#also barking at my phone screen

[radioactive-cloud]

if i fucking speak–

source: x

[mwagneto]

main thing that scares me about moving to the west is that i'm so used to the comforts here that i won't be able to adapt. like what if i move to a city that doesn't have door to door public transport that literally costs like 3 pennies and this gum i found

[dalkyeom]

SHAKING CRYING I THINK I CAME OUT OF BeTS A BIT MORE CHARMED BY DINOOOO 😭😭😭 he’s so adorable!

Anyways amg SVT are so handsome in person literally was shaking crying at perceiving Dokyeom irl! 😭😭😭 HE’S SO SWEET TOO BC HE TALKED ABT HOW HE WORKED A BIT MORE TO FILL IN FOR HOSHI AND SHUA’S ABSENCE 🥺🥺🥺

I hope they can come back to perform as 13 bc all of them tonight were super amazing!

[videovamptramp]

i’m right over here, why can’t you see me? (2)

// when ellie’s reaction to you and abby hooking up isn’t quite what you expected, she leads you right into abby’s open arms. //

[warnings: jealousy, pining, angst, slight arguing, angry!ellie, illusions to one-sided feelings, simp!abby, fuckgirl!ellie, sexual implications]

xxxxxxxxx

this is pt.2 (pt.1 can be found here)

abby was always taught to be the bigger person. her father consistently reminded her that no matter how people treat her, she should always be the bigger person. that’s most of the reason why she’s so reserved and non-confrontational. when she first started university, she knew she didn’t quite fit in. unlike a vast majority of students around here, she wasn’t here for the “college” experience. she was just here to play soccer and get her degree in engineering. she also noticed you from the first day of freshman year, but she was way too shy to say hi to you. abby’s never really been good at flirting or starting conversation with new people. she often feels too awkward, or too intimidated to say anything.

manny took a liking to her right away; the school got his rooming situation mixed up, and that’s how he ended up being abby’s roommate. it was strange at first for her; she was wary about having a guy as a roommate. but she quickly learned manny was a cool guy. he was funny, and hung up pictures of him and his dad right away. abby could relate, as she was very close to her dad as well.

manny slowly seemed to get abby out of her shell, and would invite her to various functions and parties. but he quickly learned if it didn’t have anything to do with soccer, abby wasn’t really interested. even the girls who threw themselves at the dark haired blonde, would get shot down without abby even realizing she was rejecting them. you were ironically the first person abby found herself interested in. hell, after the party yesterday, abby was almost certain she was enthralled by you.

after walking you back to your dorm, you gave abby your number and hugged her tightly. abby walked all the way back to her shared room with a dorky grin on her face. she could still smell your girly perfume, and all she could think about was your pretty smile. a part of her wondered if you’d cave and call ellie, but when you texted her after she had gotten out of the shower, she knew you didn’t.

y/n (1:34 a.m): i can’t wait to see how she reacts tomorrow, thanks for helping me haha

y/n (1:35 a.m): and thank you for keeping me company tonight, i really liked getting to know you abby 🖤

the smile that tugged at her lips after reading your message was nearly unrecognizable. as she walked out of the bathroom with her eyes and thumbs on her phone screen, manny raises a brow in slight suspicion at the peculiar sight.

abby (1:42 a.m): i really liked getting to know you too, i hope we can get to know each other better :) i was serious about teaching you how to ride a horse lol

“that’s a face i’ve never seen before.” manny states observingly, causing abby to look away from her phone, over at her roommate who was flashing her an intrigued smile. a blush coats her freckled covered cheeks as she thinks about you and your smile. “you remember that girl from my women’s history class? y/n?” abby reminds her best friend, who throws his head back and lets out a bark of a laugh. “abby you jugadora (player)! i knew you’d get laid eventually.” he taunts causing the jock to roll her eyes. “i didn’t ‘get laid’, gross ass. i finally said more than five words to her. i got her number too.” abby smirks, and mischief glints in manny’s eyes. “so nora dragging you to that party was a good thing then?” he half taunts and abby’s phone chimes, signaling that you’ve texted her again; her face gets hot, and manny chuckles.

y/n (1:44 a.m): i’ll be waiting for you to set something up when we’re not tipsy then ;)

abby (1:46a.m): i don’t think you’ll be waiting for very long <3 goodnigjt y/n, sleep tight

y/n (1:47 a.m): goodnight abby 🖤

when you wake up the next morning, your head is throbbing, and thoughts of last night begin to flood your mind. suddenly you remember all about abby’s plan to make ellie jealous. you reach over for your phone and see you have a string of missed calls, and five texts from ellie. your heart thumps as you open the text thread with the brunette.

ellie (2:20 a.m): you home??

ellie (6:34 a.m): why didn’t you call me last night?

ellie (6:35 a.m): did you make it back to your room safely??

ellie (9:35 a.m): you going to class today?

ellie (11:47 a.m) did you really hookup with anderson last night? it’s all that nora chick and her friend are talking about rn.

your cheeks heat up as you read the last message; word certainly seems to move fast around here. before you can even think about a response to ellie’s various messages, your gaze wanders to the time. your eyes widen as you gasp, realizing you slept nearly half the day away; it was already 2:30 p.m and nobody except for abby knew you were alive. you scurry off your bed, and just as your about to grab your clothes and stuff to shower, dina comes barging into your shared dorm. “dude, is it true!? did you hookup with the captain of the soccer team last night!?” dina sounds excited, and your cheeks turn a dark shade of pink, causing her to gasp.

“you did! holy shit, y/n… i didn’t think you had it in you.” she comments, sounding a bit impressed. “what? you didn’t think i had enough rizz to pull abby anderson?” you question half jokingly, causing the raven haired girl to laugh loudly. “oh no, i’m well aware you can pull whoever you want, i just didn’t think you’d move on from ellie so fast! i didn’t even come home last night, i spent the night listening to ellie rant about you and abby hunky anderson.” dina teases you mercilessly, doing nothing to ease the way your face is burning.

the raven haired girls eyes then widen, shining with pure amusement. “did you two do it in here? on your bed!?” she cackles before whistling, “who are you?” dina asks half jokingly as she begins to walk over to her side of the room, reaching for her biology textbook. “you’re leaving again?” you ask out loud, and dina nods, turning her head and flashing you a roguish smile. “yup, i’m studying with jesse till five.” she admits, and you raise your brows, offering her a disbelieving expression. “studying or fucking?” you ask her, poking fun at the slightly taller girl. she rolls her eyes, but looks away from you in order to keep you from seeing the way her face changes in color. “unlike you, i am considerate of jesse’s roommate. we wait until he’s at work.” dina’s response causes you to laugh, shaking your head in amusement.

“whatever. i’m going to shower, and change into pajamas. maybe i’ll make myself a cup soup and watch reruns of buffy all evening.” you tell her, and dina snorts. “maybe you could call anderson to join you. i’m sure she’ll be up for round two.” dina’s voice is sardonic but dripping with lightheartedness. “who says we didn’t already have round two?” you inquire challengingly, causing dina to gasp as she reaches for a pillow on her bed, tossing it right at you. you laugh loudly, as you make your way towards the door with your pajamas and toothbrush in hands. right as you open the door to rush out, you come face to face with ellie who had been debating with herself on whether to knock or not.

her eyebrows meet her hairline as she sees you, your mascara from last night a mess, and your hairs a mess. there’s a wave of hot, red anger that surges throughout the brunette as she realizes you’ve been so busy with abby anderson, you haven’t been able to answer any of her messages, or even been able to wash your face. her eyes flicker over to your bed that’s a mess, and suddenly unwanted images of abby fucking you on your bed flood her mind.

“it’s nice to see you’re alive.” ellie grumbles a bit dramatically as she pushes her way into the room, causing dina to turn around and look at you. “you knew i was okay. i was with abby.” you respond, and the mere mention of the other girl seems to set ellie off. “no i didn’t know that y/n! i don’t know a fucking thing about abby! she could’ve been a weirdo who only wanted to take advantage of you—” you cut ellie off before she can say something stupid, “but she wasn’t! abby and i are both two consenting adults who hooked up, just like everyone else around here!” you snap a bit harshly, and the words feel like a slap to the face for ellie. “so the rumors are true? you and anderson hooked up last night?” ellie’s voice sounds hurt, and you can’t even recognize the expression that’s etched onto her features.

“uh, jesse’s waiting for me, so i’ll let you guys talk.” dina declares a bit awkwardly, she can feel the tension in the room, but she decides to stay out of it and walk away. before she walks out, the raven haired girl flashes you a look of reassurance. when she shuts the door behind her, you and ellie are left alone. you shake your head, “why do you sound so angry about it? you hookup with girls all the time!” you counterpoint, and ellie shakes her head. “but i never ditch you to do it!” she hisses, while you respond with an eye roll. “yes you do! ellie, you ditched me last night for angela! you do it at every party with different girls, but the one time i do it, it’s a problem?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest.

“i was worried about you! i don’t care about your meaningless, shitty hookup with anderson.” ellie spits rudely, and you let out an angry laugh of disbelief. “shitty? why do you think i was asleep all day? it was amazing.” you nearly grimace as you realize you sound like you’re trying too hard to convince ellie. “besides, abby already asked me on a date. she wants to go horseback riding.” you lie right through your teeth, and ellie lets out a chuckle. “yeah? that sounds like complete bullshit.” she calls you on your bluff, and you raise a brow, “what sounds like bullshit? that someone could actually want something more than a hookup with me?” you ask challengingly, causing ellie’s annoyed expression to falter. “no, y/n, that’s not what i meant…” she trails off, her voice lowering slightly.

“then what did you mean? because to me it sounds like you think all abby or anyone could ever want me for is a hookup.” you reply dryly, but ellie can detect the slight hurt in your tone. she shakes her head again, “no that isn’t— it’s not you! it’s abby! girls like her aren’t actually interested in dating anyone. i mean, half the cheerleading team said she sleeps with girls and never talks to them again!” ellie points out, and you furrow your eyebrows. “since when do you listen to rumors?” you demand, making her run her fingers through her hair in frustration. “you can’t seriously be thinking about going out with her, are you?”

her question causes you to frown, “yes i am. and unless you can give me an actual reason on why i shouldn’t, then we have nothing left to fight about.” your voice is strangely stern, and something in ellie’s stomach drops because of it. “i’m going to go shower… just like was before you barged in here.” you know you sound meaner than usual, but you can’t help it. ellie was supposed to be showing you how sexy she was when she was jealous, not what a jerk she was. you didn’t even mean to lie about your date with abby; it had just slipped out. ellie had a way of pushing your buttons, and in a way you knew the more you talked about abby, the more you were pushing hers. you walk out of your room, shutting the door behind you and leaving ellie alone. she can’t help but glance over at the messy, undid bed that was taunting her. ellie hates thinking about you and abby together, but she still can’t figure out why. dina was right, the brunette might just be the most oblivious person on the planet.

you’re not as upset after getting clean. a warm shower and a fresh set of pajamas always makes you feel better. when you get back to your room, ellie is no longer there, but there's a twinge of guilt that runs through your veins. you push it as far away from your thoughts as you can. you know you shouldn't feel bad; after all, ellie has been raving about how "pretty" and "hot" angela is for the last four weeks! you shouldn't feel the slightest bit guilty for making her jealous with abby.

as your mind thinks about the honey blonde girl, a small, inevitable smile makes it's way onto your lips. though the smile falls fast when you realize you're going to have to ask abby to help you again. this time it was your own doing; you angrily lied to ellie and told her you had a date with abby. in a way it made you feel a bit pathetic, faking a date. the cruel voice in your head was telling you that ellie was right; you couldn't get a date with someone like abby... not an actual date at least. but ellie didn't really know that. as far as she knew, you were going to be riding off into the sunset with abby after your date.

ellie doesn’t text you throughout the rest of the evening or night. a part of you feels a bit bad for lying to her, but the other part of you knows you only did it because she was acting stupid. the next morning you wake up and get ready for your classes; feeling way better than you did yesterday. abby sees you walking to your second class, which happens to be women’s history with her. she can’t stop herself from approaching you, regardless of the butterflies fluttering in her stomach.

“y/n.” she greets you with that soft accent, that causes an unfamiliar warmth to course throughout your body. “abigail.” you respond back, unable to contain the smile on your face. “how did things go with williams yesterday?” she asks curiously, and your smile falls at the mention of your best friend. “not good? was my plan a bust?” she questions cautiously, rubbing the back of her neck nervously. you sigh, “i don’t know. i mean, she was really mad yesterday when she came to my room. she heard people saying we hooked up, and she said all you wanted was to hookup and never talk to me again…” you trail off, and abby opens her mouth to disagree, but you go on before she can get a word out.

“i kinda got really mad when she said that and i might’ve lied to her about us having a date.” you blush in pure embarrassment, and abby lets out a laugh. “oh jeez, i don’t even wanna picture how angry she got when you told her that.” abby’s voice is light, yet there’s a slight seriousness in her tone; she remembers the way ellie was glaring at her the other night. you shake your head, a small frown etching itself onto your face. abby can’t figure out how you look so pretty all the time; even when you’re upset. “yeah she was pretty mad… but who cares? she’s just acting like a jerk! i mean, to be jealous is one thing but she doesn’t have to be an asshole about it. she’s supposed to be my best friend. realistically she’s supposed to be happy for me.” you mutter, causing the blonde to raise her brows in amusement.

“she’s your best friend who’s in love with you. the more time you spend with me, the angrier she’s gonna get.” abby points out with a slight mumble, and you sigh, “if ellie is as in love with me as you and dina say she is, then she would’ve said something yesterday. but she didn’t. i honestly think ellie just isn’t into me like that.” you sound genuinely sad as you come to terms with this, and the dismal expression on your face causes something to tug at abby’s heartstrings. she doesn’t like seeing you sad.

“she’s just stubborn. she needs more of a push. i mean you said she got upset when you told her we have a date.” abby tries, as you both stand outside of the classroom, continuing the conversation. “yeah, but she’s ellie, she literally has anger issues. maybe she was just mad that i promised to call, and i didn’t.” you explain, and abby shrugs. “then lets go on a date. let’s see how ellie reacts to it.” the taller girl throws the idea out there, causing you to freeze. you look at her, “you wanna take me on a “date”, just so i can see how ellie reacts?” your voice has suspicion laced throughout it, as abby nods. “why do you wanna help me so badly?” you interrogate slightly, obviously not trusting the blonde.

she laughs at the way your eyes are narrowed, and she can’t help but find every expression of yours absolutely adorable. “because i like you. you’re the coolest person i’ve met around here aside from nora and manny. i’ll help you get the girl if that’s what you want. i’m a great wingman.” she winks at you, and you roll your eyes playfully, that genuine smile that causes abby’s heart to palpitate returns. “you’re also a very sweet person.” you add onto her boast; this causes the back of her neck to heat up, as she looks down at her boots and smiles. you wrap your arms around her and hug her tightly, just like you did the other night.

and just like the first time you hugged her, abby’s mind begins to race as the smell of your perfume takes over her senses. she hugs you back, and when you pull away you have this mischievous grin on your face. “i guess we’ve officially got a date then, anderson.” you half joke, as you lead abby into the classroom. abby’s sure her face is as red as a tomato, and she’s much too busy thinking about how soft you are and how good you smell to think of a good response. instead, all abby can do is follow you like a puppy to your seat. she sits down next to you, and throughout the entire class, she doesn’t pay attention once.

after the class ends she realizes she hasn’t taken a single note, and has no idea what the assignment topic for tonight is. every thought she seemed to have, circled back to you. the worst of it was, you were probably thinking about ellie while she was thinking about you nonstop.

after class, she groans to herself as she realizes she has no idea what the assignment topic for tonight is. she was too busy stealing glances at you, and thinking about your “date”.

“god, what the hell did i get myself into?”

abby thinks to herself as she walks into her shared dorm. she throws herself onto her bed, her thoughts never leaving you.

meanwhile ellie slams the door behind her as she storms into her room. she can’t help but feel more upset than ever. she saw you and abby walking to class today, and it caused an ugly green wave of jealousy to wash over her. for a moment she actually wanted to go up to abby and punch her right in front of you, though ellie knew you’d never forgive her for that. but ellie also couldn’t just sit around and watch you fall for abby fucking anderson.

suddenly, she pauses in the middle of pacing as an idea hits her; like a lightbulb lighting up over her head. ellie knows what she has to do; she’s going to ruin your date with abby, and she has a million different ideas on how to do it.

xxxxxxx

team abby or team ellie? 👀

taglist: @macaroni676 @swxxtbnny @bellaramseyswife @asabovesobelow666 @thatonementallyillsimp @fofinhamarie @p4ison1vy @harrysslutsstuff @jalousiexx @mostlyhornyandsad @clouded-whispers @elliewilliams4ever @forelliesposts @dergy @uraesthete @4rt3m1ss @3bolivia @calderysuh @milfsandtittyenthusiast @fofinhamarie @mikimambo @elliewilliamsgf69 @ariiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiii01 @ellienbilliearemywives @emst4rr @nabiba @bycoincidencesoflife @jennasoneanonly @lizzygoldenr @bready101 @dinasbigtoe @fairlyang @wingedoafbasketballjudge-blog @halfmooneclipse @defencelessarcher @selfcentered-bitch @vswerve @iwantyoutocryforme @hsangel64 @abbysleftbicepp @gabsssssblog @2dmenlackimperfection @cinematicdilfs @masclover111 @mai5mai @teenagedramaqueenlisa

i’m sorry to everyone it didn’t let me tag, some of your blogs weren’t popping up 😭 merry christmas loves, stay safe - vamp <3

[worldlxvlys]

ok hi hi hi i posted this but then i thought of dealer chris and came here but a smut w dealer chris based off the olivia rodrigo unreleased, i also realised as i was writing this that i can’t put vids here but it on my acc and i think if anyone can execute it well it’s you:))

prison for life

dwb! chris x reader

warnings: smut, p in v, cream pie, unprotected sex, mentions of blood, implied violence, death threats, cursing

a/n: i’m sorry this literally took ages to get to, i honestly wasn’t really sure how to go about it

hopefully you like it 🫶🏾

based on this

for @bethsturn <333

chris and i had been laying on my bed peacefully when i got a call.

INCOMING CALL: JAKE

ACCEPT? DECLINE?

“fuck” i said as i read the name.

“what’s wrong?” chris asked.

“you remember jake?”

“yeah, the psycho that laced your weed? kinda hard to forget”

“he’s calling” i said as i flashed the phone in his direction. “i’m just gonna let it ring” i spoke as i placed it down in between the two of us.

we watched as it went to voicemail, and waited to listen to his message.

(1) MISSED CALL FROM: JAKE

VOICE MESSAGE 1:15

OPEN?

we played the voicemail on speaker, listening together.

“what the fuck is wrong with this dude” chris spoke, his brows furrowing.

“i don’t know but this dude is all bark and no bite, i doubt he’s gonna do anything”

“you sure, ma?”

“i’m positive, i’m more worried about the fine ass man in front of me” i smiled at him as i crawled closer to him.

“yeah?” he smirked.

“mmhmm” i said as he pulled me onto his lap.

“nobody fucks me like you, baby. nobody makes me feel the way you do” i whispered as i cupped his cheek.

“oh trust me, i know” he spoke before crashing his lips on mine.

my lack of pants, due to it just being us here, seemed to please chris as his hands kneaded my ass.

i pulled my lips from his, gently biting it, making him groan.

“chris, i need you” i spoke as i felt the wetness between my legs.

“you got it, princess” he spoke, flipping us over, putting himself on top.

my elbow landed on my phone screen, making me push it off of my bed and onto the carpeted floor.

i pulled my shirt off as he kicked off his pants, revealing his hard cock straining against his boxers.

i reached forward, helping him pull his boxers off.

“ready?” he asked as he stroked himself a few times. i nodded my head in response.

he gently guided his dick into my entrance, pushing himself in.

my walls hugged and squeezed him, welcoming his veiny cock as he bottomed out.

“shit, chris. you’re so big” i moaned.

“look at that pretty, tight pussy. just for me” he groaned.

i nodded my head, silently giving him permission to move.

his thrusts started off slow and deep, and his hips started to move faster as he gained momentum.

“fuckkkk, chris! so, so good!” my moans started to increase in volume and my hands reached out for something to hold onto.

he swiftly moved his hands to mine, interlacing them as he continued to pound me into the bed.

“yes, yes, yes, chris! god, that feels so fucking good” i cried out.

his hips slowed slightly, just enough for me to notice, “you want me to stop?” he taunted me.

“no, no, no, don’t stop! please don’t- OH FUCK!” he suddenly moved faster than he had before.

his sharp thrusts pushed me farther and farther up the bed and my moans became wails.

he pushed my legs to my chest, hitting every sweet spot with the new angle.

“god, you take me so fucking well ma” he leaned down slighly, spitting onto my pussy.

he brought his thumb to my clit, rubbing the bundle of nerves feverishly.

“chris! chris! i’m cumming!” i yelled as i felt the coil in my stomach snap.

my body tensed as my orgasm crashed through me.

“so good for me, ma. fuck, gonna cum inside of that pretty little pussy” he moaned as he finished inside of me.

he thrusted a few more times, working us through our highs before gently pulling out.

we both took a few seconds to catch our breath, laying in silence.

i looked around confused as i heard a very low voice.

i moved to the edge of the bed, looking around when i realized where the sound was coming from.

i picked up my phone, which had been face down on the floor.

to my horror, i discovered that it was in a call with jake.

fuck.

i brought the phone to the middle of the bed and pressed the speaker button, immediately being met with strings of curses and yelling.

“- GONNA KILL THIS MOTHERFUCKER. HE’S FUCKING MY GIRL. WHAT THE FUCK IS THIS SHIT? I CA-“ i quickly turned it off of speaker and muted the microphone.

i stared at chris with wide eyes, meeting his amused expression.

“how the fuck did i manage to butt-dial him?” i whisper-shouted to chris.

“i don’t know, but he doesn’t sound too happy”

i looked at him in disbelief.

“how long has he been listening?” chris asked.

i looked down at my phone, checking to see how long the call had been running.

30 minutes

“30 MINUTES? WHY THE HELL DIDN’T HE HANG UP?” i yelled.

“his weird ass was probably getting off to it or something”

i quickly unmuted the mic and turned the phone to speaker again, needing to put an end to this.

“JAKE” i yelled, shutting him up.

i’m a feminist obviously

but i wouldn’t really mind him saving me

“you.” he spoke with venom. “i’m going to fucking murder your ungrateful little bitch ass” i blinked at the phone in shock.

chris immediately spoke up, comfortingly rubbing my shoulder.

“hey, you’re done talking to her. if you have something to say, you can say it to me” he said.

and i know that i’m fine without a man

but i wouldn’t really mind his protection

“aw, how sweet. you gonna protect her? listen here, you little bitch. i have your address, sleep with one eye-“ chris cut him off.

“hey dickhead, i don’t know what about this you aren’t comprehending, but i’ll say it slower for you.” he slowed down his words, “do not talk to her, talk to me”

“i don’t appreciate being spoken to like a toddler or being cheated on. i-“ chris stopped him again, “listen man, you need to get professional help. she’s not with you, alright? you need to leave her the fuck alone”

there was a pause. “i’ll see you later, princess” jake spoke before hanging up.

i looked at chris with wide eyes, becoming nervous.

“hey, i got you ma. i’m not letting anything happen to you, you know that right?” he asked me, searching my eyes for any sign of doubt.

i nodded my head, “yeah, i just don’t want to feel unsafe in my own home”

i’m just being honest can’t change what i like

i’ll never forget it, he told me one night

he got up, starting to get dressed.

“chris? where are you going?”

“i’m gonna go find him”

“wait, what? chris, how could you possibly do that?”

“don’t worry about it, i’m gonna handle it alright?” he cupped my cheek, running his thumb along my cheek.

“chris” i whispered, becoming worried.

“hey, your safety is my top priority, ok? i’ll be fine ma”

“ok” i whispered, giving him a peck on the cheek.

with that, he left.

“if anybody hurts you..

a few hours had gone by without any word from chris.

upon hearing rapid knocking at my front door, i quickly got up to open it.

when i did, i was met with chris, covered in blood.

“chris? what the hell happened?” i asked, pulling him inside.

“i handled it.”

…i’m going to prison for life”

——————

yup, kinda ate that

dwb! chris masterlist

main masterlist

tag list: @lovingsturniolo @lustfulslxt @gwenlore @flowerxbunnie @sturnssx @mattslolita @its-jennarose @sturnsdior @sophssturn @bernardsleftbootycheek @queen161718 @chrisdevora @cupidsword @nickmillersn1gf @stramboli4life @mattsneezing @chrisstankyleg @sturniolobltch @vib3swithanuk @ciarasturn1 @bethsturn @bernardenjoyer @mbbsgf @rac00ns-are-c00l4 @ssturniolo @blueeyedbesson @mxqdii @sturniolowhore @rheaakayourname @defnotayonna @urmom2bitch @abbie13sworld @starsturniolo @hearts4chriss @theyluv-meee @sturns-posts @carolinalikesthings @itzdarling @chrisstopherfilmed @judespoision @sstvrnioloo @littlebookworm803 @nicksdrpepper @chrisloyalgf

[spltbtch]

Ummm tell me why I’m over here stuck thinking about Boyfriend!Suguru letting Satoru use and please his pretty little girlfriend while he’s gone on a mission??

Like just imagine Boyfriend!Suguru has been gone for MONTHS, and you just can’t take him his dick being away anymore- So you call him to rant and beg for him to come back. And your loving, caring, doting boyfriend, as flattered as he is, he’s also confused.

