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littlelesbinonny · 1 year

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The Devil's Den

Chapter 26: In Which Soft Turns Sharp

You can read this also on Ao3 at: https://archiveofourown.org/works/46831621/chapters/117962293

"I have been in IT for years and I've never once actually seen this happen."

"How does this even happen?"

"It blew up, literally."

"Yo! That's uh... that's a mess."

You were currently standing in the middle of a category 5 disaster. The bottom half of your pants and all of your shoes were completely black; powder-coated by your lovely office printer you were just having words with.

Toner was spewed all over the ugly grey carpet like the remanence of a cartoon explosion. The coworkers and IT tech were standing around amused and befuddled by the whole thing.

Jeff nudged your arm with a giant grin on his face, "did you at least say 'bless you'?"

You wanted to groan.

"No, really though..." Jade, the IT guy asked, "what were you doing again before this happened?"

Another exasperated sigh.

"I've been having communication issues all morning with it and my computer, so after I got sick of trying to repair the connection through my server I came back here to see if perhaps the ethernet was disconnected. It wasn't. Then I was going to get into the settings to see if there was something wrong there, but the screen went all blinky and wobbly, then the fucker shit itself. That's it."

Kind of.

You left out the part where you grabbed the sides of the operating screen in a threat to rip it off it's hinges, then it exploded.

Jade mused on your explanation one more time while the other two morons were drawing finger pictures on the side of the printer with toner.

"Ok - as exciting as this is I'm gunna go and see if I can save my shoes from being stained forever. Bye."

With a huff you kicked off as much toner as you could and immediately headed out the door.

In truth technology had been acting really funky the past few days. First your phone started acting up; the screen would randomly black out while you were using it (the thing was barely a year old so you hoped it wasn't frying already), the location changed on you twice (once it threw you to Paris, the second time to Idaho), and getting your keyboard to work properly was an entire fight all on it's own. You finally turned it off for a couple hours and it seemed to help a little. Then, the clock on your desk started sucking batteries to death. Twice this week you had to change them to keep the damn thing correct. Your work computer had had a couple hiccups and now the printer. Was Mercury in fucking retrograde or some shit???

You didn't bother to tell your boss you were leaving and left the building without saying anything to anyone.

8 days had gone by without Alcina and you were missing her so badly. The bouts of unusual aggression were sporadic and it really wasn't like you, but you just weren't used to such strong feelings about someone and it must be making you a little weird. You guess.

A calmer energy seemed to be following you now but it didn't completely phase out the worry or aggravation. You began to feel better overall since the random muscle attack in your back which helped ease a lot of your tension, but still, you couldn't help but... wonder. You didn't know where she was but somehow she felt closer. You hoped she would be back soon. Sooner than later.

Suddenly your phone began to ring and you reached for it out of your bag.

It was Louis.

"Heyyy man, what's up?"

"I got you another cassette my friend; Miss D and the Pallboys in a rare recording done at a live event - interested?"

"What kind of question is that; hell yes I am - I'll be there in half an hour!"

"See you soon."

Ok, today was not a total bust.

The mirror was not as kind today as she was hoping.

Alcina looked at her naked body with a twinge of scrutiny.

She'd gone through all of this with no fruits for her labor.

After Dmitri and her troops arrived 5 days ago the trail of evidence and any leads went dead. It had gone completely silent. No more attacks, no more sightings, not even a hint of action. While everyone was relieved it didn't sit well with anyone, but what were they to do? They'd scoured every inch of the territory through the sector where everything had taken place, and miles around that.

Nothing. Anywhere.

The 'cave' itself proved pointless; it was caved in not a thousand feet from the entrance. Still, no one was convinced this was over and Alcina agreed. Dmitri and Sylvia kept several outposts active and would continue to do so for as long as they deemed fit.

The deceased mutated vampire lay in the bin hollowing out with nothing more of interest to study it seemed. No bugs, no worms, nothing exited his body to help Joel in his quest to understand him. His tests came up with very little information outside of a strange anomaly in the dead blood he'd collected, however it was nothing he had seen and without a live sample of possibly another mutated specimen he was hitting a dead end as well. How could he research a dead, dying crumb of evidence? Oddly though, when they put his body out to disintegrate in the sun, he didn't crumble to pure ash as he should have. His bones remained slightly in tact, which Joel collected to see if that could lead him anywhere instead.

Mother Miranda had finally been reached; she had indeed been on travel to Romania which is where Donna was finally able to speak with her. Her reaction was... limited at best. Unconcerned and satisfied they had it under control. Donna was unamused by her stance and Alcina couldn't have scoffed harder at her dismissal. She was nothing if not flippant unless it directly concerned her these days. She could rot in hell or Romania for all Alcina cared.

The suspiciousness of the ordeal had everyone who was aware remaining on high alert. This was far from over and neither clan was backing down from their posts to make sure whatever, if ever, something came next, they'd be more than prepared.

Thankfully no word had seeped into the underground and everything was carrying on as normal it seemed.

Alcina had returned home yesterday and was getting ready for a good nights rest in her own bed where it was quiet, and private.

Well, a little.

Donning her nightgown she clicked off the light to her bathroom and exited.

"Ai dormit pe partea asta aseară, e rândul meu," Daniela stated flatly. (You slept on this side last night, it's my turn)

"Conteaza? Încă dormi lângă mama," Cassandra replied, "sunt două laturi, poate s-o lase pe Bela să doarmă lângă ea în seara asta.." (Does it matter? You're still sleeping next to mother, there's two sides, maybe let Bela sleep next to her tonight.)

Bela sighed as she situated at the end of the very large king size bed, "e în regulă, sunt bine aici jos. Atâta timp cât suntem cu toții împreună, nu-mi pasă." (It's fine, I'm fine down here. As long as we're all together I don't care.)

"Dani este doar un nebun, vino să dormi aici." (Dani is just being a brat, you come sleep up here.)

"Nu sunt un nebun!" (I'm not being a brat!)

"Fetelor..." Alcina intervened as she approached softly, "într-adevăr acum, am destul pat și timp și cu mine să merg. Vă rugăm să încetați să vă certați." (Girls... really now, there's plenty of bed and time and me to go around. Please stop bickering.)

They smiled at her as she began crawling under the covers with them, nestling down with a smile of her own.

When Alcina returned home she hadn't had a moments peace since she walked through the door. Her daughters had warm blood waiting for her, not the wine, and tended to her every unspoken need. Which, they apparently seemed to make for her by the dozens. Donna had of course informed them of her attack and they were more fretful than she at the news. It was only expected they would be exceptionally doting to their beloved mother when she arrived home. They had nearly lost her once, many many years ago and the memories were still fresh and vivid in their hearts. The bond the 4 of them shared was deeply rooted and strong; Alcina may not be their biological mother in the human sense, but she was their rock and anchor, their protector and very much the loving, nurturing, caring and doting mother figure. While the girls were quite old as far as human standards go, somehow deep inside of them was still a childlike need and fondness with Alcina.

Cassandra had run her a bath, Bela washed the clothes Dani had packed and sent with Dmitri for her, Dani continued to bring warm blood on the hour and while the house was never truly a mess, it was spotless. Spot. Less. Alcina couldn't help but grin at their attentiveness. She jested perhaps she should get wounded more often... they didn't find it humorous in the least.

"Acum, fiicele mele... noapte bună, vă iubesc, dormiți bine," she cooed, caressing their beautiful faces one by one. (Now, my daughters... goodnight, I love you, sleep well.)

Exchanging kisses to the cheek they settled in, snuggling close to their mother as the silence of the room seeped in.

Cassandra, now on the right side of Alcina, caressed her arm softly, "esti bine mama?" (You're alright, mother?)

Alcina smiled, "da, draga. Dormi. Sunt acasă, în siguranță cu fetele mele. Totul este în regulă în lume," she whispered and kissed her forehead once more. (Yes, darling. Sleep. I'm home, safe and sound with my girls. All is right in the world.)

She felt complete.

Almost.

She missed you. She needed you.

Tomorrow she would venture out to see you. She couldn't stand the distance from you any longer.

"More goodies for the pests, ey?"

You gave Malka a raised eyebrow as she scanned the bag of mixed nuts and dried berries.

"Those pests were here waaay before us, it's not their fault we moved in on their territory."

Malka broke her stern visage and smiled brightly at you, "yes yes, good good, you have a Yiddishe Kop my girl."

Malka was an old Jewish woman who ran and owned the tiny corner store a couple blocks from your apartment. It was your favorite place to get groceries and oddities. The produce was always fresh and she was constantly stocking the shelves with fun, niche little snacks from all over Europe and her home in the Netherlands. She'd adopted you as the neighborhood stray long ago and you happily claimed her as your long lost Bubbeh - her chosen term. She was small but a pure spitfire. Her hair was long and white with fading pepper streaks that she wore in a braided bun high on her head. Malka was a darling.

"I still think you should ween them off the dried fruit and give them fresh - it's good for the soul, you know," she advised knowingly.

You chuckled, "they like what they like, who am I to argue? Getting them off the pastries was hard enough!"

She placed the last of your things in your tweed bag and handed it over to you, "my pastries were the cause of several village wars, I'll have you know."

"Yes, yes, I know Sophia Petrillo. I doubt I'll ever see another twenty dropped on my doorstep until I treat them again."

"Ahaha," she cackled, "off with you now, enjoy your evening and give my best to the birds. Tell them Bubbeh wants a twenty dollar bill too next time."

By the time you made it to your block you caught their shadows overhead as they swarmed and landed in the trees in the courtyard. You smiled and treaded around back to the grass and benches on the other side. They followed with happy caws and grunts and coos.

You sat on the bench and watched them gracefully land at your feet as you opened the bag and began divvying out the goods.

You still couldn't tell them all apart yet but there was a considerably bigger one and a runt that stuck out the most. The smallest was easily the most vocal and it was skittish. The biggest one was very regal but had a playful side, you'd noticed. He, or she, would play with the baby squirrels in the neighboring tree, almost a game of tag, it was quite amusing to watch.

The gathering usually gave you odd looks from the passerby's but you got used to ignoring it. So you had a tiny army of crows, so what?

Without giving away the whole bag you watched them trek around the grounds for a while enjoying the falling evening. It was getting a little cooler now, autumn was around the corner. Every season in New York was pretty, except winter. Winter could fuck all the way off in your opinion.

You sighed. As the darkness shifted the hue in the sky your heart silently wished upon the universe that your Alcina was safe and would be back in your arms before too long. 9 days was a really, really long time at this point.

There was no way to accurately describe the sensation that coated you like warm molasses; it was slow in enveloping you and you became light headed, a fuzzy heat trickled through your system and your limbs felt numb and tingly. A smile erupted on your face and you instantly knew this feeling.

In a split second you were off your couch and headed for your room.

There creeping through your doorway was that tall black silhouette you longed and craved to see and touch for 9 too long goddamn days.

"Alcina," you whimpered as you ran to her and collected her in your arms.

She sighed long and heavy as her own strong arms enfolded you with haste. Your scent wafted through her sweeter than a summer breeze offering reprieve from the hot sun and she drove her nose deep in your hair.

"Oh... how I've missed you, draga mea," she whispered near your ear, feeling her own relief and satiation of having you back within her grasp, "I have missed you so much."

"I've missed you so much," your muffled reply came as you slowly inched your face around to claim her lips.

The two of you moaned softly and satisfyingly at the connection. Yes. This felt like home, this felt too good to be lost for so long.

Alcina carefully grasped your face in her cool hands, which you noticed were slightly trembling, and you looked deep into her stumbling slate colored eyes. Pools of ethereal eternity. Somewhere you wanted to be for the rest of your days.

"Hi beautiful," you smiled.

"Hello, dragul meu," she smiled right back.

You snaked your arms back around her torso and clung to her like she might slip away again. Not today Satan, not to-fucking-day.

Although, there was something amiss. Something not quite right. You weren't completely sure what it was but somehow your hands began to pull higher up her back where you found, under her leather jacket, an unnatural heat. And raised ridges of... something.

Alcina hitched as your hands splayed over her wounds and grabbed for your arms and pulled you away. The concern and confusion was not hidden on your face and she sighed, forced a smile and hoped there could have been at least an hour pass before this came to light.

Feeling the hesitation peel off her like layers of a wilted rose you stepped in a little closer to her, taking her hands in yours.

You could throw the thoughts of her absence dealing with something dangerous out the window all you'd like; they would return like a handful of sand to the wind and back in your eyes every time. You knew. You knew.

With a short breath you swallowed your worry, "I know you can't tell me everything, or maybe anything at all for that matter, but... what did I just feel?"

Exasperation was now the most common emotion she was friends with these days. Alcina didn't know how to tell you. It wasn't as if she could hide this forever. But she wanted to. Her healing was so slow - they should be gone by now, but they weren't, and she didn't want to be away from you any longer. Somehow this made her feel too vulnerable to you, a desperation to keep it locked away and never let you into this dark corner of her world.

"Draga..." she started, tossing her eyes away from you.

