#oc: reflected memories

[vulturemask]

one day i'll make serious content about my ocs. today is not that day

[mellosdrawings]

The Doppelgänger & the Mirror

It's been a hot minute since I last drew my OCs so here they are with some details.

Maybe some day I'll detail the story a bit. We'll see. Anyway, here's the whole family!

[cloudbends]

hgsn ep 1 review: the atmosphere fits to a T and the backgrounds are stunning. ESPECIALLY the sound design goes crazy. I'm a little iffy about the animation itself but the direction is really really really good

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

4. What would they consider to be too far?

5. What moments have made them pity whumpee, if any?

for Ryan ?

.... lets pretend I didn't literally forget to answer these...

ask game

"What would you consider to be too far?"

Ryan's expression lights up with humor for a brief fraction of a second before returning to its careful neutrality. "What, morally? Morally, I don't give a shit what I have to do. I'm a prince. I do what I need to; no more or no less. That doesn't change when it comes to Onyx. The only thing that changes is that I generally need him working the next day. So we try not to break his bones or do anything that gets him limping or bedbound or whatever. But make no mistake, there is no moral sensibility keeping him safe. Only his usefulness."

"What moments have made you pity Onyx?"

"It doesn't really matter if I pity him," Ryan mutters. "It doesn't change anything. Pity does nothing. I hate when he cries. I can't do anything about what he wants. He used to- he really was miserable before I stole his memories, did you know that? He used to cry all the time and beg me for the weirdest fucking things. He wanted a specific translation of the Odyssey. He said he had planned to annotate a copy with his boyfriend. It was-"

Ryan cuts himself off, shaking his head sharply. "He was a special case. He was there with volunteer status, so I didn't need to be entirely cruel to him. But he didn't really want to be there. He- he was weird about things sometimes. The morning before he got the surgery to mess with his memory, he just kept crying and asking me if he could hug me. It was… strange. Most people that hate me as much as he did don't want to hug me. His loneliness and desperation was… unnerving, to say the least." He swallowed past a lump in his throat. "It doesn't matter if I pitied him for it. He still had to do it. I pity all the cats who whine about the vet, too, but that doesn't really change anything, does it?"

[mushed-kid]

marb sketch that i may or may not color

[blue-eli]

Realised it’s @khoc-week so even though I don’t have the energy to do it daily have this I did a while ago but never posted.

Arxeht my beloved. They came to me in a dream where I was a replica (of multiple people but looked most like Vidar) made by apprentice Nort/Xemnas, who was the fifteenth member of the organisation and also had my knowledge of hit video games Kingdom Hearts and kept getting randomly thrown through space and time.

[wormonastringtime]

reminder.

[vorandril-blog]

The pain in Nathaniel's wrist never stopped these days. It was distracting when his fists hit the punching bag. A measured pair of hits from his right hand. A hard jab from the left, aiming high.

The others in the gym didn’t bother him none, they could watch if they wanted. He knew he had the reputation as the weirdo that did his workout with his hat on. He taped his knuckles and stepped up to the bag; start slow Nate! Just because you can be fast doesn’t make it effective! His smile was wide, and relaxed as he cocked his arm back. And when his fist struck his eyes relaxed. His look glazed over. This was Home.

He’d been here an hour. His hat and jacket were left in a locker and here he was training. He almost hated it here now. How quiet it was in the pre-dawn hours. How easy it was to clear his head to keep his thoughts in order. Really the days had been easier back before all of this personal mission; when he could go to the gym and clear his head of thoughts instead.

What was even the point of coming here? He knew he could run literal laps around any of the guys out here. Dakota was not exactly Boxing Country, and he knew that the actual fight clubs wouldn’t let him in the moment he was dodging every swing. There was nothing here to give him a thrill.

Socioeconomic distress gnawed at his thoughts; how can you inspire someone to wish they weren’t hungry?

A left hook, turning his hand to grab the bag and slam his knee into it followed by a snap-punch to the core to push it away and set it swinging away slightly.

None of these thoughts bothered him now. It was just him and the bag. Him and imagining the praises and thrills of taking some chump down from Bragging Buffoon to Crying Idiot with a dozen well-aimed hits. Maybe even someone who’d go even, landing a couple of their own so he could thrive.

Fears he’s heard about for days about simply keeping Rights. Safety. How was he supposed to help keep people safe when they can’t feel safe in their own homes? He stepped back as the bag swung away, and then stepped into it with another slam of metal knuckles that he owned, attached to his arm, hitting it hard enough with the strike to arrest all of the momentum.

The rattle of the chain and the shock up his arms. Imagining a counter and moving to block it while hitting back. There was nothing. No concerns. Only the excitement of what he could do. Where he could push toward.

None of these fears were wrong to have…

He was breathing heavily. Two hours going at this bag even if he hadn’t been going all out was at least still Activity. The prosthetic fist remained resting against the leather and his chest heaved as he simply… Watched. Twitches of metal underneath a case responding to nerve signals…

He finally snapped out of it when he jumped up to back-kick the bag, and the bolts finally gave out. The whole assembly ripped from the ceiling, the bag fell, and part of the rafter came tumbling down with it. The chunk of lumber snapped toward him and in an instant he’d gotten his hands around the chain to catch it. The furrow in his brow was indignation. Frustration. Even a thing that was supposed to be able to keep up couldn’t cut it.

His knuckles slid down the bag and the hand slapped against his leg loosely. His left followed suit, shoulders and arms all going slack so that he could look Nowhere and stand in the room with No One in it. Not even Nathaniel. His thoughts were everywhere else.

He let go of the chain while his eyes stared at the subject of his disappointment. Then he spat on it all. And turned to leave. It wasn’t the first thing he’d broken and the management wouldn’t dare. But he was done here… His red and silver jacket got picked up, whipped over his shoulder, and he was Gone.

On everyONE else.

Why did it have to happen to him?

He turned to put his back against the punching bag and used it to brace against while he let himself slide down to the floor, keeping the thing against his left shoulder. The one he knew was at least mostly still him.

His jaw set, and the thoughts finally set in. How am I going to get out of here? Only a couple places are even worth going to with this.

His thoughts. His head. All of it simultaneously buzzing with incoherent thought even as he knew what the tone of the answer was, but tone isn’t words. Tone can’t save people.

“I don’ even wanna be famous. Or rich. Fuck they’d be nice’n all but… I jus’ wanna prove what I can fuckin do…” But nothing answered him except a frigid midafternoon wind. And given it was december there wasn’t even the decency of the sun to blind him off the snow.

Tone can’t solve him.

