#and I might as well make it nice here which reminds me i need to order some stuff...

[moeblob]

Deacon loves two things: Ymber and digging himself a grave.

Fulj hates one thing: Deacon.

[greppelheks]

I've got a busy week ahead with four days of work, a job interview, an appointment with my therapist, two days of celebrating my birthday, lots of packages to pick up (I'm getting my shit together) and lots of grocery shopping, baking and cooking for my birthday.

[floweryfandomnerd]

.

[aashi-heartfilia]

The hypocrisy of Jinshi and MaoMao

*light novel spoilers*

I just love how hypocritical MaoMao's nature is. She yells at Jinshi for being a 'Masochist' and yet we see that she's no different. Now, by definition Masochist is a person who drives sexual gratification from their own pain and humiliation, plus it relates to Jinshi's tendency to do self harm (like burning his skin with a brand)

And what is MaoMao's most favourite thing in this world?

POISON

She literally takes pleasure in consuming it and no one can convince me otherwise. Plus she uses dangerous plants and animals and snakes whatnot in the name of her so-called experiments. Her dad may call her a 'mad Scientist' but that is a direct indication of self harm.

And she calls Jinshi a Masochist.

I mean, think about it! The amount of anxiety she gives to Jinshi! She came prepared with a vomit inducing medicine but even she had no idea whether it would work or not. She was just hoping it would work in the salt chapter.

And the same goes for her hand, on which she has conducted countless experiments. One flower even burned her skin and its marks never left her skin. She said it was all for her hobby. What kind of weird hobby is that? Maybe, our little adorable mad scientist is just like that.

One brands his own skin, while the other takes heavenly pleasure in consuming poison.

So my point is, Jinshi and MaoMao are not that different as one might think they are and that's why their dynamic works so well.

Let's look at the excerpts from volume 5:

She didn’t know how long they sat that way. All she knew was that Jinshi was looking down at her with a faintly triumphant expression, as if he saw that the breath had reached every corner of her body now. He wiped away the tears that had sprung to her eyes as she struggled to breathe. It was then that Maomao felt a flash of intense anger. “I said that if you were going to kill me, you should do it with poison,” she told him. “I refuse to let you poison yourself,” Jinshi said, his fingers tracing her lips. “You can’t pretend you didn’t know that you were one of the candidates. As much as I’m sure you’d like to.” He wasn’t done, either: “Who was that man, anyway? I’m sure you’re not a dancer.” So he had been watching them! “I was just paying for my drink,” Maomao said. “It didn’t cost much.” She tried to look away, but with his hand on her head, she really couldn’t.

Jinshi just choked her and yet he refuses to let MaoMao poison herself. A lot of people misinterpret this scene, and don't like it all that much, saying it was just fanservice stuff but this is how I see it: Jinshi wasn't trying to kill MaoMao, he was just trying to make MaoMao submit to him for once (even if the way he did it was very wrong, but guess he's kinky like that). MaoMao is actively trying to harm herself and Jinshi loves MaoMao a lot, he cannot just let her kill herself.

It was more about him trying to exert his dominance in their weirdish - complicated relationship and that also backfires on him as we see in the next volume that MaoMao escapes Jinshi's grasps using Pairin's techniques.

And then they both continue to avoid each other in the entire next volume! Because they both realised that they have crossed boundaries.

They both are hypocrites.

And they both refuse to accept their feelings.

In one of the later volumes, she gives Jinshi a piece of her mind on how he should tell her everything clearly, unequivocally, what he feels, and he literally declares that "he will make her his wife", which is nice and all but look at the wording MaoMao used here....

Excerpts from LN Vol 7, chapter 19 called "A man and a woman play the game"

"You’re forever telling me I need to use my words, Master Jinshi, but are you in any position to criticize? Everything you say to me, everything you do, it’s like it’s calculated to save you from ever having to actually say what you mean! To make me figure it all out! You know, you remind me of someone. You act exactly like a man who used to come by our brothel all the time. He was in love with one of the girls, but he would never just come out and say it. He thought it should be obvious from the way he acted. He was so sure he had a good thing going with this woman that he never sent her so much as a letter. I remember how forlorn he looked when someone else swooped in and snatched her away! He kept coming to the brothel after that—to get drunk and whine to the ladies. Well, in my opinion, he could have avoided all that heartbreak if he’d told the woman how he felt. Clearly, unequivocally, so that she knew where they stood. It was the least he could have done!”

Everything came out in a torrent. She felt like she’d said it all in one breath. It was strange, she thought, to hear so many words come out of her own mouth. She was mystified. Jinshi was no less startled, but the shock soon left his face, replaced by something else. He got up off the bed and stared down at Maomao.

Shit. Now I’ve done it. She’d given him a piece of her mind, and he was about to give her one back.

“So I should be clear, should I? Unequivocal? I should say what I mean? If I did, would you actually listen to me? Is that what you’re telling me? I’m going to hold you to that! Right this minute. I’ll say it all. Don’t plug your ears—listen to me!” He grabbed her hands as she was in the process of trying to put her fingers in her ears. He took a breath. He was looking at Maomao, but somehow he seemed almost embarrassed. Finally he managed, “Now listen to me, y—I mean, Maomao! Listen close! I am going to make you my wife!”

It's one heck of a chapter and I suggest you give it a go! The title of the chapter says "A man and a woman play the game" as if to emphasize the very fact that both Jinshi and MaoMao are playing the game.

Jinshi has never confessed his true feelings before this chapter and only implied that he wanted to make MaoMao his wife.

The implications were heavy though on Jinshi's part, and as smart as MaoMao is, anyone would have guessed that MaoMao was one of the candidates for Jinshi's consort. Even the clothes she received (the ones she wore to the banquet) were also provided by Jinshi along with the hairpin. It is never stated outright but seeing as the hairpin was from Jinshi, the clothes are also implied to be the same.

More or less she's always deliberately ignoring the possibility of having anything to do with him, that is more than professional. Some may call it denial, I call it dense. Maybe, to some extent, she herself is not aware of her feelings because she never lets herself feel anything.

Even Suiren pointed it out pretty early in the manga, that maybe it's MaoMao's way of being reserved. We need to keep in mind that MaoMao is an unreliable narrator and it's more of what she does, rather than what she says that makes a difference.

Even in the chapter that I have quoted above, she had every reason to leave Jinshi, she wasn't working for him after all. But she stayed to make tea for him, even after the fact that she had a long day too. She was almost just as exhausted as Jinshi and yet she was there preparing medicinal tea, so that he could get a better sleep.

Maybe she herself is yet to realise just how deep her feelings run. Till vol 12 she seems to have accepted them, but she still is yet to acknowledge their depth. Maybe it's because of her childhood.

It's not a traumatic backstory but MaoMao had a sad childhood nonetheless....

She was raised by her grand uncle and her real father was eccentric, who scared her. Her mother must also appear to be kind of demonic to her, since she was desperate enough to cut MaoMao's Pinky finger and send it to Lahan. So it's safe to say that MaoMao never received proper parental affection. And adding to the fact that, a brothel is not exactly an ideal place for raising a child.... especially when the birth of MaoMao was the one thing that brought the brothel to its knees...even if being born wasn't her choice.

Plus MaoMao stated it herself that when she was a baby, no one would come to sooth her until their work was finished, implying that even if MaoMao and her brothel sisters are close, they are not that close. A mother's love is different and she never received it. No one can love you more than your mother and MaoMao was deprived of that. She soon realised that no one was coming. Life is hard and she has no choice but to face it!

So, she got interested in poison.

Maybe she doesn't love herself or her life as much as she says / pretends she does. She's always like "yeah, I would very much like my head to be with my body" and "if I stay low profile maybe I can survive here" etc but maybe deep down that's not the case. Maybe that's why she loves poison so much. The implications are crazy.

And to break MaoMao's shell, Jinshi has no choice but to be a bit more forceful at times? At least that's how I interpret that choking scene. Jinshi was angry at MaoMao because she deliberately suggested him to marry consort Rishu and danced with Rikuson.

Even if Jinshi never said it outright, he was giving hints the entire time.

But well the tables turned and MaoMao topped him instead, lol (vol 7) and later we even see that our little stray cat has accepted Jinshi and she's ready to be in a relationship with him (vol 12).

Plus she is intrigued by the process of birth (she wants to eat her baby's placenta, it's kind of uggghhh.... but anyways, that MaoMao we're talking about, she's just weird that way)

Maybe not after too long she'll realise that if she has to give birth, she can only have it with Jinshi and no one else.

~Sunshine

[ghxstmxchine]

ꜱᴛᴇᴀʟɪɴɢ ᴇᴀᴄʜ ᴏᴛʜᴇʀ'ꜱ ᴄʟᴏᴛʜᴇꜱ

☆ ᴀ/ɴ: letting myself be a teensy bit self indulgent on my first post bc this is my favorite thing ever. super excited to start posting more on here!

☆ ᴅᴇᴛᴀɪʟꜱ: SFW // includes: Miles, Hobie, Miguel & Pavitr (x gn!reader) // w.c: 0.8k

ᴍɪʟᴇꜱ ᴍᴏʀᴀʟᴇꜱ

Not the biggest fan of people stealing his clothes especially when everything he owns means so much to him, but when it comes to you, he’s always willing to make exceptions

He might be a bit shocked when you show up wearing the jacket he’s been tearing his room apart looking for, but he’s quick to reassure you that you can keep it and even wants you to take it

It’s different when it comes to you, he knows it comes from a place of love. You adore him so much that you want at least something of his to keep with you, especially with how busy his schedule tends to be

It’s not a one way agreement though, he most definitely returns the sentiment by taking something of yours. He likes having something that reminds him of you, it makes him feel safer sometimes

Will completely deny that it’s yours whenever you point it out, but his smile is giving him away as you chase him around trying to reclaim your jacket.

“Miles, is that my jacket?” “No? I bought this.” “It’s literally my jacket.” “Okay, then why does it fit me so well? Might as well be mine” “Miles…”

Goes clothes shopping but keeps you in mind while buying stuff

ʜᴏʙɪᴇ ʙʀᴏᴡɴ

Always so quick to compliment how something of his looks on you, He can’t help but be such a flirt and it’s a nice surprise to see something he loves on someone he loves, he has to make sure you know how good you look 

When it comes to things such as his battle vest, he offers to make you one or at least teach you but you stubbornly only take his which he teases you for plenty because you can’t seem to get enough of him

Since you both seem to be sharing it anyways, he’ll let you add on pins or patches that you like. He also never complains if you accidentally tear it because it’s just an excuse to add another patch

When he takes your clothes he’s very loud and proud about it, walking around shamelessly in something you own. (“Don’t I look good? Almost looks better on me, don’t you think love?)

Claims that your clothes are much more comfortable than his but he’s not one to ever care about buying new things so he definitely takes advantage of anything you may have just bought

He’s very careful with your clothes, it’s almost a miracle how he never gets anything (dirt, makeup, blood, etc.) on it. For someone so punk he's so stubborn with keeping your things clean & undamaged

ᴍɪɢᴜᴇʟ ᴏ'ʜᴀʀᴀ

He’s tricky, he’ll be a bit annoyed if it’s anything he needs at the moment but doesn’t complain if it’s anything else. He might make a comment about making sure not to ruin it but with the way he’s looking at you all day, you know he’s all bark and no bite

Flips some possessive switch on in his head and suddenly he’s looking at you like you’re some meal, he gets a lot more touchy when he sees you in something of his but won’t admit it

Even when he asks you to give it back to him by the end of the day, he never pesters you about it again, too busy staring at how good you look

Very, very rarely will ever take anything that’s yours. Half of the time it’s on accident when he’s trying to find something of his in the dark bedroom, and it’s even harder to get him to admit that it’s yours

He’s too scared he’ll ruin something of yours if he gets into a fight, especially since you take such good care of what you steal from him. He’d rather accept small things like bracelets or rings to wear

Make him one of those friendship bracelets and he’ll wear it till it falls apart

ᴘᴀᴠɪᴛʀ ᴘʀᴀʙʜᴀᴋᴀʀ

Will completely gush for hours about how good you look in anything of his. He feels so honored that you chose something of his to wear, especially if it makes you feel comfortable

He just can’t get over it, he’s such a hopeless romantic and you wearing his clothes is automatically so romantic to him. He’s also super quick to offer up something of his if you ever need it

It always smells so good, he takes super good care of his belongings and has a very distinct cologne he wears that rubs off on everything he wears. Also his clothes are super soft, overall they’re very comfortable

He’s not one to take anything without asking, he could be freezing to death and still make sure with you that it’s okay for him to take a jacket. He’s very big on respecting others’ belongings

Wears your jacket with him on patrol sometimes, much like Miles he finds it comforting to have something from you while he’s patrolling, especially on taxing days

Washes and folds everything before returning it to you because he’s just an absolute sweetheart. He’ll let you keep anything of his for as long as you want, he’s not one to complain

[hannie-dul-set]

WHAT’S WRONG WITH CEO PARK?

p — PARK SUNGHOON x gn! reader. g — ceo! sunghoon and secretary! reader, humor, romance. w — swearing, sunghoon being a weirdo, a misplaced marriage proposal. 1.3k words.

requested by — anon: menace to everyone but you x the opposite of that.

note — i hate the cold angsty male ceo trope. so instead i turned ceo hoon into a weirdo that's a little bit too in love and doesn’t understand the concept of workplace boundaries which stresses you the fuck out!!

when you got promoted from being assistant secretary thanks to your ceo’s former secretary resigning, your co-workers did not throw you a celebration.

“you called for me, mr. park?”

instead, they threw you an advanced farewell party. it was nice working with you, said the cake dusted with stray confetti on the day of your promotion. they’re celebrating your inevitable resignation. they’re sure you’re going to follow suit after you predecessor within three months max because according to them—

“yes.”

your boss, park sunghoon, is the nastiest fucker in the planet.

“take a seat.”

you gulp, making cautious steps into your ceo’s office. he’s signing a stack of documents while you take your sweet time delaying having to sit in front of his paper-stacked desk, setting them aside the moment you sit down, sharp eyes immediately zeroing into your soul, and you start sweating.

there’s a bet on the line on when you’d eventually quit. today marks your fourth month here, and you’re pretty sure heeseung is going to win because you are in fact this close to sliding your pre-written resignation letter over his desk, adding onto his pile.

not because he’s terrible, like they all say. not because he’s temperamental.

“sunoo told me you were sick,” sunghoon starts. “why did you come to work today?”

but because you fear your boss might be a little bit in love with you.

“is...is that the only reason you asked for me?” you hesitantly say, picking on your cuticles and trying to avoid eye contact because the concern drowning your boss’s expression is just enough to drown you as well.

“you don’t look well,” he avoids your question. of course you don’t look well. you’re very, very uncomfortable right now and the main cause of that discomfort is him. “you should go home. i’ll tell jay to drive you.”

you’re pretty sure jay isn’t going to be happy with that. 

“mr. park—”

“i thought i asked you to call me sunghoon.”

your mouth is left hanging open. you’re flabbergasted. you take a second to recollect your thoughts. “...mr. park. sir,” you emphasize. you should at least be the one reminding him of your hierarchical roles at the moment. sunghoon looks upset that you’re not abiding by his request, but says nothing in protest so you continue. “i ran out of sick leaves. and there’s still so much work to do, i can’t just go home.”

“you ran out? well i’ll just give you more.” sir, that’s not how it works. “and jungwon can take care of your work. you should go home and rest.”

jungwon wouldn’t be too happy with that either. you feel your stress levels rising, headache incoming, because he’s just not listening to you. this crazy bastard, you think to yourself.

but maybe you were thinking a little too loudly.

“can you say that again?”

you slap a hand over your mouth with a gasp.

“say it again.”

you’re fucked. you just called your boss a bastard right to his face. “i’m—i’m so sorry, mr. park, i didn’t mean to—” but maybe that’s a good thing because that means you wouldn’t need to debate about resigning if he’s gonna fire you. “i apologize. i’ll accept any punishment you’ll give me.”

“no, say it again,” he hums, sounding a little too happy after being called crazy and a bastard, and you get a bad feeling. a really bad feeling. “i felt like we just got closer because of that. swear at me again.”

there’s a smile playing on your boss’s face. 

“i— i don’t think that’s appropriate, sir.”

jesus christ, he’s a bit more in love with you than you thought.

“why not?” when sunghoon gets up from behind his seat, circling out from behind his desk to lean back against it right in front of you instead, you start fearing for your life. he looks at you, arms crossed in disappointment, and he looks a little too good with rolled up sleeves and slim-fit slacks. 

crap, were you just checking out your boss?

his crazy is rubbing off on you.

“you have no trouble with swearing at and laughing around with the others,” he says. “why can’t you do the same with me?”

he is not normal, you think. thankfully not out loud this time. “sir, you’re my boss. i’m just your secretary. there’s a big gap there. i can’t just treat you the same way as i do with my co-workers.”

your boss takes in your words. he remains quiet with a stoic face for a few moments, and with each passing second of silence, you feel half a year of your life being shaved off. “ah,” he finally makes a sound after a good minute and a half. “should i give you a promotion, then?”

oh my fucking god, he’s nuts.

“boss, there’s an urgent thing you need to—”

“did i permit you to enter my office?”

your eyes widen, slapped in the face by a whiplash when your fellow secretary jake suddenly pops into the office, only to be cut off by the sharp glare and icy tone of your boss. jake’s hand doesn’t leave the doorknob when he nearly stumbles in shock with a stack of papers pressed to his chest. you see the look on his face. it’s the face of someone who’s about to get royally fucked over.

“n—no, sir. but these documents are—”

“then why are you in my office?” holy shit. so this is what they meant when they said ceo park is a bitchy demon from hell. jake looks like he’s about to piss himself. you’ve never been on the brunt of his temper— likely because he’s biased and has feelings for you, which has always felt burdensome. but now you’re a little thankful because you’d probably cry if he snapped at you like that.

“i’m sorry, i’ll leave now. i apologize.”

with that, jake makes his hasty retreat, and you’re once more left alone with your crazy boss. 

“where were we?” he says. “oh, right. your promotion.”

you’re starting to feel dizzy. 

“i’ve never liked how seojoo handled things. you can take his spot as the sales department head.” you have to stop him. you have to stop him before he actually fires a competent employee and gives you their spot as a courtship gift. “wait. i think you’d prefer working in HR actually. it’s a shame ms. kim is going to lose her position, but i can just—”

“mr. park—”

“sunghoon,” he cuts you off. “call me sunghoon.”

you look at him, exasperated. “sir,” you say. “i don’t think this is right.”

sunghoon raises a brow. “you don’t like HR? which department would you prefer then?”

you can’t. you can’t do this anymore. you make the mistake of letting your eyes wander out of stress, because they inadvertently land on the shiny gold glint of his nameplate, which is a terribly bad move following after his question because sunghoon notices, and sunghoon gets the very, very wrong idea.

oh, no. oh, no no no no no—

“i see.”

he doesn’t! he doesn’t see! you aren’t coveting his seat! you just want to go back to work and stop dealing with your insane and far too in love with you boss!

“i’m afraid i can’t give away my position as ceo,” he tells you. you swallow, shutting your eyes because you don’t want to acknowledge the mess you’ve just accidentally made, but your lack of vision definitely doesn’t interfere with your sense of hearing.

what you hear next sounds clearer than you’d like it to be.

“how about the position of being the ceo’s fiancé instead?”

that’s it.

“i will be getting back to work now, mr. park.��

there is something very wrong with your boss. it’s not in your job description to fix him.

WHAT’S WRONG WITH CEO PARK? © hannie-dul-set, 2023.

[bluexiao]

#monsieur neuvillette’s relationship headcanons

NOTES. finally a work after months. i missed this, tbh. but hey, here’s my new husband for you. might also have a part 2 of this i feel like i haven’t written everything yet

WARNING. real identity spoilers (nothing too explicit from the current archon quest i haven’t even done it yet oops)

NEUVILLETTE

(Before)

Before the relationship began, it took a long while for him to truly process what he had been feeling towards you—to be frank, he even thought he was getting sick (which was impossible. He never got sick.), though that thought comes to an end the moment he realizes that the effects only happen when he is around you. Only you.

He had heard of love before. Had seen love. Had read about love. Not just the platonic or familial ones, but also romance and more. And yet, he does not understand them, simply because he considers them as something someone like him would not eventually feel.

And yet, it all changed when he first saw you. Curiosity turns to admiration, and admiration turns to anxiety—which is never good; the sweating on his hands and the back of his neck, and the pressure on his chest whenever your presence comes.

He was only reminded of the term romance when he consulted Sigewinne about it.

“Does it only happen around a certain person, Monsieur?” “Monsieur, I think you are simply in love,” she says. “Humans do tend to have the same symptoms but it does not necessarily mean you are sick. It appears to me that you feel the same as well. Does their presence give you happiness?”

He did not even need to ponder over his answer. What he does ponder over is how he should deal with it. The evidence is overwhelming, and there is only one verdict. And yet, where does this lead to?

Contrary to popular belief, he will confess as soon as he is sure of his feelings. He is an honest and honorable man. He would confess his feelings if he could, but it did take some time knowing how busy his schedule was.

The only thing that probably was able to push him to go through was the Melusines. It took them weeks to have him clear his schedule up for a nice little dinner date that they had planned and suggested to the Monsieur.

“Recently, I have come to realize that I have developed a romantic interest with you, Y/n.”

“I do not intend to put pressure on you. I shall accept whatever judgment you make. I do not wish for you to change how you treat me in any way.”