This was not something you would receive well, in fact she feared for how it would affect you period. How was she supposed to just brush this off as a; 'well, you see draga mea, I was attacked by a mutated vampire that nearly killed me and more lycans than I care to count, that may or may not have many other mates running loose that we can't find, and truly that's just where the story ends for the moment,' and expect you to have a normal reaction. And, at the same time, how could she just say; 'I can't tell you what happened and I'm sorry you have to look at these scars that looks like I fought 8 meet hooks, you'll just have to accept that,' and move on.

Alcina's pause made you lean in closer. You understood the barrage of thoughts you couldn't hear her fighting all too well, so, softly and carefully, you began to remove her jacket and moved to her tight black turtleneck.

Her body immediately tensed and an anxiousness wrapped around her, but what was she to do.

Well, here we go, Alcina thought.

She allowed you to continue and it actually surprised you. You half expected her to grab for your arms again and immobilize your efforts, but she didn't.

As you stood behind her and lifted the soft cloth, the sight that assaulted your eyes sunk your heart to the pits of your stomach like a deflated lead balloon.

Did you gasp? No clue. But you felt ice shoot through your veins at the sight.

"My god..." you whispered, "Alcina... what - who did this to you?"

Your fingers were so gentle as they passed over the raised dark purple scars Alcina almost buckled. The caress didn't hurt but it felt like little sparks of electricity passing through her. Somehow your touch was the most soothing thing she'd felt so far in her healing, or, maybe, she was just starving for your touch more than she had been aware.

As your eyes wandered you could now see in the dim light that there were fully healed scars all over her. All in swipes of 4, like sets of claws. Eventually you just removed the turtleneck all together and rounded her to look back into her eyes. She wasn't completely dodging your glance, but she wasn't seeking it out either.

You tried to choke out more questions as you softly trailed your fingers over her arms, chest, and abdomen. What was there to say, how were you to say it? Suddenly another rushing wave of icy water pelted over you as the memories of that night you had your little 'muscle attack' just about drowned you.

Did you feel this happen to her?

Who or what could have done this? Was the war between vampires and lycans returning?

Your visage torqued the twinge in Alcina's heart. You were so concerned, plighted by a tied tongue. But also, something else. Alcina gently reached out to cup your jaw and offer a soft smile. Truth be told she didn't know what to say either. She didn't want to answer your question.

In your short lived elation to see her you were unable to address the tiredness about her, but now you saw it loud and clear. Her eyes lacked the sparkle of light, her skin looked worn, her lips, thinner, her trembling hands alone should have told you how lacking her energy was.

Taking her beautiful long fingers to your lips you kissed them gently, repeatedly, locking her eyes with yours as you then began to move your hair away from your neck.

Alcina grabbed you up in her arms and held you, "dragul meu, please, I didn't come here to feed off you -"

"I know you didn't but you're depleted, I can tell," you shut down her argument softly, "please, drink," you urged, "I don't like seeing you like this. Please... I want you to."

She didn't budge.

Stubborn ass.

Accepting her refusal you secured your arms even more tightly around her bare torso and held her back. She may have won for now but you would give her your blood before she left, you wouldn't have it any other way. Softly you began pressing your warm lips against her bare collarbone and kissing her cool skin with revered tenderness.

Alcina closed her eyes and leaned into you, feeling you against her seemed to bring down all the pillars of worry and concern around her. But you, your offer, it panged her with guilt and remorse.

Pressing her lips to the shell of your ear she whispered softly, "you are not for my consumption, draga mea, you are more to me than what I think you realize and it pains me to think if I have lead you astray in that... you are not for the taking, for use, for simply delectable taste and pleasure. I love you, I never want you to feel less than my equal, for all sense and purpose of our differences."

You sighed.

"You big dummy," you muttered, pulling back to look into her eyes once more, "I love you too, I love you so much... you're my vampire and I'm your human; I belong to you because I want to. I'm not offering my blood out of - fuck, I don't know - pressure, duty, some form of guilt - no! I love you, I want you to feed because I want to take care of you, because I don't want to see you drained and weak, because your wellbeing is not only my job as your lover but my honor. You're a mighty Matriarch. You fight battles and command armies and rule over a literal underground city of vampires and lycans. I am a chaotic, dysfunctional, boring as fuck but loving human who was just lucky enough to be chosen by you - I can't offer you much, literally, I have like nothing of real value... but you've got my love, my dedication, my heart and blood and whatever else you want or need, ok?"

What have I done to deserve you? Alcina mused in the silence. You were the unintended enigma that was never-ending.

Carefully tracing her fingertips along the outlines of your face, Alcina leaned in gracefully to kiss you. Each caress of your lips together grew a little deeper and a little deeper, everything outside of this room ceasing to exist as she was once again back in the safest place she could ever imagine. Your arms. Your embrace. Your love.

Feeling the inevitable plume of heat deep inside of you, gorging yourself on everything that was this glorious woman, you urged and silently begged for her bite; pressing your body so close into hers, pulling her as near as possible, arching your neck as your lips escaped to graze her jawline. And then you felt the shudder within her; the release of the tiger that was prowling for blood with no need to chase.

Her teeth were sharp and precise and the painful pleasure coursed through you like your blood into her. Bliss, euphoric release; a chaotic intertwining of black and white, up and down, hot and cold.

As the sensation of heat poured down her throat, Alcina groaned out her long-awaited desire to taste you again. Your blood fed fuel to her fire like nothing else in this world, but within the rush this time something else was taking place. Her body began to burn. Her senses thrown into a frenzy. The striking, piercing sensation of an itch so violently unable to scratch tore through her and she ripped her mouth away from your neck with a pained wail.

Alcina's knees buckled and she fell to the floor with a thud.

#alcina dimitrescu #alcina dimitrescu/female reader #alcina dimitrescu/original female character #alcina dimitrescu/reader #lesbian #f/f #fanfic #wlw #fic

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betterpathoflyfe · 5 months

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Boldness In Our Assignment! - 4/27/24

Listen…you know the running joke about how God’s favorite prayer to answer is, “Lord, if this person is not for me, please remove them”?

Well…I’m convinced that His other favorite prayer to answer is, “Lord, I want to be used by You! Please use me in this place and give me the boldness to tell others about You.”

Like bro!

Near the end of January, on a Sunday, after church specifically, my best friend came by my house and near the end of our hangout, she prayed for me and this desire I had.

The NEXT. DAY.

I head into the office early as usual and I’m just praying about desiring to be used in this workplace, right? To truly have an impact in this place for His Kingdom.

Well, a student ends up stopping by as a walk-in to explain why he decided to withdraw from a course. But as I’m pulling up his schedule, he randomly mentions, “and you know, Ms. Nock, I really want to be a man of God, you know?”

I freeze and turn towards him saying, “Really?”

He says, “yeah, you know? Like I’ve been serving at my church in with the middle school students, but I just want to make sure I’m good with God myself, you know?”

And I’m like, “yes, absolutely! Like you definitely want to have Jesus in your heart so that you can be most effective in helping and teaching these students!”

And he’s like, “exactly.”

NOW…we’re at a key moment.

So…I say a quick prayer, asking the Lord for boldness, and then I ask, “do you want to accept Him into your heart right now?”

And he was like, “seriously?”

And I was like, “yes!”

And he said, “yeah, okay, sure!”

MAN.

Long story short, we prayed and he said the prayer of salvation! After we prayed, he said, “I feel like running again, Ms. Nock!” as he had recently went on a run earlier that morning.

He asked if we could pray during our meetings, and now it’s something that we do for the majority of them that he attends.

THAT BEING SAID!!!!

EVER SINCE THAT DAYYY????!!!

I’ve literally had meetings with students back-to-back where they either have a desire to talk about God, ask me questions about God, or have the openness to allow me to pray for them when they discuss stressful situations.

Like…this is an entirely different ballgame than last year.

And it ALL STARTED FROM THAT PRAYER!!!!

Selah.

All of this to say, the Lord can truly use you anywhere — it’s just about your willingness and true desire to be used! But as the Bible says, “The harvest is plentiful but the laborers are few” (Matthew 9:37) — it’s time for us to be intentional about our laboring for the Lord!

Oh, even in saying that! I was reading John 4 this morning and verse 37 discussed sowing and reaping — “For in this case the saying is true: ‘One sows and another reaps.’”

And the study note went into the verse a bit deeper, pointing out how “it may take several encounters with the gospel delivered through more than one messenger before a person believes it. One Christian explains the gospel to an unbeliever, and later another Christian eventually leads that unbeliever to Christ.”

Therefore, it’s really just another reminder that even if we do not see the end result or the fruit of our evangelism, that doesn't mean that God has not already begun a work in their lives, you know? We simply sow the seed, but the Lord is the one that grows it.

Even yesterday (I’ve had so many examples and testimonies of this recently!), one of our front desk student workers came by my office to ask for advice about something. Now mind you, she and I began to speak about God probably a few weeks ago (like 1-2 weeks ago), but we haven’t spoken about Him again since.

Naturally, I…prayed I didn’t overwhelm her with info or scare her off — I just get so excited talking about Jesus, you know? 😅

But when she came by my office yesterday to ask me a question, she prefaced it with, “I prayed to God about it and just asked Him for a sign of how to move forward.”

And…the fact…that she…prayed first…about her decision?

FRUIT!!!

So it’s just little things like that — little wins, little joys of seeing Christ work in someone’s life. But being a witness to these victories starts with a decision. A decision to go deeper with Christ. A decision to be bold in our faith. And a decision to obey.

So yeah — just wanted to share that for tonight’s blogpost :)

“I want to be tried by fire. Purified.” ~ lyrics from “Refiner” by TRIBL

~ May the Author

#blogposts

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inspi-shorts · 6 months

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“Say,” he started, still toying with the glass vial, “why do you do this job? Why bother giving people exactly what they want when you’re never there to see the fruits of your labor?”

“I get paid.”

He rolled his eyes. “Yes, I mean, that’s true, but that’s not what I mean,” he gestured then, pointing around the lab, “This seems like a lonely life. Money alone can’t sustain us. So what’s keeping you here?”

I chuckled, remembering the first time I’d come here. “I needed it.”

He stared at me to continue.

“When my mother died, I couldn’t sleep properly for weeks. I kept seeing her in my dreams. She was crying, begging for us at first. Then one night, she noticed me. She began to call for me, telling me to come meet her. Toward the end, I was so scared I did not want to sleep at all. My dad was so lost in his grief, too, I don’t think he ever noticed.”

The vial had stopped twirling at some point.

“How old were you?”

“About eleven, but it’s fine now,” I added when I saw his eyes widen, “I made my peace with it. It was hard, and scary, and traumatic, as such things always are, but I’ve had time to process and accept what happened. It doesn’t bother me anymore. Regardless, it was one of the nights I feared even lying down in my bed, for I was so tired I knew I would fall asleep as soon as I did, that I went walking the streets in search of a waking kind of rest. Of course that doesn’t really exist.

“Instead I entered an alleyway off of the main road near my home when I saw this beautiful, ornate wooden door, engraved with magical pictures telling a thousand stories. My first thought was that it must be my mom again, calling me. But I didn’t feel so scared of this. Quite the opposite really, it drew me in with an unfamiliar warmth. So I knocked. The door opened and—”

It was so much more familiar now than it had been that day, but the warm, inviting light of the storefront came to me as easily as leaves bend with the wind. I hadn’t changed a thing since then. I saw the previous dream guide standing there, the odd contrast bringing a laugh out of me.

“He was a grumpy old man, my mentor, but when he saw me standing there—when he saw anyone in need, really—he became the kindest man in the universe. He let me inside, listened to me over a cup of hot chocolate, and when my exhaustion finally took hold, he lent me a room. He was the one to teach me to listen instead of run.

“That night was the first where I slept through the entire night since my mother’s death. It wasn’t that my nightmares had gone, per se, but rather that I found the strength to take control of my own actions within them. I hadn’t even known of such powers mere hours before, but I understood then just how powerful they were. When I woke, he sent me back home—”

“You were freed of your nightmares?”

The question wasn’t surprising. I shook my head.

“‘Nightmare,’ I think, is a fitting name for the dreams that haunt us. Like horses, nightmares can have their own will. They can add much to our lives, be our closest companions, our most useful assets, but we must face them. We must tame them and learn to understand them, for they can reveal much of our selves. That’s what he taught me. Even then that took me a long time to truly understand.”

He looked disappointed, but I paid it no mind.

“After that first night, I went out every night looking for him, and each night I succeeded.”

When his mouth dropped into a wide ‘O’, I laughed and shrugged.

“I wanted to learn from him. He was annoyed in the beginning, my selfishness driving my persistence, but then we grew closer, and I wanted to lighten his burden. And then when he finally let me work with customers… The relief on their faces at the promise of rest, the joy I felt giving them what I had once been given…” Again I shook my head, recentering my gaze on him. “Every customer I help is like reliving my first night here. Even the small requests. I can’t—I do not want to give that up.” I finished, and rose from my desk.

Pushing my glasses up above my head I approached him, taking the vial out of his hands. The liquid inside had long since stopped moving. I exchanged it for another one, handing it to him.

“You should go to bed.”