Normally when you two were communicating (which was every chance he could get) you would express how much you missed him, but you were never as bratty as right now. So after some questions and teasing, you finally admit that your fingers just aren’t doing the job anymore. As soon as the confession leaves your lips, the line goes silent. But the words that leave his mouth next have you choke on air as you stare at his beautiful face on the phone with an expression that mirrors a mix of horror and confusion.

“Why don’t I get Satoru to help you out darling?”

You couldn’t even register what he just said. Was he asking what you thought he was asking? Was this his idea of a joke? Was he really thinking about letting his best friend see you in that way? Touch you like that??

“W-what?”

Thinking about Boyfriend!Suguru ignoring your question and telling you to get some rest.

But THEN- you wake up middle of the night with someone pressing soft sensual kisses all over your body. It doesn’t register in your mind at first that the person in bed with you is skinnier than your boyfriend- lankier. But then you hear the soft chuckle of someone whose voice you recognize, but not that of your lover.

You open your eyes and in front of you are bright blue ones staring back instead of black, but propped next to your head on the pillow is a lit up phone screen on- a FaceTime call?

And that’s when you hear your name from two questioning voices.

“Are you awake love?”

You were sure as hell awake now

“Satoru?”

The white haired male, who you could barely see in the dimly lit bedroom, looked at you with a wide grin, smirking down at you like you were prey he was hunting.

“That’s my name baby~”

But anyways… just a thought🥱😏

@bakubunny @blkkizzat

Come get me fore I start barking please🙏🏽🙏🏽

[sugarlywhispers]

ex!b.katsuki x reader ; m.izuku x reader — bakugou cheats on his gf, with midoriya's girlfriend.

☆– warnings; ANGST. mention and description of panic attacks, swear words, cheating (bakugou to reader; uraraka to midoriya), description of a fight. But it ends in fluff~ c;

☆–a.n; honestly, i don't know if i'm going to add another chapter... i still have a bit more of ideas for this, but i don't know ._.

in the meantime, i hope you liked this new part! <3

also, i hope ya'll have a wonderful beggining of 2024!!! may this new year bring lots of good thing for everyone, lots of love and adventures, new amazing things and wonderful people to your lives!

love ya'll so much, wish you all ALL the good things life can bring; no more tears, except happy ones. <3

A few weeks go by, and Midoriya and you keep in touch, texting almost everyday. Talking about random stuff, important stuff, whatever the mood is. But it's mostly cute, random stuff, getting to know each other kind of feeling. It's funny how you both have been around each other for so long and did not actually know one another. 

The texting was cute. Like a picture he sends one afternoon, when his shift is calm and almost finished, when the sun is setting, taken from up high in a building. A beautiful sunset picture that you use as a lock screen wallpaper on your phone. Or that one selfie he sent when he shared patrols with Hero Shoto; you remember thinking how cute he looked posing next to the hot and cold Hero, with two fingers of one of his hands pulled up on a peace sign. Or a picture of a little puppy Hero Deku found on a rainy morning shift. He took it to the closest vet so they could help the little animal, and you find that so fucking heroic it makes your heart jump from the cuteness.

"I wonder… who has you smiling like that? Oh , I know… Mister Greeny," Mineta mocks, his eyebrows shaking up and down suggestively.

"Shut up," you bark and hit him on the upper arm strongly. He simply laughs.

Three months pass faster than you actually realize. You're better, you feel better. You haven't had a single panic attack since Midoriya Izuku entered your life. Which is good… it means good.

He is good.

Since that first Friday you grabbed coffee together, you both decided to make it your day. Each and every Friday morning, Izuku and you would go to grab coffee at that same shop you went to the first time; then he would walk you home as the gentleman he is.

It's Friday and you're waiting for him, it's a bit late already, but you know he is coming. He had a night patrol but he insisted to not break the new tradition - his words. You found it cute, so you didn't protest.

But now you're worried, because it's almost 30 minutes since you have been waiting and he hasn't come yet. Then it becomes 40, 45, 50 minutes. You feel your neck itchy, but you try to ignore it, looking at your phone. Waiting for a notification, waiting for Mid‐ Izuku to contact you. But nothing.

It's already been 1.10 hours long and no sign of him. You sigh and decide to go home, it's been more than an hour already. Probably he had something coming up at the last minute, or he simply forgot. He probably had a rough night and he didn't have time to meet you. You're not as important as his job, obviously.

You grab your things and exit the place, the kind girl behind the counter smiles sadly at you and waves her hand as goodbye. You smile, or at least try, in her direction and leave the coffee shop.

You feel itchy all over. This… This is… weird . Why are you feeling like this? You have no right to feel… disappointed, hurt . He's a Hero. He's freaking Number One, pro hero Deku. His job will always come first. But you can't help it. It's like…

You're not my priority, Y/N. Understand that you'll never be. I have to concentrate in my job if want to fucking be Number one.

You haven't heard his voice in your head for a long time now. And hearing it again is… painful. Hurting. Choking .

Every sound around you feels a hundred times louder as you walk, every light blinds you and you don't realize you're bumping into almost everyone around. The pressure on your neck is getting stronger and you can't breathe. You can't think. Your vision is turning black, like that night at the ramen shop with Mineta. A panic attack . You're having one in the middle of the street. How embarrassing . How pathetic . 

You want the blackness to finally evolve you, and don't let go.

And then you see it, you feel it. Green eyes and strong hands grabbing your shoulders. You know those green eyes, you have seen them before. He's moving his mouth but you can't hear his voice. He looks worried; why is he worried? You feel rough hands that grab your face as softly as he can, and they are cold. You aren't used to the cold, but you like it. It's refreshing.

"...hear me? Y/N, please breathe, okay? Breathe with me," his voice is comforting, so you follow him, you breathe with him. "That's it… You're okay. We are okay."

The sight around you starts to clear, the blackness dissipates and you see clearly. His face is the first thing your eyes find. You know him. "Izuku?"

" Yes! Yes, it's me… Hi, love," he smiles relieved. You look around realizing you're in the middle of a circle, with him. People are watching, some worried, some annoyed. Embarrassing .

You realize then that Izuku's hands are around your face, holding you with no intention of letting go. "Izuku…"

He blinks, realizing then probably your surroundings and nods. "Yes, come one, let's go…"

Izuku helps you stand, his arm surrounding your waist pulling your weight on him so he helps you walk. Everyone starts clapping, clearly recognizing hero Deku even in his civilian clothes.

He walks you to your apartment in silence. Until you walk into the building, "There's no elevator?"

"No, it's been broken since before I got here," you know your voice sounds throaty, and the expression on his face says it worries him.

He sighs looking at the long stairs ahead. He knows you live on the fourth floor. "Okay, then," he says before picking you up, bridal style.

"Izuku! I can walk!"

"No, you can't. You have been putting your weight on me the whole way here."

"Still, I…"

"Shut up. Let me help," his tone it's so authoritative you have no other option than to do that. Shut up and let him help, because you know you wouldn't be able to climb those stairs up on your own even if you tried.

On the way up, you can't avoid watching him. He looks… angry . You have never seen him like that, or better said, you have never experienced his anger, you have seen him angry on the TV, fighting villains.

"I'm sorry," you say, and he stops midway, his eyes traveling to your face.

"You're apologizing for having a panic attack?" He's frowning, his tone incredulous, but serious. It makes tingles run your body.

"I'm… Yes, it's embarrassing ," you feel your voice crack a bit, and you hate that.

"Y/N, it's not embarrassing. It's a trauma response. And it's okay to go through it. But you need to heal…"

You look away from his face, tears already burning your eyes. You can't help but hear his voice again.

Having panic attacks in public is embarrassing, Y/N. You have to control them. Don't be fucking weak.

" He said… he said they were embarrassing."

You know you shouldn't be saying this to Izuku, but you said it even before you could actually think it.

" Who said-…" Izuku stops mid sentence. Takes a deep, deep breath, and continues climbing the stairs in silence. You don't dare look up. He's so tense and angry, you don't really have the courage to witness that right now.

When you arrive at the fourth floor you signal him which one is your apartment. And even when you are in front of the door, he doesn't put you on the ground. He stands there, waiting patiently, as you search for the key card on your bag and when the door is open he enters with you in his arms. He of course takes his shoes off at the entrance and walks inside.

He doesn't say anything as he sits you over the small couch and sits next to you, his arm touching yours and taking almost all the space around you. His smell is around and you like it.

His face is even closer to yours when he asks, worried, "When were you going to tell me you have panic attacks?"

"I… I don't want to bother anyone with them." You tell the truth. You can't lie to him.

"That's what he told you? That they are a bother?" You simply shrug, not really wanting to answer. "Y/N, I'm not angry or feel like this is a bother. I'm worried, you need help."

"I am going to therapy. I've been going since I'm five, Izuku. I had a handle on them, they weren't recurrent until…"

"Until he left you," he finishes for you, slightly shaking his head and you nod.

Izuku sighs, standing up and you watch him. Is he going away? Is he embarrassed and going away, deciding not to involve or do anything with your broken self?

"Do you mind if I make us both tea?"

You shake your head rapidly in answer. He smiles and walks towards the kitchen. You follow his every move, being a small apartment it's easy to do it.

Izuku is… staying . For tea. He's not leaving. He's not leaving you alone after a panic attack. Like Mineta. But he's your best friend, Mineta has always been there; like you have been there for him even after the war he had to be part of at such a young age and he tried to push you away. Izuku doesn't have that obligation. Izuku… is your friend? Well, that's how you like to think of him since you got to know him this past months. But the category of best friend was not there for him yet. You were just getting to know each other. So, why is he here? Why does he stay?

"It's ready," he suddenly says, sitting back next to you with the two mugs of tea. He gives you one and you accept it a bit startled.

The sudden smell of lemon with honey tea that invades your nose as you bring it closer to drink immediately relaxes you. You smile after taking a sip.

You look back at him and he's watching intently at you, like he's waiting for your reaction.

"You remembered," you say and you really want to cry now.

He smiles, a hand flying to the back of his head to scratch it nervously, "You said it was your favorite."

You did. On a text message, when the topic was favorite drinks . But the fact that he remembered that you said it, it is… overwhelming.

Silence again. On your part it's more relaxed, but you can feel him a bit anxious. You decide to give him space, time to say whatever it is that it's inside his mind.

Until he does.

"You're not the only one… struggling still… with all that happened." He says as he sets his mug on the little coffee table in front of you. It's very small, mostly for decoration. Only space for the two mugs you're using at the moment. Izuku then lays his elbows over his knees, fingers fidgeting in the middle clearly showing his nervousness. "I have nightmares. Very bad ones, since the war. Uraraka used to help a lot, she was always there for me when I needed her."

This is the first time he talks about her this willingly, so you just keep silent and give him the space he needs to say whatever he wants.

"I was finally getting better… and then… she wasn't there anymore…"

"The nightmares came back?" He simply nods. You can't help yourself but to direct your hand towards his shoulder in a form of comfort, which he accepts with a small smile.

"I guess… we are two broken people, trying to pick up the pieces left. Aren't we?"

His eyes shine with tears he refuses to set free, probably also what your own looked like. He smiles sadly at you, before patting your hand that still holds his shoulder.

You both stay in silence for a little while before Izuku breaks the silence again.

"I'm sorry about today. I had…" He sighs. "I had a discussion with a partner."

Partner? You know Izuku doesn't have many partners. One is Hero Shoto, who also is his best friend. You doubt he had a discussion with him, you couldn't actually see Shoto in a heated discussion at all. And the other one is… Oh .

"What did he do now?" You don't even have to mention his name. You and Izuku know who you're talking about.

The green-haired man rolls his eyes. "We have been civil. For the sake of everybody around us. And if I'm being honest, we work well together. In fights, we understand each other perfectly. So we decided to just be professional and not bring up anything that happened."

You know this. Izuku had already told you this once, when he called you on his lunch break to talk to you about a cute little butterfly that he would send you the picture of when he was less busy and you heard Bakugou's voice on the back calling for Izuku. They had been on a mission together.

"Until…" Izuku continues, "Until this morning, when he decided to bring up our Friday morning's coffee."

" What?! " You frown. How did he know? Nobody knew, besides Mineta and probably Shoto on Izuku's side. Nobody else knew… unless…

"Paparazzis discovered us. I don't know how. I'm always careful when meeting you. I take a lot of turns and I disguise myself the best I can so they don't recognize me. But they found out." He sighs, a hand sliding his green and black curls back. "They released an article yesterday. About us."

Izuku takes out his phone, searching for something before showing it to you.

NEWLY BACHELOR, NUMBER ONE PRO HERO DEKU, FOUNDS NEW SWEETHEART?

Yes, my readers, this is apparently what it looks like. A young, pretty lady like this caught the attention of the Symbol of Hope quite fast, if you ask for my humble opinion.

We don't have much information about her, sadly. Only that this lady has our favorite Pro Hero on her clutches... Look at the way he looks at her in the following pictures!

Isn't it cute? Let me be honest, as a fan of Deku myself, I can't avoid feeling a bit heartbroken, but I also think that this man deserves all the happiness anyone can give him. Don't you agree? And after that sudden break up with Pro Hero Uravity that caught everyone by surprise, makes me think… Does this lady have anything to do with it? Did she catch Pro Hero Deku's heart from before, causing the break up? Mmm, so many questions, readers, that we don't have the answers yet! But no mind, we will try our best to find them! Be patient, and in the meantime, show a bit of support for our favorite Number One Hero.

You feel like vomiting. Your picture, clear as day, has never been on the front page of a magazine. Bakugou has always protected his privacy so meticulously, and that included you. The media and his fans knew he had a relationship, but he never let anyone get a glimpse of it.

And here you are now, on the front page of Go-zzip Hero magazine, the picture showing you sitting in front of Izuku in that coffee shop, talking so close to his face it practically looks like you're kissing. Oh, shit . You do that? You actually speak that close to him??

You swallow thickly, looking back up at Izuku.

"I am so sorry, Izuku, I didn't know."

"Of course you didn't know. None of us did. But I'm sorry I wasn't more careful…"

"Don't be silly. This is not your fault."

"Yours either."

You both smile shyly at each other. This is… chaotic. Being involved with him is… OH, SHIT.

"What? What is it?" He asks as he sees your eyes open wide in fear.

"Your fans are gonna kill me..."

"No, they aren't…"

"Yes, they are! Oh my God!" You stand, after putting your mug over the table next to his, a bit wobbly on the legs which makes him react fast to hold you if you fall, but you don't. You start walking one way to the other of your small living room. "I'm so food for the fishes… they are going to kill me!"

Izuku chuckles. "No, they aren't, Y/N…"

"Don't laugh! Yes, they are! Especially after what that journalist said! They even hinted that probably I was the reason you broke up with Uraraka!"

"Which is not true. I'll call my manager and PR team and ask for an interview with the magazine and clarify this. You don't have anything to worry about. Neither does Mineta. I'll clarify that we are just friends…"

That makes you freeze in place, frowning. "Mineta? What does he have to do with this?"

Izuku frowns too, looking confused at you. "Aren't you… Isn't he… Aren't you dating ?"

"WHAT?!" By Izuku's flinching, you realize you raised your tone a bit louder than you intended. "Sorry…Mineta is my best friend, Izuku. He's like a brother to me."

Izuku looks so confused, "But… But you always speak about him. He cooks for you, he is… he is here almost everyday for you, and he did all that stuff to piss off Bakugou for you, like a…"

"Like a brother would." You smile. "I do think that somehow our souls are connected, because I know I could leave apart from anyone, except him . He's that annoying sticky thing you get used to living with and don't want to unstick, because if you do something will miss. Because he's my brother. I wouldn't be able to live without his annoying ass." Izuku laughs with you. You walk back to sitting next to him as silence comes back. Then, you keep talking, "Mineta has been there when I had no one. Even when we were five years old and my parents died in a car accident, provoked by a hero-villain fight." Deku tenses, but keeps his attention on you. "We used to play heroes when we were kids and fantasize about how we were going to be Number One. Both of us, together. And then the accident happened. I was left alone. I didn't have much family around, only my old great-grandma that was barely suitable to raise a child. So I was given to the state. I went to an orphanage."

You don't know why you're baring your soul to Izuku like this. This was a painful, very intimate part of your history nobody knew but Mineta. Not even Bakugou knew. He never insisted for you to tell him. He simply accepted that you were Mineta's best friend, end of sentence. He never questioned anything. Now you wonder if that was a good or a bad thing.

"That's when your panic attacks began?" He asks a bit timidly. You nod.

"It happened that same day, when I was given the news about their deaths. A kind lady had been there with me, explaining what it all meant. She was kind, but she didn't have much experience. Imagine walking into a room as a kid where your parents are lying dead in two stretchers and being told these are your parents and you're not gonna see them anymore ." Izuku flinches again, a chill clearly running down his back. "A few hours later, I had my first panic attack. I lost consciousness for almost an hour. It was the longest one I ever had and doctors were worried not enough oxygen had gone to my brain, considering that even when I woke up I wasn't talking to anyone."

"Until Mineta and Auntie Asiki came to see me at the hospital. The second Mineta lay down next to me in the hospital bed, I started crying, and he held me. We were kids, not knowing anything about life, and he still understood that I needed him. Auntie Asiki offered to bring me home with her and Mineta, but the forms to the orphanage had already been filled and accepted. It would take a lot of money, lawyers and procedures to let her, a single mother, take my custody. And while her heart and intentions were hugely appreciated for even thinking about it, it was impossible."

"I didn't know Mineta's mom was a single mother." Izuku frowns, probably guilting himself about it, because of everything they, as class A, had been through their years at UA.

"He doesn't like speaking about it. He really has to trust you to tell you about it."

Izuku nods, instantly respecting that decision. He then scratches his neck again. 

"So, you and him are not…"

You chuckle. "Not even if he was the last man on Earth." Izuku laughs too.

" Ouch , that wounds me so deep, bun," Mineta's voice is heard from the entrance as he walks inside your apartment.

Shit , you haven't heard him at all. The worry on your face is visible, because you have been talking about him, about his private life, and you hadn't consulted him before. You feel so bad, so worried he'll get mad at you.  

Mineta sees you and simply shrugs, "It's okay, bun, I trust Midoriya." He then winks at you and you feel the worry disappear completely.

"Thank you, Mineta. I promise I won't speak about it to anyone."

"It's okay," Mineta answers Izuku, pulling his thumb up in his direction. You smile watching their interaction. "I'm not here though to have this conversation." Your best friend gets closer to where you are, a worried expression on his face. "I was told you had another one, in the middle of the street.." You sigh, looking down at your hands that lay in your lap. "Was it because of him again?"

You nod and Mineta is the one who sighs this time.

"About Bakugou?" Izuku asks then, frowning.

You nod again. "My therapist is helping, but yes, they appear after I remember something, random things he once had said to me."

"Why it doesn't fucking surprise me…" Izuku barks as he stands from the couch and walks, just like you had moments ago. Mineta opens his eyes wide, watching amused at Izuku's reaction.

"He's such a fucking jerk… But we already knew that, didn't we?" 

Izuku immediately agrees with Mineta.

"I should have punched him harder," Izuku's comment makes you choke on the tea you were about to swallow.

"You what?!" Both you and Mineta speak at the same time. You look worried about the whole situation, the discussion clearly hadn't been a simple one if there had been fists involved. Mineta looks like a kid given the awaited present on his birthday.

"What really happened, Izuku?" You ask, worry clear on your tone.

"He saw the article, clearly. I came back from night patrol and was changing in the locker rooms, the whole night shift was there preparing to go home at the same time the morning shift was getting ready to start their patrols. And he started making comments about you and me, about how I apparently like his leftovers, about how you are a gold digger and now went for me."

"He did not fucking say that!" Mineta stands up, ready to beat some ass, Bakugou's, specifically.

"He did! I couldn't not do anything. I tried to be civil and only told him to stop talking about us, that he didn't know anything. And I told him to stop playing the victim, because he was none. The only victims in this story are you and me," Izuku looks at you like he's assuring you, "They don't have the right to even comment on this." 

"Hell yeah, Midoriya!" Mineta cheers, raising his hand for Izuku to high five him, and the green-haired does, animated. You shake your head trying to hold your smile back. "What did corn-head say then?"

Izuku laughs at Mineta's nickname for Bakugou, bumping his fist again with the man in agreement.

You roll your eyes. Jesus , men are such idiots with nicknames. 

"He then said that… I don't know if I should repeat it…" Izuku and Mineta both look at you, Mineta already intuitively knows.

"He talked… he talked about our sex life, didn't he?" You ask after a minute of silence.

Izuku nods.

"Tell me you did punch him hard though…" Mineta is fuming, you can see the smoke coming out his ears, metaphorically. 

"Of course I did. Twice, before someone pushed me away."

"Well done, man." Mineta high fives Izuku again.

"You shouldn't… you didn't have to…"

"I won't let him or anybody speak about you that way, Y/N. Now that I know all you've been through, I won't even give them a chance to."

You move before you think, again. One second you're seated on the couch, and the next you're hugging Izuku. Arms around his neck strongly, as your face hides in your arm and his shoulder. It takes him a second, but he reacts by hugging back, strong arms surrounding your waist as delicately as he can, but also firm and securely.

You heard Mineta walk out of the living room towards the kitchen to entertain himself with anything.

And you feel… safe . You feel so safe in Izuku's arms, it's so comforting and nice.

You feel him take a deep breath over your head, as if your smell was comforting to him. You like that idea. That at least in something so insignificant like your smell, he finds comfort and peace. Relax and ease.

"Thank you, Izuku," you whisper only for him to listen.

He shakes his head, "You have nothing to thank me for."

"I do, though. Not only for those punches," you say backing away just a bit so you can see his face. He smiles proudly at the mention of the punches. "But because you helped me with my panic attacks… Twice."

"Twice?" He asks confusedly, but you nod.

"The first Friday we went to have a coffee, remember?" He nods, "I was waiting, and because it was my first time out of my apartment without Mineta I was feeling overwhelmed and… and then you appeared at the door. And all I felt was relief… I felt safe with you there, so it stopped even before it began."

You are looking at his eyes, and you can see the emotion in them as you speak. He then rests his forehead on yours and takes a deep breath, clearly pushing his emotion back in so he can speak.

"I'll be there for you… I want to be there for you, if you want me…"

"I want you," you immediately answer, "I want you to be here."

"Then I will."

"I also want to be there for you," you scratch the back of his head softly, as he bites his bottom lip, taking a deep breath. He looks like he's trying to control himself from doing something then and there, and that makes you smile.

"I want you . I want you to be there too." He repeats your exact same words, making you feel tingles all over your body as you feel his fingertips caress lightly, timidly, the bit of skin showing at your waist.

"Then I will."

You feel him moving, his nose caressing yours in a cute manner. Slowly getting closer, lips barely touching and…

"Sorry to be a cockblock, but your phone is ringing, Midoriya."

The bubble is popped , so you both back away, clearing your throats and fixing your clothes out of nervousness.

"Oh, yeah, ummm…" Izuku walks back towards the kitchen to search for his phone. "It's Shoto. He's probably heard already about the fight this morning. I should pick this." You nod, signaling to your room for his privacy and he thanks you as he walks there.

Your eyes follow him until the door is closed, and then they go towards the kitchen, where Mineta is standing, hip against the counter and a bowl of snacks in his hands he found somewhere, eating them slowly as he looks at you accusatory. A knowing smirk in his face.

"Shut up."

"I didn't say anything… yet."

You roll your eyes. "Spit it out." You walk towards him, picking some of the snacks on the bowl and eating.

"I have nothing to say, Y/N."

That's impossible, he always has something to say. 

"Or should I call you Ms. Midoriya from now on?" 

Ah, there it is.

You punch him in the arm and he laughs out loud.

PART I - PART II - PART III

[ugh-yoongi]

the very last thing i decide | pjm

(or, the one in which a love exists that's easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.)

✘ PAIRING jimin x f. reader ✘ SUMMARY you learn what it means to love with blood on your hands. ✘ GENRE hitman/assassin au; angst, smut ✘ RATING explicit. minors dni. ✘ WARNINGS they are both hitmen (hitpeople?) so there's all the content that goes along with that: violence, death, mentions of blood (a lot) and weapons, murder, but no explicit gore. everyone is morally grey at best and downright psychotic at worst (especially yoongi). reader gets stabbed. no one knows how to be a functional human being. swearing, smoking, light smut (penetrative & oral sex), miscommunication and unrequited love but not really, i drop a classic tumblr meme in a line of dialogue. ambiguous/hopeful ending!! some of the themes here are kinda heavy and i am not entirely sure how to tag them so if you have any questions pls don’t hesitate to ask! ✘ WORDCOUNT 12k ✘ LISTEN TO manchester orchestra - telepath ✘ THANK YOU i cannot remember everyone i’ve showed this to over the years. @the-boy-meets-evil for looking this over and brainstorming with me today. @hot-soop for always being a help. @effortandmore because you told me an embarrassingly long time ago this was worth finishing. and i’m pretty sure i also sent this to @jihopesjoint at some point too. i did a quick edit of this on my own, but after nearly three years i just wanted it posted and out of my wips so i'm sure i missed things. pls ignore them. ✘ AUTHOR'S NOTE fic drops two days in a row?? who am i?? i started this in may 2021 and it was supposed to be a simple pegging fic. i abandoned it bc i was convinced no one would want to read it. between today and yesterday i have written thousands of words and made it across the finish line. i hope you like it. the violence is a metaphor for love or whatever.

[37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA]

Jimin’s hair had been red the first time he met you.

How fitting, he thinks, considering he’s currently bleeding out on a table.

Well, there’s still a bit of fight left in him. He hasn’t lost consciousness yet, which he assumes is a good sign; he can still hear Hoseok barking out orders quite clearly. The edges of his vision are fuzzy and the pain in his abdomen is sharp and unrelenting, but he still has enough brain power left to wish he’d died instead.

