#obligatory exit

[cologona]

I am just so fundamentally uninterested in the story where Jason is in the wrong and needs to Gain Perspective or whatever. God what a snore. What an absolute waste of my time.

[puckpocketed]

we’re going to war for artie kaliyev this summer on god wait wait wait wHAT DO YOU MEAN QUINTON BYFIELD WAS SICK? what do you MEAN!!!!!!

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

my pitch for a phineas and ferb-themed ride at the disney parks (hire me disney you cowards)

the queue is an interior building with pnf-themed decorations. kinda like the figment ride in epcot, a lot of it is winding through a "museum" of pnf and/or doof inventions. most of those inventions disappeared of course, so they're models, parts in glass cases, etc. overhead are tv monitors that play a shuffled loop of phineas and ferb songs, but bc there are so many good songs they can use it hopefully won't get repetitive unless you're there for nine hours. the exception to this is one small part of the queue (small to avoid people being stuck there too long) where it exclusively plays the quirky worky song and you see the pnf gang building the ride you're about to go on, either as statues/figures or through a "screen" that shows looping animation

you get onto the coaster car from the first episode as phineas, baljeet or isabella reads the safety spiel over the loudspeaker. actually as i'm typing this it might be fun to loop each of the backyard gang doing their own version that'd be cute

the ride takes off and you hear the vamp from the "rollercoaster" song as you're loading in.

once inside, the ride is styled like epcot's guardians of the galaxy ride, where you're on a track looping through a mix of screens and sets. the first part plays more of the "rollercoaster" song as you run through the "coolest coaster ever" scenes.

miscellaneous room/scene ideas: fireside girl action segment, carpe diem room, obviously a space segment w/ meap and queen candace and the catu aliens, obligatory scary bit through the haunted house, rock concert w/ love handel, backyard beach/atlantis, owca headquarters, 2nd dimension bit (might be too confusing for new fans?), relatively normal area where candace is gesturing wildly to a linda animatronic that won't turn around and see the rollercoaster car, idk a hamster & gretel segment or smth

a little bit in, you hear a beep and a call for agent p. a small animatronic of perry rises from the front of the car as you enter a tunnel, where a screen of major monogram tells perry to get his ass to doofenshmirtz evil incorporated to fight doof. perry salutes and slides back down into the car, and the ride then takes a "wrong track" (kinda like when you run into a "broken track" on everest) to DEI.

we go inside and see animatronics of perry fighting doof as an inator sparks. it goes off, sending us down yet another "wrong track," which shoots through wilder parts of danville. at the climax, we start looping and the climax of the "rollercoaster" song starts playing ("we're rightside-up and upside-down...")

at the end of the ride, we see an animatronic/animation of doof hanging upside-down from rope as perry glares at him cross-armed, and doof intermittently yells "curse you, perry the platypus!" on a screen, monogram congratulates the riders for saving the tri-state area with agent p. perry makes platypus noise.

you go to another room, right before the exit. you see candace pointing to an empty backyard, saying stuff like "but it was right here! and it was huge!" as phineas and ferb sit under the tree and address the guests. if you're far enough away from the last room, perry can be sitting under them being cute.

the exit queue has posters for dwampyverse stuff, like "love handel reunion", "doctor zone: the movie", the og rollercoaster poster, etc.

you exit in a gift shop where you can buy perry the platypus inaction figure (he doesn't do anything!) and big sticks

lastly,

you know when rides break down or stop for a sec and you get in-character voiceovers telling you to stay seated or w/e? i think we should have three that loop: one of doof giving a basic spiel, one of milo murphy being like "yeah i went on the ride. sorry about that. it should start working soon lol" and one where literally the whole thing is candace yelling "NO MOM I SWEAR IT'S A WORKING ROLLERCOASTER AND PHINEAS AND FERB BUILT IT! MOM LISTEN–"

[vyzz-undercover]

the voices have made this happen

[cato/f!ambassador]

(1) (2) (3)

(5,900ish words) (OUUGHHHHH)

CONTENT WARNINGS:

•slight dubcon

•hints of size kink (obligatory)

•vaginal fingering

•oral (f receiving)

•mild possessive behaviour

•the consequences of ignoring important medical devices

•mentions of (hypothetical) torture

•tumblrs recurringly cancerous formatting

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im back on my bullshit after having to do overnights so as payment to the dark gods of whoring and degeneracy i humbly offer this taglist of sweet darling who've indulged my insanity: @the-raven-lady, @gallifreyianrosearkytiorsusan, @bispecsual, @lemon-russ, @kit-williams, @passionofthesith, @egrets-not-regrets, @moodymisty, @sinistermojo, @justeverythingnothingelse, @pluvio-tea, @thevoidscreams, @beckyninja, @yestheantichrist!!! if you wanna be tagged (or not) in the next let me know!!! also it may take me longer to do a part four to this namely because ive got more wageslaving ahead of me soon but alas i'll definitely have rowboat girlyman catch em. also maybe give cato some top. myehehehehe,,, AND THANK YOU FOR READING AS USUAL ILY ALL!!! :3

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Cato is just about leaving.

After having spent the better part of an hour discussing the predicted destruction pathway of a hive-fleet on the system's rim with his Father; it sends his balls into his throat when you nearly run into him in the chamber's huge archway.

It only takes a fraction of a second to catalogue your presence.

You're wearing the same utilitarian blue robe as you had been last week again.

Last week, when he'd been pounding you insensible on a lounge in the library—Cato promptly quashes the insidious memory, smothering down any sort of reaction. But there is a change in comparison to the dizzying reminder: there's a new addition to the reoccurring outfit.

You've brought a navy, high-collared turtleneck into the mix, layered below your lapels.

So, the efforts of his mouth hadn't gone unheeded, then.

Throne, if he's not smug, he's got no bloody clue what he is.

Cato steps aside and turns to allow you entrance first before his exit.

"Commander Sicarius," you lilt with a soft voice and a small downward tip of your chin, all while holding his gaze.

He's transfixed periodically at the honeyed sort of warmth in your eyes.

Despite himself, he lingers and greets you with a slow, "Lady Ambassador."

The left side of his mouth twitches upward in a half-aborted smirk that he quickly tries to mask as a stern, frown-nod combination.

You break the staring match and Cato's confident he's salvaged his slip-up without detection.

Or not—because oh, fuck—if he doesn't feel the burning focus of a Primarch's eyes boring a hole into the side of his head like a brand.

It only lasts an instant, but the second is an eternity to him.

Of course, you're oblivious to this subtle exchange—and promptly trot past him to his Father's vast desk.

"My Lord Primarch," you say with a curt little bow; and then Guilliman's attention is solely on you, his favourite little pet project. "I read the data-drives you instructed from the preceding article logging. I've arranged them back to the most recent mark counts."

You're looking for an empty spot to lay them on his table, but with all the meticulously arranged stacks, it's none too easy to find one.

"Perfect," the Primarch breaths, "Just on the side there is fine, don't worry."

Obligingly, you lay them atop a small mountain of paperwork.

"Do you need anything else of me, my Lord?" You chirp brightly, the tone of your voice so very painfully sweet—Cato is nearly overwhelmed fighting a pitched battle against the urge to run over, pick you up and shake you around suddenly.

Guilliman chuckles, waving one massive hand about vaguely, "You've done more than enough for me today, why don't we leave it at that for now, hm? Go on."

"Of course; thank you, and have a good evening, my Lord," You say, bow once more, and turn on your heel from the Primarch, and—and smile at Cato as you walk back towards the exit. That's—that's the first time you've smiled at him. His twin hearts lurch, slamming forward against the inside of his fused chest cavity. It's perfect abominable. You rotten temptress, he's—he's going to rectify that audacity later. Or now, if you're... possibly heading the same direction he is. Which is whatever direction you're going, purely by chance.

It's merely coincidence, he swears.

He's certainly not planning on hounding after you like a dog tailing a bitch in heat.

He's certainly not going to drag you into a side room the second he's sure no-one with a credible opinion's around.

He's certainly not going to indulge in anything heretical, like bending you bare over his knee for daring to taunt him.

Cato makes as if to fall in step behind you as you pass the threshold before him, but is quickly halted by his Father's curt, "I do not believe you have been dismissed, Cato."

He's never been subjected to such sinking dread quite so nonchalantly.

"Approach."

Cato complies stuffily, sparing a glance at your figure disappearing down the corridor before acquiescing. He's practically dragging his ceramite boots across the intricate rugs as he nears the Primarch's seated but colossal form.

Guilliman isn't looking at him, having had returned to notating a miscellaneous form.

The scritch-scratch of his gene-sire's preferred, yet archaic method of manually writing on the parchment is like someone grating a plate with a fork to his ears right now.

"You've gotten over your petty grievances regarding the Ambassador at last, I take it?" Guilliman asks, without looking up.

It is not Cato's duty to like or dislike. Nor is it to be biased without reason—his opinions are to be intellectual, not emotional. His duty is to assess, analyse and provide feedback, so that his Primarch can take it into account when making rulings and decisions.

Cato swallows around the proverbial hunk of drywall lodged in his throat and answers, "She has proven herself... useful, yes, sire."

Guilliman finally meets his eyes but says nothing for a short while. There's dark bags under his Primarch's eyes, and the deep, stern crease permanently between his dark blonde brows is a slight bit harsher, but the only thing Cato can parse out of the expression's intent is a vague sense of knowing. Because, insofar, he's thought himself quite adept at reading his Primarch; and rather well versed in deciphering the intricacies of his moods.

And right now, he feels like he's being read like an open manuscript.

The daunting prospect Cato's caught sinks it's teeth in his gullet. It's impossible, he's not left any room for suspicion, he's covered his tracks—there's no logical reason why he should be getting raked with such a look.

His gene-sire isn't a psyker nor omniscient, just impossibly intelligent—and so absurdly good at the mathematics of plotting and planning that it only appears superficially as if he is all-seeing. He can't possibly know what Cato has been doing—or rather, who he's been doing.

"It's about time," his Father hums abruptly, suddenly disinterested. "Now you're dismissed."

Cato nods, turns on his boot heel, and nigh bolts marches out the room. His proverbial tail definitely not between his legs.

The hall outside Guilliman's apartments is a central domed area that functions as a meeting area, where people go to one of six looming hallways. It's the bottom of a series of levels; and above, three echelons encircled by arcades and balustrades, framed on the exterior by engaged columns.

But the structure itself is immense and ancient, even by Imperial standards. One of the few still-original, unaltered parts of the great Gloriana-class warship's innards. It is doused in long swathes of red carpet and great standards of Magcraggian note, alongside glorious, heroic frescoes depicting Legiones Astartes in their thousands, crusading across the heavens with the Emperor their head.

Cato keeps his head down as he passes them, uneasy with guilt. Feeling as if their lenses are following him—intent on venturing into the lower layers to brood.

Several Astartes are hovering about amongst the personnel and serfs. The baselines look up at him in awe, and his Brothers nod in respect, but he pays them all no mind.

The furthest corridor beckons him, and so he goes; down the complex system of broad walks with high, barrel vault ceilings, mazing through the vessel's higher clearance reaches like arteries through a body.

Cato is seething, and self-admittedly itching to take a howler of a swing at the next thing that speaks to him.

He cuts down the southern channel and sees one of his subordinate Victrix Guard lingering in the middle of a groin vault intersection.

The younger Astartes is about to continue straight, yet he pauses.

Brother Marcellus meets Cato's eyes for a second, clearly notes his Commander's absolutely stinking mood from a hundred meters off; nods, swallows, takes a step backward—and changes direction to go left rather than pass him.

Cato's too pissed to even linger on the strangeness of the action.

Still, he doesn't rightly blame him.

Cato strides on, back straight, chin up—the red shawl pinned beneath his pauldrons swirling behind him.

His thoughts are eating at him the whole while.

He's sure his Primarch is just trying to innocently divine his sudden change of mind regarding you. There's no way his Father's aware of why. And yet, guilt is a big black wolf nipping at his ankles, making him hasten; and unease clouds about his heart. He's mortified, for lack of a better word.

The full implications of the situation are too enormous to be faced all at once; so he picks the smallest, most banal facet he can think of.

That being, you.

You, who he'll never see again if his Primarch finds out.

You, who's practically damned him without knowing it.

You, who he's now valiantly trying not to imagine in a hundred different circumstances where he gets away with it all. Each one more heretical than the last—it's like it was before he'd managed a hand on you: his body giving in to suffocating delusions, sleepless in his cot; lapping at whatever scant, lust-soaked morsels his mind offers up.

One of his favourites remains you scantily clad beneath a moonlit night sky, on the parapet of his ancestral fortress on the coastal edge of Perusia.

He likes to fantasise you like it there.

He suspects you would.

He knows just about all there is to know about you on paper, and wonders if you know much of Talassar. Or if you've read about Castra Tanagra. He assumes Guilliman would share the tale of that famed old battle with you as a part of your readings.

Each impossible reverie is a new shiny nail in his coffin, or dreadnaut—it depends where and how he dies, and if there's anything scrape up of him when he eventually goes down in a blaze of glory and duty, and honour.

If his Primarch catches him, there's going to be none of that.

He'll be struck from living record, like Titus had been. Cato would be lucky to get a little plaque in the deepest pits of the Fortress of Hera. Reduced to a whispered memory of his achievements passed solemnly between Captains, followed up with words of disappointment. Of waste. Until his memory dies with them and his deeds fade into obscurity, lost to any new brothers.

The fate that awaits you would somehow be worse. Cato was always going to die in war, as was his right—but you—you were not fashioned for such things. Yes, Guilliman enjoys you, but that fact won't save you. Just like it won't save Cato for all his usefulness. You'd be tried as a heretic, as a source of corruption upon the Legiones, and you'd be made to suffer; because torture ever comes before execution. You're so very soft weak in so very many ways. Your life lived in a gilded cage, without pain nor discomfort that extends further than grating professional grievances—he doesn't want to imagine the sound of you screaming, but he does.

He cannot stand the thought.

The sudden urge to barricade you in his chambers for permanent safe keeping is all-consuming.

It's suddenly all he can think about.

He has to find you.

The amount of serfs passing and parting to allow his passage thin out to nothing.

Even from the sterile confines of one of the many winding hallways, Cato abruptly swears he can hear the echoed rush of sandals—your sandals—reverberating off the floor.

He hadn't notice you following behind immediately because, damn it, he's spiralling thinking.

He chances a confrontation, and rounds about-face.

You stand there in the middle of the empty hallway like you've got a bolter aimed at you, frozen.

"Come here," he says, clipped.

You do not.

"Come here."

Again, no compliance.

"Do you pride yourself on being a idiot?" His voice is scathing now, taking a heavy step into your space and being met by you staying stock stiff, still. "Do you have any idea what that stunt of yours earlier might incur?"

"What?" You blink, finally animating. "I didn't do anything—"

"You know what you did," he hisses, accusatory. "You're hollow between the ears, but you're not blind."

Lips pursing tightly in mental deliberation, you make a fey noise of annoyance as a little frown graces your features, apparently not deigning to offer a comment back.

"Do you not understand that... this," he gesticulates between you both and his voice falls to a whisper. "This... is not common allowance?"

"It's not?"

Are you being intentionally dense at this point, or is it just second nature?

Cato raises a hand to knead the crease between his brows, "No."

"That explains a lot, actually," you say, seemingly without any real comprehension on the gravity of the matter. "I couldn't find any notes or references on it."

He's genuinely stunned, "Is that what you were doing when—"

"When I was rudely interrupted," you cut in, the comment is nigh a spat insult.

Cato isn't sure what to say to that sudden display of spine, and grumbles.

He surmises the optimal action is complete disregard.

Therefore, he has no problem turning on the heel of his sabatons and starting his pace on again.

"So... this isn't normal by Astartes standards?"

He's taken aback at your abrupt want for conversation after all that. Namely because it's atypical. You never attempted small talk with him. You never do anything but scurry off when he's accosted you for you flagrant overstepping—wait.

He feels as if the paradigm between you both has shifted again since the last time for some reason. More than last time, actually. More than you just simply having the audacity to backtalk him.

It's like some symptom of a deeper sickness rising to the surface.

It makes him unreasonably curious suspicious.

He wants to see just how much ground you'll give, so he plays along and answers, "Not as far as I am aware, no."

You hum, and immediately are at it again, posturing, "Surely you have heard of cases of it happening?"

"I have not," Cato says, and you hum in consideration.

You're satisfied at that information for a brief while, but then he remembers you cannot shut your mouth for more than five minutes, and purses his lips. He's already tiring of your incessant questioning.

"But you'd done it before?"

And that's just great.

You've expertly found an exposed nerve.

More kindling on the bonfire of him having an aneurysm before the cycle's end.

Cato can feel the hint of pressure behind his eyes as he begins increasing his walking speed. "I don't think that is a relevant question."

You haste to stay in step, "It definitely is."

"You ought to learn a civil fucking tongue when you're addressing me, woman," he bites out, nose crinkling into a sneer.

Unperturbed by his short-tempered comment, another thoughtful little 'hmm' slips out of you.

"So, to conclude... you where as inexperienced as I was at the start, and all those gloating insults back then were just projection?" You suddenly blurt out at rather impressive speed, like a politician possessed—before finishing with, "Sorry, 'all those gloating insults back then were just projection,' Commander Sicarius."

Cato grits his teeth and feels his eye twitch.

He stops, turns to look over his pauldron, and stares bloody murder.

He can't even imagine the idiocy in your brain that gave you the imprimatur to say that aloud.

But Throne, the sly little glint in your pretty eyes suddenly has his face thudding with heat.

Then you smile at him for the second time ever.

Cato bites back the urge to ogle you dumbly, and actually feels himself thicken in his body-glove in real time, because oh, fuck—his hind brain practically pelts him across the jaw with the mental pict of that sweet mouth lathing up the side of his cock.

Mentally unseated for a moment, his brows furrow; and he quickly turns away, applying himself entirely to the task of trudging down the stagings.

The silence is a breath of fresh air.

Even if he can still hear your laboured breathing a few steps back him from him. You're straining to keep up with his pace, and it's an excellent punishment for you. His heavy sabatons clank-clank-clank on the steel decking, and your little boots practically pitter-patter in contrast. It's a syncopated rhythm that he's absentmindedly trying to match—and when he lingers for a step he manages to even the beat out.

He hangs a left, and scales the wide stairs to the open intersection platform above two at a time; trying not to snort amusedly at the little groan you let out as you hurry up them behind him, heaving.

Cato realises abruptly that you're actually, really, seriously following him—and pretending you're not.

He makes a right at the top and then waits for you to fall in step.

And, pointedly, he then turns and doubles back around.

You stand there stupefied for a moment, before grumbling softly and continuing down the thoroughfare without him.

If his observation skills hold any weight, he heads straight into the nearest open room and waits for you to follow.

He doesn't activate the locking mechanism on the other side in on purpose when he strides in, and lets the sliding door close behind him.

This particular room is forgettable in its ubiquitousness, though unusual. He has no idea of it's actual intended purpose. It's fitted with screens and database terminals as if it's for debriefing purposes, but he has no real way of confirming. What he can catalogue is that there's wraparound surfaces littered with candles. A few strips of harsh lighting and scant furniture—a tallish counter and a few long benches. They're thankfully Astartes sized.

Which means he can sit down and pray for you to walk right into the metaphorical snare he's just laid.

Not a minute later, the door's sliding mechanism triggers and you scurry through—only to promptly go stiff.

You stare at him like a rat he's just found by lifting a crate.

The mechanism shuts automatically behind you and it apparently spooks you enough to jump a little.

"You're disgustingly predictable," he harrumphs, unimpressed.

A flush rises to your face as you scowl, "You're disgustingly predictable," you shoot back, echoing his words.

Of course, that audacity of yours leads to a short stalemate.

He huffs out a sigh as he concedes out of sheer frustration and says, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one."

You blink dumbly at him, "...what?"

"It's my locking code," he growls, and Throne, you must be acting stupid just to grate him; because there's no way your brain is so smooth as to not connect the dots. "It's for the door, moron."

A soft 'ohh' leaves you as you turn and step aside to the key pad fixed into the frame.

"Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," he's agonisingly forced to say once again.

"Three-nine-five-eight-eight-two-seven-one..." you mumble to yourself.

Cato hears an angry beep and suddenly wants to smash his head into a wall repeatedly.

Grinding his molars, he snarls, "Three-seven-five-eight-eight-two-nine-one," and then adds, "If I have to repeat that one more time, I'm going to throw you out of the nearest airlock."

And it seems the threat of violence works wonders, because you don't bungle the input this time.

Cato sighs, exasperated, and leans back against the lip of the table behind the bench.

He ought to start carrying around a correctional stun rod. Just for whenever you annoy him. If it's good enough for a Neophyte to suffer, it's good enough for you, he supposes.

Or it'll send you into a seizing fit.

He's not to sure of the maximum voltage a baseline can take without their singular, puny little heart giving out.

One disciplinary option scratched out, then.

But he can think of many, many more to make a model Ambassador out of you. The wonders of carefully applied violence are plentiful. A little roughing up never hurts, or at least, not for long. And fuck, do you need some lessons on proper manners. He could have you smacked into shape like a show pony in no time—even if it'd be more like teaching a grox to trot lateral movements. Then again, he also believes if he stuck a frag far enough up a Carnifex's ass, he could probably get it to play Regicide.

And then pointedly, he starts thinking about your ass.

Cato is so utterly lost on the tangent of hypotheticals that he's flabbergasted when a small mouth lands on his own.

He hadn't even been paying attention.

He hadn't even noticed you'd neared.

It feels like the breath has been knocked out him at the sheer unexpectedness of it.

The kiss is hasty, your eyes scrunched shut and cheeks flushed, scowling with focus.

All the while, his mind reels because Throne, the contact of his lips to yours doesn't really feel particularly profound aside from how soft your skin is—but the intention of it is the real reward.

Cato's genuinely infuriated when you pull away.

You blink owlishly at him, giving him a cautious look like you're trying to gauge his reaction.

There are a thousand things he wants to ask, to say, but the foremost among them is but one.

"Again," he huffs, lessening the distance between you just enough to invite you back.

And he thinks that perhaps he’s abusing his station over you, but when you tentatively find a hold on his gorget to steady yourself to give him another kiss—those thoughts are all but erased from his mind. It's a curious weight off his shoulders to have you initiate and to show you want him in return, especially since it's as new to you as it is for him.

Nonetheless, he can't even imagine finding a reason to stop you, so he starts blindly mouthing; trying to coordinate around the fact he's so much larger than you.

The angle is difficult, but he's willing to follow your lead. Your body is even more fragile when he's in full armour. The risk of actually hurting you is realer than ever, but he can't help the desire to wrap an gauntlet around your waist and pull you closer to him. Thankfully, you let him when he urges you to, trembling hands flitting across his chestplate like you're unsure of what, exactly, you should be holding—and he catches the tiny line between your brows smoothing out as you risk a peek. Only for you to yelp, nervously wrenching yourself back in flustered surprise upon meeting his unwavering stare.

It's as if you expected something else.

He senses he's made a mistake of some kind.

Then he remembers from the motion-picts he's not supposed to keep glaring at you when kissing.

Regardless, he studies your face, memorising the lingering want still clearly there like his life depends on it.

He pulls you in and kisses you again, just because he can, this time brief and chaste. And then he goes for a third, fourth—fifth, each time slightly longer, until finally he rears back; and when he does you push up on your toes just a little, trying to chase him, but lose the nerve; although to Cato the reason for your faltering is, frankly, irrelevant. Because just like him, you lack the practical capacity to really know what next step you should take. Still, you look down at his armour, as if there's a latch to pull that magically undoes all his wargear.

He knows he's not going to get himself out of his armour in any reasonable way or amount of time.

There's no way he's getting the satisfaction of having you on him right now—but he still wants to keep you near.

He thinks he hears you ask for something, but he's too distracted to catch it in time.

"What?" Cato scowls, "What do you want now?"

It's clear you've been struck by your own embarrassment, strung up somewhere between shy and wanton, "I.. uh..."

"Spit it out," he rumbles.

You wince, hesitant as you mumble, "You, uh... i-in me."

Cato's brain skids to a halt. And it's the gall of that request alone that has him sweeping you up off the ground and spinning you around to sit in his lap.

It's obvious you're overwhelmed at being held to the formidably larger size of himself in full-plate. But as usual, you're yet to actively complain. Using his vambrace as a leg-bar to scoop under your thighs, he folds you in his grasp—your knees pressed to your chest as you're tucked back against his pauldron and chestplate.

The angle forces the hems of your robe aside, and he can see the underside curve of your ass; along with the plump mound of your vulva under the white of your small-clothes.

Cato's suddenly offended by their existence. You didn't wear any last time, so why now? The irritation of there being one more thing between you and him is enough justification to yank at them, tearing them loose—before throwing them aside.

You grumble sourly, which he chooses to ignore.

The palm of his gauntlet smooths across your hip, and you make a small hugg as you shiver, goose-bumps suddenly covering your exposed flesh.

Cato lets the pads graze closer and closer to your sex, content to watch you impatiently glare at his armoured fingers from between the gap of your thighs.

With little preamble, he's stuffing his middle in. You're already so wet it's practically a cake-walk. Your cunt swallows down each articulating segment of his armoured finger down to the knuckle. The fact he's going to have to personally scrub your slick out from between the joints, instead of a lowly serf, is infinitely worth the shrill whine he receives as tribute.

"Would that my wargear had a zipper," he breathes, and fuck, he grins behind the obscurity of his gorget at the mournful mewl that remark earns. "I'd have you on your knees sucking for all the cunted trouble you've caused me."

You're making a warp-awful attempt at keeping yourself together, high-strung as you evidently are. Little more than a minute of him pumping his finger in and out of you has you red-faced and panting. All it takes to get those heavy breaths of yours to change into proper whines is his large thumb-pad adjusting to rest on your clit, applying pressure. You jerk, reflexively trying to buck into every motion. Fighting and failing to withhold the stuffy little moans escaping you—trying to stave off the inevitable by scrambling at the thigh plating of his power armour with one hand and tugging at his couter with the other.

Some part of Cato wants to stop solely out of spite for you being so grating earlier, or some other stupid mercurial justification of his; but instead, he simply continues, letting you squirm on his fingers.

And squirm you do.

It's clear to him the tide of it all is becoming too much for you to resist. Your sandal'd feet kick out where he's got your legs secured, joining in on the struggling as it begins anew when his thumb starts circling. It's a good sign, so he adds his pointer into you to bolster the stretch, curling in; before letting his fingers fan out inside you, stretching rather than stabbing. Your hips try to stutter forward in time with the quick thrusting of his digits, broken whimpers resonating off the room's walls. He promptly stuffs down to the knuckle and curls them again—and you all but bleat his surname as you're dragged into a fast and apparently exhausting orgasm. Just knowing he's you got you beat has his erection ache where it's trapped under the suiting and plating of his navel.

Cato can't feel you clenching through all the layers separating his skin from yours, but he knows from experience that you're seizing in fits internally—tight little cunt trying to milk a load out of an Astartes cock that should've been stuffed in you.

Just to allow himself one last bit of smugness, he scissors his fingers; giving a final swirl for good measure.

The shivered sob is worth every possible future disciplinary action he'll receive.

He pulls his gauntlet away slowly, and the wet shlick of it leaving you is almost amusingly alike pulling a blade from sinew. It's a degenerate comparison, he knows, but it's true.

Nonetheless, he splays out his hand and swallows dryly, eyeing the sticky, clear liquid webbing out and thinning between each ridge of his gauntlet'd digits.

Suddenly focused entirely on the fluid on his fingers, he pulls his vambrace barring under your knees up away. Now limp, and without the support, you slide off his lap and onto the floor in a slow slump.

"Nn-ngh," You groan weakly, face-down, legs still juddering a little.

Seeing as you're preoccupied, Cato doesn't even dignify the concept of hesitation, and promptly jams his fingers in his mouth—lathing the aftermath of your orgasm from them. And Throne, the taste of your hormones make him groan. He's absolutely stunned, unsure of how to act. He's so fucking stupid, why didn't he do this earlier? He's practically drugged by the omophagic aftereffect—getting off on your second hand bliss. Some sort of fey feedback loop in his brain catalysing his next decision solely on instinct.

He clambers to the floor and gets to his knees guards, securing a mitt on your bared thigh to roll you onto your back.

Apparently boneless with afterglow, you're easy to manhandle.

You barely have the strength to do much more than crane your head up at him and whine as he arranges your thighs apart, settling on his front between them with a warp-awful clank; before lifting your legs up to rest onto either lip of his gorget.

You try to scud back on your ass suddenly, but are quickly halted when he holds you fast by the hip.

He raises a confused brow.

"I-Isn't—" you start, still gathering the scraps of your brain together so soon post-orgasm, "Isn't y-your saliva acid?"

Cato suddenly wants to cuff you on the ear, "Who the hell told you that?"

"M-Master Calgar," you mumble.

Oh, of course, the gossiping hen.

He's going to have words with the Lord Defender of Greater Ultramar the next time they meet—words like 'for fuck sakes, stop scaring the woman he's trying to eat out with talk of Betcher's gland, Marneus,' come to mind, but then Cato realises that doesn't sound like he's not fucking you, so he quickly settles on: 'stop dignifying the Ambassador's hundred-and-one insane questions.'

"Not Ultramarines," Cato manages not to snarl, "It's a vestigial organ in most of us."

Your voice is shaky as you parrot, "Most of us?"

"Yes," He grunts, and promptly buries his face in your cunt.

The disproportion in size is painfully apparent when he realises his whole damned tongue is able to drag a stripe up the entire splay of you with minimal effort.

The pitched gasp he wins out of you is pure sin, and he's on the brink of swooning; but then you're running your trap again.

"Please, d-don't tell me you're one that can spit acid—" you manage to warble, seemingly still stuck on the topic.

Cato sighs as he's forced to pull away from your vulva, "I think you're forgetting I had my tongue on your tonsils in the library."

"Th-that's different," you stammer. "That's not as sensitive."

A long, unimpressed deadpan paints itself on his face.

"So," he starts with a bated hiss, "And let me be perfectly clear in this—you believe your vagina is more susceptible to burns than your mouth?"

Your face transforms into a strange mix of embarrassed and angry.

"I didn't say that—"

"Yes, you did," Cato grumbles.

"Did not," you huff.

