#of course the one I was most interested in turns out to be a homicidal maniac… OF COURSE

[blupengu]

My immediate reaction upon seeing the character designs and VAs for the first time:

Me, halfway through the common route:

[sister-lucifer]

Take Your Breath Away 

Ticci Toby x Gender Neutral Reader 

Genre: Smut 

Summary: Toby is a nasty son of a bitch and pulls a terrifying trick on you 

Content/Warnings: Nonconsensual breath play (the sex is consensual, the suffocation is not), bondage, Toby is a mean and nasty motherfucker, Reader almost passes out, homicidal undertones, a wee bit of degradation, listen it’s one of MY toby fics i feel like that’s a warning in and of itself, no genitalia specified for Reader, Reader and Toby are already in a relationship 

Like my writing? I take requests! NSFW or SFW for any fandoms in my bio (request rules + masterlist in pinned post)!

Also, please reblog! it’s free, takes two seconds, and really helps me out 

Feedback is encouraged and appreciated:)

Not fully proofread! Let me know if you see any errors!

A/N: Just to avoid confusion, in my headcanon Toby has a stutter as well as but separate from his tourette’s; i’m writing his stutter, not his tics! thankies!

It was no secret to you that Toby had some…odd “interests”. It wasn’t a secret to anyone, really. You could probably guess it just by looking at him. However, for the most part he’d been rather proficient at practicing restraint. Of course, that’s not to say he didn’t stare when you weren’t looking, and he certainly let his twitchy hands linger over your neck for a bit too long when he pulled you in. Maybe you should have kept a closer eye on him, but after getting so used to his unusual demeanor it was easy to simply brush it off. You noticed him staring throughout the day, sure, and you were definitely a bit put off when he refused to let you pull away from a kiss that had gone on for much too long, giggling to himself as you fought to catch your breath. 

You really should’ve at least wondered what was up when he silently walked up behind you while you were at the counter, wrapping a strong hand around your neck without warning. You could feel him grinning against your neck as he greeted you with a hushed laugh that made you shiver. He let go when you managed choke out his name, pulling you into him by the waist as if nothing had happened. You were naturally perplexed when he walked away, but he didn’t seem to think anything of it. Why should you?

He was playful, that was all, you thought. He was mischievous and liked to push his limits to see how you’d react; it was how he learned, seeing as he was never quite in tune with social cues. It was all in good fun, you figured, even if it had been a bit startling. 

Despite what you told yourself, there was no denying the malicious glint in his eyes when he posed you a jarring question: 

“Would you l-let me tie you up?” 

You stood quickly from where you were crouched, busy rummaging through a cabinet until Toby had violently grabbed your attention. It was out of the blue, completely unprompted, enough to have you staring at him slack-jawed in stunned silence. When you couldn’t conjure a response fast enough, he repeated his question.

“Would you let me t-tie you up?” 

“W…What?” 

You tilted your head in confusion, trying to wrap your mind around what could have possibly brought him to this thought. 

“Just say yes or no: If I wanted t-to tie you up, would you let me?” 

You struggled for a few moments more, your face beginning to feel unbearably hot. 

“I mean…I— I guess? Sure?” You replied, your eyes nervously scanning Toby’s face in an attempt to ascertain anything about what he could possibly be thinking. 

“Good, thanks.” He replied curtly before turning on his heel and leaving the room. 

He left you standing alone, completely dumbfounded. When he didn’t return and you couldn’t form the foggiest idea of what had just happened, you sighed in defeat and returned to your task. You couldn’t really complain; you knew what you were signing up for with Toby. 

Well…you sort of knew. 

He was certainly a wild card. You’d think you’d have learned to expect the unexpected by now. 

It took only a couple days for Toby to bring the topic up again, this time practically cornering you in your bedroom. You always felt small around Toby with his six foot four towering frame, but you felt particularly vulnerable when he has that hungry look in his eyes he always got when he really, really wanted something. 

“I’ve g-got a surprise for yooouuu!” He announced, one hand behind his back to conceal whatever it was he was so excited about. “Lay down on your stomach. Quickly.” 

You almost hesitated, but you were so morbidly curious you simply had to know what he was hiding. You didn’t take your eyes off of him, though. 

You laid down on the bed and rested your head on your arms, watching as Toby climbed on top of you to straddle your waist. You winced when he roughly pulled your arms behind you, quickly binding them together with the rope he’d been hiding behind his back. He gave one last tug to the bindings to test them, then sat back to admire his work.

“Looks g-good on you…” He muttered, and you’d be ashamed to admit it made you a bit flustered. 

He turned you over, and you were immediately greeted with the sight of his crooked smile spread wide across his face. You tried to return it, but something about it was deeply unsettling. You shuddered under the unblinking, unrelenting gaze of his dark hazel eyes. 

Really, what did you have to be so nervous about? You really couldn’t shake the feeling that he was planning something, but that was irrational. You trusted Toby, didn’t you? 

You did, of course. It was silly to even consider otherwise. 

You happily kissed him back when he leaned down over you. He pulled away from the kiss slowly, and for a split second you caught that dark swirl of something sinister in his eyes, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared. 

It was as if locking eyes with him put you in a trance, and it felt like only a few seconds had passed between that quiet kiss and the scene of debauchery that was unfolding now. 

Toby has you in his lap, his heaving chest against your back. His jittery hands have an iron grip on your hips, effortlessly bouncing you on his cock as if you weighed nothing. His heavy breath fans over your glistening skin and makes you shiver with delight. 

“S-Sooo tight—“ He whispers to you with a shuddering voice. He certainly isn’t worrying about hiding his voice, more than content to pant and moan in your ear without any ounce of shame. Your hands strain against your bindings as you struggle to keep it together. It felt like every time he thrusted up into up into you he hit even deeper than before, leaving no spot untouched. 

“You okay there, p-pretty thing?” Toby asks over your shoulder. You manage a nod and a weak hum in response, but any attempt at words would melt into a pitiful noise of desperation. 

Toby absolutely adores seeing you like this. It gives him such a wonderful rush of confidence to hold such power over you, the power to reduce you to a trembling mess with his bare hands. The best part, though, was how willingly you allowed him to abuse that power. 

You were the perfect plaything, hardly every questioning anything he did, at least not out loud. You were completely pliant in your own destruction, even if you hadn’t been made aware of it just yet. 

He adjusts you in his hold, allowing him to slowly trail one hand up your body. His fingers drum against your sides in a fidgety manner as they ghost over your skin. You don’t notice what he’s doing until you feel him stroke your cheek with the back of his hand. 

“Deep breaths, sweet thing, d-deep breaths…” 

The words should be reassuring, relaxing even, but something threatening has creeped into his voice and is practically spilling through his toothy grin. You lock eyes with him for a brief second, holding back a gasp when you see the unmistakable darkness swirling in his eyes. 

Suddenly a freakishly strong hand clamps over your nose and mouth, holding tight and immediately making your heart drop. Your air supply has been effectively cut off in an instant. Your first instinct is to fight Toby’s unfaltering hold, but you quickly find it to be pointless. 

“Don’t fight it, d-don’t fight…” Toby mumbles against your neck. “You’ll only t-tire yourself out…” 

He hasn’t even stopped thrusting into you, seemingly taking enjoyment in watching you squirm in distress when you both know there’s nothing you can do. Each thrust knocks a bit more air out of you, and you can already feel yourself becoming dizzy. 

As you slowly lose the strength to fight, Toby only becomes more and more enthusiastic. 

“Ahah…y-you’re so cute like this. I wonder if I-I can make you cum before you pass out…you think you can manage that?” 

You hardly process his words, but whether or not you heard him doesn’t matter; you can’t so much as nod or shake your head in reply. Toby doesn’t need a response, though. He’s more than content to listen to himself talk. 

“Y-You know I could never kill you, right?” Toby asks, but the question is not reassuring in the slightest. “No, no…I-I could never…but maybe I w-want to see what you look like when everything g-goes dark. Does that s-scare you?” 

You use the last of your breath to let out a desperate whimper, but Toby merely smiles in response. Your heartbeat is unbearably loud in your ears, so much so that it’s starting to block out his voice. 

“I b-bet it does,” He continues, unbothered. “You know what I-I am and yet…you willingly let m-me use you like this. Do you h-have any idea what I could do to y-you? Do you even care?” 

He’s mocking you, and it stings just a bit. He’s got a point, though. I mean, what person in their right mind would be so eager to please an openly homicidal maniac? Maybe you weren’t much saner than him, all things considered…

Maybe you should have expected this. 

You really start to panic when black spots start forming in your vision, dark ashen circles burning into your sight. Toby hasn’t missed a beat even once, watching you intently with crazed eyes that see every little twitch or slight move. Your vision is overtaken by the darkness all too fast and yet agonizingly slow, drawn out to a cruel degree. You can feel the last shreds of strength leaving your body, and for a moment there’s a flicker of acceptance that there really is nothing you can do, though it’s quickly washed away by your distress. There’s a split second where you’re nearly blind, only able to see the smallest shards of light, and if Toby hadn’t decided to pull his hand away right then and there you surely would have passed out. 

When you finally feel him let you go you inhale on instinct, nearly sobbing with relief when your lungs finally fill with air again. You cough and heave as you fight for your breath with all you can. For a few moments you don’t notice that Toby has stopped moving his hips completely, now more invested in observing you. Your eyes watered as you struggled to calm your sporadic breathing. 

“T…Toby—“ You call weakly, barely managing to speak. In response his hips twitch, reminding you that his length is still throughly nestled inside of you. You grit your teeth to hold back a broken moan. 

“Heheh, did you k-know you get this…this f-funny look in your eye when you’re scared?” He asks, but you know he’s not really interested in an answer. You couldn’t give one anyways. 

He adjusts your position in his lap once more, making you tense up as you feel him shift inside of you. He begins to drag a hand up your chest just as you’ve managed to calm your breathing, and it quickly finds itself dangerously close to your neck. 

“T-Toby, wait—“ You begin to plead, but he quickly cuts you off. 

“Shhhh, shhhh…Don’t f-fight me, pretty thing. Just let me play w-with you a bit longer…” 

[muffinsin]

Hello muffin. Had a really stupid idea I just had to share. How about all three of the sisters having a crush on Donna and trying to seduce her but failing epically. Just three homicidal extroverted lunatics trying to seduce a rather shy introvert in all the wrong ways. With Donna thinking they are threatening her or something. Angie and the others all watching and not saying anything as the comedic potential is high. I don't know just complete misunderstandings all around. What do you think?

Thinking this has full on meme potential XD. Wishing I could draw to make art out of the chaotic scenarios that could stem from this lmaoo🙊

Let’s get into it! :)

Masterlists

Bela

Now, Bela has always been encouraged to take what she wants by her mother

Naturally, this must include Donna, right?

Now, there is a fair share of maidens at the castle hoping to woo the eldest sister

Not that she has time for any of this

She always turns them down, though uses their failed attempts as teachings

What’s so hard? An invitation to a date, then talking of shared interests. Piece of cake!

Never has she attempted to woo someone. But, she has an ego. She knows she’ll do amazing

What could go wrong?

Well, for one that Bela enters breaks into the Beneviento gardens in her search of the lord without really knowing what causes could follow

She seems to have forgotten that Donna is, despite her timid manner, quite powerful. And so is her entire region

There is a reason Mother wouldn’t let her and her sisters hunt in this region…

Disoriented, almost high on pollen, and absolutely out of it by the flowers planted nearly everywhere, Bela swarms face first into Donna, who believes she truly did experience a heart attack just then

Slurry words fall from her lips, something alongside dinner?

Donna is sweating under her veil. Is the huntress before her threatening her?

Will she be dinner?!

She is overly alert of Bela’s sharp teeth peeking out from behind her lips. As well as the scent of blood surrounding her

Will she be her next victim?

Apparently not, for Bela falls face first into her, the pollen of various cadou-infested flowers entirely too much

Maybe she should have asked to come. Maybe then Donna would have told her about a safer passage through the gardens, without the many flowers

Nonetheless, Donna is almost completely still under her, having been too lost in thought to catch Bela

Or well; catch her she did…with her body

The blonde quite literally falls on top of her, her unconscious, heavy body on the dollmaker

Of course, Donna is too shy to attempt to wake the sleeping blonde

She considers reaching out to Angie, but merely hears a snicker in return. Of course she’d find this funny

Is this her fate now?, the shy dollmaker wonders, with her clothes dirtied by mud and breath smelling of blood and toothpaste blown in her face with each exhale coming from Bela’s mouth

Cassandra

She’s always been intrigued by Donna, always

However- she isn’t the best at wooing someone. She wants a person, she takes them. That’s how she plays

Also, most practically throw themselves at her, if they don’t run away

So- how to woo a lady of the village?

She doesn’t think on it for too long, instead goes for what she thinks will work best: gifts!

Now, some might consider flowers or chocolate sweet gifts. Not Cassandra. They bore her to death

Surely Donna will agree!

Well…

When Donna awakens to find a bunch of foxes trapped in a cage in front of her house, she isn’t too happy

Quickly, she releases the animals and watches them scurry off

The next day, its pigeons, ten of them, their small legs tied to a stick they can’t seem to lift

Donna, with her heart beating worriedly, is quick to undo the string connecting them and watches as they fly off

What is happening?

Hmm, Cassandra thinks, it seems the doll maker isn’t fond of living things

No matter. Cassandra is thrilled by this!

No problem at all! Donna will love her next gift!

Well, not quite…instead the dollmaker is nearly petrified from her shock and fear when she opens her front door again and finds a large, dead wolf out front

It’s huge, and would make for a lot of lei in the village. The sight of it has her feel a little nauseous though

Then, it’s dead rats dropped at her windows at random times during the day

When one of them turns out to be alive, the otherwise mute dollmaker lets out a yelp, and quickly brings it to safety

After, it’s a whole lycan! She takes forever, even with the help of her dolls, to get rid of it

She screams hoarsely when she opens her garden door once and is face to face with the sharp teeth of a varcolac, dead with its mouth open and fangs bared for her

She shivers, though- she can make some good fortune on it

(Which she normally doesn’t need, though she likes to get herself flowers and materials on her own at times)

Yet the worst is to come, when she opens her front door one morning and finds a dead black bear out front

The poor thing is still warm…

Are these all threats?!, she wonders

Angie is barely any help, instead points out writing at the stomach of the large animal

She dares turn it over to read Cassandra’s message carved into the poor thing’s belly:

“I’ve got my eye on you”

Donna gulps

Daniela

She has been told she is delusional before. Once or twice, maybe

Ah, and what a silly thing to say it is!