He inspected the new vial.

“This is a smaller dose than normal.”

I nodded. “You’re gonna start needing less if you keep coming by.”

“What about you?”

“I’ll come up soon, too.”

“Do you need help cleaning up?”

The laugh that escaped me was involuntary, but filled with joy. “Go to bed, Gestin. I’m fine.”

A slow nod and off he went. I was left alone in my study, gathering the books I had scattered during my research. I met the eyes of my mentor’s photo on my desk, and I could almost hear him scolding me.

‘How can such an organized researcher leave behind such chaos?!’

I laughed again. “It’s organized chaos, Lecron. It’s my watermark.”

Placing the last of the books back, I said my goodnights and followed Gestin upstairs. I passed by his room and noted the steady rhythm of his breath before heading to my own and falling into a deep, adventurous sleep.

#original writing #writers on tumblr #writing #female writers #my writing

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becauseitsalltemporary · 1 year

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January 2023. An essay about dishes.

I want to tell you how sweet the taste of scrambled eggs and buttered sourdough made by my lover were on my tongue

after days of the anxiety being so bad I could only drink liquids.

My body so activated that a bite of solid food would make me dry heave. My body screaming no no no not safe not safe not now must fight must fight must fight.

On the nights before I'd make the 3 hour drive home before sunrise to face our abuser in court, or to help with my disabled mother's care, I started making smoothies. They were the only thing I could stomach. The cold sweet liquid was a relief. "I've never been unable to eat," I'd think. The body doesn't lie. And my body was telling me things had never been so bad. We don’t talk about how sometimes in moments of crisis, in order to keep us alive, our body starts to die a bit.

Fast forward three months. Has it really been three fucking months of this?

Once things died down, I mustered up some energy to take care of myself and complete some basic tasks. Do laundry, respond to texts. Clean out my car. One by one I collected jars of various sizes from around the cab of my car, the winter sun warm on my back as I scrounged around, the warmth reminding me that I am real. Some jars were tucked under the back seat after rolling around for days, some in the front. I inspected each jar I found, all sealed with a gray sludge inside containing whatever bits of the smoothie I didn't drink on my quests. The glass jars, some weeks old, clinking as I stuffed them into a plastic grocery bag to bring inside. Each clink a reminder. Reminders of the ritual I'd found safety and care in amongst crisis. Mixing. Blending. One scoop of this, one sprinkle of this. Protein powder, spirulina, frozen fruit, chia. A humble love story to a hurting body. A body that needed fuel to hold the world up but couldn't even muster chewing solid food.

I took the plastic bag of jars inside, walking up the stairs with a bit of shame that there were so many just floating around my car for so long. Evidence of how my brain has been focused on everything but the ordinary. One by one I opened them, the fermented smell of their neglect escaping and hitting me in the face. Sour, hot, wet, disgusting. Air that built up inside hissed as I twisted the lids off. As I took my time going through them, I thought of the chemical reaction that must have been occurring as they laid forgotten in the mess of it all. What bacteria or yeast may live in them? What little microbial world was created in each jar? How funny how life finds a way in the most absurd of circumstances. I rinsed each jar. One by one. One a salsa jar, one a mason jar, one a spaghetti sauce jar. All different shapes. All holding evidence of our survival, a secret story of what I'd faced in each. I sprayed the built up chia and fruit bits away. I stacked them lovingly in the dishwasher, the multicolored lids singing in different tones as they clinked around in the wash.

That part of this story is finished, I thought. That part is finished. All the pain and labor, invisible now.

The truth is I just went through the hardest chapter of my entire life, and the only physical remnants left are some scattered paperwork

and a few dirty jars of sludge that I found in the back of my car. Jars I hear

clinking

as they clean all the evidence of my pain away in the dishwasher.

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1kook · 4 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

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

Oh, you loved this man.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.”

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

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

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

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

Of course.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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lunetual · 2 years

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✣ HAPPY ROMIN DAY ✣ to my beloved e’last city boy with a heart of gold, i hope this coming year is kind, and that it brings you joy and laughter and a path to follow straight to your dreams.

quick cc note: you might notice this is not quite my usual design vibe, but i wanted to give something new a shot. i think probably some of my really persistent habits peek through, but overall i really wanted to give youngmin something that he would find cool and different and unique if he saw it. luckily he is one of the most photogenic people i have ever seen in my life so that definitely helped.

anyway... youngmin....... i am LOATHE to admit how much i actually adore him because it’s so predictable of me!! ugh. bias origin story though so as we all know i got into e’last VERY quick and VERY intensely, and part of that process was watching their m2 special without like... knowing anyone except hyuk and wonjun. anyway i realized quite early on that romin might be a boy after my own heart but i firmly looked AWAY. even when he said his superpower was harmonizing to anything and did a demonstration in the van and i realized he had a lovely voice. and when he sneakily stole a contract to help yejun gain a badge. and when he calmly ended up winning the most hero badges despite several other members fighting for their LIVES. anyway i was like... megan look away for ONCE in your life resist the city boy in the group!

that lasted for a few weeks until i realized that my camera roll had become entirely rominified because i was collecting every silly cheek poke photo and peace sign selfie and also i was listening to his covers on yt and soundcloud nonstop. and at that point i just said. okay. okay FINE. he’s a megbias. and oh is he EVER a megbias.

youngmin is genuinely SO funny but in an understated way. every time he says that he’s in charge of e’last’s swag i put my head in my hands but unfortunately i think it’s cute at this point. he’s often quieter than some of the others, so he comes off as aloof and cool because he’s like. good-looking and has this undeniable chic energy in his day to day life, but he’s also got a silly streak (esp when he’s with the 02s) and he’s so comfy with all of his members and he’s like... he’s so physically affectionate with them in a way that’s so sweet, the way he’ll drape himself across someone or hold their hand and absently intertwine his fingers with theirs. his solo vlives are so beloved because he’s got such a pleasant speaking voice, and his tone is so even and chill that it’s very comforting to just have him chatting in the background. he’ll randomly drop by the fc and give a very detailed report on the food he’s eaten that day, which i find unbearably cute for some reason and also always makes me hungry.

and onstage, he is like... a marvel. everyone in e’last is a performer who performs and youngmin is no different! you can tell how much work he’s put especially into his facial expressions, and i find my eyes straying to him often. i also was DELIGHTED by how he took to a cuter concept with to.lie and i have to admit that watching a youngmin to.lie fancam will turn my day around if i’m feeling down hahaha. i also think that youngmin has such a pretty and sweet voice, it’s warm and feels like honey, and it is always such a treat to hear him sing. sometimes i worry that he thinks his role is to be the main visual, or that he thinks that people would rather focus on his looks than his talent and his hard work. i hope he doesn’t!! he’s a fantastic performer and you can tell he puts his heart into every stage, and i know how much time and work he puts into keeping in top form.

anyway! he really lives in my heart now, and i don’t know why i ever thought he didn’t have a spot saved for him all along. for this year i hope youngmin sees the fruits of his labor; that he can cross some of his goals off and move on to the next ones; that he can look back and really feel proud at what he’s done so far. ♡

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mrsgiovanna · 3 years

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Separation anxiety (Don Giorno x Wife! Reader)

Cute scenario requested by a nonnie mouse, prepping their child for their first day of school 🥺 so soft.

TW: Giorno’s past is alluded to but not mentioned, brief description of separation anxiety.

Word count : 1k

You had been prepping your little ray of sunshine for his first day of “big school” for the past two weeks, and today was the day to assess the fruits of your labor- between visiting the school for various PTA meetings, inspecting the facilities, and getting to know the other parents and children, you were hoping you had done enough to quell the little boy’s anxieties. Kneeling in front of Giordano, you buttoned up the crisp white shirt of his uniform and started to brush his hair, stopping every now and again to survey your efforts.

“Good morning amore, and Giogio! How is my big boy doing today?” Leaving you as you were- frozen- brush hanging in midair, the little scamp rushes off into his father’s arms.

“You’re bribing him aren’t you? Sneaking him chocolates or something? Rude…”

A sharp exhale from Giorno was enough of a reaction to your poutiness, to draw out a small giggle from you as well.

“Will you come to school with me today, papa?” Giordano’s tiny voice capturing both yours and Giorno’s attention as you exchanged a glance not entirely knowing how to answer without letting the boy down.

“Well, mommy and I will both take you there and we’ll come back to fetch you the very minute you’re done,” explained Giorno as he sat the worried child on his knee.

“W-wait, y-you’re not staying?” Stuttered your son, bottom lip already quivering at the thought.

“We’re not allowed to stay with you Giogio, they don’t allow mommies and daddies to learn all the cool things they teach you guys,”

“Yes tesorino, papa is right, and all your friends will be there, and you’ll be learning to play all the instruments, remember, its Musical Monday,”

With a furrowed brow and a shaky lip, Giordano quietly nodded, still preoccupied by the prospect of being left on his own. Giorno watched his son closely as you got him ready for school, lovingly playing little games with him to set his mind at ease. Your husband admired how gently you handled the nervous child, whispering affirmations of praise at how well he was behaving, and how brave he was being. He was overcome by a swirl of emotions he didn’t quite know how to describe- a nostalgic feeling- but for events that hadn’t occurred in his own life. The young don blamed it on how much his son resembled his former self, to the extent that he felt as if he was staring at the child version of himself, the only tell being the generally happier disposition of this child, attributed entirely to how loved he was.

“If we don’t leave now, we’re going to be late my love… I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you,” you placed your hand on Giorno’s cheek, drawing him back to the present, he returned your gesture by pressing a soft kiss into your palm.

“I’m fine my love, sorry I spaced out for a moment. You take little Gio to the car so long, I’ll bring out his things,” suggested Giorno. While you bundled the little boy into the car, his father attached the tiny little velociraptor toy that he became especially attached to, to his bag, reading somewhere that these small comfort items helped with separation anxiety. Along the drive to school you opted to sit in the back while Giorno drove himself, not wanting to attract too much attention he had his guards following at a respectable distance. Even though this school was one of the best in the country, he wanted little Gio to have as normal a schooling career as possible, seeking to create the best possible childhood for his precious boy.

“We’re here tesorino,” you and Giorno flanked the boy as you slowly approached the awaiting teacher. His anxiety increasing with each step, he suddenly came to a stop and hid behind his father, a few stifled tears running down his face.

“I don’t want you and mommy to leave me here, you’re going to forget to come back for me if you go!” Exchanging a look at how distressed your son felt, Giorno asked for a moment to speak his son on his own, so you excused yourself to go talk to his teacher.

“Giogio, you are the most important person to mama and papa, we will never forget about you. I promise, we’ll be back for you a little after lunch time, okay? In the meantime, though, I have a very important job for you to do…” the young boys eyes widened, enthralled by the mellow sound of his father’s voice.

“I promised mama I was going to draw her a picture, but I’m just no good… not nearly as good as you are, will you draw it for me? She will be so happy. It needs to be the best picture you’ve ever drawn. Can you help papa out?” The younger Gio accepted his father’s request, a smile blooming on his innocent face as he nodded emphatically. “Good, I’ll owe you one kiddo, now, let’s get going okay?”

With a gentle smile, Giorno lead his now calmer son towards where you stood and after a few more loving words, and soft hugs, he ran off with his teacher.

“What did you say to him?” you were in awe of how quickly Giorno was able to turn that situation around.

“Just the truth… and I gave him a small task to distract him… he really is his father’s son… shall we leave cara?” explained Giorno as he rested his hand on the small of your back and lead you back to the car.

“Hey, he’s my son too… there must be something of me in him…”

“Of course cara, I’m only teasing,”

“I know my love… hey, are you okay? Like really? You looked so emotional earlier on today…” you saw Giorno’s eyes widen ever so slightly, shocked that you were able to pick up on that while still being so attentive to Giordano. He looked at you with an affectionate glance, and replied, “I am now my love, everything is right in our world, I couldn’t want for anything else.”

