#she really gave that jerk her entire life

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: The hits keep on coming, and the darkness surrounding them continues to surge.

Word Count: 7,257

Warnings: Angst, insecurity, smut, wet dream, suicidal thoughts, violence, and torture.

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Chapter 15: Lost Without You

Her hands were in his hair, hips moving with jerking, frantic motions as she rode his cock. Tommy moaned wantonly, face burying in her neck, hands clenching tightly at her waist. He inhaled the sweet scent of roses and vanilla, teeth scraping along her skin, laying sloppy kisses all the way along the slope of her shoulder to her throat. 

“Lucy,” he breathed out in sharp warning, feeling his balls tighten. It had been so agonizingly long since he’d had her, it was a miracle he’d lasted more than a few pumps. She moaned, back arching a little against him, head tipping to give him better access to her neck. Her walls squeezed around him in a vice grip, and then he was gasping out her name, white spots appeared in his vision at his cock swelling and exploding inside of her. And then he was holding onto her for dear life and telling her that he loved her and kissing her and trying to mold them together into one being so they would never be parted again and opening his eyes and–

And coming copiously all over the insides of his white shorts.

It took a moment for his head to right itself and entirely process what had just happened. And then he was rolling over, legs tangled in the sheets. Burying his face into the pillow, groaning perhaps a tad overdramatically. 

Oh, for fuck’s sake.

Finally, his head started to clear itself of post-orgasm flutters and the lingering arousal left over from the dream. He raised his face to examine the damage, cringing at the realization that his shorts were as good as ruined. 

Sitting up, he reached blindly for a cigarette, lighting it while rubbing at his face. 

In hindsight, he supposed it shouldn’t be that surprising. He hadn’t had sex since the time with Lizzie in the cupboard at her birthday party, and he’d been so preoccupied that he hadn’t had the time nor motivation to wank one out either. Not to mention his continued longing and pining for Lucy from afar. 

Coming in my sleep like a fucking teenager. Fucking hell. He shook his head. He and Lucy had never been ones to keep their hands to themselves. Outside of that time he’d been recovering from his head injury, or the time she was healing from being tortured by Luca, this had to be the longest dry spell they’d ever had. 

Gonna have to get used to it, aren’t you, Tommy? Since she wants next to nothing to do with you anymore, he thought to himself, leaning back until his skull thumped against the headboard. His hands threaded together over his stomach, chest heaving with a miserable sigh. 

God, he was so completely and utterly lonely without her.

There was no one to talk to. No one who understood. He thought that maybe that was what he missed the most. The simple understanding between them. On almost everything. Lucy had been his person. His best friend. Not just his lover. 

A sudden swell of agonizing sorrow washed over him when he glanced at the empty space beside him. Tears welled in his eyes, and rather than fight them back like he had been for so long, he finally gave in and let them slip down his cheeks, ragged sounds emitting from his throat while he sobbed quietly. Leaning down, he buried his face in her pillow, crying openly. The scent of her–renewed somewhat from the night that she’d spent back there after the ballet–was starting to fade. But he still had a bottle of her perfume that he could spray onto the sheets if needed. 

Chris, when did he get so pathetic? 

Missing her was a pain he had never thought he would have to experience. He supposed that he’d always assumed, without even really thinking about it, that the only thing that would separate them would be death. And even then, he knew that if Lucy were gone, he would not be long in following her.

It was not even a question, or something to consider. Just a simple, clean cut fact. 

He could not live without her. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy turned over a slip of paper that had been ripped from her notebook. The information scrawled onto it seemed about to burn through the paper to singe her fingertips. She was lounging back in her chair at her desk in the London office, waiting patiently for Tommy to finish his meeting with Churchill before speaking with him. 

When she’d gotten in from her outing to a phone booth down the street–she didn’t trust that their phone lines in the office weren’t tapped–it was to find Churchill and Tommy already seated and talking in his office, the double doors open. While she removed her cap and stuffed it into her pocket, she didn’t bother taking her coat off before sitting down. It was dark out and they would be heading out once this meeting was wrapped up. 

“There are some times, some nights, when I don’t see the point in carrying on with any of it.” Tommy’s voice rumbled from his office. Lucy’s fidgeting with the paper momentarily ceased, alarm shooting through her.

She’d thought that he was doing better since she’d moved out. What could have happened to change that? Ben and the ten year old’s death had hit him pretty hard. Maybe it was that. 

He always did feel so guilty about everything, even when it was something that was not really his fault. 

When Churchill finally stood to gather up his hat and coat, Lucy busied herself adjusting the lay of a few pens on her desk, trying to pretend that she hadn’t been eavesdropping.

“Good evening, my dear,” Churchill said when he passed her desk, smiling at her good naturedly. Lucy returned the smile in kind. She liked Churchill. And she knew that Tommy did too. 

“Good evening, Mr. Churchill.” She waited until the door closed behind him, then stood.

The paper in her hand was crinkled horribly at the edges, but the quick, slightly slanted lines of the words she’d scribbled down onto it were still there, plain as day. 

Slowly, she approached him where he was standing in front of his desk, shoulders curved in and head bowed. 

“Tommy?” she called, timidly, coming up on his right side, inching closer. When his face came into view, she could see that his eyes were closed. She lifted a hand to touch his shoulder, then thought better of it and let it fall limply back to her side. “Are you alright?”

He roused at the sound of her voice, eyes opening and lifting his head. With a slight heave of effort, he pulled himself back up to standing straight. “Yes, I’m fine,” he replied curtly, not really meeting her eyes. 

Her fingers twisted at her rings while she observed him, frowning,. But she knew that pushing him on the matter was unlikely to accomplish much. Especially considering the way that things were between them currently. 

“I found out who killed Ben,” she offered instead, hoping that maybe that would help pull his mind out of whatever dark place it had gotten lost in. 

Tommy’s head finally twisted towards her. “Who?”

“His name is Paddy Rose. He has connections to the Ulster Volunteer Force and now offers his services in exchange for cash. He’s in Sparkhill. He’s the one who planted the bomb.”

“How did you–?”

“I called the girls who work at the Digbeth telephone exchange.” She and Tommy were friends with them. “I asked them about any calls that were made around the time of the explosion. Thirty minutes before Ben died, the call to Paddy Rose was made,” she hesitated. “The number that the call came from was Micky’s.”

“The bartender Micky?” 

“Yes.”

Tommy’s eyes turned to the window, wide. Lucy looked down at the paper which contained her notes. They all liked Micky. He was nice. Helpful. He’d done a stellar job of managing the Garrison since they’d hired him. 

“I asked them about patterns in the calls he made. If I had to guess, he’s been informing on us for some time now.”

“To Mosley?”

“Maybe. But probably selling out information to whoever will pay the most for it. He’s the one who gave the Titanic boys the tip about Arthur’s trip to pick up the opium. That’s why they knew where to go to ambush him.” It was lucky that Arthur was a deranged maniac who was more than capable of chasing off a few rival gang members. Otherwise they might’ve had another funeral to attend.  

“Do you have Paddy Rose’s address?”

She held out the paper silently to him. He took it, squinting a little without his glasses to make out the words. 

“Shall I pay him a visit?” she asked. 

“You, me, and Arthur will,” Tommy smacked his lips together in thought. “I want to speak with him personally.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Paddy Rose screamed as Lucy traced the tip of her blade around the edges of his eyeball, nicking slightly at his eyelid when she did.

“Any more questions for our new friend here, boys?” she asked Tommy and Arthur. Both men were half hidden in the shadows of the bridge. Tommy was leaning against the wall, the glow of his cigarette casting shadows across his face when he raised it to his lips. Arthur was lingering by the edge of the canal, hands in his pockets. 

“No,” Tommy said, tapping ash out onto the ground. Lucy looked back in the eyes of the whimpering Paddy. Well, looked into one of his eyes; the one her blade was poised dangerously close to. The other was long gone, tossed carelessly into the water after she cut it out of his head, leaving nothing but a bloody socket in its wake. 

“Thank you for your cooperation, Mr. Rose. You’ve been very helpful,” she crooned, and sliced his throat open from ear to ear. 

The three of them waited until he’d stopped gurgling and twitching, letting him bleed out slowly onto the cobblestones. Lucy cleaned her knives in the meantime, tucking them safely back into her coat.

“Let’s weigh him down,” Arthur finally said softly once the man had stopped moving entirely, no sound emitting from him save the soft drip, drip, drip of the blood running down his front to kiss the ground. 

The three of them worked together to tie the bricks they’d brought to the body. They dragged him to the edge of the canal, and with a heave, sent him rolling over to splash heavily into the water. The body floated only for a brief second before it sank beneath the dark depths.

“What are we going to do about Micky?” Arthur asked, the three of them standing on the edge, watching the water. Tommy took out another cigarette, offering his case to Lucy silently. She snagged one without even thinking and let him light it, wrapping her coat tightly around herself to hide the splatters of blood that had made their way onto the front of her shirt. 

“He’s going to have to go,” Tommy determined simply. 

“Tonight?”

He shook his head. “Tomorrow. After the family meeting.” 

“Right.” Arthur looked around. “Best get going. Before it starts raining.”

Lucy angled her head up. He was right. It did seem like it was about to rain. She could feel the weight of moisture in the air. As they started the walk back into the city, she trailed behind the two brothers, arms hugging her middle, eyes cast downwards. Every couple of paces, she sensed Tommy glancing back to make sure that she was still with them. 

She had made a decision, after her realization that Tommy was completely lost to her. She would stay until after the assassination was over. But then, she would leave. She had already bought the train ticket, hidden away under the mattress in her bedroom at Charlie’s. A week after Mosley had been dead, she would pack her bags, and leave for Liverpool to catch the first ship out of England.

Lizzie didn’t want her to remain in their lives. The kids probably didn’t either. Nor did the rest of the family. And deep down, neither did Tommy.  

She would not continue to burden him with herself, she decided. He had given her years of life and purpose. Far more than she probably deserved. She would not pay that back by overstaying her welcome and making things harder for him by continuing to linger on the peripherals of his life. Better that she was gone, so he could move on and enjoy his life without having to feel guilty. 

Her being gone, completely, was the best thing that she could do for him. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy sat at the table in the corner, to the left of the fireplace, foot tapping on the floor and leaning back, smoking carelessly. She had been one of the first to arrive at the Garrison, earning an eyebrow raise from several of the other family members. She and Tommy rarely arrived at family meetings separately. Michael in particular had been eyeing her with a rather unnerving expression. 

There had been no time over the past few days for her to further investigate her suspicions that Michael was planning something. They had been too busy weeding out Micky’s betrayal and planning the assassination to focus on anything else. 

Arthur passed her a glass of whiskey after grabbing one for himself, earning a grateful smile from her. There was a tension in the room that she didn’t like; the majority of the family having occupied themselves with either smoking or drinking while they waited. Only Charlie and Curly were speaking, their voices lowered to hushed tones at their place by the door. Something about poor Charlie getting kicked in the leg by Barney, who was outside being watched over by a few Lee boys. 

The door slammed open and she let out a breath of relief she hadn’t even realized that she was holding at the sight of Tommy. He cleared his throat, and the meeting began. 

It was all going so well. Everything was happening according to plan. And then Michael interrupted Tommy in the middle of him announcing his official reinstatement to the company. Lucy tensed, even more so upon noticing the look of worried confusion on Polly’s face. If anyone would have known what Michael was up to, it would have been her. And yet she clearly didn’t. 

It seemed that the other shoe had finally dropped, then.

Michael met Tommy’s gaze unflinchingly. “Due to the amounts involved, I think that this company should be restructured.”

Holy fuck.

“Restructured in what way?” The look on Tommy’s face was dangerous. The kind of look he gave someone right before he ordered Lucy to blow their head off. She was suddenly greatly aware of the weight of her pistol pressed against her ribs in its holster.    

Michael stood, resting his hands on Gina’s shoulders as he began to speak, to outline his new plan for the company. The entire room was eerily silent save for Michael’s voice, everyone glancing nervously between him and Tommy.

“You see, I know, that the scars, and the wounds, they’re on the inside,” Michael tapped his temple. “Not on the outside. And as a member of the new generation, I am able to take that great burden off your weary shoulders.” Did the fucking kid just call them all old? 

Tommy’s eyes were so cold, she was surprised that she didn’t feel a chill in the air.

Michael soldiered on with the rest of his proposal, either not noticing or not caring how close he was to triggering Tommy’s wrath. Gina held out a file to him. He plucked it from his wife’s fingers, “Here is my proposal,” he set it on the table in front of Tommy, who looked down at it like it was a bug that needed to be squashed. “A full restructuring of the company. I will be managing director. And you can be non-executive chairman. But under an assumed name to protect your reputation. I found the name of a dead man. You will be registered as Mr. Jones.”

Tommy blinked very, very slowly. Oh, he was mad. Lucy had seen him furious many times over the years. This had to crack at least the top ten, maybe top five, of Tommy Shelby Is Pissed moments she had been witness to over the years. 

Michael looked around the room, turned back to face Tommy, and picked up the proposal, holding it out to him. “Take a look at the future, Tommy. At least read it with an open mind.”

There was a moment of utter silence, the only sound the soft crackle of the flames in the fireplace. The tension in the room was so tight even a simple whisper could have broken it. Lucy remained ready to spring, fingers itching towards her gun as she watched Tommy closely.

Just give me the order. Just say it and I’ll take care of this ungrateful, backstabbing, usurping piece of shit.

Tommy took the proposal from Michael, brows furrowing in mock concern.

“It’s cold in here, Michael.” In one fluid movement he turned, and tossed the proposal into the fire behind him. Johnny cackled from his place in the corner. Lucy smirked.

“Tommy, the Americans want to deal with me–”

“Item number three,” Tommy’s voice boomed over Michael’s.

Gina started egging Michael on–the girl had guts, Lucy could at least give her that–but before the conversation could escalate even more, there was commotion outside, and upon the news that Barney was giving their boys outside some trouble, the men in the room immediately leapt to their feet at Tommy’s order and filed out the door. Soon it was just her, Tommy, Michael, Gina, and Polly. Tommy turned, pinching at his brow. His hands came to rest against the mantle of the fireplace, head bowed towards the flames.

“I’m doing this for you, Tommy,” Michael placated. “It’s time. And you know it. Tommy, mum’s leaving. John’s dead. Arthur needs help. Lucy’s miserable. Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up–”

Tommy moved with frightening, almost unnatural speed, seizing a bottle of whiskey and throwing it into the fire. The bottle shattered, the flames flaring upwards in response to the alcohol. And then he whirled, seconds away from charging for Michael’s throat. Gina jumped back a bit in her chair. Polly spun away with her eyes closed. Lucy rocked forward, ready to help if he needed her. 

“C’mon, Tom,” Michael whispered, a pocket knife in his hand, held out to Tommy. “C’mon, cut me. Like the good old days. Or,” he lowered the blade, “see this for what it is. A natural succession. That someday must happen.”

Tommy licked his lips, eyes glancing away as he took a deep breath, shaking his head. “I gave you an opportunity, Michael. You betrayed me. Don’t be here when I get back. You,” he snapped his fingers at Gina, “you can tell your family–”

“Let me guess, ‘don’t fuck with the Peaky Blinders,’ right?”

Tommy stormed away towards the door. Lucy leapt from her position still seated at the table. 

“Get them the fuck out of here,” she commanded Polly, who was looking at her son as if she’d never seen him before. Shooting one last disgusted, disappointed look at Michael, Lucy followed Tommy outside. As soon as they were out the door and a few paces away Tommy groaned, leaning over with his hand braced on a lamppost. She pressed a palm between his shoulder blades.

“You alright?”

Tommy pinched the bridge of his nose, shaking his head. “After everything that we’ve fucking done for him…”

“I can’t believe that he called us old.”

Tommy gave her a look that was both appalled and amused. “That’s what you’re upset about?”

“What? I’m not even forty yet! Not that forty’s old,” she added hastily at his raised eyebrow. Chuckling, Tommy took her hand, dragging her along with him and heading for the sounds of Barney yelling. 

She hung back with Charlie and Curly, watching Tommy calm Barney down from the unpredictable, frightened mess that the man had been a moment ago. It was quite sweet, really, to see how gently Tommy treated his former comrade, handing him off to Jeremiah to take to Charlie’s yard. She followed Tommy and the remaining men back inside, to finish up the last piece of business before Michael interrupted them. The pub was empty upon their return, Michael, Gina, and Polly had all vanished. 

