#not to brag but they were pretty delicious ..... anyway ..

[xxplastic-cubexx]

Magneto would love lumpia meanwhile Charles would have his Bibingka and Puto Bungbong hehe

Happy Holidays!

asks that remind me my bitchass friend kayla promised to make me *puto two years ago and she still hasnt

*puto is a filipino rice cake i do know it also means 'bitch' in spanish we do not have to address that thank you

[oceantornadoo]

IDK! HEAR ME OUT THO!!!

Simon, staging the break in and what not so he could push you back into his arms??? INSANE!

Delicious story. Thank you for the food! <3

so originally when i made that last fic (which unexpectedly blew up tysm everyone) i added in the creepy elements almost on accident?? but this and another reply has me thinking...

tw: slight humiliation (but you'll like it)=

simon riley wasn't a bad man. he also wasn't a bad husband. at least that's what he told himself.

when you had presented him with those divorce papers a bit ago (13 months and 4 days, but who was counting), he thought it was a bluff. a joke. he had gone too far in your last argument, and that was your reaction. when he told you he'd go to therapy, you stared at him with a look he'd only see on men in the battlefield. dead all the way through, a walking husk. so he signed them and went to therapy anyways.

the whole time, this whole 13-month break, where you had been 'building a new life' or whatever, he had been planning. internalizing the commentary his therapist would make, and then spitting it back out to you while you moved out of his place. every time you seemed to forget one extra box, and who's to say if he hid a couple in his room? he had a plan.

over time, simon really seemed to have learned so much from therapy. so much about communication. he had become open and welcoming, far from that man who would respond to your complaints with hard stares and a lack of words. so maybe you met for coffee a couple of times and that's how he knew about the cafe by your new place. maybe that's how he tailed you one night after a date, just to make sure this new guy didn't try anything (and not to figure out your unit number). whatever he did, he played a dangerous game by letting you have this illusion of freedom while balancing his presence in your life, just enough to make you want more. after weeks and week of stagnant progress, he needed one extra push. something small, not even a shove.

and if he happened to mention your unit number to a bunch of shady guys that hung out in the alley by your building? happened to brag about your pretty pussy and sweet-smelling panties? maybe mention your habit of not locking the window when you left for work? who's to say. ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

and now here you were, back in his arms where you belonged. a little frightened but comforted in the knowledge that he could protect you. the ghost wasn't shed when he took his mask off, but you didn't need to know that.

--

your body was so used to being in simon's arms you didn't even realize you had been grinding on him for the past ten minutes. his boxers you wore were sticky with arousal as you grinded against his clothed cock in the dark. even in your dream, it was simon underneath you, no one else. "si." you panted, a near-whisper that only a military man could have heard. "dove?" he adjusted your sleeping positions, tossing the covers to give you more room to maneuver against him.

"i know i said that thing about the line not being crossed." he gave you a low chuckle. silly little girl. you had finally realized how much you needed him and he was going to milk you for all you were worth. "and?" you stopped. shit. he needed to seem more responsive. he moved you from his thigh to his boner using one arm, the other one snaking its way under your shirt to stroke your back. you moaned as he massaged the tension from the day's earlier events away, giving you sweet relief. the sweetness of the massage made a hard contrast to the friction in your core as he rubbed you against his hardened cock.

"spit it out, baby." he growled. "can you-fuck." his hand had moved to the back of your neck now, holding it in a tight grip. his hand was so large he could feel the pulse points on either side of your jaw, heart racing. finally. "can you get me off? just this once?" he snorted, moving you up and down against him faster, dragging your sensitive clit over and over. "what's the magic word?" he flipped you both around, pressing his body weight on top of you.

simon turned the light on, wanting to see how needy you were. you were panting, shirt sticky with sweat as your chest moved up and down with exertion. he hiked up your shirt and took off your boxers, exposing your sticky cunt to the cool air. he took a sniff of the fabric, noting your small gasp as if you didn't know how obsessed he was with you already. "magic word." your mouth dropped. guess you weren't getting off that easily. "please, simon." he clucked his tongue at that. "ghost?" he left out a short laugh, arms reaching out to tug his shirt off of you. your nipples were so hard, aching to be pinched and sucked just how you liked them. "not ghost." he reached over to his nightstand, pulling something out of the drawer. he fumbled with his hand for a second, then held yours up to the light as he slipped something on it.

"husband." the words left your mouth in a whoosh, eyes transfixed on your wedding ring that was on your hand. the one you had flung at him after he complained about the divorce papers, the one you said you'd rather die than wear again. and here it was, right back on your finger, sparkling in the lamplight.

simon captured your mouth in a rough kiss, entering you with his ring and middle finger at the same time. "so willing for your husband, hm? all puffy and wet. look at your cunt, darling." you both looked down at your pussy at the same time. it was squelching, your vibrator sessions not holding a candle to what your ex husband could do to you. you were almost embarrassed by how desperate your pussy looked, clit enlarged from its earlier friction. his fingers worked in and out of you, wedding ring covered in slick. you watched as he pressed his thumb to your clit in small circles, a tightening sensation in your lower belly rising to the surface. "simon, si-fuck" he gave your pussy a small slap, pulling his fingers out as you addressed him incorrectly. "husband, please." he entered you again roughly, drawing a low moan from you. he captured your nipple in his mouth, teething it just enough to make you hurt. punishment.

"please please please i'm right ther-" he pressed hard against your clit and sent you careening off the edge into your orgasm, back bowing off the bed. simon gave you small love bites as you recovered, hand still working your cunt to draw out your orgasm.

finally, he removed his fingers and drew back from you, forcing eye contact. he put both in his mouth, moaning at the taste of your arousal mixed with the metal from the wedding band. your jaw was still open, looking at him like you had never seen him before. like the sheep's skin had finally been removed, and now only the wolf remained.

"let's get you to bed, wife."

[blublublujk]

nobody knows

mini-series

word count: 3k

genre: established relationship (hard dom x slutty sub)

pairing: hoseok x reader and jungkook x reader

summary:

the older tends to stay up a bit longer than you and he doesn’t know if he’s gone mad or if he genuinely smells a different scent on you, but he does. he knows that scent so well, but he knows he must be going crazy. jungkookie? that virgin couldn’t fuck a girl even if she was sent on a silver platter to him.  hoseok shakes the thoughts out of his head and pulls you in closer, his grip is so tight, almost as if he’s trying to prove his point. he’d be damned if his slut was being used by anyone else than him.  but just how much were you willing to get away with? 

warnings: [please read if you are sensitive] hard dom hoseok!!, slutty sub reader!!, hoseok is not nice ok but he isn't terrible i promise, hoseok is extremely possessive, cheating involved but you would too so, explicit sexual content: rough sex, filming during sex, blowjob, sexual thoughts, virgin jungkook, voyeurism, falls between lines of dubious consent, sexting, breast play, nipple piercings, if i missed anything fuck me

a.n: hi there, it's me wanting to start something super unrelated to what i had in mind, but i've been going thru it again so please be easy and patient with me. i'll be dedicating whatever time i have on this for right now since i don't have the mental for something super creative and too long, i'm not really sure where this will go, it’s more like word rambling with no direction just seeing where this leads me, but please lmk if you have anything you wanna see. everything is lowercase because this is just gonna be super sloppy from start to finish. im gonna have fun with this so i hope you do too. see you next time!

—> m.list

—> find me on ao3 & twt

--

hoseok records everything because why wouldn’t he? he records absolutely everything because he wants to look back at old times and remember how desperate you became while slurping his dick down. every time you would pull away he would shove you back down, forcing you to deep throat. hoseok would bring the phone right up to your face, flashing light and all so he could get a good image of how pretty and wet your eyelashes would get. “stick it out for me baby, show the camera how you get.” 

obviously, you listen (you’re the best sub) and hoseok loves it. he loves the cockslut you turn into, how dumb you get whenever his dick is pulled from his baggy jeans. begging for him to fill your pathetic hole. sometimes he makes sure you spend weeks without it so you reminisce about how delicious he felt shoving himself brutally into your tight walls.  

hoseok couldn’t wait to show all the members to brag about how disciplined his little subby angel was, watch their expressions fall as you took him like the good girl you were, mouth slack and moaning like a bitch in heat for him. 

and when jungkook starts begging for a turn because he’s never experienced that with anyone in his life. how could he anyways! he was practically forced into the industry at such a young age and didn’t have any time to explore himself sexually. he’s extremely frustrated and wants to experience sex just once in his life!

jungkook begged just once for it, but hoseok hyung was so mean! he would force the younger to watch while he took you from the back and fucked you drunk. jungkook couldn’t do anything, but watch and whine. he would grow desperate hearing you through walls and sometimes even finding your slick-cum filled panties all over the dorm. 

the more he begged the more hoseok pulled back and continued to tease him about it. jungkook thought maybe he could never have you, but for the live shows from time-to-time were enough and the videos hoseok would take after cumming all over your pretty ass, claiming his bitch once and for all. jungkook lives with that for now. he can’t have you, but that is close enough. 

at the same time, hoseok doesn’t think he will ever share you. no questions asked, he’s just too mean, extremely possessive of what is his. he doesn’t share and will never fucking share. for as long as he lives, you will live off his cock and be thankful for all he gives you. 

but hoseok is an extremely hard worker, spending too much time in his studio and hours on end in the practice room. 

fortunately for you, it’s just enough time for the tricks up your sleeve. 

it started off like this, you would wait until you were sure hoseok was gone and didn’t plan on returning home until late. sometimes, he spent nights in his studio, one could never know being on hoseok’s time. 

given that information, jungkook always came home earlier than everyone else, privileges of being the youngest of all members. it’s not at all that he wasn’t hard working, the others simply worked too much and too hard. jungkook was much more lenient about his time and always allowed himself to rest when it was needed. that being said, it was too easy. 

“jungkookie?” 

when he doesn’t reply, you assume he’s either one, showering, or two he’s dozed off. either way, that simply won’t do. 

“jungkookie?” this time you are louder, knocking three times at his door. 

jungkook opens his door, hair disheveled and sleepy wide-eyed. “noona?”

“ah, sorry. i need some help.” jungkook can’t help the way he practically eats you with his gaze, though he tries to hide it. you were in the shortest shorts he’s ever seen and a tank that squeezed your breasts together. that boy would drool over it, if it wasn’t basically forbidden. hoseok made himself very clear, what’s his is his. 

“what can i help you with noona?” sweet and as respectful as ever, jungkook smiles even after you awaken him from his slumber. 

“i wanted to watch a movie in the living room, but for some reason the tv doesn’t wanna turn on. can you help me fix it?” your tone is short of suggestive, but jungkook is as innocent as ever. 

“of course noona, joon hyung probably messed with it this weekend and never bothered fixing it. you know how it is, let me see what i can do.” living in a condo with seven other men usually meant you would constantly run through problems as such. of course by now, you were used to it and nothing ever really bothered you anymore. they were all really kind and respectful of you, regardless of everything they have seen (hoseok really loves to show off what’s his and doesn’t give a damn what anybody thinks, you were perfect for him). whatever you needed or wanted, you would have it. all you had to do was open your mouth and any of the guys would run to the rescue. 

“thank you jungkookie, noona’s sorry for always bothering you.” you really aren’t. 

“nonsense noona! i’ll always do what i can to help you.” jungkook bends down to assess the tv more properly, and for a minute, he actually struggles finding the source of the problem. while he’s turned around, you shove your tank down, making sure your tits nearly hang out of the fabric, just enough to entice him, but he continued his search not bothering to turn back around. 

“jungkookie—” 

“a-ha! found the issue noona, the tv was just unplugged. joon hyung must have forgotten to replug it. all fixed!” jungkook turns back around, proud smile on his face.

“ah! silly me. i must have not noticed.” except for you did because twenty minutes ago, you unplugged it yourself to do exactly what you were about to do next. “well, i’ll let you rest now. don’t mind me. noona will be here watching a movie if you need anything. unless… you want to watch with me? noona’s very lonely these days.”

“what will you be watching?” the younger’s eyes narrow as if contemplating his answer. 

“iron man?” it comes off as a question, although somewhere along the lines you recall jungkook clearly expressing his love for the superhero. you couldn’t be too far off. 

his face immediately lights up. bingo. 

“of course, i’ll watch with you! i’ll be right back, let me bring some popcorn!” with that, he leaves you behind and you make yourself comfortable. thank god jungkook was so clueless, he had yet to even notice your questionable choice of clothing. you were practically selling yourself bare. his eyes dropped from time-to-time, but jungkook was super respectful. at least, he tried to be. 