#giorno giovanna #giorno #don giorno #don giovanna #giogio #giorno giovanna x reader #giorno x reader #giorno x y/n #giorno x you #Giorno Giovanna x you #jjba giorno giovanna #Jjba giorno #jjba x reader #jojo x reader #jjba #vento aureo #golden wind #jojo's bizarre adventure #jojo no kimyou na bouken

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lovenona · 4 years

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and i repeat: anthropo-ceramics geto suguru is the type of toxic where he'd take your virginity, make a sculpture about the experience, then smash it on the ground as a metaphor

this ask is my entire life. this ask is my lifeblood. everyone please saddle up for the ride of a lifetime, otherwise known as 1500ish words of toxic geto featuring sukuna being a good fucking friend – please continue at ur own risk this absolutely contains geto being a pretentious toxic fucker and mentions of virginity/first time but yes i guarantee it does have a happy ending (link to the full college! cinematic universe here)

let’s begin with the basics – why wouldn’t you fuck geto suguru? he has the type of beauty that lingers on the back of your eyelids even after you’ve long since departed from him; it’s the kind of fragrant, lasting beauty that you think sculptors muse over when they coax life from their marble. he’s smooth, like still water, and calming, like the sound of birds rustling and leaves swaying at dawn. he is helen: a beauty that nations would go to war over.

and sure, he is pretentious, the kind of toxic pretentiousness that festers inside of all pretty boys who call themselves “leftists” but can’t be bothered to call their mothers or to care about their partners. but it’s the way he speaks, the way he looks at you with such fervor and attention in his eyes that you’re utterly willing to let him break your heart.

and maybe it’s not often that someone looks at you the way geto does: it’s not often that someone looks at you like they want you, body and soul. and it feels nice to be cared about, to be flirted with, even if the figure doing the flirting condescends you in a way that is different, harsher, colder, than the way ryomen sukuna does.

so geto suguru takes you on dates. after the avant-garde poetry reading, in which you feigned excitement as he recited a poem on global imperialism that you didn’t quite vibe with, he brings you to local bookstores with overpriced yuppie memoirs, farmers’ markets with organic fruit, human rights protests and philosophy meetings where greasy boys bitterly discuss the communist manifesto. he takes you to dinner, too, to vegan restaurants that you can’t help but rave about on yelp later and to bars where they serve your cocktails in mason jars.

geto suguru, for all his faults, is incredibly lighthearted with you; he makes you feel beautiful and desirable and warm, even when he’s explaining anthropology to you with such intense vigor that you lose track of his meaning. after everything, you’d be lying if you said you regretted your time with him.

after awhile you let geto fuck you – and yes, he was your first time, which you were naturally quite nervous about. but you appreciated him because he waited for you; he never pressured you into behaviors you didn’t want; he never asked you for services you weren’t ready to provide. and so when you slept with him, after an invigorating open-mic night at the fair-trade coffee shop near campus, you felt ready for the intimacy. geto made you feel attractive, comfortable, safe. he praised you the whole night, gave you caresses that lit you up like fireworks, provided such a level of god-tier aftercare you still reminisce about it, even now.

but that’s the thing about anthropology-ceramics major geto suguru: he’s quietly toxic. he’s a poison that sneaks up on you, infecting your bloodstream when you least expect it.

you weren’t sure if geto wanted to pursue a relationship, either. you’d fucked, sure, and you went on dates, but he was always the type to avoid long-term commitments. rumors float around campus of the many partners he’s ghosted, of the relationships he exploited for his own “artistic musings.” they aren’t loud rumors, to be sure, but they hang around his aura like a strange, ghostly scent.

geto is a pretentious little fuck. you’ve known it and agreed to enter his circle anyway. maybe you hoped, perhaps naively, that the rumors would simply not apply to you.

which was a stupid idea. three weeks after the experience, since which you have only spent one-on-one time with geto only a few times, mostly to talk about school, the art department hosts an art show. it’s a regular occurrence, where the art students show off their best works, grad students display their in-progress theses, and outsiders can browse the displays, drink wine, offer to give outstanding students jobs and internships. it’s truly a big fucking deal for the art department; many of the school’s the most successful artists received their first acclaim here.

you’ve always enjoyed attending, even if the level of talent and expertise sometimes intimidates you, even if you know you’ll never be on this level. you know sukuna’s got a few paintings lined up to be on display – paintings you’ve modeled for, drawings you’ve watched him labor over for hours on end. you reckon that for all your begrudging time together, you might as well show your face in support.

but what you didn’t count on was geto’s contribution.

at this art show, there are, every now and then, some interactive performances, speeches, explanations on certain works. so it happens that from the back of the auditorium you watch geto take the stage, wheeling a small, white sculpture behind him. from your perspective it could have been a flower – perhaps a lily, but you can’t be certain.

(geto always did like sculpting precious, dainty flowers.)

he doesn’t call you by name, but he doesn’t have to. he talks at great length in that smooth voice of his about the construct of virginity, the purity culture plaguing the globe, the emotional sensitivity of having your first time. geto seguru tells an avid audience what you felt about fucking for the first time. he recreates the entire night for two hundred listeners: he recalls the foreplay, the insecurity, the orgasms. he doesn’t call you by name. he doesn’t have to.

he may have asked for your consent the first time. but he certainly did not ask your permission to do this.

you’re not sure if you should laugh or cry when geto dramatically smashes his own sculpture, citing the “destruction of virginity” and the need “to demolish a social desire to classify one’s morality based upon their sexual activity” and “the symbolic popping of the cherry” among other phrases that are utter bullshit. you’re watching the fragments dance across the stage and you feel exploited. you feel used in a way that feels utterly worse than anything else geto could have done.

did he ever like you? or were you simply a muse for this moment?

you’re about to ditch the art show and go wallow in self pity at your apartment when a familiar presence slides in beside you.

“that’s kinda fucked,” sukuna says, hands in his jacket pockets. he’s looking at you out of the corner of his eye. his tone tells you he’s joking. maybe he just doesn’t know. “no one gives a shit about virginity constructs anymore, idiot.”

“yeah,” you respond, but the energy is gone. you feel strange, like you’re hovering outside of yourself. your head hurts: you’re angry. you decide you’d like to cry when you get home. “what a piece of shit.” it comes out strangled and lost.

sukuna notices the dejection in your voice, the sag in your shoulders, the way you’re just barely able to hold yourself together. he may be arrogant, not ryomen sukuna is not mean.

a familiar arm around your shoulders, keeping your sanity together. “shit’s lame. let’s get the fuck out of here.” it’s a phrase that captures everything that remains unsaid between you: i’m going to beat the shit out of geto the next time i see him. that’s absolutely unbelievable.

you never explicitly told sukuna about your weird relationship with geto: you didn’t have to. it was always evident to the both of you. it was written in the way you’d look a little bit longer in geto’s direction, in the way you let yourself be strung along and become someone else. you’ve hung around sukuna long enough that you know his body language and that he knows yours. you’ve hung around sukuna enough that there are a lifetime of stories that never need to be told.

you nod. “yeah.” thank you. i know.

you’re both uncharacteristically silent when you exit the auditorium, when you collect sukuna’s belongings that are still lounging by his artwork as you prepare to leave. ryomen sukuna is famous for never shutting the fuck up. but as you button your coat, he’s silent, and it’s strange. comfortable.

“thank you,” you say with uncharacteristic softness as he throws a sketchbook back into his backpack and zips it shut.

“why?”

“for asking my permission,” you say, gesturing to the gallery wall behind him, to the painting of you – “eros” – that you had posed for awhile back. even now, you find that it captures an essence you did not know you possessed. “he didn’t. ask, i mean.”

ryomen sukuna has always craved your attention. and maybe he’s glad he’s got it back – but it feels sour. he doesn’t understand why he’s so fucking upset for you. he doesn’t understand why he wants so badly for you to be happy again. what he does understand is that he plans for retribution.

“that’s fucked,” he settles on. “what bastard doesn’t ask for consent?”

you smile – and he does too, one that’s less feral and almost kind. and so you fall back into routine, already, some kind of weight lifting from your shoulders. ryomen sukuna may be a menace, but you can rely on him, trust him: that much you know.

“you know,” sukuna says offhandedly as you exit the building and enter the parking lot. “i know where geto’s car is, i’m just saying. and i’d be lying if i said i didn’t have an extra precision knife in my backpack right now.”

#IDK YALL #SMTH ABT THIS JUST MAKES ME FERAL #IF U NEED A FOLLOWUP U KNOW WHERE THE ASK BOX IS #sukuna #sukuna x reader #ryomen sukuna #geto suguru #geto x reader #geto suguru x reader #jujutsu kaisen x reader #adele writes #artist!jjk #letters to adele #geto.seguru #ryomen.sukuna

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marshmallowprotection · 3 years

Text

Day 6: Lilac [The Garden of Obsession]

The Garden of Obsession is a week-long event where you can explore a side of Saeran Choi as the world caves in around him.

[Event Theme + Rules] [Archive of Our Own Collection] [AO3 Link for my Event Stories]

Day 6: LILAC -The First Feeling of Love & Spring [Ray]

This was the first day in a long time that you had a chance to breathe. The feeling of the sunshine against your skin was something that you hadn’t felt properly in some time. It wasn’t enough for you to become sick but enough that he worried for your health in the long run.

Ray wasn’t happy that he hadn’t been able to do this sooner but there had been so much cleaning that had to be done after that huge mess that it took some time to piece everything back to where it was supposed to be. It was worth the wait, of course, but he hated to think that you had to feel forgotten in the meantime for even a second. He never wanted you to feel like you mattered less compared to everybody else.

Ray’s goal in life was to ensure that you felt comfortable in paradise and that you never had to worry about anything. He didn’t want you to sully your thoughts with concerns or anything else that would dirty your soul. You didn’t even need to think. He could do all of that for you. You’d earned your luxury in life just by being the sweetheart you were, and you deserved to stand on the top of the world where none of the filth could ever touch you.

He would put you there and let you shine so he could bask in your goal, being ever so lucky to be the one that you allowed into your heart.

It had taken time, of course, but he had to do a lot to protect you and help you understand what you needed to know. You had to learn what was best for you and he ensured that you did. He had to remove every other temptation from your world that could dare draw your eye away but now it was okay because those nasty things were all gone. They could never touch you again and Ray didn’t have to fear losing you. He didn’t have to fear comparisons to other people. He could be your prince and your knight till the end of time itself and you would be happy with him and him alone.

And, Ray was so happy to live in a paradise that existed without fear or regret. It was everything that his Savior described to him! The sun was even brighter than before, the flowers were vibrant once again, and the air even tasted sweeter today. It was all because he was with you. He knew it had to be the case because he never felt this way without you. You inspired him and gave him all of these wonderful feelings. It was a pity that the world could never see that shine but you were far better off here... with him.

He simply couldn’t afford the possibility that you may get hurt. It was too much of a risk and he didn’t want to take those. He could make them in the chance that his Savior gave the order but he didn’t want to risk your livelihood. You needed to stay safe and sound and to do that, you had to remain in paradise. He had done everything he could to make sure that you had everything you’d ever need.

You had clothes, you had trinkets, you had treats, you had accessories, you had many flowers, and you had whatever you could name on the tip of your tongue. Anything that you wanted he could give it to you. That’s what he had to offer. You loved it. You had to love it because that dreamy smile never escaped from your lips.

All of it and more, that was what Ray wanted for you.

Ray was determined and now that he was here with you today, he knew that the fruits of his labor had finally proven to him how capable of a man he could be. You hadn’t needed to see a second of an ugly side inside of him because he prevented things from turning on their head too close to your heart. Rather, he removed the… pest from your life the second that he knew that it was the next issue. His Savior had been so proud of him and the pest was now so far away from his mind that he was free to focus himself entirely on you. He was devoted to your very soul and he had to show it.

That’s why you were sitting on a delicately spread blanket in the middle of the garden. He had memorized the layout of the hedge maze so that he could take you out here and nobody would bother you. He knew that they wouldn’t anyway, but it was simply second nature for him to try to think ahead of any trouble. He didn’t want any believers to get in the way. He had already put out a warning that if anyone needed him, they would need to send him a text message. He wasn’t to be disturbed until he returned their messages on his time.

It was the honor that he earned for pleasing the Savior as much as he had. He was a dedicated follower and his actions spoke loudest. He was willing to give everything he had to Mint Eye, and that’s why he was afforded things that the others could only dream of. If they wanted to be given such prime gifts, they needed to be able to deliver on the things that the Savior wanted. Though, he knew that nobody would ever be given the degree of power that he’d been given all this time.

Ray didn’t need to think of that at the moment, though. All he needed to do was focus on your sweet face. He sighed, rather contentedly. With a sweep of his wrist, he picked up a piece of cake with the fork he held and raised it to your lips. You opened your mouth and allowed him to slide the pastry against your tongue, closing your mouth to allow the angel's cake to melt. No matter how you felt, the second that you got a taste of what he made, all of your troubles would wash away and you'd smile. It was sweet.

He almost didn't even need to take a bite of food himself. He felt full of your adoration and that could've been a meal in itself. However, he knew that you would get onto him if he didn't take care of himself. This was all about sharing a meal, after all. But he wanted to make sure that you were taken care of before he thought of his own needs.

You hummed, "Mmm…"

It was the sweetest of sights. Knowing that you were having a good time was the only thing that he needed. He had always dreamed of being able to share these kinds of moments with you. It was a simple dream, sure, but as simple as his dreams were, they were still fulfilling to him and the only thing that he needed. Ray told you but one thing that he would love doing the most with you is sitting out in the garden sharing a picnic for just the two of you.

He wanted to be surrounded by the things that he loved the most. He wanted to see that blue sky and you together at the same moment. It felt like he was transcending beyond all of the things that he had felt. There had been two times in his life where he had been given a sight that made him feel like it was worth living.

The first time had been when he was a young boy and he got to step outside of that house for the first time. The second time had been when he saw your face and the rest was history. If the sky had given him hope, then you gave him bliss. When the two things found themselves together at the end of the day, he knew that he could always be peaceful. He could hope for things and be a happy man. It was a dream he never thought to be his but he had it. He’d been given his dream so quickly.

