#the wicked fever has gotten to me....

[almoonds]

pink goes well with green 🩷💚

[bejeweledblondie]

Mockingbird

Simon “Ghost” Riley x F! Reader

Summary: Your little baby girl has started to run a fever, & only Simon can give her the comfort she needs

A/N: So a lil fun fact about me I’m actually a Mrs. Riley (no I’m not kidding) & those photos made by the incredibly talented @ave661 have made my baby fever kick in so badly especially when hearing people use “Baby Riley” & seeing all the men my husband is serving with currently put their little ones in the cutest baby gear isn’t helping it 😭

Warnings: none

Two days. You hadn’t gotten a full nights sleep in two days. Your breasts ached from not being pumped consistently & your little one wouldn’t latch due to the croop cough that been making her feel miserable. You had contacted the pediatrician to see what you could do to help your wailing baby. Since the croop was common in babies all you could do was give her medicine & try to soothe her. Her cries were starting to make you emotional. You felt her whole body tense as she coughed. Tears started to fall as her cries echoed off of the walls of the nursery. Today Simon was coming home from a training exercise, & thankfully he was the one thing that without fail could soothe her.

You had just given her some medicine & the taste really upset her.

“I know my sweet girl,” You told her. “Let me turn on the nebulizer.” You flipped on the little machine that was shaped like a giraffe, a baby gift you were now thankful for. A steady stream of steam came out & you sat down in the rocking chair facing her towards the steam. Through her crying you hear the cough starting to break up. The sound of the door opening made you sit up more & you hear him taking off his combat boots.

“Love?” He said as he walked up the stairs.

“I’m in the babies room.” You replied. He walked in still in his combat pants, & uniform t-shirt. “She won’t stop crying baby, I don’t want to do.”

“Give her to me love, I’m in need of some daddy daughter bonding time.” He said. Your daughter immediately stopped wailing & cooing in the arms of her father. Her little arms reaching for his face. “You missed your daddy didn’t you?” He asked her. Her little hand wrapping around his index finger. “Come on love let’s let your mummy rest & let’s take a bath.”

“Thank you,” You mouthed to him & turned off the humidifier. You gave him a kiss & then walked into your shared bedroom. Your body felt instant relief as soon as you laid down. Slumber consumed you very quickly & you fell into a deep sleep.

Simon had taken your baby girl into the bathroom, & started a warm bath for her. She let out a wicked wet cough, & her whole body shook with each one she let out. He placed her in the bath & by the look in her eyes Simon could tell it was providing comfort for her. The steam from the water lingering in the air mixed with washing away the thin layer of sweat that came from the fever soothed her.

“I bet that probably feels better my love.” He said as he started to wash her sandy blonde locks. Her eyes rolled to back of her head as he massaged the baby shampoo into her scalp. He took the empty cup beside him & filled it with the water from the tub to rinse out the shampoo. Her eyes started to close & her mouth was slightly open admitting little snores. Simon smiled at his daughter, she was the most precious thing in his life (other then you of course.) He was first initially apprehensive about being a father, but after she was born he couldn’t imagine not being one. She was fully passed out in the baby bath tub by the time he went to drain the water.

He wrapped her small little body in a warm towel & brought her into the nursery. Gently he laid her down on the changing table & started to apply some lotion to her body. His large hands massage it into her skin making her smile in her sleep from the relaxing sensation. He gently tugged on her chubby legs stretching her. Simon read it once in a baby book that it was good to stretch your baby out to help with their flexibility & he’s done it every night he’s home. Usually she’s wiggly & he has to hand her the lotion bottle to stay preoccupied but she was tuckered out.

He applied some baby powder to & put a nice clean fresh diaper on her. She was started to breath heavier from the cough. Her little body started to stir & he turned on the humidifier for her. He pressed her small frame into his chest. Her little face was smushed up against his chest. A little bit of drool started to pool onto his chest. He sat down in the steam with her & her little body wasn’t trying as hard to breath. His large hand that held her to his chest started to rub small circles on her little back. Once she was fully relaxed again he placed her in the crib. He reached into the crib & placed her favorite pacifier in her mouth. She immediately took to it & he ran a finger over her flushed cheeks.

“Sleep tight my sweet girl.” He quietly said & turned on her night light. After he took a shower himself washing away all the grime & sweat from the strenuous training exercise he endured he crawled into bed with you. You felt his body eclipse you as he laid down. Slowly you turned to face him eyes still heavy. He pressed a gentle kiss to your forehead. “Go back to sleep my love she’s all settled.” He softly whispered. You laid your head down on your pillow, & he did the same letting sleep consume the both of you.

[mysicklove]

I tried to leave a comment on your post about Sukuna pining after reincarnated reader but it was too long so:

He tries to pretend to be Yuji once (idk, over the phone or putting on foundation or a mask) and maybe you notice maybe be gets away with it, but the brief few seconds of not being in the backseat of your affection (even if the affection is directed at another) is glorious and he is simultaneously trying not to pop a boner and trying not to cry and drool.

Youre confused as to why 'Yuji' is suddenly trembling and his voice is cracking and he looks so flushed he must have a fever, you better feel his temperatu- did he just moan?

Also, Sukuna backseat driving Yuji's relationship with you (if there is one) would be hilarious. He's so jealous but this is as close as he's ever gotten and dammit it feels good.

this is so weird because i literally was thinking about BOTH of these factors. like when (if?) i write it, these two thoughts would 100% be in it. literally gets me giddy thinking about it

puts on a hood and you come skipping over to him, holding onto his arm, cuddling it and rambling about who knows what to your boyfriend yuuji. but sukuna is sitting there literally pin straight with wide eyes, because you have never touched him so comfortably - never have been this willingly close. 100% gets overwhelmed and gets hard, but when you ask about it, he lets go of control to yuuji because he is afraid of the consequences. but he immediately jacks off in his domain, shivering with a wicked smile, never going to forget this moment

sukuna originally despises yuuji in the au, but eventually he realizes that the kid is moldable. he can give him demands and instructions on what to say, and although you arent kissing him, he still gets to see you smile at him, which has never happened before. plus, he may be able to steal control over certain body parts, so when neither of you are paying attention, he may control yuujis arm that is holding onto your hand. just for his childish desires to hold your hand

[supernova41st]

Fallen angel!Adam x Moth healer!Reader

Chapter 2: Consolation

(Ch.1) (Ch.2)

Warnings: Swearing, nightmares, more angst, mentions of genitalia, a bit of body dysmorphia

A/n: Tysm for the support on the first fic <33 again I’m new to this writing stuff so pls send feedback if you have any 🫶🏽 Also for this fic I added a bit more focus on Adam as a character because i absolutely HATED how 2 demential they made him in the show 😭

Adam’s dream pov:

Im back..

Back at the garden.

Lillith ran away a few days ago because of what I proposed to her.

When I found her she was with someone else.. the fucking clown

Why him?

Why not me?

Why not me?

What’s wrong with me-?!

3rd pov:

While Adam’s nightmare, about the fateful day he saw Lilith with Lucifer, he hears distant humming in the background. Beautiful humming, mixed with the sound of running water too.

He begins to open his eyes, however it was a challenge for him to do so, because of the hardened crust that formed due to his unwiped tears from last night. He turns his head towards the humming, causing him to groan.

You then stop humming, hearing his groans from afar. “Oh! You’re awake” you say in a happy tone, grabbing a bowl and filling it up with water, along with a cloth. You then walk towards him, sitting on an armchair that was next to the couch that he had been resting on.

Adam tries to get a better look at you by raising his head a bit towards you, but is barely able to do so because of the crust around his eyes blurring his vision. “Are you.. Am I..?” He asks in a low voice, interrupted by a cough.

That’s when it hit you, he’s a new soul. Your warm smile then fades into a worried frown. “Sigh, I’m sorry. But, you’ve passed, you’re in hell now.” You then grab the wash cloth, dipping it in the cold water and placing it on his head. “Just relax, please”

Adam sighs after them, then sitting up on the couch while holding the cloth against his head. “Whyd you take me?” He asks. “You want some dick or something..”

Your eyes slightly widen, out of all the assumptions he could’ve made you didn’t expect it to be that. “What? No I helped you because you looked like you needed help, and you didn’t seem to want to aggressively assault me. That can be difficult to find down here.”

He snarls at you, then standing up from the chair weakly. “Where’s the bathroom? I need to take a wicked hot piss right now” He yawns stretching.

“Down the hall to the left” You say pointing to the hallway. “I can show you if you’d like” You suggest standing from your chair.

“Fuck you, you think I can’t find the shit room by myself?” He snaps, getting defensive because of his fever.

“It’s possible” you admit, as well as intending to messing with him. “But go ahead, I’ll make you something to eat while you’re at it, you must be starving.”

As he stomps to the bathroom he mutters insults under his breath. “Hippie bitch, I can go piss by myself, you wanna hold my dick up for me too motherfucking whore-?”

As he enters the bathroom. He gasps quietly, noticing that big parts of his appearance have changed. He now has big horns, that look exactly like the ones that were on his extermination mask, except one was missing its pointy part entirely. His skin now a reddish grey, as well as his hair but much darker. He spreads his wings a bit, expecting to see his normally feathery wings, but they’ve now turned into dragon like wings.

He sneers at the sight of it, he’s now turned into the thing that he’s hated most. A sinner. An embodiment of the wicked and cruelest parts of humanity.

“Fuck..”

Y/n’s pov:

I continue to make the stranger something to eat, I don’t have much since I haven’t gotten groceries yet, so I’m just serving him some left overs. It always hurts seeing someone get hurt from the extermination, especially when I know I can do much, most people who I want to help after an extermination simply lash out on me, worst than what the stranger had just done now. So I’m getting a little hope.

Sure he’s being quite rude right now, but who wouldn’t be after what he’s been through. He’s probably a new soul, who just fell into an extermination. I can only imagine the relief he’s gonna feel when he finds out hell isn’t always like how he first saw it.

I hear the toilet flush, along with the door opening indicating that he finished his little trip. He goes to sit at the small dinner table next to the kitchen, and I notice that his hands are dry, too dry.

“You’re not gonna wash your hands?” I ask kinda weirded out.

“Umm, and why would I need to wash my hands? My dick is clean enough.” I roll my eyes at his response. “Anyways what’s your name babe?” He asks.

I then become surprised on how much pride he has, to call a stranger who had showed them great kindness and belittle them with such a name “Im sorry, but I am not your ‘babe’” I respond in air quotes. “Secondly my name is y/n, so there is no need for these immature nicknames.”

Adam takes notice of the name, “y/n? Oof, I dated a y/n before. She was so bitchy, maybe all y/ns are” he says in a cocky voice.

“Huh, well I’d love to hear about her sometime I guess.” I then place the plate of pasta to him. “It’s not much but it’s all I have, apologies” I say sitting on the dinner table with him. He then starts to absolutely devour it as if he hadn’t eaten for a month.

I laugh in slight amusement. “what happened? Did you die of hunger or something?” I ask jokingly, unaware of what my gesture of humor would to do him.

He pauses, looking down at the plate of food, his face seems saddened but not wanting to show it. I immediately begin to regret asking such a question.

“I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have mentioned it. It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it” I say in a worried tone. “I was born here so I wouldn’t know how bad it would feel, to die then enter a place like this. Please, forgive me.” I then place my hand on top of his free one, attempting to comfort him in a way. “So, what’s your name? I’ve been wondering what it is since I brought you here.” I ask trying to distract him from his sadness.