Until…Daniela falls for the mysterious lady of the mountain and waterfall, lady Beneviento

Naturally, Donna must love her too, the youngest Dimitrescu daughter is under the impression everyone does

She just knows Donna is blushing under her veil when she sees her!

She goes with traditional courting methods

Flowers, dinner invitations, kisses, affection…

When Daniela appears behind Donna randomly as she works outside her house, she jumps so hard she drops her small hand shovel into the waterfall

She wonders, if this keeps up, will she fall down as a whole one time?

Daniela finds this hilarious. She giggles happily at it

Donna grasps her own chest, as though to catch her breath and stop panting

Daniela’s wild and fast movements do nothing to calm her

Then, flowers are thrust into her hand and a kiss is placed to her veiled cheek

Daniela giggles, her hands cupping Donna’s cheeks through the garment covering her face

“Don’t worry, my sweet, I’ll be back!”, she coos, teases

Then, Daniela swarms off, and leaves the dollmaker flustered, confused, and partially scared

This happens every day

Sometimes, Donna plants the flowers given to her. Sometimes she puts them in vases

They’re beautiful, even if Daniela’s wild nature has her on edge

She anticipates her visit every day, and yet is never prepared

Sometimes Daniela appears in her greenhouse. She doesn’t know how she comes in there

One time, she drops down from the roof when Donna steps outside

She nearly gives the doll maker a heart attack! Donna has instinctively called all her dolls…

And Angie stares and huffs as she watches Donna freeze when another kiss is just pressed to her cheek, while Daniela drops a crown made of leaves on top of her covered head…with her bare hands

…Donna wonders if the redhead knows its nettle leaves..ah, Daniela is bound to notice sometime. She swarms off before Donna can warn her- not that she would’ve been brave enough to speak up anyway

Often, her cheeks adapt a pink colour under the veil, and Donna absolutely panics whenever Daniela decides to randomly show affection

When she wraps her arms around the dollmaker one time as she kisses her cheek goodbye, Donna is certain this is the end

The grip is tight on the petite dollmaker, and yet she survives

Somehow

[ghostinthelibrarywrites]

"Knowing that this is all an act and really knowing it are two different things."

Yenskier! If you feel so moved 🥹🤞🏼

I always feel moved to write Yennskier! Here's a modern with magic AU with mentions of background Yenralt and Geraskier (can be read as pre-OT3)

The ring is perfect, a black pearl surrounded by a halo of tiny diamonds, set in a white gold band. It’s exactly the kind of engagement ring that Yennefer would have picked out for herself, if she were the engagement ring type. The fact that Jaskier is the one that bought it—even sizing it perfectly somehow—annoys her to no end.

“Well, that went swimmingly,” Jaskier says, carrying a pile of dishes into the kitchen and dumping them into the sink. “What do you think, my pearl?”

Yennefer looks away from the ring, annoyed to have been caught gazing at it like a dewy-eyed schoolgirl who was just handed her first promise ring. “I think that was the most tedious three hours of my life, and Geralt used to drag me to all your open mic nights.”

“Your wifely support warms my heart.” He puts a hand to his chest. The wedding band he selected for himself is just as perfect for him, with a sapphire as big as his thumbnail. He’s probably going to put his eye out with that thing. “But I think they all bought us as a married couple, don’t you think?”

“Well, they haven’t tried to kill us yet.” Yennefer pours the last of the bottle of wine into her glass and leans against the counter, watching as Jaskier puts his ring on the counter and begins to scrub at the dishes.

“The Turners were a bit overly interested in where we’re from and who our families are,” Jaskier says. “But I think they may just be snobs, not necessarily thinking about sacrificing us to any forest gods.”

“Mrs. Paine was very interested in you.”

“Again, I think she may just be very bored in her marriage, not necessarily homicidal.”

“It’s possible to be both.”

“You speak with such experience.” Jaskier looks over his shoulder, eyes twinkling. “I promise you, my dove, marriage to be will be many things, but never boring.”

"We're not married."

“Yes, I know that.” He waves one sudsy hand. “But if we’re going to be doing this for Melitele knows how long, we may as well lean into it.”

Yennefer snorts. She would much rather have gone through this charade with Geralt, but her lover is on the other side of the Continent right now, pursuing another lead. So she’s stuck here with his other lover, investigating the suburbanites who may or may not be trying to harness the power of an ancient forest god. Which she could forgive, if they weren’t so insufferably dull about their potential apocalyptic plans.

“Lean into it?” she asks. “By going to play badminton with Mr. Paine tomorrow? Do you think their forest god is going to be at the country club?”

“I would hope not. Those clawed feet would probably be murder on the golf courses.” Jaskier chortles at his own joke. “I’m trying to get to know the people we’re supposed to be investigating. That’s why we’re here, remember?”

“Just don’t end up tied to any altars.”

“Worried about me, my sun?” He turns to bat his eyelashes at her.

“I just don’t feel like saving your ass tomorrow morning. I have yoga.”

“Well, you don’t have to save my ass. You own enough black clothing; you’ll be a convincing widow.”

“If you die, I’ll have to go to the Brewsters’ potluck alone and I don’t think I’ll make it through the night without turning someone into a hedge.” Plus, she promised Geralt that she would keep Jaskier safe. She tries to keep her promises to Geralt, even if it means not letting his idiot boyfriend get himself killed.

“The Brewsters actually seem perfectly lovely, so we can’t have that.” Jaskier is quiet for a moment, concentrating on scrubbing a tricky spot. His back is turned to her, but she can picture his tongue poking out of his mouth like it always does when he’s focused. “After I get home from badminton, I was thinking we could go look at paint colors.”

“For what?”

“The bedroom.”

“Why?”

“Well, you’ve only mentioned how tacky you find the green and pink seventeen times this week. I thought you might be bored of complaining about the same thing.”

“This isn’t really our house,” Yennefer reminds him. “The owners will remember it eventually and when they get back from their winter in Toussaint, they’ll wonder why their bedroom is a different color.”

“I’m sure you can just waggle your fingers and turn it back.” Jaskier waggles his fingers to demonstrate. “But we’re probably going to be here for a while, so you should like our bedroom.”

“It’s not really ours.”

“Right now, it is. Anyway, it could be a fun project for us next weekend.”

“When we’re not investigating the murderous cult?” Yennefer asks acidly, staring at the back of Jaskier’s head in disbelief. Of course Jaskier would settle into this suburban life so nicely; this is how he grew up. He has a pair of doting parents, four sisters, a gaggle of nieces and nephews. He grew up surrounded by this kind of mundanity, going to barbecues on weekends and watching his parents debate swatches of paint.

Yennefer has never been meant for this life. She went from a pigsty to Aretuza to the Aedirnian government. If her parents ever got invited to barbecues and games of badminton—unlikely, given that her stepfather was the town drunk—they never brought her along.

Not that Yennefer has any kind of interest in this type of domesticity. If she were to ever settle down, it wouldn’t be in a cul de sac of cookie cutter houses, identical save for the six different colors the HOA allows them to paint their doors. She wouldn’t spend her evenings hosting dinner parties for the dullest people she’s ever met. She wouldn’t be cohabiting with Jaskier, of all people.

Jaskier is talking, she realizes, though whatever he’s saying doesn’t seem to require her participation. As he waves his hand to emphasize his point, soap bubbles fly everywhere without him even seeming to notice. A splash of water comes perilously close to his ring, which lies forgotten on the counter. Yennefer picks it up to relocate it to a safer spot.

“Anyway,” Jaskier is saying. “I’m not a sorceress who can look into their minds or a witcher who can fight their forest god. The best thing I can do is casually bring up the local disappearances while I play badminton with Mr. Paine and make a mean brisket.”

“That was a decent brisket,” Yennefer admits grudgingly.

“Wasn’t it?” Jaskier turns to grin at her again. There’s a bubble of soap suds clinging to the tip of his nose. The sight makes her feel an unexpected, entirely irrational surge of fondness. She thinks about closing the distance between them to swipe it away. Instead, she grips the edge of the counter.

“Just don’t get attached,” she says. “These people aren’t your friends. At least one of them is a killer and given the number of disappearances, I wouldn’t be surprised if half the neighborhood is either in on it or knows what’s going on and is looking in the other direction because they’d rather focus on having the nicest hydrangeas on the block.”

His grin fades into a soft, almost sad little smile. “Don’t worry, Yenn, you don’t have to worry about me getting attached. I did theater in college. I know how to put on an act.”

Yennefer isn’t sure why that bothers her. It’s good that he’s consciously putting on an act; it’s what they’re here for. “Geralt dragged me to your plays too. They were terrible.”

That gets the expected offended noise from him. “It’s a good thing you’re not masquerading as a theater critic, Yennefer, because no one can accuse you of having good taste.”

“And it’s a good thing you’re not masquerading as an actor.”

“I want a divorce.”

“We’re not married.”

“Then I want a fake divorce.”

“Mr. Paine’s a divorce attorney, isn’t he? Bring it up with him tomorrow.” Yennefer realizes she’s still holding Jaskier’s ring, the absurdly large sapphire glittering in her palm, and sets it aside. “I’m going to go upstairs.”

“Fine.” He lets out a long sigh. “Leave me to my toils.”

Yennefer rolls her eyes and mutters a spell. A moment later, the dishes are stacked neatly in the dish drainer, all perfectly clean.

Jaskier turns to look at her incredulously. “You couldn’t have done that ten minutes ago?”

“A little manual labor is good for you.”

“Just for that, I’m painting the bedroom orange.”

“Still won’t be the tackiest thing in this house.” Pointedly, she looks over his outfit, eliciting another squawk of protest.

Smirking, she heads up the stairs to the master bedroom, stepping around the pile of bedding on the floor where Jaskier has been sleeping. Even though the room’s horrendous pink and green color scheme is nothing that Yennefer would choose for herself, the room is filled with the trappings of the life she and Jaskier are sharing here: a guitar leaning against the wall, a sweater discarded on the bed, the fake wedding photo Ciri photoshopped for them sitting on the dresser. 

Yennefer’s eyes linger on the photo. Ciri is a talented kid; only the most eagle-eyed observer would notice that Yennefer’s skin tone isn’t an exact match of the bride in the elegant lace dress. The false Jaskier stands behind the false Yennefer, arms around her waist, eyes twinkling with love and joy as he holds her close. Yennefer is fairly sure Ciri took his face from a photo of him with Geralt.

They talked about their wedding earlier, the stunning destination wedding to Skellige where Jaskier cried when he saw Yennefer walking down the aisle. They talked about their first meeting at the coffee shop where Jaskier used to work. They talked about Jaskier proposing in that same coffee shop two years later. It was the story of a happy, normal couple, and it was all entirely bullshit.

Yennefer sighs and twists off the perfect engagement ring, dropping it on her ring holder, before she goes to take off the seafoam green sundress she borrowed from Triss.

This is all an act, she tells herself. She just hopes that Jaskier doesn’t forget that.

***

Fake dating prompts

Tag list: @kueble @mollymawkwrites @feral-jaskier @geraltrogerericduhautebellegarde @dawnofbards @thisislisa @tsukiwolf42 @mosaicscale @rockysstupidity @fontegagrilledcheese @kuripon @help-i-need-a-cool-username @julek @flowercrown-bard @eveljerome

[disco-elysium-via-polls]

So, as I said last time, we have nothing left we can do in the game except head to the island.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - In your hand, you hold "Dick Mullen and the Mistaken Identity." The brittle paperback feels fragile to the touch.

Examine the cover.

Start reading.

[Put the book away.]

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The cover features a pastiche of different scenes. In the foreground, a man in a dark overcoat clutches a pistol to his chest. Rising up behind him are two silhouettes wrapped in a passionate embrace.

The tagline reads: "Detective Dick Mullen must prove his innocence after an old friend is murdered -- by someone who looks just like Dick Mullen!" That seems to sum up the premise nicely.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Needless to say, it violates nearly every RCM regulation for a detective to investigate a murder in which he is a suspect.

KIM KITSURAGI - "Are you really reading that, detective?"

"I really need to know who this Dick Mullen guy is."

"I'm looking for advice on being a real detective."

"I'm just skimming it."

KIM KITSURAGI - "That's probably for the best. Those books aren't exactly famed for their tight plotting."

DRAMA [Medium: Success] - It's much more about the dark and deadly atmossssphere.

I meant to go through our book collection sometime well before this point, but I kept forgetting we had the option.

Also, I put another point into Electrochemistry, and move into Lilienne's house so we're out of the rain.

2. Start reading.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The story opens with a knock at the door. Detective Dick Mullen is greeted by an old friend, Charlie Spillane, who's come to Mullen to ask a favour on this dark and cold night...

Spillane needs Mullen to drive him in from Vesper to a small town along the Insulindian coast. Despite his friend's apparent agitation, Mullen does as he's asked, then returns home where he passes out drunk, as he does most nights...

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - An extremely unprofessional and *hurtful* stereotype that's offensive to all upstanding officers of the law.

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Medium: Success] - But also extremely *accurate*, in your case.

Hey, I'm trying at least.

Look, I can't judge.

Keep reading.

I don't need to read this. I'm already living it. (Close the book.)

ELECTROCHEMISTRY - Give it time. You'll fall off the wagon sooner or later.

Keep reading.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Two days later, Mullen is arrested by the Vesper police and charged with the murder of Charlie Spillane. At his interrogation, Mullen learns that Charlie Spillane was shot in a bar in the very town Mullen dropped him off in, by a man matching *Mullen's* description...

Desperate to clear his name, Mullen manages to convince the Vesper police to release him for *three days* so that Mullen may solve his friend's murder and prove his innocence.

"The cops release their prime murder suspect so he can find 'the real killer'? Are you shitting me?"