“Fuck it. Don’t care if it’s the usual answer… There aint a damn fuckin thing out ‘ere, so I guess we’re headed to the coast…”

“Wha’ was that line…?” he asked the tone, trying to bring it into an empty room.

“Make a name fer myself.”

“‘Bout courage an’ fear.” the tone stirred slowly, changing viscosity as he looked inside.

“See if I can’t teach them fucks how to stand up for a fight…”

“Courage aint the lack of fear, but standin up even though yer afraid…” The tone recoiled away, this was not what he was thinking. He chose the wrong words and he knew it even before he said them. He’d rushed ahead and-. Stop it, Nathan… Breath… Think…

“Hell, I aint scared of what happens out there. Either this all works, or they’ll put me in a hole, right?”

“It… Doesn’t matter. Does it?” it came back. That idea. That ephemeral notion of what he strove for. Remembering the feeling he had when he decided what he was going to do and committed to it.

He kept talking. Not even putting imagination in his words. No sincerity. Only bravado as fact. Only damnation as enterprise.

“Jus’ gotta keep tryin to do better. More than safe… Gonna find ways to help people hold onto hope.”

“Gonna go out there, and get what’s mine. By the lord, I’ll fuckin do it. No more’ve this pussyfootin around-” by this point he’d already walked home through snow and pride and slush. By this point he already had his emergency bag out, and his clothes bag halfway packs. Halfway past too late.

He stayed there, letting that tingling feeling hold him and letting his head hang so the patchy white and blonde hair hid him like a shroud. Both of his arms swung up to rest his elbows on his lifted knees and he listened. His breathing. His heartbeat. The tone and feelings in his mind.

“We can do better. To be someone they’ll be proud of. Nothin’ else to do but hope, an’ act on tha’ hope.”

There it was. That calm feeling. That tomorrow was not promised and that’s okay… So long as we greet it all with a smile, and love.

He smiled as he looked over the assembly of bags and supplies, and one way plane ticket in his hands, so sure of himself. Sure this was the right thing to do for everyone. Hells it wasn’t until halfway to the cab, he even chuckled about imagining how pissed Lorelai’s gonna be when she finds out he’s skipping out on his lease.  The only real distraction from that smug thought was how much his right wrist itched while he was hauling his bags into the trunk.

[distant-velleity]

💬 for Davis?

About a year ago, during his first semester at Royal Sword Academy—

thing 1

i am once again asking for u to send me pics of the hot guys in ur dorm

thx xoxo

Davis rolled his eyes at his sister’s antics. Of course that was the first text he saw as soon as he got to his room.

thing 2

No

thing 1

wow rude

dont u take selfies with them or anything ??

It’s a little hard to do that when you’re trying to collect evidence of the dorm leader’s power abuse, he thought.

Halfway through typing out a reply that wouldn’t draw her suspicion, Davis was interrupted by the door opening and none other but his closest friend at RSA walking in. Jacques slung his bare arm over Davis’ shoulders.

“What’s good with my favorite freshie?” he asked with an obnoxious smile.

“Go put a shirt on,” Davis replied flatly, holding his phone to his chest so the incriminating ‘hot guys’ text wouldn’t be visible.

Jacques, despite being a full grade ahead of him, had the audacity to pout. “C’mon, let a guy have this. I’m sweaty from P.E.”

“Respectfully, be sweaty somewhere else. I need to do my homework.”

“Doesn’t look like it.” Jacques gestured towards Davis’ phone. “Textin’ a gal and don’t want me to see, eh? Are ya having trouble in paradise? Maybe I could—”

“No, no thanks, that won’t be necessary,” Davis quickly interrupted. “I’m just texting my sister.”

“Ohhh,” was Jacques’ response. He paused. “What’s your sister’s name? And, by any chance, could I get her number?”

“Jacques, are you kidding me?”

“I mean, if she’s half as good-looking as you—”

“Jacques!”

Jacques laughed as he was shoved away by Davis, who didn’t know if he should feel protective or embarrassed.

[thedeafprophet]

What is Gabriel like post resurrection? What's different from him on the surface?

Gabriel was 17 years old when died in 1886. He is 17 yeas sold when he's returned from the grave in 1898. His memories are fragmatened, shattered, lost. He's in a place that is so confusing and so different from the thing he does remember.

The only person who remembers him is the woman who says she's his sister. A person who only has the vague recollection of the brother she lost when she was 10 years old.

If there's anyone left who knows what Gabriel was like back on the surface, its not him.

[aria0fgold]

Whumptober day 10, alternative prompt used: Hunting

Character: Panacea

Once upon a time, there lived a prince, a witch, and a hunter. The witch cursed the prince, the hunter killed the witch, the curse was lifted, and they all lived happily ever after.

But what if the prince and the witch are one and the same?

The world becomes the hunter then.

Panacea hugged himself tighter as he sat curled into a ball at the corner of a cave he hid himself in. It was cold, dark, dusty, damp, and quiet with only the occasional sound of droplets from the ceiling hitting the ground piercing the deafening silence. He took a shaky deep breath, body heavy from the exhaustion of another cat and mouse chase. With his soul exhausted from the weight of it all.

It was always the same, the stray mouse found a home with friendly cats. Cats who cared about the mouse, and the mouse who trusted the cats. If only the world was like the fairytales, it would've ended happily then. But life is never like the fairytales. Because the stray mouse will always be a mouse, and the friendly cats will always be a cat. There's only one ending for such a story like that. The cat bares their teeth and chases the mouse, the mouse then runs with all their might. Because it was either death or survival.

He was exhausted. Was it so wrong to want a place to belong? So wrong to want someone to care about him? So wrong to want his own “home”? Why? Because he wasn't human? Because of something he has? A blessing to others yet a curse to himself. It was his name, a constant reminder of what he is to others. Panacea, cure-all. He once liked that name, not anymore.

It was the only thing he had, no memories, no family, nothing but a name, a power, and a weakness he can never tell or show. But now he has none, not when his name is nothing but a reminder, not when his powers is for other's to use. What else is he left with? A weakness.

He's exhausted.

Panacea took another shaky deep breath, putting his head on his knees, pursing his lips as tears flowed down his cheeks. Why was he even born to begin with? To be a tool locked in a golden cage? Why does he always put his hopes up? Only to be let down again? Why must he even keep living? When everything in the world can easily kill him?

He always believed in the rainbow after the rain.

[eldritchlittleblackdragon]

While I'm going through my various tweaks and fixes for the old chapters of my Assassin's Creed fic and getting the first new chapter ready and thinking about what from my old plans from over a decade ago I'm keeping and what I'm gonna toss and be like 'nah we're doing something different'-

I've been thinking about how a lot of my original plans were heavily influenced by reader feedback and while some of that was definitely good (Seona being taken in by the courtesans+Paola being the best bit of advice I got out of that and the story is all the better for it), some of it definitely not.