“If you may… I can only ask to indulge in this meal with you for tonight. Your company eases me greatly.”

Brutally honest. It may even drive you crazy how this all seems so easy on him.

But in reality, his palms were sweating underneath his gloves and the slightly cool sensation of the utensils as he blurts out his intentions for setting up such an occasion. His heart was pounding but he could not process whether this was about how you looked especially good tonight or his nervousness with finally confessing his feelings for you.

Or maybe both. Either way, all evidence of such leads to only one thing—you.

Bonus; I do think he’ll reveal who he is first before he gets into a relationship with you but that really depends on how observant you are.

(During)

It was a surprise to him, at the very least, how he had managed to keep you as his lover despite what he lacks. He knew how he was not well-versed with “feelings” per se (just in his mind), but you, the angel that you’ve always been, chose to be with him.

The sudden change did not occur to him much, actually. But he did notice how much his mind lingers to you more often than not, and how he will end up recalling how you are now his one and only lover.

It takes time for him to adjust, but it all started with frequent conversations (much more than before), then sending flowers to your place every other day (constantly), though most of the time they’re delivered by someone else, knowing how busy he is as the Chief Justice.

Or when he started to first brush his gloved fingers to yours.

When he does something, it will be constant. (Maybe this also comes from being responsible and disciplined as shown by being the Chief Justice). All the things that he did before, he still does them now—unless you’ve told him no, of course.

He is definitely a man of his honor!!

And would always ask for your permission first before he touches your hand, or holds them, or hugs you, or kisses you.

He does like pampering and showering you with “offerings” though.

Stuff like buying your favorite flowers or trinkets once or twice a week, making sure you have enough supply of the best water out there. And even with how he always has an umbrella or parasol for you (ones he got ever since you got together; one in his office, one that’s foldable for him to carry under his coat, and one he gave to you for every time you leave the house.

Through the course of the relationship, he learned about the beauty of life, which is how he sometimes brings you flowers despite its short life. However, he still secretly prefers giving you trinkets for your hoard of gifts from him, mostly because it symbolizes his everlasting love for you. (He’s very romantic like that, even if he does not know he is)

He will also introduce every single Melusine in Fontaine. At first, it may surprise you how he knows all of their names, but it will surprise you even more the moment you realize you could do the same. If you do, he’ll love you even more (which he thought was impossible at first as he knew he already loves you very much).

The Melusines will treat you as their other parent the moment it is known amongst all of them that you’re his lover. Sigewinne, for one, would always give you a personalized gift. She would also always send you letters to ask how you are and probably be quite excited whenever you accept an invitation for a cup of tea.

Monsieur Neuvillete is not jealous, but he is possessive and territorial. It’s a dragon instinct, forgive him.

It also comes with being protective. Though he’s not feral, he would make sure to always shield you away from any harm, or anything that might take you away.

One time, he had to deal with a bunch of… shameless individuals who had tried to make a move on you, and though he has great trust on you, he cannot help but have the same self-deprecating voices in the back of his mind.

Though instinctively, he finds himself buying you trinkets or flowers again.

“Hm? You just gave me one earlier, didn’t you?” You look up with a confused look but still hold that smile that stirs butterflies in his chest.

He nodded. “The flowers reminded me of you, mon amour. I could not help but feel the urge to give it to you.”

It does not stop him from giving you offerings.

Of course, he cannot just give up on you. The ruling of whoever deserves your love and affection the most. Of course, he is at an advantage knowing that he’s already your lover.

“Is there something wrong?” You looked up to him, hearing the pitter patter of the rain outside through the taps on the windows. You had your hands on his shoulders, gently rubbing them with your palms.

“It’s nothing, mon cœur, no need to worry.” He flashes you a reassuring smile, and yet, at the back of his mind, he wondered how you could have thought to check on him. Is it perhaps the gloominess in the atmosphere?

You frown as you look at him intently, “There are times when you’d shower me gifts with a saddened look on you. I’m worried, is all.”

He stares at you then. Ah, so you noticed, he thought.

He chuckles as he shakes his head and stands right next to you. “May I?” He opens his arms and you nod and dive right into his chest. He enclosed you into an embrace, relishing the feeling of your warmth.

He kisses your forehead then. “Allow me to bask in your presence for a while.”

For short, one of the best. Definitely a 100/10.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Oh GOD, breeding kink with Ghost but he's actually determined to get his darling pregnant because after everything they've been through together, how much he loves her and vice versa? I could go on but it's just something to think about. I also strongly believe he'd be that kind of girl dad heheh

Couldn't Love You More (Ghost x F!Reader)

Left pic credit: @ vhenan_virabelasan on IG

Word count: 3.7 k

Tags/warnings: Tooth-rotting FLUFF. Mild, soft smut 🔞, crying (from joy), breeding kink (obv), comfort no hurt. All the softness and love.

A/N: Excuse me, more soft!Ghost coming through! I hope you like this take anon 💕

"I'm tired of using those things."

Simon rarely whispers, hardly ever murmurs, and never coos. But this time, his voice is deliberately soft. 

You sigh and put the condom package down on the table. This evening had been a nice change, a pampering for your poor, stressed-out nerves. He had done his best to take your mind off work ever since he got home: he took you out for a 3-course dinner – which reminded you of the early days of your dating – and it was all supposed to end in a good stress relief of a fuck.

You'd sent him suggestive texts all morning, knowing he was coming home today. Those messages were extra naughty because you happened to be ovulating, and juicy, and horny as hell.

And you know he has waited for this moment as well. Which is why you can't get your head around why he wants to raise the subject of using other methods of contraception right before you're about to have sex. 

Why would he suddenly start complaining when both of you are already naked – practically seconds before you're about to roll down the condom for him?

"You know I've tried, Simon," you sigh again – you don't even bother to disguise the annoyance in your voice. After all, you've tried basically everything to make it more pleasurable for you to make love without the risk of getting knocked up. You hate the rubber between the two of you just as much as he does, if not more. Apparently you need to remind him how the last attempt with the pill went.

"I become a bloated monster," you say, realizing you're pouting only when he laughs.

You absolutely love it when he does: it's a rare thing, even with you. Even after all these years of love and dedication, the warm, husky chuckle at the back of his throat makes your heart flutter and your head feel dizzy.

"That's not what I meant."

"Then what did you mean…?"

The man has a tiny twinkle in his eyes, and the flutter in your heart turns into something heavier, more serious. He looks you up and down as if to weigh whether you're ready to take in what he's about to say.

"How about we just ditch the bloody things?"

Your heart is truly getting it today: it skips a beat or two from what he says. From what he implies.

"But you…” you whisper, still unsure if you're truly discussing the same thing here. “You said that kids are a bad idea." 

"They are." 

The twinkle in those eyes turns into an amused gleam, the corner of his mouth lifts up a bit from seeing you so shocked. 

And Simon never said he didn't want children.

It's just that he has avoided the subject like it's a seasonal flu he doesn't want to catch. 

He would make the perfect father: you just know it. Sad to say, but it was one of the main reasons you fell for this man. It's stupid, but it's true: women look for these things. They can tell if a guy would be a good choice for a father. They notice safety, security, the willingness to support and provide.

Biology and instincts be damned, you simply can't deny that Simon is the first man who made you think about what it would be like to have children. And of course the perfect candidate for a father thought that kids were a bad idea…

It seemed like a cruel joke, the way he brushed you off when you first approached him with your shy request. You pussyfooted around the subject, were as delicate as one can be, knowing it might make him uncomfortable. 

And it did. It more than just did.

He freaked the fuck out, went to work, and worked himself nearly to death – literally almost got himself killed, and you understood that this was serious. His childhood, his past, the dangers of his work – of course he thought himself unfit for the role.

Infuriatingly, it only made you more convinced that he was the perfect choice. The man was just so fricking responsible.

You barred your mouth shut after that. Instinct told you Simon might just leave if you continued the talk about having kids. Not because he couldn't take it, but because he would want to give you a chance to find someone to raise a family with before it was too late. 

It was his view of unconditional love: he was ready to let you go if need be. He would set you free if he suspected it would make you happy.

But then you saw him look at tiny kids – usually the ones that had just learned to walk – with a fleeting longing in his stare. It always turned into a withdrawn sulk, the gaze of a man who has accepted his fate.

He seemed to have the softest spot for little girls, especially when they were laughing and giggling or being unruly rascals, and sometimes flinched when a baby started to cry in the store. He looked a bit distressed for a second, and not because of the noise – but because he couldn't locate the immediate source and go and calm the baby. 

That's when you realized he actually wanted kids. The biological clock on this man was ticking just as furiously as yours. 

Years passed, and you silently buried your dreams of raising a little family together. He was enough for you, more than enough: you would not break up because of this. No man could ever replace Simon. 

But it still hurt. It was like a wound that never healed.

Until this night…

This night, it seemed he would not only cure it but heal it so well it wouldn’t even leave a scar. 

You suddenly find yourself under him – his moves are so quick that it's almost like you're teleported there. He sometimes does that: lets you play with him for a while, have your fun on top before reminding you who is in control here.

And this time, he won't even let you play.

"Simon, what are you doing," you sigh with barely concealed exhilaration. 

As if you didn't know exactly what he is about to do. 

He looks at you with that possessive look he sometimes has when you two have been apart for far too long. And there's something more behind that stare. It tells you that this is serious; this means business. The package you placed on the nightstand remains unopened and, apparently, will be the witness to his mission tonight. 

Serves the damn thing right…

You take in the absolute beef of this man: the bulk of pecs above you, the wide, solid middle that nearly swallows you every time you're under him.

You almost disappear between him and the mattress when you two are doing missionary, and it's one of the best feelings in the world. You've wanted to sink your teeth in to those huge, solid shoulders for god knows how many times. Once or twice, you actually did give him a little bite, only a nib, really, during a good pounding – and giggled at the breathless grunt of "Hey" that followed.

The trail of hair, darker in tone compared to the hair on his head, spreads over his abs which rest under a thin layer of fat. The happy trail, as you call it, runs down until it meets the heavy cock that always makes your mouth water like it's your favorite meal.

His hand is weighty, adoring when it comes to rest on your waist – the callous of his palms feels just the right kind of rough as he gives you the softest squeeze and a caress.

And he must know from the wanton looks you gave him all evening that he can just walk right in. Probably knew from those texts already that you've been wet all day long.

You try to spread your legs wider than they can go as he grabs himself to be positioned to your entrance. The fat tip of him feels heavy on your folds as he lazily slides himself up and down your slit, teasing the opening but not going in. It feels heavenly to sense him, all of him, with nothing there between you. There's no lifeless rubber: just his thick velvet meeting your wetness and silk.

The darned man won't even answer your question… Probably knows it's not really a question, just an astonished sigh of love.

"It's…not safe," your head falls back as he pushes the first few inches in – teasing you still by not giving you the full length and thick of him.

"Tired of safe, too," he rumbles softly above you, feeds more of himself in, and you tighten around his cock: receive him with fierce love and yearning. He groans at the sensation – it must feel divine for him, too. It must feel like it's meant to be this way. Now and forever.

You sigh as he starts to move, slow and intense, just the way he knows you like it when there's been too much stress and life has been a bitch. He always makes you feel better, always makes you melt in his arms when you run to him from the unfair, fucked up world. 

He's got some bad days too, and that’s when you ruffle his hair, scrub his back in the shower, give him a sloppy little blowjob, or make him his favorite dish, anything to make the tension in those mountains of shoulders disappear. 

You two worship each other; there’s no question about that. 

"Simon–ah… Truly, are you serious…?" 

"Hell yeah."

The idea of him cumming inside you is thrilling enough, but it's not just about that. 

You're ovulating, and he's a man in his absolute prime. He reminds you of mountain lions and snow leopards, living their life in harsh conditions and in wandering solitude until… Until the perfect companion comes along. He's simply the most virile male there is; broad, wide, and heavy, always ready when you are.

A man like Simon just cannot be infertile.

His eyes are half-lidded already, and those pale eyelashes make you bite your lip and grab his butt like it would be a life or death situation if he chose to withdraw.

And you know he loves it when you grope his ass and try to assist him with the thrusts. 

His little helper, indeed…

"Bloody fucking hell, you feel good…"

His head rolls back, exposing the tendons on his neck, thick, like the rest of him. Everything in this man is thick and broad and good – and fuck – he glides in and out like a dream. Somehow the extra layer of rubber has taken the brunt of his thickness away, but you feel it now, all of it, and it's something you could die for.

He grunts and thrusts, then halts for a while, chuckles all breathless…

"It's gonna be one hell of a show, sweetheart."

He's talking about what comes after. How it will be when there's a new addition and not a crew of two anymore. It brings tears to your eyes to see how he's already thinking about the future – and how he does it with a smile and a pleased chuckle.

"I'm used to sleepless nights," he reminds you softly. "You're not."

Ugh – he's thinking about your well-being when it would only make you the happiest woman on earth to take care of his children. Your children.

"I'll manage," you whisper.

"I know you will."

The tears are so close now; he’s simply the one and only person in this world for whom your love is boundless. It’s endless, overflowing.

He pulls back a little, raises your legs to rest on his shoulders, then crawls forward – he’s about to go deep, and the indecent but insanely sweet position makes you quail from him at first. It’s just too much all of a sudden.

"Wait–"

"The boys said this'll do the trick," he explains, waits until you adjust under and around him.

"The–the boys?"

He had been discussing this with his workmates…? 

Discussing which position is the best to help conceive?

"Yeah. Wanna do this properly."

This man might actually be serious… He just might be serious about this, and you still have difficulty grasping it.

"I can't believe you want this," you whisper, still trying to catch your breath on what's happening.

"Believe it or not, it's gonna happen now."

The smallest tear escapes, and you purse your lips, shut them tight to prevent a tiny little bawl from erupting. 

"I've always wanted you, Simon," you breathe into the air between you as he starts to make love to you, fill you with intent. "Just you, all these years…"

He rarely whispers, but this time, his voice is the softest hush.

"Right back at ya, darling."

"I–I want to give you… want your kids," you whimper, tears coating your voice as he continues the torture while the sweet, tight love surrounds you both.

"I want a family, Simon," you pant weakly, almost distressed. So urgent, desperate, like the wound is yet to be healed. You've never said those words to him before because you were afraid he might leave. 

"Love… fuckin' hell."

He has to stop to catch his breath, to catch the truth. Of course he has known it all along without you telling him, because he simply has those instincts of a wild animal. 

But words are powerful… They are magic. And this magic wants itself spelled out.

"I'll give them to you," he promises. "All of it. I swear."

Your eyes drift closed from the full wave of his vow. This mission is a crucial one, then, one of his most important ones. The man loves challenges; he loves when you up the stakes. Perhaps that's what this is about: he doesn't want to be a coward about the thing you both want. 

The skulls, the brass and death that always surround him can't take away the fact that he's a lifegiver. No matter what anyone says, men can give life, too. He has already given you so much, and now he's going to give you children.

A few more tears push through, and it's one of the sweetest things in your life: to get fucked by him so good while you're crying from joy.

"Luv. You trust me?"

You open your eyes again, and the sight of him is crystallized through tears. It's the most beautiful thing. 

"I trust you," you answer with a shaky breath.

Your trust is even more drugging to him than the tightness of your cunt, it seems. The corner of his eye twitches once, his brows knit together, and a pained look passes in his stare: but it's the sweet kind of pain, just like yours is.

"Feels so good," you whisper, looking up at him with devout love. "So, so good…"

"You're damn right," he sighs, panting with strained, short breaths. "Never felt this good."

He rocks you like you're under the sea, at the bottom of the ocean where the waves are mellow and the seabed is made of the softest sand. You're squeezed between his arms, tightly; he pins you to the bed with his body. The flutter of those pale lashes with every thrust is illegally sweet.

Your lips are bolted shut from the raw sensation, the swelling waves, but when a noise finally erupts, it does so with force. 

You know it makes him wild whenever you cry and plead under him. You know it sends him straight to the edge, too: when you moan and tighten around his cock, spread yourself for him to plunder while you're clawing at his back. You were so embarrassed the first time you noticed the red marks on his skin after your little sessions, but he was only pleased and said you should never apologize for that. His body is full of past pain and torture, and still, still, he allows, even wants you to destroy it even more.

"Faster, Simon, please…" 

"Yeah, that's it. Beg... Beg for me, love… "

And damn right, he's eating up your wrecked state like it's time for Christmas dinner, and the table is brimming with his favorite food. You're close, so close it would be torture, devastation if he stopped. 

"Ya want me to give it to you?" His voice is more rough, more commanding. God, he's close too.

"Yes–give it to me, please–"

Just don't stop, whatever you do, don't stop…

You beg some more, but it's incoherent. Just the way he likes. 

Simon–fuck…

There's no reason to it, just ah's and fuck's and love's, all knit together in a sweet, heady mess as you come– 

Fuck–!

…the orgasm is so intense it points your toes, makes you wrap around his middle with what little strength you have in your arms and fingers and those tiny little claws. Your nails sink in, somewhere between his shoulder blades: he's so wide you can't quite reach to hug him, but you latch onto him like a drowning person nonetheless.

"Oh–oh fucking god…!" 

He comes, right after, buries himself so deep that it stings a little, but you would never, ever complain. He pumps you full, doesn't even move, only arches his back to go even deeper, although he's already buried there to the hilt.

And never has he in all your years together sounded so vulnerable. He usually just grunts and huffs when he comes, but now you get a whole string of words and a fragile, broken pitch. He sounds as if he's near the point of breaking into tears. 

It must feel divine to cum inside you instead of a condom, and what's even more, with the intent to fulfill a mission with that shot. Give life.

If you don't get pregnant from this, well… you doubt you ever will.

He's lying on top of you in a heavy, panting heap, sounding like he's just done ten deadlift PRs in a row. You can't help but laugh, breathless, too, and caress him as he comes down from his sex high.

"You can let me go now," you ghost your fingertips up and down his back when he still doesn't move. It's not that you want him to release you, but he's simply too heavy to be lying all over you like this for long periods of time.

"Nah not yet. Gotta make sure..."

He thinks you want him to pull out, and you giggle some more.

"You're crushing me," you laugh. "And we can do this all weekend, silly. If you want to make sure."

His middle contracts with a silent laugh, too.

"Got a fair point there, love."

Finally, he lets you out of the spread. He pulls out, too – that's not necessarily what you wanted, but when he takes you in his arms, you don't complain.

"That was… so nice," you say, suddenly shy. As if this was the first time he wrapped himself around you in a post-coital embrace.

"That was the best."

He's so warm, and the arm around you is heavy, even when lax. Especially when lax. You feel soft and sweet in his hold made of pure strength.

"I'd be surprised if not. You were very determined."

"You think that did it..?"

He's suddenly shy, too. You could swear he has never asked such a fragile question during or after a mission.

"No half-assing with my sweetheart."

One could say he really used his whole ass on this. You know it, because you're the one who spurred him on with weak but eager hands.

"...but I think it would be best to try again tomorrow. Just in case," he suggests, and you can hear the smile. God, that you love him.

"I wouldn't say no to that."

You imagine him waking up to your baby's cry with a sigh and a jaw-dislocating yawn, hushing you back to sleep by telling you it's his turn to go. He would finally locate the source of crying and make it his mission to cradle the little breadcrumb back to sleep, too. You just know Simon would sometimes fall asleep on the sofa while the baby is still in his arms, sound asleep just like their dad.

And you also know the child would make him laugh more. He would have the greatest time hearing all the silly (not to talk about the clever!) things the kid comes up with once it started talking. Simon would listen with a straight face, at first – out of respect – but then he would come to you with an unrestrained smile and a comment: "Did'ya hear what that little thing just said? Unbelievable..."

Whenever the kid had a tricky question, you would send them to Simon. It's decided already. You imagine him explaining things to the child with his steady and calm briefing voice while you're trying to keep your giggle in.

And when the little one was big enough to run around and poke things off the shelves, Simon would embrace you from behind while you're pouring some morning tea and say: "Should we make another one, hmm?"

After all, your little troublemaker would also need a friend to play with...

There's a gigantic, peaceful smile on your face, and Simon should be snoring by now… But he's still awake, and the arm around you draws you closer. He even tucks his hand partly between your body and the mattress. It's the sweetest prison from which you never want to escape.

"What if… What if I get grumpy when I'm pregnant?" You start to chit-chat nonsense while he holds you against a solid chest. You know he will fall asleep soon, and you wish to voice some fragile concerns before he does.

"I'll bring you ice cream to keep you nice and calm," he mutters in the back of your neck, sounding drowsy already.

"What if ice cream won't help?"

"I'll bring you chocolate."

You smile at him having a solution to every problem, no matter how minor. 

"You're really not afraid…?"

"Of you being grumpy? Nah I don't think so."

"No," you laugh at him joking around. "Of… changes."

"After all that we've been through? No." He brushes his lips over your neck, and you turn a little to look at him.

"Simon... What made you change your mind?"

He thinks on the answer for a good ten seconds. You know that inward look, which is both a gaze to the past and a shaky, hopeful glimpse to the future.

"Don't wanna die without knowing how our kid would look like. What they would be like."

You swallow past sorrow – it's such a beautiful thing to say that you have to catch your breath for a moment. Then you put your hand over his arm, the one keeping you close to him.

"Guess I got tired of living in fear," he sums up the change of heart, and you have to blink back more tears.

"I'm tired of living in fear, too," you whisper, and he entwines your fingers together. The kiss that follows is like a seal to your change of plans. It's pure hope.

"Could you... Could you say that we'll be fine?" You speak on his lips as softly as you can. You sometimes worry that he's annoyed by your constant need for reassurance, but he sounds as solid as a soldier can be.