Because you’d saved his life. And now he’s further indebted to you.

(Jimin never leaves a debt unpaid, but he’s not sure how to make even on something like this.)

Jungkook and Taehyung are fetching supplies faster than Hoseok can ask for them. Two pairs of frazzled, spaced-out eyes. Four sets of trembling limbs. Namjoon’s wearing burn marks into the floor, his cuticles bloody and nearly worried to the bone since he can’t keep them out of his mouth.

And then there’s you.

Sitting cross-legged in a chair as you scroll through your phone. Jimin’s blood is still drying on your hands, leaving smears as you drag your thumb back and forth across the screen, and this doesn’t seem to faze you one bit.

Behind you, Yoongi takes a seat at the piano and starts playing Toccata and Fugue in D minor, and Jimin simply cannot die like this. He can’t die on a wooden table in a room with a piano on which Min Yoongi is playing Baroque organ pieces.

“What is this, a fucking funeral?” Hoseok snaps, though there’s a desperation creeping into his tone that Jimin does not like, does not want to hear. “Cut it out, Yoongi.”

Said man staunchly ignores the doctor, transitioning flawlessly into the fugue. Jimin barely hears the tinkle of your laughter but he hears it all the same, and he wants to pretend it doesn’t calm him, bring him back down to earth when he starts drifting too far away. But you do, and it does, and all he can think about is: will you miss him if he dies? Will it take you long to wash his blood from your hands?

Hoseok’s absolutely incensed, pushed to the limits of his stress at the thought of not being able to save Jimin’s life, and Jimin appreciates this, really, but not when Hoseok pushes two gloved fingers deep into the wound in his stomach so hard all he can do is cry. “Yoongi—”

You snort. You don’t even look up from your phone.

Namjoon, for all his leadership and stoicism and poise under pressure, is just as frantic and panicked as the rest. It’s not everyday one of his people is inches from death ten feet away from him. Most people usually die in the shadows. Kim Namjoon has faced down death more times than most, yet watching the life slowly fade from Jimin’s eyes is too much even for him. “Yoongi, please—”

But the fugue keeps going, tempo change after tempo change, the two pillars of this organization spiraling completely by the time the coda starts, unfocused and sweating and praying. To gods they don’t believe in, to hope, to chance—whatever and whoever might be listening. Jimin usually loves hearing Yoongi play. It’s the only thing that humanizes him, and Jimin had spent so many restless nights shoulder to shoulder with him on that exact bench in the blue hours of the early morning, hypnotized by the way the older man’s knobby fingers moved across the keys.

This is it, he thinks.

Jimin’s going to die with Toccata and Fugue in D minor playing in the background.

He’s imagined his death so many times. Stupid not to in this line of work. Violent, quick and painless, in his sleep, drawn out and gory, a message. And in all of those scenarios, it’s either jarringly silent or there’s someone screaming. Usually him, sounding much like he is now, two fingers stuck in his gut. In all of those scenarios, Min Yoongi is never playing Bach as everything fades to black.

You sigh. “Shut the fuck up, Yoongi,” you say, your tone as blasé and inconvenienced as ever.

Shocked at your audacity, one of Yoongi’s fingers slips and hits the wrong key, something dissonant and metallic as it rings out. But the music stops all the same, the silence nearly giving Jimin whiplash. Now he can hear the clinkof Hoseok’s tools, the squelching of his wound, Jungkook’s desperate pleading for him to just be alright, please God, just hang on. He wants the music back. He doesn’t want Jungkook’s crying to be the last thing he hears. Doesn’t want the sound of his own organs imprinted into his memory.

“What’d you say?” Yoongi asks, because no one talks to him that way. They wouldn’t dare. Most people try not to talk to him at all.

But you do.

And, inexplicably, Yoongi listens.

You roll your eyes. “You go deaf in your old age? I said shut the fuck up. Hoseok’s two knuckles deep in Jimin’s fucking stomach and you’re over there having your little Amadeus moment.”

He bristles. “Who the fuck do you think you’re talking to?” Yoongi repeats, and Jimin can’t see him, but he knows his eyes are narrowed, lips pulled back in a snarl, fists clenched at his side.

“Oh, princess,” you coo, and Yoongi’s fury is palpable, permeates every inch of this place, overrides all the fear and anguish. “I’m talking to you, baby. I know Jiminie’s busy trying not to die and that’s stressful for all of us, but please do try to keep up.”

Jimin hears the flick of Yoongi’s switchblade. Then he hears him say, “Please let me fucking kill her,” in that lazy Daegu drawl of his, like forming full words are beneath him. Not worth the effort when they’re directed at you.

Still seated, you uncross your legs and, through blurred vision, Jimin watches you grab Yoongi by his belt loops to tug him closer, grab the wrist that holds his knife and press it to your own throat. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Yoongi. Be a good boy and make it hurt.”

Jungkook’s near hysterics at Jimin’s side. “What the fuck is wrong with you two? He’s dying!”

Jimin tries to say I’m not, Kookie, I’m okay but the pressure on his abdomen is too intense. He can barely breathe, and Hoseok’s still digging around, still looking for that stupid fucking bullet, had to do something and do it quick so there’d been very little anesthetic and finesse, and he’s silently screaming for someone to just comfort Jungkook, tell him everything’s going to be okay, but instead—

“Serves him right for being a fucking idiot,” you say, words muffled by the knife still pressed to your throat. “What a painful, permanentlesson in not forgetting your fucking vest.”

“Stop it!” Jungkook sobs, fingers ghosting along Jimin’s matted fringe.

Yoongi’s still scowling. “Just say the word, Joon-ah. I’ll make it quick.”

You actually laugh at that. The kind of full-belly laugh Jimin would kill to be able to produce. “You wanna fuck me so bad it makes you look stupid.”

Someone snarls. Probably Yoongi. “You’d look so good gutted on the floor like a fish,” he replies, and if Jimin knows him at all, he knows he’s got that dreamy, faraway look in his eyes. The one he always gets when he’s about to kill—the one that makes him so unhinged and dangerous. “Left there to bleed out and die all alone like the trash you are.”

No one’s survived that look before, but you just grin, as if being on the receiving end of it is nothing more than another simple inconvenience. “Do it, then,” you prompt. “You’re so big and bad, yet here you are, waiting for Namjoon’s permission like some kind of pathetic fucking dog.”

“I’m no one’s dog.”

Your eyes slowly flick over to Namjoon. “No?” you ask, smile widening as Jimin watches you drag your heeled foot up the inside of Yoongi’s calf, his thigh, stiletto coming to rest in the center of his sternum. “That’s a shame, princess. That pretty neck of yours was just made for a collar.”

There’s no doubt in Jimin’s mind now that he actually died back in that penthouse and is now residing in whatever level of hell is watching you give his associate a semi despite him being a millisecond away from murdering you.

Yoongi would do it, too. No hesitation. You’ve been on his shit list for as long as Jimin can remember, and you’ve been daring him to put his money where his mouth is and just kill you already for just as long.

Taehyung groans. “Can you two just fuck already so the rest of us can be spared of this?”

You click your tongue, tone melting like butter. You’re fond of Taehyung, soft on him. “No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie, and god does that hurt his little feelings.”

Your wicked smile gives away nothing—whether you’re telling a bold truth or just unnecessarily needling Yoongi further—but Jimin’s caught off guard and chokes on your words nonetheless.

Hoseok’s forceps still digging around in his stomach, there’s a quiet hurrah of triumph as he finally locates the bullet. Jimin feels nothing as he retrieves it and plucks it out, a reverberated clank! as he drops it into a kidney dish, your words the anesthetic he’s needed as they play on a loop in his head.

When he finally blacks out, either from the pain or the adrenaline or both, it’s your face that greets him. He never gets the chance to tell you why he forgot his vest.

[64.1466° N, 21.9426° W | Reykjavík, ICELAND]

Jimin’s hair is blue when it happens the first time.

It’s November. Namjoon has sent the two of you to Reykjavik and it’s dark all the time, the midnight hue of his hair blending into the impenetrable nighttime that surrounds you. Jimin works best like this—out of sight, part of the shadows. He’s light on his feet, lithe in ways no one else is, not even you, and he’s impossible to anticipate under the cover of darkness.

That’s why Jimin always takes care of the appetizers.

It’s your job to clean up the main course.

The two of you are two halves of the same lethal coin, working together flawlessly after years of carefully honed practice. Jimin slams an unsuspecting man’s head into a wall and you’re right behind him to put a bullet in it.

It’s just how it goes.

And he trusts you. He has to, otherwise he would’ve gotten taken out years ago. You’re not always in his line of sight, but he always feels you, senses your movements before you’re even on your feet. The times it’s gone wrong—and it’s gone wrong so many fucking times, despite how cautious and skilled the two of you are—you’re always right there to catch him before he even hits the ground. Just like a ghost, as if your only purpose in life is keeping Jimin safe and alive.

(It isn’t, but it sure feels that way.)

Tonight it’s another hit carried out in an overpriced penthouse overlooking the northern shore. You’re in and out, don’t waste a second more than you need to. Jimin doesn’t spare a glance at the carnage left behind. Nothing he hasn’t seen a hundred times before. All blood bleeds the same, but he still wonders, foolishly, if his looks different to you. If it feels wrong when it stains your hands and seeps into your clothes.

Jimin has never been covered in your blood before, but he likes to think it would.

The two of you don’t speak until you’re in the quiet safety of yet another hotel room, chain lock thrown across the door, deadbolt secured. A small arsenal of weapons is retrieved from ankles and waistbands and cleaned and packed away meticulously. Jimin’s the one who makes the call to Namjoon, tells him in code that the job’s done. You’ve barely broken a sweat, but under the fluorescent light of the bathroom, Jimin can see a small smattering of blood just along your temple when he closes the distance between you.

Someone else’s, of course.

Anyone who made you bleed your own blood wouldn’t be a quick, clean kill. Jimin would make sure of that.

There’s less to be done about the half-inch scar in the hollow of your throat—a pearlescent reminder of the twin scar he has just below his navel; a callback to the day your devilish mouth said the words Jimin can’t stop thinking about.

“No can do, angel. Yoongi here knows I only have eyes for our Jiminie.”

Maybe it’s stupidity. Maybe it’s the feral, years-long build up that’s been simmering between the two of you—low enough to keep warm, contained enough to never evolve into a rapid boil. Maybe Jimin’s just finally desperate enough to go seeking out answers to questions he’s far too scared to put a voice to.

(Really, Jimin knows it’s adrenaline. Nothing more than chemicals. The two of you high on it, heads floating above the clouds. Powerless; or, at the very least, indifferent to stop the very clear path that’s unfolding on the ground below.)

But, god, he needs to know.

Needs answers.

Needs to know if there’s even a chance you feel it, too: the magnetic ebb and flow the two of you have been dancing around for years. If you see how fondly he looks at you. If you have any idea how easy it is for him to get lost in you. If you know he’d let someone put a bullet between his eyes before he placed his life in the hands of anyone else.

Jimin knows he loves you. He’s known it for a long time, just like he knows all those other things that are second nature to him. Loving you is easy and instinctual as much as it is painful and self-destructive.

At least that’s what he’d thought. Until your devilish mouth said those devilish words and sent him into a tailspin he’s yet to recover from.

You have to feel it. God, can’t you? The way the air crackles between you. The way his skin ignites with a simple look from you. The trembling of his fingers at his sides, desperate to just reach out and touch you—fingers that have been bathed in blood, that have taken life. Fingers that now just want to graze softly across your cheekbones, catch on your bottom lip. Fingers that want to hand you the world on a silver platter. Jimin would do anything for you, give you whatever you wanted. You wouldn’t even have to ask.

Can’t you feel that?

He needs to know.

Jimin is composed, elegant. He kills with grace and still maintains as much of his softness as he can. Isn’t ruled by emotion the way Yoongi and Jungkook are. But now, as he teeters on the edge of the unknown, all he wants to do is jump. Wants to buck all his training, all his resolve and forethought, and jump.

“Did you mean it?” he asks, voice thick. Fingers curl into the expensive silk of his shirt just so they have something to do—something to keep them from reaching out and touching you. “Back in Seoul.”

You’re the smartest person Jimin knows. When you ask, “Did I mean what, Chim?” he knows you’re fucking with him. Dragging this out. You know exactly what he’s asking and he knows you’ll never give anything away so easily.

“What you said to Taehyung,” he answers.

You tsk, eyebrows raising in intrigue. As much as Jimin trusts you, as well as you know him, know all those dirty, dirty secrets he’d never tell anyone else, he’s never been so bold with you. “That those long fingers of his would look good wrapped around my throat? Yeah, I meant that.”

Jimin’s jaw clenches at your taunt. “Don’t play games with me.”

A smirk graces your lips. “Trust me, sweetheart,” you say, voice sickly-sweet as the affection starts popping at the last seams holding him together, “if I wanted to play with you, there’s nothing you could do to stop it.”

With Jimin pressed into the wall behind you, you turn to meet his eye in the mirror. Another smile, teeth bared as you run your tongue across your lips, and this one is his undoing. Makes his cock twitch in his dress pants. Makes him bold. “Do you want to, then?” He takes a step forward—close enough to smell the gunpowder stuck to your clothes, your hair. Close enough for the sulfur and metal to sting his nostrils each time he breathes you in. “Do you want to play with me?”

You love Jimin. Maybe it’s a trauma bond or the implicit, unwavering trust the two of you have in one another, but you know you love him limitlessly. But you also know you can’t love him the way he loves you, the way he deserves to be loved by someone, which is why your mask slips as you say, “I can’t give you what you want, Jimin.”

You try to make him understand that. Really, you do—because Jimin is the smartest person you know, and you know he’s thought about every possible consequence down to the most minute detail and has decided this is worth it anyway. You want to believe in something the way Jimin believes in you, even though he’s wrong. You want something worth throwing all of this away for.

Maybe it’s Jimin, maybe it’s not. Maybe it’s just been so fucking long since someone has looked at you with any gentleness in their eyes at all that when Jimin meets your gaze and says, “I don’t want anything more than you’re willing to give,” you take his hand and jump, too.

And there’s nothing gentle about the first time.

It’s all raw, urgent need, Jimin trying desperately to convince himself it’s more than it is while you convince yourself it’s less.

It’s the two of you finally giving up and giving in, letting yourselves be pulled taut by that invisible string tying you together.

It’s Jimin’s sharp intake of breath when you fully step out of your clothes, the sight rendering him immobile. Whatever plans he’d had before seeing the curves of your body, all the scars from years of working by his side, the mottled yellow-greens and purples from the bruises lining your skin—he has no plans now. Can barely think. Wouldn’t be able to tear his eyes away from you with a gun to his head.

It’s the final bricks of the wall he’d built around himself—around his heart, around all those words and feelings he’d never put a voice to—crumbling into ash at his feet. Now he knows he can’t go back. Can’t return to a reality where this isn’t his truth. Where there’s no you and him, him and you. Where it’s just a physical exchange, a give-and-take, tit for tat.

And god, he knows he shouldn’t think like this; knows he’s keeping the truth buried somewhere deep behind lock and key.

…But now that he knows how it feels to move inside you, what else is he supposed to do?

You’re everywhere. Clenched around him. Your taste on his tongue. The feel of you on the pads of his fingers. The smell of you making a mockery of all logical thought. No—no, he can’t do a goddamn thing to stop the avalanche now it’s started.

“Fuck,” he whines, fingers digging into your hips. The soft skin he finds purchase in such a contrast from your hardened exterior, but Jimin knows. He knows you, knows the person behind the mask, sees straight through you each time it slips.

What stared back at him had always been just out of reach.

Taunting him.

Screaming come and get me, come make me yours, come and fucking take what you want.

Until now.

Now it’s tangible. Now it’s breathy, fractured moans that echo off tile walls. Now it’s the sound of his name thatleaves your lips like a prayer. Now it’s the sheen of sweat that covers both of you. Now it’s nails scraping down his back, tangling in the hair at the nape of his neck.

(And Jimin won’t tell you this, but those red welts are proof that this is real, this happened, and later on when he’s alone, when his mind is working overtime, he’ll look at them and he’ll smile. Because they’re real. Because this happened.)

Now, it’s the way blue becomes his favorite color. Because he can see his reflection in the mirror as he unravels and comes to his own demise as he spills inside of you; can see the fluorescent lights reflecting off the hue of his hair.

Jimin’s hair is blue when he realizes he’s in love with you.

[34.6037° S, 58.3816° W | Buenos Aires, ARGENTINA]

Jimin is blond when Namjoon sends you to South America.

The details had been scarce: a diplomatic advisor with a rap sheet of human rights violations that have been continuously swept under the rug and his equally-corrupt lawyer. A candid photograph paperclipped to another manila folder, Namjoon a fan of all those old cliches. Likes being a little cheeky that way when he can get away with it, because god knows he can’t get away with much, doesn’t have much of a sense of humor.

It’s a simple job. You and Jimin will have it dealt with in a matter of hours. Less if you’re lucky and the universe is agreeable. But the humidity sticks to your skin, has sweat seeping into your clothes and rolling down your temples, and if there’s one thing you can’t stand it’s the heat. Makes it hard to think. And Namjoon—Namjoon, who makes sure all of his agents want for nothing—is a cheap bastard. Rarely approves nice lodging, says it’s too risky despite your arguments to the contrary, that people don’t care what you do when you have money, so you’re stuck in some shithole motel room with an aircon unit that keeps blowing out stale, warm air.

And maybe you shouldn’t, maybe you should be more cognizant of Jimin and all his feelings, but it’s fucking hot, so you peel your shirt over your head and undo the button of your pants. Sit on the edge of the bed and try to think about anything other than the temperature, how it’s starting to prick uncomfortably at your skin.

Jimin clears his throat, keeps his eyes glued to the disgusting carpet. “Got a text from Seokjin-ssi,” he says, words strained. “Looks like they’ll be solo jobs.”

You groan. Leave it to Seokjin to change the plan at the last minute. “Tell Kim Seokjin he’s a useless piece of shit.”

“Done. Anything else?”

“Tell Kim Namjoon if he ever sends us to South America in the summer again I’ll kill him myself.”

Jimin has a laugh like an anodyne. A laugh that takes all those broken, bleeding parts of you and soothes over them like a balm. “Seokjin-ssi says he’s not passing along that particular message.”

“Tell him he’s a bitch, then.”

“He’ll kill me if I say that.”

“He hasn’t done field work in years and he’s probably too vitamin D deficient to leave the basement. He couldn’t even kill a fucking rat.”

There’s another laugh. More forced, less tinkling. You recognize it right away, the sound of anxiety. Solo jobs aren’t common for the two of you. For Yoongi and Taehyung, sure, but not you and Jimin. You’re a team for a reason, and though you’re more than capable of getting this done and out of the way, it doesn’t feel right. Settles in your gut like something rotten, knowing you’ll be without Jimin.

And you know he’s thinking it, too. How he turns the burner over and over in his hands, as if there’s some combination of words he can send back to Seoul to get Seokjin and Namjoon to reconsider. Plans don’t change often; not like this, anyway. These have been declared solos for a reason, and that’s a thought you can’t linger on too long.

“Are they leaving it up to us?” Jimin nods, still not meeting your eye. “Do you have a preference?”

He shrugs, tossing the phone on the small table in the corner. Nothing else to be done. “Not really. What do you think?”

“Nah, don’t care, either. Just toss me one.”

Santiago Aguirre… 47 years old… Resides in a high-rise luxury apartment in Retiro…

Your eyes skim the file, study the black and white photograph of the lawyer. Read over the list of all his high-profile, degenerate clients and all their high-profile crimes. You read about the previous attempts on his life, the seemingly never-ending list of people who want him dead. Your eyes go back to his photograph, frowning at the smug look on his face. What stares back at you is a man who thinks he’s invincible, who thinks a penthouse apartment on the top floor and a security team in the lobby means he’s impervious to harm. A man who has made money off people just like him: dirty, corrupt, hands stained red.

“Okay?” Jimin asks, looking up from his own file.

He’s so striking. So safe. And you know what he’s done, giving you the hit he thinks is easier, willing to risk himself on a solo mission to ensure you make it out. There’s no guarantees in this line of work, in life in general, but Jimin’s brand of selfless love is certainly one.

So you just nod, knowing someone slimy like this can quickly go sideways, and decide you can do the same.

“I’m gonna get ready,” you say. “The plan is the same as all the other solo jobs. Get in, get it done, get out as quickly as possible. Lay low. Don’t come straight back here.”

Jimin rolls his eyes good-naturedly. “Anything else?”

You exhale. Try to quiet the nerves roiling in your stomach. Barely resist the urge to press a lingering kiss to Jimin’s forehead before you swallow hard and say, “Yeah. Stay alive.”

It comes out more like a plea.

—

You’re good at your job.

Rarely feel much guilt over it, either, which—well, you’re not sure what that means. That something is permanently broken in your psyche, probably. Being able to take life so easily and without remorse. It’s not natural.

Kim Namjoon is a man who plays God, is the one who decides who gets to live and who has to die. His word is the only law you adhere to. And that’s… that’s something. Makes it less burdensome, takes some weight off, because Kim Namjoon wouldn’t accept a morally-ambiguous job. He wouldn’t ask you to put your life on the line for some petty bullshit.

This is how you’ve lived for the last four years. Four years of blindly following Namjoon’s word, of being a good little soldier and doing whatever is asked of you. Four years of being responsible for not only your own life, but Jimin’s as well, just as he is for yours. Four years that have served you well, all things considered.

Until now.

Something about this job hits you hard. Doesn’t settle quite as quickly as the ones that have come before. For the first time, you’d looked down at the lifeless body at your feet and couldn’t stop the trembling, could barely quell the nausea. Thought what the fuck am I doing, what kind of life is this for the first time. Thought back to that day four years ago when Kim Namjoon saved your life and offered you a job and wondered, for the first time, what would’ve happened if you’d said no.

Now, as you suck on a cigarette, legs dangling off the roof of a building looking not far from collapse, a new thought:

Would Namjoon let you go if you asked?

He’s taken care of you. For four years you’ve wanted for nothing. Have socked away more money than you’ll ever be able to spend, even if you live to a thousand. You could go anywhere, become anyone, and no one would suspect a thing. There’d just be you and a million lifetimes’ worth of transgressions, alone under the weight of all that burden; alone, except for all the ghosts that come to greet you every time you close your eyes.

Doesn’t matter. Namjoon might be willing to let you go, give you the chance to salvage something from this life in the name of normalcy, but Yoongi would gladly put a bullet in your head before he let you disappear with all his secrets.

Doesn’t matter.

You stub out the cigarette and put the butt in your pocket. Make your way down to the street. Stay under the shadows—just visible enough to redirect any suspicion shot your way. You pretend to take a call, flawless Argentinian Spanish falling from your lips as you tell the imaginary person on the other end all about your fucked up day at work. How your manager never gets off your ass, doesn’t trust you, thinks you’re too fucking stupid to run a simple executable.

No one spares you a second glance.

Not here, on this nondescript street in a nondescript Argentinian neighborhood, and not when you stumble into the tiny lobby of your shithole motel. The poor kid behind the desk doesn’t even glance up, just mutters a good evening, miss under his breath that you return in a voice far too high-pitched to be your own.

Better to be seen and be unremarkable than draw attention to yourself trying to stay invisible, you figure.

The cameras in the stairwell are broken so you take the steps two at a time. Pull the room key from its place inside your boot, happy to no longer have it digging into your skin. Pause just long enough to make sure you don’t hear anything on the other side of the door before you’re unlocking it with your free hand wrapped around the trigger of your gun.

It’s empty.

Of course it is.

Jimin stashed the burner in a place no one but you would think to look. You text one simple word to Seokjin—Hey!—and you get two in return: Who’s this?

You know who it is, you fucking dickhead.

It takes a few seconds, but the reply is a simple—

Sorry.

Then you toss aside the phone and float in the darkness of the room. There’s nothing to do but wait, because you don’t dare to do anything alone. There’s sweat and blood and fuck knows what else stuck to your skin, your hair, but you can’t risk taking a shower. Can’t risk the water dampening your senses. Can’t risk being cornered in a moldy bathroom, only one way out. Can’t risk doing anything alone. Can’t take a fucking shower.

It’s this thought, more than anything else, that has your body flushing with rage.

What kind of life is this?

Namjoon had never mentioned repaying your debt. He’d never insinuated you owed him anything at all for saving your life, but you know something like that never comes for free. Namjoon doesn’t do anything just because. Has no goodness in his heart to do anything in the name of it. Watching Jimin nearly die in front of him had been the exception to his usual nature; a rare slip-up by an otherwise detached, uncaring man.

Still, whatever you owe him has surely been repaid by now. Tenfold, if the bloodstains along your collar are anything to go by.

It’s time for Namjoon to let you go.

—

Something is wrong.

Two hours have ticked by and there’s no word from Jimin. No word from Namjoon or Seokjin, either, which is the only reason you’re still in this nauseating motel room and not out on the streets searching for him. Solo jobs don’t go like this. The two of you are always in and out, tragically efficient. Back to where you started and then back on a plane, nothing left behind except a singular bullet hole and another fragmented piece of your conscience.

You’ve had a lot of jobs go wrong, but never two hours.

You’re about three minutes from coming out of your skin. Sick to your stomach with worry, anxiety weighing you down like an anchor. You wouldn’t be able to go out searching for Jimin like this even if you could, and there’s no point in dwelling on that, examining it further. All you can do is wait.

It’s another hour before you hear the click of the lock. You’re nearly on your knees in relief, but you stay rooted to the flimsy mattress. Try not to think about how you’ll have to sleep on it, even though you’ll be up half the night with residual worry. All those lingering ghosts.

Jimin doesn’t say anything, so neither do you.