And, all he had to do was sully his hands with filth for a few hours until no threat remained. He could feel the tremor of sweet satisfaction whenever he thought of the man chained in the dark of the basement with nothing but his thoughts to surround him. For once in his life, Ray could do as he pleased and one of the people that tormented him was forced to live the way that he had. They had to learn what they did and be punished for it. They had to learn how to be alone forever and know that it was all that they could ever have. It was their punishment. It was what they deserved for hurting him.

That traitor had to learn his place… accept his punishment for hurting him and trying to steal you away from him. You didn’t even realize how close you had come to being destroyed. You’d been pulled under a ruse by V… made to believe that so many lies and such slanderous acts. It was so much that you had to be corrected at every turn. Only a few days and V had nearly ripped you at the seams and destroyed you just like he had destroyed Ray. Maybe his paranoia was to blame at the end of the day, but fearing the worst for you made him… lose his composure. The vinegar in his thoughts made him act on impulse.

Not even his other half had anything to say when Ray acted on his fears… in fact, he and the other whisper agreed. V had to be wrenched away from you for good. You belonged to Ray, to him… to the both of them. They could sort out the details later when you were ready, but for now, you were Ray’s precious darling who needed to be coddled and taken care of. Silly thing, he thought with a sigh. You didn’t know how lucky you were that he destroyed the nasty thing that hurt you. It was okay, though! You are safe now!

You were his now! He didn’t want to think about that. He wanted to think about this time you spent together instead.

“Let me take care of that, [prince/ss],” Ray pulled the fork away as a bit of frosting sat on the edge of your lip. He chuckled, lifting this handkerchief to dab away some of the remaining sugar. You always looked delectable right now. It was accentuated by the sweets that you adored.

A blush began to dust over your cheeks as you shifted in your spot. You looked at him briefly before your eyes darted to the side as if to hide your shame. “...Thank you, Ray. I wouldn’t have noticed.”

The outfit you were wearing didn't give much in the way of movement. You didn’t need to worry about that since you would hold onto his arm and relax as he helped you anywhere you needed to be. It was delicate and ornate, just as you were. You looked fit to be royalty, to be honest, bathed in ribbons and smooth silk. He particularly liked the way it made you stand out against the colors of the garden. You looked like you had crawled out of the storybook that he would read in the cathedral as a child who wanted to believe in something.

You were his very own fairytale.

It was a story of his creation. He had been the one that sat down and wrote it down. It took hours to figure out how to finish the story once he had started but he knew. He now knew how the story ended. Ray had carved out your happily-ever-after well before you even realized your happiness. That was because he knew best. He dreamed about it and fantasized about it so long that it was unbelievable that he could exist within it. He always imagined what it would be like to live in the moment that he had painted on the story of his heart.

Now, he knew what it felt like.

It felt like warmth.

That's why he gave you all of this. You were the royalty that he had rescued from the dangers of the world and brought to his castle for safekeeping. The shiniest of all the gems who had evil at their door for simply being yourself. Now you could live in lavish luxury instead. Your eyes had softened at his touch as he leaned in closer. This time, gripping your chin between his forefinger and thumb so you could look deeply at him. Your dreamy laughter only spurred him to feel like this was the right thing.

It had been a few days since the last time you had tasted elixir. He did not force you to take it consistently. You didn't need it. You believed in him. At standard, you still had to drink it at least once every two weeks. He would make sure to sweeten it and brighten it as much as he possibly could with sugar and honey… and a few stolen kisses.

It would make your mind cloudy for a little while. It didn't hurt you, it just made you float. You didn't speak much when that happened but you would always reach out for him with a longing expression. It was the cutest thing. You were sometimes as easily placated as a doll would be. Your glossy eyes and nervous hands look for someone to pose you and control your every move to take care of your world.

Ray was the one that knew just what you needed and you understood that. You reached out for him because you knew that was what you were meant to do. It wasn’t what you were supposed to do, it was what you had always been destined for. You were meant to be special… coveted in his arms and adored without any thoughts in that pretty head of yours. Your sweet smile was enough for him.

Even without the use of words, you would still try to get him to understand what you wanted. It wasn't like it was hard to figure out. The answer was the same every time. All you wanted was him. What more could you ask for? What more would you want? Every time that you would reach out and pull at his wrist, it felt like he was finally wanted. And really, that was all he ever wanted. He was glad that you were the one to bring him those feelings.

He smiled, "Are you happy, sweet flower? I hope that you are. You always seemed happy when I talked about how we could spend a day together like this. I know how much this meant to you. I wish that I could have given this to you much sooner but from now on, you can have days in the Sun as much as you want.”

One of your hands reached out for him and you grasped at the sleeve of his coat. You always liked his coat. You commented that the texture made you feel warm and fuzzy. He knew that feeling. A nice texture could be enough to make you feel better about your body when you’d been forced to do otherwise your entire life. Anything that made you want to be closer to him was something he wanted to keep.

“We can do this every day if you like. I'll find new places for us to enjoy our meals together. There are so many beautiful places within the garden. I'm sure that you would be pleased with any of them. I want you to see all of them eventually… that way we can know which one is your favorite. You always seemed so taken with the landscape. That's one of the things that I love the most about you. That look in your eyes, I'm almost jealous that your love for the flowers rivals mine,” he paused.

Ray looked around the garden, briefly, before his eyes came to rest on you once again. You had that pout on your face again like you wanted more attention. Whatever was he going to do with you? You always needed him, poor little sweetie. He opened his arms for you and you practically leaped at your chance to be enveloped in his arms. You nuzzled your face against his chest, breathing in the scent of florals and earth that always lingered on his person due to how long he spent in the garden these days.

He smoothed out the tresses of your hair and you relaxed. He could only wonder what was going on in that head of yours. Were you anxious? You wouldn’t want to worry him if you did feel that way. You always did things like that… you would struggle to voice out the things that you feared until Ray weaseled them out of you. This time, however, he had a feeling that you wanted to be close to him because you had spent too many days away from him. Being alone with your mind and the elixir always stung.

Your quiet voice didn’t surprise him, “We’ll be together, right? You promise you’re not going to leave when I go back to my room, right? This isn’t a dream, right… I’m not going to wake up alone, am I? I… I have so many… scary dreams… when I’m alone… I don’t know… it doesn’t make sense when I’m alone… in my dreams… you go away… and that… that man is there and I… I don’t wanna be alone… I can’t be alone with…”

“Is that what you’re worried about, flower?”

You didn’t look up but you nodded in confirmation. Ray brushed his lips against the top of your head and sighed. “Oh, my dear sweet flower. We’re going to be together forever. I promised you that the night we met. I told you that I’d be by your side forever. It must’ve slipped your mind… you came here looking for a place to be happy, remember? You were tired of people using your heart against you… leaving you afraid of everyone and everything. But, there are no more things for you to fear. I took care of all of those things so you won’t be bothered ever again. You’re to be happy forevermore.”

A sigh of relief escaped. Your memories seemed to be all over the place. He was doing his part to ensure that you didn’t have to remember what those people did, but he could tell that those things were eating away at you. Those words the traitor spoke to you were still in your pretty head so he needed to work harder to get rid of them for good.

He needed to try harder… he would need to blow off some anger about that later… once you were tucked away in the dollhouse away from the sight. You didn’t need visions of that bastard. You needed daydreams of Ray’s plans for the future. The one that he liked to whisper to you late at night when you dozed off to dreamland was the wedding he was planning. It wouldn’t be long before you could have that dream. You would be bathed in white… silk… satin… and flowers that he had picked for you to hold.

The image that burned in the back of his gave him all that he needed. You would be dressed to be gifted to him. The sweet sight of you in the wedding’s white glow made him shiver. Nobody would have dared to take you away once that day came. He would no longer feel the worry, it would disappear forever… it was starting to fade as he continued forward, but he needed to be sure that it never stuck. He needed to know that you were his forever every time he looked at you tenderly. He needed to know that when he looked at you that there would be no reason to think about what other people thought of you. He wouldn't need to fear that someone else was in love with you. Nobody could be in love with you other than him. Nobody else was worth of your adoration. They didn't deserve your heart. That was his.

Ray held you very close to his heart and your fingers grasped at the back of his coat to ground yourself from your anxious feelings. There were just a few preparations that had to be completed first... Just a few.. You were patient and so understanding. These weren’t things that you needed to worry about. You just needed to be a good doll and stay put for him.

He watched you, “I choose this garden for a reason. You see, this garden is filled to the brim with lilacs. This flower is a testament to a first love… gifted as love at first sight, and the bringer of springtime. When I think of these flowers, I think of how I’ve loved you from the second I saw your face for the first time. Our love… it was meant to be… just as these flowers are meant to be the messenger of spring. I’d like to think our love brings spring after a harsh winter, what do you think, my flower?”

You shivered. It was a warm day but your fears kept you chilled. Ray wasn’t sure what you had in your head but you looked at him through long lashes. You didn't even realize it but tears had begun to bloom in the corners of your eyes. It seemed as thought you had remembered something ugly again. “I love… all of the flowers… but… why… Why do I feel like… I’ve been here before…? Ray… did I come here to this garden before…? Why... why do I remember... something?”

His grip tightened. He paid no mind to the way that you winced. It was fine. A little sting wasn't going to hurt you. He couldn't have you ruining your happy day with memories of that man who was going to rot in the fucking basement for trying to take you away. No. He refused to lose you to your memories of the traitor. His eyes narrowed and he pulled you in tighter so you wouldn’t see the anger rising on his face. It wasn’t your fault that the traitor manipulated you. He just had to fix it. Ray could fix all of it. He could fix you and your heart. You didn't need to think about those things anymore. You needed to think about him. “I think they’ll be a good addition to the wedding,” he spoke over your concerns with the wave of his hand. “You’ll look beautiful bathed in these purples and whites… I think it will compliment your smile… yes, that’s what it’ll do. That’s an idea, wouldn’t you say, flower?”

"But, Ray, have I—"

"No, sweet flower," his voice was curt and blunt. Acid was burning at the back of his throat as he thought of the first time that he found you and V standing in this garden. He wanted to dig his claws into that traitor for trying to rip you away. He would've if he hadn't thought of protecting you from his anger first. You had to stay away from that. You needed to feel safe with him. "You haven't been to this garden before. It's the one right outside your window, however, that may be why you remember. You wanted to visit this one, if I recall properly."

Confusion lined your features as the feeling of Ray’s firm grip left you unable to think further about those things. You didn't know why he was trying to skirt around your question. You had no clue why this place felt so familiar to you, either. It was on the tip of your tongue but you couldn't remember. You had no way to sort through the thoughts. It was all fuzzy. It didn't make sense. Something was stopping you from remembering. It made you feel sick. Why did you feel sick? Though, the mention of a wedding caught your attention. Weddings were a happy thing... that wasn't scary. That was one of those things that made sense. You wanted things to make sense again, didn't you? You wanted it to stop hurting, right?

Maybe Ray was right. You weren't remembering something from a dream again... another nightmare that didn't make any sense. You only knew about Ray's whispers... but you had faith in him. He was the one that told you that you could trust him. You were in love... you were together... you were happy. You had only lost your memory after a tiny bump to the head that you couldn't recall, and that thick medicine that you had to take... the elixir that he called it. That was supposed to help you heal and know what you couldn't remember. Your tense heart fluttered in your chest as Ray's fingers stroked your back over and over again. He was warm and comforting, even if he was blunt sometimes. It was because he had to deal with your memory loss... of course, he was hurting that you didn't remember everything. You had to try harder, right?

You tried to set aside the dreams that you had. “Wedding…? Oh, Ray… I can’t wait… that means… we’ll be together forever… I won’t… I won’t feel so afraid anymore, right? My memory will come back then, right?”

“That’s right, what a smart doll, you understood that right away. I’m so proud,” Ray cooed with sweet praise. He kissed the top of your head once more for good measure. It seemed like the crisis had been adverted for now. “We’ll be together forever and all those silly little fears won’t bother you anymore. No more pests or monsters for my angel. That’s why I want you to find your favorite garden, sweetheart. I want you to find the one that we can hold our ceremony in. So we can be together forever, and get rid of your fears. You want that, right? You want to be mine so I can chase away the bad dreams? Mine forever, right, precious flower? Even if you never remember how we fell in love... I'll make sure you never forget how much I adore you, doll.”

And you nodded in return, clinging to him with the hope that you would never be afraid or plagued with nightmares ever again.

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joe-england · 2 years

Photo

The Anti-Muse.

That's what I call it. It comes in various forms, whatever takes me away from my work. Negative feelings, obsessive-compulsive distractions, or just mundane obligations.

You ever have one of those Summers when everything needs to be fixed? The stove exploded, we had to sell a car, we're babysitting dogs, the deck needs painting, the gutters had to be repaired, the garage has to be emptied, and the backyard....

