robin wouldn’t see and stood to talk to them.

He filled them in on the whole eggnog situation. It earned the appropriate level of laughter but once it subsided, they started trying to actually solve the problem. Eddie sat content on the bench, watching them adoringly as they worked out his fate. Steve had to give it to him, he was a very happy drunk.

“Hey, psst, hey. Hey, hey, hey, hey, hey, hey,” Eddie said as they were finalizing some plans to get him upstairs to Steve’s room and full of coffee.

“Oh my god,” Robin said, trying to shut him up.

Steve walked over, leaning into his space so he wasn’t towering over him. “Yeah, man. What’s up?”

“I just need you to know-”

“Oh boy.”

“I came in with a smoking hot blonde but she’s not really my date.”

With all the patience in his body, Steve let out a sigh that was every bitchy comeback he had rolled into one sound, and said “Yup.”

“You’re way better.”

“You didn’t even commit to that. At least hit on me. Ugh. Can you just be cool for like two more minutes?”

“Cool? Yeah? Yeah! I can be cool for so many minutes. Two, ten, six, eighty. I’m good at it.”

“You’re not, so we better do something quick.”

“We should fool around is what we should do. This place has to have so many rooms. I didn’t even peek in half of them.”

Steve turned around and looked at the girls, “I think we gotta leave.”

“You can’t leave your own family Christmas party,” Robin said.

“I’ve done it so many times. Chrissy and Eddie have to go because Eddie’s sick. You and me can work something else out.”

Eddie stood up and leaned on Steve. “You should have some of that eggnog. I guess they make it with alcohol here.”

“Will you stop acting like we don’t know each other!” Steve scrubbed his hand over his face.

Robin sucked her teeth, “Might be for the best, he won’t blow anyone’s cover that way.”

“But he’s being so obnoxious about it,” Steve groaned.

“Good thing he’s the only one being obnoxious,” Robin said, crossing her arms over her chest.

A pose Steve mirrored, “What do you suggest then?”

“Let him sleep it off. He’s right, there’s plenty of rooms here and all we have to do is tell the truth for once. He didn’t know there was alcohol in the eggnog.”

“I didn’t know. I gotta tell Wayne though, it’s way better this way.”

“Who doesn’t know,” Steve groaned. Not frustrated at Eddie for not knowing, not really, but stressed out by the situation and that had to go somewhere.

“What if,” Chrissy said with her shoulders pulled up to her ears. The meek injection spoke to her nervousness but she got everyone’s attention. “We joined Eddie?”

Eddie, who was draped on Steve’s back with an arm over his shoulder and idly rubbing Steve’s chest, hummed in approval. The comfort of Eddie’s weight had Steve forgetting everything they were supposed to be hiding as he melted into the comfort and contact.

Still, he and Robin voiced matching sounds of confusion.

“It’s not embarrassing if the ‘kids’ got drunk. It’s our first time here, they almost expect us to overdo it so…let’s overdo it. Eddie won’t be the one who didn’t know this or that, we’ll all just be young adults doing what’s expected of us.”

Steve pondered the plan. “We couldn’t go wild.”

“It’s not a frat house,” Robin said for Chrissy.

Eddie gave a soft “Yeah” that Steve knew was meant to mock Robin but came out like agreement.

“It could work.”

“It could be fun!” Chrissy cooed, jumping up and down a few times. Maybe they all needed to take the edge off here.

The hand that was on Steve’s chest now held his cheek as Eddie kissed the other one.

“Alright, alright. Let’s go have some fun,” Steve groaned, doing his best to act like he hated this.

“Finally!”

[wifelivvyx]

can you write George Weasley scenario where george x y/n (rich pireblood slytherin) are in relationship, they are kissing in corridor and umbridge break them apart with a spell then she gives y/n that she deserves much better than George. Thank you 🩷

The dimly lit corridor of Hogwarts was quiet, save for the faint rustle of robes and the soft echoes of footsteps far in the distance. George Weasley leaned casually against the cool stone wall, his fiery red hair tousled as always, his mischievous grin firmly in place. He reached out, pulling Y/N closer, their fingers brushing before she relented and stepped into his arms.

“You know,” Y/N said, tilting her head slightly, her emerald eyes glinting with amusement, “if we get caught, it’s your fault.”

George smirked, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “Worth it.”

He leaned down, capturing her lips in a kiss that made her momentarily forget where they were. In that moment, house rivalries, the chaos of Hogwarts, and everything else faded away.

Until—

“Depulso!”

A bright light shot between them, forcing them apart as a magical force yanked them away from each other. George stumbled slightly, catching himself against the wall, while Y/N gasped, her heart racing as her wand slipped from her hand and clattered to the floor.

Standing a few feet away, wand raised and an expression of smug triumph on her toad-like face, was Dolores Umbridge. Her pink cardigan and prim bow seemed even more grotesque under the flickering torchlight.

“Well, well, well,” she said, her high-pitched voice oozing with false sweetness. “What do we have here? A little… interhouse fraternization, shall we call it?”

Y/N straightened, brushing her robes as she glared at the woman. “Professor, with all due respect—”

“Oh, no need to explain, my dear,” Umbridge interrupted, cutting her off with a sickening smile. She turned her beady eyes to George, her gaze dripping with disdain. “A Weasley, of all people. How utterly… disappointing.”

George clenched his fists, but his voice was calm, though biting. “Didn’t realize my name offended you so much, Professor.”

Umbridge’s eyes narrowed as her smile widened, a dangerous combination. “Miss Y/L/N,” she said, ignoring George entirely, “you are a pureblood. A young lady of your standing should know better than to squander your time on… well…” She gave George a once-over, her nose wrinkling as though she’d caught a whiff of dungbombs. “This sort.”

Y/N’s eyes flashed dangerously. “Professor,” she said evenly, stepping forward, “I don’t believe who I spend my time with is any of your concern.”

“Oh, but it is,” Umbridge said, her tone turning syrupy with mock concern. “Someone of your breeding deserves so much better. Tradition, status, and decorum must be upheld, after all. A Weasley could never hope to understand the significance of such things.”

George stepped forward, his voice sharper now. “I think Y/N deserves someone who treats her like a person, not a prize for her bloodline.”

Umbridge’s smile finally faltered, replaced by a cold, steely glare. “Ten points from Gryffindor,” she snapped. “For your insolence, Mr. Weasley. And Miss Y/L/N…” Her voice dripped with condescension. “You will report to my office tomorrow for a discussion on appropriate behavior.”

With a flick of her wand, Umbridge turned on her heel and marched away, her heels clicking sharply against the stone floor.

As soon as she disappeared around the corner, George turned to Y/N, his jaw still tight. “Are you okay?”

Y/N exhaled slowly, picking up her wand. “I’m fine. Just furious.”

“She’s a nightmare,” George muttered, his hands running through his hair. “And I don’t care what she says. You’re way too good for her, not me.”

Y/N smiled softly, stepping closer. “She can say what she wants. It doesn’t change anything.”

George’s grin returned, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes rekindling. “That’s my girl.”

Y/N rolled her eyes fondly before pulling him into another kiss—this time making sure they’d hear anyone coming.

[numberonetacostan]

ONE HEADCANON FOR EVERY II CHARACTER!

Hello everyone!!!!!^^ For a little holiday season special, I’ve typed out a little headcanon for every character!!! By character I mean contestants + host + assistants!!!!! Sorry to all the Nick Le fans out there, he is not included. Since everyone is here, there are characters I may not know as well as my main roster, so if I get anything like, objectively wrong, feel free to let me know!!!^^ Please enjoy!!! (ﾉ´ヮ`)ﾉ*: ･ﾟ

Apple- Her favorite song is Pink Pony Club by Chappell Roan. She doesn’t really understand the lyrics but she really likes ponies!!!! I also think she’d start misspelling her name as “Appell” pretty often after she finds the song. 

Balloon- The first thing Suitcase does with her prize money is buy him a poetry book. He is so very moved by this and writes her dozens of poems with various styles he sees in the book within a few days. He’d read from the book and his own works to Suitcase every night before they go to bed. Some others could join in for a nice bedtime story :). 

Baseball- Once, while the hotel was under construction, Baseball fell down the stairs. And then kept rolling. And rolling. And bouncing. And rolling some more. Overall it set construction back two weeks and Paintbrush broke their leg trying to help stop him. Baseball was banned from the hotel until the elevators were finished. 

Bomb- He can’t eat spicy food. As in he’s banned from eating spicy food. If he gets too hot, he can accidentally set himself off, so despite his claim that he has a great spice tolerance, he is not allowed anywhere near the hot sauce. He doesn’t complain about the ban anymore post-canon, too risky, yeah? 

Bow- She watches so very many makeup tutorials, but being a ghost, can’t practice any of it on herself. That is, unless she possesses someone, like Marsh who would be very easy to put makeup on relative to other objects!!! She’d probably get pretty good at it, after some time, and Marsh would have some lovely new eyeshadow looks every day! 

Knife- He has a longer ghost tail than Dough and Bow do, so I propose him wrapping said tail around people and things he likes!!! Wraps around Pickle when they’re standing next to each other, wraps around Suitcase’s handle when they’re together, etc.!!! He’d get rather flustered if anyone called him out on it. 

Lightbulb- Gives incredible hugs. Incredible. How does an object made of glass and metal give such cuddly, warm hugs? Nobody knows. Sometimes she’ll turn herself on during the hug to make it extra warm!! As long as the person she’s hugging closes their eyes, it really elevates the already sacred experience of a Lightbulb hug. Luckily for everyone else, she is always happy to give one!^^

Marshmallow- She’s still pyrophobic after having been burnt all those years ago. As a very flammable marshmallow, fire would be scary to her anyways, but after having been roasted it’s a whole other story. She’d rather freeze than get close to a fire, but that’s not a problem since there’s a certain fruit always willing to warm her up with a hug <3!!

Nickel- He became very, very, very nervous to give his apology to Suitcase after she blew up Cobs and ate his corpse. He was planning to apologize either way, but clearly Suitcase could absolutely obliterate him if she wanted to do so, which means this apology has to be quite good or else. He has a serious amount of respect for her now. An upgrade, I’d say. 

OJ- His favorite Pokémon is Charizard. It’s orange, it’s very popular, OJ loves it. I know Justin has made a list of the contestant’s favorite Pokemon, but I have not read it in a while so Charizard it is!!!

Paintbrush- Experiments a lot with their image after season 3, mostly by dyeing their bristles with paint!!! Lightbulb helps :3!!! And by helps I mean makes it silly and very fun. Maybe she puts a little dot between Painty’s eyes to give them a “nose”. I think they’d try a solid color first, then maybe a fade, and eventually dye the nonbinary flag into their hair!!! They slay it of course. 

Paper- Pickle once wrote “Property of OJ” on Paper’s back and he didn’t notice for three days. No one told him it was there. When he asked everyone why in the world they would not inform him they said it was because they all thought OJ had written it and he was keeping it because he liked it. OJ did not know why Paper avoided eye contact with him for a week that one time but he did not like it. 

Pepper- Hotel OJ head chef. Yeah you heard me. Let me cook by letting her cook!! Salt wouldn’t like cooking, too much work, so this is something Pepper could enjoy on her own!! And it would be the sole reason that OJ has not yet kicked Salt out of the hotel- if he does than Pepper might be too sad to cook, and with the depressingly low amount of hotel residents that can make food, and the even smaller amount who are willing to make enough food for everyone, they need her. And, if Payjay help out, they can spend more time with her and get to know and enjoy her presence without Salt ruining it!

Pickle- With some help from Tea Kettle and Pepper, he makes Knife a new Dora doll post-finale, since it vanished with the rest of the stuff made by MeLife. He lets Knife possess him if he wants to hug the doll, but it also gets possessed by Knife so he can hug Pickle. Ah shit sorry my Knickle got all over the headcanon dang it. 

Salt- I headcanon her as the only cisgender, straight, alloromantic (I think that’s the right term?) member of the cast. Basically the only one who isn’t queer at all. But uh an actual headcanon for the ~60 or so Salt fans out there, both she and Pepper sleep with those little hair bonnets on to keep their salt and pepper from falling out of their heads in their sleep. 

Taco- This one is fitting for the winter season!! Taco is afraid of snow. Like, straight up terrified. I think she would grab a bunch of blankets and hide in the vents of the mansion whenever it snows, so she can be inside of the inside, as far and safe from the snow as she can be!! Having been homeless for years, she’s had some miserable experiences with hypothermia after it snows, and now that she has a home to live in, she’ll be staying inside until all the snow has melted. 

Mephone- I think he should have a pet bug post-canon. A little beetle or something that just chills on his head and feasts on the many crumbs he gets on himself while he eats. An intelligent one, like Baxter!!! Since we know Mephone will be stepping up into the more ‘big brother’ sort of role for 3GS, I think the bug would be a good outlet for Mephone to talk about his more intense feelings, specifically revolving around Mepad and the contestants. I also think, following his very creative naming of the contestants, the bug would be named Buggy. 

Box- I think she would be an insomniac. After years and years of living in an empty, timeless void-space thing, she’d have a lot of trouble getting to sleep!! She’d definitely need the whole works, warm milk, cheese, lullabies, etc., etc., just to get to sleep, and even then she probably wouldn’t sleep for very long. A lot of nightmares on this one, yeah? 

Cheesy- I think he’d actually quite enjoy eating cheese, as long as it’s not a chunk like he is. He’ll eat nachos, pizza, mozzarella sticks, grilled cheese, etc., etc., but he will not eat cheese cubes. He’d make approximately 5 cannibal jokes every time he does this, and this average goes up to 8 if Pickle is around. 

Cherries- They give Toilet their old Mepad mask post-canon, to try and make him feel better. Toilet might hang out with them a bit more after this- they can do some drawing together!! The more prank-buddies, the merrier, yeah? 

Dough- He eventually did get the recording of Bow saying that he was her brother!! Was it a cut-off version of her denying it yet again (though this time more playfully than anything)? Yes. Does that make him any less happy about having it? No. 

Fan- Out of everyone, he’s the most upset about II ending, and wants to find a new special interest!! He’d try a whole bunch of things, games, music, movies, TV shows, art, and I think it would be funny if he settled on the ii-universe equivalent of Survivor, since it was such a big inspiration for II!! He’d also occupy himself with being very interested in whatever Test Tube is doing and cheering her on!!! Also being a good Dad to Bot!!^^

Microphone- Has, on occasion, accidentally had her volume button pressed in her sleep and woke not only herself but everyone in the vicinity up with her snoring. The first time it happens post-canon it takes her a half-hour to get a very startled and scared but very sleepy and confused Taco to come out from her hiding spot under the bed. 

Soap- Her soap is french vanilla and rose scented!!! She’d find her own scent rather pleasant, yeah? I think being empty for her would have a similar effect on her as it does on objects like OJ and Test Tube, though if she’s in a real pinch she will use her own soap to get clean!! Letting someone use her soap would be a sweet gesture of love/appreciation from her!!!

Suitcase- Balloon would write her a lot of poems once they’re back together post-canon, and she’d keep them all inside of her!! She’d keep a lot of special little gifts from important people inside of her. The stone that Knife set beside her the first time they spoke on the docks, a dried flower bracelet from Box, whatever suits her fancy! (Get it? Ge- ‘cause she’s a suitcase? okay ill leave).

Test Tube- I think she would make phones for everyone post-canon!!!^^ It’s a big island, yeah? And they really need to be able to contact each other in case of emergency, with them being able to truly die now. She could make a functioning rocket out of a vending machine, I fully believe she could make however-many functioning phones out of what she can find on the island. (Or even better, Mepple HQ. I think they all should loot it.)

Tissues- He likes coding :) I personally hate coding, because I sucked at it in school and never want to look at one of those evil “easy kids coding” websites ever again. HOWEVER coding is something he could still do while he’s feeling sick, most of the time!! And we have quite a few gamers living in the hotel, so it would be a great way for him to connect with others!!!

Trophy- He always enjoyed photography as a hobby, but very much threw himself into it after being freed from the elimination closet. After months of seeing nothing but the snotty closet walls, he had a lot more appreciation for scenic and natural photographs. He’d hang a lot of them on the wall of his room to look at as he sleeps, since the rooms don’t have windows. 

Yin-Yang- This one is from my partner @galacticrain!! Because I consider them my resident yin-yang expert^^ Yang isn’t actually gluten free, like he says in season 2 episode 5, he just knew that Yin would confess to the eating of Dough if he put any ounce of pressure on him to tell the truth. 

Mepad- Another cold weather hc! As a Mepple device, he doesn’t really get cold! However, during their first winter together, Toilet worries that Mepad has no winter clothing!!! He buys Mepad one of those super fluffy, pink cases. Mepad does not take it off for months, until his systems start to overheat because of it. 

Toilet- I think he would be rather curious about what having limbs is like. He wouldn’t be particularly upset about his own lack of limbs, just curious!^^ He would ask Mepad about his legs, (try to) ask Mephone about his arms, and maybe make a little doodle of himself with a lot of limbs. A biblically accurate Toilet, if you will.

Blueberry- I like to think his white eyes glow a bit. He functions best in pitch-black darkness, yeah? So imagine you’re walking in the dark and two white eyes are staring at you from the depths. He would love scaring people with it, I think. 

Bot- Hanging out with everyone post-season 3 finale and even more so post-canon, they discover that they really do love videogames, similar to what they told Cabby!! They would absolutely dominate in fighting games, and would main R.O.B. in Super Smash Bros.!!! A fellow robot with a 3 letter name? Sign them UP. 

Cabby- She is endlessly fascinated by how Taco’s arms work. They just…go back in? How? Could she pull them out backwards? Both on the same side? Could she reverse them? Taco does not know either, and the two of them spend a full day together just trying to figure out how they work. Cabby gets a lot of new info about them, and Taco in general, after that :). I’m projecting but I think Cabby would be curious too.^^

Candle- Her meditation training post-canon is what keeps like half the cast from losing their minds after everything that happens. She is very very much needed after… all that. Meditation would help her too, of course, in the way that it usually does, but being so helpful would probably make her feel better than that. 

Clover- She was once blown across the entire island because someone dropped a penny on the ground. It was a particularly shiny penny, though, and the year was one her many, many lucky numbers!!

Goo- My little fella!!! Uh obviously he and Bot would make comics together. They like to draw, he likes to write, it’s perfect!!!! They could help him condense his writing down into a comic format as well!!! They could also make fanart and fanfics together!!! Goo would be a shipper I think he already ships Silver and Painty if you sit that little guy down in front of Steven Universe he will explode. 

Lifering- With everyone losing their immortality post-canon, he quickly becomes one of the most popular among the contestants. Twisted your ankle? Go see Lifering. Migraine? Go see Lifering. Ate the mushrooms that Taco very clearly told you were poisonous? Hurry to Lifering!! He’s happy to be of so much help, but gives some long and rather informative lectures on proper safety checks. 

Silver Spoon- Fills his room with candles. Particularly purple ones. And ones scented with lavender and chamomile. He’ll go on and on about how much he loves candles. Particularly purple ones scented with lavender and chamomile. No one can tell if Candle is trying to politely turn him down or really hasn’t noticed. He progressively gets more and more obvious with his candle collection and nearly sets a building on fire. 

Tea Kettle- #1 Nickloon shipper. I’m serious. Whether they get together or not, she ships it. I don’t think she’d be pushy about it, insistent that they get together if they’re interested in other people, but… we know silly Nickel, always chasing a Balloon. And if he needs a little help catching it, TK will be there in a flash!!!! She’d make them a little romantic picnic complete with hors d’oeuvres! 

The Floor- My guy The Floor still visits Mephone almost daily post-canon. I really don’t see the guy being super upset or holding a grudge over Mephone having made him. He’s pretty cool, if he does say so himself!!^^ And they’re buddies, anyways, so Floory would want to check in on him after his abusive father killed everyone and then was exploded!!!! He might even befriend 3GS while he’s at it :).

[haroldhearsawho]

@oopsiedaisiesbaby Since you wrote something for me here’s something for you that’s been brewing in my head for awhile now:

Ok so hear me out- I don’t know how people feel about rpf (I mean technically Clegan is rpf) but this picture of Austin and Callum has given me all sorts of ideas, I can’t help it 😩:

So I’m thinking they’ve always flirted with one another but always made it out it be a joke, or like they’d back off as soon as or before it got too serious. Like they’d both say off hand comments or remarks about/to the other that always has the other reeling back and wondering, second guessing everything but convincing themselves they’re trying to make it into something it’s not, seeing things that aren’t there, looking too far into it. And the way Austin looks at Callum- it’s hard for Callum to look back sometimes, it feels so intense and sensual and he’s afraid of his own expression giving anything away. But Callum tells himself Austin looks at everyone that way, he has very intense eye contact and it can easily come across as sexual when he doesn’t mean for it to. So they’ve been dancing around one another for as long as they’ve known each other.

Also- as far as their sexuality goes, in my head, Callum has never really been interested in men, but there have been more than a few times where he’s found stereotypical “pretty boys” and “twinks” attractive like he would a woman and thought about what it would be like to have sex with them, and it wasn’t a repulsive thought, but he always buried that in the back of his head. Until he met Austin and then all bets were off, not even to himself could he pretend he didn’t want to absolutely wreck him. But he told himself it was because it/he was Austin, like everyone wants him, he just has that affect on people. And he’s just so fucking gorgeous and lovely that he defies gender and sexuality.