“My name? shit uhh,,, itss Adam.” He seemed a bit scared to ask me, not sure why. Adam seems like a pretty normal name for someone like him.

“It must’ve been scary huh? Falling into an extermination like that, angels come here every once a year to kill us,, it’s horrible.” I explain. “It’s okay, this place isn’t all bad, every now and then you find some nice people. Although they are hard to find.”

Adam stares as I explain a few aspects of hell, I’m glad he’s open to trying to find out how things work around here instead of immediately going on a killing spree like some sinners.

I really do wish that he’ll open up to me soon, and that I can open up to him. I’m not sure where this will go, I just hope that it’ll go well enough.

[rabbitenn]

so you know how Momo got jealous over Yuki and Banri reunited and bonding and felt like a terrible person for it because he still wants them to be happy and together? How about that but this time its Momo's s\o going through the same feelings he did but towards him? Maybe they're jealous because of his chemistry with Yuki or because he has a lot of friends :3

OUR INCOMPLETE SELVES.

You feel at war with yourself. Why is it that your hesitant heart keeps trying to compete with the deserved happiness and friendships he finds?

ft. Sunohara Momose x gn! reader.

cw/genre: angst to comfort.

Thank you for your request, anony ! I’m sorry this took so long. I hope you can enjoy it anyway <3

You don’t deserve him, anyway.

For you to even fathom you could stand next to the sunlight he embodies is borderline ridiculous.

How could you, who has only envy and second guessing running through their veins?

You are destined to walk the shadows, your only company, the monotone padding of your steps against faded concrete.

Why did you even feel like this?

You want him to be happy, and if that means he enjoys spending his time with his groupmate and other friends, then it’s alright, no?

And yet, a small twisted voice at the back of your mind begs to differ.

‘You don’t matter’ ‘He’ll forget you’ ‘How pathetic are you to be relegated to second place after his friends.’

Your breathing quickens, as you shut your eyes, a tense frown forming on your brow.

You shake your head, trying to swat away the shrill laughter that ensues after your deepest fears have been voiced by your wicked subconscious.

A glance towards the window proves how long you have been overthinking; the citrine outline of a dusking horizon has turned to marine now. No stars seem to prevail in a sky polluted by city lights.

You pour yourself a glass of water.

It’s gotten late.

And Momo isn’t back yet.

Your grip on the glass turns knuckle-white, perhaps to prevent your trembling hands from dropping the fine china.

Though you have the impression you’re the one that would shatter at the minimum impact.

If you aren’t already broken, that is.

At the same time you put your glass down, you hear the keys click on the front door.

Not long after, your boyfriend’s perky voice resounds through the corridor.

Do you have the right to call him that, though?

“Darling, I’m back! Ah, it’s so cold outside, I want to cuddle-“

Momo’s sentence is cut midway when he sees you leaning against the counter.

Your head is hung low, and your shoulders seem to be trembling.

“Baby, are you alright?” He asks, fuchsia eyes tainted in concern.

Why is he so kind?

You don’t deserve it.

But at the same time, you wonder, is he this kind with Yuki too? With his other friends?

And so what if he is? It’s good more people get to know Momo and see how sweet and caring he is.

You just can’t help the thoughts that find their way into your brain, like vines that spread, corrosion infesting your psyche.

“I’m fine.” You reply, a choked out sound, voice a thin thread about to snap at the minimum oscillation. “I’m fine…” You repeat, more to reassure yourself than your partner.

“Are you sure, [Y/n]?” His hand moves to your temple, feeling for a temperature, his other arm around your form. “You don’t seem to have a fever.” He states, beaming softly.

You think it looks a little sad, his smile.

He pulls you closer, his warmth calming your mind a little.

“Dear, you can tell me if there’s anything worrying you.” Momo tells you, his voice gentle, as he holds your face in between his hands.

And just like that, you break a little.

You lean your side against his torso, silent tears marking the cracks of your fragmented soul.

“I’m horrible…” You mumble. “Because I should be happier… But I… Sometimes I get this feeling that your friends and Yuki… That they will replace me some day.” You bury your head in his chest. “And I’m happy, I’m very glad you have such a good connexion with him and that you always make so many friends, but I’m also… Am I bad, Momo? For fearing being left behind?”

Your boyfriend’s arms squeeze you a little tighter.

Then, he says:

“You could never be bad, my darling.” His hands trace soothing patterns over your back. In their wake, liquid gold remains, putting back together pieces of you that were falling prey to the devils that consume you.

“You could never ever be less than perfect, [Y/n].” He rests his head on top of yours. “Your feelings are valid, and they don’t make you any less loved by me, okay, baby?”

And in those words of his, memories linger.

Not all of them are shades of vivid rose and verdant, no.

Some of them are ashen, stained by the bitter taste of feeling lost.

“You are my irreplaceable lover.” He assures you, hands cupping your face again. “Never forget that, please?” Almost imperceptible tears shine at the corners of his vibrant eyes.

He understands how you feel, perhaps because once, the same dagger that’s dared to graze your heart pierced his too.

But now you have each other.

And maybe not right now, but with time, you’ll put back together the forgotten pieces of your almost complete puzzle.

Outside, two bold stars have dared to brave the city-lit sky.

They are watching over you.

[softnow]

I need more of your Mulder dirty talking to Scully pleasse

she has never enjoyed her lovers talking during sex. she has always hated their stock grunts of yeah, you like that? and oh baby, i’m gonna make you scream, like every man she’s ever slept with attended the same seminar on dirty talk and only made notes on the most boring points. she hates the way grown men say pussy, because they say it like they’re thirteen and just learned the word, are giddy on the high of saying something foreign and illicit. she doesn’t enjoy feeling illicit, at least not like that, and she doesn’t enjoy being reminded of adolescence when she’s naked on her back.

she’s gotten creative over the years, learned how to stifle men before they can ruin a great—okay, good—okay, passable—thing. a well-placed hand, a well-timed kiss, a tug on the hair to bring a mouth to her neck, her breast. more than once, she’s murmured, can we not talk? in their ear, and it should be sad, how often that works, how eager men are to not have to communicate.

well, most men.

“you’re going to get me fired.”

she is perched on his desk—her desk—the desk—and he is between her parted thighs, the stiff fabric of his slacks deliciously rough on her bare skin. her panty hose lay in a crumbled ball beside the filing cabinet, and the first three buttons of her white blouse are undone. he fiddles with number four as he speaks against her mouth.

“i couldn’t pay attention at all in that meeting,” he says, his breath warm on her tongue. “i couldn’t stop thinking about you, like this.”

the fourth button slides free, and the pads of his fingertips graze the valley between her breasts.

“it’s criminal,” he says, “distracting a federal agent from his duty.”

she hums, too entranced by the low murmur of his voice to think of any words of her own.

his nose glides along hers as he kisses her cupid’s bow ever so softly.

“i should report you.”

his hands drop to her thighs, smoothing up, up over her fevered skin. they dip beneath the hem of her skirt and her stomach contracts at the first brush of his fingers over her cotton panties. he hisses, and she feels the flutter of his eyelashes on her cheek as his eyes fight to stay open.

“so wet,” he whispers, like it’s a marvel that she should be so eager. “you’re soaked for me. aren’t you?”

he traces circles over her damp gusset, fingers gliding easily but without any real pressure, without giving her any relief. her head falls back, lolling on her neck, and she shifts her hips, angling for more friction.

his mouth finds her neck, and she gasps at the force of his bite, right on the tender point of her pulse.

“aren’t. you.” it isn’t a question, and the gravel in his voice makes her whimper.

“yes.”

his fingers slip under the thin cotton and two push into her so swiftly her eyes fly open. he grins at her, and it is wolffish, hungry. the kiss he brushes across her lips is achingly sweet in contrast, gentle and controlled.

“good girl.”

his hand begins to pump, hindered only slightly by the fabric still wrapped between her legs.

“here’s what’s going to happen,” he says as his free hand undoes the rest of her buttons and lifts a breast from the cup of her bra.

he ducks, licks up the underside before drawing her aching nipple into his mouth and sucking hard. her back arches. she pumps against the hand moving inside her.

he keeps himself busy at her breast for so long that she thinks he’s lost his train of thought, and she tugs at his hair, because as good as he is with his mouth doing that, there’s something she likes even better.

his smile is wicked when he meets her eyes.

“what?”

he knows what, smug bastard, but the fingers massaging her (not foreign, not illicit) pussy are too good for her to play around.

“tell me.”

“tell you?”

she rolls her hips against his hand and tightens the hand in his hair. she would never tell him how much she likes it when he makes her work for it. she’s pretty sure he already knows.

“tell me,” she gasps, “what’s going to happen.”

his thumb finds her clit and he braces her as she collapses back, holds her tight against his chest so he can speak directly into her ear.

“what’s going to happen,” he says, “is you’re going to fuck yourself on my hand like this until you come. and then i’m going to get down on my knees and clean up this mess you’re making all over my desk.”

he curls his fingers and her hips twitch harder. she clutches at his dress shirt, digs for purchase as her belly clenches so hard it nearly hurts.

“and then i’m going to take you home,” he kisses her earlobe, “and spread you out on the bed,” her jaw, “and bury my cock so deep in this sweet little pussy that you’ll still be feeling me tomorrow.”

he caresses each syllable as skillfully as he’s caressing her, his voice rich and honeyed and so self-possessed, her eyes cross.

“how’s that sound?”

he traces her cheekbone with his nose, tickling her sweaty skin with his breath.

“good,” she gasps, bucking against him, clutching at him, her body trying to heave away and climb closer all at once. “it sounds—ah—so—good.”

[warmbeebosoftbeebo]

I've listened to everything! (Panic has been my top artist on Spotify since 2020)

I joined the fandom in 2019, because of ME! and Into The Unknown, and it was instant love. I'd probably rank the albums like:

Too Weird To Live Too Rare To Die

Vices & Virtues

Viva Las Vengeance

Death Of A Bachelor

Pray For The Wicked

Pretty Odd

A Fever You Can't Sweat Out

I'm the one fan who hopes that the Nearly Witches demo will be released someday!

And not to break hearts, but on January 23rd I randomly decided to watch The Overture on YouTube for no good reason at all....

But on a happy note, August 19th is a holiday to me! (Which is funny, because I've claimed 19 as a "lucky number". Discovered them in 2019, Viva released on the 19th...)

Thanks! I love talking lol.

Into the Unknown is freaking akfkhlsnflg his voice goddamn. The song me! is mid but I love the music vid and their silly goose campy dynamics (I actually think he's a lot like that with gals/sex irl and that that's the closest we've gotten to him irl in a music vid character. Plus we know he has a crush on her). That'd be a fave music vid too if it counts as a panic vid.

Unusual to see fever last! I put it third, but I also judge it as a first album by people in their late teens (would be forth otherwise). My faves are Vices and Bachelor: both beyond perfect. Twtl is 4th (instrumentals of it would put it 3rd tho bc the vocoder usually does not work for me, other than Casual Affair and Vegas Lights). Viva and PFTW go back n forth depending on which kind of music Id rather listen to/what I focus on. PO last.