[55.6761° N, 12.5683° E | Copenhagen, DENMARK]

Jimin��s hair is orange when you go to Copenhagen.

Not for a job, just to breathe. You wanted to see the city at Christmastime; Jimin’s never been.

You crack a joke. Point out buildings of similar color, have him stand in front of one as you take a picture. Everyone smiles when they pass the two of you on the street, Jimin’s eyes fond even though he rolls them as you pose him how you want. Still stands against an apricot-colored wall and flashes a smile and a peace sign, cheeks pink from the cold. Does a good job of pretending the two of you aren’t here just for fun, that this is something more.

It’s not.

The two of you fucked in a hotel room in Reykjavik and haven’t spoken a word of it since.

You nearly lost your mind over him in Buenos Aires and haven’t spoken a word of that, either.

Instead, his hand finds yours as the two of you walk around Tivoli Gardens. You marvel at the lights and Jimin marvels at you. You share mulled wine and spiced doughnuts. Jimin tries to drag you on the swings but you plant your feet and refuse, laughing through your refusals. As dangerous as your lives are, motion sickness might be the most. He gets his revenge and poses you in front of a giant nutcracker, then again in front of one of the endless Christmas trees.

Jimin pays for the two of you to decorate honey cakes. You’re surrounded by families with shrieking children and palpable adoration, and it’s all you can do not to wonder if anyone you’ve taken out had ever had something like this. Something that makes your soul warm; something that still lingers in your bones years later.

The two of you take a selfie when it starts to snow. It stings when you have no one to send it to, so it just lives in your phone. Maybe it’s enough.

On another day, Jimin holds your hand through Torvehallerne. This time you marvel at him while he marvels at all the food, eyes wide each time he turns to ask if he should buy something. You always say yes and he always shares, and it’s all you can do not to think about why you don’t have to budget yourselves. Why you’re able to walk through the market and buy whatever you want; how you could buy every item for sale and it wouldn’t make a dent.

(You pick up small trinkets for Taehyung and Jungkook. Not because you want to, but because it feels nicer than remembering that you have no one to buy gifts for. Not really. Not anymore.)

Jimin wants to ice skate, so you do. He holds your hand then, too. More out of necessity than anything else, and he has none of his usual grace. Someone hands you a free cup of hot chocolate, just because. Jimin pouts and then it’s his hot chocolate. It’s all you can do not to kiss away the whipped cream on the corner of his mouth.

Back in your lavish hotel, after countless days have blurred together and Jimin’s fresh from a shower, skin flushed, you finally ask yourself if it’s worth putting up such a fight. If it’s really all that bad to care for Jimin and be cared for in return. If it’s all that bad to be someone else, just for a little while: someone with a normal life who makes a normal living and has a normal capability to love. Someone who isn’t damaged beyond repair.

That will never be you. Not fully, and certainly not in this lifetime, but maybe it could be, a little.

“Jimin,” you say, because you need to try. Jimin loves you in ways you’ll never understand, and you want to be better for him. “We should talk.”

Your voice is small and hesitant, and Jimin hates it. Sees trouble where there’s only vulnerability, so he misreads. Shakes his head. Takes a risk and stands between your legs at the edge of the bed—yours, because there’s two—as he tilts your head back, thumbs pressing into the contours of your cheeks. The scar still sits in the hollow of your throat, and that version of you feels so far away. That life feels so far away.

There’s no violence here. There’s no blood, no fugues. There’s just you and Jimin, whose voice is small like yours when he shakes his head and says, “You should kiss me instead.”

The second time is nothing like the first.

Jimin moves delicately. Feels like silk lace, tastes like spun sugar. Moves both his mouth and his body fluidly, no hesitation, yet he still takes his time. Still pauses to look at you with endless devotion; with awed reverence. Makes a map of your body and marks all his favorite places with his lips.

“Tell me what you want,” he says. Speaks the words against the skin just beneath your ear. “Anything. I’ll give you whatever you want, just have to ask.”

What you want isn’t tangible, isn’t possible, so you stay quiet. Thread your fingers through Jimin’s hair, gasp when he mouths along the column of your throat. Jimin reserves all his softness for you. Bathes you in it. Would kill anyone to keep it that way.

So you say, “Want your mouth,” and let slip a quiet moan when he gives you what you’ve asked for. When he situates himself between your thighs and sucks and licks until you’re writhing, making a mess, grasping fruitlessly at the sheets, his hair, his shoulders, only calming when his hands find yours and your fingers interlock.

Jimin mouths at you until you’re trembling. Until you’re needy and desperate, hips moving on their own, fucking yourself against his face. Until nothing exists except the heat in your belly, the stars behind your eyelids, the heady, fucked-out sound of Jimin’s voice as he talks you through it, murmurs praise against your cunt.

Jimin mouths at you until you forget.

This isn’t your life. This is not something you can have.

But, in the grand scheme of things, what does it matter? You’ve made peace with death, and there’s only one of two ways it’s going to come for you in the end: by Namjoon’s hand or someone else’s. So what does it matter?

This time, Jimin fucks you slow. Kisses you with your taste still in his mouth. Thumbs over a hardened nipple just to see what earns him a reaction, and what you truly want is more time—something else that’s impossible.

Jimin’s hair is orange when you think you might be in love with him.

[ 48.8566° N, 2.3522° E | Paris, FRANCE ]

Jimin’s hair is pink when—

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the toilet.

Soaks a washcloth in warm water. Wrings it out. Stands in front of you, and there’s water dripping onto the floor and Jimin doesn’t care, doesn’t seem to see anything in this moment except for you, your hands covered in someone else’s blood, and he reaches out, gently grabs your wrist. Palm up. Someone else’s blood. Everything smells like copper and iron. Looks too surreal beneath the fluorescent lights of this hotel bathroom for your mind to make sense of it.

There is care in the way Jimin cleans your hands. There is tenderness in the way he both refuses to see what you really are and the way he’s the only one to ever see you so entirely, when you look down at the blood he’s washing away and all you can see is stigmata. When all you see is sin.

“I know you don’t love me,” he says, and there is a conviction in his words that stuns you into silence. “Not the way I love you, anyway.”

That tenderness is still there as he says this. As he presses the wet fabric into the meat of your palm, wipes the stains away, and the warmth is as calming as it is undeserved. It feels like something forbidden. It feels like salvation and condemnation all at once, like whatever sick depravity permeates you is contagious, will take over Jimin, too, just from touching you.

Jimin is close enough to reach out and touch. Close enough to see the violence that he exists in alongside you: the rips in his clothes, the scars that decorate his skin. Close enough to know he smells sickly-sweet, just like death. Your hand shakes as it reaches for him and never follows through. Doesn’t want to contaminate him.

“I do,” you finally say. Whatever is in your voice is not conviction. “I can’t.” You suck in a breath, try to steady your breathing. This is where it all comes crashing down, you think, because in all the years you’ve done Namjoon’s bidding, you’ve never cried. You can take life so freely and without thought, but you cannot love Jimin. “Someone like me isn’t capable of it.”

Jimin pauses, the washcloth stuck in the space between your ring and middle fingers. “And who is someone like you?”

Water is still dripping to the floor. Serosanguineous: blood tainting something untouched. Not something one thing or another but both, watery-pink. Looks like Jimin’s hair. “I’ve killed a lot of people,” you answer. “More than I can count. More than I can name. More than the ones that come to haunt me at night.” Your free hand moves to your chest, covers your heart. “There’s nothing here, Jimin. I’m not sure there ever was.”

The washcloth drops to the floor, and all that blood belonging to a man whose name you never bothered to learn before you put a bullet between his eyes finds a new place to rest. “I think,” he begins, clasping your unclean hand in his own, voice dropping to a whisper, “you forget, sometimes.” You gasp as he places your palm to his cheek, drags it across his face, smears a stranger’s blood across his skin. “That we’re the same.”

Jimin is always overwhelming, but the love he has for you is even more so. It consumes you entirely, embeds itself beneath your skin, makes a home, would tear you apart, body and soul, to return to him.

[ 47.4979° N, 19.0402° E | Budapest, HUNGARY ]

Jimin’s hair is lavender when it all goes to shit.

“You’re being followed.”

Seokjin’s voice is garbled through the earpiece, tinny and metallic, and you roll your eyes. Some things don’t need to be said, because you’ve known someone was following you for the last three blocks. Average height, black peacoat, close-cropped haircut. Not the kind of person that’d stand out here, and that’s exactly why you’d sent Jimin in the other direction.

“No shit,” you respond in Hungarian, because you already know the man following you doesn’t speak or understand it. “Give me somewhere to go.”

It takes Seokjin a few moments to run the translation. “There’s a side street up on your right,” he answers. “It’s tight, but there’s an alleyway at the end. You can buy some time if you’re quick.”

“Where’s Jimin?”

You pass a vendor selling lángos and duck into the street behind the stall. Just as Seokjin had said, there’s a small alleyway up on the left, and your footfall is near-silent as you break into a sprint to reach it. “Safe,” is all Seokjin says.

You take a second to steady your breathing, knowing you’re good on time—the man following you was close enough to know where you’d turned, but, if you’re lucky, not much after that. That plays on a loop: if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky, if you’re lucky. What is luck, what does it look like, in a life left entirely to chance? In a life with no guarantees?

You tuck yourself away, focus on Seokjin’s metallic breaths. Think about his basement in Seoul, why he’s in it. Ask, “What happened in Addis Ababa?” because it feels important to know.

There’s not much you know about Seokjin’s life. Whatever happened in Ethiopia had been before your time, reduced to hushed whispers and gossip fodder after your arrival. No one spoke of it, Seokjin especially, but every now and then something would slip in the same way weeds grow in sidewalk cracks.

A job gone wrong. A bombing at the consulate with Seokjin inside.

His reply is simple, words spoken carefully: “I loved someone once, too.”

He can’t see it, but you nod nonetheless; an answer that doesn’t require a response, because you know. It’s enough to fill in the rest. What Seokjin’s trauma looks like. Why he doesn’t do field work anymore. Why he prefers the solitude of the basement, rarely a sound beyond the electric thrum of the server racks.

Who had gone in to retrieve him, and why Yoongi has the scar over his eye.

“You loved someone,” you conclude, “and he would’ve been willing to die for you.”

“Yes,” Seokjin says, and it’s like the word’s been punched out of him. Sounds like something repressed, something left to rot in the darkest corner of the world.

Love, to Seokjin, looks and sounds the same as death.

“I think most people spend their entire lives searching for a love like that,” he continues, and if you could see him you think he might look dazed, off-kilter. You think he might be an avatar. Seokjin is prying his ribcage apart, unwrapping the barbed wire from his heart, saying I once was in love and this is all I know of it. “But, to me, in this life, it’s a prison. Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? How do you—I kissed that skin. I worshiped it. I pressed my lips to it with whatever softness was left in me. How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled?” He exhales, all tremor. “You can’t. You can’t.”

You know this all too well. You know what it feels like to look at Jimin and know, intrinsically and subconsciously, that you wouldn’t even hesitate. You’d take and give life to keep him alive and safe. You know that when you exit this world at someone else’s hand his face is the last thing you want to see.

You know it’s a liability.

You know it’s a target painted on your back. Between your eyes.

You know there’s nothing left to say, that this particular conversation has run its course. The two of you sit in an amicable silence, and you hope Seokjin can hear the life that surrounds you, however mundane. Hope he can hear the lángos vendor trying to hawk his goods; hope he can hear a city 8,000 kilometers away; hope he can hear these regular, everyday people going about their lives and remember there’s hope beyond his four walls.

I think you’d like it here, you think, but you don’t dare to say it aloud.

Time passes in a meaningless blur. Could be minutes, could be hours. No one’s come to kill you, so you reckon you’ve long since been in the clear. And maybe it speaks to Seokjin’s idea that love is a prison, because you know something’s happened to Jimin long before Seokjin speaks it into existence.

You’re up and out of the alleyway before you’re told to move. Have no idea where you’re going, but you’re racing through the streets of Budapest with a panic you haven’t ever felt in your life. Feels like quicksand; feels like molasses; feels like you have to wade through all the blood you’ve spilled, now congealed, to get to him.

“Where am I going?” you demand. Your lungs are on fire. In the split-second of silence it becomes a desperate scream. “Seokjin, tell me where the fuck I’m going!”

“The—fuck, the wa-warehouse up on your right.” You can’t think about why he’s crying. “I don’t—I don’t know wha-what’s there, you need to be careful. Please, you have to—”

Twenty seconds and you’ll be there, you’ll be with Jimin, you just need to keep running. You need to keep your head on straight. Remember your training. Remember you’ve built a life in a viper pit.

A man in a uniform is unloading a shipment around the back of the building. Faces away from you, bent at the waist. Takes very little effort to smash his head into the stone exterior and knock him unconscious, pocket his badge. You can’t get stupid now. Tell Seokjin to make sure all the cameras are cut, ask what floor when you shut yourself inside the freight elevator, unwilling to take the stairs and run into anyone who might be waiting. All the way to the top, he says, so all the way to the top you go.

—

Over the course of your life, you’ve made peace with death. Have stared it in the eye more times than you can count. Have dealt it out, evaded it, shook its hand.

You are wholly unprepared for the sight that greets you.

Red. Everything is red—the walls, the floor, what used to be a beautiful parquet pattern in the wood. In the center of the room: two bodies, maybe three. Not much that’d be able to identify them beyond a pile of teeth, no saying whose is whose. Slaughterhouse scraps.

And this is not—Jimin doesn’t work this way. Isn’t his MO. Jimin’s kills are elegant and neat, topped with a bow. What you see before you is ultraviolence. It is unhinged, it is fury, it is a complete loss of control. It’s what love looks like to Jimin, because he sits at the very edge of a rotted chair, legs crossed. Face streaked with blood, clothes covered in it.

“Jimin,” you say, because what else is there?

He tilts his head to the side, smirks a little, looks at you beneath his lashes. Eyes that used to find you across a room and calm you. Eyes that have locked onto you in the throes of pleasure. Eyes you’ve seen yourself reflected in, bathed in love and adoration.

Eyes that now contain nothing.

“Jimin, what the fuck happened?”

He removes his gloves with his teeth and doesn’t flinch away from the taste of iron. “They said they hurt you,” he states simply, “so I did what needed to be done.”

“What—” Nausea claws at your throat; for the first time, it’s all too much. This isn’t Jimin. This isn’t your Jimin, who smiled as you posed him against apricot walls in Copenhagen, who took a bullet to the stomach to protect you and never, ever told you. This is not the Jimin who wasted the last of his goodwill on loving you. “What did you do?” you whisper.

He rises to full height and it makes you flinch. You are scared of Jimin for the first time in your life: scared of who he is in this moment, what he’s capable of. And he sees it, lets that brand of anguish overtake him. Reaches for you before he decides against it and lets his hand drop to his side. Says, “I would never hurt you,” as if the words could brand themselves into your skin so you’d never forget.

“No, you’d just—” You squeeze your eyes shut. Don’t think about how one of the men nearly embedded into the floor was the one trailing you earlier.

Instead, you think about Seokjin: Once someone is willing to die for you, how do you keep them alive? You think about: How do you look at that same skin and know you’re the reason it’s mangled? You think about: In this life, it’s a prison.

You drop to your knees. Let the blood seep through your clothes and into your skin, undeserving of shying away from it.

Namjoon should’ve let you go.

You think about the men in front of you. Who they were, who they loved. The grief all of this is going to leave behind, and it becomes impossible to breathe. You grasp at your throat, think about all the times you’ve been strangled and who’d been there to cut the rope. There is no limit to Jimin’s devotion, and you understand now, how it drove Yoongi to madness. How he loved someone so much he would’ve retrieved their corpse from a building and how that same person can no longer bear to look at the damage they’d caused.

“This isn’t love, Jimin,” you choke out.

He stands in front of you. Stigmata. You’re worshiping at the altar of some kind of devil. At least his hands are clean when he places his fingers beneath your chin, forces you to look up at him. “What is it, then?”

“Destruction.”

A quiet huff of cruel laughter. “See, this is the difference between me and you, darling.” He takes back his hand, runs it through his blood-streaked hair, and your chin sags to your chest without his support. “Because I already knew that. Because I have destroyed myself every single day loving you.” He squats down, eye-level, and he says, “I need you to listen to me when I say this, sweetheart: you do not love me the way I love you, because I would do worse. When it comes to you, there is nothing on this earth I would not destroy to keep you safe.”

He clears his throat. Collects whatever’s in his mouth and spits onto one of the bodies. “If this is enough to have you tucking your fucking tail between your legs, then go, because this doesn’t even scratch the fucking surface.”

You can’t bring yourself to say anything, and sometimes that says it all.

Jimin presses a kiss to the top of your head. Makes a call. Cleaners will be here soon, he says, better get going.

You watch him go.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair is black when Namjoon calls the meeting.

He takes the seat across from Namjoon’s desk because they don’t meet like this often. Assignments are usually manila folders slipped under doors, hushed whispers in hallways confirmed with a nod or a text on a burner phone. Assignments are not last-minute assemblies in conference rooms and offices.

But the way Namjoon is looking at him, with his clenched jaw and a gaze that’s meant to look barbed to anyone who doesn’t actually know him—Jimin doesn’t need to ask what this is about.

Had he bothered to look, he would’ve known by the way you stood in the far corner of the room, face obscured by the mid-afternoon shadows. Yoongi’s close to you, for some reason: dressed head to toe in black, perched on a lateral file cabinet, using a metal corner to sharpen his switchblade. Just like a harbinger of death. Some sort of fucked up omen, a warning that’s come too late.

Didn’t I tell you this would end badly, he hears Yoongi taunt in his head. This is what happens when you lay with trash.

Easy for Yoongi to say when he doesn’t know what it means to be cared for by you. Doesn’t know how it feels to give in to the freefall and plummet at your feet, stripped back and laid bare. Doesn’t know how it feels to kiss secrets into your skin like constellations, to map his tongue along every unspoken confession.

Easy for Yoongi to say, because he doesn’t have to survive the aftermath. Doesn’t have to feel the heartbreak, the agony of having you and watching as you slip through his fingers. Yoongi doesn’t have to struggle just to breathe, doesn’t have to endure the nights staring at the ceiling, watching as the daylight creeps into the corners of his vision. Doesn’t have to watch you looking so unaffected.

“Jimin.” Namjoon’s tone is flat, needlelike.

Behind him, Yoongi chuckles lowly. “What?” Jimin asks, his gaze trained on the painting behind Namjoon’s head. Looks like one he’d seen in Berlin, the time the two of you had gone just because and spent an afternoon ducking in and out of museums to escape the rain.

When he closes his eyes, he still sees the raindrops stuck to your eyelashes. The beads of water rolling off the sleeves of your leather jacket. How blinding your smile had been. The laughter in your voice as you ordered beer after beer after beer for the two of you in flawless Berlinisch. A brief, fleeting glimpse at normalcy. At the kind of life the two of you could have if you were just… different. Lived different lives. Were different people.

“You’ve gotten sloppy.”

Namjoon’s words are a cold bucket of water. Snap him back to reality, yank him back to the present where he’s forced to leave those river-lined streets behind. You’re silent and Yoongi’s still snorting laughter. “Okay,” is all Jimin can bring himself to say.

Jin had gotten sloppy once, too, and Namjoon stuck him down in the basement to work logistics. Might not be so bad, Jimin reckons. He’d be away from you, spared of this fucking misery. “So you know that’s unacceptable.”

Jimin just shrugs, resigned to his fate, whatever it may be. “I’m reassigning the both of you,” Namjoon continues. “You’ll both have new partners for your next assignments, since you clearly can no longer be trusted together.”

“Who?” Jimin manages to choke out.

Namjoon raises an eyebrow, clearly having expected an argument. “You’re being sent to Shanghai with Jungkook. You,” he says, turning his attention to you, “are going to Moscow with Taehyung.”

She’s fond of Taehyung, Jimin wants to say. But you’d been fond of him too, once upon a time, and that’d only ended in heartbreak, so who fucking cares.

They’re cruel, the tricks Jimin’s mind plays on him. How he convinces himself you look pained. How his fingers wring together at the thought of entrusting his life in the hands of someone else, someone new. At your life being just as at stake; at Taehyung being tasked with keeping you alive. Would you die for him, too, the way you’d always told Jimin you would for him? Would Taehyung take a bullet to the stomach to keep you safe the way Jimin had?

Even more cruel is the way you scoff, pushing yourself off of the wall as you fold your arms across your chest and say, “That’s bullshit, Kim Namjoon.”

No one talks to Namjoon that way except you.

Yoongi’s knife stops twirling. Just like a bird sensing a storm, senses on high-alert as he flicks his gaze over to you. “I’m sorry?” Namjoon says. “What part of Jimin losing his mind and nearly outing all of us seems like bullshit to you?”

“Hm, let me think,” you retort, a manicured finger tapping against the hollow of your cheek. “The part where you’re reassigning me for someone else’s mistake?”

Which part was the mistake? Jimin wants to ask. Needs to know how much you regret. Was sleeping with you the mistake? Falling in love with you? Getting too caught up in all these daydreams and letting reality get away from him?

“This organization is more important than Park Jimin getting his goddamn dick wet,” Namjoon snaps. “Keeping all of you safe—keeping you alive—is more—”

You scoff. Take an entire container of gasoline and pour it right on top of Namjoon’s flammable ire. “Then perhaps you’d be so kind as to explain to me why Min fucking Yoongi can fuck damn near everyone in this establishment, yet I have to sit here and listen to your goddamn mouth—”

Jimin doesn’t think Yoongi even knows his arm is moving.

There’d just been the trading of barbed words. His own name being spoken into the ether. Yoongi’s arm moving away from his body, switchblade clasped tightly between his fingers as he plunges it into your flesh.

Jimin watches it puncture your arm in slow motion. Feels the bile in his throat, the heat in his belly. Looks first at Namjoon whose jaw has gone slack, skin pale, as he stammers over words that won’t come. Then he looks at Yoongi—expects to find shock or guilt but finds only a muted disinterest and flared nostrils.

Finally, he looks at you. Watches the white cotton sleeve of your shirt slowly turn red and sticky-wet. Watches as your lips move around syllables and vowels and consonants Jimin can’t decipher.

“—fucking piece of shit, this is my favorite shirt! I’ll never get all this goddamn blood out of it—”

Jimin thinks he hears Yoongi say you deserve it. But Jimin isn’t really thinking much as he clambers out of his chair and moves in Yoongi’s direction. Doesn’t think at all as he lets instinct take over, lets adrenaline steer him headfirst into yet another bad idea.

He’s always known there’d come a day he’d be face-to-face with the sight of your blood. Had always known it’d come from someone else’s hand. Had always promised himself that hurting you would be the last thing anyone ever did.

Jimin has his fingers wrapped around Yoongi’s throat and he finally understands it—the joy Yoongi finds in taking life.

“What’s the matter, Jimin-ah?” Yoongi taunts. Jimin tightens his grip. Suddenly hates that fucking scar across Yoongi’s eye. “You’re never on clean-up duty. Always make your girlfriend do the dirty work. Finally grew some fucking balls, huh?”

“Fuck you,” Jimin says stupidly. Can’t think of anything more to say. Not that he needs to. Wrapping your hands around someone’s throat sends enough of a message, he thinks.

Namjoon’s still tongue-tied as you yank Yoongi’s blade from your arm, immediately pressing your other hand over the wound to stem the bleeding. The sight of your blood is making Jimin dizzy; the smell of the iron hanging in the air. All he wants to do is choke the life out of the man in front of him, but more than that, he just wants to hold your hand. Wants to comfort you, even though he knows you don’t need it. Not from him, not from anyone, but he still wants to. Wants to press his lips to the sweat at your brow.

And Yoongi can see it, too, because he starts laughing. It’s an odd, fractured noise. Jimin isn’t sure if he’s ever heard him laugh before, decides he also hates the way it sounds. Feels all wrong watching it leave his crooked smirk. Makes Jimin’s stomach plummet to the ground.

“Oh, you’re fucked, aren’t you?” Yoongi teases around Jimin’s slackened grip. “You weren’t just fucking her, you’re in love with her.”

Weird how Jimin is the one with his hands around someone’s neck and feels like he’s the one suffocating.

[ 31.2304° N, 121.4737° E | Shanghai, CHINA ]

Jimin watches the life drain from an innocent woman’s face and feels nothing.

Jimin watches Jungkook cut a man down and feels even less.

When it’s over, he cleans up wordlessly and doesn’t eat for three days.

[ 37.5665° N, 126.9780° E | Seoul, SOUTH KOREA ]

Jimin’s hair has faded to brown by the time he returns from Shanghai.

The more complicated job had gone to you and Taehyung. Jimin had tried not to take it personally. The Russian hits are always unnecessarily violent and Jungkook still isn’t fully trained. There’s still a phantom pain in Jimin’s stomach that warns him of the consequences of taking on more than he can chew. So, sure, Shanghai had gone fine, but his mind had been nearly 7,000 kilometers away the entire time.

Good thing he’d returned to Seoul unscathed, too, because he’s sure Namjoon would’ve eliminated him without a moment’s hesitation if he’d fucked up again.

But Shanghai had only served to prove the leader right. Jimin can’t work with you anymore. Can’t focus, can’t stomach the violence, can’t keep his goddamn head on straight.

He sighs as he glances at Jungkook to his right. Jimin had watched him murder two men in cold blood not even thirty-six hours ago and now he’s doe-eyed and sucking down his third banana milk of the morning. It really makes his head spin, being paired with this grown-up infant of a man now instead of you, but for all of Jungkook’s apparent shortcomings, he’d kept Jimin alive. He isn’t dead.

And then you walk in with Taehyung and he wishes he was.

Because you’re laughing and Taehyung’s got his arm slung around your shoulder and you look happy. It’s the kind of happiness that should be contagious, bloom warmth in his chest, but it doesn’t. It just takes the last frayed strand of hope he has and sets flame to it.