Lounging back in her chair, feet kicked up while she smoked, she listened quietly to Tommy relaying the plan for Mosley’s assassination to the other men. Arthur slid another glass of whiskey to her.  

In response to Tommy announcing Barney’s role of shooting Mosley, Aberama raised an eyebrow. “That madman out there? Need I remind you, Tommy, that you already have an assassin who works for you,” he nodded towards Lucy. “Why not have her do it?”

Lucy glanced away, swirling the whiskey in her glass. There was still a sting at not being chosen for this assignment, even though Tommy’s reasons were frustratingly sound, as he explained to Aberama and everyone else. Lucy continued to sip her whiskey while the men discussed the details. She and Tommy had already gone over the plan thoroughly. She already had her instructions. 

Guilt roiled within her at Tommy’s bitter demand that anyone who wanted to leave was to leave now. Did he know about the train ticket? Or was it just a reaction to Michael’s words about them being an old fashioned backstreet razor gang? He had his back to her where he was standing with his hands braced against the bar. She couldn’t see his face. 

 She hoped that he would not take her planned departure as a slight. Or as judgment passed onto any of them for the life that they lived. Or as detest towards the gang. She had loved her life with them. Truly. It was breaking her heart to have to leave it all behind. 

No one–her included–moved at the offer of escape. 

Wrapping up giving everyone their orders, Tommy dismissed them all save for her and Arthur. Leaning against the bar, Tommy’s face twisted, brow furrowing.

“It’s time.”

∗ ∗ ∗

Much as he may have hidden it, the sting of the twisting knife of betrayal never really lessened. No matter how many times it happened.

He had known that Michael was up to something. But perhaps he had allowed himself to hope just a bit too much that it was nothing. That it was just his paranoia getting out of hand. And yet he had felt it, the creeping of hands reaching up to try to snatch away his crown, the vultures beginning to circle overhead.

He sank more heavily into his seat in the booth, face cradled in his hand as he tried to keep his head from exploding from the thoughts within. Michael’s words turned over in his mind. Beside him, Lucy fiddled with a coaster in front of her. Arthur was leaning over the bar with his head bowed. The Garrison was empty, save for the three of them. Until the door swung open and Micky walked in, humming softly to himself. All three of them tensed, a quiet resignation filtering throughout the room.

Here we go.

He kept his eyes focused sternly on Micky while he and Arthur explained their findings to him regarding his recent activities. 

“Me and my brother, and my assistant,” he nodded over at Lucy, who was watching them with dark eyes that seemed to glow like amber with the way the light hit them, “we spoke to Paddy. At length. He told us it was him that planted the bomb.”

With every word, Micky’s face drained of a little more color, until he was white as a ghost. He looked moments away from openly weeping. Tommy forced himself to think of Ada. To think of the child his sister would have to raise without a father. To think of the burning car outside his office, the charred figure that had been removed from it once the flames were doused. Micky had done that. He had to remember that. 

Arthur leaned forward. Micky began to sob. Tommy wished that he would fight them. Or deny it. Or be angry with them. Anything to help make what they had to do easier. But instead he just sat there, whimpering and crying, looking around before tilting his head up to the ceiling, murmuring what could have been a prayer under his breath. Sniffling, he pulled himself together, looking to him.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Shelby.”

Tommy looked away, towards the doors of the pub. Micky continued to stare at him.

“Don’t look at Tommy,” Arthur ordered softly, beckoning a hand at Micky until he fixed his eyes on him. Now. He needed to do it now, or he might not be able to. “The ceiling would be cheaper, brother.”

“Micky!” Fast as he could, Tommy pulled his gun from its holster, lunged forward, pressed it to the underside of the man’s chin, and pulled the trigger. The gunshot thundered throughout the pub, the wet splatter of blood and brains spraying upwards to coat the ceiling.

Arthur cringed away. Lucy turned her head to the side, eyes closed. Tommy slammed the pistol down on the table, hands bracing as he bent over it. A moment later he raised his hand to stare in amazement at the slight way that it trembled. 

“Fucking hell, Arthur,” he held it up for his brother to see. “Eh? Shaking like the hand of a normal man,” he straightened, wiping at his brow. He shot a glance at Lucy, checking to make sure that she was alright. She seemed fine, rubbing her balled up fist against her lips and eyeing Micky’s body where it was slumped over in his chair. Grabbing his coat, he began to pull it on.       

Then Arthur had to start in on pestering him about how maybe Michael was right…maybe they could stop…maybe it could be over…maybe, maybe, maybe…

Once upon a time, he had entertained thoughts of an after. A time when all the heinous shit they had to do would be behind them. When he would be able to rest. Be at peace.

What little lingering hope he’d had for that went up in smoke the day Lucy left Arrow House. Never to return. Not unless by some miracle he managed to win her back. 

Did he even dare? He needed her. But he couldn’t bear the thought of further ruining her life. The kind thing–the right thing–to do would be to let her go. That way she could finally be truly happy without being shackled to a mess of a man like him. He’d never deserved her anyway. 

He did his best to ignore Arthur, instead focusing on gathering up his cigarette case and lighter to stuff into his pockets. Lucy shifted, sliding from the booth to grab her own coat and shrug it on. Arthur whimpered, staggering backwards into the chair he had been sitting in, still babbling. Tommy kept his back turned to him, eyes staring at the floorboards as he exhaled, rubbing a hand over his face. Lucy was glancing between them worriedly. Michael’s voice, loud and clear, as if he was standing right beside him, rang in his ears.

Mum’s leaving.

Polly with her dark doe eyes, looking at him with that stern, yet motherly expression. An expression that these days always seemed to carry worry and disappointment in equal measures.  

John’s dead.

John’s body, cold and pale and full of bullets. The scent of the smoke from his burning burial wagon.

Arthur needs help.

The sounds of Arthur whimpering behind him.

Lucy’s miserable.

Her sad dark brown eyes. Her hands pulling away from him, even as he reached out for her desperately.

Ada’s man was killed in your own backyard because you fucked up.

The thundering boom of Ben’s car exploding right outside his office. Ada’s tears as he told her the news. 

All his fault. Each and every one of them.

It wasn’t the blue stone, Tommy. It was you.

“Michael…Michael could be right, we could go, Tommy. We could go,” Arthur babbled. “We could fucking leave this place. We could leave it to the kids. Michael’s…he might be right. He might be fucking right.”

It was you.

“Arthur!” Tommy exploded, “there is no item number five!” he roared, hand grabbing his gun where it was still sitting on the table next to Micky’s body. He stuffed it into his holster and straightened his jacket. “Go and check that Polly is still on our side,” he turned to Lucy. “Clean this up,” he gestured in the direction of Micky’s body. “Then check on Barney at the yard.” She nodded, eyes not fully meeting his while she adjusted the lay of her coat. “I have to go to Margate.” 

He ignored Arthur’s murmurs of affirmation, heading to the door. The space by his side where Lucy usually was felt gaping and empty, but he did his best not to dwell on it. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Tommy,” Alfie said, before he could leave. “How’s Lucy?” 

He paused at the sound of her name. “She’s fine.”

“Does she know I’m alive?”

“Yes, I let her read your letter.” 

Alfie cocked his head, his good eye narrowing suspiciously. “Why isn’t she here?” 

“She was busy.”

But Alfie shook his head. “Where Thomas Shelby goes, the Red Demon is never far behind. That’s the saying, isn’t it?”

Tommy sighed, realizing that Alfie wasn’t going to let him get by with dodging the topic. “We’re…going through a bit of a rough patch right now.” Understatement of the fucking century. 

Alfie’s face immediately darkened. “What did you do?”

Tommy shot him a look of slight offense. “Why do you immediately assume it was my fault?”

Alfie just stared at him. Huffing, Tommy looked down at his shoes in silent admission that he was correct in his blame. 

“I saw you got married. Imagine my surprise when I saw that the bride’s name wasn’t Lucy’s.”

“It’s complicated.”

“Are you going to fix it?”

Shoving his hands into his pockets, Tommy looked towards the open doors leading out onto the balcony. “I don’t know if I can.”

“She was always too good for you.”

He let out a choked off, humorless laugh. “I know.”

“She loves you more than anything.”

A lump lodged its way into Tommy’s throat. “Yes.” She’d given him everything. Every little bit of herself. And he’d gone and been careless with it. Broken all the promises he’d made. Ripped out her heart and then stomped on for good measure. It didn’t matter that he hadn’t meant any of it. It had still happened. 

It would serve him right if she never forgave him.

“Do you love her, Tom?” Alfie asked.

Tommy looked up to meet his eyes. “Yes. Of course I do.”

Alfie examined him closely, then leaned back in his chair, seemingly satisfied. “Have you told her that, lately?”

Tommy opened his mouth to respond. To say, yes, of course I have. Because he told Lucy that he loved her all the time. Or at least he tried to. 

But then he thought about it. Tried to remember a specific time that he’d actually told her that he loved her. That his heart still belonged to her. 

To his utter horror, he realized that he couldn’t remember a moment recently in which he had. 

Fucking hell, no wonder she was pulling away from him. He’d so failed in nearly every capacity as a lover. Even he was amazed at how monumentally he kept fucking up with her at this point.  

He kept trying to figure out how it had all happened. And why it all seemed to keep collapsing further into disarray. All he could conclude was that he’d somehow gotten lost. They both had. In their own heads. Their own melancholies. Their own doubts and insecurities. Maybe it had happened after he made the deal with Lizzie, and the chasm started to open up between them. Or maybe it wasn’t until Lucy moved out, and he stupidly let her go. Without each other, they were…anchorless. Adrift. They needed each other. Otherwise–apparently–they lost their damn minds.  

“I need to get back to Birmingham,” he said, suddenly desperate to see her. Maybe…maybe all wasn’t entirely lost yet. Maybe he wasn’t too late. “Thanks, Alfie.”

Alfie just hummed, mumbling something about putting relationship counseling under his ever expanding list of special skills while Tommy hurried out the door. 

∗ ∗ ∗

The phone settled down gently into its cradle. No one was answering. 

He could still see Polly’s cold, defeated eyes when she had handed him her resignation. Rubbing a hand over his face, his eyes were drawn like magnets to the gun resting on the table. 

Michael’s words bounced around his skull like a ricochet bullet.

Lucy’s miserable. Lucy’s miserable. Lucy’s miserable.

Lucy’s voice, from their argument in his office, had also been on a constant replay for the past four days.

It’s better this way.

You seem to be doing just fine to me.

You’re the one who made that deal with Lizzie in the first place without even thinking of me!

He swallowed roughly around the lump in his throat. And now he had Polly’s prophecy to worry about.

  There will be a war, and one of you will die. But which one I cannot tell. 

Maybe Michael would get lucky. Maybe he’d take himself out, and Michael could descend upon his throne like a vulture, pluck his crown from whatever was left of his head after he’d blown his own brains out.

He needed to get out of here. Needed to talk to someone. Or else he ran the risk of doing something rash.

∗ ∗ ∗ 

The seat by the fire across from Charlie creaked as he sat down heavily in it, leaning forward close enough to let the flames warm his face.

“I,” he cleared his throat. “I called. The phone for Lucy’s room. She didn’t answer.” Not that he could really blame her. If he was her, he wouldn’t want to talk to him either. Hell, he didn’t want to talk to him.

“She took Asher for a walk. They’ll be back soon,” Charlie explained. He took a swig from the bottle by his feet. 

“How is she?”

Charlie shot him a stern look. The same one he used to give whenever he caught Tommy doing something he wasn’t supposed to as a kid. “How do you think?”

 His shoulders slumped, frown deepening. Charlie watched him across the fire, eyes narrowed. “So what’s your plan?”

“What?”

“To fix things with Lucy. What’s your fucking plan, Tom?”

He shook his head, gaze shifting to the black abyss of night around them. “I don’t know.”

Charlie scoffed, shaking his head. “Well, you better come up with something.”

Tommy sighed. “I don’t…I don’t know if she wants me to, Charlie,” he shifted uncomfortably, not used to feeling so vulnerable.

“Please. ‘Course she does.”

He shook his head again. “I’ve tried to talk to her about it. Each time she pushes me away.” 

Charlie inclined his head. “She’s telling everyone who asks how you feel about this new arrangement that you’re happy with it.”

“I’m not.”

Charlie shrugged. “Well. She seems to think that you are.”

Tommy’s frown deepened as he tried to figure out just what the hell he could have done to make her think that. He thought that he had been quite openly miserable about the whole thing. Charlie must have seen something in his face, because he snorted, shaking his head.

“Why the hell did you even make that deal with Lizzie, Tommy? You had to know what it would cost you.”

Tommy coughed awkwardly. “Lizzie was going to leave me,” he finally admitted. “I saw an opportunity when she presented her deal to keep her around. And…I suppose that I felt guilty. About all that I’ve put her through.”

“And now, where there was once a more balanced arrangement between Lucy and Lizzie, the scales now tip considerably in Lizzie’s favor. Lucy’s not your partner or your lover under this agreement. She’s your mistress or your whore, there to entertain you whenever your wife isn’t around.”

“What?” Tommy sat up, the beginnings of anger bubbling under his skin. “That is not-”

Charlie held up a hand. “I know that’s not what you intended, Tom. But that's what’s happened.” 

He looked at Charlie silently, bowing his head so that the shadow of his hat hid his eyes. “It’s not weighted in Lizzie’s favor, though, Charlie,” he spoke softly. “And it never was fucking balanced either,” he coughed again and rubbed his eyes. “I told Lizzie the truth.”

“What truth?”

“That I’m not in love with her.”  

Charlie took a drag from his cigarette. “Do you think it’ll finally get through to her this time?”

Tommy shook his head. “I don’t know,” he hated how helpless he felt. Charlie tsked.

“You and Lucy are so caught up in your own guilt over not being able to give Lizzie what she wants, but why? It’s not your fault that you don’t love her. And it isn’t Lucy’s fault that you love her and not Lizzie.”

“I’ve been a complete shit of a husband, Charlie.”

“I’m not sure if you can ever be considered a good husband, Tom, considering that you don’t even love your wife,” Charlie shook his head. “You and Lucy have done all you could to give Lizzie a comfortable, stable, content life. She’s got the big house, a position in society, money, status, and a child. You have accommodated her as best as you can. Done what you could to get through to her and to make her accept the reality of the arrangement that she signed up for. That is the best that you can do. And by no means am I saying that you should be cruel or unkind to her, but…Tom, the scales are never going to tip in Lizzie’s favor. Or even be balanced for that matter. You and Lucy will accomplish nothing by wallowing in your guilt and making yourselves miserable in some attempt to make Lizzie happy. I know you both feel guilty and like you are being unfair to her. But it is also unfair for you to be expected to be unhappy for the rest of your lives so that Lizzie gets to play out some fucking fantasy. And I don’t think that Lizzie is that unfair. Or cruel.”

Tommy swallowed around the lump in his throat. “I know all that Charlie. It’s Lucy that won’t even talk about any of it.”

“She’s seen this whole situation with you and Lizzie drag both of you down, leaving you both bitter and resentful. You know how Lucy is. She always wants to fix things for people. And… she can have a bit of a martyr complex to her.” Charlie’s eyes bored into him from across the fire. “She wants you to be happy, Tom. And she thinks that by trying to fix things between you and Lizzie, she can accomplish that.”

“I don’t deserve either of them, Charlie.”

Charlie looked at him with deep concern. “You aren’t as bad as you think you are, Tom.”

“All I’ve ever done is hurt them.”

“You gave Lizzie a chance at a new life. You gave her a child; something that she’s always wanted. You gave her a family that loves her and looks after her. And what do you think would have happened to Lucy without you, hm? She’d be dead, Tom. Or sold off to that asshole in London to probably be brutalized and beaten everyday of her life. You gave her life a new purpose. And you have loved her very, very much. Probably far more than she ever thought would be possible.” At Tommy’s questioning look, Charlie shrugged his shoulders. “I saw how fucked up she was when she first arrived here from London, remember? They destroyed her over there, and you put her back together. And you do make her happy, Tom,” he gestured with a small wave, “this whole situation notwithstanding, of course.” He readjusted his injured leg. “Look, you two absolutely need to talk about all of this. It’ll probably be messy and a little painful, but in the end you’ll be fine.” The old man spoke with such confidence, truly zero concern in his voice that their relationship wouldn’t survive such a confrontation. “You love each other too much to let go of the other that easily.”