What they actually got done of the Nearly Witches demo was released on that Fueled by Ramen mix tape https://www.tumblr.com/lilbdenclips/700292696157421569/the-paul-revere-jumpsuit-apparatus-nearly?source=share

Overture would prob be my fifth fave panic music video, after (not sure of the ranking but these are the top 4) gospel, enc, ready to go, sad Clown. "it's just us" "it always has been" 😢

I remember 13 and 19 being my fave numbers.

[rohit-seth]

“I should have.” He agreed. The notion hadn’t really occurred to him as he was never late for work, much less would he take a day off even if he was sick. He’d even gotten the flu so badly he couldn't make it to the office, and still worked remotely with a high fever the entire day.  It wasn’t that he was a workaholic, but he did take his position seriously. It really just went to show that for Gwen, he would have done anything. But he wasn’t going to say that. He wasn’t going to put all his cards on the table right away and risk scaring her off. What happened between them was intense, but for all he knew, Gwen was experiencing lust alone. It was too much too soon to tell her that he had been in love with her since college.

“The best?” Rohit echoed in surprise. He choked out the words, thankful he didn’t have a mouth full of coffee in that moment, else it would have been all over her. He looked down, a shy smile on his face that he tried to hide. It was probably just a her mispeaking, and she did try to cover it up and correct herself, but it still made Rohit’s ego swell three times the size it already was. 

“That I was what?” He asked. He wanted to hear her say it, but his smugness was obvious. “ Good at foreplay? Rough?” He paused, his wicked grin returning. “ Dominant?” He asked, his tone darkening. “Used to what? Dominance in the bedroom? Has no one ever… Or were they just not good at it?” He asked teasingly, a brow cocked as he sipped his coffee. 

“I’ll admit, I didn’t think you would have been the type to play a submissive role so easily? You’re usually so nonchalant and carefree. I didn’t think you’d fold so easily, and frankly, I’m surprised I had any self restraint at all. You almost brought out the worst in me…” He chuckled. “But I don’t think you’re really ready for that. One day, hopefully…”  He smirked, wetting his lips. “ But I really am glad you enjoyed it. You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do that…”

He knew enough to empathize with her anxieties, a hand moving to squeeze hers in acceptance. It’s something he wouldn’t have done before without the clearance, now moving freely under the guise of the previous night. She couldn’t say the action didn’t serve its purpose. It felt nice to be allowed to just be, even if it meant little to those she would have to report to. There was nothing to be explained, no need for words where there was an understanding, his thumb on the top of her hand doing all the work to calm her.

This part of him she liked the most was this one, the part she had the most experience with. She hadn’t put two and two together that solely taking his comfort as one that seemed paramount to anything might be a sign of something else, but then that would mean she’d have to admit it right now and that was something she simply couldn’t bare to do.

“Of course you do.” she rolled her eyes, letting out a nervous laugh. Her brain was shouting all sorts of horrid things at her, ridicule and shame, belittling thoughts of how pathetic she was acting around him. It silenced some of the voices to see him just as bashful as she felt, like he was still the same person he’d always been. Maybe what scared her was his ability to shift and her hardened fear of doing just that, petrified of not having control like she hadn’t doomed herself the night before. “Probably should’ve played hooky.”

Her next breath was shortened by his words, a tightness filling her chest. He seemed to love playing that card, each time indenting itself and feeling less like a loss and more of a gain. It made her sick, but that was part of the appeal, like speaking a language only they knew. She wanted to thank him for letting go of her hand because she felt herself tense, glad for her sake they’d confined themselves in an immovable obstacle of her glass office. Her self control was even worse than his in discipline. “Yeah I did..” She let out a heavy laugh, the air providing relief. “No you… it was great. The best. I mean I obviously enjoyed it. I just…” she looked at him and felt the warmth cluster in her cheeks, smiling. “I guess I just didn’t know that you like..were like that I guess. It surprised me. I just.. I guess I’m not used to this. I don’t know it’s like I thought I was and then..yeah, you know.”

[barkspawn]

Omigod I need the ‘I’m dying’ ‘you’re not dying’ bit with Elliot, like he gets a wicked cold or something and goes full drama kid while being taken care of.

Girl you know I got chu

Elliott was sick. He must have gotten a cold from one of the children while reading to them in the library the previous week. Amelia had always been willing to take care of people she loves, but Yoba, the stereotype about men being babies was so true. 

It was the second, and hopefully last, day he was ill. He had been staying with her for a few days since his cabin didn't really stay warm the way that it should in the winter. 

Amelia was in the kitchen, making some soup as Elliott lounged on the couch. He was going to go mad if he had to continue laying in bed any longer, or so he said. 

"Darling, I'm fairly certain that this is going to be the end of me," Elliott blew his nose into a tissue, having given up the handkerchiefs. His lip curled up in disgust, "I am utterly disgusting and I am certain you are revolted by me. Should I not die from embarrassment, it will be from this ailment."

"You are not dying, Elliott. And I am not disgusted by you, love," she started, ladling some broth into a cup for him to sip, "I just so happen to love you, my dramatic dearest. And when you love people, you take care of them. In sickness-"

She stopped, clearing her throat. That's marriage, Amelia. He's going to think… Well, nevermind. He's too sick to catch on. She walked over to him, holding the mug out to him before sitting beside him to run her fingers through his hair, an action he admitted calmed him greatly. He leaned back against her, upright enough to sip the broth and yet comfortably reclined. He gave up hours ago trying to keep her away in fear of getting her sick. 

He sipped the broth quietly for a few minutes before she touched his forehead, her voice quiet, "your fever seems to be breaking. You're very much alive." 

He hummed in response as he took another sip, "Perhaps I'm not dying then. Certainly not before I thank you for taking care of me," she had moved her arms around him, her arms resting around his torso. She couldn't see, but she could hear the playful tone he failed to hide, "especially not before experiencing you being there for me in health as well."

Thankfully, he couldn't see her blush. She shifted to run her fingers back through his hair again, mumbling, "Shut up. You heard nothing. Your fever is clearly making you delusional."

He gave a small laugh that turned into a fit of coughs, which, of course, turned into a dramatic groan. She leaned forward and wrapped her arms around him, crying out dramatically, "oh no, my love! You can't die on me, not today!"

Elliott rolled his eyes, wrapping his arms around hers, "Ha-ha. So very funny," he joked, resting his head back against her shoulder and closing his eyes as she combed her fingers through his hair. It was almost five minutes before she thought he had fallen asleep. She pressed a kiss to the side of his head, very gently. 

"I think I would rather write my own," he hummed, his voice tired. She nearly jumped, almost thinking he was talking in his sleep. Still, she smiled. 

"Your own what, love?"

"Vows, of course," he hummed, his eyes still closed as he spoke, "I've always thought the 'in sickness and in health' was a good idea in thought, but I'd want it to be our own. My own thoughts for you."

Amelia's heart raced a little faster, butterflies exploding once more within her, as they so often did with Elliott. She had daydreamed of him presenting her with the shell or how he'd look at her as he first saw her in her gown. She had assumed it was something that never crossed his mind. After a moment, she hummed, her voice as tired as his, "Yoba help me if you write your own vows. I'll cry and ruin my make-up. I probably couldn't even get out my own vows if I went after you.."

He laughed aloud at that, once more coughing. She frowned, muttering an apology. It sounded so painful… once he seemed to calm down, she smiled into his hair, "if you ever want to.." she paused, not wanting to call it what it would really be, "exchange vows, you're going to have to be sure not die first."

He paused before shaking his head a bit, his fingertips trailing over her arm, leaving behind a trail of goosebumps, "I suppose I'm not dying."

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

Copyright © 2021, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[rayslittlekitten]

Old Dog, New Tricks

“Dad Will” Masterlist

A/N: I wanted to put Dad!Will in reading glasses and also have him do Lucy's hair so I mashed them together. Thank you @lovebarefootblonde and @spanishmossmagnolia for taking a look at this!

Word Count: ~970

Pairing: Dad!Will & Daughter OC (Lucy)

Plot: It's time Will learns how to groom Lucy's hair.

Contains: a little domestic Dad!Will

You've caught the flu that Lucy had just gotten over and it’s hit you hard. You've had a fever for the last couple of days and are nearly bedridden. You haven't felt this bad since the last time you got such a wicked sinus infection, you wanted to rip your face off. Will has been taking care of both you and Lucy and has been doing a superb job, as expected. After serving you some of his signature homemade chicken noodle soup, a family recipe, and checking your temperature, Will makes a crustless peanut butter and jelly sandwich for Lucy. While she's taking her time nibbling at it, Will is at the kitchen table next to her looking through YouTube videos on his phone with his reading glasses perched on his nose. He hates wearing them because it makes him feel old, but he knows he needs it to read those tiny letters. He already feels embarrassed enough he’s had to make the font so large on his smartphone.

He's watching videos on how to braid Lucy's hair. The last two days have been a disaster as he tried to groom her hair before dropping her off at school. He would just quickly comb her hair and attempt to put it up in a neat ponytail. Yesterday he put it up in a side ponytail. He remembers when he was her age, the girls in his class wore it like that, but it turned out a bit lopsided. Lucy came home crying because her side ponytail didn’t stay put and she didn’t know how to fix it.

Will learned to tie all the knots you can possibly throw at him while in the military, but he never learned how to braid. He's decided to take the weekend to learn a few things. He adjusts his seat and Lucy's seat a bit to set himself behind her. He gently brushes out her long hair, trying to untangle it.

“Ow! Daddy!”

“I’m so sorry, baby.”

He successfully gets the knots out gently and starts gathering her hair in the same manner as the woman is doing in the video. Looking over the top of his glasses, he tries to copy the same movements, and then glances back down at the video through his glasses.

"Okay, that wasn't so hard." Will takes a hair tie and secures the end of the braid. It looks a little looser than the one in the video, but it's decent considering it's his first time.

"Daddy, I like it when you play with my hair," Lucy turns to face Will while chewing.

"Sweetheart, don't talk while you eat. Finish chewing and swallowing first." He takes his glasses off and then grabs her napkin to swipe off the jelly on the corner of her mouth while she swallows her bite.

"What are you going to do to my hair nekth?" Lucy asks.

"What else do you want me to do with your hair?" Will asks cluelessly.

"Thometimesth mommy put-thit in a bun." Lucy takes another bite of her sandwich.

"A bun?" He asks with a raised brow.

"Mm hm," Lucy nods while chewing.

Will pops his glasses back on and goes back to YouTube to look up how to create a bun on top of his daughter's head. Some results are already popping up when he starts typing in "how to create bun" and seeing so many options. "4 Easy Ways To Tie a Bun".

"How many ways can there be? Geez," Will asks nobody.

"There are tho many braidsth too. Mommy doesth the regular one and the French one. My clathmate Liv had a fishtail one and it looked tho cool," Lucy answers.

"What? Fishtail braid?" Out of curiosity, he looks up a fishtail braid and he is immediately intimidated by the look of it, but he wants to at least give it a shot. After watching the tutorial, he undoes her braid and starts brushing her hair out again.

"This actually doesn't look so hard." Will starts going back and forth again between braiding her hair and glancing at the video to make sure he's doing it right. At some point he loses track of what he's doing and messes it up. He undoes the braid he did and starts all over again.

"Daddy, can I please have a glath of milk?" Lucy mumbles through her peanut butter-filled mouth.

"Just a moment, sweetheart. I think daddy's almost got this." Will gets the hang of it and follows through, repeating the same movement throughout the rest of her hair. He ties the end and fluffs the braid a bit like in the video.