And then for Austin, well- I think he’s definitely felt attraction to men before. More so than Callum. But it’s also something he’s buried deep down and not dealt with or acted upon (except for maybe a few make out sessions or mutual jerking off/hand jobs with his male peers as a teen), because he has a lot of hang ups about it, partly due to how he’s perceived by the public as a pretty and feminine man, so he often feels the need to overcompensate in the opposite direction, also because he doesn’t want to get typecast as that type of man all the time. And also because of so much of the unwanted attention and attraction he has received from grown and older men since puberty. He’s had creepy old and middle aged men creep on him since he was a teenager and so he still feels uncomfortable about it, still gets the creeps sometimes when an older man will make a comment toward/to him or touch him in what could be an intimate way. I imagine he had quite a few uncomfortable or outright inappropriate interactions with or comments directed at him by male executives, producers, and directors as a young teen auditioning for and landing roles on Disney and Nickelodeon, and so obviously that made the “finding men attractive” part of his brain shut off completely, even though men closer to his age (who he was actually attracted to on some level) weren’t the issue and weren’t who made him feel uncomfortable.

So, Callum and Austin have been dancing around each other since they first met. But that night at the Boys in the Boat premiere, Austin gets uncharacteristically sloshed for whatever reason, maybe he just was in a good happy mood and felt safe and so he let himself go a bit. (He always feels safe with Callum). Callum is finding it very entertaining to see Austin so unguarded and carefree; Austin is always friendly and approachable, but he’s careful with who he opens up completely to and who he allows himself to be vulnerable around. Callum is one of the lucky few who he trusts to do so around, and Callum carries that privilege like a badge of honor. Austin is very flirty with Callum throughout the night, and gets more and more so, and touchier as well, the drunker he gets. And by the end of the night, Austin is completely defenseless, with zero inhibitions, plastered over and leaning heavily on Callum to hold him up or else he couldn’t stand by himself, smiling brightly and lovingly at Callum and looking up at him from under his lashes like he always does, but now it’s even more pointed, more intense, and it has Callum blushing deeply and turning his gaze away.

“He’s so lovely, even when he’s plastered,” Callum thinks to himself. “Let’s get you back to your hotel room, big guy, I think you’ve had enough fun for one night” is what he says out loud instead. Austin doesn’t argue, just giggles like Callum said something super funny and leans into him even heavier.

Callum gets his driver to take them both to the hotel Austin is staying at and tells him to wait while he walks Austin up to his room and makes sure he’s okay. In the elevator, Austin lays his head against Callum’s shoulder and looks up at him with a super serious expression on his face, and says “I feel safe with you, Cal.” Callum's heart flutters and melts in his chest and he swallows before he responds. “I’m always here for you, mate, you know that.” Austin smiles at that and leans his head again back on Callum’s shoulder.

Callum gets Austin up and into his hotel room, putting Austin’s arm around his shoulders and holding onto his hand that’s around his neck, trying not to think about how his hand easily wraps around Austin’s entire wrist. The whole time Austin is just hanging off of him. Once he gets him into his room, he bends down to help Austin take off his shoes, but as he does, Austin stops him with a hand on his shoulder and pulls him back up. “Stay the night with me here, Cal?” he asks with those big blue puppy dog eyes.

“I can’t, my driver is waiting for me outside the hotel,” Callum replies truthfully. He can’t deny that he wants to stay, but he knows what a terrible idea that would be for so many reasons, most of all being that he knows Austin will be embarrassed in the morning and it will be awkward as hell. Austin pouts a little bit and oh God, he’s so adorable, this drunk 32 year old grown man pouting looking like he’s about 12.

“You’ll be okay, let’s just get you to bed,” Callum says as he helps maneuver Austin to the bedroom in the hotel suite. As he’s trying to get Austin to sit or lay down on the bed from where he’s still hanging off of him, Austin is looking up at him intensely again from under those damn lashes and rasps, “Kiss me, Cal.”

He’s looking at him completely open. No inhibitions. Just pure, deep desire. And yeah, Callum’s entire body feels like it’s on fire. He audibly gasps. There’s a heat growing in his groin and his heart is beating rapidly in his chest and his palms are sweating and his face is on fire and no, this can’t be happening, what is happening right now. He’s got to be imagining this.

But that’s right, Austin is drunk. He’s not thinking straight, that’s all. He doesn’t have control of his faculties at the moment. He won’t even remember saying it in the morning. He looks away from Austin’s intense gaze and manages to choke out, “I can’t, Aus. You’re-you’re drunk.” Austin, damn him, gets that stupidly adorable and heartbreaking pout back on his face. His eyes even seem to be filling with tears, his forehead wrinkles up.

“Why won’t you kiss me?” he whines. Callum at first feels absolutely heartbroken until he realizes that Austin has probably never been rejected or denied a kiss once in his life; he’s probably genuinely confused with Callum’s answer. He laughs under his breath at that. “God, the irony, if he only knew how much I want to” he thinks.

“I cant, Aus. I’m sorry. Come on, let’s get you into bed.” Once he’s gotten him to lay down, Austin closes his eyes and it seems like it will only be a few seconds before he’s passed out. Callum pats him on the thigh and says, “I’ll text you tomorrow,” as he heads out the door and back down to where his driver is parked outside waiting.

The next day, Austin texts him around noon just to thank him for getting him safely back to his hotel room, and apologizes for being so out of it. Callum responds that it wasn’t a hassle and that he was glad he had a good time and enjoyed himself. Neither of them mention what Austin had said. Callum doesn’t ever ask him if he remembers what he said that night. They return to their normal dynamic, and luckily (or not) it doesn’t change anything about their friendship or feel awkward or weird at all.

Then I think maybe months later, after the Masters of the Air press tour has wrapped (in which there was a hell of a lot more flirting and touching), Austin texts Callum when it’s in the middle of the night (super early morning) in the UK and late at night in the US, asking if he’s awake. The buzz of his phone on his nightstand wakes him up and he responds “Now I am, thanks” and then his phone is ringing.

“What’s the matter?” He asks when he picks up because this isn’t like Austin at all.

“Cal,” Austin breathes on the other line. His voice is raspier and even deeper than normal if that’s even possible. Immediately Callum is awake and feels a sharp heat pooling in his groin.

“Cal, please tell me you wanted to kiss me that night. Please tell me you wanted it just as much as I did.” Austin sounds a bit tipsy, not fully sober, and Callum wants to curse him out for torturing him like this. “Austin are you-”

“I’m not drunk, Callum. I’ve had a couple drinks to loosen up but I’m not drunk. I’m just sick of pretending. And I want you right now. I want you so badly, Cal, I can’t take it anymore.”

Callum hears rustling around on the other line and realizes that Austin is touching himself. And at that realization, all bets are off.

“Jesus Christ, Austin, are you touching yourself right now?”

“Yeah” he breathes, his breath hitching a bit. Hearing Austin in this state, it’s something Callum had imagined so often but never thought he’d actually get to hear. He doesn’t even realize he’s doing it as he reaches into his pants and pulls his cock out and starts tugging on it.

“Jesus, Austin, you have no idea, no idea how bad I want you. Wanted you for so long, it’s been torture not being able to touch you the way I want to. You have no idea what you do to me, have no idea the things I want to do to you.”

Austin moans on the other side of the phone. Callum is enthralled with how high his breathy moans are, so much higher than his deep voice regularly.

“Tell me,” Austin breathes.

“God, baby, I just wanna get my mouth on you, all over you. Wanna make you feel so good. Wanna do everything to you, with you. Anything you want, baby boy. You’re so fucking gorgeous, Aus. The way you look at me sometimes- You drive me fucking crazy.”

By this point they’re both jerking themselves off loudly, they both can hear the other and they’re both close, picking up speed.

“Wanna hear you, baby. Wanna hear how good you feel, thinking about me there making you feel good instead.”

Callum feels high, drunk, delirious. He still can’t believe this is actually happening.

“So good, Cal. Wish you were here touching me.”

“Yeah” Callum grunts back, he’s at the point where he doesn’t have any words left to use, his mind is fogged by white hot desire.

“Sometimes I fuck myself on my fingers and imagine it’s your cock inside me,” Austin rasps.

And that about does Callum in.

He groans loudly, “Yeah? You want my cock, baby?”, he’s proud that he is able to get that much out in response.

Austin moans on the other end “Yeah, I want it. Want your cock so bad. Been thinking it about for so long, now, Cal.”

That’s all it takes for Callum to come all over himself and his bedsheets. He can tell Austin is close on the other end.

“Come on baby, want you to come for me. Wanna hear you come. Know you sound so pretty when you do, while you’re thinking about having my cock in you.”

Austin keens at that and Callum can hear him finishing on the other end, high breathy moans and gasps filling the space. God, he sounded even more beautiful coming than Callum ever imagined, and he’d imagined it plenty.

“Jesus Christ, Austin, you’re gonna be the death of me,” he says once he gets his voice back fully. Austin laughs breathily on the other end, still breathing heavily.

“Wow, Austin. That was- just wow. So fucking hot. Damn.” Austin laughs breathily again. They’re silent for a few moments, catching their breaths, and Callum starts to get a bit nervous.

“Now what did I do to deserve all that, huh? What provoked all this? Not that I’m complaining,“ he asks.

“Was at a brand event tonight, and this male brand ambassador was all over me. And I’d had a few drinks- I’m not drunk, I promise- and all I could think about was how I did want a man touching me like that. But not him, or any other man, I just wanted you. Have always wanted you, Cal. I- sometimes I feel uncomfortable with male attention, having men wanting me. But you- you’re the man that I want, Cal. I want you to want me. And well, I used to tell myself I was just seeing things that I wanted to see, but I could have sworn you looked at me like you wanted me back that night- That night at the premiere, when you brought me back to the hotel- I could have sworn you wanted to kiss me, even through my drunken haze. The way you put your arm around my waist sometimes, how you touch my face. I love when you do those things, Cal. The way you had your hand wrapped around my entire wrist that night I was drunk- I loved how it made me feel small, protected. I love how much bigger you are than me, how you make me feel safe.”

“What city are you in right now?”

“…Huh?”

“What city are you in right now, Aus?”

“I-I don’t understand what that has to do with anything at the moment.”

“Because I’m looking up the next flight out of London that I can get on so that I can get to wherever you are right now. Now that I know you want me to touch you, I can’t stand another second of not being able to get my hands on you like I want to. What city are in right now, Austin?”

“New York,” Austin breathes.

“I’ll be there by this afternoon.”

[shy-sapphic-ace]

I promise you I will give them a MINIMUM of two duets about how they love each other. Probably more

Guys should I write a Dracula musical. Should I???

[hsslilly-blog]

huntclaire divorce au. everything is exactly the same but wait i was going to make a joke here but i’m actually very invested in this

[fairy-angel222]

𝐇𝐀𝐕𝐄𝐍’𝐓 𝐘𝐎𝐔 𝐇𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐃? 𝐈’𝐌 𝐃𝐀𝐍𝐆𝐄𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐒, 𝑫𝑶𝑪𝑻𝑶𝑹

prisoner! sukuna x psychologist! reader

✧ synopsis: you’ve been assigned to the supposed most ‘dangerous’ prisoner, sukuna. but what happens when you two start to fall for each other instead?

✧ cw: smut, quick paced, semi public sex, risky sex, choking, kissing, pussy eating, blow jobs, breeding, creampie, fingering, orgasm denial, dirty talk, age gap

✧ wc: 4.7k

✧ a/n: i am not a doctor and i am especially not specialized in psychology. i have made up all of this. also don’t sleep with murderers unless it’s sukuna

Your heels clicked loudly on the stained prison tiles. The echo of your soft footsteps trailing along the narrow walls of the enclosed hallway.

Sukuna.

That was the prisoner you were assigned to. A man who had killed more people than you’d met in your entire life as a doctor, a psychologist at that. So you’d met a lot of people.

Two guards trailed closely behind you, glaring warningly at the inmates who smirked as you walked past the line of cells. A collection of whistles and cheers sounding at the mere sight of a woman as attractive as yourself.

How long had it been since they’d seen one after all.

“Hey Doc… you sure you wanna take this case.. i mean, i don’t doubt ya or anything but this one.. he’s bad. Dangerous.”

“Now what kind of doctor would i be if i feared a little danger. He’s still a patient.” You smiled, ignoring the way your hairs stood as you were led deeper into the institution. The part where they held those deemed a danger to society.

Those who had a no chance of even seeing sunlight again.

You were nervous, your heart thumping loudly in your chest when you scanned your surroundings. There weren’t any cells. There were only.. rooms. Fully enclosed rooms with a singular window for passing food.

Every part of your being begged for you to turn around and run. To not even interact with whoever sat on the other side of that door. And you froze when bright red eyes pierced into yours. The rest of his face casted behind a dark shadow as his head tilted back. Giving you sight to the small smirk creeping onto his features.

“Doc, i really think that-” It was the other guard who spoke up. Both of them holding nothing on their features but fear. It was clear that they never even bothered with Sukuna. The rumors had been enough to make every guard turn a blind eye.

“Hey, it’s fine. Okay? This is what i do.” It really was. The guard gave you a curt nod and a sigh when you clasped both his hands in your smaller one. Offering him a reassuring nod.

“If anything happens, us and about five others are stationed close. Good luck Doc.”

You gave him a small thanks, your head held high as the door was pulled open roughly. Revealing a pink haired man who sat on his bed against the walls, his eyebrow raising when you dared to step inside. Nodding to the guard to close the door.

You might as well have been a dead woman.

“You’re scared.” His deep voice rung out, keeping his eyes on you as you pulled out a small chair that was tucked away near the sink.

“And how do you know, Sukuna?” Your tone was steady, letting out a breath when the shakiness you felt wasn’t reflected in your voice.

Sukuna hummed, his smirk widening when you spoke to him like a normal being. To stuttering, no harshness. Just your sweet voice saying his name. “I can smell it, Doc.” He loved the way you tried to hide your squirm under his gaze.

“So, Sukuna. Tell me something about yourself.” You steered away from his accusation, holding eye contact even when he leaned forward. Taking you in from head to toe. You were hot, he liked that. You seemed to like being confident too. And God did you smell fucking delicious.

He wanted to eat you alive.

Break you.

Use you.

He really did. But you were so fascinating, and he’d only just met you. Who knew how entertaining you could be.

“I’ve killed people.” He was blunt, eyes almost begging you to keep asking these ridiculous questions. It was making his cock twitch.

“Well Sukuna, that is common knowledge, don’t ya think? I wanna know something else.. tell me a secret hmm?” You leaned forward with a smile, elbows rested on your knees as you looked to him for a response.

He reciprocated your actions, leaning forward until you felt his hot breath fan over your face. “A secret huh? Alright Doc..” he watched as your breathing sped up, using every strength in your body to not pull back. You were brave, he liked that. “I surprisingly don’t wanna kill you right now.”

“I’m glad to hear that.”

“I said right now, didn’t say anything about later.” He pushed away from you, one of his knees up to his chest when he leaned back against the concrete wall behind him. “Let me ask you, Doctor. Are you stupid?”

Your head tilted at where this was going. You were supposed to be the one asking the questions. But a conversation was two sided, this would’ve made things easier. “I’d like to believe not. Why do you ask?”

“Because you really think that if i try to kill you, some measly guards would come to your rescue.” He scoffed.

“But you don’t want to kill me. That’s all that matters.”

Fair.

Sukuna watched as you took a quick peek down at his files. There was something that you missed, that much was evident. “Finally found it huh?”

“I haven’t found anything that i didn’t see before.” You objected, glancing to the door with your lip hanging loosely between your teeth.

“Don’t. Don’t do that.” He demanded lowly, watching with lidded eyes as you let your plump bottom lip, slick after running your tongue over it, fall back into place. Sukuna breathed deeply, finally looking away from you as he swallowed hard. Closing his eyes with his head rested behind him.

There was something about you that he wanted a taste of. It was driving him crazy..er, “I never did anything to these other doctors. They were just weak. Got scared way too fast.”

“And what did you do to scare them away?”

“Nothing.” He spat, “They came in here acting all high and mighty, talked to me like i was beneath them. So i simply didn’t bother to hide how much i wanted to strangle them. And somehow that makes me the bad guy right Doc?”

You shook your head, “No, you have a right to respect too. They should never have treated you as unequals.” Lying was all in the job description.

“Good try Doc. But you and i both know that’s a load of crap.” He finally peeled his eyes back open, and you couldn’t help your mind from wandering to how attractive he was in the dim light. He was extremely built, and had the facial structure that made you clench your thighs. “Now, we gonna finish our game of twenty one questions or not?”

He was actually being cooperative.

“Yes we are. How about i start?”

“I’ll start.” There was no room for objection in his tone. “What’s your name?”

You contemplated whether to tell him or not, eventually letting it out with ease. Though you missed the small smile tugging at his lips when he muttered a small “cute.”

“My turn, what was your childhood like?” You watched his face grow cold, a small glare being directed at anything in the room but you. “Next question.”

“Sukuna..”

“I said next question. How old are you?”

You sighed, “I’m twenty eight.” His eyes widened, that was extremely young for a doctor. “Is there one good memory you have from before you killed for the first time?”

“I had twin kittens. Do you have a boyfriend?”

You were taken aback by the question, mouth opening and closing a few times before you chuckled. “No. I do not have a boyfriend.”

“Good.”

You jumped when the door was yanked open, the guard eyeing Sukuna warily before nodded to you. “Your time’s up, Doc.”

“Oh, already? Could we get just a few more minutes?”

“You know how dangerous he is Doc.. we can’t risk it.”

“You heard the man. I’m dangerous, Doctor.”

You nibbled at your lips softly, and Sukuna fought a groan as you did exactly what he warned you not to. Standing up, you gave Sukuna a warm smile, the gesture making his stomach get all weird inside. “Goodbye until our next session Sukuna.”

He only hummed, the door being shut behind you as you were led away.

It was back to darkness.

There was more than enough light, sure. But it suddenly felt so empty without you there.

—

You couldn’t keep Sukuna off your mind when you arrived home. A part of you just really wanted to figure him out. The other actually liked his company.

You must’ve been so sick in the head. Splashing your face with cold water as you mentally scolded yourself. What was wrong with you? He was a criminal.

—

The next morning you walked the path that you had taken the previous day to get to Sukuna. This time without the guards following you.

There was only one who stood outside of the door to let you in with a small nod of acknowledgement.

Sukuna’s head perked up at the familiar clicking of those heels you wore. His signature smirk on his face as he stared you down. “Just couldn’t get enough huh Doc? Aren’t you forgetting that i’m dangerous?”

You took a seat, no file in had this time. “Good morning Sukuna, how are you?”

“If i said better now that you’re here, would that be cliché?”

You laughed, an actual laugh. A sweet one that made his heart flutter the tiniest bit while blood rushed to his groin.

“It’s very good to see you too. How about we get started yeah?” You paused as you collected your thoughts. “You seem to be heavily affected by people calling you.. dangerous. Why?”

“Everybody is dangerous. It just takes pushing at the right buttons to get it out of them. Half of the people here have done just as bad as i have yet i’m the only dangerous one. Makes so much sense right?.”

He shook his head. “Tell me Doctor, do you really think i just happened to get caught? That i couldn’t get out of this damn place if i wanted too? Hell, tell me you realize that i could drop a good twenty more bodies right here, right now.”

You shifted in your seat. “I think that you let yourself get caught because you’re tired. Because there’s a small sense of peace you get from being in here. And i think that you aren’t trying to leave because you don’t want to.”

“You almost had it Doc. See, i was well on my way out until you came. So i might stick around for just a little bit longer.”

Your heart fluttered, for you? Giving up on fighting the rational side of you as you continued to engage in conversation. Getting Sukuna to slowly open up to you more.

“Do you have any friends Sukuna?”

“I don’t consider people friends. They just exist alongside me.”

“If I asked you to be your friend, what would you say?” It was routine, but you really were curious.

“I’d say you came be whatever you want to be Doc.”

Another flutter.

“Have you ever been in love Sukuna?”

He was silent, jaw clenching as his gaze got harsh. “Next question.”

“What was she like?”

“I said next fucking question Doctor.”

“And i said, what was she like?” You leaned forward, pressing for him to answer the question.

“You’re stubborn aren’t you? I wonder what my hand would loom like around that pretty little neck.” He grinned, sharp teeth peeling from beneath his lips as he brought his face to yours. “She was a lot like you.”

“What happened to her?” You knew how touchy that question would’ve been.

“Nothing. The bitch left.”

Oh.

“I’m sorry.”

He stared at you in confusion, “I never said she died.”

“Yes. But that’s only physically. When she broke your heart she died to you. And that hurts just as bad.”

He was silent, studying your eyes. Trying to get a read on you. “What else do you want to know Doc?”

You were getting somewhere.

Sukuna found you smart. Thought that you knew a lot. Found it hot how good you were at cracking him. But it pissed him off that the one thing you didn’t seem to pick up was how much it hurt to watch you leave at the end of each session.

—

A week later had led to a Monday morning where you hadn’t gone to the prison. You had quite an agenda for the day that could cost you your job if you didn’t get it done.

That was something Sukuna was obviously clueless about. It was why he thought you’d just decided to up and go after he had just started liking to have you around. After he’d started opening up to you.

It was also why he was causing a fit. Yelling at guards to get you to him now. That he wanted to see you. Needed to see you. A line of men laying knocked out atop each other from being sent to ‘handle’ the crazed prisoner.

Would you really not come back? Would you really abandon him? It seemed like that was common with the people he cared even the slightest for.

Sukuna’s fist met the wall near his bed, knuckles bloodied as he cracked into the hard surface. Chest heaving up and down heavily when his hands reached to tug at strands of pink.

He blinked when he heard the clicking of heels on the tiles. Immediately scowling at the unfamiliarity of them. “Who the fuck is this?” He growled through the small window.

“This is Dr Smith, she’s-”

“I don’t fucking care who she is. Bring me my doctor. Now.”

—

Back at your flat, you dropped the piles of paper in front of you at the sound of your phone ringing.

It was a number you didn’t have saved.