"We'll be fine like always. Promise you that."

He doesn't seem to mind: if anything, you could swear that giving you encouragement only makes his chest puff up a little. The man gets satisfaction from you needing him in your life like this.

"Don't worry. I'll take care of us."

You ease fully into his embrace. He has said he'll take care of you many times before, but now your world is changing. It has changed already; you just know it. There's no more you and him, a team of two. 

There will be a tiny little breadcrumb too.

[luveline]

Babe congrats on quitting!!!

I live coworker!James sm he is so lovely and i cant heló bit asking for more

R having a bad day and James doent know until he teeases her and she just like opens up to James a bit more?

thank you!!

You can’t escape Remus’ sweet questions of concern, though he’s tactful. “Are you sure you’re okay?” Remus asks, James a haunting somewhere near the customer complaints desk. 

“I’m fine.” 

“You really don’t wanna come to dinner with me?” 

It’s a nice offer, but Remus is part of a package deal, and he’s the only one of the three who isn’t exhausting; Remus’ boyfriend Sirius is well meaning but so beautiful and so alarmingly aware of it, while James is all those things too, but much less subtle about it. “I’m too tired for the walking, thank you. I’m just gonna stay here and eat my sandwich in slow bites.” 

Remus laughs, wrapping his scarf tight around his neck. He doesn’t tuck it under his coat. Sirius will do that for him. It’s heartbreaking to see every day, a reminder of real love in the world that will seemingly never touch you, but it’s cute too. 

James rockets back to his desk. He’s always in a hurry. Half-frantic, he pulls his rucksack from under his desk and unzips the main body. To your horror, he unveils a large Tupperware of white rice, asparagus, and what looks to be chicken thighs. Next comes his portable knife fork. 

He notices your watching. “It’s just rice and chicken,” he says defensively. 

“No, I’m not–” You shake your head. “Not about what you’re eating. Eat what you want, James.” 

“Don’t I always?” he asks. “Not about what I’m eating. Your general look of disgust and disdain is to do with something else, then. Did you accidentally look in the ladies bathroom mirror again?” 

“It’s nothing.” 

James tucks his chair in, face paused, hands hesitating at the sides of his dinner and then flat to the desk. “Hey, is something wrong?” 

Maybe his comment before struck a nerve. Maybe you’re having a terrible day, and everything’s piling up, and you can’t be expected to keep in your feelings forever. Or maybe you’re dumb. “Guess I did look too long in the mirror,” you say. 

“You’re upset?” he asks, startled.

You shake your head vehemently. Slow. “I’m just having a bad day.” 

“What happened?” 

You stare at him for a moment, take in the concerned twitch of his brows as they pull down and in, the set of his nice mouth, remarking to yourself on how the snarky sarcasm erases itself from his expression so quickly, leaving behind a boy with a very sweet face. 

His hand curls into a loose fist. “You don’t have to tell me.” 

“I don’t know if you ever get this, but sometimes I,” —your face goes white hot suddenly, an acknowledgment of the powers over you you’re giving him in needing reassurance— “look at myself and I feel a bit off. And I thought if I had lunch by myself I’d have time to not be looked at? Um. Which is why I was unhappy. Not because of you.” You frown at him. “You do make me unhappy, though.” 

He pretends to laugh at your weak insult, which is generous. “So you actually did get upset looking in the mirror? Shortcake, I was kidding about that, it's not like it makes any sense.” 

You frown at one another. “Why not?” 

“Because you’re nothing worth being upset over?” James suggests. “You’re pretty. You know you’re pretty.” He points at you with his fork. “You do know?” 

“No,” you mumble. 

“I’m not telling you again,” he says, looking strangely as though he’d quite like to tell you again. 

“I’m consistently below average.” 

“Where? Do you have an address? I must go to this place where you’re the standard.” 

Something weird and queasy summons to life in your chest, before levelling into a surprising pleasure. That was definitely a compliment, and from James, though annoying he might be, it means a lot. He’s outrageously good looking, after all, and especially when he smiles, which is nearly constant. He’s smiling now with the fondness of someone who knows you better than he actually does. 

He ruins it rolling his eyes. “You’re ridiculous. Which I’ve come to expect!” he says, sliding a thumb under the clasp of his Tupperware. “Why would you think you’re not lovely? To look at, that is. You’re a huge pain otherwise.” 

“That’s uncharacteristically mean, even for you.” 

“I’m balancing it out. Want some asparagus?” 

You excuse yourself for a quick trip to the bathroom, where you mouth questions at your reflection of the puzzled variety. Has James been replaced by a body snatcher? Or are you finally seeing the version of him everybody else in the office seems to know?

When you get back to your desk, your figurines have been upended by a ‘freak earthquake’. He’s back to normal.

[k-hotchoisan]

hi!! can i request a toxic “you were made for me” or “they’re trying to take you from me” smut with san? 🫦 head spinning knees bucking — also ur work is so amazing!! 🫶🏻

Oooooo okay this might be a little fun ✨

I usually don’t write toxic male leads but I’ve been a bit into the Saltburn rabbit hole, so Oliver has sort of activated a little obsession in me 🥳

Don’t worry, this work won’t contain too much weirdness I promise 😛

Enjoy. ❤️

angelholic

<san x fem!reader>

Synopsis: Well, if you haven’t realised it yet, then he’ll make you realise it soon enough.

Genres/warnings: smut, possessive/obsessed/calculating! San x clueless! Reader, jealousy, unprotected sex, it gets slightly rough, choking, pet name—“bunny”, dacryphilia, cream pies, corruption kink

Taglist: @bro-atz @diamond-3 @mcarebearsstuff @choisansplushie @voicesinmyhead-rc @pre1ttyies @hwallazia

You watch as San fits on his black Angel wings over his half-assed costume, if you could even call it that. He’s just dressed in a white tank and black slacks, and in his own words “couldn’t be bothered”. You pout to yourself, thinking how lucky he is to have such a strong face card that he looked good in almost everything he puts on.

“Come here, bunny”, he gestures, once he fits the wings slightly better onto his back. You walk up to him, in your pretty little dress, ready for the mid summer party one of your friends has invited the both of you to. He pulls out a nice shade of pink lipstick in your collection, then his fingers graze your jaw gently before he tilts your chin upwards, unscrewing the cap with the tube in his mouth and swiping the wand onto your lips to transfer the pigment. Your heart races when he does that effortlessly, just like the way you met him for the first time at your campus library—trying to reach out for a book, and you felt his body heat radiating through the cold air conditioning, as he tilts the spine of the book and has it drop onto his big hands, before he hands it to you. He has that same look as he tells you to press your lips to transfer the pigment to your upper lips.

Now all you’re doing is staring at his lips, thinking to waste his efforts to smudge it his lips, his cock, whatever.

San has always been an attentive (and attractive) partner—it’s as if he’s always just a stone throw away from you, ensuring all your needs are met, showering you with endless affections. You couldn’t ask for anything better.

But throughout the relationship, you realise something—he’s clingy. Very clingy. Often times he would have his hands all over you if he could, as if it would be the very last time he would see you—his hands clasped around your waist, or arm, chest, wherever, before he suffocates you with kisses which inevitably most of the time ending up with his cock drilled in you. You find it nothing short of endearing though, even his best friends tell you that’s just the way San is.

When the both of you reach the huge mansion, you gawk at the size of the estate. San chuckles at the way your eyes widen, planting a soft kiss on your temple before he leads you by your hand to enter the mansion.

Upon entering, you scan the crowded hallway which contained a mix of both familiar and unfamiliar people, your grip tightening against San’s arm. Pricks of irritation bite San as he notices the amount of eyes on you, which he assumes that it could be due to the short summer dress you’re wearing.

He spots Mingi in the crowd and he approaches him. When Mingi notices the both of you, he whistles in approval.

“Damn, aren’t both of you stealing the show”, he teases after giving San a hug. San laughs in reply, entertaining Mingi.

“This reminds me of when the both of you got close after summer party Wooyoung threw”, Mingi reminisces as he takes a sip of his cup.

“Right. San was so out of it when I found him outside alone”, you giggled as San pouts at you.

“You definitely caught him at a funny time—pissed drunk and all”, Mingi teases as he takes a playful punch to the arm.

“Okay, listen, I like to pretend that I can take my alcohol alright? Not to mention, we already had met by then. We just got to know each other better”, San emphasises, pulling your waist closer to him as he nuzzles into your neck, making you squeal and Mingi roll his eyes.

You listen to their conversation, despite your wandering eyes. You eyes land on a classmate, and you tap San’s arm to get his attention. He immediately pauses and turns to you.

“Babe, I’ll catch up with you in a bit. I’m gonna say hi to my friends,” you say. San has a doubtful expression, but he nods and lets you slip away, turning back to Mingi and getting engrossed in conversation once again.

Ten minutes go by. Then twenty. The pricks San feels start to bother him, and he starts to wonder what’s taking you so long. His eyes drift across the room, in search of his partner.

His eyes land on you, giggling with a mixed gendered group of friends with a drink in your hand. Yunho has come by and has Mingi’s attention, so San excuses himself to walk over to you. His gaze pierces into you, as he watches the other male before you touch your shoulder as he laughs, and you entertain him, not bothering to swipe his hand away. San takes a sharp inhale, pushing past the people that crowded the area, drawing gazes by his sharp features.

You jump slightly when you feel a large arm curl around your waist. “Hey babe”, San whispers, planting a soft kiss on your temple before eyeing down the male individuals that stood before you.

“Are these your friends from your classes?”, San asks, giving them a nod with a bright smile plastered on his face. San has seen them before, around you, much to his dismay when he was sending you to your classes during your semesters, but he never bothered to get to know them.

“Yeah”, you reply, and you introduce them one by one to your boyfriend, with San extending his arm out with a smile, shaking each and every one of them, keeping their names in mind.

“So you’re the one dude who swept her off her feet by sharing an umbrella with her”, your male friend teases. You laugh in response, your hand covering your mouth as you do. San raises an eyebrow.

“Definitely sounds like fate—her umbrella breaking out of all days and suddenly San comes in to the rescue”, a female friend points out, chuckling as she sips on her drink. “That’s some k-drama type of bullshit. What’s your secret?”

“No clue. I think he probably fell from the sky or something”, you reply.

“You definitely caught some gazes when you were waltzing in with y/n, too”, another one chimes in, eyeing your partner. You roll your eyes playfully as you feel San squeeze your waist playfully.

“Then again, y/n had her fair share of stolen glances when she walked in too”, another male friend adds, admiring your dress, which has San clearing his throat in slight irritation. He stares daggers at your naive peer, who doesn’t seem to get the hint.

San is scrolling through his phone absentmindedly, while you’re seating on top of him being entertained by your friends. Your peers notice the way his arm never leaves your body, but obviously don’t realise how he’s subconsciously eavesdropping your messy conversations.

Between the playful banters and sneer remarks, his irritation continues to rise every time he hears you giggle at a male friend’s lame joke. San thinks to himself that said friend should shut up instead of running his mouth like that. San’s jokes would definitely make you laugh harder—no fuck that—he doesn’t even need to make an effort to make you giggle, and he scoffs at the thought, while hugging you tighter to his body.

A little later, he’s getting restless, and he shifts slightly, leaning forward to whisper in your ear. “Gonna take more drinks bunny. Wait for me here. Do you want anything?” You shake your head, standing up to let him go and he walks off.

“Fuck. He’s really such a catch”, your friend reiterates, giggling playfully behind her palm.

“He’s pretty clingy, don’t you think?” Another adds in, and you glance over at San’s tall and big frame, caught up with talking with Wooyoung.

You turn back to your friend. “Really? I know his friends told me before but I think that’s just part of his charm, it’s kind of cute.” Your friend only shrugs in response. You pause and think about it. San has never shown you any side of jealousy or anything. Most of the time he ends up kissing your shoulders with his hands around your waist—a habit you’re basically used to at this point.

What you don’t realise is the way San casting you side glances, his grip tightening against his cup as he watches your friends pull you closer to them, their hands feeling your bare arms up and one of your male friend even leaning in to whisper something in your ear, making your eyes widen as you hit them on the arm, how their knees are bumping a little too much onto yours.

“-San”, Wooyoung’s voice snaps his attention back. San glances at Wooyoung, who has a concerned look on his face. “You seem distracted. You okay?”

San only shrugs it off with a laugh. “Yeah. Just didn’t realise how close she is with those bunch of people”, he replies, his mind now wandering how to just remove you from the irritating friend group holding you hostage.

“That’s good, isn’t it? At least you don’t have to stay by her side for the most part. They seem nice.”

San cocks an eyebrow. “Oh do they? I feel like they’ve been kind of hogging her a little too much tonight”, he says, keeping his tone neutral, despite the obvious tint of venom that hides in his words.

Wooyoung seems to pick it up a little, but he doesn’t push nor question further, settled on observing San’s body language. He’s always known San to be a pretty generous person—giving more than taking, and that’s how he has been during the course of the relationship with you ever since.

At least, that’s what Wooyoung and the rest of his friend group had observed. He lets the thought go as he watches his best friend leave to claim you once more, before Hongjoong comes by to pull him out of his thoughts.

San is seeing red. He sees red the moment your male friend has his hand slapping on your leg as he leans forward, laughing along with you. His drink is dumped haphazardly into the sink as he storms over to you.

The only person that should make you laugh and swoon like that is him. The only person that should be touching you is him. The only person you should be giving attention to is him.

The group’s laughter fades as San’s frame looms over you. You glance up at him, and he looks like Angel with those wings and the chandelier lights casting down on him. You are almost enchanted.

San plasters a smile, with nothing sweet behind it as his fingers curl around your wrist, before he pulls you out of the chair. You cast your partner a confused glance before he drags you away with him. You turn back, mirroring the confused expressions your friends hold, only able to cast an apologetic look before you’re attention is back on San, who’s fingers are now interlocked with yours as he leads you up the stairs to the second floor.

He reaches to a random door, knocks before he simply pushes the door open without much thought, and has you splayed on the bed in seconds. You’re still in a state of confusion, your dress hiked up to your thighs.

“San, wha-“ he barely lets you finish your sentence before he cups your mouth, and the sinister glint in his eyes never falter. He looks at you with lust and something else that you cannot quite pinpoint. But in seconds, under his strong gaze, you feel yourself turning into putty in his hands, eyes darting desperately from his eyes to his mouth to his eyes again.

“Bunny”, his voice sounding like honey, although his next words are nothing but. “Don’t you think you forgot about me?”

You blink at his words, still trying to make sense of it. “N-no. Weren’t you behind me most of the time?” You start, squeezing your thighs at the way he’s staring down at you. You’ve never seen him look like this before.

“Feels like you did”, he feigns a pout, however the emotion devoid from his eyes. “Looked like you were having so much fun without me there-“

He crawls onto the bed, inching towards you, and you pull backwards, your heart pounding in your chest. Your words are trapped in your throat, your brain unable to formulate a response when San is staring you down like that.

“-giggling, letting your friends touch you up like that”, he spits. You cannot tell if he’s angry, because you see his erection pressing against the fabric of his slacks, which he pays no attention to.

“Don’t you feel back for neglecting me?” He asks, his glare now holding a tint of melancholy. He looks almost pleading. But you still shift backwards as he continues to trap you on the bed, crawling forward until he has you completely under him.

He suddenly stops. Then lowers himself to the flare of your sun dress, scrunching the fabric up past your thighs, revealing your soaked panties, the colour matching your dress. He glances back up at you to meet your gaze.

“I think you need a reminder who you belong to”, he mutters, loud enough for you to hear, tugging the waist band of your panties, and leaving it somewhere on the bed.

“Look at you. Haven’t done anything, yet you’ve soaked your pretty panties. Naughty.”

That does nothing but let a fresh coat of slick paint your pussy after spitting it out.

“San…” you pant, your fingers trembling as he pushes your dress up further, high enough for his lips to meet your pussy but low enough that you can’t see him right there.

You gasp when his tongue presses against your wet cunt. And the real hell starts when the begins flicking his tongue against your clit, stimulating the bundle of nerves over and over again, ignoring your cries to stop, if not, only going faster, holding your thighs open while he laps up all of your juices.

Your mind is completely blown as your cunt continues to build from the pleasure from San’s tongue. Your hands fly to tangle into San’s locks. There’s something so perverted about having your lover dressed up as an angel, lapping your pussy up like a starved individual, under your dress. It only drives you further to the edge.

Your orgasm is just dangling from you, building and building. Your breath heavy and shallow, whines and whimpers in begs for your partner to let you release.

Then a choked sob when he leaves you high and dry, your cunt so wet and pathetic now that the section beneath you is starting to stain with your arousal, your orgasm completely ripped from you.

“Baby. Please…”, you beg, your cunt wildly convulsing, begging for release that’s just trapped at the edge.

“Are you gonna behave for me, Bunny?” San simply asks, towering over you as he licks your arousal that coated his lips.

You nod, your thighs and arms twitching every few seconds, as you attempt to regulate your breathing.

Which all becomes completely useless when he plunges two fingers into your cunt so easily, and your thighs twitch from the overstimulation despite the lack of orgasm, a sobbed moan cracking from your lips as your eyes roll back. His fingers always stuffed you so full. Not enough, you think in your filthy head. Not enough.

“Answer me, bunny.” San hisses, intentionally missing the spongy spot he knows would break you in an instant.

You’re close to tears, forcing yourself to look up at the male with the angel wings before you.

“Yes. I’ll behave, Sannie”, you whimper.

San’s glaze softens slightly as he aims at your pretty little sensitive spot, his thumb rubbing your clit at the same time.

“That’s my good girl. Do you think you deserve to cum?” He asks, stroking your jaw, watching your expression completely fall apart as he teases you poor cunt with inconsistent rubs and fucks, and you’re back to the frustration.

“Please let me. I’ll let you do anything to me, please. I wanna cum. Wanna cum so bad”, you’re begging again, your fingers pressing against his arm, almost clawing at him. That seems to satisfy him for now, since he fucks your g-spot over and over with his fingers while making sure your clit doesn’t get neglected, and you’re crying as the knot in your stomach completely snaps, squirting and creaming all over your dress and the bedsheets beneath you as San ensures you ride your orgasm as long as you could. Your moans become sobs, you swear someone can hear you, but at that point, you were to blissed out in pleasure to care.

This has never happened in your relationship before.

You watch him with hooded lids as he slides his slacks off, leaving his cock to spring out proudly, angry and red.

San shifts and then has his cock right at your face. His fingers slide into your hair, grabbing a handful of it.

“Suck.”

There’s something sinful about getting your face fucked by San in Angel wings, which you cannot deny was turning you on so much that you’re growing dizzy, especially at the way he’s tugging your hair and stuffing your throat full of his cock. Your muffled moans as you try to accommodate his length only fails as you gag, the pool of precum and spit leaking past the corner of your lips and staining more of your dress.

San pulls out from your mouth. He’s not interested in cumming down your throat tonight. His cock is now even harder, covered in your spit and his precum.

He yanks your dress off, leaving you completely bare for him.

“Such a pretty view. My pretty bunny.” He admires your nudity before him, latching his tongue onto your collar bone, trailing down to your tits, as he gives both a nice suck and lets hickeys bloom all over chest and neck, leaving you shaking and whimpering in his wake.

He swiftly shifts positions, and you’re straddling his lap, as his fingers on your jaw pull you towards him, and he feels you melt into the passionate kiss. He drags his cock against your bare ass and back, and you whimper, wanting him to just fill you up right now.

“Need you to fuck me now. Can’t take it anymore”, you whimper, trying to slide his cock into your hole, but San holds your thighs still.

“You said you’d behave for me, right bunny?” San reminds you again, and you nod frantically.

He pulls you into a hug, letting your body weight press onto him as he angles his cock to your hole, pushing his girthy length in, letting your cries play in his ear as he stretches you out.

“Oh, bunny. Can’t you see that I’m made for you? Made to fuck this pretty little tight hole of yours”, San hums in your ear as he lifts you, watching your eyes completely roll back as his cock completely sinks in you. His fingers run along your thighs as he feels them twitch, before he looks back up at you.

He doesn’t need to say anything—you’re moving on your own, grinding, then bouncing on his cock, San’s pretty face contorting as you fuck his cock, and your mind completely blank as you let him fuck your insides. More cream starts forming on his cock as you lift your hips, only to slam down once more to engulf your pretty boy’s cock.

“You’re mine, bunny. No one can make you feel this good. No one can fuck you this good”, his voice barely processing in your head, not when he has his cock completely buried inside you, obliterating any ounce of rational thought left in you. You feel yourself clench around him, and a low groan emits from the male beneath you. He knows you’re close.

Yes. He’s right. You’re his, and only his. It fucks you up that no one is gonna make you feel this good. No one is gonna fuck your hole as perfectly as San. No one’s cock is as good as his.

San knows he’s ruined you for anyone else, and he hides that satisfaction with another thrust into your abused cunt, drawing out more broken moans from you.

“Gonna cum again…” you sob, your pussy fluttering once more as you let yourself go all over San’s cock. He only encourages you to keep going—to keep sucking him in as you continue to fall apart. It’s only seconds more before his high pitched moans follow, then warm cum filling you up all the way. You’re crying his name over and over, and San has his hands cupping your cheek, wiping your tears.

But he’s not done with you yet.

He gingerly carries you off him, watching your eyes widen as his cock pulls out of you, with San’s cum dribbling out of your pathetic hole. Your head hits the pillow and you relax a little, barely a few seconds before San slides his cock back into you from behind, displacing more of his cum with dirty wet squelches.