I think I was too much of a slave to trying to make sure Seona affected canon as little as possible while still having her be 'important' and be in a relationship/eventually married to Ezio and even having a kid with him.

But the way it ended up working out I feel is that I deprioritized Seona in favor of the canon characters, and like. I had a comment from someone to the effect of 'wow you're doing a stellar job of retelling the events of the game but that seems like a lot of work and it seems like Seona doesn't get much action' and they were right. And I said at the time it was to 'make it so the plot doesn't bend over backwards' for my oc. But looking back on it coming back to this fic 10+ years later like? Characters move the plot and Seona is supposed to be the leading lady here. She's a new element to the story. If she's changes canon in big ways, that makes sense! (Also some things that happen in canon suck so if her presence ends up changing it because it would be fun and make sense to do so, then whatever!)

So anyway. That is to say. Seona is Desmond's ancestor now, she and Ezio get to have awesome adventures as an old married couple eventually, the carnivale event with Ezio and Cristina happens very different because he and Seona are together by then, and the pretentious fuckwits from 10+ years ago who made me think I couldn't do it that way can suck it! And Seona is gonna have more to do and say and think and feels and have more effect on her own goddamn story.

[ren119]

memories

[pboogerswbb]

SO IT GOES - chapter 15

Paige Bueckers x oc Warnings: language, sexual language and SMUT VERY FILTHY STRAP TOO OKAY BEWARNED Wordcount: 6,6K A/C: yeah so... we're back. this is so filthy. ALSO I DIDN'T PROOFREAD THIS. i love y'all go enjoy this you freaks

-

Before London

“Are you sure it’s okay I come?” I ask, smoothing over the all black dress, the satin feeling smooth underneath my fingertips. I watch in the reflection of the mirror as Paige fixes her loose curls over my shoulder. “Did you even ask Stewie?”

“Baby you’re my girlfriend. It’s fine,” she replies absentmindedly, lifting the white collar of her shirt to place the black tie around it. Girlfriend. The term still gave me goosebumps all over. That’s who I was. Paige Bueckers’ girlfriend. I had promised myself I wouldn’t be anyone’s girlfriend for a long time. But in the three weeks I had agreed to be one I had found it not to be as scary as my memory had tried to convince me. Nothing had changed really, we were still us. Still had to keep it a secret.

“Does she know?” I ask, pinning the loose strands of my bun down. Paige chews on her bottom lip, trying to do her tie, long fingers fumbling with it.

“Yeah, she said she’s gonna bring Marta,” the blonde says, having to undo her tie. “Don’t worry, she won’t say nothin’.”

“If you say so,” I sigh, cringing as I watch Paige struggle. “Oh dear heavens, let me.”

I turn and slap the girl’s hands off the tie. I could do it in seconds, but my hands linger as I tie it up for her, taking my time feeling the burn of her blue eyes on my skin. Paige’s hand wraps around my waist, sliding down to feel my ass through the fabric.

“We don’t gotta go tho, if you don’t wanna,” she murmurs in that voice that’s trying to convince me I want something I had never even thought of. Good thing I was smarter than her. 

“Paige,” I warn, acting strict as if it didn’t please me how badly she wanted me. Holding the end of the tie, I slide my other hand up the knot, tightening it enough around her neck.

“Fine,” she groans, heavy lidded eyes staring down at me. “We wearing silver tonight?”

“That’s what I was thinking,” I murmur, folding the collar of the white button up down. We had begun a habit of wearing the same colour jewelry, gold some days, silver on others. It made us feel connected, even when we had to pretend to be worlds apart with the Wings. 

I finally meet Paige’s blue eyes, a jolt running through me seeing the hunger which she stared at me with. The blonde grins that lopsided smile that charmed the nation. “You look sexy,” she murmurs, slapping my ass.

A wide smile forms on my plump lips, green eyes flickering between her eyes and lips. Just one kiss might lead to something more, as it so often did with me and her. But my body was dying for it. My one vice. Yanking the red tie, I pull the blonde in, closing the distance between our lips. 

Our lips slide against one another in a sloppy exchange, the hunger amping up quickly. I keep tight hold of the tie, pulling her impossibly closer. Paige, thrilled by control I took and the pressure around her throat groans, exhaling heavily out of her nose.

“We need to go,” I murmur breathlessly. Paige nods but neither of us do anything to stop.

“I’m serious,” I mumble as the girl begins to kiss down my neck, nose inhaling my perfume as much as it could. 

“Yea, yea me too,” she whispers, both her hands kneading my ass. “Just gimmie four minutes mama.”

Considering her offer, I tilt my head to the side letting Paige’s wonderful, soft lips kiss against it tenderly igniting a burn between my thighs. Maybe four minutes wouldn’t be so bad? No, it always led to more. Four minutes always turned into forever with her

“No,” I giggle, pushing the girl off. “Let me put my heels on. Let’s go.”

“Wait!” Paige stops me by my shoulders that were sparkling from the body highlighter I’d used. “I got you sumn.”

With that, the girl digs through her suitcase until she finds a large wrapped box, handing it over with both her hands. I grab it, gleaming. I had quickly figured out that Paige’s love language was definitely gift giving, her bringing me souvenirs from all sorts of places whenever she travelled alone, delivering me flowers and getting me jewelry for no other reason than “just because”.

“Open it.”

At her words I carefully unwrap the corners, neatly pulling the wrapper off. A box is revealed, a white text decorating the top spelling out Christian Louboutin Paris. My mouth drops, when I see the inside - the classic black heel with a bright red bottom. My heart stutters as I sit down on the end of the bed in awe, staring at the pair of shoes in my hands. She got me Louboutins. That’s not a three-weeks-in gift. No, that’s something more. It didn’t scare me like it might have a month ago. I knew if there was something Paige loved it was spoiling her loved ones.

“Oh darling,” I gasp, watching the blonde kneel in front of me and grab the shoes.

“May I?”

Nodding my flushed face, I watch Paige’s big hands wrap around the arch of my foot and slip the heel on, repeating it with each one. The blonde lifts my leg by my ankle, kissing it gently before placing it back down.

“Perfect fit,” she hums, satisfied. “You like em?”

“I love them Paige,” I gasp, standing back up with my girlfriend's help. “Thank you so much.”

She looks me up and down, shaking her head disbelief. “Can’t believe that’s all mine,” she murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss on my cheek.

-

“Oh she’s the exact same! Socks. Everywhere!”