"You—you just fucking did," he snaps, frustrated enough that he can feel one of the veins at his temple bulge. "The implication is obvious, you insufferable little whore."

You snort, but stay silent.

The argument appears, for all intents and purposes, to be finished.

"Did not," you say abruptly once more, pouting.

Cato's eyes roll back in his skull as he grits his teeth.

"Throne of Terra, if you don't drop the subject, acid in your cunt will be the least of your worries," he all but snarls, and that apparently quietens you enough that he can get back to lapping at you—the flat of his tongue running over your clit and earning a jolt.

He wraps his lips around the pink little nub and sucks. And that's all it apparently takes to make up for his amateur career in the practice.

You siphon down a sharp breath and let out a garbled cry, hips canting forward into his mouth—to which he obligingly stuffs his tongue into your slick entrance.

There's a satisfaction well beyond simple pleasure that swamps him at the way your thighs shake either side of his head. His own breath is hot about him, stuffy and dizzying; and the skin pressed against his cheeks is warm and smooth.

You're panting when he goes back to lapping over your clit, perching yourself up on a bent elbow and reaching out a hand.

Your fingers card through the messed brown hair atop his head. And he stiffens without realising—but he realises something: like this, the touch is ecstasy—pure, golden ecstasy. Every bit of higher thought in his head evaporates when you stroke him again.

A long, rumbling subvocal moan tears from him.

The infrasound vibration makes you buck weakly into his mouth again, teary eyed afore him as he adjusts his grip on you and crawls closer.

He's suddenly acutely aware that in this new, much more prone position, he's able to grind his body armour into his groin guard pressed on the floor. And as soon as the action bears results—namely a scorching burr of pleasure racing up his spine—he's deadset on rutting against the ground like a slavering beast.

He's frotting himself at a pace so rabid it'd cruel to subject your cunt to. It's brutal, and the harsh scraping sound of plasteel on steel only further proves that. It's just frantic lust—he's desperate.

It's complete insanity how close to finishing he is so quickly.

Not as close as you, though.

He can feel how your legs jump with each pass of his tongue; and then you're unraveling in front of his very eyes.

"I-I can't—I can't, S-Sicarius, I-I—" You ramble, dazed, trying to get away as he works you right through it, sobbing and oversensitive while he's rutting himself closer and closer to his own end.

It all comes to a head when your fingers dig into his hair, tugging—and his brain is overrun with static. A drawn out groan scathes from his maw as any sense of rhythm scatters like light through a prism. For a fraction of a second, the pleasure is serene.

Then it's abject agony, he feels—he feels like Roboute Guilliman himself has just taken a running start and kicked him in the balls.

"F-Fuck–ing—gh—" he chokes, vision swimming, straining against the tide of the torment. His back arches up, and he curls inward on himself; white-hot pain clocking his nervous system into overdrive. Every muscle in his abdomen is doused in acid. He's tolerated being shot, stabbed, burnt without so much as blinking—but this is an entirely new and entirely different sort of wound. It's like he's pissing promethium. It's—it's the catheter, he realises. He'd forgotten about the bloody catheter jammed up his cock.

Through the searing ordeal, he manages to force his armour's facilities to finally abide his impulses and dose him with a pain dampener.

And then everything's fine.

He opens eyes he wasn't aware he'd closed and finds your face has suddenly gotten far closer to his.

"S-Sicarius?" You stammer, and there's an honest panic in your voice. "Sicarius, p-please, please—a-are you okay?"

He realises he's on his back, and you're sitting beside him, half draped on his chestplate, frantically trying to figure out what's wrong with him to no avail.

You've leaned in so close he can feel your rushed breathing.

"I'm fine," Cato groans, and you sputter out a sigh.

"I-I don't know what happened, I-I—" you're still wildly confused and raving, and he inhales deeply; only to be greeted by the sour animal stink of fear practically dripping from you.

Cato rolls his tongue around inside his mouth and cringes knowingly at the foaming side-effect of the chem he'd self-administered, the acrid taste mixed with your slick is certainly not an ideal cocktail.

The sincerity of concern behind your reaction is baffling. He's not made of glass, for fuck sakes—and he's a bit pissy about the fact you'd actually fallen victim to the idea of him suffering some grievous injury so easily. But he supposes where there's a will of baseline overreaction, there's a way.

"You're acting like a child, woman. Pull yourself together," he sighs hoarsely, hoping the comment jars you out of your hysteria—or at the very least scares you off.

It does exactly neither, and you sidle in closer and rest your cheek on his jaw.

It’s an action so overwhelmingly horribly affectionate that it would’ve been a crime to not press into it with a lean of his head. Or, at least, that's the half-assed justification he tells himself.

Because he's loving enduring your attention, not seeking it; and therefore only humouring you when he lifts a hand and settles the wide splay of it on your flank as a comfort.

He shouldn't be, but he is.

[valeriianz]

hi! in the spirit of Dreamling Week, here is an updated masterlist, now with clickable links to tags to follow along with a series :) welcome to my corner of the fandom, where it's predominantly human aus!

in time, all of my fics will be transferred to Ao3, so if you're interested in that, follow along here! this list will (finally) include (some) links to fics ive tagged on in reblogs that i usually ignore... but not this time! :'D Everything here is complete unless otherwise stated: (wip)

G - T Rated:

tepid - 1.3k canon, Dream can get sleepy, too

Stay - 1.7k hurt/comfort, vague mafia vibes

the date that never ended - 1.2k humor, established relationship

You Know How That Thrills Me - 2.2k The Devil Wears Prada AU, + blog tag which includes fanart, here!

savvy? - 1.2k pirate au! Hob rescues Dream

daydream - 1.1k fake dating, UST, fitting room pining

Exit Wounds - 2.1k hurt/no comfort, infidelity, angst

call me back for more - 2k NYE, strangers to lovers, sexual tension

scratch a little itch - 5.6k neighbors, pastry chef!Dream and professor!Hob

The magic of the mistletoe - xmas fic, canon

Hob grieves over Dream - canon, vague comic spoilers, angst

Cowboy AU (snippet) - aka Charro!Dream, Mexican rodeo vibes + blog tag with lots of art and collaborators :)

spin the bottle - highschool setting, friends to lovers

Reason in the Noise - 3k+ (wip) musician!Dream, companion piece to Bolt in the Blue (but can be read as a standalone)

Retired!Dream with facial hair along with part 2! - canon(ish), domestic, light spice

The Parent Trap AU and part 2! - loosely inspired by the film.

Hob walks in on Dream dancing - musician!Hob and Dream dancing to his music. marshmallow fluff.

Personal Chef!Hob, single dad Dream - what it says on the tin, part two here! and my 'chef Hob au' tag full of art and recipes!

NYE and slightly possessive Hob - another obligatory New Years Eve fic

The Proposal AU and also a part two! - a couple silly romcom things in collaboration with valiantstarlights here's the tag for it!

Bday fic for ambarden - the night before college graduation, pining,

Road Trip - the start of an idea...

ASMR youtuber!Dream - an add on... Hob is a fan. meet cute

Hard of Hearing Dream - pining, bittersweet, friends to lovers

Spicy/NSFW fics under the cut!

M - E Rated:

Bolt in the Blue - 102k+ (wip) the epic band au, slice of life, fluff, touring. see everything related to this fic in the tag fic: bolt in the blue

skipping breakfast - 667w domestic and a lil spicy

obsession - 1.6k canon, making out on the dancefloor

Fin de siècle - 3.2k vampire hunter!Hob and vampire!Dream

parked - 1.1k canon, car sex, PDA

tease - 1.3k Dream has a vulva, Hob fingers him in a car

ushy gushy pussy Dream - and he refuses to get off Hob's cock

Mr. Gadling's Bodyguard - 11.7k The Hitman's Bodyguard AU, action, humor... second chapter does not relate to the film at all and is just smut

Savory & Sweet - 6k+ (wip) restaurant au, unhinged behavior

Let Me Down Easy - 21k photographer!Hob and model!Dream but they're exes. angst with a happy ending

never enough - 7.3k friends to lovers, love confessions, mutual pining

turn the lights off - 3.3k phone sex, side fic inspired by by the minute by issylra

kiss me properly (and pull me apart) - 4.2k Hob wears a butt plug all day (lol) inspired by this incredible art by messmonte

Dream stepping on Hob - power imbalance, PWP

Bathtub shenanigans - a bit of relaxation ;)

Hob as Sexy Santa - and Dream can't handle it

Celebrity Dream and his normie bf Hob - inspired by that 3am photo of Ferdie looking all sweaty and disheveled

One of Your Girls AU - an ask fic/prompt i sent to Gabe and she added on <3

Let Me Down Easy [deleted scene] - they get frisky the morning after

Dream can feel Hob's lewd daydreams

Bi-curious Dream - basically a summary/headcanon of what i think Dream having his bi awakening with Hob would be like. and then hardly-an-escape went and wrote a full ass fic about it. but im counting this anyway lmao

#my writing

btw i am so sorry, yes i did give up on including the word count. i just... gave up. but everything without a word count is most likely under 1.5k.

[codenamesazanka]

"I couldn’t save Tenko’s life.”

:( Sad Deku. Barely sad. Mildly wistful.

My dude, you didn't even try. For real! He did not! Just punching! Psychic beating! I do not understand. He never did anything that indicated he wanted to physically rescue/protect/save the adult man in front of him. You know, the body that actually holds the memory of The Crying Child and exists in reality and that Tenko would have to live in after being saved?

What the hell was the plan. Deku ran in with no plan. "how am i going to stop Shigaraki and CAPTURE HIM ALIVE. How can I save his heart. How can i convince him to stop and surrender. How can I get rid of that AFO possession. How can i NOT WRECK HIS BODY as I fight AFO. how am I going to get him into an ambulance stretcher?"

Shigaraki even fucking asked him via memory-Overhaul. "You got a plan?" And Deku said 'Nope! Get outta my way!" and this is the guy Shigaraki/Tenko is saying 'do your best' to. feels nearly sarcastic.

See like. the other kids had visions for their villain, their eventual future together. Shouto wanted to eat soba with his brother. Uraraka promised to give blood to Toga. Shoji said if the heteromorphs all promised to be good little model minorities things will get better. Even Hawks said he would help Twice start over after jail.

Deku never had a vision for the future for Shigaraki/Tenko. TBH, it almost feels like the story knew there would be no future, so why waste time writing about it? If the pre-determined conclusion is that Shigaraki/Tenko dies, why bother with any real saving gestures or challenges? Just have a cool fight, some obligatory cute kid panels, and scripted "Wow You Saved Me I Entrust The Future To You" lines.

It's like. a firefighter trying to go into a burning building to save someone. but with no equipment. no ambulance waiting. no plan of entry or exit. no back up. no idea where the victim is. no idea how badly the victim is injured and if that affects how they'll be carried out. not even entering the building to search. just whacking the axe at the wall, hoping something will happen. Not even checking if the victim is behind the wall and getting hit with the axe too. then when the person dies, the firefighter goes. :( i couldn't save them.

[kpopfanfictrash]

Love to Hate (Ch. 12)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: multiple orgasms (male + female), fingering, breast play, dirty talk, somewhat rough sex, oversensitivity, oral (female), cum play, sex without a condom (with other forms of birth control), spanking 

Word Count: 20,122

Seven hours. Seven hours, or four hundred and twenty minutes until you can breathe freely.

Lips pursed, you survey yourself in the warped bathroom mirror. Tonight’s launch party will last several hours, ending whenever Seokjin rounds up the final group for karaoke. You have the aquarium booked until dawn, just in case.

Twisting around, you examine yourself from behind. Although its neckline is high, the dress exposes your back, its fabric dipping low to end just above your ass. Already, you worry it’ll be too much but before you can talk yourself out of it, your phone buzzes on the counter.

Whipping around, you’re disappointed to find it’s only an email. Exhaling, you drop your phone to your clutch and exit the bathroom – only to immediately trip over Dante, splayed out on the ground. He’s utterly exhausted after your walk, which is a good thing. Hopefully, he’ll wreak less chaos at Jimin’s.

Gathering Dante’s things, you pull his leash from its hook. Olya and Hoseok arrived over an hour ago and have been playing video games at Jimin’s while you got ready. Although you’re the last one again, this time isn’t your fault. Things kept going wrong at the venue, resulting in you being the last one to leave. This cut your hair and make-up time nearly in half.

“Here we go, Dante,” you sing-song, grabbing his collar to clip. “Let’s visit Jimin! Isn’t that exciting? You like Jimin.”

Dante gives you some side-eye which says that yes, he likes Jimin, but he also sees right through you. Clipping on his leash, you stand and tug Dante towards the door.

The moment you enter the hall, you hear your friends shouting. Not in an angry way, but in the way which ensues whenever they game together. (“I said, LEFT, Jimin! As in – not right!” “The only thing not right is your memory, Hoseok, since you definitely said go right!”)

No one answers your first knock, so you try again – louder. Olya yells something at the game and you snort, since her threats are more vicious than either of the men.

Finally, on the third knock, someone hears.

“COMING,” Hoseok calls, followed by the loud thunk of his controller hitting the table. “I hope that’s you, Y/N, since we’re leaving whether you’re dressed or – ah,” he says, pulling open the door. “Good. It is you.”

Dante bolts forward the second he fits through the door, bounding across the room towards the sleeping Peaches. When she doesn’t wake, Dante takes this in stride and flops down beside her.

“What if it hadn’t been me?” you ask Hoseok, brushing past. “Your threat would’ve been wasted.”

“Never wasted,” he says. “Merely misplaced.”

Glancing upward, Olya’s eyes widen when she sees your outfit. “Damn, Y/N!” she gasps. “That dress is amazing! You look perfect and – shit, you’re ready. Okay,” she says, jumping up from the couch. “Where’s your bathroom, Jimin? I need to go before we leave.”

“First door on the left,” he says without looking up.

Olya disappears down the hall, leaving you with the rest. Not returning to the game, Hoseok stoops by the couch to gather Olya’s things. Watching him do this, you smile. It’s nice for Hoseok to be with someone – he’s usually so focused on work, he barely thinks about himself. Like calls to like, you suppose.

Turning around, Hoseok sees you watching and pauses. “What?” he asks.

“Nothing,” you sigh. “It’s just nice seeing you like this.”

“Like what?”

“Like if Olya jumped off a bridge, you’d be right behind her,” Jimin says, pressing pause on his game. Glancing upward, he blinks. “Whoa, Y/N.”

“I know!” Olya squeals, exiting the bathroom. “That’s what I’m saying! Y/N is ready to break hearts tonight.”

“No – No!” Alarmed, you shoot Hoseok a look. “That’s not the vibe I’m giving off, is it?”

Hoseok shrugs, not seeming to care either way. Offering Olya an arm, he helps her put on her shoes. “I don’t know. You look nice, Y/N.”

“Nice.” Olya wobbles. “You look more than nice, Y/N, you look hot.”

Feeling your face start to burn, you turn around. “Okay, enough,” you groan. “Let’s head out. Jimin – are you good with Dante?”

Dante, who is currently snoozing beside Peaches, doesn’t stir at his name. Jimin looks down, and then nods. “I think we’re fine,” he says. “Have fun! See you all tomorrow?”

Hoseok and Olya nod, and you give a noncommittal shrug. You still haven’t decided if you’ll want social interaction after tonight – especially not in the form of two happy couples. Jimin seems to understand, and on your way out the door, you give Dante a wave. He completely ignores this, too busy pretending to sleep beside his (one-sided) best friend.

Your descent to the lobby is treacherous, made even worse by your high heels and dress. The shoes are fine on flat surfaces, but your building’s staircase is exactly the opposite. At least these are the only stairs to climb tonight.

When you reach the front doors, you sigh in relief. Seokjin is already waiting, idling at the curb in a different car than last time. The night at Yoongi's restaurant seems ages ago, even though it was less than two weeks.

A knot in your stomach tightens. You haven’t seen Jungkook since he came to Clean Ocean and asked to become a donor. He’s attending the launch party, though – both he and Namjoon confirmed this via email. The contract between you has also been signed, neatly expedited with no objections from legal.

Except – that first part isn’t quite true.

Although you haven’t seen Jungkook since Wednesday, you’ve talked to him. At first, it was just a question he texted, clarifying a point in the contract. Then Jungkook asked if you needed help with the launch party, to which your answer was a resounding no but then he mentioned a contractor and now – absently, you scroll through your texts.

Most are professional but every now and then, something slips past which makes you wonder.

“Y/N!” Seokjin rolls down the window. “What are you doing? Get in here before you’re late to your own party.”

Returning your phone to your clutch, you hurry in. Clambering after Hoseok, you buckle your seatbelt and smooth out your dress. Olya claims the passenger seat, being prone to motion sickness. Seokjin is in the driver’s seat, his moon roof open to let in the breeze.

As he pulls from the curb, Seokjin glances in the mirror. “Damn, Y/N.” He whistles. “Is that dress work appropriate?”

Worried, you glance down. “I don’t know – is it?”

“Ignore him, Y/N.” Yanking down the mirror, Olya starts to re-apply lipstick. “The amount of leg I’m showing is way worse than your back. Don’t let them bully you.”

“Yeah,” you say, lifting your chin. “Don’t bully me, Seokjin.”

Seokjin bats his eyelashes. “Who, me?” Before you can respond, his gaze moves to Hoseok. “Olya has a point, though. Hoseok – why aren’t you showing as much leg as your girlfriend?”

“Hers are far superior to mine.”

Still touching up her makeup, Olya reaches over the console and squeezes Hoseok’s thigh. Hiding a grin, you lean back in your seat as Seokjin turns up his music. A Top 40 pop song blares but after a while, you somehow find your phone returned to your lap.

Open to your texts.

Your finger hovering above a certain thread.

You know Jungkook hasn’t texted. You know this and yet, a tiny voice in your mind wonders what-if. What-if Jungkook has decided not to come, what if he reneges his RSVP, what-if –

You press on the thread.

Stomach dropping, you see you were right – Jungkook hasn’t texted. His last messages are displayed onscreen and, absent-minded, you scroll.

Jungkook: you know what concept has always eluded me? [Friday, 1:07 AM]

Y/N: sleep? [Friday, 7:02 AM]

Jungkook: always. But no – I was referring to the dress code. What, exactly, does ‘dressy casual’ mean? Isn’t that an oxymoron? [Friday, 7:31 AM]

Y/N: Google is free, Jeon [Friday, 8:10 AM]

Y/N: okay, so Olya says ‘dressy casual’ means a combination of relaxed and formal. Basically, no jeans but you can be more casual than black tie [Friday, 8:14 AM]

Jungkook: got it [Friday, 8:20 AM]

Jungkook: I lied. That doesn’t help at all [Friday, 9:05 AM]

Y/N: lol what do you mean? What are you stuck on? [Friday, 9:42 AM]

Jungkook: Is a suit too dressy? [Friday, 9:50 AM]

Y/N: depends on the suit. Send me a pic [Friday, 9:53 AM]

Jungkook: *jpeg* [Friday, 9:55 AM]

Paused on the photo, your breath catches again. Looking at it now is as devastating as the first time. Jungkook must have worked from home on Friday since you recognize the tile of his bathroom behind him.

The photo is only from the neck down, but the way Jungkook fills out his suit is exquisite. The color is black, but lace panels dress up the white shirt beneath it, and several buttons are undone. The overall effect is devastating.

In your ear, Hoseok whistles. “Who’s sending you pics, Y/N?”

Startled, you fumble and nearly drop your phone.

“No one,” you blurt, your face burning.

Seokjin’s ears perk up in the front. “Y/N is looking at nudes in a car full of people?” He sounds overly gleeful about the possibility. “I guess that’s one way to relax.”

“I’m not looking at nudes. Jungkook asked for my thoughts on his suit – that’s all.”

“Jungkook?” Olya turns, surprised. “Are you talking about our new donor, Jungkook?”

Frozen in the backseat, you realize your mistake. Although you’re friends with Olya, you were trying your best to keep the Jungkook mess separate from work. It’s bad enough you have to work with him going forward without all of your employees knowing you messed up.

“I – we, uh, know each other,” you say.

“Ah.” Olya adopts a sly grin. “Nice. He’s hot.”

Hoseok’s smile abruptly disappears. “Why don’t we change the topic? Y/N has enough to worry about without thinking of Jungkook.”

Thankful, you nod and Olya leans over the console to pat Hoseok’s knee.

“It’s cute when you’re jealous,” she says before she pulls back.

Hoseok stares, and then sputters, “I’m not… jealous! Objectively, Jungkook is hot.”

“Can we please stop talking about him?” you beg, a bit pained.

Olya winces, mouthing sorry before facing forward. Returning your phone to your clutch, you stare out the window as Seokjin turns up the volume. His playlist has lapsed into what sounds like pop-ified sea shanties, something you deem oddly fitting with the night ahead. You’ve nearly pushed the topic of Jungkook from mind when –

“So.” Seokjin sounds like he’s holding back laughter. “Jungkook sent you a suit pic?”

You slump low in your seat. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s something,” Hoseok says. “I saw a bunch of your texts while you scrolled. You were talking all day to him on Friday.”

“Hey!” you huff. “Privacy, Hobi.”

“The man asked you what he should wear, though,” Seokjin says.

“And? He didn’t understand the dress code.”

“Didn’t understand the – okay.” Seokjin snorts. “Y/N, that man has been attending formal gatherings since he was old enough to sit up. Jungkook knows what to wear when the invite says dressy casual.”

These words give you pause, since Seokjin is right. You aren’t sure why you didn’t think of this before. Maybe part of you felt it was simply more believable than thinking Jungkook texted you to talk.

“Maybe it’s been a while,” Olya says, defending you. “I’m sure whatever Y/N thinks is correct. She knows him best, after all.”

You smile at Olya, grateful for the interjection. Mercifully, Seokjin allows the matter to drop, turning his head to stare at the road. You, on the other hand, turn the matter over in your mind. No matter what people do, you always tend to assume the worst.

It’s far easier to assume this and be surprised than assume something positive and be let down. Objectively, the fact that Jungkook texted you is a good sign. Much easier to believe it’s coincidental than he actually likes you.

Even if he does though, you can’t allow yourself to be drawn in. Not when so much is riding on tonight’s party. You need to be one hundred percent focused, and Jungkook is nothing but a distraction.

A ridiculously gorgeous distraction who might return your feelings.

Pushing this hopelessly from mind, the rest of the ride passes and soon enough, you pass beneath the aquarium’s arch. Seokjin drops you off at the front since no one is wearing the right shoes for cobblestones. Already, you run through an endless to-do list in your mind – but the moment you enter, all of it fades.

When you left earlier, the venue was a work in progress. The hanging trellis was only half-lifted, none of the lights were lit and packaging material cluttered the floor. Now, you step into paradise.

The tanks on the walls cast blueish green light, its effect softened by golden orbs hanging from the ceiling. Between the lights, greenery drapes to give the impression of algae, as though the dance floor itself has sunk underwater. To your right, double doors lead to a patio with a view of the ocean.

Staring in awe, you turn in a full circle.

Hoseok comes to a stop. “Whoa,” he breathes. “You really outdid yourself tonight, Olya.”

Beaming, she waves. “It was nothing.”

“It was something,” you argue. “This place is absolutely gorgeous, Olya. Our donors will love it.”

“Hopefully, they love it so much they cough up more money.” She laughs. “Okay, enough with the compliments. I need to check about a thousand things before guests start arriving – Hoseok, are you coming with?”

He nods and follows suit, glancing at you to ensure you’re alright. You wave him off with a nod, returning to your mental task list. Guests will start arriving in an hour, which is no time at all.

After speaking to catering – not Min Yoongi, unfortunately – checking the sound system, and running through a list of approved songs with the DJ, you stop by the bar to catch your breath. Pulling your phone from your clutch, you’re about to check texts when someone calls your name.

Glancing upward, you spot Olya rushing across the floor. She moves like a woman on a mission and slowly, you return your phone without looking.

 “Y/N,” Olya says, skidding to a stop. “Thank god I caught you.”

You stare at her, bewildered. “I’m here all night, Olya – is something wrong?”

“I -well.” She straightens. “Nothing is wrong, exactly. It’s just I was checking the guest list – searching for last-minute cancellations, that sort of thing.”

“Okay…”

Her lips tighten. “I wasn’t thinking earlier. I was so caught up in arriving, I didn’t think but now, when I saw the list again, it hit me.”

“What hit you?” you ask, dread unspooling like thread in your stomach.

“I gave Jungkook a plus one.”

“And?”

“And.” Olya sighs. “Jungkook said yes. He said yes for him plus a date. Which means he’s planning to bring someone this evening.”

Staring at Olya, every sound seems to fade. Reality steps forward to burst your bubble. Jungkook is bringing someone. Jungkook is bringing a date. After donating to Clean Ocean like a goddamn knight in shining armor, he’s decided to bring someone to the fundraiser he saved.

Self-blame instantly kicks into high gear. If you’d only been honest with him earlier, responded in a more expressive tone, maybe he would have – but no. Taking a deep breath, you force yourself to calm.  

The two of you go around and around, and no one ever wins. You didn’t tell Jungkook how you felt, he didn’t ask, and you both end up hurting each other. If Jungkook is here with a date, you’ll deal with it, just like you have with everything else. He’s not the most important part of tonight.

Either way, you need to make it through the party in one piece. You can figure out what to do about Jungkook tomorrow.

“I’m so sorry,” Olya says, wringing her hands. “I debated whether or not to tell you, but figured you finding out now was better than Jungkook showing up and –”

“No – no,” you interrupt. “You’re right. It’s better I know now. We gave him a plus one, right?” you add, injecting your words with false cheeriness. “He’s fully entitled to use it.”

Olya hesitates. “I mean, debatable. He didn’t have to bring someone. Whether you’re together or not, he’s been texting you all week. It’s rude to bring someone else!”

“Maybe,” you sigh. Your next words are more difficult. “But despite how I feel about him, we’re not dating. We haven’t been… anything for a long time. It was nice of Jungkook to donate, but it wasn’t romantic. I – I actually need to go check something,” you say, choking a little.

With a sympathetic glance, Olya nods and steps aside. Clearly, she understands your retreat for what it is – a hasty excuse for running away.

Entering the nearest bathroom, you pause at the mirror as you’re struck by an immediate sense of déjà vu. The last time this happened was at your parents’ party. That night, you vowed to forget about Jungkook and now, here you are. Stuck in the same situation.

Stiffening, you meet your own gaze. No – that’s not true. Back then, you were crushed by a situation of your own making. Tonight, you have the chance to make things right. Strengthened by the thought, you stay long enough to gather yourself and then leave – only to walk straight into Seokjin.

He seems to have come straight from Olya, and it takes nearly ten minutes to convince Seokjin you’re fine. (“You can kill him after the party, Seokjin, I swear.” “Why not now?” “Death will be equally satisfying at a location where I have plausible deniability.” “Don’t care.” “Think about Yoongi! Would he really go out with the guy suspected of murdering his best friend?”)

“First of all,” Seokjin declares. “I’m too good to be suspected of anything. But fine! If you really want, I’ll pull back. Just say the word, though.”

“I appreciate that, Seokjin,” you say. “But right now, I have to go host this event.”

“Ah – right.” He nods, slightly chastised. “Fair enough.”

Stepping aside, Seokjin sheepishly allows you to return to the list. Your remaining minutes are spent triple-checking the guests, stopping again to chat with security and adjusting the timing of the hors d’oeuvres. By the time you find Olya, your first guest is arriving, and you’ve barely had time to think about Jungkook.

Or – this is so until you’re confronted by a black, shiny town car pulling to the curb. Stomach sinking, you prepare for his appearance, only for Javier and his husband to step from the car.

Breaking into a smile, you wave, and they walk towards you.

“Well, I never.” Javier smiles, taking hold of your hand. “This place looks stunning, Y/N.”

Glancing around, you can’t help but agree. “Thank you,” you say, ushering them in. “And hello to you, too, Alex. I’m afraid I can’t take any credit for tonight, though,” you add as you enter the main room. “The theme is all Olya.”

“When I see her, I’ll sing her praises,” laughs Javier. “But don’t forget tonight is an accomplishment for you, too! Do you remember our first fundraiser?” he adds, turning to Alex.

Alex nods. “That little bar off the highway. How could I forget?”

Both laugh in remembrance.

“In the back of that gas station!” Javier tsks. “Shut down, I hear. But look at you now! Renting an entire aquarium – Clean Ocean has certainly come a long way.”

“It’s a shock to me, too,” you say, turning to face them.

Wryly, Javier shakes his head. “Your success will never surprise me, Y/N. If anyone has the ability to change the world, it would be you.”

Face heating, you find yourself unable to think of a response. One isn’t necessary though as, realizing other guests have arrived, Alex and Javier say goodbye and head for the bar. Nerves flood your stomach, anticipating Jungkook again but instead, Indra Gupta and his wife appear through the door.

“Y/N!” he calls, heading for you. “What a splendid night! Jaya and I are thrilled to be here – we can’t thank you enough for inviting us.”

“Of course,” you say, shaking their hands. “Thank you both for coming.”

When they pull back, there’s a pause until Jaya coughs. Hastily, Indra reaches inside his coat pocket to withdraw an envelope.

“I almost forgot,” he says, handing this over. “I felt bad attending a second Clean Ocean event without any sort of donation, so please find enclosed our contract. My office will contact you Monday to arrange the details – for next year,” he adds, noticing your expression. “I know you needed funds now, but we’re unfortunately all fiscally tied up.”

“No – no, that’s fine,” you say, taking the envelope. “I’m excited to have you as a future donor. And please, don’t worry about the funding right now – we found the money.”

“Oh, how wonderful,” Jaya exclaims.

Indra perks up. “Anyone I know?”

“Indra,” she laughs, swatting his arm. “We’re monopolizing the poor woman. Thank you again for inviting us,” she adds. “Now, let’s get you a drink. Lovely to see you again, Y/N!”

“Thank you,” you call as they leave. “Truly.”

They also disappear towards the bar, leaving you somewhat dazed. Eventually, you come to and stride across the floor in search of Olya. Guests are still arriving, and it wouldn’t do to lose Indra’s proposal before you can sign.

Finding her by the kitchen, you hand Olya the contract, and she promises to take good care of it. By the time you return, enough people have arrived to form a line at the bar. Setting to work, you put on your best host smile to greet your guests.

Nearly an hour passes before you have time for a break. Sagging against the nearest bar, you pull out your phone to double-check the guest list. Based on your internal count, nearly everyone has arrived.