Tommy wanted to believe Charlie. He wanted to have that same belief that his relationship with Lucy could withstand practically anything. But the fear and unsurety remained.

“What if she wants me to let her go?” He hated the way his voice suddenly sounded. Small, like a scared child. Charlie snorted, flicking his cigarette into the fire. “I don’t know how to fix this, Charlie.”

“You’re Thomas fucking Shelby. If you want something bad enough, you could practically will it into existence. So,” the man who was more his father than his actual father regarded him from across the flames. “What is it that you want, Tom?” 

Tommy pulled his arms in tighter against himself. “I want…” everything; that was what he had told Lucy, that first night he’d properly met her. On the bridge overlooking the cut. And he’d had it. For a moment. For a while. Everything is mine, Lizzie, he had whispered to his wife after they’d sealed their new deal. Everything. And then Lucy was gone, and might as well have taken everything with her. 

There was the soft crunch of footsteps behind them, and then he was being ambushed by something big and black and fluffy headbutting him in the legs, tail wagging.

“Hullo, Asher,” he said, chuckling at the dog’s overexcited response to him. His hands petted over the dog’s soft fur. Lucy appeared next to Charlie, arms wrapped around herself. “Hi,” he murmured awkwardly, voice softer.

“Hullo,” she responded, holding out her hands to be warmed by the flames. Her coat and hair were soaked from the rain still falling heavily from the sky. Tommy wanted to pull her into his lap and wrap his arms around her like he always used to whenever she was cold.

“You know, Lucy,” Charlie stood suddenly, wobbling. “I think that those painkillers you gave me are finally starting to kick in.” He grasped a makeshift crutch to take the weight off his fractured leg. “I think I’m gonna go try to get some sleep. Big day tomorrow and all.” He waved a hand away when they both made moves to help him. “No, no. I can manage.” He gave Tommy a very pointed look as he hobbled past him, taking Asher’s lead from Lucy to usher the dog with him back inside. Tommy had to fight back the urge to snort. Subtle, old man.

For a long moment he and Lucy stood in awkward silence, the fire crackling between them, neither of them daring to speak first.

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Thank you for reading! Please consider leaving a comment, reblog, or like. I always appreciate feedback and love getting the opportunity to interact with you and hear your thoughts!

[the-badger-mole]

Hi! Been loving your blog and writing!

I really like your characterization and opinions of A.ang. It’s nice to read fan fic and blogs that just gets it. Down the road and back again was just *chef’s kiss*. (Also uncharted waters I’m loving! I never know what to expect and each chapter is so good)

Anyways I was wondering if you have any head cannon’s of what a K.ataang marriage would look like? For me I imagine it being it being extremely passive aggressive, also A.ang is really selfish so that definitely would hurt their marriage. It’s kind of like the opposite side of the toxic coin with M.aiko being a screaming match and in your face constantly breaking up, K.ataang would be toxic but it’s quite and they would try to save face in public. I don’t know What do you think?

I kind of touched on it in Choices and Consequences, but I picture it being a lot of Katara swallowing her feelings and being a single mother to four children. I don't believe she was ever actually in love with Aang. She may have tried to tell herself she was, but I think the only reason she ended up with Aang is because she felt like she owed him. Kataang was unhealthy on both their parts, and while I do tend to focus on Aang (because he's awful, and I will not ever stop pointing that out), I think Katara was guilty of putting him on a pedestal. She knew the Avatar would save the world, and I think that's why she ignored Aang's flaws. Everyone wanted to end the war, but for her, it was a deeply intense and personal desire, and the Avatar would be the one to deliver that. It's a lot of pressure to put on a 12 year old who grew up slow in a world without war, and she knew that. On some level, Katara was aware of how much pressure Aang was under, which is why I think she was so insistent on everyone being gentle with him, even though they didn't have that kind of time. Then when he actually did end the war (he didn't, at least not alone, but the show refused to give credit where it was due) Katara felt some sort of obligation towards him and called it love.

Katara is a smart, passionate girl, and she would've wanted a partner who would appreciate that and respect her thoughts, feelings and opinions. The glimpses of her relationship with Aang in the early comics show me that she didn't have that with him. Aang didn't respect her feelings over those of his fangirls. He ignored her discomfort, and even thanked her for understanding why he needed to connect with those girls who were being horribly disrespectful because "sharing his culture"🤮. It wasn't their treatment of her that upset him. It was them doing something that offended him personally.

Meanwhile, Katara had to swallow her own feelings and smile through it all. That's how I see their relationship going. I think Katara might have convinced herself that he respected her thoughts and opinions because he relied on her as a caregiver and he took her everywhere, but I think as he grew into his own, he would've expected her to step back and be contented to be a homemaker/broodmare while he did the important Avatar work, which is why I think Katara wasn't present in that scene in LoK where bloodbending was banned, even though she was ostensibly the only other bloodbender in the world, but Aang was front and center. It's also my theory on why when Aang was about to go all in on pushing for anti-miscegenation, instead of her telling him that it would be a bad idea because of the effects it would have on the families and communities Aang would be separating, she appealed to how it would affect him.

I don't think their marriage would be passive aggressive. I think Katara would just make herself as small as possible and do her best to keep the Avatar happy and on track because that's what she owed him. She'd have moments of acknowledging her deep unhappiness and regret, but she wouldn't dwell on it. And she would convince herself she was content to be a devoted wife and mother, and nothing else.

[sunniques]

— 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞, 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐞

➺ PAIRING: jeon wonwoo x female reader

➺ GENRE: boyfriend’s dad au, smut

➺ SUMMARY: your boyfriend’s manipulative father helps you get revenge in the nastiest way possible.

➺ CW/TW: yandere themes, slight obsession, age gap, cheating, manipulation, baby trapping, dry humping, panty stealing, mentions of masturbation, wonwoo is a depraved perv, dilf!wonwoo, nipple play, spitting, fingering, some cum play, unprotected sex, squirting, creampies

➺ WC: 4k

NOTE: don’t like, don’t read. @wonustars hope you like it <3

Wonwoo is a sick man.

He knows this, he acknowledges it, and most importantly, he hides it.

When people thought of Jeon Wonwoo, they thought of a respectable lawyer, widower, loving father of two. And they were right. He had never done anything to indicate otherwise. Not publicly, anyway. For years he’s hidden his most depraved side without letting anyone know it existed.

His facade all starts to crumble when his son comes home from college with a lovely girl who he’s apparently head over heels for. Wonwoo recognizes the starry eyed look in his son’s eyes, and instead of being happy for him, all Wonwoo can feel is faint disgust and disdain. It’s pathetic and vile, but it’s a feeling that he can’t get rid of no matter what he does.

It gets worse when you start coming around more often, prancing around in your little shorts and skirts like Wonwoo doesn’t get hard just seeing your exposed skin. He’s sick for stealing your dirty panties when you come over and using them to jerk off, but again, he can’t stop his despicable actions. His obsession with you only grows as time goes on, and eventually he decides that he’s going to have you no matter what.

The first step in Wonwoo’s sick plan is showing you just how lavish life is with a man who can provide. He ruthlessly cuts his son off, insisting that getting out in the real world and being independent is necessary. It’s easy to ignore his son’s protests and clamors about how unfair it is that his sister doesn’t get the same treatment, mostly because he sees how fast this strategy works.

When he overhears his son tell you he actually can’t buy you the bag you’ve been wanting he can see the disappointment in your face. Wonwoo is smart enough to know it’s less about the bag and more about the seemingly empty promise. It makes sense since his son can no longer pay for your food or makeup or any clothes you like. His son can’t even get you lavish gifts you’d grown accustom to.

That’s why when your birthday rolls around, you don’t expect much. It’s perfect because you don’t expect to be spoiled which makes your reaction that much sweeter.

“Mr. Jeon!” You cry out in shock when you open the bag your boyfriend’s dad gave you. “I-I don’t know what to say! This is– I mean—Thank you!”

Not only did he gift you an expensive bag that his son had failed to give you, he also got you the biggest bottle of your favorite perfume, some clothes, and a very expensive necklace. Wonwoo smirked smugly when you hugged him, loving how you pressed your entire body against his. His son couldn’t have known, but he saw the way you started to look at him with less appreciation. Of course, it was only natural. After all, all women loved a man who could provide.

The next step was something Wonwoo couldn’t really be blamed for. All he did was have his coworker and her pretty daughter over for dinner when you were away visiting your family. He can’t be to blame for the fact that his son is a weak man who hasn’t truly accepted monogamy. Sure, he did push it along by leaving two college kids alone in a house full of liquor. And yes, he was responsible for them often meeting up whenever you weren’t around, but again, it wasn’t entirely his fault.

The final step to this long winded plan was making sure you found out.

Wonwoo is lucky his daughter has more of a moral compass than he and his son combined. The second she realized what was going on, she didn’t hesitate to tell you. Admittedly, he was saddened to know how heartbroken you initially felt. However, when he saw you again, you seemed void of that. All he could see was your thirst for revenge.

Luckily for you, he was more than willing to help you make that happen.

You still haven’t broken up with Wonwoo’s son, much to his annoyance. In fact, you’re acting like nothing’s wrong even when you come along to their vacation home during the summer. His son is hardly paying you any attention and his daughter has gone off with her friends somewhere, leaving you to your own devices.

“Hey, babe. I’m running to the store real quick. Need anything?” Your boyfriend asks without looking up from his phone.

Before, he would’ve insisted you go with him. Things change, but you don’t care. Not anymore.

“No thanks. Be safe.”

He doesn’t kiss you goodbye, and you’re glad.

Your eyes drift over to Wonwoo, appreciating how good he looks. The perfect idea for revenge had occurred to you a while ago, and with the older man quietly sipping on some liquor on the couch, you know there’s no better time than the present to set your plan in motion.

Boldly, you get up from where you’re sitting and slide onto Wonwoo’s lap. Your panties are already slick with your arousal as you sit directly on his crotch. Dark eyes look at you in surprise when you gently start to grind your panty-clad pussy down without any qualms. All you do is smirk seductively before you go to kiss and suck on Wonwoo’s neck.

“Sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans, cock already hardening because of the wet heat that’s pushing down on him. “What about—?”

“Your son’s an asshole.” You say bluntly. “And I want him to feel as shitty as I do.”

You pull back, expecting Wonwoo to push you off of him or tell you what you’re doing is wrong. Instead he only laughs and goes to kiss you. A quiet squeal escapes you when he starts to lick into your mouth. You’re quick to melt into the kiss, moaning into his mouth when Wonwoo starts to guide your hips down onto his covered cock.

The sound of a car door slamming has you pulling away. You smirk when Wonwoo groans in disapproval. The wet spot you’ve left on his pants only turns you on even more, and all you do is wink at him before running upstairs to the guest room he provided for you.

The rest of the evening goes by without incident, well except for the fact that your boyfriend got a little too drunk on wine and was now passed out on the couch. His sister only looks at him with disgust and announces that she’s going to bed. You know the truth. Earlier, she confessed that she was going to sneak out to go clubbing with her friends. This was perfect since you were going to need her gone to execute your plan.

“Goodnight, Mr. Jeon.” You purr as you stretch your arms over your head, noticing his eyes drift down you where your skirt had ridden up.

You don’t bother to hide your smirk as you go upstairs. As soon as you get to the room, you leave the door open, slipping out of your clothes and putting on a tiny night shirt that came just above your belly button. You get on the bed and settle on your side, cunt still thrumming with arousal. All you can think about is getting fucked raw by your boyfriend’s dad, and you hope he hurries up and gives you what you want.

Slowly, you slide your hand into your panties, teasing your fingers across your swollen clit. It’s easy to lose yourself to the pleasure. Especially since your mind can’t stop replaying what happened earlier in the day. God, was Mr. Jeon a good kisser. Way better than his pathetic son. You mewl quietly, wishing the ache between your legs was being soothed by someone else.

Wonwoo almost cums in his pants when he sees you on the bed. You’re only wearing a small shirt and panties, which makes it easy to see what you’re doing. He smirks, slowly undressing himself as he approaches you. It’s funny how you don’t notice him until he slides in right behind you.

“Need some help?”

You pussy throbs in excitement, and before you can answer him, you feel his hand slip down your body to cover the one you have in your panties. The mewl you let out makes his cock twitch and throb. Wonwoo holds back a groan, ready to have you in the way he’s dreamed of for months.

“You have to be quiet, sweetheart.” His breath fans against your ears. “I can’t have my kids walking in on us when we’re just getting started.”

You almost tell him his sweet little daughter is out partying with her friends so there’s no real reason to keep quiet, but you resist. After all, no one would be able stop you from fucking the insanely hot man playing with your pussy.

“So fucking wet.” Wonwoo whispers hotly. “What were you thinking about?”

“You.” It’s easy to admit, especially because you can tell how much he likes it. “And how fucking wrong this all is.”

Wonwoo hums, and it somehow seems like he’s gloating. His fingers circle your throbbing clit over and over until you’re squirming against him. “Maybe, but you like it. That’s why you’re dripping all over my hand. You like your boyfriend’s dad playing with your pussy that much, huh, baby?”

“Fuck yeah.” You hiss, eyes falling closed when he pinches your wet clit. “You’re so fucking hot, Mr. Jeon. Way better than your pussy ass son.”

Wonwoo’s dick presses against your ass as he rolls his hips to grind against you. Juices gush from your cunt as he groans into your neck. “I fucking knew it—I’ve always known it. Even before you were grinding your wet pussy on me.”

You bite your lip, slightly embarrassed that he knew you were attracted to him this entire time. It’s not like you can be blamed. He’s one of the most attractive men you’ve ever seen, and obviously he felt some bit of attraction for you as well.

“Roll over and show me those pretty tits, baby.” Wonwoo rasps in your ear.

His words has more of your arousal coating his long fingers. You’re feeling hot all over, and you don’t hesitate to comply. You twist your body before you pull your shirt up to let your tits free. Immediately, your nipples harden under his dark gaze

“That’s it.” Wonwoo groans deeply as he rubs your pussy harder. “Prettiest tits I’ve ever seen. Fuck. Makes me want to suck on them until you’re creaming all over my fingers.”

You moan and arch your back into him. Wonwoo licks his lips and stops rubbing your pussy to pull off your panties. He grabs his cock and rubs it along your pussy. You cry out quietly when you feel his hot cock skip between your wet folds and drag against your clit and dripping hole. By now you’re panting, hips writhing from the stimulation. Wonwoo drags wet fingers up to pinch your taut nipples.

“You’ll let me suck on your sweet tits, won’t you, sweetheart?”

“Yes!” You agree immediately, feeling an arousing thrill when Wonwoo lets out a deep groan.

He twists your upper body some more until your back is against the mattress. Your hips are still twisted at an angle so his cock can keep rubbing against your pussy. The position isn’t uncomfortable, and you watch with anticipation as Wonwoo ducks his head to drag his mouth across the swell of your breasts. His eyes never leave yours when his mouth dips down to suck on one of your sensitive nipples. As you feel the hot wet suction, your eyes slip close with a whine.

You grind your cunt down on Wonwoo’s cock, dripping slick all over him. He moans against you nipple as he slowly drags his dick back and forth to stimulate you. The head of his cock leaks precum making your pussy messier and stickier. You drag your hand through Wonwoo’s hair, sighing and mewling as his hot mouth suckles on your hard bud.

“Fuck, just like that!” You mewl, arching your back to shove more of your tit into his mouth.

The next time he catches your gaze, you can see his pupils blown wide and a light blush spread across his face. It’s so attractive that more of your arousal drips onto his cock. Wonwoo then sucks a bruise on the curve of your breast, teeth gently digging into the soft skin. You gasp at the dull ache, pussy clenching around nothing.

“So fucking sweet.” His voice is low and raspy, tongue lapping at the bruise he left behind.

You whine and arch up into him more. “S-Shit, Mr. Jeon. This is so fucking dirty.”

He just grins at you wickedly, hips swirling against you so his cock brushes against your throbbing clit. Wonwoo starts to press wet kisses on your tits tenderly, dark eyes never leaving yours. “It is, and yet you still like it. That’s why you’re not trying to be quiet. You want my son to know your little pussy is aching for my cock.”