No way Mullen did it. (Keep reading.)

KIM KITSURAGI - "What's the matter, detective?" The lieutenant turns to you with a start.

"I don't know who's writing this shit, but I get the feeling they aren't experts on homicide investigations."

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant shrugs, resigned to the idea that his profession will rarely, if ever, be accurately represented in art and literature.

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - They're not shitting you, detective. This is what the writers think passes for police procedure.

Okay, so Mullen didn't do it. (Keep reading.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Of *course* Mullen didn't do it. That's the whole premise of the book! Anyway, Mullen returns to the seaside bar where Spillane was murdered, and meets a *beautiful*, *mysterious* woman named Deanna Deneuve.

Nice, a dame.

Now it's getting interesting. (Keep reading.)

I feel like I've read this before. (Close the book.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - And not just any dame -- she's truly one-in-a-million, a knock-out whose *mind* is as dangerous as her *curves*. But she's got a *secret*.

Man, who doesn't?

Sounds like my kind of woman.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Secrets are the currency of human relations.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - Your secrets are unknown even unto you, so does that make you a rich man or a beggar?

Now it's getting interesting. (Keep reading.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Deneuve reveals that she was Spillane's lover, and that he was mixed up with a local amphetamine smuggling operation. As soon as Mullen begins pulling at strings, the whole conspiracy begins to unravel...

Not only is the local police captain in on the amphetamine ring, so is the son of a powerful politician, and a strung-out art collector named Torvald. Each of whom has his own reasons for wanting Spillane dead...

Tell me about the corrupt police captain.

I want to hear about the politician's son.

What was that about an art collector?

Okay, let's get on with the story.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Outwardly, the old police captain is a real law-and-order crypto-fascist, a barrel-chested man who's beaten his share of suspects to pulp. But he's also dirty, and increasingly paranoid that someone's going to expose his role in the drug ring...

He would certainly have the motive and the means, but the captain walks with a noticeable *limp* from an old war injury. Is it possible he was able to conceal it long enough to commit the murder?

2. I want to hear about the politician's son.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - A typical privileged twat. In all likelihood, he's just in over his head. He does bear a personal grudge against Spillane though, a former prosecutor who nearly brought down his father's administration...

The kid doesn't exactly have Dick Mullen's manly build, but he is the correct height, and while interrogating him at his home, Mullen *did* notice a certain overcoat that looks suspiciously like his own...

3. What was that about an art collector?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Torvald the Art Collector is a strung-out mess. Frankly, it's hard to imagine him holding a pistol steady enough to actually hit someone, let alone plug them three times in the chest the way old Spillane got did...

That said, Torvald and Spillane have a long history, and while interrogating him, Mullen discovers that Torvald was once *involved* with Deanna Deneuve. Could it be that this is all over a sordid *love triangle*?

4. Okay, let's get on with the story.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - One evening, Deanna Deneuve comes to Mullen's hostel room in tears. The two of them drink half a bottle of vodka, and soon they're seeking comfort in each other's arms...

ELECTROCHEMISTRY [Easy: Success] - Yes, comfort and pleasure. The warmth of another human's touch, the burning taste of liquor on her full, sweet lips...

+1 Health

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Well, *that* testimony won't be admissible any longer.

How does Mullen expect to solve the murder if he's sleeping with witnesses!

Nice. Get it, Mullen.

I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but maybe the story will turn it around.

ESPRIT DE CORPS - The man's a prosecutor's nightmare. Solving a murder counts for nothing if all the evidence gets thrown out in court over police misconduct.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - That's just Dick Mullen's *modus operandi*. He might bend the rules, but he closes cases no one else can.

2. I'm not sure I'm happy with this, but maybe the story will turn it around.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - As the two lovers share a post-coital cigarette, Deanna Deneuve turns to Mullen and says, "By the way, Dick, there was something else I meant to tell you..."

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - "I love you"?

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - The name of the true killer?

HAND/EYE COORDINATION [Medium: Success] - "Always aim for the centre of mass"?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Whatever it is, Mullen never hears the words -- A blow to the base of his skull knocks him out cold instantly.

Fuck.

Can't trust a dame. (Shake your head.)

I don't really like where this is going. (Close the book.)

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Who can you trust in this wicked, messed-up world?

Your partner. (Look at Kim.)

No one. Just your own two eyes.

No one. You gotta go with your gut.

I could put this to a vote, but I think we all know what would win.

KIM KITSURAGI - The lieutenant gives you a quizzical expression in return. You go back to the story...

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - When Mullen comes to, Deneuve is dead on the hostel bed next to him. To make matters worse, his clothes are covered with her blood!

Double fuck!

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Mullen trashes his blood-stained clothes and flees the hostel, knowing it's only a matter of hours before the cops discover Deneuve's body, if they haven't been tipped off already...

ESPRIT DE CORPS [Easy: Success] - Fleeing a crime scene, destroying evidence... Even if Detective Mullen *didn't* commit the murder, he should be facing *years* behind bars.

AUTHORITY [Easy: Success] - Dick Mullen won't be sent to the clink for the sake of some *legal niceties*!

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - The heat is on! If Dick Mullen can't solve both murders before the cops catch up to him, he's going away for life...

Can you solve the case before the cops close in?

Wait -- I've got some questions first.

I've figured it out.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - What is it, detective?

Why does everyone close to Dick Mullen wind up dead?

Why did Dick Mullen become a detective in the first place?

Why bother solving crimes when the world is so evil?

I don't have any more questions. I've figured it all out.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - It's a dangerous line of work, but somebody has to do it. That's why Dick Mullen never lets anyone get *too* close...

HALF LIGHT [Medium: Success] - What's the matter? Afraid you've been hacking up your friends' bodies in the night?

INLAND EMPIRE [Easy: Success] - You *are* the murderer, after all...

Boy, that's a callback to something that happened *ages* ago.

2. Why did Dick Mullen become a detective in the first place?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - There was never a time when he wasn't a detective. He was born a detective.

Was I *not* born to be a detective?

But why is he like that?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Dick Mullen was made to crack skulls and solve cases. It's who he is. He could no more stop being a detective than a tiger could cease to be a predator in the night.

VOLITION [Easy: Success] - You're no tiger, though, Harry. You're a man. It's your curse to have to choose.

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - For a moment, you cease to read the story on the page and see the book for what it is, a collection of brittle, cheaply printed pages, held together by glue made from the hooves of horses...

PHYSICAL INSTRUMENT [Medium: Success] - From nowhere, you hear the screech of sneakers on a waxed floor, and you feel the burn of rope against your hands. Are these figments of some other life?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - You won't find the answers you're looking for here, in other words.

3. Why bother solving crimes when the world is so evil?

DICK MULLEN AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITY - Is it really so evil, detective?

[twistedtummies2]

Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes - Number 8

Welcome to A Gathering of the Greatest Gumshoes! During this month-long event, I’ll be counting my Top 31 Favorite Fictional Detectives, from movies, television, literature, video games, and more!

SLEUTH-OF-THE-DAY’S QUOTE: “Just one more thing…”

Number 8 is…Columbo.

There is a particular friend of mine, whom I hope is reading this, and who I suspect will be VERY happy to see this character and series in the Top 10. Just wanted to throw that out there; said friend, for the record, shall remain anonymous.

ANYWAY…Columbo is arguably one of the most unique detective programs to ever grace the television screen, in my humble opinion. I suspect this fact is a big part of why the show lasted as long as it did: the show ran for ten seasons, and almost seventy episodes, running all the way from 1968 to 2003. The premise of Columbo was essentially a reversal of the “Whodunnit” formula: a concept sometimes referred to as a “Howcatchem.” At the start of every episode, some villain would commit murder most foul: the discovery of the murder would lead to the summoning of homicide investigator Lieutenant Columbo (whose first name is ostensibly “Frank,” but such is never actually stated in the series). The plot would thus focus on the audience trying to see how Columbo would take down the villain, as he pokes and prods for hints and evidence. In a way, he’s actually the antagonist rather than the protagonist! Typically, Columbo uses some hidden detail that the criminals (and likely the audience) never considered as the lynchpin that proves their guilt, and thus forces them into revealing themselves to the rest of the world.

Columbo himself is a big part of what makes the series so great, just as much as the gimmick of him finding clues to catch a criminal the viewers are aware of, rather than the audience and the detective alike trying to identify the villain. Usually, not only do we know who the criminal is, but Columbo seems to at least have a hunch right from the start; the plot really focuses on him trying to figure out a way to identify them and take them down. The Lieutenant is one of those great deceiving characters I like, whom I haven’t really come up with a specific phrase to describe, that uses a foolish façade to bamboozle his opponents. At the outset, Columbo is something of a buffoon: he’s a bit clumsy, has good manners but speaks in a somewhat crude fashion, and often looks very dissheveled, given his rumpled trenchcoat and frazzled hairstyle. He seems more interested in smoking fat cigars and cracking bad jokes than he does actually solving the crimes he’s been put to, and often seems to go on random tangents when talking.

Most of this, however, is a total sham: it’s Columbo’s way of disarming his opponents. It’s worth noting that many of Columbo’s most popular adversaries were rich and highly proper people: well-educated and clean-cut folks many would never suspect of murder, and who certainly seem to consider themselves superior to the apparently lunkheaded lieutenant. Since he doesn’t seem threatening to them, at first, they underestimate him and are therefore ultimately teased into steadily revealing their hand. As the story goes on, Columbo, in turn, shows more of his iron will, crafty mind, and at times even hints of righteous anger. Slowly but surely, he becomes the one in control, while our villain protagonist loses that control bit by bit, till finally the whole tapestry of their crime is unraveled. Only then is Columbo is able to make the arrest.

I absolutely love characters like this: ones who seem silly and frivolous and perhaps even satirical on the outside, but are dead serious and at times downright scary on the inside. Characters like Sans, The Doctor…and, of course, Columbo, who is easily one of the most definitive examples of the idea. Peter Falk’s performance in the role is consistently spectacular throughout the series’ long, LONG runtime, and when you combine the wonderful balance of steely determination and somewhat dopey goofery with the unique gimmick of the show’s style, it’s a small wonder he and his series remain among the most applauded detective shows in history.

Tomorrow, the countdown continues with Number 7!

CLUE: “Now, I may be wrong…but frankly, I doubt it.”

[beetoo]

WENCLAIR :: catch me, if you can

links :: WATTPAD :: AO3 :: [CHAPTER 2 - '23:59']

a/n: i suck at english, it's not my first language, have mercy but not really--yell at me if a part doesn't make sense, i did not proof read because my wrist is injured :D

Chapter 1 - 00:00

“We got a tip. Lone Wolf’s next target is the Rav’n happening tonight, Nevermore’s biggest charity event.” Wednesday hears through her earpiece, as she’s going through her files in her office. “We’re unsure of who the target is, seeing as none of the guests tonight have been involved in recent illegal activity.” The woman in black picked up pictures and a handful of red yarn. She sticks one onto the board of photos and strings, creating a bigger picture of the case itself.

The Rav’n. We only have 3 suspected targets in mind, all very influential people in Jericho. It may be a small town in Vermont but it’s home to some of the most influential people of my generation at least. The first one being Bianca Barclay–CEO of MorningSong. Regarding Lone Wolf’s affixation towards killing large influential people, Barclay might just be at the top of their list. The only reason I doubt this notion is because that company recently improved due to her leadership. The illegal use of Siren song was immediately halted once she rose to power. If we’re taking that psychopath’s ego into consideration, Bianca’s the least likely target tonight.

Wednesday tacks another photo onto the wall, with a sigh. The next one could be Xavier Thrope. His dad might have put a hit on his head due to his recent publicity murals going against the ethics of his father’s company. The same idea with Barclay–it doesn’t match the killer’s intent. And Lone Wolf was never confirmed to be a hitman.

Then it only leads to one suspect left. Wednesday slowly sticks her own picture to the wall, tracing the red yarn to the case name “Lone Wolf”. Wednesday slowly steps back, taking in all the information, reminiscing on every incident and victim this murderer has produced in a span of six months. In her 26 years of life, Wednesday has never met a case that’s perplexed her. It’s like they’re teasing me. I might just fall in love. The detective couldn’t help but smile. Leaning onto the edge of her table, she couldn’t help but be mesmerized by it all. Whoever this is might just be the greatest psychopath to ever live, next to my own uncle.

The Lone Wolf case is described to be the country’s most devastating homicide in history. Lapsing for six months straight, a murder popped up in different parts of the United States at perplexing distances. Within 10 hours of a murder in California, a 51-year-old electric car tycoon to another in Florida of a 76-year-old politician–Lone Wolf was deemed a patriot-murderer and a hero. The country has split in either support or suppression of this maniac’s actions. I’ve never considered ethical murder to be something that would interest me. Wednesday traced the red string from the state of Florida and added another politician to the ‘victims’. But somehow this is unfolding so well, it’s almost satisfying seeing how their work throws the country into shambles. 

The bounty on their head is the largest since the Hussein brothers in 2003. Theirs was $30 million. Lone Wolf’s is $45 million. With politicians, CEOs, and some random people getting caught in the crossfire of Lone Wolf’s wrath–people of power need them to be put to rest so they can maintain their power.

Of course, Wednesday has no interest in bounty money. Her family has accumulated lots over years and years for turning in their own kin and busting them out. The psychopathic gene passes on but for Wednesday her thirst for outwitting a mystery outweighs even her own being. Wednesday believes she’s dancing her own tango with the Lone Wolf. No one has yet to catch a glimpse of their face nor the sound of their voice and Wednesday sleeps miserably thinking about the enigma that is her suspect.

Wednesday inhales deeply, I simply cannot wait to see what this horrible fellow has planned next.

“Alpha, do you copy? Bravo is in position.”

“Alpha here arrived at point Echo. Any sights on the targets tonight?”

“Negative. Waiting on Charlie to check in.”

Wednesday gazes through the people among the crowd, upon entrance, everything is dawned white and themed with ice and snow. Tables were garnished with silver platters and icicle decor. But in Addams fashion, Wednesday had to come in well-dressed, for a funeral. Decorated in black, the woman kept on a formal yet dashing look that caught the eyes of every woman, man, or person in the audience. Whether the attention was good or bad, that was the least of Wednesday’s worries. Finding a moment to speak with her suspected victims, on the other hand, was.