Everyone – but one.

Pushing thoughts of Jungkook away, you accept the glass of champagne handed to you by the bartender. Taking a slow sip, you turn around to scan the party.

Most of your attendees have escaped to the patio, making this your next stop. Heading in this direction, you pause beneath the arch to take in the view. Far below you, waves crash against the sand in a muffled roar. Ahead of you, moonlight cuts through glittering ocean waves.

You aren’t the only one amazed by the view; most people stand about you in groups, chatting happily while the moon rises. At least no one will call your event boring, you think as you move – only to stop dead in your tracks, spotting a familiar profile.

Abruptly, you whirl and plunge into the crowd.

Heading in the opposite direction, you drain your champagne and set the empty glass down. Reaching the railing, your hands clutch at the metal, willing your heartbeat to slow.

Several moments pass before your breathing steadies. Exhaling lowly, you stare into the waves. Sure, you can hobnob with the rich and famous but throw one ex-whatever-Jungkook-is into the mix and you immediately flee. No matter how prepared you thought you were, a part of you can’t stand seeing him with someone else.

When someone enters your peripheral, you go still. After a long moment, you turn and are flooded with relief when you find Seokjin before you.

Taking a long sip of his whiskey, he stares at the waves. “Jungkook is here.”

“Ah.”

“Inside, I think.”

“Right.” Bolstering your nerves, you nod. “Is he here with his date?”

Seokjin glances your way, his hair whipped by the wind. “I didn’t see, but I heard someone mention he came with a woman.”

“I see.”

You stay there for a moment, debating what to do before realizing it’s now or never. If you wait any longer, you’ll convince yourself to go home. Besides, waiting for Jungkook to find you is passive. By seeking him out, you place yourself in the driver’s seat.

Seokjin watches you carefully. “Are you alright?”

“I will be,” you say. “After I go greet Jungkook and his guest.”

“You seem… oddly calm,” he observes.

“I am calm.”

“Not a good calm.” Seokjin pauses. “Serial killer calm.”

Subtle, you lift a brow. “Don’t tell me you’re suddenly concerned about Jungkook’s well-being?”

“I’m not,” he assures you. “But I like you, Y/N. It’d be a shame if you went to prison.”

“Thanks.”

“Because you wouldn’t survive.”

“Okay,” you say, turning around. “That’s enough of a pep talk. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye!” Seokjin calls, waving you off. “Good luck!”

Striding away, you leave Seokjin behind to enter the crowd. Externally, you hope you portray a façade of total calm because on the inside, you’re sweating. Each mental scenario is worse than the last, replacing each other in your mind like bad movie reels.

What-if Jungkook decided to bring Giselle, the woman from the fundraiser. What-if he brought someone from work – someone who’s strong, successful, and not afraid of commitment, unlike you.

Stomach dropping, you force yourself to continue. Each step you take is instantly forgotten, fading to past as you face your future. Inside, you scan the length of the aquarium. Every person you pass you half-expect to see Jungkook and when they’re not, you find yourself disappointed.

Wandering further in, you say hello to several guests and greet their plus ones. By the time you’ve made a full lap, you’re starting to wonder if Seokjin’s intel was right – which is the moment you see him.

Feet stuttering to a halt, you stare when Jungkook fully appears. A couple drifts past you, previously concealing him from your view. Greenish-blue light washes over his features, blurring his face when he looks away.

You wish you’d had foresight to refill your glass since Jungkook isn’t alone. Turned away, he responds to someone by his side – a petite, demure someone, by the looks of it since they barely reach Jungkook’s shoulder. Forcing yourself to keep walking, you take several steps forward.

At this point, there’s no other option. Either you run and they see you, which would be humiliating, or you continue, and they greet you, which will be devastating.

Stuck in a difficult situation, all you can do is walk. You’re close enough to hear then, when Jungkook throws his head back to laugh. The sound stops you again, staring at him in confusion. Out of anything that could have happened, him laughing is the worst. Laughter means his date knows Jungkook well enough to make him laugh.

Which means she’s important.

Stomach roiling, you consider whether to flee when Jungkook suddenly turns and locks eyes.

Surprise crosses his features, followed by something you don’t understand. You stare back at him, frozen until you realize you need to do something.

“Mr. Jeon,” you intone, closing the distance between you. “Thank you so much for coming. I want to personally thank you for–”

“Y/N,” Jungkook blurts, finding his voice.

You falter, thrown by his excitement.

“I’m so glad you found us,” he hastens, “because there’s someone here I want you to meet.”

“Oh?” you say, careful.

Although it’s been weeks since you and Jungkook were anything, this feels like a strange level of enthusiasm for having his current date meet his ex, well – whatever you are.

Stepping back, Jungkook reveals the woman standing by his side. “Y/N, this is my aunt – Jeanette Mason. Aunt Jeanette, this is Y/N, the owner of Clean Ocean.”

His aunt. This is Jeanette Mason, Jungkook’s aunt.

Time seems to slow. The woman standing before you is older than Jungkook by at least thirty years. Not that this means anything, but she’s holding his elbow in a maternal gesture and again, Jungkook introduced her as his aunt.

“Mrs. Mason,” you repeat, your words faint.

Jeanette gives her nephew a sly look. “I know who she is, Kookie,” she scolds, patting his hand. “Am I, or am I not, the one who set you up?”

Cheeks turning slightly red, Jungkook lowers his head. “You can’t just say things like that,” he mutters in her ear.

“And why not?” she demands, not bothering to lower her voice. “It’s lovely to meet you at last, Y/N. I hear such wonderful things about you from your mother.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “From my… mother?”

Seeing your expression, she can’t help but laugh. “Yes, well.” Jeanette shrugs. “What I deem to be wonderful, and what your mother deems to be wonderful are two rather different things, I suppose. Your mother is quite the opinionated woman, is she not?”

“She… yes, she is,” you manage to say.

“I’ve known your mother for a long time. She’s mentioned her daughter before – usually in exasperated tones, mind you, over your wonderful charity. And the very first person I thought of was my nephew.” Beaming, Jeanette turns to face Jungkook. “He always used to go on about the ocean and the environment when he was younger.”

“Oh?” you muse, glancing at Jungkook. “Is that so?”

Jungkook seems as though he wishes the earth would swallow him whole. He must not have anticipated how his aunt could embarrass him, which makes you smile.

Forlorn, his aunt sighs. “It’s a shame you two didn’t hit it off. I know so many people think Jungkook is like his father, but he has nothing in common with that cold man. He’s so much more like his mother. An absolute angel, that woman.”

“I’ve heard that,” you say softly. “And I agree, he is wonderful.”

Sharply, Jungkook looks at you and some of his color fades. Unable to hold his gaze, you force yourself to look elsewhere.

“Well.” Jeanette drains her glass. “It was very nice meeting you, Y/N. Jungkook has been talking my ear off about how wonderful you are.”

Loudly, he clears his throat. “You mean how wonderful Clean Ocean is – right, Aunt Jeanette?”

Jeanette shrugs, looking as though she couldn’t care either way. Stifling a laugh, you rather enjoy the rare sight of Jungkook flustered.

More than that though, you’re forced to rethink the situation. Jungkook didn’t bring a date tonight. Or – he brought a date but not a romantic one. Instead, he brought the single family member he still has a good relationship with and wanted you to meet her.

All night, you’ve imagined the two of you stuck in a loop, playing the same game over and over but now, you see you were wrong. This is different. Jungkook has been trying to tell you something all week and the moment you realize this, you make your decision.

“Actually,” you say abruptly. “Do you mind if I steal your nephew, Jeanette? There are a few donors I’d like him to meet.”

“Of course!” She waves you both away. “I was planning to head out soon, anyways. Always leave them wanting more, and all that. I’ll see you next weekend, Kookie.”

“Are you sure?” Leaning down, Jungkook kisses her cheek. “I can have my driver take you home.”

“Nonsense,” she says. “I have my own driver, darling. He’d be bored stiff without me. Have fun!” she calls, turning around to melt into the crowd.

Jungkook watches her leave, a faint look of amusement on his face.

“Sorry,” he says, turning towards you. “I didn’t ask her to –”

“Can we talk?” you blurt out.

Jungkook stops and blinks. “I – okay, sure. About what?”

“In private,” you say, shaking your head as you turn.

In the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook follow. Your heart is thudding so loudly, you’re certain he must hear it. You’re sure everyone must hear it, even over the music but somehow, no one notices. Every now and again, you look back to ensure Jungkook is following.

He is.

Your original intent was to bring Jungkook to the entrance, but when you find the space occupied, you continue. Entering the next hall, you search for some privacy. Both footsteps echo on marble, the noise thinning around you as you leave the party.

Around the next bend, the hall empties into an aquarium with a domed ceiling.

“Uh, Y/N?”

Turning, you find Jungkook beside a sign that reads closed. One hand in his pocket, he looks at you and smiles, and you nearly melt.

“Yes?” you whisper, not daring to move.

He glances at the sign. “I don’t think we’re supposed to be here.”

“We rented this entire place,” you say, turning around. “That includes this room. Olya put up those signs to discourage guests from roaming.”

“Oh. Okay, then.”

Leaving Jungkook at the entrance, you wander in. The dome above you is fully glass, surrounding you on all sides with water from the aquarium. Colorful fish dart past, twisting and turning before they disappear into coral. Feeling slightly silly for having brought Jungkook here, you force yourself to stop.

His footsteps continue until Jungkook stops alongside you. The shape of him is clear in your peripheral and it takes everything in you not to turn your head.

“They don’t bite,” you say, staring at the tank.

“I know.” Jungkook’s voice is rough. “They’re not the reason I’m nervous right now.”

Uncertain, you turn and meet his gaze. The moment you do, all the words you had planned somehow disappear.

Jungkook exhales. “I’m scared,” he admits, quiet. “Scared you brought me here to reject me. Scared you saw right through me out there and are trying to let me down easy where no one can see us.”

Hearing this, it’s all you can do to remain upright. Jungkook being afraid you might reject him means there’s something to reject.

“I’m scared I’m being an idiot,” he continues, stepping closer. “Scared I’m reading into signs that aren’t there, imagining you feel the same way about me when you obviously don’t.”

Jungkook stops mere inches away and you realize he’s waiting for a response. All you can think though, is what if you’re wrong.

“And…?” you ask him. “What is it you feel for me?”

“Isn’t that obvious?” Jungkook looks at you, tortured. “It feels… like I can breathe. Like I’ve been trapped my whole life but with you, I can finally breathe. I’m not creative, but you make me want to be. To write songs – poetry, just to hear you laugh. You make me ramble,” he adds, his voice catching. “I’m scared of confessing this but the thought of losing you again scares me even more. I want everyone to know how I feel – especially you, Y/N.”

You stare back at him, speeches and wonder if there comes a point when joy is too much. When happiness is akin to pain since you know at one point, this feeling must end.

Stepping closer, Jungkook’s hands skim your elbows. “Please,” he adds, searching. “Please, Y/N. Say something and put me out of my misery.”

It’s the way he says please that breaks the dam inside you.

“You’re not imagining things,” you whisper, the words rushing out. “Everything you said… I feel it, too, Jungkook. I’ve been falling for you ever since the night we watched Ted Lasso.”

Incredulousness enters his gaze. “That long, huh?”

Scoffing, you move to swat his arm, but Jungkook catches your hand and tugs you closer. Smiling down at you, he wraps both arms around your waist.

“I’m kidding,” he says. “I’ve been falling for you since Chez Moi, Chez Toi. Although I didn’t realize it until later.”

“Our first date?” you ask him, amazed.

Jungkook nods. “I don’t have much experience with all this. It took me a while to understand what I was feeling.”

“Which was when?”

“When you stayed at my place.” His face softens. “I saw you in my t-shirt and just… knew something about this was different. I barely thought twice before sending my date home. Even then, I didn’t want to admit it. I don’t think I really understood until I woke up in your bed.”

“You were better than me,” you admit. “I didn’t realize until Aleve.”

Visible frustration crosses his features. “That night.” Jungkook shakes his head. “I was such an ass– I’m so sorry about it, Y/N. It’s just… when I saw you with him… it brought back all these memories, and I didn’t handle it very well.”

You stare at him a long moment, then exhale. “It’s okay. I understand. I – well, I spoke with Yoongi.”

Rather than seem surprised by this reveal, Jungkook merely nods. “I know,” he says softly.

“You… know?”

“Yeah, kind of.”

“Since when?” you demand.

His upper lip quirks. “Since Thursday. After seeing you, I couldn’t get you out of my mind. I wasn’t sure if you felt the same, so I went to complain about it to Yoongi – and barely got your name out before he exploded.” Jungkook lets out a laugh. “He called me an idiot and said I should confess before I lost you completely. The truth came out after that,” he adds, a bit dry.

“I’m… so sorry,” you blurt, shaking your head. “I didn’t tell him to say that. I didn’t mean to go behind your back the way I did, it’s just –”

“You weren’t getting any answers from me,” Jungkook finishes.

Helpless, you nod.

“I get it, Y/N,” he says, his grip tightening. “I’m not mad, I promise. If anything, I’m glad you went to Yoongi because it gave me hope. It made me think…” Jungkook hesitates. “That maybe you cared for me, too.”

“God,” you mutter. “We’ve been such idiots.”

He sadly smiles. “Me, more than you.”

“We can call it a tie.”

Laughing, Jungkook moves closer, and everything else seems to fade. His presence overwhelms you in a way that makes your mind go quiet. Unthinking, your gaze drops to his mouth. Suddenly, you’re very aware of each part of your body pressed to his.

“We…” Jungkook licks his lips. “We should probably head back.”

Despite this, his voice roughens, and you suppress a shiver. Tentatively, you lift one hand to splay across his chest. Jungkook’s gaze dips to your palm on his fabric.

“Probably,” you agree.

“Except…” Subtle, Jungkook lowers his head. “We’ve waited a long time to get our shit together.”

“That’s also true.”

“Mm.” He stops. “There’s just one problem.”

“Problem?” you say, dazed by his proximity.

“Yeah.” Tilting his head, his lips nearly brush yours. “If I start kissing you, I won’t be able to stop.”

“And that’s a bad thing, because…?”

“We’re currently in public.”

“In public.”

“At an event that you’re hosting.”

“Hosting,” you repeat, reduced to a parrot.

Jungkook chuckles. “People will notice,” he murmurs, although his hand continues to caress your waist, “if you go missing. And I don’t want to be rushed. I plan to take my time with you tonight.”

His last word is a growl, said lowly in your ear and immediately, your breath catches. Hand fisting in his jacket, you attempt to move even closer, but Jungkook stays maddeningly separate.

Huffing, you look up. “I didn’t think you were the type to back down from a challenge, Jeon.”

“Are you giving me one, princess?”

Boldly, you close the distance between you. Jungkook’s reaction is instantaneous, his entire body stiffening but before you can move, his hand finds your chin.

“Careful,” he warns, tilting your face to his.

“Come on, Jeon.” Sweetly, you smile. “Be stronger.”

“Impossible,” he mutters. “Not with you around.”

Before you can react to this, his lips are on yours. Jungkook’s hand roughly slides from your jaw to your neck, pulling you closer as you melt against him. Heart hammering, your fingers curl tightly into the lapels of his jacket. Each place you touch him feels aflame and at the same time, you’re drowning, sinking into his presence.

When you finally pull back, Jungkook bites down on your lip. Gasping, you arch and he claims your mouth again. He swallows your whimper, walking the two of you backwards until your spine touches glass.

Keeping you upright, his muscular thigh wedges between yours. Trying to get closer, you knock your head against the glass – and Jungkook goes utterly still.

 “Y/N,” he groans, ripping himself away. “You’re going to be the death of me.”

Still struggling to catch your breath, you stare back at him. Jungkook hasn��t stepped back, a fact which hasn’t escaped your notice. When you arch against him, Jungkook pushes his hips against yours.

“Careful,” he murmurs, pressing you to the tank. “Unless you want to be fucked right here and right now. I wouldn’t overestimate my self-control.”

Lips parted, you stare and Jungkook can’t help but grin. It’s hard not to melt because his smile is your favorite – and only now are you realizing that’s because it’s solely for you.

“What is it?” he asks.

“Nothing.” Slowly, you shake your head. “I’m just… happy.”

If you thought you loved Jungkook’s smile before, you were wrong. Eyes crinkled, his smile widens, and now, you fear for your life. For the life of everyone at this party because dear lord, Jungkook is perfect.

“I can’t imagine why,” he says. “I’m the lucky one.”

“Agree to disagree.”

His grip on you tightens and you expect him to kiss you again, but he doesn’t. Instead, Jungkook merely stands there, and you wonder if this is what people mean when they speak about happiness. When they mention perfect moments, understanding another without words – this must be what they speak of.

Eventually, you glance past him. “We should probably return.”

“Probably,” he agrees, although he still doesn’t move. “It’s not fair, though. Those people have had your attention all night.”

“And you’ll have the rest of it,” you tease him. “Right after I figure out a way to leave without telling the whole party, ‘Hey, my boyfriend is about to fuck me silly.’”

Jungkook releases you and you start to walk past, only to realize he still hasn’t moved. Puzzled, you turn.

“Jungkook?” you ask. “Did you… not want to do that tonight?”

“That’s not it.” Dazed, he turns his head. “It’s just … you called me your boyfriend.”

Your entire world stops.

“Oh.

Frantic, you backpedal and search for a way out. Obviously, that was too much, too soon – you aren’t sure why you said it, other than the fact that it’s true. You want Jungkook as more than just a fuck buddy, more than just a friend.

For the first time in a very long time, you want to say boyfriend, but Jungkook is new to all this, and you don’t want to scare him away.

“I didn’t mean that,” you hasten, stepping forward. “I was just talking out loud, and I didn’t –”

“No,” Jungkook interrupts. “Don’t take it back. I want that. I really want that. It’s just… it was nice to hear you say it.” An embarrassed smile spreads over his face. “Say it again?”

All the tension drains from your limbs. “Say what?” you tease. “Say you’re my boyfriend?”

Jungkook’s gaze darkens. “I thought you didn’t want me to fuck you right here and right now?”

Heat pools in your center and it’s all you can do not to crush his mouth to yours. An inkling of self-preservation prevents you from doing so, because Jungkook is right. People would notice if you suddenly disappeared.

Still, it doesn’t keep you from lifting to your toes. Lips hovering at his ear, you feel Jungkook’s entire body go taut when you whisper, “Your aunt will want to say goodbye.”

Roughly, he exhales, and you laugh when you pull back.

“Please,” Jungkook groans. His expression is half-amusement, half-pain. “Let’s not talk about my aunt right now.”

“Come on,” you say. “Let’s go and say goodbye.”

“Just – give me a moment.”

Patient, you wait while Jungkook screws his eyes shut. Several seconds pass until finally, he opens them and some of the heat has dissipated.

“Okay, I’m ready,” he declares.

Before you can respond, Jungkook takes your hand in his and pulls you away. You try and savor each, since you’ll soon need to part, but time seems to blur, buoyed by your happiness. All too soon, you’ve reached the entrance and Jungkook is turning to face you.

Continuing to hold your hand, he glances over your shoulder. In the aquarium, someone laughs, and you’re reminded again why you can’t leave just yet.

Jungkook exhales, somewhat mournful. “We timed this terribly.”

“Okay,” you announce. “Here’s the deal.”

Returning to you, his lips twitch. “Deal?”

“Yep.” You force yourself to sound stern. “I’ll go in now. Give me a five-minute head start, and then follow. I’ll talk to a few donors, chat with a few sponsors and then –”

“We meet back here for aquarium sex?”

“Stop that,” you laugh, swatting his arm. “No. And then, we meet out front at eleven. Okay?”

Jungkook adopts a look of mock-anguish. “Why so late?”

You can’t help but smile. “Wish it were sooner?”

“Don’t tease me,” he says, voice dropping. “I thought I was clear about my plans for you for tonight.”

“Plans?”

Jungkook takes a step closer. “Nice try,” he murmurs, lowering his head. “You’ll find out later tonight. Now, go – the sooner you leave, the sooner you come back.”

Reluctant, you turn. “I’ll be back soon,” you promise. “Five-minute head start. Don’t forget.”

Before you can leave, Jungkook’s hand catches your wrist, and he pulls you backwards. Kissing you deeply, he molds your body to his and by the time he lifts his head, you’re rendered speechless.

His gaze bores into yours. “Eleven. No later.”

Unable to think of a response, you nod. It takes every ounce of your self-possession to turn and walk away. When you finally enter the main room, you take a deep breath to focus.

Several new guests have arrived, and you’re only on your second when you realize your mistake. Now that you have Jungkook waiting, you’re finding it difficult to string sentences together. Nearly mixing up the names of two donors, you’re saved from embarrassment by Hoseok’s sudden appearance.

Grasping your wrist, he pulls you closer. “We need to talk,” Hoseok hisses, smiling balefully at the others. “Apologies, everyone, but I need to steal Y/N for a minute.”

Ignoring the ensuing chorus of no problem! and of course, Hoseok leads you away until you’re both concealed behind a potted plant. Turning, he drags a hand down his face, and you look on in alarm. Originally, you thought this might be about Jungkook, but no longer.

“Hoseok, what is it?” you demand.

Resigned, he meets your gaze. “Your parents are here.”

Hoseok might as well have said elephants have arrived. Neither sentence would make sense in the context of Clean Ocean.

“My… what?”

“Your parents,” Hoseok repeats. “They’re here. Olya wasn’t near the front, and the bouncer wasn’t sure what to do, so he let them in.”

“But…” You stare at him, flummoxed. “That makes no sense. Why are they here?”

“I don’t know. To offer congratulations?”

The laugh you give sounds like a wheeze. “These are my parents, we’re talking about.”

“Right, well.” He looks at you, helpless. “Only way to find out is to ask them, I guess.”

Staring at Hoseok, you wait for the rising wave of panic which always accompanies the presence of your family and feel – nothing.

For the first time, you’re confident that whatever mischief your parents have in mind won’t affect you. Clean Ocean is doing well. You and Jason are solid. You have great friends, a good life and – a boyfriend, waiting for you outside at eleven.

Insides warming, you can’t help but smile – something that swiftly disappears when you look at Hoseok. Based on his expression, he seems to be worried you’re having a nervous breakdown.

“Alright,” you say, straightening. “Where are they?”

“Patio. Last I saw, anyways. Want me to come with?”

“No thanks,” you exhale. “They’re my parents. I can handle them.”

Hoseok examines you carefully, then nods and steps aside. He’s long learned not to mess with your familial ties after attending several parties where your parents ignored him. Striding through the main room, you force your expression to neutrality and run through potential options.

Maybe your parents are here because of an important donor. Maybe they came to look good in the papers. Or maybe (most likely) it’s unknown option three which will leave you reeling and nauseous in a way only they can. Stepping onto the patio, you scan for the signs of impending doom.

A breeze rolls in from the ocean, prickling the hair on the back of your neck. Not seeing them, you walk forward – and Jason steps in your path.

“Y/N,” he blurts out. “I’ve been looking for you.”

Instantly, your eyes narrow and you grab his arm. “Why didn’t you warn me they were coming?” you hiss, leaning in.

“I didn’t know!” Jason protests. “Mom texted they were here when I stepped from my car. I’ve been searching all over for you but couldn’t find you. Hoseok didn’t know where you were, either,” he adds, giving you a questioning glance.

Careful to keep your expression blank, you fall into step alongside him. “Busy night. I’ve been running around.”

“Right. Sure.”

The look Jason gives you makes you sweat a little but before he can say anything, the sound of your mother cuts above the crowd.

“Y/N! Darling,” she cries, appearing from nowhere.

Grimacing, you lean in for the double-kiss, disentangling yourself before she can follow up with a hug. This is when your mother loves to whisper her disapproving comments in your ear. Smile in place, you step from her grasp and turn towards your father.

“Mom and dad,” you say brightly. “I didn’t realize you were coming. Did something change in your plans?”

Stepping backwards, your mother sips her champagne. “Nothing changed, Y/N. I’m positive I told Miranda to reply to your RSVP. And even if she forgot – which would be typical – is it so surprising we’d like to support our only daughter?”

Rather than offer an uncharitable response, you nod.

“It was nice of you to come,” Jason agrees. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

Your mother glances at the patio. “That DJ is too loud. He’s going to burst someone’s eardrum, and I’m sure their insurance won’t cover third parties. Did you take out an umbrella policy?” she asks, not waiting for an answer before she continues. “Other than that, the night has been tolerable. There’s an almost respectable crowd here. I know most of the guest list.”

Knowing your mother, she meant this as a compliment. Still, you find yourself wishing you’d at least had the foresight to grab another drink.

“And what about you, dad?” Jason asks, sounding strained. “Are you enjoying the evening?”

Your father blinks, as though startled by being addressed directly.

“Yes – oh, yes,” he says with a nod. “Very nice.”

A pause follows, so Jason continues.

“It is,” he says proudly. “Y/N worked so hard to pull this together. I mean, when she said Infinity Motors pulled out, even I was panicking. The fact that this launch party is happening is nothing short of a miracle.”

Hearing this, your mother looks at you sharply. “What did your brother say? Liam is no longer a donor of Clean Ocean?”

Wincing, Jason realizes his mistake but it’s too late. Seeing no easy way out, you adopt your most neutral expression.

“Yes,” you exhale, turning to face your mother. “Infinity Motors is no longer a donor for Clean Ocean.”

Finally, this gets through to your father. “What happened?” he demands. “Was it a matter of money? Was the offer too small? I’m playing golf with Liam on Sunday – I could talk to him then. We could work something out; this doesn’t have to be the end.”

“There’s no need for that, dad,” you hasten.

“Don’t be so proud,” your mother cuts in. “Listen to your father. He’s been doing this for much longer than you have, Y/N. Do the other donors know?” she asks, changing topics. “It really isn’t right to throw a launch party when the program is cancelled.”

“It’s not cancelled,” you say through clenched teeth.

“There’s no need for that tone, Y/N. I’m just thinking of you, here. I assume this means you’ve broken up with Liam?”

“We were never dating, mom.”

“Oh, right. Is that really what you want to go with?”

“Yes, it is,” you say. “And why does it matter, anyways? One minute, you’re pushing me to date Jungkook and now, you’re all about Liam.”

“I’m willing to admit when I’m wrong,” your mother says with a sniff. “You and Liam Jessen make more sense as a couple. And you were right about that Jeon boy,” she adds, a bit darker.

Hearing this, you pause, unsure how to respond. Your mother has never shied away from supporting the Jeons before. Sensing your hesitation, Jason jumps in.

“What do you mean?” he says, curious.

“W-ell.” Like the cat with the canary, your mother swirls her champagne. “I was speaking to Louise Trapp the other day and she said that apparently, Jungkook is running his father’s company into the ground.”

“Oh?” you ask, the word faint.

When Jason looks at you with confusion, you pretend not to notice.

“It’s true.” Your mother shakes her head. “He’s investing all their profits into renewable energy. Forgoing any sort of shareholder dividend! He fired all the old executives, the ones who’d devoted their lives to the company. Terrible – just terrible,” she sighs. “That company will go under soon, mark my words.”

For a moment, you stand speechless. Hearing your mother list all Jungkook’s accomplishments as faults is a level of surrealness Dalí wouldn’t expect.

“Hm.” Jason seems thoughtful. “Those don’t sound like bad ideas.”

Ignoring this, your mother shakes her head. “Such a pity, too. That boy had such potential. All the opportunity in the world, and this is what he chose.”

Hearing her clear disdain helps you regain your voice. “And what, exactly, did he choose?” you ask, your words full of soft venom.

Both mother and father blink at your tone.

“Well, he…”

Your mother falters.

“Now, Y/N,” your father says, cutting in. “You know your mother meant nothing by the comment.”

“Oh, I’m sure,” you say sweetly. “So, what did you mean?”

Your mother’s gaze narrows, never one to back down from a fight. “I only meant,” she says stiffly, “that he’s turned a lot of former friends into enemies. And that it’s a pity to see his father’s tremendous work be undone.”

“Jungkook’s father,” you snap, barely aware of what you’re saying, “isn’t worthy of being mentioned in the same sentence as Jungkook.”

Your mother stares at you, aghast and in the corner of your eye, you see Jungkook appear.

He stands at the edge of the patio, searching for something – or someone, you realize, when your gazes meet. Briefly, he smiles before stepping from the dais to melt into the crowd. Suddenly, it seems foolish to have separated from him at all.

“Speaking of Jungkook,” you say, turning back. “I’ve been meaning to thank you, mom.”

Both your parents seem perplexed.

“Thank me for what?” your mother asks tightly.

Rather than answer, you turn around and wave. Your timing proves to be correct, as Jungkook appears as though called from the crowd. When he sees you waving, he stops and glances behind him. Realizing no one is there, Jungkook pivots, and you wave again. Puzzled, he tilts his head, and you nod.

Once you’re certain he’s coming, you return to your family.

“For encouraging me to go out on dates,” you say, answering your mother’s question. “You were right. I was going out with all the wrong men. I needed someone who can hold their own, and now I’ve found that – thanks to you.”

Your mother continues to look bewildered, but Jason breaks into laughter when Jungkook approaches. Your brother quickly disguises this as a cough, taking a large gulp of his whiskey. 

Jungkook appears by your side, holding a glass of red wine and looking fully at ease. Stepping closer, you slip your arm into the crook of his elbow and Jungkook glances at you, surprised. This only lasts a moment before he gives in.

“Darling,” Jungkook says, placing his other hand on your lower back. “Are you alright? Do you need a drink?”

“No, no – darling,” you add, just to watch his lips twitch. “I only wanted you to meet my parents. As my boyfriend.”

Something heated flares in his gaze, followed by understanding. Turning towards your family, Jungkook’s expression shifts to one you’ve only seen a few times before. A thrill runs down your spine at the detached look of Jeon Energy’s CEO.

“No fucking way,” Jason breathes.

Your mother instantly straightens. “Jason,” she hisses. “Language!”

“Sorry, mom.” He shakes his head. “So, does this mean you two are actually…”

“Dating?” you supply, your smile widening. “Yes. That’s what I wanted to thank you for, mom. For bringing us together.”

Placing his hand over yours on his elbow, Jungkook inclines his head. Expression unchanging, he keeps you firm by his side.

“I should be thanking you as well, Mrs. Y/L/N,” he adds, solemn. “If it weren’t for you, I never would have found someone as wonderful as your daughter.”