"Okay, this looks correct." Will is proud of his work, he even takes a picture of it and shows it to Lucy.

"Ooh!! You did it, daddy!" Lucy starts reaching back to feel the braid, but Will catches her sticky hands to wipe them down before letting her touch her hair.

Will pushes his glasses up to perch them on top of his head and then gets up to pour Lucy a glass of milk. When he walks back to hand it to her, she asks if he can do something else to her hair.

"I'm up for the challenge. What do you want next?" Will asks.

"Can you cut my hair?" Lucy asks.

"No no! No cutting, no coloring. Just styling," Will tells her.

"Can you make my hair like a printheth?" Lucy turns and looks up at him with a milk mustache.

“You’re already a princess,” Will smiles at her. “Of the Miller Castle.”

“That meanth you’re the king of the cathel,” Lucy giggles.

“Alright, princess, finish your milk and sandwich.” Will removes his glasses from the top of his head and places it on the table.

“Yeth, King Daddy!”

[italwayshadtobeyou]

How on Earth did "Taxi Driver" beat "Torn and Frayed"?! I really like "Torn and Frayed," whereas these are both, frankly, bad.

"Taxi Driver" suffers from the moronic introduction of a Hell portal that Crowley knows about and has apparently been using for years, which, what? The main plot of a whole season was about his and Castiel's desperate attempts to open Purgatory. As if that wasn't bad enough, we get a laughable attempt to depict Hell. It's got a medieval-ish gate and Halloween lightning! Scary!

Sure, we've sort of seen Hell before, in the form of Sam's Cage flashbacks. But it's never clear if that depicted the actual Cage, or was just Sam's brain struggling to grasp something inhuman enough to drive Sam insane. Kripke and Manners pulled off a very brief glimpse of Hell back in "No Rest for the Wicked," but that was in large part because they kept it as abstract as possible. There were cables and hooks strung through some sort of lightning-prone, sickly-yellow (sulfurous?) abyss. It had no doors, no walls, no furniture beyond the cables and hooks), and no pumpkin-orange glow. Presumably, somebody working on the show at the time had the good sense to realize that they couldn't afford to depict a Hell which lived up to its hype, so they simply avoided trying that.

In fairness to "Taxi Driver," you could argue that the sloppy plotting results, in part, from Carver and Singer's reluctance to commit to their arc plot-- in which case we should perhaps place the blame on them, rather than this episode and its writers. The second trial is complex and outlandish enough that it, by itself, needs multiple episodes of setup and followthrough. Maybe it would've gotten that treatment if the writers hadn't squandered the first half of the season. As it is, the narrative shortcut of a shortcut secret crossing between Hell and Purgatory cheapens season 6, the horseman of Death (because shouldn't his employees be a little more afraid of their boss?), and any future worldbuilding the show gives us, because why should we believe it?

Meanwhile, "Pac-Man Fever" centers on, no lie, a side character's video-game djinn dream. Robbie Thompson may as well have gone ahead and done his laundry episode, for all the excitement in this plot. Going inside a character's mind worked with Bobby back in "Dream a Little Dream of Me," but we'd had more than 2 previous episodes to get invested in him, and we knew that the brothers had known him for years. It's Charlie's 3rd episode, and the Winchesters barely know her. Oh, and Charlie breaks the fourth wall for no reason ("But... Montage!"), and there's some embarrassing character shilling, where Dean tells Charlie's mom that she has a great daughter-- despite his having spent one sleepover and maybe, cumulatively, a day of work with her. The only good minutes of the episode focus on the trials' effects on Sam, sadly relegated to B-plot status. If the writers needed another episode to sell the second trial, well, "Pac-Man Fever" doesn't have anything better to do!

As bad as they are, each of these episodes does deliver one genuinely moving sequence. For "Taxi Driver," it's Dean beheading Benny; in addition to the pathos of a character killing a friend, it's the first time this season that Dean's reminded us of how much he values Sam. For "Pac-Man Fever," it's Sam and Dean's post-case reunion in the bunker, which is the first time this season that Dean has done anything to remind Sam of how much he values him. I think that this particular point hits harder on rewatch, since we know from "Sacrifice" that it's too little, too late.

Anyway, this is a difficult choice. I'm going with "Taxi Driver" because I find the concept interesting, even if the execution is way off. Of course, I could easily have gone with "Pac-Man Fever" for the fact that its djinn plot, while boring, doesn't damage the season's arc. It's a tossup. A bad, very Buckleming-Thompson tossup.

Supernatural Battle of the Episodes!

Looks like Taxi Driver is our new Champion! We need a good strong episode to battle against the good strong season 8 wrap up! Let's see what's up next!

Bring it on out Chuck!

Chuck: Next up folks, we have Pac-Man Fever-Sam wakes up after a day long nap, feeling sick and weak from the last Trial. Now hunter, Charlie, shows up and goes with Dean to hunt a Djinn. Sam ain't about to stay home and do nothing, so he meets up with them to inevitably save the day! Oh, and an epic spontaneous brohug happens back at home!

[bokutosworld]

sick day | tsukishima kei

pairing: tsukishima kei x gn!reader  word count, genre: 1.7k words, college au, fluff, childhood friends to maybe lovers.  warning: none!  summary: you and tsukishima have been friends for as long as the both of you can remember. and when you’re down with the flu, he’s left with no choice but to take care of you. 

“Can you drop by their home and give them this paper?” 

Tsukishima stares blankly at the piece of paper and back at the girl who approached him. He hasn’t even gotten up from his chair when Yachi stopped him. 

He already knows who she was referring to and was quick to turn her down. “Move. I’m packing my bag.” 

The girl grumbles, moving out of the way but continues, “Come on! You know where they live.”

“Correction, you know it too.” Tsukishima retorts. He walks past her, striding with his long legs over to the door and exiting. But Yachi was hot on his trail. “Why don’t you do it yourself?” 

Yachi groans, “I would but I’m too busy with the school paper right now. I have to head to the office to assist in lay-outing this month’s release.” She stops in her tracks, catching Tsukishima’s wrist and turning him around. “You live in the same neighborhood. Please, I promise I’ll repay you.” 

She waves the paper in front of him, and eventually, he’s left with no choice but to do the task. He sighs before snatching the form and turning on his heel, “You owe me.” 

— 

As he walks the familiar route towards home, he wonders about the last time he saw you in campus. It had actually been three days since then. Worried, his mind runs about hundreds of possibilities about why you hadn’t showed up in classes.  

The only possible thing that he could think of was that you were down with a flu. This predicament that he was in right now oddly reminds him of a time in middle school when you were absent for a week because of a severe cold. Growing up, he’s noticed that you were extremely prone to getting sick and Tsukishima always berates you for not taking care of yourself properly. Especially during flu season. 

When he passes by a convenience store, he decides to buy some instant porridge, water, and medicine. He wonders if your family were at home but gets the answer that he was looking for when he’s arrived in front of your house with the lights off. 

He eyes the building and notices the faint light coming from the side which he knows was your room.

Tsukishima enters the door, unlocking it with ease as he inputs the passcode he’s known since the both of you were kids. He feels for the switch on the wall and turns the lights open. 

He makes his way to the kitchen and places everything on the counter. He’s in the process of boiling some water when he hears footsteps walking closer. 

“Who’s there?” Your voice sounds weak and when Tsukishima turns, he sees you, cozily bundled in a hoodie and holding on to a blanket as you lean on the wall for support. 

He’s quick on his feet to help and sit you down on a chair. “You shouldn’t have left your bed,” he mutters under his breath. 

You recognize the voice, “Kei? What are you doing here?” 

He was back on the counter, opening the pack of porridge and filling it with water to cook for five minutes. He hands you a glass of water and you down it. “Yachi told me to tell you about our final project in Literature.” He takes the paper from his bag and sticks it on the refrigerator with a magnet. “Here’s the reference. Don’t lose it.” 

You manage to let out a small chuckle. “Look at you, being kind for once.” 

“Shut up.” But his words say otherwise when the look in his eyes are soft, watching over you to make sure you didn’t fall from the chair. “Where’s everybody?” 

You put your head on the table and groan. “They’re out to visit the grandparents in the countryside. Said I couldn’t make it because of school requirements but here I am.” 

“You’ve been alone this whole time?”

“Yeah,” you say with a yawn.  

He tuts at you to show his disapproval, “Why didn’t you tell anyone you were sick?” 

“Eh, no one would have bothered anyway.” 

He hands you the hot dish and you take it with a whispered thanks. You devour it in silence, relishing in the warmth that fills your body. Tsukishima hangs back, saying nothing and only observes as you eat what looks like the first decent meal you’ve had since you’ve been sick. 

“I would.”  

His sudden answer almost makes you sputter the food out from your mouth. You look at him, and though it was dark, you could make out his features and the way he was staring at you with such intensity. 

“I mean, I’m here now, aren’t I?” He takes a seat beside you, taking the cup from your hands and feeding you the last few scoops. “My parents would have made me come here either way to check on you.” 

You curse the way your heart flutters at his words. The heat on your cheeks not anymore caused by your fever but by Tsukishima who was sitting way too close for your comfort and helping you finish the porridge. After he gives you the medicine, he extends his arm out and you look at him in question. 

“Come on, I’m bringing you back to your room.” When you don’t make a move, he pulls you up to your feet and hooks one arm around your waist to keep you steady by his side. The two of you begin the slow trek to your room. 

He’s careful to lay you down on the mattress, cradling your head as he fluffs and positions the pillow under you. You seem to be already lost in your dreams when he pulls the blanket over your body, tucking you in and making sure you were warm. When he’s done, he kneels down by the side of your bed and gazes at you. 

He’s transfixed on memorizing the outlines of your face—the one thing he’d never admit he always liked to do whenever he went to your house for sleepovers years ago. Absentmindedly, he traces your features, sighing as he wanted so badly to tell you off about not properly taking care of yourself.

“Kei.” 

Surprised, he pulls back his hand, “What?” He knows you’d tease him to no end when you saw what he was doing. 

“You should be like this all the time,” you say sleepily with a smile. “Who knew you had a sweet and caring side in you?”

He smirks, “Don’t push your luck.” He puts the back of his hand on your forehead to determine whether your fever has gone down. It was still hotter than normal and Tsukishima only sighs, “You should really learn to look after yourself.” 

Burying yourself deeper in the blankets, you hum, “But I like having you take care of me.” 

He’s surprised, mostly at the way your voice sounded so calm and soft when you said those words. Because he knows that on any other day, you’d have responded with a smart quip and maybe a punch to his arm. He’s aware it could be the flu talking, making you bare your true feelings similarly to how a drunk man would reveal their sober thoughts. But will you remember them when you wake up tomorrow? 

He laughs quietly before leaning to press a kiss to your temple, “I don’t mind it too.” 

But you were already fast asleep to have heard anything. 

—

The following day, you woke up as if you never had intense fever the night before. The bad headache and chills that you felt was gone and you could move your body without feeling heavy. So not wanting to miss out more on lectures, you got ready and finally went back to school. 

To say that Yachi was overjoyed to see you was an understatement. Your friend sighed of relief and ran to tackle you with a hug the second she saw you step foot on campus. She caught you up to speed about everything that has happened and the tasks that your professors on your shared classes has assigned. 

The two of you were settling in your seats when she remembers, “By the way, did you receive the paper about our Literature project? I had Tsukishima bring it to you.” 

“Really? I didn’t receive anything.” 