“didn’t know if you preferred skittles or reeses pieces, but i brought both.” jungkook hands them off, soft smile on his face, his bangs nearly covering his eyes. 

“thank you jungkookie, make yourself comfortable!”

by his own means of comfortability, he plops himself at a very respectful distance from you, too respectful even and it frustrates you a bit, for now you settle that at least you've gotten this far. 

the movie starts off a bit slow for your liking, but jungkook seems to be enchanted by the damn film from the start, not once does he take his eyes off the stupid screen. mouth stuffed with fluffy popcorn as he sips on some soda. 

“want some?” he gestures at the bowl of popcorn and you quickly shake your head. jungkook turns his attention back to the screen and continues watching the movie happily. 

“it’s chilly no?” you say after some minutes, he doesn’t seem to notice you get a bit closer. stalking him like some predator. it’s really not chilly at all, but even if you were, your choice of clothing is not very helpful. 

jungkook pauses and shakes his head. “not really, i’ll bring you a blanket though!”

curse him for being so sweet and cute. at this rate, you’ll get nowhere and it’s frustrating as fuck. 

“here you go, noona. need anything else?” jungkook lays the blanket over you, covering you up entirely. for fuck sake, does he not get the hint. your outfit is practically useless now! 

“no, that’s all for now. thank you, kookie.” the boy melts away, he adores when he hears that nickname from his noona. one thing was for sure, hoseok was extremely lucky. 

the movie carries on and you almost fall asleep midway. from time-to-time, you hear a few audible reactions coming from jungkook. a few gasps here and there as if he hasn’t watched this movie ten thousand other times and you aren’t sure if your vision has gotten worse or if you saw jungkook tear up, he was quick to shake his tears away so you both go on acting as if nothing happened. 

your phone buzzes at some point in the movie and it could only be one other person. 

daddy: send nudes

me: can’t rn

daddy: why not? 

me: watching a movie

daddy: alone?

me: maybe :)

Well, it’s not like you were lying! what he doesn’t know won't kill him. 

daddy: behave baby, wouldn’t want me to tie you to the bedpost while i’m gone 

hoseok has threatened multiple times to do it and although he’s never done it outside of sex, it’s worrisome the way it turns you on. what you would do for a man to want you that much. 

hoseok has made it beyond clear, the members are completely off limits. you just can’t help yourself. 

me: daddy’s so mean :( 

daddy: yeah, the worst.  now do what i asked of you

me: yes daddy

“gonna use the restroom. need something?” jungkook watches as you walk away and quickly shakes his head no. although you can’t see him, you can feel a heavy gaze lingering as you leave the room. shame he doesn’t act on his lust and arousal, but what more can one expect from a nerdy virgin. 

with a couple flicks of your juicy tits, you send them over straight away with a simple kiss emoji and make your way back in no time. 

jungkook doesn’t even notice your presence until you clear your throat. he smiles at you before he turns his attention back. 

daddy: fuck look at you wanna bite those nipples off 

me: come do it i’m so horny daddy

daddy: yeah?  i’ll fuck it out of you this weekend

me: that’s too long, i want it now

daddy: that’s too bad isn’t it? 

me: why are you so mean :( 

daddy: i gotta go, behave  and don't play with yourself you know i don’t like my shit used 

though you are tempted to send the rolling eyes emoji, you hold it in for your sake, you prefer to keep your pussy intact, thank you very much. hoseok is strictly against pleasing yourself while he’s gone and you understand why to some degree. 

it’s like edging, the sex is just ten times better. you both are more horny, your pussy is much tighter— wetter. you're much needier, desperate even. he does it all for good reason, but what can he do about the fact that you just need a little more. maybe you truly are the slut he says you are and you are about to get what you need, one way or another. someone is bound to give it to you. men are dogs either way. 

you throw your phone aside and attempt to watch the movie again, cuddling yourself, though you much rather be bare and bouncing on dick. we can’t have everything in life, sadly. 

“kookie, noona’s still cold.” you say with one last attempt at this. if he really doesn’t break this time, what else can you fucking do. you’ve already thrown yourself bare and he barely moved. 

“oh? should i get another—” jungkook’s words die at his throat when he feels you lay on his chest, your ass sits on his thigh and he nearly chokes on spit. “n-noona.”

“this will work just fine jungkookie, thank you.” 

if hoseok knew the reality of the situation, he would kill you. that itself accelerates you more than anything. 

jungkook is a bit awkward at first, but he eventually comes through and starts getting comfortable himself, even going as far as laying a hand on your back. 

for a few minutes it stays like that, a bit too quiet for your liking, but you could hear his calming breaths as they leave his body. he smells so fresh, a bit of lavender detergent. god, you want to rip him out of his clothes and show him a good time, if only he let you or much better asked you. 

“noona, something is stabbing me. sorry can you?” 

with a confused expression, you pull off and his eyes land on the exact issue. you almost fail to hide the smile creeping its way on your face. 

“oh! sorry, that’s my nipple piercings.” 

jungkook immediately goes red and starts coughing. “oh! no sorry it’s okay, yeah i’m sorry.” 

“have you ever seen nipple piercings in person kookie?” 

jungkook just shakes his head, cheeks still burning pink. “i know jimin-hyung has them, but he doesn’t show them off like that.” 

oh? that was news to you. you’re intrigued, but for now you handle what is in front of you. 

“ah, wanna see?” 

jungkook’s eyes almost fall out of his head. “w-what about hoseok-hyung?” 

“it’s not like we are doing anything wrong? i can just show you quickly, you know, for scientific purposes.” please let this work, you were on your last chance. 

“o-okay.” jackpot. 

you start by lowering one strap and jungkook’s breath hitches as he watches very closely as more skin becomes uncovered. carefully, you pull at both straps until they have fallen and your tits bounce deliciously as they drop from your flimsy tank. 

jungkook stopped breathing seconds ago, without thinking he pokes at the rod of steel, big-eyes curious and full of stars. “is that?”

“bunnies.” you smile at him sweetly. “they’re little bunnies, just like you.” 

without another word said, jungkook clears his throat and turns red. “i- i’m sorry. i shouldn't have touched.” 

you shrug. “it’s okay, i didn’t mind.” 

“does it hurt?” the younger asks while still not being able to take his eyes off. iron man be gone. 

“no, not at all. you can touch, if you want.” 

jungkook seems to contemplate it for a few seconds before his hand covers yours, holding the perfect mounds of flesh in his palms. he thumbs your piercings in awe, he didn’t even know those types of piercings existed. 

for a few seconds, he does just that. he caresses your soft bare skin, barely putting any pressure as he squeezes them. he’s definitely getting a bit handsy and carried away, but who are you to call his attention. plus you don’t mind one bit, in fact this is exactly what you wanted and you got it. 

it ends as soon as it starts. jungkook lets go of your breasts and shyly looks away. he allows for you to tuck them back inside before he looks back over. “t-thank you, noona.”

“of course.” any time is stuck in your throat, but you bite your tongue and instead watch the movie like you both are supposed to be doing. 

the movie resumes as if nothing happened and it eventually ends. you can’t even be disappointed because you got farther than you thought you would have, but tonight you’ll sleep a bit more comfortably. 

“thank you for watching with me jungkookie, see you tomorrow. goodnight.” just as jungkook is about to reply, he feels a soft kiss on his cheek and he freezes once more. the younger’s face instantly flushes and it takes him so long to form words together. jungkook doesn’t believe his luck or is this his punishment? maybe he’s going insane. 

“goodnight.” he breathes out before you slip out of his hands and into your room. a room you share with his hoseok-hyung, god if he ever knew, he would kill you both. 

jungkook sleeps with one eye open that night, feeling guilty and a bit ashamed. he doesn’t even jerk off like he normally does, tossing and turning all fucking night. it’s not his fault, is it? he doesn’t know what he was doing anyways. he’s a total loser and he feels like one. 

in another room, you aren’t even sure what time hoseok makes it back home, but you do feel the instant he roughly pulls you against his body. flush end against his front, he’s super cold from being out so late so you feel yourself shiver in his hold. you aren’t sure if you are shivering because of that or because you’re scared he’ll smell jungkook’s calming scent all over you. who are you kidding though, he won’t. you’ll be fine and it’s definitely all in your head, that’s what you get for trying your luck. 

hoseok remains quiet as he takes a huge whiff of your hair and kisses down your throat gently. his hand is heavy on your stomach, rubbing circles. 

“daddy?” 

“go back to sleep baby.” hoseok’s voice is deep and firm as he whispers and that eases you back to sleep. 

the older tends to stay up a bit longer than you and he doesn’t know if he’s gone mad or if he genuinely smells a different scent on you, but he does. he knows that scent so well, but he knows he must be going crazy. jungkookie? that virgin couldn’t fuck a girl even if she was sent on a silver platter to him. 

hoseok shakes the thoughts out of his head and pulls you in closer, his grip is so tight, almost as if he’s trying to prove his point. he’d be damned if his slut was being used by anyone else than him. 

but just how much were you willing to get away with? 

[anarchy-and-piglins]

Would you like an AU in this trying time?

Honestly, I can't remember if I sent you this one before because it is an older one from my brain, but I woke up with it on the mind. Rotating in my brain.

Anyway, another Dark Vampire AU for you.

Humans are, in a word, extinct. Not that they aren't around, but they don't exist outside captivity anymore.

When technology advanced and cloning became easy and cheap, Vampires no longer saw any reason to hunt and capture their food. Instead, they captured and controlled the whole world, putting humans in their rightful place as domestic food or tamed pets.

Cloning added in a new fun activity for vampires: Design Lines. Human beings genetically designed to taste delicious and to have easy to manage temperaments. A cross between Designer Dogs and GMO foods. Genetic control for the benefit of Vampire Kind.

There is a whole industry for design lines. The high end lines are seen as a way to flaunt one's wealth. Covens brag over what kind of humans they have in their possession like a rich person would talk about rare vintages of wine. Design Lines are ABSOLUTELY a status symbol.

Not all lines are Design Lines. Not all Vampires are rich or powerful, but they still need to eat. There are fodder lines that just get sold for cheap, just so Vampires can eat. Usually, these fodder lines are just Design Lines that were considered failures. Something went wrong in the genetics that made them imperfect. Imperfections are noticed when the human is pretty young, so they immediately go on discount and are bought by less affluent vamps.

However, it's a pretty big rule that Vampires don't bite human kids. It's not a law, but it's considered pretty taboo and Vamps would look down their nose at that. Kids don't have much blood. A vampire could ruin them before they grow. It would be a WASTE.

So, nobody realized how DELICIOUS the Blade line was until they grew much older.

The Blade line was a “failed” designer line. They came out with Pink hair, which was strange but could be waved off. The bigger issue was the temperament.

The Blade line was downright aggressive!

Why were the human kids so angry at being contained? Why didn't they act all docile and sweet? It's soooo weird. No one would want to purchase such an unruly human. So, the Blade line was sold off for pennies while they were still kids, the research for the line was scrapped, and the company responsible for creating them moved on to different projects.

Only for years later to find out that the Blade line had THE MOST DELICIOUS blood.

It becomes a collectors nightmare as suddenly all of these big name covens want to get their hands on one of the Blade line. It was a test line of only about 100 humans. Quite a few are already dead, drained by stupid or starving vampires. Some were killed just because they really are stubborn as hell and Vampires don't always have patience for that in their food. Many covens don't want to part with their sudden status symbols. Others are more than happy to win favor and trade one of the kids to a more powerful coven. It becomes a bit of a craze to try and get a Blade line. The company that created them tries to recreate them, but it never seems to work well.

It's a bit of a mess. A new item went viral and now no one can purchase it sort of mess.

Technoblade was purchased by a mid-grade Vampire coven when he was a kid. The Vampires in the coven aren't starving but they certainly aren't anyone powerful. They tended to buy fodder lines for food, but that was out of practicality and frugality, not desperation. They didn't needlessly throw away food, either. Only when it got too old to be of use anymore.

Technoblade had never been bitten. He was approaching the age that it would be acceptable and he saw the looks that the Vampires gave him, but he was also given a wary look. He HAD broken one of the Coven's nose when he swung a iron pipe at its face during an escape attempt.

He had been punished for that.