Your mother’s mouth opens, then shuts, clearly torn. On one hand, it’s rude to directly contradict an acquaintance. On the other hand, she doesn’t agree with Jungkook. You don’t think you’ve heard your mother ever use wonderful and daughter in the same sentence.

Luckily, your father steps in. “Well, isn’t this fantastic,” he booms. “How long has it been since I’ve seen your father, Jungkook? I’ll have to set up golf with him soon.”

The change is barely perceptible, but Jungkook’s smile dims. Squeezing his arm with your hand, you force him to look down and he softens.

“We were just talking about you,” you say, looking upward. “My mother was giving her thoughts about your performance as CEO, and I thought it’d be good for you to hear them in person.”

Jason nearly spits his whiskey back into his glass. Your mother is similarly stricken, although she composes herself quickly. Jungkook, on the other hand, seems mildly amused.

“Was she now?” he asks, turning to face her. “I must say, the reviews so far have been dismal. Most people seem to think I’m running the company into the ground.”

Your mother looks a bit sallow. Faced with two bad options – lying or saying something rude to Jungkook’s face – she chooses her next words carefully.

“Yes, well.” She nods. “It takes great… fortitude to make such large-scale changes.”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “Ah, yes. True. But enough about me,” he adds, glancing your way. “Shouldn’t you make the rounds? I’d hate to keep you from your guests.” His expression hardens slightly when he returns to your parents. “It was lovely to see you,” Jungkook adds in a tone which clearly says it was not. “We should do this again.”

Hearing his insult disguised by kind words, your mother stiffens. Your father doesn’t seem to notice and, with a nod, he scans the place for a bar.

Bending, Jungkook brushes his lips against your cheek. “Do you want me to stay?’ he murmurs. “I don’t like leaving you alone with them.”

If you felt any uncertainty before, it immediately vanishes.

“I’ll be fine,” you whisper back. “I’ll see you at eleven.”

Nodding, Jungkook pulls away to face your parents again. “Have a goodnight,” he says before leaving.

You watch him enter the crowd, your side feeling suddenly empty. Before you can offer up any type of explanation, Jason starts to chuckle.

“Wow,” he says. “Jeon Jungkook, Y/N.”

“What about it?” you ask, turning back.

“Nothing.” His grin widens. “I thought that you hated him.”

“Yeah, well.” Somewhat sheepish, you shrug. “Turns out, I don’t.”

Jason continues to smile, and you can’t help but return it – until your mother regains her voice.

“Y/N,” she huffs. “You could have warned us before calling him over like that.”

“I thought you’d be pleased,” you say blithely. “You were the one who introduced us.”

“You – we.” Coming to a stop, she takes a deep breath. “While admittedly, that Jeon boy comes from a good family, he’s hardly the type of man we’d encourage you to date.”

“Oh?” you ask, a dangerous note to your words.

Not for the first time, you understand your mother will find fault in whatever you do. Here’s a man she set you up with and now, because you chose him, she’s taking back her approval.

Oddly enough, the fact barely stings. Not long ago, it might have. Glancing around, you spot Jungkook by the bar and realize he’s watching. He pretends not to, but every now and again, he glances your way, and his expression tightens.

You smile reassuringly. Returning to your parents, you look them each in the eye.

“Then it’s a good thing I’m the one dating him and you’re not,” you say simply. “Thank you for coming. I hope you enjoy the event.”

With that, you turn around and leave. Behind you, Jason jumps in to save the conversation, and you feel a surge of gratitude. While you may not always agree, you can’t deny your brother has your back.

Now, keeping your distance from Jungkook until the end of the night seems pointless. Cutting through the crowd, you make your way to his side. Jungkook watches you navigate and, once you arrive, hands you a glass of champagne. Taking it, your heart flutters, since Jungkook has selected a brand you ordered before.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hi.”

Smiling back at him, you take a sip from the glass.

“No. Way.”

A third voice makes you start. Turning, you find Seokjin staring between you, open-mouthed. Before you can explain, Jungkook turns casually to face him.

“So,” he remarks. “I hear you like Yoongi.”

Gaze jerking to him, Seokjin shuts his mouth. Stifling a laugh, you lean into Jungkook, and he places a hand on your lower back.

Seeing this, Seokjin groans. “Are you two together now? Because if so, I’ll need at least a five-minute warning before you enter a room. New couples are the worst.”

“Yes, we’re together,” you say, smiling up at Jungkook.

He smiles down at you, and in the background, you hear Seokjin offer congratulations before disappearing. Jungkook’s fingers trail lower, realizing how much of your skin is exposed.

“This dress,” Jungkook murmurs, lowering his lips to your ear, “is indecent.”

“Are you trying to tell me what to wear, Mr. Jeon?” you ask in mock-outrage.

Withdrawing his hand, Jungkook turns you to face him. “I wouldn’t dare. Allow me to rephrase – seeing you in that dress is making me want to do indecent things.”

Heart hammering against your ribcage, you stare upward. Before you can respond though, your phone vibrates in your clutch. You determine to ignore it, but then a second vibration occurs – followed fast by another.

Jungkook’s lips tighten. “You should probably get that.”

As much as you hate to admit it, Jungkook is right. Pulling away, you reluctantly unzip your clutch. Spotting Hoseok’s name on the screen, you scowl and swipe.

Hoseok: you saw Jungkook?? Was that before or after we talked? [9:01 PM]

Hoseok: hang on – Seokjin says you’re with him now? [9:29 PM]

Hoseok: and you didn’t tell me?! [9:30 PM]

Hoseok: Y/N! [9:30 PM]

Reading over your shoulder, Jungkook chuckles. Handing him your glass of champagne, you respond.

Y/N: yes, I saw him and yes, we’re together. Additional questions will be answered at a later time [9:32 PM]

Belatedly, you realize this is your group chat when you see Seokjin’s ellipses.

Seokjin: they’re being nauseating out on the patio [9:33 PM]

Seokjin: steer clear [9:33 PM]

Y/N: we are not being nauseating [9:34 PM]

“We kind of are,” Jungkook murmurs. Wrapping his arm around your waist, he lowers his chin to your shoulder. “Which reminds me – you should probably be in there, talking to people.”

You huff, knowing he’s right and your phone dings again.

Hoseok: Y/N, go home [9:36 PM]

Surprised, you stare at the screen. Hoseok continues typing, and another message follows.

Hoseok: Olya agrees – go home. You’ve been here for hours and said hello to everyone important. We can handle the rest. [9:37 PM]

Before you can counter, Jungkook’s hand closes around your phone and tugs it from your grasp.

“Thank god,” he sighs, kissing the nape of your neck. “Because it’s taking my last shred of willpower to keep from ripping this dress right off you.”

His free hand splays across your middle, tugging you backwards as you sharply inhale.

“Are you ready to leave?” he asks, low in your ear.

“Yes,” you blurt, making your decision. “Let’s go. Right now.”

Jungkook chuckles, following close behind when you take his hand. Not caring who sees, you drag him through the crowd and towards the main entrance.

Once you’re outside, you reach for your phone and Jungkook sets this in your palm. Coming to a stop alongside you, he slips both hands in his pockets.

“Where do you want to go?” He tilts his head. “Your place or mine?”

A million (not PG) possibilities run through your mind, rendering you speechless. Judging by his expression, Jungkook seems to be thinking the same.

“Your place,” you say, only to pause. “But… Dante is at my neighbor’s.”

“We can go to your place,” Jungkook offers. “Or we can pick up Dante and head to mine. I don’t care either way.”

You stare at him, speechless, too stunned by the absolute perfection standing before you.

Mistaking your silence for disapproval, Jungkook starts to backtrack. “Or not,” he says. “You could ask your neighbor to watch Dante? Or we just head to your place. I really don’t care, Y/N, I just want –”

“No – no,” you blurt. “It’s not that. None of what you just said is bad. It’s just – you’re wonderful,” you say, somewhat breathless. “Let’s get Dante and go to your place. If you don’t mind.”

Jungkook breaks into a smile. “I really don’t,” he says, turning around as headlights swing into the drive. “I hope you don’t care I had my driver waiting.”

“I don’t,” you respond, your giddiness only growing when Jungkook takes your hand.

Opening the door, he waits for you to sit before crossing to the other side. You’re nearly buckled in when he joins, leaning over the console to give his driver directions. When the car starts to move, Jungkook settles backwards – casually pushing the button to raise the partition.

Ensconced in darkness, every inch of your body goes taut.

Shifting on leather, you stare straight ahead and do your best to ignore the mounting tension between you. You have an entire car ride before you reach his place. This is easier said than done though, because the longer you sit, the more you remember the first night you met.

“So.”

Jungkook’s voice is low, seductive, and unthinking, you turn. You immediately regret this because now, you’re aware of how close Jungkook is. His right hand splays across the seat between you, taking up space in a way that’s distracting.

“So,” you exhale.

Your voice is breathy, even to your ears and his upper lip curls. Leaning forward, Jungkook gently drags his thumb along the curve of your jaw. Unbidden, you shiver.

“Did I tell you how gorgeous you look?” he murmur, not looking away.

“If I didn’t know better,” you say, “I’d think you were trying to get me naked.”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “Oh, I am. Not here, though. I won’t make that mistake again.”

“Mistake?”

“Mm.” His voice drops. “You don’t deserve to be undressed in the backseat of a car. You deserve to be spread out like a feast – worshiped and eaten until I’m fully sated.”

You feel your heart quicken. “And… if I want the first option?”

“Well, then.” His hand slowly slides to the back of your neck. “We’ll just have to compromise.”

Bending, his teeth scrape your jaw as you tip your head back. Other hand finding your waist, Jungkook pulls you closer as you squeeze your eyes shut. Tilting your head, Jungkook lightly tugs the lobe of your ear between his teeth.

A whimper escapes you, thighs clenched tightly together.

“Slow,” Jungkook whispers. “We have all night.”

“But I want you now.”

His grip on you tightens. “Careful,” he warns. “Each time you’re a brat, your orgasm gets delayed.”

Chest rising and falling, you open your eyes. Jungkook stares back at you, his gaze lidded as a sudden wave of boldness overtakes you.

“So, what can I do, your highness?” you ask.

Absent, his thumb strokes the side of your throat. You aren’t sure Jungkook is even aware that he’s doing it, so focused is he on the shape of your mouth.

“I don’t think we have enough time for roleplay tonight, princess,” he muses. “What you can do is let me worship your body the way that I want.”

“The way that you want?”

His gaze flicks to yours. “What I want is for you to be so wholly undone, you forget your own name.”

Oh.

Sensing approval, Jungkook shifts even closer. His other hand spans your ribcage and when he brushes the underside of your breasts, you suck in a breath.

“Jungkook,” you groan.

Lightly, Jungkook swipes his thumb over your nipple. Due to the low back, you aren’t able to wear a bra with this dress. It means you feel every touch, each caress as Jungkook plays with your body.

Shifting even closer, he cups your breast with one hand. “Fuck,” Jungkook mutters. “I’ve missed being able to touch you like this.”

His thumb circles your nipple, other hand joining to find your other breast. You long to touch him back but are afraid if you start, you won’t be able to stop.

Pressing your legs tightly together, you rock against your seat in desperate search of friction. Hand rising to the back of your head, Jungkook crushes your mouth to his. Unable to take it, your arms twine around his neck to pull him even closer. His hand falls to the seat, covering your body with his as he–

The car beneath you slows.

Freezing above you, it takes several moments for Jungkook to speak. In the corner of your eye, you realize you’ve reached your apartment and slowly sit back.

“Fuck,” you exhale.

Shutting his eyes, Jungkook still doesn’t move. “Yeah,” he mutters. “Fuck.”

Eventually, he shifts to unbuckle his seatbelt. Hiding a smile at his clear distraction, you push open your door and step onto the curb. You’re halfway to the door when his arms wrap around you from behind.

“Come on,” he sighs, pulling you backwards. “Let’s go and find Dante before I let you convince me to fuck you in my car.”

“Jungkook!” you gasp, glancing around to ensure no one heard.

The street is thankfully empty and, stifling laughter, you pull him inside. The five stories to your apartment are less painful than usual, possibly because Jungkook refuses to let go of your waist. It makes for rather awkward travel, but you can’t bring yourself to complain as you reach your front door.

“Jungkook,” you laugh, fumbling in your clutch for the key. “I need Dante’s things.”

“Mm.”

“Which means I need my hands,” you point out.

Pouting, Jungkook drops his arms and reluctantly steps away. Unable to deal with his face, you turn around on tiptoe and kiss him. Accepting your touch as currency, Jungkook holds open the door while you step inside.

Dropping your clutch on the counter, you head straight for your bedroom. The faster you pack, the faster you reach Jungkook’s apartment, and the rest of your night can begin.

“Do you need any help?” Jungkook yells.

“No!” you call back, grabbing a duffel bag.

Tossing clothes in, you barely pay attention to what you grab. Scanning your bathroom, you throw in some face products and zip up the case. When you return to the kitchen, you come to a stop.

Jungkook has assembled a random assortment on your counter. Dog food, treats, bathroom bags, a few leashes – basically, everything you might need for Dante. Lifting a brow, you walk closer.

“Is this for Dante?” you ask, picking up a chew toy.

Jungkook nods, a bit sheepish. “I wanted to help, so I pulled some stuff together.”

Setting your bag on the floor, you reach up and pull his face down to yours. Your kiss is soft, sweet and Jungkook looks puzzled when you pull away.

“Thank you,” you murmur. “That was really cute.” You glance sideways. “He only needs like, a quarter of this but it was cute.”

Laughing, you help Jungkook pack what Dante actually needs in a second bag and finally, you’re ready to go. Switching off your lights, you head towards the door – only to walk straight into Jungkook’s chest.

Surprised, you look up. “What?”

He glances at your duffel bag. “What’s in there?”

Pulling the strap tighter across your chest, you shrug. “Things,” you say. “Clothes for tomorrow, face stuff, pajamas –”

“Pajamas?” Jungkook nearly smiles.

Determined, you lift your chin. “Yes, pajamas.”

Taking a step closer, Jungkook lets his arms fall. You take an unconscious step backwards, your hips hitting the counter as, slowly, he places one hand on either side of you.

He tilts his head. “Do you really think you’ll be needing clothing tonight?”

Before you can utter so much as a syllable, Jungkook turns around to pull open your door.

“Let’s go,” he announces.

Adopting a scowl, you stalk past. Laughing quietly to himself, Jungkook shuts the door as you cross the hall. You knock on Jimin’s door, and several barks follow (most of them Dante’s).

Stopping beside you, Jungkook holds out a hand. It takes you a moment to realize he’s asking for the duffel bag. Ignoring him, you knock a second time and Jungkook uses your momentary distraction to relieve you of the bag.

You’re just turning sideways to scold him when the door opens. Seeing the two of you, Jimin’s jaw drops as he freezes.

“Jimin, hi!” you blurt as a furry bolt of lightning enters the hall.

Dante runs straight for Jungkook, and you watch – utterly betrayed – while Dante rolls onto his back. Staring up at Jungkook with heart-eyes, Dante wags his tail. Obeying the obvious demand, Jungkook bends to give Dante belly rubs.

Regaining himself, Jimin leans against his door. “Wow, Y/N,” he says with a laugh. “Seems like you’ve been replaced.”

Glancing upward, Jungkook squints. “Hey, Jimin. Nice to meet you again.”

“Nice to see you.” Grin widening, Jimin glances your way. Over Jungkook’s head, he mouths, so, is this a thing? before he turns back. “Will we be seeing the two of you tomorrow?”

“Tomorrow?” Jungkook continues to rub Dante’s belly. “What’s tomorrow?”

“I’m having people over to play video games,” Jimin says. “My girlfriend will be there, along with Hoseok and Olya. You’re more than welcome to come.”

“Thanks for the offer.” Jungkook looks up. “If Y/N wants to, I’m in.”

“We’ll see,” you say. “It all depends on what we’re doing.”

Brow lifted, Jungkook slowly stands from the floor. Heat floods his gaze, understanding exactly what you mean. If you’re able to withdraw yourself from Jungkook’s bed before next week, you’d be surprised.

Glancing between you, Jimin pauses, then nods. “Cool.” Subtle, he raps on his door frame. “I’m heading back inside before you do each other in the hall, but text me if you’re coming, Y/N. Night!”

Stepping inside, Jimin shuts his door. Jungkook stares after him, startled before chuckling. Bending, he scoops both bags from the ground.

“That guy just says whatever’s on his mind, huh?” he muses, clipping on Dante’s leash. Dante actually lets Jungkook do this, which is in itself a rarity.

Trying not to let on how amazing this is, you shrug. “Jimin is blunt, but he’s also super nice. If you did want to go tomorrow, we can.”

“We’ll see.” Jungkook straightens. “Like you said, we may be… otherwise occupied.”

He gives an exaggerated wink and it’s a physical battle not to kiss him right now. Turning away, you head down the hall. You absolutely refuse to jump Jungkook in the hallway.

Outside, you take Dante to the bathroom while Jungkook sets your stuff in the trunk. You’re unsure if Dante will enter a car other than yours but needn’t have worried. As soon as Jungkook opens the door, he bounds right in and curls up on the backseat.

The entire drive to Jungkook’s place, Dante insists on sticking his head out the window. At first you try to pull him back in, but Jungkook doesn’t mind, even going as far as to join Dante at the end. You cringe beside them, unable to keep from laughing when they both bark at passersby.

Once parked, you take the special elevator from Jungkook’s garage to his place. His doors slide open, and Dante bounds forward, forcing you to drop the leash.

Allowing him to explore, you enter the hall at a slower pace. Jungkook is close behind, setting down the bags to remove his loafers. Stopping beside you, he places a hand on your back.

“Hey,” he says.

Exhaling lowly, you turn to face him.

“Hey,” you murmur.

Jungkook searches your face. “Are you okay with all of this?”

“Yeah. It’s just… this feels big. You know?”

“I know.” He pauses. “I haven’t been serious about much in my life, Y/N, but I’m serious about this. About you.”

“Good,” you say, and step closer. “I’m serious about you, too, Jungkook.”

He smiles down at you. “Good.”

Bending, Jungkook brushes his lips to yours – once, twice before he pulls back. He leaves a small space, enough room to say no. Instead, you grip his jacket and pull him closer. Jungkook breaks down, a low groan in his throat as his mouth opens yours.

Cupping the back of your neck, Jungkook pulls you to him. He molds your body with his and you inhale, feeling his arousal thicken between you. His hardness presses against your stomach and you bite down – hard – on his lower lip.

Abruptly, he pulls back. “Wait,” Jungkook pants.

Somewhat dazed, you stare up at him. Tearing his gaze from yours, Jungkook glances away and you spot the source of his concern splayed out on his sofa. Dante – now fast asleep, all paws in the air.

“He…” Jungkook gapes. “He was just running around.”

Reaching up, you return Jungkook’s stunned gaze to yours. “He’ll be like that until morning,” you say. “Dante only does things full-out.”

“Hm,” he muses. “Likewise.”

Slowly, Jungkook’s gaze drops to scan your curves. His hands follow, cupping and seeking each inch of bare skin. When he stops above your ass, Jungkook cups you roughly and pulls you against him. Lowering, he opens your mouth with his in a dizzying kiss.

Without looking up, Jungkook walks the two of you backwards and down his hall. At his room, Jungkook ignores the handle to press you to the wood.

“I’ve thought about this so many times,” he confesses, breaking away to kiss down your jaw. “Every night since you left.”

‘Since I left? Jungkook, you were the one who –”

“You said I shouldn’t have come.”

“Because you shouldn’t have,” you say, distracted by his tongue on your skin. “That didn’t mean I didn’t want you there.”

“Complicated woman,” Jungkook growls, lifting his head. “Let’s just say what we mean from now on, yeah?”

You can’t help but smile. “A lofty goal.”

His gaze sparks. “I like to be aspirational. For instance”– achingly slow, his hand travels down your thigh – “I want you to come three times tonight.”

“Three?”

Hitching your knee, Jungkook presses his hips to yours. You inhale when you feel his cock harden against your core. Without looking away, he thrusts upward, and you can’t help but whimper.

“Three,” Jungkook repeats.

Hand sliding higher, he regrips your ass. Holding tight, Jungkook thrusts again and you groan at the feel of him through his pants. You want less fabric, more clothing gone and Jungkook seems to echo your urgent desire.

Reaching behind you, he fumbles for the door. It opens abruptly and you nearly fall, but Jungkook catches you in time. Kicking the door shut behind you, he doesn’t bother with the light – not with the skyline so bright before you.

Turning you around, Jungkook drags both palms up your sides. You can’t help but shiver, moaning when his lips brush below your ear.

You’re surprised when he doesn’t remove your dress. Instead, Jungkook steps closer and entwines your hand with his. Pulling you backwards to his chest, he slowly lifts your arm to drape around his neck.

Slipping a hand beneath your dress from the side, he cups your breast. Inhaling, you arch when Jungkook flicks over a nipple. This is followed by a soft caress, turning your nipple rock hard while you squirm against him.

Pushing back with your ass, you grind his crotch until Jungkook grabs your hip.

“Be a good girl,” he murmurs, flicking your nipple again.

Exhaling roughly, you slip a hand in between you to palm over his pants. Rather than punish you for it, Jungkook pushes his cock forward, into your hand.

“That’s it, princess,” he breathes in your ear. “So fucking dirty, aren’t you? Couldn’t keep yourself from touching my cock. See how hard you make me?”

“So hard,” you whimper. “Want you inside me.”

“Not yet. Need you out of this dress.”

Barely do the words register before Jungkook tugs down your zipper. You’re forced to let go when Jungkook steps backwards. Undoing the clasp at your nape, he releases your dress to fall to the floor.

Staring at him in the window, you watch Jungkook step forward.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, gripping your waist. Pressing you to his front, he casually trails a hand up your naked body. “So fucking beautiful.” With his other hand, Jungkook plays with the line of your panties. “What do you want, Y/N?”

“More,” you pant, watching your reflection’s chest rise and fall.

“Hm.” Cupping your sex, Jungkook pulls you back. “I need you to be more specific,” he whispers in your ear. “My mouth? Hand? Want to come on my cock?”

“All of it,” you blurt, greedy.

Jungkook chuckles. “Need you out of those heels first, princess. No matter how fucking hot you look in them.”

You nod and, in the window, watch Jungkook bend to help you from the shoes. Tossing the heels aside, he sits back on his knees. You stare at his reflection; certain you’ve never seen someone so beautiful.

“Bed,” Jungkook rasps with a jerk of his chin. “I need you to walk to my bed, princess. Then turn around and place both hands on the mattress.”

Whatever snappy retort you had dies on your tongue. Instead, you merely nod and obey. Watching him in the window, you see Jungkook stand, palming himself as you walk. Reaching his bed, you lower your palms to spread on the sheets.

Silent, Jungkook watches, only heightening your anticipation.

His footsteps are soft, heavy while approaching the bed. Your breath quickens at the soft click and thud of his belt hitting the floor. Glancing over your shoulder, you almost wish you hadn’t. The ravenous look on his face, staring at your cunt nearly ruins you.

Gaze flicking upward, Jungkook catches you watching.

“Face forward,” he says, stepping closer to run his hand up your thigh. “Or I’ll go even slower.”

Swallowing hard, you face forward. True to his word, Jungkook is slow in his exploration. His fingers casually glide along the edge of your panties, teasing and dipping but never removing. Every now and then, he slips a single digit inside, barely grazing the mound of your swollen flesh. Biting down on your lip, you push your ass backwards.

Darkly, he chuckles. “Do you want these panties gone, princess?”

“Yes.”

“Yes, what?”

“Yes, please,” you grind out, glaring over your shoulder.

Smiling wickedly, Jungkook slips his hands under your panties and pulls towards the ground. He helps you step out, leaving you suddenly bare. Placing one hand on your lower back, Jungkook pushes you forward until you feel his weight over yours.

“All this,” he murmurs, sliding his hand up your leg. The tips of his fingers brush where you ache, and you suck in a breath. “For me.”

“For you,” you groan, head hung in anticipation.

The warmth of him is tangible, his waist aligned with yours but just out of reach. Jungkook’s hand wanders up the back of your thigh.

“Can I touch you here?” he murmurs, dragging his fingers in a v over your aching center.

“God, yes.”

Repeating the motion, Jungkook lightly strokes each side of your sex. On his way back down, his thumb swipes your center, and he lets out a groan.

“So fucking wet,” Jungkook says, sounding pained. “You’re so fucking wet, and I’ve barely touched you.”

“I can’t help it,” you whimper.

“There’s nothing to apologize for,” he says, his tone soft as he slips a finger inside. “Fuck, you’re gorgeous. Men should line up and kneel before a pussy like this.”

A spark ignites. Lifting your head, you meet his gaze in the window.

“Then, why don’t you?” you ask sweetly.

Jungkook’s pupils dilate. While you watch, he lifts his hand to slap the round curve of your ass. “Because,” he says lowly, “other men don’t know what to do with a cunt as gorgeous as yours. I do, though – don’t I, Y/N?”

“Yes,” you exhale, arching again. “You do.”

Even this – the slow anticipation – is driving you wild. You know Jungkook will make you orgasm and know he’ll do it in a way which makes you feel good; a level of trust you’ve extended to few others.

“That said.” Jungkook chuckles and drops to his knees.

Staring, your lips part when he spreads your folds. You’re sure you must be a sight, bent over and glistening while he stares at your opening. Suddenly, Jungkook spits and you sharply inhale. His spit trickles down your pussy, mixing with your slick and making you clench.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you groan when he circles your clit with his thumb. Before you can say any more, Jungkook spreads your folds and the next thing you feel is his tongue. “Oh my god,” you gasp, broken.

Bent over, the best you can do is stay upright while Jungkook eats you out. Nose brushing your clit, he follows this with his mouth, then tongue. At some point, his fingers join in, gently tracing your opening before slipping in one, and then two to slowly stretch you.

You whimper, hands fisting in the sheets while your legs start to tremble. Jungkook sucks on your clit, long and slow before flicking his tongue in staccato. Thighs spreading further, you sink down to allow better access.

Switching positions, Jungkook licks your clit while his fingers fuck you. “Goddamn, Y/N,” he breathes. “You’re so wet.” Pulling away, he stands from the floor to bend forward. One hand on the bed, Jungkook parts your legs with his other palm. “Clenching around me so nicely.”

Slipping two fingers back in, he spreads you wider before pulling out. Lips brushing your neck, Jungkook plays with your pussy as though he owns it.

“That’s it,” he murmurs. “You’re doing so good with just two of my fingers. Need to stretch you out before you can take my cock.”

“I can take it,” you pant.

“Not yet,” Jungkook says, curling his fingers. “Want you dripping and ready before I fill you with my cum.”

You clench at the thought, and Jungkook lets out a hiss. Lifting his hand from the bed, he cups your front to stroke your clit. The pleasure builds quickly, his fingers continuing to move while his other hand teases. Bent over and helpless, all you can do is take it.

“Jungkook,” you gasp, your thighs shaking. “I’m close.”

“Oh?” he murmurs, adding a third finger. You groan, feeling stuffed – and still not remotely close to how thick his cock is. “Take another – you’re doing so well for me, princess.”

Shifting, his fingers hit a spot deep inside you which makes you cry out. Pushed over the edge, your orgasm is fast – squeezing his fingers, you gasp as you ride out the wave. Jungkook helps you through it, coaxing you gently down from the high.

When the last of your tremors has subsided, he withdraws his hand. Pressing a kiss to your neck, Jungkook waits until you turn around.

“How was that?” he asks.

“How… was that?” you ask, amazed as you catch your breath.

Earth-shattering, and yet you barely feel sated. Most of Jungkook is clothed and, feeling the injustice, you take a step forward and press your naked body to his.

“I want more,” you tell him.

“That so?” Jungkook murmurs, cupping your ass with one hand.

“Yeah,” you say, your breath quickening when his fingers swipe through your slick. “Want you naked, Jungkook. Please.”

Wordless, he steps backwards to lower his hands to his pants. Jungkook undoes a button and, finding his efforts too slow, you move forward. Replacing his hands on the zipper, you tug them down as he laughs. Assisting your efforts, Jungkook steps free from his pants to reveal black boxer-briefs.

“Now, your shirt,” you demand.

Lifting a brow, Jungkook undoes the first button. “So greedy,” he says, unable to stop from smiling. “Someone might think you only want them for their body.”

There’s no bite to the words, but you soften regardless. Yoongi’s frankness about Jungkook using sex to keep people away surfaces in your mind. When Jungkook’s shirt hits the floor to reveal tan skin and ink, you barely even notice, stepping closer.

“Hey,” you say softly.

He pauses.

“Jungkook.” You hesitate. “As much as I love… this, between us… that’s not why I’m here. I’m here because I want more than that. I want you. In every way. I need you to know that.”

Uncertainty steals across his features, soon replaced by understanding. Bending his head, Jungkook kisses you – a gesture so light, you barely feel it.

“Thank you,” he murmurs. “I do know.”

“Good.”

“Good.” He pulls back. “And as wonderful as that is to hear, I have every intention of making you come in my bed until you forget your damn name.”

Your breath catches, followed by a moan when his teeth scrape your jaw.

“Sit on the bed,” Jungkook says quietly in your ear.

Unthinking, you obey. When your knees hit the mattress, you sit and scoot backwards until your feet leave the floor.

Jungkook tilts his head. “Spread your legs. I want to see you.”

Slowly, you spread them and lean back on your elbows. Jungkook inhales, his eyes darkening as he takes a step forward.

“Wider,” he murmurs, lowering one knee to the mattress. “Good. That’s better, princess.”

Sliding one hand up your thigh, Jungkook brushes a kiss to your skin. Grasping your waist, he uses this as an anchor while leaning forward.

“How do you want me?” he asks and looks up.

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how do you want me?” His lips curve. “From behind? Standing? Bent over? Spooning? You aren’t on your period, right?” Jungkook asks, as though the thought just occurred to him.

“N-no,” you assure. “Not yet.”

“So?” he asks, returning to the question at hand. “What position do you want to start in?”

“Uh, all of them?”

His lip twitches. Sitting back, Jungkook crosses both arms across his chest. This causes his biceps to flex which, honestly, is unfair. It seems Jungkook knows what he’s doing, as well – he lifts a brow with maddening arrogance.

“All in good time, princess,” he says. “But how do you want me to fuck you right now?”