“Hello, Doctor ___ speaking- yes? Oh my. I- i am so sorry. Yes, i will be there right away.”

What had you done?

You practically ran through the halls after parking outside the building. Finding many guards posted outside his door with guns in hand. Some of them spotting very black and blue eyes.

“You can all go now.” You panted, it was clear that you had been in a hurry. “Please.”

They all shared a look, finally walking away and allowing you to slowly open the door.

“Where were you?”

“I’m really sorry Sukuna. I was so busy today and-” you gasped when a hand reached out to wrap around your neck. Slamming you into the wall behind you with his face buried in your neck.

Sukuna inhaled your floral scent, groaning to himself as his grip on your delicate skin tightened. “So you just left me here today? Am i not as important as your other little patients? Is that it hmm?”

Deep down, you had hurt his feelings. And he couldn’t help the way he clung to you as your hand lifted to his cheek. Turning his face to look down at yours.

“N-no i promise you. You’re just as important as anyone else. I would have never missed our session if i didn’t have to.”

“Make it up to me.”

It was the perfect opportunity.

“W-what?”

“Strip for me Doctor.” He let go of your neck, letting you catch your breath while looking up at him timidly.

“Sukuna..”

“Why so shy now doctor? We both know you want to.”

You shook your head, shrinking under his gaze with a protesting whisper. “I don’t know what you’re talking about Sukuna. This is very unprofession— ahh.”

Sukuna brought his knee up between your thighs, pressing it into your clothed clit. His lips ghosted over your ear, hot breath fanning your skin as he breathed deeply. “You can always leave if you want to. I’m used to that after all.”

You shifted on your feet when your back arched. A small whine leaving your mouth when he pulled away from you and gestured to the door.

He smirked, “Blouse first.”

You bit your lip, unbuttoning your shirt until your bra was on display. The heavy swell of your breasts causing Sukuna’s mouth to water when he nodded to the bra.

With your eyes still on his you let your breasts spring out of their confinement. Two pert nipples pointing right at him as his dick rose. His hand palming himself under the pair of black pants with a shiver. “C’mere.”

You walked over to him on shaky legs. Sitting down on his lap with your head to the floor. “Uh uh,” His hand reached under the your chin to force your eyes back on his. “None of that Doc.”

You moaned when his tongue swirled around one of your nipples. Sucking your breast into his mouth while he palmed at the other. “These are even more perfect outside that tight fucking shit of yours.”

Sukuna watched as you shivered when he ran his finger down your belly. Cupping your clothed cunt with the jerk of his hips into your ass. “Fuck.. take that off.”

You hurriedly peeled off your pants, Sukuna’s pupils dilating at the sight of your lace panties. “Wore this just f’me hmm Doc? All this for Mr Dangerous.” He groaned out.

Sukuan didn’t give you a chance to respond before flipping you onto the hard mattress they called a bed. Lifting your heel clad feet onto his shoulders with his head hovering over your pussy. His tongue darting out to lick at the wet spot building from your arousal. “You’re real dirty f’ a doctor.” He teased, glancing behind him with a chuckle. “Imagine if you got caught.”

Your eyes shot up to the small window, taking note of the vacant corridor as per your request.

“God, you smell so fucking good. Wanna devour that pretty pussy.” He breathed, large hand ripping the flimsy fabric to expose your glistening folds. “Hmm, this wet all for me.”

You mewled when his long tongue licked a stripe up your slit. Swirling around your clit before sloppily dipping into your hole. His hums sending vibrations through your clit as he lapped at your dripping slick.

“Sukuna—” you mewled, back arching as you reached for his hair. Tugging softly with the curl of your toes when his tongue and fingers swapped places. The two joints fucking up roughly into your g spot as he sucked noisily at your clit. “F-fuckk, nngh— so good.” You cried out, tears welling in the corner of your eyes as your body filled with pleasure.

“Yeah? You like that Doc? Bet you wanna get that greedy cunt stuffed right after.” He grunted, your eyes rolling back in a string of muffled moans as your other hand shot up to your lips.

Your legs began to tremble, Sukuna’s smirk growing wider and wider until he stopped his movements. Watching as you blinked down at him with a sniffled whine.

“You left me. You know how much that fucking hurt? I thought i would never see you again.”

“I’m-”

“You’re sorry. Yeah, yeah.. i know.” He rolled his eyes, crawling over your body with a sigh. Using the pad of his thumb to wipe away a stray tear before pressing his lips to yours. Making you taste yourself on his tongue.

You fell deeper into the kiss, eyes closing in satisfaction as his lips moves hungrily on yours. Pulling away with a string of salvia connected you to him.

“Let’s reverse the roles yeah?” He whispered, standing up to sit in the chair that you usually sat in. “So, my adorable little patient.. put these tiny fingers to work on that clit of yours. I want you to make yourself cum.”

You whimpered, your fingers immediately meeting your sensitive clit with a shiver.

“You know what to do.” He encouraged. Your fingers beginning to rub small circles on the small bud before speeding up. Little gasps and moans falling past your lips as your stomach burned with heat.

Your eyes locking onto Sukuna’s red ones as his head tilted. Just like it had the first day you met him. “Ahh, K-kuna. Fuckk.” You cried, head falling back with your eyes still on his. The primal look in his eyes making your insides flutter as he did nothing but watch you. Not even freeing his painfully hard cock.

“Sukuna— c-can’t. Can’t hold it.” Your voice cracked, body shaking lightly as your orgasm washed over you.

“Yes you can.”

“Nngh, can’t Kuna. Need to let go.”

He stayed quiet for what felt like an eternity, your breathing getting heavy as you desperately waited on his permission.

He leaned his head back, eyes boring into your fingers working your wet cunt before nodding. “Go ahead.”

You came with a silent moan, body spasming uncontrollably as your pussy leaked onto his only pair of sheets.

“Dirty, dirty girl. Look at that mess.” You shied away feom his gaze. “And look at how hard you made me. Come fix it.”

You stood on wobbly feet, barely able to balance in your heels as you fell to your knees before him. Looking up at him through your lashes while pulling down his pants.

You blinked at the mere size of his bulge. He was huge. Tugging off his underwear to reveal his thick, veiny length. Pointing up to the sky with a fiery red tip. “Suck.”

You took him past your lips, barely able to take even half of him before he hit the back of your throat. Your fist stroking all the parts of him you couldn’t take.

Sukuna groaned, head flinging back with another strained one at how good your mouth felt. “S-shit doc. You really got a mouth on ya.” He gasped, eyes meeting yours as you attempted to take him down your throat. Your drool coating both your lips and his cock as you lewdly sucked him off.

He took your head into his hold, letting you do your own thing as he grunted with each jerk of his hips. Defined abs tensing when he grew closer to his release.

“Fuck Doc, gon’ shoot my cum down that tight throat of yours.” He breathed. Holding you down onto him as you gagged and sputtered lightly, Sukuna’s cock twitching before you felt the warm liquid run down your throat.

“Wish i could fuck that pussy so bad.” He let go of your head, wiping a drop of his cum from your chin before pushing his finger past your lips. Watching as you sighed in content while sucking every last drop. “It’s too bad that in about one minute those guards are gonna come get you Doc. Our session is over.”

You had no time to question how he knew. Scurrying to redress with widened eyes.

Sukuna may not have had a clock. Nor was he able to distinctly see the sun rise and set. But he’d learned to count the seconds when you were around. He knew how much time he had with you.

“And… now.”

At that very moment the door swung open. Sukuna having easily pulled back up his pants after giving you your seat back. Both of you looking as professional as you possibly could.

“See you tomorrow Doc.” He smiled innocently, watching as you scrambled out while avoiding his eyes.

You really fucked up now.

It was hard to keep him out of your mind before. But now, trying was futile. You’d gotten a taste and you needed more. Which was why your brain would not let you close your eyes without thinking of him fucking you.

—

The next morning you bit back a whimper as your clit was caught between your rubbing thighs. You had worn a tight pencil skirt with no panties. Just for Sukuna.

You were thankful that the guards had complied to your wishes of them leaving.

You wanted to stop yourself. To go back home and forget about the red eyed prisoner. He may not have been dangerous to you physically. But to your heart and mind.. he’d be the death of you.

When the door closed behind you, you found yourself bring pushed roughly into the same wall as last time. Sukuna letting out an animalistic groan as he captured your lips on his. Kissing you so much more feverishly than yesterday.

“You don’t know how much i need you. Didn’t even sleep last night.” He panted, turning you around so that your chest rested against the concrete surface. “Missed you so much Doc.” His voice softened, kissing down your neck while grinding up into you. His fingers finding their way under your skirt with a smirk against your skin. “And i thought you couldn’t get any dirtier.. no panties huh?”

You moaned when he prodded at your already dripping cunt. The thought of him being enough to have gotten you soaked. “Shit- tell me what you want Doc. Let me hear you say it.” He growled lowly, ready to snap the second the words left your mouth.

“Please— please fuck me.”

Sukuna hungrily shoved your skirt up. The fabric bunching at your hips as he freed his aching cock. Both of you letting out a noise of satisfaction when he sunk into you, his large hands holding tightly onto your hips to pull you into him. Your back arching as your hands shot out to the wall for support.

“O-ohh God.” You cried loudly, your lips parted in shaky moans as Sukuna’s cock rammed deep near the entrance of your cervix. His veins grazing at your g spot as the fat girth stretched you to your limit.

“Nah baby, ‘s only me.”

“Kunaa— so goood- ahhh.” Tears pooled in your eyes, Sukuna’s hand reaching into your hair to pull you back into his chest. Your nails clawing at the wall in front of you as he destroyed yours.

“Taking me so fucking well. Shit- pussy’s so damn snug.” He husked, hips snapping noisily into yours as he fucked into your walls mercilessly. Basking in the sounds of your choked screams and mewls. The way you sobbed underneath him when your knees buckled.

He was fucking you so hard and deep. Better than anything you’d felt before. His cock slamming into all the places that would drive you crazy.

“The day you fucking leave me i will break outta here Doc. And i will find you. You’re mine got it?” There was a certain seriousness in his voice that made goosebumps arise on your skin. Your salty tears mixing with your drool as they ran down your flushed face.

“And when i do get outta here you’re gonna have my baby Doc. ‘M gonna fuck you again and again till’ i eventually give you my fuck—ing kid.” His breathing became ragged, your body rocking forward with each of his movements.

He smirked. “I’ve fucked ya this dumb already?” His cock twitching inside you as your body moved with his cock like a fleshlight. Your vision blurred as your head grew light, dizzy. You couldn’t think, every roll of Sukuna’s hips clouding your mind as you let an incoherent babble drip off your tongue. Shakily chanting his name when he reached forward to pinch at your clit.

“Look at you. Look so pretty underneath me like this.” His free hand snaked up to your neck, groaning loudly at the feeling of your heart beat on his skin. Pulling you up so your back rested flat against his broad chest, wandering lips meeting your exposed collarbone. “Let go f’me.”

Your body quivered as you tightened around him. Letting out a whimper-like cry as you came messily on his cock. A breathy moan of his own sounding in your ear when his thrusts began to get sloppy.

“Kunaaa.. inside. Want you inside. ‘M on the pill.” You begged, legs giving way as he held you flush against him.

“Whatever you want, Doc.” Slowly coming to a halt as he buried himself inside your warmth, tongue darting out to lick at your tear stained cheeks. Feeling his cock swell as he pumped you full of his cum. Painted your gummy walls in nothing but white

“Looks like i’m sending you back with my cum dripping down your thighs.” He pulled out with a grin. His cum leaking out of your fluttering cunt in small spurts when he used his hands to knead at the flesh of your ass. “Hottest thing i’ve seen in a while.. after you of course.”

You hummed, eyes shutting as you fell into him. Feeling the thick substance slowly dripping down your legs while spreading over your sticky folds. Sukuna stumbled back onto his bed with you on top of him. Your face nestling into his chest with a soft smile. “Hey Doc.. i love ya but those guards are gon’ be back soon.”

‘So worth it.’ Was the one thought branding itself into your mind as your body registered the rough, lust filled fuck.

“Shit.”

—

You and Sukuna had gotten so much closer over yet another week. You had never believed in falling in love that quickly until now. You couldn’t help it. You felt so much better when he was around. Seeing him was the highlight of your day- especially now that you’d convinced for longer sessions.

He felt the same way. You were the second person he had fallen in love with and somehow even harder. You made his heart.. swell. And he was serious about busting out to start a life with you.

“So, your first love. We never finished talking about her.” You smirked, notepad back in hand as you did your job. Sukuna having been stealing small kisses from you between every question.

“How about we forget about my first love and focus on my current one. You.”

[purple-plum-petals]

Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)

⊱ Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair ⊰ || NSFW Alphabet (A-Z) Headcanons

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Character(s): Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair (Homicipher/文字化化, Separate) Reader Type: Human (Gender-Neutral Pronouns, No Sex-Specific Genitalia is Mentioned but it was Written with an AFAB Reader in Mind) Warning(s): 18+ Content, Virgin Asexual Author, Cum Eating, Facials, Minor Objectification, Cuckoldry, Mutual Masturbation, Face-fucking, Sexual Fantasies, Tickling, Praise/Degradation Kink, Breeding Kink/Creampies, BDSM, Overstimulation, Orgasm Control/Denial, Dumbification, Dacryphilia, Hair-pulling, Light Impact Play, Light Breathplay, Implied Cunnilingus/Blowjobs, Cock Warming, Mention/Discussion of Sex Toys… If I missed anything, please let me know! Genre: Headcanons, Smut (Minors Do Not Interact), Fluff Word Count: 7,200 words Request: “Hi!! I love your homicipher fics! Have you thought about writing nsfw hcs? Specifically for Mr. Crawling and Silvair? I hope your night / day is going well! :)” Author’s Note: I’m still very much working on getting better at writing spicier content, and I had no clue how to start writing these kinds of headcanons from scratch, so I went ahead and just filled out the NSFW Alphabet for both Mr. Crawling and Mr. Silvair as a jumping off point! It’s definitely interesting to think about how both of these characters would be in a sexually intimate setting, especially since – at least in my mind – they’d be quite different from each other in a variety of aspects even if they did have some overlap on a few of the points. I did my best to keep each of their headcanons at a similar word length (which was kind of hard to do with my Mr. Crawling bias, but I think I accomplished it haha). Anyway, I hope you enjoy these headcanons! ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

→ If you enjoyed my work, please reblog it if you can! Exposure on Tumblr is based on reblogging content rather than liking it, so your support would be much appreciated!  ♡

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A: Aftercare (What they’re like after sex)

👣: Mr. Crawling is immensely clingy after having sex, holding onto you and pretty much refusing to let go as he nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck or your hair. While he doesn’t want to get up from the bed or leave after the two of you have been intimate, if you’re hungry or thirsty or if you want to go take a bath, he’s happy to go fetch you something to restore your energy or help you to the bathroom to clean up. He’s quite good at aftercare, even if he doesn’t realize what he’s doing counts as it. Mr. Crawling just likes making you feel good, and he wants to keep you safe and happy! His favorite thing to do is help you bathe; he enjoys the way the warm water feels on his skin while he washes your back for you. 

💉: Mr. Silvair isn’t too affectionate after the two of you are intimate, but he’ll check up on you and ask if you need him to get you anything. If your wrists were rubbed raw from the restraints he had placed on you, he would make sure to carefully wrap gauze around your irritated skin. If you were thirsty or hungry, he would locate something safe for you to consume to get your strength back up. If you feel sticky or gross afterward, he’ll carefully wipe your body with a wet cloth to make sure you are clean and comfortable. He lets you sleep and typically goes about his own business. Sometimes, though, Mr. Silvair finds himself watching over you to make sure you’re breathing steadily, carefully combing his fingers through your hair. 

B: Body Part (Their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t have a favorite part of your body since he honestly enjoys every aspect of you but, if he had to choose, he loves your hands. He knows that they can hurt people and cause a lot of pain, but he loves the way they feel when you cup his face to softly caress it or whenever you thread your fingers through his hair. For himself, Mr. Crawling loves his hair the most (I know it’s not technically a body part, but I think it makes the most sense for him); he pretty much melts whenever you play with it, and his head is quite sensitive, so he blue screens whenever you pull at his hair or rake your nails across his scalp. I also feel like Mr. Crawling would be proud of his arms since they’re fairly toned considering they’re his primary means of getting around. Because of his impressive strength, despite what his thinner frame may portray, he’s able to hold you up and move you around with relative ease (he 100% can manhandle you, but only will if you’re cool with it). 

💉: Mr. Silvair finds every aspect of your body fascinating, and he could probably explain why each part of you was interesting from a medical perspective or that everything was pleasant to look at in one way or another. If he had to pick a favorite part of your body, though, he would have to say it’s your head (I know, kind of weird, but he does appreciate your intelligence and, well… Ending 06 is my other piece of reasoning haha). Specifically, though, he likes your mouth. He enjoys being able to hold your head in place while your jaw hangs open, all while he just goes to town while you drool and choke around his cock. Don’t worry, though – he’ll find some remedy to lessen the soreness you feel in your throat afterward. For himself, he’s quite proud of his hands. Mr. Silvair is skilled at many things, and being able to make you come undone with his fingers alone makes him feel a sense of power (plus, you called them pretty once, and it made him feel good). 

C: Cum (Anything to do with cum)

👣: Mr. Crawling gets extremely flustered whenever he sees his cum on any part of your body, from your hair to your face to your stomach. The sight of it alone on your skin makes his brain short-circuit and body flare up – it only makes him want to touch you even more. He likes being able to clean you up, too, leaning forward before he runs his tongue along your body or face, making sure there wasn’t a single drop of his cum left on you (even if now it meant you were covered in saliva…). He doesn’t mind tasting himself, but it most certainly doesn’t compare to your flavor. 

💉: I probably need to ask you to stay with me on this one, but I think Mr. Silvair would probably keep your cum stored away in a sample tube or something along those lines, having a desire to run tests on it to see what he could create. Views your cum as a valuable resource in his research...yay? Maybe he could even use your release to invent some kind of lubricant since that’s not easily accessible in the other world and make having sex much more streamlined… or he just keeps it around to show you later and see your reaction to the fact he keeps your cum stored away in his laboratory to tease you. 

D: Dirty Secret

👣: The thought of taking you in public, in a space where no one but you could see him, makes his mind race and his body feel like it was on fire – this man can act like a feral dog sometimes. I mean, even you sometimes forgot he was there, unable to see his form unless you concentrated hard enough, so imagine if the two of you went out somewhere in public and he (with your consent, of course), just started touching you? Groping your ass, his face between your legs as he runs his hands along your inner thighs… no one can see that it’s him making your face flush and not the excuse of a fever you told the concerned stranger in the hopes they would leave you alone. When you half-heartedly glare at him to try and get him to lay off for a bit, he just laughs at your expression… how rude!

💉: Mr. Silvar wouldn’t be opposed to having a threesome with another resident of the other world. After all, he would be curious to see how differently you acted when another person was there with the two of you, or if your body reacted in an unlikely way if another were to touch you. While I will not write NSFW for Mr. Chopped (the power dynamic there isn’t my favorite thing in the world), he would be the one Mr. Silvair would feel most at ease sharing you with; Mr. Crawling or Mr. Hood would be his second and third choices respectively since he knows how deeply you trust them. He might not even partake in sex either, just sitting off to the side while he lets another use you like a toy. As long as you know your his, though, he doesn’t mind watching you enjoy yourself with another (he has to be there, though). 

E: Experience (How experienced are they? Do they know what they’re doing?)

👣: Mr. Crawling has absolutely zero experience with this kind of stuff, so he would need someone willing to walk him through the whole process, show him what you like, and teach him what and what not to do. What he lacks in experience, though, he makes up for in pure enthusiasm. It’s quite flattering how determined he is when it comes to making you feel good, even if it’s a bit sloppy and unpracticed. His thrusts are extremely unpredictable, never quite finding their rhythm… It’s alright, though; he’ll definitely get better with more time and the more he gets to understand what your body likes. You just have to give him the time to improve, and he’ll be certain to leave you breathless. 

💉: Mr. Silvair also has no experience when it comes to sex, or at least not any while he’s resided in the other world. He is a life-long learner through and through, though, and there’s nothing in the universe he’s not willing to learn about, especially if it has to do with humans and their anatomy. His thrusts are frighteningly accurate, being able to hit your most sensitive inner spots with ease to have you begging him to give you a moment to breathe. He’s an almost terrifyingly fast learner, too, being able to apply whatever new information he’s observed and gathered within moments. He can do it perfectly, too, and he does it in a way that has you questioning whether he was telling the truth when he said this was his first time doing anything like this. 

F: Favorite Position

👣: When it comes to favorite positions, Mr. Crawling loves being able to hold you close to him while also being able to see your face (he has to kiss you during sex – sorry, I don’t make the rules). He enjoys the rocking horse position since it allows him to be able to hold you close while still being able to maintain eye contact with you and easily have access to cover your face in kisses. While he prefers being the one making you feel good, Mr. Crawling would also enjoy the cowgirl position. He’s happy to let you use him to your heart's content while being able to look up and soak in the pleased look that’s plastered across your features while you slam your hips up and down on his cock. 

💉: Mr. Silvair personally enjoys the butterfly position, having you lay on your back atop his operation table all while he can watch and take mental notes on every single facial expression you make and every single twitch of your muscles while he drives you absolutely insane. He would also enjoy missionary, but he would spice it up a little bit by having your hands or wrists tied to something. After all, he doesn’t want you to touch him unless he says you can – just lay there quietly while he completely wrecks you with that annoyingly calm expression on his face. It’s not that he doesn’t enjoy when you touch him, though. Mr. Silvair simply prefers being the one in charge and determining when and where you’re able to feel his skin beneath your hands. 

G: Goofy (Are they more serious in the moment, or are they humorous, etc.)  