You moan loudly when he starts to roughly suck on your other nipple. He’s not bothering to keep his own moans quiet as he swaps back and forth between your nipples until they’re both puffy and sore. As he works his teeth and tongue on your hard buds, he grinds his cock up against your slick hole making you part your legs further.

“I know you want it, baby.” Wonwoo says after he’s satisfied with the marks he’s left on your tits. He rubs his leaking tip against your clit to hear you moan again. “Want me to split you open on my fat cock, hm? I’ll show you how a real man fucks.”

“Fuck—please.” You whimper desperately. “Need you to fuck me, Mr. Jeon.”

“Call me Wonwoo, sweetheart.” He groans as he gets up and positions you so you’re fully on your back.

You mewl when Wonwoo rests his dick on your stomach. The sight is dizzying in the best way—an arousing image of how deep he’ll reach inside you once he slides into your pretty pussy. His leaking tip is almost to your belly button, and he wishes badly that he could take a picture. Wonwoo licks his lips as slowly rubs his cock through your slippery folds, covering it with your juices. His fat tip brushes against your clit and makes you whine.

You moan when he eases his cockhead past your slick folds. The squeeze of your hot cunt is tight, and it makes Wonwoo roll his hips into yours, fucking himself deeper into your clenching pussy.

“Wonwoo!” You mewl, already feeling so full even though he’s not even all the way inside.

Just hearing you moan his name has him thrusting forward and burying his cock balls deep inside your wet pussy with a deep growl. You cry out loudly, tits bouncing at his roughness. Wonwoo’s large palm immediately covers your mouth, cock throbbing inside you.

“Shh, baby. You don’t want us to get caught do you? What would my son say is he walked in and saw his dad fucking his girlfriend’s tight little cunt?”

You moan against his hand, pussy clamping down on his dick tighter than before. Wonwoo clicks his tongue, slowly grinding deeper into you. The thought turns him on too, more than he would ever admit.

“Oh? You like that?” He hums as you buck your hips up to meet his slow thrusts. “What a dirty little slut.”

Wonwoo keeps your mouth covered as he slowly fucks your cunt. All you can focus on is how stretched open your pussy feels. You keep whining and moaning as he bullies his cock into your fluttering hole. Even though they’re muffled, the cute little noises you’re making are driving Wonwoo closer to the edge.

“You’re so fucking tight, sweetheart.” Wonwoo groans. “Feels like you’ve never had a cock this big stuffing your little pussy.”

Wanting to hear you, he removes his hand.

You shake your head before you moan out an answer. “You’re the biggest—fuck—I’ve ever had.”

Wonwoo’s cock twitches inside you as he goes to cover your mouth with his. You two share a series of wet kisses between your filthy moans. His thick cock keeps rutting into your squelching pussy and slamming into the spongy spot inside your cunt that makes you keep tightening around him. At this point your mind has gone fuzzy. All you can think about is the man on top of you and the orgasm coiling in the pit of your stomach thanks to him.

In the haze of skin slapping together and the arousing scent of sex, Wonwoo feels like he’s found heaven. He’s absolutely thrilled to have you how he’s wanted since he first saw you. After months of planning, he finally has you trembling on his cock. Wonwoo groans lowly when you squeeze even tighter around him. You whine, moving your hips to meet his thrusts.

Wonwoo smirks when he sees your fucked out expression. He can’t care that his son is passed out downstairs while he’s quite literally fucking his sweet little girlfriend’s brains out. It’s what you deserved after all the hell his idiot spawn put you through.

“Looks like you’re already addicted to my cock, baby.” His laugh is so attractive that it makes your pussy flutter.

A deep pleasure shoots up your spine as Wonwoo fucks you hard and deep, plunging his cock into your sopping cunt. You cry out his name, feeling a pleasure you never have before. His hand moves between your bodies to flick and rub your sensitive clit.

“God, sweetheart. Fucking love how your sweet cunt squeezes my cock.” He groans in delight.

Wonwoo’s fingers keep rubbing your sensitive clit until your back arches off the bed. Wet slapping and loud squelching fills the room as the coil in your stomach abruptly snaps. Your legs clamp around his slim waist at the same time your cunt tightens around his dick, milking him for all he’s worth as your arousal gushes around his throbbing length.

“That’s it, baby. Milk this fucking cock.” Wonwoo growls as his hands spread you open even more. “Fuck. I’m gonna fill you with my cum and watch it spill out of your pretty pussy.”

You whine out, wanting nothing more. “Yes! Fill my pussy with your cum!”

Wonwoo growls into your skin, ramming his dick straight into your sweet spot until he reaches his own climax. With a loud moan of your name, he spills his hot cum inside your cunt. Thick ropes of his seed paint your walls as he keeps stuffing you full until it leaks out around his cock.

It feels like you’re stuck in a blissful haze, and it’s only until Wonwoo slowly pulls out of you that you come back to your senses. His eyes are dark as he watches his cum slowly drip out of you. It’s an erotic sight, you’re sure, and you can’t help but want more.

“Wonwoo.” Your voice comes out in a sigh. “Think you can go again?”

The older man groans in his throat. You’re insatiable, and so is he. Fuck. He knew you were perfect for him.

“For you? Always.”

Your eyes roll back when the bulbous tip of his length nudges your tender pussy. Wonwoo smirks and presses forward. His aching cock penetrates you in one deep thrust. Large hands hold down your squirming hips as he sheathes his big cock to the hilt. Wonwoo groans when your juices spill around his girth. He leans back and lets a string of spit falls straight onto your pussy. The filthy action makes you moan wantonly.

“Your sweet little cunt is driving me crazy, sweetheart.” Wonwoo hisses as you clench around him.

Your hot cunt is pulsing and soaking his cock as if you’re claiming it as your own. It makes him smirk. Wonwoo keeps pounding into your creamy cunt until only lewd squelching and pornographic moans fill the room. He can’t even think about his son anymore. All he cares about is splitting you open and molding your tight pussy to fit the shape of his dick.

“You just love this cock, don’t you, baby?” Wonwoo moans.

“I do—Fuck. Feels so fucking good!” Your voice is loud, and you’re both beyond the point of caring. “I love your cock. Love how you fuck my little pussy.”

His fat cock is splitting you open deliciously, weeping tip reaching your cervix with every strong pound of his hips. You’re already close again, and you know this next orgasm is going to be more intense than the last. Wonwoo seems to feel it too because he keeps driving his cock into you savagely until your thighs are trembling around him. His cock is piercing directly into your g-spot then drawing out, letting you feel every vein before plowing back into your sopping mess. His rough thrusts never lose their strength or depth. Not when you scream and convulse around his cock.

“God, you’re such a nasty slut.” Wonwoo groans. “You don’t even care that your boyfriend can wake up any moment and find you dripping all over his dad’s cock.”

You manage to smirk at him. “He has no right to be angry. Not when you’re fucking me better than he ever did.”

Wonwoo smirks back at you, thrusting deeper if possible. Your depraved words make a sick thrill shoot straight to his cock. It turns him on more than it should. Dark eyes are glued to your sopping cunt. The sight of you stretching to take his cock is so hot that he almost cums right then.

“Oh my god!” You cry out as your pulsing walls constrict around the dick ramming into you.

You let out a loud cry when Wonwoo’s spit lands where you two are connected. A guttural groan escapes him when your pussy squeezes his throbbing cock and your juices spill all over him. You topple over the edge he’s been pushing you toward, squirting all over his cock and abdomen. Your release covers him, dripping down his cock and to his heavy balls.

“Cum in me!” You plead loudly. “Stuff me full again!”

Wonwoo’s fat cock keeps sliding along your convulsing walls. The tip of his cock slams into your spot unrelentlessly, making you see stars. You keep falling apart as the older man uses your body how he wants.

“Just look at your pretty little pussy, squirting all over this cock like you own it.” Wonwoo’s grin looks wolfish and unfairly attractive. “Now I have to fill your slutty pussy like I own it.”

Wonwoo groans your name deeply. His hips are flush between your thighs as he presses to the hilt, his fat cockhead rutting into your most sensitive spot. Your toes curl tightly as you scream out his name once again. All you can see, feel, and think about is your boyfriend’s dad. His hot cum fills you up, coating every inch of your wet walls, stuffing you to the brim.

The older man falls forward a bit and buries his face in your neck, biting your sweaty skin and fucking his cum deeper into you. In your aroused daze, you can’t recognize how intoxicated he is over the feeling of you and your tight cunt.

When Wonwoo finally he pulls out, his hand lands on your tingling core. He cranes his neck to watch his fingers enter your hole. Licking his lips, he gently fucks his cum back inside you and gently toys with your messy pussy. Growls rumble in his chest as his cum slips out of you and down to your smaller puckered hole. The sight makes his cock twitch and ache all over again.

“My cute little slut.” Wonwoo coos as you slowly start to drift off to sleep. “All nice and bred—just like I’ve always dreamed.”

You look precious while you sleep, and Wonwoo can’t help but feel completely satisfied that he came inside you while you were ovulating. His son was such an idiot for not cherishing you how you deserved, but it was for the best.

Now you were all his. Only his.

[parkitrighthere]

The Black Orchid Project

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

PROLOGUE MASTERLIST 02

CHAPTER TITLE: Work, Words, and Wrecks

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

His soft brown boba eyes never left you.

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

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

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

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

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

What the hell?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook didn’t even look up. “No.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why were you thinking all this nonsense?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What to do now?

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

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

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

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

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

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

What had just happened?

God, your first day almost became your last.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 How was this even possible?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 what have you done to deserve this.

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

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

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

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

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

Why did it feel like everything was against you today?

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

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

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

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

The clock on the wall caught your attention.

Ten minutes left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Five minutes left.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Why are they looking at me like that?

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

You turned toward him, startled. “Huh?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

The meeting began.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Pebble!"

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

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

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

 Fuck him, and fuck your good sense.

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

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

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

"Coffee. In my office."

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

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

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

"Pebble."

Your mouth hung open, as you watched him leave.

Pebble.

He had just called you Pebble.

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

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

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

You would make him regret this.

Oh, you absolutely would.

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

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

But when had life ever gone according to your plans?

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

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

Finally, you reached the door.

“Get fucking in, woman.”

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

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

Maybe he was pissed.

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

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

“Huh?” you managed, surprised.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Come in,” he barked again from inside.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Knock, knock.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, you started walking.

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

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

You knew you’d have to come back.

You knew you’d have to face him again.

But for now, you needed to get out.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then—he cursed.

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

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

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

Typical Jimin.

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

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

Something’s coming.

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

And then it hit.

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

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

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

He was seven again.

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

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

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

But then Mr. Jeon's eyes found him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“He denied boss, after all.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Goodbye, Jeon Jungkook."

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

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

[cherrywhite]

"What's the opposite of a sacrifice?" The Silt Verses asks. A gift, is the audience's knee-jerk reaction. It has to be a gift, right? But no, perhaps that's too simple, isn't it? It can't be that easy. Neither Paige or Carpenter got the answer, so it has to be something more complex, right? Maybe...something reclaimed? Preserving in the face of sacrifice? Maybe the answer is something loftier? And episodes later, we finally get the answer and it's...

A gift. Of course it's a gift. How could it be anything else? A joy with no conditions. 

And I think this brilliantly shows how unthinkable a life without sacrifice is, in the world of The Silt Verses. Sacrifice is so ingrained into the society they've built that an opposite is entirely unthinkable. Paige didn't get it. Carpenter dismissed the question entirely. And ya, they were both taken off guard by the question, never really gave it serious consideration you could argue. But even we as the audience began to turn ourselves inside out, trying to find an answer to the riddle that would fit for the world of The Silt Verses. You've won, because they can't get away from you, says Val, they’ve never once seen the light beyond the light you made for them. There's no getting better for any of us. That answer, something that was right in front of us this whole time, seemed as if it was too easy, too simple. Outside of the parameters of the complicated world these characters must live in.

And Hayward will sit with Carpenter, the two enjoying each other's company despite the odds, and describe how stars provide light without asking for anything in return. He will go on the radio with Paige, neither of them able to decipher each other's words, the connection too flimsy, and be content with just the gift of getting to hear her voice. This is a world where the opposite of a sacrifice is unthinkable. And yet, it exists anyway. The answer exists in all these small moments. In Paige sitting down for breakfast with Carpenter and Faulkner. In Carpenter and Faulkner finally understanding each other, the two standing at the edge of a pier as their god's currents come to take them away. In Hayward and Paige giving characters like Elgin a second chance, her life previously forfeit as nothing more than a body for the government. In Gage asking their sister to go home together. In Shrue extending a hand out to Cross. Acantha, offering a warm seat and tea to Carpenter as she decides where to go next. Val, getting on the phone one last time, to ever so slightly shift the winds.

And I'm not sure what my point was here, I'll admit. But these are the moments of the podcast that will forever stay with me. All these moments of genuine love and warmth and everything in between. It can still end with love, can't it? asks Carpenter. And it can; and it does. It always could. And that's a gift in and of itself. 

[shadesslut]

omg you wrote brotherly love so good tysm for taking my request!

what abt part.2 where they all gather at y/n's apartment the next month for a movie night. (y/n is kind of forced to stay friends with richie because he is in the same friendgroup as her and he can be nice sometimes to HER)

y/n is seated between ethan and richie, the older one tries to makes moves on her, talks to her abt the movie and brags abt his life she is not really responsive.

ethan notices and decides to touch her under the blanket they have, and she tries hard to make it seem like everything is okay while talking to richie.

in the end ethan could look at richie, licking his finger to let him know he just fingered his older brother crush.

Help I loved this

brotherly love, pt 2

MINORS DNI

Pairing: (Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader)

Content Includes: (Smut, Voyeurism)

Summary: Ethan has fun with Y/N while pissing off his brother.

(a/n: help im bad at making summaries)

✮

✮

✮

Ever since the night of Richie’s party, Ethan hadn’t heard a peep from him. No threats, no nagging, nothing. He thanks Y/N for that. They’ve been together for a few weeks now; devastating to Richie. Ethan was the happiest he had ever been. He was with a beautiful girl, and his brother stopped tormenting him. Sometimes even Ethan teased Richie.

Ethan was sitting next to Y/N on her couch in her apartment, with the rest of her friends; including Richie. Despite being a complete ass, Y/N still invited Richie to their hangouts, being the sweet and naive person she was.

Ethan, was not that.

On the other side of Y/N, Richie sat comfortably next to her, mindlessly whispering things to her about the movie they were watching. The room was dark, with the exception of the soft glow from the TV that played some 80’s horror movie. Richie had been keeping Y/N’s attention the entire time, and Ethan was sick of it. 

Thankful, for the blanket that covered him and Y/N, his brain sparked an idea. 

“This part they used chewed up bubblegum for the guts,” Richie whispered to Y/N, keeping his eyes on the screen. Y/N nodded, not paying attention to his words. She felt Ethan’s hand shift towards her under the blanket, so she reached over and held his hand.

Ethan huffed at her action, taking his hand out of hers, he grazed his hand to her bare leg. She glanced at him and looked back at the TV, nodding once again at something Richie commented. Ethan scooted himself closer as he smiled to himself. He creeped his hand closer to her inner thigh, but was stopped by her hand. He looked at her face, where she gave him a warning with her eyes. She flung his hand away and turned her attention back towards the movie.

Ethan’s eyes darkened, and he grabbed her thigh harshly. She almost let out a gasp at him, jerking her head towards him. Before she could say anything, he leaned over to her ear.

“Fucking stop me again, and I won’t let you touch me for weeks.” 

She gulped as his hot breath hit her neck and slowly nodded at him. 

Ethan regained his position, while Richie whispered to her, again. Ethan slid his fingers in the waistband of her pajama shorts. She hitched her breath at the touch of his cold fingers. He lowered his fingers, and he reached under her pair of lacy panties. She leaned her head back on the sofa cushion as he inched closer and closer to her clit.

Richie was saying something, but everything was incoherent to her, everything but Ethan’s soft whispers. 

“You going to be a good girl for me?”

“You’re so wet already, is it because of my voice?”

“Fuck, I can smell you.” 

It was driving her insane. She wanted to rip all of his clothes off and suck him off right then and there. Ethan’s fingers played with her folds, going from fingering to rubbing around her sensitive clit. She could feel herself getting closer, slowly reaching the edge step by step. She felt Ethan curl his fingers inside of her and accidentally let out a soft whine.