Headquarters hacked into the Rav’n’s event coordinator’s computer just in time before seating was sent out to all who was invited. With Wednesday being a town celebrity due to her detective excellence and family name, her invitation was not hard to come by at all. But sitting with this city’s biggest influencers like her current suspected victims for the night? It was a job for the professionals.

Eugene was the man behind the earpiece, alongside her brother Pugsley as Bravo and Charlie being Tyler. Tyler was a trusted source in one of Wednesday’s cases, whom she decided to keep around since he always managed to make himself useful. But today, that did not seem to prove true.

“Charlie, do you copy?” Eugene states. “Bro come on, we need you in position ASAP, Barclay is about to make her entrance.”

Wednesday turns to her attention to the entrance, as everyone did. The woman was dressed in an alluring sequin dress that complimented her complexion and eyes very well. All it took was one look and people would simply fold over her sharp eyes and cunning intellect. Wednesday enjoyed the moments she shared with Barclay. The young entrepreneur always set the bar higher for other local CEO’s, Wednesday commends her merciless demeanor. They’ve worked together some time in her career. Wednesday caught the tax frauds in her company and even helped prevent Bianca from going to jail over being framed by her own mother’s business. Though Wednesday wouldn’t call it helping–the woman had the ulterior motive of simply being curious if Bianca actually did it.

Complimenting Bianca’s right hand was Xavier Thorpe, the second suspected victim. Recently painting a mural in protest of his father’s recent activity, Xavier became an online superstar overnight. Building a measly 10 million followers on TikTok, Xavier was almost as popular as Lone Wolf. His murals that his posts that gather awareness on certain topics like Outcast slavery, drug wars, Outcast trafficking, and other things made him quite a target. Online and in-person. I suppose I should have expected his weak self to come with a companion, seeing as he does value his life.

“Yo Tyler, what is going on man? The trio is about to sit down at the front! The charity auction is about to start!” Eugene yells, causing Wednesday to wince at the sudden increase in volume. Imbeciles. What are they doing? The detective thought as she nodded at the duo while sitting down at their table.

“--Mffsh–static–She–”

“Oh shit–Wednesday I think they got Tyler!” Pugsley utters while looking around in his hiding spot armed with bombs and other explosive assortments. Cramped in a tiny space, Pugsley’s job was to assure offense was available. The Addams weren’t sure what kind of outcast the Lone Wolf was going to be, as the rumors of them being an actual lone wolf were never confirmed. If it were true, they would have been a wolf who’s never wolf’d out–causing their hormonal imbalances to subvert into equilibrium by making the body compensate. Meaning they would have super strength and speed, along with very enhanced senses.

If that were the case, it would be problematic for Wednesday. Pugsley’s explosives are too wide-ranged. Over time, humans grew on Wednesday. To her, the biggest feat to feed her homicidal tendencies is to purge the bad fruits while leaving the good fruit for feasting. It’s much harder. That’s why Wednesday likes it better. That’s also why Wednesday likes her case so much. Almost obsessed with it or even the killer themself. How does one manage to find moral clarity to justly kill a person? Not just one, but multiple? How Wednesday yearns to be like them. Sometimes she finds herself amused by how they do things. Though her team for tonight was prepped for the worst, it seemed like those measures were displaced protecting the wrong person. Their enemy was much more reckless than they perceived them to be–More like a joyrider than a skilled race track driver.

Lost in thought, Wednesday found herself staring at the stage, unaware a new friend has joined their table.

“Enid Sinclair? In the flesh!” Bianca booms, standing up quickly and rushing to the blonde to give her a hug. “It’s been ages! How have you been?”

Wednesday paid no mind to the blonde until she heard something that piqued her interest. “I’ve been amazing Bianca! I’ve been all over the country getting the hottest scoops for CNN! They’re eating my articles up!” All over the country? Suspicious.

“I mean I would too! If I were brave enough to write so much about the Lone Wolf, I’d pay lots for that type of tea.” Bianca replies, chuckling into her hand. “It’s so good to see you here. Yoko’s been crying about how much she misses you if only tonight wasn’t a blood moon. Ugh, she’s going to gloat the moment I tell her you were here. OMG let’s take a selfie for her!”

Enid Sinclair. I did not see her on the guest list. And she’s a journalist following Lone Wolf? I have to take a mental note to look into her later—

“You must be THE Wednesday Addams! I’ve heard so much about you and your feats! One of my coworkers actually interviewed you for the scoop on your recent outcast trafficking bust! Your work is amazing.” Enid overly gushes, her colorful getup was giving Wednesday a headache. “Where’s your partner?” The other girl asks, eerie with a smile different from the one she presented to Bianca.

The question caught Wednesday off guard since she never mentioned coming with a partner and Tyler is nowhere to be found. “I didn’t come with one.” The detective answers frankly, eyeing the colorful girl from head to toe. “What about yours?”

“He never answered my calls or texts about it, so here I am. Alone. Want to be partners instead?” So this was her game. Wednesday thought, then replied curtly. “No thank you Ms. Sinclair, I’m quite comfortable doing things alone.”

“Oh come on Ms. Addams, it will be fun! Plus it’s not a Rav’n if you aren’t here with a partner to dance with!” The blonde eggs on, looking at Bianca and Xavier for backup–who were both just watching this moment unfold.

“I would pay good money to watch the Wednesday Addams kill the floor.” Xavier responds, with Bianca adding, “Baby don’t say that, knowing Wednesday she might literally kill the floor.”

“It’ll be fun Ms. Addams! It’s not like there’s anything holding you back! It’s just an innocent little dance.” The blonde continues, standing up and stretching a hand for the girl painted black. I would rather wear pink than dance with this walking rainbow vomit. But Wednesday felt something in her stomach. She wasn’t sure if that was the corset speaking or her gut feeling–the kind that usually leads her right into death’s cold comforting arms. Either way, her curiosity was piqued. This new shiny colorful character was suspicious to Wednesday.

Little did she know, she was right on the mark.

Enid lead the other girl to the middle of the dancing scene, hand in hand they tangoed to the music. In sync, their movements argued like a married couple and complimented the other like a newly wed. The music created a romantic scene between the two, surprising each other how well they knew the other’s next step. Others around them stopped their dance only to indulge in the bewitching conversation the two spoke with no words. Just glances and the swaying of their bodies.

Unaware, Wednesday didn’t catch that Enid found her supposed partner for the night comfortable in someone else’s arms. Out of embarrassment, she couldn’t help but cut her mission short and created a plan to flee the scene as soon as possible.

Nearing the end, Enid found herself behind Wednesday, looking at her pale nape, enthralled at how vulnerable her target was, on this full-blood moon. But instead of doing her justice the way she did her last victim, Ron DeSantis, she wanted to make Wednesday suffer a little more. The way she liked it. Leaning into Wednesday’s ear, she offered the shorter woman a warning.

“You’re quite an easy target, Addams.” Enid smiles, licking the side of Wednesday’s neck and bidding her prey farewell with a kiss on the nape. And tasty too. Enid thought, licking her lips as she parted ways from Wednesday–disappearing into the crowd. She said her goodbyes to Xavier and Bianca, running out of the building like Cinderella when the clock strikes 12.

The girl in black searched for her partner, swinging her head left and right looking pink-colored hair. But Wednesday didn’t react fast enough and the wolf had already vacated the scene.. She was still perplexed by the blonde’s words and stupefied by the feeling of her tongue gliding against the side of her neck. Disgusting. She thought, but in a way she would think gutting dead animals and examining dead bodies were disgusting. The girl in black would never admit it out loud but she was enchanted tonight. She was effectively charmed by the most colorful thing she’s ever met in her life, ironically, for someone who believed the only other tolerable color was red. A dangerous stranger. Just the way Wednesday Addams likes it.

When she gained her senses, she reunited with Bianca and Xavier, who shared their condolences for the painted girl in black to have lost her partner for the night a second time. Lost in thought, Wednesday loomed through the auction, buying an antique Chinese finger trap that was put into auction by the Addams’ family themselves–only to win it back for sheer flaunt of their wealth. Towards the end of the auction, Ajax, Enid’s supposed partner auctioned off sculptures created in collaboration with Xavier Thorpe. They pitched to the crowd that the sculptures were replicas of Lone Wolf’s victims and to be smashed during an event later into the week in protest against those who’ve put a bounty on the country’s favored vigilante.

Out of the victims lined up, one, in particular, seemed unfamiliar. This to Wednesday screamed red flags because not only did she know every victim of Lone Wolf’s by heart, she now understands how she murdered them too. By sheer, brute, force. Wednesday thought as she looked at the victims’ positions they were sculpted in. The statue in question, one of Ron DeSantis, a decrepit Floridian politician, was positioned on the ground, which his back seemingly resting on something and arms covering his face that was etched with fear and distraught. This is oddly similar to the other statues. 

As the night matured, Wednesday left the event and returned home with more than enough information to keep her awake for weeks. She spent that night compiling evidence against Ajax and his suspicious sculptures and found him to now be the prime suspect for all of these murders. One especially from Enid Sinclair as she generously provided by licking Wednesday’s neck.

  Usually, her melancholic and lackluster days suited her, but tonight she was accompanied by an ever-growing hunger to outwit the enemy. She doesn’t like it when people are steps ahead of her.Wednesday slept a miserable 2 hours before she was greeted in the morning by Chief Donovan himself that his son, who was also her partner, Tyler was found dead. Headed for the scene as fast as she could, she couldn’t help but get excited over the death of her former partner. New suspects, new clues, and more work. Wednesday let out a laugh at how messy things got so quickly. I’m just dying to see what kind of mess Miss Sinclair made of Tyler.

Arriving at the scene, Wednesday greeted Donovan with a nod and was caught up with the scene assessment. No DNA samples, no footprints, and no murder weapon. She made her way toward the scene of the murder; smelling the forest musk being overtaken by the iron smell of blood. Tyler was found on the scene with all limbs broken, two of which were pulled out. The cause of death was shock due to sudden blood loss, estimated around 8 hours ago, just 2 hours after Enid left the scene. After Wednesday examined the corpse, she felt a wonderful chill in her bones, realizing just how powerful and dangerous the enemy truly was. Keeping her smile to herself, Wednesday faced one of her co-workers and asked if anything else was on left on the scene. 

“There was a note left on Tyler’s left jacket pocket, we think it’s for you.” The man said. Wednesday quickly puts on gloves and took the note from the officer’s hand and it read: “I’ll leave my tastiest meal for last. Catch me if you can, detective.”

“Cara mia, I think I’ve found the love of my life.”

>> NEXT CHAPTER >>

a/n: updated to better suit the sequel. <3 happy reading! let me know what you think in the comments!

[darthvashtique93]

Return of the Hawk

Chapter 35

J'ohnn eagerly watched as Chey-Ara studied the inside of his house. For some reason, he really wanted her to like it. He looked around. The decoration was minimal. The house was painted white. His walls were bare for the most part. A few picture frames of himself in his human disguise were scattered throughout. He frowned. There wasn't much to like about his bare place. She was bound to be unenthused.

Chey-Ara inspected the bare house. She looked back at J'ohnn. Instead of a green alien with red eyes, she was staring at a dark-skinned male with no hair on the top of his head. Bald is what the humans call it. In this human form, he was called John Jones; he was also a homicide detective. He had her remove her wings before entering the house just in case a neighbor was watching. She walked the downstairs. It was roomy and empty. Spacious.

She turned back to him. J'ohnn motioned for her to follow him upstairs. Reaching the second floor, she looked around with interest. There were four bedrooms, each sporting one full-sized bed and one dresser. "Why do you have such a big house?" Chey-Ara asked. "You live alone."

J'ohnn shrugged his shoulders. "It was the only house available at the time," he stated calmly.

"I would like to live here," Chey-Ara stated firmly. "With you. Not alone. Not because I'm scared, but because I am new to this planet." She crossed her arms.

J'ohnn gave her a subtle smile. "Of course," he said. "We can move your things here – "

"I don't have things," Chey-Ara said. "The clothes the League provided me, along with the ones I came to Earth wearing, are all I have. The knives you personally confiscated are also mine," Chey-Ara fixed J'ohnn with a hard stare. "But that is all I possess…and Coco cookies."

"Well," J'ohnn placed his arms behind his back, "I believe the next logical step is for me to take you shopping.

"Shaw-ping? What?" Chey-Ara was very confused.

"And if you intend to stay on Earth, you will need an identity – a new name. What would you like to be called?"

"I don't know," she frowned.

"Well, I'm sure you'll think of something. For now, let's make a list of things you'll need."

Shayera rotated the two, thin long swords in her hand before facing her opponent. "Are you sure you don't want me to use the practice ones?"

"You need to get used to using these weapons. They're lighter than your mace."

"They will snap in half once they come into contact with Thanagarian weapons."

"No, they won't," Bruce said, gripping his bo-staff with two hands. "Clark forged them from metals found on his planet. They won't break."

"You asked him to do that…for me?"

"You always look surprised whenever someone, mainly me, does something nice for you."

"I am just used to earning everything," Shayera explained. "I have never had anything given to me out of kindness."

"You need to get used to it," Bruce said as the two began to circle each other. "You're dating a billionaire. Depending on the day, I may drown you in gifts."

"Are we dating?" Shayera asked. "I was not aware," she smirked.

"Now you are," Bruce replied.

All humor left Shayera's face. "I do not want to hurt you," Shayera said, holding up her two weapons.

"You won't hurt me. I trust you."

"Are you sure?" Shayera wanted clarification.

"Yes, now let's begin."

Shayera charged at Bruce, who easily dodged her attack. He rolled underneath her before swiping her legs with a bo-staff. "Ugh!" Shayera landed on her back.

"I have never seen you move so slow," Bruce stated smugly.

Shayera rolled to her feet. "It is the wings," she said. "They are hindering me." Concern marred her features. "What if I cannot get used to them?" she asked Bruce.