We have a pool. And a spa. Which makes it sound like we're rich or something, but we're not. So when a huge branch fell on the pool cover during a winter storm and tore it all up, it was a headache. But then we have to OPEN the pool when the weather turns, because otherwise the whole thing goes to Hell, and it's a chore. Then it springs a leak that lowers the water level by several feet, which is a problem. So then we have to order a water truck after getting someone to repair the lining, which is going to have to be entirely replaced next year, which is a bother. Then the motor dies, so the algae grows, and we have to get a replacement, which is a nuisance. Then the computer which controls the motor has to be replaced, which is a twist of the knife. Then the water level stays low and I gotta fill it intermittently with a hose, which is a hassle. Then I accidentally leave the hose on for too long at a stretch and our well gets drained so we have to avoid flushing the toilets for half a week, which is nasty. Also, the spa somehow sprung a leak too and will also need to be repaired, which is a joke. And we still haven't fixed the pool cover, because the pool company changed management and the people who work there got terrible, terrible illnesses, which is honestly tragic. So now I'm struggling to talk with the pool cover company directly, but of course the thing is so old that no one can figure out when it was ordered and they won't return my messages and it'll be at LEAST another month before we can close this damn water hole for the winter, which is daunting. And then the bills start coming, and that's some brutal money on top of NY State taxes.

I don't even LIKE having a pool. I haven't set foot in it this whole year, but I have to go out and rescue bugs and animals that fall into it constantly. I can flick the spiders and ants and beetles back onto the grass, but salamanders and frogs need to be relocated, so I gotta trudge through the backwoods all the way to a stream to deposit them in a better place, which is awkward since a big damn tree fell on the forest path and I gotta brave the tick-infested marsh to get around it. Yeah, we need to take care of that tree, too. Add it to the list.

Woof.

Hey, don't mind me. I just feel awful about not giving you more content so I'm waving my arms in the air a little, but I'm hyping myself up to start the new comic before the year ends. It still seems kind of impossible, but interim projects are helping me feel capable again. Actually, I already started a comic, but I'm not sure you would approve. It's fan art, which is something I really never do. I hope it's alright with you, I'll show it off when it's closer to done.

I've also been writing the last footnotes of the Omnibus (believe it or not), and I've got a particular passion project for the Halloween season, which I hope you'll enjoy. See, I'm working! I'm not always posting, but I'm working! On one thing or another! You'll see the fruits of my labor soon. If I can just beat the Anti-Muse.

That said, today is a heavy day for a lot of us for far more significant reasons than anything I listed above. I can gripe about housework and art and distractions, but this is the anniversary of something that still affects many people very deeply. If that's you, then I send my best wishes.

As usual, I'll provide a few links if you have the inclination and means to help make things a little better for someone, somewhere.

Thanks for listening.

Everytown for Gun Safety

Top-Rated Charities for Ukraine

The Trevor Project

National Abortion Funds

- Joe

#patreon #rabbit #my art

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30secondstoanime · 4 years

Text

The Birthday Present

pairing: Pro!Hero Midoriya x Fem!Reader

genre/warnings: Reader Insert, Birthday Sex

Kinky Midoriya Izuku, Midoriya Izuku Gets Out of His Comfort Zone, That's Not How You're Supposed to Use Your Quirk, Porn With Plot, praise kink?, very smutty, Rough Sex, role-playing, Oral Sex, Vaginal Fingering, Teasing, Light Bondage, Light Masochism, Light Choking, Doggy Style, Fluff and Smut, after sex cuddles

word count: 7,467

→ summary: Your birthday is around the corner. What better gift than your boyfriend, the #1 Hero Deku, finally giving you what you want the way you want it: rough and kinky. But first plot!

a/n: Sorry about the crap summary and title, I'm working on that lol. So this is my first fic for the bnha fandom and first attempt at writing very explicit sex scenes and venturing into kinks/BDSM, so please be kind, but also I’d love feedback! This was supposed to be a cute four-page oneshot but turned into a sixteen-page, 7k+ word behemoth, hence the self-indulgent tag ‘cause I couldn't stop writing. I hope you enjoy the fruits of my labor ;)

In a few days, you’ll be turning twenty-four. Your birthday has always been an odd day you think for someone with your quirk because age really was just a number. That’s not to say you weren’t planning to do something fun, at least if you could figure out what you’d like to do. Okay, so that was a lie. You knew exactly what or should you say who you wanted to do and that it involved getting your back blown out. As soon as the thought pops into your head, your epiglottis forgets its job, and you choke on the sip of UCC coffee, you had tried to swallow. You cough to clear your airway, gasping when air finally expands your lungs. You tap your pen nervously against your desk, eyes scanning the other pro heroes’ faces in your agency. It seems your sudden outburst hadn’t disrupted the comfortable silence of the natural lull of the workday. A beep from your hero pager pulls your attention away from people watching in the office. Coordinates flash in five consecutive seconds before the transmission ends. You stand grabbing your toolbelt and strapping it across your hips; you make your way to the front. As you near the exit, you hear your hero name being called. You turn and see Yaomomo briskly walking towards you.

“Hey Creati, you got the page too?”

“I did, sounds like they’ve made a bit of a mess of things.” You scoff good-naturedly.

“When do they ever not. Were they really like this during your time at U.A.?” She giggles and nods her head. You wonder if you’ll ever stop cleaning up after the nation’s top three heroes.

“Better get going then, we both know they share a singular brain cell, so there’s no telling how much time we have to fix things.”

“Atomic!” You laugh at Yaomomo’s weak attempt to scold you — the amusement in her black eyes softens the tone.

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Oh my.”

You blow out a low whistle. Ice and scorch marks are scattered across the street and surrounding buildings. Explosive ash is still gently falling from the sky, and black tendrils are haphazardly keeping electric poles, exposed building foundation, and an abundance of wrecked vehicles from collapsing.

“Creati, check the building foundations. Create new beams and weld them together if necessary. I’ll get started on the pole, we can’t have a live electric wire falling.” She nods, and you split off. The work is slow and arduous, but the orderly nature of reorganizing and coaxing atomic particles back into place helps the time pass quickly. You’ve just finished rearranging the anatomical structure of a car hanging from a, thankfully, undamaged light pole, so that it falls to the ground weightlessly. You touch the damaged side, pull it back together, and return the car to its original density. You give the car a quick tap with the toe of your foot to test the structural integrity, satisfied you step back taking in your handiwork. What had a few hours ago looked like a DEFCON 3 military mission gone awry is now back to looking like an ordinary Japanese street. Well, as normal as you and Yaomomo could reconstruct — you weren’t miracle workers, and Ground Zero’s explosive residue was hard to get rid of. Instead, the way it collected and hung in the atmosphere made it difficult for your quirk to erase without condensing the air. That was out of the question unless you wanted to suffocate Yaomomo. Which you didn’t, so the employees of these buildings would be dealing with the smell for at least a week. Sighing, you tuck your hands in your pockets and make your way over to Creati. Her welding mask obscures her face, but you know it’s in deep concentration. After she cuts the torch and pushes the protective gear up, she gives you a smile.

“All done?”

“Just about.”

“I’ll page H.Q. Might even lodge a formal complaint against those three bird brains while I’m at it.”

“(Y/N), you can’t be serious.” She shoots you an incredulous look.

“They make this huge ass mess and don’t even bother to wait for us to arrive before dipping. Total dick move.”

“Ah-huh.” You don’t like the teasing note in her voice.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing.” You cross your arms defensively.

“Spit it out, Yaoyorozu.”

“You sure your foul attitude has nothing to do with not seeing Deku?” You roll your eyes.

“I’ll see him at home like I do every day. So no, I’m not upset about not seeing him.”

“If you say so.” She gives you a look, and you let out an exasperated puff of air.

“You cannot still be stuck on that!”

“Hmm? What do you mean?” She bats her eyes at you innocently while creating a duffle bag to transport the welding equipment.

“That God awful theory you and Ashido have about me having a hero kink for Izuku." You begin to walk side by side back to the agency. You hand her an energy bar from your utility belt.

“I mean, you do get very flushed whenever you see him on patrol. Like, if it were a hentai video, you’d definitely be drooling with your tongue lolling out of your mouth.”

“Ugh!” You shove her with your shoulder. “That is so gross.” Both of you laugh, and after a small lapse into silence, you give.

“Okay fine. I might get instahorny whenever I see Izuku in costume, but I can’t help it. He just looks so good, and it’s heightened because I know what he looks like out of costume, and then all I want to do is jump his bones, but of course, I don’t because propriety. So I’m left with all this pent up sexual frustration!”

“So, are you going to ever mention this to him? Your birthday is in a few days and if I may be so bold —”

“It’s never stopped you.” You mumble under your breath with a smile.

“I’d suggest you request it be your birthday present.”

“Pfft. Yaomomo, we’ve been together almost a year and a half, and while our sex life is fucking phenomenal, I’m talking multiple orgasms almost every time, amazing — it’s been very strictly vanilla. Not from any lack of trying on my end, but every time I’ve tried to spice things up, he gets as close as humanly possible to spontaneous combustion. Don’t even get me started on the one time I tried to get him to choke me while I —”

“(Y/N)! Stop, goodness, I do not need the play by play of your and Izuku’s sex life. I just,” she massages her temples, “wanted to make a suggestion. While I’m relieved you feel so secure in our friendship to be so open, please remember I went to high school with him. He’s like a little brother.”

“Oh, Yaomomo, there’s nothing little about him.” Her face pales, and you can’t stifle your cackle. It quickly becomes a full-blown laugh that rattles through your body.

“I went a little too far with that last comment, gomen. On a serious note, though, how would I even go about asking him? ‘Hey babe, it’s my birthday so I want you to fuck me until my knees are jello while in your hero costume because it gets me all hot and bothered oh and since I’m risking it all I’d love it if you tied me up and maybe choked me too.’”

You glance over your shoulder, a look of profound regret is plastered over Yaomomo’s face. You give her an impish grin.

“Doesn’t quite roll off the tongue does it.”

“Oh (Y/N).” Your friend shakes her head. When you finally turn the corner onto the street, your hero agency is housed, you catch sight of a mop of green hair. You pick up your pace, a mischievous grin on your face. Using your quirk, you redistribute your mass, so your footfall’s noise against the pavement is silenced. Izuku is talking with someone, his back turned to you. The goods were on display. When he’s in reach, you stretch out your arms, hands cupping his butt you feel him stiffen as you whisper against his ear.

“You’re under arrest for transporting illegal buns of steel.” You watch the blush creep up from his neck before capturing his entire face. He turns his neck, trying to get a good look at you.

“Wh-what!” You begrudgingly let go of his ass, and he turns his body to face you, his freckles standing out against the pink hue of his flustered expression.

“Sorry hun, I don’t make the rules.” You shrug your shoulders.

“I- I, (Y/N) that’s not even a legal penal code! A-and there’s no way I could transport enough steel on my person to warrant a body search.”

“Ooh Deku,” you loosen up the state of your atoms, allowing them to vibrate in mock arousal, “I love it when you talk legal code at me. Repeat it: penal.”

He flounders for a reply, mouth agape at a total loss for words. You giggle at his expression, a total deer in headlights. The person he’d been talking to finally makes themselves known.

“Atomic, you’re still teasing the living soul out of Deku per usual. Glad to know things haven’t changed ‘round here.” His shark tooth smile pulls an equally toothy smile from you.

“Eijiro! When did you get back? I’ve missed you.” You rush to the redhead, and he reciprocates your hug, holding you tight.

“Man, I’ve missed you too (Y/N). The States were cool, but there’s no manlier place than home sweet home.” You pull back and take him in. He looks the exact same if not a little bit more tanned.

“Damn straight.” Yaoyorozu arrives at the end of your reunion. Her excitement at seeing her old friend is nearly palatable. They catch up enthusiastically, and you saddle up next to your boyfriend, who’s finally gotten his blush under control.

“Hey, babe.” You give his cheek a chaste kiss, and he smiles.

“Hey, love,” Izuku gives your hand a squeeze, “How was your day?”

“It was pretty run of the mill except for the utter shitstorm Yaomomo and I had to clean up in Minato City.” You glance down and watch his feet shuffle from side to side.

“Huh, sounds pretty epic.”

“Not the first, second, or even the third word I’d use, but we’re all entitled to our opinions. And don’t you try acting coy with me, Izuku! That blonde ticking time grenade, the confused weather pattern, and your quirk were all over that place.” Izuku gulps.

“I expended a lot of energy cleaning up after you and your friends baka. As compensation, you’ve gotta cook me curry rice. Deal?”

He kisses your cheek in assent.

“Great!” You beam. “I’m gonna go change, be back in fifteen.” You disappear through the agency’s massive double doors. Yaomomo watches until you’re out of view before she walks over to Midoriya.

“So about (Y/N) ’s birthday . . .”

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

When you come out, you find a peculiar scene waiting for you. Yaoyorozu has crafted a fan for, you presume, Izuku, who is so red you could almost see the light refraction from his face’s heat and sweating by what looks like the gallon. Eijiro is by his side, trying to calm him down. You heighten the sensitivity of your cochlea to pick up the tail end of their conversation.

“It’ll be super manly, dude!”

“Bu-but I’ve never . . .” Your boyfriend seems tongue-tied.

“You’ve definitely got it in you,” Eijiro slaps Izuku on the back, “Plus Ultra!”

Izuku echoes Eijiro, but you can tell his heart isn’t in it.