Anyways, the coven's wariness means that he is never bitten before the coven finds out what a TREASURE he is. How much he is worth. The coven argues on what to do with him. Keep him for themselves? Sell him for more wealth? It's debated hotly with the coven.

In the end, the decision is made for them when one of them accidentally offends the Antarctic Coven.

The Antarctic Coven demands recompense and the coven that owns Techno is frantic. So they do the only thing they can think of.

They offer their Blade Line human to repay.

That MIGHT have been completely planned by the Antarctic, but who could say?

So, this coven drags Technoblade along with his AKC paperwork to the Antarctic Coven, who act so very surprised to get a Blade Line human. Such a shock. But of COURSE they could forgive random coven, they have given them such a great gift.

Technoblade is less than enthused. Sure, the rooms are nicer and the clothes are fancier, but Techno is still not happy to be stuck in the home of leeches.

Anytime they try to so much as touch him, he tenses and tries to punch (or bite) them. Very feral kitten coded. Technoblade reacts with anger whenever Phil or Wilbur or Tommy coo over him. Over his hair. Over his eyes. It pisses him off even more when they seem to enjoy his scathing insults or glares.

Those ARE all trademarks of what he is, after all.

They DO have to confirm if he is ACTUALLY a Blade. Papers can be falsified, after all. And he COULD be from one of the failed recreations.

Of course, the easiest test for that is blood. To compare his blood to the records or the Blade line. Technoblade is VIOLENTLY opposed to getting blood drawn, even if it isn't through a bite. He's held down by Tommy and Phil while an expert carefully draws blood to be tested. Not only tested for legitimacy, but also for health, individual genetic anomalies, but they also rank it's flavor against the others in the Blade line. Just because you might as well be competitive about that.

Techno ranks in the top five on that. Wilbur laughs that his temper must be why.

Technoblade throws a vase at his face.

But he…doesn't get punished for that.

Some Vampire covens break the spirit out of their food/pets/humans. The Antarctic Coven doesn't care for that mindset. It's boring. It's weak to have to beat a human into submission.

They prefer a softer route.

It's so easy to make a human feel safe. It's so easy to give them softness and be rewarded with gratitude. They are well practiced in gently guiding a human to accept the collar they weld around their throats. The Antarctic Coven has done it time and time again.

They don’t bite a human until they are allowed. Until the human agrees. And, usually, that's pretty easy to do.

Except Technoblade is SO. Fucking. Stubborn.

He WON'T agree!

So they keep trying, using the ante. Upping the gifts and the seeming kindness. Giving him a soft room(only one door to leave), a beautiful window view (iron bars to prevent him leaving) and anything he could ask for(within reason). So why isn't he baring his neck for them????

And in that confusion, they have to ACTUALLY see Technoblade as a person. It's been CENTURIES since they have seen humans as people. Like, sure, they were human once, but they don't remember it. But they start treating Techno as a person and not a pet and things…shift.

They bond. They genuinely see Techno and they love what they've found.

Technoblade starts to enjoy them, as well. Their requests to drink become an inside joke between them, Techno giving colorful refusals.

Of course, eventually there would be a moment where Techno feels like they were just manipulating his emotions. Maybe he overhears another Vampire complimenting them on their methods, throwing them all back to square one.

Technoblade is angry and hurt and glares at them with hatred. He wants nothing from them. They can just take his blood and leave him alone. Stop with the games. Just bite him and take away the illusion that they actually care.

The Antarctic Coven looks between each other and agrees. They decide to bite Techno. Technoblade is in emotional agony and doesn't really notice how much the initial bites hurt. Especially with how euphoric it becomes as the venom numbs. Technoblade's head swims. And swims. Until he falls unconscious.

The Antarctic Coven decided that Technoblade wouldn't be food. He would become one of them. Changed. The only time they bit him as a human was to make him into one of them.

Technoblade sleeps for a decade, the change very very slow. And there are quite a few people who think that the Antarctic Coven have lost their minds. They gave up a priceless treasure. But The Antarctic Coven sees that Vampirekind lost something when they ruined Humanity. Like, they had truly destroyed Humanity. The concept of Humanity. And the vain and bored Vampires couldn't even see it.

Technoblade is going to be angry when he wakes, but that value that about him, not as a pet but as himself.

Lenn, words can't express how obsessed I've been with this one lately, I've been on a vampire AUs and bloodbag AUs kick lately the concept is so good and can be done in so many ways ranging from hurt/comfort to dark to fluffy and this one is just -ferally tears up the couch cushions-

[hippopotamusdreamer]

Witch's Son

genre. [PS][F][AU]

warnings. None?

additional notes. Female! Reader | You/Your pronouns, not proofread lol

pairing. Felix x Reader

w.c. 1,043

a/n. This is for Fall Cryptid season!

Kpop Masterlist

Fandom Masterlist

Fall Cryptid List

He was always handsome in your opinion, the witch’s son. Others in the community would even agree with you. Hair and personality of the sun and face filled with stars. A man unlike any other even if you never knew his name. Occasionally, he would be seen foraging in the forest for his mother. Ingredients for her many potions and elixirs no doubt.

You’d catch a glimpse of him every now and then when he was on his way to the forest’s edge. The route he took just so happened to be past your bakery. As you would set up whatever treat of the day on display, you’d see the familiar head of blonde walking past the front window.

Your shop was pretty well known in the area. Along with regular treats, you also offered food with minor…tweaks. You were only 1/3 of a witch yourself from your father’s side. Unfortunately, there was a cap to how much magic a halfa (part magical creature, part human) could produce. But you weren’t complaining. You wouldn’t even know what to do with all that power should you have had it.

No, what you could do now was just enough in your opinion. Ever wanted to have a conversation with the family pet, try the strawberry acorn animal scone. Or how about easing the aches and pains of the daily grind with a Get Better Blondie? Perhaps even just blessing your breath with regular garlic butter dinner rolls to get rid of unwanted mothers-in-law’s? If you could think it, Leviathan’s Crest could bake it.

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

It was on a random Tuesday morning that you had realized a mistake.

Last week you were supposed to reorder ingredients for the next two weeks. Sadly, you’d been distracted by a wedding cake order for a gorgon party. A three tiered marble cake with a rock solid base. You had a fun time delivering the finished product; they even gave you a mini statue of the bride and bride as a wedding favor.

Regardless of the good time, you’d shirked your obligations and now present you was suffering for it. It was too late to order for the recipes now but you’d still need to order it for the next day. Your lavender lotus loaves were one of your hot ticket items and they needed to be made for the day. With your meager powers, each loaf was able to make the customer feel a serenity that’d put the CBD shoppe to shame. And not to brag or anything but they were fucking delicious.

It was as you were about to run out of your shop to Kochi’s Bazaar, the germakochi owned spice bazaar that was home to the most pungent spices, Turkish delights, caviar, dried nuts, and more, that you ran into something, or rather, someone instead.

“Oh!” A deep voice yelled in surprise.

“Oh my god!” you exclaimed.

There before you stood the man of your fantasies. You were absolutely gobsmacked. This man was absolutely STUNNING, with a capital STUN.

‘Daaaaamn, he looks better up close.’

“You alright?”

‘And an accent???’ Your internal monologue was just going haywire.

“Uh…yeah,” you said, trying to pull yourself together. “No yeah, I’m…I’m ok. Sorry for running into you.”

He smiled brightly at your flustered form, grinning from ear to ear. “It’s fine. No harm done.”

You both stood in front of your bakery waiting for the other to speak.

“You’re not closing up early are you? The day hasn’t even started,” He asked, finally breaking the silence while glancing from you to the bakery.

“Sort of? For now anyways.”

He gave you a questioning look that made you want to elaborate immediately.

“I ran out of one the key ingredients that I needed to make one of my specialty loaves. I was gonna head on over to Kochi’s to see if he had anything in stock.”

“Oh no! …I think I heard my mom saying that Kochi’s not here right now,” he said with an apologetic look.

“What!?” You hadn’t heard anything about Kochi leaving.

“Yeah! He, uh, went back to Turkey for a family emergency or…something.”

“Crap, what am I gonna do now?” you mumbled to yourself.

“You know, I was heading to the forest just now, I could see if I can find whatever it is you need.”

“Oh, no, I couldn’t possibly trouble you…”

You never got his name…

“Felix,” He answered with a crooked smile.

“Felix,” you repeated softly, his smile turning into a grin once again.

“It’s no trouble at all Y/N. Just tell me what you need.”

Is your brain short circuiting? Did he just check you out? No right?

“L-Lavender..?”

“Lavender?”

Clearing you throat, you nodded.

“Alright, I’ll keep an eye out. I know a spot that should have some, be back in an hour. Hope that’s ok.”

“Yeah that’s fine, I’ll prepare something else in the meantime. As a thank you, I’ll give you one of whatever you want and a drink of your choice for free.”

“I’ll look forward to it,” he said while walking away, grin still plastered on his face.

You stared after him for a few moments before realizing what you were doing. Face flushing in embarrassment, you ran inside your bakery to get started on a different treat to put out.

But it was when you were mixing in the some wolfsbane to a muffin mixture that you realized, you’d never given Felix your name before, so how did he…?

. ⋅ ˚̣- : ✧ : – ⭒ ⊹ ⭒ – : ✧ : -˚̣⋅ .

Felix didn’t know if Kochi was really out of town or not as he walked down his usual path towards the forest. The route was actually out of the way from his mother’s place but he had his reasons for coming this way.

What he did know was that he finally got the chance to talk to the cute baker he’d been crushing on for the past who knows how long. He couldn’t keep the smile off his face even if he tried.

Something stirred in the air as he walked, and it wasn’t the magic that thrummed in his veins.

This in no way reflects the actual persons involved/based in this fic, nor their actual character. This is purely fiction.

© hippopotamusdreamer, est 2024. all rights reserved.

[warsamongthestars]

I became curious about something; how different do you think things would go if someone else but Crosshair had a 'functioning chip'? Say Hunter was the one 'loyal' to the Empire. Because then the rest of the Batch would suddenly stand leaderless for instance. Ignoring the bad writing of the show of course. (Sorry if you've covered this somewhere already.)

I prolly have covered it? I don't think so, but I also don't remember, and I am doomed to inevitably repeat things as all who forget their history are will to do...

I think that the situation is an interesting story to explore.

But if it followed TBB's logic, it would be one that, unfortunately, would inevitably done the same things that occur in TBB, without fail and maybe with only minor to insignificant one-line differences.

( Almost word per word, exactly like a fanfiction rewrite that spends a majority of its time just copy pasting lines word per word without taking it stories into new directions... just merely adding scenes that get a Mature Rating slapped on )

Because TBB is not, in fact, written to tell stories but sell you something for attention and subscription money. It was never going to be deep, it was only going to bank on hype, rush and attention-of-the-moment; and it was never going to follow any kind of character or character arc beyond how it affects their OC and the OC's rival character.

So to follow the lines of this logic, to follow TBB, is to place Hunter as Omega's anime rival... and it would be just like Crosshair's arc, if not exactly. Maybe a change of planet, maybe a change from sniper rifle to combat knife, exchange the energy bow for a vibrosword, but the result wouldn't be any different.

BUT.

If we were to follow the line of thinking, with the idea that unique characters make the plot, they are not made by the plot... And that means following the character as they are introduced and presented, with all implications in mind, with the world build of Star Wars and the set up of the Clone Wars...

And of course, adding the best parts-- human experience and human imagination in a beautifully gruesome mesh-like disaster...

It starts with the fact that the Bad Batch are killers first and foremost. They brag about putting down insurrections and killing the people involved [the Yalbec story from the Bad Batch arc of season 7. The implications behind their bragging are horrifying, so I grabbed popcorn.], as well as the fun additional information that suggests why there was an insurrection [ I'd be pretty pissed too if my giant bug mother was hunted down and killed because her stinger was delicious to some cultures, and even more so if the Republic we're apart of does nothing about it. ]

They all follow the Empire, because its easy. Even better, they're highly regarded for their skills, probably finally get a paycheck with benefits. To the bad batchers, there really isn't much difference between the Empire and the Republic, the Empire is just the Republic with the shackles off anyway, and they're just continuing what they've been doing since deployment.

But because the chip runs on regular clone genome, not their mutant modified brains, that's when conflict would begin arise.

That's the sciencey-bullshit explanation.

The narrative-bullshit explanation, is that the strongest parts of each character can break through the evil-artifact's influence, provided that what is strong about them isn't what the evil-artifact attaches / attacks.