“You’re still so fucking tight even after letting me cum so much inside of you”, you feel him smirk at your ear. “Do you want another load, bunny?”

“More, please. I’ve been so good. I can take another”, you beg, so fucking out of it by then, so fucking cockdrunk. He has both his arms around you—one holding your hands back, the other curling around your neck, pretty much choking you out while he drives his cock in and out of you, watching you completely go dumb as the words that leave your mouth are complete incoherent moans. But he knows you feel so good.

“Such a good bunny. That’s my pretty girl”, San’s voice buzzes in your ear. Your third orgasm comes without much of a warning—like fireworks that burst beneath your eyelids, your vision blurring from the mind blowing pleasure. You’re pathetic—jerking helplessly as your orgasm overwhelms you on top of the overstimulation, creaming uncontrollably around San’s pulsing cock.

“Here’s your load, bunny. All for you”, San hums, his hips drilling into you mercilessly before he stills into you, his second load filling you up once more, his moans at your ear making your thighs tremble. It’s so much, but you hear yourself begging for him to just unload it all in you.

You don’t fucking understand how he’s able to release another full load into your tight pussy for the second time, but fuck, there’s no point thinking right now, not when your body is just buzzing from your high, and when he just bred you two fucking loads full.

Your strength dissipates, but you still find it in you to turn to face him, after he pulls out, letting the thick stream of cum dirty your inner thighs, to nuzzle against his chest as he draws gentle circles on your back with his warm fingertips.

His lips press gently onto the side of your head as he soothes your thighs, making sure you’re leaning into him as you attempt to fight the sleep.

The moment Choi San laid his eyes on you, it made something tick in him. He’s never felt this way before, and the more he finds himself thinking about you, the more he craves your presence, especially when you run over to his friend group—apparently you met Wooyoung first, and when you greet him with a bright smile, he feels his mind shut off.

And that was why he orchestrated his coincidental meet ups with you.

All of it.

He asked the librarian about you, and despite the fact she vaguely tells him that she doesn’t remember how you look like, the offhanded comment about who she thinks is you coming by from 2pm onwards on most Tuesdays was enough information to conjure an encounter with you.

He finds out the book you’re looking for, and shifts it at a higher section of the shelf, then swooping in to retrieve it for you when you’re evidently struggling to get it yourself. That already helps to plant something in your head, especially as a first meeting.

The party Wooyoung organised was a blast, even though you didn’t know everyone else there. You had left your group of acquaintances for some fresh air, and spotted a particular male hiccuping against the swing, away from the main party. Upon closer examination, it was indeed the male who had helped you with retrieving the book you wanted. His face is completely flushed, his fingers barely holding onto the beer can.

He seemed to notice your presence, his gaze locking onto yours.

“San, right?” You ask. San tilts his head.

“Who’s asking?”

You stifle a giggle.

“Me. I was just making sure.”

He returns a pretty tipsy smile. “Right. You’re y/n, aren’t you?” You nod in reply.

“No one’s sitting here. Don’t be shy”, he gestures. “The fresh air feels nice.”

“Are you drunk, San?” You ask, soaking in the redness of his face, how eyes are shutting slightly. Despite all that, he still looks dashing.

“Maybe? I don’t know. I can take at least three more shots, I swear”, he proclaims to no one in particular. It makes you laugh. San stares at you with a pout. You let your smile linger a little more, and decide to entertain his drunken shenanigans deep into the night as you take sips of your own drink, your knees bumping onto his from time to time. At one point, his head leans onto your shoulder, his face almost nuzzling into your neck in his drunken stupor, talking about the conspiracy theories he was adamant in believing, making you laugh and refute him despite the way he’s turning you more redder than he is.

As he inhales your intoxicating scent, his eyes are wide open, sober since the beginning you found him.

On another day, when he reads through the weather forecast stating that it’d shower through the day, he watches you leave your seat at the library to the washroom, before he walks over and rummages through your bag, snagging your umbrella, and breaking it before he drops it back into your bag, zipping it before he continues to lurk around the bookshelves.

Sure enough, it pours. He watches you hastily pull out your umbrella, only for it to snap and fall apart, and the sheer panic that floods your expression.

He would walk up beside you, pulling his umbrella open, before your eyes meet his.

“Hey, it’s you again”, he’d gleefully say. “You alright?” His eyes are inquisitive, as he stares at you struggle with your broken umbrella.

“Ah, San!” You greet quickly. “Yeah, I think my umbrella’s broken.…and it’s pouring so much too.”

“You wanna share? This umbrella’s big enough for the both of us”, he suggests, watching in amusement as you blink.

“I can’t possibly do that… I’m going back to the dorms”, you reply with furrowed eyebrows in guilt for troubling him.

“Great, I need to make a short trip to the convenience store nearby. It’s not a hassle, I promise”, he assures with a smile. “And this for that night. For accompanying me.”

Your cheeks flush, and you nod, walking under his umbrella with him. Through the walk, he asks about you, his arm around you to prevent you from getting drenched. You insist to repay him back, and he playfully asks for your number so you can treat him to a cup of coffee on another day

One thing led to another—it started with the random texts and plans to meet outside, which gradually turned more affectionate.

Soon, he had his lips pressed onto yours one night when the tension between the both of you snapped as he sheepishly tells you that he likes you on a windy autumn evening.

But of course, his obsession only grows. Now, he just needs to make sure he gets rid of people who get in between the both of you.

Well, he doesn’t need you to know all that, not when he already has you all for himself.

San looks down at you, heaving softly against his bare chest, curled up against him. His hand absentmindedly stroking your hair, his eyes trailing the trail of bites he had littered all over your neck, shoulder, and tits.

You’re his, his, his.

[shalotttower]

The Devil Is a Gentleman

Title: The Devil Is a Gentleman

Fandom: Hunter x Hunter

Summary: You wake up in the middle of the night with a headache.

Word count: 800+

Characters: Chrollo Lucilfer x Reader

Notes: Yandere Chrollo, captive Reader, my head is murdering me so I wanted some soft Chrollo stuff.

You shift under the covers and for a moment it seems that maybe this state of half sleep, half consciousness is here to stay. Just for a bit, until you slide all the way back into a dream, where the dull throb in your skull doesn't matter. No such luck; angry blurred dots start swarming behind your eyelids and the longer you lie there, the more evident it becomes that sleep isn't coming.

3 AM.

The red numbers from the alarm clock glow way too intensely in the dark. It's quiet. Chrollo's breath tickles your shoulder. No matter the position, he somehow manages to do this every single time - wrap himself around you like it's no tomorrow, with tangled legs and chest pressed to your back. Sometimes it's annoying, sometimes sickly comforting, but not now. There's a faint feeling of nausea in your throat, the whole world is spinning and swaying from side to side even though you're lying still.

Sharing a bed is a recent development. Previously the floor was your choice, but two weeks ago Chrollo simply carried your sleeping body to the mattress. You woke up trapped between him and soft pillows, then the pattern repeated two times, four, six, until it became clear that this arrangement was going to stick.

Carefully, inch by inch, you wiggle out of his embrace. An awful taste coats your tongue, clings to the palate - not something you expected upon waking, but not unusual either.

The kitchen light is bright and unpleasant. It stabs right through your eyes without remorse, making you promptly settle for a dimmer one above the stove. One cabinet after another, the fridge - no pills. Of course, why would Chrollo keep anything like that lying around? You probably have to wake him up for medicine, but it's honestly the least tempting scenario. You don't want to talk to Chrollo, don't want to ask him for help, don't want him to see you in pain or sick.

So you brew a cup of coffee and hope that the nausea plaguing your throat will eventually subside. What you should know by now, however, is that Chrollo doesn't need more than you breathing wrong in order to wake up.

"Dear?"

His voice has a slight raspy edge to it.

You glance over your shoulder and see his figure standing at the door frame. The light from the hallway throws a shadow cutout across the floor, and it's the only time beside after shower you ever see him all mussed hair, loose pants and, of course, no shirt. You suspect its absence has some relation to the attempts at wooing you which range from subtle to not so subtle these days.

You make a non-committal sound.

"It's 3 AM," Chrollo says and steps into the kitchen. "What are you doing up?"

His fingers brush a strand of hair away from your neck, linger there, feather-light and warm. You take a small sip of coffee.

The pulsing in your skull feels like someone decided to tap a small hammer against your brain. Well, he's up, so might as well do something.

"Headache," you say and press your forehead to the cool marble of the counter. It feels nice for a short moment.

Chrollo doesn't respond. He does place a hand on your nape though, thumb drawing circles, massaging the tension there. It's so peculiar. His tenderness leaves marks wherever it goes - light trails on your skin, hands on your forearms - a constant reminder that in this current reality he's everywhere and everything.

'Stop,' you want to say, but instead a quiet "mm" comes out. Maybe you're too tired to muster up any spite. He takes the cup out of your hand and sets it aside with a quiet clink.

"How bad?"

"Bad. Don't get too close," you warn. "I feel like throwing up."

He does anyway, and wraps an arm around your waist. Chrollo knows very well that you'd rather jump into boiling oil than lean on him out of your own volition, maybe that's why he uses every given opportunity to hold you.

"You should have woken me up," his words are muffled, lips pressed against your temple. Chrollo smells of shampoo, sheets and himself. "I'll get you something from the pharmacy later, but for now you should try and sleep, dear."

Then you're up in the air, carried out of the kitchen.

"What are you doing?" you frown, fingers gripping the muscles of his arm.

He hums something akin to a simple melody, the devil. "Taking you back to bed, where you can keep being miserable with more comfort."

This time you don't protest; the pillow has cooled down, and as soon as you lower your head on top of it, it feels like bliss. The bathroom door opens and closes, followed by quiet splashes of water. There's a pause before the mattress dips on your right.

Cold cloth covers your forehead.

"You should have woken me up," he repeats. "Next time do it, dear."

"Mm," is all you manage, when the bedside lamp clicks off, and then there're covers lifting, fingers rubbing your temples and a low hum somewhere above you.

[roosterforme]

Batting Practice Part 29 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: It was your wedding day, and Bradley realized he was getting everything he wanted... not just a perfect wife, but a perfect family of three. After exchanging vows and promises, you and Everett take him home, because there's something important you want to ask him. 

Warnings: Fluff, angst, swearing

Length: 3900 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female single!mom Reader

Check my masterlist for more Top Gun fun! Batting Practice masterlist.

"I can't believe you're getting married tomorrow," Molly said from the spot where she was lounging in the middle of your bed eating tortilla chips dipped in marshmallow fluff. "I remember when you married Danny. God, you looked fucking miserable that day."

"I was miserable that day. Young and stupid, too. Thanks for reminding me." You tried to take the bag of chips away as you said, "I hate crumbs in my bed. Can't you at least sit on the floor or something?"

She whined and reached for the bag. "It's not for me! It's for the baby. Now be a nice auntie and let me have my little snack."

You weren't sure of all the details of what had gone down. All you knew was Molly and Bob were still together, and she was keeping the baby. Apparently there had been some pleading on his end. Molly said he begged her not to leave him, and then he promptly told her about a million times how much the idea of having a child with her thrilled him. And slowly but surely, over the past few weeks, she seemed to become attached to the idea of being a mom.

"Fine," you sighed, handing her the chips. "Have your snack. But just remember, I'm not doing it for you."

"The baby thanks you," she said, rubbing her tiny bump as she shoved four chips into her mouth. "I wonder what the guys are up to," she said after she was done chewing.

"Watching the Phillies game. Or at least that's what Bradley texted me a few minutes ago."

"Give me your phone! You're not supposed to be talking to him! Bob was supposed to hide Bradley's phone under our bathroom sink. My god, I can't trust him to do anything right," she said with a soft smile on her face. She yanked your phone away and tucked it behind her back. "Now try on your dress one more time. Your tits look so good in it."

"I need you to zip it. Go wash your hands."

She rolled her eyes so hard, it was like she was fifteen years old again, and then she went into your bathroom like she was told. "What's it like living with Bradley?" she asked, moving his stuff around on the counter. "Does he like belch all the time and scratch himself?"

You started laughing as you tried to pull your dress on. "No! He's perfect. It feels like he's always been here. He takes care of almost everything for Ev, and he's actually quite tidy." You skipped over all the parts where you and he had been making love all over the house just because you could, but you did add, "I love having him with us."

Molly turned around and smirked as she came to zip your dress. "If I ever marry Bob, which I might not!" she said, cutting off your excited look. "If I do though, it'll be in the middle of a wildflower meadow just after sunset. And I'll make my own bouquet with the flowers beforehand. Oh, and I'll have to make sure Bob takes his allergy pills. But it'll be so dreamy."

You were gaping at her in the mirror as she zipped the dress. "Really?" you asked, flabbergasted. "That's literally nothing like what I thought you were going to say."

Molly sighed and made her way back to the bag of chips. "It's these fucking hormones. Fuck! I want to get married in the middle of some flowers now! What the hell?" She was wiping at her eyes as she told you, "Pull your dress down a little bit. I'm telling you, Bradley won't even be able to focus on the ceremony with your boobs looking like that."

"The ceremony is only going to be like ten minutes long. If that," you reminded her. But damn, she was right. This dress fit you very well. "Thanks for having an emotional breakdown in the middle of the dress shop and kind of forcing me to buy this dress after I sat on the floor with it on."

She smiled at you as she dipped a chip into the fluff. "That's literally what I'm here for."

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

The following morning, Bradley pulled up to Petco Park with Bob and Everett in the Bronco just as the sun started to warm everything up for the day. He was getting married in an hour and a half. He felt jittery, but he wasn't nervous. He felt warm, but he wasn't uncomfortable. He felt like everything was the way he never knew, until very recently, that he wanted it to be. 

"Ready, kiddo?" he asked Everett as he opened the back door. Everett scrambled into his arms and wrapped him in a hug around the neck.

"Yep!" he replied, and then the three of them were making their way into the Players Only Entrance where a security guard was waiting for them. "This is so cool," Everett whispered. The ballpark was basically deserted since the game didn't start until three o'clock, and they only passed a few other staff members as they entered the Padres locker room.

"Remember that fun tour we went on?" Bradley asked Everett as Bob held the door for them. He kissed his stepson on the cheek before setting him down on one of the benches. 

Everett muttered, "Yeah," as he looked all around the room in awe. "But we went in the visiting team locker room."

Bradley laughed and looked around as well. "We sure did, because we wanted to see all the Phillies gear."

"Can we all go to Philadelphia?" Everett asked.

"Well, Philadelphia made it to the short list of vacation spots when I talked to your mom. We'll work on her. We already got a Phillies room out of her."

Everett was smiling nonstop as the three of them changed into their baseball jerseys in the same room where the Padres players would be putting on their uniforms in a few hours for their game against the Rockies. Bradley checked himself out in the mirror. They all matched, more or less, in their white jerseys with gold stitching and letters. Molly had been in charge of ordering them from a small boutique shop. Everett's said GRAND SLAM on the back. Bob's just said BOB. And Bradley's said GROOM; he was a little surprised his didn't come back saying TURD-IN-LAW to be honest. 

When the security guard poked his head inside and said, "You can go out onto the field now," Bradley's heart started pounding. He took a deep breath and exhaled slowly as he put his Phillies cap on backwards. Then he put Everett's on him backwards and picked him up again. 

"I love you, Ev," he whispered, tears gathering in his eyes. Bradley was in some ways more emotional about becoming Everett's stepdad than he was about marrying you. Because it was like a bonus. A little extra responsibility he never planned for. Falling in love with you was one thing, but this was something else entirely. Every time he looked at his kid, he saw innocent trust returned to him, and all Bradley wanted to do was make him feel safe and loved.

"I love you, Dad," he replied, like it was already the most natural thing in the world. And Bradley supposed it was. Because the two of them seemed to be cut from the same cloth. And Bradley was more than happy to step into the role of a father for this child.

When Bradley turned to Bob, he asked, "You have the rings?"

"In my pocket," he promised, and then the three of them were on their way. They walked quietly through the tunnel and out onto the turf. Everything smelled fresh, like grass and damp earth. Everett's head was on a swivel, looking all around, just like when they took the ballpark tour months ago. 

They were being waved over to home plate by John, their tour guide from that very special day. "It's nice to see you again," he said, shaking hands with Bradley. "I've just been informed that your bride is on her way up from the other locker room."

"Thanks," Bradley muttered, anxious to see you and be with you. He held onto Everett a little tighter as they waited, and he laughed softly. Somehow you managed to pull off this wedding, and the fact that Jake was the one who helped you do it was almost too funny.

"Hi, Mommy!" Everett called, waving his hand as Bradley whirled around to find you walking out onto the infield. A strangled noise escaped him as you made your way closer with a soft smile on your lips. Perfect. Perfect. Perfect. It was the only word to describe the day and how he felt and how you looked with Molly holding the bunched up bottom of your wedding dress.

"Kitten," he whispered, feeling short of breath as you joined him on home plate. Your dress was simple but beautiful, and Bradley wasn't ashamed to admit that he couldn't stop glancing at your tits. But it was the smile on your face that had him grinning, too.

When you leaned in to kiss Everett's cheek, Bradley took your chin in his palm and tried to kiss you. "Stop it!" Molly screeched as she finished straightening out your wedding dress. Bradley froze as she added, "You're not supposed to kiss her until John says it's time! Have you never been to a wedding before?"

"I'm so happy I'm gaining not only a wife and son today, but also such a lovely sister-in-law," he told her in response. 

Molly smiled sweetly at him. "You should be delighted."

"Can we get married now?" you asked with a laugh, and Bradley set Everett gently down next to home plate. 

"It's the only reason I'm here," he promised, taking your hands in his. "To marry my beautiful Kitten and live happily ever after."

You smiled at him as he pulled you a little closer. Everett was practically standing between the two of you, so excited for what was to come, and Bob and Molly stood next to John.

"Ready?" When everyone nodded, John said a few words about how he was pleased that he could perform this short ceremony today after being the one who gave them the tour of Petco Park. He told them that they made him smile so many times that day as they interacted with each other. And then he asked if you and Bradley wanted to say anything to each other.

"I'll go first," you said, ducking your head for a beat before you looked Bradley in the eyes. "The first day we met...the first day of tee ball...I took one look at you interacting with Everett, and I thought maybe there was a small chance that it wouldn't have to be just the two of us forever." You let go of Bradley's left hand and smiled at Everett as you ran your fingers along his cheek. "Not that there was anything wrong with the two of us, Ev. You know that, right?"

Everett nodded and told you, "I know."

"We were so close to perfect. But Bradley makes us even better," you said, looking up to meet his eyes again. You studied him for a beat, and Bradley watched your eyes fill with tears. "It's hard to explain how you make me feel so confident, when at the same time, you make me feel like you'll be strong when I can't."

"Kitten," he whispered, wiping your tears as they fell. 

"I love you, Coach," you said with a soft laugh through your watery eyes that had him smiling and shaking his head. "You belong with us."

"I really do," he agreed. 

"Your turn," you whispered, and with a nod, Bradley knelt down in the dirt next to home plate, his jeans getting messy in the process. 

"Hey, kiddo," he whispered to Everett, loud enough that you could still hear him. 

"Hi, Dad," he replied, and Bradley wrapped him up in his arms as he started to cry.

"Thanks for letting me marry your mom," Bradley told him, his voice a little rough as he kissed Everett's forehead. "And thanks for letting me be your dad. I'm going to make some promises to you, okay?"

"Okay," Everett said with a little shrug that made Bradley chuckle. 

He wiped at his tears as he said, "I promise to play baseball with you in the park all the time. At least until your mom gets annoyed. And I promise we'll watch the Phillies together in Philadelphia, because it's the only way to see the Phanatic up close."

"Yes!" Everett said, clapping his hands.

"And I promise to help you with your homework and make you pancakes and collect baseball cards together. And we can do anything else you decide you want to do, okay? Because I love you, kiddo."

Everett hugged him again, and when Bradley stood and looked at you, he was crying in earnest. "Kitten, I love your son just as much as I love you."

"I know it," you whispered, crying as well. 

He took a deep breath and laughed. "Are you ready for your promises, Kitten?" When you nodded he took your hands in his again. "In front of Ev, Molly and Bob, and this immaculate turf at Petco Park, I promise I love you more than baseball."

You started laughing through your tears, and Bradley turned to see Molly wiping her own tears on Bob's jersey. 

"That's a lot of love," you told him, squeezing his hands. 

He nodded, pulling both of your hands so they were around his waist. "I promise I love you more than the Phillies. And I always will." He let his forehead come to rest against yours and said, "And if you'll let me be strong for you sometimes when you need it, then that's an honor, Kitten. Because you're the strongest person I know. But I'm right here, and I'm not going anywhere." Your eyes closed as Bradley's lips brushed your forehead and his hands slipped around your waist. "John, I'm ready to kiss my wife."

"By all means," he replied, "go right ahead."

Your hands were around Bradley's neck, nudging his backward cap and pulling him closer, and then he was kissing you while your little cheering section of four people went wild. 

"I love you," he promised against your lips, but you pulled him in for more with a smile. He brushed your nose with his and kissed you one last time. Then Bob was holding out one ring on each palm, and you let Bradley slip yours on before you took his left hand in yours. His ring looked perfect after you slid it into place. And then Everett was reaching for him, and Bradley scooped him up while you hugged your sister and kissed Bob's cheek.

"You're really my dad now," Everett said, letting his head come to rest on Bradley's shoulder. 

Bradley held him close. "I think I already kind of was."