You don’t look like you miss Jimin at all. Don’t look like you’ve lost sleep or skipped meals.

“Didn’t take you long, did it?” Jimin says, because he’s wounded and lashing out. Not because he means it.

You must know he doesn’t, too, because you don’t react. “Watch your mouth, Park Jimin,” Taehyung warns, because he doesn’t know, and this only sets Jimin off more. You don’t need defending. Or had you, and Jimin had simply thought it wasn’t his place to provide it? That you wouldn’t want it?

“Or what, Kim Taehyung?”

Taehyung is cherubic. It’s part of his charm, one of many reasons why he’s so effective. If you’re looking to die, you look for the guy who looks like Yoongi, not the one who smiles wide and warm like Taehyung. So when he sets his jaw and pokes his tongue into his cheek and says, “Or I’ll cut your fucking head off, you stupid fuck,” your attention is finally piqued.

“I’m so sick of this,” Jungkook wails, banana milk tossed carelessly in the trash. “All of you need to get your fucking shit together!”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at the same time you pretend to inspect your nails. “Is that why you’re so temperamental, Chim?” Taehyung prods, looking every bit the pretentious, murderous angel he is. “Because you got sent to China on a babysitting mission while the grownups did real work?”

“Fuck you,” Jungkook snaps, rising to full height. “I’m not a fucking child.”

“Oh? Could’ve fooled me.” Taehyung’s words are razor-sharp and smell like kerosene. “Tell me, then: were you on babysitting duty? Had to look after our precious little Jiminie while he nursed his broken heart?”

You sigh, full of faux-exasperation, and place a gentle hand on Taehyung’s forearm. Dig your nails in just enough to be a warning, and if Jimin hadn’t been looking he’d miss it: the way Taehyung deflates instantly, anger dissipating like smoke, back in control. Just because you’d touched him. Just because you were there. Jimin knows that touch, how it feels to be under your control, and it makes his chest ache. Makes everything feel like it’s sitting wrong in his stomach, and he’s either going to be sick all over Namjoon’s overpriced fucking rug or wrap his hands around Taehyung’s throat the way he’d done to Yoongi.

He’s out of his goddamned mind; he feels untethered. Helpless. Like it was always going to end like this, and maybe Jimin knew that and had just ignored it. Maybe now he’s paying the price—maybe he’s finally found something he can’t afford.

Jungkook’s still going off, nasty gaze set on Taehyung because he’s the only one playing along. They’re exchanging words Jimin can’t make heads nor tails of. Words he doesn’t care about. Words that ring empty and hollow because they sound nothing like the way you say his name. Shapeless, unlike the way your lips move around those syllables.

“Jimin,” you say, the sound finally registering and bringing him back down to earth. All he can do is stare. “Can we talk?” Taehyung and Jungkook are still trading barbs.

Wonders how he got here. Looks around the room and wonders if each and every one of them is destined for this same fate, this madness. Wants to tell you why he forgot his vest, why he was three hours late in Argentina. Wants to grovel and beg and leave this place and never look back.

More than anything, he wants to know what it feels like to actually be human.

So he shakes his head. Tries not to be haunted by the way your face falls at the rejection.

There is a scar on his abdomen and a scar on your arm that both tell the same story. There is a man in the basement who is in love with a man above ground and is too weighed down by guilt to do anything about it. There is a man here who plays god, has soldiers to do his bidding, and there is very little here that Jimin has only for himself.

The two of you will have that conversation, but he needs to be human, first.

[ 34.6901° N, 135.1956° E | Kobe, JAPAN ]

This is a waste of your fucking time.

Whatever Namjoon had thought would be here doesn’t seem to exist. Yoongi can barely tolerate you on a good day, threatens to stick a dagger in your neck at least twice an hour, but the more time the two of you waste chasing ghosts, the closer he comes to unraveling entirely.

“Stop fucking staring at me,” he snaps, blowing the smoke of his cigarette right in your face.

You tut. “But you’re so beautiful, Yoongi, I just can’t help it.”

He digs his switchblade from his boot. Makes a show of flipping it open. “I can cut your fuckin’ eyes out of your skull,” he intones. “Maybe that’ll help.”

In your ear, Jimin’s laughter rings like crystal.

Ricochets off of all the corners of Seokjin’s basement, makes the echo sound warped through the earpiece. “Please tell Yoongi-ssi to keep an eye on the man with the shaved head. In front of him, roughly sixty degrees to his right.”

You relay the message. Watch as Yoongi transforms—sharpened gaze, rigid posture, disappears into the shadows. More apex predator than man. “And me?” you ask.

“Backup,” comes Seokjin’s voice. “We haven’t found your mark yet.”

You hum. Pick up the cigarette Yoongi left behind and stick it between your lips. Smoke it nearly to the filter. “You got it, boss,” you tease, just because it flusters him.

“I’m—that’s not—knock it off.”

Exhale. Stub out the cigarette. Butt in your pocket. “Anything else?”

“Yeah,” Jimin says, and his voice is soft, sounds like spun sugar. “Stay alive, all right?”

Jimin’s hair isn’t dyed at all.

if you've read this far: thank you so, so much! i am more appreciative than i can put into words. this is very different from what i typically write, but i hope you enjoyed it nonetheless.

i would love to hear your thoughts if you have any. &lt;3

[targaryenrealnessdarling]

A Perfect Score - Chapter 5 - Ice Princess | FigureSkating!AU

Summary: Moving on to the North, before the match with Cregan and Sara, everything comes to a head | Word Count: 7.2k~ | Warnings under the cut~

Series Masterlist | Links to my Taglists: General Taglist | Aemond Targaryen Taglist

Warnings: *deep breath* jealous!aemond, swearing, degradation, heaps of sexual tension, one room in the hotel trope, aemond being a sexual menace, a lot of dirty talk, p in v unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), fingering, creampie, mild angst

A/N: *me barking writing all the warnings* I ain't got nothing else to say I-

Comments, reblogs & likes are always appreciated in this household. I love u 😚

“What the fuck was that?!” El shouts over the video call, making you cradle your face in your hands. 

She’s showing you her front camera, tapping on the TV in front of her as she rewinds the footage of your routine at Casterly Rock. She must have replayed that specific part about ten times now.

She taps the screen harshly, “Look at that! You’re fucking blushing, you whore!”

“El, please” you reply, exasperated.

“Is that a fucking bruise on your leg”

"El!" You shout over the phone, making her press her lips together in a mischievous grin.

"Did you get a bit too cozy?" She teases,

"Fuck off"

"You both look completely different. Also that triple spin, that was fucking perfect"

"Thank you" you say flatly, rolling your eyes, remembering doing it in the routine.

You don't remember the time between the dressing room and getting on the ice. Just the steady hum of the crowd's applause as the announcer welcomed the representatives of the Crownlands.

"Performing second is Aemond Targaryen with his not-so-new skating partner, who proved herself significantly in the deciding match for the Championship tour"

"They were both very icy in that performance. Let's see if anything has improved"

You run over all the jumps and spins, in case your mind is so preoccupied that you've somehow forgotten. Smoothing down your hair and your skirt, desperately trying to hide any proof of his fingerprints, you take your spot in the middle of the ice.

For this routine, it begins with Aemond facing you, and when he pauses to a halt before you, you meet his gaze briefly, feeling the warmth creeping up to your cheeks.

Before he left the dressing room, he looked nervous. But that facade is gone. He looks deadly serious, and you hate to admit that the look he's giving you, performance or not, is so piercing and purposeful that it's almost exciting. Arousing? No, focus.

At the other match, his touch had been calculated, firm and almost rigid. His movements were largely the same, as you had pointed out only the day before. But now, his touch is so whisper soft it's almost undetectable. His fingers dance across your bare skin, a path of goosebumps left in their wake. Except this time, his eyes barely ever leave yours, fully aware of the effect of his touch and a ghost of a smile lob-sided on his face.

Every single touch of his hands on your waist to lift you, every hold to lunge into a jump together and every shared gaze never fails to have your stomach roll pleasantly inside you, settling between your thighs where Aemond had touched you not a moment before.

You come together, skating backwards for the triple spin. His hands brace your waist, and you swallow anxiously.

"Remember to tuck your arms in" he whispers, you nod, running over what you need to do, "you've got this"

"I'm seeing a stark difference in attitude in this performance. Perhaps our icy couple are starting to warm up"

Taking a steadying breath, Aemond does as he needs and flings you in the air, ready to catch you once you've done one, two, three spins, before taking your hand once you land.

Right leg, push…

You can't help but smile when you land it. That's the best feeling in the world, when the crowd applauds.

"She's done it! Another graceful landing!"

You release the breath you'd been tightly holding, gliding through the rest of the routine with Aemond to the view of the stands, some of them stood and some seated in applause.

It's only when you are stopped, with Aemond's arms around your middle and feeling his hurried breath against your back, that you can finally form a thought. Your heart beats furiously in your chest, lungs dry.

"Well done" he breathes, hot against the shell of your ear. The praise goes straight to your core.

"Oop, I saw that look. Perhaps the Ice Prince has an Ice Princess in his sights"

"Oh come on, look at the way he's looking at you!" El beams over the video call, tearing you from your thoughts, "I swear to all the gods, if y'all don't smash-"

"Can I have one conversation with you that isn't about fucking please?"

El pulls a face, "What can I say. Hoes United. Are you kidding me? Ice Princess? He better be calling you princess between the sheet-"

"Goodbye, El"

You hang up, heaving a large sigh, staring forwards at the bed with your packed duffle bag, ready to depart once again in the car with Arryk. 

It was clear as day, the difference between you and Aemond. The attitude.

The commentators dubbed you his 'Ice Princess', a nickname which you hate immensely. Several reporters had flocked to the hotel you were both staying in, all hanging around Arryk's car waiting for a chance to speak to the famed 'couple'.

The match was a success at least, no doubt because of the 'warming up' to one another, as the commentators graciously put it. You received good scores, marginally better technically than Johanna and Jason but ultimately winning most on performance, the former of which wiggled her eyebrow at you as she hugged you in congratulations during scoring.

She didn't dare say anything. The cameras would pick it up, no doubt.

A seasoned pro in that respect.

As per usual, you and Aemond were hauled into the back of Arryk's car provided by Hightower Management, sat together on opposite ends. 

Also as usual, Aemond had his airpods shoved inside his ears, turned away towards the window. Usually, you'd be able to hear the music blasting through his earphones. But you couldn't hear a thing. 

Perhaps he just wanted to be left alone.

His hands were clasped tight in his lap, his left leg bouncing. And you had to turn away towards your own window to stop staring at him in his sweatpants, feeling your face and neck get hot just thinking about what happened between you two.

The journey to Winterfell was several hours. You couldn't possibly be faster getting out the car and grabbing your stuff, walking straight past Aemond to go into the foyer of 'The Lone Wolf', a humble yet large hotel in the heart of Winterfell. Owned by none other than the Stark Family, so the idea of seeing Cregan before the match sent anxious flutters in your stomach.

"Good morning, Miss" the receptionist says with a polite customer service brimmed smile.

"Hello, uh, should be some rooms booked under Hightower?"

She nods, her fingernails clicking against the keyboard, "Just let me check for you…"

You ignore the white-haired male in your periphery, leaning against the desk by one of his forearms, one airpod now safely tucked away. When you spare a brief glance, he's not looking at you, but at the woman as she types quickly, flexing his fingers on the desk. You swallow thick at the closeness, sidestepping an inch.

The lady pulls a face.

"I'm afraid there seems to have been an administrative issue with the booking…"

Your skin starts to erupt in worry, "what issue?.."

The receptionist meets your eyes, her lips drawn flat in apology, "There is only one room on the Hightower booking…"

You go cold all over, staring back for a long moment without saying anything.

"A twin?" you ask,

She shakes her head, "a double.."

Your hand braces your forehead, leaning against the desk, "Fuck"

An awkward silence passes before you ask, "there aren't any other rooms?"

"I'm afraid not. We're full because of the skating match in a few days"

Aemond bites the inside of his cheek, his face stoic, "Is there a sofa? In the room?"

She reluctantly nods, "Yes but only a 2 seater-"

"That's fine" Aemond says immediately, holding his hand out and clapping the keycard in his grasp. He sighs and turns to you, smirking slightly at the horrified look on your face, "Let's go then, business partner"

You feel like you stand stock still, frozen into place, your heart hammering in your chest at the thought of sharing such intimate space with Aemond.

I've got to be the most fucking unlucky person in Westeros.

By the time you catch your breath, having checked to see if Arryk had already left (which unfortunately he had), you're walking hurriedly to the room, standing before the numbered door for a moment as if to psych yourself up for the next day and a bit that will be inevitably be spent in extremely close proximity with Aemond.

The hotel room is luckily wide, with an en-suite situated in the corner as well as a wide curved window that looks out over the roof of another building. Aemond shucks his bag onto the sofa, his well muscled back moves as he unzips it and pulls his belongings out.

He barely moves his head, "You gonna unpack or just stand there?"

Hot embarrassment combined with subtle anger nips at your insides. You pull your lips into a flat line to hold you back from retorting and huff your bag onto the bed, pulling off your jacket. 

Aemond won't stop you from getting comfortable.

"Will you fit on that 2-seater?"

Aemond shrugs, still busied with unpacking, "I've slept on worse"

Usually, unpacking is a time for relaxation, making a home of the hotel room. But here, with Aemond, it feels like you're on guard the entire time, methodically grabbing the more intimate items of clothing and putting them away as quickly as you can.

Suddenly, the shorts you're wearing feels just a bit too revealing, the hem lapping at your thighs barely. Every now and then, you feel his gaze on them, setting every hair on edge. But when you look back at him, he just does that little lob-sided smug smile, pretending to be busy with something else.

You push your palms over the skirt of your dress anxiously, feeling a nervous sweat coat them "Okay well…" you murmur awkwardly, "I'm gonna…to go downstairs for a bit"

You're barely turned, hand on the door when Aemond chuckles, low, in his chest, "Desperate to get away from me, hm?"

You freeze, not daring to turn back. All you can hear is the soft press of his trainers on the carpet as he turns away, and you just know he's looking at you. 

The inside of your mouth is so dry.

"I know what you're thinking, I can see it on your face" he muses quietly, his voice edging closer to your back as you're frozen on the spot, "I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

No I haven't.

Yes I have.

Fuck.

As much as the thoughts whizz around your head, they don't make the connection to your mouth. You can feel how close Aemond must be to your back, and your fingers tighten over the handle of the door.

"You have, haven't you?" He grins darkly, his voice an octave lower, quieter, more calculated, "I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

Your breath is stuck in your ribs, arousal pooling slowly in your belly, like the calm tide of the ocean sweeping in to wet the sand. 

You feel his breath against your neck and ear, blowing the hair at the side of your face. His mere presence behind you. 

"See you tonight"

Almost as soon as he says it, you're out the door, pushing it shut behind you forcefully. Shutting out the feeling that you desperately want to disappear. The mere memory of his hands on your bare thighs that day sets urgency in your core, hands clenched tight at your sides. 

But more than anything, the way he kissed you, was the feeling you remembered the most. You recall moments after he'd rushed out, touching your kiss-swollen lips, willing the feeling of them back, realising just what line had been crossed.

Aemond Targaryen was an infuriatingly good kisser. Just like the way he moves on the ice, he's smooth and deliberate, taking his time. And it translated in the passion of that moment, the way his hand had grasped the back of your neck, and the other had spread your legs to accommodate him standing between them…

…How his hardness had pressed against your clothed core.

Aemond had been aroused.

Everything you thought about him, about how he felt about you, could very well be misplaced. 

You don't know how to feel about that.

It goes against everything you thought. Everything you believed.

And he still hasn't apologised. He'd said pretty words, all but those two you really needed.

Nothing would happen until he did. You'd make sure of that.

Torture him right back. It's the least he deserves.

Prick.

The hotel bar is better than anticipated, with several tables and chairs, even stools that line the front of the large oak counter on one side of the room. You don't usually partake in drinking, or at least much. But every now and then you feel you deserve it.

And right now for example, it's taking the edge off.

The large glass windows show you just how dark outside it already is, with the streetlights beaming through the single glazing. The North is different, obviously, but you didn't quite consider the weather.

Your muscles ache from doing your cardio, choosing to train on the ice tomorrow instead, the day before the match with Cregan and Sara. The hotel gym was nice, and each time you went into the hotel room to change, you worried about running into Aemond.

But luckily he was nowhere to be found.

Where he'd gone?

Not your problem, you surmise.

You were dressed once again in black, but nowhere near as flashy as the after-party from weeks before, but still a nice enough dress that it completely didn't work with the use of a bra. Hightower Management had organised a small get-together of the skaters currently in the North, as a way of showing support, despite all of you being quite literally competitors.

This includes the Singles skaters.

With that, they insisted you and Aemond look presentable.

You were there early, as a means of…avoiding Aemond in the hotel room. With so far, success.

A few figures begin to leak into the bar area, a few you don't recognise, but then a sea of silver-hair you actually would like to see.

Baela and Rhaena, clad in equally stunning blue dresses, bound up to you with gleaming teethy smiles. You stand excitedly meeting them in the middle, a shared female squeal of excitement is the only sound emitted.

"There she is!" Baela shouts, and both the twins envelop you in an equally tight hug.

"Jesus, guys there's only one of me, bit looser please" you joke, pretending to be out of breath.

They pull back, their silver curls sitting loose with silver accessories, "Our Ice Princess!" Rhaena jabs with a mischievous smile.

You can't help but roll your eyes, "Don't you fucking start, I've had enough of that"

Baela laughs, "had enough of your Ice Prince as well?" 

You give her a warning look and the twins hold back their smile, dropping the subject as per your glare. Knowing how you can get.

"How is Pairs?" Rhaena asks,

You sigh, "Different" is all you respond, "How's Singles? Rhaenys giving you a hard time?"

They both groan comically at the same time, "is she? When is she not giving us a hard time? She's our grandmother"

You laugh, sipping your drink, "Ah yeah, forgive me, I do forget sometimes she's a gilf"

"She's not a gilf!" Baela retorts, making you snort a laugh. Almost dropping the glass in your hand.

"Who's not a gilf?" 

You all turn and beam, "Jace! When did you get here!" Baela throws herself at him, as does Rhaena as soon as her sister lets go. Sometimes you forget they're cousins, they look so different.

"Hi Jace" you smile, "How have you been?" You ask giving him a hug, which he returns with one hand politely on your back.

"Alright, competitions kicking my ass though"

"Oh dear" you pout, faking a sad face and patting his shoulder, "You'll get over it"

"Thanks, you're so kind" Jace grins.

Over his shoulder you spot him, lurking in a corner with a phone pressed to his ear. 

Aemond.

He's dressed all in black again, hair in a loose bun, with a button down and dress pants, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, and a chain that glints beneath the collar. You swallow at his expression.

He doesn't look pleased in the slightest.

But annoyingly, he does look good.

His eye flits from you and Jace, before realising that you're watching him, to which his attention falls entirely to you. You wonder if he's actually on the phone since he doesn't say anything.

"There she is. The Ice Princess" Cregan Stark obstructs your view for a moment and you smile politely.

"Hi, Cregan-umf"

Your outstretched hand in greeting is completely ignored as Cregan pulls you into a hug, his massive form completely swallowing yours.

"You're in the North, we hug here" he laughs, the vibrations rumbling through your chest, his hand politely in the middle of your back to gently squeeze the hug for longer than you'd think.

Your eyes immediately go to Aemond, over his shoulder. He hasn't moved an inch. But he's hung up his phone, slapping it on his thigh to shove into his pocket. You can't pin down what that look is, but the muscle in his jaw tenses when he looks at Cregan, softening into a smirk when the Northerner pulls away.

Your throat feels tight.

"I know you've been thinking about what we did, in the dressing room"

He doesn't look away, eyes trained on your body. Unabashedly raking over it.

"I haven't been able to stop thinking about it"

"Drinks!" Baela announces, dragging you luckily to the bar, breaking your staring competition with Aemond.

As the night progresses, you get to know Cregan and Sara. They couldn't be more different from one another, despite being half siblings. Sara has a fire in her belly, and a competitive eye, whereas Cregan is like a big, muscly Northern golden retriever. He looks like the kind of guy who lifts at the gym in one breath and in another would be having afternoon tea with his grandmother.

The duality takes you off guard multiple times during the night.

Jace and Cregan at least seem very close, having trained together multiple times. They're like long lost brothers, the way Cregan has him in a soft headlock as they wobble back to the bar, is proof enough.

Sara leans close to you, "Is he always like that?"

"Who?" You ask, sipping the drink you've been nursing for hours. Not wanting to get drunk in the slightest.

She nods to the corner, "Your Ice Prince. Aptly named by the way he stares at you"

You follow her line of sight, your core instantly clenching at the sight of him. Perhaps you hadn't really realised it before but several of his top buttons are undone, showing more of his skin at a formal event than he had previously.

You swallow, "Oh, uh, yeah he is. Ignore him"

Sara smirks, "Girl, he wants to fuck you. Can you not see that?"

You turn urgently to her, cheeks ablaze, "That's not true"

Sara hums smugly, "Denial is a river in Egypt. He looked like he wanted to tear Jace's head off when you hugged him"

"Jace is just a friend"

"Oh good, so he's available?" Sara raises her eyebrows.

Now it's your turn to smirk, "Are you after him?"

She shrugs, "he's not bad looking. Guy like him might look harmless but I bet he's freaky between the sheets. With a massive c-"

"Sara!" Cregan interrupts, seeing your screwed up face, clearly having heard everything, "Can we have a moment alone?"

She doesn't even need a second, before she prances off in Jace's direction, giving him the big eyes. Cregan leads you to the bar by the small of your back, and you can't tell if he's oblivious to how intimate that is, or if it's intentional, but when he does it you can't help but look in Aemond's direction, who's being hounded by Baela, but clearly not listening.

Cregan smirks in Sara's direction, "Poor guy. Being in Sara's sights is never good"

You laugh, "She'll eat him alive"

"Quite literally I think" Cregan chuckles in return.

There's a pause as you lean against the bar.

"How's life with the Targs?" He asks, one large hand encircling a pint glass effortlessly.

You shrug, "Has it's trials and tribulations, but otherwise they've treated me well enough"

Cregan looks around before leaning forward, murmuring in a hushed manner, "All I would say is, be weary of the big guy"

You cock your head, "You mean Otto?"

He points his finger like you've hit the nail on the head, "Yeah, him. I heard he's a right fucking stickler"

You nod, "He's very particular" you smile, reassuringly, "I manage though"

Cregan is about to open his mouth when Aemomd steps forward, his tall stature rivaling Cregans as he makes himself known. The Northern man fakes a smile, nodding in greeting, but neither says anything.

Before you can inquire, Aemond's hand encircles your forearm, "We're leaving"

"What?" You ask wide-eyed, wondering from where this rudeness has come from. 

Aemond tugs you away, and you wave goodbye to Cregan as well as Baela and Rhaena, whose eyes you catch across the room. Sara wiggles her eyebrows.

Aemond doesn't reply, so you fight against his grip, to no avail, "Aemond let go of me. Now"

It's clear Aemond is not listening, and if he is, he doesn't show it on his face. He even stops by the lift, pressing the buttons hurriedly, but once he sees which floor it's coming from, he grumbled and drags you instead up the stairs.

"Aemond, what the fuck is wrong with you!"

"Not having that northern cunt cosying up to you" he murmurs low, dragging you up the four flights of stairs to your floor. Luckily there's nobody there to see you both, it's so late at night.

His face is stoic, lips flat in a line, seething underneath.

"Are you fucking for real? Let go of me!"

It's only when you're in the hallway, stood before the hotel room door that you manage to pull your arm free of him.

"Are you fucking deaf?" You quip angrily, "what the hell was that Aemond?" You push against his chest as hard as you can, but he's built like a fucking brick wall and doesn't move an inch. Doesn't even lose his balance a little.

He doesn't say anything for a moment.

"Do I have to repeat myself? I'm not your fucking girlfriend Aemond! Stop treating me like one"

"You'd rather me let you have the likes of Cregan fucking Stark trying to get into your-"

"So what? What right do you fucking have to boss me around like you own me?" You retort, "besides he was just being nice!"

Aemond chuckles, "Oh yeah, just being nice. He only had one thing on his mind" he smirks, his gaze raking over your dress, "dressed like that, who knows what he was thinking"

"Excuse m-"

Down the hall, a room clicks open, the shadow of it moving barely before Aemond tugs you inside the hotel room out of view. He shuts the door and locks it quickly, his fingers once again curled around your forearm.

"I swear to god, if you grab me more time-"

Aemond scoffs, releasing and facing you, dwarfing you with his form as he approaches, "Or what, princess?" 

You swallow, backing up somewhat when he takes his calculated small steps towards you. His chest level with your eyes, you see the chain poking out beneath the undone buttons, the slightest bit of skin…

"Don't call me that"

"Who can blame Cregan fucking Stark anyway? With you dressed like that" Aemond responds, invading your space even further.

Your throat goes dry, "What?.."

"The second I saw you in that flimsy little thing, all I've been able to think about, is how I'm going to take it off"

Through your fierce blush, you clench your hands, your core doing the same involuntarily, "you're delusional"

He hums a laugh, "You're cute when you're trying to be angry, princess"

You feel how short your breathing is, how your chest goes all tight. It feels like being hunted, when he looks at you like that. That mischievous glint in his good eye.