That's a general set up. So let's add your suggestion as a spark point to get stories going moving forward. Setting up the setting is all nice and dandy, but we need Ideas now.

So let's add in the idea that while everyone knows something is probably wrong, but can't quite put their finger on it, they know that there is obviously up with Hunter.

He's colder, he's more vicious, he's not the anxious compulsive snarker now, he's seemingly more a perfect soldier than any reg. Orders are absolute and be damned to anyone in the way.

( It was already noticed that the regs are acting like that too, regardless if they were like that before, and this on the backburner of the minds of the Bad Batch. But because most of the Bad Batchers are "special" (save Echo, who is freaking out) they don't consider themselves to be as knee deep in the cacky as they actually are. )

Echo is the very first one to call it out. He knows something is wrong. His brothers aren't acting right, the Bad batch have been getting these odd headaches, and Hunter has done a total 180. But given that Echo is new, the rest of the Batch try to confront Hunter.

( The jedi are dead. Echo saw the massacre reports and recordings via his new built-in hacking skills. Rex is dead, Jesse is dead, Kix is dead--everyone he has ever known, is gone. And if they're not gone, they are certainly not them anymore. Echo wants desperately to trust his squad--they're the only ones left... )

They send Wrecker first, because its hard to do anything to Wrecker. Wrecker's general warmhearted rough housing, results in being yelled at and given a vicious cold shoulder. Wrecker leaves Hunter alone, and becomes depressed.

Then its Tech, who isn't a socialite by any means, and tries to break the ice, so to speak, with fun information facts he's learned. When Hunter ignores him, Tech skips right into direct confrontation, breaking down that there is something wrong going on and they're in the middle of it, Hunter shuts him down. Tech leaves Hunter alone, and copes by putting his mind to a nearby droid project, and never saying a word to anyone.

Then the big one, Crosshair. Second in command, confident and in control, and the biggest asshole when he has had it with someone. He straight up confronts Hunter, no preamble, though unlike the avoidant Wrecker or the bullheaded Tech in confrontations, Crosshair hits his marks.

"You weren't like this before." "You're acting like a Reg." "Since when did we care about Orders?" "Since when did we care about missions beyond surviving them and the GAR?" "You notice how the Empire is killing regs enmass?" "You're going to led us to our death with that attitude."

( It should be noted, that Hunter's original self, has just enough capacity over his chipped brainwashing to not report his brothers, nor to execute them for defying Order 66. )

( This is not enough, however, to stop him from retaliating with the full force of a wild animal. )

Hunter and Crosshair end up in a fight. Hunter, at his worst, is a vicious dirty fighter who uses his environment and flexibility and stealth, to take down an opponent. He is wicked wiht a knife and small arms, Crosshair's absolute weakness as a primarily long ranged fighter. Hunter, chip or no chip, does not attack to kill his brothers, but Crosshair is dragged to medical afterwards for an "incident with a training droid".

Echo has had enough. Lines have been crossed, he has been told to sit back and wait for the team to handle it, his own feelings are a chaotic mess, and now his alarms are going off.

Whatever is going on with the clone army and with Hunter, its not something that can be reasoned with, and its certainly not something that can be done about when under the scrutiny of these natborn officers.... These new officers who would order public staff executions, and gods knows what else they do to the planets they occupy...

The only decision is to run and maybe, find a way to help from the outside, because they're not doing shit here.

( with dragging of feet and looming disaster in their minds ("We're just, leaving Hunter behind!?"), it doesn't take much for Echo to convince the remaining squad that they can't handle Hunter right now, but maybe, just maybe, they can find help and get him later. )

( "He'll be fine, he has to be fine, they aren't going to kill him because of our failure, that'd just be a... waste of resource," says Echo, "We just need to sell it like its a mutiny." )

They do. Hunter is hard to deal with one on one, but collectively (well, minus a wounded Crosshair) its easy to cause a scene and punch his lights out in front of cameras.

The tricky bit is running to the Havoc Marauder. They are, of course, successful, but not without some strange, unseen, outside help from a blond haired clone cadet we haven't seen up onto this point. To CF99, it just seems like coincidence that the blast doors reopen as they're closing, and that training droids are suddenly flooding hallways.

They fly off.

And that would be... well, at least the first five episodes maybe? No TV show movie or 1 hour episode start, just, full on first quarter of season 1.

This is just my idea of it... but it starts with setting Echo up as the leader of the Bad Batch, and it does not involve Omega having center stage, but merely being an implied part of plot to be revealed later.

As for what happens going forward, that depends on what we want them to face. Do we want them inevidably heading to Wayland? Does Wayland even exist as it does in TBB or is it something else? Does Pabu exist or maybe are we canonizing old media planets into the Disney verse? Does Cid exist or is someone else around?

The best thing about a over arching episodic story... is that you can literally do anything, as long as you know the world build and the rules of the "game". There's a lot more that can be done in the STar Wars sandbox than just rehashing familiar shit for kudos and likes.

But we can set up a few things from what we know prior and from what this set up already has.

Rex is out there, starting the Rebellion, and he's working to free clones--which is perfect in order to get Hunter back. This also sets up the reveal of the chips as well as the fact that it was Fives who discovered them, and it was only by slim chance, that Rex ever escaped in the first place.

Crosshair would understand the logic of leaving Hunter, but the emotional impact of leaving a brother for potential dead, would immediately make him a rival challenging character to Echo. The writing rules of this situation, however, is to make him merely a rival, not a saboteur. Just because someone is a dick, doesn't mean they're going to unscrew the ship engine and tell the enemy where you're at. This is very important to keep in mind.

Each Bad Batcher would have an episode to come to terms with leaving Hunter, facing what their relationship with him meant to them, and dealing with the possibility that he may or may not come back. Part of this is returning to a post-battle Kamino and finding 99 was killed, which would play into why each Batcher is anxious.

Just as well, for emotional character scores that doesn't involve the plot or grief, each Batcher gets an episode to face the galaxy on their own merits, potentially leading them to a finale arc later on for when this initial over-arching plot is over, as a way to either allow the next over-arching plot or to retire the character for now. Rule of writing? It has to bee on their merits alone, not detailing their relationship with their team.

Of course we're going to have team episodes that help define to the audience what kind of relationship with batcher has with one another.

And we're gonna need episodes where the Bad Batchers butt heads with Echo as Echo leads a team that he wasn't a vital part of, and didn't share much history with.

Obviously we have to save Hunter. None of this 3 years separation-dangle-him-in-your-face shit. And Just as the other batchers get their own character episodes, both for their histories and themselves facing the world--Hunter needs those too without the looming threat of the chip. But before we get there, we're going to have fun with his chip episodes but allowing him to have an evil arc with obvious internal conflict--as his true self fights with the evil outside forces controlling his life.

I know I don't like her as she's treated in TBB, but Omega would be an interesting character to use without putting her in the spotlight. We do need someone around who knows their medical. Just maybe she's integral to freeing Hunter...

Because I love a dose of self indulgence, and every writers needs that in their stories, each Batcher gets a Chip episode or Chip Arc in some fashion. Enough to ensure character conflict and growth, and also to inspire fans to create their own Chip AUs. Could be that, because of how CF99 was made, removing their chips are a lot more complicated than just a brain operation on a derelict ship.

New Clones introduced of course. Perhaps those who would've filled in for clones who died in TCWs--like, since Commander Ponds die, who was Windu's new Commander for the rest of the war? And those from TBB, cos let's face it, thems were awesome too. Mayday might just survive this time!

No Guest Characters. If there are, they need to have a serious connection to clones, other wise, someone is robbing story and character for cameo rights, and that's not how you make a story. This is a clone story.

If we're gonna have Rex, we need Cody. Cody needs to be totally chipped as a foremost example of how bad the chip gets. He's meant to serve exactly as he's intended, as he's done in all his appearances, and in this case, he needs to additionally be Rex's rival and antagonist character.

And the final writing rule, the most important one...

Clone stories need to have an element of tragedy and finality. You don't have to kill a main character to get it, but there is no happy ending here.

The happy ending is performed by Luke Skywalker in "Return of the Jedi".

We can only achieve Bittersweet, at best. Everyone can live, and still lose.

Its by this rule, that Order 66 really is the tragedy its born to be and not just an excuse for the plot to get rid of all the Jedi characters.

We should see its direct effects as a clone story, and not just some one handed episode that never becomes relevant again. When this story ends, the loose ends should be on purpose as a message of "Because of the events leading to this story, this rope is permanently cut and can never be tied again. This is not a place of honor, we are survivors of the worst and the world cannot be fixed."

...

I wasn't expecting to write a full episode with a concept board attached, but damn, here you go, a full novel for your question.

[moraxsthrone]

~♡ title — kind

~♡ pairing — arataki itto x f!reader

~♡ wc — 1k

~♡ warnings/notes — racism/discrimination (against oni). misogyny. fluff. please let me know if i should include anything else. and omg look at all that swagger in the gif. that's how a guy walks when he has a big dick i'm js.

sunlight danced along the streets of inazuma, tiny pinpoint beams shining through the fluttering spaces of sakura blooms as you walked along the stone path, arm in arm with your boyfriend. you’d just left one of the food stands in the city after eating the matcha flavored mochi you ordered. itto had gotten the lavender melon mochi and sakura taiyaki, both of which he’d already scarfed down before ordering tri-color dango for the road. 

you strolled along, listening to him brag about his latest onikabuto victory when you suddenly grabbed his wrist, bringing his snack to your mouth to chomp off a chunk of the white dango. 

“h-heyyy! you can’t just go stealing my dango like that!” he fussed. 

you leaned into his side, laughing so hard at his reaction you had to cover your mouthful of food. 

he stopped walking and leaned over, getting right in your face. “give me that back, ya thief!” he demanded, smiling while trying to capture your lips in a kiss, but you turned your head this way and that, chewing as quickly as possible while trying to dodge his kisses and laugh all at the same time. he finally caught your jaw with his large hand and forced you to hold still long enough to get that kiss. “HA! you steal my food, i steal your kisses!” 

you swallowed the delicious treat, still giggling. “i’m just going to steal more of your food if it means i get more of your kisses.” 

“baby, you don’t have to steal from me. i’ll give ya all the kisses you want for free. besides, haven’t you ever heard the saying ‘don’t stand between an oni and his food'?’” 

“i don’t think anyone says that, itto.” 

“yeah? that’s because i just made it up,” he said, making you laugh again. “but that doesn’t make it any less true!” 

you opened your mouth to remind him that he’s always sharing his food with you anyway when a voice called out from behind you. 

“hey, pretty lady! you should leave that oni and stick with your own kind!”

you and said oni both turned your heads. knowing itto was the ‘one and oni’ oni around meant there was no one else the man could’ve been referring to. there were a few other men with him, laughing and making remarks about how lowdown and dirty oni were, clearly disgusted with the fact that a human had 'yoked' with one.

“humans have no business mixing with oni, especially the women-folk! why don’t you come over here and let me show you what a real man can do!”

you hadn’t been with itto for a year yet and had already heard more than your fair share of derogatory and disapproving remarks from other humans about your relationship with the crimson oni. most of your fellow inazumans didn’t seem to pay much mind, but there were those dark pockets of humanity - scratch that - unevolved ignorance that still believed oni and humans had no business being together, particularly in a romantic context. theirs was the very mindset that took the lives of itto’s parents two decades ago, but that’s a story for another day.

now, if itto was alone or with his crew, he wouldn’t hesitate to puff his chest out and challenge a motherfucker, but he’s with you and the two of you were supposed to be enjoying this lazy, romantic afternoon together. he'd even given his gang explicit orders not to interrupt his time with you unless it was an emergency that couldn’t wait till the next morning afternoon. 

your boyfriend's lava-hued irises burned holes through the asshole’s skull for a few seconds before he looked down at you and begrudgingly muttered, “let’s go, babe.” he went to put his arm around your shoulders and walk away, and you’re not sure who was more surprised, but you spun away from his hold and did an about face to look directly at the shit-talking douchenozzle who had just disrespected you and your beloved oni. in the past, you’d always kept walking, ignoring their hate, but…

“no, you know what? i’ve had about enough of this shit,” you sneered, drawing an invisible line in the air with your fingernail. “i’m tired of hearing cowards like you talking shit about me and my oni when our backs are turned. he may not be 100% human, but he’s twice the man you’ll ever be! wanna put that theory to the test, then step to him and say that shit to his face instead of waiting ‘til his back is turned!”

itto’s jaw dropped, his wide eyes watching in amazement as you - his sweet, graceful y/n - tore into the racist asshole in a way that made new light shine through the cracks of his heart.