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

The fact that your wedding reception consisted of ballpark food and cheap beer in one of the Padres' suites had you and Bradley smiling nonstop. The two of you had taken wedding photos while the park was still empty, and most of the shots were of the three of you.

"Could I interest you in some nachos, Kitten?" Bradley asked, stealing a chip as he handed you a tray.

"Thanks, Coach," you said, kissing his cheek. "You know, I don't think we give Bob enough credit."

"What do you mean?" he asked, dipping another chip into the cheese and eating it. 

"Well, we only met because he got you to coach the team with him in the first place. And he kind of let you bully me into being the Team Mom."

Bradley shook his head. "That seems like ages, not just just five months. You'd wear your little black skirt to practices and prance across the grass in your high heels. Fuck, you're so sexy." You giggled as he kissed you behind your ear. "And your tits look amazing in your dress."

"You can thank Molly for making me buy this one."

Bradley glanced toward where Molly and Bob were making out in the corner. His hands were all over the barely noticeable swell of her pregnant belly, and she was raking her fingers through his hair. "Nah, Bob's busy thanking her himself at the moment."

As more guests showed up just before the game started, you watched Nat squirt some ketchup onto a hotdog for Everett. And then you watched Bradley hold a napkin up while he ate it, just like he always did. The two of them were so shockingly similar, it was jarring at times when you remembered that Danny was Everett's biological father. 

"Talk about an upgrade," you whispered, taking a sip of beer before you went to greet Maverick. You barely watched the game, too busy chatting with your friends and kissing Bradley nonstop. But the Padres won which made Bradley and Everett happy, so it made you happy, too. 

And then by six o'clock, you had an exhausted seven year old son on your hands. He was crashing from all the snacks and the excitement of the day. "Time to head home," Bradley said, picking Everett up and kissing your lips. "And then we can send Ev off with my delightful sister-in-law."

You looked up at him, confused. "What do you mean? Ev's going to their condo for the night?"

"Two nights. I'm taking you to Palm Springs," he told you with a smirk. "We're having a real honeymoon now, and then I was thinking over winter break, we could take a family trip to Disney World?"

You threw yourself at him, and he collected you in his other arm. "That sounds perfect." You'd never been to Palm Springs or Disney World, but suddenly you wanted to go everywhere with him. 

"You said Philadelphia," Everett whined in Bradley's grasp.

Bradley kissed his forehead. "That'll be in the spring, silly. Gotta go when the Phanatic is active in his natural habitat."

Your heart pounded as you walked out across the parking lot to the Bronco. Because it turned out Molly had been keeping two secrets today: one for Bradley and one for you and Ev. You didn't expect to be this nervous, but here you were, barely able to get your seatbelt buckled around your dress.

Bradley was sweet and gentle, taking the buckle from your shaking hands. "Are you okay, Kitten?" he asked, the dying sunlight turning his eyes a deep amber. 

"Yes. Just can't wait to get home. Ev and I have a special wedding gift for you."

"Well, I can't wait either."

You bit your lip and looked out the window as you muttered, "Hope you like it."

Because Molly was the one driving her car, she and Bob got back to your house first. She was unlocking the front door so Bradley could carry Everett inside while he yawned. "We'll be out on the back deck," Molly said, taking Bob by the hand. "Let us know when Ev is all ready for his sleepover."

Now Bradley was the one who looked confused as they closed the back door behind them, leaving the three of you alone in the living room. "Ev's bag is already packed," Bradley said. "He can go with them anytime." 

"That's true." You felt too hot in your wedding dress now, thinking you might need to take a minute to yourself. But then Everett was climbing out of Bradley's arms and reaching for the box you'd stashed under the couch. 

"Can we give it to him?" he asked, looking up at you for permission with wide, innocent eyes. 

"Yeah," you whispered, running your hand over your chest, trying to calm the pounding of your heart. Your eye caught on the baseball covered in hearts that Bradley had used to propose to you where it sat on your mantle. He belonged here with both of you, and you wanted Everett to have every opportunity to live his best life. "We can give it to him."

Then Everett thrust the wrapped box into Bradley's hands, and you realized you were both staring at him. You reached for your son, pulling him closer to you as Bradley shook the box a little bit. "This is for me?"

"Yes," you and Everett said in unison, but now you felt like you were going to be sick as he started to rip into the silver paper. And then he was opening the box. 

A smile lit Bradley's face as he set the box aside and held up a Phillies jersey, examining the front of it. "I love it," he said, nodding his head. "But it looks a little small for me, doesn't it?" 

You pressed your lips together as you squeezed Everett's shoulder. "Look at the back," you told him, your voice a little shaky. 

Bradley turned it around and read it. "Bradshaw. But it's a child's size." When he met your eyes, you could barely see through your tears, and you even sensed that Everett was anxious now. 

"It's not for you, Coach," you informed him softly. Then you looked down at your son for a beat as you said, "It's for Ev. This is just our way of asking you if you'd like to be Everett's father. If you'd like to adopt him."

You watched Bradley's lips part, but no words came out. He was looking between the two of you in awe as tears seemed to fill his eyes. Then he read the back of the jersey again as he sobbed. "Come here," he whispered, kneeling down in front of Everett and tucking the jersey under his arm. "Is that what you want, kiddo?"

Everett wrapped his arms around Bradley's neck and said, "Yes."

Then Bradley looked up at you with tears in his eyes. "You'd let me?"

"Yes!" you said, now crying as well. "It's what we want."

He buried his face in Everett's neck and squeezed him. "Yes, I want to adopt you, Ev," he managed. As he stood with Everett in his arms, he kissed you and whispered, "Thank you. Thank you. Thank you."

"We can do it soon," you told him, hugging him a little awkwardly as he held Everett. "I'll have my lawyer change my petition from child support to adoption. We can get new papers served. No more Danny. We don't need the money anyway. Not like we need you, Coach."

Bradley leaned down and kissed you. "First thing when we get back from Palm Springs, Kitten. Let's get this ball rolling. You won't have to worry about custody or Danny anymore. You won't even have to think about it. And I'll get my bonus," he told Everett with a grin. "A son to go along with my wife."

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

Married! Adopting Ev! Happiness! Thanks to @beyondthesefourwalls and @mak-32

PART 30

Don't forget to check out Bob and Molly in The Curveball!

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[smellrain]

in which: Jack has liked you for years, but so far you have been oblivious to his feelings. Will the guide he made with the help of his teammate make you fall for him? Or will it end up destroying your friendship?

tags: written, mention of use of alcohol, slight angst. (masterlist for this au) (my masterlist) <prev. part: prologue I next part: ch. 2>

notes: [4.3k] First of all: thank you for your kind words after the prologue yesterday! Very happy that so many of you liked it. There is an analysis post about this chapter here that you might want to check out after! I hope you enjoy :) & come tell me how you liked it!!!

It had been a long day at work for you. The data your boss had assigned you had taken you a lot longer to work on than you’d expected, which meant that you actually, genuinely missed your last lecture of the day. You had texted a barely-even-friend that attended the same elective about her notes but you hadn't gotten a text back so far. 

Standing in front of your door now, you leaned the crown of your head against the outside of it and took a deep breath in. You had missed the key hole not once but twice now and the anger that welled up inside of you was completely unwarranted, so you knew you needed to mentally take at least one step back. 

Four seconds in, seven hold, eight out. In and out. You blinked once and the dark of the wood was an unwelcome reminder of reality. Still, unlocked the door, this time succeeding on the first try. 

The hallway was quiet, but you had expected as much. One of your flatmates had a nightshift at the clinic she was working at while the other was sleeping over at her boyfriends. The blissful silence you had looked forward to this morning seemed suffocating now. 

It didn’t matter. It was fine like this, you were fine.

After turning on the kitchen light, you walked to your room, put down your bag and fell down onto your bed, face first. The scratchy fabric of your bedcover was not nearly as nice as the sheets you had dreamed of all day long. 

For a while you let your eyes fall closed, not asleep, but resting nonetheless. You just wanted to rinse the day off of you, but you were too hungry to even think about showering. 

With a groan you peeled yourself off your bed, sat at the edge of your mattress while an inexplicable urge to cry welled up inside of you. Your day had been really shitty and your were really, really hungry.

But you got up anyway and walked towards the light in the kitchen that shone through through the space of the door to your room.

The music you’d put on in the background helped but it didn’t quite scratch that itch for conversation, for company. When you saw your phone light up from where you had left it on the counter, you hoped it might be the classmate you had texted. 

You rinsed off your hands to see who had messaged you. 

Jack (worst Hughes brother): hey what r you doing tn? You: currently making dinner why what did you do what do you need Jack (worst Hughes brother): nothing  wait why did you assume i did/need sth anyways: can i come over soon?

The shower. You still had to shower, but soon for Jack usually meant at least half an hour. It  should be enough time and besides it was just Jack, no reason to put in more effort than necessary. 

You: because you always text me when you need my help sure, I might be eating by then, have you eaten? Jack (worst Hughes brother): I did like 5min ago wait no ignore that, you’re telling me I could have had some of yours??? jkjk see you soon

You liked the last message and turned the heat off your stove. Shower first, you reminded yourself, even as you mourned the loss of the start of your dinner that you had been frying on the stove. 

When he knocked at your door you were still sitting at the small kitchen table that could barely seat two people. “It’s open,” you said, loudly. 

From the sounds you could hear him open and close the door, take off his shoes and leave his bag in the hallway. When he finally came into your view, you couldn’t help but smile. Strange how that worked, considering you had almost cried half an hour ago. Food really worked miracles sometimes. But then again he had always had that kind of effect on you, making you smile despite yourself. 

“That’s not very safe of you,” he had said but he was already smiling, “having your door unlocked.”

“Hey you, fancy seeing you here.”

There was a warm feeling curling itself around your ribcage at the look at him, “hey yourself. I left it open because I knew you were coming over, don’t worry about it.”

“Alright,” he conceded, “did you watch the game yesterday?”

“‘Course I did,” you said, eyes following him as he took a glass from the cabinets and filled it up. There was something intimate about that, the ease he carried himself with, him knowing where to find your glassware and feeling comfortable enough to do so while carrying on with the conversation. 

There was something in you that ached at the feeling, at having someone that comes home to you. At having someone that just feels that comfortable with you, that you live your life alongside with. 

It’s not like you were lonely, you had wonderful flatmates and good friends, but there was just something different about this feeling, about this longing. Or maybe that was just the effect he had on you, inexplicable as always.

“Good, otherwise I would have felt stupid after my goal.”

You had seen the new ritual he did sometimes that he had been asked about by the media sometimes. He had done it a few times now, more often over this past year. He was approached by his teammates first, but then he was still for a bit, putting his hand on his chest and raising it up after, usually waving once. The warmth that had seeped into your bones crept up to your face, “you did that for me?”

The one time he talked to an interviewer about it, he had said it was a new good luck charm he was trying out.

Because of the small table the two of you sat close and his knee kept bumping into yours, but you hardly paid it any mind. It was comforting, having him here, this close in the low light of the kitchen, cradling one of your glasses in his hands. 

Admitting something he hadn’t told anyone else.

“Yeah, of course, had to show my appreciation for my number one fan somehow.”

You laughed a little, “you are such an idiot.”

The smile he gave you in return crinkled up the skin at the corner of his eyes and you wanted to trace that fold with your thumb. What were you even thinking? “I know.”

So you just swatted his shoulder and got up to wash your dish. “Did you guys go out and celebrate?”

Jack turned in his seat, his body facing your back from where he was still sitting at the table, “yeah. It was a really small bar in the middle of nowhere, Nico said he didn’t want to be recognised, despite the win.”

You hummed in response. The constant scrutiny must have been affecting them all after these past few games. “Cool. Did it actually work or,” you trailed off, not really sure how to finish your question. 

“Sort of, I mean we took a few pictures when we came in but it was a lot better than usual.”

“I’m glad then,” you said and turned back around to face him, “I’m glad nothing too exciting happened.”

At the word exciting his expression morphed into something odd. “What?” you asked.

“Nothing,” he answered but he wasn’t meeting your eyes anymore. 

“You can tell me, you know you can,” you reminded him, now getting closer to him again. You were usually able to get out every last secret of his if you just asked the right questions. 

“I know,” he assured you, now pulling you a little closer by your hip and resting his hand there. He had always been touchy like that, arms slung over your shoulders or around your waist, hands holding your wrist to pull you through crowds, thumbs circling your ankle when you rested your legs in his lap. 

“But it’s really nothing, I just got a little drunk,” he assured you, but you didn’t really buy it. 

Still, you had no real reason to press, knowing that it just made him close up further. He would end up telling you, just not now. “Okay.”

The two of you went back to your room soon after, deciding to watch a movie. You didn’t tell him that you were really, genuinely tired, because you knew he could tell. He always could, somehow, even if you yourself weren’t all that aware of it. Funny how that worked.

You sat down first and then patted the spot next to you on the bed, but for a split second you saw him hesitate. That hurt, just a bit because you had thought that the two of you were close enough for it to not matter anymore. 

Still, he leaned against the headboard next to you, his shoulder softly knocking against yours and your worries disappeared at that. You must have imagined it.

“Any preferences?”

“Ratatouille,” you said immediately, not even knowing where that request came from. 

He smiled, “I do like a girl that knows what she wants.”

For some reason you blushed at that, at the barely even there implication of being his. You really were going insane today. “Is that okay for you?”

“Sure,” he said, “let's watch the rat be a better cook than the two of us combined.”

You typed the website and clicked play on your screen and settled your laptop down between the two of you, one knee on each side of the bottom of it. 

You were suddenly keenly aware of the fact that you didn’t even own a tv, that you were watching a movie from your laptop when he could be at home, watching it on a screen that was at least double the size of this.

It was a stupid thought, so you brushed it off. He was a professional athlete, you were a college student. There was something fundamentally different about your current lives, as intertwined as they were. 

The movie started soon after, so you pushed all of that to the back of your mind. At first the two of you ran a semi-steady commentary about what was going on but soon after you were both too engrossed in the story to think about anything fun to say. 

When a sharp sound came from the screen you realised that you had your eyes closed. Sleepily you blinked your eyes open again. It must have been for a few minutes, at least because you weren't sure what was going on anymore. 

“Tired?” he asked, a knowing glint in his eyes. 

You let your forehead fall against his shoulder, this time on purpose. It was a welcome contrast to a few hours ago when you did the same thing against your front door. His shoulder was softer because of his sweatshirt and he smelled nice. Like the shampoo he used, like his laundry detergent. You wondered when that smell had become intrinsically his and not someone else's' like a friend of yours that used the same deodorant. 

You kind of wanted to drown in it, but you held yourself afloat anyway. He wasn’t yours, you weren’t his. The two of you weren’t like that.

“Had a hard day at work,” you mumbled, a little more tired now than you’d been just moments ago. His presence did that to you, calmed you down when you didn’t even know you were high to begin with. 

He lowered your shoulder a bit which made it more comfortable for you to rest your head on it. “You could have said no, you know that, right?”

But you had wanted to see him once you had seen his message. “I know.”

“Good,” he answered, as if it was as simple as that and remained quiet after that. 

You tried to turn your focus back to the movie, you really did, but before you knew it your eyelids were drooping again. 

Then you were woken up again, this time by Jack. 

The movie must have finished in the meantime because he had moved his arm, closing your laptop. You rubbed your eyes tiredly, trying to form a coherent thought but the only thing on your mind was the warmth of him next to you, the dream that just barely slipped out of your grasp. 

“Sorry,” you said.

He turned to you, surprised. “What for? If anything I should apologise, I kept watching even when you were tired.”

“You know I don't mind that,” you said. “I just wasn’t very good company today. Sorry.”

Jack knocked his shoulder against you with a little more purpose so you  turned to him. “Nope, none of that. I don’t mind, I got to see you, which is all I wanted anyway.”

How could he just say something like that? As if words like these didn’t bore themselves under your skin, living there forever, etching themselves into the white of your bones.

This casually, as if it didn’t just make your heart flutter the same way it did when you were eighteen, back when you had loved him. Still, in your barely illuminated room, late at night you let yourself linger. Let yourself pretend that his words held meaning. 

Let yourself pretend that the two of you were different.

You thought about the thousands of times you must have seen him just like this, in the dark, looking back at you. 

It was a weird memory that came to you, just then.

Back when the two of you had first met you had been crushing hard. It wasn’t really surprising, now looking back. You had never really gotten a lot of attention by boys growing up, so when he went out of his way to talk to you, you really had no choice but to fall for him. 

Liking him had become addicting. 

You could still remember the moment you thought he might like you back and the very same moment you knew it wasn’t, probably ever, going to work out between the two of you.

It was at a party, after you had just graduated. You had just come out of the bathroom, alone because your friend was finally, finally talking to the guy she liked. 

Then you picked up a friend’s voice somewhere down the corner, most likely from the kitchen. “C’mon your turn now. Who are you crushing on,” Aaron had said. They must still be playing a weird mixture of truth or dare and some other game you had already forgotten the name of.

Your mind immediately went to Jack, the way his hand had brushed yours when he had gotten you a drink earlier that night. 

“I don't?” Jack answered, slightly laughing, but there was an air of unease in his voice that you couldn’t help but notice. 

“C’mon, Jack don’t be like that,” someone else interjected, and suddenly you were a lot more invested in the conversation than just a moment ago. It was always like that when it was about him. 

“There are always so many girls throwing themselves at you, surely you want one of them,” you could hear the other guy’s jealousy from miles away but you weren’t sure if the others picked up on it too. 

“I’m serious, I barely have time for my friends already, let alone a girlfriend.” Jack said and there was this tiny spark of hope rising in your chest. Maybe you could change that. Maybe you could be the exception. 

“True,” Aaron agreed calmer than usual. You thought he might be noticing the tension waving off of the other guy. 

“There is no shame in admitting it,” the other guy doubled down, “what about that one girl? Short, brunette, on the track and field club.”

Oh god, he was describing your friend, the one you had just left with her crush. “Nah, wait I think she has a boyfriend, but what about her friend, the one that Kevin hangs out with.”

You. Shit, he was talking about you. Did you really want to hear Jack’s response? What if he said he didn’t like you? But what if he did?

“She is my friend too, you know,” Jack said, “but she is pretty, I guess.”

He guesses? That kind of really stung. You knew that there was nothing all that memorable about you, but it’s not like you were ugly. A thousand different insecurities that you thought you had worked through rose to the surface and you didn’t have the strength to push them back down. 

You had to escape, now, without being noticed and without listening to anything more. Still, your ear couldn’t help but pick up on the rest even as you pushed past that guy that sat behind you in math.

“Jack, don’t be like that,” the other guy insisted, “don’t you want to go up to her and just fuck her? I mean her ass-”

Humiliation. For some reason you felt humiliated and violated. You knew about locker room talk, but you had never wanted to be part of it. Tears were beginning to well up in your eyes and suddenly you could feel every single person that had touched any part of you today, suddenly questioning if it really was accidental. 

You had to get out, now. The static in your ear was loud and the bass vibrating through the soles of your feet seemed to turn it up even more. You had run away, texting the friend you came with some kind of bullshit excuse for leaving. 

The asphalt outside on the sidewalk was cold, but you sat down on it anyway. You just wanted to cry. Everything seemed so overwhelming and important all at once and you had no idea how to deal with all of it. 

Soon you were leaving high school for good, your friends were moving all across the country, you were so fucking lonely and the guy you had been crushing on for a better part of a year didn’t even think that you were worthy to look at. 

You drew your legs closer to your body and folded yourself up as much as possible. Growing up seemed scary all of a sudden. There was that one Lorde lyric that said that too, that you couldn’t quite pinpoint.

Suddenly people were streaming out of the house, all at once. You wiped your tears, looking up at what was happening. In the stream of people you couldn’t make out any of your friends.

Then you heard your name being called. It was Kevin, still standing at his door. He held Jack at the others shirt collar, as if he was holding up a particularly unruly cat that had gotten in trouble again. 

Your eyes must not have been red because when you came closer neither boy commented on it. “Get him home,” Kevin said and dumped a heap of Jack right in front of you. 

Jack glared back at where Kevin disappeared back into the house, eyes murderous. You had never really seen him act like that, especially to a friend. But then again how well did you really know him?

A beat of silence. You really wondered what on earth had happened for the party to just end. You shifted your weight on your feet. “Do you have a car?” you asked eventually. 

Jack brushed past you, “yeah. I’ll drive you home, didn’t drink anything.”

You followed him, but on the short walk back to his car neither of you said anything. 

The stereo remained off all the way back to your place. After you had stopped looking at him to try and figure out what had him in this bad of a mood, you looked outside. The neighbourhood was so familiar, and the horribly sad feeling from earlier came up again. 

You really needed some kind of distraction. “Thank you for driving me home.”

For a second he remained quiet and you really thought you were going to be ignored. He had always had a bit of a dramatic streak at times. “Of course.”

His expression remained scarily blank. “Can I ask what happened with Kevin?”

“Nothing,” he said, his gaze staring firmly ahead. Then, “I don’t like his friends.”

What kind of response was that? “Okay,” you tried, carefully, “then why did you come?”

“I didn’t know I didn’t like them before tonight,” he said. 

Then you looked at the way his hands were gripping the wheel, specifically at his knuckles. Wait- “did you punch one of them?”

He laughed, and the sound bounced off the small enclosure and some kind of happy feeling made your heart swell, even though you had been apprehensive about him just moments ago.

It was a lot longer than your comment had warranted. You really were a bit concerned about him. Should he be driving if he acted like this? “I might have.”