"What is your fucking deal, hm?" You retort, feeling a last rush of courage, "Does it give you some sick satisfaction making my life hell? First you hate me, then you're indifferent, then you're hating me all over again and now you're acting like th-"

His hand claps around your waist, squeezing painfully, tugging you towards him in a deep, near-desperate and dizzying kiss. Much like the first one in the dressing room, it's urgent, his lips prying yours apart to slip his tongue into your mouth, humming deeply at the contact with yours. His other hand quickly finds the back of your head, anchoring you with him and chests touching only barely.

Everything dissipates, he's a good fucking kisser annoyingly, and he sucks briefly on your lips, making the blood rush to them so that they're swollen from his attention.

Your brain, lost in the brief act of passion, kicks in finally and your hands push him away. Your lips part from each other with a wet click, your face noticeably flush. Aemond too, looks slightly flushed, but wears a smug expression.

"What the hell was that"

"You reciprocated" he answers matter-of-factly,

"In your dreams"

He hums, "So stubborn. Are you always like this?"

"Fuck you"

"In the dressing room, you were so intent to continue" he replies, stepping forward slightly from when you'd pushed him, "If we weren't due to perform, nothing would have stopped me from fucking you right on that table in your sparkly little get-up"

You can't deny how the air gets sucked out your chest when he says that. Hate and lust are head to head inside you, battling for dominance.

"You'd like that wouldn't you…"

It's the way he says the words, so low and calculated, with that lazy smirk. His lips just as kiss bruised as yours, the few strands of hair that fell from his bun, disheveled.

All of your pent up hormones from not having slept with anyone for ages, the memory of what he did in the dressing room, as well as the sight of him right here, giving you that fucking look…

Every fucking look he's given you the past few weeks.

The memory of his hand on your thigh, squeezing.

Every hand against the small of your back…

…something snaps.

"Fuck it" you whisper, advancing on him again, both hands cupping the sides of his face and kissing him fiercely again, putting all those bottled up emotions, good and bad, behind the intensity of it.

You feel him smile smugly against you, his hands rested on your hips, fingers digging into the fabric of your dress, "Fucking knew it" he murmurs between the breaks of both your hateful kisses.

One hand sliding round to the back of his head, you card your fingers into his hair, inevitably ruining whatever style he had it in, to pull him closer to you, intensifying the neediness of his lips against yours. You swear he moans at the tugging of his hair, but you don't even hear it, too concentrated on his teeth as they nip at your bottom lip, nursing the area with his tongue afterwards.

A full body shudder erupts through you, sending a gush of arousal straight between your legs. It makes you feel weightless.

As if that weren't enough, Aemond's hands drop, cupping and kneading the flesh of your ass, squeezing near-painfully. The unexpectedness of it makes you gasp into his mouth as he pulls your core that bit closer to his hips, where you can feel the evidence of his arousal hard in his dress pants.

Your hands can't help but explore him as well as he is for you, running across the planes of his well-muscled chest, feeling them strain under your touch like he's holding back. Your fingers run over his chain, dipping to undo the buttons with dizzying speed.

"Eager, are we?" He whispers cockily between kisses.

You shoot him a scathing look, punctuating your words with the rough undoing of more buttons.

"Do you ever shut up"

He doesn't reply, too entranced by the softness of your touch on his bare pale skin as it's revealed button by button. His own hands trace up your middle, over your ribs and straight past your breasts to the straps of your dress, tangling his fingers into one and them and pulling it over your shoulder. Not quite enough to expose any intimate part of you.

Fuck, he's teasing you.

His lips migrate past yours, his nose ghosting over your cheek to your neck, where his lips tease the sensitive skin with open-mouthed kisses, teeth nipping at the space where it meets your shoulder. It's rougher than anticipated, and a soft breathy moan slips out, only serving to spur him on.

His one hand on our waist pushes you back, your knees hitting the mattress sending your body against it. He follows you, cushioning the fall and looming over you, using one of his knees to edge your legs apart for him.

In the heat of it all you've managed at least to get his shirt entirely open, shifting the fabric from his shoulders, shamelessly appreciating the shape of him. Your fingers trail that little bit of hair leading beneath his belt, feeling how the muscles of his abdomen flex with the contact, hearing the whisper of a low moan in his throat.

It's only when your hand begins to massage the very obvious and, you hate to say it, impressive bulge of his erection, that Aemond lets out a shuddered quiet moan, his breath fluttering against your neck.

You smirk, "Eager, are we?" You tease, echoing his previous words.

It's like a switch flipped and Aemond rights himself slightly, one hand taking both of yours and pinning them above your head in a very sudden act of dominance. He revels in the shocked look on your face, his black shirt now forgotten on the floor.

"Keep them there. You won't like it if I have to ask twice, Princess"

His voice send a bolt of pleasure to your core, and you visibly swallow nervously, watching his hands dip to your thighs and pushing the fabric of your dress up to your hips.

You jump in your place as Aemond's hands brace your thighs roughly, parting them and bringing his lips to the sensitive skin on the inside, trailing them up slowly, teasingly, to place an open-mouthed kiss to your clothed core.

"You have no idea what you do to me" he murmurs against you, wrapping the hem of your underwear around his fingers and tugging them off your legs. The motion, as quick as he does it, leaves your lungs breathless for a moment as he descends and kisses the now bare skin on the crease where your hip meets your thigh.

"Aemon-" 

Aemond's tongue swipes through your slick folds and he groans low at the taste which sends a deep thrum of want through your core, making everything seem just too much to bear. Too much and yet too little all at the same time.

"Fuck, baby…"

You can feel your thighs shaking against his grip as he keeps them parted for him. It halts every thought in your mind, back arching off the bed as he delves deeper, his tongue parting your folds to fuck you with the wet muscle repeatedly. It feels like he's trying to discover places inside you, as deep as they may be, to make you fall apart.

The angle has your lips parted with hurried breaths, head thrown back against the bed, struggling to keep quiet with the way his nose moves side to side against your aching bundle of nerves.

"Fuck…Aemond…" 

It feels like as soon as the pressure begins to build in your belly, he comes away, his lips glistening with your slick, causing your face to heat up in embarrassment. His eyes gleam with mischief.

"What happened to that smart mouth, hm?"

Before anger even has a chance to reach you, he plunges two fingers knuckle-deep inside you, instantly curled up trying to find that sweet spot inside. Your thighs shut around his hand, effectively trapping him there, a slew of desperate moans filling the silence in the room, as well as the wet smack of his hand as he fucks you with his fingers.

" - ah, fuck, Aemond - "

He grins, "Fuck you're soaked for me…" he muses, increasing the intensity, pistoning them inside you, "...come on, baby…"

He finds that spot with infuriating accuracy, aided by the thickness and length of his fingers, stretching your pussy as he watches them disappear, covered in your arousal.

Your back arches impossibly, thighs squeezed tight. And he smirks in victory.

"There it is…"

Logic, reality, everything is just absolutely gone. Mind blank, and all you're able to think is just him. The pleasure he is giving you. His words. It's all just too much.

The coil in your belly threatens to snap at any moment, the pads of his fingers bullying your g-spot mercilessly. So much you can feel your slick soak his hand and the insides of your thighs.

And just like that.

It's gone.

Your crane your head to him, looking up as he kneels between your legs, outright moaning as he swipes his digits through his lips into his mouth. Tasting you.

Your clit throbs at the lewd action, as well as the fact he's enjoying it so much. Feeling your face flushed and heat bathing your skin.

His hands drop to his belt, "You look so fucking perfect like this" he says, the sound of the leather slipping from his dress pants sending a bolt of arousal back to the place you need him most.

"Don't look at me like that" he smirks, his fists closing around the buttons, "the first time I make you cum, it's going to be on my cock"

You would think of some kind of quip, but Aemond tugs his underwear down, his cock springing free, and his hand coming to stroke himself to full hardness. The motion has you captivated, and inadvertently makes your thighs press together.

Aemond is big. Perhaps bigger than anyone you've had before. He is slightly curved, leaning slightly to the right, and as he strokes himself, his thumb swipes whatever precum comes out his weeping pink tip all over his cockhead, sighing softly at the relief of it. Your breath is momentarily stolen once you realise how his large hand encircles it, making it clear how thick he is on top of all that.

Annoyingly, he has the prettiest cock you've ever seen.

As a last ditch attempt to keep up appearances, your eyes meet his.

"What makes you think I'd let you?" You challenge, "you've not apologised to me yet"

Quite unexpectedly, he smirks, laughing lowly.

"Oh, Princess" he whispers, one hand pulling the rucked up fabric of the dress at your waist and removing it, tearing the fabric over your head and leaving you entirely naked and exposed. The sensation of the fabric and cool air has your nipped harden to attention, and Aemond sighs appreciatively as he kneads one breast in his palm.

He leans down, his tongue darting out to tease the skin around your nipple, "I am sorry" he muses condescendingly, before closing one nipple around his lips, tongue swirling against it. You're unable to do anything but press your lips together to stifle a moan.

Aemond pays special attention, lapping at it like a man starved, humming and pleased at the reaction he gets when he grazes his teeth over it. He pulls off with a gentle pop, kissing the valley of your breasts, his cock hanging heavily against your thigh. So close, and yet still feels so far away.

He reaches away for a second to go for his wallet on the bedside table, but your hand moves quickly to capture his wrist. His piercing gaze looks down at you questioningly.

"I'm clean…" you say, face hot with embarrassment, "...and I'm on birth control"

Aemond grins wolfishly at the admission, leaning down to kiss and nip at your neck, "Someone's prepared"

You gasp when he drags the head of his cock up your folds, parting them only slightly.

"You just want it raw, don't you?"

From this action alone you can feel how wet you are, and when he taps his cockhead against your clit a few times sending sparks of pleasure up your spine, it's obvious when it smacks wetly against your skin.

"Now baby, it's just you and me. I want to hear you when I fuck you. Understood?"

You nod, dizzy from just how much he's teasing you. 

"Just fuck me" you plead, annoyance colouring your tone.

He laughs through his nose and your mouth drops open when he pushes into you, splitting you open on his thick cock, slowly working his way inside.

"I'm going to fuck that little attitude right out of you"

Fuck.

Aemond bottoms out inside you, stilling for a moment for you to adjust but also for him to catch his bearings. He breathes in shuddered bursts against your neck, his stomach flexing and fists tightened either side of your head.

"Fuck, baby, you're so tight…can feel you squeezing me…" he moans softly against your ear, pushing himself as far inside you as he can possibly go. It has your eyes fluttering shut as his length tucks against that sweet spot, filling you aggravatingly perfectly, the walls of your pussy stretching deliciously to take him.

"Shit-Aemond…" you mewl as he shallowly fucks himself into you a few times, craving friction, craving what glimpse you saw of him earlier, "...please…"

Resting on his forearms, one hand ventures to your thigh to spread you further apart as he pulls almost all the way out.

"Seeing as you asked so nicely"

All air seems to be stolen out of your lungs and replaced with warming bliss as Aemond's slams back inside, his hips immediately pressing with a loud smack against you as he thrusts ceaselessly, holding both of your thighs in his palms.

With every harsh push inside, a soft, moan-like breath slips from your lips. Gods, when was the last time someone fucked you, as in properly fucked you, like this? Probably longer than you'd like to admit. That Highgarden guy left you high and dry, and even the guys before that, they probably thought girls had one hole, so knew little about how to pleasure you.

It's clear Aemond doesn't share this trait, and your thought process is immediately zipped from your past sexual encounters to right now as Aemonds thumb begins to deftly gather your arousal on it to circle around your clit, setting every nerve alight.

"Stubborn and a brat?" He muses, applying a delicious amount of pressure to that needy bundle of nerves, "I thought I made myself very clear, Princess. I want to hear you"

He punctuates his demand with two particularly harsh thrusts, your arousal sounding almost pornographic in nature.

Whether you want to or not, your lips part more to let your sounds of pleasure fill the room, the ceaseless sounds of your fucking alongside it. Your hands fist the bedsheets and Aemond hums appreciatively watching your breasts and body move with every motion.

He rewards you by increasing the speed of his motions, practically fucking you into the mattress. It's here that is the first time you see Aemond let his face show what he's feeling. That smug, cocksure smirk he has worn since arriving back at the hotel room drops, and his jaw slackens, his eye hooded to look down at you with reverence.

"Fuck-baby, I can feel you, you're going to cum for me aren't you-" he moans, his hips never letting up their pace, "shit-feels so good. Been dreaming of this for fucking weeks"

"Aemond-" you moan softly, turning your head, closing your eyes, feeling all exposed to him when he looks at you like that. The pressure in your gut is absolutely set to explode, and you feel that coil tighten impossibly.

Your throat tightens as Aemond leans down, his hips hitting the flesh of your thighs as he continues to piston his cock inside you, the chain around his neck dangling arousingly above you. 

You feel him grab your face, turning you to face him, your eyes slightly hooded with pleasure but looking right at him. It's so intimate, it makes your skin feel like it's on fire. 

His expression is serious.

"I want you to look at me when I make you cum"

Your hand joins his wrist, guiding him to your neck, and his jaw slackens again when he realises what you want. His fingers wrap around your neck, palm against your windpipe, and he just holds you there, feeling your pulse fluttering against his touch.

All you're able to utter before falling off the edge of your pleasure is, "fuck-"

Blinding white pleasure courses through your veins, your heart hammering in your chest, feeling every single thing Aemond is doing but ten times more sensitive. Being edged twice before certainly didn't help. Every thrust inside, brushing against your sweet spot, the way his thumb continues to press circles against your bud, has your orgasm extended in a long drawn-out shattered moan.

Aemond buries his head into your neck, his arms enveloped around you, letting your bud finally have a reprieve. Your thighs begin to shake as Aemond fucks you through it, overstimulation rocking through your entire body with the incessant bullying of his length against your sweet spot.

"It's alright, baby, I've got you" he whispers, his own tone strained. You can't help but sigh fondly at his words.

"Fuck-where-"

"Inside me…please"

Aemond feels you tighten impossibly around him one last time before he stills, hot ropes of his cum painting your walls and leaving an unmistakable warmth at the deepest parts of your core. Aemond says nothing, but moans helplessly against your neck and you feel his all-body shudder through your hold on his shoulders.

He fucks you shallowly, aching for the last moments of friction just as your orgasm subsides, replaced with a manageable dull thrum, practically able to fell your own heartbeat, and his with his presence inside you. The drag of his cock through your sensitive walls has breathless pants spilling from your mouth.

The silence stretches as Aemond stills, his cock softening within you. 

You don't have time to consider what at all he's thinking, as he presses a chaste kiss to your jaw, significantly softer than anything you've both done since arriving back to the hotel room. It shocks you, the intimacy of it.

What had you expected him to do? Get up, pull on his clothes and leave?

Maybe.

You had no expectations with Aemond. So for him to do this, had your chest constrain almost painfully. 

What did this mean?

Did he just want a quick fuck?

Had he done this with Floris?

What did it mean for your partnership?

You're almost disappointed in yourself that these are the first thoughts on your mind. 

And yet despite the pleasure running hot through your veins even still, as Aemond props himself up to look down at you, his chest heaving with hurried breaths, there's something on his face, in his expression, that you just cannot read.

There's an uncertainty in not being able to read him.

And underneath that hum of pleasure, through your rapid heartbeat, there lies something that hurtles you deep away from it all.

Doubt.

Taglist 1 (Bold means I could not tag!)

General Taglist: @blairfox04 | @hb8301 | @jamespotterismydaddy | @nenelysian | @natty2017 | @randomdragonfires | @risefallrise | @theoneeyedprince | @thelittleswanao3 | @tsujifreya | @urmomsgirlfriend1 | @valeskafics 

Aemond Taglist (1): @asp3nxx | @avidreader73 | @bellaisasleep ​ | @boofy1998 | @cathy1514 | @dahlias-and-marigolds | @fan-goddess | @gaeela-6

[aajjks]

Mommy Issues (III)

synopsis. They wanted you, they needed you.

pairing. yandere!single dad!jungkook x fem!reader.

warnings. yandere behaviour, extremely delusional behaviour, obsessive behaviour, Jungkook simp 101, dark themes.

note. hello y’all. 😳 umm it’s surely been a while… but here’s another update, enjoy! and please share your feedback and thoughts! also send in asks for mi characters as well.

series masterlist.

taglist: @mageprincess7 @bids97 @saltandsugaa @minshookie29 @oppa-agust-d @sugarvenomlit @jinat8mydumplings82 @bloombaekhyun @peach-olic @multifandombishthatlovekth @vcutvante @minshookie29 @douknowbts @xjiminsthighsx @knjkitten @bruisedscrewedandtattooed @koocreampie @kooksmataec @monijeon @swaneffects @dragons-flare @dragonjimin @illnevertrustmyselfagain @itsjust2am @vicki1031 @burnahtsw @fjssk @jamacaicanxbarbie [will tag more people later!]

“Hello son.”

Even hearing his voice made Jungkook want to throw up.

He gripped the phone in his hand tightly, his body tensed hearing his fathers voice into the speakers, tired eyes wandered around to see if anyone had heard him.

He sighed deeply as he saw his coworkers busy at their desks.

“Why did you call me?” Jungkook’s tone had now changed, he whispered. his nerves vanishing as his anger took over, the man bit the inside of his cheeks, venom dripped from his voice.

“I can call you whenever I wish to, son.” The older man was just as stubborn as Jungkook, it irked him so much that how calm the older man was. “Ha, of course.” Jungkook replied sarcastically.

His father had no right to sound so entitled, especially not after he had kicked Jungkook out five years ago.

“How’s your son?”

“Why do you care?!” He barked, his voice raising, “fucking hypocrite?! How can you even bring yourself to ask about my son?! The son that you wanted me to abandon, leave him to die?” It was hard for Jungkook to contain his voice from getting louder but he was trying his best.

And his father sensed that.

“Calm down, Jungkook.” The said man wanted to laugh at his “dad” for advising him to calm down, Jungkook’s dad really was the most hypocritical asshole he’d ever seen.

“Why’d you call me, dad?!” Jungkook emphasized on the last word, chewing on his bottom lip as he grabbed his car keys, the phone still pressed tightly into his ear.

“I want to have dinner with you.” Jungkook scoffed, clearing his desk out, “you cannot be serious.” Jungkook grabbed his coat and left the building, too engaged in his conversation with the man he hated the most.

“Tell me, is this about nara?” Jungkook knew his father very well, he was never a man who cared about his family.

“Dinner at the plaza, son. Saturday evening. We’ll continue our conversation there. Goodbye.” The line disconnected before jungkook could argue, his jaw was left agape as he sat in his car, his phone now in his hands as he stared at the screen,

His mind completely blanked. He was not going to be a pawn in his dad’s game this time. Jungkook would rather die than fulfill his fathers demand.

“Fucking damn it!” He started the car, his mind was going crazy the more he thought about his monstrous father.

He banged his hand on the steering wheel out of frustration, his mood was ruined, his excitement was gone.

He was looking forward to seeing you.

He couldn’t afford to have his mood ruined. Right now? He needed to focus on the PTM.

He needed to focus on you.

You’ve been here for the last two hours.

“Mrs Choi, haru is a very good boy, he’s very into arts and is always very eager to participate in such activities.” You smile at the young woman, praising her son who smiles in return at you.

Seeing the little guy’s smile makes your heart very warm. “But.” You clear your throat. “He can be quite naughty especially with his friends.” You watch as Mira, the boys mother throws him a stern look.

The boy just pouts in return, his green eyes shining with mischief.

“Thank you for letting me know, Ms Yn… I’m guessing the friends are Jeon Seol, Min byung-ho and Lee-Jin?” The mother passes a look of disappointment to her son. You smile lightly at the sight.

“He’s a very good boy, very athletic too.” You begin praising your student, “and his friends are very good boys too, although Haru seems to be a little attached towards Jeon Seol.”

The mother turns her head to look at you once again, “yes I’m aware, they’re very close friends since their childhood together actually. My husband is a friend of Seol’s Dad.” You raise your eyebrows at that.

You were not aware of that, Mr Jeon was such a friendly man? He was even friends with your best friend and her husband too.

Small world.

“And yes, his English and both Korean are very good, especially for a little guy his age.” You nod at the young mother who ruffles her sons hair.

“Say thank you, haru.” She was such a sweet woman, barely any older than you, and you were almost done with the meeting.

“That’s all, mrs Choi.” You stand up and you watch the foreign woman take her sons hand and she bows her head to you, you repeat the gesture.

“See you soon.” You wave the duo bye and sit down at your chair again, you are pretty sure your ass aches but.

a few more parents were yet to meet with you.

It was going to be a long long day.

You sighed.

“SORRY I WAS LATE BUT IM HERE!”

Jungkook’s eyes searched for you, his loud voice had grabbed attention of people in the classroom as he walked through the students and their parents.

“DADDY!” Jungkook felt a pair of small arms wrap around his legs, stopping him in his tracks when his eyes found you.

You were looking so beautiful.

“H-Hey champ!” Jungkook replied to his 5 year old son as he picked him up, “Why’re you late?!” His son grabbed his face and turned it towards him, Jungkook teared his eyes from you, focusing on his son instead.

Seol pouted at his distracted dad, “ms Y/N is waiting for you!”

Jungkook smiled at that as he kissed his son on the cheeks, “really? I’m sorry for making her and you wait, my love.” He giggled with his son.

“Come.” Jungkook had his son in his arms as he sat down in front of you. Seol was sitting in his lap comfortably but Jungkook was looking at you.

“Oh Mr. Jeon you’re here!” You exclaim, focusing your attention on him, giving him the most ethereal smile ever.

His heart fluttered.

“H-Hi… I’m sorry I-I was late.” Jungkook stuttered like a little boy in front of you, “it’s alright. Let’s begin shall we?”

Jungkook could listen to you forever.

He was having the time of his life, watching you, listening to your voice, he was feeling so lucky, it felt like to him it was just you, his son and you in the large room.

It was partially true, because the room was now almost empty.

He was actually glad that he was late.

“Ummm, are you there, Mr Jeon?” He watched your eyebrows twitch and you looked at him with confusion, your features looking even more beautiful.

“Daddy?”

He felt Seol pinch his skin and he broke his trance of thoughts, you watch him with concern and he also felt his child’s eyes on him.

“Yes-Yes I’m listening, ms yn… you continue, please.”

He was sounding like the most dumbest lovesick fool ever, but he didn’t mind sounding so stupid, you made him act so weird that it was impossible for him to be normal around you.

“And please please call me Jungkook, like I asked you to last night.”

He knows he probably shouldn’t have said that out loud, but oh well.

He had.

[themotherofblood]

Hey love! Can i request a rough sex with Daemon and reader .. like he had an argument with Rhaenyra so he takes it out on ms blood bag👀

absolutely, yes!!

masterlist | Bloody Baby Series | Vampire AU

warnings: major smut warning, dubcon headed to noncon, rough, blood drinking, broken bones, aftercare(if you ever consider it in a dubcon situation) mean!daemon eventual softie! daemon. this is also dark? I suck at tagging so I’m sorry

“hobres ao,” Rhaenyra exclaims at Daemon as she shucks as vase at his head, seething red hot anger from every pore. Over a millennia gone and yet the irrationality of hers never once dwindled. Fuck you

Daemon glared at her, teeth bared and ready to stop her from leaving this room. He was older than her, stronger than her. She would risk all that their identity was built upon for this. “We have been looking for over a century Daemon!” Her eyes watered with the thought their blood, her bloodline still living on, breathing fire into the mother that she once was.

“Rhaenyra— my love, knowing us will only endanger them more.” Daemon reasoned, hoping to sway her to leave them alone. Daemon had known all along, having found Baela’s bloodline in 432 AC, the Faith, all too knowing of their kind burned the one family he found.” The world ever changed and growing still, the knowledge of their existence a mere myth, a history watered down over generations. Such power was a farce, and the lived content knowing so.

“The Faith will burn them if you do not eat them first,” he barked. This time Rhaenyra was pissed, she took a deep breath— masking her surrender before whooshing towards Daemon and twisting his neck. He fell to the floor with a thud, Rhaenyra knew he was right, she was too proud to admit it. Years spent chasing the hidden Guild of the Faith, and watching just one Hightower spawn grow their family for decades. Only to slaughter them like pigs, leaving just one alive every time.

Daemon’s bones soon healed, he groaned. Shaking his head, willing away the pain as anger filled him this time. Rhaenyra long gone as he angrily stood to his feet, ready to go after her as he reached for his phone on the table. A text from his wife already docked on his screen. “I won’t visit them.”

Though the text should have soothed his bubbling ire, it didn’t. She fucking broke his neck and left him here on the floor. He needed blood, his head still pounding from his healing injury, not quick enough he groaned. He would have headed for the long fridges in the kitchen, stacked with bags and bags of blood from people of all ilks but he, no he craved something warmer. His teeth craved to sink into soft flesh, feel his prey thrash underneath him.

The stroke of midnight, a distant clock singing away the time as he climbed the steps to your bedroom. Prepared throughly for their little capture from the party, they hadn’t broken you yet, which was surprising. It had been a month. Something about the glint in your eyes just bubbled soften into bodies when they weren’t collectively violating you or having their dessert.

You lay asleep in your giant poster bed, cuddled and warm under the heavy duvet, a book laying idly by the other pillow as your chest rose and fell. He could hear the calm thudding of your heart, the blood under your skin and small gasp like breaths from your parted lips.

He shuffled onto the side of your bed, lifting the book away from your pillow. You stir, whimpering into the sheet as his heavy hands stroke at your hip. You flutter your eyes open as you sense his presence, you know it is him. Rhaenyra never wakes you so, it is always her lips you feel upon your temple, every morning.

When you open your eyes the room is still dark, bed curtains pulled and the moon high in the air, you frown, bottom lip jutting out “Daemon? Are you hungry?” you whisper, cuddling further into the sheets. He nods, his ominous figure still a shadowy silhouette sat next to you. You lift out your wrist from under the covers, offering him your hand as your eyes closed once more. You had gotten used to sting from when they fed from your wrist. The pain in your jugular and inner thighs still unbearable but for whatever reason you let them.