👣: Acts goofy most of the time during sex, even if he doesn’t mean to. He likes being able to make you happy, and he finds your laughter to be music to his ears. Sometimes you two will be having sex, and he’ll suddenly start giggling completely unprovoked, just finding the experience with you so joyful. Being with you in any capacity makes his chest feel light and fluttery as a sense of giddiness flows through his veins. He’ll wrap his arms around you and nuzzle into your neck, causing your body to spasm and tighten around him while his long hair drapes over you and tickles your skin. Overall, Mr. Crawling enjoys being more playful when the two of you are intimate since it adds to the overall experience for him. 

💉: Prefers to be serious while having sex. He treats the whole process of intercourse like one would treat a research project which, honestly, can make you feel a bit annoyed in some instances (Mr. Silvair still doesn’t quite understand why, though). He’s methodical in everything he does, and being light-hearted or purposefully humorous isn’t high on his list of things to do. He has no problem if you want to be silly, however. He finds it cute when you try to see if you can make him chuckle. It endears you to him more, and it makes him want to keep you around for even longer. The only goofy thing he does is gently run his fingers up and down your sides while thrusting into you, finding the way your body wriggles and writhes away from his touch to be adorable. 

H: Hair (How well-groomed are they, does the carpet match the drapes, etc.)

👣: I think Mr. Crawling would have fairly long hair beneath the metaphorical belt. His pubic hair would be thick, curly, and a very dark shade of black. He doesn’t really keep himself groomed (kind of hard to do in his world, plus it was never a priority for him), but if you would prefer him to keep it trimmed, he’d be happy to! He doesn’t care one way or another. 

💉: Mr. Silvair comes off to me as someone who would enjoy keeping themselves groomed and their appearance well-maintained, and I mean every inch of his body. I think he would have either no pubic hair or pubic hair that was trimmed to be the perfect length. If he did have any hair below the belt, it would be a gray color, one that was a shade darker than his regular hair and wavy in texture. 

I: Intimacy (How are they during the moment, romantic aspect)

👣: One of the more human-like members of the cast when it comes to his affections; he’s as romantic as a non-human being can be. Mr. Crawling loves holding you close as he ruts into you like a wild dog, whispering praises against your skin. He even tries his best to learn phrases in your language so he can tell you how much you mean to him without you having to try and decipher it. He’s always so, so soft with you when you two are having sex. He’s honored that you’d let him have you in such a way, and finds your trust in him heartwarming – he trusts you, too, with his entire heart and soul. 

💉: Mr. Silvair canonically doesn’t comprehend the concept of “liking” or loving someone, so that also translates into sex with him. All he knows is that he finds you entertaining to be around and that he’s somewhat endeared to you at this point. He’s not romantic but, in between teasing you and making you cry (whether it be in frustration or overstimulation), he’s checking in on you to make sure that you’re still comfortable. He knows sex can be invasive, and he’s aware of how much regard the act is held in by some people in your world, so he does his best to respect that... Even if he does need to check himself every now and again. 

J: Jack Off (Masturbation headcanon)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them masturbates much because they simply don’t have a desire or time to do so. Mr. Crawling would rather wait for you to be there so you two can enjoy yourselves together, and Mr. Silvair simply has more important matters to attend to. That’s not to say they never masturbate, though, it’s just typically a rare occurrence. 

👣: Mr. Crawling typically masturbates by rutting up against something, like a pillow, rather than taking himself in his hand. His thoughts before meeting you were just focusing on the physical sensation of his cock sliding against the fabric of his clothing, but now he finds himself thinking of you – the way your voice sounds when you coo sweet words in his ear, the warmth of your body. Imagining your hands gently touching his chest and hips makes him cum right then and there, almost embarrassingly quickly… Yeah, he’s down bad. 

💉: Mr. Silvair treats masturbating as a chore. He’d much rather be doing something else than leaning against the wall of his operation room while his hand goes absolutely ham on his dick. He knows which areas on his body get the most reaction, so he purposefully presses all of his buttons just so he can be done with it quicker. This doesn’t change after meeting and getting to be intimate with you, though, he still sees it as a chore… Just now he imagines cumming on your face or inside you whenever he finally reaches his climax. 

K: Kink (one or more of their kinks)

👣: 

Mutual Masturbation: He likes spending time with you and doing things together, so why not spend some time watching each other explore yourselves? He likes observing you as you touch yourself, making mental notes of every spot on your body that have you biting your lip and furrowing your brows. While I wouldn’t say he’s into voyeurism since he does like being with you while you touch yourself instead of tucked away in the shadows just watching, he focuses more on the way your hands touch and caress your skin instead of focusing on the way he moves his hands across his body. Doesn’t last very long doing this, though, eventually pouncing on you and touching you himself.

Overstimulation (Giving): Mr. Crawling loves overstimulating you, even if he doesn’t realize he’s doing it half of the time. He just enjoys seeing you become a blabbering mess all because of him; he takes great pride in being able to make you feel good. However, the first time you started crying because he was simply giving you too much, he felt so guilty – the poor man was on the verge of tears thinking he made you feel bad. 

Praise Kink: While praising you is a bit more difficult considering the language barrier and the limited amount of words and phrases he has to choose from, he still loves doing it. Muttering against your skin how you’re doing such a good job, how he loves you so much, how you make him so happy. Mr. Crawling definitely makes sure to reassure you both inside and outside of the bedroom. 

Hair Pulling (Receiving): He loves, loves, loves it whenever you take his hair in your hand and give it a firm tug. Mr. Crawling enjoys it whenever he’s going down on you and you take his hair into your hands and push him even closer, making him become fully immersed in your scent and taste. 

Sensation Play: While Mr. Crawling may not enjoy more painful experiences, he does like general sensation play quite a bit. He likes the feeling of your breath fanning against his skin while you pepper his flesh with gentle kisses and nips. He enjoys tickling you while his hips sensually thrust in and out, feeling the way you squeeze around him as breathless and airy giggles escape past your lips. He loves whispering into your ear while running his tongue along it before taking your lobe between his teeth and lightly tugging.  

💉: 

Breeding Kink/Creampie: Mr. Silvair, after learning more about human reproduction, has a deep-seated curiosity regarding whether or not the two of you would be able to have offspring. That’s kind of what starts this particular kink for him – he wants to know if you both are sexually compatible in that aspect, and he is curious what the resulting child would look and act like if they were born in the other world. If you’re unable to give birth or get pregnant, even if his initial interest in breeding is certainly from a more scientific aspect, he still finds the image of you full of his seed while it drips down the curve of your ass to be quite arousing. 

Bondage/Shibari (Giving): He enjoys tying you up and pinning you down, being able to have full control over you in the bedroom. He’s perfectly content if you agree to light bondage, like having your hands restrained, and would never ask you to do anything more than that. However, if you trust him enough and feel comfortable doing some more intense bondage, he’s not going to complain. Would definitely be interested in the art of shibari, finding the way the rope looks pressing into your skin tantalizing. 

Orgasm Control/Denial (Giving): Another kink that feeds into his desire for control. Mr. Silvair enjoys being the one in charge of your release, and he likes seeing how far he can push you until you finally break and plead for him to let you cum. He loves seeing how stupid and desperate he can make you, sometimes with just his fingers alone. 

Overstimulation (Giving): Much like orgasm control/denial, he likes pushing you to your breaking point. However, unlike the previous bullet, he likes seeing how much stimulation you can take until you’re crying for him to stop. He thinks it’s fascinating, seeing how quickly your desire for his touch can change – one moment you’re begging for him to touch you, and the next you’re weakly pushing his hand away. He does eventually relent, of course, but only after letting you cry for a bit. 

Dacryphilia: There’s something about seeing your tear-streaked face that makes it feel like he’s just been hit with an arrow in his chest. It’s endearing and oh-so cute the way you look while you sob all because he’s making you feel that good. It makes him feel proud, in a way, seeing you in such a pathetic state all because of him. 

L: Location (Favorite places to do the do)

👣: He enjoys having sex with you on a bed (boring, I know), but he likes the softness of the mattress and the many pillows and blankets that can be used to bring even more comfort by keeping the heat from your bodies trapped. He also likes taking you in small, enclosed spaces, like an empty locker or cabinet (sorry folks with claustrophobia). Much like the reasoning with the bed, he likes how the smaller space forces you both to be immensely close to each other. Plus, these spaces bring him comfort, so why not mix the two things that make him feel safe together? 

💉: Either in his laboratory/operation room or in one of the many different cages or prison cells that he has access to (bonus points if you allow him to chain you up hehe). Mr. Silvair doesn’t need a soft mattress or pillows to enjoy sex with you. He’s fine taking you on his operation table or the cold concrete floor of the small prison cell, even if your back moving up and down across the ground rubs your skin raw. He’ll patch you up after, no worries, but he doesn’t need a lot of bells and whistles to have an enjoyable time. 

M: Motivation (What turns them on, gets them going)

👣: Sweet words and gentle touches. The other world is one full of violence and death, one where survival trumps all else. While there are entities like him who only resort to violence when either their safety or the safety of someone they’re fond of is in danger, it’s still not a happy or bright place to exist. Mr. Crawling does what he can to enjoy life, laughing in situations that probably aren’t even that funny just to try and make existing more enjoyable. Then you come along and make him feel cared for – loved – and safe, and he’s never been happier. Being able to lay with you, to feel you clench around his cock with your warmth while you pepper kisses across his face and let him know how good he is… Yeah, this is the life. 

💉: Power and control. He enjoys being able to restrict your movement, being able to dictate when and where you’re allowed to cum and, if you disobey him, he’ll punish you with a sadistic smile on his face. However, he would be lying if he said that was all. Mr. Silvair thinks the fact you trust him with your safety – your life, your heart, your existence – gets him going, whether he realizes it or not. Trusting another in the other world showcases how much two people believe in the fact the other would not do anything to purposefully harm them, and you feel that way toward him (and he feels the same toward you). Whenever you call out his “name,” the one you had given him, he finds his hips unconsciously moving even faster at the sound...

N: No (Something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

👣: Anything involving pain would be a hard no for Mr. Crawling, both giving and receiving. Even though his senses are dull and what would be extremely painful for a human wouldn’t be for him, he still doesn’t particularly enjoy being harmed. When it comes to hurting you in any way, that’s pretty much something he will never concede on. He doesn’t want to do a single thing to hurt you, even if it’s an enjoyable kind of pain. 

💉: Pretty much nothing is off the table for him – Mr. Silvair enjoys experimenting, and that’s no different for him in the bedroom. The only extremely hard no would be coprophilia since he just doesn’t see the appeal nor does he want to test to see if he would like it or not. I also feel like he wouldn’t necessarily want a bratty partner or a partner who is constantly trying to take control back in the bedroom. 

O: Oral (Preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

👣: Loves giving oral 101%, and he will give it to you anywhere – in public, in private, while you’re sleeping (with your consent, of course). Mr. Crawling adores having his mouth on you, being able to taste every single part of you while his tongue forces its way inside you, feeling your release dripping past his lips or dribbling down his chin… You taste good, too, better than anything he’s ever had before; he might get addicted to it, to be honest. He eats you out/blows you like a man starving, wanting a chance to have a taste and make you cry out his name while you pull harshly on his black locks and encourage him to keep going. He’s very enthusiastic about it, too, putting in so much effort and energy to get you cumming on his face or in his mouth. 

💉: Prefers giving oral over receiving it, but it’s not his favorite thing to do either way. It’s nothing personal, he just prefers using his hands, his cock, or a toy to get you off rather than his mouth. If he does allow you to give him a blowjob, he’ll place a collar around your neck and pull on the chain if you get cheeky – after all, he’s the one in charge here. Mr. Silvair enjoys making you kneel in front of him, watching you with a small smile as you take him into your hands and pump once or twice before taking him into your mouth. If the rare occurrence happens when he gives you head, you better thank the universe. He looks so hot, holding your thighs apart while he slowly runs his tongue along your length/slit and teases you until you’re asking him to touch you more. 

P: Pace (Are they fast and rough? Slow and sensual?)  

👣: Enjoys the slower and sensual side of things, but he typically can’t control himself as soon as he’s inside of you, so he ends up being somewhat fast and rough (not all the time, though... his thrusts remain immensely unpredictable no matter what, and he never seems to find a good rhythm to follow). Mr. Crawling enjoys the intimacy of sex, and he finds comfort in the closeness of your bodies while you two are connected at the hips. He loves being able to hold your hands and place kisses across your cheeks. Sometimes, he’s so caught up in the act of showering you with words of praise and sweet displays of affection that he forgets the fact he’s currently inside you and is supposed to be moving. He does see the appeal of rougher sex, though – it makes him feel almost animalistic whenever you two decide to set the pace for the night. 

💉: Mr. Silvair can quickly switch between the two, sometimes almost at a break-neck speed, to the point it feels like you got whiplash from the sudden change of deep and slow thrusts to fast and somehow even deeper ones (he’s very precise when it comes to hitting those sweet spots inside of you – it’s actually kind of terrifying how quickly he can locate them). He pretty much does whatever he thinks will get the most reaction out of your body and acts accordingly – nothing more, nothing less. He tends to prefer rougher and faster sex, enjoying the noises the quick snap of his hips can draw out of your mouth. However, sometimes, he finds himself preferring a slower and softer pace. This way, he’s able to focus on and truly soak in the expression on your face and appreciate the way your body feels under his palms (this sometimes just leads to you cock warming him). 

Q: Quickie (Their opinions on quickies rather than proper sex, how often, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down for anything at any time. Pretty much, if you ask him to have sex, he’ll happily do it for you. Need him to eat you out or give you a blowjob, he’ll gladly oblige! After all, he is always pretty much kneeling, so he’s not being made to go out of his way to do it (even if he would go out of his way to please you). Want something more than just his tongue? That’s perfectly fine, too! There’s a private room over there he’ll gladly take you in, or maybe you’d want to try doing it in the empty locker? He’ll try not to take too long, but it’s hard since he loves being able to enjoy you to the fullest. So, Mr. Crawling can do quickies for sure, but he likes being able to take his time with you.  

💉: While he’s not opposed to quickies, he prefers being able to have proper sex with you to get the most out of it. After all, he can’t exactly see how long it takes for you to break or how much time it takes for you to start crying and babbling if you only have a few minutes to enjoy one another. However, he does make it a little challenge for himself to see how quickly he can get you to climax. Mr. Silvair will even make educated guesses on how fast you’ll finish just by making note of your current expression, body language, etc. He likes seeing how flustered you get if you think someone is going to enter the room the two of you are in, begging him to go faster which only makes him want to slow down – how mean! 

R: Risk (Are they game to experiment, do they take risks, etc.)  

👣: Mr. Crawling is down to experiment but, as stated before, he doesn’t want to try anything that causes him or you harm, even if pain is something you enjoy. He just has no desire to hurt you in any way, something which is quite different from other members of the cast who are definitely more sadistic (cough, Mr. Silvair and Mr. Machete, cough). I feel like he would be down to partake in certain aspects of BDSM, specifically B/D (bondage and discipline) and D/S (dominance and submission). He just wants to have a good time and be close to you, both physically and emotionally. 

💉: 100% down to experiment with anything (except the previously mentioned coprophilia). If you wanted to try some breathplay or impact play or even blood play, he’d be down for it. I honestly think he would enjoy breathplay since it adds more to the differential in power that he enjoys so much (there’s also a stirring in his chest when he sees how much you trust him with your life, but shhh…). Mr. Silvair is a man hungry for information and new experiences, so yes, he’s willing to try a variety of different things even if they could potentially be dangerous – he’ll always make sure you return to your original form. 

S: Stamina (How many rounds can they go for, how long do they last…)

👣 and 💉: Both of them are inhuman, which means that neither of them need any food, water, or rest to survive. Honestly, the two of them have unlimited amounts of stamina, and they can go for as long as you need them to (which could be two rounds or even eight – nothing is holding them back in the stamina department). 

T: Toys (Do they own toys? Do they use them? On a partner or themselves?)

👣 and 💉: Neither of them owns any toys because, well… you can’t access them easily in the other world. If they do end up there, though, they’re probably dirty or damaged beyond repair (please do not use nasty sex toys, people – infections and diseases are no joke). 

👣: Mr. Crawling would be down to use toys on you! After all, why not? It’ll just make the experience more fun, right? You’ll probably have to explain what he’s supposed to do with them, though, since he’s not quite sure what some of them are for. If you want to use toys on him, he’s completely fine with that! Want to wear a strap and give him backshots? Go right ahead! Want to tape vibrators to him until he’s whining and writhing? He’d be happy to oblige! Overall, he’s pretty chill about it and is somewhat enthusiastic about adding toys into your sex life. 

💉: Mr. Silvair enjoys using sex toys on you, some of his favorites being cock rings/chastity belts, strangely-shaped dildos, and vibrators. He loves being able to secure the variety of different vibrators he owns to your body, making sure to cover every erogenous zone he’s noted. He doesn’t typically want toys used on him (but he’d probably try out a variety of different sex toys on himself after a while, though, curious about how each of them felt or what they did), however, and the only one he’d be willing to use consistently would be fleshlights. He’d make you watch him use it, never once allowing you to use them on him. 

U: Unfair (How much they like to tease)

👣: Mr. Crawling is very fair, and he always makes sure to give you exactly what you want in the bedroom. However, that’s not to say he never teases you, he just doesn’t do it very frequently. Sometimes when he’s going down on you, he’ll pause his minstrations to nip at or kiss the fat of your thighs, keeping your hips held down so you can’t buck up against his mouth. When you start getting antsy, he just giggles at your expression before returning his attention to that oh-so-needy part of you. 

💉: If the word unfair was personified, it would be Mr. Silvair. I’d argue teasing you and making you cry – either because you can’t cum or have cum ten times in a row – are the aspects of sex that he enjoys the most. Edging you is one of his favorite things, though, watching you whine and try to move your hips on your own when he stops moving… bad move, though, because now he’s just going to make you wait even longer for release. 

V: Volume (How loud they are, what sounds they make)

👣: He’s not loud, per se, but he does make quite a variety of different noises whenever the two of you are intimate. He whimpers and whines frequently while you’re having sex – they’re barely audible, high-pitched, and come out sounding as though he’s completely out of breath. Sometimes you wonder if he’s in pain with the noises he makes, but he’s not. He just really enjoys being able to feel you like this as he pants like a dog in heat. 

💉: Completely quiet most of the time. Really, the only noises you’ll probably get out of him are barely audible sighs or the sound of his breathing hitching when he feels you stretch/tighten around him. It’s not that Mr. Silvair doesn’t enjoy having sex with you, he just doesn’t express that feeling verbally. You can tell in the way his hand squeezes the fat of your thigh or the way his hips stutter when he moves in and out that he’s having a good time. 

W: Wild Card (Random headcanon)

👣: Mr. Crawling loves taking showers or baths with you, though he leans more towards baths since it’s less painful on his joints (I headcanon that Mr. Crawling can stand, but walking for extended periods of time is painful for him – ambulatory wheelchair user Mr. Crawling when?). While yes, he can technically sit in the shower, having water spray his face isn’t exactly pleasant… He doesn’t view bathing with you as sexual, he just finds it relaxing as he helps you wash your back or you help him make sure all the soap is out of his hair. His favorite scent would have to be lavender – it’s very calming for him. 

💉: He keeps a journal tucked away full of terms and gestures from your world. Mr. Silvair has a deep desire to understand humans and everything they have to offer, even if he believes it's from a stance of craving knowledge (really, he wants to be able to express his endearment of you in a manner you can understand). He has a page on kissing and different kinds of kisses, a page on gestures of endearment, another on hugging and cuddling… The fact that humans’ bodies release a hormone whenever they simply spend time to bond with another socially, a hormone that turns the dial on their brain for whatever emotion they’re currently experiencing, is fascinating to him. 

X: X-Ray (Let’s see what’s going on in those pants)

👣: Mr. Crawling is tall – and I mean extremely tall whenever he stands up (my man has got to at least be seven feet), so I can assume that he’s probably relatively proportionate under the belt. I feel like he would be big, almost concerningly so, clocking in at around 8 inches in length. Even though his size is impressive, his dick doesn’t have much girth to it and is on the thinner side, but it is thicker towards the base compared to the head (not that you can take all of him – you can certainly give it a try, though). It’s on the veinier side, too, with a very distinct and present one on the underside of his cock. 

💉: Much like pretty much the entire cast, Mr. Silvair is also on the taller half of the height spectrum. However, I feel as though he would have a more modest, yet of course still impressive dick size. I imagine him to be 6 ½ inches in length and relatively thick from the base to the head with very little change in girth. Whenever you see his cock, you’re kind of awestruck for a moment because how can a man have such a nice-looking dick?? It doesn’t make sense! There’s barely any hair, there’s no visible veins or bumps, and it’s long and thick enough to drive you wild… Plus, it’s just really nice to look at, honestly. 

Y: Yearning (How high is their sex drive?)

👣 and 💉: Okay, so I know others probably will not agree with me here… but I honestly don’t think anyone in the cast has much of a sex drive, let alone a high one. I mean, they’re not human, so their cultural/social norms are different than ours, and I wouldn’t hold them to “typical” human desires on a biological/psychological level either. As I said before, I doubt any of them have been laid because sex just isn’t something the residents in the other world partake in – they’re too busy killing/fighting others, eating humans who find themselves lost in the other world, etc. Is this my asexual and world-building brain working? Probably haha. 

👣: Mr. Crawling really only wants sex whenever you want it, but he’s always enthusiastic and does get aroused whenever you ask if he wants to be intimate. While he does love feeling the warmth around his dick whenever you’re clamping down on him, almost like you were hugging him and not wanting to let him go, he enjoys the emotional connection during the moment more than anything else. I headcanon him (and all of the cast, to some degree) as existing somewhere on the aroace-spectrum. For Mr. Crawling, I see him as being reciproromantic/sexual with an average libido – he gets riled up whenever you’re riled up, though there are times he does get horny without you needing to do or say anything.  