And just as she was about to complain about Tsukishima, the door opens loudly and the said boy enters the room. 

“Oh, Kei! Great timing, we were just talking about you,” you greeted as your childhood friend headed straight to your desks. 

Meanwhile, Yachi complained, “Tsukishima, I told you to pass over the reference to them.”  

The boy just walked past her, and stopped in front of you. He stuck out a pack of banana milk (your favorite drink) and some fruits, making you confused at the sudden gesture.

“What’s this?” 

“You skip your breakfasts, right?” You were shocked that he knew about your unhealthy habit. “I don’t want you getting sick again so make sure you eat properly.” 

Yachi’s jaw dropped at his nice attitude. You’re wary as you take drink and snacks from his hand, looking at him as if he grew another head on his body. “You’re being suspicious, Kei. What do you need?” 

He takes the seat beside you, laughing when he turns towards you with a wicked smile that has your heart beating faster. 

“I’m just doing what I need to do as your friend.” He resumes to fix his things on the table. “Besides, weren’t you the one who said you liked me taking care of you?” 

You stutter, cheeks feeling hot as vague snippets from when Kei visited you and took care of you came flashing in your mind. Yachi was now giggling and congratulating you for finally confessing. As you watched the grin on his face, you wished for a hole to appear on the ground and swallow you whole. 

Because your crush on your longtime childhood friend was something you never wanted him to know. 

But that thought was quickly erased when Tsukishima leaned close and whispered, 

“For what it’s worth, I like you too.” 

And since then, Tsukishima started keeping you close and took care of you in the little ways he knows how just so you never have to experience a sick day again. 

[athenasbloodyspear]

Don’t Make Me Beg Now Baby

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

Hello fellow Greta Van Freaks. This is my very first Greta fic! I hope you enjoy.

MASTERLIST

Note: This fic contains mature themes, discussions of past non-con (no members of GVF involved) and drug use. Minors DNI. 18+ only and please take care of yourselves. (See Ao3 for full tag list)

You can also read this fic on Ao3 if you prefer!

Jake Kiszka x Original Female Character

Picture this: The boys are in Northern Michigan to write the new album and they meet a wild young woman who works at a local record store who has a rough history with rock bands.

She doesn’t want to fall into the same traps she fell into before. He doesn’t want to hurt her.

The rest of them just want them to figure their shit out.

Note: While this fic is based on the members of Greta Van Fleet, I obviously do not know them personally (lol) and nearly 99% of this is a fever dream I decided to write down. Some tid bits are based on things said in interviews/photos/songs but please do not come for my neck if you dislike my portrayals as this is a STORY that I have entirely made up.

This will be a slow burn, overly dramatic, cliché fest of me missing my Mitten State and wishing more than anything I could move back home. Their music makes me homesick and for that I’ll never forgive them. ;)

Chapter Under the Cut

CHAPTER ONE: EDGE OF DARKNESS

The tiny bell on the door to “The Edge” clanked as Jake pushed his way in, followed by Josh, Sam and Danny. The afternoon sun streamed through the slats in the windows at a harsh angle, illuminating the swirling dust. The boys all immediately took a deep breath. They all loved the smell of this place. A mix of dusty old vinyl's, incense and weed. 

The Edge was the shop owned by an old friend, Levi, who had been a longtime family friend of the Kiszka’s. The boys had made the near three hour drive to the shop whenever they had a spare weekend in their younger years. They bought Levi out of his guitar strings and drumsticks and always looked through the boxes of vinyl's hoping to find treasures. Levi sold an eclectic mix of music equipment, records, books, home goods and comically horrific coffee. 

The Edge is where they had each bought their very first instruments, had their first beers and even smoked their first joint. It was a special place for them. 

The old wood floors creaked with every step, the wood walls were covered with old articles from Rolling Stone, photos Levi had taken and autographs from the artists who had cycled through the place over the years. There were stacks upon stacks of vinyl's. Shelves of old autobiographies and music theory books. There were speakers stacked from floor to ceiling, and the whole right side of the store was jam packed with basses and guitars. The back corner had a few keyboards and a drum set, but plenty of catalogues to pick even more instruments from. There were cases of drumsticks and guitar picks and strings. The middle of the store had tables full of incense, candles and interesting home goods. There were tables where local artists sold jewelry, art pieces and furniture. It was full to the brim, most shelves rising way up to the ceiling. Most needed a ladder to reach the top. The basement had a sound studio with even more equipment set up to be used to record, or to test out. 

Levi had inherited the place from his father, who had built up quite a legendary roster of friends over his years. The shop was just off Front Street on the main drag of Traverse City. Levi’s father had made a name for himself as a great host to bands looking to escape to northern Michigan to hole up in cabins and write albums. Levi continued the tradition and took it a step further by buying the space next door and turning it into a club with live music on the weekends. 

If you were lucky, you could catch some super huge bands playing for only about 100 people in the dark side room of The Edge. 

“You bastards finally made it!” Levi called out as he came sauntering out of the back room. Levi looked the exact same as the last time the boys had seen him. Tanned skin from his days paddle boarding and hiking along the Lake Michigan shore, sandy blonde hair that was brighter in the summer, perpetual 5-o-clock shadow because he just couldn’t be bothered to shave, shell necklace around his neck, light wash jeans low on his hips with the same old cowboy boots he’d been wearing since the boys were 12. 

“Is that grey hair I see Levi?” Josh leaned forward with an exaggerated squint. Levi laughed, snagging Josh’s head to give him a noogie. 

“I may be older than you punks by a few years, but I’m not greying yet.” Levi released Josh from his headlock and gave him a shove. 

“I’d say 37 is more than a few years older than us, grandpa.” Sam snarked. 

“You’re makin me regret extending my hospitality, kid.” 

Jake felt himself relax fully for the first time in a really long time. It was just like old times. Exactly what the boys needed. 

“Welcome back dudes. I’m surprised I’m still cool enough for you Rockstar types.” Levi crossed his legs and leaned back against the front counter. 

“We’ll never be too cool for The Edge. This place will always be way cooler than we could ever be.” Danny piped up, walking forward to wrap Levi in a hug. 

“It’s been too long man.” Levi commented as he smacked Danny on the back. 

“We know.” Sam said “Way too fuckin long.” He hugged Levi next. Josh and Jake followed up with hugs next. The room was heavy with a tinge of melancholy. Old friends who had missed each other finally reunited. 

“Well, have you guys been to the house yet?” Levi stepped around the counter and started pouring four cups of the famous nasty coffee. 

“Yeah we dropped our bags off before we headed into town.” Danny spoke up. 

“Isn’t it sweet?” Levi asked enthusiastically. 

“It’s wicked man. Thanks so much for getting that set up for us.” Josh grinned as he snagged a cup off the counter. 

The house was a mid century modern cabin right on the east bay shore. It came equipped with a huge garage studio, front deck and a dock out into the bay. Levi had bought the house in foreclosure and along with help from a bunch of locals (in exchange for beer of course) they turned the house into a perfect getaway for any artists looking to come take a break up north. The place had five bedrooms and three bathrooms with a giant living room with overstuffed couches and velvet chairs. The walls were covered in art and the shelves were full to bursting with plants. It was a kaleidoscope of colors and textures,  with mix matched rugs and lamps. It was Levi’s pride and joy. 

“I’m so glad you guys like it.” Levi smiled even bigger as he passed coffees to the rest of the boys. “Once you’re a little more settled, feel free to send me a list of equipment you want me to set up downstairs and you can start coming in whenever to work. But also, I think you should probably take a week or two off first. You all look about two seconds away from collapsing.” 

“Yeah we’re pretty fuckin beat dude. But we’ll send you a list ASAP.” Jake said, taking a burning sip of the coffee. It singed his nerve endings and he couldn’t have been happier about it. 

Levi opened his mouth to speak again, when a voice filtered through the window to the loft above the store. 

“Yo Levi!” the person shouted “Can you please get off your fuckin ass and pick music to play? I know Wednesdays are your day to pick but if you take forever I’m just gonna put on whatever I want and you can suck it.”

All four boys' heads snapped up to the window to the loft, but whoever was up there couldn’t be seen. All they could see was that the loft had clearly gotten a makeover. What used to be an upper level where Levi stored surplus supplies now looked like it had a plush velvet couch, lava lamps and plants in it. 

“Alright alright! I’ll get on it.” Levi called back up, shaking his head and chuckling to himself as he walked toward the central sound system behind the counter to scroll through Spotify playlists. 

“Who the fuck is that and what have you done to the loft?” Josh asked, hopping up to sit on the counter. 

“That would be the very best thing that’s ever fallen into my lap. A.k.a my new store and venue manager Maven. She moved back to the area after living in Hollywood for a few years managing bands and she completely changed my life. We finally have consistent stock, a longstanding line up at the club and I have had the time to start photography again. Truly a godsend, if not occasionally a pain in my ass. She turned the loft into a breakroom of sorts.  There’s a couch and table up there now. She practically lives up there sometimes.” 

“Damn she must be some woman if she finally got you to get your shit together with that club.” Sammy piped up. 

“She’s hellfire, I’ll tell yah that.” Levi chuckled, finally hitting play on a playlist. The first bars of Surfin USA by the Beach Boys came on the surround system and matching groans came out of Jake downstairs and Maven upstairs. 

“Not this shit again!” Maven yells. Jake chuckled to himself. Hellfire indeed. 

“It’s my day to pick so suck it!” Levi called back before faux stage whispering to the boys “I mostly just play this to piss her off.”

Levi clapped his hands together once “Well boys, It’s close enough to five o'clock and I owe you a beer. Let’s head over to Little Fleet for some grub and beers and we can catch up.” 

Josh grimaced as he sucked down the last bit of his coffee before lobbing the empty cup into the trash at the end of the counter. “You still make shit coffee Levi.” 

“It’s the one thing I wouldn’t let Maven fix.” Levi said with a grin as all five men exited out the back door. 

                                                           ~0~

The boys took a week to relax, as per Levi’s request. They spent the days hiking the shore, kayaking and drinking beer around the fire. It had been way too long since they’d done this. The release of The Battle at Garden’s Gate had been exhilarating and the fans' response had been everything they’d hoped for. People seemed to love the album and they were all so proud. But with press interviews and touring, they hadn’t gotten more than a day or two to relax at a time. And they certainly hadn’t gotten a chance to get back to their favorite old haunts in years. 

They stopped by the store almost every morning for a cup of coffee strong enough to jumpstart their hearts. Sometimes Levi joined them on their escapades, and sometimes he stayed behind to help out at the store. The boys spent a few afternoons sifting through albums and strumming on some of Levi’s vintage guitars. 

Mostly they caught up on each other's lives. The boys recounted their more personal lives that happened outside the coverage of the album and Levi talked about the past few years of his life in Traverse City. Levi told them all about Maven and how she was practically his little sister. They laughed. They drank. They had a blast. 

The boys noticed Levi was a little on edge occasionally, typically when they heard someone shuffling upstairs or equipment moving around in the backroom of the shop. They assumed it was Maven but weren’t sure, since they had yet to see her in the flesh. A week from their arrival they were all sitting in lawn chairs in the alley behind the store, smoking cigs and drinking their coffee when Sam finally asked. 

“So, why haven’t we met your precious Maven yet? Hiding her from us or something?” 

Levi shifted a bit in his chair. “Um..” he coughed out a laugh. “I am actually. Yes. But it’s the other way around, I’m hiding you from her.” 