"Maybe it's a mental thing," Bruce said, attacking first. Shayera successfully blocked his first punch and at least 80% of the other combination attacks he threw at her. Unfortunately, not even one of her swipes, strikes, or kicks landed. He dodged, blocked, evaded, parried. She felt faulty, and the wings felt heavy and awkward. Flying through large hoops was easy, but fighting was a different story. She felt slow, defective, and tired.

The fight came to an end when Bruce's bo made contact with her leg, then upper arm, which he followed with a spinning kick to her face. Shayera's head hit the mat hard, bouncing a few times. She glared at Bruce from the floor, blowing a strand of hair out of her face. "Your guard was down," Bruce smirked.

"You are lucky I no longer have a helmet. Your foot would be broken," she motioned to Bruce's bare feet as she stood to her feet. A giant, red mark covered the side of her face. She brought her swords up once more.

"Maybe we should stop," Bruce suggested. "You only just completed the obstacle course."

"Don't get soft on me," Shayera pointed a sword at him.

"Fine," Bruce didn't argue. This is what she wanted. They lunged for each other at the same time, with Bruce easily gaining the upper hand. Seconds later, he had Shayera in an easy arm bar. She fought to get out of it, but with her wings flapping out of sync with each other, tapping out was her only choice. Bruce released her, and she screamed into her hands in frustration. "Let's try something else," Bruce suggested. He sat cross-legged on the mat and motioned for Shayera to do the same. She sat across from him, mimicking his position. "Close your eyes," Bruce ordered gently.

"Is this some type of yoga thing?" Shayera asked skeptically as she obeyed.

"No," Bruce scoffed. "Something I learned while training at a hidden monastery in the Himalayas."

"The Himalayas?" Shayera asked. "You traveled a lot."

"Yes. I- "

"Did you make it to the top of Everest?"

"I wasn't there to climb- "

"Wait. There's a hidden monastery in the Himalayas? Do you know how many times I flew- "

"Are you going to keep interrupting me or can I continue?"

"Sorry," Shayera apologized bashfully.

"As I was saying. I think the problem is you. You're fighting your wings."

"What?"

"Through my many conversations with Carter, in which he did all of the talking, I learned some things about Thanagarians."

"Like what?"

"Well…you guys don't lay eggs, contrary to popular belief," Bruce said with a smirk.

"Seriously?" Shayera said, "People really think we lay eggs?"

"Since you are bird-people, people assume you lay eggs."

"Humans call us 'bird-people' and hawks. Everybody else calls us Thanagarians because that is what we are."

"Back to what I was saying - for the wings to work, you have to form an emotional connection."

Shayera immediately burst out laughing. Bruce raised an eyebrow, not that she could see. "Oh, you were serious," Shayera said when Bruce didn't respond.

"Yes. Sit up straight. Breathe deeply. Answer my questions. First thing that comes to mind. What do you like most about flying?"

Shayera sighed. We're really doing this. "The freedom it brings. The feeling of weightlessness. The wind in my face as I soar through the air," Shayera answered honestly with a smile. "I also enjoy looking down on everyone else. I feel…powerful."

"What do you like most about your wings?"

"They are white and soft and fluffy. My favorite thing to do is curl up in a ball and wrap my wings around myself," she finished enthusiastically.

"Hmm…Imagine yourself soaring. Imagine yourself wrapped in the safety of your wings. Imagine all of the things you just told me." Shayera again listened. "Breathe into your memories. Dive into them. Allow them to surround you." Shayera did. She relived every flying moment that brought her joy; Bruce's soothing voice helped. After a few minutes, he asked, "Are you okay? You relaxed?"

"Yes."

"Good. I want you to remember that I am right here with you. You are safe with me," Bruce emphasized.

"Okay, yeah."

"Good. So…are you soaring, or are you wrapped in a ball?"

"Soaring," Shayera answered immediately.

"I want you to imagine yourself soaring through the clouds when suddenly…your wings are torn off your back," Bruce finished quickly.

"Bruce!" Shayera shouted in horror. She was not going to do that.

"Trust me, Shayera!" she felt Bruce grab her hands. "Just do it."

"We've already had this conversation!" Shayera retorted. Her breathing became shallow as her mind brought her back to that wretched day.

"Shayera- "

"Why do you want me to relive this?" Shayera almost cried as she began to panic.

"Shayera," Bruce said her name firmly. "Trust me." Shayera felt Bruce caress the palms of her hand with his thumbs, trying to calm her. "You're strong, and you're safe here."

Shayera's panicky breathing returned to normal. "Okay," she whispered.

Bruce interlocked their fingers (something he never thought he would ever do with anyone). "You were soaring," he continued. "Your wings were just torn off your back. What's the first thing you do?"

"I start screaming…and – and – and flailing."

"What are you feeling?"

"Fear…p-pain." She saw herself on the ground, screaming in pain. Inconsolable. "Alone," she paused. "D-death," she breathed out as she felt Bruce gently kiss her knuckles. "And then darkness."

"What's the one thing you would wish for in that moment?"

"My wings," Shayera said like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"Okay," Bruce intertwined their fingers again. "Your wings are back. You are now standing on the edge of a cliff, ready to test your new wings. Can you see it?" Shayera felt Bruce's fingers slowly slip from hers.

"Yes," she answered.

"You want to leap. You prepare to leap. But something is stopping you? What is it? The first thing that comes to mind," Bruce ordered.

"I – I – I am scared," Shayera admitted.

"Why?"

"I don't want to lose my wings again," she admitted. "It hurt so much the first time around. I…I cannot go through that again." She felt Bruce gently wipe tears from her eyes, which were still closed. She felt weird…different. "How do you feel?" Bruce asked.

"Weightless," she answered immediately.

"Shayera, open your eyes." She slowly blinked her eyes open, adjusting to the bright lights of the gym. Her legs were still crossed, and she was face-to-face, eye-to-eye with Bruce. Only, Bruce was standing on his two feet. If he was standing and her legs were still crossed, but she was at eye level with Bruce, that must mean – Shayera gasped as she looked down. She was floating, and she wasn't even trying. It was as if her real wings were…there. "How – how – " she looked at Bruce.

"This is all you," he said with a smile.

"How did you – "

"Something I learned at the monastery."

Shayera immediately wrapped Bruce in a tight hug. "Thank you," she whispered.

"Shayera," Bruce said in a strained voice, "you're still slightly stronger than me. You're crushing me."

"Sorry," Shayera said, quickly pushing him away. She landed gracefully on the floor.

"Want to have another go at sparring?" Bruce asked.

"You're going down," Shayera said, flying to the center of the mat.

"We'll see," Bruce followed.

[a-modernmajorgeneral]

Cave art had a profound effect on its 20th-century viewers, including the young discoverers of Lascaux, at least one of whom camped at the hole leading to the cave over the winter of 1940-41 to protect it from vandals, and perhaps Germans. More illustrious visitors had similar reactions. In 1928, the artist and critic Amédée Ozenfant wrote of the art in the Les Eyzies caves, “Ah, those hands! Those silhouettes of hands, spread out and stencilled on an ochre ground! Go and see them. I promise you the most intense emotion you have ever experienced.” He credited the Paleolithic artists with inspiring modern art, and to a certain degree, they did. Jackson Pollock honoured them by leaving handprints along the top edge of at least two of his paintings. Pablo Picasso reportedly visited the famous Altamira cave before fleeing Spain in 1934, and emerged saying: “Beyond Altamira, all is decadence.”

Of course, cave art also inspired the question raised by all truly arresting art: “What does it mean?” Who was its intended audience, and what were they supposed to derive from it? The boy discoverers of Lascaux took their questions to one of their schoolmasters, who roped in Henri Breuil, a priest familiar enough with all things prehistoric to be known as “the pope of prehistory”. Unsurprisingly, he offered a “magico-religious” interpretation, with the prefix “magico” serving as a slur to distinguish Paleolithic beliefs, whatever they may have been, from the reigning monotheism of the modern world. More practically, he proposed that the painted animals were meant to magically attract the actual animals they represented, the better for humans to hunt and eat them.

Unfortunately for this theory, it turns out that the animals on cave walls were not the kinds that the artists usually dined on. The creators of the Lascaux art, for example, ate reindeer, not the much more formidable herbivores pictured in the cave, which would have been difficult for humans armed with flint-tipped spears to bring down without being trampled. Today, many scholars answer the question of meaning with what amounts to a shrug: “We may never know.”

If sheer curiosity, of the kind that drove the Lascaux discoverers, isn’t enough to motivate a search for better answers, there is a moral parable reaching out to us from the cave at Lascaux. Shortly after its discovery, the one Jewish boy in the group was apprehended and sent, along with his parents, to a detention centre that served as a stop on the way to Buchenwald. Miraculously, he was rescued by the French Red Cross, emerging from captivity as perhaps the only person on earth who had witnessed both the hellscape of 20-century fascism and the artistic remnants of the Paleolithic age. As we know from the archeological record, the latter was a time of relative peace among humans. No doubt there were homicides and tensions between and within human bands, but it would be at least another 10,000 years before the invention of war as an organised collective activity. The cave art suggests that humans once had better ways to spend their time.

If they were humans; and the worldwide gallery of known cave art offers so few stick figures or bipeds of any kind that we cannot be entirely sure. If the Paleolithic cave painters could create such perfectly naturalistic animals, why not give us a glimpse of the painters themselves? Almost as strange as the absence of human images in caves is the low level of scientific interest in their absence. In his book What Is Paleolithic Art?, the world-class paleoarcheologist Jean Clottes devotes only a couple of pages to the issue, concluding that: “The essential role played by animals evidently explains the small number of representations of human beings. In the Paleolithic world, humans were not at the centre of the stage.” A paper published, oddly enough, by the US Centres for Disease Control and Prevention, expresses puzzlement over the omission of naturalistic depictions of humans, attributing it to Paleolithic people’s “inexplicable fascination with wildlife” (not that there were any non-wild animals around at the time).

The marginality of human figures in cave paintings suggests that, at least from a human point of view, the central drama of the Paleolithic went on between the various megafauna – carnivores and large herbivores. So depleted of megafauna is our own world that it is hard to imagine how thick on the ground large mammals once were. Even the herbivores could be dangerous for humans, if mythology offers any clues: think of the buffalo demon killed by the Hindu goddess Durga, or of the Cretan half-man, half-bull Minotaur, who could only be subdued by confining him to a labyrinth, which was, incidentally, a kind of cave. Just as potentially edible herbivores such as aurochs (giant, now-extinct cattle) could be dangerous, death-dealing carnivores could be inadvertently helpful to humans and their human-like kin, for example, by leaving their half-devoured prey behind for humans to finish off. The Paleolithic landscape offered a lot of large animals to watch, and plenty of reasons to keep a close eye on them. Some could be eaten – after, for example, being corralled into a trap by a band of humans; many others would readily eat humans.

Yet despite the tricky and life-threatening relationship between Paleolithic humans and the megafauna that comprised so much of their environment, 20th-century scholars tended to claim cave art as evidence of an unalloyed triumph for our species. It was a “great spiritual symbol”, one famed art historian, himself an escapee from Nazism, proclaimed, of a time when “man had just emerged from a purely zoological existence, when instead of being dominated by animals, he began to dominate them”. But the stick figures found in caves such as Lascaux and Chauvet do not radiate triumph. By the standards of our own time, they are excessively self-effacing and, compared to the animals portrayed around them, pathetically weak. If these faceless creatures were actually grinning in triumph, we would, of course, have no way of knowing it.

[itashiro-hitsuchiha]

New RWBY OC - Alice Goldrin

Ik I already have a plethora of RWBY muses but it's not my fault this verse is fun to play with for character concepts. Anyways here we go. Check her info and if you're interested feel free to pester her. XP

Name: Alice Goldrin

Inspiration: Alice in Wonderland

Sex: Female

Sexuality: straight

Age: 19

Height: 5'7"

Aura color: Gold

Home Region: Mistral

Appearance: athletic build, long blonde hair, blue eyes, schoolgirl outfit worn in a more casual manner (open top buttons loose tie), heel boots, curvy

Personality: Alice has a split personality which is brought about by a trigger phrase (more in background info) so this will be split into two sections:

Normal- bright, bubbly, generally nice, little odd with often made up phrases or odd logic, very curious, good natured,

Alternate- Stuck up, hot headed, cynical, Sadistic, psychotic

Weapon: Tweedle Stick- Much like Roman Alice worlds a simple cane that can have a sharp retractable blade at the tip, but she also holds a contraption on her side that can attach to it to become a Hobby horse that acts like a hammer, but she can also use the same contraption to make the cane into a shotgun.

Semblance: Wonderland- Alice's semblance allows her to manipulate the objects she holds to make them either bigger or smaller by a small margin. This is actually more useful than it seems as it can make items hit harder or faster than they normally should. Can make things lighter or heavier and it can make fighting against her disorienting.

Special note: Alice's semblance undergoes a change as her abilities become altered after her mind is split which allows her to manipulate the area around herself to apply her semblance to which makes fighting her even more dangerous as most items being put in her area will be forcibly changed. This also changes depending on how she views objects. As an example, if you have a poisoned drink enter her area, it'll become a normal drink since that's how she would see it.

Background: Alice was an orphan growing up so she didn't have a lot of stability. So she sought solice in the old fairy tale stories told to children and she was obsessed with it. While she may never had much of a family she always found herself exploring the areas around the town she grew up in and had odd theories others often made fun of her for, but she never let it get to her. She made a few friends here and there but after she turned 16 she had to figure out what she wanted to go do to support herself. She eventually went to become a huntress as it was something her friends did and she had some athletic talents and can improvise pretty well. It took her a couple years to graduate and become a licensed huntress. But during one of her missions she was separated from her team and came across a mysterious figure who captured her. She disappeared for a year and when she returned she wasn't the same. She seemed more unhinged and crazier than normal. She seemed to be unfocused like her mind was elsewhere.