Before you could ask why, because you had never seen him actually punch anyone, he continued, “in my defense, he started it.”

“That’s a shitty defense,” you said, “that just means you have to be the one to take a step back first.”

He only shook his head in response but you were happy he was back to acting like that Jack you knew. “You would have punched him too, I just know it.”

“Sure,” you replied. You had never punched a person because you didn’t like them and you didn’t think you’d start anytime soon. 

“Trust me, you would have,” he said and left it at that. 

The two of you arrived at your place soon after, so you thanked him and left. 

The rest of the summer between highschool and college was spent getting over him, which you eventually succeeded at when he introduced his now ex-girlfriend to you and your friends. 

In college you went out on a few dates, but none of them ended up going anywhere. That was fine to you, because it just meant that you were prioritising other things now, like your studies and your friends. 

There wasn’t even anything all that similar between that memory and your current situation, but you drew the comparison anyway. His jaw was more refined now, his hair longer and his eyes seemed different now, a bit more mature maybe. Or maybe just a bit more tired. 

“What are you thinking about?” he asked. 

It must have been a bit strange, you just looking at him. “You,” you replied honestly. “Do you remember that one party, way back, after high school where you punched someone?”

He groaned and leaned his head back against the wall, his throat exposed. Your gaze lingered there for a bit before returning to his face. Some kind of feeling almost bubbled to the surface at the sound and the matching sight.

“I do.”

“I never actually figured why you did that.” When his gaze remained firmly on your ceiling, you continued, “I feel like now enough time has passed for you to admit why.”

He smiled a bit. “There was this other guy, right? The one I punched, I mean.”

You nodded. 

“He was being a real dick about one of my friends, and when he didn’t stop talking about her I just kinda wanted him to shut up. Moved before thinking about it.”

“Asshole,” you commented, not about Jack. 

“Right?” he turned his head so that he looked back down to you, “after that one punch I came back to myself but before I knew it Kevin had dragged me out by my collar, shouting that everyone had to go.”

“He must have wanted to avoid a full on fight,” you said. 

“For sure, can’t even blame him.” With a mischievous gleam in his eyes he said, “but it felt really good to finally shut him up.”

You laughed, thinking that the entire situation was a lot more dramatic than it really had any reason to be. The laugh turned to a yawn by the end. 

“I should leave,” he said but you had the weird urge to ask him to stay. 

“Sorry, I’m a lot more tired than I thought,” you said instead.

“Don’t apologise for that,” he said, getting up. He ended up offering you a hand to help you get up as well even though you really didn't need it. You took it anyway. 

He picked up the bag that he had left at the door, opened it and turned to you. “I had fun.”

You smiled, “me too.”

“Good,” he offered you a smile in return. You saw his hand reach out and stop for just a second, but before you could ask him about it, he held it against your temple and leaned down to give you a kiss on your forehead. He lingered in your orbit for a bit longer than the duration of the kiss, just hovering above you. 

“See you soon,” he said, waving, and you replied the same. Then you closed your door and locked it. 

You didn’t need to hold your hand against your cheek to feel it burn. What was that? He had never done that before. He had never done anything like that before, ever.

You stumbled to your bathroom, and went through the motions of brushing your teeth and going on the toilet. When you finally crawled under your sheets, you let yourself sink down into them. 

Still, you were too tired to properly dissect the entire interaction so instead you closed your eyes. You drifted to sleep, your mind focusing on the tips of his ears that had seemed a bit flushed when he closed the door behind himself. 

taglist: @alwaysclassyeagle @hughescomplex @lupinslibraries @megaluke @cixrosie (send me an ask to be added!)

[sarahowritesostucky]

Happy Little Family

📖"Taking Back What's His"

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 6170

Tags: dark!Bucky, mafia/mob au, dubcon/noncon, a/b/o, threats and coercion, rape, forced pregnancy, forced domestic "bliss", yandere, kid fic

Summary: You thought you'd left behind the man who turned out to be more dangerous than you'd ever imagined. But one day he walks back into your life and reminds you that, come hell or high water, you're all going to be one happy. little. family.

This chapter: You try one last, desperate ploy to escape, but it doesn't exactly work out. And James hasn't come alone. The next time you wake up, you're a long way from home.

Nickname Dictionary: vorishka = "little thief" mamochka = "mommy/little mother" kotenok= "kitty/kitten" omegya = (made up) Russian spelling of omega omegechka = (made up) "little omega" krasotka = "Pretty(n.)/pretty one" pchelka = "little bee"

2. Taking Back What's His

(Wait! I haven't read part 1 yet!)

He says something to you, after. Words that might as well be in his native Russian, for how well you take them in. But they're soft, and reassuring—he’s pleased. His body weight moves off the bed.

When you finally open your eyes and blink up at the ceiling, it’s the softest baby pink all around the edges, like smoke curling into your vision. It’s nice, peaceful. Feels good-all-over in that way that painkillers do. You haven’t experienced it since the last time you had sex with an alpha.

Which James unfortunately seems to have figured out was with him, almost two years ago. 

“Oh, kotenok, You haven’t been fucking anybody.” 

You’re still in the afterglow, mind muzzy, all of your previous panic and fear blunted near to the point of erasure with how nice it feels to float, when you hear James’ pleased chuckle from where he’s getting dressed. He comes back and leans over you. “Hey Sweetheart. Feeling good?” 

You frown at him, though it takes a concerted effort to make any expression of displeasure. You want him to know you aren’t happy, that this state he’s fucked you into isn’t real. You want to slap that smug fucking look right off his face. All you manage to come up with is a pouty little “no" that makes James laugh.

“Come here.” He fixes your dress, then helps you up off the bed. He seems to be checking to make sure you’re steady on your feet before he lets you stand on your own. “You good?”

��M’fine.” He knows you too well, knows how intense it can be for you, how strongly you react to him. You avoid his knowing gaze. You’re not completely useless like this. You can still remember everything that’s going on, can still remember June. “Please,” you say again, trying to change the tone of your voice. “Let me give her to Hilde.”

James rolls his eyes. “Right, right. Your friend across the street.”

“Please James?” You look up at him, pink edges all around his face, so pretty. Goddamn him. “She’ll be safe there.”

Again, something passes through his eyes too quickly for you to identify. It might be annoyance. He sighs, and the look, whatever it was, is gone. “Sure thing, Doll. Babies need a lot of stuff. You might as well pack up what she needs.”

You nod tearfully, going to your closet to grab a bag. He follows close behind, sending a clear message that he’s not planning on letting you out of his sights while you do this. James isn’t stupid, you’ll give him that.

In the nursery, June is happy to see you and wants you to pick her up. You talk to her in a sweet, placating voice as you go around the room grabbing different things that she’ll need and stuffing them in the bag. At this point you know to be grateful for the haze. Even as it tapers off, it’s blunting the sorrow that you know would otherwise have you sobbing and your voice clogging with tears. This way at least, you’re able to keep June thinking everything is alright. This way she isn’t scared. 

It’s when you’re crouched beside the changing table, stuffing diapers into the bag with James behind you that you get the idea: Downstairs: the kitchen: in the drawer. Your gun.

You stop moving long enough that James notices. “What’re you doing? Come on.”

You stand back up. Yes. You have to do it. This is the only chance you have at getting out of this and not losing June. You lick your lips nervously before turning back around to face him. “I … have to get her bottles and stuff from downstairs,” you say, hoping that the lingering post-coital haze is enough to keep your true intentions off your face. Your eyes flick up to James, who’s squinting at your tits.

“Bottle?” He starts to smirk, and you glare at him.

“Yes. Asshole. I won’t exactly be around to feed her, now will I?” 

His face softens at that and he gives you an apologetic look. “Right. Well go on, then.” 

You move for the hallway, realize he’s not following you, and turn back in confusion. He’s beside the crib, holding his hand out for June to touch. Your heart leaps from your spot in the doorway. “What are you doing?”

He arches an eyebrow. “I’m waiting right here until you come back upstairs,” he says, his message clear. 

Your pulse picks up, but you force yourself to nod. You’re useless without that gun. You have to get to it. He narrows his eyes at you while June giggles and reaches for his wiggling fingers. “No games.”

“Yeah,” you whisper, and turn and head for the stairs. 

It’s pure torture to move at a casual speed, especially as your mind is clearing and the fearful emotions returning. In the downstairs hallway, you check once over your shoulder that James hasn’t followed you, then pick up your pace, hurrying into the kitchen and heading straight for the drawer where you keep the gun.

Your eyes tear up as you maneuver past the digital lock that you installed for nothing. June’s still crawling. She never even got old enough to toddle over here. You press the code into the keypad, cringing when it does its quiet little two-tone ‘beep’ at being unlocked. You wait, heart in your throat until you hear the mechanism moving, then rip open the drawer. 

Your heart stops and your brain freezes and all you can think is: No. No, no no— 

“Looking for this?” 

You whirl around, and there he is: standing on the other side of the kitchen, leaning against the sink as he holds your only weapon in his hands.

His face is relaxed, Goddamn him, as he pretends to ignore your horror and instead holds the gun up to flippantly inspect it. “I have to say, Doll, I’m impressed. I would’ve expected some puny girl gun. Ruger, Derringer. But this?” He turns the Skorpion in his hands, and chuckles softly when he sees the cartridge. “Jesus. You really wanted to blow a hole in somebody, didn’t you?” His eyes finally drag up to you, the hand he’s holding the gun with dropping down by his side as he starts walking over, slowly, step by step, eyes boring into you with a growing anger.

Oh shit. Dread curls in your gut but you’re frozen. Bolting now wouldn’t even get you to the staircase. He presses in close, pinning you against the countertop. He brings the gun up and nudges your jaw with it, leaning in and breathing in your face, “Did you really think I wouldn’t find it, vorishka?”[little thief]

He’s taunting you with your own failure, and you can’t stop the whimper that breaks from your throat at having your one and only plan foiled so pathetically easily. “James,” you plead, “I didn’t—”

“Shh sh sh. None of that, now.”  He’s speaking softly, sweetly, but he’s furious. He drags his lips over your cheek and the barrel of the gun you stole from him over the other. “So what was the plan? How were you going to kill me with my own gun? Pop upstairs and shoot up the nursery?”

“N-no.”

“Ah. Right. You’re smarter than that. You would’ve waited for me to come down and see what the fuck was taking you so long, or put it in the duffle and waited until we dropped the whelp off at the neighbors. Is that it?"

You sniffle and nod, angry at him for being such an all-knowing asshole. “You can’t hold that against me,” you say, trying to defend yourself.

He nods thoughtfully. “Hmm. Yes, I suppose you’re right. I can’t blame you for that.” Your shoulders start to relax, that is until he pulls back to glare at you and holds the gun to you again, this time pointing it right underneath your chin. He looks angrier than you’ve ever seen him. “But do you know what I can hold against you, Little thief?” Your face pinches in fear, sure that you’re about to be shot, and he digs the muzzle cruelly into your skin, forcing you to look at him. “The fact that that pup up there is ten months old, and I’ve never even fucking seen her.” 

Your eyes widen as you realize: he knows. You open your mouth to say something, anything, but he beats you to it.

“Did you really think I wouldn’t be able to tell she’s mine?” 

“James,”

“All this time!” he hisses, hurt lancing through his features. “You kept her from me! What gives you the right?” 

“I—I didn’t—”

He growls and pushes away from you, several steps back, glaring. “Nothing, is the answer you’re looking for. You had no right to do that.” 

You try to edge to the side, but freeze when he straightens his arm and points the gun right at you. “James, wait …”

He aims it at your face, but then lowers it for a center mass shot, which is what really convinces you you’re about to die. “Say goodbye, mamochka,” he says, with steely eyes and his finger curling over the trigger. 

It’s a submachine gun that fires in three shot bursts, or fully automatic. Either way, you know you’re about to be riddled with bullets, so you start to hyperventilate. It’s an embarrassing reaction, but at least you have the dignity of knowing what your last words on this earth would’ve been. “Don’t hurt her,” you gasp.

His eyes fill with rage and he pulls the trigger. 

… Nothing happens, but you’re bracing so hard that it takes you a full two or three seconds to realize it. Then, when you do realize it, and you see James standing there looking grim but completely unsurprised that you haven’t been shot, all of the breath rushes out of your lungs. You feel like you’re about to faint, which is apparently what he’s waiting for. 

He ejects the empty magazine, shaking his head in disbelief. “You really thought I’d do it, didn’t you?” He takes a step forward, but pauses when you flinch back. “What the hell have you convinced yourself that I am?” 

You step back again when he moves. “Don’t,” you whisper. “Don’t.”

“Don’t, don’t,” he whispers, mocking you. “Don’t what? Don’t take back what’s mine? The mother of my pup? A pup I didn’t get to see grow or come into this world?” Your breath hitches with emotion and he doesn’t miss it, the bastard. “Yeah,” he says darkly. “You robbed me of that. But I’ll get over it, don’t worry.”  He leers up and down your body in its flimsy sundress. “I’ll be putting another one in you real soon.”

You see red. Fury sweeps through you and stings your eyes, roars in your ears. You grab the nearest thing to you, which is the edge of the utensils crock on the counter. It spills over and your hand closes around the handle of the meat mallet. You cry out and swing at him, wanting to smash his smug fucking face to smithereens. 

“Woah-ho, easy there.” He laughs and takes a surprised step back, as though you’re nothing but a tantruming child. “Stop being so dramatic.”

You growl and lunge for him again, but cut off in a shriek as someone suddenly grabs you from behind. The meat mallet clatters to the floor as you’re hauled back against the hard body of another man. One big arm wraps around your middle, and the other holds a cloth up at your face, pressing it over your mouth. “Mmph!” you yell out, muffled, and get a huge inhale of chlorine-like smell into your lungs for your trouble. You hold your breath and thrash, but it’s less than useless. The person holding you is large and strong. When you try to headbutt him, it doesn't even clip his chin. You bring your hands up to try and claw at the hand holding the cloth over your mouth, but your nails meet metal instead of skin, and you gasp in another inhale of chemicals as you realize who it is. “Mmph!”  

James steps up close, smirking fondly as he watches you fighting the urge to inhale. Eventually he tuts and reaches up to cup your cheek. “Shhh, omegechka. Stop. Stop fighting now. It’s all over.” 

“Nngh!”

“Just take a deep breath and go to sleep. Everything’ll be alright, I promise. Just relax.” You whimper as you feel yourself running out of air, knowing that your body’s going to force you to draw breath in a second. James leans in and kisses your forehead tenderly. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he whispers, just as your vision starts to fade out, “or our daughter.”

The smell of professionally scented, circulating air hits you first, and then the taste of old pennies in your mouth. Then, a gradually increasing sense of awareness of your body in space and time. At first you think you're somewhere very bright, as colors and rainbows dance through your lashes, but the more you blink your eyes open, the more the brightness fades and your vision comes into focus.

And there he is: holding a crystal tumbler and looking like he's been waiting for you to come round. "Well hello there, Sleepyhead,” he says. “Welcome back." He takes a sip of whatever it is he’s drinking, the ice cubes clinking softly against the sides of the glass. He looks totally relaxed.

You sit up straighter in the seat where you’d been slumped, moving your tongue around inside of your dry mouth and trying to remember what happened. And then reality hits you in waves, each one more devastating than the last:

James—He found you. 

June—She's not there.

"How're you feeling? Thirsty?"

You blink, dazed, a few lingering specks still floating at the edges of your vision. You look around the room you’re in, clocking your surroundings. Windows, cabin—Shit. You're already on a plane. Pressure builds rapidly at the backs of your eyes as you fight not to cry, thinking of your baby girl left behind, never getting to see her again.

You didn’t even get to say goodbye. 

Bucky’s eyes sharpen on you when your stifled sob breaks out and you throw a hand over your mouth. "Steve,” he says, still watching you in concern. “Get her a bottle of water."

“Sure thing, boss.”

And then the worst realization of all: You look over and see the winter fucking soldier walking down the aisle, holding your baby.

They've got June.

Your eyes widen and you make a distressed little ‘meep’ of a sound. “Steve!” you blurt, and he turns to face you. He looks surprised that you’ve spoken directly to him. He’s not wearing his usual black mask, but he still looks huge and intimidating, and it’s like seeing a wild animal right next to your baby—dangerous, wrong. Your mouth works uselessly as you stare at his hands on June’s body: one supporting her head, and the metal one scooped under her butt. You see her back rise and fall steadily through her bumblebee onesie and you realize that she’s asleep. “I-is she okay?” you ask, heart in your throat. 

Steve’s eyes narrow at you, but he nods curtly. “She’s fine.” 

Across from you, James scoffs, drawing your attention back to him. “He’s going to put her down. There’s a crib in the back. She’ll be fine,” he says, when he sees you stiffen in protest. “You and I have some catching up to do, vorishka.”

“I thought we did that back in my bedroom,” you snap.

“You still want the water?” Steve asks.

“That’s okay.” Bucky keeps his eyes on you. “I’ll take care of her. You just stay back there with pchelka while she sleeps.” 

Steve nods, and you can’t help yourself. “Wait! Please. Please give her to me. Steve?” You sit forward with your arms outstretched, but can only watch helplessly as the other man obeys Bucky and ignores you, disappearing back into the next section of the plane. Bastard never did like you. 

“She’ll be fine,” Bucky assures you. “Just sit back and relax. We won’t be in the air for too long.”

You hate it, but you do sit back in the chair. James won’t hurt her. You know that. Especially now that you know he knows. You look around the cabin, taking in the wide, leather seats and gleaming wood finishes. There’s a couch, tv, a bar. A fucking electric fireplace. It's the sort of luxury you used to go starry-eyed over; incredibly rich men, fat or old or ugly, tripping all over themselves to spoil you.

… Only, James was never any of those things.

“This is your plane?” you ask, dragging your hand over the arm of your seat.

James smirks. “What? You thought I’d kidnap you and then fly commercial?” 

You purse your lips at his joke. “I guess not.” You relax back, trying to get your bearings. It is bad news that you’re already on a plane with him. You’ll be landing at his private airstrip at the Siberia compound, which gives you no middle ground to run. You bite your lip as your thoughts race and you try to think of anything you might be able to do once you get to—

“Stop it,” James says quietly, drawing your attention back to him. He’s giving you a stern look. “You barely got away before, and that was on your own. Now we’ve got our daughter. Anything you try will put her in unnecessary danger and you know that.” He shakes his head, some of that sadness from before creeping back into his eyes. “You’re not leaving me again, omegechka.”

“I’m not?” you echo, stuck in place by his stare, by the memories you share with him, and the fear you have of what he’s planning for your punishment. “What are you going to do?”

“I’m just taking back what’s mine, Sweetheart. You do realize that?” You fail to answer him and his gaze hardens just a little bit. “That’s okay. You’ll see it eventually. This isn’t a bad thing. If you had just stuck around a little longer instead of lying to me and running off, then you would’ve seen it before, and we wouldn’t have to be going through this right now.” He raises his drink to you in a little salute. “You, me, and pchelka? We’re going to be a family.”

You don’t refuse the water he gives you, or the drink that he mixes for you, after. If James wanted to keep you drugged up until reaching Siberia, he certainly could’ve done so without allowing you to wake up on the plane. You’re only conscious right now because he wants you to be. And because you know that, you don’t protest the drink he prepares for you over at the bar. To be honest, a stiff one actually sounds really good right about now.

“Thank you,” you murmur as he hands it over, still unmoored by this drastic shift in circumstances. A few hours ago you’d been safe in your cottage, then suddenly you weren’t. One minute you’re sure you’re about to get a bullet in the face from this man, and the next, he’s got you sipping thousand dollar vodka on his private jet, calmly explaining how he intends to keep you and force you into some twisted form of domestic bliss. 

“I had a whole renovation done for her,” he tells you. “Pchelka will have plenty of room to play and grow.”

You frown, hating the idea of your daughter growing up in that cold, Siberian fortress. You don’t care if he’s bought her an indoor waterslide and a herd of ponies. It’s no place for a child. “What does that mean?” you ask grumpily. “That word: chelk—? You keep using it. You can’t just rename my daughter.”

Hurt flashes in his eyes, but he wipes it away fast. “Pchelka means little bee. The outfit you put her in has bees on it.”

“Oh … Right.” You love that set. It’d been another gift at the shower, from Hilde.

“And she’s my daughter too,” James says tightly.

You gulp at the bitterness in his tone, at his eyes boring into you with reproach. It’s silly, but you do feel bad about hurting him in this one way, at least. “Her name is June,” you offer quietly.

His face draws tight with emotion that’s impossible for you to decipher. Mostly you just sense hurt coming off of him, tingeing his scent and making it into something mournful and awful. He stares at you for a long time. “You made me think you’d lost it,” he eventually whispers. “How could you do that to me?”

You shake your head. “I’m sorry.” 

“No you’re not. You’re just sorry that I found you.”

“I saw you kill people, James!” you cry. “I saw who you really are. I couldn’t stay. Not after that.”

His mouth ticks up at the corners. “Oh, Sweetheart. You’ve got no idea who I am, or what I’ve done for you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

His eyes gleam and he lifts his drink, tipping back the last of it. “Do you even remember where we met?” 

You frown. “Of course.” You’d met him on a yacht, off the coast of Greece. At a party you’d been paid to attend as one of a flock of similarly hired ‘pretty girls’. Five hundred bucks just to sit around and drink cocktails for a few hours and make whoever owned the yacht look like a successful playboy. James had taken one look at you and made it his mission to charm you off of that boat with him. And you’d fallen for it, hook line and sinker. “What does that have to do with anything?”