Richie turned his head towards her. “You okay?” he asked with concern, lacing his tone. 

She swiftly nodded and avoided eye contact from him. “Yup.”

He nodded, but didn’t believe her. Ethan was pumping his fingers in and out faster now; trying to get her to moan. He wanted Richie to know what he was doing, that his baby brother was knuckles deep inside the girl he wanted. Y/N tightly closed her eyes, and she roughly grabbed Ethan’s arm, squeezing harshly. She slightly bucked her hips up as he moved faster, making her reach her high. She bit onto his shoulder as she came around his fingers. Ethan looked at her with satisfaction spread across his face. He wiped her hair back before whispering, “That’s my fucking girl,”

She panted as he took his fingers out of her pants, and he looked at Richie, who was already staring at him with a jealous expression.

Ethan smiled at him, and licked his fingers.

[starlight-write]

Attention Seeker

A/N: First TADC tk fic! lmk if you have any suggestions/prompts cause my brain is about fried atp.

Summany: Ragatha's ignoring Jax for being a prick. It's only after he brings Pomni into their little spat that she decides to do something about it.

Characters: Ler!Ragatha, Switch!Pomni, Switch!Jax

Word Count: 2004

Warnings: This is a tickle fic! Scroll if that's not your thing.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"Raaaags! Ragathaaaaa! Rags, talk to meeeeeee!" The rabbit whined pathetically as he flopped face first to the floor to add to his dramatics.

Ragatha crossed her arms and stared blankly in front of her. She'd be damned if she gave into his theatrics after the stunt he pulled yesterday.

Pomni tip-toed her way over to the doll, careful to gauge her mood before speaking up.

"You're- uh- still not talking to Jax, huh?" The jester tried.

To no one's surprise, Jax pulled some underhanded shit during yesterday's game. Thankfully, that game was more tame than the usual as Caine decided to make all of them play a rather distorted version of 'capture the flag', only the playing field was covered in thick black tar-like substance, which made the game slower and over all less fun but Caine did say he was experimenting with ideas.

Long story short, Ragatha had gotten the other team's flag and was about to win before Jax thought it'd be clever to use poor Gangle as a lasso and trip Ragatha by her ankle. Causing her to fall face first into the gooey substance.

So yeah, Ragatha understandably ignored the purple prick for the rest of the day and supposedly the silent treatment carried onto this morning.

Ragatha scoffed at the question. "I have nothing to say to that jerk. Whatever Caine has planned for us to do today, I'm not saying a word to him." She said making direct eye contact with said jerk. Pomni swore she saw his ears go down a bit.

They both knew that wouldn't last. If there's one thing anyone knew about Jax, is that he can't survive without attention. And Lord, was he the biggest attention seeker Pomni's ever seen. Jax would just dedicate the entire day to pushing Ragatha's buttons until she snapped, earning everyone's attention as well as winning whatever sick game he'd imagined in his head.

Caine appeared not two minutes later and the cast proceeded with their little theme song as usual and afterwards, the ringmaster explained the rules of today's little adventure.

Another safe one, thank God. Pomni thought. Perhaps the man was starting to notice how strung out everyone had become and decided to cut them some slack.

Today's game was a timed scavenger hunt throughout the circus, with two separate teams taking turns in the main room to find the mising items as quick as possible while the other team waited in the hallway for their turn. They were split up into two teams. Ragatha instantly grabbed Pomni's hand and not even a split second later, Jax flung himself at the doll and screamed for Caine to team them up together.

Gangle, Kinger, and Zooble's team went first, which meant the other three were poofed into a random hallway away from the action.

Awkward.

Pomni fidgeted due to the tense atmosphere. Jax of course, took his chance to bug the shit out of the other girl. First trying to make conversation, then teasing her, then poking, shaking, singing, yelling, joking, flopping round again, but nothing seemed to break the doll's focus. Ragatha rolled her eyes at his theatrics before shooting them over to Pomni.

"Sheesh, these games have been real tame and non life-threatening lately right, Pomni? Seems like Caine's finally decided to cut us all a break!" She forced a laugh as she nudged the other girl.

Pomni looked rather taken aback by the sudden conversations but decided to play along nonetheless. "O-oh. Right. I-uh, really enjoy not being in danger for once, yknow?" She laughed nervously.

The rabbit shot up as the two continued their bland conversation, annoyed that he was being ignored completely.

Pomni felt rather proud of herself when Ragatha laughed at one of her jokes, her victory was short-lived however, letting out a yelp as she was suddenly yanked in the air by her underarms.

"HEY!-" She panicked and squirmed, having to force down a rather embarrassing noise that threatened to come out of her throat.

"Whatcha two ladies talkin' about?"Jax had that stupid smug grin on he always wore when he thought he was being smart. Ragatha, obviously, was not amused but threw in the towel anyways as it wasn't fair to Pomni to get her any more involved with their little spat any more than she already was.

"Put her down, Jax." The doll demanded.

Pomni tried to grab at the rabbit's gloved hands as she kicked her feet in the air. "Whaaaaaat? We’re just having a little fun is all! Ain’t that right, Pomni?”

The jester grunted and allowed her limbs to go limp, it was obvious she wasn’t gonna get free by herself and didn’t want to risk entertaining the rabbit any further.

“This is not fun for me. Please put me doWN!!!-“

Pomni’s entire body went rigid as soon as that prick started wriggling his fingers under her arms.

She was able to keep her laughter in for all of maybe half a second before exploding in hysterical laughter. The awful sensation causing her to thrash almost twice as hard now.

“Why laugh if you’re not having any fun, Bug Eyes?” Jax laughed along with her, pleased with the strong reaction.

Ragatha was still stone-faced, however, sighing as she moved to release the other girl.

“Jeez you really can’t go five minutes without bullying someone can you?” The doll grunted as she wrestled with the rabbits long ass arms. Jumping in the air a few times when he decided to hold Pomni straight over his head.

Ragatha was getting increasingly annoyed, Pomni was getting more hysterical by the minute, and of course Jax looked like he was having the time of his life.

But you know what? Two can play at that game.

“Gohohod! You two are hilarious. Say Rags, this almost reminds me of the time Caine had you screaming in the air for saying- OOMF!”

The wind knocked out of Jax’s throat as he was full-on tackled to the floor.

Thankfully, this gave Pomni the chance to escape but was still on top of the rabbit’s hands as she tried to compose herself.

“What the &!$@%# Rags?! I was just messing around, there’s no reason to get all pis-“

“Hold his wrists, Pomni.”

That was all the warning they got before the doll’s hands latched onto Jax’s hips and began tickling him mercilessly.

The high pitch scream that tore from his throat probably would’ve made the jester fall into another fit of laughter if she weren’t so taken aback by it herself.

Thankfully she caught up to speed in time to get a hold of the rabbit’s hands that were desperately trying to free themselves.

“WAIT!!- WAIT WAHAHAHAIT!!!- RAGAHAHAHAHAAA-“

Oh my God he’s &!$@%# losing it. Pomni thought as she observed the poor guys reactions.

It was quite a sight to see fucking Jax of all people go berserk over something as simple as tickling. It was a little unnerving to be honest.

What was even scarier was Ragatha’s face hadn’t changed from the ice cold scowl she’s had on since Jax started all this shit.

She looked kinda angry.

“pleheheheAHAHAHA!!-“ Jax wheezed. “You cahAHAHAHAN’T- You cahahahahan’t just- BWAHAHAHAHAAA!!!-“

“Oh so it’s only fair for you to pick on people huh?” Ragatha spat. “Y'know I think everyone here’s had about enough of your &!$@%#, Jax. You wanted attention that bad? Well here you go! Let’s see how you like being bullied for once.”

Her hands migrated down to his upper thighs, the doll now settling her weight on his calves. Giving the rabbit just enough leeway to twist and buck his hips like crazy.

Though he seemed to be breathing a bit easier with the change in spots, didn’t mean he still wasn’t absolutely losing his mind here.

“ahh…ahahaHAHAHAHehe- ohkahahay! Okay! I’m sohohorry! Is that what you guys wanna hear?! I’ll bahahahack ohohoff. Juhuhust- JUST!!-“

“You sure all this is okay? He’s starting to seem a bit lightheaded.” Pomni asked, more than a little concerned at the guy’s state despite what he’d pulled earlier. She knew they didn’t technically need to breathe but that only means this situation must be really messing with him.

Ragatha looked up and stilled her hands before withdrawing them completely.

“Trust me, he’s fine. We’ve put his sorry ass through a lot worse. And he would’ve kept tormenting you until Caine came in to stop him so he deserves everything he gets.” She explained as she got up from her spot on Jax’s legs and made her way over to where Pomni was stationed over their victim’s head.

The brief intermission allowed Jax to gather his bearings and a bit of his audacity too it seemed like.

“Yohohou…*huff*… You two are going to regret this. D-Dohohohon’t think for a second that you won anything. After all there’s plenty of centipedes for me to-AAAAA!!!!”

That ungodly shriek was almost worse than the first one. The jerk didn’t even get to finish his little vow for revenge before Ragatha dropped back down to scribble, squeeze, and prob rapidly over her victim’s belly.

“I know you can’t fathom the feeling, Jax, but I was going to be nice and call it quits there. But you just don’t know when to. Shut. Your. TRAP!!”

Pomni couldn’t help herself from laughing this time. With nothing pinning the poor guy’s legs down, they were flying through the air in every direction while he screamed like a little girl.

Seriously, Pomni doubted even she could reach that kind of pitch.

The whole things was just ridiculous to watch. She was sure her ears were bleeding by now but she couldn’t help the full on belly laughter that forced its way out of her.

Ragatha looked over at her friend as she doubled over in laughter. It was at that point, Ragatha truly realized how ridiculous this entire situation was and that scowl she had permanently plastered on her face finally bloomed into a smile as she too began to laugh.

Another ear-piercing screech and they were both done.

The two of them simultaneously lost their hold on their victim as they fell to the floor, rolling and clutching their stomachs as bouts of laughter poured out of them.

Jax layed there for a while, absolutely mortified at this entire ordeal. He began plotting his revenge almost immediately, if only to keep himself sane while hearing those two &!$@%# laugh at him.

Okay, maybe he wasn’t fond of all the attention he received.

Just as the girl’s laughter was starting to die down, a voice boomed through the hallway.

“Terribly sorry for the wait, friends! It appears that there’s been a rather embarrassing oversight on my part! You see, I told the others that I’ve hidden five items but instead only hid four! The fifth one was in my POCKET!-“

Caine explained as he pulled a rubber duck out of his pocket. Stopping himself abruptly seeing the state his other three guests were in.

Was it that funny? The ringmaster asked himself at hearing the two girl’s laughter finally dying down. That was before he saw Jax, still sprawled out on the floor and decided he didn’t really want to know.

“Does this mean we forfeit?” Jax slurred lazily.

“Nonsense!” Caine announced, deciding to ignore the his guest’s disappointed groans. “This just means we have to start a new game! You all seemed to LOVE playing ‘Capture the Flag’ yesterday! So I thought, why not give it another GO-“

Ragatha threw her shoe at the ringmaster before he even finished his statement. Of course, this prompted another bout of laughter from both Pomni and Jax this time.

Unfortunately, Caine took all of that as enthusiasm and prepared their little field from yesterday.

Pomni wasn’t certain if those two were gonna bring their bad energy back on the field, not to mention Jax was no doubt itching for payback right about now.

One thing was for certain, though. Pomni was staying the &!$@%# out of it this time.

[larathia]

I'm a little surprised nobody else has commented on this, but - it's kind of interesting that Dazai and Fyodor were, actually, completely honest with each other during that 'therapy' moment.

Fyodor mentioned that his underlings wait for his instructions and have no initiative. We have, actually, observed that this is entirely true.

Dazai's solution for this was likewise honest - he was telling Fyodor what he does to get other people to do things. Namely, pretend to be a lazy jerk so that everyone else is forced to pick up the slack. (Translation: Don't give them orders. Stand back and let them do what they'd do anyway, and take advantage of that.)

Dazai mentioned the waitress in the cafe he always flirts with, who responds to his flirtations with 'seriously, get a really good life insurance policy and I'll think about it'. He is asking an honest if tangential question.

Fyodor's solution is equally honest - the whole 'ruin her family and make her so desperate she has no choice but to turn to you' plot is in fact how we've seen Fyodor force people to do what he wants. He railroads them, driving their situations to get the ending he desires.

Just...think about this. They both asked honest questions, and both gave honest answers. Then apply this to the wider plot.

Fyodor basically said, "I have already set up this entire situation so that your people have no choice but to be destroyed."

Dazai's answer was, "I know my people and know they'll be able to survive without me while I deal with you".

And even so, both of them still tweak events from their cells - but Dazai's methodology works better at a distance than Fyodor's does. Because he does need to be able to give instructions; his underlings aren't the type to be able to fill in the blanks without him.

[hotxcheeto]

Hii could I have Chloe price and a plus size s/o and lots of romance and smut pls <3

(who’s your fav lis character btw)

━ 𝐓𝐄𝐍 𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐓𝐄𝐍

𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜(𝙨) - Chloe Price x G/N!Reader

𝙬𝙖𝙧𝙣𝙞𝙣𝙜𝙨 - Smut, AFAB reader ( no pronouns/nicknames/pet names used ) cursing, tongue fucking, oral ( r! receiving ), fingering ( r! receiving ), fluff

𝙥𝙧𝙤𝙤𝙛𝙧𝙚𝙖𝙙 ? - Yeah/Nope

𝙖𝙪𝙩𝙝𝙤𝙧'𝙨 𝙣𝙤𝙩𝙚 - oooo, i love both sean from game 2 and kate from 1, but i have many favs like max, rach, nate etc... but sean and kate take the absolute reign lol. ty so much for requesting!!!

She'd been laying in your lap for hours, sleeping, holding you close with her face buried in your tummy. You only knew she was alive from her soft snores and consistent twitching that would sometimes make you lightly jerk yourself awake.

You were ready to fall into dreamland too, eyes staring at the TV heavy lidded. Your hand slowed to a stop from raking through her short strands of hair but immediately the girl shifted when you did so only for her to lift up her head not even a minute later.

"Why'd you stop?" Her voice rang out making you turn your head, laughing when you were met with her disheveled appearance, her hands settled on the tops of your thighs as her arms were tucked underneath your legs.

"Cause I thought you were sleeping." She huffed when you answered, rubbing her eyes. "Well I was." You hummed, not really paying much mind after, focusing back on your show with a soft blink.

Chloe did not enjoy the lack of attention because her face then fell back into your stomach, a huff following a few seconds later making you giggle as it unintentionally began a fight for her to gain attention by blowing raspberries into your belly.

"Chloe- Chloe stop it!" You tried pushing her away and squirming yourself out of her grip. The girl only continuing to execute her attack by moving with you, finally coming to a halt when her need to kiss you took over instead.

"You are so hot." You continued to laugh as giant, sloppy smooshes were placed on your plush skin. Again and again until it tickled, making you try your best to run once again only to be straddled by her entire body.

"I mean it... fuck." She said dramatically, yet truthfully, licking her lips while staring down at you. "Look at you." You felt your face flush a bit, though not visible, you could for sure feel it on your cheeks.

"Oh shut it, you flirt." You giggled, moving to cover up your face, though she was faster. Her hands gripping your wrists before you got to move them even as far up as your collarbone. Your limbs trapped at your sides while you wiggled to escape, a kiss though made you still once more.

"You taste good." She muttered, making you grin and burn even harder. Avoiding her eyes by looking at the ceiling instead but she captured your lips once again, snatching you back to reality with the taste of shitty beer and her toothpaste.

"Like, really fucking good." She just kept going, moving off your body to grab your legs, sitting between your thighs once again. If you asked Chloe, you would bet that if you asked, she'd claim them as her most favorite things in the entire world.

For a moment the girl pulled back, taking in the sight of you before moving down to the hem of your pants.

"Have to test down here too."

"Chloe Price!"

"What? It's only fair."

She gave you that face that made you want to punch her right in the nose. Chloe whining when you huffed as if you were pretending to think about it, ignoring all her little pokes and prods.

"Y/nnnnnn...." She dragged for longer than you really listened, rolling your eyes. "Fine, go ahead, but I'm watching my show." "You won't be when I'm done with you."