“fuck you, bitch!” the hater said.

itto took a step forward, opening his mouth to defend your honor, but you beat him to the punch.

“no, thanks,” you said, putting your hand on your jutted hip. “your dick’s probably only half the size of his too!”

“y/n-” itto leaned down, mumbling out the side of his mouth. “they don’t need to know all that-”

“if you really think i shouldn’t be with him, then come take me away from him,” you dared, arms spread open. 

behind you, itto shifted his weight, squaring his shoulders and crossing his arms over his strapped chest like a king prepared to go to war with his queen. but the man didn’t move. in fact, one of the man’s friends leaned in, telling him to just cut his losses.

as expected, the man tucked tail and walked away, grumbling something under his breath about you being a traitor. rich, you thought, considering you’d just stood up for someone you love and believe in. 

you turned to your oni lover, his eyes searching yours as if seeing something new and admirable. “baby,” he said softly, “i-...”

you think he’s still trying to calm you down. “i’m not sorry, itto!”

“i know. which is exactly why i…”

it was one of the few times arataki itto had been rendered speechless, thinking to himself that now was a good time to pull out the ring he’d been carrying around in his pocket and get down on one knee.

“…wanna spend the rest of my life with ya.”

~♡ itto m.list

~♡ reblogs always appreciated !! 💋

[kootiepatra]

#FFxivWrite2024 - Day 13: Butte

[BE WARNED: MAJOR DAWNTRAIL SPOILERS up through pretty much the end of 7.0]

Under the "Read More" break to help anyone still needing to avoid spoilers.

Keimwyda stepped out onto the balcony of the Hhusatahwi Saloon with a sigh, inhaling the dry desert air that was rapidly cooling along with the setting of the sun. 

Estinien had recommended this establishment so highly that she felt she must try its fare before heading back to Eorzea—though she did opt not to inquire whether or not they served sabotender. What she had instead was indeed delicious: a cut of rroneek that had been slowly smoked over hickory until it nearly fell apart on the plate, drenched in a sweet yet spicy sauce, alongside a generous serving of legumes and Turali corn. She could honestly now report to Estinien that it was worth the special trip.

However, she had never been much for rowdy crowds or for strong drink, and the saloon had an abundance of both. The bartender was doing an admirable job of trying to convince overeager patrons to leave her alone and stop offering to buy her a round—or in some cases, challenge her to arm wrestling or drinking contests—but he was just one man, and the joy of victory hung too freshly in the atmosphere.

There were not many Eorzeans in these parts. Thus it was not at all hard for the saloon’s regulars to mark well the tall, lavender-haired foreigner who had aided the Vow of Resolve in recent battles. Zekowa’s enthusiastic bragging didn’t help. Everyone was friendly, but Twelve preserve, they were boisterous and they were many. At last, when the crowd got swept up in a rousing song and folk dance, Keimwyda seized the opportune distraction to slip outside for a moment of quiet. Quiet-er, anyway.

She cast her eyes across the arid plains and drank in the surroundings. Tonight’s sunset was breathtaking, indeed: the sky nearly as orange as the rocky buttes which cut a silhouette against it, the clouds taking on a shade of magenta not unlike the fruits of the nopalitenders meandering across the landscape. Off in the distance, the rickety-looking towers of Sheshenewezi Springs stood stark against the sky, each erupting with a luminous spray of ceruleum, a shock of azure leaping above the terra cotta hills.

And, of course, looming in the distance and despoiling it all, was the roiling, violet, unsettlingly-perfect dome which yet encased all of Yyasulani.

Keimwyda sighed to herself, leaned on the railing, and let her head hang for a moment as she once more tried to process what all she had seen. She still struggled to know how to feel about it. As far as she could tell, the people of Alexandria—the majority of them, anyway—had nothing to do with their relocation to the Source. They did not choose it. Many did not even know it was possible until it had already happened. She met many of them whom she liked, and a few who had been instrumental to her and her allies’ opposition of Zoraal Ja. As far as first impressions of cities went, she had experienced worse.

Even so, it was difficult to fully separate the people who had done no wrong from the thunderous monstrosity that had invaded and blighted the land.

Her heart hurt for Erenville. For his home. For his mother—his real mother. For all the Turali people who happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time, and lost thirty years in the blink of an eye. Even with Alexandria’s ingenious farming techniques, that lightning barrier had withered the land, nearly beyond recognition. 

She could not deny that Everkeep was impressive. She had not felt so dwarfed by a place since Amaurot. And there was a strange sort of beauty to its artificiality—once one was inside of it, anyway. 

Solution 9 was unlike anything she’d ever seen. Lifelike illusions of beautiful people smiled down from large displays along every street. In fact, there were artistic renderings of all sorts all over the city, ever in motion, ever-changing, painted in brushstrokes of bright light. It was clean, it was airy—it had even managed to stock its parks with living plants, which was actually a touch homier than the Loporrits had managed in Greatest Endsvale. Everything was bathed in a striking glow of blues and pinks. And of course, the electrope mechanical marvels casually saturating every street corner were enough to set one’s mind to spinning, were one to truly consider it all. Keimwyda had no doubt that Koana was already taking feverish notes and brainstorming applications.

And the people, on the whole, did seem happy. Of course there were the Alexandrians who had long called the place home, but many even of Turali heritage had adapted to it—even loved it—and come to rely on its comforts. Especially those children born there, who had never known anything else, who did not know why they might care that they had never seen the sun.

All of this, of course, did not balance out the catastrophe of how many people had been robbed of thirty years—nay, robbed of their entire way of life, with no warning, and no ability to leave.

She wanted to be open minded and kind, but. It all still felt so wrong. Receiving Alexandria’s fleeing refugees would have been one thing; Keimwyda would have been energetically in favor of that. But to simply fuse their reality to that of the Source, undeterred by the grave cost to the people who already lived there? To destroy the existing reality of those who were not to blame for Alexandria’s woes, and had no say in their future? Keimwyda could understand Sphene’s desperation, but she could not forgive her for that.

Heritage Found didn’t belong here. It should never have come here. If it had been teleported here, then it must be possible to send it back. 

…But she could not shake the suspicion that it was a bit too late for that. She was not even fully sure there would be much of a shard left to send it back to, should the scholars of this realm eventually grasp how to do so. And of course, there was no restoring that lost time, no undoing the trauma of its arrival.

Keimwyda did not envy Lamaty’i or Koana for the decisions they would soon have to make.

[thirstnotes]

| Rivals to Lovers - Clark Kent - Part Nine - No Strings Clark |

Pairings: Clark Kent x AFABBlackPlusSizedReader

Warnings: jealous Clark, Clark Kent in love, language, dirty thoughts, typos, more smut eventually, minors DNI, morally gray Clark, a little angst, thirst, mutual pining, fake dating

Ya'll, I've been both busy and unmotivated. I'm so sorry this update took so long. But I hope ya'll enjoy it all the same!

If you don't like it, don't read it.

That night was too satisfying to be real

You were deliciously sore from being in positions you hadn't been in for months

Farm boy had some moves

Sorry

Superman*

You woke to the smell of breakfast. Bacon and coffee specifically. Your tummy rumbled as you rose, running the details of last night through your mind over and over. It was a simple equation, but you just couldn't comprehend it:

Clark wanted you.

+

Clark was Superman.

=

Superman wanted you.

It lingered in your mind as you took a quick shower. What even was this? Had Clark been making a statement, or was he just horny after all the kissing, touching and pretending at class yesterday? You didn't know what to think.

Even if he did have feelings for Lois, what happened last night was clearly an explosion of shared tension between you. It was an explosion of something.

The heavy feeling of irony hit you as you walked quietly up the hall and caught sight of him standing at the stove. It felt so domestic and normal. Which was the last thing you thought a morning with Superman would be.

He didn't look up, but his lips twitched into his usual smirk as he plated the rest of the food.

It was quite the spread

French toast sticks, pancakes, bacon, eggs, donuts from your favorite bakery

It was like he was trying his best to put his best foot forward

It was kind of odd to see him so eager to please someone other than Lois

It almost made you want to forget how annoyed you were with him for not telling you his secret sooner

almost

But you weren't sweating it too much

After all, you understood why

It didn't stop you from being annoyed

But you understood

"I didn't know what you might want, so I made a few options," he said with a shrug, eyes flickering between you and the table.

So cute.

You bit back a laugh, not wanting to seem rude.

"It's...a lot. But it's fine," you half-joked, reaching for a piece of bacon. He watched your reaction quietly, pleased when you hummed in approval and took another bite.

"Sleep well?"

"You tell me," you shot back, rolling your eyes, though your small smirk betraying you. You couldn't stop smiling and you knew he noticed.

"I'd say you did, but I think that'd be bragging to some degree, wouldn't it?" he sassed, pouring some orange juice and adding it to the table.

You laughed as you sat down, a hint of hoarseness in the sound also betraying your reaction.

"Maybe a lil bit. Where'd a nice dude like you learn to use your mouth like that anyway?" you asked, feeling an ache between your thighs at the mention of his mouth.

"The truth? Eating peaches," he laughed saucily, taking a bite of a bagel.

You couldn't help but cackle at that. "Seriously?"

"Mmh. Very similar," he hummed, taking a sip of juice. He paused, as though remembering something important, and dug something from his pocket. Your phone--correction--your cracked phone, was vibrating as he handed it to you.

"Oh shit, I totally forgot," you gasped, inspecting the damage, "Thanks."

Last night was such a blur, you'd forgotten you'd even dropped it

He must have gotten it after you'd fallen asleep.

"Someone's called you three times, back to back," he said, his eyes rolling back to his breakfast, "Gonna assume it's your boyfriend."

You felt your heart leap a bit. It was unclear if it was guilt or excitement. Maybe it was the way he said it. "He's not my boyfriend."

His eyes met yours again. "Does he know that?"

You couldn't confirm to be honest, but you didn’t want him to know that. "I'm pretty sure he does. We never agreed to a relationship."

"I'm no expert, but I think tickets to Prague is a pretty solid step in that direction," he said, sipping water this time. You gawked at him with an astonished laugh.

"Okay, Mr. Man of Steel. First of all. No more using your powers to spy on me."

"Noted," he said, arms folded, smirk still solidly in place. It wasn't a confirmation that he wasn't going to, but at least he knew it annoyed you. He watched you patiently for the next item on the list and you scrounged your brain to find it.

"Second. Bruce is not my boyfriend." He rolled his eyes at that, but you continued anyway. "Even if I do go to Prague with him."

"Whatever helps you sleep," he laughed again with a skeptical snort that irked you.

“I- You know what? Why am I even explaining this to you?!”

“Beats me,” he shrugged, getting up and rounding the table. His eyes held yours as he did so, and he seemed a lot like a predator stalking his prey.

You kinda liked it.

He loomed over you, propping his hands on the back of your chair and the edge of the table, dipping in just low enough to hover just beyond your lips. “Maybe you’re getting defensive because you feel like you’re cheating.”

You looked like a goldfish, trying to find your will to argue. At the last minute, as he pulled back with his irritatingly sexy smirk, you’d found it.

“I just-It’s not cheating if I’m not dating anybody.”

He hummed at that, rounding your chair and walking over to the tv to switch it off. "You don't have to convince me. I agree. In fact, I personally feel like the further you are away from that guy, the better.”

You had to wonder why he hated Bruce so much, but you decided against asking, since you probably weren’t going to get a straight answer anyway

Besides, your mind was more preoccupied with how sinful he looked in a simple tee and sweats

“But,” he continued, sitting back across from you, taking another generous sip of water, “I support whatever you wanna do. It’s your life. Whatever you two do is your business.”

“I appreciate that,” you said, glad he wasn’t trying to tell you who you could allow in your life. Because Superman or not, he would’ve caught it. Still, the aesthetic of Clark being jealous made your body simmer with a little bit of excitement.

“That said, whatever happens between us is our business, right?”

He looked at you expectantly and you had an eerie sense of deja vu from when he'd asked you to be his fake girlfriend in the first place.

"I guess."

A chill ran up your spine and your mind raced with many curious thoughts that fought to stay inside.

A few of which had to do with whether he was trying to fuck you purely to annoy Bruce

Or if he legit felt something for you

Then again, what if it were both?