“Afraid she’ll fan-girl or something?” Josh commented as he ashed his cigarette.  

“In… a sense.” Levi coughed. “But in quite the opposite way you’re imagining.” 

“She’s a fan then?” Sammy piped up.

“She loves your music. A lot.” Levi sniffed and coughed again. “It’s a real safe haven for her. When she’s having a bad day I catch her upstairs laying on the floor smoking a J with sound cancelling headphones blasting your albums as loud as she can.” 

“Exactly how it’s meant to be enjoyed. With a joint in hand.” Jake chimes in.  

“Yeah..” Levi toes the asphalt a bit with his boots, but doesn’t continue.

“Soooo” Sammy drawls “Why can’t we meet her? We’re no stranger to super fans. I’m sure she’s cool.” 

“Um, well. It’s a bit complicated.” Levi heaves a sigh before flicking his cigarette butt into the coffee canister at the center of their little circle. “I suppose I can trust you guys. You’re friends. Do you remember the huge lawsuit that the band Undercover Heart went through last year? The one about the um” He coughs again, “Rape of one of their staff members by the lead singer Ryan?” 

“Yes. That shit was horrific man.” Danny spoke up. “I read all the details I could. They kept the poor girl's identity private but goddamn I felt so bad for her. She was a badass for filing that suit though.” 

“Yeah. She was.” Levi breathed. “So, this is strictly off record and if you repeat this to anyone I will skin you all alive, famous rock stars be damned.” 

“Jesus Levi.” Jake said. 

“It was her.” Levi choked out. “Maven. That’s why she ran back from Hollywood and ended up here. That dude messed her up and she just… she struggles with meeting famous bands now. You know how many people cycle through this joint writing stuff. She just… has a really fuckin hard time with it sometimes. Particularly bands she likes. I think it’s because once you meet someone, and in her case, discover how much of a monster they can be, their music isn’t… safe anymore.” 

“Fuck.” Jake said, flicking his cigarette into the canister. 

“Well I feel terrible for joking about her being a fangirl.” Josh mutters. 

“She just genuinely loves you guys a lot. I never really told her I was an old friend because I didn’t want her to be worried about y’all stopping by. I just know that if she knows you’re here she’ll take off and avoid coming by the shop as much as she can and not only do I need her here, but I think she needs the safety of the shop too. I didn’t want to wreck it.” Levi sighs again. “I know she’ll find out you’re here eventually, it’s inevitable. I just was a coward and didn’t want to break the news to her.” 

“She was a pretty well known band manager wasn’t she?” Danny asks. “She like… completely made Undercover Heart what it was. Before they hired her they were slated to be a one hit wonder but she hauled them into relevancy basically by her will alone.” 

“Yeah. She basically built that man's career for him. She gave him everything, and he took everything from her. If I ever see the man I’m liable to get my ass thrown in prison.” Levi mutters.

“I’ll help.” Danny says immediately. 

All five sit in silence for a few minutes, smoking the last of their cigarettes. When they’d all finished, they stood and stretched to head back inside the shop. 

“So yeah. Anyway, If you see her that’s fine, just… well now you have context for… her.” Levi says as he yanks open the door. 

A few steps into the back hallway, Levi suddenly halts, causing all four boys to nearly bash into each other. The front door to the shop had crashed open and there were footsteps stomping across the store toward the front desk. 

“Listen Levi,” Maven’s tense voice carried down the back hall. “I know Wednesdays are usually your day for music but I’m having an absolute shit fucking day so I’m playing Greta all day and there’s absolutely nothing you can fucking do about it, kapeesh?” 

The very opening chords of Edge of Darkness scratch through the speakers after she finishes her sentence and the boys all exchange a slightly amused look, grins spread on all of their faces. 

“Kapeesh.” Levi calls out to her. He spins and silently nods to the boys to head toward the back door. The boys attempt to be as quiet as they can as they creep toward the door. 

“Also, Levi?” Maven calls again. Everyone halts in their tracks. “You said there was a band coming in soon. Are they here yet? Do you need me to set up the backroom?” 

“Uh, yeah they’re here.” Levi squeaks. All five men share nervous looks. “They’re uh… up at the house.” He cringes at his lie. “I’m getting an equipment list from them today and then you can get started. 

“Cool cool.” Maven calls back. “Do you think I’ll like their stuff?” 

“Uh. Yeah.” Levi grins then. “I think you will.” 

“Wicked.” Maven calls back. 

All five men repress giggles as they skedaddle out the back door and into the alley. 

                                                        ~0~

The next morning the boys wake up to a group text from Levi. 

COME BY THE SHOP ASAP. COME IN BACK DOOR. HEAD DOWN THE STAIRS TO THE BOOTH. BE AS QUIET AS YOU CAN. 

A weird request, but they did as they were told. They all piled into the SUV they had rented and headed to the shop. Danny peeled open the back door as quietly as he could, and Sammy opened the door to the stairs. They tiptoed down and through the door at the end of the stairs that opened into the booth of a sound studio. Levi sat in front of all the mixing boards with a cup of coffee to his lips. He glanced over at them and softly said “coffees on the table.” 

“Why the weird text?” Jake asked. 

“Because of that.” Levi responded softly, pointing through the dark glass into the soundstage. 

The sound stage was littered with mismatched rugs, and a few milk crates that doubled as tables. There was a gorgeous seafoam green drum set toward the back wall and stands full of various guitars and basses. Along the left wall was a piano and a Mellotron set up exactly to the specifications Sam sent over. However, with all these beautiful instruments to look at that would normally catch their eye, it was the woman sitting on stool in the center, cradling a dark purple Fender guitar that made Jake stop in his tracks. 

Maven, Jake had to guess that’s who it was, was wearing checkered distressed pants, with a ripped up old band t-shirt cropped at her ribs, revealing a sliver of the rounded part of her stomach. Over top she was wearing an orange leopard print cardigan that ran down to her thighs. Around her neck was a series of long necklaces, and her wrists were adorned with interlacing leather bands. 

She was plucking out a melody with her eyes closed, rocking back and forth on the stool. Jake had seen countless numbers of people playing the guitar before. On the road, in the studio, studying old masters on YouTube. There was nothing overly special about the way she was sitting or playing, but he felt a little bit like he couldn’t breathe. 

“She never fuckin plays anymore man.” Levi whispered. “It felt like magic hearing music coming out of the basement this morning. I just felt like you should see it.” 

The melody she was playing was sad. Haunting is a better way to put it, and Jake couldn’t look away. Not even when Sammy placed a cup of burning hot coffee into his hands. She was moving her head along with her playing, the strands of her dark messy hair shaking back and forth. The group watched in silence as she played out the riff a few times, Levi cranked the volume of the mics in the space and they could hear her humming softly. 

“She has a strong presence.” Josh murmured. 

Maven suddenly stopped. Everyone froze as she heaved a sigh and stood from the stool to put the guitar back on it’s rack. 

“You in there Levi?” Maven said then. The boys still didn’t move a muscle. Jake’s head was spinning, having finally seen the face that went with the voice he’d heard in the loft for a week. She was beautiful. He couldn’t even really put his finger on why, but he couldn’t take his eyes off her. Even seeing her through the thick dark glass of the studio. 

Levi hit the button to the mic in the booth and responded “Yah.” He paused before adding. “Sounded good.” 

Maven snorted in a self-deprecating way and said “Thanks.” 

Levi hit the mic button again and said “You should play more.”

“Don’t push it Levi.” Maven snapped back. Levi released the button to his mic and let out a heavy sigh. “Can you check some levels on the lines for me? I think I have everything pretty good but I want to make sure before they get here today.” 

“Sure.” Levi replied. 

Maven pulled the amp cord out of the Fender she had been playing on and plugged it into another guitar, one more similar to the guitars that Jake regularly used while they wrote. 

“Are we looking for a punk or a rock-y sound?” Maven asked. 

“Um.” Levi hesitated. “Rock. Their sound is like…” He tossed a small smile over his shoulder at the boys. “Like Greta’s actually.” 

“Dope. I hope they’re not just copying the boys. They’ve got a mellotron in here and everything.” The boys smiled. She pounded out a few chords on the guitar. “Good?” 

Levi looked over at Jake for confirmation. Jake, who still had not taken his eyes off Maven, nodded. 

“Yeah, that should be good for raw sound. They can play with stuff too. They’re a pretty well educated bunch.” Levi called back.

“Thank god.” Maven snorted. “Not like that indie punk bunch you booked last month who needed me to do fucking all their sound mixing for them.” 

“Maven, I don’t think they kept asking you down here because they need help with their sound.” 

Maven just rolled her eyes at that.  

They repeated the process with each instrument, Levi silently asking for confirmation from the respective Greta member until they were sure the sound lines were all functioning properly. 

“Great work kid.” Levi called into the studio. 

“Ew don’t call me kid. I’m a 27 year old woman.” Maven called back. 

Levi chuckled. “You’re a kid to me.” 

“Whatever.” Maven muttered. “I’m gonna go take a walk along the beach. Smoke a little. Text me if they need me.” 

“Will do.” Levi called back. The boys all tensed, looking for places to hide, or to run up the stairs and back into the alley. Luckily, Maven took the back door out of the studio and up another hallway instead.

“Well boys, it’s all you.” Levi said. “Text if you need anything.” 

Sam piped up and said “Yeah actually, can you pick my brother’s jaw up off the floor?” 

“Jake see pretty lady play guitar and Jake brain break.” Josh teased. 

“You guys suck.” Jake grumbled. 

Levi cackled. “I thought you’d like her.”  

                                                        ~0~

Maven walked along the coast of the bay and absentmindedly smoked a joint. It was an overcast and drizzly day which meant there was no one around, which she preferred anyway. She was feeling on edge. The drizzle was very slowly building a small sheen of water on her arms and hair, but she didn’t mind. The cool water and gentle breeze combination was perfect. 

Maven sat her butt down in the sand and stared out at the waves. She normally wore headphones on her walks, her world was a near constant stream of music, but she had opted for silence today. 

Levi was being weird. He was edgy around her all week, sending her out every morning for tasks and disappearing without saying where he was going around 4:30 every day. She had come to the conclusion that whatever band was in town this week was a pretty big name. Or big enough that he was nervous about her being around them. She sighed. She hated when he tiptoed around her. Maven didn’t blame him. When she first started working at the shop she had had a couple pretty bad PTSD episodes that had scared the shit out of him. She owed him everything for staying with her, talking her down and making sure she was fed and had water when she got into one of her states. 

Levi was her best friend, to put it mildly. He cared for her, kept her safe and in return she busted her ass at his store making sure they had the best products, the best shows and that their artist getaway was something that people would go back and tell their friends about. She loved Levi like an older brother, and he cared for her like his little sister. She would forever be grateful to whatever power in the universe made her stumble into The Edge two years ago. 

She had been high out of her mind, as she had been most days after she came running back to Michigan with her tail between  her legs, and Levi had been struggling with an amp in the shop. She had walked in, spotted his struggle and didn’t even say a word to him, just walked over and fixed the wiring so that it was functional again. Levi had looked up from where he sat on the floor and said “You don’t happen to need a job do you?” 