In truth the mysterious figure had access to ancient magic and tortured her mind during that year to where her consciousness was split between her normal body and to the Ever After. How this was done is unclear as she doesn't remember the event that lead to this. Most who knew her before will find her mostly the same but there is always an odd feeling that something isn't quite right. Every so often she sometimes utters a phrase which causes a switch to flip and she becomes a homicidal maniac attacking anyone nearby. Calling herself the "Bloody Red Queen" and seemingly having access to magic abilities similar to that of a Maiden but not quite as strong. Where she makes up for that lack of power is an enhancement to her semblance as well as the ability to pull things from the Ever After to fight alongside her (mostly a deck of card soldiers). This state will pass after some time and her normal self will return with no memory of what she had just done. Of course in the wrong place at the wrong time and she would be labeled a dangerous criminal but most stories would be rumors at best. Where she stands in the world is still unknown. For now she's just a random traveler looking for a place to belong.

Face claim: Junko Enoshima from Danganronpa

[thomasxking]

Considering how many items of clothing the two of them still had left, it made sense for them to play it safe for now – leaving the big bets for the last rounds where the ultimate goal would be to get the other one butt naked. Thomas glanced over his cards as well – nothing extraordinary but the game could go either way – and couldn’t help but chuckle at the concept of losing clothes via a poker game. He usually undressed because he wanted to. He saw an attractive man and wanted to have sex with him so his clothes would come out fairly easily when the time came. To lose item by item in a strip poker game was not something Thomas haven’t done before but it was interesting to admire the concept of… if he wanted to be seen naked or wanted to see Mike naked… they were going to have to finish this game. “You are putting up a fight.” Thomas bite down his bottom lip as he pushed his empty beer away in order to collect a new one. He was going to sweat his ass off tomorrow for drinking those tonight but… the price was worth it. “I’m impressed. Most people would be naked by now and I would be walking right out the door with new items for my closet.” Throwing three cards to the center of the table and collecting three more, Thomas could see that his hand hasn’t improved at all. It was just that pair of Jacks and he would have to do the most of it if he wanted to squeeze as much as he could from this round. “Your normal personality is just fine, from what I am seeing.” Thomas’ gaze turned to Mike and the corner of his lips curled into a half-smile. He had no idea how professional Mike was but he could only assume he was an annoying son of a bitch considering how he had succeeded in annoying him over the course of their first two meetings, all of those questions making Thomas want to strangle him and toss his body into the deep sea. “I was not a fan of you interrogating me when we first met but… it was part of who you are and you can’t kick the fed out of the man, I believe.” And look at how far the two of them had come. From annoyance and slightly homicidal tendencies to sitting across a table, sharing things about their past and wanting to see the other naked. Life truly knew when to throw monumental curveballs their way.

“You want me to bet my socks too?” One eyebrow rose as Thomas glanced down at his cards once more. There was a chance for him to win that round – but there was always a chance that he would lose. And losing his shirt and socks wouldn’t be as tragic. Maybe he would end up distracting Mike as much as Mike was distracting him being shirtless and overall attractive. “God forbids me not spicing things up for you, handsome. Very well.” Thomas took a sip from his beer, feeling the alcohol slowly slide down his throat as he ended up nodding. “I’ll raise my socks alongside my shirt this round. What are you raising? Your pants?” It had to be the pants. The underwear would always be the last thing to go. “So close to finally see you in your birthday suit! My curiosity is growing.” Maybe not just his curiosity but Mike didn’t need to know that.

His brow raised when Thomas bet his shirt and Mike looked down at what was remaining on him. Not much. Socks and underwear. And he certainly wasn't going to lose those before the socks, "Well, I'll bet the socks then. Save the best for last, I suppose." Mike was pretty confident he'd be keeping the socks this round and then he and Thomas would even keel after that. It was going to really come down the to wire and Mike loved it. He couldn't remember the last time he had a game of poker with so much back and forth. Thomas was a really great player, there was no doubt about that. But even more than the game, Mike was enjoying the company. Even in a place with so many people, he still felt a bit lonely, which was his own fault.

Michael shifted his gaze down towards his torso again, noting the various scars there. Considering he had been on the force for over a decade and working to take down some of the most dangerous people, he didn't think he had done too bad for himself. Two bullet wounds on the front of his torso, along with the stab wound. And then there was a scar on his back from getting shot in the back once. One his team, there were men who had far worse in injuries. Granted, Mike had plenty of mental and emotional things he was still working through, and he wasn't sure when he'd recover from that...

"My normal personality isn't all that great." He joked, although there was a large bit of truth to it considering Mike was practically relearning himself. He smiled a bit at Thomas' tale about his scar, before he nodded at his comment about his own scars, "At least they're attractive. I'll take it." Mike mentioned with a flick of his brow as he flipped the next cards for the current round, "Why don't we spice up the pot with those socks of yours?" Mike asked with a soft cheeky grin.

[hannigrahambimbo]

Will Graham x fem!reader (y/n)

CW: contains description of a dead body as well as light smut.

word count: 2,121

Haven't written a fanfic since like 2014 so PLS BEAR WITH ME LOL,,, this is also a PART 1, if this one picks up interest I will make a part 2 !! some info before reading:

Summary: You've been working for the FBI alongside people like Jimmy Price, Jack Crawford, and of course Will Graham. After a disturbing new case comes in, you become overwhelmed and confide in Will. Lets just say you end up getting a little handsy with your favorite co-worker, and he doesn't mind it one bit.

Working as a homicide detective is never easy, but it is always rewarding. You love the satisfaction of catching a suspect after the sometimes weeks long chase, it was thrilling for you, and getting the privilege to work alongside great minds like Will Graham was just a bonus to the job. Today in particular was hard, as a woman your age had been found gutted and discarded into the Chesapeake River early this morning. When the body was transported to the bureau you caught a glimpse of her while walking to your office, before Jimmy Price locked her body away for storage. You audibly gasped and froze as you quickly covered your mouth upon realizing the victim had a striking resemblance to yourself. From what you could see, her eyes were gouged out and she had deep purple strangulation marks around the neck, as well as deep lacerations covering her body. The woman’s skin was pale and blue from being left in the river overnight. A jagged incision was made just above the navel and ended between her breasts. You later found out the only organs left behind were the intestines, lungs, and heart. Normally things like this didn’t bother you but this one felt too close for comfort, so for the rest of the evening you kept busy sorting through paperwork you had been putting off from a previous case, but nothing could keep your mind from wandering. Every time you closed your eyes you could smell and see her body lying there in the river, cold, and alone, waiting to be found, wanting to be found. It was like you were there for a split second. A knock at your office door made you jump out of the nightmarish daydream. “H-Hey, come on in!”, you spoke with urgency trying to forget the vision you just saw. The handle of the door turned and in came Will, he was holding a thick manilla folder with the papers for the new case in it. “Thought I should bring these in here for you”, he held the folder out to you, hovering it above your desk, “You okay? You look a little, uh tired? If you have a head ache I have aspirin if you’d like?” he seemed oddly nervous and twitchy today and won’t make eye contact, he’s probably just having a rough day too, you thought. “hm? Yeah yeah, no I'm alright, thank you though, really. Um, I guess you can just put that here on my desk for now, Haha, just lots of paperwork today!” as you talked you chuckled and put your hand on your forehead, before moving some papers out of the way on the left corner of your desk for him. “Alright, just let me know if you need anything,” he put down the folder and used the same hand to rub the back of his neck, “I’ll be in my classroom for most of the day, gotta finish up some lesson planning for this upcoming week.”, He stepped back into the doorway, putting his hands in his pockets and rested his shoulder in the frame. “Maybe I'll swing by later, thank you again for the folder Will.” You smiled at him and surprisingly got a smile back before he walked back out of your office. You heard him whisper to himself “Maybe” as he walked away. There was something about Will that always caught your attention but you always told yourself it was just an ��office crush” that you’d likely never get the courage to act upon. Releasing a deep breath, you open the folder to see a picture of the girl beaten and blue, you close the folder so quickly that some of the other papers are blown onto the floor and off your desk. Slowly leaning back into your chair, you hold your face within your hands. You look up at the clock hanging above the door and decide it’s time for a break. Standing up your legs are stiff from sitting all day, after all, you had been working nonstop since 7:00 AM and it was already 2:00 PM. Exiting your small stuffy office you decide to first head to the restroom to splash your face with some cold water to refresh yourself. Holding your hands under the cool water feels so good and you close your eyes as you pull your head back. When you open your eyes they widen as you look into the mirror and see the girl again. Her hair is dripping wet and Blood pours out of where her eyes once

were while she weeps, reaching out to you, “GOD,,PLEASE,,, HELP ME, I MISS MY MOM, I MISS MY DAD,,, I JUST WANT TO GO HOME.”, Startled and tearing up, you put your head down and splash more of the ice cold water onto your face, this time rubbing it in as if to wash her blood off your own skin. This time when you open your eyes you see your own reflection in place of hers. Your breathing calms down as you grab a handful of paper towels to dry off your face, once you’re dry you let out a sigh of relief and tuck your hair behind your ears before walking out of the restroom. I need to talk to Will. Walking to his classroom felt like it took an eternity but a sense of relief washed over you once you got there. His classroom was dark and the only light source was a projector flicking through forensic photos and lecture notes. “Will?”, you called out but received no response “hey, Will?”, again, nothing. Walking further into the lecture hall you notice how much larger it is than your own office, you feel sheepish and wary. You'd never been in this room before and scanned every corner of it with your eyes out of curiosity. In the dark you could see a desk in the middle of the room so you called out again, “Will, it’s (y/n)! I wanted to stop by and talk while I'm on my break.” your volume decreases as you come closer to the desk, eventually skimming your finger over the top of it. Will’s brown leather office chair is empty, so playfully you decide to take a seat in it and rest your heels on top of the sturdy oak desk. AS you sit the slides stop flickering and stop on a picture of the girl from this morning. You quickly look away only to see will sitting in one of the students seats, he makes eye contact with you while he puts his glasses back on. He looks a little sweaty & shaken up as he switches the slide to something less graphic. “Oh! (y/n) hey,, I-I'm so sorry this lecture I've been putting together is really taking a toll on me mentally.” He says as he stands up and walks down the steps toward you, closer now he sighs, “Just, it’s a lot of work and I don’t have all the information I want for my students or even myself, I don’t know, it’s just an odd case for me, I guess. They usually don't get me like this.” He props himself up with both hands on the desk in front of you and drops the weight of his head while letting out a deep breath. “It’s okay, I actually came here to talk to you about a similar situation with this case. I can’t stop thinking about her. It’ll sound crazy but I almost feel like it was supposed to be me instead of her. I keep having these morbid visions of her and I just want to help her, but I’m not sure how to.”, as you spoke softly, you stood up and walked around the table to stand next to Will and placed your hand on his back between his shoulders. He felt tense from being overworked today, "Don't say that (y/n), it’s bad enough that she looks like you. Don’t feel guilty for being alive instead of her, you weren’t the killers intended target. Trust me, if you were we would have figured that out by now”, his voice has a tremble in it and he sounds slightly out of breath. The comment from him was a little shocking but you found comfort in the last part, Will was Crawford’s best dog so you have trust in what he says and take it for fact. You sigh, “I think it would benefit both of us if we took a moment to not talk about work. You feel so tense today”, you raise your other hand to his empty shoulder and position yourself behind him, “Let me help you.”. Will starts to stand up a little straighter as he takes his hands off the desk, “Really? You want to help me?” He sounds almost in shock that someone is willing to care for him. “Yes, really”, you laugh and begin to massage his shoulders. As he loosens up he lets out a gentle sigh of pleasure, you don’t say anything about it but enjoy hearing him react to your hands, “Here, come sit in your chair, my arms are getting tired having to reach up, this’ll make it easier”, you pull his chair to the front of the desk and have him sit down facing away from you to

continue working on his shoulders and back. You admired his outfit as you walked around the table to retrieve the chair. Will is wearing a brown plaid button up shirt tucked into dark navy chinos, his brown leather belt matches his well worn oxfords and aged leather chair. The first three buttons on his shirt are unbuttoned and his sleeves are rolled up, exposing his watch and forearm, this makes you daydream about what he could do to you with his arms and hands. “Thank you (y/n) this is very kind of you to do for me.”, His words pull you out of your daydream for a second, “Oh please, it's my pleasure.”, you can't believe how vulnerable he is right now with you. “this feels, ah-very good (y/n)” Hes practically whimpering in your hands and it makes you blush. You take a step back to stretch your arms and legs, your legs are tired now from standing behind him in the chair. Will turns the chair around to face you, he’s also blushing and is gripping the arms of the chair with his hands, the veins in his hands becoming more prominent as he squeezes the leather. “Sorry just my legs are sore from standing.” You smirk as you take your shoes off, face red from being flustered by Will, “Could you please do more? Here-,” He releases his grip on the chair and motions for you to come closer, “come sit on my lap.” He lays his hands on his thighs and you can't help but become even more aroused at the sight of him. “O-okay.” you speak softly and begin to straddle him so that your legs are on opposite sides of him, as you settle down, he gently places his generous hands on your hip and your lower back, “Are you comfortable? Is this okay?”, “mhm, perfect.” You resume massaging his shoulders but now you can see his facial expressions and feel his body react to your movement. His eyes are closed and he looks like he is in pure bliss every time you touch him, he’s like putty in your hands. After a few minutes he lets out a whimper, you can feel him under you becoming aroused. This makes you let out a light gasp and he opens his eyes, “Are you still okay? I’m sorry I didn’t mean-”, You cut him off, “Yes.” You move your hands up from his shoulders to his neck, then up the side of his face, then finally to his head where you run your fingers through his deep, curly, warm chestnut hair. As you do this you feel him lightly Buck up into you and he lets out a soft moan as he closes his eyes again. “Is it okay if I kiss you, Will?” Before you can say another word, he raises his hands up to cup your face and he passionately kisses you. As you kiss you both begin to grind into each other, his pants becoming tighter around his groin region, and yours becoming increasingly wet with every intimate move. Will pulls his lips away from yours, for a moment a string of saliva connects the two of you until it breaks, he licks his lips and looks into you with deep puppy like eyes, “Do you want this, (y/n)”, “God yes, please Will.”

to be continued...

thank you so much for checking out part one of this ! hope you enjoyed <3 again, sorry if this was rough, i haven't written anything like this in years so im just having fun! lmk if you'd like to see this continued / part 2 !