What if Bruce was making him jealous?

In the incredibly slim chance that he liked you beyond being a fuck buddy

It was stressful not knowing

"You have a question," he said, matter-of-factly, eyes lowering to his breakfast again. He ignored the startled look you gave him in favor of another bite of eggs.

"What makes you say that?"

"I just know."

That was an odd thing to hear

But it made sense considering who you were talking to

He was probably used to that kind of thing

But the fact that he knew you so intimately and said as much so nonchalantly, was kind of strange

But also kind of hot

"Okay...Fine. You're right. I do," you said, now suddenly conscious of the occasional thud in your chest. His pretty blue eyes met yours again curiously and you nearly melted. It was your turn to look back to your breakfast, which you didn't really feel like finishing.

"So is this Lois thing a lie...or did you just change your mind?"

His eyes drifted off to the side as if trying to carefully word it. "I love Lois, yeah. I probably always will," he said and you felt your heart drop a little, hopes a bit dashed.

It wasn't anything new from what you'd thought in the first place

Still, it still stung to hear him say it aloud

Even if you were sitting across from him in nothing but his t-shirt

He continued, but your phone rattling on the surface of the table startled you. Clark's eyes rolled to the side as you checked it.

"Oh."

"Bruce again?"

He gave you a look before you could even ask how he knew that and you were pretty certain that "he just knew".

"Yeah, I just. Finish your thought?" you shrugged, really wanting to hear him out. He paused, taking a deep breath.

"I just really like you," he said, the lingering pause between you making you wonder if there was something more he wanted to say. The way it made him sound like an awkward dork afraid of rejection made you tingle inside. You bit back a laugh and rolled your eyes.

Quite a bit more flustered than you let on

It wasn't LOVE

You didn't have a hold on him like Lois did

But he liked you

You had your answer

For now that was enough

Both of your priorities were clear now

He was comfortable with you like you were with him

"I like you too, Clark," you admitted genuinely. It was a relief to say it directly to him even if it was the understatement of the year.

"What did he want, anyway? Bruce, I mean?" he asked and you were finally back on track with your thoughts.

"He's gonna be in town a few days longer and wanted to know if I wanted to hang out today," was all you supplied. Though you wondered how much more he knew.

A small smirk played at his lips and he sipped his juice. "You wanna take off soon?"

He did say "soon"

It wasn't as if he were hurrying you off or anything

Which was good because you weren't in any hurry to leave

"Actually...I was thinking I could hang out with you today," you said, not really fully knowing yourself where you were going with this.

The implication didn't go over his head either. Even if this was a convenient arrangement for the both of you, that didn't mean you couldn't both enjoy it. His smile grew.

"What'd you have in mind?"

(Part 10) (Part 8)

[bunnyanqel]

Playing Along (1)

[1] [2] [3] [4]

Summary: When Eddie comes to Maggie with that kicked-puppy look and sheepish boyish grin, she can't say no to helping him keep up the ruse he's been peddling out to some weed dealer. And, well, she just plain can't say no to those big brown eyes anyway.

Warnings: NSFW, smut, dirty talk, slight power imbalances, accidental voyeurism, public sex, exhibitionism, car sex, safe sex

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡ ﾟ。 also on AO3 ! 　ﾟ･｡･ﾟ

The only decent about Maggie’s job was Eddie Munson, aka the boss’s kid. While he technically was Wayne’s nephew, that didn’t make the taboo thrill any less. Something something power imbalances and all that nastiness.

Except there was nothing nasty about Eddie. Not at all. Bigger than life, theatrical, adorable—he was everything she wanted. And couldn’t have. Fuck.

Not for the first time, Maggie cursed this job. Sure, it paid the bills and made sure Hannibal, her ancient long-haired Persian, got fed but damn did it ruin her chances of shooting her shot with the star of her dreams, and wasn’t that a damn shame? Still, there were some merits, mainly the ease of her gig and the fact that, while she couldn’t ask him out, she could ogle a sweaty, grime-covered Eddie.

She couldn’t understand the way the Hawkins girls had turned up their prissy noses at an authentic, compassionate guy like Eddie but she supposed it was the dream of a white picket fence, bragging rights over her husband being a football player or something of the sort, and eight kids she never wanted.

If she were being honest, applying for the job had been a last-ditch effort to supplement her income when the bookstore she’d worked at went under. She’d been desperate but not desperate enough to allow some incompetent, half-brained white men to walk all over her like she was supposed to smile and be grateful that they deigned to allow her in their space. As luck had it, Munson Mechanics needed a receptionist, she needed a job, and the rest was history.

“Maggie! Maggie Mae! Light of my life, apple of my eye, goddess of dessert!”

The sound of Eddie’s voice cut through the cacophony of the mechanics working and it also made Maggie look up from her magazine. He approached with quick, buoyant steps and sprawled across the desk dramatically.

She’d have rolled her eyes if her heart wasn’t ready to pound out of her chest and if her pussy wasn’t clamping at his closeness. Somehow her lusty-filled crush had only bloomed bigger, and she could even decipher his footsteps. Like a fucking dog.

Christ.

She focused on Eddie’s theatrics. “What can I do for you, sugar?” she asked, watching as he twisted to his stomach and half-laid across the desk. So close she could smell his shampoo and feel the heat of his bare arms next to her fingers. Her stomach summersaulted.

Focus, you horny bitch. You can use your vibrator when you get home, she told her brain, even as she focused on his pretty, pink mouth and the way his nose crinkled when he scrunched it. To be truthful, she was surprised she could even form coherent when he looked at her with those big, brown eyes.

He straightened up from his reclined positioned and fixed her with an apologetic smile and fiddled with the paperweights and knick-knacks she had on the counter. It took every ounce of willpower not to drool over his nimble, dexterous fingers and even more to not beg him to put them inside of her.

“So, you know The Hideout, right?”

She nodded.

“My band—”

“Corroded Coffin.” She flashed him a smile when he faltered, looking more than a little surprised, and it made her want to suck him off. Right here. She ignored her pussy’s bitchy demands.

“I—uh, wow. You remembered.” Pink crept up his gaunt cheeks. “Anyway.” He cleared his throat. “One of the guy’s that’s there has been giving me shit, saying I couldn’t—couldn’t, uh—” He stopped and looked away, his brows furrowed over his eyes, that pretty pink flush darkening to a delicious burgundy-like color.

She wanted to kiss it and see how far down it went. “Couldn’t what, sugar?” she asked gently, and his throat bobbed as he swallowed, chewing the question. Rolling the words to explain. “Do I need to cut someone? I know southern hospitality and all that shit, but us southern gals know a thing or two about broken kneecaps.” She gave him a syrupy sweet smile.

“No, no!” He yanked at his hair before he whipped around to face her fully, his eyes wild and more than a little embarrassed, sheepish. Boyish. It was hard to remember he was still a young man and even someone as suave and debonair as him were liable to make mistakes. “I—I fucked up. I might’ve—maybe—sort of told him I have a smokin’ hot babe of a girlfriend.”

That didn’t explain why he was telling her. Don’t get her wrong, she knew she was attractive, but why would Eddie be telling her about his lie? “So you—I’m sorry, sugar, I really am, but I’m afraid I’m not following you’re line of thinking.”

“I was hoping—I was thinking that maybe, uh, you could—if you want to, I mean—” He fought to get the words out before he growled to himself and backed away for a second, scrubbing at his face.

That growl went straight to her swollen clit and right into the little folder labeled ‘Noises Eddie Makes That I’ll Masturbate To Later,’ which located next to her abundant memories of Eddie’s multitude of orgasm-causing expressions. It was largely those puppy dog eyes.

“I want you to pretend to be my girlfriend, Mags.”

Oh, that nickname melted her bones and made her heart skitter in her ribcage. And his request, earnest and a little unhinged with desperation, made her shift her hips slightly, grinding the seam of her arousal-wet panties into her clit to try to get even the smallest amount of relief. She knew as soon as she got home she was whipping out her vibrator and going to town because she knew she was going to agree.

Not because he was looking at her with those big, big brown eyes so beseechingly and wetly but because Eddie almost never asked for help. But also because she was flattered to high hell that she was the first—

“Why don’t you ask one of your little female friends? The older girls. Uh, Karen Wheeler’s girl and that Buckley girl.”

“Buckley’s…not available and neither is Nancy. Besides you’re the first person that came to mind when I think ‘smoking hot babe who’s willing to put up with me and my big mouth.’” He gave her a smile that creased his eyes and made his dimples come out, and yup, she was a sucker, a goner for this man.

She looked at him, taking in the long hands, the well-defined biceps, the lopsided smile, and gestured for him to come closer. He obeyed without hesitation, and she took his hand in one of hers, feeling the ridge of his fingers, the close-trimmed nails, the callouses from guitar playing. She wanted to put her mouth on his fingers, sucking and toying with him, but that was simply impossible.

He was asking her for a favor.

That was it.

She ran her thumb over one of his bare knuckles.

“You don’t have to, of course, if you really don’t—” He was babbling, chewing his bottom lip, anxious and sweet, and damn if she wasn’t determined to masturbate when she got home, well, now it was a given.

“I will. Don’t worry, sugar. I’ll treat you good. Pinkie promise,” she said, and because she was more than a little riled up, she licked her lips. Tasted her lip balm and saw how his eyes tracked the movement hungrily.

When he left, she almost laughed at the sight of his quick, please-don’t-notice-my-erection walk and stopped laughing immediately when she realized he’d been standing here, talking to her, with a goddamn erection.

Maybe tonight would be harder than she thought.

Maggie smoothed her sisterlocks back and examined her outfit with a critical eye, wondering if her outfit was sexy enough. A midriff-bearing halter top, low-rise leather pants that hugged her ass, and motorcycle boots. Her lipstick and nails matched—blood-red. Fuck, she felt like a vampiress, a vixen.

Frowning, she examined her breasts and readjusted her left one. While she usually avoided black, preferring lighter colors against her light-brown complexion, she looked like she belonged in the Underworld movies and damn did she look good.

It was just one night of acting, of playing Eddie’s besotted girlfriend. She could do that without ruining everything, right?

Catching sight of the time, she grabbed her car keys, turned her volume loud as fuck so she could ignore her nerves, and screamed along with the likes of Alesana, Hollywood Undead and Silverstein. Each song had her head banging—responsibly and safely of course—and slapping her steering wheel, and it wasn’t long before the turn to The Hideout came into view.

Shit was her first thought. Showtime was the second because she’d caught sight of Eddie’s familiar clunker of a van and the band members around him—Jeff, a Black boy with close-cropped hair; Gareth, a curly-haired white boy; and Sawyer, a behemoth, bearded white boy.

A chorus of greetings filled the air when she pulled into a parking spot and climbed out.

“Babe! You made it!” Eddie bounded over not unlike a Labrador and swept her into a bone-crushing hug, hands precariously close to her ass. “How’re you not cold?”

“Nerves,” she whispered low enough only he heard. When he set her back on her feet, she felt some strength leave her knees at the soft, melty look in his puppy-dog eyes. Pathetic—truly, she was pathetic with a capital P.

“I’m gonna be touching you all night,” he murmured close to her lips as his hands bracketed either side of her face, palms and fingers cold on her hot face, quiet enough that only she heard. “Is that okay? Like, hands on your ass and shit.”

“Yeah.” The idea of Eddie touching her, putting his hands all over her, shot through her like a gasoline fire, blazing and burning. Her lust-soaked brain conjured the most tantalizing images: his lips wrapped around her dark nipple, his fingers toying with her pussy, his cock inside of her and him braced above her. Shit. She needed to get a hold of herself.

He pulled back a fraction, his dark eyes serious, unsmiling, and she liked serious Eddie as much as she did dramatic Eddie. A shudder worked its way through her, all white-hot arousal. “You sure? Cause I don’t—” he started.

“Yup. One hundred percent certain.” She gave him a smile and watched as he stepped back, his familiar ever-smiling mask slipping back into place. She was still watching him when he turned to finish loading equipment into the bar, and caught sight of the low-hanging jeans, bearing too much of his boxers.

Tonight was going to be a testament to her will power when it came to Eddie. That much was a certain.