The rest was essentially history. It only took two months of seeing him every single day, and him not letting her sour moods go by unnoticed, for her to spill her guts over some bourbon one night. About Ryan and Undercover Heart and how badly the whole situation fucked her up. How after she’d recorded her testimony she’d boarded the next flight to Grand Rapids and hightailed it up north. She came crash landing into Traverse City because she’d always loved it as a kid, and figured it would be a great place to start over. The small town she’d grown up in had too many people who knew her. 

He was extra careful with bands for a while. Never letting her be alone in a room with too many male band members, and carefully vetting everyone who came through. Eventually she told him off about treating her like a porcelain doll and he backed down a bit, giving her free reign over lots of the equipment set ups and giving her plenty of hours in the shop by herself. She was happy to do so, so Levi could focus on fixing up the artist house and starting his photography again. 

But he was still very gentle with her sometimes, and she’d always love him for it even when it pissed her the fuck off. 

Once she’d smoked the joint down to the roach, she tucked the end into her pocket. It was sacrilegious to litter near the lake. It was too precious to be fucked with. She meandered back toward the shop. Her plan was to grab her bag and head back to let her Pitbull, Stacy, out for a walk and pee. The girl had been cooped up all morning and Maven felt bad. 

She threw her whole body against the front door, as the latch often stuck, and the loud sound of the chimes clanged in the empty space. She rolled her eyes. Of course Levi left the shop unattended and unlocked. It was Traverse City, no one was gonna rob them, but what if someone wanted to buy something? 

She was humming softly to herself as she made her way around the edge of the counter and plopped down on the stool by the register. She whipped out her phone to ask Levi where he was. She had the message halfway typed when the door behind her, the one that led to the staff restroom, popped open. 

“You know, crime is especially low in this town but that doesn’t mean someone wouldn’t come in here and try to steal your precious coffee maker.” She tossed over her shoulder. 

“Oh.” Was all that came back. It was decidedly not Levi’s voice. Maven spun back quickly. 

“Sorry I…” But that’s as far as she got. She was suddenly face to face with Jake Kizska and all thoughts quickly left her brain. 

They both stared at each other for a long moment. Maven couldn’t quite figure out why he looked just as shocked to see her as she was to see him. He also almost looked afraid for some reason that Maven couldn’t figure out.

He was dressed in an outfit she’d seen him wear plenty of times. A black button up, half unbuttoned, loose fitting light wash jeans and a pair of well worn boots. His wrists were full of bracelets and his hair was longer than the last time she’d seen footage of their concerts, well past his collarbones at this point. 

“Hi.” Jake finally broke the silence. “I’m Jake.” He reached out his hand for a handshake. 

“I know.” Maven replied, and then coughed. Why did you say that you freak? 

Suddenly the front door bell chimed again, and Maven whipped her head to see Levi coming in the front door. She stood abruptly from her stool, skirted around Jake’s outstretched hand, and out from behind the counter. She scooped up her leather satchel on her way. 

She headed straight at Levi. He glanced over his shoulder and saw an apologetic Jake looking forlorn and lowering his hand back to his side. 

“Oh hey Maven-” 

“Hey dumbass, don’t leave the store unattended again. I’m going home to check on Stacy. Probably won’t be back for the rest of the day.” Maven spit as she stormed past him toward the front door. 

“Maven wait-” 

But she was already outside, the hinges bringing the heavy wood crashing back into the frame. The chime of the bells rang through the space. 

“Sorry.” Jake muttered. 

“Not your fault. I knew she’d find out eventually. Right now she’s probably just pissed I didn’t tell her. Which she has every right to be.” Levi sighed. 

After a few more beats of silence Jake spoke again. “Who’s Stacy?” 

Levi huffed a laugh. “That would be her Pitbull.” 

“Oh.” Jake said again. He felt crazy because his brain couldn’t come up with anything else to say. She was prettier up close. She smelled like the Lake and weed and sandalwood. He really wished she’d taken his hand. He shook his head trying to find his brain in it somewhere. 

The other three boys came clambering up the stairs and into the store. They all looked between Levi, who was still standing in the middle of the shop, and Jake behind the counter. 

“Are you two playing freeze tag or something?” Sam quipped. 

“Jake met Maven.” Levi responded. The boys' heads whipped toward Jake. 

“And… I’m guessing it… went well?” Danny questioned.

Levi finally walked back toward the counter. “She left for the day. This is on me. I should have told her y’all were here.” He snagged his keys from below the counter and walked toward the front door to lock up. “I’m closing early, boys. Let’s go get a beer.” 

“Kowabunga baby.” Josh said with a grin.  

                                                     ~0~

Maven sat curled up on her velvet couch, Stacy was her little spoon. There was incense burning, a bottle of wine open on the side table and a lit joint in the ashtray. She had changed into a giant t-shirt and boxer shorts. The soft sounds of John Denver playing off her record player. 

However, none of these things were easing her mind. 

She was pissed, mostly. At herself. At Levi. She was pissed he didn’t tell her they were coming. She was pissed that he felt he couldn’t tell her. She was pissed that she had acted like a freak in front of Jake. 

The anxiety was an endless pit in her stomach. She couldn’t go back there tomorrow. She couldn’t see any of those people. Not when she felt like this. 

She whipped out her phone and quickly shot a message to Levi, before chugging her whole glass of red wine and snagging the joint out of the ashtray. 

                                                        ~0~

Levi’s phone dinged on the table where all of the guys sat drinking beers and chatting. Levi glanced at it and quickly picked it up when he saw her name. 

“It’s Maven.” He said. 

“What did she say?” Jake asked, sitting up a bit in his chair. 

“Fuck.” Levi said, tossing his phone on the table, still unlocked. 

All four boys leaned in to read the screen. 

CASHING IN ALL MY VACATION DAYS. I’LL BE OUT FOR TWO WEEKS. 

“Fuck indeed.” Josh said, pounding back the rest of his beer.

[hello-everyfandom]

“I never said I was good at picking names, for all I care we could call them Bob.”

Warnings: Baby fever

Pairing: George Weasley x Reader

Words: 1.9k

Summary: Seeing you with a baby in your arms gives George baby fever.

(I want a baby so bad. I’m only 19, but I just want a baby sooo bad!)

If George could capture any moment of his life, he’d snap a photo of you. You. All he could think about was you sometimes. He found himself amazed that someone as beautiful and kind as yourself had decided to love him, a poor boy of seven children who loved jokes and pranks. He watched you across the makeshift dance floor that the Weasley’s had put together in preparation for Bill and Fleur’s wedding. You wore a simple green dress with short puffy sleeves, on your neck adorned a small locket that George had gotten you for your eighth anniversary about a year ago. He could barely even place words on his tongue as you seemed to render him speechless, you were so carelessly beautiful, breathtaking, and stunning. He watched you laugh cutely, your nose wrinkled and eyes sparkling as you picked up Fleur’s cousin’s baby. You seemed entrenched, holding that small child in your arms. You bounced her on your hip, making wide eyes and speaking in a hushed voice, likely telling her how adorable she was with the blue bow on her head. You lifted your finger so she could grasp it with her small fat hands as you cooed and continued to talk to Fleur’s cousin. You were the most beautiful creature he had ever laid his eyes on. George swallowed thickly as your eyes caught his, send him a smile. You raised the small baby’s hand to pretend to wave at George. He could see you mouth to the baby, with a happy delight on your face,

“Whose that? Whose that? That’s George!” 

It was no secret that George wanted children, he thought about his future and enjoyed daydreaming about teaching his child how to play quidditch or how to play a silly prank on Uncle Fred. But, seeing you with that tiny baby in your arms nearly made George faint. He had seen his future in front of him and he was more than happy with it. George had been certain he was in love with you the moment he met you, but he was for certain now you were the only woman he wanted. George managed to shake himself out of his trance and sipped on his glass of Firewhiskey whilst Lee Jordan and his twin made conversation, probably laughing about something silly. 

“Excuse me, boys. I think I should see my lady over there,”

Fred rolled his eyes, “Don’t need to brag about it, mate, we all know you have a wicked girlfriend.”

“Yeah, bloody hell is it annoying,” Jordan joked but then asked with a straight face, “how did you do it?”

“Charm and wit and, well boys, I’m afraid you’re straight out of luck as you also need to be devilishly handsome and you two seem to lack that.” George heard Fred laugh whilst Jordan calling him a prick as he walked away. George made his way across the reception tent, placing himself at your side as you continued to speak to Fleur’s cousin.

“Don’t you look just absolutely enchanting,”

“Thank you, love.” You turned to face George, the baby babbling away happily in your arms. 

“Actually, how awkward, ‘was talking about the little darling in your arms there.”

You let out a bark of a laugh before shoving his arm, “Oh, you little sod,”

“Oi! Should we be using that type of language ‘round the baby?” George placed his large, rough hands on your hip, cooing at the baby as well whose eyes seemed to widen at the sight of George’s red hair.

“I think she likes you, Georgie,” 

“What can I say? I’m a ladies man,” George grinned, bending his head down to greet the child, “Hello you! She’s quite adorable don’t you think?” George asked you. You hummed in response, steadying her on your hip before reaching on your tippy-toes to slightly pull George’s bandages into a better position. You frowned softly and patted his cheek.

“What’s that look for?” George’s hands didn’t leave your hips,

“I don’t think I like seeing you hurt, actually, I forbid you to get hurt from here on end.”

“Yes Ma’am,” George looked at you so tenderly, so in love. 

“Would you like to hold her?”

“Hell yes, I’d like to hold her!” George said excitedly, you scolded him before handing her off into his arms. He raised her above his head and making a wooshing noise with his lips. “Look at you, you’re a natural in the air. You’ll make for a good chaser, maybe even a beater if you bulk up a bit, but it seems you’ve got quite a bit of muscle there.” He squeezed the baby’s tiny arm. George seemed to be in his own world, with nothing but adoration in his eyes. You watched, reaching out your hand to place comfortably on his abdomen. If anyone were to look upon you two, they’d surely assume you were a young family, happy and loving as ever. You desperately wanted a family, despite the war storming onto your futures, you wished for a child. 

“What do you think about having one?” George asked, making you blink. 

“Having...?” You trailed off, also reaching to fix the baby’s bow on her head.

“Having a baby, of course.” George bit his lip to hold back his smile as he watched your eyes trail to look at his. You were simply so beautiful, it actually began to hurt.

“I’d love to have children, you know that.”

“I mean, with me.” Your boyfriend clarified. His voice seemed to portray humor however he couldn’t help but become nervous. Maybe you weren’t planning on staying with him? God knows he didn’t deserve you. Maybe you wanted children but wanted a rich boyfriend or husband or just, in general, didn’t want him. George’s worries were squashed as you blushed and looked down at the child in your arms,

“Of course, who else would I have children with? Fred?”

“Please don’t put that image in my head,” George groaned.

“Sorry, sorry.” You laughed lightly, pressing a kiss to his cheek, “I mean it, I would love to have children with you, one day.”

“One day?” George exclaimed, “How about now?”

“Nope.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Mmm, no.”

“Next week?”

“No.

“This year?”

“No.”

“Next year?”

“Maybe.”

“Really?”

“No.”

George chuckled, handing off the sweet child back to her mother. He held his hand out in front of him, motioning to you to join him in a dance. Night settled around the burrow as guests chattered and danced, all joyous in celebrating the love of Bill and Fleur. George held you in his arms, towering over you as he slowly swayed to the enchanted instruments that played. His hand placed softly on the small of your back. He could smell the perfume he so loved on your neck and could see the gloss you had placed on your lips just minutes before the wedding. He daydreamed about your children, wondering if they’d have his eyes or yours. If they’d be smart little arses or be more like their mother.