He grunts, flicking the bed side lamp on. You silently gasped the second you saw his face, eyes darkened as the veins around them popped out. He wasn’t here to leisurely drink from you, that was sure. “Daemon?” You asked once more and then squealed as he tore the blankets away from your body. The cool air of the room prickling your skin to goosebumps.

“I am hungry for something far more than blood,” he hissed as he pries you legs apart, your bare cunt just greeting him, ready to be fucked raw.

His nose wantonly took a waft from your cunny, before growling at the back of his throat and devouring the taste of you. His nose nudging at the hood of your clit as your back arched. More than he loved feasting on your sweet coppery blood, he loved this cunt. How it always swelled to his attention, the adorable bud peaking through it hood, begging him to graze his fangs upon it. The shudders and squeals it can elicit from you, though any other day he could spend hours, kissing and licking you away.

Today he was in no mood, he knew it pained you so, he wanted hear that pretty cry of his name. “Daemon!” you cried, the harsh sting radiating from your thigh as he sung his teeth deep into the supple flesh of your inner thigh, groaning as his craving graced the actual taste of you.

He unlatched, flipping you over as the open wound dripped onto the sheets. His hand immediately laying sharp slaps on your ass as he pulls you up by the hair. There— there it was, the hammering of your heart inside your chest, the arc of your back giving him a good view of your neck and that pulsing spot, calling to him, seducing him.

He undid his pants, sliding away his leather belt and wrapping it around your neck. He tightened the buckle, uncomfortably wrapped onto your slender neck. You gasped for air as the pressure of the blood started to make your ears ring. Daemon plunged his cock into you without a warning, hammering away his frustrations with his cock. One hand held firmly at your pelvis and the other holding your jaw. The harsh slaps of your hips meeting echoed through the room.

“D-daddy,” you gasped, Daemon smirked still pounding away, obident little pet of his, just as he commanded you weeks before, you keep his name— he would rather hear the “your grace” or “my prince” yelp from your mouth but that part of Daemon has laid dormant for over five hundred years. Plus it’s all the rage within the youth these day, he likes the sound of it, daddy, kepa—he would teach you soon.

“My little fuck pet aren’t you? Even when I do such horrible things to you,” his hold on your jaw loosened to lay a sharp slap on your cheek “huh? Just a broken slut, begging to be used.” he growled against your ear “my whore.”

The words modern to his tongue but his whore, he thought of Rhaenyra. Just as he fucked his ire into you, his body brought him back to the brothel’s of King’s Landing, his family, his children— gone. Cursed to out live everyone, even a pretty poppet like you. His hand ventured lower, laying three sharp smack onto your unsheathed clit. You wail, cry pretty girl. He was an ugly, violent man then and he is far worse now—breaking away yet another cunt, moulding it to his liking.

He was a predator and you his prized prey.

You nodded to his words, you were his. His whore, you were. Broken you were. Finding joy in something so violent, so ever-consuming you felt your pussy flutter, sobbing as you felt the bitter pinch of his finger upon your nipples as he tore the silk down from your torso. You babbled some nonsense to stir the bed play but you were too lost, fucked too small under his heavy hold.

Daemon still in another world, sweaty head rested upon your shoulder as he rutted into your hips, his eyes flickered upon. The sheets under you stained in the blood dripping from your thighs, your blood— his blood. His grip tightened, finding his bearing once more, he felt the flutter of your cunt as his finger worked swiftly against your throbbing bundle of nerves.

“I better hear you beg, bunny. Cry louder,” he growled, knowing full well your orgasm pushed against its dams.

“Please,” you wheezed “please let me come daddy.”

“Louder!” He barked, a sharp, bruising smack against your ass

“Let me come please!” You screamed, praying he gives you his permission. Daemon slapped at your cunt.

“Go on, come from me slut,” he hissed, making your cry out as the pain of his stinging slaps mixed with the tingle of your orgasm. Your face covered in tears as you sobbed, your peak pushing through in waves.

Daemon once more sunk his teeth under his belt, that throbbing thud around your neck as you came undone. He wanted to feel it on his tongue, blood once more dripped down your torso as you screamed at the sting, reaching up to push away his head. Daemon caught a glimpse of the blood once more, not seductive, gore, the images flashing before his eyes as he drank from you.

His hold upon you had been so crushing, your yelps and hisses came to a sudden halt as a crunch echoed in his ears, and then your scream.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck.

Daemon pulled away, his cock long spurted his cum into your cunt and creaming around the base of his cock. What he heard was worse as you fell forward crying out.

You cries of salacious agony turned fearful, he realized what he had done. He shook his head, looking over your body to see what exactly he broken with his crushing grip. You leaned to the left, hands trying to graze over your right. He broke your pelvic bone. He sighed, eyebrows scrunched, the violence long faded from his blood and replaced with guilt.

You cried harder as he turned you, he bit into his palm, letting his own blood trickle to the surface before pressing it against your lip, you groaned in distaste, getting fed on was one thing, feeding was another. Your teary eyes looked up at him as he coaxed the blood into your system.

The blood would do work its way to the injury as he had a servant draw a bath for you and prepare fresh pink sheets for your bed. You groaned as he readjusted your body and pressed his fingers against your pelvis, leading your hand to do the same as your yelped. You felt the bone realign with time within you. Your whimpers and mewls subsiding.

“I’m sorry, pet.” He pressed kisses to the side of your head before scooping you up effortlessly to deposit you in the blue bath waters, a fizzing bath bomb colouring the water as he sunk in along with you.

You couldn’t understand it, the fear, for there was none. You felt them countless times, Daemon nearly choking the light away from your eyes or Rhaenyra sucking your blood dry. You pouted ��Daddy?”

Daemon let out a soft sigh, seeing as though you were still in your fucked daze, Daemon, I’m Daemon pet he wanted to say, you however needed your time. Instead he hummed as a reply.

“D- did you and mommy compel me?” you whispered, fingers dancing against the rim of the tub.

“For what?” He whispered against your ear.

“I’m not scared, so either you compelled me or I’m stupid.” you hummed, finding an idle entertainment in twisting the signet ring on Daemon’s left small finger.

“I’m afraid it might me the latter darling,” he hummed apologetically.

They did compel you, thinking they’d enjoy the hunt of breaking you into a perfect pet and here you were willing curled against him. The compelled you, to never leave the palace. Watching your torn face as you stood on the grass with the main gates open wide, you couldn’t walk out no matter how much you might ever want to.

Daemon kissed your shoulder, coaxing the life back into you as the last of your pain subsided. He rubbed your dry before helping you dress in another night gown before tucking you under the fresh sheets. Your head rested on his shoulder, you knew they never slept, they sat there all night with one another as you dozed in between them.

“I’m sorry,” you mumbled sleepily.

Daemon was about to ask why.

“For what they did to you, to Rhaenyra.”

Ahh I typed this in one go at 4am, this is not proof read, I hate proof reading (I’m sorry not sorry) hope you enjoyed. Again I’m taking requests for this au, this au will be a weird mix of dark and lovely. Idk how to describe it. Anyways.

Comments and reblogs are appreciated.

[oddballwriter]

Puppy Love

Summary: Jake asks if you want a puppy, you think he's joking, but now you and the boys actually have a puppy.

Warnings: Nothing really. Just a little blurb about you and the boys getting a fur baby. 

Author’s Snip: My and my family recently got two puppies, pugs, and idk I just thought of this.

Notes: I believe and support "adopt, don't shop". Always make sure you do research and look into where you get your pets if you want one to make sure you aren't buying from mills. Also, please look into rescues and fosters too, they deserve a chance at getting happy homes. Okay my PSA is over. 

I’ll shut up now. Enjoy! And don’t be afraid to request.

Word Count: 758

When Jake asked you "Do you want a puppy?", you thought it was a joke, and you laughed, but when he looked up at you from his phone on his place on the couch you felt like maybe it wasn't. "Are you serious?" you question.

Jake turns his phone so that you can see the screen, revealing a picture of a large litter of what looked to be cocker spaniel puppies. "I know this guy. His girl's dog got out and got knocked up." Jake explained, "She popped out ten puppies and they want them out.". You look at the picture for a bit longer, maybe looking a little too softly at the litter since Jake asked if you want one.

"I don't know." you say, "What are the others thinking?" you ask. Judging off the smile Jake does, Marc and Steven have no idea about this. "Who cares. It's a puppy. Everyone likes puppies." Jake shrugs. "They won't be a puppy forever, Jake. And we live in a flat," you attempt to list off. Jake rolls his eyes, "I know. These dogs aren't that big though. It'll do fine. There are parks around, we can walk it around one of them." he explains. You think about it for a moment, not too sure what to say. Jake also picks up on that and says "Think about it.".

"I'll think about it and we tell the others about it." you say.

Marc wasn't too thrilled, but he also didn't really oppose it either. "It's a lot of work. We have to train it. And pay for vets and food and all that." and so on which Marc seemed to not like the sound of. "You were able to pay rent for a flat and a storage unit, Steven has a million books and trinkets, and Jake owns a bunch of cars. We all can sacrifice some money for them." you mention, and Marc acknowledged your point. "Okay. I'll think about it." he said.

Steven seemed more open, more focused on having the idea of having another pet than the price tag attached that had Marc on the fence. "It would be nice. Have a new addition. After all, the Gus' doesn't really do much other than swim around." is what he said about the idea. "We'd have to get one that's very calm though. So that we don't get a complaint about barking." he commented in a mutter.

And with that, and Marc letting up and going with the idea, you and Jake drove to his friend's place to meet the pups. On the way there Jake said to keep yourself together and not show any emotion because "He might want to get rid of them as quick as he can, but I'm sure he wants to make some good money while doing it.". It wasn't easy, but you managed to do good when interacting with them to see which one you wanted.

Going off of what each one of you wanted in your potential future dog you managed to find one that was more interested in sniffing and laying down on you than playing and running around like the rest of their siblings.

"That one doesn't do too much. He just lays around and chews on a toy every once in a while. The most I've seen him do is whine when he wants food and bite his siblings if they're trampling him." the guy says, "Good if you want something that just lays down with you." he remarks.

After some more talk, you decided that he was the one that you would take home. After Jake paid and the guy making a comment about getting the puppy fixed as soon as possible, the rest of the day was a long trip to the pet store to get everything he needed. Kibble, bowls, a bed, a collar, pads, a few toys, the whole lot. By the end of it, Jake's car was full of stuff and his pockets less full than when he left.

"You owe us, beba." Jake smirked nudging you playfully. "Jake. Not in front of the baby." you scold back in the same humor making him laugh.

"So," Jake said, "What are we naming him?" he asked. You look at the little thing in your arms and think for a moment. "Jake Jr." you joke. Jake laughs and says no, and the joke goes on with suggesting Steven Jr. and Marc Jr. until you shrug and settle on figuring that out some other time.

[jungshookz]

teeny tidbits: namjoon wants a raise & y/n is kind of scary

i watched the proposal again recently + i’ve been on depop trying not to spend a million dollars on all the y2k corporate-core clothes = inspired me to write this snippet of ceo!y/n (you all know i have a soft spot for anything ceo i’m sorry) 

“ever since you hired me, i’ve managed to boost sales up by approximately 28%-“ namjoon clears his throat, trying his best to continue standing tall as he points to the screen with his little laser pen, “i’ve been working here for nearly a year and a half which you can argue hasn’t been very long, but at the same time i feel as though my efforts and the results that i’ve produced is well deserving of a raise, miss y/l/n. i wasn’t going to say anything but i’ve actually been offered a position elsewhere with a higher salary, and, well- i do enjoy working here, and i would like to stay here, but-“ 

you lean back against your office chair, propping both elbows up on the arm chairs before pressing your fingertips together, staring intently at the presentation in front of you 

your eyes follow the little red dot darting across the screen and you lick over your teeth as your head tilts to the side slightly 

“-so, what do you think?” namjoon reaches the end of his presentation and tucks his pen into his shirt pocket, very much aware of how much heat is radiating off his body from the nerves 

he’s heard some things about people who’ve tried to ask for raises, and making the bold move of coming directly to you has historically never ended very well for those guys 

jungkook presses the button for the lights to turn on and the blinds to roll back up from where he’s standing by the front door, offering namjoon a smile and a supportive nod 

at least five seconds of silence linger in the air and namjoon wonders if you’re able to hear his heart practically beating out of his chest 

you’ve also been maintaining eye contact with him the entire time he’s presented which makes him ten times as nervous because he’ll be the first to admit you have very nice eyes 

“…i think all of this could’ve been an email, kim.” you lean forward, office chair squeaking slightly as you swipe your phone off the table and unlock it, “the next time you want something, i don’t need a thirty-eight minute presentation on why you think you deserve it.” 

“ma’am?” namjoon’s face reddens and suddenly it feels like the collar of his button-up is suffocating him 

“who’s trying to poach you from me?” 

“i-if you don’t mind, i’d like to keep that detail priv-“ namjoon immediately stops talking when your eyes flicker up from your phone to look at him through your eyebrows, “ah- min corporations, miss y/l/n. i was contacted by their secretary last week.” 

“mm, i’ve spoken to that secretary. preppy little thing.” you snort, eyebrow raising slightly at the memory of the one time you got a call on your personal cell phone from min corporations (you’re not even sure how that secretary got your damn number in the first place) inviting you to a lunch with mr. min yoongi himself 

you went, of course, more than surprised to discover that the secretary wasn’t just his secretary but also his wife and the mother of his (adorable) daughter 

you don’t know how she managed to go from secretary all the way to wife/mother but hat’s off to her for pulling that off

with that being said you’re sure that if she spoke three decibels higher all the dogs in the city would start barking and all the windows in your office would’ve cracked 

“you’re a hard worker. i like having you on my team.” you set your phone face down on your desk, “get back to work. we can discuss numbers another day because if you make me look at another excel spreadsheet i might change my mind.” 

“oh, i- thank you so much, miss y/l/n, i really appreciate it! thank you so much-“ namjoon fumbles with the projector and switches it off, a weight instantly lifted off his shoulders at the implication that he will, in fact, be getting a raise 

“mm.” you gesture with a flick of your wrist for him to leave your office as you raise your phone to your ear, “min yoongi! trying to steal my star salesman, are you?” 

jungkook opens the door for namjoon, stepping aside to let him out before shutting the door behind him quietly 

“see, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” jungkook beams, giving namjoon a hearty pat on the arm, “congratulations on the raise!” 

“i think i need to take a shot or something, that was- so stressful.” namjoon lets out a breath, reaching up to loosen his tie slightly, “god, she really- her eye contact is crazy intense sometimes-“ 

“it’s probably the eyeliner in her waterline making her look ten times scarier, you’ll survive-“ 

🎙️ ask y/n for eyeliner recommendations (talk to my characters!) 

📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to your other faves!)

💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)

🌟 or something even shorter? (teeny tidbits like this!) 

[aurumacadicus]

159 or 139 for the ficlet please!

(Also, do these numbers correspond or a prompt or are we just winging it here, curious minds would like to know how this lottery is working 🧐)

These numbers correspond to a prompt set which I can post a link to after this is done but I wanted the randomness of it. No offense but you guys always go for the same prompts (which don't get me wrong, make sense for the characters/my writing) but I wanted to stretch some writing muscles!!!! So I anonymized the list :3c

--

Steve groaned when he realized he couldn't ignore the constant pinging of his phone anymore. It had well and truly rung through his half-dozing state. He pushed himself up, popping each vertebrae as he attempted to blink the sleep out of his eyes, then yawned, loud, and scrubbed at his eyes.

He took a glance around his room, then squinted in confusion when he saw his lamp had been knocked off the bedside table, there was a... sock? On the ceiling fan? And the ceiling fan was askew, the edges of the blades scraping the paint off on one side and nearly low enough to clip his hair on the other. He stared at it, mouth hanging open in confusion, especially as it finally registered that it was not a sock hanging from the fan, but a ripped pair of tights.

Steve grabbed his phone, still staring at the tights, as he wondered how, exactly, they'd been ripped right down the middle of the crotch and where, exactly, the other half was. He found it as he rolled onto his back to check his phone, one end tied to the foot board of his bed, the other tied around his ankle. He blinked slowly, then thumbed his phone open, peering at the notifications.

[Bucky] If you don't respond, I'm calling the cops

Steve blinked again, then sent a simple 'responding' and scrolled up to see what was going on. He came to the conclusion that he'd disappeared halfway through a party. Bucky and Natasha's engagement party, maybe? They were celebrating something, he remembered. The first messages has been teasing, calling him a curmudgeonly old man, then jokes about him getting lucky, then concern as he'd never replied to any of them. He flipped back to Bucky's messages.

[Me] Yo what happened My lamp's broken? And my ceiling fan? I'm tied to the bed kinda.

He looked around again just for good measure, then did a double-take at his sheets. He snapped a picture and sent it along as well.

[Me] Also, my bed has glitter in it for reasons I do not recall.

Bucky's response came only a few seconds later.

[Bucky] Oh my god the stripper??????????????! I wondered what happened to him!!!!!!

"The stripper?" Steve asked, squinting at the screen in confusion.

The door to his bathroom opened, and a man stepped out, naked as the day he was born. He was beautifully damp. He had a towel wrapped around his hair. Steve understood, suddenly, why half a pair of tights were on the ceiling fan. He immediately wanted to fuck this man so athletically that the other half snapped off his leg and flew onto the ceiling fan too.

"I ordered breakfast," the man said casually, pulling a duffel bag from... somewhere. "It should be here in about fifteen minutes. I'm Tony, by the way," he added, picking a pair of briefs out of the bag.

"You don't have to put those on, Tony," Steve offered, instead of doing the polite thing of offering his name back, or asking if he wanted anything else.

Tony let out a bark of laughter. "Just as charming as last night," he teased, shaking his head.

God, Steve hoped he'd been charming last night. "So... were we introduced last night?" he asked carefully. "And you thought I forgot your name?"

"I was introduced as Bambi last night," Tony said, offering him a smirk. "And you waxed poetic about my big brown eyes until I basically had no choice but to fall into bed with you."

"Bambi," Steve repeated, and then, louder, "Ooooh, Bambi." Suddenly he remembered exactly what had happened last night, up to and including how his room had gotten messed up, and it had started with Tony finally asking, 'Does that make you Faline? Or are you more of a Ronno?' and Steve just picking him up and carrying him toward the door as Tony giggled in his arms.

Well. Food was coming. He'd have time to convince Tony he was more than just a fan of brown eyes. Tony had a cheeky smile. He found those always seemed to get him into trouble in the best way.

[quoththemaiden]

I hope everyone enjoyed the finale of @mrghostrat's Big Name Feelings Good Omens AU as much as I did. While ghostrat ended his story perfectly with a beautiful and realistic close to the part of their relationship we as an audience get to see, I had one more scene idea close to my heart and so I'm putting it out here because my heart still sings with love for this story and its characters.

These fanscenes now also appear on AO3. Along with the four I've already posted here (1, 2, 3, and 5), you can find a scene I kept off Tumblr ("Ch. 12"). You can read the final scene ("Ch. 17") below, but you can also find it on AO3, where it shows the text messages in graphical form.

Bilv, thank you once again for creating such an amazing story! I'm happy to say that my mind is no longer filled with your middle-aged men and their middle-aged-man problems. Instead, please enjoy these 3k words of pure fluff.

—

Crowley dumped his bag on the hotel room floor and did a lazy spin to take in the space. "Not bad, eh?"

"It's very posh," Newt agreed, setting his bag down more gingerly. "You're sure we can't pitch in for it?"

"I'm not dealing with you setting your phone on fire trying to do a transfer." Crowley waved the offer off and flopped onto the couch. The hotel suite had two small bedrooms plus a nice little sitting area that would be perfect for board games. It was set up to mainly accommodate a family with kids, albeit a family that could afford to splash on a multi-room suite for the family vacation to Spain. Crowley stretched out, shamelessly taking up the whole couch in a bid to ease the stiffness in his hips. "Tell ya what, if you're feeling guilty, you can buy my drinks tonight."

Anathema laughed and gave Crowley a poke in the side, looking quite satisfied at his jerk and yelp. "Knowing you, that will end up being a fair deal. And I'll take care of renting the wheelbarrow to cart you back here."

Crowley rubbed his side dourly. "Maybe I preferred you on the other side of the ocean."

Anathema grinned at him, unrepentant. "If you want to stay at my place while I'm here, I'll lend you my keys." She ducked a thrown pillow with a laugh.

—

The weather was perfect for sipping cocktails outside, and their mutual agreement to all try drinks they'd never had before helped keep the night from slipping away from them too quickly. Being able to chat without the artificial framing of a webcam was a delight, too, but all of them were too continuously connected to be interested in a strict phones-down policy.

Anathema rolled her eyes and took another sip of her drink before answering the text that had just popped up on her screen.

Aziraphale: Are you certain he doesn't know I'm nearby? Anathema: I didn't tell him, Newt doesn't know, and he doesn't have a magical angel-detecting sense does he? Aziraphale: I'm not so sure about that last point. Some of his last texts seem awfully pointed. Anathema: You're being paranoid

Anathema slipped her phone away before leaning over to look at Crowley's phone screen, where he was lining up a very artistic shot of his drink, showcasing as much of the swanky beachfront seating area as possible. She blinked at him slowly. "Have you been sending Aziraphale 'wish you were here' texts?"

Crowley glanced at her sideways, his thumb paused over the shutter button. "Maybe."

Anathema sighed and rubbed her forehead. "Are you an adult who can handle a vacation with friends or are you going to pine after your boyfriend all night?"

"I'm here, aren't I? It's not like we're tied together at the hip."

Anathema shook her head in fond exasperation. "Getting these printed on postcards for him would be funnier than this text spam." Crowley barked out a laugh and sent Aziraphale his next promise to take him here sometime anyway.

Anathema pulled out her phone again, tapping out a quick message.

Anathema: He says he's a full-grown adult who can handle being away from you.

There was a pause before Aziraphale responded to her — probably due to dealing with a barrage of messages from Crowley.

Aziraphale: A very convincing claim.

Anathema looked up as Crowley put his phone away. "All done?"

"Yeah, he's taking an early night." Crowley took a languid sip from his drink.

"How have his workshops been going?" Newt asked, fiddling with a vibrant russet cocktail in a type of glass he couldn't name.

"Good!" Crowley's eyes lit up with excitement, his cheeks pink. "We polished his presentation before he left—"

"I heard about that!" Newt cut in. "He said it was more like beta-testing than beta-reading."

Crowley snorted. "If you want to see what happens when someone goes against the script, I'm your guy."

"The reception's been okay?" Anathema asked. "I know getting audience participation at workshops can be pulling teeth."

"Nahhh, it's different in the library world. Those weirdos actually care about their jobs."

"So do I, but it would be pulling teeth to get me to do a 'group active learning exercise.'"

"Fair." Crowley grinned. "They know how to talk like humans, then. And they really are interested in anyone with tips on how to break into digital spaces in an authentic way."

Newt hummed thoughtfully. "He's really okay with talking about his online presence at work like that? I'd be way too embarrassed."

"Nah, you stop caring about that stuff when you get older."

Anathema snorted. "I'm still saying it's pure luck you didn't chase him offline again with that con nonsense."

"Pfffft." Crowley made a sound that was all plosives and no vowels. "Never even close."

"Right," Anathema replied with tasteful sarcasm.

Crowley cut her teasing short by slapping a yellow canvas pouch down on the table. "C'mon. Let's play a game!"

"Oh, Bananagrams!" Anathema accepted the diversion and unzipped the banana-shaped bag, pouring the Scrabble tiles out between them. She deftly started flipping them letter side down. "I don't think Newt's played?"

Crowley nodded and waggled his fingers at the pile of tiles. "Rules are easy: Everyone's building their own board-free Scrabble grid. You start with 21 tiles. Say 'peel' when you've used yours up to make everyone take another tile from the stock. Say 'dump' to trade one of your tiles for three from the stock. The first person to say 'peel' without enough tiles left for everyone to take one wins. Simple, right?"

Newt nodded slowly, watching as Anathema divided the tiles out neatly. "So they're putting Scrabble in bananas these days."

—

Aziraphale: Is he up yet?

Crowley gestured Anathema towards the table where their phones sat in a cuddly pile of charging pads and wires. "You got a message while you were in the shower. From Aziraphale?"

Anathema kept her face carefully schooled as she sauntered over and picked up her phone, using the need to adjust her towel turban as an excuse for not making eye contact. "Mm." She picked it up and read the incriminating message, then snorted. "Bracing himself for when your wall of texts will start, I imagine."

"Nahhh, he loves it!" Crowley snagged the glasses cleaner out of his bag and sauntered into the bathroom. He'd be wearing them all day and he'd murder someone if he had to deal with the scummy film left by hotel soap.

"Whatever you say, lover boy." Anathema breathed a tired sigh.

Anathema: Yeah, and he saw this. We should be at the conservatory by 11

She should have just taken the phone into the bathroom with her, steam be damned.

—

The botanical conservatory was, frankly, gorgeous. The greenhouses were so large the ceilings weren't even noticeable, and the outdoor gardens were a riot of native plants. Crowley devoured the signs about plants he was unfamiliar with with gusto, and pointed out those he recognized with the enthusiasm of a man determined to prove he wasn't hungover. Newt listened with unfeigned interest, while Anathema wasn't shy about slowing them down to take photos of particularly artfully arranged displays.

They'd been there about half an hour when a patter of English broke through the background chatter of Spanish. "Could you spot me the entrance fee for the butterfly room?"

"Aziraphale!" Crowley immediately spun to his right, his whole face lighting up in delight before realizing that seeing him here was, in fact, quite odd. "What are you doing in Spain?"