“I want to see you,” you confess. “Please.”

Understanding, Jungkook nods and lowers himself to his elbows. Little by little, he releases his weight to press you to the bed. His kisses start slow, but soon, Jungkook’s hands are skimming your curves, losing himself in the feel of your body.

Grinding your hips, you feel the length of him harden. Sliding one hand down his side, you trace the band of his boxers to tug them lower.

Jungkook starts to laugh when you mostly succeed in freeing his ass. Scooting backwards, he removes his boxers and tosses them on the floor. When Jungkook returns to your legs, you exhale with satisfaction – which soon turns to a groan when he captures your nipple with teeth.

Wrapping your legs around his waist, you arch against him. Jungkook’s cock slides against your sex, getting him wet in a way that drives you mad.

“Y/N,” Jungkook rasps. “Look at you. So fucking needy beneath me.”

“Need it,” you moan. “Need you.”

“You have me,” he says, intensity flooding his gaze.

“Do I?”

“All of me,” Jungkook promises. Reaching lower, he positions himself at your entrance. “I’m yours, Y/N.”

Almost reverently, Jungkook drags his cock through your arousal. Teasingly, he circles your clit before moving lower. He does this again – and again, and again – until you think you might burst.

“Jungkook,” you pant.

Gaze lifting, Jungkook presses his cock to your center – and freezes. You go still as well, certain something is wrong.

“Jungkook?” you ask, tentative. “Is everything alright?”

“Fuck.” Jerking back, his hand drops. “Shit – I forgot. Condom.”

Leaning across the bed, Jungkook starts to open a drawer when you grab his hand. Halting his movement, Jungkook glances your way.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, returning immediately. “Do you want me to stop?”

“I – no,” you breath, face suddenly hot. “It’s just… I’m on the pill. And I’m clean. I was tested last week, and I haven’t been with anyone else since the second time we, uh…”

Jungkook looks at you intently. “What exactly are you saying, Y/N?”

“I’m saying you don’t need to use a condom – if you’re also clean.”

“I am.” He pauses. “I went to the doctor this week. But Y/N…” Jungkook trails off. “I’ve actually never…”

He falters, unsure and you realize what he’s trying to say. Jungkook has never had sex without a condom. You suppose you shouldn’t be surprised, given his lack of relationships but still – you didn’t think there’d be anything you’d done before him.

Gently, you touch the side of his face. “We don’t have to,” you tell him. “I know this is a big step. I just thought I’d ask.”

When you move to withdraw, Jungkook catches your hand in his. “It is a big step. But I want to take it with you. If you’re sure,” he adds, quiet.

“I’m sure.”

Jungkook stares at you a long moment, then releases your hand. Lowering himself, he opens your mouth with his. Fingers twisting into his hair, you raise your hips, and he lets out a groan. When you shift, feeling his cock press to your hip, the need is nearly unbearable.

Reaching down, Jungkook repositions himself at your entrance. There’s a moment of hesitation before he pushes in, stopping after only an inch. Both of you inhale, relishing the feel. The tip of his cock is swollen and thick, and when Jungkook pushes in a bit further you stifle a moan.

“Fuck, Y/N,” he gasps, sounding raw. “You feel so fucking good.”

Lifting your hips, you make him slide an inch deeper.

Jungkook grunts. “Don’t do that,” he warns. “Unless you want me to come in the next twenty seconds.”

Smiling, you fall back and allow him to go at his pace – not that you mind. Jungkook stares intently at the point where he enters your body, unable to believe this is happening. Each inch he gains makes you feel a bit fuller and when he’s nearly halfway, you reach down to slowly rub your clit. Jungkook’s eyes glaze at the sight, muttering something beneath his breath about how hot you are.

With a final thrust, he sheathes himself fully and you gasp. Filled to the brim, you have the unbearable urge to move but Jungkook’s expression is nearly past his limit. Exhaling lowly, his gaze lifts to yours.

“God,” he mutters. “This is… the way you feel… is so unbelievable.”

Breath catching, you nod. Without a condom, you can feel every inch of Jungkook inside you. It makes him feel closer, as though you’ve let him in in more ways than one. Lifting your hips, you try to take him deeper.

Jungkook grits his teeth. “Not yet,” he warns. “Give me… a minute.”

Eventually, the tension leaves his jaw and Jungkook slowly pulls out. The loss of him makes you whimper, and with equal deliberation, Jungkook pushes back in. When he sees you bite down on your lower lip, he smirks.

Before you can huff, Jungkook repeats the motion – this time, harder. Both of you groan when your hips meet, feeling the way you easily stretch around him.

“Goddamn,” he murmurs, one hand on the bed. “You’re so perfect for me, baby. Feel so fucking good wrapped around my cock.”

Tightening your legs around his waist, you take him in deeper. Lifting himself onto his elbows, Jungkook thrusts a bit harder to hit a new angle.

“Ah,” you moan, arching your back. “There, Jungkook – right there.”

“There?” he murmurs. “That’s what you want, princess?”

Frantic, you nod and try to coax him faster. Jungkook merely chuckles, dragging the motion out so you feel his entire length inside you.

“Patience,” he coaxes. “You’re so good for me, Y/N. So fucking tight and perfect – made for me. This pussy was made for my cock.”

“Yeah, it was,” you breathe, your chest brushing his. “You’re so fucking hard. Fuck me so good.”

“Yeah, I do,” Jungkook growls, claiming your mouth with his own.

He doesn’t change speed, but each thrust is sharp, hard, driving you up on the bed. The motion causes your breasts to bounce, caught in between you. Breaking away, Jungkook lowers himself to suck a nipple between his teeth.

“Oh my god,” you whimper.

Pulling abruptly back out, Jungkook adopts a kneeling position. Yanking your thighs closer, he notches himself at your entrance and pushes – a groan escapes, the position allowing him to get even deeper.

“That’s it,” he breathes, bending forward. “Want to feel you come on my cock.”

Pressure building, your hands slide up your body to cup your breasts. Inhaling softly, Jungkook fixates on the sight as he thrusts even harder.

“Is this what you want, princess?” Jungkook grunts, the hard, heavy hit of his cock makes your eyes glaze. “Thought so.” His smile is smug. “All you want is a thick cock inside you.

“Yes,” you groan. “Don’t stop, Jungkook.”

“I’m not gonna stop, baby,” he says, leaning forward to hit a deeper angle. “Need my cock to make you come so good, right? How’s that?”

“Th-that’s it,” you gasp, choking on words. “Jungkook!”

Each thrust deepens the pleasure, your thighs starting to shake while you fight to hold on. Your perception narrows to his cock between your legs, his chest brushing yours until you come. Pleasure breaks over you, so strong it nearly pulls you under. Gasping his name, you hear Jungkook swear when you tighten around him. He continues to thrust, supporting your orgasm until you whimper.

Slowly, your eyes open to find him above you. Brushing a kiss to your cheek, Jungkook gently pulls out and sits back. Struggling to prop yourself up on both elbows, your gaze lowers. His cock stands in what must be a painful erection, but Jungkook pays this no notice.

Instead, his attention is fixated on you. “Are you alright?”

You nearly laugh. “Are you?”

A wry smile crosses his face. “Answer the question.”

“I’m… amazing,” you exhale, collapsing slightly. “Blissed out by the multiple orgasms.”

Jungkook’s brow sketches upward. “Just two, and you’re done?”

His tone is dark with promise and instantly, your body stirs. Not that it ever fully relaxed – the second orgasm did more than the first, but still, you crave more.

“Are you done, Jungkook?” you ask sweetly.

Boldly, his gaze lowers to your spread legs before him. Blistering heat enters his gaze, taking in your drenched cunt.

“No,” he admits, slowly fisting his cock. You watch while he drags his hand up and down. “I’m not done, but I can come on your chest. Or in my hand. Whatever you prefer.”

“Or,” you exhale, flipping onto your stomach, “you could fuck me like I know you want to.”

From behind, Jungkook inhales. Glancing at him over your shoulder, you nearly come on the spot. Jungkook stares at you, ravenous, as though you’ve gifted him heaven. There’s no need to ask twice.

“On your hands and knees, baby,” he demands, moving closer. “I need you hard and fast. Feeling you come around my cock was so fucking hot – I won’t last long.”

Nodding, you hastily position yourself, ass-up on the bed. Coming to a stop, Jungkook drags his fingers through the slick at your entrance. Grasping your hips, he pulls them higher and leans forward.

‘Such a good girl,” he murmurs, slipping two fingers inside you. “Can you come for me again?”

“Yes,” you pant, pushing back on his hand.

Withdrawing his fingers, Jungkook replaces them with his cock to fill you with one thrust. He pauses, adjusting to the feeling of you from behind. In the window’s reflection, you can see how good it looks to be fucked by his cock.

Jungkook’s eyes meet yours. Smirking a little, he lifts his hand to bring it back down. You groan at the sound, arching your back to invite him further. Jungkook obliges, spanking you harder when he thrusts his hips deeper.

“You want it rough?” he murmurs, sliding one hand up your spine. “Can you take it, princess?”

“Please, Jungkook,” you beg him. “I need you to make me come again.”

“So greedy.” Dragging his fingers through your arousal, Jungkook rocks his hips forward. “I love a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Harder, Jungkook,” you pant.

His grip tightens. “As you command.”

Pulling back out, he pauses – and releases whatever hold he had on himself. Jungkook doesn’t ease you into it; as promised, he fucks you hard and fast. Fingers digging into the sides of your ass, Jungkook pounds into you. Each thrust has his balls slapping your clit, pleasure sparking inside you.

“Oh – fuck,” you gasp, head thrown back. “Jungkook!”

Shifting his hips, he hits a spot deep inside which makes your whole body tremble. A deep, throbbing need spirals through you, leaving you weightless.

“Jungkook.”

Sensing the shift, he manages to go even faster. “Right there?” Jungkook grunts, and you nearly sob. “That’s it, baby. Just relax. I’ll take care of it. I’ve got you.”

Turning your head, you lower your chest to the sheets and spread your thighs wider. Yanking your hips upwards, Jungkook takes control and drives into your body.

“Oh – oh,” you gasp, worrying you might split in half.

“Come for me, baby,” Jungkook urges. “Want to feel you around me. Want to paint this cunt white.”

Edged beyond belief, your hand slips higher to trace over your clit. Noticing this, Jungkook groans.

“That’s it, princess,” he pants. “Touch yourself. Feel how fucking hard you make me. How badly I need to come. Can’t wait to fill you up. Let everyone know whose pussy this is. Do you want that?” he grunts. “Want me to mark you like that?”

“Yes,” you hiccup. “Want your cum so bad inside me. Want to feel you for days.”

The thought of it overwhelms you so much, you can’t hold it in – your orgasm claims you. Jungkook’s hips stutter when your body releases, squeezing him tightly. Gasping, he follows, the heat of his cum pulsing into your body. Jungkook continues to thrust until there’s nothing left, staying inside you while your breathing steadies.

Slowly, he bends and lifts you from the bed. Limp in his arms, you can’t help but smile when he kisses your neck. Eventually, Jungkook pulls himself out – you move to cup yourself, but he’s already there, his hand slipped between you.

Lazily, Jungkook drags his fingers through the mess, mingling your slick with his in slow strokes. When he exhales in satisfaction, you can’t keep your nipples from hardening.

Noticing this, Jungkook chuckles. “You like that?” he murmurs, continuing to play with your pussy. “Like the feel of my cum inside you?”

Wordless, you move your hips against his hand. Other hand traveling up your torso, Jungkook tugs a nipple, and you suck in a breath.

“If you keep doing that,” you whisper, “you’ll make me come again.”

Jungkook pauses. “Want me to?” he asks lowly. “I’d love to eat you out like this.”

On instinct, your lips part and you meet his gaze in the window. Jungkook grins and, before you can respond, he’s guiding you onto your back.

“Is that a yes?” he teases.

“Yeah,” you breathe, staring up at him.

“Shit, Y/N,” Jungkook mutters, staring at your messy sex. “You’re unbelievable.”

Although cock has gone mostly soft, it twitches at the sight. When you spread your thighs wider, Jungkook groans and lowers himself to the sheets.

He starts off slow, trailing his fingers up and down your oversensitive sex. When his touch starts to feel good, Jungkook grips your thigh to open wider.

“Don’t move,” he murmurs, and bends forward.

The first sweep of his tongue makes you sigh. Jungkook eases you into it, avoiding sensitive places, working your body until you writhe beneath him. When he finally takes your clit into his mouth and sucks, you arch clean off the bed. Lowering your hands to his hair, you guide Jungkook with strands wrapped around your fingers.

Growling, Jungkook moves one hand to your thigh to keep you pinned in place. His dark hair is a halo across your skin while he eats his cum from your pussy. Pushing your hips higher, you move in a circle to get him where you want.

Panting, Jungkook looks up. “You taste so good,” he murmurs. “Next time, I’m keeping my cum inside you. Want to pull up your panties and let everyone know that you’re mine.”

You stare at him, shocked and aroused by the concept. It’s something that’s never really intrigued you but now, with him, the thought is appealing.

“And I’m yours,” Jungkook adds, softer.

Before you can melt too much at this statement, he lowers his head and sucks your clit. Groaning aloud, you grab his hair and barely hold on. Finger tracing your entrance, Jungkook strokes and teases while you grind on his face. When he pushes his finger inside, the glide is made even easier by his cum inside you.

“Oh – fuck,” you gasp. “That feels so fucking good, Jungkook.”

“Does it?” Lifting his head, he curls his finger. “You like being this filthy, baby? Like having me eat my own cum from this perfect pussy?”

“Y-es.”

“Good,” he pants. “Because same.”

When you glance down, you nearly come on the spot. Jungkook’s hips are lifted, allowing him access to palm his cock while he eats you out. Stunned, you watch his ass tense while he grinds into his hand. A brief flash of his fingers through legs shows him cupping his balls, giving them a soft tug, and you nearly combust.

“Jungkook,” you groan. “Are you hard yet?”

“Nearly there, princess.”

“Want you inside me,” you say. “Now.”

Immediately, Jungkook pulls back to sit on his heels. Staring intently at your body, he strokes his half-hardened cock.

“Alright,” he said, his voice rough. “Touch yourself. Play with my cum inside you – that’ll get me so fucking hard.”

Spreading your thighs, you trail your fingers up and down your sex. Spreading yourself further, you give Jungkook the view he craves. When you sink a finger inside, he groans in approval and thumbs over his cock.

“Want you,” you say, watching him harden. “Want to feel you so deep in this pussy. Want you to fill me up with your cum and keep it there. Flip me over and fuck me so hard, I can’t walk tomorrow.”

Jungkook grunts, giving himself a final stroke before gripping your thigh to push towards your chest. Thrusting forward, he fills you in one stroke and you both groan in tandem.

“Fuck.” Jungkook stares, watching the last of his cum drip from your pussy. “You’re so goddamn tight, Y/N. Even tighter than before.”

“Feel… feel so full,” you say, breathless.

Jungkook’s gaze sparks as he slowly pulls out. “That’s it,” he breathes, pushing back in. “Gonna fuck all my cum right out of you. Fill you up a second time – you want that?”

“Yes,” you manage. “Please.”

“Then that’s what you’ll get,” he says, fucking you in rough thrusts which drive you up on the bed. “Gotta treat this pussy right.”

“You do,” you groan, face buried in his neck.

Jungkook’s hips are relentless, thrusting into you hard and making you tremble. Clinging to his back, you feel his steady thrusts bring you fast to the edge. You’re so close to breaking when Jungkook abruptly pulls out.

“Jungkook?” you say, dazed. “What are you –”

“Like this,” he says, shifting you to lay on your side. Grasping your knee, Jungkook lifts your thigh, pressing his hips to yours from behind.

Repositioning himself, Jungkook pushes back in. You gasp at the loss of control, everything feeling so wet and tight in the position. Releasing your knee, Jungkook gently pushes you forward to fuck you from behind.

“Jungkook,” you groan, pushing backwards.

“Yeah, princess?”

Your heart skips a beat. “I need… more.”

Sliding his arm beneath your knee again, Jungkook lifts your leg to open your body. The position allows him to get even deeper and, a groan slipping past, your eyes flutter shut.

“Keep your knee up,” Jungkook demands, and releases.

Hand sliding higher, he cups your breast to stroke over a nipple. Teasing, he trails lower to stop above your sex. When you whimper, he gives in and strokes in slow circles. Watching him touch you in the window reflection is an added rush.

“That’s it,” Jungkook murmurs, thrusting harder. “So fucking gorgeous. Ready to come so easily on my cock.”

“For you,” you moan. “Always for you, Jungkook.”

He growls, teeth scraping your neck as he draws his hand away and regrasps your leg. Pulling this higher, he tugs you against him to fuck even harder. Your entire body shudders, on the verge of release.

“Touch yourself,” Jungkook gasps. “I’m about to come.”

You obey, fingers slipping over your clit, lost in the feeling of him deep inside you. Already close to the edge, it doesn’t take long before you tighten around him. Pleasure breaks through you in a hard, quick orgasm which leaves you shattered. Jungkook comes soon after, moving inside you until the last of his cum trickles out.

He stays as long as he can but eventually, Jungkook pulls out. Grabbing a tissue, he returns to clean you and, once done, drops back on the mattress.

“That was…” Jungkook stares at the ceiling. “Amazing.”

Turning over, you loosely drape your arm over his chest. For once in your life, you don’t feel the urge to dissect what just happened. Gently, Jungkook lowers his head to brush a kiss to your temple.

“Yeah,” you exhale.

“I should probably clean up,” he says after a pause. “Want to use my bathroom? I can use the one in the living room.”

“Okay.”

Reluctantly, you pull back to place your feet on the floor. Staring out at the skyline, a thought suddenly occurs to you.

“Am I sleeping in here?” you ask, glancing over your shoulder.

Jungkook hovers, one foot on the ground. “Uh… I assumed so, yeah? Unless you want to stay upstairs?”

“No, no,” you hasten. “I want to stay here.”

“Oh, okay.” His shoulders relax. “Good.”

Jungkook’s grin makes you smile and, after retrieving your bag, you rush to get ready. Rather aggressively, you scrub your face – each second apart feels like wasted time. Once finished, you stare at your pajamas and then shake your head.

Heading to the door, you push it open a crack. Jungkook stands beside his dresser, plugging in his phone to charge. Despite what he said, he’s dressed in a new pair of boxers and not in the nude.

Pointedly, you clear your throat, and he turns.

Seeing you half in, half out of his bathroom, Jungkook lifts a brow. “Yes?”

Innocently, you blink. “Can I borrow a t-shirt?”

Shifting his weight, Jungkook crosses both arms. Again, this makes his biceps pop, and you narrow your gaze. His hotness infuriates you, amongst other feelings.

“Are you going to return any of my other clothing?” Jungkook asks drily. “Because I seem to be missing several other items.”

Eyes wide, you ask, “Are you sure it was me? Maybe your dry cleaner misplaced things.”

“Or I’ve loaned you several things you’ve yet to give back.”

“What can I say?” Grin wide, you shrug. “You smell good. That t-shirt I borrowed is my new favorite nightdress.”

Hearing this, his eyes go hazy with want. Silent, Jungkook turns around to walk towards his dresser. Withdrawing a large, cotton t-shirt, he turns around.

“You can have this,” Jungkook says, “on the condition my other items be returned.”

“Well, sure,” you say, accepting his t-shirt through the door. “Your other clothes don’t smell like you anymore. We’ll need a rotation.”

Faux annoyance vanishing, Jungkook leans down to press a kiss to your lips. “I don’t care,” he murmurs, pulling back. “Keep it. Keep all my shirts. I’ll walk around naked.”

“That would cause some serious traffic problems,” you say, slightly dazed.

Jungkook just grins, gesturing with one finger for you to turn around. Retreating to his bathroom, you slip his t-shirt overhead as you shut the door. Adding a fresh pair of underwear, you zip your bag shut and exit.

Jungkook is already in bed, his covers pulled back and waiting.

“Does Dante always sleep like that?” he asks when you climb inside.

“Like what?”

“You know.” Pulling a face, he mimics your sleeping dog. “On his back, with his tongue out.”

You can’t help but laugh. “That’s his natural state, I’ll have you know. How rude of you to judge him.”

“No judgment! I was scared I broke him.”

Grinning, you slide beneath his sheets. Draping your arm over Jungkook’s waist, you turn your head to rest on his chest. Gently, your fingers trail through the smattering of hair which leads to his boxers.

Frowning, you think about the last time you slept in the same bed. While that night at your apartment was wonderful, the morning after was less so and unthinkingly, your arm tightens. Staring at the ink on his chest, you trace Jungkook’s tattoos with your gaze and remind yourself how different things are.

“That night meant something to me,” he says quietly.

Startled, you look up. “What night?”

Jungkook exhales. “When I stayed at your place. When we slept together, and I… well, it had been a long time since I stayed at someone else’s place. Actually, ever.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.” He pauses. “I panicked. I woke up and saw you and… I knew this was special.” Jungkook’s gaze intensifies, needing you to understand. “I’d been feeling things for a while, but that was the day I woke up and… I just knew. But you didn’t want more than sex, and there I was, breaking the rules. I was terrified you’d wake up, look at me, and know. So, I left.”

“Jungkook…” you murmur, putting the pieces together.

He exhales. “It was stupid, but there it is. I’m sorry.”

“So, that day… you left because you felt too much?”

“Yeah. I tried to be casual about it in my text, but I think I may have overcompensated.”

Your lips twitch. “I’ll say.”

“I didn’t mean to hurt you.” His gaze softens. “I’m sorry if I did.”

“That makes two of us. But Jungkook… you already apologized for what happened before – so did I. This is a fresh start.”

“A fresh start, mm?” He fights back a yawn. “Sounds nice.”

“Mm.” You return your head to his chest. “Consider this a blank slate.”

Rather than relax, Jungkook tightens beneath you. Uncertain, you lift your head and find him staring at the ceiling. His brow furrows, deep in thought and you wait for him to speak whatever’s on his mind.

“I just… I should tell you more.” He swallows, and you watch his throat work. “About my childhood. About my family, and why I… why I am the way I am.”

“You don’t have to tell me right now,” you say, sensing how difficult this is. “I want to know more – I do. I want to know everything about you, Jungkook. It doesn’t have to be tonight, though. I’m not going anywhere.”

Grateful, Jungkook turns his head to look at you. Grasping your hand in his, he lifts them both to press a kiss to your fingers.

“Tomorrow,” he murmurs, lowering them to his chest. “I just… I want tonight to be about the two of us. No one else.”

You nod because you understand. It’s difficult to let people in; even the ones you want to know more about. Guilt steals through you though, knowing what you already do.

“You should know, though…” You hesitate. “Yoongi mentioned your childhood to me. He didn’t give specifics, but he gave a general idea.”

Jungkook merely chuckles. “I know,” he says softly. “And like I said, I’m not angry. Yoongi was right. I tend to let people think the worst of me – and rather than prove them right, I push them away. It’s something I’m working on in therapy.”

“Therapy, huh?” you murmur. “That’s great, Jungkook.”

“Been seeing them on and off. It’s a lot of change, taking over Jeon Energy. I thought it’d be good to talk through it all.”

“That’s really good,” you agree. “I’ve been thinking of doing the same.”

Jungkook simply nods and accepts this. After all, trauma never really disappears. It just becomes easier to deal with, something to live with and to know how to respond to.

“Anyways.” Jungkook swallows. “I wanted to tell you I’m trying. I want this. I want you. And I want to be better for me, too.”

Heart swelling against your ribcage, you press even closer.

“I want you, too, Jungkook,” you whisper. “It’s hard for me to trust, but I trust you. Completely.”

Cupping your chin in one hand, Jungkook lifts you to him for a kiss. When he pulls away, he rests his forehead against yours.

“You know the room you stayed in?” he murmurs.

Brow furrowing, you nod. “Yeah?”

Releasing your chin, Jungkook’s gaze shifts towards the door.

“I made that room for my mom,” he admits. “It was the type of space she liked, a style she would have picked. When she died…” He hesitates. “I was scared I’d lose that warmth in my life. That I’d turn into my father, obsessed with the family business. I think I did for a while,” he confesses, glancing down. “But now…”

Trailing off, Jungkook doesn’t finish his sentence, and you don’t make him. Taking his hand, you lower your head to his chest again. Jungkook’s arm tightens, pulling you closer, and your thigh ends up draped over his.

“You could never be like your dad,” you murmur against his skin. “Granted, I don’t know him well, but I know you, Jungkook. You helped me without asking for anything in return. You changed Jeon Energy from the inside and maybe that took a while, but it’s the kind of change that lasts. You’re the best person I know,” you add, your voice dropping. “If I need to spend the rest of my life reminding you, I’ll do it.”

Gently, Jungkook tilts your chin upward with his thumb. Your gazes meet, and you’re struck by the sudden realization that this man is yours.

Just as you’re his.

“Likewise, princess,” he murmurs and kisses you.

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! I hope you enjoyed :) This is the last chapter in this series. I will be writing an epilogue, but it will take place after this story. I do not have a tag list, so please do not ask to be added or ask about updates. My writing progress can be found in my updates schedule, linked in both my header and FAQ!

[Series Master List]

© kpopfanfictrash, 2022. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[ace-of-clubs-and-diamonds]

Too Late I'm Dead

After rushing out from a Jigsaw survivors meeting, you meet another survivor who isn't exactly intent on attending group therapy. A companionship blossoms, and then a friendship. And then, something else.

Rating: Explicit, NSFW 🔞 Fandom: Saw Pairing: Amanda Young x AFAB!Reader Word count: 5.1K Content warnings: Gore, mentions of self-harm (both in the Jigsaw trap context and the more typical context), trauma, PTSD, angst, discussions of disability (since a lot of Jigsaw traps are disabling), Saw is its own warning, smoking, alcohol consumption, flirting, kissing, making out, biting, vaginal fingering, friends to lovers, as is Saw tradition gay shit goes down in the bathroom, reader is AFAB but gender neutral AO3 link: Here

Author's Note: And here’s Blood Fest Week 3, with the keywords “twisted” and “fixation” and the prompts “traps” and “rage”!! “Traps”, of course, got me thinking about Saw. And since I’m down terribly bad for Amanda and have seen appallingly few fics for her…. well, why not? Underrated characters are kind of my signature anyway. Hope y’all enjoy! <3

“Hi everyone. My name is Brandon and…. I’m a Jigsaw survivor.”

A subdued chorus of Hi Brandons echoed around the small church room. You barely even bothered to mouth the words. The gesture felt about as empty as the tipped over plastic water bottle you’d discarded by your chair some time ago. There was coffee at the sad makeshift snack table too, as well as a box of pastries that looked a few days past their prime, but you figured you didn’t need the caffeine to make you any more jittery than you already were. Your leg was bouncing enough as it was.

“It’s been about a year since uh. Well.” Brandon smiled nervously and made a vague, fluttery gesture with his hands. “Well. You know.”

A quiet, obligatory response from the other people – a murmur, a nod of heads. You stared at your bouncing knee.

“I’ve made great progress with my recovery. My knees have healed really well. I can fully walk on them again, even run if I’m careful. My dog Rex doesn’t really like it when I’m careful though.” He laughed fondly. A couple others offered the obligatory chuckle. “They hurt if I get too eager with stairs. Or if it’s too humid. But it’s going really well. I’m really, really proud of the progress I’ve made.” He nodded, as if assuring himself.

He’d had to break both his knees in order to get out of his trap. Was in a wheelchair for months and only recently started moving around without it. Or so you’d been told.

You weren’t sure you’d be able to break your own knees.

“Somedays, though.” Brandon looked away from the loose circle you all formed. Blinked rapidly. “Somedays, it feels like I haven’t made any progress. Somedays it’s hard. Really hard. And it feels like I didn’t survive that trap. Or if I did, some part of me got left behind.”

Everyone else was nodding, some with sad, understanding smiles on their faces. Your own pulse thundered in your ears like a distant, approaching storm.

“It’s really hard to have hope on those days, but…. what else can I do?” He shrugged, a helpless smile on his face. “Give up? Wallow around in my own misery? I can’t live like that. No one can live like that. Not forever. You just have to choose. You have to make a choice, just like the choices we made to be here. You have to choose to live. You have to choose hope. Or else you just can’t survive.”

You shot to your feet, heartbeat pounding in your ears, chair scraping back. Every face in the room turned to look at you. The church felt too small. Your ribs felt too tight. You felt too…. seen.

Who was he to judge you for wallowing in what you’d fucking gone through?

You spun around and bee-lined for the exit.

The cool city air against your face was a relief as you barged through the church’s double doors. But you stopped in your tracks as you spotted someone else already there. A woman was sitting on the church stairs. She twisted around, eyebrows raised and half-hidden by the choppy, irregular bangs across her forehead.

“Uh. Hey,” you said, somewhat awkwardly.

She paused, as if uncertain. Of what? You weren’t sure. “Hey,” she eventually said back. Then, after another pause, she twisted further around, a frown crossing her features. “Is the meeting over?”

“No. I just needed some air.” Fuck, you needed something to calm yourself. You dug around in your jacket pockets until you found a lighter and a cigarette. “Um. Do you mind if I…?”

She stared at the cigarette in your hand with an expression you couldn’t quite decipher, but eventually shook her head no. You internally shrugged and lit up. The first drag uncoiled the tension that had built up in your muscles, and you breathed the smoke out on a relieved sigh.

The woman glanced between you and the church doors. “Having fun in there?”

Did she know? The place didn’t exactly advertise, but it wasn’t exactly a secret either. You scanned her face. She looked vaguely familiar, but you couldn’t quite place her. Had you seen her in the meetings before? “Oh, yeah, lots. You know. Fun therapy shit.” Supposedly, anyway. It was supposed to be some sort of Alcoholics Anonymous shit, but instead it was for the few survivors of an active fucking serial killer. Jigsaws Anonymous or whatever the fuck.

“Must be going well if you’re out here,” she said dryly, resting her chin on a propped-up fist.

You shrugged, taking another drag. “Well…” Did you really want to tell her about how Brandon’s words had hit just a little too close to home? How they’d made you feel too small, as if the sticks you’d used to prop up your fragile post-trap reconstruction of the world had suddenly snapped, and the weight of it all was now bearing down on you? She was a stranger waiting outside the church. She could’ve been some Jesus freak for all you knew.