I laugh, sipping on my red wine and nodding enthusiastically. “Yes! It can not be that difficult to take the socks and put them into the laundry basket!”

“They’re not even clean! Smelly and sweaty socks! Horrible!” Marta agrees, waving her glass around animatedly as she speaks.

“Yo, they’re not smelly!” Paige interrupts, shaking her head. “‘S not even that bad. Y’all are sock-shaming me.”

“I wouldn’t be sock-shaming you if they weren’t all over my beautiful living room,” I scoff.

“See, I got this one to stop and now I have toys all over my beautiful living room,” Marta chuckles, toying with the glass of wine between her fingertips. “You just have to train them well.”

“Ohhh,” I giggle. “So I have to train you,” I tell Paige, feeling her hand squeezing my thigh through the satin.

Paige wiggles her eyebrows, that familiar, stupid, charming grin on her face. “That’s kinda freaky.”

I narrow my eyes at her, fighting a smile. I knew that look. “Paige Madison!” I gasp. The grin falls off her face, an embarrassed redness spreading along her cheeks. Marta and Stewie both laugh. The night had been fun, conversation flowing easy between us and the couple. Me and Marta had obviously bonded quickly over our European backgrounds, finding humor in the habits of our American girls, such as their horrible table manners.

The restaurant was dimly lit, gentle jazz playing softly in the background. It was very fancy, definitely something Marta had picked out. The soft flame of the candle illuminates Paige’s tan skin in a warm light, I couldn’t tear my eyes away. She looked so effortlessly beautiful. I don’t think I had ever been so attracted to a person. Never in my past relationships I had looked at someone and physically felt butterflies - but whenever I looked at Paige I felt them fluttering away in my stomach. Every damn time.

“Forgive me,” Paige pleads, clutching at her chest dramatically.

“For a kiss,” I smile, already imagining how I’ll be pulling that tie later. Just not here. Not yet.

The blonde looks around, shaking her head subtly. “There’s a girl that been looking at me. I think she might know me.”

Exhaling, I look around too to indeed find a brown haired girl at a table, whispering around with her friends and staring at my girlfriend. A twitch of possessiveness grows inside me, wanting me to kiss her and claim her here and then. But I knew better, so I turn back to my salmon and eat it quietly.

“You still keeping it under wraps then?” Stewie asks, following the exchange closely.

“We don’t have a choice,” I respond. “Not unless I’m willing to lose my job. And if I lose my job I lose my visa, so.”

“What?” The older woman leans back, staring at me with furrowed eyes, her dark hair flowing past her shoulders. “Lose your job?”

“My boss doesn’t allow it, anyone dating the players.”

Marta scoffs. “Is that even allowed?”

I chuckle, shrugging. “Does it matter? She could just fire me for any reason and find a person to take over my position. I know how disposable I am.”

“No you’re not. Linda loves you,” Paige answers. “I think we should just tell her.”

This again. Frustration builds in my gut, making me clench my jaw. This was a very common conversation between me and the blonde. She simply didn’t understand the stakes - because it wasn’t she who would lose her job, it would be me. If this got out she’d still have her jersey, her sponsorships, her fame. Me? I’d lose everything.

“Definitely do not tell her if she’s said that,” Stewie disagrees. 

“Yeah, guess you’re right.” Paige mumbles.

“Wait so you’re here on a work visa, no? What are you doing after the season?” Marta asks me, raising her brows. I exhale heavily, I had been trying not to think about it.

“Go home I guess, try to find a job here or get my position back for next season. It’s still a little uh… undecided.”

Paige clears her throat uncomfortably, shifting on her seat. I could tell she didn’t want to think about it any more than I did.

“Damn, that sucks,” Stewie mumbles, putting down her fork. “If you need help looking I know some people, I can ask around.”

“Or you could just get married,” Marta jokes, looking through her purse.

Stewie’s gesture warms my heart. Truthfully, I had been trying to look for other jobs - no one wanted to hire the British girl and pay for the visa just to get a worker they could easily find in the States. But I am also far too proud to ever accept a favour like that, not unless I have something to offer in return.

“Oh shit,” Marta mumbles, scrolling on her phone. “Honey, we have to go. The sitter has a fever.”

“No way,” Stewie sighs, quickly downing the last bit of her wine. “We better get the check,” she mumbles, eyes flickering around for a waiter.

“Nahhh, you go. I got it,” Paige waves them off easily. Something about the confidence and practiced ease of the gesture forced me to squeeze my thighs together underneath the table. “Go home.”

“You sure?” Breanna asks, standing up and throwing her black denim jacket on. Paige nods assertively, while giving a shrill look to a man walking by, clearly checking me out. I feel her body press tighter against mine, like she wanted everyone to know she owned me.

“I think you have to go to that event alone tomorrow hun, I’ll have to stay with the kids,” Marta mumbles, fixing her hair absentmindedly.

“I guess so,” Stewie sighs, disappointed. Paige beside me gives me a look that I can’t read.

“We can babysit.”

Snapping my head, I turn to the blonde. “We can?”

“Why not?” She shrugs, “I’m great with kids. Trust.”

Of course she was. She was practically just another child herself.

“No, we couldn’t ask.” Stewie refuses. “Those two are a handful.”

I chuckle, nodding towards the blonde. “So is this one,” I joke, getting an offended scoff in response. “We would love to help. Really.”

Breanna and Marta eye each other for a moment, clearly having some sort of nonverbal discussion amongst themselves. It takes everything in me not to lean against Paige’s broad shoulder, I couldn’t wait to get home. Not for any lustful reason, genuinely what I craved most in the outside world was the gentle touches, the heavenly kisses or merely the way she brushed against me whenever I was near. 

“Are you sure about this?” Marta asks, my eyes snapping from my girlfriend to the woman.

“Definitely,” Paige responds with a sureness that would convince anyone. I couldn’t help but admire the way she showed up for those who needed her without needing anything in return. It wasn’t just me, it was family, friends, community. She was always there. Maybe she wasn’t the best with words or communicating. Because she didn’t communicate through words but actions. Maybe that would make it all worth suffering over scattered socks.

-

New York City is warm on the July evening, but the slight breeze makes me carefully place my jacket over Izara’s shoulders as we wait for our car to arrive. The dark haired girl smiles bashfully but grabs hold of the fabric. The leather swallowed her, cocooning Izzie with warmth. The loose strands of her bun flow in the air, covering some of her face. I can’t help but reach over and brush them behind her ear - I couldn’t bear not to see her eyes. Those sharp, knowing, challenging eyes I had grown to look for everywhere I went.