💉: Much like Mr. Crawling, Mr. Silvair will have sex if you ask him to – he’ll make you beg for it, though, so he’s not as nice as the former. He prefers the control/power he gets from having sex rather than the sole act of intercourse (not to say he doesn’t enjoy the feeling, though). Plus, he finds the activity interesting since he knows it’s something most humans partake in with one another for a variety of reasons, from procreation to recreation. If you ask him to have sex and he isn’t in the mood, he’ll just use his hands or some toys and play around with you until you’re satisfied. I headcanon Mr. Silvair as being quoiromantic and eegosexual with a low libido. 

Z: ZZZ (… how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

👣: Mr. Crawling doesn’t need to sleep (you know… being non-human and all), but he’ll curl up next to you on the bed and hold your body close to his while pretending to sleep alongside you. It’s kind of adorable, the way his head is nuzzled under your neck while his legs and arms are wrapped around your body, holding you close to him like you were a bodypillow or large stuffed animal. While you sleep, though, he’ll eventually place his head against your chest, listening intently to the sound of your heartbeat and the feeling of your chest rising and falling with each breath. Moments like this, laying there with you in silence, make his mind wander to scenarios with you he’ll never be able to fully experience. 

💉: Does not rest often, finding it a waste of time that could be spent doing something else. He understands you need your sleep, though, so he lets you do it in peace after you both have had sex. Mr. Silvair always manages to somehow make sure you have enough pillows to keep you comfortable or blankets to keep you from getting cold (you can’t help but wonder where he finds clean linens in such a grimy place…). Occasionally, however, he finds himself sitting next to you on the bed, fingers absentmindedly combing through your hair before he pulls his hand back as though you had burnt him – he doesn’t understand it, and he’s desperate to figure out an answer. 

[arkangelo-7]

Okay, but, Bruce gentle parenting the fuck out of the Justice League is literally such a funny concept. Like, the only reason it works so well is because of the overwhelming amount JL Daddy Issues; they’re all secretly desperate for some parental affection and Bruce is so naturally a Dad that he can’t help himself.

That gold star thing he used to do with Dick? Where he gave him a little star every time he kept himself safe during a patrol? Same thing works perfectly for Clark. He’s literally indestructible (but Bruce worries) so whenever he comes out unscathed from a battle (which is most of the time) he’ll hand Clark a little golden star sticker. Clark collects those things like they’re priceless artifacts and sticks them on his laptop.

The anger management therapy he did with Jason? Where he’d run through katas (a series of choreographed martial arts movements) whilst doing breathing exercises? Works like a charm on Diana and Dinah. They’re both super powered, so anything Bruce puts in front of her they’ll destroy, so going through a good old fashioned kata before a big mission will help them both focus without risking the destruction of the Watchtower.

The mindful meditation he did with Tim? When they’d sit in silence until Tim’s brain finally trained itself to know rest? It’s the perfect thing for Barry. He’s a speedster so his brain moves at about the same pace as Bruce and Tim’s (though maybe not quite as analytically); the post-mission meditation sessions are the perfect thing to help him calm down.

The art therapy he did with Damian? Where they’d paint memories that brought them pain/loneliness/loss/sadness because talking about it was too hard? Surprisingly, both John and Hal are into it. (Must be a Lantern thing.) Neither of them are great artists, but John paints about his time in the army and Hal about his time in the Air Force. They’ve both lost friends and comrades, have seen the worst of humanity up close, and just can’t always verbalize that feelingly of powerlessness even though their the galaxy’s greatest warriors—but they can paint it.

The silent chess games he’d play with Cassandra? Where’d they’d sit there and pick each others brains without having to say a word, could communicate an immense amount of emotion with the slide of a pawn? Great for Jon. He can’t talk into Bruce’s mind (not without considerable effort) and he can’t really talk to Bruce about everything that happened to him on Mars, but they can sit and play chess until they both have a mutual understanding of one another’s trauma.

All the crocheting he’s done with Steph? Where they’d sit in front of a fireplace in Wayne Manor and discuss their similarly complex relationships with their parents? Loved to do this with Arthur, of all people. They have to get waterproof Atlantean yarn, but the efforts worth the creations they make during Monitor duty, and it’s one of those rare time when Arthur can really vent about all of his troubles leading a life above and below sea, being a king, his love life—anything. Bruce will always listen.

And then, all of the soccer that he’s played with Duke? Where they’d let loose and just be competitive? Cyborg similarly appreciates this, but prefers football, naturally. Now, Bruce is too old to tackle a Mother-Box-Enhanced human, but that doesn’t stop him from covertly setting up pick-up football games on the front lawn of the Hall of Justice every other week.

So yeah. Bruce and his gentle parenting.

[not-neverland06]

n a s t y d o g I logan howlett x fem!mutant!reader

One-shot A/N: I've never felt this way about a fictional character before. Every gif I see of him has me gnawing and biting at the bars of my enclosure. I want to bite him. If Hugh Jackman ever discovered what thoughts lurk inside my rotted brain about him he'd get a restraining order. This isn't OKAY Anyways... Summary: You'd thought you'd had a good thing going with Logan. You weren't officially anything to each other, but you were getting close. You truly saw a future with him, but he made it incredibly clear he did not feel the same 18+ HATE FUCKING (MDNI)

(one chance please, just one chance with him)

“Are you sure this isn’t totally clingy girlfriend of me?”

Ororo gives you an irritated look and Jean laughs. “Not at all, Scott loves it when I surprise him like this.” You’re all huddled in your room, each of you in varying stages of getting ready. Jean is finishing off her eyeliner at your vanity, Ororo is putting on her boots, and you’re trying to decide between a skirt and a dress. 

You’re not entirely sure how, or why, Logan and Scott decided to go to the bar together tonight. You suspect it has something to do with Jean. She wants them to start getting along so there’s less friction when you’re all around each other. 

At Jean’s idea, Logan had muttered, “When hell freezes over,” in your ear before he had left for the night. You’d gotten a little antsy without him to entertain you and had mistakenly blurted out the idea of going to visit them. Ororo had been dying to get out of the house and Jean was a little worried about her boyfriend as well. They’d agreed to go along with you and you’ve felt a weight in your stomach ever since. 

Your relationship with Logan was relatively new. Hell, a month ago you’d thought he’d hated you the same he did Scott. You’d, of course, been proven wrong when you’d had a few drinks with him and things had taken a very physical turn. 

You weren’t sure if he’d just wanted a one-night stand or something serious. But when you’d tried to sneak out the next morning and he’d muttered a grumpy, “Where’re you going?” You’d gotten your answer. 

You hadn’t been on any real dates, there didn’t ever seem to be time for them. But you spent most of your days together. Sometimes just silently enjoying each other’s company, other times you would be holed up in one of your rooms cuddling. The thought always brings a stupid lovesick grin to your face. 

It’s one of your first real relationships and you’re worried that things are moving a little too fast. At least on your end. You can already tell that you’re falling for him. Headfirst into the deep end of love. And it’s terrifying because you truly cannot tell what he thinks about you. Clearly, he likes you. If he didn’t, he wouldn’t let you follow him around like a lost puppy. 

But he’s never truly said anything to you. There’s no official label as to what you two are. You say girlfriend off-handly and you usually don’t mean it when you reference yourself. You’ve never outright said he’s your boyfriend and he’s never really claimed you. He’s made it explicitly clear he doesn’t want you sleeping with other men, and you’ve said the same to him about women. You both agreed on that, but…

You kind of drive yourself crazy trying to figure this out. He’s not vocal about his feelings and everything’s still new so you don’t like pressuring him. You also worry that if you push him too far he’ll just get tired of you and move on. It’s not fair to assume that of him, and you know everything would be better if you just talked to him. But you’re scared. You’re scared the conversation will take the wrong direction and everything will blow up in your face. 

Jean calls your name and your head shoots up to see both Ororo and Jean looking at you expectantly. You flush when you realize they must have been talking to you and you’d just completely zoned out thinking about Logan. 

“Huh?” You blurt out, cringing at how dumb you sound. 

Jean gives you a concerned look, “I can practically taste your anxiety.” The telepath frowns and offers you a comforting smile. “Don’t worry about it, I promise, Logan won’t mind at all.”

“You’re fine,” Ororo adds, because clearly the look on your face screams, I need constant validation. They’re not wrong, but still, you hate feeling like an exposed bundle of nerves. “Think of it as girl’s night, the boys just happen to be there.” 

You force a smile on your face and give your most enthusiastic nod. You change into the dress and finish up with your hair. You finally start chatting with them again, engaging so it might disguise just how nervous you feel. 

There’s this clenching feeling, traveling from your stomach up to your chest. It makes you sick, makes you hurt. And it’s not because you think Logan will be upset with you for crashing. He’d be relieved, if anything. There’s something else. Premonition isn’t one of your abilities, but you’re seriously starting to doubt that now. 

The bar is loud when you walk in. The soles of your shoes immediately start to stick to the floor and your nose screws up in disgust at the loud laughter coming from around the pool tables. You glance around, trying to see if you can spot Logan. 

You’d say you could spot him in any crowd. But has a propensity to hunker down and try to attract as little attention as possible so people don’t bother him. “There he is,” Jean taps your shoulders and points to the two men at the end of the bar. 

Like you’d thought, Logan is hunched over his whiskey, glowering down at the wood under him like it had insulted him. You almost want to laugh at the sight. Some of the earlier anxiety eases its grip on you and you feel your shoulders begin to untense. 

Before you can walk over Ororo grabs Jean’s wrist. “Gotta go to the bathroom,” she tugs Jean behind her. 

Jean looks over her shoulder at you and smiles encouragingly, “Go to them, we’ll catch up in a second.” You give her a tentative nod and slip through the crowd. There are more people here than you thought there would be. 

You’re happy not to spot any kids in the crowd. You’ve had a few too many nights out crashed by kids who thought they were good at sneaking out. 

It’s easy enough not to spot you or the other women in the crowd. Mutants have gotten good at blending in with the people around them. Makes it easier to get around. It’s probably why neither Logan nor Scott stop their conversation as you approach. “So,” Scott draws the word out, fingers tapping against the glass of his beer. 

“Don’t,” Logan warns. You want to laugh at his grumpy demeanor, but someone’s accidentally elbowed you and you find yourself stumbling a few steps back. It’s taking entirely too long to get to them, the bar isn’t even that big. There’s just that many people here. 

Scott ignores him and rolls his eyes. “Look, we’re stuck here for a while. Try and pull that stick out of your ass.”

“How about I put one in yours?” Logan’s claws come out slightly. But then they both share an odd look and Scott smirks. “Shut the fuck up,” Logan grouses, “not like that.”

“Right,” Scott huffs out a laugh and shakes his head. He picks up his bottle and takes a long drink. You’ve nearly reached them now. You stop, though, when you hear Scott say your name. You shouldn’t, you really shouldn’t. Eavesdropping now is just asking to get hurt. 

You drop back into the crowd, hoping the smells of others will stop Logan from discovering you lurking behind them both. Scott continues, “How’s that going?”

You crane your neck forward, trying to hear them better over the karaoke happening behind you. Someone is butchering Britney Spears but you couldn’t care less right now. Logan shouldn’t answer. Since when has he ever shared anything with Scott?

So, imagine your surprise when his answer isn’t immediately telling him to fuck off. “Eh,” he shrugs, downing the rest of his whiskey. Your face drops in irritation. Seriously, all this skulking around for an Eh? That’s bullshit. 

You keep yourself from stepping forward, forcing your feet still, and ignoring the little voice in the back of your head telling you this is a bad idea. You’ve committed this much, you’re seeing it through. Scott whistles lowly, “That bad, huh?” Oh, fuck off, Summers. 

Logan shakes his head and for a moment you have a brief feeling of hope lifting you up. “Nah, not bad. It’s just, I don’t know.” Logan sits up and signals the bartender for a refill. Your snooping senses go off and you briefly see Ororo and Jean exiting the bathroom. Desperate for something to keep them at bay, you flick your wrist. The man in front of them tips his drink down Jean’s shirt, slurring out apologies. Jean huffs and Ororo brings her back into the bathroom. 

Scott and Logan somehow missed the whole interaction and you promise yourself that you’ll pay for Jean’s dry cleaning. You’re definitely not going to. “Think she wants something I don’t,” Logan tells Scott, and your heart plummets to your feet. You can practically see it deflate, all the lovesickness draining out of it and onto the floor of this grimy bar. 

“Like, she just wants to fuck around?”

Logan shakes his head and downs another glass of whiskey. He’s just swallowing it down like it’s water. At a certain point, the bartender gets sick of it and just leaves him with the bottle. “No, she wants something real. Like a real relationship.” Scott’s brows furrow and Logan shrugs. “Not interested.” 

It’s the way he says it that really bothers you. There’s nothing wrong with wanting something different in a relationship. It happens all the time. But he says it so dismissively. He knows that you want something real with him, something secure and loving. He knows that, continues to fuck you and lead you on, and then speaks as though you’re an idiot for ever being interested in that. 

Hurt hasn’t set in yet. You’re staring wide-eyed, jaw agape with shock as you stare at Logan’s back. You’d thought a conversation needed to be had. But you didn’t think that he thought of you like this. You’d thought you meant something to him. 

Scott seems to share the sentiment, his lips tugged down into a frown. He leans against the bar, surveying Logan with a disbelieving look. “What?” Logan snaps.

Scott raises his hands in surrender, shaking his head and backing off. “Nothing, man, I just thought you two were serious about each other.” You miss whatever Logan says as an arm slings itself around your shoulder. 

“What’re you doing?” A husky, seductive voice whispers against the shell of your ear. You jump in shock, glaring at Ororo as she grins at you. She lets her arm slide off your shoulders and glances over at Jean. “I think she was spying.”

Jean nods, nudging you forward. “Definitely spying. Hear anything good?”

You fortify your mind against her probing fingers before she can find out. “Nope,” you blurt out. You hope the racing of your heart is dismissed by your constantly frazzled nature. You hope the look on your face is explained by your earlier boredom and anxiety. You pray that none of them notice the way you lean away from Logan when the men finally turn around and notice you all. 

Scott breathes out a dramatic sigh of relief and slumps onto Jean. “Thank god, I thought I was going to die trying to talk to this brick wall.” his eyes flick towards you in a blink-and-you-miss-it moment. There’s a brief pitying look before he grins. “Come to get your boyfriend?” There’s a heavy emphasis on the word that you never would have noticed had you not heard their conversations. 

It’s clearly a petty dig at Logan. And you would appreciate it if you didn’t feel the sudden urge to vomit up your dinner. “Thought you might need saving from Logan.” You tell him, a chuckle hiding the slight tremor in your voice. 

You’re not sure if he does, but you hope Logan notices how you avoided the word boyfriend. You hope that he hurts the same way you do. But you know, deep down, that he doesn’t care. He’s probably relieved that you didn’t use the title. 

Logan gets off his stool, he wraps his arm around your shoulder, and pulls you into a brief hug. His lips press against your temple before he dips down to whisper, “Thank you,” in your ear.

Asshole, he’s not allowed to smile at you the way he is. If you weren’t in such a crowded place and already overstimulated, you’d shove him away. If your friends weren’t watching you’d take his arm and slam it down onto the bar until you hear his fucking adamantium bones break. 

That might have been too far. Maybe you’re not that angry, but you’re hurt.

You place your hands against his chest, a thin smile on your lips while you hum a simple, “Mhm.” He doesn’t seem to notice the way you push away from him. It’s easily dismissed by you cheekily stealing his seat at the bar. 

He comes up behind you, hands bracketing you and keeping you stuck against the bar while you order your drink. One of his hands drifts down, laying against your thigh. You know this isn’t sexual, this is him comforting you. 

He shouldn’t know how horrible you feel in such busy places. He shouldn’t know that and know that his touch is grounding and then help you. Not if he doesn’t want something serious. If he didn’t want to be your boyfriend, didn’t want to be anything but a fuck, then why do this to you? Did he not think this was leading you on? Is this just him caring for you?

You’ll drown in a sea of unanswered questions before the night is over if you linger too long. You tip your head back, let your shot burn its way down your throat, and turn towards the others with a smile. You feel your worries fade and your focus loosen as you simply drift further into your mind. 

You must have disassociated or something. By the time you realize you’re no longer hearing bad karaoke and your elbows aren’t sticking to the bar, you’re already home. You stare in the mirror, hand pausing as you brush your teeth before you quickly finish. 

You didn’t drink much, you never do. It fucks with your abilities and causes migraines. You rinse your mouth out and glance into your bedroom. Logan groans and stretches. His back bows, muscles flexing and you rip your eyes away. You can’t let yourself be distracted by the chest you want to drape yourself across. 

You need to talk to him. It’s never been more clear. You wipe your mouth and toss the towel onto the rim of the sink. You take in a deep breath, trying to get rid of the nerves plaguing you. It’s never worked before, it’s not going to suddenly cure you now. 

You give up on the thought and instead, shove down the anxiety until you have enough confidence to speak. It takes a little while, Logan peaks an eye open, eyebrows quirked when he sees you just staring at him. “Something up, bub?” he flexes, on purpose, and you roll your eyes. You grab his shirt out of your hamper and toss it at him. 

“Put this on. Can’t think when you look like that.”

He chuckles, “That’s the point.” at your pointed glare his smile drops and he tugs the beater on. It barely does anything to deter you. If anything you’re having more trouble paying attention. Especially now that his full attention is on you. The humor is gone from the room, a thick tension replaces it. Logan seems to feel it, sitting up straighter and glaring at you like he’s trying to read your mind. “What’s wrong?” It’s a demand more than a question. 

It’s hard to look at him. But you refuse to let yourself cower now. You take in a fortifying breath and let your gaze bore into his. You put all the hurt and anger you feel into it, willing yourself to be firm. “We need to talk.”

“‘Bout what?” He’s brusque, but there’s a slight concern to his tone. 

There’s no point hiding this. And maybe you had misheard, maybe there was a conversation prefacing the one you’d heard. And you’ll talk it out and everything will be okay. “I heard you and Scott talking at the bar.”

The hope you had, as minimal as it was, is dashed at your feet. He sucks in a deep breath and the look on his face has you crestfallen. You can feel your chest cave in. You feel so stupid all of a sudden. Constantly following after him, even before you started dating him. Looking at him with stars in your eyes and latching onto his every move and word. 

You’d worshiped him, put him up on a pedestal he didn’t deserve. Superhuman or not, at the end of the day he was still a man. And they’ve done nothing but disappoint you. You suck your teeth, gaze dropping to your feet as you fight back the tears in your eyes. “Right,” you whisper, stepping back from him. 

“Look,” he starts. You force your eyes up and watch as he rubs uncomfortably at the back of his neck. He takes a step towards you and you shake your head, stepping away from him. His arms fall to his sides and he sighs. “Sorry,” he mutters.

“That’s it?” You demand, tone incredulous. You weren’t some great love or anything. But that’s seriously all he has to say.

He opens his mouth, eyes softening as he stares at you. Then he snaps it shut, something covers his face and his expression is borderline cruel as he sneers at you. “Not my fault you got in over your head, kid. Never said I wanted anything more with you.” He points at you, and you suddenly feel like a little girl getting scolded. You’ve never had a partner make you feel this small, especially not Logan. “You were just convenient.”

You rear back like he slapped you. You think it might have hurt less than that. To know you wasted so much time on such a fucking dick makes you want to throw up. Or scream, or cry. You can’t decide on one. But your powers can, the walls are shaking, knick-knacks falling off your shelves as energy pulses from you. 

You’ll face the hurt, the sadness, the horrible ache of rejection later. Right now, you need him out of your face before you bring the whole mansion crumbling down around you. “Out.” You grind the word out, turning away from him and clutching your hands to your chest. You take in quick, rapid breaths, trying to think of anything other than how horrible you feel. 

You haven’t lost control like this in a long time. You’re not going to give him the satisfaction of being the reason you get put on probation again. He whispers your name, coming up behind you like he’s going to touch you. 

You want to lash out, want to hurt him like he’s hurt you. But you’ll only cause more damage than necessary. He’s not worth hurting the kids in the rooms around you. You shove past him, ignoring the way he shouts your name. 

You dart out into the hall, grateful there are so few people milling around. Nearly everyone’s asleep, just a few stragglers finishing up their homework for tomorrow. A few of them give you odd looks that turn concerned when they see Logan chasing after you. Your bones are practically vibrating by the time you make it outside. 

You rush towards the grove of trees at the back of the mansion. Your knees give out under you before you can make it very far. Energy pulses out of you in an explosive circle. You hear bark crack and turn into nothing but dust as the air around you trembles. 

It’s a relief, like going to the bathroom after holding it all day. You feel it drain away from you, a plug pulled out as the energy rushes from you. It slows after a minute, feeling more like a leak than a steady stream. 

Your hands shake by your sides as you lay trembling on the grass. Your eyelids flutter shut and you try and keep them open but it’s hard. All of your energy had been spent keeping yourself in check until you made it out of the mansion. 

“I’ve got you,” a voice mutters near your ear. Familiar strong arms dip under your knees, lifting you up and pulling you into a sturdy chest. You recognize the body, recognize the uncomfortable warmth coming from him. But your tongue won’t work and you're passing out before you can try and push him away. 

You’re in your own bed when you wake up again. You’re briefly comforted by the warm feeling of the sheets around you before you realize how cold the other side of the bed is. You’re so used to the feeling of someone being beside you that it’s jarring for no one to be there. You sit up, a spark of anxiety lighting up inside you before it’s being quelled by an outside force. 