Not that she really looked like one. Not with the sheer red shirt over a black bra and fishnet undershirt, or the combat boots, or the sheer exhaustion around her eyes.

She looked less like a Jesus freak and more like you did on the days you could bear to look in the mirror.

So you just shrugged again. “It can be a lot,” you said. “What about you? What’re you doing out here?” You hesitated. “There’re still seats open if you wanted to…”

“No thanks. I’m good.” She offered you a close-lipped smile. “I’ve heard enough of the sob-stories.”

Yeah. You could understand that.

She didn’t look like she was going anywhere, and you didn’t exactly have plans of your own. So you gestured to the stairs next to her. “Mind if I sit?”

“Be my guest.”

You sat to her right so the wind wouldn’t blow cigarette smoke into her face. The smooth grey stone steps were wide enough that it didn’t feel quite so awkward sitting in silence together. Even though you could feel her analyzing you as you took another puff.

You blew the smoke away and smirked dryly at the cigarette. “Think Jigsaw’s gonna put me in another deathtrap for smoking?” You ignored the tightening in your chest as you said the words. Ignored the tremor of unease. Surely it wouldn’t be enough. Surely lightning wouldn’t strike twice.

“He wouldn’t do that.” She said it with such simple certainty, as if it was an inarguable fact. Even still, you found yourself stubbing the cig out and searching for a trash can to toss it into. You didn’t want to just flick it into the grass. Maybe Jigsaw would get you for littering. Maybe he was really passionate about saving the planet.

Who needed to be God-fearing with the possibility of Jigsaw watching your every move?

You shook the thought off. Introduced yourself to the woman. You smiled awkwardly. “Um. I’d offer you my hand but my, uh–” Personal hell “–Trap involved a hand thing so. I’m not a big fan of handshakes these days.” It had taken a long time for the nerves to repair themselves in your hand. A long time and a shitton of agony and medication and physical therapy. You still hadn’t totally gotten rid of the tremor. Fine motorskills were still harder than before.

Before. That.

But the woman just gave a rueful, understanding sort-of smile. Funny how people smiled so much in the presence of trauma and pain. “Amanda. I still have trouble going to the dentist sometimes.”

Shit, that’s where you knew her from, wasn’t it? You’d heard of her, read about her before, seen a clip of her punching a journalist square in the nose when she tried to follow her. All the photos you’d seen had been such shit quality that you hadn’t recognized her immediately.

Amanda Young. The person who killed a man and rummaged around his guts to free herself from the machine hooked into her jaws. The first person to walk away from a Jigsaw trap. The first survivor. In a weird, fucked up way, it was almost like meeting a celebrity. A celebrity for the most depressingly specific thing possible.

You weren’t sure whether it would make things weird to bring that up. So you just nodded. “So. What’re you doing here then? Are you waiting for someone?”

“Mm no, not really.” Amanda scraped at the chipped black polish on her nails. “I just like to come here sometimes.”

You stared at her. Something about her reminded you of a deer, twitchy and ready to bolt at the slightest sign of danger. Or maybe not a deer. Deer looked like they’d snap in half if the wind blew too hard. Amanda…. did not. She was twitchy, but for some reason you got the feeling that she was just as likely to start kicking as she was to start running

Permanently caught between fight or flight.

You went with freeze, yourself. Or wallow, as Brandon had put it. Anger and embarrassment burned against your ribs.

“Hell of a place to visit.” You weren’t sure if you meant it as a light-hearted joke or a deadpan remark. The words came out somewhere in between.

“You’re one to talk.” She finally turned to you. It was the first time she’d actually met your eyes, you realized. “You actually believe all this bullshit?” she asked, gesturing to the church.

“Not really,” you admitted. “My therapist wanted me to go. Said it would help me to be around others who understand what I went through. That it would help me get closure or something. I didn’t want to. But he insisted.” You shrugged. He’d pestered you about it until you finally gave in a few weeks ago. He thought it would be good for you. Would help you heal. Really, it just made you want to fling yourself out of one of the church’s fancy stained-glass windows.

Amanda gave a derisive snort. You almost took offense until she said, “Half of the time these therapists don’t even know what they’re talking about. It’s a bunch of bullshit, too.” She propped her cheek on her fist again, giving you a side-long grimace. “People don’t change until they have to. Or until they’re forced to. A bunch of psychoanalyzing isn’t going to do anything.”

You…. strongly disagreed. But the slim scar peeking out from her sleeve kept you from saying that. “Bad experience with a therapist?” you asked, flicking your gaze away.

“It never really worked for me.”

“What did?” you asked cautiously.

She paused. Thought about it. Stared at you with an intensity that had you wondering what the hell was going on inside her head. Until eventually, “Jigsaw.”

You blinked. Stared. Tried to figure out how to respond to that.

She thought…. Jigsaw helped?

You didn’t want to judge. Fuck, that was exactly why you’d stormed out of the church. You were self-aware enough to realize that. Different things worked for different people, and different people responded to trauma in different ways, but….

The church doors squealed open. You both shot to your feet and turned around. Your fellow Jigsaw Anonymous members were leaving, the meeting over, spilling out from the doors with all the speed and excitement of molasses being poured out from a jar. You stepped to the side to let them come down the stairs. Amanda did the same, arm brushing yours, and you wrestled the urge to jerk away. You weren’t sure of the last time you’d actually touched someone, or the last time someone had touched you, aside from the gentle but coldly professional hands of doctors and emergency personnel. It was as startlingly foreign as it was familiar.

Amanda seemed completely unaware of your clashing emotions as her gaze locked onto something. You followed her stare to Brandon slowly making his way down the steps. A man with sandy-blond hair and a cane was with him, chatting, the both of them completely oblivious to either of you.

Did she know them? She was staring at them with such an undecipherable intensity and it was the only explanation you could think of. You glanced at the two men again, then back at Amanda. No… she wasn’t staring at them. She was staring at the blond man specifically.

It really wasn’t any of your business, but you couldn’t help but ask, “Do you two know each other?”

“Sorta,” was as much of a response as you got.

Once Brandon and the man reached the bottom of the ramp and went separate ways, Amanda turned back to you. It was just the two of you on the stairs now. And it was a little embarrassing how flustered you were just by her proximity. For fuck’s sake, you didn’t even know her.

Maybe your therapist was right. You did need to get out and be around people more. So you could remember how to fucking act normal again.

“Well.” Amanda bumped her arm against yours again. This time deliberately. You were pretty sure the facial expression you made was not a normal one. “See you round.”

Then she shoved her hands into the pockets of her cargo pants, hopped down the steps, and just. Walked away. You stared after her for longer than necessary.

She was impossible to get a read on. Weirdly confrontational, weirdly evasive, and weirdly magnetic anyway.

You kind of hoped you’d see her again.

She didn’t appear for the next few meetings you obligatorily dragged yourself to. It wasn’t until about a month later that you found her sitting out on the steps again. When you, again, had rushed out to clear your head when the room got too small.

“Hey stranger,” she said, tone somewhere close to teasing. It made you smile. Just a little.

“Hey,” you replied, approaching the stairs. And again, you gestured to the space beside her. “Mind if I join you?”

“Be my guest.”

And so you developed a bit of a routine. She appeared on the steps about once a month, for a reason she never shared and that you never really minded. You would sit on the stairs with her, and the two of you would shoot the breeze. It was a comfortable, casual companionship born from a common factor and convenience. It was never anything very deep. Neither of you were there for therapy, not really. You kept it light, casual. That was the point, wasn’t it?

At least until one day when Amanda was standing by the stairs before the meeting had even started. You didn’t bother to hide your surprise as you approached her and exchanged your usual heys.

“You coming in today?” you asked.

“No. I thought we could head somewhere else.” She tilted her head at you. There was a playfulness to her expression, her smile. A playfulness that made you both a little bit cautious and a little bit excited. “Somewhere a little more fun. Unless you want to stay here. For therapy.” She pointedly lifted her eyebrows at you as she said therapy.

You glanced at the church doors behind her. Really, talking to her about anything but the fact that you were both Jigsaw survivors had done a lot more for you than going to these stupid fucking meetings had.

“Only if you promise not to put me in a death game for smoking,” you joked. Or tried to, at least. It really wasn’t that funny. You winced at yourself. But Amanda, to her credit, just linked her arm through yours. You almost preened at the friendly touch.

“Deal,” she said.

She ended up taking you to a bar. A gay bar, more specifically. You were a bit surprised she’d clocked you so easily but never said a word – but then again, neither had you about her. So you supposed you couldn’t be too surprised.

From there, your casual companionship escalated into something much more like a genuine friendship. You got to know each other properly. You talked about your personal lives and hobbies and interests. You even talked a little bit about Jigsaw, and everything after that. You told her how you’d been struggling with insomnia and how you’d lost your job when you stopped showing up. Because of, y’know, being stuck in a deathtrap. And being too terrified to set foot outside your door for a while after. You told her about the new job you’d gotten and struggled to adjust to. And you told her about your hands.

Nails through the palms Jesus-style. Because according to the hoarse voice on the tape that now haunted your nightmares – “Idle hands are the devil’s workshop”. She’d winced as you told her the story one evening. You’d winced as you’d recollected it. The pain shooting through your fingertips, up your arms, into your very fucking bones. The squelch of blood and muscle, the way you hadn’t been able to stop from screaming or the tears from spilling as you twisted and ripped your hands free of the metal spikes.

It was a miracle they didn’t introduced any infections into your bloodstream, the doctors had told you. A miracle.

You told Amanda how your hands still shook, were still a bit weak. How some days they were worse and some days they were better. And how fine motor skills had become hard now, whereas before you’d taken them for granted. God, had you taken them for granted. You’d been able to write your name, use a knife and fork, all that shit, so damn easily.

It had taken a lot of getting used to.

Amanda has just listened and nodded her head. Understanding. Not offering the grating sympathy people so often flung your way, all the while looking uncomfortably unsure of what to do with your presence and your hands and your experience and your trauma. But Amanda understood. Because of course she did. She knew what you’d been through and where you were coming from.

And she’d even smiled a bit mischievously, glancing down at your hands on the bar counter, and said, “Well, if you ever need help with anything, I’m pretty good with my hands. I could always lend a finger or two.”

Maybe it was the little smirk on her face, the glint in her eye when she said it. Maybe it was the loneliness and then the sudden friendship. Or maybe you’d just been a little too buzzed, but her words had remained lodged in your mind as you tried to go to sleep that night.

Amanda had shared things about herself, too, in the time you’d spent together. It had taken a little longer for her to open up – she was a bit slower, a bit more cautious. She seemed a lot more eager to listen than to do the talking. And you couldn’t fault her for that. But eventually, you learned that she worked as a mechanic, knew a lot about fixing and building machines and shit like that. She had a pet guinea pig that she’d acquired entirely by accident. His name was Pigeon. Her favorite color was red, her favorite bands were Nine Inch Nails and Hole, and her favorite movie was The Princess Bride. Her dad was a piece of shit she hadn’t seen in over a decade, and her relationship with her mom was strained at best. She was an only child.

You’d also learned more about her Jigsaw trap. How she’d become a drug addict in prison, how she’d woken up in a Jigsaw trap for it. How the little puppet with swirls on its cheeks had rolled out of the darkness on a tricycle and told her that she’d survived. And how she’d ended up in a trap a second time, a hellish prison of a house with several other people, most of whom had died.

The news had nearly brought your drink back into your throat. Lighting did strike twice after all. He did pick the same victims more than once.

God, maybe you really did need to quit smoking.

Amanda had placed her hand on your arm. Touch gentle but grounding all the same. And she’d assured you that that wouldn’t happen to you, Jigsaw wouldn’t choose you again. He had no reason to. She said it so confidently, and you so desperately wanted to believe her. That you wouldn’t be taken a second time. Or that she wouldn’t be taken a third. Not that she seemed too concerned about it.

That was the strange thing about her. When she told you about what had happened, she stared down at the counter. Her hands shook a little bit. The memory terrified her.

And yet…. she had this fixation on the idea that Jigsaw had helped her. The trap had gotten her off drugs. It had put her on a completely different path in life. Rather than dying from a drug overdose, she’d gotten clean. He saved me, she’d said, eyes wide and earnest and afraid.

You’d fought against the urge to argue that, to say No, he didn’t save you, he almost killed you. The idea of Jigsaw possibly helping – all while you struggled to sleep and were plagued by nightmares as you did, while you struggled to make your handwriting legible, while you fought the urge to bolt back home as soon as the sun started lowering in the sky? The idea felt like swallowing glass.

Had Jigsaw ever made anyone do that?

But you didn’t say any of that to her. People dealt with trauma in different ways. You supposed this was just her way of dealing with it. And it wasn’t really hurting anyone, so who were you to judge?

It certainly didn’t stop you from going to the bar with her regularly. It didn’t stop you from laughing with her, from getting close to her both emotionally and physically till the edge of your seats were almost touching and your arms were practically interlinked.

It didn’t stop the spark of warmth in your chest when she offered a genuine smile. Or the electric feeling that shot through your veins when she traced her fingers over your knuckles one night, after the conversation had lulled and your drinks had gone lukewarm.

“I wanna try something,” she said, voice soft enough that you would’ve missed it had you not been sitting so close your thighs were pressed together.

Eye contact right now would’ve been like staring into the sun. So instead, you stared at her hand on top of yours. Her knuckles were scratched up as if she’d gotten into a fight. “Sure,” you said slowly. “What did you have in mind?”

Amanda turned to you. You cautiously met her gaze. Christ, it really was like looking at the sun. Warm and beautiful but intense. Burningly intense.

Confusion turned to shock as Amanda hooked two fingers into the neck of your shirt and tugged you closer till her lips were hitting yours. You must’ve made a noise of surprise, because she drew away almost immediately. It was all you could do not to chase her and ask why did you stop? A small crease appeared between her eyebrows and she opened her mouth. And God for a second you thought she was going to apologize, when in fact she really didn’t need to because holy shit.

“Oh thank fuck,” you blurted. “You were flirting with me.”

Concern turned to surprise. Then Amanda laughed, the sound pure relief. “Yeah, I was. Did it take you that long to figure it out?” she teased.

“Uh.” Your face warmed. “Maybe.”

She grinned, then grabbed you by the shirt and kissed you again. Gentle but insistent. Her other hand curled around your nape. You didn’t know what the hell to do with your own hands until one curled around her back and the other ended up braced against the bar counter.

The bar counter. Right. You were very much in public. Sure, it was a queer bar, but it was still public.

So you reluctantly pulled away. Amanda looked confused for a moment before you said, “Hey, maybe we should… do this somewhere else?”

She blinked at you. Then, wordlessly, she wrapped a hand around your wrist and pulled you off your seat. She dragged you past the other patrons and tables – it was a quieter night, so you didn’t have to fight through a sea of people – and pushed through one of the bathroom doors, yanking you in with her and locking the door behind you.

“There,” she said. There was a look to her eyes, a look that made your heart stumble and your entire body go warm. “We’re somewhere else.”

This time when she kissed you, you let her fully take the lead. You slid your arms around her and melted into the kiss, sighing against her. It just made her more eager. She prodded at your lips with her tongue, slipped inside with a sweet little moan that had your heart racing. Sent your head spinning. You backed up till you hit a wall, dragging Amanda with because fuck you weren’t breaking this kiss. Not as she was getting to know you with her teeth and her tongue. She tasted like alcohol and peaches, smelled of loam and sweat and faintly of men’s store-brand bodywash. It was heady, intoxicating. Addicting.

Her hands slipped under your shirt. You shuddered at the exposure to the overly air-conditioned bathroom. Shuddered harder at her warm touch roving across your skin, the slight drag of fingernails over your stomach. Amanda broke the kiss with a wet smack as your muscles tensed underneath her.

“You’re so cute,” she teased. She dragged her fingernails over your skin again with just a little more pressure. You arced into her touch. Fuck. Fuck.

You wished you could come up with some kind of response. Something to convey just how much you were aching for her, both emotionally and physically. How badly and how deeply these emotions were running through you. But words were currently beyond your grasp.

Amanda leaned in and nibbled at your neck as her fingers slid past your waistband and teased the edge of your underwear. You clamped your teeth down on your bottom lip. Heat swirled through your veins, in your stomach, at the base of your spine. You moved your hips a little, just a little, to urge her on. Nails dug into the soft flesh there. A whimper escaped.

“Mandyyyyyyy.”

“Yeahhhhhhh?” She was all mischief and smugness as she looked back up at you. It just made you more desperate.

“Mandy. Please?” You gave her your best pleading look.

“You’re so impatient.” She said the words lightly, playfully. But she must’ve been impatient too, because she was pushing your underwear down. When her fingers brushed against your clit, you gasped and dropped your head back against the wall. Fuck, God, yes, right there –

“You sure you only just figured out I was flirting with you? You seem pretty fucking wet already.” She punctuated her words with a slide of her fingers against you. Because yeah, you were fucking wet. It would’ve been a little humiliating if you weren’t so achingly desperate for her touch.

“Yeah, well.” You drew in an unsteady breath as she circled your clit. A teasing touch that wasn’t quite enough. Fuck, it was impossible to form a coherent thought. “You’re just…. really fucking hot.”

It was hardly eloquent. But her breath puffed against your neck in a laugh. And you figured it would do for now.

She kissed the hollow of your throat, firmly rubbed her thumb against your clit. You practically bucked against her. Her other hand hooked under one of your thighs and lifted, and you threw your leg around her waist. Let out a moan at how it changed the sensation. “Yeah, like that,” Amanda breathed. “Just like that.” She said it as if you were touching her, as if she wasn’t the one doing all the work, wasn’t the one making you writhe and whimper and leak over her precise fingers.

Christ, you hadn’t felt this good in a while.

The pace was languorous, exploratory, testing what made you shiver and dig your nails into her shoulders and gasp for breath. As if she was intent on taking you apart and finding out exactly what got you going – a machine to figure out and put back together. Slowly, slowly, but in a way you savored, you felt the tension inside of you building up and coiling tight like a spring. You were quivering. Your clothes clung to your sweat-sheened skin. The music spilling into the bathroom from the bar wasn’t quite enough to cover the ragged breathing and wet, rhythmic noises, and it just made the whole thing feel even dirtier. Especially with how Amanda was panting against you, as if she was getting off just from you getting off and fuck it made you clench.

When she picked up the pace, you weren’t able to stop the gasps and moans that spilled out of you, the way you panted and pleaded her name. The sound of her fingers squelching against you had you burning. And when your release hit you cried out, clenching, shaking, clinging to Amanda’s shoulders and digging your nails in as you rode out the high. She didn’t stop, didn’t relieve the pressure against your clit. White hot pleasure burned through your body till tears pricked at your eyes. Distantly, she said something. Soft, sweet words that didn’t quite reach your ears as they rang from the intensity of your orgasm.

She only stopped when you went limp against her. Only pulled away from the mess you’d made – that she’d made too, really – to wrap her arms around your hips and kiss you, deep and slow, as if trying to commit you to memory. You lazily brushed your tongue against hers. Your muscles felt like taffy, worn out in the best way.

“You were right,” you said when you parted. “You really are good with your hands.”

Amanda grinned so widely and genuinely that you couldn’t stop yourself from capturing her lips again. Fuck. You might’ve been a little bit in love. Or maybe that was the post-sex endorphins talking. You weren’t sure. You didn’t particularly care either way.

“I think I owe you an orgasm,” you said.

Amanda brushed her nose against yours. For the first time since you’d met her, she actually seemed truly, fully relaxed. As if she’d properly lowered her guard just now, just in this moment, just for you. “Maybe next date.” The words sent a flutter through your chest. Next date. There’d be a next date. “But first,” she said, moving away to grab some paper towels, “we gotta get you cleaned up.”

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I am i the asshole for being a solo player? (obligatory emoji for future reference: 🍧 ) TW: dead by daylight

So I'm playing dead by day light. (A 4 V 1 game where its 4 survivors (teams are optional) V one killer) i'm playing on my own at 4am and i end up on a match where my other 3 team mates are acting super weird, not healing me when i'm hurt, generally kind of avoiding me and over all, acting like solo players, which i get. The first person to die, died quite quickly, second person died while i was doing objectives (repairing gens) and i kept my distance from the killer who always stayed quite close to the person who was "on hook (dying)" because i was injured and didn't know if i could trust my 'team' to save me since they weren't healing me when or helping me do the objectives at all (powering up generators. did at least one or two on my own by the time it was down to two people)

it wasn't till it was a 2 V 1. we were both injured and they were on hook about to die. i'm half way across the map and injured. i know if i try and go for the save i die, or rather, we both die. So i let her die and opt to go for the last person emergency exit: Formally known as hatch and by the sheer grace of god i get it. Only person to get out of four people. yeah i'm mad we couldn't get the gens done and more than one of us get out but at this point it was: The first dead seeming to give up because they died less than 2 minutes into a match, the second one dying because they hit strike 3 and thats what happens and yeah third person died because it was either them or both of us. So i tried being a good team mate and messaged them all saying 'good game well played' because it was a good game. we got most the gens done even if all but one person died.

AND THIS IS WHEN I LEARN THEY WERE A FUCKING TRIO: and they start giving me so much shit "YoU leT uS dIe" "EdGe MaP-" "you could have taken a hit!" (ignoring the fact i was one hit to be downed most that match) that means they were all talking and in full communication when i was clueless about what they had planned? because with they way they played i thought they were 3 separate solo players because what how would i have known they were a team.

Here's the thing, before a match starts you get a whole minute, minute and a half to prep before a match starts. we were all on xbox, they could have easily added me in to a party and said "Hey, we're a trio, we have a plan" or even "hey we're a trio, you wanna join us and make a team?" because how the hell was i meant to know you were a team with a plan otherwise? I feel like its not my fault they wanted to risk it and leave it to chance for a 4th member to not know what was going on but with the way they ignored me most the match makes me think i was going to be their spare person at least or their sacrificial Meg at most which does happen a lot. So how was i meant to know any of what they had planned and AITA for whatever they're mad about?

What are these acronyms?

[yellowcry]

School in Encanto!

You all know it's time to headcanon!

The education in Encanto isn't essentially great. As it found by the bunch of refugees without good supplies.

Kids up to one-two years gap in age sometimes can be put in the same class. It mostly depends on how many children were born during this year. If there's just a few, they would be put with another class to save up space and people to educate them. It was especially evident in the early years. As for the first ten years or so childbirth had really low rate until the village had actually set.

In the opposite side, if too many kids were born in one year and class doesn't have enough supplie for them all, the eldest can be sometimes put into the older group, or yongest of generation can be put into younger.

Boys and gurls tend to be put in the opposite sides of the classroom.

The school does learn the basic of Arithmetics, Spanish. For History kids for the more part focused on learning about Latin America and Colombia specifically. Same goes for geography, which is hugely focused on Encanto as well. They do learn about other parts of the world too, but it's often shallow and doesn't get much attention. As living in a closed village with no exiting way out makes information about other climat types and geography relatively useless aside from general development.

For the bigger part, Encanto school is focused on practical skills for everyday use. Sewing, cooking, how to fix broken things or take care of the animals. It doesn't come to the professional level, but is solely enough to survive on their own even if their parents don't teach them anything (which they almost always do) as these are somethings you need to survive.

In general, school isn't obligatory, but is heavily encorauged to get your kids into. If for some reason kid doesn't go at school, they would be visited from time to time. To check their intellectual development. If it turns out they lack some basic knowledge, such as arithmetics, Latin America geography or a proper level of Spanish (and most others) they will be forced to visit classes.

A good shred of Catholic education too. Both at school and after Sunday service. Religion had important role in the time. And even outside from classes focused of in it, most time different aspects of reality are explained with Bible perspective.

Madrigal specifics headcanons

Gifted Madrigals are allowed to skip school when it comes to using their gifts to help the community. They are technically requested to complete tasks later. But most people just let them slide.

Isabela probably wasn't the best student in her time. Not essentially bad, but she was much interested in more stuff. Plus the pressure as the first born grandkid and the pretty Madrigal. Alma took her out of school in the last years to focus Isabela primarly on her future role as the leader of Encanto. Which Isabela was surprisingly good at, as she's a very natural leader. Also, Isabela sucks with deadlines. Hugely because of pressure to he perfect. She spends a tupid amount of time making a perfect cover/beginning and at the night before the dew day realises the has about two million more pages to write.

Dolores is far better than Isabela. More patient and reversed. And Dolores in generally smart. Her hearing also helps her with being observant of what the teacher is saying. However she definitely ruined lections several times. Just because she heard something interesting and couldn't keep her mouth shut about it. When Isabela left, Dolores pretty much stopped visiting most of lections/non-practical classes. However she still listened to them and kept the notes that she showed to her teacher so nobody concinderedered her as dropout. And if Dolores thinks today's topic is extremely interesting, it would be completely normal to see her sneaking in at the middle of lecture like there's nothing wrong with it.

Luisa is coming closer to Isabela. Pretty restless and prefers physical activity. Also you do know who would have the most chores to skip school. No, of course she wasn't absent completely, but it happened more often than with the other kids. But if Luisa locks in then she locks in and you will never pull her off the books. Also as complete opposite of her sister, Luisa is always going her homework exactly the same day. Workaholism doesn't like when she slacks off her responsibilities.

Camilo is extremely outgoing/social. Is definitely the type that comes in school to talk with his friends. And then it depends on who is in today and who is not. Also pretty restless but in more outgoing way than Luisa. Likes chatting a lot and definitely interrupts teacher a lot by accident. Would extremely take his sister/older cousins old assigments and copy them. He's honestly not a big fan of school so well.

Mirabel is considered the most talented student among the grandkids. Which she usually dismisses as not a big achievement, feels that because she never has to miss anything to help the communituy she will be privileged here. She really overdoes it to make up for the lack of gift she has, tends.to perfectionism the same way Isabela was. Only that Mirabel actually spends her time correctly and it's all decent and not rushed everywhere. Plus, Mirabel is very observant and patient, which also makes her get many clues and understand the pattern of the things she learns simular to Dolores. Secretly enjoys when teachers are praising her as it's one of the little amount of attention she gets, especially being noticed by someone outside of her family.

[guardian-angle22]

911 LONE STAR REWATCH 2024 ↳ favorite things I noticed or appreciated more upon rewatch

1.06 Friends Like These

This scene in the firehouse kitchen is so short and yet there’s so much I want to shout out. First up being Paul making a comment that I feel in my bones. I could just tack this onto literally any conversation tbh.

TK and Marjan exchanging a high-five as she exits.

At first you think TK is making this coffee for himself, but then it turns out he’s making it for his dad, he's just drinking a mineral water. He is a sweetheart and I love it. Also this is the 2nd time we see him making coffee for someone else...Coffee as a love language confirmed.

also must appreciate the excellent looks happening here for Paul & TK.

I love this little moment of Owen ribbing into TK like this, again must point out how much I love their bond especially in s1… However, this line is confusing to me in hindsight because it’s TK saying ~some of us will be having only mineral water~ in response to Judd saying they’ll go get beers… but no one in this conversation except Owen knows about his addiction at this point so why would he say that in front of all of them as if they know the context? idk just feels like some clunky writing.

the way Judd tosses this manual away is so fucking dramatic and extra and I love him.

obligatory thirst portion of this recap for workout TK.

I'm now playing a game called "how many horses and firetrucks can I find in the Ryder household?"... the props department was told this is the house of a lifelong firefighter and texan and they said we got u boo.

[brenayla]

I really enjoyed your Midnight piece! Can I request more of Julie’s perspective, especially as mulder and Scully’s relationship evolves into romantic, a baby, etc.? Idk how far you’d be willing to follow them, but I really enjoyed it and would definitely tune in to see this perspective all the way thru post-revival even

hi! thanks for tuning in. sorry this took a bit.

---

Little Amber Lynn’s mama will only speak to Mulder.

In the second floor bedroom, Julie watches him take her statement from a distance, hyper-aware that Scully is lurking somewhere beneath their feet.

To say that he inspires trust would not be completely accurate. He wraps a silk hand around your neck, looks at you with his black hole eyes, and compels information from the back of your throat.

They inspire admiration, even from those that try to cover it up with silly nicknames.

They inspire a dread like anaphylaxis settling in.

Even Skinner seems to feel it today, having apparently done something to piss off Scully. As everyone mills around outside the house, preparing to head out, she snaps with staticky irritability.

Now, Julie is no gossip but she finds herself eavesdropping on them, pretending to review her notes as she waits for her carpool. She has always held a curiosity for Skinner.

“Did you get the keys?” Scully asks.

“Yes.” Skinner offers her two sets, each dangling with the evergreen motel tag that’s looped onto Julie's own room keys.

In Julie’s peripheral vision, Scully stares down their boss and swipes one set of keys from his hand. She turns and crisply walks to her car in a swarm of black ice shards, dripping liquid mercury.

That is one mystery solved; a drop in the ocean.

Quietly, Skinner slips the leftover set into his pocket.

Mulder turns up in the Oregonian woods, smack dab in the middle of a crater that didn’t used to be there. At least that’s what Skinner tells Julie when he calls.

It all sounds like something that is not her problem but she’s smarter than to word it like that. “I’m sorry, Sir,” she tries instead, “but has a crime been committed?”

“It’s violent, Agent,” he snaps. “Get your ass on a plane.”

Julie does.

With white gloved fingers, she collects the burnt tatters of Mulder’s old clothes into evidence bags. When she goes to see him in the hospital, he is bright and freezer cold. There is not a scratch on his incandescent skin.

She is here, too. Suited up, thousand-watt Scully. She runs her crystalline talons through Mulder’s hair under the guise of checking for injuries and Julie has to turn away for air.

“What’s the last thing you remember?” Julie asks him, Scully looming in the doorway and picking at Julie’s training to scan for an alternative exit.

“You mean before I woke up in the woods in my birthday suit?” Mulder asks.

“Yes,” Julie says, her hindbrain blaring at her to turn around, there’s something behind you. “Before that.”

“Aside from the ship and damn near getting abducted, not much. Skinner can confirm that, he was there.”

Julie relents and glances to the doorway, but it’s just Scully. Arms crossed, masked up.

“Scully,” Mulder says, and she reluctantly steps out into the hallway, halving the clamor of Julie’s fight-or-flight.

It has been years since she interacted with one of them without the other; she’d almost forgotten that they are more palatable alone.

“Sorry about that.” Mulder gives a playful smile, showing off iridescent teeth. For a flash, his fangs drip with ripe cherry blood. Julie blinks. “She’s a little on edge,” he explains.