“Thank you,” she hums, fluttering her long lashes at me. I nearly groan from how bad I want to kiss her, to taste her lips tinted red with wine. My insides twist at the sound of her smooth but low voice, a warmth like no other spreading over me.

“Do you remember that first time we shared a car months ago?” Izzie asks, the corners of her mouth lifted upwards.

“Yeah,” I grin, looking to the ground thinking about how I had probably never been so attracted to anyone in my entire life. “You were intimidating as hell.”

“I could tell you were scared of me,” she laughs, looking around the busy street for the car. “I thought you didn’t like me.”

I shake my head, laughing too at the memory of how I’d acted a fool. “Nah, I was just so attracted to you like, the minute I saw you.”

“Me too,” she admits, green eyes twinkling at me under the street lamps.

“Forreal?” I ask surprised. If this was true she hadn’t let it show. Or I had been too blind to notice.

“Yes Paige, forreal.”

I can’t help but chuckle at her use of the word, affection overwhelming me. “Look at you using my lingo.”

Izara rolls her eyes, pushing me away by my face. “Do not think for a second you’ll Americanize me.”

“You’re so cute just wanna eat you up,” I laugh easily, wrapping my hands around her waist from behind. 

“Is that a promise?” She teases, swaying us back and forth.

“Always ma,” I lean over to say into her ear, fighting every cell in me to start kissing her. “I like you so bad, y’know that?” The words didn’t seem sufficient to really express how I felt, all of them too vapid to describe the stirring inside me. “So bad it makes me stupid.”

Izzie laughs, nodding knowingly. “I like you too baby,” she hums. “So much.”

Just then, our car finally pulls up, stopping right in front of us. I thank God for rewarding my patience, opening the door and slipping in after my beautiful girl who I liked, no adored, more than anything. That word doesn’t feel right either, too lackluster, too void of what I was feeling. I’m sure I’d find the right word someday.

-

“Okay so snacks are in the fridge. Feel free to eat anything you’d like. And I’lll have my ringer up if you need to call, oh also don’t worry about cleaning up-”

“Marta, baby,” Breanna chuckles, taking her wife’s hand. “I think they got it.”

“I promise, we’ll be okay,” Izzie smiles. “Go have fun, I’ll have my phone on me.”

Marta sighs, looking at us two before going up to the kids who are sitting on the couch, both watching Bluey. 

“Mommy’s gonna be back soon okay? Be good to Paige and Zari. I love you,” she mumbles to each of them, kissing their foreheads before returning to the door. “Okay okay okay, we need to go now.”

“I’ll carry you out if I have to,” Stewie jokes, helping Marta put her coat on. “Alright, bye now. See you in a couple hours.”

“Bye y’all, have fun,” I wave, closing the door behind the couple. Carefully, I turn to Ruby and Theo expecting at the very least a few cries. But the pair sit happily on the couch, too invested in the cartoon.

“Hey my loves,” Izzie smiles to the two of them, crouching on the couch in front of the kids. “I got you some surprises.”

This catches Ruby’s attention, her eyes flickering to Izara’s bag as she digs through it and pulls out a few pots of playdough we had picked up this morning. 

“Have you ever played with this?” She asks, waving the pots around. But Ruby ignores her.

“Why do you talk like that?” She asks, clearly confused. I burst into laughter, Izara trying to hide her amusement to not offend the little girl.

“Ohh, see, I have an accent,” she explains kindly. “I’m from England. It’s in Europe.”

“Did you fly here?” Ruby questions, scooting to the edge of the couch closer to Iz.

“I sure did,” she smiles. “On a plane.”

“I flied on the sky with a big plane,” the little girl explains.

“Wow, really?” Izzie asks enthusiastically. “Did you like it?”

The little girl thinks for a while. “I was scawed. Theo cried too much.”

Iz laughs, scooting closer to her carefully. “Aw, maybe he was nervous.”

“It was loud. I covered my ears. Like this,” Ruby demonstrates, covering her ears with her little hands. Me and Izara laugh at the girl, her hair in sweet little pigtails. “What’s that?” Her tiny hand points to the yellow pots in Izzie’s hands.

“Oh, this is playdough. Have you ever played with it before?”

“What’s playdoh?”

“Well how about we go to the table and look at it? Would you like to come with me?” Carefully, Izzie holds out her hand for the young girl. She goes back and forth, until in a moment of bravery, she grabs Izara’s finger, and begins to wobble over to the kitchen. I watch the two of them, my heart fluttering at the sight.

“Theooo, cmere bro,” I coo at the younger boy who smiles at me easily, holding up his little arms and letting me carry him over to the kitchen table where Izzie and Ruby are already molding the playdough.

“I make a tiara and put it on my head,” Ruby gleams, beginning to place the playdough all over her hair.

“Oh goodness,” Iz stops her just before disaster strikes, grabbing the dough from her hands. “How about we keep the playdough on the table, and make crowns out of something else?”

Ruby sighs dramatically - until her eyes light up. “Wait!” she gasps, taking off running. Her little feet quickly jog back with two plastic tiaras in her hands. “Now I’m a princess!” She giggles, placing one of them in her head. “You too!”

“For me?” Izzie smiles, taking the crown from the girl. Somehow the plastic tiara gently laid on her black hair makes her sparkle in a way I had never seen before.

“Yes! You’re a princess too!”

“Hey!” I gasp, letting Theo squeeze and mold the dough while sitting on my knee. “I’m not a princess?”

“Hmm,” Ruby thinks, eyeing me up and down. “You can be a cowboy. Or a dog.”

“Woof woof!” Theo cheers, clapping his hands together and getting the dough all over the floor.

Izzie laughs gently, molding a heart out of the red playdough and handing it to me. I almost melt. So I can’t help it when I grab a hold of her soft hand, kissing it gently.

“Are you two married?” Ruby asks without missing a beat. Me and my Izara chuckle, my skin turning hot.

“She wishes,” Iz teases, kicking me underneath the table. “We’re not. But we’re girlfriends.”

“Okay and do you have a baby?” The little girl continues. A redness spreads over Izara’s cheeks as I wiggle my brows at her. I don’t need to say anything. She knows exactly what’s on my mind.

“We don’t,” Iz says, her green eyes moving to the little girl, gasping when she finally realised Ruby had combined all the colours into one brown pile despite her long discussion with the little girl.

“Ruby, what are you doing?” She asks, covering her mouth with her hand.

“I make a rainbow!”

I scoff lightheartedly. “That’s not a rainbow, it’s brown.”

The little girl tilts her head, looking at the brown pile before beginning to laugh hysterically. “It’s a poop rainbow!”

Theo erupts into giggles, banging his hands on the table.