“I think it’s best if we keep that under control.” You’re not surprised to hear Charles’s voice. You can’t be, not when he’s actively keeping you calm and placid. You lean back against your headboard. You tilt your head lazily, looking at him while he looks out the window. 

“That tree was a hundred years old.”

You wince, face screwing up when you remember the large oak tree you obliterated last night. “I can remake it,” you promise. 

“You could,” he corrects, “but whatever happened last night between you and Logan is causing your powers to be volatile.” He finally turns towards you, the motor of his wheelchair a dull buzz as he smiles at you. There’s no resentment in his gaze at least. You’d known he wouldn’t be mad at you. He was used to accidents like this. Had you hurt another person, however, this would be an entirely different conversation. 

There’s a dull ache in your chest at the mention of Logan, but it’s quickly covered by another wave of calm from Charles. He smiles and holds out two metal bracelets. They’re thick, something red inlaid into the black metal. They look like handcuffs more than anything. His lips quirk up at your thought and you frown. 

“That’s what they are, right? Cuffs.”

“You’re not a criminal,” he assuages, his tone gentle as you take them from him. There’s a small silver button inside that you click and the metal springs open. You place your left wrist inside and it snaps shut, it’s a snug fit. It won’t be moving around anytime soon. You put the right one on and feel Charles’ hold on your mind ease the second it's closed. Every horrible feeling from last night crashes down on you and you nearly choke on it. 

You wonder how Charles managed to keep you asleep for so long without the roof crumbling. He chuckles, the noise tired. “Jean helped me. It took a while for the cuffs to be ready.”

The way he says that causes alarms to go off in your head. “How long?” He takes in a sharp breath and shakes his head, attempting to dismiss the question. “Charles,” you snap, voice bordering on a shout. 

“Two days,” he says. You gasp and slump back against your sheets. He says your name but you get to your feet and pace. You don't know what to do with yourself. There’s energy buzzing under your skin, but the cuffs are keeping it at bay. It feels wrong like your pores are being clogged with acid. 

“Two days.” You look over at him, horror painting your face and you can see why he was so apprehensive to tell you. “It’s never been that bad before.”

“No,” he starts cautiously, “It hasn’t. Which makes me wonder, what transpired between you and Logan that destroyed my grandfather’s tree?” 

You cringe at the mention of the tree. He’s never going to let go of that. Even when you recreate it, he’s still going to hold it over your head. His teasing eases you out of the spiral you were heading down and you glance over at him. “You’ve been in my head for two days. I’m sure both you and Jean already know.”

He smacks his lips together and shrugs, clasping his hands in front of himself. “Simply seeing if you wanted to discuss it, my dear.”

You vehemently shake your head and sit back down on your bed. “No, I don’t want to talk about him. I don't want to see him.” Charles gives you a look like he doesn’t believe you and you hate it. You truly don’t want to see Logan again. Just thinking about him makes you want to explode. He was a pig and you regret ever wasting your time on him. 

There’s a shriveled part of your heart weeping somewhere, but you crush in your fist until it shuts the fuck up. “Right,” Charles nods. “I do believe it’s best for your recovery that we keep you two separated for a while.” He rolls past you and places a comforting hand on yours. “Rest, you’ll feel more like yourself soon.”

You nod and watch him leave. Exhaustion suddenly seems to drop its heavy weight on your shoulders. Two days being restrained by telepaths probably wasn’t very restful. You lay across your comforter, rolling over and hoping when you wake up your heart will be healed. 

Two weeks. Two pathetic, snot-filled, and disgusting weeks of sobbing over Logan. You felt like a sixteen-year-old again, crying over the boy that didn’t like you back. It was awful, especially knowing that the entirety of the mansion knew what was wrong with you. 

Your students would leave your class and you would lock your doors, hiding under your desk as you wept. Those with superhearing or telepathy would bake you cookies and leave gifts at your door. It was sweet, but honestly made you feel ten times worse. You felt like your sadness was a burden you were forcing everyone to carry. 

Your mother would be so disappointed in you. She’d always told you that you mourn a relationship half the amount of time you were in it. Of course, hers never lasted more than a few weeks. And she’d had more boyfriends than you could count on three hands. 

Besides, you were allowed to wallow for a while. This was someone you were starting to fall for. To be so blind going into and leaving the relationship was awful. Having the rug ripped out from under you had been cruel and needless. You’re resentful and grateful he’d been so horrifically honest with you. On one hand, if the relationship had just ended, you’d be pining after him. Wondering what you’d done to lose such an amazing guy. 

But being faced with the brutal truth, knowing he was a piece of shit, it makes you hate yourself. You should have seen it. Should have known that he didn’t want you like you wanted him. But there were never any signs. You’d run it through your head a million times. Every interaction you’ve ever had with him. None of it shows you where he’d been lying to you or using you. You can’t even trust yourself anymore. 

There’s a loud knock on your door and you sniffle, tossing another tissue in the trash as you go to answer it. “Hello?” You croak. You can barely see, eyes puffy and so swollen your vision is blurry. 

“Holy hell,” Ororo scoffs and shakes her head. She pushes into your room and slams the door shut before anyone can see how awful you look. To be fair, you keep yourself relatively put together during the day. But it’s after hours now, you’re allowed to be a mess. 

“You look like shit.” 

Neither of you are prepared as you begin to blubber. Your lips tremble and your voice shakes as you begin to sob. “I know,” you wail. “I hate it.” Ororo’s eyes widen in horror and she quickly pushes you into your desk chair, grabbing a box of tissues and shoving it in your hands. 

“I feel,” you stutter, having to take in a few shuddering breaths before you can get the words out. “He tore out my heart and ripped it up with his stupid fucking claws.”

“Okay, okay,” Ororo runs her hands over your arms, trying to soothe you. “I know, sh, it’s okay.” She groans, “Stop crying,” she pleads under her breath. 

“I’m trying!” You snap at her, running hands over your wet cheeks and trying to swallow down the rest of your tears. 

“Look,” she steps back and shakes her head. She glances down at you, disgust poorly hidden on her face. She’s really fucking bad at comforting someone. “This is awful, I can’t take it anymore. You two keep dancing around each other and you’re putting everyone on edge. You won’t stop crying and he keeps going off,” she holds her hands up and shakes her head. “I just can’t do it anymore.”

You frown, brows turning down in confusion. “What?” You didn’t think Logan would be mad. You pictured him skipping through a field of daisies, happy to finally be rid of you. It only made you hate yourself more that you were still crying over it all. 

“He’s kind of losing it,” she seems reluctant to relent the information. “Look,” she kneels in front of you and snatches the tissue box from your hand. She tosses it to the side and forces you to meet her eyes. “He’s in love with you. We all know it, Jean’s confirmed it. He loves you, he needs you, he’s just terrified to admit it. He’s afraid of what's going to happen if you two become real.”

Your eyes widen with the realization. She nods enthusiastically as you connect the pieces. You can’t deny what’s so plainly laid in front of you when she assures you that even Jean knows. Jean knowing means she just did a nosy dive into his head. 

You can picture what could happen. With rom-com levels of nauseating romance, you run to find him. You tell him you don’t care that he’s afraid. You don’t care he pushed you away and you do love him. He’s not going to lose you. Nothing can rip you apart. You ride off into the sunset on Scott’s bike blah blah blah. 

This isn’t a fucking romance. And you’re not going to cry over a man who's too much of a pussy to admit he has feelings. You like men who have emotional depth deeper than a teaspoon. “Are you fucking kidding me?"

Ororo’s face blanches and she slowly backs away from you as you stand. “No,” she answers slowly, like she’s not sure of herself now. 

“That’s what I’ve been crying over?” You feel upset for an entirely different reason. You never misread the signs. You never missed a hint that he didn’t feel what you did. He did! He was just happier letting you doubt yourself and the love you held for him than admitting he felt something. You tear off the depression hoodie you’ve been living in for the past two weeks. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me!”

You don’t know where you’re going. Normally, you’d run into a forest to let out a blast of energy. It drained you enough that you wouldn’t have to feel anything. But with these cuffs on, you can’t do anything. 

You storm out of your room and stomp down the stairs, uncaring who you wake up. You’ve wasted so much time on Logan, you refuse to stay in your room and cry for another fucking night. 

“I want to see her,” Logan growls. He tries to move around Charles, but he stops him with his mind, holding him in place while Jean disappears inside your room. Logan watches her go and glares at her retreating back as the door closes behind her. 

It’s been a day already, you’ve never needed to be out for more than a few hours. He doesn’t want to think that there’s anything wrong with you, that he might have permanently broken something inside you. 

That talk at the bar with Scott had been stupid. He would have said anything to get him to shut the fuck up and leave him alone. He didn’t really mean what he said, he just wanted him to back off. And saying that your relationship wasn’t anything was quicker than pouring out every thought he’s had of you. 

It was easier lying than it was to admit just how much he wanted you. Just how far he would go for you. But then you’d overheard, and you brought it up. And there’d been faith on your face. Like even you couldn’t believe what he had said because you could see through the bullshit. 

But all Logan had seen was a way out. This was an opportunity to finally get out of the suffocating clutches of something he didn’t want to admit was love. He took the chance before he could think. It’s what he was used to. Taking the easy way out, especially when it came to shit like emotions. 

He hadn’t thought you were going to explode, though. Because that’s exactly what you’d done. By the time he’d caught up to you, you’d burned a crater into the ground and had destroyed Charles’ stupid fucking tree. 

Seeing you like that, laying there lifeless, it terrified him. He didn’t want to live in a world that you weren’t in. There was no fucking point. It was sobering, realizing that, and then realizing that he was the reason you were like that in the first place. 

He didn’t want to live without you and he certainly would never be able to come to terms with being the reason you were dead. But it didn’t matter, whatever realizations he was coming to. Charles and Jean were completely blocking him from your room. They weren’t even giving him a chance to look at you. And he was about five seconds away from ripping the old bastard’s head off and just barrelling inside. 

He didn’t care what they said, he needed to see that you were okay. “I’m afraid you’re not going to be able to see her for a very long time.”

“Stay out of my head,” Logan growls, glaring down at the man. “What are you talking about?” He presses, finally processing the rest of his sentence.

Charles sighs and rolls away from him. Logan glares at his back but ultimately follows. “You were the cause of this, yes?” Reluctantly, Logan nods, there’s no point in hiding it. He’s sure Charles already knows. “For her own safety, the two of you will need to remain separated.”

That had been it. There was no arguing about it. No fighting Charles. It was for your safety that he stayed away from you. No matter how much he wanted to explain himself, he wouldn’t risk another meltdown like that. 

You didn’t deserve to get hurt because of someone like him. He wouldn’t be able to stand hurting you again. 

But two weeks seemed like a lot. At a certain point, he’s sure you’re just avoiding him. He knows he can’t blame you. He’d been a fucking idiot. But that didn’t make him any happier. If anything, he was getting more and more pissed off every day. 

He had less patience for mistakes. Was lashing out at the kids more often and don’t even get started on the petty fucking fights he was picking with Scott. How long did you fucking need before you talked to him again?

He knows you’re upset, your crying keeps everyone up at night. Something he’s sure you’d be mortified to learn about. Why won’t you let him comfort you? Why do you have to be so petulant, running around the corner every time you see him? Pointedly ignoring him when you’re in the same room together. 

He could fix this, make this all better. But you’re just not letting him. He knows this is why he loves you. It’s why he was so drawn to you. You seem like a bundle of nerves, constantly flitting around and keeping yourself small. It had been off-putting at first. And then he’d seen you training with Scott, kicking his ass more like. A switch had been flicked in his head. 

He could finally see you for what you were. He finally realized that it was your abilities you were keeping small. You were a fucking spitfire and you didn’t hesitate to tell him off, he loved it. Loved arguing with you just so he could see you get all pissed off. 

But that stubborn attitude he loved was really biting him in the ass right now. 

There’s a knock on his bedroom door and he doesn’t even get to pretend it’s going to be you. He smells Jean’s perfume and rolls his eyes. He puffs on his cigar and contemplates ignoring her.

“Don’t be a jackass, open the damn door.” 

Fuckin’ telepaths. “What?” He snaps at her the second the door is open. Her face screws up when she smells the smoke from his cigar. He knows she wants to put it out, and can see it in the twitch of her fingers. He raises a brow, a silent challenge to try him. He’s itching for another fight and she can feel it. 

She lets out a sharp breath, choosing her battles wisely and backing off. He’s almost disappointed. “We need to talk. This whole thing between the two of you is ridiculous. You’re a mess, she’s a mess…”

Her voice trails off into nothing more than the annoying pitch of a fly. Logan can’t be bothered to listen to her scold him. He’s not a fucking kid, and maybe if you were acting like an adult, they wouldn’t be having this problem. 

A few doors down he can hear you shouting, then the door to your room slams open. He darts off his bed, opening his own door to see what you’re doing. He only sees the back of your head as you angrily stomp down the stairs. 

Enough is fucking enough, he was finishing this now. He was sick of your side of the bed being empty and the stupid fucking glare on your face every time you saw him. He doesn’t even bother saying anything to Jean as he leaves, just chases after you. 

Jean watches him go with a perturbed look. She steps out of the room and glances down the hall. Ororo steps out of your room and walks towards her. “Well?” Jean probes. 

Ororor shrugs, “She’s over it.” Jean smiles but it’s quickly wiped off her face by Ororo’s expression. “Not in the way we wanted.

Jean clenches her eyes shut and takes in a deep breath. She needs you two to figure your shit out or she’s never going to be able to get a good night’s sleep again.

You find yourself in the gym. It’s not your favorite place in the world, you don’t usually get to train with the others. You’re stuck with telepaths, mainly the ones who can shut your powers down if you get too out of control. That hasn’t been a problem since you got the cuffs, but you’ve been too sad to test them out. 

Now you find yourself obliterating a punching bag. You wrap the energy around your fists and let it protect the thin skin as you pummel into the bag. You don’t know what else to do. You can’t have energy meltdowns anymore. You have to try and funnel it all out physically, but it’s not working. Nothing is. 

“Imagining it’s me?” You pause midswing. You glance over to the door just in time to see Logan stalking towards you. He unzips his jacket slowly. So slowly it almost seems provocative. He tugs it off and tosses it onto a nearby bench. 

You scoff as you watch him. “Do you ever have a shirt on?”

He shrugs and moves towards the ring in the middle of the gym. His movements are lithe and fluid as he hops onto the ring, every bit a wild animal. You watch as the muscles in his torso ripple and force your eyes off of him. You try and focus your attention back on the bag, but all your earlier energy is gone. Your mind is completely wrapped around Logan. 

Which you’re sure is exactly what he wants, or he wouldn’t be staring at you so smugly as he leans against the ropes and waits for you to acknowledge him. You suck on your teeth, irritation blooming in sporadic bursts throughout your body that has you nearly shaking. Finally, you give in. 

He smirks the second your eyes meet, “I can take it, sweetheart. A lot better than that little toy of yours can.” He nods towards the punching bag but the insinuation isn’t lost on you. You and Logan had been very active in your relationship. You could barely go a day without tasting each other. 

You’ve been pent up since the breakup. You’d given in a few days ago, pulled out your old vibrator, and tried to bring even a semblance of joy back into your life. But nothing could compare to Logan. 

His tongue darts out, wetting his lips as he waits for you to react. He’s standing there, staring down at you with all the surety in the world that you’re going to fuck him. It makes you want to dig your nails in and rip him apart, bit by bit. 

You can already picture it in your mind, using your abilities to pick him apart until he’s nothing but molecules dispersed through the air. He’s lucky you have the cuffs on, without them you’re sure he’d already be dead. 

You smirk and move towards the edge of the ring, your voice drops as you purr up at him, “You wanna play, Logan?”

He grins and moves off the ropes, starting towards you as you make your way onto the ring. You’re slightly less graceful than he was, but you’re too focused on wiping the smug look off his face to pay attention. “Come on kid,” he taunts, voice as low as it usually is when he’s fucking into you. “Let’s see what you got.”

You’re not stupid enough to just outright swing at him. You feint to the right and bring your knee up into his ribs. He only needs one hand to wrap around your thigh and drag you forward. His other hand goes to your hip, tugging you closer until you’re practically grinding against each other. You grit your teeth and glare up at him. 

“Come on, sweetheart, that can’t be all you got for me.” Energy wraps around your head, blurring the air around you. You slam your temple against his, it provides enough of a distraction for you to yank your leg out of his grip. You throw your right fist into his ear, bouncing back with a grin as he shakes his head. 

He practically growls as he reorients himself. You shrug and smirk, “What, don’t tell me that’s all you got, wolvie.”

“Don’t fuckin’ call me that,” he grumbles. You open your mouth, prepared to taunt him again. But he’s lunging towards you and you just barely have enough time to dart out of his way. You know he’s going easy on you. He could have had you just then if he really wanted this. 

But he’s dragging this out. Forcing you to spend as much time with him as you can. It only pisses you off further. You plant your foot on his back and kick him forward. He barely even stumbles and it only further confirms your suspicions. “Stop fucking holding back,” you yell at him. 

He turns around slowly. You almost expect there to be a sneer on his face, something angry. Instead, he looks fucking thrilled, like this is all just foreplay for him. He laughs, so low you can barely hear it, and his chest flexes as his claws come out. 

“You sure?” It’s a taunt, a dare, he knows you aren’t going to take the bait. You’d be stupid to, you don’t heal like he does. Once those things get in you, you’re screwed. But right now, you’re too pissed off to try and care. 

You don’t say anything, you just duck under his fist as he swings at you. You know he made it easy for you, giving you an opening to fall into. He’s treating you like you’re something fragile. And maybe you are. One wrong move in this fight and you might not make it through the night. But anger is making you blind to logic. 

Him playing fair just makes you want to play dirty. You use the opening he gives you, letting energy form around your fist and pulling back just enough to slam into his ribs. He coughs, doubling over as you hear bones crack under your hit. He’ll heal in seconds, you can’t bring yourself to feel too bad for him. 

Maybe if he ever took you seriously you might not be such a bitch. But he didn’t think you were good enough to be honest with and he still was treating you like a plaything. In your opinion, he deserves whatever you give him and more. He doubles over and you swing your leg around, bringing it down across his face. 

You hear a crack as your socked foot connects with his face, something crunches underneath you. And when your sole hits the mat again you see the blood leaking from his nose. You almost apologize. Almost, then you see the look on his face. His pupils are swallowing the hazel of his eyes, lips parted as he pants through his teeth. He looks fucking animalistic. 

You have no warning as he pounces on you. His lips smother your own, moving over you with little to no grace. There’s nothing romantic or gentle about this. His fingers are digging so hard into your shirt, you’re sure you hear the seams rip. But you can’t bring yourself to care. 

One of your hands goes to his hair, tugging at the roots until he’s groaning into your mouth. You rake your nails up his back roughly. He cusses against your lips, hand traveling up to your chin so he can roughly jerk you back. 

He stares down at you, a silent question on his face. You’ve barely nodded before he’s descending upon you again. Lips and teeth clash borderline painfully as he lowers you onto the mat. You’re missing all the usual love and tenderness he treats you with, but you don’t care. 

You want to be rough. You want to hurt him like he hurt you, make him ache for you the way you do him. You wrap your legs around his, lifting your pelvis until you have enough leverage to flip him. Your thighs straddle his waist and you grind down against the prominent bulge in his sweatpants. 

He groans into your open mouth, large palms grabbing at your ass and spreading you so he can thrust between your clothed thighs. You can’t help but moan at the friction. It’s just enough to keep you on edge, he pulls back every time you think you might be close to something real building. 

You rip your mouth off his. He glares up at you as you grab his hair and yank his head back. You slam his head hard enough into the mat for it to echo through the room and he growls against your grip. You grin down at him as you slowly get off him. You make a show of stripping, enjoying the way his eyes track your movements. He looks like a dog, panting and waiting for his treat. 

You’re tempted to get yourself off, making him watch, and then leave him straining against his sweatpants. But you need this bad, need him to scratch the itch you can’t reach so you can finally get him out of your head. Neither of you are patient as he jerks his sweatpants down just enough for his cock to pop out. 

It’s already leaking from the tip like a faucet. You kneel, straddling his waist again. You don’t have to do much to slick him up. You pump him a few times before he’s gripping your wrist and jerking your hand away. “Get up here,” he commands, voice rough as he grips your hips. You don’t even get a chance to protest before he’s flipping you over. 

He grabs your thighs and wraps them around his waist. Your ass is off the ground, hovering above his lap as he lines up with your slit. You moan when the tip rubs against your clit. “Whose teasing now?” You grit out, glaring at him. 

His lips curl up, that insufferable smirk on his face before he slams into you. The attitude is practically fucked out of you as he starts pumping in and out. You groan, raking your hands down his chest. He fucking moans at the pain, blood blooming under your nails and immediately closing the further down you go. 

Neither of you are giving up this fight, you don’t want to lose, not even while you’re fucking. He pulls out of you and flips you over so fast you don’t even have time to whine. He’s back in you before you can blink, hips slapping into you in a way that you know is going to leave bruises tomorrow. You’re not going to be able to sit for a week and he knows it. His hands are groping at the skin of your ass, pulling you apart and watching the skin ripple as he fucks into you. 

You’re not going to last long. You’ve been too desperate, too pent up while you’ve been pissed off at him. He leans over you, draping himself across you lazily. You groan at the added weight, it only adds to the sensation, only makes you want him deeper inside you. “Thought you didn’t want me anymore, sweetheart.” He whispers in your ear and you flutter around him as his hand snakes around your waist, rubbing tight circles on your clit. 

You open your mouth but all that comes out is disjointed moans. You know there’s something sarcastic in there, and he must know too because he laughs at your pathetic mumbled sentence. “I don’t know,” he leans back and watches as he makes room for himself inside you. “Seem to need me real bad now.”