The game was on then and your bottoms were across the room before you could finish another thought. Dressed with nearly nothing made you feel a little wave of life down below but you came to the conclusion to begin ignoring it as to not give her the satisfaction that you were enjoying this.

That was short lived though, a tiny breath following that shook slightly when your underwear were peeled away and you could feel the air against your cunt.

But that was all it took for her to be invested in gaining more from you. Her stare fixated on the way you flickered back and forth from the television to her, though you'd been trying not to be too obvious, that failed.

"Fuck, this... if I could see one last thing before I die, it would so be this." You felt yourself blushing again, Chloe only able to see your flustered state when you brought that shy smile on your mouth and couldn't contain it any other way than hiding it.

"Shut up." You teased, almost begging. Her laughter intoxicating, swirling around the room, following her as she leaned down closer to the area that slowly felt more and more uncomfortable the hornier you began to get. Pulsating and throbbing to the point where you wanted to buck your hips right into her mouth.

But you also knew that she wanted that as well.

"Not taking that back." She commented, meeting your gaze while moving close, her tongue poking out just enough to kitten lick your clit. You couldn't even respond, the action repeating itself again and again while you finally gave in. A soft sound erupting from your throat, though not loud, Chloe enjoyed it.

Her fingers dug into your skin which melded to her touch, and she took that as an invitation. Grabbing all that she could which had much choice in where, you had much to hold and in turn, much to love.

"H-how's the taste test?" She heard you whimper, a little giggle following afterwards from your own amusement. "Really good... gonna need more to give it a rating though."

She pushed back against you, tongue delving into your hole before you got a chance to say another word.

Soon enough you were in your own little world, eyes fluttering shut as you absentmindedly jerked to meet her. Grinding against her, chasing your high that was starting to match your pace.

You could feel nothing but her, straining your body to get as close to her as physically possible.

"Fuck- fuck Chloe- please- please don't stop-" And she wasn't planning on it, fingertips teasing your clit and her tongue did your entrance. It felt like you were on fire, just like every other time, yet the feeling never extinguished.

"I'm- I'm- oh shit- fuck-" You came barreling towards the edge, head falling back as you came against your girlfriend, shaky breaths and quiet cries following with.

Her mouth continued its act while you trembled and began pushing her away, the feeling too much and too tingly to handle.

"Fuck.." She muttered, wiping her mouth.

You waited in the quiet of the room for any other sign of life from her, covering your eyes with your forearm as you calmed yourself. Feeling her caressing your legs and lower belly.

"Ten out of ten." You erupted into chuckles, peeking at her while shaking your head. "I hate you so much Chloe Price." "As long as you let me do that for fucking ever, I don't even care."

[vinamari]

𝙹𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝙻𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝙰𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍

Notes: Gojo Satoru truly is a menace not just to you but to Shoko and Geto, infinity is really a curse for others but a blessing for him.

A/N: Reader hates Gojo’s guts

Themes: Fluff, Crack, Love/Hate friendship dynamic, little to no angst, frenemies to lovers

Word(s): 2,037

Character(s): 11,267

By far Gojo Satoru had been the most insufferable person you had ever met in your entire life – and that wasn't even a stretch considering his personality as well.

It only been a few months since you were introduced to the second year students of Tokyo Jujutsu High, Shoko Ieiri had helped a lot when it came to settling in the girl’s dorms. She came off as a casual and nonchalant person, much different from the two idiots where one was more sufferable then the other. The sufferable one Geto Suguru had been more respectable however the down-side had been that he would go along with Gojo’s idea and even add his own mix into it. Lastly Gojo Satoru, the most intolerable person you’ve ever met. He either was always over your shoulder or doing whatever he wanted. His abilities really did make him the most egotistical person to exist.

You never knew what he might do next – but somehow something always happened whenever he was near you. You weren’t sure whether to thank him for it, curse him out, or try and punch the shit out of him.

Currently you had been walking on the sidewalk side by side with Shoko discussing the next mission as well as the possibility of how Gojo could manage to screw you all over. “What if he tries to eat the curse”, Shoko said trying to be shocked while rubbing her chin, staring off into space as if she really was thinking about him eating a curse of all things.

You let out a soft laugh, “I doubt he’d actually try to eat the curse, if anything he might take it on a walk” You paused and put on a serious face, “hm, although I do consider these option something he might do”.

Shoko giggled a bit and patted your arm in comfort, “That’s true, there are many ways a person might do something like that though”. She gave a thoughtful look before turning towards you again. “Yeah, that person most definitely being him”, You added playfully.

Shoko rolled her eyes with a fond smile at you, “Geto might even encourage it”. “No doubt”, responding back before catching a glimpse of both Geto and Gojo kicking a vending machine.

“Oh god” you said under your breath. Both of them were too engrossed in their fight with a vending to notice you and Shoko. “Someday Yaga Sensei might put them on house arrest”, Shoko said amusingly at the scene in front of her. It was quite an odd sight – Geto had just lost his money to a vending machine and Gojo was just laughing at him, making fun of him as he tried to catch his breath while holding his head in pain. ‘That guy is really something else’, you thought, shaking your head slightly before turning back to Shoko.

You opened up your mouth to continue your conversation with Shoko but the moment you opened your mouth you heard an explosion sound. Your jaw dropped, you looked ahead and saw Geto Suguru and Gojo Satoru standing a good distance away. Their faces were completely red in embarrassment, they couldn’t help but stare back at the two of you who had just watched the whole event. “What the hell”, you whispered under your breath. “They just blew up the vending machine that had the good snacks”, Shoko watched in disbelief. Her mouth was agape. “Why didn’t they just leave the stupid machine alone”, she asked herself. “I mean, I know that those idiots don’t care that much about money but…” She trailed off.

You shrugged slightly, not knowing why they blew up the vending machine.

“N/n~”, a high pitch voice sang out. “Look what I found~”, watching as the white haired walked closer to you until his face was right beside yours and you could smell his cologne.

“Ow”, you exclaimed as you jerked away. You rubbed your nose and looked up to see Shoko still staring dumbfounded. “What?”, you asked, giving her a confused look.

She blinked a couple times then looked away, “Sorry, I was just surprised”. “That vending machine took my money”, Geto said as he sulked his way over. Shoko chuckled slightly. “Then maybe you should have thought twice about blowing up a vending machine”. You shook your head slowly in disbelief, “you two are seriously unbelievable”, you commented. “But N/n Shoko don’t be mad at us”, whined Gojo while poking you. “Firstly, quit calling me N/n and two quit poking me”, you said annoyed at his antics.

“Ah come on N/n~”, Gojo pouted. “Let’s not fight. Please~”, he begged. He turned towards Shoko who seemed almost amused at this situation. “Please Shoko, please”, he repeated, putting a hand over his heart. “Tell N/n to not be mad”, he continued.

Shoko smiled, “Poke his eyes out” you conceded looking back at her. You just stared back at her blankly. “You guys are so childish”, she stated plainly. You started walking forwards when someone tapped you on your shoulder. Turning to see, all three of you looked at Geto who’s clothes were burned as he ate the snack that he wanted. “You couldn’t get me one”, Gojo said looking at his best friend exasperated. “You laughed at me”, Geto responded quickly. You watch how Gojo’s figure deflates. “And now look”, he said as he pointed at himself. “See”, he added pointing at his stomach which growled. “Now you owe me”, he finished looking directly at you.

He stuck out his tongue as if to say you were the one who owed him one. You narrowed your eyes, “Why do I owe you?!”, you yelled as you punched his shoulder, well tried since his infinity prevented you from even getting close to him. “Put that barrier of yours down”, you irked . “If you keep that up, I will kick you when you put it down you ass”. “Not funny, you jerk!”, he snapped back, glaring back at you with is cerulean blue eyes with a frown. “I am hungry!” He pointed to his belly.

“Cry about it”, you scoffed

Geto and Shoko could only find the situation hilarious in front of them, both laughing softly at the exchange. This wasn’t the first time they had seen both you and Gojo arguing and bickering in such situations. They had done it since the day they met.

As they continued to watch the pair bicker, Geto heard a notification from his phone. Shoko watched over his shoulder to see the notification. It was a message from their teacher, “No class tomorrow. There was a slight mishap during the last mission that I have to take care of”. Shoko read it aloud. “A small mishap, huh…”, she smirked. “That means we can all hangout in one dorm”. Shoko looked up noticing that you heard the entire thing as a prominent bump was formed on the top of Gojo’s snow colored hair.

“So that means...”, he trailed off, a smirk forming on his face after realising what she meant. “Yes, we can spend the night together at one dorm room”. “Sounds like a plan”, You replied back confidently. “Great! Let’s go then”, Geto said enthusiastically grinning.

The four of you started heading home once more. The sky gradually darkened as the sun began to set behind the horizon. The atmosphere around you became colder. It was starting to get chilly and the temperature had dropped considerably. After all the events of today, most of you were pretty tired out.

Yet that didn’t stop any of the four from setting up the room, preparing the snacks and setting up blankets for sleeping. Once everything was done the group decided to settle in for the evening. Shoko sat to the left you as Gojo sat to the right of you, Geto had been on Gojo’s right in terms of placement. You all look at the TV screen with anticipation of every single movie you had watched.

You yawned, “We’ve watched all the movies today”, you stated quietly.

“Oh really? How many did we watch?”, Shoko asked curiously.

You shrugged your shoulders, “Not that many, just three movies”.

“Three movies”, she repeated. “You sure?”, she asked. You nodded your head in confirmation. She glanced at the clock. “It’s 1:56 am already?”, she asked. “Is it that late”, You wondered.

She grinned, “Yeah, the sun went down a long time ago”. You sighed, glancing at the two to your right you realize they probably knocked out a while ago. Geto had been turned away from Gojo snoring away, his hair had come undone and was all over his face. Gojo had been sleeping on his back with his right leg over Geto, his hair was a disheveled mess. His round sunglasses discarded, feeling shift you notice Shoko laying down to sleep. Following her actions you also layer down, you peaked towards your right. Gojo is really nice to admire when he’s asleep and not talking.

When you first met him, he reminded you of Jack Frost how could you not. Of course that made him offended but you couldn’t have been bothered back then. He was an annoying little asshole who bothered you to no end. Except your own thought made you think otherwise, thinking he was cute- pretty even. A lot of girls your age would fawn over him on the streets, how could they not?

A smile suddenly formed on your lips as you realized just how silly you must sound. But it was true, he is kind of cute. Now that you think about it though, it doesn’t make any sense why he bothers you so much. He annoys you more than he annoys anyone else. Teases you, always wanting to get a reaction out of you. You enjoy messing with him but you actually feel quite happy when you see him or when you finally catch him red handed. Why?

He was right next to you, inches away.

Your breath hitched and you felt your cheeks warm, realizing you had been staring at him. “N/n..?”, a voice mumbled sleepily. You looked up to meet hazy blue eyes, his hair had been covering parts of his face. You gulped, “Gojo, go back to sleep”, you answered hastily as you averted your gaze.

“Eh?”, You heard him whine. Before you knew it you heard him moving beside you. You looked over hesitantly, his expression was completely blank. “Don’t move”, he said blankly before his arm came wrapping around your waist pulling you closer to him. The heat radiating from his body seeped into your cold skin. Your face felt hotter by the minute, not daring to look back at him again. Both bodies had been faced towards each other, his head in the crevice of your neck. He pulled you completely against him and wrapped you in his arms. You felt the warmth from his body radiating into your chest, sending chills through your body. You could feel the tip of his nose brushing against your neck making you shiver slightly. He nuzzled you further. Slowly, you wrapped your arm around him. As your faces brushed each other you couldn’t help but lean into him, the material of his shirt pressing against your hand . Feeling yourself getting lost in his soft, deep voice whispering in your ear; “Good night”.

The two of you slept peacefully in each other’s arms.

You woke up slowly, feeling a pair of arms encircle your torso. You opened your eyes to discover that you were still lying in Gojo’s arms, you were curled up facing him with your head resting on his chest. A shadow glanced over the both of you, looking at the ceiling which was replaced by two figures towering over you. “He’s so annoying”, Geto mimicked smugly. Shoko giving you an eye, indicating you need to talk about where you stand with Gojo.

“We’re just la-“, Suddenly they both tumbled onto the ground, looking slightly shocked before snickering at the fact Gojo had turned on his infinity with only you touching him and no one else. The other two decided to leave not before mentioning to take you out on a date later.

[companionjones]

Go Ahead

Pairing: Billy Butcher x Reader

Fandom: The Boys (Amazon Video)

Summary: This is a universe where you were in The Boys since the beginning, and Becca somehow survived after you found her. You've been harboring feelings for Billy for god knows how long. Then, Becca drops a bomb that you were in no way expecting.

Warnings: I guess this would be a harem???

It didn't make sense to you.

"Go ahead. It's okay. I promise." That's what Becca had said. And then she left the room. Like it was nothing. Like she hadn't just thrown an unpinned grenade into your entire world view.

You moved to look at Billy. He did the same to you, and actually gave you his best attempt at a smile. That was when infuriation won out of the roller coaster of emotions you were feeling. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

Butcher's smile disappeared. He looked offended.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Butcher?!" you repeated, louder.

"Fuck's wrong with me? You're the one oo's yellin'!" Butcher was, in fact, also yelling.

"Eight years. Eight years we spend looking for her, and what? You want to jerk off with someone else, first chance you get?!"

Butcher was obviously confused out of his mind. "Fuckin--Did you not 'ear what Becca was talkin' about? This is not about gettin' me fucking rocks off!"

"Then what is it about?!" you shouted.

Billy yelled back, equally as angry, "It's about you and me finally gettin' a chance!"

You had nothing to say in response to that. Just like you had nothing to say during or after Becca's speech about how you somehow deserved happiness, and how she wasn't afraid to share. Tears welled up in your eyes.

It must've been Billy's first instinct to comfort you because he was across the room in a moment, ready to take you in his arms.

You stopped him before he could, though. Held up a hand to halt him in his tracks.

Billy took a step away from you. He held his hands up in surrender.

"You weren't lying, huh?" you commented, tears still prevalent. Before Billy could ask what you'd meant, you answered, "She's amazing."

He huffed out a laugh then, and nodded.

"I've just...It's been so long that I've convinced myself I didn't deserve it," you tried to explain.

He didn't understand. "Deserve what, l--"

"Happiness, Butcher." You couldn't help the twinge of annoyance from showing in your voice.

But Billy just smiled.

For some reason, that resulted in your tears spilling over. Your head fell.

Billy took that step toward you again. He used his thumb and forefinger to tilt your face up toward his.

He had that soft look in his eyes. The look you swore Butcher saved only for the people he lo--

No, don't think about that now.

You closed your eyes because you had only experienced his touch that gentle when time in the field had god really bad, and he had almost lost you.

Billy kissed you then.

You gasped and pulled away. You opened your eyes to find Billy's face an inch from yours. That grin was gone. His eyes held every bit of emotion that he'd held back for all those years.

You spent a moment more to look into his eyes, then you glanced down to his lips.

They ticked up for a second when you licked your own lips. Yours then did the same as his. The small smiles were gone as soon as they were there, and then you were kissing Billy Butcher.

You just pecked his lips at first, but you couldn't stop leaning into him. Soon enough, one of your hands were threaded through the hair on the back of his head, and your other was gripping onto his coat for dear life.

Butcher wasn't any less lost in you. The man was so lost that he lost his footing, and ended up backing you against a wall rather harshly.

He immediately broke from you. "You alright, love?"

You just smiled up at him. Your eyes felt brighter than you could ever remember. "Yeah. I'm good." You brought him in to kiss you again.

*******

Author's Note: Thank you for reading! Fill up that heart and reblog if you liked it. I would also really appreciate a comment, if you have the time. If you would like to read more, check out my masterlist. Have a nice day, night, or whatever time it is for you! <3 <3 <3

[sturnioloskies]

Too Damn Long // C.S. pt4

by 💋Natalie💋

summary: chris hasn't jerked off in six weeks and desperately wants to get off

mentions: @oversturn @flowerxbunnie @mattsd0ll @angelic-sturniolos111 (let me know if you wanna be added to my tag list! 💋)

warnings: SMUT / mommy kink / overstimulation / sub(ish)!chris / mentions of puppy sub kink / sharing is caring / minors dni

DISCLAIMER: these stories are fictional :)

text - reader

text - chris sturniolo

Word Count: 2553

The soft hum was the only sound in the room, apart from Chris’s heavy breathing. Still bound to the silk fabric covering his eyes, all he could see was the faint glow of light where the bridge of his nose pushed the blindfold off of his face. He laid still, practically vibrating with anticipation. He could feel the heat from her thighs only inches from his face. 