-

“You regretting it yet my love?” I chuckle, watching Paige wiping sweat off her forehead after taking turns spinning the two kids up in the air. Mind you, this had been going on for the past 20 minutes.

“Again, again!” Theo cheers, pulling on the blonde’s sweatpants. 

“God help me,” Paige mumbles to me and herself, pulling her white t-shirt off over her head, leaving the girl in a black sports bra, sweat dripping down her veiny arms.

“More Paigey!” Ruby whines, jumping up and down.

“Okay my loves, I think Paigey needs a little break,” I say gently, handing Theo a toy dinosaur to redirect his energy. The little boy sits down, happily roaring to himself as he plays. But I can see the quiver in Ruby’s lower lip as disappointment takes over.

“Moreeee,” she sniffles and then erupts into tears, beginning to cry loudly.

Paige’s eyes widen in a panic. “I can go one more ti-”

But I stop her, shaking my head. Paige can’t just bend to the girl’s will because of some tears.

Getting down on Ruby’s level, I grab her tiny hands into mine, establishing eye contact.

“Ruby, hey Ruby, look at me,” I coo, my thumbs brushing against the soft skin. “You’re feeling really disappointed huh?”

The little girl nods, cheeks red and filled with tears. “Really wanted to spin,” she says in a shaky voice.

“I know darling,” I say empathetically. “You know what always helps me when I’m sad? Taking some deep breaths. Would you want to do some with me?”

Ruby nods sadly, beginning to follow my breathing pattern - inhaling through your nose, exhaling through your mouth. We do that until she stops tearing up, Paige’s ocean blue eyes eyeing us carefully.

“Would you like a hug Ruby?” I carefully ask. The little girl immediately wraps her short arms around me, squeezing tight. I can’t help but smile, holding her tight and lifting my eyes to find Paige staring, her eyes soft and gentle as she watches me take care of the girl.

“I got an idea Ruby,” she says, crouching down beside. “You wanna build a fort?”

“Wow! That’d be great huh?” I ask the girl who finally lets go of me, nodding excitedly. “I’ll go make a snack while you do that.”

In the kitchen I begin to cut slices out of apples behind the corner, listening to the muffled laughter and joy erupting from the living room. A wide smile spreads onto my face as I bite into an apple slice, butterflies filling my stomach at the sound of Paige playing with the children. In this moment I could burst with the affection I felt for her. There was something about seeing her with kids, the way she made them giggle effortlessly, the way her strong arms held them, protected them, took care of them. Something about it had me going weak in the knees.

I jump slightly, feeling a hand wrap around my waist from behind, the scent of sandalwood cocooning me. 

“You’re amazing, y’know that?” Paige murmurs into my ear, her hot breath causing shivers to run up and down my spine. “You’re so good with em.”

I chuckle softly, letting out a shaky breath when the blonde’s soft lips brush against the crook of my neck. “You’re everything,” I reply, my voice turning vulnerable. 

Paige’s strong hands spin me around by my waist, now eye to eye with her. She doesn’t say anything at first, just stares - like she’s trying to comprehend something. My breath hitches, chest tightening under her gaze. She looks at me with her pupils blown. chest rising and falling a little too fast, like her heart couldn’t keep quiet, soft cheeks flushed red. I wasn’t sure why or what it meant.

“Fuck I like you so much,” she murmurs, making me blush. I knew exactly how she felt. I felt it too, or at least I thought I did.

“PAIGEYY!” A loud scream erupts from the living room, followed by the tapping of little feet. “Hurry up! I wanna play Frozen and be Elsa in my fort!”

The little girl peaks around the corner, Paige instinctively taking a step back to create space between us.

“You can be Sven!” Ruby says, waving around a pair of toy reindeer antlers.

-

There’s a soreness pulsing through all my muscles when I kick off my shoes, placing them neatly in the corner of the hotel room and walking in. Paige follows behind me, her hoodie coming up and showcasing her lower stomach as she stretches her arms.

“I’m so beat,” she murmurs. I nod, beginning to undress eagerly to get into my favourite pyjamas - Paige’s shirt. I pull off my top and shorts, and I'm left to dig through the suitcase in my satin lingerie. Suddenly I feel the blonde’s hands on me, unbuckling my bra for me from behind, releasing my breasts from its hold as it falls off me.

“Paige,” I scold lightheartedly, but she doesn’t speak, her fingers slide around me and brush against my nipples making them grow hard. With a shaky exhale, I lean my head back against her shoulder, my hands holding the white button down I slept in while she kneads my breasts, perfectly fitting into the palms of her large hands. Those perfect fucking hands.

“Want you mama,” she whispers into my ear, kissing along it. I moan gently, giggling a little.

“I need to- ah- wash my face first darling,” I mumble. “Keep it in your pants just a little bit longer.”

Paige groans but let’s go, rubbing her jaw in frustration. “Just be quick.”

I hurry into the bathroom, my meticulous skincare routine impossible to make quick despite my girlfriend’s wishes. Finally, after 20 minutes or so I walk out to the low rumbling of Paige’s snores, finding her laid on her back in just a sports bra and boxers, arm thrown over her face. That’s mine.

I merely watch for a moment, taking her in, taking the day in. A warm feeling overwhelms me, and the urge to curl up next to the blonde grows bigger than ever before. Everybody wanted her, yet she was all mine, worshipping the ground I walked on. Little did she know I felt the exact same.

Tiptoeing around the room, I turn off the lights, crawling into bed beside her, covering both of us in the white cotton of the duvet. Before I fall asleep, I lean into her neck, smelling the sandalwood one more time before my eyelids grow too heavy to keep admiring her.

-

It can’t be more than ten in the morning when I feel wet, sloppy kisses being placed into the back of my neck, fingers pushing my hair to the side. I stir, still half asleep, nuzzling my face into the pillow as I lie on my stomach. A gentle touch running down my spine slowly, goosebumps spreading everywhere. 

Another kiss, now on my shoulder as fingers reach under me to undo the two buttons I had been sensible to do last night. I stir again, my body subconsciously helping by allowing the white button up to be pulled off my body, leaving me in a light pink satin thong.

“Mmh,” I hum against the cotton, bringing my hand to rub the sleepiness off my eyes when there’s a gentle shush in my ear.

“Go back to sleep ma,” Paige coos. Another wet kiss on my ear this time, sending jolts to my core. “Just wanna eat your pussy.”

Oh. Suddenly I feel more awake, and even eager, my legs spreading without me even noticing. Paige does though, grinning proudly as she kisses between my shoulderblades, wet, hot, messy kisses leaving a glistening trail down my spine. My eyes maintain closed, my brain still partly asleep but my body’s alert, my back curving my ass into the air when Paige’s lips go lower and lower.