She wants to lean in; she wants to run away.

“Agent Mulder. How did that crater get there?”

Mulder lies to her. “I don’t know.”

It’s been an exhausting fall and Julie has already attended far too many of these obligatory charity events. American flag pins abound; teary late night talk show hosts. There is a curdling thirst for vengeance in Congress and a frenetic unease in the public.

She and Kramer camp out near the snack table, gorging themselves on free candy to make up for skipping lunch.

“Am I going to Hell if I say I’m getting tired of these?” Kramer asks, setting his carefully folded KitKat wrapper down. It springs back into its old form.

“If you do, I’ll be down there with you.” She watches him reach for a Snickers.

He continues quietly, tearing off a neat slice of flag-colored foil. “I just– There’s only so many times I can listen to these speakers. I get that it’s…”

Over his shoulder, she spots Skinner and – yes, it is him; they are easier to tell apart once they start speaking – Mulder in a black dress shirt, a baby strapped to his chest.

“…but it’s fucking depressing, and–”

“Hey,” Julie whispers. “Your favorite former coworker is here.”

Mouth sticky with caramel and nougat, Kramer asks, “Huh?”

She tilts her head towards Mulder; she cannot look at him for too long, having gone soft from lack of exposure to them. He’s giving her blue and purple echoes, like she’s been staring at the sun.

“Oh yeah, I saw Scully earlier with the…,” Kramer says, gesturing to his torso where a BabyBjorn would sit.

Ah but are you sure it was Scully?

Quickly moving on, Kramer says, “I didn’t think he was so progressive.”

“What did you think then? Scully, barefoot and pregnant?”

He nods thoughtfully, conceding. “I guess you got a point there.”

Julie digs into the sweets bowl until she finds a rare leftover KitKat. “Did you see their kid?”

“Yeah,” Kramer says, popping the rest of his Snickers into his mouth. “Little boy.”

She holds back her real question. They still dance around this, like verbalizing it would make it Real.

But did you see his face?

[angel-of-hunky-doryness]

How Disney (Unintentionally) Created The Most Sympathetic Disney Villain

Yes, we're talking about Hades. So strap in, folks, this is gonna be a long one.

It may or may not come to a surprise to some of y'all that Mr. Hot head is my favorite Disney Villain. His charm, his sass, and above all his sarcastic one-liners, what isn't there to love about this walking-talking wheeling and dealing Mephistopheles archetype with the most basic villainous ambition of taking over the world.

Okay, fine, the cosmos. But at the end of the day, Hades has a very cut and dry appearance in Disney's Hercules. He doesn't even have nearly as much screentime as other Villains as I had previously believed.

First appearing quite apropos in the shadiest corner of Olympus ready to raise hell and all manner of chicanery just to incite misery to a newborn baby, only to exit stage left to cue the villainous side-plot with a bit of prophetical verse thrown in for good measure. A plan comes into being and he orders a hit on the aforementioned baby, only for the hit to fail despite y'know being the yutz in charge of the land of the dead *cough cough*

18 years pass and suddenly Hades has to completely 180 his plans, focusing not on his intended target of Olympus but the prophecy hero he thought he already axed. And so he unleashes a horde of monsters upon the city of Thebes as a result. The Titans are freed for some reason, Olympus is easily defeated and rescued, and then so is the plot device- I mean the Titans, and Hercules gives Hades the one punch man treatment, and so Hades is left to reconsider his life choices for all of eternity swirling in the Phlegethon/abyss. Pick your poison, either work.

Alright, cool, glad I got that out of the way. Oh, hold on, my sponsor, is giving me that beady eyed stare to remind our lovely audience that Meg was also an unfortunate victim in Hades' scheme. We'll get to Meg and Hades' relationship in a future post, but to summarize, Hades' treatment of Meg is far, far harsher and has tons more animosity than Hades and Hercules- the titular character mind you- ever had.

But I digress.

Despite, Hades' antagonistic role in the film, there are many, many nuggets that Disney gives that allows the audience to sympathize with his lot in life.

In his very quick introduction- it's a Disney movie the plot has to establish quickly cuz animators have lives too. Insert obligatory pay animator's fairly line here.

We have what I like to call Exhibit Alpha: The Introduction.

Now Disney Villains are no strangers to a dramatic introduction.

I couldn't find the exact gif of Maleficent appearing, but I ended up putting the one above because it proves my point. Everything about Maleficent strikes fear in the hearts of her audience. Everyone is watching her every move because they know she's a formidable threat.

When Hades makes himself known, the Olympians aren't scared or spooked like King Stefan and the 3 fairies were when Maleficent first appeared.

They're annoyed.

To them, Hades is the weird uncle no one invited, but shows up anyway. If anything, it looks like the gods have dealt with him before and know how to put on the cold shoulder to get him to leave faster.

The only one oblivious to all this is Zeus who invites him to stay and enjoy the party. But Hades isn't an idiot. He's very aware of the chilly reception he's getting and declines with this one-liner:

Keep this line in mind, we're going to circle back to it.

Zeus then proceeds to meet Hades with a quip right back and a very punny one at that, earning the first laugh since Hades arrived, and one at Hades' expense.

A laughing fit ensues and Hades storms off in a quiet rage.

A short scene indeed, but it tells us a lot about Hades, Zeus, and the gods.

Hades is an outcast.

Boo-hoo, homeboy just needs a girlfriend. Maybe a flaming flower-picking one, but that's neither here nor there.

Now, the interchange between Zeus and Hades makes it very clear how Hades started to become excluded from his family. Hades is absent to a lot of social gatherings and most of it is because of his job. A job that deals with stiffs, the dead, the dearly departed, however you wanna slice it.

Now before you say- well he was scheming to take over the cosmos on his free time, what do we see in the very next scene?

Over 5 billion souls served. Hades is a busy guy and the movie makes it really clear that even in his spare time meeting with the Fates, the work is piling up. Maybe that's why he's a fast talker, he's always moving and grooving so he can get some time to relax.

Yeah, yeah, we saw him smite some of his people on his small world boat ride, but considering we only see one god working in the underworld, he doesn't have the time of day for them and after eons of this drudgery he's gotten quite apathetic to their pleading.

The shades are just as doomed as him really.

Now we're going to gloss over a few scenes and move to Exhibit Beta: The Thebans.

Hold the phone, Hades isn't even in this scene.

My point exactly. Hades is a bit busy amassing a horde of monsters. Hecc, none of the disgruntled Thebans even mention a monster in their list of disasters. The Monster Mash party starts after Hercules rolled into town thanks to Meg after her failed recruitment of Nessus.

So what does that tell us? Whoever causes floods, earthquakes, fires probably caused by lightning incited these disasters not Hades. Hmm, on a weird side note, I don't think Hades' brothers, the earthshaker or god of storms, fit those descriptions at all.

All these disasters were happening while the Olympians did nothing. It wasn't unheard of for the ancient greek gods to send wayward mortals to do their bidding and help people or free them from monsters, so why does Phil put it upon himself to take Hercules out for the hero life? (Yeah Disney should've included the presence of other gods working on earth to make them out to really be responsible and helpful, hell maybe have Hermes fly in congratulating Herc for completing his training and direct him towards Thebes)

It's almost like Hades is the only god who's present or aware of the woes on earth. Sure he adds to it, but are the Olympians really lounging about doing nothing in this movie?

Exhibit Gamma: Storming the Palace

....

I have no words. Zeus and Hera could've been doing paperwork?? Looking out for their son??? Have a meeting with the Pantheon and that's why they're suddenly blindsided by the Titan attack???

Hades, though sassy, though sarcastic, and just a bucketful of ruthless and malicious described the Olympians to a T.

Hecc, the Olympians had no idea the Titans were out destroying the world until they were literally on their front doorstep. If Hades had told them to destroy half of Greece, they would've done so before the Olympians noticed.

And it's so contrived, but the only reason Hades lost was b/c Hercules shows up and frees some of the gods. Like if one other god was not on Mount Olympus they could've come save the day. But every god was there. Make that a fanfic y'all. ONe where the one god who was- I don't know confined to their island or something wondering where her mother went and so she has to gather all the nymphs and natures spirits to save olympus or some drivel like that.

Hermes had to sound the trumpet like judgement day to get the gods rocking and rolling. And that's not even considering how Hades gets punched into oblivion.

Exhibit Delta: Revelation 20:14 (NIV)

The one god who did his job has been thrown in prison??? Zombie apocalypse??? Is that you??? Where's Shawn when you need him???

Confine him to the underworld, Wonder Boy. Get your Greece Lightning father to take care of business in a flash. He'd get you Meg back in an instant. Just ask nicely. We know Psyche is in attendance. Meg deserves it after all she went through.

I know it's more dramatic, but the world of Hercules is absolutely screwed. Talk about a happy ending with terrible implications for the state of the world. Meg and Hercules are going to die and be sent to an afterlife with no deity to even send them to Elysium, and that's if Hades comes back at all.

*Takes a long drink from my pina colada*

I didn't mean for this post to turn into a hate show on the Disney Olympians. I'm just, I always knew Disney messed up hard on this movie. And yes I adore the hell out of it, but making a villain more sympathetic and likable than the hero? When I started writing this I didn't think it would get this bad, but the more I looked into it?

I haven't even touched how Hades has the worst employees, having to put up with his imps? The Titans who don't even know where the tallest mountain is?

For all his manipulation with Meg, Hades did give her everything he promised her. He's a devil sure, but he's a god of his word. He couldn't even force Meg to seduce Hercules, he had to convince her with some extra added relinquish your soul type bit. Hell, he was even willing to negotiate with Hercules after hurting his dog.

To finish off, even with those nuggets sprinkled in, at the end of the day Hades is a villain through and through. Yes, he's fun, yes, every single one of his lines is an improvised banger, but that's kind of the point.

One of the directors of Hercules once described Hades as being the type of evil that's attractive. Drags you in with promises of honey until you find yourself drowning in mercury. He's Mephistopheles offering you a Faustian deal, Satan with the apple, and this author trying to advertise their terrible fanfic that delves into this very topic.

I remain ever yours, dear readers.

Till next time.

[tadpolesonalgae]

Dark!Eris x reader: Bruises and Burn Marks[***]

Summary: you and your husband own a small flower shop that also sells some baked goods on the weekends.

Warnings: Noncon, spitting, degradation, spanking, light bondage, heavy sexual assault.

The bell rings as someone enters your shop, and you go to greet them, grabbing the bouquet of dried plants you were attempting to tie together as you bring them into the front. Your eyes pick him out immediately. He looks a little out of place in the worn and comfy shop.

The male wears tailored corduroy trousers, the colour of the autumn maple leaves in the back garden. Over his torso is a crisp linen shirt, hardly a fold to be seen, absolutely immaculate. Over top that, is a dusty red waistcoat sewn from jacquard fabric, the subtle indentation of curled leaves splaying across the beautifully elegant material. It fits him perfectly, clothes tailored down to his ankles and wrists. Pristine.

“Welcome!” You greet, cataloguing the fine clothes, the lone ring that sets his thumb—an heirloom, perhaps?—his perfectly coiffed hair looking silky as it cascades over his broad shoulders. “Is there anything in particular I can help you with today, sir?” You offer a small curtsy, dipping your head as you place him as a probable member of the aristocracy. He’ll likely be searching for a courting gift, or an obligatory present for an evening soirée.

“I shall summon you if necessary.” Is all he replies, whiskey and caramel eyes skating over your figure and returning to the menagerie of mostly dried plants. You swallow down a sigh. Males like him can be…tricky. You clear your throat, plastering on a bright smile, “either I or my husband, Wilbur, will be happy to aid you, sir.” And with that you return to your counter, tying the dried stems together before wrapping them in some brown paper.

When you’ve finished, your eyes flick to the clock on the wall, marking the hour as noon, making you smile. Lunch time. You pull out the cloth from beneath your desk, taking it with you as you head for the back door that will take you to the garden. You hesitate, before turning over your shoulder to peer at the male. You steel your spine as you walk over to him, stopping an appropriate distance away, and wait for him to take notice of you.

Seconds tick by, and he continues perusing. You inhale a calming breath, praying your stomach doesn’t rumble in the silence. When he reaches forward to lift up a pre-wrapped bouquet, you clear your throat. Only after he’s examined it, and returned it to it’s place do his whiskey eyes cut to your figure. You paste on a polite smile that he doesn’t return—not that you expected someone like him to. “I thought you might like to know we also have an assortment of pastries on the floor above, if it takes your fancy, sir.”

“Is that all?” He replies, his tone sharp, displaying his irritation. You smile, dipping your head as you take your exit, understanding the dismissal.

You ease a sigh of relief as you close the back door behind you, the crisp autumn air clearing your mind as it breezes through the garden. You inhale deeply before walking across to the maple near the back, a delightful splash of colour beneath the cloudy sky. It looks like it’ll rain later. You can smell it in the air.

Taking a seat beneath the maple, positioning yourself on one of the large roots that protrudes from the earth, you open up your lunch: some crackers, an apple, and some cheese. Perfect snack. You pull out your pocket knife, and begin slicing the fruit, laying it atop the cheese to avoid softening the cracker.

You’ve finished preparing your meal, raising the first to your mouth, when a series of knocks are landed on your ears. You flinch, dropping the cracker, startled. Another rap of knuckles sounds, and you twist, panicked in case it’s Wilbur. Instead you’re met with the sharp whisky eyes of the aristocrat from earlier. His brows are narrowed in distaste as he takes in you clearly un-working form. You beam up at him, gesturing to your lunch, informing him you’re temporarily off the clock. He’ll know to seek out your husband instead. He should be downstairs anyway.

The male disappears from the window and you smile to yourself, glad you won’t have to deal with him. Yet not even a minute later, the back door is opening, creaking loudly on its hinges, and you wince. You’ve told Wilbur countless times he needs to be careful with that door or else it’s snap off one day. You huff, turning to scold him, but your breath catches. The aristocrat is highlighted in the doorway, appearing to be scowling at the earth, considering the trouble of dirtying his shoes.

His clearly displeased gaze lowers to yours, and the hairs at the back of your neck rise—something integral warning you from him. But you sigh, fold up your untouched lunch and hurriedly make your way over to him. He’s stood atop the step that leads back inside, so you have to crane your neck to look at him. “This area is off limits to customers, I’m afraid, sir.” You offer him an apologetic smile as you move to guide him back inside, but he remains locked where he is.

“You’re being paid to work. Not to take breaks.”

You blink, startled at the affront. It’s pretty clear you’re having lunch. You swallow the words down, again giving him a sweet smile, “was my husband not around?”

“It’s your job to serve me, as the customer.” He emphasises the last word, eyes piercing down at you. You clear your throat, a little annoyed. “I take my lunch break at noon,” you supply, “I assumed that would be clear, and that my husband would be perfectly capable of attending to you, sir. Could you not locate him?” His brow narrows in distaste, and he sighs as if the conversation is a waste of precious time. “It is not my job to seek out your husband. Neither you, for that matter.” His eyes flick over your shoulder, to where your garden lays behind you.

To your astonishment, he brushes past you, pushing you aside as if you were a curtain. You splutter, turning on your feet as you stumble after him, caught off guard. “Sir,” you call, “sir, this section is not accessible to customers. If you will allow me to serve you, we can go back inside and—” He continues walking, coming to a stop by your flower bed.

“These will do.” He gestures to the rose bush. You shake your head, “they aren’t for sale.” His eyes blaze with ire, but his expression remains bland. “I will take seven.” Your lips part in surprise. Then you steel your spine, straightening as you stare the aristocrat down, “kindly take your leave. This area is off limits to you, and if you refuse I will have to call my husband.” Males take other males more seriously. It’s what you resent about those aristocrats, how unfair it is, but he’ll leave at the reminder that Wilbur is inside the shop.

“If your husband so much as touches me, I will have him beheaded.” You fight against the urge to roll your eyes at his arrogant narcissism. “That is not within your power as an aristocrat.” You fail in keeping the bite out of your voice. “…Sir.”

His lip curls at the edge, “I aid in ruling over this kingdom. It is well within my jurisdiction.” You scoff, folding your arms over your chest in indignation, “you certainly aren’t the High Lord. So unless you expect me to believe you’re his eldest son, I will ask you one final time to leave.” You don’t bother with his title at the end.

Something flashes in his whiskey eyes as he extends his hand toward you. Showing his ring, you realise.

Shit.

You recognise the Autumn Court insignia engraved into the precious stone. The heirloom of the royal family.

“That’s better,” he drawls, pulling his hand back to him is you stare. You’re certain the blood has drained from your face. He could have you killed if he wants to. He could have your shop disassembled. He could have Wilbur murdered. You hurriedly dip into a deep curtsy, “I’m sorry, my Lord. I had no idea—”

“Do you even know my name?” You stare at the tips of his polished shoes, hurriedly scrambling through your memory for— “look at me.”

You raise your eyes from the ground, resuming an ordinary standing position. His darkened eyes cut into yours, and you fight against the urge to take a step back. He waits, expectantly, as the silence draws out.

Eventually, you have to say something, if only to ease the tension in your chest. “I’m afraid I cannot summon it at the current moment,” you try. His brow narrows in displeasure that borders on anger as he holds out his hand, expectantly. You look at it, dumbfounded. His lip curls as he snatches up your wrist, pulling you a little too close for your liking.

Where’s Wilbur?

His fingers strangle the bone of your arm, painfully, making you wince. “Say it when you remember.”

You stare at him, a mix between horror and curiosity in your gaze. Then his palm starts warming. Your eyes dart to his fingers, and then you tug away as it begins to heat. You wince, beginning to struggle. His hand grows hotter and you hiss, thrashing. “Let go,” you panic, staring up at him with pleading eyes. His eyes narrow, “wrong.”

Horror unfurls in your chest, diving down into dread. You let out a yelp as his palm heats again, a stinging sensation beginning to set in.

You claw at his fingers, attempting to pry them away. A scream bursts from your lips as it feels like flame is licking against your skin. His name. What is his name?

“Vanserra!” You gasp, and his hold lessens a little, heat cooling. You breathe hard, vision blurring at the side. “And my name?” He asks, and you can practically see the spark in his eye at your stiffness. You can’t remember it. His palm begins heating again and you scream, moving to kick him but his free hand wraps around your throat. He doesn’t squeeze, but you can already feel the heat begin to build.

“Eris,” you gasp, eyes widening. “Eris Vanserra.”

He seems a little disappointed you remembered. The looks sends a shiver spider-walking down your spine. Nevertheless, he releases you, and you stumble back, collapsing into the ground, your ass hitting the floor as your hands land behind you. Small tears gather at the edge of your vision as pain sings through your wrist and you cup it.

The skin’s rougher where he touched you. No obvious marking, but enough you would always know where it lies, even if everyone else will be blind to it.

That was your first encounter with Eris Vanserra. Your future High Lord.

————

From then on, it’s seems like he’s making a point of stopping in every month to collect a bouquet. Each visit is just as unpleasant as the last, if not worse, and you begin dreading opening the store. Your dream shop, the one your husband had helped you pull together, supporting you all the way, learning about botany until he knew more than you, just so things would run smoothly when the time came.

And now you resent it. All because of him.

It’s been nearly a year since his first visit, and nearly a month since his most recent one. So he’ll be in any day now. It’s enough to make the usual smile fade from your lips, and you wrap your hand around your right wrist, cupping it to your chest self-consciously.

Now it’s nearly midday, and he hasn’t made an appearance. Maybe you’re safe for today. But then the bell rings and you stiffen. You ease a heavy breath when another male enters. It’s not the hateful Vanserra.

You pull a smile to your lips, delivering the usual greeting, “welcome! May I assist you in any way?” His eyes run over your form, then back up to your eyes. He nods. You flash him a bright smile, getting up from your stool as you make your way over to him. “What in particular are you looking for, sir?” He shifts to look at some of the dried flowers, sparked with colour. You debate taking a step back, but the male pulls away, seemingly sensing your discomfort.

“My father is throwing a celebration for his wife, as it’s their anniversary,” he elaborates. Warmth rushes your chest, “that’s marvellous! How long have they been together?” You inquire, already sifting through the possibilities that your small shop might offer. “It’s their second century. Though they both insist they’re one more day away from tearing each other apart.” He laughs, smiling back at you. You chuckle along with him, wondering at a love that could last for so long. You can only hope you and Wilbur share the same.

Something shifts in his features as he looks over you again. “Are you alone right now?” A hint of discomfort tugs in your gut at the question, and you remove your eyes from his intent gaze. You clear your throat, “actually, my husband and I have been married for about nine years. Our ten year anniversary will be a month from now in the following year.”

“I beg your pardon,” he laughs, dipping his head, “I meant do you have additional assistance in the shop. Or do you run this business by yourself?”

Oh. You relax a little.

“Ah! Sorry, my mistake. My husband is currently on his lunch break, so we’ll swap when he returns. He helps out a lot—more or less enabled the entire shop coming together.” You twist the golden band around your ring finger, a faint smile lifting the edges of your mouth. “Ah, so he gives you the financial support, and you repay him in bed,” he laughs, gently, chuckling to himself. Your brows dip as you blink, but the bell rings again, and his familiar scent breezes through the door.

You turn, forcing a smile to your lips. “Welcome! I can be with you in a moment.” You refuse to look at him a moment longer, even as you can feel his glare searing between your shoulder blades at possibly the rudest dismissal you’ve ever given him. You can picture the way his lip curls, before he ascends the stairs.

You panic slightly. Your husband isn’t there to serve at the small bakery, so you’ll need to wrap this up quick before he throws a tantrum as has one of you beheaded.

“Who was that?” Your attention returns to the male, his keen eyes dragging over your stiff shoulders. You sigh, heavily, “no one. Just a pompous, arrogant male who likes to bother this shop.”

“You’re scared of him.” You still, eyes flicking up to the male’s. “Please, your hands are trembling.” You look down, to find your fingers are indeed shaking. You tuck them behind yourself. “He’s…worrying.” You admit. “I feel like he’ll pounce at the first chance he gets to have me or my husband thrown in jail or beheaded.” You phrase it as joke, but it comes out with a bit too much sincerity.

You swallow, turning back to the male. “Anyway, I’m sorry about his gloomy presence. But I should really go and attend to him, before he…you know.” You make to walk away but the male holds you gently by your wrist. Your right wrist. You flinch, feeling that stinging sing beneath your skin.

And then he yanks you close, his mouth opening over your own, arm wrapping around your waist as he pulls you tight against his hips; walking you back to the counter. You freeze for a moment, stark shock splintering through you as his tongue pushes in.

He pulls away, and shoves his hand over your mouth to keep you from screaming. “I take it you don’t want me to repeat what I’ve heard back to him, then?” He hisses, so close you can feel his breath fan over your cheeks. You manage a weak shake of your head. “So you’ll be good, and do as I need, yes?”

Your legs nearly give out. Your eyes flicker to the clock. Wilbur should be back in ten minutes. Ten minutes. Suddenly it seems far too long. But if he leaves earlier to get back on time, it should be five. It’s still too long. He loosens his grip on your mouth. “My husband—”

“Will not be able to do anything about it,” he snarls softly. You open your mouth to protest but he spins you around, forcefully bending you over the counter.

His hands bury in your skirts as he hitches them up over your thighs, until he’s got a nice view of your ass, only a thin slip of fabric hiding you from him. “Please,” you hiss, “don’t do this.” His hand fists in your hair, yanking you up from the desk, straining on your throat.

But then he’s pulled away, and you slump down onto the counter. You push up quickly, shoving your skirts down as you hear the male snarl at the force he was ripped away from you with. Tears well at the edges of your eyes as you turn to see your husband—

Eris has his hand wrapped around the male’s throat. From the pained snarls, you know the flame that’s encasing the sensitive skin, fingers brushing over your wrist. “What were you doing?” Eris’ voice slices through the silence, commanding and authoritative. “Just a bit of fun,” the male rasps, eyes sliding to yours, “weren’t we?” You remember the threat he’d made, about repeating your foolishly careless words back to him.

Blades of ice cut into you as you meet Eris’ stony gaze. “It’s true,” you manage, voice cracking. You swallow, a neutral expression settling over your features, “a bit of fun.” The male nods along with you. And then they disappear. Like they’d never even been there in the first place.

You blink, looking around, as if they’ve moved to another part of the room, but it’s unnervingly silent. You don’t waste a second. You stumble forward, flipping the sign in the door, shifting it to Closed, before you’re wobbling hastily up the stairs, hardly keeping your tears in.

You pass the bakery, and head up the next flight of stairs, the ones that will lead you to you and your husband’s shared rooms. Your home. Wet droplets land on your hands as they fumble with the keys that will lead you to your safe space, managing to turn them and place them back inside your pocket.

A presence looms behind you.

You scream as you’re spun round, body on high alert. Eris glares down at you, eyes containing frozen fury. You smack your hands over your mouth, silencing yourself. His shadow spills onto you, casting you in slight darkness. “What was that?” He growls lowly, and you can feel the heat radiating from his palms, surely searing the door.

You’re rooted to the spot, trembling as your hands grapple for the handle. You manage to push it down, the door giving way behind you as you stumble backward, trying to escape him. He gives chase, entering your home as you desperately attempt to reach your bedroom, the only other door that has a lock.

He catches your right wrist, jerking you to a stop as you’re flung round, as if in the middle of a dance. You prepare to scream, to claw, to run from his burning hands, but he pulls you against him. He’s not gentle in his movements, though they’re refined and elegant even in the midst of his rage. “What the hell was that?” He snarls again, hand fisting in your hair as he forces you to look up at him. “Why did you let him put his hands on you? What the fuck were you thinking?”

Tears spill from your eyes as you try to pull away from him, and you don’t think twice about it when he lets you, quietly stalking behind you as you race to your bedroom. You slam the door shut, and slide the lock into place, backing away until you hit something hard.

You scream when you find him stood behind you, and he surges forward, slamming you against the door. “Get off me!” You shout, attempting to push at his chest. He snarls, the sound thundering through your room. “Answer the damned question. Why did you let him put his hands on you?”

“I didn’t!” You scream at him, tears rolling as you tremble beneath his piercing gaze. He ignores you, gripping your jaw in his large hand as you writhe under his iron hold.

“Liar,” he snarls, his mouth brushing over your own, “you let him bend you over. And you would have let him fuck you.” You shake your head in denial, refusing to think about what would have happened had he not—

He’d saved you.

You gulp down your tears, and his eyes track the roll of your throat hungrily. “Why did you do it?” You rasp, drawing his attention, “why did you save me?”

“Do I need a reason to be disgusted at him assaulting you?” He growls, and you can feel the hard press of his body against your own. “You hate me,” you breathe, managing to get your shaking under control. He snarls, “I most certainly do not.”

“Yes, you do,” you hiss, vision blurring despite your best attempts to keep them at bay. “You make my life hell whenever you come into the shop. You’re always taunting me, and belittling me, or saying something cruel to my husband. You abuse your power and use it against us when we’re struggling enough as it is.”

He snarls, “that is who I am, and I will not change. Not even for you. No matter how much you crave it, plead or beg for it, I am who I am and have survived because of it.” One arm wraps around your waist, pulling your chest flush against his. “If I was any less ruthless I would be dead. I did not make it to where I am now by being kind or merciful.”

“You’re cruel,” you cry, brow narrowing through your tears. He growls, and power thrums in the room, crackling and zapping through your skin. “Cruel?” He laughs, but it’s dark, and lacks amusement. “You think I’m cruel?” You can’t move, and it feels like every part of you is pressed against him in one way or another. “What’s cruel is you’re still fighting against me. That you’re not letting me have you after the other male had you bent over your own damned desk.”

You thrash against him, “I didn’t want want him to!” You scream, trembling beneath his iron grip. He snarls, and just like that, he’s pulling you from the door, turning you around as he shoves you onto the bed, bending you over just as the other male had. He pulls your skirts up over your thighs, and you whimper, struggling.

His large palm squeezes your ass, rubbing appreciatively as his hands land on your hips, dragging you over him. You whine but it’s drowned out by his groan of pleasure. He curses, and he thumbs at the thin slip of material, feeling the give as he finds your centre. You try to shrink away but he presses in slightly, delighted when a shiver slides down your spine. “You don’t want this?” He growls, rolling his hips against your own. You shake your head, but yelp when he pulls his hand back, smacking down on your ass.

“Crawl,” he demands.

As soon as he’s releasing you, you’re scrambling up the bed frantically, needing to escape his heated hands. Magic crackles and you still, body freezing while you’re in the middle of the mattress. “Wh—…What?” You scream when flame wraps around your wrists, tugging them from the bed until they’re above you, keeping you on your knees. You struggle against the bonds that are somehow not burning you.

He prowls around the side of the bed, settling down in front of you, cupping your jaw, forcing you to look at him. “Now, are you capable of disrobing yourself, or will I have to do it for you?” He drawls, staring into your eyes. You want to shrink away from him, but in a fit of anger, you spit at him. He blinks, raising his fingers to his cheek as he brushes the saliva.

You gasp in horror as his tongue laps over the skin, tasting you. His arousal smacks into you as though ice has frosted his hands instead of flame. “That’s disgusting,” you rasp weakly, managing to meet his hungry gaze. “What’s disgusting is that you’ve let your husband use your cunt instead of begging me to treat her right.” Your lips part in shock and he groans. Then his mouth is opening over your own, tongue lapping and flicking with practiced precision.

A whine is dragged from your throat as the kiss becomes rougher; more frenzied. Bordering on violent. He pulls away, and you’re panting, swallowing air into your lungs. “Hold still,” he commands, and you tremble as his fingers drop to the ties at the front of your dress. One by one, he loosens them, pulling them free.

You whimper as his hands drop to the hem of your dress, pulling it up and over your head, the material fazing through the bonds at your wrists. You’re nearly completely bare, save for the flimsy slip of fabric clinging to the sweep of your hips. Eris groans, and you can clearly see the effects of his arousal through his finely tailored trousers.

“How selfish can you possibly be?” He murmurs, his hands reaching for you reverently. He cups your breasts, thumbs flicking over your peeked nipples as his mouth returns to yours. It’s softer this time, slower as the pads of his fingers dance over your skin. “You’ve been keeping all this—” his teeth tug gently on your lower lip, hands curving down your spine, making you arch helplessly into his chest, “—to yourself?” He groans at the feel of your breasts dragging against his torso.