“You don’t know as much as you think you do,” he says disdainfully. “Don’t know how lucky you really are. I saved you.”

You scoff. “You’re no different from those boat guys. You think you’re so special, God’s gift to omegas, I get it.”

“No,” he grits. “You really don’t.”

“Don’t tell me what I don’t know! I know what I saw. All over the floor of your goddamn office. I slipped in it for Christ’s sake!”

“Right, right. The men you saw me kill,” he says, referencing the scene you’d walked in on just before you’d faked your miscarriage and fled. “You were eavesdropping outside the door, weren’t you, Little thief?”

You jut your chin out. “Yes. So what?” 

“You know, I’d always assumed you heard the entire conversation. Now I realize I was wrong.” 

“What?”

He laughs under his breath—at your expense, you suspect. “Who exactly do you think they were?”

“Your business associates. The same sort of underworld, black market scum as you. Only they didn't work for you. You screwed them over and they were there to collect what you owed them, and you murdered them instead.”

James scoffs and smiles angrily, sticking his tongue into his cheek as he looks away in frustration. "Figures," he mutters.

“What?” you snap. “You’re gonna deny it?”

“I’m not denying anything. But I killed them for you.”

“Oh please. Just stop it. Stop lying! I know what you do for work.” 

Granted, you'd been a little slow on the uptake back then, too enamored and swept up in the whirlwind romance with your first Alpha that you hadn’t ever stopped to wonder where his money came from, or where it was he jetted off to “on business” every few days. It’d taken a year for you to piece it together, to see the true magnitude of the enterprise he ran, and how dark it really was.

Sitting in front of you now, he doesn’t deny it, which only bolsters your disdain for him. “I don’t want that in my life,” you hiss. “Arms dealing, drugs, smuggling, mercenaries. And apparently human trafficking as well.”

His eyes flash. “They don’t call it that, you know. It’s called the ‘skin trade’.”

“I don’t care.”

He gets up to go pour himself another drink at the bar. “Right,” he snaps, like you’re an idiot. “You’re so fucking naïve, krasotka [pretty (n.)]. So convinced that I’m the devil. But you have no idea how much worse it could’ve been for you.”

“You threatened to sell your own daughter before you figured out she was yours!”

Refusing to be provoked, he returns to stand right in front of you, forcing you to look up at him towering over you. “I knew she was mine from the second I walked in that house,” he says, making your breath catch. 

“How?”

He smiles nastily and takes a sip from his drink, then sets it aside. He leans over you with his hands on the back of your seat, caging you in. You can smell the expensive alcohol on his breath as he gets in your face and tells you, “I put that baby in you, moya omegya. She’s a part of me. You think I wouldn’t be able to figure that out? Think an Alpha doesn’t know the scent of his own flesh and blood?”

You tense, fighting not to shrink away. “You’re making that up.”

He chuckles lowly and puts his face right next to yours, cheek to cheek, savoring your reaction. “Sweetheart,” he purrs, “I may not have forced a mating bite on you back then like I should have, but there are other ways to leave your mark on someone.” He dips in to kiss your neck, right over your unbitten glands. “I found you by your scent,” he whispers. “Sniffed you out.”

You shiver at his hot breath on your skin and the deadly soft tone of his voice. The way your body responds to him isn’t anything you can control, and he knows that, but it still makes you flush with embarrassment when he takes a deep inhale in the bend of your neck and hums with satisfaction when he smells the effect he’s had on you. “I wouldn’t have sold her anyway,” he tells you, pulling back and picking up his drink. “I want you to know that. I don’t participate in the skin trade.”

You swallow thickly, watching him watch you as he waits for you to react to him in some way. You don’t know why you believe him about this one thing, but you do. “But you’re aware of it,” you say. “You know it happens, and you don’t do anything to stop it.”

His jaw works in frustration. “I’ve interfered a time or two, when I could get away with it.”

“Well, aren't you a hero.”

“I didn’t say that,” he snaps. “I said I’ve done what little I could. These men make a lot of money dealing in omegas, and they don’t take kindly to being stolen from.”

“I can imagine.”

“No,” he mutters into his drink. “You really can’t.”

There’s something oddly bitter in his tone, like he's working hard not to tell you something. You bite your lip and watch him for a minute. “... How much?” you ask.

“What?” His eyes darken when he figures out what you’re asking. “No.”

“Tell me.”

“It depends,” he grits, glaring at you. "Now cut it out."

Sober, you might have; but half a vodka spritzer after nineteen months of no alcohol has you bolder than you usually would be. You look down at yourself, feigning flippancy. “Well what about me? How much would I go for?”

“Kotenok,” he warns lowly, growling when you continue to press him with a snotty little, 

“Come on, I thought you were such a dangerous criminal? You can’t even discuss a little human trafficking with the weak omega you just trafficked?” 

He probably knows you’re trying to antagonize him, but he still rises to the bait. He sits back and lets his eyes drag over your body in a way that makes your pulse pick up. “Well,” he drawls, “you just had a baby. So that’s less right there.” Your nostrils flare angrily and he gives you a look. “You’re the one who asked,” he reminds, waiting until you give him a nod to continue. He gives you another onceover, this time lingering in certain places longer, a softer look in his eyes for the softer parts of your body. He almost seems to get distracted. He catches himself overindulging and looks away, like it’s hurting him to consider you this way. “Most people want their omegas untouched,” he says quietly. “Especially if the buyer's alpha, which they usually are. It’s an instinctual thing for us. We’re very driven to possess. We don’t like to share.”

“Yeah, tell me about it,” you mutter.

His gaze snaps back to you, a painful amount of familiarity in his eyes. “You’dve been a couple million, back when we first met.”

Your eyes widen. You weren't expecting that. “But … I wasn’t even a virgin.”

He arches an eyebrow. “I said untouched, not virginal. Not in that way. Alpha buyers want unbonded and never bred, first and foremost.” He leers at you. “Not that there aren’t some who’ll pay a little extra to pop a girl’s cherry. But that’s not the main thing they’re looking for, when they buy.” 

You scowl. “Right. So I guess I’m damaged goods now."

“Oh no, mamochka,” he says seriously. “You’ve only gone up in value in my eyes. Though believe me when I say I’m more than happy to contribute to the depletion of your market value." He raises his glass to his lips, looking darkly pleased. “You’re not for sale, and you never will be. You’re mine.”

You're embarrassed to be the one to break eye contact first, but you can’t keep listening to him talk about how much he likes you and watching him look at you like you’re his most prized possession. With any other man you’d just be disgusted, but James has always had a knack for getting you flustered, and he knows it. There’s always been an inexplicable pull between the two of you, and he knows that, too. It’s the main reason why you've always refused his attempts to bond you. You're terrified of what it’ll be like after, since you already know how pathetically helpless you are around him without a bond.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” you mumble quietly. “Where is it?” 

“Just down there.” He nods in the direction behind you, opposite from where Steve had gone with June.

You press your lips together and get up without looking at him, but you can feel his eyes on you the entire time you’re walking away.

“Don’t take too long in there, kotenok,” he purrs from back in his seat. “Or I’ll have to come in after you.”

In the bathroom, you splash water on your face and lean against the sink, looking at the girl staring back at you in the mirror. You blink, and she blinks, but it feels like you’re looking at another person, someone you don’t know. She looks fragile. Tired, and dazed. June’s been sleeping through the night for months, but it’s been a hell of a day.

You scrutinize your reflection, smoothing your dress and tucking your hair behind your ears, thinking about how you have zero makeup on. Then you scoff at yourself for caring what you look like in front of him. You think about how much you’ve changed in the seventeen months since you ran away. Not just physically, but mentally. You’ve had to be so strong. For June, for yourself. It’s been awful, and lonely, and you’ve hated yourself for not being able to stop missing him. 

You sniffle and splash more water on your face, grumpily thinking that postpartum hormones are so much worse than the pregnancy ones. You grab the towel off the wall, but freeze when you bring it up to pat your face dry and get a smell of it.

Oh.

You whimper, unable to keep from pressing it harder to your mouth and nose and inhaling deeply. It’s James’ scent, and it smells so good. It smells like Safety and Love and Alpha. You hear the sound of your own, needy mewl and you gasp, yanking the towel away from your face and tossing it into the sink, trying to keep your shit together. You brace your hands on the counter and glare at your reflection to tell her to stop it, stop it, stop it, but all it takes is seeing your lower lip quiver, and soon your entire face is collapsing in long-repressed sadness. You turn away from the mirror with a pathetic noise, throat aching from the urge to keen. 

Why does this have to be happening?! You’ve tried so hard, for so long. To be strong for June, to get over him, to move on! You bury your face in your hands and choke on a wrenching sob. You know you have to be quiet, have to stop, have to pull yourself together before he—

A soft knock comes from outside the bathroom. “Doll?”

You whine and hastily search for a lock on the door, but there is none, and James hears your crying and pulls the door open. “Honey,” he mourns when he sees you. “What’s wrong?” 

You push past him, hurrying in the direction he isn’t blocking. “Leave me alone!” you cry, hating the blubbering in your voice that makes you sound just as weak as James thinks you are. You arrive in a perfectly made up bedroom with no point of egress other than the one you arrived through. You whine in distress, circle around helplessly, and then throw yourself onto the bed when he arrives at the doorway looking worried. “Leave me alone!” you cry, curling onto your side and pulling one of the pillows down to bury your face in. At least it isn’t suffused with James’ scent. You still cry though, unable to keep it in anymore now that you’ve started.

He tuts sadly from the doorway and comes into the room slowly. He stands there for a long minute, silent, before he sighs and his weight comes onto the bed. “Sweetheart,” he says.

“Just leave me alone,” you whine miserably. “Go away!”

“Shh sh sh.” He curls up behind you, arms around your waist and legs pushing in behind yours. He kisses your shoulder and hugs you, but it only makes you cry harder at how achingly familiar it is. “It’s okay,” he murmurs between kisses. He doesn’t try to get you to stop crying, or ask you what’s wrong. He seems to know exactly why you’re breaking down, and he simply devotes all his efforts to helping you calm down in your own time. “S’okay, s’okay. Everything’s gonna be okay,” he keeps saying, soothing you with a deep rumble in his chest. “I’ve got you, Sweetheart. I’ve got you now. It’s all gonna be okay. Shhh.”

At first, his placating makes you angry, but not enough to stop your crying, and once that tapers off from sobs to quiet, sniffling tears, you can’t seem to dredge up the anger anymore. It isn’t there. 

“You feeling a little better?” he asks kindly, gently tucking your hair behind your ear and then hugging you again.

You whine when you feel his lips against your neck. “I’m fine,” you rasp, voice coming out scratchy from all of the crying. You cringe and scrub your face into the pillow in embarrassment. “Just got a little sad.”

“Yeah,” he agrees quietly, giving you a supportive squeeze. “That’s okay.”

You hate how he says it, because it’s obvious that he knows why you were crying: Poor, sad little omega, bawling her eyes out over how much she’s missed her Alpha. He nuzzles into your neck, telling you it’s okay and that you’re allowed to cry. As much as you hate him being able to see into you so easily, you’re just grateful that he isn’t rubbing your face in it right now. The way he's holding you and comforting you feels good. You don’t fight to get away from him.

The two of you lie there together for what feels like a long time. Once you’ve stopped crying and are only giving the occasional sniffle for your runny nose, he goes back to running his hand over your side. It’s a gesture of comfort. He’s not groping you, but even still, you blush at the vulnerability of it. You find yourself glad that you’re facing away from him. 

The plane shifts noticeably, and James’ hand pauses on your hip. “Pilot said we’re landing soon,” he murmurs. “Should probably go and get pchelka up.”

You sniffle and fight off the urge of resurfacing tears at hearing him reference June. One day of knowing his daughter and already he’s got a nickname for her. You should be annoyed by that, but instead it just makes your heart squeeze with emotion. “Pchelka,” you whisper, trying out the word. 

“Yeah.” He hums happily and kisses your shoulder one last time. “Little bee. Come on. Let’s go.”

You don’t think about how it’s far too soon to have arrived at your destination, until you’re back in the main room of the cabin on the way to where Steve disappeared with June, earlier. You pause at the windows, peering out at the landscape. “This isn’t Russia,” you say, confused. The plane is definitely descending, but you’ve only been in the air for a few hours at most. “James?” you ask, as he comes up behind you and wraps his arms around your waist. Together, you both look out at the looming mountains and turquoise waters below. “Where are we?” you breathe.

James rests his chin on your shoulder and sighs happily. “Home,” he says. “We’re home.”

A.N.: See? Much less Rapey! Plenty more mega-dub con to come though, so don't you angst-lovers worry. Thanks for reading!💖Sarah

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He Doesn't Deserve You | A Jeon Jungkook Series | Chapter Seven

Summary: Taehyung catches you coming home late and makes you regret it Pairing: Noona reader x Jeon Jungkook (She's 28 and he's 22) Word Count: 5.3K~ (kinda got carried away with this one lmao) Warnings: Smuuuuutttt, Domestic abuse (physical and mental), explicit language and yändere behaviors a/n: Sorry it's taken me a while to come back around to this story but I hope you guys like it 🥰 Start from the beginning

After watching as Jungkook rounds the corner and out of sight I turn around and unlock the door, noticing that only the bottom lock is locked. 'That's strange, I could've sworn I locked both of them' I think to myself but don't let my thoughts wander farther than that before walking in. 

Taking off my boots and starting to strip out of my clothes just as quickly as I did the last time I went out I'm met with one of our table lamps turning on in the living room making me freeze in place. 

"Have a nice night?" I hear Taehyung say, totally void of emotion, knowing full well there's anger hidden just behind it. "Tae I can explain" I start off, walking towards where he's sitting on the armchair that faces the door but I stop in my tracks when he stands up and slowly walk towards me. 

"You can explain? What is there to explain y/n? Did you do something that needs explaining?" he continues to ask, deepening his voice as I slowly retreat, trying to maintain some distance between us. "No, I didn't do anything wrong" I say, standing my ground and knowing that it's the truth. 

"Is that so? Then why was it that I heard not only your voice but a man's voice as well right outside our door y/n? Care to explain that?" he asks, continuing to stalk towards me and in my need to escape I stupidly bump into a wall behind me leaving him a chance to lunge at me and trap me against it. 

"He's a friend" I breath out, my voice getting smaller and smaller, dissociating and pulling my consciousness out of the situation, only being able to watch from above. "A friend? Huh, didn't remember you having any friends. Where, pray tell, did you meet this friend? Or better yet, where were you tonight?" he ask, getting up in my face and taking a deep breath. 

"You smell sweet, seems like you might've been drinking tonight huh? Is that what you did? Met a man at a bar behind my back? Then you have the audacity to tell me you did nothing wrong!" he says, raising his voice as he continues to stare me down. 

"We didn't do anything. We just had a few drinks and he walked me home, that's it" I explain, giving him the facts and the facts alone because that's exactly what happened. He pushes off the wall and walks away from me, letting out a sigh with curses attached to it, trying but failing to calm his temper. 

“Are you cheating on me?" he asks and my jaw drops. "No! You do not get to play the victim card with me like I'm the one that did something wrong! This has nothing to do with you" which in reality it doesn't. My intention was to talk about what happened this morning but I decided to focus on Jungkook instead. 

I'm not lying and I'm not the one who's in the wrong here. I have to keep reminding myself of these things because otherwise if I start blaming myself again then he wins. 

"This has everything to do with me! I am your husband and last time I checked my wife isn't supposed to be going out for drinks by herself and picking up men to bring them home!" he yells, his anger building by the second but I'm not backing down this time. 

"I did not pick him up or bring him home. He was a friend that was walking me home so I wouldn't have to pay for a cab or walk in the dark on my own. I didn't cheat on you and you know that" I say, continuing to defend myself and Jungkook. 

"Well you might as well have" he mumbles while running his fingers through his hair. 

"I can't say the same for you" I say without a second thought but throw my hand over my mouth, knowing that I've made a terrible mistake. "Excuse me?" he growls out, rearing his head toward me, his eyes narrowed and waiting for my response, seconds away from losing control... 

But I press on anyway.

"You heard me! You had the audacity to not bother coming home last night and then when you show up bright and early this morning you didn't even give me any sort of pitiful excuse as to why. Then when you get a call from your mistress, the one you probably just left, you let her not only interrupt what we were doing but you also left and ran back to her right away" I say, raising my voice and holding my chin high, summoning all the confidence and strength I'll need to deal with this conversation. 

"My mistress huh?" he chuckles dryly, shaking his head and stalking towards me before grabbing me by the throat and pulling me towards him before slamming me up against the wall, squeezing so hard that he cuts off my cries of pain.

"What makes you think you can talk to me like that huh? What makes you think that you can disrespect me in my own house? You dare accusing me of stepping out on you when you were just with a man tonight. From the looks of your hair and makeup alone I know you're lying" he says squeezing harder for a second before letting loose just enough for me to choke out a response. "I'm not lyin-" 

"Don't you fucking dare! I know he fucked you! Your messy sweaty hair and you smeared makeup is proof enough. Although looks like he didn't do a very good job of it since you still have some lipstick left huh?" he says through gritted teeth. 

I start to see black dots in my vision and just as I'm about to lose consciousness he lets go, letting me fall to my knees. 

I cough and wheeze, trying to flood some oxygen to my lungs while he cracks his neck, getting rid of some tension before saying another word. He glares down at me before crouching down and lifting my chin up, making eye contact while he smiles at me with a look that says he's gonna make sure I regret what I said to him. 

"You're gonna tell me exactly what he did to you" he starts and I shake my head but he cuts me off "No see, you will. You'll show me exactly what he did to you and I'm going to show you that I'll do it better. Remind you who you belong to" he says, taking off his belt and I continue to shake my head, letting my tears start to fall, silently begging for him to stop. 

"You think tears are gonna work on me? Don't you realize that that's exactly why I stay with you? Seeing you cry and beg for mercy even though you body is screaming for more. Watching the tears stream down your face while your makeup is fucked up beyond belief from it all. Fuck baby you're the reason I'm like this. You go around, purposefully getting in trouble and giving me a  reason to treat you like this" he says, caressing my face and giving me a disgusting grin while he watches my face as I fall apart. 

"I don't want this" I sob, begging for all of this to stop. "No see that's where you're wrong. You were so upset that we got interrupted that you went out and did something that you knew would make me want to hurt you because that's exactly what you wanted. You're a slut for pain and you love it when I do this to you" he says while grabbing onto my bicep and dragging me up by it, making me wince in pain. 

"Taehyung stop, please" I sob, "Taehyung stop" he mimics me in a high pitched voice, making fun of my cries for help. "All I hear when you say that is you begging me to go harder, you're begging me to use you like the worthless whore you are" he says while dragging me into our bedroom all while I'm pulling and pushing and fighting my way out of his hold.

Right before he throws me on the bed I'm able to break free and run into the bathroom, him chasing after me but right at the last second I'm able to close and lock it behind me. 

I take shallow breaths in and out, hyperventilating as he bangs on the door and screams for me to open in. I scream back and tell him to leave me alone but it only makes him furious. 

"I'll break this fucking door down you whiny bitch! Open up!" he yells as he throws his body up against the door, the wood slamming into the door frame and I pray to whatever higher power there is out there to send someone here to save me. 

As soon as I finish my prayer I feel my phone vibrate in my back pocket. Reaching for it I let out a sob when I realize it's Jungkook's email that he said he would send me and I click on the number right away, not bothering to read the message and hold my breath as I listen to it ring and ring and ring until I hear him pick up.

"Noo-" "Jungkook please, please come back please Taehyung's here and he-" I cut him off but before I'm able to get much more out Taehyung cuts me off as well with another one of his yells. "Who the fuck are you talking to in there? You better not be calling your little boyfriend you whor-" "Jungkook please" I whimper. 

"I'm already on my way I'll be there in 5 minutes, I just pulled out of The Blue Pearl and I'm at the light about to turn onto your street. Just stay on the phone with me okay? Do you have a spare key anywhere?" he asks, talking me through it all and assures me he'll be here soon. 

"It's under the mat" I let out, trying to keep my voice as low as I can so Taehyung doesn't know what's happening. "Okay where are you in the house?" he continues and I tell him exactly where I am and what's going on and he keeps me talking, making sure that Taehyung hasn't gotten a hold of me and that I'll be safe until he gets here. 

"Okay Noona I just pulled up, I'm parking my car, I'm running upstairs" he lists off  and while I hear the sounds that match his claims my breathing gets a little deeper with each word, calming me down and knowing that no matter what Jungkook will protect me with everything he's got. 

"I'm at the door and I'm grabbing the key, I'm turning the lock okay I'm inside" he says and hangs up the phone as soon as he starts walking down the hallway. 

"Who the fuck are you?" Taehyung yells out as soon as he notices Jungkook's form stalking towards him but the next thing I hear is the sound of Taehyung grunting in pain and feeling the thud of him hitting the floor. 

"What the fuck?" he yells out and at that sound I open the bathroom door. "Noona go back inside and lock the door" Jungkook says sternly, barely glancing at me as to keep his eyes on Taehyung to block any movement he might make to harm me.  "You know this guy?" Taehyung says, wiping the corner of his mouth and looking at the blood caused from his busted lip.

"I was the guy she went out with tonight" Jungkook say, throwing my friends argument right out the window. "Jungkook please" I say, my voice strained from the pressure Tae had put on my throat. "Noona go back inside and lock the door" he growls out again, balling up his fists and ready to throw another punch. 