[differentkettleoffishalltogether]

An Inconvenient Affection [Chapter 1]

Summary: When a couples’ therapist is suspected of murdering his own patients, Y/N and Spencer must go undercover as a feuding married couple to draw him out.

A/N:  This is the first part in a series, thank you so much for the response to the teaser! I hope you guys enjoy, and any feedback is always appreciated! ❤️

Pairing: Spencer Reid x Fem!Reader 

Category: Fake Dating, Friends to Lovers, (Eventual) Smut, Fluff, Angst

Warnings: alcohol consumption, language, criminal minds typical violence, murder mention, suicide mention, stalking, cheating, please let me know if I've missed anything!

Word Count: 4.4k

Next Chapter 

Series Masterlist

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Masterlist 

"He's forcing one to kill the other" Spencer mutters under his breath, staring so intently at the photos pinned the the cork board that he must be able to see through them by now.

"Pardon?" Y/N pipes up from her perch at the opposite end of the room, surrounded by imposing stacks of files, photos, newspaper clippings, anything to give her something even resembling a leg up on this case.

Spencer turns sharply on his heel to face the team, his hands contorted as he speaks, "The unsub, he's abducting couples but I think he could be forcing one to kill the other" he states it louder this time, tearing a photo down from the board and walking it over.

"We already know they were killed with the same gun, but why was Mrs. Milton restrained while Mr. Milton wasn't?"

Y/N screws her eyebrows together in confusion, she'd been at the scene and she'd analyzed the photos. Mr. Milton had been restrained. There was another chair at the scene that seemed as though he'd been strapped to it, the bindings were loosened but the general assumption was that he'd managed to free himself before getting shot by the unsub.

"I think our killer untied him" Reid spoke confidently, Y/N liked watching him like this. He could be so shy in his day to day life but there was something about his work that gave him a boost.

"So do you think the same goes for the Stevenson's from 4 months back? What could his motivations be for doing something like that?" Derek asks. The first case had initially been labeled as a murder suicide by the local police precinct but the most recent victims were both shot in the back of the head. Though the scenes had far too many similarities to rule out a serial homicide.

"Most likely" he nods, "though I haven't gotten to the why just yet. But what I can tell you is that our unsub seems to really hate the women" He turns his attention back to the cork board.

"Well that's not very original" Y/N quips before pulling out her cell phone to call Garcia. "Hey Babe, I'm gonna need you to find any overlap between the Miltons and the Stevensons, any clubs, stores, hangout spots, somewhere where they could've met, or met the same people. If that's too broad maybe narrow in on the wives, anywhere they would've potentially overlapped, we think they could've been this unsub’s primary target"

"But of course my Angel" Garcia's almost sickly sweet voice pours out of the headset along with he clacking of her brightly colored nails on the keys. "Hmm." she let's out a little frustrated, "They lived a little too far apart to be members of the same gym, church, what have you. Wait!" she stops in her tracks excited, "Both couples had several appointments at the same clinic, St. Andrews Medical Centre, but those records are sealed."

Y/N lets out a frustrated sigh, "Can you unseal 'em?"

Garcia scoffs, "Can I unseal them, who are you talking to? I'll have the info in 3, 2, 1, Bingo. Both couples had several appointments with a therapist, one Dr. Harris in the months leading up to and week of their disappearance" she sends a picture and attached file to Y/N's tablet as she beckons Spencer over to take a look.

"He's a therapist with a specialty in, oh," Garcia pauses, "couples counseling"

"So what were they in for?" Derek pipes up, "Is our Dr. just interested in the look or has the couples' issue got something to do with it?"

Y/N reads through the files Garcia's sent on Dr. Harris, combing though them as fast as she can for any ounce of helpful information.

"Harris is divorced?" Y/N says in confusion.

"His wife cheated on him, and she's currently married to that guy" Garcia interjects, "he wrote a whole article about it, yeesh, someone is not over it.”

"Maybe he's targeting couples where the wives have been unfaithful to their husbands?" Spencer suggests, "That would account for the unjust hate towards the women, and the implication that he forced their husbands to kill them first, perhaps he's using them as a surrogate for the vengeance he wants?"

"Maybe so, but we've got no evidence for any of this, the crime scenes were spotless, not even a trace of DNA to tie anyone other than the couples to the scene, if it is this guy then we have to prove it before we can arrest him." JJ counters as the voice of reason.

The room goes silent.

"Prove it?" Y/N asks, Hotch looks down at her, before averting his gaze towards Spencer sitting beside her.

"I've got an idea" he says, monotone and serious. “The two of you come with me.” He motions with is hand.

The two of them look at each other with profound confusion before following behind Hotch, resigned.

----

“A married couple?!” Spencer all but shouts, the office is hardly soundproof and the rest of the team must’ve caught on by now. For the ‘smartest member of the team’ Spencer sure had some gaping holes in his foresight.

“You can’t be serious!”

He stands up from his chair, shaking his head in disbelief, starting to pace around the medium sized office to work off the nervous energy building in his chest.

“This is hardly outrageous Reid” Hotch states, making sympathetic but brief eye contact with Y/N before he pinches the bridge of his nose in an effort to restrain himself. “Yourself and Y/N already have a friendship to build on, she’s worked undercover many times and your memory should make it simple for you to integrate into the false narrative she can construct. Plus, you’re a non-threatening presence to an unsub like this. What else could you possibly need convincing of?” Hotch adds with exasperation, he’d mentioned all of that and more in his initial proposition but Spencer was still reluctant.

“If I’m really that repulsive I’m sure we can find someone else to play my husband Spence?” Y/N tries to joke but there’s something about the sentence that makes her stomach uneasy.

“No!” Spencer sits again with haste, looking between the two other agents, “No that’s not it, I just” he takes in a deep sigh, “I don’t know if I’ll be any good at this, I don’t want to ruin the investigation” he confesses and Hotch immediately shoots it down.

“That won’t be an issue, our unsub’s primary target will be Y/N. She’ll be the cheating partner, your role will mostly be following her lead which shouldn’t be too difficult”

Spencer might be great at acting after all. He lets his shoulders slump and his posture relaxes entirely as though his boss has just put all of his worries to rest. But that’s not what was bothering him. Not even close.

He’s had a stupid schoolboy crush on Y/N from her first day at the BAU. He’d like to think it had come later but he knew it had been almost instant. Her first day had been on Halloween 2 years earlier, he’d been explaining the historical origins of the holiday when Y/N corrected his pronunciation of the Irish word Samhain.

“It’s more like ‘Sah-whin’ than ‘Sam-hain’ in spite of its spooky origins it’s actually the current Irish word for November” she spoke up from her seat in the bullpen, setting up some stationary at the once empty desk next to Spencer’s.

“Y/N L/N,” she stood up outstretching her hand, “I guess I’m your new co-worker” she half-smiled, her nervous energy getting the better of her as he ignored her gesture and just looked at her palm instead.

“He’s just weird about touching” Emily reaches out to reciprocate the handshake, “I’m Emily Prentiss, it’s nice to meet you, this little guy here is Spencer Reid” she says as she places her hands on both of his shoulders and shakes him gently

“Dr. Spencer Reid” he corrects quickly, shooting her a tight lipped smile paired with an even more awkward half-wave.

“Oh, a doctor” she raises her eyebrows, “best not tell my Mom I work with a doctor or she’ll be hounding me to marry you” she cracks. It’s obviously a joke but Spencer can’t help but recall the conversation now and how prescient it feels.

“We can work out the details together if you think that’ll help you feel more comfortable?” Y/N reaches out her hand to touch his forearm to steady him in his seat. He’d grown so used to her casual touch by now that he barely noticed it. But this time, with his rolled up sleeve, feeling her fingertips against his bare skin it felt as though he was going to combust. How was he going to be able to hide this childish infatuation if they had to masquerade as a married couple. What if she touched him literally anywhere else. She was a profiler too, of course she’d notice.

“It’s paramount that it looks natural. This unsub knows the ins and outs of what it’s like to be a married couple so I’ll expect the two of you to prepare accordingly” Hotch is stern and focusing on Y/N as he speaks, “Work on it together, tonight, and report back to me tomorrow morning. We’ll make our decision on how to proceed then.” he says before dismissing them from his office.

They stand in the bullpen in unsure silence for a moment too long before Y/N speaks, “So, your place or mine hubby?” she leans on the last word and it feels comical coming out of her mouth but it still makes something in Spencer’s stomach tighten.

——

Garcia sends them away with piles of notes and transcriptions from each of the couples’ sessions so they could aim to predict the kind of questions they could be asked. Digging through interviews with Mrs. Milton’s friends it became apparent that she’d been stalked in the weeks leading up to her abduction, and potentially longer. Y/N and Spencer had to be prepared for that eventuality too.

Each of the couples had had at least 4 appointments before they were abducted, so the new Mr. and Mrs. Reid had to come up with several hours worth of talking points, along with day to day appearance of living as a married couple in order to be prepared.

Shouldn’t be too difficult.

Spencer was already making moves to walk back his commitment. Now that he was in Y/N’s living room pages strewn about the coffee table he was finding the whole situation a little overwhelming.

“Look I don’t think I’m up for this, I’ll just call Morgan and see if he can do it. I’m so bad at lying Y/N, I’ll get us both killed” he lets his head flop down into his hands.

“Hey, hey, calm down. Just rest your head between your knees and take a few deep breaths” Y/N coaxes and he does as instructed, his heart rate dropping to normal again almost instantly. It might be the breathing exercise but it’s probably her hand tracing up and down his back over the fabric of his dress shirt that’s actually calming him.

“The golden rule of working undercover is to tell the truth until you absolutely have to lie” she says softly, continuing her movements along his spine. “Sure we have to lie about being married, and about my infidelity. But that doesn’t mean everything has to be a lie. We can pull stories from our real lives and force them into our Legend.”

“Legend?” he says into his own lap, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Mmhmm” she hums, her finger tracing circles between his shoulder blades now, “Our Legend, it’s like our profile, our history, for our undercover identities. We’ll build it together so that we know it inside out. But it doesn’t have to be a total fabrication.” Her voice is gentle and sweet as she explains.

Spencer sits up straight again, looking to Y/N with a furrowed brow and she continues, “Remember the first time we hung out outside of work?” She coaxes and he nods. Even if he didn’t have an eidetic memory he would never forget.

“You asked me to go see that Russian film and you translated it into my ear the whole time?” He smiles at the memory, “And I just hadn’t told you that I spoke Russian yet” she giggles.

She was going to tell him right as the movie started, honestly she was, but the way he had to lean in so close to whisper the words in her ear, so close that she could smell his soap and shampoo. She would’ve told him, but then he would’ve stopped.

“Then we went to that noodle place next door and you started to fact check a bunch of my translations?” He finishes the story.

“That’s the one!” She sees him ease into the seat on the sofa, his body beginning to relax, “So how about we keep things simple, that was our first date.” Y/N states so plainly, like the suggestion doesn’t make Spencer’s heart skip a beat.

“Yeah, okay.” he nods in agreement swallowing the lump in his throat.

“Great, so we have our starting point” she pulls out a notebook and makes a note of it, he leans over to peer at the writing on the page.

“November 18th” he says quietly and she turns to him confused,

“That was the uh, the date, the date of our ‘first date’” she nods in agreement and puts the date next to the bullet-point in the notebook

“November 18th” she repeats content.

——

“We’re Spencer and Y/N Green. We’ve been together for 2 years, married for just over a year. We eloped in Vegas after going to visit Spencer’s Mother. He’s a professor and I’m a bartender. That bar is where we met. We have opposite schedules in order to facilitate my infidelity.”

Y/N and Spencer stand at the top of the room facing the team gathered at the round table, the pages of their legend tacked to the board behind them.

“I found out after I left work early 4 months ago. Y/N doesn’t have a consistent partner but revealed she’d been casually sleeping with other people for the 6 months prior. She agreed to stop at the time but continued to cheat. This time we’re seeking professional counseling to see if we can save the marriage.” Spencer finished the story with ease. Turning to Y/N to shoot her a small smile.

Once they’d worked out the overall story, the details came easy. He wouldn’t let on but he was pretty confident he may know everything there was to know about his ‘wife’ already.

“Okay, if you both feel confident I can start making the arrangements with Garcia to set up an appointment for you two” Hotch stands up from the table turning back on his way out.

“Great work agents.”

——

There were no appointments available until the following week, which comes as both a stress and a relief. On one hand it gives them more time to prepare, but on the other hand it stretches this whole situation out further.

Garcia coaxes Rossi into inviting everyone over for the evening with little to no real effort. More than anything Spencer just wants to go home and read in the peace and quiet of his living room, but Y/N sits herself on the edge of his desk before he has a chance to leave for the night.

“You coming kid?” She picks up his satchel off the ground to hand it to him as he stands, he takes it from her before shaking his head.

“I don’t know that I’m up for it” he scrunches up his nose a little as he says it, it’s one of the nervous ticks he’s got that Y/N loves the most.

“Aw c’mon. My husband is gonna make me go to a party on my own? No wonder I went and cheated on you” she shoves his shoulder gently, antagonizing him just a little. He chuckles as he and shakes his head softly. “But seriously Spence, it’s been a rough day and half, and it’ll be an even weirder week. It might be good for you to blow off a little steam, get out of your own head” she reaches up to ruffle his hair as she says it.

He loves that. The way she has to reach all the way up on her tippy toes to get to the top of his head but she still insists on doing it. He softens with so little convincing.

“Y’know what, you’re right” he sighs, slinging his bag across his shoulder, “Lets get out of here.”

And it’s already worth it to see the smile that spreads across Y/N’s cheeks.

——

“I can see it, I think pretty boy here’s a bit stiff but you can pull it off” Morgan squints at the two of them sitting next to one another around Rossi’s table.

“Hey I’m not stiff” Spencer jumps to his own defense before the table erupts with laughter. He wants to fight it again but Y/N’s hand comes to rest on his forearm laying on the table between them.

“Yes you are Spence, but I married you anyway” she makes an exaggerated kissing face before the table begins to giggle yet again. Spencer doesn’t mind this time because after the joke is over her hand doesn’t move from it’s position.