Your nails dig into the mat, energy leaking through your fingertips and warming up the canvas beneath you. You can feel it fluctuating, fighting against the cuffs the closer he brings you to the edge. “Fuck you,” the words escape you at a particularly deep thrust and you struggle to keep your eyes open. 

He pauses and you nearly cry at the loss of movement. “Sorry, couldn’t hear you. What’d you say? Stop?”

You glare over your shoulder at him  “Don’t you fucking dare, Logan.” You let your power push up against his back, forcing his hips to move again. He chuckles at the move, fingers creating figure eights on your nub. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it, sweetheart,” he protests, voice innocent. “Ah, fuck,” his voice is nothing more than low grunts and groans in your ear the closer the both of you get to your release. You can’t speak anymore, can’t think. You can feel it cresting higher and higher inside you. 

Your abilities are rising with your release. They’re pushing against the cuffs, fighting desperately against the control the foreign metal has on your powers. You can feel it, heat building up under your skin, like a tingling on the tip of your tongue that you just can’t reach. It’s Logan’s release that finally tips you over the edge. 

The way his breath catches and his hips stutter in their perfect rhythm as warmth floods you from the inside out. You can feel it, him, dribbling down your thighs and staining the mat beneath you. It has you clenching around him, pushing your hips back weakly while you let the feeling overwhelm you. You nearly black out. Two weeks without him hadn’t felt long until you remembered what you were missing. 

You lose your sense of time, dropping to the mat like your bones have gone liquid, dripping out of you. You can feel Logan draped over you still, his weight a comforting blanket that nearly has you drifting to sleep. Naked, in the middle of the boxing ring. He pulls out of you and you whimper at the loss. 

He shushes you, rubbing a hand up your spine and pressing a gentle kiss to the side of your temple. He wraps his arms around you, laying down and pulling you back into his chest. It takes a few minutes of quiet cuddling for you to remember what exactly led you down to the gym in the first place. 

You feel disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. It’s clear what his plan had been. And you’d fallen for it hook, line, and sinker. You’d barely even fought against him. Of course, you could reason that you needed to get the tension out. This was the perfect way to funnel out your built-up energy. 

But you’re disgusted with yourself for giving in to him so easily. You just disregarded dignity and self-respect for a chance to get him between your legs. You were such a fucking idiot. No wonder this is all he wanted you for. 

“Shit,” you mutter, trying to pull yourself out of his grip. Your eyes widen as his arms tighten around your waist. He tugs you back down until he’s got you in what essentially feels like a headlock. He could easily pass it off as spooning, but it feels a little more demanding than that. “Logan,” you warn, the silent peace of the moment officially shattered. 

“Don’t,” he gripes. You can fight against him for as long as you want, but you’ll only tire yourself out. His arms are literally metal bands around you. “Let me talk and then you can run off.” You huff and wait, but he never speaks. Finally, you look over your shoulder and glare at him. “Well?”

You roll your eyes, “Fuck’s sake,” you mutter. “Alright, speak.”

You can feel his grin against the back of your head. If he didn’t have you in such a tight grip, you’d elbow him in the gut just to be petty. “I made a mistake,” you scoff and he keeps going. Stopping you from interrupting him with something bitchy. “You weren’t just something convenient to me, sweetheart.” he pauses and chuckles, “You’re a huge fucking pain in my ass.”

“Is this your idea of an apology?” You snap, “Because this is pathetic.” 

He doesn’t say anything and you’re tempted to snark at him again. But then the world is flipped on its side as he jerks you around and forces you to face him. Your chests rub together, the sweaty skin sticking together and bordering on uncomfortable. “You ever shut up?” He asks, but there’s no heat to the words. If anything he looks fond of you, and it makes you shift around, trying not to look him in the eye. But there’s nowhere for you to hide, you’re both naked and bare before each other. 

You’re as physically vulnerable as he must feel emotionally. And as much as this is a horrible way to display how he’s feeling, you’re starting to understand him a little better. You know why this conversation is so hard for him, why he can’t accept that someone truly loves him and he loves her back. 

But that’s not going to get him out of it. He’s still yet to say the words. Maybe if he manned up and said something real you’d consider forgiving him. You give him an expectant look and he sighs, forehead pressed against yours as he slumps over you. You want to pretend you’re annoyed at the contact, but you’ve been craving it since you ran away two weeks ago.

You’ve been desperate for this warmth that only he can provide you. Without realizing it, you nuzzle further into his chest, hands drifting up to wrap around his bare waist. Logan feels the tightness in him ease slightly at the way you curl into him. He’s got a shot, even if you try and tell him he doesn’t.  

It’s silent for a while, while you linger in the emotions of what just happened and he tries to find the right words. He leans down, tucking a piece of hair behind your ear and smiling against the shell of your ear. “I love you,” he whispers. 

You’d told yourself you’d only consider forgiving him if he said those words. But that’s only because you’d never thought he would actually say it. You didn’t think he was capable of admitting that to himself. It seems so out of character for him. But, maybe, you don’t know him as well as you thought you did. 

He pulls back, hand landing on your jaw and gently guiding your head out of his neck. He gives you an expectant look but you’re finding it hard to meet his eyes. You’ve been waiting for him to say that, but now it feels like you can’t. You’re still struggling to forgive him. He put you through so much unnecessary hurt just because he couldn’t face his own feelings. 

And now you’re struggling to do the same. “I want to say it back,” you tell him. “But how am I supposed to trust that the next time things get hard, you won’t lash out again?”

He frowns, an irritated huff of breath shooting out his nose. But you know it’s frustration towards himself. For letting you both get to this point because he couldn’t just say three words. “I’ll wait,” he promises. “For as long as it takes, I’ll wait.” 

You smile and nod, wrapping your arms around him and burying your face in his neck. You’re sure you’ll be saying it sooner rather than later. But what’s the harm in making him squirm a little? He deserves it. 

A/N: I don’t write smut, it’s literally in my rules. I think I stared at a gif of him for too long and some horny ass demon possessed me and made me write this. Forgive me, universe, I’m no better than a man.

end. — I do not own the characters or the comics/movies Wolverine/X-Men, but this writing is my own all rights reserved © not-neverland06 2024. do not copy, repost, translate & recommend elsewhere.

[ellecdc]

The Bolter

Sirius Black x fem!reader who meet again [5.5k words]

prompt: poly!wolfstar or just Sirius x reader in which they were friends with benefits but it was obvious they loved each other even though they acted like they weren’t. Then, reader finds out shes pregnant and before telling them, they do something stupid. so reader runs away for a few months. When she comes back (only bc she had to for some reason) shes like 6-7 months pregnant

CW: secret pregnancy, angst, FWB to strangers to lovers, second chance fic, post war trauma, both Sirius and reader are meeesssssssssssyyyyy in this! I don't approve of what they've done but I understand it

“So…she’s coming back?” Sirius asked cautiously, focusing more on the condensation pooling on the coaster underneath his pint than the concerned gazes of his two best friends. 

“Well, I don’t know if she’s coming back, but she’ll be here for Harry’s birthday.” James mollified, sharing a nervous look with Remus.

“Right.” Sirius murmured around a swallow; throat tight and dry though neither the pint nor the pitcher of water in front of him looked as though they’d be able to help him with the matter. 

“Are you going to be alright?” Remus queried, and Sirius offered him the most arrogant scoff he could muster; he missed by a long shot.

“Of course I’m going to be alright.” He huffed. “Why? Can’t two friends see each other after five and a half months of silence?” 

“Sirius-” James started, but Sirius carried on. 

“She’s the only one who’s been silent, you know?” Though he knew that they did indeed both know. “I’ve tried. I’ve tried reaching out.” 

“Pads.” Remus offered consolingly, looking frustratingly like he was going to reach a hand out to Sirius as if he were some over tired toddler on the brink of a meltdown.

“Stop, no I- I’m fine, honest.” He insisted as he took a steadying breath. “I- you… talked to her, then?”

James and Remus shared another look before James allowed the segue. 

“Mostly by owl, but she has spoken on the phone with Lily a few times.” 

Sirius nodded as he considered this; considered the number of owls Sirius had sent that had gone unanswered - perhaps even unopened if the silence meant anything at all.

“She’s…okay?” 

Remus let out a sigh as he shot Sirius a tight smile that looked more like a grimace. “She’s…vague.”

“She doesn’t share a whole lot.” James agreed. “Says she’s fine, things are good. Mostly asks about…all of us, Harry.” 

“She’s still staying with that great aunt,” Remus added, “helping her with the property.” 

“She seeing anyone?” There was no point in pretending that wasn’t the most pressing matter in Sirius’ mind; of course it was. And as angry and bitter as the idea made Sirius, it would have been his own fault, his own doing. He had no one to blame but himself. 

And he’d have to live the rest of his life knowing he was the one who let you slip away - pushed you away - right into the arms of someone else. 

“Not that she’s mentioned.” Remus responded honestly; he couldn’t say for sure that you weren’t, but if you were, you clearly hadn’t said anything about it. 

“Right.” Sirius offered shortly. 

“Pads, I…we would understand if it's too hard for you to see her. If you can’t come-”

“Don’t be daft.” Sirius scoffed deploringly. “I’m not going to miss my godson’s birthday. If anyone should be missing it, it should be her; I’ve been here for the past four and a half months, she’s the one who fucked off for good.”

“Sirius-”

“I don’t understand why you had to invite her!” Sirius shouted then, startling even himself when he realised how breathless he sounded all of a sudden. 

James smiled at him sadly; Sirius wished he’d stop doing that. “We wanted all of Harry’s uncles and his aunt to be there, Sirius…it’s important, yeah? We…we almost didn’t get this chance.”

Sirius could feel a wicked migraine coming on; between talking about you, the close calls and the fact that the group of you were all alive following the war by nothing but chance, and the fact that the person Sirius was most angry with was himself, he downed the rest of his pint and flagged the server in favour of having to look at the pitiful gazes being shot at him by Remus and James.

Sirius couldn’t tell if he was eager for Harry’s second birthday or dreading it. But like it or not, Sirius was going to be seeing you again. 

It had felt like a good idea at the time.

It felt beyond foolish now, but it had felt like a good idea at the time. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

“Sirius, we just won. We just won, why do you have to leave now?” You practically begged as you followed Sirius through his flat. 

“Because if I don’t get out now, I’m going to be stuck here for eternity.” He all but spat at you as he shoved articles of clothing into his duffle rather haphazardly. You felt like grabbing the bag from him and folding them properly if the act wouldn’t leave you feeling like you were aiding and abetting his abandoning you.

“But what about James? And Remus? What about Harry? You fought this war for them, and they for you - we just got them back!”

“And they’ll be here when I’m ready to come home!” Sirius shouted; turning to look at you with wild, red rimmed eyes. 

“What about me?” You asked quietly, hating how small you sounded.

“What about you?” He asked; face falling painfully neutral. If you didn’t know better, you would have thought he was occluding. 

“I…I don’t know.” You started awkwardly, shrugging one shoulder. “I thought…maybe we’d have a chance now. To try?.”

“Y/N.” Sirius sighed as he rubbed harshly at his eyes; entire being oozed exhaustion at having to have this conversation with you. “Have I not been entirely clear about what this was between us?” 

“Right.” You agreed quickly, biting roughly on your lip and looking anywhere but at him as he let his hand fall away from his face. 

“It’s…it’s not you, doll-” but even your humourless scoff didn’t derail him “I’m not the kind to settle down and be content I- I wouldn’t be enough for you.”

“I’m not asking you for any more than what we have, Sirius-”

“Yes you are.”

“-I just want you to stay.”

“That’s too much for me.” He stated; his voice never raised though he may as well have screamed it at you. “I cannot sit here and play house, I cannot be that guy for you.”

“Cannot or will not?” You asked quietly, regretting the question the second it came out of your mouth and he looked at you with nothing but pity in his eyes. 

“Y/N…”

“I’m sorry I asked.” You let out with a chuckle as you harshly wiped tears from under your eyes. 

“It’s…it’s not forever, yeah? I just…I can’t see myself being happy here…not right now, at least; not for a while.” 

“Where will you go?” Your voice grated painfully as it came out, but you tried to keep an air of nonchalance about you. You wouldn’t look at him, but you could see his shoulders shrug helplessly. 

“I don’t know…everywhere. Anywhere.”

Anywhere was better than stuck here with you, apparently. 

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is.” You offered, and you found that you meant it. As much as it hurt to say, you really, really meant it. Sirius had been fighting and running his entire life, and he finally won. If he wanted to celebrate his victory by taking off to be that rich, vague uncle who popped by with lavish gifts every so often, who were you to deny him? 

You loved him.

You were in love with him.

You loved him enough to let him go. 

*ೃ༄.ೃ࿐

He had sent James a postcard a few weeks later. Turns out he started in the South of France; his family had a home there that had been left untouched by the war, and Sirius was going to start by figuring out what to do with the property. 

And you? Well, you found out you were pregnant. 

You suppose it was a small mercy that Sirius wasn’t here to know; you’re sure it would have hurt more hearing him tell you he was leaving if there were two of you he couldn’t find it in him to love. You would have hated it even more if he felt trapped into staying with you just for this.

But all this meant was that you couldn’t stay, either. 

You supposed that was alright, though; the life you wanted to build here was with Sirius. You loved your friends, but you had a little one to think about now, too. 

You made up a story about a great aunt needing help tending to her property and wishing to be closer to your relatives now that you could be, now that it was safe. No one questioned it, likely because Remus had done the same following the war; moving back home to help his dad and ailing mother tend the property in whatever ways he could. 

You found yourself a little cottage, you wrote to the boys and had the occasional phone call with Lily, and you grew.

It had felt like a good idea at the time. 

But now you were almost six months pregnant and returning home for the first time since you moved to celebrate your nephew’s birthday with all of your closest friends, the love of your life whose child you were carrying, and none of them knew. 

You wondered if you should even go, but the thought of missing out on sweet Harry’s second birthday that the lot of you almost never got the chance to see made your throat constrict with tears you refused to shed since the war. 

You wondered if you should tell everyone before you arrived, but the thought of them all discussing you and your pregnancy without you being there left you feeling small and ashamed. 

You wondered if you should tell Sirius, but you looked over at the stack of unopened letters he had sent to you in the past four months - the first thin, perhaps a postcard, the second and third were thicker, the fourth was by far the thickest (like he had drafted an autobiography that he wanted you to proofread for him), the fifth was similar to the second, whilst the sixth (the last) couldn’t be more than one page - and wondered how the hell you’d even start that conversation after all this time.

Hey, remember me? Yeah, the bird who caught feelings during our friends with benefits situation that we both agreed would remain platonic amidst a battle for survival and then begged you to stay with no success? Well, whilst you’ve been off probably shagging every beautiful woman across the British Isles, I’ve been pregnant. Right, with your child. How was France, by the way? 

You swallowed around your gag reflex and groaned at your image in the mirror. You put on a pair of gingham pants with the baggiest band-tee you could find, planned on sucking in the best you could if anyone (when everyone) insisted on a hug and hoped to every deity that they all just assumed you’d been eating really well since the end of the war. 

You smoothed the fabric over your bump one last time before you left - looking at the proof that, if nothing else, you were protecting more than just yourself, and you let that be enough - before you grabbed Harry’s birthday present and called for Potter Manor, throwing a fistfull of floo powder into your fireplace and travelling by way of the flames. 

You could hear Harry squealing in delight in one of the adjacent rooms as you stepped into the floo reception room at Potter Manor; a smile taking over your face uninhibitedly at the sounds of the people you loved more than life itself, happy and celebrating.

How could you have gone so long without this? 

“Y/N!” Lily shrieked as she made for you, and you sucked in before returning her hug. “Merlin, you're glowing! Where’s your aunt's place again?” 

“Erm. Killarney.” You offered; not entirely untrue - you did have an aunt in Killarney. 

“Well,” she let out with a breath, eyes turning a touch glassy as they darted across your face, “it seems that Irish air’s been for you.” 

You smiled back at your friend before pulling her back in for another hug. “I’ve missed you, Lils.”

“Don’t let it go so long next time, yeah? We can come to you, too; I’m teaching James how to be a muggle, and Harry’s only had the odd burst of accidental magic yet. We could play the part in front of your aunt.” 

“I’d love that, Lily.” You responded earnestly. 

“Y/N!” James hollered then before you were being bodily tackled by the former quidditch chaser, a brief flash of anxiety at his hold around your stomach abating only when he relinquished his hold on you. “Where in the sodding hell have you been!?”

“Killarney.” Lily answered for you. 

“I love Killarney!” 

“Have you ever been to Killarney, Prongs?” Remus asked then, appearing in the door as he leaned against the archway. 

“No! But I love it there! I just know it!” 

“Hey Moony.” You greeted, quickly accepting his open arms and breathing him in.

“We’ve missed you.” He murmured into your hair, and you couldn’t help the traitorous hitch in your heart that he might’ve meant-

“Uncle Pafoo!” Harry squealed, suddenly standing right underneath you. 

“That’s right, Haz!” The voice that haunts your dreams called out. “Auntie is here!”

“Hullo, Harry!” You cheered as you picked him up, sucking in before settling on your hip. “Happy birthday, little dude.” 

“Am two!” He announced as he held up four fingers. 

“You are two! Way to go!” You laughed. “Is everyone here?” You asked the room, shooting Sirius a tight smile so you couldn’t be accused of hostility when your heart stuttered for an entirely different reason. 

He looked tired - a bone deep tired that no amount of sleep could rectify - and the bags under his eyes seemed to be chronic. But he was still so beautiful; his hair had grown slightly longer since the last time you’d seen it, the last time you’d run your fingers through it, the last time you’d brought sheers to it, and he donned more than a few new tattoos if the few you could see were enough to go by. 

You had to look away.

“Reg’s going to be by after work; his part-time student called in sick so he needed to be there to close the shop himself. Thankfully, they’re only open in the morning on Sunday’s.” Remus explained kindly.

“Good, it’ll be nice to see him.” You offered, and the room fell slightly awkward.

“Uncle Pafoo, aeroplane?” Harry asked then, and whatever exhaustion seemed to be plaguing Sirius vanished as he beamed at his godson. 

“Absolutely, little man!” He agreed, holding his arms out and taking Harry’s weight from you.

“Do you want something to drink, Y/N? Wine? Beer, Cider? Juice? Water?” James rapid fire, causing Lily to groan. 

“We just got her back, Potter. Do try to control yourself.” 

“Water would be great, Jamie. Thank you.” You laughed, following the group into the open concept kitchen-to-living room. 

Save the fact that you and Sirius seemed to be doing acrobatics to avoid each other, you were almost stunned at how easy and natural being back here felt. Regulus returned and the two of you shared friendly jibes, Lily caught you up on all of the drama at the Ministry, James strong armed you into agreeing to join them for their next pub quiz night, and Remus said that your old professors all wished you well. 

You loved your cottage - the home you’d built for yourself and your little one - but you found yourself feeling homesick for here, and you hadn’t even left yet.

You were leaning on your elbows against the kitchen island, watching Sirius and Regulus pretend to be knights in shining armour as they fought off a fire breathing dragon (Harry) to save the princess (James) when Remus appeared beside you and mirrored your stance. 

“It’s not the same without you, you know?” He murmured then. 

“But they seem to be alright.” You responded simply, and Remus allowed the two of you to fall into silence for a few beats.

“How far along are you?” 

You stood up straight and turned to stare at him in horror, only to see him smiling kindly at you. 

“How do you-”

“Lycanthropy - I could smell it on you.” He said with an embarrassed wrinkle of his nose. “I knew Lily was pregnant before she did.”

You shushed him and looked over your shoulder to ensure no one else could hear you.

“Come.” He said with a sigh, gently taking you by the elbow and ushering you out of the sliding doors to the back yard and closing it behind the two of you. 

“Remus-”

“Is it his?” He cut you off; his face held no judgement though perhaps just a touch of concern. For you or his best friend/virtual brother-in-law, you weren’t sure.

“Yes.” You whispered, not bothering to clarify who he was talking about; you both knew. 

Remus simply nodded as he looked you over. “Is that why you left?”

“He left first.” You hissed petulantly.

“He left you, but you left all of us.” Remus countered somewhat sternly. “Besides, I didn’t ask about him; is this why you left?”

“Yes.”

“Why?” 

“Because, Remus!” You shouted, tears flooding your vision as you turned to look at him. “Because he didn’t want to be here. He didn’t want this, he didn’t want me. I wasn’t going to force him to come back just because… just because.” 

“Don’t you think he should have been able to make that choice for himself?” Remus asked gently.

“He chose! He did choose! He told me he couldn’t play house, he told me he couldn’t be this person for me. I loved him enough to accept that. I loved him enough to let him go.”

“Loved?” Remus asked with a tilt of his head. “Past tense?” 

“Remus.” You groaned. “Please.”

“He came back for you, you know.” Remus pointed out. “He left you, you left us, but he came back for you.” 

“Stop it.”

“It’s true, Y/N.”

“And so what if it is?” You nearly sobbed. “So what if he did, Remus? What can I do? I can’t go back in time and change my mind, I can’t go back and fix this. He made choices, I made choices, and here we are.” 

Remus heaved a sigh and looked at you sadly. “I don't think either of you realise that your choices don’t have to remain permanent; there can be an expiration date on them.” 

You were catching your breath from your mini temper tantrum when you heard the glass door slide open, both you and Remus turning to see Sirius standing there almost shy - far shier than you’d ever seen him before.  

“Just talk to him? Okay? You..don’t have to tell him now, just…talk to him.” Remus whispered before heading towards the door, clapping Sirius on the back before disappearing back into the house. 