His fingers hook beneath your underwear and you squirm, despite knowing how pointless the effort is. “Stop,” you plead, staring up at him, “Eris—” He groans at the sound of his name on your lips. “Whatever I’ve done, please, just forgive me. You can’t— I can’t do this.” He shushes you, and with a crackle of magic, he removes the sole piece of fabric from your body.

Eris pulls away, taking in your naked body: the swell of your breasts, your perky nipples, the hair dusted between your thighs. He wants to drag his tongue across every inch of your skin, taste everywhere. “Please…” you pant, weakly, chest rising and falling with each heavy breath. He palms himself, getting off to your beseeching cries. He curses beneath his breath, “beg me,” he growls, “beg me not to.”

“Eris,” you cry, “please, don’t!” Horror roils in your stomach as he moans, warmth flushing his cheeks. He sits up, moving to kneel before you, still towering over you, “so pretty, aren’t you?” He murmurs over your lips, “does your husband know what a pretty beggar you are?” You’re too shocked to respond to his quiet words.

The male’s lips quirk, “I’ll take that as a no, shall I?”

Shame flushes your cheeks.

But then he’s pulling away from you, and his flame twists your wrists, forcing you to move so your back is facing him. You protest weakly, but to no avail. Instead, you flinch when his front presses against you, his bare chest warm and strong. Already, he’s removed his shirt and waistcoat, left only in his trousers.

You whimper when you feel his hand snake round your front, fingers slipping between your thighs. “That’s it,” he soothes beside your ear, a lover’s caress, “keep making those sounds for me.” You gasp as his fingers roll over your clit and he moans in response. “Do you like that, hm?” His words are softer, vaguely romantic as his hips roll gently into your own.

His canines scrape your neck, tongue lapping over the erogenous area, “answer me.” You shake your head, refusing him again and again. He merely laughs, “you will.” Then he’s drawing away from you, lips attaching to the tip of your spine as he begins his descent. Heat raises beneath his mouth, following the pathway he trails until he’s between your legs.

You let out a startled whimper when he spits on you, pressing two fingers to your entrance. Your face heats when they slide in easily, and he groans, the sounds rumbling through you. “And here you were saying you didn’t want this,” he growls. “I think you’re as depraved as I am. Isn’t that right?” His fingers press deeper, and when they pull out, you feel the slick that dampens your inner thighs.

He returns to your ear, hand snaking round your front. You flinch, whimpering when he smacks between your legs. “Isn’t that right, hm?” He plays with your clit, fingers again dipping down to your entrance, pushing in, getting them nice and wet as he moans deeply. “You can’t deny me when you’re soaking me like this. Do you hear that?” He shoves his finger back in and you hear the wet squelch.

You involuntarily tighten around him, whimpering at the pleasure. “I’m going to fuck you so good you won’t even be able to beg me to stop.” Then he’s guiding his tip between your legs, slicking himself in your wetness, his head bumping into your clit. His cock presses against your entrance, and he pushes in slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of him. He slides in partially, then pulls out, only to push back in further, until you can feel him in your lower abdomen.

“Eris,” you whimper, his hands coming up your front to play with your nipples. “Say it again,” he murmurs, drawing his hips back as he pushes in, “say my name. Go on.” One hand drops to your clit, swiping over it. “Moan for me.” Then his hips snap against your own, and a startled moan spills from you.

He laughs darkly, picking up the pace. “That’s it,” he encourages, chuckling, “moan for me like the damn whore you are.” You whimper at the title, clamping down on him. “Fuck, you like that? Like when I call you my whore?” He doesn’t miss the wave of arousal that washes from you—it’s impossible.

“So damned dirty, huh?” He’s found the pace you like, beginning to pound into you, relentless snaps of his hips as he fucks your cunt. “Does your husband know what a slut you are? Does he know how much you enjoy the degradation?” Tears roll down your cheeks, lips parting as you pant, the breath being knocked from your lungs with each slam of his cock.

“Fuck. What would he say if he walked through that door, huh?” You freeze. It’s like ice has been dumped over you. He should be back any second now. He should already be back. Eris kisses along the slope of your neck, “does that excite you, hm? Knowing that handle could dip at any second and he would see how well you’re taking my cock? How desperate you are? How filthy you are?”

Eris laughs, as if it’s a game to him. “He won’t though. He’s had you to himself for long enough. Kept this pretty pussy hidden, mistreating her all these years, and now I’m going to give her so much you’ll never think of him again. Forget he even existed.” His cock presses against you so deliciously, fingers playing with your puffy clit with practiced ease. And you feel that traitorous high approaching.

The male feels you tighten around him, and groans. “You going to come on my cock, huh? Gonna take your pleasure like a good whore? My good whore.” He drives into you languidly, and you spiral. Eris swears as he feels you fluttering around him at last. “Oh, there you go. Just like that. So good. So filthy. Fuck, you’re just divine aren’t you?” His teeth sink into your neck as you come, his own high hitting him moments later. He moans softly beside your ear as you feel him spill into you, “you like that feeling? Like having my come stuffing you full?” He laughs darkly, “maybe I should tie you to the bed with my flames. Have you all spread out to let it slip down.”

You pant heavily, too dizzy with euphoria.

“How do you think your husband would react, hm? Seeing another male’s come dripping from your pretty pussy?”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020

[t4tails]

obligatory i dont read fic anymore disclaimer but when i did i remember once clicking on an explicit one but i immediately had to exit out upon getting to the porn section because they said that one of their dicks was 9 inches long and i couldnt suspend my disbelief that much

[kpopfanfictrash]

Love to Hate (Extra Scene IV: Jungkook’s POV)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Fuck Buddies / Enemies to Lovers

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Synopsis: Born with a silver spoon in your mouth, you've done your best to rid yourself of the taste since you were old enough to walk. Occasionally though, your mother manages to rope you into an obligatory function – or a blind date with playboy billionaire, Jeon Jungkook. Jungkook stands for everything you loathe about the world you left behind, but you can’t deny the spark of attraction between you. Intrigued by the promise of mutual satisfaction, you agree to one night in bed… and quickly realize you’re in far, far deeper than you ever intended.

Author’s Note: This scene takes place after the Epilogue of Love to Hate and is told from Jungkook’s point of view. There is no corresponding scene from Y/N’s POV. PLEASE READ THE ENTIRE STORY BEFORE READING THIS SCENE (otherwise there will be many spoilers lol).

Rating: 18+

Warnings: some dirty talk, but not actual sex

Word Count: 4,605

“There’s no way that man is single.”

“Why do you say that?”

“I mean, look at him.” The woman behind Jungkook sighs. “A face like his? With a body like that? Wearing a suit that costs more than my rent? Yeah, no way someone hasn’t locked him down.”

A loud, jarring slurp signals the end of a drink. “I don’t know,” says the other woman. “I feel like that suit is the exact reason he has to be single. No guy that rich or hot would ever marry so young.”

Lifting his newspaper, Jungkook hides a smile. Seated outside the sole coffee shop in Terminal C, he’s been nursing his Americano for the better part of an hour. Jungkook’s own fault for arriving at the airport early. Your plane wasn’t scheduled to land until one, but he wanted to be here in case.

Jungkook can practically hear your laughter in his mind. “In case what?” you’d tease. “In case the plane has an extra engine to help break the sound barrier? Or multiple people parachute out, giving us an extra boost?”

“Both of those things,” Jungkook would answer with a straight face. You’d shake your head, amused at having married someone so ridiculous and –

Clearing his throat, Jungkook forces himself to focus. What’s ridiculous is the fact that he daydreams about his wife when you’ve only been gone for three days. Although that’s three days too long, in Jungkook’s unbiased opinion.

Giving up on pretending to read, Jungkook lowers the paper to pull his phone from his pocket. Searching the screen, he sees nothing but the text you sent twenty minutes ago.

Y/N: Landed 😘 see you soon! [12:54 PM]

Nothing since then, and Jungkook frowns as he pushes a hand through his hair.

“See,” hisses the same woman behind him. “No ring!”

“That’s his right hand, Lauren.”

“Oh.”

Stifling laughter, Jungkook drains the rest of his coffee to push himself to stand. Folding the newspaper under one arm, he pats the front of his suit jacket to check for his wallet. Satisfied, he turns and casually lifts a brow.

Both women do an admirable job of pretending they haven’t been staring for the past fifteen minutes. Clearing his throat, Jungkook waits for one to look up from their phone.

“Married,” he says, lifting a hand to display his wedding ring. “Happily so. Have a good day, ladies.”

With that, he turns to stride across the floor. As he leaves, Jungkook hears a groan of embarrassment followed by bursts of laughter. Tossing his paper into the recycling, Jungkook stops at the flight board to confirm your landing.

The board says your flight reached the gate fifteen minutes ago, which causes Jungkook to frown. Usually, you’re the first off the plane and have reached him by now. Turning around, Jungkook scans the baggage claim and wonders if you’re there. Unlikely. You don’t usually check a bag for a trip of three days.

Stepping away from the board, Jungkook narrowly misses being run over by a man on a scooter. He’s about to call your cell phone when a fresh wave of people walks from the exit. Hurrying in this direction, Jungkook peers through the crowd and immediately spots your red coat – hand-selected by Mia, your daughter.

Even at five years old, Mia is a force to be reckoned with. Her opinions tend to be law, much to your despair. Spoiled by her father, you’ve sighed and Jungkook doesn’t deny it. He can admit when he’s the guilty party.

Lifting a hand, Jungkook is about to wave when he notices your expression and falters. Usually, that look on your face means you’re about to explode. Slightly alarmed, Jungkook searches for the culprit and pauses on a man walking at your side.

Tall, dark haired and handsome. Oddly familiar, although Jungkook can’t pinpoint why.

Usually, it amuses Jungkook to no end when other people hit on you. He enjoys the quiet security in knowing you’ll (politely) turn them down and return to Jungkook. A fact he takes pleasure in reminding you of later that night, spread out beneath him while you writhe in pleasure.

This time is different though because this time, you’re not smiling. Jungkook watches while your jawline tightens, yet another indication of your clear discomfort. Wheeling your carry-on, you nod silently at something the stranger is saying.

The moment the crowd thins, you spot Jungkook and brighten. This immediate contrast makes Jungkook’s gaze harden, moving once more to the man by your side. There are few people in this world who could make you – his ferocious wife – uncomfortable, and all of them reside on his personal shit list.

Your walking companion notices Jungkook at the same time, slowing his steps until he comes to a halt. Still, he doesn’t leave and Jungkook stamps down annoyance while crossing the hall. Soon, he’s within hearing distance and what he does overhear makes his stomach drop.

“… it’s just been so long, Y/N. I barely recognized you! Imagine, if I’d taken that later flight – or, God forbid, been forced to ride in economy.”

“Imagine,” you say flatly. The look on your face could easily be misconstrued as pleasant but Jungkook knows you well enough to know you’re screaming inside.

His lips twitch as he nears since clearly, your walking partner doesn’t.

“I feel like it’s a sign,” the man says, moving closer. When he reaches for your arm, Jungkook stiffens. “Running into you after so many years, like this. I always felt that–”

Immediately, you yank your arm back. “You thought what?” you demand. “That I’d forget about everything you did, Kameron? That it’d all disappear? That I wouldn’t have moved on with my life by now?”

Kameron’s gaze darkens, dipping briefly to your left hand. “Is this about… him?” he asks, barely audible.

Forcing his feet to stop, it takes all Jungkook’s willpower to keep himself out of it. You’d never forgive Jungkook if he rode in on his white horse to save you. You’re more than capable of handling one shitty ex-boyfriend.

Because that’s who this man is and why Jungkook finds him familiar – this is Kameron, your ex and recently promoted CEO of Moore Holdings. Jungkook has actually met him once before, although that was before the two of you started dating. He disliked Kameron back then; a dislike which deepened to hate once he heard your backstory.

Hands clenched into fists, Jungkook concentrates on feeling the bite of his nails on his palms. At least, he does until you glance over your shoulder, meeting his gaze with a pleading look. In a single stride, Jungkook has reached you and is extending his hand.

“Hello,” he says, waiting for Kameron to shake. With his other arm, Jungkook pulls you into his side. “Thank you for escorting my wife from her flight.”

You relax against him, and Jungkook’s barely contained anger bubbles beneath the surface. Your expression doesn’t shift, but Jungkook can feel the subtle change in your body. It’s the same way he feels whenever you stand beside him, offering support he didn’t know he needed.

One of Jungkook’s favorite memories is the time he ran into Liam Jessen at a conference and you politely told Liam you’d carve his eyeballs out with a spoon if he didn’t leave before lunch. He disappeared. Swiftly. Even Jungkook was chilled by your tone, and he swears up and down later that night was when your son, Jae, was conceived.

Narrowing slightly, Kameron’s gaze moves to Jungkook. He can practically see the wheels turning in your ex’s mind – the ring on your finger, his introduction as his wife – and gradually, Kameron’s expression tightens.

Jungkook lifts a brow. While you’re more than capable of handling people, Jungkook knows you haven’t seen Kameron since the night you broke up. Somehow, you managed to avoid meeting over the years – until now. Granted, that was years ago and you’ve moved on since then, but Jungkook knows better than others how some wounds can linger.

A lone muscle tics in Kameron’s jaw. “Hey,” he says, extending his hand to shake. “Kameron Moore. CEO of Moore Holdings.”

Gripping him tightly, Jungkook says, “Jeon Jungkook. Y/N’s husband and CEO of Jeon Energy.”

Jungkook sees your lips twitch, the way they always do when he introduces himself as your husband first. It’s true, though – Jungkook would sell his company tomorrow if it meant keeping you.

Hearing his name has the desired effect and Kameron’s eyes widen. He tries to withdraw his hand, but Jungkook holds on, squeezing even tighter before letting go.

Casual, he takes a step backwards and reaches for your bag. Wheeling this to one side, Jungkook taps his fingers against the handle.

It isn’t often Jungkook pulls the name card but in moments like this, his surname feels almost worthwhile. Despite meaning nothing to him, Jungkook knows the name Jeon means a lot to people like Kameron.

“I – oh.” For a moment, Kameron seems as though he swallowed something bitter. His gaze darts to you. “I didn’t realize… your name was Y/N Y/L/N on your boarding pass, so I just assumed…”

“You just assumed what?” Jungkook says calmly. “That her marriage was a sham? That she wore a wedding ring to deter people from hitting on her? Even if that were true,” he adds, his expression stony, “that’s awfully bold to assume such a rule wouldn’t apply to you.”

Kameron bristles. “Y/N and I have a history, if you must know.”

“Oh, he knows,” you say drily, answering for him. Turning to Jungkook, you place a hand on his Kiton suit. “I’ll take it from here, babe.”

Inclining his head, Jungkook takes a step backward. He’s pleased to see the fire returned to your eyes – admittedly, this signal bodes poorly for Kameron. Jungkook would feel bad for him if Kameron weren’t the reason for half your trust issues.

“My husband is right,” you say with a smile. “Even if my ring were fake, what makes you think I’d want to talk to you?”

Floundering slightly, Kameron opens and shuts his mouth.

“Exactly,” you say, not waiting for a response. “I was polite to you during the flight. I sat across the aisle even though I was uncomfortable. I even engaged in small talk after putting my headphones in. Never mind that I only slept for three hours to get home early for my family. I tried to be nice to you,” you insist, lifting a brow. “But clearly, that was futile.”

Jungkook can feel a smile spreading over his face. It’s in moments like these when he’s infinitely glad you two are on the same team. And that you mostly use your powers for the good of humanity.

“Let me make something perfectly clear,” you continue. “Even if I weren’t happily married with kids, I’d have no interest in seeing you. Our relationship isn’t something I look back on fondly. I would say I hope you’re doing well but really, I don’t. Moore Holdings is a predatory and shitty excuse for a company. I hope it goes under. Stay healthy, I guess,” you say with a shrug. Turning to Jungkook, you hold out your arm. “Shall we?”

Jungkook just nods, slipping his hand through your own to head for the doors. He doesn’t spare a backwards glance but is sure if he did, he’d find your ex-boyfriend left speechless. You tend to have that effect on people.

Gripping your carry-on bag, he wheels this towards the pick-up lane at Terminal C. Your driver is waiting, idling at the curb.

Stepping outside, you pause and tip your head back. “God,” you groan, before starting to laugh. “What a mess.”

Handing your bag to your driver, Jungkook steps closer and places his hands on your arms. Tugging you towards him, he watches your eyes open.

“Hey,” he says, smiling downward.

“Hi.” Softly, you return the gesture. “Can I just say you’re a sight for sore eyes? I was stuck with that asshole for five hours, listening to him brag about a conference he just spoke at for two hundred people.”

Jungkook can’t hide his smirk. “Little did he know, he was bragging to EnergyCon’s keynote speaker.”

You lightly scoff, but he can tell that you’re pleased. EnergyCon is the largest energy conference in the country and the site of your latest work trip. You led two days of seminars before finishing the week by giving the keynote address. Clean Ocean has never been a small organization, but recent successes have shot your message to the forefront of the industry.

Still, Jungkook scans your face for any sign of discomfort. Although you seem okay, he knows better than most how old scars can linger.

“I’m fine,” you say softly, reading his mind. “Promise.”

Giving a small smile, Jungkook steps back to open the car door. “You can’t blame me for worrying,” he says as you slide inside. “Are you sure? You don’t have to pretend.”

“I know,” you muse. “It’s strange, really. I’ve thought about it before – what I would say to Kameron if I ever saw him again.”

“Oh?” Following your lead, Jungkook shuts the car door. “And what was the plan? Fiery vengeance? Complete cold shoulder?”

Laughing a little, you set your purse down. Resting your head on the seat, you turn sideways to face him. Jungkook takes your hand again, unable to let go for too long.

“I thought about both,” you admit. “But then I saw Kameron, and everything flew out the window. Everything I’d planned to say seemed suddenly… silly isn’t the right word. Unimportant? There’s a part of me that will always be angry at him for what he did. And with myself, for letting him.”

Jungkook’s frown deepens when the car pulls from the curb. “I don’t think you let him do anything, Y/N.”

Thoughtful, you nod. “I guess. Anyways, Kameron started talking and it just became clear to me that he hadn’t changed. At all. Kameron cares so much about what others think of him. He needs validation from everyone, which is honestly exhausting. It just made me think that even if he hasn’t changed, I have. Which seems like a fitting ending.”

Jungkook’s lips quirk. “Plus, you know, you got to tell him his company was shit.”

At this, you let out a laugh. “Yeah, that was pretty great. Turns out, I’ve only matured to a point.”

“I like that point,” Jungkook says, using your hand to tug you closer. Draping your legs over his thighs, he removes your shoes to set on the floor. “I also don’t agree that maturity means always turning the other cheek. Sometimes, it means standing up for yourself. Or… for example, telling an asshole when they are one.”

Your laughter becomes a groan when Jungkook presses his thumb to the ball of your foot, and he glances to ensure the partition is up. Slumped against the leather seat, you squint at Jungkook in suspicion.

“What do you want?” you grumble.

He flashes an innocent smile. “What makes you think I want something?”

You struggle to sit up, failing halfway and sinking. “Because you’re using pressure points against me – oh,” you exhale when he kneads your foot.

Deftly, Jungkook continues to work on your arches. “Maybe what I want is for my beautiful wife to relax after her flight.”

You snort. “And?”

“And…” Jungkook pauses, then sighs. “How do you always know?”

“Call it mother’s intuition.”

“Unfair. All I got as a dad was bad hearing.”

“Don’t forget your vision,” you say helpfully. “That’s gotten worse, too.”

Jungkook shoots you a look that makes you giggle before pulling you closer. “Come here,” he growls, wrapping his arms around you. Pressing a kiss to your forehead, he exhales, “I missed you.”

He feels when you soften. “I missed you too, baby.”

A long moment passes, and then –

“But you’re not going to make me forget. What happened?”

Lips twitching, Jungkook pulls away. “Nothing happened,” he insists. “Or nothing bad happened. I may have forgotten to send Jason a birthday gift like you asked. I’ll send one tonight! As soon as we get home.”

“That’s okay,” you murmur, smoothing your thumb over his cheekbone. “I knew you’d forget, so I already sent one.”

Jungkook’s jaw drops.

Seeing his face, you start to laugh. “What?”

“Betrayal!” he blurts.

“You forgot!” you protest, lowering your head to rest on his shoulder.

“I know,” Jungkook huffs. “Very sneaky of you.”

“Jason would’ve been despondent if his favorite brother-in-law missed his birthday. I’m just trying to protect you, here.”

“I’m his only brother-in-law, babe.”

“Exactly. Doubly tragic if you forgot.”

Jungkook laughs, slipping two fingers beneath your chin to tilt your face to his. Brushing your lips with a kiss, he feels familiar heat spread down his spine. Your lips part beneath his, tongue flicking in a way that sends blood to his cock. Dropping his head, Jungkook begins to kiss down your throat.

When he bites down, you shudder and your hands fist in his jacket. Jungkook’s grip tightens on your waist when you moan his name. Returning to your mouth, he nips your lower lip before soothing it with a kiss.

“Jungkook,” you pant, gripping the base of his hair.

“Yeah?”

His hand roams your spine, relearning your body. Only three days and still, he’s missed you. Missed the sound of your sleep beside his, your laughter in the morning and wry looks exchanged over weird things the kids do.

Your exhale is shaky. “We should stop,” you murmur, gaze fixed on his lips.

Jungkook smirks. “Should we?”

“Yeah.”

“And why is that?”

“Because.” Torn, you glance forward. “We’re on our way to get the kids, and there’s no way we have time to do everything I want before then.”

Despite the situation in Jungkook’s pants, he’s forced to agree. As appealing as car sex sounds right now, Seokjin and Yoongi’s home isn’t far from the airport. Falling backwards, Jungkook exhales to blow hair from his face.

Laughing a little, you smooth the strands away. “Where are the kids, anyways?”

Eyes wide, Jungkook glances around the backseat. “Oh, shit. I knew I forgot something.”

“Ha-ha. The real answer?”

He chuckles. “They’re with Seokjin and Yoongi.”

Your brows shoot upward.

“Yoongi is the primary caretaker,” Jungkook assures. “Seokjin is more of… entertainment.”

“Perfect,” you sigh, returning your head to his shoulder. “I told Mia the type of karaoke machine Seokjin has only works in their neighborhood, but I don’t think she bought it. We might have to get her one for her birthday.”

Jungkook shakes his head, resting his hand on your knee. “She’s too smart for her own good, you know. Takes after you.”

“Sure does. Except Mia has a beautiful voice and I have the singing ability of a drunk walrus.”

“Are they known for their singing, or…?”

“Nope. Mustaches get in the way.”

Jungkook laughs, turning to press a kiss to your brow. “Later, though,” he murmurs, dropping his voice. “Once the kids are asleep, I plan to make up for these nights apart. Who knows? Maybe we’ll create that third kid we’ve talked about.”

Mischievous, you glance upward. “I don’t know… you’d have to put in some serious work for that to happen.”

Lifting a brow, Jungkook’s grip on you tightens. “I think I did a pretty good job of getting you pregnant with the first two.”

“Mm, but that was ages ago,” you sigh, head tipping backwards when Jungkook kisses your neck. “Back then, you were so young and spry. Now, you wear sensible shoes to the gym. Do you really think you have the stamina?”

“We’re in a moving vehicle,” he murmurs, low in your ear. “Which is the only reason I’m not fucking you to prove you wrong. Bet your pussy is wet just thinking about it, huh? Want me to spread these pretty legs and check, princess?”

Your breath hitches, chest rising and falling as his grip slides up your thigh. Jungkook brushes close to your center, maddeningly close and still not enough. Some people say desire diminishes with age and in some respects, Jungkook understands. That initial, frantic burst of sex diminishes but Jungkook doesn’t view it as a bad thing. That burst is replaced by trust, the knowledge that physical intimacy isn’t a replacement for intimacy of all kinds.

Not that the physical intimacy is gone, of course. That connection Jungkook feels when you touch him remains unchanged. A single look does more to turn him on than anyone else ever has.

Lifting a hand, you cup his jaw and scan his face.  “Unfair,” you complain. “Unfair for you to get better-looking with age when you were already hot to start. You know, I overheard some moms at Mia’s preschool calling you a DILF the other day.”

Jungkook tries, and fails, to hide his grin. “Oh, really?” he asks, returning his lips to your neck. “And what do you think, Y/N? Am I a dad” – his teeth scrape your throat – “you’d like” – his grip on your thigh tightens – “to fuck?”

“Yes,” you groan, arching into him. “Fuck. I mean, who am I to judge those moms for their impeccable taste? I’m the only one who gets to fuck you, so it’s really their loss.”

“Besides,” Jungkook adds. “You’re one to talk. Every time we go somewhere with the kids, I leave for one second and am forced to fend off all your admirers when I return.”

“What can I say? People know a good thing when they see it.”

“So do I,” he growls, low in your ear. “Which is why I proposed six months into dating. Are you kidding? There’s no way I’m messing this up.”

“I know. Me neither.”

Jungkook stares at you, silently warring with an internal dilemma. “I planned this all wrong,” he admits on a sigh. “I should’ve told Seokjin and Yoongi you landed at three.”

A laugh escapes as you open your eyes. “No, this is better. You know me – I want to see our babies.”

“Not babies anymore,” Jungkook says mournfully. “Jae turns two next month.”

“I know.” Drily, you arch a brow. “Having had the pleasure of pushing him out myself. And they’ll always be my babies. They’ll just have to deal.”

“Well.” Jungkook kisses your forehead. “At least they’ll have something to talk about in therapy.”

Huffing a laugh, you lightly punch his shoulder. Jungkook grabs you halfway, intertwining your hands for the rest of the trip. Despite what you said, it’s been a long trip and a few minutes later, you’re asleep on his shoulder. Pulling into the drive, Jungkook debates whether to wake you but decides you’d be more upset if you missed the kids.

“Wake up, princess,” he murmurs, unbuckling your seatbelt. “We’re here.”

Sleepily, your eyes open and you stare at the house visible through the side window. “Oh!” you blurt as you straighten. “Did I fall asleep?”

“Mhm,” Jungkook says, grabbing your purse. “You needed it. Do you want to stay in the car while I get the kids?”

“Nope,” you scoff, already opening your door. “Don’t you dare.”

Shaking his head, Jungkook follows you up the drive to Yoongi and Seokjin’s home. It’s a beautiful, contemporary style house built into the cliffs overlooking the ocean. For this very reason, Jungkook has barred Mia from playing outdoors but has the sneaking suspicion Seokjin lets her anyways. He’s a sucker for Mia’s big eyes and quivering lower lip.

Reaching the entrance, you ring the bell and stand back at the sound of thundering footsteps. The front door flings open.

“MOMMY!”

Jae is the first one outside, tripping over himself to reach you. Luckily, you catch him before he can fall. “Hi, munchkin!” you gush, swinging him upwards. “You’re getting so, so big! Did Yoongi feed you dessert for breakfast again?”

This last sentence is followed by a look at Yoongi, who’s appeared in the doorway. Yoongi shrugs, crossing his arms to lean against the frame.

Shaking his head, Jae wraps his tiny fingers around your wrist. “Nooo. He said that’s bad. Mommy, what’s ‘adult time?’”

Freezing, you glance once more at Yoongi, who seems momentarily flustered while searching for what to say.

“Uh… I’ll take Jae,” Jungkook says, hastily reaching out to transfer him to his hip. The look on your face has turned slightly ominous. “Adult time is the time when adults hang out and do adult things. Right, Yoongi?” he adds, widening his eyes.

“Uh, right.” Yoongi bobs his head. “That’s correct.”

“Oh.” A tiny wrinkle forms in Jae’s brow. “The adults play games?”

“Lots and lots of them,” Jungkook says, tossing a wink in your direction.

Rolling your eyes, you step through the front door, but Jungkook can tell that you’re smiling. “Where’s Mia?” you call.

“In the basement with Seokjin.”

Following suit, Jungkook glances around the vaulted foyer. A few years ago, when Yoongi bought this place, the walls were full of his trophies and Seokjin’s travel mementos. Now, they’re pseudo-uncles to both their kids and Hoseok’s, forcing them to baby-proof in each way imaginable. Breakable items are set on high shelves, sharp corners are sanded down and electrical sockets are covered.

As they head for the basement, Jungkook sees a black shape slink around the corner.

Reaching upward, Jae grabs the shell of Jungkook’s ear. “Mr. Whiskers is mean,” he attempts to whisper, but comes out at normal volume.

Mr. Whiskers is the name of the cat Yoongi has had for over ten years and is famously standoffish with anyone that’s not his owner.

Yoongi’s lips twitch. “He’s just scared we’ll like you better than him, Jae,” he offers. “And he should be! At least you tell us when you’ve gone poop.”

Jae giggles at the word poop, causing Jungkook to mock-gasp and cover his son’s ear. Following you to the basement, Jungkook stops short at the base of the stairs.

Mia and Seokjin are singing karaoke – again – but this time they’ve added make-up and costumes. Glitter has been smeared over Mia’s cheeks and she dances around the room in a neon blue tutu. Seokjin is similarly bedazzled, pink dotting each temple and every time his hair shakes, more glitter falls out. The song is a pop song that overplayed on the radio but despite this, Jungkook can’t help but grin.

Spinning around, Mia spots you mid-twirl. “MOMMY!” she cries, the sound reverberating when she forgets she’s holding the microphone. Dropping this on the ground, Mia launches herself around the couch and into your arms.

“Hi, baby!” you laugh, bending down for a hug.

Mia presses her cheek to your leg, glitter rubbing off on your pants, but you don’t seem to mind. Eyes closed, you hug her back as you rock to and fro.

Jungkook’s heart melts as he watches. Sometimes, his luck feels slightly overwhelming. When your eyes open and meet his over Mia’s shoulder, Jungkook knows you feel the same. It’s hard not to pinch himself to ensure it’s all real. To confirm he won’t wake up tomorrow in that cold, dead apartment he used to have.

Fingers tightening in Jungkook’s hair, Jae gurgles his laughter and Jungkook’s cheeks hurt from smiling. Mia takes you by the hand, dragging you to the couch to show off her routine. Joining the group, Jungkook bounces Jae to the beat while Mia squeals in delight, holding out her mic for Jae to yell, “AHHHHH!”

It’s a brand of chaos only your kids could create and Jungkook knows that, deep down, it’s something he’ll never be without again. He’ll make sure of it.

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