You return to your average level of hearing and walk up to the trio.

“Everything good?” They all look at you with expressions that clearly scream, ‘No, everything is not good dumbass.’

“Riiight, foolish question. Izuku, babe, do you need me to help you?” He squeaks, and that stops you dead in your tracks. The last time he had squeaked in your presence was when he’d asked you out on your first date, and you think it was mostly because you had bluntly told him you had every intention of having sex with him if not after your first then for sure after your second date. He didn’t even squawk when you made good on your declaration, and you had been positive he was going to. Your assurance cost you a ¥2,000 bet with Ochako and Shoto. Whatever had transpired while you were changing had him spooked.

You crouch down and gently take his face between your hands. His cheeks are unnaturally warm. Closing your eyes, you reach out with your quirk to scan his vitals. What the actual fuck? Izuku’s pregenual anterior cingulate cortex is enormous. Your boyfriend is next level embarrassed. His heart rate is in the 200bpm range, which should have been impossible because it only ever got that high when he was exercising, and you were quite familiar with getting it there.

You’re honestly shocked his heart hasn’t started to palpitate with the sky-high levels of cortisol in his blood and high heart rate. Taking a deep breath, you begin to gently persuade the firing neurons near his PACC to chill, its size slowly decreases. You travel down to his hypothalamus and rearrange some of its chemical balance, so it stops producing corticotropin-releasing hormone, creating a negative feedback loop that would lead to his body to drop its cortisol production. You vasoconstrict a handful of the blood vessels in his face for good measure, hoping to cool it down. Your eyes flutter open, and the ruddiness is gone, and his cheeks feel cool against your palms. He gives you a weak smile and gosh that smile, these freckles, those lively emerald eyes. You lean your forehead against his, taking a moment to collect yourself. You kiss the tip of his nose before pulling yourself up, stretching once you’re fully upright.

“Well damn, I’m starving now. I know I said you had to cook for me, but I don’t think I’ll last. What do you say, Number 1. Hero, care to take me out to eat?”

Izuku gets to his feet, with a bit of help from Eijiro, who keeps a hand wrapped around his waist to keep him from stumbling.

“Yeah, of course, love. Just tell me where you want to eat.”

You grin in delight. Before making a decision, you turn to your two other companions. You’re not sure when Yaomomo had time to change, but she’s no longer in her hero costume.

“Would y’all like to join us? Izuku’s treat.” Your cinnamon roll’s protest is drowned out by their loud acceptance.

“I mean, if my bro is gonna treat us, then how could I say no?”

“How gracious Izuku, I’d love to share a meal with everyone.”

“Let’s get going then!” You grab Izuku’s hand and turn around, heading in the direction of the train stop. The walk will give you time to decide where you want to eat.

−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−−

“Hold on one sec, almost got it.” You pace next to Izuku; the pressure on your bladder almost debilitating. At the click of your front door unlocking and seeing Izuku push it open, you rush through over the threshold. You kick the heels off your feet, your slippers abandoned at the entryway as you make a break for the bathroom. You can’t get your underwear off quick enough. The relief is almost pleasurable. You’d forgotten what it felt like to pee while exceedingly inebriated. Typically when you go out drinking, you elevate your liver’s production of alcohol dehydrogenase so you can avoid getting drunk, but tonight was your birthday celebration, and you wanted to get shitfaced, so you dialed it back. Now that you’re home and not interested in a hangover, you make the necessary adjustments to your liver. The night out had been a pleasant surprise. More people had shown up than you’d been led to believe would, most importantly, your younger siblings had stopped by — you hadn’t seen them since moving to Musutafu to pursue your hero career. You finish reminiscing over the night’s events. Quickly wiping, you flush the toilet and wash your hands. When you open the door, you find your slippers are there waiting. He was a total sweetheart.

You slide your sore feet in and sigh at the fluffiness. You make your way to your bedroom, surprised to find it empty. Where had Izuku gone? You take off your earrings, dropping them into your jewelry box. Making your way to the main bathroom connected to your room, you’ve just finished wiping away your makeup when you hear the door open. You walk to the bathroom door to peek and gasp as soon as you spot the figure closing the door behind them. Now you’d be the first to admit you are a horny bitch, but never have you felt your pussy throb with such a deep longing the way it was throbbing now. You stand still dumbfounded at seeing Izuku in his hero costume in your bedroom.

“Babe?” You try to suppress the quiver in your voice.

“Ma’am,” He tilts his head in greeting, “I got reports of a villain in the vicinity. I’m Deku, and I’m here to take care of you.”

Why the fuck did he just introduce himself? And a villain? You reach out with your quirk but don’t feel an unknown presence nearby. You start to walk towards him but stop at the foot of your bed. He meets you there, and you don’t know what to expect, but it definitely was not him pushing you onto your back. You fall with a muffled thud against the comforter. You stare up at him at a complete loss. You then become hyper-aware of what you’re wearing. The sparkling strappy mini dress leaves little to the imagination, and you’re positive that from his angle, Izuku can see your panties and the growing evidence of your arousal.

“Apologies, ma’am, but I’ll be using my quirk to restrain you as a precautionary measure.” Your mouth goes dry as you watch Blackwhip manifest wrapping around your wrists, pulling your arms above your head, and adhering to your shared bed’s headboard. You have to scoot yourself back a few inches to ease the tension in your shoulders. Holy shit. He just tied you up. This whole time he’s been standing at the end of the bed taking you in. You know your face is flushed, and you can feel your nipples brushing against the material of your dress now that you’re so turned on. Izuku’s hands come into view, and that somehow gets your mouth to work again.

“What are you going to do?” You arch an eyebrow and part your lips to let your tongue dart out and wet them. Fuck Yaomomo wasn’t off the mark with her comment.

“I’ll need to do a full-body search to ensure you’re not concealing anything illegal on your person.” You don’t have time to respond before his gloved hands caress down your pinned arms, across where your neck and shoulders meet. Leaving goosebumps in their wake. He cups your breasts, his thumbs brushing over your hardened nipples. You groan as the sensation travels down, pooling between your legs. He moves down your sides, slowly over your exposed thighs sticking strictly to the outside of your legs until he reaches mid-calf. You feel his hands move, and suddenly their inching closer to your aching cunt. Using his right hand Izuku runs a finger teasingly up between your clothed slit and your hips give an involuntary buck. He removes his finger and tuts at you, that pisses you off.

“What the fuck Izu —” You stop yourself when you see another tendril of black materialize near your face.

“Don’t make me gag you. My name is Deku, and you will address me as Deku-sama.” There’s a finality in his tone that leaves no room for argument. You’re torn between being really fucking aroused and very vexed at this role reversal. You’d always been on top, literally and figuratively, and now here he was, your cinnamon roll, threatening to gag you and not even blushing about it. He takes your silence as understanding and begins to hike up the bottom of your dress. With your midriff exposed, he finally settles between your legs, his toned abdomen flush against you. He places an open-mouthed kiss just above your belly button, his tongue flicks out to taste your skin. Izuku’s lips continue to roam over every inch of your exposed abdomen, sucking and biting. He’s going to leave love marks all over your stomach, you’re sure. His hands travel up under your dress, coming to rest just below your breasts. You feel the flat of his tongue working its way towards his hands. When you can feel his breath tickling you already hard nipples, he pulls his face away. You squirm and pull against your restraint — you feel them tighten.

“What is it you want, villain?” Fuuuck. The word falls from his lips wrapped in sinful promise sending another steady pulse of need through your body. Your nervous system was on fire.

“I want you to touch me.” You try to taper down the pleading in your voice, but the mildly amused expression on Izuku’s face says you failed.

“Like this?” His hand runs down your neck, over your dress and through the valley of your cleavage, past your naval stopping at the band of your panties. It dawns on you that he was teasing you.

“Or like this?” You’re not sure when his gloves came off or how he managed it, but one second you’re covered by the flimsy dress material next, the straps keeping it up are torn, and the dress pulled down. You hiss at the shock of the sudden temperature change, but quickly warm up as calloused fingers massage your breasts. A greedy moan is the only answer you can manage as you arch your back into his touch. He leans closer, breath warm against your neck, and moves a hand down to grip your ass,

“Let’s see if these are illegal buns of steel.” Even with how incredibly husky his voice is, you almost laugh at his remark’s absolute absurdity. Still, having maybe foreseen your reaction Izuku wraps one of your nipples between his lips before you can utter a sound.

“Deku-sama.” You inhale sharply coming completely unwound as his tongue flicks and swirls. His mouth sucks and pulls playfully. When his teeth graze your nipple, you contemplate making your hands boneless to escape the restraints just so you could tangle your hands in his hair; even with the undercut, you knew you could make him moan. The idea is quickly dashed as Izuku releases your now overly sensitive bud with a resounding pop that sends the ache in your pussy into a frenzy. Good god , he hasn’t even gotten inside of you yet. He treats your other nipple with much the same attention. However, this time, he lets his teeth give it a gentle nibble, and the shock of the feeling causes your skin to prickle. You feel him grin at your reaction before giving your nipple a farewell lick. He captures your lips, shoving his hips down against your own, as his hands’ ghost over your neck. You hook a leg around his hip, pulling him closer, trying to create as much friction as possible as you roll your hips upward. He lets out a breathy chuckle, as his mouth moves to replace his hands. He kisses up your neck, his breath tickles your ear, and you stutter out a needy whimper.

“Someone’s eager.” You groan in frustration as he pulls back. His hands grab hold of what’s left of your dress, and you help him get you out of it. He runs a finger up your stomach, stopping just below your sternum. The tip of his index finger traces a lazy circle before leaving a trail of goosebumps back down to your hip. The pressure of his finger is replaced by his mouth, biting the flesh of your hip crease hungrily. He kisses his away across to your opposite hip, traces of his kisses wet against your skin. You feel his fingers toying with the lacy hem of your panties before he hooks them in the elastic, pulling them down. You lift your hips as they pass over the curve of your ass, and you wriggle in anticipation. Izuku braces his left forearm against your right thigh, pushing your legs wider. His index finger explores your wet folds, dipping briefly into your slit, before brushing against your swollen clitoris.

“Deku-sama, please .” You don’t care how desperate you sound, the ache in your pussy is becoming unbearable. The slow burn was killing you.

“Since you said, please.” He slips a thick finger inside of you, curling it just so it massages the soft and spongy spot that makes your toes curl and lewd obscenities fall from your parted lips.

“Aah, fuck. Fuck, yes, there, right there. More. Izuku give me more.” A second finger is roughly inserted. You cry out as a jolt of ecstasy consumes every inch of you. He begins to scissor his fingers back and forth, “It’s De-ku sa-ma,” each thrust emphasizing the syllables of his declaration. You rock your hips up, trying to get his fingers deeper because you are close. You can feel the dam getting ready to burst. When his thumb circles your clit, you feel yourself clench around his fingers. He inhales sharply. You bite back a moan as stars begin to dance across your vision. The rhythm of his fingers picks up, and the pressure on your clit begins to be too much.

“You’re about to cum.” It’s not a question, but you manage to pant a yes, and it becomes your undoing. Tongue replaces fingers before you can bemoan feeling empty, hands wrap under your thighs, keeping you exposed when they instinctively try to shut. His fingers dig into soft flesh, and the pain leaves you dizzy for more. He unhooks his left arm from your thigh, again using his forearm to keep your leg down. Two fingers spread you open, and his breath is warm, and you screw your eyes shut because fucking hell, you feel ready to erupt. You feel the warmth of his tongue as it slips inside you and starts to lick around. His nose brushes against your clit as he laps up your wetness. When he takes your clitoris in his mouth, you feel yourself at the edge of a precipice.

“Y-your fin-fingers. Deku-sama.” You frantically tug against your binds as you arch your hips rutting into his face. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. You feel yourself drowning in pleasure when his fingers join back in the fray. You’re full, and his tongue is everywhere. Inside you along with his fingers, pressing in all the right places. There’s no room to be embarrassed by your body’s wet sounds as you thrust against his fingers or the sounds he’s eliciting from you — loud, throaty, and gluttonous. He laps up the juices wherever they end up, on your thighs, in your folds, the space between your pussy and ass. At your clit he teases with nibbles, quick flicks of his tongue, and long flat strokes. He was treating you like you were his favorite meal. Coming back for seconds, thirds, fourths. You lose track of time. The air crackles with electricity, Izuku, the electromagnet to your copper coils. It sparks against your skin. Were you doing that? You couldn’t tell, but it didn’t matter because something was building. You feel it in your core, your quirk causing your atoms to buzz in excitement. He lets you hook your legs around his back, locking your ankles. You make a strangled noise when a particularly aggressive thrust combined with the head-splitting euphoria of Izuku’s tongue on your clit brings your Earth stuttering on its axis.

“Oh fuck, oh kami. Shit, Deku-sama!”

You flicker in and out. One second howling Izuku’s name like a prayer to the Gods, hips rolling up to meet his mouth. The next, you find yourself weightless in a void no longer in a corporeal form. What the fuck? It lasts no longer than a second before you return to your body and the sound of him cooing against your aching cunt.