“What’s on your mind?” Her voice floated around him like a sweet melody. 

“You.”

“More specific, Christopher,” she demanded with a gentleness in her tone. 

“P-Please,” he begged. “I-I can’t…I…fuck,” he panted, throwing his head back against the pillow. 

“I believe in you,” she laughed lightly. He groaned, feeling her hot breath against his shaft. He went to try again, but gave up entirely when he felt her lips pressing a gentle kiss to his tip. It took everything in him not to buck his hips up and shove his cock down her throat, even though he really fucking wanted to. “Try again,” she cooed. 

Chris paused, collecting his thoughts as he felt her licking at his tip. “You, you’re the only thing on m-my mind, mama,” he breathed out, shuddering as her tongue swiped along his slit, tasting his arousal. “Fuck, I wish I could see your pretty pussy,” he whispered, leaning his head up a bit. “It’s so pretty, mamas. I could look at your pretty little pussy for days,” his confidence grew as he spoke, and so did his desire for her. “Please let me taste you, I’ll make you feel so good. Please sit on my face,” he whispered, running one of his hands up her thigh, digging his fingers into the plush skin. “God please, I need to taste you again.”

Her hips sunk down closer to his face. His nose brushed lightly against her inner thigh and he navigated his way to her cunt with ease. With her silent approval, he nestled his face between her thighs, wasting no time to begin licking at her entrance eagerly. Her arousal was sweet, like the sweet nectar of fresh summer strawberries, dripping onto his tongue like honey. He couldn’t get enough of the taste of her. He had never tasted something more delectable in his life. If he was on his deathbed, his last wish would be to taste the sweetness between her legs one more time. Chris moaned, flicking his tongue against her clit. As if on cue, a filthy whimper escaped the girl on top of him. 

Chris smirked, doing it again, receiving the same outcome as before.

Just as he went to do it another time, his hips jolted forward, bucking into the air as a wave of pleasure ran through him unexpectedly. He whined, lips parting as the vibrations ran through his cock like electricity. 

“Oh, baby,” she purred. “You’re already making a mess.”

His aching cock throbbed, precum leaking from his swollen pink tip. He shivered as it began trickling down his shaft. “Holy fu-fuck,” he panted. Baby. His dick twitched. God he loved when she called him that. 

“Such a messy boy. Do you like how that feels, Chris?” She asked him, his name sounding like a lustful hymn as it fell from her lips mindlessly. She had no idea what she was doing to him, or maybe she did. She probably did. 

“Christopher.”

She definitely did.

“Y-Yes, yes,” he whined out. “G-God it f-feels s-so g-good,” he stammered. He could feel the vibrator being pressed to the base of his cock, stimulating both his shaft and his balls. He wanted to toss his head back, but he couldn’t bring himself to get out from between her heavenly thighs. Coming to his senses, he tightened his grasp on her thighs, pulling her hips closer to him. 

A single click echoed in the room. Chris choked out another whine as the vibrations grew more intense. 

“You need to be patient, baby-”

“C-C-a-an’t,” he exhaled, his voice wavering. 

“Yes you can.”

“P-Pl-lease,” he whimpered out and his hips bucked up unintentionally. He moaned as his cock grazed her cheek, he could only imagine the look in her eyes as he rutted against her face.  “S-S-orry,” he barely whispered.

“Look at you, like a little puppy in heat,” she giggled softly. She moved the toy, changing the angle that it was being held at against Chris’s aching cock. “You love this, don’t you?” she teased him. 

He was in no position to disagree. “Y-Yes, fuck, yes mommy,” he whined, moaning out again as another spot was stimulated on his shaft. “Sh-Shit, please can I eat your pretty pussy, please mommy, I’ve been so good,” he pleaded. “I-I’ve d-done everything you wanted, p-please let me t-taste you, I’ll do anything.”

She lowered her hips entirely, putting all of her weight onto his face. Chris didn’t waste a single second as he plunged his tongue inside of her. He wrapped his arms around her thighs; he wasn’t going to let her tease him the whole night. If that meant holding her onto his face until he made her cum, so be it. His breath hitched as the vibrator setting went up another notch, the click almost silent and covered up by their heavy breathing and filthy sounds of desire. “Fuck,” she squeaked out, rocking her hips against his tongue. “Such a naughty boy,” she hummed. 

Whimpers vibrated in the back of Chris’s throat while he continued to go down on her. He shook his head ever so gently, burying himself impossibly deeper between her legs. His nose pressed against her drooling core, his tongue against her clit as she rocked her hips back and forth, fucking herself on his tongue. There wasn’t a price Chris wouldn’t pay to watch her right now. Confined to the dark void behind the blindfold, he had to rely on his imagination and hope it would paint the picture for him perfectly. The thought alone made his cock twitch, his hips bucking once more. Another whorish moan fell from his lips as his cock grazed her cheek again. 

She tried to lift her hips away. She felt a tightening warmth in her stomach, she was close, but she wasn’t ready for things to be finished. She clicked the button on the toy in her hand, turning the setting up once, twice, three times. Chris choked out a cry, his hips involuntarily rutting forward again. “G-God fuck,” he whined, running a hand along her spine and up to her neck, grabbing a fistful of her hair. 

“Chris-”

“Fu-uck,” he whimpered, pushing her face closer to his crotch. “M-Mo-mmy, pl-ease, s-so good,” he panted, bucking his hips up. The feeling of her skin against his shaft sent waves of pleasure through his body, his arousal running down his length. “G-Good b-boy, I’m a g-ood b-oy,” he chokes out his words, a short pause following behind each word. His other arm, still wrapped around her waist, pulls her hips down to his face once more. He presses hungry kisses to her cunt. “P-Please, say I’m a g-good b-boy. S-Say I’m a g-ood b-bo-oy,” he chokes out again.

She whimpers, her grasp on the toy loosening as she let him take what little control he had. “Such a good boy, Chris. You’re such a good boy for me.” A shaky breath passes her lips as he flicks his tongue repeatedly against her sensitive clit. “O-Oh god,” she whined, attempting to lift her hips as she felt her orgasm growing closer. Chris refused, holding her in place as he abused her clit with his tongue. Overcome with pleasure, she released the toy in her hand, her mind growing foggy with her growing release. “So close, Chris, p-please don’t stop,” she pleaded, her eyes fluttering closed as her hips rocked against his face. 

The vibrator landed between them on the bed, pressing against Chris’s sack. His hips rutted upwards again. Unable to contain himself, Chris held her face down to his crotch, rutting against her at a desperate pace. “Aah, h-holy f-fuck,” he moaned. “Mmmhhh, f-fuck m-ommy,” he hiccupped, sucking softly on her budding clit. 

She wasn’t sure why she found it so hot, but his uneven thrusting against her face was driving her crazy. She stuck her tongue out, licking at his shaft with urgency, wanting nothing more than to get him off again, and he was very close to his second release. She watched in awe as his cock rutted upwards. “So needy. Such a horny little puppy,” she moaned softly, taking his dick in her hand and beginning to stroke him quickly. “Do you need to cum, baby?”

“Y-Yes, I- Aah, f-fuck,” he panted, licking and sucking at her folds, flicking his tongue expertly over her clit again, increasing his speed as he felt his orgasm inching closer and closer. He wanted her to cum first, he would wait as long as he needed to just to make her finish first. He felt her thighs closing in on him, his cock jolting at the feeling of her beginning to fall apart on top of him. “W-Want you to c-cum first,” he exhaled, sucking on her sweet bundle of nerves, his tongue running through her drenched folds. 

She whined, rocking her hips a few more times before she was coming undone. One last swipe of his tongue had her falling apart, the tightening warmth in her stomach releasing. “Ch-Chris,” She cried out. He pulled her down, flattening his tongue against her pussy as she finished, rocking her hips to ride out her orgasm. 

Chris lapped up her juices, afraid to waste even the littlest bit of her sweet nectar. His hips bucked up, the vibrator still stimulating him as it pressed against his balls. “F-Fuck I’m cumming. Fu-uck,” he hiccuped, arching his back, his shoulders tensing up. He rutted against her face once…twice…a third and final time. He whimpered as the warmth engulfed him, his brain growing fuzzy. He moaned out as each wave of pleasure ran through him, thick hot ropes of cum coating her face. He bucked his hips, an aftershock pulsing through his cock, another spurt of cum leaking down his shaft, which she attended to quickly, licking him clean. 

Chris panted, whimpering as the vibrations continued. He whined, bucking his hips up repeatedly. “F-F-Fuck,” he cried out. She took ahold of the toy once again, pressing the vibrator to Chris’s sensitive tip. “Aah, unghhh f-fu-uck, s-so g-good,” he sobbed, his thighs beginning to shake from the intensity of his orgasm, and now from the overstimulation. “Oh g-god, f-fu-uck y-yeah,” he exhaled, collapsing back against the bed, squirming underneath the toy that she was pressing to the head of his cock. 

She repositioned herself to sit between his legs, still stimulating his painfully hard dick. “You wanna take off your blindfold?”

“G-God please,” he begged.

“Go ahead, pretty boy.”

He ripped the blindfold off, looking at the beautiful girl in front of him. Her face was still covered in the mess he had made from his last orgasm. He watched with lustful eyes as she collected his cum on her fingers, licking herself clean. “So messy,” she purred. 

Chris couldn’t even form words. He winced, the stimulation beginning to be too much for him to handle. He threw his head back against the pillow, lips parted, filthy whimpers spilling from his mouth. A sheen of sweat glistened across his forehead. “C-Can’t d-do another,” he whimpered. 

“I think you can.”

“N-No, i-its too m-much,” he whined, his eyes closing tightly as he felt that familiar warmth growing in his stomach again. 

“You know what to say if you want me to stop, don’t you?” She asked, turning the vibrator up onto the highest setting. Chris bit his lip, throwing his head back again, his hips lifting involuntarily at the intense sensation. “Did you forget your safeword?” 

“N-No-o,” he panted, grasping the sheets in a tight fist. 

“No what?”

“N-No m-mommy, I r-remember it,” he exhaled shakily, pursing his lips as his eyes fluttered open, looking up at her. 

“Don’t you like when mommy makes you cum?” She teased, running a hand up his thigh. He looked at her, his eyes hooded. He could barely process the words she was saying, all he could think about was the pleasure coursing through him, the intense vibrations making his cock throb and twitch. He nodded his head, his mouth feeling dry from how vocal he had been. “You haven’t been soft all night, how many times am I gonna have to drain your balls before you’ve had enough?” She continued, enjoying the effect she was having over him. 

He couldn’t answer, he couldn’t even think straight. His gaze flickered down to her thighs, thinking about how soft they would feel if he fucked his cock between them. He looked back up at her face, her swollen lips taunting him and his imagination as he thought of her taking his entire shaft down her throat, fucking her mouth until her makeup ran and she had drool running down her chin. His third orgasm grew closer with each filthy thought that invaded his mind. Her soft lips sucking on his sack, his cock sliding between her perky breasts while she sucked on his tip, him teasing her folds with his shaft, watching her squirm under him and beg him to fuck her senseless. 

“C-Cl-lose,” he choked out. 

“Are you close, baby?”

He nodded desperately. “M-Mommy-”

“How do you feel?” She smirked at him.

“G-Good, feels s-so good-”

“Try again. How do you feel, baby?”

“I feel amazing, miss,” he sobbed. “Oh g-god, just like that,” he panted, her free hand beginning to stroke his length once more. “Just like that, mommy. F-Fuck, nngh,” he whimpered, bucking his hips up into her hand. 

“My, my… look at you, so desperate,” she whispered. She watched him, loving the sight in front of her. Chris humping her hand, so desperate to reach his third orgasm of the night. He panted and moaned with each thrust. “Do you wanna cum?”

“S-So-o b-ad,” he breathed out. “Mommy, oh g…I can’t…fuck…mmmh…mommy…” he panted heavily, a bead of sweat rolling down his forehead as he continued fucking his cock into her hand. 

She abruptly removed her hand and the toy, shutting it off. Chris whined, lifting his hips up. “N-No, p-please, I’m a good boy, mommy,” he hiccupped. “I’m a good boy, I’ve been a good boy, p-please mommy. Keep playing with me, please mommy.”

She leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to his lips. “You talk a lot, you know that?” she whispered. 

Chris blushed wildly. “S-Sorr-”

“It’s fucking hot,” she interrupted his apology. 

“Wh-Why did you stop,” he whined, his dick aching with desire. “I was s-so close-”

“It’s about time we get to the fun part,” she responded, kissing him again. She noticed his heavy breathing. “You okay?” 

“Y-Yes, mommy.”

“You think you’re up for it?”

“Fuck, yes m-mommy.”

She smiled at him, running her fingers through his messy sweaty hair. “How do you want it?” She asked him. 

He let out a shaky breath. 

She chuckled. “Your favorite?”

He nodded. He couldn’t trust himself to form words right now. 

She kissed his lips one last time. “Go ahead, baby. Do whatever you want, you have the control now.” 

---------------------------------

a/n: welp, niagara falls might go out of business after this update.

[thewertsearch]

GC: 1T F1NDS W4YS TO 4NN1H1L4T3 TH3 P4THS WH1CH DO NOT CONTR1BUT3 CONSTRUCT1V3LY TO 1TS OWN PROP4G4T1ON

I think this is partially true, but it can't be entirely true.

If all timelines that don't propagate reality were annihilated, then failed sessions would be completely impossible. The kids' unwinnable session would have started out as a doomed timeline.

Well... I suppose reality could occasionally permit a failed session, if that session's failure contributed to universal propagation in some other way. I've talked before about how this might actually be what's happening - how Sburb might be maneuvering these kids into a position where they can stop Lord English from destroying the universes it's trying to create.

Still, situations like this would presumably be very rare. The vast majority of sessions would contribute to propagation by directly creating a universe, so if Terezi's hypothesis was true, the vast majority of sessions should be successful.

Karkat certainly seems to think that plenty of sessions end in failure - but where's he getting his information? This might just be another case of his worldview bleeding into his understanding of the game.

For now, the average win rate of a Sburb session remains a mystery. Hopefully it won't remain one forever.

GC: 4ND 1T 1S 3QU4LLY M3RC1L3SS TO THOS3 WHO 1NH4B1T TH3M, 4ND 1N P4RT1CUL4R, THOS3 WHO C4US3 TH3M

And this is even more dubious.

Like, Sburb gave them these powers. Dave has his time machines because of Sburb. Why is he getting punished for using them as intended? If the game really abhors doomed timelines, why is it giving portable timeline-doomers to its players?

I suppose it's possible that Paradox Space is actually being managed by some force external to Sburb, so it's not actually Sburb that hates doomed timelines, but reality itself. But that just raises further questions, such as: why do universes spawn from a game that breaks the laws of the universe?

On the other hand, I'm pretty sure Terezi's just guessing, here...

GC: 1T 4PP34RS TO H4V3 4 S3NS3 OF JUST1C3, DONT YOU TH1NK?

...and they've very Terezi-flavored guesses, too.

She's been primed her whole life to think about everything in terms of justice and punishment, so she's biased towards doing so, even when it doesn't quite fit.

TG: i dunno none of this is making for a very persuasive argument that i should kill doomed me GC: BUT H3 1S GO1NG TO D13 4NYW4Y! GC: WHY NOT JUST B3 TH3 ON3 TO PUT H1M DOWN? GC: 4T TH3 V3RY L34ST, YOU COULD M4K3 SUR3 1T 1S 4 PL34S4NT D3M1S3 1NST34D OF SOM3TH1NG N4ST13R >:]

Oh, she's having fun with this, isn't she?

Like Dave said, Terezi's already seen the future, so she knows what he's going to choose. To her, his final choice doesn't really matter - the fun lies in watching him squirm.

TG: this shit youre doing now TG: this is the morbid shit i was talking about TG: its not anywhere near as endearing as you probably think […] TG: this whole thing was a ruse TG: and not even the funny kind that qualify as distactions TG: i think you got my whole timeline there in front of you and you know damn well i have no intention of killing this guy ever

Dave likes Terezi, but he's clearly getting sick of being jerked around here. He wants to know if there's a point to this - and I think he's going to be disappointed with the answer.