"Maybe you should listen baby. Don't wanna watch while I beat up your little boyfriend here" Tae grits out and while Jungkook is still turned to face me he punches him straight in the jaw, leaving him stumbling back a few step but stays standing. "Jungkook!" I scream, rushing towards him to check on him but he ignores my efforts to do so and puts me behind his back to keep me out of reach.

"That's a bit cruel now isn't it? Worrying about him over your own husband? I guess you really are a slut" "You shut your mouth" Jungkook growls, squaring his shoulder and I can tell just from his back how he'd be willing to kill Taehyung if I asked him to. 

"Taehyung get out!" I say as loud as I can, the pain on my larynx worse than it's ever been before. If Jungkook hadn't gotten here I really think Taehyung would've gone too far this time.

"You heard her! Get the fuck out" Jungkook says getting ready to grab him but after Tae takes in Jungkook's figure he steps back and starts to leave on his own. "Fine, you can have her. She's worthless to me anyways" he says over his shoulder and I have to grab Jungkook by the arm to keep him from lunging at him again. 

"Jungkook please stop, just let him go" I say, holding on with all my might and at my voice he relaxes a bit but still keeps his guard up. "Keep your bitch on a leash y/n. We wouldn't want anyone to get hurt" is Tae's last sentiment and at that I let go of Jungkook, letting him do as he sees fit.

"What'd you fucking call me?" Jungkook asks, holding onto Taehyung's neck just like he had done to me and all Tae can do is claw at his hand and gasp for breath, letting out choked curses as he does. 

"Huh? Sorry? Didn't catch that" he says, squeezing even harder but I place my hand on his shoulder, bringing him back to reality again and at that he stares Taehyung down before letting go of his neck and shoving him out of the apartment. 

Before Tae is able to say another word Jungkook slams the door in his face locking it and putting on the chain lock in an effort to make sure he won't be able to get in too easily.

Jungkook leans his forehead against the door, hand rested against it in the form of a fist before he turns around and as soon as I try to say something he wraps his arms around my torso and holds me tight, wordlessly showing me that he's here and he will protect me from anything and everything if I let him. 

After a few minutes of standing like that I lean back and look at him, tracing my hand gently along the swollen area on his jaw. "I'm sorry" I choke back, letting the emotions of the moment hit me again. He brings his hand up just like I had, tracing it along my neck where the skin is red and showing signs of bruising that I'm sure will be there tomorrow. 

"Don't" is all he says as he runs his thumb along my lips, the bottom one spilt in the corner from where I had bitten it nervously at some point. 

"But I-" "No, don't. I knew what I was signing up for when I came here" he says, tucking my hair behind my ear and wiping away the tears that have started to fall. "I would've done a lot more if you hadn't stopped me" he says, studying my features before he pull back and assesses my body 

"Did he touch you anywhere else? Are you in any pain?" he starts, pestering me with more and more questions before I can even answer one and all I can do in response is smile, watching as his eyes dart all over me. "Jungkook I'm fine" I say but he scrunches his brows and tongues his cheek. "You're obviously not fine now tell me what he did to you" he says sternly, not backing down from this. 

I take in a shaky breath before relaying everything that happened and he pulls me in for a hug once I've finished, making sure to be a lot more gentle this time but still, no less full of comfort and promises of protection. 

Now sitting on the couch together he keep a hold of one of my hands, playing with my fingers as we sit there, neither of us knowing what to say. I look up at him and notice that he's been staring at me, waiting for me to say or not say anything, just wanting to show me that he's here and is focused solely on me. 

"Thank you for coming" I mumble and he smiles, nodding his head while he rubs circles into my palm. "I wish I could've been here under different circumstances but thank you for calling me and letting me be there for you" he says and I nod my head as well, both of us going back to sitting in a comfortable silence for a while.

"Come on, let's get you cleaned up" I say, taking note of his busted lip and the blood that had started to drip down his chin. "What? This? This is nothing" he smile, making light of the subject but I nevertheless lead him into the bathroom. 

I close the lid of the toilet before having him sit down, him obeying and letting me take care of him with little to no protest.

"This might sting a little" I say before using some rubbing alcohol to clean up the surrounding area. He flinches and grabs my wrist in response, his eyes narrowed in pain from the sting. "I'm sorry" I apologize but he doesn't bother saying anything, his eyes now focused on my lips.

My eyes flitter down to his as well, feeling as though all the oxygen had been sucked out of the room and before I can stop myself I'm already leaning down and kissing him. 

The kiss is soft, chased and so full of longing from the both of us but I pull away, scared that I might've crossed a line that he might want to keep drawn until we figure things out.

"I'm sorry I shouldn't have done that" I say but before I have the chance to open my eyes he's pulling me in by my hips and guiding me down to kiss him again, a hand on my jaw trying to keep me close. 

We kiss for what feels like only moments but when we pull away all we can manage to do is try to stop our racing hearts as we slow our panting breaths. 

"Are you going to leave him" he lets out before taking in another breath, the patterns slowly going back to normal.

"I- What?" I ask, caught off guard from the straightforward question and it takes my brain a second to catch up. "Are you going to leave him? Because if we do this I don't think I'll be able to go back to what we were before" he says, his thumb rubbing circles against my hip as he still has me pulled in close. 

I look down at him for a moment, studying his features and notice his parted lips, now swollen from my doing. His brows pinched in concentration and just bellow are his eyes, pleading for me to say something, full of those same galaxies that continue to pull me in. 

"I'll leave him" I let out in a hushed tone, words that I had only hoped I would say one day. His eyes trace all of my features making sure that I truly mean what I say and as soon as he's satisfied with my answer he stands up, picks me up by my hips and places me on the bathroom counter, our roles reversed with him now towering above me. 

"If you want me to stop then tell me to stop" he says and I blink up at him for a second before nodding my head in response. "Use your words Noona" he says, caressing my cheek and my jaw drops before regaining composure seconds later. 

"I'll tell you" I respond and at that he leans in and kisses me, pulling me closer to the edge of the counter and wedging his knee between my parted legs, letting me use him if I want to. I place my arm around his neck and place my other hand on his jaw, keeping him close and wordlessly asking him for more. 

When he pulls away a bit I chase his lips, scooting closer to the edge and let out a breathy moan, getting friction when I wasn't expecting it yet. "Use me to get yourself off Noona" Jungkook says against my lips, pleading for me to keep going but letting me take control. 

I do as he say and chase after his lips while I throw both arms around his neck to anchor myself as I rock my hips back and forth, moaning at the feeling of my clit rubbing up against his thigh, my thin leggings and his jeans the only barriers between us. 

I pull away to catch a breath but my hips never stop as he's now holding onto them and guiding me, keeping the pace just right. I let out breathy moans, not being able to hold back enough to hide what this is doing to me.

"You make such pretty noises for me. So responsive" he says, pulling me further up his thigh and making me gasp at the feeling before letting out an unrestrained moan. 

"There we go, let me hear you. Let me know how good I'm making you feel" he rasps out in a deep voice before pressing his lips against mine, swallowing those noises he just asked for. 

I swear I could cum from just listening to him. 

"Shit Jungkook" I curse, pulling back and gasping for breath, so close to release already. "Tell me what you need" he says, hands still dragging my hips at a steady pace. "Fuck touch me please" I whine out, the sensations on a whole other level when he's the one doing this to me. 

"I am touching you" he taunts, forcing me to tell him exactly what I want. "I need your fingers. Please fuck" I groan out, feeling as he drags me harder along his thigh. 

"Noona wants my fingers yeah? You want them down here?" he pauses his motions, tracing the wet stain on my legging and I moan out a 'yes' before he slips his hand under my waistband and gently draws a stripe up between my folds with his middle finger before just barely ghosting it against my clit. 

"Jungkook please" I beg, my hips chasing after his hand. "Patience Noona. I promise I'll make you feel good" he whispers in my ear before pulling his hand out of my pants, wrapping my legs around his waist and carrying me to my bed. 

"Wanna eat you out" he says after making both of us fall on the bed. "Is that okay?" he questions and I nod my head before saying 'yes'. He kisses me for a little bit again, making my brain get even foggier than before, giving me that same fluttering feeling he always does but this time lower and accompanied by a pulsing need for his touch. 

He notices how I start to squirm and takes mercy on me, chuckling dryly as he pulls away and sits back, looking at my leggings and then up at me and when I try to take them off on my own he pulls my hands away and kisses my palms instead. 

"No this is about you. Let me take care of you yeah?" he asks and I nod my head, trying to keep myself from moaning at his words, his fiery gaze locked on me before placing my hands on either side of me and getting up off the bed while slowly sliding down my pants. 

"No panties huh? No wonder I could feel how wet you were" he teases and I cover my face in embarrassment when I look down and see the wet stain I caused on his jeans. "Don't hide from me" he says while he comes down to hover over me, making me want to do it even more. 

"Come on pretty, let me see you" he rasps out and at that I take my hands off my face, him not having used any pet names with me before leaving me caught off guard.

"There she is" he says with a crooked smile letting my jaw drop. He laughs and kisses my open mouth before trailing his lips down my neck, paying close attention to it, wanting to kiss away the pain. 

I hiss at the feeling of his middle finger drawing lazy patterns along my clit, caught off guard by the sudden touch. "You gonna let me take care of you?" he asks, his words dripping with promises of ecstasy and I only whimper in response, his finger now drawing circles around my entrance.

He watches my reactions as he dips it inside of me, feeling all my senses heightened from the sensation of being with someone other than my husband. Someone who truly wants to take his time with me. 

"You're already acting like this and I've only put in one finger. Let's see what kind of pretty noises you make when I add another huh?" he taunts, slowly dragging his finger out of me before adding another one. 

My hips buck up at the feeling, chasing his touch and he chuckles, enjoying the fact that my body is not ashamed in show my desire for him even if my mouth can't say it.

"Just like that, ride my fingers Noona, use me" he says and I moan at his word, something primal stirring up in me at the sound of them. My hips buck up into his hand without remorse and I gasp when he adds another one. 

He takes his hand away when he feels me tightening around his fingers and I groan at the loss of touch. "It's okay, I'm right here. Just want the first time you cum to be on my tongue" he says, leaning down to whisper it in my ear making me melt into the mattress, completely at his mercy. 

"Can you take this off for me?" he asks, playing with the hem of my shirt and I nod my head, sitting up and taking it off and as I go to take off my bra his eyes widen at the thin black lace wrapped perfectly around my breasts. "Keep it on" he husk out and I close my legs at the sound, needing some sort of friction but he pulls my legs apart thinking that I was trying to close myself off from him. 

"None of that" he says and takes time to really look at me, making eye contact before studying my features and taking in how fucked out I already look. "Lay down for me" he says, leaning in to kiss me and guiding me down on my back again. 

He takes his time kissing me, trailing his hands up and down my torso before replacing them with his lip, tongue and teeth, leaving no inch of skin untouched. "God you're so beautiful" he groans, taking time to worship my body, reminding me of how I'm meant to be loved. 

He pulls down on the lace covering my breast and latches his lips around my sensitive bud, hardening from the arousal coursing through my veins. He switches to the other one and gives it the same time and attention, his brows furrowed together in concentration, finding pleasure in this act as well.

"I can't get enough of you" he growls out, trailing his lips down my torso and kissing my waist, sucking marks into it as a reminder of what I let him do to me.

He looks up at me before focusing his gaze on my glistening folds and how I'm clenching around nothing, begging to be full. 

He leans in and licks a hard stripe from my entrance to my clit, sucking it in gently and moaning into me, making my hips buck into his face, chasing more of that sensation. 

"Fuck you taste like candy" he moans, making out with my cunt, leaving me grasping onto his locks with one hand to keep him close and placing the other over my mouth to hold back the moans I'm bound to let out. 

"Take your hand off your mouth or I'll stop" he commands, looking up at me with a fiery gaze that tells me he'll make good on his word. 

I lower my hand slowly and keep my eyes on him and watch as he become hungrier at the sight of my flushed cheeks and rising and falling of my chest. "You're such a good listener" he grins and before I'm able to say something in response I'm cut off by the moan I let out when he dips his tongue inside me. Now alternating between kissing, sucking and fucking me with his tongue, moaning into me all along. 

I can tell I'll never be able to find anyone as skilled as he is with his fucking mouth. 

I'm seeing stars already from the build up alone and I buck my hips up into him, begging for more. He pulls back and looks up at me, his chin glistening with my arousal and his eyes full of hunger, begging me to give him everything I have to offer. 

"You gonna cum Pretty?" and at that I arch my back, moaning and feeling so close to cumming like I knew I would. His fucking mouth making me weak for him in more ways than one. He grabs my hips and presses them down into the mattress to keep me in place for him. "Stay nice and still for me yeah?" he says, coaching me through it and making me hang onto every word. 

"Good girl" he says, kissing the inside of my thigh before going back to eating me out, going even harder and faster than before if even possible, never letting up on giving me anything and everything I need and all I can do is let out a slur of unintelligible moan and whimpers, motivation for him to keep going. 

Before I'm able to get anything out he takes his mouth off of me only for a second, looking up and savoring my reactions before growling out "Cum" leaving me cumming on his tongue, just like he said he wanted me to.

He continues his ministrations, licking and kissing and sucking up everything I've given him, slowing his pace but keeping his mouth on me still, obsessed with the way I taste. 

I try to pull back and wiggle my way away from him but he pulls me back in by my hips keeping me in place. "Stop running" he growls out and when I whine in overstimulation he looks up at me with a devilish glint in his eyes, telling me he's no where near done with me.

"I know you can give me another one" he taunts, kissing and sucking marks on the inside of my thigh and my vision goes blurry with lust, desire flooding my senses all over again and I nod my head before laying it back down on the pillow, him pulling away only to grab another one. 

"Lift your hips for me love" he says while caressing the outside of my thigh and I do as he says and he places a pillow under them, angling me just how he wants me and giving him a better angle this time. 

Fuck I'm in trouble...     

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Mutual Help | #08

𝐛𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐫 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭: @kithtaehyung

↳ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬; in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps you with your sexual desires ⏤ he calls it mutual help

⇢ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠: jungkook x reader

⇢ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞: fake dating au, fluff, angst, smut, slow burn

⇢ 𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: explicit language

⇢ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.6k+

⇠ 𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐯. | 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | 𝐧𝐞𝐱𝐭 ⇢ 

"Why are we here?" you ask with narrowed eyes, eyeing your best friend whose cheeks are puffed up with pork belly.

"We are on a date." he answers with an obvious tone.

"I got that from your single message." you roll your eyes, remembering the message you got when you barely got home.

It's Tuesday, it's not even the middle of the week, and you definitely weren't expecting him to want to hang out during the week. He's lucky you were hungry anyway, home with an almost empty fridge. He knows you can't say no to food, especially when it's a typical Korean barbecue.

'I'm taking you out in an hour, be ready'

That's what the message said and even when his black car parked in front of your apartment building, he barely explained the point of all of this.

"Well, this is Seokjin's restaurant," he starts, seeing your dumbfounded look before he sighs. "Seokjin, you've met him when we went bowling with Tae, Jimin and Kiko. Even Hoseok tagged along." he explains, unfolding a very hazy memory.

If you remember correctly, it was the day when Jungkook introduced Kiko to you.

Jungkook looks like you should know exactly who he is, and the way he stares at you like if you were an idiot makes you annoyed. "It happened like a year ago. Do you really expect me to remember that?" you snark, rolling your eyes in annoyance when you see Jungkook doing the same.

So much for acting like a couple who loves each other.

"Anyway, he's not here right now. But Hoseok works here as operations manager."

Hoseok, Kiko's close friend, is here right now and it all makes sense. He knows when Hoseok would see you, he'd probably tell Kiko. Nothing is sure, but it's worth a shot.

"Ah, right. Now I get it." you breathe out, reaching for a chopsticks before you make yourself a wrap.

Jungkook just nods along, eating quietly before he opens his mouth. "Oh, Seokjin is getting married and he invited me to his wedding. You're coming with me."

"What? Why do I need to be there?" you exclaim with a full mouth, causing him to glare at you in disgust before he sighs.

"Because I need a date and he knows we're dating. He kinda invited you as well," he explains, shooting you his pleading look which consists of his doe eyes and slightly pouted lips in hope. "Okay, I'm sorry for dropping this on you all of a sudden. He just called me yesterday to remind me of the wedding and I forgot. I was supposed to go with Kiko, but that changed..." he trails off, silencing himself for a few seconds before he continues. "And now he knows we're dating, so I told him you'll come."

"Yeah, okay. Is she going to be there?"

He nods, biting the inside of his cheek. "Yes, Seokjin is marrying her best friend. She is going to be there."

With that, you only nod and stuff your mouth again.

It's just another plan that might work perfectly. Jungkook told you about him and Kiko talking to each other at the club. He hasn't said much, but he clearly sees the hope in winning her back. Even you can see it, after hearing her questioning you and his relationship. If she didn't care, she wouldn't ever stop by to talk to him.

"When's the wedding?" you ask him, noting that you need to buy a proper dress for that.

Your wardrobe mainly consists of sweatpants, slacks and basic shirts. If you want to look good, you need to invest some money in a nice dress.

"Next week."

"Jungkook!" you exclaim, watching your best friend in horror.

Next week is too soon.

He sheepishly looks at you, offering you a piece of pork belly with his chopsticks as a sign of apology. You roll your eyes again, but still lean towards him to eat the meat, not forgetting to glare at him in the process.

"What are you doing?"

Eyeing Jungkook, who's scooting his way over to you as he unlocks his phone.

"We should take a photo," he answers, turning on his camera. "And make it Instagram official, baby." he wiggles his brows, causing you to snort in return before you try to adjust your hair.

"Wait, I'm not ready." you tell him, glaring at the phone that's shoved into your face before Jungkook snaps the picture of your face.

He snorts, looking at the picture of you glaring at the camera with hands in your hair and slightly opened mouth. He tries to do it again, but you slap his hands before you properly adjust your hair. You smile into the camera, before Jungkook does the same and snaps a picture.

He eyes it, brows furrowing as he exhales. "It looks like most of our photos."

You lean to him, looking at the photo that looks cute. Jungkook obviously looks hot, even with the soft smile that's settled on his lips. "I think it looks good." you shrug, reaching for your drink as you slowly sip from it.

"We're supposed to look like we're in love," he points out, shoulders dropping in disappointment.

Well, you came here on a date and yet you've spent all your time teasing and making jokes. None of that showed one piece of your fake love.

"Come on, let's take another one." he nudges you, causing you to groan but you still lean closer to him.

Jungkook puts his arm around your waist, pulling you even closer to him as you quickly smile into the camera. He does the same, your faces much closer before he starts to take more of them which turns to you goofing around, making different grimaces that makes you both laugh. The last shot is probably the best one and most believable. You're smiling widely with your eyes closer, while Jungkook presses his nose softly into your cheek, with a toothed grin.

You both check all the photos, none of you moving from each other as you silently comment on every one of them. You're both too focused from your creations to notice someone approaching, that's until he speaks catching both of yours attention.

"Hey, Hoseok." Jungkook greets him back, glancing at the man that's sporting a black slacks and a casual white button up.

"Hey guys, what a surprise," he beams, smiling at you when you wave at him in a brief greeting.

Although, you know Hoseok since the two of you hang out with the same people, you can't really consider him as your friend. He's a nice guy, very communicative, friendly and loud. You both have the same circle of friends, so there are times when you see each other from time to time. But that's it.

"What are you doing here?" he asks, looking back at Jungkook.

"We're on a date." he answers, a realization crossing on Hoseok's face as he takes his outstretched arm behind you and the proximity between you two.

"Oh," he opens his mouth in surprise. "So it's true." he comments, chuckling after that but something about his tone is off.

Of course. He's Kiko's friend.

"Yeah," Jungkook nods, not really sure what to say.

Just as you think he'll let it go, he opens his mouth again.

"I've never expected you guys to end up together,"

You shift in your seat awkwardly. "None of us did." you mutter, earning a very subtle kick to your shin from Jungkook underneath the table.

"We've decided to try it," Jungkook shrugs.

It's so damn fucking awkward, his short responses earning even more suspicious look from Hoseok, that he desperately tries to hide underneath his friendly smile. And the fact that you and Jungkook act so weird doesn't help.

"Ah, hyung," your best friend suddenly says, unlocking his phone before he hands it to Hoseok. "Can you take a photo of us?"

Hoseok eyes his phone before he slowly takes it from his hands, glancing at you before he smiles. "Sure."

It looks like Jungkook is one step ahead of you, knowing his friend and his rare fake smile. He must've thought the same thing like you did, proving that he got this. No matter how many times your conscience comes up to tell you that you're getting busted, Jungkook proves you wrong.

And when Hoseok finally aims the camera at the two of you, you're completely shocked when Jungkook grabs your face gently, hand spreading on your neck with his thumb on your cheek, before he connects your lips together. He kisses you, right in front of him, hiding your own shock by his mouth. When he pulls away, he does it slowly making sure when he opens his eyes, he's looking straight into yours with unrecognizable glint in them.

He traces your lips with his thumb, before he pulls away and looks at his friend. "Thanks." he says, grinning as he takes his phone from him.

"Yeah, no worries." Hoseok mutters, smiling at you as Jungkook takes a look at the photos.

Just when you thought he bought it, you glance from Jungkook's screen at Hoseok causing your breath to hitch. He's subtle, but still sporting an evident frown on his face as his eyes are glued to you. Your nerves get the best of you, a nervous smile spreading on your lips as Jungkook is completely obvious at your exchange with his friend.

Hoseok smiles at you, shaking off his previous frown as if he never stared at you like that.

But this time, you're smarter and see right through him.The smile he gave you was fake.