“That’s it, cum villain. Cum for me.” And cum, you do. Waves of fiery ecstasy set your body aflame. You clench your fists and use your legs to pull Izuku’s face further flush against you. When you think you can catch your breath, Izuku surprises you by coaxing you into another smaller orgasm. You don’t know how he did it, but you really can’t complain, you’re feeling blissful as fuck. The bed creaks as he shifts back onto his knees, unwrapping your legs from around him. Blachwip is deactivated, and your arms fall uselessly to your sides. You feel your legs quiver from exertion, and you watch your chest rise in fall sporadically as your breathing levels off. You prop yourself up on your elbow to give Izuku a once over. He’s got a bit of sweat on his forehead, you can see the outline of his erection against the front of his hero costume, and your cum glistens on his nose, mouth, and chin. Not sure how you manage it, with your body feeling so close to putty, but you scoot back, pulling yourself up into a seated position, and rock forward onto your knees so you’re facing him.

You move closer, so your knees brush against his. Now that you’re close enough, you can see how blown his pupils are. They almost wholly eclipse the dark shamrock of his irises. He had it bad for you. You could fix that. You grab his chin between your thumb and forefinger, tilting it down to your lips so you can lick it clean. When your tongue traces the outline of his mouth, a low moan rumbles in the back of his throat. You get his mouth open with a hard nip to his bottom lip. Tasting yourself in his mouth and on his tongue makes you squeeze your thighs together briefly before you let your free hand wander between your legs to stroke your clit and moistening labia. You give the tip of his nose a cutesy peck that almost brings a blush to his freckled face, but he remains in character, so you palm his cock with your damp hand grinning devilishly when he stutters an exhale.

“I want you, hero.”

Izuku’s chuckle is rich, and you can feel it reverberate against where your chests connect. You start to toy with the hair at the nape of his neck, the short buzz of his undercut tickles your fingertips. Sliding your hand up, you finally get to tangle your fist in his hair, your grip tightens, and you pull his head back, exposing his neck. Your tongue darts out to lick a stripe up to just below his earlobe, all the while your hand strokes him into fully hardening.

“I’m not fucking around, Deku.” Your voice is thick and your tone dark, dangerous. He grabs the wrist of the hand that’s between his legs and growls,

“Neither am I villain slut.” You swallow hard at his inflection on the word slut. You’d never been called a slut during sex, and under any other circumstance, you’re sure it wouldn’t have sent a thrill of arousal pulsing from your fingertips down to your toes. He brings the hand up above your head, reaching behind his head to grab your second hand. You give him a feral grin, and his eyes flash before he sends you to your back. You’re about to stretch out your legs when he commands you to flip over onto your hands and knees. You do as you’re told, biting your lip as warmth begins to once again pool between your legs. You wish you could help him out of his costume, but it sounds like your help wasn’t needed. His dick grazes against the back of your thighs. A finger follows the curve of your spine. You arch into the touch and moan when it dips at your hip to tap your clitoris.

“You’re so wet already. You villains really know nothing about bedroom decorum.” He skims a hand over your stomach, stopping to grope and tease your hardened nipples.

“Oh? Keeping a woman in suspense isn’t exactly proper in my book De-ku sa-ma.” You look over your shoulder with a smirk.

“You’re,” he thrust into you without warning, quickly turning the grin on your face into an open-mouthed ‘oh,’ “not,” he pulls out, so the tip of his head just barely touches your cunt, “a woman.” He pushes into you, swearing under his breath as you push your hips back to meet his momentum. A ragged breath escapes your lips as you adjust to him, filling you. Shit, the boy is thick. His nails dig into your hip as he continues to fuck you at a painfully slow pace. Fingers tweak your nipples, and you feel your whole body flush with pleasure. You clutch the bedsheets in two tight fists when he starts to quicken his thrusts. His chest is slick with sweat against your back, his tongue tracing circles into your shoulder. An aggressive stroke sends the head of his cock rubbing up against your G-spot, and you feel your walls squeeze around him.

“Shit, shit, fuck Deku. That’s it. Just keep putting pressure on that spot.” You feel your elbows buckle, and you expect to crash into the bed. Instead, black tendrils wrap around your arms to keep you upright. This is definitely not how Lariat intended Blackwhip’s tendrils to be used. The thought makes you giggle. It seems that this was not a sound Izuku wanted to hear coming from you. He bites down on the spot of your shoulder he’d been suckling, making his displeasure known. You feel him adjust himself behind you, perhaps too quickly, because he slips out of you, and you protest immediately with a loud whine.

“I’ll give you something to whine about.” He thrust back into you, your knees go weak, and your pussy’s stimulation begins to pull the taught rope of your impending orgasm closer to snapping. One of his hands grabs the hair at the base of your neck, tugging with just enough force to tease a guttural mewl from you.

“That’s more like it.” You’re so overstimulated, with the rhythm of his dick coming in and out of you. The attention he’s paying to your clit, you scarcely have the headspace to be shocked by the personality change. Izuku doesn’t release his hold on your hair; instead, he deactivates Blackwhip and uses the grip to guide you, so your back is flush against his chest. You can smell the muskiness of his sweat with him so close. It mingles in the air with the scent of your arousal. Sex, the whole room smelled heavily of your fucking. He brushes a thumb over your bottom lip, pulling it down gently. You open your mouth, taking it in, holding it gently between your teeth, your lips acting as a cushion. You suck on Izuku’s thumb, letting your tongue swirl over the tip treating it how you would if you were instead sucking on the head of his cock. You hollow out your cheek and release his thumb with a satisfying pop. Your reward is the sound of Izuku’s heated gasp. The sound tightens the coil in your groin. You feel his right hand lightly trailing up your side. You expect him to stop to cup your breast, but a tingle runs up your spine when he skips it entirely. His thumb rests a few inches under your right ear, the fleshy part of his palm rests against your trachea, the remaining four fingers occupy the same spot under the opposite ear. You can’t hide your excitement as he begins to apply light pressure to your neck. It’s amplified when he whispers in your ear,

“Whose slut are you, villain?”

“I’m yours. All yours.” He squeezes a little tighter, and you squirm, gripping his left hip for stability.

“Yours, Deku-sama. I’m all yours.” You choke over the words while he loosens his grip satisfied with your correction. The brief bout of intoxicating lightheadedness dissipates quickly, but he keeps his hand around your neck.

You feel him, hard and slick, throbbing inside you, and you know he’s close. You prepare to ride out the coming crescendo that you’ll set off with your silver tongue.

“You’re getting close, aren’t you, hero? I can feel your cock pulsing.” He squeezes your neck tighter than he has before reminding you who was in charge. You dig your nails into his hip and bite your lip. Was he turning into a masochist, or were you?

“I want you to cum in me. Make me your bona fide villain bitch — think you’re up for it, big boy?” You were being so bold, goading him. It does the trick. He releases his hold on your neck, you’re a little sad, but are swiftly distracted by a sudden burst of heat and green energy crackling, the telltale sign of Full Cowl being activated. What the hell was he up to? Your answer comes moments later when his hands push your bent legs further apart, hooking his arms under your thighs to lift them up. You feel weightless, free, and so very wanton. Then like being dosed with ice-cold water, you come back to your senses; you’ve always been terrified of being picked up during sex. Your arms flail, searching for anything to grab hold of. They settle awkwardly at Izuku’s neck. Your breathing is a little erratic.

“You’re not scared of heights, are you?” Oh, he was being a total ass.

“Absolutely not.” You bite back.

“Heh.”

Sensing your discomfort, he places you back down on your knees, his hand returning to your neck — where it belonged. Shit, it was you, you’re the masochist. You feel him throb inside you, the head of his penis gets a little bigger and his cock harder. His movements become more sporadic. You take his free hand and lead it to your clit, you’d be damned if he cums before you. His groans become music to your ears, loud and ravenous as you roll your hips to meet his thrusts. Soon that’s all you can feel, like tunnel vision nothing else matters, there are no other options, but his cock burying itself deeper and deeper inside you as his fingers dance around your clit. He flicks and pulls, rubs circles, and you savor every second of it. Everything cumulates into a blinding flash of white-hot light as if you’re staring directly at burning magnesium. You hear him crying out your name, and it mixes with your carnal pleas into a cacophonous soundtrack to your mutual climax. He finishes inside you, the thick viscous liquid of his orgasm, filling you with more warmth than you anticipated. As you ride out your orgasm, you don’t stop gyrating your hips until you feel Izuku become soft. You let out a shaky breath as you come to a stop to catch your breath. You’re thankful that he doesn’t seem eager to pull out quite yet while you bask in the quiet exhilaration of having orgasmed three times this night.

“I’m going to pull out now, okay?”

You nod your head slightly, words out of reach with your euphoria’s hum still clouding your mind. Cum trickles down between your thighs, the sensation almost ticklish, but far more erotic. With nothing connecting you to Izuku, your body gives in to its exhaustion, falling forward unceremoniously. He wraps an arm around your waist, setting you gently down on your stomach. Rolling onto your back, you shimmy up onto a pillow to support your head. You glance up at Izuku and sigh in content. Hair stuck to his head, abs contracting as he slows his breathing (his heart rate close to 180bpm), and his left-hand traces the scars on his right arm absently. Even in such a worn-out state, he looked otherworldly. You lock eyes, and you pat his side of the bed next to you.

“Cuddle with me.” At hearing those three words, he sheds his façade, his eyes soften, his jaw loosens, and he eagerly obliges your request. He rests his head on your chest, your fingers playing with his hair as he gently brushes your side. You stay like this for a few minutes until he starts out of your arms like someone’s lit a fire under his ass. He sits up, you follow suit intrigued by what’s got him so worked up. You watch him reach across towards his nightstand. He pulls out a notebook and a pencil. You have to suppress your snort as he begins scribbling furiously. You couldn’t even pretend to be surprised, catching bits and pieces of his muttering.

“. . . dominated . . . choking . . . loud . . . buns of steel. . .” You can’t stifle the laugh that escapes you. He glances up and gives you a sheepish grin, his face like he’s been caught doing something he shouldn’t.

“You fucked me into another dimension, jot that down in your sex notebook.” A blush erupts across his face.

“I-I what? Seriously?”

“Mhmm, as seriously as my orgasm.” Embarrassment flickers momentarily in his eyes, quickly replaced by intense curiosity. You dare say you see a little triumphant gleam too.

“What happened, tell me everything, love.” You recount what he’d been doing with his tongue and fingers. The feeling leading up to it and what it looked like in this other dimension.

“Sounds like you’ve unlocked another facet of your quirk.”

“Looks like it, but it’s not really useful.” He gives you an inquiring look; you roll your eyes. He could be so dense sometimes.

“I can’t exactly have you eating me out in public every time I want to astral project now, can I?” His blush returns full force.

“Maybe there’s another way.”

“Possibly, but I’m beat. My legs feel like jello, and I’m starting to feel sore.” You massage your neck, glancing at your exposed breasts and the marks that speckle them. Izuku looks at you with worry.

“You can’t fix it with your quirk?”

“I can, but where’s the fun in that? One of my favorite parts of sex is feeling it the next day. I’m definitely going to tomorrow and maybe the day after thanks to you.” You give him a wink and admire as he fumbles with his words.

“Oh! Well, I mean. Yeah. No problem. I think?” He was definitely back to being your cinnamon roll. You giggle quietly.

“Before I go clean up, I’ve gotta know. How did you do that.” You motion with your hand, hoping he picks up what you’re putting down. He does.

“Simple, lots of research.” You squint at him, touching the pulse at his neck. It was slightly elevated.

“Ah-huh, and what else?”

“No-nothing!” The pulse quickens a little more.

“Did you role play with someone?” The idea sounds absolutely preposterous, but when he pushes your hand away from his neck and gets up off the bed, you know you’ve struck a nerve.

“You’re using your quirk, that’s not fair.”

“All’s fair in love and war. So, who was it with? Shoto? Eiji? Or was it Katsuki ?” The light hue of pink that creeps up his neck is all the confirmation you need.

“Ah,” you bob your head sagely, “it makes sense, babe, he gives off a total masochist vibe. I’d have practiced with him too. What was it like? Would he be open to a threesome? Or would it be a foursome since he’s got that not, so secret thing going with Eiji? Could I even handle the three of you?” You wonder out loud.

“(Y/N)!” Izuku rushes into the bathroom, adamantly trying to end this conversation. You weren’t letting this go, oh no siree, so you get out of bed and walk to the bathroom where Izuku’s turned on the shower and is standing under its current.

“Nice try. You’re giving me the details.” He sighs defeatedly.

“Can it wait until we’re in the bath.” You cross your arms in a huff, pouting.

“I guess.” Izuku grabs you, pulling you into the shower with him. You wrap your arms around his waist, resting your cheek against his chest. He gives the top of your head a kiss.

“Happy birthday, (Y/N).”

Happy fucking birthday to me. You smile to yourself.

#bnha x reader #midoriya x reader #midoriya smut #midoriya izuku #midoriya fic #reader is female #reader insert #midoriya fluff #the gift that keeps on giving

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