[tearueful]

I don't have access to discord to dump in the right server but I must dump my brain because I need it oUT OF MY HEAD

and anyway, it's Homelander drabble ideas because of course

-and man I want to write a Soulmate AU with Homelander because GOD DAMN THE ANGST POTENTIAL WOULD BE DELICIOUS because he's so broken and doesn't even consider himself human and if soul mates were a thing would he even think he'd have one? Because the guy keeps saying he doesn't even have a birthday or a mother so why would he have a soulmate? Bad products don't get soulmates. It hurts because he wants a human connecting so badly. He wants to be loved so badly and a soulmate would be a guarantee of that.

This idea doesn't have legs because I can't decide on HOW soulmates would work because it needs to be in a NOT OBVIOUS WHEN BY YOURSELF thing cause OBVIOULSY if it was a mark/red string then he'd KNOW and stop at NOTHING to find them. That or it's the most generic word if it's one of those AUs where you're marked by the first word you speak to one another or something...but even then I could see Homelander being THAT sort of asshole to demand Vought find his soulmate or SO FUCKING HELP HIM ASHLEY FUCKING FIND THEM.

Also, a drabble of friends gossiping somewhere in Vought tower and one is bragging that they shacked up with a D-list supe or something and the Reader says, "WELL, I'm dating Homelander!" and because Homelander is Homelander he hears this and just pops up and is like "Hi babe, what's up? Why don't you give me a kiss" because Homelander kisses are fun All smug as hell because hey, look at this idiot mud person offering themselves up as a new toy for me? Time to fuck with them. Hijinks ensue. Sexy, sexy hijinks. Will keep this in my pocket when I just NEED to write some PORN.

ALSO ALSO, because of @/arealtrashact's Homelander puppy art just- WHAT IF HE WAS THOUGH? (Look at this shit) WHAT if Homelander got cursed to be a puppy and he get's picked up by some kind soul (Someone in The Boys, a rando??) and taken care of? He HATES it because he's a DOG and no one know it's him and he's being treated like an ANIMAL and he's so full of RAGE about that but then he get's scratched behind the ears and that feels fantastic. He just melts because that man is TOUCH STARVED and now he can get casual intimacy with no fear of it being a tool to control him. No, he's just being petted because he's such a pretty boy. Dude would be WEAK and maybe being a dog isn't so bad? Fucker would learn some fucking humility for certain and a lot more humanity. Princess and the frog that shit to change him back in the most hilarious way possible, too. Fluff, fluff, fluff. He'd be a velcro dog 300%.

Also someone in the discord mentioned an established relationship drabble idea where Homelander is all huffy because he's being ignored for video games and I just- adgikagdjascvhJHGVFHGAc WANT TO WRITE THAT TOO because no one can convince me that Homelander doesn't eat pussy like a PRO. That man goes down like he's STARVING, fucking drinks up his partner like a fresh glass of milk. Good luck ever getting him off of you. He's so broken that sex is the only way he knows to show his love with a romantic partner, so he PUTS HIS WHOLE SOUL INTO DRAINING YOURS. He'd be such a little annoying shit, "Oh no, Sweetheart. Keep playing your little game. Don't mind me. Oh, did you just die? What a shame." Maybe fucking flashing the heat vision in a blatant warning, "Keep playing." Since you know, you dared to ignore him and now you're going to suffer for it in the best worst way possible.

[anon-apple]

Hot Soup and Soft Bread 27 (END)

ToC and Synopsis <- Chapter 26 Read on WordPress

Chapter 27: Shiitake Mushroom Rice IV

t/n: This is the last chapter of the main story!

When Zhong Qiuyan drove by the location of the former stirfry shop, he parked by the roadside and stared for a long time. The inside has already been cleared out, and the old signboard drooped down from above the doorframe. This will be his restaurant in the future; he couldn’t quite believe it just yet. 

In the past few days, he cooked a few of what he intended to sell as his restaurant's signature dishes for Zhou Cunqu. Dishes like wild shiitake mushroom rice, chestnut pumpkin steamed rice, Pad Thai, et cetera. Cunqu particularly liked the Pad Thai. Zhong Qiuyan had pulled out a bottle of fish sauce from who knows where, and the rice noodles' flavor was particularly delicious. One day, Cunqu requested Qiuyan to cook it again, and he packed a serving inside the little pink pig bento box for Shi Shuyuan to taste. She smiled and said, “Your little pink pig’s cooking skills aren’t bad.”

Zhou Cunqu reiterated: “Don’t call him little pink pig.”

At the same time, the little pink pig Zhong Qiuyan was pulling A’Shan and Da Yu to the side of the storefront. He pointed at it and bragged: “Ge picked this store for me to open a restaurant with. He even did the design of the shopfront for me.” 

Da Yu let out a “Woah” and followed with, “It’s reminiscent of those financial-backer literature.”[1]

Qiuyan rebuked, “This is love with square feet as the unit of measurement, alright?”

Da Yu said to A’Shan: “Look, I’ve said it before. This guy is a prime example of fortune favoring fools.”

Qiuyan scolded, “How am I dumb??”

While the shop was undergoing renovations, Zhong Qiuyan was still busy every day as a bus driver. Instead, he let the unemployed Da Yu help oversee the work. At the same time, the South City Experimental Elementary School also started to renovate after its 35th founding anniversary celebrations. In a year, it would switch locations with the City First High School. This was because a fortune teller foretold that the feng shui (t/n: Chinese geomancy) on October Road was better and moving locations would be beneficial for raising the graduation rate. Anyway, the City First High students started attending school at the October Road location that year. The school uniform for the autumn months included a navy-colored windbreaker made of a material that rustled noisily with movement. They would stream out of the school gates like the dim light rays of the late dusk hours, flow across the street to the pretty little restaurant on the opposite side, and sit down for a meal. Even in the heat of summer vacation, they would meet up at the restaurant to do their summer homework over an order of watermelon shaved ice. In this muddle-headed high school era, they come here to secretly go on dates and come here to be heartbroken. 

Many students from City First High would remember this restaurant. This restaurant named “Hot Soup and Soft Bread”, despite not selling either hot soup or soft bread. Every day, there was a special menu. The seasonal wild shiitake mushroom rice and the signature Pad Thai were both delicious. The boss would stand behind the cooking station and scoop out rice from a giant brown earthen pot, and the aroma of wild shiitake being cooked would disperse and linger around every corner of the small seating area. Many years later, the students of City First High would join the fatigued adults of modern society, working hard to make a living. And in certain sluggish twilight moments, as they drag their weary bodies from their workplace, they would suddenly recall those high school days. Along with it, there is the fragrance of that shiitake mushroom rice. 

When “Hot Soup and Soft Bread” first opened, Da Yu helped out at the restaurant for a while. Zhou Cunqu had designed the little porch[2] outside the storefront so waiting customers or passersby could rest for a short while. However, after the “Double Yolk Egg” Grandpas discovered this location, they would show up early every day with a Go board. Zhong Qiuyan would give them each a cup of barley tea, and they would sit there and play Go until noon.

After getting off work, Cunqu pushed open the restaurant door and sat atop the bar stools next to a whole row of high schoolers. Qiuyan passed him a glass of water and asked, “This customer, what would you like to eat?”

Cunqu was about to reply, but he was interrupted by the excited yelps of the two high school girls next to him who were staring at their phone screens. They screeched, “He’s so handsome so handsome so handsome!!!” Qiuyan leaned over toward Cunqu and asked, “How about the secret menu?” Cunqu nodded.

After a bit, Qiuyan placed a bowl of fried rice before Cunqu. The fried rice contained chopped bamboo shoots, which were in season, as well as marinated meat, white beech mushrooms, and some other seasonal vegetables. Because that bowl of fried rice smelled way too good, the few students sitting beside Cunqu turned over to take a look. Qiuyan knocked on the table and said, “The school day ended, but you guys aren’t rushing home to do homework. How come you all are so free?”

The students’ mouths twitched, and they turned back to stare at their phone screens. They finished their meal, sat around for a bit more, and then, like chirping birds, left the shop amidst chatter to fly off to a nearby cram school. Sometimes, after closing shop around 8 pm, Qiuyan would sit beside the goldfish tank on the second floor and look down from the window. He’d recognize the faces of the backpack-wearing students, holding their trinkets-adorned phones, chatting while rushing to take the subway home. And the next day, at 6 am, those same students will emerge drowsily from various corners of the city and rush back to school.

Zhong Qiuyan and the newly hired waiter finished cleaning up the store. He closed up shop and walked back to Qin Qin Homeland. Zhou Cunqu recently started exercising and had just returned home from a half-hour run. After showering, he sat cross-legged on the sofa looking at his laptop. A few months ago, Shi Shuyan officially invited him to sign on. He leaned against the pedestrian bridge's railing and joked, “Boss, if work gets too demanding, I might leave anytime. You know me. Someone is willing to raise me now.” 

Shiyuan laughed as she cursed, “Gross.”

The one raising Cunqun finally arrived home. After kicking off his shoes, Qiuyan slid onto the sofa and hugged Cunqu’s waist, rubbing his face against his while complaining, “You haven’t taken a single look at me since I got home. You’re just looking at your laptop. I’m angry angry.”[3]  

Cunqu said exasperatedly, “Let me finish up with this email.”

Qiuyan was still repeating: “Angry, angry, angry…”

Cunqu lightly tapped his forehead and said: “Power off. Stop being annoying.”

Qiuyan aggrievedly shut his mouth, stood up, and ran off to the balcony. After Cunqu finally finished up with his work, he closed his laptop and walked to the balcony. He pinched Cunqu’s cheek and said, “Power on.”  

Qiuyan lightly said, “Angry.”

They leaned against the balcony’s railing and looked toward the housing community under construction across the street. The framework of the new buildings was almost complete; time always marched forward. Cunqu lifted his head, took a deep breath, and commented that the air carried the scent of grape juice. Qiuyan replied that give it a month, and Qiu Xuemei would be coming here to gift them two whole crates of homegrown grapes. 

In the sunset hours, when the streets are crawling with people, she will climb down from her cargo truck and push open Zhong Qiuyan’s restaurant’s door while holding two crates of grapes. She will sit down and take a break by the same window where she and Liu Xiaoying once sat. Turning her head, she will see the City First High’s students crowding by the bar counter, tilting up their faces, lit up by two cloud-shaped hanging ceiling lamps, chattering with Qiuyan, excitedly inquiring about his relationship history with sparkles in their eyes. And just like that, the love story of the boss of “Hot Soup and Soft Bread” will spread from one grade to another, from one year to the next. But many of the finer details and many of the deeper causes and effects are only known between me and you. Don’t go around telling that group of gossipy high schoolers. 

And now, I will tell you one last thing. In this universe, atop some planet, within a neighborhood in some city of a country, behind the window of the fifth floor of a building, a wonderful love has settled down.[4]

---- Author's Note: This is a rather unpolished sweet little bedtime story. After finishing the story, I recommend listening to 天台晚餐 (Rooftop dinner) by 麥浚龍 (Juno mak) (t/n: youtube, lyrics). Please refrain from commenting about this story under the song, anything you want to see please say it here[5]. I’ll also be uploading two short epilogues for Madam Qiu Xuemei and Madam Liu Xiaoying. Later I’ll write a bit of Zhou ge and Little Zhong’s if-storyline[6]

Footnotes

[1] I translated this ltierally. Da Yu is referring to all the novels of the “rich ceo falls in love with me” genre; basically he’s suggesting that Zhou Cunqu is giving Sugar Daddy energy lol.  [2] The original term was 缘廊, which I believe refers to an engawa: https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Engawa [3]  Zhong Qiuyan literally repeats “Angry” twice here. Just to clarify, he’s saying this not too seriously, in like a childish, spoiled manner. He’s 撒娇（Sājiāo)-ing for anyone familiar with the term.  [4]  A call back to the storybook Zhou Cunqu read on the rooftop to the little kid in Chapter 15 [5] “Here” is the comment section of the raws, which I’ll link again here: https://www.gongzicp.com/novel-1597036.html [6]  Basically like an AU (alternate universe), she doesnt’ specify what kind. I’ll try to translate these eventually too.

t/n: And we're at an end! The reason why I picked this up (aside from the manageable length lol) is that the chapters often leave me with a warm fuzzy feeling (except for the angsty ones lol) I love how this story never forgets any of the side characters. The double-yolk egg grandpas, despite not being crucial to the main plotline of the story, consistently appeared throughout. And we even get some depth into Qiuyan's friends, especially A'Shan, despite how short this story was. I also adore how it describes just ordinary, daily lives. Like that bit about the high school students at the restaurant was so charming and nostalgic. Also! The fact that the shop Cunqu picked out for Qiuyan was the same store where Liu Xiaoying and Qiu Xuemei had their encounter (ch 23)! The world is so big; the world is so small. May Zhou Cunqu and Zhong Qiuyan be happy forever~ If you guys liked this story, please leave it a rating & review on https://www.novelupdates.com/series/hot-soup-and-soft-bread/ so more people can read it~

[lizzie-c-bryant]

Writer's Prompt Friday ✏️

🍰🎂🧁 Who knew a bakery could be so full of drama? 🕵️‍♀️ Join me in unraveling the mystery of the missing buttercream in my latest short story, "The great baking heist"

The soft morning light filtered through the bakery windows, highlighting the shelves soon to be filled with delicious pastries. Oliver Baker, a kind-hearted man in his late thirties, unlocked the front door to his bakery, his assistant Milo coming in behind him.