“Oh, oh, oh!” Garcia almost begins to vibrate in her chair, “I’ve got a great idea, we should test you guys”

The team starts to holler and the sound throws Spencer’s head back into chaos. Each time he felt his heart start to palpitate he hoped Y/N couldn’t tell.

Garcia pulls out her phone and starts to look for questions, “What did they wear on your first date?” She asks with a quirk of her eyebrow.

“A light blue sweater with black pants and boots” Spencer answers with no hesitation.

“No fair!” Y/N yelps, “this game is rigged, the kids got an eidetic memory!”

“Alright then, I’ll change it up, who’s the tidiest?” Garcia asks, and that’s also unfair because Y/N knows it’s Spencer but doesn’t want to pay him that compliment. Before she can speak he’s already on it though.

“Me, is that not obvious?” He jokes,

“Yeah okay that one’s right too” Y/N sulks.

“What’s their dream job?” Garcia offers and Y/N jumps in before he can answer first.

“Aha! Magician!” she yelps and Spencer turns to her, eyebrows pulled together.

“Yeah, how’d you remember that?” he interrogates.

He knows exactly when he told her. Y/N was having a moment during a case. it was getting to her more than she’d like to admit but Spencer could tell. She’d knocked on his hotel room door one evening when she couldn’t sleep, she knew it wasn’t his strong suit either.

He’d let her in, settling on the bed. This was one of the better mattresses they’d had in a hotel. It helped soothe the muscles that had been tensed all day. Y/N didn’t want to talk about why she couldn’t sleep. This was the first time it happened, but they’ve found themselves in each other’s hotel rooms over and over as the cases went by.

They both knew that what they were searching for was distraction, and comfort, but they wouldn’t admit to the last one.

“Just tell me something, anything”

Spencer had to wrack his brain looking around the hotel room when something struck him. “Do you want to hear an interesting hotel fact?”

“Sure Spence, shoot” she murmured into the pillow she had curled up in her lap.

“Did you know that the ‘Sky Beam’, a bright light that shoots out of the Luxor Hotel in Las Vegas, attracts so many insects that it has established a new ecosystem of moths, bats, and owls” he says with fervor but he can see from the way her face contorts that he’s put the wrong foot forward.

“Not a gross fact Spencer” she knocks him in the head with her pillow, not too harsh, but rough enough to ruffle his curls.

He skims the room again, eyes landing on a few coins scattered on his bedside table. “How about a magic trick?” she looks at him strange but shakes the expression away and nods.

Spencer picks up a coin of the nightstand and shows it to Y/N with   enthusiasm, “See just a regular coin” he jokes and she returns the look exasperated.

“Alright, spoilsport” he holds it out to her pinched between the thumb and index finger of his right hand, moving his left hand over the coin quickly before it vanishes. He then holds out his two empty palms to Y/N for inspection.

“Nah, bullshit” she says, pulling his open palms towards her. He snaps them away before she can look too hard. Pulling his hands back in towards himself he waves one in front of the other and the coin reappears between his fingers.

“What?” is all she can say, and he’s accomplished his goal of distracting her now. “How’d you do that?” she picks up the coin and starts to inspect it closely, with no idea what she’d even be looking for.

“A magician never reveals his secrets” he smirks, confident now that he’s left her so dumfounded. She snaps her head up to look at him, throwing the coin back into his waiting hands.

“So you’re a magician now?” she jokes, reclining back onto the pillows below her and turning her head to look up at him. He follows suit, lying down on his own pillows next to Y/N and returns her gaze.

“Yup, that’s actually what I wanted to do when I was a kid. Still do if I’m honest with myself. So I guess if this FBI thing ever goes belly-up I’ve got a back up plan” he says it like it’s just a silly joke but Y/N can see it’s a little more than that. Spencer joined the BAU so young he almost didn’t get to have a childhood at all, he barely even chose what he would spend the rest of his life working at.

“You have to teach me that one sometime” she yawns, shutting her eyes softly.

“Anytime” he smiles, even thought she can’t see it, and watches as her breathing evens out and she’s asleep. He’s gone not long after. He wishes he had the energy left to stay awake, watching her for even a few moments more so that he could commit the sight to memory. But something about her presence in his room, in his bed, just put him at complete ease and he couldn’t help but fall asleep.

Like so many things in their friendship he’d assumed he was the only one to remember it all so vividly. Despite how often Y/N proved him wrong he would never get used to it.

“Of course I remembered you wanted to be a magician Spencer. How was I supposed to forget that, you still haven't taught me that coin thingy” she feigns annoyance but really she’s just had a glass or two of Rossi’s expensive wine and is feeling brave.

“Sorry Y/N I tried to teach you that, your coordination is just that bad” he shrugs and takes a sip from his own glass.

Derek interrupts, scanning the screen of Garcia’s phone for an interesting question before he appears to land on one, his face lighting up.

“Of the two of you, who’s the better kisser?” Derek says with pure confidence that catches Spencer so off guard that he almost spits out his wine like he’s in a cartoon.

“We haven’t– we don't need– we uh” Spencer stammers having next to no clue what he’s even trying to say.

“I’m sure it’s 50/50, isn’t that right Mr. Green?” Y/N reaches her hand up to cup his cheeks, pushing his lips into a small pout. The red wine staining his lips ever so slightly so that they’re just a shade pinker than usual. And Y/N can’t help but stare at them for a second too long before looking up into his eyes.

He looks uneasy, and a little nervous so she lets go of his cheeks, letting her hand fall down to rest on his forearm once again, grazing the exposed skin.

“You gotta at least play the part pretty boy” Derek laughs, “What happens if this therapist starts asking about your sex life, are you gonna clam up, freak out?”

And he hadn’t thought about it. But it made sense, the sessions were going to be about ‘cheating’ which is by it’s very nature linked to their sex life. This was worse than he thought.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head about it Morgan. I’ve thought of it all.” Y/N waves off the comment, gripping Spencer’s arm a little tighter as she spoke in an effort to comfort him. “You know what, I actually think it might be time to head out.” She stands up from the table, rubbing her ‘husband’s’ shoulder as she moves so that he follows suit, recognizing this move as her saving him from the interaction.

They’re out the door together with minimal teasing in under 3 minutes, piled into a cab beside each other with no real plan other than to leave that table.

“Do you want to go by to yours and watch old reruns of The Twilight Zone?” Y/N offers and Spencers shoulders almost melt into the black leather of the seat behind him.

“So so badly” he groans, letting his eyes close as he falls back against the headrest.

——

Thank you so much for reading, comments, reblogs, and tags are always appreciated! ❤️

Let me know what you thought about this chapter here <3

Next Chapter

Series Masterlist

Masterlist 

[kitashinsukehoney]

A MISERABLE CHRISTMAS

TW: Fluff.

A month after New Year has passed.

A new year is finally here and you are now back single after breaking up with Ushijima last two months ago. It's hurt. It really does but you tried to focus on yourself. You take care of your skincare, you started to try on new dresses and styles, you tried to hang out with people from other schools and of course, you met new people after transferring to new class.

You managed to block all the toxicity from your life but somehow you feel miserable after what you have said that to Tendou.

Ushijima had two months of cheating with someone else's and the one that broke the truth to you was your own junior. You're in your second year of highschool now and you tried to turn into a new leaf.

As you're going down the stairs to the cafeteria, someone's accidentally bumped their shoulder into yours.

"Oh, sorry!!", he said. He didn't said much but he flashed his smile...a very warm and nice smile that makes you feel so comfortable. He turned around at you to see if you're okay and you took a glance at his nametag.

Semi Eita.

He has white hairs, pretty eyes and the most obvious one...his warm personality.

"It's fine", you said to him. You walked down the stairs again and you bought yourself a sandwich and a strawberry milk. As you're about to take out your phone from your pocket, you realise...nothing is inside your pocket. You got panicked and ran to your class as soon as possible.

When you're going upstairs to go to your class, you saw Tendou is talking to Ushijima. You walked away faster because you just hated to face them now. Finally reaching the class door, you saw Semi guy is standing infront of your class while calling your name.

"Is there Y/N L/N here??", he said. But no one is answering him. "I think she went out. To the toilet i guess?", one of your classmates said to him. He nodded his head and when he turned around, both of you made an eye contact. He didn't break them and so do you.

"I'm...Y/N", you told him. He walked up to you and smiled again. "You dropped your phone. I guess it slipped out from your pocket.", he grins as he handing out your item to you. You bowed and thanked him. You realise he might be your crush now...

When he is about to walk away, you grabbed his hand and called his name. "Wait, Semi!", you said.

"Ehh, yes??", he looked at you confusedly. "Can...Wait, may I know which class you're from? And are you free this evening?", you asked him.

"Oh, that's all you wanted to know? Well, I'm from Second Year and the Fourth Class and yes, I am free this evening", he replied to you.

"Can we go to the nearest cafe around here? I wanted to show my gratitude to you", you said. He smiled again and patted your head. "I would loved to!", he said. He seriously make you feel so fluffy.

That evening, both of you went out to the nearest Starbucks and you paid for his drink. "Thank you for paying my drink.", he said. "No worries, I'm happy. But...how do you know it's my phone that you're holding to?", you asked him.

"Your keychain has your name craved on it... It's basically Y/N L/N", Semi said again. "Wait, which club are you from? Calligraphy isnt it?", he suddenly get interested in you. "Yea...I am. How about you?", you asked him. "I'm basically in a volleyball team. You know right our school has like the best volleyball team?", Semi said. He laughed proudly after saying that. Well, it's a fact.

"Oh wow. A volleyball player... That's great!", you said. It's not so great. Oh, why do you have to get stucked with every volleyball player like, what is your fate with them?

Weeks passed by and you're getting closer with Semi. Ushijima does realized what happened between both of you. Rumours about his new girlfriend cheated on him spreaded all over the school too. Some said she dated him for popularity. Some said just for satisfaction.

Once Ushijima broke up with his new girlfriend, he tried to contact you back but you have moved on and not going back to him.

You knew how much your feelings are growing back because of this Semi Eita guy. He is so mesmerising and makes you fell from him just by looking at his smile.

You two get to know eachother until April. That's when the spring season started and so do you two. Ushijima regretted the fact he cheated on you. You moved on, you're doing well, you trusted yourself and you give someone else's a chance to get into your heart.

Timeskip.

Ushijima watched how you walked on the aisle in your wedding dress that makes you looked way too alluring and gorgeous. Your father put your hand into Semi's and he walked away. Semi holds your hand tight. Then, the wedding ceremony started with the vow session.

Once the vow session ended, the priest asked Semi as the groom to kiss you. Semi wrapped his arm around your waist and pulled you closer to him. He then slowly kissed you passionately infront of the guests and everyone clapped their hands. Ushijima closed his eyes to shut down the feelings of jealousy from watching your lovely day. Semi is a great guy. He is loyal and stay with you since 17 till the age of 25. 8 years of waiting worth it.

The wedding that happened on Christmas day.

You married your own soulmate.

[beef-brisket]

((Yess and you know our boy has his tits out to lol))

Adam didn't mind Michael. As much as he tried to hide his distain towards Mother Lilith, Adam always saw through him. A few years ago, he confided in Adam about wanting to escape, to kill Mother Lilith.

Adam couldn't help but feel for him. Michael helped Adam see past the castle and learn about other cultures and places. He had no idea there were other people out there.

Mother Lilith tried to make the lords act as siblings. No one really acknowledged it, but Adam always saw Michael as his uncle. He trusted him more than the others. He thought he was less insane.

But he was very wrong.

His factory that was once the biggest money earner for the village became something darker.

He ran experiments there. Turning normal people into mindless machines. Each Lord were given parasites to try and make a host for Mother Lilith, but most went wrong.

The only ones that didn't result in mindless husks were Adam and Emily.

Lucifer looked around as he usually did, Adam seemed to be in his own thoughts, so he left himself to it.

Suddenly, the air felt electric, and suddenly, he was encased in metal. It's just like he was when he first entered this hell hole.

Michael: Well! Look what the cat dragged in! I was going to make contact with you eventually, but look. You made your own way here! And Adam! So good to see you again! How have you been since that giant bitch locked you away in that damp castle? I see you've grown~.

Adam: As well as you could imagine. Being stuck with those two isn't the best situation. But I made it out. Almost. I need you to let Lucifer go.

Michael: Lucifer!? That's who this is~?

Adam: I know you've been watching us, you know who he is.

Michael: Oh, you got me! You've always been more observed than the average monster! So, you and Lucifer. What gives?

Adam: He helped me, and now I'm helping him. Kind of. He wants to stop Mother Lilith. I'm sure you have a plan.

Michael: Of course I do. Think Daddy will be interested?

Adam: Maybe. He's pretty homicidal. He'll take some convincing.

Michael: I expected as much. Don't worry, Adam. I have a way with words~.

Adam chuckled as Michael pulled the metal scraps away from Lucifer, freeing him.

Lucifer: Hello to you, to. Asshole.

Michael: Oh- I knew I liked you for a reason~. Come! I have a grand plan to tell you about!

Adam helped Lucifer up, and they followed after Michael. Lucifer looked over to Adam. He looked comfortable. But Lucifer was definitely more on edge.

Have you seen Resident Evil: Village? All I'm saying is Adam and Emily as two of the three sisters and Sera as Lady Dimitrescu.

Lucifer is Ethan trying to find Charlie.

At first, Adam was on his mother and sisters side- but because they have a weird thing against dudes, he eventually helps Lucifer.

Trust me, it feels illegal not to make Adam the stunning Lady Dimitrescu, but for story reasons, he'll be one of her kids.

I mean, their hot. What can I say? Adam would look great like this 🤷

Adam: Mmm- man flesh~.

Lucifer: ...Kinda gay, man.

Adam: It's not gay.

Lucifer: It is- man flesh? Really?

Adam: ...

Lucifer: ...

Adam: *stabs sickle into his leg and drags him away* Mother!

I have seen it! Ha I love this. ((Yes he'd rock being the Lady of the house 😩))

Lucifer: Ow!! What the fuck!?

Adam: It's not gay! Mother was right.

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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