“Hey.” Sirius offered cautiously after a few beats of silence, coming to stand beside you as the two of you looked over the railing of the patio to the rest of the manor grounds. 

“Hey.” You returned dumbly, clearing your throat before continuing. “You…you look good, Sirius.”

Sirius scoffed, and you could feel your shoulder rising before you saw him smirk at you - if not somewhat sadly - cutting you a playful glare from the corner of his eye. “Did you take up lying there in Ireland?” 

You let out a breathy half-laugh. “I’m not lying.” 

“Then you need glasses. I look like shite.”

“You look tired.” You amended. 

“I’m exhausted.” He agreed, and the two of you lapsed into silence. 

“You look good, though.” He continued. “Healthy.”

You hummed in agreement. “Funny what not having to run on rations and broken hours of sleep on military cots does for a person.”

“Why haven’t I heard from you, Y/N?” He blurted then, turning his entire body to face you. 

“Sirius, I-”

“Everyone else has. You’ve spoken to Lily on the phone. James and Remus have gotten letters. Even Reg got a postcard for his birthday.” 

“I’m sorry.” Was all you could manage to say.

“I wrote to you.” He continued. “Letters, a lot. Did you get them?”

You nodded your head yes shamefully.

“Did you read them?”

You felt your heart splinter at how hopeful and heartbroken he sounded over it. You felt like scum of the earth when you shook your head no, and he let out a sigh.

“I guess that makes me feel a little bit better, then.” He said as he lit a cigarette and took a deep drag. 

You found yourself taking a step away from him when you asked “why does that make you feel better?”

He let out a humourless laugh that forced smoke from his lips. “At least now I know that my begging for a second chance, begging you to come home, professing my love for you isn’t what kept you away.”

“Sirius-”

“I messed up, Y/N.” He declared earnestly. “I…I was fucking scared, terrified. I’d spent so much of my life living with one foot on the threshold of hell that after the war, I didn’t know how to live amongst the undead.”

He took a moment to catch his breath as if he’d run all the way here just to tell you something. “And I ran. I bolted, I…”

“You left.” You finished for him. 

“I left.” He agreed. “I… I didn’t know, Y/N.”

“Didn’t know what?” You asked as you choked back tears.

“Didn’t know what I had, or what I wanted. Or that I had everything that I wanted.”

“And you do, now? You know what you want?” You asked, and a look of determination painted his features as he met your gaze head on.

“For my entire life, I had never known what family meant, so I wasn’t even aware that I’d created my own with all of you until I’d risked it all. I was so sure I didn’t want to be like my parents that I never realised I may actually…want to be a parent someday. I was so sure I didn’t want to be my father that I never realised I actually did want to be a partner someday. I was so certain I’d never know what true love felt like that I didn’t even realise I had it right here all along with you.” 

“Sirius-”

“I messed up. I left. But what I don’t understand is why you did. Or why you stayed away.” He took a step towards you with his cigarette long forgotten in one of his hands, the ash threatening to burn his fingers before you plucked it and stubbed it out on the stone railing. He barely flinched. “Why’d you go?”

“I didn’t want to sit around and wait for you, Sirius. I- it hurt, I was hurt. And then-”

“I’m sorry.” He offered quickly, but you shook your head.

“I’m not telling you this for you to be sorry, I just-”

“I came back for you.”

“But it wasn’t just about me anymore, Sirius!” You shouted then, and you watched his brows furrow before his face fell in horror. 

“You’re seeing someone.” He asked, though he phrased it as more of a statement; like he’d been expecting it.

“I’m not seeing anyone, Sirius.” You sighed.

“Then why’d you leave? Why’d you stay away?”

“Because I’m pregnant.” You blurted, and Sirius fell silent. “I’m almost six months pregnant.”

“Six-” He started, eyes falling to your stomach still hidden behind the baggy article of clothing before you smoothed the fabric over your ever rounding bump. “Six months. Six…”

You let him do the maths in the head as he stared hard at your stomach like he was sitting in divination and it was a crystal ball that might just give him the answers if only he stared at it long enough.

“It’s mine?” He finally concluded.

“Yes.” You whispered.

“It’s mine. You’re pregnant, it’s mine.” He murmured, before his eyes met yours again. “You’re pregnant with my child?”

“Right.” You agreed, and he crumpled to a heap on the floor. 

“Sirius Orion Black,” Sirius heard Remus hiss, clearly hovering somewhere over him, “I swear to Godric if you do not wake up and eat some of this godsdamned vanilla cake you bought, your brother is going to skin you alive.” 

“It’s true.” James agreed from somewhere on Sirius’ other side. “He actually ran to the store when he found out you bought vanilla because he knew Remus wouldn’t eat any of it. Remus is going to get his chocolate cake, and you’re going to get egged.” 

“Shut up.” Sirius hissed as he scrunched his eyes closed. “Fuck.”

“How do you feel, mate?” James asked rather jovially as he clapped him roughy on the shoulder.

“Like hell.”

“Why’s that?” Remus joined in.

“Because I was in the middle of a dream and you sods woke me up going on about cake.” He muttered as he opened his eyes, realising then that he’d been propped up on a number of cushions in one of Lily and James’ spare rooms.

“S’he awake?” Lily whispered, and Sirius craned his neck to see you and Lily poke your heads into the room.

“Oh my gods.” Sirius breathed as he sat up, likely far too fast for someone who fell unconscious mere moments ago. “Oh my gods, you’re actually here?” 

“Did you hit your head, mate?” James asked as he prodded at Sirius’ head, causing Sirius to swat his arms away as he shifted towards the edge of the bed.

“You’re here.” He whispered as you slowly made your way into the room.

“I’m here.” You offered cautiously, eyes darting around at your oldest friends like there might be some secret threat lurking in the room.

“You’re pregnant…” He tried then, punching the air right out of Lily and James who both spun to stare at you in shock.

You smoothed the fabric of your shirt over your midsection again to expose a very obvious (now that everyone could actually see it) baby bump. 

“Oh my gods!” Lily and James chorused, causing Remus to snort.

“You knew, didn’t you!?” Lily accused Remus who held his hands up in surrender. 

“Only when she walked in, and not a second sooner.” 

“With my child.” Sirius continued, and you nodded at him. 

“Y/N.” Lily winced. “You-”

“You sodding scared me!” You shrilled then, grabbing one of the throw pillows James had dumped onto the ground to make room for Sirius and swinging it at him.

“I scared you!?” Sirius shrieked right back, much to the delight of Harry who started banging on the throw pillow that had landed beside him. 

“I thought I killed you!”

“Oh, well I’m terribly sorry that finding out the woman I’ve been in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months - who was missing for all intents and purposes, may I remind you - is pregnant with my child happened to be a little shocking.” Sirius sneered sarcastically. 

“Well I only went ‘missing’ because the man I’ve been hopelessly in love with for years and pining hopelessly over for months took off an-” The abrupt end of your statement nearly gave the room whiplash as you cut yourself off mid sentence and stared at Sirius like you’d never seen him before. 

“What…what just happened?” James whispered carefully.

“Years?” You whispered then, and Sirius hated every version of himself that deigned to let you go without knowing just how loved you were.

“Probably when we were still just cosmic dust.” Sirius smiled sadly. “I’m sorry I didn’t always realise, I’m sorry I didn’t make sure that you knew.”

“I take it to guess there isn’t an aunt in Killarney?” Lily offered then, smiling kindly at you when you turned your attention towards her.

“No, I- I think there actually is an aunt in Killarney, I just don’t live with her.”

“Where do you live?” Sirius asked eagerly, wondering if you could hear it in his voice or even see on his face just how desperate he was to know everything about you.

“Near Tintagel.” You offered abashedly as Remus slapped his hand on his thigh.

“You minx!” He scolded you. “You lived basically across the channel from me this whole time!”

“I hope it’s nice, wherever it is” You offered him then, smiling through your tears as Sirius swallowed around his bile threatening its way up his oesophagus.

“I hope it’s nice.” Sirius blurted suddenly, and Sirius thanked the heavens for Remus John Lupin who seemed to understand that the conversation delved beyond the need of an audience, scooping Harry up and closing the door behind Lily, James, and himself to give you two some privacy. 

“It’s nice.” You offered wetly. “It’s quiet.”

Sirius hummed in acknowledgement. “In Tintagel, near Merlin’s cave?”

You laughed, which saw Sirius smiling. “I’m not right in Tintagel, just outside. My neighbours are mostly sheep.” 

“Does it have a picket fence?”

“To keep the sheep out of my garden.” You nodded with a smile.

“Flowers; lots of them.” Sirius deduced, you nodded again though Sirius watched your smile falter.

“You’d probably hate it.”

“Are you there?” He asked quickly.

“Well, usually, yes.” You offered, and Sirius shrugged easily.

“Sounds as though it might be my favourite place in the world, then.” 

The next breath that left you shuddered on its way out, and Sirius finally stood and met you in the middle of the room; close enough to touch but not daring to. He hadn’t earned that right yet. 

“Take me with you?” He all but begged then, and your face crumpled in misery.

“Sirius, I don’t want you to follow me because you have to, I-”

“I don’t have to though, I know I don’t; I know you’d never make me.” He assured you then, lifting a hand but pausing to wait for you to nod at him before he placed it on your upper arm. “The letters, Y/N, I- I’ve been looking for you for months.”

A sob tore through you as you lowered your head, and Sirius allowed himself to catch it in his free hand. 

“I don’t want you to feel bad; I’m not telling you so that you feel bad, love.” The endearment falling off his tongue so easily now that he had you in his arms. “But I need you to know that I want you - any of you, all of you - and have for a very long time.” 

“It’s just…you said-” and Sirius knew exactly what he said; he had played that conversation over and over and over in his mind until he found himself sick over it more than once. But we waited for you to tell him anyhow; he’d always wait for you. “You couldn’t settle down and be content, you couldn’t play house; you weren’t that kind of guy.” 

“I know, doll. I know.” He whispered. “I…I didn’t think I was capable of it. I didn’t think I deserved everything I wanted and I knew that you deserved better. That you deserve better.”

“But?”

“But I’d be happy to spend the rest of my life trying to prove you otherwise; trying to give you everything you deserve.”

“Sirius…” You sighed, and Sirius could see your walls cracking. “I…I’m-”

“Take me home? Please?” He begged then, words interrupted by a sob of his own. “To Tintagel, to Killarney, to bloody fucking Azkaban or the bottom of the sodding ocean, I don’t care where it is just as long as it’s with you, please. Please.”

Your hands landed on Sirius’ chest and he was sure you could feel his hummingbird heart beating under your fingertips. He only hoped you knew how it beat for you. 

“Please bring me home?”

James didn’t know if he could consider this a success or not. 

His motivation was not singular; it was a ‘hit two fairies with one gobstone’ sort of scenario, so to speak. Was his son turning two? Indeed he was! Was James throwing a party for said son’s birthday? You’re damned right he was. But was it also a really good excuse to force two of his idiot best friends into the same room again? Absolutely.

Except James seems to have gotten slightly more than he bargained for; Sirius falling unconscious in his childhood backyard, you sobbing into Lily’s shoulder out in the hallway as he and Remus tried to bring him back from the dead, Remus sneering at a slice of birthday cake like it personally offended him and Regulus threatening to defend his boyfriend’s honour, and - apparently - a new niece or nephew coming in the next three-ish months. 

But when he looked over to see you and Sirius emerging from the spare room - both of your faces tear stained and puffy from the grief and torment you no doubt put yourselves through - hands intertwined between your bodies and your hand resting protectively over your growing bump, and a spark in Sirius’ eyes James had thought he lost in the war but now realised he only lost when he lost you…

…yeah, James figured he could probably consider this a success.

[kkalimarii]

leech parents when they were younger

blurbs down below!

so i started thinking about my headcanon that they were rivals when they were younger, which just made me start conceptualizing what they were like.

-i’ve heard that yana said jade was originally supposed to be more “punk-like”, and i was like… damn. it’s be fucking sick if mama leech was a punk. not sure if i had a great delivery of it, i’m not aware much of punk or goth or alternative fashion 😅 but i tried

-also, i know it logically doesn’t make sense for them to be in human form when they were young, they were likely just in the ocean all the time..but i just like drawing them in different clothes 🥹 its so fun

-mama leech used to be more openly terrifying, she’s just better at hiding it now ^^

-papa leech was a thot lol, playboy vibes

-bandages are from their fights, they got fucking into it. one glance of disdain and one of them immediately said, “you wanna fucking go?”

-if you told either of them back then that they’d be madly in love for the rest of their lives and have twins, they’d laugh at you hysterically and then jump you

-but if anyone else started talking shit about the other person near them, thinking it was alright… well, it’s an immediate reaction of, “who the hell do you think you are? you think you can talk shit now?” (they’ve been in love a long time ago, they just didn’t know it lol)

-they hated each other, but were still fairly respectful of each other. name calling never went too far

list of some of the names:

-baldy (“the silver is fucking genetic”)

-gwen-wannabe

-fishbrain (“it’s birdbrain you dumbass”)

-stinky (a classic)

———

-but of the two papa leech was definitely the kinder soul. he’s lost count of how many times she’s kicked him in the balls

-anything involving each other was a competition. chess? they currently have had 1069 matches with each other. running? they’re training everyday at 3 in the morning. boxing? they’ve each lost a couple of teeth that have grown back. baking? trey’s parents are tired of comparing 6 cakes a day

-they’re still fiercely competitive with each other to this day. however, nowadays, they’ll say “sorry, honey” while tripping the other person in a race

-papa leech knew that he’s fallen for her faster than she knew. after they’ve been 3 weeks in, cuddling, kissing, holding hands, they’re sitting at home (they had to sneak into the house) watching a movie together. she turned to him asking, “so…are we friends? is this what friends do?” to which he followed up by laughing himself to tears for 30 minutes straight

anywayys as always, sorry for the long tangent :,) i really love characterizing them, and i hope you guys enjoy the headcanons n blurbs <3

[dollyichi]

THREE PEAS IN A POD . . . husband ! katsuki bakugou featuring your two babies / f ! reader / fluff / the both of you are already parents!

katsuki definitely prides himself in having two beautiful babies and the family you built together.

one girl, one boy (he’s older just a bit), and it’s funny how despite you being the one carrying them for 9 months his genes won in a landslide. however, your baby boy has eyes just like yours!

what you didn’t know, was how much they actually took after their dad. it was beyond their physical attributes.

katsuki finally had a day off and as much as you wanted to skip work that day and spend time with them, the projects just kept piling up that you couldn’t even fake a cold.

he reassures you that he can handle them.

katsuki’s woken up by his two little runts, shaking him in excitement. he’d pretend to sleep for a bit, peeking with one eye open to see them frowning at each other because he’s taking too long to ‘wake up.’ only to sit up and grab them. they squeal in surprise as he pulls them down to his chest, twisting and turning—putting them other the covers, already having so much fun at the start of the day.

after he made them breakfast he wanted to take them out to the mall, spoil them a little bit. they were really well behaved (something you taught them well!) and didn’t fuss even when they missed you. thinking that if they’re sad you’re not here, daddy will get sad too and they wouldn’t want that—today’s supposed to be a happy day!

at the mall he’d get a few compliments and whispers from moms and fans. how they look so much like him, how they even walk like him! it’s really adorable how he made them wear matching outfits, even sunglasses! two mini bakugou’s!

but genetics weren’t the only thing they got from him you see. they visited all types of shops, getting a few things of what they want here and there because katsuki always said to “just get anything you want.” their eyes are so bright and full of excitement. he has to slouch a bit while they’re walking hand in hand, bringing him to every aisle they take an interest in while he follows happily.

still, a phrase would always pop up from one of them. “maybe mommy would like this!” or “should we buy these for mommy too?” and they’d be showing it to him so proudly he’s almost melting. feeling so proud that a part of his love for you transferred onto them as well. they’re absolutely his kids, no doubt about it. ends up getting everything they wanted to get for you.

doesn’t even care if it’s obvious that you’re their favorite. chuckling to himself that the bags he’s carrying is mostly stuff the kids picked out for you. besides, you never asked for anything, but they listen real well, just like their father. “i hope mommy’s happy with all the things we got her!” your daughter says while he helps her with her seatbelt. “she definitely will be.”

and when you get home you see he’s watching them from the couch as they set on their little chairs drawings happily. when they realize you were there all three of then stands up to greet you. and you give each of them a kiss.

when you helped sort out some of their ‘shopping’ you see a this really expensive coat that you were eyeing just a week ago while your little girl slept on your lap (you didn’t know she was peeking from time to time).

you’re so happy you ended up hugging him so tightly, “oh my katsuki, how’d you know?” and he would shake his head with a smile, “i didn’t pick that one babe, she did.”

yeah, they definitely take after him at least eighty percent!

do not copy, plagiarize, translate, or repost my works

note : papa katsuki cradling his little ones in each of his arms while carrying the bags without the need of a shopping cart… i’d be asking for baby number 3 idk what to name these two ><

spin off — late send with todoroki shouto <3

[meteor752]

The Greek gods and how willing they are to fuck Odysseus (at least according to me)

Not doing all of them, there’s so many

Zeus: He most def would, but not because Ody is special. Like, it’s Zeus, the man would fuck anything as long as it’s breathing. I do think he’d enjoy the pleasure of messing with his older brother though, so he’s extra into it for that

Poseidon: Oh yes. He’d deny it if asked, but he wants to fuck him so badly

Hades: I think he’d fuck him mainly to see what all the hype is about. And to mess with Poseidon of course

Hera: Nah, she’s surprisingly loyal. Which like bitch why

Hestia: Asexual queen

Demeter: She has no idea who Odysseus is tbh. Don’t think she’d be too into it anyways

Apollo: Yeah! That’s not a good thing for Ody tho, as it never ends well for Apollo’s mortal lovers. Mans might be in danger

Artemis: Asexual lesbian queen

Athena: See with her, I don’t know. Their bond is strictly platonic, but I don’t think they’d be against the idea of fucking each other. I do think she’d make him fight for it

Ares: Now for most of the duration of the musical, no I do not think he’d be interested. But after he repeatedly stabs Poseidon with a trident? Oh boy

Aphrodite: Yeah, he’s just her type! Tough warrior that’s secretly a sub :)

Hermes: Mans been willing to fuck him for a long ass time, like I’m impressed by his level of self restraint actually

Dionysus: Is in the same seat as Demeter in that he has little idea of who this dude actually is. Don’t think he’d turn him down though

Hephaestus: I don’t think so, but I have no concrete reason for that answer. Vibe check

Aeolus: No thanks :)

[beloveds-embrace]

DUKEDOM!141 AND MY LIFE IS YOURS 🙏🙏🙏🙏 (/nf please and thank you :])

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Enjoy!! :D

Something all of them like to do is doll you up, and it becomes almost a private little routine between you and them.

John, as your husband (can you tell I love referring to him like this?), steadily takes control of deciding what you wear for the day even long before your request. It’s something that just… happens. He comes into your bedroom early in the mornings, and your maids scatter away to leave you both be with little giggles, excited at the prospect of you two finally getting ‘close’.

John doesn’t care for them. He greets you with a soft good morning (a few weeks later, he’d greet you the same but would gently caress your face with the back of his hand, the touch so gentle despite his roughened skin. It makes you into a blushing mess, though you tell yourself it’s just so that the peeking maids won’t suspect anything) and then goes straight to your closet, sweeping through the rows and rows of delicate, soft dresses with a discerning eye to select what attire you’ll wear for the day.

Of course, he does ask you what you feel like wearing, how you feel today in general, where you plan on going or meeting- everything to ensure the dress he’ll choose for you would be perfect. John doesn’t wait to see you in the dress, though.

He knows he’ll be seeing you all adorned and dressed up later, when you come down to dine with him. He can compliment you and pat himself on the back, then.

If he makes sure to match his cufflinks with the colors you are wearing, it will simply make whoever notice it think you two are such a lovely couple. And he still hopes that your maids will accidentally not tighten or cover up your hemline just so he can fix it himself for you.

John aside, Kyle takes care of your hair and jewelry. He makes you sit on the vanity, still alone and with none of your maids around, and then he begins the tender ritual of brushing your hair (if it’s not too curly for daily brushings). His hands, warm and careful and gentle, would then take care of oiling each strand. No oils or butters have been spared in the efforts of tending to you, and Kyle himself often turns the routine into a simple, but so effective, head massage session for you.

(Later, Kyle wonders what he needs to say and do to take over the job of the maids who help you bathe. You are always complimenting how good his hands feel on your hair, and he can show you how much better he is at using them for your body.)

Johnny eventually begins doing your makeup, on certain occasions. Once the truth comes out, the two of you are closer, and on one night, he tells you about his big family, his sisters and how they’d make him and his brothers help them get ready for events and parties.

It’s a simple question born out of your curiosity- what’s the makeup like where you were born, Johnny?- that has him in your bedroom often now, the other chefs taking care of the kitchen while his hands, clean and gentle, dab creams and whatnot on your face so delicately- like you are one of the cupacakes he decorates for your tea time.

He wants to kiss you so badly. You look so pretty like this, eyes closed and expression peaceful, patient and so trustful of his ministrations. He really, really wants to kiss you and see if the lipstick he’d applied on your pretty lips tastes as sweet as it smells.

Simon, though, is the one who slowly begins adding more and more to your dresses. John already supplies you with so much, but Simon is the one largely in charge of the silk and fabric importation and he knows well what styles will be popular next season, what styles will looks better on you and which colors suit you best. It’s not just dresses, but also matching fabrics and ribbons to go in your hair for when Kyle or your maids style, and for your pretty neck during more casual tea parties.

Not occasionally seeing you in the dresses he sends doesn’t bother him; you will be spoiling the others with the sight, and he can listen to them thank him in several ways afterwards and rest with the thought of you all dolled up, happy and thriving with them.