"Morning, Ethan," Oliver greeted, his voice slightly sleepy. "We have the Petersons wedding cake to finish today.” He said. “Can you do the morning rush bakes? And I'll get cracking on that?”

Milo grinned and nodded. “You got it Boss.” The morning rush bakes consisted of fresh pastries, and we're very popular among The many offices that were 4 streets away. Most were prepped the night before, ready to be baked when they arrived at 5.30 in the morning.

Oliver entered the kitchen, heading over to the sink to begin his usual routine when he noticed something very unusual.

“Uh…. Mate? did you leave the fridge open when you locked up last night?” Oliver asked as he spotted the door wide open, the light not even on after the continuous door being open.

“No, I closed it. I triple check after I left it open my first shift and the custard went weird.” Milo said, heading over. He scanned the shelves. “Might need to throw some of this away. It feels a little warm.” He said checking the temperature.

“See if we can salvage the buttercream for the wedding cake at least we’re already behind…..” his eyes widened.

“Where's the buttercream?”

“I don't…. I saw it right here last night. I saw you put it in there.” Milo shook his head.

“I'll look for it, you focus on the pastries, we open in an hour.” Oliver instructed. It was hopeless anyway, if the buttercream had not been in the fridge, no way would it be ready for a cake today. It would be way to runny. It was more annoyance than anything. Where had it gone?

30 minutes later, he had turned the entire kitchen upside down, and had yet to find the bowl of buttercream, he had checked the cupboards, the mixer…everywhere.

“Boss, I know it's annoying, but you're going to have to cut your losses, we're opening soon, and you know how mad the morning rush is….”

“I found it! Well…. The bowl.” Oliver exclaimed from behind the bin, lifting up the bowl now empty of buttercream. “Why is it all the way back here? and where is it?” He asked, glancing at the back door beside the bin. “You don't think anyone could have gotten in last night?”

“And take buttercream?” Milo sounded sceptical. “Why would they do that?”

“I don't…. Wait, this is labeled the peterson wedding.” He said, pointing to the label. “Oh that…. That bitch!” He headed out to the front of the bakery, looking through the window at the shiny new la patisserie that had opened 6 months ago. “Miss Landley said that she had gone there first for a cake tasting, and she picked us. She must be annoyed about us getting a high end client.” The Petersons were very wealthy, and the wedding had over a 400 guests. Oliver had cried when his bakery was chosen, and had not so subtly bragged about it when he had seen the woman who owned la patisserie.

“Are you serious? You think Madame Dubois snuck into the bakery in the middle of the night? And stole your buttercream and left the bowl behind the bins?”

“Why not? She's evil. Plus, the word Sabotage is French.” Oliver muttered, glaring at the offending bakery.

“And I'm pretty sure she's from Birmingham mate. She slips up with the accent sometimes.” Milo pointed out. Oliver paid him no mind, glowering with his arms crossed.

“I know she did it. I know it.” He muttered. “I will prove it.”

“Look, if it was her…”

“Oh it was.” Oliver interjected.

“Fine. Then her plan has worked, you are distracted, and now even further behind because you've just spent the first 45 minutes of the day preoccupied instead of doing what you need to do. So put the sign over, get in the kitchen and make some more.” Milo encouraged. Oliver sighed.

“I guess you're right, a bigger payback would be to smash this cake out of the park. That will show her.” He agreed, turning the closed sign to open, and rushing back to the kitchen. The wedding cake was no where near finished, and the date off collection was looming.

“Oh that looks good.” Milo noted 6 hours later. Oliver had to take a couple of shortcuts to make up time, however the cake was almost complete, there was a few more sugar flowers and decorations to adorn the cake, but it was frosted and ready to go.

“It does. I can't wait to shove this right in Madam Dubios face.” Oliver smirked. “Oh, and the bride. She's going to love it.” He added.

“You know how much she loves instagram too, you are going to be famous.” Milo grinned. “I think this deserves a celebration. Pub?”

“Oh. No.” Oliver shook his head. “I'm staying right here. I'm not giving madam Dubois another chance of subterfuge. I'm sitting right here and not moving until this cake is safely out of this bakery.

Milo looked at him sceptically. “Uh…. Sure. If you say so.” He said. “If you need anything just give me a call.”

Oliver nodded, not taking his eyes off the cake. The sun soon set, leaving him in the darkness, his eyes began to droop….

Before he jolted awake. He wondered what had awoken him, a loud clatter coming from the cake. He rushed forward, a rolling pin in hand to apprehend The culprit.

Oh.

It wasn't madam dubois at all.

There, happily eating the sugar flowers, was a large, ginger cat. Oliver blinked, eyes darting to the window propped open behind the sink.

He coughed loudly to startle the creature. The cat looked up, seeing the man.

Then continued to eat.

[amalgamgooze]

amalgam stew ii

“When I woke up this morning, I saw the whole world staring back at me. Bored, I went back to sleep.”

=====================

It’s that time again where I feel so much all at once that it becomes a delicious thought soup. I’ve found writing helps with it.

My classmates really like my writing so far, at least in the excerpts from the story I’m sharing with the class. They claim it makes them think, and that it’s so outrageously unique that it’s hard to believe I wasn’t on drugs when I wrote it.

Hah. I wish I was.

Pretty much everyone around me has told me that if they didn’t know me better, they’d assume I was on drugs. I’m not sure how to feel about that. I’m also not sure how to respond when it’s a teacher telling me that. The drug changes every time too—this time it was psychedelics. Welp. It’ll be interesting to see what happens when I finally do end up drinking and all that fun stuff.

But not yet. I still have a reputation to uphold. I think many people around me really like me for some reason, though I can’t say what I’ve done specifically to earn this respect.

Tomorrow I read my commencement speech in front of the Panel of Judgement, something my parents have already familiarized me with extensively. That is, my parents are very judgmental. Now look at me. I’ve assumed my reader is a moron. I’m sorry, reader.

Back to the speech. I’ve practiced it a bit, but not in front of anyone yet. That’s less-than-ideal. Oh well. I’ve seen one of the other kids practicing it obsessively. I wonder how they’ll feel when I beat them anyway.

Hah. Like I’ll win anyway. It’s hard to be confident in your own speech when you’ve gone through ten-ish years of speech therapy and still never officially “graduated” from it.

…

Then again, I did ace all of my Environmental Geoscience presentations last year, as well as doing lots of public speaking in front of important people with lots of money convincing them to donate to hospitals and schools.

But I’ve started bragging again. Look at me again. I’ve never done Model UN or Mock Trial, which many of these other candidates have done. All I do is sit on my ‘puter and do some science. And volleyball.

I embarrassed the opposing team at practice today with a series of incredible blocks and plays. It was honestly a great feeling. I feel a sadistic nature growing in me—I took pleasure in watching that team endure their punishment for sucking so bad against me. This isn’t the me I’m used to, but maybe it’s something that needs to be explored more.

Why am I publicizing this? Why am I willingly publishing the fact that I’m evil sometimes? Here’s a good answer—nobody I know will likely ever read this, or care enough to act on it. And anyway, it’s a prankster sort of sadistic as opposed to a psychopath sort of sadistic. Not that I’d ever intentionally plan to make anyone suffer—it’s just that my actions, which were applauded, also directly led to the compounded punishment of my victims, which also gave me guilty pleasure.

Whatever. I didn’t really have that much power in that situation. “My” “victims” are literally just players on my volleyball team that had to run sprints because I blocked them a million times. I’m no evil mastermind or “king of the shadows” or anything edgy like that.

…

It’s weird actually caring about winning this commencement speech contest and being stressed about speaking. Every other speech I’d ever done had seemed so low-stakes—why’s this one bothering me so much? I suppose I just have to like, embody clarity or something like that.

…

Again, I’ve got a funny feeling that my speech is probably gonna win, but still… it’s just this sort of like, 70% chance of success (in actuality, if they pick at random, it’s a 20% chance, but I’m feeling confident right now) where I can’t really say “ah, well I’m probably not gonna win anyway” or “I’m definitely going to win!”.

…

This speech is driving me peanut-butter-jelly-sandwich insane.

[envysparkler]

I'm curious about this Uno reverse batfamily adoption fic idea. What is it going to be about? All the batkids parents are alive and try to coparents Bruce and the robins?

The story starts when a newly minted Batman goes to a circus. He runs into a panicking baby Dick before the show starts, who claims that there's a bad man doing something to the ropes. Bruce rushes off to stop him, gets lightly stabbed, and decides to buy Haly's Circus so this kind of thing doesn't happen again.

The Grayson family happily adopt him. No amount of persuading will convince Dick Grayson that Bruce is not his new older brother. Alfred is happy to have more people looking out for Bruce. Bruce is defeated and resignedly accepts his new parental figures, since it appears that Haly's Circus is going to stay in Gotham.

[you can insert subplot about court of owls here or not.]

Bruce Wayne is in Crime Alley on the anniversary of his parents' death. He gets mugged, which causes a flashback and a panic attack, and a kind passerby coaches him through it while her son scowls at him the whole time. Catherine Todd invites him up for a cup of tea and Bruce meets her husband. He can see where Jason gets the scowl from. Willis gives back Bruce's wallet and keys without saying where he got them from. The car's tires, however, are a lost cause.

[honestly the dramatic tension here from Batman running into Willis as one of Two-Face's lackeys would be delicious. also feat Willis finally revealing Catherine's medical issues which of course leads to Bruce paying for treatment and Jason starting to trust him.]

This Batman has no Robin. This does not stop little Timmy's fascination with nighttime photography, which Janet encourages. Children need to spend time outside, she can brag about her baby's talent, and honestly all the traveling means she's up at odd hours when she's in Gotham anyway. But all that Bat-watching gets Janet thinking and she figures out that Bruce is Batman in a couple of months. Tim is his mother's son, after all. Janet, previously very annoyed with Brucie Wayne, now realizes the whole thing is an act, and is very amused. She can use this to troll Gotham's snooty high society and get a good laugh out of those stuffy galas. Jack is always game to go along with a good joke.

[The Drakes, frequent visitors to the circus ever since little Dick Grayson picked up baby Timmy and proclaimed that he'd do a special flip just for him, find out that the Graysons also know Bruce. They meet the Todds on another trip. If Bruce knew that there were three different sets of Gotham parents conspiring about him, he'd probably flee permanently to the Watchtower.]

Talia...well, it would be a bit awkward for Talia to adopt Bruce. But you don't have to change much to have Ra's be the kind of father that's obsessed with that One Boyfriend you brought for dinner five years ago and won't stop asking when he's coming back.

[Why, yes, Ra's does join the monthly meetings of the Bruce Wayne Protection Squad. If only to weigh in on the "who should Bruce date" debate. They're going to be his future in-law after all.]

Batman runs into David Cain and Lady Shiva on two separate missions, both of which end in injuries for Bruce, but a little girl sticks bandaids with colorful print on him so he guesses it's okay. Her parents have split custody of Cass and now apparently Bruce too, if the way they grouse at him about the proper way to take on assassins is any indication.

Batman ends up in the hospital and Crystal Brown is the nurse that's assigned to his care. The only thing that stops a delirious Batman from trying to get out of bed is Stephanie Brown's detailed stories. Some time later, Cluemaster kidnaps Batman--not to unmask his identity, but to interrogate him on his postoperative care because his wife and daughter were worrying.

Gordon's already pretty much adopted him, so nothing has to change there.

Bonus: Bruce is a fantastic babysitter. He's attentive and careful. Also, all the kids think he's super cool because he's Batman, which is very flattering. And whenever one of them starts making noises about joining him in fighting crime, he can drop them back off at their parents.

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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