“Okay, maybe.” He heard you mumble against his chest,

“What’s that, Love?” George asked, lifting your chin with his thumb.

“Maybe we can have a baby... this year.” 

George nearly jumped, rocketing into the sky and leaving nothing but his trousers and his shoes, he smiled wildly, “Really?”

“I’m just hesitant, I suppose. A baby is a big responsibility, Georgie.”

“I’m well aware, you seem to forget I have two younger siblings who so happened to have been babies once in their life.”

“That’s different! This would be... would be our child. I’m just a tad bit nervous.”

“Don’t be, we both want children, we both love each other, why not?”

“We’re quite young, George.”

“Mum had Bill young. Not much older than us, actually.” 

“Yes but, the war-”

“Mum had Bill during the war as well. Really, Darling, your excuses are slacking quite a bit.”

“But the shop-”

“Is doing quite wonderful, now how else can I diminish your worries? I love you immensely, and I assume you love me, or at least tolerate me enough to be dancing with me now.”

You were silent for a bit, laying your head back on his chest. “What would you name him or her?”

George thought for a bit, “Well, I’d never name him after Fred. He’d surely grow a big head if I ever did that. ‘Sides, that’s something you only do after someone dies.” George thought a little longer. “Maybe something old fashioned like Geraldo or Hubert.”

You couldn’t help but laugh, covering your mouth, “Oh Georgie, our poor child.”

“I never said I was good at picking names, for all I care we could call them Bob.”

“Yes, well, that’s exactly what we won’t be doing.”

“If you’re so smart, why don’t you pick a name all of them, then.”

“Them? As in multiple?”

“Yes?” George asked confused, “Were we not going to have multiple?”

“How many were you thinking, Weasley?” 

“How’s seven?”

“Seven!?”

“My mother had seven,” George said defensively,

“Yes, and I’m not nearly as strong as your mother. I’m not even sure how she raised you lot without pulling out her hair.”

George beamed and kissed your forehead lightly, “Alright, six?”

“Let’s try for one, and then go from there.” You laugh, pulling away from his chest to look up into his brown eyes.

“Fine with me,” George held your chin leaning in to press a kiss on your sweet lips. Before he could, a white orb flew into the tent making the guests gasp. Kingsley Shacklebolt’s voice rang out,

“The Ministry has fallen. Scrimgeour is dead. They are coming.”

For a beat, everyone was silent as if they weren’t sure what to do. Then, chaos ensued. Tables were flipped and frightened screams rang. People began to disapparate in a hurry as black flashes apparated into the tent. George held your arms as you stared up at him in horror. 

“Y/N, go!” He shouted, grabbing his wand from his pocket. You searched for your wand that you had stupidly placed somewhere. You could hear George spit a spell at a Death Eater, yelling in your ears to return to the Burrow or at least apparate to safety. Realization flooded your bloodstream cold as you felt your entire self shiver with fear. You turned to George who had successfully disarmed the Death Eater and ran towards you, attempting to drag you away.

“George!” You yelled over the screaming,

“Y/N.  It’s not safe here, Love. Go, please!”

“George!” You yelled louder, panic-stricken, “The baby, George!” Before he could do anything,

George watched you dash across the tent, your green dress leaving his eyesight. 

“Wait! Y/N, your wand!” But you couldn’t hear him. George cursed, before throwing another spell at another Death Eater and chased after you, dodging the people and the flipped chairs. He was terrified that once he crossed the tent, he’d find your limp body. However, he found you helping up Fleur’s cousin who had fallen, the baby in your arms. You whispered panicky, pushing the baby in her arms.

“Leave! Run, quickly!” The mother looked at you and then George before nodding quickly and disapparating away with her child. 

George sprinted over to you, you searched him for injuries as you held each other’s forearms. The eye contact you made was frantic and worried but glad you had found safety in each other. You nodded at your boyfriend with a knowing look before the two of you apparated away together, hand in hand.  

[silent-stalker]

// Soundbee, Whirlwave and Megaprowl drabbles for the heart, loosely based around some nonsense and songs from their playlist

@theslagmaker @wcrkerbee

Whirlwave - based on me and @polyhexianchicken rambling about these dorks and very loosely based on the songs Bad For You and Whataya Want From Me from the Whirlwave playlist

This had to be a dream. A wild, wonderful fever dream that will only end with him waking up. It had to be. Whirl couldn't feel the same about him, he couldn't be standing there and saying what Soundwave had daydreamed about every day standing at his work station.

But he was.

And the claw gently grasping his arm is warm, and its solid, and its there and Whirl feels and sounds so real - this isn't a dream.

"And I - I know I'm not what you want and it's ok if you just wanna stay friends but I like you, you're, I mean, Soundwave you're amazing and wonderful and I just, want to be with you so much. I know I'm risking our friendship telling you this but I...I can't keep going on without telling you this and I know -"

He talks too much, Soundwave thinks. The dark mech tilted his head, and a datacable uncoils to gently cup Whirl's head, forcing the taller mech to come to a screeching halt with his rambling and look at him.

There's a moment of silence, nothing but a quiet, hesitant clicking from Soundwave and heavy, near-panicked venting from Whirl.

"I can't give you everything you want, and you deserve better. You deserve so much more than what I can offer, what I am offerin' and -"

"Soundwave: doesn't want more; doesn't want anyone else." Soundwave shook his head, gingerly laying thin digits over Whirl's chest; the blue idiot had bent until he was level with the much smaller spymaster, so this, this he could do. He could whisper what he wanted, push his tangled mess of emotions onto Whirl with nonsensical patterns brushed over blue plating and the nudge of thoughts against a chaotic mind.

"But..."

"WANT TO BE WITH YOU" is played back to Whirl, in his own voice, distorted and with an added white noise of warmth and affection. It makes him balk, obviously unused to Soundwave's other way of communicating (he liked talking to Whirl too much to divert to something so impersonal) but his grip on the dark mech's arms tightens.

"Whirl: is all I want; right here, right now. You: are enough for me; always."

That yellow optic that he adored so much turned up into a crescent of delight, and Soundwave vaguely thinks that his scar hurts from how wide his smile becomes - he doesn't care, though.

For the first time in a long while, he is content to stay still, forehelm to forehelm with this stupid, leggy lovesick idiot.

Soundbee - based loosely on first meetings in the dark, secret things that can't be shared and promises that can't be kept, and the song Arms (newly added to the Soundbee playlist)

"So this is what you hide under that visor?" Bumblebee whirrs, voice soft and hushed, awed that the spindly mech he'd been laying with trusted him to this level. Trusted him enough to remove that dark visor, to show him a face very few had gotten to see.

He shifted, raising his hand - and Soundwave flinches, not out of distrust but out of instinct, out of experience, and a mortified apology is quickly spat out by the Decepticon, violet optics dark with some unreadable emotion. Too many have reacted with violence to this secret, is the quiet, silent thought in Bumblebee's head. By the way those optics look away from him, corners of that mouth turning down, he's right.

"I'm not like that. I would never hurt you, not now, not ever again." The yellow mech promises, cupping that dark, strange face. Soundwaves hisses softly, but he makes no move to pul away as his partner ghosts a thumb over the scar that bisects his mouth.

He turned his head into Bumblebee's hand, optics falling shut, and he presses a soft, chaste kiss to the palm of the scout's hand, a rush of emotions - promises - running through his EM field.

And they lay like that, Soundwave curled around the yellow mech, thin digits gently stroking over his doorwings, and eventually, the scout is brave enough to kiss him (those sharp, wicked teeth made him hesitant at first). And for a while, tucked away under blankets, hidden in the cool darkness of the spymaster's quarters, that is all that happens.

Well, and their cake burns.

But neither are very upset about that. Before Bumblebee leaves that night, Soundwave makes the remark "you feel like home to me" in the only language they both understand, soft and crooning and ended with a kiss that makes the scout wish he could stay longer.

Megaprowl - actually taking this from the last prompt @/theslagmaker sent me, about Prowl and Megatron being a cop/criminal duo that ends up falling into a forbidden relationship (also based on the song Undisclosed Desires from their playlist)

The alleys behind this distract are too small for his alt mode, so Prowl has resorted to running through them, following an all too familiar silhouette just out of his reach. His pedes slip over the broken ground here, but he doesn't stop. He's the authority around here. He can't let himself stop, can't let this criminal get away from him this time.

The alleyway breaks open into an empty street lined with closed shops, and Prowl can see now, the face of the mech he's chasing.

Megatron, the front of a rebellion that had been stewing in the slums of Kaon for a very long time. A mech that had committed murders, started riots and marches. An admittedly handsome mech. He turned, standing underneath the light of a flickering streetlight, hands on his hips.

Prowl thinks he looks very ruggish here. Even standing alone, the grey mech cut a intimidating figure, looking very much like the mech that was pulling Cybertron apart by the seams.

"You're never going to catch me, we both know it." Megatron taunted him, backing up and away from the light. Prowl meant to follow, to chase after him, but there's a screech and an alarm, and the cop has to leap back to avoid being hit by some mech zooming past at illegal speeds. The colors that blur by are familiar, but his attention is already back on Megatron.

Or, it would be, but the mech is gone.

Prowl would return to the office, defeated and dirty and cold. His fellow officers are delighted that he managed to find and dismantle yet another one of 'that ruthless criminal's headquarters, and his superior slaps him on the back and tells him to keep at it.

That he'll capture that glitch one day, and put him away forever.

He goes home, tired and disappointed. However, as soon as he opened the door, he is met with the deep baritone of his lover humming from the kitchen, the smell of a well spiced meal heavy in the air.

"How was work?" Calls out that voice, and Prowl just makes a disgusted sound.

"That bad, huh?" There's a chuckle from the kitchen, and the sound of glasses clinking. Drowning that out, however, is the slam of a door and the loud pitter patter of small pedes running towards the front door.

The little sparkling leaps for Prowl, and he catches him in his arms. Instantly, his mood brightens and he kissed Pursuit's forehelm, and then his cheeks and chin, making the tiny black and white giggle and duck his head, itty bitty doorwings fluttering like crazy, obviously delighted to get so much attention from his Carrier.

"Someone's happy to see you." Comes rumbling from the kitchen entrance, and Prowl looked up to see a familiar, ruggishly handsome face. Megatron smiled at his lover, and gestured towards the dinner table.

"I made dinner, you must be hungry after all that running around, love."

"Ha, you would know, wouldn't you? Did you pick Pursuit up from school?"

"Soundwave did, I was a bit busy faking a headquarters for you to catch, remember?" Megatron leaned in for a kiss, putting a hand over Pursuit's helm to block his son's line of sight. "He adores Pursuit, so he was practically delighted that I asked him to babysit."

Prowl hummed into the kiss, doorwings twitching upwards and outwards to showcase his delight. "Hm, good. Next time, don't make me chase you down the filthiest alleyway, though. I need a bath."

"I'll join you."

"Sire, Carrier, eewww, I don' wanna hear that!"

Both mechs burst out laughing, and Prowl squished his sparkling against his chest, peppering his tiny helm with kisses before letting the wriggling sparkling go. Watching him run into the kitchen, asking for the spiced energon this time, Megatron put a hand on his lover's back.

"Come on, lets go, before he tips the bowl over again and he needs a bath."