The weight of the blonde on the mattress shifts as she sits up to admire me, both her hands gently grabbing my ass and kneading, seeing the way my light pink thong covering my cunt is peeking out between my thighs, teasing her. I feel the air hitting my core as she grabs my ass more harshly, my back arching involuntarily joined by a desperate whine. How quickly I’d gone from being asleep to dying to have her.

“I know mama, I know,” she murmurs lovingly, fingertips stroking up and down my thighs, spreading them apart just slightly. “I’ma take care of you. Gonna make it all better.”

Her words comfort me only a little, but they don’t fix the aching, dripping sensation between my thighs. Finally, Paige’s fingertips dip underneath the band of my thongs as she pulls them down my thighs with a gasp.

“Damn you’re so wet,” she hisses, slowly spreading my legs the slightest bit. “You dream of me or sumn?”

I’m too dazed and gone to answer, my only response to lift my ass off the mattress enough to give Paige a good view.

“Relax,” she whispers and finally I feel her warm tongue lick along my slit, flat against my dripping pussy once, twice, three times.

“Oh,” I gasp, my fists gripping the white sheets underneath me. Paige moans at the taste of me, pulling back to fill her lungs with air before diving fully in.

Suddenly it’s like she’s everywhere, moving slow but with precise movements, making me feel her all over.

“Baby,” I whimper as Paige’s hands spread my lips apart, burying her face deep enough into my cunt so I feel her nose pressing inside me. “Shit.”

She’s moaning harder than I am, eyes rolled back as she pulls back to spit into my folds, just to dive right back in and slurp all of it up.

“Shit’s so wet huh?” Paige mumbles against my clit, sending vibrations everywhere. My eyes begin to water, the pillow muffling my moans.

Needing more, I prop myself up onto my knees so my ass is in the air. Easier access. Paige groans, pulling back to admire my wet, pulsing pussy - one of her favourite things to do. I swear sometimes she just lied between my legs looking at me.

“Fucking shit,” she cusses, spreading me apart to see the gushes of wetness dripping out of me with every throb, quickly bringing her tongue back to my cunt as to not waste a drop. 

“Paige,” I whimper, legs trembling with need. I needed to cum. Bad. “Don’t stop.”

“Yes ma’am,” she replies without hesitation. Suddenly she’s back at it, her tongue swirling in my folds, circling my clit until she begins to lap me up the way only she knew how.

“Don’t stop, don’t fucking stop,” I gasp. Paige nods against my pussy, the sounds of her slurping me up filthy. “Make me feel so good.”

“Shit…” Paige mumbles, “tell me again, please.”

“You make- ah shit, make me feel so good baby,” I moan, the throbbing becoming harder and harder to as I got closer.

She moans at my words, they only egg her on. It’s like she’s everywhere, gripping my thighs, slurping me up, taking my clit into her mouth and sucking on it gently. I can’t help it anymore.

“Baby I- I’m- I’m gonna-“ I gasp, my moaning turning uncontrollable as she eats me. A simple nod is enough to have me rolling off the edge, grasping the sheets and gasping for air as I cum.

The blonde praises me through it, her words a distant comfort as waves of ecstasy wash over me, my wetness covering her entire face.

Weakly, I roll onto my back. My chest heaves and my eyes remain closed, but Paige crawls up from between my legs and begins to kiss me. Tenderly, lovingly, with so much emotion it surprises me.

The taste of me is all over her face as my mouth wrap around her bottom lip, pulling on it gently. She grins in response, stroking my sides and arms to bring me down.

“Iz?” She asks. Her voice is uncharacteristically shaky and nervous which alerts me enough to open my eyes.

“Yes my darling?”

She meets my gaze with her blue eyes filled with lust. 

“I bought it, thought we could try… y’know.”

Oh I immediately know. I gulp. The strap had been left untouched waiting for the right moment. Maybe this was it?

Paige, too nervous to wait for me to speak, begins to kiss my neck, her breathing irregular and ragged.

“I just wanna feel you,” she murmurs, trailing downwards with wet kisses. She sucks on my collarbone, surely leaving a red mark. “Please.”

Paige’s big hands come to my full breasts, kneading gently. My hands finds its way into her hair, guiding her mouth to my nipple in a moment of desperation.

“Ahh,” I moan softly, Paige’s soft lips sucking my nipple and breast, making my back arch in response. I swear something about her mouth on my tits had me almost cumming sometimes.

“Please, just wanna be inside you ma,” she whimpers. Looking down I see her eyes watering as she her eyes roll into her head, so desperate and hungry I nearly had her in tears. “Please mommy.”

I gasp at her words, an immediate jolt rushing back to my core, still throbbing and sensitive. Paige keeps sucking on my nipples, her tongue circling them. I don’t think she realised what she said.

“Okay, okay baby.”

-

What I hadn’t considered was how wild just seeing the strap on Paige would have me, the silicone resting on her with her veiny hand stroking it like it was an extension of her. It might as well have been, the color matching Paige’s skin tone perfectly.

“Fuck,” she’s already panting as she climbs into the bed, eyes locked on her hand wrapped around the length.

My breathing is shaky too, a nearly painful feeling of emptiness inside me making me whiny.

“Baby,” I whisper to get the blonde’s attention.

“Yeah?”

When her blue eyes meet mine, I finally spread my legs apart, watching her gaze trail down to my core.

“Shit, okay, yeah,” Paige mumbles flustered, settling herself between my legs. She’s trembling, a bead of sweat dripping down her neck. 

I gasp, feeling the silicone press gently against my slit. Paige gasps too, eyes locked onto where our bodies met as she taps the strap against my clit. I moan, brows furrowed. Fuck this. I couldn’t wait any more. The emptiness was too painful.

I reach down, taking charge and grabbing the silicone, guiding it against my folds until it’s glistening with wetness. Paige’s jaw falls slack, her eyes growing even heavier than before. Even more so when I finally guide the tip to my entrance, my leg wrapping around her waist to slip its length inside me.

“Oh sh-“ I gasp, immediately throwing my head back when I feel the intrusion. She’s big, of course she is, enough to make my legs tremble as I get overwhelmed.

“Holy fuck,” Paige hisses, watching closely as her strap - no her dick - stretches me open. “Izzie.”

“P-Paige,” I cry out.

“I’m here baby,” she whimpers, bringing her thumb to my lips and brushing it against mine as I adjust to her.

“S-So big,” I murmur, hissing as Paige slowly pushes deeper inside.

“Ah, fuck,” she cusses. “But you take it so well baby, take my dick so well.”