[cottoncandy-cult]

Now Listen Here

Ban x Chubby! Reader

slight trigger warning I supposed, just some jerks making rude comments really.

(Y/n) hummed softly as she walked hand in hand with the love of her life, she and the fox sin had been dating for some time now. When she initially discovered her feelings, she had lost near all confidence, she had heard what Elaine had looked like and (Y/n) was the opposite. She had a plump heart shaped bum and thick thighs; she had a chubby waist and was much thicker than the small figure that the fairy girl had. Turned out Ban was a true gentleman; he could love a girl no matter the size so long as she loved him back. And boy did she. She loved the leather clad male at her side, it's why she was more than happy when he offered to take her into the small town for a bit of a shopping trip.

Currently they were approaching a bakery, wanting to have a sweet treat before they had their adventure. It was a small peach colored building with a dark pink trim around the edges, the Sugar Lilly seemed quite popular as there was a bit of a line leading to outside the doors. Then again, they arrived around breakfast so many were grabbing something to eat before work, seeing so many people made the (H/c) haired girl excited as she knew their options must be quite delicious. Though as they stood there, she had noticed a male staring at her from the corner of her eye, he had long spiked red hair and wore a black leather outfit.

She could admit he was attractive but the look in his eyes made her nervous, they were cold and cruel making her subconsciously move closer to her silver fox. Though he didn't seem to notice and gave her hand a loving squeeze to display his affection, red eyes gazing over the crowd. She watched as another male approached the first, this one had long purple hair and approached the red-haired male as if he was a friend. She could vaguely hear them talk back and forth given how close they were, though they were just far enough away that they didn't feel the need to whisper.

She didn't really have to strain that hard to hear, but it was hard not to look over as she felt their eyes locked on her as they spoke. They mostly exchanged jokes, not specifying it was her they were joking about, but she still knew they were referring to her. She had learned that the red-haired male's name was Kai, as that's what the purple haired man had called him. He was the one that took it the next step, he spoke slightly louder and made a comment rather than a joke. "Damn, looks like the Lilly is gonna close early today when she gets in there... Assuming she could fit through the door."  The purple haired male looked a bit uncomfortable, clearly not wanting to take this rude joking into a malicious area. "What the hell are you doing man? People are starting to look at us, keep it down." His words were soft, and he continued to look around nervously, she almost felt bad for the boy. She understood what it was like to have a friend who seemed to love causing trouble, and then dragging her into the uncomfortable situation.

"Don't be such a coward, besides I'm just curious. After all, how does someone like her get a man like him? She'd crush his skull if she sat on his face!" His words were loud, and the purple male immediately began shaking his head and moving away, clearly attempting to remove himself from the situation entirely. Then she felt Ban's grip on her hand tighten, glancing up at his face she noticed he was no longer gazing over the crowd but rather glaring at the male. Many of the other customers began whispering about the red-haired male, it comforted her that so many people rejected his behavior. Though she was a little concerned when Ban moved her to his other side so that he was facing Kai with (Y/n) tucked behind him. "Now you listen here you little brat, a child like you shouldn't be bringing up such adult things." This seemed to offend and confuse the male, making him step closer as the people around them began to move back.

"What the hell did you just say!?" A sadistic grin spread across Ban's face at the male's rage, his crimson eyes near glowing as he rested his hands on his hips. "I said you were a child; a real man can recognize the fact that all women are beautiful. My little bunny here is gorgeous and the fact you can't recognize that tells me you're a wannabe playboy, you suck in bed and choose girls with very little experience so that you can flop around like a beached carp, and she won't know any better." Kai's face had nearly turned as red as his hair, though (Y/n) wasn't sure if it was from embarrassment or rage. Meanwhile Ban was still grinning widely, though his eyes were cold and deadly. "That's what makes us so very different, you see as a real man I'd be more than happy to die with my head squeezed between those luscious thighs and you can bet I'll be doing my job as her lover until my last breath. So why don't you run off back to school, I'm sure your mommy is worried about you." (E/c) eyes widened as the watched while Kai seemed ready to explode, but to her surprise he had turned and left, leaving the crowd around them to whisper amongst themselves. It made the (H/c) haired girl a bit nervous as she blushed deeply, though she was surprised to hear a soft round of applause. It seemed they had the townspeople's support.

Ban had wrapped his arms around her, pulling her close as he pressed a kiss to her forehead, his other hand coming up to caress her cheek gently. He said nothing but she knew what he was telling her. From there the day had been fun, a few people let them go in front of them so that she and Ban could get their desired foods and they managed to find a couple dresses she adored. All in all, the day had actually been rather great, thanks to her sinful fox.

[lesbiankimdahyun]

Reader is went out to a party and dressed as a nurse for Halloween but, g!p Mina stayed home so to make it up to her “patient” she gave her a bj to feel better

im sorry it took me so long to finish (just like Mina-- I mean what?) but please enjoy!!!

1.6k words 

[GP!Mina x Reader]

CW: GP, light praise kink, this isn’t m*d*c*l play bc i don’t do that but R is wearing a nurse costume

Mina let out a low breath and closed her eyes as she gripped her length in her left hand. 

Unfortunately, the wrist she’d broken earlier was her dominant wrist, and now she was both frustrated and turned on, trying to adapt to getting herself off with only her other hand. Sure, she’d used her other hand before, but not nearly as frequently. And knowing she was completely unable to rely on any help from her right hand made her let out a little whine. 

Breaking her wrist was the fault of her own bad luck, but it was your fault she was so wound up now, eyebrows furrowed from her effort. Your Halloween costume, a handmade, near perfect replica of the uniform Nurse Dolly wore on Ratched, looked entirely too good on you. And now, instead of being able to enjoy seeing you in said costume at Jeongyeon’s Halloween party, she was alone, thinking about how she wanted nothing more than to greedily pull up your skirt and run her hands over your ass and thighs before–  

Mina sighed, cursing her useless injured wrist and unrelenting erection. She laid back a bit farther on the dark gray sectional, letting her bad wrist rest on the arm of the sofa. She had meant to go to bed earlier, wanting to cum just once to relieve some of her pent up frustration, but she couldn’t get herself over the edge and hadn’t realized how much time had passed. 

Still too aroused and lost in her lust-driven thoughts, Mina didn’t even register that the front door of the apartment opened and closed: you were back from the party. Mina had really wanted to go with you, but the idea of anyone bumping into her very broken wrist in its fresh cast made her wince. 

“Mina?” you called softly as you came in, but she didn’t reply. You checked your phone– it was after midnight. Maybe she had fallen asleep while trying to wait for you to get back. But then you walked in further, down the hall, through the kitchen, out into the living room and saw why she hadn’t answered you. 

You watched for a moment, almost tempted to let her carry on. But then you noticed the light sheen of sweat on her brow and wondered how long she’d been struggling to cum. Now you couldn’t resist her. And it was Halloween after all; maybe you could give her a compensatory treat.

“Why is my patient out of bed?” you asked, tilting your head with feign curiosity. Mina’s eyes snapped open and she looked up at you from the couch. Her gaze, you realized instantly, was both hungry and desperate. You had been debating teasing her, but as soon as you saw the ravenous look in her eye you knew it wasn’t the time. Your eyes locked onto her hard shaft and you licked your lips. “Can I help you with that?” 

Mina nodded, looking you up and down slowly. She’d seen your nurse’s costume come to life over the last few weeks and seeing it now thrilled her just the same. “Please,” she breathed. 

Quickly, you made your way over to the couch beside her. You wrapped your hand around the base of her cock and leaned in to kiss her. Her lips were magnetic against yours, unwilling to part from any source of pleasure. You broke away from her though, making her squirm with need. You watched her reaction as you moved your hand slowly and started to jerk her off, lightly teasing her cockhead by running your thumb over her pink, leaking tip. 

She must have been trying for ages, because you’d barely touched her but already the poor girl looked as if she could cum. But that wouldn’t do for you unless she came somewhere more satisfying than all over her shirt and abs. 

“Poor thing,” you cooed. “Would it feel better if I used my mouth?” 

Mina bit back a groan at your question, nodding furiously. You went to reach for the hair tie on her wrist, but Mina read your mind. Her hand wove through your hair until she had as much as she could collect in her fingers, careful not to ruin your teal-colored nurse cap. She pulled back firmly, not only keeping your hair out of your face, but letting you know she was going to be setting the pace from here on out. 

You caught her eye briefly, thinking that your eyes must be as blown out with lust as hers were. You knew Mina really wanted to cum if she was willing to take the lead and as much as you loved telling her what to do, you loved seeing this more commanding side of her. You leaned in a little for her and she responded by gently pushing your head down. The moment her tip entered your mouth, you knew you were going to give in to anything she wanted. You kissed and licked around her tip, letting out an involuntary moan before opening your mouth wider to let more of her in. 

Mina grunted lightly at the sensation, tilting her head back and closing her eyes. She loved the way your mouth felt around her, and now she needed you, to claim you, to coat your mouth and throat with her seed. 

“Can I…?” she asked breathlessly, and you knew immediately what she was asking. She’d been training you over the last few months, stretching your throat, jaw, and retraining your breathing so she could fuck into your mouth endlessly without you needing to come off of her cock for a break or air. You were well on your way to becoming her perfect little toy. 

You nodded wordlessly, and Mina let out a heavy breath. Her grip on you tightened and she pushed you down further until your nose was up against the base of her cock. Your eyes watered a little but you invited her in, letting her fill and stretch you just the way she’d trained you. 

“Good girl,” she praised softly, using her other hand to touch your cheek reassuringly. She let up a bit and you proceeded to let her control your every move as she forced you to bob up and down slowly on her length. Sinking into a service-oriented headspace, it wasn’t long before you were drooling. The added wetness made it easier for you to glide up and down on her cock and filled the air with wet, lewd sounds while you continued to give her head. 

And Mina absolutely loved it. She loved the way you were so obedient for her, so willing to let her have her way with you. She loved how wet and puffy your lips became and the tears that threatened to spill from how hard you tried for her. 

“That’s it, just like that,” she said, watching her cock disappear into your mouth again and again. She continued to test your limits, pulling you back down to the base of her cock again before allowing you to come back up for a moment. Your warm, wet mouth felt incredible, but now Mina needed a little more. 

The next time you bobbed down on her length, she held your head in place. “Stay so nice and still for me, baby,” she breathed as her hips started to thrust slowly. 

You let out a muffled moan in response. This was your favorite part because you knew it meant two things: you had done well in working her up, and that Mina couldn’t hold back anymore. Her hips found a steady rhythm as she fucked up into your mouth desperately, her moans and pants becoming heavier. 

Her thrusts became gradually faster. Even though your jaw was starting to ache, you were at least at less risk of choking on her cock now because the more desperate Mina became, the sloppier she got. The couple inches that weren’t being shoved repeatedly into your mouth were in your hand now while you worked to jerk her off.

“Fuck,” Mina grunted. “Feels so good, just need to use you a little more...”

Her grip on the sides of your head tightened again and you really couldn’t move as Mina picked up the pace again. She was nearly incoherent now, murmuring half-completed praises to you as she tipped her head back. Her breath hitched and then hitched again as your mouth worked her closer and closer to the edge. 

Her praises trailed off altogether shortly after; the only thing you could make out was “fuck, yes, fuck,” and then she gasped. You took your hand away quickly and Mina pushed you down to her base as she came, thrusting violently up into your mouth. 

Your whimper was muffled and you swallowed what you could hastily. When she finally released her hold on you, everything you couldn’t swallow coated her cock while you bobbed shallowly on her length. 

You took your time cleaning her up, licking your way up her shaft and over her tip until she couldn’t stand it anymore and had to pull you up and away. She kissed you hungrily, unafraid to taste herself on your lips and tongue. Eventually she broke away from your lips, leaving appreciative, wet kisses down your chin and neck. 

“All better?” you asked, settling in to rest against her. Mina nodded, letting out a satisfied hum. “Much,” she said. She paused for a moment, then chuckled and touched the fabric of your costume lightly. “I'm lucky to have such an attentive nurse for the next six to eight weeks while I heal.”

[simpjaes]

I know I have not given you proper feedback for any of your works get so let me give you one for Realistic Expectations(RE):

First of all, SJ, what the HELL did you just write..like…WOAH

I know you’ve always been that author who loves darker themed fics and ofc you wrote the only and only Frenzy, but this Jake is somehow almost even more terrifyingly hot than Frenzy Jake—maybe it’s the way RE Jake is so shameless and open about how straight up insane he is,, while Frenzy Jake was secretive and almost afraid to get caught even if he wasn’t too worried about how reader would react if she found out, perhaps because he KNEW she was just as crazy as him.

For RE Jake, however, you can tell he FEEDS off of the way reader seems to kinda fear him, but he knows deep down that she wants him and that’s really what causes him to go so far, even as far as ruining her current relationship. He thinks of it as not only something he wants, but also a favor for her by getting rid of Sunghoon the quickest way possible— showing him what he could NEVER have no matter how in love with him reader claims she is.

That’s why RE Jake is at that level with Frenzy Jake—because although they’re both insane, they show it in different ways, with Frenzy Jake being secretive and protective towards reader while RE Jake is so openly unashamed but still protective. Which brings me to also talk about how much of a fucking manipulator RE Jake is!!! Like the whole “I’ve got you. I’ll always have you, it’s okay.”That’s some real manipulation there! Like who is he protecting her from?? Himself??

I could go on and on about this fic and talk about every detail of it but this is probably getting too long so I’ll end it off by asking this— Who would win? Frenzy Jake v.s. Realistic Expectations Jake

omfg do u have any idea how fun this was to read? it's really rare for me to see people analyze the characterization in my fics but when they do i always start swooning, so thank you so much, like with everything in me, thank you...LET'S DO THIS.

FRENZY JAKE VS REALISTIC EXPECTATIONS JAKE:

so before i answer who would win between frenzy jake and realistic expectations jake, i want to point out my view of them compared to yours. Realistic expectations Jake was just a normal guy, like a really charming guy that you'd probably normally think Jake is. If anything, he was manipulated by you first, and you used the fact that he's a horny guy against him to get what you were originally wanting. keep in mind he didn't even think about fucking you until you basically forced the thought into his head by literally dangling yourself in front of him and then crawling into his bed. On top of that, Jake himself didn't even realize how insane he was for you until you denied him. There's mention of him realizing how nice to feels to have the power and to see you so afraid of him solely because you're the one who suddenly singled him out like he's gross for even considering fucking you. So, yes, he is insane and also a huuuge manipulator, but he didn't entirely realize it until he was able to feel true resentment towards you for the way you pulled him in, gave him hope, and then pushed him away.

Frenzy Jake was always fucking insane. There are mentions of how his ex girlfriend broke up with him because he destroyed her phone over talking to her brother, living in a pig-sty and looking a mess because he was consumed with hatred and sadness after that breakup with his ex etc. He only felt better when he finally opened his curtains and saw reader across the street in her apartment. Like that tiny second changed his whole life, his heart essentially started beating again. Frenzy jake likely wasn't always secretive or careful about what he does, but he's a man and he's had time to learn how to get away with it. I mean, he sucks your toothbrush, licks your shower walls, jerks off to your journal that details horrifying trauma, and wants you to traumatize him too. Frenzy jake is literally a sociopath, or maybe a psychopath idk. The only thing he feels is love when he sees you, and the only other feeling he feels is hate for everyone who isn't you. He even mentions at the end there, that he would kill your ex for you. And the reality of Jake in this fic is that...he would. He would genuinely kill if it means he can keep you, and that's not reserved for just your ex either. he'd think he's in his right mind killing reader too, if she ever tried to leave him.

SO! While Realistic expectations Jake is willing to ruin your life and allow you to feel isolated to be with him, frenzy jake is willing to kill to keep you and make sure you don't think even for a second that he's the cause of any issues in your life.

Both are insane in their own ways but I think Frenzy jake would win because like, it's life or death for him and he cares so much about what you feel and think. For Realistic expectations jake it isn't life or death, it's just manipulation and very intense "love". He doesn't care about how you feel, he only cares about himself.

Frenzy jake would murder RE jake without even holding his breath lmfao, all RE jake would do is attempt to fuck you in front of him.

:D