"I left right after my last workshop. I thought it might make a nice surprise."

"It made the best surprise." Crowley pulled him into an ardent kiss that went on long enough for Anathema to cough something about public displays of affection. Crowley eventually relented on the kiss, as much for the sake of their breathing as anything else, but kept his arm slung firmly around Aziraphale's shoulders. "You're a bit of a bastard, you know that? I could've been looking forward to this the whole time."

"Only as much of a bastard as you deserve," Aziraphale teased right back with easy familiarity. His heart kept pounding hard anyway.

"Heh. What a way to butter me up while you're angling for a free ticket." Crowley snuck another kiss onto Aziraphale's cheek. Aziraphale laughed as he slipped his arm through Crowley's, relishing the contact after their weeks apart.

The butterfly room, when they got in, was a riot of fluttering wings. The promise of iridescence was enough to get Crowley to remove his sunglasses, and a quiet compliment on his eyes from Aziraphale was enough to get him tucking them into his pocket instead of putting them right back on afterwards.

They left the butterfly room — with some careful mutual inspections to make sure no one was harboring a stowaway, involving perhaps a bit more care in running fingers through another's hair than was strictly necessary for the task — and emerged near the exit to the rose garden. Crowley's hand moved towards his sunglasses but Aziraphale put his hand on his arm. "Just a couple more minutes? There's something I want you to see first." Aziraphale glanced over at Anathema, who nodded slightly but otherwise kept her expression carefully uninterested.

Crowley looked between them and shrugged. "Not exactly subtle as far as hangover tests go, but a'ight." Aziraphale laughed breathlessly and kept a firm grip on his arm, drawing him deeper into the garden.

The rose garden featured small offshoots to the main path where groups could sit for a little while to rest. It wasn't until the third one that they came upon an alcove that was empty, and Aziraphale promptly pulled Crowley aside, Anathema holding out her hand to keep Newt just outside it with her.

"Crowley���" Aziraphale began, his breath catching in his throat as he caught Crowley's full attention. "I, ah. I actually came here because there was something I wanted to say."

Crowley's hand twitched reflexively towards his glasses again, but this time he kept it down himself, even as his heart started to pound. "...yeah?"

"Yeah," Aziraphale breathed out as he sank to one knee, reaching into his pocket. His fingers were trembling, and his smile was nervous but so very adoring. "If I ask you something, will you promise to laugh?"

"—huh?" Crowley blinked in confusion, then stared as Aziraphale opened a jewelry box to reveal a simple ring.

"Anthony J. Crowley, would you be my snouse?"

It took a few seconds for Crowley to register any of the words Aziraphale had just said, but then he barked out a laugh as the last one hit him. "Really? That's how you ask?"

"You don't like it?"

"I just... I thought if you did it, you'd do a whole speech for it. You even brought us out to a rose garden!"

"I'll be honest, I had one of those planned. I just... couldn't quite seem to bring it to mind." Aziraphale had no idea how he was managing to talk even as much as he was around the tightness in his throat. "You haven't answered my question, dear."

"Pfft..." Crowley closed both his hands around Aziraphale's. "Yes. Yes, of course I'll be your... your whatever. Forever and always."

"Thank goodness." Aziraphale half rose and was instead greeted by Crowley also kneeling, both of them moving together for a kiss that was slow and deliberate. Aziraphale could feel the pounding of his own pulse against the tight hold Crowley had on his hands, and he could tell how Crowley's heartrate had risen to match his by the way their kiss kept shifting for quick intakes of air. Aziraphale finally broke the contact only so he could gently extricate his hands from Crowley's. It took every scrap of concentration he could scrape together to find Crowley's left hand and slip the ring onto his finger. "...it fit okay?"

"Nggh," Crowley replied before pulling him into another kiss.

They might have stayed there all day if Anathema hadn't cleared her throat — snapping another quick photo as they looked up at her, flushed and frazzled. "We are still in public, I'm afraid."

"Yeah," Crowley breathed.

"Huh..." Aziraphale added, just as coherently.

Newt shook his head at the unlikely prospect of them getting up anytime soon, and looked over at Anathema instead. "How were you so prepared?"

Anathema flashed him a smile. "I knew this was coming. Aziraphale asked me to take the photos."

"Is that why you're here?"

"It was the other way around," Anathema replied. "Aziraphale realized he could arrange his schedule to join our trip partway, and we worked out how to take advantage of the situation."

"Bastard," Crowley muttered in response to nothing and everything, pressing tender kisses to Aziraphale's left ring finger like he could imprint a ring there with his lips. "Did you measure my finger while I slept?"

Aziraphale smiled as he watched him, his heartrate finally settling closer to normal under Crowley's reassuring touches. "It's scarcely my fault you're so easy to send to sleep, dearest."

"You're ridiculous. Adorable. Incorrigible."

"Are those all synonyms in your mind?" Aziraphale leaned in to steal another kiss.

Crowley laughed breathlessly at how easily they'd returned to comfortable teasing and carefully pushed himself up. He tugged his clothing straighter and tried to pretend he was put-together as he glanced at Anathema, who was grinning unabashedly at them. "I'll want those pics for... for everything. All of them."

Aziraphale put his hand on Crowley's arm for support as he straightened his own creaking knees. "I'm claiming Tumblr first, if you don't mind."

"Eh—" Crowley gave him his full attention again, not that it had strayed for more than a moment. "This will really get you notice, Angel."

"Good." Aziraphale took Crowley's hand and leaned in to kiss him. He rubbed his fingertip over the ring settled firmly onto a finger that had never borne one before. "Let them know who's claimed you."

Crowley snaked his arm around Aziraphale's neck, chasing down another kiss that went on long enough to have Anathema clucking behind them. "We're gonna get kicked out of the garden, Angel."

Aziraphale smiled against Crowley's lips. "Let them. The one we made is better."

—

Three bottles of wine sat open and mostly-drunk on the table, divided between four glasses that were using the remnants of the previous night's game of The Quiet Year as a coaster. ("We set it in an idyllic countryside and it all went downhill from there," Crowley had explained when Aziraphale came in and started examining the hand-drawn map. "I think the arrival of the dog was the real turning point to madness," Newt had chimed in. "It was doomed from the start," Anathema declared with a resigned sigh.) The red rings of wine stains could have added as much to the group narrative as anything they'd purposefully drawn.

"I came in like a wrecking ball~! I never hit so hard in love~!" Newt sang raucously, a broad grin on his face while Anathema laughed into her hand. Aziraphale tilted his head as he watched them, visibly processing the music.

"All the other kids with their pumped-up kicks, you better run—!" Anathema joined in as the tune jauntily transitioned to a new melody. Aziraphale's face froze into an expression of fond but intense confusion.

"Problem, Angel?" Crowley drawled, utterly amused as he watched the tableau.

"I'm fairly certain that isn't how those songs go. And isn't that polka?"

"Never heard of Weird Al? Bit bigger overseas, I s'pose." He gestured to Anathema's phone, which was supplying the impromptu karaoke party.

Aziraphale nodded, confusion dissolving and leaving just a hint of distaste in its place. "And a different generation, I suppose." He took another sip of his wine, a nice Syrah, as the melody shifted to a new and equally abrasive polka.

"I wear your granddad's clothes," the millennials continued singing, until one of them glanced at Aziraphale and started laughing and the other followed suit, wineglass held out in an attempt to insulate it from deep belly laughs. Crowley snagged it deftly and set it on the table, another drop of wine rolling down to stain the paper there. Aziraphale rolled his eyes, much more amused at their drunken good humor than offended.

Crowley patted Aziraphale's thigh. "Want to take the rest of that Syrah back to my room and leave the loverbirds to it?"

"It would still be rather noisy if we stayed here," Aziraphale replied with a tempting smile. "Why don't you come back to mine?"

Crowley leaned forward eagerly, only a fraction away from jumping up at the unexpected invitation. "Oh?"

"Well, the room may not wind up being quite as nice as the one you got, but I thought for our first night together as a formally promised couple..." Aziraphale's smile said everything.

"You're a genius." Crowley kissed his cheek and grabbed Aziraphale's hand to pull him up with him, then firmly refused to let it go despite the challenge of tucking a wine bottle under his arm while juggling a wine glass and his phone.

Aziraphale laughed. "We can take two trips, since you'll want your bag. Did you leave it packed?"

"Like always." Crowley grinned. "Not going to rib on me for that ever again, huh?"

"One occasion of convenience is not worth the wrinkles, my dear," Aziraphale responded with all the primness he could muster around a wide grin.

Crowley laughed and took the opportunity of Aziraphale opening the hotel room door to crowd closer and steal an eager kiss that was just as eagerly given. "You really managed to hold in that you'd gotten us a room all day?"

"I kept the trip secret from you too, didn't I?"

"Age will not wither," Crowley chuckled and nipped Aziraphale's ear. "C'mon, let's see that room. Coming back for pyjamas optional."

The two of them left the hotel suite hand-in-hand, with everything they truly needed already right there with them.

[suengmi]

ot8 skz prompt!

you cry when they barely raised their voice at you (but not in a too angsty way, they were just playing around w you) and they comfort you

also HAPPY LATE BDAY 🎉 (im gonna rob you for all ur seungmin and jisung pcs)

hehe thank you anon!! i went to see moulin rouge live and just had a kpop trade day/night with my bestie i was like "i'll swap u any of these two lee knows... for that mingi"

BUT YOU CAN'T HAVE MY SEUNGMIN ONES I'LL FIGHT YOU BARK i got like 26 different seungmin ones with 11 doubles... it's not enough, funnily bangchan is actually my ult in skz alkjsdlaksjd leave me alone seungmin got me WHIPPED

ANYWAYS!! warnings under the cut, i added pics for comedic effect. idk why my writing always goes humour, anyways i worked v hard on this!! and as always,i messed around with the prompt a did a few hurt!skz/you raising your voice at them hehe enjoy!!!

in alphabetical order

all non idol!au, all gn!, as always kinda proofread and lapslock

you're laying on the couch, nose stuffy and filled with tissues. you were always sensitive when you were sick, your head feeling like it's spinning and your body betraying you anytime you tried to stand up. chan was always a caregiver, he loved taking care of the people he adored. not one day went by where he didn't ask if you needed help or needed anything, you could always reassure him that his presence was enough, much to his scoffing.

☆⌒ヽ bangchan

warnings/other: living together, established relationship

you needed help to go to the shower, the steam would probably help. plus, you hadn't showered in two days due to how sick you were.

"babe?" you called out, voice weak.

"baabe?" you squeaked once again, trying to lift yourself from the couch. "baaaaabe?" and nothing, but you can hear him tip toeing around somewhere, the clunking sound of a bottle hitting the bathroom floor.

"babe!" you half yell, still trying to push your self from the couch.

chan rounds the corner, eyes frowning as he taps on the side of his headphone, "what?!" he screams at you, eyes scrunching and brows furrowed.

you burst into tears, suddenly feeling like you're in trouble for wanting help. "i'm sorry, i didn't know you were busy." you can barely speak, voice raspy and quiet.

"what?" he speaks again, pulling his headphones to rest on the back of his neck. this time his voice more gentle. he sees the tears forming in your eyes and immediately comes to your side. "what's wrong?"

"don't yell at me." you say through tears, hands coming to rub your eyes.

"shit," he curses, rubbing the sides of your arms, "sorry, i had my head phones on, i was running you a bath."

"oh," you sob, still letting yourself cry your hands dropping to your lap, "i thought you were angry at me."

"oh my god," he says pushing your messy hair out of your eyes while wiping the last of your tears. he sighs, "i just couldn't hear you silly."

"i've run you a bath, do you wanna have one together?" he stops and gives you a sniff, "you need one."

you frown, using the last of your strength to push him away, but it fails. "yes please..."

--

you're balls deep in your game, you've never been so focused on a game in your life. it's the final battle fight of the last of us 2, you wipe away tears at the scene before you folding out, feeling conflicted as the characters fight in the water.

☆⌒ヽ felix

warnings/other: living together, established relationship, cussing

"ahh!" you yell a bit too loud as you feels more tears form, "this is fucked up, fuck you both, fuck off this is so unfair."

"what did you say to me?" felix says, turning from his pc to look at you. "did you just tell me to fuck off?"

"what?" you turn to felix, eyes back darting back to the screen for a moment, still in the middle of the battle.

"what the hell? why did you tell me to fuck off?" felix says as he scrunches his nose, clearly upset and confused. "what the fuck?"

"no! oh my god, no." you scrambled to pause the game, getting to your feet to stand by felix, "no, no, i was talking to the game!"

"you lyin'?"

you roll your eyes, "why would i say that to you? ellie is fighting abby, and i'm telling them both to fuck off, not you!"

"oh," he says, pleasantly surprised, "valid then."

you press a gentle kiss to his forehead, he looks up at you still kinda upset. "baby, if i were to ever tell you to fuck off it'd be because you ate the last of the bread."

he smiles, eyes crinkling into moons, "oh that's true."

"you wanna watch?"

he scoffs, "god no, i already cried at that a month ago. hell no."

--

"get back here!" changbin screams, running across the field to catch you.

☆⌒ヽ changbin (LMAO THE PIC)

warnings/other: new relationship, play fighting

"no, no!" you yell back, a grin on your lips, you dart around the edge of the tree, seemingly hidden (well, you think at least.)

dating changbin had been a whirlwind, he was kind, funny, silly in the best ways and so cared for you like no one had. it had only been a month, but you were so damn in love with him, even though you were still getting to know him. everyday you were excited to find out more about him, it was never enough.

there's a silence in the air, your eyes dart around the edge of the tree. after a moment or two, a voice screams suddenly, "got you!"

"ah!" you scream, feeling hands aggressively wrap themselves around your waist. you had always been a scaredy-cat, any loud sound would startle you and send you into a frightened mess.

"all mine!" he said as he pulled you to the ground, arms still wrapped around your waist.

you feel trapped, his large arms wrapping around you. you can feel the anxiety in your chest, flight taking it's hold over freeze.

"changbin! that really scared me!" you cry out, but he's relentless.

"too bad, i win!" he chuckles loudly, pushing you to lay on your back, his muscles bulging as he pins you there. he slowly loses his smile when he meets your upset scowl, mouth turned down at the sides.

"baby, no-" he says searching your face, "i'm so sorry, was that too much?"

"yes," you say in a low tone, wrapping your arms around his neck. "i get startled easily,"

"i didn't know, i'm sorry." he apologises again, lifting you up to deepen the hug. you melt into his frame, enjoying being engulfed by your boyfriend, though pocket sized, he seemed much bigger than you in moments like this.

this is your chance to get him back, you smile into his neck before pressing a sharp bite down on his collarbone.

"hey!"

--

usually, hyunjin was the patient one.

☆⌒ヽ hyunjin

warnings/other: living together, established relationship

he would always happy to wait for you when you were getting ready, always be okay with you needed to run back inside and pee because you would probably forget and always, he would always wait for you to tell him what you wanted or how you felt, never pushy once.

you were upset, getting fired from your job. it wasn't your fault, just the reality of the job market right now. 'no more funds.' they had said. you were floundering., wallowing in self pity (and rightfully so.)

when hyunjin arrives home, it's ten oclock at night. you're sitting on the couch, balled in a blanket. the lights are off, black smoke seeming to surround your nest of pillows, the only light on your face was from the tv.

"hey beautiful-" hyunjin says cheerily before being met with your tired eyes, black rings around the bottom. "what's wrong?

"nothing." you scoff, hiding more of yourself.

"babe-" he says softly, kicking his shoes off and dropping his bag. he comes to your side immediately, hands rubbing up and down your side. you say nothing, shifting away from his touch.

he sighs, "you wanna tell me what's wrong?" he seems tired.

"no." you say lowly, turning up the tv volume.

"are you... sure?"

you say nothing as you kick him with your foot, still wallowing and watching the tv.

"fine, be like that." he scowls, voice slightly raised as he shakes his head. he shuffles to the kitchen counter, gripping the soda left on the bench top. he takes a sip, looking back at you, clearly annoyed. "i'm not in the mood."

hyunjin was never one to raise his voice, never had he done that to you. he patience seemed to have be worn thin this time.

"no i didn't-" you sigh, trying to gather your words.

'i have bad days too you know, it's not just you."

you sit up, blanket falling down the back of you. he's right, he's always right. "that was not cool, i'm sorry."

you look over him with sad eyes. he's now leaning over the counter, hands digging into his scalp.

you get up from the couch, readjusting the blanket over yourself as you shuffle to his side. you bump your head into his shoulder, looking up at him with wide eyes. "i love you."

"i love you too," he sighs, leaning his head on yours.

you sit like that for a moment before he speaks. "i got fired."

"no way same."

you both look at each and laugh in disbelief, how on earth did this happen?

--

jeongin was so cute, so damn cute. he reminded you of how cute he was every time he did, well, basically anything. but sometimes, he was really secretive. you didn't know why, until you had come to his house the first time. you hadn't been together long, but you were over joyed when he invited you over for dinner.

☆⌒ヽ jeongin

warnings/other: fresh relationship, not smutty but heavy descriptions and mentions of hentai lmao, pg i guess

"bone app the teeth!" he chimed, placing down the bolognaise he had made. it looked and smelled delicious, and you loved the cute frog bowls he had put them in. it made him that much cuter.

"eee! it looks so yummy." you squealed, "wait gotta pee."

"okay, down the hall to the left" he said plopping himself down, proud of his masterpiece. he sat up, making sure to clarify. "oh not the second door, the first one!"

you didn't hear the last part as hurriedly made your way down the hall. you looked at two doors, two seemingly the same. 'i think he said the second?'

you open the door in a hurry, being met with a large pillow of an anime woman, giant boobs out and her legs parting in display. you just stand there in shock, taking in the sight before you.

"helloooo." you said curiously, stepping into the bedroom. on the light stand there was a figurine. her boobs were seemingly wet, the short skirt she had lifted up behind her, thong busting out. a few more adornments, mostly lewd plastered the room.

"babe?" he called out as he walked down the hall. his eyes met with your curious ones, a smirk slapped across your face.

"babe!" he yelled, pulling you back by your arms. "i said first door! why didn't you listen!?"

"ow!" you said in surprise, feeling a lump of guilt building in your throat. he had never yelled at you before and it scared you. "i'm sorry i didn't hear you."

he sighed shaking his head, "i told you not to go in my room!"

"stop yelling at me..." you mumbled, wincing away from him.

quickly he pulled you out of his room, accidentally slamming the door behind him, it made you jump.

"jeongin-" you started but the lump in your throat grow. "i just got the wrong door, don't yell at me."

you stood in silence for a moment before he spoke up, rubbing the back of his neck, an unsure grin on his face, "i just didn't want you to see yet, i'm sorry i yelled."

you turn back to him, eyes tracing his face. he'd been caught. "theeee hentai?" you smirked, standing on your tippy toes.

jeogin's face burnt red, ears tingling with embarrassment. he scrambled to say something, but nothing came out. just splutters of words.

you laugh, "do you seriously think i'd be upset about that?"

"i don't know..." he says under his breath, looking everywhere but you.

"hm," you ponder, finger on your chin, "i don't know how i'd look in a thong, i might not have the ass for it."

jeongin looks like he's going to burst, his expression surprised and embarrassed by your words.

you sigh, taking his hand in yours, "it's fine but don't ever yell at me again, okay?"

"okay..." he says looking to the ground, feeling stupidly sorry for his actions.

"besides," you begin, smiling at him, "maybe you'd look better in a skirt and thong."

--

"wake up!" is all you hear as you jolt upwards, your forehead sweaty and breath heavy coming from your chest.

☆⌒ヽ jisung

warnings/other: living together, established relationship, mentions of nightmares and knives (not bad i promise lol)

you had a nightmare, which didn't happen often. the dreams you usually had were just an information dump of your day mixed in with people you had thought about, but this felt real, the feeling of fright still tingling in your body.

you look over at jisung, his eyes sleepy but still looking at yours.

"hey, you okay?" he speaks, voice raspy.

"no!" you yelp, busting into tears, still feeling shaken by your nightmare. "you were following me, telling me you were going to kill me! why were you yelling?"

"what?" jisung says in a confused tone, hand coming to your shoulder to stable himself.

you shrug his hand off, "you were going to kill me, why would you do that?"

"what are you talking about?" he mumbles, sitting half upward.

"in my dream," you begin by taking a deep breath, "you were chasing me with a knife, it was so scary."

"i'm... sorry?" he says, still so confused, "i didn't mean to?"

"oh," you breath out, tears slowly stopping. "i still cant believe you'd do that. i'm... damn."

"i'm sorry i tried to kill you in your dream. it was wrong of me...?" he mumbles again, eyes trying to find sleep.

"yeah, yeah it was." you breathe out, "don't do that again."

"okay... i won't." he sleepily sighs, his body falling back to the pillow. "i can't believe... i did that, what a ...dog act from me. asshole."

"absolute dog act, you dick." you finish before you feel your body laying back, waiting for sleep to capture you.

"so wrong of me, i'm such an idiot." he mutters, his lips pressing against the pillow, already falling asleep.

--

you scoff, eyes slowly closing your tiredness overtaking you. "damn right."

aussie slang: dog act if you don't know lol

"c'mon, just let me see." you yell through the crack of his changing room, attention turning from your phone. "i'm sure it's fine."

☆⌒ヽ lee know

warnings/other: close friends who like each other, uh lee know half naked??? spicy lee know, play fighting

"it's not." he says from the change room. you can hear his sighs through the curtain, frustration in them whenever he tries on another piece.

"do you need help?" you start, sliding yourself to the other side of the bench in front of the changing room.

"no!" he fumbles, dropping another item.

you sigh, hand slipping to grab onto the curtain, "i'm coming in!"

"no-!"

you're instantly met with his crotch, boxers tight across his hips, and you can see that. yes, the outline of that. your brows raise, certainly surprised with the view in front of you. his boxers had the kittens on them, cute little kittens of all colours and a pink background. you loved it, you can't deny.

"uh..." you start, not knowing what to do. you'd liked lee know for a while, so you can't say you're entirely horrified. you slowly raise your eyes to his, confusion and annoyance on his face.

you just sit there, his eyes burning into yours, just both staring at each other before he pushes on your face, leading you to fall back off of the bench. "don't do that!"

"ack!" you fall back yelping back hitting the ground with a thud, "i'm sorry i just wanted to help!"

he raises his voice slightly, anger present in his tone, "yeah, well i'm fucking naked!"

you feel bad, you've pushed a boundary and you didn't even realise you had been edging on it. "i'm sorry." you choke out, feeling bad for invading his privacy. you were close but not that close, yet.

you just lay there, ashamed of yourself for what you did, not thinking about his boundaries. after a minute he comes out, you're still laying on the ground in defeat.

he purses his lips in anger as he grabs the side of your ear, wrenching it towards him.

"ah shit!" you screech, laughter behind your words, "i'm sorry! aha i'm sorry! stop it!"

"you done?" he says through his teeth, still pulling on your ear.

"haha yes! it tickles and hurts!" you giggle, mouthing ouch a few times. he gives you a final tug before he finally let's go of your ear.

you get to your feet, rubbing the side of your ear. you both walk in silence before he halts you, eyes glaring into your own.

"if you wanna see me naked just say so, at least i can put better boxers on."

it was your turn to go red in the face, but you smirk instead, hiding your face, "i like those ones."

"really?" he questions, pondering your words, but seems impatient in his tone. "i'll wear em for you this weekend then, you staying over or not?"

you nod hurriedly, instantly agreeing to his plans.

"aw," he stops, clearly enjoying your agreeance and the new realm of flirting with you, "cat got your tongue?

you smack him on the arm, "stop!"

--

"do these look good?" seungmin asks, raising the brown frames to his face. no, no they don't. they absoutely don't. you try to hold in a laugh, your hand coming to your mouth.

☆⌒ヽ seungmin lalsdjka that pic always gets me

warnings/other: established relationship, seungmin thinks he's funny

"umm... maybe?"

he sighs, raising them a bit. "how about now?"

"uh," you begin, trying to hold in your laugh, "sure?"

passive aggressively he throws them back on the rack, turning on his heel to walk to the next section. you follow behind him, you can sense he's getting frustrated trying to find the right sunglasses. his vision wasn't the best without his glasses, so he needed your help trying them on. no contacts in today.

"hmm," he ponders, picking up anther pair. they're so ugly, rectangle and frames way too dark. no one would suit them, that's probably why they're on sale.

"um... maybe?"

"you already said that!" he says, frustration in his voice. "if you're not going to help, just leave."

you feel kind of hurt at his tone, but continue to follow behind him. you can't help but feel the anxiety in your chest, he wanted your advice but never listened anyways so you thought it best to be quiet.

suddenly he turns to look at you, feeling the awkward tension he's created. he throws his hands in the air. "what?!"

"hey don't yell," you start, wincing a bit at his words, "i just don't think those suited you..."

he takes the sight of you in, realising he's upset you, "shit- i'm sorry baby, i'm just annoyed i can't find a good pair. this is so hard."

you grab his hands and bring them to your chest, your eyes looking up at him, "thank you for apologising, you don't gotta be so mean."

he bends down to press a kiss on your lips, it's gentle with apology laced in it. he takes in a sharp breath before leaning back, "okay, which ones?"

"circle, definitely."

he turns to face the other section, hand gently melding to yours. the pair he picks up are just as ugly as the others.

"no," you begin interrupting him. you let go of his hand and pick up a dark circle frame pair of simple sunglasses, "these one's."

"really?" he questions, brows raised.

"just try them."

he sighs, bringing the frames to sit on his ears. "yes or no?"

"oh definitely, these are the ones. you gotta trust me."

he pouts and rolls his eyes, "oookay."

--

a/n: i had so much fun writing this!!!! hope you enjoy!!!!

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