I moan at her words. “Baby, please.”

Nodding, mouth ajar, Paige begins to roll her hips, the strap slipping in and out of me. The stretch borders on overwhelming, a gasp spilling from my lips every time she thrusts her hips into mine.

“Fuck, look at that,” Paige hisses, eyes flickering between my chest, bouncing as she fucks me, and where her strap is digging into me, my pussy gushing and stretching around it. “Goddamn.”

She begins to go faster, my hands reaching up for her shoulders and pulling her down. We meet in a breathy kiss, both taking turns to moan into each other’s mouths. The sound of skin slapping fills the hotel room, my pussy loud as hell around her length.

“Baby, fuck,” I moan louder than before, and Paige takes it as a sign to reach down and rub sloppy circles on my clit. As she does, a gush of wetness bursts out of me, covering her thighs and dampening the sheets.

“Oh sh- Does my dick feel good? Deep inside that pussy?

I nod, my eyes rolling back. “Feel so good. I love your dick.”

“Shit,” she cusses. “W-want me to cum inside you?”

I nod again, in a complete haze, too drunk off her to think. “Please, need you to. Want you to put a baby in me.”

Paige’s head lulls back and forth, a loud moan leaving her lips. “Don’t worry, I’ma put a baby in you. Gonna get you pregnant.”

“Let me give you a baby,” I moan back. She’s pounding into me now, and as I open my eyes I find her eyes rolling back, jaw slack and brows furrowed.

“Holy- Shit, baby, I’ma put a baby in you. Take me so well. So deep in you- shit, in your guts.”

She’s rambling, the way she did whenever she got close. Wait? She’s close? Without being touched?

It only gets me wetter, my nails digging into her skin and leaving red marks all over. 

“Are you close?” I ask in a shock, moaning as she thrusts into me hard. Our noses nuzzle against each other with each pump, her lips hovering over mine as we whimper into each other’s mouths.

“C-can’t help it, swear I can feel it,” she mumbles. “Swear I can feel this pussy, ma, so fucking wet and tight. Sh- she’s so perfect.”

“Paige, baby,” I cry out, looking at her scrunched up face as the knot in my abdomen tightens and tightens. “Baby, I’m close.”

“M-me too, lemme cum inside you, please, feel so good, I love you, I’ma cum,” Paige rambles, but I barely hear her, as my pussy grips around her dick, the knot finally snapping as she slams her hips into mine, cumming with me. Curses as moans fill the room as the thrusts turn sloppy and slower, both of us riding out our highs. But I only hear one thing. Paige’s voice saying I love you, ringing in my ears painfully.'

-

taglist: @wbbgetsmewetter @thaatdigitaldiary @pb524830 @bueckersfive @lupinqs @sierrale8ne @d3arapril @lovegalor333 @avvwritesstufff @rosemariiaa @bueckers22 @taylynbueckers44 @unadulteratedcyclepaper @rizzlerbuckets @wosolipa @bridgetloveswomen @paiges-1vur @slut4uconnwbb @xxloveralways14 @bueckersbitch @janaelalfysblunt @omg-imtumbling @angryflowerwitch @ohbueckers @ohmybueckers@potatobears-world @st4yyyy @wnbawag @maryjanewatsons @naeswrrldd @she-is-my-unrequited-love34 @paige05bby @paigebaby5

[rikkivoid]

this is my final post! the past few years have been amazing - thank you for everything <3 (more info below the cut)

I will no longer post on this account and wanted to write a note to explain and say goodbye.

Bnha and the bkdk fandom have been a constant source of joy and excitement in my life since 2018 - you were all so kind and encouraging towards me, and I grew so much in skill and confidence as a result! I’ll really treasure my time in this fandom. I loved experiencing so much incredible fanwork and freaking out over exciting moments from the series with everyone in real time. (I still remember choking on my drink and falling to the ground when I saw the vol.29 cover on my tl omg… it was life changing.)

I went on hiatus last year to reconnect with my passion for making art outside of bkdk and learn what I wanted to create without the influence of external validation. I had time to reflect on how much I was influenced by numbers on social media. I thought they didn’t affect me, but in truth, they completely ruled my artistic judgment and decisions. I found new hobbies, new media, experimented with different mediums and subject matters, and in the end… I rediscovered my joy for making art! 

This year, I gave myself a fresh start instead of returning to this account. This is partly because I really enjoy exploring erotic and transgressive themes and I don’t want to share it on a large account to people who followed me under a different pretense haha. But the main reason is that I wanted to create a space without any expectation for what kind of art I should make based on my previous work (since I know the majority of people follow me because I draw bkdk, and I mainly draw ocs and unrelated fanart now). 

All this to say, I hope we can cross paths in the future, but if that day never comes, thank you for the wonderful memories and support you’ve given me over the years! This fandom has so many incredible people in it and I sincerely wish you all the best. PLUS ULTRA!!!! and farewell! :’3

Lots of love,

Rikki <3 

[This account will stay up, but I won't be checking it much. If you have any questions or would like to get in touch, email me at rikkivoid@gmail.com and we can go from there!]

[hoseoksluna]

SCHEME | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x strategy!oc

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

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

word count: 9.5k

pin: strategy

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

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

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

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster,

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

@hoseokkie-caeks, @kam9404, @fr0ggieth1nk, @parkinglot-nights, @sadgirlroo

@rrosiitas @KookieNooki @cristinamajadera @Chaelvrx @mimikoba

@junecat18 @deepops79 @notsevenwithyou @futuristicenemychaos

@psychicjellyfishalpaca @Kooloveys

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

Your selfish strategy backfired. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Instead, Jungkook spanks you again. Harder this time. 

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

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

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

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

Of the abuse. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m sorry.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He regrets the person he is. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That is precisely the way his mother would touch him. 

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

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

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

Truth. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s half the size of his cock. 

“Give me some of it.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn’t waste time. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And your body listens. 

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

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

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

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

“Come here.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tenderness. Innocence. No sign of mischief. 

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

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

To soften. 

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

Happy to be the giver, the provider. 

Happy to tease you. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Even if he didn’t enjoy it as much. 

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

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

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

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

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

“Will you spank me if I don���t?” 

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

“You promise?” 

“I promise.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyes nearly go cross, gaping at his length. 

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

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

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

What a twist of events. 

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

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

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

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

“Jungkook, this is my first time.” 

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

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

That you chose him to be the first one? 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His arousal burns. “By who?” 

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

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

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

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

“Your dick.” 

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

He can’t have this. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Look at me while I’m fucking you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Is that all you have to say?” 

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

“Your cum tastes good.” 

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

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

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

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

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